He half grunts.
“It's sore. You're thicker than Carter.” It's the truth, but I add that in there to stroke his ego.
“Don't fucking say his name again,” he snaps. “He doesn't exist here.”
I nod sharply.
He gently unbuttons the tiny pink buttons on my nightie, halfway, so the limp fabric falls open, exposing my breasts.
“Play with your tits,” he orders.
“O-okay.”
I close my eyes and reach up for them, taking deep, staggered breaths as I fondle them. At first, I'm almost too nervous to feel anything, but as my breaths calm, I am able to escape into my touch.
“Open your eyes.” He commands.
I take a beat before following. He's right there, still in front of me, forcing me to look into those eyes. Eyes that have stolen everything. Eyes that have taken me to starvation and filth and then back to life. Eyes that terrified me. Eyes that have watched me come so hard my entire body convulsed.
I hate that they're beautiful. I hate that they are the kind of eyes you could stare at for hours, studying the nuances in their coloring, and how the hues of green, blue and gold change with the light. How can someone so sinister be blessed with something so stunning?
I get lost in them for a moment, slowing my hands.
“Don't stop, Vesp. Only when I say.”
I continue, looking into those eyes as I please my own body, so that I can't associate them with pain at this moment, only carnal pleasure.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a glass figure. He pushes my legs further apart so I am exposed to him, taking the pointed tip and running it along the wet flesh.
“You want me to fuck you,” he says assuredly. “Your pussy puckers open. It never lies. It wants to swallow my cum again.”
The cabin is quiet, making me self-conscious about my breathing which is heavy and ragged.
He runs his finger along the entrance, and I feel empty. A yearning inside wants him to slip those fingers in and fill the vacuum.
“If you think you're sore today, wait until tonight,” he taunts. “I want tears.”
My lip quivers as I desperately hold in a tear at the rim of my eye, but when he flips me onto my stomach, I let it fall out of his view.
He pulls open my ass cheeks, I hear him spit a few times, then run his wet hands along the hole. Carter has never even asked for this. I've never explored that area. I wrestle for oxygen as he presses me into the mattress. I flail my arms, desperately reaching behind myself and only catching air.
“The more you fight, the more it will hurt. Take a few breaths.” He pulls my face out of the mattress with a sharp yank of my hair.
I pause, realizing the fight is futile. I have to go along with this. Become the girl who adapts. I resist old Vesper's pleas to continue fighting and let my shaky hands claw on the bed sheets.
He presses the glass against the hole first without breaching the entrance. Then slowly, he slides the glass tool into my backside. I cry against the sheets from the pressure. It's not as painful as I thought it would be, but the invasiveness breaches my soul. He glides it in and out a few times, being surprisingly gentle, until the pressure subsides and the feeling becomes something I can't quite label. It's totally new and my brain and body are unsure of the verdict.
“Good dirty girl,” he grunts. It's the first time he's ever complimented me, and it's surprisingly reassuring. It calms me to know I did something to get on his good side. Night spins me onto my back again and comes to his feet. His body shines with a thin layer of perspiration from his efforts. His cock is still rigid through his pants.
“You don't take this out of your ass, only I do. You don't make yourself come when I'm not here today. That pussy, mouth, and ass is mine to fuck. You can play with your tits; you can do anything but come. If you do, I'll know. And I will make you bleed.”
I sit there, stunned, unsure how I'll be able to sit here all day with this thing in me.
“Acknowledge me, Vesper.”
“Yes,” I mutter.
He looks down at my face, streaked with tears, a physical response from the earlier intrusion and steps closer to me.
“You will like this.” He says it as though it's a comfort. I don't take it as him meaning tonight, or just having sex with him. He means all of this. Eventually I will like this life. What kind of mad person takes someone from their home and believes they will ever like it? That's when I realize his weakness. He believes that one day I'll want to be here, and if I can get him to believe that, then I might have the chance to regain my freedom.