David Vanishes free porn video

Author’s note: This is the first time I’ve attempted a longer story, and as you will see it’s a little unusual in that I spend much more time on the build-up than on the ‘action.’ This might not be the story for you if you are looking for a quick fix, but I hope you’ll find something to enjoy here.

David Vanishes

Chapter 1

I can hear them coming. Even with the hood on, I am now so used to silence that their muffled footsteps coming down the stairs are amplified a hundred times in my ears. Incredible that still, after all these months, the thought of what lies ahead in the next few hours terrifies me. Already my breathing is speeding up and my muscles are tightening. You would have thought that there is only so much pain and misery one person can endure before he stops dreading it; but no – I still dread it. If this session is the same as last time, it will be horrific. But if Sophie has devised some new torture, some new humiliation?. Oh god. I’m crying again, I realize, for the fourth or fifth time since I woke up this morning, although of course I have no idea whether it’s morning or night, and haven’t done since they first brought me here.

When I contemplate the living hell my life has become, I sob openly into the brutal ball-gag with which I am now so familiar. In a pathetic attempt at defiance, attempts which I still feel compelled to make when Sophie is here, I struggle against my restraints. But I can feel any real defiance draining away from me as the weeks pass. Of course it is useless, I know that. I want to scream but I don’t, not this time. There’ll be plenty of screaming later. The ingenuity of the restraints hits me yet again. It is almost impossible for me to move any part of my body, apart from my fingers, toes and eyes. But even worse than this physical prison that they have forced me into is the psychological prison I am trapped in. The knowledge that my own lust and stupidity lured me into this situation is the most humiliating, spirit-crushing thing of all. Sophie knows it too. When she smiles at me with that taunting, sly look of hers, I know that’s what she’s thinking. ‘You did this to yourself,’ she’s thinking. ‘You made it easy for us.’

When I think back to how innocently it all began, my mind recoils in horror. The flirtatious glance & giggle over her shoulder; the hand delicately trailing across my leg when she walked past; the way her lips parted slightly when I was telling her about my wedding plans; now that I know the extent of Sophie’s insane cruelty and meticulous planning, these early details all fall horribly into place. She had the whole thing worked out from the start, and I never had a chance. How could such a girl construct a plan so devilishly evil? I don’t think she ever intends to let me find out.

I hear the heavy lock turning in the door behind me. I try to summon up some mental strength but I’m sobbing again, wailing like a child before they’ve even pulled the hood off. Sophie stands in front of me, as pretty as a picture, a perfect coquette. She’s smiling at me. She’s holding something shiny. What is it? Oh god?

6 months earlier

I arrived in Paris looking forward to the biggest challenge of my career so far. My employer, a well-respected academic publisher, had assigned me to work with Christopher Crawford, the philosopher. We were going to publish a new volume of his collected letters and essays, and I was to help edit them. Because he refused to travel to London, I was sent to work with him in Paris. Crawford had lived in France for decades and his wife, Chloe, was French. I knew that they also had a daughter called Sophie.

The job was a huge responsibility and I was, frankly, extremely nervous when I rang the doorbell on that first morning. The maid answered and showed me in. The place was enormous: a multi-storied, lavishly furnished old townhouse that intimidated me from the start. The Crawfords were clearly rich and their house oozed an almost aristocratic classiness. I was shown into a drawing room – all gold mirrors, expensive-looking antiques and plush, overstuffed armchairs – and told to wait.

A few minutes later I heard rapidly approaching footsteps and a girl’s voice, and then the doors flung open. I was sitting facing the door and I started to stand up, but the sight that greeted me caused me to stop awkwardly halfway up. I looked like an idiot. In front of me stood a young woman – she was 21, I later found out, just 7 years younger than me – in chocolate brown leather boots, black tights under a tiny, stylish miniskirt and a tight mustard-yellow cashmere sweater. She was tall and slim but the curves of her hips and breasts were pronounced. Her skin was flawless and lightly tanned, her eyes were big, soft and blue, and her long, perfectly straight hair was honey brown. She was – I am sure – the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I was half-standing, staring, in shock. She was talking on her mobile. When she saw me an amused, almost haughty expression played across her face. She said something quickly in French and snapped the phone shut. Then she stood, regarding me.

‘You can stand up, you know’ she smiled. Her smile was captivating. I straightened up and tried to laugh. ‘I’m Sophie,’ she continued. ‘You must be my father’s new servant.’ Her English was impeccable but there was a trace of a French accent when she spoke – I thought I might melt right there just listening to her gorgeous voice.

‘That’s right, I’m David’ I replied, walking towards her and extending my hand, which she took and shook daintily. ‘Nice to meet you – is your father here?’

‘He’ll be down in a minute I expect’ she replied. ‘Did you travel to Paris alone?’

‘Yes I did’ I told her, unable to take my eyes off her but anxious not to appear a creep. I desperately tried to think of something to say to prolong the conversation, but without another word she twirled on her heel and marched out of the room.

‘Nice to meet you David. I’m going shopping – see you around!’ she called back with a glance over her shoulder, catching me staring at her perfect behind. Then she closed the doors and was gone.

I breathed out. Why had no-one told me what a bombshell Crawford’s daughter was? She was going to be a serious distraction. I thought of Emily, my fianc?e back in London, and felt guilty. I must try and focus on the work, I told myself.

Crawford arrived a few minutes later. He was friendly enough but seemed lost in his thoughts, otherworldly – a typical philosopher, I suppose. We chatted aimlessly and agreed on a few administrative matters. I was to come to the house four mornings a week and work there till the evening. If the work dragged on into the evening I was welcome to stay in one of the guest rooms. The maid would prepare food for me and I was welcome to join the family for dinner whenever I wished. I told him I’d already met Sophie.

‘Ah yes’ he smiled. ‘The lady of the house – that’s what we call her. She may act like she runs the whole show but don’t be fooled, she’s just trying to impress you.’ If that’s true then she’s a very good actress, I thought. We agreed that I would come back the next morning to start work. That night, after I phoned Emily from my hotel room, I lay in bed and masturbated, imagining Sophie sitting over me, smiling down haughtily as she fucked me.

The next few weeks went quickly. The work was difficult, at times boring, but we made good progress. Crawford seemed to like me well enough, even if he sometimes didn’t seem entirely sure who I was. Chloe, his wife, was charming and very welcoming. She was stunning too, and quite a bit younger than Crawford – lucky bastard, I thought when I watched him kissing her. My crush on Sophie, however, was becoming a real embarrassment. When she was in the room I was nervous and distracted. When she spoke to me I became tongue-tied and sometimes even started blushing. It was ridiculous. I prayed that her parents hadn’t noticed; Sophie certainly had. My suspicions from that first encounter were soon confirmed. Sophie was a tease, and she loved watching the effect she had on me.

