Abduction

The moment I walked into the kitchen, I knew something was wrong. Later, I determined what it had been, that triggered the fine hairs on my neck and arms to rise and a jolt of adrenaline to sing along my nerves. In outward appearance, the modest kitchen, located in the center of the house, didn't seem occupied or disturbed. I just knew I wasn't alone.

Turning swiftly back toward the exterior door to the garage, my mind already had the priorities in order; keys in hand, get in car, lock doors, drive away, call police.

A nice plan. I almost made it.

I vaulted into the car, straining to be quiet, listen for telltale footsteps of pursuit and get the keys in the ignition all at the same time. As I was turning over the engine and reaching for the overhead button that rolled up the garage door, a razor edge emerged silver-quick at my throat, and I froze in my seat.

"Turn it off."

The man's voice was menacing and the knife pressed under my chin was hot, as if he had carried it in his hand or against his skin, waiting for me. I drew in short, frantic breaths through flared nostrils, slowly turned off the car's engine and put both hands on the steering wheel. Adrenaline continued to flood through my body.

"What do you want?" I asked, shakily.

"Rules, sweetheart. Here they are, and I'm only going to say them once, so pay attention. Number one. You do not talk unless I ask you a direct question."

"I..." the moment I started to speak, the blade's point pricked the sensitive skin under my jaw. I hissed a startled breath, straining my head high and hard against the headrest. I felt a tiny rivulet of blood begin to creep maddeningly down my neck.

"I suppose I should have started with what happens if you break the rules, but I think you have a pretty good idea now, don't you, sweetheart?" His voice was too close to my right ear. He sounded vaguely muffled, like he might be wearing a mask. I sidled a glance at the rearview mirror, but it was canted at an odd angle and I couldn't see anything.

"Number two," he continued. "You must obey my directions, quickly and calmly, as soon as they are given." I noticed his speech had fallen into a rhythm, almost as if he had rehearsed the words over and over. That meant one of two things to me; he had either done this before with others, or I was the subject of an intense, pre-meditated fantasy. The blade eased from my throat slightly, and I concentrated on keeping my body from trembling.

"Number three. You will not attempt to signal outsiders for help, or try to escape. Believe me, I know what you'll try, and it will only hurt you. And lastly..." He paused, lifting a lock of hair from my shoulder. There was an audible indrawn breath as he inhaled, savoring the smell of my expensive shampoo.

"You will call me master."

Having no choice but to comply, I did as I was bidden. We were an hour on the highway, headed north into Virginia. We were still in our places, but I had been ordered to pass my purse to the back, to keep my hands on the wheel at all times, and not to touch the rearview mirror. I had heard him rifling carefully through the contents of my purse and noted the soft chime of my cell phone being turned off.

Other than driving directions, he had remained silent. I tried not to think about the rules, focusing on who might report me missing and how I might escape. There was plenty of time to contemplate running the car off the road or into another vehicle, but traffic was light and as each opportunity presented itself and passed, I just couldn't bring myself to such drastic steps. Not yet.

As I drove, night caught us, a Cheshire moon rising from the horizon, glinting through acres of swampy trees. Between rural exits, I was directed to slow down and turn off onto an unmarked track, well- lined with new gravel. We bumped along and I felt him lean forward again, in anticipation, I guessed. His eagerness for the event made me nauseous, and angry, and rash.

Enraged, I viciously slammed on the brakes, skidding us nearly head-long into a tree, and keyed the doorlock release. His grunt of surprise followed me out the door, and I flew back down the path toward the highway. I barely heard his booted footsteps over my panicked, ragged breathing. Loose gravel is like quicksand to high heels, and I didn't get very far before his arm, strong as banded steel, snaked around my waist and snatched me off my feet against his chest. He carried me bodily back to the car, ignoring my futile screams and cursing. For my trouble, all I scored were a few nail marks on his forearms and a brief glimpse of a ski-mask covered face.

As we reached the driver's door, still standing open with inviting yellow lights, he set me back onto my feet, spun me around to face him, and cuffed me hard across the cheek with his fist, rocking me back against the door frame. A flash of light and a bloom of intense pain from my abused eye and face dazed me. He bustled me into the car, passenger side this time, got into the driver's seat, and we moved back down the path, away from the highway, and freedom.

The house was a converted government utilities installation. The heavy concrete edifice had only a few small clerestory windows, solid steel doors and smoothly worn linoleum checked floors. The former offices had undergone a functional conversion to living spaces. I only caught a glimpse of the kitchen and another room lined with bookshelves before I was pushed unceremoniously into a small, gray cell. He slammed the door, leaving me in utter darkness, as I screamed and beat on the steel paneled door with my fists.

Incoherently, I pleaded for a few moments, tearfully begging for release. The hiss-click of an overhead speaker sounded and I instinctively stopped to listen, my eyes wide in the blackness.

"I am counting the words you utter without permission, child. Each one will require a penance."

