When the Dark Wins

“No, no,” I whimper, pulling away from him, but he’s too fast. Thick calloused fingers grip my face harshly, turning my head to face him. His eyes glow with feral rage. His voice may have been the thunder, but his actions are the storm. He forces me to look at him, and I know there’s no way I can fight the blizzard of this man. I’m ready for the lashing of lightning to burn me alive.

“Listen to me,” he commands with fury burning through his words, igniting fear within my very core. “I don’t care if you say no, in fact, I want you to say no. When you fight and wriggle against me, I’ll fuck you harder. I’ll make you fucking bleed all over me, all over my cock, and when I’m done, I’ll ensure you clean me with your pretty pink tongue.” His laugh is manic, vibrating off the walls as it tumbles from his slim red lips.

“Sir,” a voice at the door draws his attention. “We have contact,” the man says. When my captor moves, I get a glimpse of the stranger at the exit to the hell I’m locked in. His eyes land on me for a split second before averting his gaze to his boss.

“And they know what we have?” my captor questions. His answer is a nod. “Good. Get her ready.”

The stranger walks into the room. He has a confident stride, as if this is the most natural thing for him to do. His body is large, foreboding with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, I take him in, wondering if I could fight my way free. If I can get my hands on a weapon, I’ll be able to do something other than lie here like a fucking toy.

The dress shirt he’s wearing is a dark color, but not black, perhaps charcoal. His slacks match but his boots are black leather with worn cracks. He doesn’t speak, but I take my time watching him move around the room.

He fills a bucket from the sink in the corner, the sound of water causing my bladder to ache.

“I need…” When I utter the words, he spins on his heel to pin me with a glare. “I uhm, need to pee,” I tell him as embarrassment flushes through me, heating my cheeks, traveling down to my chest.

“Piss yourself on the mattress. The next girl won’t be here till it’s dry.”

My mouth falls open, gaping at him in shock. Horrified at having to do what he said. I turn away, attempting to not listen to the trickle of the tap.

“Don’t mind me, doll, I’ve seen much worse.” This time he chuckles. “Working with him, I’ve cleaned piss, blood, and shit when he’s finished with one of you, so you’re definitely not special,” he continues, not looking my way.

He picks up the bucket and strolls over to the icy metal bed I’m bound to. My wrists ache, pins and needles pierce me as I tug and pull to get free, even though I know it’s a pointless exercise. Standing over me, he takes the bucket and tips it over me and the mattress I’m lying on.

A squeal of surprise is wrenched from me, bouncing off the walls. I tug on my restraints only to have the twine bite into my torn skin, and I feel the trickle of water and blood as it oozes its way over my flesh.

The cold has nothing on what I feel now. My body is frozen. My limbs lose all feeling and my teeth chatter loudly against each other.

My tormentor captures me in his arms and I realize he’s unbound me from the headboard. Even though I’m loose, I’m free, I’m still bound in another way. I’m so cold I can’t move unless he’s lifting me. My arms flail, one at my side and the other on my lap.

He turns us to leave the cell I’ve been in, but as he squeezes me through the doorway, my stomach lurches and my bladder releases warm liquid over his stomach and arms.

“Are you fucking pissing on me?” he shouts, dropping me on the cold concrete floor. I land with a harsh thud on my hip which causes me to cry out in agony. I grab at the side of my body, attempting to ease the pain that’s shooting through me to no avail.

His hands swipe at his shirt and slacks but they’re drenched in my urine.

“You little bitch!” His foot makes contact with my stomach with a resounding thud. My lungs lose all air, my hands fly to my abdomen in an attempt to protect myself, but I know it’s futile.

“Stop playing with the toys,” the captor’s voice comes from behind me. My vision is blurry, but I can make out the man who has just knocked the breath from my lungs.

He leans in, his face close to mine in a sneer so cold it turns my blood to ice. “I’ll make you pay, little dove. That pretty white hair is like the wings of a bird and I’ll pull and tug until you have nothing left. And then, you’ll fly no more,” he grits out angrily.

Before he turns to leave, he spits on my face, saliva splattering on my cheek.

“Enough!” my captor orders him. “She’s worth more alive and looked after.”

Then I’m being tugged to my feet, dragged and thrown into a room which resembles a horror movie bathroom. Blood pools on the floor, the walls have the word help painted in the crimson liquid and my stomach convulses when I think about what happened.

“Clean yourself. Clothes will be set out for you when you’re done.”

The older man turns, leaving me in the room with no privacy as the door is no longer on its hinges.

I open the tap, cupping my hands and splashing the frigid water on my face. The toilet that sits to my right is stained with black marks which makes my stomach roll with convulsions.

I shove my panties down, hovering over the seat. Once I’m done, I wipe myself with the hard paper that’s used for cleaning kitchen counters. The scrape of it against my sensitive flesh only makes the torture worse. My skin, normally sensitive to abrasions, I can only imagine is bright red from the burn over my core.

As I head out of the bathroom, I look around, praying I find a doorway, an exit, but as I feel along the dark wall, I find nothing.

I’m a prisoner and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sighing, I give up after my third attempt at trailing my fingers over cold, smooth concrete.