7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

-Alison-

I kept my gaze averted as the creaking of the bed and the faint sound of breathing filled my ears. Locked in place, I held my eyes fixed on my restrained wrist, silently willing for some mystical power to free me from this torment. Night after night, the routine remained unchanged, trapping me in a relentless cycle of despair. I felt akin to a fragile bird trapped in a cage, subjected to whatever horrors he had in store for me.

Long gone was the fight within me, replaced by a resigned acceptance of my grim fate. Who would come to rescue me? My family was gone, their lives cruelly extinguished, leaving me alone in this windowless room, ignorant of the passage of time. I had become nothing more than a pawn, a mere plaything for his twisted desires.

I remained silent, knowing that resistance only fueled his perverse excitement. Yet, even in my surrender, his demands remained unchanged. I was merely an object, a vessel for his needs, devoid of power or autonomy.

Despite his older age, he manipulated me like a lifeless doll, his actions driven by a sense of dominance. I understood that this was the wolves form of punishment—retribution for daring to uncover truths they wished to remain hidden. I was a bargaining chip, sold in exchange for loyalty and weaponry, my worth reduced to mere currency.

I dreaded revisiting memories of the first night in the house. I had resisted then, but the following day found me unable to move my battered body. Strangely, my tears seemed to excite my new owner, hastening his climax.

Tonight, however, I couldn't summon a single tear. All I wished for was an end to it all, a respite from the torment. My captor shifted position, withdrawing from me, only to grasp my hair forcefully and thrust himself into my mouth, triggering a gag reflex and a surge of revulsion. Despite my feeble resistance, he persisted, pushing me to the brink of vomiting before withdrawing and releasing his vile cum onto my face.

This ritual was all too familiar—he always marked me with his debased act, and I was often denied the chance to cleanse myself, forced to bear the evidence of his violation like a grim badge of honor. As I recoiled in disgust, I found solace in the fact that tonight he hadn't enlisted the services of female escorts, a reprieve from the orgies he delighted in orchestrating.

Each day brought fresh agony, as I remained in the dark about his next sadistic plan. However, tonight seemed different—his sole desire appeared to be a swift release. Or so I thought.

He wiped his cum from my face with his fingers before pressing them against my lips. "Suck me clean, slut."

It felt like he was tarnishing the name Jared had given me. Yet, weakened and powerless, I had no choice but to obey.

The drugs coursing through my veins left my world hazy and disorienting, stripping me of the ability to inflict harm upon myself. While he relished my feeble resistance, he also avoided risking my life.

As he invaded my mouth with his fingers, his laughter reverberated in my ears, amplifying my sense of despair. Pushed away, I collapsed onto the filthy bed, resigned to endure yet another day of torment.

The sheets remained unchanged since my arrival, marred by a grim tapestry of my own blood and his vile cum. As he began to dress, I lay on the bed, trembling with a cold that seemed to seep into my bones, perhaps due to the drugs gradually leaving my system. Despite the weakness that permeated my abused body, a strange sense of awareness engulfed me tonight.

My flesh bore the red marks of yesterday's whipping, the searing pain etched into my back serving as a cruel reminder of his sadistic pleasure.

I watched as he moved about the room, retrieving the robe he had worn upon entering. A cruel smile played upon his lips, mocking my chained and naked form sprawled upon the filthy bed. Sometimes he returned for further torment, while other times he derived satisfaction solely from my screams. Pleasure was not always his objective, yet I turned away, unable to bear the sight of his repulsive form.

The drugs distorted my perception, casting an illusory sheen upon his body, almost rendering him appealing—a notion I despised despite its fleeting nature. Clutching at the bedding, I longed to conceal myself, yet found nothing with which to cover my exposed front.

"I'll be back," he announced, his voice raspy as though weathered by a lifetime of cigarettes.

I offered no reply, inciting his wrath as he drew closer. "Did you hear me, slut?" he snarled. "I said I'll be back."

His expectations were clear—to elicit words of anticipation or submission from me. Yet tonight, the pain engulfed me too profoundly to comply.

He seized me by the hair, his grip tightening, but my silence didn't please him. Enraged, he struck me with such force that my head snapped to the side. Undeterred by my lack of reaction, he raised his hand once more, this time in a clenched fist, poised to deliver further punishment should I fail to yield. Yet, in my silent defiance, I remained motionless, refusing to grant him the satisfaction he sought.

However, before he could strike, a strange thud reverberated through the house, as if someone had forcefully kicked open a door. His attention diverted, a look of confusion clouding his eyes as he approached the source of the sound. As he moved farther away, his form blurred into an indistinct mass, obscuring my view of his actions.

Though I believed he reached for the door, he remained rooted in place. "Who are you?" his voice echoed through the room, a question hanging in the tense air.

Before I could comprehend the situation, a deafening gunshot shattered the silence, jolting me back to memories of my mother's birthday party. Panic surged through me, urging me to scream, to flee, but my body remained unresponsive, paralyzed by fear.

Footsteps drew nearer, their approach instilling a deepening sense of dread within me. Despite my frantic attempts to regain control, my body betrayed me, responding only with incoherent murmurs as shadowy figures loomed over me, their forms merging into a menacing silhouette. Blinking rapidly, I struggled to clear my mind, yet the figures remained indiscernible.

Certain that my demise was imminent, I braced myself for the inevitable. However, instead of inflicting harm like my unnamed tormentor, the figures issued commands amongst themselves. A blanket enveloped my naked form, followed by the welcome sound of my cuff being unlocked.

Turning my head, I beheld the absence of the iron chain, a surge of elation coursing through me, though my joy was tempered by lingering uncertainty. Hands reached out, prompting a feeble attempt to evade their touch, but my movements were restricted to mere flinches and twitches. Despite the pain elicited by their grasp, relief washed over me as I was lifted from the bed and carried through the room.

As we passed my captor, I glimpsed his lifeless form sprawled on the ground, a pool of blood staining the floor. Though he appeared deceased, doubt gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, blurring the distinction between reality and illusion. Any flicker of happiness extinguished, replaced by a pervasive sense of dread at the prospect of this newfound freedom being nothing more than a fleeting dream.

Yet, drained of strength and resolve, I surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion as I was transported down the hallway of my tormentor's house. The voices around me blurred into a distant murmur, as I allowed my eyelids to fall shut, resigned to whatever fate awaited me.