## He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Thu Jan 03, 2013 4:13 pm

So this is my fourth story on this site. It's a bit different than the other three. I'm not sure how many parts there will be, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to change the point of view a few times. Anyway, here it is.
Part One
It had been a long, long day.
I was currently in the stages of trying to get my body back in shape after being overweight for quite a few years. I had lost fifty pounds in the past year, but at 5’5” and 150 pounds, I wasn’t as fit as I should be.
So on one Saturday in the middle of winter break from college, I went with some friends to a rock climbing facility and climbed the rock walls. I did better than I expected. Then I boxed with them and beat them, although their lack of fighting skills and my brown belt in karate probably gave me the advantage. We lifted weights for a while. And then, to relax, we watched some horror movies.
By midnight, it was high time we called it a night and I took my friends home. I drove them back to their houses and got back to my neighborhood by two in the morning. My body ached and I needed a shower to the extreme. I unlocked the front door and went inside, happy that my parents were out for the night and I had the house to myself.
I closed the door and locked it. I staggered up the stairs, feeling exhausted but pretty proud of myself as well. I turned on the light to my room and got my pajamas out of a drawer. I headed across the hall to the bathroom, but the touch of a cool breeze stopped me in my tracks. I looked down the hall into the guest room. The window in there had been broken. I walked over to the window and saw that a tipped over ladder was lying on the lawn below. I gulped. Was somebody in the house?
I clenched my fists and started to turn around when somebody grabbed me around the waist. A hand appeared in front of my face. I knew what they were trying to do. Here I was, alone, seemingly the perfect kidnap victim. Well, this guy had another thing coming to him.
Before he slapped his hand over my mouth, I took both his arms and pried them away from me. I swung myself around to face him.
“What the heck do you want?” I spat at him.
He didn’t respond. His face was mostly in shadow, but I could see that he had a bit of a beard and he looked tad bit old. He stared at me.
Faster than I was capable of comprehending, he reached into a bag lying on the floor, took a baseball bat, and hit me right in the forehead with me. I wasn’t quite sure how I didn’t see it coming and why I didn’t stop it, but I supposed I could chalk that up to being really, really freaking tired.
The blow knocked me to the ground and my vision grew a little fuzzy, but I managed to stay conscious. I threw my leg up and kicked him in the stomach. He flew backwards and I climbed to my feet, a bit wobbly but fully awake.
I felt of my forehead. My hand came back quite bloody.
I went into attack mode. I punched him in the face, then the stomach. I moved backwards and kicked him in the stomach, then, without putting my leg down, I kicked him in the face. However, he threw up his arms and grabbed my leg, twisted it, and I fell down onto my stomach.
He sat on me and started trying to pull my wrists behind me. I struggled with him. This time I had no idea it was coming at all. He bashed me in the back of the head with his baseball bat.
The pain was immense and my vision was starting to fail me again, but I managed to wrench one of my arms out of his grasp. I grabbed onto the leg of the bed and pulled with all my might. I slid out from under him.
Getting up was harder than before and he kicked me in the nose before I could stand up. My eyes started watering, but I was able to climb to my feet anyway. I pushed him up against the wall and bashed his head into it a few times. Then I swung him around and tried to throw him to the ground, but he kept his balance and kicked me in the knee. I retaliated by swinging my forearm into his head. He fell to the ground.
I turned him onto his stomach, sat on his back, and wrenched one of his arms up into a chicken hold. I punched him in the back of his head. “How do you like being the helpless one? Do they usually manage to fight back this much? Huh?”
He didn’t respond.
“How many other people have you tried to kidnap?” I asked again.
He still didn’t respond.
I reached for his bag without letting him out of the chicken hold. He squirmed a bit, but couldn’t throw me off of his back. I looked inside. There was a lot of rope. And some scarves.
I held back the desire to grab the bat and clobber this guy until he bled to death. Instead I started winding the rope around his wrists.
I wasn’t sure how to tie a sufficient knot. I had never done this before, although I had read a lot about it. The knot I tied seemed to hold, though, and I moved on to his elbows. I finished with his ankles, knees, and thighs. Then I extracted one of the scarves, pried his mouth open, put the cloth between his teeth, and tied it behind his head.
I got up, grabbed him under the armpits, and hauled him to his feet. I held onto him so he wouldn’t fall and went around to stand in front of him.
He was a good four or five inches taller than me and was certainly not skin and bones. He appeared to have a good set of muscles on his arms, though his sweatshirt was covering them. How I managed to beat this dude in a fight, using no weapons, was beyond me.
I bent down to his knees, and he started to fall on my shoulder. I grabbed his legs and lifted him over my shoulder. He was heavy and I staggered a lot as I walked down the stairs with him. I grabbed my keys and went out to my car. I unlocked the door and threw him in the passenger seat. I buckled his seatbelt and went around to the other side.
I felt the back of my head. My hand came out bloody again. I examined my forehead in the rearview mirror. It looked bad. I shuddered and started the car.
“Let’s get something straight. You messed with the wrong woman tonight and because of that, you won’t be messing with anybody again. I’m going to ask you a yes or no question. You either nod or shake. Don’t lie to me.” I looked into his eyes and threw my fist into one of them. “Don’t. Now, do you have other kidnap victims hidden somewhere? Don’t lie.”
He looked at me for a few seconds. I waited. Finally, he nodded.
I pulled his gag out and looked at the road. I squeezed the steering wheel, then put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “Where are they?”
“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” he asked me.
“That has nothing to do with what I asked you. Where are they?”
I heard him give a labored swallow. “They’re hidden in the church at Cedar Hill Cemetery.”
I nodded, grabbed his gag, and put it back in his mouth.
I knew where the cemetery was. It was an hour away. This would be a long drive.
To be continued...

