Ashtar Deza
by Ashtar Deza
14 min read


  • Erotica
  • Fiction


  • abduction
  • fearplay
  • mindfuck
Content warnings: Violence, sexual content

How did you get here? The date started off fairly normally… Meeting for coffee, laughs, some drinks. When did it take this dark turn?

It was still fun when after dinner he pulled out the blindfold and told you to put it on. The twinkle in his eyes was enticing. You hesitated, how well did you know this guy? But something made you go “fuck it” and you put it on. Let him take you by the hand and guide you to his car. He had to help you put the seatbelt on as you blindly groped for it.

The first twinge of fear came as the car stopped after a good half hour and he killed the engine. He opened the door and the cold night air hit you. What hit you even more though was the quiet, the utter lack of traffic noises. All you heard was the soft chirping of cicadas.

You stumbled to undo the seatbelt, and froze when he said “Stop!”. There was a tone there you hadn’t heard before. A mix you couldn’t quite place, both hot and cold at the same time. There was an unmistakable note of command there and you found yourself frozen in place. You felt him undo the seatbelt and taking your hand. This time his grip was less gentle. He didn’t hurt you per se, but the grip left no wiggle room. He guided you out of the car and to your feet. Once on your feet, you heard him move behind you and before you knew what was happening he had grabbed both your wrists and pulled them behind your back. You tried to resist, but the way he twisted your joints left no room: might as well have tried to fight a vice.

Something suddenly constricted your wrists, sharp and cold. You remembered thinking to yourself, “Zip ties? Really?” The first real jabs of fear started piercing your heart. Had this really been a good idea? “Walk” was all he had said, as he put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you forward. Every now and then he’d nudge you left and right, as you desperately tried to get an idea of where the hell he was taking you. The ground felt soft, probably grass. That combined with the quiet made you think you weren’t in the city anymore, but you hadn’t driven that long.

He had guided you inside somewhere and put you in a chair. You should have run right then and there, but you didn’t. You let yourself be awkwardly pushed into what felt like a straight-backed chair, arms still tied behind your back, still wondering what game he was playing. And then he had pushed you into the backrest, and you felt something icy cold against the back of your neck. Your first instinct was to shoot forward, but his hand on your sternum had kept you pinned in place. Before you knew what was happening something cold and hard had encircled your throat with a loud click. You had panicked and started to thrash, and his voice had snapped like a whip in your ear.

“Keep still or you will suffocate yourself. It would be such a waste if our date had to end here”.

Your heart had felt like it wanted to jump out of your chest as sheer panic had gripped you. This was no game anymore, what had you gotten yourself into? You had heard him walk around you, followed by the sound of steel sliding against steel. You had heard that sound a million times in movies as a knight unsheathed their sword, except this sounded… smaller? A dagger maybe?

“Hold very, very still.”

Suddenly the pressure on your wrists had subsided as a cold blade snapped the zip ties. Your hands had shot to your throat, finding a thick steel band there, locked tight. It was loose enough to fit a finger inside and as long as you kept your back to the chair you could breathe… But it was also not moving at all. You had heard him walk around you, laughing to himself, an evilly gleeful sound.

“Get a feel for your situation honey. I’ll have to tie you down more securely for what comes next, but for now feel free to grope around. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. In fact… it’s safe to say, never again.”

You really thought you had known what fear was before, but now ice had really started to run down your spine. You had screamed at him to let you go, then screamed for help at the top of your lungs. The only response had been more laughter. Tears had started to run from underneath the blindfold, your nose was a snotty mess.

You had clawed at the ring keeping you so securely in place, and when that wouldn’t budge you had felt out the chair and found it to be roughly made out of wood. You tried to stand up, but either the chair weighed a ton or it was fixed to the floor. What had really made your blood run cold though was when your hands had found the thick leather straps secured to the armrests.

“Did you figure it out yet? Quite a few men died in this chair, both innocent and guilty. Electrocution, a modern and painless way of execution they called it. What an exquisite bit of sadism that was. Once lethal injection became the way, this thing went into storage. Took some doing to get my hands on it, but for what I have in mind nothing less would do. I did have to modify it a bit of course.”

This speech had sent your mind racing and left you so confused that you almost forgot to resist as he walked up close and strapped in your wrists. You tried to hit him, but the ring around your throat kept you from applying any significant force. When he had strapped your legs in you had tried to kick him, but hit nothing but air as he chuckled.

