#relax its not real

Gentle reader, this story will be a little bit different from most of the content on my blog. If themes of strong non-consent, violence and fear do not appeal to you, do not read this. It will certainly not be to everyone’s taste. This is a work of fantasy and fiction—there is little or nothing here that I would recommend as acceptable real-world BDSM. You have been warned…

She wasn’t thinking very clearly, or, actually, she wasn’t thinking much at all. She had been upset and unsettled all week, and her mind absorbed every waking moment by her obsession with him. What had started as a little fun exploration online had now grown into a full-fledged problem, and she had some decisions to make. Had she been less preoccupied, or perhaps had not had those last three drinks, she might have been paying more attention—she might even have remembered his admonition not to walk home alone in the dark. She certainly might not have taken that shortcut, and her night would have ended altogether differently.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear or see the man who materialized out of the darkness behind her. Her first warning was too late—no warning at all, actually—an arm wrapped tight around her waist and a hand covering her mouth, roughly pulling her head back into an unseen wall of muscle behind her. She was yanked off her feet and dragged backwards into the shadow within a few seconds, her flailing doing nothing at all. His grip was painful around her waist, and some detached part of her mind realized that she would have bruises to show for this the next day. A whispered menace in her ear as he shook her head for good measure: “If I let go, you cannot scream. Do you understand?” She froze for a minute, then nodded her head the little she could in his grip. “Not a sound.”

He slowly, almost gently, took his hand from her face and watched, with quiet amusement, as she composed herself with a few shallow breaths, drew in a full breath and readied herself to call out. Only the slightest sound escaped her lips before his arm locked around her throat. She saw the world close to a dark tunnel as she fought against unconsciousness. She only had time for half a thought before the blackness overtook her—so fast?

She came to–she had no idea how much time had gone by–to discover herself stripped to her bra and panties, sitting on the uncomfortable metal floor of what must have been a work van of some sort. A few tools lay scattered about, and the smell of some solvent cleaner was sharp in her nose. Bumps from the uneven road caused the floor to scrape against her tender skin and she looked up to find her hands cuffed in very official-looking handcuffs, the chain of which was padlocked to an attachment point hanging from the roof of the van. This had the effect of stretching her lean body as much of her weight was put, very uncomfortably, on her wrists. She tried to stand up and looked down to discover her ankles tied together with what looked like a plastic loop, and that attached with another loop to the floor. She could move, could be bounced around and bruised, but she was very effectively immobilized.

As her eyes wandered over the motley collection of tools, her mind starting to consider her options—which were, sadly, quite limited—her eyes met his in the rear view mirror. Though she couldn’t make out much of his face, she could see the amusement in his eyes as he said, “Good. You’re awake. Now you can scream. Scream as much as you can the rest of the night. I planned on it.” Though she’d never know it, his cock hardened at her whimpers as she squeezed her eyes shut and fought back tears.

Some time later, the van came to a stop. By now she was thinking clearly enough to realize that the last part of the trip had been much slower, much rougher, and the road sounds had faded out completely at the end. As she sat puzzling through the implications, the side door of the van was yanked open and he was there. “Showtime.” He stepped in the van, pulled keys from his pocket, and reached up to unfasten the padlock attaching her handcuffs to the loop hanging from the roof. A knife flashed in the darkness and her feet were free from their tether. A rough handful of hair and she was dragged unceremoniously from the van, stumbling and tripping to end up in a heap on the damp ground.
She looked around to realize that they were in a forest. She struggled to think where and how far they must have driven—how long was she out?—when she was picked up by the hair and slammed against the side of the van. She instinctively pulled away from the cold metal, but soon settled her eyes on him. Her chest heaving, skin covered in a sheen of sweat despite the cold night air, she opened her mouth… whether to negotiate, to plead, to beg, or to cry out she wasn’t even sure. As soon as the first words left her mouth she was hit hard in the face and knocked against the van, and once again found herself on the ground.

She’d never been hit before. Certainly not like that, and she sat, dazed, shaking her head. She had the absurd thought that the cartoons were right—you really did see stars when you got hit in the face. She didn’t have time to complete the thought because she was once again lifted from the ground and shoved against the van, and he stood back half a step, just watching. Now more wary, she composed herself, closed her eyes, swallowed, and opened her eyes to look him in the face. It was the first time she had really looked, and she recoiled again, almost as if she’d been hit again, when she realized that all she could see were eyes—a mask of some sort covered the rest of his face. Though this realization startled her, she steeled herself and began to speak to him as calmly and rationally as she could manage—she knew she was lost, but she just needed him to understand that she would do whatever he wanted of her.

It didn’t matter. As soon as she spoke he hit her again—much, much harder—and this time she began to really cry as soon as she hit the ground. He savored her tears a moment and then reached down, grabbed her by the hair, and once again held her against the van. When she found the strength in her legs to hold herself, he stood back and waited. Watched and waited As she stood there, fighting her tears and shivering in the cold night air, he thought she did learn. Slowly, but she learned, and she now knew better than to try to reason with him. Still, he could see her eyes pleading with him…begging him for some sense of mercy… to leave some part of her, but she could read nothing at all in his eyes in return. After a moment, she had begun to pull herself together and readied herself for whatever might be coming.

“This is the point where I am supposed to tell you if you cooperate it will go easier for you. Well, that’s not really true. Do whatever you want, it will be the same.” He stood to watch as the words hit her and she broke into tears. “Stay.” One word and a finger pointed at her chest as he stepped into the van to retrieve something. She saw her chance, and the animal part of her bolted—she went to take a running step, forgetting her ankles were still lashed together and ended up sprawled on the dirt almost instantly. She heard his rough laugh in her ear—“So predictable. So easy.”—and he walked past her, now with other things in his arm, reached down with no more care than someone might picking up a grocery bag, grabbed a handful of her long, pretty hair, and dragged her away from the van deep into the blackness.

