General

I carried you into the basement, your feet dragging against every step it took to get to the ground floor. I sat you in a sitting position and chained you to the wall. I stared at you for a moment and smiled. The dim light made your skin sparkle and glow. I'm glad I have you forever now. I wouldn't call it obsessed, I'd call it destiny.

By aria, December 17, 2014.
General

"Oh Alex, you're such a card." Lisa sang as I stared silently glaring at her in my post at her feet. "I can't let you out until..." she paused, giving me a knowing look. I exhaled through my nose in frustration. She stared at me silently, as if debating whether to electrocute me like last time, or something worse. I nodded to myself, already knowing my punishment for not speaking.

By aria, December 12, 2014.
General

Lying on the floor next to the spare tires and "kit" was a human form, unmoving. Underfoot, hidden in the dim light lay redundant zip-ties in the dust. Tiger went closer, feeling the same thrill that enveloped him every time he got to use his "birthday present" on something living. He lay his hand on her lycra clad hip, not fat but soft. A smile crept over his young features as his hand ran first down her thigh and then up to her chest. She was warm enough not to be dead, but so immobile that the drugs had her out for the count. He felt the urge to see her face, touch her hair, but the mesh hood still over her head meant the games had not yet begun and Leon was a stickler for the rules. No doubt he was off negotiating a ransom, how funny. Leon never gave up a capture. If he could get money too then so much the better, but living his fantasies was his drug of choice. Tiger rose to his feet, this jogger was gonna be fun. Next time he'd have to do the swiping himself, then they'd play by his rules. Sure, the game didn't last so long then, but the thrills were custom made by his own daydreams. What else mattered?

By Angela Abraham (daisy), June 12, 2015.
General

Other than the noise of the generator, the room was a silent concrete box. It could be anywhere. Tom craned his neck for a window, there was none. For all he knew he could be deep underground, in some random room in a isolated prison or in someone's personal cell. Above the only source of light was an old fashioned bulb on a bare white wire and its switch was nowhere to be seen. There was something amateurish about the way the concrete walls had been set. The angles weren't quite right and there was a roughness to the texture. That in itself ruled out quite a lot of places and potential abductors. His money was on this being someone's personal homemade jail cell and that could either be far preferable or very, very bad.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), June 12, 2015.