“I'm gonna come,” I pant. The wave begins to crest. He grips the neck binding and tugs it back so that our eyes are inches apart. I told him I imagined the owner of those eyes fucking me. Now, he's reminding me this is not just a fantasy. This is real. This is a dream. This is a nightmare. Like he said, maybe sometimes they're the same thing.
He twists the back of the binding so it closes around my windpipe. The wave crashes over me. Spraying pleasure onto every inch of me. Each thrust just another little wave colliding against me. Like someone in a desert who has stumbled upon a great shore of relief, I drink up the salty water, knowing it could kill me, but all I care about is the instantaneous relief of now.
He grunts and plunges deeply into me, taking himself to the climax he couldn't achieve weeks ago.
I think it's over. I'll come down and feel the guilt I used to feel after playing with myself to my stepdad's dirty magazines. But he pushes me back on the table and spreads my legs. The warmth of his cum slowly drips out of me, the ultimate mark of a beast on his conquest. He uses a finger to wipe some off of me, taking the creamy mix of us and rubbing it on my nipples, glossing them with our filthy sex. He sucks on my breasts, cleaning up the filth with his mouth.
It's so fucking dirty. So repulsive, and yet, I can't help but watch it greedily. Watch him worship upon the altar of this whole fucked up thing. He lowers his face between my thighs and mouth fucks my still blooming pussy. It only takes seconds for me to come again. My thighs clench The Night as it consumes me.
“Oh god,” I call out, knowing that there is no such thing down here. At least not the one to which we say our evening prayers. Only Night.
I'm not sure what's next as I watch Night (I guess that's what I'll have to call him from now on) get dressed. He hasn't released my bindings and I worry that what we just did hasn't quelled the rage. That maybe the two body-quaking orgasms were simultaneously my punishment for my venomous talk and the reward for my submission. Maybe he'll leave me here for days, bound, forcing me to start over again to earn that balance we had just begun to find.
Evening has descended so that all I see are shadows of the masked violator getting dressed. Revulsion and attraction brew in me. Though the revulsion isn't just towards him. Never have I felt that level of abandon with another human being. Like two feral people relying on instinct, void of morality. He has taken away every sense of decency from me, so that there is literally nothing left to hide. Carter loves me. He is kind. He is sweet. He accepts me for who I am. Or does he?
Vesper must be good. She must be kind. She must take care of everyone. Because otherwise, who would love her? Her own mother barely did and her father has never laid eyes on her. Who would love a girl who is impure and dirty? A fiend with whorish desires? Not Carter. He loves the perfect Vesper Rivers. Normal Vesper Rivers. I was lucky to have such a handsome successful fiancé. Asking for anything more was greed. I always understood that.
Maybe Night is right. Maybe I have always been hiding, making myself easy to love by giving others what they needed and never asking for anything in return. What else could explain how my body betrays me?
Once he's done getting dressed, Night throws my blanket over my head.
“What—what are you doing?” I demand.
He bear hugs me and drags me a few feet, before deciding it's easier to do the customary fireman's carry instead. Draped in the blanket and still tied, I have no idea what's in store. Has he reached the endgame with me? Have I lost my luster now that he's fucked me? Is he going to kill me and move on to another new, shiny toy?
I feel bodies rock as he carries me up the stairs. The door creaking open and the warmth of the upper level instantly stifling me under the blanket. Footsteps I have become used to hearing from underneath the baseboards. The sound of a door swinging open. Then another.
Cooler night air. Crickets creaking. Complete darkness.
We're outside.
“Where are we going? Please tell me. Please don't hurt me.” I don't fight. In this position, I can barely breathe. If I flail, the noose connected to my hands tightens. I listen for clues. The sound of grass crinkling underneath his shoes. The crisp scent of nature that lingers on Night sometimes. A hint of animal stench. A farm? Is that why his jeans are often smudged in paint or oil and ripped?
Then it dawns on me that this is my first time outdoors since I was captured. I had hoped I would find a way outside again, even if it was under captivity, but I never knew how. Yet, wrapped in this blanket, I am still a prisoner, still confined. Just like looking at the sun beaming through those tiny basement windows, the scents and sounds are just a tease. Days ago, the blanket was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, wrapping me in its warm embrace, lulling me into erotic dreams. Now it's just another prison, hot and claustrophobia-inducing.