0 comments/ 5409 views/ 1 favorites Distance Ch. 01 By: ForTheMoon The door was the first thing he tried. Cushioned and gold rimmed with no knob, it held firm as an iron gate to all attempts to open. There were no windows in the room, just the opulence of unrecognisable paintings and velvet patterned wallpaper. A door-less arch led to a small bathroom, white and pristine. A bed, too wide for him alone. The scent in the air had been with him since he awoke and hadn't lost its potency. Sweet, like flowers, a variety he hadn't the knowledge to place. The perfume of a woman he might have once walked by, feminine and full of allure. The only true unease he felt was for the evidential fact that he wasn't panicking. Here he was, in a room he didn't recognise, obviously not free to leave, and with no memory. Still, he stepped calmly across the wooden floor, barefoot but satisfyingly warm, exploring his surroundings with dulled curiosity. Examining two distant figures in some classical painting, he idly questioned if this was a cell. Had he been kidnapped? This wasn't a basement or cellar, no bare light bulbs or cold concrete floors or binding. Despite the protests of the logical parts of his thinking, he was comfortable here. Sitting down on the bed, he waited for the anxiety to crest and overpower the intoxicating atmosphere. He was still waiting when he realised he was now lying back, his arms spread and fingers caressing the sheets. Staring dreamily at the ceiling, the only alarm came from the sudden sound behind him. A voice from somewhere in the wall. 'Is there any body there?' He sprang from the bed, feeling the first jolt of adrenaline since he awoke. He turned to the wall, pausing to discern where the voice had came from. No holes or speakers or vents he could see. He stepped closer and, gazing vaguely into the floral texture of the wallpaper, offered a reply. 'I'm here.' He had heard a woman's voice; somewhat muffled, but clear enough. High and cautious, but not infused with any noticeable distress. This changed following his brief reply. There was a pause before he heard the voice again. This time, it was intoned with obvious concern. 'Where have you taken me?' He wasn't prepared for the question. He'd thus far thought of himself as a victim of some kind, even if his senses hadn't quite been on the same wavelength. His thoughts stumbled to object to the idea of being this woman's jailer. His memory may have been a blank, but he knew he wasn't that. 'I woke up in this room. I don't understand what's happening. I don't think I can get out.' Another pause, longer this time. 'I don't understand what's happening either. I woke up here, and...' Faintly, he was sure he heard her breath, deep with exasperation. 'It's like a room in a mansion. The door won't budge. This is fucked up. Isn't it?' 'Yeah.' He once again took in his environment. A long, deep breath and he said, 'I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I feel like I should be tearing the door down, shouting, something. My head's kind of in a haze.' The pauses were becoming an accepted part of the conversation. His thoughts weren't gathering easily and he wondered if the same thing was happening behind the wall. 'We've got to do something. I mean, haven't we?' She sounded unsure. It was clearly a question rather than a statement. 'Yeah.' He was locked again in a daze, now with his face almost pressed against the wall, closely examining the velvet fibres. He blinked hard and deliberate. 'Yes. Yes! I'll try the door again. Are there any windows or vents on your side? Anything?' 'No. Maybe?' Her voice drifted away. She said something further, but he couldn't make out what. The door showed no signs of relenting as he pushed, then pounded with his shoulder. The force was impeccably cushioned; he could do this all day and neither the door nor him would suffer. There wasn't anything to grip, to pull. Scanning the room, he searched for a suitable tool to help pry it open. The room - his cell - wasn't a place of function. It was comfort. Decadence. The bathroom may have housed something useful, something makeshift. He was beneath the open arch when he heard a click. The sound of a lock, unlocked. She hunted for an escape, fingering the frames of paintings and halting, breathless, to test the air for a draft, a noise, some kink in the atmosphere. On hands and knees, she peered underneath the bed. It was immaculately clean, not even a trace of dust, and nothing to see but the other side of the room. She had expected to find a letter, maybe a cassette or videotape or whatever it is serial killers use these days to inform their victims that they are, in fact, fucked. Already defeated, she climbed onto the bed and tucked her knees to her chest. If there was a way out, the man on the other side of the wall would surely find it. For a moment, she simply closed her eyes and inhaled more of the scent that permeated