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life in stockholm
He thinks its been a year by now. Or maybe its been ten years. He really doesn't know anymore; he's been in this basement for so long that the sun could have disappeared from the sky and he would have no earthly idea.
All he really knows is that its been so long. So, so long... And yet, nobody has found him. Nobody has looked, he's sure. There would be so much evidence, and yet here he still is, in the same place after all this time. If someone were really, truly looking for him, they would have found him by now.
And it's a gutwrenching, heart-crushing realisation for him to realise that nobody truly loves him. That nobody cares that he's been gone all this time, and that nobody has put any kind of effort into looking for him. Dahye wasn't subtle. She wasn't conniving. She was smart, sure, but not even she can disappear from existence without someone noticing. Surely someone noticed.
But, they didn't care. Nobody cared enough to check.
Only Dahye. Dahye would give up the world for him. Dahye would do anything for him. If someone were to take him away, without even having to ask he knows she would tear apart the universe to get him back. All this time Dahye has told him that she's the only one who loves him the way he deserves, and its been so long but he's finally starting to believe it. He really does have nothing else left.
Which is when the panic sets in. There's nothing else left for him. The world doesn't care about him. Everybody else has left him for dead. Then there's Dahye, who bounds down the stairs with all the energy of a Golden Retriever, and throws herself into his arms the second she sees him. Has anybody else so much as uttered his name since he's been missing?
His ears prick up as he hears the door to the house open, hears pattering bare footsteps run across the floor, sees the basement door open, and watching Dahye take the stairs two at a time. She didn't stop to put her bag down, she didn't pause to take her jacket off; she's come straight down to see him as soon as she's stepped in the door. The only one who loves him.
She smiles with all the brightness of the sun as soon as their eyes meet, and he's so terrified of her- terrified of what she's done to him, and terrified of losing her. He opens his arms as she starts to towards him- his cuffs pulling tightly on his wrists, and she throws herself into them, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and littering kisses all over his face. The only one who loves him.
"I missed you so much," she says into his skin, breathless, and hot, angry tears fill his eyes. Why is Dahye the only one who loves him? Why is he still here? How does she have so much control over him?
He nods his head, having heard it all before, a broken sob escaping his mouth as he buries his face into her shoulder. If Dahye wasn't here, he wouldn't have anything. He would die alone in this basement with nobody ever caring to find him. If she were to disappear, he would have nobody.
He clings to her tightly, digging his nails into her skin, wanting to break her spine and crack her over his leg- but there's nobody else. Nobody else cares.
She only coos at him, stroking his hair. She plants kisses onto his head, comfortingly scratches his scalp, whispers sweet, loving words into his ear. The only who loves him.
Where she would usually undress him and have her way with his body- she seems to sense something else today, and rather than stripping him off, she lays beside him instead. She opens her arms, gathering him up and pulling him into her chest. She knows him inside out- that this is what he needs right now, that this is the kind of comfort he craves.
He sobs again as he realises how easily he could strangle her, snap her neck, leave her for dead and scream until someone found him- but what's the point? He would be alone. There's nobody else. There's only Dahye.
Like a child, he buries himself in her chest, openly sobbing- about the hopelessness of his situation, about his loneliness, about his isolation, about how he can't think of a life for himself anymore that doesn't involve Dahye.
What's the point in ever escaping this place? There's nothing left for him outside these walls anymore. He wraps his arms around her and sobs.
---
Dahye doesn't make mistakes. She's never made a mistake in all the time that he's been confined in this place. She's always poised, elegant, calculated- maniacal, isolating, insane- but she's never made a mistake. Not one as big as this.
He was cuffed to the bed today, as always, Dahye lovingly settled on her knees and lavishing wet, hot attention onto his embarrassingly rock hard cock. It's the only time she ever uncuffs him, so he can shove her down when he wants more, so he can grab her hair, so he can use her in any way he wants just so he can come. He'd had her pressed down to his very base, cock slipped into her throat, both trying his best to suffocate her, and wanting to come so badly- when the doorbell rang. It's not unusual for deliveries to arrive during the day, and she had made a pleased hum as he withdrew his dick from her face, rasping out that she had ordered a new stew for them both to try.
