The Stranger

Part 33 - Cassandra

I found myself in a dark, cold building. It looked like an old warehouse or basement. Everything was shadowy, with a faint, untraceable source of light. Silence filled the space, except for the soft patter of raindrops somewhere in the distance. My hands were shackled above my head, bound to a metal rod. I could barely stand, my feet just grazing the floor. A cloth gag muffled my mouth, and a white brick wall pressed against my back. I realised I was only wearing a thin white tank top—my favourite summer pyjama—and small panties. I must have been taken from my apartment while I was asleep.

Confusion rippled through me, followed closely by fear. I needed to get out of here, but how? I had nothing to defend myself with. A drop of water hit my face, startling me. I glanced up but saw only darkness.

Then, faint footsteps echoed, closing in. My heart raced. I had to think of a way to escape. I heard a metal door slide open. Light poured in, momentarily blinding me. My eyes strained to adjust. How long had I been here? The light illuminated more of the room—a trolley sat not too far away, covered in tools. One object stood out: a knife. Another drop of water hit my nose. I glanced up again. There was a showerhead above me, attached to the wall.

The door didn't fully close, leaving a sliver of light behind. I could barely make out a figure moving toward me. I couldn't see his face, but I had a sinking feeling I knew who it was.

John.

He must have kidnapped me after trying to assault me in my apartment. Now he was back for revenge, and I was completely at his mercy. I tried to scream, but the gag muffled any sound. He stepped closer, his face obscured by a balaclava. He walked over to the wall on my left, near the trolley, and pulled a string. A dim light flickered on. He was dressed in all black—jeans, a tight shirt that showed his muscular frame, latex gloves, and shoes.

His eyes met mine through the holes in the mask as his hand hovered over the trolley. He picked up the knife and approached me. My fear surged, and I thrashed against the cuffs, desperate to free myself. My feet scraped the floor, but it was futile. His left index finger pressed to his lips, signalling me to be quiet.

He raised the knife, gently grazing the side of my face with the cold blade. I clenched my eyes shut, expecting pain. But instead, he slowly traced it down my neck, over my shoulder, then along the curve of my chest, stopping at my left nipple, which was already taut beneath my shirt. He teased it lightly before grabbing a handful of my hair, tilting my head back. He leaned in, inhaling deeply as his lips brushed my exposed neck. Then, just as abruptly, he let go and stepped back.

He turned toward the wall again, finding a water lever and twisting it slightly. A slow stream of water poured from the showerhead, soaking my thin top. My breasts became visible through the drenched fabric, and his body language betrayed his satisfaction. I felt violated, disgusted by the lengths John had gone to have me.

But then he turned off the water, stepped behind me, and spun me around to face the wall. The knife returned, trailing down my arms, neck, and shoulders. His lips grazed the back of my neck again, but something was different. There was a tenderness to his touch. And then he spoke.

"Tonight, you belong to me. You will please me. I will use you..."

Those words. I had heard them before. My mind raced.

"And in return... I will be yours."

Alex said those words to me. But how could John know?

I turned back toward him, and as he slowly removed the mask, my breath caught. It wasn't John. It was Alex. His intense gaze locked onto mine, and my fear slowly morphed into something else—excitement. My body, once tense with terror, now softened with a familiar pull toward submission. He removed the gag from my mouth.