(Warning: Fetish content involved. Read at your own discretion.)
Few would deny Helene Winemaker, the former talk show host and top contender for the next year's NYC mayoral race, had great beauty. Whenever she showed her bright teeth in a perfectly engineered smile, people immediately thought about that one prettiest girl back in their high school days who drove every boy mad with longing and every girl dead with hopeless envy.
Indeed, Helene was one of those cheerleaders that got to keep their glamour all the way into their middle age. She was 43, single, rich, childless, and perfectly in shape, always wearing form-fitting dresses that could reveal her nicely toned biceps and smooth calves. When standing on a pair of thin black heels, Ms. Winemaker would have effortlessly stood out amidst a herd of overweight greasy men in the city hall like a flawless statue of grace.
Like every other important person in the city, Helene had her own driver, but unfortunately he called in sick this morning, and after dropping her secretary off at the train station she had to drive home alone from a donor event out of state. The day did not go as smooth as she had hoped, as a rumored appearance of several high-profile potential donors failed to materialize. Adding to the bad day was when her car suddenly reported a red warning sign about an impending engine trouble. Helene sighed and drove down the next exit.
The car held up until she left the ramp and reached the edge of a town; there its engine completely died and refused to start up again. Overhead, the green traffic sign said "Newton." She had been here once when she was a child, when her mother took her and her sister to a famous local ice-cream shop. Now the town was full of empty houses with boarded up windows, and the weed grew long and wild along the concrete pavement. Very few pedestrians could be seen and they all looked tense.
Trapped in her car in the middle of nowhere, Ms. Winemaker called the emergency road service but could not get through. In theory she could get one of her subordinates from her office to come rescue her but decided it would be embarrassing. Surely the boss could take care of a car problem herself.
Grudgingly she got out of her car and walked down the deserted street hunting for better signal. Maybe it was because she hadn't been to any rough area for a long time, Helene did not realize how out of place her impeccable stockings-and-heels outfit was in this urban wasteland. Her expensive grey sweater and tight black pencil skirt was screaming "rob me", and soon around the corner, not far from where she parked her car, she got into real troubles.
As she was searching through her contacts on her phone for any number that remotely resembled road rescue, the fine-looking blonde was jumped by a group of teenage rascals who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. In one split second they had her surrounded like a roe by a pack of coyotes. The little gang all had the same rough crew cut that made Helene think they would cut her throat for a mere twenty dollars. She told herself to keep calm and not panic.
"Where are you heading to, hot lady?" It was the tall white kid who seemed to be their leader. He spoke in a coarse accent and swept his eyes on her up and down; her sleek stockinged legs seemed to attract most of his attention. Teenage boys were all the same, Helene thought to herself. She told them they could have her phone and money, just don't do anything rush.
"You're telling me what to do, bitch? What the f-- is wrong with you?" The tall boy got out a pocket knife and started slicing the air in between them; Helene backed off a few steps but was caught by another teen thug behind her. "Hold her down and I'll cut this bitch's pretty face up!"
Suddenly a voice came from behind him, and it was one of his sidekicks, "wait, isn't she like famous or something? Didn't we see her in TV yesterday?" That caused a change in the tall kid's expression, and he looked closely at her face again. "Wait, no f--king way - you're that woman running for the New York mayor!"
"Boss, we can't touch her, or the cops will have our guts." The little confrontation was rapidly losing its steam now that her identity was known. She saw fear growing in the leader's face.
"Right - trust me, young man, you don't want to hurt me, for your own sake." Helene tried to maintain her composure and keep up the serious expression.
"You, ehh, you give us your phone and those earrings, and you get the f--k outta here!"
There was now trembling panic in his voice, but they could still hurt her badly if she did not comply. Helene handed her phone over and took down the jewelry, and the gang immediately scattered down the barren street. Helene was grateful that they did not find out she had a car -- not that they could get it anywhere anyway. Now she could forget about the road rescue, she laughed bitterly to herself.
Helene walked back to where she parked her car and found two young men waiting. She lowered her guard because both of them were kind of handsome-looking with newly-trimmed beard and talked softly. Turned out they lived nearby and found it unusual that an unattended nice car like this had not had its windows smashed in this town. Of course they failed to mention to her that they were planning on stealing its wheels but lacked the tool. Now they could just ask the owner nicely to take out the tool from the car's trunk, but the wheels were no longer ranked at the top of their list after seeing this nice-looking woman standing before them in her racy thin heels. No need to drag her somewhere dark and damp when not a single soul was around!
Ms. Winemaker was feeling lucky - just as she thought there was no way out, some kind-hearted pillars of the community had come to her rescue! She went to the back of her car, but just as she was about to open the trunk and find the emergency tool box someone grabbed her hair from behind and slammed her head heavily against the car! It came unexpected so it hurt like hell, but the blow was not meant to kill, just to incapacitate her. One of her nostrils started bleeding immediately -- dark wine-red drops on her white car paint. Helene's mind went blank for a few seconds and then she immediately realized what was happening. She was about to be raped by her handsome new friends.
She cursed and tried to kick away her captors but they had overpowered her and there was no escape. She sobbed and begged for mercy as they pulled the pantyhose down her white thighs and tore her thong apart with a loud snapping sound. The air was cold against her bare tender skin. Just as one of the men was untying his belt, there was the noise of a car approaching; it was loud and almost sounded like a tractor.
"F-- it, forget about this stupid broad, let's get out of here!"
The other said to the man behind Helene's back, and they ran away and disappeared around the corner, not forgetting to give her bare hindquarter a sound slap.
Helene was too stricken to move a muscle in her body, her head still ringing from the attack. She was now clinging on the back of her car, her legs wide apart, her skirt pulled above her waist. From the corner of her eyes she saw a cheap sports car approaching, piled with modifications that were probably illegal and its windows all smoked black. It stopped right beside her, but no door was opened; whoever inside were silently contemplating her indecent exhibition. Helene could hardly breathe, all her body's muscles tensed up to an extreme. After a minute, the car started up again and drove out of the street, leaving the confused blonde to freeze alone on her own car's trunk.
As soon as the last bit of the engine noise died away Helene Winemaker pulled her skirt down, grabbed everything important from the car and started running. Anywhere would be better than this dangerous nowhere place. Soon her heels were hurting her feet and she remembered, took them down and slung them in her hand.
Should've called the f--king cops the moment I landed in this cursed town, she thought. This country is sure having a moral crisis when women are assaulted in broad daylight! The pavement felt icy cold against her thinly stockinged feet, and she had to make sure not to step on anything sharp, like a rusty nail, or the tetanus shot awaited her. She hated needles. As she got deeper into the town, she passed many homeless encampments, their blue and white tents haphazardly occupied unwanted corners of the town. Signs of break-ins and general vandalism along the houses were almost universal. There were people still living in this town, but they would not venture outside unless necessary. Helene felt like she was being watched whenever she went by those behind the curtains. The sky was getting dimmer. Before five it would get pitch dark. In the distance the chimneys of a closed-down factory stood like giant phantoms.
Helene was right about being watched. In this place someone like her was too exposed and vulnerable, and after her short incidents earlier the news about a lost rich-looking woman had begun to spread. Groups of nondescript degenerates waited quietly in their turfs for her to walk into their mousetrap. One more wrong turn around the corner, not far down the street, she found herself in a long and narrow alley, at the end of its graffitied walls laid nothing but bags of old trash and other foul-odored piles of waste. She tried to turn around and escape, but it was too late. The shadows had caught up to her and dragged her down with their darkness.