She had gotten to her knees, pulled her loose sundress back over her naked body, and run up the stairs. He heard her answer the door, he heard her speak to the deliveryman, heard her cross the floor with the bags, expecting her to come straight back down the stairs.
But she didn't. He heard her plod into the kitchen, heard her set the bag down, heard her start to pull out cutlery, bowls, little dishes for sides.
And he turned, breaking out into a cold sweat, to the unlocked cuffs that hung limply off the bedframe, his naked wrist. Dahye doesn't make mistakes, but this...
With wobbly, weak legs, he lifts himself off the bed, alert like a deer, his ears straining for even the slightest indication that Dahye is about to trot down the stairs. He's completely naked, still rock hard, and never been so terrified in his life.
He climbs the stairs one by one, avoiding the ones he knows that creak, avoiding the handrail in case the sound of his sweaty hands touching the wood alerts her and reminds her of her previous task. He reaches the top step where the basement door is already open- rarely closed and locked on days that Dahye spends down with him, and his feet feel polished wood for the first time in what feels like a decade. He hasn't touched anything other than the polish concrete of the basement in so, so long.
He peers out into the house, one that he's never seen before and only pieced together by Dahye's footsteps as they went overhead. It's not familiar, he doesn't recognise it, and the two of them could have absconded to the moon for all he knows.
He peers through a modest lounge, looks down the hall to what he assumes is one bedroom that he knows Dahye has never once used, and sees the front door. A simple deadlock. Openable from the inside. Nothing but a thin slab of wood between him and the outside world.
He looks down the other direction and spies Dahye's back, as she pulls out various plastic containers from a disposable bag. Stews side dishes, and what looks to be a small cake. She hums as she works, buzzing with excitement, and he can't help but feel his chest tighten and his cock throb as he watches her. Every movement she makes shifts her floaty little sundress, and though he knows every inch of her body, he's always found it so sexy when she goes out of her way to dress up for him.
Or, someone else? Did she dress up for the delivery man? Is he still here somewhere? Is all of this for him?
He takes a step towards the front door- when suddenly the floor creaks, and Dahye takes a curious look towards him, locking eyes with him immediately. He doesn't so much as give her time to open her mouth before he throws himself at her, forcing her to the floor, wrapping his hands around her throat. He could get out of here. He could run down the street and never come back.
He sits on her hips, pinning her to the floor by the waist, closing off her throat. He expects to need to protect himself against her hands, expects her to scratch at him like a cat- but she doesn't. He's sure she was surprised to see him, but she's never looked at him with anything but honey in her eyes. Though he's strangling her with the intent to kill her for good, she reaches out blindly, her soft hands wrapping around his still hard cock, and encouragingly, helpfully starts to jerk him off.
Wet tears fill his eyes, and he tightens his hands around her further, but can't help but rock into her hands. She treats him so tenderly, and she always has. She's never hurt him, never cut him, never done anything but give her entire life to try to make him happy. After a pause, he lifts one hand off her throat- it's shaking, unsteady, but he makes sure to keep the other pressed firmly onto her windpipe. He feels like a scumbag, but he can't help but automatically push her sundress up her body. He wishes it weren't the case, but he only feels more turned on to see her thin waist, her creamy skin, her soft, bare tits.
Her face has turned a deep purple, sweat starting to bead her forehead, but still she has made no move to attack him, only thumbed over his cock, teasing him, driving him insane with how well she knows his body.
He looks back towards the door, where sunlight pours in around the hinges, and back to Dahye's bare chest, her sundress, the way her mouth opens and he tongue hangs out as she slowly starts to suffocate. Saliva pools in her mouth as he makes it unable for her to swallow, and her tongue glistens invitingly.
He sobs brokenly as he turns his back to the front door completely, letting go of Dahye's throat, allowing her one full inhale of air before he kneels on her shoulders, forcing his cock down her throat. A wiser man would consider that a woman like this could easily castrate him, but he knows Dahye never would. She sucks him with relish, moans with pleasure as he fucks her mouth with a reckless abandon.
