Freeing Lana (5 page)

“Please, don’t!” she
screamed, but all she heard in response was a loud ‘popping’ sound as he forced
it against her already bleeding asshole and then inside. She screamed and
struggled, but the hand on her neck held her in place and began tightening the
collar again, tighter than before and then tighter still. Blood ran down both
of her legs as he pounded it harder and harder inside of her, sending
shockwaves through her body, but she never felt the blood, as he slid whatever
it was deeper inside her.
The ripped opening which had
recently been for ‘exit only’ soon stopped being the only source of the pain,
as he slammed it even deeper still, faster and harder.
Her thighs were
being crushed against the porcelain tub as he impaled her against it with one
hand and pulled her back against the assault be her throat with the other.

Her frantic, garbled
screams were no longer audible, barely detectable as the collar around her neck
became even tighter, blocking the airway and denying her lungs air. He ears
felt as though they would pop, as if she were descending in an airplane. She
couldn’t hear herself screaming anymore, just the sickening sound of her
asshole being violated repeatedly and seemingly endlessly. It was…sloshing into
her now, fucking sloshing.

“I’m
going to die,”
she thought.

As the blackness
settled in, blocking out the pain first and then that horrific sound, Lana
never noticed. She was drifting across an empty parking lot. Someone was
calling her name. She could almost make out who he was, almost see his face.
Maybe it was…maybe…and then he was gone.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Ron had been
unsurprisingly as worthless as the receptionist at the hospital, offering no
more information than hope. Instead of allowing the conversation to remain on
the imperative issue of Angel’s disappearance, he had insisted on giving Sergio
a list of reasons he was no longer an employee of the Wholesale Warehouse. It
had been all he could to restrain himself from caving in the side of the man’s
skull, putting another permanent stain on that revolting blue suit. Sergio
couldn’t care less about the fucking job; it no longer mattered in his world, a
world which was quickly spinning into oblivion.

After leaving his
former place of employment, he had finally summoned the courage to go to the
police station and, eerily similar to his trip to the hospital, had been both
relieved and frightened at the same time. They had no information at all about
Lana Martin, no accidents, no homicides. He tried to allow himself to believe
all this meant she was ok somewhere, but his heart wouldn’t let his head make
that leap. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. At least someone had taken
the time to listen to him, though he doubted they had given his fearful
delusions of doom any credence. It was not unusual apparently for someone to
quit their job, just as it raised no eyebrows when someone, especially someone
without a job, was not at home. The fact that her vehicle was not sitting
questionably in her driveway only made the detective he spoke with, a
detective, Tom Tinkerton, if he remembered correctly, seem even less likely to
spend too much time on it. Most likely, a report wouldn’t even be filed about
his visit to the station, Sergio feared.

Tinker Toy, or whatever
the fucker’s name had been, had gotten Sergio to leave by telling him he would
send somebody to Lana’s home to check on her, and if he could see in the window
and happened to see something unusual, would get the landlord to let them in to
check it out.
But no promises.
As far as Sergio
believed, that meant no hope. He had looked through the window and had seen
that nothing had been out of place. It looked just as it had always looked. The
only difference was that Lana wasn’t there.

CHAPTER
NINE

Lana opened her eyes
and though she still could not see anything, realized almost immediately that
she was in the porcelain tub, her knees pulled to her chest in a fetal
position. The hard surface of the tub was causing a mild discomfort to her right
side, but she feared any movement would remind her brain to send the shockwave
elsewhere, where she knew she was more injured than uncomfortable. But she had
no desire to move anyway. ‘Worse than before’ had been an understatement worthy
of the Guinness records. It was a phrase she never wanted to hear again.
Nothing could be worse than what he had done to her this time.
Nothing.

Wanna
bet?

No, she didn’t want to
bet. She didn’t want to even think about any scenario that could be worse. She
didn’t want to think at all, or move for that matter, and she sure as hell
didn’t want to ask any more fucking questions. All she wanted was to lay here
in this porcelain tub and not do a damn thing. But that would not be allowed
either, a fact she discovered immediately as the cold water hit her feet
quicker than the sound of the old handle of the faucet being turned. She
instinctively tried to pull her feet closer to her, away from the thought
shattering cold water, but they had already been pulled up as far as they could
go. The sound of the second faucet was not as distinctive as the first had
been, causing it to go completely unnoticed, but the results did not, as the
water, now past her hip and quickly approaching her shoulder, began to warm.

The numbness seeping
into her mind allowed a hand, though gently placed and seemingly unthreatening,
to touch her hip, guiding her to rotate into a position resembling sitting. Her
knees, still instinctively pulled to her chest, were asked by a single touch to
straighten, allowing her feet to find their way to a horizontal line along the
tub’s bottom. No longer fear, but a mere acknowledgement of reality told her
that the warm water was about to remind her of how horrible pain felt as she
turned, submerging her recently injured back door in the still rising water.
She had just enough time to wonder if the impending anguish would snap her mind
back to an ability to feel anything at all before the water found its way to
her agonized ass. But what would normally have been complete shock at how
little it actually hurt was nothing more than a simple realization, as nothing
more than a slight sting down there answered.

As the water rose above
her hips and threatened to lick her breasts, she again heard the distinct sound
of the faucet handles being turned, transforming the rush of water cascading
onto itself above her feet into a mere trickle, then slowing drips before
stopping altogether. Her hands, clasped together across her chest were gently
separated and an already suds filled wash cloth was placed in one of her hands.
Her nose had smelled the soap before, but her mind had not thought it worthy of
recognition then, and not much more now.

