Twist Me

by Anna Zaires

  Suddenly, his face softens. A smile appears on his sensuous lips.

  Then he leans toward me, lowers his head, and presses his mouth to mine.

  I am stunned. His lips are gentle, tender as they explore mine, even as he holds me with an iron grip.

  He’s a skilled kisser. I’ve kissed quite a few guys, and I’ve never felt anything like this. His breath is warm, flavored with something sweet, and his tongue teases my lips until they part involuntarily, granting him access to my mouth.

  I don’t know if it’s the aftereffects of the drug he gave me or the simple relief that he’s not hurting me, but I melt at that kiss. A strange languor spreads through my body, sapping my will to fight.

  He kisses me slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world. His tongue strokes against mine, and he lightly sucks on my lower lip, sending a surge of liquid heat straight to my core. His hand eases its grip on my hair and cradles the back of my head instead. It’s almost like he’s making love to me.

  I find my hands holding on to his shoulders. I have no idea how they got there, but I’m now clinging to him instead of pushing him away. I don’t understand my own reaction. Why am I not cringing away from his kiss in disgust?

  It just feels so good, that incredible mouth of his. It’s like kissing an angel. It makes me forget the situation for a second, enables me to push the terror away.

  He pulls away and looks down on me. His lips are wet and shiny, a little swollen from our kiss. Mine probably are too.

  He no longer seems angry. Instead, he looks hungry and pleased at the same time. I can see both lust and tenderness on his perfect face, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

  I lick my lips, and his eyes drop down to my mouth for a second. He kisses me again, just a brief brush of his lips against mine.

  Then he picks me up again and carries me upstairs to his bed.

  Chapter 4

  When I look back on this day, my behavior doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand why I didn’t fight him harder, why I didn’t try to get away again. It wasn’t a rational decision on my part—it wasn’t a conscious choice to cooperate in order to avoid pain.

  No, I am acting purely on instinct.

  And my instinct is to submit to him.

  He puts me down on the bed, and I just lie there. I’m too worn out from our earlier struggle, and I still feel woozy from the drug.

  There is something so surreal about what’s happening that my mind can’t process it fully. I feel like I’m watching a play or a movie. It can’t possibly be me in this situation. I can’t be this girl who was drugged and kidnapped, and who is letting her kidnapper touch her, stroke her all over her body.

  We’re lying on our sides, facing each other. I can feel his hands on my skin. They’re slightly rough, callused. Warm on my frozen flesh. Strong, though he’s not using that strength right now. He could subdue me with ease, like he did before, but there is no need. I’m not fighting him. I’m floating in a hazy, sensual fog.

  He’s kissing me again, and caressing my arm, my back, my neck, my outer thigh. His touch is gentle, yet firm. It’s almost like he’s giving me a massage, except I can feel the sexual intent in his actions.

  He kisses my neck, lightly nibbling on the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder join, and I shiver from the pleasurable sensation.

  I close my eyes. It’s disarming, that surprising gentleness of his. I know I should feel violated—and I do—but I also feel oddly cherished.

  With my eyes closed, I pretend that this is just a dream. A dark fantasy, like the kind I sometimes have late at night. It makes it more palatable, the fact that I’m letting this stranger do this to me.

  One of his hands is now on my buttocks, kneading the soft flesh. His other hand is traveling up my belly, my rib cage. He reaches my breasts and cups the left one in his palm, squeezes it lightly. My nipples are already hard, and his touch feels good, almost soothing. Rob has done this to me before, but it’s never been like this. It’s never felt like this.

  I continue to keep my eyes shut as he rolls me onto my back. He’s partially on top of me, but most of his weight is resting on the bed. He doesn’t want to crush me, I realize, and I feel grateful.

  He kisses my collarbone, my shoulder, my stomach. His mouth is hot, and it leaves a moist trail on my skin.

  Then he closes his lips around my right nipple and sucks on it. My body arches, and I feel tension low in my belly. He repeats the action with my other nipple, and the tension inside me grows, intensifies.

  He senses it. I know he does because his hand ventures between my thighs and feels the moisture there. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking my folds. “So sweet, so responsive.”

  I whimper as his lips travel down my body, his hair tickling my skin. I know what he intends, and my mind blanks out when he reaches his destination.

  For a second, I try to resist, but he effortlessly pulls my legs apart. His fingers pat me gently, then pull apart my nether lips.

  And then he kisses me there, sending a surge of heat through my body. His skilled mouth licks and nibbles around my clitoris until I’m moaning, and then he closes his lips around it and lightly sucks.

  The pleasure is so strong, so startling that my eyes fly open.

  I don’t understand what’s happening to me, and it’s frightening. I’m burning inside, throbbing between my legs. My heart is beating so fast I can’t catch my breath, and I find myself panting.

  I start struggling, and he laughs softly. I can feel the puffs of air from his breath on my sensitive flesh. He easily holds me down and continues what he’s doing.

  The tension inside me is becoming unbearable. I’m squirming against his tongue, and my motions seem to be bringing me closer to some elusive edge.

