Her plane was late, and she was late, and not by just a little bit. A thunderstorm raging across the state of Connecticut had delayed her landing for over two hours. She had spent the flight in a business class seat in her skirt suit, willing herself not to sweat in case the storm broke and she did make the meeting. But it was way past that now and she was resigned, if not relaxed.
When the plane finally touched down and she slipped her pumps on (three inch heels were necessary when a petite woman wants to make an impression of strength in the business world) and made her way up the boarding corridor. The airport was empty, and she immediately flipped open her cell and dialed voicemail. Six essages, all from her boss, each one more panicked than the last. She dialed his number and got his voicemail, told him what had happened, although he most likely already knew. It was now after eight o'clock and whatever had happened was over. Tomorrow she'd deal with the fallout. She put the cell away.
She walked to the baggage claim, got her bags and went outside to find a ride. The company car that ought to have met her was long gone, of course, and she found herself at the end of a long line of people waiting for a short line of taxis. The rain poured down and she huddled under the shelter of the awning when a man came over. He was tall and lanky with a twinkle in his eye and she said, "Do you need a ride, miss?" She looked around and saw a shuttle sitting in the rain. There was a woman sitting in the back waiting, apparently reading. Normally she hated shuttles because they made too may stops and took too long to get her where she was going, but she was desperate. She said, "Can you get me to Middletown?"
"Sure thing!"
"Alright then." And she got into the van and the driver slammed it home behind her. And then, eerily, he locked it. She shrugged and sat downin the seat ahead of the woman. She mumbled hello and the woman looked up and smiled and then returned to her magazine. The van pulled away and drove into the storm.
She didn't know Connecticut well, but it seemed to her the driver ought to have found a main thoroughfare by now. They'd been in the van for over half an hour. "Scuse me?" she said, leaning forward. "Is this the way to the freeway?"
"I've got to drop my other passenger first. Then we'll get you to Killingworth."
"Killingworth?" She said, "I said Middletown."
"Oh, right, right. Middletown."
She said, "Tell you what, when you drop her off you can drop me off as well. Alright?"
He said nothing for a moment, and then replied, "Suit yourself." The prickle of fear in her belly subsided but didn't quite disappear completely. She had her cell. When she got out of the van she'd dial her boss again and have him send a car. he could do that, even if he was with clients. All it took was a phone call.
The van drove through a gate and into a parking lot with its pavement cracked and overgrown with weeds. The driver stopped and slammed the shifter into park. For the first time she felt real alarm. "Let me out. Just let me out now, okay? Please just let me out here." She tried the door, but it was locked and she couldn't open it from inside. She started to turn to the woman in the rear seat for help when a hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Something stung her throat and she saw the glint of a knife. The woman had her by the hair and she was pinned. She said in a soothing voice, "Just relax sweetie. It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay. Right Art?"
"Right baby."
"See? Just be a good girl and it'll all be fine." Almost as if to illustrate the point, the hand in her hair released its grip and stroked her cheek softly, gently caressing her bare throat and neck. She was pale and shaking with terror, sure she was going to die. In spite of fear, or perhaps because of it, her nipples hardened. She whimpered softly. "Please don't hurt me."
The hand continued its caresses, and the woman whispered "Relax honey," as the hand slipped down her chest and began unbuttoning her blouse. "No," she moaned. "Please." But she froze as the knife started to move as well, down her chest, its point on her skin as it slid down between her breasts. The sharp edge cut through her bra, which hung useless at her sides along with her open blouse. Her head was still back and she couldn't see, but the driver must have turned because he said, "Look at them. She got some nice ones, baby. They as firm as they look?"
"You'll know soon enough..."
She was so caught up in her fear and shame that she almost didn't notice as the crunch of the tires on gravel stopped, and then the engine. The door to the van roared open and she was dragged out of the van. She struggled, but her thin limbs bent like willow branches in the man's strong grip. he wrenched her arms behind her and fastened her wrists with zip-cuffs. Then each of them grabbed one of her arms and dragged her through the parking lot.
She struggled and screamed, but her captors didn't seem to mind at all. She kicked out with her leg and her foot connected solidly with the woman's shin. "You fucking cunt!" the woman roared, and slapped her backhanded across the face. She cried out in pain and surprise, but her cry was cut short as the man punched her solidly in the stomach. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she couldn't seem to recover. She dropped to the broken asphalt writhing, but he lifted her effortlessly and threw her over his shoulder.
She recovered slowly, moving weakly on his shoulder, her breath coming in moaning gasps. "She's a moaner," he said with a laugh. "I like screamers myself, but a moaner's pretty good too." Her exposed nipples rubbed painfully against his rough clothing.
A metal door squealed open and she was carried into darkness. "Please don't hurt me," she whimpered again. She was humiliated and ashamed to be begging, but terrified too. She was dropped to the concrete floor with an unforgiving bump, and he fastened a collar around her neck. There was a chain on the collar, and the other end was already attached to a ring in the floor. The chain was long enough for her to sit or kneel, but not stand.
Then they were on her again. "Hold her," the woman said. He gripped her firmly by the shoulders as the woman coldly cut every shred of clothing from her body. She flinched every time the blade toched her skin, but the woman, in spite of her rpoughness, seemed to be taking pains not to cut her skin. Yet.
They stood back, surveying their handiwork as she huddled naked on the cold, dirty concrete. With her hands behind her, she was unable to cover herself. Her small breasts were thrust out, capped with nipples hard with fear and cold. She tried to keep her legs tight together to hide her sex.
The woman came close. "Open your legs," she said.
"Please..."
Her reply was a ringing slap. And then another. And a third. She tasted her own blood in her mouth, and before the woman could strike her a fourth time, she slowly opened her legs slightly.
"Cock tease," the man smirked. The woman slapped her again, harder. She wept with her head down, humiiated as she opened her legs wider. "More," the woman said. "Wider."
