Rebecca Ch. 01

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Kidnapped young woman.
4.7k words
3.92
60.1k
25

Part 1 of the 7 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 08/01/2011
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It is mid afternoon on a summer day. The day of the week and the month of the year no longer matter to me, for I am imprisoned without hope of rescue. Freedom will come only if the man who has kidnapped me is exorcised of the demon that has possessed him and made me the victim of his odious desires.

I had fallen asleep to the sound of wind rustling through the leaves outside of the mountain redoubt in which I am being held captive. Before drifting off, I had marveled at the odd shadows cast by the sun through the wooden slats hammered haphazardly over the bedroom windows to prevent my escape into the deep forest that surrounds my captor's hideaway. I fantasized that I had been cast into a dark world by an evil sorcerer, and that if I could only remember the proper incantation, I would be magically transported back to my apartment in Pittsburgh.

There is not another house for miles. My captor's log cabin sits in a hollow along a stream and the dirt road that connects it to civilization meanders for miles from its juncture with a West Virginia country lane that is itself miles from a main highway. And, if the man I know as Garth's vigilant eye is somehow distracted permitting an escape attempt, what will the local farmers, deeply suspicious of outsiders and bearing a resentment of the yolk of government that goes back generations, think of the appearance of a big city Jewess in their midst?

My peaceful torpor is interrupted when my kidnapper bursts into the bedroom. I rub my eyes and look outside the doorway. That there is a noose dangling from a beam in the middle of the main room of the cabin doesn't surprise me. I know that momentarily I will come face to face with death.

It won't be the first time Garth has forced me to act out his lurid fantasy, which is to stage a mock execution, bringing his victim to the brink of death. As his victim, if his fantasy becomes to see me die, I will never know.

After being tortured by this monster for months, I no longer believe there to be an Eternal Reward; instead, only oblivion awaits one whose heart had stopped beating. Or, if my captor's beliefs hold true, one such as me is damned and will never see Paradise even if such a place exists.

I close my eyes, hoping that I can dream away what is about to happen. I dare not utter a protest, lest I be beaten; or worse, not rescued before it is too late.

"Wake up, you lazy bitch!"

My room is not much of a prison. The door to what once was the master bedroom is always left unlocked, as is the front door. When first brought here, I was locked in this room, chained hand and foot to the bed, and raped whenever my captor got the urge. But now only the isolation of this cabin in the southern Appalachian Mountains keeps me his prisoner.

I sit up in bed, and try to hinder my captor from fulfilling his fantasy by acting not angry or terrified but apathetic. I do not try to stifle the yawn that has resulted from my forced awakening.

"If you don't want to die, bitch, then I suggest you get with the program!"

"Get with the program," I mutter, mocking his use of a cliché just enough to raise his hackles but not sufficiently to elicit violence. I stand up. I am wearing only a tattered white tee shirt that covers my shoulders and extends to my upper thighs. Written in crimson across my breasts in cursive script are the words 'Atlanta Braves'.

I stand on my tiptoes to address my captor, who is clad in the brown short sleeve shirt and pants of a Nazi Storm Trooper. A red armband with a black swastika set in a circular white field adorns the sleeve over his hugely developed right biceps. On his shaved head sits a brown stovepipe hat regaled with the German Eagle insignia. Jackboots complete his anachronistic costume. I do not know if the Lugar in the holster on his hips is loaded.

He is a Nazi. In the early twenty-first century a tiny group of losers is kindling the embers that still smolder after the horrific war that had destroyed the most notorious group of evildoers of the previous century. I, a Jew, had been unlucky enough to be kidnapped by one such man when he needed a getaway car after a botched bank robbery.

"So what would you like me to do?" I whisper as I began to undo the buckle on his holster. He jerks away, but not before I give one stroke to the tumescent mass that has erupted in his crotch.

At first, sex with him had been rape. But compromises had to be made.

There are only two of us here, miles away from another human and hours away by automobile from any sizeable settlement, and only one form of recreation for a man and a woman living in such isolation. For him not to become insane hiding from the law as a recluse in the mountains and destroy us both, my body had to give him pleasure, and for my body to pleasure him I had to give myself to him willingly.

