Harvested

They lead me out of the room and into the back of a van and close the doors and the van starts driving.

"Next to your right hand is a key. Free yourself!" shouts one of them through the thin wall separating the cab from the cargo space where I am.

I unlock the handcuffs, remove the hood and cuffs around my feet.

I look around, the van do not have windows in the back, and it is completely dark.

"Get out!" shouts one of them as the van stops.

I open the back door and jump out. The back door slams shut and the van speed away.

Too shell shocked to notice anything about the van I registered that it rounded the corner and disappeared.

Then I am here, in the same alley as on Friday night. It is now Sunday night.

I walk home while my mind race.

Had I been kidnapped?

Was it rape?

Apart from a few electric shocks and a sore ass and a slightly sore dick, I had not suffered anything particularly physical.

Will anyone believe me, and what will people say if I told anyone?

I decide not to tell anyone and just get over it. But I don't think I can ever forget this weekend.

After three months, there was a note in the mailbox.

No sender, no stamp.

Only my name and message:

"3 of 3. Thank you very much. No strings attached

Regards

The Three Ladies"

I must admit when I am at the mall or other public places I look extra closely every time I see three mothers with children.

As far as I know, we may have met, but I have no idea.

But they know who I am, because I got a drink in a bar, just like the ones I drank at the bar the night I was used.

This was a couple of years after the incident.

The bartender served it to me and said it was a small thank you from a lady in the room who wanted to remain anonymous. I looked around the room for a long time, but no one looked back or was seemed affected by the fact that I was looking at them.

Why I did not resist more, you might ask.

I do not have a good answer to that.

One valid point is that I like to be objectified and used.

I think maybe I would have agreed to it voluntarily, if I was asked in advance.

But the experience would probably not have been nearly as intense if I knew those who used me, knew what was going to happen and how everything was going to be.