The Master

I awoke with a start. Not from a nightmare, but into one. The room I found myself in was dimly lit, and vaguely circular in shape, like a side-chamber carved from a small cave, small enough to make me think of a comfy hobbit hole. But the decor was anything but homely.

I was lying on a bed which took up most of the room, basically just a circular mattress on the floor. But it did have exquisite sheets made of black satin and incredibly plush pillows colored blood red and deep purple. The only light in the room was provided by a set of electric candles held in place by sconces protruding from the walls. The sconces were made of black wood, and exquisitely carved. Taken together, my nightmare was apparently taking place in the bedroom of some sort of gothic sex mansion.

As that thought crossed my mind, I realized I was completely naked, my modesty concealed only by the covers. I also realized that I had no idea how I'd ended up here, although if this really was some sort of bizarre dream, why would I? How many people remembered the exact moment when they fell asleep each night?

I did remember something, though. A party...a strange taste in my champagne...being trapped in a bag. They were just hazy images and sensations, no more real than the surreal place in which I had awoken. Had I been kidnapped? That thought joined seamlessly with the fact that I was naked in a creepily decorated bedroom and sent a spike of horror through my heart.

Right on cue, he appeared.

He had been there the whole time, standing in the shadows watching me as I slept, waiting for me to wake up. Now he stepped into the light. His body was made of smooth and chiseled muscle from top to bottom, like a bodybuilder or an underwear model.

My eyes wandered up to his face. It was an incredibly handsome face with a head of blond hair and icy blue eyes, not much more than 30 years old, maybe. My heart fluttered a little at how attractive he was but was a little put off by how impassive he looked. He was watching me intently without betraying any hint of emotion. That blank look was a lot more frightening than my surroundings.

My eyes wandered down to his crotch. Even flaccid, it looked long and thick, a dormant weapon ready to awaken; no doubt it was even longer and thicker when fully erect. And his balls looked huge, as if the sack would barely fit in my hand if I were to hold it.

He was the epitome of masculinity.

But that thought was subsumed by the fear that gripped my heart and froze my muscles, denying me the ability to move. I couldn't deny that any of this was real, anymore. This was clearly not a dream, and there was no escape route that I could see in this creepy room. We were both stark naked, and that could only mean one thing.

Without saying a word, he took a step towards me. My muscles immediately unfroze, and I scrambled to put some distance between myself and him, hugging the covers close to guard myself from him. But there was nowhere to escape to, I was literally up against the wall as he stooped down, gripped the edge of the sheets, and pulled them violently away. I yelped as my only protection was yanked from my grasp, leaving me totally exposed and vulnerable to him. I knew with certainty what was about to be done to me.

He was already getting hard as he kneeled down on the bed to claim his prize. I lashed out with a kick, but he deftly caught my ankle before seizing my other foot and forcing my legs wide open. I tried to hit him, but he dropped down on top of me faster than I could swing, and I ended up wrapping my arm around his neck as he settled himself comfortably between my spread thighs.

The full weight of his body was bearing down on me as I tried in vain to wriggle free. I could feel the tip of his cock poking aggressively at my crotch, like a live snake trying to pry its way inside me. Without making eye contact, my rapist laid his head down beside mine and clamped a hand down over my mouth.

I screamed into his palm instinctively, despite the fact that my struggles had been mostly silent until then. I didn't even know where I was, why would I assume there was someone close by who could hear my cries for help? Compared to his massive man-hands, my fists were tiny, but I pounded his back and shoulders with them, nonetheless, refusing to be submissive to him. At the very least, I could save my dignity.

While one hand silenced my cries, the other snaked down across my body, pausing to grope and fondle my breasts before sliding across my belly and slipping two fingers in between my labia. I yelped into his palm in surprise as I felt the digital intrusion in my pussy, like something wriggling up inside of me. But my reflexive attempt to shut my thighs was thwarted by the presence of his hips, and I ended up squeezing him closer to me.

That was when I realized how wet I was. Even as my heart and brain had been seized with fear by what this man intended to do to me, my body had been preparing for it. My groin was flush with sexual anticipation and thanks to his expertly wiggling fingers I could now feel how slick with excitement my pussy was.

I was horrified by how expertly he made my body betray me. He wriggled and thrust his fingers back and forth inside with masterful precision, causing my juices to flow even more than they had. He had also found my g-spot and manipulated it mercilessly as he weakened my will with the implicit promise of an orgasm. By this point I was moaning into his hand, the pleasure was real and growing. It was humiliating to enjoy such treatment from my rapist, and no doubt that was the point.

Suddenly, he stopped his ministrations and removed his fingers from inside me. The abrupt end to my unwanted pleasure left me feeling empty and wanting more, another mental trick to break me down, I bet. Next, he began to jerk himself off, preparing himself for the main act. I tensed up, readying for the agonizing moment.

Using his free hand, he guided his penis to my pussy. I felt the head kiss my entrance and it made me shudder, though whether with dread or anticipation I couldn't tell. Perhaps it was both? He prolonged my torment by dipping the tip inside me ever so slightly again...and again...and again...

And then he entered me.

I gasped silently and my eyes went wide. Was my pussy incredibly tight or was his penis monstrously huge? Or was it both? The pain as his cock moved further and further inside me was alleviated by the incredibly slick and smooth welcome that my wet vagina granted it. But the stretching of my walls was incredibly painful nonetheless, and he hadn't even begun to thrust yet.

