I Know Who U Are

I am nervous as I walk up the stairwell. The sound of my shoes scuffing each stair reflects off the dingy once-white walls of the narrow hallway like an insistent warning, telling me to turn around and walk away with every step. Yet I continue, pursuing my chosen course with the same timid determination that has carried me through this day. Ever since I came out to my car and found the note tucked underneath my wiper blade.

The hallway is empty of people, but still I hear voices, dim and muffled, reminders that I am not alone. They come from doors that I pass hesitantly, echoing from floors above and below. They are the voices of people quarrelling, laughing, children playing, televisions blaring. I know the building is full of life, full of assistance should I require it. It steadies the fear inside me, keeps my legs trudging forward.

I reach the door of your apartment. I glance once at my watch. I pause and do not knock.

My mouth feels utterly dry, my tongue impossibly swollen. Every muscle in my body stands tense. A growing ball of tension fills my stomach. I can practically feel my legs trembling beneath me. Yet I stand there, alone outside the apartment door, afraid to move. I am totally unready for what is to come. I stand with my eyes closed, my imagination burning a hundred images at once across my mind.

And still I do not knock.

Unfolding the note I have crumpled in my palm, I read it once more. The tone and the text fill me with dread. The message speaks clearly of your intentions. The grammar lends itself to other suggestions. The images in my brain coalesce.

Turning the note over, I read the words scribbled on the back, confirming that I know what I am doing. I know who u are. That single sentence frightens me to the core. The date and the time and the address that follow send the same chill down my spine that I felt at 7 am this morning. I open my eyes and stare at the number on the door.

I raise my hand to knock.

Like the falling of a gavel, my knuckles rap once against the door. The sound is obnoxiously loud to my own ears, but I sense it is not enough. Mustering resolve, I knock several times, then stand and await the outcome of such boldness. My heart pounds fitfully in my chest, and I begin to count the beats in an effort to calm my pulse. With every number that tumbles through my head I want to turn and rush away, but my feet are frozen now. I can only wait and hope and wonder.

I close my eyes once more. The sounds of the building fill my ears, yet I imagine footsteps approaching. When the door rattles, the bundle of nerves in my belly drops lower. My heart stops briefly. The door opens at the same time as my eyes. For the first time I see you.

You are not what I expected. You are taller than I might have thought, and lean. A shirtless chest reveals your youth and athleticism. Though not overtly handsome by any means, you are likewise in no way ugly. A subtle attractiveness emerges along with your smile. Your eyes scan my body, appraise me without a word, and in the flicker of your grin I sense approval at what stands before you.

You say my name, and I shudder. How you know me, I cannot imagine. You step back and invite me in, the door held wide. I notice your jeans, and your absence of shoes or socks as an afterthought. My eyes scan the interior behind you instead. There the room is dim, the curtains on the windows closed to the afternoon sun. The furniture is eclectic, probably garnered from curbsides or ex-roommates along the way. Some clothes and papers and books are strewn about on the chairs and end tables. I notice a candle and smell some incense burning in the background. The sound of a radio filters in from an adjoining room.

I hear a door open in a hallway above. The door closes. Footsteps and voices filter down the stairwell at the end of the hall. Your eyes are piercing me, your body anxious with energy as you keep the door propped wide with your shoulder. My own nerves are frenetic, and the voices somehow urge me towards action. I feel ashamed and afraid, stupid and silly. I am foolish to just stand there, foolhardy to step forward. Yet I make my move, surprising even myself with my decision.

I almost leap across the threshold, stepping into an unknown place with an unknown person for an unknown eventuality. I am excited by my own daring, terrified by my rashness. I have no idea what your intentions are, but the piece of paper gripped in my sweating palm sends an electric current through all my nerves. My body actually tingles with anticipation and fear.

When the door closes behind me, I feel one of us should say something. My mouth opens to speak, but my voice is lost momentarily in a dry throat. I hear you bolt the door, slide the security chain into place, and I have to swallow. My tongue feels bloated and useless.

Through an archway I see the short hall that leads to other rooms--a kitchen, bathroom, and most likely a bedroom beyond. The pumping sound of techno rushes through the empty space like a subtle wind. Finally I gain some control. I turn to speak. But I am stopped by your eyes.

