I wake. For a moment, I’m confused, surrounded by complete darkness. Then I begin to panic. I’m trapped, face down against a hard-flat surface. It ends just below my stomach. A round ball fills my mouth and drool drips down my chin. My arms and legs are pulled down, held in place below me. I continue to struggle, trying to break free, but I can barely move.

White Room [FF][Rape][Torture][Needles]

I wake. For a moment, I’m confused, surrounded by complete darkness. Then I begin to panic. I’m trapped, face down against a hard-flat surface. It ends just below my stomach. A round ball fills my mouth and drool drips down my chin. My arms and legs are pulled down, held in place below me. I continue to struggle, trying to break free, but I can barely move.

How did I get here? Thinking back, I remember the nightclub. We were celebrating my promotion. I went home early. I wasn’t feeling well. Suzanne and her sister gave me a ride. The last thing I remember is them helping me crawl into bed. Was I roofied? I didn’t drink that much. Did someone drug me and follow me home? It feels like I’m still in my sexy black dress.

I don’t need to guess what’s coming. There is only one reason to tie someone down like this. He is going to rape me. I can’t help but remember stories of serial killers. Psychotic killers that rape, torture, and even kill. Oh, God! Fuck! I hope it’s just a rapist. If I’m lucky, he will rape me. FUCK! Trembling with an emotion I don’t want to feel. I desperately attempt to bury my terror with rage. It works. At least it works for a little while.

Tears drip down my face, and I scream around the gag. The wordless sound echo’s back to me, surprisingly loud in the darkness. I always thought gags kept people quiet. That’s what they show in the movies. I can’t speak, but my grunts and screams, while distorted, are loud. I scream over and over.

Over time my screams turn into quiet tears, and eventually, they stop. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I can’t move.

Time passes.

The lonely darkness surrounds me. I don’t feel a blindfold, but I can’t see anything. It’s been hours. Shouldn’t there be at least a trace of sunlight? I’ve worked the night shift. You can’t completely block the sun. Even in a room without a window, there’s always a little light. Am I blind?

Time passes.

My body aches all over from the forced immobility. My eyes burn from hours of crying. My empty stomach gurgles. My throat is raw. Oak and concrete are all I smell. My breathing is dry and rough. Each ragged breath is painful. Every involuntary swallow is agonizing. My jaw forced open by the gag, spasms, muscles begging to close.

Time passes.

A distant door closes. I wake instantly. One moment I’m asleep, and the next I’m struggling. The pounding of my heart fills my ears, it drowns out everything else, even my own breathing.

The light turns on. Painfully blindingly bright, even through my eyelids. A door closes. The sound close, coming from behind me. I carefully peek, trying to focus my eyes. A white concrete wall towers over me, less than a foot away. I’m trapped against a wooden beam sticking out of the wall. The smooth white surface is roughly square with rounded corners.

To my right is another wall. No furniture. No decorations. Nothing except for white concrete. To the left my attention is grabbed by a black chain on the floor. It’s the only thing I can see that isn’t white.

Someone flips up my skirt. In sudden panic. I try to jerk away. It’s useless. My panicked mind isn’t thinking clearly. My panties are slowly pulled down. I feel something hard slide along my skin, and up between my legs. With terrified jerks I manage to move. It’s only a fraction of an inch, but that’s more than I’ve managed before. It’s all for nothing. I’m pulled back into place, and he slides his dick into position. Ready to penetrate me. I buck and jerk, but now that he has a hand holding me in place. I can’t even inconvenience him.

Just when I think he is about to force his way inside, his dick slides up. I have a heartbeat to feel it rest against my asshole, clenching involuntary, before he grabs my waist with both hands and roughly forces his way inside. I scream in agony, everything but my violation forgotten. He pulls all the way out and slams back in. Unbelievable pain. I’m being ripped in half! I scream. Over and over. As fast as I can breathe. My vision narrows to the wooden beam. My head is filled with the static of pure pain. It’s a brutal violation. All the way in. All the way out. Fast and rough.

Ragged throat-tearing screams, and the sound of our bodies slapping together are all I hear. Impossibly, the pain seems to increase with each thrust. Nothing. I can do nothing to stop him. It hurts too much to endure, but that doesn’t stop him.

