Taken By the Stranger by Jenna Rose
1
Sophie
Plans…
My whole life has been nothing but the plans of others. My mother, my father, my grandparents with their input from behind the scenes.
When I was thirteen, they picked a husband for me. Ken Morgan, heir to a family fortune almost equal to the one I’m set to inherit. And just a week ago, on my eighteenth birthday, we were married in a ceremony that would have made the news if my family was into that kind of attention.
Ken spoke his vows, and I spoke mine, which were handily written by my mother and proofread by my father. He was grinning like a little kid on Christmas, and if things go according to his plan, we’ll be consummating those wedding vows tomorrow night.
Plans…
But tonight, those plans are going to change.
Tonight, I take my life into my own hands.
My heart is racing as I stare at my laptop screen, at the ad I’m about to place. It’s a website that would send my mother into an early grave if she knew I was on it. It’s known simply as “The Dungeon” to its members, and is a place where people gather to anonymously discuss their kinks and fantasies that they can’t discuss with anyone else.
It took me a while to find it, and some people might think it’s strange for me, the world’s biggest virgin, to even be a member, but that’s exactly why I’m here: to scratch that itch inside me that’s been there since I first hit puberty and started to have those kinds of thoughts.
My parents have kept me caged up and locked away from boys like I’m some kind of princess in a fairy tale, never having even let me go on a date with an innocent boy named Stephen in ninth grade who I knew legitimately wouldn’t have even tried to hold my hand during the movie.
I’ve never had my first kiss – my first anything, but I’ve lain awake at night, plagued by terrible, filthy, kinky fantasies that have kept me from my sleep more nights than I can count. And somehow I know, without even having been held in Ken’s arms, that there is no chance he will be able to give me any of those things.
But it’s not just that. Ken and I are like oil and water. He’s better suited to being a business partner to my father than a spouse to me. I can just see the terrible purgatory I’ll be subjected to if I stay with him, being relegated to the background of a “marriage” where I’m forced to give him two or three children who will in turn be subjected to more plans that they will have no say in.
Just thinking about it makes my blood run cold and my anxiety begin to flare.
My fingers hover over my mouse button as I once again read the ad I’m about to place.
Looking for a stud to kidnap me. No, this isn’t a joke. You must be strong, ridiculously sexy, hung like a horse, and able to fuck me until I can’t think about just how terrible my life is anymore. I hate my dad, so ddlg play is more than welcome. I’ve never been tied up but am open to it. Oh, and did I mention I’m a virgin? So if that turns you off, this isn’t the ad for you. Real older men only. Fuck boys go away.
My heart starts racing as I take the mouse between my fingers.
Yeah, it’s aggressive, bratty and frankly, a little obnoxious. But what the hell, right? I’m asking to be kidnapped. Even for this site, this is extreme. I might as well go for broke.
You’re a crazy bitch, Sophie.
I flex my hand and take a deep breath.
Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.
And click.
The form submits, and I’m taken to the completion screen. That’s it. No going back now.
“Whatever,” I groan, leaning back in my chair and stretching. “Not like anyone’s going to answer anyway.”
Yeah, something is majorly wrong with me, but that’s nothing new. And despite the fact that I’m shaking all over, I feel liberated by simply having posted the ad in the first place, even if nothing comes of it. At least I’ve done something to take my life into my own hands.
I try to picture the men right now, sitting at their computers as my ad comes up in the site’s classifieds. No doubt there will be a bunch of creepers foaming at the mouth, staring at the picture that I attached – just an underwear selfie with no face, nothing too crazy – ready to send me messages that go back and forth without actually committing to what I need. But maybe, just maybe there’s a man out there who will see my ad, know what I need, and be willing to give it to me.
Yeah, in another dimension maybe.
It’s been less than two minutes, but I go to my inbox and check to see if anyone’s messaged me anyway. The big zero staring me in the face makes my heart sink, and instantly a movie plays in my mind in fast forward of all the torturous years I have to look forward to with Ken.
