Rapine 3: Retrieved by the Billionaire

by Charlotte Rose

  When he is finished filling my mouth or my pussy or sometimes my ass with his sperm, he grabs me by the arm, drags me into the guest bedroom, and locks me in.

  I’ve tried to plead with Derek several times, begging him not to lock me up any longer, but that earned me a hard slap across the face.

  Each day blends into the next, and the only thing that keeps me sane is the sound of people talking on the television and getting curled up in the beige velvet armchair, escaping into a good book. After a while though it is not enough to keep me from getting restless.

  I begin doing some light physical exercise—jogging in place, and doing squats. I also stretch out my arms and legs and do some basic yoga poses.

  I am grateful for the floor-to-ceiling window in the guest bedroom. The sunlight pours in each morning, and gives me a small sense of hope. If I was locked away in a dark room with no natural light, it would be much harder to cope.

  Once every few days, I will pull up my velvet armchair close to the window, and stare out for hours, daydreaming about the good times with Julian.

  Each night, after a hot shower, I will examine myself naked in the mirror to see if my baby bump is at all showing. I am grateful that still there are no eminent sign, although I do notice a bit of bloating.

  I notice that my eyes are dull and lifeless. The spark that was there when I was with Julian is gone. I glance at the engagement ring that Derek makes me wear. I can’t believe that I was once happily engaged to Derek and oblivious to his true character.

  Being locked away in lonesome confinement, I’ve learned to take my time with things so the day goes by quicker. I also know that I need to try to avoid getting stressed for the baby’s sake.

  I linger in the shower, closing my eyes and feeling the warmth of the water drizzle down my back. I lather and rinse my skin with body wash several times, inhaling the lovely rose and lavender scent. When I wash my hair, I lather up and massage my scalp, firmly applying pressure with my fingertips, releasing some of the tension that I feel. I use the luxurious shaving gel to slowly and meticulously shave my legs, making sure not to miss a single hair.

  After each shower, I spread velvety lotion all over my body, thoroughly massaging my legs, arms, and belly. Derek has been thoughtful enough to provide me with my favorite facial mud mask and skin creams.

  Every day, I give myself a mud mask facial, and afterword apply various skin creams. I reason that when Julian comes for me, I should at least look my best.

  With all the luxuries I’ve been provided with, I start to reason that my confinement isn’t that bad after all. It could be much worse I start to tell myself constantly. I could be locked in a small, cold, dark room with nothing but a bottle to pee in to and chains around my wrists and ankles. Instead, I have a nice bathroom and bedroom with natural light coming in through the window as well as everything I need to keep me clean and preoccupied.

  It’s amazing that just to survive and stay sane, the mind can reason and convince itself that things aren’t really that bad. However, with each passing day the loneliness is starting to get a hold of me. Derek is my only form of human contact. I berate myself for the fact that I now look forward to leaving the guest bedroom to spend time with him.

  I’ve begun to hum or sing out loud when I get tired of listening to the television. I feel that if my days continue like this, I might go crazy.

  One night, I’m surprised when Derek lets me sleep in bed with him instead of alone in the guest bedroom. For the first time in what feels like forever, he holds me tenderly, pressed against his chest, and I curl around him like a weed, appreciating the warm body of another human being. I inhale the musky, masculine cologne on his skin. It’s different than Julian’s scent—much zestier and more pungent.

  Derek has begun to crack me psychologically, and as much as I realize what is happening, I can’t seem to stop it. I drift off to sleep, never moving from the place on his chest.

  In the morning, much to my dismay, I am locked away in the guest bedroom. I spend the day waiting until dinner. I watch the television for hours—news, soap operas, talk shows, documentaries. Once my eyes are too tired and strained to watch anymore television, I sit in my velvet armchair and hum to myself. It works well to calm and sooth me.

  I am startled when I hear a knock on the door. I glance out the window, it’s still light outside. Derek never comes to get me to join him for dinner until after it gets dark outside.

