Becca Bound, Underground

Becca was almost done her shift at Walmart. The day felt really slow, probably because this was her Friday. She counted her till, punched out, and changed clothes in the staff room.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was okay with herself. She liked her new haircut: one side shaved but hidden under long hair. She forgot the name of the style, but she felt cool.

She just wished she could lose a few pounds. It had been a dry spell for a couple years, after breaking up with Tony. That part was for the best, but she still had a bout of depression that stuck around. She ate to feel comfort. She was just a bit chubby, but at 29, it didn't assist in finding a new guy.

She threw on her purple hoodie, and left the building. She started walking home. It was only a ten minute walk, but winter translated to short days; It was always pitch black by the time she was off at 7.

She usually cut through the secondary school field, as long as it wasn't raining. It could get muddy. The field was frosted over, and the grass crunched under her feet.

She was halfway across when she heard that same sound from behind her.

A tall man was walking in her direction, and a truck with the engine running was parked behind him. He slowed his pace a little, and stopped. She kept walking, but she hurried her steps.

Becca had a bad feeling. She went for a few more seconds before looking back.

The guy was almost running towards her.

She panicked, and started to run. She screamed out for help, but the closest house was far enough away that it might be a waste of breath.

She used to run track in high school. Those days were gone. Her legs ached and she looked back to find him almost within arms reach.

"Fuck off!" she screamed. He was wearing a bandana on his face. He had an imposing frame. His white parka added to his mass.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. She spun, trying to strike his head. She missed, and lost balance, falling to the frozen ground.

He mounted her, and pulled something from his coat as she frantically clawed at him, still screaming in vain for help.

He covered her face with a rag. She struggled, but her limbs grew weak. Her focus was dwindling.

Everything went black.

Becca did not dream. She slowly assembled some sense of awareness as she regained consciousness.

"Mmm..." Her head was throbbing. Her throat tasted like chemicals.

"Help," she whispered. It was the last thing she had called out for. Then she remembered why.

She woke up in a wooden chair. She was bound to the arm rests; White rope was wrapped haphazardly around her whole body. She still had all her clothes on. She blinked, and tried to adjust her eyes to the dark surroundings.

It was a basement, no question.

She heard a sound-- upstairs. The stairs must be behind her, and she couldn't crane her neck to see. She was tied too tightly for that.

A door opened. She started screaming. The door slammed shut and someone advanced rapidly down the steps. The man from before came around to her side, holding a large hunting knife.

Her screaming increased, and he shouted over her.

"Shut up, or this goes in your neck."

She heard him. She stopped screaming, but continued to struggle.

"Quit that, too," he said, holding the knife towards her.

He had a gaunt, pale face. A scar ran down his chin. He was old, but he looked strong despite being fairly thin.

"W-what do you want?" Becca said, hearing the tremor in her voice, "Just let me go."

"No," he said, staring into her brown eyes. His own irises were slate grey. "You don't tell me what I do. I tell you."

His voice was cold.

He grabbed a stool from the corner of the room. It smelled like mildew and mothballs down here. He sat down and faced her again.

"I'm going to explain to you why you're here."

Becca was hyperventilating. She tried to slow her breathing. She needed to be present. If she was going to have a chance at all, she'd need her wits.

"So," he continued, "It's been a long time since I had a woman. Never had a wife. But I'm no stranger to women. I just never understood them."

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a drag, and snuffed it out.

"Bad habit. So, here's the deal."

He stood up, and put his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away, to no avail.

"I'm not going to rape you, regardless of your actions tonight. And I'm not going to kill you, as long as you don't deviate from my request. That's it."

"Okay," she said eventually. She didn't feel any relief. "So what are you saying?"

"When I'm with a woman, I always finish. Never had that issue some men got. But the women I was with never did. They faked it, just to be done with me. But they never really did, I could always tell."

"You said--" she started, but he cut her off.

"That I wouldn't rape you. Yes. I'm not requesting that. I'm not even going to touch you."

"Then...what?" Becca was terrified to hear the answer.

"I'm going to take off my clothes. I'll free the hand of your choice. Bring yourself to climax, using only my body as your...inspiration."

