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Chapter 3: The Breaking BeginsNotes:Note there are racist views/overtones and religious views from multiple characters that are necessary to facilitate the plot of this story. This is not intended to promote or support any views expressed by the characters.

Chapter TextI wake with a start as the door creaks open. The Japanese man steps into the basement, his presence as oppressive as the darkness around me. He is wearing his usual white shirt and gray slacks, but his feet are bare. My body aches from the hard floor, but the bruises are better, and the cuts on my wrists and ankles have mostly scabbed over. I sit up, feeling more rested but very hungry and thirsty.

"Is this another day?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He detaches my collar from the rope attached to the ceiling, freeing me to move about the small basement.

"Crawl to the shower," he commands, ignoring me.

Objections bubble up inside me, but I swallow them down. I know resisting him would only bring more pain, and I can't bear the thought of enduring more punishment. I crawl to the shower. The cold tiles bite into my knees, but I don't dare complain. He takes the shower head and sprays me with cold water, the icy sting making me jump. I grit my teeth, knowing there's no use in protesting.

As before, he tosses a bar of soap to the floor. It lands with a dull thud on the the tile floor. I pick it up, my fingers trembling, and begin to scrub myself. With each stroke, I try to wash away the haunting memories of these last days, the pain and fear embedded in my skin. Before I'm ready, the cold spray hits me again, hosing me down like a farm animal, the icy water piercing my skin and shattering my reverie.

He turns off the water, and I shiver uncontrollably, my teeth chattering as the cold air wraps around me. He throws a towel into my lap, and I pick it up, the fabric rough against my damp skin as I dry off. The towel offers a brief respite from his gaze. I savor this moment of relative modesty, even if it's temporary. As I finish drying my body, I find myself clinging to the towel, holding on to this tiny shred of dignity. A deep sadness wells up inside me, knowing that if I don't give it back willingly, he will snatch it from me anyway. The thought of losing even this small comfort sends a pang of despair through my heart.

Cover yourself, and you'll be punished, he had said before.

Reluctantly, I hand the towel back to him. To my surprise, his expression softens slightly, as if he is pleasantly surprised by my obedience.

"Crawl back to your spot," he says, his voice less harsh.

I obey, crawling back to the cold, hard floor where I had slept. The realization hits me—compliance may be my only way to survive this nightmare.

His eyes pierce through me as he gestures towards the bed. "Lay down," he commands.

My heart leaps into my throat as my body shakes uncontrollably. If he wants me on the bed, there's only one thing he could possibly want. The thought makes my blood run cold. My mind is screaming, every instinct urging me to flee, but I'm frozen in place. "Are... are you going to ra-rape me?" I whisper, my voice barely audible and trembling with raw, unfiltered fear.

His smile is full of lust and hunger, a predatory glint in his eyes that I somehow missed before. How did I not notice this darkness lurking within him? "Today, you will start servicing me," he says, his voice dripping with sinister intent. "If you obey, I can make it good for you. If you fight, it will be painful." His words send a shiver down my spine, a cold dread settling in my stomach. The room seems to close in around me, the air thick with his overpowering presence. There is no escape.

A dull ache stirs between my legs, a shameful excitement that I can't control. My body betrays me in this moment of utter terror and confusion. "Please," I beg, my voice cracking as tears stream down my face. "I'm a virgin," I confess, my words barely more than a whisper. "I was saving myself. For-for the right man." Desperation seeps into my plea, hoping against hope that they will reach some semblance of humanity in him.

His expression shifts. But instead of understanding and compassion, a twisted eagerness lights up his eyes on hearing my confession. I sit in stunned horror, the realization hits me like a physical blow—my virginity, something that my Dad had taught me to cherish and safeguard, now makes me a more desirable target in his eyes. His excitement grows, a sickening confirmation that he intends to rip away this precious part of me, regardless of my pleas.

Panic grips me, and I bolt up, trying to escape. I am like a feral beast, trapped and desperate to break free. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I run blindly towards the door, my only thought being that I have to get away. I don't know how or where, but I know I must escape.

I reach the door and find it locked. The handle won't turn, no matter how frantically I twist and pull. Before I can make another move, his arms catch me. He throws me down with brutal force, sending me crashing to the concrete floor. Pain shoots through my arm and side where I landed, leaving me momentarily stunned by the sheer brutality of the impact.

Before I can get up, he is on top of me, his weight pressing me down with an unforgiving force. Desperately, I try to roll away, but he flips me onto my back like a ragdoll. Panic surges through me. I pull back and punch his stomach, hard enough that it should make him back off of me. But it barely fazes him. He catches my wrists, his grip like iron, and slams them above my head, pinning me down with a single, powerful hand. I am trapped, utterly helpless beneath him, my heart pounding in terror and desperation.

"Oh God, no, no," I cry. "Stop- stop- stop-"

I can hear the sound of his belt buckle clinking, then the metallic whisper of his zipper being undone. Panic surges through me, a wild animal trapped in a snare. He slides his pants and boxers off in one swift motion, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, I think I might have a chance. I twist my body, trying to slip away, but his hold on my wrists is brutal and unyielding. He slams me back down, straddling me once again.

I gasp, my eyes widening as I catch sight of him—his erect penis standing out starkly against his body, red and ferocious, like a weapon of punishment. It's large, larger than I ever imagined a man would be. Fear claws at my insides, and I can barely breathe. The truth strikes me like a blow to the stomach: if he tries to put that inside me, it will tear me apart. It will kill me.

