4 comments/ 28587 views/ 4 favorites If She Were a Mermaid By: JMaxwell69 She was racing down the sidewalk to catch the last train. Single-mindedly, she thought nothing of crossing the chasm of alley mouth. She was snatched into the alley by a hand that snapped out of the ink. Before she could scream, she was enveloped and a meaty hand capped her mouth. The heat of his breath chugged over her shoulder and obliquely across her cheek. She struggled against the anaconda-like constriction of the arm wrapped across her chest and around her arms. She was immersed in darkness. "Ssshhh. Don't struggle. You're mine now... In my world, you keep what you catch." The gravely voice spurred her into a frenzy of foot-stomping, shin-kicking, and writhing. The words had been delivered so calmly and precisely. The attacker expertly slid his hairy forearm over her mouth stifling her screams as he moved from covering her mouth to catching her neck in his arm's crook. The muscles flexed catching her arteries and windpipe in a vice. She tried to scream and tried to tear at any flesh her pinned arms could reach. Her nails snapped off with no effect. The man, if it was a man, didn't react to pain. She felt herself blacking out. ** She awoke bound nude to a cot. The only light was faint candle glow. It looked and smelled like a wine cellar with all the casks removed. Her normally flawlessly smooth skin was covered in goose-bumps. The silence was interrupted when he walked out of the darkness into the candlelight. She could only see the lower half of his dark robes and the knife in his hand. "Please don't." He moved closer, extending the knife towards her sole. She pulled the foot away, but the slack bindings cinched agonizingly tight until they felt like they would slice through her skin. In reaction to the pain, she involuntarily extended the leg out toward the knife point. Before the foot reached the dagger, the bindings bit her flesh once more. He withdrew the knife and returned it to a sheath. It had all been a demonstration of the futility of struggle. "Please let me go, I won't tell anyone." came the teary-eyed imploration. He leaned in to lightly run a hand over her thigh. His face came into view. She screamed ear-piercingly. He recoiled into the darkness. He'd been wearing a grotesque crow mask; at least, she prayed it was a mask. Leaving, he snuffed the candle. The faint ether of light faded to black behind him. She only heard the high-pitched tone that one sometimes hears in the complete absence of sound. The walls were thick, and perhaps far underground. Cringing, she thought she felt tiny feet scurrying across her naked body. ** It felt like an eternity was dripping away. Eventually, she drifted in and out of sleep. She always wondered for how long she had slept; suspecting it was never long. She wanted to track time, but time did not seem to exist - any more than light or sound - in her catacomb. With the cool air and passing of time, she needed to pee so badly. She repetitively called out, "I've got to pee." Eventually he strode in, sans robes, his flaccid dangle swaying rhythmically with each step. He had something in his hand - a bedpan and a cloth. She trembled. She couldn't help but stare. His body was lean and sinewy- fit but, at once, knotty and grotesque. She tried to stifle her sobs, to not give him the satisfaction. When he started to loosen one of her leg bindings, she expected an impending rape, but he just positioned the bedpan. Despite her painfully full bladder, she could not immediately unclench and urinate. When finally she finished, he set the pan aside and wiped her crudely with the cloth as if cleaning a spill from a stovetop. She tried to move away from the violating hand, but was bitten by her bindings. He completely loosened the binding on her leg and extracted it. He began to gently massage away the pins and needles. She tried to kick him. He slipped the kick, and jabbed a thumb deep into the acupressure point he was working. It felt like he had driven a railroad spike into her. His defense was agonizing, but not brutal. In one of the many contradictions screaming through her brain, she feared his calm. It meant that he would not be easily manipulated. She had wondered if they might triangulate on her cell-phone, but now knew it would not be the case. For all this man's heinous vices, rashness and stupidity were not among them. The phone was still in the alley, she resigned herself to it. One by one he massaged out her limbs methodically and then rubbed lotion over her skin - never lingering. She tried to talk to him, but he remained silent. ** Time passed; she never knew how much. With nothing to do but reflect, she experienced all manner of maddening and conflicting thoughts and emotions. She began to despise herself for being so weepy, but she couldn't stop. Part of her