He holds her head still by the hair, trying his best to make her gag and choke- but even so, he feels her hand slide up his thigh, feels her poke around his ass as he thrusts, and sighs a little at the familiar feeling of her working her way inside him, spreading his legs a little to give her room to lovingly stroke his prostate.
Never once in her life has she teased him, denied him- she's never so much as said no to time, and his eyes start to prickle with tears as he realises he could have just killed her, could have just run- but what's the point? Who else is there out there for him but Dahye?
He makes sure to shove himself as far into his throat as he can make it as he comes, satisfied to hear the strangled sound Dahye makes, but equally giddy that she continues to stroke his prostate even as he gags her with his cock. She's always been focused on his pleasure, and he isn't sure why it surprises him that she is now.
He empties into her, making sure that she swallows every drop before pulling out with a thin web of saliva following him. He isn't sure why he expects her to look scandalised and horrified, because she only looks at him with as much love as she's ever had for him.
He scrambles off of her body, looking for a weapon, something he can hit her with. He needs to get away from her, needs to escape this place. He finds a wooden broom, and though it's not much, he's sure he could use it to bash her head in as long as he puts enough force behind it.
He puts his hand around the handle, expecting to look back and see Dahye scrambling for a knife- but he doesn't. She only looks at him with all the tenderness of a lover, turning her back to him, lifting her dress around her waist...
"Darling," she calls to him, beckoning him over, and he can't help but turn his back to the door, his body moving on its own to hers as if magnetised. She hasn't drugged him in a long time now, but he still finds himself rock hard every time he so much as looks at her, and he hates her for having ruined this one change for him.
Still, angry tears fill his eyes this time, and he grabs Dahye by the hair, forcing her head down onto the kitchen counter- but she still enticingly spreads her legs for him, and he can't help but push into her. It would be so easy for him to stab her from here. He sees a knife she was using to cut the tape from the tops of the disposable containers, knows he could plunge it straight into her back and end all of this.
But her body is so wet, warm, and tight around him. He can't so much as move a hand to pick up the knife when his hips won't stop moving for even a second. He feels out of control as his body thrusts into Dahye with a force that he hopes conveys how much he hates her, and how much he's going to kill her... But that still feels incredible around his cock. He can't stop himself.
He thrusts into her over and over and over, pulling pleased moans from Dahye's mouth, grunting himself with the exertion, feeling much sorer when he was before. Dahye grips his wrist- not to pull him off, but to ground himself, encouraging him to fuck harder, go longer, telling him over and over again how good he is, how good he makes her feel, how much she loves him.
And it does him in. He pushes into her, a choked sob as he comes inside her again, and he feels her clamp down around him to greedily hold everything in her body, milking him dry. But he's not done, and he hates that he isn't done.
He openly sobbing as he slides down her body, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He could have run. He should have run. Dahye is quick to follow him, throwing herself into his lap, kissing him all over, licking his tears away.
It's shameful how fast he is to pull her onto his cock, kissing her back, gripping her hip tight to encourage her into a fast, almost painful rhythm.
He could leave at any time, but his body won't let him. As much as Dahye loves him, he needs her. Even as wet tears stream down his face, he meets Dahye in hot, open mouthed kisses as she rides him, exchanging moans between them. He could run, really. At any time he could.
He doesn't, though. Dahye's high moans keep him rooted into place, and he barely registers as he comes again, her body eager to take every drop of cum he has to give her. He's tired, he just wants to lay down.
He flops back onto the floor, looking upside down at the door. He could run, right now. While Dahye is dazed, while she sits possessively on his softening cock. He watches the door even as she begins her routine of licking him clean, starting from his neck, his collar, his chest.
"We left your vibrator downstairs," Dahye mumbles vaguely, her tongue lapping the sweat off his skin. The sound off it is moist, wet- he feels horny all over again. "Do you want it?"
