Fear

Fiction

Fear by John Warren

“I’m not afraid,” she thought. “I’m not really afraid.” It had seemed like a dream come true. Kidnapped, tortured, forced to have sex… lots of sex. She had known him by reputation, a very good reputation. He was known to be extremely safety conscious, very ethical, so she had approached him with an offer.

“I want an extreme scene,” she had said. “No safewords, no limits on you. Do anything you want. I’m tired of these pat-and-tickle types; I want to really feel it.”

He had been reluctant, but she persisted. She had even offered money. Finally, he agreed… with conditions. She could tell no one about their arrangement. He would pick her up at her apartment and take her… somewhere. She had to agree to use her safeword often so he could ignore it. That way he would not know if she really meant the safeword if she did use it seriously. She didn’t know about the final condition until she was bound and in the trunk of his car. Instead of driving away, he had disappeared for a few minutes and then the trunk opened, and he put something in before closing it. In those seconds, she had recognized the boxy object, and for the first time, she began to have doubts. Why had he gone back into her apartment and taken her computer?

It seemed like an endless drive.

The house was isolated. As he lifted her out of the car, she looked around in the fading daylight and no other buildings were visible. The dirt driveway wound around a small pond and vanished into trees. All she could hear was a muted rustling of leaves and the “tick, tick” of the cooling motor. He unfastened the chain between her cuffs and pushed her toward to house.

Inside, the dungeon was warm, and as she looked around, she thought, “damn well equipped.” Some of the things were familiar; others were strange and frightening. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so she was looking right in his eyes. He spoke slowly and coldly.

“This is literally your last chance. When I put this collar on you, we will be in full role and nothing you can say or do will end the scene until I’m ready to end it.” She shuddered. Something about how he put the stress on “end” rather than “I” chilled her. “Do you accept?” he asked.

She nodded.

His other hand flashed out of nowhere and suddenly she was sprawled on the futon mattress that had been behind her, her cheek stinging. He jerked her head up by her hair and said simply, “Say it!”

“I accept,” and then as if a damn had burst inside her, she continued, “I accept, I accept, You can do anything you want with me, whip me, burn me, rape me. I want to feel it! I want to feel it!” The last was almost a shout.

She was shocked at her own outburst, but his only reaction was a slow smile. Then he did the last thing she had ever expected him to do.

He unfastened the cuffs.

He put a piece of paper on the floor. “Sign it,” he said simply handing her a pen. She kneeled down, clumsily because of the long confining ride. Her eyes widened as she read.

“I’m tired,” she read. “I’m going away. Don’t try to find me. It’s my choice to take nothing of this life with me. I want a clean start. I don’t ask you to understand, but I do ask you to accept.”

“What is this,” she asked, looking up at him. The smile she received had the warmth of Maine winter. “You wanted an extreme scene, didn’t you,” he said. How am I going to really scare you if you know you’ll be all right?”

Her throat became parched as she looked at the paper. It was all part of the scene, wasn’t it? Her hand shook. She couldn’t move.

“Well, I can torture you until you sign,” he said, with what seemed like monumental disinterest in his voice.

“I’m not afraid,” she thought. “I’m not really afraid.” But she knew she was. Finally, she signed it.

It was so fast; her head spun. He had jerked her to her feet and, in what seemed like one smooth motion, had fastened her wrists to an overhead bar. Then, kneeling, he fastened her ankles to widely spread cuffs fastened to the floor. His lips were near her ear. “Say your safeword.”

She hesitated, forgetting their agreement. He spun away, again a single complex motion, turning rapidly, he plucked a cane from by the wall and using the momentum of his turning slashed her across her lower ass. With the scream, came recall, and she said, “Red Light.” He yelled, “Scream it,” and the cane came down on exactly the same spot. “RED LIGHT, RED LIGHT, she shrieked.

The frigid smile was back. He tapped her, first on one cheek and then on the other, not really slapping her but bringing home the helplessness. “I want you to use that a lot, my dear. After all, I really don’t want to know when you mean it.”

At that moment, the immensity of what she had done detonated in her soul. She really had given up her safeword. There was no way for her to tell him to stop. No way to protect herself. He could break her body, shatter her mind and she was really helpless. Without thinking, she began to babble. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’m not sure we should really go ahead with this. Please, let’s talk.”

His expression didn’t change. Then he smiled a bit wider… and the temperature dropped. “Very good. You are deeply into role. If we hadn’t talked, I might have believed you really wanted to talk. Go ahead, struggle, fight, beg. It will make it seem so much more real.”

She couldn’t stop. “But you have a great reputation. Everyone says you are so careful. Everyone knows about you.”

Once, in a college science class, she had been nearby when the professor decanted a bit of liquid nitrogen into another container. She hadn’t felt a chill like it before then. She felt it again as he bent over the bench and talked while he fiddled with the toys.

“Yes, a good reputation is precious. One great thing about it is, if you do something out of character, no one really believes it. You can’t do it all that often or people realize.” His voice was low, almost as if he were talking to himself. He turned, a silver knife in his hand. The knife drew her eyes like a candle flame. The light reflected off it. She most missed the next words.