You rub your chin with one hand and gesture me to silence with the other. You tell me you're surprised I came. I shrug uncomfortably. You ask to take my jacket, and I manage to say something at last. I don't know why I'm here. It is the truth after all. But you tell me you do. I stand quizzically while you hold out a hand for my jacket. You ask me if I have the note, and I nod. You ask me to read it. Out loud.

But first, you insist on my jacket. It is a minor thing, so I acquiesce. I slip my arms out as you stand closer and help to take it off me. I watch as you toss it lazily over one of the chairs. I am wearing jeans myself, a black shirt over a white tee. I at least have sneakers and socks. But without my jacket now, I feel all the more exposed, as if I just gave in to something I should not have. I shudder, trying hard to conceal my anxiety by stepping farther into the room, further from you and the door.

Again you remind me of the note. I hold it up. I know who u are. The date, the time, the address. I flip it over and scan what I know you want me to read. The words tumble through my head like jagged pieces of myself before I ever utter them aloud. You encourage me with silence and an almost calculating grin.

For the first time ever, I say the message out loud. The sound of my own voice inflected with a soft rasp of anxiety makes me shiver as I speak.

I would force u down strip u naked tie ur hands around ur back. Then make u crawl 2 me and suck my cock then I woudl pick u up and bedn u over the bed and give it 2 u doggystyle and anal

I struggle through the absence of structure and spelling without skipping a beat. My mouth is filled with implications, my mind possibilities. I see the grin on your face twist in amusement. How, I mutter. How do you know me? You tell me it doesn't matter now, does it? You step closer. Instinctively I move back an equal measure.

My leg bumps against the furniture behind me. As panic floods through me I recall vividly what brought me here, the brave and cowardly foolishness that has so suddenly trapped me in this place.

I had ventured onto one of those adult websites for people looking for other people for sex. I was intensely curious, experimenting with my own thoughts, discovering and revealing fantasies with complete, faceless strangers over the internet. It seemed safe. It appeared harmless. But somehow my naivety and curiosity had led me into dangerous territory.

I experimented with chat groups, with discussion boards. I found myself posting questions on various topics, freely exposing secret parts of myself without a care. The anonymity of the site made it safe to experiment with my own desires. I found one that tickled my darker fantasies, enticed me with a thrill I had not anticipated. I explored it further.

Fatefully, I had posted a question on one group discussion board in particular. Fantasy Rape Roleplay. I had posed an interesting question, curious to see the responses. I had asked what someone would do with me if they could get away with it. I asked specifically how they might want to use me, and how they would make me comply.

Some responses were minimal, a few elaborate. Many were just replies to other replies. And one blended into the background of all the others. Until now. The note still clutched in my hand had been taken directly off that site. It had been a reply to my query, one of many. I had given it no second thoughts. Then it showed up under my windshield wiper. From that moment on I had nothing to do but think about it.

I stand alone in the apartment specified at the time indicated on the date named. Alone with a stranger. My mind reels as you step abruptly closer. I know what you want to do with me, what you intend to do whether I agree or not. I have known it all day long. I was not sure I believed it until this very moment. With your hand on my chest, I have no choice but to recall every word of that intention.

A strange curiosity had dragged me here. Disbelief and fascination drove me. Someone had found out who I was, someone who lived close enough to me to make that discovery unsettling. I had to know what it was all about. I had to know who it was. I had to know if those intentions were real or not. I had to know if I could really be made that helpless. I had to know.

With one hand you push against me. I have nowhere to go. I start to panic. The sofa behind me catches my fall. Blindly I start to scream, a weak cry for help. But just as suddenly I feel your hand across my face. The force of it stuns me. I hear you yelling at me to shut the fuck up. Other insults tumble from your lips as you jerk me upright again with both hands.

I understand now how serious your intentions are. Your hands are strong, too strong. Your grip is intense. Another slap adds to the numbness on my face, the confusion in my head. My own hands feel utterly useless against you. I hold them feebly up as a defense. With another insult I am hurled backwards again into the sofa. You tell me I asked for this. You tell me how much I want it. I only know that I should not have come here.

