Cage

For Jack, who helped me start writing again.

Note: "Inuchan" is pronounced with long vowels, as in "ee-noo-chaahn."

* * *

He put her in a cage, the metal door clanging shut with ringing finality. It was a large cage but not quite large enough for her to stand or stretch out; she had to crouch, sit, or curl up. Her heart thudded in her chest. What was she doing here? What had she agreed to? What would happen now? She pressed herself against the side of the cage, really an oversized wire crate meant for a big dog, one hand squeezing between the bars to clutch at the trailing ends of his unbuttoned shirt.

"Please," she whispered, without knowing for what she pled.

He kicked the cage, hard. Metal rattled against metal, sending vibrations through her body as she snatched her hand back and cowered into the corner. She understood: she was not to speak. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she bent her head and cried.

* * *

He left her alone. The dimly lit room afforded nothing in the way of distraction, and she spent most of the time staring miserably at the bare walls. A doorless opening into the next room was the only thing that broke up the unending greyness all around her. Nothing could be seen through the doorway from where she was caged, save the end of a dark blue couch.

By the time he returned to let her out, she was shivering from lying on the metal tray that was the bottom of the cage. A shallow ceramic dish was set down a few feet away on the bare concrete floor. Her cramped limbs refused to behave at first and her arms buckled when she tried to crawl out; as she fell, the shoulder of her t-shirt snagged on the side of the door and ripped. Tears sprang to her eyes.

She sat down heavily, half in, half out of her prison, and looked up at him. He gestured impatiently towards the bowl which, when she looked more carefully at it, appeared to hold a few spoonfuls of something that resembled oatmeal. She hated oatmeal. Still, she dared not refuse what was obviously an order; she didn't know what he'd do if angered. Forcing her disobedient limbs into motion, she wondered again what had made her agree to this.

"You're sure you want to do it?" he had asked, and she, with an eagerness borne of naiveté, had nodded. He had been persistent in his warning, asking again and again if she was sure, if she understood what she would be agreeing to, if she knew that he wasn't playing games, if she realized that saying yes now meant saying yes to everything.

Everything.

"I'm a big girl," she'd said, shrugging as if to excuse the blush that flooded her face. "I know what I want." How sure she'd been, sure with the absolute confidence that only a newly minted 21-year-old can muster.

Now, in the half-finished basement of a man she had known for barely a month, crouched over a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, she was no longer so sure. The sight of the unappetizing mush made her hesitate; part of her wanted to tell him she did not want to eat it, but before she could think of a way to do so without speaking, she felt his hand on the back of her neck. She froze. He pushed her down, a movement no less an order for its gentleness. Hot tears, borne of fear and embarrassment, flooded her eyes and dripped into the bowl. She felt rather than tasted the saltiness on her tongue as she bent to the task, his hand a burning heaviness on her nape. Fingers slipped under the collar of her t-shirt and she shivered nervously at the cold touch of something metal.

Snip.

Scissors, he had scissors, and he was cutting her clothes off. The realization made her tremble, a quivering vibration of muscles that started in her arms and threaded its way down her back to her legs. At the same time, a creeping dread added weight to her limbs until they felt nailed to the floor. The smell and texture of the thick porridge nauseated her but she kept choking it down, hating the way the gluey paste stuck to her lips and chin.

Snip.

Pieces of cotton that used to be a white t-shirt dropped softly onto the floor. She shivered. Gulping down the last mouthful of food, she tensed when the scissors blade slipped under the waistband of her jeans. They sheared through the thick denim easily, and he slowly cut his way down the back of one leg, then the other, until the material slid off her body, leaving her in bra and panties.

He pushed the cut pieces under her face, knocking the bowl away. It scraped noisily across the floor and she flinched, fighting the urge to get up, the pressure of his hand reminding her to stay where she was. The hand moved to the back of her head and pressed down; she was not expecting it and did not think to resist, even as he roughly rubbed her face in the denim to clean off the dried oatmeal.

