A/N: Hello everyone, once again thanks for all the add-ons and reviews. This chapter is special because it was written entirely by someone else. That's right, we have a co-author. I would like to introduce helluvabell, who also has a story posted on this website as well as others. Like I told her, she has cleared the cobwebs and helped me refine the story itself, so a very huge thank you! Before, the story could have, and was going everywhere; but now with her help, we have a more glued on storyline that we're super excited about. So please review and let us know what you think of this chapter.

!Warning!

This chapter contains material that is not suitable for younger than 18. Some might not like the content of this chapter but it is necessary. There is a concept of taboo. This is real to some people, not in these conditions, but real non the less. We are not saying that their way of life is wrong or right, because to each their own. This is just the way that these characters are and their opinions are their own, no judgement from either of us authors. So please read at your own discretion and hopefully you'll be able to see it for what it is ... fiction.

RPOV

It all starts with a bath. I think its strange that a grown man wants me to wash his body, but as long as I'm not being smacked around, I won't complain. Baths lead to spankings, and spankings lead to 'rewards.' I should feel disgusted with the things he has me do. It's sick and twisted, but it could be worse.

So, I play his games.

I slowly drag the wooden hair brush though my blonde locks as I look at my surroundings. His room is cleaner than where the girls are kept; there's a bed and desk, spartan but clean. He even has his own bathroom. There's no privacy in the girl's room, only a pail in the corner that we all share. People used to tell me what beautiful hair I have. I'm lucky it hasn't been chopped off like some of the other girls here.

Splashing from the bath tub pulls my attention back to my 'little' man, and I smile softly at his childlike behavior. When he smiles, the sight of his dimples makes me want to smile along with him. Walking to the tub, I say, "Emmy, you need to be a good boy for Mommy. Quit splashing around. Or do I need to take you out of the bath?"

He casts his beautiful blue eyes down and whispers, "But I'm still dirty."

I lean over the side of the tub and say, "Would you like Mommy to help you wash?"

Without saying a word, he nods his head. I take the washcloth from the sudsy water and slowly drag it over his flesh. He's large and built, the light bouncing off his wet, well-defined muscles, and I hate it. I hate that I could be attracted to a man who helps keep me in a place where I'm hurt repeatedly. I hate that I look forward to our time together. I hate that when I return to my friends, they look at me with pity in their eyes, thinking my silence means I'm being hurt. I don't deserve their pity; Emmett never hurts me. He never chokes me or hits. He doesn't get off on hearing me scream like the others do. He only asks me to take care of him and love him.

But I can't love Emmett.

He's one of them.

He makes me touch him… like I'm doing now.

He shivers as the washcloth dips lower down his ripped abs. It's weird hearing a man his size whimper. But I'll make him whimper, just like I'll end up drying his tears when he needs me to hold him and rock him to sleep.

"Mommy, it feels funny," he whispers, his body jerking when the fabric brushes across the purple crown of his hard dick.

"Have you been a good boy today?"

His strong shoulders slump and he mumbles a no. My eyes flood with tears because when Emmett has been bad, it means that he used another girl or worse—it means that another girl was probably brought to this hell. My chin trembles and I fight back the tears that want to fall.

"Please don't cry, Mommy. You can give me spankings, and I'll be a good boy for you."

The tears fall at his words. It's all a fucking game to him. The mind-fuck he puts me through, for what? To get off.

"Stand up," I say, wiping away my tears.

He plays the part of the good boy and I hate the way my eyes rake down his massive body. His beautiful cock twitches when my gaze settles there. It's not fair. It's not fair that he should be so beautiful. It's not fair that I couldn't have met him in a different place.

"Mommy, are you mad?" he asks as I hurry in toweling him off.

"No, just disappointed." How cliché. Isn't that what mothers are suppose to say? I hate that he's taken a dream of mine and perverted it.

If I ever escape, I would never be able to have children.

I would never be able to wash my child, or discipline them, or rock them to sleep. My thoughts will always go back to the times I spend with this large man-child.

