Chapter 1

Edited by Cbears52

He stalks the shelters daily hunting for his preferred targets. When he finds what he seeks he then focuses all his attention on providing a new life for the chosen.

He has a place on acreage about twenty-five miles from any neighbors and an hour out of the city limits. His place was set up appropriately for his mission which is the granting of second chances.

Second chances for women that fit his profile needs. Under thirty, a decent figure, with no visual defects and a preference for big tits. He knew what sold and what didn’t, after all, it was his chosen profession. He liked it so much that he made it his hobby too. Ok, it’s his life.

He saw the one he was looking for, Shea, he’d heard her name was. She came in under a black hoody with dark tufts of hair stuck out under the hood of the hoody. He’d had his eye on her off and on for a couple of weeks and he knew it was her.

She was bent forward, her hands clasped together, she was in the early stages of jonesing, in need of a fix. He didn’t care what they were addicted to. Anyone could be cleaned up, if caught early enough.

They simply required the correct motivation. He believed that because he had seen it work. He had seen miracles happen, with the right influences, and he was an influencer.

He was sitting in the back of the room with a tray of food in front of him on the bench table. He liked his back to the wall. She sat down the row from him at the end and facing the wall. She didn’t want anyone watching her eat. She was still shy and maybe didn’t want to be seen by somebody.

He left just before she finished her meagre meal. Dropping his food tray off, walking out the side door of the church basement and up the stairs. His van was at the end of the block. He climbed into it.

He knew she walked this way back to her home, in the far reaches of the local nature preserve. Some tent city for junkies. It was the city park to any reasonable person. Nature preserve to the lefties always trying to save something. He didn’t care.

He saw her in his mirror. He got out of the side door of the van as she approached. He smiled at her as they found each other’s eyes. A safety move, she was gauging her risk level. She was hugging her arms tight to her body. Her lips were stretched tight across her face. Tension exuded from her.

His male voice, friendly enough tone, “Hi, how’s it going today? You look like you need a friend. Maybe I can help?”

He flashed a little baggy of off-white powder in her face. She saw it and leapt to the assumption it was what she needed.

She extended a hand for the baggy. He smiled as he pointed into the open side door of the van. Shook the baggy once more, she didn’t care about the risk, she needed it, she wanted it, she climbed in, and he followed.

She twisted and turned to face the street through the open side door and sat on the bench seat along the sidewall.

He closed the door. She felt a nervous jolt. She didn’t want the door closed but she only asked how much for a hit. He dropped into the bench seat beside her. Their shoulders touching, “Twenty bucks for an eighth or a blow job if you don’t have the cash.”

She was already digging in a pocket. He reached into a box sitting on the van floor at the end of the bench. He pulled out a fully charged fit. Showed it to her. Her mouth watered. He set the fit on his lap. Began to roll her shirt sleeve up himself. She didn’t move to stop him.

He wrapped a rubber tube around her forearm. He offered the needle to her. She had the twenty dollars crumpled up in one hand and dropped it in his lap.

He noted her veins rising under the rubber band’s restriction. ‘She wasn’t that far gone’, he thought. Still had a good vein in an easy target area. She took the fit into her hand. Directed the tip of the needle to the ceiling, and pressed the plunger forward a little, to remove all remaining air from the tube. She flicked the half-full needle with her index finger, worked the plunger again, seeking to remove any air in the syringe.

Again, she did it three times to be sure all the air was out of the syringe. She didn’t want to kill herself. She just wanted to forget.

He swabbed her inner elbow vein with an alcohol swab. ‘Safety first’, he smiled to himself. No words had passed since he had given her the price.

She slid the point of the needle into her arm. Drew back the stopper with the tip of her thumb, under the lip of the plunger. Blood flowed into the tube. She slowly drove the plunger down, chasing the fluid out of the tube and into her arm.

Her eyes were closed and she passed out within thirty seconds of the used fix, being extracted, by her own hand and now lying in her lap. He smiled.

She is cold. It is dark. She is lying flat on her back. She is naked! This is wrong! She pulls her arms down from overhead. They don’t come, there’s something around her wrists. She doesn’t like it. She tries to kick her feet out.

Again, restriction. Her ankles are wrapped with some sort of banding material. It doesn’t chafe. Her wrists don’t chafe. She needs a fix. She’s shivering. It’s cold. She wants to wrap her arms, around herself for warmth, for protection. From what? She doesn’t know.

