Kidnap

It was three days, only three short days before they tired of me. Tired of hurting me, tired of beating me, raping me, calling me hideous, horrible names and finally tired of letting me stay alive.
I tried to savour it all, every last drop of my life, unpleasant as it was. I tried to live the last three days, I mean live, you know like it was all there was…
I tried to glean what pleasure I could from it, the odd scrap of food, a sip of water. Jesus, I even took the awful things they said about my body as compliments, anything to hang on to the fact that I existed as a person, as me, as something other than an object.
The filthy mattress that I had lain on for three days had become so comfortable that I would have taken any amount more torture just to be able to remain on its disgusting stained pattern; so much of my bodily fluids were in it, it was probably as much me as I was.
The youngest, most sensitive of them cried when they came for me. I liked him, he was probably just weak and easily led, the first time he tried to rape me, he couldn’t get it up. It was quite sweet, the others laughed and showed him how. How to treat a woman right, how to make her bleed and how to make her beg you to stop; which I have to admit I did at first.
It was probably best that they killed me, to be honest I don’t think I would have survived if I’d been rescued, or escaped. My hands had been bound so tightly for so long that I couldn’t feel them after about the second day, the blood would have clotted in my veins; I didn’t even feel them cut off my fingers.
When they stood me up, they had to support me, they even had to hold my head up for me and drag my feet along the cold stone floor. I could feel the remnants of my dress floating around my knees as we made our way to the door, reminding me of cooling summer breezes that whip the hem so you have to push it down to stop lascivious eyes from peeking. It was white cotton broderie anglaise, although it was mostly red now and torn and stinking. I caught a glimpse of my panties on the floor and remembered when we happy band first met. How at first I thought I would get away with being raped. There hands all over me, my desperate struggles and those panties ripped from me and stuffed, soaked in my urine, into my mouth. The layers of duct tape wound round my head and the sack over the top half of my body and tape, more and more tape round and round me; one of them had fucked me there and then, in my own home. The others managed to wait until we got here, wherever here is. I cried a lot at first and screamed until I lost my voice, they didn’t care, I think they liked it. They bound my wrists and elbows with thin wire and every movement caused blood to ooze from beneath it; it’s stopped now.
The door to the next room is opened and beyond in the gloom of the stark industrial building a noose hangs, it swings slowly in the breeze from an open door, from which several of my tormentors enter.
In that split second I want to live.
I try to stop our forward motion; try to put my foot down, put on the brakes. My foot bends backwards it is only hanging on by the fact it is encased in my flesh, but I jam the stump into the floor and struggle as much as I can; all the strength I have left, every last ounce of me. They laugh and our progress towards the rope is not held up for a second.
Mercifully I don’t have to stand on my own two ruined feet, the rope round my neck holds me an inch above the ground. They bind my legs together, I am to have no last orgasm, I try to remember the last one, this morning was it? Yes and I think it was the nice lad, I’m glad it was him.
The rope is creaking under my weight and I am panicking, I can feel the panic and I welcome it. My lungs are on fire, I am only inches off the ground I can almost reach it. They are standing around me with clubs and iron bars, it feels as though my eyes may burst… I have pissed and shat myself. They are laughing, except for him, he is crying.
I feel maybe four or five of the blows and am aware from somewhere that bones are breaking, but I can’t tell if they’re mine, it doesn’t hurt any more…