the air. Her head rested back against the cool metal of the headboard; befittingly ornate, probably made of a precious metal and worth more than her car, if she had owned a car, or had an apartment, or family... She thought of men. And the gym. The fragrance reminded her of strength and virility. Men sweating and exerting themselves to look better, be better. Wanting to be admired, hungered for... touched. Her eyes opened only for the sharp, metallic click which came from the door. She braced herself for further sounds and the possibility of it creaking open to reveal something she didn't want to see. They, it, whatever - she had nowhere to hide and nothing to defend herself with if her assailant made an appearance. Seconds passed and she realised she could have been under the bed by now, but did she really want to be? Cowering and no safer than if she stood with arms aloft, offering herself freely. 'Hey!' It was him. She hurried back to the adjoining wall and called back, cautiously moderating her tone. 'I think the door just unlocked.' 'Over here too. Stay there, I'm going to see what's happening.' He sounded like he had a plan. Strength and virility. She waited silently, preparing herself for the door to open and the room to be shared by a fellow captive; some guy, as lost and confused as she was. Or something altogether different. She winced and found herself stepping back, deeper into the room. Nothing happened and no one entered. Hesitantly, she crept back towards the upholstered door, believing with every moment that her gathering anxiety, muted but very real, would be vindicated in an explosion of events out of her control. She noticed a thin shaft of light in the frame, dim and new. There was enough space for her fingers to gain some friction and, tugging warily, the door glided open, revealing an indistinct light source softly illuminating the floor ahead. To her left, a patch of darkness and then more floor, on which someone stood, peering ahead. Bare feet and black trousers, pressed and just the right length. A white shirt that looked professionally fitted, and neat brown hair. He hadn't seemed to have noticed her for a moment (had she been that quiet?), but then he turned his head and caught her gripping the door frame, body still half in the room behind. His eyes widened and he appeared surprised to see her. His lips parted, paused there, and then he asked, 'Where are we?' She felt assured that, at least at this very moment, she wasn't going to meet her abductor. She untethered herself from the door and allowed her own bare feet to touch the hard, dark ground. The man's face came in to focus, everyday-handsome and clean shaved. His eyes remained wide. 'You're not...' she said, her tone making it a question, quite unambiguous in meaning. 'I'm not them.' He stated this with reassurance, but then became more defensive. 'Look, I'm kind of freaking out here. This doesn't make any sense.' His head turned away once again to face forward, and he continued, 'There are steps ahead, I think, but it's so hard to make out. I can't even see the floor around me.' It took her a moment to realise what he meant. The ground at her feet was faint, black, but she could see where she stood. A metre or so to either side, though, may as well have been deep space. She was sure there had to be firm ground, but dared not test the theory, even if the reward would have been to be closer to him, to be safer, things just better. The area ahead burst with light. Shielding her eyes, as did he, she resolved herself to see what waited ahead, again anticipating a sinister appearance. Her thoughts were of her room, her comforting cell that had a bed that she could indeed hide under, regardless of practicality. Expecting fear, her mind instead gaped with bewilderment. In front of them both, beyond a few steps, was an illuminated platform. A stage, she thought for a moment, suddenly reminiscent of high school plays and theatres, but no lush high curtains and no microphone stand. Her mind drifted through the burgeoning details of her thoughts, of performers and productions, an audience and staff hidden in the wings, of grinning and eager compères. Masters of ceremonies. It came loud and resonant, and she suddenly felt very small. A voice, female, firm and commanding. What she heard didn't immediately process, unanticipated as it was. 