“NO”!

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1“NO!” I protested. “No WAY! Please!” My voice was pleading. I knew he was enjoying my desperation so I clenched my jaw tight and tried to hide my fear. But I was trembling. I could feel goosebumps rising on my smooth, tanned skin. Julian just watched me with cold, remorseless eyes as I squirmed helplessly, hanging naked in front of him. My arms stretched high over my head with my wrists bound in shackles. I was chained to a rusty iron pipe above me in this old deserted factory he’d brought me to. I had come here with him willingly, but I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. Julian had other plans for me beyond the photo-shoot I’d agreed to do. We’d come to this run-down, abandoned warehouse to shoot me in the nude against the backdrop of this, dusty, dilapidated place. I was a model, new and inexperienced, but I had done this before with serious photography students. I was on a list of paid coeds who had signed up with the photography department to pose for students in several photography and life-drawing classes at the university. I’d checked off the box on the sign-up sheet which asked: ‘Are you willing to pose in the nude?’ thinking I would earn more money and I thought it might be a thrill. Everyone told me I was hot, so I thought this would let me accumulate a portfolio of photos for a future career in modeling. I’d left my lesbian lover still asleep in our bed when he picked me up. No note. No discussion of what my plans were for the day, because I knew she was uncomfortable with my posing nude for male photographers, even ones I knew. Now here I was, alone and helpless, chained up in bondage at the mercy of a photography student who had turned out to be a deranged and sadistic creep!

I could see the wheels turning in his twisted little mind while he stared up and down my naked body deciding how far to go with me. He had already passed the point where he knew he would get expelled, so I feared rape might be only the beginning of my bleak fate! He picked up an old worn-out paint-brush which was stiff and filthy with grime from decades lying under the dust of this old abandoned factory. He globbed some thick black grease from the pulley wheels of a long-unused line-shaft overhead. He studied me up and down and began to drag the brush around the curves of my ass with the filthy grease. I could feel my bare skin being stretched and smeared with the sticky black grime in wide streaks which followed the contours of my figure. I knew he was trying to degrade me, to turn my body into something despoiled so it would be easier for him to perceive me as merely an object and no longer a person. I began to shudder in fear. He framed me in the view-finder of the SLR perched on a tripod and took timed-exposures in the subdued light streaming through cracked and broken windows set into the ceiling high above me. Who would ever see such pictures and believe I had ever agreed to this defilement? These were for his private entertainment alone. I was beginning to realize I might never leave this place alive!

“Filthy dyke!” He grunted, and I knew I was lost. I closed my eyes. This was too frightening to be really happening. I felt my right breast being lifted by the stiff, sticky bristles and shivered as another thick glob of black grease was pasted around the curve of the underside of my boob. My nipple stiffened as it too disappeared under the viscous smear of black crud now coating my soft skin. How would this end? How crazy was this jerk, and how much degradation would I be forced to endure before this nightmare ended? Were these the last moments of my young life and would my blackened, dismembered corpse ever be discovered if I was dumped in some forgotten sump-pit beneath the floor of this old deserted factory, submerged in a black pool of waste-oil? I tried desperately to remember who if anyone knew what I was doing today, and if no one knew where I was, could there be any hope of rescue before it was too late. Was I to be just the latest girl to disappear without a trace at the remorseless hand of an anonymous serial-killer? Another statistic in an unsolved missing-persons file? I wished I had phoned someone before he brought me here. Why had I been so trusting?

He pulled my chains up tighter around the shaft over my head causing a shower of brittle rust particles to rain down over me, sticking to the slick film of grease covering my right breast and ass-cheek. I felt the pain sharpen as my wrists were pulled up roughly in their hard, iron manacles and my feet stretched downward, desperately trying to touch the rough, filthy floor. Finally I was dangling freely in mid-air, my outstretched toes only scraping the gritty concrete at the bottom of the arc of my swing as I hung free of any support save my torn and aching wrists. My arms were drawn up tight and my head was pinned between them with my long brown hair sweeping down my back. He grabbed an old push-broom from a pile of discarded tools leaning on the wall behind him. He circled around behind me and disappeared from my view as I couldn’t turn my head to follow his movements. I felt the broom-handle slide between my thighs from behind me and knew his next game would be torture, the violation of my ass or pussy. The shaft was pushed back and forth between my closed legs, rising closer to my vagina. I was afraid a splinter would tear into the soft flesh of my inner thighs so I tried to spread my legs but of course that was exactly what he wanted.

