She should have known better than that, walking on a Sunday through this deserted part of the city, a rundown warehouse district filled with empty buildings, junkies, and decrepit wine soaked tramps. Even if she yelled for help, no one would answer. The denizens of this human desert knew better than to run to the sounds of trouble. No, if you wanted to live, which some did, you ran the other way. At most, you waited until well after the sounds died away, then maybe you satisfied your petty curiosity and investigated, carefully.

Her path would take her right past me. I melted back into the little alcove and waited. The sound of her shoes crunching on the plaster and glass scattered on the sidewalk was easy to hear over the muted sounds of the main part of the city: an occasional siren, a jet passing far overhead, a truck honking several blocks over.

The uncertain footfalls came closer, closer, until I could tell she was right there ... Her figure sprang into view, bright red hair streaming down over her back, a blue sweater, her ass encased in tight black jeans, her feet in high heels. I leaped from my hiding place, so perfect was the setup, it was as if the whole thing had been planned. My hand went over her mouth, my knife right in front of her eyes. Her first reaction was to struggle. Then she saw the large saw bladed knife, oh so menacing in aspect, and she froze in fright.

"Don't make a sound," I said menacingly. "Don't fight me and I'll only take your money. Do you understand?"

She nodded, trying to say something from behind my hand.

"No sounds," I hissed.

She froze, panting, which was exactly what I wanted. Frightened people don't fight, or least, they don't fight well. I dragged her back through the opening I had sprung from, then down a hallway and out into the warehouse. The clerestory windows above were almost all shattered allowing a bright light to fill the empty bay. I spied a rope hanging from one of the large beams running across the open bay and dragged the woman with me. She was limp with fright and I smiled, knowing I controlled her: her body, her mind, and her destiny.

The rope was slippery yellow nylon, perfect for the task. Putting as much menace into my voice as I could to better control her, I whispered in her ear, "If you resist or move, I'm going to cut parts off your body." She shivered in fear. "Think about which parts you can do without before you try anything." That would freeze her.

Again with menace, "Lift your arms." She complied, though she nearly fainted.

I quickly tucked the knife in my belt and grabbed the rope, twirling it around one wrist then the other. A quick knot and she was suspended from above. I took a moment to look at my catch, a little rat in a trap. She was a beautiful little rat, her tight ass in those jeans, the sweater bulging from her tits, her long legs ... And I knew I wasn't going to just rob her of her money. No, I was going to take something else I wanted, something more valuable.

Grabbing the knife, I stepped in front of her. Her eyes gaping in fear, she mumbled a quiet, "No." She looked into my eyes and knew what I wanted now. I took her sweater and pulled it away from her body letting the knife find the hem. Then slowly, the razor edge cut it thread by thread, exposing her belly, then her bra, then all of her; I cut it away throwing the scraps onto the floor. Her eyes were even wider now.

I pressed the cold steel against her chest and she shivered. The flat of the blade slid up between those marvelous cups. A quick turn and the knife sliced through the bra, falling away, exposing her pale white tits and red nipples. Two quick cuts and the remains of the bra joined the scraps of sweater on the filthy floor.

She was breathing hard now, her eyes staring at the knife, afraid of where it would go next. Her jeans were too tight to get the knife between flesh and fabric over her thighs but I couldn't resist the effect of cold steel against her body. I grabbed her jeans by the waist and cut down the front so she felt the back of the knife pressed against her sex. She groaned and shivered. Kneeling I cut up each leg until they hung loose, and pulled them off both legs, leaving her standing in those black high heels. It was a picture of erotic force.

Still kneeling, I pulled her little wisp of panties away and sliced them, snick, snick, and threw them to the side. I stepped back to admire my handy work. She looked away, staring at the ceiling trying to show her disdain for me. But I knew better. I could have her begging in a moment just by slicing, not even deeply, that pretty pale skin. She belonged to me and I intended to let her know it.

[Brenda]

I walked around, admiring her beautiful sexy body. I pressed the cold flat blade of the knife against her ass and she shivered and whimpered. So much for her resolve. From behind, I held the knife against her breasts bringing another whimper. I liked that sound. I liked another sound as well: the sound of a zipper, mine, being slowly lowered. When she heard that sound, she started begging, "No, please. Not that." So much for her cold disdain. The realization was dawning that she was mine and there was nothing she could do about it.