Rebecca

I awaken to the sunrise and remember having dug my grave. After that horror fades from my mind, I smile as the memory of my Nazi captor penetrating every one of my orifices. I am lying in bed next to him, naked, shivering in the morning cold. He is still asleep, naked also, lying on his stomach, snoring loudly. His right hand is wrapped around the handle of his pistol, the safety off, his finger against the trigger.

I am tempted to carefully open his hand, take the gun, make him my prisoner, and bring him back to civilization to face justice for what he has done to me. But then I feel the cold metal of the shackle that is clamped around my right ankle. A short chain tethers the manacle to its mate clamped around one of the metal spindles at the foot of the bed.

If I succeed in liberating the pistol from his grasp, point the barrel at him, and demand that he free me, it would be a good bet that he would take off, hoping I wouldn't have the nerve to shoot him. And if I miss or don't put a bullet into his head or his heart and only wound him, he can simply lie in wait and when I am asleep, overpower me and seize the weapon. Thus I will have to kill my captor to obtain my freedom.

But the memory of how we had pleasured each other is too fresh. I cannot kill the creature who had driven me to ecstasy. Instead, I wrap myself in the blanket that we had cast aside as we fucked again last night, bathed in the moonlight streaming in through the bedroom window.

So I lay awake, now warmer, the blanket protecting me against the chill of the morning mountain air, waiting for my captor to awaken, hoping the pain I know he will inflict is not too great. Though now warm and cozy, I dread what this day will bring.

I drift off to sleep and awaken when the sun is up higher in the sky and the air is warm. I suspect it must be around ten or eleven o'clock. Lying prone, I look into Garth's eyes and smile as he awakens.

"Bitch, what are you smiling about?"

"Garth, I'm just glad to be alive and to be lying next to a great looking guy with a huge cock that makes me feel so good when he's inside me."

"Bitch, were you seeing a shrink before I dragged you up here?"

"No, Garth. I wasn't."

"You probably should have been."

He points the gun at my forehead and makes a noise mimicking a gunshot. I fall back onto the bed.

"Oy! I'll never feel that cock inside my pussy again!"

I then close my eyes and pretend I'm dead.

"I don't fucking believe this. I think you're putting me on, but I can't imagine even Julia fucking Roberts putting on act like you do when you're getting fucked."

"Believe it. Maybe you got shot during the bank robbery, died, and went to Heaven. And now your Creator's fucking with you because even He can't figure out why you hate His Jews so much."

"This stinkin' place is more like fucking Hell. And if The Man Upstairs put me here with you, He's more than fucking with me. I'd say I'm being tortured!"

"By being here with a girl who'll fuck your brains out anytime you ask?"

"No, by being in this shithole with a Jewess who's happy playing mind games with me!"

"Garth, it's a lot simpler than that. Just go back to civilization, get a life, and stay off the cops' radar screen. That way everything should be fine. Or just stay here and get your brains fucked out. Those are at least two of your choices."

"Or me taking you back to the city so you can go to the cops and turn me in. And you'll just laugh if I ask you to come up for one of them conjugal visits."

"If I'm not with some other guy or maybe even if I was, I'd go to the prison and fuck you."

"You're a fucking liar."

"Believe what you want."

Almost sure that I'm only the first or second female that he's fucked, I feel safe for now.

He makes us scrambled eggs and grits as I sit at the kitchen table naked, my right ankle chained to the chair leg.

"I can cook you know," I explain.

"You'd throw hot oil on me the first fucking chance you got."

"I'm not a killer. And I don't want to be killed. I don't want to inflict pain on you nor do I want you to inflict pain on me. Sure, if the police come and you surrender, I'll them what you did to me, go back to the city, see a shrink, and then try to pick up where I left off in life.

"But that's not going to happen. So I'm going to screw you until you like it so much that you forget about killing me. I know I can't escape, so I'm just going to make the best of it.

"I'll cook and clean and make this place livable, just like a good girlfriend."

"You ain't my friend/"

"Then your partner."

"I ain't no partner of yours."

"Then your live-in lay. My point is, I don't intend to hurt you. Going back to civilization is something you'll have to make up your mind to do. I'm here for the duration. And you don't have to worry about me causing any trouble while you're figuring out things."

"The duration is going to be the duration of your fucking life."

