Trigger warning: Masked Man, Chasing/Hunting, Kidnapping, Degradation/Humiliation, Abuse/SA, CNC, Hematolagnia/Edgeplay (cutting and blood), Depravation, bondage, obscene/vulgar language, chemical incapacitation
I lace up my shoes and head out the back door. The screen slams shut, and my feet start to pound against the pavement as I round to the front of my house.
A split-second decision has me switching directions and running towards the wooded area at the end of the dead-end street I live on. A metaphor for my life, I suppose, a dead end.
I welcome the calm solitude as the soil cracks under my feet. There is a slightly beaten path, but it’s obvious there aren’t many visitors in this neck of the woods.
After a few minutes, I pop in one AirPod and hit my running playlist to start. Valhalla’s Wrath Clash of Steel assaults my ear in the most energizing way. My pace picks up with the tempo. I settle into a rhythm that is almost punishing, instinctively creating a path that feels natural.
I’m completely lost in my head when I realize it’s becoming difficult to see the woods in front of me. I left later than I should’ve, but I didn’t realize it would get dark so fast. Being deep in the woods doesn’t help; the darkness always seems to creep in quicker with the canopy blocking the lingering light.
I turn around to retrace my steps, but it doesn’t take long before it’s so dark I can hardly see where my feet are landing. As much as instinct is telling me to keep running, I’m forced to slow down in the dense darkness. I click off my music, plucking the AirPod out of my ear, and use my phone flashlight.
It’s so dark now that, although I’m thankful for any light, the narrow glow from my phone is hardly enough to provide any real sense of comfort.
I keep the light trained on the forest floor, hoping that I don’t miss a root or rock and trip. Getting hurt here, in the dark, would be the worst-case scenario.
Feeling confident that I am headed in the right direction, I pick up my pace a little. Moving a little quicker through the woods, hoping to get out before nightfall completely settles on the world around me.
Suddenly, I hear a snapping branch behind me. I spin, aiming the light towards the direction I heard the sound. I lift it up, trying to cover the whole area, but the light is so weak against the darkening woods that I can only investigate small areas at a time.
When I don’t see or hear anything, I assume it was probably a critter of some sort. Thankfully, I’m not aware of any large predators in these woods, especially this close to civilization. But that doesn’t mean one couldn’t be here, I suppose. A thought that puts me on edge.
I try to squash the rising fear by telling myself that, if whatever it is was going to attack, it already would have. An attempt that does little to ease my nerves.
I continue moving a little slower and more cautiously. Moving too fast could possibly make me a target, but it definitely makes it harder for me to hear what is happening around me.
I walk for a while, feeling like I should be close to where I entered the woods. Sure, I was running fast, but I didn’t feel like I’d gotten that deep into the woods. Stopping to look around, the pathetic light does little to help me see.
The woods around me don’t look unfamiliar, but it doesn’t exactly look familiar either. Taking a deep breath, I try to control my thoughts. Or maybe rein in my fear because I am well and truly scared now.
The feeling of being watched settles deep within me, settling all the way down to my bones. Spinning the flashlight in every direction, I try to look for anything, any indication of something out there.
I don’t see anything. But I can feel something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. Not wanting to be a sitting duck, I start moving again. But the sound of feet crunching along the woods floor stops me dead in my tracks.
“Who’s there?” I yell before realizing how stupid that is. If it’s a panther or some other animal, it can’t understand me. But maybe the loud noise will scare it away. “Go away!” I scream louder, thinking maybe I’m on to something with the loud noises. Even the fiercest animals tend to be skittish to loud human sounds.
I scan the ground for some sort of fallen branch I can use to hit trees while I’m walking. But nothing on the ground is more than a flimsy twig. I move forward, still searching the ground for something I can use.
It’s pitch black in the woods now. So dark that even my phone light is struggling to provide any illumination. To make matters worse, I know the battery is running low. Between streaming music while I ran and now using the flashlight, I’ve used up the majority of the charge.
Finally, I spot what looks like a solid stick. One that won’t break when I drum it against the trees. I move to grab it, but the sound of another branch snapping stops me in my tracks. It was closer this time, I swear it was.
I pull myself together, needing to get to the stick. Maybe I could also use it as a weapon? Just as I get close enough to reach out and grab it, a sound to my left has my neck whipping in that direction. When I don’t see anything, I turn back to the stick so I can grab it. But it’s gone.