At first lying with him was odious, but as we shared our bodies, our hate began to dissipate. A spark of love has grown between us, which I struggle desperately to nurture.

"First of all, take off that mousy tee shirt!"

I leisurely pull my top off and stand naked before him. "If you'd buy me some nice things to wear around the house, you wouldn't see me in shit like this."

"You are an enemy of the Reich. You deserve only to wear rags!"

I puff my lips out as if pouting. Luckily for me, the Reich to which he referred was destroyed three generations ago and will never rise again. Or so I hope. "Well, you did get a few nice things for me. They're just not the kind of things that are comfortable for a girl to wear around the house. Would it please you if I put one of them on?"

"Stop mocking me, Jewess! Your insolence may cause your life to end today!"

He and I are trapped together, not unlike the characters in "Huis Clos." There is certainly no easy exit for either of us. But unlike those condemned in Sartre's play to eternally punish one another, I see the possibility of my captor's redemption.

I saunter over to the dresser drawer where I keep the few things I am able to call my own and take out a pair of black lace bikini panties and a matching brassiere.

I hold them up to the wannabe Jew killer. "What were you thinking about when you bought these for me? Or rather what was the saleslady thinking?"

Garth's face reddens. It will take only a little more provocation for him to strike me. But I know he will want to make love when he cuts me down after he's hanged me. So I chance that he will hold his temper or only rough me up a little if I continue to egg him on.

My captor remains silent. His eyes turn into angry beads.

"I know what she was thinking. That these are no where near your size!" I cackle.

"I ripped off the damn things!" he protests, and holds his hand up to strike me.

I wave my index finger in his face. "You know how bad it makes you feel when you see me covered with bruises." I then worry that on one of his forays for supplies he will be arrested.

"Crazy kike bitch!" he mutters, and settles for slapping my rump, just to assert that he is in control. But we both know that the opposite is true.

"OK Garth. I'm going to put these nice things on, and then I'm going to wash my face and put on a little makeup, just so I'm presentable when you have your way with me."

"You might end up food for the bears and coyotes this time."

"And if I do, you better get a subscription to Playboy to help you jack off, because any other girl you bring out here will kill herself in three days."

"Fuck you. Just get dressed."

I slide into the panties as Garth watches, and then spray onto my neck a little of the cologne that he had purchased for me at the J. C. Penney in the town nearest to our abode. Even though every little gift he gave me signified the progress I had made wearing down the hate he had for modern society, I was afraid that such a man purchasing or stealing female accoutrements might arouse suspicion that something illicit was going on, like holding a woman at a remote location against her will.

I don't need my imprisonment to end now. If I am ever to be free, Garth will have to free me himself. He might be a hero in some circles, as far as I knew. For me to be known as the Jewess who was the downfall of this modern Siegfried would put me in danger for the rest of my life. Instead, Garth must learn the life that brought us together is evil and accept punishment for his crimes.

I feel his hands on my shoulders. I see his face in the mirror. Hate did not register on his visage. "Honey, do we have to do this?"

"Just hurry up!" my lover shouts. The angst in his voice suggests that he is wavering in his desire to torture me. But fulfilling his dark fantasies increases my value to him. He still vacillates between despising who I am and accepting that we have fallen in love. Thus, I still need to play along.

I ignore his entreaty and begin brushing my hair. Garth towers behind me. He is at least six feet tall; a good six inches over my height. No anger is yet visible on his face.

I need a haircut badly. The last time I had seen a beautician was the day Garth kidnapped me as I left a hair salon. Exposed to hard water that had caused it lose its luster, my mane had paid a price for its bearer being held captive. If we ever return to civilization, entering a beauty salon will tempt me even more than stopping a police officer to end my captivity. When I am satisfied that my hair is free of tangles, I tie it up on top of my head in a bun so I don't suffer the additional torture of having strands of my hair ripped from my scalp as the noose tightens around my neck.

After splashing cold water on my face my sleepiness is gone and my eyes are wide open and alive again. I pat my skin dry and paint thick blue lines on my upper eyelids before brushing mascara onto my lashes. I finish my eyes with a thin coat of gray eye shadow, hoping that when he stares at me with the noose around my neck, I will look alluring enough to earn another reprieve from death.