The dealer! The van! The door closed. Oh no. She cries. For a long time, she cries, then she screams, she pleads, she shivers and believes she’s freezing to death. It’s too much. She wants to die.

She does in the way one falls asleep but she dreams. Horrible dreams. Violent dreams. She can’t sleep. She sweats. She cries. She vomits. She cries again. She needs a fix. The cycle repeats.

He feeds her a couple of times. Bowls of soup. He gives her vitamins, orange juice, and water. He is kind. She wonders who he is.

He doesn’t talk and prevents her from doing so. It’s been days now. Where is she? Why is he helping her? Who is he? She doesn’t understand. She is still naked. It still bothers her.

He won’t let her speak. He made that very clear early on. She needed him. He came and went but she needed him. He was her access to the outside world.

She didn’t speak. She just healed. She was off the heroin. It felt awful, well most of the time, sometimes, oh, it was going to be ok. She was over it now. She could move on with life.

She wanted desperately to ask her benefactor when she could get out of there. She knew where she could score. She was better now. She was trying so hard not to speak, battling within herself.

He had simply allowed her to go through hell, basically by herself. Yes, he fed her soup. He wasn’t overly nice about it. He had to force her to eat the first couple of times. She needed the nutrients. He had provided plenty of orange juice.

There was a hole in the floor, in a corner of the room. She was told to use it for urine and to poop in a small bucket. She had to from day one. She had learned to squat so she didn’t splash herself so much. She had to spray water down the drain every time she used it.

He made her even when she was really sick. “You piss, you clean,” he’d say.

He meant it. The first time she didn’t, he sprayed her down and then the drain. She was even colder for hours until she naturally dried off. She always washed the drain hole now. He was cruel.

He fed her healthy food for the last three days. Making nothing of it. He just said she needed her nutrients. The food wasn’t bad. All healthy stuff. Fresh veggies, fruits, nuts, and chicken twice. She was living the life of a pampered prisoner she thought, ‘What’s next’?

He came in on the fifth day. She was sitting on her thin mattress on the floor. It was a plastic-wrapped piece of foam. It was well used. She only sat on it because it was the only other thing in the room. The concrete floor was always cold.

He stood about four feet inside the room. The room itself is twelve by eight feet, grey walls, no window, with the single steel door. The room wasn’t much. It wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to be a place a normal person would avoid or do anything to get out of. That kind of place.

He looked at her. She started to get up as she was feeling better. He could see it as she stood in front of him. She stood five foot ten. She hadn’t cried in a few hours. Her eyes were starting to clear up. Brown eyes. Pretty brown eyes.

Long, filthy dark hair, falling below her shoulder blades. Strong chin, cheekbones, a warrior’s look but a beaten wench’s stance. He didn’t like it but he didn’t mention it. There would be a better time.

He raised his hand in front of him. He stood six foot four with wide shoulders and a solid chest. She could see the upper form of his pecs. His waist was tight, his beige pants fit him without a belt. There was no tummy bulge under his black golf shirt. He was a handsome man in any woman’s books. He wasn’t smiling.

He spoke, “The first rule stands. You are not to speak to me. Understood?” She nods her head.

“I don’t like to say something twice. You should wait as long as you can before you test me. Get your strength back.”

He takes in the room with a sweep of his hand, saying, “You have been reborn. This is your womb.”.

He had her attention. She looked about a little. She sort of understood.

He continued, “You were wasting your life. You were killing yourself. You couldn’t help yourself. You had given up on what life had provided you. You died in that van and were reborn in this room. Hence, womb.”

She is thinking, ‘Oh, boy, I have a Jesus freak on my hands’. She leans a little, looking around him, looking for an escape. He’s aware.

He continues, “I saved you. Saved you from wasting your life. From killing yourself and already you’re looking for a way to get away from me?” He hasn’t raised his voice at all. He’s calm. It’s helping her to find balance, but she’s losing.

She opens her mouth to reply, to deny, but he stops her with a raised hand once more. She’s still unsure of herself. Can’t choose a course of action. She is waiting, ready to pounce. He sees a feline cougar in front of him. She’s randy, he figures.

He is standing four feet inside the only door to the place. The door is open. She sees a caramel-colored wall on the other side of the door. The wall is reflecting lights. Lighting from the ceiling. It’s a hall.

He has shifted his weight. He has his arms at his sides. His hands are free. He shows no tension but he’s ready for action. You never knew what a new girl would do. She wasn’t going to bolt. They both recognized it at the same time. Her body was uncoiling.

