tagBDSMSamantha

Samantha

byEdgewater©

She was working late, because she always worked late. After all the years, she never even worried about it. She parked her car in a well-lit lot, almost at the door, because she got there early and had that opportunity. She was up on a top floor of a security building. Security? The door to her office suite was never locked, but the main doors to the building were locked, via timer, around 6.

She was just over 40 and in great shape. She was confident that she could take care of herself should the need arise.

It was a Friday night and it was almost seven. She was wrapping up when she heard the door open. Her head automatically popped up at the sound. She just had enough time to register that they were dressed in black and the first one had a gun. It was pointed at her as he walked into her office. He was holding his finger to his lips. She sat up straight and nodded her understanding to be quiet. He stopped her doorway and she could see other shapes moving behind him. The first thing she noticed about the gun was that it looked huge. The second thing she noticed was that it had a silencer, just like the ones she'd seen on TV. That told her that even if he shot her, no one would hear and her body wouldn't be discovered until Monday. She suddenly got very cold.

Her first thought was that they wanted the computer equipment. She actually felt herself relax as she saw the shapes moving behind the gunman carrying the displays and CPU's. She figured he'd leave with his men and she'd call the police.

She was watching him, and his gun. He was watching her. They were all wearing black, cargo pants and snug, black t-shirts. Their heads had the kind of ski masks that you always see paramilitary troops wearing on the news. His eyes and mouth were all she could see. That, and his gun. It was a semi-automatic pistol. She didn't know much about firearms, but it looked big to her.

As his men were making their rounds, he walked into her office and behind her chair. She felt him grab her hands and cuff them behind the chair. The manacles had a long chain so as not to unduly stress her shoulders. The gunman left and helped his companions remove electronics.

After awhile he came back and closed her office door behind him.

"Look, please don't kill me. I obviously don't know who you are or what you look like. Please just take off the cuffs and leave and I won't even call the police until I come in tomorrow and discover the burglary. Okay?" she asked hopefully.

The gunman nodded, as if in agreement, and stepped toward her as if to remove the cuffs. Instead he snapped her chair around to face him, his back to her wall. He touched the end of the gun's barrel to her temple and held his finger to his lips again. She nodded and pursed her lips, showing how tightly sealed they were. He smiled.

He lay the pistol on her desk, very obviously in her line of sight, and took off his right glove.

Samantha was wearing an above-the-knee skirt and calf-height boots. The man put his hand on the inside of her thigh and ran it slowly under the skirt.

"Please don't do this," she whispered, looking down, not wanting to meet his eyes, fearing such a move might be construed as a challenge. The hand slowly continued its journey up her thigh, stopping only when it touched her panties. She sucked in a breath as his finger pressed against her vagina. She felt the hand reach up and under her skirt, pulling down the top of her panties.

"Please don't," she whispered again, tears starting to form in her eyes.

She felt the tension as the hand pulled her panties down in front, the moved to the sides, each time pulling them just a bit further down. Getting them down enough, he pulled from the middle of the crotch, and yanked them down her thighs, over her knees and off.

The hand went back up her thighs, gently pushing them apart. She allowed her legs to be separated as she considered her options. Being alone with a man in her office, the solid door closed, his gun lying within easy reach of his hand, the one that was currently patrolling her crotch, she waited for her opportunity. A finger touched the top of her vagina, just grazing her clitoris, and withdrew.

The man stood and looked at her.

"Okay, you've had your fun. I'm humiliated. Happy? Will you please uncuff me and leave, now?"

He smiled in return and straddled her legs. He touched his finger to her lips, reminding her, and began to lift her sweater.

"Oh come on; do we have to do this? Why don't you just catch up with your friends and finish stealing the equipment you came for and leave me alone? Come on; you don't need to prove anything. You're in charge, I get it. Please don't do this to me."

He seemed to be ignoring her pleas and reasoning. He was intent on lifting her sweater and got it over her head. He pulled it down her arms behind her back.

"Okay, so you want to look at my boobs. Okay, drop the straps, have your fun. Let's get this over with. I want to go home and eat, okay?" She tried to sound glib, but even she could hear the fear creeping into her voice. He ran a finger under her right bra strap, slowing pulling it down her shoulder. The cup stayed in place.

He lowered the other strap and let it fall. With both hands he pulled the cups down until they were resting on her abdomen. She sat there quietly, allowing him to take in the vision of her naked breasts, pretending to be bored of the whole activity.

His hand went to her breasts, palms against the nipples. Caressing, fondling, squeezing gently. He grabbed her by the top of her head and pulled her head forward. Reaching behind he released her bra with one hand. He pushed her head back and let the bra fall into her lap.

"Get a good look, feel the whole thing. Take your time and enjoy. Okay?" she tried again to sound disinterested and impatient. She meant to sound as if she was chiding a small boy for pulling a practical joke. It was not how she felt.

