Abduction (2 page)

“You must know,” he whispered, his words coming slow, “how disappointed I am that you left before I’d fucked you. You were a naughty girl, Devan, running off before I’d had a go at that tender virgin pussy.”

He let her go and took a step back. The clouds above parted and the full moon’s light shone down upon the two of them. To her eyes his face had taken on the aspect of a demon, an angel cast from heaven who claims dominion of a dark underworld, thriving on the torture of flawed souls.

“Now, Devan. Take off your blouse.”

Not only was she incapable of running, but she felt unable to resist his command.

As if he had some power over her, could control her movement through his will. Maybe it was her fatigue, the fact that she had not eaten in days. She pulled the blouse over her head, then, instinctively, covered her breasts with her arms.

With a restrained but powerful grip he took her wrists in his hands and forced her arms to her sides. He stared at her bare breasts with a look closer to cruelty than desire, forcing her to feel her nakedness. Then he undid his pants and took out his cock. As he began stroking it he said quietly, with malice,

“Take off your skirt.”

Unable to take her eyes off what he was doing to himself, unable to stop thinking what he was going to do to her, in a very few moments, with that, she unzipped her skirt, letting it fall by her feet. His cock stiffening in his hand, he said,

“And now, pull down your knickers. All the way off.”

She pulled them down to her ankles, stepping out of them and the skirt.

“Stand up so I can look at you.”

She stood.

Tending his erection he looked at her. Her face, full of fear and violated modesty.

Her tits, a surreal blue-white in the moonlight, dark nipples erect in the cold night air.

Her stomach, swelling and caving with her panicked, rapid breaths. Her hairless pubis, the beginning of her slit vulnerably naked, invitingly visible. Legs held defensively close together. His hand abandoned his carefully cultivated erection long enough to pull off his shirt. She was surprised by how muscular he looked undressed. In his clothes he'd always seemed thinner. The realization that he was strong, physically, redoubled her fear.

“Are you wet?” he asked.

“Wet?”

She pretended not to understand.

“Yes, love. Is your pussy wet?”

Unbearable humiliation twining endlessly with her fear.

“No.” A bare whisper.

“Check for me, and see.”

“What?”

“Put your finger in your pussy, darling, and tell me if you’re wet.” His voice worked on her as if it were her own will. She reached down to do as he asked, her legs clenched tightly together.

“You’re not going to be able to do it like that, are you? You’re going to have to open your legs, just a little. Go on.”

She stepped her feet a couple of inches apart, reached down, curved a hand underneath herself, and feeling like she was under some kind of mind control, put a finger inside herself.

“Show me.”

She reached her hand vaguely toward him, but to him it appeared to have come to rest by her side, mirroring the position of her other hand. He leaned forward to take her wrist in his strong grip, lifting her hand up before his face. He ran his index finger along hers, feeling the slippery wetness that had coated it. With the tip of his tongue he licked the pad of his finger, tasting her. Then, still gripping her wrist in one hand, with his other he folded down all her fingers save the one she had put inside herself. That finger he took all the way into his mouth, sucking off all her juice as he pulled it smoothly from his lips.

“You’re absolutely delicious. I’ll have to take the time to really taste you. Later.” He looked at her, savoring her terror. Watching for her reaction to his next words.

“Get your back up against that tree.”

“Conrad. Please. I don’t want this.”

He smiled derisively.

“Please, Conrad—”

“Shhhh. That’s what you always say, love, but it isn’t true. And you know, as I do, that it’s only by insisting that it isn’t what you want that it becomes what you want.”

“No Conrad, please, you’re frightening me.”

A solitary tear slid down her cheek.

“Back against the tree.”

His mirth had evaporated. His words were staggered, broken up by gaps of impatience.

She backed up until she felt a hard roughness scratch at her skin. He walked toward her, slowly, until he pressed his naked body right up against hers, crushing her brutally against the tree. She felt that the skin on her back was molding to the patterns in the bark, that the front of her was molding to the contours of his body.

