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END OF THE DREAM
By Toran
She woke up the exact same way every morning, although whether morning or afternoon or night, she couldn’t tell. It was the same way since he’d plucked her off the street and made her a slave. She woke up dreaming she was free and struggled against the straps that bound her to the musty cot in the bastard’s basement.
She fought back the tears that always came, stretched and strained every muscle once more to tell her panicked mind that she wasn’t going anywhere, and gave her mouth-filling harness gag a long, angry wail. The bastard had clamped her nipples and even in her dreams of racing away from this little shit-hole house on the dicey side of town, her breasts hurt.
The tears broke free and when she opened her eyes, a single tear streaked down her cheek. She glared up at the video camera in the corner near the ceiling. The bastard’s shit-hole house looked run-down from the outside but it was a ruse, a ruse as horrible and clever as the one that allowed such a monster to walk the streets, drive a van, and take her away with him. She knew, now that she was a prisoner of the house, that the complex security system kept both her from escaping and anyone else from breaking in. There were cameras mounted in every room, down here in the bastard’s basement dungeon. And, even though those first hours of her captivity were spent trying to free herself from the handcuffs and leather straps that were her first bonds, she’d seen the oddities of the upstairs of this house - the bastard’s fetish art collection in the small and cramped hallway leading to the basement, the tarantula aquarium in the middle of the front room, the pieces of furniture that somehow had hooks and rings for clipping a chain or running a rope. It was like falling down the black hole to wonderland and being raped by the Cheshire cat.
She didn’t even know if it was morning. The bastard kept a single 40watt light bulb burning in the center of the room at all hours. She knew that at least a week had to have passed because, even though he kept her bound and hurting, she had slept at least eight times and the sleep had seemed long and fitful. In fact, so far she’d learned to fall asleep with the nipple clamps biting her tender nips, a huge dildo crammed up her sore and bleeding ass, twine so tightly binding her boobs that they became red-engorged melons stuck to her body, a clamp on her clit, even once suspended upside down with the blood thundering in her head. She’d had to learn to take sleep when she could, because you wouldn’t get any while your ass and back was getting whipped. You would have a hard time nodding off when you were forced to stand on tiptoes for fear the little spikes placed underneath the pads of your feet would impale you. Sleep was out of the question when he was fucking you with a huge rubber dildo strap-on while slapping your bound breasts with both fists.
The sleep she yearned for. It was the dreams that hurt – even more than his tortures. Because in her dreams she was free. Just a normal young girl with normal young girl routines of going to the mall and buying clothes from the Gap, maybe grabbing an Orange Julius and trying on perfume at Fields. Just a normal young girl without a care in the world who just happened to walk too close to the open back doors of a plain, windowless van. A girl who didn’t break into a run, dropping her bags of tops and jeans immediately at first sight of the bastard who popped out of the back of the van and grabbed her wrist. A normal young girl who hadn’t seen a pair of handcuffs in real life not even once and who simply stared when the ratchet clicked home. A girl who didn’t panic when she was spun around and lost her other wrist to the handcuffs, because this only happened on TV, to some dumb-ass blonde who deserved it in some way. Not to her. Getting pulled into the back of the van by the bastard who methodically strapped her legs and ankles together didn’t happen in real life. And if it did, it was surely a joke, played on her by her friends. Even screaming was silly because she would look scared and that would be even funnier to her friends – but the big ball that was stuffed in her mouth and strapped tightly in place took care of that.
In those last precious moments of freedom she had even felt sexy in a darkly romantic way. Here she was strapped and helpless in the back of a van, her captor outside retrieving her shopping bags. As she lay on the musty carpet on the floor of the van it all seemed like a big adventure had started and she was the captured princess and soon her knight would save her. Of course, the knight would be her boyfriend. And he may even fuck her brains out while she was tied up because being tied was definitely a surprising turn-on.
But her knight never came. Not in her dreams and not in this hell of a reality. Instead, she was carted down this bastard’s back stairs to this locked and sealed room to be alternately fucked and tortured and trained to be his slave. She wore a heavy metal collar that was padlocked – the only thing besides ropes and straps and clamps and whip marks with which he covered her body. There were the ‘lessons’ the bastard was teaching her – how to kneel for sixteen fucking hours without moving and if you did, if the camera caught as much as a twitch in any of your muscles, the whip would come out. How to service him with a blowjob the way he liked it. How to function in the toilet with her arms strapped behind her. This was her world now. The world of pain and restraint. Being tied up wasn’t particularly sexy for her anymore. It was just a way of life.
She glared up at the camera, the last of her dreams slipping away. She tried not to move much because her clamped nipples were on fire. The bastard was surely watching. Someday, maybe soon, when she would be allowed to speak and he would again demand her to call him Master, she would do it. Not because he’d beaten it into her. Not because he deserved to be called it. She would call him Master because her dreams had died – the dreams of a normal young girl, living a normal young girl’s life. A life of knights who always rescued their princesses. A life where you woke up from your nightmares.
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