Itten's Idnapping

The bar was loud, and she'd had a lot to drink. An awful lot more than she was planning to, in fact. She'd had a terrible week, everything that could have gone wrong seemed to go wrong, so she thought she'd treat herself to one drink in here, the fanciest bar in town. It didn't matter that none of her so-called friends could come, she had come on her own. She'd dressed up in her very best: a tight, black dress hugging her curves, and her nicest heels. Her black hair hung in loose curls, tumbling down to her shoulders around her pale and boldly made-up face. Obviously, her look had caught the attention of more than a few guys, but none could keep her interest. Until this one, a taller gentleman, dressed in black. His green eyes, set in his pale, sharp face, seemed to fix her attention, and he seemed like someone she could really get along with. All night they had laughed together and joked about books and movies, and other things. And he must have been pretty well off because he'd been buying the drinks non-stop. How many had she had now? 8? 10? She couldn't quite remember. But she could certainly feel the effects. Blinking hard she squinted at her watch, trying to read the time, but concentrating on it made her wobble, her high heels offering no support at all.

"Hey, hey," he exclaimed in a caring tone, as he put an arm around her to catch her fall, "I think you've had enough for tonight. Why don't we get you home?"

"But," she protested, looking up to him with a pout on her face, "I'm having funnnnnnn!"

"No, c'mon. Home. I'll walk you to the bus stop," he insisted. His voice was soft and kind, but firm, like that of a natural-born leader, and she liked to be lead. "C'mon."

"Fiiiinnnneeeee," she agreed, as he was already shepherding her towards the door. His touch was light but quite irresistible, she found.

After a few minutes of stumbling around, cold air hadn't sobered her up any, if anything it had made her feel even drunker, but she was still with-it enough to know this wasn't the right way.

"Heyyyyy," she complained, "this isn't the bus stop!"

"Nope," he laughed back, "it's late, the buses stopped hours ago, I'm taking you to get a taxi, the app says he's waiting for us just down here."

Before she could reply he was leading her down a cut between two buildings, and despite her state, she noticed that one of them was the bar they had left. Had he been leading her round in circles?

"Heyyyy! Are you-" she was cut off by a hand covering her mouth. Immediately she went into panic mode, trying to scream, trying to lash out at him. His other arm quickly wrapped around her neck and squeezed. Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she desperately tried to get free. But in seconds she felt weak, her vision blurred, her brain began to shut down.

"Down girl," was the last thing she heard as consciousness slipped away.