"So be it."

Garth dumps a pile of scrambled eggs onto my plate and tosses me an orange. I begin shoveling the eggs into my mouth with my hands before he tosses me a plastic spoon. Starved, I shove the food into my mouth without regard to manners.

My plate empty, I watch Garth get ready to serve himself. But instead, he gives me his portion.

I look at him quizzically.

"You look like your hungry. Do you want toast?"

I nod yes, smiling.

He places two pieces of bread into the toaster.

"Do you like it burnt or light?"

"Burnt."

He retrieves some packets of butter and jam from the grocery bag on the counter and places them in front of me on the table.

"Do you want coffee?"

I nod yes.

He fills a coffee pot with water, opens up a can of coffee, finds a filter, and starts a pot of coffee.

"You seem to like feeding me. If I'm not your girlfriend or your partner, can I be your pet while we're here?"

In Garth's hands are the two eggs he has decided to cook for himself.

"That would be strange. A guy doesn't fuck his pet, at least if he's not some kind of pervert."

He pauses for a moment.

"Oh, I get it. If I hit you or do some kind of shit like that, you're gonna say I shouldn't be mean to my pet!"

"No, no. I didn't mean that at all. You can do anything you want to me, except hurt my pussy or my ass or my mouth, because if you do that you won't be able to stick your cock in there And if you kill me, you won't be able to fuck me anymore, unless you're into dead pussy."

"I ain't no fucking Ted Bundy, if that's you're thinking!"

"No, not at all. Just remember when you get mad at me, how much you like my pussy and I like your cock."

"I promise. I'll keep that in mind."

It takes me about ten seconds to finish the scrambled eggs. He tosses two pieces of blackened bread in front of me and puts two more pieces in the toaster. I drench my toast in butter and jam and gobble it down.

Garth then sits down to our first breakfast together.

"Are you going to punish me today?"

"For what?"

"I guess for being a fucking Jew."

"I haven't thought of about it yet."

I peel the orange and bite into it like an apple, not bothering to separate the segments. The juice drips down my chin onto the table.

"Did you ever think that the guy you thought was going to marry you would remember how you look when you eat when it was on his mind to propose to you and then said to himself, 'Nah'."

"My parents were Ukrainian Jews. Eastern Europeans don't have the best table manners. I eat like a slob when I'm at home and this is my new home, I guess.

"Maybe not for long."

"Please, don't spoil what little enjoyment I have!"

"Ok. When it's time to put a bullet in hour head, it'll be right after I make you cum."

"Being murdered is what I have to look forward to after being fucked? Now you're spoiling that, too!"

"Bitch, you're becoming high maintenance! Ok. I won't kill you right after we've fucked Unless that's what you really want."

"I can assure you it won't be."

"I'll pick a time that's more acceptable to you."

I watch Garth gobble down his food, his manners a bit more delicate than mine. After he finishes, he gets up and pours coffee for the both of us.

I slurp my coffee. He gives me a mean stare.

"I can't stand that fucking noise!"

I take my next sip quietly.

"Much better," he informs me, before slurping his own coffee.

Energy surges through me as I absorb the caffeine.

"You know, I can make a list of things we need for this place."

"Do you got any money?"

I get up to retrieve my purse from the sofa, but am stopped by my ankle shackle.

"I got your wallet. If you run away and happen to find someone you think you can pay to take you somewhere, you'll have to pay them with your pussy. Not that I wouldn't take you up on that offer myself if the circumstances were different."

"So you're not going to buy anything for this place to make it habitable?"

"No. It's just a place to crash. That's all. Nothing more."

It's like this planet is a place for his soul to crash until he's reborn into a better life, I think.

"You know, a place is what you make it."

"That's bullshit. You see how this place is falling apart? It would be like putting lipstick on a pig."

"You have time. You have money. You're strong. And I bet you're good with your hands and at fixing stuff.

"And I can give you some suggestions about how to make this place look nice. And help with the work.

"That's something. A Jew saying it will do manual labor. You some kind of mutant or something? Or do you just like telling folks what to do?"

"If you have the deed to this property and you make this place look nice, I'll bet you could sell this property for a lot of money. And then you'd be able to tell anyone who needs to know where you're money comes from. When you go to rent an apartment, the landlord needs to know how you're going to pay the rent. I can't imagine anyone giving you a lease to sign if you don't have a job and just say you'll come up with some cash every month."

