Struggling

My ass feels as if it was made of wood. That could be expected, because the posture options in this locked room are very limited. I can lie down on the hard mattress without pillows or cushions. I can stand up. I could sit down on the chair with the dildo extending from the seat, but I have refused to do that so far. And finally I can sit down on the tile floor, leaning against the sparse pieces of wall which aren’t occupied by sex toys and machinery. I find myself taking that position for most of the hours, but the prolonged exposure of my buttocks to the hard tiles is starting to become a serious strain.

The big LED clock on the wall says 61:43. It has started at 72:00, and the long minutes have been counting down ever since. I have been in a rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts. Anger, disbelief, denial, depression, attempting to make contact or plea, protest and rebellion, they have all come and gone, blending into a variety of toxic cocktails.

It doesn’t help that none of them can be aimed. You can’t be angry at a tile wall; you can’t negotiate with a dildo. When I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, and bang my fist against the mirror which I’m sure is see-through from the other side, there is no response at all. The total inertia of the place is getting to me, and gradually cooling down all those impetuous emotions. I’m finally starting to employ logical reason again. And the case is pretty clear. My life is in danger. No matter how unjust, no matter how cruel, no matter how evil, there is no doubt in my mind that the threat is serious. If someone is willing and able to create a dungeon like this, he’ll most certainly be able to make a girl disappear from the face of the earth as well; he’d never be caught. And by the way I have been treated, there isn’t any indication that he might have moral problems with “disposing of me”, either. I must seriously consider that this challenge is very real, and that I should immediately get to work to grab the only opportunity I have to get out of here alive. In fact, I have lost many precious hours already.

So far, I have ignored all the apparatus I have been provided with in this hell-house, and I have done my best not to look at any of the screens, only vaguely noticing the wriggling of lush bodies from the corner of my eye. But maybe I should really take this more transactionally. Be my stubborn self, and die. Comply, and have a chance, at least.

But the sheer enormity of the challenge towers over me… thirty, in three days? Really, is this guy serious? I have never been a very adventurous girl, and neither were the boyfriends I have entertained. None of them has ever fucked me more than two or three times a week, and they weren’t even always successful in delivering orgasm. When they didn’t do that for a while, I have sometimes added a masturbation session. And that was it. When I think about it, I don’t think there has ever been a week where I had more than five, and it has never felt like I was undersexed or craving for more or anything like that. The number demanded now seems preposterous. The thought that I will work on them, sweating and moaning and kneeling down on all those toys, while an unknown observer watches me throught that mirror… it seems revolting and humiliating. What if he makes a video? What if it turns up on the web?

Yet if I am to survive this, I must try. I must flip a switch in my mind. I must turn off all those negative emotions, and I must attempt to get horny despite all of them. I stand up, and have a closer look at the toys around the room with a new eye. With my hands tied to my back, could they actually be used, and how? Can I really squat down on one of those gross imitations of anything desirous? I look at one of the screens. A man is lying down on a bed, and a girl is straddling his loins, taking his cock into her mouth. She is on her knees, and a second man is on her other end, a boner in his hands, and advancing on her from behind. I consciously fight the moment of disgust of male chauvinism, creating these images in the world of pornography, reducing the girl to nothing but an object of male lust. I must make a real effort to imagine myself to be her.

And then it happens. Somehow I slide past some threshold, and I enter into her skin. The girl is me, I can almost feel the cock humping in and out of my mouth, and the shadow of the other man looms over my shoulder. Of course they are stupid porn guys with moustaches and a cardboard character, but I can’t deny that it arouses activity in my loins. As the girl in the video becomes me, and I keep blowing that cock, I feel a distinct urge for the other man to get on with it, and enter my pussy from behind, like a dog. “Get on with it, fuck her…,” I whisper to the screen.

The breath falters in my throat when he doesn’t head for her slit at all. Instead he aims for the hole next door. The girl moans and quivers when he slowly but deliberately slides his cock in her asshole. Her blowing efforts only increase, and she doesn't seem to mind at all. I suddenly realize that my cheeks feel very hot. Am I blushing, is the rush of blood coming to my face when I watch this, is it the heat of arousal? Am I really enjoying this objectified and dependent porn girl taking a cock up her ass?

I have to admit that I do. I still feel the anger and frustration and fear of this unknown place and the injustice of being **** and my life being threatened. I’m still embarrassed by being naked in this room, and an unknown observer watching me every step of the way. But it isn’t all anymore. I’m in heat as well; and worse, that heat is quickly developing a burning desire to be quenched.

It is also what my logic has decided I must do, only minutes ago. Decency and prudence lose the fight to heat and reason. As I continue watching the porn girl get skewered harder and harder, I shuffle to a nearby dildo rising up from the floor. It isn’t hard to figure out how to do it: kneel over it with my thighs still vertical, then bend the thighs so the ass comes down on the dildo, and guide it into my slit as my body lowers further.

I bring my buttocks all the way down until they rest on my ankles, taking the dildo in my pussy for many inches. Then I rest. I imagine how I must look from the other side of the mirror: kneeling on the floor, a dildo sticking up into me, glued to the screen where a hardcore porn scene is playing, ready to start riding that dildo to allow me to get to orgasm… he must be cheering victory now. I don’t care. All I know is, I’m hotter than I have ever been in my life, and I want quenching very badly. From my knees and my thighs, I start my ride.