Dream 1 : Zendaya in a Dark Place

Step 1 : The Claiming

The first thing to register is the texture. Rough, cheap burlap or something like it, tied so tight around my wrists and ankles that the friction is already rubbing my skin raw. The scent is next. Damp, like a basement. A coppery tang of rust and the stale ghost of cigarette smoke. I’m on a bed, I think. The mattress is thin, lumpy, springs digging into my back. Spread-eagled. Utterly, helplessly open. The blindfold is another strip of that same coarse fabric, pressing against my eyelids, plunging my world into a suffocating, absolute black.

Panic is a physical thing. It’s a bird beating its wings against my ribs, a scream clawing its way up my throat, choked back only by a primal fear of what might hear it. My breath comes in short, sharp hitches. I strain against the ropes, a useless, pathetic gesture. They don’t give. Not a millimeter. My muscles scream in protest. The sound of my own frantic breathing is deafening in the silence.

This can’t be real. It’s a nightmare. A horrible, vivid nightmare. Any second now, I’ll wake up in my own bed, tangled in my silk sheets, the California sun streaming through my window. Any second.

The air shifts.

It’s a subtle change, a displacement. The cold, dead air is suddenly disturbed by a current of warmth. The scent of stale smoke is joined by something else. Sweat. Male musk. A clean scent, like soap, underneath it all, which is somehow more terrifying than if he smelled of filth. He’s here. He’s been here the whole time, watching me.

A floorboard creaks to my right. I flinch so hard the ropes bite deeper into my flesh. The bird in my chest goes berserk.

Then, the voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a low, gravelly rumble, so close to my ear I feel the vibration of it on my skin. It’s the kind of voice that’s used to being obeyed without having to raise it.

“Found you, you little bitch.”

The words are a physical blow. The crudeness of them, the raw, possessive triumph. It’s not the voice of a kidnapper demanding ransom. It’s the voice of a predator who has finally cornered his prize. My throat closes up. I can’t scream. I can’t breathe.

I hear his footsteps, slow and deliberate, circling the bed. He’s taking his time. He’s enjoying this. The sound of his leather shoes on the bare wood floor is a torturous metronome counting down to… what?

“Been watching you for a long time,” he continues, his voice now coming from the foot of the bed. “Watching you on the big screen, on the red carpet. All dolled up, smiling for the cameras. Looking so fucking untouchable. So clean. So perfect.” He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “I knew better. Knew what was hiding underneath all that designer bullshit. Knew you were just a piece of meat waiting for the right owner to come along and claim you.”

My mind is screaming. No. No. No. This is a mistake. He has the wrong person.

“Let’s take inventory of my new property, shall we?” His voice is closer again, back near my head. I can feel his breath on my cheek. I turn my face away, a pathetic act of defiance that only seems to amuse him.

“Don’t be shy now,” he rasps. “First, this mouth. Oh, the things I’ve seen this mouth do. Smile for the paparazzi. Say your cute little lines in your movies. Give those bullshit politically correct interviews. It’s a very famous mouth, isn’t it? Well, its fame is over. Its new job is to serve me. To take my cock. To gag on it. To swallow my load and beg for more. It’s not your mouth anymore. It’s my personal fuck-hole. You understand? From now on, the only words coming out of it are the ones I tell you to say. Or screams. I’ll accept screams, too.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, hot and useless, soaking into the blindfold. My whole body is trembling, a leaf in a hurricane.

He moves on. I hear the soft brush of his clothes as he moves down the side of the bed. “And this neck… so long and graceful. See it all the time in those magazines, showing off some diamond necklace worth more than a house. Looks so much better bare, don’t you think? Perfect for my hands to wrap around while I’m fucking that pretty mouth I now own. Perfect to leave my bite marks on. A nice, ugly purple bruise right where everyone can see it. A little reminder of who you belong to when I let you out of this room. If I let you out of this room.”

My breath hitches into a sob, a wet, strangled sound.

“Oh, you’re going to cry? Good,” he growls, his voice laced with sick pleasure. “I want to hear it. I want to taste your tears. But save some of them. We’re just getting started.”

His footsteps continue their slow, predatory circle. “Now… the main event. Your tits. Fucking perfect. Not too big, not too small. Saw them in that one movie, the one where you wore that see-through dress. The whole world got a little peek. But I get the whole thing. I get to own them. See, these aren't your tits anymore. They’re my property. My personal stress balls. I get to squeeze them, pinch them, bite them until you’re screaming my name. I’m going to cover them in my cum, use them to jerk my cock, make you lick them clean afterwards. They exist for my pleasure now. That’s their sole purpose in this world. They are mine.”

He pauses, letting the filthy declaration hang in the air, letting it sink into my skin like acid. He’s not just threatening me. He’s rewriting my reality, claiming me piece by piece with nothing but his voice.

“And this stomach… so flat and tight. I bet you work hard for that, don’t you? All those hours in the gym. All that discipline. It’s adorable. I’m going to enjoy watching that flat little stomach ripple while my cock is buried so deep inside you it’s touching your fucking soul. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel it in your teeth. This stomach is mine. I own the muscles in it. I own the womb behind it.”

His voice drops lower, becoming even more guttural, more possessive. He’s at the foot of the bed again, his presence a palpable weight in the darkness. “Let’s talk about that famous ass of yours. Perfectly shaped. God, the things I’ve thought about doing to this ass. It’s mine now. Completely and totally mine. I’ll fuck it whenever I want. I’ll spank it until it’s raw and red and you can’t even sit down. I’ll leave my handprints all over it. It’s just another hole for me to use, another piece of my property to **** for my own pleasure. You won’t be walking on any more red carpets. You’ll be crawling on your hands and knees, presenting my ass to me whenever I command it.”

Every word is a brand, searing his ownership into my mind. I try to block it out, to think of something, anything else, but his voice is the entire world. It’s the walls, the ceiling, the air I’m breathing. It’s a cage made of sound.

“And finally…” His voice is right beside my leg now. I feel a phantom touch, so vivid I gasp, convinced he’s finally laid a hand on me, but there’s nothing. Just the cold air. “…the grand prize. The reason we’re all here. That tight, perfect, celebrity cunt. The one every pathetic loser jerks off to, dreaming of what it would be like. They can only dream. But I get to live it. I get to own it. I claim this pussy as my own fucking territory. I’m going to be the only one who ever touches it again. I’m going to stretch it, fill it, ruin it for anyone else. I’m going to breed you with it. I’m going to make it leak my cum for days. Every twitch it makes, every drop of wetness it produces, every pathetic little clench you think you can control… it all belongs to me. It’s mine. You are mine.”

He’s circled the entire bed. He’s claimed every part of me. His footsteps stop. The silence that follows is somehow heavier, more menacing than his voice was. He’s laid out the terms of my new existence. He’s stripped me of my name, my identity, my body. I’m not a person anymore. I’m a collection of parts. His parts.

A tear slides from under the blindfold, tracing a hot path down my temple and into my hair. The trembling has taken over my entire body now, a violent, uncontrollable shudder. The bird in my chest has beaten itself to ****. There’s just a hollow, empty space filled with his words.

He breaks the silence with one last, chilling statement, a promise whispered from right beside my head.

“Every inch. Every hole. Every scream. It’s all mine now. And now that you know the rules… we can start the real fun.”