HARDCORE: Storm MC(41)

The car ride post-wakeup lasted many minutes more. I lay there in confusion and fear and anger, and tried to focus on getting control of my limbs once more. Slowly, my fingers and toes began to respond to direction, and I began to feel like I’d be able to handle myself again whenever this car ride from hell ended. I tried exploring the small space I was crammed into for any kind of tool to help me, but without the use of swingable arms, I felt more like a fish than a person. Yeah, my ankles were tied together, too. Awesome, right? Fuck. I was fucked.



By the time the car finally pulled to a complete stop, and I heard and felt the engine turn off, then the driver’s door open and slam shut, I had managed to bring my legs a bit closer to the opening of the trunk, and I had rolled myself into a kind of weird yoga fetal position on my back, balancing painfully on my arms and hands underneath me. I steeled myself to attempt to kick the fucker in the torso, with all the power I could muster from this unfortunate position.



It didn’t work very well. When he opened the trunk he was standing back a little, as he would have to for the top to pop up. So he saw my position and read my plan, and he laughed. “Nice try, sweetheart, but no cigar.”



He leaned forward, I kicked out, he side-stepped to avoid the blow, and then he Tasered me again, this time aiming it on my thigh. I contracted, consumed by the pain. My heart sped up scarily, and I was out again.



He must have gone a little easier on me the second time; I started to come to again what could only have been a few minutes later. I was in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, and from what I could see from my excellent view of his back and legs and the floor and walls around us, I thought I recognized his beautiful ugly McMansion. He was then taking me up the grand staircase—the fucker was strong, I’d give him that—and he made a right at the top of the stairs.



I could only make ineffective noises at this point and was having some trouble regulating my own breathing. My head and heart were pounding, and his shoulder digging into my abdomen wasn’t particularly helping. My shoulders were starting to ache badly from the tight binding.



He brought me into a room at the end of the hall, which I hadn’t managed to check out the night before. It was easily three times the size of any of the other bedrooms; it must have been the master. From my backward-upside-down position, I comprehended that we then entered a walk-in closet. He punched a button in the wall there next to… a fucking elevator?



He had a fucking elevator in his fucking closet in his fucking master bedroom. Holy. Shit. This did not bode well.



Throughout the elevator ride down-down-down, I screamed as much as I could, as loud as I could through the duct tape, certain that I was headed straight to my death anyway, so why the fuck not? If anyone heard me, unlikely as that might have seemed, that was probably my only shot at getting out of Sick Bastard’s cray-cray clutches alive.



He let me scream. He actually chuckled a bit at it. And he slapped my ass hard, a number of times. He seemed to be really enjoying himself. But that didn’t stop me. I kept on screaming.



I continued my resistance as the elevator finally pulled to a halt. The doors swept open, and we exited into what appeared to be a long narrow dark hallway lit only by evenly spaced dim sconces. It was confusing and difficult for me to see the actual dimensions of the space, as the walls were all mirrored. I would guess he had that done specifically to confuse.



There was a series of doors. We passed a number of them, but I was too freaked-out and confused at this point to count them with clarity. I felt like life had taken a surreal turn, and that whatever was happening was not even worth noting very well. It was like my brain dissociated and just went out of operation.



Finally, he stopped in front of one of the doors and opened it up quickly and easily; it must not have been locked. He flipped on the light switch, and I heard a loud metallic lock release, leading to the hydraulic opening of a steel cage door.



Oh, fuck no. Fuuuuuck. This guy was truly fucking sick.



I had caught first sight of this cage from under his arm in my upside-down position on his back once we entered the room. The main room door banged shut behind us, clearly weighted and wired to resist the open position.



Despite not having any decent escape plan, I acted only on instinct. I reared up, trying to wiggle and bang my way out of his hold, screaming with even more determination (and probably even less efficacy) than ever before.



He set me down inside the cage, which was probably about eight feet wide and six feet deep, and made quick work of spinning me to face away from him. He hobbled me, forcing me down to my knees, and grabbed at my bound wrists. “Shhh, my little sex bitch, you want your arms back, yes? Then calm the fuck down. Now.”