The Chance to make a Change

Chapter 7: A vistor

Summary: Something changes.
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The change came rather unexpectedly. After the first few days of being stuck, thinking of ways to escape, Albert had come in to announce that it was weekend and he did not need to go to work. Which was bad news to you. It meant he would probably be around all day.

And he was. Only leaving short amounts of time to walk Samson.

The thought of having to spend an entire weekend in the arms of the Grabber, obeying his every whim, frightened you. And still you had not gotten any closer to solving the mystery of the boy he kept in his basement. You feared you were running out of time.

But this morning, a Sunday, you thought, he left the room and returned later than usual with a plate of improvised breakfast in his hands and a full-covering mask that showed no emotion hiding his face. There was no mouth, and your breakfast was late.

He usually wore only the top half around you. You suspected it was because he loved to give you cunnilingus and worship your breasts with his mouth – his hands around them, holding them up and squeezing them like a banquet for him to enjoy. So what had changed?

You eyed him suspiciously as he took away the now-empty plate. He turned around silently, the only sound that of the soles of his shoes creaking as he turned on his heels. You watched his broad back, the way his corduroy pants were a little too tight around his thighs. It was sinful that a man could be built like that and then be the devil incarnated.

"Who is in your basement?" You were quite forward, but what happened next was something you had not expected. He spun around swiftly, the tray clattering to the floor which prompted Samson to bark somewhere in the living room. His hands were on his belt, unclasping it and sliding it off in one swift movement. The rough leather slapped against your cheek, creating a nasty long gash. You flinched, caught totally unaware by the move. Then gasped when you felt the searing pain on your cheek.

"Do not ask me questions," he bellowed, and you looked up at him in shock. In all your time here, you had not seen him angry like this. Not even after he discovered the items that you had accidentally swiped off with the blanket during your attempt to hit the window pane.

Albert was standing in front of you, panting heavily. The belt dangled from his right hand, iron side down and ready to strike again.

"I thought you were my good girl, hmm?" Albert croaked, his mask covering his face completely. The only thing visible was his tense stance, the way his shoulders were raised and the veins on his hands showed – fingers curled. A dangerous spark in his eyes was visible for only a brief moment. It might have been a trick of the light, but you weren't going to take any unnecessary risks. Not when he was like he was now.

"I- I am your good girl," you hated how broken your voice sounded and how easily you gave in. You'd only been here for days, and already he had you drilled like this. It was pathetic, you thought, trying to force the evil thoughts you had about yourself away. "Sir," you added, trying not to look away from him.

You could see his shoulders slump. "Well," that awful low voice again, his words a slur. He started to roll the belt around his hand, folding it. But his eyes never left you. "You know I like it when you call me that, little girl."

You flinched, wanting to say you were not little. But you remembered how much he loved this, loved to refer to your size and the fact you were much younger than him. You actually started thinking that you showing up here, on his doorstep, dressed like an innocent scout, had all been part of some great master plan. What it was though, you could not quite figure out. But clearly, you were some kind of newfound kink to this man that he didn't seem to get enough of. Not yet, anyway.