He's taken that from me.

Emmett cries out in pain as the hair brush connects with his rear. I'm so lost in my thoughts I don't even realize that I began his punishment. My strokes continue but with less force.

Maybe that's why I go along with his game. I know that I'll never leave this place, but at least I could have this. Whatever this is.

My tears are falling in a steady flow, and I feel Emmett scoop me up in his powerful arms. These arms could crush the life from me. I've seen him squeeze the breath out of girls who fight back, seen him fling girls around that bite and scratch him, but he's never done that to me.

When did I stop fighting back?

I'm still crying when he rocks into my body. His cock feels so wonderful, filling me and reaching places that I didn't know existed. I hate that it feels good. I loathe that he's the one that makes me feel so good.

"Please don't cry, Mommy," Emmett says as he trusts faster into me. "I'll be good for you."

I gasp as he pulls my body closer, his hungry mouth searching for my nipples. He whimpers around a hard nub, and I feel an orgasm stirring in my belly. The bastard is going to do it again. I'm going to come on his cock while he plays his sick game. Despite it all I pull him closer.

My muscles contract and I feel the walls of my pussy milking him. He's so damn good at that. He grunts his release and I feel the heat of his semen as it floods my core.

Emmett's body trembles and he whispers, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry I made you cry."

My body cools, even though his larger one is still pressing half of me into the mattress. His head is resting on my stomach, his reddened bottom up in the air. The sweat that was worked up dries in the cool room, leaving my skin feeling itchy and gritty. I want him off of me. I want to take a bath and wash it all off from my body.

His fingers tickle my sides as he draws patterns on my skin. "Why do you always cry, Rosie? Am I really that bad?"

If I say "yes," he'll distance himself from me, and during our time apart the others will take advantage and use me. They play different games.

"No," I whisper. "You're not. Can you take me back now?"

"Don't you want to wash up first?"

"No, I want to be there for Bella and Alice."

I want to be there to hold Bella's hand while she wakes up after the drugs Edward's given her wear off. I want to be there incase one of the other girls try to take Alice's food again. She won't fight for it like she should. Emmett nods his head, understanding my need to protect them. He told me it was one of the reasons he picked me to play with.

That's not the real reason I want to leave. I don't deserve to bathe. I've acted horribly and should be covered in filth. The other girls are covered with our tormentors' cum. What makes me better than them?

If anything I'm worse. I'm worse because a part of me does like Emmett.

I'm worse because somewhere along the way I quit fighting back.

When Emmett returns me to the room, I notice Bella's missing. Alice is huddled next to the back wall, and I notice a couple of the other girls are looking at her and whispering. Her tiny body is shaking and I know it's because of Jasper.

"What the hell are you looking at?" I spit at them.

Their eyes widen and they scurry away like vermin as I take my place next to Alice. None of the other girls can be trusted. Desperation stirs and the survival mechanism kicks in. You'd think we would all be smart and band together, but these bitches would sooner turn on each other, happy that they were briefly spared pain and degradation.

Alice says nothing; she simply leans her head against my shoulder, but I feel her body relax. She knows I'll look after her.

The door opens and the girls in the room back against the wall. Nobody wants to be singled out. We're in luck because it's not one of them— it's Bella.

She slowly walks over and sits on the other side of me. The bruises around her neck are visible, and I hate Anthony or Edward or whatever the hell his name is for putting them on her. "Are you okay?"

She nods her head. "Esme was taking care of me," she says.

I should be happy that somebody else cares for my friend, but I don't trust Esme. She may not be one of them, but she sure as hell not one of us. Not only that, but her husband is the one that gives Edward the drugs to use on Bella. They make her more defenseless and leave Bella feeling confused and no less used.

I don't understand. They're older than us, and they're not prisoners like we are. Why won't they help us? Emmett rarely talks about them, but when he does, he reverts back to his "little" persona. He says they're the good guys.

I listen to Bella as she smiles and talks about Esme.

I keep my mouth shut.

A/N: Don't forget to review. Thanks!