A Story by Aletessa

http:deviantart.com/aletessa(And check out her brand new blog at https://aletessawrites.blogspot.com/

Day 1:

Her head was pounding; what had happened?  She'd been out, she remembered, coffee with friends.  Why was it so cold?  She'd been heading back to her car.  The floor was hard, concrete, scraping against her skin as she began to stir.  Someone had... someone had what? She remembered something across her face, a sickly smell.  Scraping against her skin?  She was naked?

Sabine roused with a start.  She was naked, alone in a bare brick-lined room.  She tried to brace herself to stand, only to find one arm dragging the other; there were thick manacles on her wrists, linked by a short chain.  Trying again, she pushed herself upright, holding still a moment as her head span.

She'd been drugged with something.  Someone had abducted her.  Brought her here.  Stripped her, and chained her.  Imprisoned her.  Had they? ... tentatively she felt around her body... a few bruises and scratches, by nothing that felt as if she'd been...

There was no window, only a steel door.  Sabine ran to it; no hatch or grille, nothing to look or listen through.  "Hello!" she scramed; "I'm here!  Can anyone hear me?"

Day 3:

How long had she been here?  At first she'd tried to stay awake, afraid to put herself in a position even more vulnerable than the one she was in already.  She'd frantically examined every inch of her prison, hoping to find a loose brick or worn mortar; up and down the steel door, trying to find a screw that would turn.  But nothing; in panic she'd bashed at the walls with her chains until her wrists were bruised and scraped beneath the manacles.  Finally, she'd given up, and crouched against the far wall, eyes fixed on the door, waiting.  But stagnant adrenaline, time, hunger, silence, and even a perverse boredom had worn her down until she slept.  When she woke, nothing had changed.

Then she heard footsteps outside.  A key turned in the lock and the door opened.  It occurred to Sabine that she'd never once wondered what her kidnapper looked like; he was short, no taller than she was, but the arms emerging from his vest were taut with muscle.  "Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady; "why are you doing this?"
He didn't answer her, just rolled his eyes as he stalked toward her.
"Please... if you let me go, I won't tell anyone..."  Did she really just say that?  What did she think he'd do, agree?
He'd reached her now; he lashed out, slapping her across the face.  Sabine sucked in a breath, trying to stifle the pain.  "Don't speak again," he said; "do you understand?"  She nodded.

He gripped her ankles, pulling her away from the wall, flat onto the floor on her back.  Sabine had known this was coming, but the lack of surprise didn't lessen her shock at the sudden manhandling; he'd already forced her legs apart and was on top of her.
"No!" screamed, trying to push him off with her chained hands, dislodge him with her knees, close her thighs; but he was between her thighs, and her knees had no leverage... he slapped her again, then wrestled her wrists back to the floor, pinning them there with one of his hands... and with the other, guided himself into her.  "No," she repeated, more quietly; at least now his hands were too busy to slap her.  His thrusts were hard, driving her pelvis down into the concrete floor with bruising force... but he'd obviously been anticipating this moment eagerly, and it wasn't long before his cum was spilling into her; as he pulled out, a part of her mind siezed on it as a small mercy, one thing in her nightmare that wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Leaving her where she was, he retreated to the doorway; he slid a tray into the room, saying "That's for you."  Then the steel door clanged shut and he was gone.  Sabine could smell bread and gravy; she turned and crawled over to the tray... soup, bread, chips, water, orange juice... part of her wanted to thow it away in a fit of defiance, but she was so hungry, and there was no telling when she'd get the chance to eat and drink again.  She needed her strength if she was going to find a way to get out of here; she dipped some of the bread into the soup and swallowed it down, telling herself it wasn't a surrender.

Day 7:

Sabine knew the routine now.  Each day, she thought based on her wavering sense of time, he would come into her prison and rape her; then he would leave a meal for her as he went.  The only change was what kind of soup it was.  It meant she was at her weakest when he forced her; she could mitigate that little, space the food out, so she wasn't quite as hungry when he arrived.  It had been a week, roughly; time enough for him to become used to her compliance, time enough to give her a chance to surprise him.

Her heart started pounding when she heard the key in the lock; she forced herself to breathe evenly as she wraped the length of the chain round one of her hands.  The door opened and he came in.  Sabine couldn't keep the tension off of her face, but he either didn't notice or took it for her usual fear; as he made for her, she readied her muscles, and he reached for her, punched him in the face with both fists, the chain tearing his skin.

He stumbled, letting out a snarling sound, but he didn't fall.  Sabine made to hit him again, but she saw his hands flexing; he was so much stronger than her, if he got hold of her... she scrambled to her feet, dodging round him and running for the door.  She reached it first, and pulled it shut behind her, the slam sending a spasm of hope through her.  To her right, the hallway ended quickly at a blank wall, to her left it rounded a corner; she ran left, hearing him bang on the door behind her.

