The Collector: a Reimagining

A smutty reimagining of John Fowles' novel, 'The Collector'. It's in no way meant to be a 'true' version/adaptation of the narrative (including the characters) - just a sexed up riff on the book.

--

There's a throbbing in my head that I can't explain, a pulsing nausea that shouldn't be there and feels like it extends right down the centre of me. I know I'm not in my own bed and I'm still in my clothes. I try to focus, try to reshape the vague memories swirling out of reach.

I open my eyes, ready myself, but when I finally tilt my head just slightly and my eyes land on him sitting by the bed, just staring at me, my whole body seems to convulse and I lean over to vomit. I can't tell if he's quick or I'm slow but he's suddenly beside me with a bin catching the contents of my stomach as I retch until there's nothing in me to hurl. I lean back onto the bed, away from the stench I'd just created and breathe. The nausea had subsided a bit with the vomiting but my head was still throbbing. I can here him shuffling around me but I'm distracted by the disgusting fuzzy feeling of my teeth.

'Here.'

I look over and he's offering me a glass of water with a straw in it and I look at it warily, which he notices.

'It's just water, I promise.' The gall!

'I should think so', I replied coldly as I took the glass.

Oh! I probably shouldn't be snide to my kidnapper... I glanced at him to gauge his reaction to my sass but he just gave a small, apologetic smile. Guess I got away with that one. I gulped away at the water, the anxiety and dread mounting as I looked around the room. I couldn't see any windows, so this was probably the basement or potentially even a secret room, though it was unlikely, I wasn't ruling out anything yet. It was decently furnished, I could see a chest of drawers, a bookcase and in a corner a small table with two chairs. I could see two doors, one had slightly irregular dimensions and I supposed that would be the way out, making a mental note. I thought I could recognise some of the books but I couldn't be sure at this distance and angle. I sigh.

'Are you going to tell me who you are?'

'Just call me Ferdinand.' There was only the barest hint of a pause but I had wits enough about me to notice it. I fixed him with a look.

'That's not your real name though.'

He looked away nervously at that. How ironic.

'Alright, Ferdinand, what do you want with me?'

'How are you feeling? Do you think you're ready to eat a bit yet?'

I sigh again at the evasion but consider my appetite. I was still a bit unsettled but I could eat and I might as well while he was offering - who knew if that was going to be an ongoing arrangement.

'Sure. Could I please have a bit more water too?'

'Of course.'

He rises from the chair beside the bed and takes my glass from the bedside table, my eyes follow him as he walks through the slightly irregularly proportioned door and I hear him bolt it. I get out of bed as quickly as I can manage and start looking for something useful. I discovered a small kitchenette behind a screen but it was bare. There's a hairbrush on the chest and when I opened the drawers it was just filled with clothes. I find I do recognise some of the books on the shelf, most of them actually, but I set that aside as I focused on my task. I'm in the ensuite searching through the bathroom drawers and cupboards when I hear him unbolting the door. I still had nothing! I rush back into the room and he's halfway through the door with a plate of toast and a glass of water. He meets my eye and I know he expects me but I have to try. I rush at him, my body still frustratingly sluggish, aiming to push my way out with or without him. The bastard is quick enough to put down the toast and water before he deftly grabs my wrists in one hand and pins me to him by my waist with the other.

'Let me go! Let me out! Get off, get off!'

I thrash and squirm and try to break from his grasp as hard as I can but he keeps hold of me, surprising me with his strength. I try to plant my feet, kick him, scratch him, anything. He simply moves me back to the bed and firmly sits me down and releases me. I'm too weary to make another attempt. Panting slightly he regards me with a concerned look.

'I don't blame you for trying but please don't do that again.'

He turns and I think he's going to leave again but he takes the plate of toast and the glass of water and puts them on the bedside.

'I'll be back later.'

I look at the bedside and he's made me peanut butter on toast with cut up strawberries on top, arranged exactly how I do it. He exits again, I listen for the bolt on the door and when I hear it, I let out the scream that had been ready to rush forth from my lungs and then get back into bed and cry myself to sleep.

