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).

Also, I want to re-emphasise the starvation and isolation parts of the trigger warnings for Parts 3 and 4 . I wouldn't read this if you're sensitive to those topics💜 You've been warned!

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 am in so much fucking pain.

He’s left me here to die, I’m sure of it. That’s the only explanation as to why he hasn’t come back to feed me. It’s been so long, at least two days, I think, which I can only estimate based on how much I’ve slept.

And I’m still forced to sleep on the cold, hard floor made of stone. It’s hell. No, this is fucking worse than hell.

The only sign he doesn’t actually want me dead is that I always wake up to a new water bottle on the floor. I would die of thirst a lot quicker than I would of hunger, so it keeps me alive, at least. But that’s little consolation when I’m just so fucking hungry.

In desperation, I spend hours looking for anything to eat. Anything from bugs that have snuck inside to any crumbs left behind from when he was here last. But there’s nothing. The cell is as bare as ever, leaving me laying in a foetal position with my hands clutched around my stomach.

I rock back and forth for hours, trying to distract myself from the pain, but it’s impossible. My stomach is screaming, and it’s all I can hear, but I can’t do anything about it.

I also spend hours on the toilet, since there’s literally nothing better to do in here. All I can do is sleep, cry, and drink water.

The isolation is the worst part, honestly. The pain is one thing, but being isolated and alone in this horrific cell? That’s a whole other thing. I crave human contact, even if it’s the monster that put me here. He’s truly turned me into a madwoman since I’m begging the camera for forgiveness every few hours.

It’s pathetic, but I need to eat so fucking badly.

On what must be the third day, I’m so fucking close to bashing my head against the wall. I just want the pain to end. I’d do anything for it at this point, all he’d have to do is ask.

What’s worse is that I can’t shake the feeling that I made things worse when I flushed the paper down the toilet. What if I was only meant to be a day without food, but he made it longer at my clear, unambiguous defiance?

If he wants me compliant, then this really is the best method, I realise. He could tell me to dance for a slice of bread, and I’d do it, despite the pain and humiliation. If he simply beat me, at least I’d have human contact. But he won’t even let me have that.

All I can do is hope that he’ll come sometime today.

But he doesn’t. And later that day, I again go to sleep, clutching my stomach tightly like that might ease the pain.

When I wake up, I nearly sob with relief at the sight of my captor leaning against the wall.

I immediately sit up, tears welling in my eyes at the smell and sight of the food he has in his grip. It’s a plastic container, containing who knows what, but I want it. Even if it’s a dead rat, I’d eat it.

Still, I don’t dare move out of fear of him leaving me again. Instead, I kneel there, a few feet away from him, waiting for him to tell me what to do.

Several long minutes pass in silence, my stomach knotting and growling the entire time. When I chance a look into his eyes, I see him staring right back at me, but with the mask, I can’t tell what emotion he’s feeling.

But I realise, shamefully, that he probably wants me to kiss and lick his feet again.

I slowly ease the t shirt dress off my body, gently placing it on the ground next to me. Then I crawl to him, pain making me wince with every step. When I make it to his feet, I lean down and lick them, the taste of leather flooding my senses.

It’s almost a relief, the taste. It’s like a reminder that there’s more in the world than just cold, stone walls and a steel toilet.

I keep licking and kissing for what feels like minutes, then he crouches. I don’t dare stop, but then I feel his hand on my head, gently petting me while I humiliate myself.

I don’t know why that’s my breaking point. It just is, and soon, a sob escapes me at the shame and hopelessness of my situation. I can’t take it.

After another minute, he finally pushes me up from his feet, and I try desperately to calm myself down.

I kneel, looking up at him with a pleading look. “Can I please have that?” I ask, voice trembling with fear. He could so easily leave me right now, letting me starve for even longer until I’m feral.

But thankfully, he doesn’t. He leans closer, and I can finally see what’s in the plastic container.

Chicken and rice, mixed together in a beautiful, mouth-watering mixture of chicken juices and sauce. I nearly groan at the smell of it, I’m so desperate to just snatch it from him and dig in, but I somehow keep from doing that.

He holds the container with one hand, and his other goes to my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “If I let you eat this, then I expect you to eat something else after. Do you understand?”

My heart drops, and tears well in my eyes. I know exactly what he means, and I nearly crumple on the floor at the command. So far, he’s only made me strip and let him grope me. He hasn’t demanded anything else, and the closest I’ve seen of his naked body is the way he gets hard in his jeans when he sees me naked.

But I need to eat. If I refuse, and he leaves me for any longer, I might die. So, I nod, hating every second of it, and he then places the container on the floor.

Before he can even stand, I’m diving for the food. I grab the fork and hurry to shovel pieces of chicken and rice onto it before I shove it into my mouth. I could cry from relief at the taste, and at how even that little bit of food eases the pain somewhat.

I eat like a starved animal, shovelling bite after bite into my mouth like I’m inhaling air. It doesn’t take long before the container is empty, yet it’s not enough to leave me full. There’s still a dull ache in my stomach, even if the sharp pain has dissipated.

I look up at him. “Please, I need more. I’m still so hungry.” My voice quivers, like it always does when I beg him for something so little.

“Shh,” he says, gently petting my hair. “You made a promise to me, my pet.”

I swallow, nodding and closing my eyes in defeat. I did make him a promise, and I’m not interested in seeing the consequences of breaking it.

I know it’d be worse than what I just went through. Up until now, he’s demanded something from me and then fed me. Now, he’s fed me and then demanded I blow him to pay him back for it. If I go back on that now, I…fuck, I shudder at the terrifying scenarios running through my head.

