The loud buzz of Katie’s alarm infuriated her more than usual, and had it been an old-fashioned clock she might have knocked it flying off her bedside table. The $1,000 price tag of her cell phone gave her pause even in her extremely sleepy state, however, and she instead settled on swiping toward snooze.
As she lay pondering falling back asleep, she did her best to think about the day ahead at work and her dinner plans with her girlfriends that evening. They would definitely want to know about her date last night and she was less than excited about sharing the sad tale of the failed quest of yet another would-be knight in shining armor to romance the ice queen—as she was pretty sure she was quickly becoming known around the office.
There hadn’t been anything wrong with Bill Davis, to be fair. He was a perfectly nice guy. He’d taken her to a fancy restaurant, and he hadn’t even seemed upset when she blew off his halfhearted attempt to invite her to his place for “coffee” afterwards. He’d been polite and he’d even paid like a gentleman, neither implying that he thought he was buying himself a guarantee of something nor hinting that in this modern world perhaps they should split the check. But when he’d leaned in for a tentative kiss at the end of the evening, she’d turned her head to downgrade it to a peck on the cheek.
That was the problem with Bill right there.
Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, Bill had probably already sunk his ship at dinner with his studied efforts to pretend that she wasn’t pushing him with her words and expressions. She hadn’t been bratting him, per say, just encouraging him to… to do something. What exactly she wasn’t sure.
It wasn’t fair, obviously. What was she expecting him to do, warn her that one more sassy comment or roll of her eyes and she’d find herself sitting on a sore bottom for the rest of the evening? Or skip the warning entirely and lead her by the arm to his car for a stern lesson in manners with her over his knee in the back seat?
If he’d done that, your pussy would still be sore this morning.
Perhaps that was true. But in any case, that kiss had been poor Bill’s last shot, and he’d taken the path that everything about Bill had told her he would take. The approach a gentleman was supposed to take, in fact. The “we won’t make this physical until you’re ready” path. The approach that left her pussy sand-paper dry and her head turned to offer her cheek instead of the mouth she wanted ravaged by a man who could somehow instinctively tell that she needed him to take what he wanted.
You’re going to be single forever.
Yes, she knew she was ridiculous. She’d known that since she was old enough to ponder such things. But knowing that what she wanted was a suave neanderthal rather than a polite man of the twenty-first century didn’t solve her problem because “suave neanderthal” wasn’t a search term on any of the dating apps she’d tried.
So, what was she going to tell the girls?
They already know you went home and masturbated to caveman porn again. If you’d let him score, you would have texted them that very night.
Katie sighed. The sassy little voice that had been her constant life companion was right, as usual. The girls would know already that the date hadn’t gone well. They would just want to know why. After all, Bill was considered a catch around the office, and she understood the reason for that. He was a lot of girls’ dream man, and he deserved to be. There was nothing wrong with Bill.
That means there’s something wrong with you.
Okay, that wasn’t sassy, it was just mean. But mean or not, it was the way Katie was beginning to feel, or rather had been feeling for quite a long time now.
Doing her best to put aside her woes, she showered, dressed, and headed out for another fun-filled day at the office. Drinks that evening with Nancy and Amanda went exactly as she’d expected. They started out chipper, clearly daring to hope her date had gone well for once. Then upon hearing that dinner had been fine but the date as a whole had gone nowhere—yet again—she sensed they were not just disappointed but were beginning to be disappointed in her.
In a way it was sweet. They knew she was tired of being single and wanted someone in her life, and in an almost motherly way they wished she would stop being so picky—as they saw it at least. They wouldn’t put it in those words, of course, but it had become increasingly obvious over the last several years that that’s how they felt. She could imagine their unspoken scolding.
If Bill took you on a nice date, treated you well, and then invited you in for coffee, and you are a woman who purportedly wants to find a nice man, then you join him for coffee. It isn’t supposed to be that goddamn hard.
Then why hadn’t she just joined him for coffee?
She knew the answer to that, of course. It just wasn’t something she could explain to her two very, very vanilla friends. Because the real answer was that she’d been interested in neither coffee nor “coffee” with Bill specifically because he’d asked her so nicely.
She didn’t want to be asked nicely.
She wanted to be told that she’d be coming inside to have coffee and then with the taste of dark roast still on her tongue she’d be having “coffee” with him long and hard well into the night. Alas, neither Bill nor anyone else outside the state penitentiary seemed interested in telling Katie that she was about to be fucked until she was sore for days whether she wanted it or not by a man who knew full well that she did indeed want it.
The girls must have noticed her distant expression, because Amanda stopped singing the praises of whatever post-Bill prospect they were planning to hook her up with next to ask if she was alright.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, sorry,” Katie said, blushing a little.
“I don’t know how you expect us to find a man for you if you don’t even listen to us,” Nancy said in her scoldiest mom tone.
Once again, though it annoyed her, Katie couldn’t help but think how sweet her friends really were. She had been working with these girls for years, and she knew them very, very well. Easily well enough to know that she wasn’t some pity project of theirs. They just saw that their friend was sad and were prepared to give her the help she needed whether she liked it or not.