I am whimpering as you grab me up again. Buttons fly off as the shirt is pulled open. I fall back down into the cushions one more time. You grab my tee by the collar and haul me up again. I stumble to my feet, but have no balance. I feel my body jerked side to side as I shriek and squirm. The fabric tears a little as you pull me down the hall, farther away from the door.

Some measure of resistance in me makes my hands cling to the wall, my fingers clutch at the doorframes. My strength, however, is useless. You let go, and I tumble backwards. Crying more, I roll and start to crawl for the door. Your hand finds a hold on the top of my pants. I am jerked back and collapse to my belly.

I cannot believe I am here. I should not have come. I should not have come alone. Not to the house of a stranger. Not knowing what you intended to do. While you pin my legs beneath your weight, I feel your hands again at my collar. The black shirt starts to pull back. I cannot believe this is really happening.

I plead with you to stop, to wait. I tell you this is all a mistake. I say you don't understand. But my arms crane back with the shirt. I feel the sleeves jerk free one by one. And you fill the air with words, foul words, cruel words. I manage to get my arms beneath me again, and I begin to squirm forward. My shoes are pulled off as I struggle forward.

Then I am flipped on my back. Your power takes my breath away. I look up at your body, the tight muscles built for this exertion. Your face remains fierce and uncompromising. I know you intend to carry out every word. Once again you straddle my legs. I cannot kick free, but I try as much as I can. My own power is too feeble, my strength no match for yours.

I beg you to stop. You only smile. Then your hands are at my belt. My voice trails into panic as my hands wrestle with yours. But yours win out, and the buckle opens. Too easily the top button snaps off, the zipper shreds wide. I gasp out of astonishment and fear. You are pulling my pants down, and I can do nothing to stop you. My hands flail to prevent it, my hips jerk to resist, but it all proves to be a worthless effort.

My breath is racing, my heart pounding. I feel dizzy and incoherent. As the pants come off my legs I kick at you, but only succeed in bouncing futilely off your chest and arms. I lose one sock in the process as well. Without your weight on me, I roll and struggle to rise, but you catch me on all fours. You hands knot in my hair and I am pulled upward to my knees. Once more I squeal in pain.

Again you slap my face, tell me to control myself. Another word of insult puts me in my place. I am starting to believe you. I am momentarily frozen as you grab the bottom hem of my tee shirt. I shiver in place while you lift the fabric, pulling it over my shoulders and head, jerking it free of my arms. I feel shamed by my helplessness, embarrassed by my vulnerability. The name you call me seems fitting somehow. I chose to come here after all.

Again you slap my face, though I have not said a word. You tell me to behave, but I am still waiting on my knees. I know I am crying, and cannot stop myself. I remember that I have chosen to come here. I had to know for myself. I had to find out.

Your hands tug at my bra, and the snaps break. I struggle to keep the cups in place, but your strength is greater than mine. You manage to pull it free and slap my face to remind me who I am. Already my cheeks are numb, my brain fuddled. I am shoved to the floor.

I land on my front and feel a moment of relief as my bosom touches the carpet. In the midst of this I am temporarily grateful that my bare nudity is concealed beneath me. I close my arms in tight and duck my head. But it is nowhere near over. Your hands pull at my panties, and I feel open air on my buttocks. I am frozen by the weight of humiliation as my ass is exposed. My panties slide down my legs and off my feet, along with the last sock, and still I am tucked with my face into the floor.

I cannot hide my nakedness, the fact that I have been so humbled so quickly. I ask myself repeatedly why I am here, and I cannot respond. I know why. I understand why. My shame is more profound than I can think about. When your weight straddles my hips, I moan in recognition. You demand my arms, and I know fully what is to happen next.

I do not move them on my own, but I give no real resistance as you take each arm behind my back. You let me know I am finally obeying as I should. Though the names you have called me echo in my mind, perhaps the face-slapping will stop at least. With my arms crossed at the small of my back, I whimper into the floor. Somewhere I have lost the piece of paper that brought me here, but the words race across my vision regardless.

