Molly lay there in the room for a very long time, watching the repeat video of the disgusting things that Luke had done to her. There he was, whipping her tits with his belt. Why did that make her pussy twitch expectantly? Why did it cause a certain flow of wetness between her legs that was thick, warm and creamy? She groaned. He had taken her against her will and then kept her here, on the edge of orgasm but tied so that she was unable to bring herself over the top. It was torture of the worst kind.
She still couldn't believe that Nick had been this stupid. They had been together for about three or four years now -- since school! They were both eighteen at the moment, having left school with no qualifications, and they had shared a flat with two equally unqualified young people. Nick had been part of a band that never earned any money, and the only money they ever got was when he did some illegal busking -- illegal because he didn't have a licence. After a spout of arguments, during which Nick had fucked Molly's best friend and erstwhile flatmate, Julie, they hadn't slept together in a while. Nick had eventually got an alleged 'friend' to come and 'harmlessly' feel Molly up to get revenge -- this plan had backfired when the 'friend', named Luke, had knocked Nick out and taken Molly away against her will. He had tied her to a table, beaten her, forced her to suck him, fucked her and then left her tied here, naked, on the brink of orgasm, with no idea where she was and no way to alter her predicament. She gave one last futile attempt to break free of her ropes and then fell back, panting from both the exertion of tugging on the bindings and the desire that was steadily building up to a screaming crescendo in her vagina.
Her eyes settled on the TV that Luke had pulled in here. It showed that dratted videotape -- the one of the filmed events that had happened much earlier that day. The beating. The sucking. The fucking. And then back to the beginning. Molly couldn't suppress a moan of desire, even though she wanted so badly to be away from here -- even back home in her dead-end council flat was so much better than this.
The door opened and closed softly, but Molly's hunger-alert ears picked up the barely perceptible sound. She was starving. How long had it been since she'd last eaten? In here, time meant nothing. All she knew was the growling of her stomach.
A man stepped into her line of vision. It was Luke.
"Good morning," he said, and his voice sounded almost cheerful. Once more, she was struck by how much older he was than either her or Nick. He had to be nearly forty, whereas her and her boyfriend were only eighteen. Luke's bulk was huge as well -- he wasn't so much flabby as roundly enormous, with muscles and an extremely hairy body, with a permanent smell to match. He could pin her down with ease. She twisted her head slightly to flick a wayward strand of her dark red hair out of her face and rested her frightened green eyes upon him.
"Good morning," she replied, her voice frightened.
"Once more," he said dryly, "you didn't call me Master."
"Who are you?" she demanded, straining at the ropes. "What do you want from me?"
"That's none of your business," he snapped, and she noticed that he was holding a riding crop firmly in his hand.
"Okay," she said, allowing her voice to slip away to a pathetic whimper. "At least...tell me how you met Nick."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded. "I'm a mechanic," he replied, and then added amusedly, fingering the riding crop: "...a mechanic with, ah, certain fetishes."