To begin with it was all innocent enough. When she passed me in the hall she would glance back over her shoulder and wink when she saw me looking at her. A few times she even trailed her manicured nails across my thigh as she passed. When Crawford was in the room, I caught her licking her lips at me, trying to fluster me in front of her father. It worked. I would make a stupid mistake or drop something, and she would sit in the corner, bare legs crossed, giggling. I knew that Sophie enjoyed all this teasing just for its own sake but, and this was one of the first nails in my coffin, I allowed myself to think that maybe, beneath the schoolgirl teasing, she was also genuinely attracted to me. I was not unattractive, and had been involved with some beautiful girls over the years, though none quite as self-assured (or as young!) as Sophie. My fantasies became dirtier, more graphic, more elaborate. I realized that I now always thought of Sophie instead of Emily when I masturbated.

Sophie managed to extract a lot of information from me during those first few weeks. She would sit next to me, legs crossed, smiling coquettishly, and quiz me on every aspect of my life. She knew all about my fianc?, my family, my friends, where I lived, my job, my financial situation, everything. I could not deny her anything. She asked, and I told her. I was helpless. She used to drop heavy hints about her sexual exploits too. She would make references to spending the night at some playboy’s apartment, or to some debauched fetish club she’d attended. At first I didn’t believe these stories, assuming they were just another weapon in her arsenal of teases, but as time went on, I realized they could easily be true. Sophie’s supreme sexual confidence was like nothing I’d ever encountered.

Without me even realizing it, my infatuation with Sophie was spiraling into obsession. I started to take risks – stealing family photos from the house, just so I would have an image of her to wank over back at the hotel. Once or twice I hid outside the house and then followed Sophie when she left for an evening out. She would invariably meet up with a group of equally beautiful, rich young friends, spend hours laughing and drinking in a stylish bar somewhere, and then go on to any one of a number of terrifyingly exclusive clubs. Of course I could never follow her in – these places were not for the likes of me.

One night, while Crawford and his wife were downstairs and Sophie was out for the night, I made some excuse about having to find a document in the upstairs study, and sneaked up into Sophie’s bedroom. I wasn’t sure what I was doing exactly – I think it was just the thrill of being in her private space that made me do it. I searched through her clothes – piles and piles of sexy, provocative outfits - took photos of her bed and her underwear, rifled through her drawers. In her bedside table I found a large dildo, condoms, several vibrators, and a pair of handcuffs. My heart leapt and my dick instantly stiffened – she was every bit the nymph she claimed to be. I ran to the bathroom and masturbated, coming instantly.

I went downstairs and told Crawford I was working on something important and would be up late. He said of course I should stay. I sat awake in the guest bedroom for hours, listening. I heard them go to bed. Then much later, early in the morning, Sophie came home. I heard her go into her bedroom – it was one floor above mine. Not thinking straight, consumed with lust, I crept upstairs towards her door. It was slightly ajar and the light was on. I could hear something faint – a voice, panting, from within. I reached the door and pressed my eye to the crack.

Sophie was lying on her bed, naked apart from her panties, stockings & suspenders. She looked like a whore. Her hand was between her legs, under her panties, and she was panting softly as she touched herself. She didn’t notice me. I followed her gaze to the TV. She was watching a DVD. The images on the screen chilled me, and at the same time I couldn’t stop watching. It seemed to be a low-quality, home-made film. Somewhere in a dark, small room, a young man was tied to some kind of wooden frame. He was gagged and screaming in pain as a small group of men and women watched another, large bald man raping him. It clearly wasn’t staged – the young man’s pain and terror were real and obvious. He struggled uselessly as the large man grabbed his hips and slammed his cock in to his victim’s ass over and over again. The onlookers were smiling, laughing, taunting the boy. I looked back at Sophie – her face was flushed, her hand movements had become quicker, more urgent. Back on the tape, one of the girls had stepped forward and was slapping the helpless boy hard across the face as the rape continued. This seemed to push Sophie over the edge – she came hard, biting her lip, moaning softly, her fingers digging into the sheets beside her. I jumped up before she noticed me, ran back to my bed and lay there in shock, trying to understand what I’d just witnessed. The look in that poor boy’s eyes haunted me, but at the same time, I realized it turned me on. Why was Sophie watching something so twisted, so depraved, so terrible? My mind reeled trying to reconcile Sophie’s girlish demeanour and playful teasing with her clearly deviant sexual appetite. I lost count of how many times I made myself cum before I fell asleep.

The next morning at breakfast Sophie stalked in, sat down next to me and leaned in close.

‘Did you enjoy the show last night?’ she whispered, out of earshot of her parents. I gulped – so she knew. I didn’t say anything. ‘It’s ok, I’m not cross with you’ she said, her French accent sounding more pronounced than usual. I had long suspected that she deliberately sounded more French when she was trying to turn me on. It worked – as I listened to her voice and felt her breath on my neck, I could feel my hard cock pressing against my trousers. ‘In fact it turned me on knowing you were watching me. You liked the film, didn’t you?’ I was paralyzed with embarrassment and arousal and could barely speak, so I just nodded. Sophie smiled; a smile of victory, I later realized. A smile like the smile a cat gives its prey before it strikes the final blow.

‘Come out with me tonight’ she said, squeezing my thigh. ‘I’ve got some things to show you.’

I could hardly believe what was happening. This girl, this minx, was coming on to me. It was all I could do to stop myself jumping on her right there at the breakfast table. But, obediently, I did as she said. I waited for her in a taxi outside the house later that night. At 10pm exactly she left the house, opened the taxi door and slid in. I was speechless – she was wearing a tiny little black cocktail dress, so short that when she sat down it seemed to ride almost right up to her ass, exposing her long, toned, tanned thighs, and killer stiletto heels. Her long hair was tied up in a severe knot above her head, pulled back tight, and there was some kind of glitter dusted over her cheeks and bare shoulders. She giggled at my open-mouthed reaction.

‘Do you like what you see, David?’ I nodded dumbly. ‘Good – because you’re going to see a lot more very soon.’ She turned to the driver and spoke quickly in French, and a short while later we had arrived at a very expensive looking bar. She took my hand and led me inside, to a reserved area towards the back of the dimly lit place, where a large group of her friends were waiting. All of them – men and women – were stunningly attractive. My heart sank as I felt yet again how out of place I was in this world of rich, stylish young people. But at least, I thought, I was here with Sophie.

However, Sophie did not even introduce me. She handed me her coat and gestured to an empty seat on one side of the group. For the next half an hour I watched awkwardly as she greeted, kissed and chatted to her friends in French, while I waited for her to involve me in the evening. After an hour has passed and not one of the group had even acknowledged my presence, I started to feel that this was some sort of deliberate insult. Sophie was acting like I didn’t even exist. Eventually she tore herself away from one particularly handsome young man and turned to me.

