Chapter Eleven
Juliet
I can’t track the passage of time, and it’s driving me crazy.
I tried resetting the timer, but it didn’t work.
It must need Saldar’s fingerprint to access it, as I suspect the cupboard does too.
The flashing zeroes mock me, and eventually, I turn it to face the wall.
The lights don’t change, either, giving off steady, dull light.
Sleep, another cold wash in the trickle of water, and another meal of bread and cheese from the chest has my mind feeling clearer than it has since I arrived. The Morse code message is a beacon of hope, filling me with energy.
I’m not alone here. Someone is coming to help.
Unless it’s all another game.
That lovely idea didn’t occur to me until I woke up from my second nap, and when it did, I almost started crying. Of course it could be another game. He’s already shown he loves to mess with me. He could tempt me into trying to escape, then punish me for it once he catches me.
Or maybe I’ve seen too many Saw movies and it’s making me paranoid. Either way, if a chance to escape comes, I’m taking it.
Even a punishment would help with the boredom.
I’ve never been the sort of person to stay alone for long, and when I am, I'm always busy. Working, drawing, reading. Anything to keep my mind and fingers active. Right now, I’d sell my soul for a sketch pad. For anything to do.
Another meal appears in the chest, this time a bowl of stew. Fuck’s sake. Why did I make the meals in the game so basic? I don’t even like stew. I should have given my poor characters chocolate cake and pizza. Maybe a spicy Pad Thai.
God, I’m starving. The stew will have to do.
More time passes. I leave the chest open, hoping to catch the moment the empty bowl disappears and something else appears, but of course, nothing happens.
He’s watching me. The chest won't replenish when I’m looking at it, and I’ll starve to death.
How long would he let that go on before doing something about it?
Who am I kidding? I’d crack way before he would. I once tried intermittent fasting, and it was the worst eight hours of my life.
I take another cold shower and try to do something with my hair but fail miserably.
It’s gradually knotting itself into a horrible tangle, and if I don’t get hold of some conditioner and a comb soon, I’ll have to chop it all off.
What would Saldar think of that? Maybe a freak like him would like me bald.
Christ, what am I thinking? I’m going insane.
I try doing some exercise, just to give my body something to do, but I can’t shake the knowledge I’m naked and being watched.
When Saldar was in here, my nudity felt…
right…somehow? It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why.
Maybe because clothes never feature in my darkest fantasies and this experience is following that path.
Thinking of someone on the other end of a camera watching me do sit-ups in the nude, though, is much more disconcerting. What if it isn’t just Saldar? What if a whole crowd of his buddies are watching the show? Or people on the dark web, paying by the minute to watch him torture me.
Fuck. At that thought, I wrap myself up in the blanket again.
Every time I put pressure on my ass, I’m brought right back to what Saldar did to me. It hurts, but it’s the satisfying kind of hurt that makes my toes curl. A deep ache that finds its way into my core and sparks me up again. I’m a sick puppy, but knowing that doesn’t help the issue.
When Trent burned me with his cigarette, I went home, vomited, and cried myself to sleep for three days.
I never felt the slightest bit aroused. Why the hell am I reacting like this to Saldar?
Is it because he’s mimicking a character I love?
Or because his treatment of me has, so far, felt like measured discipline rather than out-of-control sadism?
It would take a therapist the entire ten million in my bank account to sort that one out, and even then, I don't think it could be fixed. I’m horny. It’s as simple as that.
I lie on the floor, tucked against the side of the altar.
The ache spreads through me, and I can’t help replaying Saldar’s last visit.
His hand in my hair, yanking me into an arch as he slammed into my poor ass.
The weight of him on me as he spent himself, leaving me with a throbbing clit and unfinished business.
Don’t touch myself? If he wanted me to obey that rule, he shouldn’t have left me alone this long.
I need to be smart about it, though. I don’t want him storming in and ruining it right as I’m about to come.
I shift around as if settling in for a nap and close my eyes.
Even someone as weird as Saldar can’t enjoy watching me sleep. Right?
In any case, he won’t be able to see what I’m doing.
