Liz's Abduction: A Love Story

After she finished he pulled the chair from the wall, and sat on it. "Do you smoke?" he asked, holding out a pack of cigarettes. She shook her head. Flipping open a lighter, he lit his cigarette. The smoke curled in the air. He got a small ashtray out of the bag, then stood and reached above his head, moving a lever by a vent on the wall. A rush of air filled the room. The cabin had air conditioning, she realized; there had been no reason to keep her sweltering in this closed room for hours, unless it was for her captors' amusement. Perhaps they thought it would help break her resistance. The cool air felt good on her body and she let the blanket slip down even further.

One booted foot across his knee, smoking, he looked at her. Unable to meet his gaze, she looked down quickly at the floor. She must, somehow, try to control the situation.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. She nodded. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and opened it; the blade must have been more than six inches long. The fear hammered through her. He reached into the bag and brought out a green apple, which he began to cut into pieces.

The crisp sound of the blade through the apple made her mouth water, but the bright movement of the knife caused her stomach to churn. She imagined what a blade like that could do to her body. He looked at her, then pointed to the floor beside the bed. "Kneel, here." His voice was hard, commanding.

Liz, her back pressed against the wall, pulled the blanket up around her neck. She shook her head. "Could I please just have some food?" Unbidden, a tear ran down her face

Jack said nothing, just continued to point at the floor beside the bed. The line of his jaw was firm. She should do what he wanted, she thought, and try to be pleasing. Holding the blanket, she moved towards the edge of the bed.

"No, leave the blanket." She hesitated for a moment, then dropped the blanket from around her shoulders and scrambled naked, a little awkwardly, onto the floor. The chain rattled behind her. She was right next to him. Kneeling with her legs pressed tightly together, one arm across her breasts, she looked up at him. He held the piece of apple out to her with his right hand and she reached for it.

"No hands," he said firmly.

"You can't do this!" she cried. "You can't treat me like some sort of … animal!"

He said nothing, just continued to gaze down at her. Liz looked away, defiant. He held the piece of fruit before her, the crisp juicy segment. Her stomach growled. Smelling the sweetness, she licked her lips involuntarily. Her gaze was drawn back to it. Shuddering, she lowered her hands across her body and opened her mouth, delicately extending her neck.

He placed the slice of apple in her mouth and she ate it, quickly. She kept her hands down, covering herself as best she could. It tasted incredibly good. With her mouth full she looked up at him, into his fierce blue eyes, then lowered her head. She squirmed a little, naked on her knees in front of him, then swallowed and extended her head, opening her mouth again.

He stubbed out his cigarette. "Hands on your thighs," he commanded. "Knees spread."

With her palms on her thighs Liz looked down at her body. The chill from the air conditioning had stiffened her nipples, and she felt a tingle between her legs. Her knees hurt, pressed into the uneven wooden floor. She moved her legs apart about six inches then looked up at him.

"Wider." His tone would not allow any argument, any resistance.

Reddening, she moved her knees further apart still. Yet he did not offer another piece of the fruit. She wanted to say something, then thought better of it. Looking down, she opened her knees further, as wide as they would go. The chain from her ankle made a noise as it was pulled taut. The air was cool against the moist, intimate areas of her body.

Slice by slice, kneeling beside him, hands on her thighs, she ate the entire apple. She eagerly devoured it. It was humiliating, to be fed like a little pet, but she needed it. Her body craved food. Next he fed her two pieces of chicken, tearing them apart with his fingers and dropping the bones back into the bag. She couldn't recall a better meal than the roasted meat he fed her, piece by piece. Again and again he placed the food in her mouth and she chewed it, head down, not looking up at him. He did not speak for the entire time, and she did not break position.

The importance of what he had done was not lost on her: she was completely dependent on him, even for food and water. Ashamed at how her body had responded while she was being fed, she wondered if he could smell her. Squirming a little from her arousal, she knelt back on her heels, keeping her hands on her thighs. It was a very submissive placement, kneeling uncomfortably on the floor before him, while he sat easily in the chair. Her naked body was spread and displayed before him in an elegant and beautiful position.

