Taken

She’d lain awake most of the night, alternating between terror and exhilaration. She was proud of herself for her bravery in swimming away from the boat, her hands still cuffed behind her back. But she was also terrified that the savage beating the night before wouldn’t have been enough to quell Brenda’s rage. Who knew what horrible plans the monstrous pair had in store for her today?

Somehow, and very soon, she would need to make a break for it. Maybe tonight, in the hours just before dawn, she would find the courage and the strength.

As Robert twirled the combination lock, she silently rehearsed the numbers along with him. When he pulled open the cage, she scooted forward, wincing with pain. Her sudden movement caused the welts on her back and ass to tug painfully, pulling at skin that was trying to reknit.

Robert reached in a hand and hauled her out. As he steadied her on her feet, he wrinkled his nose. “You look and smell like a dead fish. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jane followed him to the drain. As she squatted to pee, he uncoiled the hose and turned on the spigot. She no longer wished she could wash herself—she rarely even thought about it. She just raised her arms over her head and closed her eyes, mentally steeling herself for the blast of cold water.

He sprayed her body and then squirted a large amount of liquid soap onto his hands. He ran his hands over her skin, lingering as he always did at her breasts. When he slid his soapy fingers between her legs, she mentally left the scene, rising on huge white wings into the sky. She wheeled and looped high above tall, snow-covered mountains. The air was fresh and pure, the sun warm on her back, the sky a brilliant, endless stretch of blue…

She was jerked back to the basement when Robert forcibly turned her and then hit her welted back with a painful spray of water. She yelped, involuntarily jumping away.

“Get back in position,” Robert barked. When she reluctantly obeyed, he drew in a breath. “Oh, shit,” he said. “The spray was too much. You’re bleeding.” He lowered the hose and moved closer to her. Rough fingers moved over the worst of the welts, making her jump and cry out again.

“Shh,” Robert said soothingly. “I need to wash these so they don’t get infected.” He paused suddenly, frowning. “Not that it matters at this point,” he muttered so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Then he shrugged. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

Jane stilled, aware she had no choice in the matter. Robert ran sudsy hands gently over her back, ass and thighs and then sluiced away the soap with a far less intense stream of cold water. It still hurt, but not nearly as much. Though she despised and feared the man with every fiber of her being, she was grateful for this rare sensitivity. First cookies, now this.

Why was he being so nice to her?

She didn’t dare to think about why.

When he was done, he gently patted her dry and then applied another coating of the antibiotic cream. When she turned to face him, she said, “Thank you, sir,” actually meaning it for a change.

Robert grinned at her. He was, as usual, dressed only in a skimpy pair of gym shorts, his massive chest matted with tight, dark curls, his muscles bulging. “Thank me properly, little frog. Get on your knees and open your mouth.”

Biting back a sigh, Jane lowered herself to the hard concrete. Robert pulled his fully erect shaft from the fly of his shorts, waggling it obscenely toward her. Gripping her wet head, he guided his huge cock into her mouth. He groaned as he pressed his shaft to the back of her throat.

When Jane gagged, he chuckled. “Jesus, frog. When are you going to relax?”

When you’re dead, she thought, her gut roiling with fury at the stupid, obnoxious question. She was nearly overcome by a sudden, fierce urge to bite down hard on the shaft that was repeatedly choking and gagging her. She wanted to draw blood. She wanted to bite the damn thing right off and spit it out on the filthy floor.

Of course, she didn’t dare. Instead, she tried to mentally vacate the scene, but she was unable to manage it. So she focused on opening her throat to the onslaught, taking in what breath she could as he thrust in and out of her mouth.

Fortunately, the horny bastard came relatively quickly, shooting his bitter semen down her throat with another groan. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled away from her, tucking himself back into his shorts.

The cookies from the day before were only a distant memory, her stomach a hard knot of dull, aching hunger. He usually brought something down in the mornings—an apple, a piece of bread, sometimes even a full meal. On the mornings she was brought up to clean, she was permitted to eat beside the kitchen table, scraps tossed to her along with bites of food from Robert’s fork. Those were her favorite mornings, because it got her out of the basement and let her move around.