Her heart raced. What now? Was he going to fuck her? An image flashed into her head, an image of him mounting her from behind like a beast in rut, forcing his cock into one of her tight holes as she howled, in pain or pleasure she could not tell. He'd often whispered about such things to her during sex, describing the scenes in detail until she plunged into yet another screaming orgasm. The image lasted only a second but it was enough to send a coil of heat through her body and to make her blush. When he let her back up, tugging on her hair until she was kneeling with her body upright, she kept her face down so that he would not see how red her cheeks were.

She flinched when he brushed his hand over her face and he chuckled, apparently amused by her reaction. His fingers trailed over her pink cheeks, then up the side of her face to push the tangle of auburn hair aside, over her back. He showed her a collar, a simple one made of brown leather with a silver buckle, adorned with only two D-rings on opposite sides. It went around her exposed neck, and she could not repress the shudder that erupted through her at the sensation of the soft, obviously worn, leather sliding over her skin.

"That's enough for now," he said after he had buckled it, his voice low. She started at his words; it was the first time he had spoken since she'd been brought down there. He'd never been much of a talker, saving most of his words for when they were in bed, for when he held her down and called her his slut bitch. Blinking, she tilted her head up to look at him, and saw him glance towards the open door of the cage. He nodded towards it. "Get in." Crawling hurriedly into her metal prison, she cursed the hardness of the floor. He latched the door closed and hunkered down to look at her huddled in the back, both arms wrapped about herself. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She nodded even though she knew he didn't need an answer from her, silent as he gathered up the pieces of her shredded clothing and the empty bowl. She wanted to ask for some water but didn't know how. How was she to communicate with him? Did he really mean for her to make noises like an animal? Hugging her knees closer, she licked her dry lips and watched him walk from the room.

Two hours felt like twenty. There was no way to get comfortable, with thin bars for walls and a metal tray for a floor, and after a while she gave up trying. The room wasn't cold but she felt chilled, sitting on a piece of stainless steel that clanged alarmingly whenever she shifted positions. It was hard not to give in to tears and, after a while, it was harder not to give in to the urge to scream and wail and beg to be released. A small metal tag dangled against the side opposite the door; desperate for anything to take her mind off her ordeal, she stumbled closer for a look. All it said was "Midwest Model 1048." She sniffled, threading her fingers through the criss-cross of wires, clutching helplessly until her hands ached.

Finally, the opening and closing of an unseen door told her he was back. She bolted upright before he even entered the room, her heart racing with anticipation. Then, suddenly ashamed of her impatience to see him, she wedged herself into the back corner of the cage.

He unfastened the latch and let the door swing open, bending down to look at her. "What's the matter?" He patted the floor, giving a four tone whistle as if calling a puppy, each note a higher pitch than the one before.

The heat returned, this time flushing through her whole body in a searing wave. It burned its way up and out of her throat in a low moan, and he must have taken it for a sound of protest because he sighed, reached in, and grabbed her collar. The harsh jerk he gave it hurt her throat, and he gave her no time to recover before starting to drag her towards the open cage door, towards him. He'd left the collar loose enough not to constrict her neck as she was pulled along, but her uncontrolled thrashing kept him from getting her all the way out.

With a disgusted sneer, he dumped her onto the concrete, legs still inside the cage. She hit the hard surface with a thump and yelped, starting to cry when he flipped her onto her back and pinned her shoulders to the floor. Her hands came up reflexively, as if to ward him off, but he slapped them aside and leaned over her. "Quit thrashing around, you silly little bitch," he snapped, sounding more impatient than angry.

She went very still, almost holding her breath. Tears continued to trickle. Her fingers curved into fists; they stung. His hands moved to her collar and she felt him fiddle with it; an extra weight and a light tug told her he'd clipped something to it. He held up the end of a thick black leash and waggled it at her warningly. No words were necessary for her to understand: If she didn't behave, she'd soon be wishing she did. Wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on his face and she nodded slightly.

He smiled as he stood up, giving her a few moments to slowly roll over and push herself up onto sore limbs, and started towards the entryway. The leash felt heavy; the metal clip made a soft clicking noise against the D-ring it was attached to when she moved, a relentless reminder of what she had been reduced to. She bowed her head and crept along the unyielding concrete floor, sighing with relief when he led her into the adjoining room, which was carpeted in a soft beige. Her eyes darted around. Wooden stairs led up to a door, presumably to the rest of the house, and two smaller doors, both closed, broke up one of the walls.

