Seventeen
Blake
It was my body’s natural response. My captor was touching me in all my sensitive places and my body got confused over what was happening.
Then I came. Harder than I ever have before.
Because my cock is a fucking traitor. And it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like that.
He was so careful and tentative. It was all about making me feel better and nothing to do with what I was doing for him.
Everything this morning was for me. But it was wrong.
It didn’t feel wrong, but that’s exactly what all of this is.
I was kidnapped and chained in a barn. But I’m also being taken care of, and all I have to do is what I’ve tried doing many times with others.
Be pleasing and show them how useful I am.
He said he didn’t want me, but I felt the complete opposite when he held me in his lap, stroking my hair.
Those blue eyes bored into mine, holding them in place while I was brought back down to earth from going too far into the clouds.
I’ve been sexually frustrated for a while, unable to touch my cock because Logan never gave me permission to.
It was stupid to keep listening when I didn’t really have to.
No one held me at gun point, but I did feel spellbound when I replayed his voice in my head.
His rules were ridiculous but I couldn’t stop following them.
They don’t matter when I’m here, though.
Nothing outside this barn does. My life before is so distant, I lie here wondering if I dreamed it all up.
Is that why it didn’t feel wrong to go against Logan? Did I really have a choice?
It wasn’t something I expected from someone who said they wouldn’t assault me.
Did he, though? Half of me says he didn’t and the other isn’t so sure.
He was helping me like he said he would, and the guy was right about the already existing discomfort.
It stayed behind while he took a new one away.
The overdue orgasm must have really worn me out, because I was out so fast. I sleep so much here. Something I barely did at home.
Sitting up, I realize a new blanket is bunched around me.
Not only that but I’m lying on a mattress and all the hay is gone.
The space heater is on and there’s a pillow where my head was lying.
My fingers are met with soft silk when I stroke the pillow case.
The sheet is made of the same material and the blanket is a thick, fluffy down comforter.
I showed my gratitude and he showed me his by rewarding me.
The bedding is surprisingly even nicer than what I had at home.
When I returned from California, my dad had stripped my bed and emptied the majority of my room.
He said I no longer deserved luxuries, and since I was so independent I could buy them myself.
With not much money to my name, I got what I could afford, and some of it was given to me by my empathetic sister.
My mom snuck new pillows in after telling my dad she planned to update their room.
I don’t think he bought it, but he went along with her anyway, too tired to argue.
Is she wondering where I am? What about my sister?
I was notorious for randomly running away, so they probably think nothing of my absence.
It’s only been a little over a week. At least I think it has.
If I’m keeping track correctly. Him showing before sunup threw me off my game, and at first I thought it was nighttime.
I didn’t realize it was a new day until he mentioned it was morning and fed me breakfast. My stomach cramps and I crouch over, groaning.
The bucket’s in a new spot when I search for it and I drag my knees forward.
Why am I so tired? I’ve rested plenty, got enough food and water.
Groggy and lightheaded, I crawl toward what I hope is my temporary bathroom.
The wooden boards are rough on my knees.
Never did I think I’d prefer hay in a room I’m staying in.
My fingers grip the edge and I lift one knee, planting my foot on the ground, and I crash forward when I lose my grip on the floor.
I settle for staying on my knees and back up over the bucket.
I’m naked and have been all day. I’d forgotten that little detail until I was ready to attempt the bathroom again.
Makes it easier. No wrestling with my pants and underwear while trying to steady myself.
I point my cock downward and let go, a steady stream hitting the metal.
After shaking off, I scoot forward and try for number two.
No luck. My stomach lurches, making loud, unsettling noises.
I keep pushing with all my strength, rubbing my stomach and slamming my fists on my legs as tears spring from my eyes.
Looking up, I wipe my face with the back of my hand and cover the front of my body when a red blinking light catches my attention.
Not sure why I’m hiding myself when he’s seen everything.
Seen and touched. He gave me a full bath with a happy but confusing ending.
My skin heats, remembering how I moved my hips when he started washing me between my legs.
