Liana

 

 

 

I know very little about what a person is to do in a situation like this, and I curse myself for it. There are so many warnings out there, so many self-defense classes for women, so many “how-to” videos that could have taught me some valuable tips. Tips to escape, tips to stay strong and sane, tips to outwit him so that I can create a chance to escape.

But I know nothing. I am helpless and completely at his mercy. It would be easy to escape his grip as he leads me by pulling at the collar, but where would it get me? If I started running, he would catch me within seconds. He is a strong and fit man, as far as I can tell. Fitter than me, that’s for sure.

Besides, where would I even run? From what little I saw through the windows as he dragged me through the hallway, it appears that we are out in the middle of nowhere. I saw nothing but a vast and empty landscape, no other houses, no people, no cars. I have no idea how long I was passed out, but it must have been long enough for him to get me out of the city, even beyond its suburbs. I don’t even know if we’re still in Massachusetts, or if he took me over the border to another state.

I hold on to the towel, leaving all of my clothes behind in the bathroom, as he leads me out through a door other than the one we came through earlier. It doesn’t open up to another hallway, but to a room.

A room unlike any I have ever seen before. It’s a gigantic bedroom, with a massive canopy bed to my right. The bed frame is made of black steel with an elegant design and light curtains that are draped to the sides. I cannot help but notice the shackles that are attached to each of the four bed posts. This bed is designed for tying someone down.

The light gray carpet feels soft and warm beneath my naked feet, and if it wasn’t for the circumstances under which I am being led in here, I could actually appreciate this beautiful room, with its high ceilings, the stucco elements gracing the white walls, and the pearl white vanity desk placed opposite the bed. There’s a big mirror on top of the desk, surrounded by a row of small lights, and carved details on the frame, as well as on the desk itself. Other than those two items, there’s only a dresser, featuring the same design as the vanity with a pearl white finish and marble top. There’s a door right next to the vanity, but it’s closed - and most likely locked.

The dark steel of the bed stands in stark contrast to the rest of the room, just as my leathery collar.

He comes to a halt and lets go of me, giving me a few seconds to take in the room. There are two big windows right in front of us, and even from afar I can tell that they are double-glassed and locked. The view is both beautiful and discouraging at the same time. The same green landscape I saw before, gorgeous but deserted.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he tells me. “No one will hear you, and no one will see you.”

“I think I got that part,” I snap at him, and as soon as I do, his hand is back on me, grabbing my upper arm and squeezing it so hard that I groan in pain.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he hisses. “You don’t want to test me any further.”

Test him? Is that what he thinks I’m doing?

We exchange a quick and angry stare before he drags me over to the bed. Panic arises in my chest as he moves me closer to the steel frame with its daunting shackles.

“You’ve been giving me a hard time,” he says, turning me around to him and with my back to the bed. He pushes me backward, until the back of my knees meets the edge of the bed, and I involuntarily sink down to sit on it, directed by his hands on my naked shoulders.

I shut my legs, pressing my knees together firmly, but he forces one of his legs between them, nudging me to move them apart. Even with the towel still covering the most intimate part of my body, I feel utterly exposed in front of him, especially when he’s not satisfied and pushes my legs even further apart.

“Look at me,” he says.

I follow his order, and as I slowly raise my gaze up to him, I notice the thick bulge between his legs. He’s hard, very hard from what I can tell. His suit pants stretch tightly over his erection, leaving little to the imagination.

I blush at the sight of it, hit by surprise as I realize my own arousal.

How can I possibly like this? How can my body betray me like this, when my mind is trying nothing but to find a way out of this horrible predicament?

Of course, he noticed my short hesitation at the sight of his hardness. I’m met with a cocky smile when our eyes meet.

“You can play with it when I allow it,” he says, as if it would be the most natural thing for me to beg for his cock after what he did to me. “For now, all you have to do is listen to me, obey, just follow along, and I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

As if I had a choice. This is nothing but cruelty, but he speaks of it as if he’s being generous with me.

I flinch when he touches my face, caressing along my left cheek before he takes my chin between his thumb and his index finger, holding me in place as I try to evade his touch.

His hands are warm and surprisingly soft. I could enjoy his touch, if I was receiving it voluntarily, but like this? I refuse to enjoy this, despite my body’s insane reaction to him.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, as if he can hear my thoughts. “It’ll be so much better if you don’t fight it.”

I want to tell him to shut up and leave me alone, but I’m too afraid. I’m too afraid of everything, of him, of myself, of that horrible attic he just freed me from. It’s a perversion that I’m actually grateful. I’m grateful that he took me out of there, even though he was also the one who locked me up in there in the first place.

Stockholm Syndrome. Even I have heard about it. Is this how it starts? Am I already falling for his tricks?

He goes down on his knees, placing himself between my legs, and I’m awfully aware of my nakedness below the towel, my naked core only inches away from his face now.

He looks up at me, still holding my face by the chin, as if to make sure that I don’t break eye contact.

“I’m going to make you come now,” he announces, as if it was the most normal thing to say. “Drop the towel.”