23. Res
23
Res
I get a text from Magdalene saying that Ruth won’t be taking me home. Instead, two men from the Oracle’s personal S-team are coming to pick me up to escort me to where the Oracle is. I’m assuming since she didn’t say the house, the Oracle isn’t there.
Figures. After weeks of ignoring me, he’d want something to do with me now. Maybe Lilah told him about how I asked her about High Demand, and he wants to make sure I’m not influenced before the Sovereignty indoctrination can fully take root.
I’m otherwise not too curious as I get in the car waiting for me and bury my head in my phone. I’ll deal with the Oracle when I see him. Right now, after a long few hours of working, I just want to engross myself in a spicy story while I have the chance.
I’m so engrossed in my story that it takes me a while to realize that the driver has been driving for a long time. I know that Chicago is a big city, and it wouldn’t be the first time it took an hour to get from one part of the city to another, especially when traffic is bad. But traffic isn’t too terrible, and the store is in a rather central location of the city. It shouldn’t take an hour to get anywhere from there .
“Where exactly does the Oracle want to meet me?” I ask, looking around for familiar landmarks. But I’ve only been to five different locations in Chicago since I’ve been here. I don’t know this city.
The driver and his partner in the passenger seat don’t answer me.
I try not to panic. It means nothing. They’ve probably been given strict orders from the Oracle not to say a word to me. Lord knows it was hit or miss with Jaxson’s own men when he had them watching me, especially after that disappearing to Savannah stunt I pulled on him.
Still, my intuition is rarely, if ever, wrong. I knew my brother had hurt me badly even though I disassociated as a child and didn’t remember it. I knew that I had to leave home and stay with my best friend only to find out years later that my parents had planned to send me to a Christian reform camp for girls. I knew Jaxson was a very dangerous man who would not leave me alone when I first laid eyes on him.
So as my intuition starts to get louder that I’m not going to meet the Oracle for whatever reason, I start looking for ways out. I start with the door, but it won’t open, and I curse myself for not checking to make sure the child lock wasn’t on. Then I try the window, but they too won’t come down. I have my phone with me, but for some reason, I can’t get a text out, and I assume there’s something in the car jamming the signal, and I didn’t notice because I downloaded my story onto my phone before I got in the car.
I look around. No phone. No escape. The only thing I can do is wait and see if an opportunity presents itself. By the time the driver turns off the highway and onto an old dirt path, one not even paved, I know I’m out of time. The only thing I can think of is that somehow the Oracle found out that I’m behind Dr. Cult and is going to make me disappear. If that’s the case, I may as well go down fighting.
I slide behind the driver’s seat, and without thinking about it, I lunge forward and wrap my arm around the man’s neck in a chokehold. The car jerks, but not only do I not let go, I manage to grab the seatbelt, wrap it around the man’s neck, and then opt to pull and choke him with the seatbelt.
His partner manages to get his seatbelt undone, but before he can reach over to help, I lift my foot and kick him in the side of the face, right into the dashboard. The car jerks violently, loosening my grip on the seatbelt, but before I can tighten it again, the car crashes into a tree. I sit back in my seat, largely unaffected, but my captors don’t move.
I’m not sticking around to wait for them, so I reach over to the driver’s seat, hoping the windows still work. To my relief, the window next to me in the back comes down. I reach out of it, grabbing the handle from the outside to open the door, and then jump out, picking a direction and running.
It’s gotten completely dark since I was taken from the store. It’s not like the movies, where it’s dark but the lights from the set and the cameras illuminate the area to make the dark forest look moonlit. In real life, not even the presence of the moon does much for visibility. It’s pitch black, and I can’t see a damn thing.
After getting far enough from the car, I stop to listen. Maybe I’ll be able to hear cars and can follow the sound to the road. But it’s to no avail. I just hear the sounds of the night, the gentle wind in the background fluttering the trees. At the very least, since today is an unusually warm day for this time of year in Chicago, I’m not cold. It’s not much of a silver lining.