She awoke again unable to see. Her arms were bound tight, something metallic holding them still. Handcuffs, she deduced. From the complete darkness and difficulty breathing she realised she must also have a bag on her head. Closing her eyes she tried to focus her other senses and heard the heavy metallic click of a large door being closed, and then the sounds of footsteps approaching. Again an arm gripped her throat, and again her grasp of consciousness slipped.

~~~

A dull light shone through the window as she awoke in a large, comfortable bed. The sheets were made of luxurious white cotton, and the pillows were stuffed and fluffed up to perfection.

"Oh my god, my head," she groaned, pressing her hands Into her temples. Looking around she took in her surroundings: the large bed in which she lay occupied the centre of the minimalistically decorated room Flanking it were two bedside tables, each with a lamp giving off a warm, dim light. At the side of the room, there was a desk with a chair and a large wardrobe, both made of the same beautifully grained hardwood as the bed and tables. It was certainly cosy, and oh so nice and warm, just how she liked it. But how did she get here? It didn't have the feel of a hotel, and she thought it unlikely that she'd have booked one for herself when a taxi ride home would have been much cheaper. Was it a guy's house? Racking her brain she tried to remember, tried to pull the information from the drunken fog. Suddenly the door opened, and she had her answer.

"Morning, gorgeous." He said with a smile, his green eyes instantly recognisable. "How are you feeling?"

"My head is killing me," she complained, sinking into bed and pulling the covers up to her face. The guy from the bar, of course! She was relieved that someone so sweet had been around to look after her, she could have ended up anywhere!

"Aww, I'm not surprised," he laughed, "you had a lot last night, but breakfast is nearly ready so that should help you feel better. I'll get you some painkillers too." Without waiting for a reply he went back out, closing the door behind him with a heavy thud. Again she tried to figure out what had happened. She was still dressed: a dressing gown lay nearby but she was still wearing her dress. 'Obviously, we've not had sex at least' she thought, relieved, 'maybe he is just really sweet, and brought me home to look after me.' Something was playing on her mind, but she couldn't tell what. Before she could think any more about the door swung open again and he entered, carrying a tray of breakfast. Instantly the smell filled the room, restoring her a little.

"Sausage and egg, bacon and beans, toast and tea," he recited as he walked across the room towards her, it was just what she needed. "Enjoy," he beamed as he handed her the tray, "I didn't know how you took your tea so it's just black in the pot, there are some sugar and milk on the tray though."

"Oh, thank you!" She replied, smiling as she saw the food he had prepared, "that's really lovely. Where's yours though?"

"Oh, mine is downstairs, I thought I'd leave you be in case you wanted to get up and get dressed or anything, if you need me just shout, I won't be far."

"Thank you, that's very considerate, you're really lovely," she told him, before her mind shifted to something else. "But what happened last night?"

He laughed as he told her "Oh, I met you in a bar, and we had a few drinks together, I tried to send you in a taxi home, but you were so pissed you couldn't even remember your address, so I brought you to mine. Don't worry, I didn't feel you up or fuck you or anything, I just put you to be and let you sleep."

"Thanks," she replied softly, feeling grateful for his kindness and also guilty that she'd been so bad. There was something else playing on her mind, but she couldn't tell what. Something wasn't right, something that was hidden in the drunken haze.

"No problem," he continued, "you're welcome to stay as long as you want. I'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast."

Breakfast was as good as it smelled, this guy could really cook. Each bite made her feel better, and a few tablets were doing wonders for her headache. After breakfast, she stood and rolled out of bed, her feet landing on a thick fluffy rug that covered the hardwood floor. Reaching around she found her glasses on the bedside table, but there was no sign of her phone or bag. No sign of anything with the time on either, she noticed. From the fact she was hungover, but no longer drunk, and from the light coming through the window she estimated it must have been early on Saturday afternoon. Slowly she stepped onto the hard floor, the cold running up her spine as she did, and began to walk around the room looking for them. Not by the bed, not on the desk. The wardrobe was locked.

"Weird," she thought aloud to herself, looking out of the window while thinking. Something wasn't right, 'Am I just THAT hungover, or does that window not look real?' She wondered, taking a step towards it. No, definitely not real, rather a large TV playing a generic street scene.

"Oh fuck," she worried out loud, "this isn't good. What the fuck is going on?" Immediately she darted for the door, it was locked. Knocking on it she listened to the thud, no way was it a normal wood door, probably a wood veneer over solid metal, she thought. This was not good, not good at all. Then she remembered, she remembered getting lost, going down the back alley, the arm around her throat.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," she cursed, pacing around the room, trying to formulate a plan. But there was no time, the door was swinging open again, acting quickly she pressed herself against the wall, so she would be hidden from his view as whoever was on the other side stepped into the room. As her captor stepped through the doorway she lunged at him, pushing into him with all her strength she managed to make him wobble, then darted for the corridor he had come from. But before she'd even taken her second stride he had grabbed her, pulling her back from the doorway, in one movement throwing her to the ground. Turning to face her he kicked the door closed.