His voice sounded tinny in the ancient public address speaker, but the impact of his threat stung and I clapped my hands over my swollen lips. Swallowing my panic, I shook my head hard, hands in fists, trying to regain control of myself. I took some deep breaths, felt my heart slow to a more reasonable pace and made a decision. I wanted to live, so I would chose to follow the rules while I gained more information on how I could escape. I took him by surprise before. I could do it again.

He let me stew for a long, long time. I noted the smell of bleach and mildew, and the absolute denial of exterior light or sound. I suddenly felt bone-weary and unable to move, so I sat on the cold concrete floor and dozed.

The lights were on some sort of timer, and when they flared unexpectedly to life, waking me from my huddled crouch by the door, I got a look at my new amenities. The room was narrow and long, approximately eight feet wide and thirty feet long. The walls were concrete block painted a pearly pale pink, and were at least twenty feet high. There was no bed, just a thick microfoam pad on the floor, the expensive kind invented by NASA. I pushed my palm into the pad and it held my handprint for several seconds. Also at this end of the room was a steel sink with an automatic sensor. I waved my hand under the faucet, triggering a short trickle of water that ceased flowing when I removed my hand. A steel toilet sat next to the sink. It too had an automatic flushing system triggered by a sensor.

Maneuvering toward the other end of the hallway-like cell, I frowned at a series of rusted steel rings positioned symmetrically on either side of the corridor at varying heights. Some were far above my head. Looking back, I noticed that there was a similar ring hanging from the wall near the foam mattress. The far end of the room ended in an open, tiled shower section with a sophisticated set of sprayer heads on all three walls, each able to be repositioned individually. It looked newly installed.

The strangest object in the room was the hook. It was some sort of industrial hook the size of my outspread hand, attached to a retractable cable winch. The strange part was that it was mounted to the ceiling. The grey pitted hook hung down ominously on a few inches of slack cable, swaying tentatively in the air pumped in by a nearby vent. The vent was covered by a sturdy metal grill. The grill looked new. The hook and winch did not.

I shuffled back to the faucet and cupped a palmful of water, sniffing carefully before I drank. The trickle was tepid but palatable, and I gulped down several swallows. I washed my hands and tear-stained face, drying both on the hem of my heavily-wrinkled silk blouse. There was nothing else to do but sit on the mattress and wait, so I did.

Two more cycles of the lights passed with not contact and I started to panic. My stomach rumbled loudly and I wondered if I was going to be left here to starve. Only fear of repercussions kept me from asking questions or begging for answers from the speaker high up on the wall. Eventually, I drifted off to an uneasy sleep again, my head pillowed on my bruised hands.

The next time the lights turned off, a red light came on. Bathing the cold room in a baleful red glow, my cell took on the ambience of a slaughterhouse. A heavy metal lock cycled on the door and I scuttled against the wall. The man in the doorway was dressed in dark clothing of a military style, BDU pants tucked into tall black boots and a dark t-shirt. He carried a bulky canvas duffel bag, which clanked when he entered my room and set it on the floor. He stood, hands casually resting in his pockets as, amazingly, the door behind him closed slowly, mechanically, then cycled the lock shut with a loud thunk.

I studied his face in the reddish light. Tanned skin covered high cheekbones in a smoothly oval face. He was handsome, with a small, well-formed mouth and broad forehead that implied intelligence. He had short dark hair and a precisely sculptured goatee, but there was nothing prissy about this man. I inhaled deeply as we eyed one another, and I caught his scent, an underlying musk that was more an extension of his presence than the cologne. It was intoxicating and familiar.

I remembered him now. In my company's elevator we had been jostled together by the press of Friday afternoon coworkers hurrying to start the weekend. He was an electrician with a contractor badge hanging from his belt. I remembered the smell of him, intensified by the crush of bodies. The scent had been intensely sexually arousing then. Now, the situation had changed.

"Remove your clothes."

Without moving, I continued to stare at him, initiating a sort of test of wills. That lasted mere seconds before he lunged at me and caught one of my wrists in an iron grip. The room was too narrow for me to have attempted any kind of evasion, so all I could do was give a startled jerk and tense against his hold on my arm.

With one swift motion, he snagged the collar of my silk blouse and tugged down hard. It shredded in a spray of popped buttons and rent seams, leaving a raw fabric burn where it had grated against my neck. Yanking me toward him, to my horror, he removed a stiff leather collar from the bag and buckled it around my neck. I fought him like a cat with nails and teeth, but he was too strong and skilled at restraining my flailing limbs. Next came similar leather restraints for my wrists and a thin, plastic coated metal cable that was threaded through the rings on both cuffs. One end he affixed to my collar, the other to the ring low on the wall by the mattress. It was only a foot or so long, so I was forced to huddle close to the wall, my hands nestled up by my face. Panting with fruitless exertion and fright, I watched his next actions with wild eyes.

He produced a dull set of shears and cut off the rest of my clothing, leaving me exposed and sick in the cool air. He took a moment, sitting back on his heels, just looking at my trussed, nude form. I took some pride in my body, having kept a reasonable amount of sleek muscle through daily exercise, but now I curled up, hating him, covering my breasts and nether region with bent knees and elbows.

