This story contains scenes of, and references to, acts of violent and/or offensive acts of sexual intercourse. While neither the story nor its author condone acts of rape, violence or abuse, some of the characters portrayed do. These are included purely for the story's sake. References to rape are generally made with the lightest of intentions; IE, rape being a describing word for a more violent form of sex, rather than the consent-less abuse of a woman or man's body.
The story is, in conclusion, a little darker than my previous ones. That's for a reason; I'm experimenting, and expanding the range of how a story can play with emotions. If you don't agree with the idea of forced submission, rape, kidnapping or taking advantage of negative situations, I would recommend steering clear of this one. There's nothing overly bad inside, don't get me wrong; it's not like some asshole pops in and stabs this girl's friends and then starts fucking her. It's just that some parts can touch very lightly on topics that could be raw nerves for some people. I don't want to offend; just to write. So, this is my little disclaimer. Otherwise, please enjoy, leave me your feedback and have a great day.
There's a little Easter egg in this story! If you can find it out there somewhere, the first comment on it gets to tell me exactly what story they want me to write, or to write one with me, or something equally time wasting. I mean, that's if you wanted to write with me at all...
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PART 1
"Only a fool runs into choppy waters to save another when he himself cannot swim. Only a lover rushes in anyway when he knows he will drown." ~S. S. M. H.
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The powerful, sleek and quietly expensive supercar roared out of the small, disused exit ramp and onto the highway that ran from the city deep into the hills. Heading down to town the dark, nearly black, red vehicle rushed up to speed and shot calmly away, its female driver coolly sucking in the fresh air from the fully opened windows and filling her lungs with the refreshing stuff. She felt good. No, she felt incredible. The speed, the comfort, the money. Her home deep in the side of the hill, the people living there with her, and her whole life in general were just all reasons to love herself. And she was doing just that.
Chelsea's high powered sports car hadn't been a purchase she'd made with the multiple million dollars sitting in a private bank account that had been tied to the estate her and her lover, Jordan, had come into through strange but profitable circumstances. No, this had already been there. Indeed, it was one of nearly twenty vehicles, ranging from sleek and sexy V8 beasts like this to new Mercedes cargo vans and even, in one of three fully functional repair bays, a Mack truck engine and a trailer. Generally for her errands Chelsea would use the most normal cars, the Ute, the little hatchback or something similar. But today she'd felt like a thrill. She'd woken up like she was in a movie, stretched her naked body out of bed and padded to breakfast for an absolutely delectable morning meal before getting herself ready and shooting out into the bright warm sun and cool fresh air.
Chelsea was not, as you might be wondering, your usual young girl. Indeed, she had been more of the stereotypical early-twenties female once, not that long ago.
Chelsea had started off by leaving home at 17 and finding a dingy two-room apartment right on the fringes of shady town. She lived alone, at least, during the days, working a poor cashier job and packing member rolled in one for a pay that barely afforded her enough money to add condoms and pills to her weekly shop. At 18 she threw her dreams in the trash with the rest of her good girl life and started to take home boys from the various night clubs around the corner. At first she hated herself, but after a while she realized the glorious poles of joy that hid in men's pants were her only release and she was damn well entitled to them. She went out most nights and drank till she dropped, before dragging some equally horny and drunk guy back to her apartment and riding him hard before waking up wrapped around him and sending him home with a scream and a shout. Rarely did these nights ever end well for either party, Chelsea left hung over, depressed, red raw and generally fucked, and the boy all of these and probably late for work or whatever waited for him at home.
It was when Chelsea was 19, on her birthday in fact, that her apartment was broken in to by four black clad, shady looking men. Drunk and stoned, depressed and lonely, she'd been doing a crossword while wishing someone had been doing her. She didn't even realize they were in her room, too busy vomiting was she, until one of them had come over to her and sprayed a sedative substance in her face. She'd blacked out instantly and woken up alone in a huge room on a huge bed. Long and warm the room had four double sized beds on the door side with gym equipment, shelves, books, computers, entertainment and learning tools and just about everything she would need to keep herself happy on the other. In the corner by the door was a half-closed off tiled area with four curtain-less shower alcoves and accompanying basins and toilets, as well as round futuristic devices that, it turned out, were dryers for your whole body. On the far end of the room was a full, floor to ceiling, wall to wall glass panel. Triple glazed and reinforced it had no beams or bars and was warm to touch. It looked out on the view of a slowly slanting hill below her, with the sun rising in the distance.