It was clearly explained but she still couldn't wrap her head around it.

"But, that's still considered...you're holding me against my will, forcing me to...do that to myself...under threat of death."

"Yup," he said. He spoke flatly as if he sounded completely logical. "But I won't touch you. I won't even do it to myself, though I can't promise I won't get stiff. But that's not the point of it. I need to see a real one, in person."

"Why?"

"I won't be here much longer. Smoking made sure of it. I don't regret much else, but I can't die without being the reason a woman got off, at least once.

"I killed in the war. My soul's already stained. It wouldn't bring me any joy to kill you, but it's the only hand I can play this late in the game. Just don't question that I won't do it if needed. I would.

"But if you do as I ask, without tricking me? I swear on my late mother, and my fallen brothers in arms you'll go free moments later. Alive and unharmed."

"But..." She didn't want to say it, but she couldn't avoid asking the logical question.

"I've seen your face," she said.

"Yup," he said. "But remember? I'm not sticking around long. I won't do the deed today, maybe not tomorrow. But even if you do tell anybody? I'll be dead before anybody finds me."

There was a silence between them for a while. Becca was still scared, but she might survive if she complied. Sadly there was zero guarantee that he was telling the truth.

"Can we talk about this?" she said calmly. The rope dug a tightly into her chubby thighs. "Maybe untie me first? I'd feel more sure if--"

"No," he said firmly. "This is cruel, I know. But I've been honest. This is the only way, the way I've said. And it's time. Choose. I promise I'll make it quick if you choose wrong."

"Okay," she said. She didn't have any other recourse. She had to see this through.

"Good. And don't forget, don't cross me. Don't fake a thing. And no closing your eyes, but blinking's blinking. I need to be the sole reason you finish yourself off-- to this body."

He stood, and began to disrobe. Soon after, he stood before her, stark naked. His body was pale, lanky, and stringy. His ribs showed. His member hung down. It was neither big nor small. His hair was greying.

He wasn't ugly, or frightening in appearance. He just seemed tired all over, every part of him. He was dying, that much was no lie.

"Okay, what hand?" He still held the knife.

"My left," she said quietly.

"Oh, okay," he said, and unwrapped her left forearm slowly. He watched her for any indication of resistance. She remained calm. He stepped back, and set the knife on a table far from her. She noticed her cell phone was on the table as well. Fuck.

Her arm was free. It meant nothing to her remaining freedom, but it was a step.

She paused. The next step was to unbutton her jeans. It was now, or death.

She kept her eyes fixed on him. She reached down. He watched her intently but there was no tangible perversion in his gaze. Just interest. Not that this wasn't beyond psychotic.

The ropes, she realized now, were tied in a way to facilitate access to her pants. It was tight, but she slipped her hand underneath her underwear. She pushed further, and found her clit. Again, she paused.

He stood, watching her, saying nothing.

She realized now the immense pressure to not only become aroused, but to use this old man, who was currently threatening to murder her, as her...muse.

"I'll only speak when you delay things," he said. "but if for any reason you need me to...do anything, just say it."

She hoped he wasn't implying that he get anywhere near her. That would not help anyone.

She didn't respond. She starting rubbing herself. She felt nothing, other than fear, and a surreal awareness of how crazy this really was.

She kept rubbing, feeling nothing, thinking of how she could injure him, or make her escape.

He watched her every reaction.

This wouldn't work. Not while she daydreamed of freedom. Not while she viewed him as a monster.

She gathered herself. She looked away from his expressionless face.

Becca looked over his body again. Nothing was appealing to her. She liked men who ate well, and tried to be active occasionally. Men her age.

Becca...Stop.

She started again. She stared at his soft member. She tried to remind herself how long it had been since she had someone inside her. How it felt. She swirled her finger, trying to tease an arousal out of herself.

Nothing.

"This is..." Becca was on the verge of breaking down. She didn't want to die.

"Difficult," he said. "I knew it would be. What would help it?"

She looked at his stone faced gaze. Then between his legs again.

"If...it was hard," she said in a monotone voice. She hated that it was the truth.

"Okay," he said, as if he expected this request. He reached down and slowly started pulling at himself. He maintained eye contact but somehow it didn't seem vulgar.

