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The chains are starting to cut into my skin, and the more I try to get them off of me, the tighter they become. There has to be a way to get out of these stupid chains.
I haven’t figured out what the hell is going on. Whenever I ask questions, this guy who calls himself the puppet master screams at me, hits me, chokes me, and then claims me. I am learning not to ask questions.
I feel my heart stop as the door opens, and in walks the puppet master. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. I haven’t eaten in days. If they want me alive, he will have to feed me. I feel my stomach tighten with the thought of food.
“I am hungry,” I whisper, watching him closely.
“Al,” the man states, not taking his eyes off me.
“Yeah,” a man yells back.
“Come in here, please,” the puppet master states in an amused voice that sends chills up my spine. I never know what this man will do to me next.
I watch a man walk into the dark room. I can’t see him because of how dark they keep this room, but I can tell you that he is about 5‘ 7. He is a bigger guy with a belly, he has no shirt on, and his breathing is rapid as he stares at the puppet master.
“Nicole is hungry,” the puppet master whispers.
The man nods and quickly walks up to the side of the bed. He smiles down at me, making my heart drop. He pulls down his pants and boxers and grabs onto his dick and balls. The man is sweaty and smells like old cabbage soup. I gag as he leans in and grabs my face, forcing me to open my mouth.
He leans in more and shoves his dick and balls into my mouth. I gag and cough as he continues to smile. “Suck bitch, you’re hungry,” he whispers in a chilling excited voice, making chills go down my spine. He releases his hold on his dick and balls and reaches down, shoving three fingers into my sore pussy, making me scream against his dick and balls.
He starts to move his fingers in and out of me at a rough and fast pace as he thrusts his dick and balls in my mouth. I close my eyes and feel his sweat fall onto my face, his smell is overwhelming, making my stomach turn, and the taste of his dick and balls is even worse. It tastes like moldy old cabbage soup, matching the smell radiating from him in waves and making my eyes water.
The man moans as he starts to massage me with his thumb. His fingers are giant, causing me to stretch and burn.
The man doesn’t last long. Before I know what the hell is happening, I feel the liquid fill my mouth, going down my throat, making it hard to breathe. He pulls his fingers from my pussy. I slowly open my eyes as he stops his motion in my mouth. I watch him lift his fingers and put them in his mouth. He moans against his fingers as I feel the vomit come up my throat.
The man smiles at me as he removes his balls and dick from my mouth. As soon as he did, I turned my head and vomited the jizz and whatever else was in my stomach onto the bed.
I hear the man moving, and a hand grabs my throat, forcing me to turn my head. It is Sebastian. “Don’t ever fucking ask for something you don’t deserve again, you fucking slut”
I allow the tears to go down my face.
After that day, I never asked him for food, I never told him that I was hungry, and I just learned to survive with what he did allow me to have. Christian has been making me food and trying to figure out what foods I like; honestly, I can’t remember. Everything Sebastian gave me was moldy and old. I don’t know what I like. The tears escape me as I continue to look over myself in the mirror at my ribs; my bones are showing. I am disgusting. How can Christian even look at me, let alone touch me?
The guilt and shame wash over me, causing my heart to race. I am undeserving of Christian of any of this. I don’t deserve any of this. My body leans over as my hands grab onto Christian’s sweatshirt. I pull it over my head and down my naked body, covering the bruises, cuts, marks, and disgusting bones.
I lift my hands and open my mouth, allowing a scream to leave me as my fists punch into the mirror, causing it to break. My image is now distorted. It is how I see myself. My hand is now covered in blood as I back away from the mirror, leave the bathroom, and down the hallway. I scream again as I punch the next mirror and the next and the next, and before I know it, I am in the living room on my knees, staring down at the broken glass and my bloody hands. They are shaking as more tears escape my eyes.
Christian wraps his arms tightly around me and forces me to stand. He quickly turns me around and tightens his grip. I shove my face into his muscular, naked chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, taking in a deep breath, needing him to consume me, needing him to take this the fuck away.
“Please, please take it away,” I whisper into his chest. I am begging him for something I don’t understand. What do I want him to take away? I don’t fucking know, but I do know that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.
“You are Bellissimo,” he whispers, trying to reassure me, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t reassure me because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand what they did to me in that basement. There is so much he doesn’t know; if he did, he would turn away from me.
I don’t know Italian, but with him, I am learning, and I know what those words mean. I feel my heart drop and my chest tighten as I release my hold on him and take a step back, forcing him to pull back. He keeps his arms around me as I search his for a moment, and I lift my bloody hand into the air.
SLAP! The sound echoes throughout the house.
“Nicolette,” he whispers.
SLAP!! “Don’t call me that, don’t lie to me, Christian, everyone has lied to me,” I scream.
“I’m not lying,” he says softly, making my heart ache
I am not mad at him. I am angry at myself.
“Yes, you are,” I scream.
