My Abduction Ch. 02

So excited by the warm response to the first chapter! Thank you so much for all the feedback :) I didn't realize that five pages in word only translated to one page here on Literotica, so I made sure to make this one a lot longer. And yes, there is eroticism at the end of this chapter as well ;) I'm sorry it's so long compared to the first chapter, I was trying to make up some storyline. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last one! Let me know what you think of switched perspectives.

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The noises that filled my ears were muddled, and my neck ached. Fear and adrenaline told me to bolt upright, but reason prevailed. My head was foggy, and I kept my breathing even and my eyes closed until it cleared. When the noises I heard turned from unintelligible clamor into doors, either opening or closing, and footsteps, I opened my eyes to see that I was facing a wall, my bedroom wall, to be exact. My left arm was pinned underneath me uncomfortably, but not numb. While my hands were bound in front of me, they hadn't turned red yet, and I inferred that I hadn't been unconscious long. I could hear the man treading lightly around my small apartment, but couldn't see him. Glancing upwards briefly, I saw that he had closed the bedroom door, a fact that I was grateful for. It would give me more freedom to assess the situation.

Something cold touched the back of my leg, and I let a small gasp escape my lips as I jumped in surprise. My cat was licking at the mud encrusted on my calf, just above another set of nylon ropes around my ankles above bare feet. He had taken my shoes off, probably so I would have a harder time running away even if I did get free. My body, sore from running, being tackled, climbing, then being choked, protested as I sat up to look at the bonds on my ankles and wrists. They were tied snugly, of course, and my hands were shaking too much to even hope at being able to untie them. Keeping my breathing calm, I tried to think of something that would help me remove the rope. Were my nail clippers still on the bedside table?

My bedroom layout was simple. The door and closet were on the west wall, with a window across on the east wall. Twin bedside tables on each side framed the dark wooden headboard on the north wall, with a small walkway between the footboard and south wall. The rest of the apartment was as simple as my bedroom. A short hallway led to a linen closet and the bathroom, with the living room and kitchen to the southeast and southwest, respectively. While it wasn't opulent by any means, my apartment wasn't small either. It was the perfect size and layout for one person and a cat.

Rolling onto my stomach, my legs bumped my cat, and she meowed loudly at me in protest. I froze, wondering if the man would come and check to see why she was meowing. Knowing how vocal she was, though, I doubted she hadn't been meowing since he put her in the bedroom. When I didn't hear him walk over, I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, and started crawling over to the bed. The ropes around my limbs made crawling in the normal sense impossible, and I had to hop my hands forward first, then hop forward with my knees. The soft carpet muffled the small thumps my movements made, and it gave me a bit of hope. If he thought I was still unconscious, he wouldn't come check on me until he was finished doing whatever it was he was doing outside the bedroom. When I reached the foot of the bed, I pulled myself up to sit on the edge. Scooting along the bed was much quieter than hopping on the floor like some sort of crippled frog. Now, where were those nail clippers?

Pausing for a moment to listen to his movements, I slowly inched the drawer open, doing my best to keep it from squeaking like it always did. My nail clippers weren't waiting for me, but my knife was. I had never used it outside of camping, and had absolutely no training using it as a weapon. It didn't even occur to me that it was in the bedroom. The last time I had used it had been months ago to pry open a stubborn can of cat food. I thought I had left it in the kitchen, but I wasn't one to complain about a bit of good luck. Opening it smoothly, I held it in my right hand as I used the serrations on the lower half of the blade to saw at the rope. The soft nylon fibers frayed and snapped quickly, and the ropes around my wrists slipped free. I repeated the process on the bonds at my ankles, and rubbed lightly where the ropes had been to make sure the blood was flowing.

It was quiet outside of the bedroom door now, and I froze, listening for something to tell me where my attacker was. I heard nothing, and when my cat howled again, I almost yelped at the break in tension. Something rustled outside the door, and I heard footsteps moving away. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I could feel my pulse in my neck and wrists, the sound almost drowning out any other noise. A glass clinked in the kitchen, and I took the time he was using to get a drink to try and calm down to think of how to get out.

