He’s naked now; she can feel their skin touching as he kisses her all over and shuffles around. It’s so uncoordinated and not at all what she expected. The silence seems to have taken her scary captor and replaced him with this shaking, shell of a man.
She can still feel nothing where she thought it would be worst. He is still grinding on top of her but nothing is growing and the darkness now makes more sense to her. His ample weight, horrid features and feeble girth of that thing below now reveal him for what he is. Behind every man is a little boy and Lucy sees this one. She wants to leap up, to grab him and tell him he’s less than half the man her Harvey is, but she stays still, not wanting to provoke him, not dare reveal her fully awakened state.
‘You are losing your appeal, dearest,’ he says, as he huffs. ‘You’re becoming very ugly to me. Very ugly indeed.’ She feels him moving, ready to climb down and give up at a time when she desperately needs him to stay and continue the torment. ‘We need to start this over again because this is all wrong.’ She feels a slap to her face. ‘All of this is because of you! If you were asleep, then it would all be fine, but you are not, are you?’
She wants to scream, wants to shout and plead for her life, but instead she lets out some sort of whining noise. She takes all that anger, frustration and fear and channels them into a long and playful groan. Time is against her and Lucy cannot afford to sleep, cannot afford to miss this moment because she knows she will not get another.
She tenses her body against the straps as much as she can, teasing with whatever she has left, hoping that he will somehow find the energy to carry on. She keeps her eyes closed, her head moving as she fakes a stirring, a longing for impulsive love-making; the kind that comes from nowhere and consumes a couple for a short time in the middle of the night before they fall back to sleep in each other’s arms.
She can sense that he is still watching her; he hasn’t moved since she faked this new-found interest in him, this desire for him to touch her, to tease her and to do what he came here to do. She imagines him looking through those goggles, his senses torn between trying to understand her sleepy motives against believing any genuine desires his prisoner could ever harbour for him.
He finally runs a hand up her stomach until he reaches her breasts, and as he takes a firm yet clumsy hold she lets out a deliberate gasp. She pushes her body upwards, subtly begging him to follow through on his primal urges. He lets out a moan of his own as he runs both sets of fingers down her body and then pushes two of them inside her. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t offer any love, just brutally takes what he wants. His sharp nails tear into yesterday’s still-fresh wounds and Lucy knows all she can do now is beg.
‘Don’t stop,’ she says, her eyes open, although she can’t see anything.
‘You’re fully awake,’ he says, his deep voice sounding shocked.
Lucy knows how dangerous it is to change his rules but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t fear him anymore. ‘Take me now,’ she begs, her body moving up and down as much as she can without giving her game away.
He lets out a long growl, his manhood stabbing where his hands have just been. His thighs are pinned on top of hers, and he tuts and moans as he tries to find the right angle to get in. Whilst he is doing this, Lucy takes her chance to get ready, her hands slipping out of the fake knots tied around her wrists. She pulls back, her legs stretching against the restraints, knowing she needs to make him work a bit more, just to be sure his focus is on this moment and on this most evil of tasks.
‘Stay still!’ he shouts and smacks her across her face. She feels the pain and yet somehow thinks she is the one who has gone too far, pushed him over the edge of what he will tolerate. Her defeated mind anticipates the next slap and the ten more that will follow it.
When it doesn’t come she feels relieved. Both of his hands brush against her inner thigh as he tries to push it in. She imagines the pressure mounting with every moment that goes by, and her lack of encouragement could cause a quick shrinking. More than anything, she knows that if he loses his erection she loses this night.
She knows that this is her time – it has to be – and while he is focusing both his hands towards the centre of their embrace, his body the most unbalanced it will ever be, she shifts all her energy and any power she has left to her stomach. She doesn’t shout, doesn’t scream, as she silently pulls herself up. At first it feels like the most painful pull-up she has ever done, with every part of her body aching at this brutal heaving. But with every ounce of energy she has left she pushes herself all the way up, and as she starts to move she summons all this power that’s being carried through her arms and shoulders by nothing but pure determination, because she will not remain her, at his mercy, for a moment longer.
She collides with his body in exactly the place that she wanted to; the palms of her hands dig into his chest and push into him with everything she has. With his body off-balance and his mind occupied, the force of her push makes him fall backwards and off the table, his initial shouting soon replaced by welcome silence.
Lucy remains sitting upright, her heart pounding and her head turning and jerking as she tries to listen for what she cannot see. She waits for a moment, wondering when he will grab hold of her neck and start to strangle her, or batter her head with his angry fists until she is no longer a problem.
When nothing happens she finally finds the courage to untie her ankle restraints, and then slowly lowers herself off the table, her foot hurting the moment the open wound touches the floor. She lets out a whimper but continues to limp forward slowly, her arms held out as she reaches for something ahead of her. She takes a couple of small steps but can’t feel anything yet. She thinks that maybe her plan didn’t work and that he is silently watching her from the other side of the room, getting a kick from her obvious failure, planning her next punishment.
She lets out another moan when she finally touches something. She hears him cry out in pain, calling her a bitch and a whore; he starts graphically describing what he will do to her but is clearly unable to follow through with any of these threats. Lucy takes this as a good sign and fumbles around until she finds what she is looking for.
Once she has taken the goggles from him and put them on she finally lets herself breathe again. After taking a moment to adjust, she is able to see the dark green image before her. His shouting is combined with snarling and teeth gnashing; his face is half-hidden by an overgrown beard; the whites of his eyes move frantically around. He has been plunged into a dark world and is trying to see. Trying to move, he cries out in pain; the wooden stake that passed through his back and out through his chest still has him pinned to the wall.
Lucy watches for a moment, seeing the result of the agonising hours of preparation that has turned into barely a fraction of the justice she deserves. She knows that he cannot move, that his body is impaled on the floorboard she battled to get up and placed delicately where she hoped he could be pushed into it. She thinks of taking her time now, of slapping, beating and strangling him. She even thinks about poking both of his eyes out, leaving him in the permanent state of darkness that he so freely exposed her to.
Her thoughts quickly turn to Harvey, to the other women and maybe men, all of them needing to escape this place where at least one more captor is still here. She quickly ties his ankles and wrists together and gags him so he cannot scream, before standing back and taking one final look. His head is already bobbing up and down, the loss of blood causing him to drift away. She smacks him, just the once, so that she sees him come back to life.