I’m frozen in fear. I know I saw it, I know it was there. But now it’s gone. Finally, instinct kicks in, and I take off running. I can’t see where I’m going or where my feet are landing, but all I can think of is to run. To get away from here as fast as possible. But I’m not running alone. I’m being chased.
I’m too scared to look. Scared of what I might see. Scared I might fall if I look back. But whatever is chasing me is gaining on me. Quickly.
I shoot to the right, hoping to throw off whatever is following me. Hoping the change in direction will disorient it. My mind is going a million miles a minute trying to recall any information I can remember on how to protect myself from animal attacks, but adrenaline is ringing in my ears so loudly I can’t think.
I steady my pace, attempting to hear if my plan to throw off the pursuit was successful. Tucking myself behind a tree, I suck in a few deep inhales, attempting to catch my breath. My light flicked off while I was running, but I welcome the dark right now. I wouldn’t want to give myself away. Although a predator in the woods at night is more likely to have better vision than I do.
Feeling like I’ve fended off the attacker as the silence around me settles. I take a moment to allow my mind and breath to settle before pulling myself out from behind the tree.
I pause, looking around. I have no idea where I am. Not even the slightest clue of what direction to head to find my way out of the woods. The only option I can think of is to use the GPS function on my phone, even if the last thing I should be doing is bringing attention to myself with the light.
I pull the phone that has been tightly clenched in my fist towards my face, but before I can bring it to life, I feel it. The feeling that I am not alone. I snap my head right then left, trying to pick up any noise. Abruptly, I can feel it against my back. I can hear it breathing on my neck. This is no animal, it’s a person at my back, breathing heavily behind me. The paralyzing fear returns in full force. I can’t move. I can’t run. I can’t scream.
For what feels like entirely too long, we stand there unmoving. The breath behind me is heavy and intrusive. My chest rises and falls with each breath I risk taking. My mind is telling me to run, my soul is telling me to fight, but my body remains unmoving.
The imposing figure at my back hasn’t said a word or made a move. I’m trying to think, trying to figure out what I should do. But I can’t think with how close this person is behind me.
My hands shake as I lower them to my sides. I really wish I had that stick right now.
Instinctively, I know running won’t do me any good. I’m exhausted, and I already failed at outrunning this person once. This man, I can smell him. Musk and timber with a touch of something else. Something like…the tea I drink. Cardamom. I melt a little as I imagine the warm liquid coating my throat, soothing me. I desperately crave any sort of comfort right now.
I try to move slowly, barely shuffling my feet so he can’t hear me. Trying to create a little space. But as I move, he moves, like a magnetic pull is forcing us in proximity to each other.
A thought occurs to me to try to use my phone’s emergency feature to alert the authorities. It’s risky because I’m not sure what he will do if he realizes that I’ve initiated the alert. I need more space. Maybe if I round the tree, it will create a small barrier.
I shift slightly, turning my body. But instead of turning into the tree, I turn into him. My nose brushes against his arm. My whole body starts shaking uncontrollably as I look up into mysterious blue-gray eyes. It’s all I can see. Not because I’m so enthralled by them. I don’t even have the sense to process the liquid slate eyes. It’s because the rest of his face is covered.
A mask wraps around his face, covering over half of it, and a hoodie is pulled up, covering his hair. If I were asked to identify this man, I couldn’t. Except for his eyes. There is something enticing and dangerous to them. A deep sea of blue tinted silver.
I stare at him, realizing I will not be able to hide from him. I can’t outrun, I can’t hide, so I scream. I scream so loud my eyes pinch together to accommodate how wide I’m opening my mouth. Yet, he doesn’t move. He just stands there while I scream for bloody murder directly in his masked face.
In a moment of audacious bravery and complete insanity, I lift my hands and shove him forcefully, with all my power, in his chest. My phone still clutched in my hands.
He doesn’t move. Not even a little bit. So I do what I do best and lose my fucking temper. “Get the FUCK away from me, you psycho!” Not even the least bit phased. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Nothing. So I slap him across his covered face. It’s somewhere between a slap and a punch. My fist closed, but not powerful enough to be considered a punch. Again, he isn’t even slightly phased by me. And that pisses me off more.
“Fuck you! I’m calling the cops.” Let’s see if he moves now. I lift the phone to my face, half my attention on him to see if he reacts. He doesn’t. But when I click the side button to bring the phone to life. There is nothing. It’s black. I click it again. And again. And again. It’s dead.
