Page 5 of In You

A Lone

Tamryn

That Same Night

My eyes open, and the sound of the crashing waves fades from my ears as I reluctantly force myself to come back to the present.

Wondering for the hundredth time, that if a drop of water knew the inevitable ending it's facing as it heads to the shore to break apart against the rocky terrain, would it still be as excited to be a part of its surroundings?

That's what I ask myself in these moments when the young girl kneeling beside me, who's bright blue, blue eyes are full of terror, makes me want to falsely reassure her that she's going to be okay after this.

She's not going to be okay. No one who leaves here after a visit to this dungeon is okay. I know I'm not.

So why would she be?

"Turn and arch your back," the Captor orders in his deep voice.

My companion for this photo shoot lets out a tiny sob and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Shhh," I shush her quietly as I take her trembling hand in mine and pull.

We arrange ourselves side by side, arching our backs as instructed.

My skin dots with sweat as the bright lights hit my ass, warming my vulnerable, naked skin.

The bulbs flash brightly against the concrete wall that's covered with a fake backdrop to make it seem like me and my underage companion are not imprisoned, like we actually are.

I fight to not tense when fingers dig into the fleshy globes pulling my asscheeks roughly apart.

The bright light flashes again, nearly blinding me, yet somehow still not managing to erase how debased and embarrassed I feel.

"What's your name?" I whisper.

Shivering, she tilts her head towards me, and at the instruction of the Captor, we move closer.

I turn slightly, sitting on my knees and tilting my body to hide my broken hand with it's cast out of sight of the camera.

It throbs, letting me know I've pushed myself too hard today, but I have no choice.

The Captor won't give me relief. Not from this.

Not when he gets so much money from these pictures and the men who need me to help boost their prisoner's financial value.

"Lily," she whispers, flinching as her owner reaches forward and grabs her by the crown of her hair, roughly yanking her head back and to the side.

"Fix your face, dumb bitch," he hisses at her, causing her blue eyes to well up with tears.

When he lets her go, her round eyes slide to mine, glistening in the lights.

Fearful. I blink, trying to rid my own eyes of tears that won't help, wanting with everything in me to be a person she could see that isn't broken.

A person who she can look at and feel strength instead of misery. I want to be her beacon of hope.

"Yours?" she whimpers.

"I'm Camilla," I answer, barely moving my lips. "It's okay, honey. Just lower your lids a little, look at me, and part your lips."

God. I wonder how old she is?

My eyes roam her face curiously, sadly. She can't be more than thirteen or fourteen.

My heart tugs, and I try to inconspicuously soothe her by rubbing my thumb against her arm in a gentle caress, shooting a prayer of mercy on behalf of this young girl to the God I stopped believing in about a year ago when the Captor's monster came out and decided to make me his captive.

A tiny whine escapes her throat, and I tilt my head at a different angle, sticking my bare breasts out in an attempt to make up for what she's lacking on her end of her Captor's bargain. My eyes caress her flawless white skin, looking for bruises or marks but see nothing. On the outside, at least.

I don't know if her owner beats her like mine beats me, but I'm willing to do anything to spare her. Poor baby.

My soul aches for her, because I know what happens after these photo shoots.

Does she?

I dare to put a shaky hand to her light blonde hair and caress her gently. "How old are you?" I ask, tossing my hair seductively to try and hide my lips moving. The flashes go off, making me blink rapidly against the dancing spots in my vision.

"Lay down," her owner barks.

She falls to her back gracelessly, turning her head to meet my eyes again.

"Twelve," she says, breaking my heart as I move a bit more mindfully of my aching arm to lay on my back and spread my legs as instructed.

She's the youngest I've had to pose with so far.

The men's voices drones on in the background, hushed and swarming like bees.

And we're their honey.

"Wider, sweetheart," I instruct her, braving a glance at the two men hovering over us. I thought my Captor looked mean, but hers?

Hers looks like the walking dead; he's so soulless. They all have that depraved look about him, but this one looks especially evil for some reason.

"Touch her," the Captor growls impatiently, and I can tell by the tone in his voice and the tightness around his eyes that he's ready to be done with this.

He doesn't like this particular owner who's captive he's making me shoot with.

I wonder why he's tolerating him. At the realization, my heart begins to bleed for Lily.

Because I'm usually only called in to assist when a captive is failing.

The owners pay my Captor a premium to have me here to help raise her rates.

If she doesn't start making him money on the market, chances are she's dying soon.

Lily will be one of the hundreds of thousands of missing people you see with flyers up in stores, police stations, and on the news. Just until a more salacious story rolls along, and then she'll be forgotten.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, putting my hand to her barely there chest, trying my hardest to not touch her. But if I don't then I run the risk that both of our owners will hurt us.

We maintain eye contact, and I wonder about her parents, about the pain and devastation they're suffering as they're no doubt torturing themselves wondering what's happening to their baby. I'm so lucky my mother is dead and I have no family that could be hurt by what I'm going through.

We successfully manage to do two more poses before they're satisfied.

I sit up against the silk sheets, not even attempting to cover my breasts, and give Lily a sad smile as her owner wrenches her up rather roughly off the makeshift bed.

I watch, feeling myself space out as he throws her a tiny dress to put on.

She puts it on under his disapproving stare, and her eyes meet mine for a split second in a silent plea for help.

I hunch my shoulders up and draw my knees to my chest, trying to convey to her strength I don't feel.

Irritated, he leads her out the door by a hard hand to the nape of her neck, and I find myself saying what I fear is a useless prayer over her soul.

She'll never be the same if she survives this.

"Goodbye," I call out, wishing I had time and the privacy to say something, anything to make her feel better. But I don't know her situation. She more than likely will be killed. Just like the last two girls I've taken pictures with.

The Captor throws me a stern look before he goes through the door and comes back with a baggy, throwing it to me. It hits my arm unceremoniously before falling to the sheet.

"Eat," he demands, closing the door, and plunging me into complete darkness. I lay down obediently, shivering in the silk sheets, and eat my first meal of the day.

Or choking it down, I should say. It's gross.

After who knows how long later where I don't trust myself to cry yet, the door opens again and the Captor walks in.

He barely spares me a glance before he settles into the wing backed chair in the corner of the room, quiet.

I tense as another man walks in, and I roll my quivering lips when his blurry face comes into view, willing my body to behave and not cry.

This one doesn't like tears. He'll demand to have his price dropped, and when he does that, it makes for a long night when he leaves.

I can't afford to have anything else broken right now, so that means I'll either be half-drowned until I pass out, or sodomized with whatever suits the Captor's fancy.

He'll film it, and recoup the money off whatever website he loads it on.

He's made a ton off me in the last year.

Around six hundred thousand dollars he'd shared one day when he was feeling really good after a couple too many drinks.

"Hi, baby girl," the older man says, giving me a smile before taking off his wire rimmed glasses.

"Hi, Daddy," I respond quietly, trying to keep the misery out of my tone when I spread my legs.

When he sinks to his knees and puts his lips to my pussy, I place a hand to his abnormally large ear and rub the lobe gently, listening to him moan as he grabs the baggy of snacks and pulls it to him.

A tear slips down as he works between my legs, wetting my ears and the hair underneath my head, but after a while, it doesn't matter, because in my mind I'm going back to the sea. My happy place.

I'm a lone water drop, pulling away from the sea, desperately trying to find my way home.

Terrified to break apart against the rocky terrain ahead of me.