Table of Contents
One
With a pounding heart, Yumi Mills sat at her little writing desk in the master bedroom and waited eagerly to hear the "Now In Sports" intro from the TV room downstairs.
The crashing fanfare that heralded the two-hour block of sports programming had slowly become the 32 year old housewife's favorite sound: a promise of uninterrupted time, late enough that the kids were in bed and her favorite writers from the darker corners of the internet would be home from work and online.
Yumi wondered what they were like, sometimes, the people on the other end of her fantasy chatrooms. Dark, brooding, dangerous men, with basements full of exotic restraints—the kind of person you imagined when you saw a website name like "Kidnapped and Bound" or "Horny Housewife Abductions"? Or were they all just Cheeto-covered losers, typing out fantasies they could never make real? Or, Yumi reflected ruefully, most likely of all, a whole bunch of unsatisfied women like me, all fantasizing away at one another.
She fidgeted in her seat, waiting for her favorite website to load. "Abduction Network Now" was the latest stop for Yumi on a road that had started with steamy romance novels, the kind of trashy bodice-ripper you could find on any drugstore spinner rack. Those had led her to the "bad boy" ebooks, where the plots were thinner and the sex scenes much longer and harder, and from there it had only been a short hop to the sites that stripped the pretense away altogether, offering neat, hyperlinked lists of one abduction/rape fantasy story after another.
Pictures and movies had never done much to stimulate Yumi's erotic imagination, but written words…those did the trick, lighting up parts of her decidedly neglected by her husband like a switchboard. And if dirty stories were a switchboard, then the discovery of dirty chatrooms, where you could play your fantasies out in realtime with a partner, were surely Yumi's own private fireworks show, in her head and in her dripping wet panties. The eager housewife smiled and shifted, her thighs unconsciously clenching and unclenching against one another as she watched the list of Abduction Network Now users spring to life on the left-hand side of her screen.
ANN billed itself as an "immersive experience." There was no acknowledgement that everyone in the chat was roleplaying. It was treated seriously, as if the perverted fantasies being typed out by the many horny users really came true in the physical world. You were either a Victim, an Abductor, or a Watcher, and the premise that drew Yumi back night after night was a simple one: the Victims, like her, admitted their dark desires, and the Abductors promised to make them come true, describing in loving detail how they would appear unexpectedly to stun or drug or grab by sheer, raw force their victim, and then force her into a van or a plane or a boat and carry her away to some dark dungeon where she could be abused in vile and sexual ways.
Everyone had their own favorite scenarios, some more elaborate than others; Yumi (after a very brief time spent as a Watcher, trying to resist the siren call of Victim roleplay) was a fan of the everyman sort of Abductors that didn't feel the need to imagine a private chateau in the Alps or a yacht out at sea or something for their Victims. An unmarked van, a bit of rope and packing tape, and a basement in a plain, suburban house somewhere—a house just like the one Yumi shared with her husband and daughters, even—was all you really needed, if you were careful and clever, or so the writers behind some of ANN's best Abductor accounts had assured Yumi.
Biting her lip in eager expectation, Yumi smiled at the sight of the lit-up envelope icon that meant "New Message." Unconsciously, Yumi parted her knees, and she let her bathrobe hang open at her sides. Reaching down to gently squeeze her panty-clad crotch with her left hand, she clicked with her right, pulling up a message from an account she knew well: HometownGuy, one of the ANN Abductors that had played out fantasies with Yumi in private and public chats. Privately, she had let more than a little of her real-life details slip into their roleplay—nothing that would identify her, of course, but similarities that made the fantasy that much closer to home. Of all the Abductors, Yumi suspected HometownGuy knew the most about her, only as far as he knew it was her fantasy persona and not her real self. That suited Yumi just fine. Heart pounding in expectation of a new scenario, she clicked to open the message, and read:
Yumi—yes, you notice I call you Yumi, and not "HousewifeHelpless." You were just a little too descriptive of your home and your family in our last session, weren't you? It's almost like you wanted to be caught.
Yumi's heart skipped a beat. Her hand, still cupped between her thighs, clenched in a spasm of terror. She gave a tiny squeak. Primed for a long, slow evening of teasing arousal, her brain lurched awkwardly into frozen panic, leaving her too stunned to do anything but read on:
Don't be alarmed, was the next sentence, an optimistic request if Yumi had ever heard one. A pervert with abduction fantasies knew who she was—knew that she had the same fantasies, from the abductee's side of things! There was an awful lot to be alarmed about…and yet, her hand stayed snuggled up against her pussy, which was already damp from her initial anticipation, as she read,
I know who you are and I respect you as a person in my community. I don’t want to "out" you or make trouble in your personal life. I admire your fantasies and how vividly you bring them to life. You deserve more fulfillment than just text on a screen. If you're interested in making some of your fantasies come true—safely and discreetly, with someone you can trust to keep everything secret—meet me this Wednesday at the Small Dam Overlook in Mather State Park at noon. It's a wide-open public space where you can feel safe, and where two local people bumping into each other and talking won't seem out of the ordinary. If you're interested in pursing things further, we can make plans for how to do that face to face. If you're not, just don't show up, and I'll never mention it again. Sound easy enough?
The note was not signed "HometownGuy," but rather, "Someone Who Knows You…and Wants You." Dry-mouthed, Yumi went back up to the top and read it through again, twice over. Every word seemed to burn itself into her brain. This was someone local, very clearly, and someone who knew her. The reference to respecting her as a person in the community—that had to be a veiled allusion to her work on the PTA and the neighborhood board, and for various volunteer groups. The dam overlook, that wasn't something you could just Google—it was marked on the maps at the actual state park, the big ones carved onto wooden plaques on the hiking trails, but a random stranger making up fantasies on the internet couldn't possibly have picked it out as a meeting place. And the language…it was still HometownGuy's style of quiet, determined dominance. It's almost like you wanted to be caught. That was how a good Abductor talked, taunting his Victim with her shameful self-knowledge, because of course they did all want to be caught, or else they wouldn't be roleplaying on the Abduction Network Now site in the first place.
Yumi sat back in her chair and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. With a guilty twitch, she realized that her hand was still between her thighs, and that she had been pressing the heel of her palm gently against her panties and working it in little clit-teasing circles as she re-read the letter. Blood rose hotly in her cheeks, and she clicked the window with the message firmly closed. Masturbating to ANN was clearly becoming far too engrained of a habit! She couldn't believe she'd given away enough details for someone in her own hometown to identify her. What were the odds? She would have to go back through her chatlogs and try to figure out what she had let slip; how she had given herself away.
It was terrifying…and, Yumi had to admit, as she sat and thought about it and rubbed the damp front of her soft, well-worn cotton panties, it was perversely exciting. She felt a tiny thrill of pride, as if she'd deliberately taken her kink to the next level. Dangerous thinking—if someone knew her, they surely knew her husband, too. She could be blackmailed, or worse.
And yet…what was there to blackmail her for? Yumi wasn't an important person, or an influential one. All her causes and boards and things were local; volunteer stuff. You couldn't exactly coax state secrets out of her. The worst someone could ask her for was money, maybe, with the threat of exposing her to her husband. But to do so, HometownGuy would have to reveal himself as well, and surely that would be worse for him? The chatlogs were all about him abducting her, after all; raping her and torturing her and doing things to her mind to make her fall in love with her captor. Surely that was the sort of thing that would look worse for a man to be writing to a woman. She could be embarrassed by the chats, but the person on the other end could be indicted for them, if they were read the wrong way.
And anyway, thought Yumi, barely aware that she was rubbing harder and faster; spreading her legs wide and slouching in her chair, it doesn't sound like he wants to threaten me. It sounds like he wants to play. Play with her in realtime, acting out the fantasies they'd described to each other so many times…what would it be like, to have someone like that in your life? Someone who understood your dark desires, and would push you to explore them in ways you'd never be brave enough to on your own? Oh, God. He could make me do things for him. Yumi half-closed her eyes. Her head tipped back, and she hooked a fingertip through the side of her panties to touch her naked folds. Wet and slick, they parted easily for her as she wriggled her finger a short way into her slit. Her thumb rose up to press against her clit. She began to stroke her warm, inner walls, rocking her hips in time to the gentle thrusts. Tie me up in his basement and fuck me, just like I always imagined. Hold me down and take me hard while I scream and cry and beg him not to, beg him not to tell, not to take me, not to rape me while I…oh, god!
