Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1)

by Emily Stormbrook

  “What do you want?” she whimpered. “Please, Perry, let me go. You don't have to do this.”

  “Rule one,” he barked. “From now on you will address me as Owner.” He crawled onto the bottom of the bed, smiling as he heard it screech. He could feel the ripple of her tremors through the mattress, her fear nothing more than fuel to his heated desire. “Submit willingly and it will be over quickly, defy me and you’ll be begging for mercy. You only get to make this choice once.”

  “What do you want from me?” she sobbed, still trying to backpedal up the bed.

  “Everything.” He crawled beside her, tracing his finger slowly across her jaw causing her to recoil so violently her head struck one of the metal poles on the headrest. “Your lips, your mouth,” he traced his hand down her stomach, his fingers slowly gathered her dress up, inch by inch, until he could see her white panties, “your pussy. It’s all mine. Every orgasm is mine to give or withhold, every pain, every pleasure at my discretion. Choose now, open your legs, or fight me. But this is happening. I own you.” As he’d hoped his words made her clench her thighs even more tightly. “It’s time to pay your debt.”

  “D-d-debt?” she stammered. She stuttered, and it was the cutest thing he’d heard. The fear dripping from her voice spoke directly to his cock, causing it to twitch again, aching for the release that it had been demanding for years.

  “Open your legs.” His hands moved to her knees, his thumbs drawing light circles on her soft skin. She had the nerve to tuck one of her ankles behind the other, attempting to wedge them closed. “Suit yourself.”

  He heard her scream as he grabbed her calves, pulling her down the bed until her arms were extended again. Her feet thrashed in dance to the sounds of her screams, a sweet serenade. Strands of her rich brown hair clung to her face from her tears as he pinned her ankles beneath his own, unzipping his trousers. “This is the only time I’m going to use a condom.” He watched her eyes widen in fear as he tore the packet, rolling it over himself. He spat on his hand, stroking it down the length. If his surveillance had been accurate she hadn’t been with anyone sexually for a long time. He’d offered her the easy way, and she had refused. What happened now was on her.

  He could have made this pleasant, but she had to fight him. Well, at least one of them would enjoy this. He hooked her panties aside with his thumb, thrusting his finger inside her as she screamed and writhed beneath his touch, begging him not to, begging him to stop. “You look so pretty when you cry,” he groaned, his fingernails digging into her thighs, savouring every buck, every ounce of resistance, every screech of the carefully designed bed-frame.

  He wanted her to remember this sound, the screeching cry of metal as he fucked her. He’d noticed how much she relied on sensory comfort, textures, sounds, scents, pressures, and he intended to use her every comfort against her. After the first time, violation was no longer just a threat, it was the beginning, and she’d come to understand exactly what he was capable of.

  “Please don’t,” she whimpered, dissolving into cries for help, screams of rape as he positioned himself between her legs. She would soon understand that if anyone could hear her scream they wouldn’t care, they wouldn’t pay her the slightest bit of notice. It was a lesson she’d learn soon enough.

  “Oh sweetheart, it’s not rape if I own you,” he purred, thrusting himself inside her. Her screams became louder, more desperate, as he moved inside her. His own shuddering breaths prevented him from talking for just a moment. She felt so good, so tight. It was everything he had fantasised and so much more. His entire world became about the feeling of thrusting inside her, feeling her tight walls give at his intrusion as she gripped him tightly, her every struggle, her every buck heightening his pleasure. “Did your daddy never teach you to check the white space on a contract? It was all there, you consented to this.”

  She froze beneath him, her sobs becoming more subdued as she realised the inevitability of the situation. There was nothing she could do to stop this. She was helpless, bound, captured, and alone. Her body jerked under the force of each long thrust. She felt every bit as wonderful as he imagined. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her head turned aside, so she didn’t have to look at him as he violated her. It was better she accepted her fate, it would make her transition smoother.

  He cursed as he felt his orgasm explode, his cock jerking, probing her insides one final time with the force of his release. She felt so good, he could stay buried inside her forever. She’d chosen the difficult path, to fight him, to resist what they had. Now she would realise what that resistance meant. He glanced at his watch, swearing. Punishment would have to wait. They had company arriving any moment.

  Ivy pressed her legs together. The warmth of tears, her heaving sobs, all ignored as she twisted herself on the bed, trying to curl herself into a ball. Eventually she managed to roll her shoulders enough that she could twist her hips and almost curl up. Her arms, still pinned to the wall, pressed against her ears.

  Tucking her chin to her chest, she choked as the metal collar he’d placed around her neck before leaving reminded her of its presence. She bit back another sob. Crying would solve nothing, and yet she couldn’t make the tears stop. She was sore, her head still pounded, and the nausea that caused the occasional dry heave was only getting worse.

  She had to get out of here. There had to be a way. A whimper clawed its way up through her throat as she twisted, feeling the ungiving bite of the restraints. He’d have to let her out at some point, wouldn’t he? That would be her chance, until then she could push this down inside her and use the pain and anger of what he’d done to fuel her escape.

  When the door opened again, she tried to curl tighter, making herself heave and retch.