‘David?’ she asked, smiling brightly. ‘Go and get me a drink. A glass of champagne, please.’ I stared at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t react, just stood their, one hand on her hip, smiling. I was being humiliated and I knew it, but looking at her, I simply could not say no. I got up, trotted over to the bar, paid a ridiculous amount for the drink, and brought it back to her. Sophie took it and immediately turned her back on me, laughing at something her friend had said.

I sat down again, deflated. People started to drift off but I stayed there, stupidly, still intoxicated by Sophie’s presence, hoping that eventually she would give me the attention she’d promised. I found myself sitting opposite her and the handsome young man. Sophie caught my eye and raised her eyebrows, looking down. I followed her gaze and saw that, under the table, she had slid her hand down her partner’s trousers. He was clearly hard, and Sophie was masturbating him. But she was looking at me. I stared back. Her lips were parted slightly and her eyes were sparkling. She held my gaze as her hand moved faster and faster. The young man’s eyes were shut and his head rolled back as Sophie expertly brought him to climax, and when he came she bit her lip to stifle a giggle.

Minutes later she stood up and leant over me.

       ‘We’re leaving’ she announced. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And she marched out, the young man in tow, leaving me dumbfounded. How dare she? She had brought me out here, ignored me, and then used me as a prop in one of her kinky games. To my annoyance though, I felt more turned on than I’d ever been. I dutifully made my way back to the hotel and wanked over one of my stolen photos, splashing cum on Sophie’s face. As I drifted off to sleep I remembered I’d promised to call Emily tonight. She would be angry with me – but I didn’t care.

Chapter 2

Sophie didn’t come home the next day, or the next, so I was left to stew in frustration. I was so confused by the events of the other night that my work was suffering. In fact the work was not going well. I found it hard to concentrate, and found myself listening out for Sophie rather than thinking about the job. Crawford was getting angry with me and we had a few blazing rows. ‘You are worse than useless as an editor’ he stormed eventually. ‘I’ve a good mind to call your office and have them replace you. This was a serious threat – a bad word from Crawford could effectively ruin my reputation. He announced that Chloe and he were going away for a week to visit her mother, and suggested I use the time to take a break and sort myself out. Miserably, I said I would try.

That night I had a terrible argument with Emily. She accused me of ignoring her, was paranoid that I was cheating on her, and hung up in tears. I was a mess.

Picking up some papers at Crawford’s house the next day, I heard Sophie come in. I was furious with her but the sight of her in her little skirt filled me with lust again, and when she smiled at me I was putty in her hands.

‘I’m sorry about the other night David, it was naughty of me’ she offered demurely. ‘You see that man is my boyfriend, and I couldn’t very well fool around with you in front of him. But I hope you enjoyed the little show I gave you?’ I knew I was being manipulated but I didn’t care. Right now Sophie mattered to me more than anything else. I let her continue.

‘I want you David, believe me. But we can’t do anything in Paris – not with the maid, and all my friends here. But I have a plan. My parents are away for a whole week, and we can go away too. They have a house in the country, five hours drive. I’m going down there tonight. Hire a car tomorrow and come and meet me. Please come – we’ll have the place to ourselves. It’s beautiful. We can do anything we want?’

I would have done anything she asked of me, right then. But to seal the deal, she leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips, staring into my eyes. ‘I want to have you, David’ she whispered in my ear. I could not resist. I said I’d meet her at the house the next night.

The five hour drive passed in a flash, as I spent the whole journey fantasising about the debauchery that lay ahead. I pictured Sophie’s body bent into all kinds of obscene shapes, her face sticky with sweat, her perfect make-up smudged, her pretty French accent screaming disgusting things. Eventually I pulled up at the house. It was a small stone cottage, an old farmhouse, and there were so signs of life for miles around. Letting myself in with the key Sophie gave me, I made my way to the bedroom and waited. I undressed and got into bed. An hour later I heard the front door.

Quiet footsteps. And then the door creaked open. In the soft light I saw Sophie standing at the foot of the bed, a playful smirk on her face.

‘I’m so excited’ she breathed.

‘Me too’ I answered. I watched as she peeled off her sweater and her jeans, and she let me take a long look at her standing there in her black bra and panties. Giggling she slipped in to the bed beside me, and I was in heaven. We didn’t speak. Her soft hands were all over me, caressing me, her lips kissing my face, my neck, my chest. I grabbed handfuls of her firm young flesh and ran my fingers over her perfect body, moaning in pleasure, trying to turn her over on to her back. But she stayed on top of me, her breasts pressing against me, her long hair tickling my skin.

‘Sophie?’ I began but she put a finger to my lips, silencing me. We paused, our bodies heaving together. My hips bucked involuntarily and she gasped as she felt my stiff cock pressing against her thigh.

‘I’ve waited so long for this, David’ she breathed. I was about to agree but something wasn’t right – Sophie had stopped her writhing, and the softness had gone from her eyes. In fact she was – yes – she was grinning. Before I could say anything the door slammed open and something came into the room.

Men. Four large men. I tried to shout but Sophie’s hand was already pressed over my mouth. I started to struggle but in a flash Sophie had sprung from the bed and the four men were upon me, pinning me down. I thrashed about but they were powerful, and as I started to shout at the top of my voice, I felt a huge blow across my face. I was stunned and couldn’t get up.

‘Get him ready’ I dimly heard Sophie say. I willed myself to get up, to escape, but my muscles were sluggish. As I struggled to regain myself, I was rolled on to my side and my arms were pulled painfully behind my back. Something cold and rough was being wrapped around my wrists. They were tying me up!

I started screaming now, trying to see what had happened to Sophie, but she was out of sight. More restraints – it was leather, I could feel – were wrapped tightly around my elbows, pinning my arms together. Now they were tying my ankles, and my calves, my knees, my thighs. I was shouting for help. The men climbed off me and I tried to struggle, realising in horror that they had also tied my ankles to my wrists behind my back, and I was utterly helpless. All I could do was thrash about uselessly on my side. Now I saw Sophie. She was standing next to the bed, still in her underwear, looking down at me.

‘Please, Sophie, help me!’ I pleaded. She regarded me coldly.

‘Shut him up’ she said. It was an order – the men were following her orders! The first stirrings of a deep, dark terror gripped me. On her word, two of the men grabbed me and forced my mouth open. Another stuffed something cold and hard between my lips. My mind reeled as I realised it was a ball-gag, like something from an S&M film. I was helpless to stop them as they popped the gag into place and buckled its straps behind my head, securing it.

Next they pressed foam plugs into my ears, sealing them into place with some kind of tape. They left me there for a minute, wailing into my gag and straining against my bonds. Sophie was talking to them, but all I could hear was blood pumping in my head. Then she was kneeling down in front of me, her face level with mine. I stared into her eyes in naked terror, my face soaked with sweat, my mouth painfully distended. Unbelievably, she was smiling at me. The same sweet smile she’d given me that morning at breakfast. She licked her lips and I felt my dick stiffen. Her lips moved, another order, and then one of the men approached me holding a horrific leather hood. As I screamed into my gag for all my worth, he forced it roughly down over my head. I was plunged into total darkness and silence. The mask was hot and tight, with only two small holes over the nostrils for air.

