Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 17

Jessica stood staring down at her friends’ concerned faces, her disjointed mind fnally putting it all together. No one even knew she’d been kidnapped! They hadn’t heard a thing, and for some reason Ira had covered for her absence, telling everyone that she wasn’t feeling well! She looked around for the director, but he wasn’t there.

Her knees felt rubbery, and there was a trembling sensation in her belly. A strange sense of unreality washed over her, and suddenly she needed to go to the restroom. She excused herself and headed for the ladies’ room in the left wing, her feet unsteady beneath her. She stumbled into the stall, lowered her leggings and plopped onto the toilet, her legs gone weak. The trembling had spread from her belly, and now she was shaking all over.

She buried her face in her hands and tried to think. Her mind whirled. How could she tell everyone what had happened to her? Just thinking about it made her mind recoil with shame! Yet, how could she not tell them? She had just been kidnapped, tortured and raped by a strange crazy man in an 18th century costume! Wasn’t that just the sort of thing you told the police about?

Maybe, she reasoned, she could only tell them the parts that didn’t make her cringe in abject humiliation. She imagined herself telling the police what had happened, and immediately her mind shrank away from it. Even if she tried to describe the incident without telling them the parts where she nearly came during the whipping or when she got down on her knees and begged her captor to rape her, she wouldn’t be able to keep from thinking about them. And the moment she did, her face would turn deep red and her throat would constrict from the shame of it. And the police could hardly fail to notice that! They were trained to notice things like that. So then everyone would know she’d been tortured and raped, and they’d also know she’d enjoyed the torture and begged for the rape. And then where would she be?

It was a monumental dilemma, and the more she thought about it, the more complicated it got. Because somewhere in her psyche, she realized that what she had just experienced was something she had secretly yearned for all her young life. It was hard for her to face that fact consciously, and when the thought came to her, a wave of shame swept over her, and she had to force the idea back into the depths from whence it came. She simply couldn’t face those dark, sordid, secret desires, even though their existence had just been so thoroughly driven home by the Whisperer. Suffce it to say that it had been a deeply personal experience for her, and while the thought of it made her cringe in abject humiliation, things had been revealed about her own nature, things she couldn’t even face herself, and would rather die than have others know about.

But she had just been raped, hadn’t she? What’s more, the man who had kidnapped her and unveiled her dark secrets was a complete freak, and most certainly a dangerous one! He was a crazy man who lurked in shadows, whispered into heating vents and stalked pretty young actresses. He wore a costume and covered his face with a scarf and whispered all the time, for God’s sake! He had to be mad as a fucking hatter!

Yet, somehow, this madman had looked at her and seen the secrets of her soul. She had read somewhere that insane people sometimes had superhumanly acute senses. Perhaps there was something in her body language that gave away her secret, but you had to be crazy to see it! It seemed unlikely, but not as unlikely as psychic powers, which was the only other possibility.

So where did all this leave her?