Three Days a Slave: The Complete Novel

by Natasha Stevens

  The kid began yelling the usual stuff that people yelled. “Who the fuck are you! What the fuck do you want!”

  Finally he told the kid he was going to shoot him if he said one more word.

  The kid finally shut up.

  Derek pulled the bag off Peter’s head and let him see. When the kid finally got his eyes focused, he stared up in moist-eyed surprise.

  Derek smiled at him. “That’s right. Tara’s dad Why did you kidnap my daughter, Peter?”

  “I didn’t … I didn’t kidnap her. Is she … dead? The police said … what’s happening here!” the kid said, his voice high and tight with terror and frustration, tears streaming down his face.

  “No, as far as I know, she’s not dead. Unless you killed her. Did you kill her?”

  “NO!”

  “You just kidnapped her, then. Where did you take her?”

  “I didn’t kidnap her!”

  Derek showed him the still picture that Richard had printed from the security camera, of the two of them getting into Peter’s Mustang.

  The kid didn’t say anything. His floppy hair was hanging in his eyes, his smooth white face was red with humiliation and anger.

  “Where did you take her, then, Peter,” asked Derek calmly.

  The kid didn’t answer.

  “Now why wouldn’t you tell me where you took her, Peter?” asked Derek.

  “I … this isn’t legal, what you’ve done to me. You can’t do this.”

  Derek smiled down at him. “Well, I obviously did, didn’t I. I don’t think what you did is legal either, Peter. Kidnapping my little girl.”

  “I didn’t kidnap her! She’s 18, she can do what she wants!”

  “You gave her a ride then. If it’s perfectly innocent, why won’t you tell me where you took her?”

  “I … I just … I just took her back to your house. That’s all I know!”

  Derek looked down at him and smiled. It was a bright beautiful sunny day and a gentle breeze blew through the grass. “Now I know that’s not true, Peter. I checked the cameras around my house, and my wife didn’t see her, either, so she absolutely did not return to our house yesterday. She left and has not returned. She put her phone on the bus to that ski trip, so I would think she was there, I assume, and then she got a ride somewhere with you.”

  “I …” he said, and closed his mouth and turned his head away.

  Derek looked down at him. “Now, Peter, I suppose she asked you not to tell where she’s gone. But you can see that I’m worried about her. She’s a very confused young girl, you see, and she doesn’t always make the best decisions.”

  The kid was struggling, Derek could see that; the usual disconnect between the fact that he had been kidnapped, abused, and held prisoner, and the gentle reasonable words of the man interrogating him.

  Finally Peter made his choice. “She told me about you,” said Peter. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll tell the police everything she told me. You’ll go to jail.”

  Derek finally laughed. “Well, I guess I’ll have to shoot you then.”

  He pulled the pillow case back over Peter’s head and racked the slide of his gun – ejecting a round, because of course the gun had already been ready to go, but civilians heard that slide-racking so much on TV they expected it, and it was enough, of course, it made Peter shriek with terror.

  Derek put the little orange foam ear plugs in his ears, and then fired two shots at the ground not far from Peter’s head. He’d been through enough gunfights that he had a bit of hearing loss and tinnitus already, and he certainly didn’t want anymore.

  Peter pissed himself.

  Derek wasn’t particularly surprised by that, but it still pleased him. He took the ear plugs out, and the shrieks had stopped, replaced by sobs.

  He pulled the bag off the kid’s head and waited a few minutes, letting him blubber. No point in talking immediately, anyway, the kid’s ears were probably still ringing from the gunshots.

  * * *

  Christopher made sure the blindfold was on properly, and led her to the door of the room, and then down a corridor and through another corridor.

  “Okay. Put your hand on the wall and walk straight down this hallway,” he said from behind her gone.

  She put her hand on the wall and walked as carefully as possible down it. Her high heels clicked on the wood floor; the surface of the wall was cold and smooth and slightly moist.

  She reached a door, after what seemed like an eternity, and Christopher, somewhere behind her, said, “Open it and go inside.”

  She did so and walked into a room that felt large and cold, her heart hammering and her feet moving carefully, her hands feeling in front of like antennae. She walked a few steps into the room and stopped.

  She stood still, listening. She could hear her own breathing, and nothing more. She held her breath for a moment, and the she was doubly aware of her own heartbeat.

  She thought she felt something touch her face and she jumped backwards, almost tripping on the heels and falling.

  “Is there someone here?” she asked.

  There was no answer.

  Christopher’s voice came over the speakers. “Remember, Tara. Do you remember the safe word?”

  “I remember it,” she said.

  “One word, and everything stops. Don’t you want to stop all this? All this humiliation, all this … fear?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because I want a new life. I need a new life.”

  “And you can get it Tara. Two more days of submission, and then you’ll be in control of your new life. But as for now … get on your knees.”

  She did, the skirt of the prom dress crinkling and catching under her. The wood floor was uncomfortable. She fleetingly wished she had a yoga mat.

  “Sit like that, back straight,” commanded Christopher.

  She listened. Was there movement in the room? She had no idea of the size of the room, but judging from its temperature it was not small. People could be watching her. She didn’t think she was on a stage, or anything but … she realized her mind was running away from her. Concentrate on the moment, she told herself.