'Welcome. The two of you will now step in to the light. You will both undress and we will begin.' He hoped, at least, that she wasn't quite as suspicious of him any more. Parted on their separate walkways, he wanted so much to be by her side, to hold her and be held, but suspected all too keenly that to the girl, vigilantly moored to her room, he wasn't beyond reproach. Someone had taken them to this place, locked them up; dressed them too, he suspected. For all she knew, it was him. He could reasonably have had the same doubts about her, but he hadn't seriously entertained the thought. Somewhere deep within, he felt compelled to meet the voice's demands. He wondered whether his partner in captivity shared the compulsion and thought that maybe she did as she refrained from retreating to her room and slamming the door. Not that, he was sure, it would have helped much. He offered a sideways glance, a plea for assurance or solidarity in a frown, and she met his eyes, a look of helplessness in her own. No further commands boomed from the darkness. Time passed as their gazes remained locked, neither speaking a word. Finally, she turned her head to face the light and took a tentative step towards what awaited. He followed suit; doing anything else was unthinkable. Was it chivalry? Did he feel he could protect this girl, up there before whoever it was that wanted them compliant and undressed? He wanted to believe it to be the case, but truthfully he knew only that above all else he simply had to be up there, to do as he was told. The thought of possibly being closer to her gave him a pang of guilty excitement. He took a steadying breath and sensed little of the feminine scent that had kept his mind in a haze back in his room. He wondered how she smelled and felt a growing craving to discover if it was similar. Whatever was happening inside him felt as strange as the external events. He asked himself why he was climbing the steps, allowing himself to be bathed in ominous light, and not screaming for help. Why wasn't he dashing into the darkness and allowing an appropriate panic to swallow him? Doing anything but standing there now, almost on some invisible mark, in line with this girl, but as distant as ever. He didn't think that dress was her own, any more than this shirt and trousers were his. He reasoned that if he had been a formal dresser in his previous life he would have been far more comfortable in these clothes that felt cloyingly moulded for his body. Her hair, also, looked too perfect. He had little concept of what an abduction entailed, but figured it left its victims in a messier state. Cut and bruised, perhaps; at the very least with hair that didn't look fresh from a salon. 'You will both undress,' repeated the disembodied voice, cool and patient, 'and we will begin.' Almost synchronised, both his and her hands reached for their respective clothing. He unbuttoned his shirt from the top and she reached behind her back, fumbling for a zip or a clasp, peeking over her shoulder with a blank expression. He noticed her sigh, her breath quivering slightly, as she eased the upper part of her dress over her breasts, held firm in a lacy crimson bra. Her skin was pale, save for the blush on her chest that had now reached her cheeks, partially obscured by her curly walnut brown hair. He had removed his shirt, idly discarding it on the floor, and tugged at the vest tucked under his waist. His flat stomach, not especially toned but fit, a line of soft hair trailing to his navel, became exposed and the girl's eyes flashed towards him before quickly returning to her midriff. Him now topless and she with her dress crumpled under her feet, he came close to breaking the silence. This was madness. They had no idea what this all meant and what would come after their clothes were removed. Still, they complied. He thought maybe they could turn and escape back to one of their rooms. That may have been the meagre extent of the plan, but at least they wouldn't be here, doing this. The lingering thought of them back in one of their rooms together coincided with him reaching for his fly. He noticed and there again was the guilt, but it didn't stop the function of his hands. She had shifted the dress aside with one bare foot and stood motionless with her hands resting on her thighs. Her chin was buried against her chest and her eyes were fixed downward. She blinked at even intervals, at least a dozen times from what he could tell from his glances, and then with impressive sobriety she hooked her fingers into the waist of her panties and neatly drew them down the white skin of her legs, and then off. He self-consciously finished removing his trousers, hoping he looked as composed as she did. He didn't want to keep looking at her, knowing she could feel his eyes on her body. It was a violation at a time when they were both being eminently violated by unseen forces. Regardless, he continued to dare glances. Her pubic hair was light and neat; groomed as surely as the rest of her, he thought. His cock grew and pulsed rhythmically as blood flowed in to it, the tip pushing against his cotton shorts, fighting to rise. He willed himself not to touch it, even as it swelled and stiffened, creating a long conspicuous bulge. His eyes rose from her crotch and found that she was also looking at him, her expression plaintive and flushed. Some unspoken agreement passed between them and they removed the last of their clothes. 