So excited by the warm response to the first chapter! Thank you so much for all the feedback :) I didn't realize that five pages in word only translated to one page here on Literotica, so I made sure to make this one a lot longer. And yes, there is eroticism at the end of this chapter as well ;) I'm sorry it's so long compared to the first chapter, I was trying to make up some storyline. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last one! Let me know what you think of switched perspectives.
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The noises that filled my ears were muddled, and my neck ached. Fear and adrenaline told me to bolt upright, but reason prevailed. My head was foggy, and I kept my breathing even and my eyes closed until it cleared. When the noises I heard turned from unintelligible clamor into doors, either opening or closing, and footsteps, I opened my eyes to see that I was facing a wall, my bedroom wall, to be exact. My left arm was pinned underneath me uncomfortably, but not numb. While my hands were bound in front of me, they hadn't turned red yet, and I inferred that I hadn't been unconscious long. I could hear the man treading lightly around my small apartment, but couldn't see him. Glancing upwards briefly, I saw that he had closed the bedroom door, a fact that I was grateful for. It would give me more freedom to assess the situation.
Something cold touched the back of my leg, and I let a small gasp escape my lips as I jumped in surprise. My cat was licking at the mud encrusted on my calf, just above another set of nylon ropes around my ankles above bare feet. He had taken my shoes off, probably so I would have a harder time running away even if I did get free. My body, sore from running, being tackled, climbing, then being choked, protested as I sat up to look at the bonds on my ankles and wrists. They were tied snugly, of course, and my hands were shaking too much to even hope at being able to untie them. Keeping my breathing calm, I tried to think of something that would help me remove the rope. Were my nail clippers still on the bedside table?
My bedroom layout was simple. The door and closet were on the west wall, with a window across on the east wall. Twin bedside tables on each side framed the dark wooden headboard on the north wall, with a small walkway between the footboard and south wall. The rest of the apartment was as simple as my bedroom. A short hallway led to a linen closet and the bathroom, with the living room and kitchen to the southeast and southwest, respectively. While it wasn't opulent by any means, my apartment wasn't small either. It was the perfect size and layout for one person and a cat.
Rolling onto my stomach, my legs bumped my cat, and she meowed loudly at me in protest. I froze, wondering if the man would come and check to see why she was meowing. Knowing how vocal she was, though, I doubted she hadn't been meowing since he put her in the bedroom. When I didn't hear him walk over, I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, and started crawling over to the bed. The ropes around my limbs made crawling in the normal sense impossible, and I had to hop my hands forward first, then hop forward with my knees. The soft carpet muffled the small thumps my movements made, and it gave me a bit of hope. If he thought I was still unconscious, he wouldn't come check on me until he was finished doing whatever it was he was doing outside the bedroom. When I reached the foot of the bed, I pulled myself up to sit on the edge. Scooting along the bed was much quieter than hopping on the floor like some sort of crippled frog. Now, where were those nail clippers?
Pausing for a moment to listen to his movements, I slowly inched the drawer open, doing my best to keep it from squeaking like it always did. My nail clippers weren't waiting for me, but my knife was. I had never used it outside of camping, and had absolutely no training using it as a weapon. It didn't even occur to me that it was in the bedroom. The last time I had used it had been months ago to pry open a stubborn can of cat food. I thought I had left it in the kitchen, but I wasn't one to complain about a bit of good luck. Opening it smoothly, I held it in my right hand as I used the serrations on the lower half of the blade to saw at the rope. The soft nylon fibers frayed and snapped quickly, and the ropes around my wrists slipped free. I repeated the process on the bonds at my ankles, and rubbed lightly where the ropes had been to make sure the blood was flowing.
It was quiet outside of the bedroom door now, and I froze, listening for something to tell me where my attacker was. I heard nothing, and when my cat howled again, I almost yelped at the break in tension. Something rustled outside the door, and I heard footsteps moving away. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I could feel my pulse in my neck and wrists, the sound almost drowning out any other noise. A glass clinked in the kitchen, and I took the time he was using to get a drink to try and calm down to think of how to get out.
Attacking him wasn't an appealing option. I knew how to defend myself, not attack an opponent. And from what I had felt earlier when he choked me, he had a fair amount of experience in combat considering he had managed to not kill me. He was significantly larger than my stature as well, which wasn't small. At 5'7" and 140lbs, I wasn't exactly petite. Running wasn't an option, either. I couldn't open the door without him hearing me, and the only window in the bedroom didn't open all the way. Even if it did, it would be too narrow for me to fit through. It would be too narrow for me, but not my cat.
Stepping softly around the side of the bed, I opened the drawer in the other bedside table and grabbed an old receipt. Of course there wasn't a pen, but there was an old tube of lip-gloss. It was better than nothing, even if it would smear. Scrawling "help me – 7562 Sheridan Pl #203" onto the paper, I folded it in half, then wrapped it around the collar as tightly as I could. My cat meowed again as I picked her up to put the note on her, and this time I covered her mouth to muffle the noise before moving quickly to the window. Throwing the latch open, I leaned my weight into it to inch it open. The layers of paint on the hinges kept it from opening more than a few inches, maybe five at the most, but it would be enough for my small cat. I kissed the top of her head, telling her, "Find someone for me, baby girl," before shoving her unceremoniously through the small gap. She meowed as she landed on the thick juniper bushes just below the frame, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she trotted off towards someone walking down the street.
The muscles in my shoulders and back trembled as I sank back onto the bed, and I felt my breath shaking as my heart rate slowed. I may not have been able to escape, but maybe someone would find the note and call the police. This knowledge was my only consolation, and the only thing I focused on while I tried to calm the panic creeping through my mind and body. Panicking would lead to illogical decisions, and being rash in this situation would only get me into more trouble, if that were possible. Reminding myself that things can always get worse, I took hope in the fact that someone might find my note. Despair clutched at my heart when I wondered what would happen once he came in to check on me, something that was inevitable.
Against my will, tears ran down my face again. Bile rose in my throat, and my stomach churned with panic and fear. Shaking, I clutched my knees to my chest and rocked back and forth. My chest heaved with silent sobs, and I locked my fingers in my hair, trying to focus on the physical pain, trying to focus on that and stay quiet instead of screaming like I wanted to. A strangled whimper eked past my lips, and I held my breath, not wanting that man to hear, not wanting that awful man to come in to check on me, not wanting to confront that monster, not wanting to face whatever is coming next. I lost myself within my mind, closing my eyes and embracing the blackness, embracing the pain of my hands pulling at my hair, embracing and loving the small escape I had as a prisoner within my own home.
I was so lost within myself that I didn't hear the door open behind me as I rocked myself in a ball on the bed. Unable to breathe properly, I began hyperventilating and making pitiful squeaking noises as I tried to stay quiet. My forearms smeared my tears into the dirt caked on my face into mud, and it made a soft sucking noise when I pulled my arms away to wipe my face clean of tears. I felt the mud smear onto my hand, and when I opened my eyes to look at it, I noticed the shadow of someone standing behind me.
He was holding the knife I had used in one hand, and the fragments of rope in the other. His dark eyes glanced at the open window, then around the room, looking for the cat, no doubt. When he didn't see her, he looked at me, and noticed the lip-gloss on the bed next to me. I could see the gears turning in his head under his wavy, light brown hair. His thin, finely shaped lips parted in an exasperated sigh before he closed the knife, and slid it into the pocket of his dark jeans. Dropping the pieces of rope, he crossed his arms and scowled at me. My heart pounded as I waited for him to say something, to do something, but he just stood there. Maybe he was waiting for me to do something other than sit like a trapped rabbit, which is all I was in his eyes.