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Kyle » Thu Jan 03, 2013 7:08 pm

Sounds pretty good so far.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Thu Jan 03, 2013 7:40 pm

Thank you for the comment. I'm hoping to get a little more character developement and emotions and stuff in the next part, instead of just all action...but yeah, thanks!

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Fri Jan 11, 2013 3:05 pm

Part Two
I stared at the girl whose name I didn’t even know; the girl who I had tried to kidnap, but failed at doing so miserably; the girl who had managed to overpower me.
At one that afternoon, I had begun to stalk her. I had seen her heading out of a rock climbing facility with some friends. She looked friendly and innocent. She was laughing and having a good time. Every time I saw her, she was covered up by a sweatshirt. She was short. And her body was exactly the kind of body I was looking for in my next victim.
Now here I was, sitting in her car, and I was the one tied up and gagged. The girl looked so tired. It was, after all, past two o’clock in the morning; there was also that little factor that I had bashed her in the head with a baseball bat…twice.
The girl stared at the road. She had a steely look in her eyes, but I could see that her body hurt like crazy by the way she was biting her lip. If she passed out and killed us both, I wouldn’t be too happy.
Suddenly she slammed on the brakes. My eyes shot to the road. There was deer about a foot from the car. She was really on her game, even with her heading bleeding profusely in two places.
The deer wouldn’t move, so she honked the horn and it ran. “Darn deer,” she mumbled. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. “Ah fuuu…….” She cut off the word, shook her head, and pressed the gas pedal.
“Not that you care, but just so you know, my head feels like it’s been hit incredibly hard with a baseball bat…in two places. Oh, but wait!” she said sarcastically. “It has. You freaking pr—” she cut off this word as well. “You freaking jerk,” she finished quietly. I couldn’t believe she didn’t say the word. I could tell she wanted to say it so bad, but apparently she didn’t talk that way, not even to someone who tried to kidnap her.
She didn’t say a word for the rest of the ride; she didn’t even utter a sound.
She pulled up in the church drive, got out, slammed her door, and ran to the other side of the car. She opened my door and yanked me out of the car, threw me over her shoulder, and started staggering to the church door. When got there, she tried to open it, but it was locked.
I let out a muffled grunt. She groaned and threw me onto the ground. She gave me a death glare and pulled my gag out.
“It’s locked.”
“No duh,” she retorted.
“There’s a key.”
“Yeah, I figured. So where the heck is it?”
“If you just untie me…” I figured I might as well get her to untie me and then try overpowering her again. If that didn’t work, maybe I could just run for the hills and never look back.
“Just tell me where it is!” she hissed.
“But it’s complicated! Just please untie me,” I pleaded. “I won’t do anything. I already know you’re stronger than I am.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned down.
“Thank yph—” I thought she was going to untie me. No such luck. She had only leaned down to put the gag back in.
She cracked her knuckles and bit her lip until it bled. Then she let out a huge grunt as she lifted her leg and kicked the door. To my utter shock, the door burst open. I saw a glint of happiness in her eyes. Then it went away.
She dragged me inside. And then she yelled. “Yo, is anybody here? Make some noise if you can hear me!”
She started looking around. I knew she’d eventually find them, but it would probably be the last place she’d come across. I had some time.
I struggled to my feet and managed to hop to the third pew from the back on the right. I reached into the slot and grabbed the Bible. The knife fell out. I cut open the ropes and freed myself.
I ran to where I had last seen her go. I saw her going into the basement. I tried to be as quiet as possible. I don’t know what tipped her off, but she turned around.
Her eyes widened as I threw the knife, aiming for her stomach. She jumped about a foot in the air and the knife embedded itself in her leg. She fell to the ground.
Why she jumped and didn’t move, I’ll never know, but I went into action quickly. I descended upon her...

