BDSM Library - Story: A Tape, Chapter: Part 4

A Tape

Part Four

Four A.M. on a Thursday morning and I was ready to go. I was dressed as I would for a business luncheon—a nice light blue skirt and jacket that accentuated without ever wandering close to improper. It was for a reunion, after all.

I didn’t know what the future would hold. So many questions swirled in my mind, yet I could speculate answers to none. Who were their kidnappers? Why did they choose Monica? Was she their ultimate target, or was I? What would they do to me? Would they set us free?

I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the phone, anxiously playing with the strap of my purse. However, the phone did not ring.

Four-fifteen came and went, and I began to worry. They were watching me, I knew, but what was the sense in toying with my fears?

A knock came from my front door. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door but a crack, keeping the security latch in place. It was the pale woman from the video.

“Are you Janine?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me in.”

Her voice was cold and emotionless, as if her role in the abduction was all part of a job. Something about her enraged me and I wanted to strangle her, but my desire to see my daughter again trumped my violent urges. I closed the door, swung out the latch, and reopened the door.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked inside. A man followed her in a few steps behind. “We need to gather a few things before you can see Monica. Where is your laptop and the tapes?”

I pointed to the top of the VCR and the kitchen table. She walked over to them, grabbed the laptop case in her left hand and the tapes in her right. The man made a quick tour of the apartment, plucking out the tiny cameras that had recorded me over the last month. I was ashamed how simply they were hidden. In plants, above lamps, wedged between paintings and the wall, and even some from my bathroom and bedroom—how had I been so blind to not see them, even accidentally? Did I pay that little attention to my surroundings?

Perhaps that was what led me into this plight.

“Good. Now, do you have your cellphone with you?

I nodded.

“Leave it behind.”

They led the way out of my apartment. I turned off the lights and locked the door behind us, and briefly wondered if I would ever see my apartment again. However, that was not my main concern and it quickly slipped from my mind.

A white van was waiting in the parking lot. The doors opened as we approached, revealing a thin and tall man with dark black hair. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in, with the husband and wife following quickly behind me. The door slammed shut.

“Do you have everything?” asked the dark haired man.

“Yup. Three tapes and eleven cameras.”

“Good, let’s hit the road.”

He crawled back to the front of the van and into the driver’s seat. The keys were already in the ignition and the engine hummed quietly.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Miss,” answered the blond man. He was older than the other two and had a hardened look to him. “Help me with this, Fiona.” He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to the floor of the van.

“Hey!”

“Quiet, you fucking bitch,” hissed the black-haired woman. “You’re finally going to fucking pay for what you did to Clarissa.”

“I don’t know any…” I tried to answer, but the husband shoved a piece of foam into my mouth, quieting my protests. I recognized the feel as that of a bit gag. My husband had tried getting me to use it several times, but I could never adapt to my missing voice. I knew why it bothered me—to be without speech is to be without value. I’m a strong, assertive woman, and to cede even a little control was degrading and dehumanizing.

He pulled the gag tighter into my mouth and strapped it beneath my ears. My mouth stretched painfully into a toothy grin.

They continued to grab and bend my body. They shackled my wrists behind my back, locked a collar around my neck, and placed a blindfold over my eyes. The rest of the ride continued in darkness and in silence.

They did not remove my blindfold until we were underground. All I know is that we parked in some type of garage, and they led me out of the van and down some stairs by a leash. I was being treated like they treated my daughter, but how far would the similarities go? I began to sweat.

We stopped in a small room with concrete walls. There was nothing in there except a dirty old mattress in the center of the floor, and an old TV and VCR on a stand in the corner.

“Sit,” he commanded.

I complied, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice. Once I was kneeling on the mattress, the woman attached a length of chain to my collar and undid the bit gag and the chain that fastened my wrist cuffs. “Go get Mother and father,” she told her husband. From there, all I could do was wait. Soon, I would have all of the answers I wanted, and with any luck, the chance to once again hold my Monica in my arms.

The masterminds behind my plot arrived a few minutes later. They did not seem at all like what I had imagined the sadists to be like. A couple somewhere in their fifties, they were both slightly overweight and wore the type of clothing you’d expect from the average PTA member. He wore a thick moustache mustache on his chubby face. She wore her graying hair down just past her shoulders.

“Hello, Janine,” said the father. “Do you remember us?”

“No,” I answered. I didn’t think I had ever seen them before in my life.

I was wrong.

They looked at each other with sadness in their eyes. My answer had disappointed them in some profound way. “I see…” said the mother. She walked over to the VCR and inserted a tape. The screen filled with footage of me violating myself with the white dildo they had given me.

“Ten years ago, you rejected service for our Clarissa.”

I could only sit there silently as this fellow mother relayed her tale.

“It was a vital surgery, but you and your company said no. You called it a ‘pre-existing’ condition, said that it wasn’t covered. Nobody would give us a loan, our family too poor, too worthless to justify the cost and risk of the surgery.”

“I…”

“We did everything we could to haggle with the insurance company. Where else could we get our money? Our entire emergency plan counted on insurance, counted on its ability to handle the worst case scenarios, but…”

She began to cry.

