Lost in Blue

I would like to give a special thanks to Yoni Noni for her editing assistance.

Something was not right. My body realized it, before my mind had fully escaped from the safety of sleep; still partially trapped in its soothing warmth. The silence was oppressive, pushing down on me as if it was a physical thing. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears; my own quick, agitated breathing, despite my attempts to calm myself.

My arms were stretched above my head, leather straps holding my wrists in place. It forced me to keep my shoulders back and my body taut, as I tried to take some of my own bodyweight away from my arms. If I hadn't felt so absolutely disorientated, and if the fear that had finally found its way through the numbness of sleep hadn't been slowly, almost languidly, leaving its trail of utterly, uncontrollable panic throughout my body, I would probably have started screaming at that point. Yet, as the reality of my situation swept over me, I knew that even if I had been able to force my throat, which felt tight with fear, to produce any sound, it wouldn't have helped. I was alone.

My long dark hair fell in thick, silky waves down my shoulders; the softness of it strangely comforting in its familiarity against my naked skin. The temperature, wherever I was, was a few degrees below what it should be, considering that I was completely naked. The cold only added to the confusion and the fear of being here, unable to move my hands or even to relieve some of the ache that was now starting to build in my strained muscles.

My stomach growled; a low, unsatisfied rumble with which it apparently wanted to indicate its own obvious displeasure at this whole freaky business. The so- familiar sound made a weird, almost hysterical laughter bubble up in my chest, and it was hard not to let it out. In the end what spilled from my lips was something vaguely resembling a sob and a giggle, sounding pitiful and lost.

Frankly, it was damn depressing that the growling of my stomach was what I chose to think about at that moment, when I had matters that were a lot more pressing to deal with. But it wasn't like I could do anything to get out of here, anyway. Hell, I didn't even know where I was.

"Please, someone let me out..."

It didn't come as a surprise that no one came to my rescue after I had asked them nicely, and I strained my exhausted mind instead, for clues on how I could have ended up here. It was as if I was trying to make my way through a hazy labyrinth of questions and vague details that didn't at all help me to form the answers I was desperately looking for, but I kept struggling to find some kind of explanation anyway. Knowing how I got here might actually help me form some kind of plan. At least, that is what I was hoping to accomplish.

I didn't even hear the footsteps; only the door being unlocked. Light flooded the darkness around me, and I squeezed my eyes closed so tightly it hurt, finding it more important to drown out the merciless glare of the light than to see the person that had just entered my space of imprisonment.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw him. He was leaning against the doorframe; a slight, somewhat amused smile playing on his lips. His lips were full; not full in a feminine kind of way, but in a masculine, sex-god kind of way. If I wasn't scared out of my mind, I might have played around with the image of those lips pressed hungrily against mine, if only in my head. Not this time, though. This time I only wanted to get out of here.

He looked familiar, though I didn't know why. I was 100 percent sure that I had never met this man in my life, and I have a pretty good memory when it comes to people. He didn't have the kind of appearance that stands out. Rather, he was handsome in a subtle, natural kind of way. You wouldn't spot him in the middle of a crowd, yet once you had, you would never forget him.

"Ahh, Kaira. I am glad you are awake. I was bored out of my mind."

My gaze left his mouth and flitted up to his eyes. Holy shit, his eyes. I had never seen anyone look at me like that, and hoped I never would again, if I ever got out of here alive. They were blue; not the tranquil kind of blue you see on beautiful summer days, when the waves are barely more than a ripple through the crystalline water. No, they were so much more than that. They were a passionate, churning kind of blue; the color of the ocean, when waves are crashing against the rocks, spraying their foam into the summer sky. They held the familiarity of a sweater that has been washed too many times, but that you can't throw out. And yet, there was another layer; one you couldn't see right away. It was something cold, calculating. It was the kind of chill that creeps into a murderer's gaze just before he kills. And those eyes were fixed on me with a ruthless intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Who are you, and how the hell do you know my name?"

I sounded like a little girl; insecure, scared and a little desperate. It awoke a calm, almost controlled rage deep inside of me, becoming stronger as I looked into the wild, endless blue of his eyes. But, I couldn't do anything with that rage. I was helpless, kneeling on the floor, my knees pressed painfully against cold stone and my arms secured above my head. If only I could find a way to manipulate him into freeing me, I could push him against the doorframe, squeeze past him and .... And then what? I was trapped.

"We are going to play a game." He told me cheerily, his eyes sparkling and his demeanor calm and relaxed. A game? What the hell was he talking about?

"Okay, these are the rules," he said.. You don't move, and I do to you whatever I feel like doing. Sound good?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but continued explaining the rules of his sick, twisted game, as if I was a child and he the favorite uncle.

"If I get the proof that I am looking for, then you may go. If I however, do not get that proof, then you are just a little, naive girl, and don't deserve a second chance."

Second chance? What did he mean with that? What the fucking hell did he mean with that?!

I only saw it for a fraction of a second; that pitying, soft gaze with which he regarded me. Then he switched off the lights and we were both enveloped in utter darkness, the door closing with a soft, almost inaudible click.

He gathered my long hair together, draping it over one of my shoulders. I shivered at his touch, my body leaning to the side as I tried to avoid his hands. But I couldn't avoid them. He traced the little valley between my collarbone and my neck with a fingertip, caressing the skin almost lovingly, as his touch descended to the gentle curve of my left breast.

My emotions were conflicting with each other; rage and disgust mixed with a sick, twisted kind of thrill. This exact scene had been my fantasy for a long time. I had described it to people, my fingers painting a picture for them, and trying to put this exact thrill into words. None of them ever understood. And now I was here, desperate and helpless. Now I finally realized why they hadn't been able to understand. I was sick; riding the exquisite high of fear, and not understanding its consequences. I had been wishing for the wrong things, and now fate had given them to me.

Suddenly, his hand cupped my breast and squeezed, eliciting a gasp from me. His fingers twisted my nipple cruelly, the pain tingling through my breast and, against my will, awakening my inner masochist. His nails raked across the tender skin and his lips pressed against my neck.

"Do you want more?"

His voice was husky; a mixture of passion and satisfaction at my lack of resistance. But, it was impossible to resist; that is what I kept telling myself. It wasn't true. I could rebel mentally, and I knew I could. Part of me just didn't want to.

His fingers caressed me, squeezed and pulled. Then, his hand slid further down, over my stomach and between my legs. Fingers pressed against the tight warmth of my sex, and I felt humiliated, all too aware of the wetness there. He relished it, in the proof that my body was disobeying me. His fingers slid inside my pussy, and he moved them in and out in a tantalizing, torturous rhythm that made my heart pound so furiously that it felt like it would beat right through my chest.

"Well?"

I shook my head, nodded, and realized that he couldn't see me.

"No," I said, trying to ignore the tingling of my nipples, which were still hard from his former treatment, and the way his fingers felt inside of me. "No, I don't want more. I want you to ..."

*Smack*. His palm hit my cheek, leaving that side of my face burning.

"What the..."

"Don't lie, slut. Do you think I'm stupid? I can feel what this is doing to you. I know what you want, because you have fucking told me everything."

Told him everything? I hadn't told him anything, I had hardly spoken to him. He was seriously crazy.

Then I felt it; the cold, steel touch of a knife against my breast. Instead of screaming I froze, unable to produce any sound, and I knew that no one would hear me anyway. I was alone, and this man was holding a knife to my skin.

The cold, chilly touch of the steel caressed my breast. He wasn't pressing the sharp edge against my skin, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't, later. His other hand was still occupied, his fingers moving in and out of my pussy, flicking my clit from time to time. My body was so confused, my skin flushed with the heat of passion, of desire, but my mind wasn't following. It was still trapped in the fear that the knife pressed to my flesh provoked within me.

The steel traveled tantalizingly slow to the other breast, pressing against my puckered nipple as his fingers slid out of the warmth of my sex. He circled my swollen clit, covering it in my own wetness. I hardly even felt the humiliation of it anymore; I was too scared. Maybe also too excited, but I didn't want to admit that to myself at all. I wondered if he knew; he probably did.

"Do you want more?" he asked again, his voice dangerously calm.

