Feel Something

Chapter One (edited June 30, 2024)

Authors Note-

Anytime you see a word written like *this*, that means it has a different definition in her mind to what it actually means. I tried to describe the words as best as possible without using a term the MC would be unfamiliar with. I'm trying to portray that she doesn't know the actual definition of the word. 

For example:

*love* anything where the MC is penetrated sexually.

*feel good* pain, hurt

*excited* fear, afraid, scared

This is my first story attempt and I wasn't sure how else to portray this. 

_____

My eyelids struggle to pry themselves open as my aching bones complain of my attempt to wake and sit up in my room.

That's what HE calls it anyway. 

I suppose it could be considered a room.

Four walls? Check. 

Roof? Check.

Floor? Check.

Door? Check. 

I am not sure how long I've been out cold this time. HE threw me at the corner once I had been properly filled to HIS standards. 

I don't remember anything after my head slamming against the wall when HE threw me. 

I close my eyes again as I take a deep breath and push away the thought of last night. If it was night. I never know anything of the night or day unless it slips out when HE greets me as HE comes into my room.

I've stopped caring, though. It doesn't matter either way. I'll be stuck here until he comes back no matter what “day” or “night" is.

I look into the puddle of blood on the floor where my head had been. I can barely see anything, but the faint glow from the the see through rectangle at the top of my cold door is just enough that I can almost see my face. I wish I were able to glimpse something outside my room for once, but even if I am not *feeling good* from HIS *love,* the see-through rectangle is above my eye level.

"I just want to feel something again" I think as I see my broken and barely visible reflection again. I keep thinking that like it's an excuse for my reckless behavior.

I know better than to look at HIS face.

But the feelings are gone.

I'm just...

Numb.

HE can't make me feel HIS *love* anymore.

That's what HE calls it. The word doesn't seem to fit it, though. 

I snap my head to the dark, cold, unbreakable door as I hear HIS voice on the other side. But his voice isn't the only one.

I sit up on my knees and turn my face to the floor when the click signals HE is about to open the door, just like HE expects me to do. The dark of my room leaves as the round thing on the roof flickers to glowing before the door opens and three sets of feet clunk into the edges of my vision. 

"Come here, you useless bitch." HIS voice is like thousands of tiny crumbs--but made of the same substance as my walls, rather than of the flimsy bread HE gives me every other time the word "night" is part of HIS greeting-- being scrubbed into the open bloody areas on my skin.

I shudder as I crawl on my hands and knees toward the pair of feet I recognize.

"I see you trained her well," comes a nasally voice to one side that reminds me of the sound my hands make when they are covered in blood and I drag them down the door, wanting to get away from HIM when HE tries to fill my smaller opening. 

That one always *feels good* when he *loves* it with his fingers. But even more so when HE does it with the *love-stick* that hangs between HIS legs. I never like it when something *feels good.*

That's when I have to hold back my tears and keep my cries silent in my throat. HE doesn't like to hear the sounds I make when things *feel good.* That's when HIS motions get faster and stronger. Less controlled. Like HE is being controlled by something else.

A growling chuckle comes from my other side before the owner of the laugh runs a sweaty hand over my oily, tangled, and blood-caked hair, then down my back. "What else can your pet do, Jag?"

I try not to whine when the growler's hand grips the bruised areas by their top of my legs.

I don't know what is going to happen, which makes me feel even more *excited* than normal.

Being *excited* is like having a bunch of rats in my stomach wrestling for a scrap of food and tumbling over each other. Then my hands and face get this cold sweat that makes me feel gross and like all the bread I've just eaten is going to come back out through my mouth. Then my heart pumps so loud that I can't hear anything but its dull thump, even when I know I should be listening to hear what HE expects me to do immediately after I hear whatever it is HE is saying.

I have three openings HE uses when filling me. There are three of them in here! What am I going to be expected to do? 

My breathing becomes shallow and erratic. My vision is clouding. 

One *feels good* enough. I don't think I can handle three. Or even two!

I can't hear what they're saying anymore, but I can tell they're still talking to each other. 

The one with the growling voice is touching my front and stomach now. I flinch because I've always been sensitive to even the lightest of touches there. HE says I'm ticklish. 

When I was smaller and touched lightly there, I used to make a sound that reminded me of the feeling I get when HE tells me I get an apple, but that feeling stopped as soon as I had to let HIM do weird stuff every time I got one. It sounded similar to when HE laughs, but lighter, airy, soft. 

Now, I have to hold back my voice. I have to be silent. I can't flinch. That would mean stronger *love* later.

I am as stiff and still as the floor and walls.

I let my mind go back to the dark I rest in when HE isn't in my room. I don't want to feel what they do. I don't hear their words anymore. 

The room has gone silent. I can see HIM tapping a foot on the ground, like HE is waiting.

I tense as the silence makes me *excited* that I might have missed some command, but I stay still since I don't know for certain.

The one with the nasal voice yanks me off the ground by my throat. "Did you hear me, bitch?"

_____

P.S. - PLEASE LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE.