by Rowena
I stare at them, examining the details.
The kidnapper definitely made sure to stack the deck, capitalizing off of the power of suggestion.
Everything here oozes relaxation, intimacy.
There’s really nowhere to hide.
The place isn’t exactly tiny, but given the circumstances, it’s way too small.
There’s just the two of us in our sexy jammies all the time, sleeping in the same bed, trying to ignore the hum of desire between us.
Difficulty level: medium.
I still have faith I can hold out long enough, though—whatever ‘enough’ ends up being.
But probably not a month. A week, however? Definitely.
I hear the water shut off and realize Dustin’s about to exit the open shower.
I don’t want to catch him naked again, so I say, “Tap me on the shoulder once it’s safe.”
“K,” he replies from what sounds like far enough away.
I then wait for the tap, my eyes shut tight while I actively work to control my breathing because my mind has gone there again—thinking about what he looks like now with a few droplets clinging to his skin.
God, the soap emanating from him smells good…
His finger taps my shoulder.
I turn to him in relief, happy it’s my turn at last and that I can lose myself under a warm shower spray, but instead, I end up facing Dustin’s incredibly sculpted body—including his uncovered erect dick.
“Dustin!” I yell as I turn away again.
He chuckles.
“I figured it’s safe since you’re so disgusted by me.”
I release a growl of frustration and take off to the shower, practically running.
“You better not look at me!” I say without turning around.
In my rush, I forgot to bring my clothes with me to lay down just outside of the shower and slip into quickly.
Damn it, I’ll have to make my way over to the other end of the room—completely naked—to the drawers near the bed to grab my clothes, right where he’ll be lurking probably.
It’s not like there’s anywhere else to hang out—the ground’s too uncomfortable to sit on for long, and there’s no couch or beanie bag around.
There’s only the bed and the dresser to sit on, and I doubt he’ll be hanging out on the latter.
There’s no television, radio, or anything—not even an old dog-eared book or magazine.
I’m completely aware it’s all part of our captor’s strategy—we’ve been stripped down to just the two of us and our primal instincts.
Ugh.
The shower feels amazing.
I was worried for a moment it might be cold by design, shocking me into a desperate need for warmth and having to grudgingly accept it against Dustin’s body—but it’s not.
I tweak it to the perfect temperature after blasting myself with cooler temperatures to get rid of the residual desire that had coursed through me at the second sudden sight of Dustin’s raw nakedness.
What a bastard.
Both of them!
This billionaire gets his rocks off watching people squirm, does he? He enjoys making people fuck for their freedom, does he?
Just wait till we investigate and find out who he is!
Part of me is pretty sure I’m making empty promises to myself, but I ignore that part.
Billionaires aren’t invincible; the freak will pay. And without getting his kinky wish.
I suddenly feel eyes on me and I pop open my eyes to look in Dustin’s direction, but he is obediently turned away from me.
I start wondering if he simply moved quicker than my eyes when I hear, “Ah, Courtney, you really are something.” The creepy voice of our captor coasted on a sort of sigh. “Dustin, you’re missing this. What a gem. What a show.”
Anger surges through me at the invasion.
It’s weird how easy it is to forget the freak has eyes and ears tuned to us at all times; I easily forgot about him as I stripped and got under the shower head.
God, I wish he hadn’t said anything so I could go on pretending I’m finally having a private moment.
“Your breasts are perfect,” the voice continues. “So perky and soft-looking—a delightful handful. Your pebbled nipples are begging for a mouth.”
I hear a groan, but it wasn’t our captor.
I notice Dustin squirming a little in the bed.
“And those bare pussy lips,” the voice continues.
Dustin groans louder.
He’s obviously having a hard time with the billionaire’s words, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to do something about it or not and I kind of don’t want my mind to go there.
Guess I’ll find out if he ends up stalking over to the basin to wash his hands clean.
I almost feel bad for him—his groans sounded so tortured. A small part of me wants to help him find relief.
“Touch yourself, Courtney,” the voice says. “Go on—finger those pretty pink folds.”
My cheeks burn with sudden blood.
“And why the hell would I do that?” I say defiantly. “What would I get out of it?”
“I like how you think,” the voice says, and I think I detect genuine admiration, but who knows?
“You’re absolutely right—the original terms remain. In order to be released, the two of you must find release with each other, no exceptions. You giving in to my request now gains you nothing—except perhaps temporary release for yourself, of course, which we both know you need. You’re having trouble getting the sight of Dustin’s hard cock out of your head, poor girl. You desperately want to know what it would feel like to have it between your toned legs, knocking at your slick entrance. Oh well! I will get my wish soon enough, considering your growing state of need. You can’t hide from me, Courtney—I’ll be watching you when you finally let your fingers fly and rub that tingling cunt to ease the tension and stop yourself from asking for Dustin’s dick.”