"N ... no." I replied, fully aware that I had probably just given him the wrong answer.

He shifted the knife and the edge was pressed against my flesh. He moved it down over my stomach, not pressing it deep enough to pierce the skin, but it had the desired effect. I was so scared, the thrill of my fear mixing with the tingling of my clit as he flicked it, the sharp sting of his fingernail pressing against the highly sensitive bundle of nerves.

He rested the flat side of the blade against my pussy and left it there, his other hand squeezing my breasts once more and taking my sensitive nipples between his fingertips one by one, before pulling them painfully.

"I am going to tell you something, Kaira, and you are going to listen very carefully," he said, matter-of-factly, pulling my nipple again and pressing the blade against my pussy lips more firmly.

I felt weak with panic, no longer supporting my own weight, but letting the ropes pull on my arms to keep me upright.

"We know each other. We have been talking to each other, albeit through text, for over half a year. You were extremely naïve to be so careless, giving me enough details to puzzle out where you live. You have told me about every secret desire that you have, giving me just as much control over your mind as over your body. Let this fear that you feel, right now, be a lesson for you to be extremely careful from now on."

He paused, emphasizing his words by pressing the sharp edge of the knife ever so lightly against my sex.

"I intend you no harm, but I could have. If I had wanted to injure you, Kaira, then I could have. I could even have killed you. Let that be really, really clear."

I wanted to open my mouth in protest. I didn't even know if I believed him. Yet, he must be Ryan, the man who I had been talking to for so long. A stranger couldn't have known all these things about me. Finally, it started to make sense; every detail was so carefully planned and shaped to fit my fantasies that it couldn't have been a co-incidence. Yet a trace of fear remained. I was still bound, in the dark, with a complete stranger who was pressing a knife to my pussy.

"If you had given in to your body, then I would have lost all respect for you. There is a big difference between fantasizing about these things and actually letting them happen without realizing the dangers. But you were afraid, I could feel it. I can still feel your hesitation to accept that you are safe. I am glad that you are more realistic than I thought."

He was right. Even though some secret part of me had been aching; had been yearning to give into the moment and embrace how turned on it had made me, I had been scared. I wasn't sure what I felt. Looking back, I should probably have been mad at him, or even pressed charges. But he had taught me a lesson that I would never, ever forget.

"I can either release you right now and we will never see each other again, or I can give you what you are craving, in the full knowledge that you are safe with me. I'll be fine with either answer."

I hesitated, my heart pounding furiously. I wanted him. I had wanted him this whole time. Yet now, the blanket of fear had been pulled away and all my other feelings and desires started to come to the surface, and there was no question anymore in my mind.

"Please take me."

The moment felt oddly surreal, as if I was a mere character in a book and someone had decided to skip a few chapters. It left me confused and disorientated; the fear that I had felt before, still imprinted deep within me, where it would probably always remain.

Part of me craved for this all to be over; for the familiarity of my boring, yet now so attractive life to resume. Yet, I also yearned for what would follow; my body longing for the consequences of my somewhat rash, yet so thrilling decision. I wanted his hands all over my body, his piercing gaze locked with mine. I longed to see the sadist step out from behind the persona that I imagined him to be in his daily life. Though this man had terrified me more than I had ever been before, he was still the dominant that I had talked to for so long. And again, I yearned for that thrill of fear and sexual-tension, my mind yielding to the person that could, and would give me that.

He released me, my arms tingling and my muscles aching when he did. The hallway that lead away from the darkness of where I had been bound felt strange; so ordinary that it was unsettling. I didn't know what I had expected, but the thought that Ryan had a normal house where he lived a normal life just contrasted so much with my 'captor,' which had been my first impression of him.

Once again I was bound, only now the comfortable softness of the four-poster bed that I had been positioned on was pressing against my back. It felt much better than the cold stone of the floor that I had been kneeling on, and I almost felt like I could relax. Almost: because Ryan was still the same man as earlier, even though the situation was a lot more comfortable. He regarded me with those strange blue eyes; the hint of coldness still there, hidden behind a genuine concern for my well-being. Instead of scaring me, now his intense gaze made my nipples harden and a tantalizing longing erupted in my stomach.

