Imprisoned Ch 02

The first memory I have of my captor is comparable to a CD with a large scratch running down its silvery smooth body; it repeats over and over again in my mind. It was September 1st of last year -- six months and four days ago.

I was not expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen on my first day of senior year at Brunswick High School. Like most suburban schools, mine was especially boring. There were the usual cliques, mostly uninspiring teachers, and of course, a constantly annoyed (perhaps, sexually frustrated?) librarian.

For my senior year, I had decided to take the I-don't-give-a-fuck approach, and kick back by taking the "easy-A" classes. Starting off the day with Art Class 100: Mastering the Basics and ending the school day with sixth hour study hall seemed to be the best way to survive my last year. Admittedly, I was sick of the cafeteria food, the overcrowded hallways, and the same people's parties. There was little to zero variation in Brunswick, and college seemed to be my escape out of there.

Just as I had accepted returning to Brunswick for one more year, I had also accepted that nothing interesting would happen—nothing out of the normal, anyhow. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

Fifth hour astronomy class with Mr. Archer hadn't been my idea, but rather, my friend, Tony's. I remember on the first day of class, Tony and I sat together. He nudged me with his elbow. Glancing his way, I raised an eyebrow as if to ask what he wanted.

He whispered, "Have you heard anything about Mr. Archer?"

"No, he's new, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I don't know anything other than the fact that he's supposed to be dark and gorgeous," Tony said with a smile. Ever since he had come out our sophomore year, he had become extremely forward and open about his sexuality. Homosexuality, Tony always said, wasn't his choice. And he didn't mind flaunting it either. Always dressing in bold colors, Tony was clearly not your captain-of-the-football-team kind of guy.

"Tony, you always believe the rumors. I know you're type, anyway. Young, athletic blondes. Leaner than Abercrombie and Fitch models, but bulkier than soccer players."

"You know me too well," Tony laughed.

"And besides," I continued to say, "Mr. Archer is old. Isn't he like thirty five or something?"

The classroom door opened and the students hushed immediately. Diverting their attention to the door, we watched as our teacher entered the room. My face went white and my heart slammed in my rib cage. This man was gorgeous.

Tony sighed and whispered to me, "You're right. Not my type at all."

But he is mine, I couldn't help but thinking. His eyes reminded me of an illuminated rainforest, greener than I had ever seen. His body was unusually fit for a teacher—or what I imagined a teacher should look like. Nicely dressed in an entirely black suit, he was slightly overdressed for Brunswick High. And his hair was jet black, equally matching his attire. I wondered where he had come from. What had been his previous occupation? Were all of his outfits as stylish as this? My mind buzzed.

"Class," he said, shooting a sharp look at his students, "You can refer to me as Mr. Archer in the classroom, but when the school day is over, please call me Carson." Pacing back and forth along the whiteboard, he spoke for the majority of the hour about how his class would run and his unique grading procedure. That was how I saw him. He was an individual, not a conforming blue collar union member, like the rest of the staff at Brunswick.

He spoke in a manner that intimidated us, but at the same time, as if we were his equals. His voice was smooth and low, and it made me shiver. And sometimes, he would pause, a faraway look glossing over his eyes. Then, he'd snap back into his "teaching mode," and continue his thoughts. It was almost unnoticeable, but I caught him, especially as he was marking attendance.

It happened at the end of class. "Before I forget..." he said, grabbing his attendance folder. And then he ran through the list of names: "Blake Anderson."

"Here."

"Laurie Adams."

"Here."

Eventually, he got to my name. "Madeline Nickles."

"It's Maddy," I corrected him boldly.

Mr. Archer glanced up from his folder. He locked eyes with me and a small smile rose upon his face. Subtly squinting his eyes, that same pause -- that same moment of "thinking" -- that faraway look -- occurred. And all I could do was stare back, feeling as if I was being taken there too. I was where he was... in some alternative world, a secretive world behind his beautiful eyes.

"Maddy Nickles," he said, his low humming voice seeping from his lips.

"Here." My voice quieter now.

Then, he broke our locked gaze, and continued with roll call. Looking down at my desk, my eyes burned and my heart pounded even louder. I hoped Tony didn't notice my discomfort, but surely he did. What was overcoming me? This feeling inside was inexplainable. A mix of intrigue and understanding with a dash of intimidation, I knew I shouldn't pursue the feeling. But that connection, although potentially (no, definitely) dangerous, couldn't be resisted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I put the scratched CD away for now and focused on my current situation. Blinking, the dimly lit room reappeared. I had returned to the basement -- my prison, my reality.