An opened case of bottled water was at the end of the couch, which was the only furniture in the room. Seeing it made her remember how thirsty she was, and she couldn't stop herself from staring at it with her mouth open. He glanced down at her, following her gaze. "Want some water, girl?" She started nodding before he finished speaking, and hurried to follow when he went to pick up a bottle. To her surprise, he opened it and poured some water into his cupped palm and held it in front of her. She hesitated, not wanting to lap water from his hand but....

Shame blossomed anew in her chest as she gave in to the inevitable and drank the water he offered. He made her lap up every drop of water before pouring more, forcing her to run her tongue across the coarse skin of his palm. Hot tears filled her eyes once more and she cried quietly as he let her drink her fill; she had never before felt so humiliated.

She didn't know it then but it was about to get worse. Shortening the leash in his hand, he led her to one of the closed doors and opened it. A grassy backyard loomed beyond the threshold. Desperation engulfed her suddenly and she twisted up onto her knees to plead, "Please, I don't--"

He cut her off with a slap, hard enough to send her back onto her hands, and followed it with a sharp downward jerk on the leash. Her face burning from the blow, she crouched at his feet, steeling herself for further punishment. "Why do I waste my time with inexperienced little brats?" he muttered, yanking several times on the leash to get her over the threshold and onto the grass. A stockade fence enclosed the entire area as far as she could see, disappearing towards the front of the house along either side. Beyond the fence, no other houses were in sight. She looked up into the cloudless sky and shivered, hating how exposed she felt. Was he going to fuck her right there on the ground like an animal? Would anyone hear her if she screamed? She pushed the appalling images from her mind.

But he didn't even touch her. "Go on, piss," he said, jiggling the leash. Her mouth dropped open and she swung her head around to stare at him in disbelief. Did he just say to.... "Piss." His impatience sounded ominously close to turning into anger, and her head shook in incredulous refusal even as she tried to force the right muscles to relax. Her stomach clenched with the effort, and she let out a soft wail of distress when she succeeded, a cascade of hot liquid gushing down her parted legs to soak into the ground.

The sharp smell of urine rose around her and she hung her head dejectedly. How much lower would he make her go? When he tugged her head towards the ground, she did not resist, sinking until her cheek pressed into the soft grass. He tucked the leash under his foot, leaving her almost no slack at all, and pushed his hand against her piss-soaked bikini briefs. Mortified, she could only whimper in protest as he shoved the sodden material between her pussy lips and rubbed it over her clit. Her hips jerked; she fought the urge to buck away from his rough hands, gritting her teeth when he forced the wet panties partway into her together with his fingers. Then he hooked a finger under them and pulled; the wet cotton ripped easily and was tossed aside.

The finger returned to invade her pussy. One quickly became two, then three, making her squirm in discomfort. He plunged them deep, fucking her in short, fast jabs. Chuckling softly to himself, he murmured, "You're finally getting to be worth the trouble." Soon, it became clear what he was amused about: the movement of his fingers in and out were accompanied by a faint sucking sound. Despite everything, her pussy was soaking wet with arousal. Whatever was left of her shattered dignity evaporated at that moment.

He stepped behind her and she heard the sound of a zipper, then clothing being tossed onto the ground some distance away. Was he really going to fuck her like this? With her kneeling in a puddle of her own piss? It was too much, she couldn't take-- His cock slid into her with ease, guided by the slippery wetness. He was squatting over her, angling his thick erection down to feed it slowly into her tight pussy. She wasn't a virgin but she also wasn't experienced, definitely nowhere near as experienced as she had claimed to be. He pressed his hands onto her back, resting some of his weight on her to keep her in position, and sunk lower with a groan as he filled the squirming girl.

