Broken Ch. 02

When she was alone, it was easier to ignore her situation. Before they had taken her, she had been dwelling on a homework problem for school, walking slowly with her head down and music blasting in her eyes, almost in a different world. If she had to guess, she would say she had probably been their easiest catch ever. She was certain she wasn't their first, having seen the rows of doors similar to the one they closed on her.

Every time the men left her, she would remember where she was in the proof and continue with it. So far she had come up with a few trains of thought that seemed promising, but she was having trouble with the ending, especially without paper and pencil to keep track of everything. Still, between the mathematics and the singing, she was staying sane and keeping her hopes up.

She would get out of this, she decided. All she needed to do was rely on cold hard logic, stay realistic, and always expect the worst. She knew what they wanted of her, and she had done her best to give it to them. All of her punishments so far had been given for mistakes rather than disobedience, and her first "Master", Caleb, had been a cold, practical man, who was satisfied when she obeyed.

Her plan was to be perfectly obedient and docile, pliable for whoever came to her room. Escape wasn't going to happen here. She was too isolated, too disoriented to get out of a place like this. She had no idea where she was in the world. The only place she had seen in the compound was the hall where her cell was and the bathrooms where she was washed every other day.

Once she was sold, once she was trusted by her "owner", she would have a far better chance. Hopefully, she would be sold to someone in the US or Europe. She knew Italian and a little bit of Spanish and French, Her mother's side of the family was from Bologna, after all. Even a far-east Asian country might be alright. She learned Mandarin and a hint of Korean from high school and independent interest. Her greatest fear was that she might be sold to someone in an Arabic or African country--or the worst option, Russia--but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

After this new man had left--Alex was his name--her mind couldn't focus on math or music or her plan. Everything was in jeopardy now because he, among all of the men she had interacted with in three weeks, had seen through her charade. He hadn't been fooled for a minute.

Damn her singing! For the first three weeks, she had been content with singing in her head and humming quietly, but the screams of the other girls had started to get to her, and she needed to drown out their noise with her own. She thought she had been quiet enough to go unnoticed, but clearly that was not the case.

Her new "Master", Alex, was different than Caleb had been; warmer, more alive, and she saw the spark of intelligence in his eyes that she had not seen in any of the others. He was much older than her, probably in his early forties--though she had always been a terrible judge of age. And observant. She could tell that straight away. He was soft spoken, and he wouldn't hit her unnecessarily, which was something she had feared, but he was worse than the others. He had made her sing, and for the first time, she had felt violated. She had cried, which wasn't good. She had also gone insane and spoken back to him, which was worse.

He would be planning something to 'break' her, as he so endearingly put it, so she had to come up with a counter to maintain the possibility of duping him into letting his guard down. She needed to predict what he would do to achieve that.

What would she do? If she were keeping someone against their will and had to really break their mind without beating it into them, how would she go about it? Whether Stockholm Syndrome was real or something Hollywood had made up, it was the only thing that popped into her head. Bonding with her captor. If he tried to make that happen, she could easily let him think it was working. But she would go further than that. Love was a difficult thing to fake, but she had no other option.

In what she assumed was the morning, She lay on her bed in the robe he had brought her. It was a Chinese style red silk with golden dragons and green lotuses. It wasn't warm, but it was nice to be covered up. The jug of water was sitting under one armpit, and she was grateful for at least one of the repercussions of her singing.

Over all, she felt comfortable and with a plan of action in mind, she felt slightly less nervous about her new "Master". She wasn't happy; in fact, she was furious. She had been orally and anally raped over and over for three weeks. The only reason they hadn't taken the last part of her virginity was because it drove her price up. But she could feel the hatred in her heart and it gave her strength and hope. She saw every single man who had entered her room over the past three weeks and imagined their deaths. It brought a smile to her face for a second.

The door was unlocked with a loud echoing clang, and she jumped from the bed, throwing off the robe and sitting on her knees on the floor. If it was Alex, the robe wouldn't be offensive, but if it was one of the testers, they would expect her to be naked.

