Reverse Stockholm Syndrome

NOTE: This story is a romance, buried in non-consensual framework. No torture, no humiliation, no cruelty. Both characters are over 18.

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It was a Saturday at 6:30am, and I was ready - I'd read all about abduction scenarios of real-life criminals and considered myself an SME - subject matter expert! I was confident I had everything lined up.

Windowless van with stolen plates I'd bought from a chop shop? Check.

Remote running path set in a heavily wooded area? Check.

Trench dug into the running path, covered up with leaves so a runner would trip and fall? Check.

Chloroformed rag? Check.

Wheelbarrow with tarp to transport her to the van? Check.

Plastic zip ties to restrain runner after subduing? Check.

Cloth gag to keep her quiet? Check.

Holding cell in my basement? Check.

I sequestered myself behind a nearby bush, waiting for a runner. (Please take note, dear reader: common criminals merely 'hide' but we evil geniuses 'sequester'. There's a difference, OK?)

You may be asking, "Exactly who is this criminal mastermind?" Before you judge me too harshly, please bear in mind that technically my motivations aren't criminal in nature. I wasn't out to rob a bank or steal diamonds, I just wanted a girlfriend. Why is this a bad thing?

My name is Edward Gardener, I'm 36, 5'11", 170 pounds, and I work as a Cybersecurity Specialist. I not only know how to keep bad guys out of your corporate network, but I also have the knowledge and skills to actually be a bad guy and get into your network. I'm not exactly a stud; I don't exercise much, so I have a dad-bod and my looks are average. I'm not a ladies' man, though, not by a long shot. I'm no player, I respect women!

Here's the thing - I respect women, but I don't feel comfortable talking to them. I'm extremely shy, and they intimidate me. I've gone on dates sometimes, but it's usually one-and-done. If I hear another, "It's not you, it's me" speech, or get told "I see you as a good friend," one more time, I think I'll scream. It's not a hatred of women that's led me to this situation, it's frustration with the whole dating thing.

I make good money as a freelance Cybersecurity consultant, and I live in a nice farmhouse, part of the farm left to me by my uncle when he died. I'm certainly no farmer; I lease the fields to other farmers in the area for cultivation. The farmhouse has four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, an attic and a nice big, finished basement complete with a built-in storm shelter. The storm shelter is what I'm using for a holding cell. Tornadoes can't get in, captives can't get out, a perfect combination!

So, I had a good career, nice income, nice house, money in the bank. It was all good, right? Except for one thing: I was lonely as hell.

One day I was doing some historical reading about the Sabine women abducted by the ancient Romans, who ended up loving and marrying their captors. This led me to read about Stockholm Syndrome, where hostages develop a psychological alliance with their captors. These two things planted the seed for my plan - I'd simply kidnap a woman and eventually she'd fall in love with me!

And so here I was at 6:30am waiting for one of the lone early-morning runners to stumble into my trap. A man went by, but as the familiar thud-thud-thud sound of his trainer-clad feet remained uninterrupted it was clear that luckily for both of us, he'd managed to step over the small trench.

A few minutes later, I heard something unusual - instead of thuds, I heard the slap-slap-slap of flat shoes! Immediately after that I heard a woman's voice cry out and the sound of a body impacting the dirt as she stepped into the trench and fell.

Springing into action, before she could stand up, I had the chloroform rag to her face and held it snugly. After a brief struggle, she went limp. Then I stood back and evaluated my prize.

While she had been running, she certainly was not a runner. She looked to be East Indian, about 5'6" tall with mocha-colored skin, shoulder-length hair, and was quite pretty. She had a shawl-like scarf covering her head and was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt that ended mid-thigh over a pair of baggy trousers. The slapping sound I'd heard came from the leather sandals on her feet.

She had a handbag with her; when I picked it up, it was surprisingly heavy. I opened it up and saw a small wallet and key transponder from a Mercedes. The ID in her wallet said her name was Devyani Roy, she was 5'4", 28 years old, 129 pounds.

Shockingly, the majority of the weight in her handbag came from a Bowie-style hunting knife. The blade alone was about 10", and the wooden handle added another 5", it must have weighed a good two pounds! What was a woman in sandals doing running down a heavily wooded dirt path, carrying a knife meant for deer skinning? I realized the answer would have to wait, as I needed to keep to the plan. As they say, 'time waits for no man', right?