You have stripped me naked. A plastic cinch tie closes tight against my wrists. I cannot pull them free. Another one closes snugly perpendicular to the first. My wrists are secured in a helpless 'X' from which I cannot break. I know what is next, but I cannot dare to believe it is real. I had imagined myself here a hundred times today. I had fantasized about this moment over and over. It was fine as a fantasy, something distant and impossible. It was secret and safe. I never thought it would ever come true.

I listen to you whistle appreciation for your efforts. I am uncomfortable, but have no power to move from my place now. I hear you pants unzip, can almost picture them sliding off your legs as the sounds filter into my ears from beyond my vision. You toss them casually aside. I can only shiver.

The beat of the music from the other room trembles through the floorboards. It must be a cd, not the radio. The very normality of that thought surprises me. Once again you straddle my legs, and the situation feels anything but normal. Your hands grab my naked ass cheeks, your fingers knead them powerfully. A word of satisfaction is joined with another insult. Perhaps it is a compliment if I choose to take it as one.

Unexpectedly you lick my ass and bite the flesh there. I gasp in surprise. Your hands slap my ass then knead the flesh then slap each cheek again and again. I have been utterly humbled. My own hands attempt to object, but the plastic bindings bite into my skin, preventing any effective movement. I am your prisoner, helpless, defenseless. I know exactly what I am here for.

I should try to object, try to scream louder and longer. Maybe someone will hear my struggles and rescue me. But even so, they would find me naked. The thought of embarrassment stupefies me. And still I would have to explain myself. I came here willingly. I would have to explain my involvement in the porn site, the fantasies I have already exposed. The police would find out. My family, my friends would learn my secrets. I would become more helplessly exposed than I am lying here on the floor of this strangers apartment. I am shamed into silence.

You shift forward in the midst of my thoughts. I feel your legs straddle my hips. The weight of your balls brushes over my ass. A single point of warm flesh touches the very base of my spine. When you lean forward and jerk my head back by the hair, my chin is thrust out in a grimace of pain. My breasts are crushed into the carpet as I labor to breath. Your name for me itches along my naked skin, curls my toes against my will. I have become yours completely. I have no right to object.

You tell me what you expect of me, and I try to comprehend. I understand I will be punished if I don't comply. I feel your weight lift from my back, if not from my soul. I see your feet, your legs, your naked ass stroll towards the far room. You own the place and everything in it, including me. Another insult, and a warning, demands that I follow.

As your note implied, you are making me crawl to you. With my arms behind my back, I think it is impossible. I cannot bear to imagine my punishment. But I struggle forward. I rock my shoulders, squirm my hips, pressure each leg forward in turn. Amazingly, I move in the desired direction, but the going is slow--painfully slow.

My bosom inches over the carpet with every forward surge. The aggravation to my sensitive flesh is immense. My nipples scream for me to stop after only a few inches. But I know I must continue. My chest grates over the fibers of the carpet until I think I must be bleeding. I grind my teeth to hold back from shouting. I whimper for pity or compassion. But I make it steadily to the open doorway.

Once there, you encourage me on with hard demands. The carpet is softer, fuller, dark blue against my pale skin. I am rocking my shoulders and churning my hips in a tempo to keep from stalling. Sweat further aggravates the redness of my chest. My hair is in my eyes. I am nothing but a worm in your sight, inching my way towards you on my belly. I have never felt so humble or ashamed.

Yet a curious excitement lingers through every movement. The softer carpet tingles against the raw nerves of my breasts. My nipples feel engorged with static energy, bristling and eager to explode. My ass lifts and rocks nakedly before you. My sex remains wildly exposed to the empty hall behind me. I hold back tears and concentrate on my task. I know exactly what you expect from me, and that only makes my efforts more humiliating than ever.

Before I know it I have reached the space between your feet. You sit on the edge of the bed and compliment my exertions. Then you command me to my knees. I am drained already from crawling without the aid of my arms, and I pause to capture my breath. Foul words emphasize your demands. Slowly I struggle to get my knees below me. My ass raises higher while my face remains planted in the carpet. I cannot believe what is happening, what I am doing. For a moment I forget why I ever gave in to such treatment.