Ashley awoke with a dull headache. The soft pelting of rain sang its pitter-patter melody along the roof. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Blinking rapidly, the world gradually came into focus. But the ceiling beams and textured mortar above didn't look familiar, not even a little bit. Panic began to set in. It wasn't until she felt the cuffs around her wrists and ankles, though, and when she realized that someone had stripped off all her clothes, that true panic began to spike.
The attractive brunette had a dark brown ponytail, chestnut-brown eyes with hints of caramel tones around the irises, and a delicate nose fitted perfectly to her elegantly chiseled face. The third-year college student's pale body sported medium-sized breasts with large areolae of lightest pink. The girl's closely shaved pubic area left her sex especially bare and exposed. She was slender, perhaps a little on the bony side, but not without some muscle; she'd been playing track and field since freshman year.
Ashley now jerked at her wrists and ankles as she realized that someone had cuffed her spread-eagled to a mattress. Before she could even take in her surroundings, a huge lump formed in her throat. A chair stood at the foot of the mattress. On that chair she saw Brad, her boyfriend. He was naked, his wrists and ankles cuffed to the chair. His head lolled sideways.
Brad Wilson was on the men's track and field team. He had short-cropped, sandy hair and gray-blue eyes which had charmed her on their very first date. He was a true gentleman, a kind soul, yet on the field he could be as competitive and cutthroat as anyone. It felt so unreal, seeing him so helpless. She assumed he was unconscious. She couldn't see any obvious injury. Her heart fluttered all the same, though. 'Please, baby, wake up,' she thought.
Ashley paused, wracking her brain, trying to sift through a fog of jumbled memory. She and Brad had gone with her roommate, Sarah, and her roommate's boyfriend, Tim, to one of the illicit Greek parties off campus. The students at Mason U. simply called it 'The Field' because of its remoteness. It was a place where drinking to excess and a little wildness could be indulged without worrying about neighbors - or cops. Ashley tried to remember what had happened last night. As she and Brad were getting ready to leave, she remembered meeting a few older men who had been crashing the party. She remembered them offering her and Brad some vodka. She couldn't remember whether Sarah and Tim had been there too. But after that, the trail of memory ran cold. After the drinks, she couldn't remember Brad and her actually leaving the party, or driving home for that matter.
A shiver of pure dread skittered through her. 'Oh my god. We've been kidnapped,' she thought. It finally sank in, her predicament. Their predicament. Ashley tested her bonds again. She pulled as hard as she could at the cuffs, but of course the cuffs around her ankles and wrists only bit into her skin in response. She sighed, frustrated but not surprised. Now the girl's head whipped side to side as she tried to take in her surroundings. She was definitely in the basement of a house somewhere. Small rectangular windows lined the uppermost portion of the walls. A dilapidated workbench and four giant shelving units brimming with hardware tools and boxes cluttered one side of the basement. The other side was bare except for a stairway leading up, and a metal rack filled with - and now Ashley's eyes widened - things that only heightened her sense of dread.
Whips, floggers, ball-gags, clamps, scalpels, piercings, and other torture items she didn't even know the names of, they all hung from that sinister-looking rack. Her heart rate sped up. She thought to herself, 'Oh my god. We have to get out of here.' Ashley looked over at Brad. He remained totally inert. Lifeless.
"Brad!" She hiss-whispered as best she could, trying not to draw the attention of any captor - or captors - nearby. But Brad didn't stir.
"He is asleep...Ashley. The drug I put in your drinks hasn't worn off for him yet," a harsh, bass-like voice rumbled. "I gave him a larger dosage," the unseen man's voice added. Now Ashley heard the stairs creaking as footsteps came closer. First she saw his shiny, polished black boots. Then she saw the military fatigues he wore, the camo jacket and vest. He was trim and fit, maybe 25 to 30 years of age. He had a hawk-like face with cold, cruel eyes the color of storm clouds. His buzz cut and the shape of his skull only accentuated his harsh demeanor and features. He paused. He looked thoughtfully at her.
'Who the hell is this guy?' Ashley thought, gaping at him.
"Wh-what.. what do you want? Why have you kidnapped us!?" she demanded.
The man smiled. He ignored her question. That infuriated and terrified her at the same time.
"My name is Mladic. My friends call me Alex." Mladic, Alex - whatever his name was - now walked up beside the mattress. His gaze roved over Ashley's naked features. He seemed to be savoring the moment with anticipation, and it made Ashley's skin crawl. She found herself squirming without even realizing it.
"Please let us go! We won't tell anyone if you just let us go, I swear! It's not too late!" Ashley jerked her head toward Brad. "He won't remember anything. I promise we won't say a word of any of this. I give you my word!"
The man in military fatigues shrugged.
"I do not believe you, Ashley." He began to strip. "And even if I did, I have no inclination to do as you ask." The man finished stripping out of his camo gear and boots. Folding them and placing them neatly at the foot of the stairway, he turned back to his captive.
"The hunting early this morning was excellent. Let us hope that you and your boyfriend will serve as prey just as interesting." Those words chilled her to the bone as Ashley watched him take down the handle of a whip from its hook on the metal rack.
"Please... don't. You don't have to do this!" she begged. The naked college student squirmed again on the mattress. She watched him uncoil the whip. He let its leathery tendril traipse across her chest, down her flat belly all the way to her pussy.
"You are right, BITCH." He called her that degrading term with such emphasis, such finality, as if he would never, ever let her go. "I don't have to hurt you. You could cooperate. Then things could go easier for you."
"C-c-cooperate?" Her heart thundered in her chest.
"Yes. Learn to be a good slave, and you might receive less harsh treatment."
"What... what do you want me to do?" She couldn't believe she was uttering those words, but her fear was talking for her right now.
"I want you to beg for me to lick your pussy. BEG. You understand?"
He wanted her to degrade herself by actively participating in her own rape? Screw that! Ashley's 21st century feminist mind rebelled on instinct. She began to shake her head. She was about to tell him to go fuck himself, but then her gaze fastened on the whip dangling above her pussy. She could well imagine what he would do with that whip if she gave him the slightest excuse. Fresh shivers lanced through her.
"OK! Please put down the whip. Don't hurt me."
"Then beg!"