With that in mind, I bring my hands up to his zipper. He’s already hard as a rock, and as I unzip and unbutton his jeans, he lets out a low groan. My hands then go to his belt, unbuckling it, before I pull his jeans and boxers down in one go.

His cock springs free, and I swallow with terror. It’s big, and I’m still in pain. I don’t know how I can keep my jaw around that for very long, honestly. I’ll just have to try my best. It’s not like I have a choice.

But before I go to take him in my mouth, he grips my hair and says, “If you bite me, then that’ll be the last thing you bite for a week.”

Well, okay. Message received.

I nod, then open my mouth as wide as it can go, desperate to avoid grazing him with my teeth. I slowly take him into my mouth, wrapping my lips around him and sticking my tongue out.

He moans, his hand gripping my hair tighter. I begin bobbing up and down, trying to make him come as soon as possible.

It’s surprising to me that it’s taken him this long to fuck me in some way. I would think any other person who kidnaps a woman would fuck her way faster, but this guy has the patience of a masochist, it seems.

I discard the thought and keep sucking him. He’s groaning and pushing himself deeper, making me gag and sputter. I almost try to push myself off of him, but I manage to keep my hands to myself, knowing he’d punish me for that.

I keep at it for several minutes until finally, he snaps and takes control. He grips my head with both hands and forces himself all the way down my throat.

I can’t breathe. All I can do is desperately focus on not gagging. I’m not at all inexperienced when it comes to sucking dick, but it’s never been like this. I’ve never been forced to starve for several days, then had some stranger’s cock shoved down my throat. It’s all I can do to keep from biting him in desperation, but I can’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.

He eventually begins thrusting again, and I create some suction in an effort to make him come faster. After another minute of torture, he finally does.

He plunges into my throat again, making sure I swallow all of him. And despite the bitter taste, I do, as some fucked up part of me thinks it’s best not to waste the calories by spitting it out.

He eventually pulls out with a long, masculine groan. Zipping himself back into his pants, he says, “Such a good girl.”

I hate the way the praise makes me feel warm. But after days of no human contact, being talked to and told I did something good just makes me fucking happy, despite how much I wish it didn’t.

He pets my head as he leans down to pick up the empty plastic container. He turns to leave, but I quickly push out, “Please, can I just have a pillow? Anything at all, just so I don’t have to lay my head on the floor? I’ll do anything for it.” And I would. After days of painful sleep on the hard floor, I’d let him fuck my ass raw for it.

He turns to face me, his head tilting as though he’s in deep thought. But then he just turns to leave, not saying another word, and leaving me on the floor in my cell.

A horrific, frustrated sob tears from my throat, so loud that it almost sounds like a scream. I’m so fucking lost. All I want is a damn pillow, what does he want me to do? All he has to do is tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. But he just wants me to suffer in silence instead.

Just like the last few days, I go to sleep in pain, but this time, it’s my heart that hurts so bad it feels like it’s eating itself, not my stomach.

The next day, I wake up alone.

A desperate cry leaves my lips. What if he’s angry with me again? What if he didn’t like my request, and is punishing me for it again? I can’t bear the thought.

But then, to make matters worse, I get my period.

This is the worst-case scenario. All I have is some toilet paper, but that can only do so much. I’m also forced to take off my dress, as I don’t want to make it dirty by bleeding all over it.

In desperation, I look up at one of the cameras. “I got my period. Can I have something for it? Please?” Begging for something as simple as tampons at the age of twenty-two feels fucking horrible.

There must be a God up there, because the door opens a minute later. My captor walks in, carrying a box of tampons. I frown when I notice it’s the brand I usually buy, another sign that he’s been watching me for some time.

But I don’t think about that. Instead, I’m just so fucking grateful that he’s given me something so I don’t have to bleed. “Thank you,” I whisper when he hands me the box.

He nods once, then goes back to the door. I almost think he’s about to leave, but then I see he’s just grabbed something from his bag.

When he comes back to me, I see it’s another bag of McDonalds. I smile at him, I fucking smile at him, like some puppy desperate for attention, yet it barely gives me pause, since I’m just so grateful he’s feeding me again.

Just like before, he gropes me and feeds me at the same time. A give and take, like usual.

But when I finish, I frown. He groped me and fed me, but he also gave me tampons. Is that something I have to repay him for? Part of me doesn’t want to ask, just in case he forgot or is doing me a kindness. But I also don’t want to risk that this is a test of his, that he wants to see if I understand his rules now.

The fear of what would happen in the second scenario is immense. What if this is a test, and he’ll punish me for failing by leaving me here for three days again? I can’t risk that.

“Do you…” I begin, voice surprisingly steady. It must be the McDonalds in my stomach keeping me calm, since it’s the first time in days I feel comfortable. He looks at me, frowning in question. “Do you want me to do something for the tampons?”

His eyes soften just a little, and he shakes his head once. “Unless you disobey me, I won’t leave you bleeding, my little Hannah,” he explains.

I nod, lips pursed. That’s a relief, at least. In a way, being told clearly what I can and cannot have when I obey is nice.

When he leaves, I quickly insert a tampon, then throw my dress back on, desperate to cover myself again.

My captor comes back once during the day to feed me again, and I assume it’s my bedtime with the way I feel exhausted and ready to drop dead.

But just as he leaves, he pulls something from his bag, and everything in me warms when I see it’s a soft, fluffy pillow he places on the floor.

Thank you for reading!💜