I would like to give a special thanks to Yoni Noni for her editing assistance.
Something was not right. My body realized it, before my mind had fully escaped from the safety of sleep; still partially trapped in its soothing warmth. The silence was oppressive, pushing down on me as if it was a physical thing. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears; my own quick, agitated breathing, despite my attempts to calm myself.
My arms were stretched above my head, leather straps holding my wrists in place. It forced me to keep my shoulders back and my body taut, as I tried to take some of my own bodyweight away from my arms. If I hadn't felt so absolutely disorientated, and if the fear that had finally found its way through the numbness of sleep hadn't been slowly, almost languidly, leaving its trail of utterly, uncontrollable panic throughout my body, I would probably have started screaming at that point. Yet, as the reality of my situation swept over me, I knew that even if I had been able to force my throat, which felt tight with fear, to produce any sound, it wouldn't have helped. I was alone.
My long dark hair fell in thick, silky waves down my shoulders; the softness of it strangely comforting in its familiarity against my naked skin. The temperature, wherever I was, was a few degrees below what it should be, considering that I was completely naked. The cold only added to the confusion and the fear of being here, unable to move my hands or even to relieve some of the ache that was now starting to build in my strained muscles.
My stomach growled; a low, unsatisfied rumble with which it apparently wanted to indicate its own obvious displeasure at this whole freaky business. The so- familiar sound made a weird, almost hysterical laughter bubble up in my chest, and it was hard not to let it out. In the end what spilled from my lips was something vaguely resembling a sob and a giggle, sounding pitiful and lost.
Frankly, it was damn depressing that the growling of my stomach was what I chose to think about at that moment, when I had matters that were a lot more pressing to deal with. But it wasn't like I could do anything to get out of here, anyway. Hell, I didn't even know where I was.
"Please, someone let me out..."
It didn't come as a surprise that no one came to my rescue after I had asked them nicely, and I strained my exhausted mind instead, for clues on how I could have ended up here. It was as if I was trying to make my way through a hazy labyrinth of questions and vague details that didn't at all help me to form the answers I was desperately looking for, but I kept struggling to find some kind of explanation anyway. Knowing how I got here might actually help me form some kind of plan. At least, that is what I was hoping to accomplish.
I didn't even hear the footsteps; only the door being unlocked. Light flooded the darkness around me, and I squeezed my eyes closed so tightly it hurt, finding it more important to drown out the merciless glare of the light than to see the person that had just entered my space of imprisonment.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw him. He was leaning against the doorframe; a slight, somewhat amused smile playing on his lips. His lips were full; not full in a feminine kind of way, but in a masculine, sex-god kind of way. If I wasn't scared out of my mind, I might have played around with the image of those lips pressed hungrily against mine, if only in my head. Not this time, though. This time I only wanted to get out of here.
He looked familiar, though I didn't know why. I was 100 percent sure that I had never met this man in my life, and I have a pretty good memory when it comes to people. He didn't have the kind of appearance that stands out. Rather, he was handsome in a subtle, natural kind of way. You wouldn't spot him in the middle of a crowd, yet once you had, you would never forget him.
"Ahh, Kaira. I am glad you are awake. I was bored out of my mind."
My gaze left his mouth and flitted up to his eyes. Holy shit, his eyes. I had never seen anyone look at me like that, and hoped I never would again, if I ever got out of here alive. They were blue; not the tranquil kind of blue you see on beautiful summer days, when the waves are barely more than a ripple through the crystalline water. No, they were so much more than that. They were a passionate, churning kind of blue; the color of the ocean, when waves are crashing against the rocks, spraying their foam into the summer sky. They held the familiarity of a sweater that has been washed too many times, but that you can't throw out. And yet, there was another layer; one you couldn't see right away. It was something cold, calculating. It was the kind of chill that creeps into a murderer's gaze just before he kills. And those eyes were fixed on me with a ruthless intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you, and how the hell do you know my name?"