The gunman fondled her breasts for about a minute before turning her chair around again. She felt him release the cuffs, and spin her back to face him. He stood back and motioned her to stand.

"Look, I think this has gone far enough. Why don't you just take off and catch up with your friends. You've looked at me, touched me, degraded me. You should be very pleased with yourself, so that's enough. I get it; you're a tough guy. You're in charge. You have the gun and you did what you wanted. Let's end this now before things go too far. Okay?"

His smile vanished. He motioned for her to stand again, one hand reaching for the pistol. She took a deep breath and stood, her bra and sweater falling to the floor. He picked up the gun and moved it to the other side of the desk, looking her in the eye the whole time. She stood there, looking right back at him, topless, her hands at her sides. She decided that this was going to be her only chance to escape what she knew was coming, and she tensed for her move. He noticed.

Suddenly, he punched her lightly in the stomach. Just enough to cause her to double over, from pain and surprise. Then he grabbed her hair and spun her around to face her desk, and shoved her against the edge. He pushed her head down onto the desk, resting his forearm against the back of her neck, his other hand lifting her skirt and laying it on her back.

"No, please, don't," she cried out. "You're hurting my neck. Take it easy, please," she cried. She knew what was coming next. "Would you at least use a condom?" she pleaded, but she knew that wasn't part of the plan. Her head was facing away from the gun that she knew was nearby. She tried to recall exactly where it was as she shot out her arm to where the recalled it to be. Nothing. She felt the cold steel on her back as he demonstrated that it was safely in his hand. She heard him set it down on her back desk as he held her. She felt him step between her legs and spread them apart.

Samantha heard the sound of the man unsnapping then unzipping his pants, and the sound of the cloth and buckle hitting the floor. She gritted her teeth for what she knew was about to happen. She was not disappointed.

She felt his hand touch her bare ass as he guided the head of his erection into her vagina. He was pushing his hips back and forth to get inside her. She was thankful that he wasn't trying to ram it all the way on the first try, at least he was taking his time, but it hurt just the same.

In and in and in; each thrust just a bit deeper, the forearm still holding her head onto the cold wood of her desk. Soon, he was all the way in, and he lifted his arm off of her. She pulled her arms to her sides in a protective gesture as he continued to thrust, pushing her thighs against the sharp edge of her desk.

He put his hands on either side of her hips as he increased the power of his thrusts. She gritted her teeth and grunted involuntarily, trying as hard as she could not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He reached up and pushed her elbows forward to get her arms extended in order to lift her breasts off of the desk. He held one elbow in place as he watched her breasts swing in rhythm with his thrusts. She knew he was watching, then touching, because he was making every effort to move her whole body with each thrust. She grunted and whimpered from the intrusion, and then she felt the warmth of his ejaculate, and he thrusting stopped.

Both remained motionless for what seemed like an hour, but was probably more like a minute. She felt him withdraw and pull her skirt down over her bare rump. She heard him pull up his pants, snapping, zipping and buckling.

She lay there, waiting for him to simply walk out the door, but he didn't. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up, turning her to face him. He was holding her panties. He thrust them into her hand indicating that she should put them back on.

She felt his eyes on her as the bent to put her underwear back on. She stood up, naked from the waist up, and faced him.

"Okay, you've had your fun. Now get the fuck out of my office," she said to him, trying to sound authoritative but choking with tears. She stood there, her arms crossed under her breasts, waiting for him to leave.

He handed her her sweater and she put it on, thankful for the chance to cover herself. From behind his back he produced what looked like a bag and handed it to her. She stared at him, uncomprehending, until he motioned for her to put it over her head.

"Oh come one. Please don't kill me. You've had your fun, you raped me, you asserted yourself. I get it, okay. You don't have to kill me. I won't say anything to anyone. Please just let me go. Do you want me to get on my knees and beg for my life? I will. Please don't kill me."

He grabbed her by the hair, pulled her ear to his mouth and said, "I'll only kill you if you don't do as I command. Now shut the fuck up and put on the hood. I've enjoyed our little date here and want to have some more fun with you." With that he shoved her back and motioned for her to put the hood over her head.

She began to cry, as she slipped the hood over her head. She felt him reattach the cuffs, pulling her hands behind her back again, and he led her out of her office to the elevators.

Chapter

Samantha sensed the arrival of the elevator even before she heard the chime. She was pushed into the car, and she felt it descend. She counted the chimes as they passed each floor, eventually stopping at the very bottom. In the garage. Of course there were security cameras everywhere, but the guard went off duty around 5. It was now close to 8.

She was spun around and guided by a hand on each upper arm. She walked carefully even though she was still wearing her boots, not want to trip. She sensed the passage through the double set of doors and felt the cool air of the garage. She was guided down the steps and into a vehicle, a van judging from how high she had to step. She was seated between two people , and the van started driving.

There was no talking in the vehicle, and eventually Samantha asked, "where are you taking me and why? My company won't pay a ransom for me and none of my family members have any money. In fact I have the most of anyone I know, so kidnapping me for money is a waste of your time."

