Freeing Lana

by Kristin Elyon

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lana opened her eyes and though she still could not see anything, realized almost immediately that she was in the porcelain tub, her knees pulled to her chest in a fetal position. The hard surface of the tub was causing a mild discomfort to her right side, but she feared any movement would remind her brain to send the shockwave elsewhere, where she knew she was more injured than uncomfortable. But she had no desire to move anyway. ‘Worse than before’ had been an understatement worthy of the Guinness records. It was a phrase she never wanted to hear again. Nothing could be worse than what he had done to her this time. Nothing.

  Wanna bet?

  No, she didn’t want to bet. She didn’t want to even think about any scenario that could be worse. She didn’t want to think at all, or move for that matter, and she sure as hell didn’t want to ask any more fucking questions. All she wanted was to lay here in this porcelain tub and not do a damn thing. But that would not be allowed either, a fact she discovered immediately as the cold water hit her feet quicker than the sound of the old handle of the faucet being turned. She instinctively tried to pull her feet closer to her, away from the thought shattering cold water, but they had already been pulled up as far as they could go. The sound of the second faucet was not as distinctive as the first had been, causing it to go completely unnoticed, but the results did not, as the water, now past her hip and quickly approaching her shoulder, began to warm.

  The numbness seeping into her mind allowed a hand, though gently placed and seemingly unthreatening, to touch her hip, guiding her to rotate into a position resembling sitting. Her knees, still instinctively pulled to her chest, were asked by a single touch to straighten, allowing her feet to find their way to a horizontal line along the tub’s bottom. No longer fear, but a mere acknowledgement of reality told her that the warm water was about to remind her of how horrible pain felt as she turned, submerging her recently injured back door in the still rising water. She had just enough time to wonder if the impending anguish would snap her mind back to an ability to feel anything at all before the water found its way to her agonized ass. But what would normally have been complete shock at how little it actually hurt was nothing more than a simple realization, as nothing more than a slight sting down there answered.

  As the water rose above her hips and threatened to lick her breasts, she again heard the distinct sound of the faucet handles being turned, transforming the rush of water cascading onto itself above her feet into a mere trickle, then slowing drips before stopping altogether. Her hands, clasped together across her chest were gently separated and an already suds filled wash cloth was placed in one of her hands. Her nose had smelled the soap before, but her mind had not thought it worthy of recognition then, and not much more now.

  Lana heard the lock connecting the chain to her collar release and felt its light weight as it fell onto her chest, making a slight splash in the water, and sending unfelt drops onto the hood against her face. Next, the restraint on her left hand was removed, allowing it to be completely unbound for the first time since she had awakened in this house, then her right hand. As she felt the drag of the small chain against her flesh, dripping water back onto her as it was removed from the tub completely, her left hand was placed on the edge of the tub. Her right, with the wash cloth in tow, was placed on her chest just below her throat and gently pushed to the side, spreading the suds across her skin. As it circled and headed back across her chest, the hand guiding it left it unattended and free to continue its intended purpose. Instinctively, Lana took up the task of bathing, without giving more thought to it than she had to rolling onto her back in the first place. There was no real cognitive acknowledgment of what she was doing, as if the hand was still guiding her actions and she was simply going with the flow, unknowing, uncaring. Meager flashes of realization were about the best her mind was willing to contribute. Then, he spoke.

  “Open your mouth,” he said, his voice again level, soft.

  Blowjob hole! Blowjob hole!

  Her mind, finally willing to contribute to the situation, screamed at her, but her body was unwilling to make the connection between what she didn’t want to happen and how to resist it. She did as she was told, opening her mouth wide, while her hand continued about the task of bathing. Mental images of a cock being shoved in her mouth flashed inside her head, but she didn’t move even when she felt something touch her lower lip and then the top of her tongue. His dick was unyielding, solid; it was…

  Metal? He has a metal dick?

