Enslaved

Chapter Two: Playing the Pawn

My chest was still heaving from my orgasm as I inched my uncooperating body slowly backwards, bending my knees and sluggishly propelling myself towards the wall with what little energy I had remaining. My attempts at retreat were unsuccessful as Gabe pulled my feet, sliding me back towards him. I shook my head vigorously not understanding what Gabe had just said. He was El? El was thousands of kilometres away. How could he be standing before me?

Gabe crouched down close. He pulled out his phone, reading the message I had sent El earlier. "I was so wet from the way he touched me...He was talking about having me on my knees, and binding me, and sucking his cock." His finger scrolled downwards stopping at another text. "You may remember this one Amelia. 'El, you have to stop sharing your smutty life with me while I'm at work. Reading your description about edging that woman totally made me wet.'"

I shook my head in disbelief. My eyes darted as my mind attempted to reconcile the reality of the situation. Everything Gabe said last night was presumptuous, bordering on insider knowledge about my unspoken yearnings. That's why he called me little one. That's how he knew what my favourite drink was unprompted. His implication that I would enjoy slipping to my knees and servicing him was based on the deeply intimate conversations we shared in which we divulged our erotic cravings and wanton wishes. When I ashamedly admitted to El that my sexual longings were unrealized, he was gentle in his encouragement of me to seek it out, to understand the parameters of my submission, and embrace it.

"Try visiting a club, Amelia. See if D/s play is for you. If it isn't, move on. But if it is, you'll find freedom in your submission, a freedom that you've never experienced before. Fantasizing about being submissive is one thing. Experiencing it can be indescribably liberating," Gabe oft said. He had even offered to accompany me.

"You'd fly in from thousands of kilometres from wherever you are in the world to take me to a club?" I asked Gabe incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Honestly," Gabe confirmed with me. "You need only ask Amelia. I'd accompany you anywhere."

I dismissed his offer, attributing it to his deadpan humour rather than according it any seriousness. We were pen pals after all. Promises were easy to offer when they were illusory.

Gabe recognized the confusion contorting my features as I recalled our past conversations. He picked me up in his arms and deposited me gently on the sofa, so the armrest supported my back.

"If I remove the tape, will you promise not to scream?"

I shook my head. I couldn't make such a promise. Gabe only smiled and gently peeled the adhesive away from my lips regardless.

I flexed my jaw as I looked at Gabe. How could he be El? We never exchanged names, or numbers. I never revealed the city I lived in, or even my profession. I was deliberately vague in our chats, never mentioning the name of friends or independent businesses that I frequented. I never sent pictures of anything recognizable. I hadn't even shared an image of myself. I purposely used a VPN to obfuscate my IP address.

"You're El?" I queried in disbelief. "El from online?" Astonishment tainted my questions.

"Yes Amelia," Gabe said kindly to my state of perplexed stupidity. "I'm El. You may call me Gabriel or Gabe. Either is acceptable."

"I don't understand. How?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

Gabe sat mercifully on the opposite end of the sofa; a claiming hand pressed firmly against my calf, ever present. His fingertips grazed the length of my leg as he explained that he realized we were located in the same city after I mentioned a museum exhibit I visited. He recalled our past conversations and pieced together my location. After that, he had me hacked. I wasn't difficult to find. Gabe then had me surveilled. He knew my schedule, my routines, how often I met my friends, where I worked out, when I went for my medical appointments, how often I'd eat out. He even knew about my job at the university.

"My apartment? I..." Incredulity was short circuiting my ability to think critically in the moment. Instead of strategizing my escape and directing a respectable amount of anger at Gabe, I was sitting with marked detachment on the sofa next to my kidnapper, bound and partially dressed, having a civilized discussion about how he had stalked, tracked, and surveilled me.

"I installed cameras in your apartment as part of the monitoring efforts. From there, I had interior designers scour to replicate your living space. Some things that couldn't be replicated, I borrowed from your actual apartment last night."

I visibly blanched when I heard about the security cameras. What had Gabe observed? Were there cameras in the bathroom? In my bedroom? Did he lecherously watch while I slept with my ex or showered myself. Oh god, was he watching when I masturbated? "Cameras? What did you see Gabe?" My panicked eyes met his.

