05

Day 4

Darkness was her first enemy to overcome. It wasn't that Sarah was afraid of it exactly, and it certainly would have bothered her more in a larger room. There she wouldn't be able to see what might be lurking out there, leaving her imagination free to fill in those gaps with the worst sort of night terrors of course, but she could deal with that. In here though, the combination of silence and darkness made it impossible to keep track of time. It was impossible to tell one hour apart from another, and soon it would be impossible to tell one day from another. Until now she'd kept track of her captivity by sunsets, and knew this was her fourth day of torment, but if he kept her in here too long, she would have no idea if it was her fifth day, or if a whole week had passed her by. The thought was unnerving.

As time passed, it didn't take her long to realize that this room was colder and damper than the one she'd been kept in previously. Despite his monstrous behavior, he'd kept the room he forced her to live in naked at around 70 degrees, but this tiny closet had to be closer to 60 and falling. This left Sarah one of several bad choices, as the tiny blanket in here was not big enough to both wrap herself in and sit on. She could either sit on it to keep the ground from sucking out her body heat, or she could wrap it around her body and sit on the cold concrete. There was no other choice.

What would possess one, she wondered while she wrapped her arms around her body and tried to stay warm, to build a dungeon for your dungeon? Surely most kidnapers and rapists would be content to have one dark and terrible room to keep their victims; why would you need a second, worse one too? The answer seemed obvious after she thought about it for a bit: to break them faster. If you wanted to make a hell seem appetizing, then simply build a worse hell next door and see how long it took your captives to beg to be allowed to stay in the least worst option. She couldn't deny the logic, or the appeal; a couple more hours in here and she would gladly beg her rapist to go back to her own bed.

The thought shocked her. Her own bed. She couldn't allow herself to think like that. This wasn't her place. This wasn't her life. She wasn't going to stay here. She was going to get home, and soon, and then she would make this asshole pay for every moment of suffering inflicted on her.

It was only after a couple hours that she realized the worst part of the room wasn't the darkness as she had first thought, or even the cold. It was the size. It was just small enough that she couldn't lay down in any direction. Not even diagonally from corner to corner. Likewise she couldn't stand. She could squat over the bucket and use it as the toilet it was no doubt intended to be, but there was no hope of finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

At first, she tried to sit in the lotus position on her little mat and meditate away the discomfort. That worked for a while, but eventually the cold was too bad, and it gnawed at her every thought. Hour after hour she imagined this room slowly sucking the life from her. In the end, if her captor left her down here too long, he'd come back to find nothing but a freeze-dried corpse. That thought didn't terrify her as much as it probably should have. In some ways it qualified as an escapist fantasy, she thought. At least until she realized that if she died in a hole like this, not only would no one ever know the truth about her, but he would just go out and steal another young woman like her.

Did that make her responsible for staying alive so no one else would suffer this fate? She couldn't decide and decided to try to cum a time or two to keep herself warm instead because thinking was too hard. Sarah had to stop after only a couple of minutes though because as she fantasized about making love to her boyfriend Rob, her fantasies kept morphing to being taken by her rapist instead and it disturbed her more than she could say. He might not have conquered her yet but he had certainly invaded her, and was laying siege to her subconscious.

She was shivering intermittently now, after who knows how long in this awful little box. Who knew how much longer she would have to stay here? A few more hours? A day? A handful of days? Certainly it couldn't be more than three or she'd die of dehydration, and he didn't want her dead, did he? Sarah tried to remember how many times she had napped, or how many times she'd used the bucket, but couldn't be sure of either number. It had been longer than hours, but less than days she was pretty sure.

Sarah folded herself into a little ball in a fetal position in the center of her small world, careful to avoid touching any of the walls to avoid the cold. In this position she had the smallest footprint she could manage, and if she folded it just right she could lay on her quilt and fold it over her. It wasn't a blanket that kept away the cold like this... it was a taco that kept the cold from becoming freezing. That was all. This gave her just enough warmth to fall asleep fitfully, but that was an awful experience too, because each time her muscles would start to cramp too much her body would stretch out an arm or leg in her sleep, and touch the frigid walls or ground, waking her back up again.

