I was on the floor of his basement, my head in a cage (yeah, this one, from “Industrial Fuck”.) I was on my side, arms and legs bent behind me in a sort-of sideways hogtie, wrapped around a post. He was…doing things, actually one certain thing…and I was…laying there. On the cement of his basement floor, unable to move much, that stupid cage clanking on the floor and pressing into my cheek alternately as I lifted my head and brought it back down again in a futile attempt to escape what he was doing.
So many times he tells me about these elaborate scenarios he thinks about, abductions and gang bangs and pirates stealing off with unwilling victims.
I don’t have fantasies like that, at least while we’re sceneing.
Except today. No idea why, but this time, there I was, on the floor of some madman’s basement. I’d been waiting at the bus stop, and the bus was late, and it started to rain, and then…there he was. A nice man offering me a ride. And of course, because I am a stupid girl, I said yes. And got into his car–
Oh wait, it was a van! Yes, one of those vans without windows in the back. Because that is so very reassuring, and of course any smart girl waiting at a bus stop would do that, right? So yeah, there I was, climbing into a strange man’s van (and hey, this is one very strange man) and as soon as I get in and shut the door, wham! there’s a hand across my mouth and suddenly I am being dragged backwards into the back of the van! And there’s someone back there, and now he has me, and I can’t get away…and they take me to some house out in the middle of nowhere, and take me downstairs, and I end up here, on this basement floor, tied up and helpless with my head in a cage.
It never crosses my mind, as it usually does in these stories, to wonder how long the men had to drive around together, the guy hiding in the back, looking for that one dumb girl that will accept their offer. I mean, that could take weeks, right? Months?
Nope, in my head I am totally invested in the story. I believe it. I am loving it.
Until my hand goes numb. And we have to untie me. And I am very sad.
W reassures me that he isn’t disappointed in the slightest. That he had enjoyed things just fine. But seriously? I was waiting for the grand finale of my abduction.
Later that night, in bed. I am still in the headcage. And he ties the top of it to a rope that hangs down from his ceiling, and then he fucks me. And he starts telling me about how he wishes he could sell me to some Romanian brothel, somewhere where I can’t speak the language, and he’ll tie me up like this, on a mattress on a floor in some small, dingy, room, and leave me there to be used, a whore…
Uh, wait. Maybe he didn’t include the detail about me being tied to the ceiling by my headcage. Maybe that was my detail. But fuck, that does it for me. Tied by the top of my headcage, crouching in the corner of the mattress as one man after another comes in…and I am getting hot…
But not crazy, not yet.
And then he says something…something he doesn’t often include in these fantasies: he starts to tell me about how he’ll visit me once a year. And when he comes in, he’ll beat me up. Slap me around, bruise me so that I can’t be used for a few days at the whorehouse, but that’s okay, it will just extend my sentence that much longer, and that’s okay…
And holy fuck, it is not being fucked that sends me over, it is seeing him beating me, violently, slapping my head in its cage, knocking me around on that dirty mattress, as far as the rope that ties me there will permit, and that does it.
I fantasize about violence sometimes. Being slapped, being face-fucked until I choke, being choked and raped. I fantasize about being spanked, sometimes just the vision of a hand, spanking my ass, over and over. I fantasize about being cropped and fucked violently. But always…controlled violence. Never like this. I am still pondering it.
While I fuck myself, over and over. You know, for data points.