Desperation fuels my struggle. I kick, I squirm, anything to get away, but his grip is unyielding. "Please, no, don't do this," I beg, my voice cracking. "Please, don't."

But my body betrays me. A strange heat blooms between my legs, an unwelcome warmth that I can't control. I can feel myself wanting him, wanting that cock. Confusion muddles my thoughts, my emotions a chaotic whirlwind. What's wrong with me? How can I feel like this?

His eyes darken with intent as he positions himself between my thighs, forcing them apart. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my chest tight with panic. "Stop, please stop," I beg again, my voice trembling.

But my body has a mind of its own. It's screaming for him, purring with a need that terrifies me. I can't make sense of it, can't reconcile the fear with the lust that's coursing through me. My vision blurs, my breathing shallow and rapid as I teeter on the edge of a panic attack.

His free hand moves to my pussy, fingers sliding through my wetness. I can no longer deny my body's betrayal. What's happening to me?

"See how wet you are?" he says. He brings his sticky fingers to my face, smearing the moisture on my nose lips. "Smell yourself," he commands. "Taste yourself." I gag when some of the salty taste makes it into my mouth, a wave of nausea and revulsion washing over me. I want to scream, to fight, but my body betrays me at every turn.

"No, no, it's not true," I protest, my voice trembling. "I don't want this." But even as I say the words, a part of me knows they sound hollow, lacking the conviction I desperately need. My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and shame, my body's reactions defying every logical thought.

He smirks, clearly enjoying my torment. "If you didn't want it, you wouldn't be so wet," he says. He slides his fingers back between my legs, brushing against my wetness, and I can't suppress the shiver that runs through me. The sensation is maddening, a cruel reminder of my body's betrayal.

Tears blur my vision as I shake my head, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions raging inside me. "Please, no," I sob, my voice breaking. "I don't want this. I don't want you."

"Your want this," he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. "This is your fault. You are the one who wants this."

"No," I cry, the word barely a whisper. I can't understand why my body is reacting this way, why the very thing I fear most seems to be what I crave. The tears flow freely now, a torrent of helplessness and despair. I don't know what to do, how to fight this. My body and mind are at war, and I'm losing.

He positions himself at my entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against my wet folds. The anticipation is unbearable, my body trembling as I wait for him to make his move. "Oh God, no," I say, knowing my words are meaningless. "Please. Stop."

When he finally pushes in partway, I gasp, feeling the slick intrusion coating his length. He slides back out, leaving me empty once again. "Uuuaahh-" I moan, my body tense, wanting more of him. I arch my back, a shiver running through me as I shake in response to the breach.

Then he pushes in again, deeper this time, forcing himself past the tight barrier of my maidenhead. A searing pain rips through me, and I cry out, the sound raw and desperate, echoing in the confined basement. It feels as though my insides are being torn apart, my core shredded by the brutal intrusion. Instinctively, I push against his chest, my hands trembling with the effort, hoping to stop him from causing me further agony. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I chance to open my eyes, only to be met with the stark, unyielding lust etched across his face. Tears blur my vision, but the predatory hunger in his eyes remains unmistakable, a stark contrast to the shattered plea in my own.

He begins to thrust, each stroke bringing more hell to my already injured insides. My body struggles to accommodate him, the agony of being stretched beyond my limits overwhelming my senses. I push, I scream, I claw, but my struggles seem only to inflame him. If it's even possible, his shaft stiffens inside me, intensifying my torment as he plunges all the way into my depths.

Eventually, I surrender and lay down against the ground, tears of pain flowing freely as he continues to thrust relentlessly into my limp body. My vision blurs, and the room spins around me, making it hard to focus on anything but the searing pain. Then, the pain fades, and I feel as if I am floating away, seeing myself from outside my body, seeing the victim being assaulted by her rapist.

After some time, the rapist stiffens and thrusts deep into the victim one final time, grunts of senseless madness escaping his lips as he grips her body with feral intensity. Eventually, he collapses onto her limp form, having taken from the victim all that she held sacred.

After he is done with her, the rapist pulls out of the victim and stands up, leaving her limp form on the ground. There is a hint of blood on the rapist's penis. He lifts her by her armpits, and drags her unresponsive body to the center of the room. There, he attaches her collar to a rope hanging from the ceiling. He picks up his discarded clothes and leaves the room.

Moments later, he returns, carrying two dog bowls. He sets them beside the victim's head.

"You did this to yourself," he says as he heads towards the basement door. "You should have listened and obeyed." His figure disappears from view, and the door slams shut behind him.

For a while, the victim remains on the ground, motionless, her eyes glazed over. Eventually, her eyes close, and everything goes dark as she surrenders to a peaceful oblivion.

* * *

I jolt awake, disoriented and aching all over. The stiffness in my body makes me groan in pain from laying on this concrete floor. I can barely move without feeling sharp cramps from my vagina. Slowly, I prop myself up on one elbow and glance down between my legs. The sight of crusty dried blood and remnants of sex on my thighs makes me nauseous.

It really happened, didn't it? I was raped. That man took away the one treasure I had saved for my future husband. My mind races with unrelenting questions, each more painful than the last. Am I worthless now, just another used slut? Just a useless animal for that man to pleasure himself with? The thought of being reduced to someone's plaything gnaws at my very soul.

