Caroline Vargas would much rather prefer to walk upstairs than down. Since the sixteenth of September the pale blonde with the stunning green eyes prayed that each morning procession consisting of herself and the two men who’d brought her to this place might proceed upstairs from her holding cell. To be led downstairs was something that frightened Caroline very much.
Not quite twenty, being uncomfortable on her walks was becoming a fact of life for Caroline. The steps themselves were no friend to the humiliating high heels she was forced to wear upon her feet 24/7. Dim lighting, the presence of locks on every door and snatches of moaning from what Caroline had to deduce were other females also being kept prisoner made her treks from slave cage to the Activity Plaza a dreaded nightmare.
She was always uncomfortable. Constantly at unease. The sundry corridors and evil chambers of Caroline’s home since mid-September were no place for an attractive woman to be paraded about naked. Various types of restraint (metallic, hemp, plastic ties) were a constant torture upon the wrists, elbows, shoulders and lower back of the slim girl who’d been informed that she’d been chosen for sex slavery due to a pair of fetching legs and a set of inviting breasts.
Yet Caroline would sigh with relief - almost joy! - whenever Donnie and Claude directed her nude body (atop stilettos clattering against the stone floors) away from the lower levels of their dungeon. And up towards the Activity Rooms wherein Caroline was being forced over and over again to learn exactly how much sexual (and sensual) abuse her body could withstand.
The pair of sadists played Good Cop, Bad Cop with their plaything. Playthings (plural) if one included the other unfortunate women they currently possessed. Women - like Caroline - they never intended to set free. Or even to demonstrate mercy to. Then - to mentally torture their helpless slaves - Donnie and Claude would switch roles…Bad Cop, Good Cop. Sometimes in the very midst of a brutal session of rape. Leaving Caroline, another blonde and two Japanese girls sobbing in misery on a consistent basis.
Since the 16th of September.
On this particular day more than two months after her kidnapping Caroline ‘allowed’ Claude to rope her wrists together in front of her so that she could be played with. In the very center of a large room that boasted red-brick walls and violent florescent lighting. Donnie arrived almost as soon as Caroline’s trembling body had then been strung up with her arms hoisted painfully above her head. With Donnie came the aloe scented synthetic gloves, vibrator and police baton the two torturers planned on utilizing in their sport with Caroline’s body.
So that she’d scream. Then plead for mercy.
Or perhaps the whore would beg first…then scream later.
Caroline Vargas bit her lower lip and waited with tears for the two men who hated her to begin wringing amusement from her worthless body. Donnie seemed anxious…Claude refused to look her in the eye. So Caroline foolishly tried to showcase how sexy her legs were in a pathetic attempt to elicit empathy from the circling pair of devils. The blonde told herself to count her blessings. At least the men hadn’t led her downstairs today. Caroline - terrified and cold - was borderline confident she could endure another rape session inside the Activities Plaza.
That’s when Claude informed Caroline that there’d been a change in plans. And that they were going to torture her.