He hates himself, looking at the door, knowing how easy it would be to crack Dahye's head open, sprint down the street...
But he doesn't. All he does is nod.
All he really knows is that its been so long. So, so long... And yet, nobody has found him. Nobody has looked, he's sure. There would be so much evidence, and yet here he still is, in the same place after all this time. If someone were really, truly looking for him, they would have found him by now.
And it's a gutwrenching, heart-crushing realisation for him to realise that nobody truly loves him. That nobody cares that he's been gone all this time, and that nobody has put any kind of effort into looking for him. Dahye wasn't subtle. She wasn't conniving. She was smart, sure, but not even she can disappear from existence without someone noticing. Surely someone noticed.
But, they didn't care. Nobody cared enough to check.
Only Dahye. Dahye would give up the world for him. Dahye would do anything for him. If someone were to take him away, without even having to ask he knows she would tear apart the universe to get him back. All this time Dahye has told him that she's the only one who loves him the way he deserves, and its been so long but he's finally starting to believe it. He really does have nothing else left.
Which is when the panic sets in. There's nothing else left for him. The world doesn't care about him. Everybody else has left him for dead. Then there's Dahye, who bounds down the stairs with all the energy of a Golden Retriever, and throws herself into his arms the second she sees him. Has anybody else so much as uttered his name since he's been missing?
His ears prick up as he hears the door to the house open, hears pattering bare footsteps run across the floor, sees the basement door open, and watching Dahye take the stairs two at a time. She didn't stop to put her bag down, she didn't pause to take her jacket off; she's come straight down to see him as soon as she's stepped in the door. The only one who loves him.
She smiles with all the brightness of the sun as soon as their eyes meet, and he's so terrified of her- terrified of what she's done to him, and terrified of losing her. He opens his arms as she starts to towards him- his cuffs pulling tightly on his wrists, and she throws herself into them, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and littering kisses all over his face. The only one who loves him.
"I missed you so much," she says into his skin, breathless, and hot, angry tears fill his eyes. Why is Dahye the only one who loves him? Why is he still here? How does she have so much control over him?
He nods his head, having heard it all before, a broken sob escaping his mouth as he buries his face into her shoulder. If Dahye wasn't here, he wouldn't have anything. He would die alone in this basement with nobody ever caring to find him. If she were to disappear, he would have nobody.
He clings to her tightly, digging his nails into her skin, wanting to break her spine and crack her over his leg- but there's nobody else. Nobody else cares.
She only coos at him, stroking his hair. She plants kisses onto his head, comfortingly scratches his scalp, whispers sweet, loving words into his ear. The only who loves him.
Where she would usually undress him and have her way with his body- she seems to sense something else today, and rather than stripping him off, she lays beside him instead. She opens her arms, gathering him up and pulling him into her chest. She knows him inside out- that this is what he needs right now, that this is the kind of comfort he craves.
He sobs again as he realises how easily he could strangle her, snap her neck, leave her for dead and scream until someone found him- but what's the point? He would be alone. There's nobody else. There's only Dahye.
Like a child, he buries himself in her chest, openly sobbing- about the hopelessness of his situation, about his loneliness, about his isolation, about how he can't think of a life for himself anymore that doesn't involve Dahye.
What's the point in ever escaping this place? There's nothing left for him outside these walls anymore. He wraps his arms around her and sobs.
---
Dahye doesn't make mistakes. She's never made a mistake in all the time that he's been confined in this place. She's always poised, elegant, calculated- maniacal, isolating, insane- but she's never made a mistake. Not one as big as this.
He was cuffed to the bed today, as always, Dahye lovingly settled on her knees and lavishing wet, hot attention onto his embarrassingly rock hard cock. It's the only time she ever uncuffs him, so he can shove her down when he wants more, so he can grab her hair, so he can use her in any way he wants just so he can come. He'd had her pressed down to his very base, cock slipped into her throat, both trying his best to suffocate her, and wanting to come so badly- when the doorbell rang. It's not unusual for deliveries to arrive during the day, and she had made a pleased hum as he withdrew his dick from her face, rasping out that she had ordered a new stew for them both to try.
