Chapter 18
EMME
Monday slid by, boring as ever—the physiology of hormones was something I knew back to front.
There was satisfaction in helping adults qualify for their late career choices, but sometimes I yearned for the thrill and intrigue of learning new things, too.
University had given me that. Now I was a cypher, a cog in a vast wheel.
I suppose a lot of people felt that way about life, once they had a job and a qualification or skill and had to do that, forevermore.
It narrowed the choices to a life of sameness.
Tuesday turned up, and I wondered if Mr. Scott would contact me again. I wanted to escalate this, until we came to be more than kink partners. The roles of kidnapper and victim turned into date material? It made this a novel relationship, if not revolutionary.
Who else wanted to date and fuck their kidnapper? Usually, it was the ones who were trapped with them for ages who became obsessed.
I had to get to work and turned to lock my apartment door. Stockholm Syndrome was not what I had.
The phone buzzed. My sixth sense prodded me. As I looked down at the screen, I stuck my foot in the door.
My heart somersaulted.
Wearing red today? S. If not, go back in and change.
Was he watching me? He must be. I raised my head, scanning left, then—
Someone pushed me from behind, and I yelped and stumbled forward, bumping the door further open while his hand gave it an extra shove. We were through, and it was closing behind me, as he twisted his hand in the cloth of my blouse collar at the back.
I didn’t yell. It was Him, wasn’t it? Yelling brought attention, the police, the whole mess. No mugger would do this and risk the woman shouting. I hadn’t been knocked unconscious or been shown a gun or a knife. It must be him.
He flipped something around my neck, something hard that bumped at my collar bone then pulled until it pressed on my throat. I shot my hand up to stop it from choking me and my fingers were trapped against my throat.
“Wait!”
With that neck hold controlling me and another shove, I was forced onto the sofa. Still he remained silent. That was Mister Scott’s normal modus operandi.
But struggling was in my blood—not giving in until he made me. With the cord or whatever loosening, I whipped around to kick him in the groin and was spun to the floor. I saw who this was: Axl.
Fuck.
Even as he wrapped tape around my wrists with his knee pinning me flat, hurting me, my mind was dithering.
“Want your Mr. Scott to get in trouble? Go ahead and scream.” He stated that so matter-of-factly, I forgot to fight back. “He knows I’m here. He told me you need this.”
A piece of tape was wound several times about my face, wedging it into my mouth—making a sloppy gag. It would muffle but wouldn’t stop me screaming. But should I? Should I scream?
In that moment of stark indecision, a bag was pulled over my head, blinding me. Axl strapped it at neck level.
“I.. I haf to go to wok!” I spat the mangled words into the blackness, my eyelids brushing cloth.
He hauled me back onto my couch, adjusted my legs, opened them. I snapped them shut.
“No. Open.” He smacked my thighs then wedged a hand between them, pushing in between and pinching my skin.
I flinched and whimpered, burning from the strikes. Then I opened.
“More.”
I spread myself wider, throat closing in from abrupt desire—knowing in that moment how slutty this would look. I was giving in, wasn’t I? That awareness of my own kinks did not prevent my reaction. I was loving it.
He rolled my panties from beneath my butt, yanked them to ankle level, then off me.
The asshole had found a way through my obstinate detestation of him. Lust swirled and fluttered, roiled, and grew, expanding outward, making my nipples peak. That familiar tension awakened where I tried not to show he had devastated me.
I shut my eyes to lose the light that sneaked into the bag from a grille in the mouth area and from where eyeholes seemed to be clipped shut.
Thankfully, the bag hid some of my response.
I sat, with my legs opened, with my intimate parts exposed to Axl, and my hands bound at my back. I panted softly past the moistened tape. The sting from my slapped thighs surged and ebbed, making my clit take notice and slowly swell.
In my mind, I aimed a litany of curses at Axl.
Was this truly what Mr. Scott wanted? How could it be?
I heard Axl unzip a bag.
“Your job can wait. You can go after you’ve been a good girl, and Mr. Scott and I have had fun with our toy.”
He wasn’t here, though—Mr. Scott. I’d heard no one else moving. Seen no one. What did Axl mean?
Oh shit. Was he recording this? That was going too far.
I made a noise of consternation.
“Cannot talk properly? Tsk. Too bad.” His voice had come nearer, and he undid something on the bag.
Below, more light flared through a mouth hole.
His finger entered and poked me, traced my mouth.
His fist held the back of the bag, pulled it tighter, and he kissed me, shockingly hard, grinding in until I was spinning.
