It was very clear to me from his first word that resistance would not be tolerated. His deep voice hissed quietly behind me. It was not angry, but commanding and there was something icy in it, something without conscience, without mercy. He turned me around and left no room for defiance between his body and my car. His jaw was set, his dark eyes bearing down on me, his hand gripping my wrist til my keys dropped to the pavement. That pain was warning enough, but I could not escape. He held fast and I was frozen except for my heart trying to pound from my chest. My voice was caught beneath the knot in my dry throat.

Why I had been selected is still unclear. Was it merely opportunity? I mull it over every time my mind goes still, nearly every night as I lay down trying to coax myself to sleep. Try as I might, I cannot erase the images, the emotion, the memory of all I experienced on his whim. I cannot understand it. I am trying to learn to live with it. I am trying not to punish myself for sometimes wanting to see him again.

There was too much to think about and it was all spinning, whirling, dizzying. All the media hype about what to do and how to react, all of it slammed into my fear and fractured. I could not decide on a course of action, immobilized too by thinking it was useless anyway, he would permit none. Before I could begin to sort it all out, I was shoved into the back seat of a car. I can't remember what color, what make, what model. It was dark. I was too frightened. I was being handcuffed, turned this way and that, tape strapped over my mouth, pushed inside the car, landing on my side with my face against the leather seat and his knee holding me still while he used the seat belts to insure I would be unable to even sit up.

The door slammed against my feet, jarring me. The driver's door opened, closed. The ignition key, a radio, forward movement, flashes of passing street lights, then I closed my eyes. I was getting nauseated from all the stops and starts and turns... and fear. I don't know how long it was, how far we traveled, before we stopped. With the headlights of the car off. I could see nothing. It was desperately dark. Soon the heavy pressure of his knee was against my hip again as he unbuckled the seat belts and dragged my cramped body out again to stand on shaky numb legs.

The walk was difficult, being unbalanced with my hands cuffed behind me and his hand gripping my arm, holding it up and pulling my shoulder in the wrong direction. I flashed my eyes wide and alternately squinted but I could make out only the barest outlines of a building, a house. I don't know. It was just so terribly dark. The night was deafening with the sounds of our foot falls on uneven terrain, his breathing so close to me, added to my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I dared a mumbled cry through the tape only once, swiftly receiving a sharp pull up, threatening, I thought, to crack my collar bone.

We entered though a screen door and a heavier wooden one, into a dimly lit hallway. We passed two closed doors then turned at the third, which he pulled me back to unlock and open, then I clumsily negotiated the steps with him, down into the dark cooler level below. His hand left me there a moment, but what was I to do? I could see next to nothing and he obviously knew the layout very well. So I stood still as I heard him ascend the stair, then return to me again.

I blinked when the light came on and glared from the bright white walls of a small square room. I closed my eyes on it again, but the image was still very clear. Hands worked at the handcuffs and for a sharp second I thought I might have some small chance to fight, but it was short-lived. My arms were pressed against my back, forcing me to walk toward one corner of the room edged with a curb of tile and a drain. My arms were turned and drawn over my head then re-cuffed through a metal loop suspended from the ceiling. I stood staring at a shower head, though I was able to turn to see where he went when his hands left me. He disappeared through a white door.

I could swivel on the eye-hook contraption from the ceiling, but the more I looked around the room the more I preferred the view of the shower head. I was staring wide-eyed at the exam table when my captor returned through the white door, now out of his jeans, boots and button-down shirt, he was dressed in hospital greens, even down to his shoes covered with gathered plastic. He watched me stare at him as he put on a clear plastic apron then scrubbed up in a sink between the shower stall and the exam table. The counter there had a variety of items I had no mind to concentrate on, but one thing I did see was a large scalpel as he picked it up from a cloth covered instrument tray.

As he approached, his deep voice warned that to struggle might cause him to slip. He promised if I held very still, I would not be injured. I tried but the shaking wouldn't stop. My handcuffs were tapping quietly against the metal loop through which they passed. My eyes were drying out as I could not blink while watching him approach.

Standing so close I could again hear his deep steady breathing, his hand slid up my arm and the scalpel hand joined it. At last my eyes closed as fabric was sliced then the sleeve was ripped to hang in shreds from my shoulder. He repeated the procedure on the other sleeve. One hand pressed against my chest to gather up the cloth of my shirt, so the other could cleanly cut off each button. The buttons popped away and bounced on the tile at my feet until there were none left and my shirt gaped open leaving the white lace of my bra peeping out.