  I watch as the 24-karat gold handle turns and the door opens. Derek enters with a wide grin on his face. I quickly stand up from the armchair as he approaches me.

  “I’m very proud of your progress. You are behaving yourself well lately,” Derek says as if praising a well-behaved dog. “I must inform you that our wedding is in a week. I’ve hired a staff of ladies to help you pick out your dress as well as do the fitting and tailoring.”

  I’ve been living in a fog for the past few weeks with a veil of denial covering me, not truly accepting the fact that I am now Derek’s possession. The denial serves as a coping mechanism giving me time to adjust to my distressing captivity situation.

  Derek waits for my response as I stand there frozen and shocked. I hadn’t thought about the eminent date of our wedding approaching. It’s like suddenly my veil of denial has lifted and the full realization of my predicament hits me hard and unforgiving.

  I suddenly feel like I am spiraling into an abyss of dark misery. I get a cold, gloomy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I contemplate my upcoming fate. Deep down I know that if Julian doesn’t come for me, I will have to remain with Derek forever.

  “How do you feel about this?” Derek asks, watching my reaction carefully with an amused gleam in his eyes.

  “I…am…” My voice comes out sounding rasped and quivering. I can barely draw in air through the constriction in my chest. I feel as though I am having a panic attack.

  “You don’t need to answer, Cheryl. I actually prefer it when your mouth is shut and your legs are spread wide open for me,” he says, his eyes gleam with mischievous amusement. “Women should be seen and not heard.”

  In addition to the panic I feel, anger and irritation bubble forth inside me. I feel like I am nothing more than Derek’s possession, and though I don’t mind being possessed by a man, I’d like my owner to treat me romantically and lovingly the majority of the time like Julian did. The rape role-play that Julian and I enjoyed was different from the real rape I have to endure with Derek.

  My fight or flight instinct takes over me, and I flick my eyes to the open door. My once last chance at freedom. I would hate myself for not trying to get away from Derek one last time before the wedding. My irrational mind reasons that maybe someone out there can help me.

  I run as fast as I can and make it out the door. I run downstairs and out of the penthouse. I speed toward the private elevator but scream jarringly when he catches me from behind. He covers my mouth, and pulls back both of my hands behind my back with his one hefty hand. He presses my back hard against the brick wall of his chest. I am unable to move. The way he holds me makes me feel completely helpless. I can neither kick, nor bite, nor scratch him.

  “I know you want to escape, but there’s nowhere to go and no one to help you,” he taunts.

  I feel a sharp prick on the side of my neck, and I pass out. I groggily open my eyes feeling confused and drowsy when I feel him put me down on the bed. I am unable to move and I just lie there, drugged. I close my eyes and drift into darkness.

  I wake up feeling weak, languid, and unable to recall what occurred. I shift in bed and whimper, I feel a sharp stab in two places at once. Derek must have used me several times, in several different places.

  I touch between my legs and bring it up to my sight of vision. I gasp when I notice a tinge of blood of my fingers. I know I can’t be having my period since I’m pregnant. Derek must have been unusually rough with me.

  I touch between my legs and again bring it up to my sight of visi
on. More blood coats my fingers. I am alarmed and sit up in bed. I am aching all over. It takes all the strength of my body to get out of bed. I try to walk to the bathroom, but my legs are wobbly and can barely hold me up, I nearly topple to the floor.

  My mouth is parched as if filled with saw dust. I’m so thirsty. I can’t even gather enough saliva to swallow. I take a deep breath and steady myself as I take slow, steady steps toward the bathroom.

  When I finally reach the bathroom, I run the facet, grab the glass for my toothbrush and fill it with tap water. I thirstily gulp down several glasses of water.

  I feel a little better but then a pounding heading comes upon me, and my stomach feels queasy. I lean over the toilet, and vomit acidic bile until nothing is left in my stomach. Still, I continue to dry-heave as my gut lurches, sickened at the thought of Derek fucking me while I am passed out. Though I can’t recall anything that happened last night, I know he raped me several times and left me bruised and raw inside.

