Thank goodness she was awake now and safe in her own bed.
Why was the room so dark?
She turned her head toward the single window in her small bedroom. There was always light in the big city, no matter the hour.
Wait.
What the hell?
Why was it pitch black outside, so dark she couldn’t even see the outline of the window? And where were the usual sounds of the omnipresent traffic? She strained to hear but was met only with a heavy silence. Was the city in a total blackout?
She tried to sit up and was startled to realize she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs were somehow pinned down. She lifted her head, straining to see her surroundings, and was suddenly assailed by dizziness so powerful she thought she was going to pass out.
She fell back against the pillows. Except there was no pillow beneath her head—just a very hard mattress. Rather than the air-conditioned comfort of her new apartment, the air around her was damp and warm, the smell musty.
Something was very, very wrong.
Her brain felt fuzzy and sluggish. She was befuddled and unable to think clearly. She had absolutely no memory of how she could have gotten to this awful place, wherever it was. She had the foreboding feeling she’d been there—or at least been totally out of it—for quite some time.
As she struggled to comprehend her circumstances, a cold spurt of terror froze the blood in her veins. Why couldn’t she move? Why was her head pounding like the worst hangover ever? And why was her mouth so dry that her tongue was actually sticking to the roof of her mouth?
Where in god’s name was she?
She gave an involuntary cry of terror, her voice little more than a rasping croak. She stilled, listening for any telltale sound that might clue her in as to where she was. Total, ominous silence surrounded her.
She made an effort to clear her throat, then tried again. “Hello?” she called out. “Is someone here? Where am I?” She tugged hard at the restraints wrapped around her wrists and ankles, to no avail.
“Help me!” she cried, her voice now high with panic and quavering with fear. “Someone, please help me!”
All at once, the room was illuminated by harsh overhead lighting, its fluorescent glow momentarily blinding her. Then she heard the sound of a heavy tread on stairs. As she squinted into the light, she saw a man standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Several reactions collided in her still-groggy brain. Relief that someone was there to rescue her, confusion as she tried to place the familiar face of the guy watching her, and a dark, foreboding fear that he wasn’t there to save her.
“I was wondering when you’d come to,” he said, his voice familiar, a smile on his handsome face. “You’ve been out for the past twelve hours straight. Guess I gave you a little more of the drug cocktail than I realized.”
She stared at him with incomprehension, blinking in confusion.
Then, all at once, she recognized him. Thank god. Diana’s cousin would explain what was going on. He would get her out of this terrifying situation.
But wait. What had he just said about a drug cocktail? Her muscles tensed with renewed terror, though her sluggish brain refused to catch up.
“Damon?” she whispered, still not quite making the leap between the nice man she’d had dinner with and this bizarre, terrifying situation.
He moved closer. “One and the same,” he said, his smile widening.
Callie lifted her head again, forcing herself to work through the dizziness. Her tongue felt thick and swollen, the words difficult to form. “Wha… what’s happening?” She jerked against her restraints, a wave of nausea twisting through her gut. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Can you get these cuffs off me?”
Damon shook his head. “Not yet. Not until I’m sure you understand the situation.” His smile was ugly and didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. In due time, little girl, all will become crystal clear.” Damon’s eyes flickered from her face down her body, a dark, hungry look twisting his features as he slowly licked his lips.
Following his leering gaze, Callie looked down at herself, shocked and horrified to see she was stark naked. Her wrists and ankles were shackled with leather cuffs attached to chains that disappeared over the sides of what appeared to be a canvas army cot.
Her entire body began to tremble, her teeth actually chattering with fear as she struggled desperately to comprehend. Her guts twisted and knotted with terror. How could this be happening? Where was she? Where was Diana? Why was Damon just standing there, that nasty smile on his face?
Danger. Terrible, terrible danger, a voice screamed inside her head.
Black spots appeared in front of her eyes, enlarging until they obscured her vision. A strange whistling sound echoed in her ears and a rush of saliva and bile surged into her mouth.
She parted her lips to scream, but no sound came.
Her head fell back as the darkness swallowed her whole.
Chapter 4
He’d done it!
Damon had been nursing this abduction fantasy since he was a teenager, embellishing it each time he jerked off. The older he’d gotten, the more he’d become obsessed with the idea of actually bringing it to fruition. The one-night stands with girls he picked up for rough sex were no longer enough.
He’d toyed with the idea of taking on a willing slave girl. There were plenty of sluts on the various BDSM websites he trolled who thought they wanted what he was offering. Especially once they saw his profile pics, they would claim they were ready to submit to him on every level, no matter how far he took them.
But he knew better. Those wannabes just wanted to play at being a sex slave. When push came to shove, they wanted contracts with stupid clauses regarding limits, consent and safewords. They wanted an easy out, a trap door, an escape hatch. Where was the fun in that?
This past year, his fantasy had become something of an obsession. He’d taken his time, interviewing literally dozens of prospects, though of course they had no idea they were applying for the job. As he got more serious about really pulling this off, he started to pay closer attention to the prospective slave girl’s life outside whatever fetish sites she was frequenting. He automatically ruled out any girl with a roommate or close family nearby.