  “Easy there.” It was a female voice, soft, soothing. Her touch made her flinch, but she risked a look. The blonde haired woman was dressed in a blue nurse’s uniform that hung loosely on her too-thin frame. “Come on now, I’m here to examine you.”

  “Please, help me,” she whispered. Looking to the door, expecting to find Perry lingering by the doorway, but they were alone. Alone. This was her chance, this woman would surely help her.

  “What’s that?”

  “He … I … I don’t want to be here. He’s keeping me prisoner.” She jerked her hands as if to emphasise her point. The restraints surely made her situation pretty damn clear. “Please.”

  “Yes, Mister Carter explained about your game. I’ve attended to his other women, I know the rules. Now, this won’t take long, I just have to check you’re clean.” She opened her bag, setting out various instruments at the base of the bed.

  “This isn’t a game,” she bit. What part of this looked like a game, what part of having a woman strapped to a fucking bed, with raw and bruised wrists was a game?

  “Now your records indicate you aren’t on any birth control, is that correct?” Birth control? This is the only time I’m going to use a condom. The words came back to haunt her. She’d never let a man sleep with her without protection. That was something she was saving for that special someone, for when she had found the person she loved enough to want a family with, for her forever love, for Miles.

  She felt herself begin to shiver as the true reality of her situation dawned on her. The nurse had said other women. He’d done this before, maybe even consensually. This nurse had seen this before. She hadn’t even blinked when she entered the room; she didn’t believe her. She bit back a sob as she realised no one was even going to even know she was missing. They’d think she took the job, and she’d not even left an address or number of where she could be found.

  “Please.”

  “I am not being drawn into your game. I am here to do my job, now, open your legs.” Ivy felt the woman turn her on the bed, pulling her legs open. Her cheeks flushing at the invasion of her privacy as the nurse poked and prodded the area that was still raw from penetration. The nurse studied her wrists for a moment.

  Yes, that’s right, look
at them, really look, Ivy willed. Surely she could see this went beyond any kind of play, but the gaze was passing, uninterested. She flinched as the nurse’s icy hands removed her panties as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Hmm, there’s a little blood, but that’s to be expected since you’ve not been very sexually active for a while. Now, relax your legs.” She gasped as the speculum was inserted, bracing herself against the familiar scraping sensation of a pap smear.

  “Please, I don’t want to be here.” Was she even talking? The woman didn’t even acknowledge she was taking her seriously.

  “Now, I’m just going to take some blood, hold still.” Ivy felt the sting of the needle as the nurse went about her business, undeterred by her circumstances. For fuck’s sake. She strained against the restraints with a frustrated growl.

  “Just so you aware, Mister Carter was given a clean bill of sexual health yesterday. Now, there’s just a few questions and I’ll be on my way. Now, are you on any form of contraception?” Ivy shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why she was asking. This woman had already told her that the medical records stated she wasn’t. “Okay. We’ll start you off on a patch, you must continue with condoms for seven days. How many sexual partners have you had?”

  “Please, you don’t understand.” The answer was two, no three because she had to count her rapist. She’d only been willingly intimate with two men. She would not play this game, she didn’t need to answer these questions. What she needed was to find a way to make this woman listen.

  “Fine we’re done. I’ll leave your patches with Mister Carter.” Sealing the blood samples the nurse moved to leave.

  “Wait.” The nurse froze, turning to regard her critically. “My name’s Ivy Jean Sinclair, Ivy Jean, because my mother loved reading comics. She was told she’d never have a child, so I was her miracle. I have no siblings.” That was what she was meant to do, right? Make the person see her as a human, make them listen, give herself a face in their mind. Hurting or abandoning people you knew were real, had lives, was meant to be more difficult. “I like playing video games and reading. My favourite food is buttered toast because it makes me think of mornings sitting in bed with my mum. My dad—”

  “Goodbye, Miss Sinclair.” As the nurse let herself out, she heard the bolt slide across the door. Fuck. Ivy let her head fall back against the mattress with a sob. This could not be happening.

  Alone again with only the burn between her legs and shame to keep her company. The total helplessness of the situation was crushing the breath from her lungs. No one was going to help her, no one was going to miss her. These words weighed her down, sapped the remaining fight from her burning muscles.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d lay there before she heard the door unbolt again. Perry entered, leaning against the door frame, watching her with a bemused smile that made her stomach sink into a deep and bottomless void. In his hand he held a box, and her chest constricted further, knowing it was the promised contraceptives, but her mind only registered them for a moment before seeing the other item he nursed. A bottle of water.

  Unconsciously, her tongue moistened her dry lips. She was so thirsty. What she would do for a drink of water—the thought froze in her mind. What would he make her do for a drink of water? The familiar panic rose. She was thirsty, so thirsty, her mouth felt like she was chewing on sandpaper. She was so transfixed on the bottle in his hand it took a moment for her to realise the chains at her wrist had grown slack, her arms burnt as the chain fed from the wall.