I hadn’t screamed because we were so far into the interior of the factory that it seemed hopeless that anyone might hear. I was also afraid of being beaten if I did, but when the rough handle of the broom dragged dryly into my smooth-shaven pussy-lips I did scream, as loud as I could! He pulled the broom out from between my legs and cracked the handle across my back. Tears streamed down my face as the stinging pain finally registered after the numbing shock of being struck so violently. I tried pulling myself up and away from his reach, but I wasn’t strong enough and the effort made the metal bands around my wrists cut into my flesh with searing pain. I was panting in short, rapid bursts now and couldn’t catch my breath deep down in my lungs. I was panicking and couldn’t stop shaking. I attempted to drag my toes across the gritty floor and stop my frantic swing as I rebounded from the sharp impact, but not even my toes reached the floor anymore. I was grateful when the sharp pain in my wrists gradually turned into an uncomfortable numbness, but would I lose consciousness before the worst of what was to inevitably come? Would my death come without my even being aware of my last moments on earth?

I yelped as the push-broom handle probed into my cunt and I felt it being rammed up inside me painfully. He shoved it around at odd angles forcing my thighs apart. The pain shocked me back into awareness and my mind was torn between fear and rage, but I was utterly helpless. I bit my lip to focus on something that was still under my control, not his and I tasted my own blood. I was so desperate I even found myself wishing he would take me down and rape me if only to be freed from the cutting pain of being suspended in mid-air by my torn and agonized wrists. I began sobbing without being able to stop myself and feared he would punish me by striking me again with the broom-handle but suddenly the chains above me dropped as the pipe tore loose from its fasteners overhead and my feet flattened out on the cold floor. My wrists were no longer supporting my weight and I could take a deep breath again. He ripped the end of the broom handle from my dry slit and I gasped in pain as he circled around to pull my chains taut again. As he yanked me up, the pipe deflected further down as it could no longer support my weight after being torn loose from its bracket. For a moment I had a brief hope that I could somehow get free.

I was desperate to try something, …anything! He approached me again and I jumped up and grabbed the chains attached to my cuffs and swung my legs up off the floor and around his neck. He was taken off-guard and pulled forward as my body swung backwards. I clenched my thighs together pinning his head between them as he grabbed and tried to spread me apart. I twisted in mid-air and threw him off balance but was afraid to let him loose from the headlock. My hands were losing their hold on the chains and I tried to regain my grip, but the tugging weight of my body tore loose the last of the pipe supports from the ceiling high above and the heavy steel down-rod jerked free and pivoted around the pipe to which my chains were slung. Swinging outwards, the opposite end spun around towards us, cutting through the air in a deadly arc as I watched in terror. I closed my eyes and clenched for the final blow, but my legs were flung apart from the impact and something tore Julian’s head free from my grip. I was suddenly spun around wildly and as I opened my eyes, the walls of the factory were spinning around me in a blur! I uncurled my tuck and my feet touched the floor again, dragging around in a circle, tracing a ring in the gritty dirt. When I came to a stop I saw the pipe over my head bending downwards at an angle and my chains slid roughly along its length until they dropped off at the point where the old rusty pipe had broken in two. I dropped to my knees in pain and exhaustion and looked around me trying to make the world stop spinning.

Julian was ten feet away. His body was motionless on the floor with his face pushed into the cement. A sickening pool of blood was slowly spreading outwards from his skull which had taken the full force of the blow from the swinging metal pipe. It had caught him square on the back of his head when he was knocked from between my legs. I knew from the amount of blood creeping towards me on the floor that he would never move again. I was alive. He was dead. I crawled on my knees, sickened by the thought of getting any nearer to his grotesque body, but I had to find the key to my manacles. Before I was forced to touch the pool of blood surrounding him I saw the key on the floor beside him, knocked out of his pocket and thrown clear. I gasped a sigh of relief and stretched out to grab it. As I did his face came into view. His eyes, wide open, registering the shock of the final instant of his life on his twisted and blood-drenched face. I looked away with a shudder and scooped up the key, trying to turn my hand back against my wrist to unlock the old manacles. With a painful twist of the key the lock opened and I breathed a sigh of relief as my heavy iron bracelets fell to the floor. I sat there for a moment, numb, not believing what had just happened to me and so thankful to be alive. I looked around me, not knowing what to do. How could I ever explain this? Part of my hair was plastered into the grease on my breast and I pulled it away from my skin, throwing it back over my shoulder. Where did I leave my clothes? The catharsis of being free and no longer facing my imminent death suddenly released an uncontrollable cascade of intense emotions. From tears I burst into a fit of nervous giggling that I couldn’t stop. Was I going crazy? The body on the floor in front of me suddenly brought me back to reality and the fear returned. I was still in trouble.

