AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Funny, I’m eating more. Thomas informed me he added some sort of protein powder to my breakfast every day. I don’t know why my weight was such a concern for him, though. And no way in Hell am I going to ask.
I’m just biding my time until I can get out of here.
He seems to want to let me out. He calls me his fiancée and says God sent me to him to “save”. So if I play along and let him save me, I can go back to my life, right?
What life?my conscience whispers.You’ll have lost your apartment and ruined the meager credit you built because of unpaid bills by the time you’re out of this basement. You’ll be beyond square one.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can make it. I made it before with less than nothing, I can do it again.
Even if the thought of really giving in and succumbing to this life with Thomas sometimes sounds tempting.
In the darkness of night, after he has shut the lights and all that filters in is weak moonlight from the sealed window near the ceiling, my mind wanders. To how it would feel to give in, to let him save me. To have a home, food, not be forced to fuck anyone.
Would he stop hurting me if I agreed to his terms?
Would he be a good person?
Am I fucking nuts for thinking any of this?
That last question at least I can answer with a resounding “YES”.
As I think, the door opens and Thomas walks in, carrying a metal rod of some sort and a set of cuffs that match the one on my ankle.
My eyes widen, but I do my best to remain still. My whole body wants to run, to cower away, because there’s only one place I can imagine him putting that thing.
Stay firm,my mind whispers.Don’t give him your sadness, your fear, your pain. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Diana, lean forward and place your hands on top of the foot of the bed,” Thomas commands.
I nod and move, but apparently too slowly for him, because he grabs my wrists in one large hand and holds them to the metal bar atop the footboard, quickly securing the cuffs as if he’s had practice.
He positions me as if I am a doll, and my body reacts by allowing my mind to retreat within itself. I wondered many times when he’d rape me, shocked every day that went by when he didn’t.
I knew he wasn’t any different, I knew this was just a matter of when, not if.
Yet, a small part of my heart that wanted to believe he wouldn’t do this breaks, and I curse it. How fucking stupid and childish to have thought a man, or anyone, would be decent to me?
The front of my nightgown tears between his hands, rending it in two. It falls down my shoulders and he pushes it away, letting the torn pieces sit around my waist. It looks like I’m planking with my bare tits swaying in the breeze.
He walks over to me, still stone-faced, and rubs my dangling breasts. First he sort of massages them, then he begins to pull on my nipples.
For a moment, I feel desire stir deep inside and tamp it down before it can grow into a wildfire. Am I insane? I haven’t felt actual desire … ever? Maybe before Mike started molesting me, I felt some adolescent version of it, but since then? Nothing.
Now I get off, apparently, on being abused. Fucking aces.
He begins to pull too hard, and I whimper as pain shoots through me, right to my betraying cunt. I am so stupid. So damaged. So broken. This nutcase thinks he can save me? I’m so beyond God’s grace.
“Men were always drawn to your oversized breasts, were they not?” he asks me.
“Yes, sir,” I say, voice dull.
“And they’re real?”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you proud of them, little sinner?”
“No,” I reply. “I just used them to make money.”
