Stolen Pleasures Ch. 01

Author's Note: The following is a (heavy) CNC story in several parts.

Each chapter is themed around one or more kinks/fetishes.

At the time of writing, I am still finishing up segments of the story, and they will be uploaded (hopefully) over the course of a month or two. I am aiming at four to five installments, though I will not rule out further chapters in the future. Feel free to contact me to show support and encouragement for future installments.

A noise came to her as if from a long way away, but she didn't stir from her sleep. It was deep, the deepest of sleeps, where all was dark and silent and not even a dream was there to distract her from her slumber. It seemed to slip away from her as she pondered how deep and perfect it had been, for even thinking of it had set the cogs of her brain slowly turning. She tried to stop them, to discard thought, and to let herself sink back into that thoughtless abyss, but for some reason her mind betrayed her and willed her to think and to function.

She made a light noise of disapproval and turned her head to bury her face in cool pillows and to dive back beneath those deep, dreamless waves of unconsciousness. But no cushion met her cheek; instead, her head lolled into nothingness. She gave a grunt of annoyance and went to turn on her side in the opposite direction, but found she couldn't. Once again, her head swung and met no pillow, and her legs caught up in the sheets, forcing her to wiggle them uncomfortably.

She tried once more to embrace sleep, even though that deep dreamless state had fled, she fancied she could at least snooze lightly and let her unconscious mind idly dream.

Her neck ached, but with a third turn of the head, she still couldn't find her pillow. It was no good; she would never sleep with her head dangling off the mattress and her legs all tangled in her bedding.

She pouted and made a final 'hmph' of annoyance. Still, taking a trip to the bathroom and a swing by the kitchen for snacks to eat in bed wouldn't be so bad.

Before she knew it, she'd be tucked back in bed with a freshly plumped pillow and covers settled snugly about her.

With a yawn, she raised her arms to stretch and to rub her tired eyes, or at least tried to, for her arms stayed tightly at her sides.

Confusion flooded her sleepy brain. She couldn't move from where she lay. No, from where she sat, for she felt certain she was upright.

She shifted her body but ended up in exactly the same place. For a second or two more, her mind fumbled for understanding, but then she came to her senses, and a sick dread coiled within her like a well of roiling black smoke.

Something was wrong.

It took a conscious effort to gain control of her body; she felt sluggish and weak. With pure force of will, she made herself open her eyes.

Lifting her lids was like bench-pressing a heavy weight; it took considerable focus and effort. As they opened, she felt blinded, though wherever she sat, it was quite dim. Even so, her surroundings seemed too bright, and her vision was cloudy and unfocused.

She closed her eyes a few times to clear them, and yet more force of will was needed to open them again each time.

When she could see, she peered around with a bleary gaze and took in her surroundings.

She found that she couldn't make sense of things further away; she couldn't seem to focus on anything.

Her chin dropped to her chest as she sleepily hung her head and decided to start closer to home.

She was sitting in a chair, or a similar contraption, at least. On either side was a toothed wheel, with what was presumably an axel that ran beneath the seat. The seat itself wasn't very large, as the tops of her thighs rested on it, but her buttocks seemed to be unsupported.

Her legs disappeared below and rested on a step, but moving each leg in turn revealed that she was probably strapped in place. Her wrists were also clasped at her sides, leather straps wrapping around and binding them to the armrests. Tightened around her waist was an unyielding leather belt, to which was clipped harness straps that ran up over her shoulders to clip securely to the seat behind her. And around her neck she felt the cool touch of a metal ring, like a solid metal band.

Even had she not felt so weak, she did not believe she could have forced them to release her, for all of the bindings were thick and sturdy.

As her eyes focused, she realised she was in a simple, unfurnished room. The floor was made of simple, roughly-hewn slabs of stone. The walls were blank and windowless, made of heavy stone, and whitewashed. If there was a door, it must've been behind her, for the three walls she could see held none.

Apart from her chair, the only things she could see were tripods, one on either side and one in front.

