I’m awake. Suddenly and without reason, so I think. But I know there is always a reason I wake. I just don’t know what it is yet, this time. I am snug in my bed on this cold December eve, but now awakened for a reason I can’t discern, my senses are hyperbolic. I hear the wind warbling its way through the oak outside my window. A whisper beckons, but it’s only the furnace starting to heat before the fan kicks in. A tiny creak high above draws my ear – the roof or attic perhaps shrinking ever so slightly in the frigid air. I pull the comforter up to cover my head, as if to protect me from phantoms roaming the night. I am once again asleep; at least I dream that I am.

A footfall, loud and clear, brings me to attention, sitting upright in my bed, wondering who could be in my home. Another, louder still. Am I dreaming? I fear not. All is quiet after many minutes. But my mind is far from quiet. I imagine scenarios beyond the possible, beyond the stories torn from the headlines in Jack the Ripper’s day. My mind is furious and yet I sit, waiting, listening, not hearing, but hearing all the same: the wind, the creaking, the furnace now and then. Then finally, my heart pounding its rhythm into a crescendo, as I hear the third step, many minutes later.

I am up. On my feet. No weapon at hand, I find an umbrella; good for rain, but a poor choice for phantoms. At my door I listen. Listen for any telltale sounds. Nothing but the sounds of the house and wind. Who, who could be in my house? Did I lock the back door? Did I close the garage door? Memories of days long past flooding my senses. Memories of him. There, his smell, wafting into my room. Is it real? Or just a nightmarish memory? I don’t know, I can’t tell.

I think of our first time, over 20 years ago. He had taken it from me. Stolen on a summer’s day, as if it was a pie cooling on a window sill. I was but 19 then. Yet in a fleeting second it was gone, irretrievably lost forever. I had cried, screamed, and kicked, but that only made it better – for him. He was there for only 15 minutes. But when he left he took it with him, as if in a sack carried over his shoulder. I lay in ruins, bruised, on my bed begging for its return. But it could not be. Impossible I knew, for he had taken my virginity.

Could he be back again? My senses know it to be true. My body screams, but I know not in my favor. I hate him for what he had done, but my body loves him for what he had done, many times since. I am sure he is here, in my house, waiting for me, wanting me, ready to spirit me away.

My nightgown is wet against my leg. Why I ask. Then I realize I know why. My body has betrayed me. Once again the traitor. I am wet down there, in anticipation of him and his evil. I cannot control it with my mind. My body’s needs are its own and I am its prisoner.

For twenty one years I have lived with these desires, succumbing to some, defeating many others. The battle is constant. All because of him.

My hate for him boils over. My lust does too. My brain and my body are mortal enemies. My brain wins most battles, but loses every battle when it is with him. How can it be, when my mind knows best?

I recall with rage, the feelings I’ve had over those years: Endorphins firing, nerves on fire, orgasms exploding. Now, kink is my god. He has made it so. How I hate him for it. How I love him for it.

But I never know when he will be back. 91 is the most dialed number on my phone. Never 911. I always stop shy of the last digit. I have no control, when he is near. My body is his. He owns it. Even with my mind as his enemy and potential assassin, I am always his in the end. And I always love it.

No sounds unexpected arise in the house, even as I wait, umbrella in hand. But my body knows, his presence is assured. I must resist at least once in my life, I think to myself. The door opens as if by magic, my hand unknowingly the magician. I walk into the hall, still silent in the early morning. He is here, I know it. He has to be, my pussy is dripping.

Moonlight and wind cause shadows to play dice in the kitchen. Nothing there. The living room is dark. The curtains drawn. My eyes adjust, allowing me to see my enemy, should he be here. But again, no one is here. The dining room is lit well by a streetlight.

But suddenly the lights disappear. Burlap’s earthy smell corrupts my senses. Hands grab me, reining in my arms. My umbrella running away, laughing. I am bound tight. My mind is fighting. My body relaxes - waiting for the explosions to come, once again. Screams form in my lungs, but the body says no. I have no chance; my limbs accept defeat.

The struggle is over before it began. A slight metallic smell teases my nose. Duct tape! He’s covering the burlap and my mouth; two, three, then four times around, wrapping me in silence. My body, limp with expectation, is next. Arms now immobile, I am pushed on the couch. My feet are lifted high. My ankles are taped together and my body smiles, as my screams echo in my head, heard only by my mind.

I am lifted up and carried, over his shoulder, I guess. My front door slams and I am suddenly cold. My mouth still aiding and abetting the enemy - silent. I am gently lowered. Then I hear the trunk slam shut. I am bouncing now and then. I hear the sound of traffic, but only occasionally. Smooth road turning to gravel, after what seems to be hours and my body hungry for his touch. Exhaustion intrudes, sleep ensues, quenching my mind’s nightmare, for now.

