Torture Gift


My abduction took place on a Tuesday morning, after my shower, while coffee was brewing. I stepped outside to fetch the mail, clad only in my fluffy pink bathrobe and cottontail slippers. I was nibbling on a bagel with cream cheese, considering hitting the treadmill after making breakfast for my husband, and didn't notice anything unusual about the tan car that pulled into the driveway other than the fact that it shouldn't be there.

I frowned, juggling an armload of junk mail and my bagel, assuming the driver had made a mistake and had the wrong house. I started walking back towards the door, flicking a glance behind me, watching the car back slowly towards the street. Simple enough, just someone misplaced, and not the first time it had happened.

I reshuffled the mail, held the bagel with my teeth to free a hand for the door knob, and then staggered as a black garbage bag was drawn over my head and arms. I couldn't scream, nearly choking on the bagel. I was held immobile by shock and a strong pair of arms that lifted me off of my feet, tossing me over a hard shoulder, jostling the breath out of my body as I was carried blindly across the lawn.

I spit out the bagel, kicking and fighting to free my arms, trying to get a whole breath to yell for help. I managed half a good scream and then fell, or was dropped, hard into a confining space. There was the unmistakable sound of a trunk lid slamming down around me, that loud click like a promise of doom.

I lay dazed for a moment, stars dancing before my eyes in dizzy fashion, then struggled to get the bag off of my head, smacking my elbows in the process. I screamed, assaulting my own ears in the small space, yelling for help and banging my fists against the truck. The car was moving fast, taking a corner sharply enough to knock me over, banging my head on the floor. I yelled and rubbed the back of my head, my heart pounding so hard I was afraid it would leap through my ribs in an effort to escape. I screamed until my throat started to hurt and wanted to cry.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and pushed against the trunk lid with my legs, straining, then kicking, all to no avail. There was almost no light, so I searched with my hands, trying not to panic, to keep my mind clear. Women got kidnapped. It wasn't always a bad ending. There were tales of women who escaped horrid fates through luck and ingenuity. I tried remembering everything I had read, anything that might help, as I felt around the carpet lined trunk.

Unfortunately, carpet was all I could find, that and the remains of my bagel. I had cream cheese all over my chin, smeared on my robe, and now all over my right hand. For some reason, I giggled. My vanity was offended and it struck me as funny. Panic wanted to take over with a hail of hysterics, all manner of dire situation springing to mind, all the unpleasant things that could happen to me at the mercy of some unknown assailant. I tried to think of positives while rubbing the cream cheese off of my face and hand, smearing it into the rug.

I was not tied up, I had not been hurt, though being dumped into a trunk was going to leave bruises. Whoever had grabbed me had issued no threats, had said nothing at all. Assuming I was in the trunk of the tan car I had seen, as I had not heard it pull away, just saw it backing out of my driveway, I tried to picture the driver.

It had been a man, with dark hair and mirrored sunglasses, wearing dark clothes, but that was as specific as I could recall. I hadn't really looked, thinking nothing of it, and nothing particular about him had stood out. He might have been handsome, he could have been any of a range of ages, there had just not been anything that stuck out about him.

What did he want with me? Had he grabbed me in particular? Had he simply been on my street and decided I looked good? I tried to put myself in a kidnapper's place, see what might have drawn his notice.

My robe was not that appealing, a thick comfy pink cotton that was cut high enough to show off my legs, and belted tightly over my slim waist, but hadn't shown a hint of cleavage and was not indecent in any fashion. If anyone thought my well worn bunny slippers with their floppy ears and white puff tail were enticing, they hadn't mentioned it to me or my husband, who always demanded I throw them away. I had not put on any makeup yet, or done anything with my hair beyond combing it after my shower.

I could think of nothing special about how I looked this morning. Maybe he liked redheads. Maybe any woman out in her yard at that particular moment would have done. Maybe it was the fact I was out in a robe and not dressed. How could I fathom the mind of someone crazy enough to dump a stranger in their trunk and speed off?

The car took another hard turn, I managed not to crack my head again, and then the car slammed to a stop. The engine was turned off. I screamed and start kicking the trunk again.

Something heavy and metallic was struck against the trunk loud enough to scare me. Whoever he was, he had a club of some kind, a metal bat or length of pipe maybe. Was he going to beat me to death? Terror squeezed my throat and I started sobbing.

"Listen very carefully," a deep voice began, muffled a bit by the trunk. "You are going to do exactly as I say, when I say it, or you won't be going home. Ever."