"That wasn't very nice." His voice was icy cold, and his words were quiet, measured and calm, quite the opposite of Grace's as she screamed back at him.

"Fuck you!" Backing away, trying to get to her feet, she slid over the polished wood. She had managed to get to her knees before he grabbed her by the neck, his strong hand grasping her just under the jaw, pushing her head up.

"Stand up," he snarled, lifting her to her feet. Even when she was standing the height difference between them was huge, he must have been about a foot taller. "I brought you here to look after you. To care for you. To give you some nice treatment. And this is how you repay me? By charging into me, and trying to run off." His hand was gripping tighter, cutting off the blood flow to her brain, she was going dizzy and her heart was racing, adrenaline pumping. She tried to reply to him, but words wouldn't form. "If that's how you're going to act, then I'll do away with the pleasantries from now on." With that, he squeezed harder, and she passed out again.

A few times she awoke, to find a bag on her head, blocking all her vision, she could hear him working, though, moving things, metallic clangs and clicks, but each time he would knock her out again as soon as he noticed she was moving. When the bag was removed the light was blinding, and her eyes struggled to adjust. A few deep, wheezing gasps restocked her lungs and she regained her senses. Handcuffs fastened her wrists, and they were attached to some kind of rope which held them above her head. Her feet were tied also, further than shoulder-width apart, shackled to the ground. She tried to struggle, tried to pull, but she was fastened tight, hardly able to move an inch. Desperately she tried to find a weak link, but with each movement, the cuffs just dug harder into her wrists, making them burn and sting. She pulled and trashed and did her best to curl up in a ball, but all that accomplished was breaking the skin of her arms. As she looked up to see the trickle of blood running down her arm, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to look over her shoulder instead. Craning her head she saw him, slowly pacing around her, looking her up and down.

"What the fuck?" She demanded.

As he walked around in front of her he raised his hand and slapped her. The stinging contact dazed her and immediately her cheek burned as it flushed bright red.

"Don't talk to me like that, slut," he whispered, leaning in close enough for her to feel his hot breath against her skin, "it's not very nice."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Nobody gets to do this to me! Get the fuck away from me!"

A hand around her neck cut her complaints off.

"Be. Quiet.." He ordered. She saw the anger in his eyes, felt the power in his hands. Every word he said scared her, drove the fight out of her body. For a long moment, he stood there, holding her, looking down into her eyes, watching her, daring her to say another word. She didn't, she was too scared to move a muscle, or make another noise. "Good."

As she stood panting from fear he moved his hand to his waist, producing a penknife from his pocket. The blade sprung open with a metallic clang, the hard metal glinted in the light as he lifted it to her face, holding it against her cheek. She couldn't help but whimper as the cold, blunt side of the knife pressed against her skin, and moved down her body. It reached the fabric of her dress and twisted so that the sharp side began to cut; the tight fabric split easily as the blade cut through it, falling from her breasts, slipping off her waist, landing on the floor. She closed her eyes tight, trying not to think about what was happening, trying to wake herself from this sick dream. But it was no good, the feeling of his hot breath on her ear dragged her back to the here and now,

"Good girl," he whispered, running his hands down her now exposed skin, "aren't you just fucking gorgeous?" Taking a step back he admired her body, inspecting every inch: her plush breasts squeezed into her favourite bra, her slim waist, fit stomach, a small round bum at the top of long, toned legs. He looked at her the way she'd always wanted a man to look at her. Guys could never keep their eyes off of her, so she was used to being stared at, but this was different, he beheld her like she was a piece of art. In any other situation, it would have made her swoon, but this wasn't any other situation. Again she felt the knife, and whimpered at it, as it slit her bra strap. The chilly air on her sensitive nipples made her draw a sharp breath and she began to pant as his hand moved to her breasts. He felt them gently, his strong hands cupping them, his fingers tickling and teasing, exploring every inch. He could feel her heartbeat through her chest, and the fast heaving of her lungs as she panted. He could feel her fear, and it fueled him. Then his hands moved down her stomach, sliding down the lines of her abs, tickling the skin gently as they went, tucking into the band of her underwear. Slowly the knife cut into them too, slicing the elastic, sending them tumbling down her legs. She tried to pull her thighs together, to protect herself, but she couldn't move an inch, such were the restraints. She wanted nothing not than to curl up into a ball and hide herself away, but she was tied standing up, legs spread, her whole body naked and exposed. Sliding a hand between her legs he felt her, and she bit her lip to keep from making a noise. His hands were forceful, yet also gentle; they didn't hurt her, but she couldn't stop them.

