Jane.
I held onto the mantra in my head. With each thrust, each guttural groan, every disgusting utterance of his… I held on to the only thing that was still mine. My name.
My name is Jane.
Chapter 4
He finished by spewing his sticky thick seed onto my stomach.
“That fuck hole of yours is a real bitch to clean out,” Steve said with a laugh as he pulled on his boxers and rose to get himself another beer.
As he turned on the TV and started up a video game, I was forced to lie there, with my body in its crippled position. I had lost all feeling in my legs. My pussy felt bruised and raw.
As his cum cooled and dried on my stomach, it began to itch.
“Steve. Steve? You down there? I brought dinner home,” the female voice called out from somewhere above.
“Be right up, dear,” responded Steve.
With a sigh, he rose and pulled on his slacks and shirt as he pushed his feet back into his shoes.
Oh God! Was he going to leave me here? The prospect of spending countless days with my legs behind my head and his cum drying on my stomach filled me with a horrified dread. It would be worse than the darkness of the closet. He began to turn away.
No! No!
“Oops, can’t forget this!”
He returned and unwound the tie about my ankles. My legs flopped down onto the sofa.
“I’ll be back to clean you up later.”
With that he left.
I thought being locked in the dark closet was hell, but this was somehow worse. At least in the closet, I could trick my mind into thinking this all wasn’t real. In the darkness, you can make your own world, your own rules. Out here, I was forced to endure reality. The sound of the TV, the feel of the sofa, even the smell of the beer… it was all so terribly… normal. Even Steve, monster that he was… was he really any different than most men? Drinking beer, playing video games, complaining about his day. Instead of masturbating, he fucked a sex doll… he fucked me.
Surrounded by mirrors, I was too low on the sofa to capture a glimpse of my reflection. Being unable to confirm with my eyes what I already knew in my mind was its own special torture.
What felt like hours later, Steve returned. Dressed in pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt, he quickly passed a warm washcloth over my stomach, cleaning up his mess before grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the sofa. I was bent in half, facing downward. My hair draped over my face. For the first time, I saw its color. Bleach blonde.
‘I used to be a brunette,’ I thought.
‘I still am a brunette,’ I ruthlessly corrected in my mind. This body may have blonde hair, but Jane… Jane has brown hair.
“Steve! Where the hell are you? Are you coming to bed?”
“Yes! I left the TV on down here. I’m coming.”
He opened the closet and tossed me in before slamming the door shut. I could hear him lock the door and the sound of his hurried footsteps up the stairs.
Instead of being placed standing or leaning against the clothes. I had been tossed naked onto the floor. My nose was buried inside an old sneaker. Something hard and sharp poked the back of my left thigh. My stomach still itched from the remnants of his cum not fully wiped away.
A thunk then a soft whirring noise. The air conditioner had just turned on.
Twen
ty-one days of captivity and two weeks since Steve had taken my virginity.
Two weeks of lying naked on the floor of this closet.