It reminded her of the time she had gone camping with the girl scouts when she was a kid with a cheap sleeping bag not meant for anything close to cold mountain nights. It had been enough to keep her alive and miserable, but not much more. In the pitch dark of this stupid little room, it was doubly bad though. Every time she woke up she had no idea if she had fallen asleep for 10 minutes or two hours. It made time warp in all sorts of unfortunate ways. Was night over yet? Was the week over? God she was thirsty. This was impossible.

Sarah alternated her bouts of terrible sleep with her desire to get things back under control. She counted, she sang, she screamed, and she cried. She mostly cried as this tiny little hell of her own making slowly began to consume her. She read once that sailors stranded on desert islands began to hallucinate after 24 hours as their minds broke down. What did that mean for her, she wondered, between bouts of sleep. Which would fail first? Her rape traumatized mind or her hypothermic body? Sarah noticed she'd stop shivering, even though she was still very cold. Did that mean it was daytime now, or that she'd gotten so cold her body no longer considered shivering to be a good use of calories?

Day 5

These thoughts and a thousand more like them haunted her between her fitful and fruitless attempts at sleep until finally she heard the key turn in the lock. At first she thought it was a hallucination, that she was actually starting to crack up, but then the door really opened. And she sighed in relief. She was saved, because no matter what he made her do to get out of this fucking box she was going to do it, and she was going to do it gladly...

But he didn't issue any outrageous demands, or even mock her. He just picked her up, and carried her out of her personal hell, through the playroom, and back to her bed, where he laid her down gently and covered her with an actual blanket, not just a sheet like usual, letting her feel warm for the first time in days.

"What are you..." Sarah tried to ask before her captor shushed her.

"You've been in there a long time, Sarah. Don't strain yourself. Don't fight me today, focus on resting." he said, holding her wrist to take her pulse before getting up to get her a few bottles of water and a couple bottles of Gatorade. "I don't think we need to run an IV yet, if you hydrate now, but if things don't improve then we'll see."

She tried to lean up to ask him more questions, but he gently pushed her back down, then caressed her hair, almost lovingly before he got up and left the room. He seemed genuinely worried, but it was impossible for her to judge what went through his sick mind. Had she really been in there long enough to become dangerously dehydrated or was he just fucking with her. For all she knew it had been less than a day. It didn't matter either way though. She was physically and mentally drained, and all she wanted to do was lie here.

It was only after he left that she realized he hadn't bothered to chain her up. She wondered for a moment if she should try escaping now that she had that small advantage, but quickly decided that even if she did manage to get out of the house in her weakened condition, she'd never be able to make it somewhere safe before she succumbed to dehydration and exposure. So just this once, she did what she was told. Not because he ordered it, but because it made sense; it was the right decision. Once she'd regained her strength, she could figure out a way to break out.

Dutifully she hydrated between naps, alternating between water and electrolytes as her first aid training had taught her. The Gatorade tasted off. It was a bit bitter, and for the first few drinks she worried that perhaps her kidnapper had tampered with it, but in the end she couldn't force herself to care. He controlled everything she ate and drank - if he was going to drug her, what was she supposed to do about it? Between the drinking and the napping, Sarah improved considerably throughout the day. By the time evening came around, she was feeling much better. Indeed, she was feeling good. She was practically happy to be back in her little dungeon, even if she thought it was because she was happy to be warm and relaxed for the first time in who knew how many days.

Eventually her kidnaper returned, and she was surprised to find herself almost happy to see him. He brought with him a towel and some clothes, and laid them in a pile on the bottom stair. "Come here Sarah," he ordered, standing next to the shower, and she got up and came to him without so much as a complaint.

"Tonight the shower is warm, even if you don't really deserve it. Now shower, get dressed, and come upstairs when you've finished. Dinner is in 20 minutes."