He entered the room. She could see Alex in her peripheral vision since her eyes were downcast. "Look at me," he ordered. Her eyes flew up, and she saw a teasing smile on his face. "Whenever I enter this room, you'll look at me directly. Not like with the testers."

"Yes, Master," she said, fighting off the urge to roll her eyes, as she always did when she used the title. She kept her voice quiet and pitched it up from her normal tone. It sounded more pathetic that way. Looking at him, she noticed he had a stack of paper in his hands.

"Stand," he said. She obeyed and he turned on the overhead lights and walked over to her. The sudden bright light made her cringe for a moment, but she tried to open her eyes as soon as possible. He was standing in front of her, showing her the papers. They were filled with music. The first song was "Misty", which she already knew by heart. She looked up at him with questioning eyes, hoping he would see a combination of confusion and gratefulness in her expression. "You will learn all of this music. It will be more of a classic repertoire, catering to my tastes as well as some things that will increase your price. Let me know if any of it is inappropriate for your voice."

She looked down at the music and then back up at him, pretending to be at a loss for words before she said, "Yes, Master."

He grinned and set the music on the nightstand. "Did you not like your robe?" he asked. Her back was to him, but she could tell he was looming over her shoulder.

"No, Master, I do like it," she said. "I thought you might prefer to see me naked."

She heard him chuckle. "You were right," he said. "But I find something so tantalizing about removing a woman's clothes. Like unwrapping a present. When I enter, you will be wearing it for me to take off."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Good," he said. "You'll be happy to hear that I've called off the testers. I'm the only person who is going to touch you from now on. How does that make you feel?"

What did he want to hear? Should she be happy that she was all his, or disappointed that she didn't get to service more men? "I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from you one-on-one, Master," she said. She had said something similar in a seminar class at college once. Sans "Master".

He laughed out loud, a huge booming sound. "Good answer." He started playing with her nipples, which she had to admit she did enjoy. Pleasure was pleasure no matter what the circumstances. Besides, she could tell he liked it when she played to his touch. She blinked slowly and let the tingles sweep through her while keeping her head forward. He circled her and she looked into his eyes. She could tell even in the dark that they were blue. "On your knees," he said. "Time to feed you."

She knelt on the floor again. For a moment, she thought he wanted her to suck his cock for her 'food', but instead he left the room for a minute before returning with a bowl of cereal. He sat on the bed, one leg on either side of her just like the night before. This time, instead of taking out his cock, he spooned cereal and milk into her mouth. They were good about feedings, although she preferred to serve herself. She ate all of it, staring into his eyes as she did.

"Good girl," he said. He set the bowl on the nightstand. "Let's start with what we did yesterday. Let's see if you're any better at counting." He straddled her again and pulled his pants down below his crotch. She bent forward and began to kiss the tip as she had yesterday. This time she made sure she counted to one hundred for both of her "exercises".

"Good girl," he said. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down over his cock. She took more than half of him in her mouth, almost down to the root. His cock wasn't very big and she had less of a gag reflex than most, so fellatio had never been much of a problem. She might have still been a virgin in the traditional sense, but that didn't mean she was inexperienced. He moved back and forth a bit, testing her ability. She let him do what he wanted. As long as she could breath, it didn't bother her beyond the encompassing thought that she was being raped. She had gotten over her sense of dignity after the fifth man.

He came in her mouth, and she swallowed, as Caleb had told her to do on her first day. His cock was soft in her mouth, but she would still have to lick it clean and hope that it didn't become hard again. Caleb and most of the testers usually made her suck again if they became hard.

Alex seemed to have more control, and he tucked his cock back into his pants. Then he patted his knee, and she sat on his lap, where he began to suck on her nipple. It was a surprising sensation. The other men who had worked with her so far had given very little attention to any part of her that didn't directly lead to their own pleasure. She sucked in a deep breath as his tongue passed over her nipple. By the time he stopped she was breathing hard. He looked up at her with a sly grin on his face. She knew exactly how to respond.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"You're welcome," he said. "You really do like it, don't you. More than usual." He ran a thumb over her dry nipple. "Maybe a piercing would be appropriate. We could hang a few chains for decoration. How do you feel about that?"