Was it my fault? Did I want to be raped? He told me I wanted it. He showed me what my body wanted. I even felt it. Was he right? Did I ask for this? Was it truly my fault?

My stomach growls, a painful reminder of how long it's been since I last ate. I turn my head and see the dog bowls next to me, still untouched—the one filled with rice paste and the other with water. Right now, my hunger is more powerful than my disgust. I crawl over to the bowls. I shove the food into my mouth, chewing hastily and swallowing hard. The water follows, cool and refreshing. I feel slightly better after finishing. I could use more food, but I'm no longer starving.

I crawl over to the toilet, my legs too weak to stand. Thank goodness, that man isn't here. The privacy is a small comfort as I relieve myself. As I finish, the sound of the basement door unlocking makes my heart race. I hurry back to my spot in the center of the room, eyes fixed on the door, my body tense with dread.

The man enters, dressed in his usual white shirt and dark pinstripe slacks, barefoot again. I can't bring myself to meet his gaze. Instead, I stare at the ground, my mind swirling with fear and resentment after what he did to me. Has he no shame? How can he even look at me after what he's done?

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense he is assessing me. He must notice the blood and grime on my thighs, a testament to the horrors he inflicted. Without a word, he steps forward and unhooks my collar from the rope connected to the ceiling once again freeing me to move around the basement.

"Crawl to the shower."

A shower, even a punishingly cold one, would be a blessing right now. Anything to rid myself of the filth on my body. I crawl to the shower without complaint. I brace for the water to strike.

The cold water hits me, but I've grown used to it. I welcome the chance to clean myself. When he tosses me the soap, I scrub my body vigorously, focusing on my inner thighs, trying to erase all evidence of his violation. He rinses me off and throws me a towel.

I wrap the towel around me, using it for shelter and comfort as I lean against the shower wall. It's as if my will to live went down the drain with the shower water. Emotions start bubbling up, a flood of memories from the rape washing over me, feelings of being ripped apart and utterly broken.

He yanks the towel away roughly, leaving me exposed and shivering. I don't care anymore. What did obeying him get me? Raped. Used. Discarded. Each act of compliance only led to more suffering. Now, I am just a worthless whore, a toy for his twisted pleasures. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to live anymore.

I feel him put one arm below my knees and one across my back, lifting me effortlessly. My body is limp in his arms as he carries me across the basement. He places me gently on the bed, the soft mattress beneath me a stark contrast to the hardness of the concrete floor. I should find comfort in its plush embrace, but instead, I feel numb, as if I'm sinking into a deep, dark hole.

Through the fog in my mind, I hear him undressing. My eyes, unfocused and distant, catch glimpses of his tattooed chest and muscular frame. The sight feels surreal, a distorted image in a nightmare I can't wake from.

He climbs onto the bed, parting my thighs and lifting my knees. I don't move or resist; I don't care anymore. I feel him positioning himself between my thighs, Then, his tongue begins to explore me, the initial contact electric, jolting me out of my depressive hole with a sudden, sharp clarity.

What is he doing?

With his tongue, he traces long, deliberate strokes between my lips. The sensation is euphoric, a stark contrast to the pain that lingers in my memory. His tongue darts inside me, then flicks my clit with precision, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, making me arch my back involuntarily. My body responds against my will, growing hot and wet despite the turmoil in my mind. Confusion and fear swirl within me, yet I find myself unable to stop the rising tide of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm everything else.

Each touch igniting a new wave of sensation that drowns out my thoughts. His tongue dances with a rhythm that feels both foreign and intimate, as if he's unlocking parts of me I didn't know existed. My breath catches in my throat, a mix of soft gasps and moans escaping my lips. My hands, trembling, run through his hair and grip his head, not wanting him to stop, not wanting this feeling to ever end.

I close my eyes, trying to reconcile the pleasure with the chaos in my mind. Every nerve ending is on fire. The pleasure builds, layer upon layer, until it becomes a force I can't ignore, a tidal wave threatening to crash over me. My soul feels split in two—one part yearning for release, the other grappling with the weight of my emotions. And in this moment, suspended between ecstasy and despair, I am utterly and completely lost.

When he inserts a finger, rubbing my insides, my body contracts in a powerful wave. "Uuunnnhh-" I moan, my voice breaking as I shake and spasm, crying out in a way I've never experienced before. It continues, the quake eventually lessening in intensity until I feel myself returning to the real world. I fall back onto the mattress, panting, my chest heaving with each breath. What just happened? My mind races, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that just took over me.

Then I see his face in front of me. In my daze, he must have climbed on top of me. Panic surges through me as memories of the previous day's rape flood back with brutal clarity. Desperation takes over. I try to push him off, but it's like trying to move a mountain. Every muscle in my body tenses as I brace myself, readying for the inevitable pain to come.

Yet this time, it feels different. He is gentle. Instead of pinning me down, he looks tenderly into my eyes, his gaze soft and comforting. His hands, instead of pinning me down, rest on either side of my head. He looks as if he wants to kiss me, but I can see the restraint in his eyes, the realization that I am not ready for such intimate contact.

He positions himself at my entrance, taking his time to rub against my lips. My body, still tingling from the recent climax, welcomes him eagerly into its embrace. I can feel the heat building between my thighs, a response both arousing and alarming.

