The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(120)

Watch? She fought harder against his hold on her, his fingers tightening painfully until her wrist sent sharp, white-hot pain up her arm and she stopped.

He released her hair and she dropped her head forward in relief, but then he leaned forward to grab her other arm. The ratcheting sound of handcuffs gave her a surge of energy to fight again, and she managed to rip one of her hands free from his grip. His low growl was a warning, but she ignored it and tucked her free arm underneath her, shielding it as best she could. He pinned her hips against the couch, buried deep, and locked the first cuff a notch too tight. “Wrist. Now.”

“Just let me go, please.” She kept her arm tucked protectively, mindlessly focused on keeping some pathetic semblance of freedom, but he leaned back and spanked her ass hard. Again, and again, and again. “PLEASE!” The fiery heat should have been only pain as she pleaded, but somehow it was merging with the thrumming pulse between her thighs and making it all worse. Making it all the more intense as he rocked his hips against her.

With a growl, he reached forward, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of her upper arm, ripping it back like her fight didn’t mean a thing to his strength. The cuff locked fast, and then he held onto the chain between them as he started to fuck her again. She screamed and started to sob as the metal dug into her skin, his merciless thrusts increasing in pace until she was strung taut between the awful pain and hard pleasure.

“No, no, no…” She wasn’t sure who she was pleading with, him to stop, or her to hold back the orgasm she knew was floating just beyond some terrible horizon. The tingling waves of heat inside her took on a razor sharp quality, obliterating the fear until there were only her short pants of breath, her heart racing in her ears—and then she came. Flashes of light behind her eyes as she clenched them tight, her arms pulling at the cuffs, her body tensing under the onslaught of pleasure, and he laughed as he continued to slam into her.

“Little whore,” he snarled and then she felt his cock kick as he thrust deep, the waves of her orgasm still squeezing him against her will. It was a cacophony of emotion, pain and fear and shame and disbelief, and as each tried to take control of her brain, they all faded into white noise. He stayed buried inside her, his gloved hand brushing over her ass and up the curve of her waist, but her body only twitched.

Too much.

As the chemical cocktail of her terror and her orgasm started to fade, nothing else rushed in to fill it. Numbness washed through her instead, neurons misfiring in a confused pattern, the white noise a steady buzz just inside her ears. When he finally slid from her, she stayed where she was, obscenely displayed over the couch, not budging an inch even when she heard him walk away across the tile.

There was something wrong with her.

She shouldn’t have come.

She should be screaming.

She should have fought harder.

Turning her face against the cushions, she felt the tears on her cheeks cooling in the air, but she couldn’t think straight. All she had were broken, unfinished thoughts.

As his footsteps returned, heavy thumps of boots on tile, she didn’t even flinch. She barely twitched when he slid two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly. Then a third finger forced its way in, the sore ache of her pussy a quiet flash in her mind, and then the sharp stick of a needle made her jump a little. “That’s right, princess. You’re going to do everything I say.”

“Why?” she whispered, her wrists twisting in the cuffs.

He stroked her, his fingers playing with her for a long minute in silence before he withdrew. Then he lifted her effortlessly, tossing her over his shoulder to carry her through the dim apartment. “Because.”

It was a blithe answer that made her brows pull together as she bounced on his shoulder. When he set her down by the front door, she slumped against the wall and her mind focused on it.

Because?

She wanted to scream at him, rage that she’d done nothing—but there was definitely something wrong with her, a fuzzy feeling in her head like it had been stuffed with cotton. A languid feeling in her muscles that made them feel weighted and strange. A shaft of light from the hallway poured across the tile when he opened the front door. His large body briefly outlined by the pale gold, all dark clothes, broad chest and shoulders—and that mask over his face. So dark. All darkness.

Run, her mind urged her. She should be running, but her body wasn’t responding except with stilted shivers.

The rattling sound of a cart wheeling in made her lift her head, but she hadn’t even realized she’d closed her eyes. Hadn’t realized that in her efforts to move, she’d only slid to the side.

You’ve been drugged. Stay awake. A tiny, urgent voice was there in the white noise of her head.

Stay awake, Rebecca.

With more effort than it had taken in her entire life, she forced her eyes open again and sat up to look. The thing looked like a janitor’s cart. A trash bag on one end, and a larger section by him with drawers for cleaning supplies. Without a word he pressed something and the whole set of drawers opened like a single piece—because they weren’t drawers, it was a door. Dread pooled in her stomach, far below the emptiness of her thoughts. There was an empty space on the inside. An empty place meant for her.

“Please?” Her voice was slurring, her brain and body lethargic. There would be no more running, no more fighting—but somewhere deep down there was a spark of survival instinct, that tiny voice asking if she were going to die. Begging her to satisfy it with a comforting word.