"And you'll take a little cut of the money for helping me sell this place. That's what Jews do."

"Why should I worry about money when all I'm thinking about is getting out of this alive?"

"Good point, 'cause I am probably gonna kill you sooner or later."

"Well give the amount of credit due to me when you write your book from death row."

"If I get caught, if they put me on death row, it will serve me right. But I ain't ever fucking killed anyone. You'll probably be the first. I'm just rotten."

"There's good in everyone."

"I doubt that. But keep talking that way. You'll live longer."

We finish our coffee and Garth goes into the bathroom to take a shit. I sit patiently at the table, chained to the chair leg. He opens the door and the foul odor of his excrement wafts over to me. My first suggestion to improve living conditions here will be to buy air freshener.

"Garth, you made breakfast. At least let me do the dishes."

He walks over to my chair, stoops over, and turns the key in the lock of my manacle. The shackle springs open and I rub the skin above my ankle, soothing the crushed flesh.

"Are you going to sit there or do the fucking dishes?"

I stand up and walk to the sink, carrying our breakfast plates and coffee cups. When I reach the sink, he stoops over and clamps the manacle around my right ankle again.

"Please Garth, leave the chain off! It hurts me!"

I feel the manacle spring open and sigh with relief.

"That feels much better. I promise I won't try to escape."

I make good on my promise and clean the dishes, hoping that earning my trust will allow him to let his guard down, so if I decide to escape I'll have a clearer path.

When I'm finished, Garth sits down on the sofa next to me and beckons me to join him. He opens a Nazi pamphlet and begins reading. I see from the corner of my eye the word Jew on the paper and a picture of a man with a Jewish face dressed in a suit. I don't imagine that there is anything complimentary about my people on the page.

"Garth, if we're not going to have sex right now, may I get dressed?"

"I don't give a shit."

I retrieve the underpants, bra, blouse, and pants in which I was kidnapped from the floor. My blouse is stained with the blood that oozed from my mouth after Garth beat me.

"Do we have laundry detergent?"

"There's no we. And there's no laundry detergent either."

"Can you buy some so that our clothes don't stink?"

"Yes dear."

I put the blouse on inside out to make the blood stains less visible and then go into the bathroom to pee. I see a new toothbrush next to the sink.

"Thanks for buying the toothbrush."

"I can't stand bad breath."

I finish brushing my teeth and then walk back into the living area, still naked from the waist down. Garth looks up as I retrieve my purse from the sofa.

"What do you need from your fucking purse? I already told you I have your wallet."

"I know. I just want to look a little pretty, that's all."

"Crazy fucking bitch," I hear him mutter.

I take my purse into the bathroom and regard myself in the mirror, which is covered in grime. I take a piece of toilet tissue, wet it, and make a hole in the filth. The entire right side of my face is swollen but my eye has been spared. It shouldn't be too bad with some concealer, I decide.

It feels good to run the brush through my hair, which I then pin in a bun on the top of my head. I then wash my face with whatever soap has been left on the sink from ages ago, afraid to ask Garth if he has purchased any new bars. I take the concealer out of my purse and apply a heavy coating. I hope my black eyeliner and purple eye shadow make my orbs alluring as I think of different ways to make my face look good enough for my captor not to kill me. A little blush will hopefully remind him how enjoyable it will be to fuck a living female rather than a corpse. And my purple lipstick might make him remember how good those lips felt as they slid up and down his cock.

I pull my underpants over my hips to keep my ass from stinking up my pants, not knowing when I will be able to wear clean clothes again. I put on my pants and realize I will need more clothes to live up here in the mountains with my captor.

I go back into the living room and stand before Garth. The page on the Nazi pamphlet he's reading has a picture of a big Nazi flag next to a picture of the Fuhrer.

"Do you like the way I look?"

"Yeah. You look all right."

"Do I look hot?"

"Uh huh."

"That's all you have to say? I tried to make myself look nice for you!

"Does the way I look make you want to fuck me?"

"What are you, a nymphomaniac or something?"

"It seems to me that the more we fuck, the longer I live. And of course, the hotter I look, the more you're going to want to fuck me."

