Kidnappers At Old Farm

Throat parched and sore, her screams had petered out long ago, she knew her body was covered with bruises, each as painful as the last but now it meant nothing, pain and suffering had dulled her mind until all that mattered was survival. She hung, suspended by her wrists, waiting for the next assault and as she swayed so her mind began to hope that maybe she would not die, maybe she would get out of this mess alive.

She was an intelligent girl, she knew it was her own fault, her mind, precise as ever, corrected itself, her own stupid fault. How could she have been so dull witted, so weak willed, she knew it was like a drug, the addiction of looking for someone to make her fantasies come true and now her weakness would be her undoing, just as her mother had predicted. She'd never believed her mother but she'd never expected her life to end like this either, battered, bruised, hanging by her wrists, naked apart from the chastity belt and hood she had locked upon herself a lifetime ago. She would have wept but the tears had dried soon after her voice cracked.

She waited, teetering on the edge of reason as her mind began flashing through images of her life. She recalled the first meeting with her tormentor that fateful night at a fetish club, one of those nights where nightclub owners turn an empty bar into a profit. A nightclub filled with people in leather, rubber, latex, bondage, all of them happy to have somewhere fairly private to take their kink out of the closet for a few precious hours. She saw him dressed in black leather, a mask disguising his face as his eyes devoured her virtual nakedness.