I then apply foundation to hide the blemishes and wrinkles that have accumulated during my thirty year sojourn on this planet. I am pleased that I can still look good, hopefully at least enough for my cabin mate to want to keep me around. A touch of blush goes on my cheeks as I wonder if the man standing behind me will be overcome by his sadistic urges and snuff out my life today.

"That's enough!" he shouts and grabs me by the arm.

I was almost done. I hate to leave any task unfinished, even if it is primping before my captor tortures me. "Please, just a little lipstick!" I beg.

I feel his grip relax. My hand shakes as I reach for a tube of lipstick. Putting on my makeup, an activity reminiscent of a happier time such as getting ready for a date or going to a club, had made my mood playful. But the tone in Garth's voice reminds me of why he awakened me from my nap. He is going to put the noose around my neck and suspend my body so I will strangle under my own weight.

I steady my hand and coat my lips with the purple lipstick as my mind races. What can I do to buy time to make him forget about hanging me? The thought of sucking his uncircumcised cock enters my mind.

He had made me suck his cock before he raped me in my apartment the night he kidnapped me. I had never before seen a penis that had not been shorn of its foreskin, and the idea of performing fellatio was abhorrent, but he liked what my tongue did to his cock that night. I wondered sometimes if that was why I was still alive.

My rape was painful, but the peacefulness that overcame him after he was spent showed me that I could use my sexuality as a tool. He could use me as a cum repository even after he was abusive; but to get my tongue to slither over his cock and drive him to ecstasy and then see me explode in orgasm after his organ had penetrated me over and over was reserved only for those times I felt the tenderness of his love.

"You're not on your period, are you?"

"No."

"It's been a long time since you had one."

"A woman becomes irregular when she doesn't get enough to eat."

"You're getting enough to eat now."

"You're worried that I'm pregnant! You're afraid that torturing me is going to hurt your baby! Well, you don't have to worry. You can enjoy doing whatever you're going to do to me this afternoon. I'm not pregnant."

"How do you know?"

"A girl just knows."

"Have you ever been pregnant?"

"No."

"Then how the fuck do you know if you're really pregnant or not?"

"If you want to be scientific about it, I guess I really don't know. So if you want to be on the safe side, then just fuck me or let me give you a blowjob. You won't hurt anything that way."

"You people can fucking spoil anything."

"You're the one who brought it up. But to be honest with you, I don't think there's anything to worry about. I feel a little puffy. I think my period will come next week."

"You're acting like you want me to hang you!"

"I'd like you to get it out of your system."

"But you might die."

"And then I wouldn't have to worry about being hanged anymore!"

"You think that when you're gone, you're going to be up in Heaven looking down on me, thinking that I'm going to be all sad over having killed you. But you're going to be burning in Hell, along with the rest of you goddamned kikes. I might be a little shook up at first, but sooner or later I'll realize that the world is better off with one less Jew and I'll hook up with an Aryan woman."

"It's OK. I understand. You have to work up some hate to put me up there. After a while, you'll be better, probably a bit sorry for what you said.

"Now how about this-you guys are in power, and you're evening the score. I didn't make it out before the Nazis took over, and I have to pay the price for being a lawyer who got black rapists out of jail. Ones who did it to churchgoing white teenage virgins.

"I've been tried and condemned. But I've seduced you and I don't think you have the balls to kill me. How's that for a fantasy?"

"You keep talking like that and you won't see the sun set tonight."

"Just for that I don't think you should get to see my tits." I put on the black lace brassiere that matches my panties.

He seizes my hands and thrusts them behind my back. He pins my wrists together with his beefy right hand and pulls out a hank of rope from his pants pocket with the other.

My heart races; I am like prey, ready for the hunter to give the coup de gras. My pursuer is virile and ruthless. It will be an honor to be killed by such a fine beast. I am now excited. My pussy starts getting wet.

He drops the rope over my wrists, which now lay crosswise over one other. He has to let go of them to grab the ends of the rope, and I could move my hands apart in the instant that they are free, but I do not try to escape. My desire is to please the man who is about to have my life in his hands, for his pleasure is becoming mine.