He speared me to the hilt as he parked his cock entirely inside me, his ample ball sack coming to a comfortable rest against my butt. Only now did he free my mouth from his smothering hold and look at me. Gone was the cold and expressionless stare from earlier, those piercing blue eyes penetrated my own with a look of hungry lust.

His first few strokes were slow and steady, allowing me to adjust to his length and girth. When he thrust himself back inside me, I yelped aloud. He seemed to like the sounds I made, because he did it again hard enough to make me yelp again. His pacing remained slow and steady, but his thrusting was sharp and emphatic, and I squeaked each time he did it, to his evident satisfaction.

Each thrust seemed to attack my resistance, a direct masculine assault on my will to fight back. But fight back I did, or try to, at least. His bodyweight pinned me in place, making it impossible to struggle free, so I viciously raked his back like a wild cat. To my surprise, I discovered that my nails had been trimmed all the way down, rendering them harmless. I barely left a scratch.

As he began to speed up, the friction between our bodies began to build, and so did our mutual sweat as the coupling became more intense. I also became conscious of just how horny this was making me. There was an incredible hunk of a man on top of me, ravishing me, and making me his own. I could feel the chiseled muscles of his six-pack rubbing up against my flat and feminine belly, the angling of his pubic bone so that it rubbed up against my clitoris, and his increasingly aggressive thrusting into my womanhood.

I was horrified by these masochistic observations, and even more so by the pleasure building in my crotch as my rapist violated me. I could even hear the slick juices of my pussy sucking and slurping as his cock thrust into me like a battering ram, pounding at the gateway to my womb. His grunting was growing audible, too, like an angry caveman assaulting some poor, hapless female. The look of feral lust on his face scared me, but in a strange way it was comforting, less scary than the blank stare he had been giving me earlier.

The growing bubble of ecstasy building in my belly was starting to reach a tipping point, an orgasm was fast approaching. My moaning was becoming ragged, and I was moving my hips ever so slightly back in response to each incoming thrust as my baser sexual instincts continued to drown out the terror of being raped. My rapist could sense all of this, particularly my impending orgasm, and his thrusting began to accelerate in response.

He lay his head down beside mine again and pressed his full weight down on top of me. My remaining will to resist was squeezed out of me as I struggled to bear his weight, all while being on the receiving end of his animalistic rutting of my pussy. I lay back and endured it, partly resigned to the rape and the humiliatingly orgasmic end to which it would come. But there was one more detail that caught my attention.

Looking up at the ceiling, I noticed for the first time that the entire ceiling was actually one big mirror. I could see the reflection of the floor below, and of the male lodged between my spread thighs, ramming into me. I could watch myself being raped.

What kind of sadist would dream up something like that? As if the kidnapping and the violation weren't enough, my rapist and whoever his accomplices were had gone to the trouble of trimming my nails to stop me from scratching his eyes out and preparing me naked like some sacrificial offering. And to top it all off, the victim was given a bird's eye view of the whole thing as it was happening.

My rapist entered the home stretch of the rape. His bestial thrusting produced a rhythmic slapping sound, a violent drumbeat of flesh on flesh as he rutted and rammed the powerless female below him. I really was terrified now, terrified that he was fucking me so hard he might kill me, terrified of what he might do if I dared to break his stride in his moment of sexual triumph. More than terrified, I felt lust, a treacherous and masochistic lust that was sending me over the edge...

He snarled. I screamed. Both with ecstasy. He buried his cock as far inside me as it would go and held himself there as it jerked and writhed and unloaded into me. One spurt. Two spurts. Three spurts. Spurt after potent spurt of warm and sticky seed filled my pussy. At the exact same time, my own orgasm reached critical mass and exploded in my belly. I felt a tsunami of pleasure rush up through me, burning most strongly in my crotch, and I screamed aloud, heedless of who heard me.

My treacherous pussy, already wet and welcoming to the intruder within, contracted and squeezed rhythmically as the orgasmic waves surged through it. The muscles in my vaginal walls rippled back and forth along the length of my rapist's cock, massaging it, soothing it, inducing it to surrender every drop of seed it had into me. I could feel my cervix contracting as well, hoovering up every drop of my rapist's cum, sucking it all into my womb.

We lay there for the longest time, catching our breath. I lay there, totally defeated.

Eventually, he raised his head and held my chin. I was too physically and emotionally drained to spurn him as he kissed me, I even let his tongue briefly probe my mouth. But I did have enough energy to shed a tear. He broke off the kiss and lowered his head back down beside mine.

"Welcome to your new home, Chloe," he whispered into my ear.

The fact that he already knew my name made me shudder, almost as much as the revelation that he planned to keep me as his prisoner for a while.

He reached for a switch hidden behind the pillows and turned out the lights. Then, while still inside me, he rolled us over until I was lying on top of him, and then pulled the blanket back over us so that we were both covered.

We lay together in the darkness, a dark parody of a romantic couple: the rapist holding his victim in a firm, almost loving, embrace; and, in spite of myself, I couldn't help but snuggle into his arms. I was feeling fragile and owned, and I needed someone or something to cuddle with for comfort. He was certainly cuddly. Those strong arms wrapped around my vulnerable, female body, the rippling muscles of the chest and stomach on which I rested, the virile cock still buried inside me...

I snapped out of it. I was afraid of what this man might do to me if I tried to escape his clutches, and I had no choice but to sleep with him after what he had just done to me. I needed to get my bearings and find out where I was, who he was, how I'd got here, and how to escape, not wallow in instant Stockholm syndrome.

Still, I could start on all of those things tomorrow, and in the meantime, it was a snug embrace. The last thing I remembered before drifting off to sleep was the feeling of his hand stroking my hair...