And just like that, as if on cue, there’s a knock on the door.
It’s him…
I open my mouth to tell him that I’m busy, but he comes in anyway. I guess now that I’m his wife, I don’t deserve my own privacy.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he says as I quickly minimize my browser window. “Missed me?”
“Oh, have I ever,” I reply, turning to face him with the most forced smile ever on my face. Somehow, sarcasm is completely lost on Ken, which actually makes our interactions slightly less painful.
He grins and walks right up to me, slipping a hand around my neck in a way that I’m sure he means to be sexy but just ends up coming off as slightly serial-killerish. And not in a hot way.
“I was hoping you might come to me tonight.”
Oh God. He’s been watching Titanic again.
“Well, we had planned on tomorrow,” I counter.
“I know, I just…we’ve been waiting for so long, sweetheart, and…I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”
He gently slides his hand down the front of my chest toward my breast. I quickly stand and go to my desk, keeping my back to him, take my brush, and pretend to fix my hair.
“Well, mister—” I smile, addressing his reflection. “You know what they say about good things, right?”
Ken grins, thinking we’re flirting, not knowing I’m doing everything I can to put distance between us.
“No, sweetheart. What do they say?”
I swear, if he calls me sweetheart one more time…
“They come to those who wait.”
God, this is painful.
If only God would send another flood, but one that would only encompass my parents’ estate, or a swarm of locusts, or maybe just a lightning bolt that would come straight through the ceiling and strike Ken – not kill him, but make him forget all about me.
Ken sighs in a dramatic fashion and grins. He’s obviously all backed up at the thought of us finally “becoming man and wife” as he puts it, and this is just part of the massive buildup that’s been going on for years. Sometimes I wonder just how many times he’s jerked off to the thought of laying me down beneath him and making sweet, sweet love to me and find myself on the verge of gagging.
“You make a fair point,” he replies, thankfully not calling me sweetheart again. “But you aren’t right. Not exactly.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Tomorrow night won’t be good. It will be pure magic.”
Don’t gag. Don’t do it.
I lower my eyes from the mirror, pretending to blush. “I – I’m sure it will be, Ken.”
I can just picture it now: candles, rose petals, him freshly shaven with his favorite cologne and his hands nicely moisturized. He’s not a bad looking guy, but his skin-care regime is more intricate than mine, and I’m pretty sure he has more hair products in his bathroom than I do, and that’s just not okay.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, Mr. Wizard.” Finally, I’m able to look up and meet his eyes…in the reflection at least. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, he winks. I have to look away again so as not to laugh, and I keep my eyes fixed on my jewelry box until he’s gone and I hear his footsteps moving away down the hall. Only then do I collapse onto the bed and let out a laugh-scream into the pillow.
“Save me,” I moan as the desperation fills me. “Please, somebody save me.”
I rush to the computer, knowing it’s a completely hopeless Hail Mary I’ve thrown into the ether with my post on The Dungeon, and refresh the site. But to my surprise, there are two messages in my inbox.
My heart leaps in my chest as I click the first one from a user named thiccdaddy4u.
Ddlg play is my bag, baby. Do you really need to be kidnapped though? Sounds like this could be a trap. Are you affiliated with law enforcement in any way? Gotta be careful. Things are rough out here for men these days. Oh, and by the way, I attached something to get your juices flowing.
I can seeby the thumbnail that there’s a dick-pic attached. Needless to say I don’t click it.
“Fuck…” I groan as I immediately report and delete the asshole. Unsolicited dick-pics are strictly against the site’s guidelines. And on top of that, what the hell? Talk about trying to make something about you, asshole.
My spirits have sunk even lower than before as I go back to my inbox and hover over the next message. The username is simply tallanddark, and for some reason, that gets me. On The Dungeon, the guys always love to make their names a lot more suggestive. Somehow the subtlety here actually has be wondering who this man actually is.
Taking a breath, I click the message.
Stop posting shit like this and get off this site. You’re not serious. You don’t belong here. Go back to your mommy and daddy.