"Good," he said as he stepped away, "you're fucking gorgeous. You'll do fine."

"Fuck you," she spat back, but her attitude drained quickly when she saw what he was picking from a table: a gas torch, and a metal brand, in the shape of a cat's head. "No, no," she pleaded, as the flame of the torched roared into life. "No way, fuck off, fuck you, don't you dare! You fucking cunt!" On and on she screamed and shouted at him, as he stood silently, heating the brand. Soon it began to glow, and he shut off the flame. Still, without saying a word he held the brand up, admiring the orange glow, as he walked towards his victim. Despite her pleas, her curses and her desperate begging he couldn't be convinced, he didn't even react to her protests, and simply pressed the brand into the skin of her back. Immediately the burning pain made her scream at the top of her lungs, it hurt like nothing she had ever felt. He held it there, pressing hard, and she passed out from the pain.

When she awoke she found herself in a cage, one too short to stand in, but long enough to lie down. A plastic bottle of water was the only other thing in the cage with her, but as she came to her senses she noticed another cage next to hers. One much larger, and better furnished, with a bed and a rug and something that would pass for a small, exposed bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. And, she noticed, a person! Another woman, who was sat watching her.

"Hey, you're awake!" The other woman shouted under her breath, "come here!" Both women scooted across the cold concrete floor, to the edge of their cage closest to the other, and looked hard at one another.

"Who the fuck are you?" She asked. In a beam of light, she saw her: a slender, blonde girl, small and petite in every way. Her light hair formed tight natural curls and her blue eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness.

"I'm... He doesn't like us using our real names, and he's always listening. I'm Angel, that's what he calls me." Turning to show the brand on her back, in the shape of 2 wings. "It looks like you're called Cat, or Kitten or something," she continued, studying the marks on the new girl.

"What the fuck is going on?" Demanded kitten.

"He... Master brought me here a while ago, I don't know how long, it's hard to keep track of days. A few weeks at least I think. He's been... Using me." Her voice was filled with sadness, and with fear, as she explained, "he'd just fuck me at first and beat me if I resisted. But he kept setting these crazy rules and giving me tasks to do. If I did as he said he'd give me rewards, I started out in that cage but when I pleased him he let me move into this one... I don't know what happened to the last girl who was in this cage, she was a tall, red-headed thing, she... I haven't seen her in a while. She said she'd been here a long time."

"Oh fuck," thought kitten, out loud. "Nobody will even know I'm missing yet, I went out alone, even my close friends wouldn't expect a message from me until Saturday night, they'd just think I was hungover. They probably wouldn't start to worry until Sunday at the earliest... There were no lectures next week so nobody at uni would realise I was missing, it could be, it-it could be a week before anyone reports me missing... Oh no, oh fuck, oh no oh no."

"Hey, hey, hey calm down" the blonde reassured her, "it's okay, it's not so bad. He's... He's rough but he's fair. He gave me this." Bending down she showed off a collar around her neck, the white leather band adorned in gold, a tag reading "Angel" dangled from the centre. "He says-"

She was cut off by a door opening, and a light switching on. "He says it's dinner time." It was him, immediately the sound of his voice sent kitten reeling, fleeing to the back of her cell. Adrenaline pumped, muscles tensed, she was ready for him this time. The other captive seemed quite happy to see him though.

"Thank you, master!" Exclaimed the blonde girl

"What do you think of my new toy, Angel?" He asked, gesturing towards kitten's terrified body, curled up in the corner,

"She seems... Shy" she laughed. "Thank you for my dinner." It became apparent he wasn't here to hurt them, and her body relaxed a little, crawling out of the corner to see him better.

Into the larger cage, he slid a paper plate, carrying a large hotdog in a bun, it did smell good she had to admit. The smaller cage's plate featured just a few slices of buttered bread.

"How come-" she started to ask, but he cut her off

"Good food is a reward, not something to be taken for granted," Explained their master.

"So how do I-"

"I'll show you after you've eaten. Enjoy."

The two ate their food in silence, and kitten spent the time thinking, trying to think about how she could escape. By the time they had finished eating she had collected her thoughts. The bars of her cage seemed to be steel, there was no way she could break them. Could she somehow hurt herself so he'd have to let her out? Well, the plates were paper so they couldn't be smashed into sharp fragments, and she noticed the food was all finger food, so no cutlery. The only way to do it would be to hit her head against the bars hard enough to split her head open, but without enough room to stand it wouldn't be easy to swing her head hard enough.