Abduction (28 page)

His finger pushed slowly up into me. I had thought it would hurt, but it was only…strange. Strange to feel something up inside of me, moving, sliding slowly up, then down, then up into me again. Then his finger slid slowly out of me, and he drew it forward, along my slit, then back, and inside me again. I was panting. I couldn't help it, couldn't breathe normally no matter how much I wanted to seem indifferent to his touch.

It wasn't pleasure. It was that strange discomfort that was irksome, like an itch. I wanted to rub myself, dispel the weird feeling building up wherever he touched me.

"Don't be afraid to make a bit of noise, darling. You'll enjoy yourself more, if you do."

Fuck, I hated him. Hated his hands, hated his burning yet laughing eyes and his infuriating, knowing grin.

"Your quite something," he mused in an intimate tone that made me blush somehow in spite of all he was already doing, still torturing me with his agonizingly slow, delicate touch, "your tits thrust out, your nipples so vivid and hard, your cunt soaking wet and clinging to my finger."

He thrust up into me suddenly and I gasped out loud. He smiled. He started fucking me with his finger. At first I couldn't breathe, then I had to pant, almost moaning every time. I forced myself to relax my brow, not wanting him to see from my face what he was doing to me.

"Not so quick, darling Devan. We should take our time, hmmm? "

He took his hand away for a second, watching my face. Maybe looking to see if I looked disappointed that he'd stopped touching me. The aching pulse he'd caused was echoing insistently in my groin. Still watching, he started again and the dull throb surged under his fingers. I tried to keep my face blank, my breathing steady and quiet.

I was shaking, leaning back against the wall for support, my arms almost bound behind my back by the blouse he'd slid from my shoulders. Close and hot, I felt his body pressed against me, breathing in his warm smell, his face right there, eyes locked on mine, his smirk gone, his lips almost touching my lips. His finger would brush against my clit, then there'd be a moment of no contact and I'd feel a throbbing ache there, and then he'd touch again. Then suddenly I felt the pressure, the imminent pleasure swelling, swelling, until it burst and I was coming, whimpering before I could think to be quiet, agonizing pulses of pleasure rippling through my groin, through my belly, into my 248

thighs, and he kept rubbing, making it go on and on, until finally it ebbed away to a tiny little throbbing ache. My body went slack, slumped against the wall.

But then he slid his hand back, between my legs, and his finger slid up into me again, and I sort of jumped and yelped and he pressed himself against me, pinning me between him and the wall, and his other hand squeezed my breast.

"And now, how about a good fucking? Eh, dear Devan?"

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs with the sudden shock of his touch deep inside of me. He squeezed and tugged my nipple and the sensation went shooting down into my sex, rippling around his finger. I couldn't bear it, couldn't stand it all—a weird overwhelming kind of unpleasant pleasure so intense it was almost like pain. I was whimpering out loud now, letting him hear how he was tormenting me. I even tried to squirm away from him, but he pressed his body harder against me, went on massaging and tugging my nipple, thrusting his finger inside me. Then suddenly my whole body shuddered in a climax way stronger than the two he'd already given me. It was almost like I lost consciousness, at least awareness. When I came back to myself I was crying, my face pressed to his chest. I felt him put his arms around me, pulling me gently to him, stroking my hair.

"Devan. Devan," he breathed against my ear. "I knew you'd be like this."

I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about.

He made me shower again, and gave me another outfit to wear. As I opened the bathroom door he stepped suddenly in front of me, barring my exit. He'd caught me off 249

guard, startled me, and suddenly I was more afraid of him than I had been all day. He smiled.

"Sit down, please," he lilted, gesturing toward the edge of the tub.

Shaking with fresh fear I obeyed, and he perched beside me. He bent his head over a small black case in his lap, unzipping, opening. He drew out and tore open a sealed piece of damp gauze, then turned to me, locking my arm in a gentle grip, rubbing the top of my arm with the cold cloth.

"What are you doing?"

I tried to jerk my arm free, but it was locked firm in his strong hand.

"You've got to have an injection, my dear. Just hold still. It shouldn't hurt more than a little sting."

"No!" I jumped up, struggling in a panic.