  After a while, my stomach calms. I take some toilet paper and wipe the remains of vomit from my lips. I head into the shower to wash away the blood and dried semen from between my legs. I will never forgive Derek for what he has done.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Derek releases me in the evening to have dinner with him. We have dinner together in silence. As I eat, avoiding any eye contact with him, I consider which is better: Being unconscious and not feeling anything until the next day, or being conscious during sex and feeling everything.

  “Cheryl, look at me,” Derek orders, startling me from my thoughts. I snap my head up and look him in the eyes.

  “You’ve made such good progress until now. I’m very disappointed in you. Tonight, I expect you to do your best to please me and if you don’t agree I will have to give you a needle again,” he says, his brown eyes dark and wicked.

  We finish eating dinner and the maid clears our plates. She quickly glances at me and I see compassion and pity reflected in her eyes. However, with her extremely high salary, and not fully comprehending what is going on inside the closed doors of the bedroom, she simply pushes aside her conscious.

  After consuming a lavish dessert of white chocolate cheesecake with brandy sauce I get a strong urge to pee. The entire day I’ve been running to the bathroom to pee. I think I have a bladder infection. I’ve heard that sex slaves get bladder infections very often after violent sex.

  “May I be excused?” I ask Derek respectfully. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “No you may not at this moment,” he replies.

  The urge to pee gets so strong, that I feel if I don’t run to the bathroom right now, I might pee myself in the dining room.

  “Please I need to pee, I think I have a bladder infection.”

  Derek examines me quietly and a salacious grin twists up his lips. He appears to be imagining what he’s done to me last night.

  “Please,” I beg as my bladder contracts in pain.

  “Okay, go,” he finally responds.

  I run as fast as I can to the nearest bathroom and relief washes over me as I sit down to pee. I never thought peeing could feel so excruciating and unbearable. I wail in agony as the acidity of my urine drains down against the damaged, battered, and torn up walls of my insides. I’ve never been in such great pain.

  Once I finish, I gasp when I look back into the toilet bowl and see my pee is nothing but blood. I flush away the blood and wash my trembling hands. I hope it’s nothing more serious than a bladder infection.

  I return to the dining room as Derek sips an espresso. I notice specks of cocaine around his nostrils.

  “Derek, I think I need to see a doctor. There is blood in my urine.”

  A flash of concern crosses his face, but only for a brief second.

  “I will decide whether or not you are to see a doctor,” he responds harshly. “I’m in charge of your well-being, therefore, I will make any health decisions on your behalf.”

  “But Derek, I’m in pain and—”

  “Enough,” Derek interrupts. “I will not hear any more of it.”

  “If you are in charge of my health, then I must warn you that I am miserable with you, and I won’t be surprised if I get very sick under your care.”

  “If you are trying to earn my pity, save it,” Derek snaps.

  He strides over to the long chest of white drawers lining one of the walls of the dining room, and withdraws a large 24-karat-gold box from one of the drawers.

  He empties a generous heap of fine white powdered cocaine onto the dark wood dining table. He extracts his black Amex card from his inside suit pocket and carefully chops up the powder.

  He organizes the white powder into five neat, straight lines. I watch with horror as he sniffs up two lines of the powder, and then tilts his head back and inhales deeply.

  He snaps his head back up, and glances at me. “Fuck, that’s good.”

  I am in shock. I stand there dumbfounded and unsure of what to do. Derek’s behavior seems to get more reckless each day. I hate to think that maybe it was the heartbreak that caused him to change. I like to think he’s always been like this, but hid it well in the past.

  He approaches me with a confident stride and stops in front of me. I glare at the remains of white powder under his nose.

  “Look up at me Cheryl,” he commands.

