Captive - An Erotic Novel

Copyright
© 2012 by Suzanne Jones.

First published in Great Britain in June 2012 by
Underglow Books.

The right of Suzanne Jones to be identified as the
Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which
it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

To contact the author please e-mail :

[email protected]

Chapter One

Where I Woke Up

I’m
awake but why is it so dark? I can’t move my arms. I don’t know what’s happened,
let me try to remember. Last night was my 23
^rd
birthday party and I
was out in town with my friends. I hate it when I drink so much that I can’t
remember getting home at the end of the night. If I’m even home at all. Why
can’t I move my hands? It feels like they’re bound with electrical tape but why
would that have happened? I’ve really got to learn to control my drinking to
stop me waking up in situations like this. It feels like I’m hanging, or
swinging, or something else unusual like that.

“Hello?”
No answer. Where the fuck am I? “Is anyone there?”

My
hangover has kicked in as well, as if things weren’t bad enough already. As
near as I can tell my entire body is suspended in the air. My wrists are bound,
as are my ankles. There’s some kind of blindfold on me but wherever I am and
whoever’s brought me here, they obviously don’t mind me making any noise
because I’m not gagged. I listen intently for any inkling as to where I am. My
memory isn’t helping as everything after 11pm is a complete blur. We were in
the restaurant, then the eighties-style disco, then the club on Brook Street… but after that, nothing. I can hear the very distant drip of a tap and then
suddenly I hear a heavy metal door open with a grinding sound, then as it slams
shut noisily I hear footsteps, in what sounds like work boots, coming down some
steps, then across the floor towards me.

My
entire body tenses up. The fact that I can’t move puts me on edge and I feel
like I want to cry. I don’t even know what I’m wearing, if anything. I’m
definitely not wearing a bra or a top as I can feel my huge breasts swinging
pendulously, my nipples hardened into little peaks in this cold room. I’m
hanging from some kind of frame, or support, horizontally, facing down, with my
hair dangling down over my ears. I realise that I can’t move at all, I’m
restrained in such a way that anything could happen to me now and I can’t do
anything about it. The footsteps get nearer and I become acutely aware of how
naked I am, and fully on show for whoever this visitor is.

“What’s
happened? Can you get me down from here?” I plead.

The
mysterious visitor stops a few feet away from me and although I cannot see him
(I’ve deduced it’s a “him” from the sound of his footsteps) I can definitely
feel him staring at me and hear him breathing. This is so uncomfortable and my
initial discomfort has now turned to fear. You hear stories in the papers all
the time of girls going missing and either never being seen again, or turning
up raped and murdered, in various states of mutilation. I can’t let this happen
to me, but my vulnerability is obvious and I need to figure out a way out of
this mess.

“Please,
just get me down from here. I’ve got a massive hangover and I just want to go
home and sleep it off.”

Why
won’t he fucking answer me?!

I
hear him shuffle his feet and I’d guess from the deep echoing sound that this
is some kind of warehouse building. I try desperately to think of something I
could say or do to get me out of this situation but my mind draws a blank. My
body tenses up as I dread what this man may want to do to me, but as quickly as
he initially approached me, he turns and walks away, going back through the
metal door. I hear it clunk and grind after it’s shut, a sure sign that I’m
locked in and that nobody is going to find me any time soon.

Chapter Two

The First Touch

After
what seems like about half an hour, but is probably much less, and left alone
with my thoughts, my mind wanders back to the events of the previous day. I’d
been at work at the library, wheeling the trolley of books round to re-shelve
them after customers brought them back. Nothing unusual there. I mean, there’s
always unusual customers but nothing that I can recollect that is in any way
connected to where I am now.

Then
my friends Maria and Kerry came round to my flat to get ready to go out. We’d
started drinking then, at about 6pm, so it was obvious that it was going to be
a messy night. Even at the meal we managed to put away at least a bottle of
wine each, and all my other friends who joined us in town were more than happy
to ply me with alcohol. I must have drunk at least ten shots, and that’s just
the ones I can remember. Getting myself in that kind of inebriated state is
sadly all too regular an occurrence in my life, but I’m usually sensible enough
to get myself to a taxi and drunkenly mumble my address to the driver. But last
night there must have been something different. At what point did it go from a
night’s celebratory drinking, to me being tied up in a warehouse?