Unable to see or hear anything, my mind was racing. Was this one of Sophie’s games? I knew she was a predator, but this seemed extreme, even for her. I’d heard about women who got off on this kind of thing, staging kidnapping scenes, picking up victims and scaring them for fun. Desperately clinging to any rational explanation, I tried to slow my heart beat as I told myself that surely the game would be over soon. I stopped kicking about – it was useless, and I was only tiring myself out.

Moments later, I felt myself being rolled over on to a new, smooth surface. It felt like canvas. Then I was aware of something being pressed together over my feet, my legs, my waist, moving upwards. I realised with a horrible shock what was happening – they were zipping me into some kind of bag. The bag was zipped right up over my head and I could now feel the warm closeness of the canvas material all around me. It was incredibly hot. I was sweating profusely and finding it difficult to breathe – I prayed there were air holes in the bag too. What kind of sick game was I involved in?

Then I felt the first blow. A powerful punch, or kick, slammed me in the face. I screamed in pain but of course no sound came out. Then another, in my chest. And another, and another. Punches raining down on my helpless, tied up, bagged up body. Why were they doing this? I was crying now, in pain and in fear and in confusion. I was winded and finding it difficult to breathe. Eventually, I think, I blacked out.

The next thing I was aware of was being carried. The men were carrying the bag, holding me by my legs and waist, with my head hanging uncomfortably down behind. I felt myself being carried down the stairs and outside. Even through the thick bag I was aware of the cold night air. Where was Sophie, I wondered? Why was she doing this to me? I remembered my excitement as I’d driven down here, into her trap, and cursed my stupid, adolescent crush. Then I was dropped and hit a hard surface. There was a muffled thump and then a throbbing sound, and then I was moving again. Oh my god, I thought, feeling sick. They’ve put me in the boot of the car.

I had already completely lost track of time. How long ago had the men burst in? Hours? As the car sped through the night, my disorientation grew to insane levels. Where was I? Where were they taking me? Why was this happening? I started crying again. It was getting hotter and hotter in the bag and breathing was difficult. I started to panic, thinking perhaps they were going to leave me in here to die. I thought of Emily and my family back home, what they’d think if they knew what was happening to me, and sobbed again in shame.

I have no idea how long we drove for. I passed out several times from the heat and exhaustion. Eventually I was dimly aware of being lifted out of the boot and carried again through the cold night air. The temperature changed and I realised I was indoors again. I was being carried downstairs. The staircase was long and the air had grown cool by the time we reached the bottom. The men paused and then threw me to the floor. The floor was cold, hard: stone. Barely able to catch my breath, I moaned in pain again as they started kicking me in the stomach. I needed to vomit but knew that was fatal, with the gag in. I heard a muffled thud that may have been a heavy door slamming shut and then I was alone.

I tested my muscles. Severe cramp was starting to set in to my arms and legs, and the pain was matched by the ache from my bruised, beaten body. My breathing was ragged and I was drenched in sweat. Trying one last time to break out of the cruel restraints, I screamed in agony and lay, exhausted, defeated, panting, on the cold stone floor. As I lost consciousness again, I imagined Sophie’s innocently smiling face smirking at me.

Chapter 3

How long they left me for on the floor, I have no idea. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, the severe pain in my unnaturally positioned arms not allowing me to sleep. Eventually, I was aware of hands on me, and then the bag was unzipped. Were they going to release me? I didn’t dare think my ordeal was over. And sure enough, I barely had time to appreciate the cool air on my naked skin before I was hauled off the floor and dragged, my feet scraping painfully on the stone floor. I was pushed forward and felt something hard, like wood, under my chest. The plugs still stuffed in my ears under the hood, I could hear almost nothing, except muffled voices.

Now, in this new position, leaning forward, I felt my arms being untied. A surge of relief passed through me momentarily, even though my arms were so cramped I couldn’t even move them. But almost instantly, they stretched my arms out either side of me, and then I felt more restraints being applied. Groaning in helplessness, I had no choice but to submit as my arms were lashed again, tightly, painfully, to some kind of frame. Within minutes they had let go of me and I tried to move my arms but they were completely immobile. Then they repeated the process with my legs, first releasing them and then re-applying some kind of restraint. I felt my legs being pulled out and spread behind me, so I was leaning forward in a kind of star shape, my four limbs stretched out around me.

Suddenly I had a terrifying image: of the boy I’d seen on Sophie’s DVD. He had been in the same position I was now in. A wave of panic passed through me and I tried to struggle. It was useless – I could barely move at all. I felt a hand slap my bare ass and I shivered, shut my eyes, and tried not to cry.

Then nothing. Had they gone? I couldn’t hear anything of course. Time passed, and I realized I had been left alone again. At least this position was slightly more bearable than being trussed up in the bag, and I concentrated on getting used to the steady, numb pain. I passed out again.

There were voices, movements around me. I started and tried to struggle again, to let them know I was here, that I was not defeated. I wanted to show these people, whoever they were, that I had fight in me. I steeled myself by thinking about what I would do to them all when I was released. These bastards were so wrong if they thought I was just going to roll over and submit to them.

Incredibly, I felt the hood being untied and pulled off me, and the ear plugs were removed. I blinked my eyes furiously, trying to adjust to the first light I’d seen in a long time. I was in a room, a cellar I guessed. It was small, stone walled and floored, with no windows. There was a single source of light coming from behind me somewhere. I moved my head from side to side, the painful, large gag still causing me considerable discomfort. I was strapped to a large cross-shaped wooden frame, just like the one I’d seen in Sophie’s film. My arms and legs were secured to the beams of the frame by a ridiculous number of thin, tight leather straps, far more than were necessary to simply restrain me. I realized then, that the purpose of the excessive straps was not just to stop me from escaping, but to reinforce quite how helpless I was, and my heart sank. The centre piece of the frame supported the weight of my body and I could move my head freely, although it was painful to do anything other than just let it hang down.

‘Hello David. Thanks for joining us’ I suddenly heard Sophie say. I heaved my head up and saw her sitting, cross legged, a few feet in front of me. Her skirt was even shorter than usual and she was beaming at me. My mind reeled, desperately trying to make some sense of what was happening. I groaned loudly into the gag and thrashed about in my restraints – or tried to. My actual movements were minimal and apparently amusing, because Sophie giggled.

‘Please do keep trying to struggle like that, it’s very interesting to watch’ she smiled. ‘Poor David?.you must be incredibly confused right now. Are you?’

I nodded pathetically.

‘And scared?’ she asked, her eyes flashing. I nodded again, furious with her for this humiliating inquiry.