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Mon Jan 14, 2013 10:31 am

Nobody gets tied up in this post, but the next post will have a lot of bound and gagged dudes and damsels in distress, so don't worry. Anyway, this part has a ton of brutal violence, so be warned.
Part Three
I was about to let out an expletive, but I squelched it. My reflexes had told me that I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid getting stabbed in the side of my stomach. The leg was better. So I jumped. But it still hurt like a mof….yeah, well, it hurt really badly.
I had fallen onto my back. The man straddled me, waving his knife in my face. “Should I kill you, or keep you as one of my captives?” he asked me.
That question didn’t need an answer. I lifted both my arms and pushed the arm that was holding the knife away from me. It wasn’t too much of a struggle. It was one arm against two.
Of course, he noticed my advantage and placed his other hand on his wrist to reinforce it. Then we really struggled. It seemed we were evenly matched. We were in a stalemate. I couldn’t move him; he couldn’t move me.
I was getting so tired. I wanted to give up so badly. I was just about to succumb to it and let him do whatever he wanted. He looked as if he was going to kill me. At least that would be better than the alternative. Being raped, tortured, and/or whatever else he had planned for me was worse than death.
I slowly let my arms stop struggling with him. His knife came closer and closer the more I relented.
The knife was right in front of my face when I heard something. I could barely hear it. But it was a whimper. Oh, yeah, I remembered.
How could I possibly forget? How could I just let this happen?
With the tip of the blade about a centimeter from my cheek, I pushed as hard as my fatigued arms would allow. They wouldn’t allow a lot, especially with a man pushing just as hard right back. But I got the blade far enough away to twist my body to the side. The force of my body made him roll off of me, but the knife sliced my cheek as I did so. It only stung a little though. I didn’t have time to care.
I lunged for the knife, but he threw it at me again. This time I ducked and lunged for him again. Forget the knife, I thought. Just bash his face in with your fists until it’s unrecognizable.
That wasn’t going to work though. He smacked his palm into my face and kicked his foot into my stomach and flipped me up into the air. I landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me.
I struggled for breath as he went for the knife again. I gasped for air and struggled to my feet. He had gotten the knife. I kicked it away from him. I reached down for the knife, and just as he was about to tackle me to the ground, I turned around and stabbed him in the leg.
His cry of pain was music to my ears. He sounded like a little kid. I pulled the knife from his leg and headbutted him. My head started pounding after that maneuver, but I didn’t care. He fell to the ground and I was on top of him in an instant. I grabbed his right wrist, pinned it to the floor, and smiled.
“Please, please don’t kill me,” he pleaded.
I lowered myself right into his face. “I’m not a killer,” I said, and plunged the knife through his hand and into the floor.
He screamed again and started trying to reach his other hand over to free himself. I stomped on his hand as hard as I could. Then I stood on his hand with both legs. I heard some bones cracking. Just for good measure, I jumped off his hand and twisted his arm until I heard another crack. “There, that should do it,” I muttered.
I went to the door I had been about to open. That seemed to be where the whimper had come from. The door, of course, was locked. Neither of my legs was strong enough to balance my body on its own, so instead of kicking the door in, I took a few steps back, and rammed into it.
I fell down half a flight of stairs until I was able to grab onto the railing. I let out a roar of pain, but managed to compose myself after a few seconds. I staggered down the rest of the steps. What I saw wasn’t pleasant.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Tue Jan 15, 2013 2:47 pm

