Distance Ch. 02

He sat for a long time on the side of his luxurious bed. His weight sank into his spot of sheets and mattress and invited him to indulge in more. He could rest his back, then his head and drift far away from this room, awake in a place where things made sense. He told himself, no, that's not for now; the shower is where he needed to be. He didn't feel dirty, at least physically, but there was a film of some alien accretion about him nonetheless. That voice had directed his actions and, he vaguely suspected, his thoughts and feelings too. He wanted to wash away those invisible strings that had bored in to his flesh and deep in to his mind. More than freedom, he wanted agency.

But still he sat, patiently at hand for her call. It hadn't come for a worrying length of time, although for just how long he couldn't tell. Everything in his room stood perfectly static. He inspected the four walls for some way to divine the passage of time, felt irritated that he wasn't able to internally count the seconds and minutes. Hours? How long had he been here, exactly?

His eyes rested on the painting that hung beside that cushioned, once again locked door. An apple tree, portrait framed in the uniform of the room's aesthetic, large and prominent. It looked lush and full with its fruit. A window into some idyllic garden in Summer. He wondered what it would feel like to step into that scene, to feel the sun caress his face and taste something pure and sweet.

A knocking came meekly from the wall of the adjoining rooms. He sprang from his seat on the bed and brought himself close to the wall, resting his forehead against it. Eyes closed, he said, 'I'm here. I'm here.'

'I'm scared.'

Her words came clearly from close by, but they sounded lost and somehow distant. He cringed, as if a headache had suddenly hit him. 'Look... what happened out there...'

'Don't.' Her interruption stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He really didn't know what there was he could say to make things right.

Her voice suddenly filled with defiance. 'It's not our fault. We're being toyed with. What they told us to do...'

A pregnant pause filled his head with thoughts and events, some real and some imagined. Despite his disturbance, he felt the familiar swell of his penis growing autonomously toward erection. Guilt halfheartedly lurched through his mind, but he hadn't the energy to entertain it.

'I wasn't myself out there,' she said. 'I felt like I was in a dream I didn't know how to control. I thought things. Felt things...'

At this, he lifted his head from the wall, opened his eyes and soberly admitted, 'I wanted to fuck you.'

There was silence and then he continued, 'I didn't want to hurt you, I knew how afraid you must have been, but I couldn't help the thoughts. I wanted to take you in my arms and feel you – all of you. I was desperate for your scent, I felt crazy for it. I wanted that fucking voice to tell me to lay you down and screw you till you screamed.'

His heart skipped a beat and in a moment he thought, what have I done? He felt like her suspicions had been justified. He was part of her torment, just a tool for their captor to humiliate her with. To abuse her, and God knows what else. He considered heading to the bathroom and vomiting.

Her tone didn't offer forgiveness or reassurance, it simply stated the truth: 'I felt like I'd collapse with how hot I was for you. I couldn't take it. I didn't want you to see...' She seemed to ebb away for a moment, but then came a frustrated, angry moan. 'I wanted you in me! I wanted your cock so bad, just... pounding me! And I wanted to kiss you and feel your breath in my mouth and your spit and just bite in to you.'

He had no words.

'OK?' She sounded indignant.

The guilt made another pass through his mind, this time begging a question: did he feel guilty for what he wanted to do to her, or for what he hadn't done? It had not occurred to him that the one wrong thing he could have done is deprive her of a good fuck.

***

Her face flush and her eyes wide, she was suddenly consumed with shame. Why did she do that? Why did she tell him those things? She retreated to the untouched bathroom and turned the ivory tap for cold water, stuck her hand under the heavy stream until it began to turn numb, then lifted a handful to her face, practically slapping herself in the process. The area above the sink was nothing but bare tiles. There was no mirror and nothing offered any useful reflection for her to see the state she was in.

If the shower had had a glass casing, she would have had no reservations with shattering it and using the shards, but for what purpose she wasn't sure. She had no one to attack but herself, no binds to cut, and defacing the offensive grandeur of her room wouldn't have brought her any closer to what she wanted.

What did she want? Freedom, yes. A return to whatever life she once lived, her memory restored and a parent, friend, husband, whoever, to comfort her. She knew that's what she wanted, what she needed, but it felt strangely distant in her mind. Did she have a boyfriend? A lover? Did he miss her? Did he long for her, desire her all the more in her absence?

