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 alone. In a bed. With gorgeous yellow sunlight streaming in through the window.

I could cry from how the aggressive sunlight blinds my eyes. I haven’t seen the sun in so long, and despite only seeing it through glass covered by iron bars, it’s still enough to make my eyes glassy with emotion.

I sit up, hugging my legs and resting my cheek on my knee. Frowning, I run my hand over the side of the bed my captor occupied. It’s still warm, so he can’t have left that long ago.

I wonder what he does when he’s not tormenting me. Does he have a job? Friends he hangs out with at night? Maybe even a wife and children?

Imagine that, being his wife and being blissfully unaware that your husband has a woman locked up in the house.

But he probably doesn’t. If he does, there’s no way she lives here. Surely she would’ve stumbled upon one of the cells by now, right?

Besides, I don’t like the way my stomach twists at the thought of him with another woman, and I’m not sure why that is.

I shrug the thought away as I get out of bed. I’m still completely naked, so after I quickly use the bathroom, I begin by looking inside the dresser drawer at the end of the bed.

When I open it, I’m both surprised and not surprised that it’s full of my own clothes. Anything from shirts to dresses to panties, all clothes that I recognise.

I still wonder how he got these, like my books. And when I look over at the bookshelf in the corner, I again see it’s full of my own books. There are a few other personal items of mine in here. Honestly, the only items of mine in here that I’m sure aren’t taken directly from my house are the consumables like makeup, skincare, and shower products.

I mean, it’s not like I’m complaining about having my own stuff in here. It’s just confusing, both how he got them and why he’d bother. Because, well, frankly, if he just wants a hole to fuck, he could stuff me in the other cell and have me whenever he likes. But he didn’t.

Instead, he spent weeks tearing down my walls, slowly introducing rules, slowly giving me more privileges, and it all culminated yesterday with the mask, the sex, and the new room.

Part of me feels a little angry that I’m in here, like I lost a battle against myself. Because the only reason I ended up in this room is because he felt I deserved it. The only reason he’s given me anything beyond that damn concrete box is because I’ve been behaving, and I hate that.

It means I gave in to him. It means he’s torn me down to a soulless husk, simply doing as I’m told just so I won’t get punished for it.

And I have no choice but to keep obeying, even as each time I obey is like a stab wound to the remaining parts of my sanity. I have no choice because if I don’t, he’ll throw me back into the other cell and leave me starving, just because I dared act like a human being.

It’s sick, but what else can I do?

I hate that I ended up here, but I might as well take advantage of the privileges he’s given me. That’s why when I find one of my favourite sundresses, I immediately throw it on, loving the way the soft fabric feels on my skin. I also pull on a pair of panties, which I only now realise I haven’t been wearing at all since the day I came here.

It feels weird to wear them – it’s about as foreign as wearing shoes without socks – and I sigh a little to myself at how far I’ve fallen, that just wearing underwear is a foreign thing to me now.

I spend a few more minutes looking around, becoming familiar with my new home. The window is really high up, so high that I can’t reach it even if I jump. Out of frustration, I drag the ottoman to beneath the window and peer outside, and I frown at what I see.

A huge, gorgeous field stretches for as far as I can see, which confuses me. My house was in a big city, and aside from a few parks, I don’t think there’s a hint of vegetation in the entire thing.

Wait…No. My house is in a big city. It’s still my house. It’s not like I moved out one day. I’m still going back there…eventually.

But where the fuck am I? It’s nowhere that I recognise, so we must be ages away, but I have no way of knowing how far.

I jump back down – a smile tugging at my lips at the way the sundress flows with the rush of air – and I begin rummaging through the bedside drawers.

They’re mostly empty, which doesn’t surprise me. There are a few notepads and pens strewn about, and I roll my eyes when I see that all the pens are too blunt to stab anyone, because of course they are. Even in here he has to treat me like I’m a danger to myself and others.

Other than that, though, there’s surprisingly little in this room. I mean, there’s way more than in the other cell, but it’s still relatively bare compared to what I’d expect a bedroom to look like.

The bathroom is similar to the one he’s been taking me to, though this one has a large bathtub as well as a shower. It also has more miscellaneous stuff, mostly cosmetics and self-care, though no razors of course. I imagine he wants to bring them in and watch whenever it’s time for me to shave.

It’s like I’m on fucking suicide watch.

I huff a breath, and just as I make it back into the bedroom, my captor enters, holding what I assume is my breakfast.

It startles me when I see him without his mask. Even after seeing him last night, it startles me, because he’s always worn one for, well, the entire time I’ve known him.

