An Incomplete Tale of Cnc

NOTE: Some time ago, I was asked to write a CNC story from the woman's point of view. I never finished it and I'm not sure where to take it next. Suggestions welcome.

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We like to think we're safe. It's a lie we tell ourselves every day; when we shred our paper bills, cut up expired credit cards, keep our passwords secret. But its so easy to find information on people. You don't even need to be a tech wizard. You can find plenty of information online for free. Even more for a nominal fee. That's how I think he found me.

Let me go back a bit to tell you what happened... what I remember.

I don't usually go to bars. But I went to one that night. Don't ask me why, I have no reason. I just needed to get out of the house for a while and the bar was the only place open after 10 on a Thursday. So...

I thought I'd just sip on soda (I'm not a big drinker) and hide in a corner booth for a while. I wasn't feeling very social, just needed a change of scenery. A different set of walls to stare at.

I was lost in thought when he slid into the booth across from me. I glared at him for a moment. He smiled.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked.

"You just looked like you could use some company," he said.

"I don't." I hissed. Yeah, it was bitchy, but I'd decided to take a break from men. I keep meeting assholes and I'm sick of it.

"Aw. Sure you do! Everyone needs a friend." He smiled again, noticing that my soda was mostly just ice. "What are you drinking? I'll get you another."

I told him it was a Shirley Temple. I get made fun of all the time for drinking a "kids'" beverage, but I like the sweet pomegranate flavor. I chewed on some ice as I watched him go to the bar and order another soda for me.

He resumed his seat across from me, sliding the drink across the table.

"Thank you." I said. I'm not always a bitch. I do have manners. I pushed the empty glass to the side and took a sip of the new drink. He continued to try to make small talk.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Rebecca." I figured if I was short with him, he would get the hint and leave.

"I'm John. It's nice to meet you, Becky. You come here often?"

I rolled my eyes, making him laugh.

"I know, so cliche," he said.

"It's Rebecca, not Becky," I said. "I hate when people call me Becky."

I sipped my drink a bit faster, just wanting to get out of there as he babbled on some nonsense about work and how hard it was meeting people.

Finally finished with the soda, I said, "Look, John, it's been great listening to you. But I need to go. I have to work in the morning. Thanks for the soda. Goodnight."

I slid from the booth, grabbed my purse and headed out to the parking lot before he could say anything else.

I got into my car, started up the ignition and sat there for a minute, suddenly not feeling well. I was pretty dizzy. I leaned back, closing my eyes, certain I had just stood up too fast, run out of the bar too fast. I heard a knock on my window. Opening my eyes, I looked and there stood John. He opened the door and said, "Everything OK?"

The next thing I remember was waking up in a dim room. My head pounding, my mouth dry. I tried to move my hand to wipe my face, but couldn't. Both of my hands were bound with rope, stretched wide to my sides, the rope tied securely to metal rings in the floor. I was lying on some type of thin mattress, no sheets. I realized my legs were also bound, ankles spread and tied to more rings. I was still dressed in my T-shirt and yoga pants, but my socks and shoes were gone. I couldn't see my purse, keys or phone anywhere.

"What the fuck?" I muttered. And I heard a man chuckle.

I lifted my head, scanning the room as best as I could and spotted him, some 10 or 12 feet away, sitting on a stool, watching me from the shadows.

"Who the fuck are you? Untie me right now!" I demanded, wincing at the pain in my head.

"Tsk, tsk, Kitten. Is that any way to talk to someone?"

"Don't call me kitten," I spit. "Let me go. NOW!" I began to struggle, pulling at the ropes futilely. "God damn it! LET ME GO!" I screamed.

He rose from the stool and approached me slowly.

"Don't you know who I am, Becky?" He asked.

I watched him angrily, my mind racing. "You're a fucking psycho. Now let me GO!"

He came closer, squatting to look me directly in the eyes. "You enjoyed teasing and flirting with me online so much, I decided I needed to meet you. I've been watching you for a while now. Last night, you left your apartment and went to Buck's. I followed you."

I started to remember. "You!" I yelled accusingly.

He nodded. "Mmhmm. I bought you a soda. Stupid girl, don't you know you shouldn't take drinks from strangers in bars?"

I spit at him.

He struck me across the cheek before wiping my spittle from his face, his eyes laughing as tears sprung to my own. He wiped his hand clean on my shirt and stood up.

"You're going to wish you hadn't done that," he threatened.

I thrashed on the mattress, the rope rubbing painfully into my wrists and ankles. "Let me GO!" I demanded.

"Eventually," he said, as he left the room.

I watched him leave, then turned my attention to the rope on my left wrist, examining the knot, trying to figure out a way to get free. I tried twisting my wrist, pushing my arm further through to try to loosen the knot, pulling, contorting my hand to try to force it through. Nothing was working. I was truly captive.

I looked around the room, noting a few dirty windows up high on the wall.

"HELP!" I screamed, hoping anyone outside could hear. "HELP ME! ANYONE, PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!"

I couldn't hear anything except my voice echoing off the walls. It seemed pointless.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was the sound of the metal stool being dragged closer.

I opened my eyes and watched as he sat on the stool near me.

"Sorry that took so long. I thought it would be better to print these," he waved some papers at me. "Didn't want to chance you getting at the laptop." He laughed.

Then he started reading.

"I want you to suck on my clit until I scream. I want you to make me cum and lap up all the juices."

"I want to lick and suck your beautiful cock. I want to tongue your balls. I want you to fuck my face until your hot cum coats my throat."

"I want you to fuck me, hard. Your cock sliding in and out. I bet you'll feel so good inside me."

He looked at me then. "Remember writing these?"

I swallowed, choking out a mangled, "yes."

