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.🥰

There’s a shift in the next few days. I can’t pinpoint what, exactly, changes, but I can feel it.

The best way I can summarise it is that I feel desperate.

I’ve been feeling myself slipping for a while, so I’m desperate to fight against it. I don’t want to lose myself anymore than I already have, so I continuously remind myself of what binds me to my life outside of this damn house. I think of my family and friends and how horrified they must be, and I think of what it will be like when I finally reunite with them. And I will reunite with them one day.

But that’s not all I’m desperate for. I’m also desperate to not enjoy being with the monster keeping me here. His soft touches, soothing words, and gentle nature is difficult to not appreciate when every other part of him has been so cruel and ruthless. How can I reject his twisted love when the alternative is his cruelty?

But I’m also desperately thinking of ways to get out of here. That presents a problem, though, because I have to not let him catch onto that fact. I do my best to obey and be a good girl for him, both to avoid punishment and to make him lower his guard, but it’s so difficult to not fall into comfortability as I do it. It’s so easy to want to be good for him, even though I know I shouldn’t.

When I get my period again, I expect relief. Last time, he avoided having sex with me while I had my period, which is something I still can’t wrap my head around but whatever. Point is, I should feel relief that I don’t have to let him fuck me for another week.

Yet I don’t. What I feel is so fucking far from relief that it wraps right around to disappointment. I feel disappointed that he won’t fuck me for a week.

And so I’m also desperate to not miss the way he feels inside of me. The way I feel so full of him, and the way I love nothing more than when he comes inside me…

Fuck, the amount of therapy I’ll need if – no, when – I get out of here is immense. I should honestly just skip therapy and volunteer to be studied in a lab.

Losing my sanity was inevitable, I realise. I just never expected it to be like this.

The next day, as I cuddle up to my captor and watch the sunset with him, I again have to remind myself to not enjoy this. I can’t like the way his hard chest feels against my cheek or how protected I feel beneath his palm.

But then again, I’ve been telling myself things like that for weeks now, and look where that got me?

Desperation. That’s where.

It’s been building for a while now, and it’s finally grown large enough to where I can muster the courage to put my (admittedly shitty) plan into action. “Master?” I ask.

“Yes, princess?” he says, looking down at me.

I swallow. “Can I get a glass of water, please? I’m thirsty.”

He smiles, and part of me feels fucking horrible for lying to him like this, but I try my best to ignore it.  

My Master gets up, gently laying me back down on the couch as he goes inside to get me my water. I don’t even hesitate as I stand.

This is such a bad idea, I think to myself. But I’m fucking desperate, like I said, and this time, I have an actual plan.

I look briefly out at the vast expanse of fields surrounding the house, now coated with the dull pink of the last slivers of daylight disappearing beneath the horizon. It’s torture, in its own unique way, to be so close yet so far from freedom.

But unlike last time, I won’t waste this opportunity.

And that’s why, when I hear my Master’s footsteps receding inside the house, I don’t hesitate for long before I bolt. But I don’t run for the fields.

I run towards the back door, swinging it open and softly shutting it behind me as I rush inside. I can hear my Master using the faucet in another room, and I slowly sneak my way over to the source of the noise.

But when I get there, I almost collide with his chest.

My heart stops, but I manage to collect myself quickly. He looks startled, and I take advantage of his brief surprise to dash past him, leaving him behind me.

I run towards where I thought I heard the noise, my captor right on my heel as he runs after me. He doesn’t need to tell me to stop, we both know I’m not supposed to run from him.

No, this is clearly an escape attempt, and he’s determined to stop it.

I round a corner, making my way into the kitchen. And there, sitting serenely on the counter like an oasis in a desert, sits a knife block. I charge at it, grabbing one of the knives sitting inside.

When I whirl around, my captor is on the other side of a kitchen island, breathing heavily. Despite the weapon in my hand, he looks eerily calm, and I fucking hate that. His confidence that he’ll win this struggle – both this and the one for my sanity – is enough to bring me to tears.

My eyes grow blurry with moisture, and I desperately blink to clear my vision. “Please,” I breathe, clutching the knife tighter. “Let me go…” The last words end with a whimper. It’s all a desperate plea, but I know he won’t listen to me. We’re too far gone for that.

