A moment later, he pried my mouth open through the fabric bag over my head and something wet dribbled into my mouth. Water? I sucked at it greedily, not caring that it was filtered through the cloth.
Without saying a word, he looped a cable through my wrist cuffs and tied me loosely to the stairs, the click of a lock telling me I wouldn’t be escaping unless I could find a saw and take the stairs apart. He left me alone then, slick and swollen and needy.
Feeling dirtier than I ever had in my life.
He’d left me enough slack to lie down, so I curled in a ball, trying to warm myself. I tugged the bodice of my dress closed and tried to button it, but the top two buttons were missing which left at least one of my nipples peeking out no matter which way I pulled the fabric. I scratched at my sandy hair through the bag and felt a few twigs.
Wait—I could reach the bag now. I tried to loosen it, but although I found the knots with my fingers, I couldn’t make sense of them. For ages I fiddled with the cord around my neck, but only succeeded in making the knots worse.
How long was Zero going to play this game? He wouldn’t leave me down here as long as I’d been for my own book, right?
I took stock, but aside from some bumps, bruises, and abrasions, there was nothing wrong with me other than being sore inside from the way he or they had used me. I was pretty sure the second time had been Vandal.
Above me, the house loomed silent, as though they’d left me all alone.
The quiet lulled me. My feet and my pussy throbbed. I wanted more water.
I called for help at some point, my bladder feeling like it would explode, but after the person helped me pee they locked me back in the basement.
The next time someone came down, it felt like night had passed although it had been broad daylight when I ran from the house. It had been before lunch, hadn’t it? That whole day now felt vague to me.
My stomach growled.
My captor brought me upstairs and sat me on the toilet again, not saying a word. Through the fabric of the bag all I could see were vague outlines and the impression of light. I peed, getting far too used to not having privacy.
Even though the main level of the house was always heavily air conditioned, it was warmer than the basement, and I tried to soak up the relative warmth through the soles of my feet, which ached with cold.
Were they going to let me stay upstairs now? Was it over?
But no, if it was over, he would have let me use the toilet alone. He would have taken the bag off my head.
“Are you Vandal or Zero?”
He didn’t answer, but led me through the main floor and sat me on a chair. Fingers worked at the cord around my neck until the bag loosened, but he only pushed it high enough to expose my mouth.
“Which one are you?” I demanded, reaching for the bag. He slapped my hand away. My arms got dragged behind my back and fastened to the chair, so I couldn’t touch anything.
“What are you doing?”
A spoon nudged my bottom lip, startling me, but when I realized what it was, I opened my mouth. Ravenous, I didn’t care if they fed me pig slop as long as I could ease the cramping in my belly. It turned out to be oatmeal, still warm and sweet with brown sugar and raisins—probably what they’d eaten for breakfast. In my eagerness for food some of it slipped down my chin and dripped to my cleavage. There was a snicker, then a warm tongue licking it up and I gasped at the unexpected touch.
Who was it? My guess wavered from one of them to the other, then back again. My nipple was still exposed because of the damage to my dress, and a hot mouth fastened over it, sucking and making me cough as another spoonful of oatmeal pushed into my mouth.
I shifted in my seat, the wood hard against my pussy, which was feeling bruised. A tongue licked the oatmeal from my chin then pushed its way inside my mouth. Teeth worried at my nipple, making me moan. Two mouths. Two men. I should have bitten the one kissing me, but in the moment my only instinct was to shake with need.
Someone groaned quietly and there was a clatter as if the bowl had been set down on the table suddenly and without much care. A creak followed and something bumped against my mouth. A dick? Fingers hooked behind my teeth, forcing my bottom jaw downward, and then someone’s cock was forcing its way into my mouth. Too deep. I gagged, trying to wrench my head away, but he kept me still, holding my teeth open wide with fingers jammed between my molars as he pumped his cock into my mouth. I drooled, refusing to suck and raging that I couldn’t bite. My head banged rhythmically against the wooden chair back, and I choked on him, coughing when cum poured into my mouth. I tried to spit back at him, but as soon as his cock vacated my mouth, he forced my jaw closed. Cum drooled from the corners of my lips.
“Nice,” someone murmured. There was a chuckle.
The bag was knocked slightly askew right before it was tucked back down into place under my chin—only long enough to see Vandal close-up, with Zero standing behind him and holding his phone out as if he was taking pictures or video.
I screamed in rage, tugging ineffectually against the leather cuffs on my wrists. Someone made a soothing sound, as though they were trying to calm a wild animal, and a finger traced the outline of my breast, pushing my bodice aside and leaving my other nipple exposed. Fingers pinched and tugged, and I sobbed with frustration and inarticulate anger, helpless to do anything to stop them.
There was a word—my safeword—but I couldn’t remember for the life of me what it was. I could probably get them to stop if I babbled off some unintelligible words, but it felt like losing at this point, and I wouldn’t let them win.
The basement, once they put me back, was blessedly quiet. I flexed my jaw against the ache there. The cum in my stomach was mixing with the few spoonfuls of oatmeal I’d been fed. The thought nauseated me, but I forced my mind to change subjects. Throwing up in this bag when no one was around to notice was an even more disgusting prospect than what I’d ingested. Normally, I had no qualms about swallowing, but for some reason doing it so hard on the heels of my breakfast felt gross.
I woke to my legs being spread.
“Please, not again,” I whispered as his fingers explored me, checking to see if I was wet, no doubt.
He paused, waiting for something more. For my safeword, probably. I’d remembered it earlier and forgot it again. I thought of the most ridiculous word I could think of and opened my mouth to say it, then didn’t.
The soft chuckle didn’t give away who it was, but it proved he was all too aware that I was consenting to this even though I didn’t want it.
His use was jarring, hard, and brief, his fingers twisting at my nipples, hurting me. My body seized on it, translated it into pleasure, desperate for anything except the misery they’d been inflicting upon me. Tension built in my lower belly with an orgasm I didn’t want—not from this. I shouldn’t have worried. He pulled out of me before I came, jets of cum spurting up my front, probably steaming against my ice-cold flesh.
I didn’t realize I was crying until it was over. I curled in a ball, pressing against my pussy the best I could without using my hands which were cuffed to the stairs and too far away to help without some serious gymnastics. I was so sore. So dirty. Even through the bag I could tell I stank like too much sex. Even my mouth felt caked with filth.
The basement was quiet for so long I wondered if I had missed him going back up the stairs. I didn’t really care. It didn’t matter if he was in the room or not.