My jaw drops,and a strange fear flares inside me – a feeling of invasion. Who is this man? Why is he saying this to me?
Below his username is an avatar. I click it, and it expands to reveal a shirtless torso, the most incredible, rugged physique I’ve ever seen. A man’s physique. Broad chest, taut, cut muscles, and abs for days. Veins bulge in his biceps and forearms, and his callused hands hang by his sides like a boxer’s, ready at a moment’s notice to take action.
There’s something incredibly threatening about the way he holds himself too, as though this photo was taken not to impress, but to intimidate.
Instantly, a fire begins burning inside of me.
I want this man. Unquestionably. I want him to grab me, take me, do terrible things to me at his whim. I don’t even want him to ask. I just want him to do it. Yet here he is messaging me and telling me to get off the site because I don’t belong.
And that enrages me.
I click reply.
What the fuck would you know about me belonging, asshole? I’m dead serious. Don’t blame your lack of balls on me. Sounds like you’re the vanilla one here.
Send.
My heart is pounding. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a being in a real fight with someone. I click refresh twice on the browser and find a new message waiting for me.
Put up or shut up. Send your address. Be outside at midnight.
Wow, this is it.
Whoever this man is, he’s thrown the gauntlet down. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s half-right. I’m now second-guessing everything.
He may look like an absolute Adonis, have more sex appeal than any man on the cover of any magazine, and I may be dreading the future my parents have planned for me, but can I really go through with something this extreme?
But am I also going to back down after all this?
“Shit,” I grumble as I click the reply button, and the blank box pops up.
And then I picture it: going to Ken’s room tomorrow and seeing the look on his face as he comes to me, kisses me, takes my clothes off and…
No. I can’t do that. I’m not backing down.
14 Cedar Grove Lane.Be there or be square, buddy
Send.
That’s it. There’s no going back now.
Even if I don’t go outside tonight, I’ve just told this anonymous man where I live, and seeing as how it’s a massive estate, once he checks it out on Google maps, it won’t be too hard for him to figure out who I am. If he feels like it, he could kidnap me at any time.
“This is crazy,” I say as I click close on my browser. I’m not going to even bother reading his reply, if he even sends one. What’s the point? What’s he going to do, send instructions on how to prepare myself for a kidnapping?
I glance at the clock: 11:15. That gives me just under an hour to get myself ready. Whatever that means.
Do I pack a bag? Bring things with me? Go shower? Make myself pretty? Say goodbye to my parents?
No, no of course I can’t do that. That would arouse too many suspicions, and frankly, I don’t want to say goodbye to them anyway.
I look good as it is. We had a family dinner tonight that I had to look good for, so my makeup and hair are all done. I don’t know if it makes any sense at all, but just to pass the time, I pack a small bag with some clothes and a few toiletries in it. It takes about a half an hour, and I take another ten minutes to lie down on the bed and calm myself down so I don’t have a total heart attack.
There’s no way this is happening, right? There’s no way.
Then, at five minutes to twelve, I slip out my window and walk quietly to the edge of the property by the road.
Will he be parked nearby? What kind of car will he be driving?
These questions and more race through my mind as I stand there. It’s a warm night, but my body is shivering like it’s cold. I stand there and stand there, waiting and waiting, but after fifteen minutes, it becomes quite apparent that this just isn’t happening.
“You’re an idiot, Sophie,” I say softly into the darkness.
My heart rate begins to slow as I walk back toward the house. What was I thinking? Whoever tallanddark is, he was just messing with me. Probably just another asshole who gets off on tormenting women. Maybe cyber-bullying is his kink, but that’s also not allowed. I’ll report him when I get back.
Then, I hear it – the sound of a twig snapping behind me.
I can’t even turn before a rough hand slips over my mouth. Something sharp presses into the small of my back. A knife? Cold adrenaline pulses through my veins.
“Don’t move, bitch,” a low, threatening voice growls in my ear. “You’re coming with me now. And don’t forget. You wanted this.”