“Good, keep that spirit. You’ll need it.”

So there you are now, strapped to what is supposedly an old electric chair somewhere in the middle of nowhere and at the mercy of a man you hardly know. “Still not my worst date ever” you think bitterly to yourself.

You’ve been there for a good 15 minutes now, and you have no idea what is going on. You hear him close by, mumbling things under his breath that you can’t make out. Is he praying? Talking to his inner voices? You hear him approach again, and a shock runs through you as he presses the cold steel of the dagger to your skin. If the restraints hadn’t kept you in place so firmly you would probably have cut yourself trying to get away.

He grabs the fabric of your dress and you hear more than feel how the dagger slices through it, splitting it open in front and leaving you sitting in your underwear on the remains of your favourite dress. Weird how even under these circumstances the thought still angers you. You curse at him, and he slaps you across the face telling you to be quiet. Being restrained by the steel band, the slap makes your ears ring.

You feel the blade severing your bra straps and then your panties at the side. He roughly yanks all the torn fabric from underneath you, leaving you sitting bare-assed on the rough wood of the chair.

Then he’s gone again and you find yourself alone. The room is quiet except for the soft drip of a faucet. Drip. Drip. You wonder how long you’ve been here, can’t have been that long. Drip. Drip. What does this guy want? Is it some elaborate kink or did you really get in a car with a killer? Drip. Drip.

Your musings are interrupted by a shuffling sound around you. It sounds like many feet and the soft swishing of fabric. You hear voices too, but soft, whispering. Did this guy invite an audience? You become extra aware of your nakedness, to the point where you can almost feel their gaze on your bare skin. You try screaming again, pleading with them to let you go, to help you. Telling them you did not consent to this, all you signed up for was a date with maybe a kinky edge or two, but not this!

You scream until your throat feels hoarse, but nobody comes and the only change you notice is the whispering taking on an odd rhythm… almost like singing? Are these creeps chanting?

Footsteps approach… slow, deliberate. A predator stalking immobilized prey, savoring the moment. You hear a whimper and realize it’s you making the sound.

Something rough grazes the inside of your leg, feeling strangely familiar. You don’t recognize it as a magic wand until he turns on the vibration. Just when you thought this couldn’t get any stranger, he breaks out the sex toys? He moves the wand into position, the head pushing into your lips, sending vibrations up through your clit. You try to move away, but you’re strapped in too tight. A soft click and the wand itself seems fixed into position too. Must be one of those modifications he spoke about.

This is insane, surrounded by a crowd that sounds like they are chanting something you can’t understand, tied to an old instrument of execution. Your body turns traitor on you though, and you feel yourself getting wet.

You hear him walk around you again, runs his fingers through your hair and across your cheek. Then you feel his hand moving down your stomach. You struggle and fight, but the hand traces a path straight down until it comes to rest just where the wand touches your traitorous wet cunt. He slides a finger down, just enough to wet it.

You hear him smack his lips with an almost theatrical gesture. “Exquisite. The fear adds such a lovely tang, don’t you agree?”

You tell him to go fuck himself and he laughs at you before continuing on.

“You know, the magic wand is actually very aptly named. Historically, there are three ways to power any work of magic: sex, blood and death. Now to be honest, I haven’t attempted this spell before so I don’t really know how much juice will be needed. Killing you will definitely do it, so that will be our backup option. But how about we start with the other two? One thing though… cum too soon, and I will have no choice but to resort to the more final option. Do I make myself clear?”

You’re still trying to process this when your right nipple catches fire. He grabbed hold of it and is now holding it with a deceptively light touch, but the pressure he’s exerting makes you feel like he’s apt to rip your nipple off.

“I asked you a question dear, I recommend you answer it. Do I make myself clear?”

The ring makes nodding impossible, but you manage to say “yes” between clenched teeth. Did this guy seriously say magic? Is he for real? The Cult of Creepies out there chanting their black little hearts out seem to think so. And magic may or may not be real, that dagger sure as fuck is. If he slits your throat, you are really dead.

Another sharp pinch on your nipples, this time on both of them at the same time. This is a sensation you’re familiar with though: he must have just put a pair of nipple clamps on you. The bite suggests that these have no rubber coating and there is a weight to them that tells you that they are connected by a chain. Despite all the fear and outrage you feel your cunt betray you even more as it gets wetter. OK, who are you kidding… the fear is probably a big part of it. How did you get this way? You banish the thought: therapy later, survival first.

