A Little Game

Note: It's that time of year again! This story was written as part of a writing challenge for a kink group I am a part of. The challenge was to create an original story based on 6 prompts (5 randomly generated and one pre-selected). The prompts rolled for this story were "forced orgasm", "chains", "wallet", "threesome", "public sex/exhibitionism", and "flowers". I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments and constructive feedback are, as always, greatly appreciated =D

Also, please note that this IS a noncon story, in the noncon/reluctance category. This one gets pretty dark, so if that is not your jam, that's totally fine, and maybe this is one to skip. It seems that bit gets missed occasionally, so just wanted to give an extra opportunity for folks to know what they're getting into here, especially since most of my other stories on here tend to err on the side of aggressively wholesome with fairly good consent practices! I really hope I don't need a disclaimer about not engaging in any of these kinds of behaviours in real life for this one ;)

Content warnings on this one include: Non-consent, sexual slavery, mindfuck, human trafficking, sadism, humiliation, degradation, identity loss

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abby clutched the bouquet of flowers in one hand and ran the other through the pixie cut she was still getting used to as she peered nervously through the unbroken side of the glass door of the apartment building where her now ex-boyfriend lived. She hadn't really wanted to take the flowers, but Joe had asked her to take them, and not making him look at the flowers he had bought for her was the least she could do. In fact, she hadn't wanted to come here to begin with; the fact that he made good money as an electrician but couldn't get it together enough to bother moving out of this shithole apartment was one of the reasons she had broken up with him. He was a good guy, and she liked him well enough, but they had been dating for six months and she just couldn't see a future with him. They clearly had different priorities, if he was willing to live somewhere like this when he could easily afford to live somewhere nicer, and more importantly, safer.

She wasn't terribly familiar with the area; even though she had been with Joe for six months, she had only been to his apartment a handful of times, and always with him during the day. Abby had never been in this part of town alone at night. Most women in the city knew better than to be alone in this neighbourhood at night; most of the folks who lived here were decent, just poor, but it was also located roughly on the border between three separate gang territories and acted as the backdrop for all kinds of conflict and illicit activity. Joe would have insisted on coming to her place had he known she wouldn't be staying the night, but Abby had lied and agreed to stay when they had made plans as she wanted to break up with him in his own space. It just seemed like the decent thing to do. Yes, she was ending the relationship, but she still cared for him and didn't want to add unnecessary pain to the breakup. He wasn't a bad guy, just an incompatible one.

It had taken Abby longer than she'd anticipated to get up the courage to actually say the words. She had initially planned on doing the actual dumping several hours earlier so that it would still be light out when she left, but she had procrastinated. Joe had offered to let Abby sleep on the couch or call her a cab so she wouldn't have to walk even the few short blocks to the bus stop on her own, but she had politely declined. She didn't want to impose on him while he was clearly hurting and she was the cause. Not to mention the fact that the walls were paper-thin and his neighbours on one side were having uncomfortably loud sex while the neighbours on the other side screamed obscenities at one another.

"It's okay, it's only a few blocks to the bus. I'll be fine."

Looking through the glass at the sparsely populated streets outside, Abby began to regret her words. She briefly considered texting Joe and asking if he could walk her to the bus after all, but the guilt of asking a favour minutes after dumping him gnawed at her. Besides, he wouldn't be that much safer than she would as he walked back on his own. She thought about calling a cab herself, but she knew it would take forever for the cab company to find a driver willing to come out to this address (carjackings around here were not unheard of), and she didn't think she could stand waiting that long in the apartment lobby, which reeked of stale urine and cigarettes.

"It's only just after sunset, and there are still people out. If I'm going to do this, I should do it now," Abby murmured to herself in an attempt to psych herself up. "I just need to be quick about it."

Abby opened the door and took off briskly down the sidewalk. The late Spring evening air was cool and refreshing as she sucked it into her lungs; even laced with smoke from burning goodness knows what from the nearby factories, it felt heavenly compared to the stuffy stench of the apartment lobby.