Callie had been perfect. He’d known it from his first perusal of her Facebook profile page. She had just relocated to a new city, far away from her family and friends. There was no evidence of a boyfriend or roommate, and she had yet to start her new job.
She’d texted freely with “Diana” about her past sexual experience (limited but with a nice dash of kink) and her masturbatory fantasies. She had been both titillated and horrified when “Diana” had shared her own fantasy of being abducted and held by a handsome but exacting Master—kept naked and in chains, forced to do all sorts of wonderful, terrible things.
He’d have bet a hundred to one that, despite her feeble protestations that she would never actually want to be abducted in real life, her panties had been soaked by “Diana’s” detailed descriptions. Behind the innocent façade, she was a dirty little whore, just like all the rest.
He couldn’t wait to get started with her training. She belonged to him now. He would use and abuse her in whatever way pleased him, for as long as he wanted, and she didn’t have a fucking thing to say about it. And when he tired of her, as he surely would, eventually, there was always an after-market for whores. He’d sell her to the highest bidder for a tidy profit. His brothers weren’t the only entrepreneurs in the family.
As he stared down at the inert girl—naked, chained and at his mercy, he wanted to crow his success to the world. Wouldn’t his father and brothers be impressed if they knew what he, Damon-the-fuck-up, Damon-the-baby-of-the-family, who’d never done anything with his life, had managed, all on his own? Not that he could ever tell them. They were so conventional and judgmental. Besides, he didn’t need to impress them—not anymore. He had access to his trust fund, finally, and he was accou
ntable to no one.
Now he slapped Callie’s cheek lightly to rouse her. She groaned softly, but didn’t open her eyes. This was getting annoying. Here he’d been patiently waiting several hours for his new toy to come to and—wham—she was back out again.
The medications should have worn off sufficiently, as evidenced by her brief period of consciousness. What he was seeing now was just a plain old fainting fit.
He considered filling a bucket of water from the sink in the corner of the concrete-walled basement. If she didn’t come to in a minute or two, he could dump it over her head. But, no, he decided magnanimously. He would give her a break.
He still couldn’t quite believe he’d pulled it off, and without a hitch. Who said he wasn’t organized and couldn’t follow through? He just had to have the right motivation.
There had been a few difficult moments, such as when he had to carry her up the plane stairs in the dark. While he could bench press two hundred and fifty without breaking a sweat, carrying the deadweight of an unconscious woman up a flight of narrow stairs wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. Though the tiny airport was basically deserted, he hadn’t wanted to risk turning on any lights in the hangar until he had her safely ensconced inside the plane. He’d settled her over two seats, just behind the small cockpit, before heading inside the terminal to check in with the dispatcher.
When she’d started to stir about an hour before landing, he’d given her the second injection. She’d slipped back into unconsciousness with a soft sigh.
Once he’d landed and parked the plane, he’d experienced a moment of panic. The van the used car salesman had assured him would be waiting in the nearby parking lot was nowhere in sight. He finally found it parked along a narrow street just beside the lot, the keys hidden in a magnetic holder under the dash, as promised. Fortunately, it was nearly three a.m. by then, and no one was around to witness the transfer of the unconscious girl from his plane to the back of the van.
He’d given Callie a third and final injection before hauling her into the house. Fortunately, there was a separate entrance into the basement, so he didn’t have to navigate any more stairs with an inert woman in his arms.
Not up for hassling with her clothing, he’d cut it away before shackling her to the cot. It was a testament to how exhausted he’d been that he hadn’t stuck around to check her body out more thoroughly. Plenty of time for that later.
He’d gone upstairs to catch a few hours of sleep until she roused. Despite his fatigue, he’d only managed to doze fitfully. Now he reached into his shorts to stroke his rising erection as he regarded the lovely girl, naked and shackled before him.
Her breasts were a little small for his taste, but nicely shaped, the nipples exactly the rosy pink color he’d envisioned. Her legs were spread by the chains at her ankle cuffs, giving him a peek at her pretty little cunt, which was covered in sparse pubes. He would make her shave that nasty hair off. He liked his girls smooth, like the sluts on the porn sites.
It was kind of frustrating not to be able to tell anyone how brilliant he’d been in pulling this whole thing off. Because of his meticulous planning, excellent acting skills and a hefty dose of good luck, he’d successfully abducted a woman and spirited her out of the country, with no one the wiser.
All the experimentation online and at the various BDSM and fetish clubs he’d frequented over the years had been leading up to this. No matter how intense the scene, he was always left wanting more—far more. He’d been upfront at first, clearly outlining his elaborate control fantasies in the various profiles he’d created online, and seeking women who actually wanted to experience that fantasy brought to life.
But it had never panned out, not to his satisfaction. He wasn’t interested in games. He wanted the real thing. He’d come to understand that there wasn’t actually a woman out there who really desired what she said she did, at least not when it came to sexual fantasies.
