Message-ID: <42044asstr$1051153803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20030423180829.70841.qmail@www.boxfrog.com> From: "Philip Harris" Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 13:08:27 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} Sylvia's New Life {MF,rape} Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 23:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+