Five Years Ago:
It was dark when Rebecca opened her eyes. Very dark. Pitch black. She realized that she wasn’t as afraid as she might have expected. For years, she’d been homeless and the fear of waking up somewhere strange, kidnapped from whatever overpass, park bench, motel room, or alleyway she’d made her temporary abode was ever-present though not always expressed. To some extent, this was the sum of all fears for her, the very coming of the bogeyman. There was far less fear than she’d expected. Perhaps it was because he lay on a bed, or at least some kind of cushion. The bed didn’t feel familiar at all. Actually, no bed felt familiar and often when she’d saved the money for a hotel room, she used the shower but slept on the floor, the softness of a mattress too strange for her body to handle.
She tried to move, to sit up. Immediately, she discovered she was bound. Her wrists were tied and upon moving them she could feel what might have been a headboard or the posts of a bed. She was restrained, and she grew anxious and then began to panic. She tried to remember the evening before. She’d been… she felt shame and guilt flood her. She’d been in a dumpster behind the Korean barbecue restaurant. In the dumpster, not searching through it, not near it. In it. She’d been defiling herself. She recalled the events with disgust and self-loathing. She’d played with the filth, made herself dirty on the outside as she was on the inside. She felt a tremor of desire flow through her as she recalled the octopus she’d pushed into her pussy. It had been old and smelled disgusting, and as she lay naked in the dumpster, feeling the calm that always filled her when surrounded by refuse, she’d discovered it a package with the plastic wrap slit. The small mollusk had somehow slipped under the liner in the Styrofoam package so it was discarded rather than used. It felt slimy and revolting as she’d pushed it in and the effect had been almost magical.
It was dark when Rebecca opened her eyes. Very dark. Pitch black. She realized that she wasn’t as afraid as she might have expected. For years, she’d been homeless and the fear of waking up somewhere strange, kidnapped from whatever overpass, park bench, motel room, or alleyway she’d made her temporary abode was ever-present though not always expressed. To some extent, this was the sum of all fears for her, the very coming of the bogeyman. There was far less fear than she’d expected. Perhaps it was because he lay on a bed, or at least some kind of cushion. The bed didn’t feel familiar at all. Actually, no bed felt familiar and often when she’d saved the money for a hotel room, she used the shower but slept on the floor, the softness of a mattress too strange for her body to handle.
She tried to move, to sit up. Immediately, she discovered she was bound. Her wrists were tied and upon moving them she could feel what might have been a headboard or the posts of a bed. She was restrained, and she grew anxious and then began to panic. She tried to remember the evening before. She’d been… she felt shame and guilt flood her. She’d been in a dumpster behind the Korean barbecue restaurant. In the dumpster, not searching through it, not near it. In it. She’d been defiling herself. She recalled the events with disgust and self-loathing. She’d played with the filth, made herself dirty on the outside as she was on the inside. She felt a tremor of desire flow through her as she recalled the octopus she’d pushed into her pussy. It had been old and smelled disgusting, and as she lay naked in the dumpster, feeling the calm that always filled her when surrounded by refuse, she’d discovered it a package with the plastic wrap slit. The small mollusk had somehow slipped under the liner in the Styrofoam package so it was discarded rather than used. It felt slimy and revolting as she’d pushed it in and the effect had been almost magical.