She massaged herself as she watched him slowly grow in size. Sure, he was old, psychopathic, and a potential murderer-- but now he had a big dick in his hand.

Becca had hope: there was at least something stirring inside her now.

"Do you want me to stop?" His question wasn't sexual, or a trick. He just wanted to know, for her needs.

"No," she said, still not feeling wet at all. "But, only do it enough to stay like that."

"Understood." He eased off a little.

She kept looking at his now girthy penis. He was circumcised. She focused her mind, as she kept trying to rub one out that might never come.

She wondered why a guy this big had issues giving a woman an orgasm. She didn't know from experience, but she did hear that bigger didn't always mean better. Maybe he wasn't receptive to a woman's--

Becca. For the love of fuck.

"It might help...if I talk. Can I?" She worried he would deny her. She was very verbal in bed. It stopped her from overthinking. She loved mild dirty talk. Tony had taken that too far, calling her some really fucked up shit. But that was over. Maybe it all was.

"You can talk," He said calmly. "Unless you ask me something, I'll be quiet."

"Okay", she said. "I like how big...your penis...is."

She kept staring at his cock. He said nothing. He just watched. Under other circumstances, she would have liked to know how it would feel inside her. It was the only part of him that was appealing in the slightest.

"I've never seen one this big in person." She pressed deeper inside, and found a trace of wetness.

She closed her eyes for a brief second.

"Hey," he warned. She opened them.

"I'm wet. A little. Just so you know." For a half second she forgot where she was. How dire things were. And that this could all end horribly, no matter if she finished or not.

Fuck all that, she thought. Just lose yourself in this. Look at his dick. Tell him how it makes you feel.

"I haven't been with someone in a while," said, trying a new strategy. She had to talk herself off. "I hope the next time I have sex, it's with a dick as big as yours." She dipped into herself again, and applied her increasing wetness to her clit.

Something strange was happening. She was actually getting off by staring at his engorged cock, but she still needed more to get there. And she had an inkling what might do it.

"I'm gonna say some stuff, okay?" she asked, steadily pummeling herself with her middle finger. "And it'll be true. So it might be too honest. But it will help me. It's how I like to get off, by talking."

He tilted his head at her. The look said, tread lightly. But he nodded, and occasionally stroked himself to keep his erection.

"Okay..." Becca said. "I don't want you to fuck me, because you kidnapped me-- and that would be rape. But I'm still going to imagine you fucking me."

He shifted his stance a little, and looked a little surprised. But only for a second, then his expression was back to calm.

"I like guys my age. I've never been with an older man. But I can imagine it. And if we fucked, I'd wanna be on top."

His cock seemed a little fuller, and he let go of it as his hand wasn't needed anymore to stay hard.

Talking this way felt so wrong, like she was rewarding him for threatening her life in return for a sexual display. But really, she was just saying what she needed to say right now, to come. It was all that mattered.

"I'd wanna be on top, cause that's how I like it. I could ride you, and reach my...clit. I like to rub myself while I have sex. I could also ride you at the pace I like.

"I don't know you. I don't know the women you've...known. But if they couldn't get off with your huge dick, they might have had other issues."

Jesus. She was getting wet. She could probably get off quicker if she could just shut her eyes and--

She realized suddenly that what she needed to get further was...

"Your name," she said. "I need it."

"Arthur," he said.

She started staring at his face now. Somehow, she knew this would help it. Getting wet was one thing. Her orgasms with someone else required a connection. She increased her speed, and started inserting her fingers inside herself more often.

"Arthur. I'm going to come to you tonight. This is what you want: a woman to orgasm while getting off to you, alone.

"But you kidnapped me. I hate you for that. You're forcing me to do...this. But even then, part of me sees good things in you."

She inserted a couple fingers in deep.

"Thinking of the good things makes me forget about the bad. Forgetting helps me come faster.

"I don't actually think you'd kill me. I won't take the risk, but if I had to guess, you wouldn't really do it. You didn't force yourself on me. I'm still wearing all my clothes."

Her breathing was quickening.

"You had this hole in your life Arthur, and you need it filled, for closure. I wish I could have fucked you when you were young. I might have told you what I like, what I need to get off. And we wouldn't have to do this in a basement."