It was nearly 6 a.m., around the time when my captor woke up and got ready for the school day. Three months ago, I could have happily recited his routine: wake up, take a shower, make a quick breakfast, fill his coffee thermos, and make sure the lights were off and the doors were locked before he would leave for Brunswick High. But now things were different. After all, my pain -- his pleasure -- was a new addition to that routine.

As soon as the cuckoo clock rang 6:00, Carson Archer unlocked the basement door. Handcuffed to the sex-infested bed, I remained still. I tried to calm my heart by silently telling myself that there was no getting out of this; this part of the routine was inevitable. I braced myself for his voice.

"Sweet Maddy," he said soothingly, and immediately, I could tell that he was in a good mood this morning. His happiness made me shudder in fear. At least when he was neutral, or even angry, he wasn't loving. He didn't caress me, tell me how beautiful I was, or talk about a future with me. But today, all of that stuff was about to burst from him.

"Maddy, I had a dream about you last night." When I didn't comment, he continued with, "We were in the classroom again. Do you remember how naughty you were?"

I could almost envision his sly smile.

"You would come up to me after class, practically begging for it. You and those sweet, innocent eyes. And your tight shirts, one extra button popped open just so that I could catch a glimpse of your breasts. So subtle, huh, Maddy? That's how it was like in my dream too."

He neared the edge of my bed so that he could peer down at me now. He elaborated, "You were speaking to me, but I can't even remember what you said. All I could see were your lips and think about how badly I wanted them around my cock. But in my dream, you had other desires. You grabbed my hand and put it in between your legs. I could feel your panties. They were drenched. You tried telling me something sexy, something that I didn't give a fuck about because I already knew that I had you. Yes, Maddy, I had you right were I wanted. But I couldn't let you think that. Nooo...not at that point. So instead of barking orders at you to shut your silly little mouth, I remember gently pressing my lips against yours. And then I whispered in your ear. You know what I whispered? Can you guess, Maddy, love?"

His eyes were going crazy now, grazing over my half-naked body, bouncing from my breasts to my pussy. Uncomfortable, as always, I didn't even bother with this guessing game.

"I told you to bend over. And you just acted stupid, like you didn't know what was going on. So I was forced to grab you and bend you over my desk. I grabbed those drenched panties of yours, tore them off, and rammed myself in you as I clasped my hand over your mouth. I could hear you panting, gasping for air, but as my fuck-toy, why would I care if you couldn't breathe? I knew I wasn't going to kill you..."

Was this the romantic and loving Carson I expected that morning? It didn't seem like it, but his story wasn't over yet.

"And in the end of my dream, I realized how amazing it had all been. I wanted to be with you forever. My play-thing, my lover, my stupidly innocent student who had been so attracted to me...without knowing about all of the darkness that lay within. Now, how do you like me, Maddy, love? How do you like me?"

"I like you," I said plainly.

"But do you love me? Or were your words lies?"

I tried choking the words out, and finally I did. But I did so with slight hesitation, and my captor wasn't pleased. "Maybe your words won't show it, but your body can express it. I know that much, Maddy, love."

He reached into his back pocket and took out a small, silver key. Taking hold of my wrists, he freed me from my handcuffs. And then he ordered me to stand. I did. Standing in front of him with only a dirty bra and underwear, I felt like trash, but Carson didn't think so. I guess that's why they say one man's trash is another man's treasure...

He reached for my hand and interlocked his fingers with mine, as if he were the type of man I would ever want to do that with. Then, he led me up the stairs, and opened the door to his humble home. And so began the 6 a.m. routine.

We walked across the small living room, and I looked down at my bare feet. I didn't want to see the bright wallpaper or the family photos or the sunlight streaming in from the windows. It was too depressing to see all of that. It reminded me of what I once had, and what I would probably never have again. That was what scared me the most. The future. The future with Carson. I gulped, just thinking about it.

We were in his bedroom now, a room I knew far too well. The plush blue carpet crept in between my toes and his body spray filled my nose. The king-sized bed with its foam pillows and silky blue sheets was positioned in the middle. And to the side of the room, was his bathroom. The shower was running. That was our destination.

Carson scooped me up and told me to look at him. He kissed my nose and said, "Fucking you is exciting every time, Maddy. But this morning, I want to make love to you. How does that sound?"

Disgusting, I thought. In reality, I only nodded my head.

