She was one month out of high school and seeing as much of the world as she could before going to University. She wanted to visit New York City and Chicago before taking another fateful step toward adulthood. She was independent, and could handle herself, she told her parents. She needed this time to be free before she proceeded with her education, and was locked into the workforce for the next forty years. She stood outside out the hotel-room. The white-paint of the door was chipped and faded, and its brass numbers tarnished. The rain spilled down the pavilion over her, hammering the sheet-metal and rolling down the concrete platform. It speckled the pool at the center of the wrap-around building and the air was heavy with southern humidity. She was far from New York City, far from anywhere her parents, her friends; anyone would ever expect her to be. It was only appropriate. She swiped her keycard and entered the room. Freedom, she thought, hearing the lies she'd told her loved ones. She'd traveled from the crossroads of Europe to be everything but free.
She stepped into the darkness, closing the door behind her, only to whimper and recoil with a sudden clap of thunder from outside. Her hand shot to the wall, looking for the light-switch, but finding nothing. A cone of light spilled from the bathroom at the other end of the room, and she hurried to it, moving anxiously through the void of silent black. She heard nothing but her own dampened footsteps on the carpet and her heart, which she felt quiver frantically in her chest.
She reached the bathroom and shut the door behind her, taking solace in the light. A brass deadbolt was nailed crudely to frame, and she lifted her hand to lock the door, but stopped. She stopped, and lowered her hand back to her side, causing her breath to rattle with anxiety. No, she thought, he wouldn't want me to lock the door.
She placed her bag onto the sink and browsed through her clothes, eventually settling on an older pair of white, cotton panties and a white blouse. They were some of her cheaper, more expendable clothes, but the blouse hugged her breasts tightly and brought out the depth of her light tan.
She ran the shower and waited a few minutes until it became a decent temperature. The plumbing squealed and the water-pressure was weak, but she would make good use of her free-time before he arrived. It was a long trip, and maybe the water would calm her nerves.
The wait was all part of the excitement. She'd revealed her deepest secret to him only months before, and weeks later, the trip was set into motion. She'd warmed her parents up to the idea of paying for a trip to America, and spent many late nights thinking about, adding a fearful thrill that her fantasies had always lacked. She lathered her body with the hotel's complementary bottle of soap, forgetting a wash-cloth, and being forced to run her bare fingers across her slick flesh. She'd thought about this night hundreds of times, and she felt the adrenaline spill into her blood, stronger now than ever. The urge to slip her hand between her legs and massage her velvety clit was almost ingrained in her muscle memory. No, she thought, it belonged to him now.
She dried with a single cotton towel, pouting slight after washing her hair but forgetting to pack any of her appliances, like they'd work in the states, anyway. Her blonde locks were left hanging in a stringy, damp mess, and she didn't know whether she had time to reapply her makeup.
She opened the bathroom door, strangely comfortable by the lack of light now, and started her search for a lamp when she smelled an acrid smell of smoke in the air. She hesitated, heart racing again, and she looked toward the door through the abysmal darkness. The window in the far corner of the room, next to the door, was open, spilling the weak, orange flood-lighting from the pool area into her room. A lone, glowing ember hovered in the darkness, and the similar amber glow from outside was cast over half of his face.
She crossed her arms over her, freezing in place, feeling horrifically exposed in her underwear.
"Hey." She said, the words crawling their way out of her tight throat.
"Hey." He said back. His voice rumbled the room like the thunder outside, and he exhaled smoke with his words. The orange lights against his whispers looked like he was breathing fire.
"When...when did you get here?"
"I've been waiting." He said, snubbing out the cigarette.
So have I, she thought. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here."
He said nothing. His silence sent fear slamming through her veins. He was different. This was not that man she'd talked to for hours on end. He didn't exude anger or annoyance, but he didn't comfort her, either, didn't tell her it was okay, and she knew in that moment, it wouldn't be.
He approached her, eyes sweeping up and down her curvaceous form, as though his gaze pierced through the darkness. Lighting flashed outside, rocking the room with another wave of thunder and lightning the room for a blinding instant. She saw him only briefly, with brown hair flecked with wisps of blood. He was wearing a black, button up shirt. The first few buttons were open at the top and exposed a white-undershirt. When the light escaped the room, was standing before her, the sharp scent of menthol clinging to his breath. Her heart beat so hard that it hurt. She held herself even tighter; her knees were locked and nearly shaking. She felt his hands at the small of her back, finding the exposed midriff between her tank-top and panties. She held her breath, preparing for the pain, but instead, he pulled her against his hard chest and buried his face into her neck.
She loosened her arms from her chest and wormed them around his back, as well, accepting the loving embrace with shock and excitement. His lips were damp against her neck and his skin was blazing hot, mingling with the heat that radiated from her own. His arms were terrifyingly strong, holding her firmly in place with absolute ease, but with gentleness she didn't expect. They stayed like this for well over a minute, and but her heart didn't ease it's manic pace.
He removed his face from her neck, and she felt his breath play against her lips.
"Is this really what you want?"
She hesitated. She'd already gotten what she wanted. This was already a night that would always linger in her mind. But she'd come for a night that she'd never forget, and he'd promised her one.
His face was so close that when she muttered, yes, her lips brushed against his.
He backed away from her and circled around the bed. He found a lamp on the night-stand and illuminated the room with warm light. He sat at the edge of the bed, and nodded to the corner of the room, toward the chair.
"Bring that over here."
She looked from him, to the chair, and then nervously moved to it. She slid it easily across the carpet, bending low to gain leverage, but stopped when she felt his hands on her hips.
"Good." He said, holding her for a moment.
"There's a bag beneath the bed. Get it."
She turned and looked to him, and then looked to the floor. Her gaze swept along the darkness beneath the bed- frame, and his finger appeared into her view, aiming downward sternly between his legs. "Down there."
She dropped to her knees, and then bent over deeply to reach beneath the bed. The bag was nearly on the other side, and she had to squeeze herself between the depressed mattress and the musty carpet to reach it. He shifted his weight, putting pressure on her back, just after she grabbed the bag. Her bottom half was exposed and he took full advantage of her position, running his fingers up her thighs. Hesitated, feeling the lines trace up her legs and her ass, until he reined an open hand onto her left cheek. She gasped with shock and pain, feeling the nerves prickle and shriek. The sudden agony did nothing for her, but he roared, hurry up, and slapped again, causing her to wince, but smile with unfiltered delight.
She wormed her way back to open air, stinging, as she rose to her feet.
"Open it."
She obeyed, unzipping the black-duffel bag, and finding a coil of rope sitting at the top.
"Take that out."
She obeyed, removing the nylon bundle, but hesitated when she saw what it had previously hid. At the bottom of the bag sat a small assortment of menacing, steel tools of various sizes and shapes.
"What is this?"
He stood and put a single hand around her throat. He squeezed tightly, enough to cause her legs to lose their strength with panic, and to cause her breathing to become a whimper.
"Are you here to ask questions?"
She tried to speak, tried to shake her head, but his grip wouldn't allow it. His fiery eyes brightened more, and he squeezed tighter. "Answer me!"
