Page 1 of In You

Tamryn

I've always wanted to live by the sea.

There was something quaint about the images I've seen of gray stone chateaus situated atop a daringly high cliff overlooking a violent, tumultuous body of water.

Tall green grass swaying in the wind. A seagull or two flying past a stormy gray slate sky.

I'd only seen these pictures in museums though.

Don't be fooled, I'd never even been in a house grand enough to host such pieces of art.

You know…in my life that doesn't exist anymore.

"Take your dress off and go lay down on the bed."

I bow my head, keeping my eyes averted from his as I try to stave off the upcoming panic. "Yes, sir," I whisper, defeated.

Turning from the Captor, I walk out of the den and slowly down the hall.

My bare feet stinging and sore from where I ran across the gravel trying to get away not even a full hour ago, based off the clock on the wall.

Entering his bedroom, I wince as I peel off my blood soaked dress.

The fabric sticks to me where the blood has dried it to my skin, and I whimper when it tugs at the tender, abraded flesh, trying my hardest to be gentle.

It's the only gift I can give myself.

Though it's no use. He caught me trying to run after I'd just spent five long months earning enough freedom to be able to roam the house.

Seven torturous months before that where the basement was my home for so long I'd forgotten what it felt like to feel the sun on my skin.

As the dress puddles to the floor I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes and flinch as I hear his steel toe boots hit the hardwood of the hallway.

The same boots he'd just used to kick my back in.

I keep my moans of pain to myself as I hurry out of my bra and scramble onto the dark blue comforter. Hissing when my back hits the scratchy wool fabric. I hate this blanket with everything in me.

I never want to see blue anything ever again.

My heart flutters its wings like the seagulls I see in my mind’s eye.

However, in the present, I keep my eyes glued to the scalloped ceiling.

And though I think I've pretty much lost my faith in any sort of God that might be out there, I say a silent prayer that he won't kill me.

That he'll be merciful despite my disobedience.

I'm broken, but I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway.

Silently I spread my legs, hoping that by doing it without him telling me, it will please him enough to grant me mercy.

I tense as he enters the room. His belt hits the floor followed by the rustling of his jeans going down as he pulls his cock out. It's small, thank God, but still has the power to debase me.

The sound of a drawer opening has my teeth gritting so hard my jaw pops. The feel of the squishy silicone toy nestling to my clit makes tears well in my eyes, and my face tightens up with grief at what I know is next. What I know happens when he uses this toy on me.

I whimper, "no-"

Smack!

My head jerks to the right, and my left ear rings loudly, almost loud enough to distract me from the fiery pain that explodes across my face.

"You thought I was going to let you go, Camilla?" he says in a terrifyingly cold voice. Still I say nothing. Pressing my lips together, and squeezing my eyes shut so that I can concentrate.

My name is Tamryn.

I think the sea is so beautiful, and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is peaceful.

For some reason, I can only imagine a rocky beach.

I can't see sand. I don't know what that means, but I also don't always see a chateau.

I often just see a small stone house with wooden sage-green shutters, and wildflowers are mixed amongst the tall grass.

Gorgeous white daisies like the kind I give my mother every year. And it's just me there.

Me, and nothing or no one else.

Maybe a shaggy dog, but we'll see.

I close my eyes so I can see it clearer, and dig my nails into my palms hard enough to leave bloody crescent moons.

The blunt head of his cock prods my entrance, and then he slams into me with no lubrication to ease the way.

The least of my worries, if I can allow myself to be honest here.

I almost swallow my tongue I bite down so hard to keep from screaming, and the copper tang floods my senses, helping to drown out the disgusting sugar-sweet sweaty smell of him.

I never know what he prefers at times like these, whether he wants me to be loud, or quiet.

All I know is right now I don't want him to hear me cry, but I do it anyway because I want to smell the sea.

I think it's my tears. I've cried enough since I've been here to make my own sea, and now my body thinks it should live by one.

Despite my best efforts a tiny whimper escapes my throat as he thrusts hard; bobbing me up and down on this squeaky old bed, with its faded scratchy blanket that I hate so much I'm almost willing to give up my dream of the sea because it means more blue.

"Roll your hips harder."

I obey, digging my heels into the mattress and lifting my hips, countering every thrust stoically. When he turns on the toy, I feel my face break but I don't dare say 'no' again. I should probably be begging to die. But I don't want to. Can you believe that?

I don't want to die.

"You stupid, fucking, broken, cunt!"

I bite a hole through my lip as my skin breaks out in a mist of sweat that's cold because I know it's coming.

The horror that follows my orgasm. Bile rises up in my throat as my body heats up.

The Captor, as I now call him, leans down and growls in my still ringing ear as he thrusts harder, faster, making my skin crawl and become itchy.

The toy buzzes away between my legs, causing my flesh to become unbearably sensitive.

So sensitive I can't fight the impending storm.

My nails dig into the rough wool of the blanket underneath me as my mind attempts to rally.

Orgasms used to be so sweet. Like the rainbow after a gentle mist.

Now they mean pain. I may not know much about psychology, but I know enough to understand that the Captor's goal is to rewire my brain. So when he lets me have an orgasm, he flips the switch on me so I now associate pain with the feeling instead of pleasure.

My skin crawls as he chafes the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

"You're going to learn that you can't get away from me, Camilla," he gasps. "Even if it's the last goddamn thing I do."

I thrash my head to the side, fighting it. But he reaches between my legs and turns it up higher, forcing me. Taking my pleasure away from me.

I begin to cry harder, which he loves. But I know I'll never be able to cry hard enough for him to spare me from trying to run away. I could cry my eyeballs clean out of my head and he wouldn't grant me any mercy. The Captor doesn't know the meaning of the word, I don't think.

I pant hard as my traitorous body gives this man what he wants. My nipples harden. My pussy slickens. Even the soles of my stinging feet become hot in preparation for orgasm.

Don't say no. Don't say no. Don't say no, I drill in my head like a mantra.

I flinch and finally open my eyes when I feel his hand lightly caress my forearm until he gets to my right hand. He takes my fingers in a gentle hold and pulls my arm up so it's between us. I shake as sweat begins to bead on my forehead and upper lip, matting my hair to my scalp.

Don't say no. Don't say no. Don't say no.

Finally, my eyes meet his and a different type of pain moves through my body that affects my soul. He's got a sickeningly beautiful gray stare. One for the ages.

He's Cary Grant handsome with the type of bone structure that's meant for silent black and white movies.

My eyes widen in horror as his other hand comes up to join the other.

He grasps the first two fingers in his right hand, and the other three fingers in his left beforetenderly caressing the jagged thick scar that circles my ring finger.

He taunted me by half sawing it off my first month here. During an orgasm, of course.

The Captor’s eyes soften as I begin to twitch with my orgasm.

"Mommmyyyyy!" I wail. My watery eyes flicker to the door standing ajar just behind him, but as usual, she never comes. "H-Help," I whimper, staring at the dark hallway, willing somebody, anybody to come through that door and save me.

He gets an inch from my face and nudges my chin with his. "I love you," he growls, tightening his fingers.

My heart pounds hard in my chest, my mouth opens, and a blood-curdling scream leaves my body as he jerks his hands apart, breaking mine, and then jerks again just to make sure the job is done.

Searing pain like no other settles bone deep, traveling up my arm all the way to my shoulder, washing over me like liquid fire.

I turn my head, vomiting all over the blue blanket as he continues to thrust inside me while he holds my broken, limp hand in his.

My name is Tamryn, and I want to live by the sea. Preferably in a kingdom, but a small house will do.