Getting away

­The theater department was empty this time of year, late summer a few weeks before the semester really started. It was dark and sounds echoed in the cavernous, ancient auditorium as she walked down the main aisle to the stage. Only a few emergency lights and aisle lights lit the way.

“Hello?” Chrissy called. “Is anyone here?”

She held the crumpled small paper in her hand. She didn’t like the idea of being blackmailed over her past as a prostitute and sex worker in porn movies. All of the movies, she was convinced, were gone: They were always private productions or assembled by producers for very limited distribution. Chrissy never pretended to be an actress or a model, though she did have pretty looks. Her hair was dark blonde with light streaks through it and about shoulder length. Her cheekbones were full and somewhat wide – almost overripe, she thought, around a nose that was straight and slightly pointed. She was tall, too, for a woman, almost 5-10. Her waist was somewhat tapered but always too full to be an anorexic-like model and her buttocks were large and ripe, though not too finely tapered. During the worst of her relationship with her abusive, and much older, first boyfriend the movies almost always featured anal sex, and he always insisted that her face be hidden from view or in low lighting as she blew her fellow actors. Her thighs were thin and long, her legs almost too skinny.

That was why, she always thought, that he insisted on the breast enhancement surgeries she underwent. He thought her breasts – 34B’s at the time – would be a fine attraction if they were larger, something that would put her over the top and into the big time as a porn actress. “You need the tits, baby,” he would tell her, yanking down the halter top he liked her to wear so that her nipples stuck out above its top line. “Tits are what really draw the guys … and the girls.”

Her nipples were long, almost freakishly so, and pointy, so when the enhancement process was finished the implants looked pretty natural. She was young then, in her 20s, and her wide bluish green eyes regarded him with something like love, then. He was tall and imposing and had, she would recall longingly for years afterwards, a huge cock – his stick, he called it.

Chrissy stopped herself angrily. She kept thinking about him when she should be thinking about what she was up against. Was the note real? Was it from the men who had attacked her? Who were they? What was their plan for her?

“Hello?” she called out again.

She searched the backstage area very cautiously, armed with a flashlight and a small can of pepper spray she always kept in her purse. No one would be attacking her this time. The clock read 5:57 p.m. She arrived early in hope of hiding out quietly and surprising anyone who showed up. She had her cellular telephone ready to record anything said that could be incriminating.

She laid down on the floor between rows of seats in the far right corner of the auditorium and waited.

No one came.

The clock ticked by slowly. 6:30 p.m. 7. Then 8. It was 9 p.m. before Chrissy, feeling utterly foolish, slowly rose from the dusty floor and, with a sigh, walked back up the main aisle. She looked over her shoulder at the darkened stage one last time as she pushed through the door into the lobby and almost bumped into someone. She jumped back suddenly, alarmed, until she saw it was Mr. August Fieldings himself.

“Oh my God! Fuck!” she yelled. Her purse fell from her hand onto the floor, leaking some of its contents. “Oh, lord, sir, I am so sorry. You startled me so!”
An older, aristocratic man in his 60s, Fieldings wore a tweed suit and had small oval glasses that gave him a vaguely academic air. Chrissy didn’t recognize the two 20ish men standing with him. Both had close-cropped hair and thick muscular necks. The three of them stared impassively as Chrissy immediately fell to a knee and started gathering the things that had fallen from her purse.

“I can’t imagine what happened,” she said, her words tumbling from her mouth. “I fell asleep in there. I was there to… meet someone and I must have lost track of the time. Do you know what time it is?”

The men continued to stare and Chrissy found that they had effectively blocked her way forward. A chill rose through her, and not from any cold floor.

“I wonder why no one awoke me,” she babbled on, gathering the last of the spilled items. She looked furtively for the pepper spray but couldn’t see it in the half-darkness of the lobby. “I have had a lot of work lately to do getting used to everything and I haven’t slept terribly well. I am afraid I am rather insomniac in this weather.”

Slowly her eyes rose until they settled upon a medallion Fieldings had revealed by parting his suit coat. It was a bullseye with a dot in the lower left corner. Chrissy found herself almost paralyzed at the sight of it, so much so that she didn’t protest when one of the younger men gently took her purse from her and threw it behind him. Her eyes rose to Fieldings’ face with a kind of hypnotized terror as the two men gently grabbed her arms and held them apart.

Smiling almost apologetically, Fieldings approached her and, with a tut-tutting sound of disapproval, slowly unbuttoned Chrissy’s white blouse until her neck to her navel was revealed. He gazed rather mournfully at Chrissy’s large heaving breasts for a full minute before he spoke.

“Academia is such a waste on you,” he said. “You were meant for things so much more interesting, weren’t you?”

Chrissy gasped as Fielding slid one bra cup aside and pinched her nipple, watching it slowly harden as the first of several tears slipped from Chrissy’s cheek. Fieldings gently daubed at one with a finger and slipped the finger between Chrissy’s enlarged lips.

“You will come with us,” Fieldings said.

He turned and walked toward the sidewalk as a dark van pulled up to the curb. His two assistants steered Chrissy’s semi-struggling form to a sliding door that opened as they approached and pulled her into the van so that she sat in the center of the first seat behind the driver’s compartment, her legs spread obscenely and her skirt riding high. The van had pulled away from the curb and gotten on Route 24 as the man behind her seat, the one who had opened the sliding door, cruelly forced a ballgag into Chrissy’s mouth. Chrissy’s trembling and uncontrollable crying began to crescendo as the man to her right tore at her skirt as the man to her left snipped at her bra with a pen knife, each moving with practiced skill. Her panties came off next and she began to wail until the man to her left placed his palm against her cunt with a slapping sound.

Then she quieted.

Her hands were cuffed to poles apparently built for the purpose of holding prisoners like her and she kept staring pathetically at Fieldings, who swiveled the front passenger seat and stared at her almost mournfully. She started at mewed a second as her garters and hose were pulled down around her ankles and the man on her right began to slather oil on her body.

“You wish to know,” Fieldings began, “what this is all about, don’t you? A terrible burning desire to know why this is happening to you. Why you.”

Chrissy nodded, drool from her gag falling into her cleavage, as the men cuffed her ankles to small o-rings built into the floor, leaving her arms and legs stretched almost equally apart. She felt the hands of the man seated behind her begin to rub the oil into her breasts, warming her as his lips began to brush against her neck, as the man to her left gently ran the oil with a finger into her cunt lips. The oil seemed equally warming and sexually exciting to her skin and she wondered why.

“We know things about you, and about your daughter too,” Fieldings said, causing Chrissy’s eyes to widen farther. “Oh, yes, your daughter is one fine specimen. She is quite prized by some of the faculty, and many of the older teens on campus, for her … appetites. Her mother will find it quite surprising how much more …adult young ladies like her can be, and how much the younger generation can teach the old.”

Rage burst from Chrissy as she tried to scream through the gag and attack Fieldings. For several minutes she flailed uselessly against her restraints until she felt the man behind her press a needle to her skin. She passed out.