"You're damn right about that."

"So you're going to fuck me again, right?"

"Yeah, I'll fuck you later."

He goes back to studying the Nazi pamphlet.

"So that shit you're reading is better to look at than me?"

"What do you want from me? No one fucks every minute of the day!"

"Well, if you don't want to fuck me, may I clean this place up a little?"

"Suit yourself."

I decide my clothed appearance is not alluring enough so I undress, leaving on just my underpants and gold necklace with the Star of David pendant, hoping to give him the idea that I, his untermenschen sex slave, will meet his every need. But he remains immersed in the pamphlet, even as I pass by him mopping the floor.

Housework makes me feel domestic and I forget my predicament. I hear Garth messing around with some lumber while cleaning years of filth from the bathtub.

It's around noon when Garth comes into the bathroom as I finish cleaning the tub. I look up to him for approval of the newly white surface of the tub.

"Nice job."

"Thank you."

"I'm going to try an experiment. You are going to be the subject."

"Sure. And the business about killing me. That's not going to happen today, is it?"

"No. You're all right for today."

He takes my hand and helps me stand up in the bathtub. My hand still in his, I step over the side of the tub. He escorts me to the kitchen. On the floor in the living room are a bunch of boards in which holes have been drilled. Also on the floor are ropes and a large burlap sack. For some reason he has brought a bunch of large rocks into the house.

From the kitchen cabinet, he grabs the whiskey bottle and pours two shots. He downs one and motions for me to down the other.

"You're not going to hang me again, are you?"

"That's only for special occasions. You're not going to be hanged this time."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Drink the shot."

I do as he commands. He pours another shot.

"Drink that," he orders.

I again do as he commands.

"Please tell me. Is this going to hurt?"

He nods his head yes.

I take the bottle and pour the whiskey down my throat. It burns on the way down as it flows into my stomach.

"Will you at least fuck me afterwards?"

He nods his head yes.

He motions for me to sit down in the chair. I do as he says and he shackles my right wrist to the armrest.

"I'm not going anywhere," I announce.

"You may try when you figure out what's about to happen to you."

He takes a piece of the old dirty thick hemp rope with which he hanged me when we got here and ties it around my right ankle with two half hitches. He does the same with each of my other three limbs and then removes my shackle. He then blindfolds me with my scarf.

"Don't you dare take that off!" he bellows.

I sit still in the chair, my apprehension building as I remain motionless, lest I somehow provoke my captor and make whatever ordeal I am about to face worse than it's already destined to be.

I hear noise as he moves the boards and stones around and remember the beauty of the stream and waterfall where we made love yesterday. That's something which is in the realm of possibility of repeating, I decide.

He takes my arm and helps me up from the chair. Still blindfolded, I sense that I am going toward where he has been working in the living room.

"Sit down. On the floor."

I do as he commands.

My right ankle is dragged across the floor, pulled by the rope. I then hear a grinding sound, as if the free end is being pulled through a hole. The noise stops and I hear the sound of ropes rubbing there, causing me to assume that my right leg has been tied to something. I then hear the sound of wood grinding against wood, and then feel a jerk as he pulls on the rope to straighten my left leg. The grinding noise starts again and then I feel the ropes pulling on my legs, extending and pulling them apart.

I hear something being placed on the floor behind me.

"Lie down," he commands.

Surprise must register on my face as I feel a blanket against my back, and I hear him say, "You might as well be comfortable, for now."

He stands up and I hear him plod across the floor as I lie motionless with ropes extending from my wrists, hoping to appear as a willing subject for whatever awful thing he has planned for me. His steps stop, but soon the plodding starts again and he is again at my side.

"Open your mouth," he commands.

I open wide and feel whiskey on my tongue. Before I can swallow, it hits the back of my throat, making me cough.

"Hold the bottle or glass to my lips and pour a little into my mouth," I plead.

I feel the bottle against my lips and whiskey trickle into my mouth. I lift my arm and tilt the bottom of the bottle upward, increasing the flow of the liquor. When I've had enough, I swallow and push the bottle away.

He takes my right arm and straightens it. I hear the grinding sound again. He repeats the process with my left arm. I assume that my limbs have been tied to two of the boards. I still have no idea what he intends to do to me. Then I hear something hit one of the rafters.