Liz forced herself to look back up at him. He could see how vulnerable she was. Surely he would want to help her, want to gain her favor. He was, after all, a man. "Please," she said, "please help me. You can do anything you want to me, please just unchain me, just help me escape."

Instantly his blue eyes turned cold. He stood up and kicked the chair to the side of the room. She flinched at the sudden violence. He crouched down and grabbed her by the hair. Fist clenched, he bent her back, slowly, until her body was painfully arched before him.

With his lips to her ear, he whispered, "You little bitch. Trying to bargain with me? What have you got? You've got nothing."

Her legs were still bent, trapped underneath her. Even with both hands on his wrist, she could not dislodge his fierce grip in her hair. She struggled and cried out, trying to twist away from his grasp but she was pinned in position. With his other hand, he began to caress her, exploring the area between her spread legs. His touch was deft and sure. Closing her eyes, she gasped as he continued to arouse her until her entire body quivered. She felt so naked, so displayed, so exposed! Her small form bucked and thrashed underneath his touch.

"You see? I can do anything I want to you. Scream all you want, little bitch. I own you now." He ran his hand up the side of her body, almost tenderly. She was arched provocatively, painfully, in front of him.

"Oh, oh," she gasped as he gently stroked first one breast, and then the other. Her body lifted to him and she cried out in shame.

Jack chuckled. "What a little slut you are," he chided.

Finally releasing her hair, he grabbed her hips and flipped her over to her stomach. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her down as she squirmed, her breasts and belly against the unfinished planks. With his other hand he grabbed her unchained left ankle. His grip was like a vise.

Slowly he bent and extended her leg several times, admiring the curve of her calf, the suppleness of her lovely hamstrings, the tautness along her tanned thigh. He bent over and began to kiss and lick at her instep, her ankle, the side of her foot.

Liz tried to kick free but couldn't. She cried out again and pounded her small fists on the floor. "Oh, please don't," she sobbed in frustration. Yet his touch, and his mastery of her, was having its effect. She was unable to help herself.

Roughly, he pressed her thighs apart and began to explore the moist, intimate area between her legs. Liz had tears running down her face. She turned her head to one side and then the other. The splintery wood against her body excited her, as did his teasing and stimulation. Involuntarily, she lifted her hips, spreading her legs even further. She heard him laugh.

Abruptly he released her, and stood up. She turned to her side, up on one elbow. With his boot he pressed her to her back, spurning her. "I think I've had enough fun for the night." He smiled. "See you in the morning, blondie."

With that he turned and left the room, picking up the bag on the floor as he went. The room was plunged into darkness and Liz heard the door being locked. She lay on her back, gasping for breath. She was shattered. Never had she experienced anything like that. It was so powerful, so primal! She shuddered.

Feeling the metal bed frame behind her, she climbed back up on the bed and pulled the blanket around her. She lay on her side, knees drawn up, crying, and waited.

Liz tugged with her leg against the pressure of the shackle. That inflexible steel circlet, fastened insolently about her slim ankle, had been her constant companion for the last three days. An eternity, it seemed. It continued to hold her, perfectly. She almost wept with frustration.

The steel cuff was not very large, obviously too small for a man, but perfectly sized for her. Because of the width of her foot and ankle, there was no way to slip it. It was locked on her body. She felt its curved smoothness, the links of the chain flexible but unyielding. It was steel, and heavy, and well made. Its sole purpose was to confine and restrain a female, like herself. She wondered how many other women had felt the steadfast metal grasp of the cuff she now wore. It infuriated her that someone would manufacture such a diabolical device. The chain made a small noise whenever she moved, almost mocking her with its rattle.

She had never been so acutely aware of the freedom she had previously enjoyed. No one had ever restricted her movements like this – she couldn't even walk across the room! If she were staying at a cabin like this, possibly for a weekend getaway, she would be free to saunter about, to watch television in the living room, perhaps to prepare a sandwich in the kitchen. Restrained as she was, however, she could not move more than a few feet from the bed because the cuff had been arrogantly attached to her. Liz kicked angrily at the chain.

About five or six hours ago, she had been given some more water, and allowed to go to the bathroom, but no more food had been forthcoming. She did not want to beg to be fed, although her stomach was empty. Even with what he had done to her, she was determined to salvage some vestiges of her pride.

