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The party. They’d been whispering about it, but I still have no idea what it’s for. I guess I should be grateful the party doesn’t involve me in any way. I can already imagine Victor presenting me to his mafia friends, telling me to spread my legs for them.
When the door clicks shut, there are a few seconds where I can’t breathe. I pinch my arms to remind myself that I’m fine, that I’m in a nice, big, well-lit room with plenty of air.
Once I’ve steadied myself, I take stock of the situation. My body is sore as hell, after everything I’ve been put through. The bruises Victor left on my ass must be starting to turn purple. Saint hadn’t been that gentle on my cunt, and Angelo… well, the lube helped, but for a while it had felt like I was getting split in two. People did that regularly, willingly?
Never mind that it had started to feel good after a while.
I’m tempted to jump into the shower again, but it won’t wash away my hurts… and I should probably eat first.
I’m starving, but I hesitate before I take the first bite. Is this food drugged too? Is Saint going to sneak in later and have his way with my passed-out body again? But at this point, it’s either eat or starve. If Saint wants to knock me out, I don’t think refusing to eat will deter him. After all, it hadn’t the first time, when he’d shoved that cloth into my face.
I devour the food embarrassingly fast, and thankfully I don’t feel any drowsiness. Except, I realize, maybe I should have wished for the artificial sleep. Because now I’m trapped in this room by myself.
I try watching TV, but I can’t concentrate on anything. The channel guide isn’t showing anything I want to watch. Crime dramas, sitcoms, news, reality tv… It’s all pointless. I can’t focus. I’m still trapped in here.
I should be grateful I’m away from the men who’d beaten and fucked me, but all I feel is a terrible void and a sense of loneliness. I’m afraid that at any minute, the lights will go out and I’ll be enclosed in a tiny space all over again.
The more time that passes, the antsier I get. The minutes are dragging by, and Angelo had said it would be all day, all evening. I wouldn’t see anyone until after the mysterious party they’d hinted at. That was a long time away, at least a good twelve hours, and I was going to go insane.
I try to lie down on the bed and curl up to sleep some of it away, but I’m too wired. I guess all the sleep I’d gotten when Saint had drugged me and when I’d curled up in Angelo’s arms after he’d fucked my ass had been plenty for my system.
Frustrated, I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower to as hot as I can stand it. I throw the shirt I’m wearing—Angelo’s, long enough to be a dress on me—towards the door.
Angelo had washed me after we’d woken, and my skin is probably yelling at the abuse it’s been getting with all these repeated washings, but the hot water pelting on my bruises distracts me for a bit. I can almost pretend it’s their hands, pushing down and playing with my body. Angelo loved to see me wince, and Saint would whisper reassurances about how well I was taking the pain.
And Victor… my fingers go to my lips, and I imagine him playing with my mouth, making me suck his fingers while he looks at me with unreadable eyes.
My other hand slides between my legs, seeking out my clit, and I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m still hurting from everything they’ve done to me! They’re monsters!
But I start rubbing just the same, remembering their hands on me. Remembering just how gentle they were, too, when they’d lifted me out of the box. How Victor had given me that approving look, the one that made me think maybe I could mean something to him. How Saint had been so gentle with me.
How Angelo’s hand had gone to Saint’s cock.
Now there was something new to think about. There’s something between the two of them that I don’t understand. It isn’t like I’m there to judge, but I’d noticed the way Angelo had touched Saint so casually, only to be pushed away.
And Angelo had kissed Victor, who had just accepted it and gone about his business like it had been nothing at all. Was there something there, too?
Still, I imagine the three of them together, though I soon have to omit Victor from the picture because I can’t see him joining in with anything the other two might be doing. I can envision Angelo sucking Saint’s cock, though, just like he’d lapped all of their cum out of my cunt. Saint might go rigid, just like he always does when they get too close, but maybe he’d relax after Angelo had coaxed him to the edge of no return…
The fantasy takes me over, a supremely unsatisfying orgasm under the slowly cooling water. I stare at my hand in disgust. I can’t believe I masturbated to thoughts of them. No matter how good the sex is, they’re still holding me captive—
No, wait. I’m here willingly. Because it’s better than being with Pavone. Because at least these three like their fucktoys alive and breathing and in one piece, if maybe unconscious.
I stay in the shower until the water turns unbearably cold.
After dryingoff and pulling Angelo’s shirt on again, I’m once more confronted with the reality of just how trapped I am here. Only now I’ve exhausted all of my entertainment options. The TV is a joke, the windows look out to nowhere, and I’m all alone.
Honestly, it’s pathetic just how upset this is making me, but I’m on the verge of tears. I keep looking at the door, hoping somebody will come in. Every footstep could potentially save me. But the minutes tick by, and nobody ever stops in front of my door.
I turn the TV back on just to have background noise, but it all bleeds together as I pace between the bed and the door. I just need to talk to somebody or have them talk to me. It doesn’t matter which. I want proof that I’m here, that I’m not trapped, that they haven’t forgotten me.
Stupid, I tell myself. It hasn’t been that long. Just a few hours, probably. But hours are endlessly long, and even with the TV going, I can’t get a good sense of time. I blink one moment, and a show is over; the next, only a few seconds have passed. I start scratching my arms, just for that sensation that I can control, but it isn’t enough.
The next time I blink, I’m in front of the door. Maybe they forgot to lock it. Maybe I’ve been sitting in here this entire time, and the door’s been open, allowing me to leave whenever I want.
With a shaking hand, I grip the door handle.
Nothing. It’s locked.