With great effort, she forced her head up and looked straight ahead. The tripod in front of her held a camera, and she looked at it in puzzlement, mesmerised by the steady, pulsing red light.

Above it sat a wide-screen television, though it was blank and held no picture but her fuzzy image reflected from its black surface.

She was being filmed. That thought came to her slowly, as if it were being pushed desperately forwards from the back of her mind. She wondered at that, something deep inside screamed at her to pay attention, but god she was tired. She needed a few moments more sleep, she was sure she could make sense of it all if she was allowed just a little more rest.

A noise came from far away as it had before the first time she woke, and after a minute or perhaps an hour, she responded, dragging her head back upwards.

She had fallen asleep again, but this time as she woke, she felt at least slightly more alert. She didn't open her eyes immediately, that still felt like too much effort. Instead she listened again for the noise that had woken her.

She became aware of more noises--not the regular and rhythmic noises of machines or processes unknown, but the natural intermittent sounds made by someone at work. To what they were working, she couldn't say, but from behind her, she could hear the odd clatter, occasional step, and general everyday noises of someone going about their business.

That set alarm bells ringing, and for that coiling black dread in her stomach to writhe again.

Where was she? What was going on?

Why was she bound? WHO HAD BOUND HER?

She tried to remember what she had been doing before. Then, all of a sudden, she remembered him.

Oh, she had been so silly, flying to a different country and meeting a stranger.

It was obviously not just men who got themselves into stupid situations by listening to their dicks. She'd listened to her pussy. It had tingled so delightfully at his words, and she'd followed it so eagerly, imagining that beard brushing her thighs as he ate it. Now was strapped down, and if she didn't do something, she'd probably end up as the focus of a grisly news story. Not to mention with all her organs winging their way around the world to new owners.

With an energy that had eluded her before, she shook her arms and legs, but even with newfound vigour, had no effect on lessening them.

The black leather was fastened by strong, shining metal buckles and pierced by sturdy pins. She did not think that she could have broken through then if she had been at full strength, or even with a few dedicated weeks of weightlifting and fitness training. She certainly would have no effect on the belt. Even if she had freed her arms, its clasps were out of sight, likely at her back. No amount of clawing, bending, or pulling would dislodge it, whether she had use of her hands or not, for it was in all appearances similar to a wrestler's trophy belt, wide, heavy, and missing only the shining medals. The harness straps alone were the only parts of her bindings she thought she'd be able to break, but even then, only with the use of her hands.

She began to jerk about in her seat, desperate to loosen any of her bonds or to find a weakness in them she could exploit, but all she succeeded in doing was tire herself further.

And to make a lot of noise.

Silence greeted her, but it was not the silence born of the absence of sound, but the silence of a breath held expectantly, of someone stopping to listen.

There was a clatter of something being dropped or discarded, then the slow, steady pace of footsteps approaching her. Those steps were like adrenaline injections; each one pumped another dose of fiery panic into her blood.

The natural shake that had begun in her hands increased to the point where she was frantically yanking her wrists back and forth until her skin chaffed and burned. She tightened the muscles in her legs, planted her feet firmly on the step, and forced herself upwards so that the braces at her ankles cut into her flesh and the band about her stomach gripped her like a vice.

She knew that she'd already been heard, and she did nothing to limit the noise of her struggles. And she realised too, that just as much noise had begun to escape her lips.

She whimpered pathetically, and as his footsteps drew ever closer, she began the panicked squeal made by a prey animal when it is cornered by a predator. Her fear reached such a height, that by the time he stood next to her, she thought she might pass out.

He shushed her gently, hands playing with the curled locks that danced about her shoulders. And finally, her face found a cushion on which to rest when his arm wrapped around her and he laid his palm against her cheek.

Helplessly, she eased into it, laying herself against it, panting and exhausted.

'Shhhh' he said again,'shhh, there.' And for a moment or two, he simply caressed her cheek and hushed her.

'Don't tire yourself out. As I'm sure you've guessed, I had to make certain that you'd sleep long and deep when I spiked you. You've had enough sedatives to knock me out, so no doubt you're feeling tired.'

