THREE

Idon't know how much time has passed, but I'm hungry, really hungry. I've been drinking water straight out of the bathroom sink, but it doesn't stop the hunger pangs.

He sits across the room, watching me, the same way he watched me when I first woke in the cell. I've slept a few times—on the floor—but I don't think that correlates with how many days I've been here. I think it's only been a couple of days.

I don't know. There’s no way to measure time.

We haven't really talked much. I'm not sure what one is supposed to talk about in this situation, and I think both of us are afraid that anything we say will give our captor additional ammunition to use against us.

Even though the mattress is only a few feet from him, he's chosen to sleep on the floor. He refuses to sleep on the mattress if I won't sleep on it, like he can't stand the idea of me sleeping naked on the cold, hard floor and him having some measure of comfort—like it offends his sensibilities somehow to the point that he's willing to be just as uncomfortable as me. And I've continually refused the offer.

Even if he'd move far away, I don't want to sleep on it while he sleeps on the floor, either, and if we both sleep on the mattress, I know what will happen next. It's impossible that with our hunger and that kind of proximity that his hands won't wander over my body, that he won't get on top of me and...

“Come here,” he says.

I swallow hard, but I don't move. Has he hit his limit with this? We both know what has to happen. Our captor hasn't spoken to us again. Who knows if he got bored and just decided to leave us here to die? Who knows if we'll get food even if we obey at this late stage?

He doesn't repeat his request, just continues to watch me. After a few minutes, he stands and walks across the cell. This is the first time he's been this close. I flinch when he reaches me.

He ignores my reaction and sits on the ground beside me, but he doesn't make any attempt to touch me. Instead, he sighs and says, “Starvation is a bad way to die.”

“I know,” I say.

“I don't think you do.”

I start to cry. It's the first time I've broken down since those first moments in the cell. Supposedly, if we have sex, we'll get food. And I want food, but then what happens? The longer I can delay this, the longer I delay the next steps in whatever sick game our captor is playing with us.

“You know what has to happen,” he says, echoing my exact thought of only minutes ago. “What’s the point of letting yourself get sicker and weaker than you need to be? You need your strength. You need to eat.”

“You mean you need to eat,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness seeping into my voice. So the nice guy act is finally ending? The gallant chivalry finally coming to an end. Everyone has a limit. And now I know his.

“I'll be fine,” he says. “I'll be fine a lot longer than you will. Are you going to let yourself starve to death?”

I chance a look into his eyes. “What do you think would happen to you if I did?”

He shrugs. “He'd probably take another girl, bring more bait to tempt me. He wants to turn me into a monster and you...or whoever... into a whore. That's my running theory, anyway.”

He stands and holds a hand out to me.

“What are you doing?”

“Remember what I said about the cameras and the bathroom?”

I nod.

He's still holding his hand out. I try to ignore it.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says.

I am so hungry. Finally, I take his hand and let him lead me into the bathroom. He guides me to sit on the edge of the tub and turns the shower on. Then he starts to undress. I tense, part of me wanting to run back into the cell.

“We're going to take a shower, you and I,” he says calmly. “I won't touch you in any way you don't want. And no one will see.”

I know what he's doing. He's trying to make this easier for me. In the end, I'll have to fuck him in the cell in front of the cameras so our sick mystery captor can watch. My co-captive is trying to give us some privacy and the illusion of choice at least to start, at least to let me get used to his body.

“Come on, drop the towel and get in the shower with me.”

He steps into the shower and closes the door behind him. I know he won't hurt me. He hasn't yet. I think I'm safe with this man, and there’s only one way to get food. I take a few slow deep breaths, wipe the stray tears off my cheeks, and take off the towel.

When I open the door, he pulls me in under the rain shower with him. His mouth moves close to my ear. His words are quiet, almost dwarfed by the sound of the water.

“I don't know if there are listening devices in the bathroom, but if there are, the shower may give us some cover. What's your name?”

I pull back from him and look into his eyes—really look at them. I've avoided his gaze so much in my time here. They’re hazel, but they seem far lighter than they are because of his tanned skin and dark hair. He's growing the beginnings of a beard.

“Kate,” I finally say.

“Kate. That's a pretty name. I'm Seven.”

At first I think I don't hear him right. “Seven? Like the number?”

He chuckles. “Yes, like the number.”

“Are you from a big family? Are your siblings all named One through Six?”

“No siblings. Only child. I can be grateful they didn't name me One, I guess.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

I like his name though. The strangeness of it makes me feel somehow more comfortable with him. But still I flinch again when he moves a strand of wet hair behind my ear, the touch too intimate. I'm suddenly so aware of just how naked I am with this man I don't know.

“You can touch me, Kate. However you want. I'm yours to explore. I want to make this easy for you because we both know you aren't going to starve yourself. And I really don't want to watch you...” He trails off.