  It wasn’t his dick, she suddenly realized. It was a spoon. She optimistically closed her mouth over the spoon and discovered, almost rapturously it was filled with sweet, buttery mashed potatoes. It was food, goddamned food! As the spoon was pulled between her teeth and out of her mouth, she pressed her lips tightly around it, holding every last morsel of the potatoes inside. She swallowed it quickly and opened her mouth again, not so much expectantly, but hopefully. She was not disappointed, as another spoonful was inserted into her eager mouth again and again. Periodically replaced by a straw, allowing her small drinks of cool water, the spoon continued its mission of feeding her.

  The potatoes were easily revealed as homemade by occasional lumps within them, and that only made them taste better to Lana, and she doubted if she had ever tasted anything so wonderful. It was as close to heaven as she would allow herself hope of seeing anytime soon, so when the spoon left her mouth and did not return, she wanted to ask for more. She was still hungry, very hungry with an intensity level bordering on insatiable. But she was not about to utter a single word, not so much as a syllable. What little nourishment the small portion of food had provided had been enough to instantly allow her to think clearly enough to know better. So instead of asking what she dearly wanted to ask, she slowly closed her mouth and turned her attention to bathing.

  The hand which had guided her motions before returned again, enclosing itself around one of her wrist. Slowly her hand was led downward and placed lightly between her legs. Fingers individually found themselves atop each of her own as her hand was slowly bent downward. She stopped when the hand guiding hers stopped, understanding she would be shown exactly what was expected. A lone finger remained atop her middle finger as she felt his thumb and pinky finger slip around her wrist again, and as her hand was slowly pulled upward, her middle finger found its way to the skin just below the slit in her womanhood. It glided lightly over the lips of her pussy, making its way to the top before being asked to return.

  The motion was repeated several times and then she was again left to continue on her own. She had not been shown to slip the finger inside and so she didn’t, and likewise when her finger reached the top, just below where she had once sported a mound of curly hair, she did not allow herself to press any harder to stimulate her clit any more than she had been silently asked.

  She found she was becoming slightly captivated by his interest in watching her rub on her own pussy in return for the food she had wanted. She had no trouble recognizing where this was headed. The only question was where it would end. But it was a question she knew she couldn’t ask. As she slid her finger over her slit for what she believed to be the 15th or 20th time, she heard the unmistakable sound of metal grinding against glass, and as she dared to wonder of it could in fact be a knife and fork – oh fuck, let it be a knife and fork – he repeated his last spoken command.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  She quickly obeyed and was rewarded again by the touch of metal inside her mouth, followed immediately by absolute joy as she closed her mouth and recognized something she would have never allowed herself to hope for. It was steak, breaded and obviously cooked in a frying pan, something she was unaccustomed to, but absolutely delicious. The hand stroking her pussy was almost forgotten as she welcomed the tasty meat. He spoke again as she chewed the steak slowly, savoring it for all its worth, and at the same time hearing the sound of the knife slicing off another bite for her.

  “I wa
nt you to coordinate you hand and your mouth,” he said, as he placed the next piece of steak at the edge of her lip. “As you close your mouth around the food, I want you to slide your finger inside you. Then I want you to slowly pull your finger out, moving it up slowly as you chew. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she quickly answered, inhaling the aroma so close to her mouth.

  “If you do this properly, your finger should reach your clit at the exact time you swallow the food. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Oh hell yes she understood.

  “Good. Open your mouth.”

  Time slowly disappeared as she became lost in whatever this game was that he was playing with her. She quickly attuned her fingers to the tempo he set by feeding her hunger. Whether he was deriving his pleasure from watching her fingers work her own pussy or trying to maintain the pace he constantly slowed and increased was unclear to Lana, but she did as she had been asked. Her need was being satisfied by fulfilling his need, and for the moment, she really didn’t care exactly what that was. She welcomed each bite by fucking herself with her own finger until the plate was empty and he told her to stop. She heard what she assumed was a wooden chair on the tile floor and the utensils sliding across the plate as he stood.

