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The Borrowing, Part One.

By: anneski



THE BORROWED

My shoulders were aching, and my wrists were burning, but I couldn't feel my hands. I puzzled slightly as I started to wake, over why this should be. Bed was normally warm, and cosy, where were the covers? I tried to reach for them, and felt the resistance keeping my arms above my head. I frowned, and pulled hard, then gasped as pain seared through my already throbbing wrists. I struggled to sit upright and open my eyes, only to feel the room spin wildly, and have a sickening feeling of vertigo wash over me. Full consciousness returned abruptly, as I realised I had ground beneath my feet, I was in fact standing, not lying, and that wherever I was, it wasn't my own safe little bed. 

Now that I was fully awake, it was clear that the reason for the darkness was that I was blindfolded. I managed to half open my eyes despite that, and there was still complete blackness. Either the fabric was designed to keep out the light, or it was night.

I tried to stop thinking for a moment, to put a lid on the can of worms that was my vivid imagination, in order to just concentrate on feeling, to get some sense of where I was. I could feel that there was space around me, maybe a great deal of space, as the air was cool, and I could feel occasional draughts stirring my hair. I stamped my foot, partly in frustration, and partly in temper at my own lack of memory, and felt a hard surface. There were no echoes from my petulant stamp. Concrete then? 

My heart leaped, as realisation dawned. This was his doing! He'd mentioned playing a new game soon. One he would "Rope me into." Well that strange choice of words made sense now! This then, must be it. If I played my part well….

I shivered with excitement, and shook my head to try and clear the fuzziness. I stood still, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, and I tried to think. How had he got me here, and where exactly was here? Well, they weren't really important. What was important was what happened next. 

Should I call out? Was that what he was waiting for? 

"Hello" I called, a little hesitantly, half fearful that others might be listening. Others, who might take great delight in finding a woman tied and helpless, and who might have a different game plan. 

Nothing. 

"Hello, is there anyone there? Please help me! Please!! Hello?" 

This was from the very bottom of my lungs, and tinged with a little over-acting to compensate for the tiny knot of real fear lurking within me, and it reverberated off the walls, faint echoes coming back to mock me, like backing singers supporting the main act. My throat closed up, and I suddenly felt as if I couldn't breathe, as my vulnerability struck me for the first time. I forced myself to breathe again, and to try and shut down the fear rising within me. It was just a game, after all. 

The thing is, no matter how often I might tell myself that, there was always the possibility that this time it wasn't, that this time, it might not be him that had me bound and waiting to indulge his whims…. 

I concentrated on my breathing as that helped keep me from panic. In and out, regularly and deeply. I felt myself becoming calmer, and of the pain in my wrists lessening. The blood was flowing back into my hands now that I was supported by my feet, rather than my arms, and the tingling of pins and needles demanded that I focus more on my body than my situation. I flexed my fingers, helping the blood to circulate.

As I breathed, I realised there was a slight trace of a strange smell lingering. It nagged at me, and I felt I should recognise it. When I tried to focus on it, it vanished, as insubstantial as mist. 

I shivered, suddenly wondering how long I had been here. 

I was uncomfortably aware that I needed to pee. Then… it couldn't have been that long! A sudden memory, vivid and intense, I had been leaving work, glad to be finished for the day, and after a couple of coffees I'd thought about going to the bathroom before I set off on my journey, but was too eager to get home! 

Yes, that was it. What next? 

I'd collected some files, tucked them into my document case and put it under my arm. I'd headed for the stairs, calling out a "Bye guys!" to the 2 or 3 people still scattered around the offices. 

The memories were coming thick and fast now. 

I'd gone down into the underground car park, and walked towards my car, - my car! A security guard had been waiting by it, calling out something about a break in. I'd pushed past him, impatient to see how much damage had been done and then there had been an arm around my neck, and a hissing noise. And, that smell! I suddenly felt slightly sick again, although this time was more to do with the sudden jolt of recognition that I felt, than with disorientation. Was he the guard? Surely I'd have recognised him? Why would I though? I'd hardly spared him a glance in the hurry to push him aside. Obviously I was too fond of that damn car! 

