The Hole

Sarah had been trapped in hell for five years.

She had been taken on her twenty-first birthday, from the bar where she went to celebrate. One drink too many, and she'd disappeared. She'd woken up the next morning in her new home: a carpeted, windowless room, equipped with a single twin bed--the headboard was made of metal bars, like it had come from a hospital in a horror film or an orphanage from Soviet Russia--and a small bookcase filled with old second-hand books, as well as a little wooden table and two chairs.

The room was kept at a comfortable temperature. There was an attached bathroom with a shower--no door or shower curtain, but it didn't matter much, since she was always alone when she used it. The books gave her something to do during the long days. She had snacks to eat during the day.

During the day, she wore a chastity belt and nothing else.

That had been one of the most frightening things to her, at first; she didn't know his captor, didn't know his name, but he clearly knew her. The belt had been made to her exact measurements.

At first, she'd wondered if he'd just grabbed her because she fit the belt that he already owned, but occasionally he made little comments about her parents, about her younger brother and how he was in college now and playing basketball for his school. She could only assume this man had been tracking her for a long time before he abducted her, and the thought used to terrify her.

Now it was just a fact of her life. He knew about her; she knew nothing about him, except for what he wanted from her.

He came to her every evening. He brought a dinner for her to eat--sometimes home-made, sometimes takeout--and sat at her table with her while she ate it.

Then, once she was finished, he unlocked her chastity belt and brought her into the bathroom for a supervised shower. If she tried to touch her pussy or her clit at all, there were severe punishments; he managed that part of her hygiene, and he never even bothered to use the water to tease her there. Quick and efficient.

He liked to interact with that part of her as little as possible. Often, he pretended like he didn't even understand what it was for, like he didn't notice how wet she was. At first she'd wondered if it was some kind of issue he had with women, some kind of aversion to women's bodies, but these days she understood: it was a mind-fuck, meant to remind her of her place, the same way he always referred to her not by name but simply as "hole". A way to make sure she remembered that her pleasure was beyond incidental; it wasn't a consideration at all. She wasn't a person to him, she was just a hole to be used.

Under his watchful eye, she would douche her ass each night, getting herself clean for him. Then they would return to the bed, where he used velcro straps to secure her, always on her back. She wasn't sure if that was because he actually liked to watch her aching pussy clench and drip, or if it was to prevent her from rubbing her clit into the sheets, or maybe just because he liked to see her face or her tits.

Once she was fully strapped down, her wrists over her head and her legs spread wide, he would lube himself up and simply fuck into her. He'd stretched her open first for the first few months, but these days, with his dick up her ass every night, she was always open enough. It hurt every time when he first pushed in, a sudden and mean stretch, but it didn't injure her, so he didn't care.

Then he would fuck her ass. He lasted a while, longer than any of the boyfriends she'd ever had, but really it was less than ten minutes every time. By the end, though, she was always loose, no longer hurting, and her pussy was always dripping steadily down her thighs from the stimulation, aching and aching.

Then he would pull out, clean himself up briefly in the bathroom, and leave her there. He controlled the lights from somewhere outside the room; a few seconds after he left, they would switch off, leaving her in the dark. And that was how she spent every night: strapped to her bed, naked, her pussy wet and desperate with arousal and her ass dripping with his come.

Sarah had long since given up on begging for him to let her come. He didn't punish her for the requests, or tease her; he didn't react at all. He acted as if she hadn't said anything, the same way he reacted to anything else that she said unless it was in response to a direct question that he'd asked. She'd given up on trying to get loose from the bindings, too. He did them perfectly every time, and every six months like clockwork he replaced them all with fresh straps, leaving no opportunity for them to wear down.

In the morning, the lights would flip back on again, giving her a couple seconds' warning before he returned. He would bring in a hot breakfast for her--again, often home-made--and set it on the table, and then he would fuck her ass again. Afterwards, he would attend to her.

Sometimes that meant simply locking her back in her belt, but sometimes he did something to her first. The chastity belt had a slot to lock a dildo into place, and sometimes he would install a small one for her to wear all day; other times he would use a q-tip to apply something to the lips of her pussy and the inside of her cunt--it might be something that stung and burned her, or something that numbed her, or something that just made her bits tingle and ache even more desperately.

He never touched her clit. It was maddening; she was convinced by now that if he just brushed against her there a single time, even in the most accidental way, she'd slip over the edge and straight into the biggest orgasm of her life.

She used to fantasize about escaping, but those were her fantasies now. That some day he'd make a mistake and touch her clit--or that he'd even do it on purpose, that he'd decide to just reach down one day while he was fucking her and rub her sopping pussy until she was overcome by pleasure. Other times she'd imagine that he'd put a vibrator into her pussy instead of a regular dildo and just leave her to come her brains out all day, or that he'd leave her with a dildo to fuck into her ass. She was certain by now that if she had enough time, if she could control the angle of it, she'd be able to come from that.

All these fantasies really served to do was to make her more desperate, to make her clit ache more and her pussy tremble with need, but she couldn't stop herself. Her desperate cunt had become an obsession. When she slept, she often dreamt feverishly of being fucked, or of more fucked-up things like trying to masturbate at a family dinner or at school. Her need was making her depraved.