She heard the door open. Even in the blackness, she could tell it was Jack that had entered the room. Her sense of smell seemed to have sharpened after so many hours alone in the dark room. She rose to her elbows, on her side. "Please?" she whispered. "Don't leave me alone. Will you talk to me, please, just for a little while?"

He did not respond immediately. She could sense him standing there, in the darkness, unmoving. "Very well," he said finally. "I'll find us a candle. The electricity is out."

He returned with a small candle and set it on the table behind him. The partial mask still covered the top half of his face. He righted the overturned chair in the corner and sat on it, putting one booted foot on the other knee. He got his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. For a long moment, he regarded her.

She resisted the impulse to pull the blanket over her. After all, he had already seen her nude body, many times. It was difficult to talk to him, naked and chained. She felt small and helpless, and she struggled to maintain her composure. "Why have you done this to me?" she asked pleadingly.

"Why did we kidnap you? For the money, of course."

"No, why … why did you do those things to me last night?"

"Why? Because you're a natural." He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, looking at her. "A natural slave. Your body knows it, even if your mind won't accept it. Yet. I knew it from the first time I saw you, in the videos and pictures. You seemed to me to be a suitable possession. A proper appertain, if you will."

"A possession? I am not!" she cried, "that's ridiculous! You can't possess me. You don't own me! You can't own anyone! It's against the law!"

He shook his head. "Beautiful women have been the slaves of strong men for centuries, regardless of what the laws say. You know that's true. Our civilized society warps and subverts the natural desires of both men and women. The nature of the male is to dominate; the nature of the female, to submit. To see a little wench like you, an exquisitely desirable luscious female, is to want you. To want to possess you. A female is the most precious belonging a male can own. Men have killed one another over women much like you. Wars have been fought over slave girls. Upon seeing you, any strong man would want to own you."

"Own me?" The disgust in her voice belied the thrill of excitement she felt at hearing his words. Liz recalled the eyes of some of the men she knew, how they looked at her, assessing her. Even while talking to her, kind and solicitous, she remembered sensing their underlying masculinity, their aggression, their strength. She shuddered, naked on the bed, realizing that what he said was true.

He remained silent, smoking, watching her.

Liz looked down at the floor. "Are they going to pay the ransom?"

He stood up. "We should have it soon, then we'll let you go." Taking the candle with him, he left the room and she heard the door lock.

Hours passed in the stillness of the room, very slowly. Liz finally drifted into a fitful sleep in the hot oppressive blackness of her confinement. She dreamed that the man, Jack, the one that had so cruelly abused her, had entered the room and was lying on the bed beside her, holding her, pinning her down. His hands were on her body, making her squirm and moan helplessly. Could it be true, what he said? That she was, in her heart, a slave girl? She clutched the cool metal of the bed frame.

Half awake, she imagined him caressing her, holding her small body down on the mattress, coaxing her legs apart, tenderly arousing her. In her sleep, Liz felt the heat and wetness between her thighs. It couldn't be true, she couldn't be a submissive little slut like he described, one who yearned for a male to dominate her! She kicked the rough blanket from her, stretching on the bed, yet the dream persisted.

He was teasing her with his hands and mouth, using her body's responses against her. Skillfully he stimulated and excited her, making her beg for release. Again she moaned and turned to her belly on the small bed, thinking of his fingers inside her, exploiting her responsiveness, asserting his dominance and forcing her to acknowledge her true nature. As she moved she felt the coldness of the metal shackle, clasping her ankle firmly, and she heard the sound of the attached metal chain.

Why had her body responded to this beast, Jack, the way it had? Never had any man treated her this way. She was used to respectful, concerned men, deferential and polite. Men had always tried to please her. This man, she realized, was not interested in pleasing her. On the contrary, she would have to strive desperately to please him.

Tossing and turning on the bed, trapped in the twilight of sleep, Liz imagined his hands on her legs, her breasts, stroking her. She moved uncontrollably under his touch. The pleasant sensations surged inside her when suddenly she realized that she wasn't dreaming; he was there, beside her, holding her, caressing her. Her eyes opened and she tried to twist away from his grasp but he held her pinned, struggling, her wrists together over her head.