It’s completely fucking dead. And all I can think is, if I don’t get away, I’ll be dead too. So I take off. I run knowing it probably won’t work, but I can’t give up. Instead of hearing feet chasing me, I hear a dark chuckle. He’s laughing at me, laughing!
It only motivates me to run faster. I have no idea where I’m going, or what direction I need to go; all I can think is just go. I’ve probably gone about 15 feet or so when I finally hear his foot steps start to chase me—spurring me to move faster.
I get the bright idea to swerve. Thinking, again, that a change in direction can deter him. I’ve always heard the more challenging, the more likely they are to give up. But despite myself, somewhere under the fear, there is a little thrill to the chase that excites me. That doesn’t want it to end, yet. And now I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.
I tuck my useless phone in the pocket of my tight running shorts. Allowing both my hands to be free. I slow down enough to rip a branch off a passing tree. Equipping myself so I can fight back. Because even though I’m not hating the chase, the logical side of me knows I still need to fight.
Once I have the stick gripped firmly in my fist, I spin on my heel, swinging it behind me. Hoping I can catch him off guard, hoping his eyesight in the dark is as bad as mine, and that he didn’t see me break off the branch. Aiming for where I think he is, I swing frantically.
But he isn’t there.
I swing blindly, whipping the branch around like a lunatic. Like I’m the crazy one. Not the madman chasing a woman through the woods.
My arms drop, still clutching the branch in my fist. The bark was cutting into my hand painfully. I reach for my phone momentarily forgetting that it’s a useless piece of glass and metal. But then I smell it. I smell him. The musk, timber, and warm cardamom.
Squinting my eyes, willing them to see in the dark. I scan the area around me. He’s in all black, literally head to toe. Hazy blue-gray eyes, veiled by thick black eyelashes the only flare in the darkness. I search for the eyes I know are on me. The body I can scent. But I can’t see anything.
This is a game, and I am losing.
I move slowly, trying to listen as I go. But I hear nothing when a hand suddenly grabs my ponytail. Forcing my head to jerk back. I begin to plunge towards the ground. Terror freezes my muscles, barring any ability to stop myself, to break my fall as my flesh meets the jagged ground. My skin is mostly exposed, other than my tight running shorts and sports bra; nothing is protecting me from the rough forest floor.
It takes me a moment to process my thoughts. To realize I’m no longer losing, I’ve already lost. My vision, already compromised by the dark, is blurry when the masked face appears over me. Stormy eyes staring into my hazel eyes.
Rationally, I know how dangerous this is, but the more I feel him next to me, the more I’m being drawn in like sin to temptation.
I want to say something. I know I should scream. But I’m silent as I lie there unmoving, staring up at him.
His hand reaches down to my face, and he runs his finger along my hairline down along my jaw. My eyes locked on his. As his finger reaches my chin, his eyes drop to my lips. Licking them and pulling my lower lip in between my teeth, I watch him as he focuses on my mouth. I want to touch him, to reach out and pull the mask down so I can see more of him.
It’s like he can read my thoughts because he suddenly tenses. His eyes went from curious to hard. The moment is tense. Electric. His finger is now just below my jaw, having moved it to rest on my pulse.
He moves so quickly, I don’t have any warning before his hand is wrapped around my throat. Not constricting my breath, but enough that I can feel the power in his hand. My breathing picks up. His hand is tight enough around my neck that I know he could end me right now.
His face gets close to mine. So close that our noses brush against each other. His nose is covered, but I can still feel the heat of him. The scent of him warming my body, especially with him this close. A shiver courses down my spine. Our eyes are so close that I’ve gone cross-eyed.
“Get up,” his voice deep and husky. Slightly muffled by the mask. I move, pushing my hands under me to stand. The fragments of bark and twigs crack under my hands and legs as I push myself up. His hand never leaves my neck. His face remains unsettlingly close.
When we’ve reached our full height, I begin to fully comprehend just how much size he has on me. He’s broader, muscular, and strong. But he’s also tall. Close to a foot taller than me. I look up at him, and he’s looking down at me. This close in proximity, I have to crane my neck further up than he is already forcing it to see him. But I do, keeping eye contact. I’m not afraid. Ok, I am a little, but I’m also intrigued. Lords help me, something is so wrong with me.
A hand remains around my throat, his eyes on me, but he is doing something else. I can hear the movement. Feel it.
The hand around my throat releases just a little, his fingers caressing me with a clawing motion. I keep my flat eyes trained on him. I don’t want to give him any emotion. I don’t know what he is capable of, but instinct tells me it won’t be long until I find out.