Girls, even the ones who claimed to share his fantasy of being abducted and exposed to all sorts of delicious, diabolical torture, always ruined things in the end by bailing just when the fun was getting started. All that thrashing and crying was so annoying. Always careful, he’d never told the girls his full name, or allowed them anywhere near his home. Still, the occasional threats to press charges were an inconvenience that could have become more problematic if he hadn’t had the cash to throw at them to get them to shut the fuck up and just disappear.
But now—with Callie—he wouldn’t have to worry about any of those stupid constraints. If her squeals got annoying, he’d just gag the bitch. If she misbehaved, he’d stick her back in the basement until she saw the error of her ways.
He could do just exactly what he wanted with this girl. She was his possession—his new toy—until he tired of her.
He pulled his hand from his shorts when she started to whimper. Her eyes were still closed, but her eyelids were flickering with movement, and she was twitching in her restraints.
“Callie?” he asked softly, moving closer. “Open your eyes.”
She obliged, her gaze at first unfocused as she tried to lift her head. “Wha…?” she said stupidly, a bit of drool escaping her slack mouth. To be fair, he’d given her quite a bit more than the recommended dosage of the knockout drugs over the past twelve hours. It would take a while before it all left her system. “Thirsty,” she croaked.
Damon went over to the sink and filled a plastic cup he’d left there earlier. He brought it to her cot and pulled up a nearby stool. Sitting close to the cot, he lifted her head with one hand and tilted the cup to her lips with the other. He felt an almost paternal rush of affection for the girl as she sipped at the water, as helpless in her restraints as a baby bird.
When she seemed to have had enough, he let her head fall back and set the cup on the concrete floor. “Feeling a little better?” he asked solicitously.
She met his eyes. “Please, Damon,” she said, her voice still hoarse but her gaze more focused. “What’s happening? Why do I feel so woozy? Why am I tied down to this bed? Where are my clothes? Where are we?” Her voice started to rise with what he could see was barely suppressed panic. “Why are you doing this? Where’s Diana?”
“Shh,” he soothed, stroking a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was so soft. “As I said before, everything will be made clear in time. Right now, all you need to know is that you’re with me. I’m going to make all your dirty little fantasies come true.”
Her eyes widened with fear. “Please, I don’t understand.” She yanked at her restraints, her hands clenching into fists. “Let me up. Take me home. I don’t want to be here. Whatever you thought I was agreeing to, you’re completely and totally wrong.” She looked around the basement, her expression wild. “Where’s Diana?” she repeated. “Does she know what you’ve done? How can you possibly think you’ll get away with this—with whatever this is you’re doing?”
Damon smiled, again reaching out to stroke her soft cheek. She jerked her head away, and he let that pass—for now. He would soon teach her proper manners. “There is no Diana, silly girl. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She swung her head back to face him, confusion and alarm in her expression. “What are you talking about? I was texting with her all week. I talked to her on the phone! There is definitely a Diana.”
Damon shook his head, marveling at this girl’s naiveté and stupidity. “Haven’t you ever heard of a voice changer?” As Callie continued to look blank, he elaborated, “It’s a device or an app that uses digital signal processing to change your voice in a variety of ways. Glad to know I fooled you so thoroughly.”
“But…” Callie’s face scrunched as she appeared to struggle to understand. “Why?” she finally said.
“Isn’t it obvious? What better way to lure a girl out of her suspicions than by being another girl? If I’d been a guy online trying to connect with you, would you have agreed to meet so quickly? Would you have so easily shared your sexual fantasies
about being kept in silk and chains in some dude’s harem?”
Color rushed into Callie’s cheeks as she again turned her head away. He couldn’t help but grin at the irony of her embarrassment, given her present situation.
“Please,” she whispered. And then louder, though her head was still turned toward the wall, “Please, Damon. Please let me up. My head hurts really bad and I need to pee.”
When he said nothing, she twisted her head back once more, her eyes beseeching. “Look. We somehow got our wires really crossed. This isn’t my fantasy. I never wanted this. You tricked me.” She looked around the basement again, tears pooling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be here. Just let me up and give me my clothes.” Her voice quavered, cracking on a sob. “I’m not going to do anything. Just give me my clothes and my purse and I’ll be on my way. I’ll get an Uber. I just want to go home.”
Damon grinned. “I don’t think you’ll find an Uber that can take you home from here. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
He got to his feet and stared down at the girl, almost feeling sorry for her. “Here’s the deal. I knocked you out over twelve hours ago with a pretty powerful combination of drugs. While you were out, I loaded you onto my private plane and flew you down here. Where ‘here’ is exactly isn’t important. Suffice it to say, we’re not in the States anymore, and you’re not going home any time soon.
“From this moment forward, until I grow tired of you, that is, you are my personal sex slave. You exist solely to please and amuse me. You will do everything I tell you to do, without hesitation and without complaint. If you fail in your duties or displease me in any way, you will be severely punished.”
She’d stopped crying, her mouth now hanging open, her eyes wide as plates. “What?” she said stupidly, irritating him.
Tricked Page 3