She leaned over the sink and with her wet hand reached under her dress. She felt her heat bring keen feeling back to her hand and kneaded her panties into the space between her lips. The lack of a mirror was a welcome feature now; seeing her reflection would have only inspired deeper shame. She slipped her fingers through to the flesh underneath and immediately found her hot, tumescent clit. There was no sudden escalation of intensity; she rubbed hard, angrily, but felt nothing to match all that had been burning her within.

She felt hopelessly empty and needed to be filled. She tensed stressfully, held her breath and massaged herself until stars began to dance across the grid of white tiles. With little warning, the muscles in her legs weakened and she instinctively grasped at the cold porcelain with both hands.

A tear escaped from her eye and gently tickled her cheek with its descent. It came to rest in the corner of her mouth and she tasted its frail bitterness.

The man was calling her. She didn't quite catch the words until she had returned to the bedroom. From beyond the wall, he was asking her name.

'I don't know what my name is. I don't know anything.' She suddenly sounded young and brooding. Privately, she gave a sardonic laugh. She didn't know who she had been exactly as a teenager, but she suspected she was channeling that girl now. To deflect the attention she returned his question.

'I have no idea who I am. I mean, I can't even remember if I had a wife or kids. My job. Nothing.'

Her prior defiance seemed to have left some impression on him as his voice became more animated. 'We can decide our own names! How are they going to stop that? Fuck that bitch!'

She sniffed through her running nose and grinned shyly with amusement. 'So,' she said, 'who am I talking to?'

'Adam.'

A snort escaped her. 'And I'm Eve, right?' Despite her cynicism, she was grateful for the sense of normality, even if it was make-believe. 'This whole thing doesn't seem very biblical to me.'

'You mustn't have paid attention in church. There's a whole bit about God locking people up in tacky hotel suites and making them crazy for each other.'

They shared a moment of genuine amusement, but it soon died down and she was left with a lingering phrase in her head: 'crazy for each other.'

She couldn't argue with the sentiment, but how could it be so? This was a nightmare and she barely knew him. Surely by anyone's standards they were strangers, in the strangest of circumstances. She took a deep breath of that ever-present musk in the air, that ethereal male vigour, and abandoned her introspection.

'Pleased to meet you, Adam. I'm Eve.'

The lights rapidly dimmed and before she could do anything more than shriek, she was plunged into utter darkness.

'Eve?' His voice was urgent and strong.

'The lights are gone! I can't see! Adam, please...'

'It's okay! Eve, it's okay! Just find somewhere safe, alright?'

She fumbled through the gloom and slapped both hands on to the cool, silky sheets of her bed. She let her whole body fall on to them and scrambled to find a way underneath. Her dress bunched coarsely around her as she pulled the sheets up to her face.

'I'm here, Eve. You're not alone. I won't leave you.'

His voice gave her profound comfort. She listened for further affirmations but nothing came and soon she felt her mind drifting toward some place calm and her eyelids become heavy, heavy...

***

It was pitch black and Adam felt the chill of the air on his naked body, kneeling on the hard floor, head hung low. All of his senses fought for position to ground him in whatever place he had awoken. He groaned with incomprehension and had it echoed back at him, ebbing in volume until once again silence reigned.

He struggled to find some footing but his legs were weak, tingling with prolonged pressure. He managed to lift himself slightly and, for a moment, believed something had crushed his windpipe. Instinctively his head jerked back and the unseen force ceased, although his throat burned and he gasped for air.

His sense of hearing vied for attention, to tell him of something possibly more disconcerting than the pain he was in: he had heard a chain rattle. He paused, letting the pounding of his heart resonate through him, defying the deathly silence, then reached blindly around himself until his hands rested on cold steel. At the end of it, on his neck, the smooth texture of leather.

Suddenly, a muted clap of light. His pupils scrambled for a suitable size but acted too slow to prevent a blinding daze hitting him. He hastily dropped back to his knees and buried his face into his palms.

Time passed and he timidly dared a peek into the light. He knew immediately where he was: back on stage, vulnerable and exposed, but this time alone. A few metres ahead stood a long metal table, looking well-worn and industrial. It was bare and seemed to offer no sense of its purpose.