It's always a bit disappointing to not get any comments on my stories. If you're reading this, I'd like to hear what you think, no matter what it is.
Anyway, there is bondage in this. This is narrated from a captive's point of view.
Part Four
For what seemed like the past ten minutes, I heard agonized shouts, low-pitched grunts, roars of pain, and a whole bunch of stomping around. Someone was in the church, presumably another captive, but whoever they were, they were fighting back.
For a few minutes, I didn’t hear anything. I whimpered, know that whoever it was had either lost, or been killed. I didn’t know which was worse.
But then the screaming continued. And suddenly an ear-piercing wail reached my ears. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I thought whoever was here had just lost.
Then the door burst open and a girl went crashing down the stairs. She was crying out in pain, but she managed to grab the railing halfway down. She got up and went the rest of the way down.
Then she saw us. I’m not sure why her eyes met mine first, but when our eyes made contact, I felt something down deep. I wasn’t sure what. It might have been hope, relief that the captive was alive and unrestrained, but there was also…something more.
The girl was bleeding in numerous places. Her pants were ripped and her sweatshirt was torn. She was shaking all over.
She looked at each of us in turn. She took in how we were all tied up the same way. We were sitting on wooden chairs, with our stomachs and legs tied to it. Our ankles were tied together, and the knot was connected to the wood that connecting the two legs of the chair. Our wrists were bound behind our backs and bound to the chair as well. The finishing touch was the black gag in each of our mouths, placed in between our mouths and knotted at the back of our heads. We could make muffled noises, but after a while, the gags weren’t even necessary, because we no longer had the energy to scream. I think he kept them in because he liked the way they looked.
She made her way over to me first. She looked in my eyes and whisper, “I am so sorry.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she had to be sorry about. And if she meant she was sorry about the state of my body, which was pretty gaunt, a little bruised and batter, and restrained to a chair, well, I thought she looked worse.
She went around behind my back and untied the cleave gag that had been in my mouth. Neither of us spoke as untied my bonds. She helped me off the chair and moved on to one of the girls that had been captured.
It was hard to stand on my own two feet after sitting in a chair for so long. He had brought me in first. I was already a skinny boy when he had captured me, but he starved me so much that I became absolutely sickly looking. I could see my rib cage now, and I could feel my spine jutting out into the back of the chair.
The next person he had brought in had been a girl, and she was skinny as well. He starved her just as much as me.
The next two were a muscular girl and guy. They had been tortured. He had whipped and beaten them. They had fought back. He seemed to like that. When they had no more strength left to fight, he forced them to fight back. He told them he’d whip them if they didn’t keep fighting.
The last person he had brought in was a guy. He had a slight amount of chub. The guy had force fed him all sorts of food. He would shove it into his mouth and tape it shut until he chewed and swallowed. The process would continue on and on.
The worst part was that he had raped us all.
This girl had a slight bit of chub too. She was attractive, but I could tell she had a bit of a stomach. He would’ve force fed her. He wanted all of us to have a more extreme version of the bodies we had when he kidnapped us.
She had freed the muscular girl, and went on to the muscular guy. I began to work on the chubby guy, but I couldn’t seem to get my hands to move. It seemed as if none of us could, only the girl who had fought back and was setting us free.
“Guys, just go sit down, okay? You don’t need to help me,” she said to all of us, but mostly to me. She gently pushed me away from the chubby guy and began untying him. “Here, take my phone. Call the cops. We’re at Cedar Hill church.” She handed me her cell and then set back to work on setting the chubby guy free.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing her wrist. “What happened up there?”
“You don’t want to know.” She went back to work as I called the cops. They said it would take a half hour to get there.
After she had set us all free, she looked at each of us. Suddenly, a scowl came across her face, and she started shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She looked away and said, “Nothing.” Then she turned back to us. “So, what are your names?”
The muscular girl spoke first. “I’m Alicia.” She had been here the longest next to me, and I had never known her name the whole time. I knew none of their names.
The dude with the chub said, “I’m Chuck.”
The muscular dude said his name was Billy. The skinny girl was Tiffany.
The girl turned to me. “I’m Peter. What’s your name?”
“Lara.”
“Lara…like Lara Croft?” I asked.
The right side of Lara’s mouth turned up a little bit, as if she was smiling involuntarily. “Yes, like Lara Croft.”
Alicia stood up. She had dark hair, was quite tall, and looked Hispanic. And by this time, despite the bruises and dried up blood, her muscles looked bigger than before. “How did you defeat him?” she asked.
Lara looked up at Alicia. Alicia was at least half a foot taller than Lara. They stared at each other. Lara sighed and took off her sweatshirt to reveal a black muscle shirt underneath. Her muscles were no where near as impressive as Alicia’s, but she had a little curve to her biceps.
Alicia looked Lara up and down. Then she looked at Billy, who wasn’t even as muscular or as tall as Alicia herself. He had brown hair and only looked to be about five eight. He had pale skin and had a swimmer’s build, not the body of a fighter, like Alicia’s. Then she looked down at her own muscles. She shook her head and said, “How could you have possibly overpowered him? I tried so hard, so freaking hard, and I almost had him, so many times, but every time, he got me down. Every single freaking time!” Alicia went over to the wall and punched it.
Billy got up. “Sometimes he would beat the two of us together. Whenever he would whip me, she would go haywire. A few times I thought she was going to kill him. But he always had this baseball bat that he would whack her with, multiple times.”
Lara’s face had grown more and more tortured as she heard the story, but at hearing the baseball bat, her face was slightly amused. “A baseball bat? That must be his favorite weapon.”
“Huh?” asked Billy.
“He broke into my house and tried to kidnap me. I fought back. He bashed me in the head with the baseball bat two times in two separate places. Finally, I took him down. I tied him up and asked him if he had kidnapped anyone else. He said he had. I asked him where, so I drove the both of us here.”
“What happened upstairs?” asked Chuck.
“He got free and threw a knife at me. It embedded itself in my thigh. We fought again, but finally, I stabbed him in the thigh, knocked him to the ground, and plunged the knife straight through his hand and into the floor. Then I broke his other hand and arm. He shouldn’t be able to get free.”
“You beat him?” asked Tiffany. “You really tore that jerk limb from limb?”
“Well, it was exactly like that…” said Lara.
“No, it definitely was,” responded Chuck.
Tiffany whistled.
Alicia started heading upstairs. Lara followed her and Billy asked, “Alicia, where the heck are you going?”
“I have to see this.”
We all went upstairs and saw the man staring at each of us. Alicia smiled and walked away. Billy’s forehead creased, he looked at Lara, shrugged, and then followed Alicia into the sanctuary. I realized suddenly that Alicia and Billy, without even having known each other previously, were perfect for each other. I didn’t know if either one of them recognized the other’s feelings for them, or even their own feelings for the other, but they…they seemed like they loved each other.
Chuck and Tiffany stood together, staring at the man. Chuck was short, with dark bushy hair and pale skin. Tiffany was even shorter than Chuck, with orange colored hair, pale skin, and bones jutting out of each area of her body. They stared in awe at the man, then at Lara, and left.
Lara kept staring at the man, then looked back at me. She wanted me to leave. So I
turned around, but stopped at the door to the sanctuary. She didn’t notice that I was still there.
Lara straddled the man. “So I was supposed to be the fat one, wasn’t I?” she asked.
The man’s body shook. He didn’t reply.
“Look, I don’t care, I am fat. But the things you’ve done to them…they didn’t even tell me all of it. I can only imagine. What you did was way worse than what I’ve done to you. Way worse.” Lara’s face twisted into a snarl, and grabbed onto the hilt of the knife, and twisted it. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then he called her the C word and spit in her face.
“Why don’t you just kill me you sadistic bit—”
She covered the man’s mouth. “I already told you. I’m not a killer.” She removed her hand and got up off of him. She went over to the wall, placed her hands on it, and moaned. “I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe it.” Her body was shaking and suddenly, I saw tears dripping down her face. She fell to her knees, curled into a ball, and shook so violently I thought she was having a seizure.
I started to make my way over to her, but the man stopped me. He started to speak again, this time very, very quietly.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Wed Jan 16, 2013 4:53 pm