His other hand lifts, and I feel something cold wrap around my neck, replacing his warm hand. I watch as his eyes drop to my neck, and I can feel as he latches what could only be a collar around me.
“Get on your knees.” An order that I have no choice but to obey. He’s collared me, and the feeling of something falling between my chest would suggest that there is a leash attached.
So I drop to my knees. The debris on the ground is cutting into the tight flesh. Kneeling, I look up at him and see the leash I thought I felt clenched in his hand. He’s looking down at me, his eyes narrowing.
“Hands and knees,” I obey. I can no longer look up at him without straining my neck at an uncomfortable angle. So I keep my head down. My mind is screaming at me, ” What am I doing? But even if I could fight against him or run away, something in me is stopping me.
“That deep knowing, taunting chuckle both pisses me off and turns me on. He stands and yanks the chain, no words, or word, this time. I follow. Crawling along the prickly carpet of fallen twigs, splintered bark, and brittle leaves that jab into me with every movement.”
Maybe it’s the excitement, the shift from my boring, dead-end life. Maybe it’s a lack of self-preservation. I don’t know what it is, but right now I don’t care.
He yanks on the leash as he begins to move, and my head, followed by my body, jerks forward. “Come,” clipped and stern, and submerging my body with heat. A thought of that order in a different context forces an audible gasp from me.
He halts, his feet turning back towards me. His fingers thread under the ponytail holder tied up in my hair. He grips my hair firmly and tilts my face up. The sensation is arousing, and I fight every urge I have to moan. Holding my breath, fighting, waiting.
I can feel his face near mine as he leans down to me. “When I say ‘come’, you’ll come.” My eyes roll back into my head, and the moan I was fighting wins as it escapes me.
That deep knowing, taunting chuckle both pisses me off and turns me on. He stands and yanks the chain, no words, or word, this time. I follow. Crawling along the prickly carpet of fallen twigs, splintered bark, and brittle leaves that jab into me with every movement.
I’m not sure how long I crawled for; it wasn’t long, but it felt like forever, and it feels like my palms, knees, and shins are shredded.
When we stop, I look up, and it’s hardly more than a shack. But I suppose it could be called a cabin. It’s made of wood and has a door and one window that I can see. He opens the door and tugs at the leash for me to follow. Instinct is screaming at me to stop, to fight, to not go inside. I follow.
Once inside, and the door is closed, he pulls me to my feet. He unhooks the leash from the collar. Still holding the leash in his fist, he walks me against the wall. His imposing form imprisoning me, his scent intoxicating me, his eyes hypnotizing. I’m well and truly fucked, how am I letting this happen?
He grips my wrist and drives them behind my back. My chest pushes out against his. I can feel his calm breathing against my rapid breath. This isn’t affecting him the same way as it is me. A thought that disturbingly disappoints me.
I stare up at his face. His mostly covered face. I can’t see anything in his eyes. But this close with the soft light from a lamp in the corner and a low fire in the stove, I can see the outlines of his features. A strong nose and clearly sculpted fleshy lips. It’s not just his face that’s covered, or his head, it’s his neck, his arms, everywhere else but his hands.
The urge to lean into him and draw in his scent takes hold of my thoughts, and I’m no longer here. I’m no longer aware of anything that’s happening. I press my face against his sheathed neck and inhale heavily. A heady feeling that makes me dizzy with need and lust.
I’m pulled from my reverie by him pressing further into me. His firm thigh presses against my legs, a move that creates a needy friction between my legs. More distracting is his hard length against my hip.
I pull my head back from his neck and crane my neck to look up at him. But as I’m pressing back to look at him, a sharp pain shoots through my arms. That’s when I realize that my hands are tied behind my back.
His arms caged on either side of my head. If this were a different situation, we’d look like two lovers in an intimate stance. Minus the bondage, I suppose. But we aren’t lovers, we don’t even know each other. And I never agreed to be here, did I?
A confusing challenge because I never really denied coming here. After the initial chase, I obeyed the demand to follow and submitted to him. I didn’t just follow, I crawled after him.
His cold liquid eyes are probing mine. Nothing in them gives away any sort of indication as to what he has planned for me. But still I’m drawn to him, like his very soul is being etched into mine.
The desire to reach out and touch him ceased by the distressing reminder of my arms being bound behind my back. Instead, I drop my forehead to his chest. “What are you going to do to me?” A question laced with defeat and acceptance.