  I gaze up into his eyes and a cold shiver goes through me. In his brown eyes all I see are fury, resentment, and hostility. I glance down at his shoes, unable to see the darkness in his eyes.

  He lifts my chin up so that I have no choice but to look back into his eyes. “Always look at me when I’m talking to you,” he orders. “Understand?”

  “Yes,” I answer feebly.

  “Now, shall we head to the master bedroom, you have a lot of making up to do.”

  “No, please—”

  Derek slaps me hard across the face, silencing me. Suddenly, I’m frightened of what’s coming. I’m so raw and bruised inside, I don’t know how I can accept any more torment.

  “This can be as easy or as hard as you make it,” he says softly. “You choose.”

  I feel like my only escape at this point is if, and when, I need to be rushed into a hospital emergency room. At this rate, that may be soon. Then, I assume Derek will realize the depth of his violence and brutality. For now, during his cocaine high, he appears to be blissfully unaware of the agony he causes me.

  He grabs my arm and leads me through the extravagant penthouse and upstairs into the master bedroom as I wail, feeling sorry for myself.

  Now, I have a decision to make—one of two options. I can choose to let Derek have his way with me, or I can choose to struggle against him, only to have him force himself on me.

  I watch him take his clothes off, and then let him undress me. My fight or flight instinct is activated when Derek bends me over on the bed, and tries to enter me. I push him away and rush toward the door, in an effort to get away.

  He grabs me from behind, clamping one arm around my waist and the other over my mouth. I pedal my legs, trying to kick him as he lifts me, but I can’t reach him at this angle.

  He slams me down hard onto my back on the bed. I continue to pedal my legs, and manage to land a few kicks against his chest. I am very well aware that my struggle is in vain, but I can’t control myself.

  He grabs ahold of my ankles, spreads my legs wide, and places his muscular body between them. His hard, pulsing cock presses against my thigh, eager for entry.

  I push with all my strength at Derek’s broad, rock hard, unmovable chest, finally tiring and giving up. My futile struggle has only drained my energy.

  Apathy spreads through my body, weakening my will to fight. I’m too worn out to struggle any further. My natural instinct is to submit to him—the bigger, stronger, more powerful one. I close my eyes, letting my arms fall limply at their sides.

  I feel Derek’s cock push inside my vulnerable opening, stretching me. Tears spill from the corner of my eyes as
I try not to think about the agonizing pain. I whimper as his cock penetrates me with its heated hardness.

  I can only hope that Derek will give me one or two days off from sex to allow time to heal the tears and rips from last night’s violent sex. If I do not heal properly, the rawness on my insides will continue to intensify.

  Derek thrusts his hips, savagely drilling his cock deeper into me. A pungent, bitter smell fills me nostrils—the smell of blood and something more.

  Derek appears alerted of the smell as well and he withdraws his cock from my opening. He examines his cock which is covered in dark red blood.

  “You are on your period?” he asks.

  More of the smell fills my nostrils and I compare the smell to that of an open wound. There is no doubt in my mind that I have a severe bladder infection.

  Comprehension fills Derek’s eyes. “You weren’t lying after all, were you?”

  I shake my head no, my flushed face streaked with tears. I watch as Derek gets up off the bed and leaves. I lay still on my back, grateful for his retreat.

  I feel my body flush with heat, then seconds later a cold chill fills me. The freezing chill causes me to tremble uncontrollably. I cover myself with the beige silk bed covers and wait for it to pass. Moments later, I am flush with immense heat, and feel droplets of sweat run down my face. Suddenly, I am freezing again. This cycle continues. It must be my body trying to fight the infection.

  Derek returns and hands me a tablet and a bottle of water. “Take it. It should get rid of any infection that you got going on in there.”

  I obey and secretly hope that he hasn’t given me a sedative to make me pass out. I lay under the bed covers, waiting for the uncomfortable feelings to pass. I can hear the sound of inhaling and snorting coming from the bathroom. Obviously, Derek is busy, doing more lines of cocaine.