Author Topic: Atonement  (Read 1234 times)

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Atonement
« on: July 06, 2021, 09:17:33 PM »
Atonement

The big basement level under the old barn started out barren and empty. Not a soul had been there in a few years. But now the naked woman came in and dropped off a box. She returned with another. And another. She stacked them up haphazardly. There was plenty of room. She got a bit sweaty with the effort but didn’t complain.

It was just an old room, with chipped and faded brickwork and a rough cement floor from decades before. What made it feasible for the woman’s plan was the running water faucet along one wall. Andy, her cousin, the one family member to actually live at the farm, was certain that it had always been reliable, as had the drainpipe that went somewhere, probably all the way to the river. The barn was a decrepit piece of garbage now, but the farm had been rich and productive back when it was built in the 1920s. With a measure of thirty by fifty feet, it offered plenty of space for her to stack stuff. Eventually it was all down there.

“You sure?” Andy asked her.

“I’m sure. Don’t come for me until the time’s up.”

“You’ve got enough here even for the max?”

“Three months and more, if it actually goes that long. The odds are low, but, well hell, you already know.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here on the appointed day. Until then, I have no reason to come by at all, and I won’t. You’re gonna be trapped here for real, Kris.”

She nodded. “Nothing’s going to go wrong, but you’ve got my taped testimony.”

“Alright. I’m going.”

He climbed up the steps and closed the lid. There were enough cracks and holes in the thick timber roof that the room was dimly lit in the daytime. She heard the rods sliding into place. She heard the padlocks clicking. She’d been over the place enough to know she was not getting out on her own. She had food to last for over three months, slightly longer than the longest possible time she would be in there, naked, alone, trapped and helpless. And aside from knowing a slightly possible minimum and maximum, she didn’t know how long she would be in there. At all. Andy knew. He would come on that day. Maybe just a week. Probably a month or more, but she simply didn’t know. She was facing days of boredom and misery for sure, but possibly months of the same, enough to make anyone go mad.

She deliberately had brought nothing to do. No books or magazines, not a deck of cards, nothing any normal person would use. Just food. Food and a single hundred-fifteen-pound naked woman intent of reliving a tiny portion of what her childhood friend had endured in that very barn, in that very room, so many years ago. She cringed thinking of Ashley screaming away the years from twelve to nineteen in this very spot, with nothing to do but despair. Food every few days, along with a brief rape from Kristin’s uncle Ed. Ending only with his death and the family finding the girl. And then the scandal, and shame. And having to see Ashley again for the first time in seven years. Kristin being a college sophomore and Ashley re-learning how to read. So now Kristin gave herself her own form of atonement for her familial guilt, planning not to beat the anguish of sitting there for an unknown amount of time, but to just endure and experience it.

So, she looked around in the dim light at the dingy surroundings. What to do first? There was nothing to do. She had nowhere to sit or lie down. Nowhere but the floor. She paced back and forth. The room hadn’t changed its size at all. Thirty by fifty. It wasn’t a small prison by any means, but it felt smaller now than when she’d first thought of her plan.

She had an idea, though. She had to at least go through the motions. She climbed up to the trap door and pushed. It held firm. She pushed harder and banged it. “Help me,” she called out, but it was a weak call. Now, in the silence of her captivity, she didn’t want to be too loud. But Ashley would have screamed for real. How long, and how often, Kristen could only guess. She remembered that no one was in ear shot. It was all for show. “Help me!” she screamed, louder. “Help me!” again, louder still. Her voice cut into the silence but the silence returned for her. She was all alone. There was no out. Andy wasn’t waiting. He wasn’t in earshot. He wouldn’t be, and neither would anyone else.

That was two minutes. Just two months left. Or more. Or less. But she didn’t know. She couldn’t know. They’d used a random number generator to pick the duration and she didn’t know it. She knew nothing, for all practical purposes. All the collected thoughts and experiences in her mind were useless to her, trapped in the basement alone with nothing to do but wait. Naked. Alone. Abandoned.

She paced more and tried to settle in. The first day might well be the toughest, she thought, as her mind tried to adjust and settle in. She was here to suffer, and suffer she would. But maybe she could implement an exercise regimen, get herself in better shape. She had only bland but nutritious food with no snacks or desserts. Maybe she could get herself healthy. She determined to consider it starting tomorrow. For now, she had to get her mind in order.

