Ravaging Dreams

The locker room was relatively quiet this morning after kickboxing class. Elaina chose to break from her routine, opting to shower and get ready at the gym today. She always preferred getting ready at the gym, and having more room to spread out her beauty tool kit allowed her to focus without distraction and get on to her day more quickly.

She noticed an older woman's wandering eye watching her as she rinsed her hair for the last time in the showering area. It was odd that this woman was so close as they were the only two showering. Elaina was in a stall and the woman chose the shower directly outside her stall.

A fleeting feeling of panic washed over her like the incredibly hot water pouring from the nozzle. The woman was much larger, much stronger than Elaina. Her fear was soon mixed with a dark curiosity- the same she had felt each time she had had the dreams recently, images that filled her with both apprehension and excitement. Visions of being trapped in a confined space with no escape, confronted by a large, faceless figure. One last squeeze of the hair, she draped a large towel around her body and walked deftly past the woman and to her locker. A few moments later, she heard the door to the pool area shut, confirming that the creepy old lady was going for a dip.

Everything seemed to cooperate today; hair followed instructions, eyes went on smoothly, the rest of her makeup blended perfectly and she was wearing her favorite outfit: a black skirt over a sheer body suit. Her bra was a web of black straps that contrasted her fair skin and accentuated her breasts which were judiciously covered with a conservative white sweater.

She took one last glimpse in the mirror, turning to the side to admire the slender torso she worked diligently to maintain, noting the voluptuous curve of her chest matched by the roundness of her behind. Her shapely legs were hidden inside the knee-high leather boots she wore. Although her legs were remarkable, these boots were a show-stopper.

Smacking her lips to get the bright red lipstick just right, she was out the door and in her car. Traffic was light this morning, a rare occurrence, giving her time to let her mind wander as she effortlessly flew along the Freeway. There was no music, her mind was still in that stall, tangled in a morass of imagined scenarios. She envisioned what she would do, how she would fight back, how she would lash out if she were ever confronted in such a situation.

The underground parking lot at the Squire Building where she worked was empty as she parked. Echoes from her heels were the only noise as she click-clacked her way to the elevator. As she waited for the door to open, she thought she could hear the footsteps of someone approaching. But when she looked around, she saw no one and the sound went silent.

Face forward again and she can hear light footsteps getting closer. The ring of the elevator sounds a second before the door opens. Her heart now racing, she dashes onto the elevator and immediately begins searching for the 'close door' button. She cannot see anyone, but she can now hear their footsteps quicken as the door begins to close. Mercifully, the door closes before her mysterious follower can get on.

Floor 6 and she was out into the hallway in a flash. She couldn't get to the reception area of her office fast enough, knowing that Nancy would be waiting at her desk. Being that she had arrived more than 30 minutes earlier than usual (which was already an hour earlier than 90% of the people who worked on the executive floor), the cadence of her footfalls sounded more like a gallop than the confident, measured stride of the executive V.P. of Western operations.

The staccato of her heels against the cold hard floor regularly struck fear in the hearts of cohorts and subordinates as she arrived to meetings. But the piercing sound of her approach, a point of pride she often exaggerated in order to emphasize the fearlessness with which she dispatched rivals and disarmed foes, had an inward affect. Had she been wearing a pair of flats, or even just a regular pair of low heels, she could kick them off and walk silently through the halls and get to the security of her office.

Damn these boots. Damn these short legs. Damn this Egyptian marble tile floor. Damn these dark, windowless halls. Damn this irrational fear of the boogieman lurking in the shadows. Damn it.

Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, the foyer leading to her office was dark. Even in the darkness, she could see the desk behind the glass doors, Nancy's desk, was empty. The 125-foot hallway leading to the foyer seemed interminable. 'Why in the fuck aren't the god damned motion sensors going off and turning on the lights?' she thought aloud in a strained whisper.

Although it was her idea to add the energy efficient lighting system equipped with motion detectors and timers so as to reduce energy consumption, she cursed them now. The lights flashed on in phases as she rushed down the semi-darkened hallway. By the time she reached the outer doors to her office, she was practically jogging, almost losing her balance in her heels.