As he slides in, I prepare myself for the stab of pain but am instead greeted by a jolt of pleasure. He doesn't go far, just enough to taunt my senses before withdrawing. I'm left feeling empty, a sudden need gnawing at me, desperate to be filled. He re-enters me, this time going a little deeper, heightening the anticipation with every careful movement. He repeats this several times, each time reaching a little deeper until he is fully inside me. Each thrust sends waves of ecstasy through me, making me yearn for more of him.

As he settles into a steady rhythm, I grip his torso in blind lust, my fingers digging into his skin as I cry out with each powerful thrust. The sensations are overwhelming, drowning my mind in a sea of pleasure. When he takes my breast in his mouth, sucking and biting my nipple, I arch my back, completely lost in rapture.

I want to call out to him to the man who is giving me such pleasures. "Goshujin-sama," I moan, holding fast to his body, wrapping my legs around his to bring more of him into me.

The intensity builds within me. Another orgasm rips through my body, causing me to convulse against him. My mind goes blank, consumed entirely by the euphoria that floods every inch of my being.

He seems to sense my climax, and plunges deep inside me, releasing wave after wave of warmth that floods my core. I instinctively grip him harder, my fingers digging into his flesh as my body glows with a strange, almost otherworldly sense of fulfillment. The sensation is unlike anything I've ever experienced, each pulse of warmth spreading through me, leaving me trembling and breathless.

Slowly, he slides out of me. The sensation leaves a lingering warmth filling my insides. He shifts to one side of the bed, and I feel his strong arms wrap around me as he spoons me from behind. His breath is hot against my neck as he kisses my hair tenderly, his lips blazing a gentle trail towards my ear. In my drunken mind, starved for comforts or even basic necessities, the tender affection sends shivers through me.

"If you obey, it can be very pleasant," he whispers.

In this moment, I simply listen and absorb his words, too tired and weak to object or think much about their meaning. I lean back against him, feeling cherished and completely at ease. The soft kisses in my hair and the comfort of the mattress lull me into a sense of peace. Drained and immersed in the afterglow, I slowly drift off to sleep, surrendering to the warmth and safety of his presence.

* * *

When I wake, I am alone on the bed. I stretch lazily, savoring the luxurious softness of the mattress beneath me, feeling more rested than I have been in what feels like an eternity. My collar is no longer attached to the rope, giving me the freedom to move around. For the first time, I have the chance to explore the basement.

I catch a whiff of something that makes my mouth water. It smells like the Chinese fast food I ate during my shifts at the mall—those lunch boxes with rice or noodles and a choice of entrees. I think I'm lost in a memory, but then I turn my head and see it.

On the bed beside me, there's a black wooden tray with red edges. A large, squat round bowl brims with strips seasoned chicken, along with greens and carrots over a bed of rice. Not rice paste. Actual rice. Fluffy white rice. Next to it is a smaller bowl of steaming soup. A pair of ornate chopsticks rests neatly on one side of the tray.

My eyes grow large at the sight of this feast. I can hardly contain my excitement. Real food, filling food, food that will finally satisfy the hunger from days of near starvation. Tears well up in my eyes as I lift the rice bowl, picking out the strips of chicken and devouring them one after another like a ravenous beast. I don't know how to use chopsticks, and I'm not going to start now. I scoop handfuls of rice into my mouth, savoring each bite, and take occasional sips of the savory soup. I can't imagine tasting anything better or ever having a more delicious meal.

When I finish, having licked every last bit of rice from the bowl, I head to the shower and fill it with water, giggling as I drink my fill of the refreshing liquid. I refill my bowl with water again, just to make sure I can do it, just to make sure this isn't a dream. I drink until my thirst is actually quenched, until I no longer feel parched.

I turn on the shower and, to my amazement, discover that there is hot water. No more icy blasts that chill my bones. Hot and cold running water. I adjust the mix, and soon I am reveling in a warm shower. I stand under the spray, letting the water cascade over me, feeling it warm my body, with no one threatening to turn it off at any moment. I pick up the bar of soap from the dish, enjoying the simple pleasure of lathering myself. Afterwards, I take my time to rinse, savoring each moment, until all the soap is gone. Until I'm ready to turn it off. Until I want to turn it off.

Giddy with excitement, I wrap the towel around me. I use it to dry my hair and limbs, then wrap it around me like a snug tube dress, with no one threatening to snatch it away. I feel a sense of privacy returning, a sense of normalcy, a sense of myself—no longer a feral animal, but Kayla, refreshed and renewed.

I use my newfound freedom to explore the basement. But the thrill of exploration is short-lived. I try the basement door, only to find it locked. The chest of drawers is also locked, its secrets hidden from me. The cage in the corner is disappointingly empty.

With a sigh of resignation, I return to the bed and lie down, wrapped in my towel-dress, staring at the ceiling. There's nothing else to do but let my mind wander back to all the things that happened in the last few days. Then the emotions come flooding back—fear, pain, confusion.

I think about what Goshujin said to me: If you obey, it can be very pleasant.

Is obedience my only option? Must I submit to him if I am to survive in this place? The idea gnaws at me. But I can't deny the appeal of my new comforts. The soft bed, the full stomach, the freedom to move about, the sense of being acknowledged as a person—these are things I crave deeply. I much prefer being treated as a human being, not an animal on the floor. But at what cost? Am I losing a piece of myself every time I submit?