If only there was someone else in her life with that mindset… and a firm hand… and a big fat cock.
Katie’s blush deepened at that thought, which was probably fine because it no doubt gave Nancy the impression that her lecturing was having the desired effect. At last, her pushy matchmakers gave up, the conversation moved to the sort of work gossip that was a guilty pleasure for all three of them, and Katie’s night finally began to improve.
When the Uber dropped her off at home, just a little tipsy, she sat at her desk and pulled up her recently neglected blog. She had started it a few years ago in her early twenties when she still saw the world and her dating prospects in terms of gumdrops and rainbows. It had been a fun outlet for her to share her deepest fantasies, but those had seemed further out of reach the more life experience she gained. It was time for an update.
Where is my suave neanderthal? she titled it.
You know what’s really frustrating? Having your friends set you up on date after date and having to come up with new excuses as to why each one didn’t work out. Is it too much to ask for a man to know what I need… and then take it?
I doubt I have many readers left here, but I think it’s time for a break.
Signing out for now, to learn how to be an independent woman. Time to adopt some cats.
Feeling satisfied with her brief, impulsively written venting session, she shut her laptop and decided to cap the night off with one more glass of wine, a nice warm bath, and some steamy reading. She took her time preparing a scalding hot bubble bath with all her favorite bath salts and then sank into it with a glass of merlot and a particularly naughty book pulled up on her cell phone—which was waterproof, as all devices used for naughty reading should be.
She was well on her way to at least a perfectly serviceable orgasm—maybe even quite a pleasurable one if the spanking this book had been hinting at for five chapters finally materialized—when her phone buzzed with a text message notification.
She ignored it at first, but then curiosity began to nip at the corners of her attention until finally she was dragged fully away from the edge of orgasmic bliss and she felt compelled to read it. The message came from an unknown number, which was itself surprising because her phone company’s spam blocker usually managed to keep a tight lid on that sort of thing. But the contents were anything but generic spam. They were as simple as they were chilling.
I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, Katie. Very soon, I will come for you.
Startled, she dropped her phone into the bubbly bath salt filled water. By the time she’d fished it out, the message had disappeared.
What the fuck? Since when was it possible to delete a text message from someone else’s phone? Had she imagined it? Had it been part of her fantasy from the book she was reading, enhanced by the alcohol still in her system?
But she knew that wasn’t true. What she’d read had been clear as crystal.
She grabbed a towel and dried off her phone as quickly as she could, then rinsed herself under the spray of the showerhead before drying off and getting dressed.
She needed to call the police, she realized, and as hot as it sounded to still be dressed in a towel—or nothing at all—when a bunch of burly cops came rushing to her rescue, she decided to save that image for fantasyland. But as she picked up her phone to dial 911, she began to ask herself how she would answer the inevitable question, “What is your emergency, ma’am?”
Hello Mr. 911 Operator, I just got a really, really creepy text message. What does it say? Well, I don’t remember every word of it because… well… it deleted itself. Yes, it deleted itself. No, I swear I’m not making this up. Yes, I know I sound a little tipsy, but I really did get this message!
No, before she made a call like that, she needed something concrete to show them. What should she do then? Call the Geek Squad or the Apple store geniuses and see if one of them could figure out how to recover deleted text messages from a secret psycho stalker? Was that a service they offered on an emergency late evening basis?
Suspecting that it was not, she considered her other options. She could ask Amanda or Nancy if she could crash at one of their houses, but the thought of enduring the judgmental-despite-their-best-efforts-not-to-be tone of all the questions they would ask made her put that idea aside.
She was just beginning to convince herself that maybe the message really had been a figment of her imagination when the combination of a long day at work and a couple glasses of wine sent her off to sleep right there on the couch where she’d been waiting to greet the police officers she’d decided against calling.
Three weeks later
Doctor Richard Evans was quite pleased with himself. In just a matter of weeks, he’d put together what was shaping up to be an exquisitely well-executed kidnapping. He’d read his naughty girl’s blog post the moment he’d gotten the email alert, and what she’d said there had convinced him it really was time to do what he’d pondered doing for so long.
She didn’t just want a man like him anymore. She had finally come to realize that she needed one, and the post struck him as the frustrated culmination of that thought process. For years he’d maintained a veneer of self-control, contenting himself with merely admiring her from afar, but now it was time to act.
Richard had always been in his element when it was time to act.
That was not the only reason he was a billionaire, but it was why he had the type of connections to be able to plan on carrying off a beautiful woman over his shoulder like a caveman, do everything he wanted with her, and then bring her back to her apartment to wake up in her bed the next morning, all without any serious concern of ending up behind bars.
As he watched her crawl into bed and turn out the lights on one of the cameras he’d secretly had installed, Richard wondered if Katie had any inkling at all that tonight was the night.
He knew that his text was still on her mind. Her Internet searches reflected that, as did the several minutes she spent each day wistfully staring at her messaging app. Was she trying to will the message to magically reappear? Or was she wondering—maybe even hoping—she’d receive another one?