I should know better, I had read enough memos on personal safety. 

Never let your guard down, never get taken unawares. Just failed that test hadn't I? Now that I thought about it, his voice had been familiar. How had he got the uniform?

He had planned this well! What else was on his agenda for today?

Well, seeing as he'd taken me straight from work, he probably wanted me to carry on with the efficient and cool businesswoman façade that I wore during the working day. Fine, that was a role I was well practised in! 

So, if I was at work, I would explore the options, check my resources, make a plan and implement it. 

So first things first, could I break free of my bonds? 

I tried to walk in a little circle, to see how much slack was available. Precious little, was the answer to that.

I stretched upright gingerly, tensing and loosening my muscles in an attempt to bring some relief to my stiff limbs. I stood on tiptoes as high as I could get, wishing that my shoes were platform soled, and reached up, trying to feel what was around my wrists, to see if there were knots I could reach, and maybe undo. There weren't any. It was certainly rope of some kind, but it was thin, and circled each wrist individually before joining them together. I wasn't going to be able to break it in a hurry, if at all. I slumped back down flat-footed with a curse of frustration. I was actually a little scared, and angry that I was scared! Of course, this just added to the excitement, as he knew full well. He always knew me better than I knew myself. Knew what it was that I really wanted, what I craved, no matter how much I might try to deny it, even to myself.

I blamed my upbringing. Over-achieving parents who wanted a good career for their daughter, and taught her early on that to show feelings and lose control was to be weak. The end result? I learnt those lessons so well that now I had to be the one in control of every situation, and relinquishing that control was difficult for me. Went against all my years of practice. 

But with him I'd learnt that breaking down those barriers led to such ecstasy. That was why I loved him. Why I trusted him implicitly. Hell, I could never play these games without that! And if they were sometimes hard to play, well an easy game is no fun for anybody. 

The unspoken rules, such as they were, were simple. If I managed to keep my self control, I won. As easy, and as difficult as that. Thing is, deep down I didn't want to win. Losing, for me, was always better, the rewards far outweighing the sacrifice, but it was hard. And my pride demanded that I try to win, and try really hard. And I would continue to try, every time we played.

I shivered, only partly due to the cold whisper of a breeze that caressed my cheek. I was suddenly grateful that I had chosen a longer jacket that morning, and wished I had worn trousers instead of a skirt. And knitted tights would have been preferable to the sheer stockings that may as well not have been there. But it gave me a kick to walk through the office, looking every inch the professional businesswoman, whilst feeling the flimsy wisps of lace and silk against my skin underneath those well-cut power suits. Knowing that the men were casting sly glances at me, wondering just what lay underneath that perfectly poised glossy exterior. 

The thrill of their glances never failed to arouse me, and my breathing quickened briefly at the memory. What would they think if they could see me now? Probably think I deserved whatever I got, and wishing they could be the ones to give it to me.

I was cold, possibly alone, more than a little nervous and to cap it all I felt as if I would burst if I didn't get to a toilet soon. 

I stood still, my head bowed between my aching shoulders, and waited. Where was he? What if he never came? There were times I wished to be one of those people untroubled by an active imagination. My nerves were stretched to snapping point, and I was becoming lost in my thoughts, when there was a movement of air at my side, a soft chuckle, and a finger glided along the line of my cheek –bone. 

I screamed and instinctively flung myself away from the touch, only to be snapped up short by the restraining ropes. The horror was compounded when I felt heat suffuse my thighs, and realised that, for my bladder, this shock was the final straw. The hot wetness coursed down my legs, drenching my panties and my stockings. To my utter humiliation, the sudden rush of heat between my legs combined with niggles of fear and the thrill of the restraint, all came together, and a sudden flush of arousal drew a loud moan from me.