'You will now turn to face one another.' They both obeyed. He felt that the most respectful thing he could do now was to simply look her in the eyes. He did and she returned his gaze. His erection pointed brazenly at her naked body; her nipples hard and skin goose bumped. 'Step forward.' The distance between them closed. The light on the floor showed an unobstructed path, no impassable void now. She sighed again, deeply, her breath trembling. The tip of his dick moistened and a small translucent droplet rode down the warm skin of his shaft. Now only a few metres apart, he realised a scent had returned to his nose. Not the implacable flowers of his room, but another perfume, this timed infused with something raw, something human and real. She stood, offering little but her stare and a nervous bite of her lip, but something intangible gifted so much more. He realised he wanted, with quite some lucidity, to step ever forward and feel the warmth of her skin interlace with his, his engorged dick pressed against her soft flat belly, his arms enveloping her body and his face buried in her hair and inhaling until his lungs were fit to burst and her breasts and her pussy and he wanted her. All her strength and willpower had been diverted to the cause of simply standing there. To catch and control her breath and somehow ease her restless heart. She wondered how she hadn't yet collapsed and been reduced to a helpless wreck on the starkly lit floor, breathing hard and laboured and looking up at this man: naked, skin warm and pink in tone, his face handsome and kind and his cock thick and reaching across to her. She fought the urge to devote her entire being to self-preservation. She knew she felt for him, stood there under this encompassing spotlight, surely as vulnerable and addled as her. Perhaps worse, she thought. His body betrayed him, independently joining this lurid charade and exposing all his inner workings. She herself had no less of that familiar automatic response. She held her legs close together, her thighs pressed tightly, hoping to disguise what was happening within. Her pussy was wet and hot. She tried not to add to the stimulation with movement, she feared that the mere rubbing of her thighs or any possible friction on her lips would give her away to him. She would drip, or she might gasp and her longing would be laid bare. There was no barrier between them now. She forgot the voice of their director, that watchful master who controlled them both without the need for strings. This object of her involuntary affections, this man, he could pace ahead and take her, lay her down and have his way. He could sweetly burden her with his weight, push apart her legs and deny her of her tenuous secret. He would kiss her deeply, she decided. She wouldn't reciprocate at first, she would tell herself she had any choice or control, but her lips would mutiny and leap without care into the waves of lust. She would grip his hair, tug and pull and push his face deeper, and then she would gasp sharply... He would be inside her. She would take every inch of him, more than she felt she could hold. Her urge would be to bite his lip and, perhaps, draw blood; no permission asked and none given. This, she knew, would only harden his resolve. His thrusts would come harder, faster and with an impossible heat. He would pin her with his body and she would feel some wonderful torture, try to imbue him with a taste with her nails digging into his back, squeeze the life from him inside of her. They would look deep within one another and dispel the fear and confusion with some unspoken magic. 'You will now dress.' Both of them took the new order with some alarm. Their brows furrowed in unison before they gingerly reached for their piles of discarded clothes. She stepped into her underwear, letting her legs part for a moment and no longer attempting to hide anything. Soon, they were both stood as they had been before, in their stranger's clothes, now slightly less refined, but they were somehow changed. 'Return to your chambers.' They did as they were told. As they stepped down on to their lonely dark walkways, the light behind them shuttered soundlessly in an instant. The soft illumination ahead, of their comfortable, safe little rooms, offered her no consolation. She had known that, in very real terms, it had been a cell. She was a prisoner and that was her cage. But now the decorations and affluence gave little in the way of an opposing context. It was a lonely, cold place. A kidnapper's basement. A psycho killer's playroom. She stepped mournfully inside, pushed the door shut behind her and felt her heart cry. Distance Ch. 02 He sat for a long time on the side of his luxurious bed. His weight sank into his spot of sheets and mattress and invited him to indulge in more. He could rest his back, then his head and drift far away from this room, awake in a place where things made sense. He told himself, no, that's not for now; the