My pussy throbs at his words and I turn the shower knob a little for cold water, cooling the temperature of the spray.
“Dear Courtney, I must warn you—the longer you wait, the greater the indignities you’ll have to face. Just remember you brought it on yourself! Of course, I’m not complaining about the delay—I get to see a lot more than just a quick fuck, which is the whole point, really.”
Okay, how many times has he actually done this? How does it usually work out?
Does everyone give in? Does it take around the same amount of time?
Is this a same-script-different-cast sort of deal? Am I playing right into his hands with what I’m doing?
Would he actually have been disappointed if Dustin and I had opted to take his word and got a quickie out of the way immediately?
Something tells me he would be, hence why he picked the two of us. He knew it wouldn’t be easy.
And didn’t he already outright say that all the squirming and resistance was his second favorite part?
He absolutely expected at least one of us to refuse.
He knows I have a lot at stake—even under these conditions, if I gave in, I would then be damaged goods. My value will go down.
Brick knows I’m a virgin, and that aspect ups my market value, so to speak. If not to Brick, then to someone else willing to ‘pay the price’ so to speak, so there are consequences beyond just handing my V-card to some dude.
Did the freaky billionaire also know I’m a virgin? How could he possibly know that?
But if he did, he knew that would make this whole thing even harder for me.
The only way to get out of this still smelling like a rose is to refuse to give in.
I hit the big silver button Dustin and I discovered functions as a dryer, activating gusts of warm air. It’s like a larger version of those hand dryers in public restrooms.
My body starts to dry off as the heat evaporates the droplets.
I stay longer than Dustin, making sure every drop on my body is dried before exi
ting the stall.
“After one week, the difficulty level will increase,” the voice interjects as I start making my way over to the dresser to pick out my first set of clothes provided by our captor.
The hell does he mean by that?
I notice Dustin eventually grabbed a pair of boxers, but they’re not exactly on him.
I quickly turn away, forgetting the voice had even started to speak again until he says, “As I said, it’s entirely on you how far things will go. Week two will bring more hardship, though your conditions for release will remain the same.”
I puzzle over his words.
What—is he going to starve us or something?
My stomach growls, reminding me we haven’t eaten in some time.
“You will always be provided for,” he says as if reading my mind, although he probably just heard the growl.
So if not starvation or some other withholding of essentials, what does he mean?
“Take too long and you’ll see,” he says.
I decide not to think about it.
I need to process one thing at a time, and right now, getting into underwear and the bathrobe before Dustin sees me is my top priority.
4
Dustin
Jesus Christ, I almost lost it.
The freaky billionaire really got me going talking about Courtney’s naked, dripping wet body, and it took everything—everything—I had not to turn around and get an eyeful, which would have been a dangerous mistake.
Something had started taking over me, and I got the sense that if I gave in, if I had turned around and looked at her...
I don’t know.
I don’t know how we’re going to make it, what to do to make sure I keep my hands off of her; the last thing I want to do is scare her or hurt her in any way.
Well, I guess there’s one thing that helps, and unfortunately, I ruined my first pair of silk boxers carrying it out.
I couldn’t even think—I just had to do it. The tension had built up to an unbearable point, and in order to make sure I didn’t fuck things up by trying to slip my cock between Courtney’s legs as soon as she slipped into bed with me, I had to take the edge off.
So she’s safe from me. For now.
I mumble something about cleaning up as soon as she puts a knee on the bed and then I take off toward the basin.
How many hand jobs will I have to give myself before the act stops working and my cock demands more?
Guess I can’t think about it now.
And what did the creepy voice mean when it said things will get harder for us after a week?
Will he take all our clothes away so we’re stuck being buck naked all the time?
Admittedly, that would probably speed things up a bit.
If he wanted us to fuck within a week, maybe he should have done that in the first place.
But who knows what his real deal is?
Does he really just get off on watching strangers fuck?
He can go to all kinds of sex clubs for that.
If he’s really a billionaire, it can’t be that hard to find them and gain entrance, to pay for his heart’s desire with eager participants.
But I suppose having your own private entertainment is another thing.
Plus, the part about eager participants—that’s not exactly what he wants, it seems.
I get the feeling this guy knew Courtney and I had some sort of history that translated into massive resistance—the key ingredient to his kink.
Boy, do I have a lot of questions, but it seems we always have his ear, so I’ll take care of more immediate matters first.
I’ve decided not to mess with Courtney anymore for the evening (or morning? Who knows? We have no windows, no clocks. No indicators of time whatsoever).
I slip on a white T-shirt and a clean pair of boxers, then place my head near Courtney’s French-manicured feet, reluctantly turning my back to her.
“Geez, is this light ever gonna shut off?” she eventually says, just as I started wondering the same.
“Nope,” came a distorted reply.
Haha! This guy wasn’t kidding about making sure he can see everything at all times.
But sometimes, tiredness will get the best of you, no matter how much light there is.
