The Moment

They had talked about it a week ago. Light conversation while sharing a bottle of wine, easy laughter in a cozy room. She had shared her fantasy of abduction and rape, a little embarrassed, but helped by the wine and his encouraging smiles.

He talked equally lightly when he told her what she would wear, where she would be. Somehow it was neither a suggestion nor an instruction, but merely a matter-of-fact description of how things would be. He had told her that a former partner described his play style as a steel fist in a velvet glove, and this was her first hint of the hidden steel: he simply took it for granted that what he had described would come to pass.

Yet the moment passed and his ready smile and twinkling eyes made it seem almost absurdly theoretical, as if they were idly discussing what some other couple in some other place might be planning.

The same feeling was with her now, as she checked her watch for the 15th time in as many minutes and decided that it was time to prepare herself. Even as she set out on her bed the uncharacteristically sleazy clothing she was to wear, there was the feeling that he was merely waiting in the other room and that they would laugh and joke about what fun it had been pretending that they were really going to act out the fantasy. They would tumble on the bed, he would tear at the cheap clothing bought for the purpose, and they would have some slightly rough sex. Perhaps pinning her wrists above her head, maybe a playful name or two. Then they would snuggle in bed together afterwards, and the fantasy would be forgotten.

Except he wasn't in the other room. He had left some time ago, talking of things he had to prepare. So now it was just her, the clothes and the note he had left.

She had bathed, and she smiled at the ridiculous thought that she had cleansed herself ready to be pushed down into the dirt in some woods! But that was only a concept, still not real.

She finished dressing, then began to apply the make-up. Not her usual subtle touches, enhancing her natural looks, nor her usual brands, but rather some decidedly unsubtle colours applied with a heavy hand. There was an almost childlike sense of dressing-up about it.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, and hardly recognised herself. The sophisticated and successful businesswoman was missing, replaced by a cheap slut whose only asset was her body. She was at once fascinated and repelled by what she saw. It was so completely at odds with who she was, and yet there was a sense of freedom in that. This cheap tart had none of her responsibilities, none of her cares, only a simple-minded seeking of ... She realised that she didn't really know what such women sought. Simple-minded was understanding enough.

She was glad about the coat. A long coat, he had said, to give no clue as to the clothing beneath. He seemed to have forgotten about the make-up: there was no disguising that! Or perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he was enjoying the thought of the embarrassment that would cause her. She prayed she didn't bump into anyone she knew on the way to the car.

He also hadn't considered the shoes. There was no confusing their cheap nature, nor the 3" heels. But perhaps he knew that too. Men don't usually consider such things, but she had a small suspicion that this one might.

It would take about half an hour to drive to the agreed place. Agreed. Hmmm. Well, she had agreed to it, of course, but the word made it sound like something they had worked out between them. Her part of the working out had ended with the conversation about fantasies.

It wasn't quite time yet, but dressed as she was, made up as she was, she felt out of place in her own home. Like she was an uninvited stranger. She looked at herself in the mirror again. The reflection seemed just slightly less alien; she wondered about that for a moment.

Finally it was time. Only car keys and her phone, he had said. Nothing else. He had her house keys, and her purse with all her cards was sitting on the table, to be left behind. There could be no retreat, no losing her nerve and scurrying back home.

She opened the front door and stood in the doorway for a moment. Then quickly, before she could change her mind, stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. So now it was real.

She made it to the car without encountering any of her neighbours, and she quickly pulled away. It was ironic, really: breaking down on a lonely road late at night was something most women feared, and here she was setting off to engineer precisely that experience.

When she got there, it was as he described. A small dirt layby on the edge of some woods, no street lighting. No sign of him. She switched off the ignition and killed the headlights.

She felt a little nervous parking there. She pulled the bonnet release catch, picked up the disposable torch and got out of the car. She took off her coat and put it in the boot. Now she felt even more vulnerable, standing there in a short, tight miniskirt, sheer black tights and a skimpy top.

She opened the bonnet and shone the torch into the engine bay. He had shown her where to find the main power relay, shown her how to remove it, demonstrated that with the relay removed the car had no power at all. No ignition circuit, no lights, nothing.

She held the torch between her teeth and reached down to the fuse box. She used both hands to remove the relay, holding it in her hands for a moment. She hesitated. Then she did as instructed: closed the bonnet, switched off the torch, threw the torch as far as she could into the woods and - after only a moment's hesitation - did the same with the relay.

So. It was done. Being locked out of her own home, with no money and dressed in a way that eliminated any thought of heading to a friend's place was one thing. But now she really was stranded at the roadside. No means of driving. No breakdown card. No ID. No way out.

She got back into the car, noticing as she did that the courtesy light didn't come on as she opened the door. She couldn't stop herself turning the key in the ignition; nothing, not even a click. It was real.