I shivered, the ugly promise filling me with all kinds of horrors. Maybe he wouldn't kill me, or maybe he would, after torture. Maybe he was a rapist. For some reason that calmed me. I didn't want to die. There were many things I could endure, if it meant living long enough to go home to my husband.

"Do you understand, slut?"

I blinked, still scared, but getting a little angry. Why did they always assume that? Men could be such pigs sometimes.

I gasped as something even worse occurred to me. Had he been watching the house? Did he know about my lifestyle, the parties, the swinging? Is that why he had picked me? Because he really did think I was a slut?

Another bang on the trunk. "Answer me, slut. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I hissed, getting angrier. I wiped at my tears and kicked the trunk again, because I didn't think I was going to get to kick him. He might have a knife, a gun, or intend to beat me with that club if I did not do exactly as he wanted.

"Put the bag on your head."

I frowned, puzzled. That seemed very odd. I had seen him, though just briefly. He didn't know that I would not really be able to identify him. It didn't make sense, but I did it anyway, not wanting to find out how I would be punished if I did not. I was effectively blind, which I normally found rather exciting, but this was hardly a game.

The trunk was unlocked, sending a shiver of fear though me. I stiffened as hands moved to my hips and I was pulled up awkwardly, tossed again over a rough shoulder to be carried somewhere. I grunted, trying to breathe while bouncing helplessly. I heard keys in a lock, a door being opened and shut, and the low buzz of a television talk show coming from somewhere.

A million questions ran through my mind, with just as many horrible answers. Tears threatened again but I fought, fought panic, fought the need to start screaming and fighting. I had to know more about what was happening or I might never leave this place alive.

I was carried up a flight of stairs, into a room, and then put on my feet. "Don't move."

I was shaking, apprehension and uncertainty twisting my belly in a knot and making my breath come in harsh pants. I stood as still as I could, my hands balled in fists at my sides, the plastic sucking hotly against my face with my rapid breathing, like a strange bellows. It sort of tickled, making me giggle, a high frightened sound.

Was I hyperventilating? Would I pass out? That seemed a bad idea, though it was appealing. I wouldn't know what had happened to me, would escape for a while into oblivion, helpless to my unknown captor. What was he going to do?

Chair legs scraped the floor to my left, wood scratching wood, and then a rattling metal sound I recognized, the jangle of chains. A thrill of fear shot up my spine and I shuddered. I was going to be chained, shackled, bound by this stranger. Despite the desperation of my circumstances, a little quiver of excitement fluttered in my belly. I honestly couldn't help it, as being trussed up tightly was one of my favorite hobbies.

Something light was thrown at me, a bit of material that hit my chest and slid down to my feet. "Pick it up and blindfold yourself."

I swallowed carefully, bending down to reach blindly, moving my fingers over polished wood floor until I reached a bit of silk, a long scarf very similar to the type my husband was so fond of using on me. I frowned, finding this all very familiar, and wondered if I was dreaming.

Had I actually woken this morning, or was this all just a too real fantasy playing behind my eyes? My head still hurt from hitting the trunk, my elbows too, so I assumed I was awake. I picked up the scarf.

I was an old hand with blindfolds, but had never tried doing it with a bag over my hand, and got a bit tangled, but finally managed to get the scarf rolled and tied in a knot, catching some of my hair while doing so. The harsh yank on my scalp made me gasp, the sharp pain sending an involuntary quiver to my clit. I panted, hot beneath the plastic bag, and getting hotter.

The bag was suddenly yanked away, the rush of air a cool shock after the stifling closeness. I gasped, taking a stumbling step backwards, hitting a wall. Something thin and hard poked me in the throat, tapping lightly at my neck, making me quake.


I shuddered, fear chasing humiliation, and slowly shook my head. The object slapped across my right cheek hard, leaving a sting I have felt before, under better circumstances. It was a crop, long and leather, a tool for punishment and teasing, cool and hard against my skin. Another vicious rap, hard enough to turn my head.

"Strip, slut. Now."

I moved trembling hands down to the sash at my waist, untying it and opening my robe very slowly. He made a rough sound of approval as I slid the robe off of my shoulders, down to fall to the floor. I blushed a little, nude before this kidnapper, feeling his gaze on my pert breasts.

He lowered the crop, sliding the tassel tip down my neck, between my breasts, then up in a figure eight, circling my shivering flesh in a lazy tease, raising goosebumps on my skin. My clit twitched again, responding to the stimulation despite the mad stranger that was causing it.

"Turn around."

I turned, shivering, cold and getting excited. The crop teased up my spine, tickling along my neck and then back down, daring lower at every slow pass, creating a tension that stiffened my muscles. I bit my lip not to moan, moisture growing between my thighs, fear fading on adrenaline and anticipation. The crop dipped between my ass cheeks and I shuddered, swaying on my feet, my ass automatically thrusting against the tool, increasing the pressure on my sensitive flesh.