shower is where he needed to be. He didn't feel dirty, at least physically, but there was a film of some alien accretion about him nonetheless. That voice had directed his actions and, he vaguely suspected, his thoughts and feelings too. He wanted to wash away those invisible strings that had bored in to his flesh and deep in to his mind. More than freedom, he wanted agency. But still he sat, patiently at hand for her call. It hadn't come for a worrying length of time, although for just how long he couldn't tell. Everything in his room stood perfectly static. He inspected the four walls for some way to divine the passage of time, felt irritated that he wasn't able to internally count the seconds and minutes. Hours? How long had he been here, exactly? His eyes rested on the painting that hung beside that cushioned, once again locked door. An apple tree, portrait framed in the uniform of the room's aesthetic, large and prominent. It looked lush and full with its fruit. A window into some idyllic garden in Summer. He wondered what it would feel like to step into that scene, to feel the sun caress his face and taste something pure and sweet. A knocking came meekly from the wall of the adjoining rooms. He sprang from his seat on the bed and brought himself close to the wall, resting his forehead against it. Eyes closed, he said, 'I'm here. I'm here.' 'I'm scared.' Her words came clearly from close by, but they sounded lost and somehow distant. He cringed, as if a headache had suddenly hit him. 'Look... what happened out there...' 'Don't.' Her interruption stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He really didn't know what there was he could say to make things right. Her voice suddenly filled with defiance. 'It's not our fault. We're being toyed with. What they told us to do...' A pregnant pause filled his head with thoughts and events, some real and some imagined. Despite his disturbance, he felt the familiar swell of his penis growing autonomously toward erection. Guilt halfheartedly lurched through his mind, but he hadn't the energy to entertain it. 'I wasn't myself out there,' she said. 'I felt like I was in a dream I didn't know how to control. I thought things. Felt things...' At this, he lifted his head from the wall, opened his eyes and soberly admitted, 'I wanted to fuck you.' There was silence and then he continued, 'I didn't want to hurt you, I knew how afraid you must have been, but I couldn't help the thoughts. I wanted to take you in my arms and feel you – all of you. I was desperate for your scent, I felt crazy for it. I wanted that fucking voice to tell me to lay you down and screw you till you screamed.' His heart skipped a beat and in a moment he thought, what have I done? He felt like her suspicions had been justified. He was part of her torment, just a tool for their captor to humiliate her with. To abuse her, and God knows what else. He considered heading to the bathroom and vomiting. Her tone didn't offer forgiveness or reassurance, it simply stated the truth: 'I felt like I'd collapse with how hot I was for you. I couldn't take it. I didn't want you to see...' She seemed to ebb away for a moment, but then came a frustrated, angry moan. 'I wanted you in me! I wanted your cock so bad, just... pounding me! And I wanted to kiss you and feel your breath in my mouth and your spit and just bite in to you.' He had no words. 'OK?' She sounded indignant. The guilt made another pass through his mind, this time begging a question: did he feel guilty for what he wanted to do to her, or for what he hadn't done? It had not occurred to him that the one wrong thing he could have done is deprive her of a good fuck. *** Her face flush and her eyes wide, she was suddenly consumed with shame. Why did she do that? Why did she tell him those things? She retreated to the untouched bathroom and turned the ivory tap for cold water, stuck her hand under the heavy stream until it began to turn numb, then lifted a handful to her face, practically slapping herself in the process. The area above the sink was nothing but bare tiles. There was no mirror and nothing offered any useful reflection for her to see the state she was in. If the shower had had a glass casing, she would have had no reservations with shattering it and using the shards, but for what purpose she wasn't sure. She had no one to attack but herself, no binds to cut, and defacing the offensive grandeur of her room wouldn't have brought her any closer to what she wanted. What did she want? Freedom, yes. A return to whatever life she once lived, her memory restored and a parent, friend, husband, whoever, to comfort her. She knew that's what she wanted, what she needed, but it felt strangely distant in her mind. Did she have a boyfriend? A lover? Did he miss her? Did he long for her, desire her all the more in her absence? She leaned over the sink and with her wet hand reached under her dress. She