by Nicole Casey
I heard the slide of the lock and the door opened. It was him. Of course it was him. Nobody else in the world existed anymore, not in my prison. I was irritated—more than usual—probably due to the compounding effect of so much time here.
He wheeled in the cart and closed the door behind him, and I watched him from the corner of the room. I’d long since abandoned the bathroom. The shower did little to curb the silence anymore. And at least the other room’s carpet wasn’t as hard against my backside as the cool, tiled floor in the bathroom.
I’d thought for a while I could gauge the approximate time of day by the type of food he would bring, but then he’d brought breakfast two times in a row, and two dinner-like meals after that, blowing that theory out of the water. It was the same foods though—three different meals rotated in some random order.
Crepes again, I could tell, when he’d lifted the lid. Maybe it was all he could cook, but I’d gladly take a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a break from what had once seemed like sinfully delicious food.
He left the tray against the wall near the door and retrieved the chair from where he’d left it the day before. This was new.
He sat down against the wall and eyed me expectantly. I pushed away from my corner slowly and rose up onto my knees.
He nodded, but I was confused. If he planned to start throwing food to me and having me catch it in my mouth, he could kiss that idea goodbye. It was bad enough I had to kneel. I wasn’t going to do tricks, too. And as much as I hated to admit it, if he was going to stay over there, if he was going to stop touching me, I’d rather him just stop bringing me food, too.
I’d never imagined how dependent on sensation I was, especially when the only consistent in my life—my father—never touched me. He didn’t hug me, or pat me on the back. He never kissed me good night. But there were always at least other sensations—the sound of his TV murmuring the news or some cheesy sitcom; the smell of the alcohol he drank or the pungent aroma of his cigarettes.
And then at work, there were other sensations—people talking, the photo machine whirring, the scent of perfumes, colognes, and food from the restaurant down the street. There were children to watch playing along the sidewalk and the brush of the breeze against my skin when I walked home.
Here, there was nothing. If there had ever been a scent in the room, I’d long-since acclimated to it. And there was nothing else. No people, no sounds, no scents. There wasn’t even a single book to read.
My books—I missed my books. I had hundreds of them, most of them passed on to me from customers in the store, like Mrs. Jenkins, who forever saw me with my nose in a book. Mysteries, romances, crime thrillers, biographies, even an old nursing textbook from Mrs. Jenkin’s college years. What I wouldn’t give for any one of them now.
But the only sensation I was allowed was my captor’s brief touch. I hated him; I hated him even more for making me crave something I despised, but I did crave it. If it was gone now, if he wasn’t even going to touch me during the brief time he was here, then it was only fair he put me out of my misery—not that I expected him to be fair.
“Come here,” he called, startling me out of my dark thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, but if it meant we could circumvent the whole trick-performing plan and he wasn’t intending to deprive me of the sensation I desperately needed, then it probably wasn’t so bad.
I moved to stand, but he shook his head and I stopped. What did he want then? It didn’t take me long to figure it out. Kneeling was no longer enough. He wanted me to crawl.
No. I wasn’t that hungry, and it really was ridiculous to be so dependent on his touch. And if he retaliated by making me skip a few meals, I’d get over it. And I’d find some way to deal with it when he took away his touch, too.
So, I lifted my chin higher and shook my head.
He sighed and stood up. I thought he was going to bring over the tray of food or else leave, but he approached without it.
“I have been more than patient,” he said when he stood in front of me. “I’ve been lenient, giving you the opportunity to make the necessary changes to your character on your own. But you’re not going to do that, are you, Pet?”
Necessary changes? Of course I wasn’t going to change for him. Had he really thought I would? I shook my head, apparently not quite brave enough to spit out the words.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a sigh. It sounded like a sigh of relief though, not resignation, and that confused me.
Before I could respond, he yanked me up off the floor and flung me over his shoulder. As he started toward the bed, I realized I’d been foolish to let myself forget about that first day with him, when he’d pulled off his belt and spanked me with it, shackled to the bed. Is that what he had planned to do now?
But when he reached the bed, he didn’t put me on the floor like I’d expected. Instead, he sat down and pulled me into his lap. I struggled weakly to escape, but I was so confused I didn’t really know what to do. He held me tight with one arm while the other stroked my cheek, and I sighed inside. A change from the nothingness. I welcomed it, though I was careful to keep my expression from showing it.
After a moment though, I couldn’t help but lean into it, absorbing the sensation after too much time without. But this new position made me painfully aware of my state of undress, somehow more potent now on his lap than it had been on the floor.
“I knew it wouldn’t be enough, Pet, but I had to give you this time to realize you’re never going to become what you need to be without my help.”
What I needed to be? What was he talking about? Somehow I doubted anything he could do could be constituted as help.
“You have to let go of this stubbornness and pride,” he said as he continued to stroke my cheek, and then moving lower, across my jaw, down to my neck.
