Posted 20030423 to alt.sex.stories.moderated.
Sylvia's New Life (MF,rape)
by Philip Harris
Sylvia's breasts were cold. For hours she'd been left tied
to a chair in a cold cellar, blindfolded, her blouse torn
open and her bra ripped from her. There were no sounds
other than the echoes of her own mumbled cries. The ball
gag in her mouth prevented from using words to articulate
her pleas. Her breasts were cold and she had to go to the
toilet.
Sylvia wanted her captor to return. She wanted to tell him
that she was ready to surrender. She'd fought viciously
when he'd first grabbed her in the shopping center parking
lot. She'd yelled and screamed. She'd kicked him and
tried scratching him with her fingernails. She grabbed the
frame of his van as he'd forced her inside, but he'd been
too strong for her. Then he had handcuffed her, locking
her wrists to a ringbolt in the van's floorboard. He'd
forced the gag into her mouth and put a pillowcase over her
eyes, and that had been it. She was trapped.
She heard and felt the van driving along roads for at least
an hour. Sylvia imagined passing by warm, safe homes where
people lived, and she cried to think that she might never
again know how it feels to be safe.
She could tell when the van was driven onto a highway. The
driver only slowed down once, and from the sounds Sylvia
heard, she knew that he was driving through a tollbooth.
She kicked and fought again then, trying to be heard or
seen, but then she'd recognized the sound of coins dropping
into an automatic toll basket, and the van had started
moving again.
Finally the van slowed, stopped. Sylvia heard something
familiar, and when the van started again it moved only a
short distance. Through the pillowcase covering her head
Sylvia could see a sudden darkening of the light around
her. There was the familiar sound again--oh, it was a
garage door closing.
Sylvia's captor grabbed her ankles and tied them together
tightly. Then, unlocking her from the ringbolt, he lifted
her to his shoulder and carried her somewhere outside of
the van, into someplace else, and then down some stairs.
When he put her down he seated her in a chair, and then
tied her securely.
That was when he'd ripped open her blouse and exposed her
breasts. How many hours ago was that, she wondered?
Several, at least. She'd heard him walk up the stairs, and
then she'd heard nothing more.
She'd struggled against her bounds, pulling hard to try and
free herself. Her efforts were hopeless.
It was obvious what he wanted her for. Her exposed breasts
explained everything. She sat in the chair and
contemplated what was coming. She'd have to do every sex
act; that was inevitable. How brutal would he be, she
wondered? Would he always keep her tied up? Tied down to
the bed? Retied into positions of convenience for him?
What about oral sex? Sylvia had never liked having a man
in her mouth. Would he make her do that? Would he trust
her with him vulnerable like that? Would he use his mouth
on her? Sylvia liked that, but not if the boy was rough.
It felt so good if the boy was gentle, but if he was rough
then it just hurt Sylvia. Her captor could be as rough
with her as he liked, she realized. There wouldn't be any
pleading and coaxing; he would just take what he wanted of
her.
That's when Sylvia first noticed that her breasts were
getting cold. Being exposed to the cool, damp cellar air
chilled them. The handcuffs hurt her wrists, the gag hurt
her mouth, but somehow the cold on her breasts seemed to
bother her the most. She felt--neglected--that way.
For a moment her imagination got away with her, and she
pictured herself being in a store window instead of a
cellar; exposed in her vulnerability to the sight of any
passer-by. Would there be a line of gawkers, thinking that
this free show was a publicity stunt, not realizing that
she was truly helpless?
No, her breasts were too cold. She wasn't sitting at a
window. Her breasts were naked in darkness, and nobody was
looking at them.
After a while she wanted to pee. She tried not thinking
about it. She didn't even want to think about down there,
but she couldn't help herself, and thinking about down
there made her wonder again at the things he'd do.