I was glad at that moment that I could not see his face. It was enough to know that my self-control had lapsed, without having to witness the appreciation of that fact written across his face. Would he be disgusted with such a blatant lapse? Or aroused by it? Probably the latter. We were black and white after all, complementing each other perfectly. My submission fuelling his power.

I strained to listen, to try and position myself so as to face him. The waiting was unbearable, each second winding me tighter and making standing there a near impossibility, but there was nowhere I could go, even had I wanted to.

So I did the only thing I could, I waited, and while I waited, I reasoned with myself. 

He must be enjoying my unease; therefore I would deny him that. I wouldn't play his game, but my own. I would be the consummate actress, bargaining with a criminal low-life. And I was going to win this battle of wills. I was not going to scream and try to dodge his touch; I would wait for him to make the next move. I smiled to myself a little, as I felt some of my composure returning. I would talk my way through this, be unyielding, and not give him what he wanted! It would be a change, admittedly, but good for him to lose for once. 

I stood upright, my head lifted and my chin up, ready to take him on and to win. God it must be getting cold in here! As I was breathing, I could feel that my nipples were hard, and rubbing against the silk of my blouse. I had a bra on, of course, but it was only a little half cup, and my frantic exertions, combined with my arms being held upright, must have made it slip, allowing my breasts to spill out a little. The sensation was far from unpleasant, and I flushed a little, feeling very dirty, as I remembered how only a very short time ago I had felt a similar thrill run through me as I wet myself. What on earth was the matter with me? I felt disgust that my body could betray me by allowing these sensations to flood over me, to allow arousal from such a perverse act!

A faint movement of air again, and I could tell he was stood in front of me. I tensed, and waited, forced myself to stand steady. I felt the touch of a finger again; gently it caressed my cheek, ran lightly across my bottom lip, and then moved smoothly down the long, white column of my throat. I swallowed, and said nothing. A hand moved through my hair and there was a sharp tug, and then it all fell down loose across my shoulders, freed from its restraints, unlike me.

"Shake your head" said the voice, and I had already obeyed before my brain kicked in, it's order to protest coming too late. I smelt the oranges that perfumed my shampoo, as my hair tumbled down about my face.

"Ok, enough of these games, what do you want?" I asked, cursing inwardly as I heard my voice. It sounded squeaky, like a nervous child's might. 

I steadied it, and went on "I've got money, jewellery, a good car, whatever you want, it's yours."

The silence pressed in around me, more menacing than words could ever be. Fingers ran through my hair, lifting and combing it, before letting it fall.

"Stop that!" I snapped, and pulled my head away.

The hand returned, stroking the back of my head, burrowing under my hair to caress the back of my neck. 

With a shriek of anger I pulled away again, and kicked out at where I thought my tormentor was stood. I didn't hit anything so I turned a little and lashed out again. And again, over and over I kicked out, hitting nothing, screaming for him to keep his hands off me, and swearing to make him pay for this indignity.

Then the hand returned, gentleness gone, grabbing my hair and wrenching my head back, stretching my throat out, making me gasp in pain as the pressure on my shoulders increased. And there was something cold and unyielding pressed against my throat.

"Do you feel the knife?" he asked, conversationally.

Yes!" I gasped, straining my protesting muscles even further as I tried to lean away from the blade. 

He kept the pressure constant, but rolled the knife from side to side, allowing me to feel the length of the blade. Then he tilted it, and I whimpered involuntarily as I felt the sharpness pressing into my flesh.

"And do you feel how sharp it is?"

When I said nothing, he increased the pressure with the flat of the blade, making me gasp for breath.

"Yes, yes I feel it, please don't hurt me!" came out in a rush, as my legs turned to jelly under me. Damn he was good! He had me immersed totally in the fantasy now. I felt terror and anger both. Logic had gone out of the window.

