The Prison (Book 1)

Warehouse

The van went over a bump on the road at ill-advised speed and I momentarily hovered in the air -just for a millisecond-before I came down hard on the cool floor again right on my sore cheek. Gagged and tied as I was, I couldn't even rub it to sooth the ache somewhat. Or scream myself hoarse like I really wanted to.

From my position on the floor, I tried to make out something out the window, but it was just as blacked as it had been minutes ago. Not even the tiniest shaft of light made it through the blackened glass. These people, whoever they were, had come prepared. They'd tied my hands and feet and stuck a piece of tape over my mouth, then hauled me out of my apartment at alarming speed all the way to a black van parked right at the main entrance of my building, with none the wiser. Not even one soul had sensed the ensuing crime, and the building's concierge was suspiciously out of his seat.

So, I could only assume that no one, not a single soul in all of New York City, knew that I'd been kidnapped. And no one would miss me.

At first, the van had driven as if we were in a car chase and it was imperative that we escape. All the while I was being tossed here and there at the back to the point where I thought they were doing it on purpose. Thirty or forty minutes later -I was so terrified I doubted my account of the time was even remotely correct -the van had slowed considerably. I suspected we were no longer on a main road. It felt like a less populated area; there was little traffic, less noise.

A few minutes later, the van slowed to a stop. My heart leapt to my throat the moment I heard doors open and slam closed. My eyes flew to the van's backdoor. Three seconds later, it was pulled open. The sudden light -although it was just moonlight- hit my eyes, blinding me for a moment.

Once again, two pair of hands were all over me as they grabbed and lifted me out of the van. One of them carried me, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Practically hanging upside down, I nearly emptied the contents of my stomach all over my kidnapper's backside. It was all I could do to keep it together.

My first instinct was to try and take everything in, memorize every detail; I knew I'd need it later for when I tried to escape.

If they don't kill me before I ever got the chance, that is. The depressing, terrifying thought spurred me into action.

Strongly motivated by the will to survive, I lifted my head -no small feat from how I was being carried and jostled around- and scanned my surroundings. It appeared that the van had driven straight into a large warehouse of sorts. Boxes upon boxes were piled on top of each other on giant shelves. The place looked like an Amazon storage warehouse, filled to overflowing with merchandise. The place appeared to be old, at least twenty years old from the looks of it. That was about all I could see or make out; only the moonlight streaming through the glass roof illuminated the inside of the warehouse.

They took me to a room at the back of the building that was medium sized. I was unceremoniously tossed on the concrete ground. Groaning, I writhed on the floor. One more hit like that and I'd break a bone.

The moment I caught my breath, I looked around from where I lay on the floor. It wasn't much of a vantage point, but I did see that the room had two black, medium-sized couches in it. And that was it. There was nothing else in the room, not even shelves or lamps or even a window for that matter.

When the one who'd assaulted me came to stand next to me, I looked up at him in alarm. I wanted to demand to know where I was, what they wanted from me, why they'd taken me, but I was genuinely afraid of another slap or kick. I was no masochist; I wasn't much for pain.

Also, I was still gagged.

I took him in, then. He was an average-looking man, with dark hair and grass green eyes. He was well built, around six feet tall, and dressed in a suit jacket. Now that I was properly looking, they were all wearing black suits.

They looked like gangsters, like the ones I saw in Hollywood movies. But what the hell did gangsters want with me? I didn't particularly remember taking a loan from any sharks that I then failed to pay.

"What are we going to do with him, boss?"

It was one of the two other men who spoke, a ginger on the heavy side with freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and nose.

He looked me over, then. His eyes scanned my tied up body from head to toe. Something malicious and animal lit in his eyes.

The breath hitched in my throat. I knew that look. I'd seen it way to many times not to.

The boss, as Freckles had called him, began to do what I'd been most afraid of.

He began to unbuckle his pants.

"We might as well have fun until his master arrives."

A beyond average cock sprung forth from the confines of his pants. The mushroom of his hard cock was already dripping precum.

Meeting my eyes, he ripped off the gag and ordered, "Lick me."

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~* 

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