Of course, she realized soon enough there was no escaping the elephant in the room. Her, naked, reliving a sex crime. And otherwise so bored. How often to masturbate? And thinking about what? Dreaming of better days, as Ashley would have been? Or picturing herself being raped over and over, which was Ashley’s reality all those years. Not by her actual uncle. It hadn’t been incestuous for Ashley, so it didn’t have to be for Kristen. But she realized she could only atone with duplication. She might dream of better times, but if she touched herself, she had to think only vile and evil thoughts about her own abuse. There would be no reality to it. There couldn’t be. She had no way to replicate that. But in her mind she would do what she could to live through sexual abuse, or else just leave her privates alone. One or the other.

There was the other box, though. The one without food or water. The one without toys in the usual sense. But it had the tools. The special ones that could make a woman feel special or very un-special. She opened it up, gazing at the selection of ‘toys’ available. They would remind her of Ashley’s ordeal even if nothing else could. She had picked each with duration in mind. Duration and humiliation, as she did not general ever use such items. That it looked horrifying was no reason to not pack it.

She decided on a dildo gag with face harness and a pair of handcuffs. She stared at the rubber cock, basically life-sized. Six inches long. Thick enough for her jaw to notice. She sat there, still staring. It was an ugly thing. It had no place on her body. It had no place in a decent girl’s possession. She grimaced and opened her mouth. In and in she slid the big object. It tasted funny, rubbery, not at all like Ashley would have known with Uncle Ed’s cock. Well, there was no way to duplicate that by herself. So in the fake dildo-cock went until she was gagging on all of it. Now the straps on the back of it were relevant. She pulled them around the back of her neck and clasped the two sides together, drawing them tight. Now the dildo was lodged in her mouth for the duration, until Kris unclasped the straps.

Next up, she looked at some handcuffs. They were not the cut-rate models that could do nerve damage if left on too long or too tight. And they could be unlocked by the wearer with the key. Kris now held the key. She checked the key. It was the right key. She could hardly loose the key here in the barn basement. So she nervously slid the cuffs onto her wrists and locked them, one after the other. Her hands now rested behind her back, feeling exceptionally useless to her now. She had a nervous gurgling sensation from her belly and had to fight a brief panic. But, she quickly realized, as thick as the dildo was, she could puke around it and still breathe.

She lacked a timer or stopwatch, so she couldn’t set herself the task of thirty minutes, or an hour, or whatever. She would have to use her willpower and her decision-making ability. It was something Ashley hadn’t had, but there was no obvious way around it. Kris doubted that handcuffs with programmable self-unlocking cuffs existed. She would have to make herself suffer where Ashley had had it forced onto her. Without a lurking partner, it was the best she could do.

Leaving the key near a wall, she got up and walked around. She felt awkward and humiliated walking around with handcuffs and a dildo locked in her mouth. If anyone were ever to see her like that, it would devastate her. She imagined the humiliation. She tried, in fact, very hard to imagine the humiliation of another person knowing and seeing her like that. Of putting her in that position by force. Of leaving her like that for some time, some unknown amount of time. She imagined their smug superiority and her quaking shame and whimpering as the last locking mechanism clicked into place under his grip, not hers. And the key, it wasn’t sitting on the floor no more that forty feet away or so. No, it would be gone, and she’d be stuck in that absurd, perverse, humiliating position until he, the man, her captor, chose to free her.

She thus wandered back and forth. There was no place to go in the room. There were boxes along one long wall. There were steps leading to a locked ceiling. Opposite the steps was the faucet and the floor drain. She checked. She could turn the faucet on and off with her hands cuffed. She could lean down and drink from the faucet. Those were her options. As a captive woman, as a naked, helpless, captive female, she had no others. She paced a few more times. She sat down. She sat with her legs spread, exposing her pussy to an audience of none. But it was a vulnerable position all the same. She was lewdly displayed, her body’s secrets presented to any watchers, however imaginary they were. Someone could have been looking at her naked crotch. Someone who had locked her up like that. Someone who was responsible for her captivity.