"I could hurt you, if that was what I wanted…" he continued, in his even tone of voice. "It would be easy, with a knife this big, and this sharp. It wouldn't take much effort on my part"

He let go of my hair, and took the knife from my throat, and I straightened up, trembling, as I heard him move around in front of me. There was a tug on my jacket, and I heard something fall to the floor, and bounce away. I frowned, as it happened again, wondering what was happening. As my jacket grew looser, I knew, and my heart missed a beat. He was cutting off my buttons! My stomach turned over, as I wondered if this was just a demonstration of the prowess of the blade, and if so, what was to follow? 


My jacket fell open, as the final button was sliced from it. I felt the point of the knife trail across my collarbone, and then turn, and start downwards, towards my cleavage. Then it slid beneath the silk collar of my shirt, and I felt it make short work of the tiny pearly buttons that had been holding the sleek garment together. 

It suddenly occurred to me, that with those buttons gone, my chest would be on show. 

I drew a sharp breath as the last button fell tinkling to the floor, and the 2 sides of the material slid slowly apart, draping themselves down either side of my breasts, like delicate curtains. 

I imagined the sight it presented, the creamy white globes of my breasts, with the pale caramel nipples, rising above the vivid scarlet of the little lacy bra, framed by the dusky violet of my ruined shirt. I bit my lip, as I felt a warm tingle deep down in my belly. The thought of presenting such a pretty picture appealed to my exhibitionist streak and try as I might, I couldn't suppress the excitement. 

The picture was altered somewhat by the cold steel of the knife, reaching up between my breasts, and snipping my bra in two. I felt my breasts spill out of their confines, and bounce pertly to attention. With my arms stretched above my head, they were pulled up very high, and it felt if they were on display, begging to be noticed.

Then the knife tip traced a lazy path down to my skirt, and I sucked my tummy in as far as I could, shrinking from its touch, making it so easy for it to slip under the waistband, and tear down through the expensive fabric, and in a few short seconds, my skirt dropped to the floor.

The air circulated coolly around my lower body, chilling my damp panties and making me shiver just a little.

"Oh, did you wet yourself? Were you really that frightened?" 

Did I imagine it, or was there real concern in his voice? Was he going to feel sorry for me and stop the game? The part of me that revelled in his mastery of me hoped not. But my ego yelled "Hell yeah, I win!" 

"Y-yes, I was very scared" I replied, the stutter genuine.

His hand took hold of my wrists, one at a time, and gently held me very still while the knife separated the remains of my jacket from my body. I felt the chill of the air turn my skin to goose bumps as he sawed through the thick fabric, and flung it aside. 

He had no intention of letting me off, obviously.

As my shirt received the same treatment, I found myself jumping a little, and small gasps were dragged from me, as the light silk acted like feathery fingers, caressing me with the faintest of touches, tickling and teasing my skin into almost unbearable sensitivity. 

He was stood so close behind me now, that I could feel the heat of his body radiating outwards and soaking into my skin, skin that was newly bared for his pleasure. One hand stroked my hair, then traced the line of my jaw, around to my throat, and down…down between my breasts. I shuddered, and a small whimper escaped my lips, and I leant back into him. His hand continued, firm and strong, one confident squeeze, then on underneath my breast, and around my ribcage. My breathing was becoming increasingly ragged, and I could feel my heart pounding, as he took hold of the remains of my bra, and snipped them away.

His infrequent touches, so deft and assured, were making me want him to touch me again, to linger over my sensitive curves, and to stroke and soothe away my trembling. 

As he was shredding and removing my clothes, it felt as if he were breaking through all of my defences, stripping away my control, layer by layer. And although the superficially emancipated boss might resent it, the woman in me wanted it to continue. 

Somehow, in spite of having the knife, he was weaving a spell over me, and making me feel safe, almost treasured… Who knew what else he might do? I grew hotter thinking about it, and the pictures it conjured up were not unwelcome. On the contrary, I yearned to be a participant in them, and I felt a surge of arousal send heat coursing through me. 

I thought about the faint memory of a dream I'd had once, years ago when I was still a young girl, and how my dreams after that had all seemed so pale and two-dimensional. I had often longed to remember the details of that dream...