So this gets over 700 views, which isn't amazing, but isn't bad, yet no one comments...
I mean, if you're reading it, could you at least just give me the curteousy of saying you've read it? I'm not going to quit writing this just because no one's said anything, but it's discouraging to see that no one bothers to comment...yet obviously people are reading.
Anyway, this is from the kidnapper's perspective.
Part Five
I stared at the girl who had beaten me to a bloody pulp as she lay there, in the fetal position, sobbing like a baby. She was feeling guilty. She realized how sadistic she was being. She had lowered herself to my level. For some reason, I respected her because of that. Feeling guilty about it, though, made me want to smack her.
“You know why you beat me?” I whispered.
She jolted, then looked at me. “Wh-what?” she asked.
“You beat me because you knew.”
She looked at me, confused.
“You’re first instinct told you that I had taken other people. You knew. You knew there were others. That’s what drove you. You wouldn’t stop until you found a way to save the people I had taken.” I started to laugh as she began to look intrigued. “You saved them all. All five. But you know what? I think you enjoyed the seeing the pain I was feeling. You could let me go. You might enjoy hurting others. You should join m—”
She threw her hand onto my mouth and ripped my shirt. She shoved the cloth in between my teeth and tied it behind my head. “I may have been sadistic towards you, but that doesn’t make me like you. You are pure evil. Pure evil. And I feel bad about what I’ve done to you. But you know what you haven’t realized?”
I looked at her, wondering if she really was going to kill me.
“You didn’t realize that I’m also a masochist. I’ve always enjoyed pain. Yes, it hurts, but that’s why you didn’t get me down. Nothing hurts bad enough to defeat me, because in a sick way, I enjoy it.” She looked at me, then looked at the knife. She sighed and lifted herself off of me. “You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a sadist. You hate the pain I’ve caused you. Maybe now you’ll understand what you’ve done to your victims. They’re not all masochists like me.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. “Is that what you wanted them to be? Did you want them to enjoy it? You think a skinny person enjoys being starved? You think a muscular person enjoys being beaten? You think a chubby person enjoys having food shoved down their throat? Because that’s what you’ve done, isn’t it?” How she surmised that in all of five minutes I wasn’t sure. But she was right. And I did want them to enjoy it. But they never did. She would’ve been the perfect victim.
As if reading my mind, she said, “Too bad I don’t enjoy having food shoved down my throat. And yes, I may enjoy pain, but I certainly do not enjoy being tied up.” She stood over me, and sneered. “Have fun in jail.”

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Kyle » Thu Jan 17, 2013 4:52 pm

So did my earlier comment not count?

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Thu Jan 17, 2013 5:52 pm

> Kyle wrote:So did my earlier comment not count?

Hey, hey, nooo....of course it counted! But you never came back! But now you're here, and if my lack of mentioning your comment didn't insult you too much.....care to tell me what you think?

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Kyle » Thu Jan 17, 2013 8:06 pm

I'm completely offended and refuse to comment.
...
.........
Okay, I'm just kidding. I figured you'd just forgotten about my comment. It's pretty good; probably the darkest story I've read on this site but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I would have probably put it in the more "adult" section of the site due to the violence but that's just me.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Thu Jan 17, 2013 8:27 pm

Haha, well you're funny aren't you? I didn't really forget the comment.....but it was just "sounds pretty good so far" which doesn't totally amount to much...
Anyway, I've written quite a few very, very dark stories on this site. They always have a lot of graphic violence. I never usually put them in the PG-17 section cause it seems as if that sections mainly geared toward the sex aspect and not the violence....at least that's how people do it in the section. Then again, that leads me to wonder what the difference is between PG-17 and the fictional initimate tugs section.
Anywho, thanks for commenting.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by BoundBadBoy » Mon Jan 21, 2013 1:12 pm

Was that the end of the story? If so, it was a little unclear, but still meaningful. Excellent story, and yeah, quite a dark one at that, but i like stories like that sometimes... But don't go thinking i'm a sadist or something...
I won't struggle, i promise! Just pull that rope down so i can reach it easily.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Mon Jan 21, 2013 1:20 pm

No, it wasn't the end of the story. It still has one or two more parts. But thanks. And no, I don't think you're a sadist. I wrote it, and I'm not really a sadist (not really ).

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Mon Jan 21, 2013 6:49 pm

All right, if anyone was wondering, the last part was not the last part. This isn't either. I might do a bit of a wrapping up what happens to them later sort of thing for the last part. Peter's narrating this part.
Part Six
Lara turned around and her eyes fell on me. “Peter, I thought you left.”
“I’m sorry, but I wanted to see what you were doing.”
“Why?” she asked, walking over to me.
“I don’t know, in case he got away…”
She snorted. “Don’t be silly. He can’t get away and besides, what would you have done if he had?”
I looked down at the floor, but she put her hand under my chin. Her eyes probed me.
“Lara, I’ll admit I wanted to see exactly what you were doing. I know he can’t get away. I was…” I trailed off, but she pierced me with her eyes. “I was afraid you’d let him go. And then I was afraid he’d try to get you back. I wanted to be here, in case I needed to protect you.”
She looked at me, her eyes halfway between disgust and unbelief. “You can’t be serious.” Then she looked at me harder. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”
I looked down again.
“What do you think you could’ve done to protect me? And why’d you think I’d let him go anyway?”
“You’re hurt. I’m not. I’m just malnourished. I could’ve done something.” I didn’t want to answer the second question, but she forced my head back up again and her eyes bore into my soul. I sighed. “You seemed too human.”
Lara deflated. “But you were wrong.”
“No I wasn’t.” Lara looked at me, questioningly. “You felt guilty for doing something he deserved. And you let him live. And you saved my life. All our lives. When I heard you up there, I thought he had taken you here, and had you restrained, but you managed to escape. And you heard my whimper or something, and decided to come down here and figure out what was going on.” I paused, letting that sink in. “But no, you beat him in your own home, and somehow figured out that he had other people, so you made him tell you where we were, and you dragged him all the way out here. You risked your life to save people you couldn’t even be entirely sure existed.” I looked into her green eyes. “You’re as human as they get.” I took her arm and pulled her through the sanctuary door. “I won’t speak for anyone else, but thank you for saving my life.” I gave her a peck on the lips and left her standing there, flabbergasted.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by chloroformmeplease » Tue Jan 22, 2013 10:38 am

