I was angry as I left the restaurant. He texted me as soon as I sat at the table. His text said he was outside. So how could he have never made it in? The waiter said there were no accidents out front. I waited a very long hour. He didn't show or respond to my texts.
I started to search my purse for my car keys, walking past an alley way. I remembered they are in my pocket. I am about to retrieve them when I hear what sounds like a kitten being squished coming from the alley. I hesitate, surely there is not a kitten in a dark alley that needs help, too much like a movie or an erotica story I wrote six months ago. The noise comes again, and I can't stop myself from going into the alley.
"Here kitty kitty. Its ok I won't hurt you." I coo to the kitten.
I am relieved when a tabby kitten comes out of the dark towards me. It stops and stares at me, so I kneel down and hold my hand out talking to it softly. It spooks as I feel an arm wrap around my neck. The arm pulls me up. The tightness keeps me from getting the breath to let out a surprised yell. The arm is very strong, and my attempts to scratch into it are blocked by a jacket. I try kicking my feet, and then try to gain footing with them to stop being dragged deeper into the ally. I can't breathe and am starting to see spots. I am thrown roughly down, and a guy pounces on me. He must have been prepared since he slaps some duct tape over my mouth and quickly binds my hands and feet with zip ties.
I am in a panic, the duct tape is keeping me from completely getting my breath back, and the zip ties are painfully cutting into my wrists and ankles. The kitten is thrown with me and I hear a slam. I realize I am in a van. Oh my god, I wrote this story. How can this be happening?
My breath finally comes under control. I am scared. If this follows my story the next couple hours are not going to be pleasant. I have a creative mind, I can think of a way out of this. I mentally inventory what is in my jacket pockets. Car keys! I try to move my hands to the pocket, but I can't get quite get to them; the zip ties are too tight. I roll back and forth, hoping to make them fall out. I hear a deep chuckle and his voice for the first time.
"Go ahead, wear yourself out, it won't work. I zipped your jacket pockets up while you were trying to catch your breath," a deep creepy voice tells me.
That is when the tears start. So much for thinking I am a strong. One little abduction and I am helpless. No, not the time for recriminations. Think. The car takes a corner and my head hits the van wall hard. When I regain my senses after the head bump the van is stopped, I hear the sound of a garage door opening and the van moves forward. Oh my god. How could he manufacture my story so perfectly? Why the hell did I provide a script? If I get out of this alive, I am taking down all my stories and never writing again. The little money I make from them is not worth this.
The back of the van is opened, I try to back away but can't with my hands and feet bound. He roughly pulls me out of the van, throws his arm around my neck again and drags me into a house. How could he be this bloody strong? He quickly takes me up two flights of stairs into what looks to be an attic, no windows, just a bed in the middle of the room. At least this part is different from my story. He tightens his arm around my neck, to cut off my air and get me close to blacking out so he can bind me to the bed. This I know, as it is all part of my story.
He throws me on the bed, throws a collar around my neck and fastens it. I try to fight but still lack the energy. He cuts my hand ties, and throws cuffs around one wrist. I finally get some fight back and try to move away. He just laughs, straddles me and puts a knee on the arm with the cuff to hold it down. He quickly cuffs my other wrist, attaches that cuff to the collar on my neck. He grabs my other wrist and fastens it to the collar. Why the hell did I write this into my story?
He pulled me down the bed, my pelvis at the edge. As expected, he had straps from above to bind my legs. He attached them around my knees and tightened them. He looked at me with a big grin as he demonstrates he can lift my legs and lower them as he pleases. This also demonstrates that I am not wearing any underwear. I am guessing he is the man I was supposed to meet for a date. I am so scared at this point; I keep reminding myself that in the story the girl survives. It is my one hope. He let me see his face didn't he?
He lowers my legs and binds my ankles to the bed.
"Don't worry Lacy, we will have fun with leg positions later, as you know." He states proudly.
Oh my god, how does he know my real name? Who is this guy? He disappears around the bed, and I hear metal against metal. That would be the chain that is going to run from the top of the bed to the collar to keep me from moving too much. I can't decide if knowing what is to come is a better or worse. Why do I get so sadistic in my stories? Any notes I make with my stories explicitly state I would hate to live them out.
Then he does something out of the story, he suddenly rips the duct tape off. It hurts, so I scream.
"See Lacy, you can scream and yell all you want in here. It is soundproof, an improvement on your story don't you think?" He comments.
Chills run up my spine at his words.
"Who are you?" I manage to say.
He instantly slaps my face. The tears start again.
"However, you may only speak when I say so," he warns. "I love seeing your tears. I hope to see plenty more as the night continues. You could probably use a sip of water."
He moves a straw to my lips and I drink. He moves away, if my story is any indication I know what comes next.
Sure enough a wand comes out, I start crying harder.
"You are right, making the victim cum during a rape probably adds to the humiliation and shame. I am so happy you have added it to every single story," he says as the cool wand touches my clit.
I close my eyes, he slaps my thigh hard.
"Look in my eyes Lacy, I want to see when you know your body is betraying you." He says cheerfully.
I slowly open my eyes and try and look anywhere but at him. Another hard slap to the thigh.
"My eyes Lacy, I want you to see who owns you." He states.
I look into his eyes, they are green. How could a monster have green eyes? He smiles.
"Good Girl, you like hearing that don't you?" He says.
I ignore the question. He keeps slapping the same place, and it is really starting to smart.
"I asked you a question Lacy, you need to answer now!" He exclaims.
I answer, "Never again."
He slaps me again. "I will keep doing this until you tell me you like it when Master calls you a good girl"
I bite my lip. He can't make me say it. His hand comes down on my thigh again. I groan, but I won't tell him, I won't.
I finally spit it out after the third slap. "I like it when Master calls me a good girl."
I feel very defeated in this moment, is that all it takes me to cave? Six slaps to my burning thigh?
"You don't get a good girl for that one Lacy. You should have said it the first time." He says with regret.
I want to retort that I am heartbroken, but manage to stop myself.
The wand goes on, I look at his eyes. I tell myself I won't orgasm, but I know it is only a matter of time. I resist the urge, biting my lip again; my poor lip is going to be very sore tomorrow morning, if I am still alive.
The wand buzzes away, and he starts to finger me.
"My Lacy is very wet, I don't think you can hold out much longer." He observes with a smirk.
He is right. I start to cum looking in his eyes, seeing the satisfaction until the orgasm reaches the intensity at which my eyes close. My tears are not stopping. I keep my eyes closed as he uses some rope to attach the wand to my clit. Another orgasm starts. I hate my body.
"Lacy, I told you to keep your eyes open, do you want more slaps?" He sounds frustrated.
I really don't, so I open them. He holds a wicked looking knife. He carefully edges it under my skirt then roughly cuts it off. He throws my skirt on the floor, moves up towards me and my blouse and bra soon follow. I could not feel more vulnerable, naked, being forced to orgasm for this monster.
Once again, I know what is coming next.
"Please don't," I say.
