Trigger warnings: Non-consent, abduction, forced imprisonment, drugging, brief mentions of suicide, degradation, forced BDSM, and cruel punishments (including but not limited to starvation and isolation).

Important disclaimer: This story is dark. The male character is extremely cruel to the female character, and a large part of the story is seeing her suffer at his hands. When he says he wants to break her, he wholeheartedly means it. If that is something that bothers you, then I wouldn't read this. But if that is something you think you'll enjoy, then you're in for a fun ride.

Note: This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

If you like this story and want to read more, you can find a list of all my stories here!💜 You can also find a list of the parts of this story whenever they are published.🥰

You can find the prologue for this story here, which is not required to read before reading this one, but I'd recommend it for additional context.

Thud, thud, thud.

Someone is either swinging a sledgehammer at the wall or I’m at a very, very loud concert. The steady rhythm pierces my senses, sending pain through my system. I groan, or try to, but something is muffling any sound I make.

Weird.

Thud, thud, thud.

I’m too tired to care, though, and opening my eyes doesn’t seem to help at all. All I can see is pitch black, so I assume my eyes are still closed for some reason.

I’m thankful for it, for being able to just be asleep for a little longer. Everything hurts, and I can’t even move my limbs, so when sleep consumes me again, I welcome it with open arms.

Thud, thud, thud.

I don’t think I’m still awake, but there’s a really loud noise somewhere.

It’s way worse than the steady beating of the sledgehammer earlier, and what follows is…footsteps?

Why would there be footsteps? And why are they stopping right in front of me?

I still can’t see anything, and I still can’t speak, but I quickly realise why that is when I suddenly can see again.

Whatever was covering my eyes (a hood, I think?) is ripped off my head in a sudden motion, and everything comes back to me in a flash. Waking up to a set of brown eyes staring at me, the rest of his face covered by a mask. The hand covering my screams. The sharp pain in my neck.

Oh, god.

A whimper escapes my throat but gets stuck in my mouth, since I quickly realise there’s a rag in my mouth and a piece of tape fusing my lips together. I go to remove it, but all I manage to do is wriggle my hands a little since they’re bound behind my back, draped over the back of a chair. The ropes tying my wrists together have themselves been tied to the chair itself, making it impossible to move. I try to kick, but my ankles are tied to the front legs of the chair, forcing my legs apart.

Holy fucking shit.

My panic over my tied limbs and my gagged mouth made me forget the footsteps, but now, I slowly drag my gaze up to the presence in front of me.

He’s fucking huge. It’s the same guy who woke me up in my bed, which I can tell by the size of his broad chest and his thick arms, the inked skin clearly visible in his tight, black t-shirt. He’s still wearing a mask, completely covering his face, but I focus on his eyes, glaring right back at me.

When I focus on them, I desperately try to wriggle away, but the chair is fucking bolted to the floor. I whimper when my escape fails.

I’m stuck, completely at the mercy of this stranger.

He crouches in front of me, all while still looking at my face. Tears roll down my cheeks with terror when he reaches a hand out. His fingers rub under my eyes, wiping my tears away in an achingly soft gesture.

The sheer softness of his touch brings more tears to my eyes, and soon, I’m full-on sobbing. The fear is so intense it racks my entire body, squeezing my heart so hard I fear it might burst. If I could speak, I’d ask what he wants to do with me, but it’s fucking obvious what he wants with me…Fuck, I need to get out of here.

Still sobbing, I eye him as he stands. His palm lays softly on my cheek, and I try desperately to angle my head away from him, but his hand just follows. “Shh,” he coos, sending shivers through my body. “Don’t cry.”

Don’t cry? How the fuck does he expect me to do that?

I squeeze my eyes shut, like this is all a bad dream I can wake up from, but it’s not. His warm palm is still pressed to my cheek, and I’m still in a living hell.

