Evelyn in Captivity

The worst part about living in Weldman, Evelyn thought as she walked back to her apartment in the dark (the subway station was several blocks away), was the utter lack of character to the city. It wasn't particularly ugly, but it had no real beauty to it either. It wasn't big enough to have its own professional sports teams, but it wasn't small enough that your average American needed its location explained to them. It was neither crime-ridden nor particularly safe, not overly polluted nor noticeably clean. It was located in a mostly forgotten region of one of the most boring states in America. Unfortunately, it also happened to be where Evelyn had moved for college the year before. She had been told that Harrington University was among the best in the country for aspiring English majors, and so she had traveled a thousand miles from her California hometown to live in what she expected to be a new and exciting city. It turned out to be dreadfully boring, but sometimes boring was nice. Boring helped her stay in a routine, and it sure as fuck helped to get her mind off of the throbbing pain in her asshole and her wrists.

Jane had returned to her bedroom a few minutes later, a half-eaten potato skin in her hand. She unlocked Evelyn's handcuffs and tossed her purse at her. "Get out," she said. When Evelyn asked her about the food she'd said she would get for her, Jane sighed and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "Get some McDonald's." She had gotten KFC instead, but she didn't feel any less hungry, only a bit nauseated. Perhaps eating a Famous Bowl on a moving train hadn't been a great idea. The bottle of water she'd bought hadn't lasted her more than a couple of minutes, but luckily the train station had had a fountain to fill it up in.

She stopped at a CVS and bought a pair of bracelets. Perhaps she could wear those at work tomorrow to cover up the marks from the handcuffs. They sure as fuck wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon, but she

would

need to hide them. She had work tomorrow and classes on Monday. She didn't want any concerned customers ---- or worse, classmates ---- asking if she was okay. If that happened, she was worried that she would spill everything. And that was not an option, when Jane had the threat of ruining her entire life hanging over her head.

Evelyn's stomach dropped every time she remembered the prospect of this blackmail. The abuse was bad enough, but the knowledge that Jane might keep it going as long as she wanted? That was horrifying. Evelyn had a feeling her life was about to irrevocably change, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

She took the elevator up to her apartment. Kelli Mae, her roommate, was not home. This was good: she didn't want anyone asking her questions she wasn't allowed to answer. She collapsed onto her bed, taking in the familiar feel of her blankets. She had thought it might be hard to be in a bed after what had happened, but it was not. This was not Jane's bed. She lit the candle next to her bed. Vanilla and cherry blossom.

This was okay. She was okay. What happened to her may have been pretty fucking far from okay, but it was over now. She pushed away the snide voice in her head that said it would never be over as long as Jane had her blackmail material.

On that ride home, she had spent a lot of time thinking (her phone was dead). She had sat on the Commuter Rail, her legs wobbly and her hands hidden in her jacket, and thought about her options. Could Jane be bluffing? Was the threat of police involvement enough to get her to back off? She thought of going to file a report, but admitting that she had been raped by another woman was bad enough. How would the police respond to her? Would they be sympathetic, or would they laugh at her? And what if Jane really did intend to release this blackmail? Should Evelyn risk ruining her entire life just to get a bit of justice?

I'll give it some time

, she thought.

She got what she wanted. I don't think she's going to go any further.

There was a bloodstain on the sheets when she finally did get up. Apparently getting raped in the ass wasn't good for the body, especially with such a huge strap-on. Who would have guessed? Looking at this stain, small and dark red, Evelyn began to cry. How could someone she had loved so much have done something so awful? So fucking gross?

I'm sorry

, she thought.

Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm sorry. Please just let it be over. Let me move on with my life.

• • • • •

On Wednesday, after lunch, some talking head on TV was ranting about the pathetic turnout by the Eagles that previous Sunday. Evelyn had not caught the game, but from what he was saying, it sounded bad. She put her headphones in and locked her door.

Rain thrummed against her bedroom window. It was a small room, just across the hall from the living room where Kelli Mae lay on the couch, but her roommate would not hear her. Spending the previous eight years of her life in the house of a conservative Christian family had taught Evelyn to masturbate silently and shamefully. She had grown out of the latter, but not the former.

Stripping naked, she put on some white noise on YouTube and began.

She started off not touching her clit at all, instead teasing herself by playing with her breasts and her thighs. She remembered when Harriet had pinned her against the wall at her family's house in Oceanside. Her mother had been away for the weekend, and they had thought it would be hot to play around a little. They had done much more than just play around. She thought of a video she had seen just the other day, a very amateur video of two girls in what looked like a college dorm room together. This one was particularly good because it was clear that nothing they were doing was for the camera; that had just been an added bonus. They knew how to help each other out incredibly well, and they were both very vocal about their enjoyment.