One block down, four to go...

Abby tried to keep her pace steady, but not so fast as to draw attention to herself. After the second block, she turned the corner down the street that would lead her to the intersection where she could catch the bus by the main road. Abby noticed that this street was much emptier and more poorly lit as she left the residential blocks behind, but it was just as far to go back now as it was to make it to the bus stop. This street was more industrial, and the bus stop primarily served the factory employees who didn't live in the area.

Three blocks... only two to go...

All of a sudden, a woman burst out of the alleyway not far from where Abby was walking. Abby nearly took off running when the woman made a beeline for her, but she noticed the way the woman's stockings and blouse were torn, revealing the sheer camisole and now lopsided bra she wore underneath it, and the way her mascara streaked across her partially swollen face.

"Please... need... help," she gasped as she got closer to Abby. She looked pleadingly into Abby's eyes and tentatively reached for her hand that wasn't holding the bouquet. "Please, a man attacked me... I fought him off... I think he might be dead... please come!"

Abby, still trying to get her bearings in the situation and not being able to think clearly through the haze of adrenaline, allowed herself to be gently led into the alleyway. Together, Abby and the distressed woman crept tentatively toward the dumpster that the woman had pointed out. The woman was whimpering slightly, and Abby shushed her, wanting her to keep quiet until she could make sense of the situation. She wasn't entirely sure why she was following this stranger into a very dark alley, but she also wasn't one to leave a woman in distress.

She paused and whispered, "Maybe we should go back out to the street and call the police..."

The woman started to panic. "Please, no! What if I killed him and they arrest me, and the police don't give a shit about the people who live here, they'll probably kill me before even getting my side of the story, please don't call them, at least help me figure out how he is first..."

"Okay, okay, okay..." Abby shushed the woman again, not wanting to make too much noise in case the man

was

just passed out and the noise might bring him back to consciousness.

It was so dark... what had the woman even been doing in this alleyway to get attacked? Who in their right mind would have been here in the first place? Abby's sense was finally starting to catch up with her, and she didn't like the situation in which she had found herself one bit.

"Okay, I need some light, I can't see a thing. Pull your phone out," Abby instructed as she reached into her own pocket to do the same.

Before she could even wake the screen up, Abby felt her phone get knocked out of her hand and heard it clatter to the ground. In a panic, she struck out into the darkness around her with the stupid flowers, which were still in her hand. Why hadn't she put them down? She felt the flowers make contact with something and heard a metallic clang. Great, she'd managed to give the dumpster a good smack. Abby tried calling out for the woman, realizing too late that she hadn't even bothered to get her name. She struck out again frantically using the bouquet, which made for a terrible weapon, only getting empty air, but at least not beating up the dumpster again. As she whipped the flowers around a third time, Abby felt a huge hand that couldn't possibly belong to the woman wrap around her wrist and lift it above her head, prying the bouquet out of her hand and tossing it to the side.

Whoever had hold of Abby's wrist didn't even flinch as she kicked and punched at the figure. They simply went about their business of... Abby wasn't sure what, exactly, until she felt cold metal encircle her wrist, with a

click

of finality that sent a shiver running down her spine. Abby redoubled her efforts, screaming and kicking and punching with her free hand, but she may as well have been a mosquito trying to knock them over for all the effect it had. Effortlessly, Abby's assailant took hold of her other wrist and it, too, was clasped into its own cold metal shackle.

Even with her wrists shackled above her head, Abby continued to scream and kick. She wasn't going to give up without as much fight as she could muster. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she barely even registered the deep voice calmly telling her to "Stop that." A moment later, she felt her scream being cut short as a wad of fabric was roughly shoved into her mouth before it was quickly taped in place, leaving her gagged.

"Are you quite finished?" The deep voice spoke again, and Abby was beginning to be able to make out the looming figure standing in front of her.

Abby snarled as best as she could through the gag and continued kicking out toward the man who had at least a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her.