  Then I go over with a soft scream. My entire body tightens, and I’m swamped by a wave of pleasure so intense that my toes curl. I can feel my inner muscles pulsing, and I realize that I just had an orgasm.

  The first orgasm of my life.

  And it was at the hands—or rather the mouth—of my captor.

  I’m so devastated that I just want to curl up and cry. I squeeze my eyes shut again.

  But he’s not done with me yet. He crawls up my body and kisses my mouth again. He tastes differently now, salty, with a slightly musky undertone. It’s from me, I realize. I’m tasting myself on his lips. A hot wave of embarrassment rolls through my body even as the hunger inside me intensifies.

  His kiss is more carnal than before, rougher. His tongue penetrates my mouth in an obvious imitation of the sexual act, and his hips settle heavily between my legs. One of his hands is holding the back of my head, while another one is between my thighs, lightly rubbing and stimulating me again.

  I still don’t really resist, although my body tenses as the fear returns. I can feel the heat and hardness of his erection pushing against my inner thigh, and I know he’s going to hurt me.

  “Please,” I whisper, opening my eyes to look at him. My vision is blurred by tears. “Please . . . I’ve never done this before—”

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes gleam brighter. “I’m glad,” he says softly. Then he shifts his hips a little and uses his hand to guide his shaft toward my opening.

  I gasp as he begins to push inside. I’m wet, but my body resists the unfamiliar intrusion. I don’t know how big he is, but he feels enormous as the head of his cock slowly enters my body.

  It begins to hurt, to burn, and I cry out, pushing at his shoulders.

  His pupils expand, making his eyes look darker. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, and I realize he’s actually restraining himself. “Relax, Nora,” he whispers harshly. “It will hurt less if you relax.”

  I’m trembling. I can’t follow his advice because I’m too nervous—and because it hurts so much, having even a little bit of him inside me.

  He continues to press, and my flesh slowly gives way, reluctantly stretching for him. I’m writhing no
w, sobbing, my nails scratching at his back, but he’s relentless, working his cock in inch by slow inch.

  Then he pauses for a second, and I can see a vein pulsing near his temple. He looks like he’s in pain. But I know that it’s pleasurable for him, this act that’s hurting me so much.

  He lowers his head, kissing my forehead. And then he pushes past my virginal barrier, tearing through the thin membrane with one firm thrust. He doesn’t stop until his full length is buried inside me, his pubic hair pressing against my own.

  I almost black out from the pain. My stomach twists with nausea, and I feel faint. I can’t even scream; all I can do is try to take small, shallow breaths to avoid passing out. I can feel his hardness lodged deep inside me, and it’s the most agonizingly invasive thing I’ve ever experienced.

  “Relax,” he murmurs in my ear, “just relax, my pet. The pain will pass, it will get better . . .”

  I don’t believe him. It feels like a heated pole has been shoved inside my body, tearing me open. And I can’t do anything to escape, to make it hurt less. He’s so much larger than me, so much stronger. All I can do is lie there helplessly, pinned underneath him.

  He doesn’t move his hips, doesn’t thrust, even though I can feel the tension in his muscles. Instead, he gently kisses my forehead again. I close my eyes, bitter tears streaming down my temples, and feel the light brush of his lips against my eyelids.

  I don’t know how long we stay there like this. He’s raining soft kisses on my face, my neck. His hands embrace me, caress my skin in a parody of a lover’s touch. And all the while, his cock is buried deep inside me, its uncompromising hardness hurting me, burning me from within.

  I don’t know at what point the pain starts to change. My treacherous body slowly softens, begins to respond to his kisses, to the tenderness in his touch.

  The evil bastard senses it. And he slowly begins to move, partially withdrawing from my body and then working himself back in.

  Initially, his movements make it worse, only adding to my agony. And then he reaches between our bodies with one hand, and uses one finger to press against my clit, keeping the pressure light and steady. His thrusts move my hips, causing me to rub against his finger in a rhythmic way.

  To my horror, I feel the tension gathering inside me again. The pain is still there, but so is the pleasure. I’m writhing in his arms, but now I’m fighting myself as well. His thrusts get harder, deeper, and I’m screaming from the unbearable intensity. The pain and the pleasure mix, until they’re indistinguishable from one another—until I exist in a world of pure, overwhelming sensation. And then I explode, the orgasm ripping through my body with such force that my vision darkens for a moment.

  Suddenly, I can hear him groaning against my ear and feel him getting even thicker and longer inside me. His cock is pulsing and jerking deep within me, and I know that he found his release as well.

  In the aftermath, he rolls off me and gathers me to him, holding me close.

  And I cry in his arms, seeking solace from the very person who is the cause of my tears.

  * * *

  Afterwards, my mind is foggy, my thoughts strangely jumbled. He carries me somewhere, and I lie limply in his arms, like a rag doll.

  Now he’s washing me. I’m standing in the shower with him. I’m vaguely surprised that my legs can hold me upright.

  I feel numb, detached somehow.

  There is blood on my thighs. I can see it mixing with the water, running down the drain. Also, there’s something sticky between my legs. His semen, most likely. He hadn’t used protection.