When I open my eyes again, rapidly blinking to clear the tears gathered there, I see my captor slowly circling me. He comes to the side of the chair where my head is leaning, and then he brings my head to his thigh.

I jerk away, but his palm squeezes my head between it and his muscular leg. His thumb rubs my cheek in a soothing motion, making me fight harder, but I give it up when I realise it won’t work.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and I fucking wish I wasn’t gagged so I could bite his fingers right now.

He keeps rubbing my cheek, and he doesn’t stop for several long minutes, not until I finally calm myself down.

He finally lets go, letting me wrench my face away from his leg. He walks away to the door, which I only now see is a big, fancy metal thing. It has a small scanner or something, but I can’t see it properly from here. But in any case, it’s clear I’m stuck here, especially with my limbs tied like this.

My captor crouches next to the door, where I see he’s placed a small, black bag. He rummages through it and finally produces a water bottle, covered with condensation.

I immediately go to ask for a drink, briefly forgetting about my gag. My throat is so fucking dry, and I have a pounding headache from whatever sedative he used on me.

His eyes wrinkle on a smile, like he can tell how badly I want that water, and I shrink in on myself at that. Obviously he isn’t just giving me water as a kindness. There will be a catch.

He approaches me again, and I look at him the entire way. He leans down, gently rubbing my cheek with his palm before he rips the tape off my face.

I groan, pushing the cloth out with my tongue, which he helpfully grabs and tucks into his back pocket. I immediately want to beg to be let go, but I keep my mouth shut. Maybe I would have begged if I wasn’t gagged earlier, but the few minutes I’ve had to think have let me realise how fucking stupid that would be.

Still, I ask, “Can I please have some water?” I cringe at the way my voice croaks. My throat is so scratchy and dry that it hurts to talk.

He nods, then surprisingly brings the water bottle to my lips. I eagerly gulp the water when he tilts the bottle, nearly moaning at the way the cold, delicious liquid coats my throat.

My captor doesn’t make any noise as I drink the entire bottle in one go, but he’s staring at me with fire in his eyes. His eyes are a deep, rich brown, and they’re so intense that I can’t help but break my stare.

Once I’ve finished it, he pulls the bottle away. He walks to his bag again and tucks it away, then begins rummaging around in there again.

My heart is racing, not knowing what the hell he has in there or what horrible things he can use on me. “Please,” I can’t help but say. “Please don’t hurt me.” My request ends on a desperate whimper, a tear rolling down my cheek.

I sniff when he turns around to face me, but what he has in his hands isn’t a knife or a gun. It’s a tupperware container.

I frown. Is this a trick? I can’t see what’s inside, but when he brings it closer to me, I smell it. It’s food, and it smells fresh, vibrant, and delicious, a sharp contrast to the terror racking my body.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it must be a while, since just the smell of food makes my stomach knot in a desperate plea to feed it. I try pleading with my eyes, too scared of saying the wrong thing and losing the privilege of food.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, instead he just opens the container, letting me see its contents. I immediately recognise it. It’s my favourite kind of chicken salad, the one I get every day during my lunch break at work.

Has this guy been watching me?

I mean, it makes sense, right? You don’t break into a random woman’s home and steal her away without knowing a little about her. But then again, this guy is clearly insane, so I shouldn’t make assumptions like that.

I go to ask for a bite, but before I can, he reaches a hand out to my chest.

I’m still wearing what I wore when I was taken, consisting of the tiny pyjamas I like wearing to bed. The top is a lacy, lavender tank top, and the bottoms are a matching pair of shorts. I feel so fucking exposed, and when he touches my breasts, it feels like he’s touching my skin. Bile rises in my throat when he squeezes and gropes me.

I can’t help but groan with disgust at his touch. He doesn’t care, apparently, since his touch only grows more violent and demeaning.

He groans deep in his chest, and when I peek, I see him hardening in his pants. I immediately look away, like that might block what I just saw from my mind. He eventually stops touching me, meaning I can finally release the breath I’d been holding. I hesitantly look at him again, watching warily as he uses his fork to stab several pieces of the salad, making sure to get at least one of each ingredient in there.

