Well, this series of fantasies, they start off with me on a street. I am in college. My hair is long, blonde, permed so that it is almost rock star chick like. I'm wearing a pair of stilettos that are faux lizard skin, black with an emerald green stripe on them. Yes, I am wearing other things too. A business suit, it's gray herringbone, the shirt is short and under it I wear a silky emerald green top, almost like underwear but visible. The fabric feels so good, that’s why I bought it. I also have a purple one, my favorite color and the same shoes only with a purple stripe but today, my last day out in the normal world this is what I wore.
I have a black leather portfolio I’m holding by the handles and a black purse with a long strap on my right shoulder. My make up is perfect as always. I was taught never to leave the house or even look out a window unless I looked perfect. It’s second nature to me now, I never even think about it, it’s just part of me. I don’t realize what all this seeming perfection makes others think about me. I just know I am very, very lonely with no way in sight to resolve that problem. I expect to stay lonely for life. After all, it’s all I’ve ever known.
I weigh about 105 pounds, depending on when I last ate and shat. I'm about 5' 9", my legs are a bit skinny and go on forever or seem to. Well, that’s what I’ve been told. To an outsider I look kinda cold like I think I'm better than them but sexy too. That's part of the problem.
The thing is, I don't know that I come off that way. I certainly don't feel that way. I also don’t know that every day for about a week some men have been watching me. They’ve been getting more and more angry. They’ve been making plans that I could never imagine. I'm actually too shy or too much of a space cadet or a combination to have noticed these men. That has only angered them more. These men? They are pimps, or white slavers of a sort.
Anyway, today is going to be very different for me. Today they have decided to teach the "Stuck up Bitch" a lesson. Today I will cease to be whatever I was and become what they make me.
I walk by worried about various things I have to do that day. Not looking around, because as stupid as it sounds I do seem to feel that people are watching me. I mean a lot of people seem to be hostile to me for no reason I can figure.
A lot of people seem to watch me. That has to be ego or paranoia right? I can't be that horrible or that beautiful can I? No, it’s just my imagination. Everyone thinks they are the center of the earth and everyone is wrong. I , at least, know I'm nuts. So I put on a brave front not knowing if anyone is actually looking at me or that they are thinking about me at all, good thoughts or bad. No, I’m acting like I have things to do which I do. I have classes to go to. I have a part time job. Still I act like I have no concerns. This makes me even more vulnerable.
As I walk by a van, several men grab me, one puts his hands over my mouth so I can't scream very loud but I am too shocked to scream anyway. They stuff me in the back of a van and put a blindfold on me, well actually it's not a blindfold exactly. It’s not a pretty black satin thing like you see in movies. It’s more like a stinky nasty sack over my head but it prevents me from seeing and that’s why I called it one at first.
They take me somewhere, I have no way of knowing where, but we go. The van stops after a while and they are walking with me but, me I’m being carried like I'm nothing. I can’t see but I can smell and hear. It just sort of seems like we are going through a dingy alley to me. Did you ever just know something and you couldn’t see it? It's like that, I just know that it’s an alley. They push me around roughly through a door that I gather is an industrial type of door. Well, it's made of metal anyway. I can hear that much.
They walk through a building. I'm now being dragged at times, carried at others and finally, several rooms or corridors away, when I am completely disoriented in regard to how I would get out, they stop.
I am put down but whoever has me doesn’t let go, no, he holds on to me so tight it hurts. I’m being tied down to something. Well, no, not down exactly. It's confusing really. My neck is tied to something. Then my waist, each of my thighs, ankles, knees, arms, and wrists are all tied. My panic is in overdrive now yet what can I do?
They pull the hood off. I see there are six men. They don't look nice. They look like animals eyeing a piece of meat. Me, I'm the piece of meat. My eyes are so big, and scared. I try to talk but my throat is dry. Finally I get some words out.
"I think there has been a mistake. I don't know you guys but I can't be the girl you are looking for.” My voice sounds so small, shaky and scared. I hate it.
“Just let me go I won't say anything." I beg, my voice getting high pitched taking on the sort of terror I have only seen in the movies and thought could never be real.
They laugh at this. They laugh at me. There isn’t much humor in it though. It’s a mean sort of laugher. One of them steps up to me. He is right in my face. His stained teeth right are right at my eye level. They fill up my vision while his breath hits my nose like garbage that has sat in the sun for three days maybe longer.
"You won't be going anywhere ever again." He takes out a knife and starts cutting at my Jacket. He slices each shiny metal button off first. They skitter on the ground making a hallow racket. I think he is enjoying each cut more than any human being should enjoy such a thing. That scares me even more. I wonder if he only enjoys cutting buttons and fabric only or if I will be next?
Another man comes over to me. He just takes his hands, bunches up the fabric of my skirt and tears it apart. The four others chuckle at my reaction to this, which is stark terror.
"Listen" I say shakily, "I'm not who, um, or what, you think I am. I'm a virgin. I'm saving myself for marriage." They laugh harder. One of them speaks.
"No, you are a little whore. You are our dirty little whore now. Soon you will be making money for us. We don't care if you are a virgin or not but somehow I doubt you are." He smirks.
A gear shifts and catches in my brain. They aren’t planning to kill me at least not yet, I think. I find myself pathetically grasping onto that idea for my one bit of hope.
"If you are a virgin. Then you're a little prick tease that needs to learn a few things," says another. There is more mean laughter. They are laughing at me. They are doing so in a way that hurts deep. I try to imagine how I must look all tied up like that. My skirt is gone. It’s been dropped on the floor like garbage. It cost me $179.95 on sale and was my favorite but they’ve destroyed it. I am wearing pantyhose, which I think must have torn in all the dragging. My shoes, I don’t know wear they went, I’m not wearing them anymore. They could be on the street for all I know.
The pantyhose I wear are nude and sheer so I’m sure they can see my little bikini string panties through the hose. I can’t remember what color I wore today. For some reason I feel I really need to remember that but my mind is taken away from the problem and brought back to the moment. The one working on my jacket has long since denuded it of shinny gold buttons but he has still been cutting at the fabric.
His concentration is total on that task. He looks up at his fellows and does something with his expression I can’t see. They laugh their mean way again. He pulls at the jacket with a certain flourish. It falls away, like it’s a magic trick or something.
You know like the magicain moving the tablecloth off the table but all the dishes and glasses stay on it? It feels like that, very theatrical. His friends laugh and clap. Oh what a jolly bunch they are, always laughing at everything and particularly at me.
He looks at the emerald silk shell I’m wearing with a self-satisfied smirk. I never even feel the knife near my skin but it must have been because the last covering of my under things is suddenly gone too. He thinks he’s David fucking Copperfield I think.
I’m wishing for a way to hurt this guy now and perhaps it shows in my eyes because he stares at me for a minute. He stares intensely. It’s as if he is daring me to even think such things and threatening me and yet he doesn’t say anything at all. He doesn't have to. I avert my eyes and bite my lip.
Another one of these goons starts scissoring my pantyhose off of me. Those scissors I do feel. They are cold, so cold. Sometimes a sharp edge catches against my skin and I give a little squeak.
(continued next post)
