Carried Away

My life vanished three years ago, the winter I moved to Charleston. My first semester as a college junior, I transferred to be near Chris. We had broken up earlier. My ambivalence about his lifestyle shattered our relationship. This time I had vowed to make it work. Still, our renewed lives proved tense.

Chris suggested a weekend on the coast. We dined at a café near the beach. Chris's cousin owned it. A buff, hearty man with a thick Greek accent, he wrapped me in his arms when we arrived and introduced himself to me as Yannis. He escorted us to the patio.

The evening was crisp with a slight chill in the air. The ocean breeze combined deliciously with the scents of autumn. Chris seemed distant for the first time since we reunited.

Yannis showered me with praise and smiles. Perversely, my stomach clenched, my temples tightened for I was afraid Chris might take it wrong. But he hardly seemed to notice. So I smiled as Yannis spent half the evening at our table. We talked and drank.

When Yannis saw me shiver, he went in the back and dug up a wool sweater for me to use. A perfect host, a steady stream of lamb dishes, roasted vegetables, and stuffed grape leaves flowed onto our checkered table. Yannis forced me to try Retsina. I grimaced but choked down the resinated wine. He laughed. Even Chris, who stood off talking into his cell phone, spared me a wry grin.

Eventually, the café closed. Yannis locked the door. We drank more wine and Ouzo. Finally, we had to leave. I excused myself. The restroom was blue tile and green towels. In the mirror, I examined my body trying for answers in the mirror. My skin is soft and smooth, so fair, like a baby's. My face looks wan.

I wore a conservative white blouse and plaid skirt. Underneath was a black silk corset with ribbons. It encircled my bust, and tapered my already narrow waist, accentuating my hips. My breasts are small, but shapely underneath the corset that squeezed them tightly together. I wore shoes with stiletto heals, giving me stature. I dressed for Chris's pleasure.

Pulling lipstick from my purse, I colored my soft, succulent lips. I thickened my eyelashes with mascara, and brushed my long hair, leaving it to lie softly around my shoulders. I sprayed vanilla perfume between my breasts and behind my ears. His chosen scent, it once seemed odd, but now wearing it is as natural as breathing.

I loved him so. We left the café to walk along the beach on our way back to the motel. Chris pulls me off to the side and points up into the hills. I can barely make out a half-built construction. I think the wood and concrete frame is intended for someone's home.

We walk up to it. It is empty. He leads me onto the darkened concrete foundation. I am nervous. He moves close. His hand sketches the contours of my body. He gently caresses my shoulders. I look up, eyes glistening, nearly in tears. He moves his hand to my neck, caressing my delicate skin. With two fingers, he encompasses the circumference of my neck, pressing gently, possessively, a lovers touch. My eyes burn with desire, for what I am not sure. "My princess under glass," he says.

I look up curiously. My hands caress his back muscles, his warm, broad shoulders. I inhale his scent. I swear eternal love.

He turns me in his arms. He holds my wrists behind me. And I shiver as he snaps handcuffs in place, knowing I must prove my love. I feel his arousal press into me from behind. I feel helpless, scared, excited all at the same time. I know the risk. We trespass on another's property. But I want to show him my faith and trust. When we reunited, I signed a covenant for him. I granted him complete control over my body. Now I prove those words to him.

He guides me to a beam. I rest on it, balancing as best I can. He slides my skirt up around my thighs. His fingers caress my buttocks, sending a shiver through me. He unclips my silk stockings. My breath constricts as I feel a cold blade against my skin. He slices my panties away. He blindfolds me.

I listen as he brushes the area where I stand clean of debris bound. He removes my shoes. I step from my stockings. The concrete chills my feet. I curl my toes against its roughness.

I gasp when his fingers slide into my sex, but then bite my lip. Despite the cold, my skin feels feverish. Sweat rolls down my back and pearls up on my face. His fingers ripple over my body as if he played a piano. He kisses the back of my neck. I turn toward him. He pulls at my tongue gently with his mouth. His hands continue there magic. I pant, my sighs grow loud, and my knees buckle.

He catches me. His breathing is labored. He leans into me. I press back. I smell the starch of his shirt, his aftershave. He has me kneel. I look up questioning. He whispers, "You aren't done yet." His hands go to my ankles. He chains them together.

"Open your mouth," he whispers. I obey but I want to cry. I want this to be over. When he slips something soft and rubbery into my mouth I briefly panic. The gag reflex kicks in as he twists something underneath my hair, snapping it into place behind my neck.

He never silenced me before.

I hear his steps fade away. His scent lingers. I tug futilely at the cuffs. I feel abandoned. I toss my head. I cry softly.

Time stretches as I wait for his return. I don't know if twenty minutes or an hour goes by. The cold cools whatever ardor remains and I shiver. I think I hate Chris. I may not forgive him after he frees me.

Suddenly, I hear the rustling of falling leaves. I tell myself the wind kicked up. Footsteps? I freeze. Yes, footsteps sound on the concrete foundation.