His thumb continued caressing her cheek as he spoke, almost whispering the words.

'Now that you're awake, we--that is to say, I--can begin. And given that I've waited for you to wake up, I'm sure you might've guessed that I don't want you to pass out again. I want you to be awake and present for everything.' He continued.

'Please' she wanted to beg, but the words barely escaped her lips.

He hushed her again as he reached into his jacket pocket. She laid her head to the side in time to see him remove a small remote, which he clicked towards the screen.

Her fuzzy vision had settled enough that she could see the screen divided into five panels, three of which showed feed from the tripods at her sides and front. The last two panels were blank.

She could see herself looking back through the screen with wide eyes. The harness straps that fed over her shoulders pressed her breasts together and pulled her top tightly over them.

She could finally see the leather braces that bound her legs and, for the first time, realised that she wore no pants, only the small set of underwear she'd chosen. She had been so caught up in her situation, not to mention doped up, that she hadn't even realised it before.

And her mind swam with images of him stripping the lower half of her garments from her body. She wondered what else he had done to her when she lay vulnerable and unaware. But then his recent words came back to her: 'I want you to be awake and present for everything.'

Through the television, she watched him pocket the remote in the black suit jacket he wore. The level of the camera and his height made it so that she couldn't see his eyes; she could only see his lips as he spoke.

'This recording is so that I can enjoy what's going to happen over and over.' He said, his voice husky and low as his spare hand reached around to purposefully squeeze her chest.

She watched him grope her in real time and saw his hands closing around her breasts, even as you felt his fingers gripping and massaging her.

'But I realise that people will miss you now that you've gone missing. I wouldn't want them to think you were dead and to fret, so we can send your loved ones a copy of this video. They'll, of course, have to watch everything that happens to you, but at least they'll know you're alive'.

His hand bit painfully into the flesh of her chest then, and the other left her cheek to grab her hair and yank her head to the side painfully, forcing a cry from her.

His face came down to her ear, and through clenched eyes, she saw that he wore a half mask above his beard, black and sinister.

'So you can relax; you're not going to die. I have far too many uses for you, and every single sickening one of them requires you to be alive.' And with that, he planted a mocking kiss on her cheek.

'I'm not going to kill you, but that's where my mercy ends. I'm sure it will be a great comfort to them to know that you're only getting fucked and abused. I'm sure they'll sleep soundly knowing that you live to be my slave, to spend your days having your pretty body raped over and over.'

She gasped, a foolish exhalation of air that only seemed to amuse him.

'That's right, my silly little toy. Before the day is over, I'll have brutally pumped a load inside you. And by the end of the week, you'll wish that I'd treated you so sweetly on all of the days after that.'

When he'd finished cooing those grim words in her ear as sweetly as if he were telling her how he planned to wine and dine her, he reached forward and took hold of the cute shirt she'd chosen for their first meeting.

With two hands, he gripped the fabric so that it pulled hard against her heavy chest. One swift, fluid downward motion made it bite into the flesh at her shoulders.

A ripping noise filled the room, and the beautiful fabric tore. His hands drew the material down and outward, much in the fashion of a superhero, revealing the shining emblem of their costume.

Instead, as the fabric frayed into threads, her breasts in the cute matching lingerie bra she wore spilled out. He yanked the material of her top with such gleeful force that it tore straight to the navel, and she watched her breasts jiggle in the cups.

This time, when he grabbed them, she could see the soft flesh of her chest bulge between his fingers as he cruelly squeezed. She winced pitifully in pain as he clawed his way down her body so that she caught sight of her areola as the bra peeled away before pinging back into place.

So many emotions had been playing across her face; she had watched them all on the screen before her as each flickered over her features in a flurry.

But she saw the moment of red-hot shame that swept across her visage as she imagined her friends and family watching this video.

She couldn't begin to imagine what else they would see. No, that wasn't true. She could guess some of it, at least. He had been very open about his desire for her. He had also been extremely candid about what he wanted to do to her.