He doesn't want to watch me die. Our captor is right; Seven will make it longer than me. And on a certain level, if we don't do what we've been ordered to do, it makes it look like I'd rather die than fuck this man. And that is definitely not true. His body is a work of art. There is no part of me repulsed by any part of him.

It's just the situation.

Even if he'd survive longer than me, I know he must be hungry. And our captor didn't say I had to consent. He just said Seven had to fuck me. All he had to do was take me in that cell, my will be damned, and we would both be fed—at least if our captor plans to honor his own terms. There’s no way to know if we'll really be allowed to eat if Seven fucks me.

Suddenly out of nowhere, I'm sobbing, the weight of everything becoming too much. Seven pulls me against his chest. My first instinct is to pull away, but he’s so warm and solid, and the way he cradles my head against him makes me feel stupidly safe in the midst of this nightmare.

“Shhh, Kate. I'm so sorry this is happening to you.”

I let him hold me as the warm water rains down over us. Finally, after several minutes, when I'm able to stop my crying, I pull away from him.

I reach out tentatively and run my hands over his chest, sliding down the smooth rippling muscles of his abs. He's got that gorgeous 'V' that only the most dedicated men can achieve. He's tall, maybe six foot three, and broad, but his muscles aren't bulky like a body builder. They are compact, tightly coiled strength. These are not muscles built for looks; they're built for action. Though they are undeniably beautiful.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from him as my finger trails along one side of the line of that 'V', then I drag my tongue long it. His cock rises to attention. He is large and thick and hard. Seven has the most beautiful dick I think I've ever seen in my life.

I experimentally lick one of his nipples before biting gently. He groans at this. I look up at him, and he takes the opportunity to put his hand behind my neck and pull me up and into him for a consuming kiss that ignites a whole swarm of butterflies inside my stomach that shouldn't be there but are.

I expect him to fuck me now, but he doesn't. We just make out in the shower for several minutes like a couple of teenagers who haven't crossed that bridge before. I'm panting when I finally pull away from him. He lets me go, his intense hungry gaze never leaving mine.

“No names outside of the shower,” he says. “We don't want to piss him off.”

I nod my agreement. For a moment, I wonder if he's going to push for more or take me up against the shower wall, but although I know he wants to, instead, he turns the water off and gets out.

When we go back into the cell, I'm wrapped in a bath towel again, and he's dressed in the clothing he was allowed. I go to my side, and after a moment of hesitation, Seven goes to his. He sits in that way he does, watching me. I'm not sure why I went to the opposite side of the cell after what just happened in the shower. Surely we are beyond this necessary distance now.

The voice finally speaks again, the first time in days. “Were you two in there practicing? Well, come on then, entertain me. I'm sure you're ready to eat by now. A steaming hot meal can be yours for the low, low price of your soul and self-respect.”

I can see the muscle tick in Seven's jaw. I know he wants to kill this man.

“This is the last time food will be offered. Fuck now and take the food or starve, and I'll start over with two new toys more willing to play my games. Tell me, Pretty Toy, are you ready to fuck him for your dinner because apparently he's just too noble to take what he wants for the greater good. I guess he would rather you die than watch you cry while he takes you. He's got the wrong priorities if you ask me, so it's up to you to save yourself.”

I feel the tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I look down at the ground. What else can I do? I don't want to starve to death in here.

“Yes,” I finally whisper.

“Yes, Master,” he corrects. “I am your Master, and you will address me properly.”

“You son of a bitch!” Seven says.

The voice sighs. “Okay, I can see I'm going to have to get new toys to play with. You two are boring.”

“Y-yes, Master,” I say quickly.

“Good. I can see our girl is at least ready to play, but is our boy?”

I look up to find Seven glaring malevolent holes into the shiny black camera domes above us. I feel the anger radiating off him, and it scares me even though it isn't aimed at me. Just knowing he has that kind of anger while I'm caged with him activates a survival response where I want to become as small and invisible as possible so he doesn't notice me while in this state.

“Pretty Toy,” the voice says, once again addressing me, “I think our boy needs convincing to let you eat. Drop the towel and crawl over to him. When you get there, I want you to beg him to fuck you.”

I'm crying again. I truly could have sex with Seven without it unraveling my world, but not with this sinister evil psychopath watching and giving orders, intent on making it the most degrading experience possible. But I'm so hungry.

My limbs are trembling as I take off the towel and crawl across the cold, hard floor to Seven. He's looking away from me. I don't blame him.

“Please fuck me,” I beg. I want to use his name, but I know this will only get us into trouble so I refrain.

“What did I say three days ago?” the voice says. “You will call him Master. You will address us both as Master.”