  I might now have an STD. I should be horrified by the thought, but I just feel numb. At least pregnancy isn’t something I have to be concerned about. As soon as I got serious with Rob, my mom insisted on taking me to the doctor to get a birth control implant in my arm. As a nursing assistant at a nonprofit women’s clinic, she saw far too many teenage pregnancies and wanted to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to me.

  I’m so grateful to her right now.

  While I’m pondering all this, Julian washes me thoroughly, shampooing and conditioning my hair. He even shaves my legs and armpits.

  Once I’m squeaky clean and smooth, he shuts off the water and guides me out of the shower.

  He dries me with a towel first and then himself. Afterwards, he wraps me in a fluffy robe and carries me to the kitchen to feed me.

  I eat what he puts in front of me. I don’t even taste it. It’s a sandwich of some kind, but I don’t know what’s in it. He also gives me a glass of water, which I gulp down eagerly.

  I vaguely hope that he’s not drugging me, but I don’t really care if he is. I’m so tired I just want to pass out.

  After I’m done eating and drinking, he leads me back to the bathroom.

  “Go ahead, brush your teeth,” he says, and I stare at him. He cares about my oral hygiene?

  I do want to brush my teeth, though, so I do as he says. I also use the restroom to pee. He considerately leaves me alone for that.

  Then he takes me back to the room. Somehow the bed now has fresh sheets on it, with no traces of blood anywhere. I’m thankful for that.

  He kisses me lightly on the lips, leaves the room, and locks the door.

  I’m so exhausted that I walk over to the bed, lie down, and instantly fall asleep.

  Chapter 5

  When I wake up, my mind is completely clear. I remember everything, and I want to scream.

  I jump out of bed, noticing that I’m still wearing the robe from last night. The sudden movement makes me aware of a deep inner soreness, and my lower body tightens at the memory of how I got to be that sore. I can still feel his fullness inside me, and I shudder at the recollection.

  I am sickened and disgusted with myself. What is wrong with me? How could I have just lain there and let Julian have sex with me? How could I have found pleasure in his embrace?

  Yes, he’s good-looking, but that’s no excuse. He’s evil. I know it. I sensed it from the very beginning. His outer beauty hides a darkness inside.

  I have a feeling he’s only begun to reveal his true nature to me.

  Yesterday I had been too frightened, too traumatized to pay attention to my surroundings. I’m feeling much better today, so I carefully study this room.

  There is a window. It’s covered by thick ivory shades, but I can still see a little sunlight peeking through.

  I rush to it, pulling open the shades, and blink at the sudden bright light. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and then I look outside.

  The bottom drops out of my stomach.

  The window is not hermetically sealed or anything like that. In fact, it looks like I could easily open it and climb out. This room is on the second floor, so I could maybe even make it to the ground without breaking anything.

  No, the window is not the problem.

  It’s the view outside.

  I can see palm trees and a white sandy beach. Beyond it, there is a large body of water, blue and shimmering in the bright sun.

  It’s beautiful and tropical.

  And about as different as possible from my little town in the Midwest.

  * * *

  I’m cold again. So cold that I’m shivering. I know it’s from stress because the temperature must be somewhere in the eighties.

  I’m pacing up and down the room, occasionally pausing to look out the window.

  Every time I look, it’s like a punch to the stomach.

  I don’t know what I’d been hoping. I honestly hadn’t had a chance to think about my location. I’d just sort of assumed that he would keep me somewhere in the area, maybe near Chicago where we’d first met. I’d thought that all I had to do in order to escape is find a way out of this house.

  Now I realize it’s far more complicated than that.

  I try the door again. It’s locked.

  A few minutes ago, I had discovered a small bathroom attached to this room. I used it to take care of my basic n
eeds and to brush my teeth. It had been a nice distraction.

  Now I’m pacing like a caged animal, growing more terrified and angry with every minute that passes.

  Finally, the door opens, and a woman comes inside.

  I’m so shocked that I simply stare. She’s fairly young—maybe in her early thirties—and pretty.

  She’s holding a tray of food and smiling at me. Her hair is red and curly, and her eyes are a soft brown color. She’s bigger than me, probably at least five inches taller, with an athletic build. She’s dressed very casually, in a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top, with flip-flops on her feet.

  I think about attacking her. She’s a woman, and I have a small chance of winning against her in a fight. I have no chance against Julian.

  Her smile widens, as though she’s reading my mind. “Please don’t jump me,” she says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. “It’s quite pointless, I promise. I know you want to escape, but there is really nowhere to go. We’re on a private island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

  The sinking feeling in my stomach worsens. “Whose private island?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

  “Why, Julian’s, of course.”

  “Who is he? Who are you people?” My voice is relatively steady as I speak to her. She doesn’t make me nervous the way Julian does.

  She puts down the tray. “You’ll learn everything in due time. I’m here to take care of you and the property. My name is Beth, by the way.”

  I take a deep breath. “Why am I here, Beth?”

  “You’re here because Julian wants you.”

  “And you don’t see anything wrong with that?” I can hear the hysterical edge in my tone. I don’t understand how this woman is going along with that madman, how she’s acting like this is normal.