mind implored her to be strong. Soon they would find her. Periodically, he came in to care for and feed her- always wearing a different primitive gruesome mask. She found it progressively harder to catch the crazy thoughts and to rebuke herself for them. "No, she didn't do anything to deserve this." "No, she would not rather that he talked to her than that she be free." ** She awoke one day to find the bindings gone. Had it been a week? A few days? She heard the lumber drop hollowly and cacophonously - the door was being unbarred. She attacked her captor with berserk fury, but he was prepared. He captured her limbs and soon had her pinned on her stomach on the ground. After he tended to her abrasions, he did not enter her chamber again for several days. He left a bucket, and would occasionally push food and water through a small doggy-door. Every time he dropped something off, she begged for him to enter. ** She heard a sound outside the door, and once more implored, "I'll be good..." The 2X4 came off the door. The man entered with a steaming bucket of water and a small bag in one hand, and a lantern in the other. A big fluffy white towel was folded under the lantern arm. He set the lantern down in the middle of the room and set the bucket and bag down by the drain in the floor. "Take your bucket down to the end of the hall and set it down inside the door, then come back. Don't dawdle or your water will get cold." It was the first thing he had said to her since her abduction. She carried the foul-smelling bucket carefully as directed. She set it down and paused looking at the door. "Was this a test?" The thought ran through her mind. Three days ago she would have bolted out the door without question, but now she was terrified of being left alone in the dark for weeks or months as a punishment. What was on the other side of that door? A forest? A stairwell? Times Square? She didn't know. Was it even unlocked? Would an alarm sound? All these thoughts swept through her mind before she turned and headed back toward her cell. She was angry with herself for not trying to escape, but she couldn't make herself do it. "That's a good girl. Now clean up." He said. The rational part of her found the patronizing comment revolting, but another part of her (a part she never knew to exist before) felt comforted and pleased by it. The bag contained a washcloth, soap, and shampoo. The hot washcloth on her face was nirvana. "Turn this way." The man said in response to her subconsciously modest position facing the wall with her back toward him. She couldn't see the man's expression through the tribal African mask he wore, but she could tell by the tent forming in his robe that he was becoming aroused by watching her soap up and rinse off her svelte body. The hot water felt so good. She didn't let his ogling stop her from a much needed thorough bath. "I find the sight of you bathing rather erotic. I hope you won't mind if I touch myself." The man said flipping his robe up over his engorged member. He began to stroke himself lightly as he watched the show being put on. He was not going at it fast and white-knuckled, but, rather, in a light sensual manner. She felt violated as she looked over at the man stroking his chubby while she squatted and cleaned between her legs, and she worried that she was about to experience the rape she had long been expecting. While the warm water and cleanliness made her feel like person anew, she did start to chill almost immediately once she stopped rinsing. The man moved toward her unfolding the towel. He wrapped it around her and then began to dry her starting with her brunette locks and working downward. Again, he was methodical but never lingered gratuitously on her private parts in a groping manner. She didn't know what made her do it, but she touched the member that touched her leg. First it was like an accidental touch of her fingertips and then she wrapped her hand around it. For a moment he continued to towel her dry, but, when she began to stroke, he stopped and removed her hand. "You have an important day ahead." He said, and then left her with the towel wrapped about her torso. ** "Why did you do it? Touch it?" She asked herself. "To feel as though I control something in my runaway world." She responded. She knew she should be worried about feeling the need to speak the words aloud, but she couldn't help it. She needed to hear a human voice, and even to feel as though she were interacting in dialogue - even if it was truly monologue. There was one recurring question that she did not speak aloud. It was odd how the exact same words could take on very different meanings with differing contexts. The question she couldn't bring herself to say aloud was, "Why hasn't he raped me?" In the beginning, this horrific curiosity was considered in the context of "what does he