What about my parents? My Dad? My brother Jake? They must be worried sick, wondering where I am, doing everything they can to look for me. I can't give up for their sake. I remember all the times I played the princess game with my Dad and Jake. They would defeat the monsters and rescue me from the evil knight. They promised to keep me safe. They would never give up searching. One day, they will find me and come for me. I just have to survive in the meantime.

Chapter 4: The StruggleNotes:Note there are racist views/overtones and religious views from multiple characters that are necessary to facilitate the plot of this story. This is not intended to promote or support any views expressed by the characters.

Chapter TextTime passes in a blur. Without a clock or even a sliver of sunlight to mark its flow, I lose all sense of it. I lie on the bed, feeling utterly listless, my eyes scanning the smooth ceiling above me. The monotony is broken by the sound of the door creaking open. In that instant, I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat.

Goshujin steps in, his presence as commanding as ever. He wears a crisp dress shirt and grey slacks, barefoot. His eyes are as cold and unreadable as before, but it's the long tan cane in his hand that grabs my attention. It's about three feet long, and even from a distance, I can imagine the sting of it against my skin. Panic rises inside me, my breath quickening.

I scoot back towards the headboard, desperately trying to put as much space between myself and the cane as possible. I draw my legs up, wrapping my arms tightly around them, finding some small measure of comfort and protection in the fetal position.

He frowns. "Kneel at your spot," he says, gesturing to my old spot on the floor.

My mind races. The bed feels safe, but I know that disobeying him would bring pain. His words echo in my mind: If you obey, it can be very pleasant. I grit my teeth, fighting the rising tide of anger and fear, and crawl off the bed, sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up.

"Give me the towel," he says, extending a hand.

I clutch the towel tighter, my fingers gripping the fabric as if it were a shield. I earned the towel, didn't I? I gave him my virginity, let him use my body. Is it too much to ask to let me have this one small comfort?

But I remember his words: Cover yourself, and you'll be punished.

I know resistance is useless. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Slowly, reluctantly, I unwrap the towel and hand it to him, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. Inside, I seethe as I feel my newfound comforts being stripped away, reducing me to an animal once again.

"Kneel," he says.

I shift reluctantly from my sitting position to kneeling, my knees pressed tightly together. I glare at him, my defiance simmering just beneath the surface. I remember his words: Women must respect and obey men. He can go to hell.

"Kneel properly," he says, "with your knees apart and your hands on your knees."

And expose myself? That's disgusting, vulgar. Does he really think I'm an animal, here for his pleasure?

I look away and shake my head. I can't. My Dad taught me to be modest. I'm not that kind of woman, the kind that desires sex, the kind with no shame.

He takes a step closer, his cane dangling menacingly by his side. "Your knees apart and your hands on your knees."

A tear falls from my eye, tracing a path down my cheek. "I can't. I-I'm sorry, I just can't." My body shakes in fear and apprehension. Oh God, I don't know what to do. He's going to hurt me, but I can't do what he's asking. I just can't.

The first stroke lands on my outer thigh. I heard the cane whistle through the air, and then the dull thack against my flesh. Instantly, a sharp pain unlike anything I've felt before rips through my leg.

I cry out just before the second stroke lands on my other thigh. I scream uncontrollably, the pain burning my skin. Instinctively, I retreat backwards, anything to get away from the source of this pain.

I feel him seizing me by the hair, holding me in place. I looked up at him in horror. Is he going to hit me again?

Yet his expression remains calm and unreadable, as always. He simply repeats, "Your knees apart and your hands on your knees."

Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I can already feel the red welts rising on my thighs, each one a fiery brand of pain. The heat pulses through my legs. I can't let him hit me again. I can't take any more of this punishment. He's already raped me, stolen my virginity, destroyed the dreams I once held dear. What difference does it make if I expose my private parts to him now?

I try to control my sobbing. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I close my eyes and spread my knees apart, resting my trembling hands on them. My thighs are still burning, but at least the immediate sting has started to subside.

"From now on, I expect you to kneel like this when I come into a room, or when you are waiting and not performing service for me."

I stare up at him in horror. Is he serious? From now on, am I just going to sit around like this, waiting for him to use me?

"Keep your eyes on the floor unless instructed otherwise," he says.

I drop my gaze, focusing on the cold concrete. I don't want to look at him anyway.

He must have sensed my thoughts. He studies at me with those cold eyes. "Do you understand?"

I nod slightly, my eyes still fixed on the floor. The reality of my situation sinks deeper into my bones. Obedience is survival, but every act of submission chips away at the person I used to be.

He slaps me across the cheek, the shock jars me out of my thoughts. He had slapped me much harder than this, but nevertheless, it still stung.

"Answer me when I ask you a question."

"Yes." I want to glare at him, then I remember I should keep my eyes downcast. I glare at the floor instead.

"Yes, what?"

I couldn't help looking up at him, puzzled. What does he mean by that?

The slap hits me almost immediately. "Keep your eyes on the the floor."

And another slap on my other cheek. "How do you address me?"

I lower my head and scramble for an answer. He told me what I should call him. Is that it? "Yes, Goshujin-sama."

He seems satisfied with that response.

"From now on, you will always answer by addressing me properly. Understand?"

"Yes, Goshujin-sama."

For a moment, there is silence. I hope he is satisfied with me. I don't dare look up to see his face or what he is doing. I kneel there, naked, exposed, feeling the cold concrete against my bare knees.

