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“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.