I secured her wrists and ankles with the zip ties, tied the cloth gag in place, then lifted her into the garden wheelbarrow and covered her with the tarp. Fortunately, it was still early so no one saw me pushing the wheelbarrow to the parking lot. I loaded her on the cushions in the back of the van, then dumped the wheelbarrow into a nearby creek where, over time, it would rust and corrode into pieces.

I went back to the trail, filled in the trench, and tamping the dirt down I quickly covered it with leaves. It was as if I'd never been there. Excellent!

Back in the van, although I should have driven out right away, I just couldn't wait. I had to see what I'd captured. Using her own hunting knife, I rolled her onto her back and cut her clothes away for a better look.

Pulling the garments open, I saw she was a little on the thick side, a small fat roll above the untrimmed bush above her pubic area, which I loved. Skeletal women held no appeal to me, to be honest. She was wearing no bra, so her ample breasts lay flattened against her chest, the glorious brown areola and nipples laid out like a beautiful buffet.

Unable to resist and lowered my head down to kiss and suck each nipple. They became erect instantly, although I suspected it was because the morning air was cool and my saliva glistening on them made them colder.

Lust driving me onward, I slit the plastic zip ties around her ankles so I could I part her legs. There I saw her labia waiting, warm, brown, and inviting. My rational mind was urging me to get behind the driver's seat and make my getaway, but my libido had other ideas. Lowering my head, I stuck my tongue out and lapped at her like a kitten with a saucer of milk.

I was surprised. The few times I'd done this before with other women, the scent and flavor was somewhat musky, but Devyani's was almost sweet, like almond milk. I feasted with relish. The effects of the chloroform might have been weakening because I heard a moan escape from behind her gag, but I didn't care.

My erection now responding to the call of duty, I undid my trousers. I laid down beside her, pulling her onto her left side and, elevating her right thigh slightly, I entered her vagina from the rear. My excitement was such that it didn't take long for me to climax, shooting several ropes of baby batter deep into that wonderful love tunnel.

My carnal cravings now diminished for the moment, I got into the driver's seat and headed for home. The temperature was dropping, and the weather was overcast, with dark clouds forming. An early winter storm was on the way, which was good. It would discourage people from jogging on the trail and allow mother nature to disguise the filled-in trench even more.

After I got my captive squared away at home, I called a 'friend of a friend of a friend'. This guy was very protective of his identity, and so went by No-Name. No-Name worked in a legitimate autobody shop during the day that doubled as an illegal auto chop-shop at night.

We arranged for him to swing by the farm and pick up the Mercedes key transponder. Devyani couldn't have come far in those flat shoes, so I gave him the location of two parking lots closest to where I dug the trench. The next day, No-Name informed me that the Mercedes in question, a C-Class Coupe, was now a pile of parts being distributed to resale locations nationwide.

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After pulling up to the farmhouse, I opened the back doors to the van. My cargo was still safe and sound, lying on the moving pads I'd laid down. The wind was picking up and black clouds were rolling in. There was a serious storm coming. I pulled her out of the van and onto her feet. By this time, she was coming around, and so was able to walk if she leaned on me. I moved her into the house and slowly down the stairs to the basement, taking every opportunity to caress her brown breast mounds.

"Welcome to your new home," I told her as I led her into the storm shelter. It was a 20' x 15' self-enclosed fortress, built to last, made out of 10-gauge steel with epoxy coating. The shelter had bench seating on two of the four walls and a single bed with a light mattress, a pillow, and a blanket. It was illuminated by lights on a timer. I'd also put a camping toilet I'd found online - basically a 5-gallon plastic bucket with a toilet seat - in the corner for her to use.

Lowering her onto the single bed, I grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and held it to her lips. "Drink this, it will help clear your head," I told her. She responded by guzzling it greedily. As she did so, I covered her naked body with the blanket. I hadn't noticed in the dim daylight in the van, but under the harsh incandescent lights embedded in the ceiling I could see numerous blue and purple bruises and welts on her latte-colored skin. Some of them looked fairly recent.