I’m awake as hands grab me and pull me up. Over his shoulder. I’m bouncing as we go. A door opens with a screech of hinges that hints we are inside now. Warmer now. Gently he puts me down on something soft, a bed perhaps. My nightgown is suddenly being pulled over my head but not off. Arms and feet are free for a second, my nightgown vanishes, then I’m secured again. A door closes, then silence erupts. I listen but hear nothing. Slowly I slip into sleep. My nightmares are back and I am helpless - forced to endure my slumber.

I realize I’m awake. I think I have been for some time. All my senses deprived. Nothing here. No burlap, no duct tape, not cold, not warm, no sounds, no odors; nothing to feel. Am I really awake? Might be a dream, but a dream about nothing? I lick my lips. Dry, it’s real.

“Hello,” I whisper. No answer, no echo. Louder. Still nothing. Loudest. Still quiet as death. I can’t feel my body; can’t move a finger or toe. “Where can I be?” I ask out loud, as I slip back into sleep.

I’m awake, suddenly. An echo returns the click of a latch. Eyes open. Only darkness. I close them, yet it’s no darker. I feel warm. My legs and arms seem bare, but I can feel them, and move them. Damn! Just barely. I’m tied up. His handiwork, again. I am on something soft, like a bed or a cot. Flat on my back, arms overhead, tied together, legs tied together and stretched out straight. Both arms and legs are tied to something else as well; immobile.

I hear his breathing beside me in the dark. He is here, next to me. I smell him and his evil intent.

“Hello Melissa,” he whispers and my brain struggles to flee my body. I scream, but no sound comes forth; my body a traitor once more. I turn to see him, where his voice was, but it seems no light can exist in his evil presence.

“Close your eyes and I’ll turn on the lights If you like. It will hurt if you keep them open. Would you like me to turn on the lights?”

Even with my eyes closed, I am partially blinded, pain building in my skull after I say “OK.”

After a few minutes, I slowly open my eyes, blinking and squinting, trying to focus. He is wearing a tuxedo with a white rose on his lapel. He is dark - swarthy I guess you’d say, handsome as always, but looking taller and stronger than when I had seen him last. He is not someone I am going to overpower, as I had found out many times.

“It’s good to see you again darling. Did you miss me?” he asks warmly.

“Go to hell, you bastard,” is the best I can muster on short notice.

“That’s no way to greet your true love. I’ve made special preparations for your visit. I hope you can stay all weekend. I’m sure you’ll want to after you see the new equipment I have – I’ve spared no expense for you, my darling.”

Regaining my faculties, I spew all the venom I can, “Leave me alone you cock-sucking, mother-fucking, pile of steaming dog shit!! I hate you! Let me go now!! I will kill you, you motherfucker!”

“No need to be so melodramatic, darling. I know you love me and those are just your kind words to show me how much. Shall we start? It’s almost dawn and I want you to enjoy all your time with me. We have some extra time, since you were so easy to find tonight. Did you know I was coming and make it easy for me? I know you look forward to my visits.”

He hangs a wall clock opposite my head. It shows Midnight, or maybe Noon. “I’ll start it now. It’s for you – so you can see how long you’ve been here.”

I ignore him and look around. The room is small maybe 10’ by 12’, light green, two doors, two windows - both dark with curtains. One table, his chair and the thing I am on, likely a bed, are all the furnishings. No pictures on the walls. A simple light fixture overhead is positioned in the middle of the off-white ceiling. We are not at the Hyatt.

I see he has my wrists and ankles restrained with padded cuffs, each with a couple of D rings attached. The cuffs are locked together at the moment with padlocks – one D ring for each. He also has a rope tied to a D ring at each end, pulled tight with some kind of winch. There is a metal frame around this bed about four feet above me with various D rings, pulleys and other attachments. At each corner is a stout post supporting the frame, with their own pulleys or wheels or some such things. This must be the new equipment he had boasted about. I’d have to become Houdini to escape this and slit the bastard’s throat.

“Where the fuck am I? You bastard!”

“In my friend’s summer cottage; a bit more than a hundred miles from yours. He won’t be using it until spring. I hope my driving didn’t leave you with any bruises. The trunk is not the most comfortable seat in my car, but you understand, I couldn’t let you be seen.”

I soon found out that the wheels on the support posts were indeed pulleys. He connects ropes to my ankle D rings with carabineers and runs the ropes through the post’s pulleys to the winch at the foot. He does the same to my wrists. He unlocks the padlock at my ankles. I kick in his direction hoping to break his nose, but he is too quick for me.

