
You wake up in a cold, dark room. Your vision is a blur. You look down and see that you're on a mattress. The room is barren, with damp walls and one barred window, letting in barely any light.

You glance down and realise that your clothes are in disarray. Your shirt lies crumpled on the floor beside you, while your bra has been pushed to the side, leaving your breasts partially exposed. The sensation of cool air brushes against your skin, creating an acute awareness of your vulnerability in this moment. You shiver as you look down and see your panties pulled down to your knees, with your dress barely hanging on by your feet.

You look up, startled, as a rickety wooden door opens in front of you. A man stands before you—the man you recognise, the man you saw before losing consciousness, the man who touched you.

Without making a sound or saying a word, he slowly approaches you. You see a black rope clutched between his fingers. Suddenly, he lunges at you. You attempt to fight back, but he delivers a swift jab to your abdomen, causing you to gag and taste blood on your tongue. He violently pushes you down, grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back as he ties them up slowly.

As he does this, he does not care about subtleties. He gropes you, feeling you. Exploring you. He is rough and does not care. You are helpless. You can't fight back. You are weak.

Once he's done with your wrists, he moves down and starts tying your feet. You are bound and unable to move. He turns to you and smiles. He rips off your bra violently. You feel your bra strap break across your back as the bra flies off and lands to the side of the mattress. He grabs your breasts roughly, playing with them, squeezing and pinching the tips of your nipples. And as you're about to grasp, to say, rebut or yell, he grabs your neck and squeezes. 

You can hardly catch a breath. Your eyes start to water, your makeup starts to run, and he does not relent. Fingering your vagina, he starts to become more aggressive. He starts with his thumb rubbing on your clit, and for some reason you feel happy, in a state of bliss. You're confused by this. This should be horrifying. This should be mortifying. But in some twisted way, you kind of want this to happen. As you're thinking this, he grabs your nipples and pulls them up, up towards the ceiling. And it hurts, but the pain is nice. He slaps them once, twice.

He stops. For just a moment, you think to yourself: Is that all? Am I going to get out of this? Is he done with me? He is standing above you, feet planted beside your hips, towering over you. He turns you over and grabs the rope tied around your wrists, lifting you. With his other hand, he grips your panties and pulls, raising you off the floor. In the corner of the room, you see a chair. He walks over to it, and you sway back and forth with the rhythm of his footsteps. As he places you in front of the chair, you notice his bare feet. Then, you see him pull his pants down to his ankles as he steps out of them.

You haven't had many sexual partners, but this is the biggest one by far. His tip of his cock gleaming red, glistening with pre-cum. He's ready to go. He steps over you and plants himself in the chair. He picks you up by the panties as they slide up, wedging themselves between your arse crack and pussy. He pulls and pulls until your legs are straddling his. He pulls your panties down a bit, and pulls them over to one side, and inserts his cock, and begins to thrust.

She wants to run away, but she also wants to stay. Her mind feels so fractured.