‘Good. And in pain?’ The tenderness with which she asked this last question brought a tear to my eye and despite my best efforts to appear defiant, I let out a little sob. Sophie stood up and took a few steps towards me.

‘Confused, frightened, and in pain – perfect. I want you to get used to these feelings David, because from now on, they are all you will ever know.’ I thought I hadn’t heard her right. What on earth did she mean? She was clearly taking this game, or whatever it was, very seriously. I was in no position to object, or protest, so I simply did nothing.

She stared at me for a moment. The room was silent apart from my heavy, ragged breathing and the occasional creak from the wooden frame as I tried to stretch my cramped muscles. Then Sophie nodded. And out of nowhere, I felt an intense, burning pain across my buttocks. I howled into my gag, looking up at Sophie in panic only to see her smiling at me, before I heard a ‘swish’ and another stab of pain. Someone was spanking me with what felt like a knife. Tears welled up in my eyes as whoever it was behind me rained down blow after blow on my helpless, exposed ass. My whole body shook in its restraints and soon I was wailing like a child. The assault was relentless. I lost count of how many times I was lashed – 50? 100? – and all the while Sophie gazed down on me with a look of cool fascination. The room started to swim in front of my eyes as my mind was filled with pain. And then the blows stopped.

I was left gasping for breath, unable to feel my legs above the thigh, and in a world of misery and pain. Sophie leaned in close and whispered in my ear.

‘No explanation.’ And with that she turned around and, to my horror, picked up the hood. I shook my head violently – surely she wasn’t going to put me back in it, after all that? I was babbling nonsense into my gag now, begging her not to even though I knew I couldn’t be heard. I tried to convey my fear with my eyes but she was oblivious as she pulled the thick, awful hood down over my shaking head and locked it off. Plunged back into near-silence and darkness, the pain from my buttocks slowly moving from a hot sting to a numb ache, I started to cry like a baby.

Sophie didn’t come back for a few days. After the first beating I was left alone for what felt like a very long time. Occasionally I would be aware of someone moving around me, no doubt cleaning up the mess underneath me, since I had no way of controlling my bowels. Every now and then someone would pull the hood up above my mouth, remove my gag, let me spit out whatever gunk and vomit had accumulated in my mouth, and feed me water and some disgusting, tasteless food. I was too exhausted to ask questions and was thankful even for this pitiful nourishment. The people who moved around me in this period didn’t only come to clean or feed me though. I was subjected to seemingly totally random tortures and treatments.

Sometimes I felt sharp things being attached to sensitive parts of my body – pegs, or clamps, or needles on my nipples, my inner thighs, my neck and my genitals. There were more beatings, usually on my ass, but sometimes, like on that first day, blows rained down at random over my whole body. Pain was my constant companion and I began to lose my grip on reality. My early questions about why I was here, what Sophie was planning, when they were going to release me, slowly started to evaporate, as it was all I could do to try to summon up the mental strength to endure the torture. I didn’t do very well. Sophie’s last words, ‘no explanation,’ echoed cruelly in my ears, until they took on the power of a mantra. In my more lucid moments I reasoned that sooner or later, they had to release me. People would be looking for me. I thought miserably of Emily and how scared – and angry – she must be right now, not having heard from me for days. With a pang of shame and self-loathing I also realized that had I been faithful to the woman I said I loved, I wouldn’t even be in this predicament.

Chapter 4

I have no idea how long it was before Sophie returned. But eventually she did. The hood was removed, but not the gag of course. As ever, she was radiant, and she was smiling sweetly.

‘You look terrible David, a real mess’ she taunted. ‘That means my boys have been doing a good job.’ Her jauntiness made me sick in my stomach – it was the obvious relish with which she humiliated me that made it that much more crushing. I knew that if I let her see how frightened I was, she got what she wanted, and if I tried to hide it, she got what she wanted. The unfairness of my situation nearly made me weep again.

‘I have no idea what they’ve been doing to you in here, but I told them they could do whatever they wanted. As long as there was no permanent damage. That comes later.’ Her eyes flashed and the panic overtook me again.

She was moving around the room, and then I saw there were others with her, large men – probably the same large men who brought me here. They wheeled a TV screen in front of me. Sophie pulled a chair up next to me and sat down facing the screen.

‘By now I hope you’ve realized how helpless you are?’ she inquired. I hung my head dejectedly, and this made her smile. ‘Of course you have. But I want to make sure you understand: you have no chance of escaping from here.’ A tear fell from my eye. ‘Good. Well, just in case you’ve been waiting for someone – your lovely girlfriend maybe’ (at this the guards sniggered, disconcertingly) ‘I want to show you something.’ She pressed a button on a remote and the screen came to life.

I lifted my weary head and what I saw chilled me to the bone. It was a news report, in French. The date on the bottom of the screen was from a few days after I had driven down to meet Sophie. The pictures showed a car, parked near a deserted, windswept beach. With a sickening jolt I realized it was the car I’d hired. Next the camera showed a policeman talking, and gesturing over a table of clothes. They were my clothes. I shook my head, not daring to believe what I was seeing. My French was not good enough to understand what was going on but I heard my name. I looked over at Sophie who was staring at the screen, biting her lip in rapt attention, with one hand between her mini-skirted legs. She reached up absent-mindedly and pushed my face back towards the screen.

The pictures changed. Now it was a British news programme. It was some kind of press conference. I saw my parents, and Emily, sitting between police officers, their faces tear-stained, and I nearly blacked out with despair. ‘Please come home, if you’re out there’ sobbed Emily to the cameras as flash bulbs popped. The screen went black.

I wanted to die. Sophie grabbed my chin between two fingers and lifted my head so I was forced to look at her. She was staring at me, fascinated, as if she was determined to understand the depths of my misery.

‘The suicide note we posted to Emily arrived a few days after that press conference’ she said matter-of-factly. I was barely able to take in what she was saying.

‘It’s really very tragic’ she continued, holding my despairing gaze with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘Promising young editor?driven to self-hatred by his professional shortcomings and his serial infidelities?.’ She burst out giggling. I was trying to shake my head but her grip on my chin was firm for such a dainty hand. She pushed my face back towards the screen again. This time it wasn’t a news programme, but a grainy, poor-quality home movie. The scene appeared to have been filmed surreptitiously, because the angle was low, and shapes kept moving in front of the lens. With horror I recognized the church from my parents’ hometown. Quiet organ music was playing, a minister was speaking, and the undercover cameraman panned slowly around to reveal a congregation of my friends, colleagues, and family, many of them sobbing, all of them dumbfounded with shock. I caught a glimpse of Emily, her face buried in my best friend Richard’s shoulder. I felt as if I was in a horror movie.

Unable to look away from the screen, I next saw the camera pan around to look down the closest aisle to reveal Crawford, his wife and yes, Sophie. She had actually gone to my own memorial service? My mind was reeling now. I felt myself falling into a deep black hole. The camera paused on Sophie for a while. She was wearing an indecently short, tight black dress that rode right up her stockinged thighs as she sat in the church. She glanced sideways at the secret camera, and winked. She looked so fucking delicious, I felt my dick harden involuntarily. The screen went black.