--

I can't sleep. It was hard enough the night before just knowing she was in the house. But now she was awake, speaking to me with her mouth and looking at me with those eyes... it hardly seemed real. It felt like my whole body was vibrating when I was in her room. Even when I was waiting for her to wake, I kept expecting the adrenaline to slowly fade but if anything, it grew the longer I waited knowing that the moment she woke up drew nearer and nearer. I did feel a little guilty when she was vomiting, knowing I had caused that. I replayed those moments with her over and over in my head. I knew she was clever, but she so easily saw through my fake name! I couldn't ever have known she was so perceptive without getting closer to her. So keen and quick-witted even after everything. My smart girl. It reaffirmed me, in a way.

And then her escape attempt! I had expected that and it was good to know she had regained some strength. It wouldn't be the last time either. She came to me as fast as she could, brows furrowed and fists clenched. I could smell her before she hit me and I felt my cock twitch as she struggled in my arms and hoped she didn't notice. I didn't want her to think of me as barbaric or bullish. But as I remember the feel of her around me, the soft brush of her hair on my skin, the feel of her breasts against my chest and the heat of her breathe as she huffed, I feel the blood rush to my groin. At the thought that she was here with me, waiting for me, I give in and grip my lengthening dick and groan. It still surprises me how much she affects me. Stroking myself, I remember the first time I saw her. She was so pretty, as always, but there were many pretty girls in the square. I indulged in the pleasure of looking at her unabashedly from a distance, it was when I turned for what I thought would be a final time to get my last look that she threw her head back and laughed uproariously in a fit of pure amusement. It was a moment of seemingly invincible happiness where she shone like a light, calling to something within me. She had unknowingly extended a hold on me that I could not escape, she had trapped me. My cock spasms and I come with her laughter echoing in my head like I have so many times before.

I'm giddy making breakfast for the two of us in the morning and allow myself to daydream about a distant future where we are making breakfast together. She would make eggs and I would take care of toast and tea. She would put a hand on my back or arm when I was close as I moved about the kitchen. I let myself indulge in the little fantasy as I enter her room, my heart accelerating with excitement.

'Please let me go' she says sharply. My daydream evaporates.

She's sitting at the desk and giving me a fierce look. She still looks lovely.

'You've gone to a lot of trouble getting all of this,' she gestures around the room. 'I'm your prisoner but you want me to be a happy prisoner. You have to know I'm not wealthy.'

I couldn't help snorting abruptly at how wrong she was, thinking I wanted money. I put the plates down and take a seat with her, she continues to stare me down.

'I'm not holding you for ransom.'

'Well then it's something sexual.'

'Eat.'

'You can't even admit it! You kidnap me and you can't even admit to why!'

'Are you going to shout at me all through breakfast?'

She was gobsmacked by that, for a moment she sat silently, mouth agape, still looking at me. It amused me to challenge her like that. I knew we would have chemistry. She sat back in her chair and then picked up her fork and began to eat without a word. I finish my food and admire her, I could tell she had been crying, I had seen it before when she cried over *George*. She would cry and cry and then the next morning her eyelids were so puffy they gave the impression of her eyes growing overnight. I wish I could have consoled her. Even with her eyes puffy, face blotchy and her hair dishevelled, she was disarming, even if only to me. I don't know why, I thought of her in my lap, seeking my affection and me stroking her hair.

'I love you. It's driven me mad.'

It slipped out of me even though I had told myself I wouldn't say it to her at all. She wouldn't meet my gaze anymore and I didn't know what to do with myself except clear the table and leave.

Later, when I came back in with lunch she was writing in a notebook at the desk and it pleased me to see she was using the things I had bought for her. I wanted to sit beside her and rest my hand on her thigh in casual comfort as couples do but I knew not to. Then I didn't know what to do with my hands, couldn't quite remember how they usually hung by my sides or how to hold them naturally. How much do my fingers curl usually? I sit beside her and watch her write. Without looking up she says, 'so, what's a girl to do. A psycho has captured her, thinking he can force her to love him somehow, but obviously this isn't possible. How does she get out of this sticky situation? Pretend? To what end?'

'You think I'm simple.'

'I think you know this isn't rational.'

'Love often isn't.'

'Ha.'

Even as she continued to scribble in her beautiful looping cursive I could see her mind working to rebut and attack each point and counter point. She looks up a moment.

