I’m awake. Suddenly and without reason, so I think. But I know there is always a reason I wake. I just don’t know what it is yet, this time. I am snug in my bed on this cold December eve, but now awakened for a reason I can’t discern, my senses are hyperbolic. I hear the wind warbling its way through the oak outside my window. A whisper beckons, but it’s only the furnace starting to heat before the fan kicks in. A tiny creak high above draws my ear – the roof or attic perhaps shrinking ever so slightly in the frigid air. I pull the comforter up to cover my head, as if to protect me from phantoms roaming the night. I am once again asleep; at least I dream that I am.
A footfall, loud and clear, brings me to attention, sitting upright in my bed, wondering who could be in my home. Another, louder still. Am I dreaming? I fear not. All is quiet after many minutes. But my mind is far from quiet. I imagine scenarios beyond the possible, beyond the stories torn from the headlines in Jack the Ripper’s day. My mind is frenzied and yet I sit, waiting, listening, not hearing, but hearing all the same: the wind, the creaking, the furnace now and then. Then finally, my heart pounding its rhythm into a crescendo, as I hear the third step, many minutes later.
I am up. On my feet. No weapon at hand, I find an umbrella; good for rain, but a poor choice for phantoms. At my door I listen. Listen for any telltale sounds. Nothing but the sounds of the house and wind. Who, who could be in my house? Did I lock the back door? Did I close the garage door? Memories of days long past flooding my senses. Memories of him. There, his smell, wafting into my room. Is it real? Or just a nightmarish memory? I don’t know, I can’t tell.
He had taken it from me. Stolen on a summer’s day, as if it was a cooling pie on a window sill. I was but 19 then. Yet in a fleeting second it was gone, irretrievably lost forever. I had cried, screamed, and kicked, but that only made it better – for him. He was there for only 15 minutes. But when he left, he took it with him, as if in a sack carried over his shoulder. I lay in ruins, bruised, on my bed begging for its return. But it could not be. Impossible I knew, for he had taken my virginity.
Could he be back again? My senses knew it to be true. My body screamed, but I knew not in my favor. I hated him for what he had done, but my body loved him for what he had done, many times since. I was sure he was here, in my house, waiting for me, wanting me, ready to take me.
My nightgown was wet against my leg. Why I asked. Then I knew. My body betrayed me. Once again, the traitor. I was wet down there in anticipation of him and his evil. I could not control it with my mind. My body’s needs were its own and I was its prisoner. For twenty-one years I had lived with the desires, succumbing to some, defeating many others. The battle was constant. All because of him.
My hate for him boiled over. My lust did too. My brain and my body were mortal enemies. My mind won most battles, but lost every time when it was with him. How could it be, when my mind knew best?
Endorphins firing, nerves on fire, orgasms exploding: all he had wrought countless times. Kink was now my God. He had made it so. How I hated him for it. How I loved him for it. I never knew when he would be back.
91 was the most dialed number on my phone. Never 911. I always stopped shy of the last digit. I had no control, when he was near. My body was his. He owned it. Even with my mind as his enemy and potential assassin I was always his in the end. And I had always loved it.
No sounds unexpected arose in the house, even as I waited, umbrella in hand. But my body knew, his presence was assured. I had to resist at least once in my life. The door opened as if by magic, my hand the magician. I walked into the hall, still silent in the early morning. He was there, I knew it. He had to be; my pussy was dripping.
Moonlight and wind cast shadows playing dice in the kitchen. Nothing there. The living room was dark. I had drawn the curtains. My eyes were adjusting allowing me to see my enemy, should he be here. But again, nothing there. The dining room was lit well by a streetlight.
But suddenly the lights disappeared. Burlap’s earthy smell corrupted my senses. Hands grabbing me. Reining in my arms. My umbrella running away, laughing. I was bound tight. My mind was fighting. My body relaxed waiting for the explosions to come, once again. Screams formed in my lungs, but the body said no. I had no chance; my limbs accepting defeat. The struggle was over before it began. A sweet smell overpowering and permeating everything. I recognized it from long ago. I was cutting up a frog. Chloroform. Then darkness everywhere.
I realize I’m awake. I think I have been for some time. All my senses deprived. Nothing here. No burlap, not cold, not warm, no sounds, no odors; nothing to feel. Am I really awake? Might be a dream, but a dream about nothing? I lick my lips. Dry, it’s real.