  “Finish your bath,” he said, his voice trailing as he spoke, indicating he had started out of the bathroom. She knew the hood was still connected to the collar, but with her hands being completely free, she felt the urge to make sure. A quick check confirmed her belief, so she allowed herself to lean back against the end of the tub, and then finding the washcloth again, resumed washing her body. Finding a bit of amusement at her own expense, she wondered how long it would be before she would be allowed to wash her hair.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Detective Tinkerton, ignored most, if not all of the traffic laws as he drove across town on his way to the home of Daniel Morrow. He had told the idiot to leave that girl alone, and Daniel had promised him he would. He couldn’t believe how lucky Daniel was that the call to the Wholesale Warehouse had fallen on his desk and not been given to someone else, anyone else. He had written up his report to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, most likely paranoia on the part of the employee. Daniel owed him a huge solid for that, and he had been willing to wait for repayment.

  In his experience, it was always good to have the idiots out there owing him a favor. It could be beneficial in the future, not to mention downright rewarding in the right circumstances. On occasion these favors, called in at the right time, had kept his ass out of jail before. Sure, he doubted Daniel would ever be in a position to be of great use, but he never knew. He had been surprised before by some these assholes.

  He made the turn onto Kimberly Lane and slowly drove by Daniel’s house. His car was parked in the driveway, but all the blinds were closed. He forced himself to keep driving for a couple more blocks before pulling to the side of the road and parking. Daniel had a privacy fence in the backyard, but if he walked up the alley, he would be able to see into the small window at the back of the garage. It was covered by small trees, so chances were he wouldn’t have been concerned enough to cover it.

  Daniel’s car was always in the garage, because he didn’t trust anyone. It was always the assholes who thought everyone else was an asshole. Daniel was no exception, so if his car was outside, he must be up to something in there. It fucking better not be the girl. He would look like an idiot for not taking her complaints more seriously before if he found Daniel chopping her up into little pieces.

  “Fucking prick,” he muttered as he made his way down the alley.

  Getting the original case had been nothing but luck, but handling the kid, her friend, had been orchestrated. He had seen the kid when he had been at the store. He had been there with the girl when she told him about Daniel. Now, here he was walking into the station, looking seven kinds of upset. Tom Tinkerton may have been a bit on the shady side, but he hadn’t made detective by being completely stupid. He knew immediately he didn’t need anyone else talking to this kid, so he had grabbed him as soon as he came in and taken him to his office. Five seconds into the conversation, he had known it had been the right thing to do. It was about the girl, alright. The son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t shut up about her. Fucking Daniel!

  He reached the garage, but stopped to light a cigarette before looking inside. A part of him hoped he was wrong, but he doubted it. He couldn’t get that lucky again. He leaned against the back of the garage and took a long drag from the Marlboro, knowing damn well he was about to walk into a shit storm. After a second drag to prepare himself for what he just knew he was about to see, he tossed the cigarette on the ground and then leaning on his shoulder and rolling against the wooden frame, he peered inside.

  It was dark inside the garage, but just enough light found its way between the leaves of the trees to allow him to see. His heart almost leaped out of his chest when he didn’t see what he had expected. No Daniel, no woman being chopped up into little pieces, just the normal clutter. A lawn mower, weed eater, boxes of crap.

  But then he saw it. He hadn’t paid it any attention at first because he was expecting to see bodies, and there had been none. But now any relief he had felt drained as he pulled the small flashlight out of his pocket and trained it the license plate of what looked like a Ford Ranger.