Attacking him wasn't an appealing option. I knew how to defend myself, not attack an opponent. And from what I had felt earlier when he choked me, he had a fair amount of experience in combat considering he had managed to not kill me. He was significantly larger than my stature as well, which wasn't small. At 5'7" and 140lbs, I wasn't exactly petite. Running wasn't an option, either. I couldn't open the door without him hearing me, and the only window in the bedroom didn't open all the way. Even if it did, it would be too narrow for me to fit through. It would be too narrow for me, but not my cat.

Stepping softly around the side of the bed, I opened the drawer in the other bedside table and grabbed an old receipt. Of course there wasn't a pen, but there was an old tube of lip-gloss. It was better than nothing, even if it would smear. Scrawling "help me – 7562 Sheridan Pl #203" onto the paper, I folded it in half, then wrapped it around the collar as tightly as I could. My cat meowed again as I picked her up to put the note on her, and this time I covered her mouth to muffle the noise before moving quickly to the window. Throwing the latch open, I leaned my weight into it to inch it open. The layers of paint on the hinges kept it from opening more than a few inches, maybe five at the most, but it would be enough for my small cat. I kissed the top of her head, telling her, "Find someone for me, baby girl," before shoving her unceremoniously through the small gap. She meowed as she landed on the thick juniper bushes just below the frame, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she trotted off towards someone walking down the street.

The muscles in my shoulders and back trembled as I sank back onto the bed, and I felt my breath shaking as my heart rate slowed. I may not have been able to escape, but maybe someone would find the note and call the police. This knowledge was my only consolation, and the only thing I focused on while I tried to calm the panic creeping through my mind and body. Panicking would lead to illogical decisions, and being rash in this situation would only get me into more trouble, if that were possible. Reminding myself that things can always get worse, I took hope in the fact that someone might find my note. Despair clutched at my heart when I wondered what would happen once he came in to check on me, something that was inevitable.

Against my will, tears ran down my face again. Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach churned with panic and fear. Shaking, I clutched my knees to my chest and rocked back and forth. My chest heaved with silent sobs, and I locked my fingers in my hair, trying to focus on the physical pain, trying to focus on that and stay quiet instead of screaming like I wanted to. A strangled whimper eked past my lips, and I held my breath, not wanting that man to hear, not wanting that awful man to come in to check on me, not wanting to confront that monster, not wanting to face whatever is coming next. I lost myself within my mind, closing my eyes and embracing the blackness, embracing the pain of my hands pulling at my hair, embracing and loving the small escape I had as a prisoner within my own home.

I was so lost within myself that I didn't hear the door open behind me as I rocked myself in a ball on the bed. Unable to breathe properly, I began hyperventilating and making pitiful squeaking noises as I tried to stay quiet. My forearms smeared my tears into the dirt caked on my face into mud, and it made a soft sucking noise when I pulled my arms away to wipe my face clean of tears. I felt the mud smear onto my hand, and when I opened my eyes to look at it, I noticed the shadow of someone standing behind me.

He was holding the knife I had used in one hand, and the fragments of rope in the other. His dark eyes glanced at the open window, then around the room, looking for the cat, no doubt. When he didn't see her, he looked at me, and noticed the lip-gloss on the bed next to me. I could see the gears turning in his head under his wavy, light brown hair. His thin, finely shaped lips parted in an exasperated sigh before he closed the knife, and slid it into the pocket of his dark jeans. Dropping the pieces of rope, he crossed his arms and scowled at me. My heart pounded as I waited for him to say something, to do something, but he just stood there. Maybe he was waiting for me to do something other than sit like a trapped rabbit, which is all I was in his eyes.

I glanced at the open door behind his tall frame, then back at him, judging the distance and my chances at escape. They were nonexistent, and when I glanced back at him, he raised an eyebrow, surely questioning my sanity at even thinking of trying to run past him. He still said nothing. Asking any questions would only give him power over me, and he had enough as it is. Even if I did ask why he was here, who he was, or why he was doing this in the first place, it was unlikely that he would answer. I stayed silent, and learned what I could from his appearance.