Today, her master brings her meatloaf and mashed potatoes. It's good. As per usual, once she finishes eating, he unlocks her and rinses her down in the shower, clinical and dispassionate, like he's washing a toy. The brief, utilitarian spray of water between her legs is torture. It's the most sensation her clit ever gets, and, after five years without an orgasm, it makes her want to cry with need.

Then he brings her to the bed and straps her down, as per usual, but this time he says something to her. "Happy anniversary, hole."

She immediately moans and begins to squirm frantically. This is the one other thing that she fantasizes about. She tries to keep track, to know when it's coming, but she never manages; it's too hard to track the days in the windowless, empty room.

Each year, on the anniversary of her abduction, he puts his cock into her aching pussy.

She'd been too mad the first year to appreciate it properly, but that was no big loss. It had only been a single thrust that first time, just enough to remind her what it felt like to have her needy pussy fucked; then he switched back to her ass to finish himself off.

On the second year, it had been two thrusts; on the third year, three; and last year, it had been four wonderful, deep thrusts, lighting up all of the desperate nerves inside of her. When he'd pulled out and switched to her ass, she'd been so close to coming that she'd cried, big, loud sobs that he'd ignored the same way he ignored anything else she said or did, just using her ass dispassionately until he'd found his satisfaction.

She'll come from five thrusts. She's sure of it. Today is the day; she's going to come today.

"Yes, yes," she whimpers as he lines himself up, her pussy rippling and clenching as the head of his cock rubs against it. "Oh, yes, please!"

It's undignified. Some distant part of her is embarrassed about it, about how excited she is for her captor to rape her. But the rest of her is overcome with pure need.

When his cock slides into her, she lets out a loud moan, her whole body shuddering. It's so, so good to finally have something inside of her wet pussy. He leaves it in for a second, letting her clench and pulse around it, and then draws back out completely.

"One," he says, casual and easy, like he's talking to himself. He lines up and slides in again.

"Ohh-hh," she groans, deep and animal. He's rubbing against so many places inside of her that have needed it for so long. Maybe she'll even come before the fifth stroke. Maybe she'll come twice.

He pulls back out. "Two." He pushes back in, and she begins to whimper, little sounds of need and pleasure. Her g-spot is swollen and pulsing, making her whole lower body tingle every time he brushes by it. She's never been a squirter, but she thinks she might squirt this time; her body has been transformed by his treatment, by the dire need he's allowed to build inside her.

He pulls back out. "Three."

"Mm," she whines. "Yes, yes, yes." She's so fucking close. Two more thrusts will get her there for sure. "Please, please, yes!" She arches her back as he thrusts in again. Almost, almost, almost! Okay, she's not going to come twice. She doesn't mind. Once is enough, it'll be more than enough. It'll melt her brain. It'll allow her to re-focus on the important things, like escaping.

He pulls back out. "Four. There we go. Happy fourth anniversary, hole."

She stares at the ceiling, not hearing him at first, because she's so focused on the final thrust, the one that's about to make her come.

His cock nudges her asshole, and she gasps. "No. No, no, no, wait. Wait--" he shoves in, and she wails at the pain and starts to thrash. "No! It's five! Five years! Five!"

He ignores her and begins pumping away in her tight ass, groaning with pleasure. She continues trying to tell him, though, frantically thinking maybe he's truly misunderstood, maybe he hasn't meant to do this to her. "It's been five years. Last year was four. Last year--it's not four, it's five--one more--please, I'm so close--" her begging becomes more broken as he ignores her words, acts as if she isn't speaking at all. Tears well up her in her eyes. Her pussy is clenching on every in-stroke of his dick, like it's hoping he'll miss and push in there again instead.

Finally, he buries himself deep in her and groans, filling her ass with his come. "Mm, yeah. That's some good hole."

"It's not fair," she whimpers quietly. "It's not fair, it was supposed to be five." Her clit twitches and her pussy pulses as he pulls out, spilling come onto her sheets. Her body is so consumed with need, she can feel her mind breaking.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was only four years. Did she make up the entire last year?

He steps into the bathroom to clean himself up, leaving her whimpering pitifully and dripping on the bed.

When he comes back, he stops for a moment, standing over the table just before collecting the dirty dishes. "Oh," he says, as if remembering something he's forgotten, and he walks back over to the bed. "I miscounted."

"Please, please," she whimpers, lifting her hips, and then she cries out as he slips a single finger into her pussy.

"Five."

She moans and thrashes, trying to rub herself down onto the finger, but it's not enough. She needs his thick cock. She needed it ten minutes ago. Now her body has cooled down too much; no matter how she squirms and humps, the one finger isn't going to put her over the edge.

He pulls it back out and wipes it on her sheets to clean off the copious fluids she's leaked onto him. She starts to cry again.

"Too bad. Maybe next year, hole," he says. She sobs. He collects the dirty dishes and leaves the room, and a few seconds later, the lights go out, leaving her to cry and ache in the dark.