After a moment, he grunted in satisfaction, added ankle restraints to my legs, then unattached my main cable from the wall.

He yanked me up, dragged me over to the middle part of the room, to the rows of rings. He attached me so I could stand, then went back to the bag. Over the next few minutes, using more cable, my arms and legs were stretched across the width of the room, with enough slack to allow me to stand, but not lower my arms. My collar was attached to a very high ring, using a special metal rod he had brought with him. There was no slack at all for my neck. I had to stand on my toes or the boiled leather would cut into my jaw, closing off my air supply.

Shivering in terror, I trembled like a fly-stung horse. I heard more rustling from behind me, but could not move my head far enough to see what was coming. A snake like-hiss of leather on stone echoed in my ears, and the first stroke of the lash fell like a hammer across my back. I screamed and then choked as my legs gave out from the intense pain licking across my shoulder.

"STAND UP." His command was in my interests so I managed to obey, gulping in huge mouthfuls of air. He moved up behind me and murmured in my ear.

"You will receive 4 more lashes for the words you uttered today without permission. This is only for today. Starting tomorrow, you will receive a lash per word." I sobbed at the thought of four more strikes from his whip, but my cries went unheeded and the lash flew as he said, causing livid welts to crawl across my back, buttocks, thighs and belly. My legs shook violently with the effort to maintain my airway, and my shoulders ached from where I jerked against each whipcrack.

I cried out with relief when it was over, but my reprieve was short-lived. I felt him move behind me and I whimpered as his fingers traced the bruised lines he had created on my skin. His hand glided down my body, slipping between my thighs, rubbing my vulva with his fingers. I arched on my toes and squirmed away from him, but I had nowhere to go. His finger probed inside my vagina, but I was tense and tight with fear. He withdrew his finger for a moment, and I continued to tremble, taking in short rasping breaths.

He probed again between my thighs, but this time with the tip of his hard phallus. There was a sickeningly cool gel easing his passage that made me shiver. Grasping my hips, he held me steady for his slow, deep penetration. Tears rolled down my face, dripping off my breasts to pool on the floor. He seated himself completely, forcing my unwilling body to conform around him. He was big, bigger than I was used to, and it hurt. He waited as my passage eased, then started steady upward strokes. The thrusts grew stronger and harder, causing me to cry out. He wound his hand in my disheveled hair and jerked my head back.

"You don't like performing your duty, woman?" He thrust savagely inside me, and I choked. Moans of pain and shame emerged from my throat, but he persisted.

"Answer me child!" The command was hissed against my cheek.

"N-no!" I managed, rocking forward on my toes from his continued pumping.

"No what child?"

"No, master!" I screamed hoarsely, hating myself for naming him thus.

The pounding stopped and I sagged slightly. His member withdrew from between my thighs. My eyes widened in shock as his hot, slick cock was repositioned at my anal orifice and began to press inward.

"Perhaps you will enjoy this more, my child." He pushed harder and I sobbed, panting in pain, my hands clawing at the restraints. The head of his phallus slipped inside me with a silent pop, and he slowly shifted the rest of the shaft inside. It was unbearable. I felt like I was being split in half, as he impaled me on his member. Again, once he was completely inside my opening, he paused, and the pulse of his heartbeat echoed, thumping, through every tissue in my body.

The thrusts began anew, his fingers digging into my flanks. He didn't just thrust; he worked inside me, moving in arcs and spirals. It seemed as if hours passed and he never grew tired, going on and on with his violation. There was no attempt to pleasure me, no fingertips on my breasts or clitoris, no words of encouragement or direction for me to attempt to orgasm. I was a vessel, a sheath, an animal to be used.

Eventually, my shaking legs failed me. For a moment, I supported my weight using my arms, but that couldn't last, and my weight on the leather collar began to choke me. I took a short series of gurgling breaths, but that was all. I was out of strength and air, and still he plundered me from behind. Sparkles flooded my vision and my mouth gaped and worked like a beached fish. It was at that point that languid warmth began to fill me, starting at my feet and quickly suffusing my core and limbs as I started to lose consciousness.

I felt excited breaths on the tortured skin of my back as he realized that I was finally truly relaxed and limp, the last remnant of my resistance stripped away. I was completely and utterly at his mercy, where I might live or die at his whim. Apparently, that was what he wanted, and had been waiting for. His torture and violation of my body had just been killing time until I was broken, mind and spirit.

At last, he gave one final stroke, we came together. He jerked and cried out in pleasure, pouring his seed deep within me. Distantly, as I suffocated, my inner walls spasmed in a reluctant but massive orgasm, rippling motes of pleasure merged with the tingling in my extremities. I had stopped trying to breathe or think, or feel anything beyond the raging fire that accompanied me down into oblivion. My last conscious thought was that I never imagined this is how it would feel to die.

To be continued...