If you are confident in your writing why are you concerned with whether the story receives comments or not? The reason I ask is because now you have me wondering if you are writing stories for attention in the form of comments or because you enjoy writing stories. Perhaps you were merely looking for feedback but you were quite persistent in wanting comments and it seemed you were also quite annoyed by not getting them when you wanted them.
Since you are so concerned with comments about your story I am going to comment upon the story itself. It is not a bad story at all but for everything I have learned about writing over the years you seem to have broken several rules. First you have the guy telling the story and then the woman and then a narrator who is not even part of the story and at times it is confusing.
In some places you lack detail and in other places there is not enough. I do believe at times there is too much dialogue as well. Now I am not a teacher or a professional writer so you can take all I have said with a grain of salt or you can use it to improve your writing skills.
My comments are not meant to discourage you but to incourage you. They are also not meant to insult you either. Either way just remember you wanted comments.
Treat others as you wish to be treated. Having said that I will not sit idly by while someone is disrespecting another just because they think they are better than everyone else.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Tue Jan 22, 2013 12:39 pm

As far as the narration, it is not a rule that you have to have the same narrator throughout the entire story. I have at least read one novel where the narrator changes with every chapter. The narrator that you thought wasn't part of the story was a big part of the story. He starts narrating before you really know he existed, but he's a major part. He was one of the captives of the kidnapper. His name is Peter. He was the one who whimpered, which caused Lara to fight harder.
As far as the dialogue, I agree, sometimes there's too much of it.
Anyway, I write for my own enjoyment, yes, but it's always a bummer to not get comments because I'm always concerned about whether people like it or not. You know, whether it's good and such. It's nice to know what people think. It's not really attention that I want, it's feedback.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by chloroformmeplease » Tue Jan 22, 2013 1:55 pm

I don't wish to split hairs with you over the narration part of the story,perhaps it is the transition between who is telling the story. Perhaps it should be more smooth and refined.
I guess I am wondering why you are so concerned about comments even after you answered my question. I have written stories here and on other forums as well. Not everyone is going to like the stories we decide to write. As for myself I like F/M stories better than any other kind. I won't even read an M/M story because it is not among my interests. Having said that there is of course people who won't like F/M stories so you can't please everyone all the time.
Dialogue can be tricky in stories of this genre. I wish you the best in your writing and remember one thing while writing. Take your time and please yourself with your stories. If you are like me at all than you are your worst critic. If your story doesn't past your own test of enjoyment and quality you always have the option of a re-write before you even post it.
I just reviewed one of my unfinished story from end to end and I saw all of the typos in it. From now on I am going to use spell check in all of my stories before I copy and paste them to the forum.
Keep writing and try not to get caught up in what everyone else thinks.
Treat others as you wish to be treated. Having said that I will not sit idly by while someone is disrespecting another just because they think they are better than everyone else.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Tue Jan 22, 2013 2:07 pm

It's not so much that I want everyone to read it and enjoy. I just want to know that someone out there has read it and has enough of an opinion on it to comment. Once a few people commented, it was encouraging and I felt better. It's like, even if one person takes notice, it can mean everything in the world to me.
It's not so much that I'm my worst critic. It's more so that I don't think my opinion on my own work matters. I might think it's good and be proud of it, but one person's feedback can crush all of it. It's like...no matter how good I think it is, I can't be okay with it until someone else has said something good. If they don't like it and they have criticism after criticism...then I automatically think it's horrible. I don't trust myself to make judgments about myself. I can't be okay with thinking my own writing is okay because I might be biased. There are sometimes where I think it just plain sucks, and someone may actually like it. Then it makes me feel ten million times better. But if I think it's good and then someone says it's bad, it makes me feel ten million times worse.
I tend to let other people make judgments about my writing ability. I always think that my own opinion doesn't matter. I care too much about what others think.
There are certain instances where I want a certain amount of constructive criticism, and it doesn't actually bother me when people give it. Sometimes I actually want that because I want to know what people actually want to read about and what would make them enjoy my stories better. But it's always hard to hear certain criticisms, especially when I actually feel good about what I've written.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by chloroformmeplease » Tue Jan 22, 2013 3:41 pm