I think somehow it breaks Seven more to be put in this position being shaped and molded into a monster against his will, baited with the promise of food and survival. And not just his own, mine too.

“Please, Master, fuck me.” I can barely get the words out.

The muscle in Seven's jaw tightens again, and his face is still turned away from mine. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't make a move toward me. It's as though this decision is much harder for him than it was for me.

“Please, just do what he wants. I don't want to die.”

Despite Seven's choice to take me into the shower with him, the enormity of this seems almost too much for him.

The voice speaks again. “This isn't fair play. She's willing to play my games. If you aren't, maybe I should come into the cell and fuck her myself. Then she can eat, and you can learn a lesson. How would that be?”

“Don't you dare touch her!” Seven shouts.

There is laughter over the speaker. “I can do whatever I want with her. She’s mine. She belongs to me. And I’m generously offering to share her with you, to allow you to have a piece of her. But strictly speaking, we don't really need you. So if you want to starve and leave her all to me, I won't complain.”

Seven flinches when I reach out and touch his arm. “Please... just give him what he wants.”

“Please, Master,” the voice patiently corrects.

“Please, Master,” I say.

I swear every time I say that word to Seven I think he will completely lose it. There’s a pause. He takes a long, slow breath, then finally, he stands and without a word, peels his T-shirt off. The jeans go next. He isn't wearing underwear.

“Lie down on the mattress,” Seven says.

I crawl onto the mattress and lie down. It's even nicer and more comfortable than it seemed just looking at it, and I now regret not taking his offer to sleep here instead of on the hard floor.

My gaze drifts to his impressive erection. Whatever moral issues he may have with this situation, it doesn't affect what his body wants right now. He lies down beside me on the mattress and begins to gently stroke me.

I’m sure the voice will interrupt and stop him. I'm sure the voice wants Seven to be hard and rough and mean about it, but there’s no interruption. There’s no commentary. The touches start innocent and sweet. He brushes my hair away from my face, and runs his fingertips through it several times. He strokes my cheek, then drags his thumb gently over my lip as he unconsciously licks his own.

His hand trails down my neck. Hands graze down and then back up my arms. Gentle strokes down and back up my legs.

“What a pretty bare cunt. I like it,” the voice says over the speaker. I flinch at this.

I don't wax for the visual or tactile pleasure of men. I do it for myself. I like the way clothes feel when they brush against that bare intimate flesh. I like the way it feels when my fingers drift over and play with it.

I had a salon appointment a few days ago. I know I shouldn't have. I couldn't afford it. But the cost of rent was so much higher than the cost of waxing, and I just wanted something normal and routine to make me feel like everything in my world wasn't falling apart. That seems so long ago now. The specter of homelessness that had loomed over me now feels so trivial in light of everything.

Seven's eyes are filled with lust, and I know he agrees with our captor about the lack of hair between my legs.

“We'll have to keep her waxed,” the voice says. “When the time comes, do you want to wax her, or should I?”

We both know our captor is just trying to upset us. But it's working. Seven goes back to touching me, determined to block out our seedy voyeur. He rubs soothing gentle circles over my belly, and then those same movements happen again with each breast.

I let out an involuntary gasp as his mouth latches onto my nipple and sucks it into a hard point. The arousal that was lacking from my own body suddenly awakens at his mouth on my breast. Then he moves lower.

“Spread your legs,” he says, his voice going more guttural. The command is a command by every understanding of that word. It’s as though he’s crossed some imaginary bridge in his mind, and he’s now ready to play the role of my owner.

I spread my legs, wordlessly inviting him to touch me, to lick me, to fuck me. I'm starting to care less about the cameras because I'm beginning to need Seven inside me. Like Seven, my body doesn't care about the actual situation. It wants what it wants. It’s a primal dance with music we may not consciously know, but our bodies know, and they want to play this erotic symphony together.

The more he touches me, the less guilt he seems to feel about touching me, the more he treats me as a lover he has every right to possess.

I arch up against his mouth, my fingers desperately clawing at the mattress for purchase, anything to anchor me and hold me to this plane of existence. I moan as he sucks on my clit. His fingers dig into my hips as he greedily devours me.

“Stop,” the voice says.

Seven stops, irritated now by this new command. He doesn't want to stop.

“Pretty Toy, look into his eyes and beg him to let you come.”

When I look into Seven's eyes this time, a real shift has occurred inside him. Gone is any hesitation to take me. His body and mind are in accord, and I know he will soon fuck me breathless.

“Master, please let me come.”

This time when I say that word, he doesn't flinch. His jaw doesn't clench. The anger doesn't show up. There’s only lust. It won't take long for him to love hearing that word come out of my mouth. He already wants to love it. I decide this is better. If he winces or turns away when I call him master, it will only shame me. His acceptance and desire is better.

