Freeing Lana Read online

  Freeing Lana

  Kristin Elyon

  Copyright © September 2014 Kristin Elyon

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author. Exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments , events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Cover Art by Kande at Kande’s Pixels https://www.facebook.com/KandesPixels

  WARNING: This book contains very disturbing situations, abduction, sexual content, anal play, breath play, spanking, dubious consent, bondage, minor BDSM, strong language, and graphic violence.

  Dedication

  To my twat waffle, I appreciate all that you have done to help me. You have shared your story with me and helped me realize a lot of things about myself as well. You believed in me and encouraged me to keep going even when I thought I’d hit a dead end and wanted to scream cabbage. You have helped me so much more then you will ever know and for that I’m super eternally grateful. You are one of my best friends ever and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Inspired by True Real Life Events…

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lana awoke in complete darkness, hearing nothing but the steady ticking of a clock somewhere on the wall above her head. Something was covering her eyes; she could feel it against the top of her cheeks, but when she reached for it, she found she could not move her arms. They were bound to the edges of the bed beside her with something which seemed to be tied below the bed, the floor perhaps, but she could not be sure.

  What the fuck?

  Her mind stumbled over itself trying to make sense of the situation, searching frantically for any clue of a memory which might tell her where she was, or how she got there. But she was drawing a blank. She remembered being at work, and then walking across the parking lot to her car, but that was it. She couldn’t even remember getting into the car. Everything after her shift at Wholesale Warehouse was completely gone. She tried to tell herself her friends were playing a joke on her and at any moment they were all going to start laughing, unable to hold it in any longer, but a part of her knew she was in some sort of trouble.

  Think, God damn it Lana, think.

  But the more she tried to remember, the further away the memories seemed to slip, leaving her in a more confused state than she had been in before. This was not a joke, at least not a funny one. Her friends had not hidden her car or pinned a note on her back inviting everyone to kick her. She was tied blindfolded to a fucking bed and it wasn’t funny at all.

  To her right and behind her, she could make out just a hint of light, as if a window was there. It was barely detectable through whatever guarded her sight, but it was enough she was quite certain it was daylight outside. Had she been here all night? She had no clue. Hell, as far as she knew, she could have been here for several nights. She felt herself begin to tremble as the enormity of uncertainty washed over her. As tears formed in the corner of her eyes and tried to fall only to be caught on whatever was covering her eyes, a new startling realization came crashing into her newfound nightmare.

  She was naked. Completely fucking – a quick attempt to lift her legs added another unnoticed ingredient to the messy soup which was becoming her mind; her legs were bound tightly to the corners of the bed – completely fucking naked.

  “Oh fuck me,” she said out loud, surprising herself with the slight amusement it brought to her.

  If he hasn’t already, chances are he does indeed intend to fuck you.

  Well, no shit. She wasn’t rich, so the idea of being held for ransom and then safely returned home was ludicrous, at best. She pulled at the restraints binding her ankles and wrists. Nothing, not even the slightest give. An old boyfriend, perhaps? An admirer? Probably not. No, that was not Lana’s luck. History suggested her luck in a situation like the one she now found herself would be a lot worse, most likely involving some deranged, disease infested troll, a 450 pound loser who decided to go to whatever lengths it took to get laid for the first time in his life, so he had grabbed her and she was most likely tied up in his mother’s basement right now.

  Fuck you, indeed.

  “Shut up,” she told herself, “just shut up.”

  She tried to convince herself her worst fears were merely panicky delusions, and though there was no way this situation was going to end well, it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Yea, she was more than likely going to be fucked, probably more than once, possibly by more than one person, but maybe, just maybe if she didn’t make too much of a fuss, he would let her go soon. Maybe was all she had, so she grasped it tightly with both bound hands and waited.

  But she didn’t have to wait long, because about the same time she was able to make the tears stop, she heard something. It sounded like a door opening in another room. The front door, maybe? There it was again, maybe. Maybe it was the police. Maybe she was going to be rescued before it went any further.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Somebody help me!”

  The door – she was completely convinced now it was in fact the front door – slammed shut. She heard footsteps pounding on hardwood floors coming closer. It was the police, it had to be.

  “I’m in here!”

  Another door flew open, this one much closer and she knew it was the door to whatever room she was in.

  “Help me,” she pleaded, barely getting out the hopeful whimper. But her hope quickly diminished as the most distinctive sound of duct tape being torn from a roll answered her. Seconds later, she felt the brush of fingers on her cheeks as a piece of the silver restraint was placed over her mouth, retarding any further pleas for help, as well as any hope of rescue.

  Fuck me, indeed.