felt her heat bring keen feeling back to her hand and kneaded her panties into the space between her lips. The lack of a mirror was a welcome feature now; seeing her reflection would have only inspired deeper shame. She slipped her fingers through to the flesh underneath and immediately found her hot, tumescent clit. There was no sudden escalation of intensity; she rubbed hard, angrily, but felt nothing to match all that had been burning her within. She felt hopelessly empty and needed to be filled. She tensed stressfully, held her breath and massaged herself until stars began to dance across the grid of white tiles. With little warning, the muscles in her legs weakened and she instinctively grasped at the cold porcelain with both hands. A tear escaped from her eye and gently tickled her cheek with its descent. It came to rest in the corner of her mouth and she tasted its frail bitterness. The man was calling her. She didn't quite catch the words until she had returned to the bedroom. From beyond the wall, he was asking her name. 'I don't know what my name is. I don't know anything.' She suddenly sounded young and brooding. Privately, she gave a sardonic laugh. She didn't know who she had been exactly as a teenager, but she suspected she was channeling that girl now. To deflect the attention she returned his question. 'I have no idea who I am. I mean, I can't even remember if I had a wife or kids. My job. Nothing.' Her prior defiance seemed to have left some impression on him as his voice became more animated. 'We can decide our own names! How are they going to stop that? Fuck that bitch!' She sniffed through her running nose and grinned shyly with amusement. 'So,' she said, 'who am I talking to?' 'Adam.' A snort escaped her. 'And I'm Eve, right?' Despite her cynicism, she was grateful for the sense of normality, even if it was make-believe. 'This whole thing doesn't seem very biblical to me.' 'You mustn't have paid attention in church. There's a whole bit about God locking people up in tacky hotel suites and making them crazy for each other.' They shared a moment of genuine amusement, but it soon died down and she was left with a lingering phrase in her head: 'crazy for each other.' She couldn't argue with the sentiment, but how could it be so? This was a nightmare and she barely knew him. Surely by anyone's standards they were strangers, in the strangest of circumstances. She took a deep breath of that ever-present musk in the air, that ethereal male vigour, and abandoned her introspection. 'Pleased to meet you, Adam. I'm Eve.' The lights rapidly dimmed and before she could do anything more than shriek, she was plunged into utter darkness. 'Eve?' His voice was urgent and strong. 'The lights are gone! I can't see! Adam, please...' 'It's okay! Eve, it's okay! Just find somewhere safe, alright?' She fumbled through the gloom and slapped both hands on to the cool, silky sheets of her bed. She let her whole body fall on to them and scrambled to find a way underneath. Her dress bunched coarsely around her as she pulled the sheets up to her face. 'I'm here, Eve. You're not alone. I won't leave you.' His voice gave her profound comfort. She listened for further affirmations but nothing came and soon she felt her mind drifting toward some place calm and her eyelids become heavy, heavy... *** It was pitch black and Adam felt the chill of the air on his naked body, kneeling on the hard floor, head hung low. All of his senses fought for position to ground him in whatever place he had awoken. He groaned with incomprehension and had it echoed back at him, ebbing in volume until once again silence reigned. He struggled to find some footing but his legs were weak, tingling with prolonged pressure. He managed to lift himself slightly and, for a moment, believed something had crushed his windpipe. Instinctively his head jerked back and the unseen force ceased, although his throat burned and he gasped for air. His sense of hearing vied for attention, to tell him of something possibly more disconcerting than the pain he was in: he had heard a chain rattle. He paused, letting the pounding of his heart resonate through him, defying the deathly silence, then reached blindly around himself until his hands rested on cold steel. At the end of it, on his neck, the smooth texture of leather. Suddenly, a muted clap of light. His pupils scrambled for a suitable size but acted too slow to prevent a blinding daze hitting him. He hastily dropped back to his knees and buried his face into his palms. Time passed and he timidly dared a peek into the light. He knew immediately where he was: back on stage, vulnerable and exposed, but this time alone. A few metres ahead stood a long metal table, looking well-worn and industrial. It was bare and seemed to offer no sense of its purpose. All around him was the familiar void, dark and brooding, save for the gentle radiance of two doors set off from the raised platform. In all his disorientation, it took him a minute to find the one other item of note. On witnessing the tall iron stake immediately behind him, he swallowed a despairing panic and tried desperately to distance himself. He barely gained a few inches of ground before the unyielding tether tightened harshly, the leather of his collar gripping his flesh and tender muscles within and threatening to choke the life from him. 