want from me, and, if it's not sex, what could it be?" She then always had to push the horrific alternatives from her mind. Rape would be a dreadful trauma (there was a time she couldn't imagine worse), but it was a known quantity. The anxiety of uncertainty was killing her. Her stomach churned and roiled with it. Just recently, however, the question took on the new and disturbing context of "is there something wrong with me?" She was undergoing some transformation that she couldn't even begin to understand - or was she? ** In a few hours the man returned. "A great many mysteries will be unlocked over the next several hours. The first thing you should know is that you weren't abducted at random. On the contrary, your abduction was the denouement of an extensive search and observation. You were found to be the most promising among a select pool of candidates. In short, I found you exceptional." He said and took her by the hand. He led her out of her cell and down the hall toward the door that she had earlier contemplated fleeing through. His left arm held the lantern out ahead of him, and his right was stretched out behind holding her hand firmly as she walked at arms length behind. The door opened to the foot of a stairway. The stairway was lit, and he snuffed out the lantern and left it on a shelf there. Then he guided her up the stairs. The stairs opened into a large impressive kitchen with marble countertops and restaurant-grade appliances. It was so unlike the musty dank cellar she had called home for some unknown time. It was pristinely clean and sanitary. They crossed into a dinning room in which a table had already been set, and steaming bowls of soup set out. It smelled so good, and she involuntarily salivated. She had been fed mostly cold table scraps since her abduction. "There is someone you must meet." The man gestured for her to turn. A woman was walking into the dinning room. She was nude like the captive, but was not trembling and seemed well acclimated to her surroundings. She was several years older than the captive, but was quite attractive woman. In contrast, she was blond with a short hairstyle, and was more buxom than the new captive - though still tone. "Meet B. B this is C." He said making the introduction. It took her a moment to realize that she was C. B looked C up and down, and even walked around behind her. "She's a nervous little mouse, but I think you made a wise choice. We'll see anyway." B. said. "You just don't remember what you were like at this stage." The man said, and then added, "Let's eat before it gets cold." They sat down at the table with the man at the head and the two women to either side of him. "May I?" B said. The man nodded and said, "Yes. I guess it's time." B got up and slowly eased the mask off the man's face. C expected some sort of deformed, scarred, or burned face, but was relieved and curious to see that it was perfectly fine face. It had a chiseled handsomeness to it even. Some might find it a little gaunt or with a little too prominent bone structure. He was by no stretch pretty. It was a definitively masculine face. What preoccupied C, however, was how familiar the face seemed, but yet she could not place it. It was as if the man had appeared in her dreams, but that couldn't be it. B leaned over and the man tilted up his face upward to receive a kiss while taking B's face between his palms gently. After C finished watching B return to her seat, trying to figure out what the relationship between her two dinner companions was - and what role she was supposed to play in all this, she bowed her head reflectively with her hands in her lap. "Extraordinary." B said in an apparently surprised ejaculation. C looked up and saw that the man was holding his palm extended toward B and casting a stern rebuking glance upon the blond woman. B then quietly averted her eyes downward as well. B had just so expected C to ravenously tuck into the food, and was pleasantly surprised by the refined behavior. It was not the religiosity of it. It didn't matter to B if C was saying Christian grace, practicing Buddhist mindfulness, or was a conscientious atheist. It was the fact that the young woman was in control of herself in a way that few were. After all C had gone through, she was not victim to base impulse. It was so hard, such a long and challenging process, to find a suitable candidate. One had to find a woman who was strong enough to bend to this life without breaking, but yet, deep down, had a longing to bend to it. She had to be smart and have a longing to know herself - even if it was painful at times, but yet be someone who had a void of which they could not make sense. The bisque was other-worldly, and C realized how much more she appreciated it than she had any other food she had ever placed in her mouth. Despite the fact that her mind was