With a jerk, Yumi gave herself over to the wave of lust that had been building inside her. Lost in her fantasies, she had let her fingers do the necessary work, teasing and touching and thrusting until suddenly she was past the point of no return, and her mouth was wide open and gasping for air as a tremor shot through her body and her pussy clenched down tight on her stroking fingertip. Yumi kicked her heels once, shuddering, and then slumped in her chair as the peak of the spasm passed her by and left her sitting slumped and panting in the aftermath of a deliciously strong climax.
"Oh," whispered Yumi, after a long moment of gasping for breath, "fuck!" She shivered again, not with orgasm but with a sort of perverse savor for her release, and for the sheer wrongness of it. Fantasies were one thing, but here she was, cumming her brains out to the real and actual danger of some internet pervert knowing her twisted desire…and with the tip of a finger still stroking gently back and forth just inside her slippery pussy's entrance, and a thumb circling carefully around a clit that was too sensitive to touch directly, Yumi was painfully aware of how happily her body could go another round. I am a seriously messed-up woman.
Yumi glanced briefly sideways to view herself in the bedroom mirror. An old bathrobe, untied and hanging open, was not the most flattering outfit in the world, but she fancied there was still something there that a mysterious abductor could have fun with. Long brown hair with just the right amount of curl (when she'd washed and brushed it properly, anyway), tits that, if not as firm as they'd once been, were still pleasantly sizeable, with the soft roundness that only multiple breast-fed children could give a woman; hips broad enough to make her waist look narrow even if it was softened with more than a touch of pudge…and the hand tucked between her legs, naturally, making her look so eager and slutty and wrong. A dirty little rape-slut. She bit her lip guiltily, but grinned at herself in the mirror. Rape-slut. Yumi liked the word. It was one she had heard from multiple Abductors on the ANN, and it fit her. God, it would be hot if it were real. Just one time.
Yumi turned back to her computer. Her eyes scanned the digital note once more. Wednesday…that was two days away. Two more days to make up her mind what to do about the unexpected crisis. Surely she could enjoy herself just a little bit longer…?
Still nibbling on her bottom lip, Yumi let her finger curl and slide inside herself once more. There was plenty of wetness between her folds still, dripping onto her thighs and quite likely the computer chair, not that anyone would notice the stains, or even begin to imagine that they could have come from Yumi's neglected pussy if they did. Just a little bit longer. And then she would do something about the practical concerns the letter raised. Something responsible and sensible. Nothing so foolish as actually showing up for the meeting, of course…
~
Gravel sliding under her feet, Yumi stomped down the path leading away from the Small Dam Overlook in a decidedly foul mood. She wasn't sure where her anger was focused: at whatever joker had set up her false hopes, or at herself for daring to take such an incredibly stupid and risky plunge only to be disappointed. The sun was lowering slowly in the sky; Yumi's watch showed a few minutes until 2:00. She only had another hour to get the car back and get changed before the girls got home from school and started wondering why Mom was out.
Out, and dressed like a fool! The path from the nearest parking lot to the Small Dam Overlook at Mather State Park was not exactly a rugged trail, but the low-heeled black pumps and knee-length black skirt Yumi had impulsively opted for were clearly out of place in the forested setting. In her moment of reckless abandon—and it truly had been a moment; Yumi had not been sure up until the instant she grabbed her keys and started for the door that she was really going to go through with the mysterious rendezvous—she had wanted to look her best; to look desirable. To look like a Victim, Yumi thought bitterly, ready for her Abductor. One of her feet skidded again, and she cursed under her breath, wobbling and nearly losing her balance. And how will I explain the ruined pantyhose if I take a tumble down this hill? The worst part of it was, she was fairly sure her husband wouldn't even notice. When was the last time she had worn heels and hose for him?
Lost in her thoughts, Yumi was almost on top of the small side trail that led off to a more distant parking lot before she noticed someone coming up from it. Her cheeks colored automatically at the thought of how ridiculous she must seem, sliding down the path in clothes more suited for a night of cocktails, but confusion rose to supplant embarrassment as she drew nearer and realized that she recognized the newcomer. Wracking her distracted brain for a moment, Yumi finally came up with the name of their neighbor's son: "(You)?" she asked, squinting. She knew the parents better than the kid, or "kid" wasn't really the right word anymore, Yumi supposed; (You) was out of school and working as some kind of nurse if she remembered right. Both (You) and his mother were out of the house for work a lot, so Yumi and her husband didn't know the neighbors as well as they probably should.
Oh, God. Surely he couldn't be…? But no. (You) was clearly dressed for a day in the park, with dirt-stained cargo pants and a plain, practical shirt that showed more than a little sweat. He was wearing a fanny pack, for God's sake. No one's fantasy abductor wore a fanny pack. Yumi tried to compose her face into a friendly smile that showed neither the fear nor the frustration that were the products of her swirling, distracted thoughts. "I didn't know you liked the…" Yumi started, inanely intending to finish with "park," but before she could get there (You) dipped a hand into one of his cargo pockets and produced a short, compact, safety-yellow box with a pair of metal prongs at one end. Yumi only knew what it was because similar devices had appeared in some of the stories she had guiltily read with one hand down her panties, and even then she had never seen one in person. Recognition came just slowly enough that Yumi had only started to frown worriedly by the time (You) raised the stungun and, looking her in the eyes with a frightening smile, pulled the trigger.
In all her fantasies, Yumi had never dwelled much on pain. It was a glaring oversight, she realized, as 50,000 volts of electricity delivered a charge somewhere in the vicinity of her ribcage. Tearing holes in my nice blouse, some distant and disconnected part of her brain tried to observe, but Yumi's mind was wiped blank by a shock thousands of times worse than jumping into a frozen-over lake. Her body trembled and her jaw hung slack; her eyes stared vacant and uncomprehending as the first tremor passed and she dropped bonelessly to the slanted gravel path. Before Yumi could do much more than begin to process the fiery pain that followed in the wake of the numbing shock, (You) was atop her, one knee beside her hip as he seized her limp left arm, turned it so that the underside of the wrist and elbow were facing upward, and rubbed briskly at a spot on her forearm. Yumi, still shivering in the aftermath of the stun, could only watch in horror as her neighbor produced a disposable syringe from his fanny pack, thumbed its protective covering off, and slipped the gleaming metal tip into her bare flesh.
(You)'s eyes were a soft brown. He was big—how had Yumi never noticed how big he was before, tall and broad?—but the eyes made him look kind and gentle, apart from the strange fixedness of his smile as he stared down at her through a strange, thickening blur and said quietly, "Just try to relax, HousewifeHelpless." Yumi tried to moan at the emphasis on her ANN username, but her brain was increasingly disconnected from her body. Limp euphoria was stealing away everything but the gleam of (You)'s soft eyes; his bared and smiling teeth. The last thing she remembered was his voice, soft and soothing in its ominous promise: "We're going to make all your dreams come true."
Two
Yumi awoke to nausea, rhythmic bouncing, and a throbbing pain that it took her a long moment to register as radiating outward from her backside. She was facedown, with a heavy weight pressing down on her from behind, and where the weight was heaviest, the pain was worst.
Fragmented memories spun and swirled in Yumi's dizzied mind. Key pieces refused to fall into place, leaving her dazed and disoriented about what had happened; what series of events had brought her to here, wherever "here" was. Yumi tried to raise her head, and found that she could not. Her body felt heavy and leaden, the joints and muscles softened to mush. Her head was turned to one side, a cheek pressed to some sort of thin mattress, and all she could see in front of her vacant and staring eyes was a blank, gray wall lit by some dim source far above.
Dimly, Yumi became aware of a rhythmic slap-slap-slap sound. With every "slap" came a smacking sting against her bottom and her thighs, and a fresh stab of nauseous discomfort somewhere in her guts. She could feel hands clasped tight around her waist, big hands and strong, digging into the flesh of her stomach to heft her up off the mattress—otherwise, in her boneless state, she would doubtlessly have been completely prone, draped like a ragdoll wherever she had been dropped.