You should be thinking about what happened last weekend

, a voice in her head told her.

"That's ridiculous," she muttered, and it was. She had been raped, betrayed by someone she'd thought she loved. That wasn't something you fantasized about. That was something you repressed until you had forgotten it entirely.

But wasn't it nice when she was eating you out? Didn't you sound like those girls in the video?

Perhaps she had, but no matter. She shook it off. Back to the task at hand.

Her hand danced around her clit without ever touching it. She let out a little sigh of pleasure, but caught herself. She wasn't sure how loud she was being, and Kelli Mae wasn't the most accepting of Evelyn's sluttiness. She had overheard her talking to her friends a few months ago about how Evelyn's clothes were going to "get her into trouble sometime." And apparently they had.

And wasn't that hot, the way she chained you to the bed like that? Isn't that something you've----

"Shut up," she muttered.

----something you've fantasized about for

years?

Something your mother took you to therapy about when she found your diary where you were writing about wanting to be tied up and tortured?

But this was different. This was the reality of the situation. And the reality was that rape was unpleasant and traumatic. So why was it the thing her mind kept coming to? It made no sense and was a little demeaning, if she was being honest.

Don't think about the strap-on. Don't think about how you screamed, how she gripped your ass and held you down, how she pushed your head into the pillow to shut you up. Don't think about it and maybe the thoughts will go away.

The worst part wasn't that her mind kept turning to these thoughts. What was much worse was her refusal to stop once they came up. She wasn't going to stop masturbating altogether just because of a few intrusive thoughts ---- those were natural. But did it make sense for her to rub her clit so much harder when they peeked their malevolent heads around the corner?

You've always been this way. You've always had the hots for the dark shit.

This might be true, but living through the dark shit wasn't usually the same fucking deal! You could be into knives and still freak out when someone pulls one on you in a back alley, no?

Let go. This is what you want to think about. Don't fight it.

"Fuuuuuck," she murmured, working a finger inside of her. This voice in her head, as much as she might hate to admit it, wasn't exactly wrong. She

wanted

to think about this. She

wanted

to grab her tits and squeeze them the way Jane did. She

wanted

to see Jane, resplendent in her orange sundress (or perhaps wearing nothing at all), staring down at her disapprovingly.

As she lay back on her bed and worked a second finger inside of herself, Evelyn felt herself nearing the throes of a climax. She didn't want to cum, not yet, and certainly not to the memory of what Jane had done to her. But when she did, she had to cover her mouth to keep herself from crying out. Her entire body trembled in physical bliss. This pure animalistic pleasure was enough to drive any man insane if he felt it for long enough. All rational thought had ceased; she was left with nothing but her dripping wet sex and her mouth agape and the white noise still playing in her ears.

Okay, now pull the blankets over you and lie down

, said a voice deep inside of her. Some sort of caretaker instinct, most likely. She did as it said, burying herself under her comforter and the weighted blanket she had bought herself for Christmas.

Just breathe.

And she did. In and out through her nose (the orgasm was so intense that it seemed to have completely cleared her sinuses?). Her pussy was throbbing, the final throes of the orgasm still subsiding. Her entire body felt weak and wobbly. She let herself have one single solitary moan, quiet as it was, and then she fell back on her pillow and drifted off into a comfortable sleep, holding her stuffed bunny.

When she awoke, she had entirely forgotten why she had decided to take a nap at two in the afternoon on her day off. That was, until she felt the wet spot on her sheet.

Sweet

Jesus,

that's bad

, she thought, poking the sticky area -- not only was it huge, but it was incredibly obvious what it came from. The entire room smelled like sex and pheromones. It smelled like a frat house after a party.

What had been so hot as to cause a wet spot bigger than Rhode Island to appear on her bed? Why, the brutal rape she had suffered through last weekend, of course!

She shook her head and began stripping the blankets off her bed. These sheets needed a good wash.

On Friday, Evelyn blocked Jane's number. On Monday, she unblocked her out of fear. On Tuesday, she typed out a message asking Jane if she was ever going to do that again. Later that day, she deleted it and berated herself for being so reckless. Her rational side was in conflict with her horny side, and she wasn't sure which she agreed with more. It was not until Thursday morning that she discovered that her anxieties about Jane getting bored were entirely unfounded. She awoke to a single message on her phone.

My place

, Saturday at 10 AM, it read.

I'll pay your train fare. Hope you still have Saturdays off work (;

She cried when she read that text. Not long afterwards, she came her fucking brains out.