She heard it open as she rounded the corner; there were stairs in front of her, and she heard his running feet as she sprinted up them.  They ended at another door; she darted through, finding herself in another cellar.  This new room was packed full of stuff, and it took precious seconds to spot the exit in the far corner, and the route to get to it; what became fatal seconds as he followed her into the cellar as she began to run.

He caught her before she made it, tackling her to the ground; she tried to punch him again, but he swatted her arms aside and punched her in the jaw, smacking her head into the floor beneath her.

Everything went back.

Day 15:

Sabine shifted about on the floor, trying to find a position that eased the aching in her crotch.  He'd been angry today; not at her, but at something, and it had shown in the force he'd used thrusting into her.  Afterwards he'd paused a moment, then brought a bundle of cloth in from just outside the door.
"Put this on," he'd said,unlocking her chains.
She'd pounced on the clothing immediately; it was nothing but a ratty shift, but the chance to cover herself up after being naked for so long was something she couldn't hesitate over.
"What do you say?" he'd asked her then, as if to a child.
"Thankyou," she'd answered.
"Put the chains back on."
She'd obeyed.
After that he'd left the food and departed.

Thinking about it afterwards, Sabine could see the trap in it.  Like how the times he used her were also when he left her her food; to make her see her rapes as a trade, something she did for him instead of him to her.  The shift was the same; she was supposed to see it as a gift, or even an apology for his anger, something to mitigate the way he hurt her.
But as obvious as it was, a part of her was still desperate to believe it.  If it was true, it meant there was more than just his whims and his violence; something she could influence.  The illusion was seductive, even as it filled her with despair; each reaction stoked the other until the thought of it consumed her... was she really so fragile?
Worse was that it didn't matter; trap or not, she was too cold to pass up the clothes, too hungry to pass up the food, too thirsty to pass up the water.  Trap her not, her sense of self yielded to more basic needs.

Day 31:

Sabine had faked what she'd needed to fake; gratitude for the food and clothes, surrender to her kidnapper's will, the loss of any hope of escape.  But in so doing, she had lost any track of how long she'd been in this prison, or how many times he'd been inside her.  She kept thinking of the phrase, 'fake it till you make it;' had she made herself his slave by pretending to be one?  Had she broken her own will when he couldn't?  She had to get out of here; if she didn't soon, she never would.  But it had worked, hadn't it?  He had lost the wariness he'd shown after she'd tried to escape before.  Maybe she could try again... she had to try again.  The keys; if she could get hold of them, and make it to the door, she could lock it, lock him in.

She wrapped her chain round her fist again as she waited.  Soon.

She tensed as she heard the key in the lock.  Now.

He came in and approached her.  Sabine pulled the shift up, as she usually did these days.  When he got close enough, she lashed out again; her aim was good, and her chain-wrapped fist connected with the bridge of his nose.  He yelled, clutching at the stream of blood that burst from one nostril.  With her other hand she grabbed at the keys, snagging them and pulling them off his belt.  She ran for the door; his hand found her arm, but didn't catch hold, though she stumbled as she pulled free.

She grabbed and slammed the door as she reached it, and spun, aiming one of the keys into the lcck; it didn't fit.  Letting out a scream of frustration, she tried the next; it slid in and she started to turn it.

The door was wrenched open, handle and key alike pulled out of her hands, leaving Sabine and her captor face to face; she reacted too late as he shoved her, and she stumbled backwards till she hit the opposite wall.  He was on her in another moment, pinning her to the wall with an arm across her throat.
"Bitch," he snarled.  His other hand was lifting up the hem of her shift; her own hands were in front of her, and the chain left her no leverage to fight, or push, or do anything but screw her eyes shut when he rammed his cock into her.

Day 63:

How long could she wait till she tried again?  She knew which was the right key now; if she could pull off her move again, she could lock the door on him, she was sure of it.  But he watched her carefully, presumably reminded by the scar she'd left on his nose.  How long till he'd grow lax again?  He would; she just had to keep herself together until then.

Sabine turned to face him when he came in; she pulled her shift up and lay down, opening her legs.  He came to her, and crouched down between them.  He slid into her; he was gentler today, pumping slowly back and forth.  She thought about her old life, outside this prison; images to keep her strong, and ready.

Day 223:

Cold, concrete floor, brick walls, steel door; chains, aching bruises, scratches, cramps.  When he comes for her, add nakedness, and pain as he uses her; but also food.  A never-ending routine.  Her other life is a cruel memory she wishes she could banish; perhaps this life would hurt less if she forgot... but images of her past still fill the empty darkness behind her eyes.