Page 8 of Blue Velvet

“S-s-s-,” she slurs desperately. “S-s-s-sick.”

That’s the last word that leaves her beautiful lips before the world darkens around her.

5

Loran

I’m not a rapist,and I’m not into necrophilia.

Yet, it’s anything but easy to restrain myself when I carry her inside my house. I try to keep my hands where I need them instead of where I want them, ignoring the urge to take her right here and now. She’s so irresistible, even in her current state, drooling all over my jacket, her eyes slightly opened, giving her a creepy appearance. Her skirt moves up when I gather her into my arms, exposing an alluring set of lingerie intimately covering a body that’s to die for.

I’m rock-hard by the time I reach the basement of my mansion. This house is just one of several in my possession. Others would call it a summer home, but for me, it’s more of a playhouse. This is where I come when I have a girl, whether she’s an acquisition from the bars and clubs I frequent, or one of the girls who I have contracted to spend time with me.

It’s a mansion, providing all the luxuries a man like me is used to, but it’s modest in size. The first floor only boasts a big living area connected to an open kitchen that rarely gets used for anything but coffee, drinks, and snacks. There’s a fireplace in the living room, but I can’t recall ever using it. If I did, it was definitely when I was alone, by myself. I never spend time with the girls in here. The few who I’ve spent an entire night with were allowed to roam the house as they pleased, once I was done with them or allowing them to take a break, but I never let it go as far as cuddling up on the damn couch. They were allowed in the basement, that’s where I used them, and upstairs in one of the three bedrooms designed only for that purpose - to host my playthings.

I pass through the living room with her limp body in my arms and carry her downstairs, which proves to be harder than I thought. I’ve never had to carry a girl down here; they usually followed me, either forced down on all fours or walking in front of me, so I could take in the view of their perky asses, fueling my insatiable hunger for them.

The basement consists of only one giant room, a room that’s the perfect exhibition of my twisted desires. The ceiling is unusually high for a basement, one of the reasons I bought this particular mansion. I needed a basement to house my playroom, but I don’t like feeling choked by a low ceiling that I can touch without having to climb on a chair.

Despite the remoteness of this place, I opted to install a noise-canceling door and windows. There are only two small windows. They allow in very little daylight, but enough to know whether it’s day or night. They’re framed with thick and heavy dark red curtains. The color is predominant in here, and it gives the room almost a cozy feel, despite the many apparatuses and pieces of furniture that serve only one purpose - torture and sexual stimulation. Pain and pleasure, they always go hand in hand with me. Black leather, cold steel frames, a dark red carpet, and gray walls - dungeon would probably be the best word to describe this room.

I don’t bother to switch on the lights, but focus instead on finding a place to place her sedated body first. She’s still out of it, and I reckon she will be for a few more minutes. It might be hours until she’s back to her normal self.

There’s no bed in this room, as it’s never been intended for sleeping, so I place her onto the next best thing - the rack. As soon as she’s no longer weighing down my arms, I turn away from her and make the mistake of switching the lights on.

Violent need rushes through my core when I approach her. Her beautiful body is sprawled out across the wooden stretching bank, her skirt still pulled up in an indecent manner and revealing far too much of her perfect legs, her perfect hips, and her pussy, hidden behind a see-through wall of black fabric. The view of her bare lips through the sheer material is driving me insane.

I lean over the bench, careful not to hurt her when I hook my arms underneath her armpits to shift her upward. She’s most likely unable to feel pain at the moment, but I don’t want her to get hurt nonetheless. Not like this, not because I didn’t handle her with the care even a slave deserves. I move her arms so they’re above her head, watching the curves of her pushed-up tits move as I handle her.

Fuck. She’s killing me. She’s not even awake, and yet she’s killing me.

I’m hesitant to fasten the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Can I trust myself? Already my cock is pushing almost painfully against its fabric cage. My eyes hungrily trail across her luscious body, imagining all the things I want to do to her, all the things I’mgoingto do to her. This body will be mine for as long as I wish. She has nowhere to run, no one to hear her screams. And shewillscream. Loudly.

I will have my way with her, in every way possible. But I need her to be awake when I do.

Because I need her towantme to do all those things to her. I need to hear her begging, I need to hear her desperate moans, and I need to see her dazed eyes as I force one orgasm after another from her perfect little body. I need her to break under my touch. I need her devotion, her complete and utter submission to my will.

And I need to earn all of it. I need toearnit, I need for it to come from a place of sheer desperation.

She barely showed any signs of struggle when I first took her, but I’m expecting that to change once she wakes up. Once she realizes how serious and dire her situation is, she will try anything to get away from me. She will resent me. She will fight me, and she sure as hell won’t want to be fucked or even touched by me.

I reach down to my crotch, trying to tame the wild beast that’s threatening to take control as it has many times before. I can’t allow for that to happen, even if it means I won’t get to fuck her for weeks.

Weeks. It could be weeks until I can bury my cock inside of her.

I’ve never trained an actual slave before. I’ve never trained a woman who didn’t agree to be here. I’ve never had to fight for consent.

The realization hits me hard.

I’m a criminal. I actually did it. I kidnapped a woman, ripped her from her life, to fulfill my sick needs. I may be about to destroy at least one life, if not two, with what I’m about to do.

I’m fucking insane.

As the thoughts circle through my head, I slowly begin to fasten the cuffs around her, to make sure that she’s secured and unable to move when she wakes up. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle it to have her running around, I couldn’t handle having to physically force her down, while she’s kicking, biting, hitting and screaming.

Screaming.

It’s all she’s left to do at this point, with her limbs tied up on the rack. I take a step back, my eyes traveling across her sinful body, her beautiful face, her hair, now a wild mess, as strands of bleach blonde tendrils cascade in all directions, partly covering her eyes as her head is turned sideways, resting on the unforgiving wood beneath her.

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