Raw Ch. 06

He never said a word about the vomit as he cleaned it up.

Three more times that day, he returned to "practice" my oral sex techniques. Thankfully, he did not make me swallow his cum after the first time, but that was because he immediately chained me to the bed to fuck me afterwards. He came across my front or back when he was done. And he always left me with his semen drying on my skin. By the fourth time, the layers had caked on top of each other so that I couldn't take a breath without smelling him. I threw up again, this time in a bucket he had placed on the floor directly below my head. How considerate.

Apparently, the drugs gave him stamina as well. I wished he would have a heart attack and die.

###

I sunk into a depressed sort of haze after that. Every part of my body hurt now. The pain was dulled by the cocaine, but only temporarily. Unless I was sucking his dick, eating, or sleeping, he made me wear the ball-gag. To begin each session, he made me snort a tiny spoonful and led me around by the leash.

He'd direct me to lay down, sit down, or kneel down while he had me perform various sex acts. If I didn't obey to his liking, he chained me face-first to the wall and whipped or flogged the back of my legs. Then we'd start over.

I'd begun to form welts, some that split and bled. Due to my stubbornness to not give into his desires, the punishments kept coming. And the chosen device to inflict said punishment would tear the healing wounds open again. He would always treat them after he was done with our session, but it did no good because I'd be forced to lay on my back on the bed so the sheet stuck to my legs.

I fought to not give up. To not give in to his madness. Part of me acknowledged that he had changed. He wasn't the same man I'd met in our interview. In my first real kinky situation. I did not believe he'd been doing drugs back then. But he must have been snorting long enough since then that it was affecting his rationale now, what little of it was left. Did he even go to work each day? How did he manage to keep a job? To keep this part of himself hidden? To keep me hidden?

Although Brian's words rang true that I had a submissive side, he was wrong about those feelings still being suppressed. I had already begun to embrace them. Just not with him. And deep down, I think he knew it, too. Which is why I think he had embarked on this scheme: to create a world where he could have me, at least in his mind.

As my time in captivity ensued, he seemed to give me more hits to be compliant. I was crashing harder as a result. I was no longer able to discern if it was because I'd lost my high or if my body was coming out of the sub space it had grown accustomed to entering when I was in a session. A session with Malcolm. Problem was, my body was also no longer able to tell the difference between who was controlling me at that time of pseudo elation because I couldn't think rationally due to the drugs in my system.

Oh, Malcolm. He occupied my mind during those times where I just wanted to curl up and die. I thought of how much I enjoyed being with him. Wanted him to remain in my life. I told myself to keep believing. He wouldn't give up on finding me. He and Drake would not just let me disappear without a fight.

Unconsciousness came slowly but surely every time. I'd rarely been able to just sleep. And I never knew if it was night or day. Or how long our sessions lasted. They just seemed to bleed one into another.

Sometimes, as I lay waiting for the darkness to take over me, I wondered how I would survive if I ever escaped. Could I? Or would it just be easier to let go and succumb to the horror that had been created around me?

###

"The pretty little author has become quite the celebrity," Brian's deep voice growled in my ear. I had heard him take six snorts of cocaine when he first walked in the room. Two more hits than usual. That and his already apparent bad attitude did not bode well for me.

I was standing beside the bed, ball-gag in my mouth, my hands bound behind my back as I leaned forward with my ass in the air. He'd already stuffed a pillow under my belly and cuffed a spreader bar to my ankles. He was in the process of securing the leash of the collar to the other side of the bed.

"You were the top story this morning on the local news. 'Missing mystery writer. Who dunit?' Very original." He made three ticking sounds with his tongue. "The skeptics think you disappeared intentionally due to all the paparazzi. I saw your little boyfriend. He looked so pathetic, barely able to speak when it was his turn. Two other men did most off the talking. Your brothers, Drake and Alexander, I presume? I see where you get your good looks."

They hadn't forgotten me! I was trying to grin when Brian tugged the leash, making it taught. I did a face plant into the sheet. It was an effort to turn my head so I could breathe. My line of vision was now limited to the headboard and the bare bricks of the wall visible through the wooden slats.