He continued in a calm voice, “I have saved you because I do not believe it right for someone born with your privileges should ever waste her life.”

He had lifted his one hand up and down, in a display of her body as he said privileges. Her body. She got the message. For the first time, she realized, of course, she was naked. She tried to cover her breasts with one arm and her muff with her other. She had been naked all along.

As he had fed her, and taken care of her, she had been standing there naked with no thought of it at all, until he made her aware of her status. Now she was ashamed, festering too angry. She wanted to demand clothes.

He laughed and she blushed. Not out of humiliation, out of anger. It wasn’t a blush, it was a flush. She lost, “Where are my clothes? Why am I here?” She was screaming at his back now.

As soon as the first word had left her lips, he had turned and walked out. Closed the door easily. She screamed louder at the closed door, kept screaming out questions until she couldn’t find any more and her voice was growing hoarse. She collapsed on the concrete floor, right where she’d stood. The lights went out.

She was hungry. She had been alone for a long time now. She was thirsty, really thirsty. She didn’t know how long she had been in the dark.

A sound so she rises to her knees. The door handle, light, it’s a man. It’s probably him. He stops four feet inside the door. The lights haven’t been turned back on. She remains in the partially lit room, light from the hall providing an eerie gloom.

It had been twenty-four hours. Her sixth day in the cell.

“You broke the command to not speak. You are hungry and thirsty. Are you any wiser?” She had risen to her feet. She nods her head yes. “Good, we shall see how obedient you can be.”

“As I was saying when you so rudely interrupted me,” he was watching, waiting for her to take the bait. To speak again.

She didn’t, he continued, “You have been reborn here, reborn to serve a different purpose than you had in the past. Here I am your Lord! I shelter you, I control the temperature of this shelter. I control your water. I control how much food you are provided. You have been reborn into my service. The quality of your life will be determined by the depth you please me.”

He was looking into her eyes and she into his. He could see the horror emerging, her instincts fighting for control over reason. She has to fight! She springs at him. He has been expecting it. She is too good a specimen to not want to live. To live her own way. To fight for her life when healthy. She should fight. He was glad she did.

As she charged at him. Screaming some war cry she didn’t know she knew. Her arms, claws stretched out, she wanted to maim him, to get past him. She would do anything at that moment. He struck once.

Directly, mid-throat. She dropped like a bag of groceries. Her limbs were a little scattered. Her hands were on her throat, gagging for air. Kicking her feet. She thinks she’s going to die. He turns and leaves.

The door opens. She was asleep. Her lips are cracked. She sees the light and made a show of getting up. She needed water, needed sustenance. Another twenty-four hours have passed. Now seven days since she had been brought to the cell. She wanted to beg.

She dropped to her knees and raised her hands in prayer. He stood at the door. She couldn’t see his face. The hallway light allowed him to see her features.

“You’re not very smart are you?”. “No don’t answer me. You must always abide by the first commandment. Never speak. Are you getting it yet?” She nods her head. Quiet.

“I’ll continue, you live because of me now. I have saved you for a purpose, and that purpose, your purpose now, is to serve your Lord, me.” She does not overly react this time, just wants to get to the water part.

“I know you understand me so we will move along. How life works in my world, now your world. You have to earn everything you get. You earn your rent, you earn your water, your food, your bedding, your clothes. Everything must be earned. That’s just life, we have to earn what we need and want. You agree, don’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He knew she was intelligent. You could tell that by her vocabulary, she had spoken a lot when going through the cold turkey withdrawals. She understood every word he spoke. She was listening. She wanted something. Water was his guess right now.

“I see you want to say something. For now, I will allow you to pantomime, act out, what you want to say. If you keep it simple enough, I may be able to help you. No talking, period, or I leave again.” He had never had to leave at this stage before. He didn’t expect to now.

It took a few seconds then she raised a hand and pointed into her mouth. Rolled a hand around her stomach. Acted out showering. She didn’t know how to act out, ‘Let me out of here’.

He was nodding his head. He understood her. He raised a hand to terminate her further efforts.

“You want water? Why haven’t you used the hose?” Her mouth opened to answer. He stopped her. In a firmer tone than he’d been using, “Don’t answer. I won’t be warning you much more. I will leave.” He made to turn.

She looked horrified, shaking her head, no. Mewing sounds escaped her lips. He took it she didn’t want him to leave. He turned back. She relaxed a little. He felt the first commandment was now accepted.

“I already explained to you that you must earn anything, everything, you get in my world. How do you propose to earn your water?” He had crossed his arms. “Pantomime only,” he added.

