NCS - Non-Consensual Story, Part 2

This is a work of fiction. 

Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. 

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and, frankly, undesired on the author's part.

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Second part of NCS - Non-Consensual Story


It is not a mystery that I do not exactly love Non-Consensual S/M stories, though I have a suspect that the problem is that the few that I read were written somewhat badly (worse than by me... I know, it's almost impossible), showed no interest in the psychology of the characters (beyond a "He was the master of the universe, and proud of being the master of the universe that he was" attached to the master... have I said that this was about the master? And such a master he was ) and hand-waved even the basic needs (secrecy, trusted accomplices, keeping things into budget) of the criminal factors in the story.

So, why am I here writing one? Because, lately, I remembered that I had left the old one on a little cliffhanger...

The oh-so-unfortunate female deuteragonist of our story had just been kidnapped by my pretty despicable protagonist. 

What is going to happen? 

Pages and pages of relentless sexual tortures on her, till she dies?

Alas, the few things that I wrote about Kyla are enough that I do not want her to die.

I do not want Josh to die, or to remain in prison for the rest of his life, either.

Neither do I want Kyla to fall in love with her torturer  - even though it is a staple of the BDSM genre in Hentai, the use of the Stockholm Syndrome (or, rather, women becoming addicted to extreme lewdness) seems to me - in this context - yet another example of bad writing.

Maybe it actually reflects true psychological mechanisms at work in real life prisoners, but it still seems crap to me.

Will I be able to mix things so that I get all that I want?

As I write these lines, I have not even the foggiest idea of if and how. 

We'll see...

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Kyla woke up.

She was naked, chained to an old forged-iron bed, with no mattress or sheets, and just one little pillow and a thick blanket.

Even with it being  three centimetres thick, the blanket was not enough to completely even out the pressure of the net's chains on her skin. Had she been white, plenty of red lines would mark her body.

Drugged? Josh had drugged her? But - why?

He didn't look like one of those pervert... Hell, she had tried plenty of times to get him to look her THAT way! By now, she was sure the guy was even more gay than he was a lousy writer.

A man copying the style of Patricia Loughlear... almost as pathetic as the voice that was now coming from some hidden loudspeaker.

"Welcome, slave, to your last room. Here is where you'll spend the rest of your miserable life."

It used some distorter but, come on, it was Josh's voice - unmistakably. The fact that he pretended to be someone else suggested that he had no real accomplices... which was a bit scary. Accessories to crime have a tendency to flip on their bosses... the lone maniac had some more chances than the ones that hired helps.

Khttps://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7916738425800914293#editor/target=post;postID=5200943278606118177;onPublishedMenu=overview;onClosedMenu=overview;postNum=0;src=postnameyla listed in her mind all that she had read on serial criminals... defy or comply? Which strategy would keep Kyla alive longer and get Josh to make more mistakes? What did he expect from her kidnapping, what h needed? Why did he?

If all he wanted was some sex, he just had to ask... idiot. She really didn't care about that stuff.

"Come on, Josh! I recognized your voice! Let me go now, and we'll call this a practical joke and laugh about it tomorrow, with the rest of the boys" - to Hell with it...

The guy had clearly spent some time planning this, and had the resources in place to abduct and hide women - even if he let her go, he may still try again with some other poor girl. If she convinced him, her first call would be to the FBI.

He probably understood this - a part this.... thin  that he was doing, he was not really that dumb as not to get it.

The punishment for kidnapping - for this KIND of kidnapping, beyond the years of jail, there is also the probability of being killed by one pissed-off inmate, to take into account - are so harsh that it makes no sense freeing the kidnapped, ever.

Not when the chances of murder prosecution, in the absence of a body, are so abysmally low as in their state.

Had he made this kind of calculations? He didn't seem much into crime novels as Kyla - Pat Loughlear was her only romantic read, though some romance is hidden even in Edgar Wallace and Conan Doyle, if one squeeze the eyes hard enough -  but he had probably spent way more time then her, thinking about this moment.

Except that he really didn't, or couldn't do, anything more than having some vague notion of kidnapping her, imprisoning her and make her "pay" - for things that she didn't do at all.


Not only didn't she do anything to him, the lonely black girl could hardly do anything nasty to any other man... she simply had not enough nastiness in her, to really  be a bitch.

As she stood defiantly, he could feel the back of his mind itching, trying not to say to himself "She is right... this is stupid, and wrong".

This was a mistake -  a mistake that he already made. The only way left was to go on, follow the script till its dirty end, polish the weak points, and then use the revised plan with his horrible ex-wife.

"Slave, you are here to entertain us with your pain, your body and your terror. Your past life is over. You have no rights, nor freedom, nor food nor water but what we allow you to have, by our goodwill. Now, lower your head and put on the leather blind hood in front of you."

"Fuck Off, Josh. If you want to see me blindfolded, you may have at least the courage to do it yourself, ass-hole! I am not going to help you."

Josh stood aghast, in front of his 94" flat screen. The resolution of the concealed webcam was just too low, it made the bigger than life face of the Kyla on-screen somewhat surreal. He switched the signal to his laptop , noting for himself -  "when it will be Linda's time, I'll have to use a 4k camera... "

He didn't expect Kyla to resist -  her life had been a long series of humiliations, pains, and betrayal that she had to endure and had made her into a worthless person.

At least, so he thought... the fact that the tiny, slightly chubby black girl may see herself differently, had never crossed his mind, but she did. This didn't look like the near broken wreck that he found in her letters to her preferred romance provider.

This was Kyla as she had to go through life, always ready for the next fight.  He miscalculated.

Repeating the order was only going to highlight his ineffectiveness - she said it herself, he had to do it himself.

He took the hood that he prepared, and then let it go. She knew that he was the one behind this - there was no reason to hide. He left his "command post", and suddenly realized why did he create it n the first place - to remove himself from the action, to feel less what he was going to do. A coward way to look at the effects of his own actions.

He could not expect her to do his bidding for him - "he who draws blood, must soil himself" - the ancient reality of the men of action, before the weapons that strike at distance changed the nature of confrontation among humans.

He opened the door, and entered her cell.

Kyla looked at him, with a lot more hate than fear. She despised him, he knew.

He wen up to her, and they stood separated, looking at each other - Kyla asked only "Why?".

Josh knew that he could not answer... that any justification  he could come out was, really, pathetic, so he finally saw the truth.

"Because I Want" - then he slammed his fist in her face, at his full strength.

She fell on her own feet, already an incoherent mess, blood running from her broken lips, the eyes half-closed in her near-loss of consciousness, one of her incisors visibly loosened in its gum.

Hosh looked at her... he thought that he was going to feel powerful, vindicated. he did not.

He considered continuing the work, trash the frail body of the diminutive black girl, completely.

He wen off the room, instead, closed the door, sat against the wall.

And he cried.

He was a monster, and a prisoner of his own choices - from now on, all had to follow its path.

Till the dirty, messy, stupid end.