He'd told me at one point that we were still in his brownstone. He had converted part of the master suite into a walk-in closet and an additional storage room when he'd moved in years ago. The latter was only accessible through the closet. That explained the third, mysterious door I'd seen on my first visit. Just a couple of months ago, he had remodeled again, creating the special room for me out of the storage room.

When I was alone in the room, he kept the lights off and me chained to the bed or the wall. He brought me food several times a day. I was never allowed the use of any utensils, and usually he fed me. Though, there were times he let me do it myself, but that was always from a plate on the floor. I'd tried to keep track of the pattern of meals to determine if it was morning or night to count the days. He made it difficult, though, by varying the types of food, the frequency, and the quantity he brought.

If he started a session with obedience training, he would wait until the end to rape me. Those were always the longest sessions because my stubbornness prevented me from just giving into his will, so he usually had to discipline me as well. Twice, he just came in and got right to it without the assistance of cocaine or any extra restraints besides the basic bindings holding my limbs. He'd left without a word when he was done as if he had other pressing matters to attend to. And there were times where he just sat on the stool drinking his wine with me kneeling beside him, his hand forcing my head to rest on his knee while he pet my hair.

The first time he allowed me to use his bathroom, I'd reconsidered that he had no dignity left. But even that remaining shred was eliminated when he led me there by the leash...and remained to watch me. On the two occasions he allowed me in the shower, he was with me and forced me to suck his cock while he bathed instead. I'd been returned to my dark room with wet hair and damp skin, shivering under the thin sheets and blanket.

He had talked about getting me a submissive-appropriate wardrobe—whatever that was—when he deemed me worthy to wear clothes again. Eventually, I would be allowed out of my room so I could share his bed and eat with him, too. Wasn't I special?

Yet I still considered what meager things he'd allowed me a luxury. I'd read stories of slaves in BDSM relationships being deprived of a real bed or linens...and they said they relished that humbling part of their role. I doubted Drake and Daphne's relationship stooped that low. It was inhumane in my eyes, even if both partners consented.

As messed up as Brian was when I first met him, this was not the same man. He had been...refined. Like that man in the bar. He wouldn't have resorted to kidnapping a woman to have sex with him. While he'd had dreams of me living with him while retaining my own quarters and writing career, I would not have imagined him treating me like a dog if I'd consented. I had to believe it was the drugs that had done this to him. Granted he hadn't taken no for an answer easily, but something must have finally snapped. The man was absolutely insane to think that this was all acceptable.

"But soon they will give up the fruitless search," Brian's voice broke into my thoughts. "It's already been a week."

My mind boggled with that news. Seven days? Was that it? It had seemed like a month.

"We'll continue to use the time wisely to fine-tune your training. And after the media has died down, after I think you're ready to go back in public, we'll let them know the skeptics were right. You were hiding from the limelight. Maybe I'll bring you a laptop and you can write a new novel to show them what you were doing with your time in seclusion. "

A tear ran down my cheek. How long did he think he could keep me here? Did he really think that I'd cave in to his desires and go along with this maniacal plot without chemical persuasion? Was I fooling myself to think that I wouldn't?

"I have something special for you today."

I heard the snap of the lubricant bottle being opened. My muscles tensed, waiting for him to proceed. But nothing happened. I wished I could see more. Like what the hell he was doing. Not that it would change the circumstances, but sometimes knowing something was going to happen first lessens the shock of the event. Or sometimes not.

I sighed so heavily through my nose that I felt my own breath on my naked shoulder. I shuddered. What I wouldn't give for one of Malcolm's massages right now. I started to smile and inhaled when my nose felt funny.

Well, fuck. I blinked as I saw Brian's hand moving right in front of my eyes. And that damn little vial with the tiny spoon attached to the lid moved right with it. I was cussing up a storm in my head when I inhaled again and a puff of powder went up my other nostril, punching my brain awake.

I was concentrating on the ringing in my ears as the drug took effect and not on the buzzing of Brian's voice as he spoke. But when I saw his hand reappear in my line of sight with a clear object that resembled a large teardrop at one end and a small doorknob at the other, everything in my head came to a screeching halt.