Reaching for one of the large handles, she became aware that she had begun to sweat. She felt the sheen of sweat on her neck when a cool breeze blew over her as she flung the large door open. It took several steps into the foyer before the lights finally kicked on. Now awash in cool, blue fluorescent light, she surveyed the foyer as she tried to catch her breath. This quiet, familiar setting did a lot to calm her.

The loud clacking of her heels against the floor was muted as she stepped onto the Persian rug she had brought back from her middle east trip three years ago. She loved the deep, rich red color and how it accentuated the wood grain in Nancy's desk and the matching shelves behind it. Opening the large, solid-core oak doors to her office, a burst of yellow natural light spilled on the carpet.

Seated behind her desk now, her calm was fully restored as she began her morning routine. A piping hot cup of tea and a check of her phone was enough to distract her. Ten minutes later and any thoughts of trailing strangers had disappeared.

A barrage of messages from the usual cast of admirers, fake friends and internet trolls filled her inbox. After quickly skimming through her inboxes on her various social media platforms, she turned to email. Spam. Spam. More Spam. Reminder from her dentist's office. Nancy Allred. She clicked on Nancy's email subject- Have a great long weekend!

Opening her email, she tilted her head back and sighed deeply as she leaned back in her overstuffed leather chair. "No wonder no one is here..." she said softly to herself. "It's memorial day weekend. I really need a vacation!"

Nancy's email read: Hope you are not reading this email on your memorial day weekend. It's supposed to be gorgeous and you really need to get out. Maybe you should take your bike out and ride the trail at Greenlake? Maybe that guy with the tight baby blue riding shorts will be there?

Anyways, since I know you will not be able to resist checking your email, I wanted to remind you that the contracts meeting on Tuesday is set for 8:00am and you will need to bring the folder I have prepared for you. I'll be in at 5:45 that day and can go over any info you need if you wanted to stop in to the office before you head over. Otherwise (and because I know you will not be able to stop yourself from coming in this weekend), I have left the folder in your inbox.

Hope you get lucky with baby blues!

-Nan

Instantly, her mind was engulfed in the negotiations she had been leading. It was the biggest project she had ever undertaken. This deal had consumed her for the last eight months. Night and day. Seven days a week. Sometimes as many as 100 hours a week. To close this deal would propel her career far beyond anything anyone at the firm had anticipated when she hired on only just a few short years ago.

But the toll of all of this work was high. Nancy was probably right- she would be well served by some much deserved recreation. Baby blue pants was incredibly attractive and had never failed to approach her anytime she rode her favorite trail at Greenlake park. In random moments when her mind was idle, thoughts of him flashed. She imagined him in a suit, his hair carefully coiffed (he had mentioned that he was in finance). Or what would he look like in board shorts on the beach, his torso glistening as he came walking up from the surf?

Indeed, it had been a long time since she had enjoyed the company of a man. She had no problem satisfying her needs herself, but even her favorite toys and most steamy fantasies were not as effective as they had been in the past. This negotiation had created a surplus of kinetic energy inside her, a carnal craving that seemed to fester. She would take some time after this deal was closed to let her hair down, as it were, and have a little fun. Maybe she would go out with her girls and let loose a little.

But fun must come later. Now was the time she had to focus. She couldn't allow herself to be swayed by these silly thoughts of romance, these flights of fancy that took her down uncharted paths of desire. She thrived on control and she had built herself a pretty good thing by maintaining control under most circumstances. Although the lessons she learned in Dr. Whitman's lectures in Psych 205 back in college were a distant memory, she could never shake his ideas on suppressing desires and the ways they can manifest when you least expect them. 'Dr. Whitman was hot,' she mused aloud before she picked up the yellow folder from her inbox.

Reading over the reports, statistics and infographics, she reached down and opened one of her drawers for a notepad. The drawer was empty. A check of the rest of her drawers and the same result. Nothing on the credenza behind her desk, either. Astoundingly, the trusty notebook she carried in her purse wasn't there because she had left it on her bedside table the night before.

