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dystopiabound -> Dystopiabound Thoughts... (8/24/2005 1:56:21 PM)
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A little story I wrote.
This is based on the kind of thing I think about all the time. I hope you all get some enjoyment from it.
Dystopiabound Thoughts.
I don't know how I got here, and in the long run it doesn't matter. I'm here now and I have to deal with it the best I can. I'm not sure how long I have been here either. Nor does it matter. It’s clear that no one is going to rescue me. No one apart from my family is likely even looking for me by now. My survival is in his hands, and I can offer only a small influence in determining my future.
My food intake had varied, depending on his mood. I have lost weight; my body was lean to begin with - but now. I was never overweight, but what little excess baby fat I had, had been shed under his regime. My cheeks were now slightly sunken, showing my cheekbones as more prominent than they used to be. I never thought of myself having the thin model look, but that's the direction where I was going. The weight I had shed made my breasts seem bigger than I remembered. You could almost see my ribs, but not quite. My stomach was still firm as it sloped down to where the downy triangle of hair used to be. I was now so much more aware of my own body than before - aware of size and proportion, of color and skin changes.
Hours of crying instead of sleeping had made my eyes all puffy, but I am long since past that now. I am adjusting to this incredibly harsh existence far better than I could ever have dreamt.
I haven't seen the sun or anything other than the sampling of rooms he allows me to see. Most often I spend my days in the dark waiting for him to return. He comes for two main reasons. To feed me and to fuck me. The first is by far the better option, even when you consider what he feeds me. I always can tell which it is right away. Before he fucks me he wants me clean.
The ritual is always the same. The lights flip on, and after hours in the dark it is blinding in a whole new way. My eyes water and it takes me several minutes before I can see anything. But I know what he wants, and I kneel patiently while he handcuffs my wrists behind my back. I can feel my hair, which doubles as his leash threatening to rip from my scalp as he hauls me to my feet and half drags; half carries me to the washroom. When there he chains my ankle to the wall, and undoes one wrist so that I may wash. All this is done without screams, or drama or even words from either of us. I have done it so many times now it is routine. I even know about how long it will take me to do what I must.
There are basically three things he want done. I have to wash my body, my hair, and make sure that I am clean inside as well. This means a douche and an enema. I need to shave as well. But this part he supervises. I guess he figures that I'll try to kill myself with the razor or something. Maybe he just digs watching me shave. Whatever the reason he always watches this part.
The chains are rearranged once more and I am dragged to another room. This one is decked out like a minimalist bedroom. Just enough is in it for him to get off. There is a small dressing table with a mirror and a stool. A loveseat and the usual scene of the crime, a bed.
At first it was simple... he'd drag me in here. Leave my hands chained behind my back loop a cord around my throat, and throw me on the bed. The cord was his way of controlling me while he raped me. If I didn't keep my legs open to him he pulled it tighter. If I cried, he literally choked my tears off. That's how he raped me at first. But over time his demands got more perverse and elaborate. He would make me keep my legs up and apart, to tilt myself up toward him, to ease his penetration of me. He would make me move my chest upward to him when his mouth was just at the right level, so that he could more easily slurp up a nipple, to either suckle, like or savagely bite into. And lastly, he would make me speak to him. To tell me how good it felt to have his sickening dick inside me. To tell him to fuck me harder... how much I liked it. He would make me tell him to make it last and have me beg him not to cum. Which he liked immensely. And if I failed to say it with just the right tone or inflection or moved in the wrong way he would tighten the cord till I could not breathe. I'd get it right the next time. He's very skilled with the cord, and I have only lost consciousness a handful of times. These days the cord is more to remind me to do it perfectly and he rarely needs to choke me into compliance. Also lately he concentrates more on pre rape activities. This is the part of the show he really gets off on. He either sits on the bed, or the loveseat, and watches while I transform myself into whatever sick fantasy he has at the moment. I'll spare you the details, but he watches me do my hair. Then my makeup... and then he watches me dress in whatever he has laid out form me. He has some favorites, schoolgirl, prostitute, and maid, nurse... more and more and more. So many more, I could never have imagined them all.
At first I tried to keep count of the times he raped me. I scratched marks in to the wall of my cell in the dark. I imagine a trial in the future when this sort of information could be important. I gave up after a time, a stark realization that I will never escape, and there will never be a trial. But still there must be hundreds of marks there by now. At first he seemed to have nearly unlimited desire for me and would rape me nearly constantly. There isn't a position I know of, or an orifice he has not used repeatedly. He likes it when I ride him, and do all the work of raping myself on him. That's his description of it, raping myself on him, which is of course what it is. But you'd never know it to see me riding him. The smile on my face seems genuine. My hair whips around and I brush it with convincing willingness across his chest. And the sounds I make. Well they put a porn queen to shame. I'm very convincing. I have to be. Or I face the consequences which he makes so awful I prefer to be raped by him. Even considering his favorite new way to climax.
The last few days when he nears his climax he lifts his upper body from mine and using his left hand he gathers up all my hair in it and pulls it up toward the head of the bed. He uses his left arm to prop himself up, he holds my hair tightly, completely immobilizing my head. He keeps fucking me but to help him cum he uses his right hand to slap my face over and over again while calling me names like "stupid whore" and "dumb slut." After a few screams of mine, matching his slapping he usually cums in me and it is all over till he comes for me again. He never lets me clean myself, and he puts me back in the cell until he comes to feed me or fuck me again. The only time my body is clean of his filth is the brief time between my shower and his next rape of me.
These are the kind of scenes that run through my mind.
Dys.
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