Oh my God. If she could have, Yumi would have sat up in wide-eyed understanding, frozen by her moment of revelation, but in her drugged haze all she could do was begin to weep silently. I'm being fucked. Right now. Someone is fucking me. In the ass. Yumi had never been fucked in the ass before. Her husband had never so much as mentioned the subject, and playing with herself on her own she had always found ample satisfaction in the "normal" hole, with no need for further explorations.
Tears filled Yumi's eyes; overflowed to trickle sideways down her face. Her body shifted and jiggled on the dirty mattress. Every thrust made her arms jounce, sway, and pull taut against an uncomfortable resistance—metal cuffs, a part of her grasped with slowly-dawning comprehension, fixing her wrists to strong vertical bars on some sort of bedframe.
Yumi wanted to scream and gibber in terror and dismay, but something seemed to be keeping her brain and her body separate, as if she were watching everything happening to her—or to someone else, someone like the HousewifeHelpless of her fantasy persona?—from a great distance. It was like her brain wanted to deny that it was indeed her, there, on the bed, drugged and dazed and being held like a doll while her next-door neighbor pumped his cock furiously in and out of her butthole.
It was (You) behind her, Yumi was sure of that much. She could hear his soft grunts of satisfaction as he worked his cock back and forth, stretching her out and stabbing into her guts with little or no concern for her comfort. It was far more painful than she could have imagined, even with the drugs walling her conscious mind off from the throbbing sensations radiating outward from her stretched-out hole.
True, true, it's all coming true. The tears kept on spilling out as Yumi's mind ran in panicked, helpless circles. Everything she had ever written about—the helplessness, the bondage, the disorienting terror of not knowing where she was or how long she had been unconscious or what would happen to her next—was coming true.
(You)'s grip tightened around Yumi's waist. He gave a satisfied grunt and a hard, deep thrust. "Yes!" she heard the neighbor's deep voice exclaim in a hoarse sort of whisper. "That's it! Take it, you slut…" He leaned hard against her, and Yumi felt the thick cock twitch; felt a sickly sort of warmth spreading briefly outward from it. Her stomach clenched in shame. She had read (and written) about the sensation often enough to recognize it for what it was: (You) was cumming, cumming inside her asshole. Yumi wept harder as her neighbor gave a few last, quick shoves of his cock and then leaned back, huffing in breathless satisfaction and pulling the freshly slicked prick-shaft from Yumi's abused hole. Yumi felt a wet strand of something hot and sticky drip down from her stretched-out rim and splash on her thigh as she fell limply to the bed.
Chuckling, (You) worked his way across the bed on his knees behind Yumi; clambered off the edge and stood near enough for her to see the blurry outline of his body. Shirtless, he still wore the dirty cargo pants, which he zipped and pulled to his waist. A moment of fishing in one pocket produced a key, which (You) used to unfasten one of Yumi's wrists. The hand and arm attached dropped immediately to the bed, limp and useless, as (You) pocketed the handcuffs and selected another key from another pocket and tossed it carelessly onto the pillow beside Yumi's head. She stared at it, strangely hypnotized by the twinkle of the bright metal through the tears filling her eyes.
It was the sort of moment where an Abductor would usually be expected to lean in close and whisper something dark yet loving into the ear of his Victim—but (You) just smiled, turned, and walked away, out of Yumi's line of sight. Metal clattered briefly, and a heavy-sounding door slammed. Yumi was left alone, lying limp on the bed with one wrist still dangling, cuffed, from its frame, her legs spread and something thin and watery slowly pooling between them as it dripped out of her aching asshole.
So that was abduction, Yumi thought distantly. Her mind was slow and syrupy. Darkness seemed to be reaching up from inside it to claim her, and she sank gratefully into its numbing embrace. God, I really am sick for wanting it…
~
By the time she next awoke, Yumi's drugs had worn off, leaving her to face the reality of chafed wrists, aching joints, and a sore and swollen asshole unassisted. Nausea surged, and the exhausted housewife jerked in panic—only to come up short against the handcuffs still chaining her to the bed. At the head of it was a metal frame, Yumi could finally see, with a thick bar across the top and thinner vertical supports; her wrist was linked to one of the verticals by a pair of very real-looking handcuffs, exactly the sort of thing police carried.
Shuddering, Yumi picked up the key (You) had left and tried it in the cuffs with her free hand. To her immense relief, it turned, and the cuffs slid open, allowing Yumi to roll over on the bed. Dizzy and uncoordinated, she tipped off and landed hard on her side. The cold of the smoothed concrete floor beneath her drove home a new and humiliating reality: she was completely naked, stripped of the fancy clothes she had so foolishly worn to her rendezvous. Yumi gulped down hard, fighting nausea. She desperately wanted to throw up, but some practical, housewifely part of her brain clung stubbornly to the need for a proper receptacle, first.
Looking around, the captive Yumi's heart sank. The room she was in looked like something out of one of her fantasies. The bed was the only piece of furniture, and it consisted of a single cloth-stuffed mattress laid over a heavy metal frame that was bolted to the floor. The walls were plain concrete, broken only by heavy metal bolts or bars sunk in at varying (and ominous) heights. A single steel door offered neither hinges nor handle, although there was a small, barred window near the top and a narrow flap at the bottom, no doubt for food.
Overhead, a metal grate, something like the sidewalk covers over subway and steam tunnels, had replaced much of the ceiling. Through its narrow grid, Yumi could see a pair of plain, simple ceiling lamps even further above; the dim light they gave off was all the illumination her plain little prison had. A circular drain set in the floor of her cell offered no hope for escape—it was securely covered with a perforated metal disc, the fasteners hidden from view, and even if Yumi ever managed to pry it up, the opening was narrower than her arm. A pair of buckets sat beside it, one empty and one filled with water. Both were flimsy, collapsible, and made out of some kind of soft, molded silicone, useless as either a weapon or a place to drown herself. Yumi shuddered, a little terrified that the latter had even occurred to her. What will I end up like if he keeps me here? It didn't bear thinking on.
There was a mirror set into one wall, but it was recessed, and the shiny surface facing Yumi was made from some kind of hard plastic. She rapped on it experimentally, once, and that was enough to satisfy her that trying to smash the mirror would only end up breaking her hands instead. With a shiver, Yumi looked at herself and wrapped her arms instinctively around her naked body. Soft, middle-aged, brown-haired, fair-skinned, and freckled here and there—was this really the body of a woman someone wanted to kidnap and keep as his sex slave? No, a savage part of her mind whispered, but he knew you were available. She looked away, ashamed and unwilling to face herself. The dull throb between her ass cheeks was a painful, omnipresent reminder of what she had got herself into. This is all my fault. This is what I asked for, on all those stupid websites!
Yumi ran to the bucket, but no vomit came. After a while she made use of the empty bucket and took a drink from the full one, awkward on her knees, and began to pace back and forth in the confines of her cell. "Hello?" she called experimentally, after a while. "Is anyone there? Anyone?" There was no reply; emboldened, Yumi tried shouting "Help!" as loudly as she could. "Help, help!" she screamed, over and over again. "Somebody, help me!"
Silence was Yumi's only answer. No one entered her room, or the room above it, partially visible through its grated floor. Part of her was afraid of someone coming to punish her, or to silence her in a more permanent manner, but a larger part would have been grateful for even that acknowledgement of her existence. None came.
There were no windows; no light except from the fixtures above the overhead grate, and they stayed on. Belatedly, Yumi realized that she could be counting to herself, to try and track how long before (You) returned, but a brief attempt faltered after a few hundred. What was the point, anyway? She had no idea how long she had been there before the count started. Her mind was starting to go in useless circles, like a trapped and panicking rat, but knowing it was happening didn't seem to give her any power to stop it. Yumi started to cry, and then cried louder, and then sobbed until her throat was hoarse and she ran out of tears and still no one came. She was left alone with her fear, and when it faded, with her boredom, which she quickly realized was more dangerous still.
God, this is sick. Yumi looked around dully. How long had it taken to build a prison like this? How much money? (You) must have dedicated a substantial part of his life to making this sick fantasy come true. Our sick fantasy. Our sick, shared fantasy. Some of the details were straight out of scenes they'd roleplayed online, she realized—the twin buckets by the drain, for example; Yumi hadn't needed any explanation to know what those are for. She'd gone to the empty one and done her business unprompted, she realized unhappily. It was all as neat as if it had been scripted—because it had been, she supposed, by her and whatever other Victims (You) had been playing with over the years, gathering ideas and plotting his abduction.
