The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(135)

Again.

And then again as he’d continued to move inside her. As if her mind had no power over her body. As if she had no rights to control it anymore.

Another video.

Another set of her screams and pleas recorded.

Where was her father now? Where was his concerned voice demanding her release? She knew the board had power, but her father ran the company. He rarely asked permission before acting, and it was that attitude that had infuriated stakeholders in the past. In meetings and on calls where he got into shouting matches, his voice echoing through their loft apartment even through the closed door. That man wouldn’t let this happen to her, would he?

Unless he was angry with her? Furious that she had let herself be taken? Did he see this as some sort of suitable punishment?

Did she deserve this?

Doubt spiraled like razor-winged butterflies through her mind. Torturing her and tormenting her.

Slowly, inexorably, breaking her down.



The lock on the door made her exhausted muscles tense, but she knew better than to pull on the cuffs now. Bruised and aching, re-tethered on her stomach, her wrists and ankles had to be a multi-colored mess under the leather. “Oh, Rapunzel, you lucky girl…”

Rebecca didn’t speak, didn’t react, it only seemed to entertain him when she begged. He ripped her head back by her hair anyway, straining her neck as she tried to brace her elbows against the floor.

“Still in there, princess? Because we’re just getting started.” A low, dark laugh rumbled behind the mask as he dropped her back to the mattress. She waited for him to hurt her, to bring out some new torment, but instead she felt him working at the cuff on her ankle. “Daddy dearest just sold his controlling shares in Dargen Technologies, and that’s one less tax shelter.”

Recognition bloomed inside her at the name. A relatively small company, they made hardware. What exactly did they make? She couldn’t remember. Somewhere inside the mess her mind had become she tried to connect dots, but then her other leg was uncuffed and he flipped her effortlessly. Intense eyes stared out from the mask, wild in the excitement of his fresh success.

“Tell me, do you think he’s finally decided you’re important enough to protect?” He brushed her cheek and she turned away from him, refusing to answer as he started to uncuff her hands. Those fingers brushed her arm just below the last cuff. “Or do you think he’s enjoying the videos?”

“He’s going to find you.” The words were rough, her throat too dry, but he’d heard her. A huff of a laugh escaped him, and then she was free from the chains. The man didn’t even try to stop her as she rushed to get away from him, scrambling for the wall to curl up against it while her body rang with reminders of pain.

Humming to himself, he gathered the chains slowly, but Rebecca had no doubt as his hungry gaze crawled over her bruised skin that he would take great joy in punishing her, taking her again if her father didn’t jump through whatever hoops he had concocted next. He paused at the door, holding it open like a taunt. “Just one more question. Don’t you think if he could find me, he would have already come for you?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was gone, and she wasn’t sure what to say anyway. As soon as the grinding sound of the lock confirmed he wasn’t coming back, she dragged the mattress into the far corner and curled up where it felt safest.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She wasn’t safe. One thing the man had made very clear was that nothing could protect her. Nothing could stop him. If he wanted her chained, he chained her. If he wanted to touch her, he did. If he wanted her to scream, or beg, or cry, or come—she did.

And he proved it again and again as time passed in fits and bursts.

Dragging in his absence, with no clock and no change in the strange lighting to signal it—and then there would be another sandwich. A paper plate of lunch meat. Meals that seemed to come at no set interval, but how was she supposed to tell how many hours passed? How long had she even been in this room? How long had it been since he’d come to The Tower, to her apartment, and taken her?

Days? A week?

A hysterical giggle erupted from her lips and she pulled her legs tighter to her chest, her long hair draped in waves over her shoulders. The golden strands fanning out beside her as she spread them on the mattress.

If only she really were Rapunzel up in a tower, able to weave the useless tresses into a rope. A way to escape her prison. But her hair wasn’t going to do shit for her against a thick, metal door, and there was definitely no prince to hear her if she called out.

Her gaze rolled upwards as she wondered if anyone was concerned about her absence, if her father was counting how long she’d been gone. Was there even a point to time anymore with that neutral ambient glow on the gray ceiling? Neither morning, nor noon, nor night.

It was nothing.

The room was nothing—and she was dissolving inside it.



There were fuzzy things in her brain, as if each thought was covered in dust that blurred the ideas and made it difficult to brush clean. Sound filtered into her head and she realized she was humming again, a few strands of her hair wrapped around her fingers as she braided, unbraided, and braided them again.

‘I’m losing my mind…’ she thought, and the pulse of need between her thighs only confirmed it. He was horrible. A nightmare wrapped in a beautiful package, but some twisted part of her craved him. Some tingling place at the base of her spine woke up when she remembered the crop, the belt, the way he overpowered her when he came for her. Over and over.