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).

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.🥰

I wake up on the cold stone floor of my cell.

I groan in pain, both at the stiffness of my limbs and the horrible headache. When my eyes open, I immediately see a water bottle, clearly put there to help ease my pain when I wake.

But when I sit up and drink it, I immediately notice that, well, something’s different.

I’m not wearing the same outfit as earlier. I’m wearing one of my oversized t shirt dresses. And that’s it. I’m not wearing any underwear.

I’m not wearing any underwear.

Holy shit, he fucking undressed me?

I can’t even explain why that realisation hits me so damn hard. He’s drugged and kidnapped me, tied me up, and groped my breasts, but seeing me naked is just…fuck. It makes this all seem so much more real.

I hug my knees to my chest, glaring at the camera in the corner. The fucker is probably getting off on this, let’s be honest. He’s clearly sick in the head and seeing me suffering like this must get his rocks off.

I don’t sit there for long, because just like when I sat in that damn chair, nature calls. I hate the idea of having to pee on camera, but honestly, the dress covers mostly everything, and I don’t even have to take off my bottoms anymore. It’s a silver lining, at least.

I shuffle to the toilet and do my business. When I flush, I notice it doesn’t use water to flush, so it looks difficult to clog. I imagine that’s on purpose. The sink, too, seems intentionally designed to prevent tampering. I can only keep it on for around half a minute before it shuts off for several minutes, likely to prevent me from overflowing it and flooding the cell.

It's like he’s taken away all my methods of resisting, including taking my own life. Honestly, the only method I have is bashing my head against the wall, but I’m terrified of not hitting hard enough and instead just putting me in severe pain.

And in any case, I haven’t given up on trying to find a way out of here, which is what I spend the next several hours trying to do.

I try the door first, obviously. The fingerprint scanner looks fancy as fuck, and no matter how much I try to tinker with it or pull it out of the wall, it won’t budge. The door is solid steel, and I don’t even dare trying to bash it open in case I break my shoulder. Trying to pull and push it open predictably does nothing. It’s like it’s a part of the wall except when my captor wants access to me.

In spite, I try to rip the cameras out of the wall, but they’re just too high to reach. He removed my chair while I was out, and the sink and toilet are in a corner not occupied by a camera, so there’s nothing to balance on to reach them. I try jumping, but even then I’m not even close to touching them.

Ugh, the knowledge that he’s probably watching my futile escape attempts makes me shiver with fury.

I sit in the corner for a while after that. I’ve thoroughly explored my cell already, and there’s really nothing more to it than meets the eye. The fact that there aren’t any windows is extremely frustrating, since I have no clue what time of day it is.

I’ve been drugged into subconsciousness twice, but I don’t know how long I was out. Even if I knew what drug he used and how long it would keep me out, he might very well have drugged me more to keep me under for longer. It’s possible I’ve been here for weeks for all I know.

Realistically, though, I’d guess I’ve been here a day or two at most. I doubt this guy has the patience or knowhow to keep me fed and hydrated while unconscious. And, honestly, I don’t think he’s the type of guy to want to use me while I’m unconscious. It’s just a hunch, but he doesn’t seem the type. Why go through all this effort and why make such a point of making me “consent” to being touched if he’s just going to fuck me while I’m asleep? It doesn’t make sense. But then again, maybe that’s just me trying to cope with the possibility.

I spend what feels like hours doing nothing. I pace back and forth, counting each step. I daydream different scenarios. I plan how I can manipulate my captor to try to get out. I even consider charging out the door the next time it opens, but I quickly discard that plan as a last resort.

Eventually, my growling stomach demands attention, but unfortunately for it, its owner isn’t capable of feeding it on her own anymore. I’m like a caged animal, completely at the mercy of this guy to keep me alive. I mean, if he just fucked off to Mexico right now, I’d die in here, and I can’t do anything about it.

Oh, fuck. No, actually, what if he dies or gets injured? I’d starve to death in here.

A sob tears from my throat before I realise it, but just as it does, the door swings open.

I hate myself for the relief that floods my system at seeing my huge, masked captor enter the room. He shoulders the door, carrying a…McDonalds bag?

I frown, but the smell of the delicious burger in there immediately makes my mouth water. He must catch the desire in my face, because when I look at his eyes, they wrinkle with amusement.

He gently sets the bag down along the wall opposite me, right by the door. I’m sitting leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the door, with the toilet and sink to my left, and my captor right in front of me.

He crouches, and I look away from him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. His fingers come to beneath my chin, pulling my gaze to his in an achingly soft motion. “My sweet, little Hannah…” he mutters, and bile rises in my throat.

I thin my lips, both to keep a sassy retort from escaping but also to keep from crying. I’m fucking terrified of him, and his sweet, gentle touches and tone of voice are making it really hard to keep it together.

His head tilts, like he’s examining me. “Take off your dress,” he demands, and I pale at the command.

“What?” I ask, dumfounded. “No…Anything but that. Please.” My voice breaks, horrified at the prospect.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before. I mean, clearly he has, since there’s no other way for me to have ended up in a different set of clothes. But being conscious for it, and having to strip for him? It’s a whole different thing.