My body hummed in response to the new sensation. He hadn’t touched me there before, and it seemed to awaken a plethora of nerve endings. Through my haze of sensatory bliss—as wrong as it might be—I was vaguely aware of his words. The tone of his voice was soothing, particularly heaped upon the touch of his fingers, but there was an undercurrent running through him that was slowly breaking through the haze. I knew somehow that it should be setting me more on edge than usual.
And then there was an expectant silence, as if he was waiting for me to say something. Was I supposed to apologize? Agree with him? Did he really think I was going to do either? I sat there stiffly, trying to ignore the sensations that came from where he was touching me.
“All right, let’s get started, shall we?” he said, leaving me just as confused as I’d been since the moment he’d come in and sat down across the room.
All of a sudden though, he flipped me over, laying me out across his lap. I flailed, trying to scramble down onto the floor, but he held me tight against him, pressing the small of my back down firmly, which pressed my most private place hard against his thigh. A sizzle of a different kind of sensation spread out from there, and I flailed harder, twice as panicked, and infinitely more disturbed than I’d been when my body had responded to his touch on my face, or even my neck.
But he just pressed down harder, almost as if he was deliberately trying to grind my clit against his thigh. And whether it was intentional or not, that was precisely what he was doing, and I needed him to stop. It was wrong. Disgusting. How could my body be responding like this to anything he did?
I felt his other hand against my backside, grazing over my skin. It amplified the sensations between my thighs and made me want to press firmly against his hand. I sobbed at my own depravity. What the hell was wrong with me? What had I become in my desperate need for sensation?
His hand disappeared and I let out a small sigh of relief. But before the breath had escaped my lungs, his hand came back down with a stinging slap.
I cried out in response to the pain, and to something else. It was sick, and it made me question if I’d already taken a leap into insanity. There was no
other explanation for it. How else could it be possible that his cruel slap could send a jolt of arousal through me?
He spanked me again, this one harder than the last, but the response was the same.
Again, and tears began to trickle down my cheeks. I clenched my thighs tight, fighting against the ridiculous sensations that had begun to set my sex on fire. “Stop. Please, stop,” I cried, but he ignored me, spanking me several more times in quick succession.
I struggled to get away, but it only rubbed my clit against his thigh, making it worse. So, I fought to remain perfectly still as he rained down another onslaught of stinging slaps.
It didn’t help. The fire had already been set. Nothing would put it out, and every slap and every rub only made it burn brighter. What the hell was wrong with me?
Eventually, he was done—twenty-five slaps? Thirty? Every one of them had added fuel to the fire, and now I was throbbing, desperate for anything that would quench the fire.
Instead of pushing me off, he held me there and rubbed my stinging flesh. The need to press myself harder against him was nearly overwhelming. I took slow, deep breaths, but somehow the oxygen in my lungs wound its way through my body to between my thighs, and fanned the flames brighter.
His fingers skimmed down the backs of my thighs—a new sensation that shot directly to my throbbing clit. But on his way back up, he brushed over my exposed sex and his fingers stopped moving.
I redoubled the effort to get free, but his hand on my back held me there.
One finger stroked me, and I sobbed hysterically. His finger had glided far too easily, and that meant there was no denying what his spanking had done to me.
“You are very unique, aren’t you, Pet,” he said as he glided back and forth across my lips.
“Let me go. Please, just let me go,” I cried over and over again, but of course, he ignored me. His torment wouldn’t be complete until he’d turned my whole body against me.
He slid a finger to my clit and my body jerked against him. No matter how much I flailed, or how much I didn’t want my body to respond, I was helpless to stop it as he started to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves. He moved slowly at first, as if he were testing my body’s response.
I kicked and tried to reach back to swipe at him, but all I met with was air. He knew exactly what he was doing because he had me pinned perfectly. His finger increased its pace on my clit and I couldn’t stifle the moan that traitorously escaped from my lips.
He chuckled, and I couldn’t possibly have been more mortified. He found it amusing, the way my body had betrayed me.
“Stop resisting, Pet. It will be over quicker if you don’t fight it.”
I knew what he was saying was true. All my effort was doing little more than slowing my body’s ascent. Unless he stopped, it was going to happen soon. I could feel the coil winding up tight inside me. But I couldn’t just stop. I couldn’t be a willing participant in my own humiliation.
So, I continued to fight him, clenching my body and gritting my teeth against the spin of the coil, winding faster, tighter by the second.
He increased his pace even more, determined to overcome my resistance, and I almost gave in. God, how I wanted to give in. The sensations were overwhelming, the first bit of real pleasure since I’d ended up in this wretched place.
He moved faster, his finger gliding easily, soaked in my own juices. I was so close. So damn close. No. Yes. No. No! I had to fight. But as I neared the top, my body took over. It refused to fight, to resist. All that existed was his finger on my clit. But then his other hand was on my ass, squeezing my stinging flesh. God, it hurt, and it felt so good, as if the pain and pleasure had combined to create a new sensation—one I hadn’t known existed.
I writhed against him, and the moans I’d fought so hard against turned to cries. “Please,” I cried, but I wasn’t begging him to stop. I was pleading for something else, for the release that hovered on the brink.