“Hello,” I whisper. No answer, no echo. Louder. Still nothing. Loudest. Still quiet as death. I can’t feel my body; can’t move a finger or toe. “Where can I be?” I ask out loud as I slip back into sleep.
I’m awake, suddenly. As an echo returns the click of a latch. Eyes open. Only darkness. I close them, yet it’s no darker. I feel warm. My legs and arms seem bare, but I can feel them, and move them. Damn! Just barely. I’m tied up. His handiwork, again. I am on something soft, like a bed or a cot. Flat on my back, arms overhead, tied together, legs tied together and stretched out straight. Both arms and legs tied to something else as well; immobile.
I hear his breathing beside me in the dark. He is here, next to me. I smell him and his evil intent.
“Hello Melissa,” he whispers and my brain struggles to flee my body. I scream, but no sound comes forth; my body a traitor once more. I turn to see him, where his voice was, but it seems no light can exist in his evil presence.
“Close your eyes and I’ll turn on the lights If you like. It will hurt if you keep them open. Would you like me to turn on the lights?”
Even with my eyes closed I am partially blinded; pain building in my skull, after I say “OK.”
After a few minutes, I slowly open my eyes, blinking and squinting, trying to focus. He was wearing a tuxedo with a white rose on his lapel. He was dark – swarthy I guess you’d say, handsome as always, but looked taller and stronger than when I had seen him last. He was not someone I was going to overpower, as I had found out many times.
“It’s good to see you again darling. Did you miss me?” he asks warmly.
“Go to hell, you bastard,” is the best I can muster. My mind is still fuzzy; no doubt some drug besides Chloroform.
“That’s no way to greet your true love. I’ve made special preparations for your visit. I hope you can stay all weekend. I’m sure you’ll want to after you see the new equipment I have – I’ve spared no expense for you, my darling.”
Regaining my mind, I spewed all the venom I could, “Leave me alone you cock sucking, mother fucking, pile of steaming dog shit!! I hate you! Let me go now!! I will kill you, you mother fucker!”
“No need to be so melodramatic, darling. I know you love me and those are just your kind words to show me how much. Shall we get started? It’s almost dawn and I want you to enjoy all your time with me. We have some extra time, since you were so easy to capture tonight. Did you know I was coming and make it easy for me? I know you look forward to my visits.” He hung a wall clock opposite my head. It showed Midnight. “I’ll start it now. It’s for you – so you can see how long you’ve been here.”
I ignored him and looked around. The room was small maybe 10’ by 12’, light green, two doors, two windows – both dark with curtains. A slight antiseptic smell, new, and barely there. One table, his chair and the thing I was on, likely a bed, were all the furnishings. No picture on the walls. A simple light fixture overhead was positioned in the middle of the off-white ceiling. We were not at the Hyatt.
I could see he had my wrists and ankles restrained with padded cuffs, each with a couple of D rings attached. The cuffs were locked together at the moment with padlocks – one D ring for each. He also had a rope tied to a D ring at each end, pulled tight with some kind of winch. There was a metal frame around this bed about four feet above me with various D rings, pulleys and other attachments. At each corner was a pretty stout pole supporting the frame. It too had D rings and pulleys or small wheels of some sort on it. This must be the new equipment he had boasted about. I’d have to become Houdini to escape this and slit the bastard’s throat.
“Where the fuck am I? You bastard!”
“In my friend’s summer cottage; a bit more than a hundred miles from yours. He won’t be using it until spring. I hope my driving didn’t leave you with any bruises. The trunk is not the most comfortable seat in my car, but you understand, I couldn’t let you be seen.”
I soon found out that the wheels on the support poles were indeed pulleys. He connected ropes with to my ankle D rings with carabineers and ran the ropes through the pulleys to the winch at the foot. He did the same to me wrists. Then he unlocked the padlock at my ankles. I kicked in his direction hoping to break his nose, but he was too quick for me. The cranked the winch and pulled my legs apart and upward toward the pulleys, about 3 feet above me. He did the same with my arms after my weak swing at his head missed badly.
Now he had me stretched out on the bed, my arms and legs at equal angles in the air and spread. I could feel my pussy getting very wet. Once again, my body playing Benedict Arnold working against my rational brain. How could this be?
He was on the bed … between my legs … rubbing my pussy with his finger.
“My, aren’t we wet tonight? I’m surprised you want me so badly already.”
“Go to Hell!” I screamed at him.
“Such vitriol. I’m sure in a few hours you’ll be begging me for more.”
“I have to pee, let me up.”