As futile as my numbing brain knew it would be, I screamed into the gag and jerked against the restraints.

"Settle down." His other hand rested on my back. "I take it you know what this is? Blink twice."

I blinked a million times so fucking fast my eyelashes would have lifted me off if I wasn't chained to the damn bed.

"So you know you need to relax."

My skin crawled as his touch moved lower down my spine. I tried to wiggle my ass to shake him off, but he continued until he reached my wrists. Then he slapped my ass so hard it stung.

"Be still or it will hurt more."

I sobbed, my nose running now, as his fingers rubbed liquid down between my ass cheeks. As his thumb tested the pliancy of my asshole with the aid of the lubricatn. He was gentle, which belied his intentions. Most likely, he did not want to break his favorite toy. Yet.

My whole body ached from the confined position he'd put me in. Gradually, the tension eased from my taught muscles as the drug spread. I was still crying but unable to resist by the time he removed his thumb and replaced it with the rounded, narrowest end of the anal plug. Despite the drug's effects on me, I screamed as he put pressure and the smooth glass eased inside me with the aid of the lube.

Unlike the few times Malcolm and I had engaged in anal play, Brian did not let me adjust to the girth of the device. Quite possibly, he thought I'd be relaxed enough that my body would not involuntarily reject the intrusion. Most probably, though, he didn't care.

Regardless of the reason, the pressure grew stronger until my rectal muscles expanded enough for the largest part of the teardrop to pass. He tugged on it and must have been satisfied as the pressure ceased. Then there was just a sense of fullness. Instinctively, my muscles clenched and released around the object.

"Do not push it out," he said, massaging my ass cheeks as they closed around the doorknob-shaped handle that protruded outside of my body. "I will not be so kind if you do."

I had never been so humiliated in my life. Especially as I grew adjusted to the plug. I tried to tell myself that I didn't like it. But that would be a lie. Malcolm and I had discussing trying one, but I'd been too scared so we stuck to just a tiny vibrator. Now that it had been inserted...

"Oh how I love this view," Brian's said.

His Beethoven started, then his cock pressed into my pussy, making me cry out. Of course he couldn't hear me with the gag in my mouth. But I wasn't out of my mind enough to not react to the unsolicited sex.

Damn him. Damn my submissive side. Damn the drugs.

I came so hard my body shook, rattling the chains keeping me in place.

"Oh, Becca. How well your body gives you away."

When he was done, he withdrew and released my wrists and ankles. He left me on my stomach, the anal plug still in place and the leash chained to the underside of the bed. He patted my ass, and I heard the door open and close between the song break.

I was lying there, staring at the wall, when two facts pushed through the cobwebs that the cocaine had spun between my ears. One, in his own delirium from his apparent super high, he'd left me unrestrained except for the leash. And two, although the collar had a tiny padlock on the buckle and the leash was also padlocked to the collar, he never padlocked the chain to the bed during a session for faster access to change my position.

My breathing grew rapid as I forced my brain to function. To hope. The first thing I did was squeeze that fucking plug out. Then my hands responded—though sluggishly—and yanked the ball-gag over my head. Drool ran down my chin as I gripped the sheets, pulling my body up onto the bed enough so that I could reach under the mattress. I almost yelled as my fist wrapped around the carabiner clip he'd used to secure the other end of the leash to an eye-hook. As I pulled my hand away, it brushed more eye-hooks imbedded into a wood frame where the box-spring normally would be. He'd custom-made the damn bed as a torture device. Oh, Lord, help me.

I wrapped the blanket around me as I scrambled off the bed. I almost fell flat on my face in my haste, both from the lingering drug and because I stepped on something hard and round. It took me a moment to realize that it was the metal spreader bar. I grabbed it and continued to the door.

To my surprise, the handle turned when I tried it. The room on the other side was dark except for the open door straight ahead. I passed rows of dark suits and white dress shirts as I hurried through Brian's closet. When I peeked into his bedroom, he was naked on his back on the bed.

The bedroom door to the hallway looked so far away. Yet it was right there. If I hurried...