No one knew I was here, unless… the camera! The pictures in the camera could incriminate me as his killer, but they would also prove what he did to me. Anything I did would be considered self-defense. Wouldn’t it? They couldn’t pin his death on me! But I didn’t want to face the inquest or the inquisition I knew I’d be subjected to. Had Julian ever done this to anyone else?  Would he have really tried to kill me? The thought only now occurred to me that there might be other girls, other bodies, before luck turned against him and in my favor instead, or did I just end the career of a serial-killer before it had even begun. The possibility felt empowering as I looked over at his lifeless body. But I wanted out. Regardless of the consequences I wanted my life back, not what it would become when my name was dragged into the spotlight by the press. I looked at myself, covered in blood and filthy grease. How could I get back? How could I do anything without leaving more evidence behind, and how could I explain my raw, bleeding wrists? My clothes were on a rusting metal shelf by the windows. I looked around me. An old, tattered rag was tucked around the hub of a drain-pipe descending from the roof. I climbed up on my shaky legs and walked over to pull it free and used it to wipe the thick grease off of my breast and bottom. I was covered in sweat with brown stains streaking around my curves, but I ran to my clothes and hastily got dressed, being careful not to get blood from my wrists on them. I nervously pulled the memory-chip out of the camera and put it in my pocket and left. My bare foot-prints were all over the dusty floor. I supposed my finger-prints could be lifted from the scene too, but they weren’t on record anywhere, so I was hoping the inevitable investigation would never lead to me, and I’d never be dragged through this nightmare again.

I found my way back out the labyrinth of corridors in this dreary place and broke into the light of day, fearful of someone seeing me. I sneaked across the factory grounds until I emerged from the main gate, still unseen. I ran back to the university gym and showered. I must have stayed under the scalding hot water for an hour trying to cleanse the filth from my body, watching my own blood wash down the drain around my feet until it finally ran clear. I then broke into a first-aid kit in a coach’s office and wrapped my wrists in gauze and tape. I concocted a plausible story my girlfriend would believe to explain my bandaged wrists and returned to our apartment. She would be gone until late into the night as she worked at a club near the campus. I fell into bed alone, exhausted, thankful to be alive, and very worried. I finally fell asleep with my blood-red fears. But I was safe. Then the nightmares came. I woke up screaming and covered in sweat with my girlfriend over me shaking in fear. She held me. We talked. I cried. I confessed everything to her. She kept holding me, loved me, kissed me tenderly, and then she drove me to the police station.

© August 6th, 2013 – Bethany Ariel Frasier

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"NO"!, 6.0 out of 6 based on 1 rating

4 thoughts on ““NO”!

  1. Thousands of women are abducted, kidnapped, forded into prostitution. This happens every day, everywhere. Statistics say almost half a million women disappear in Asia each year. Your story is a warning, never to go to such fotos hooting if you do not know where and with whom. I heard of girls who disappeared when they tried to earn ‘quick money’. Always leave a note where you go and with whom. The best is, to have someone with you. Never go to unknown ‘territory’!

    Thank you for this story, even I was shocked when I read it.

    Sally

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  2. I’m Victoria Terrazas. Filing is the things i do for
    work but I’ve already inked another one of them. The favorite
    hobby for the children and me is to play crochet and i by no
    means give it up. For years I’ve been living in South
    Carolina and my family loves it. Thank you for the article.

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  3. This is not in Russia. It is north of Tehran, where my scientists work on secert new weapon. How did you get this photo? Please return to Tehran on next flight, so I may take you to public square and . . . choppy choppy!!P.S. can you please stop in the duty-free shop at airport and get some chocolates for me?

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