Seven goes back to work on my pussy, his mouth unrelenting until I come, writhing and moaning and panting, unable to control my erratic need to feel these feelings under the precise control of his tongue.

When the pleasure recedes, and I'm wet and open and soft in his arms, he mounts me. I gasp again as he fills me. I've never been with a man this large before, and even after my orgasm and arousal, it takes a moment for my body to adjust to his size.

He begins to move slowly inside me, until I'm once again arching up into him, my body begging him for more of this dark violation.

“Please, Master,” slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and he drives into me harder.

Pleasure tightens the cords in his throat as he lets out an animalistic sound. I join him again, a second wave of pleasure cresting over me as he grinds against my clit. Then he pulls out of me, gets up off the mattress, and puts his jeans back on.

Now that his lust has been fed, he looks guilty, ashamed. He can't meet my eyes. And I hate that. I feel wrong for this, but I liked who he was a few minutes ago, when he didn't give one flying fuck about the cameras or the situation. When I was something he wanted, something he'd decided to take, and his desire and need to be sheathed inside me was the only reality that existed between us.

A couple of water bottles are tossed in through the slot in the wall, then several minutes later, a plate of the promised steaming hot food. Seven takes it as it comes through the slot and then there is a second plate.

One plate is blue and the other is white. Both plates have the same food. Steak, green beans, and a baked potato with just a little butter. It looks and smells delicious, but we'll both have to eat very slowly to not get sick.

The voice comes out over the speaker. “The food on the blue plate is drugged. I'll leave it to the two of you to decide who gets the drugged food. I think you know which would please me, and I think you know you need to factor pleasing me into all of your decisions from this point onward.”

I swallow hard, staring at the food. “If I take the drugged food, you can fight him off if he comes in,” I say.

Seven shakes his head. “He means the drugs for me; that means the amount is too high for you. It could endanger your life if you eat it. I'm not going to risk it. You are not eating the drugged food.”

My lip is trembling. “But if you eat it, he could come in here and...”

His expression goes tight. “I know.”

“We could split the food on the white plate,” I offer.

“That'll just piss him off, and you need a full meal. Fuck! You eat the food. I won't eat. I'm not going to let him come in here and...”

“You have to eat,” I say. “If you die, I'll be here with him by myself. Please don't leave me alone with him.”

Seven pushes the white plate toward me. “Eat,” he says.

“What if they're both drugged, and he's just playing with us?” If that's the case there’s nothing we can do. It's either drugged food or no food.

Seven doesn't reply to this. He just watches me. Finally, I give in and start eating. I still think we should have shared this food. But he's right about it making our captor mad, as though we’re trying to cheat at his game.

I've nearly finished eating the food on my plate and drinking the water when Seven finally makes the decision to eat his own. He knows there’s no choice. He either eats or he dies.

I can tell it pains him to leave me unprotected while he's unconscious, but what other choices do we really have?

“Come here,” Seven says when he's finished eating. He pulls me into his arms, and we lie down on the mattress curled up together. I grip his hand, willing him not to fall asleep even though I know he won't be able to fight the drugs.

I hear it when his breathing pattern finally shifts, and my breath hitches in panic.

A few minutes later, the door to the cell opens for the first time.

Our captor steps into the room. Given the monster he so obviously is, I expected him to be ugly, but he isn't. At least not on the outside. He’s cruel beauty. A little shorter than Seven, probably six feet tall, and not quite as broad. In a fair fight, Seven would win no question, but I can see the clearly strong and lethal muscles under his T-shirt. He has strange light gray eyes that appear empty of everything and hair just a little lighter than Seven's. He's clean-shaven, where Seven has a growing beard, probably because of an inability to shave in here.

I grip Seven's hand harder as if he can protect me from our captor while unconscious.

The menacing stranger, the man who has insisted I, and I alone, call him master crosses the room to us. He hasn't demanded a title from Seven, and I'm starting to think his assessment is right. This man wants to make Seven a monster and me their whore.

He pries my fingers out of Seven's while I struggle against him and cry. “Please... please... don't hurt me.” I've never been more afraid than I am now in this man's presence.

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. Then he says, “Please, please don't hurt me, what?”

“M-Master,” I say quickly.

He nods, satisfied with this answer but unwilling to offer me any reassurances to answer my plea.

He picks me up off the floor, then walks me to my corner on the other end of the room.

“Sit,” he demands.

I slide wordlessly to the ground, the tears moving down my cheeks. Then he turns and crosses the floor to Seven. He grips the man by the shoulders, and drags him to the door.

“W-wait, where are you taking him?”

He looks up at me and smiles a hollow, soulless smile. “Oh, don't worry Pretty Toy, you'll get your turn soon enough.”

He presses his thumb to a keypad, the door slides open, and he drags Seven out, leaving me alone in the cell.