‘It was a beautiful service’ Sophie murmured from beside me. ‘All of your friends are so lovely. I had a wonderful time getting to know them afterwards?.’ She left the sentence hanging, allowing me to imagine just how well she got to know them. ‘And Emily – so pretty. Don’t worry about her David, I think Richard is going to take very good care of her, if you know what I mean.’

Even through my abject misery I was enraged by this little whore’s relentless, cruel teasing, and I bellowed into my gag, summoning up every ounce of strength to try and break through my restraints. My mind was filled with visions of leaping on Sophie, smashing her pretty face against the stone floor, stamping on her tight little body, making her pay for what she was doing. Soon I tired myself out and hung there, wheezing, sobbing.

Sophie, of course, just sat there, arms folded, smiling at me serenely, and then she stood up, towering over me.

‘Please keep doing that’ she said politely. ‘I love watching you try.’ I hated her more than I had ever hated anything. ‘So as you can see, everyone thinks you are dead. Which means I can play with you here as long as I want – and believe me, I take a long time to get tired of my toys.’ As tears streamed from my face, Sophie raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. I howled in pain.

She looked down at me, her face flushed, her breath quickening. ‘Mmmm, that felt good’ she purred. ‘A little taste of what’s to come for you. You know you really do look very, very cute all tied up and sobbing like a little boy. I think you’re going to be quite a money-spinner for us.’

This last remark made me start, and I started wailing ‘Why? Why? Why?’ into my gag over and over again. I was just making unintelligible noises but Sophie seemed to guess my confusion because, before she pulled the hood back down over my head, she leaned in close and whispered.

‘No explanation.’

Abandoned to my private, silent torture chamber again, I sobbed for hours. The sickening extent of Sophie’s evil was slowly dawning on me. She had faked my suicide, and made the whole world believe it. I was trapped here and nobody would even be looking for me. The tears came again as I drifted into a horrific semi-conscious state.

Chapter 5

I was left alone for a long time. Again, there were the periodic visits from invisible tormentors, applying clamps, inserting things into my anus, buzzing me with some kind of electric tazer. I felt like a pig on a spit. Or, a science experiment, strapped down, waiting for dissection. The severe sensory deprivation was taking its toll and having barely said anything, seen anything or heard anything for weeks, my mind was turning to mush. All I could cling on to was my hatred of Sophie and my self-pity. Thoughts of escape grew fewer and fewer until I redirected my miniscule mental energy from defiance into dumb survival.

The next time Sophie returned, things were different. The hood was removed, and I groaned when I saw her. She was dressed up in knee-high leather boots, tiny, tight designer shorts, a tight-fitting top and long, black gloves. She looked a million dollars and despite myself I knew I still wanted her. She knew this of course, and stalked around provocatively in front of me, bending over, posing, showing herself off like a cheap slut. The men were busy too, setting up lights and, I realized wearily, a camera. So everything was coming true: I recognized the set up from that tape Sophie had been watching, all that time ago. Sophie watched me closely, taking in my dawning fear.

‘Looks familiar doesn’t it Boy?’ she teased. I don’t know when she stopped calling me David, but I never heard my real name again. ‘When you were spying on me that night, like the dirty pervert you are, I bet you never thought you’d be the star of the show, right?’ I tried not to let her taunts get to me, but it was no good. She knew how to push her buttons, and I was as helpless in her hands as I had been when she used to flirt with me in Paris.

‘We’ve been making these films for a few years now. The audience for stuff this extreme is pretty small, but the people who like it, really like it. I mean big money. Not that I need the money of course. I do this for the love.’ Sophie burst out laughing at her own joke.

‘It’s amazing what you can buy – and sell – online these days’ she continued. ‘We’ve got customers in Brazil, in Thailand, India, all over Europe and the US. A whole community of people who just love watching hapless, helpless men being tortured and raped. Luckily I love it too.’ I was breathing heavily now, trying to steel myself for what I knew was coming.

‘We’re ready?’ she asked someone. ‘Then let’s go.’ Ignoring my frantic struggles and moans, Sophie turned to the camera and started talking, introducing the scene as if it was a documentary. I saw her flash her brilliant smile before turning around to face me, a look of intense excitement on her face. Her pretty blue eyes were burning with something that looked like lust. I gazed pathetically up at her, hoping that maybe I could still communicate some degree of my anguish and make her stop. But she just licked her lips and nodded to someone behind me. And then I felt rough hands on my hips. And then I felt something hard pressing between my buttocks.

I tensed up, instinctively trying to pull away, but of course I had nowhere to move. They didn’t even bother to lubricate me. My cheeks were being slowly pulled apart, allowing whoever was about to rape me easier access. I felt my unseen assailant’s hard, obviously very large cock pressing tight against me. I was breathing hard, unaware of anything other than the prospect of imminent pain. And then he eased off – were they going to stop? No – of course not – moments later he slammed into me with insane force and I felt a tearing, popping sensation as he forced his cock past my tight asshole and into my anus.

The agony was like nothing I had ever experienced. And before I could even get used to this awful, awful pain, he started to move. Rocking back and forwards, slowly at first, rhythmically, but gradually speeding up, he buried the length of his monstrous cock into me again and again. Noises, not even words, babbled from my gagged mouth as he raped me, the pain from my ass blocking out all other sensation, even blocking out rational thought. My strapped-down body was practically lifted off the frame under the force of his assault.

As I hung there, grunting and moaning, Sophie walked forward and leaned in close to my face. She stroked my tear-stained cheek tenderly, humiliatingly, and whispered to me:

‘I can’t imagine how much pain you must be in, Boy. Do you feel like you’ve died and gone to hell? I hope so. You must hate me so much’ – her eyes flashed as a particularly violent thrust slammed me against the frame – ‘but I bet you still want me, don’t you?’

She raised an eyebrow and parted her lips slightly. Her gorgeous face was just inches from mine.

‘Tell me, Boy?do you still want me, even after everything I’m doing to you?’ Defeated and ashamed, I closed my eyes and dropped my head.

‘I knew it!’ she laughed, clapping her hands together. ‘You absolute darling! That is so?thrilling.’ Her hand was already snaking its way down towards her crotch, and as my attacker slammed into me again, Sophie began to get herself off.

Every muscle in my body screamed for release. I tried desperately to break free, my need to stop the pain overcoming my knowledge that escape was impossible. Tears streamed down my face. And still this man was fucking me.

Again, and again, he pulled almost the whole way out before sliding his length agonizingly back into me again. Each time he nearly pulled out, the anguish was redoubled by his re-entry. I have no idea how long this lasted. Finally I felt something damp inside me, and I realized that he had cum.