In a matter of speaking you need reassurance from others to think your work is good enough.
If a comment is negative you might think your work is horrible. I get it but as i said not everyone is going to like every story they find here.
The thing is when you write something in an open forum you are putting yourself out there already. So why worry so much about what readers think? I am not saying don't bother with what they think at all but don't base whether you like or dislike your story based on the majority of comments whether negative or positive.
If anyone who has writing talent continues to write not only will they get better but so will their story lines.
My advice to you is to continue to write and try to stop worrying so much about comments. Some will like it and others will not but that does not mean if three or more people don't like it than it's not good. It just means they don't care for your story.
I have written a lot of stories. Some are good and dare I say some are great. Other, well not so good or great. If you are good at writing/ story telling there is nothing wrong with knowing that you are good. I say count it by the number of hits your story gets.
Perhaps it comes with age but if I wrote a story and ten people said they didn't like it I would just say to them that no one is forcing them to read my stories but I wouldn't be worried about it.
Treat others as you wish to be treated. Having said that I will not sit idly by while someone is disrespecting another just because they think they are better than everyone else.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Tue Jan 22, 2013 6:21 pm

Well, in this case scenario, it's not so much people saying they don't like it, it's more people just not saying anything at all, which makes me assume they don't like it. But a couple have decided to comment on this one, and they did seem to like it. Some liked the earlier ones as well, but I did get some constructive criticism, which was actually nice. Sometimes it's good to have constructive criticism because at least people liked it enough to read it and at least they think you're good enough to improve. I have seen a few around here written by people who obviously don't really know how to write, and it's difficult trying to figure out something to say to them.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by chloroformmeplease » Tue Jan 22, 2013 6:49 pm

> Sacrificiallove wrote:Well, in this case scenario, it's not so much people saying they don't like it, it's more people just not saying anything at all, which makes me assume they don't like it. But a couple have decided to comment on this one, and they did seem to like it. Some liked the earlier ones as well, but I did get some constructive criticism, which was actually nice. Sometimes it's good to have constructive criticism because at least people liked it enough to read it and at least they think you're good enough to improve. I have seen a few around here written by people who obviously don't really know how to write, and it's difficult trying to figure out something to say to them.

You said that all very well for sure.
Treat others as you wish to be treated. Having said that I will not sit idly by while someone is disrespecting another just because they think they are better than everyone else.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Sun Jan 27, 2013 9:36 am

So at some point I am going to finish this. I've been distracted by the world of rping. I need to get back to actually writing my own stories...and do homework, now that school's starting again. So if you guys still care, the last part will be up as soon as I can get it up.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Mon Jan 28, 2013 6:35 am

This is part seven. There is no bondage in the last two parts. Sorry about that, but really though, I have trouble writing a good story that focuses solely on the bondage. I'm a big plot and characterization person and I like to have a solution where everything ends happily, and when there's been a long ordeal of someone being abducted and restrained for months on end, bondage is not usually included in the happy ending.
Part Seven
I saw Peter give Lara a brief kiss. Lara had been completely taken aback by it, and she stood there, her eyes wide.
Peter went over to one of the pews and curled up in the fetal position. Lara was still so shocked that she didn’t even notice.
“Peter, are you okay?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he said weakly. “I just need some rest.”
Billy came up to me. “Alicia, can I give you a kiss, but a much longer one?”
I gave him a dirty look. He looked insulted, so I followed up with, “Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve been tortured and beaten for the past five months. I can’t think about love right now.”
Billy’s face fell. “But you’ve been defending me for those past five months,” he muttered.
I sighed. “But I always failed to save you.”
“No. You did save me. I’m sure I would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for you. You saved me from a lot of brutal beatings when I had no strength left to take the blows, and you took them yourself.”
I let out a puff of air and opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I couldn’t think of a response. I knew I liked him, but I couldn’t think about being in a relationship with him at the moment, not when we both had just been through a lot of trauma. I was about to say we’ll see we I saw Lara fall to the floor.
I ran over to her. I started lightly slapping her face, but she wasn’t waking up. I screamed her name over and over, but there was no response. I took her pulse. “Oh, crap, she’s not breathing guys!” I shouted when I couldn’t feel the pulse on her neck.
I couldn’t figure out what to do. I started to hyperventilate. Then I heard a faint voice. “Bring her over here.”
It was Peter. I didn’t know what he would do, but I figured it was worth a shot. I picked Lara up off the floor. The adrenaline pumping in my veins made her light as a feather. I brought her to the pew Peter was curled up in.
“Help me get up,” he said first. I lifted his upper body into a sitting position. “Put me on top of her.” I gave him a startled look, but then I realized what he was about to do. I lifted him all the way up and helped him move onto all fours, a few inches above Lara’s body.
Peter put his mouth to Lara’s and breathed into it. Then he started pumping her chest. He kept doing it and doing it, but it didn’t seem to be working. He started to cry and his tears fell on Lara’s face, but he wouldn’t give up. After a while, it seemed to be hopeless, but he kept trying anyway.
I kept holding Peter’s body up so he wouldn’t fall on top of Lara. Part of me wanted him to just give up. I knew he was already exhausted, and this was just making it worse. But the other part told me he had to keep trying. We all wanted Lara to survive, since she had just saved all our lives.
Everyone crowded around us. Peter was shaking and sobbing, but kept on going. Billy told to make him stop, but I couldn’t seem to get any words out. I didn’t want him to give up.
All of a sudden, I heard a weak breath. Lara opened her eyes.