She headed out to Nancy's desk. The storage closet behind Nancy's desk was locked. A quick pull on a few of the drawers confirmed that her desk was also locked. "Holy Fuck! My kingdom for a fucking shred of paper!" she said in a loud voice as she realized that she would have to go to the other end of the hall to the office supply closet that was always open if she was going to find a pad of paper.

Without a moment of hesitation, she headed out into the hall and marched her way down to the other end. Reaching the end of the hall, she made the right hand turn down another hallway a few short steps before she reached the door. Standing before the shelves as though she were standing in front of a refrigerator with the door wide open, she surveyed her options. As she began gathering a few things for her office, she thought she might've heard the elevator bell ding and the doors open. With a trove of office supplies tucked into the crook of her arm, she tried to quiet herself and listen. She couldn't be sure if she had actually heard correctly.

Closing the door quietly, she tentatively peeked around the corner and found the hallway just as empty as she had left it. She briskly walked back down the hallway. As she came closer to the doors of her office, there was something not right. The right-hand side of the 10', hand-carved oak french doors was slightly ajar.

The spring on the inside of the door normally made sure that the door closed and latched on its own. She dismissed any significance, supposing it was possible that it had not closed when she had exited only moments before. She was refusing to allow herself to feel paranoid. Cautiously, she opened the door and looked inside to see everything to be in order. A tentative step and then another, a wider view of her office in her periphery and everything was as it should be.

That is until it hit her: his divine aroma. It stopped her both hot and cold in that instant. Fear laced with lust stunned and confused her. She knew that smell. But from where?

Before she could turn to close the door, she could feel him on her, around her, enveloping her, choking her. His arm was around her neck in one fluid motion. Like a dancer, his body smoothly and instantaneously had control of her body. Standing almost a foot taller, his size advantage was immediately apparent. Despite being suddenly unable to breath with one of his powerful arms throttling her neck and the other hand covering her mouth, she mounted her defense.

Having studied self-defense, she was familiar with maneuvers meant to be used in precisely this type of situation. First, she stomped down to pierce his foot with her heel. Prepared for this, her attacker squatted down and spread his long legs. She couldn't reach either of his feet with either of hers.

With her heart racing, she breathed heavily through her nose, each heavy inhalation filling her nose with that smell; him. It was more than cologne or shampoo or fabric softener- it was all of those things and more. It was him- his essence, something animal and wanting.

Swinging her elbows, she landed several body shots to his ribs causing him to wince before he applied more pressure around her neck. When he had repositioned himself to avoid her strikes, she could hear him laughing. Putting his lips close to her ear, he whispered, "I like it when they fight."

Her fingers were beginning to feel tingly and her arms weak. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run, to do something- but it was all getting a little fuzzy now. Loosening his grip and taking his hand away from her mouth, she breathed in deep. She could feel him take in a deep breath with her. As she breathed in, she was overwhelmed by his smell. It was familiar but she couldn't place it. It was intoxicating. Just as intoxicating as it had been the first time she had smelled him.

He closed and locked the door with his free hand as held his grip around her neck firm. Unable to resist, he dragged her sluggish body over toward the leather couch adjacent to the book shelves that sat in front of a large expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cityscape. In the fog of losing consciousness, she marveled at how beautiful the sunrise looked this morning.

Laying her on her back on the couch, he knelt down one knee on her chest while applying pressure to her neck forcefully. Her body was not responding and her thoughts were slipping away. She concentrated all of her focus on the face of her attacker.

Like his smell, his face was memorable, as though she had seen him before. Perhaps it was a lack of oxygen, or the chaos of the moment, but she couldn't pin point it. And while she couldn't identify him, she studied him. Despite having attacked her, strangled her, imprisoned her here in her office and was now pinning her down with his full weight on her chest, she sensed no malice. His eyes were soft, his expression seemingly compassionate.

Letting up his grip around her throat, he moved his hand up to around her face, moving her eyes away from his, holding her face to the side. Sucking in air as deeply as she could, she noted the beauty of the morning sun as it cascaded over the city. The sparkle of light reflecting off the buildings slowly faded as everything went dark.

