There was a little rectangular window in the cellar, up near the roughly-hewn floor joists.  The light that streamed through from outside was the palest blue, but blazing.

Beth let her eyes crack open to just little slits.  She was alone.

She took a deep breath, but stopped short as pain lanced an electric shock on her right side, from the bottom of her ribs.  She froze for a moment, then exhaled and tried to breath shallowly.

Her butt hurt.  It was sore all over, but mostly the soreness was in a tight ring around her butt-hole.  The thing itself burned, and there was an ache that reached up inside her from there.  She knew why, but was managing to avoid thinking about the “why”.

And then she felt a shift down there, like she had to go poop.  But there was no toilet or anything in this cluttered, dark cellar that smelled like damp earth.  Besides, the chain that held her wrist together was also wrapped around a some big, rusty thing, too heavy for her to shift.  An old steam radiator, maybe, that probably weighed more than she did.

But she felt like she really, really had to go, had to go poop.  But, as she thought about it, she realized it didn't make any sense.  She hadn't eaten anything since....  Not eaten anything for days now.  How many days?  She couldn't remember.

She tried to count the times it was light outside as opposed to when it was dark, but she was confused about when it had been night and when she had just passed out, or maybe had been dreaming.  And sometimes the light didn't come from the window, but instead came from the door at the top of the stairs opening... and she didn't want to think about that.

She gave up.  It didn’t matter.  She didn't care.  She was cold and mostly naked and never going to go home, and she was too tired and weak to care.  And why did she care about pooping on herself, anyway?  Her mouth rounded down into a frown, she closed her eyes and sighed a quiet little sigh as she relaxed down there and let herself poop.

But nothing happened.  The way it had felt she expected a big solid stool to come sliding out, but nothing did.  The pressure was still there, so she pushed a little, and there was a wet little "splorp" sound, and she felt something trickled down the side of her butt.  It left a streak of cold behind it.

Was she bleeding?  Her eyes popped open.  Bleeding out of her butt-hole?

She curled up into a tighter ball, and reached her bundled hands down between her legs.  She wiped up some of the trickle and brought it back up to her face. Then she had to roll up onto her back, to catch some of the light coming from that one little window.

It wasn't blood.  The liquid wasn't red, it was clear, with a streak of thicker white in it.  She sniffed at it.

It didn't smell like shit, which was what she was expecting.  It didn't even smell foul, like old dirty underwear or something.  No, what it smelled of was something she had learned to recognize over the past few days.  It smelled like cum.

He had fucked her up her butt so many times now that she was shitting his cum.  She rolled back onto her side, her face tightened into a grimace and tears squeezed out from the edges of her clenched closed eyes.  

Her brain went blank, scorched white with a blaze of horror when she heard the door at the top of the stairs open.  Her eyes snapped open and she saw the light on the far wall, a rectangle framing the shadow of someone coming down the stairs.

He was back.  She stared at the shadow.  Her mouth sagged open, and her breath became hoarse.

No, wait.  It wasn't him.  This shadow was shorter, and wider, and whoever it was moved slower, more carefully, holding onto the handrail with one hand while the other braced against the wall, or grabbed onto the post beside the stairs.

He came down off the stairs and stood on the far side of the cellar, hands on hips, beaming.  It was Mr. Lutz.  "There you are!" he said, like he was playing peek-a-boo with a baby.  "Our pretty little Bethany."

She stared at him. Her mouth fell farther open.  The other man, the uncle, she'd never seen him before... before all this.  He was part of this nightmare world.  But Mr. Lutz, he was from real life. From her real life.

Beth's brow knotted as she thought.  No, wait.  He had been there. He had been at the start of this nightmare. He'd been part of it....

Bethany Dreams — Part 2 of 3

Bethany Dreams — Part 3 of 3