Waking to an intense pain, Bella tries to stretch, realizing she’s still trapped in the cramped cage. Every muscle in her body has stiffened in the night, and a fierce cramp knots her calves and shoulders as she tries to shift her position within the confines of the cage. The bars dig into her flesh, a constant reminder of her captivity.
Memories of the previous day’s ordeal flood back, mingling with the stench of her own waste mere inches away. The acrid odor assaults her nostrils, causing her to wince in disgust. Adding to the humiliation, her face is coated with dried bits of dog food.
Tears well up in Bella’s eyes, spilling over as she succumbs to the overwhelming despair of her predicament. What am I going to do now? I can’t move, this just hurts so much… oh god please help me…
she cries to herself, her voice choked with emotion.
Tears begin to stream down Bella’s face, the dam of emotions she’s been holding back finally bursting forth. The sobs escalate into uncontrollable crying, Bella’s body wracked with grief and humiliation. Locked in a cage like an animal, kneeling in her own filth with dog food drying on her face, Bella cannot remember ever feeling so small. Her cries echo in the empty dungeon, a stark contrast to the silence that once prevailed.
The sound of Lucien’s voice makes Bella jump, further hurting her bound body.
Bonjour, petite souris. Did you sleep well in your little house?
Lucien inquires, his voice dripping with false concern.
Bella swallows hard, wincing at the soreness in her throat. I… I slept a little. My legs are cramping, but I’m all right, Master,
she replies softly, her voice shaking slightly.
Lucien’s eyes narrow as he takes in Bella’s disheveled appearance, noting the dog food smeared across her face and the unmistakable stench emanating from the cage. A cruel smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
Regarde-toi. Look at the state of you,
he observes, gesturing to the smeared dog food and the pool of bodily fluids collecting at the bottom of the cage. We cannot send you off looking like this. But first, your supper. Was it to your taste?
he asks, feigning interest.
Bella’s stomach churns at the memory of the horrible dog food, but she forces a smile onto her face. Every bite of it, Master,
she lies, knowing better than to complain.
Lucien’s thin smile tells her that he knows exactly how much she enjoyed it.
Bella gasps as the cage jerks into motion, hoisted by a pulley system towards the center of the dungeon. Lucien’s strong hands guide it over a drain in the floor, the metal scraping against concrete.
Now, let’s get you cleaned up, ma petite salope,
Lucien declares, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He grabs a nearby hose, twisting the handle to unleash a torrent of icy water.
Bella shrieks as the frigid spray hits her skin, goosebumps erupting across her flesh. She writhes in the confines of the cage, futilely trying to avoid the merciless downpour. Please, it’s too cold!
she cries, teeth chattering violently.
Lucien chuckles, clearly enjoying her distress, and lets the icy stream play over her breasts until her nipples harden painfully and her whole body is shaking with violent shivers. Did I give you leave to speak? Non,
he says, without moving the hose an inch. But today I am in a generous mood, ma chère, so I will let it pass.
After what feels like an eternity, Lucien finally stops the water and grabs a bottle of soap.
As Lucien pours the soap over Bella’s trembling form, she winces at the chemical sting on her raw, sensitive skin. The harsh scent invades her nostrils, overwhelming the lingering odor of her own filth.
When the soap runs down over the steel of her chastity belt, Lucien raps on the shield with one knuckle. Bridgette’s little lock,
he muses. My men searched what was left of her and never found the key. Perhaps her people buried it with her. Well, let whoever comes next worry about it.
The thought of Bridgette lying cold in the ground somewhere, with the little silver key that only she ever held buried beside her, hurts Bella more than anything Lucien has done to her body, and her tears slide silently down to mix with the soap.
Dégoûtant. Disgusting,
Lucien mutters, his lip curling. Cowering in your own waste like an animal. Nobody pays good money for merchandise in this condition.
Then the hose comes back on to rinse her, and the icy water seems to go on forever, Bella’s body convulsing with shivers, until at last Lucien turns it off.
Lucien leans in close, his hot breath tickling Bella’s ear as he whispers, Ma chère, I am afraid there has been a slight change of plans.
His accent becomes thicker, more pronounced, with a hint of triumph creeping into his voice. My friends in Marrakech tell me someone has been asking questions about me, and I do not care for questions. So I have sold you. To someone quite… unpleasant, I must say.
She tells me,
he adds, almost tenderly, that she has been longing to teach you a thing or two about obedience.
The words fall on Bella colder than the water from the hose. She has heard them before, after the auction, spoken in a voice as sweet as syrup by a woman who could not take her eyes off her.