Then she was alone. Unbound. With shoes and a dress and everything. She could get dressed, make a break for it, and run off to the nearest neighbor... but she hadn't had a warm shower in a week or two. She remembered the belt - when he had practically dared her to try to take it. That's probably what he was doing this time too. It was just another trap. He was just waiting at the top of the stairs to torment her for not following orders. Why shouldn't she enjoy the hot shower. Let him think she'd gone soft. As soon as the time was right she'd be free and he'd be in prison, and in the meantime she could feel human again, at least for one night. So she turned on the shower, let it get warm, stepped into the steaming cascade, and luxuriated in the joy of hot water and normalcy.

Idly she wished she had some soap and a razor, so she could look her best, but then she recalled who exactly she'd be looking her best for, and thought better of it. Finally feeling clean was enough. She was finally able to wash off all the terrible things that he'd done to her since he ruined her life. Her hand drifted down towards her pussy while she remembered the way he had made her feel when her forced her to cum from anal sex... but she stopped herself from touching herself at the last moment. Even though the memory turned her on, she knew she shouldn't like it. Part of her was still tempted though, even as she moved her hands up to her hair. Finding something she enjoyed in all this wouldn't make her anything like him, would it? Surely it was a good thing to take something positive from this horrible ordeal, wasn't it?

She stayed in the shower until her skin was flushed and she was starting to get dizzy before she turned it off and got dressed. He had a good eye, and had obviously picked the right sizes to suit her thin, shapely body. He'd chosen a matching lacy black set of bra and panties and a red dress that was alluring without being slutty, along with a matching pair of three inch heels. It was an outfit she might have chosen herself if she was going out on a promising second date that might end up leading to more. As she dressed, Sarah wished she had a mirror to admire herself in. She knew she shouldn't care about looking pretty for this maniac, but part of her really wanted to. She wondered what that meant as she climbed the stairs on unsteady feet for the first time and tried the door.

She had expected to find it locked so that her jailer could force her to knock and beg like a supplicant. Instead the knob turned in her hand, and just like that, she was in the kitchen as her kidnapper was plating the asparagus. "Well don't you look lovely Sarah," he said, sparing her a long glance that let his gaze wander up and down across her body making her feel a little flushed at the genuine compliment. "Just have a seat at the table and I'll have the food out directly."

She did as she was told, cursing herself for being too obedient. She could have at least given the knife block a lingering glance before grudgingly doing what she was told. Maybe she could... "The wine should be done breathing if you'd like to pour both of us a glass," he yelled from the kitchen, interrupting her train of thought. She tried to think of any way she could subtly disobey him but still have a glass of wine. Her mind felt slow tonight, so she couldn't think of any though, and so she poured them both a glass and waited. Inwardly she chastised herself again. It shouldn't feel like pure luxury to get to live like a human being for an hour or two. She hated that he'd done this to her, but hated herself more for not being able to stop it. Then she heard footsteps as her tormentor came to the table. Only this time, instead of carrying a knife, a paddle, or some other ridiculous thing, he was carrying two plates. He set hers down in front of her, revealing a mouthwatering sirloin steak with garlic mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. She'd been hungry pretty much the whole day, but now that she could see this feast, she was practically famished.

And just like that, she wasn't a basement dwelling rape slave, and he wasn't a perverted monster. They were just two people sharing a lovely dinner together.

He asked how she was feeling, and she answered without venom in between ravenous bite's of her meal. He even trusted her with a steak knife. A real honest to god serrated piece of steel without apparent worry that she would attack him.

And surprisingly, she didn't. He even commented on it after she made a joke, that her cutting wit was far more dangerous than the knife in her hand. To her shame, she actually laughed, taking the compliment. Afterwards she couldn't decide if she was angrier at herself for laughing or for feeling flattered, but she said nothing, not wanting to let this end.