She had gotten to her knees, pulled her loose sundress back over her naked body, and run up the stairs. He heard her answer the door, he heard her speak to the deliveryman, heard her cross the floor with the bags, expecting her to come straight back down the stairs.
But she didn't. He heard her plod into the kitchen, heard her set the bag down, heard her start to pull out cutlery, bowls, little dishes for sides.
And he turned, breaking out into a cold sweat, to the unlocked cuffs that hung limply off the bedframe, his naked wrist. Dahye doesn't make mistakes, but this...
With wobbly, weak legs, he lifts himself off the bed, alert like a deer, his ears straining for even the slightest indication that Dahye is about to trot down the stairs. He's completely naked, still rock hard, and never been so terrified in his life.
He climbs the stairs one by one, avoiding the ones he knows that creak, avoiding the handrail in case the sound of his sweaty hands touching the wood alerts her and reminds her of her previous task. He reaches the top step where the basement door is already open- rarely closed and locked on days that Dahye spends down with him, and his feet feel polished wood for the first time in what feels like a decade. He hasn't touched anything other than the polish concrete of the basement in so, so long.
He peers out into the house, one that he's never seen before and only pieced together by Dahye's footsteps as they went overhead. It's not familiar, he doesn't recognise it, and the two of them could have absconded to the moon for all he knows.
He peers through a modest lounge, looks down the hall to what he assumes is one bedroom that he knows Dahye has never once used, and sees the front door. A simple deadlock. Openable from the inside. Nothing but a thin slab of wood between him and the outside world.
He looks down the other direction and spies Dahye's back, as she pulls out various plastic containers from a disposable bag. Stews side dishes, and what looks to be a small cake. She hums as she works, buzzing with excitement, and he can't help but feel his chest tighten and his cock throb as he watches her. Every movement she makes shifts her floaty little sundress, and though he knows every inch of her body, he's always found it so sexy when she goes out of her way to dress up for him.
Or, someone else? Did she dress up for the delivery man? Is he still here somewhere? Is all of this for him?
He takes a step towards the front door- when suddenly the floor creaks, and Dahye takes a curious look towards him, locking eyes with him immediately. He doesn't so much as give her time to open her mouth before he throws himself at her, forcing her to the floor, wrapping his hands around her throat. He could get out of here. He could run down the street and never come back.
He sits on her hips, pinning her to the floor by the waist, closing off her throat. He expects to need to protect himself against her hands, expects her to scratch at him like a cat- but she doesn't. He's sure she was surprised to see him, but she's never looked at him with anything but honey in her eyes. Though he's strangling her with the intent to kill her for good, she reaches out blindly, her soft hands wrapping around his still hard cock, and encouragingly, helpfully starts to jerk him off.
Wet tears fill his eyes, and he tightens his hands around her further, but can't help but rock into her hands. She treats him so tenderly, and she always has. She's never hurt him, never cut him, never done anything but give her entire life to try to make him happy. After a pause, he lifts one hand off her throat- it's shaking, unsteady, but he makes sure to keep the other pressed firmly onto her windpipe. He feels like a scumbag, but he can't help but automatically push her sundress up her body. He wishes it weren't the case, but he only feels more turned on to see her thin waist, her creamy skin, her soft, bare tits.
Her face has turned a deep purple, sweat starting to bead her forehead, but still she has made no move to attack him, only thumbed over his cock, teasing him, driving him insane with how well she knows his body.
He looks back towards the door, where sunlight pours in around the hinges, and back to Dahye's bare chest, her sundress, the way her mouth opens and he tongue hangs out as she slowly starts to suffocate. Saliva pools in her mouth as he makes it unable for her to swallow, and her tongue glistens invitingly.
He sobs brokenly as he turns his back to the front door completely, letting go of Dahye's throat, allowing her one full inhale of air before he kneels on her shoulders, forcing his cock down her throat. A wiser man would consider that a woman like this could easily castrate him, but he knows Dahye never would. She sucks him with relish, moans with pleasure as he fucks her mouth with a reckless abandon.