  “Now present your arms in front of you. Like a slave, waiting to be handcuffed.”

  She did so. And screamed when metal cuffs attached around her right wrist. Somebody was right in front of her and she hadn’t even known it!

  “Be still!” yelled Christopher. “Keep your arms extended. Let the cuffs be attached.”

  Trembling, she kept her arms extended and another cuff was clicked into place on her left wrist. She thought she sensed the movement, but still had no idea who was in front of her, or how many.

  “Now, you will learn the second pose. Put your arms on the floor, and raise your ass in the air.”

  Shaking, she put her arms on the ground and raised her ass, the skirt of the prom dress crinkling around her and providing a bit of padding under her knees. Her breasts were plumped with terror and the chill, in the low cut dress, but she felt them straining to fall out of her push-up bra as she assumed the position.

  “Very good,” said Christopher, through the loud speaker, and then he was silent. “Now, wait. Such a good little slave. Are you sure you don’t want to say the word, Tara?”

  “No,” she said, firmly.

  Then she was aware of someone touching the skirt of the prom dress, and pulling it up around her waist, over her ass, she felt a breeze on her thighs and butt above the stockings she wore. She was aware then of a person standing close to her; she felt body heat. She tried to sense somebody else in the room, and was aware her breath was coming so quickly and she was whimpering.

  “Take some deep breaths, Tara,” said Christopher’s voice.

  She concentrated on her breathing.

  The minutes ticked by. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? She was losing her conception of time. Reality and perception narrowed down to her breathing, her heartbeat … her helplessne
ss. Her submission.

  She began to feel calm.

  She felt her breathing slow and her heartbeat level out.

  She realized that she trusted Christopher, and that made her feel a lot better. Stupid, perhaps to trust a man she didn’t know and had just met, but … somehow she did.

  “Have you ever had a spanking before, slave?” asked Christopher.

  She actually had to think about it. “I’ve been slapped on the ass a few times, by friends and things. But never a … real spanking.” She’d gotten far more lasting and awful punishments from her family.

  “Are you ready for your first spanking, slave?” asked Christopher.

  “Yes,” she said, and sighed.

  There came a sharp slap on her ass, but … somehow it didn’t even feel like pain. Just a burst of sensation, sensation that enervated her. It has been a … something flat. Wood? A paddle of some kind.

  She let out a little cry, and there was another sharp smack on her other ass-cheek. She moaned, and the spank came more quickly now, until her ass felt like it was burning and the heat began to spread through her body, making her nipples tingle and her panties wet.

  “You like that, little slave?” asked Christopher’s voice.

  “Yes I do,” she moaned.

  There was a long pause. She felt her ass cooling down and could only imagine how red it must be, sticking in the air in this room. How many people could be watching her? What were they doing? What were they thinking?

  She was terribly turned on now.

  Her ass was wiggling in anticipation of more spankings, now. She wanted to ask where they were, but knew that she had to be still. She was aware she was whimpering again.

  Then, suddenly, more firm blows fell on her ass cheeks, first the left and then the right, in rapid succession, and then they stopped.

  She moaned, a long drawn out sound, full of all the emotions she felt – pain, pleasure, humiliation, frustration.

  “Now change positions, slave. Lay on your back.”

  She rolled over, and was aware of how sore her ass was, and more thrills and heat shot through her.

  “Feel your breasts for us, slave,” said Christopher.

  Letting out a moan of grateful pleasure, she began to feel her own breasts through the dress.

  “You can pull the dress down so you can get access to them, slave.”

  She pulled the front of the dress down, along with the cups of the strapless bra, so that her 34C breasts were free in the air, her nipples hard, and she mewled with pleasure as she took them in her hands. The cold metal of the handcuffs still on her wrist touched her skin and she let out another whimper before arching her back and kneading her breasts.

  “That’s it … good little slave. You like to touch yourself, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she moaned.

  “But your parents warned you not to. They told you it was bad. Now you know that it’s not bad. They were the bad ones for putting those kind of restrictions on you.”

  “Yes,” she panted, tugging on her hard nipples.

  “Pinch them harder, slave. Make yourself moan again.”

  She pinched them hard, making herself hiss then moan with pleasure.

  “Now your pussy, slave. It needs some attention. Do you want to touch it?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Ask me nicely.”

  “Please, master, may I touch my pussy?”

  “Good girl,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  Her hands moved down. The skirt of the dress was still hiked up over her waist, and she rubbed her fingers, her hand, over the mound of her crotch, over the now damp white lace panties.

  ‘That’s it,” said Christopher’s voice. She was aware of movement over her, some breathing, a sound of skin rubbing on skin; she felt sure that somebody was standing near her – could she smell something? A bit of a manly type of sweat smell -- and that man was surely masturbating.

  She would have liked to touch her breasts with one hand while she rubbed her crotch with the other, but her hands were still handcuffed. She gasped, “Can I put my hand inside my panties?”

  Christopher chuckled over the speaker. “Good little slave. Asking permission. You look so hot masturbating for us, little slave.”