“Hannah…” he says, like a stern father speaking to his child. His tone just makes me that much more desperate and hysterical.

“Stop!” I scream. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

His eyes wrinkle with amusement, and I know he’d fucking love to say, “Then stop acting like one,” but he keeps his mouth shut.

“You can’t keep me here,” I say, knowing it’s hopeless yet unable to stop. “Why are you doing this? You can’t just kidnap someone and turn them into a sex slave!” I’m near hysterical by the time I continue. “You’re a god damn monster. You have no fucking right to do this! Now let me go before I fucking kill you.”

The threat doesn’t phase him, yet another stab at my resolve. “Put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” he says, calmly.

“Myself?” I ask, aghast. “Fuck you.”

A barely perceptible wince passes over his features. “One last chance, Hannah. Put. It. Down.”

“No.” The word slips from my mouth in an instant, and dread floods my veins. My captor’s features harden, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips.

And then he charges for me.

I scream, horrified, as he hurriedly rounds the kitchen island. I run in the other direction, and it’s only when I’m in full sprint down the hallway that I remember that I have a fucking knife.

I whirl around, poised to strike, but it’s too late. His hand grips my hair firmly, twisting it until all I feel is the pain. His other hand stops my stab by grabbing my wrist, the knife mere inches from his chest. He tightens his grip until I can’t hold onto the knife anymore, and my heart plummets with the knife as it falls to the ground with a loud clang.

“No!” I scream, falling to my knees, unable to keep myself upright with the pain shooting through my body.

He doesn’t let me go, but his hand follows me down, allowing me to fall. I watch, petrified, as he puts the sole of his shoe over the knife and kicks it away.

No. God, no.

“Please!” I beg, desperate to avoid punishment. “I’m sorry! Master, please!”

But he doesn’t listen. He grabs my arm and begins dragging me away, not even bothering with the blindfold. I’m too terrified and in too much pain to pay attention to my surroundings as he drags me down hallways and around corner after corner.

Then we get to the cell. The old cell.

Despite how futile it is, I keep fighting. I struggle, trying to wrench myself free from his painful grip, yet he doesn’t even budge. He unlocks the door, then unceremoniously tosses me inside.

I land on the cold stone with a pained wince. Immediately, I push up from the ground and run back to the door, but it slams in my face, locking a moment later.

“Fuck!” I scream, the sound echoing off the walls.

I look around, seeing nothing but stone and stone and stone and a steel toilet and my own personal hell. I feel the cold stone at my feet, at the walls when I touch them, desperate to find a way out of here. My eyes burn when I look up at the ceiling and into those bright fluorescent lights.

It's all too much. It overwhelms me, dread and fear and pain and every other horrible feeling washing over me and drowning me beneath violent waves. The walls close in on me as I look at them, squeezing me and my stupid fucking heart between them like a hand crushing my windpipe.

I taste nothing but ash. I see nothing but stone. I hear nothing but my own cries. I feel nothing but horrific pain and terrible regret.

And I scream.

That first day is the worst day of my life.

I spend an hour huddled in the corner, sobbing and desperately trying to convince myself that I’m somewhere else, somewhere far away from this cruel cell. I imagine that damn field, thinking I should’ve just gone there instead of trying to stab my captor like an idiot.

And now I’m stuck here.

I try my best to calm down, not willing to waste more energy on my tears. I stop crying, and I begin pacing back and forth, but only a minute later, the cell opens.

I scream, terrified, as my captor walks in and closes the door behind him. He’s carrying a chain in his hand, and my heart drops.

“Get in the corner,” he says, way too fucking calmly, and nods towards one of the corners.

I make my way there, and it’s only now that I realise why. Months ago, when I first came here, the purpose of the small, steel ring in the wall confused me.

But not anymore.

When I get there, my captor locks one end of the chain to the ring with a padlock, then wraps the other end around my ankle and locks it with another padlock, fastening me to the wall like a fucking dog.

In his other hand, he carried a water bottle, one which he now holds out for me. “Drink.”

I eye it suspiciously. Did he drug it? That doesn’t make any sense, but why else make me drink it?

I shake my head. “I don’t want it.”

“I’m not asking, Hannah.” His tone turns a little impatient, a little angry, but I still shake my head.

“Why? You fucking drugged it?”

He groans in frustration. “Either you drink this or I won’t give you any water for days. Your fucking choice.”