Lana heard the lock
connecting the chain to her collar release and felt its light weight as it fell
onto her chest, making a slight splash in the water, and sending unfelt drops
onto the hood against her face. Next, the restraint on her left hand was
removed, allowing it to be completely unbound for the first time since she had
awakened in this house, then her right hand. As she felt the drag of the small
chain against her flesh, dripping water back onto her as it was removed from
the tub completely, her left hand was placed on the edge of the tub. Her right,
with the wash cloth in tow, was placed on her chest just below her throat and
gently pushed to the side, spreading the suds across her skin. As it circled
and headed back across her chest, the hand guiding it left it unattended and
free to continue its intended purpose. Instinctively, Lana took up the task of
bathing, without giving more thought to it than she had to rolling onto her
back in the first place. There was no real cognitive acknowledgment of what she
was doing, as if the hand was still guiding her actions and she was simply
going with the flow, unknowing, uncaring. Meager flashes of realization were
about the best her mind was willing to contribute. Then, he spoke.

“Open your mouth,” he
said, his voice again level, soft.

Blowjob
hole! Blowjob hole!

Her mind, finally
willing to contribute to the situation, screamed at her, but her body was
unwilling to make the connection between what she didn’t want to happen and how
to resist it. She did as she was told, opening her mouth wide, while her hand
continued about the task of bathing. Mental images of a cock being shoved in
her mouth flashed inside her head, but she didn’t move even when she felt
something touch her lower lip and then the top of her tongue. His dick was unyielding,
solid; it was…

Metal?
He has a metal dick?

It wasn’t his dick, she
suddenly realized. It was a spoon. She optimistically closed her mouth over the
spoon and discovered, almost rapturously it was filled with sweet, buttery
mashed potatoes. It was food, goddamned food! As the spoon was pulled between
her teeth and out of her mouth, she pressed her lips tightly around it, holding
every last morsel of the potatoes inside. She swallowed it quickly and opened
her mouth again, not so much expectantly, but hopefully. She was not
disappointed, as another spoonful was inserted into her eager mouth again and
again. Periodically replaced by a straw, allowing her small drinks of cool
water, the spoon continued its mission of feeding her.

The potatoes were
easily revealed as homemade by occasional lumps within them, and that only made
them taste better to Lana, and she doubted if she had ever tasted anything so
wonderful. It was as close to heaven as she would allow herself hope of seeing
anytime soon, so when the spoon left her mouth and did not return, she wanted
to ask for more. She was still hungry, very hungry with an intensity level
bordering on insatiable. But she was not about to utter a single word, not so
much as a syllable. What little nourishment the small portion of food had
provided had been enough to instantly allow her to think clearly enough to know
better. So instead of asking what she dearly wanted to ask, she slowly closed
her mouth and turned her attention to bathing.

The hand which had
guided her motions before returned again, enclosing itself around one of her
wrist. Slowly her hand was led downward and placed lightly between her legs.
Fingers individually found themselves atop each of her own as her hand was
slowly bent downward. She stopped when the hand guiding hers stopped,
understanding she would be shown exactly what was expected. A lone finger
remained atop her middle finger as she felt his thumb and pinky finger slip
around her wrist again, and as her hand was slowly pulled upward, her middle
finger found its way to the skin just below the slit in her womanhood. It
glided lightly over the lips of her pussy, making its way to the top before
being asked to return.

The motion was repeated
several times and then she was again left to continue on her own. She had not
been shown to slip the finger inside and so she didn’t, and likewise when her
finger reached the top, just below where she had once sported a mound of curly
hair, she did not allow herself to press any harder to stimulate her clit any
more than she had been silently asked.

She found she was becoming
slightly captivated by his interest in watching her rub on her own pussy in
return for the food she had wanted. She had no trouble recognizing where this
was headed. The only question was where it would end. But it was a question she
knew she couldn’t ask. As she slid her finger over her slit for what she
believed to be the 15
^th
or 20
^th
time, she heard the
unmistakable sound of metal grinding against glass, and as she dared to wonder
of it could in fact be a knife and fork – oh fuck, let it be a knife and fork –
he repeated his last spoken command.

“Open your mouth,” he
said.

She quickly obeyed and
was rewarded again by the touch of metal inside her mouth, followed immediately
by absolute joy as she closed her mouth and recognized something she would have
never allowed herself to hope for. It was steak, breaded and obviously cooked
in a frying pan, something she was unaccustomed to, but absolutely delicious.
The hand stroking her pussy was almost forgotten as she welcomed the tasty
meat. He spoke again as she chewed the steak slowly, savoring it for all its
worth, and at the same time hearing the sound of the knife slicing off another
bite for her.

“I want you to
coordinate you hand and your mouth,” he said, as he placed the next piece of
steak at the edge of her lip. “As you close your mouth around the food, I want
you to slide your finger inside you. Then I want you to slowly pull your finger
out, moving it up slowly as you chew. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she quickly
answered, inhaling the aroma so close to her mouth.

“If you do this
properly, your finger should reach your clit at the exact time you swallow the
food. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Oh hell yes she
understood.

“Good. Open your
mouth.”

Time slowly disappeared
as she became lost in whatever this game was that he was playing with her. She
quickly attuned her fingers to the tempo he set by feeding her hunger. Whether
he was deriving his pleasure from watching her fingers work her own pussy or
trying to maintain the pace he constantly slowed and increased was unclear to
Lana, but she did as she had been asked. Her need was being satisfied by
fulfilling his need, and for the moment, she really didn’t care exactly what
that was. She welcomed each bite by fucking herself with her own finger until
the plate was empty and he told her to stop. She heard what she assumed was a
wooden chair on the tile floor and the utensils sliding across the plate as he
stood.