And then I was toppling over. I’d asked, and he’d delivered, springing free the coil that had wound tight inside me and sending out waves of blissful pleasure from my sex.
I sagged against him as the waves receded, and only realized then that with his hand on my backside, that meant he hadn’t been holding me down. I could have scrambled away, but I hadn’t. I’d laid there, writhing, on fire and begging for the orgasm he’d given me.
I did scramble down off his lap then, and he didn’t stop me. I ran across the room to the corner—my corner.
He didn’t demand that I come back. He didn’t even laugh at me like I’d been expecting him to do. In fact, he seemed to ignore me completely as he turned his attention to the tray of food. He seemed relaxed as he sliced the food and began to eat, but there was a tension that radiated from him, all the way across the room.
It wasn’t anger—what did he have to be angry about? He’d humiliated me more than I thought was possible for a person to be. He was probably quite pleased with himself at the moment. Still, the tension remained through bite after bite, and eventually I recognized it. I couldn’t not. Not when it had been the same tension that had held my body in its grip when he’d had his wretched fingers on me. Spanking me, or turning my body against me, or some combination of both had turned him on.
Without my permission, my eyes darted to the fly of his pants, looking for confirmation. And the massive bulge I found there left no doubt.
So, this was sexual for him. Then why had he spent so much time tormenting me with silence? I’d dismissed the possibility after what must have been days of near-total solitude. And it wasn’t that I wanted it—I didn’t want this to be sexual, no matter how much my body had just proved otherwise. But I needed to understand, to know what exactly my future held in store. Or maybe I just needed to think about something—anything—other than how my body had just turned against me and responded to the devil’s touch just moments before. Trying desperately to fight back more tears, it was easier to try to analyze him than to turn the looking glass inward.
It dawned on me then what he was doing. He was eating my food. When it was gone, there would be no more until he returned. And I had run back to the very spot this had started. If I wanted food, I would have to crawl over to him—to the man who had taken humiliation to a whole new level—and kneel before him like a good pet. But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to see the knowledge in his eyes of what I’d let happen.
No, I would rather starve.
He finished my meal while I huddled in the corner. I tried not to look at him, but sick curiosity kept drawing my eyes back. I’d never seen one before—the thick bulge in his pants. I’d seen drawings in health class, and had learned that a penis increased in size when a man was aroused. But I’d never imagined it could grow that much.
Against my will, the image came to mind of him trying to force that enormous bulge inside me. I cringed, thinking I would certainly split in two. But the thought appealed to the sick, depraved girl inside me, the one who had writhed against his fingers and moaned in pleasure despite how wrong it was.
What the hell had he done to me? Before this, I’d never…well…there’d been the occasional strange dream, the kind that would wake me, sweaty and aching, and disgusted with myself for conjuring the dark scenes.
But they had been dreams—nightmares by any normal standard. And this was reality—bitter, harsh reality. I couldn’t simply wake up from this nightmare and shame-facedly relieve the ache before drifting back to an innocent slumber. But maybe that’s all this was. My body was simply responding the way it had in those dreams. I’d rewarded it often enough for it, rubbing hard and fast to the last snatches of the dream until my body convulsed with its relief.
It didn’t make it any less humiliating now, but it helped to explain why I’d responded the way I had.
“You are very unique, Pet,” he said, drawing my attention back as he rose from the chair. And then he left with the tray.
I debated going to check ar
ound the chair, pathetically hoping he’d left some kind of scraps behind, but I knew he hadn’t. It would be hours before I had the chance to eat again, and who knew what horrible thing he’d make me do for it.
It seemed I no longer paid for things with money—of which I’d had precious little to begin with. The price he demanded was my pride. My humiliation bought me food, but what happened when he’d extracted every bit of it from me? Then what would he demand in payment?
I closed my eyes and shifted tighter into my corner. The carpet rubbed against my abused bottom, providing a fresh reminder of what had happened and making the tears in my eyes well over. Maybe it would be better to get it over with—to stop resisting, stop trying to hold onto the pride and dignity he was just going to take away from me in the end.
I’d been right about this being sexual for him. And I’d been right that he’d been trying to slowly drive me insane. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stop until he turned the girl he’d taken into nothing but a complacent shell he could use any way he wanted. Why try to stop it from happening when it was going to happen eventually?
I breathed a deep sigh, trying to cleanse the fight from my body. It held on tight. I could feel it wrapped tight around somewhere in the center of me, woven in the fabric of my being. I kept breathing, trying to disentangle each strand.
My eyes grew heavy, and I didn’t fight them. Every moment of sleep had been a struggle, but now it seemed like the exhaustion had finally caught up with me. I welcomed it, willing it to help me slip away. To escape the pain, the uncertainty, the humiliation…even if only for a little while. I would struggle to offer it all up later. I would worry about handing over whatever pride I had left later. Later.
I drifted off quickly, but he followed me there. In my dream, he teased and tormented me. He tied me up and he hurt me. And he held me down with my arms pinned above my head and he rammed his massive cock deep inside me.
When I awoke, I was sweaty, and the aching throb between my thighs was all too familiar.