His hand trails down Bella’s neck, fingers squeezing just tightly enough to make her gasp. You called me a murderer once, and you were right. I wanted Bridgette dead for a very long time. But to torment her precious pet, and to be paid handsomely for it?
He sighs with pleasure. Ah, that is la cerise sur le gâteau. The cherry on the cake.
For one moment the anger over everything flairs up inside her and she throws all her strength against her bonds, but the cage barely sways on its pulley. Bella spits, She was worth a thousand of you!
Lucien draws a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his cheek without the slightest hurry. Perhaps she was. But she is worth nothing now, ma chère, and you are worth a great deal,
he says. That is the only reason you will not pay for that.
At the foot of the stairs Lucien pauses to look back at her one last time. Adieu, petite souris,
he says, and then he is gone, the sound of his receding footsteps echoing in the dungeon. Panic rises in Bella’s chest as she realizes the gravity of her situation. Sold…
Time passes in a blur, hours crawling by with agonizing slowness. Bella’s limbs ache, cramping in their forced position. The bars dig into her flesh, leaving angry red welts wherever they press against her skin. But worst of all is the uncertainty, the not knowing what horrors await.
Just as Bella feels she can take no more, the sound of approaching footsteps catches her attention. Four men enter the room, speaking among themselves in hushed tones and a language Bella doesn’t understand, casting furtive glances at her prone form.
One of them, clearly the leader, barks orders at his companions in rapid Arabic. They nod, setting to work with grim efficiency. Bella watches in horror as they unpack a strange contraption from a large canvas bag… a rubber suit, complete with an inflatable hood and various tubes.
No, please!
Bella begs, her voice shrill with panic. Then, as the leader crouches beside the cage, she forces the panic down and makes her voice soft and coaxing instead. Please… you don’t have to do this. Let me go, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything. All of you, as many times as you like. And my family will pay you, more than he’s paying you, I swear. Nobody ever has to know.
The leader translates for the others, and all four men laugh. Your body is already sold, bitch,
he says, and your family has no idea where you are. Nobody is coming for you. This will be easier if you cooperate.
The leader produces a heavy ring of keys, and one by one the padlocks fall open, the pins slide out of the crossbars and the chain comes loose from her hair. Then they wrestle Bella out of the cage, her limbs stiff and aching from the prolonged confinement. She fights back, but it’s futile against their superior strength and they begin the process of dressing her in the rubber suit.
The material clings to her skin, squeezing her tightly as they zip it up, until the zip catches on the steel of her chastity belt and one of the men swears in Arabic and forces the rubber up and over the shield. Next comes the hood, which they stretch down over her head and clasp to the neck of the suit. Bella’s breathing grows labored, the rubber constricting her airflow.
Terror surges through Bella as the men continue their preparations. She kicks and struggles, but their iron grip holds firm. The inflatable gag is forced into her mouth, the hard rubber pressing against her teeth and tongue, and from its inner side a thick rubber phallus slides over her tongue and on, deep into her throat, with a narrow feeding tube running through its centre. When they pump the gag up, the shaft swells until it fills her throat completely, and Bella gags helplessly around it, tears streaming down her face as they secure the device in place.
Next, they insert the long, hard tubes into her nostrils, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. Bella’s eyes widen in panic, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She tries to plead with them, but the gag renders her words incomprehensible.
The suit begins to inflate, the rubber stretching taut against Bella’s skin. She feels the pressure building, her body squeezed in an unforgiving vice, and it presses the steel shield of her chastity belt hard against her until, to her shame, the familiar maddening ache begins to stir beneath it, the one Bridgette locked into her body on the very first night. The men check the seals, ensuring there are no leaks in the airtight cocoon.
Bella’s world contracts to a suffocating prison of rubber and metal. The men’s voices fade to distant murmurs as they discuss the final details of her packaging. Through the hood she hears something heavy being rolled across the floor and set upright with a hollow clang, and when they lift her, she feels the cold steel walls of a tall mold close in around her.
Bella’s mind reels, unable to comprehend the sheer horror of her situation. The rubber suit constricts around her body, squeezing the air from her lungs as they stand her upright inside it.
The men’s voices, now nothing more than distant echoes, filter through the thick rubber of her hood. Most of what they say is Arabic, but a few English words reach her. Cement… pillar… overseas… each phrase strikes fear into Bella’s heart.
Tears streak down her cheeks as the reality of her predicament sinks in. Trapped within this suffocating cocoon, she’s utterly helpless.
As the tubes are secured overhead, Bella’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps. The air feels thick, oppressive, as if the very atmosphere seeks to crush her. Her body trembles, a primal response to the overwhelming terror coursing through her veins.
