Dream a Little Dream With Me
—death2Uall
Part One
Nicole Rhodes stared blankly at her computer screen for just a moment, then, yawning, closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles into her tear ducts. Enough, she decided. Her report—an analysis of the financial strengths and weaknesses of a shipyard her boss was considering taking over, and the possibility of doing so profitably—was due in three days, but the numbers had begun to blur before her eyes for the last fifteen minutes, and even when she could see them, they’d stopped making sense. Time for some sleep, she told herself, you’ve done more than enough for one day. Get back to it in the morning, when you’re fresh.
She copied her work to her flash drive before shutting down her computer, and then took her coat from the rack in the corner of her cubicle, and headed to the elevators.
The security man was off doing his rounds when she finally descended to the lobby. It annoyed her, but she didn’t even consider chewing him out for it, as she’d seen other executives do when they’d had to work late. She just smiled and thanked him for opening the doors for her. He was just doing his job, after all.
The taxi ride back to her condo was no more pleasant than usual; she was exhausted, and the driver insisted on talking all the way from the office building to her place. She just closed her eyes and tried to tune him out. When they arrived at her building, she paid the fare, giving him a tip that was maybe a little on the chintzy side, and walked wearily through the icy winter air into the building lobby and to the elevators.
Once in her apartment, Nicole went immediately to her bedroom, not even bothering to look at the kitchen or her home office. For some reason she wasn’t particularly hungry, and she was exhausted. She stripped to her panties, tossing her skirt, suit jacket, blouse and bra into a laundry basket in her closet and then digging around in her dresser until she found an old, worn-soft tee-shirt she’d had for years. She slipped it over her shoulders and slipped into bed, setting the alarm before turning out the lights.
The nightmare was over before she even realized she was dreaming. That wasn’t unusual, not for her and, she supposed, not for most people. Several things about her nightmare, however, were very strange indeed.
She woke in darkness and silence. That was remarkable; the city never closed down, and even during the occasional bad-weather blackout, there was always some kind of light and noise: the glow from unaffected parts of the city, far-off police or ambulance sirens, even car headlights, far below her bedroom windows, always leaked some kind of illumination into her apartment. Total darkness and total silence were things she couldn’t remember ever experiencing, and they frightened her immediately. That she had no memory of getting to wherever she was frightened her even more.
She was lying on a surface that was both hard and cold, uncomfortably so, her arms stretched out over her head. It was only when she tried to pull her hands down that she realized they were secured above her head, circled by heavy, cold rings of steel; and it wasn’t until she realized she was bound that she began to panic.
“Hello?” she called out, “Hello, is anybody there? Help me! Where am I?” As her voice began to rise, she pulled at the steel rings around her wrists, flailing wildly with her legs as she struggled to escape. At one point she nearly knocked herself off the cold, metal surface she lay upon (Table; it must be a table, a more rational part of her thought). Her right leg slid off the edge of the table as she struggled, dragging her backside with it, causing her lower spine to bend backwards and placing painful pressure on the steel bands (Handcuffs) that trapped her wrists. She dragged herself back up onto the table, barely noticing that her foot hadn’t touched the floor.
She continued to struggle, but more quietly now, filled with an indefinable dread of falling off the table again. She kept pulling at the cuffs around her wrists even though it was obviously doing no good, and beginning to be painful, filled with an unreasoning terror of staying in this dark place any longer.
Suddenly a large pair of hands grabbed her right leg above and just below her knee, folding the leg, forcing her knee up into the air and her foot back towards her buttocks.
“Hey, stop that!” she complained, trying to kick at her assailant with her other leg. She seemed to have lost all her strength, however, and only managed to slap ineffectually with her foot at the hands grabbing her. “What are you doing? Who are you?”
Her assailant wrapped one large arm around her leg, and instantly found her lips with the index finger of his other hand. “Shush,” said a deep, male voice, one she almost thought she recognized. The finger pressed against her lips for just a second, and then it was gone. Only a moment later, a thick, heavy loop of nylon webbing was slipped over her knee and slid down until it wrapped around her ankle and upper thigh. Then there was a quiet zipping noise and a metallic ratcheting sound, and the loop tightened around her leg until her heel was held tight against her ass cheek, the strap and metal buckle tight against her flesh.
“Cargo straps,” he chuckled, pulling the strap even tighter, “Never leave home without ‘em.”