He smirks, and I realise I probably look a little startled. I break eye contact with him while I wait for him to tell me what to do, too nervous and skittish to look at him. Normally, I’d strip and kneel, but since we’re in this new room, I don’t know if he wants to change that routine.

He sets the bag down, then slowly approaches me. Once his toes are an inch from mine, he stops, his fingers coming to beneath my chin to tilt my gaze up to his.

I swallow with fear when I see his intimidating face.

“Good morning, my pet,” he says, and I barely keep from frowning in confusion. He’s never said that before. His lips then come down to kiss my forehead, and he finally releases my chin, but I don’t break my gaze away.

He keeps staring at me, a small, somewhat hesitant smile at his lips, and I realise what he wants. “Good morning…” I say, taking a deep breath. “…Master.” The word feels foreign to me still, like I’m trying my best to enunciate a difficult word in a foreign language.

His smile broadens until he’s grinning wide, showing me his white teeth. “Such a good girl,” he says proudly, and fucking hell, I can’t stop the shivers that run down my spine no matter how hard I try. My own body seems to have become an accomplice in his attempts to destroy me.

But I won’t let them win, no matter what happens.

My captor walks away to the bed, sitting down and grabbing the bag. He pats his side, and I make my way over there, but when I sit, he gives an amused smile. “Kneel,” he commands, and I do as I’m told.

I kneel on the bed and he pulls out the breakfast – a grilled cheese, which looks way too delicious to have been made by a monster like him.

My stomach rumbles at the sight of it, though, so when he brings it to my mouth, I eagerly take a bite. But as I chew and swallow, I frown in confusion as to why he’s leaving me dressed and without his hands all over me.

His eyes light up with amusement when he catches sight of my expression. “Don’t worry, my eager girl. You’ll repay me for this later.”

I shiver.

He finishes feeding me, and as he leaves, he pulls something out of his bag. My stomach always drops a little when he pulls something out of his bag, but my anxiety immediately dissolves into pure, childlike excitement when I see him place a neatly rolled up newspaper on the bed.

“Oh my god,” I can’t help but exclaim. “What is this?” I ask, like I can’t tell it’s a newspaper.

He only gives me a small, amused smile before he heads out the door, leaving behind one of the greatest gifts he’s gotten me.

The first thing I do when he leaves is to look at the date on the newspaper. I’m not stupid enough to automatically assume it’s one that came out today, as it could easily be one that’s a week or more old, another tool to confuse and disorient me. But at the very least, it’ll give me the minimum time I could’ve been here.

Which is…two months.

“What the fuck…” I breathe, because I was under the assumption that I’d been here a few weeks, a little over a month maybe, not…two fucking months. And it might be more, since this is only a minimum.

The next thing that strikes me like a brick to my face is the fact that the front page is completely absent of any news about me. Most of the front page is occupied by a middle-aged man holding a fish, apparently some local record for the largest fish caught.

And I’m here, in a cell, being used as a sex slave. And that’s already old news.

Realistically, I knew the world was going to keep on spinning after my abduction, but to have it so clearly laid out for me makes my heart painfully squeeze. I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of this. Is this the one paper out of a few dozen that happens not to mention me on the front page, and my captor chose that one to fuck with me? Or has the world truly moved on from me? Like I’m already dead?

There’s no fucking way. There’s been too little time, and there’s no way the police have nothing to go on. Surely there must be updates in here, right?

With that in mind, I skim the two dozen or so pages looking for anything mentioning my name, and finally, on the third page from the back, I find one.

Sources claim police have identified ex-boyfriend as potential suspect in the disappearance of Hannah Addison.

That’s…it. I get one sentence on the more than twenty pages, filled to the brim of useless and irrelevant information like a local cooking school opening and the mayor visiting a bakery. I get one little sentence close to the very end, and all it does is confuse me.

They can’t be talking about anyone but Ryan, but we broke up a while ago. I haven’t spoken to him in almost a year, honestly, and why the hell would they suspect him? He did drugs every once in a while, but he’d never be capable of this. And, well, I’d know if my captor was anyone I recognise.

And beyond that, they call it a disappearance, not an abduction. Fuck…They really know almost nothing, then, if they don’t even know that I was abducted. Do they think I’m dead, is that it?

A tear is rolling down my cheek before I notice it, but I don’t bother brushing it away. I let it fall, then swear to myself I will keep myself together.

My captor is probably watching this on the cameras, maybe even jerking off to the image of me realising that the police are clueless.

I let myself shed one more tear before I force myself to focus on the positives. For one, at least the police are actively searching for me, even if they’re wrong about Ryan. And if it was printed in a newspaper, then maybe that means someone still cares? I mean, my friends and family must, right?

And secondly, this is my first glimpse of the outside world since, well…since I got here. The window is one thing, but I haven’t seen or spoken to anyone but my captor in at least two months. Just the knowledge that there’s more out there than this stupid room and my captor’s sadistic torment of me is validating in such a strange way.

So it doesn’t surprise me when I end up spending the day just reading the damn paper. I read about the man with his dumb fish and every other boring story that I’d never even skim over before. All because it’s like a window into another dimension, one with colours and people and life. Not a glorified dungeon with a man who hurts me and forces me to come during it.

I read it twice before I finally put it down, feeling weirdly euphoric. But then I look at the date again.

Two months.

I’ve only had my period once during that time, which is concerning. I took birth control before I was taken, but it still gave me regular periods. It’s odd that I haven’t had one in a while.

But then again, I’ve been starved into submission and kept in a concrete box for weeks, so I guess it makes sense that that level of stress will mess up my cycle. And besides, he’s only had sex with me once so far, so there’s no way I’m pregnant.

I mean…I might be?

Oh, fuck. No, what if I’m pregnant?

A sense of dread fills me at the possibility. He didn’t bother using protection last night, because of course he didn’t, and I haven’t been on the pill in at least two months. My cycle has definitely been off because of stress, but he could easily have impregnated me last night.

What if he did?

Fuck my life, I need to ask him about this as soon as possible. Having a child in here…god, that’s the literal worst-case scenario. I’d kill myself if I ended up pregnant, no way am I bringing a child into this hell.

Later that day, I try to bring it up with my captor when he feeds me lunch, but I just can’t get the words out. I don’t know if it’s that I’m scared of his reaction or scared that if I verbalise it I’ll somehow manifest it. Maybe a bit of both.

I try again during dinner, but I just…can’t. I spend the entire time eyeing him, like he can see what I’m thinking. Once I finish eating, I decide to just bring it up tomorrow instead. Maybe I’ll find some balls then.

Preferably ones that aren’t his.

My captor puts away the container of food in his bag, and it’s only now that I remember his promise that I’d pay for my food later today. Well, later today has come, and with the wicked desire in his eyes, I can tell he wants me to pay up.

I sigh, because there’s no fighting it. Part of me feels ashamed that I’m acting like this is a chore, rather than a violation of my body in the worst kind. Maybe I should fight more, at least with myself, but by this point, it feels like a waste of my mental energy at best and a needless risk at worst.

I’d rather die than go back to the other cell.

So when he begins slowly taking the strap of my sundress and pulling it down my shoulder, all I do is sit there and let him. I can get through this. I’ll escape – somehow – and this will all be behind me.

He pulls the dress down until my breasts pop out, and he groans low. His eyes collide with mine, a silent conversation passing between us, and I nod, giving him silent permission.

I expect him to grab me and push me down onto the bed, which is why it surprises me when he gets on his knees beneath me. He spreads me legs, his fingers crawling up the insides of my thighs, beneath the dress and to the hem of my panties.

I shiver, bracing myself on my palms while he begins dragging my panties down my legs. He lets them pool around my feet, then makes me step out of them. His eyes meet mine, lit with an expression I’ve never seen before.

He looks…desperate.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to taste you, my little pet?” he asks, voice coated with an intensity I can only identify as restraint.

I shake my head, silently hoping he won’t tell me. There’s no doubt he’s been watching me for a while, but I don’t want to know how long. I can’t.

He hums, kissing the inside of my knee. His light stubble tickles me, leaving goosebumps coated by his hot exhale. “Too fucking long,” he groans, and I give a silent thank you to the universe.

He gives me more kisses, trailing a slow, explorative path up my legs. His deep breaths and occasional nips at my skin make me squirm in equal measure. When he gets to the hem of my dress, he uses his hands to slowly peel it upwards.

“Lay back, little girl,” he orders, and I do as I’m told. His mouth keeps moving up my thigh, kissing every inch of skin he reveals when he pulls the hem of my dress up and up.

I squirm with every kiss, the anticipation building. And when he gets to right between my legs, his hot breath fans me, and when I feel how wet I am, shame heats my cheeks.

He pauses there, just looking at the evidence of my arousal like it’s his own personal treasure. My captor is like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that don’t quite fit together. His slow, careful touches are like that of a lover’s, yet he tied me to a chair and groped me. He gave me a bookshelf full of my favourite books, yet he’s also left me starving in a cell for several days.