“She died because of your decision”

It was an aspect of my job that I never wanted to think about. I know that Clarissa was not the only person to die based on my decision, but that is how insurance works. Rejecting the claims of anyone I logically could was my job. So many claims come across my desk each day, and I have to look at the evidence and make a decision. Clarissa’s landed on my desk, and I said no. And what if it had landed on somebody else’s? What if the paperwork bore the signature of a coworker rather than me? Would Alan’s daughter have been kidnapped, or Kelly’s husband? Is fate really that fickle?

I turned my attention back towards the TV. It had switched to footage of me watching my daughter’s plight on television, immersing myself in self-pleasure to evade reality. How far had I fallen since they took my daughter…

“Tell me, Janine. Do you feel bad about what you did?”

“Yes!” I pleaded immediately, knowing that it might be my only chance to sway the sentence they had cast on me. “Yes, I regret rejecting her, but I had no choice!”

The father grimaced and slapped me across the face, knocking me onto the mattress. “Human beings always have a choice.”

“I had to do it, I swear!”

“Is that really the best you can come up with?” asked the mother. “Are you so concerned with your job that that you won’t save the life of a teenage girl? She had so much ahead of her. She too was on the verge of entering college, of seizing the world in her hands when the disease struck, and fast. You had a choice to save her life, but you said no.”

I didn’t know how to respond. How could I explain the way insurance works? My signature would have meant nothing for something so expensive, for it would have been audited by a higher up that would have vetoed my approval. And even if it initially slipped, it would have shown up on an employee review, likely costing my job over something so expensive. What little freedom I had was limited on all sides. I could only turn my head away and cry.

They had suffered so much for what I did to them, and now they were intent on bringing me the same degree of anguish. But… would they kill her? Was it all leading up to them killing her before my eyes, just as I undoubtedly did to them? I curled into a ball on the mattress and began to cry, the tears streaming continuously as my thoughts were only of what these monsters would do to us. Their evils were born not out of sadism, but revenge.

“Bring her in,” said the father. Their surviving daughter left the room and returned a minute later with my Monica

She stared straight ahead, her hands clenched together behind her straightened back. Her glasses were gone, and her hair hung down as a mantle across her shoulders—an unusual sight for a girl that wore pigtails since she was seven. Her skin was clean, save for the occasional blemish or scar from whatever her captors did to her. She wore the same dog collar from the videos, connected to her captor’s hand.

The mother and father stood idly as they watched their own daughter lead mine closer to me. She said, “Here you go, Monica. Somebody new to play with.”

Monica flashed a toothy grin and stumbled towards me. I sat up on my knees and held out my arms to accept her, to bring her in my arms in a loving embrace after a month part.. She moved closer within my grasp, but with her own arms pushed me onto my back.

“Huh?” I yelled in puzzlement. She held my shoulder blades down with her tiny hands, her legs to each side of my waist. “Monica?”

She did not respond with words. Instead, she leaned back and begun to undo the buttons on my blouse one by one. I immediately understood our captors’ intent. My own daughter was to treat me like she had been trained to treat them—as a sexual plaything. They wanted her to service me.

“Monica, no!” I yelled and grabbed her wrists. I wouldn’t allow them to taint our souls with incest.

“Don’t resist, Janine. We will avenge Clarissa’s death, one way or another. Play along with our little game or we’ll visit your fate back onto Monica ten fold.”

That was their ploy. For an entire decade, their feelings of injustice about their daughter’s death brewed without remedy. It festered, until at long last they found the target for their rage—the woman who had signed the rejection slip. Me.

But where as their daughter died, they believed it would be too simple a punishment for mine, too brief and immediate to carry the weight of their loss. They wanted to see me suffer. Not just a little, but constantly for the rest of my life so that they could feel better about their daughter’s death. And, the only way to do that was to destroy my own daughter and force me to watch it, every step of the way.

Why did it have to be sexual? Why did they have to explore dozens of perverse and unnatural fetishes? Perhaps they were mere bondage enthusiasts and loving parents that kept everything separate until I ruined their lives. Were they really just a normal family until a simple death distorted their dream? How could the parents convince their own children to join in?

The answer was simple: they all loved their daughter and sister, and would do anything to avenge her death. Their family was as close knit as possible, silencing any qualms with kidnap and rape for the sake of family preservation.

I turned back towards Monica. Her stare was vacant and unsettling. Though the body was the same, the… thing… before me was not my daughter. No, no, no, my daughter was smart, perky, beautiful, the only ray of hope I had in my life after my husband died. To lose my Monica...

I put down my arms and let the girl continue her work. She unfastened the buttons of my blouse and revealed the simple white bra beneath it. With each of her hands, she pulled the cups down, exposing my tits to the cold air of the basement. I blushed in shame; it had been years since anyone but my doctor saw my bare breasts. She leaned in closer to me and drew her face closer. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, but I did not resist, for what purpose would it serve? I had lost everything. Fighting back now would only make things harder.

Her tongue thrust in and out with uncharacteristic ferocity and aggression. The Monica I knew was timid. This was unnatural. She swirled her tongue and slobbered on my lips, but I just let it happen. And as it continued… I realized what was happening. I was getting wet.

