[Fiction] Ethan Payne and Why His Name Is Appropriate

[MarisaLaugh]

Welp, I'm 'gonna give a go at this whole story writing thing.

Contains kidnapping, I guess. The youngest age is seventeen, so that's cool. Not safe for work, but what is on this website? Uhmm...A bit of D/S and shit...Do I even have to give warnings? Well, I'm warning all of ya'll. I don't know these procedures!

How about you just read it and tell me if you do or do not like it. It's from the point of view of a guy, and I'm not a guy, so tell me how that turned out as well. Have a nice day!
-MarisaLaugh

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The light stabbing my eyes hurts, and my head throbs with every beat of my heart. The blonde fringe tickles my forehead, constantly threatening to touch my eyes. My arms ache from their position of being held behind my back, and my wrists burn from the rope that’s holding them there. My ankles don’t hurt, but they’re also bound. I’m cold, a long shirt that doesn't belong to me my only protection from the temperature of the room. I’m hungry, uncomfortable, and shivering.
Mostly, though, I’m terrified.
I’ve been stuck here for hours, and I’ve had more than one panic attack since I’d awoken here. I’m in a bathroom, I think, because I’m bent over the edge of a bathtub, my stomach sore from supporting my weight. My ass is in the air and uncovered, which makes me feel even more vulnerable.
There’s a long strip of cloth tied tightly around my head, inside my mouth, gagging me. It prevents me from screaming, obviously, but also from swallowing. Drool leaks down my chin, some snaking down my chest, but most of it pooling in the tub under me.
I don’t know how I got here. No fucking idea. To keep myself from going completely insane, I’ve been repeating facts to myself, starting at the most basic and working up. It helps a little.
My name is Ethan. I’m seventeen years old. I have blonde hair, and I’m skinnier than most boys, and smaller. I don’t have many friends. The last thing I remember is my parents leaving for their vacation, nothing else. My parents probably aren’t looking for me. I’m stuck here. I’m scared. I need to get out now or I’m going to die and I’m scared scared scared-
And that’s where I have to stop and start over. Because if I keep on with that thought, I start crying, and how am I supposed to get out of here if I’m crying, and I can’t breathe well through the cloth and- I'm panicking again.
Wait- I think I hear something. Footsteps! I’m not sure whether to be scared or happy. Maybe I’m being let go, or maybe they’re coming to…well, I'd rather focus on the prospect of being saved. I try to turn around, but I can’t. I stare ahead, at the soap holder in the tub. It’s better to focus on other things, anyways.
The footsteps are closer now. They’re light. I’m not sure what that means. My footsteps are really light, too, so it doesn’t make me confident or anything.
The door’s opening.
A sob works its way out of my chest.
They’re closer now, right behind me actually. I’m a second away from pissing myself. More drool leaks down my chin.
I feel a soft touch on the very top of my head, and as I start to strain my neck to see, its grip hardens, forcing my head still.
It’s bending down, I can tell from the rustling noises of its clothes. It’s right next to my ear now.
“Hello, sweet heart,” she purred, voice silky smooth, lips brushing against my right ear. The touch made me tremble, though I’m not sure if in a good way or a bad one.
Brown hair swings just to the side of my face, long and wavy, something you’d want to run your fingers through. Her fingers carded through my hair before stopping at the cloth gag there. She untied it quickly, using both hands to slowly pull it from my mouth. I gagged a bit at the removal, but was grateful that it was gone. My throat was dry, so I swallowed experimentally before trying to speak.
“Are you going to help me,” I asked, and my voice was barely above a whisper. The woman chuckled ominously, petting my hair again before answering.
“Oh, babe, you’re going to help me.”
Immediately after, she yanked me to my feet. She was strong, and she easily supported my weight. I swayed dangerously forward, but her hands on my shoulder steadied me. I stared into her face, tilting my head back a bit because she was about two inches taller than me.
She was cute. Like, really cute. Her eyes were hazel and big, and her hair curled and framed her face perfectly. She was thin, but not too much so, and I could tell by her lean appearance and just the way she stood that she could easily beat me in both a fight and a race.
As I was staring, I hadn't noticed that she’s reached into her pocket and whipped out a knife. She flicked it open and held it between us. I gasped as my eyes focused on the glinting blade, its sharpness way too close to my chest.
“That was adorable,” she laughed, using the knife to gesture to my face, “you’re eyes just opened so wide.” She chuckled again. “Don’t worry; I won’t hurt you…with this.”
Then she flicked the knife from my neckline to my thigh. I squealed and would have jumped backwards if I could. I didn’t feel anything, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t want to look down. I felt cold all over.
