Today is the one-hundred and twenty-first day since my capture. Any moment now, my captor will saunter in through that grimy door. He’ll press a mechanical button near the entrance to this chamber, and the ceiling-mounted conveyor to which I am chained by my wrists will carry me straight to him.
His approach is unmistakable, the metal of his boots clanking loudly on the bloodstained cement.
It won’t be much longer now.
I can hear the grinding of the gears that keep the gargantuan rusted door sealed shut as he turns the wheel that separates it from the wall, unlocking it. I can smell the rank of the black ooze dripping from the gears it lubricates. The smell alone used to make me vomit, but I suppose you can get used to anything after being exposed to it long enough.
I stopped fantasizing about escaping around day thirty, my spirit well-broken by that point.
There’s that face, forever burned into my retinae.
Scar tissue occupies the majority of his wretched mug. Half of it is a festering burn wound, the other half covered in crusty gashes.
His presence chokes the life out of the air, my breathing becoming ragged and forced.
The clang of his armored fist hitting the conveyor ricochets through the dimly lit room.
The conveyor shifts into gear with a cacophony I’ve grown used to. I’m brought forward, my legs scraping along the greasy floor.
He always greets me upon his arrival.
“Hello, sweetie.” he says with a wicked smile, his teeth black, his breath carrying with it the stench of death.
As the conveyor comes to a screeching halt, lurching my body forward, he presses his roughened lips into my neck. His split tongue darts across my skin, searching for the plumpest vein to penetrate.
The points of his tongue become sharp as knives, breaking my skin without issue.
I can feel the blood as it leaves my body. He’s a messy eater, his slurping always leaving a trail of blood to drip down my naked, grime-stained body.
I can feel the river of blood as it cascades down my body. It always seems to find its way into my cunt, where he soon follows to lap it up greedily.
I experience an erotic euphoria as he feeds, a warmth radiates from the core of my being outwards, quickly replaced by fear when he pulls away.
He wraps his armored hand around my chin and lifts it up into his line of sight.
His eyes are pitch, I feel as if I’m looking into the heart of darkness when he stares at me.
“You’ve become such a good girl. I look forward to when next we meet.”
He leaves me.
He didn’t penetrate me this time, he must have met that need elsewhere before his visit.
I exist in perpetual numbness until his hunger returns again.