'You can't do this to us!' He called out in to the darkness, coarse and impotent. 'What do you want?!' The only reply he received was the clinking and rustle of his own chain-links. 'I'll fucking kill you! Cunt!' he spat, letting the rage froth in his mouth. Somewhere, there was a single soft click. His focus darted to the only known place it could have come from and he realized at once that a door had unlocked. Her door. Eve's. 'Oh, Eve. No.' He pleaded internally, willing her not to emerge from her room, to see him like this and to be subjected to her own sordid trials. His mind raced with the possibilities. Metal and leather were the only props to offer a hint of events to come. He recognized the implications of such things. His face winced and his stomach knotted and his dick came to life. He watched intently for a length of time he couldn't gauge. Finally the distant light shifted and the door gradually opened. The first sign of her was her fingers and manicured nails. He couldn't quite see yet, but the work on them had become frayed and spoiled with bites. He hoped that some nail-biting distress was the extent of what had happened to her in the time lost. Eve emerged. Her expression upon seeing him told him all he needed to know about how dire the situation was. She rushed to the foot of the steps but then paused, as if coming to an invisible barrier, or perhaps lacking the autonomy to proceed further. She opened her mouth as if to say... what? What was there to say? 'Don't worry'? 'It's okay'? No words came. 'You will stand beside the table.' That malevolent voice again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Resonant and powerful. Eve took her cue and did as commanded. Adam noticed her eyeing the table, taking in its spots of old dried paint, areas of general wear, flecks of rust. It seemed to come from another world than their impeccable bedrooms. She looked to him, bare and debased, then past, to the similarly grungy metal post. 'Your clothes are unnecessary.' The intonation turned the words in to a command as much as any other. She seemed to barely hesitate before reaching for the straps on her shoulders and easing the creased dress down her body and obligingly past her feet. Soon her breasts were exposed, pert and modest on her chest, her evenly round areolae a light pink, only slightly richer in colour than her pale skin. Her nipples were not erect. Adam entertained a thought about what it would take to make them so. She removed the rest of her underwear with a detached nonchalance. He remained kneeling, unmoving, and stared at the neat fuzz of pubic hair and the tease of outer labia protruding slightly from between her thighs. Delicious, he thought. She looked delicious. The two of them waited, staring at one another but not meeting eyes, patiently on hold for the further whims of the voice in the dark, or an ending to this particular game. A return to their separate rooms and another maddening denial. There was movement, they heard as much. Some soft rhythmic slapping on the ground nearby, closer to Eve than Adam. Footsteps. Out of the blackness emerged the shape of another person, a man. Eve inhaled with startled intensity and backed up in to the table, shifting its solid weight slightly with her buttocks, the pointed corner looking as if it could pierce her with the force. The man paced purposefully toward her, then halted as if meeting the end of his programming. He was big. He stood at least a foot taller than Eve and looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds or more than her. If he did, it was all muscle. He wasn't terribly sculpted with detail and definition, but simply standing there he radiated a brutish strength. His penis was cut and flaccid, but as with all his other features, he was big. Where his face should have been was a mask. Snow-white and seemingly molded to his head, it gave him the appearance of a mad hare. Bare, broad incisors were painted on to the mouth and two ears stood erect on top, slightly askew. The eyes gave no sense of how the man could see through, they were opaque and fixed permanently in a wide glare. The scene froze, save for a drop of sweat inching down Eve's forehead. 'You have been very obedient, the two of you. And how patient!' The bodiless voice had lost its cold aloofness, now it was filled with wry satisfaction. The shift in tone sent a shiver down Adam's spine. He suddenly felt an uncertain resolve to do anything other than what he was told. 