Under the thick blanket, I slide my hand between my legs. I should be embarrassed at how soaked I am, but by this point, I don’t really care. I’m a captive with absolutely nothing to do besides this. I find my clit and start to play.
I shiver as pleasure lights me up from the inside out. The stinging strap marks and the lingering pain in my ass morph into something else as soon as my fingers hit that magic spot. They’re fuel, stoking the fire burning in my center.
I shift under the blanket, then catch myself. Be careful. Don’t make it obvious.
It’s hard, though. I’m not in the mood for careful, secretive touching. I want to grind against my hand, shove my fingers into my pussy, and stretch myself out.
Or have Saldar’s cock do it for me.
I freeze. No. No, no, no, I’m not going down that road. Scratching my own physical itch is one thing, but I’m not going to imagine getting assaulted by my captor while I’m doing it. Nope. Absolutely not.
I bet he’d feel good, though.
Shut the fuck up.
Badly behaved inner voice silenced, I move my fingers again. Don’t drag it out. More time equals more chance of discovery. I rub my clit with quick, practiced strokes, thinking about absolutely everything except Saldar.
Relief comes quickly, a wash of pleasure passing through me in a heady wave. My pussy clenches, and I wish I had something inside it, but beggars can’t be choosers. Did I manage to keep my face blank? I think so. Pretty sure, anyway.
In the aftermath, a little of the shame I should probably have been feeling all along sneaks in.
Maybe I deserve to be here. What sort of lunatic masturbates on the floor of their prison cell?
It should be the absolute last thing on my mind.
I should be working on an escape plan. Meditating. Training my body to stay strong.
Not squirming about in a blanket, touching myself.
“I don’t think he’ll be happy you did that.”
My eyes fly open, and I just manage to hold in a scream at the female voice echoing through my prison. Instinct tells me to jump to my feet, but I hold myself back. This could be the person who sent the Morse code message. Though if it is, she’s choosing a really fucked-up way to introduce herself.
My skin flushes hot, and I clear my throat, fighting down embarrassment. How did this person—whoever she is—know what I was doing? I manage, “Who are you? Does Saldar know you’re talking to me?”
She gives a little laugh, and something about it is unsettling. It creeps up my spine, and my skin tingles. It’s familiar in the oddest way. “Saldar? No, Saldar doesn’t know. I’ve looped his feed. He thinks you're still wrapped in the blanket.”
She gives his name an amused emphasis. The weird familiarity tugs at me, but I can’t catch it. I push it to the back of my mind. This could be my chance to get the fuck out of here, especially if this woman can access Saldar’s security systems. “Can you let me out? Where am I? Can you—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that. But maybe I can help you a little. I’d like to be friends.”
Friends? Whoever the hell this woman is wants to be friends? What sort of bullshit is that? I should keep calm—she’s my only hope at this point—but any sense I might have had crumbles away at that word.
Fucking friends.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I need to get out. Why won’t you help?” I’m sitting up now, stabbing a finger into the empty air, seeking a nonexistent target. “He’s keeping me here. He’s—”
“Oh dear. He’s on his way. I’ll have to go.” I whip around to stare at the door. There’s a long pause before the woman adds, “He’s recording your vitals all the time. Your brain activity too. When you do…the thing you just did…he knows. You’ll get in trouble.”
Oh dear.
Something about that phrase, and the way she said it, pings in my brain. I don’t know why when the rest of what she just said was far more horrifying. He’s recording my brain activity? What in the actual fucking hell?
“Lie back down so I can restart the feed. He’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
I pause for a heartbeat. I already have one person bossing me around, and zero desire to add this random stranger to that list. But she could be useful. If I blow her cover, I lose all hope.
I lie down, squeeze my eyes shut, and pretend to sleep.
Two minutes. He’ll be here in two minutes. I replay the words, and adrenaline rockets through me. In two minutes, he’ll be opening the door. He doesn’t know I know he’s coming. He might not check the monitors before he opens the door.
I might catch him by surprise and get past him.
It’s the longest of all long shots, but it’s not impossible. For all I know, I’m being held in an apartment on a busy street. I’ve read of weirder things happening. If I can get past him, there’s at least a hope I might be able to catch someone’s attention.