She struggled to find purchase with her feet, but he gave her no chance, dragging her roughly over dirt, branches, and rocks. The best she could do was to grab his lower arm with her hands to try to take some of the pressure off her hair. She was probably lucky that she didn’t realize how he hardened at her whimpers and cries, and that she couldn’t see the sick gleam in his eye as he dropped her in the clearing. “Time to see what we have here.” And he was on her, heedless of her struggles as he ripped the last of her clothes off. Though she willed herself to hold still, she recoiled from his touch… his hands on her breasts… then roughly pushing her legs apart. Two fingers painfully shoved into her cunt with no warning caused every muscle in her body to contract. “You’re dry, girl. You might see what you can do about that.” After a second’s though, he smiled darkly and pulled the knife from its sheath, holding it in front of her eyes. “I guess we can get you wet one way or another, right?” She held very, very still, though now crying freely, as he traced the tip of the knife down her body, starting at her collarbone, between her breasts, over her flat, well-muscled stomach, a pinching pain as he pressed a little too hard on her pussy, down her long legs, and cutting the ties between her ankles. “Maybe later, girl.” And his hands were all over her body, exploring, molesting, taking.

She fought as long as she could, but soon grew tired, realizing that he was laughing at her struggles. She was vaguely aware, in some corner of her mind, that every time she started to give in and just let things happen, he hurt her. Once it was a hard smack to the face, once it was a bite to her flank that she was sure drew blood, a twist of a nipple, once he hit her thigh over and over in the same place until she cried out in pain. He was using her body, inflicting pain on it to keep her fighting, enjoying her struggles—waiting for that point when exhaustion set in and she could fight no longer. Overcome by the exertion and the flood of adrenaline, she that point was quickly approaching, and he smirked as her struggles became weaker and weaker. “Guess what?” There was no response so he smacked her face a few times, and then tried again. “Guess what?” Her eyes were barely comprehending, questioning. “Time to fuck, little girl. Time to fuck. Oh, and here’s something for you to think about. I’m not really concerned about DNA evidence and all that stuff. Any ideas why?” As he said this he pulled the mask from his face and roughly shoved his cock into her as her entire body contracted in sheer terror.

There was nothing tender, nothing sensual, about this fuck. His half dressed body pressed her into the cold dirt and he simply took her. Though she wasn’t aware, his motions were violent enough that she could not help but make little fucking, or, more accurately, being-fucked, sounds as the air was driven from her body again and again. He smiled to feel the wetness grow between her legs, knowing her body was responding despite her fear, despite her desires. Several times she put her hands, still handcuffed together, on him and he immediately hit her and pushed them back above her head. Eventually, she understood and lay there with her arms stretched out and legs spread, in complete broken submission as he took his pleasure in her body. It did not take long for him to tighten, thrust deep inside her, and fill her with his seed. “Not a bad fuck, girl. You’re mine now.”

He sat back to catch his breath, just looking at her. Without thinking, just acting, she started to crawl away from him, not even aware of what she was doing. He enjoyed the show for a minute or two, watching the long muscles in her body flex. He could see that she hurt from the way she moved, and he was already starting to stiffen again at the show. She came to an overturned tree and started to crawl over it when he got up, walked over to her, and pushed her over the tree with her ass in the air. Without a word, he reached between her legs, smeared his cock with their combined juices running from her pussy, and shoved himself fully into her ass in one thrust. Now she fought anew, though there was even less she could do with her hands still bound, half bent over the trunk. He lasted much longer this time, smacking her ass, pulling her hair, telling her that she was now completely his… completely violated… owned and ruined.

He lasted much longer this time, but eventually, he came inside her again, stood up, wiped himself off on her leg, and fastened his pants. As he was considering his next options, his cell phone began to chirp behind them in the clearing. Not wanting to leave her, he yet again grabbed her hair and dragged her over to where he first took her, dropping her on the ground. Through her pain and exhaustion-induced haze, she was aware of the irony of the situation. He was towering over her, having a perfectly normal phone conversation with what sounded like a friend, maybe discussing what they were going to do later that night, while she huddled on the ground in a ball. Hoping he was distracted, she rolled over and started to crawl away. “Just a second,” she heard him say, then his boot was under her shoulder, flipping her onto her back. That same foot, with heavy warning pressure on her throat as he stood over her, shaking a finger in her face to scold her. Instinctively, she reacted to the weight on her delicate throat and grabbed his leg with her bound hands, but he just stood, patiently waiting as his foot pressed her neck into the ground. She knew what he wanted, let go of him and let her hands drop limply above her head, again submitting—she really had no other choice—and breathed an audible sound of relief as he let off just enough pressure to let the air into her tortured lungs in a gasp.

“Okay. Sounds good. I just have to take care of something here and wrap something up and then I’ll be there. See ya,” and he hung up the phone. “Well, girl. I think we’re done. You’ve given all you really can, haven’t you?” Too tired, too beaten to argue, she just lay there and began crying as he spread a blanket out on the ground. He looked at her almost fondly, savoring that moment when she was finally accepting her fate. He picked her up, laid her in the middle of the blanket, wrapped her up in it, and lifted her from the ground. As he carried her—where?—she realized that his grip was no longer brutal, but he carried her gently in his arms, almost tenderly. As the van came into sight he leaned his head down, placed a sweet kiss on her forehead, and whispered soft words into her ear…