  “Shhh”

  Quiet, almost gentle, the simple command was all he said as he crossed the room and shut the door. Lana heard him cross the room, returning to the bed. There was a slight pause before she felt the bed give, telling her he had sat down beside her. She was not flipped onto the floor, so the 450 pound troll theory was gone…for now.

  She heard what sounded like water dripping, or as though something had been pulled out of a container of water anyway. Then a gentle brush on her forehead as a wet rag wiped the sweat from her brow, then her face and neck.

  “Try to relax,” he said as he returned the washcloth to the basin to refresh it with new cool water before placing it on her forehead and leaving it there.

  It felt good on her skin, almost…

  Welcomed? Were you really thinking welcomed?

  Was that what she was thinking, welcomed? Oh shit, if not welcomed, she was definitely thinking appreciated. It had been a kind gesture at the least, and after the nightmares which had been raking her brain since awakening, it had in truth, been appreciated.

  His voice was deep and calm, almost hypnotic. The succession of vowels and consonants, though English, added with the harmonic tone variations were soothing. His accent sounded
almost Spanish, but it wasn’t. It was entrancing and – as bad as she wanted to admit it – beautiful. It was…

  Welcomed?

  No, Italian was what she was thinking.

  She felt her own weight slightly shift again, as he stood from the bed and started across the floor to the side of the room on her left, opposite from the door on her right. She listened as best she could as he spoke again, but still found herself drifting into the mysterious world his accent suggested to be his origin. It was definitely foreign, for lack of a better word, though not overpoweringly strong.

  “I was a bit disappointed by your crying out when I came in,” he said, still speaking quietly and evenly, seemingly without emotion, or at the least without anger, “so I am going to leave the tape for now, until I can find a suitable, more comfortable replacement. My hope that is you will not need it for long, but that will depend on you. Can you be good?”

  Could she be good? Was he kidding? He had her tied to a bed in the middle of God only knew where, naked, completely fucking naked, and he was asking if she could be good? He was out of his Goddamn mind.

  So, you want the tape to stay on your mouth?

  No, of course she didn’t, but what the hell was she supposed to do, welcome this bullshit? Fuck that.

  “Well,” he asked, “can you be good?”

  Reluctant, but not enjoying the tape, she nodded in agreement.

  Apparently contented by her surrender to the silence he seemingly expected, he opened a drawer of a dresser and began rummaging inside. She had no idea what he was looking for, but her mind was coming up with many possibilities. It didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for and closed the drawer. Lana listened intently as he crossed the room again and stood beside the bed. She heard him slide what she assumed was a nightstand across the wooden floor toward her feet, stopping it close to her legs, before sitting once again on the side of the bed. She felt herself stiffen as she anticipated what would come next. No doubt, he was not about to read a selection from Robert Frost. No, Frost never wrote of the things she knew he intended now. His hand fell softly on her stomach, causing her to flinch slightly.

  “Try to relax,” he repeated, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Yea, ok.

  He removed his hand from her skin and she heard something foreign, a whishing sound coming from beside her. Was that an aerosol can? What the fuck? Again, she felt him touch her, this time lower, below her stomach, just above where she knew he was headed, that one place he had clearly brought her to this place to touch, to hurt, to fuck.

  A cool wetness could be felt as he began rubbing something on her skin, on the hair above her most holy of holies, her secret spot, her…

  Really, you’re tied to a bed, naked, with some guy rubbing Cool Whip or whatever between your legs and you can’t even call it your pussy?

  Ok, she had to admit the word didn’t bother her as much as she wanted to think it did. Yes, he was rubbing whipped cream above her pussy, but it wasn’t whipped cream, she realized as she picked up the scent and realized with sudden wonderment what it was he was rubbing on her, on her pussy. It was shaving cream. Was he going to shave her? He had gone through the trouble of kidnapping her, strapping her to a bed so he could shave her? What the fuck?

  Lana, you know perfectly well this is only the beginning, now don’t you?

  She did know. She didn’t want to know it, but she did, she knew it all too well. She was not going home anytime soon, and of that, she was now quite certain. She allowed her mind to wonder, as beside her the water sloshed. Then water ran as he lowered the razor to her skin. Gently, he removed the triangle of hair from her skin, repeatedly returning to the basin of water and returning it to her skin, dripping. Water slowly ran between her legs, making a trail beside each before slipping below her pussy and coming together where her ass cheeks touched. She had often thought of performing this procedure on herself; it was after all rather common, but she had been afraid of cutting something important, and quite frankly, she had felt self conscious about it. But it wasn’t painful, she noticed as her mound was becoming balder and smoother than it had ever been; it was almost pleasant, almost…

  Welcomed?

  Yes, welcomed.

  The razor hit the basin with a light splash, sending several drops of cool water into the air and onto her side. He was finished. She had wandered into a daydream and had not realized it until she heard the splash. He removed the washcloth from her forehead and leaned in close to her face. She could smell his cologne, Drakar, and she could feel his breath as he hovered slightly above her.

