Imprisoned Ch 01 1

The clock struck four and the wooden cuckoo bird popped out on a brass spring. Its body, painted navy blue, contrasted with its fiery red wings. Without moving its beak, it cawed again and again until I drowned its monotonous drone by plugging my ears and humming loudly. Closing my eyes, I escaped to another paradise, a place far away from my imprisonment. Images of mother and father appeared behind closed eyelids. All three of us sipped cold ice teas while strolling down the Pacific Ocean's shoreline. Our pupils, caught in a waltz, gaped at the moon's shimmering reflection as it crystallized the magnificent waters. They spoke to me as if I had never left, as if these past three months had never occurred. We were on a vacation, as great as any, enjoying Florida's balmy climate. Whether it was the earsplitting sound of the basement door slamming closed or the deep, husky voice of my adversary, I always broke free from my reunion. Today, it was both. Without being able to bid mother and father farewell, or to ask them please, oh god, please, help me, they vanished and my eyes burst open in sudden frenzy.

The door at the top of the cement staircase shut, a loud bang echoing off of the soundproof walls. His footsteps clambered down the stairs. Each step he took, every muscle he moved, each flash he stole my way, anxiety built inside of me. I was a crumbling tower, anticipating the bulldozer to knock me down. He was the bulldozer. He made sure I understood that.

Sometimes he decided not to communicate with me during our four o' clock sessions. Typically, after he got home from work he wasn't looking for an emotional release. Even when he was in the mood for conversation, he had never been fond of small talk. Unlike most men in their mid thirties, he equally enjoyed heart-to-heart discussions and face-to-face fucks, which was quite unusual, especially considering the situation. He talked about the "big questions" in life. How did dinosaurs become extinct? Is there a God? Does objective morality exist? When I had met him earlier that fall, his expressive mind had appealed to me only second to his piercing green eyes. Even when I hadn't a clue what he was talking about, I simply enjoyed listening to his voice. Soothing it had once been, but now his words terrorized me. From loving his eyes on my body as I swayed my hips back and forth and rubbed my bare legs, I now loathed his embarrassing stare. Everything that I had originally found attractive had soured.

He stopped walking. I could feel his breath on my neck as he stood at the foot of my bed. Suffering from temporary paralysis, I found it impossible to fight him away. As frozen as the ice cubes in the delicious ice tea from paradise land, my body stiffened. He had brushed his teeth. Minty cool air stung the insides of my nostrils as he neared my face and whispered, "I had a rough day at work, Madison."

So he was speaking to me today.

"You know," he said, wrapping a strand of my auburn hair around his pointer finger. Tightening his grip, he tugged at my head. I released as gasp, but said nothing. "I'm feeling like you are going to be rough with me too."

I refused to answer. Gazing at him with dull eyes and a blank face, I learned how to successfully convince him that fear no longer inflicted me. As clever as he was, he hadn't discovered my fake attitude.

When no reply came, he continued, "We used to talk all the time, Maddy. What happened to those days?"

They're long gone, you mother fucking psycho, I thought, still expressionless.

"Please tell me that you're not harboring any hostile feelings. It's been how many months since you've been here." I used to love his vocabulary reservoir, but it only irritated me now. I managed to look away. My eyes, glued to the wall, I never wanted to look into his cruel face again.

"Maddy, I asked you a question," he said to me. I still wouldn't reply. His tone became serious then, and he spoke solemnly, "Madison, when I ask you a question, you're supposed to answer it." Biting my lip, I knew that no good would come from my unresponsive behavior. He loved my responses. He had told me long before our relationship had escalated physically. I wished it never had either. If I could go back and do things differently, there would be no hint of hesitation in my voice as I agreed to it. I would travel back six months prior—even five months would do. Unfortunately, there was no rewind button. My life, nothing like a movie, could not be stopped, rewinded, or fast forwarded. Trapped on play, my life was continuously moving, and I had discovered this without much satisfaction.

"Damn it, Madison," he barked, grabbing hold of my chin. Twisting it in his direction, he locked eyes with me. "How long has it been?"

Tempted to spit on his face, I refrained from doing so. Instead, I answered, "Three months." My voice was quiet and filled with cobwebs. I hacked and hiccupped. The sick bastard found my pain to be amusing and he chuckled a little, slapped my cheek, and pulled on my hair tighter.

"That's more like it. I knew you'd come around, Maddy, love," he said before planting a kiss on my forehead. I wanted to wipe away his drool with the back of my hand, but I knew better than that. "Wasn't I right, Maddy?"

"About what?"

"You being rough with me today?" He smiled and added, "In both senses of the matter."

"I would assume so," I told him. "I love it when you talk," he said, still playing with my hair. With his other hand, he trailed his fingers across my lips. "But I love it even more when you allow me to wear your skin."

I would never allow you, I thought, bracing myself for what was about to happen. You only want to believe that I would allow you. You're demented. You're sick.

He kissed me again, only this time on the neck. His lips, the same lips I used to adore, revolted me. Their warmth, their plumpness, their soft texture—his molesting lips. He released his grasp on my hair and went for my stomach. Placing his fingers on my bare skin, he worked his way underneath my bra. Arching my back, and craning my neck, my head rose toward the ceiling. His fingers once caressed me delicately, but now they were putrid and thick like sausages. His mouth met my breasts and I squirmed on the bed. Sweat drenched and stained with sex, the bed had become as filthy as his twisted mind. Circling his tongue around my nipples, I tried to remain calm. I did not want him to get the idea that he was pleasuring me. To any extent, this was no experience of enjoyment on my part. When I neither cried out nor notably orgasmed, in an exasperated voice, he said, "I want to hear you moan. Come on, Maddy, love, scream for me."

Before he gave me the chance, he forced my legs apart and ordered me to maintain my position. Standing up, he tore off his shirt and hastily unbuckled his black pants, letting them fall past his knees. He kicked the garments to the other side of the basement. He told me to look at him, erect and in all his glory. He stood above a dangling light bulb, his muscular body illuminated. His penis, larger than average, but nothing to brag about, protruded from his pelvis. Leaning over me, he began massaging my thighs, and he said, "You don't have to force yourself to moan, love. I can make you purr."

With his pointer and index fingers, he stroked my clit. He kept repeating, "How do you like that, Maddy? How do you like that?" Kissing my neck while his hand continued rubbing me, millions of tingles spread throughout my insides. As much as I despised him and as much as he frightened me, I could not deny his sexual empowerment. He dominated me with such authority that it soon became hopeless to even try resisting. My breathing became heavier and a whimper escaped my lips. Closing my eyes, I tried imagining someone other than my captor—someone charming, handsome, sweet.

I couldn't imagine someone better for too long. He wanted my eyes open. He said, "I don't want you to miss a thing."

Removing his hand from my clit, he held up his fingers, and licked them one by one. "You're delicious," he told me in between licks. Nauseated by his crazed behavior, I almost vomited, but he stopped sucking my wetness before disgust got the better of me. Then, he positioned himself on top of me. Before consenting, before my voice could be heard, and before I could pummel the top of his head with that goddamn cawing cuckoo clock, he entered me. With his penis jerking inside of me, his grunts ran in unison to the 4:30 ring.