"I saw what I needed to see Amelia," Gabe reassured me.

"What the fuck does that mean?" my voice shrieked several tones higher than my natural register. It was the first sign of hysteria from me since I learned of Gabe's identity. "Were you just sitting there like a pervert watching me 24/7?" I kicked out my bound legs as instinct, aiming for his crotch. Gabe only tightened his grip on my flesh dissuading further movement.

His fingers walked up my leg, stopping on my thigh, before sliding down to rub small circles against my inner thigh. "It means that I witnessed you in the bathroom, showering, having sex with your boyfriend. Yes Amelia, I watched you pleasure yourself with your toys. I wanted to know you intimately."

I swallowed and shook my head frantically. This was beyond the pale. I kept on thinking how affronted I should be from Gabe's breach of decency and my dignity. Yet, I was dumbfounded into silence rather than outrage. My bound hands and ankles a painful reminder of a more imminent sense of vulnerability I needed addressing. The weight of Gabe's fingers as they inched threateningly closer to my still swollen nether lips caused me to still.

I opened my mouth repeatedly, but nothing vocalized. "Why?" I finally squeaked out. I couldn't understand what sort of vile human being Gabe could be to rob me of my life. I was content in my routine. My life had meaning. I had friends who loved me. I performed well at a job that was rewarding. While my amorous relationships were less than admirable, it wasn't for him to determine what the trajectory of my life should be or should take.

"You weren't living a real life. You were going through the motions, denying who you really are," Gabe explained as he sidled closer. The armrest dug painfully into my back. "You complained that your last boyfriend was an unadventurous milquetoast of a man who wouldn't perform cunnilingus on you. When you'd return from your dates, we would have these vibrant discussions about your sexual desires. But you weren't willing to take any steps to explore. How often had I attempted to get you to attend a club or munch? Instead, you spent your hours speaking with an anonymous person who shared experiences you only fantasized about. You could have continued writing another 50 stories of the BDSM-variety, and still never kneeled before a Dom. In our interactions, I saw this bright, engaged, sexually adventurous ingenue that was waiting for the right master to unleash the passion within." He palmed my mound from outside my panties, squeezing lightly. "Don't you feel that passion right now Amelia? Pulsing and throbbing to my touch?"

I shook my head and tried to wriggle away.

"Yesterday was the perfect occasion for you to seize a fortuitous opportunity. Yet, you couldn't. You panicked. I had to cajole you into even accepting my number. You weren't willing to go beyond your comfort zone, even when it presented itself on a golden platter." The warmth of his hand traced up my torso and caressed my cheek. His touch was gentle. I recoiled in response.

"That wasn't for you to determine," I seethed. "It's my life Gabe. I choose what to do with it," I asserted and shook my head trying to dislodge his hand, which only pressed inwards as a response. "So, what if I wrote another 50 BDSM stories without experiencing the real thing? Did you ever think that your approach was too strong for my liking?"

His nails dug into my cheek. "Some choices need to be forced Amelia. I'd watch you slip a finger or two in between your thighs as I shared my experiences. You want to desperately experience it. We were practically having phone sex every night. And yesterday you certainly seemed to appreciate my strong approach. Need I remind you that you came quite wantonly on my lap with my fingers deep in your pussy and your tongue rammed down my throat?"

"I...I...You made me," I stuttered out, lacking conviction even to my own ears.

"Did I Amelia? Be honest." His other hand returned to graze the outside of my damp panties. "Because I'm quite certain you were dripping wet just from the barest of my touches, much like you are now. Isn't that right?" His fingers pressed insistently against the crotch of my panties, pushing it into my slit. "I bet that being bound and vulnerable in front of me turns you on."

I tried to avert his gaze, suddenly ashamed of my behaviour last night, and of my reaction now. How could I have imperiled my safety like I had? My desperation made me foolish. My yearning transformed me into a sexual being with questionable judgement. Even now, as I sat with my hands cuffed, and my ankles bound, I could feel the seeping of my arousal dampening my panties. The heat of Gabe's body an antidote to my yearning.

"What happened last night?" I redirected. "Did we...?"