He winds the rope diagonally around my wrists, and then tightens it by wrapping it between my wrists, finally tying the free ends together. The rope digs into my flesh, but it feels good, for I know I am at the mercy of a Nazi, the personification of evil, the perfect killing machine, and to experience perfection makes me glad.

My hands now secure around my back, I turn to my executioner. "Let me take your cock into my mouth. If my performance is satisfactory, perhaps you will exercise your mercy and spare my life."

He opens his fly and I watch as his tumescent penis emerges. He pulls back the foreskin as I sink to my knees.

I look up into his eyes. "Put your cock inside me anywhere you like. Take your pleasure anyway you choose-cum in my mouth, on my face, up my ass, or in my pussy-just spare me from the noose."

He says nothing. The next thing I feel are his fingers running through my hair, as he toys with me, pretending to ruminate over my proposition. His hands tighten on my scalp. He may have enough strength to crush my skull with his bare hands or twist my head around and snap my neck. But he chooses to move my lips closer to his crotch until I slip his penis into my mouth.

I taste the first drops of his ejaculate as my tongue dances over the tender flesh just beneath the head of his penis. Only if I can make him ejaculate will I have a chance of being spared the pain of my neck being stretched under the weight of my body. But before I can bring him to orgasm, he pulls my head away.

I look up at my captor, my eyes begging for mercy. His visage bears no anger, only determination to fulfill his fantasy-to watch me tremble as I stand helplessly with a rope around my neck waiting for him jerk the stool on which I am standing from beneath my feet, and then watch me twist at the end of the rope as I fight to free my hands to loosen the ligature that keeps me from breathing in sweet air.

He takes my right arm and helps me to my feet. After giving me a peck on the forehead, I watch as he takes out a cigarette, lights it, takes the first puff, and then puts it between my lips. I inhale the poisonous smoke and experience the pleasure that I have chosen to eschew except when I fear that I am about to die.

He takes the cigarette from my mouth, flicks an ash onto the bare boards that made up the floor of the dilapidated dwelling, and takes a puff himself. With the cigarette dangling from his lips, my executioner takes me by the arm and I have no choice but to follow his lead to the makeshift gallows.

The noose looms larger as I approach, my steps falling more slowly as I move into its shadow. I stop before the footstool on which I will stand with the noose around my neck. A tear runs down my face from the corner of my eye. Garth leans over and kisses me.

When our lips part, I look into his eyes and see from their coldness that I am to be hanged. I step onto the footstool.

He pulls out another hank of rope and knowing he intends to restrain my legs, I move my feet together, accepting that it is my fate to be the star of his terrible scene. I look around the room, wondering if the main room of Garth's dilapidated domicile is the last thing I will ever see, as he ties my ankles together

He stands up, so that we are now at eye level with each other and face to face. The noose is in front of me, between us. Above the loop, the one half inch thick rope is curled around itself seven times. He takes the noose and places it around my neck, tightens it, and places the knot behind the angle of my mandible on the left side.

He takes his cigarette from between his lips and puts it between mine. I take nervous drags, wondering if I'm within a dozen of my last breath. As I puff on the cigarette he produces a black sash and covers my eyes. I then feel him tying a knot behind my head to secure my blindfold. An instant later the cigarette is taken from my lips and I feel his lips press against mine.

His tongue darts into my mouth and our tongues cavort together as if dancing in a ballroom. I feel his tumescence against my pubis and we rub our pelvises together. I pray that he will become aroused enough to let me down, and I am disappointed when he breaks away from me.

"Oh God, no, please don't hang me!"

Garth remains silent, and knowing my plea has been ignored, I tremble as I wait for him to pull the stool from under my feet. He is in no hurry. I begin to hyperventilate. The rope has only a little slack. I turn my head back and forth, hoping to dislodge my blindfold.

I sob, but at this moment Garth chooses to end my wait. My outcry is interrupted as my feet lose their support and I fall, the noose catching my neck an instant later.

My chest heaves for air, but the noose has tightened around my neck, crushing my windpipe. Nothing can enter my lungs. I would give anything to feel cool air enter my chest. But whether I ever breathe again is up to my captor, who I can only hope I have not angered excessively.

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