The Virgin 14

I open my eyes. Flick my gaze around me, but all I see is blackness. My mind is fuzzy for a moment, and I inhale the scent of fabric softener and leather, backed by an odor of feet. Why does it smell like that? I shift slightly on my belly, when my nipples brush along the rough carpet. I am naked, and . . . my arms are pinned behind me, somehow connected to my bare ankles. With the effort of my trying to release them, my delicate skin burns as it rubs against the adhesive. What the hell?

"Gmm."

This is the sound that I make when I speak. I attempt to part my lips, but some heavy, chemical-smelling strip of adhesive keeps them clamped together in an unbreakable seal. Now my heart begins to race as I realize that the adhesive immobilizes my whole jaw, winding all the way around my head, my long hair, wrapped so tightly that the skin of my cheeks tingles with pressure as my nerves finally begin to awaken. I jerk my head upward, but this band of tourniquet-tightness remains fixed where it is as though to correct a mistake; a nuisance that needed fixing, something as basic as a leaky pipe. I inhale a deep breath and begin to thrash around, hitting my bare thigh on a stack of cold plastic storage bins with a thump. I know where I am now. I'm in my closet. I scooch back away from my shoe collection to the best of my ability, but my nose tells me that my face hovers above them still.

My mind fades out again slightly as I wriggle my joined lips, my grape-flavored chapstick holding my focus. I want to scream, but there's so much tape ensuring that the sound will not escape; even as I open my jaw, my lips are pressed and bound together in prayer. Prayer -- this is the only sort of prayer I can manage, and this is what I get for missing church last weekend, so I must pray to be forgiven, and pray that everything will be okay, but that is questionable. Duct tape is not supposed to be used to seal the always-smiling lips of a shy call-center-operator, who laughs nervously when spoken to, who is known for her courtesy, her soft-spoken manner. Soft-spoken women do not need duct tape sealing their soft-spoken lips. Duct tape is used for fixing major, messy problems, not binding the sensitive wrists and ankles of a polite, young church-going woman. But someone thought my mouth was a mistake and this horrible mask of tape wringing my face the solution -- what's going on!? Hyperventilation sets in; no, no, this can't be happening, I can't move, I can't see, I can't open my mouth. I'm in danger of passing out again.

Breathe. Breathe. My nostrils whoosh with heavy, shuddering breaths.

What is the last thing I remember before waking up in these straits? I had just returned from a long, exhausting workday, ready to start my weekend. I had opened the front door of my lonely little house, hung my keys on the lonely little key-hook, set down a lonely little container of Indian-food-for-one. I had opened the container and leaned over to smell it when a thick cloth suddenly pressed over my face. And now, here I am.

I kick and thrash around, flinching back and forth, my cold nipples sweeping the rug, I have to get out of here, I can't stay in here, what is going on, someone help me, help me -- I wrench myself to the side and bang my head against the wall. I can't take it anymore. A hoarse scream vibrates along my locked lips, then another, then another. My face is twisted and flushed with heat -- at last, footsteps pad along my bedroom carpet. Suddenly, I am silent and still and shivering with regret that I'd made so much noise. Who could it be? The crack beneath the door suddenly bursts with light, and the door swings open, blinding me. There is only a dark silhouette, as my eyes do not wish to adjust. This person is observing me naked. My eyes fall on a pair of black work-boots. A man. A man has never seen me naked before. I shift my body, as though somehow that will help, but I know he is staring right at my privates because he is not saying a word. I lift my wrapped chin up to him and give him a wounded look.

"Dmm tmmm mmmmph."

I sniff hard through my nose, as my new and desperate language has taken a heavy breath from me. This is supposed to mean "please take the tape off my mouth", although it should have been "please cover me up." Or if not that, then "call the police, someone has tied me up!" But no, the first thing on my mind is on getting this horrible thing off my face, so that I can commence a barrage of questions that demanded answers. But the man just continues to look at me. Then he kneels down beside me. A hand comes toward me; thank God. Thank God. That same hand brushes over the adhesive. Fingers lightly trace the outline and the crease of my lips. Then that hand continues down my neck, down my chest. I jolt and flinch away from the hand, but it slides beneath my chest and scoops up my right breast, the index finger circling around my nipple, ticking it. My eyes widen. I gasp and pull myself away, and my breast flops out of his hand, back onto the floor.

