I looked around at the blackness that surrounded me. How did I end up here again?
"I don't like it here," I said.
Out of the darkness came a low growling sound. If you've ever tried to take food from a dog's mouth, you know what it sounded like. Every time he spoke, the warmth of his hot, sticky breath consumed me. It made me shrink back in terror.
"You aren't supposed to like it here. Nobody is. And you know why you're here." His voice was deep in the vast, dark nothingness where I resided for the time being.
I cast my eyes to the floor, thinking about what the beast said. He was right. I knew why I was here and that I belonged here. It wasn't fair though. There were a million others out there no better than me. I wondered why they weren't here as well. I wanted to ask him, and then thought better of it.
Resigned to my fate, I closed my eyes and waited for my tormentor to touch me. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and my nipples became immediately hard and erect. I didn't like him being this close. I felt one of his hands reach around and tweak my nipple. The beast laughed, but not the sort of laughter that you hear at parties or anywhere else where the participants might be having fun. I hated having him touch me but there was something I hated even more; the way my body responded to his touch.
I should have run away or at least tried to. I should have screamed in terror. I should have been horrified by his appearance, his odor, his voice.
"Open your legs for me whore," he whispered in the dark. I obeyed because I'd learned long before that resistance only made things worse. As bad as this was, there WAS something worse...much worse. I shuddered at the thought of that alternative and then opened my legs in obedience. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't have to witness what was coming.
I felt the demon's hot hands separating my legs even further. As his hands began to explore my body, in my mind I traveled to a far away place where I was safe...where the thing couldn't find me. I loved being there. It was quiet and peaceful and nothing bad ever happened to me.
I hated his hands. They felt like sandpaper that's been warming in the sun for hours and hours. They burned my skin as he trailed them over my body, touching every inch of me, making sure that I remembered. He played with my nipples, tweaking them and pulling them with the small silver rings I wore. He always pulled to hard too see how much pain I could take before letting out a squeal.