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Ryder

He was going to win.

That was the worst part about all of this shit. He was going to win, and I knew it, and it was just a matter of time. There wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do from behind these bars, and as long as he held my life in his oversized hands, I was going to keep yielding.

Again, and again, until there was nothing left of me.

But I still wasn’t going to make it easy. If he wanted me to play out some fucked-up game for his twisted desires, fucking fine. He was going to have to earn every step of the way, and messing with the thermostat wasn’t going to be enough.

The water, though… that was just cold. How fucked-up did you really have to be to deny someone something so basic, something they needed to survive? Even food wasn’t as important, but pretty soon, my dry mouth would turn into something more befitting of a desert.

Fucking drugs.

Fucking asshole.

He already knew what he was doing, and that was the part that terrified me. Had he done this before? How many times?

What did he do when he got tired of the boys he took down into his sex dungeon?

What would he do if he got tired of me?

They were chilling thoughts, thoughts I didn’t want to have, but they kept stirring in my mind all the same. It wasn’t like I had much else to think about, other than whether I’d be rescued. I had to hold out hope that I would be. It couldn’t be that easy to make someone disappear without a trace.

I wasn’t some prostitute on the streets. I was a good student with friends and a life, with parents who fucking cared for me. They’d never give up looking for me, and that meant this asshole’s days were numbered.

That, or I’d just die down here.

Would he just bury me in the backyard?

Jesus Fucking Christ, Ryder. Stop with the dramatic bullshit .

Even though I knew it wasn’t bullshit, not really, I had to get myself together. Thinking this way wasn’t going to help.

Neither was thinking about the fact that I was both thirsty and had to use the bathroom all at once, which wasn’t a pleasant combination.

Time passed.

He didn’t come back, and I thought about what he’d said. He might not even hear me. I might end up obeying and barking like an idiot, while he might not hear me at all. How long would I have to keep it up?

It ended up taking at least an hour, with me barking half-heartedly every few minutes. I’d take off my fucking pants. Hell, at this point, I might even just take my underwear off too. There was a point where I just couldn’t care as much about clothes as I did about water and warmth .

I didn’t really want to feel his eyes on me, heated and anticipatory, and I wiggled around to take my pants and boxers off under the blanket. I wrapped them around me as best I could, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. This way, though, I wouldn’t have to show off the goods before he did what he’d said.

Assuming he kept his word.

Finally, after who knew how long of awkward barking here and there, I heard the door open and footsteps follow. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. All I knew was that I was fucking cold, and I was fucking thirsty, and why the fuck was he carrying two dog bowls in his hand?

Dumb question, Ryder. Really dumb question. He wants you to be a dog or some shit.

“You barked?” he asked, in a mockery of someone who might’ve been saying ‘you rang?’

I glared at him. “You promised you’d turn up the thermostat and give me water if I took the rest of my clothes off.”

He nodded. “So…?” he prompted.

Sighing, I pulled the jeans and boxers out from underneath the blanket and threw them at the foot of the cell door — no, I had to be real— the fucking cage door. It might’ve been a tad bit oversized for a kennel, but that was what he thought of it as, wasn’t it?

He took the clothes and dropped them on a nearby shelf, setting the two bowls beside them. He went straight to the thermostat — thank fuck — and adjusted the settings.

“How do I know you’re not just making it colder in here?” I asked. I was so cold that I thought my teeth were going to start chattering, and the idea of just curling up there with a blanket on a thin dog bed… No thanks .

“You’ll just have to trust me, Toby,” he said as he returned to the table and grabbed the water bowl.

“My name isn’t Toby,” I said stubbornly. He wasn’t going to strip away my identity as easily as he’d stripped away my clothes.

Well.

As easily as he’d gotten me to strip away my own clothes, which was somehow worse. At least if he’d manhandled me, I’d have had that excuse. This way, though? I couldn’t say he’d done a damn thing except make it colder and not give me any water.

It felt stupid, in retrospect, like things I should’ve easily been able to resist.

They hadn’t been.

He pushed one bowl through an opening at the bottom of the cell. I stared at it, then him, then back at it.

“What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

“Your water bowl. I’ll get you a stand so it doesn’t hurt your back later on, but you haven’t earned that yet.”

How could he sound so casual?

“I’m not drinking out of that.”

“It’s brand new,” he said, and he flashed me this smile that was all teeth, that made him look even more like a monster than he had before. “Besides, dogs drink out of toilets. Aren’t you so lucky your master takes care of you?”

The words sent a chill through me. There wasn’t a toilet in the cell for him to make good on his promise, which… I didn’t know if that was better or worse. It didn’t make the threat less terrifying, and I was sure he knew it as well as I did.

“You aren’t my master,” I said instantly.

The heater had kicked on, the familiar smell filling the air, and I breathed slowly out, hoping it would hurry the fuck up…

Then I realized something.

It was going to get warm, maybe even hot. Then what? I wouldn’t be able to hide in the blanket if I was sweating my ass off, and it was only going to make me thirstier…

“We’ll see,” he said.

Fuck! I’d walked right into another one of his traps, and I hadn’t even realized it until it had been too late. Here was another impossible scenario, something else I couldn’t choose a good answer for.