It had been a tiring day, she realized. Certainly she didn’t need more exercise that day. A nap seemed nice, though. A way to kill some time. She felt her hands. They weren’t going numb or anything. The cuffs were good for long-term use. So she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. If she could will herself to have scary sex dreams, she tried to do so. She made herself think of captors. Sex. Rape. Crying. Shame. Pain. Cocks. Sleep came to her, mostly dreamless. Mostly solitary. She was dreaming of herself, but she was still locked up. Still in a situation. It was still unsettling enough.

She awoke, eventually, lying on her side. She must have laid down at some point in her sleep. And it had been quite a nap, she realized, as she looked out into the barn basement and found it pitch dark. The cracks in the ceiling allowed the light from above, from the cracks in the barn walls, to filter down. But for moonlight, if there even was any, she got nothing. Sunlight got dim, and moonlight or starlight got nothing.

And for a moment she panicked. But the panic dimmed as she realized it would just take longer to get herself loose. She stood up, in the dark, feeling for the wall. She wasn’t fully sure where she was, but she’d been down by the drain and faucet. She felt along the wall as she stepped along, finding the corner. Now she paced out the steps to the middle where the key sat on the cement floor. She couldn’t even see her progress but she could pace it out. As she got close to the middle she paused and began feeling for the key with her feet. How close to the wall was it anyway? She wasn’t sure. But she felt around and didn’t find it.

The thought finally passed her mind that this was perfect. She was in a situation she couldn’t control. It was a little like Ashley’s, then. She would have to wait until she found the key to free her hands and then her mouth, and only then to eat something. Something random, there in the dark. But she felt around ever more for the key and found nothing. She slid her foot along in random arcs. She was finding nothing. She moved further along. Maybe she was not yet even at the key. She couldn’t see where she was in the room. There was that little light. Maybe she hadn’t gone far enough. She went further along. And further more. Still, there was no key on the floor. None.

And in the penetrating darkness, she heard a tiny squeak. And it sent shivers down her spine instantly. Were there rats in the basement? She’d checked so carefully. There were solid walls and solid flooring. No rat entry. Above was wooden beams and planking. She’d seen nothing large enough for a rat or even a mouse. And she didn’t even have a food container open yet. Why would a rat come? And if it did, would it swipe her key? Would it take something shiny and leave? Was she looking for a key that wasn’t there anymore? A key that was gone? Would she ever get her hands free? Take the gag out? Eat? Or would that missing key spell her slow, degrading death?

She searched ever frantically. She didn’t even hear the squeaking sound again. She reached the opposite wall, having searched too far. She walked back to where she guessed the middle was, roughly where the key should have been. She was getting scared now. Maybe a little panicky. At least Ashley had the comfort of knowing a conscious human being was not trying to starve her. Kris had nothing but a cousin she wasn’t that close to who had sworn not to check on her and probably would not. Certainly not the first night, even if he ever did go back on his word. There was no hope there. And none with anyone else. No one else knew the details. No one would know she was in trouble.

Finally, feeling like crying mostly from her stupidity, Kris gave up. She made her way back to the faucet to drink, slurping in water around the dildo and awkwardly managing to swallow a little at a time. She was going to have to go to bed without supper, but she would survive it. In the morning, if the key was there, and it probably was, she would unlock herself and have a big breakfast. Now she just had to last the night.

Easily said, she realized. Not so easily done. She sat down and willed herself to sleep, but the nap had been a long one and now she wasn’t tired. So mostly she sat and stared and fidgeted with her bound hands and the rubber penis in her mouth. There was no living down how humiliating a position she was in. And that was, of course, the point, but she wished it could come at less cost in hunger and boredom. It was looking like a long, long, long night ahead of her. At some point she had to have drifted off. She awoke a number of times, and before it was light she had to pee. She wasn’t far from the floor drain. She felt around for it, then tried to aim herself at it before letting loose with a stream of urine that landed somewhere on the cement floor and presumably flowed out.

Dawn came. She realized there was some light in there at long last, and her eyes were adapted to it after a night of pitch blackness. And as she sat up and tried to look though the growing glow, her eyes rested on the bit of metal. She found the key, about midpoint, a bit further from the wall that she’d remembered. She grabbed it easily and soon had her hands freed at last, and then the cock out of her mouth. It was so easy and so stupid, so loused up on account of losing track of the exact position of a little handcuff key. She kicked herself mentally.

