But after hours of being alone, my stomach is grumbling, and my fear is returning to replace the sadness. Because that’s all I’ve felt today—fear and sadness—and it’s a far cry from what I was hoping to experience on my birthday.
Pushing into the window frame, I turn to face my new prison for the first time.
A king-sized bed against the wall fills most of the room. Around it, a walk-in closet holds silhouettes of clothes, and there’s also a vanity desk with drawers and a chair. Attached to the space is an en-suite bathroom I haven’t entered.
Crossing my arms loosely around myself, I take a few aimless steps around the room, not knowing what to do with myself. There’s nothing here other than bare necessities.
Just for good measure, I approach the door and twist the knob to see if it’s still locked. A jolt of anxiety traverses my chest at seeing that it is, and I hit the light switch on the nearest wall, suddenly afraid of the dark. But it doesn’t help—in fact, it only makes things worse because seeing glimpses of my cage in the light makes this whole thing real.
And it makes me want to scream.
I flip the switch back off and trudge to the vanity desk, opening up the drawer. I’ve never done this before, but if I could find a hairpin, maybe I can open the door.
And go where? What will you do?
“Shut the hell up,” I tell myself between clenched teeth.
My hands fumble through the makeup inside, touching glass containers, brushes, and tubes of probably mascara or lipstick. I toss them to the side, digging, hoping this isn’t everything there is, until a low, prolonged whistle makes me halt.
Slowly, I straighten up, eyes wide and as silent as I can be.
It’s that feeling again—the one of being hunted, of being looked at by a predator in the shadows—that seizes my survival instinct.
“H-Hello?” I say, my voice dry and exhausted from all the crying. “Who’s there?”
Again, the two-note whistle spears the silence of my confinement, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Somehow, it sounds like it’s coming from all around me and nowhere simultaneously. I step back, hearing it again through the wall behind me.
There are others who will want to harm you.
Maybe Wolfgang wasn’t lying. Maybe he did me a kindness by locking my door tonight.
Another whistle, long and ghostly, sends my heartbeat into overdrive.
I walk backward until my thighs touch the bed frame and I haul myself up as I pull the covers from beneath me. I don’t tear my eyes away from the emptiness of the room for a single moment.
The door is locked. The door is locked, and you’re on the second floor, I remind myself over and over as I sit on the mattress and curl up, taking the silky sheets over my head. They smell rich, clean, and I inhale voraciously, using the scent to ground me through the moment. It doesn’t work. The whistles continue to flow seamlessly with what sounds like a slightly amused lilt.
I lie in the dark for what feels like hours, listening and not reacting, hoping once again that this is all just a nightmare I’ll wake up from in the morning.
WOLFGANG
When I get back home, it’s well after midnight.
The house looks dark and quiet from the outside and my eyes go straight to the second floor, where Victoria is waiting. Ruminating, maybe.
Her light is off, but the curtains are drawn, telling me she inspected her surroundings. Where is she now? Is she sleeping peacefully, trying to escape her new reality until dawn? Or is she still up, banging her fists against the door of her enclosure?
She was all I could think about on the way back and during the meetings at The Hive. Ever since we met, the image of her has been spreading through my mind like wildfire, leaving no corner untouched. I expected it. She’s my new toy, after all. Anyone else in my position would obsess over her.
I head inside, making a beeline for her room and unlocking the door.
Upon entering, I’m hit with the faint scent of lilies, of something sweet and feminine that’s inherently hers. I inhale, laughing to myself. She’s only been here for a couple of hours, and this cursed house is already affected by her presence. If thecircumstances had been different, I wonder what she’d have done with the rest of us.
I also wonder what she’d do if I fucked her pussy raw tonight.
My cock twitches, hardening at the thought. There she is, partially hidden under the covers, her body a small bump in the middle of the bed. As I approach her sleeping figure, more parts come into view: her hunched shoulders, as if she’s afraid of something even in her dreams, the small crease between her brows, the pouty, parted lips… I could have her wake up with my cock between them. I could spread my cum across their rosy color like a fucking lip balm.
