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From: "Philip Harris" <pcmail@boxfrog.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sylvia's New Life {MF,rape}
Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 23:10:03 -0400
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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 with 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. 

 --- 

The author appreciates comments at pcmail@boxfrog.com 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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