Yes, even though I’m finally next to a woman I’ve wanted to be with for a long time now, her smooth, lithe body covered in very little, just an inch or two away, I guess the stress of being kidnapped and having to keep my raging desire at bay in various ways finally gets to me.
I don’t even know when I fall asleep.
I’m awakened by movement—very slight, but constant.
It takes a second, but it dawns on me what’s happening.
I don’t know if Courtney found sleep sometime after I did or if she never found it, but she’s up now, and what I suspect she’s up to suddenly has me wide awake.
I’m still not facing her, so she doesn’t know I’m up, but who knows? The asshole who’s always watching might decide to tell her.
Although why? He’s shown himself to be pretty strategic thus far.
But it could be just to mess with me. He could easily once again launch into detail about her slender fingers between her legs, painting me another picture that gets me going, more dangerous now that all I have to do is flip around and our parts are pretty much lined up.
My cock has already started thickening.
God, is she really doing what I think she’s doing?
“You know, I can help you out,” I say quietly, my voice deep and thick with recent sleep.
The movements immediately stop.
“I can tickle you with my tongue, slide it up and down your pussy lips. I can even penetrate you with it—slip it inside you and curl it against your walls. I can suck your clit until you…”
“Ohhh!” she moans gutturally.
Oh boy, do I recognize that sound—Courtney Heather Palmer just came against her own fingers, right next to me.
I guess she hadn’t stopped what she was doing, she just made her movements less detectable, keeping everything below the wrist going, working those digits on her soft, feminine flesh.
I guess she was too close to the edge to just drop it.
It feels like she sinks a little deeper into the bed, definitely still now except for deeper breaths.
She keeps breathing deeply for a few moments, as if actively working to bring herself back down faster.
“No thank you,” she finally says calmly, as if she wasn’t just playing with her needy pussy just seconds before, rubbing her nerve-filled nub to my filthy words.
“The offer stays open,” I say. “If you ever need me to lick you, if you ever want my mouth on your…”
“I get it, Dustin. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. And feel free to thank me in other ways later.”
She lets out a sigh of frustration, exasperated, I guess, by how much she wants to take me up on my offer.
Who the hell knows what time it is, but we’re eating breakfast that managed to appear in the room. Somehow, when we awoke, a small table had been laid out with edibles, and we feasted on the goods without even questioning it.
I’m not usually a paranoid type anyway, and if anything, I’d suspect the guy of spiking our food with some sort of love potion rather than deadly poison.
I guess Courtney came to the same conclusion or else was so hungry, it didn’t matter what the food could be spiked with.
In any case, both of us are pretty satisfied now, but in a different way.
“Since we pretty much have nothing but each other for who-knows-how-long,” I begin after a swig of orange juice, “looks like we’re about to get to know each other a whole lot better.”
In more ways than one, I refrain from saying out loud because I don’t want her closing up more, erecting another wall.
Part of me is certain she’s already getting worn down—she’s going to give in to me. Pretty soon I’ll get to plu
nge my hard cock into her warm depths, slide in and out of the slick tunnel hidden away from me for now.
She grumbles something in response, still apparently focused on chewing strips of bacon.
“Didn’t realize chicks like you ate like that. Figured you just got an IV of the proper nutrients so no extra fat or anything.”
She gives me a look and I shrug carelessly.
What, she thinks she’s the only one harboring stereotypes?
“Oh, I eat,” she says, then her cheeks flush for some reason, and it takes me a sec to catch on.
Maybe she’s embarrassed she said something with a sexual meaning? Or did she somehow hear my silent response, So do I?
Most likely, she remembered my offer to do just that—to eat her until she creams on my mouth.
“Let me guess,” I say, “you nibble on crumpets then puke it all up.”
There is outraged offense in her beautiful eyes.
“Wrong, Neanderthal. Bulimia is not how I roll. I eat proper portions and I work out regularly. It’s that simple. You should know,” she says, her gaze sliding over my torso then turning away.
A compliment! Nice.
“Proper portions? Is that what you call wolfing down all that quiche? And those sausages?”
“I’m surprised you know anything about quiches. And look, I was really hungry. I’d been pacing myself, as usual, leaving space for dinner from my date with Brick. But then this kinky asshole snatched me up and didn’t see fit to feed me until... god, I don’t even know how many hours it’s been. What time is it? Which day?” she asks the room.
The room doesn’t reply.
“Anyway, I never go that long between meals. Careful snacks throughout the day keep my metabolism up…”
“So this Brick guy, he’s the one for you, is he?” I say.
Enough about her damned diet—it’s too easy a topic for her to indirectly ignore me and anything real.
I want to get into subjects where she can’t hide herself from me; I want to see her laid bare in more ways than one.
“Yup! He’s the guy,” she says unconvincingly.
“Everything you ever hoped for and dreamed?” I say mockingly with a quick flutter of my eyelids.
