Power Struggle 1

'I'm sorry. I'll try not to hurt you too badly. Nothing that I'm about to do to you is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong and you probably don't deserve for this to be happening to you. It was by chance that I caught you. It could have been any woman, but I caught you first.'

His words were no comfort to her. She was terrified, horrified and humiliated. He had caught her, literally, as she was jogging in the park. He ran her down like a wolf chasing a deer. Once he had caught her, he had put his gloved hand over her mouth and whispered into her ear that he would cut her throat if she struggled against him.

He dragged her through the brush, out onto the street and up to his car. She tried her best to memorize the licence plate on the dark blue sedan. Now he had a dark cloth bag over her head and her hands tied together with zip-ties. Laying in the back seat of her kidnapper's car, Kyrie prayed that he might crash as he was driving and she would be found by the police or EMS and be saved from this uncertain nightmare. No such luck. Her kidnapper slowed and made a right-hand turn, he drove slowly for a little distance, then stopped the car. He shut the engine off- must be a standard- Kyrie noted, he didn't click the shifter into park.

She could hear him unbuckle his seat belt and sit still for a second. She could hear him take a deep breath and the creak of the leather seat as he turned to look at her, his prey, helpless in the backseat. She could hear him open the door and the crunch of his boots on the gravel outside as he stepped out of the car. Once the door was closed again, she could not hear anything distinct. Maybe his footsteps fading away, maybe not.

It seemed like an eternity for Kyrie as she prayed and wished with all of her heart that he had just left her there. Soon enough, too soon in fact, her kidnapper opened the car door at her feet. Deftly, he seized her ankles and pulled her across the soft leather, out into the cool, damp night. Kyrie stood up instinctively and it wasn't until she had been led into what she thought might be a warehouse that she even considered that she should have resisted while she was outside and there might have been a chance of someone saving her from this beast.

With the man's strong hand on her wrists behind her back, she was directed through a large, hollow-sounding room. Then down a hallway, yes, she could hear the change in the acoustics, she was trained to know these things as a theatre director. Now, a door swings open and a light is flicked on. Kyrie was led across the room and he told her to sit down. His was a voice that she would not forget, deep and rough, but beautiful, rugged, sounded like a smoker but didn't smell like one. She sat down on what she assumed to be a bed and was left alone in the room with the hum of the florescent lights. She hadn't heard the door close, so she didn't dare struggle to get free, just in case.

She felt him returning to the room, he must have taken his boots off, he was very quiet. He clicked on a smaller light and flicked off the long, bright bulbs that Kyrie could see in her mind's eye. She could feel the bed dip beside her and her kidnapper ran his fingers through her soft auburn hair that was hanging below the hood over her face.

'I'm sorry. I'll try not to hurt you too badly. Nothing that I'm about to do to you is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong and you probably don't deserve for this to be happening to you. It was by chance that I caught you. It could have been any woman, but I caught you first.'

Kyrie's mind was racing with questions. What is he going to do to me? Will he kill me? Will he let me go? The fear of the uncertain was almost driving her to panic. Her swirling questions were stilled with his next statement. Again, in that beautiful, unforgettable voice, he spoke:

'I need you. I need you to be honest. I'm sick of frauds and liars. I want an honest response from a woman. I need it. I need to know...' he trailed off. He cleared his throat and cut the ties from Kyrie's hands. She did not fight him. She did not dare to. She knew how strong he was by how he handled her. Besides, she was stunned by his words.

Gently, and without removing the bag from her head, he lifted off her hooded sweater over her head. She complied with his unspoken directions. She sat on the edge of the bed as he slipped off her running shoes without untying them. She laid back on the bed as he untied her jogging pants and pulled them down over her hips and off of her feet.

Still and silent, Kyrie remained laying on the bed, in only her sports bra and white cotton panties and, of course, the black bag hiding his identity and hers as well. Kyrie had been jogging, yes, but she never considered herself to be 'fit'. She had wide hips, an ample bottom, breasts that she was satisfied with, and an eternally soft belly- not flabby, but she could never get the tone that she wished she could. She was humiliated. She had never let any of her boyfriends see her completely naked, not even while having sex. She had always insisted that the lights be off and the sheets be pulled up; self- consciousness at its best.