Then sudden shock. New fear. Her thighs were slung over his hands and he stood now between her parted legs, her naked sex exposed, vulnerable, pressed against him. She had hardly felt him move.

He writhed against her and she felt the hard length of his shaft snaking along the damp valley of her sex. His lips came to her ear once more.

“I’ve been…”

Up and down his rigid prick glided, parting her lips, grazing her clit, thrilling her with fear. And familiar, nauseating pleasure.

“…aching for so long…”

Down, down, down, the root, the shaft, the head, grinding against her clit, nestling between her sensitive folds, down, then, striking her rigid with panic it ducked beneath her and rose up, nuzzling eagerly at her entrance.

“…to fuck you.”

She felt a sudden, searing pain as he forced himself inside her, plunging deep and hard on the first thrust. She pushed at his chest, trying to hold him away from her, but she remained impaled on his fierce erection as it stabbed her again and again.

“Please, Conrad!” she sobbed. “Please stop.”

Then he did.

The pain that had been overwhelming ebbed suddenly away, and as he started moving again, she felt like a little glowing light had been lit inside of her, like its warmth was radiating from that place at the center of her where he was, sliding in and out, that it was healing her—healing the pain he had given her, healing her fear, her hunger.

Restoring her to the girl she had been a few days before, restoring her beyond even the best and happiest self she had ever been. As he moved against her, the arms she had braced straight and locked against his chest to keep him away folded, encircling his neck. His motions were gentle, tender. As his hips hinged rhythmically beneath her, she felt her body surrendering to him, and the warm pulsing wave of pleasure rippled through her sex, her tummy, her thighs.

He pulled back to look at her. She watched his face transform before her eyes, under the periwinkle beams sifting through the leafy canopy above, from gentle angel with a face almost like a woman’s, to cruel demon.

Suddenly his penis felt like a hot iron inside of her, searing her flesh with every thrust. It seemed to be tearing her apart, battering her organs. She sobbed in agony.

“Stop! Conrad, please!” she screamed. “Stop!”

The more she cried and begged the harder he seemed to fuck her, ramming himself into her again and again. She let out a terrible, screeching scream of pain and fear that mingled with his roaring moan of pleasure as he came inside her.

She was bathed in sweat, writhing and sobbing when she awoke, the memory of her own scream a fading echo. Sobbing, laughing, she fought an urge to scream a feral shriek that would drive every bird and insect, every last animal from the woods.

Laughing. It was funny. She felt betrayed. By
him
.

Still sobbing, though. In her hunger-and trauma-weakened state, she felt that he had preternaturally visited her in her dream, done that to her through an act of will. Her dream had felt so real, so immediate, the pangs of hunger racking her stomach seemed to be his wounds, his piercing and searing of her organs.

She wanted to get up, to move on, to cover more ground between that cabin and the place of safety she was trying to believe she would find. But in the pitch dark she feared straying in a wrong direction, injuring herself. For a long time she lay there, crying until her tears dried up. She feared falling back to sleep, falling back into his realm, but she could not combat the exhaustion that sapped her will to remain awake.

Eventually she slipped into deep, dreamless slumber.

When she awoke it was morning. Or it was afternoon. She didn't know. It didn't matter. She got up, dizzy with hunger and fatigue, and went unsteadily on her way.

Hours later, as she stumbled through the woods the trees began to thin out before her. She slowed. A little way ahead, beyond the edge of the forest that was keeping her hidden in its shadows, was a clearing. Cloud shadows slinked over tall 16

yellow grass, a few great gray-white boulders, and a fence. And beyond these, a building. A cabin.

Panic. She ducked behind the girth of a great tree trunk. Breathing hard, she peered past the edge of her sheltering trunk. A different cabin. Not that one. Of course not. That was miles upstream.

Watching, all seemed still. Quiet. No lights were on It was cold outside, but no fire was lit.