"Do you trust me?"

His question was absurd, after everything that we had been through. Yet it sounded reassuring, more like a gentle, authoritative caress than I had thought possible.

"Yes," I said, and that was all he needed.

"If you want me to stop, call, 'red.'. I will stop right away, but I'll only stop if you say the word."

The darkness returned, now in the form of soft fabric that he secured with gentle, yet very confident motions over my eyes. It felt like all my other senses suddenly became a lot more intense and focused, relaying information to me that I wouldn't have picked up before; the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved around, a light sound as if jewelry was being picked up, and a brief pause, as if it was being studied closely. Then, the faint whisper of his breath against my naked skin, causing slight goose bumps to appear.

Sharp and unexpected, a clip was secured to my puckered nipple. It was the kind of pressure I knew from clothespins, only this was a different kind of material. It felt cold, kind of like steel or something along those lines. The pain tingled through my breast, and I loved it. My nerves rejoiced in the sensation, the line between pain and pleasure nearly invisible. I pressed my shoulders into the matrass under me, my muscles tense and the sharp sting of the clamp slowly fading to a delicious ache. Again, the sharp sting, now on the other nipple. A fingertip was brushed ever so lightly over the sensitive area, and I moaned, my body pleading for him to touch me. I felt the cold touch of a delicate chain between my breasts, and he pulled on it slightly, almost causing me to beg him for more. Then there was nothing but my quick intakes of breath and the beating of my heart which, I thought, was so loud that he would be able to hear it pumping the endorphins through my veins.

For a moment, there was only anticipation; the longing only increasing in intensity as his touch remained absent. Then, something sharp, raking across my stomach and moving up to my breasts. I couldn't place it, didn't want to try. My body gave in to the delicious lack of control, and my mind soon followed.

His hands cupped my breasts, and I moaned as I felt how his fingers and nails dug into my skin. Then there was the unmistakable sensation of the tip of his tongue caressing my clamped nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive area around it, before his hands replaced it again. My body was reacting to him strongly and his hands became rougher, more urgent. He firmly pulled the delicate chain, and I gasped.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hands left my breasts and trailed down over my stomach, following the curve of my hips, and stroking my inner thighs. I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed him to grant me my release! I felt like I could cum at the mere thought of what he could do, and yet my orgasm was so far beyond my reach that I wanted to scream my frustration into the empty room surrounding us.

"Please, touch me, I want to cum, please, I need to ..."

The words that spilled from my lips were near unintelligible, only eliciting a low chuckle from him. Just like that, his touch disappeared, leaving my body burning with desire and my mind reeling. Why did he stop? How could I make him touch me again? He couldn't leave me like this, he wouldn't ...

"Fuck you!" I screamed.

My voice broke, my body shaking. The pain had been worse than when he had clamped my nipple, and I had no idea what he was doing. It was a sharp sting and it had left a thin line on my left breast where the skin still burned.

Again, the sting. It left a line of fire just below the first, and again I screamed.

"Fucking asshole!" I screamed again.

"Fuck you, or fucking asshole for that matter, are not your safe word as far as I know." He said.

His voice sounded amused, and strangely excited at the same time. The next time I felt the sting, it was against my nipple, hitting the side of the clamp. I finally started to realize what it was, though it was almost too absurd to believe that a simple, harmless elastic band would hurt that fucking much. He continued like that, leaving five perfect lines decorating both breasts. Though it still hurt a lot, the masochist in me rejoiced silently, endorphins leaving their sacred euphoria and flowing through my veins.

I felt him press the cold tip of what turned out to be a small vibrator against my clit, and I shivered, my body recognizing the sensation, and being familiar with what would come next. The toy was only on what was probably its lowest setting, and under other circumstances, I could have teased myself like that for a long time. Now though, that wouldn't be the case, and we both knew it. I wasn't one of those people that were, apparently, able to cum on pain alone, but it was close. Pain aroused me immensely, and with this added stimulation it wouldn't be long before my orgasm would be crashing over me without me being able to do anything about it. The thought of what Ryan would do if I came without his permission was both extremely thrilling and equally scary.