  “You did well,” he whispered.

  She felt a slight shift on the bed again as he repositioned his weight and leaned away from her face. Then, ever so lightly, more gently than any man had ever touched her before, she felt his finger on her skin, just below her pussy lips, where they joined together to form the opening to her soul. Slowly, torturously slowly, he slid it gently upward, barely grazing each side, and eventually gliding just over her clit.

  Dear God!

  Then his touch was gone and he got up from the bed. Leaning down toward her face again, he removed the duct tape from her mouth and walked across the room. She had not realized it, but she had been holding her breath, and only after she heard him leave the room and close the door, did she release it.

  The smell of his cologne lingered in her nose and the wetness remained on her now cleanly shaven skin, but there was something else. She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but a wetness from another source was present as well. She had begun to enjoy that somehow, and it pained her to accept it. It wasn’t right, not even close. Hell, it was sexual assault to be perfectly blunt, but when he had said she did good, when he had let her know he was pleased, a part of her had been wanting, no needing to hear it.

  “Oh, Christ, where am I?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sergio was late for work, again, but it mattered little to him. He could have been a few minutes earlier, though still late enough, but he had stood at the time clock longer than usual. She was not at work again and he was beginning to worry. It wasn’t like Lana to miss work, especially without even calling. He had talked with the night manager, Ron Allen, but that had been fruitless.

  Ron was known less-than-affectionately around the store as the Blue Lagoon, partly because he always wore the same damn blue suit, not the attractive sort of blue as in the waters of a remote lagoon, but a pale, almost sickening blue. They sold better clothes even at Wholesale Warehouse where they worked, but no, he had apparently picked this one up at an estate sale from someone who hadn’t worn it since the 70’s. He probably didn’t even realize how bad he made the store look with his attire.

  The second reason for his nickname was the stain, the big stain on the front of the suit, not the back, not under an arm, but right in the goddamn front. Christ on a cracker, anyone who bothered to look in a fucking mirror could have seen it, especially with those coke bottle glasses Ron wore.

  “She must have found another job,” Ron had told him the night before, when Sergio had asked if Lana had called in. “It happens all the time.”

  Idiot. Lana didn’t find another job; she would have told him. They had talked before about leaving the Hoe Sale Whorehouse, as the employees called it when none of the bosses were around, but neither had been able to find anything which paid anything more than what they were making there. If either of them had, they would have told the other; they were friends, and friends did not let friends stay in hell. That would just be rude.

  After eventually swiping his own time card, content he had not missed something, anything on hers which might tell him she had in fact come to work, Sergio walked across the large room to the men’s department where he worked. Of course, he took the long way, as he always did. He usually walked this way to see her, maybe even chat for a minute or two, but he walked by the food testers’ table this time, hoping she was there. He was getting worried.
/>
  Sergio Marsili had a secret. He was in love with Lana Martin, and her absence was driving him almost as insane as her presence usually did. She didn’t know, of course, but he woke each morning with a need to see her, to hear her voice, her laugh. He had almost told her once, but the fear of being rejected had stopped him. What if she had freaked out and never talked to him again, or worse, what if she had laughed? It would have killed him.

  Then there was the night at Simple Slim’s Saloon. A group of them from work had gone to have drinks and he had gotten really drunk, too drunk. He had almost tried to kiss her. A waitress had saved him from sure embarrassment. After ten minutes in the men’s room, staring at the mirror trying to work up the courage, he had walked back to the island bar in the middle of the room where they were all at.

  Everyone else had been on the dance floor, leaving her alone. It was as if the gods had held a meeting and all agreed this was the night. He walked up behind her, intending to turn her around and kiss her, never even giving her the opportunity to stop him. She had no idea how beautiful she was, or how badly he wanted to run his fingers through her curly hair look deeply into her eyes and taste her lips. This was the night. The alcohol had convinced him it was ok, and that she would want him too. Maybe she felt the same way and was just waiting for him to make a move.

  But the waitress had tripped just as he had walked up behind her, and Lana, his dear sweet Lana had rushed over to help her up, and the moment passed. His courage disappeared amidst the commotion and he had never found it again. And now, he was expected to concern himself with a sale on butt-ugly ties? Not likely.

  Of course, he rarely gave the store the attention which might have been expected when she was there anyway. Instead, he usually spent his shift trying to come up with reasons to go by her department. He would even grab some of the wooden toothpicks she used to give customers samples, even digging them out of the trash can when necessary on occasions when she was busy with a customer, only to bring them back later, making up some shit about he found them on the floor in his department, anything to talk to her. But now, she wasn’t there, and it was worse than anything he could imagine.