  “On your knees.” She wasn’t sure why she obeyed so readily. Maybe it was the thought of the water, or the fact he’d already proven her consent, her cooperation, made no difference. She choked back a sob, hating her weakness as she slid from the edge of the bed, wincing as she felt the rough floor scrape across her knees. “From now on, whenever I enter a room, you kneel. Assuming you can move. Do you understand?” He crushed her chin between his fingers, lifting her gaze to look at him. “Well?”

  “Yes.” She glared at him, anger nestling in the empty pit of her stomach.

  “Yes, what?” He released her, tugging his belt from his slacks in one smooth motion. “Yes, what?” She cried out, falling forward onto her hands as a burning pain spread across her back. It was only after she registered hearing the sound of the belt cracking upon her skin. She opened her mouth, trying to speak as tears dripped from her chin onto the floor, but when the words didn’t come another strike did. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Owner,” she screamed through another bite of the belt.

  “There now, that wasn’t so hard was it, pet?” He placed the water bottle down before her and she grabbed it desperately, her back stinging with an agonising pain that just continued to burn.

  The lukewarm fluid felt like heaven in her mouth. She drank greedily, trying to pace herself but thirst took over, causing her to guzzle the contents with a desperate need. Each mouthful soothed a little of the rawness in her throat, eased the thumping of her head, but all too soon it was gone.

  Smiling down at her, he pressed his phone screen. She tensed, expecting to find herself dragged back towards the bed, but instead the bed, and the floor it was fixed to, rose, lifting the entire section of the floor to reveal a large metal frame. She could hear the hydraulic mechanisms working and watched in morbid fascination as metal upright columns rose from below, pushing the bed into the cavity in the ceiling until another platform closed the hole in the floor and all signs of the bed had vanished into the cavity in the ceiling.

  Grabbing the collar around her neck, he pulled her to her feet, standing her under the frame. Using the foot holes in the columns to climb, he reached across securing the chain to her wrists through one of the many large self-locking eye hooks, not too dissimilar to the carabiners she’d seen on the climbing wall, but the shape was more round, allowing him to feed the whole chain into it, rather than just capture it in place. His phone beeped, and the winch started, pulling her arms up as it fed through the eye until she was almost on her tiptoes.

  He stood behind her, his hands on her wrists before seizing the cuff of her dress. With a sharp tug, she felt the sting of the sleeves tearing and his fingernails tracing down her arms. She tried to pivot away, escape his unwelcome touch, causing him to wind his fist around her almost completely unfastened hair, yanking her head back until she could see him standing behind her with a look of satisfaction on his face.

  His lips descended on hers as he kicked her legs apart. The strain on her wrists caused her to cry out against his lips as the metal dug into her raw and bruised flesh. She almost missed the sensation of her dress riding up, until his fingers traced the newly bared skin. She tried to twist, to pull her legs back together, but she met the solid resistance of his feet positioned just inside her own preventing her from moving. Pain exploded in her scalp as his hand gripped her hair tighter, stopping her from pulling away.

  She gasped as he snatched at the fabric of her dress, tearing the soft material from her in sharp, painful tugs. He ripped and tore, bruising her flesh until the dress she had once loved was nothing but shreds at her feet.

  His nails scratched the inside of her thigh as he dragged his hand up her legs before his cold fingers parted her folds to find her clitoris. The slow rhythmic stroking caused her to jerk. What the hell was happening to her? She could feel the warmth spreading even as she thrashed in a desperate attempt to angle her hips away from him.

  Her jaw ached as she grit her teeth so hard she could feel the vibrations as his lips traced her neck, finding the one place that never failed to illicit a response. And respond she did, to his touch and to his kisses as he caressed the places that always made her moan. Sick fuck. How could this be happening?

  Her mind was at war with her body, one aching for more while the other part, the sensible part that understood the situation, pleaded for him to stop. It was disgusting, repulsive that her body was welcoming him, denying her objections, refusing her
protests and starting to build and thrum beneath his touch.

  His hand released her hair, tracing slowly around to her front until he squeezed her breasts, teasing her pebbled nipples through the thin fabric of her bra before she felt the cold sting of metal as he cut her only remaining item of clothing from her causing the whine building in her chest to finally escape.

  She bit her lip, swallowing the treacherous moan his fingers teased from her as tears streamed down her face. Disgusting, fucking disgusting.

  How could her body responding so eagerly when all she wanted to do was kick him away, to scream and claw. It should not feel good. It did not feel good, not mentally at least, but her body had a mind of its own, a traitorous, disgusting, repulsive mind that reacted to the things he was doing, that sought to increase the pressure that sent tremors of pleasure—hateful, unwanted pleasure—coursing through her.

  It was wrong.

  This man had abducted her, defiled her, and she was standing there, a prisoner, bound and naked, moaning through her pleas for him to stop as he pushed her ever closer to an orgasm. She should know better, her body should remember what he did, his touch should burn like acid, cause pain. It should feel like anything but this, anything but good. Shame flushed her cheeks as she felt the moisture pooling between her legs.

  Her body was a traitor.

  A dirty, fucking, traitor.

  He was playing it against her, overriding her resistance as if this was something she wanted. She did not want this. She did not want to respond like this. She strained against the chains, trying to focus on the pain in her wrists, the dull pounding of her head, anything but the way his fingers circled and teased her.