Take Down
Copyright© 2026 by SlapSlut
Chapter 1
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 1 - 3 to 1 take down and abducted.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Horror Rough
It was late on a Friday night, and I was still in my office, buried under a mountain of unfinished case files. Realizing I wasn’t going to make any more progress, I decided to take the work home. I gathered my things, purse, briefcase, and a stack of folders that refused to fit inside and left for the night. The elevator ride down felt longer than usual, the fluorescent light flickering just enough to make me uneasy. When the doors opened, the basement was filled with a faint chill and the sterile scent of concrete and oil. My heels echoed sharply against the concrete floor, the sound loud in the emptiness of the parking lot. My car parked on the opposite, distant and far side of the lot, next to a white van I barely noticed as I kept juggling everything in my arms. My focus was on not dropping anything as I reached into my purse, fumbling for my keys. With a soft beep, the car unlocked. I stepped between my car and the van, then froze. The van’s side door slid open with a sudden, metallic rasp, as three figures suddenly emerged out of the van. Before I could react, one of them grabbed me from behind. I tried to scream, but his hand clamped over my mouth, his thumb and fingers pinching my nose shut, cutting off both breath and sound.
A wave of pure panic overcame me the instant I felt his grip tighten. My files and briefcase dropped and scattered across the concrete floor as I thrashed, kicking and twisting with everything I had. His other hand forced on top of my blouse, groping and locking his hand on my breast. Another assailant grabbed my legs, lifting me off balance while I gasped and fought for air. While I was trapped, the third assailant snatched my keys from the ground and popped the trunk.
I can feel my own heartbeat pounding against my chest, my voice was trapped beneath the pressure of his hand. I could feel my skirt riding up my thighs with every futile jerk as my strength draining as they easily overpowered me, carrying me toward the open trunk of my car. I saw the rope in the third assailant’s hands. “Whoa there, honey!” he ridiculed, as his partner clamped my ankles together. My mind screamed for escape, for someone to hear, but the only sounds were my muffled cries and their harsh, hurried breaths echoing in the cold basement. Calmly holding the coil of rope, he wound it tight around my ankles, over and over, until any movement was impossible. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” he mocked. I managed a few more pathetic kicks, which only elicited a round of chuckles from the men which the sound of their laughter was somehow worse than the physical restraint.