Hanging there, strapped down, sweating and crying and feeling torn and bruised inside, I thanked God that it was over. And then – another pair of hands. My cheeks squeezed apart again. Oh god – no, please, no. I looked up frantically, and Sophie was nodding, her face flushed with excitement. Something hard between my cheeks?

And it started again. I don’t even know if it was a different person – the total anonymity made it even more humiliating. I was being gang raped. I could physically feel my ass being stretched wider this time and the pain was no less intense. The pressure inside me made me feel as if I was going to burst. My fingers and toes tensed again and again, scrabbling around, trying to find anything to lower the pressure on my ass, but there was nothing of course.

This man came. Then there was another, and another. By the end I wasn’t even struggling or moaning any more, I was just hanging there, limp, sobbing softly, utterly defeated. As the final, brutal attacker exploded into me, I realized with a deep shame that my cock was semi-erect.

There was a pause. I looked up. Sophie was beaming down at me. The cameras had stopped rolling.

‘Not bad’ she mused. ‘But try and show a bit more enthusiasm next time.’ Everyone in the room laughed. I wept openly. Sophie knelt down next to me, her tight shorts perfectly showing off her unbelievable legs, and reached out to grasp my cock between two fingers.

‘He’s actually hard’ she gushed. ‘The little slut – he did enjoy it!’ My cheeks turned an even deeper red. She flicked the swollen head of my cock with her nail, making me wince. ‘All in good time, slut’ she said, standing up. ‘Filming continues tomorrow.’ Then the hood was replaced, and they were all gone.

True to her word, the next day brought exactly the same routine. Another line of huge, shaven-headed brutes, another relentless round of ass-fucking. I was just a piece of meat.

The next day, as the cameras were being set up, they wheeled something in front of me. It was a large trolley, holding some kind of mechanical apparatus – what looked like an engine, connected to a long thin metal pole, with a rubber attachment at the end. I gulped.

‘This is a fucking machine’ explained Sophie. ‘And today, it is going to fuck you.’ I groaned in terror. After the hood had been secured, I heard the machine being wheeled behind me, and felt the rubber cock pressed against my ass. Then a slow, steady whirring as it started, and the cock burst instantly through my now much looser anus. It was gentle to begin with, but soon the machine had worked up a fast, pounding rhythm. It was much harder than any of the men had fucked me, and even worse, I realized with a sinking feeling, it was never going to stop.

It lasted for hours, fucking me mechanically until I felt as if my ass had been torn apart and turned inside out. At some point I started to cum, and I couldn’t stop – stream after stream of sticky white cum leaked from my helpless cock. Sophie ripped off the hood and started to slap me hard across the face with a pair of leather gloves.

‘You slut! You disgusting creep!’ she shouted. I couldn’t tell if she was ecstatic or furious – it sounded like both at once. After filming had finished and they were preparing to leave, one of the men whispered something in Sophie’s ear and she clapped her hands together with glee.

‘Delicious idea!’ she gasped. Turning to me, she smiled broadly. ‘Just because filming has finished, Boy, it doesn’t mean your fun has to end. We’re going to leave the machine running overnight.’ I shook my head desperately and started struggling again. ‘Hush now’ she tutted. ‘Don’t be so ungrateful.’

They left the hood off this time and pulled a large mirror in front of me, so that I could watch as they machine whirred into action again. When they left I watched myself being fucked in the ass by the machine for hours, dumbly contemplating this living hell, before I finally passed out.

As the weeks dragged on, the ‘scenes’ as Sophie called them changed slightly. Some days I would be fucked in the ass. Other days, they would replace my hood with a new hood, one with a hole in the mouth, and they would force me to suck cocks. In one session I swallowed over 100 loads of cum. Some days there were no cocks in my ass or my mouth, just me alone in the room with Sophie and her cruelty. She liked to electrocute me, spending hours with the tazer and her various home-made battery packs. She also liked to cut me. One session consisted of nothing but Sophie making a series of tiny, agonizing incisions between my fingers, my toes, and on my genitals with a razor blade. Occasionally she would toss me off, quickly and brutally, and then force me to swallow my own jism.

In all of these ‘one-on-one’ sessions, she took great pains to tease me, flirt with me almost, and I thought back bitterly to our first few encounters, when she had bewitched me with her girlish charms. I realized now that all of that had been preparation for this bizarre, twisted life she planned for me, and that I had blundered into it out of pure blind lust. She had played me like a puppet, and a puppet I had become.

When she had finished cutting me, Sophie sat down and talked to me. ‘Boy, I want you to know how popular you are. Your tapes are our most successful series so far. Sales are through the roof. Just last week I was able to buy this darling necklace with the money we’ve made.’ I stared dumbly at the expensive-looking pearl necklace around her throat.

‘So even though I know you’re in a lot of pain, please remember, we’re all enjoying ourselves very much, and it’s because you’re such a good victim. I just hope you last longer than the last boy?.’

And she stalked out.

Chapter 6

One day Sophie announced that there were going to be some new ‘games’ – she said that with the last tape, ‘my biggest hit yet,’ they had included a message to the viewers. They had asked all of my fans to send in suggestions for new tortures and punishments. I listened in horror – the thought of Sophie’s extremely cruel imagination now being inspired by God knows how many like-minded sadists was terrifying.

‘We’ll be able to start using some of the best ideas next week, probably!’ she gasped excitedly, clapping her hands together. I moaned into my gag and Sophie slapped me across the face with her gloves. ‘Less of that, please’ she admonished me. ‘You should be grateful we’re asking for input – it’ll make things so much more interesting for all of us.’ She giggled as she replaced the hood and left me again.

Some time later, these ‘new ideas’ started to come thick and fast. The next period of my imprisonment was the most unspeakable yet. Fed by the sick fantasies of her customers, Sophie’s enthusiasm for abusing me was redoubled. In this period I ate my own vomit. I ate my own faeces while the camera rolled, close-up on my tear-stained, retching face. They seemed to have abandoned the attempts to hide my identity from the viewers – presumably it had been so long, they didn’t think they needed to anymore.

During one of these ‘audience feedback’ sessions, Sophie appeared in front of me with a huge pair of wire cutters. She was staring at me so intensely, obviously very aroused. ‘We’re going to take one of your fingers’ she breathed.

Convinced I hadn’t heard her correctly, I didn’t move. Then when she approached me and lowered the jaws of the heavy metal tool around my left index finger, I nearly lost my mind with panic. I thrashed about on the frame, knowing full well that this was exactly what she wanted – she had already told me that ‘struggle scenes’ were some of the most popular episodes – but I couldn’t help it, my reflexes were telling me to escape at all costs as she started to apply some pressure to the handles.