If I could see, I’d probably be able to navigate my way out of here. My grandmother loved nature, camping, horticulture, and flowers. While my parents thought my grandmother was too eccentric and lacking feminine energy, they did think her skills would be useful for me to learn for when the apocalypse came and society collapsed or whatever biblical end times came. But those skills only help so much when you don't have the right tools to help.
I hear the sound of a bush rustling and look toward my right. I don’t see anything, but that’s not saying much considering I can’t see much of anything to begin with.
It could be a mouse, a rabbit, a deer, or even a fucking bear for all I know. I decide to go in the opposite direction of the sound, just in case, only to run smack into a solid wall of a person. They’re dressed in all black with a mask over their head obscuring all their features and fucking night-vision goggles of all things.
I don’t stop to consider who they are, and they don’t seem keen on enlightening me on their identity. Not that it matters. I’ve been driven to a remote area in the middle of the woods and have at least two men that might be chasing after me, and considering the things that I’ve been involved in, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the Oracle is behind this. Some way, somehow, he found out that I was one of the actors behind the chatter about him and the Sovereignty and has decided to get rid of me. My only hope now is to run and hope that they can’t find me and then get somewhere I can use a phone to call Jaxson.
So I scream to catch the person off guard and then run as fast as I can in the other direction, hoping that it will take me back toward the street.
I don’t hear the person running behind me, but I’m not stupid enough to slow down to look back, especially not when he has the benefit of night vision to see me while I can’t see him.
As I run, I reflect on the fact that this morning when I got dressed, I took out the same knee-high, flat boots that I bought cheap off some fast fashion site years ago. After almost five years, they’ve held up considerably well considering I break them out every winter and wear them almost daily. They’re comfortable; I can stand in them for a long time if I have to and go with just about everything I wear. But they’re starting to look a little worn because of how much use they get in the fall and winter.
I could buy a new pair, but they wouldn’t be conformed to my feet like these ones are, and I’d have to break a new pair in and get used to the minute changes they made in the material and designs in the years since I last bought my current pair. I almost considered not wearing them just so I’d have them as long as possible, especially since all I was going to be doing was sitting down all day.
Now I’m grateful I didn’t put them back in the closet because the only reason I can keep running, even though I’m steadily growing out of breath, is that my feet don’t also hurt. It’s the reason that the only reason I stop running is because I trip over a thick branch and fall flat on my face into the wet ground .
It takes me entirely too long to gain enough wind back to get to my knees and try to launch myself back into running again. Long enough that my pursuer is there, grabbing onto the back of my dress. The cheap burnt orange fall dress I was so relieved to be able to just throw on with a bra and panties today because of the unusually warm weather.
I’m yanked backward into my pursuer. But rather than trying to get away again, I angle my arm and elbow him in the side with all my might. It’s enough to daze him into letting go of his grip on my waist, but not enough that he also lets go of my dress. The sound of it ripping at the seams sounds in the air at the same time as I feel all resistance to my going in the opposite direction leave.
It takes me three seconds of running to realize that my ripped dress is back with my assaulter and I’m running through the woods in only my panties and bra. But I’m too concerned with trying to run and survive that I can’t be concerned about modesty right now.
The trees start to thin, and I start to have hope that maybe I found the road after all.
I don’t find a road. Just a wide-open field of neatly lined, large trees based on the shapes I’m able to make out in the dark. But I don’t lose hope yet. A field of trees means a farm. A well-kept farm probably means there are people somewhere nearby. I hope. Maybe? I don’t know, and I don’t have time to contemplate it, so I just start to run down the rows.
I should be able to hear my pursuer in the quiet field, but there’s nothing. So for the first time, I stop and look back to see no one .
Nothing but darkness and shadows. Darkness and shadows that my pursuer could be using to hide anywhere.
Fuck. I was better off in the forest. Here, he could easily camouflage himself in the darkness, and I’d be none the wiser. I should know. I can’t count how many times I’ve walked right by Nala blending in the shadows at night, even though she’s a gray and black tabby.
I decide to take my chances with the forest and start to head back, only to be pushed flat onto the ground again, this time with the weight of a heavy, silent body on me.
I scream. And scream. And scream. If I’m going to be murdered, I’m not going to be quiet about it.
