[Author's note: as always - none of this should ever be attempted in real life, all characters are of legal age, this is all fiction, etc. This is a sequel to "A Train Ride to Remember". If you haven't read that one, this story can pretty much stand alone with this small bit of context: Sarah was stuck on a train with Jack and Pete who made a series of bets over what they could do to her, and they paid her to fuck and abuse her body.]
***
It had been a rough few weeks for Sarah, since her incident on the train. She'd come home nearly three hours late, and had gone straight to shower, spending half an hour under the burning water. She went to bed without eating, and flinched every time her boyfriend, Kyle, tried to cuddle - or even just touch - her during the night.
She wouldn't answer any of his questions; she
couldn't
, really, but he didn't know that. His suspicions grew, despite her repeated assurances that she did not cheat on him. She was also trying to convince herself of the same fact, which didn't help. With time and distance, her memories of the event took a back seat in her mind, so long as she didn't think too much about it.
The wedge had been driven between her and Kyle, though. He'd taken the hint, and stopped talking about it, but the unanswered questions hovered above them like a dark cloud. At first they argued more and more, about dumber and dumber shit, but they didn't even do that anymore; they were mostly reduced to small talk nowadays. Their previously healthy sex life took a dip, and they barely touched now.
Honestly, she didn't know that their relationship would last much longer. She wanted to care, wanted to fight for it, but whenever she thought of talking about their problems, the memory of Pete and Jack loomed in her mind. Then guilt and shame overtook her, and she struggled to feel anything else, so she opted to not think, not feel at all.
Her therapist would have said her avoidant coping style was unhealthy and unsustainable - if she'd had a therapist, but of course she didn't, because she didn't need one, because nothing happened and she was fine and didn't need help and everything was cool,
okay?!
That morning had been particularly rough... in that it had been particularly bland. She wasn't even sure if Kyle had said goodbye before leaving for work. Sarah had spent the whole morning distracted; even Corinne noticed, and normally she had the people skills of a wood plank.
This was a point of no-return, she could feel it: if she wanted to salvage her relationship, if even a shred of love remained inside her for Kyle, she had to act now. She had to do something. She felt the familiar paralysis creep up inside her - don't think, don't feel, don't act - but she shook it off.
"Sarah... Sarah!"
Sarah started and looked around. Corinne had rolled her chair up to hers and was tapping a finger on the desk impatiently. Sarah noticed she'd been idle so long her monitor had gone dark.
"Sorry, you wanted something, Corinne?"
Corinne scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I've been talking to you for like 2 minutes straight... I don't know what's up with you, but you're useless to me today. Go home, get your head right, I'll email you what I need and you can do it tomorrow."
She rolled away without looking back, and resumed her 90wpm typing, the keystrokes loud and clear: the conversation was over. Sarah sighed and collected her things.
Maybe this was a sign. She could go home, clean up the flat, make a nice dinner, and psych herself up for a conversation with Kyle. She couldn't just throw 3 years of relationship and nearly 2 years of cohabitation down the drain.
Sarah got home without incident - taking the train was never going to be as comfortable as it used to be - and got to work. She folded and put away the clean laundry, changed the sheets, vacuumed and mopped the floors, bleached the kitchen countertops, and got the bathroom sparkly clean. She prepped a chilli, and set it to simmer.
After a quick shower, she took the time to consider her outfit. She didn't want Kyle to think she was trying too hard, but she did want to try. Her first mentor had told her the best thing to do to ace a difficult presentation was to "wear your power undies", so that's where Sarah started: she chose what she'd call
third date underwear
. A matching black set that said "I didn't set out to have sex today, but damn I'm ready if it happens".
She picked a simple black dress to match. It wasn't anything special, but she knew it looked good on her, and she knew Kyle appreciated the way it hugged her body in all the right places, but flowed loosely enough in others to leave something to the imagination.
The front door's locked clicked open, and Sarah's heart thundered in her chest. She heard Kyle come in and could picture his routine: shoes being kicked off, coat shrugged off and hung on his usual peg, backpack dropped against the wall, a dozen steps into the living room...