He takes a step forward, positioning himself so that his crotch is right in my face. I sense his presence looming over me like a dark cloud. Despite my best efforts, I can't help myself and look up at his face. What I see makes me tremble in fear. Hunger and lust blaze in his eyes, the same expression he wore when he raped me and took my virginity. The memory crashes over me like a wave, nearly drowning me in its intensity. I quickly return my gaze to the floor, my breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. I'm shaking now, an animal trapped in a cage. What does he want with me? Is he going to rape me again?

I can hear the metallic clink as he begins to unbuckle his belt. He grips my chin and lifts my head up so I can no longer escape his gaze.

"Open," he says, his voice as cold and demanding as ever.

I see his crotch right in front of my face, and my stomach churns. The reality of what he wants crashes down on me. He wants to put it in my mouth, doesn't he? The thought made me gag, to have that part of him in my mouth. I want to throw up. He would hurt me. Memories of his previous rape flood my mind. The sight of his angry penis. The way it tore my insides. The way he kept hurting me despite my pleas.

Panic surges through me, but at this horrible moment, I feel the dull ache return between my thighs. At this most vulnerable moment, my body wants what it felt before, that mindless high in his embrace, that explosive release. What's wrong with me? Am I just a sinful, lust-filled animal?

His words echo in my mind. If you obey, it can be very pleasant. But I can't, I just can't. It's disgusting and humiliating. And he intends to hurt me with it.

Then I see the cane dangling at his side. My legs still throb from the earlier hits. I know he's not above using that cane again. I feel like I'm drowning, caught between two terrible choices. My heart pounds in my chest, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"No, I can't," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

His grip on my chin tightens, and I feel his cold eyes boring into me. "Open," he says, more insistently this time.

Maybe I can offer to do something else. Let him use a different part of me. The part that wants him. Oh God, what's wrong with me? Why am I thinking like that?

He did this to me. He's a rapist and a monster. He's taken everything away from me. I don't want to please him. Trade off bits of myself to appease him. More than anything else right now, I want to hurt him. The words burn in my throat, and before I can stop myself, they spill out in a torrent of rage and fear. "You're a rapist. You should be in jail. You can't do this to me."

I lash out, my hands flying up and push his disgusting crotch away, my voice screams in pure, unfiltered hate. "You bastard. You-you monster."

He sighs, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he grabs my hair and pushes me to the ground and holds me there with his foot.

"Don't you touch me." I struggle to get up, but I can't get out from under him. "I hope you die."

He reaches for the rope that's connected to the ceiling, and attaches it to my collar, once again limiting me to the center of the basement. Then he finally lets me up and heads towards the chest of drawers.

I scramble up and have away from him, as much as that rope would allow.

He digs through the drawers and comes towards me with two sets of leather cuffs. My heart sinks as I realize what's coming next. I pull at the rope, but it won't budge. I can only go forward. But even if I can somehow get past him, the rope won't let me get far. I'm trapped.

I scream at him, cursing, venting every ounce of anger and hatred I've been holding inside. "I hate you. You're sick. You can't keep me here."

Once he's close enough, I lash out at him, kicking him away while I punch his face. My foot connects with his thigh, hurting him enough pain to make him wince. He manages to catch my wrist and twists it behind my back. I yelp in pain as he wraps his other arm around my throat and forces me down to the floor. Once there, he puts his knee on my back to hold me down while he works methodically, securing the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, tying each arm to each foot on the same side.

Afterwards, I am face down on my stomach, in a different sort of hogtie than before. The cuffs are leather, softer and more comfortable than the handcuffs he used in the van. But it doesn't make me feel any less humiliated or helpless.

Like before, he is going to leave me like this to suffer. In a few hours, or perhaps days, I would be too weak again and beg him to use me. In that moment of weakness, I would gladly trade my dignity for the comforts of a full stomach and a soft bed. I had tasted both, and I already know what's going to happen. And I dread my inevitable surrender to this rapist, this evil being who deserves to burn in Hell.

But it seems he's not done with me yet. Before I realize it, I feel him pushing my knees apart. Before I can bring them together again, he had jammed himself in between.

"What are you doing?" I say with alarm.

I hear a bottle cap being flicked open, then something cold lands between my butt cheeks. I yelp in surprise, my eyes grow wide. "What-what are you doing?" Genuine fear grips me now. In this position, I can't see him. I can't see what he's doing to me.

I hear the metal clink of his belt again, and the ruffling of his clothes. Then I jump in shock as his thumb rubs the cold liquid around my anus.

"No- no- no-" I cried out. He can't be wanting to violate me there. It's a sin to even think about such an unnatural act. I struggle now, truly struggle to get away from this horror. "Please-please don't do this to me."

I tense up when I feel him pushing me apart again. "What are you do-"

I scream, a vile animal noise that should not pass through human lips. Pain rips through my back. It hurts like a flame burning its way into my ass. It feels like he's ripping me apart, the burn spreading throughout my insides. I can't believe what's happening, that he could be doing that to my body. I try to close myself, to keep him out. Whatever liquid he used on me makes it impossible to resist him. It hurts, burning my sides. He breaches me and fills my insides. I shake in terror, certain that I would die from the intrusion or from sin.

"Oh, God," I say. "Stop- Get out of me." My body shakes uncontrollably, each tremor a testament to the agony coursing through me.

"Shut up," he says coldly, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back. I can't see him, but I feel the full force of his anger and lust.