Here she was, laying back, unguarded, still somewhat clothed, but not trying to cover herself up. She had been shocked by what he had said and it was still ringing in her head 'I need you to be honest.' She was snapped back to reality when she felt a cold metal blade quickly sliding between her breasts and her bra popping open from the strain of her bosom. She quickly brought her arms up to cover her nakedness. This action earned a gruff grunt of satisfaction from her captor. Quickly, he sliced the sides of her underwear and she frantically grabbed for them as he pulled them from between her thighs.

'Oh fuck...' Kyrie heard him say under his breath 'you are beautiful. So real...'

Kyrie was certain that her whole body blushed at his statement. She was so humiliated and terrified at what she knew was about to happen. His rough hands slid under her lower back and he rested his face against her stomach. She could feel his beard stubble sharp against her soft skin. Now she was truly dazed. This was not what she was expecting. The thought ran through her mind that rapists were men who could not have normal relationships with women. Maybe this man was not loved enough by his mother, maybe he was loved too much.

Either way, Kyrie dared not move. She only breathed as shallowly as she could and made no sound. She was sure that her heart pounding in her chest would drown out any sound that she did make, but she wasn't taking any chances. Her kidnapper took a deep breath and stood up, Kyrie could hear the soft noise of his clothes dropping to the floor. She stiffened and resumed her attempts to preserve her modesty as best as she could with her hands.

The man swiftly separated her legs with his knee and knelt on the bed between her legs with one foot still on the floor. Kyrie clamped her legs shut on his knee and was rewarded with another gruff chuckle. In one motion, he took one of her wrists in each of his hands and manoeuvred them over her head so that he was now what would be face to face with her. Tears of fear and shame rolled down her cheeks and she was glad that she was protected from his gaze by the darkness of the bag that was over her face.

He breathed her smell in deeply and sighed a satisfied sigh. Then he brought his other knee up and separated her legs so that he could see her delicate opening. Almost overcome by his lust for this woman- a woman who would have no reason to lie, no reason to impress him- he nearly took her right then. He resisted. He must remain in control.

His whole life was about control and frequently he was not the one holding the reigns. First, he went to law school to please his parents, but his heart wasn't in it. He left university and ventured out on his own, starting his own company and rocketing to the top of the business ladder as a powerful CEO. Reflecting, he realized that he was at his happiest when he was slaving away for his own interests. A time when nobody cared who he was and had no interest in sucking up to him. Now it was just a parade of moochers and Yes-Men, plastic sluts and gold-diggers. He was told where he had to be and when he had to be there. What he had to do and say and what he had to wear. Fuck, wouldn't he just like to go back to that time long ago.

Laying beneath her kidnapper, holding her breath, Kyrie was hoping that this pause was conscience kicking in. Maybe he had realized how wrong this thing was that he was about to do to her. She had no idea what was going through his mind, but she had always been an optimist.

Slowly and purposefully, her captor lowered his body to meet hers, positioning his member at the soft entrance to her body. He could feel her tense up and he heard her draw a sharp breath. He felt a pang of guilt and shame, but he needed this, he needed her so badly.

He began pressing into her, forcing himself inside of her body. She began to squirm, but he held her firmly on the bed. She began to buck her hips in a futile effort to get away from him, but the motion only served to draw him deeper inside of her. Kyrie spoke the first words she had said since the beginning of her ordeal;

'Please, please don't! Please stop!' she pleaded, sobbing 'Just stop and leave me here. I won't say anything...I...I have no idea who you are...please!?' It was no use. He had no intentions of stopping. He was going to go through with this because he was in control. He needed to be in control.

The now rapist continued to push farther and deeper into Kyrie. She felt good to him, but she felt like he was forcing a hot poker into her, searing her delicate flesh. Finally, he was buried into her as far as he could go, to the hilt.

Kyrie was crying openly now and her body was wracked with her sobs. The tears of shame and humiliation were hot on her face and made her sick to her stomach. She hoped that she wouldn't vomit inside of the hood that was still over her head, but the thought that it might put off her rape did cross her mind. The rapist did not move, but let his victim's body adjust to his intrusion. He could feel her relaxing a little and the time between sobs lengthened.

