Chapter 2

The next night she returned to her usual jogging time and path. She passed by the place it had happened, both on the way out, and the way back. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, it was silly to think that it would. The following night she stopped there and waited for several minutes. Still nothing. The night after that she actually called out, "I'm here!" at the spot, and instantly felt ashamed. What the hell was she doing? She knew better. Her kind of fantasies were things decent men don't do in real life without planned consent and a safe word. The one time was once too many. Yet she was unable to continue on towards home until she had fingered herself to an orgasm.

She moved on from it all as best she could, and finally started being able to function again without the mix of trauma and desire constantly in her head. She was still too skittish to go back to her porn or her roleplay chats, but her nightly jogs continued without incident. At least, they did for about another week or so. Then, one night as she approached her house, she saw that all the outside lights were dark. They had been on when she'd left. She always turned them on as she set out. She felt her heart beating quickly in her chest, and her pussy making her panties damp. This was a trap. It was an obvious trap. She needed to be smart. She needed to go to her neighbor's house and have them call the police.

She walked up to the door. No, it was wrong, this was her own door. She should run, right now. She pulled out her key and slid it into the keyhole. Instantly the arms closed around her, one around her arms and breasts, the other holding a rag to her face. She became light-headed. It must have been chloroform or ether or something. In a semi-conscious daze, she was vaguely aware of being dragged, then lifted up and dumped into something. A car trunk.

He pulled her hands behind her back and bound them with what felt like a zip tie. Another went tight around her ankles. She was starting to regain her faculties and struggled against her bonds, of course to no avail. He stuffed something into her mouth, another rag, and secured it there with a strip of tape across her mouth. Of all gag techniques, the one most effective at muffling screams. Finally a blindfold went on, and she heard the trunk lid close. After a few more minutes, the car's engine started and drove away.

She kicked around the inside of the trunk aimlessly with her tied legs, but couldn't find the escape latch, if this car even had one. This wasn't what she wanted. Another rough pounding out on the roadside, then home to bed safe and sound, that was the extent of what her lust had driven her to hope for. Or perhaps a home invasion while she slept, waking up to the intruder taking her by force in her own bed, at the very most. Who knew what he had planned for her now. Online, escaping from a scene that had gone too far was as simple as logging out, but she was way beyond that now. She tried to keep track of the distance, the turns, but couldn't in the end. Finally the car stopped and shut off. She guessed at the time, she was now in the next town over, at most.

She heard a garage door closing, and the trunk opening. She took that as her cue to resume struggling and screaming, if only in defiance since it didn't get her anywhere. One by one she felt him secure and lock wide cuffs around each wrist and ankle. He cut the zip ties away, but the cuffs were clipped together, so she didn't gain any movement. Then a collar wrapped around her neck, also locking into place, thankfully not uncomfortably tight. Scissors went to work, cutting off her jogging clothes and her underwear. Naked and bound, she felt more vulnerable now than she had during the rape. This was bad. And exciting. No, stop thinking like that. This was very bad.

He lifted her out of the trunk and carried her, presumably into his house, and then down a flight of stairs. He eased her down to the floor. She heard the rattle of a chain being secured to her collar. He separated her cuffs, restoring free movement to her limbs. Then at last, the blindfold and the gag were removed. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. She was in an unfinished basement. The floor was bare concrete, the ceiling was exposed, some framework for walls were in place but with no drywall covering it. There were extra coverings on the bare concrete walls in places, probably concealing window wells. There were only a few bare bulbs on the ceiling joists for light, but some work lights were in place around her to keep that area well lit. She was sitting on a bare twin-size mattress on the floor and was chained to a toilet. At least that was something not being denied her.

He was there too, standing over her, without his mask now. He looked downright average, on the younger side and clean shaven, the quiet unassuming guy next door type, completely unthreatening. But she knew what he'd done, what he was capable of. Some of it, anyway. She was about to find out how much more there was. She looked up at him, fear in her blue eyes, and said, "Please, let me go. I want to go home."

He slapped her hard enough to knock her down to the mattress. "This is your home now, bitch!" He quickly disrobed, tossing his clothing aside towards the stairs. Now fully naked, with his hard cock swinging free and ready, he got down on the mattress with her. She knew what was coming. No sense in making it easy for him, though.

"No, no don't, please no!" she begged as he pushed her down on her back, pinning her arms and pushing his cock inside her pussy once more. "Noooooo!" she wailed as he forcefully fucked her. She struggled in his grip while his hard member invaded her wet snatch over and over, deep and hard. Suddenly he flipped her over, pulled her ass up, and pushed her head back down into the mattress. She gasped as he forced her asshole open with his thumb. "Oh no no no not there, please not there!" she begged, and then screamed when she felt his cock pushing into her rear passage. His balls slapped against her cunt as he sodomized her repeatedly while she whimpered and moaned.

When he pulled out of her, he pulled her by the hair up to a kneeling position, and then stood up in front of her. He grabbed a nipple and pinched hard, making her cry out again. Immediately he stuffed his cock into her open mouth. On reflex she started sucking her own ass juice off the invading member, but then she remembered that a blow job during a rape is fraught with hazard. She bit down, not hard enough to cause injury, but enough that it was clearly intentional.

"Bitch!" he shouted, pulling her off of him by her hair. Another slap to the face sent her back down to the mattress. "Time for you to learn some obedience." He fastened her wrist cuffs to a ring on a rope and pulled her up via an overhead pulley. Then he fastened her ankle cuffs to either end of a spreader bar, forcing her crotch to be fully exposed. He adjusted the rope until she was just a little too high to be standing comfortably and secured it there.

He produced a leather flogger and started lashing her with it. It didn't hurt as much as an actual whip or a belt might, but it was still plenty effective. He circled around her, using it on her back, her thighs, and her ass, before gravitating more towards hitting her tits and pussy lips. "This is what happens to naughty little cunts!" he scolded as he beat her. She knew that some girls, the so-called pain sluts, got off on this type of thing, some even allegedly had difficulty reaching orgasm without some physical beating. For her, it just plain hurt. She flinched and yelped at every strike. And yet, she could feel her pussy getting damp. It was supposed to be unpleasant, it was punishment, after all. Each blow to her body was another assertion of his power over her. Is that how the pain sluts do it? Does the pleasure come from the pain itself or from the meaning behind it? Maybe even that distinction goes away after a while.

Finally he was satisfied and put the flogger away. He climbed up the stairs, not even letting her down. Even worse, the lights went out, plunging her into darkness. "Hey. Hey!" she called out, but didn't expect a reply. All she could do was fidget, standing there hung by her wrists, with only the sounds of her breathing and heartbeat as company.

This wasn't what she'd expected when she let him attack her again. She didn't want to be held as a slave in his basement, did she? Sure, it was a fetish theme she enjoyed, but what was the boundary between that and actual desire? A sexual fantasy is normally something you wish would happen someday. What do you call one you don't want? This wasn't a game like the roadside rape had been. No. Wrong. That hadn't been a game either. That was a real rape. She had thought she didn't want that to really happen either, but now she retroactively considered it the biggest sexual thrill of her life.

This new predicament was thrilling too, but she had a life, a job, responsibilities. She didn't really want to give that up, did she? No matter how horny the thought of it made her. The fantasy of it, like the stories with similar situations, was she projecting it too much on her new surroundings? In the end, did she want both, to keep the normal things in her life, and to have it all taken from her as a captive sex slave? That shouldn't even be a valid option. How does it make sense to want both? It wasn't up to her anyway. She was here, at his mercy. And dammit, not having that choice, regardless of whether she could make up her mind, that was turning her on too.