Nightmare of Vengeance Read online

  The brusque way he pushed me away when he was done, I could almost see his scowl of contempt.

  “You ain’t fooling anyone, girl,” his voice leapt out in an attack. “And you’re gonna put on quite a show for us, quite a show. It’s been a long time since me and the boys had our way with a bitch like you. Now you’d better get some sleep. You got a long day tomorrow.”

  I spent the night tied to a crude cot with just a thin blanket to cover me. For a while, I listened to the low voices of my captors while they were playing cards. Occasionally, catching a word or phrase, I attempted to understand their conversation but nothing made sense. Blinded, gagged, worn out and tethered to the creaky corners of the lumpy bed, my mind finally flipped out. The dreams came on fast, leading me through a tall and winding maze, vines dropping into my eyes, spooky hedges looming over me until I was racing through a cavernous tunnel, still twisting and turning. A dark shape chased after me, although I couldn’t tell its source, or look it in the eye. When I turned it disappeared, then it suddenly jumped in behind me again. I could feel its claws dragging down my back and the open wound that spilled blood like a trail of tears. I turned again to see the face of the beast. This time I could see nothing but a laughing mouth taunting me. No body. No shape. Nothing I could recognize. I screamed, turned back and ran again, ran until exhaustion forced me to stop and I fell to the ground, knowing that the beast would devour me as soon as my feet lost traction. Suddenly I awoke with a start, screaming behind the gag.

  “What the fuck!” I heard the harsh voice, but as if it were far away.

  A hand smacked me across my face.

  “Go to sleep!”

  I laid back down and forced myself to stay awake, but sleep finally pulled me back into its restless landscape, though there were no dreams this time. Next time I awakened the thick tape was being ripped from my mouth. “What the—” Something made me stop at that – as if the terror of the previous day came back to me in a split second and I knew that I had to watch myself.

  Although there were still cuffs on my wrists and ankles, I realized that the restraints that connected me to the bed had been removed and I could move more freely. I sat up wondering what came next, only to have that question answered when a collar was slapped around my throat and I was led outside to do my business in the bushes.

  The blindfold became a blessing. Being unable to see the faces of my captors put me into an altered state – my new world becoming half real, half fantasy, and far enough removed from reality to feel like a dream. At least it was a better dream than my attempts at sleep had presented me.

  My body no longer fought their hands or their demands. I moved listlessly, complying to their orders without a fight. A dish of food on the floor, I ate like a dog. A pot to pee in, I peed. A cock to suck, I sucked.

  The servile sucking was next on their agenda. While they played cards and listened to country music on the radio they pulled me from man to man, from cock to cock. It seemed like hours that my mouth worked to bring them off, but they were in no hurry. Wondering about the casual ease of their crimes, my mind manufactured bizarre stories for these men – of bank robbers hold up in the woods until the coast was clear, or thugs waiting for their partner in crime to arrive with their cut of the treasure. Or maybe they were just restless bastards out to party and I was unlucky enough to be the first female they found.

  After the wild drama of the previous night, they seemed aimless in their use of me…for long hours just content to be sucked and not even bothering to get off.

  But then that changed too and the drama began again some hours later – I’m only guessing that it was hours; time warps inside a blindfold when the phases of daylight cannot be discerned and the inner clock fails to keep a decent record of the hour.

  “So, how about we get on with it?” The man with the snarling voice rose from his chair to announce a change in plans. Immediately, my bleary mind awakened.

  The furniture screeched across the wood floor as they went about their business. Though I was left unattended, they had little fear that I’d escape. My hands were still securely tied behind my back and the blindfold remained in place. Next thing I knew my hands were released and I was strung up to the cabin’s ceiling with my wrists high above me and my feet spread wide on the hardwood floor. Vibrating dildos were shoved inside my ass and cunt and clamps were dangled from my upright nipples. Already I teetered on the brink of pain and pleasure, having every reason to worry that the intense sensations would only increase in time. The beating began only after the dildos were turned on; although this time it was a far more artful torture – not anything like what I suffered the previous night.

