The noise of the bin lorry outside in the street half awoke Joanne Moore from her sleep, she reached out her hand to turn the alarm clock off and see that she had a further forty five minutes before it would go off and she sleepily turned her face back towards the pillow and cuddled in snugly and drifted back into her dream. Back in dreamland Joanne was in the night-club she and her friends had been in last Friday night, only her friends weren't there this time and in fact Joanne appeared to be the only female in the place. And that nice aqua green / blue dress she had worn seemed to have shrunk somewhat, the hemline ended several inches higher and she was pretty much in danger of flashing her thong anytime she moved her legs and it seemed to show an awful lot more cleavage than she remembered. She was dancing sexily with a variety of men in the club.
Another noise outside on the wakening London streets and she suddenly jumped forward in her dream. She was out of the club now, it was late, she was hailing a cab and getting in, realising as she slid on the leather back seat that her skirt was riding up to reveal her crotch but not caring. She looked at the taxi driver, he was a slob, a fat, ugly slob that was sweating and his hair was greasy he was just the most unattractive individual that she could imagine. He had a sleazy, salacious tabloid open at a topless girl on his passenger seat and below that a low rent porno magazine. It was just the seediest taxi imaginable. And Joanne was wet between her legs, a fire burned down there that desperately needed to be attended to.
She was close now to wakening up of her own violation but as she neared that her dream became all the more vivid and real. They were moving in the taxi, the driver was grunting and staring at her almost constantly in the mirror. Joanne was so wet and she could not stop herself reaching her hand down between her legs and playing with herself. Another jump cut in her dream and they were stopped outside Joanne's parents house (strange she had left there three years ago) and she was discovering she had no money to pay for the fare. The taxi driver grinned as she explained her predicament. Another fuzzy jump cut, the sound of traffic becoming more and more obtrusive on her dream, Joanne found herself on her knees sucking the drivers hard cock, she didn't want to, was reluctant to but was as horny as hell about it and reached to finger her own pussy just as her bedside alarm clock blared into action and brought her straight to her senses.
Joanne got up slowly and showered even slower the lingering memories of her dream staying with her as she played with herself off under the hot, rushing water. When finally she was into her tight jogging shorts and top she wandered down to the kitchen to see if her flat mates were up -- they were and what's more their conversation made very interesting hearing.
"That bastards been at it again! Listen to this."
Claire read from the paper as she announced.
"The Tottenham attacker has struck again. A young woman, 21, was kidnapped after a drunken night out and sexually assaulted before having her pony tail hacked off with scissors. This is the third such attack in the area in the last three weeks. Each assault has seen the man pose as a late night Taxi and pick up the girls and the drive them to a seduced spot to assault them. Police have called for residents to be extra vigilant."
Joanne didn't listen to any more she just affixed the ear plugs of her ipod and stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and began a slow jog while contemplating what her long dark hair would look like in a ponytail.
*
Joanne went out for four nights in a row. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Each night she pretended to be far more drunk than she was and tried to attract the attentions of taxi's that looked less than legitimate. She was playing with fire and she knew it. It was stupid and dangerous and reckless beyond belief. No one even knew where she was, her flatmates thought she had a new man on the go and in a way she did, she just hadn't found him yet. But she was determined to keep looking. And in the meantime the explosions she was having when she returned to her room and masturbated herself to sleep more than made up for it. The fantasy was just to arousing and alluring to leave alone.
Joanne was playing with fire. She knew that. But she wanted to get burned. Or did she? Her fantasies were wrong, she knew that as well but all the knowledge in the world did not change how she felt, how she dreamed night after night of being taken against her will and used and abused at her attackers discretion. She could remember reading a story as a younger woman of a woman attacked in a bar and assaulted by a group of guys and rather than being repulsed she had been turned on and from that point onwards her fantasies had just snowballed to now being almost out of control. It was certainly dangerous what she was doing but she was not about to stop.
That night she went out again, once more the bait on her own dangerous hook. Once more hoping to get caught. She certainly dressed the part: short, low cut silver dress that showed plenty of her creamy white flesh, high heels that had her tottering even before she assumed her 'drunk' act and make up caked on liberally. And of course her long, dark hair was in a cute ponytail. She was aiming for the filthy slut look and from the looks and comments she attracted in the clubs in that part of London she certainly managed it. She did actually imbibe a few drinks but not so many that she was completely without her faculties. She flirted with a couple of guys she knew slightly but made sure to escape them before too long, they were not the type of man she was seeking, not nearly.
It was after half past one in the morning when she exited her last club. The London thoroughfares were by turns either illuminated and busy or dark and foreboding, depending upon what establishments were still open and emptying into them. Joanne took her time in the darker, quieter ones, using her by now perfected drunk and carefree stumble to make her way through the streets, hoping a taxi would stop. Any that did that looked legit or did not fit the profile she had ascertained from the newspaper and police warnings she ignored and waved away. And then a car drew up she got the queerest feeling about.
It was an old, battered looking sedan, the Taxi sign a top it not looking at all permanent. From what Joanne had read the attacker had never used the same car twice, every time stealing an old looking car earlier that night. The car crawled behind her for a few moments before drawing level with her and came to a halt. Joanne gave an involuntary shiver of excitement mixed with very real fear.
"You needing a ride Miss?"
A gruff voice spoke to her from the quiet darkness of the driver's seat.