Am I even the first? It was a sickening thought, made more so by a faint and irrational twinge of jealousy. Some part of Yumi didn't want to be one more abduction in a long line of abused women. She wanted to be (You)'s own special temptation, and wasn't that fucked up? She shivered. He needed to come back, and soon. She was losing her mind down here.
The hours passed, and Yumi began to suspect that days were passing, too. Her only clock was her bladder, and her growing hunger. Nothing stirred above her, and the narrow flap at the base of the door never moved. She started to grow desperate. More tears came, and then soft and desperate pleading, and then screaming of every threat or obscenity she could think of; when none of them produced any response from above, Yumi slumped helplessly on her bed and drifted off to sleep.
Life after her sleep proceeded much the same. The hunger was worse. It grew until it was all Yumi could think about. Was he just going to watch her starve to death? Or worse, not even watch; just leave her there in the cellar until her corpse started to stink? Shuddering. Yumi tried to push the thought out of her mind, but she couldn't stop thinking morbid things. She began to mumble to herself, praying and apologizing to everyone in her life (for what, she wasn't exactly sure) and quietly cursing (You), the Abduction Network Now website, and most of all her own stupid fetish.
Finally, during one of Yumi's delirious half-dozes, there was a clang from above. Her head jerked upright and she blinked in even the dim light. Squinting, she could make out (You)'s big body standing on the grate above her, oddly foreshortened and holding a small mechanical device in one hand. With the other, he tossed something down to her—handcuffs and a key, clattering loudly on the floor. Yumi jerked away reflexively; the sound was almost painful after her prolonged isolation.
"Handcuff yourself to the bar on the east wall," (You) ordered without preamble. His voice was loud, low, and firm; a sort of menacing monotone. He pointed, and Yumi followed the finger reflexively to one of the walls, where several ring bolts and a lone vertical bar protruded from the gray concrete.
Yumi began to cry at once. "Please let me go," she blubbered, "please let me go, I need to eat, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Before Yumi could think of anything else to say, (You) raised the object in his left hand. Yumi saw a hose dangling from it; heard the faint thumping of a mechanical pump spring to life just before a lance of pressurized water leapt out to punch her in the midsection. It was like being struck with a fist, and Yumi doubled over, nearly vomiting. The needle-thin spray wavered from side to side, beating at her shoulders and the back of her neck as she hunched forward. It was cold as ice and as good as solid, as far as her tender flesh was concerned; (You) might as well have struck her with the butt end of a narrow pole.
Raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the hose and Yumi's pained, gasping cries, (You) repeated, "Handcuff yourself to the bar on the east wall!" He kept the hose on her, tilting it to keep her in the spray no matter where she scuttled, and it took only a few moments of weeping pleas for Yumi to realize that her only hope was in obedience. She lurched over to the wall (You) had indicated and fumbled with the handcuffs, teeth chattering and fingers shaking uncontrollably as she hastened to slide one wrist into the metal jaws and clamp them shut. Then she hesitated, terrified of doing the wrong thing—and (You), perhaps sensing it, ordered in the same firm, uninflected voice, "Pass the chain behind the bar and cuff your other wrist on the other side."
As soon as Yumi obeyed, the water shut off. She burst into tears all over again, this time of relief.
"Drop the key at your feet," ordered (You), and Yumi obeyed without hesitation. She was shivering from head to toe, drenched and naked and terrified beyond words. The sudden re-entrance of another human being into her life—and the violence with which he had come—was too much for her brain; she could feel herself retreating into shock as (You) moved somewhere out of sight beyond the grate in the ceiling. A few moments later, something clattered and clanged against the door of Yumi's cell, and then it swung inward to admit (You).
He was bigger than Yumi had remembered, or else that was just her hunched, huddled posture. In one hand, (You) held the hose, and in the other a long pole with a forked end. The rubber tubing extending from the hose head kept the door propped slightly open, but Yumi supposed (You) had no reason to mind, with her handcuffed to the wall. Her attention was riveted by the pole anyway—and (You), following her terrified gaze, grinned knowingly.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," (You) said, again without any inflection or preamble. "Do what you're told." He tilted the head of the pole towards Yumi and pressed a button on the handle; the prongs flared and popped as an electric current jumped between them. Yumi nearly wet herself in fear. She had read about cattle prods in other people's fiction, and had never even wanted to imagine one in her own scenes, much less actually be shocked with one.
"Oh god," Yumi babbled in panic, "please, no, no—nooo!" She shrieked and writhed, trying to yank her wrists free of the cuffs as (You), frowning, advanced on her.
"Speak when you're spoken to," (You) emphasized, the first time Yumi had heard any emotion in his voice since his reappearance, "and do what you're told." He jabbed her with the prongs. Yumi heard a momentary popping sound, and then all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears and the sound of her own voice screaming as a burning pain flared outward from the spot where the wand had touched her buttocks. (You) held it there for a heartbeat, long enough for Yumi to feel like she was going to burst into flames from the searing heat in her flesh, and then the popping stopped and the pain began to recede into a dull, constant throbbing.
"That's better," said (You), after a judicious pause to see if Yumi would speak again. She couldn't have even if she'd wanted to, which she most certainly did not; her legs gave out and she sank to her knees, arms stretched above her head to reach her handcuffs as she wept in humiliated pain.
Apparently satisfied, (You) proceeded to ignore her completely as he used the hose and a pair of rubber gloves to briskly and efficiently clean out Yumi's waste bucket and refill her water bucket. The drain served the necessary purpose without any trouble, backed up by the thumping force of the overpowered hose. Yumi stayed where she was, on her knees, with her head bowed and her arms pulled taut above her, sobbing quietly. She was afraid to even crane her head to look at (You), for fear of angering him; the best she could manage was to watch nervously through a fall of loose hair, out of the corner of one eye.
Finally, (You) stood, rolled his gloves one inside the other (inside out, so that all the wetness was neatly sealed away), and returned them to one of his cargo pockets. Taking the cattle prod up in one hand once more, he advanced on Yumi. She gave a shuddering sob of terror, but (You) only stooped near her and picked up the handcuff key that she had dropped. Feeding it into the little slot at the base of one cuff, (You) freed her right wrist. Yumi's arms dropped instinctively, and she wrapped them around herself, curling up into a little ball at (You)'s feet.
A prod at Yumi's shoulder made her shriek, but no pain accompanied it; (You) had not triggered the electric current. "Go to the bed," said (You). "Get up on it, hands and knees. Cuff yourself around one of the vertical bars." He prodded her again, then lifted the prod just a few inches away from her skin and triggered it once more, filling the air with the horrifying pop and crackle of electricity. Yumi actually screamed—she couldn't help herself—and uncurled as fast as her starved limbs could obey. She tried to stumble to her feet, but (You) was on her at once, jabbing her in the calf with the prod and sending a lance of burning pain through her leg. "Hands and knees!" he barked. "Crawl."
Sobbing, Yumi crawled. She could barely even remember a time when these things had been part of her fantasies. Between hunger and pain, her animal brain was completely in charge—and it was a broken, beaten animal, desperate only to avoid more pain. Knees banging on the hard concrete floor, Yumi scrambled on all fours to the bed; climbed clumsily up on it and worked her way forward until she could pass the chain of the handcuffs behind one of the vertical bars and seal her right wrist in its cuff once more.
"That's better," (You) said again, the second time he had uttered the phrase. Yumi shuddered at its implications. She was being trained—and it was working, faster than she could have dreamed possible. Despite a frantic revulsion churning in her stomach, she made herself stay perfectly still on the bed, braced on her hands and knees with her naked ass in the air, as (You) lazily stripped off his shirt and unbuttoned his cargo pants. Laying the cattle prod on the bed next to them, (You) climbed up behind Yumi and scooted forward on his knees. Licking one finger, he slipped it between Yumi's legs and prodded at her naked sex. Yumi flinched at the touch, and at once (You)'s other hand slapped down hard on her ass, stinging and making a loud crack!