As she dove into her piles of food boxes, though, she realized that this had to be routine. Not every night, but she would have to sleep bound more times. And gagged. And blindfolded too. Sometimes all at once. As Ashley had endured, Kristin would endure. She had survived it.

Breakfast came and went, and Kris faced her first full day with absolutely nothing to do. She paced more and found it getting old very fast. She sat, but it wasn’t much better. She wasn’t feeling very sexy. More bored, and run down. But there was still the open matter to deal with. Ashley had been raped. Many time. So Kris had to experience sex acts, if not from an actual man, then from her own hand. And toy. She dragged over the box again and found a basic dildo. It was on the large side, but nothing creepy. She stared at it in the dim light, not really feeling the desire to stuff it in herself. She preferred a vibrator, but without power that was not an option. But again, as Ashely had no choice in the timing, Kris would have to be arbitrary. It was time to fuck herself, in the mood or not.

She spread her legs as she sat against the wall. “Fucking, fucking whore,” she said out loud, not enthusiastically. “Fucking rotten whore.” She pushed the tip of the rubber phallus to her pussy and started to work it in, moving it, trying to get herself wet. Going in dry was too much, but she was also not in the mood. She finally took to licking it. “Yeah, lick that knob, whore,” she said as she licked. “Get it slick for that hole between your fucking legs.” She didn’t actually know what kinds of language Ashley had been subjected to. But it was close enough. She pushed it harder into herself, uncomfortably. She wasn’t wet yet, she’d barely gotten started and she wasn’t feeling sexy at all. The dildo was too big for comfort but she thought of Ashley, of Ashley sobbing out of control while Kris’s own uncle forced his real cock into her, and shot real semen into her womb. And locked her up for real years in real terror. And Kris gritted her teeth and jammed the piece of rubber cock all the way up her chute. Her whole body tensed under the worst lay she’d ever had. But there it was, her womanhood violated and pierced, without joy, without grace. It was a harsh, loveless act, jamming the dildo into herself. But she continued to grind it.

In, out. In. Out. She fucked herself with it, coldly, mechanically. Painfully, though the juices did start to flow and the hormones that came with them to surge a little. Should she fuck herself until she came? Did Ashley cum? Kris had no idea. Maybe she would self-fuck until she came, later. For now, she let her body pick the duration. When she was close to cumming, she could finally stop it. She couldn’t stop sooner, and wouldn’t extend it later. She would get the worst of both, fucked uncomfortably and then denied release. So she held the dildo and shoved it, pounded it hard, made it attack her. It wasn’t enough to fuck her. The dildo had to attack her womanhood savagely, and she made it happen. It was a hurtful fuck, hateful except it was by her own hand. She got to breathing hard. She got to be really slick. It was even feeling pretty damn good, finally. And then she stopped. She pulled it from her cunt and put it away. She pushed the box away with her foot. And she sat there, bothered, feeling stupid and dirty. And continuing her atonement. Twenty minutes down, the rest of the day remained.

***

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe not. The ordeal Kris laid out for herself was intended to be unpleasant, and she could claim no surprise that it was. The first time she genuinely cried during her captivity was also the first day she lost track of days. Maybe it was her thirteenth day, and maybe her fourteenth. She tried to count off each day but she couldn’t even make scratch marks on the wall. She couldn’t remember if she’d added one day to the mental tally because thinking had become very hard. Feeling, however, was all too easy and too fraught with dangers.

She was sitting, legs spread, jamming the dildo into her twat. Three hard thrusts in, then up to her mouth to suck it, and her own juices, off. She did not like her taste. She had no interest in pussy as a general rule. And her boxed diet didn’t leave her own odor all that fresh or fruity. But there she sat, breathless, sweating at herself. “Fucking cunt! Take the cock up your hole! You fuck hole!” Then up to her mouth to lick it clean as she face-fucked herself. For all the indignity, her climax was coming soon. So she stopped, and replaced the dildo with the dildo gag and the handcuffs, just like on her first day. Or was it the second day? A week ago. She remembered for sure saying ‘day twelve’ out loud, but was that one or two days earlier?

