Lacey has needed something real, something intense for years, and now Darkwood is ready to provide it to her and at the same time, reap some long-deserved revenge. (M/F, abduct, BDSM, tort, inter).
The story you are about to read is a work of total and pure fiction. The names do not refer to any actual persons, living or deceased. As a work of fiction,
the content is not intended to be considered, viewed or understood as an actual plan or attempt to commit the deeds described, nor is it to be construed, interpreted or understood to be a confession of commission of any unlawful act.
It had been too easy. Darkwood was amazed how easy it had been. She had come out of the club, stiletto heels clicking against the dull grey concrete.
The parking ramp he followed her to was deserted. No security cameras were in evidence, and he surprised her as she prepared to unlock her car. A quick blow to the base of the blonde's skull dropped her to her knees. The gagged bondage hood and handcuffs were applied within seconds, filament tape wrapped around her elegant ankles
He scooped up the keys from the floor and unlocked the trunk, unceremoniously dumping the semi-conscious woman inside. Darkwood smoothed his thinning hair, grinning broadly as he slammed the trunk and climbed into the vehicle, pausing only to retrieve his victim's purse and discarded jacket before closing the door.
He had always wanted to drive a Mercedes 385; his own tastes and desire to keep a low profile put him into a late model mid-sized Toyota.
. The car was luxurious and handled well, riding smoothly past the airport and into the darkened countryside. He knew that the woman, although terrified in her confinement and abduction was nonetheless enjoying a smooth ride on the thick carpet which lined the sedan's trunk.
Darkwood pulled the car into an unpaved lane. Although he had made the drive numerous times in preparation for this trip, he nearly missed the driveway, which was screened by mature spruce and birch trees.
The lodge was a relic from the 1830's, when it had served as a fortified trading post for the fur traders, loggers and merchants who made their fortunes in the north country. The two-story structure was made of thick fieldstone and exposed timbers, the steeply-pitched roof was braced by a high stone chimney to the north and a stone and wooden turret facing the river to the south. The building was large, it's windows defensibly narrow and set high in the fortified walls.
He pulled her struggling from the trunk. "Settle down woman!" he snarled, shoving her roughly to the ground. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. I don't wanna kill you, but I'll do what I have to do. Now, you're gonna be very still while I carry you in, and you'll be very cooperative when you're inside, and we'll have a very good time indeed.'
She lay very still as he approached, the cool earth against her bare left shoulder. The strapless gown had been torn downward during her struggles, and her left breast was now teased and caressed by the cool night air. The slave hood not only gagged her mouth but also blindfolded her. She knew no sensation save the night air against her bare skin, the sounds of the man's voice and of her rapid heartbeat in her ears and the scent of spruce needles. She felt him grasp her and lift her to his shoulders as if weightless.
Darkwood carried the woman into the cavernous main room of the lodge and dumped her gently onto the cold wooden floor. He closed the door quietly, shutting out the pale moonlight that had followed him into the outpost. He lit a gas lantern hanging near the door and regarded his prize.
She stirred on the cold floor, the rough wood clawing at the tender flesh of her exposed breasts. The dress was ruined now, filthy and torn. The handcuffs encircling her slender wrists were now biting painfully into her strained flesh, the hood now giving her a panicked feeling of claustrophobia and suffocation. She was terrified and had in fact peed in the trunk of her expensive car. As she wore no panties under the gown, it had itself absorbed the urine which her nylons could not. She was ashamed of the odors she was producing, her piss and the stink of her fear-sweat. She felt a toe of a hard boot dig into her side and roughly roll her onto her back.
Darkwood took his time lighting the fire. The woman now had goosebumps on her bare arms and breasts, and her pink nipples stood hard in the silvery light of the Coleman lantern. He grinned again as he kindled the cozy fire in the big stone fireplace. When the fire had warmed the room, Darkwood walked to a nearby room adjoining the space where the girl now lay sprawled topless on her back. Soon a generator hummed to life and the white glare of the lantern was replaced by the amber light of several well-placed halogen spotlights. The big man extinguished the lantern, it's mantle going first orange and then gray as the lamp hissed into silence. "All the comforts of home," he smirked as he approached. "And all the pain."
She trembled as he lifted her onto a rough wooden table. Darkwood straddled her just below her rib cage. He unfastened the cuffs and pulled her hands roughly above her head, quickly encircling her bruised wrists with heavy silk cord and fastening them to a ring bolt at one end of the table. "The original frontiersmen called this a squaw table. They would take native women, usually captured women traded by members of warring bands for whiskey, cotton cloth and knives. The native woman would be sacrificed, in a sense to the sexual frustrations of her white captors. Darkwood knew the legends to be true; the configuration of the table could have served no other purpose.
He used his razor-sharp Spyderco knife to cut the filament tape away from his captive's ankles He forcefully spread her long, athletic legs and secured each ankle to a cuff which slid forward or back on a guiderail made of hand-worked iron. He used his knife to cut the rest of her clothing from his new toy's body, exposing her shaven cunt and flat, trim belly. Her beautiful breasts were full and perfectly round, her nipples rosy in the flattering light.
Darkwood let his eyes flick to a TV monitor to the side of the antique rape table. The video display now showed changing exterior views from all sides of the lodge. The night vision enhancements he had made to the system were working perfectly, and he saw no approaching dangers. Later, the same monitor would be used to view the video tape from the interior cameras, one of which was directly above the captive woman. Darkwood smiled at the thigh-high black stockings that sheathed the elegant legs spread wide on his slave-table. For the moment he left them in place; the stockings gave a certain aesthetic elegance to the scene before him.
Darkwood had purchased the lodge with cash some ten years before, knowing that this night would come. Although still vigorous and handsome, Darkwood was now 55. He had fallen for this woman ten years before, when she was only 20. He had watched from a discreet distance her marriage to a wealthy Arab oil pasha; he had watched the little accident he had arranged take the man to Paradise. He had watched her spend her widow's inheritance with abandon, seeing few men and apparently loving none of them.
Now she was his. She had asked for this directly; her request was plain and clearly stated, "Make me feel something, Darkwood. Anything." Tonight, he knew she would feel everything.
The big man used a complicated remote control, keying a long sequence of numbers. Instantly, the interior video cameras were on the display, each of the four cameras occupying a quadrant of the 32-inch high definition screen. He made another seven keypresses, noting the four digital recorders as each began to capture the view.