His hand pushed between my legs, and a finger was rudely thrust into me, soon to be joined by a second. He left them inside me, making short fucking motions, while still kissing me with my head wrenched back.
When he took his mouth off mine, his taste, the roughness, and the invasion of his tongue reverberated like subtle blows. His fingers were dragged from my pussy.
Overcome, I couldn’t stop myself from gasping loudly, over and over. My breasts were heaving.
“See that Mr. Scott?” Axl asked.
The eyeholes were unclipped, and I looked out at Axl, found I was poking the gag with my tongue. The buzzing in my body from arousal, from a need for sex, was uncomfortably present.
“Why?” I tried to say, and it came out a croaky, “Mm-y.”
He shook his head and stepped away to adjust his phone where he had propped it on my coffee table. The screen showed it was recording or streaming.
Tears leaked onto my cheeks. No. If this got out, the school would be livid. More than livid.
“Permission to proceed to do filthy things to your toy, Mister Scott?”
I heard a yes, a definite yes.
My betraying pussy was not listening to logic. I was wet and swollen and getting worse by the second. Axl was holding a large green dildo.
“Looking at this?” He wobbled it. “I’m told it’s genuine orc cock. Let’s see if it fits in that sexy little pussy. Don’t move your legs or it goes in your ass instead. Got that?”
I nodded and gulped in a breath. There was no way it would fit. I would tear.
He kneeled while I watched, slightly horrified. The thing had knobs and was far larger than seemed possible to fit inside me.
He grinned and dropped a tube of lube to the rug. “I don’t think we need this, Emme.”
I blushed. Was it that obvious?
As he approached and nestled it near my entrance, I squeaked.
He’d prodded, and the thing was already hurting.
Toes curling, wriggling backward, I tried to escape.
But with Axl kneeling between my legs there was no way to stop him, unless I kicked, and that might be a disaster. I did not want it stuck in my ass.
I was sure he would carry through with that threat.
“Good girl,” he murmured, rotating it, pushing the green orc dong further in. “Your cunt is doing amazing things.” He leaned back and pulled the coffee table closer. “I have to give Mr. Scott a good view. He’s grading me on this.”
He shoved the thing deeper, and I gaped and squeaked out a “Fuck!”
No matter what I did, how I tried to disappear into the cushions behind me, Axl kept going.
I felt it bottom out and groaned.
The throbs and hurts, the immense stretching pain, they were folding into one another, amplifying.
I flopped my head back, catching my breath, trying to ignore the mounting pressure in my pussy and clit.
“Done. And now…” He grabbed my nipple, and I sat up to see him approach my left breast with a metal clamp. The jaws shut. I screeched. Ignoring me, grasping the other nipple, he clamped it, too. By then I was whimpering and torn between the pains and pleasures pulsing from all the places he abused.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Teary-eyed, I watched as he attached small ball weights to each clamp. They swung in the air, hanging off my nipples, until I leaned back again.
“Approval rating, Sir?”
He was talking to his deviant partner, I realized, but I was busy shuddering through the multiple pains.
“Ten, Mister Axl. A big fat wet ten.” That had come through clear as day.
I almost wanted to smack Mr. Scott, except…this was hitting my kinky buttons.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered, wriggling, making the weights move and the dildo angle in as it wedged in the cushion. Beneath my ass my couch was getting wet.
A hot tongue arrived against my clit. A hand was on my thigh. Stubble rasped on me, and I surged forward making an O around the gag. Pulling and pushing the orc dildo, ramming it in and out, Axl forced me toward climax.
I keened, I swore, I lost track of the ceiling, and the traffic outside.
I felt only the rub of his stubble on my inner thighs, the slurp of his tongue, and the suction of his lips when he chose to apply them in that heavenly way.
It made me wish I could grab his head and wrench him closer—to make him suck and lick and fuck me hard.
I arched into an orgasm within seconds. Or it seemed like seconds.
“More,” Mr. Scott commanded. “Fuck, Axl. That’s hot.”
I think I agreed.
“Give her more tongue.”
Axl chuckled and lowered his head. Mouth open, I watched in disbelief until my eyes slammed shut.
Slowly, another climax rose and hit me in a tsunami of desire. The gag was sopping wet, and so was I, below. The couch might need to be thrown out.
Heart thundering, I slumped backward, until a vibrator began to buzz and was pushed onto my clit, and held there, remorselessly. That made me screech. Axl smiled.
Minutes later, he made me come again. Through the blurred veil of exhaustion, I listened to him discuss my fate with Mr. Scott.