Jane speeds away, squealing her tires as though she’s reminding me of who she is. Then I’m beyond her, thinking of Nicholas, wondering if by chance he got home early from his meeting. As I put the car in gear, I feel a shuffle behind me in the rear seat, and realize that someone is breathing down my neck.
“Don’t move,” I hear the gravelly voice, unsure whether to trust my intuition and hope it’s my stranger or scream bloody murder.
I feel the heavy hand around my neck. My neck’s so small, this man’s fingers easily enclose the circumference in their grasp. “Don’t look in the mirror. And don’t turn around,” he whispers softly. I’m still not sure of his voice. Though I think I smell the stranger’s scent, I wonder if I’m just kidding myself this time. His grasp grows tighter. I want to struggle, but the more I resist his efforts the more I’ll feel the steel of his hand squeeze and send my heartbeat out of control. My eyes are about to tear when he speaks next.
“Don’t panic, Ellen Laurey,” he whispers more and slowly my alarm subsides—though not the grip on my throat. He holds me to the back of the seat with terrifying zeal even for my determined stranger. I’m aware only that there’s something in one hand. Then the smell and sensation of metal replace his hot fingers. The collar around my neck surprises me, steel on the outside, lined with something soft as velvet within. The familiar smell of leather escapes me with this unbending piece. It’s something new for Ellen Laurey and I wonder what it looks like around my neck. But then, I’m too scared to defy him by glancing in the mirror.
I feel the sound of metal striking metal, a leash attached to hold me steady and the tight grasp of his fingers loosen as I sense him backing off.
“Drive,” he orders.
The car’s been running the whole time, idling on fear just like my churned up insides. Putting the T-bird in gear, he adds, “Carefully.”
The stranger has me drive deeper into the bowery by the shoreline, then into the bowels of this riffraff neighborhood. I suspect thugs around every corner but this night is quiet and the streets are vacant. When he has me turn into a littered alley, I believe our destination is close, but then as we continue the circuitous journey, I wonder if he’s just trying to mix me up. When he finally orders me to stop, I feel a blindfold go over my eyes, and I have still not seen my captor. Even though I’m sure that it’s the stranger I know so well, I haven’t laid my eyes on him to confirm that fact. I remain petrified by thoughts that suggest I’ve been duped by a master with even greater talents for drama than Nicholas Riley.
Pulled from the car, I stumble at the stranger’s side, as we make our way through the alley. His hand is at my ass, not my back, guiding me with fingers that shove me forward and probe me privately every time we make a turn. At some moment, we pass through a doorway going into the interior of a building. I imagine a deserted factory similar to the abandoned basement. Moving deeper into what feels like a vast empty space, he jerks my leash, and though the collar is smooth at its edges, it feels as though it will cut right through my skin. I feel so bound and alone in the darkness. Deeper, and the air is stale. Something rancid catches my attention and I wince instinctively. I’m afraid to move forward, suddenly finding the vast walls have closed in on me and I’m walking through some narrow corridor that grazes my arm.
There are stairs, steep ones that make me hold tight to the stranger’s side. I can hardly grasp this scene. Panic strikes fiercely. I wonder if it’s the stranger that loves me or a man of evil intentions that won’t let me live beyond this night. I wish that just once more he’d call me Ellen Laurey. Then, I think I’d know for sure.
After a flight of stairs leading downward, we’re on a trek upward that goes on so long that my thighs ache and I think we’re heading toward heaven. With such an ascent, I wonder if I can be in any danger attaining such holy heights. At the end of the endless stairway, I hear the stranger open a metal door and we step from the dank and musty vacancy of the building the into a cool bath of fresh air. I’m bewildered by the smell of trees and the feel of something soft at my feet. The air is much more brisk and clarified than just plain city air—it’s lovely. For a moment I think I’ve stepped into a garden, or, reminded of the acres of trees that surround the A-frame, I’ve just entered the fragrance of a forest.
My panic subsides even more feeling myself in this unknown dream of paradise. And still, I know I’ve only gone through a fraction of my trial. Swiftly, the stranger removes my clothes and I’m naked. There’s a mouth at my pussy, sucking me there. A womanly mouth and womanly hands have my dormant body blossoming with one sexual desire leaping on another. I churn against the woman’s fondling, wishing I could feel her hair with my hands. That becomes impossible, as other hands grab for pieces of my flesh, and I feel a thick leather corset go around my waist. Cinched tightly, I can hardly breath. There’s no sign, or feel or smell of the stranger anymore. All the attention I receive now comes from other strangers with hands I’ve never known. There are three, perhaps, four or five, it’s so hard to tell. I hear them speak to me in hushed whispers, telling me that I’m their slave and theirs to abuse.
“I hope you’ll survive this night,” one purrs in my ear, the tone harsh. “I’ll be rough on you and you won’t like it at all.” The woman behind this voice slaps my cunt hard enough to sting and I gasp aloud. “Lay her against the rack and bind her,” she speaks fiercely as she shoves me sightlessly toward another pair of hands that take on my binding.