“Go ahead and pee. Defecate if you need to as well. The mattress is covered in plastic and I’ll change your sheet for you. You know I always take good care of you.”
“Fuck you! I’ll hold it for now, for you, later.”
He walked to the table and picked up a small whip. He held it for me to see; it had about a dozen black strands and a glass handle. He smiled. He brushed the whip across my breasts … between my legs. Then he flogged me softly across my breasts. My nipples felt the sting, slight as it was it came as a shock to my system. His next stroke was harder yet on my pussy, and again harder. My pussy was in pain and yet I felt quite wet down there, could it be blood? He continued alternating between my tits and my pussy. The pain radiated out from my erogenous zones throughout my body like a thousand bees were stinging me all at once. I was screaming for him to stop, to not hurt me anymore, to let me go, and then for revenge.
“This is just to get your attention, warm you up so to speak, and prepare you for the main course.”
“You fuckhead, I’m going to kill you someday! Stop this and let me go!!” I was still resisting completely, at least in my mind. He has just completed another very hard stroke on my pussy. I let loose with my urine, spraying my thighs a bit, soaking the sheet but falling short of him, barely.
“Well now, that wasn’t very lady like, Melissa. But I did tell you to do it. Hang on and I’ll get a clean sheet.” He used the two winches to raise me off the bed about half a foot. My body hanging … hanging in mid-air by my ankles and wrists. That was not pleasant.
He changed the sheet, mopping up the plastic covering the mattress and my body with the dry end of the soiled sheet. He remade the bed and winched me down. Then inexplicably, he cranked the winch at the top of the bed and raised my arms several inches. Now to see anything I had to raise my head, which soon fatigued my neck.
“Goddamn you, put my head back down at least. I hate you, you motherfucker.”
“Not tonight. I think I’d rather see you in candle light.” He had walked to a table, lit a candle, turned off the lights and brought the candle to the bed, and me. It was a bright red taper, probably 10” long. It was beautiful in its own light – the only light in the room. But when he tipped it toward me, I knew a new fear.
I had never experienced the pain hot wax brings as it falls from a few inches to your skin, or in this case to the areola and nipple of my left breast. I screamed the first dozen times, as a small splat started a bolt of searing pain on my skin that shot directly to my brain. I screamed more when he gave his attention to my other breast. The small drops of wax magnifying their heat as they adhered to my skin, sealing in the pain and burning my spirit. The millions of nerve endings in my nipples accepted the explosions of pain with each drop and caused my whole body to shudder. He smiled, said nothing and continued with the candle on my abdomen and throat until it was too short to hold. The clock showed 12:40. My pussy was soaked. My brain exploding with hate, and pain; exquisite in its own way.
Fire and ice must have been his theme. He pulled an ice cube from an ice bucket on the table and held it above my mouth. My mouth was like Phoenix and the dripping ice water was a God send. But he gave me only a tiny bit. The coward wore gloves, nice black leather gloves, so he wouldn’t suffer the cold he intended for me. He placed the ice cube between my breasts. Initially it felt cold but nice, in contrast to the hot wax. As it melted the water ran toward my abdomen; cold, then pooled in my belly button, finally overflowing to the sheet.
He used ice to further cool the wax on my breasts allowing him to peal it easily. He held an ice cube on each breast, focused on my nipples. I pleaded with him to stop, it was intensely cold and painful. He just smiled, said nothing, worked the ice, now sending tiny freezing rivers over my boobs, down my side and onto the sheet.
More ice. Damn it. Now on my feet and wrists; very cold, numbing my hands and feet. Then on my throat. He held my head back by my hair and held the ice cube there as I squirmed for freedom. Brain freeze started, as the ice cooled the blood going to my brain, just like drinking a frozen margarita too fast. The intensity picked up and I screamed more and more for him to stop. Finally, the cube slipped out of his hand, shattered as it hit the floor. I was groggy, crying, my mind slowed by the cold.
Next, he held an ice cube on my clit. Pressed it hard into my hood. God it was cold. I screamed, again, louder hoping someone might hear me. But I knew we were likely miles from civilization. The cold radiated to my pussy and ass as if directly wired to my clit. It was unbearable. I screamed at the top of my lungs for him to die. I wished the same fate for myself. He rubbed the cube on my clit and let the chilled water run down my pussy and ass. I felt death upon me I was so cold.
