Page 27 of Bears Not Included

I try to ignore it. Now is not the time to hold on to my modesty. I have to find a way out before I meet them, and with that comes my death. What they did to me from a camera screen will be nothing compared to what they can do to me in person.

I’m so desperate that I’m considering breaking my fingers.

“Do you want a head start, pretty girl?”

I startle at the sound of the voice again. I can’t be sure how long has passed since I last heard from them, but it feels like forever.

The steel bars that keep me imprisoned in the basement lift up. My way out of here is clear.

“I also opened the front door for you. Think you can escape before we get there, pretty girl?”

My breath shudders like a bullet train through me. They haven’t lied to me. Not yet. And in some crazy part of my brain, I believe the front door is open, and if I could get to it, I might be able to escape.

But my body seizes up while my mind explodes in a frenzy.

“Think, Livia. Tick-tock. We’re almost there.”

I want to scream at him to shut up, but I reserve my energy. I turn my whole body around and try to spit on my hand, using the saliva as some sort of lubricant. But my throat is parched, and I’ll only dehydrate myself further. I have to reserve some of my strength for when I’m out the door.

I squeeze my relentlessly and unendingly aching breasts and try to use my milk, but it doesn’t offer much in terms of lubrication and dries too easily.

And then I stall. Because I know what I have to do.

“Pretty girl.”

He says my name as a soft, low growl, but I don’t fucking care anymore. I part my legs and close my eyes. My hand travels to my pussy. The touch awakens every nerve inside my whole body. My clit is on fire and begging for my touch.

Tears fall down the sides of my face. I’m beyond the point of no return now. I’ve lost everything to them. They made me this way. And I’m going to kill them for this.

I dip my fingers into my pussy. An unsolicited gasp falls from my mouth, and as punishment, I bite down on my lip until I puncture my skin, and it bleeds all over again.

I’m so wet, my fingers sink into the entrance of my pussy. The heat inside me shocks me even more. I’ve never been this way before.

I scoop out as much of my wetness as possible. When I remove my hand, it glistens on my fingers, like wet silk. I coat my essence on my restrained wrist and hand and try to pull the cuff off.

“Fuck.”

The tone of the expletive is deep, dark, and heavy, but I ignore it.

I need more wetness—so much more. And I need to be quick. My hand goes down between my legs again. I shudder again as my palm hits my clit. I feel my folds throb and the bottom of my stomach tug. Milk drips steadily from my breasts now. I can’t imagine the wanton spectacle I’m making of myself.

I hate them. I hate them so much, and I’m going to kill them.

I need to make myself come. I need more wetness. I stroke my clit, hard and rough. My back arches. I need to come.

Dear god, what have I become?

A glimmer of light from the stairs, triggered by the motion detectors, casts ominous shadows on the landing beneath the last step.

The sound of the footsteps, three pairs, goes off like a nuclear bomb in my head. While my skin still burns like a furnace, my blood begins to turn to ice.

My heart turns over in fear. New tears roll from my eyes as their shadows grow bigger.

I already know I’m not a match for them. This will be where I die. But not before unspeakable things happen to me.

As if the fluorescence of the light has magically increased, I find myself surrounded by three men.

I blink repeatedly, wondering if I’ve really gone crazy this time. How is this possible?

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