For nearly a year Chelsea had lived here alone. Each morning, afternoon and night, fresh, delicious food was brought to her. Other than this she was totally alone and even when her meals were delivered no one could be seen, the food being delivered to her via a hatch in the doorway that snugly fit the tray it was delivered in. After a few weeks Chelsea set up her own routine, realizing that no one was going to give a fuck if she wasted her days sleeping and eating. She started to get up early and exercise before finding some new book or website to read. She'd learn some then play, one of the many toys, board games or computers providing whatever she felt like. All the games she wanted, the toys she'd grown up on and the video games that existed were accessible to her. She even started a YouTube channel under the name CChels, uploading little gameplays she recorded herself but never really getting any audience. She noted that any microphones in the computers were disabled or removed, as were the webcams, so she couldn't show anything of herself. Strange, then, that she was allowed the access to the world through the web, but simply not the ability to show her actual self.
Another important point was that, the whole time, she was naked. Her clothes had been removed before she woke up and none could be found anywhere in the room. The entire place was heated to body temperature and, far as she could tell, was regulated with sensors somehow that warmed or cooled it depending on her body temperature so it wasn't stifling when she worked out or freezing at night. In essence the room was her clothing. Even the bed sheets were extra-long and stitched to the mattress at the bottom.
Eventually Chelsea got over it all and, so far as she could tell, was alone without surveillance. So she set up her routine and started to work out and learn. She made herself strong and healthy, initially because she realized that if she was going to have to fight to get out, she'd have to be able to out run, out punch and out maneuver anyone who would stop her, but eventually just because it was the right thing to do. Though she had access to the internet her access to forums, blogs and the like were apparently monitored, perhaps only automatically, because although her YouTube channel was allowed to exist, a blog she tried to start on health and fitness was deleted a few hours after she'd made it.
And so it was that Chelsea lived for just over a year in total freedom, and yet total solitude. As opposed to her life before where not a day had gone by without her seeing someone, anyone, she suddenly never saw a soul. You might think she would have gotten lonely, but somehow, she had not. Perhaps her body or spirit knew she needed the solitude to refresh herself, to pull herself out of the dirty rut she was stuck in, the rut of failed dreams and drunk fuck fests.
And then a year passed and she was summoned. One morning she woke to find the grey metal door, the only cold thing in the room, was open. Just, open. Stark, hospital-like white corridors stretched down either direction. Stepping out into the cooler room, not even a crack could be found where ceiling or floor tiles met. Indeed the whole place was nearly startlingly lit from, it seemed, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Indeed the only thing to break the white was a small red arrow stuck on the wall opposite her door pointing left.
Chelsea went left.
With her heart beating she had padded along, following arrows on the walls until she came to a long glass paneled room. The room had dark frosted glass as its corridor wall, and though she couldn't see in, she knew it was the place. No more red arrows guided her. She stepped up to the door and was just about to knock when it slid quietly away and revealed a lab-like room behind a tall, older woman. She stood before Chelsea emitting an aura of power. She looked down upon Chelsea with dominant pleasure and a grin twisted the corners of her mouth. Her legs were wrapped in waving, curving red stockings, her feet capped by red leather boots, suspenders reached up her fine waist to a strong leather belt tightly strung around her hips. No panties covered her exposed labia and her stomach was untouched. Thin bikini-like ties strung around her back and met at tiny little triangles of material that covered her nipples, large round breasts hanging gloriously before her proudly out held chest. Her chin was high and her hair was tied back, a red and black fascinator gently clipped into the bun. She looked like a 60s raunchy dancer. Chelsea didn't know what to do or say faced with her.
