It was dark, but not late when her silver Firebird pulled up outside her apartment. She'd forgotten to leave any lights on, and, of course, she never locked her doors--typical. Her nature was both too trusting and too certain of her own invincibility. She fumbled with the doorknob. Once she got the door open, she struggled inside, her arms too full with books to bother with the light switch.
She made it a whole three steps into the living room before she was seized from behind. She gasped in surprise as a hand grabbed her throat and an arm snaked around her waist. She tried to drop to her knees to escape her attacker, but her efforts only resulted in her being dragged roughly back to her feet by her hair. She tried to bite, to elbow him, but each time her attempts were thwarted. It was almost like he was toying with her, amusing himself. Suddenly, her mouth and nose were covered with plastic. She fought, tried to breathe. In very short order, her vision started blurring, and her efforts to struggle became weaker and weaker. And then she blacked out.
She awoke, naked, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Her hands were tied behind her back. Another rope was tied around her arms, farther up, joining her elbows in the middle of her back. Her feet were bound together as well, and more rope circled her knees. She lay on her side, her hair in disarray all around her. She wondered what had happened to her clothes and, strangely, attempted to suppress a hysterical giggle. She tried to look around the blindfold, but couldn't. Something leather encircled her throat tightly, restricting her breathing. Something else that felt strangely like the material of the panties she'd been wearing earlier was stuffed in her mouth and held in place with tape. There was a gentle rocking motion beneath her, and she surmised that she was in the backseat of a car. She tried to free herself surreptitiously, hoping to avoid detection by whoever was driving.
He'd been watching her in the rearview mirror the whole time, waiting for her to awaken. He smirked when he saw her move. "You might as well stop pretending you aren't awake, Miranda," he growled at her.
She stiffened. Just because she recognized the voice, it didn't make her feel any better.
"It's just as well that you're awake, anyway," he continued, "because we're here."
The car stopped. Miranda wondered briefly how she was supposed to go anywhere tied as she was. She heard a door open, close, and another open. He tugged her toward him, then lifted her not-so-small frame effortlessly, threw her body over his shoulder, and carried her inside. After closing the door behind him, he roughly pushed her to her knees in front of him.
"Here you are, slut," he snarled at her. He slapped her hard across the face, once, twice, thrice. Miranda whimpered, and her chin sank down to rest on her chest. He tangled his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back so she would've been looking at him if she could've seen past the blindfold. He ripped the gag from her mouth, pulling skin off her tender lips. She heard him unzip his pants, heard the fumble of cloth as he pulled out his cock. He pushed it to her lips, and she took it hungrily in her mouth. She started to bob her head up and down on his cock, but his hand on the back of her head stopped her. He shoved it into her mouth until her chin rested on his balls. She tried not to gag. Suddenly, her mouth was full of a warm, salty liquid that was decidedly not his cum.
My God, she thought, he's pissing in my mouth. She did gag this time, but her mouth was rapidly filling with his urine. He held a hand under her jaw to prevent her from opening her mouth and spilling. She choked, faced with the decision of swallowing or drowning. She swallowed. He wasn't finished, of course. She swallowed four more times before he was done. When he stopped, he pulled his now-wet cock out of her mouth and wiped it dry on her face. He looked at her and smirked at the black eyeliner smeared across her face, wet from the saliva and urine.
He slapped her again. "Filthy whore," he growled at her.
Miranda hung her head, grateful for the blindfold, her long, thin dark hair falling over her face and chest. She heard the faint clinking of a belt buckle and the unmistakable sound of the belt being pulled from the belt loops. She had just enough time to throw her head back out of the way before the first blow fell across her left breast. She tried to scream, but even without the gag, she couldn't make much noise.
He watched her face as he whipped her with his belt. Each lick brought an angry red welt to the surface of her soft, pale skin. She tried to struggle, tried to fight him, but her bonds greatly curtailed any effort she made. He pushed her shoulders, and she fell back, landing hard on the floor. Miranda tried to rise back to her knees, but his foot on her throat stopped her. He turned his attention to her stomach, whipping her mercilessly. The blows rained down, faster, harder, and she made a noise that was half-scream, half-choke. He worked his way down her body, the first stroke of the belt against her tender inner thighs brought forth a strangled sob from her lips.
"No, please," she begged, her voice a mere whisper.
He ignored her and continued to ravage her thighs with the belt. Already, bruises were forming on her breasts. Tears streamed down her face, in spite of the blindfold. He turned a deaf ear to her feverish pleas for mercy. She screamed and sobbed, the sounds coming out an odd mix between the two. He beat her thighs as hard as he could.
"Shut up, you stupid bitch," he ordered her, increasing the pressure on her throat.
She made a panic-stricken, gagging noise, trying to draw more air into her lungs. He lashed her across first her right nipple, then her left one. She wheezed out a cry.
Abruptly, he removed his foot from her throat and hauled her to her feet. The entire front side of her body was darkening with bruises. He untied the ropes binding her feet and knees and forced her to walk forward. She tried, with trembling knees, to obey. He guided her into the bedroom and positioned her beside the bed. He untied her hands, replaced the ropes with cuffs, and placed cuffs around her ankles as well. He selected two lengths of rope and placed one beneath one of her reddened breasts. She flinched.
"You remember this, don't you?" he asked her, pulling the rope tightly against her breast.
She wept in anguish as he wrapped the rope around first one breast and then the other. The rope bit into her soft skin, pinching her flesh, and further bruising the already-bruised tissues. He looked at the finished product. Her large breasts were deep purple and engorged. She thought they'd explode any minute now. Her turned her to face the bed.
"Lay down," he commanded in a voice that brooked no disobedience.
Miranda slowly, painfully, climbed onto the bed. She sat down and tried to lay on her back.
"Not that way, bitch!" he snarled at her and pushed her over on her stomach, on her swollen, aching, bound breasts.
She squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position.
"Be still," he ordered coldly.
He tied each cuffed hand to the headboard and spread her legs wide. Her feet, too, he secured, so widely that her hips began to cramp almost immediately. He forced three fingers in her cunt, not surprised to find her dripping wet. She gasped in surprise. He pulled his fingers out and wiped the dampness on her ass. Miranda strained at her bonds, and he turned away and dug for the riding crop. Before he took a swing at her with it, he stuffed her panties back in her mouth and taped them back into place.
He swung the crop hard, and it landed squarely across her ass. She screamed behind the gag and would've raised up off the bed if she had enough slack in her restraints. He struck her again, just below where he hit her the first time. A thin line of blood formed atop the welt the blow left. Miranda struggled hard. She couldn't get away from the cruel whipping, and the more she moved, the more her bound breasts throbbed.
"Please, no!" she begged behind her gag.
He paid her no mind, of course, and continued beating her. The crop stung her ass, back, and thighs. She fought, but to no avail. Nothing dissuaded him from whipping her. The whole backside of her body became red-striped and bloody. She believed it would never end. She burned all over, and the tears flowed freely down her face.
