Stay Hydrated

Sonny’s days, since his sudden abduction, have largely been a strange haze of sex, pain, and incredible boredom down in the basement with little to entertain himself. He feels like his mind is cracking, slowly but surely; he almost looks forward to visits from his captor. It’s a break, at least, from the intolerable darkness and silence he’s forced to otherwise endure. 

Right. His captor. The strange, tall man who Sonny has, against his will, almost come to like. It’s purely Pavlovian in nature; the man who hurts Sonny for no apparent reason but his own entertainment is also, incidentally, the man who occasionally rewards Sonny with the Freudian pleasure of orgasm, and brings Sonny the meals that keep him from simply wasting away in his bondage. Though, today those meals have been lacking in one important component. Water.

Sonny swallows thickly. His mouth is almost sticky, difficult for his own tongue to navigate. He can hardly produce saliva, and yet, he keeps swallowing it to try and lubricate his throat, the walls of which cling painfully to each other with their dryness. He blames himself for this, partially, singing songs to alleviate his boredom. But what else was there to do in the dark basement? 

Inwardly, he keeps singing, though no sound escapes his throat.

I know this hurts, it was meant to. Your secret’s out, and the best part is it isn’t even a good one…

He gets so lost in his own mind, the broken record player that can only remember pieces and fragments of the songs on his IPod, that he doesn’t hear the tell-tale footsteps until the dim overhead light comes on. Sonny’s captor has, yet again, brought him something. Sonny’s eyesight isn’t the best, so at first, he can’t tell what it is, until his captor comes closer. He dares not hope for relief as the water bottle is dangled before him. 

“Daddy brought you somethin’.”

Sonny’s eyes cast downward. There’s got to be a catch to the kindness- there always is. His captor only feeds him once a day so he won’t starve, only grants him the comfort of human touch if he can make it painful. He knows not to count his blessings until they’re right in his hands.

“Come on, don’t give me that look.” The man kneels before Sonny, unscrewing the cap from the metal bottle. “I know you’re thirsty.”

Sonny hardly dares to speak, but as he gazes up at his captor, he realizes he’s expectant of an answer. Sonny swallows again, tries to muster any moisture in his mouth. His voice comes out hoarse and raspy. 

“What do you want?”

The man grins at the question, holds out the bottle- not close enough to drink from, close enough to grab were Sonny’s hands not chained behind his back. 

“I want you to ask. Properly, this time.”

Sonny groans reluctantly. That’s the catch. This man, his captor- he has a title he wants Sonny to use. They both know it. He’s never told Sonny his name, not his real one. He only refers to himself as one thing. Daddy. Sonny has, at every opportunity, refused to use the title, wanting to retain his dignity. But now, staring down the mouth of the bottle, the tantalizing respite inside… he isn’t sure how much choice he’s given. This man practically has his life in his hands.

Sonny sucks up his pride, just this once. “Please, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” His captor grins and presses the bottle to Sonny’s lips. It tastes like relief, and Sonny eagerly gulps it down, accepting it like a blessing. He almost moans at the cold, wet sensation of the water pouring down his throat. Water has literally never tasted so good. It’s crisp and refreshing, like an oasis, and Sonny chugs every last bit of it he can get. 

Except- it doesn’t end. Even after Sonny’s thirst is well and truly quenched, there’s still water in the bottle. In his desperation, Sonny hadn’t quite realized just how large the bottle was that he was being offered. As Sonny opens his eyes, he’s almost shocked to see that the water level in the wide, clear plastic bottle has hardly gone down at all, and Daddy is still holding it to his lips expectantly. Sonny whimpers a protest, a soft sound low in his throat. Daddy tips the bottle a little.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Daddy teases, his free hand rubbing against Sonny’s thigh. “I got you a drink… it’d be awfully rude of you not to drink all of it.”

Sonny shudders as he gulps down another mouthful of water. That’s the real catch. It’s not enough just to push Sonny into using the embarrassing title for his captor; he’ll have to drink more than he’s entirely sure he can handle, like some bizarre punishment for being thirsty. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes he understood why, what the purpose of this was, if all Daddy wanted was to humiliate him in such a strange way that nobody would believe him if he managed to escape. But the more he thinks, the more everything hurts. Feels unbearable. Like nobody will ever come find him- like maybe nobody misses him at all. 

Sonny groans as he feels his stomach filling with water- it’s too much. It’s almost nauseating. The more and more he drinks, the more he becomes aware of the faint after-taste of chlorination from the tap. It makes him feel a little sick, and for a second he tries to stem the flow of liquid- rivulets of water drip from the mouth of the bottle and down Sonny’s chin, until Daddy pulls it away, a stern glower crossing his features. As Sonny catches his breath, he’s disheartened to see the bottle is only half empty. 

“You know, I was considering letting you out of the basement today, but…”

“No, wait, please-” Sonny lights up like a Christmas tree at the mention of being let out. It would be funny, he thinks, if it weren’t so sad, but just the thought makes his heart race. He could make a break for it. Someone might see him. Fuck, anything. Even just the sun on his skin. He needs it.

Daddy’s expression stiffens as he presses the bottle back to Sonny’s lips. “Then you’ll drink all of it this time.”

Sonny whines in protest, but… if he doesn’t, he knows he’ll be left to sit in the dark basement until tomorrow. He can push through. He opens his mouth and accepts the water once again, swallowing as quickly as he can force himself to. His body is begging him not to, already well past satiated, but he persists. He can feel the water sloshing in his stomach as he drinks more, the dull pain of his body struggling to accept so much fluid. His belly feels bloated and swollen, and as the self-conscious voice in the back of Sonny’s head tacks on, fat.

But despite it, despite himself, Sonny nears the end of the bottle. He takes his time, slowly, struggles to push down the last few mouthfuls of water until the bottle is empty. But he does empty it. Sonny gasps for air as Daddy takes the bottle back and screws it shut. 

“That’s a good boy…” The man, a softer look on his face now, reaches forward to wipe droplets of water from Sonny’s chin. Sonny can muster little more than a low groan in response, belly aching with the volume of liquid inside.