“Let me go! Help!” I yell, flailing under the person who continues to remain silent.
They straddle my hips and press a large gloved hand into my back. I continue to struggle despite the futility until finally, the person reaches around to put a cloth over my mouth.
Before I can even process that I smell something on the cloth and I should stop breathing so that I don’t breathe it in, I’ve already done it.
It’s not like the movies where everything instantly goes black. More like suddenly being high on marijuana, and the entire world slows down and I feel really sleepy. I know that my attacker has stood up, freeing me from the weight of him keeping me trapped. But also, I don’t register that and contemplate the possibility of running until long after he’s picked me up bridal style to carry me through the orchard. It feels like having all the time in the world to think about what I’m going to do, but only deciding when I’m long out of time.
We stop between two of the smaller but still pretty large trees leaning in opposite directions, supported by stakes to keep them from completely toppling over. It takes a while for my mind to catch up to the fact that twine is being used to tie both of my arms to either stake. Then both my legs are tied individually at the ankles, followed by the sound of a hammer, and any give that I might have had with both my legs is eliminated. By the end, I’m suspended by the twine and the stakes, with my chest parallel to the ground, my arms held suspended up and to the sides, and my legs straight back and spread.
The haze of the drug, whatever it is, is starting to wear off, and my brain is starting to catch up to my senses. Despite the futility of it and that it’s a waste of energy I could use later if I’m given another chance to escape, I try to pull at my bonds, but that just makes my muscles ache.
Finally, my attacker places a breathable black bag over my head, as if I could even see to begin with. But now, there’s no chance I can see who my assaulter is.
Fuck.
I wait with bated breath, straining to hear anything, but somehow, my attacker is surprisingly silent even in the silent night. Then I feel cold metal on my back, and I hear the snip of the straps of my bra coming apart.
“You don’t—” I begin as my senses start to come to me in spurts. “You don’t want to do this. My fiancé will kill you when he finds out.”
I hear the person snort faintly as he cuts the other shoulder strap of my bra and then the back strap, causing the ruined fabric to fall to the ground.
“I’m not joking. He will. He’s killed people for a lot less. He’ll probably kill you and wipe your entire family off the earth for raping and murdering me,” I say, my tongue getting looser and looser by the second as the drug wears off.
Based on the feeling of metal on my hip as he snips one side of my panties and then the other, he isn’t persuaded.
Left naked in a field of trees, with my breasts dangling and my pussy exposed for anyone who happens by to see, I try to feel humiliation. Embarrassment. But something is keeping me from grasping it so I can feel it. Probably whatever it is that’s causing an uncomfortable itch and heat on my skin. That makes me continue to squirm and pull at my binds to try to relieve myself despite the futility.
Then I feel a bare hand sliding down my back, and the discomfort begins to ease. I can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes me as the person's ungloved finger runs up and down my back. I try to grasp for the shame and humiliation again, but again it’s out of reach. Blocked by the pleasure of the relief of skin, even covered skin, against mine.
What’s going on? What’s happening? How?
It occurs to me it’s something in the drug. Something in the drug making me starved for touch. Anyone’s touch. Anything’s touch. Right now, I’m sure being stabbed in the back would feel good .
The stroking up and down my back with his finger suddenly stops, and I have to resist the urge to whine as the heat and itch under my skin instantly return. I have to resist the urge to beg for my own violation. It’s the closest I get to grasping any sense of humiliation as his hand finds my body again. This time tapping up and down my back with his bare, ungloved fingers like my spine is a piano.
My breath grows shallow and my legs start to shake as a ball of pleasure begins to gather in my belly. His hands on my back feel like he’s touching my cunt.
The drug makes me want to run toward it, to chase that pleasure. Instead, mustering all the stubbornness I’ve accumulated over the years, I hold my breath and bite my lip to try to run and hide from it. I won’t. I won’t.
I choke on a gasp when those hands suddenly find my pointed nipples and start to pinch and twist them, sending the heat of humid, hundred-degree weather of a Georgia summer to my cunt. Causing my cunt to ache with the ferocity of a tropical storm gale.