  I hadn’t come since my ordeal began and for a long while I wasn’t sure I could. Despite the fact that my body was aroused, fear was clenched up tight inside my belly, preventing me from losing control. Even with the vibrating dildos, I clung to that fear, afraid of what it might mean if I let go.

  I felt the fire of whips, the sting of the crop, the cutting pain from a cane thwacked across my ass, and the brutality of the clamps as they tightened intensely on my nipples. At first it was one, then two, then all three men, all at once terrorizing my vulnerable flesh. Pain crashed through me, at the same time the vibrators pulsed inside my body’s deepest places. My mind struggled to stay in control though the effort was truly pointless. Soon I was thrashing madly inside my bonds, my body tearing back and forth as much as the tethers would allow. I wanted these miserable moments over. I wanted the beating to stop, for the pain to end. Yet, somewhere in the melee of that rein of terror, what was sane in me checked out. My control fell at my feet, useless now. The crop, the cane and the relentless whip finally drove me to the edge, and the ruthless vibrations forced me beyond the threshold into a savage climax.

  There was no gag, no sticky tape across my mouth. They must have wanted me to scream because they did nothing to stop me. The sound of my angry orgasm assaulted my ears, and the way my body wrenched to milk every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm began to hurt as much as their determined beating.

  That’s when the torture finally ended.

  They must have gotten what they were after – my complete capitulation. Although by then I didn’t care.

  The rest of the day and night were given over to the use of my body. My orgasm no longer mattered to these men. In fact, nothing about me mattered to them; I was their cunt, their ass, their mouth to use, and all them did a damn good job of doing that in the hours that followed. Between the blowjobs and my torture, they’d built themselves into a frenzy, that needed to be sated. While I was forced to go from man to man, I clung to the knowledge that eventually this abuse had to end. This was all I had to keep me sane.

  I must have passed out. When I awakened in a groggy stupor hours later, another day had dawned with an explosion of brilliant sunshine bursting in through the cabin’s east facing window. For the first time in days, my eyes were free to open on the world around me. No gag, no duct tape, no restraints. I lay on the cot where I slept naked – the blanket must have slipped off during the night. Beside me on a chair were my neatly folded jeans and t-shirt; my boots were on the floor beneath. There was not a sign of the men, or that the cabin had ever been inhabited. Dust gathered in the corners, cobwebs dangled from the ceiling. The air smelled stale and old.

  Buoyed by my resurgent desires to escape, I gingerly crept to the windows and looked out in two directions, seeing no one – no car, no truck or any sign of my captors. I wasted no time and speedily slipping into my clothes, I ran for the door. The sooner I departed the sooner I could put the past two days behind me.

  I could have made a clean exit, but I was brought up short at the cabin door. With my hand about to turn the knob, I found myself barely able to understand what greeted me. I backed up, my jaw dropped in horror. A queasy feeling of dread grabbed me in the gut as my eyes fixed on a black and white photograph that had been tacked to the door. I stared at it for maybe sixty seco
nds trying to get a fix on what I was seeing. Then my head started throbbing, bile rose up from a sour stomach, and all the tears that I’d been holding back for forty-eight hours came pouring from my eyes.

  Dear god! This couldn’t be! No, please! But as much as I tried to will it away the reality was staring me in the face.

  It was an explanation for all the suffering I endured, but what a hellish, freaky explanation it was.

  Consumed by emotions too difficult to name, I tore the picture from the door, burst from the cabin and instinctively took off toward the river. I felt certain that if I just started running I’d find my camp, and that is exactly what happened. When I at last arrived, I dove into the tent and slumped onto the undisturbed sleeping bag, as if that would give me comfort from what I faced now, the black and white glossy still clutched in my hand, crumpled but still intact.

