The Ride Home Pt. 02

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Would you ride with a stranger?
2k words
4.33
19.6k
5

Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 08/15/2015
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Hello peeps! As ever, let me know what you think - good, bad or indifferent. It really makes the world of difference to me. But let's get on with it and see where Trixie wakes up...

*****

Sensation was the first thing to come back: it came like a hammer swing.

I could feel the cold of the chair under me, the temperature in the room just above icy and oh God, the pain behind my eyes, making my lids heavy, and pounding at the base of my skull. I tried to lift my hand to touch the wound...and the feel of the smooth, cold bindings against my wrists come into sharp focus. I freeze, panic ripping through me. What happened? Where the hell was I? Memory starts to drip back; the nightmarish taxi journey, the struggle on the pavement, the desperate flight, all snapshots drifting through my mind like frames from a horror movie.

I stay as still as a statue, straining for a sound in the darkness. I know I can't open my eyes yet but I need some clue as to what is going on. There's dead silence, rustling in the distance, creaks of a building settling in the cold and a sense of...space.

The final memory snaps into place, the realisation I'd had just before losing everything, the knowledge that I'd been picked out for some reason, followed, watched and finally taken. The silence makes me break down at last, and with images of serial killers going through my mind, I start to thrash and buck, losing my sanity, desperate to get away.

"That's not going to help, you know? I've had some practice at this," an amused chuckle whispers in my ear. The sound so close cuts through me and I try to moan out but I realise that there's a tightness around my mouth, one that pulls and tears when I try to speak.

"Now, you really inconvenienced me when you tried to get away earlier, much as I enjoyed the attempt. However, I now don't have nearly as much time to play with you as I would have liked, and you will have to pay for that," the voice states implacably in my other ear. Something cold and metallic trails up one side of my body and stops at the strap of my top. I try not to breathe, my eyes finally obeying my mind's screamed command to open.

Light pierces in, redoubling the pain and I flinch involuntarily, causing the knife to dig into my shoulder slightly under my strap.

"Good girl, anticipating what it is I want," he laughs as he slides the knife through the strap. The left side of my top gapes open, exposing the strapless bra I had picked out with so much care just a few hours before.

I squint, letting my eyes adjust, adrenaline roaring through me while I try to make sense of what is happening. Slowly, images come into focus.

I see a concrete floor, pitted and cracked, a few dead leaves strewn across it. Breezeblock walls in the distance, dark and shadowed. I try to see a door, see where the outside and safety must lie, but I can't find one.

I turn my head, skull throbbing still from the blow but there's no one behind me. Head whipping round, oblivious to the pain, I search for the one that has done this to me but I see nothing. Looking down, I see what it is that I'm tied to.

Concrete dust coats the floor around the base of the chair, heavy duty rivets holding the steel sheet of the base to it. Two clamps on either side of the legs hold them shackled, slightly open and fastened with heavy duty padlocks. My wrists are bound in the same way to the arms of the steel contraption. The whole chair is tipped at a 45 degree angle to the floor, making it difficult to lean forward.

Tears leak from the corner of my eyes as I contemplate how well I've been trapped and caged. My blonde hair falls across my face as I slump back against the chair.

"You know, if you do well tonight, I may release you from the chair, give you a more sporting chance to get away...you'd like that, wouldn't you?" A face swims into focus, the body leaning back against the corner of a table.

"You can still nod, and I do expect you to acknowledge me when I talk to you." I nod and pretend to choke on the tape that is covering my mouth. The man comes closer and I see that same dark hair, curly and windswept above a very ordinary face, hazel eyes contemplating me solemnly. Surely men like this should have faces like monsters, rather than one you wouldn't mind flirting with to relieve the boredom of a working week?

He takes the tape off slowly, enjoying my discomfort as the glue reluctantly pulls away from my skin. I look him straight in the eye and spit in his face. My head explodes as he casually backhands me and my skull bounces off the back of the chair. I moan in pain as the room threatens to go dark again but I'm wrenched back into consciousness by the feel of the knife against my cheek. He hunkers down next to me and whispers,

"I told you in the taxi that I would be more than happy to shut you up if you didn't do as I said; you then kicked me, ran away from me and spat in my face. Consider this your last warning, or instead of remembering me for years to come whenever you look in the mirror, I will be forced to use these." My eyes drift to the plastic disposal bags he holds in his hands and my whole body goes rigid, my mind screaming in confusion and terror.

"Yes, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't kill me," I manage to force out.

"Yes, you'll do as I want and you'll enjoy yourself doing it," he responds. My mind reels in shock. How could he ever imagine I would enjoy anything with him, in this place, on pain of death? Seeing my expression of revulsion he chuckles in a surreally cheery way, the kind of chuckle you get when you've made a particularly good joke. "You'll be surprised at what you'll like my dear when you set your mind to it."