She felt a hand release her arm and grab her neck. It held for a moment, then continued up her chin, ending with a finger on her lips. She got the message and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

Eventually the van stopped and she heard the doors open. She was guided out and into a structure, she could tell by the sound. After making several turns, she stopped, the hands released her and she heard a door close behind her. She stood there, her hands still cuffed behind her back, for what seemed like several minutes, until she heard the door open and close again. She tensed and listened. She heard steps as someone walked around her, slowly. The hood was lifted and a hooded figure, perhaps the one who had raped her, stood before her. He stepped his feet onto hers, perhaps to prevent her from moving or kicking, and lifted her sweater up, over her head, and down her arms. He stepped back, looking at her breasts, nodding and smiling.

"Why don't you take a picture," was all she could think of to say. It sounded stupid even as the words left her mouth, but she had to say something. The right hand reached out and caressed her left breast, gently twisting the nipple.

He walked behind her and she looked around quickly to assess her situation and the odds of an escape. She saw that she was in a small bedroom. There was a bed and a chair. There was no window. She decided it must be in a basement. The man released the cuffs, allowing the sweater to drop to the floor. Samantha rubbed her sore wrists for a moment, before she felt a hand between her shoulder blades pushing her forward, toward a twin bed.

"Oh shit; not again," she thought even as she was marched forward. At the side of the bed she was halted by a hand grasping her hair. He turned her around and dropped to his knees. He reached both hands under her skirt and slowly pulled down her panties. When he got to her ankles, he stood and shoved her backwards onto the bed. He motioned for her to raise her legs and when she did, he pulled off her panties and tossed them aside. She put her feet back onto the floor and lifted herself onto her arms.

"Look," she began. You've just added kidnapping to the rape and assault charge. If you take me home now, I don't know anything about you, you didn't rape me so there is no semen to be tested for DNA. Otherwise, when I eventually get away, I will go straight to the police and you will go to jail for the rest of your life. Is that really what you want?"

He chuckled at her and began to undo his pants. He was still wearing a tight, black t-shirt and Samantha could tell that he was well-muscled. She knew she couldn't overcome him physically.

"Wait, before you do this again, think about what you're doing. What if this was happening to your wife or daughter? How would that make you feel?"

He dropped his pants, looked her right in the eye and held his finger to his lips again, then drew his hand back as if to slap her.

"Okay, okay; I get it. Just please take it easy. There won't be any reason for you to get violent. Okay?"

She saw him smile and nod, and drop his underwear. She could see his fully formed erection leaning in her direction. He motioned for her to come toward him and she leaned forward, knowing what was coming next. He grasped her hair and brought her face within an inch of his rod and stopped. When she didn't react, he pushed her mouth onto the shaft and she kissed him. She felt the grasp on her hair tighten and she opened her mouth.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you want a blow job. Take it easy!" She took his shaft into her mouth and began to move her head up and down, sucking gently. After a couple of minutes he grabbed her hair again and lifted her head. He tilted her fact up towards his and motioned her back with his head. Seeing no other option, and wanting to keep him in a fairly gentle mood, she scooted back onto the bed and lay on her back. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something pleasant.

The man climbed onto the bed and knelt at Samantha's feet. He reached up and under her, pulling down the rear zipper on her skirt. He then pulled her skirt down her legs and over her feet. Pulling the skirt free of her feet, he held her by the ankles and spread her legs wide. He sat for a moment admiring his toy, then moved each leg up so that each foot was flat on the bed. Her hands were at her sides and her jaw tight. He worked his way up her body, leaning on his left arm and guiding his shaft in with his right hand. As soon as he was in, both arms were placed by her shoulders and he contracted his abdominal muscles, pulling himself in.

Samantha let out an involuntary groan at the rough initial penetration, but quickly caught herself and determined to remain unresponsive until he was finished. He worked his way deeper and deeper into her body, each thrust just a little further. Samantha's body was rigid with anger. She was gritting her teeth and gripping the bed sheet tightly. Once he was fully inside of her he turned his attention to her breasts, using his mouth, tongue and teeth to taste, explore and manipulate each breast in turn.

He licked the nipples, then sucked strongly on each, pulling much of each breast into his mouth. His thrusts weren't rough, but each was fully in, almost all the way out, then fully in. Sometimes his body remained in place as he flexed his abs, sometimes he thrust so strongly with his entire body that he shook the bed.

Samantha lay with her head facing the wall, her eyes mostly closed as she tried to take her mind to a different place. Tears were dripping from the corners of her eyes and onto the bed.

At one point, she felt his weight shift as he reached back to lift her right leg and hook it under his arm, allowing just bit more depth to his thrust.

She was biting her lip and trying not to react when she felt her leg released and both hands moved to her ass. He grabbed both cheeks tightly, increased the force of his thrusting and came, grunting loudly in her ear three times.

Then he lay still.

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