"What do you remember?"

"I remember that we danced. We drank. We made out at your car. I think I left. I have no recollection of what happened afterwards."

"First, we did not sleep together. When I sleep with you the first time it will be because you've begged me to claim you, and not before. Second, we left together. You have no memory as I slipped something into the water bottle I handed to you at my car, which you chugged down after I told you I was a Dom and you started to panic before taking your leave and dismissing me. Shortly after, you lapsed into unconsciousness as you were walking towards the club's entrance to hail a taxi. I took you here. I gathered some of your belongings from your apartment. I undressed you and placed you in your pyjamas."

He undressed me? The blush mottling my neck crept slowly upwards to my cheeks. He had touched me when I was unconscious and seen my naked form. I shouldn't have been so embarrassed given that his fingers were penetrating me mere moments ago and were currently threatening millimetres away from further insertion. However, the invasion of my privacy, without my consent or knowledge was infuriating and mortifying at once.

"You needn't be embarrassed Amelia. You have a beautiful body. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the small patch of hair above your pussy. I plan to ravish you when you're ready and willing. We can enact all of those forbidden fantasies you shared with me night after night. Wouldn't you like that little one?" He stared into my eyes holding my gaze, gauging my reaction as he slowly inserted a single digit to return to the tunnel of fabric he had created as he pressed inwards towards the warmth of my pussy.

I revealed nothing. He wanted a reaction. I wouldn't dignify him with one. Instead, I shifted my body to deflect his touch. "I don't understand. You're in tech. How did you accomplish this?"

"I'm wealthy. As I told you at the club, I developed apps when I was younger that I sold for large sums of money. I fund start-ups now. Hacking you was not difficult. A VPN doesn't afford you as much privacy as you think it does Amelia, neither does using an online phone number. It was easy enough to hire a private detective to surveil you and place cameras in your apartment. I knew very early on in our conversations that you were special. You and I share so many kinks. I had attempted to approach you earlier at the grocery store, at the bookstore, on the street, near the university, at the mall. You were entirely immersed into your own world that I didn't register on your radar. The club was the first successful attempt. I wouldn't have abducted you had you been able to take the first step. But you bolted towards familiarity at the first opportunity. I needed to show you who you are."

Gabe was delusional if he thought I'd express gratitude for kidnapping me. He repeatedly emphasized the public service he was doing for me. Who was he to play Clotho to my fate?

"It's not too late to release me Gabe. I don't know where we are. I know nothing about you," I bargained with him. "You can blindfold me, gag me, drug me, drop me on a random street corner. I won't tell. There would be nothing identifiable or traceable to you. You would just be a spectre that never existed, except in my unverifiable imagination. I promise. I won't make trouble for you. How can I? I don't know who you are," I emphasized to him. My eyes made a silent plea to his humanity.

Gabe gazed at me wistfully. "My sweet naïve Amelia. I'm in it for the long haul. I wouldn't have gone to these lengths if I wasn't. I didn't want to use this apartment as I thought last night I would successfully coax you out of your inhibitions. You can either accept your situation now and make your life infinitely more pleasurable, or eventually come to accept your circumstances. I'm a patient man. I will wait for your acquiescence. You need not worry about your apartment. I'm paying the monthly rent. In a few days I'll email your friends pretending to be you, notifying them that you've decided to take a last-minute trip to Europe. I'll email work requesting time off. You will not be reported as missing. You can rest assured I will not hurt you."

His words cut through the cold silence of the room.

"You already have," I whispered.

My tears ran unbidden down my face. He wasn't releasing me. He intended to wrench me permanently from the comfortable life I had built. While it wasn't much, it was still a life I had forged independently and proudly. I may not have been wealthy, but I worked hard for every possession I owned, every relationship I formed, and every promotion I earned. I had aged out of the foster system, a rarity for an Asian girl, according to the coordinator. Usually, "our type" was adopted quickly. I wasn't sure if I should have looked at the coordinator with disdain for her racist stereotyping, or lament that I wasn't even good enough to be adopted. I had no recollection of my biological family. Supposedly, I had been abandoned as a seven-year-old and had required intensive psychological and medical intervention. I wasn't even verbal when I was found. By the time I was deemed adoptable, I was too old for most couples to be interested in. My remaining years in the system saw me floundering from foster home to foster home. I was never abused in those homes. I was simply treated with indifference.