She wouldn't like that, but she could not say that. "I would enjoy that, Master," she said.

He grinned. "Silver or gold?" he asked.

"Silver, Master" she said. Gold was too gaudy.

His hand went between her legs, and he slid a finger over her clitoris. "And what about here?" he asked. She shuddered as he circled the sensitive spot. "I've heard it's supposed to feel amazing getting a piercing down here. After you get over the initial pain."

She kept herself calm, hoping that he was just teasing. "Whatever you'd like, Master," she said. He began to rub between her legs.

He hummed. "You know all the right answers, don't you?" he said. He let her go and fell back into the bed. "Go brush your teeth and get ready to hang."

She slipped off his leg and over to the little sink by the toilet. The managers had left a soft toothbrush, like the ones prisoners were given so they could not make weapons out of them. It felt good to brush her teeth. She could feel the salt taste of his semen slewing off her tongue when she spit out the water.

With wet mouth and hands, she stood beneath the chains and shackles hanging from a rigging on the ceiling and waited for him. He lay on the bed, eyes closed, seemingly napping. It was all a game. She stared at him until his eyes opened and he grinned. He stood and made his way over to her like a slinking, stalking cat.

"Lift your arms," he ordered. She did. He shackled her into the "Y" form and circled her as she dangled. When he was behind her, her wrapped his arms around her and leaned his head over her shoulder, an imitation of intimacy. He kissed her neck, sending more shivers down her spine. "How old are you?" he asked.

He had her file. They knew so much about her already, they had to know her age. Another game. "Nineteen, Master," she said. "Twenty on the January eighth."

He chuckled into her ear. "A month," he said. "I'll make sure to do something special." He kissed her cheek and neck again. She bent her head to his touch, letting herself enjoy his lips on her skin. She made herself shudder when his hand went between her leg and touched her clitoris. She bucked against his touch and when the buildup became too much she had to ask for release.

"Master, may I come?"

"No," he said. His voice sounded harsh. "I told you to beg."

Right, he had said that. "Master, please," she said. "Please. I can't hold it anymore. Please let me come."

"Come on," he said with a laugh in his voice. "You can do better than that."

It was maddening. His finger was moving so quickly over her flesh that she found herself thinking of everything and anything to keep herself from climaxing. "Please," she said, letting her voice drop to a pathetic whisper. "Please, god."

"Either, you're referring to me as your god, or you're asking the wrong person," he said. "Tell me which is it."

It was hard to think of the right thing to say when she was holding back muscular spasms. She thought she did well, given the pressure. "I'm sorry, Master. I wasn't referring to you as god, but I'll never think of you another way if you allow me to come."

She could feel his head toss back as he laughed, and he moved his finger so quickly that she couldn't help but climax even though he hadn't allowed her to. "Go ahead and come," he said. Not as if she could help it anymore.

He only gave her a few seconds of release before removing his finger in the middle of her climax. For the first time since her arrival, she felt real torment. More than when they hit her or fucked her asshole. She fought against her shackles to bring her hands down. All she received in return was the clink of metal chains and a tisk from behind her.

"You were doing so well!" he said. "I even let you come. How much more do you want?"

"Forgive me, Master," she said. It was all she could say.

"Not just yet," he said. He walked to the door. "Wait right there." Where on earth was she supposed to go?

He returned after five minutes with a few implements in hand. There was a cane, a paddle, a ten-tailed whip, a butt plug, and a distinct lack of lubricant. He held up the plug top her mouth, and she began licking it with real earnest. If it was going inside of her, she at least wanted it to be a little bit wet.

"Good girl," he said. "I'm going to let you decide which of these I use."