I sounded like a little girl; insecure, scared and a little desperate. It awoke a calm, almost controlled rage deep inside of me, becoming stronger as I looked into the wild, endless blue of his eyes. But, I couldn't do anything with that rage. I was helpless, kneeling on the floor, my knees pressed painfully against cold stone and my arms secured above my head. If only I could find a way to manipulate him into freeing me, I could push him against the doorframe, squeeze past him and .... And then what? I was trapped.
"We are going to play a game." He told me cheerily, his eyes sparkling and his demeanor calm and relaxed. A game? What the hell was he talking about?
"Okay, these are the rules," he said.. You don't move, and I do to you whatever I feel like doing. Sound good?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but continued explaining the rules of his sick, twisted game, as if I was a child and he the favorite uncle.
"If I get the proof that I am looking for, then you may go. If I however, do not get that proof, then you are just a little, naive girl, and don't deserve a second chance."
Second chance? What did he mean with that? What the fucking hell did he mean with that?!
I only saw it for a fraction of a second; that pitying, soft gaze with which he regarded me. Then he switched off the lights and we were both enveloped in utter darkness, the door closing with a soft, almost inaudible click.
He gathered my long hair together, draping it over one of my shoulders. I shivered at his touch, my body leaning to the side as I tried to avoid his hands. But I couldn't avoid them. He traced the little valley between my collarbone and my neck with a fingertip, caressing the skin almost lovingly, as his touch descended to the gentle curve of my left breast.
My emotions were conflicting with each other; rage and disgust mixed with a sick, twisted kind of thrill. This exact scene had been my fantasy for a long time. I had described it to people, my fingers painting a picture for them, and trying to put this exact thrill into words. None of them ever understood. And now I was here, desperate and helpless. Now I finally realized why they hadn't been able to understand. I was sick; riding the exquisite high of fear, and not understanding its consequences. I had been wishing for the wrong things, and now fate had given them to me.
Suddenly, his hand cupped my breast and squeezed, eliciting a gasp from me. His fingers twisted my nipple cruelly, the pain tingling through my breast and, against my will, awakening my inner masochist. His nails raked across the tender skin and his lips pressed against my neck.
"Do you want more?"
His voice was husky; a mixture of passion and satisfaction at my lack of resistance. But, it was impossible to resist; that is what I kept telling myself. It wasn't true. I could rebel mentally, and I knew I could. Part of me just didn't want to.
His fingers caressed me, squeezed and pulled. Then, his hand slid further down, over my stomach and between my legs. Fingers pressed against the tight warmth of my sex, and I felt humiliated, all too aware of the wetness there. He relished it, in the proof that my body was disobeying me. His fingers slid inside my pussy, and he moved them in and out in a tantalizing, torturous rhythm that made my heart pound so furiously that it felt like it would beat right through my chest.
"Well?"
I shook my head, nodded, and realized that he couldn't see me.
"No," I said, trying to ignore the tingling of my nipples, which were still hard from his former treatment, and the way his fingers felt inside of me. "No, I don't want more. I want you to ..."
*Smack*. His palm hit my cheek, leaving that side of my face burning.
"What the..."
"Don't lie, slut. Do you think I'm stupid? I can feel what this is doing to you. I know what you want, because you have fucking told me everything."
Told him everything? I hadn't told him anything, I had hardly spoken to him. He was seriously crazy.
Then I felt it; the cold, steel touch of a knife against my breast. Instead of screaming I froze, unable to produce any sound, and I knew that no one would hear me anyway. I was alone, and this man was holding a knife to my skin.
The cold, chilly touch of the steel caressed my breast. He wasn't pressing the sharp edge against my skin, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't, later. His other hand was still occupied, his fingers moving in and out of my pussy, flicking my clit from time to time. My body was so confused, my skin flushed with the heat of passion, of desire, but my mind wasn't following. It was still trapped in the fear that the knife pressed to my flesh provoked within me.
The steel traveled tantalizingly slow to the other breast, pressing against my puckered nipple as his fingers slid out of the warmth of my sex. He circled my swollen clit, covering it in my own wetness. I hardly even felt the humiliation of it anymore; I was too scared. Maybe also too excited, but I didn't want to admit that to myself at all. I wondered if he knew; he probably did.
