THREE - ROCK
My cell is eight feet square. Inside is a metal bed bolted to the floor, stainless steel toilet, and the rudiments of a shower, a hose sticking down through the ceiling. Three walls are concrete, the fourth vertical metal bars, old, rusting, but solid enough to contain me. Two of the bars are truncated, the lower section swinging open when he sends them in to me.
In the wall beside the bed is a steel door, no handle. It opens only when he wants it.
Through the bars I can see out to an expanse of space about the same size as my cell. There is another door in the far wall and it was through that that he brought her.
She is still out for the count. Her head slumps down. I can smell her from here, the thick scent of fear, the sweetness of innocence. She will not remain innocent for long.
Her wrists and ankles have been bound to the chair. She is wearing a night gown, long, silvery grey, her legs have slumped, her feet bare.
I can almost reach her if I stretch but he knows exactly how long my arms are, that is why the chair is where it is, to torment me.
The concrete floor under her is stained dark, the blood of the last one still there despite my attempts to scrub it away. He watched my feeble efforts, laughing at me for bothering to try.
I want her to wake up. I want to talk to her. I want to taste her. I want her in the cell with me.
I want to see her fear and tame it, like I do with my own. I want to teach her to like it in here, to learn to like being with me.
The way her gown falls makes the swell of her breasts visible and the sight makes me hard. Long dormant thoughts bubble up. I would give anything to fuck her. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until he gives her to me. That won't happen yet.
I need her to wake up. She moans a little in her sleep and I twitch in response. I like that moan. I want to make her do it again. I think about tearing that gown from her, slamming her down onto my bed, wrenching her legs apart and burying my face between them, tasting what I know will be so, so, sweet.
In the time I've been in here, I've never had sex. He's used that against me, tormenting me with my own frustration, working me up to boiling point to ensure I am compliant with his demands.
I have done everything he has asked of me. I am so much bigger than when I arrived, so much stronger. The proof is in the damage to my hands, the scars crisscrossing my body. I am a warrior and I deserve my reward. I deserve her.
The door outside my cell opens and he walks in. He stands next to her, his hand on the bag that hides her head. He is teasing me, he knows I want to see her face, to find out if this is the one.
"It was not easy," he says, seeing me staring at him in silence. "To get the one you wanted."
I do not move a muscle. I just wait.
"She might have moved away. She might have been anywhere. You were lucky she was still there."
It might not be her. He might be teasing me. He does that sometimes, for his own enjoyment, tell me he's found her and then show me some pale imitation of the woman I want more than anything.
She will be a woman now, though she was a child last time I saw her. So was I.
I worry sometimes that I won't recognise her, that it will have been too long.
"If you do well tomorrow," he continues, slowly raising her hood as he talks, "this will be your reward."
I can see her chin, her mouth, her nose, her closed eyes, her forehead. She is uncovered. It is her. My worries vanish. There is no doubt. She still has the look she did when I watched her from the attic, the innocence, the purity, the look of a girl who has never known pain.
I press myself to the bars, reaching out for her. He shakes his head. "Stop that."
I sit back on the bed, straining against every desire to try and get to her.
"Use that energy," he says. "And you'll get all of this."
He slides the gown up her legs, letting it sit on her thighs. She moans, letting out a sigh, her head shifting from left to right.
I look up and he has gone. I don't care. I can see her legs. They are slender, shapely, pale in the glare of the naked bulb directly above her.
She shuffles in her sleep and her legs move. I am hard as rock looking at her. I want her so badly, I can hardly breathe. I pull my cock out and stroke it slowly to ease the ache inside.
She has been brought back to me. I am pathetically grateful to him. Everything I have been through has been worth it to get her back. She is mine now. This is going to be her world. She is going to be living with me, with nowhere to go. She will rely on me for everything and I will extract a high price from her. I will make her mine.
But not yet. I can stare at her legs as she starts to stir but I can't touch her, not yet, not until he gives her to me. That will come later. For now, I watch and wait.
I am staring at her when her eyes open. She blinks slowly, muttering, "Where?" before her eyes close again. Then they jolt open and she fixes her gaze on me. She looks at me and I look back. Then she opens her mouth and begins to scream.