She continued licking until he removed the plug from her face. He touched it to her asshole and pushed. It hurt more than his cock had, but once it was inside, at least it didn't move. "Choose," he said.

The cane would hurt the most by far, but the whip shouldn't be underestimated either. If he wanted to hit her hard with it, it could tear her flesh. The paddle was the best option, but also the easiest. Which would he want her to choose? She didn't peg him for a physical sadist. He used his mind instead. Sort of like her. "The whip, Master," she said.

She could tell he was smiling. "Good choice," he said. "Make sure you count." He dropped the other two implements on the bed and swung the whip in a circle before bringing it down on her back. She jumped a bit at the pain, but managed to keep her voice in control. She was relatively good at taking pain. She had played sports throughout high school and never really balked at injuries. Somehow it translated well to these "punishments".

"One," she said. The second strike came in an instant and made her seize. "Two."

He struck her thirteen more times. By the end her back was burning, but she hadn't let the pain affect her voice. "You really are a marvel," he said. "Turn the tables on me, and I'd be screaming." He set the whip down on the bed and reached up to release her. "Suck my dick again, and we'll be done for the morning."

Once her hands were free, she dropped right to her knees and looked up for permission to pull his pants down. He nodded, and she removed his cock and began to suck it. He tasted like sweat smelled, but she could tell he had washed recently. He rocked a bit to force himself further into her mouth. He lasted a long time, and just when her jaw was starting to ache, he finished. This time before she could swallow, he pulled his cock out of her mouth and rubbed his semen on her face.

"Keep that there until I come back," he said. "And study that music."

He gathered the implements from the bed, leaving the plug inside of her, and left the room. Once the lock clicked, she stood and found the discarded red robe and pulled it over her shoulders. The semen on her face was already starting to dry, but it was hard to ignore. She decided to look at the music he had brought her.

There were a lot of jazz standards, a few classic rock songs, a few folk songs, and four arias, two of which were written for sopranos. She would have to talk to him about that, but otherwise, she already knew all the music.

He was right, after all. She had settled for a practical course in her first two years of college. Now, all she could wish was the ability to do it over. If she was going to spend the next few years in captivity, she would have rather done something that made her happy before. Music, movies, literature, art. She wasn't meant to be a mathematician. There was a reason she knew all the songs he had assigned her.

She sat down with the papers, reviewing all the words, which wasn't too difficult. She hummed the tunes to herself, in case someone was listening over a speaker or a camera. She suspected from the beginning that she was being watched, so she had never moved in her chambers when she was alone, except to pace around and use the toilet every few hours.

The door clicked open again a few hours later, and she got onto her knees on the floor. She met his eyes right away and saw his smile. He was carrying a plate of what looked like fried rice in his hand, which he set down on the floor in front of her before taking a seat on the bed, his long legs on either side of her. "Hello, my little songbird," he said. "How was your afternoon?"

"Good, Master," she said. She resisted the urge to look down at the food and kept her eyes on him. He leaned down and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently, he used it to dust off the crust of dried semen off of her face.

"Excellent," he said. "And the music?"

"I already know all of the music you've given me, Master," she said.

He frowned. "All of it?"

She hoped he wasn't going to be upset with her for being good at music. "Yes, Master," she said. "I'm a fan of jazz music, so I knew all of those, and most of the classic rock songs are fairly well-known. Two of the arias you've given me are also very famous, but they're made for a soprano, and I'm a mezzo soprano, Master. I can sing them, but they'll be in the incorrect key, and any accompaniment provided in the future wouldn't be suited. I apologize, Master." Did rich bastards who bought sex slaves have pianists accompanying their singing property? She couldn't even begin to guess.

"Sing "My Way"," he said. She began singing automatically, trying her best to remember how Sinatra sang it. The words were ironically empowering, and she sang them with all the swell that they demanded. Towards the end, she looked him right in the eye, trying her hardest to hide her disgust. She suspected it would be alright to show some defiance still. They had known each other for all of a day and had no reason to be bonded yet.