'What can you possibly hope to achieve by doing this?'

I make faux moon eyes and clasp my hands together under my chin and reply, 'to spend time with my beloved.'

She smacks my arm with a horrified look and I couldn't help but chuckle as she exclaims, 'that is NOT funny!'

She was outraged, but only at my humour. She expects me to be a horrible ogre.

'You can eat lunch alone, asshole.' She gets up with her pen and notebook and huffs off to the bed, sitting cross-legged and continuing to write. I give her space and eat alone. When I finish, I approach the bed, leaning over on the edge at her eye-level.

'If you got to know me and you actually liked me, what would be wrong with that?'

'I suppose we just look past the kidnapping?'

'Ideally.'

'Ideally?!'

'Miranda, if I were to, say, hold your hand, does it feel any different to if we had met in different circumstances?' I take her hands in mine and to my surprise, she lets me.

'Yes, it's unwanted! And that's not the point! And holding hands is different! And...and...' She looks down at our hands and falters.

'And?'

In a quiet, wavering voice she says, 'this is just wrong,' and then looks me in the eye determinedly as tears ran down her cheeks. My gut wrenched at her crying and like a reflex my hands release hers and come to cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the falling tears. She flinches at my touch but doesn't fight when I come onto the bed to hold her. I take her into my arms, and she cries into my chest. I stroke her hair like how I often imagine, but it doesn't feel like how I imagine.

__

When I wake up again he's still holding me, stroking my hair and I wish I didn't feel so comforted by that simple action. I felt stupid and pathetic letting him comfort me but I tried not to dwell on it so I could keep focussing on forming a plan. It had helped to write down my thoughts but I was still at an impasse on what to do. He was undoubtedly absolutely delusional but at the same time, he didn't seem completely...unhinged. There was some sort of twisted logic and he was lucid enough to admit this was all a bit mad even if only in a convoluted, round about way. But that still left me with the conundrum of what to do. If I faked liking him, the situation would escalate but at least maybe that would mean it was less likely for any violence. It also depended on my convincing him I liked him. And beyond that, it wasn't a clear route to freedom. If I resisted, I would be hoping he saw reason, but if he didn't? He breaks me from my thoughts when he shifts, kissing the top of my head briefly. Through my hair I think I hear him murmur something and I can't help but stiffen.

'How are you feeling?'

'I need to pee. Let me up.'

'Mmm just a minute.'

He pulls me closer with all limbs, legs draped over mine, arms curling around me.

'Gross!'

'It wasn't so gross when I was petting you.' I push at his chest when he nuzzles into me more.

'Everyone likes being pet!'

'Ah, so you admit you liked it!'

'NO!'

'I liked it.'

'Let me up!'

He relents and I scramble off the bed. I have to decide on a plan of action.

I come back from the loo and he's waiting for me, upright in bed, looking at me expectantly. He extends a hand towards me and when I look at it I can't help but make a face.

'Come back to bed.'

He says it gently but my brows shoot up. He responds to my shock with a small smile. It sets off something inside me.

'What the hell?!'

'You enjoyed being with me. In my arms.'

'WHAT THE HELL?!'

'You did.'

His calmness terrifies me.

'I have no idea who you think you are, 'Ferdinand', but you sure as hell don't know me or what I do and don't like. This crazy idea that you love me is a farce and you *know* it. You haven't fallen in love with me, just some weird fantasy you've projected onto me! So, no, I WON'T be getting back into bed!'

I breathe a little heavy after my rant. Amidst it all I had started avoiding his eye contact, finding his unwavering stare off putting. His cool demeanour unnerved me despite my anger.

'Come back to bed.'

He starts to move out of bed now and I register the movement but it's like my thoughts are moving through quicksand and I can't get my body to respond fast enough. He leaps out of bed and easily grabs me by my waist. He drags me back to bed as I flail and cry out but he proves again to be surprisingly strong. He pushes me down between the covers and grasps my wrists in one hand, laughing playfully. So much for thinking about a plan of action.