He holds her head still by the hair, trying his best to make her gag and choke- but even so, he feels her hand slide up his thigh, feels her poke around his ass as he thrusts, and sighs a little at the familiar feeling of her working her way inside him, spreading his legs a little to give her room to lovingly stroke his prostate.
Never once in her life has she teased him, denied him- she's never so much as said no to time, and his eyes start to prickle with tears as he realises he could have just killed her, could have just run- but what's the point? Who else is there out there for him but Dahye?
He makes sure to shove himself as far into his throat as he can make it as he comes, satisfied to hear the strangled sound Dahye makes, but equally giddy that she continues to stroke his prostate even as he gags her with his cock. She's always been focused on his pleasure, and he isn't sure why it surprises him that she is now.
He empties into her, making sure that she swallows every drop before pulling out with a thin web of saliva following him. He isn't sure why he expects her to look scandalised and horrified, because she only looks at him with as much love as she's ever had for him.
He scrambles off of her body, looking for a weapon, something he can hit her with. He needs to get away from her, needs to escape this place. He finds a wooden broom, and though it's not much, he's sure he could use it to bash her head in as long as he puts enough force behind it.
He puts his hand around the handle, expecting to look back and see Dahye scrambling for a knife- but he doesn't. She only looks at him with all the tenderness of a lover, turning her back to him, lifting her dress around her waist...
"Darling," she calls to him, beckoning him over, and he can't help but turn his back to the door, his body moving on its own to hers as if magnetised. She hasn't drugged him in a long time now, but he still finds himself rock hard every time he so much as looks at her, and he hates her for having ruined this one change for him.
Still, angry tears fill his eyes this time, and he grabs Dahye by the hair, forcing her head down onto the kitchen counter- but she still enticingly spreads her legs for him, and he can't help but push into her. It would be so easy for him to stab her from here. He sees a knife she was using to cut the tape from the tops of the disposable containers, knows he could plunge it straight into her back and end all of this.
But her body is so wet, warm, and tight around him. He can't so much as move a hand to pick up the knife when his hips won't stop moving for even a second. He feels out of control as his body thrusts into Dahye with a force that he hopes conveys how much he hates her, and how much he's going to kill her... But that still feels incredible around his cock. He can't stop himself.
He thrusts into her over and over and over, pulling pleased moans from Dahye's mouth, grunting himself with the exertion, feeling much sorer when he was before. Dahye grips his wrist- not to pull him off, but to ground himself, encouraging him to fuck harder, go longer, telling him over and over again how good he is, how good he makes her feel, how much she loves him.
And it does him in. He pushes into her, a choked sob as he comes inside her again, and he feels her clamp down around him to greedily hold everything in her body, milking him dry. But he's not done, and he hates that he isn't done.
He openly sobbing as he slides down her body, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He could have run. He should have run. Dahye is quick to follow him, throwing herself into his lap, kissing him all over, licking his tears away.
It's shameful how fast he is to pull her onto his cock, kissing her back, gripping her hip tight to encourage her into a fast, almost painful rhythm.
He could leave at any time, but his body won't let him. As much as Dahye loves him, he needs her. Even as wet tears stream down his face, he meets Dahye in hot, open mouthed kisses as she rides him, exchanging moans between them. He could run, really. At any time he could.
He doesn't, though. Dahye's high moans keep him rooted into place, and he barely registers as he comes again, her body eager to take every drop of cum he has to give her. He's tired, he just wants to lay down.
He flops back onto the floor, looking upside down at the door. He could run, right now. While Dahye is dazed, while she sits possessively on his softening cock. He watches the door even as she begins her routine of licking him clean, starting from his neck, his collar, his chest.
"We left your vibrator downstairs," Dahye mumbles vaguely, her tongue lapping the sweat off his skin. The sound off it is moist, wet- he feels horny all over again. "Do you want it?"
He hates himself, looking at the door, knowing how easy it would be to crack Dahye's head open, sprint down the street...
But he doesn't. All he does is nod.