Opening her eyes, she had to recall where she was. "I'm awake!" she said to herself. "Get up. I've got to get up," she told herself. Raising her head, she saw him there at her feet. It looked like he was grabbing something off the floor. There was a backpack he was digging through. Trying to lift herself up, she noted that one of her hands was bound. With her free hand, she made a fist as she had learned in self defense, raised her shoulder off the couch, loaded up and unleashed the hardest right-cross she could muster. The full force of her knuckles landed directly on his ear and knocked him off balance.

But before she could recoil and strike again, he swiveled and slapped her face with his open hand. The sting on her cheek was immediate. A second later, he was on top of her again, one of his hands restraining her free hand and another around her throat again. With all of her strength, she bucked her body trying to get him off of her while she let out a muffled scream of "help!"

Letting off his hand from her throat, he leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, "no one can hear you."

His free hand now went down below her skirt, feeling its way down her leg as she let out a desperate scream of 'help'. Realizing that he was right, that no one was there, that no one would hear her, she screamed "get the fuck off of me!"

Ignoring her screams, he began running his hand up her skirt. Repositioning his body, she was able to shift her body, catching him off guard and bucking him off of her. Freeing her hand, she wasted no time in getting in two quick punches- one squarely on his cheek and another on the corner of his mouth. The second one drew blood.

Before she could land another punch, he slapped her face again, sending her head reeling to the side. A split second later, another. The contact of his bare, open hand against her cheek was unlike any sensation she had experienced before. It was solid and the sting surprising. There was no denying it hurt, but it wasn't unpleasant. This, and the sensation of her knuckles burning after her perfectly executed punches against the stubble on his cheek, was exhilarating.

Somehow, in this moment of sheer terror, this nightmare scenario, she felt fully alive, as though every fiber of her body was invigorated. Time slowed as he raised his hand again to strike her face. In this prolonged moment, she clenched a fist but waited, knowing he was about to rain another slap to her face. The anticipation of his strike lasted far longer than the split-second it took to feel it against her cheek. Taking a moment to savor the sting, she struck back, the delicious ache of her bare knuckles pounding into his cheek filled her whole arm.

In a flash, he had her free arm raised over her head, squeezing her wrists together, not allowing her arms to move. Reaching into his backpack, he produced a zip tie and managed to tie her wrists together. The pressure from the zipping dug into her skin and immediately immobilized her arms.

Before she could begin kicking, he straddled her legs. He tore at her skirt, ripping it at the seam. The sound of the fabric tearing was a relief as the pressure of his pulling was digging into her hips. Placing the weight of his entire body on top of her, she could again smell him.

His aroma was distinct, robust, sweet but musty, a hint of sweat and full of animal desire. She felt his sweat rub off his neck onto her face. Repositioning her head, she sunk her teeth into his flesh. But unlike her punches, she let up, holding her mouth against his skin. Sucking and biting hard into his neck, she grinded her teeth with only enough force to hurt without breaking the skin. He didn't bother to pull away.

Now she felt his hand full of her hair as his face met hers. His mouth was hard against hers. She kept her lips tight together as his lips pressed heavy into hers. She could feel his heavy, wanting breathing paced with hers. Forcing her mouth open with his, she could taste his saliva, hot and sweet, mixed with what seemed metallic. It was a hint of blood. The blood she had drawn.

Her body betrayed her mind and common sense. The taste of him in her mouth gave her a thrill. She could taste his lust mixed with the pain she inflicted on him and she could hardly contain her immediate excitement. She fought him only enough to get him to go harder.

The urgency with which he kissed her was matched by the brute force he used to tear away the shear garment between her legs. As if in a parallel universe, her thoughts were outside her body as he was on top of her. She wondered if he noticed the embroidered flowers that obscured her intimate area. She wondered if he noticed how delicate the sheer fabric was as he tore it to shreds. She marveled at how exciting it was to feel her clothes being ripped off of her. This $180 skirt never looked as good as it did in tatters on the floor. Her skin ached where the fabric burned her as he tugged it out from under her body.