All around him was the familiar void, dark and brooding, save for the gentle radiance of two doors set off from the raised platform. In all his disorientation, it took him a minute to find the one other item of note.

On witnessing the tall iron stake immediately behind him, he swallowed a despairing panic and tried desperately to distance himself. He barely gained a few inches of ground before the unyielding tether tightened harshly, the leather of his collar gripping his flesh and tender muscles within and threatening to choke the life from him.

'You can't do this to us!' He called out in to the darkness, coarse and impotent. 'What do you want?!'

The only reply he received was the clinking and rustle of his own chain-links.

'I'll fucking kill you! Cunt!' he spat, letting the rage froth in his mouth.

Somewhere, there was a single soft click. His focus darted to the only known place it could have come from and he realized at once that a door had unlocked. Her door. Eve's.

'Oh, Eve. No.' He pleaded internally, willing her not to emerge from her room, to see him like this and to be subjected to her own sordid trials.

His mind raced with the possibilities. Metal and leather were the only props to offer a hint of events to come. He recognized the implications of such things. His face winced and his stomach knotted and his dick came to life.

He watched intently for a length of time he couldn't gauge. Finally the distant light shifted and the door gradually opened. The first sign of her was her fingers and manicured nails. He couldn't quite see yet, but the work on them had become frayed and spoiled with bites. He hoped that some nail-biting distress was the extent of what had happened to her in the time lost.

Eve emerged. Her expression upon seeing him told him all he needed to know about how dire the situation was. She rushed to the foot of the steps but then paused, as if coming to an invisible barrier, or perhaps lacking the autonomy to proceed further. She opened her mouth as if to say... what? What was there to say? 'Don't worry'? 'It's okay'? No words came.

'You will stand beside the table.' That malevolent voice again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Resonant and powerful.

Eve took her cue and did as commanded. Adam noticed her eyeing the table, taking in its spots of old dried paint, areas of general wear, flecks of rust. It seemed to come from another world than their impeccable bedrooms. She looked to him, bare and debased, then past, to the similarly grungy metal post.

'Your clothes are unnecessary.'

The intonation turned the words in to a command as much as any other. She seemed to barely hesitate before reaching for the straps on her shoulders and easing the creased dress down her body and obligingly past her feet. Soon her breasts were exposed, pert and modest on her chest, her evenly round areolae a light pink, only slightly richer in colour than her pale skin. Her nipples were not erect. Adam entertained a thought about what it would take to make them so.

She removed the rest of her underwear with a detached nonchalance. He remained kneeling, unmoving, and stared at the neat fuzz of pubic hair and the tease of outer labia protruding slightly from between her thighs. Delicious, he thought. She looked delicious.

The two of them waited, staring at one another but not meeting eyes, patiently on hold for the further whims of the voice in the dark, or an ending to this particular game. A return to their separate rooms and another maddening denial.

There was movement, they heard as much. Some soft rhythmic slapping on the ground nearby, closer to Eve than Adam. Footsteps.

Out of the blackness emerged the shape of another person, a man. Eve inhaled with startled intensity and backed up in to the table, shifting its solid weight slightly with her buttocks, the pointed corner looking as if it could pierce her with the force.

The man paced purposefully toward her, then halted as if meeting the end of his programming. He was big. He stood at least a foot taller than Eve and looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds or more than her. If he did, it was all muscle. He wasn't terribly sculpted with detail and definition, but simply standing there he radiated a brutish strength. His penis was cut and flaccid, but as with all his other features, he was big.

Where his face should have been was a mask. Snow-white and seemingly molded to his head, it gave him the appearance of a mad hare. Bare, broad incisors were painted on to the mouth and two ears stood erect on top, slightly askew. The eyes gave no sense of how the man could see through, they were opaque and fixed permanently in a wide glare.

The scene froze, save for a drop of sweat inching down Eve's forehead.

'You have been very obedient, the two of you. And how patient!'

The bodiless voice had lost its cold aloofness, now it was filled with wry satisfaction. The shift in tone sent a shiver down Adam's spine. He suddenly felt an uncertain resolve to do anything other than what he was told.

'Little toys of mine that behave so well deserve to be rewarded. Of course, my pets...' said the voice, pausing for effect.