"Every fucking time," he muttered as he easily got a hold on her ankle and, bending her leg behind her, encircled a third shackle around her ankle.

He then fastened the chain attached to the ankle shackle to Abby's chained wrists with a carabiner, keeping her in a position that wasn't terribly difficult, but kept her right foot suspended off the ground, forcing her to balance on her left. Abby shook with rage and struggled, succeeding in only making pitiful grunting sounds through her gag and a loud clanging noise as the chains she hung from collided with the building's fire escape that they were attached to. Looking up, Abby realized that the fire escape was too high up for even the man, tall as he was, to hang shackles from at the same time that he was restraining her. No, the shackles had been prepared in advance...

"She's a feisty one, isn't she?"

The voice coming from behind Abby was chillingly familiar.

She felt hands messing around with the straps of her mini backpack that she used as a purse and gave another effort at struggling in her chains. All she accomplished was losing her balance and needing to use the shackles she hung from to right herself again. Abby froze as the man pulled a knife out of his pocket, somewhere in the back of her mind feeling almost insulted that he'd had a knife on him the entire time and hadn't even bothered to pull it out when overpowering her. She gazed at him perplexedly, her eyes finally starting to adjust to the low light, as he held the knife out toward her, handle first.

"Here," he said curtly.

The knife made more sense to Abby when she heard the voice from behind her respond, "It's a perfectly nice bag and the straps come undone- no sense in wasting it." Abby could practically hear the eye roll as the woman who had begged for her help and led her into this alley not ten minutes earlier muttered to herself "Pfft, men."

"If you're in such a hurry, why don't you get started on her clothes?" she added.

"Have it your way." He directed his attention to Abby. "If you don't want to get cut, you'll stay still."

Abby nodded her head several times quickly, focused only on trying to keep herself alive moment to moment. She hadn't even thought far enough to try to guess what the pair might want with her; she was simply in survival mode. She concentrated on the fact that it didn't seem like they meant to kill her- otherwise, why bother trying not to cut her? And the man looked like he could snap her neck with his bare hands if he'd wanted to. No, they had gone to too much trouble and had already had too many opportunities to do so to simply want to kill her. They had prepared this trap in advance for a purpose, but her mind was still racing too fast for her to even guess at what that purpose might be.

The woman behind her finished removing the mini backpack from Abby's shoulders, and Abby could hear her rustling through the contents. She hoped all these two wanted to do was rob her, but somehow, she doubted it.

Abby knew she'd found her wallet when the woman said "Well, that explains why the slut was stupid enough to fall for the old damsel in distress bit. She's an Eagles fan! Has sixty bucks on her, though. Want her name? Her driver's license is in here. She should've stayed in Philly, huh?"

Abby bristled at the insult, but managed to keep herself still; the man was working to cut through a particularly stubborn seam in her skin tight jeans, and she could feel the proximity of the knife to her skin.

"What?" the man asked, focused on his task. He then processed what the woman had asked. "No, I don't need her fucking name." He chuckled. "She won't be needing it anymore, either, where she's going."

That was probably the most ominous part of the whole ordeal yet. Abby's mind raced through the possibilities of what kind of fate was waiting for her that could have her losing her very

name

...

Abby snapped out of her paralyzing panic at the "Aha!" from behind her and saw the woman come into her view holding the backlit pocket mirror from her bag. The man finished cutting through her jeans, and Abby burned with humiliation in her helplessness to stop him from starting in on her undergarments. Still afraid to move, she held herself still, only letting out a small whimper through the gag as her bra fell away and her nipples hardened in the cool evening air. The woman rummaged around Abby's bag some more, finally pulling out the facial wipes she kept in there.

"Haha, you looked like the kind of stuck-up bitch who would keep face wipes on you."

Abby wasn't even sure exactly what the woman meant by that, but the woman busied herself with cleaning the mascara off her face. Neither she nor the man seemed to be in any kind of hurry. They didn't need to be, with Abby bound and gagged as securely as she was.

And nobody was going to just happen to stumble across the trio in a dark alleyway in this neighbourhood after dark.