I came off so desperate. Here I thought wanting to get off with the guy you used to bully in high school was twisted. No, this for sure takes the damn cake. Actually, rocking your erection into the palm of the man who kidnapped you takes the whole bakery.
I’m losing it more and more. Unable to make sense of anything less and less.
I have to get out of here, but the thought of where I would go when I do is more daunting.
The bucket cuts into my skin and I slide off it, landing back on my knees.
I bury my face in my hands and sing loudly to myself when my head fills with my dad’s and Hayden’s voices.
“You’re more useless than I’d realized.”
“You’re not good for much, are you?”
“You’re so worthless and you prove that more each day you stay here.”
“Your looks will only get you so far. You and I both know you don’t have much else to offer anyone.”
The words are so loud, tangling together, I forget what came from who.
I start shouting random lyrics and curl back on the mattress, focusing more on what I’m saying than thinking.
I go from “Never Be the Same” by Camila Cabello to “Growing Pains” by Alessia Cara.
I don’t know the lyrics to many songs, so I keep circling back to ones I’ve already gone through, mixing in nursery rhymes I had to sing to myself as a kid when I couldn’t sleep after nightmares.
No one came into my room then, no matter how long I screamed.
I was never once checked on, and when I went to my parents’ room with a stomach ache, they told me to sleep it off or drink more water.
Taking my mom’s old advice, I move toward the bowl and swallow large mouthfuls until there’s no more left.
Gross gurgling sounds come from my stomach and a wave of nausea washes over me.
I swallow it down, breathing in and out.
My hands are back on my stomach and I scream when there’s a series of spasms.
When the agony passes, I go back to the mattress, and a piece of metal wire flashes from the corner of the room, gleaming in the sunlight.
At first I think my eyes are playing tricks on me and then the sharp item pokes at my hand when I pick it up.
My fingers fold over the wire and I look down as my cuff rattles.
An idea spikes inside me and I pick at the lock. I shove one end into the hole and stab harder, shifting angles. “Come on, “ I shout.
That red light blinks again. What if he sees me trying to get out of the cuff?
Will I lose everything I’ve earned? He’s working, so there’s a chance he’s missed it.
Ignoring the red light, I go back to the wire and lock.
Hours must’ve gone by before I finally give up.
I crawl back to the mattress and lie on my side, staring at the wall.
Lifting the wire, I carve “Blake” into the metal over and over so I’ll remember the name I like people calling me by. It’s not piglet. Never piglet.
I’m pretending. It’s my best defense mechanism. Pretending to get by. Why does it feel like I’m lying to myself? Who wants to be called a farm animal? A smelly, dirty one at that?
My nose is met with a soft soapy scent when I bury it in my pit.
At least the title is no longer fitting.
Will I always have to wait a week for a bath?
Fewer baths mean fewer times that creep will touch me.
But his hands . . . they reminded me so much of hands I’ve felt outside these walls.
I was free while they were on me, outside in the middle of nowhere with someone I got to choose to see.
I can’t choose with my captive, but the situation is different from all the ones from my previous life.
I can’t eat without him here. No hope for a radio or anything else to keep me occupied while I wait for him to get home.
Wait . . . I’m not waiting. I’m hungry again, so it’s the food I’m looking forward to, and maybe .
. . maybe him relieving me of another discomfort.
Fuck. I can deny the truth all I want, but I would choose to have him here if he gave me the options of him staying away or returning.
I asked him not to leave yet yesterday. He only stayed because I didn’t want him to go.
My dad, Hayden, and his friends never gave me that. I say his because I realize now they were never mine to begin with. Why am I comparing them all to my captive as if he’s the better option? He’s not. But I have made more of my own choices with him than I did with anyone else.
When he’s here, I have more chances to earn new human privileges.
I can be a piglet and get anything I want.
He said I give to him too, so I also hold power between us.
I can take away his obedient, sweet little animal at any given moment.
I can starve myself and get nothing, but then he gets nothing right along with me.
I smile at the thought, carving “piglet” beside my name, and consider what I should ask for next.