Struggling to stay quiet, she succeeded until he started to move inside her. There was no finesse in this fucking: he pulled his cock out almost all the way, then plunged it back in, forcing soft cries from her each time it thrust her open anew. In that position, he felt larger than he really was, his punishing hardness seeming to travel endlessly deep, hitting her cervix until she began to whimper in pain, hands clenching. That seemed to spur him on into a climax, grinding his hips ruthlessly into her upturned ass to make sure his cock was as deep as possible when he came.

He held himself tightly against her, his cock twitching and spurting inside her pussy. Even though it had taken only a few minutes, she was already sore, unused to such abrupt roughness. With a groan, he jerked his softening cock from her, and stumbled a couple of feet away to sprawl out on the grass. Not daring to get up without permission, she raised her head slightly to look at him, humiliation growing as she waited, feeling the fresh come dribble down her spread thighs to mix with her piss.

He had taken off his shirt and was lying naked on his back. Slowly, he stretched towards her, one hand reaching for the end of the leash. Then, rolling to his feet in one quick movement, he tugged her up. She couldn't stop shaking while she stumbled across the grass to follow him back into the house. The second closed door opened to reveal a bathroom, only it wasn't like any bathroom she'd seen before. There was no bathtub or sink, just a standard white toilet on one side and a detachable showerhead mounted to the opposite wall. The entire room was tiled, and sloped gradually towards a round floor grate in a corner. So eager was she to get clean that she nearly pushed past him to get to the shower, the sticky smell of semen mingling with the sharp tang of urine starting to overwhelm her.

Unclasping her leash, he nudged her up to the far wall as he took the shower head down and adjusted the water flow and temperature. The first gush of clean water over her back was heaven; she almost purred in relief, her body sagging under the warm spray. She didn't even mind when he unfastened her bra, leaving her finally naked. He'd already made her piss herself, fucked her, and filled her with his come; what did it matter anymore? He let her sit on the tile floor as he soaped her breasts and belly, slapping lightly at her thighs to make her open them wide. She blushed when he lathered her pubic curls, and was unable to hold back a whimper when he pushed soapy fingers into her sore pussy. Then she shrieked in alarmed surprise as he wormed a finger between her ass and the floor, and up into the even tighter hole there.

Apparently he had been expecting such a reaction from her. Before she could struggle away, he pushed her onto her back, moving between her spread legs at the same time. Was he going to fuck her ass? She panicked, and screamed, "NO!" He leaned over her as she writhed on the slick tiles, his finger digging deeper into her virgin ass.

"Please. Don't," she sobbed, not caring that she was breaking the rules by speaking.

He ignored her. "Oh yes," he murmured, setting his shoulders against her trembling calves and pushing forward until she was almost folded completely over.

You're being violated, her mind screamed, violated against your will. This wasn't what she'd agreed to. She'd never agreed to being finger-fucked in the ass on the shower floor. Still, the digit sawing in and out of her clenching hole and the hard tiles biting into her back told her that that was exactly what was happening. His thumb pressed into her clit, matching each thrust of his finger into her asshole with a gentle stroke over the sensitive tip.

She let out a shuddering gasp. He laughed, suddenly, and pushed away from her, leaving her empty and reeling under the shower spray. "Horny little bitch, aren't you?" he commented in a casual tone, turning off the water. At that moment, she hated him, hated him for doing this to her, hated him for making her want him.

After he toweled her dry, he fed her dinner, pieces of grilled chicken mixed with rice on a plate, and returned her to her cage for the night. This time he left her a soft fleece blanket to curl up in, still not the most comfortable way to sleep but better than laying on metal. She didn't think she'd ever be able to fall asleep but the events of the day had exhausted her, and she started to doze off even as her body shivered in discomfort.

* * *

She woke disoriented. There were no windows to tell her if it was morning. The sound of her own breathing was the only sound she heard. Blearily, she rubbed sore muscles and longed to be able to stretch, knowing it would be useless to try to sleep more. As her mind slowly untangled itself from the foggy tendrils of sleep, returning awareness made her cover her face in confused despair. How long was he going to keep her here? What other torments did he have planned for her? Her imagination would not be stopped, throwing up image after image, depraved scenes that shook her into a trembling near panic. It was a long wait before he came.