Day One

Scarlet pencil skirt and matching blazer, Her heels click across the underground carpark, Briefcase swinging at her side.

Her crimson Shogun, the only car left, beeps, Responding to her digital commands, In the poorly lit cave.

Somewhere in the dim recesses a rustle blasts, Nemo halts and gazes about her with trembling lip.

A strand of short platinum hair drops over one eye,

All is still.

Nemo resumes and quickens her pace passing holy pillars by,

Until her hand grabs the handle and throws open her chariot's door.

Taking one last meticulous look,

She reassures herself that all is well and climbs in.

Briefcase slung on the empty seat,

She slams the door and smashes the locking mechanism.

Her cool demeanour betrayed by heavy breathing, And a secure sigh of relief.

Momentarily she closes her sapphire eyes, Failing to notice the darkened shadow rising in the back seat.

A heavy hand with soaking cloth smothers, She bucks, her hands grasp and pinch, Until Nemo stills.

Day Two

Smart suit replaced by a grubby shirt and shorts, She wakes in a poorly lit glass cage.

Medical curtains form a makeshift fortress, Hiding all that is beyond.

Her bladder aches, and lungs cry out, Until her voice dries.

Nemo pulls furiously at her hair and belts at the glass, Her hands bruise and tear, her endeavours futile.

Make-up streaks her porcelain face,

Her worn body slumps in the corner and waits.

Sobs dry, and at length he comes.

Long dark hair and eyes of the blackest abyss, And masked lips.

He unlocks the prison, large brass keys, Opening a glass panel as if it were nothing.

Her hands are cuffed to the front and chained. He drags his captor beyond the curtains to a sunless concrete basement.

In the candlelight she shudders, A hook hangs from the ceiling.

Nemo mutters soft unheeded pleas.

Chain raises and drops over the hook,

Stretching her scrawny arms above her dishevelled head.

From his tool belt he pulls a length of filthy cloth, Blinding her stinging eyes.

Cool air raises her skin, she shakes in cruel anticipation.

Thick hands ravage her shirt, ripping it open, She hears movement about her but cannot fathom his actions.

The first strike burns into her soul,

Thundering across her back, he punishes with leather strap.

Breath catches in her throat,

And the next strike delves into her core.

A lightning storm of punishment ensues,

Sweat pours from her brow until she feels no more.

Day Three

Barely conscious he drags her from her glass tomb, Back to the dungeon and hook.

Her failed bladder’s salty stench combines with her natural scent.

He leaves Nemo hanging to freshen her cage. Limp with aching arms she does not fight,

Even when the cold water berates her wicked flesh.

Dripping and burning in ice she hangs, He treats her wounds gently and dries her with tenderness.

She does not resist as he carries her back to her hell, And abandons his captive in squalid isolation.

The hours pass, he returns and blindfolds her,

Into the unknown she is led,

Humiliated as she relieves herself in his presence.

Fed and watered like a pet, her spirit quashed, His hands meet no resistance as they caress her subservient form.

Again, she is chained, again she is beaten, Stinging softens and pain merges with pleasure. Cries morph into moans and the touching resumes, Blindfolded and hanging, she does not resist. Her legs wrap coolly about his waist, Encouraging every thrust.

Her scream rings through the dungeon, Accompanied by his final sigh.

And she is returned to her cage.

Day Four

Nemo wakes.

Her red pencil skirt and blazer are neatly folded, Stacked on her brief case alongside water and soaps.

She washes and dresses.

The door is open.

She unlocks her briefcase and leaves payment, A hefty sum for services rendered as required.