Meanwhile, you still hear those slow stalking footsteps. The Fucker is walking around, savoring the moment. The pain in your nipples and the relentless vibration on your clit is making it harder to think, but part of you fumes at the sheer gall of the guy. Then he starts to speak again.

“You know, I do love clamps and I like to keep the theme going. Did you know that 100 milliamps across the heart is enough to kill someone? And nipples make such lovely attachment points. Now, personally I really love the sight of warm dark blood running over your breasts as I slit your throat. It’s so… personal. To properly access the energy contained in this chair though, to tap into its history; that requires some electricity. But hey, who says I can’t have both?”

He giggles over his own joke as you let the words sink in. The Cult of Creepies chanting has moved to a fever pitch now, though you still can’t make out the words. It sounds like Latin, but you’re not sure what they’re saying exactly. The words you can make out don’t inspire much confidence. Daemonium, mortus, puella promiscua? Wait, did you just get called a slut in Latin?

You open your mouth to protest and two things seem to happen at once. The magic wand clicks up a notch, and you feel a gap appear underneath you as part of the seat of the chair swings down. This Fucker must be the most demented handyman in existence. You don’t have long to ponder this as the final thing happens: you feel something hard push against your lips, and then force itself inside you. OK, maybe not that much forcing is required. Traitor cunt. OK, OK, the dildo (since that’s what it is) has zero trouble sliding inside your soaked cunt because you’re wetter than you’ve ever been. You admit it, happy now?

The dildo doesn’t stay where it is. It pushes inside you and then moves out again. Agonizingly slow, but steady and powerful. It pushes, fills you and managed to exactly hit your g-spot. Then it retreats again, with that same slow pace. No human is this consistent, he must have rigged up a fucking machine. How did this Fucker manage to rig it up to hit your g-spot this exactly? And could he teach your other boyfriends?

You want to shake your head to remind yourself where you are and how absurd that thought is under the current circumstances, but you’re locked in place too tightly and the combination of the pain in your nipples, the dildo inside you and the vibration on your clit is making it hard to think. You feel the pressure building inside you. Another wave of fear hits you, you can’t cum. If you cum it’s all over. You… can’t… cum.

The thought must have been written on your face, because you’re greeted with the most evil laughter yet.

“I see you struggle, but you can’t fight yourself my dear. I knew you for the slut that you are right from the start. But by all means, fight. It will just infuse your blood and juices with more energy and make this summoning all the more likely to succeed.”

Your feelings are becoming a jumbled mix of rage, fear and horniness by now. You want to scratch his eyes out, run like hell, but fuck that goddamn dildo keeps hitting the exact right spot and all you’d really need right now is cock in your mouth and a load of cum down your throat and what the fucking hell are you thinking? You’re strapped in a fucking electric chair by a fucking psycho and oh shit, this feels good you’re not going to last much longer…

The pressure keeps building, you’re vaguely aware of the chanting getting louder and every muscle in your body tenses up. There is no way you’ll be able to stop this, might as well try to stop ocean waves with your bare hands. You’re going to cum, and it will be the end of you. Just before the last wave hits you, you feel an icy cold sensation against your throat, followed by warm liquid running over your breasts. You have just enough time to wonder if this should hurt more when the orgasm plows through you like a freight train, stopping all thought. You swear you see goddamn stars, as you shake and shudder and lose consciousness.

The next thing you’re aware of is… softness? You open your eyes, but you can’t see clearly yet. Your cheek is resting on someone’s leg, and your hair is being stroked. You sit up and look around you. For the first time you see the room you are in. Simple, unexpectedly neat and clean. There is a wooden chair set up, with speakers around it and a fucking machine underneath. Your hand goes to your throat which is completely whole, and your eyes finally focus on the Fucker. He’s looking at you with a grin like the cat that got the cream.

“It’s amazing what you can do with some sounds effects and tactile sensations. Run a cold piece of metal along your throat and pour some body-temperature corn-syrup at the same time… and your brain fills in the rest.”

Part of you wants to beat him senseless, but part of you remembers the mind-shattering orgasm just now. Your phone beeps and it’s a text from your husband.

“Happy birthday honey, did you like your present?”

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