Abby stared at the woman, trying not to think about the man currently cutting her panties to ribbons. Illuminated by the backlit mirror, it was hard for Abby to reconcile the woman with the sadistic grin in front of her with the terrified waif she'd met in the street. She'd already fixed her hair, her medium-length blonde curls now cleanly separated from the shaved third or so of her head, hardening her features slightly. It was obvious now that she was cleaned up a bit that the swelling in her face was mostly the result of a skilled makeup job, helped along by the mussed hair and the dusky twilight.

Trying desperately not to think about the fact that all she was wearing was her one Chelsea boot and sock on her free foot (the man had removed her boot and sock from the foot that was chained up off the ground), Abby observed the man walking back in front of her, having completed his task. He stopped right in front of her and looked her right in the eye, making sure she was watching as his eyes devoured every inch of her body, sizing her up.

He met Abby's gaze once again, and she did her best to stare back at him with as much defiance as she could muster from her position of being naked, shackled, and gagged. He returned a grin that told her not only that he knew exactly how afraid she was, but that he was savouring her fear. Continuing to grin at Abby, he put his arm around the woman, finally breaking his stare to pull the woman in for a deep kiss.

Of course

, Abby thought, risking a brief eye roll while the two were distracted.

They're a regular Bonnie and Clyde.

Breaking the kiss, Clyde, as Abby now thought of him, gave Bonnie a pat on the back.

"Great job, babe. We'll get a good price for this one. You are on

fire

lately!"

Bonnie beamed with pride, somehow managing to simultaneously sneer at Abby. Clyde, who seemed to be the one in charge, turned his attention back to Abby.

"So, you may have figured this first part out already, but since you were stupid enough to wind up in your current situation to begin with, I'll explain it to you anyway. We are human traffickers. We collect sluts like you to be trained up as sex slaves and auctioned off to the highest bidder, of which we receive a commission. Not that it makes much difference to us, but we're told some of the girls even grow to enjoy their new lives."

He chuckled at the look of horror on Abby's face, accompanied by renewed struggles.

"Do you really think you're going anywhere? As much as I enjoy watching you struggle, we're on a bit of a deadline here, and you're going to want to hear this next part."

Abby stilled in spite of the nervous energy that filled her body. She knew struggling was only tiring herself out, and if there was to be any way out of this, she would need her energy.

"That's what I thought. So as you can see, my partner here and I are very good at what we do. The girls we bring in tend to do very well and get a very high price, and part of the reason for that is that we like to play a little game. So here it is- you have exactly three options. Option one is we unhook you from that fire escape, toss you into the van we have around the corner next to the girl we picked up last night, and bring you over to The Warehouse for training. Option two is you cause trouble and we have to kill you. That's our least favourite option, but we've done it before. Option three is you play our game."

"The game is quite simple. We need to be driving away from here in... oh, about three hours, give or take, between avoiding the gangs, avoiding the cops, and making the drop off to The Warehouse on time. In that time, my partner here and I will do everything in our power to make you orgasm. If you win, if you can hold out, if you can make it the whole three hours without cumming, then we will simply walk away and take the one girl we already have. We'll leave you gagged with the key to the shackles in your mouth, chained to that fire escape, naked, thoroughly humiliated and needing to get some passerby's attention, yes, but you'll be alive with your freedom and your identity intact."

This guy is fucking delusional if he thinks I'm going to play his fucked up game.

"If, on the other hand, you can't control yourself and you cum," Clyde continued, "well, that leaves us back at option one. Into the van you go, and you can say goodbye to whatever life you've lived up until this point. You'll be given a new name, a new owner, a new purpose. You may try to fight it; that's perfectly fine. Lots of girls do. And lots of bidders take great joy in breaking those girls down. So you can be certain that once we drop you off at The Warehouse, your fate is sealed. You're actually very lucky we caught you tonight- you'll only be in the van a few hours. The other poor soul has been bound, teased, and denied in there almost a full day now."