The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(122)
“Did you hear that, Rapunzel? You’re his everything.” The low voice was slowly moving behind her, and then a large hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed just enough to make her heart stumble over itself in an effort to speed up. “Tell me, how do you think he’s going to feel when he gets that first video?”
“Fuck you,” she spat, and he yanked her head back, tilting her chin up so she could see the mask again.
“I already fucked you, and you came like the little whore you are.”
She tried to struggle, but only rewarded herself with pain as the cuffs tore at her skin and his grip tightened further around her throat. “What do you want from me?” she whispered through the strain.
“What do I want? I want your father to suffer. I want to see him ruined like he’s ruined the lives of so many others.” He grabbed her chin and forced her head back further, making her back arch painfully. “And you’re going to help me, Rapunzel.”
“My name is Rebecca,” she hissed.
“Oh, but daddy dearest always calls you Rapunzel, doesn’t he?” It sent a shudder through her that he knew that fact. How long had he been watching them? Watching her?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me, I know everything, princess. Remember that. Now, you have a task to perform.” He let her go and she rolled her neck to ease the ache as tiny red dots sprang to life in the ceiling. One directly in front of her, two in the corners, and as she turned she saw they went all the way around. Every angle covered.
This can’t be happening.
The man stepped behind her again, leaning down to speak directly into her ear, “Go on, talk to him. Tell him how much you want to come home.”
She pressed her lips together, clenching her jaw tight, and he sighed.
“Now,” he hissed, a large hand gripping the back of her neck.
“No.” She pushed the word through gritted teeth, and he dug his fingers into her skin for a moment before he released her with a shove. His footsteps were heavy across the floor, as if he were still in boots, but she wasn’t playing into the kidnapping game. She wouldn’t beg for him.
The door creaked open, and then slammed hard.
Swallowing, her eyes blurring against the fiercely bright lights, she tried her best to twist and see the rest of the room. Concrete, empty concrete everywhere, and corners cast into dark shadows. Pulling in a deep breath, she grabbed onto one cuff and tried to force her hand through it, but as she strained, the pain became too much and she stopped with a whine.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The man returned almost immediately, anger radiating off him even as he stayed silent. Her eyes had adjusted enough to identify his outline as he moved closer—still wearing dark clothes, still masked. Smooth leather caressed her bare shoulder, sliding forward until she could see the dull black of a riding crop. She swallowed hard as he slowly slid it between her breasts, inching it down her body, leaving shivers in its wake.
Forcing herself to stillness, she committed to not moving, refusing to reward him with a reaction, but then he tapped the crop directly between her thighs. With a nudge, he used it to separate the lips of her pussy, brushing against her clit, insistently rubbing the little nub in purposeful swipes with the flexible tress. Shame washed through her as she realized she was growing wet again, her chin dropping to her chest as she dug her nails into her palms to try and stop it.
“Last chance, Rapunzel. Tell him.” The words were quiet, meant only for her.
A curt shake of her head was her only response, and then he brought the crop down hard on the inside of her thigh. She couldn’t bite back the yelp of pain just as he delivered a matching line of fire to the other side. The burning marks made her whine under her breath as the heat spread, but she steeled herself. No.
“Do it,” he hissed against her ear.
“Go to hell.”
He stepped to her side, a looming shape in the light, and brought the crop down hard across the tops of her thighs—once, twice, three times and the bright red lines showed up fast even on her tanned skin. When she bit back the scream, he landed the next lash across her breasts. There was no stifling the cry then, and she found herself whimpering and yanking on the cuffs as he snapped the keeper of the crop against each nipple in fast succession. Back and forth, each new blow making her scream incomprehensible pleas, begging him to stop.
Finally, he pulled back and she sniffled, desperately trying to halt her tears as the sharp ache bloomed over her skin. His fist wound into her hair, jerking her head up so she was facing the camera again. “Speak.”
“Please, just let me go.” Her whine was answered with a vicious slap of the crop directly between her thighs, the bright lightning strike of agony making her hips buck. “God, please!”
“Talk.” The single command was rough, and she kept her eyes low, trying to be brave, but then the whistle of the crop lifting in the air forced pleas past her lips.
“Stop! Please, I want to go home. Just let me go home.” She sniffled, hating herself for caving to the pain, hating that she was so exposed. “I don’t want him to see me like this, please, don’t –”
The masked man stepped around her and slapped her hard, her head snapping to the side as she gasped in pain and shock. He leaned down, his words hissed through a filter of rage, “Do you think I care what you want?”