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...
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
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.
