She flipped the “CLOSED” sign over the door, and flipped the lock simultaneously.
It had been a long day. She’d found the perfect washer for Ms. Mack, a lock wrench for Mr. Jonea, spray for the mystery bugs in Mz. Oleana’s tomato patch, and myriad other problems and solutions, all waiting to be found in her small-town hardware store.
Life here off the beaten path was slower, kinder than her former role as executive secretary in Boston had been. She’d gotten to know almost everyone in town, after inheriting the store from her late grandfather. She liked it.
The one, the biggest drawback to life in the rolling foothills of Vermont was the distinct lack of kink contact. Where the fuck did one find someone to bring her to the heights of ecstasy she had known while living in Beantown? She and her Dom had split months before her move. Watching him move through the Munches, collecting little subbies had been painful, and she’d found no one to really satisfy her need to be controlled. A quick fuck here and there, no problem, maybe a satisfying spanking to assuage some of the need, but nothing like He used to deliver.
She sighed as she swept the floor, part of her nightly closing ritual. Her mind wandered as she cleaned the counter, tidied displays, brushed up the store for morning. She’d gone so far as to hook up with that online site. She posted a discreet picture, because in small towns, there was always someone who knew you.
She bagged up the trash, clicking off the lights, except for the one outside her small office. It was full dark now, but the stars shone brilliantly as she stepped outside to dump the bag in the small dumpster out back. As she turned to head back inside, she was grabbed from behind, a strong arm wrapping around her chest, and a large hand covering her mouth.
She struggled, kicked, but her sneakers had almost no impact on her assailant. She felt the hand around her shift, and heard a small click. She went still. She’d lived in the city long enough to be familiar with the sound of a switch blade engaging.
“Not one fucking sound, cunt.”
There was a pause,and the incongruous sound of chirping crickets in the tall grass in the field behind the store carried clearly. She nodded, short and sharp. She felt the blade caress her throat, pressing gently against the soft flesh. She leaned back into his chest, trying to put a measure of space between her throat and his blade.
“I’m taking my hand offa your mouth, slut, and then we’re going to go inside, got it? One fucking sound and you’re done.”
She nodded again. His hand left her mouth but hovered for a moment, before grabbing a fistful of her hair and pushing her back inside. Inside, the small mudroom angled off in two directions. Ahead was the door to the back storage room of the store. To the left was a narrow twisting set of stairs that led to her small apartment above the store.
“You live up there?” His voice was gruff, mean.
She swallowed. She did not want him to sense her fear. What the fuck? People did NOT get robbed in Richford Vermont. It just never happened. Until today. She felt her pulse knock up a bit as the knife caressed her throat. She nodded, finally.
He pushed her up the stairs. They were narrow, twisting twice in their convoluted Yankee construction. Her hair was pulled, her shoulder ached as he held one hand behind her back. He pushed her through her tiny kitchen, and equally tiny living room, and made a pleased sound in his voice when he saw her spacious bedroom. The iron-barred four-poster was old, sturdy, and a kinkster’s dream bed.
He shoved her forward onto her bed, pushing her face hard into the mattress, choking her breath.
“Stay, slut. Don’t even think about moving. She grunted her assent, then felt his hand leave her head. A scraping noise almost had her raising her head but she decided to stay put. Her heart was racing.
Not a robbery.
Gawd, she’d fantasized, as so many women do, about being raped. Tied, helpless, forced to submit. Gavin had tried, but it never felt real to her. He was such a dominator anyway that she was okay when he decided to stop trying to give her that fantasy. But the reality was frightening. The knife scared her spitless. Her mouth was so dry she thought she would never swallow again.
Why then, was her pussy so fucking wet?
Strange fucking slut, she mused, then gasped as she felt something press into her legs. She was bent over the bed, legs on the floor. Her upholstered chair! He’d pushed it up behind her, pressing it into her legs. She could have pushed it back, wriggled away but it would have taken precious moments, and he’d be on her in a flash. She heard drawers opening, closing.
Weight pulled the mattress down across from her. One wrist was seized, and she realized then that she was not going to fight this. He tied something soft around her left wrist, and then her right wrist. The bed rose as he left it. She heard his footfalls come around the bed again, back to her. He pushed the chair away and stood between her slightly parted legs. She felt his heat, and the corresponding heat between her thighs.
He lifted her head with a fistful of hair, then forced a silky wad into her mouth. Pushing and prodding, she was effectively silenced with her own panties. Something slid over her head, and was tied around her neck. Pillowcase. His hands lifted her effortlessly up to the bed and he began tying her wrists to the headboard. His hand caressed her through her clothing, roughly, demanding. His fingers found the center of her tits, already peaked and hard.
“What a slut!” He laughed, and she tried to yell through her gag. Nothing came out louder than a squeak. She tried kicking, but he quickly brought her legs under control. Before she knew it she was spread-eagled, tied tightly to her bed.
“I smell wet pussy.” His voice crooned in her ear.
“So many clothes in my way, though. I think we need to dispense with some, don’t you little slut? Before I can fuck you good and hard, you need some…” He paused, and she shivered, waiting for what would come next.
“preparation. Back in a few…” and she heard his footsteps recede through her kitchen, and clatter down the stairs.
Down into a hardware store…