We entered the bathroom and Carson set me down on the counter next to the sink. For a young woman of 18, I was nicely developed. Full 34 C cups, flat stomach, and round ass. My auburn hair fell nicely down my shoulders to a "perfect" length. That's what Carson always told me.

As I sat on the counter, I watched him take off his sweats and T-shirt. First, appeared his glorious abs. Next, his 7-inch erect penis. As he ditched his boxers, his cock bounced up and down, something that used to amuse me, something that used to make me want to grab it and start sucking away. He looked over at me, and smirked. "Do you like what you see?" Then, he said, "Actually don't answer that, Maddy, love. We'll have your body answer that one." With that said, he grabbed me from the counter and hastily unhooked my bra. My breasts fell against his chest and he rubbed his body up and down them, feeling my nipples graze his bare skin.

"Let's get wet," he declared, and stepped into the shower. Water poured down on us, making our skin slippery and smooth against one another. He slicked my hair back and looked into my eyes. With an airy breath, he said, "You really are beautiful, Maddy." My stomach lurched.

Yanking my now soaking panties down, Carson made some kind of joke that was supposed to be funny, and threw them onto the bathroom floor.

Then, he pressed me against the shower wall, kissing my neck softly. He kept commenting on how good I tasted, how he wanted to taste my pussy next, and let my juices fill his mouth. "It would be more quenching than water," he said, referring to his high-powered sex drive that seemed unquenchable. But I didn't want him going down on me. Not today. He made the whole experience too intimate. He would stare at my pussy, commenting on how it looked and what he was going to do with it. And that was only in between licks. It made me incredibly wet, something that pushed me to the extreme, and forcibly made me orgasm. I couldn't have that today. I didn't have the energy for it. At least not now... So in order to avoid that from happening, I knew what I had to do. I had to speak up.

"No," I told him.

He stopped kissing my neck, and looked at me with a confused expression. His sharp green eyes had softened since being in the shower, and I could tell that he wanted to make love to me. But he always wanted to extend my torture... the only man that ever wanted to prolong foreplay. It had to be him.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" he wanted to know.

"Feel me," I told him.

Carson liked this. I could feel his cock press up against my inner thigh. "What did you say?" Ahh...so, he wanted me to repeat myself.

"Feel me, Carson," I said again.

"I'm doing that now, Maddy, love," he informed me, a spark flashing in his eyes. He enjoyed playing this game, toying with my words and their meanings.

"Feel me on the inside, Carson," I explained. "Inside my pussy. Find my spot and finger fuck me, okay? Just do it, please."

"That's what you want?"

"Yes, Carson, please!" I exclaimed, willing to do anything at that moment for him to not eat me out. Because at least with him fingering me, I could control myself. I didn't have to scream, didn't have to get goosebumps, or forget that Carson was the one doing this to me. I could remain in control to some extent.

"If that's what you really want," Carson told me, his lips lifting. He continued kissing my neck, sucking at it, and caressing my breasts. He tweaked with my nipples, pinching them lightly, until they became stone hard. He let the warm water run over them and watched them rise even higher as he removed his hands from my breasts. One hand went around my waist and the other slipped down to my pussy. He began stroking my clit and lifting back my vaginal folds. My breathing increased. The warm water ran down from my nipples to my pussy, applying a lubricant to his fingers as he slipped one finger deep inside. He felt me shudder -- this time not out of fear, but rather, unintended ecstasy -- and got more excited. He started a consistent motion with one finger pushing deeper inside of me. With another finger, he played with my clit.

"Is this what you wanted?" he whispered into my ear. Water spilled from his head to my cheeks as he drew nearer to my lips now. He kissed them, his tongue pushing to enter my mouth. I didn't dare protest. As soon as I kissed him back, he dove another finger inside of me. He began pumping his fingers, working my clit, all while kissing hard onto my lips. I could feel a raging orgasm build up, and I told myself to keep calm, open my eyes, remind myself that it was Carson -- my captor. Yes, Carson was doing this to me. Kill off the orgasm, I tried to tell myself, but my body wasn't having it.

At the last minute, I was able to open my eyes and view Carson as his body jerked to the rhythm of mine. An orgasm came over me, and I parted my lips just enough so that a small sigh could escape. But more than that would have been too much. I couldn't allow myself to let go. Not with him. Not anymore. My body continued with writhe against his, my breasts pushing against his wet chest, until the orgasm subsided.

Carson removed his fingers from inside me and looked into my eyes with a loving expression drawn across his face. "I love you, Maddy. So much. Now, let me show you..."