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’m in a completely uncontrollable fit of giggles. I’m in bed, reading one of my favourite romcoms, and I’m absolutely losing it at the ridiculous situation the main characters have ended up in.

Tears prick at my eyes as I continue laughing, and it becomes difficult to breathe. I have to put the book down for a few moments to calm myself down so I can, you know, breathe, but god damn this author is just too good.

When I calm down, I spend another few hours reading the book, all the way until I finish it. And then I just pick up another one, like I always do.

I think I’ve read each one of my books five times over, but there’s not much else to do here, to be honest. It’s been a few weeks – meaning I’ve been here for three months and four days – since my “Master” (still hate that damn word) took me outside, and since then, I’ve done nothing but read, fuck, eat, and sleep.

I mean, it could be worse, right? And my captor is actually being, well, nice to me, in his own twisted way. A few days ago, he actually got me a book from one of my favourite authors that I didn’t recognise. He explained that it was a new release, that it came out the same day he got it for me.

I said a very tearful “Thank you” when I pressed the book to my chest, because that was genuinely the kindest thing he’s done for me.

His routine hasn’t changed much, except now, he lets me outside every few days. My initial amazement of the sunrise has dulled somewhat, but I still feel incredibly grateful for the feel of grass between my toes. He’s let me stay out there for longer every time (last time felt like an hour), and he’s let me walk in the grass a few times, too.

When I got back to my room after the first time, I of course cried that I hadn’t taken the chance to run. It felt like I had the best chance I’d ever have to run, and I just didn’t take it.

Realistically, it wasn’t a chance at all, though. Not only do I still have no idea where I am (I mean, I don’t even know if I’m still in the same country), but my captor is also much stronger and bigger than me. He’d easily catch me, and then I’d lose every one of the privileges I’ve spent months earning.

Much better to bide my time, earn his trust, and take a real opportunity when it presents itself. Maybe one day he’ll let me outside and not pay attention to me. As it is, he always watches me like a hawk, whether he’s talking to me or not. But if he gets distracted one day, then I’ll have a real chance.

Until then, I just need to do my best to maintain both my captor’s trust and my own sanity. It’s deceptively easy to fool myself into thinking he cares about me, so I have to walk a thin line when I act like I enjoy the way he treats me. I have to fool him into trusting me while also not fooling myself into thinking he cares for me.

I mean, in a way, I think he does care for me. But he only cares for me like one would care for a dog. I’m not a person to him, so he can never love me as one. All I am to him is a pet, an object, and a possession, and he only cares for me as such. He’s nice to me when I’m obedient for him, but when I’m not, he corrects my behaviour with the cruellest measures imaginable.

It’s starting to feel like an impossible battle, fighting for my sanity, but I only need to fight it long enough for him to slip up.

And then I’ll be free.

But until then, I’ll keep reading the damn romcoms he’s given me.

I’m practically purring in my captor’s lap, and I barely catch myself before I let a contended sigh leave my lips.

We’re outside on the patio, relaxing on the couch with my head in his lap and the setting sun far off in the horizon. He’s gently petting me, occasionally whispering sweet words into my ear, like calling me his sweet girl or his good little pet.

I try my hardest not to enjoy it but also pretend that I do, which is, like always, an impossible battle. It’s honestly exhausting to force myself to remember who this guy is to me, and why I shouldn’t be enjoying this.

Whatever. I’ll kick myself over enjoying the feel of his rough palm on my cheek later, when I’m alone. For now, I’ll just watch the damn sunset and stop whining.

But then I hear a ringing noise. I jump, startled and heart racing, and it takes me a few moments to realise it’s the sound of a phone.

I…I haven’t seen or heard a phone in months. I don’t know why it surprises me that my Master has one.

…My captor, I mean.

The sound is loud, yet a little muffled, and I only realise when he gently stands and places my head back on the couch that it’s coming from indoors. I expect him to pull me up and take me inside, but my heart stops when I realise he’s just going to leave me here.