Next, he brings the fork to my mouth, and, still eyeing him, I open my mouth and let him feed me. It tastes so good, and a moan escapes my mouth before I can stop it. I chew the delicious mix of lettuce, chicken, and dressing, then swallow it down.

I open my mouth again, asking for another bite, but my heart drops when he places the fork back inside the container. “No, please,” I beg, tears pricking my eyes at the humiliation of being reduced to begging for food.

His hand goes back to my body, and I flinch when he touches my waist. I’m a little relieved at first, since him touching my waist is better than him touching my breasts, but that relief fades in an instant when he starts trailing his hand up from under my shirt.

I kick my head back, glaring at the ceiling in an effort to separate myself from what’s happening. His warm hand sears my bare waist as it travels upwards, and, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t stop until he reaches my bare breasts.

He gropes them again, this time with one less layer blocking his access. He plays with them for several long moments until he finally withdraws his hand, letting me breathe a sigh of relief.

He stabs a few more pieces of food again, and I immediately catch on to the pattern. He brings the fork to my mouth again, and I eagerly open my mouth and chew the delicious food.

But when I swallow this time, and his hand goes back to where it doesn’t belong, he starts trying to tug my tank top off. I can’t help but speak up. “Please don’t.” Having him touch my bare breasts was one thing, but having him see them would kill me inside.

He eyes me, holding up the container in silent communication. My bottom lip wobbles on a sob, realising I’m fucked. If I want food, I have to let him touch me. I’m starving, but I just can’t do it.

I shake my head, and he shrugs. He closes the container, the sound pushing another sob past my lips. I almost tell him I changed my mind, but I keep my mouth shut, the stubborn part me refusing to give in. It’s not like I can stop him from touching me if he wants to, but he’s giving me that power by using food as a bargaining chip.

This is worse than hell.

He places the container in his bag, and I panic when he starts moving towards the door. “Wait!” I yell out. He turns to face me, bag slung over his shoulder. “Please let me go. I can’t be here, I didn’t do anything!”

He doesn’t even respond, only places his thumb on the scanner I saw by the door. Fuck, it must be a fingerprint scanner, then.  

“Fucking let me go!” I yell as he makes his way out the door. He slams it shut behind him, just as I yell out an angry, desperate, “Fuck!”

I spend hours tied to that damn chair.

My ass is numb, and I think my wrists are too. At first I tried desperately to untie myself, but I soon gave up, and I spend god knows how long sobbing at the hopelessness of my situation.

The fear of everything is immense. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s just left me to die since I disobeyed him, and he’s moved on to another woman who won’t tell him no?

I cry harder at the thought, and again try getting out of these ropes, but he’s tied them so tightly that there’s barely enough room for circulation.

I’m also fucking starving. Two bites of a salad and a bottle of water is just not enough, and he must know it too. If I’m not being left to starve to death, then this can only be a punishment for disobeying. He wants me weak and compliant, and this is his way of getting me to that stage.

At least, I hope so, since the alternative is a slow, painful death.

The only silver lining is that now that I’ve had hours of privacy, I’ve become intimately familiar with my cell.

It’s entirely made of stone, except the door, which is a big, bulky metal thing. When my captor left, there was a second thud after he closed it, which I can only assume is a secondary lock. Maybe one that can only be opened from the outside? In any case, I’d have to overpower him somehow to scan the fingerprint scanner, which obviously isn’t happening any time soon.

When he left, I did get a small glimpse of outside the door, but it just looked like more stone, honestly. It was dark, which I imagine is on purpose, but it looked like a small hallway of some kind.

Other than that damn door, though, the cell is almost bare. There’s some bright fluorescent lighting lining the ceiling, and by this point, it’s giving me a headache, though that might also be from the drugs in my system. Each wall, as well as the floor, is made of solid, grey stone, and there are no windows, but there’s some sort of ventilation system high up in one corner.