And then, the unmistakable sound of concrete pouring into the mold. Bella’s heart races as she feels the heavy, wet mixture sloshing around her feet, inching its way up her body.
The feeling of cold, damp cement rising around her legs sends Bella into a state of utter panic. Her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps. Sweat pours down her face, mixing with the salty taste of her own tears.
The pressure builds as the cement continues to rise, its cold weight pressing against her inflated suit. Bella’s muscles strain against the unyielding material, her body instinctively trying to flee the claustrophobic confines. But there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
As the cement reaches her waist, Bella’s mind fractures under the stress. Images flash before her eyes… her parents, her sister, Bridgette, Lucien. Each face morphs into a grotesque mask, laughing and jeering at her misfortune. She wants to scream, but the gag renders her voiceless.
The cement creeps higher, now enveloping her chest. Bella’s heart pounds in her ears, her pulse racing like a frightened animal. Every fiber of her being screams for release, for freedom. But there is none to be found. Only the cold, crushing embrace of the hardening concrete.
As the cement rises to her neck, there is no room left in Bella for anything but terror. Her breath comes in desperate, wheezing gasps through the gag. Tears flow freely now, blurring her already obscured vision.
The cold, damp mixture creeps up her chin, its relentless progress inching ever closer to her mouth and nose. Panic surges through Bella’s body, a primal scream of protest that dies in her throat, muffled by the rubber gag.
As the cement hardens around her, sealing her fate, Bella’s mind spirals into a vortex of despair. The thought of being trapped in this concrete coffin, sold off as a literal object, is almost too much to bear. Her heart races as she imagines the long, torturous journey ahead. Weeks, perhaps months, of solitary confinement. Fed through a tube, unable to move, drowning in her own waste. The sheer magnitude of the horror overwhelms her senses.
Then there is nothing but the suffocating darkness of the rubber suit, the hardening cement pressing in on all sides. She can’t move, can’t see, can barely breathe through the tubes. The passage of time becomes meaningless as she floats in a void, her mind unraveling.
The first day is a blur of panic and disbelief. Surely this can’t be happening, surely someone will save her. But as hours stretch into days, hope fades. Bella’s thoughts spin in endless loops, replaying every mistake, every choice that led her to this moment. Regret gnaws at her insides like a cancer.
On the second day, Bella feels the first stirrings of hunger and thirst. The feeding tube provides minimal sustenance, just enough to keep her alive. She learns to suck on the rubber cock lodged in her throat like an animal, grateful for each miserable drop.
By the third day, the stench of her own waste becomes overpowering. There’s no escaping it, trapped as she is in this concrete prison. Bella retches, bile rising in her throat, but the gag prevents her from vomiting. She’s forced to swallow it back down, adding to the foul taste in her mouth.
On the fourth day, Bella’s body begins to rebel. Cramping muscles and joints scream for relief that never comes. The constant pressure of the cement becomes unbearable, each breath a labor as the weight bears down on her chest, and through all of it the belt goes on pressing against her, keeping her body aching and wanting no matter how much the rest of her suffers, until Bella can no longer tell whether it is a torment or the last comfort she has left.
Delirium sets in, hallucinations dancing at the edges of her vision. In her fevered imagination, Bella sees Bridgette, her beautiful, terrible Mistress. Sometimes Bridgette laughs cruelly at her plight, other times she offers words of comfort and encouragement. None of it is real, but Bella clings to these visions like a drowning woman grasping at driftwood.
As the fifth day dawns, Bella teeters on the brink of madness. The lines between dream and reality blur, merge, dissolve entirely. Bella drifts in and out of consciousness, unsure if she’s awake or asleep, alive or dead.
Days blend into nights in the endless darkness of her concrete prison, marked only by the rhythmic gurgle of nutrients flowing through the feeding tube and the steady drip, drip, drip of moisture collecting inside her rubber suit.
At some point… hours, days, maybe even weeks later… Bella feels a jolt as her cement pillar is moved. Disorientation sets in as she’s tilted, rolled, and finally upright again. Muffled voices reach her ears but she can’t quite make out any words. Are they dockworkers? Customs officials? Her new owners?
Panic surges through Bella’s veins, but she’s powerless to act, trapped as she is in this immovable shell. She can only remain still and silent, praying that whoever has her now will show mercy.
Another jolt, and Bella realizes she’s being loaded onto a truck of some sort. The rumble of an engine starts up, vibrating through the cement and into her bones.
As the journey continues, Bella’s mind drifts to Bridgette. Her cruel, beautiful Mistress.