He walks inside, shutting the door behind him, the sound of the ringtone ending a moment later. And I’m here, outside, with no restraints and nothing to stop me from just…running.

Did he really just…?

I sit up.

I look out at the beautiful field surrounding the house. It’s so vast I can’t see anything beyond the horizon, except for a dense forest far off in one direction. It’d take me a while to run there, but if I go now, maybe I can make it? If he’s distracted by a phone call, and if I make sure he can’t see me, then I doubt he’d be able to catch me before I get there.

I stand.

But what then? I make it to the forest and then I just hide until I starve to death? That’s barely a chance at all. But it is a chance. It’s arguably better than remaining in this house until I die of old age or until my captor kills me. Better to die free and all.

I walk to the edge of the patio, looking down the stairs leading towards that open field and…freedom.

I swallow hard. I will myself to take the first step. It’s now or never. If he finds me here, where I’m obviously looking at an escape route, he’ll punish me, and it won’t be pretty. But if I just go back, willingly go back into the arms of my tormentor…I don’t know if I could survive that.

Freedom is so close, even if it’s deceptively far away. Because even though it’s such a slim chance, and I’d be banking on finding someone to help me, I’d still be free. Even in the worst case scenario, one where he catches me and tosses me in the old cell, I’d still have freedom for a few blissful moments.

Is that not worth the risk?

But that’s a shortsighted way of thinking, as well. If I run now, all for a few minutes or even seconds of freedom, then I might not get another chance again. I’d trade a chance at permanent freedom for a small taste of it.

A shaky breath escapes me when I realise I just can’t run. I hurriedly make my way back to the couch, and on my way, I look through the back door’s window, seeing my captor facing away from me with his phone to his ear.

Fuck, I was so reckless. If he just turned around during that stunt, I would’ve been done.

I lay back down on the couch, and just as I get comfortable, the door swings open. My captor comes back, gently lifting my head so he can lay it back down in his lap when he sits.

And then he goes back to petting me. He doesn’t acknowledge that I had a chance to run. I would’ve expected him to praise me for resisting the chance, but of course he won’t. Not running from him is expected, not something I deserve praise for.

If he saw me during those long minutes, he doesn’t say. He just gives me a kiss to my head, then pets me while we watch the last sliver of sunlight disappear beneath the horizon.

I sob into my pillow the second I’m alone.

I can rationalise why I didn’t run. I wouldn’t have had a chance. I would’ve starved to death. He would’ve caught me. But that doesn’t help the emotional part of me that is distraught over losing such a good chance. Like it or not, that’s the best fucking chance I’ve had since I got here over three months ago. And I didn’t take it.

Who knows when I’ll get another chance? And who knows if it’ll ever be as good as that one?

I just feel so fucking stupid for not doing anything. What if I charged inside, grabbed a knife and stabbed my captor? What if I ran inside, yanked the phone from his grip and begged for help to whoever was on the other side of the line?

I had options, and my stupid fucking brain only saw one. Run.

I know it was a ridiculously small chance of any plan working. I know I would’ve risked his wrath, to be locked up for god knows how long in the old cell. But my heart doesn’t care. All it knows is that I had a chance, and I didn’t take it.

I don’t know how long I spend crying into my pillow, but eventually, I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.

I gasp, whirling around with a hand at my heart. My captor stares back at me, his lethal face somehow softening with concern. “Hannah?” he asks, voice surprisingly gentle.

“I–“ I hesitate. “I’m sorry.”

His arms suddenly wrap around me, and he gently rocks me back and forth in a…hug. It feels so foreign to be hugged by him, even this far in, but eventually, I give in and cry against his shoulder.

I let myself twist his possessive touches into something comforting. I lean into his grip, letting him comfort me at the realisation that I couldn’t escape him. It’s a twisted situation, one where the beast bites my arm off then tries to soothe me until I stop crying. He doesn’t know why I’m crying, that I’m crying because of him, yet he comforts me without hesitation or question.