He wasn't much taller than I was, maybe 5'10", but he had to weigh 190lbs in muscle mass. His biceps were as thick as my thighs, and forearms dwarfed any comparison I had. His chest was broad above a thick stomach, with layers of muscle upon layers of muscle. If his arms were as thick as my legs, then his legs were pillars to a colossus. No one would consider him lean - he was too heavily built. The only thing someone would use a man like this for would be a bodyguard, and with how he was dressed, he had to have well-paying clients.

His shirt and jeans were nothing special, but his watch was shatterproof and had scuba dials. His boots were steel-toed, which is why stomping at his instep had virtually no effect, and the belt at his hips had various small attachments, most of which I could identify. A Taser sat on his right hip, next to a telescoping nightstick. A small pouch sat between them and the belt buckle. On his right hip dangled a set of handcuffs, and something that made me take things much more seriously – a .45 Glock pistol. What really told me that he was being well paid was the small, almost invisible wire leading down into his ear.

My hands started to shake again when I saw his pistol, and I took a breath to calm myself. If he was willing to shoot me, then they weren't willing to let me get away easily. I'd have to be clever to get away from him. He continued to stare at me, and I continued to stay silent. My nose started to run from crying, and I sniffed softly and wiped at my tears with my hand, succeeding only in smearing the mud on my hand back onto my face.

When he uncrossed his arms and stepped towards me, I jumped up from the bed and felt myself automatically assume a defensive stance with my hands up and curled into fists. He ignored my defensiveness and strode around the bed, reaching out towards me as he cornered me by the window. Despite how badly I wanted to strike out at him, it would only get me hurt. He had shown earlier that he had no contrition about hitting me, and I was surprised that my face wasn't sore from where he had struck me. His hand wrapped around my bicep, not being unnecessarily rough, but leaving me no room to pull away, either.

I felt my jaw lock and body tense in resistance as he pulled at my arm, trying to lead me. When I kept my feet planted and refused to take a step, he simply tugged me off balance before spinning me around to pin me against the wall with my arm twisted behind me.

"Scream, or try to get anyone else's attention again, and I will Taser you to make you pass out instead of choke you." His voice was low, and almost monotone. It was a serious threat, and I knew it. Seeing a video of my uncle, a 6'6" Marine, get tasered and fall to the ground in pain was enough of a deterrent for me to heed his warning.

"Since you managed to get out of the ropes, you're going to shower before we leave." Again, his voice had almost no inflection, and left no room for argument. Not that I would argue with rinsing off all this mud and composing myself. I nodded in response, and he pulled me back from the wall, keeping a hand on my arm, but letting me turn around. Despite it being my apartment, he steered me to the bathroom instead of letting me walk there myself.

When I stepped through the doorway, I pulled at his arm, expecting him to let go. He scowled down at me, and complied, ignoring the scowl I returned to him. I stepped back and reached for the door, moving to close it. My anger bubbled when he shook his head. Apparently I couldn't shower by myself, and had to be babysat.

"Something tells me that you don't want to see me go to the bathroom any more than I want you to see," I snapped at him. He simply turned around, placing his foot against the door so I couldn't slam it into the back of his head. Smart man. My voice rose an octave in indignation as I protested.

"Are you serious?" He simply looked over his shoulder at me, and gestured with his hand that I should continue. My face flushed, and my chest tightened. This was beyond humiliating. It didn't matter that he didn't seem to care, and was probably used to this sort of arrangement. Going to the bathroom was a private event in my experience, and I wanted to keep it that way.

My shirt was heavy with damp mud, and stuck to my back as I peeled it from my skin. It hit the linoleum floor with a wet thwap, followed quickly by my sports bra. My light shorts were fairly dry compared to my shirt and bra, and slid down my filthy legs without protest. My thong had managed to stay reasonably dry as well, and I stepped quickly out of it. Turning on the hot water, I tugged at the ponytail holder gnarled within my tangled hair. It didn't want to cooperate. My hair was matted with mud, and there was a rats nest around the elastic band. A yelp escaped my lips as I tugged at it, and succeeded only in pulling my hair.