The thrusts slow. His breaths coming in gasps. He finally stops, I lay there, trembling, more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my life. My violated ass burns with agony. His hard dick still buried to the hilt. A shivering chill runs down my back as I realize he didn’t cum. It’s not over.

His hands release my waist. Movement, and quiet unidentifiable sounds come from behind me. Hands caress their slow way up my back, up my neck and deep into my hair. With a vicious surge, and a double handful of hair for leverage he grinds against my ass. Forcing his way just a little deeper. I whimper, but after the agony I just experienced, it’s not enough to drive my exhausted body out of the draining lethargy.

He pulls away. I have just enough time to be confused by the hard dick still buried in my ass before my rapist sits on the beam in front of me.

I stare at the glistening pussy in shock. It’s so close. Everything is blurry. Her hands caress my face, fingers sliding into my hair. With quiet gasps of pleasure, she starts grinding her pussy against me. The musky odor, and wet skin sliding against my face makes me gag and struggle. I try to turn my head aside, but her firm grip is unbreakable. Legs wrap around my head. I can’t see anything accept for occasional flash of her tan skin. My world narrows to physical sensations and the smell of her pussy. At least this doesn’t hurt.

My head swims and my lungs ache for another breath. She allows just enough air for an occasional quick gasping breath, then I’m surrounded by her again. Her thighs, now slick with a mixture of her juices and my tears, lock my head in place. She savagely pulls my hair forcing my face against her pussy.

I’m covered with fluid. Her musky scent is all I smell. The gag is an imperfect seal, and I can’t keep the tart taste of her out of my mouth. Slick and wet, she continues to grind against me.

It’s like my mind splits in two.

Part of me is lost. Confused. Terrified. Drowning in another woman’s pussy. That part of me babbles to itself. What the hell? A girl? Are there two of them? No. She fucked me? How? I can still feel her inside me.

Another part of me has two goals. Survival and escape. At any cost. It’s cold and calculating. It knows there is a strap-on still buried in my ass. It hears her mounting pleasure. It feels the increased pressure and urgency of her approaching orgasm. It’s trying to figure out what will happen next. It watches and waits. It will submit to anything to survive, but it’s watching for any chance to escape.

She freezes in place, her body trembling with pleasure, muscles locked with the ecstasy of her orgasm, holding me tightly against her pussy. After several long heartbeats she begins to relax, and slides back. I close my eyes, unwilling to look at the only thing I can see.

Her breathing is labored. Helpless tears escape. As I collect myself, the agony of the anal rape burns its way into my awareness. It still hurts, more painful than anything I’ve experienced in years. Only my terror kept it suppressed for so long. I sob into the gag, whimpering in pain. At least it’s not as deep anymore. While she raped my face, it must have loosened.

In time, her breathing slows into deep relaxed breaths. She slides off the beam. I flinch when she brushes against me and strokes my hair. I feel her lean close and inhale deeply through her nose.

I shudder when she licks my cheek. She is savoring the taste. Her tongue slowly sliding along my skin. She straddles my arm. The moisture between her legs wet on my shoulder. She whispers into my ear.

“Your tears and my cum. The taste of your pain mixed with my pleasure is a heavenly combination.”

She forces me to look the other way, exposing the side of my face she hasn’t licked. A sudden hard swat drives the strap-on all the way back in. A spike of agony runs through me. I whimper, and fresh tears fall down my cheek. She licks them away. One tear at a time.

She moves away. At first, I feel an overwhelming surge of relief, but then she walks behind me. She slides my panties back into place, forcing them up and over the bulk of the strap-on. A lance of pain shoots through me, and a mewling sound slips out.

She laughs. “I wouldn’t want it to fall out while I’m gone!”

She walks behind me, and, I assume, to the door. I try to attract her attention. I try to beg for water. But even I can’t decipher the sounds coming through the gag. The door closes, and a few seconds later the light turns off.

Alone in the dark. Like before, my whole-body aches, and my eyes burn. This time it’s worse.

The pain coming from my violated ass is a harsh reminder of just how she hurt me, more importantly, her cum is a reminder of how much she enjoyed it. I no longer smell oak and concrete. I can’t escape the overwhelming musky stench of her pussy. My face feels stiff and strange as her pleasure dries in the darkness.

I can’t imagine falling asleep, but my struggles, though they didn’t achieve anything, have left me completely exhausted. As the adrenaline fades I’m dragged into a deep dreamless void.

Time passes.