My sudden hope turns to terror though. I bite my lip, causing a drop of blood to well up, mixing with the moisture of my mouth. The salty, metallic taste spreads like a visceral foreboding over my tongue. Chris wears loafers. These steps sound heavier, like work boots.

Blindfolded, I cannot see, but my eyes stray nervously from side to side as if I had vision. Panic sends mental images of rape and murder flashing through my mind. Dead without underwear in some ditch is how the headline will read. I'm so my mother's daughter, if my hands had been free, doubtless, I would have tugged at my skirt, now bunched up my thighs. Instead, I pulled at the handcuffs and clenched my thighs together.

I could have tried to stand. I could see myself hopping away like a giant bunny. But if it was Chris, I'd look the fool. If it was someone else, I'd draw attention to my plight.

The steps paused before me. Heavy breathing fractured the air. An older man, I wondered, out of breath. He smelled of tobacco, cigar smoke maybe, not the acrid smell of a cigarette, but a pungent, almost sweet scent.

I would have begged, offered money. I would have tried to explain my state. But those words remained unspoken. I broke into gagged sobs, tears streaming down my face. A heavy hand roughly patted my head. "Shh, don't cry," a deep male voice cooed.

A moment later he flipped me to the ground, straddling my body, pinning my arms to my sides with his knees. "Lets get you bundled up," he said. Dazed, it took precious seconds for panic to rise up. I began to struggle and writhe as he wrapped me in something. Tighter and tighter, he bound me in sheeting. It circled my chest, above and below my breasts, cutting into my shoulders, constricting my every movement.

"That ought to keep you quiet," a man's deep voice told me. "I'll be a moment sweetheart." I realize bitterly that I had been incredibly foolish. I listen as he walks off a short distance. His voice rumbles conversationally, but I can only make out, "we're clear now."

His heavy steps spoke of his return. Madly, I struggle. Its useless but I cannot help myself. He stands there. Finally, I admit what I knew when I began and fall still.

At five foot seven, I'm not small, though, I lost weight this past year, trying to satisfy Chris's need for me to have a boyishly slim figure. But though I weighed less than the one hundred and thirty pounds at which I started the year, my thighs and hips could never be lean enough for his pleasures. Nonetheless, this man lifted me easily and slung me up and over his shoulders.

I soon heard a chain rattle and then another metallic sound. I felt other hands helping to carry me. The two moved me up steps. I cried in pain as my head hit something hard.

"Sorry love," the voice said. Objects soft and hard brushed my body as they carried me. Eventually they laid me disoriented upon a softness that suggested a bed. Soon an engine started and then movement, a motor home perhaps.

My head was lifted and I felt a kiss press against my forehead. Then headphones slid over my ears. The engine noise faded to into a heavenly voice, the voice of Charlotte Church singing Summertime. Her voice looped continuously around that one lovely song.

I had intermittent panic attacks as hours passed. My head felt like it flew free from my body. I itched. And eventually, I urinated into the blanket and welcomed the discomfort it brought. When I finally felt a touch at my shoulder, I felt only relief.

They lifted me again and carried me. While they did so, it was blissful silence. But after they placed me down, Charlotte Church's voice soon returned. I don't know how much time passed before I felt him again at my shoulder. He slid the headphones off. "Lass," he said. "I'll remove the gag and unwrap you, but if you say a single word, even a syllable, it goes on and stays on till we take permanent measures."

Blindly I nodded. My tongue felt swollen and my throat dry. I gasped when he removed the rubbery ball. But otherwise, I stayed silent. He then unwound the sheeting from my body. He undid the bond that held my ankles. Free, except for the blindfold and handcuffs, he led me into another room. I felt dizzy, my legs wobbled.

"This is a toilet here," he said. "Take care of your business."

I blushed but I sat. He cleaned me after. He then helped me stand. Holding my elbow, he had me step up and over something. Plastic sheeting brushed my face as I did so.

I cried as his hands began to undress me. My skirt soon puddled at my feet. He undid the corset chosen for Chris. I knew it left angry marks on my skin. "Hush," he said even as his fingers worked the buttons of my blouse. I reached up to remove the blind fold.

His grip tightened. "No," he said firmly. Lifting my wrists above my head, he snapped shut a pair of handcuffs. I tugged not to escape, merely testing the boundaries.

A moment later I cried out in shock as icy water hit me. As his hands briskly soaped me, I drank in the falling water.

He toweled me dry and then asked me to close my eyes. He replaced my blindfold with another. Taking me by the arm, he led me out of the bathroom and back to my room. When I heard a chain rattle, I went mad momentarily. I lashed out and began to struggle. At least two men quickly subdued me. I was chained.

"God no," I cried out. "Please don't wrap me up again."

The man's heavy body covers mine. His beard brushes my cheek. My belly churns erratically. I feel a nervous urge to laugh. He raises my head with a pillow. The gesture oddly comforts me. Fingers trace my breasts. The gesture is as light as a breeze. He digs a thumb into my ribcage. I flinch though it does not hurt. My face turns blindly upward. His face brushes against mine. He removes my gag. "Quiet," he whispers.