"Hold still," grunted (You). His fingers went on probing, wriggling from side to side and scraping against the folded flesh between Yumi's thighs. She bit her lip hard to try and stifle a whimper; bowed her head and let it rest against the top of the bedframe as her abductor made a lazy, thorough inspection of her naked privates. From time to time, (You) would stop, withdraw his hand, and lick his finger again, then return it and resume probing, until the soft lips of her slit were thoroughly slicked and parted easily for a questing fingertip. "Better," (You) murmured, and Yumi blushed and clenched her teeth in shame.
A soft rustle of cloth and a pair of fingers spreading her wider was all the warning Yumi got. Warmth pressed suddenly against her backside—and against her insides. The firm, fleshy hardness of (You)'s cock shoved into her body without ceremony, taking her hole in a simple and effective thrust. Yumi's body clenched, and her stomach churned. Before she could cry out (or bite a cry back, fearful still of punishment), her abductor was hilted deep inside her, and moments later he was fucking her in firm, brisk strokes. She heard him breathe out in shuddering satisfaction; felt him shift and spread his knees a little wider as the thrusts grew more and more forceful.
Yumi hung her head low and let her tears fall silently onto the bare mattress. This was it, she reflected; this was what she had been dreaming about all those bored, lonely years. A big, bad man had taken her away, and now he was using her as his own personal fucktoy, and there was nothing she could do about it. She shivered from head to toe, fighting down nausea and revulsion and deep, shameful self-loathing. If (You) noticed the spasm at all, it clearly pleased him; he grunted in satisfaction and fucked her a little faster.
"Good girl." A hand stroked Yumi's wet, loose hair, making her shudder again in disgust. "Do what you're told. Speak when you're spoken to. Therrrrrre's a good girl…ahhh!" Drawing out his words, (You) tensed; thrust hard and deep. Yumi gave a tiny little cry of despair as she felt the naked prick flex and pulse inside of her. A sticky heat splashed against the walls of her cunt, and her face flamed as if in sympathetic response. Clearly (You) had been very excited by his captive's submission—it had only taken a few minutes, as best as her panicked brain could judge, for him to reach his peak, turning her from a bound victim into a cum-splattered whore in just a few hard thrusts. Don't think like that, Yumi begged her mind, don't think at all, but she had years of crude fantasies to draw on. The words came naturally: whore, slut, cunt, fuckhole, bitch. All those stories about strong men using weak women—you could tell yourself they were just stories, sure, as long as you were reading them safe and sound in your own home, but what did you do when they came true? It was like learning that she'd been right all along, in the most wrong way possible.
"Good girl," (You) repeated, lifting his hand from Yumi's hair and bracing it briefly against her rump as he pulled himself free. Yumi heard a little sucking pop! sound; felt a trickle of something warm spill down her left thigh. She stayed where she was, staring at the dirty mattress in paralyzed self-loathing, beyond even crying. (You) tidied himself with no concern for her, leaving her crouched on all fours with the cum still dripping from her sore and swollen slit. All just part of the plot. All according to script. But it wasn't a script; it was really happening to her.
The sounds of (You)'s departure were joined by one new noise: the scrape of something sliding across the floor, and the clang of the small food flap in the cell door swinging shut. Yumi jerked on the bed, craning her neck to see, and sure enough, there it was: a low, wide tray covered in some sort of steaming mush. Her heart leapt. She lurched towards the tray—only to come up short against the handcuffs, which still held her wrists to one of the bed's vertical posts.
Soft laughter came from above Yumi. She looked up in time to see (You) squat over the grate, key in hand. "Catch," he said calmly, letting the key fall through one of the holes. Yumi jerked towards it, and after a moment's terrified fumble, fearing that it would slip from her fingers and fall out of reach below the bed, she managed to corral the key on the mattress and pluck it up in an awkward grip.
(You)'s footsteps clanged away, but Yumi was beyond even caring what her abductor was doing. Freeing herself with shaking hands, she lurched off the bed as soon as one hand was freed and half-ran, half-crawled to the tray of food with the handcuffs still dangling from her other wrist. Some sort of grains stewed beyond recognition into a soft mush steamed gently in the tray, without spoon or other utensil, and so Yumi fell on her hands and knees once more and shoved her face in the tray. Shoveling with her fingers, she ate greedily, heedless of her naked ass wobbling in the air or the slightly sticky trail of (You)'s cum dribbling down one thigh as she gulped the porridge.
Yumi nearly made herself sick, licking the tray until it gleamed. Once every edible speck was gone, she tipped onto her side and lay where she was, groaning in discomfort—her stomach, filled at last, felt painfully swollen, and with the excitement of food over and done, she was free to begin noticing the sore, chafed feeling and the unpleasant stickiness between her thighs.
Oh, god. I didn't even try to stop him. Flushing with shame, Yumi prodded reluctantly at the tender folds (You) had so recently spread around his cock. She was a little tender, but nothing seemed damaged. Nothing but my pride, I suppose. The thought almost made her laugh. "Pride" was not something Yumi had ever had much of, even when she was just a bored housewife indulging in naughty fantasies. This is all so fucked-up. What did I ever do to deserve this? The trouble was, she knew exactly what she'd done. She'd practically urged (You) on—not knowing she was talking to a neighbor, to be sure, but still. She'd as good as invited strangers on the internet to abduct and abuse her. And now here she was, living out her fantasies. Will I start to like it? Her stomach clenched with fear at the thought—and with a sick little twinge of excitement, quickly stifled. Stop that. Think about how you're going to get out of here.
The trouble was, there wasn't much thinking to do. Time passed, giving Yumi ample time to explore her cell once again, and to establish that she was just as firmly trapped as before. The food tray was thick, slightly flexible plastic, impossible to bend or break; it added nothing to her resources. Yumi paced, inspected, plotted, planned, and ultimately ended up exactly where she had been before: slumped on the bed in despondent idleness, growing gradually more and more hungry. He will come back and feed me again. He will! He wants to fuck me again, otherwise he would have just killed me and had done with it…
Her thoughts grew darker and darker. Panic set in, briefly, and then in its wake, boredom. Yumi found herself reliving the sex in her mind, for lack of anything else new to think about. She explored her holes with careful fingers, front and back, checking for damages and finding none. Her ass had long since forgotten its abuse. Her cunt, if anything, seemed to be working better than it needed to; after a few minutes of her prodding at it Yumi felt it starting to grow wet. She stopped, blushing, and then returned to touching it once more after a while, sickened but at some level grateful for the break in the monotony. For God's sake, Yumi, not here. He could be watching. This is sick! She didn't really care, she found. If (You) wanted to watch her rub herself, he could come in with his cattle prod and his stungun and his drugs and god knew what else and make her do it anyway. Freed, in an odd sort of way, by the realization, Yumi spread her legs wide and lay on the bed, staring up at the grate above her while her fingers rubbed up and down her naked cunt.
"I hope you like it, you sick fuck!" she yelled experimentally. "Is this what you wanted? You want me to be your little slut? Fine, I'm a fucking slut…just let me go already!" With a grunt and a cry, Yumi arched her back. Her hips nearly came up off the bed. It had been so long—she had been masturbating nightly, before her abduction. Her long-denied body exploded beneath her fingers faster than she could have imagined possible. Yumi shuddered all over as she came, tits-up on a filthy mattress in her basement prison, disgusted and relieved all at once, and more than half expecting (You) to burst in and fuck her again then and there as the spasms passed. To her dismay, she wasn't at all sure whether she thought that was a bad thing or not.
But (You) did not come. Yumi had no way of measuring time in her eternally half-lit cell, but she judged by her growing hunger that it had been at least another two days before the sound of footsteps on the grate above jerked her out of another stupefied, half-dreaming slump. Almost eagerly, she looked up as (You) unspooled the hose and leaned over to peer down at her.
"Handcuff yourself to the bar on the south wall," (You) said, pointing. "Leave the key on the bed." His voice was as expressionless as before, and the dull monotone made Yumi shiver a little. A voice like that could hide anything—including violence about to explode. She scrambled around in momentary panic before she found the handcuffs, and then she froze, paralyzed by a sudden fear. Her eyes followed his pointing finger to the same place she had chained herself before.
"But you said that was the east wall," Yumi said in a helpless, terrified whimper.
Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Yumi knew they had been a mistake. The pressurized spray slammed into her like a striking fist, soaking her bed and doubling her over on it in pain. "Handcuff yourself to the bar on the south wall," (You) repeated, and nothing more than that, over and over again: "Handcuff yourself to the bar on the south wall. Handcuff yourself to the bar on the south wall. Handcuff yourself to the bar on the south wall…"
"Yes! Yes! All right! Please, oh God, please!" Sobbing, Yumi hurled herself off the bed. Slipping on the wet floor, she half-stumbled, half-crawled to the bar and shoved the handcuffs behind it; pushed the crescent-shaped jaws shut around first one wrist and then the other so hard she bruised herself. The bitterly cold spray stopped only when she was secured, dripping from head to toe and shivering with her face turned towards the wall.
Footsteps receded, and shortly after that the cell door clanged. (You) approached Yumi from behind; took her by the waist and pulled wordlessly until she was bent precariously forward, with her tits swaying beneath her and her forehead bumping the vertical bar that she had passed her handcuffs behind. Her captor reached between her legs and swatted lazily at her inner thighs, one side and then the other, intoning, "Spread."
Yumi shuddered and spread. Her cheeks heated once more. She felt like a whore, bending over with her ass presented to this man that had abducted her—and she was sure that was part of the point, even before (You) dropped his pants without a word and gripped his erection one-handed. Cupping her ass in his other hand, he guided the tip of his prick to her cunt and gave a little shove.
Yumi winced. It had been some time since her shamed, oddly exultant masturbation; she was not at all wet. (You) rubbed himself back and forth against her anyway, dragging his prick uncomfortably along sticky, resisting flesh before pulling away to spit on his palm, rub his cock with it briefly, and then shove up against her body once more. Lubricated just enough, the swell of his prickhead pushed into her pussy. Limp folds parted reluctantly, and taut inner walls gripped down despite Yumi's resistance. She bit her lip and ducked her head even lower, staring at the floor in shame as (You) grunted in satisfaction, took up a double-handed grip on her hips, and pushed deeper.
"Good slut," the deep voice praised her. "Do what you're told. Speak when you're spoken to." (You) began to rock on his heels, working his cock back and forth. Every stroke reached a little deeper, until his full length was thrusting away at her. Yumi bit her lip to keep from groaning in despair. There was something shamefully easy about it—her body offered little resistance, once the cock was in and working away at her. She was even starting to get wet, she thought, or else the spit was being spread around to make her inner walls smooth and slick. (You) began to pump harder. His hips slapped her butt on every thrust, the sound loud and fleshy in the small, dank chamber.
Soon enough, (You) grunted, and Yumi felt the increasingly familiar spurts of sticky warmth splashing her insides. Her face flamed as (You) pulled back and left her standing there, hunched over and dripping, while he wordlessly pulled his pants back up and began cleaning her cell. He said not a word further until her buckets had been washed and her food tray placed carefully outside the cell door. Then, boots clomping, (You) walked back over to Yumi, cupped a hand between her legs, and thrust with two fingers, spearing forcefully into her used and dripping cunt. Yumi cried out, but (You), ignoring her, worked his fingers around in a brief circle, pushing against her inner walls. He drew them back dripping and reached his hand around in front of her face. Wet, sticky fingertips prodded at Yumi's lips.
"Suck," (You) ordered. His other hand reached up to grab her by the hair and hold her head steady. "Suck," he repeated. The wet fingers shoved at Yumi's face. "Suck!"
Yumi screwed her nose up in disgust. The stink of cum rose from (You)'s fingers: a wet, bleachy reek mingled with the embarrassing smell of her pussy. She really had been a little wet, inside, it seemed. (You) pushed firmly with his fingers against Yumi's face, and she felt them leaving sticky smears in their wake.
Helplessly, Yumi parted her lips. She didn't even consciously weigh the pros and cons of resisting—some survival instinct, smarter in its own dumb animal way than her calculating mind, knew better than to stand on her pride with her captor. There was literally nothing she could do to deny him his whims, short of dying, and her cell offered little opportunity to do even that on her own terms. Submitting was better—easier—safer. Lips parted, Yumi let the dirty fingers squirm over her tongue and thrust almost to the back of her throat. The filthy taste of cum and cunt filled her mouth.
"Good," grunted (You), "suck. Lick them clean."
Tears in her eyes, Yumi obeyed. She was even a little grateful for the nourishment, scant though it was. To her starved stomach, a lap of (You)'s cum was better than nothing. Blushing, hating herself, Yumi licked carefully all up and down her captor's fingers, cleaning them of every last sticky stain while (You) stood there impassively, breathing heavily in her ear. She could feel the heat of exertion rising off him. The brief fuck had clearly been an energetic one. Yumi supposed she would be sore later.
"Good," (You) said again, and pulled his fingers free at last. He stooped, scooped up the key to the handcuffs, and freed one of Yumi's wrists, only to reattach the empty cuff swiftly to the metal bar itself. Tethered, Yumi could only watch as he walked to the door, turned around, and tossed her the key. By the time she had freed herself, (You) was gone and the heavy metal slab was sealed once more. Yumi sighed—but gratitude surged in her as the flap at the bottom lifted, and another tray of mush slid underneath. It had clearly sat cooling while (You) was fucking her, but Yumi's starving stomach hardly cared, and she shoveled the lukewarm porridge into her face just as eagerly as she had licked the sticky cum from her captor's fingers.
Three
Depressingly quickly, Yumi settled into routine. Every few days (as near as she could judge it), (You) would reappear, fuck her, and feed her, all without saying any more words than necessary. Every time it seemed like he gave her a different direction for the same metal bar: sometimes it was "the west wall," other times the north, the south, or just "that wall over there." Yumi learned quickly not to question, and to simply do as she was told.
She had lost track of how many times (You) had unloaded his spunk into her unresisting body when, after a brief and brutal standing fuck up against the familiar pipe, (You) undid the cuffs and then refastened them free of the wall mount. Wrists chained, but otherwise free to move about, Yumi hesitated in fear until (You) turned her around in place and, with a firm push on one shoulder, ordered her, "Knees."
Yumi folded. Her face flushed immediately. (You) had not put his prick away after fucking her; down on her knees, she found herself staring straight at the filthy thing. It was red and thick, drooping slightly in the aftermath of ejaculation, and the whole length was shiny with her juices and (You)'s spilled cum. Yumi could feel that same filthy mixture dripping from between her legs.
Cupping one hand under his shaft, (You) gave his cock a jiggle and ordered, "Suck it." His other hand reached out to take a firm grip on Yumi's hair. "Put it in your mouth and suck it. Lick it clean."
Oh, God. Yumi swallowed hard. She had almost grown used to the routine fuckings, sometimes in her ass and sometimes her cunt—those were passive things, in the end, just hopeless surrender and not much more. This was different. This was taking his prick, still wet from her body, and sucking it; making herself an active participant in her own degradation. Yumi looked helplessly up at her captor.
(You) lifted one eyebrow and said nothing. He was handsome enough, it occurred to Yumi—an odd thing to think about after her long captivity, but she had never really looked at him much during his brief, brutal visits to her cell. Tall and quite muscular, with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes, he looked like the sort of nice, affable, not particularly exciting man who sat near the edge of a group and didn't attract much attention. And his cock was out, and he was holding it in her face with an expectant look on his face.
If her hesitation had angered him, (You)s' face didn't show it. "Say please," he said, still in that same firm, demanding monotone. "Say 'please may I suck it.'"
Yumi whimpered. Oh, God. Sucking it wasn't bad enough? Her eyes flicked towards the doorway, and she blanched. The cattle prod rested beside it, leaned casually—and warningly—against the wall. Stop thinking about it, the smarter, survival-oriented part of her mind gibbered. Do what he says, whatever he says!
With a catch in her throat, Yumi croaked, "Please—" and then she stopped, startled by her own gravelly hoarseness. It had been some days since her last fit of shouting at the silent walls. Her unused voice cracked and she had to start again. "Please, may I suck it?"
It was barely a whisper, but it seemed to satisfy (You). Letting go of his cock, he nodded at her. "Suck it," he said, and Yumi, with one last nervous glance towards the cattle prod, reached up to take her captor's prick in her bound hands.