He walks out of view again around the back of the chair, and I feel his hands come round from behind and sweep my hair out of my face, surprisingly tender as he gathers every last stray lock, then twisting it round his fist he pulls it sharply down, pinning my head to the back of the seat. He lets go of my hair, but it doesn't release from the clamp he has put it in. I lie there, panting with fear, wondering why he has stretched my neck out, visions of the knife he has threatened to use on me tonight floating through my head.

He walks back to the chair with the knife in his hand and I shrink back as far as I can, hair pulling against my scalp, trying desperately to get my neck as covered as I can. He chuckles again and walks around me, admiring me before snapping my top's other strap.

He slowly cuts through the thin material of my top, exposing my breasts to the cold, nipples instantly hardening in the breeze through my bra. Trailing the knife up my stomach, he stops at the front clasp of my bra and flicks through it. I gasp as my nipples harden even more in the sudden rush of cold air. He lets my breast hang by its own weight off the flat of the blade, letting me see in his eyes that he'd be happy to turn the blade, happy to hear me scream.

His hand shoots out and grips the other nipple, twisting cruelly and I try to stifle a whimpering noise at the pain that radiates out. I try to get away from the touch, writhing around his finger, oblivious to the pain in my scalp, and he slaps my breast sharply, once, twice. I moan with the stings and try to stay still. I can see that he is enjoying this control over me, that he's enjoying having me here, his to play with as he wishes, despite what I might want.

Walking round to the back of my chair, he whispers in my ear,

"Seeing you trussed up like that, hating me, is doing wonders for my mood girl, and you're going to help my mood get even better. If I feel teeth, or think you're going to bite down, you'll be signing your own death warrant."

Just as suddenly his breath on my ear is gone and I can hear the sound of buttons popping. When he comes back, he is naked from the waist down and his erection is hard and thick. He moves towards my tilted head and I futilely try to move back again, away from what he wants me to do. He pulls my hair tighter in the clamp and brings the knife to my throat.

"Just remember what I said girl, don't take this and it's your death, not mine." I plead with him with my eyes to stop, but he just grins and moves closer, pushing his cock into my mouth.

"I want to feel your tongue on me girl, get that tongue out," he barks. I try to push my tongue out of my mouth and lick round him as his shaft gets buried into my mouth over and over again. Tears drip from my eyes as I try to imagine that I'm anywhere else than in this warehouse having my mouth fucked by a total stranger.

His movements get stronger and surer and I stop being able to breathe as my air pipe is blocked by his cock. Moaning deep in my throat, I try to scream to let him know that I can't breathe. My throat muscles constricting around his cock just excites him further and his spare hand goes to my exposed nipples.

He starts to twist and pinch, moving even further into my throat. The pain stops me from blissfully passing out and with every buck of my hips, I can feel the knife digging further into the tender flesh of my throat. I can hear his own moans now through my own choking gurgles, my gorge rising as he swells inside my mouth.

Slamming into me, he finally stops looking down at my discomfort as he follows his own pleasure. I feel his balls getting harder on my chin, contracting as they get ready to shoot their load into me. I can't breathe, my eyes sting and my throat is bruised beyond repair. I hear his ragged gasps as he pushes himself into me to his hilt, while I flail, not caring about the knife at my throat any more, trying to get him out of me, trying to breathe, to live.

His first load of sticky sour cum slides down my throat, burning the tender skin. He rocks more gently and takes himself out of me, allowing the last few strands of cum to spurt gently over my face. I lie still, gasping for air, tears rolling down my face in a steady stream.

He trails his fingers down my body, while I lie motionless. "You hated every moment of that didn't you?" he says with a smirk on his face, fingers still trailing. I shoot him a look of pure malice and croakily retort, "Of course I did."

His finger travel down past my hips until they reach my thighs. Pushing up my skirt, he slips two fingers inside my panties and gently strokes my clit before sliding them inside me. I stiffen, denying the heat that is starting in my groin. Pulling them back out again, he shows me his hand covered in my juices. Bringing it to my face he forces my mouth open so that I can taste myself on his fingers.

"Does that taste like you hated it?", he smiles cruelly down at me, buttons himself up and walks out of the room, switching the lights off and leaving me bound, with the taste of my own juices on my tongue and the feeling of shame and confusion chasing each other round my head.

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Many_MemoriesMany_Memoriesover 8 years ago
Payback is a BITCH!

He will make a mistake, and when he does, SHE will turn more than the tables on him! I REALLY want to see her come out on top!

thelaughingcatthelaughingcatover 8 years agoAuthor
Consequences are fun...

...would you take that chance with a knife to your throat, while fully restrained? If you would, you are braver than me! Consequences were fully thought through, apologies if that was not clear enough!

MasterfuljimMasterfuljimover 8 years ago
Yup

Definitely one sick guy and well written too. The anal part of me says she's seen his face and he's brought the body bag so she is going to die anyway, so what's to lose by not biting off his cock. We shall see.

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