Would his fingers be rough on her? Would he use things
inside her? Sylvia had read about that. She'd read once
about a woman who was raped in her own home, who'd been
tied bent over her own living room hassock with her pants
pulled down. The rapist had used nearly everything he
could find that he could force into her. He'd used the
handle of a hairbrush from her bedroom. He'd used
vegetables from the refrigerator. He'd used the handles of
her big kitchen knives, which had been the most scary thing
of all to her.
Thinking of that was the first time, really, that Sylvia
felt panic, when she realized that he might hurt her
instead of just using her for sex. Or that maybe hurting
her might be the way he'd use her for sex!
Sylvia's breasts felt really cold now. She felt resentful
that they were exposed and that there was darkness and that
nobody was looking.
And down there, near where she had to pee, she felt
anxiousness. She felt an uncomfortable sexual anticipation
that Sylvia recognized from when she was a college girl,
when she'd be getting ready to go out on a date for the
evening, when she'd already made up her mind to have sex
with the boy. Oh god, she realized, she was sexually
anticipating the rape. She knew what that meant, that she
was going to cum. She was going to cum when she was raped!
Whenever Sylvia got those feelings at home, well, she took
care of them herself. She couldn't do that now, not with
her wrists tied behind her back and her breasts out in the
cold.
Sylvia had read a story once where a man kidnapped a woman
and forced her to masturbate every hour. He'd kept her in
a room with a video camera, and with a timer that rang a
bell every hour, all day long. Whenever the bell rang, the
girl had to masturbate to climax for the camera. When the
man would return to her, he'd make her watch the video with
him and he'd count hours and the climaxes. If the girl
hadn't "been good," then he didn't give her food that
evening.
There was another story too, about a woman kept tied in a
chair all day, sitting on a vibrating dildo that switched
on and off randomly all day long, keeping her ready for her
man's return.
Or was that just a fiction story? Sylvia had read it in a
womens' magazine, and had thought it a fiction, but now she
realized that this was all happening to her for real and
that she'd have to do whatever her captor demanded of her.
Would he whip her? Sylvia had seen those photos of tied
women hanging from ceilings, or strapped to motorized dildo
machines. How long would she be able to stand that, she
wondered, having a dildo plunge in and out of her long
after she'd exhausted herself of climaxes?
Would he tie her breasts, forcing them to swell cruelly and
become super sensitive? She'd seen that in pictures.
Would he clamp her nipples, making her orgasm between her
legs while she was in pain at the tits?
She couldn't even feel her nipples now, her breasts were so
cold.
Sylvia recalled many stories of cruelty to rape victims.
Sex slaves! She realized that now that's what she was--a
sex slave. She wasn't taken just for a quick rape, she was
taken for keeps.
The best thing to do, she realized, was to act like a good,
loving woman. Why would a man be cruel if his woman gave
him all the sex he wanted? And any way he wanted it.
Sylvia realized that the best thing would be to go along.
Yes she'd read stories of women surviving in that way. The
best thing, Sylvia decided, would be to love her new
master--if he would just give her the chance.
There! She heard a creak from the ceiling above her. She
heard the sound of a door opening, and of footsteps coming
down the cellar stairs.
Whoever it was sounded the same as the man who'd taken her.
He heard him pause before her; she could tell that he was
right in front of her, looking at his prize. Then she
heard him step behind her.
Oh yes, oh yes! His hands felt so warm on Sylvia's
breasts! She couldn't help herself, she leaned forward,
enjoying his warmth. It felt good to her; and besides she
knew that it was best to try and please him. Now she could
feel her nipples, poking through his fingers as he teased
them.
"Do you need to pee?" he asked, his voice close to Sylvia's
ear. She was hearing him for the first time.
She nodded her head yes.
"Will you be a willing fuck if I let you use the toilet?"
he asked.
Sylvia nodded yes again, grunting "yes" through her gag.
She tried to grunt "yes master." Sylvia knew that she
would have to surrender. He was going to be the only
warmth that she was going to know from now on. By exposing
her breasts he'd let Sylvia understand her fate: unless
Sylvia used her body to win his love, she'd have to live a
life alone in the cold basement, with his body for her only
warmth.
-end-