The thought came to her, ‘You’re so stupid, Kris!’ She couldn’t argue. She sat and breathed hard, calming down and cooling off. She expected summer to be the right time for her experiment, but she’d had one very hot day already, where she sweated the hours away. She’d also had a couple cold days and several cold nights, shivering because she hadn’t planned on the cold. Now it was cold again and not looking better soon. It was raining outside. She could hear it. Hear it just fine as she lay on her side, handcuffed, French kissing a dildo gag in the nude. Saving the world from sexual predators by risking hypothermia, like a dumb failure of a woman would. She couldn’t argue. She didn’t even know what day it was. And then the tears came. Light at first. Growing. Red faced and warm. The vocal cries followed as Kris let herself break down. Or so she told herself. Ashley had broken down for sure, so Kris would too.

Except it was, she knew, a stupid lie by a stupid woman who’d gotten herself trapped in a stupid experiment to prove herself an alpha bitch. Well, the alpha bitch was now crying over nothing, and that made it worse. She wasn’t allowing anything. She was just crying. Naked, cuffed, curled up, cold, and crying.

She cried because she knew she was a colossal faker. She had locked herself up, with a fairly short, if unknown, duration. No one was raping her. Hell, she would have killed for some company. Even her rapist creepy uncle would have at least spoken. She was frigging herself with that fucking dildo and calling it a rape simulation, even though she controlled every last thrust, every twist, every start time, every stop time, all of it. She chose which hole it went in, cunt or mouth. But not her ass, no sir. She couldn’t take that, even though Ashley probably had.

She, Kristin Lowry, was a big colossal fucking faker! A fake rape victim in a fake scenario dreamed up to make herself feel better about being a blood relation to the devil. Well, she thought, trying to stifle her tears, she could always adapt and change the game. She got the key and took off the cuffs, long enough to get one of the dildos that had a locking strap on it. She slid it, hard, up into her pussy and clasped the strap shut around her waist, using another padlock to fix it in place. Then she gathered up both keys, to the padlock and to the handcuffs and in a fit of righteous anger she pitched them into the pile of boxes somewhere. Then she put the cuffs back on her hands before she could change her mind.

There, she thought as she sat back down. It was done. She could get out, sure. But not at will. Not without searching the boxes. It might take time. It wasn’t up to her. She couldn’t actually lose them, but she could lose track of them. Now she had a cock in her mouth, a cock in her cunt, and cuffs on her wrists. Now she could approach being real. She sat back down.

And she stared at the far wall. She sat and stared. It wasn’t going anywhere. But boredom was her only companion and it was never gone long. At least an emotional breakdown, a tantrum like the one she’d just finished, was something to do. It was good for a half hour or so. Besides, Ashley had cried. So it was genuine, authentic, real.

Even in the barn she could smell the ozone and knew a thunderstorm was brewing outside. She did wish she could hear it a little better. It suddenly got dark as the sun went behind the clouds outside, way outside. She saw no clouds or direct sun, but she saw the effect inside as the dim light died. It was still afternoon, but searching for the key was out of the question for a while. No matter, it was better this way for her to stay bound like a whore for a bit. The rain finally started and she enjoyed the smell of it, a simple pleasure for a simple girl of few remaining pleasures. She liked the sound. She liked, liked…

She didn’t like the water that was suddenly pooling under her ass. She struggled up to her feet but could barely see in the reduced lighting. She could feel, though, and water was getting into the barn’s basement. She could feel it with her feet on the cement floor and her hands at spots on the faded brickwork. The deluge outside was turning her prison into a swimming pool! In a frantic check, she found that at least some of it was flowing to the drain, so that was good.

And it was also leaking under her food boxes! In a panic she ran over and tried to reach the other wall. She slid in among the boxes to reach the far wall and found leaks running down the walls, getting under the boxes. Most of the stuff was wrapped in plastic or metal inside the boxes. But maybe not all of it? She searched frantically now for the keys. She had to do damage control. But she could barely see the boxes, let along the floor by the boxes between them.

Outside the thunder exploded suddenly, shaking the ground, with a flash of distilled light coming through for an instant. The gentle roar of rain became a pounding, and then she felt it, the trickling of water on her head. It was coming into the barn and through the cracks of the floor, her ceiling. She was already cold, and now the cold water was threatening to soak her with uncleansing and rather putrid water from the barn floor runoff. Kris finally just stood there, nothing left to do but cry again and bemoan her shitty luck. And as the storm ran into the evening and the night, that was how she was left. She could only curl up and try to sleep.

