Chapter 11 – Keyshawn
Chapter Eleven
Keyshawn
I can't sleep for long in the basement. Rage leaves me in the dark and yes, I have a bed, but that does nothing for the disturbed tension I experience. It’s also incredibly uncomfortable trying to sleep with my arms tied together with rope. My teeth feel permanently clenched and if I focus on anything other than sleep even for a second, I shiver from the cold.
This man is a psychopathic monster. I have no idea what to do with that information. Is my only option here to let him do whatever the hell he wants with me and then what? He kills me?
Even when I get around an hour of sleep, I wake up again -- scared.
I assume it's morning when I hear him moving around upstairs. He was quiet during all my hours of pain and terror. When I hear him moving around, I don't want him to show his face. But after an even longer amount of time listening to him walk around upstairs -- and maybe even jump a few times -- my stomach growls .
Will he return at all? With some food?
Unwilling relief passes through me as I hear him opening the basement door. It takes longer than I expected for him to descend the stairs. He turns the lights on and even if the lights aren't too bright, I've been in darkness for so long that the lights bring blinding tears to my eyes. The shape in front of me slowly solidifies. He isn't wearing all black anymore -- or that stupid mask.
I hate him even more than I did initially just for how he's dressed.
"Where are you going, a boardroom meeting for serial killers?"
Because why else would he have on a blue gingham shirt, khaki pants, and a Patagonia vest. Rage gives me an annoying smirk. He might clean up just fine, but I can still see his hand tattoos and other signs of his true thuggishness.
"I came to take your breakfast order," he says. "And to deliver your first spanking."
I fight the urge to throw my body at the bars like a rabid chimpanzee and spit at him. I glare and push my tongue into the corners of my cheeks to stop myself. Every inch of my jaw hurts from the anxiety I experienced throughout the night. Spanking? This man is out of his mind.
"If you don't submit to your first spanking, you won't get breakfast. That should make it easier."
He ignores me glaring daggers at him and unlocks the padlocked door instead. The man has a full blown jail cell installed in his basement. That shit is not normal. I curl my legs up against my body, preparing for the worst when he enters my cell. He glances over at the disgusting metal pot as if he genuinely expected me to piss and shit in that.
"Come here," he says, standing a few feet away from the bed and looking me over again. I feel like a mess and I might not smell like piss and shit, but I definitely stink. I need a real shower, not a spanking and breakfast.
I also have to show this man some defiance.
"You must not be hungry," he says calmly. "I won't be back for another twelve hours. The faster you do this, the faster I get it over with."
"I'm not hungry."
I watch rage flicker across his face and feel a smug sense of satisfaction. He bites down on his lower lip.
"I'm keeping you here for twelve days like I promised. You can get your spanking now or a worse one later."
I just glare at him.
"Fine," he says. "If you go hungry, that won't bother me in the slightest."
But obviously, it bothers him. His face turns red as he leaves the cell and slips the padlock on to the door. Rage turns his grey eyes towards me one last time. But he leaves. I feel like an idiot once I hear him close the door to the basement.
Twelve more hours without food to prove a point. I must be out of my mind. I clutch my stomach and roll back onto the bed. Nothing but my own hungry ass thoughts for twelve hours.
Ugh.
The waiting sucks, but I eventually get tired enough to fall asleep again. I wake up every hour or so and freak out at my surroundings. I can't imagine "getting used to" a cell, so I guess it makes sense that every time I take in my surroundings, I freak the hell out.
When I hear footsteps again upstairs, I freak out because it feels more like days passed instead of just half of one. If that was twelve hours, I don't know how the hell I'll make it through all of Rage's punishment.
I'm so hungry that my stomach feels like it's eating itself. I know logically, that can't be the case, but that's the amount of pure pain I'm in. I lay back on the bed, listening to the sound of Rage's footsteps because it's the only different thing I have in this cell. He needs to at least get me some channels down here...