He caught me in his arms, pinned mine to my sides, wrestled me back down onto the tub ledge, proving in seconds, once again, that I could not fight him. Still holding me tight against him, so tight that it was hard to recover my breath, he purred at me in a sticky warm tone that mocked my terror.

"Calm down, Devan, darling. I assure you, there's nothing to get so upset about.

It's merely a prudent precaution. I assume, chaste virgin that you are, that you're not on any birth control? And I assume, too, that you'd as soon not end our little adventure together by carrying my child. Since I do plan to fuck you," he drawled, pausing to let his words ring pleasantly in his own ears, "and since I have no intention of diminishing the pleasure of our union by putting a latex sheath between my sensitive bits and yours, this little injection, which takes affect quite quickly, seems a happy solution. I am sorry 250

you're the one who must endure the prick," he said with an amused grin. "I'd gladly inject myself, if that were an option."

I was horrified. For one, I didn't really believe him, that he just wanted to shoot me up with some contraceptive cocktail. I was sure it was some sedative, or hallucinogen, or maybe poison. Maybe whatever he gave me would make me sick, kill me eventually. But even if it was a birth control shot, fuck, it was so twisted. I'd half believed I was done crying, but again now I felt fat hot tears sliding down my face, dropping onto my lap, turning the thin cotton of my garment transparent in spreading circles.

"Now," he said softly, "you're not diabetic, are you?"

It seemed more a statement than a question. I shook my head, hopeless, again, that there was anything I could do but submit to him.

"And no high blood pressure? And you're not a smoker."

"What are you, a fucking doctor?"

"No, darling, just a reasonably resourceful person with a few helpful friends. And of course I wouldn't want anything I do to adversely affect your health."

"No. Of course not. Obviously."

He gave me a strange, sad smile, and I submitted to another cold wet piece of gauze, then to the prick of the needle.

"There," he said tenderly, rubbing the injection site, dissipating the pain, sticking a little bandage on, then giving me a small kiss on my bare shoulder.

He left me alone for a while, almost ignoring me as he lounged around, reading and doing little chores, seeming not to care when I went on refusing to take any food.

After a while, though, he went and sat at the little table in the kitchen, and called me away from the window where I stood, staring out into the woods, dreaming up impossible escapes, and made me sit down across from him.

"Don't you think you'd better have something to eat?" He pushed a plate of sliced pear toward me. "Just imagine if you did manage to escape…" he said, gazing at me significantly, as if to convey that he had, indeed, been reading my thoughts, "…and you could do no more than run a short little way before you fainted away from hunger?"

I knew he'd never give me the chance to get away, but the smell of the pear was torturing my empty stomach. Seething with resentment I swallowed the first slice almost without chewing, and in what seemed like seconds, the pear was gone. My digestive system resuscitated, I was drooling over the plate of cheese and nuts at the center of the table, but there was no fucking way I'd reach over and take them. The thought of the look that would come over Conrad's face made me want to throw up what little I had eaten. I watched him as he sat there, calmly nibbling at his snack, staring placidly back at me as if we were the happy couple at table.

I hated it, that warm, adoring gaze of his. It perverted my hate for him. And it scared me.

"Go ahead, Devan, my dear. Say what's on your mind."

His voice brought me back to myself, and I realized I was on the brink of tears.

"What's happened to them?"

"To who?"

"The others."

"Others?"

"The other women you've abducted. What did you to with them? In the end?"

He looked almost sympathetic for a brief second before that amused grin of his reappeared.

"I suppose you're picturing dozens of shallow graves all around this place. And perhaps a wall adorned with bone saws, and shelves of lye in a cellar, right below this table, hmmm?"

He'd neatly composed a pretty accurate account of the images in my head.

"You've got it all wrong, dear Devan. There are no others. There's only you."

Quelle chance.
My characteristic sarcasm made a surprise return to my internal monologue.

"And I promise you, I haven't brought you here to snuff out your young life.

"Then why don't you just fuck me and get it over with?" It came out soft, my voice smashed down as I struggled not to cry.