"Stand still." A hand on my shoulder and the voice behind me made me jump as I spun around to face him. He was closer than I thought, and my arms smacked his chest. I quickly dropped them to my sides, not wanting to antagonize him. He pushed at my shoulder to turn me back around, but not before he glanced down at my breasts. Complying, I blushed knowing that he was surely staring at my ass now, as well.

"That isn't standing still." His other hand held my hip firmly. "Now, don't move." My body shivered in fear, and I felt my skin tighten with goose bumps. He released my hip and shoulder, and his fingers deftly unknotted the gnarled elastic within my hair. The little band appeared in his fingers over my shoulder, and I took it timidly from him.

"I thought you had to go to the bathroom?" he accused.

"Believe it or not, I'd rather not do it with an audience." My voice was hard, and I waited for some kind of rebuke for being less than cordial, but it didn't come. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was standing a few steps back in the doorway again, facing me this time. Doing my best to ignore him, I reached forward and tested the water with my hand. It turned brown as the mud sluiced off in small rivulets, and while hot, the temperature didn't bother me.

Hissing as I stepped into the stream, I felt the dirt on my body run down my legs, and the drain turned almost black with filth. I rinsed thoroughly, rubbing my skin with my hands before grabbing the shampoo and squirting a generous amount into my palm. It took three quick scrubs before the soap on my hands came away white from my scalp, and I smoothed some conditioner into my tresses before coating my loofah in body wash and scrubbing vigorously at my flesh. The drain turned black again as my skin became pale again, still retaining its winter pallor. A quick once-over with the razor removed the last traces of dirt along with the short hairs that had appeared on my legs since the last time I had shaved.

Rinsing a final time, I enjoyed the water running through my hair and down my flesh. It caressed my scalp, and the weight of it in my hair flattened along my back was a comforting feeling. It tickled just above my ass as I tilted my head back to let the water slide over my face, and I opened my mouth to rinse it of dirt as well. The conditioner left my hair feeling silky as I ran my fingers along my scalp, and I did my best to free it of tangles. The last of the soapy water caressed my collarbone, running down between my breasts and over my nipples, hard from the fearful tension in my body. It traced a path across my flat stomach, and along my hips before running between my legs. I dared not wash there more than I need to, not with him watching me as intently as he was through the frosted glass.

The water was so calming, and the shower provided a refuge of sorts from the threat of my apartment. I was reluctant to turn the water off, and let it cascade over me for as long as I could. Time passed far too slowly, and far too quickly simultaneously. Each minute felt like a second, and like an hour as I focused on the sensation of the water flowing across my skin and the steam filling my lungs. Each drop hitting the ceramic tub created a symphony to fill my ears. Before I realized what was happening, I was humming, and then singing as I lost myself in the music created by the shower.

"Every breath you take, every move you make,
Every bond you break, every step you take,
I'll be watching you.
Every single day, every word you say,
Every game you play, every night you stay,
I'll be watching you."

My voice cut off abruptly as the shower door slid open with a loud slam, and I almost fell as I jumped backwards and covered my breasts and pussy with my hands.

"If you feel refreshed enough to sing, I think you're done showering." He reached in and turned the water off, ignoring me except to speak to me. He stepped back to the doorway, but I stayed standing, trembling, in the shower, unwilling to venture out of my temporary refuge. He waited all of thirty seconds before grabbing the towel off of the back of the bathroom door, and stepping into the shower, clothes and all, to towel me off.

I raised my arms to protect my face from his rough treatment, and he took the opportunity to grab both my wrists with one hand, and lift them above my head. He held them there with me poised on my toes, and was gentler as he slid the towel down my stomach, then lower, between my legs. I dropped my gaze from his face and looked to the side, blushing with indignation and embarrassment as he spread my lips to softly dry between them. My body froze in silent protest, and I ground my teeth in an effort to ignore the gentle teasing of the towel on my sensitive clitoris. Fortunately for me, he didn't linger, and turned me around to towel off my back and ass before releasing my arms, and pulling me back a step into his chest.