He pulls out slightly, then thrusts again, slower this time, as if savoring the violation. I cry out, my body shaking. Tears flow freely now, my face burns as I strain against the cuffs, desperate to escape this nightmare.

He starts to move, in and out, each thrust tearing at me, shredding any sense of dignity I have left. I scream and beg, my voice hoarse and raw. "Stop. It hurts. Stop."

But he doesn't stop. He pulls my hair harder, yanking my head back, forcing me to arch my back even more. I'm trapped, helpless, at his mercy.

The pain is unbearable, yet it's not just the physical torment that tears at me. Shame and guilt consumes me, a dark cloud of humiliation and damnation. I tried to be a good girl, a virgin who dreamed of a perfect wedding. Now I'm soiled, just a plaything for this monster, used and degraded in the most sinful way imaginable.

He groans, his breath coming in sharp pants. His grip on my hair tightens, pulling my head back further, exposing my neck.

He stiffens and lets out a low growl, his release spilling into me. It's too much, and I can't hold back my scream, a mix of anguish and pain, of a soul that's been broken.

He slumps forward, his body resting on mine. I'm still crying, my body shaking uncontrollably. I feel dirty, tainted, as if I'll never be clean again.

Slowly, he pulls out, and I sob in relief, even as the stinging pain reminds me of what just happened. He gets up, leaving me there on the floor, tied and vulnerable. I hear the sound of a zipper, then the door opening and closing.

Alone. I'm alone again.

And I realize I'm still screaming, a sound that echoes off the cold walls.

* * *

The creak of the basement door jolts me from a restless sleep, my eyes snapping open in the dim light. I'm starving, my stomach a hollow pit gnawing at my insides. Every inch of my body is a symphony of pain, each muscle and joint screaming in agony. My hand, bound tightly for what feels like an eternity, is numb. I try to call out, but my voice is nothing more than a raspy whisper, almost non-existent from all the screaming I've done.

I catch sight of his immaculate polished shoes and pinstripe slacks, a stark contrast to the grime and filth that clings to me on the floor. Goshujin is here. The very sight of him makes me feel even smaller, dirtier, and more worthless. Why would a man like him want with someone like me? I'm soiled now, broken, a shadow of my former self. He should just leave me here to die.

He kneels beside me, his presence strangely comforting. Carefully, he begins to undo the cuffs that have kept me bound in this excruciating hogtie. As he works, his touch is gentle, so he doesn't cause me undue pain. Slowly, he lowers my legs one at a time, easing the tension from my muscles and allowing blood to flow freely once more. The sensation is overwhelming; waves of pins and needles ripple through my arms and legs, a mix of agony and ecstasy. I can't help but moan in my raspy voice, a raw blend of pain and profound relief, even a hint of pleasure from the sheer release.

He gently rolls me over and cradles me in his arms. I look up at him, my vision blurry with tears, and see his eye regarding me with that familiar, cold detachment. It's an expression I've come to know well, one that sends shivers down my spine even now. Tears spring to my eyes as I feel a surging wave of gratitude for his kindness, for releasing me from that torment. I can barely muster the strength to speak, but I must. I murmur a weak "Thank you," my voice barely more than a breath.

He lifts me effortlessly and carries me to the shower, laying me gently on the cold tiles. The chill bites into my skin, but I'm too weak to react. He reaches for the faucet and adjusts the water until it's warm, then begins to spray my body with a tenderness that takes me by surprise. The care of his touch is overwhelming, like a warm embrace wrapping around my broken spirit. The water cascades over me, washing away the remnants of torment.

Afterwards, he turns off the water and begins to towel me dry. Every stroke is gentle, almost reverent, as if he's afraid I might shatter under his touch. He wraps me in the soft towel, cocooning me in its warmth. The sensation is reassuring, enveloping me in a sense of safety and almost making me feel human again, as though I might be able to piece myself back together.

Once more, he cradles me in his strong arms and carries me to the bed. The mattress feels heavenly soft and welcoming beneath my aching body. I hear the rustle of fabric as he sheds his clothes, but I'm too exhausted to move or object. My eyelids flutter open, and my gaze travels over his toned, muscular form. His presence is commanding, yet there's a tenderness in the way he moves. He climbs onto the bed and straddles me, his weight reassuring as he settles over me.

He leans down and kisses me tenderly, his lips soft and warm against mine. Reflexively, I return the kiss, my body craving the comfort and affection he's providing. The gentle pressure of his mouth is like a balm to my weary soul. His lips travel to my neck, and I shiver, the sensation sending delicate tingles through me despite the soreness in my throat. Each touch feels like a promise of safety and care.

When he teases my breasts, his fingers skillfully tracing circles around my nipples before sucking on them, a moan escapes my lips. The mix of pleasure and warmth is intoxicating, making my head spin. It's as if his actions are promises to cherish and protect me.

My arms find their way behind him, holding onto his back as if he's the anchor keeping me afloat in this stormy sea of torment and despair.

He shifts his weight, moving lower on the bed. My breath hitches as his mouth leaves a hot trail of kisses down my abdomen, each one slower than the last, savoring the journey. The sensation is almost too much to bear, a maddening mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes me arch my back involuntarily.

His hands find my thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle but firm insistence. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but there's an odd sense of trust growing within me. He presses soft kisses along the inside of my thigh, inching closer to my core with excruciating slowness. My skin tingles under the gentle assault, each kiss a promise of what's to come.