Nicole was still trying to find some way to wiggle out of the first strap when he bent her left leg at the knee and slipped another cargo strap down her leg, pulling it as tight as the first, so taut it nearly hummed in the darkness. The man’s hands pressed against her calf and thigh, then forced a length of scratchy, hempen rope into the space he’d created. He tied the rope off just over her knee, then pulled on it, forcing her bent knee up towards her shoulder and out until her knee nearly touched the cold, metal surface on which she lay.
Nicole hadn’t spoken since he’d first shushed her. If asked, she’d have said it was fear that informed her silence; after all, she was helpless, bound even before she’d awakened. But in truth, she’d simply fallen into the logic of the dream. He could see, and she couldn’t. It just made sense in the logic of her dream. So he told her to be quiet, and she did as he told her; it was just that simple.
But when he slipped a rope noose around her other knee and secured it in the same position in the other, she began to whimper out of simple discomfort. The way he’d secured her legs forced her to arch her back, and the tension on her inner thighs was nearly impossible to bear. And when he began to grope her, first running his hands over her belly, then up her ribs to grab and squeeze her breasts through the thin tee-shirt, she finally found her voice.
What she said, however, was not the indignant and angry telling-off she’d have thought, in her waking life, she might give someone who took these kinds of liberties with her body; even if she was helpless, she would have tried, at least, to tell a son of a bitch like this where to go. Instead, she sounded weak and plaintive, even to her own ears.
“St—stop it; please stop that.”
To her surprise, his response was nearly instant. The hands that had been groping her left her breasts. She breathed a very brief sigh of relief, but then there was a quiet CLICK in the darkness, and the flat of a small knife blade was pressed against her lips. She hissed in surprise at the feeling of cold metal against her flesh.
“I said, shush,” he told her, and then dragged the point of the little knife down her chin, down her throat, and over her sternum to her navel, where he reversed direction and dragged it up her body, but this time beneath the tee. Nicole didn’t breathe—didn’t dare to—the entire time the blade lay against her skin. She lay frozen with terror as the cool, steel blade glided across her skin, up the center of her body. She barely even noticed the discomfort of her position any longer; all her attention was focused on the feeling of the blade sliding across her skin.
He turned the blade again on reaching her collar, completely away from her skin this time. Nicole felt his knuckles against her chest, then a strong pull on her shirt. There was a sharp, ripping sound as the knife tore through the front of her tee-shirt. He paused for a moment, grabbing the torn edges of the cut in his fist before continuing until the shirt was sliced completely open down the front. He used the tip of the blade to flick the shredded shirt aside, exposing her breasts and belly. Then he quickly sliced up the sides of her panties, pulling them from under her and exposing her completely.
His hands returned to her breasts, but this time they didn’t just squeeze and fondle, they pinched and twisted. Nicole began to whimper again.
“You’re kind of a stupid slut, aren’t you?” he said, giving her nipples a particularly vicious twist, “You’ve got a nice body, though. That’s good; a slut’s body is her best asset.”
Nicole could feel her face burning, not with the anger she might have expected under normal circumstances, but with shame. The things he was saying ... they felt right and true. In that moment, she felt like a stupid slut, and could only hope somebody—he—would see the value of her body.
He had stopped tormenting her nipples, and his hands, hard and calloused, first cupped her breasts briefly, and then worked their way slowly down her abdomen, gently stroking the skin of her ribcage, belly and hips. It may just have been relief from the way he’d been tormenting her teats, but it felt ... good. Right. Like he was taking possession of her body. Even through her fear and pain, her body began to react.
He finally reached her center and, spreading her lips gently with two fingers, ran another lightly up the center of her now-dampened sex, flicking his fingertip across the tip of her clitoris. She nearly convulsed with pleasure. In fact, had she not been securely bound, she might have thrown herself off the table entirely.
“What you have to learn,” he said, stroking deeper and deeper into her while his thumb continued to play with her clit, “is obedience. Without obedience even the stupidest slut’s body is worthless.”
Nicole grunted in response, not to his words but to his fingers. There were two of them inside her now, stroking, probing, twisting, while his thumb kept stroking at her clitoris. She began to moan in pleasure ... despite the pain in her shoulders, hips and breasts, despite her fear, and most important, despite the orders he’d given her what now seemed like hours ago, she moaned and begged for more.
The dream ended just before she came.
She woke in a panic, covered in sweat, her tee-shirt bunched up under her armpits, panties down around her knees. For an instant she was afraid she was still bound, still in that dark, unknown place ... but then she saw the lights of the city outside her bedroom window, heard the faint, distant whoosh of passing traffic. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
She was, she realized even in the fear and relief of waking, horny as hell.
It took her a long, long time to climax; in the end, she could only do it by pinching and twisting her nipples painfully while she stroked herself.