“Shh, my beautiful girl,” he soothes, but it only makes me sob harder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” I sob. He doesn’t know why I’m sorry, but some fucked up part of my brain still wants to beg him for forgiveness for acting against him. Whether that’s because I’m terrified of him or if it’s something more, I have no idea, nor do I want to know.

He pulls away, his hand gripping my chin to keep my gaze locked with his. “Lay down on the bed, baby.”

I nod, knowing it’s useless to resist. I lay my back down onto the bed, and I’m not surprised when he slowly peels off all my clothing until I’m completely nude.

He then grabs my limbs and straps them to the restraints at each corner of the bed, spreading me. The restraints are pretty soft, made of silk, so it doesn’t hurt to have them around my wrists and ankles, but that doesn’t change how exposed I feel.

I’m still crying softly, though I’m doing my best to calm myself down. My Master comes down to between my legs, his face inches from my pussy. His hot breath fans me, and that dries my tears up real quick.

His tongue extends, licking a long path up my entire slit. I stir, bucking slightly. His hot mouth is right up against the most sensitive parts of me, tongue probing and exploring every inch of exposed skin between my thighs.

“Oh, god…” I moan, and my captor groans in response.

“Such a delicious little pet,” he murmurs, voice so low I barely hear him over the blood in my ears.

His tongue teases my entrance, his rough hands having a firm grip on the insides my thighs. I’m already spread for him, so it’s clear his grip is purely possessive.

“Please,” I beg, not entirely sure what I’m begging for. But whatever it was, it can’t be better than the feel of his thick fingers pushing inside me while his mouth closes around my clit.

I cry out at the overwhelming sensations, my fists clenching and my thighs shaking. His fingers move in and out of me at a slow pace, yet they go deep inside me, curling whenever he bottoms out. His mouth is warm around my clit, sucking it softly into his mouth. His tongue flicks it at the same time, and I know I’m so fucking lost when I realise I won’t last long like this.

“Master, please,” I beg, those two simple words making shivers run up my spine and making the devil between my legs groan.

“Fuck, you beg so pretty for me, my good little girl.”

The praise makes me feel warm, despite how much I wish it didn’t. I’m still trying to convince myself that I don’t like him, but it’s no act when I say, “Please make me come, Master. Please.”

His fingers push impossibly deeper with every thrust, his lips sucking my clit harder, and it’s my undoing.

I come apart, crying out as he wrings pleasure from my body. Every part of me shakes, every part of me forgetting how I was crying just minutes earlier at having lost the chance to escape my Master. Then I slump against the bed, completely wrung out yet thrumming with need for him.

“There you go,” he says, kneeling. “You know what to say.”

“Thank you, Master,” I reply. He’s made me say it every time he makes me come this past week, and I suspect it’s not something that’s stopping any time soon.

“Good girl,” he says, like he’s speaking to a dog, yet it still warms my heart, just a bit.

He cleans me in the shower, then locks me to the bed with my ankle cuff and pulls me into his chest, spooning me.

It’s only when his arms are wrapped around me that I realise how fucking lucky I was. If he saw me, he could’ve starved me in my old cell for god knows how long. I was so reckless and stupid, acting on impulse without a plan.

But another thought creeps in. Does this mean he’s beginning to trust me? He didn’t lock me in place or check that I remained in my seat when he left. Does that mean he knew I wouldn’t run? Or was it a test? If I ran, would he have caught me immediately and punished me?

I shiver at the thought, which just makes my captor’s arms tighten around me.

For a while, I think I’ve been slipping, slowly losing my mind. But I know for sure that I’ve completely lost it when my first instinct to my captor’s movements is to wiggle closer to him, letting a euphoric haze settle over me as I fall asleep in his arms.

Thank you for reading!💜 The next part is really exciting, I'll be posting that on Saturday👀😍