When he finally reaches the apex of my thighs, his breath is warm against my most sensitive skin. I can't help but shiver in anticipation, every part of me yearning for his touch. He takes his time, his tongue flicking out to taste me with deliberate slowness. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves through my entire body.

His movements are slow and calculated; each lick and kiss seems designed to drive me to the edge without letting me fall over it. He alternates between gentle strokes with his tongue and soft sucks that make me moan involuntarily. The sounds escaping my lips are a mix of pleasure and desperation, raspy and pained, each one louder than the last as he continues his relentless teasing.

His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he works his magic. His tongue explores every inch of me with precision. The slow circles he traces around my clit make me writhe beneath him, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through me. It feels like he's worshipping me, taking his time to learn every part of me.

Minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity as he continues to go down on me with painstaking thoroughness. My senses are overwhelmed by the rhythm he's set—the rise and fall of pleasure building within me until I'm on the brink of losing myself completely. Every nerve ending is alight with sensation, my body responding to him in ways I never thought possible.

My fingers tangle in his hair, holding on as if he's my lifeline. His tongue never falters, never speeds up or slows down; it maintains that perfect tempo that has me teetering on the edge of ecstasy. The world narrows down to just this moment—the feel of him between my legs and the growing pressure inside me that threatens to burst at any second.

The pleasure builds steadily until it becomes almost unbearable—a tight coil ready to snap at any moment under his expert ministrations. And still, he doesn't relent; he keeps pushing me closer and closer to that precipice with every languid stroke of his tongue. Every flick and stroke sends ripples of pleasure through me, building into a crescendo. I grip the sheets beneath me, knuckles white, as my body teeters on the edge. The tension coils tighter and tighter within me, a pressure that becomes almost unbearable.

Suddenly, the dam breaks. Pleasure crashes over me in waves, an orgasm so intense it takes my breath away. I cry out, my voice hoarse and broken, as my body convulses under his touch. Every nerve ending is alight, every muscle taut with ecstasy. The world dissolves into a blur of sensation, and for a moment, I forget everything—my captivity, my fear, my pain. There's only this—pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He doesn't stop; he rides out the waves of my orgasm with me, his tongue continuing its relentless assault until I'm nothing more than a trembling mess. Finally, as the last shudders of pleasure ebb away, he pulls back and looks up at me with an expression I can't quite read—somewhere between satisfaction and possession.

He moves beside me on the bed and begins to gently rub my body. His hands are warm and soothing as they glide over my skin, easing the lingering tension from my muscles. He massages my breasts, then gently moves down to across my stomach. The gentle pressure of his fingers is almost hypnotic, lulling me into a state of relaxed contentment despite everything that has happened.

For a while, we stay like this—him quietly tending to me while I catch my breath and let the remnants of pleasure wash over me. It's almost peaceful.

When he senses that I've recovered enough, he shifts his weight and moves up to straddle my chest. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His erect penis hovers near my lips, hard and insistent.

He looks at me with dark eyes filled with lust and command—a silent dare for me to refuse him. But there's no hesitation in me; I want to return the favor he's given me. I part my lips eagerly and take him into my mouth.

I've never done this before but instinct takes over as I start to suck him gently. My tongue swirls around the head of his cock tentatively at first but then more confidently as I get used to the sensation.

His groans of pleasure spur me on; they're music to my ears amidst all this pain and humiliation I've endured here.

I hollow out my cheeks and take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat causing me to gag slightly but I don't stop—I can't stop because pleasing him feels like reclaiming some small part of myself again.

I bob up and down on his cock faster now; hands reaching up instinctively to cup his balls which draw another moan from deep within him.

It doesn't take long before he starts thrusting into my mouth rhythmically matching pace with each bobbing motion from head-to-base.

With one final thrust - he explodes in climax, shooting hot streams of sticky, salty cum down my throat. I swallow his seed eagerly, wanting him to experience every last bit of pleasure that I can offer.

He collapses onto the headboard, and for a moment, I am worried if I did something wrong. Then he shifts his weight once again and moves down to straddle my waist. He leans down to kiss me every so tenderly on my lips.

"If you obey, I can make it good for you," he whispers softly in my ears.

Now I understand his words. As I lay on the bed, my body aching and mind reeling, a strange clarity begins to wash over me. The raw pleasure from moments ago lingers, mixing with the confusion and shame that have been my constant companions since this nightmare began. My gaze drifts to Goshujin, his features sharp and commanding even in the dim light.

Why did I resist surrendering to such a handsome, strong, and powerful man like him for so long? My mind grapples with the question.

Was I really so dumb to fight him and bring all that suffering on myself? My upbringing flashes through my mind—my father's stern beliefs, the rigid rules. I need a strong hand to guide me. Is this why I'm so drawn to Goshujin? He is the embodiment of male authority and dominance.

I look at him again, studying his chiseled features, the strength in his jawline, the intensity in his eyes. There's a magnetic allure to him, something almost primal that calls out to a part of me I've tried to suppress. His control is intoxicating; it makes me feel safe even as it terrifies me.

The realization is unsettling but undeniable. In his arms, under his control, there's a strange comfort—a promise of protection amidst the chaos. And perhaps that's what I've been seeking all along: not just freedom from pain but an acceptance of who I am and what I need.

My gaze returns to Goshujin one last time before I close my eyes, letting exhaustion claim me once more.