Considering the frequency with which those wistful moments were followed by Katie teasing her clit to orgasm, he strongly suspected that her interest in a follow-up message had little to do with a desire to obtain evidence to allow her to report her situation more credibly to the police. No, it was clear that the thought of being kidnapped by someone who knew what she needed and was prepared to give it to her was deeply arousing for his naughty girl.
She wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
He was already standing outside her door, which had been unlocked by an override of the digital lock system used by her apartment complex.
Her life was about to change forever, and he planned to make sure it was for the better.
Katie awoke and immediately knew something was wrong. Several things, in fact. Everything around her was dark, and at first she assumed there’d been a power outage, but then she recognized the feeling of cloth over her eyes and realized instantly that she’d been blindfolded. That was definitely not a good start, but things rapidly worsened from there.
She was lying on her back with her arms stretched above her head, and when she tried to pull them down toward her, she quickly discovered that her wrists were bound together and anchored to whatever she was laying upon, locking her arms in place. She then tried to flip herself over, only to find that what seemed like straps had been placed across her body, one over her chest just above her breasts, another just below her breasts, and yet another over her waist.
But even that wasn’t the most disturbing part. Because unlike her back, her legs were not lying flat against the table. They were lifted, bent at the knees, and spread wide apart, and they had been placed into what seemed like some sort of madman’s version of gynecological stirrups. The metal half-cylinders extended from just above her heels to the backs of her knees, and freeing her legs was impossible, she quickly recognized, because they too had been strapped firmly in place.
To top it all off, while she could feel that her panties were still on, she didn’t seem to be wearing anything else, and her nearly bare body was covered only by a sort of scratchy, thin cloth that seemed almost like one of those cheap hospital blankets. The bottom edges of the blanket tickled her naked thighs in a way that indicated that while her panty-clad pussy was currently protected from view, it was only just barely so. Things were even worse at the top, where she could feel the sheet’s slightly frayed edge resting a scant inch or two above her nipples. It was rather diabolical really, because while she was fairly confident that thrashing about would be futile when it came to freeing her from her bonds, it would inevitably result in her currently covered nipples ending up fully exposed for the viewing pleasure of whatever psychopath had tied her up here.
Then it hit her.
She knew damn well who had tied her up. It was whoever had sent that mysterious text a few weeks back. She had no memory of being stripped and restrained, so he must have drugged her in some way, and while she couldn’t tell absolutely for certain due to her blindfold, she was pretty fucking sure was not in her cute little apartment anymore.
Having assessed her situation to the best of her ability, Katie tried to consider her next move, but instead panic won out and she began to thrash against her bonds, desperately struggling to free herself.
This had exactly the effect she had feared. She had zero success whatsoever in gaining her freedom or even seeming to loosen her restraints the tiniest bit, but she had significantly more success when it came to baring her own nipples. By the time she gave up her struggles, the blanket was still clinging to her right breast enough to give her the slightest shred of modesty, but her left was not so lucky, and she could feel the cool air of the room prickling up goosebumps on the naked flesh of that achingly stiff nipple.
This asshole is going to feed you to his pet alligator or something, and you’re worried that he’s going to see your tits?
Rational or not, she was worried, not to mention humiliated by the thought of being so utterly on display. It wasn’t just her nipple either, she realized instinctively. While the placement of the blanket had been precarious as far as her modesty was concerned, the way it hinted at future exposure seemed precise rather than random. Preserving some tiny bit of her dignity now allowed that privilege to be withdrawn later at her captor’s discretion. He clearly wanted her to anticipate what she assumed was her inevitable exposure while still leaving her with enough modesty for the moment, so when that exposure came it would deliver the full level of humiliation it warranted.
Or, you know, he’s just going to feed you to that alligator, and it gets terrible indigestion if it eats too much denim and cotton blend.
Her inner voice was in a particularly macabre mood today, but in fairness, she could understand where it was coming from. At the same time, for reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself, she felt a sense of nervous anticipation, and even more strangely, a sort of warm feeling in the core of her being. Part of it was arousal, she realized, but there was more to it than that. It was as if during her drug induced sleep, her subconscious mind had processed her interactions with her presumed kidnapper and concluded that he didn’t seem like the psycho-killer type. How exactly it had come to that conclusion was not information to which her conscious mind was privy, and in fact she was more than a little skeptical, but the feeling was there regardless.
In any case, she knew that whatever came next would irrevocably change the course of her life… and a part of her that had long been locked away seemed excited by that prospect.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by footfalls that seemed to be crossing the room toward her before stopping next to her head.
Was it possible to come just from the sound of a man’s voice? She wouldn’t have thought so, but despite every disturbing aspect of her current situation, she felt her pussy clench at just those two words. His voice was deep. Not Johnny Cash deep, but deep, and yet also mellifluous in a way that seemed to indicate sophistication.
So your kidnapper is a man of refinement… wonderful.
“Who… who are you?” she asked in reply, her voice quavering.
“You’ll learn my name eventually, but it’s not important right now. For the moment, just call me doctor.”