a carousel that alternated between thoughts of the woman seated across from her and the view out the window over B's shoulder, C savored the flavors. She knew virtually nothing about B, but yet she seemed to have a strong mixed gut reaction to her - as she did toward the man, though the nature of that ambiguity was different. The feelings were mixed in an odd love - hate sort of way. She found B stirred some sort of ire in her, but simultaneously C had a type of affinity for, or kinship toward, B. Some siblings had this kind of relationship, and C found it odd that she should feel this way toward a lady she didn't really know. The woman had made a patronizing comment, but C's dislike of her was more than that. Jealousy? Surely, that was ridiculous. The view out the window gave C's mind to thoughts of escape, and she considered the landscape. There was not much to garner from the view. There was a lush bucolic gradual rise that seemed to meet a backdrop of low hanging medium-gray clouds. More immediately, she noted that there were tightly spaced bars upon the windows. When they had all finished the soup course, C was directed to bus the man's dishes as well as her own while B cleared her own plate. B showed C around the kitchen, and gave C the man's main course as well as C's own plate. C was to serve the man and then could sit down to her own food. B took her own plate. This process was repeated through the remainder of the courses. ** After the meal the man excused himself and retired to his study to read. C was left alone with B, and they cleared the table and cleaned up together. "What am I doing here? Why did he kidnap me?" C asked B. "It's not my place to answer such questions without his permission, but, by the end of the evening, things will clearer." B responded as she brushed a stray lock of hair out of C's face. "Who are you?" "I am B." "Are you a captive like me?" B gave the smile of one looking at an endearingly naïve soul. She wasn't sure how to answer this question. "I am very much like you in many ways, but I don't consider myself a captive." "Is there an 'A'; are we some sort of harem or collection?" C asked. "There was an A, but she... she didn't make it. "No. We are not a harem. Master is not the kind to collect. He would, no doubt, say that collections were for those caught up in the avarice of desire, and rather one should simplify one's life such that one can see and experience the beauty and innate perfection inherent in those special things that we choose to take into our lives. "This may seem a contradiction, given that there are two of us standing here, but, for now, you'll have to trust that your role here will become clear." B explained ambiguously. "I'm... I'm really scared here... Will you, please, please, help me to escape?" C said, her eyes welling up. B stepped to C and embraced the younger woman. As soon as she did so, C returned the embrace and was wracked by a fit of sobbing. C so needed the human contact - the contact of a confidant that she could unload her tsunami of built up emotion upon. C clutched at B as though the elder woman were a life-preserver in a rolling ocean. "Trust me, girl, this will all be alright. I can't offer you that assistance, and right now you may think me a vile and despicable monster for it, but someday I think you'll see it differently. There will be traumas ahead, no doubt, but you are strong enough to handle them, and I'll be there to help you as long as I can." ** After C had cried herself out and they finished the clean-up chores, B decided to try a heart-to-heart with the girl. "Tonight is going to be hard on you - physically and emotionally. You are going to want to flee. I know this. I remember how it was. I know it's hard to accept what I'm saying, but don't give in to it. Nothing good will come of it. I know this is all scary and demoralizing. If you just give this a chance, hard as that may be, you'll never see that awful cellar again. You'll never be alone again." B said looking C in the eye with her hands on the girl's shoulders. B took C by the hand and led her through the house. The house was not huge and was sparsely furnished and decorated with the exception of the study that they passed. It was floor to ceiling with books. However, the goods and decorations that were there were all high-quality and showed impressive taste. The Master had left the study by the time the two women passed by. They found him in the bedroom lying on the bed nude. He was reading Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire". The two women just stood quietly waiting for several minutes before the Master put a bookmark where he left off, and set the book aside on the end table. B guided C toward the bed, and the younger woman could hear her heartbeat pound. When C nervously refused to walk further, B grabbed her by the