  As much as I wanted to erase the memory of that image from my mind, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the picture. I smoothed the photograph over my lap and studied it carefully, trying to turn it into something that it was not and tell myself that it couldn’t be true. It would have been almost poetic for my captors to have photographed me, then presented me with a keepsake for all the long hours of disgusting abuse. I would have been lucky if the circumstances were that straightforward. But one glance at the photograph told a tale far more foul; this one filled with passion and fury that was as sobering as it was understandable.

  For the umpteenth time in forty-eight hours, a cold chill ran up my spine.

  I looked at the image one more time, maybe hoping that it would miraculously change. But there again was my nude body and my unambiguous face staring back at me: a cock at my lusting lips, another ramming into my back door, a look of sexual bliss in my hooded eyes. A picture like this might well have been taken the previous night, certainly I’d been that well screwed in that same kind of demeaning way. But there was no blindfold in this picture, and it was clear to see that I was not in the rustic hunting cabin but inside the crisp sophistication of an executive office suite, getting doubled fucked while a third man with a face too blurry to recognize looked on.

  It didn’t matter that none of the three men could be identified.

  I knew the office. I knew the men who fucked me and I knew the man looking on.

  The two cocks belonged to a couple of horny guys who happened to stumble on a hot after hour’s office party. The man looking on was Jon Ryder, my former boyfriend.

  Boyfriend. Was that how I really thought of him? Who was I trying to kid? Ryder wasn’t just my boyfriend, and I didn’t exactly ‘break-up’ with him in the usual sense.

  Ryder was my fiancé. In fact, he nearly was my husband.

  Our wedding went off without a hitch until that part about my strolling gracefully up the aisle in the designer wedding gown to repeat my vows.

  No, I didn’t just break up with Ryder, I left him standing at the alter.

  Chapter Two

  June. A society wedding on Long Island, the well-heeled, well-coifed and jewel-bedazzled were scattered across the lawn already drinking champagne, while I peered out of the five bedroom guest cottage on the Ryder family compound looking intently at all the fuss. It was all for me. A girl of twenty-one and fresh out of college. The prettiest redhead on Long Island, he called me. He could make me quiver from that sensitive place at the back of my neck all the way down to my toes. Sometimes we would be standing face to face, and he’d bring me close to him so our auras intertwined, and with his face still remote and inscrutable as it often was, he’d place his palm against my face and gently run his thumb across my cheek. My lips would tremble like a schoolgirl’s. That Jon was reserved, sometimes to the point of being cold, but that didn’t alter my desire for him. At least not at first.

  I was a starry-eyed nineteen when we first met at a bar; Jon a real man, nearing thirty-five – square face, firm-set jaw and dark, impenetrable eyes. He was drinking Guinness, having probably finished his third by the time he turned and stared me in the eye. Despite his casual clothes, the turtle-neck sweater and jeans, I could tell he was rich, a rich man dressing down for a relaxing night at his favorite bar. The glitter of gold on his pinky finger, and the Patek Phillipe watch on his wrist were clues enough.

  Not that I was scouting out a rich man – that was the furthest thing from my mind. Even if I was a poor college student, all I could think about in those days was getting straight A’s and applying to law school. Still, when the man drinking his Guinness took an interest in me, I couldn’t exactly be rude.

  There was a smile on his lips, finally, after a lot of scary scrutiny. Most women my age would have turned up their noses and brushed him off, noting his arrogance; that is, if they hadn’t noticed the Patek Phillipe for what it was. I’d worked in a high-end jewelry store one Christmas so I knew.

  He introduced himself, suddenly admiring me quite thoroughly. He even ran his hand through my fine red hair, and pulled that thing with his thumb on my cheek. I was blushing like a rose when he asked if I’d like to sit at one of the tables where we could talk.

  “Well, really, I-I should go,” I found myself stumbling over my words, a strange feeling coming over me that had me curiously light-headed. “I have a lot to study.”

