Well and Truly Caught

Content Warning: Well and Truly Caught is a real-life, consensual non-consent scenario that may be difficult for some readers. Please enjoy at your own risk.

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The day starts like any other. I wake, make breakfast, then straighten the bed. He tells me to get dressed; choose something easy to remove. I don’t question it, simply allow the order to wash over me. What does he have planned? I gave up trying to figure out his strategy long ago. Never do my imaginings match reality.

A simple tank and shorts, sans bra and a sheer pair of panties, and I’m dressed. Orders like these end in sex. Hard, fast, and uninhibited. No reason to create obstacles with clothing. They’ll only get destroyed in the process. A lesson taught time and time again.

With nothing but a nod, he opens the door, and just as silent, I follow in bare feet, my eyebrow rising when a quick jaunt ends at the car. A peaceful drive in the Country, He says. I know it will be anything but. Sure, the drive will be pleasant, tranquil even. But it’s a ruse, designed to make me drop my guard and lower my defenses. I know this, and yet, I relax with every minute and every mile behind us.

When the car stops, I take in the scenery. We’ve arrived in the exact middle of nowhere. The road is gravel, not maintained. Potholes reminiscent of craters litter the tree-lined lane. And the silence, it’s profound, surreal, deafening. I look at him, raising my eyebrow in question. Inside my chest, my heart beats a rapid staccato. Something inside me senses danger. Whether imagined or real, only time will tell.

He stares back, then reaches into the backseat, his eyes never leaving mine. Calmly, he grasps my hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my head so his lips rest against my ear. Coolly, almost detached, he growls, I’ll give you a head start. Then he reaches over, opens the door and all the while looking me in the eye, tells me to Run.

I don’t hesitate. Whatever he has planned is on a whole new level and even though I’m excited to see how it plays out, my flight or fight response is in full force. My heart pounds and adrenaline courses through my veins. I’ll have a head start, is the only thought I need to flee, and flee, I do.

I cringe when my heels collide with loose gravel and reed like grasses lash me feet to thighs. Ahead, boulders encompass a clearing and I aim for it, knowing he’s still in the car, unable to follow this path. I may have a chance, even if for a moment. Behind me I hear the car’s idling cease and then a door slam. Well, shit!

Through the clearing is the forest, full, dense, and dark. Trees -hundreds of years old- reach for the sky, the canopy creating a blanket of shadows beneath. I practically dive into the blackness, hoping for a reprieve, a moment to catch my breath and form a plan. A twig to my left snaps and I swing my head but can see nothing. Faster, I press farther into the darkness, arms out before me, stumbling before I fall heavily as my feet snag roots and tangle with the underbrush.

He approaches from behind, grasping my arms in a rough hold, pulling me tight to his powerful frame. I twist and buck, turn and kick, but his only reply is a slight chuckle as the tips of his fingers dig into my flesh.

No words are uttered, none are needed. I know what he wants, what he’s come to claim. His arousal nudges my ass, groping hands palm my breasts, squeezing painfully before letting up. Ragged breaths tear from his throat, hot air washing over me as my hands are secured.

With a sharp tug, cool air laps at my nipples, my spine, and he pulls my top over my eyes. Tied tight behind my head, it muffles all sound, blinds me to all sight, and panic overtakes me. I struggle harder, fight daringly, but nothing but a gleeful vibration of laughter greets me.

Even tied, stripped and at his mercy, I struggle against him. Where will you go? He asks me, mockery lacing his words. You’re bound, blindfolded. Do you think you could get far? Should I let you go, so I can chase you again? It was fun, I’ll have to admit. I think you liked it too.  

I want to deny it and begin to shake my head, uttering No repeatedly, until it sounds like a mantra. In one swift move, I’m divested of my shorts. His fingers dip below the waistband of my sheer panties-of which now I’m regretting- and I struggle anew, then groan as his digits slide through my slick heat. There’s no point in refuting my arousal now. He knows all he needs. He pumps into me once, twice, then pulls them out, chuckling as I sag in response to feeling empty. Even with my hearing muted, the telltale sound of him licking his fingers clean is clear and what moisture he may have wicked away is promptly replaced, the evidence of it coating my thighs.

Quickly, he binds my arms in front of me and with a sharp tug, I’m aware I should follow. I stumble along, tripping once, then twice before being told to Stop. I pull against my bonds, trying in vain to win my freedom. He responds by pulling the rope tighter, then says, you know I’d believe you want to get away, if it wasn’t for that tiny smile on your face.

It’s then I know, I’m well and truly caught.

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