Afterwards, I fought to put myself through university, applying for every scholarship, and working part time, eventually to graduate. I secured a job at the university administration helping graduate students in the funding department. My friends frequently supported me in times of duress, of which there were many. While my apartment was furnished with thrifted furniture, it was mine. When I hosted my housewarming, I owned one table, one sofa, and one chair. My friends never complained about my meagre belongings. They sat on the floor beside me and praised me for how proud I should feel that I was finally in my own space. They loved the "eclectic and minimalist look" I decorated with.

All of the hallmarks of my life and struggles, now obliterated by a man who wanted to control me because he thought he knew better than me.

I crushed my body against the sofa as I sobbed hyperventilating breaths of anguish. He closed the gap between us and held me, reassuring me with small shushing sounds and caresses down my arm as if I were a small child, or a petrified animal cornered. I thrashed within his embrace, trying to dislodge his capture of me. I refused his reassurances. His touch scorched like acidity to my skin.

"Get off me," I shrieked. "Get your vile hands off of me, you disgusting, deceitful, fraud. You're nothing to me. You're less than nothing." I headbutted his chest with as much force as I could muster. He looked at me with surprise before grasping my chin painfully tight.

"I understand you're scared Amelia. You're in fight or flight mode. But such displays of defiance will not be tolerated in the future. I'm providing you with a warning now. I'm a generous and understanding dominant. Don't think that I won't punish you when necessary." He released my chin and sat back, crossing his legs and detachedly picking at the seam of his dress pants, as if daring me to defy him right there.

"Fuck you Gabe and fuck your surveillance. You're a fucking kidnapper is what you are. Don't pretend otherwise." I fought violently against my bonds and fell off the sofa with a thud onto my back. A groan escaped my lips as the hardness of the metal handcuffs pressed painfully into the small of my back. I bucked my body upwards trying to reposition myself. I could only squint at Gabe's bent over form through tears as he loomed over me. My irregular hitches and gasps for breath eventually subsided. I turned my head to the side. I couldn't even face Gabe. I didn't know what else to say to him.

I tried one last tactic. "What about consent Gabe? BDSM is all about consent. You don't have my consent," I sniffled out. Desperation underwrote every bargaining word from my mouth. "Please just release me. You could drop me back at my apartment and we can go out on a date. Now that I know you're a Dom, we can try things. You can help me realize my true self. I feel like I know you already through El." I was babbling frantically, grasping at any possible glimmer. "You know that I wouldn't report you. It would be too embarrassing on my end."

Gabe simply looked down at me. A long pause of silence lingered between us. It conveyed an unspoken truth, confirmed when Gabe stroked my jawline slowly, before picking my now supine form and returning it to the sofa. Gabe wasn't going to entertain the possibility of releasing me. Gabe didn't need my consent. I was already his, taken by deception, kept by force. My repeated attempts at negotiation were for nought.

My shoulders sagged as the tears again flowed freely from my watery eyes down my cheeks. My strangled breaths hiccupped out of my mouth. He mercifully allowed me to cry uninterrupted as the reality of my imprisonment bore down on my psyche fully. He blotted my red-rimmed eyes with a silk handkerchief from his pocket. His thumb traced the contours of my lips, pushing into my mouth. I gritted my teeth tight, disabusing him of the notion that he could ram whatever appendage into whatever orifice he wanted.

He chuckled at my inconsequential act of defiance. His hand skimmed down the front of my t-shirt before skirting under the hem and unexpectedly yanking it roughly upwards, pulling the collar over my head, and trapping it behind my neck. His action threw me off. His hand traced the prickled flesh of my abdomen. I kicked my legs forward trying to unseat his hand from reaching my exposed breasts, without success. Gabe only pinched my nipple in response and kept tightening his grasp until I yelped in pain and stopped fighting against his touch. His hand settled on the underswell of my breast, cupping it in his warm hand as his thumb traced over my nipple until it stiffened from his efforts. I gasped as he brought his tongue down and circled the erect bud.