I slept well, all things considered. That I managed to get any sleep at all was a miracle, considering I'd slept the whole night in my rapist's arms. As I stirred under the covers, I found that I was lying on the sheets instead of his chest. I felt around in the dark for him, but he was gone.
Finding that he was gone left me feeling partly relieved and partly frightened. Relieved that my predator was gone, frightened that he might be lurking in the shadows, waiting to reenact our earlier coupling. After several tense moments of waiting, I calmed down and convinced myself that he really had left.
I ran my hands across the back wall, feeling around in the dark for the hidden light switch. When I found it and flicked it, the electric candles reilluminated the luxury bedroom. I squinted through the glare, even though the lights weren't all that bright, having been permanently set to dim to give that gothic sex mansion vibe. Looking at the dark little hallway, I was even more relieved to see that there was no sinister figure waiting in the shadows to rape me.
Also, I needed to pee.
Still stark naked, I climbed out of bed and looked around the hobbit hole of a bedroom. The door at the end of the little hallway looked like the exit, but there was another small door nearest to the bed, tucked away in the shadows.
I turned the handle and stepped into a five-star bathroom decorated with marble and gold, a much lighter and happier choice of decor than the gothic, luxury dungeon atmosphere of the bedroom. Aside from the usual fixtures, there was also a shower cubicle and a jacuzzi tub, both of which looked big enough for at least two people.
I turned the little turnkey to lock the door, but all the turnkey did was change the sign from green to red. The door was closed, but there was no way to lock it, from the inside or the outside. That was a stupid design oversight by the architects, I thought; anyone could walk in on whoever was bathing or showering if they wanted to.
Then I realized: that was probably the point.
I suddenly felt a lot less secure using this bathroom, but I still needed to pee, so I did what I needed to do and finished as quickly as possible. I barely paused to notice that my crotch looked freshly shaved, an observation I hadn't made until now, and one which made me vaguely remember that I used to have a small bush down there.
I still didn't remember a whole lot from the past 24 hours -- or maybe it was 48 hours? But it was clear that I had been specially prepared for this, from the creepy bedroom setting and my nails being trimmed to a harmless length, right down to my freshly shaved crotch.
Finishing up and washing my hands in the sink, I looked around at the incredibly luxurious bathroom. I could definitely use a refreshing shower right now, even at the risk of being ambushed.
I stepped into the cubicle and switched on the shower, letting the warm, soothing water run in rivulets across my skin. It felt like liquid heaven running down my body, washing away the accumulated sweat and dirt, as well as momentarily clearing my mind of thoughts regarding this surreal prison and the rape I had suffered.
I half-expected him to come marching through the bathroom door and violate me in mid-shower, but I tried not to think about it as I took some body lotion and lathered it all over my skin. It had a wonderful citrus smell to it, too. I could stay here pampering myself forever.
Eventually, however, I had to finish up so I could explore the rest of my prison. Besides, the longer I kept washing myself, the greater the chance of him coming back for a second round. So, I switched off the water and stepped out.
The lack of privacy in the bathroom was evident in the transparent glass door, as well as the giant head-to-toe mirror on the other side. Still dripping wet, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I had long blonde hair reaching down past my shoulders with gorgeous blue eyes and a button nose. Even at 29 years old, my breasts were still full and ample as well as all natural, perfectly complementing my Venusian curves and my toned bubble butt. I looked ten years younger than I actually was.
In fact, I remembered my rapist also had blond hair and blue eyes. Perhaps that was his type? Preying on women who looked like himself? Quite an ego.
After my moment of vanity in front of the mirror, I grabbed a towel and dried myself off. I noticed something else weird: a tampon dispenser beside the door. I remembered that I'd been on birth control before I was kidnapped, something that would have been taken away whilst I was unconscious. The implications of that fact set off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
No time to worry about that now. After drying off, I returned to the bedroom with the towel around my body and was taken aback by what I saw.
I couldn't have been in the bathroom that long, and yet in the time that I'd been gone, the sheets had been changed and a portable clothes rack set up with an outfit prepared for me. It was a sheer, sleeveless black dress with an open back, complete with a set of black-lace lingerie and a pair of four-inch stilettos. Evidently someone wanted me to look my best.
I felt a slight trickling sensation run down the inside of my thigh. At first, I thought it might be water from the shower, but when I reached down and wiped it away, I noticed it had a sticky consistency to it. It was my rapist's semen from earlier, dripping out to remind me of his violation of my pussy.
My heart leapt and my blood ran a little cold as I recalled. But as violated as I felt, I still had to find out where the hell I was and how to get out of here. And before I could do any of that, I had to get dressed.
Putting on the outfit, I found that everything was exactly my size. The bra was my cup size, the dress fit perfectly, and the heels fit, too. They must have measured me when I was unconscious, another chilling thought. Who would go to that much trouble with a sex captive?
Departing the bedroom where I had been raped, I walked down a narrow little corridor, my stilettos clicking uncomfortably loudly on the floor, and emerged into a cavernous room.
The lighting was as dim as the room I'd just left, but the walls were lined with bookshelves and artwork reaching all the way up to a high ceiling painted to look like a starry sky. A set of sofas and grand-looking armchairs were arranged in a semi-circle around a giant fireplace, with a huge inferno blazing behind a protective grill, providing almost all the light in the room.
This was beyond surreal. The whole setting with its dark lighting and gothic luxury reminded me of the haunted castle from Beauty and the Beast. As soon as that comparison occurred to me, I couldn't help but see all kinds of creepy parallels.
The floor was entirely carpeted, making it harder to walk on in heels, but easier to be stealthy as I tried to sneak past. I tip-toed, or rather strutted, behind the high-backed armchairs and the grand sofa positioned opposite the fireplace, terrified that someone -- maybe even my rapist -- might be lurking there.
"Come over here," said a commanding voice.
I froze up and remained deathly still. I recognized the voice from last night immediately and hoped that it might be talking to someone else.
"Pretending not to be there won't help you, Chloe," the voice continued, "and I won't ask you again."