“No more than once a year. That’s about right, once a year.” Something in his voice drew her eyes from the knife back to his smile, the polar smile, and the next words were like a knife into her soul. “Yes, it has been twelve months.”

The knife flashed and she screamed as it burned between her breasts… and vanished. She couldn’t catch her breath. She had expected to feel it plunged into her heart; it had been headed in that direction. She looked down, a long scratch went from just below her throat and vanished into the neckline of her dress, a neckline that was cleanly cut for several inches.

He grasped the neckline, one hand on each side. She could feel the backs of his fingers against her skin. They burned. It was almost as if they were hot steel. She expected to feel agony any second.. then he pulled and twisted and the top of her outfit was ripped apart. She could feel her breasts jiggle and the nipples become rigid. A wave of passion cut through her, horrifying her. She was terrified. He had turned out to be a complete nut. This was no time to get horny, but her hips, taking their orders from somewhere other than her mind, thrust forward as if seeking to entrap any passing cock.

“Damn him.” He didn’t miss the motion and slide the knife over her breasts for a moment, leaving a wandering trail of fire, then he pulled the front of her dress toward him and stabbed the knife through the fabric. She felt it pass between her legs so close to her pussy that it caressed the cloth of her panties. Slash! Rip! Now the panties were exposed, and she was further horrified to be able to smell herself. She knew the smell because after masturbating she would lazily sniff her fingers, but she had never smelled it directly before. He worked his knife between the fabric and her pussy lips. The knife was hot… had he heated it over a fire? She wouldn’t have put it past him. But the only fire was in her. She was afraid to move, but she couldn’t stop. Like a kitten at a scratching post, her pussy rubbed itself against the knife sending waves of passion and humiliation through her body. She was being betrayed, and she was her own betrayer.

Another cut. This one upward across the pussy mound and her panties fell open. Now she felt the knife on her arms, her legs, her stomach, her ass. Everywhere it went, it left nakedness behind. She could barely breathe. She had forgotten where she was; she had even forgotten to be afraid.

“Wanna be fucked,” the voice said, far away. She opened her eyes and shook the hair out of her eyes. He was standing in front of her. She automatically looked down and noticed the tightness of his jeans.

“Yes,” she said, surprised at the huskiness of her voice.

Her head snapped back, familiar sting in her cheek. “Yes, what?” he said.

She was confused, disoriented. “Yes, please; yes, Master.” He smiled, turning.

Whe he turned back. Her horror reached a new level. He was holding a pistol, a revolver. She knew. She fucking knew.

Again, the frost came from him. He cocked it. There were several telephone books on the floor near his feet. Casually, he pointed the gun down and pulled the trigger.

The explosion was deafening. She felt that she could feel the impact of the sound. It was like a gigantic flogger on her chest. She was speechless for a moment, then the scream, louder than the shot, coming up from her tortured soul. She was incoherent. Then he touched the barrel to her cheek. She could feel the warmth from the discharge through the metal.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

She couldn’t speak. She just locked her teeth and shook her head. She expected another slap, but this time he just turned away. As his body hid the sight of the gun, she regained a bit of rationality. “Stop, red light,” she said. Then gasped. She had forgotten. Silently she cursed herself, her ego, her need. She shook the straps holding her transmuting frustration into action, however futile.

She recognized the toy he had returned with. It was a buttplug and dildo belt. This was more like it. Even the buttplug was smaller than the ones she had experience previously although she had not experienced metal ones like these. It went on easily and the dildo and plug slid in with only a tiny twinge.

“What the fuck,” she though as he took a thing about the size of a frozen juice can with a crank on one end. He connected wires from it to jacks on the belt. Then he just snapped the crank a bit.

PAIN! She had never felt anything like this. It was more than a shock. It was like someone had hit her cunt from within with a baseball bat. She screamed. Another touch and she was twisting like a mad woman. A touch of a switch on the can and another twitch and the agony was in her ass. She screamed safewords; she begged; she called on every dirty word she knew. They all bounced off him like raindrops off a tank.

His voice was soft and controlled. “Will you suck the gun?”

“No, my god, no!” she screamed, but she wasn’t really sure if she was refusing his demand or pleading that he not touch the crank again.

This time it was a quarter turn.

She felt a touch at her armpit and then a damp finger rubbed rank sweat on her upper lip. “You’ll break,” he said confidently.

She didn’t answer. She just opened her mouth.

No content just to put it in her mouth, he made her suck it, run her tongue over the metal that still stunk from the discharge. She had initially refused. He had only flicked the crank. She gave a blow job to the barrel. She would have done anything. Actually, she was rather getting into it when she felt the click more than hearing it, felt it with her tongue and her lips. Her eyes flew open. His thumb was just leaving the hammer.

His eyes were on hers but crossing slightly both of hers were on the hammer. It fell forward almost too fast for the eye to see… almost too fast.

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“I have to remember to put down a drop cloth next time,” he though as he cleaned up the piss and shit from the floor.

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Back in her apartment, she wondered if it had all been real. She didn’t know if she had enjoyed it or not. But if she hadn’t enjoyed it, why had she masturbated three times in the past hour?