It's hard not to shudder at the thought of his thick, rigid cock parting my tender lips and proceeding to pound me into the mattress. It is however, quite hard to separate the anger and humiliation from the very real pleasure and longing.
People have often asked why I use such sexual language to describe my experience. And it seems so obvious to me. It's because my experience was sexual. I don't know if this is the same for everybody, but for me, In order to move on I have to tell the truth.
I wasn't just raped. I was fucked. I was made love to. I was pleasured and yes, at some points I loved it. My story may not be the inspirational tale that leaves you emotional and heartwarmed. My story may leave you thinking that I never truly escaped that room. But the one thing my story will tell you is the truth. And not just what you want to hear.
The first day I woke up in that room was the most sobering experience of my life. Everything around me seemed brighter and more vivid than anything else had in my entire life. I remember thinking how nice the room was. That perhaps my memories of being abducted were were just misunderstood, perhaps I was being saved from an unknown danger. That any second a handsome cop would walk in and explain. It's funny how we see things. Funny how my brain assumed that someone with a flair for interior design couldn't possibly be anything other than a good guy.
I wasn't restrained. I stood from the very comfy bed and explored the room. Everything was open plan. A small kitchen area, bathroom, living space and a bedroom all connected and flowing seamlessly. I was impressed with the use of colour and the subtle warmth that various shades of expensive wooden furniture lent to the room. But enough about the furnishings, you want to know when I get raped. Well don't worry you won't have to wait long. Oh and just so you know I have for more understanding for those of you who masturbate to my abuse than those of you who gush about my courage and fortitude just to massage your own ego. Yes you're a good person, whatever, get over it.
So anyway, it was a few hours before I met him. Thomas. You have no idea what that name means to me. Or maybe you do. Maybe it produces the same experiences that people feel for their partners or children. It's amazing how just a few syllables can actually alter our brain chemistry. Just two sounds. Thom-as. That's all my brain needs to start sprinting like Usain Bolt. So yeah, I met Thomas for the first time. He entered slowly through a heavy metal door, it was studded with thick bolts the width of my fingers and must have been at least a foot thick. He stood in the doorway for a while, we both stared at each other. He was handsome, kind of. In a fixer upper kind of way. And after at least two or three minutes he spoke. Very calmly and very plainly explaining the reality of my situation. His voice was soothing and somehow the confirmation of my suspicions, (however terrible) did settle me down. I remember thinking at the time, at least he's not planning on killing me.
Ten minutes later we were having sex. If you can call it that. I was like a flesh covered robot and he seemed a little distant himself. I remember being disappointed, if you could believe that. I'd read a lot of erotica and in those stories things were always steamy no matter what the situation. But anyway back to the sex. He made me undress. Then he made me kneel between his legs. Before I knew it his cock was in my mouth. He was big, clean and smooth. I remember whilst sucking him that first time that he nearly came within seconds but once he'd controlled the urge and I never got him close again. The man had incredible self control once he was focused.
As the next hour went by he fucked me in several positions and I came several times. Mostly because he would rub my clit at every opportunity and that is practically a guarantee to get me squirming. It wasn't the best but it was the most efficient sex I'd ever had. Dson't worry the best would come later. This routine would last for about a week. He'd come each day and he'd fuck me for about an hour before quietly leaving and locking the door behind him. That lasted until the second week. Then we began to talk. I was on my knees when he asked "why haven't you begged me to let you go? You barely speak at all." I looked up at him and considered carefully before replying "well firstly because I know you won't and secondly because I don't know what to say. It's not often you're expected to make small talk with your rapist." That last bit came out before I could stop it. It was a stupid thing to say to a man who could make my life hell. But he just looked sullen. A bit down you know? "Please, do not call me that" he said slowly, his voice sounded tired. I nodded and took his cock in my mouth before he had to order it. I wanted to make up for my mistake before he had time to think up some kind of punishment.
It wasn't much but we had established contact. Something other than empty sex. He loved the blowjob too. I gave it all my best moves. I caressed the tip, kissed his shaft and even licked his balls before forcing myself to deepthroat over and over until his cock was a sloppy mess. It was the first time I'd made him cum with my mouth and he loved it. I guess he felt that this was the first time that I'd taken the initiative and that made it far more enjoyable for him. I remember thinking as I swallowed the last of his cum that this guy was going to be easy. His sexual tastes seemed kinda tame and he wasn't aggressive at all. If I played my cards right I'd be out of here in no time. Yeah right.
As time went on we would talk more and more. You might wonder how a captive and her rapist can find common ground but when there's nobody else I imagine even the scum of the earth would become at least mildly interesting. I began to understand Thomas quite after a while. Well at least the Thomas that his coworkers and friends saw. It's funny, you would think that the one person he wouldn't have to hide his dark persona from would be his captive. His personal fuck puppet. His little... You get the picture. Some might even say that what happened next was my fault. And they might be right because I started to coax him. I would beg Thomas to be his true self. I told him that maybe I could like the real Thomas, maybe even love him. I'm not sure be bought that part but he did loosen up. Slowly he lost the politeness shield and began speaking like a normal, sarcastic person who I began to relate to.
That's when things got a little weird. Thomas was working more and his daily visits became weekly ones. I found myself craving his company, and his cock. When he did find his way to my bed I was like a girl possessed. Gone was the robotic blow up doll and here was well...a needy little slut. I'd wear what I knew he liked best and wait at the foot of the bed like a dog. Panting and begging with my tongue hanging out until he fed me his his spunk filled sausage. Then I'd suck a pornstar who'd fallen in love. Licking and kissing every inch of his cock and balls before sliding down to his arse and cleaning like a cheap 3rd world whore. After that he'd fuck me like a wild animal. He'd fuck me as his true self. Thomas the barely contained animal. His cock would rip into my cunt and rutt like a dog while I screamed and begged for more. God if felt good to be owned like that. All I had to do was lay back and take what was given.
And if you're thinking it all sounds too easy, too smooth well I guess you're right. I still hated him, I still dreamed of freedom but captivity has this nasty habit of removing your self belief and sapping your independence. After a time I spent just as much effort thinking about how I'd survive in the outside world as I did considering escape. I spent a long time alone between visits and an active mind starts to do funny things when it lacks stimuli. Anyway enough excuses. I was his slave and I barely fought it at all.
So yeah that was the beginning.