Online Cupid

By Fergus Anthony

Thriller

Paperback, eBook

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600
3 mins

Day 1

(The formatting in this sample is for ease of reading. This book is not for kids.)

Once upon a time...

A man stepped through a doorway and stopped. He felt foolish in his mirror shades. He almost took them off; instead he stood blinking in the darkness as he looked about the room, barely making out the metal shelves, the sink, the laptop computer on the old metal desk. Beside the desk, a printer sat on an old chair with trails of rust running up the legs. In the centre of the room, a woman sat awkwardly on a wooden chair. She seemed to be sinking into it, even as she leaned forward. A red velvet bag covered her head, and her legs were shackled to the legs of the chair. Her arms disappeared behind her back. Above her, a 40-watt bulb with a pink plastic shade cast a faint yellow light, like an island on the floor.

‘Shsh,’ the man said, ‘it’s OK. You’re safe.’

The woman’s head jerked up as he spoke and she seemed to follow the sound of his approaching footsteps. He stopped in front of her and reached out. He held his hand an inch or so from her head.

‘I’m going to take the bag off, OK?’

She didn’t answer and he assumed she was just afraid. He pinched the corners of the bag and gently tugged, to avoid causing her distress; revealing more and more of her face, until she looked up at him, and the relief disappeared from her eyes.

He must have been six feet tall and had once been well-built, but now he ran to fat. He wore a cheap black polyester suit, with a black shirt and black tie. On his head, he wore a black fright wig, a few strands of which hung down over the sunglasses. She saw herself; tears gathered in her round, blood-shot eyes; her cheeks made hollow by the red ball gag in her mouth; the black straps that held the ball gag in place. Absurdly, she was struck by the fact that the ball gag perfectly matched the red velvet bag in his hand.

She shivered and the man moved away, not sure how to continue. He became conscious of the bag in his hand and looked for somewhere to put it down; finding nothing he turned back to the woman.

‘Listen, em... really sorry about this, but, em... I have to cut away your trousers and knickers. OK?’

On the word ‘cut’ the woman tried to run, that is, her body prepared to run, twisted on the chair, even as her mind told her the truth of her situation.

‘No no,’ the man said. He dropped the bag and reached out to reassure her, but didn’t touch her because he felt that would be a violation. ‘It’s OK it’s OK,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing... icky! Look at me. Hey. Look at me.’

When she didn’t, he reached out to touch her, to guide her face to his. The woman jerked her head away and looked down her nose at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have thought of it sooner.’

He looked away, conscious of the need to do or say something to reassure her.

He crouched down and gently placed his hands on her lap.

He looked her in the eye and did his best to put a smile into his voice. ‘It’s OK. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to rape you. I’m not going to violate you in any way. There’s a bucket under that chair. I have to cut your clothes off so you can go to the toilet. OK? If you need to go, just let me know and I’ll give you some privacy. Nod if you understand.’

After a few seconds the woman nodded.

The man smiled at her. She would learn that the man had only a handful of responses, and this was his favourite.

He took a pair of scissors from his pocket.

He took hold of one of the woman’s trouser legs.

The woman stiffened, she tried to pull her leg away.

The man let go of the trouser leg and raised his hands in surrender. ‘OK?’ he said.

He slowly lowered his hands and took hold of her trousers again, rubbing the cloth between his fingers and thumb.

Again: the smile in his voice, ‘These must have set you back a fair whack. Seems a shame to cut them, but, well, I suppose if I unlocked you, you’d, well...’

He shrugged his shoulders and offered a sheepish grin.

He began to cut through the cloth.

The woman’s leg jerked forwards and the metal cuff at her ankle bit into her skin.

The man let her trousers go again; he began to lose patience with her.

‘I’m doing this for your benefit, you know,’ he snapped. He took a breath and counted to ten. ‘I don’t want to cut your leg open.’ He took another breath and took hold of her trousers again. He began to cut.

The woman stiffened. For a few seconds, as she listened to the scissors cut through the cloth, all she could think of was how much they cost: seventy-five Euros in Marks and Spencer. Cold metal touched her leg and she jumped; but he continued, cutting up past her knee where her trousers pulled tight against her skin. He cut more slowly now, gently pushing the scissors forward, making tiny cuts. As each new cut revealed more leg, he trembled inside, excited by the erotic possibilities of their situation. It was something he had never considered, and part of him wished he had thought of it sooner.

Looking down at him, the woman was terrified by his smile: he smiled because he believed they were falling in love.

He put the scissors down, realising she sat awkwardly because she had fallen into the hole in the chair. He stood up and walked around behind her.

‘I’m going to lift you out of the hole now,’ he said. He reached under her arms and joined his hands across her breasts. He felt his penis swell to a semi-erection and thrilled to the thought of it brushing against her back, although the chair was between them. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘on three: one!’ In a sudden movement, he pulled her body up and then eased her back onto the seat. As he removed his hands from around her body, he stroked her breasts through her clothes, thinking that she wouldn’t notice. He walked around in front of her and thanked her for her help. He crouched down, picked up the scissors and continued with his work. After cutting each trouser leg to the waist, the man put the scissors down and looked up at the woman.


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