His hand jerks beneath me and grabs my breast again. Suddenly, it feels as though it is in a vice, and I try to pull away; I roll onto my side, but that only exposes the other one, and the other hand flies up and catches it in its grip. I burst into tears. Shake my head. "Nmmmm," I whimper. No. I am a virgin. I shake my head harder. Tears stream down my face as I am racked with sobs, warming the thick duct tape around my mouth; tears because he will not stop. Instead, he leans in and kisses my breast; takes the nipple gently between his teeth. Sucks on it. He stumbles slightly, and apparently now he realizes this is not the ideal position, because his arms come underneath me and lift me up. He palms my buttocks as he carries me, my breasts swinging back and forth over my chest, fully exposed beneath the bedroom light. When he sets me on the bed, it suddenly hits me what this man is about to do, and I thrash and kick and buck against him. I roll partially away, nearly falling off the bed, but he grabs my bound legs and yanks me back in place. I am on my stomach, facing the wall, viewing an abstract painting through wet, mascara-tinted eyes. Something comes around my neck; a collar? A dog collar? It is tightened and buckled in place, and then there is a click. A short, pink leash is stretched toward the headboard, then tied, double-knotted, around the rungs. I am naked, on a leash and muzzled like a dog. I am not a human anymore. My eyes sting with tears again, and as I begin another round of crying, a light flick behind me silences me.

"This is a knife. I'm going to cut the tape around your ankles. If you try something, I will cut you."

I bury my face in the cotton comforter, dampening it with a flood of tears; heavy breaths from my nostrils warm the floral-scented cotton stuffing. I weep and I weep. Please, let him have mercy on me. Have mercy on me! As the blade comes up and separates the tape around my ankles with a thip, I scream into the tape molding my lips like plaster.

"Mmmph mm vmmmm!!"

I'm a virgin. I'm a virgin! I have to tell him. He has to know! I scream it again, louder this time, throwing a glance over my shoulder, but he presses down on my upper back and spreads my legs, exposing my pussy. A thumb inside of either lip spreads it wide open, and I feel his eyes peering inside me. The bed shifts. His hair tickles my buttocks, and his tongue flicks my clit, sending a rush of warmth through my thighs, my abdomen. No. No! I kick free and squirm forward, bouncing on my erect nipples, then begin turning my face toward him again in another attempt at communication -- I must tell him before he does this to me. Abruptly, his fist grabs my hair and pulls hard. Pain. I grimace.

"Listen to me, you little bitch. Are you listening?"

What feels like a bundle of course fingers is shoved deep into my pussy, paralyzing every muscle. My eyes bulge, and I hold my breath.

"I took away your freedom. I took away your pretty little mouth. Now I'm going to take something else from you."

The fingers remain plugged in my pussy, rigid as stones, the amplifying ache emitting a small grunt from me. Trembling, I turn my head slowly and try to meet his gaze. Who is he?

"You didn't think I knew? I know, sweetheart. We're in the same abstinence group at church. I guess seeing you there was a big mistake for me, because I haven't been able to stop thinking about this ever since the first time I saw you strutting around with those big tits in those tight sweaters and that sweet look of innocence. You're not so innocent though, are you? Hmm? That's okay, you don't have to answer. We're going to find out right now."

My stomach rolls. A zipper buzzes open and the fingers slide out of me. The bed shifts under his weight as he climbs up behind me. Then, his hands lift my pelvis and a smooth bulb searches up and down around my slit, then presses confidently against my opening.

"Ready, darling? We've got a long weekend ahead of us."

I twist my wrists in their sticky-tape bracelet and cry helplessly into the comforter as the long, thick shaft slithers into me, opening me wider, lubricated and encouraged by my own reluctant juices.