I looked down. There was no blood, not even a scratch on me. The shirt was another matter entirely. Oh, that's what she cut, I thought. It hung from my shoulders, flapping open to reveal all.
I blushed, and stared at my feet. This girl was looking at me; all of me. Looking at my feet, I noticed how close hers were to mine, which made me blush even harder. My cheeks burned from it.
A cool finger touched my chin, softly at first, but then forcing my head up. She guided my eyes to hers, and made me watch as she looked me over. I could tell she liked my humiliation.
The hand that wasn't holding my head up put the knife away slowly, deliberately. She met my eyes once more, smiled, then brought her now free hand up. It rested just below her other one on my neck. It was cold and gentle, and I unconsciously leaned into it.
“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” she said, letting her finger trail down my neck, her eyes following its every move. “You blush so much,” she continued after her touch reached my collarbone. I gasped as it moved lower, brushing degradingly and lightly over my erect nipple. I’m sure my face was on fire by now. “Oh, you like that? Or do you like…” She trailed off, and I was confused for a moment.
Then, her thumb and forefinger clamped vice like on the sensitive skin there, ripping an involuntary moan out of my throat. She laughed loudly, and then tapped me on the nose again. “I knew you would like that. What can I say? I know people,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “and I know exactly what to do with you now.”
As she spoke, she pulled the knife back out, making quick work of the cloth still being held up. The blade sliced even slits on top of both shoulders, and slowly, maddeningly slowly, the shirt fell, dragging its cotton fabric down my back. I tensed as it brushed my backside, as it was sensitive there.
The woman noticed my tightened expression. She pressed a finger to her lips, contemplating. Stalking like a predator, she moved from in my line of sight, her footsteps sounding on the tile floor right behind me. She ran her hands harshly down my back. I jumped a little, but apparently not as I was supposed to, as she made a disapproving sound.
She moved lower, and a strange noise sounded in the back of my throat from the feeling. Her hands harshly grabbed the soft flesh there, and her nails dug in painfully. I tried to lean away from the touch, while also unconsciously thrusting back into her grip.
I heard her purring noise again. “Oh, that’s fucking perfect,” she said approvingly, finally letting me go and moving back in front of me. “I’m ‘gonna have so much fun with you!” She giggled happily, before leaning down, again whipping out that dreaded blade.
Panicking, I almost fell back, but a hand caught me at the small of my back. “Watch it,” she growled, speedily slicing through the ropes binding my ankles.
Steady on my feet for the first time, I went to take a step back, but her nails dug into the skin of my calf. “No.” She said. I stayed still.
Her lithe form straightened gracefully. Her face came close to mine, and I felt her warm breath on my still sticky chin.
“I’m going to take off the ropes here,” she pulled at the bindings on my wrists. “And you’re going to stand perfectly still, you got me?” Seeing the knife held up as a clear threat, I nodded my head. I knew full well that I couldn’t take her, and if I had any dignity left, it would’ve been wounded by my immediate submission. This made her smile. “You’re going to be a great little subby,” she laughed.
The ropes succumbed to her sawing and fell at my feet. I continued to stare at the ground, not daring to move.
“Such a good boy,” she praised, and I felt something close to pride growing in my chest. What the fuck? I didn’t just get warm and fuzzy from this crazy lady’s compliment. No way. “Now turn around.” I did so immediately, not even realizing I’d done it until she was ushering me back into the tub.
The woman turned the water on the showerhead on, cold water stinging my skin. I gasp and almost fell, as I wasn’t expecting it, but the now familiar hand on my back saved me. “So fucking cute,” was mumbled, right before, “Now take a shower. I want you all clean. You need to fucking sparkle,” she walked to the sink, which I hadn’t even realized was there and pulled a towel from the cabinet underneath it. “When you’re done, dry off.”
She pointed at the ground, at a spot in the middle of the bathroom. “When you’re dry, kneel here. Don’t move after that. I’ll be back.”
And then she was out the door, and I was alone. My arms still ached, but the now warming water was helping. I’m less scared, more confused now than the blind panic I’d felt before.
I had no basic information in which to form a plan, so I did what I felt was right. I repeated the orders in which she’d given me in my head.
Bathe. Dry. Kneel. Wait.
I could do that. I started washing without a second thought.

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Duhn Duhn Duuuuuuuuuhn!