I awake in agony. My eyes are red and swollen from a night filled with tears, my throat sore from yelling myself hoarse, my wrists and ankles throbbing from pulling against the coarse restraints you bound me to the little trundle bed with. A slight chill creeps across my naked body, causing my nipples to harden in the cold. What I would not give for my clothes back, or at the very least a blanket.
Your voice, deep and somewhat hollow sounding, had promised that you would return in the morning, but how would I know? The room is pitch black, as it had been before I passed out, no light leaking in from the hallway even. I could have been unconscious for days, hours, mere minutes, it all seems the same to me. As I lay there I continue to struggle against my rope bonds. They appear to be of some kind of woven hemp, not the most comfortable things in the world. I feel my wrists chafe, and blood begins to trickle down my feet as my futile movements irritate the inflamed skin still farther.
Fleeting worries about infection cross my mind, but at this point it's probably the least of my worries. The distinct sound of footfalls echoes down the hallway outside my door. I hear the creak of hinges, but as before no light enters the little room. I wonder how you can navigate in such pitch blackness. A veritable deluge of horror stories and monster mythos rampage through my head, but I shake them off. This is the real world, and realism dictates that you were just familiar with the area. After all, the kidnapping had gone off so smoothly that I could not have been your first.
Your footsteps cross what I presume is the threshold, and move purposely toward the metal framed cot I am tied to. I lay absolutely rigid, terrified of what you might do to me now. The contact is brief, a mere whisper of a caress across the soft flesh of my abdomen. You seem to be wearing some kind of rubber or latex glove, and the sensation makes me shiver even more than the drafty room. Again I feel my nipples draw themselves into tight little buds. Suddenly I am glad for the dark of the room, I would hate for you to see my reaction and assume that it was from pleasure.
There is a brief hissing noise and I am blinded momentarily. When the spots clear from my eyes I see that you have lit a solitary pillar candle and set it upon a ledge above the bed, casting a warm glow across my naked body. Fearfully I scan across for my first glimpse of you. I am surprised by your height, when first you had grabbed me I thought you were closer to my own height, but now I can see that you stand closer to six feet than my own five foot four. Your build was average, nicely muscled arms but you were developing a bit of a belly. Not being a small sized person myself, I didn't judge. There wasn't an inch of exposed skin on you though, your hands were covered by thick black gloves and your face was covered by some kind of gas mask. The effect was terrifying.
I struggle against my bonds with renewed vigor, I can see the heavy oaken door behind you, and a sliver of hallway that practically reeks of freedom to me. Without warning your hand smacks down across my left thigh. I screech as the pain laces up and down my leg. Whatever material those damned gloves of yours are made of, they cling and pull at my skin as your hand tears away. I let loose a harsh string of invectives, mainly doubting the legitimacy of your paternity and your intelligence level, but you do not seem amused. With an audible 'pop' noise you cram a ball gag in my mouth, catching my hair in the clasp as you fasten it. Furiously I work my tongue and jaw, trying to dislodge the offensive bit of rubber, but to no avail. It is rather firmly in place.
"If you struggle and disobey, you will make this far more unpleasant than it has to be. So be still."
I fight back the tears that are welling up in my eyes. Somehow I know that to let them fall will be letting you win, especially since you appear to be inspecting my face rather avidly. You turn around and I catch a brief glance of a table behind you. I can't make out what is on it as the surface is above my eye level, but I admit I was terrified of what might be up there. The first items you produce from your little table are handcuffs, four pairs of the real, metal kind, the kind that only open with a key. You carefully replace my rope bonds with them, and the cool metal is a momentary relief, but I know its only a matter of time before the inflexibility of my new restraints causes its won particular set of pains.
