A man dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt stood in the doorway, slack jawed at the sight of me. I tried to yell, to tell him to leave, but the gag...in my mouth muffled it into a panicked series of noises. He grinned as I tugged at my restraints, the ropes digging into my ankles and wrists.As he moved closer I closed my eyes hoping he'd leave. Maybe he'd just take the things on the end table and go. He didn't. His hand traveled up my leg and to my crotch. Fingers searching for a hole to bury. It's a friday and I took the day off. It was a hot day that day, and everybody kept their clothing limited to the minimum. I was sitting on a terrace, in front of a bar, wearing my sneakers, cute white socks, a short skirt with a black silk string underneath, and a large shirt, with the arms cut of. The holes which were left when cutting the arms off were a bit bigger than I wanted them to be. They were as big as the hole where my head goes through. And when that hole is just covering the end. More

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