Masks.

When you wake, it’s still pitch black outside. Midnight? Maybe not. Looking around, you realize it’s too dark, even for night. Normally, your room shimmers like twilight. Light seeps in from the hallway and through the window. Electronics give off a dim glow even in sleep mode. Here, you can’t even make out shadows. The blindness is total and complete.

To stay calm, you try to look around, but there’s nothing. Even the sounds you are used to– the electric hum of your laptop, your phone vibrating to texts and status updates, the soft whirling of the fan overhead– are missing. This isn’t your room.

Your heart starts racing. Stop. Take a deep breath. You try to remember yesterday, one piece at a time, to figure out how you wound up here, and where here is. Nothing stands out. You went to work to pick up your check. You went to see Dan? No, you didn’t go to see Dan. You went home. Dinner? Something out of the freezer. Bars? No. Parties? No. Friends over? No. You went to sleep in your own bed. Even though you’re no closer to an answer, there’s something calming about the process. It gives you, for a few moments, the illusion of control.

As you turn your head, you feel something brush against your eyelashes. A blindfold? It feels hard, leathery, and you don’t know if this should make you more or less nervous. You move to take off the mask when you realize you can’t move your arms.

The reaction is almost instantaneous: your heart starts pounding, your lungs heaving. As you begin to thrash around, you feel a series of straps and handcuffs holding you down: your wrists behind your back, your ankles to the legs of the chair you’re sitting in, your knees held apart. You pull until your wrists start to burn, but there’s no escaping. Still panting, you look around, listen. There’s still no light, no sound. The only comforting fact was the texture of carpeting beneath your bare feet. Nothing bad can happen on such a soft carpet you tell yourself, before you start to cry.

After what felt like hours, you hear the creak of a door opening behind you. You try to learn something from the sound, but all hinges sound the same. After the door closes, there is silence again, the carpet muffling any movement.

Suddenly, a hand comes down gently on your bare neck, massaging it with a firm, calloused grip. Your hair is up in a bun– something you would never do on your own– and this strangers is taking advantage of your exposed neck to give you a soothing massage. Between the crying and the tenderness of his touch, your anxiety begins to fade away.

Silently, he begins to unbutton your blouse over your shoulder. As he continues to massage your neck with one hand, the other begins to gently massage your breast through your lace bra. Pleasure mixes with fury: who is doing this to you? Who would tie you up only to tenderly caress you?

“Who ar–“

”Shhh.” His hand tightens on your neck, not painfully, but firm enough to show he controls the situation. He leans in until you can feel his breathing on your neck. Without stopping his massage, he says, “No talking. Do you understand?”

“Ye–“

At the sound of your voice, he twists your nipple in his hand, sending pain shooting through your body. You suck in air in shock, holding your breath for the pain to go away. But without letting up, the stranger moves his other hand to your free nipple and twists, sending another shockwave through you. “No talking. Nod if you understand.”

You nod furiously, hoping the pain will stop if you listen. The stranger holds tight, letting you know that he decides when to let go, but finally he releases both nipples. You almost say thank you when you remember his rule, and stop yourself. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but there is something else you notice. Despite the strange room, despite the pain you felt and your fear of this stranger, you feel your pussy getting wet. Thankfully your skirt hides the fact from this stranger, but it’s still embarrassing, to be turned on by this ****.

While you are lost in thought, he gets to work, unclasping your bra to expose your perk, excited breasts, massaging your nipples gently with a soothing cream that makes you forget about the pain they just felt, exploring your body with rough but sensuous hands. It had been so long since Dan– since anyone– had touched you tenderly that you find yourself aching for this stranger to do more. You open your mouth, ready to ask more of him, ready to risk being tortured again, just so you can say Don’t stop.

You open your mouth when his lips come down powerfully on yours. His kiss is forceful but restrained, so unlike the sloppy kisses of inexperienced boyfriends or drunk lovers that you don’t know how to react. He has stopped rubbing your body so that he could hold your head in his hands, bringing you closer to him. His fingers knead the back of your head, and you feel yourself leaking through your panties as he holds his mouth against yours. You begin to return his kiss when he disappears again, his absence maddening even though it only lasts for seconds.

When his lips return, it is to nibble and pull at your nipples, kissing and licking your breasts while his hands slowly slide your skirt up your legs. The combination of licking and pulling sends shudders up and down your back, and you try to stifle a moan, not know if he would punish you for that or not. You don’t know him, you don’t recognize his voice, and a part of you wants to think he’s a maniac, but the rest of you knows that if he is a monster, then you want a monster in your life.

Once he has finished ravaging your breasts, he begins to kiss and lick his way down your belly until he reaches your skirt. He hiked it up as far as it will go– you helped him by lifting your ass so he could better expose your ass to the cool metal chair– but your panties are still in the way, separating you from your desires, and this stranger. And then he is gone again.

You hear the hinges open and close, and wonder if you did something wrong. You did not say anything, but you may have moaned at his touch. Was that against the rules as well? What were his rules? You realize that everything you know is based on this stranger’s touch, and the less than ten words he said to you. But you also know, without knowing who he is, that you have been waiting for him, for this, for longer than just the few minutes he is gone.

After you hear the door open again, your sigh relief is cut short by a cold knife pressed against your thigh. He must have heard your frightened gasp, for without moving the knife, he asks,

“Do you trust me?”

Everything rational in your mind tells you that you can’t trust him. You don’t know where you are or how you got here. You don’t know who he is or what he wants. You don’t know why you’re tied up or if he’s going to let you go. You don’t know anything. But in spite of it all, you find yourself nodding. You do trust him. You want to know what happens next.

The knife pulls away, cutting at your panties. It is not one swift stroke like the movies, but he is quick, and suddenly you find yourself completely exposed. Your skirt is still bunched around your waist like a decoration, but with the panties gone, there is nothing left between you.

He settles silently onto the ground in front of you, preparing to fulfill a need you had never put to words. You can feel his hands gripped firmly to your calves. His stubbled cheek scratches your thigh as he moves in. You can feel the heat of his breath on your sex. The handcuffs chafe against your wrists and knees as you try to bring your cunt up to meet him, to give yourself to him in exchange for this.