He spoons me and nuzzles his face into my neck again. I try to wriggle away still but to no avail. Wrapped around me, inhales deeply, his chest pressing against me, and then he just lays there. I hate that again, strangely, it did feel nice to be held. It was very different from George. He was all about embracing the animal self hedonistically and never submitting to another's will when you didn't want to. George always said that he simply never had the urge to cuddle and until he did, he would not. At a point it became silly to keep struggling against 'Ferdinand' and when I stop he squeezes me gently, like an approval.

'I would never hurt you, you know.'

'How is kidnapping me not hurting me?'

'Are you in any pain?'

'You're being obtuse.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'You are so...!'

'So?'

'So irritating!' He laughs again, unbothered. And then in a soft, disarmingly sincere tone he says, 'I'm grateful to be anything to you.' I was thankful he couldn't see my face as there was something about his genuine awe that made my face flush, in fact I felt as if my whole body was on fire. I shift, adjusting my hips and legs a little. In a soft, low voice close to my ear he asks, 'do you have a need?'

'W-what?'

'I can help.'

'I don't - what do you - I'm not-' He chuckles.

'I won't do anything you won't enjoy.'

'Wait-'

He grasps me firmly by the waist and pulls me tighter against his body, almost all of me is flush against him as he kisses my neck and shoulder, and I gasp at the contact. Oh no. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to block out the feeling of his lips against my skin. I wriggle uselessly in protest but it doesn't stop his free hand roaming over my body. I cry out when his hand weasels its way up my skirt and his fingertips lightly brush over my panties, right over my mound. Panic sets in when I feel him hard against my ass and his fingers lightly rub against either side of my lips, coaxing a hot, insistent, needy sensation.

'Please!'

'Please more?'

'No! I didn- OH!'

I hear him breathing heavy as he delicately runs a finger over my slit, my breath hitches when he brushes over that aching bundle of nerves, sensitive even beneath the fabric of my underwear. It felt like a bolt of pleasure had rushed through every nerve and I try to hide the jerk of my hips amidst my writhing. He adjusts and despite squeezing my thighs together desperately as a last line of defence, his hand finds its way back between my thighs and I squeal as he manoeuvres my underwear to the side and drags a finger between my folds gathering up my treacherous arousal. I grip his wrist but can't force myself to try to tear his hand away from my wetness. He groans deeply as he runs his fingers back and forth along my wet slit as I have less and less strength to fight. My pussy throbs and my muscles weaken.

'Don't worry, I'll give you what you need.'

I could only whimper and moan as he focused his efforts on my clit. He rubbed me determinedly with a disciplined consistency that had my body responding like it had been trained to his command. He returns to ravishing my neck and shoulder and then his mouth makes its way to my ear. In a breathy, husky, whisper he says, 'let go for me.'

He moves over me and slips a finger inside of me with ease while his thumb continued rubbing my clit. My body responds, out of my control, arching to meet his touch. His fingers curl into a spot inside me that forces out a defeated mewl as my hips buck into him, wanting more and more. He cups my cheek and I look into his eyes for a moment but his intense gaze makes me panic and I have to look away, get lost in the feeling of his fingers again. I feel the pleasure building up inside me and I dread what's next. He pursues my orgasm mercilessly and I come, struggling against my climax, resisting the arousal but losing. Awash with pleasure and the confusion of a completely fulfilling orgasm, I wilt. He trails kisses from my cheek, softly and slowly down my neck until I have the strength to lean away and try to roll.

'Where are you going?' he laughs.

'I want to go shower.' I say, soft but firm. He doesn't stop me but before I can keep walking and escape to the bathroom he's behind me just as I'm about to reach the door.

'Hey,' he puts a hand on my shoulder and I turn to look at him, mortified. I can't believe his fingers, him, could bring me so much pleasure. I was trapped here with someone who would torture me with pleasure. What was I going to do? He looks taken back by my face and when he doesn't say anything more I seize the opportunity to scurry into the bathroom and shut the door.

When I return, he's nowhere to be found.

--

Her expression had shocked me. The ferocious shame and fear in her eyes had frozen me in place and she had quickly escaped me to close herself into the bathroom. I hadn't worried particularly that things weren't really going to plan until I saw her face like that. That horror and dismay after she had climaxed so perfectly in my arms. I couldn't understand it. It wasn't that I expected her to immediately become besotted after I made her come, I knew that was silly, but I guess I hadn't anticipated her resenting it so much.