She awoke in quiet shivering. She was cold. Very cold. It was quiet again, and with a trace of light. She’d managed to get to the morning. Now she just needed light to find the key. It wasn’t quite there yet. But she could stand, and walk without tripping. She tried to assess the water damage. There was still some pooled up on the floor. But then she froze as she heard it. A long slide along the wood. Above her, above her ceiling. Something on the floor of the barn.

She froze. It was too loud to be her imagination. Or was it? She stood absolutely still. She didn’t even want to breath. Maybe, she realized with relief and some annoyance, it was Andy. Checking on her. Or maybe just checking on his barn. That was fair, it seemed. The storm had been a gale forced deluge. She could call out. Just, “Hey, Andy?” Except she was a whore and still had a dildo gag lodged in her mouth, making her jaw ache. ‘Hey, Andy’ would come out sounding like ‘Haah ahhba’. She tried to quietly mouth it and hear how it sounded. And at that moment she thought she heard it again. A sound. A footstep. A sliding along the wooden floor of something. Someone? Some animal, maybe. One that could have gotten in during the rain, maybe.

There were no good options. She was a sitting duck out there, now without hand movement. A standing duck. So she stood, quietly, motionless, terrified. Alone. She cursed herself for the stupid self-pitying ordeal she’d burdened herself with. Maybe it was Andy, and maybe she should just call out for help and put an end to her little indulgent frivolity. And maybe she could finally find those fucking keys.

***

Kris sat curled in the corner, staring out into the shadowy chamber through sunken, puffy eyes. Occasional squeaks of distress exited from her throat, but to call them sobs was to inflate her perpetual state of panic and misery to something tangible. It was bad enough to be trapped like a naked girl in a cage. She wasn’t just trapped. She was stalked. With supreme patience, someone was keeping an eye on her. Someone was, perhaps, watching her? Listening, for sure. Watching? Maybe. A little. Peering down through the floorboards at her, knowing she would never notice. She tried to keep moving. Tried to hide. She hid under the empty boxes sometimes. Waiting, listening, watching the single entrance. She still had food. She’d overpacked, for sure. Her appetite was miniscule, as befit a locked up girl with nothing to do or think. Andy might have forgotten about her. She was pretty sure she was past her actual time allotment. Only her bird-like appetite kept her alive.

So she whimpered a bit from time to time, watching, waiting. She trembled and suppressed a slight squeak when she heard it again, a slither from upstairs. The sound she’d first heard after the big storm had gone away for a while. But it was back. It had been back for a while now. It might have been back even longer but she hadn’t noticed it. Her senses hadn’t become hyper-aware right away. They were now.

The punishment. She remembered now. She was there for punishment. Or atoning, for something with her friend. Ashley, the raped one. Uncle Ed had done it. Now Kris had to suffer. Her twat needed punishment.

“Heh, yeah, take that!” she whispered intently as she stiffened her fingers and drove them almost in a big stinging motion into her pussy. Her fingernails slid along her pussy walls. She scratched herself. But as her hand nearly convulsed as she frigged her own hole, she just sucked in a deeper breath and took the pain. Again and again. And again. She stopped, as always, before she could cum. She had to not cum. That was imperative. No orgasm. Pain, but not pleasure.

Like that experiment to see how hard and long she could pinch her own clit between her finger and thumbnails. How she sat, trembling, gritted teeth, bleeding. She’d won, though. Won that contest. Won it well.

There it was again, her spy. Her intruder. It couldn’t be Andy, but who had she told who knew who she was? That was her mistake. Telling shit online, on forums, on web sites, it wasn’t really anonymous. Hackers existed. Hackers could find her, put it together. It wouldn’t be hard. Her family shame had been a major news item. So all the anonymous forum readers knew what she was doing. Some probably knew where, and how. And who she was. Kristin Lowry had no more secrets. No more anonymity. At least not from one person. Probably one man. Someone with the time and inclination to come out and stalk her to no end. A rapist, eventually. Maybe a killer?

Maybe her cousin Andy was already dead, murdered by her stalker. Maybe she would just run out of food and starve. Would he then come in, finally, to taunt her in her dying gasps? Or to fuck her corpse?