And that was where the script ended. What happened next was unknown. Oh, limits had been agreed, of course, but sitting there alone in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, those limits left an awful lot of scope.

She jumped as a sudden noise startled her, then realised it was just a gust of wind rustling the branches above the layby.

Uncomfortable thoughts filled her head. Supposing this wasn't the first layby, that she had missed one and was waiting in the wrong place? Supposing he had been delayed, and she really was out here alone, unprotected?

She thought about turning on the headlights for a moment, just to make the place less forbidding, and then realised that she couldn't: no electrics.

She hadn't thought it would be like this. Part of her wanted to call him, to tell him she wanted to stop the game, have him come out from wherever he was hiding, give her the replacement relay and both drive home to cuddle in bed. Not be waiting in a lonely layby to be raped.

But she didn't. She just waited. Despite the adrenalin, there was also a peacefulness about the silence and the dark. Her thoughts turned to how she had first met him, how she had somehow instinctively wanted to confide in him. His gentle-

BANG!

The door was yanked open and the gun in her face so suddenly that it was if the man had suddenly materialised by her side.

"Do exactly what I tell you to, bitch! And don't do anything else." The harsh demands came from a man dressed all in black and wearing a black balaclava with eyeholes. She didn't recognise his voice! Was this someone else he had introduced into the game? She hadn't actually ruled it out, she realised. But she would have done, it just hadn't occured to her. Maybe she should-

"Out of the car, NOW!" The man yanked at her arm roughly, half dragging her out of the car. She stood, clumsily in her heels and almost fell as he slammed the door shut and spun her round to face the car, pushing her forward against it.

This wasn't him, she thought. I mean, it had to be, but the voice was too harsh, he was too rough, it couldn't be him. Oh god! Could this all be some horrible coincidence, and she really was being attacked by a stranger? No! That's silly, she told herself, wishing she felt the conviction of the thought. This was what they had planned, wasn't it? It had to be ok.

Click! The handcuff was on her left wrist and her hand behind her back almost before she realised it. He pulled her other hand behind her to meet it and she was conscious of the coldness of the steel as her hands were cuffed behind her back.

Maybe she should just ask him for a word of reassurance, just momentarily, before this went on. Just to find out if it was-

"Open!" The same harsh voice. Something was shoved into her mouth, some kind of material. "Close." She obeyed almost instinctively as the wide tape was wrapped around her mouth and right the way around her head. Now she couldn't ask anything.

The blindfold appeared and was quickly fastened around her head. She was completely helpless: handcuffed, gagged and blindfolded by the side of the deserted road, dressed in a slutty outfit, her body on display for anyone to see.

She was pushed to one side and she heard the car door opening, closing and then being locked. "Move." She was being frog-marched into the woods.

She had no sense of how far they walked, just that every step in those heels on the dirt, unable to see what was in front of her, unable to protect herself should she fall, took the whole of her attention. But eventually they stopped. She felt a tree behind her.

"On your knees, cunt." She sank awkwardly onto her knees. She felt a strong hand around her left arm. "Don't even think about trying anything, whore." She didn't understand until one of the cuffs was unlocked. But any opportunity was gone before she knew it as her arms were pulled behind the tree-trunk and the cuffs locked in place again, securing her to the tree, her ankles either side of it.

The same hand - or was it the same one? - grabbed her left ankle and pulled it further back. More cold steel, this time a manacle. A moment later her right leg was pulled back and that too manacled. The position was uncomfortable and she tried to shuffle her legs forward a little but the chain had no slack in it.

She sensed him crouching down beside her, his breath warm against that part of her face not covered by blindfold or tape. The voice was just a whisper now: "Whether I release you afterwards depends on your performance. You're dressed like a whore, now let's see if you can suck like one."

She felt the tape ripped from her face and the wadding pulled from her mouth. The blindfold remained, along with the handcuffs and manacles. And then his cock was filling her mouth.

So she imagined herself to be the whore he had labelled her. She was surprised to find how easy it was, dressed as she was, treated as she had been, to adopt the role.

And then it was over. Cuffs removed, a whispered warning not to remove the blindfold for ten minutes, whispered reassurance that her car was just 30 feet away, directly ahead.

She had no way of knowing when ten minutes had elapsed, so she waited until she could no longer hear him moving through the woods, then waited some more. She reached up and untied the blindfold. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust, and then she could just make out a path leading straight ahead. She stood up, a little unsteadily, and followed the path.

True to his word, she quickly spotted the dark shape of her car directly ahead. She had expected to find him there, welcoming her, taking her in his arms, but there was no sign of him. She tried the drivers door: it was unlocked. She got in. Still no courtesy light. She sat there wondering what was next - surely the game was over now?

All she could do was wait.

The sudden bleeping of her phone startled her. She picked it up from where she had left it on the passenger seat. A text message. From him. 'Running late - sorry - there soon.'