Deep breath in.
Here we go
, she thought. She opened the bedroom door and emerged, a smile tentatively pulling up the corners of her lips.
On the couch, arms casually thrown over the back, and smiling ear to ear, sat Jack.
"Honey, I'm home!" he beamed at her.
Sarah froze. This must be a dream. Or a nightmare. Or a hallucination. Or she'd slipped into a parallel universe. Or... something. Anything.
"I... what are you doing here?" she managed to ask.
Jack shrugged. "I thought I'd say hi, see how you're doing," he eyed her up and down. "Still looking lovely, I see."
Sarah blushed and crossed her arms. "How did you find me?" Jack opened his mouth to answer, and Sarah interrupted him. "Actually, I don't care. Get out. Get the
fuck
out of my flat."
Jack gasped in mock outrage and stood, circling the coffee table to approach Sarah. She stepped sideways, keeping the low table between them. "That's no way to greet an old friend," he said.
"You're not my friend," Sarah growled.
"You're right. Not friend. Business partner. As I recall, you were compensated more than fairly for your time," he winked at her. "I had another business venture I wanted to discuss with you..."
He smiled, and his wolfish grin cut straight through Sarah's defences, her memories of her previous encounter with Jack flooding her mind. She panicked, turned, and ran for the front door. She had to be somewhere,
anywhere
but here.
She slammed straight into Pete, who stood barring the hallway. She bounced off his chest and stumbled backwards, tripped over the vacuum she'd forgotten to put away, and fell sprawling to the floor.
"Hey you," Pete said.
"I hope you don't mind," Jack called out from the living room, "I brought some friends..."
Friends.
Friends
, plural? Sarah's eyes widened as she spotted another man standing behind Pete. He even gave her a little friendly wave.
She scrambled backwards, away from the men in the hallway, but her flat wasn't that big. By the time she made it to her feet, she was back in the living room. Surrounded, for all intents and purposes. She glanced towards the kitchen, briefly debating running for a knife, but Pete shook his head knowingly and stepped between her and the kitchen door.
"So, you know how this goes, pet," Jack said. He stepped up to Sarah and brushed hair away from her face. "Be a good little slut, now."
Sarah ground her teeth and set her jaw defiantly, pulling her face away from Jack's touch. "No. There's not enough money in the world. Hell. No."
Jack chuckled. "I don't think you understand... This is happening. Negotiations are already complete."
Sarah hesitated at that.
Negotiations?
With who? What was he talking about?
Letting her guard down was a mistake. Before she'd fully realised what was happening, Jack had lunged forwards and grabbed her wrist. He twisted it up behind her back, forcing her to bend forwards to avoid her arm being wrenched out of its socket.
He guided her a few steps forwards, then kicked the back of her leg to make her knee buckle. He pulled her forwards, laying her face down across the coffee table. The new man appeared at her side and rummaged in a bag he had slung across his shoulder.
In quick, practiced movements, Jack and the man had secured Sarah's wrists and knees to the coffee table legs, and stepped back, admiring their work.
"Nicely done, Dave," Jack said appreciatively.
Sarah recovered her wits, finally. She tugged at the cuffs holding her down, but they were tight and barely budged. "What the fuck, untie me, you pricks," she snarled.
Jack squatted in front of Sarah and she held her head up to glare at him. "Dave, why don't you get her ready?"
"With pleasure," Dave replied, his voice a low growl.
He pulled her dress up around her waist, then rummaged some more in his bag. Sarah fought the urge to look back and kept glaring at Jack instead. She flinched when Dave cut off her underwear, and dread filled her: this time, they came prepared. Dave drizzled some sort of oily lube on her ass, letting it drip over her asshole and onto her pussy.
"Got to tie a girl up to get her, what a big man you are," she snarled at Jack. He chuckled and settled on the floor in front of her.
"That really won't work, you know," he shrugged. "I don't think you understand just how little I care about what you think."