He deftly unbuckled my leather belt with one hand and jerked it and me until the belt snaked out of its denim loops. I could do nothing but watch though that was increasingly difficult as my eyes kept going wet or I simply had to shut them to keep from seeing the pleasure on his face at his own actions. Try as I might to catch my breath through nostrils alone, occasionally my fear tried to suck air through my mouth, but only ended in huffing against the wide band of tape.

The scalpel sliced off the metal button of my jeans and it too bounced onto the shower's metal drain. He unzipped me then lay the scalpel aside on a tile ledge. His eyes fixed mine as I felt his hands slip against my skin and down along my hips, pushing my jeans toward the floor. He knelt before me then and lifted each of my feet in turn, drawing off my shoes and the jeans. It set off my balance such that I wobbled against the ring and the cuffs which were starting to chafe.

He rose again and stood back, one arm bent across his chest to support the other as that hand went idly to his chin. He viewed, pondered, considered. I hung like meat from a hook, in nothing but a lacy white bra and satin panties. The room was chilled and did nothing to quell my shivering fear. Then he moved again, as though his plan had been formed.

His hands pressed my shoulder and soon ripped across my shirt to free that side from me, then made quick work at the other side until the shreds were heaped with the jeans. He slid his fingers under one bra strap and pulled it out from my skin, while the other hand retrieved the scalpel and snipped the strap in two. After he cut the other strap, his hand swept down over each breast, pushing the lace away from it, leaving no question that I was frightened and chilled. Fingers pulled at the front closure and with one twist released the catch then tossed my bra onto the pile of other clothing he had removed.

Again his eyes fixed mine while one hand aided the scalpel in cutting through my panties at each hip. I had pressed my legs together so when he pulled on the front of the satin, its swift path between my thighs made me shiver. His eyes lowered to see the swell of my breasts shift with his jerking motion and heave with the sharp intake of breath in my reaction.

He turned me then, on the cuffs and loop, to again face the shower head. As he stepped close to reach around me the cool plastic of his apron was pressed against my bare back. His hand turned on the water then stepped back as the lukewarm spray splashed across my chest.

He nudged me to turn slowly, til I was completely wet, then he lifted the shower head from its upper cradle and placed it in a lower one, spraying along the tiled wall. One hand pumped liquid soap into the other and they worked together til they pressed against my neck and I closed my eyes. I could not watch his delight as his hands began to soap my body, though I felt every move.

Gliding down from my shoulders, each hand cupped a breast and smoothly applied the soap. Thumbs teased at my hard nipples, pressing over them then letting them pop up from beneath his touch again. His palms pressed over my ribs and down across my stomach. A thumb circled around then slipped in and out of my navel. Fingers spread out over my abdomen and massaged in the soap then proceeded to apply soapy foam to the tuft of fur between my thighs. Gratefully, I noted, he passed on to soaping my thighs and legs, all the way to my feet, where again I had to struggle to maintain my balance.

He worked his way around and up the backs of my legs, now kneeling behind me. His fingers again spread out, to cover my cheeks in more slick soap. The chill in the room and my wet skin had me shivering uncontrollably, but he seemed not to notice as his hands slid up my back, covering me completely to my shoulders, then up my arms.

I felt his hands leave me. I thought it was over and expected the rinsing spray to come next. But I heard the pump of the soap again, the sound of hands wringing it into foam. Then one arm slid across my waist and pulled me too him straining the cuffs and the loop. Fingertips, then his palm slid between my cheeks, gliding with the soap, pressing against my tightening anus. I protested audibly against the tape but it did not stop his fingers as they massaged the soap against me, scrubbing me. Yet again I noted with gratitude, he did not do as I had feared. Instead he slid the hand at my waist down between my legs easily and applied his soap there. I tried to arch away from him but there was not enough slack in the cuffs and loop to allow it. I had to abide his intimate scrubbing.

When he did let me go again, my breasts were quivering with sobs. He had been somewhat rough and my wrists were hurting from the cuffs. I barely noticed as he directed the sprayer at me and rinsed the soap from my shoulders to the floor. Only his hands rubbing soap from my breasts beneath the water caught my attention. Then his knee pushing one leg aside while he sprayed up between my legs.

Soon I hung dripping, water turned off, and he was over at his counter preparing mixtures in two large beakers. He turned to see me looking and smiled. It was an eerie thing. His face seemed friendly almost, kindly. Then he muttered something about cleanliness, thorough cleanliness. I did not understand his meaning until he opened a cabinet and extracted two familiar rubber pouches. He hung each on separate hooks of a tall pole, like those used for ambulatory IVs. Then I knew precisely what he meant by thorough cleanliness and I was already clenched up with the thoughts.

( Continued Page 2)