I heard a sucking sound and looked up, barely able to see through my tears. He was sucking a Popsicle. He showed me it was red. He dripped a bit on my lips, cherry, his favorite flavor, no doubt. He worked his bare fingers into my cunt, warm lube feeling wonderful compared to the cold. Slipping and sliding he was finger fucking me. At least it wasn’t an ice cube. He still licked the Popsicle.
“What the hell?” I screamed having guessed his next move. “No! Not in my pussy! You bastard.” The Popsicle was slippery and slid right in me. The pain intense, unbelievable. I screamed for what seemed like ten minutes. My mind was exploding with pain from his Popsicle dildo. I wanted to die. He held it in place for what seemed like an hour, the cold radiating out into my abdomen, and thighs. My pussy was numb, frozen. I felt I was dying. I wished it was true. I wished hard to die. Tears streamed onto the sheet.
It was 1:58 on the clock. The Popsicle was gone, finally, as well as the other ice. The lights vanished. He left me alone, in the dark, in tears, in agony, screaming.
A few minutes passed. My crying had stopped. Some feeling returned. My brain and pussy partially thawed out.
“Lights coming on, close your eyes darling.”
He was pulling something. Something big. A machine of some sort. He put it at the foot of the bed. I felt him fingering my pussy, still a mess from his Popsicle. Lube. Warm lube. Two fingers; finger fucking me slowly. Then he stopped. He showed me a dildo, black and shaped like a huge cock. It had to be 10” long and twice as thick as any cock I had actually had in me. He offered me a lick. I tried to spit at him, but couldn’t muster any saliva.
He went back to fingering me, using two and then three fingers and plenty of lube. My body liked it, a lot. I felt waves of pleasure radiating outward just as the cold had minutes ago. My body had taken over control of my soul and I felt I had lost to the devil once again. He stopped fingering me. I raised my head to try to see what he was up to, but could only see his back. My head collapsed in resignation; I was his now to do with as he pleased. My body had won, again, had given itself to him, as it had every time I faced this evil.
After a minute or so, I felt more lube. Then a pressure there, then something sliding in. Cold but not like ice. A dildo or vibrator, not him. I struggled to see, lifting my head. A fucking machine; literally a machine to fuck me. He turned it on. It was slow at first, then a bit faster. My pussy was stretched to capacity, it ached from the huge dildo as it bottomed out inside me. He manipulated the controls, driving the dildo deeper, then faster yet. Pain once more radiating outward, as the giant faux cock dredged a new home in my cunt. In a few minutes the pain turned to pleasure, my body had adjusted and was now accepting the huge beast. Uncontrollable I began to moan in delight. Still my mind fought to get to the surface and take control.
“2:13 on the clock, remember that if you can,” he said taunting me.
My body loved it; a deep hard fucking. My body needed it. I was screaming “No!” in my mind, but I heard only “Yes!!” come from my traitorous mouth. He added a vibrator directly on my clit and secured it with a belt around my hips. He sped up the machine, much faster. I was being banged hard by a damn machine and my body responded. I came hard and long, screaming unintelligibly for minutes at a time. It was an endless orgasm.
I was ecstatic. Waves of orgasm wracked my body over and over. My back arched pushing my pussy to meet its destroyer. My head tossed from side to side struggling to keep some control. But to no avail, I was in pure lust, wanting to be fucked harder and deeper. I screamed encouragement to him and his machine, “Fuck me!” I repeated until I could speak no more. My body was awash with electricity. Explosions in my groin driving me to insanity. I knew no time, no space. On this new planet all was euphoria and ecstasy. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t speak, I was barely conscious and only so from the pure pleasure coursing through my body. It seemed to go on for hours, then darkness intruded.
I’m awake. Sweating. My pussy on fire, my clit ablaze. The machine had stopped, but my pussy was still full of that dildo. The echoes of a thousand orgasms still bounced around my body. I was still out of control. The clock showed 3:37.
“Ah, I see you’re back with the living. You passed out for a few minutes. Too intense for you, darling?”
I could barely speak and croaked out “No, it was … wonderful.” I had succumbed to his evil once again. He held a bottle of Aquafina to my lips, I drank at least half, turning the dessert that was my mouth into springtime.
“Good,” he said. “Happy Birthday, Melissa,” he whispered just before he kissed me passionately.
“You’re the best husband ever,” I smiled back after the kiss. “Thank you so much. God, it was awesome. How about one more time?”
“Yes everything, please.”
“Even the Popsicle?”
“Especially the Popsicle!”
This story was written by Jessica Wilson.