(You)s's cock was thick and surprisingly firm, given that its most recent load was still dripping wetly from Yumi's pussy. She could feel a warm heat radiating out from under the skin as she lifted the shaft clumsily towards her lips. With her hands bound together, she found herself gripping it between both palms, using the pads of her thumbs to heft the bulbous prickhead upwards and guide it to her mouth. A firm, encouraging push on the back of her head brought her across the little distance still separating her from the shaft. The soft, slightly spongy tip of (You)'s cock bumped against her lips, leaving a wet smear where it touched her.
"Suck," (You) repeated, and Yumi sucked. It was surprisingly easy once she started—embarrassingly, even. All she had to do was let the prickhead slide into her mouth, then make a wet, round seal with her lips and bob her head, guided by (You)'s hand. He shoved her up and down in firm, steady strokes until she had the rhythm, then lifted his hand away and let her work on her own. The shaft twitched in her mouth, swelling and hardening as she sucked. "Good," he said softly. "Good slut. Do what you're told. Speak when you're spoken to."
Embarrassingly, Yumi felt a little warm flush of pride at the praise. Oh God, this is fucked up. But she couldn't help it—she was happy; happy that he was happy. If she made him happy he wouldn't hurt her, her would feed her, he might come fuck her more often…and despite a hollow sinking feeling in her stomach at the realization, Yumi had to admit that she wanted it. Some contact was better than no contact, and as her body grew more and more used to them, the regular fuckings were becoming more and more enjoyable. There was no denying the taste of musky wetness on (You)'s cock, thick and throbbing in her mouth. He made her drip, and not just with his spent cum.
Nervously, Yumi looked up through her lashes. She tried to smile hopefully at her captor, but of course the cock in her mouth turned it into a meaningless, empty, O-shaped gape. Still, she thought she saw the corners of (You)'s mouth turn upward slightly, and he stroked her hair with one broad hand. "Good slut," he repeated softly.
Then, before Yumi had a chance to enjoy her moment of praise, the hand on her head tightened abruptly. (You) grabbed a fistful of hair, hunched forward, and thrust much deeper with his cock than Yumi had been going on her little, bobbing strokes. She choked, gagging as the tip of his prick hit the back of her throat, and (You) ignored her discomfort entirely, shoving deeper still before pulling back and thrusting again without a pause. Yumi tried to bob with him for a few more strokes before she realized that it was hopeless—(You) was fucking her face too deep and too hard for her to keep up. She gagged, over and over again, feeling her empty stomach clenching as the grinning (You) pounded away so hard his balls slapped her chin. Spit ran out from the corners of her mouth, bile-thick as she went on gagging.
"Take it, you little whore," (You) grunted, fucking away furiously, "take it, take it, take it!" With a last, satisfied grunt, he shoved deep, wrapping nearly his entire arm around the back of Yumi's head to hold her in place, face-first in his crotch, so close that his tangled pubic hairs tickled her nose. Scalding heat splashed the back of Yumi's throat and spilled down her windpipe, making her choke and sputter and snort. The bleachy reek of cum filled her nose as she drew in a shuddering, watery breath that flooded her sinuses with spunk. (You) held her tight, forcing his load down her throat until every last drop was spent, and even then he stayed where he was for a long, shuddering sigh of satisfaction while the sobbing Yumi coughed and drooled and squirmed in his grasp.
Then he let her go, standing abruptly and pulling his prick from her face. Yumi toppled forward, only barely catching herself on her bound hands as she coughed up a thick wad of spermy, smelly spit. Shaking his cock off lazily above her (Yumi could feel hot droplets spattering her naked shoulders and neck), (You) bent, hitched up his trousers, and tipped her over onto her side with a careless shove of one boot. "Good slut," he drawled, level and unperturbed as ever. "Do what you're told…there's a good girl!"
And with that he left, but the next day (after another feeding), a slim package slid underneath the door, through the food slot. Yumi unwrapped it in confusion. The change in routine was strangely disorienting, even when the "gift" proved to be nothing more than a cheap, fishnet bodysuit—one piece, all black mesh, with humiliating cutout circles for the crotch and nipples. Yumi's face flamed just looking at it.
"Well I'm not going to wear it!" she yelled at the unresponding ceiling, but she knew in her heart of hearts—even as she bundled the flimsy mesh up and hurled it at the door—that her resistance was hollow. The moment (You) told her to, of course she would wear it. What else was there for her to do?
To her embarrassment, Yumi didn't even make it to (You)'s next visit before her curiosity got the better of her. There was literally nothing for her to do in her cell, other than wait and wonder when her next feeding time would come, or remember previous visits with a sort of dull and disinterested attempt at horror. Trying on the costume at least gave her some form of entertainment.
Getting into the fishnet was harder than Yumi would have expected—it tended to snag and pull, and she popped a few new holes into the weave before she finally managed to get the stretchy cutouts into place over her crotch and breasts. Suited up at last, she moved to where she could see herself in the flat, mirrored surface, and immediately blushed.
The woman looking back at her was someone Yumi barely recognized. Slimmed down by who knew how many weeks of starvation, Yumi's waist was decidedly tapered, though her breasts were still large and soft enough to sag and strain at the mesh. Her hair was limp, lank, and tangled; she shoved it hurriedly out her face and let it fall down her back in a wild spill that could almost have passed for a deliberately mussed look, at least in the dim lighting of her prison. Yumi twisted from side to side, reaching up to cup her naked breasts and heft them where they hung from the bodysuit's cutouts.
"Oh my God," Yumi whispered. "I look like a fucking whore." She popped one hip out experimentally; raised her foot up onto the ball just behind the toes as if slipping into a high-heeled shoe. Swinging her knee out, she flashed a little pussy at herself in the mirror. Yumi licked her lips, blushed, and let one hand slide down from beneath her breast to her tangled pubic hairs. They tickled at her fingers as she spread them into a little V-shape; tugged with it at the lips of her cunt. The folds peeled apart beneath her touch. Yumi squatted and thrust her pelvis forward. Tugging harder, she managed to spread wide enough that her wet, shiny insides gleamed dimly in the mirror. "Fucking whore," the fishnet-clad housewife repeated in tones of hushed awe. Experimentally, she crooked one finger and slipped it between the parted folds.
Wet. She was wet; slick and soft and ready for a cock. Yumi pushed deeper and found the wetness waiting for her everywhere she touched. Her whole cunt was dripping with it—dripping at the sight of her own slutty body dressed up and displayed in the mirror. "Oh, fuck," Yumi groaned aloud. She began to thrust, pressing with her finger on the inner wall of her dripping hole. "Fuck fuck fuck. This is so fucking nasty. Fuck, oh fuck, oh…fuck!" She grunted and gyrated, but could not quite cum, not in her awkward half-squat in front of the mirror. Barely aware of what she was doing, Yumi hurried back to her bed to throw herself down on the mattress and plunge both hands between her legs. With one hand stroking busily at her clit while the other pumped a pair of fingers in and out of her cunt, it took Yumi very little time at all to push her body to its limit—and to explode, shrieking in delighted release, as she peaked and came, thrashing on the flimsy mattress.
As the afterglow faded, Yumi expected to feel a swell of disgust, but to her surprise she felt more amused than anything. Sadly amused, maybe, but overall accepting, she realized—it wasn't exactly a surprise that she liked being dressed like a whore in some pervert's sex dungeon, at this point. Those fucked-up fantasies had brought her here in the first place. "Dumb cunt," Yumi muttered experimentally, and smiled, feeling a naughty little thrill at talking like one of her kinky fantasy characters. "Stupid fucking housewife slut. Had to go and get yourself raped, huh? You fucking wanted it." Her fingers were sliding on her clit still, rubbing the wet flesh and savoring the tender sensitivity that had flooded it after she came. Struck by a moment of aroused inspiration, Yumi tried (You)'s words on for size: "Do what you're told, slut. Speak when you're spoken to!"
Groaning, Yumi slipped a finger that had escaped her pussy during its spasming contractions back into the wet slit. There was no question about it—she was definitely going for another round.
~
After the day of the fishnet costume, Yumi found (You)'s visits—and the associated food breaks—coming more frequently. She started looking forward to them eagerly, pacing her cell in her trashy bodysuit and running her hands up and down her body as she fretted about her looks. If he gave her something other than water to wash her hair with, maybe…? But at least (You) didn't seem to mind; every time he came in to claim her his cock was hard and he shot a thick, clinging wad of spunk deep into one of her holes. Both had long since stopped resisting, much like Yumi herself, and she could take a pounding in her ass as easily as her pussy.