He began slowly moving back and forth, drawing himself out of this woman and sliding back into her. Kyrie felt like he was sawing her in half. She had felt this way the first time she had ever had sex- like she wasn't ready for it, but did it anyways. She resigned herself to him and stopped struggling. It wasn't working anyways, he had her pinned and was much stronger and heavier than she was. Kyrie tried to go to a pleasant place inside of her mind, a temporary reprieve from the current reality. Her mind drifted, but she was constantly reminded of the gravity of her situation by the growing ache inside of her.

The captor and rapist was in a complete state of bliss. He felt free. He felt in control. He felt like he was in love with his prey. He knew that it was just the endorphins from the excitement and sex, but it still felt amazing. He paused for a moment and pulled the drawstring loose on the hood that he had put over his victim's head. He thought twice about what he was doing, then pulled the bag off of her head. He couldn't believe how pretty she was. Honestly pretty, not plastic or made-up. He began to feel guilty again, but simply could not stop as his body had taken over control from his mind. Here he was, thirsting for control and authority, but had lost them even to himself.

Kyrie kept her eyes shut tight even after the hood was pulled from her head. She was glad to be able to breathe normally again and the air felt cool entering her lungs. What a sweet momentary distraction from the man who was bending her body to his will, raping her. She was curious about this monster's identity, afraid to know, but dying to find out who he was. Kyrie barely squeezed one eye open and saw the side of her rapists head and his shoulder. She noted that he was Caucasian, had short brown hair and was fit. She knew that he was in decent shape from the strength with which he handled her and from the feel of his body against hers.

Suddenly, the man arched back from his victim and she saw his face. Kyrie recognized him immediately. She was stunned. He was so handsome, rich and powerful. She read about him every week in the tabloids while she was buying her groceries. There was a never ending parade of women associated with him...why the hell was he raping her!?

He could hold back no longer. This was not how he envisioned this happening. He had intended to take this woman and make love to her anonymously to see if he was what he thought he was. A real man. 'Ha!' He thought to himself now 'A real man raping an innocent young woman. Fuck.' He now knew that his plan had failed. He just couldn't help himself; he had reached the point of no return. He began to let his body take over and its movements became more fierce and animalistic.

Caught off guard by the shocking revelation of her attacker's identity, Kyrie lost her focus on the shame and anger. Her body betrayed her and she threw her head back on the bed. 'No, no, no!' she said aloud to herself, disgusted. Her rapist dropped to his elbows, hovering over her, in a similar state of mind. His tears of anger and shame dripping onto her face.

He buried his face into her neck, his coarse stubble chafing her skin.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry...so...ugh...fuck...no...' He groaned as he drove himself deep into her body and filled her with his seed. He continued to slide in and out of his prey and as the fog of his orgasm began to clear he could feel something that he could honestly say that he had never felt before. It was amazing; he could feel the inside of her clamping on to him. He realized what this meant and a fresh and terrible wave of self-loathing and hatred washed over him. He had the answer that he had been seeking, but no joy in knowing it.

Kyrie was so humiliated that she wished she could die. She was honestly hoping that this man would kill her so that she wouldn't have to live with the shame of knowing that she had achieved an orgasm from being raped by him. She had heard about it happening, had read about it in the newspaper and women's magazines. But this was too much. It had been blinding, exquisite and horrible. 'Please God, let me die.' she prayed. She knew it wouldn't happen.

Slowly, and without making eye contact, the regretful rapist withdrew from his victim. He sat down on the edge of the small bed and hung his head. He could feel her looking at him and reluctantly met her eyes. He saw the pain and question in her beautiful green eyes. She saw the pain and anger in his sharp blue eyes. 'Why?' Kyrie asked as her eyes welled up with tears 'Why me?' The man looked her straight in the eyes and said;

'I'm sorry. I tried not to hurt you too badly. Nothing that I did to you was your fault. You didn't do anything wrong and you probably didn't deserve for this to have happened to you. It was by chance that I caught you. It could have been any woman, but I caught you first.'

His words were no comfort to her, but she understood. He needed for her to be honest with him. Her body betrayed her, but he had the answers he was looking for. There never was such a thing as control and there never would be. She was his tool for self-discovery.

The hate and anger rose in Kyrie's chest. He should never have taken that hood off of her head. Now she would make him suffer, make him wish that she hadn't been the one to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. True, he may have raped her, but now, he was fucked.