She was dehydrated and wasn’t into deep thinking. She’d lived on the street for the last six months. She had given more than one blow job. She needed water, it had to be earned. It was suck or fuck time.

Her mouth is so dry, her lips are cracked. She doesn’t want to suck anything but water. She knows her muffs dry. She has actually had never made love in her life. She had been fucked many times but she hadn’t had vaginal sex for six months.

Before she hit the street, why she hit the street, how she ended up here. It was all his fault. It would probably hurt to be fucked. Especially by someone, she didn’t want. He motioned for a decision.

Fuck it, she needed water. She raised her curled-up hand into the air, tilted her head slightly, and faked sliding something in and out of her mouth. She’d have to get through it.

He smiled, as he nodded and released his cock from his khaki pants. He is semi-hard, a nice size, it’s going to be seven or eight inches. She had seen more than one. He was circumcised. She preferred that. She bent over.

She wouldn’t drop to her knees unless she had to. She had some dignity.

She was looking up as she opened her mouth, lip corners cracked as she opened wide. He pulled back. He smiled down at her as he stepped back, “A rain cheque.” He had learned what he needed to know. She needed the water.

He backed right out the door, into the hallway way, reached off to the side, and came back in with a 12-ounce bottle of water. She wanted to lunge for it. She stayed where she stood.

He held the bottle in front of him, in front of himself, over his crotch, the bottle held by the neck. “You may drink half of the bottle, then you shall redeem the rain cheque. On completion, you may have the remainder of the bottle, to do with as you please.”

She took the water.

“Failure to comply will result in me simply leaving. You will always have the choice. I will always provide the options.” He was a sadist she determined at that moment.

She looked at the bottle and looked at him. She wanted to talk to him to argue her point. She wanted the water. She made a decision.

She was careful to leave more than she drank in the bottle, when she stopped, checked, and looked at him. He nodded acceptance of her stop point.

She came towards him, off to the side, intending to bend over and give him what he wanted from the side while standing. She gave him the half-empty bottle he was reaching for.

As she bends into position, he places an index finger on her forehead, she looks up, he is shaking his head and indicating she gets in front.

She moves in front where he points to the floor. She knows what he wants so she slowly drops to her knees. Her hands come up. Her lips hurt again as she opens her mouth.

She reaches up to take him into her hands. Again, the finger on the head. She looks up, “No hands.” She bends over again and starts to lick the head, to get a taste of him.

Not bad. Just a hint of male. She bent lower to scoop his semi-hard cock up into her mouth. She’s had worse.

She had sucked a few cocks in her life. Her first at fourteen was a camp counselor. She didn’t like it. Well, she had at first, she had wanted to do it, but once she started, he got impatient, grabbed the back of her head with two hands, and started driving into the back of her throat. It hurt, a lot. She gagged, a lot.

She lost her lunch and he laughed saying, “You can lick my shoe clean later,” and kept driving into her anyway. He was a monster and she didn’t like it. When he finally let her head go, after cumming down her throat, he was choking her almost to death.

She twisted, tucked, rolled, and ran. He was her first and it hurt. It was two years before she was talked into it again.

She figured she had learned to give a pretty decent blow job in her sixteenth year. He was a senior and she worshipped him when he would let her. He was a receiver on the football team and a high point man on the basketball team. He had a reputation and he was going somewhere.

He thought it would hurt his college chances if he was seen dating her since she was from the poor side of the tracks. He only saw her at odd times and he always got what he wanted, so he saw her a lot.

She was never allowed to acknowledge him in public and it hurt but she believed she loved him.

She felt a sharp snap on her ear. He had done something. Flicked a finger across her ear to get her attention. She had been distracted. “I want to know where your skill level is at. By the way, I can hold this hard-on for hours as I was well-trained myself.”

She started to focus more and work her tongue more accurately. Even little nibbles as she drew on her years of practice.

He observed her even though he was the recipient of her efforts. He was more focused on her skill level and not the feelings she would expect to generate. He had had so many blow jobs over the years that he had lost count. He was sure he had been pampered by some of the best of their times.

He believed, at this point in his life, he had seen it all, felt it all, and had it at all, at one time or another. He saw himself as a connoisseur at this point.

What he needed was to know how good she was. Did she have any natural skill at all? What tricks did she have that she was willing to apply right now. He noted she only took about four inches and when she tongues his prick, her tongue was usually stiff, even when using the flat of her tongue. He would change that.