'Little toys of mine that behave so well deserve to be rewarded. Of course, my pets...' said the voice, pausing for effect. All eyes were on the masked man, that intimidating tower of meat. Where his eyes lay was unknown, but the face of the mad hare looked straight at Eve. 'My pets have waited such a long time. How they remain so faithful is beyond me. Even now! My poor Bunny, he doesn't move an inch.' What now rooted the two of them to the spot wasn't some blind intoxicated need to comply, it was fear, at least Adam figured. It wasn't just the chain that made him feel helpless now. He examined Eve. The expression on her face was frozen in wide-eyed severity. Further beads of sweat rolled from her hairline. Her nipples poked from her breasts, hot pink and erect. The top of her thighs, he was sure he could tell, were moist. He wasn't sure what he hoped was the cause. There was a longing in him for her to be experiencing horror, crippling dread, and nothing more. He struggled feebly with his collar. 'You will be fucked.' That damned voice had returned to its former iciness. 'Every one of your holes will be used. It will not be gentle.' Further silence, and then a delighted giggle filled the air. 'That, of course, is directed at the female toy. To the other, don't worry. Bunny has very particular tastes, ones that don't include... male holes.' There was clear self-satisfaction in her speech. 'Though, he isn't my only pet.' Adam pulled himself to his feet and brought the chain taut with his neck. 'Don't fucking touch her.' The man, this 'Bunny', only turned his ridiculous mask in his direction. He seemed to observe the defenceless bound wretch before him for a moment, and then returned his attention to Eve. A haughty laugh rang out. 'Oh, sweet Bunny, you will now,' she said, lowering her tone to a mocking gruffness, 'fucking touch her.' The rabbit man stepped forward and Adam was dismayed to see Eve's reaction. She didn't run or attempt to put the table between her and that monster, now with his huge, cruel cock in his hand, stroking the thick shaft up and down in his palm, empowering it with stiffness and a purple hue. She remained pressed against the table's edge, leaning back to distance herself slightly, but otherwise immobile. The brute grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. She landed one palm on the solid flesh of his midsection and curled her fingertips to grip. She looked up in to his grotesque visage, he down at her pretty, fevered face. A low, growling hum emerged from under the mask. Her hand trailed uncertainly downwards, past his navel and over the bare shaven skin below. It rested gently on his hand, still gripping his swollen meat, only half concealed even with his slab of a fist. He released the grip on himself and allowed Eve's hand to feel his heat and rigidity, diverting his own touch to her left tit, squeezing it hard and rough. Her gaze lowered to what now throbbed within her grasp. She stroked the long length of the shaft, made all the longer for the comparative daintiness of her closed fist. She reached the head and let her hand stroke slowly back to the base, and then back once again. Incomprehensible grunts rumbled from under the animal mask. Still tightly gripping her wrist, he forcefully pulled her closer. He let go and her hand reached impulsively behind his back, finding his behind and digging her nails into one of his cheeks. His beast of a cock jabbed her painfully until she strengthened her grip and repositioned it up against his belly, continuing to stroke back and forth, gaining lubrication from the ever-mounting sweat and heat between them, the salty dew he produced. Bunny-man tugged at her curly, unbrushed hair, forcing her to look up at him. Her brow was furrowed and full of longing, her mouth gaping and breathing heavy. He released her but she didn't move from this position. He lowered his thick trunk of an arm down to her ass, kneaded at her cheeks without care, rubbing his fingers into the crevice and feeling the pucker of her smooth ring. He probed with a fingertip, feeling the muscle relent. Eve closed her eyes and slithered out her tongue to caress her top lip. She didn't feel the finger intrude further, instead his hand slipped onward, between her legs. There was an idle fumbling all over her sensitive, intimate skin. Her lips were groped and coarsely manipulated, pushed and pulled and scratched a little by his nails. His fingers made pass after pass until the wetness of her cunt made them slide between her flesh and two formidable fingers entered her sodden hole. Her face was struck with untethered lust. She scrunched her eyes tightly and moaned out in to the quiet stage. Nothing but the sound of her desire and the moist slip-slap of penetrating fingers, breaching deeply, grinding sweet spots. She tensed herself to grip those objects within, to deny an escape and an end to the pleasure, though it proved unnecessary.