Dark Tales Of A Sex Slave

It’s been seven years since I had seen the inside of his house. I wasn’t expecting to come back or to find myself at the front door of the man who claimed me as his sex slave. Years ago, as I was leaving school, a man told me he was my father’s friend and came to pick me up. That was the last day I saw the sun for years to come. News stations and cops called my case the dark tales of a sex slave. There are moments where I wish they knew what it was like. They made him sound worse than he was. Or is it the Stockholm syndrome talking? I often ponder whether my view of Greg is accurate or my head is trying to comfort me. Either way, here I stood in front of his door, wanting to find out why me.

Dark Tales Of A Sex Slave – Let’s Talk

The door opened as I pondered whether to leave or knock. I wondered if he thought for a moment that I was a naughty slutty babysitter or something. I felt what little color I gained flush from me as I stood face-to-face with Greg. My heart pounded, and my legs became weak. It felt like I stood there for forever until everything went black. Moments later, I woke up on a grey couch. I slowly sat up, fear rushing in. I was back in his house. Greg’s footsteps still sounded the same on the hardwood floors. The sound brought fear and excitement. I could feel myself wanting to run, and yet, at the same time, my pussy felt a familiar sensation. “So, dark tales of a sex slave, huh?” Greg scoffed, breaking the silence.
His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, yet it felt like home. “I’m a shell, Greg,” the words shook from my lips as I slowly pushed them out.

My Silence Is Broken

Greg slowly placed a tray of Mac and cheese in front of me; he still thinks I’m that girl he kept locked downstairs for five years, feeding me the same old shit. I stood up as I pushed the tray, “Is this a sick game to you!? You took me! Used me! You made me the dark tales of a sex slave! I never asked for this!” I felt weak after my outburst and fell back down onto his couch. Doug sat in the chair across from me, “My sweet Roxy, I only wanted you. I desired you, and I needed to have you. You fulfilled me.” I looked up at him; disgust, disdain, and loathing filled my eyes. Unfortunately, my emotions faded when I looked at him.

Dark Tales Of A Sex Slave – Familiarity

As my eyes landed on the man who took me all those years ago, my rage shattered, leaving pity and another feeling I couldn’t place my hands on. Greg looked back at me, his eyes holding five years of memories. I could feel his eight inches pushing into me, and I could taste his coffee on his breath as he kissed me. My legs felt weak, and my pussy began to leak. “Can – may I see the room?” The words slipped from my mouth as if I, indeed, were a dark tale of a sex slave. Greg looked at me, confused; he stood and quietly walked me to my old basement. I began to look around; nothing had changed. I walked over to the vanity and stood in front.

Greg followed behind, and even that image has yet to change. Standing there, all the memories of him taking me three times a day every day flooded back in.
“Greg?” I questioned as I turned to face him, “I can’t survive out there; I tried; you are all that I know.”


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