Arthur, if that was his name, looked away for a moment. Then he looked back. But something was different. Something too subtle to say.

"Women are confusing," she said. "We don't say what we mean sometimes. What we really want.

"What I want, is for you to come too, Arthur. Come with me."

He didn't react. Maybe he thought this was just talking.

"Arthur," she said, furiously stimulating her clit. "I'm asking."

He raised his eyebrows, and started to touch himself again. This time he held it tightly and started pumping at a quick pace.

"Good," she said. She hated herself right now. But it must be done. "Talk to me. Tell me what you think about me."

Arthur cleared his throat.

"I...always liked a girl with a little meat on her bones." He almost smiled.

"Yeah," she moaned. "More cushion for the pushin' I think they say. What else."

"You are a very beautiful girl-- a woman. If I was young, I'd have been lucky to know you intimately." His breathing increased as well.

Becca, bounded, was getting closer.

"What would you do to me?" she asked.

"I'd let you be on top. But I'd massage your...breasts." His eyes drifted down. Her chest probably looked big even with the hoodie. So he liked tits.

"I like my nipples played with," she said. She was soaking wet. "How close are you Arthur?"

"I'm...gettin' there." He let out a small laugh, and smiled a little.

"Tell me what to say," she said.

Arthur looked at her face again. "Just tell me you think I could have made you happy, as a young man. If things could be different."

She was in the final phase. She would come soon. She could now, but...

"You would have made me come. You're a tall handsome man, and we met at a bar. You liked my curves. I told you my name is Becca. You took me home. You put yourself inside me, and you listened to what I needed.

"I would have fucked you, and you would have fucked me. We would have made each other come, Arthur.

"We can do it now. Together. I want to come with you, Arthur. Say my name."

"Becca," Arthur said in a moan. He was jacking off incredibly fast now.

"Tell me you want me to come, Arthur." She was rapidly flicking her fingers over her clitoris.

"I...need to see you come, Becca. Beautiful, young, Becca. Come."

"Yeah," she moaned, "Come with me. You're making me--"

Becca's orgasm ripped through her in a bolt of electric pleasure. She called out in a melodic moan that seemed to go on forever. She never took her eyes off of Arthur's face.

He only lasted a second after. He too kept his eyes locked on hers, even as he sprayed his seed over the basement floor. He seemed truly happy in that moment, like all the joy he never had in life was returned.

The connection between them reached its climax...and then the moment faded.

She sat there, breathing hard.

He stood there, doing the same.

He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. His lungs sounded raspy and worn out. He exhaled, and looked at her.

"I'm...I'm going to dress. Then I'll untie you." There was a complex look on his face. He seemed both incredibly grateful, and heavily ashamed.

He put on his clothes, and approached her.

She watched with cautious optimism as he started to untie her. He didn't stare at her as he did it.

She sat still, breathing heavy.

He stood back, and let her loosen the ropes herself.

Becca slowly sat up from the chair. Her legs were like jelly, and she struggled to steady her stance.

They stood staring at each other.

"Becca, these are yours." He waved his hand to the items on the table. Her cell phone...

...And the hunting knife.

He stepped away so there was distance between them. He stood in the corner opposite to the stairs.

She stepped briskly towards the table and grabbed the knife. She pocketed her phone too.

"I'm really sorry," Arthur said. "You made me so incredibly happy just now. Because of you, I have no regrets. But I'm sorry about the cost to you, Becca.

"You're right. I wouldn't have harmed you. But I'm still a monster."

Becca stared at him, gripping the blade in her left hand.

"It's your right, to punish me. If you want retribution, I'm ready. But I am...truly sorry."

He hung his head low. He was done.

Becca looked at the stairs. She looked at Arthur. She advanced towards him.

She lifted the knife up.

With all her strength, she plunged it into the table.

Arthur looked up.

"I won't kill you," she said. "I don't hate you enough for that. And as fucked up as this all was...I don't hate you. I feel sorry for you. And..."

She looked into his grey eyes. There was as much an explanation for what she was about to say as there was color in his dull eyes.

"...There's a very small part of me that feels...love for you."