hair and pulled her forward. It was such a change from the sweet woman who had consoled her. B struggled to remain on her feet until she was pushed roughly over onto the bed. "Don't embarrass me. It's time for you to do your chores." B hissed as she pushed the younger woman's cheek against the man's flaccid snake. If She Were a Mermaid The Master's cock started to thicken as soon as the warm soft flesh of the girl's cheek was pressed against it. B took the limp staff and pressed its bulbous head against C's lips. The girl didn't have any resistance left in her. She opened her mouth and began to suck. B laced her fingers into the dark strands of the girl's hair, and then pushed the girl's head down onto the Master's cock. His shaft got rigid and gradually transformed from pink to reddish-purple. C's jaw got sore so quickly. It was likely because of the tension and stress her body had been subjected to recently. "You can take a bit more." B said, and she forced the girl's head down impaling her throat on the Master's thick cock-head. C gagged and tried to get the meat out of her mouth, but B would not have any of it. C's jaw burned and she felt she couldn't take it much longer. She hoped the man would just cum already, even if it was in her mouth. The Master pulled his cock out of C's mouth without cumming, and he got up to his knees on the bed. He took one of C's hands and put it on his shaft, indicating she should stroke him. Then he grabbed the girl's hair. B turned to lie on her back, and spread her knees wide apart. "You need to get B ready now." The master then shoved the girl's face down toward the elder woman's crotch. As demoralizing as it was to be mouth-raped by the man, it was even more so to have to service the woman. It was a betrayal of some sort B could not well explain. B had never had sexual relations with a woman. The "college experimentation" that men fantasized was part of every woman's experience had not been part of C's life. With one hand stroking the man and the other trying to hold herself up, C's shoulders were in agonizing pain in no time. She was a fit woman, but something about what she had gone through made her weak. It was probably a mix of diet, the damp coldness her body had been subjected to for so long, the stress, and, perhaps, some atrophy from the time she had been bound to the cot. She tried to exercise when she was free, but her options were limited inside the tiny cell. B grabbed the girl's head and pulled C's face into her pussy. The blond ground her sloppy wet sex against the younger woman's face. She rubbed the girl's lips across her clit roughly. "Alright. Get out of the way, watch, and learn. You need to be able to do this." The Master said. C moved to the edge of the bed, and lay exhaustedly on her side. The Master and B proceeded to have sex in a wide variety of styles from very ordinary missionary position to complicated and physically-challenging "Kama Sutra" poses like "Double Crab" and "Wife of Indra". It was not long before C succumbed to the comfort of the soft clean-smelling bed, and drifted off. She awoke to a series of sharp slaps across the face. She was fuzzy-headed and it took a minute to realize where she was and what was happening. "Assume the last position in which I fucked B." The Master said, irritated. "I... uhh..." C said, having clearly been asleep. "ASSUME THE POSITION!" The Master said loudly. It was terrifying, yet she sensed that he was not really angry. He didn't seem to get angry, but used the impression of anger as a tool. It made him all the more scary to her. C crawled to the middle of the bed, and lay on her stomach not knowing what to do. The Master forced her legs apart, and then crammed his cock into her ass. C had had anal sex before, but always with lots of lube, lots of patience, and with a smaller cock. All that she had the benefit of this time was the remnants of B's slick pussy juice, and that became gummed up in short order. Her ass became raw and sore. He climaxed in her backside. "Clean me up." The Master demanded as he turned and lay on his back. B showed C to the bathroom, and instructed her about how to clean up the master to his satisfaction and so that they could resume safely. As C was doing this all, the cum was creeping out of her ass, and she felt so dirty as it drizzled down her thighs. "Now, since you can't be trusted to be a diligent student, you will need to stand here while we run through this again." The Master said manhandling C into a standing position about two feet from the bed's edge, and setting his book on top of her head. "If this book falls, I'm going to punch you in your filthy cunt." The Master said. The Master proceeded to go through the long complex sequence of positions again. C tried to remember the sequence. She feared there would be a test, and what the punishment would