He cranks the winch, pulling my legs apart and upward toward the pulleys, about 3 feet above me. He does the same with my arms after my weak swing at his head misses badly.

Now he has me stretched out on the bed, my arms and legs at equal angles in the air and spread wide. I can feel my pussy getting very wet. Once again my body is playing Benedict Arnold, working against my rational brain. How can this be?

He is on the bed, between my legs, rubbing my pussy with his finger.

“My, aren’t we wet tonight? I’m surprised you want me so badly already.”

“Go to Hell!” I scream at him.

“Such vitriol. I’m sure in a few hours you’ll be begging me for more.”

“I have to pee, let me up.”

“Go ahead and pee. Defecate if you need to, as well. The mattress is covered in plastic and I’ll change your sheet for you. You know I always take good care of you.”

“Fuck you! I’ll hold it and give it to you later.”

He walks to the table and picks up a small whip. He holds it for me to see; it has about a dozen black strands and a glass handle. He smiles. He brushes the whip across my breasts … between my legs. He flogs me softly across my breasts. My nipples feel the sting. Slight as it is, it comes as a shock to my system. His next stroke is harder on my pussy, again harder yet. My pussy is in pain and yet I feel quite wet down there, can it be blood? He continues alternating between my tits and my pussy. The pain radiates out from my erogenous zones throughout my body like a thousand bees are stinging me all at once. I scream for him to stop, to not hurt me anymore, to let me go, and for revenge.

“This is just to get your attention, warm you up so to speak, and prepare you for the main course.”

“You fuckhead, I’m going to kill you someday! Stop this and let me go!!” I am still resisting completely, at least in my mind. He lands another very hard stroke on my pussy. I let loose with my urine, spraying my thighs and soaking the sheet but falling short of him, barely.

“Well now, that isn’t very lady like, Melissa. But I did tell you to do it. Hang on and I’ll get a clean sheet.” He uses the two winches to raise me off the bed about half a foot. He leaves my body hanging. Hanging in mid-air by my ankles and wrists. This is not pleasant.

He changes the sheet, mopping up the plastic covering the mattress and my body with the dry end of the soiled sheet. He remakes the bed and winches me down. Then inexplicably, he cranks the winch at the top of the bed and raises my arms several inches further. Now to see anything I must raise my head, and soon my neck is too fatigued to hold up my head.

“Goddamn you, put my head back down at least. I hate you, you motherfucker.”

“Not tonight. I think I’d rather see you in candle light.” He walks to the table, lights a candle, turns off the lights and brings the candle to the bed, and me. It is a bright red taper, probably 10” long. It is beautiful in its own light - the only light in the room. But when he tips the flame low, toward me, I now know a new fear.

I had never experienced the pain hot wax brings as it falls from a few feet to your skin, or in this case to the areola and nipple of my left breast. I scream the first dozen times, as each small drop lands and sends a bolt of searing pain directly to my brain. I scream more when he gives his attention to my other breast. The small drops of wax magnifying their heat as they adhere to my skin, sealing in the pain and burning my spirit. The millions of nerve endings in my nipples accept the explosions of pain with each drop and cause my whole body to shudder. He smiles, says nothing and continues with the candle on my abdomen and throat until it is too short to hold. The clock shows 12:40. My pussy is soaked. My brain is exploding with hate and pain.

Fire and ice must be his theme. He pulls an ice cube from an ice bucket on the table and holds it above me. My mouth is like Phoenix and the dripping ice water a God send. But he is a tease and gives me only a few drops. The coward is wearing gloves, nice black leather gloves, so he doesn’t suffer the cold he intends for me. He places the ice cube between my breasts. Initially it feels cold but nice, in contrast to the hot wax. As it melts the water runs toward my abdomen; cold, then painful as it pools in my belly button.

He uses ice to further cool the wax on my breasts allowing him to peal it easily. He holds an ice cube on each breast, focusing on my nipples. I plead with him to stop, it is intensely cold and painful. He just smiles, says nothing, works the ice, now sending tiny freezing rivers over my boobs, down my side and onto the sheet.

More ice. Damn it. Now on my feet and wrists; very cold, numbing my hands and feet. Then on my throat. He pulls my head back by my hair and holds the ice cube there as I squirm for freedom. Brain freeze starts, as the ice cools the blood going to my brain, just like drinking a frozen margarita too fast. The intensity picks up and I scream more and more for him to stop. Finally the cube slips out of his hand, shattering as it hits the floor. I am groggy, crying, my mind slow from the cold.

Now he holds an ice cube on my clit. Pressing it hard into my hood. God it is cold. I scream, again, louder hoping someone might hear me. But I know we are likely miles from civilization. The cold radiates to my pussy and ass as if directly wired to my clit. It is unbearable. I scream at the top of my lungs for him to die. I wish the same fate for myself. He rubs the cube on my clit and lets the chilled water run down my pussy and ass. I feel death upon me I am so cold. Finally the ice cube is spent along with my sanity I fear.

