Nightmare of Vengeance

Chapter One – Prologue-3

I hadn’t come since my ordeal began and for a long while I wasn’t sure I could. Despite the fact that my body was aroused, fear was clenched up tight inside my belly, preventing me from losing control. Even with the vibrating dildos, I clung to that fear, afraid of what it might mean if I let go.

I felt the fire of whips, the sting of the crop, the cutting pain from a cane thwacked across my ass, and the brutality of the clamps as they tightened intensely on my n*****s. At first it was one, then two, then all three men, all at once terrorizing my vulnerable flesh. Pain crashed through me, at the same time the vibrators pulsed inside my body’s deepest places. My mind struggled to stay in control though the effort was truly pointless. Soon I was thrashing madly inside my bonds, my body tearing back and forth as much as the tethers would allow. I wanted these miserable moments over. I wanted the beating to stop, for the pain to end. Yet, somewhere in the melee of that rein of terror, what was sane in me checked out. My control fell at my feet, useless now. The crop, the cane and the relentless whip finally drove me to the edge, and the ruthless vibrations forced me beyond the threshold into a savage climax.

There was no gag, no sticky tape across my mouth. They must have wanted me to scream because they did nothing to stop me. The sound of my angry orgasm assaulted my ears, and the way my body wrenched to milk every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm began to hurt as much as their determined beating.

That’s when the torture finally ended.

They must have gotten what they were after – my complete capitulation. Although by then I didn’t care.

The rest of the day and night were given over to the use of my body. My orgasm no longer mattered to these men. In fact, nothing about me mattered to them; I was their cunt, their ass, their mouth to use, and all them did a damn good job of doing that in the hours that followed. Between the blowjobs and my torture, they’d built themselves into a frenzy, that needed to be sated. While I was forced to go from man to man, I clung to the knowledge that eventually this abuse had to end. This was all I had to keep me sane.

I must have passed out. When I awakened in a groggy stupor hours later, another day had dawned with an explosion of brilliant sunshine bursting in through the cabin’s east facing window. For the first time in days, my eyes were free to open on the world around me. No gag, no duct tape, no restraints. I lay on the cot where I slept naked – the blanket must have slipped off during the night. Beside me on a chair were my neatly folded jeans and t-shirt; my boots were on the floor beneath. There was not a sign of the men, or that the cabin had ever been inhabited. Dust gathered in the corners, cobwebs dangled from the ceiling. The air smelled stale and old.

Buoyed by my resurgent desires to escape, I gingerly crept to the windows and looked out in two directions, seeing no one – no car, no truck or any sign of my captors. I wasted no time and speedily slipping into my clothes, I ran for the door. The sooner I departed the sooner I could put the past two days behind me.

I could have made a clean exit, but I was brought up short at the cabin door. With my hand about to turn the knob, I found myself barely able to understand what greeted me. I backed up, my jaw dropped in horror. A queasy feeling of dread grabbed me in the gut as my eyes fixed on a black and white photograph that had been tacked to the door. I stared at it for maybe sixty seconds trying to get a fix on what I was seeing. Then my head started throbbing, bile rose up from a sour stomach, and all the tears that I’d been holding back for forty-eight hours came pouring from my eyes.

Dear god! This couldn’t be! No, please! But as much as I tried to will it away the reality was staring me in the face.

It was an explanation for all the suffering I endured, but what a hellish, freaky explanation it was.

Consumed by emotions too difficult to name, I tore the picture from the door, burst from the cabin and instinctively took off toward the river. I felt certain that if I just started running I’d find my camp, and that is exactly what happened. When I at last arrived, I dove into the tent and slumped onto the undisturbed sleeping bag, as if that would give me comfort from what I faced now, the black and white glossy still clutched in my hand, crumpled but still intact.

As much as I wanted to erase the memory of that image from my mind, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the picture. I smoothed the photograph over my lap and studied it carefully, trying to turn it into something that it was not and tell myself that it couldn’t be true. It would have been almost poetic for my captors to have photographed me, then presented me with a keepsake for all the long hours of disgusting abuse. I would have been lucky if the circumstances were that straightforward. But one glance at the photograph told a tale far more foul; this one filled with passion and fury that was as sobering as it was understandable.

For the umpteenth time in forty-eight hours, a cold chill ran up my spine.

I looked at the image one more time, maybe hoping that it would miraculously change. But there again was my nude body and my unambiguous face staring back at me: a c**k at my lusting lips, another ramming into my back door, a look of s****l bliss in my hooded eyes. A picture like this might well have been taken the previous night, certainly I’d been that well screwed in that same kind of demeaning way. But there was no blindfold in this picture, and it was clear to see that I was not in the rustic hunting cabin but inside the crisp sophistication of an executive office suite, getting doubled f****d while a third man with a face too blurry to recognize looked on.

It didn’t matter that none of the three men could be identified.

I knew the office. I knew the men who f****d me and I knew the man looking on.

The two c***s belonged to a couple of horny guys who happened to stumble on a hot after hour’s office party. The man looking on was Jon Ryder, my former boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Was that how I really thought of him? Who was I trying to kid? Ryder wasn’t just my boyfriend, and I didn’t exactly ‘break-up’ with him in the usual sense.

Ryder was my fiancé. In fact, he nearly was my husband.

Our wedding went off without a hitch until that part about my strolling gracefully up the aisle in the designer wedding gown to repeat my vows.

No, I didn’t just break up with Ryder, I left him standing at the alter.