It's his blend of cruelty and kindness, of sadism and of soft touches, that make him so difficult to deal with. His kindness is a reward for my good behaviour, but he’s never made me believe it was an act, that he’s only kind just to make me behave. But at the same time, he has no problem leaving me starving for days when I so much as act like I’m a human being.

He's the devil, but I guess even the devil treats his pet well.

That’s why when he licks a path up my entire slit, gathering my wetness on his slick tongue, that no part of me believes this is simply a reward for good behaviour. He’s only doing it after putting me in this room, sure, yet the deep groan that escapes him tells me he’s wanted this for so long.

And I can’t even deny the pleasure that gathers in my lower half at the pure hunger in his licks.

He uses his tongue like a weapon, making me whimper and moan slightly. He explores my entrance, sticking his tongue just inside to lick at my walls. His fingers grip my thighs, spreading me like I’m his own personal feast.

“Oh, god,” I whimper when his tongue drags up to my clit, circling it. He flicks it, sending zings of pleasure up my spine.

I can’t stop my legs from moving, from laying themselves on his shoulders to pull him closer. I can’t stop my pussy from grinding itself against his face, desperate for more friction.

“You like that, little girl?” he asks, and I moan.

“Yes, Master,” I gasp, not hesitating at the name. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to stop, but even in my drunk haze of pleasure, I know that’s only partly true. “Please don’t stop.”

“Eager girl,” he coos, kissing my clit. He gives it several kisses before sucking it into his mouth, and the sounds that escape me…god, I don’t even know what to say about those.

There’s something about being able to let go, perhaps especially in this situation. I can, for a moment, forget that he’s my tormentor and that I’m his prisoner. All I need to focus on is the way his mouth feels on me, licking and sucking in all the best ways.

“You know what you taste like, Hannah?” he asks, voice low.

I shake my head, not even sure if he can see me but too scared to open my mouth.

“You taste like mine,” he groans. “Like you fucking belong to me.” He keeps sucking, keeps winding me tighter and tighter. “Now be a good little girl and come for me.”

That’s all it takes. I moan, my legs tightening around my captor’s head and pulling him closer. I grind against his face, getting as much pleasure as I can, too drunk on lust to even feel a hint of shame. Every part of me shakes, and when the orgasm fades, I slump back into the bed, feeling so spent.

He gives me one last kiss to my clit, making me stir a little, and then he sits up, eyeing me.

Dread fills me, because what if that was just a start? I feel spent, I don’t know how I’m going to feel afterwards if he decides to tear me apart on his cock now, and I’d rather not find out.

He must see my hesitation on my face, because he gives me a smirk and says, “Don’t worry, my pet. I’ll feed you my cock tomorrow.”

Well, that’s not exactly reassurance, but it’s the best I can ask for.

He spends a while getting me cleaned in the shower, then lays me down in bed. I frown when he walks away to his bag, eyes widening when I catch sight of what he has in his hands.

A leather cuff of some kind, attached to a short chain with a padlock at the end.

He walks over to me, fastening the cuff around my ankle. Next, he locks the chain to the bed itself, keeping me locked in place. He makes a show of making sure I see where he puts the key, which at first confuses me, but when he places it on the bookshelf in the far corner, I understand immediately, the message unmistakable.

I was too tired last night to do anything but fall asleep, but from now on, he won’t take any more chances like that. Cuffing me doesn’t prevent me from hurting or even killing him, but that’s not the point. Even in some ridiculously unlikely scenario where I manage to incapacitate him, I’d still be stuck, locked to the bed, waiting for him to wake up. And if I somehow killed him?

I’d be starving to death, right next to a rotting corpse.

Still, he’s obviously making a bet. He’s making a bet that my own will to avoid punishment and to live would outweigh my desire to kill him…and he’s right. Even if I had a knife, I don’t think I could kill him, at least not without taking my own life right after, which I don’t want to do.

So when he gets into bed next to me, I know he feels secure. Comfortable, even, knowing that I can do nothing but lay here until he wakes up and releases me.

He doesn’t trust me yet. Just like how you keep a dog on a leash so it won’t run off, he keeps me leashed so he can sleep next to me without worry.

And I mean, he should worry. Every part of me still wants to escape, even if his mouth feels way too good on my pussy. And I will escape. All I have to do is earn and maintain his trust, and one day, he’ll slip up.

And when I see my chance to run, I will run like hell.

Hope you guys are having a great weekend😍 Part of me just couldn't wait with posting this next part, so I decided to just post it right now🤭 Just to keep you updated, I wanted to mention that I've finished writing part 14 and there's probably going to be 15 or 16 parts total so it's almost finished!💜 I hope you enjoyed reading this one and that you'll enjoy the rest of this series🥰