"I will fuck you, sweet Devan. But not just yet. When I do fuck you, it will mean a great deal more than it would if I were to simply drag you back into the bedroom and ravish you right now. I didn't choreograph this elaborate production just to fuck you. If a fuck was all I wanted from you, I could have had you a thousand times over by now."

"A thousand times in the span of a day and a night. Impressive," I threw back in irritation at his smugness. I didn't understand until a few minutes later why he laughed at my lame retort the way he did.

"There's nothing particularly challenging in getting laid, darling. People, by and large, are quite eager to strip naked and writhe about with other people, you know."

The laughter in his eyes cooled, then, and his look got really intense.

"But you don't know, do you?"

He paused with a long, significant stare. His lips curved a little with suppressed excitement.

"Sweet, innocent Devan. Nineteen years old, isn't that right?"

I didn't like the smarmy, rogue tone he'd suddenly adopted, and I stiffened.

"Isn't it?" he pressed when he tired of my silence.

"Yes."

"And a virgin."

"None of your fucking business."

"Why so shy now, when you confessed such a short time ago that you'd never been fucked?"

My jaw clenched.

"Never fucked. Never really touched. Never even really kissed, unless you count childish pubescent party experiments, isn't that right?"

I stopped breathing. It felt like my heart had stopped beating.

"In fact, for the longest time now, you've not even slipped those pretty little fingers down inside your panties to curiously, hopefully caress your pussy, to rub your aching little clit, to see if you might get yourself off, have you?"

My brain was too busy working the puzzle of his knowledge to deliberate whether or not to answer him.

"Now, Devan, I want you to tell me why."

"Why?"

It was my question, not his.

"Tell me why, at a tender young age, you gave up on a healthy pursuit of physical pleasure."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't by coy, Devan. It's entirely pointless, and, to be frank, it doesn't much suit you. Now, I want you to tell me why it is you've never gotten yourself off."

"You know so fucking much, you tell me."

"I will, if need be. But I promise you, if it comes to that, you'll wish you'd told me yourself."

His voice and eyes had turned cold and threatening and I felt suddenly like a hundred little icy droplets were running over my skin. I really didn't get it. Twenty-twenty hindsight and all that, but looking back now it all seems so obvious. But I failed to grasp, or admit, what was going on. I figured that my blurted, forced admissions, combined with my trembling, frightened kitten responses had given him the idea that I was a perfect innocent, through and through. So I made something up—something that would explain why I'd become what he imagined me to be. I told him, with a perfectly straight face, in a voice which rang with angelic sincerity, that I'd never masturbated because I believed that doing so was wrong. A sin, I clarified, when he pushed.

"So, it's one of our Lord's virgin saints I've been banging, is it?"

My face went hot with shock and with the certainty that he knew I was a liar.

"Since by skipping the mere fib to give me a tall tale, you've amused rather than angered me, I'll give you another chance to tell me the real reason."

"Fuck off. I don't have to confess to you."

"Yes, Devan. You do. And you already have."

Conrad rose from his chair and with a playful grin, went over to a leather shoulder bag laying on a sideboard in the living room, drew something from it, and came to stand by my side. He laid the object on the table in front of me, and gazed down, waiting for me to look and see what it was.

"Fuck you!" I choked on my words, starting to cry. I stood, my fists clenched, trying to decide whether to punch him or run out the door.

"Why Devan, it's seems you're more protective of your diary than you are of your body."

I just stood there, panting and shaking.

"Sit down, Devan."

I glared at him.

"Sit down."

He said it slowly, a challenge. Then he stood and reached out toward my shoulder. I hit his arm away. Then, I remember, he got this look on his face like…like it was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Hard and sudden he grabbed me, spun me, took hold of my arms and thrust me ahead of him, into his room. I couldn't get away, couldn't stop him, couldn't even slow him down. He shoved me toward a desk. Got me right against it, pinned me there. Bent me over. He was on top of me, holding me down. I was thinking about him, his body on me, I didn't realize. But then I felt the first restraint close tight on my wrist. I panicked. I flailed, I kicked. But a second later he had my other wrist bound. Then he was off me, his hand on my leg. I kicked hard but he held on, wrestled me into the third rope. Then, 256