How many times had he obsessed over her body? How many times had he told her how he had wanted to use her? How many times had she urged him to tell her his fantasies? To tell her how he imagined having her body as his toy, how he wanted to use her like a whore.

While she touched herself, she had willed him to describe in excruciating detail all of the ways he wanted to touch her. Kiss her. Eat her. Fuck her.

Like a silly little slut, she had crammed her fingers deep inside herself while he plainly admitted all of the designs he had planned for her. Though she was only now beginning to realise the full scope of his depravity, She discarded that thought almost immediately. She had been willing--more than willing--to fulfil his fantasies. She had come willingly, eagerly, and happy to complete them, to give in to everything he desired. What more could he want? In what ways could he wish to use her that she hadn't already agreed to?

Once more, she berated herself for thinking with her pussy, and bit her lip in frustration at it. Even now, as she sat bound and helpless, it taunted her with her stupidity. She felt the excited tingle between her legs, the fluttering sensation of betrayal.

'Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?' She moaned to herself.

'Yes, what have you gotten yourself into?' He replied, and only then did she realise she'd spoken aloud.

She shook her head. Not out of dismay but to wake herself up. She still felt like she was sailing through clouds.

She may have been shaken to her senses by the realisation of her situation, but she still wasn't fully in control of herself. She was aware of her surroundings and at least cognizant of the fact that she was strapped to a chair in a dungeon? But she still felt high. She swam--no, she drowned in a sea of dreams. Everything was real--so terrifyingly real--yet she felt buoyed upon ethereal clouds. Her vision swam again as she became overcome with reality.

'Do you want to know what you've gotten yourself into?' He asked, and she was dragged earthward by his deep voice.

Grounded by him, anchored into the frightening reality of his deep voice.

Though his words were almost as heady and intoxicating as the drugs he had flushed into her system.

The remote was swiped back out of his pocket, and with a press of his thumb, the fourth panel on the screen flicked on.

She peered at it, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Then it came to her, she was looking up at the two globes of her ass cheeks. Somewhere below her, beneath the chair, sat a fourth camera. She felt further heat sear her cheeks as she realised how intimate the shot was. The seat had been short, she knew. It supported her upper thighs, and her ass hung over the edge. But from what she could see, not just her ass cheeks were visible. If it were not for the pretty fabric of her underwear, her asshole and pussy would've been exposed to that camera.

Once again, she felt the sear of blood flush her cheeks. She'd always been embarrassed at displaying herself to him, though she had willingly shown him so many things while they were long distance.

And though she could not be called prudish or prim, she still looked away in embarrassment whenever she caught a look of herself in the camera as she did something slutty to please him. It was one thing to see herself in compromising positions, another to imagine him touching himself while he watched her fulfil his requests. But quite another to imagine others seeing.

Would he send such a video? And to who? What would they see?

Her pussy betrayed her again, and her mind was flooded with the image of his thick shaft splitting her open. With so many cameras, all she could imagine was her face contorted with fear and pleasure while he forcefully crammed himself inside her.

Her mind shied away from imagining her flatmate getting such a video. Or worse, a family member.

Image after image assailed her mind. Him wrapping up her hair in his grip as he forced that shaft to the back of her throat, her family watching as she choked and spluttered on it, foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth. She couldn't help but think of her cries of anguish as he beat and used her. Their shame at watching her being stretched open and inseminated.

He began to move, forcing her mind away through a multitude of assaulting images.

He had barely slipped the remote back in his pocket before he set about a new task. His long-fingered hands deftly worked the metal pin from its slot at the side of the chair. As soon as it was out, she felt unsteady in her seat, as if balancing on an uncertain ledge. The pin had held her level, but with it released, he took the backrest of her seat in his grip and pushed her forward.

With it attached to the axel beneath her, she swung earthwards, with all the nauseating motion of tipping over the edge of the highest drop of a rollercoaster. She found herself dangling in a position not unlike being on all fours, though she was held several feet up in the air by the straps that bound her.