“Nothing you won’t want once I’m done.” What does that even mean? I might not want it while he’s doing it? Will I grow to enjoy it? I want to ask, but before I can speak, a cloth gag is shoved into my mouth. Shock settles against me, and even if I could speak, I wouldn’t.
The sound of ripping fabric reverberates through the small shack-sized cabin. The feel of chilly air sweeping over my breast. Slowly, I dip my head, eyes still on his until I can no longer hold eye contact. When my face is fully tilted down, I see the ruined sports bra and my breast bare. Exposed to him.
I stare at my naked breast, trying to decipher my feelings. I don’t feel shame like I think I would’ve had I ever played this out in my head. I’m not embarrassed. I’m turned on, but that started before he bared my beast. I’m slightly confused. He’s clearly turned on; I can feel him against me. Unless he has something in his pocket that feels exactly the same as the hard length of an aroused man, which I highly doubt.
I slowly lift my gaze to his. Just as my eyes settle on the stormy blue-gray, a sharp pain radiates down my chest. I suck in a quick, deep breath before gasping for air. What the fuck was that? Panic tumbles through me. My eyes snap down to where the pain is. His hand an inch at most from my chest, a razor blade pinched between his fingers. The blade he used to cut my sports bar. I concentrate on where I felt the shocking pain.
Red beads between my breasts. A cut. He cut me. I thought I felt shock before, but this is a feeling I cannot comprehend. I stare at the slice along my skin, watching as the blood, my blood, begins to seep down towards my stomach. I can feel it, the slow tickle of liquid seeping across my skin.
I can hear his breathing amplify, see the rise and fall of his chest deepen. The thumb and forefinger holding the blade tuck back towards his hand. Leaving his middle finger extended out towards my chest. I’m fixed on his movements, watching as he pulls his finger through the dripping blood on my chest. Smearing it down towards the waist of my running shorts. He angled his body so I could still feel him pressed against me, but my front is more exposed.
I’m transfixed as he hooks the bloodied finger into the waistband and tugs on it. My eyes snap up to his but his are focused on the lower parts of my body.
He begins to lower himself in front of me. I watch as his body slides down mine. He crouches in front of me, his face at the exact level of my covered area. Still with the blade in his hand, almost forgotten as he uses only two fingers on that hand to hook into the side of my waistband, and three fingers in his other hand hooking the other side of my waistband. He yanks the tight shorts down my legs in one swift motion.
Had I ever worn panties, I may not be completely bare with my shorts pooled at my feet and my sports bra ruined, hanging at my sides. But I am completely nude in front of this masked stranger.
I stare at the top of his hooded head and observe him focused on my exposed pussy. The attention on my most private area makes me shift not with discomfort but rather with need and desire.
His eyes shoot to mine like he read my thoughts. Heat and something else in his stormy blue-gray eyes. Yearning or hunger, maybe. I’m not sure, but I don’t have any time to dwell on it as he pulls his mask up to expose only his mouth, his tongue darting out. Wetness puddles between my legs as images of him, the face I can now see more of, settling against my pussy, rush my thoughts.
But he doesn’t lick my needy center. Instead, he lifts his tongue to where he painted my skin with my blood and licks it. All. The. Way. Up to where he carved a line in my skin.
His tongue laps at the still lightly pebbling blood as he grips a breast with the hand free of the razor blade.
Finally, after an agonizing number of minutes, his eyes meet mine. He brings the blade back between my breasts and slowly begins making another incision next to the first one. His hand kneading my breast firmly before dropping between my legs. Just as he pulls the blade off my skin, he pushes a finger up inside my wet pussy. Forcing a muffled gasp from me as my legs become weak.
He leans back into the new cut, blood thicker than the first. He licks the beading blood slowly, his eyes on mine as he does. His finger starts to pull in and out of me slowly. His eyes flutter shut, his tongue moving over the cut, lapping the crimson liquid that is flowing out of me. The intensity of his caressing tongue and plunging finger picks up as he starts to finger fuck my pussy faster. Lap at my blood quicker. His own need becomes evident and fervent. Only serving to heighten my need.
The pain and pleasure a heady combination, making me feel dizzy not only with lust but with something else. I attempt to suck in more air around the gag, but a strange, sweet taste hits me for the first time. Either I didn’t notice earlier, or the increase in my breathing made it more apparent. Instantly, I know something is off. I feel faint and dizzier. My eyes get heavy. Then everything is black.