I hear a sucking sound and look up, barely able to see through my tears. He is sucking a Popsicle. He shows me - it’s red. He drips a bit on my lips, cherry, his favorite flavor, no doubt. He works his bare fingers into my cunt; warm, lubed up, feeling wonderful compared to the cold. Slipping and sliding he is finger fucking me. At least it’s not an ice cube. He is still licking the Popsicle, slowly.

He makes his move. Only then do I realize his target. “No! Not in my pussy! You bastard.” The Popsicle is slippery and slides right in me. The pain intense, unbelievable. I scream for what seems like ten minutes. My mind is exploding with pain from his Popsicle dildo. I want to die. He holds it in place for what seems like an hour, the cold radiating out into my abdomen, ass and thighs. My pussy is numb, frozen. I feel I am dying. I wish it was true. I wish hard to die. Tears stream onto the sheet.

It is 1:58 on the clock. The Popsicle is gone, finally. The lights suddenly vanish. He has left me alone, in the dark, in tears, in agony, screaming.

A few minutes pass. My crying ceases. Some feeling returns. My brain and pussy have partially thawed out.

“Lights coming on, close your eyes darling.”

He is pulling something. Something big. A machine of some sort. He put it at the foot of the bed. I feel him fingering my pussy, a mess from his Popsicle. Lube. Warm lube. Two fingers; finger fucking me slowly. Then he stops. He shows me a dildo, black and shaped like a huge cock. It had to be 10” long and twice as thick as any cock I had actually had in me. He offers me a lick. I try to spit at him, but can’t muster any saliva.

He is back to fingering me, using two and then three fingers and plenty of lube. My body likes it, alot. I feel waves of pleasure radiating outward just as the cold had minutes ago. My body has taken over control of my soul and I feel I have lost to the devil once again. He stops the finger fuck. I raise my head to try to see what he is up to, but can only see his back. My head collapses in resignation, I am his now to do with as he pleases. My body has won, again, has given itself to him; as it has every time I face this evil.

After a minute or so, I feel more lube. Now pressure there, then something sliding in. Cold but not like ice. A dildo or vibrator, not him. I struggle to see, lifting my head. A fucking machine; literally a machine to fuck me. He turns it on. It is slow at first, then a bit faster. My pussy is stretched to capacity, it aches from the huge dildo as it bottoms out inside me. He manipulates the controls, driving the dildo deeper, then faster. Pain once more radiating outward, as the giant faux cock dredges a new home in my cunt. In a few minutes the pain turns to pleasure, my body has adjusted and is now accepting the huge beast. Uncontrollably, I begin to moan in delight. Still my mind fights to get to the surface and take control.

“2:13 on the clock, remember that if you can,” he says, taunting me.

My body loves it; a deep hard fucking. My body needs it. I am screaming “No!” in my mind, but I hear only “Yes!!” coming from my traitorous body. He adds a vibrator directly on my clit and secures it with a belt around my hips. He speeds up the machine, much faster. I am being banged hard by a damn machine and my body responds. I come hard and long, screaming unintelligibly for minutes at a time. It is an endless orgasm.

I am ecstatic. Waves of orgasm wrack my body over and over. My back arches, pushing my pussy to meet its destroyer. My head tosses from side to side as I struggle to keep some control. But to no avail, I am in pure lust, wanting to be fucked harder and deeper. I scream encouragement to him and his machine, “Fuck me! Harder!!” I repeat variations of this theme until I can speak no more. My body is awash with electricity. Explosions in my groin driving me to insanity. I know no time, no space. On this new planet all is euphoria and ecstasy. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I am barely conscious and only so from the pure pleasure coursing through my body. It seems to go on for hours, then darkness intrudes.

I’m awake. Sweating. Panting. My pussy on fire, my clit ablaze. The machine has stopped, vibrator still, but my pussy still engulfs his dildo. The echoes of a thousand orgasms still bounce around my body. The clock shows 3:37.

“Ah, I see you’re back with the living. You passed out for a few minutes. Too intense for you, darling?”

I can barely speak and croak out “No, it was wonderful.” I had succumbed to his evil once again. He holds a bottle of Aquafina to my lips, I drink at least half, turning the dessert that was my mouth into springtime.

“Happy Birthday Melissa,” he whispers just before kissing me passionately.

“You’re the best husband ever,” I smile back after the kiss. “Thank you so much. God, it was awesome. How about one more time?”

“Everything?”

“Yes everything, please.”

“Even the Popsicle?”

“Especially the Popsicle!”