All eyes were on the masked man, that intimidating tower of meat. Where his eyes lay was unknown, but the face of the mad hare looked straight at Eve.

'My pets have waited such a long time. How they remain so faithful is beyond me. Even now! My poor Bunny, he doesn't move an inch.'

What now rooted the two of them to the spot wasn't some blind intoxicated need to comply, it was fear, at least Adam figured. It wasn't just the chain that made him feel helpless now.

He examined Eve. The expression on her face was frozen in wide-eyed severity. Further beads of sweat rolled from her hairline. Her nipples poked from her breasts, hot pink and erect. The top of her thighs, he was sure he could tell, were moist. He wasn't sure what he hoped was the cause. There was a longing in him for her to be experiencing horror, crippling dread, and nothing more. He struggled feebly with his collar.

'You will be fucked.' That damned voice had returned to its former iciness. 'Every one of your holes will be used. It will not be gentle.'

Further silence, and then a delighted giggle filled the air.

'That, of course, is directed at the female toy. To the other, don't worry. Bunny has very particular tastes, ones that don't include... male holes.' There was clear self-satisfaction in her speech. 'Though, he isn't my only pet.'

Adam pulled himself to his feet and brought the chain taut with his neck. 'Don't fucking touch her.'

The man, this 'Bunny', only turned his ridiculous mask in his direction. He seemed to observe the defenceless bound wretch before him for a moment, and then returned his attention to Eve.

A haughty laugh rang out. 'Oh, sweet Bunny, you will now,' she said, lowering her tone to a mocking gruffness, 'fucking touch her.'

The rabbit man stepped forward and Adam was dismayed to see Eve's reaction. She didn't run or attempt to put the table between her and that monster, now with his huge, cruel cock in his hand, stroking the thick shaft up and down in his palm, empowering it with stiffness and a purple hue. She remained pressed against the table's edge, leaning back to distance herself slightly, but otherwise immobile.

The brute grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. She landed one palm on the solid flesh of his midsection and curled her fingertips to grip. She looked up in to his grotesque visage, he down at her pretty, fevered face. A low, growling hum emerged from under the mask.

Her hand trailed uncertainly downwards, past his navel and over the bare shaven skin below. It rested gently on his hand, still gripping his swollen meat, only half concealed even with his slab of a fist. He released the grip on himself and allowed Eve's hand to feel his heat and rigidity, diverting his own touch to her left tit, squeezing it hard and rough.

Her gaze lowered to what now throbbed within her grasp. She stroked the long length of the shaft, made all the longer for the comparative daintiness of her closed fist. She reached the head and let her hand stroke slowly back to the base, and then back once again.

Incomprehensible grunts rumbled from under the animal mask. Still tightly gripping her wrist, he forcefully pulled her closer. He let go and her hand reached impulsively behind his back, finding his behind and digging her nails into one of his cheeks. His beast of a cock jabbed her painfully until she strengthened her grip and repositioned it up against his belly, continuing to stroke back and forth, gaining lubrication from the ever-mounting sweat and heat between them, the salty dew he produced.

Bunny-man tugged at her curly, unbrushed hair, forcing her to look up at him. Her brow was furrowed and full of longing, her mouth gaping and breathing heavy. He released her but she didn't move from this position. He lowered his thick trunk of an arm down to her ass, kneaded at her cheeks without care, rubbing his fingers into the crevice and feeling the pucker of her smooth ring. He probed with a fingertip, feeling the muscle relent.

Eve closed her eyes and slithered out her tongue to caress her top lip. She didn't feel the finger intrude further, instead his hand slipped onward, between her legs. There was an idle fumbling all over her sensitive, intimate skin. Her lips were groped and coarsely manipulated, pushed and pulled and scratched a little by his nails. His fingers made pass after pass until the wetness of her cunt made them slide between her flesh and two formidable fingers entered her sodden hole.

Her face was struck with untethered lust. She scrunched her eyes tightly and moaned out in to the quiet stage. Nothing but the sound of her desire and the moist slip-slap of penetrating fingers, breaching deeply, grinding sweet spots. She tensed herself to grip those objects within, to deny an escape and an end to the pleasure, though it proved unnecessary.