Water. I need water. That need has replaced everything else. My lips are cracked and dry. I no longer feel hunger. The aches of my body are a distant sensation. I no longer drool around the gag, and I don’t have any tears left.

Time passes.

The only thing keeping me going is the assurance from my cold mind. It’s positive that she will be back. She planned this out carefully. She isn’t going to stop with one orgasm.

Time passes.

Sudden hope surges. A distant door closed. I wait, but nothing else happens. Was it my imagination? No. Another distant sound saves me from my doubts. I wait, eager for her company. Willing to do anything for a cup of water.

I’m too weak to jump when the lights turn on. A heartbeat later the door bangs open. She steps into sight, and squats down so that she can look into my eyes. One hand holding onto my arm for balance. She smiles at me like nothing is wrong.

Last time it happened so fast I didn’t really see her. She has short brown hair and brown eyes. I’d consider her a little overweight if it wasn’t solid muscle. Her farmers tan is obviously not from laying in the sun, but from working in it. The hand clasping my arm is calloused and rough. She is dressed in simple blue jeans and a gray t-shirt.

I try to beg for water, but my throat is so dry that I can’t even grunt.

“Are you thirsty?” she asks.

I eagerly nod my head.

She gets up and walks out of sight. She returns with a squirt bottle and a washcloth. She squirts some water on the washcloth, then pushes the ball gag slightly to the side and forces one end into my mouth. The moisture is bliss. I greedily suck, but my mouth is so dry it seems to absorb the liquid like a sponge. I sob in frustration, terrified that she will stop there. She keeps the liquid flowing. Eventually the sweet relief reaches my throat.

I’m not even close to satisfied when she drops the washcloth on the ground and sets the water bottle down on the beam in front of me. Now that my throat isn’t so dry I plead for more, trying to beg without words.

She walks back to the door. For a terrifying moment I think she is leaving and feel a surge of relief when she returns with a thick black collar.

She says, “It’s solid steel. This side has a covered hinge, the other has a ring. I’ll attach it to that chain with this link.” She shows me the link with a gap in it that is wide enough to slide the collar’s hoop through. She closes the collar, picks up one end of the chain, and threads the link through both.

“Once everything’s connected, I’ll just need a few minutes welding to make it permanent. It’s completely tamper proof. Impossible to remove without the right tools. No lock to pick, no pins to remove. You will wear it for the rest of your life.”

She flashes an excited grin, and heads behind my back. She returns with a couple wet towels. One is placed on my upper back, the other wraps around my neck. Then the collar locks in place.

I don’t even try to resist. As much as I hate the idea, it’s far better than my current position. I can’t stop her anyway.

She returns with heavy gloves, a mask, and a welder.

A simple “Look away and close your eyes.” is all the warning I receive before sparks fly. I’m instantly thankful for the wet towels. Sparks that land on my unprotected shoulders, or in my hair, burn like bacon grease. In a surprisingly short time she finishes, explaining every step along the way. From the wire brush and grinding wheel to the darkening chemical carefully brushed over the exposed steel. Her work finished she cleans up.

She whispers in my ear.

“First rule; No words.”

She takes off her pants then slides down her panties. A quick hop and she sits on the wooden beam, her pussy in my face. With a few quick movements she removes the hated gag. I work my mouth and tongue, reveling in my sudden freedom, even as my jaw aches with the movement.

I breathe in to thank her. The cold side of my mind reminds me that I’m not allowed to speak just in time. Thankful? I feel thankful? Towards her? Sudden overwhelming rage burns through me. Impotent rage. What could I do? Bite the sensitive flesh inches from my mouth? She couldn’t free me without getting tools, and that means I’d need to release her. I don’t dare.

A squirt bottle appears, inches from my face. I open my mouth, eager for a drink, and she squirts the water in. I greedily drink the entire thing, shoving my traitorous emotions down.

She scoots forward. Her pussy suddenly filling my vision. I know what she expects. I lick, feeling for her clit. Once I find it, I start sucking and licking. I want this over with as quickly as possible.

To my surprise, she scoots out of reach.

She grabs an ear in each hand and twists. I cry out at the sudden surge of pain.

Speaking slowly and carefully, enunciating every word she says, “This. Isn’t. A. Race. It’s not about speed, it’s about pleasure. Stay away from my clit, except for the occasional touch, until I say otherwise. Take your time.”