Then
I hear the familiar clunking and grinding, the metal door creaks open again,
and those workboots clump towards me again, much more purposefully this time.
Now my head’s cleared a little, I’m fully aware now that I am completely naked,
with not a shred of cloth to provide me with a bit of modesty. He stops right
next to me and I can hear his breathing, now slightly faster than before. He
touches my side with a finger and I flinch.

“What
are you doing? Let me down from here you fucker! Don’t fucking touch me!”

He
doesn’t listen, and instead runs his finger gently up and down my side. This is
horrible. It makes my skin crawl, thinking about this disgusting weirdo who’s
obviously kidnapped me for purely sadistic reasons. He continues running his
finger down my side, then over my left arsecheek, and down my left leg, all the
way to my ankle, all the time standing there silently. Then the clomp clomp of
his boots takes him over towards my feet and before I know it he’s standing in
between my legs, which are being forced slightly apart by whatever contraption
this is that I’m being suspended from. As far as I can gather, in the darkness
of my blindfold, I’m hovering about five feet or more above the ground, and I
feel his breath on my legs. I’m dreading what’s to follow. Now he adds his
other hand into the mix and traces a line up both of my legs with his fingers,
very very slowly, heading towards my pussy. I start to freak out.

“Stop
it! Get your fucking hands off me!”

He
doesn’t respond at all, instead he continues moving painfully slowly towards my
pussy. As both his fingers reach the very top of the insides of my legs I brace
myself. But rather than put his fingers in me as I expect, instead he stops for
a second then I feel him very gently lick my clitoris, just once. It sends a
shiver of dread through me, but before I get the chance to react he licks it
again, and again. His face is pressed so hard against my pussy, I don’t know
how he can breathe. He laps away at me, and while I’m disgusted at the idea of
this monster touching me, I also can’t help but feel the tingles of pleasure
from his actions. I want him to stop but I want him to carry on.

He
doesn’t get me all the way off; he stops just seconds before I come and it’s
extremely frustrating. Then he turns and stomps away again, closing the metal
door behind him.

I
feel sick from being turned on by this animal, and frustrated from not quite
experiencing an orgasm. I just want to go home. I’ve got a selection of sex
toys at home and I could quite easily finish myself off there, and not have to
worry about being tied up and hung from someone’s ceiling.

Chapter Three

The Machine

I
just need to piece together last night’s events and this might all make a bit
more sense. Surely none of my friends would have left me alone in town without
making sure I got home okay. My conversation with Maria and Kerry at the start
of the night had revolved around me being single and how it’d been a while
since I last got laid. To be honest the prospect of being tied up and spanked,
or whipped, or punished in some way is a massive turn-on for me. I know a lot
of people like the idea of it but when faced with the pain of the whiplash
across their arsecheeks, a lot of people turn chicken and ask to stop. Not me.
I’ve had a few boyfriends who were more than happy to help me act out my
bondage fantasy but sadly, apart from indulging my sexual desires, none of them
were really interesting enough to become anything more than a short-term
relationship.

I
must have nodded off to sleep, which I’m surprised at given the uncomfortable
nature of how I’m hanging from someone’s ceiling. I wake to hear the gentle hum
of a motor or a small engine. For a second I forget what’s happened but I’m
brought back to reality as I hear the clank of what sounds like chains above my
head, and it feels like I’m being lowered slowly. I expect to be lowered to the
floor, or onto a table or something but I stop before I hit the ground, and I’m
still held in suspension, just a little lower down now. The whirr of the machine
intrigues and frightens me. Any second now this device that I can hear could be
intended for use on me. If it’s a belt sander or some kind of drill or saw then
I’d rather avoid its use!

“Hey,
come on, the fun’s over,” I say, trying to come across as friendly, not
desperate. “All you have to do is let me down and show me the door and I’ll go.
I won’t look at your face, I won’t know anything that could incriminate
anyone.”

Silence
from my captor again. I feel a ball of frustration knotting up inside my stomach
as I realise my absolute helplessness.