He made another grunt of approval, slapping the crop across my cheeks, leaving a hot sting that made me pant. Again, and again, hard slaps, sharp stabs of pain that tickled straight to my clit, pouring lust between my legs as my ass wiggled under the assault. Harder and harder, my cheeks growing hot and red, the bite of the crop engorging my pussy lips with rampant desire.

"Now slut, on your knees, facing me."

I turn and drop, my pussy drenched, my chest heaving. I had an idea of what he wanted, expecting to hear a zipper or buttons being undone. Instead, that chair scraping again, as it was dragged over to me. Gloved hands grabbed my wrists and jerked me to my feet. I was then shoved at the chair, bumping my knees against it.

"Up, on your knees, and lean over the back."

He shoved my hands down onto the chair, so I could feel what I was doing, and I crawled very carefully up onto the hard seat. I leaned forward with caution, draping myself over the rail back that dug painfully into my ribs. He used a rubber paddle on my ass, hard and fast, spanking me into the unforgiving chair.

I moaned, my knees stinging with every swat, my breasts slapping against the chair back as I leaned to meet every whack and was driven forward by his strike, back and forth. Slap, slap, slap. My ass was so hot, my pussy so wet, my mind reeling at the turn of events.

He tossed the paddle away and just that suddenly I was yanked off of the chair and shoved face down on a bed. I screamed, pushing myself up, and he landed on top of me, naked against my back, jerking my thighs apart. I whimpered, feeling his hands roughly rubbing over my sopping pussy, his hard cock pulsing against my throbbing ass.

"Is this what you want, slut? To be fucked? To be a piece of meat?"

I shook my head viciously, though the idea thrilled me. To be helpless, to be taken by a stranger, to be fucked bloody by some uncaring male that I would never see again. It was dirty and wicked and so arousing that I moaned, shuddering under his hands, gritting my teeth not to scream 'yes, take me, fuck me, abuse me.'

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back. "Do you want it, slut, filthy tart? You want to be fucked like an animal?"

I spit in his face, knowing it would make him angry, counting on it. He roared and shoved my face into the mattress, leaning back to slap my ass so hard I saw stars. He grabbed my hips, yanking me up, and slammed his hard dick into my pussy, making me scream. He pounded me without mercy, ramming my insides, his fingers digging into my waist to harder cram my body onto his. I screamed and bucked and loved it.

He pulled out suddenly and forced his cock into my ass without warning, pain ripping across my delicate hole as he butchered his way inside, slamming against my ass like a beast in rut. I wailed, biting my lips, my pussy throbbing, my ass filled and on fire. He crashed into my hole as though he planned on ripping me apart.

It hurt so much, felt so right, and I shrieked as I came, wave after wave of masochistic bliss forcing my shaking body to give up its juices to that rutting savage that pounded my ass. He bucked away, then jerked out to come all over my heaving ass, pouring hot spurts of cream onto my quivering flesh to drip in gooey trails between my legs. I shuddered under him, basking in the heat of my sick little secret come to life.

Someone started clapping, and then I heard a voice I knew and loved, shocking me with the realization that I had not really been kidnapped at all. "Did you enjoy yourself, honey?"

I laughed, surprise and joy washing through me as I moved to push the blindfold away, turning my head to see my husband in the doorway. He was grinning, and naked, sporting an erection that was very pleased to see me in such a state. "You did this," I accused with astonishment, my voice hoarse from all the screaming.

He nodded, reaching down to stroke himself, fire lighting his eyes. "I found your diary. You're a very naughty girl not to have shared your little idea."

I blushed, grinning. If this was going to happen with every fantasy I had, I was going to have to write down a few more, and leave my little secrets where they would be found. I looked at the man behind me, grinning, his dick still dripping come on my ass, then over at my hubby, calmly stroking his throbbing cock.

"I heard chain earlier," I said, not sounding innocent at all, though I pouted prettily. "It would be such a shame to waste it."

My 'assailant' reached to pull my blindfold back down before yanking my hair again. "On your knees, slut. We're not finished yet."

I shivered deliciously, my clit still swollen, and pushed myself eagerly onto all fours. The bed creaked as my husband moved to take his partner in crime's position behind me, slapping my ass with appreciation. He smeared a little cum into my aching hole before filling my ass with his dick and reaming my insides.

I had been naughty indeed, and it felt so good. I couldn't wait to put it all in my diary, the best surprise I had ever gotten.

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