She scoots back into place. I choke back my rage and follow her orders.

“Do a good job, and I’ll let you eat and drink.”

My cold mind takes over. I nuzzle her pussy like an obedient pet. I suck and lick everything in reach, trying to extend her pleasure as long as possible. I take her to the edge, then I back off. Slow down. I focus my attention on her labia and vaginia, going slow, taking her down, then building back up.

The sounds of her pleasure, rising and falling, fills me with impotent rage and humiliation. My jaw and tongue ache, this time from too much movement, long before she allows me to bring her.

When she finally finishes, I lay there, my eyes closed, still helpless. I hope she releases me soon. I just want my arms back. I want to stand up. I want to move. Anything is better than this. She leans against the wall, a languid smile on her lips.

Several long minutes pass before it occurs to me. I don’t even hope for freedom anymore. Release no longer means escaping. It no longer means going back to my life. Release is being able to stand up. I close my eyes and begin to silently cry.

“I have good news and bad news.”

At the jarring sound of her voice in the quiet room, I open my eyes, suddenly scared. I thought I pleased her!

She continues to talk while freeing me from my bonds.

“First the good news. You did an exceptional job. You earned a meal.”

She helps me to the floor. The strap-on moves, it’s still uncomfortable, but I do my best to ignore it. I’ll wait for her to leave. My arms and legs, after the extended mistreatment, feel numb and strange. It takes several tries before I rise on wobbly legs.

“Now for the bad news. This was fun, but last time was better.”

Scared, I whisper. “Please.”

The sound barely leaves my mouth before she backhands me into the wall, falling to all fours. She grabs my neck in one strong hand and pins me. Her rock-hard fingers wrap around my neck, under the collar. I can’t breathe. With her free hand she punches me in the stomach. One. Two. Three. Instinctively, I curl into a protective ball. But held up against the wall, it’s like doing a sit-up. Gradually, gravity wins, and my stomach is exposed again. Four. Five. Six.

She hisses into my ear. “This is your last warning. If you ever utter so much as a single word again, this will feel like kindness in comparison.”

She flips me over, pressing my face into the wall. My panties jerk down, and the strap-on is finally pulled free. The sudden void a welcome relief.

I’m flipped back around, and she holds it in front of my face. Its smooth surface is shiny, metallic, and ... small. It’s hard to believe it caused so much pain.

“It’s my smallest strap-on, designed for anal play ... In your case, it’s for raw, lubeless, anal fucking. It’s the only strap-on I’ll use for anal play without lube.”

“I have three larger ones for punishment. Want to know what I call them?”

I don’t want to know, but my cold mind nods yes.

“‘brutal’, ‘agony’, and ‘death’. You just experienced the one called ‘playful.’ Do you understand?”

I frantically nod my head.

“There are three rules. You already know the first one. The other two have the same penalty.”

“No words. No biting. Don’t attack my face.”

“You can fight. Hell, I want you to fight! If you manage to hold me off, I’ll even leave you alone for a full day.”

She drops me to the floor and leaves before I can recover. This time the light stays on. For the first time, I’m free to examine my prison.

Everything is white. Walls, ceiling, and floor are solid concrete painted white. The left and right walls are simple smooth surfaces, completely unblemished. The front wall, empty except for the wooden beam I was strapped to. The smooth ceiling has recessed lighting.

While the back wall is also white concrete, everything else is different. There are two sets of drawers recessed in the wall. Three on the left, and three on the right. Two doors are in the center of the room. Like everything else, the drawers and doors are white. There is a comfortable looking chair with matching end table in one corner.

The floor has a slight slope, everything angles towards a drain hole in the center. The only other thing on the floor is the chain. It runs from my collar to a small pile in the corner.

The chain is the only thing that isn’t white. My cold mind drives me to stop. Check the chain. That’s the most important thing. I follow it back to the pile in the corner. Hopefully I’ll figure out some way to free myself. When I reach the end, my heart sinks. I had hoped for something screwed into the floor. Something I could work loose in time.

The chain isn’t attached to the floor. It’s part of the floor. I shiver with cold sweat. I feel as though someone punched me in the stomach. My cold mind notes that it really does feel like being punched in the stomach, now that it has a real experience to compare. Then it calmly removes escape from my goals. I collapse to my knees, overwhelmed by the churning dread. Survival is the only thing I have left.