"What are you thinking?" 

The voice startled me out of my reverie, and I jumped. I yelped as a sharp sting jarred me back to the present, and a few tears were surprised into flowing beneath my blindfold. 

"Shhh, don't cry. You should hold still though…" 

I felt his lips on my thigh, and the stinging faded, replaced by a warm glow. 

My stockings and suspender belt were going the way of the rest of my clothes. I felt the knife slide under the leather strap on my shoe, and realised that I was to be left with nothing at all on my body. The thin leather offered no resistance, and neither did I as I stepped out of my ruined shoe, and onto the rough floor. I shivered, and pulled back, balancing on my one shod foot, putting off the moment when both feet would be on cold, bare concrete, and when the loss of my heels would stretch my body even further than it already was. He continued relentlessly, and I duly shivered, and stretched…


The Borrowing, Part One.



"You didn't answer me" he said, his breath warm on my navel. "What were you thinking? You were smiling you know…"

"Um, I'm not sure, I can't remember" I lied, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering frantically, wondering if he would force me to admit to my faint memories of that first "borrowing", how they had led to my acceptance of what it was that I truly wanted.

"I thought you might be thinking that this felt a little familiar or maybe that you'd dreamt of something like this happening" he said. 

"How- "I started, then quickly "No, of course not!" but I had already given myself away. It seemed he was a mind reader, and already knew what I was thinking. 

He stood up, and ran the knife along my arm to my wrist. I tensed, then relaxed a little, as the blade severed my watch strap, and I heard the tiny glass face smash as it hit the floor.

"Talking of memories, you remember how you got drunk and passed out when you were 18 don't you? How you thought a day bunking off school drinking and messing around would be soooo cool? 

How you must have drunk more than you thought, and you woke up in some bushes, by your parents' house? You remember that now, don't you?" 

I was frozen. I couldn't move, and I couldn't breathe. I felt his finger slide under my little 'wish pearl' necklace, and then, with one swift stroke, the knife tore it into oblivion, and the pearls scattered and danced across the floor, sounding like a handful of tiny firecrackers going off in the darkness. I pictured the delicate pastel coloured pearls scattering across the floor, never to be found, and I was saddened. Then the knife was digging beneath the little lace strap of my panties, and I had no time to dwell on the loss of a piece of jewellery.

The shock of the knife slicing through the last of my coverings made me gasp for breath, and my lungs filled in relief. My panties slipped, and with a final snip the straps were gone, and they hung for a moment, trapped in the moist darkness between my thighs and my vulva. Then they were pulled free, the rough lace parting my lips as it went, the friction briefly applied to my tender insides making me squeal in delighted shock. 

I was completely naked. And it seemed not only was my body to be laid bare, but my memories and thoughts too. And I didn't care. He had already won, but all I wanted was for him to touch me… So much for my resolve!

"Do you remember anything else about that day?" he queried.

"Yes," I said, frowning in thought, "I do now. My school tie was missing, and I had lost some buttons from my blouse. I had drunk way too much, and must have fallen over on my way home. I never did find my tie…" 

My voice trailed off, as he laughed, sounding pleased.

"No, you wouldn't, because I kept your tie. A little souvenir, of a very sweet girl. I look at it from time to time, and remember when I first 'borrowed' you."

"Borrowed? What do you mean by borrowed?" I whispered, playing along, loving his voice, and the intimacy it created when he spoke of the things he did with me.

He was stood in front of me now, I felt his breath on my face and I sighed and tilted my head as he brushed his knuckles across my cheek.

"It's exactly as it sounds. I see people I want, and set about taking them for a short while. 'Borrowing' them, as I said. Oh, but I've certainly refined my technique over the years, don't worry. For instance, your memory won't suffer this time. You'll remember every detail…"

With this, something warm and solid touched my lips. I jerked my head back a little in surprise, but he followed my movement, pressing insistently, and I parted my lips slightly in compliance. 