I want to beg him to keep going and not to stop. But I can’t. I won’t. I…
Instead of vocalizing how needy I am, I say breathlessly while I can still think, “Stop. I’m serious. My fiancé will—”
The hot, wet mouth of my captor on my nipple dials my pleasure, my torment, up to a thousand, making me forget just about all thoughts of anything but the desperate need to come.
It could be seconds. It could be hours. But the drug has distorted my sense of time. Any part of my brain that can break through the distortion to keep track of time is focused on the thundercloud of pleasure in my belly and keeping it back.
The mouth on my nipple sucks and sucks. I feel it in my cunt. Like he’s sucking my orgasm out of me against my will, and fighting against it is making it so much worse. So much—
My orgasm bursts from me like a thundercloud suddenly pouring rain, the shock of it rumbling through me like lightning cracking out of the sky during a summer storm. And in this moment, I couldn’t care any less that I shouldn’t be enjoying it. That this is a betrayal. A betrayal to… my mind fogs up again, once again taking any feeling except intense pleasure out of my reach.
“Please,” I beg, my legs quivering. Because that one orgasm isn’t enough. “I… More. Please. Please.”
I don’t know whether he listened to me or not, but suddenly, I feel his body at my back, skin on skin. A hard, hot cock digging into the crack of my ass. A hand reaching around and touching my cunt.
Just that touch makes me come again.
I thought I knew cruel. I thought I knew sadistic. But to drug me with some kind of aphrodisiac-adjacent chemical, to do as this person wills with me, to make me beg for my own torment and then, probably, kill me. That’s a whole other level of sick.
It’s the drug, I try to tell myself. It’s the drug. It’s the—
The drug takes my ability to care what the hell it is making me feel that way. Only that it feels so fucking good, and I need more.
A pathetic whine of want escapes me. My mind feels like fog, and the only thing able to penetrate is the heat burning through my body. The uncomfortable itching ache of needing to come. The walls of my cunt clenching, needing a cock.
“Please. Please. I need your cock. Please. Put your—put your cock in me,” I beg breathlessly, not caring about whose cock it is. Not caring that it’s the cock of a man probably sent to kill me.
A hand caresses the side of my neck, runs down my back, and spreads me even more, before I get exactly what I asked for. A cock, shoved right up my cunt.
“Yes,” I yell, yanking at my restraints and managing to lift my torso up some, desperate to take it deeper. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
His thrusts are relentless. As torturous as they are pleasurable. And achingly familiar in a comforting way. The drug takes away any ability to investigate that more, to grasp at the realization right at the edge of my senses. The only thing I care about is getting fucked. And if I’m about to die, enjoying a good fuck is a great way to go.
My cunt is so tight right now. Whether from already coming or the drug, I don’t care. I just know that I feel every stretch of my cunt as it stretches to accommodate the cock. That I feel very inch of the cock in my cunt. That every thrust in me feels like a kiss on my body. That every kiss on my neck and back and every pinch of my nipples feels like a flick of my clit.
I come again, so hard that my body starts to shiver, my nerves completely overwhelmed, my cunt so tight it’s a wonder my attacker can even keep thrusting in and out of me.
Cold invades my nerves. I feel like I’m being dunked into an icy cold lake. I can’t… It’s too much. I need it to stop. I can’t come again. I think it will kill me .
“I can’t. I… No more. No more. Please…”
“You’ve got one more in you,” he rumbles. “I know you can take it. You always do.”
Once again, the drug takes away my ability to really register that voice, only focusing on the cold ice of pleasure steadily beginning to crack in my belly as my body shivers in overstimulation.
Finally, it shatters, but instead of feeling like I’ve been dunked in ice, I feel like I’ve suddenly been blasted with Georgia summer heat. It doesn’t help that behind me, my attacker groans and releases his hot come into me.
The contrast of the cold and the hot is one of the most unique and exquisite things that I’ve ever felt. When my orgasm subsides, I really don’t have anything left in me as I slump forward and my vision begins to darken around the edges.
I don’t expect to wake up again, but before I allow blissful darkness to swallow me, I let out a maniacal, animalistic laugh and say, “My fiancé is going to kill you.”