But it was still afternoon, the sun was out. No lights and no fire did not mean no one was inside. She stayed still, even as stiffness crept into the muscles in her neck, her shoulders, her legs. Frozen still, holding her tree, just a sliver of her face visible behind the veil of the forest shadows, she watched. As clouds turned the bright sky gray, she watched. As the sun melted through the clouds and blurred away beyond the horizon leaving her in dusky twilight, she watched. No lights came on. No flicker of firelight trembled in the windows. No scent of smoke signaled her from the chimney.

At last she decided to go, to peer into the windows to be sure. Heart pounding fiercely she left the safety of the screening trees and approached the cabin. She crept forward as softly as she could, braced at every moment to flee back into the woods should a door creak, a window scrape in its casing, a voice cry out, “Who’s there!” No sound turned her back, and she reached the cabin wall.

Creeping to the back porch, she lifted a foot onto the bottom step, then gingerly began putting her weight on that foot, mentally begging the wood to stay silent. The thick plank made no complaint as she raised herself and set her second foot upon it.

Just as carefully she tried the next step, and the next. Shivering with fear and cold she 17

stood on the porch. There was a door, with windows on either side. She stealthily peered into the first window, comforting herself that the night, with a moon cloaked in a thick mist of cloud, would not give her away, and cursing the fact that it gave nothing inside away, either. Desperate, she put the possibility of someone being inside out of her mind, and tried the window. Shut tight. It did not even make a sound to encourage her that there might be hope. The door, which gave the impression of being incredibly thick and solid, was dead bolted. The second window was equally unwelcoming.

She circled around the cabin, trying every possible aperture. Nothing would yield.

Weary, cold and hungry, and convinced at last that no one could be inside she finally gave up her cautious ways. She remembered a wood pile against the side of the house.

She scampered back around the porch to the stack of cut logs and was about to seize one when she spied an ax leaning against the wall. Clutching it in her hand, trembling with adrenaline and fatigue, she returned to the low window and smashed in the glass.

Still grasping the ax she hammered out the toothy shards growling at her from the broken maw of the cabin.

She climbed through.

Inside. Walking on a level floor, surrounded by walls, a ceiling overhead. Just as cold as outside. But still. The clouds had opened enough to let a little moonlight shine through. She looked around the dimness. Too frightened to turn on a light or start a fire she snatched a blanket she saw on a sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her hunger was unbearable, but she could not think of food until she had walked all through the cabin, checking every room and closet to be sure there really was no one there. The 18

cabin was small. Aside from the kitchen and living room there were just two bedrooms, a bathroom and a storage closet. Having made her rounds she went to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was empty except for beer and soda. Seeking to satisfy hunger rather than thirst she took a can of orange pop and gulped past the sting of the carbonation. Eyes watering, she began opening cupboards. Canned vegetables, canned fruit, canned chili, canned beans, raw black beans, white beans, kidney beans.

She clutched a can of refried beans and began searching the drawers for a can opener. Seeing and seizing one she clamped the toothy gears down on the rim of the can, cranked it open, and dove in with two fingers. On her fourth or fifth mouthful she remembered that quaint convention, silverware. She found a spoon and returned to the beans with her utensil.

When she had scraped the can and licked the spoon clean she was still hungry, but fearing the consequences of too much food after her long fast she forced herself to stop eating. She pulled the blanket tighter around her and walked back toward the bedrooms. She wanted to bathe, to put on clean dry clothes. The thought of a shower sounded amazing until she considered not being able to hear if someone showed up at the cabin. She decided on a bath instead. Walking into the bathroom she wondered if there would be hot water. She let the tap run for a few minutes, and the icy water gushing out slowly warmed, then she felt steam rising and clinging to her face. Finding a stopper on the edge of the tub she plugged the drain, then closed the door so she could hear better over the sound of the filling bath.

Going into one of the bedrooms she began opening dresser drawers, searching for something to wear. All the drawers were empty. The closet was empty too, and the 19

emptiness gave her a bad feeling. The second bedroom seemed more lived in, and she found a t-shirt and some sweats. And boxers. Men’s clothes. She returned to the bathroom and stopped the faucet. She tested the water with her hand—nice and hot.