He turns away, walking to the door and picking the bag of McDonalds up on his way. “Wait!” I yell, desperate not to lose my chance at eating that burger. “I’ll do it!”

He pauses, bag in hand and back to me, as I kneel to grip the hem of the dress and throw it over my head.

Immediately, the relative coldness of the cell makes gooseflesh break out across my skin, and I shiver. But when he turns to look at me? Fuck, my skin heats with humiliation and I want to melt into the ground.

His eyes are pure fire, perusing up and down my body several times with an appreciative hum emanating from his chest. I cover my chest and clench my thighs to cover my bits, but when he softly shakes his head, I drop my hands.

Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about me covering my genitals. Instead, he comes back and crouches in front of me, this time placing the bag between us. He pulls out the burger, and it looks so fucking delicious that I could nearly cry.

I go to grab it, but he holds it away from me until I drop my hands to the floor. Then, he brings the burger to my mouth, urging me to take a bite out of it.

Despite my hands being free, he still wants to feed me, apparently. Is that a fetish for this guy? Feeding me like some poor animal?

He waits for me to finish chewing the first bite, then he brings his knuckles to my cheek, rubbing softly. It’s, again, an achingly soft touch, one that’s surprisingly difficult to dislike.

For some reason, he doesn’t touch any other part of me while he feeds me. Not that I’m complaining, especially when I swallow the last bite, feeling full and content.

He puts the empty bag away to the side, then turns his gaze back to me, looking at me for several long moments. It’s like he’s goading me to break and end this awkward silence first, and I honestly can’t help but do it.

“What do you want with me?” I ask, voice surprisingly steady.

His eyes wrinkle on what must be a smile. “I want to keep you,” he says, and I shake my head, another sob threatening to escape my throat. “Shh, Hannah, my beautiful girl.” His knuckles graze my cheek again, but that only makes me cry harder.

Just like when he forced me to lean against his thigh, he doesn’t stop looking at me and stroking my cheek until I calm down. Only then does he stand, grabbing the empty bag and looking at me.

If he expects me to beg him to stay, he’s a fucking idiot. I glare at him, defiance narrowing my eyes and puckering my lips. He tilts his head, amused, before he turns and walks out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

I immediately throw the t shirt dress back on, the comforting cotton covering my body bringing me way too much joy. How have I already been reduced to this? To being overjoyed at simply being allowed to wear clothes? Fuck, if I stay here any longer, I’m going to go insane.

I spend the next few hours alone in my cell again, pacing back and forth like before. My thoughts are running wild, both with terror at my predicament and with the hopelessness of my situation.

How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here? He has to be at least twice my size, and he has at least a foot on me when it comes to height. The door can’t be opened without his fingerprint, which I could only get if I somehow knock him out cold, which just isn’t going to happen, not without a weapon.

With that in mind, I spend at least an hour looking at the toilet and the sink, seeing if I could somehow use either as a weapon. But the seat is fused to the toilet itself, meaning I can’t remove it. The lid is solid steel and its hinges look solid, not a hint of rust on them. Still, that’s an idea, right? It’s better than nothing, and if I can somehow unscrew the lid, I might have a chance.

As for the soap dispenser and toilet paper? All useless, honestly. Even if I could somehow fashion them into a weapon, I’ve never heard of a man being killed by toilet paper before. I think it’s a dead end, but I might be able to use it somehow, if I’m smart about it.

The sink is definitely useless, though. There’s no visible plumbing, so it must go directly into the wall, and when I try unscrewing the tap and the faucet, both seem as solidly attached to the sink as the sink is to the wall. There’s just no way. The only way I could possibly use the sink as a weapon is by smashing his head into it. But that, again, means I have to somehow overpower him, and if I could do that, then I wouldn’t even have to smash his head against the sink in the first place.

So, yeah. That’s my great escape plan. Smashing my captor’s head with a toilet lid. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

After several hours of thinking, I realise I’m somehow going to have to sleep in here. The lights are constantly on, and the only place I can lay down is the cold, hard floor.

I’ve slept on the floor before, but never on a stone floor with no blankets and a constant light above my head.

In desperation, I look at one of the cameras and ask, “Can I please have a blanket? Or a pillow, maybe? Please?” I hate having to beg like this, to reduce myself to that, but I just don’t have a choice right now.

After several minutes with no response, I give up. Okay, so floor it is, but maybe he can be nice and turn off the light?

“Can you at least turn the light off? I can’t sleep with it on.” I look at the door as several long minutes pass, then drop my head in my hands in defeat when the light remains on the entire time.

There’s just no way around it. I’m going to have to sleep like this.

With a quivering bottom lip, I lay down on the floor, trying my best to get comfortable. I use my arms as a makeshift pillow and tuck my knees into my dress for comfort. It feels horrible, but it’s all I can do.

I lay there for what must be at least an hour, stirring and groaning in pain and frustration. Even if I somehow manage to fall asleep, I know I’ll wake up with a painful back tomorrow. I’m going to have to ask him for a blanket and a pillow next time I see him, I can’t sleep like this every night.

But that’s all I can do. Beg him for basic necessities while I plan my escape. And with those thoughts frustrating running through my mind, I fall asleep sometime later.

Thank you for reading!💜