She crawled across the rough floor. She wasn’t allowed to walk anymore. That was the rule. The law! No walking allowed for Kris. She could crawl. She could slither on her belly. She had tried both and preferred to crawl like a slave whore. She crawled for water. It flowed cool and easy from the faucet in the wall, same as always. She drank and laid under the stream, bathing herself as much as she could, rubbing her crotch and her titties with water. Cool, clear, pure water. Not like herself. Not disgusting. Not doomed. She crawled back, doing a few laps around the chamber. She slithered. It was easier on her knees. She slithered along the dirty floor, which was actually a rather clean floor, routinely mopped by a naked woman slithering over it.

And something moved upstairs. He was patient. Sometimes, if she remained exceptionally silent, she could just hear the background noise of his headphones. He listened to stuff while he stalked her, while he waited to torment her. Music. Talk. She just barely heard a sound, so she didn’t know what. But sometimes the volume was really up for him. And she could hear it. Maybe he wanted her to hear it.

There was only one real question about her stalker. Was he acting for her or against her? Maybe he wanted to help her suffer. Maybe he recognized her quest and wanted to join in. Or maybe he wanted her to suffer his way, and was not on her side at all.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed into the void, clenching her fists. “Just leave me all alone!” she sobbed again. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. And heard a sound again. A footstep. She froze. A step. Not a scrape or slither. An actual footstep. She remained frozen, petrified. She stared up. She was lying not far from the trapdoor. Not long before nightfall. She lay there and waited.

In the darkness that fell she slept. And she dreamed. She woke up. She masturbated. She slept more. She listened in the dark, and heard a snippet of breathing, perhaps a light snore or two from upstairs. She cried a little. She tossed and turned. She dreamed. And somewhere in that mess of confusion and emotion, she figured it out.

“Who are you!” she screamed. No one answered. “Tell me who you are!”

Still no answer came. Not in words. But as if to put her confusion at ease, she distinctly heard not just a footstep, but rather the slight but unmistakable sounds of steps, walking lightly across the planks. Above her. In the corner of her eye she caught a tiny variation in the light through the boards. Someone was absolutely up there.

She crawled to the box of toys. Her belly ached with hunger but she ignored the food. Her hand clutched the cuffs. Not the key. The key she left by the box. She crawled back to the stairs upward with the cuffs.

“I know what to do now!” she cried, wrapping her arms around the lowest stair. She put one cuff on herself, on her left wrist. Then she paused. She cried some more. There was no other way, though. Not with that maniac up there. “Is this what you want?” she sobbed. “Is it? Just tell me!” There was no answer. She clenched her eyes shut, pushing out tears, and clasped the other cuff onto her right wrist. She was chained to the stairs now. No water. No food. No key. Just a shriveled up naked girl, staring into the void, quivering with terror and joy at her impending freedom and doom.

But nothing came. She stared, and she waited. She waited. She even heard more footsteps. She heard them several times. She yanked at her cuffs. Hard. She bashed her wrists up good. She screamed for him, whoever he was, to just show himself. But he had tricked her well, tricked her like she’d never been tricked before. She saw it all, now, more clearly than she’d ever seen anything. He didn’t have to kill her. She could do herself harm. And she had. He wasn’t going to rescue her, or even kill her. He was just going to wait around. He could afford to wait. She was the one chained to the stairs, drying out. Frantically she climb-crawled up the stairs so now she was lying with her feet up and her head on the floor. She couldn’t reach the door. But she could straddle the boards edging the stairs, rubbing her pussy against the wood, rubbing hard. She jammed her whole body against the stair boards with her hands on the floor, holding her steady. Her tenderest of flesh she slid harshly along the wood. She felt the blood and she gouged her clit along the woody fibers. And she felt her orgasm rising. She didn’t stop herself. She frantically, absurdly fucked the side of the staircase until her body felt what it had lacked for so long and she came hard, screaming out, letting her juices and blood flow before she passed out and slid down to the floor again.

She awoke spread out, still handcuffed to the stairs. It was dark. But she heard breathing. Close by. She let out a whimper of terror. “Wh-who’s there?” she begged the darkness.

“A name means nothing, Kris.” She screamed, almost jumping up before her chained hands caught her. It was little more than a whisper.

“Please, make it stop now!” she sobbed.

“You know that’s impossible,” the same man’s voice replied.