This is torture.
I hear the basement door open and find my body too weak to move into any type of adversarial position. Maybe he'll think I'm dead and leave me by the side of the road. Preferably near some type of fast food place.
Rage's slow, steady footsteps approach my prison. He's not alone. I can smell it. This man brought food. My nostrils perk up and twitch a little bit as the mixture of flavors fills the basement. Saliva pools in the corners of my mouth. I am so damn hungry. But I keep my eyes closed. Mostly due to exhaustion, but partly because I don't want this to be too easy on Rage.
"I brought you a plate."
Yeah. I can smell it. Gravy. Mashed potatoes. Some type of meat.
"You have to sit up to eat it."
He unlocks the padlock with one hand and when he steps inside my cell, close enough that my body can't ignore the food smell, I open my eyes. Rage is standing there with this food -- glaring at me.
I reflect his anger as I sit up, pretending not to give a shit.
"I won't have you starving," he says. "Or dying on me. So eat. I won't leave until you finish."
"You're just going to stand there and watch me eat?"
"Yes," he says. "Which means untying your binds. You're welcome."
He sets the plate free and finally loosens the last of my binds. The ache penetrating all those locked up muscles throbs. He can't expect me to endure any more than this. Too proud to show him any weakness, and hungry as hell, I reach for the plate.
I have a moment of primal panic that he won't let go of the edges, but he hands it to me along with heavy silverware. He walks across the room and leans against the wall. So this really is his plan -- stare at me eating. I don't even care by the time I get my hands on the silverware. Steak. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Roasted carrots. I'm all into this dinner. I eat like an animal and I hope I make it nasty to turn this freak off completely.
Rage says nothing. He just watches me eat in silence for about twenty-five minutes. Once all the food is gone, he barely lets me hang onto the plate an extra five seconds. He scoops everything from my hands, walks out of the cell and locks me back in.
What the hell? I hear him walking upstairs and it doesn't take long for me to panic. When is he coming back? Can I get some music down here? Maybe an artificial plant?
Rage returns within five minutes unencumbered by the dishes, but looking at me suspiciously with his hands in his pockets. He stands on the other side of the cell. I sit up again, mostly hopeful that he has some type of cornbread muffin in his pocket. (I went way too long without food.)
He leans against the metal bars, pressing his head into the full weight of his arm as he exhales slowly.
"I really don't want to fight you, Keyshawn. But I fully intend to keep my word. If you want me to go easy on you, when I open this door, you will do nothing to fight me off. You will allow me to throw your ass over my lap... and punish you."
He meets my defiant "like fuck you will" look with a calm, expressionless face. My ass throbs with the muscle memory of enduring Rage's first spanking. I got paid $20,000 for the first spanking. That was done purely out of pleasure. Punishment will be different.
He unlocks the cell door and I don't know whether I should fight him now or later. Rage removes his hands from his pockets. There's no fucking cornbread muffin. My stomach sinks as he reaches for his belt and undoes it while calmly watching for my reaction.
I don't think I can hide my fear. The paddle hurt like hell, but there's a reason I chose the paddle the first time I encountered this man. Belts don't just hurt, they bring back all my worst memories from childhood. Belt for forgetting to thaw the chicken. Belt for leaving the bathroom lights on. Belt for coming home from school five minutes too late. My father lived and died by the leather belt.
There is nothing pleasurable at all about him using it to punish me.
And I must be showing my fear because Rage's neutral expression turns into a purely psychopathic grin. He loves this shit. He lives for it. Spanking my ass as "punishment" is purely for his sadistic pleasure and I make that pleasure even more intense for Rage when he can feed off my fear.
I step off the bed, mostly to feel the blood in my legs again -- and just in case my body propels me to run for the door. I know that would be stupid. Rage could easily catch me and that would just make his anger worse...
But it's still tempting. What sane woman would let this man bend her over his lap and punish her for the great crime of living her own life?