  “Study?”

  “Pre-law. Boston U.”

  “Really?”

  I sometimes wonder if he assumed then that he’d stumbled onto another blue blood American when he stumbled onto me, and wasn’t later disappointed that I was going to Boston University on a full ride scholarship. My father had died when I was six, and I’d been raised by my grandmother – now also dead – and a mother who worked two waitress jobs just to make ends meet. I was a late in life child for her, so by the time I met Jon Ryder at the pub, she was sixty and living on disability in a tiny New England cottage. Maybe I was an American blue blood, but I was a damn poor one, and the beer I’d ordered that night was my one weekly luxury. I gave Jon Ryder a few sketchy tidbits about my life, enough to satisfy his curiosity but not enough to dissuade him.

  “How about you?” I asked. “I’m sure you’re not in school.”

  His lips formed a snide but pleasant grin. “Afraid school days are over for me. I couldn’t stand the stress. I work for the family company. A boring job, but it’s what is expected.”

  “So what do you do for fun?”

  “Usual stuff,” he shrugged. “I sail in the summers, ski in the winter, climb a mountain here and there, and do my damnedest to pick up pretty women. I’m rather fond of redheads.” He smirked rather evilly.

  He must have sensed how easily impressed I was. He would have me blushing all night with come-ons like that.

  I assumed that he wanted to pick me up for the usual reasons a man picks up a woman in a bar – I was smart enough to know that. Surprisingly, however, he didn’t come on to me, not that night or on our first date or the second or even the third.

  We wound up in bed on the fourth, however. I couldn’t resist, not his gorgeous loft apartment, the home cooked gourmet food he’d prepared himself, or the allure of a man almost twice my age who seemed completely secure in himself. He generated a mature energy that’s very attractive to a woman who has missed a strong father figure in her life. Although I’d have to say that anything ‘fatherly’ about his initial impact on me was strictly in my imagination.

  And there was certainly nothing fatherly in the way he made love.

  After dinner, while I sat on a barstool at his kitchen counter, he stared intently into my eyes. My entire body was starting to quake. In one brisk movement, Jon’s hand clasped mine and I was on my feet with him forcefully pushing me into a bare brick wall. His lips crushed against my mine, searing me with heat that fed my lust and moved all the way to my fast-beating heart and the throbbing spasms in my belly. He took me hard, right there against the wall, raising my legs in his muscled arms, and after pushing my panties aside, spearing my love hole. I was overwhelmed, but I certainly didn’t
balk. By then, my juices were flowing so strongly that I could smell the heady scent of them clinging to the air around us.

  We created quite a stir in his apartment during that first rude fucking. I was worn out when he finally stopped banging into me, and with a single lunge forward pinned to the brick as he shot his load. For a long while, until we both caught our breath, we remained fused together like fucking flies, pinned to the wall. That outrageous coupling might have been enough for one night, but we quickly revived, our passions were too enormous to express with just one brusque fuck. Once the sex began, there was no need for more talk, no need for explanations or discussion; we’d done plenty of that on our first three dates and were way beyond that now. By the forth date we knew we were compatible enough for sex – lots of hard and robust sex – in fact, at least four times more before I finally left his apartment later the following day.

  The last time was in the afternoon just as the sun was beginning to edge its way toward the horizon. The light in the apartment took on a soft amber glow, giving Jon’s bedroom a sensuous almost unearthy appearance. My consciousness was saturated from so much sex – all we’d done for the last eighteen hours was fuck, eat a bit and doze when we were sleepy. And even though I knew that I needed to take a break, go home and hit the books, I could barely budge from the enveloping warmth of my lover’s arms.

  The affair seemed like an easy way to spend my time, and was certainly an easy escape from the rigors of my daily grind. But ‘easy’ with Jon Ryder wouldn’t last long. I had no idea where the man would take me sexually, although I should have had a clue when he made his first imperious demand.