It was a strange object, rounded in some areas and angled in others. 

My lack of vision demanded that my other senses compensate, and I moved my lips over the offering as he stroked it across my mouth, as if kissing it, assessing its length, feeling its contours and ridges, trying to picture it in my mind. I nervously touched it with the tip of my tongue, and tasted wood, and the tang of sweat, and something else, a richness, oil of some sort? Then my taste buds recoiled, as the tool slid further along, and I tasted the acid electric sting of metal on my tongue. It was the knife! My old friend, the knife. His very unusual, unique knife.

I laughed a little, ridiculously pleased to have identified my kissing partner.

The handle had to be 8 or 9 inches long, and although the texture of the wood itself felt silky smooth, and well worn, the shape of the carving was bizarre, almost crude, alternately bulging obscenely, then narrowing sharply, only to flare outward again. 


I shivered in a strange delight as I ran my tongue up and down its length; revelling in the stimulation the change of shape gave my tongue. I was getting a little carried away when the knife was pulled abruptly away from my oral caresses, and I groaned and strained to follow it as far as I could with my tongue. 

There was a hiss of indrawn breath, and I realised how wanton I must look, but I no longer cared. All my body was yearning to be touched, and I knew that I would beg him if I had to. Nothing else mattered, except that he should touch me. 

I gasped as an icy touch on my nipple caused an opposing rush of warmth to flare between my legs. I spread them a little, as if to cool the heat. The slight movement of the air had the opposite effect though, and I felt my pussy lips swell, and gape, and my clitty began to throb, making me whimper, and I rotated my pelvis in a vain attempt to find something to rub against, to relieve the tension building up in me.

He continued to tease my nipples with the blade of the knife, alternately tracing around the rubbery teat with the very tip of it, scraping lightly, raising the swelling to near painful proportions, drawing moans from me as my breasts ached unbearably, and then pressing the cold flat of it onto the straining nub, making me cry out and shudder, as the over sensitised skin shot the sensations straight to the core of my being, and I felt as if I were dying from the exquisite torture. 

My chest was heaving and I was gasping for breath before I was spared, and the knife travelled elsewhere. 

Down it went, twisting and turning, changing edge and direction as if carving my body, making me writhe and wriggle, dancing to the tune it was playing on me. 

When he ran the blade lightly down my spine I arched like a bow, breasts and hips thrusting forward and howled in anguish, unable to bear the tickling, and tears streamed down my face, and my sobbing sounded very loud in my ears, as I begged him "Please don't, please don't, please don't" over and over, until finally he seemed to think I had paid for my pleasure, and I sagged in my ropes, as the knife moved on. 

It moved away, and then I registered a new sensation, as I felt something hard and thick nudge its way beneath the curve of my bottom, and between my thighs, forcing its way into the gap, burrowing incessantly and I groaned in relief, as finally my burning pussy had something to rub against. It was the knife handle that worked its way along my open lips, pushing them even wider, and coating itself in my juices, then moving on to smear them across my clitoris, sawing back and forth, stroking, and jarring, as the strange shape slid and bumped along my slit, and I tried to press myself down onto it, wanting to rub hard against that cock substitute, trying to ride it, to bring myself the orgasm I was so desperate for, so close to, that all the attentions of my borrower had been cultivating in me.

Then it was withdrawing, and I was begging him not to stop. I begged like a slut, I cried and pleaded, offered to do whatever he wanted, if he would only touch me again, and let me come. 

He was suddenly squeezing my lower lip, and as I opened my mouth to plead with him, something was shoved into my mouth, and tied in place at the back of my head. I shook my head, but there was no way to dislodge the ball of fabric. Now gagged as well as blindfolded, I wondered how much more I could take. I was trembling; my arms felt as if they were being wrenched from their sockets, and my whole body was on fire with the need to be released from the unbearable tension it was being forced to endure.