I breathe freely and it feels glorious. He bites my lower lip. His breath is warm. It smells of breath mints and garlic, not overpoweringly so. He begins to massage my feet and legs, his hands roam my stomach and breast, my arms and hands. He is slick with some lubricant. It smells of jasmine. His hands are warm against my body.

He rubs the scented oil behind my ears. He presses his body against mine and I feel his rough clothing against my naked body. His beard chafes my face. His hands slide underneath me to squeeze my ass. He slips lower, clenching the back of my thighs.

I clasp them together in a weak gesture. He laughs. I feel him clip something onto my nipples. There is no pain, but it sends a sensation prickling through my body, an almost electrical feeling.

He stands and I hear him disrobe. When he next presses against my body he is naked. I feel his cock heavy against my stomach, pressing into me. I cannot stop crying. I have been with two men in my life. He becomes my third as he guides his lance into me. I feel a slight pain, but nothing terrible. "I won't hurt you little one," he said. I feel sadness wrench my heart as he moves slowly within me. His body rubs against my oiled body. He toys briefly with the clips, which sends interesting shocks through me.

The tip of his fingers passes over my lips, massaging them before entering my mouth. His moaning communicates his excitement to me. I cannot help myself. His excitement spreads and I shift as he pierces my body.

When he finishes, he removes the clips and the men take me again to the bathroom. They clean me. I separate them mentally into big and small, heavy and lithe, strong and clumsy. When they return me to the room, they again wrap me in sheeting. I am horrified and struggle but soon I lie still within my cocoon.

I am not gagged this time. I feel grateful after I am calm enough to think. "You may scream, but if you become annoying, we gag you," he says. And I believe. He slides the headphones over my ears and Summertime washes over me.

Time blur. When not gagged I talk even though I cannot hear my own words. I ramble through bits of poetry. I sing along with Charlotte Church. I curse Chris. And I cry, a lot. Intermittently, he unwraps me.

He fucks me. He feeds me by hand. He bathes me. He cleans me and then he wraps me again. When I struggle as I must from time to time, the other man joins him. I come to crave these moments when I am free to move, these moments when he cares for me, because it tells me I'm real.

The day comes when he leads me to a chair. "Laura," he says. "You have to sign some documents for me." He guides my hand. I want to stab him with the pen. Instead I sign my name. Again and again, I sign my name not knowing what I sign. He takes the pen. Naked I sit until he returns.

When he removes my blindfold the light hurts my eyes. "I've dimmed the light," he says. "Let your eyes adjust." When I finally see, Yannis stands before me. My heart breaks, but I am not surprised. Yannis, Chris's bluff, hearty cousin owns me now. His short gray beard has scratched my face. His muscular arms have carried me.

I knew his voice, I think I may have always known. "Why," I ask.

"Chris did not deserve you," Yannis said. "I won't wrap you again unless you force it." You cannot believe how my heart leaped at those words. My hands trembled.

"No," I said. "I won't." I looked around. The light was very dim, but I saw he kept me in a room painted yellow.

"Your bathroom is there," he said with a gesture. "The green door you may not go through or even touch without punishment," he said. "And I will know."

I shuddered. He meant the wraps. "No, please no," I murmured. I reached out and ran my hand along his arm, my nails still a delicate shade of red from my last evening with Chris.

"Obey me," he said. "Ask no questions for I will not answer them and you will see your world of privileges expand."

"I will Yannis," I said. He smiled and I felt almost happy, except I couldn't stop this silly shaking.

"Let's go to bed now," he said. "After, you can shower and you'll find clothing in the dresser." I glanced around the room. I saw a delicate, yellow vanity with green flowers running along its side. "I'm trusting you Laura," he said. "If you betray my trust, we rewind the world."

"No," I said. "I won't do anything." He took my hand. We walked to the bed. "Can I look at you," I asked and blushed, the question seemed so ordinary.

"Certainly, my love," he said. I stared up at him from where I sat on the bed. He had gray eyes and a face earned from a life spent outdoors. He was handsome for a man of his age, powerful and healthy.

I watch as he undresses. He is overweight but not terribly so. I unabashedly examine his cock, heavy and engorged. He is uncircumcised and I wonder over its pointed cap, so different than that of my previous lovers. And then a blush betrays my thought as I feel heat run down my face to my neck. I now think of this man as my lover. And I feel so grateful to see him, to hear him, to feel this bed.

He slowly reaches out and begins to stroke me. The gentlest brushing of his fingers against my arms and belly. I feel a tear fall from my eye to my cheek. But I smile up at him, naked in bed with my lover. He covers me, his feet touch my feet. His toe nails feel rough against my skin. His lips run along my jaw line. His breath dances along my neck as he takes my earlobe in his teeth, lightly. Every touch is intense.

He pressed me down against the bed and I part my thighs. He slides into me and I sigh happily. I can see and hear and touch and feel and that freedom means more to me than anything just now.