  The acknowledgment that she was being watched – and watched by more than one person – made her writhe with pleasure.

  “Go ahead and put your hand in your panties,” said Christopher.

  She moaned again as she spread her legs wider and slipped both hands inside her panties, the edges of the metal cuffs digging into the pale sensitive skin of her midriff, and used one hand to part the moist lips while her middle finger sought her sensitive throbbing clit.

  It didn’t take long. She arched her back, her heels sliding on the wood floor beneath her, and cried out as she had an orgasm.

  “Bravo!” said Christopher, and she felt a renewed wave of humiliated arousal when she heard applause in the room – several people, at least two or three, including the person standing near her.

  * * *

  “So what did she tell you about me, Peter?” asked Derek, bending down to look at the tear-stained, helpless pale little face in front of him.

  “You abused her!” he sobbed. “You sexually abused her for years!”

  Derek smiled patiently. “Abuse! You act like I raped her.”

  “You forced her to suck your dick!” shrieked Peter. “You’re fucking crazy! You kidnapped me and shot at me!”

  Derek shook his head. “And I think you’d have learned to be a little more respectful, having learned what you know about me. Now. Tell me where my daughter is.”

  “Fuck you! I won’t tell you anything!” Peter shrieked.

  That was the only problem with the fake execution, it occasionally gave the subject the false confidence that you didn’t actually intend to kill them.

  Derek put the gun back in his pocket and took out a knife.

  It wasn’t the biggest knife he owned, but it was big enough. It had a six-inch blade.

  “Forced her to suck my dick,” said Derek. “That’s complete bullshit, Peter. You act like I threatened her, or held her down. I found all the dirty little pictures on her phone, and I gave her a choice, that’s all. I offered to show them to her mother, but she chose to … suck my cock. That’s not rape, Peter. That’s a girl dealing with the consequences of her own slutty behavior.”

  Derek was still blubbering and shaking his head.

  “Now you, on the other hand … you’ve kidnapped my daughter. Oh, I know, you say you didn’t, but you took her somewhere and won’t tell me where. That’s like kidnapping, as far as I’m concerned.”

  He lifted the kid by the hair, eliciting more shrieks, until the kid was on his knees, his hands still bound behind his back, his ankles still encircled with zip-ties.

  “Don’t you think I’m entitled to do anything I need to do, to get my daughter back? Wouldn’t you do anything, Peter?”

  “You’re crazy,” he repeated.

  Derek used the knife to slice the kid’s t-shirt off. It came off easily, the knife was so sharp.

  The kid was silent now, but his whole body was trembling.

  He took the blade of the knife and pressed the flat part of it against Peter’s crotch. He momentarily cursed himself as being a bit rusty at all this; it would have been better if he’d stripped the kid first, of course. People, especially men, felt so much more vulnerable and helpless when they were naked.

  “Tell me where my daughter is,” he said. “Or I’m going to cut your balls off.”

  * * *

  “Now roll over again, little slave. Assume the first slave position.” Christopher’s voice was still calm and detached beyond the loud-speaker.

  She did so, her ass still a bit sore from the spanking. It felt better having it in the air, than trying to lie on it.

  “Are you ready to get fucked by a stranger, little slave?” asked Christopher.

  She hesi
tated. She was horny as hell, but … a stranger?

  “All you have to do is say the word mercy,” said Christopher. “This will stop. All this will stop.”

  She thrust her ass backwards, stretching like a cat, her handcuffs jangling on her wrist. “No, I’m ready. I’m ready to get fucked by a stranger.”

  * * *

  The kid looked up at him with pure terror, pure defeat in his eyes. “I just dropped her off at a coffee shop downtown,” he said in a quiet voice. “That’s all. She wouldn’t tell me where she was going or why, she just asked for this favor and I did it, please don’t hurt me anymore, please just let me go, I won’t tell anybody, I promise, I won’t tell.”

  Derek smiled and patted the kid’s cheek. “You won’t tell. Well, you’re going to need to convince me of that. I think I’ll believe you if you suck my cock. Ever sucked a cock before, Peter?”

  Peter looked up at him, with his big girly eyes and long eye-lashes and floppy hair. The kid shook his head, eyes wide with horror.

  “I mean, it’s only fair. You take my daughter away from me. You accuse me of raping her, my own step-daughter, when I was just enforcing discipline in my household. You use foul language at me. Take my cock in your mouth, suck it good, and you can prove to me your best intentions in this case.”

  He put the fine edge of the knife against the kid’s throat. So soft and white, so different from the hard sunbaked brown throats in Afghanistan.

  With his other hand, Derek pulled out his cock. It was long and straight and throbbing hard already.

  “Well, Peter? What do you say? Are you going to suck my cock and show me that we’re friends here?”

  The kid’s bottom lip was trembling, and tears fell on his bare chest.

  Then he nodded his head, pitifully, sobbing as he did so.

  “See? Was that so hard,” said Derek, and then held the kid’s nose so he’d open his mouth, and stuck his cock in it.

  The kid bawled uncontrollably during the whole business, but Derek thought the extra moisture was just a bonus, and all in all, Peter sucked cock even better than his stepdaughter did.