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“Good girl,” he says, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face.
I barter with myself in this moment. I promise myself I will only give my softer feelings to Seven. I will only love Seven, because I know I am beginning to love him. Who wouldn't? He's perfect in every way. I'm safe with him.
But I will never love our captor. I will give him my body. I will please him. I will do whatever he asks of me, but I won't let myself feel the things that are okay with Seven. I won't give him my mind or my soul.
“I can't think how I want to take you. Any requests, Seven?”
Seven is taking slow, measured breaths. I can't reassure him that I'm okay with our captor fucking me. It sounds insane even locked safely inside my own mind. And I'm not sure I want to see the look on Seven's face if he believed me.
He doesn't respond to our captor's taunts, and so I’m placed on my hands and knees, facing Seven. I hear a zipper, then pants falling to the floor. I assume he removes his T-shirt as well but I can't bring myself to turn around and look at him. If he's as perfect under that T-shirt as I suspect, I don't think I could cope with the level of lust I might feel if I paused to truly drink in his beauty.
He presses a strangely sweet kiss to the small of my back, causing me to forget for the smallest fraction of a second what he is... why we're here. A second later, his hand is moving between my legs, my arousal coating his fingers.
“She's so wet,” he says. It's almost an accusation, as though it's yet another thing I should be punished for.
I'm breathing hard, almost panting. I can't believe how turned on I am. It's wrong to feel this way, but something about my time in this cell, the realization of the hopelessness of the situation, it gives me permission to feel what I feel, no matter what that feeling might be.
Three days of hunger. Five days of peace and solace. Quiet interspersed with classical music and evil sarcasm. I am the farthest thing in the world from free, but I am free of one thing... the moral judgment or pity of the outside world. Even Seven's possible judgment can't touch me in this moment because I'm so aroused by the idea of him watching me like this as our captor takes me on the floor of the cell.
His hand snakes around my throat, pulling me back. “Look at him,” our captor says to me. “You will hold his gaze while I fuck you. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
But Seven is looking away, his gaze trained on a distant spot on the wall.
“Seven...” he warns. “Look at her. If you look at her, I'll be gentle. If you don't...” He doesn't need to finish the last part of his threat.
Seven turns his face toward me, his intense hazel gaze locked on mine as our captor slides easily into me. He's big, like Seven, but my body has decided to welcome him eagerly, not even asking for time to adjust to his size.
I moan as he slams his cock into me. It's not exactly gentle, but it's also not exactly unpleasant. I watch Seven watching me as I'm fucked and used at the whim of the twisted stranger who holds our lives in his hands. His fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts.
“Even if you can, don't come this time,” he growls. “This one is only for me.”
There’s a low, hard flip in my stomach, and I feel myself go wetter as he slides even more effortlessly in and out of me. What is wrong with me? When Seven left me wanting in the bathroom, I felt hurt. This man does it, and it feels like Christmas.
I know he’ll let me come; he's just decided that this time I’m to give him everything and take nothing other than the satisfaction of his pleasure. And the part of me too broken to know it's broken excitedly complies with these demands.
He falls into a hypnotic rhythm, and I find myself opening to him more, so much so that I feel the teasing edges of a potential orgasm licking at my insides. I feel like I could chase it and catch it if I tried, but I let it flutter away like a wayward butterfly as he lets out a harsh groan, taking his pleasure and spilling into me.
“Look at him, Pretty Toy.”
My eyes haven't left Seven's, but that's not what I'm being asked to look at.
“Look how hard he is. Maybe he's not such a hero after all. Crawl to him. I want to watch you suck his dick.”
Our captor slides out of me and puts his jeans back on. I crawl over to Seven, but suddenly I can't look at him. It's somehow easier with our captor. Despite his mocking and taunts, I know he doesn't judge me because he doesn't judge. There isn't some moral barometer inside his brain deciding this is okay and that is not. So nothing I can do will ever earn judgment from him. It may earn me punishment, but never judgment.
Seven is different. He might judge me, even if he doesn't want to. And I find myself resenting him a little for it. But then my gaze is drawn to the evidence of his desire. He is so hard, his erection bulging behind his pants, straining to be free to get inside my mouth, to get to the warm wet pleasure he's just been promised.
Our captor stands just behind me, his fingers tangling in my hair. “I want to watch him come down your throat, Pretty Toy. I want to watch you swallow like a good obedient whore.”
I am so turned on right now. I know I shouldn't be. I'm in too much danger to let myself fall into this fucked-up seduction. And it’s even more fucked-up that my brain conjures up the word seduction in relation to anything that's going on right now.
He removes his hand from my hair, and I turn back to Seven. I struggle with the button and zipper on his jeans to free him. When his cock springs free, I'm about to open my mouth to take him, when a glint of something shiny catches my eye. The syringe lies on the ground, outside of Seven's reach, but not outside mine.
I chance a quick glance up at him, and his eyes widen a fraction as he realizes what I just saw. I know our captor will kill us eventually, and I don't want to die.
Before I can let myself think or lose my courage, I grab the syringe, spin around, and jab it into our captor's thigh. I push the plunger down, making sure all the drug has emptied into his bloodstream.