Then, at last, there was a hardness at the front of my pussy, and a muffled whimper escaped me, as I tried to part my legs as far as I could, to give total access to my dripping cunt. He rubbed the handle top back and forth against me, engorging my clitty, making me thrust myself at him, leaving him in no doubt about what I wanted, what I needed.

Oh so slowly he teased me, as little by little he inched towards my needy hole. I prayed that he wouldn't stop, as I could barely breathe now and my emotions were in turmoil. He slid the bulge at the top of the handle back and forth across my entrance, stemming the stream of wetness that flowed from me, as I pulled on my ropes and pleaded with him through the gag, a muffled groaning all that emerged. And with a sudden lunge the head was up inside me, stretching me wide and I screamed and threw my head back in abrupt reaction to the pleasure that ripped through me.

More and more of the knife was forced within me, and I felt every ridge and every notch, and I moaned and quivered in ecstasy, as my muscles were rubbed and pummelled. They clung lovingly to the harsh intruder, relishing its hardness, and parting willingly before its insistence. In spite of being wetter than ever before, it seemed a very tight fit for the tool, and yet still it pressed on, till finally it was buried fully inside me, and everything was very still. 

I stood there, panting like a bitch on heat, thighs apart and slick with my wetness, and my pussy stretched wide around a lump of wood, and I braced myself for what was to come. I knew that I was teetering on the very brink of coming, and every breath was a whimper of anticipation and suspense. 

And then with a twist that sent fireworks shooting across the blackness of my vision, the intruder was wrenched from me, only to be thrust ruthlessly back in full-length a few seconds later, in an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain. My cunt muscles spasmed wildly, and I screamed against the gag as my orgasm finally exploded, and I thrashed about in wild ecstasy, as again and again he fucked me, rubbing and thrusting, harder and faster, going deeper and deeper, yet still pulling back and dragging the weapon across my clitty and sending fresh waves of intense sensations flooding through me whenever it seemed that my orgasm was slowing, forcing me to come even more wildly.

Wetness was trickling down my legs, and my whole pussy was twitching madly. I could smell my sweat and the hot heady smell of sex, and I bucked my hips in time to meet his thrusts, moaning aloud in delirium as the bevelling continued to rub and inflame the tender walls of my tunnel. I was weeping freely and I had no words to describe my feelings, as I came over and over again, something I had never believed possible before our adventures…

My legs were barely supporting me, and I was exhausted beyond belief, when finally he slowed his thrusts, and allowed me to gradually relax, and to regain some control of my body. 

When he eventually stopped, and pulled the knife from me, I was no longer the same woman who had started the day so cool and composed. I felt shattered and sore, totally used, but strangely contented and complete, in a way I couldn't begin to define. As he loosened the gag, and I spat it from me, all I had breath for were two quiet words.

"Thank you…"

Then I hung in my bindings, legs trembling and chest heaving, and waited, hoping for the touch of his hand once more. It came, brushing my hair from my face, stroking my flushed skin, and I heard his voice soothing me, murmuring to me. Then came a hiss, and the strange, musty smell, and as darkness claimed me I felt my arms drop, and heard his voice whisper "Until the next time…"and then I was falling…

I awoke to sunlight hitting me in the face, making me screw up my eyes and raise a hand to shade my eyes. The movement made me gasp in pain, as my shoulder and arm muscles screeched their protest. 

I looked at my surroundings, puzzled as to why I was sat in my car, outside our house in the early morning, with my bags on the passenger seat next to me. I frowned at my outfit, an oversized T-shirt, which, it became clear as I moved, was all I had on…

Except, in my lap, was a school tie, still knotted, although cut clean through alongside that knot, by what was clearly a razor sharp blade. A tie that brought memories flooding back, memories of school days, and the years beyond… 

I lifted it, and held it up to the light. Oh yes, I remembered alright. And I was glad of the memory. I hoped – knew - that he would catch up with me sooner, rather than later. I started to smile, and as I did so, I seemed to hear a voice, whispering "Until the next time…"