There could only be one cause for this mental depravity–the chocolate milk, always available, on tap, right in front of her lips, hour after hour. And although she had figured out what it was doing to her, she simply couldn’t stop drinking it!
And so now she stood in the half-darkness, thinking her dirty thoughts and waiting with gathering impatience for her next release when she would perform for her master with the forlorn hope of convincing him that she truly thrived off their sweaty mating sessions–and maybe earn just a bit of extra time outside the cramped confines of the dreaded standing cell.
She was stretching her calves and willing herself not to take yet another sip from the feeding tube when she heard the basement door open. She hadn’t been expecting another visit tonight, having already spent a good hour on the bed with Thomas earlier. She listened to heavy boots clumping on the floor and the sound of a drink being poured. She waited for her visitor to speak. Could it be Luke? Although he hadn’t yet laid a finger on her, he had been present for all of her sexual performances with Thomas, making sure that the camcorder was in the right position to catch every lurid detail. His voyeuristic presence was a constant source of embarrassment for her of course, although there was something about his manner that had suggested that he might be gay. But maybe she had misread him and he had just been waiting for an opportunity to get her on his own.
Her pulse quickened as she waited for her mystery caller to say something, but the basement was as deathly silent as ever. What was this? A new game? Was she supposed to say something?
She instinctively sucked on the feeding tube and the small electric pump whirred into life above her head. Outside in the basement, someone chuckled.
“Hello?” Charlotte called out.
“I see you are still enjoying your milk,” Thomas Mosley said.
To her chagrin, Charlotte realized that she was relieved to hear his voice–and she immediately hated herself for it. Was that what this was? Some kind of conditioning experiment? Was she being trained to respond enthusiastically to the sound of her master’s voice like a laboratory animal? If so, it seemed to be working. Because as much as she abhorred her sexual contact with him, Charlotte had to admit that anything was preferable to standing for hours on end in this vertical, claustrophobic chamber, and after–what was it, four, five days?–the relentless boredom and discomfort had become soul-crushing. And on top of all that, there was the shameful promise of sexual relief. Locked in the dark with nothing to do but think, her mind was continuously flooded with graphic sexual images of him, and try as she might, she had been simply unable to shake them. How could it be possible to both hate and need a man with such equal intensity?
“You’re probably wondering how long you can survive on chocolate milk,” Thomas said. “But that is just the artificial flavoring I chose for your liquid meals–you once seemed to find chocolate milk rather amusing, as I recall.”
Charlotte cringed inside. Why hadn’t she made the connection? Now she saw him again, down on one knee in the college hallway, covered in the spilled chocolate milk with everybody laughing at him–including Charlotte. She hadn’t meant any harm back then, but now she understood just how fragile this man’s ego was. Life had gone on since college, but in his deranged mind, Thomas had never left. Every encounter, rejection and humiliation, as fresh in his thoughts now as they had been eight years prior–and now he was in a position to set the record straight.