I feel myself lowered to a cross bar and post that are barely adequate to rest my back and limbs. These rapists don’t seem to care that I’m teetering on the edge of falling. I’m sure they know I’ll stay put once they have my waist and wrists and ankles bound fast to the wood beneath me. When I feel hands playing with my labia, the last sensation I expected is a bright and painful throbbing burst of agony, as though something’s pierced the flesh. Perhaps it’s just tightly fixed scissor clamps. Whatever the source I’m crying in pain. In time the stinging agony subsides and all I feel is a tugging sensation remaining as my labia are jerked wide apart so someone’s vile finger can play with my slit, stinging the sensitive surface. The pain moves from my cunt to my breasts. Heavy clamps slip over the tips of my nipples and I shriek when they are tightened down. I’m surprised no one silences my cries. These are passionate wails that would seem to reach beyond the immediate vicinity of my torture and rage into the night.
There are clothespins pinching my breasts in dozens of places, and pain from the taps of a cane to enliven me and augment my screams. Then there are the cocks, the one at my mouth and another rapping at my cunt and exposed clit. I expect the first to pummel me hard. I gasp when I realize there is yet another preparation before the violation begins. A dildo at my ass moves easily into the interior and is fastened there with ropes run through my cunt.
With a fiery force of focus and torment reigning down on me, I feel the first prick enter and the rough thing pump me heartily. I almost find some body rhythm in the screwing, but my rapist is at an edge, moving unevenly, taking his time to slap my hips and squeeze my ass and then tug at the stretched-out labia. These tender morsels of flesh have been so well secured that I can hardly move and not scream. When this man finishes there is another. Though I believe this time it’s the rubber cock of a woman, who even with her manly style, cannot hide the womanliness of her aura from my heightened intuition. I fuck them all, losing my sense of everything but physical sensation. It overloads my mind, my body feeling beastly. I’ll do anything they ask, take any pain and love it.
I must be fucked for an hour, but with no appreciation for real time, I know only that it is endless—endless, violent ravishment I welcome.
I sense the ebb, the flow, the waves of energy of those who surround me, and then, once they have taken their pleasure, I feel them silently slip away. One after the another they disperse until there are fewer than two in my midst. Just one breathing soul, just one beating heart, just the sound of one body’s steps, quietl
y taking me down from the ceiling of this boundless, nameless, unknown place.
I feel the pins released. The pressure on my nipples subsides. And then there is a last hurrah as the half-dozen clamps that tug at my swollen, molten, anguished labia are removed. The pressure subsides there too, while fingers at the door of my cunt move inside the wet opening.
I feel the climax suddenly, the sensation of being ripped apart again by my own satisfaction demanding my attention. My belly contracts, my inner muscles squeeze, I feel the rubbing of my clit as it screams with joy through the streets and avenues of my body, up my spine and down the rivers in my thighs and on and on and on. I cry wildly and thrash about, then feel the hand softly caressing my center as I twitch lightly on my bed as the orgasm finally drifts away.
I know when I open my eyes it will be the stranger’s face I see. With the bonds released and the blindfold tossed to the side, I see his face, his long loose hair, his half naked body and the look of his lips ready to kiss me.
“I knew it was you in the car,” I tell him, happy now that I have all the facts I need.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure, but please confess.”
“I confess to nothing, Ellen Laurey,” he says in the smooth even tones of his haunting baritone.
He’s trying to rattle me even when he’s soothing all the physical aches with his massaging hands. I look up to the sky, seeing no sky, but a canopy of a greenhouse that had surrounded me with the earthy smells of a deep forest since this began.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“In the funky penthouse of a friend,” he replies.
“What friend, do I know him?”
He smirks and shakes his head and I stare at his impassive face and his cobalt eyes and read his reply before he speaks it with his lips.
“You can ask, but there are some things I may not tell you,” he repeats an old refrain.
“Ever?” I wonder, trying to look desperate.
“Ever,” he replies.
I think for a while of all the things I don’t know about him, the truth about his schemes and methods I once imagined that he’d eventually tell me. Now I’m beginning to believe I’ll never know all the truth.
“So, you won’t tell me everything,” I consider aloud. “Like how you broke into Isaac’s apartment?” I must have asked him a hundred times in six months.
I see the answer in his eyes.
“Or how you knew my name, ‘Lynnie’?”
The same expression confirms the truth.
“Ever? You’re sure?” I ask again. “Even if I whine and beg.”
“No, and I’m likely to strap your ass soundly if you start nagging me like a shrew.”
I shrug, beaten again. Yet, I’m not particularly concerned. “I guess as long as I’m satisfied that I’m safe,” I tell him. I think I’ve said enough.
I see by the look in his eyes now that he’ll leave me guessing. I may see Nicholas Riley when I look at his face, but he takes on the look of the stranger. And it is that stranger whose serene blue eyes I can never see beyond.
My body feels an anxious spark, the fluttering in my belly and the jolt in my cunt. I’m sure I don’t care anymore. His tender hands pour with passion, while his lips speak of love. And that is enough.
End g
Rendezvous With A Stranger Page 13