At some point, (You) stopped threatening her from above with the hose before his visits. He entered her cell, told her where to stand; used her and fed her and left—and Yumi submitted peacefully, even eagerly, handcuffed or not. She found herself starting to look forward to it. It was a little game—sometimes (You) would tell her to go to one wall or the other, and she would move, and he would hit her and tell her "No, not that one—that one," until Yumi finally learned to meekly and humbly say, "Forgive this stupid cunt, Master, but which wall is the east one?" or something along those lines.
The visits and their lessons all blurred together, if Yumi was completely honest with herself, in a haze of hunger and confusion and raw, horny need. She suspected (You) was drugging her at least part of the time, still; it would explain the disorientation and the odd gaps in her memories. But mostly she had stopped caring about things like that. Time flattened, until her life consisted of three distinct states: bored, fucking, and asleep. Asleep was fine and fucking was glorious, so Yumi tried to spend as much time in one state or the other. Whenever (You) wasn't there to use her, she regularly masturbated herself into a numb and twitching mess and then lay, overstimulated and panting, until exhaustion pulled her back under for a while.
Yumi didn't remember when she'd started calling (You) "Master." She didn't remember when she'd started calling herself "cunt," or "this cunt," or "Master's cunt," as the situation demanded. She didn't even really remember what she'd been like before the cell, other than a dim and patchy understanding that she'd hated it, underneath the façade; that she'd been waiting and wanting for Master to take her away and make her into a proper cunt all along.
(You) added outfits to Yumi's wardrobe, each one sluttier than the last: fishnet, miniskirts; tight black dresses and clinging stockings. He especially seemed to like her in pantyhose, and so Yumi wore a lot of those. Sometimes her Master didn't even bother ripping them off her, but just masturbated a wet and clinging load onto the sheer fabric, and Yumi cooed and simpered and rubbed it in with her fingertips when he did. He'd started allowing her nail polish, and she wore her nails long and lacquered for him.
One day, in between pounding her ass and pounding her pussy, (You) brought a laptop computer down into the cell with him. He turned it to face Yumi, and she blinked at the boxes on the screen. They were familiar, somehow, and so was the logo. Her old bank? Yes, that was it—she dimly remembered using a login screen like the one Master was showing her, years and years ago.
"Do you remember your old password, cunt?" (You) asked her quietly.
Biting her lip, Yumi wracked her brains, then nodded. The information was still there—all her old life was, tucked away like a box of junk she didn't need anymore and shoved into a dusty corner of her mind. Unused, but available if she really wanted it. "Your cunt thinks so, Master," she chirped in the high-pitched singsong he liked to hear from her.
(You) smiled. "Good," he said. "Type it in."
A few clicks later, Yumi's life savings—still held in the bank, by her family she supposed—were wiring their way to an offshore account, and (You) had pulled up a new tab to show her a short email, already written and ready to send. Without hesitation, Yumi-cunt followed his instructions in accessing her old accounts and sending it from a verified address.
Dear Family, read the email, I have run away with another man. He gives me everything my husband could not. By the time you are reading this I have left the country. Please do not look for me. Love, Yumi.
With a warm glow of pride, Yumi clicked "Send." She beamed happily up at her Master as he patted her on the head.
"Good cunt," (You) said softly. His cock was hard in his pants, she could see, and Yumi reached out eagerly to rub at it. If she did a good job, she knew, Master would fuck her, and she lived to be fucked by her Master.
Stroking Yumi's hair possessively, (You) smiled down at her and said, "Now to spend some of that money on doing up your tits and face. And a new hair color and cut, of course, wouldn't want anyone recognizing you around town…and I think perhaps my little slut's ready for an 'OWNED CUNT' tattoo right over her dirty little slit, don't you?"
The cunt that had been called Yumi once upon a time could have answered, but she was much more interested in getting her Master's pants unzipped and cramming his throbbing hard-on down her throat. She smiled stupidly around the cock in her mouth, and (You) smiled back, satisfied at last with what he saw.
It took a good, long while to build up a proper case of Stockholm syndrome in a cunt, (You) had found over his years of trial and error, but the results were well worth it. After all…if a cunt remembered wanting it all along, right from the very first jolt from the stungun, it had never really been rape, had it? Especially not when you had all those nice, saved-up internet conversations proving that she'd practically begged you for it. Alone in his private dungeon—alone, because a thing like the cunt at his feet couldn't properly be called a person anymore—(You) smiled and bent over the laptop, the sounds of his keystrokes mingling with the wet sucking sounds of the broken woman's mouth on his cock.
Hello, KidnapRole22, typed (You) to his next victim. I'd been wondering when we'd see you around ANN again…
Books by A. Vivian Vane
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Preview – S.L.U.T. for the State
If you liked "Stockholm Syndrome," you'll definitely love "S.L.U.T. for the State," an erotica near-future dystopia available now from all major ebook retailers and previewed for your enjoyment below!
~
"I want you, Aadi," Samantha whispered. Perched on the edge of the table with her skirt hiked up and her naked pussy fully exposed, she spread her legs wide. The pink labia gleamed with wetness, and she stank of sex. Her auburn pubes were matted with sweat and other leaking fluids. Samantha reached down and rubbed the wet hairs invitingly. "I want you right here," she said, tapping her slippery opening with a fingernail. Her breath came faster and faster as she let her excitement carry her away. "I want you in my pussy. Fuck my slutty pussy, Aadi. Please!"
Aadi gave a massive groan and tugged his shirt off over his head. Muscles flexed enticingly on his slim, athletic chest as he pulled his pants down far enough to let his cock spring free, fully erect and even bigger than Samantha had imagined. It was not too long, or at least not as frighteningly long as the ones she and Sahira had seen when they giggled over porn together, but it had a thick, meaty girth that made Samantha's pussy clench in eager anticipation.
Without hesitating, Aadi stepped in close, fitting himself between Samantha's legs. He grabbed his cock in one hand and guided it toward her waiting snatch. Samantha shivered with excitement.
"You sexy bitch," Aadi whispered into her ear. "You sexy little slut. My sister's sexy friend -- god, I have wanted to fuck you for so long!"
Samantha groaned at his words. It felt incredibly hot, knowing that Aadi had been lusting after her too. Her butt rocked on the table as she leaned back, lifting her legs and spreading them wide.
Aadi's cock brushed Samantha's waiting cuntlips; rubbed up and down along them for a moment. They both held their breath and shivered in anticipation. Then Aadi plunged forward, grunting in pleasure as Samantha's pussy engulfed him. Warm fluid squirted out of her, making Samantha blush, and bathed both their thighs in a sticky, sex-scented sheen.
"God you're wet," Aadi groaned. His breath was hot on Samantha's ear, making her tremble and cling to his shoulders for support. The tip of his cock thrust deep. Lewd squelching sounds filled the room as he started to rock back and forth, building up a slow, steady rhythm inside Samantha's willing body. "That isn't all you, is it?" Aadi asked, his voice a teasing whisper. He nibbled playfully on Sam's ear. "Your pussy is full of spunk! What a good SLUT you are."
Samantha blushed and turned her face away, embarrassed despite her arousal, but Aadi caught her chin and tilted her face back up toward his. He never stopped his thrusting, and his cock slid in and out of her with ease as they stared into each other's eyes. Every stroke sent a wave of pleasure through Samantha's body. She hoped he would never stop.
"Don't be embarrassed," Aadi murmured soothingly. "I think it is very hot. SLUTs are always getting fucked in their pussies. It is what they are for, yes? You should have many loads inside you, all the time. I will give you one soon...after I have had my fun."
With a smile, Aadi pushed on Sam's shoulders. She let him lower her carefully backward until she was sprawled on the tabletop, her feet dangling off the floor. Aadi reached down to cup a hand beneath each of Samantha's thighs. His grip slip upward, raising her legs and grabbing underneath her knees, and she gasped as she felt his cock working its way even deeper into her body…
~
Buy "S.L.U.T. for the State" today to learn more about the life of a State-Leased Uterine Transplant—patriotic girls who can't say no when a man wants to breed them! Or, visit the bookshelf at A. Vivian Vane Talks Dirty to see the full selection of titles from A. Vivian Vane.