Please be advised, this story contains the following elements: Non-consent / Reluctance / BDSM.
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Dear Reader:
I won't lie to you and say that I didn't have anything to do with the following events that transpired. I won't tell you that I was just an innocent victim, because that isn't true. I asked for this, played with fire, let the monster into my life, and naively thought that i could somehow control the outcome of what was to ultimately be ... and in retrospect, (hindsight 20/20,) i don't think i truly understood what the consequences of my desire would produce, nor comprehend the fiery need that burned within my soul.
To give you a quick background to this story, i will tell you that there was a period of time in my life, two years ago, where I discovered - and really embraced - my submissive needs, explored them, alone, on my own ... well - until I met Him.
We both felt as though we were "sent" to one another because it all happened so magically and perfectly, and we instantly felt that "connection." No one had ever understood me so completely like He did. I felt as though He was my destiny, and every experience I had ever had in life, up until now, had led me to Him.
For several months we gracefully danced the dance of D/s: through stories and poems written passionately for one another, exploring mutual desires through dreams. We had never met in person, although I pleaded and begged on instant messenger, and cried real tears as He denied my requests time and time again. i didn't understand (at the time) that His denial of my wishes to meet face-to-face was actually Him training me - molding my mind and bending my unbridled desire to His will.
i was young in my newfound submission, inexperienced, afraid, full of doubts, and consequently i tested His patience on a continual basis instead of simply trusting Him. He had a plan that i was not privy to knowing. My impatience was our ultimate demise.
i turned and ran in the other direction when my new world became too uncomfortable to brave. i ran down a familiar, well-treaded, vanilla-bean path, back to my old life, and tried to convince myself that I would never look back. However, i've learned that when you unlock the secret part of your heart and soul where those dark desires reside, there really is no chance that you will remain unaffected and be able to just "go back to normal."
It was late on a dewy Friday night, and I was pretty much the only one out on the wooded jasmine-scented trail, just walking and cooling Huck, my five-year old Arabian stallion, down from a nice ride we had enjoyed. It was unseasonably warm for a March evening, as we trotted along, smiling. The gentle wind felt refreshing against my sweaty, dusty face.
When we got back to the stables, I was a little surprised to see Jackson in his truck backing out of his make-shift parking space in the dirt.
"Miss Natalie," Jackson rolled his window down as I hopped off of Huck and held his reigns in my hand. "You're the last rider out, and I need to leave early to pick up my son from the airport -- he's coming for the holiday weekend. You gonna be okay here alone?" His genuine concern touched my heart.
"Of course," I smiled at the old farmhand. "No worries, Jackson, I can turn the stable lights off after I finish grooming Huck."
"Thanks much, Miss Natalie." He put the beat-up pick-up into drive, "have a nice weekend!"
"Thanks Jacks, you too!" I waved at him through the dust his tires kicked up, and then i turned to Huck, stroking his neck.
"Looks like it's just you and me, kid." I mewed to Huck. Of course my horse couldn't answer me, but he understood -- I could see it in his eyes and the way he shook his head, as I led him over to the cross-ties so I could take off his tack and groom him before saying goodnight.
The moonless night was quiet, save for the distant hum of a nearby freeway. I proudly walked Huck through the corridor of the stable, where the other horses either nibbled lazily on hay, or stood silently observing the gorgeous chestnut stallion and his pretty owner with the same color hair tied in a long, loose pony-tail, as we strode by on our way to Huck's pen.
Just as I was opening his gate, the stable lights cut out and everything went pitch black. Someone grabbed me by my ponytail and yanked me backward with full force. My feet slid out from underneath me, as Huck whinnied loudly, pulling from my grasp on his reigns. I tumbled backward, and I heard him kick the metal gate with his hoof!
I screamed in shock, "Huck!"
A black hood zipped over my head, and another pair of large, dirty hands grabbed me by my feet, as I struggled and twisted in their grip. My arms were seized tightly behind me, and a voice growled in my ear to "shut the fuck up, otherwise my horse would end up at the glue factory." I shuddered with fear, and panicked, immediately obliging their demand.
It all happened so fast ... I was hustled into what I could only imagine to be a van, because of the sliding door sound I could identify, sliding closed to seal my fate. Once I was thrown inside, the van tore off down the dirt road that led out of the vacant stables.
I was too shocked to cry, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body, and I couldn't process all of this at once. The distinct sound of male voices were surrounding me -- three, I think.
They had me laying face pressed down on a long bench seat. One of them tying my feet together, roughly, another tying my arms behind me, and one driving the van. They were speaking in some sort of coded language -- not a foreign language, but rather communicating in some kind of code so that I couldn't decipher anything they were discussing.
My heart raced, I was hyperventilating behind the dark fabric that shielded my core senses. I tried to quiet my mind, to calm my breath, to assess the situation, and try to plot my course of action, but I was concerned about Huck's well-being.
"My horse..." I mumbled into the hood, my face pressed against the cool seat. I pictured my beautiful stallion whinnying distressed around the dark stables.
"He's fine, Natalie." Chills coursed through my body -- how did this man know my name. "Trust me, bitch, we weren't there for your fucking horse." He hissed into my cloth-covered ear.
The man chuckled deep and sinisterly, his cohorts joining in on the amusement. "Now shut up, otherwise I'll stuff my cock in your mouth to make you quiet." His big hand pressed my face into the seat as if to punctuate his command.
I swallowed hard and clenched my jaw, feeling like I might vomit inside the hood. Who were these men, what did they want with me? Were they going to gang rape me, and then kill me? Sell me to some crazy all-American-girl-next-door-prostitution ring? I couldn't imagine what other use they'd have for me. It isn't like my husband and I have some great source of wealth, we're just your average upper-middle class, white collar "dinks," (double income, no kids.)
We drove for what seemed to be about forty-five minutes, (and a small lifetime,) when the van rolled to a stop and the sliding door was flung open again. When my captors hauled me out of the van like a baby piglet on her way to the fire-pit, I could smell the distinct scent of the ocean; the air was heavy and wet with the thick aroma of salt.
They carried me onto a boat and i totally lost it; i began to sob and heave, my body trembling from fear of the fate that lay ahead of me. I just imagined having my lifeless, lithe corpse dumped in the middle of the dark ocean - which oddly enough, is one of my biggest fears - and no one knowing where I had disappeared to in the dark of a moonless March night.
"Be brave, little one." A voice different than those of the men who had captured, me suddenly piqued my attention. I knew this voice. I recognized Him by his tone.