But I frown when I notice a small, steel ring sticking out of the wall. It seems so randomly put there. What’s the point of that?

The only furniture is the chair, bolted to the ground, as well as a toilet and a sink in the corner. There’s also what must be a small soap dispenser attached to the wall just above the sink, and a small toilet paper dispenser inside the wall by the toilet.

I shudder at the thought of having to use that damn toilet, especially when I catch sight of two cameras, each in the corner opposite the other. There are no blind spots, and there’s no hiding, but I’d rather piss my pants than pee on camera.

But I really, really do need to pee, though. That water bottle I drank earlier has made its way through my system by now, and I’m aching for release, but I’m trying my best to hold it in.

More time passes, though I’ve no idea how much, but finally, the door opens.

My head snaps up as my captor enters the room, carrying the same tupperware container from earlier. My mouth immediately waters at the sight of it, and my eyes follow it on its journey over to my chair.

But then he places the container on the floor. I frown, but that frown is quickly replaced with terror when he pulls a pocketknife from his back pocket. “No, please, no!” I whimper, terrified he’s just going to stab my throat and be done with me.

I close my eyes for several long moments, but when I open them again, he’s crouched in front of me. He’s still wearing his mask, hiding his identity, and the knife is casually in his grip. He pointedly looks to the salad on the floor, then at my top, hanging loosely over my waist

I swallow hard, resignation and defeat pouring through my system. “Okay,” I whisper, nodding, but instead of just reaching into my shirt, he grabs the hem and slices it with the knife.

He rips it apart with so much strength that I feel it in my very bones. I gasp, horrified when the shirt falls open, exposing my stomach and chest to the open air.  

A tear rolls down my eye when he puts the knife away, then grabs the container. He opens it and gathers a few ingredients on the fork, then brings it to my mouth.

It still tastes good, but it also just feels like ash in my mouth. Despite the salad being my favourite, the circumstances I’m being forced to eat it in makes it such a struggle to swallow. His eyes are locked on my mouth as I chew, then moves to my throat as I swallow.

As expected, he then brings his hand to my chest, and with a nod from me, gropes my breasts. He then feeds me a bite, then touches them again.

He groans low when his palm touches my bare breast. He plays with it, cupping and squeezing it in his palm. I squeeze my eyes shut to separate myself from the feel of his calloused fingers wrapped around my flesh, but there’s only so much I can do.

After a minute, he stops, then brings another bite of food to my lips. He then touches the other breast and feeds me another bite.

This continues, and luckily, he doesn’t escalate beyond touching my breasts. It takes a few minutes, but I finally finish the salad, and the full feeling in my stomach is such a welcome reprieve from the sharp pain I’ve been in for several hours.

Once done, I eye my captor suspiciously, terrified of what he’ll do next. “Are you going to kill me?” I ask, carefully.

His head tilts in confusion, and his eyes narrow, like he’s in deep thought before he shakes his head.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask. There’s a lot you can do to a person that doesn’t involve offing them, after all.

He nods, and my stomach drops. “Oh, god. Please, don’t hurt me. Just let me go, I won’t tell a soul about this, I promise!” I sob my request, but I calm myself down when he shushes me.

He stands, then his finger reaches to beneath my eyes, brushing away my tears. “You belong to me now, Hannah,” he mutters, and I shake my head, more tears running down my cheeks. “Shh,” he coos, sounding almost like he feels bad for me.

His hand withdraws to his back pocket, and I’m terrified he’s going to bring his knife back out. My breasts are still exposed to the open air, and the reminder that he can do whatever the fuck he wants to me makes my heart squeeze.

But when his hand comes back out, he has a syringe. “No!” I scream, trying to wriggle away, but he just calmly grips my head to keep me steady, then plunges the syringe deep into my neck.

Thank you so much for reading!💜 I would love to hear your thoughts on this🥰