Now it was time for my well-prepared orientation speech. "Welcome, Devyani, to my farmhouse. My name is Edward, and as of today are my permanent guest." She said nothing, just stared at me with the thousand-yard stare of people experiencing trauma or depression. No fear, no anxiety, it was as if nothing could affect her.

I gestured around the shelter and continued, "I will provide food and drink three times a day, in exchange for which you will provide me sex upon demand. Nothing sadistic or cruel, mind you, not at all, not even oral sex. When I desire carnal it will be doggy style. You will get on all fours on the bed, allow me to satisfy myself, then I will depart. Any questions?"

She said nothing, just looked at me, or should I say through me. It was as if she'd accepted her fate and I wasn't even there.

"Very well, then, I'll be back in a moment, please assume the position." Running upstairs, I found some skin cream in my uncle's old medicine cabinet and brought it back down. Devyani was on all fours on the single bed, but before I mounted her, I squirted some of the skin cream on my hands to warm it up; then I rubbed it onto the bruises and welts. "You're so lovely," I told her, "What piece of shit would do this to you?"

She of course said nothing but did sadly hang her head; I thought I saw a few tears fall into the bed. Although this was not my main purpose for rubbing cream on Devyani, rubbing my hands on that wonderful skin gave me an erection, and subsequently I took my pleasure with her.

Every time I came down to see her, I made rubbing her skin with cream a habit. She didn't resist, and it seemed to give her some pleasure or at least it had a relaxing effect. I started rubbing it on other parts of her body that weren't bruised. This pattern continued for several days.

Each day I'd get up, feed Devyani, empty out her camping toilet, then go upstairs to work until lunch. I seldom mounted her in the morning, as I found it made me relaxed, almost lethargic, distracting me from getting work done. At midday I'd bring her lunch, mount her, and then return upstairs, have a cup of coffee and work for a few more hours. To facilitate communication, I carried a small writing pad and pencil.

One evening I brought her a meal, baked lentils over plain white rice. She ate it, scowling, but before she got into position I mentioned, "It's odd, you know, I would have thought by now someone would miss you, but I've seen nothing on the news."

She shook her head and gestured for the pad. This was the first time she'd initiated communicating, so I was curious to see what she had to say. She wrote a few words, then handed it back. "There's no one that would miss me," was all it said. Her eyes welled up with tears, then she got down on all fours. I rubbed her down with the skin cream as usual, but her confession made me sad; for once, I didn't feel like coupling. Instead, I pulled her to her feet, draped the blanket over her shoulders and wrapped my arms around her.

Suddenly, her body was wracked with silent sobs. I stood there holding her as she cried, and I wondered what was going on with me. She was just a captive sex toy, her feelings shouldn't have mattered, yet... they did. Impulsively, I tried to kiss her but in response she clamped her lips shut and pulled away from me. I didn't pursue it. It sounds odd, but while I had no reservations about invading her vaginally, I felt kissing was a very personal thing and couldn't be forced. I turned and left.

The next morning when I brought her breakfast to her, instead of taking it she knocked the tray out of my hands. Her eyes were angry and defiant, almost daring me to punish her. While I was shocked, somehow, I just couldn't be angry. I'd kidnapped her, locked her up, and nobody seemed to be looking for her. Hell, I'd be angry too! The few weeks she'd been here, she'd been in a zombie state. I was actually happy to see her exhibit some genuine emotion!

I chuckled and handed her the notepad and pencil. I asked her, "You want to tell me what that was about?"

She wrote for several minutes and handed the pad back to me. It read, "You are a horrible cook, the food you bring me should be slop for hogs, and I'm really bored being locked up in here. Please put me out of my misery and let me cook."

Reading this, I raised my eyebrows, thought about it and said, "OK, make me a shopping list and I'll get you ingredients. I'm going to have to chain you up while you're in the kitchen, so you don't run away." I didn't add that I wanted her chained so I could get out of her reach if she came after me with a kitchen utensil or chef's knife.

For the first time in several weeks, I think I actually saw a hint of a smile cross her face for a moment. I watched and waited. Her face became quite animated as she made her list: butter, onion, garlic, tomato sauce, heavy cream, garam masala, chicken breast, tandoori masala, yeast, eggs, rice, cardamom, coconut milk, slivered almonds. "This looks interesting," I said, "What are you making?"