"No, please, no," she whispered as he began touching her intimately. "No. Not again, no. Oh! Oh my God, please!" She tried to remain inert, tried not to allow herself to feel, but it was no use. His thumb pressed into her belly as he continued to arouse and torment her. Tears ran down her cheeks as she struggled to remain still. Teeth clenched, she threw her head from side to side. She heard him laugh.

He could certainly tell that she was moist and ready, a little bitch in heat, yearning to scream and gasp for him like some wanton, degraded slut. Her nails dug into her palms and her legs began to tremble. She fought the excitement as the hot flush of arousal pulsed through her. He easily held her wrists together, stretching her body in front of him.

Continuing to stroke her naked, quivering flesh with infuriating authority, he explored her trembling body with his large hand, moving over her breasts, teasing her nipples, the tender inside of her elbows, her trembling belly, the delicate side of her neck, the soft insides of her thighs. Finally she sobbed in anguish and arched her body, lifting herself to his touch, unable to help herself.

He chuckled and moved on top of her, roughly spreading her legs with his knee, holding her down by her upper arms. She lifted her body to him uncontrollably, as intense sensations of shame and need and frustration and desire and humiliation flashed in her brain. Liz was wet and hot and she cried out as he impaled her, pinning her to the bed.

She writhed under his weight, gasping, unable to help herself. Her eyes were wide in the pitch-blackness of the room. Deeply and slowly, he began using her, pleasuring himself with the uncontrolled responses of her body. Even in the darkness she knew he was looking down at her, sensing her mounting excitement. Firmly, patiently, he continued, penetrating her resolutely, forcing her legs even wider.

"Oh, please," she wept, "I can't take it. How can you do this to me? Don't make me. Please, not like this. Oh! Oh!" She felt the uncontrollable sensations building inside her body, along the big muscles of her thighs and in the pit of her belly. Her skin was hypersensitive, the warm rush flooding across her breasts and neck, her nipples full and hard. He was going to make her submit to him, she realized, her responses only those of a naked, helpless slave girl. Almost challenging her to resist him, he knew that her body would succumb. Mercilessly he increased his tempo, pounding into her even harder.

"Please!" she begged, "don't make me, not like this!" Struggling, she reared up, arching half off the bed. He clutched her tightly and held her close, smelling her, drinking in the aroused musky female scent of her. Gripping her hair, he forced her head back, continuing his mastery of her soft, yielding body. Not only was her strength meaningless to him, her will was no match either. Her wishes and desires meant nothing. He could, she feared, force her to reveal, through the responses of her body, her vulnerable, yearning submission, that she was, in her most secret heart, a true slave.

"Oh!" she gasped, a startled half-cry as he thrust deep inside her. How could this excite her? How could this man, this powerful cruel brute who had forcefully dominated her, make her respond with such unbelievable intensity? She remembered him in the van, his arms around her body as she had been held, struggling, face down on the carpet. She remembered that he had chained her, locking the inflexible steel cuff tightly around her ankle, confining her. She remembered the rough wood underneath her knees as she had knelt in front of him naked, legs spread, eating from his hand. She remembered how he had examined her, holding her helplessly down, enjoying the look of her body, as if she was just a lovely piece of meat.

This man had seen her and had wanted her; therefore he had taken her. He had overpowered her completely. With his will he had shattered each of her defenses, the walls she had built inside herself to deny her true nature. He had simply not allowed any argument, any resistance. She had not realized that true men like this existed; men who would not allow any pretensions, men who could conquer her so completely and turn her into a shameless writhing slut, a craven despicable whore, twisting and squirming with desire.

"Yes, please, Master," she heard herself say, "please take me! Your slave girl, I am your slave. Please, oh yes please Master take me Master!" Liz was shamed and horrified at her words; the admission had been torn from her. She felt the tingle of release start deep inside her belly, the explosion of unbearable sensation now only fractions of a second away. Deeply penetrated, she cried out as the ecstasy crested inside her. An electric jolt sizzled through her as she spasmed uncontrollably, lost to the orgasmic pounding inflicted on her small, defenseless body.