I gulp, because that is legitimately terrifying. If I’m that long without water, I’ll die. But… “Then just let me die.”

When the words leave my lips, I immediately want to take them back. I don’t want to die, especially not of thirst, but in this moment, chained in a concrete cell with my tormentor looking straight at me, I would rather die.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just keeps staring at me, waiting for me to drink the water. Minutes pass, before he finally says. “For every minute you refuse to drink, I’ll leave you in here another day. Now fucking. Drink. It.”

I wait one minute before I lose my resolve. Being in here even a day longer is horrifying, even though I don’t even know how long he’s going to keep me in here. But I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.

With that in mind, I drink the water. I take a few gulps, then go to give it back, but my captor shakes his head. I realise what he wants, and with a confused frown, I finish the whole bottle.

Once done, he takes it, then says. “Strip.”

I sigh, more frustrated than anything. I expected it, and frankly it doesn’t even phase me to strip for him anymore.

I take off all my clothes and hand them to him. He carries the clothes and the water bottle out, and with his brief pause, I assume he thinks I’m going to beg him to come back, to not leave me in here.

But right now, I just don’t fucking care.

And when the door locks behind him, I don’t feel sadness, remorse, or dread. All I feel is regret that when I had the knife in my hand, I didn’t turn it around on myself.

I’m frankly surprised when I don’t pass out within an hour. I assumed my captor drugged me, and that’s why he insisted that I chug the water, but nope. I still feel great, relatively speaking anyway.

But it doesn’t take long before I find out why he had me chug the water. I feel it before I realise it.

I need to pee. Really bad.

And I’m chained to the wall. Stuck in the corner opposite the toilet.

Tears prick at my eyes when I realise why he did this. It’s not enough to immobilise me in this already small cell. It’s not enough to strip me of my clothing and keep me naked in here, while I’m on my damn period.

It’s not enough. He has to top all that cruelty off by forcing me to pee on the floor like an animal.

I’m crying before I realise it. There’s just nothing I can do. I can hold it in as best as I can for as long as I can, but given the severity of what I did, I’ll be staying here for days. There’s just no way I can hold it in that long.

But for now, it’s just too much to pee on the fucking floor.

So, instead, I stand up and move as far away as I can. The chain clinks loudly, dragging against the floor as I make it…three steps. Three whole steps, not even a quarter of the way to the toilet, before the chain tightens and prevents me from going any further.

In desperation, I spend a while trying to get my foot loose. The chain is wrapped tightly around my ankle, and the padlock is solid as fuck. I try prying it open, breaking the chain, and squeezing my foot through, but nothing works.

The ring is attached to the wall like it’s part of it. I try pulling it, and I try breaking the padlock keeping the chain attached to the wall, to no avail.

I’m stuck.

I don’t know why I even bothered, though. He can see my struggle on the cameras, and if I somehow made it out, he’d just come back, punish me for getting loose, and use an even stronger mechanism to keep me in place. There’s just no winning, but when I have nothing better to do, I might as well try escaping, right?

I get tired, eventually, and more tears well in my eyes when I realise I have to sleep on the floor again, with the bright lights above.

It’s strange, how this is somehow worse than my first night here. On my first night here, I expected cruelty. I obviously didn’t expect to sleep on the floor, but it wasn’t an earth-shattering realisation like it is now.

Because now, I’ve had a taste of my Master’s kindness. No, I’ve had more than a taste. I’ve felt the way he treats me when I obey him. He pets me, tells me kind and sweet things, and lets me do whatever I want in the other cell.

But now it’s all been ripped away from me, and despite how much I desperately wish I didn’t, I still find myself missing the way we were before.

But that’s the fucking point, isn’t it? That’s part of the punishment. Now that I know how good life is when I’m a good girl, he’s showing me how horrific it is when I’m not.

Anger and dread combine, soaking my cheeks with tears flowing without control.

And when I lay down to sleep sometime later, all I feel is the cold, hard floor beneath me and the chain wrapped around my ankle and the last of my resolve dissipating like dust in the wind.

Thank you for reading!💜 Also, I've finished writing😍 There are 16 parts total (god, I can't wait for you guys to read part 16...), and the schedule I've been keeping so far will remain the same until the last part. Hope you guys stick around to read the end!💜