She tore off the list and wrote on a new page, "Butter chicken, fresh naan bread, and kheer/rice pudding."

"Wow! I'm thinking that keeping you down here and me doing the cooking was a mistake!" She nodded vigorously.

After the list was complete, I rummaged through the basement and found an unopened package containing painter's coveralls for Devyani to wear while she was cooking, to avoid splatter burns on that beautiful skin. Also, I found an 8-foot length of thin steel chain, the kind that attached swings onto swing sets. I just needed to pick up a couple of padlocks, and she'd be secure while she cooked.

I passed on coupling with her for the second time in a row; the previous time because she was sad, this time it was because she was happy. When she put on the coveralls the legs and arms were a little long, so she rolled them up into cuffs. I put the chain around her waist and secured it with a small padlock, then wrapped the other end of the chain around the leg of the heavy butcher block kitchen island that my uncle had built. Unpacking the groceries, I went back to work and left her to it.

I was in the middle of a big client's project, so I'd lost track of the time. Then I heard a loud clanging. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen, only to see a grinning Devyani beating a Dutch oven with a wooden spoon as a dinner bell. My nose was overwhelmed at the wonderful scents coming from the stove and oven.

The chain was just long enough to allow her to set one place setting on the table. I unlocked the chain from around her waist and added another place setting. "We're eating together," I commanded.

The meal was wonderful. Everything was fantastic, and I told her so. As I stood up to take her back downstairs, on a whim I bent to kiss her. Unlike the time when she pursed her lips and pushed me away, this time she merely turned her head to one side and allowed me to kiss her cheek. OK, that was progress, I guessed.

I led her back downstairs and followed our normal routine of skin cream and coupling. She was unresponsive as always, but while I was thrusting, I was also telling her how wonderful a cook she was and how much better my life was with her in it. As usual, she made no outward acknowledgement, but as I released in her, I thought I felt her push back against me ever so slightly.

Keeping a human captive was becoming more complex than I first imagined. I went upstairs, cleaned up the kitchen, and went to bed.

I woke up shivering. The bedside clock read 2:45m. It was cold, even under my blankets. The old furnace must have crapped out. It was an old 1941 American Standard octopus furnace with no fan that heated the air, then it slowly rose through the huge duct arms that sprouted out of the central heating element. It then occurred to me that if I was cold, since heat rose, two floors below in the basement with just a thin blanket poor Devyani must have been freezing! Oh NO!

I got up, quickly put on my robe and slippers, then went down the two flights of stairs. The furnace was definitely out, the gas pilot light wasn't lit. The only thing working down here was the water heater. Unbolting the padlock on the storm shelter, I went in and turned on the light. Devyani lay on the single bed, shivering. Cursing myself for not giving her more blankets, I got her to stand up, then wrapped my robe around her.

"Come with me, I'm taking you upstairs," I told her. Realizing I had nothing to restrain her with, I warned her, "I'm not going to chain you up, but don't try to escape. If you do, I'll have no choice but to severely punish you!"

Of course, I had no idea how I would punish her, it was just an empty threat to get her to comply but when one abducts a woman one does need to keep up appearances, right? Then I added, "It's below freezing out there, if you try to run away, you'll just die of exposure, do you understand?"

Turning her head towards me, she nodded in agreement. I figured the best way to warm her up was to get her in a hot shower, so I steered her towards the upstairs bathroom. I lifted the lid and seated her, then turned on the shower. "If you have to empty your bladder or colon, do it now while the water is warming up." She nodded again, and I heard the tinkling of her urine as I went to get towels.

When I returned, steam was rising from the shower stall. I quickly disrobed and, taking her hand, pulled her in with me. Making sure she was directly under the hot spray, I took the bar of soap and rubbed it all over her body, spending an extra amount of time on her brown breasts. There was no sense wasting an opportunity to put my hands on that delicious brown body. After quickly soaping myself up I rinsed us both off, then grabbed the towels and dried us both off.

Then I led her to the bedroom, where I pulled out a pair of my flannel pajamas. I put them on her, then put her in my bed and covered her. She shivered slightly, so I got an extra blanket and laid it over the top of the bed for extra warmth. Then I got under the covers and laying on my left side, pulled her into me spoon-style and draped my arm over her. With the extra blanket and the heat from our bodies, she finally stopped shivering.