be if she got the answers wrong. She kept getting distracted. It was harder to stand still than she would have ever imagined, and to concentrate studiously as she did so was exponentially more taxing. Her calves, of all things, started to burn and quiver. Finally, the Master finished, and he exited the bed. He took the book of the girl's head. "Good girl." He said stroking her cheek and wiping away the tears. C collapsed onto the foot of the bed. ** C awoke in the middle of the night lying cross the foot of the bed. Someone had put a blanket over her. It was storming outside, and when the lightening flashed, illuminating the room, she could see that the Master and B were intermingled on the bed and seemed to be sleeping soundly. How they could sleep so soundly among the booming thunder claps, the lightening that lit the deepest corners of the room, and the fat rain droplets spattering cacophonously against the windowpanes was beyond C. C eased off the bed, careful not to disturb the two lovers. She crawled on all-fours toward the door. Once in the hall, she stood and tip-toed toward the kitchen. She had noticed a side door to the outside next to the door that led down to the cellar. Despite the din of the storm, C's heart seemed to clench every time the wood flooring of the old house creaked. It took every ounce of her will power to not take off in a dead sprint, but she knew that would be futile. Each slow step she took, she was sure that Master would call to her. Then she would be banished back to the cellar where she might be left alone for weeks. It didn't sound like torture until one experienced it first hand. C wished she had brought the blanket with her, but she wasn't about to go back for it. There were no clothes or rain slickers to be seen. She opened the door and pushed forward out into the dark. The rain painfully stung her nubile body as it was propelled slantwise into her, and her body became soaked and shivering cold almost immediately. C realized she was at the will of the lightening to see where she was going. She spun slowly trying to see some faint light - a village, a farmhouse, anything. There was nothing. When the lightening would crack, she looked around to try to get her bearings. Looking past the house down to low ground, she saw nothing but a dark churning ocean capped with suds. In the next flash, she oriented on high ground. Surely there would be a village on the other side of that rise. She ran for the hill in the darkness hugging herself in a futile attempt to stave off the cold. She tripped and went down headlong into the sodden muddy earth. Bruised and abraded, she got up and continued. The unseen slippery mud rolled down her body. Each step felt heavier and was slower. Her only hope was that there would be some manner of civilization on the other side of that low hill. Staggering in the darkness, she felt the wind gust hard and knew she must be near the top of the rise. With great serendipity, a lightening flash illuminated C's world and she realized that she was about to step over a precipice. Another flash illuminated the waves beating on the rocks thirty feet below. Completely demoralized, C sank to her knees and wept. There was no path to freedom. This was her life. This was her nadir. She thought, "If I were a mermaid, I could swim away from this rock back to my old life... but why should I want to. Was that past life so great?" When she reflected upon it truly, she concluded that she didn't love her job, and that she was tired of being alone. None of the men she dated made her love them, or hate them, with such passion. But then, there was B. There were always the rocks below. "Come, girl, there's nothing for you down there." The voice of B yelled against the buffeting wind and storm song. "Trust me, I once took a good look at them myself." C turned to see the older woman behind her. B was wrapped in something, and held it open so that C could join her for the walk back. "Just so I can be your little porn fluffer girl?" C shouted through angry tears. "That's not your role." B said. "It sure seemed like it. What is my role then?" "My replacement." "Oh... and how are you getting free of this place?" "By dying. I have a terminal illness in its early stages." C didn't know how to respond to the statement and sat jaw agape for a moment. "... And he's just going to let you die here on this rock in the ocean?" "He sent me to specialists. They offered me the choice between a treatment that might extend my life with sickly days, or the mostly painless progress of the disease that would take me quietly some night. I chose the latter." "All this... what you are going through. It will get better, but it's necessary - a necessary evil." C crawled to her feet peering over the precipice once more. She weighed the options of life and death, and then went to B.