“Where are you? Can’t you turn on a light?”

“The light is on, Kris. Your eyes have failed. You are dying.”

“Please, no!” she sobbed. “Please? Are you still there?” She peered into the darkness. She yanked on her cuffed wrists.

“This is your fault, Kris.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“It is your fault. What are you doing here?”

“It’s not my fault either!” she sobbed. She screamed again when she felt his touch, light but rough. On her leg. And then on her belly. And finally a finger, an appendage, sliding up her damaged pussy. She squirmed away from it. But he grabbed her and dragged her back. She felt him. On her. She felt his cock at her gash, plowing through the dried blood, pummeling her cervix with his long, thick cock. He strangled her as he fucked her. She saw swirling light in her vision. He must have cum in her. It felt warm, up there.

“Your fate is not in my hands, Kris. Goodbye.”

“No. No! Don’t leave me like this! Don’t leave! Don’t leave!” She heard steps going up the stairs. “Please. Please.” But she begged the silence. She heard no further sounds from her intruder again.

***

Kris was blinded by the light. She felt it was a good light. She should go towards the light, because, that was what people always did. But the light was blotted out by a man’s profile, and she was facing not God or Saint Peter, but rather the face of some anonymous EMT. “You’re with us, good,” he said.

“I, huh. Okay.” She looked around. She was still in the basement, but lying on a stretcher now.

“You’ll probably be just fine. We’re going to a hospital. Can you tell us your name?”

“Kris Lowry,” she said. “And it’s twenty-twenty-one this year. That’s your next question.”

“Sounds good.”

“How, long? Do you know? How many, how long?”

“Ninety-nine days, according to your friend. Or cousin. Whoever he is. Lucky for him you made that recording. I’m no lawyer, but he could have been in deep shit over you.”

“I was raped,” she said. “There was a man there.”

“That is not likely,” he said. “We’ve checked you out.”

“But, I felt him. I heard him.”

“It took an I.V. drip just to get you conscious. You dreamed it. Or hallucinated.”

“I, no. Okay. I don’t know.” They picked her up and began to carry her up the stairs. “Then what was I doing here?”

“You were dying. But it’s all better now, Kris. All better.”
The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

Offline Army of One

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #1 on: July 07, 2021, 03:53:31 AM »
This is a unique take. I like it.
Extinguishing the Flame is available on Amazon and supports Australian Bush fire relief.

Offline darklord

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #2 on: July 07, 2021, 10:25:17 AM »
Wow!   You certainly have not lost your ability to craft a great story.  Well don’t

Offline spunkjunk

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #3 on: July 08, 2021, 01:44:25 PM »
A woman raping herself   for recreating.
A can´t stop reading story and surely a gem here.
My respect and thanks for a exciting story. Merit.


Once God create the male. Examining each angle he thought: I can do better! And he did...

Offline RapeU
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Re: Atonement
« Reply #4 on: July 08, 2021, 09:20:54 PM »
When she couldn't find the key I thought it might have gone down the drain. Like in the first Saw movie. You captured that suspense of not knowing where it was well. I liked the slow descent into madness too.

I need to practice writing more so that I can write stories as good as this.

Offline EnabranTain

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #5 on: July 13, 2021, 01:07:36 PM »
A challenging premise to write and you did it well! Very good!
No one bad is ever truly bad, and no one good is ever truly good.
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Offline bobbyjoecrossdresser

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #6 on: July 31, 2021, 09:54:44 PM »
👍 Great story, in the running for my vote. Only the second one I've read and wavering between both of you. I'll reserve final decision until all are read though. No matter how I vote, I really enjoyed the way you told the story.
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Offline Petite99S

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Re: Atonement
« Reply #7 on: August 01, 2021, 03:43:15 PM »
Very creative! I can only think of maybe only 3 others here who has so many wide ranging ideas. And how you wrote Atonement felt like there are so many answers 'just' hiding outside your story and so many odd off-kilter things adding to the atmosphere. Almost like Hopper paintings I guess? And I guess starvation explaining some other symptoms. Merit happily given and good luck on July's contest!
We live in a world where science fiction has become reality... But there is one realm that has remained invulnerable...  one activity that has been practiced with the same rites through out the ages, and that is the reciprocal conquest of men and women.