I felt an extreme, sharp pain in my exposed finger. Sweating profusely, straining every weakened muscle in my body, I urged myself to break free, shutting my eyes against the pain. I heard Sophie gasping with the effort, and then, as a white bolt of agony seared through my body, I heard the crunching sound of my bone being destroyed. I opened my eyes and screamed like an animal into the gag, just in time to see Sophie’s expression of wide-eyed triumph. She kept working with the wire cutters, tearing and grabbing at my now limp and useless finger until most of it came away in the tool. I started in disbelief at the bloody stump where my finger used to be, heard Sophie asking the cameraman if he’d caught everything, before I passed out.

More time passed. Sometimes Sophie would come to the room and just sit in front of me, talking to me, telling me how pathetic I was, how much she enjoyed torturing me. Telling me about her sexual exploits and watching me get hard, then masturbating as I cried in frustration and shame. One day she arrived, with a large group of people in tow, with a particularly vicious glint in her eye.

‘Today we’re going to play a really fun new game’ she whispered through the hood. ‘We’re going to let you go.’ My heart jumped. I didn’t believe her of course – no doubt this was just another tease, another cruel game to play with my emotions. But then I felt my ankle and leg straps being untied. My legs were free?.I tried to move them and they barely responded, but move them I could. Next my wrist, arm and waist straps were released. I was untied! But I didn’t move – I knew the room was full of people, and I didn’t want to risk whatever new punishment was obviously waiting for me. Besides, I was still wearing the hood.

‘Now you’re free to go’ said Sophie. I waited for a long time, but nothing happened. Eventually, slowly, sure that this was some kind of trap, I pushed myself slowly off the frame. My muscles barely worked – I could hardly lift myself. But I did, and then, for the first time in months, I was standing, supporting my own weight. I moved my arms – they still worked, just about. I stood still, wobbling slightly, unsure of what to do.

‘OK’ said Sophie, somewhere very close to me. ‘Here’s the deal. As you know, this room only has one door. At the moment it’s locked, but the key is somewhere in the room. If you can find the key, and unlock the door, we will give you ten minutes to make a run for it before we come after you. There is a public road within ten minutes of where we are now, so you have a chance of finding some help before we catch you. Got it?’

I could almost here the excitement dripping from her words. They wanted to see me try to escape. Suddenly I realised – of course, the camera would be running. This would be a new thrill for the paying customers: to see the hapless victim desperately fumbling to escape, before being inevitably dragged, kicking and screaming, back to his prison. Well – I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. I just stood there.

‘Time starts?.now’ said Sophie, but I didn’t move. ‘Oh dear Boy’ she tutted. ‘Don’t you want to play along? I promise you the game is real – we won’t play it again though. This is probably the only chance you’ll ever get to make it out of here.’ She leaned in close to my ear, and whispered. ‘I mean it – after today, you’re never leaving this room again.’

And then something inside me snapped. I thought of the pictures of Emily, crying on the TV, and of my family, and suddenly I was filled with the same massive urge to get out of here that I had thought was gone forever. I wasn’t defeated – I could get out of here. I’d show these evil, evil bastards. I span around, shakily, and stumbled forward.

Immediately I lost my footing and fell over, to peals of laughter. I snarled into the gag and picked myself up, half crawling, running my fingers over the floor, looking for the key. I bumped into the wall and hurt my head – more laughter but I didn’t’ care, I kept crawling along the wall, until I found the heavy metal door. I pulled at it – definitely locked. I heard Sophie from across the room – ‘Keep going Boy, you’re getting warmer?.’

Desperate now, the thought of freedom so close I could think of nothing else, I searched frantically, bumping into things, falling over, being pushed and shoved by anybody I crashed into. People were spanking me, spitting on me, kicking me on the floor as I became frantic in my movements, moving and snarling more and more like a caged animal until suddenly, unbelievably, as I was scrabbling around near my frame, I felt something cold and metal – the key. They had left it right under my frame – a sick joke, I suppose. My head spinning with elation and excitement, I scrabbled back to the door.

‘Oh my’ said Sophie. ‘You are doing well.’ I rushed to fit the key to the lock and dropped it, to more laughter. I was almost laughing with delirious pleasure as I picked it up again, found the lock, pushed it in and?.

BZZZZZZZZZZZ

Everything went blank and I found myself sprawling on the floor, suddenly the door was gone, the wall was gone, I was on my back. What the?

BZZZZZZZZZZ

A second time, the sound, and the stinging, numbing pain in my side. I could make out laughter through over my own screams.

BZZZZZZZZZ

Again – oh god. It was the tazer. I tried to lift my hands to cover my face in protection but suddenly they were upon me, god knows how many of them, tazering my sides, my chest, my legs. I was twitching and howling and wailing on the floor in seconds, crying bitter tears of frustration, realizing that the entire episode had been designed to lead to this, and hating Sophie, and hating the film company, and hating myself most of all.

‘Poor darling’ I heard Sophie say. ‘And he was so close.’ And then that awful, evil giggle.

As I writhed on the floor and screamed in fury like a trapped animal, they dragged me, kicking and thrashing, back to the frame, and locked me securely back in. After the first few straps were locked down, I was barely able to move, and yet they kept on pulling more straps, thinner and tighter, over my limbs, every ‘click’ of a lock asserting that my life was over, and that freedom was impossible. I knew then that I wanted to die, that I would have willingly killed myself before I spent another minute in this wretched prison.

I wept and wept. And then Sophie, still smiling, move in front of me and sat down in her chair. Staring at me intently, she began to press her fingers between her legs.

‘That was really the most delicious scene’ she purred. ‘You really thought you might escape didn’t you? Didn’t you? Mmmm I know you did. But you never will?.never?..you know that now, surely?’ She bit her lip as she came, and then blew me a kiss before leaving me alone, again, in my depthless agony. This was my life, I realized, for the rest of time.

One day she’d go too far, and I would die. I prayed for that day to come quickly.

Epilogue

I was lying in bed with some disgustingly rich American, toying with the idea of marrying him for his money, when the Doctor called. He told me the Boy was not doing well – after 6 months, his poor abused body was finally starting to show signs of real lasting damage. I had suspected as much. In the last few tapes, his efforts to resist had been noticeably reduced. He didn’t scream nearly as much as he used to. And last week’s sales figures were down again, for the third week running. I knew my customers –  hell, I understood their thirst for authentic suffering intimately – and of course they were going to be less interested in a victim who didn’t put up a fight.

I smiled to myself as I thought back to my first encounter with the Boy. He had been so innocent in a way, so full of hope and ambition and life. The last time I took his gag out he couldn’t even talk. It was too, too cruel, what I’d done to this one. I pitied him, really I did – he never had a chance.

Once sales fell off, he was just another useless piece of meat though. I didn’t want to have them get rid of him, not yet. I enjoyed playing with him far too much, and I told the Doctor not to take any drastic measures until I’d had another chance to see him. What we needed was something new, some new tortures, something to reawaken his sense of agony, something to excite the viewers again. It would be a challenge, but I was confident I could dream up something. If I couldn’t, well?all good stories have to come to an end, I suppose.

The End