### Re: He Messed with the Wrong Woman

Post by Sacrificiallove » Mon Jan 28, 2013 12:08 pm

So here's the last part. It's narrated by Lara, and in case anyone is wondering, the last part was narrated by Alicia. And once again, no more bondage. I was focusing more on the story and characters rather than the kidnapping aspect of it.
Part Eight!
I opened my eyes to see Peter crouched over me, a joyous look on his face. Alicia was standing beside him, her arms seemingly holding his chest above mine. Peter let out a sob and hugged me. “You’re alive!” he cried.
Alicia took his body and picked him up, laying him down a few feet from me. “Come on, you need to rest,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Your heart stopped. Peter just gave you CPR. He just saved your life,” she responded.
“Alicia helped,” Peter whispered.
I smiled shakily. “Thank you. Both of you. Thank you for saving my life.”
Peter gave a weak chuckle. “We wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t been saving our lives.”
Alicia smiled too and laughed a little. Then she ripped her shirt off, revealing a sports bra and really defined abs. I glared at her, a little horrified that she had chosen this time to strip.
“Calm down. I’m using my shirt to stop the blood from flowing out your whole body.”
“Oh.”
As Alicia ripped her shirt apart and lifted my head up to put one piece under the wound on the back of my head, I saw that Billy was looking wonderingly at Alicia’s body.
Alicia tied another piece around my thigh. Then she pressed one to my forehead. “Billy, I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring,” she said, not even looking at him.
I smiled and even Peter was able to give a weak laugh. Billy’s face fell, but he turned his head anyway.
“Peter, are you all right?” I asked him.
“I’m perfectly okay, now that you came back to life,” he answered.
At that moment I heard the sirens. A few minutes later some cops and EMTs came rushing in.
“What the heck happened here?” a cop asked.
Billy led them into the room where the kidnapper lay trapped. Some other EMTs crowded around us. Tiffany spoke up. “Lara’s had to blows to the head and she was stabbed with a knife. Peter’s starving to death at this very moment. They need help.”
“You’re starving too!” Chuck cried.
“And you can’t seem to hold food down anymore,” Tiffany retorted.
“But you’re skin and bones!”
“He’s duct taped your mouth so many times to keep the food in that your face is swollen.”
“Your nails are falling out!”
“You look bloated.”
“Your hair is fa—”
Alicia gave them a death glare. “Stop battering you two. Just admit you love each other already. We have more important things to worry about.”
The corner of my mouth involuntarily rose like it always did when an unexpected amusing thing happened.
“Why don’t you admit you love Billy?” asked Peter.
“I will when you tell Lara you don’t just love her, but you’re in love with her,” Alicia shot right back.
My mouth immediately went back into a frown. I wasn’t expecting that kind of response. I knew it was true, but I wasn’t ready to have someone fall in love with me, or to fall in love right back.
Peter didn’t notice my frown. “All right Lara, I’m in love with you,” he said happily.
I swallowed. He was really cute and he was my type. He had long, wavy brown hair. He was about my height and although he was malnourished, I knew that when he got healthy again, he’d just be quite a good bit skinny, but no longer gaunt. And he had just helped to save my life, and I had saved his.
But I didn’t even know him. We had just met a few hours ago. Then again, he seemed nice, appreciative, caring, and he hadn’t freaked out when I had twisted that knife. I finally took a deep breath and admitted, “I’m in love with you too.”
Billy came back in to the room.
“Guys, if we can stop these love declarations, we need to get you guys to a hospital,” said an EMT standing by us. Billy looked at him to all of us completely confused.
Alicia mouthed at him, “I’ll explain later.”
It took Tiffany and Chuck all of two hours to declare love too. Alicia was a little harder to break, but ten days after we got out of the hospital, she had at least agreed to going with the rest of us on a triple date. We all sat at a table. Peter and I held hands. Tiffany and Chuck caressed each other’s faces. Finally, Alicia planted her lips on Billy’s. His eyes widened. When she pulled away, she said, “I’m in love with you Billy.”
Billy grinned from ear to ear, and some of the nearest people at the restaurant we were at clapped. Alicia blushed.
Peter looked at me. “I like it when the corner of your mouth involuntarily rises. You know, like, when something unexpectedly amusing happens and it takes you off guard.”
The corner of my mouth seemed to rise even higher. “There it is again. It’s really cute.”
My face fell. “I don’t like being cute.”
Peter chuckled. “It’s not a bad thing.”
When I still looked a little pissed off, he said, “Lara, you don’t smile very often, do you?”
I looked away. He pressed his hand against my cheek and turned my face back to his. I could’ve refused to let him move my head, but I couldn’t seem to make myself. I was reminded of when I forced his face back to mine during the whole ordeal. He probably wouldn’t have been able to resist.
I wanted to look away from him, but I couldn’t. He probed my face, and I realized it must have looked like I had done the same thing. Finally I said, “I’m not a very happy person. My grandma died when I was twelve. I’ve been on all sorts of meds since, most of which I never needed. They give me so many side effects it’s hard to function sometimes.”
After a few seconds of silence, Peter said, “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault,” I responded. “Besides, it’s getting better. I’ve got a new doctor now who is actually listening to me. I’m getting off some of them.”
Peter smiled. “That’s good.” And then we both seemed to have the same idea at the same time. We threw our arms around each other and kissed each other.