  “Fucking prick.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lana cried as she washed the plastic yellow bat. It had apparently been what he had used to prison-rape her with the night before, and now she was being forced to wash it, adding insult to injury, not mention shame to the pain. She tried to convince herself that at least it had not been as large as she had first imagined, but that hadn’t stuck. The hood had been removed earlier and she was allowed to see for what was only the second time since she had been brought here, and this was what she saw? Her own blood on the baseball bat had bitch slapped any possible relief at the smaller diameter she had feared into oblivion. Any appreciation for the food she was allowed was gone in an instant as soon as he had placed the bat in her hands. He was going to feel it up his own ass before this was over. Bet your cunt, he was!

  She looked around the room for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. He would be back any second if his recent history proved of any use. But her search was as fruitless as she had known it would be. The room was still stripped as bare as she was. She glanced at the bat, and almost allowed herself to wish he had raped her with a real one. That would have caved his fucking head in for sure, but the thin piece of plastic in her hands offered her little hope as something that would do much damage. But it just might stun him for a second if she caught him off guard.

  The door was open, but she had heard him close the door leading out of the adjoining bedroom when he left earlier. When he came back, he wouldn’t be able to see she wasn’t still in the tub, or sitting obediently on its side from there. If she was standing behind the bedroom door, she might have just enough time to smack him a good one in the face before he saw it coming, even with her hands chained together, and to the collar around her neck. She was certain there was enough slack in the chain for a decent swing. After that, maybe she could make it to the front door. And then maybe, just maybe she would be able to get it open and escape. Sure, he would chase her, but she knew she was in a residential neighborhood, and while her earlier cries had gone unnoticed, she doubted a handcuffed, naked, and screaming woman running down the middle of the street would be.

  She stood and got out of the bath tub, trying to make as little noise as possible. She didn’t need him to walk in as she was heading toward the bedroom door. That would take the surprise out of her planned attack and surely doom it, eliminating any chance of escape as well. She slowly peeked around the bathroom door and searched the bedroom for any sign of him. He had slipped up on her before, and this would be a most inopportune moment for that to happen again. But there was no sign of him. She began to step into the bedroom, but stopped just short. The carp
et, he might see her wet front prints on the carpet. Shit. She quickly grabbed the towel from the sink and dried her feet. Then, as a second thought, she dried the handle of the bat and her hands as best she could while still trying to be quick.

  Hurry, goddamn it, fucking hurry!

  She was hurrying, but at the same time, trying to make certain she didn’t miss anything. She knew she realistically held the same chance of escaping as a snowball had of escaping hell, but she needed to give herself as good a chance as possible, no matter how improbable success seemed.

  Feet now dried, and her hands wrenched around the plastic bat, she eased across the carpeted floor toward the door she hoped would lead to freedom. Still two feet shy however, a thought occurred to her. What if the door was unlocked? He had gotten a bit more trusting since she had “thanked” him for the food by fingering herself while he fed her. Maybe he had gotten sloppy, maybe…

  Lana was quickly snapped back to the reality of the situation before she had a chance to indulge herself in the fantasy too far, for just as she reached for the handle to see if it was indeed unlocked, she heard the familiar sound of the key being inserted into the lock, mere inches away on the other side of the door. She quickly threw herself toward the wall where she would be behind the door when it opened, almost causing herself to crash against into the sheetrock, which would undoubtedly have given her ruse away. Fuck! That was close.

  She hadn’t previously believed it possible, but she tightened her grip on the bat further as she pulled it behind her shoulder, doing her best Babe Ruth impression to get the most out of her impending swing for the proverbial fences. She intended to make the Sultan of Swat himself proud as fuck with one swing.

  Less than two seconds, though it felt to Lana like an eternity, after she had almost ruined the whole thing and slammed into the wall, the lock made a clunking sound and the door swung open in front of her. She had just enough time to see the side of his face before the bat connected squarely, smashing his nose and sending blood splattering against the far wall. He tried to scream out in pain, but a second homerun swing crashed the bat into his mouth, stifling his protest. The Whiffle-Ball bat was small and light, but the plastic was a bit more solid than other kids’ bats, even if only a little. And while it would have caved in on itself against a real baseball, it proved to be more durable than his nose and lips.