No. I had to think, as hard as it was in my addled state. I gathered the blanket tighter around me and crept up to the bed. I don't know how many minutes it had been since he'd released himself on my ass, but his cock was still stiff as it rested on his thigh. Good lord. Was it the coke?

The spreader bar felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I raised it. His eyes flickered open. He just stared up at me for a moment. Then his eyes and his mouth widened just before I brought my arm down. I heard the crack as the metal hit his forehead. I saw blood trickling down his face as the light left his eyes.

I didn't take the time to find out if I'd killed him or just knocked him out. I was out the bedroom door and halfway down the stairs to the main floor when I realized I was still gripping the rod. I went to drop it but it got caught up in the blanket as I yanked it higher away from my feet so I could run.

It took three tries to yank the front door open. The first time, I realized the deadbolt had been locked. The second, I had looked back to see if Brian was following me and my hand slipped off the handle. I left the door open behind me as I ran out into the sunshine, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I stumbled down the sidewalk and into the street. A woman walking her dog ran over to me. I saw her mouth moving, but I didn't hear what she said. She followed me as I staggered forward, the blanket falling from my grip. I tripped on it and fell to the pavement, the metal spreader bar clattering just before I landed on it.

I don't know how long I sat crying in the road, wearing nothing but a blanket and a dog collar and leash. The woman didn't leave my side, and her I heard her talking to someone as her dog sniffed at me and licked my hand.

I was wavering between wanting to lie down or get up and run because we were too close to Brian's house. He was going to come get me, but I was so tired. I tried to tell the lady that several times, but I didn't hear any words come out of my mouth. She just kept nodding her head and glancing at me as she held her phone to her ear.

When I heard the sirens, I finally gave into my exhaustion. The ground felt so hot under me. Then there were soft voices in my ear telling me I was safe. Asking me if I was hurt.

I was moved onto something softer. Raised up. I tried to curl onto my side, but they'd strapped me down. I screamed again, struggling against the new restraints. Something pricked my arm, and I felt like I was floating. My arms and legs went slack, and my screams turned to sobs.

###

I didn't really remember the ride in the ambulance. Or the doctors surrounding me at the hospital. Just that there were too many hands checking me over for injuries. Too many questions I couldn't answer at that time.

A nurse had just cut the collar off my neck when I heard one voice rise above the drone. And another. And another. Voices I thought I'd never hear again.

"Oh, my sweet daughter!" My mother covered my cheeks in kisses.

"You gave us quite a scare," I heard my youngest brother, Alexander, say.

Two of Drake's faces wavered in front of my blurry eyes. I reached out and gripped his arm as he hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Thank, God, you're okay!"

"Becca!" Malcolm's gruff voice made me push my brother away and scramble upright on the gurney.

Despite a woman's repeated pleas to wait for the doctors to finish, Malcolm pulled me into his arms. I clung on for dear life, tasting the salt in my tears as they drenched my cheeks. Never in my life had I been so glad to see him. To hear him. To feel him.

###

SIX WEEKS LATER

"Becca, you have to eat something, darling."

I tucked my hair behind my ears and briefly glanced at Malcolm whose head peaked through the opening in the floor that led back down to the second floor of his beach house. Then I returned to stare at my wall.

There had been no trial. I had been willing to testify, but Brian's ego had been his own undoing. After he'd recovered from the concussion I'd given him, he claimed it was a consensual arrangement between the two of us. The room was just where we'd had our kinky sex but I slept in his room. His proof was that there was no lock on the door, so how could he keep me in there? And he said I was free to leave at any time but chose not to. My agitated state when the dog lady found me was due to the recreational drugs we'd used to enhance the sex. He had an answer for everything.

However, the police had confiscated his iPad along with everything else they'd found in the secret room when they arrested him. There were at least a dozen videos of our sessions, each one more damning than the previous one. Most showed him forcing me to snort cocaine. The most compelling one for my case of kidnapping and rape was the last session where he'd admitted on camera about seeing the news conference and how he planned to explain my disappearance. Apparently, he'd set up the camera to film the double-penetration session and had pressed record too early. I'd never been so thankful he'd gotten so high that day.