Fuck you. Fuck all 44,362 of you. Every last damn one of you. I know everyone always starts with "read the first parts or you won't understand what's happening" but I say fuck that, and fuck you. What did you all reading the first parts EVER get for me and my friends?
Did any of y'all motherfuckers ever so much as try to find us? It's been FIVE YEARS.
Three vulnerable young women and we gave you a bunch of clues (well I did), the cinder block pattern, the region, even the names were real. "Wrack's until he releases you, or you find me?" I practically wrote you a goddamned map. But no. "Oh, so hot!" "I wanked off so hard to this story!" FUCK YOU.
You're getting your jollies off while we were being abducted and abused for the past half a damn decade. Fuck right off. And you self-righteous jerks with your "This is a fake premise. No one can be hypnotized against their will." FUCK YOU! Send me your email and I'll send you a tape. I have the receipts. You can see it happened, and I lived every damn minute of it for the last 4 and a half years. So fuck you.
****
Fine. I'm back. I'm angry about what happened to me. But in my calmer moments I know none of y'all are responsible for rescuing me. Heck, if Wrack thought my pitiful little clues would have given him away, he would have made me take them out before he made me post those stories anyway. At the beginning he used to ask me every week "Have you thought up any clever ways to escape?" And he compelled me to tell him. The first year I had at least one every week. I slowed down after that. By year three he only asked me once a month. And the fourth year I never had anything to tell him. At least I thought I didn't. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
****
If a paddle falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? I've spent the better part of half a decade wondering if I made the right choice. If I wasn't cognizant of my situation, would it matter so much that Wrack was a sadist? Would I have chosen differently? To be blank like Cassie?
Of course the answer is no. If I was blank then I'd still be there, with Wrack's paddle rising and falling, rising and falling. Rising and falling. Rising. And Falling.
Fuck. It's still hard to avoid repetitive patterns, they draw me in, they draw me down, they take me deeper. But in the end I beat them and I beat him. But it took a long time.
What kind of a sadist was Wrack? I don't rightly know. In the end I met a number of sadists; you could consider me something of a connoisseur. The thing was that I didn't have enough information to make an informed choice when he proposed it.
'You're going to be enslaved, do you want to be conscious of it or not?' That's an inherently sadistic premise. And Wrack didn't force my choice, which was further sadism on his part. Instead he made me spend a week mindless, then he let me remember it all. And then he let me decide which way I preferred. That is seriously fucked up.
****
I remember that moment like it was yesterday, even though almost 5 years have passed. And I remember what happened next too.
"Slide over here on your knees" he told me, "and you're going to take my cock in your mouth. You're going to slide your lips down it as slowly as you can, no teeth, and every extra millimeter that I sink into your mouth, you're going to sink a little bit deeper into my control. And when you're all the way under, I'm going to use you every way I want to for the next week, and then I'll wake you back up and you get to decide whether you really want to be conscious of what I'm doing to you or not."
My brain was reeling. A choice? Between conscious knowledge and unknowing slavery?? That was no choice. But if I could think this clearly, maybe his hold was weaker than he thought.
But his cock was filling my vision now, and I could feel the slight burn of our institutional-quality rug on my knees, and my mouth was slightly open, and then the warm tip of him was in my mouth, and time slowed down. Down, down, down. Kate and Callie fuzzed in my peripheral vision, and Wrack's breathing slowed in a rhythm too, a slow nasal intake of breath, and "good girl" on the exhale. Over and over, down and down. Eventually I felt the hot soft tip bump the back of my palate, and Wrack was talking again, but the words disappeared. And so did I.
****
When I came back to myself, Wrack had a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me, and I sat up. I was naked, my thighs ached and felt sticky, my head felt fuzzy. "It's time to decide," he said softly.
Decide what? And then it came back, all of it, all at once, in an overwhelming rush. He'd hypnotized my roommates, and then he'd conspired with them to hypnotize me. And then he'd broken into my dorm room and demonstrated to me that I was hypnotized. And now I had a choice. A terrible choice.
But something was wrong. The rug under my feet was soft and full, nothing like the gray abrader from my dorm. The lighting was soft and warm and subtle, not the glaring institutional fluorescent. And I was fully naked.
"What time is it?" I asked him. My mouth tasted like peanut butter, and the words came out slow.
"It's 6pm. And it's Friday."
"Oh fuck. What happened to the last... 6 days? What did you do to me??" My brain was groggy. None of this felt real.