"Mm. Of course you do. And you know there's more. You're a little cock tease, aren't you? How many other men did you write these things to?" He flung the papers, watching them flutter and scatter around me, some landing on me.

I whispered, "I'm sorry."

He nodded.

"Please let me go. I'm sorry." I begged.

He watched me for several minutes. Then he stood up, pulling a pocketknife from his back pocket.

"You teased the wrong man this time, Becky. I think you need to learn a lesson."

I clenched my jaw, tears springing to my eyes. "Please, don't hurt me," I begged, pulling at the ropes, watching the light glint off the knife.

He circled me slowly, coming to rest at my right side. "Oh, I intend to hurt you, Kitten. A lot. But I think you'll enjoy it."

He crouched down, reaching for the neck of my shirt. I flinched, tensing as his hand touched my throat, the cold blade skimming over my skin as he slid it beneath the material. With one savage move, he sliced my tee straight down the middle, letting the fabric fall to each side.

"Mm. Red." He said, trailing the tip of the blade over my lacy red bra.

"Please don't," I cried. "I'll do whatever you want. Please!"

He looked into my eyes. "You don't have much of a choice, do you now, Kitten?"

He pushed the blade between my breasts, sharp edge pointing up, and pulled it hard against my bra, cutting the cups apart.

My hands balled into fists, I thrashed in my bonds. "STOP IT! Let me go!" I sobbed.

He watched as the cups slid to each side, exposing my breasts. My nipples taut in the cool room.

He put the knife back in his pocket and watched me struggle.

"Your tits jiggle so enticingly when you thrash like that."

I stopped moving, tears streaming down my cheeks and puddling in my ears. I glared at him.

"You're still wearing too many clothes," he said. He moved toward my hips, reaching to untie the drawstring of my yoga pants.

I bucked my hips, trying to keep him from pulling the strings loose. "DON'T!"

He chuckled, pressing one palm against my pelvis to keep me still as he untied the knot of my pants. Then he moved to my feet and untied my right ankle, holding it firmly in his grip. He pushed my leg up, bending it at the knee and pulled my pants down, intending to pull my right leg free.

When he was pulling my ankle through the pants, I lashed out, kicking hard with my right leg, straightening my knee so that my foot made contact with his groin.

"Bitch," he hissed, dropping to the ground, releasing my ankle.

I pulled my right leg up, clamping my thighs together tightly. The pants still on my left leg, though down around my thigh now.

He took a few moments to regain his composure, watching me from his knees on the ground.

He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing my right ankle and thrusting my legs apart. He retied my ankle, this time much tighter, while I screamed at him.

He pulled the pocketknife out again and used it to slice the left leg of my pants open, tearing the material from my body. He threw it to the side where it landed with a soft thud. He was angry. I could see it in his eyes.

He positioned himself between my legs and grabbed my red panties, not bothering to notice that they matched the bra he had destroyed. He sliced each side of the panties at my hips and ripped the fabric out from under me, tossing it over his shoulder.

He growled as he pressed his face into my pubic hair, inhaling deeply. I sobbed. I was wet, aroused, and now he knew it.

I turned my head away, squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn't watch him.

He stayed between my legs for several minutes, inhaling my scent. Then he suddenly bit my inner thigh, hard.

I yelped, trying to close my legs. "Please!" I cried.

He ignored me, turning to bite the other thigh. Eliciting another shriek from me. I thrashed in the bonds. "Please stop!" I begged.

I felt his fingers probing the wetness between my legs. I could do nothing but endure his touch. I hated the sound of him inhaling my scent. I sobbed, my breathing ragged.

He rubbed his fingers up and down my pussy, spreading the moisture. I kept my head turned away, eyes closed, willing this to be over.

He crawled up my body, straddling my ribcage and thrust his wet fingers in my face. "You love this, Kitten. Look at how your juices glisten on my fingers."

He wiped his fingers across my lips savagely before grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him.

"Do you deny it?" he asked, laughing as I squeezed my eyes shut.

I could feel his cock, hard through his jeans, pressed into my belly. I tried not to cry.

I whimpered, "please... "

He mocked me, repeating in a whining voice, "please..." Then, in his regular voice, "please, what, Kitten? Please fuck you?"

I shook my head negatively, pulling at the rope on my wrists. "Please, let me go. I'm sorry."

He mimicked me, "let me go, I'm sorry." And then he shoved his thumb in my mouth, saying, "I told you, eventually. Now be a good girl and don't bite."

He pushed his thumb to the back of my mouth, rubbing my tongue and gliding over my teeth, watching me as he fumbled with his belt.

I turned my head, spitting his thumb from my mouth as I heard him pull his zipper down.

I whimpered again, shaking my head, clenching and unclenching my fists, "please, no."

He grabbed my face by the chin, forcing his thumb into my mouth again and pressing against my bottom teeth to pull my jaw open. He smiled and said, "remember, no biting," as he rubbed the head of his cock against my lips.

I tried to shake my head as he pushed the head of his cock over his thumb and into my mouth. I flicked my tongue over the head and he grinned.

I closed my eyes as he withdrew his hand from my jaw, then thrust his cock to the back of my throat. His hands snaked into my hair, holding my head still. He groaned, "Mm, good girl," as I closed my lips around his throbbing cock.

He began to move, fucking my mouth slowly and deeply. He paused when I started to gag, but kept his cock buried in my throat, telling me to breathe through my nose until I relaxed enough for him to continue.

I dared to look at him as he raped my mouth, his face blurred through my tears. He was smirking and when he noticed me watching him, he thrust roughly into my throat, causing me to gag hard.

He released my head and I turned away, my mouth freed from his cock, strings of spittle trailing from my lips to his cock.

He patted my cheek in an almost friendly way and said, "Good girl," as he stood to tower over me.