When he asked if she was ready for dessert, she thought it was going to be nothing but crude innuendo, but instead he brought her some warm cherry pie a la mode, with a scoop of French vanilla and some coffee. Sarah almost wept for joy at this. She was so happy she couldn't even be angry at herself for a moment as she fought to hold back genuine tears of joy. For his part, her rapist only smiled and made small talk.

In the end, she couldn't finish her dessert as much as she wanted to. It was just too much - too rich after a week of nothing but scraps. As he cleared the plates she expected to be banished back to the basement for whatever the next torment was, but instead as she stood he wrapped her in his arms. "God you're beautiful Sarah," he said, kissing her hard on the lips before switching to her sensitive neck. She froze solid in that moment, like a deer in the headlights. She'd been ready for a dozen different torments; she'd been ready for him to rip her clothes off and rape her or cut her clothes off and shame her, but what she hadn't been ready for was kindness and affection. And it broke her.

She was supposed to fight him. She was supposed to hate him. Instead her mouth sought his out and kissed him back hard as he shoved his tongue in her mouth. He responded by gripping her ass harder, pressing her throbbing pussy against the rock hard cock she could feel through his slacks. Then his hands were everywhere, and she was surprised to find that hers were too. He unzipped her dress as she unbuttoned his shirt, stopping only long enough to let the dress she'd been so happy to put on an hour ago fall to the dining room floor. Then her hands were once again busy as she finished his buttons and reached for his fly.

Sarah never got the chance though - that was when her kidnapper suddenly picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

She was sure that being picked up by the man that had already raped her more than once, should terrify her, but it was a heady moment. It felt so romantic, like she was being swept off her feet by a boyfriend, and not carried away to god knows where by a maniac. It turned out that he was carrying her to his bedroom, not his basement, and as he tossed her down on his cushiony queen bed, and undressed properly, letting her watch her own private strip tease. It turned out her kidnapper was kind of hot. She'd known he was kind of cute the first time she'd seen him, but with his clothes off... Well, blue collar was more than just a style with him. His body was strong, but not quite sculpted and when his underwear finally fell to the floor she could see his cock was more than big... It was beautiful. She'd only had a couple average sized dicks inside her before the events of this week, but she'd seen enough on the internet to know that this dick was a rare breed... and she was ashamed to discover that her body craved it.

He crawled into the bed on top of her before she could have time to process the shame. Before she could use it as a trail of breadcrumbs to find all the negative feelings that should be consuming her at this moment. Instead she pressed her lips to his and her body caught on fire. He kissed her back for a long moment while he undid the catch on her bra, and then as he removed it, he shifted his lips down to her sensitive breasts and aching nipples, making her moan out loud without any attempt to hide it or hold it back.

"God," she cried, "Fuck that's good. I don't... I don't even know... Mmmmmm... know your name..."

"And maybe someday you'll deserve to slut," he said, twisting a nipple while he spoke to make her gasp in pleasure and pain, "But for now you can call me Master." He sat up then and reached for her panties. She did nothing to stop him, and all too soon she was naked again for this man. But this time she didn't feel like a victim about to be raped. This time her legs spread slightly without her even thinking about it. She was as turned on as she could remember ever being. She ached for him to take her and use her body for his pleasure. It was a new feeling. In the past she'd mostly used sex to control her boyfriends and get what she wanted from them. But this was different, and from the look on his face she could see that he knew it.

Her rapist didn't take her desperately, like a hungry man would devour a meal. Instead, he slowly spread her legs without any resistance, letting his fingers sink into her muscular thighs, sending just the right amount of pain through her body.

Then suddenly without warning he used his handholds to pull her towards him hard and unexpectedly. She gasped in delight at the sudden shift, and then suddenly he was looming over her, and she realized that he was now in the perfect position to fuck her. The realization scared her in the best way possible.

Then suddenly he gripped his thick shaft and rubbed the head of his thick dick up and down her drooling pussy lips. He kissed her hard, letting her revel in this sensation for a few seconds before asking, "Do you want it baby? Do you want to cum on my cock Sarah?"