Not only that, but I really did have to piss, which made the lack of a toilet seem problematic for all that I’d been briefly grateful.

I couldn’t fucking win.

It took me a moment to realize he was unwinding a hose from its holder on the wall. He squirted a little bit out on his fingers, frowning, then came close again.

I scooted over and pressed against the wall like it would make a difference, only to get the chill of the concrete all over again. Maybe I was worrying about the heat for nothing. It would take a lot to get this place hot…

He ignored me, going straight for the water bowl. He squeezed the trigger on the handle of the thing on the end of the hose, letting the water fill up the dog bowl.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. On one hand, I was fucking thirsty. On the other, I had to piss. And if I’d had a third hand, I’d have had to use that one to count things off on too, because this was a dog bowl he was filling up with water.

It was one of those big no spill ones, too, made for a bigger dog. I didn’t know how I was supposed to pick it up and drink from it .

Duh, Ryder. You aren’t supposed to pick it up .

Well, fuck him very much.

He watched me. “Aren’t you going to drink?” he asked, starting to wind up the hose again.

I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, but then, that was nothing new. I’d drink after he left and figure out what to do with the fact that I really had to piss,. He could watch on his creepy cam, wherever that was. If I figured it out, I might be able to find an angle to hide from him in…

Though chances were good the asshole had several.

All the more evidence to hang himself with when he finally got caught.

“I’ll wait,” I told him, still wrapped up in my blanket burrito.

He finished coiling up the hose and set it back on the hooks, turning to look back at me. “Is there anything else you need?”

“For some fuckwad to let me out of his basement torture chamber,” I retorted instantly. Really, what did he think I needed? A day at the spa?

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked as though I hadn’t spoken at all.

Fuck.

It was the inevitable question, one we both already knew the answer to. I didn’t know how long I’d been down there, but it was long enough for my body to start protesting that it had needs. It didn’t appreciate me waiting, either, and as thirsty as I was, the idea of drinking was painful.

“Yes,” I muttered.

“Yes, what?” he asked.

I shot him a sharp look, sitting up a little straighter on my dog bed. “Yes, asshole, you goddamn motherfucking sadistic freak. That better? ”

“Yes, Master,” he corrected me, ignoring me again. That was somehow more irritating than if he’d had a comeback.

“Yes, Master ,” I snarled. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He pointed to the drain in the center of the cell. “That’s your toilet.”

I could feel myself paling. The idea of pissing into a drain was disgusting. And then what if I had to…

“We’ll worry about your ass after.”

Oh, that wasn’t ominous.

“You can go,” I told him, as imperious as though I was the one on the outside of the cell doors.

“Nah. I’ll wait,” he said.

He wanted to watch me humiliate myself — with the drain, with the water, with struggling to keep from flashing him, with all of it. From the tent in his jeans, I was pretty sure he was getting off on it, too.

Then again, it seemed like he was getting off on all of this, so there wasn’t a reason to be surprised.

I waited as long as I could, but I really, really had to pee. I didn’t want to risk getting the blanket wet, which meant I was going to have to stand up naked in front of him. The thought chilled me enough to where I thought I could wait a little longer…

But I was thirsty, too, and goddamnit, he kept setting me up to fail.

Finally, I stood, letting the blanket stay on the dog bed. I heard his sharp inhalation, the footsteps as he got closer, and I fought the urge to whimper. I kept my back turned to him and walked back to the center of the cell.

The drain was weird. It had bigger holes than I would’ve expected, but then, I didn’t go around staring at drains either. I just knew it was a lot bigger than the one in my bathroom back at home. For some reason, I didn’t think that boded well for me.

I had to stop freaking out about it, though. If I kept panicking, he would win, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I aimed for the drain, thankful for all the practice in dunking Cheerios in the toilet bowl when I’d been a kid. It was like heaven to finally relieve myself, damn near orgasmic in just how strong the urge had been. When I was finally done, I shook my cock off.

Fuck it.

I went to the water bowl, crouching down. I started to cup my hands so I could get some out, but he snapped, “No. Bad boy.”

I glared at him.

“Your hands are filthy,” he told me, making a point I hadn’t expected him to make.

It hadn’t seemed so gross when I was that thirsty, but now that he’d mentioned it, I was all too aware.

“So how am I supposed to drink?” I retorted.

I wasn’t going to like the answer to that question, and I knew it.

“Lean over, and drink. Just pretend you’re… I don’t know…” He paused as though mulling it over, even though both of us knew that was utter bullshit. “A puppy, maybe?”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“You weren’t going to take off your clothes either,” he pointed out.

Damn it .

Why did I keep surrendering, again and again?

What other choice did I have?

I got to my knees, already hating how the cold cement felt beneath them. I braced myself then leaned over, trying to take a sip from the dog bowl but ending up half-drowning myself in the process.

I could hear him chuckling, and I shot him a fierce look — for all that it didn’t matter, considering where we were, on which side of the bars we were on. I could give him all the fierce looks in the world, but in the end, he was the one with the keys…

And I was the one on my knees.