I cursed myself for allowing my body to react that way, but there was nothing I could do. It was disgusting, filthy, incestuous, and completely disgraceful to all that I considered noble about being a mother, but it happened. My panties began to drench with my fluids.

“She’s ready,” proclaimed the son. I could see what he was doing until I felt him below my waist. He was grabbing the panties that Monica had ignored from beneath my skirt and pulled them down legs and off my ankles. Something pressed against my cunt, and then pushed inside.

I gasped for air. It was huge, but I couldn’t tell what it was. A dildo? It was larger than any other I had ever used, but the distinct ridges gave it away. “Gyah!” I yelled, the object prying me open unlike anything had ever down since I gave birth two decades ago.

Monica lifted her bottom, allowing me to see between our waists and revealing the true purpose of the object. It was shaped like a U, and Monica grabbed the other end and slid it into her own pussy. She moaned in pleasure as the end disappeared into her body.

“Monica, please, snap out of it…” I said, but she went about her business as if my words or voice no longer held a special meaning to her. Did she even recognize who I was? I honestly thought she couldn’t.

My daughter held onto the base of the dildo between us, holding the dildo in her as much as possible as she thrust back and forth to force me to experience the pain. It hurt so badly, but there was physical pleasure intermingled with the suffering of my body and mind. How many years had it been since another naked body rubbed against my own, since another human being used my body as a sexual object. Even if it was with my daughter, even if it was an obscene rape engineered by my enemies, it felt good on some based level.

We were soon joined by the son. He had stripped naked and mounted Monica from behind. Her grin grew wider as his cock joined the dildo that pierced her other hole, her body rubbing back and forth against my own in rhythm with his thrusts.

With Monica sandwiched between the son and me, I knew that she was gone for good. While some of her might remain, she would never be the same. Sweet, innocent, brilliant Monica was no more, now replaced with the lascivious girl on top of me. She screamed and moaned as she kissed me and licked my face, but I did nothing to enable them but lie there motionless.

I came. It was the most shameful moment of my life, but I came, raped by my own daughter. Once that had happened, there was nothing that could be worse. Struggling against them further was useless, for they had taken my dignity and pride in a way that it could never be restored.

The rest of the family stared, expression no emotion but satisfaction, as if defiling me sated their vengeful souls.

Monica continued long after I was finished, and even more after the other rapist had stopped. She soon collapsed to her side and fell asleep where she lay, curled up on the dirty used mattress. On her face, I could see the peaceful, serene look that I was used to. Somewhere in there, even if it was hidden away deep beyond whatever shell of mental scarring she had been forced to construct, my Monica was still alive. Not the sex slave, sex fiend, or mindless monster that had raped me, but the daughter I had loved and protected for her entire life.

They pushed me down the hallway and threw me into a tiny prison cell. I immediately recognized it as the room from the first tape they sent me. It was tiny and reeked of sweat and other fluids. There was nothing in it but a tiny sink, toilet, and single cot. I took a seat at its edge and rested my legs. I stretched my freshly freed arms and neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see something dangling off the edge of the cot, in the corner of the cell. I reached over and picked it up.

It was Monica’s glasses. Thick purple frames surrounding the powerful prescription lenses. She had picked them out herself weeks before leaving to college. I don’t thick she imagined their ultimate condition, however. The hinges were cracked, and the lenses were encrusted over with dried cum. I squeezed them tightly and pulled them closer to my chest.

And, at that moment, I finally broke down.

---

The dumped her back into the cell many hours later, but she said nothing. She instinctually headed straight for the cot and crawled onto it, as if I weren’t even there. I called out, but there was no answer.

I wanted to hold her and protect her. So, I too crawled onto the cot beside her and covered her with my arms. We slept that way as if she were still a scared child, fearful of whatever monsters lurked in the dark.

But now, the monsters were real.

----

How long did we share that cell in silence? I held her every minute that our captors did not, but she said nothing. My only daughter, shocked into muteness by undeserved brutality.

I think it was weeks after I joined her that she finally spoke. “Mama,” she muttered, just like she did when she was but a child.

I hugged her tighter. “Oh, Monica. Your mother is here. I’m going to protect you, always.”

“Mama…” she cried.

Monica, Monica. My sweet Monica. She means everything to me, and though I could not spare her this terrible fate spurred by my own errors, I can at least be with her through it all.

I do everything that I can to keep her safe, despite the miserable pit of despair that our lives have fallen into. It’s all my fault, but… I cannot bring myself to apologize. Does she know what I did? How my callous rejection of a medical claim over decade ago set in motion this chain of events? Her potential… her body… her life… all destroyed because of my mistake. I will devote the rest of my life to allaying her pain, but I’ll never confess my sin. Never.

But, sometimes, she gives me a look as if she knows everything. When she’s getting reamed in her ass by the perverted son and deviant husband, or tortured by that crazed and malicious daughter, I can tell that she knows. I can tell that she blames me for everything, that she hates the life that I’ve led her into.

And, through it all, the video cameras zoom and whir, recording our plight for some perverted future use.

THE END