This is a work of fiction, using characters from the film, “Proof of Life”. No insult or invasion of privacy or infringement of copyright is intended. The story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.
Mindful
– Chapter One©11/2003
by: Darrin Lee Hutton
You slowly become aware of your surroundings in a way that actually scares you more than the fact that you weren’t aware until this moment. This moment when you’re a fully vulnerable human being. This moment that separates the unconscious state you were in from the moment when the training will kick in and you begin to process information in a much more efficient way.
It scares you more because you’ve not actually been in a situation like this before. When you’re not sure what’s real, despite the fact that you can sense everything.
Moments are connected though, and your training does kick in and you assess the damage.
Physical. Your hands are cuffed behind you. You’re sitting in a chair that feels wooden against your legs which are mostly bare. You feel like you’re wearing a pair of shorts and a singlet, but the blindfold is keeping you from being able to confirm any of this. Your feet are bare and you can feel a gritty cement floor under them. You can also feel the cuffs around your ankles, binding you to the chair. You’re hungry, thirsty, exhausted and in need of the lav, but the training has kicked in and you remain motionless, in case anyone is in the room with you; you don’t want to alert them to your conscious state.
Your jaw hurts and you sense dried blood on your chin. A small movement of your eyebrow indicates dried blood there, as well. Your abdomen aches with bruises and your leg muscles feel well used, but stiff. Like you’ve walked a very long way but possibly days ago.
Damn, you really need the lav now.
You realize the inside of your left elbow hurts in an odd way. You search your memory for a reminder of what that pain might indicate and then it comes to you. Drugs. They must have injected me with some kind of hallucinogenic, you think, worried now what that might mean.
Surroundings. The air smells dank. Like you’re in some place that hasn’t been used in a great long while. You can also smell yourself; definitely in need of a long, hot shower. There’s a faint chemical smell as well, but you can’t place it. The air is cool, but you’re not uncomfortable with the temperature, so you assume it’s night, but just come. The sound of crickets helps confirm this, but still, you’re not certain. The room you’re in feels big, you move one of your feet and assess the sound. Yeah, definitely not a closed space. That makes you feel a little better. You’re not sure why.
You can’t hear anything other than the crickets and the occasional frog, so you feel fairly confident you’re alone.
Your thinking is becoming clearer with each passing second and you hope this means that the drugs, whatever they may have been, don’t have a lasting effect. You’ve seen cargo drugged before and it’s not pretty. It’s something you hoped would never have happened to you, but truth be told you’ve been in similar situations, but nothing like this. Nothing so clearly menacing.
Menacing, because you honestly can’t remember how you got here.
This brings you to the final assessment. Mental/Emotional. Thinking clearly now, but how are you feeling? Spirit is highly important in being able to effect a rescue and right now, you’re feeling scared, but ready. Even if you can’t remember how you came to be captured like this, you know that there are people who will be looking for you. Rescuing the rescuer. How ironic. You don’t care about that, though, You just want it to fucking happen. And soon. Because as physically and mentally prepared as you are, emotionally, you are seriously fucked up.
How did I get here?
The thought causes your heart to begin pounding in triple time. No way should you ever not know this.
A door opens. The sound is some distance away and you smile
inwardly that at least part of your assumptions are correct so far. Probably
a warehouse in the middle of the Keys, you think.
“Ah, Senor Thorne. I know you are awake, so you can stop pretending.”
You remain motionless.
Suddenly, there is a white-hot pain shooting through you, beginning at your shoulder and spreading through your entire body. In spite of your training, you sit up with a shocked cry escaping you.
“Gracias, Senor, don’t fuck with me again. You should know better by now.” The accent is heavy, but understandable. You refuse to respond. “Still stubborn, eh? A few more doses and you’ll be as compliant as a scared schoolgirl.”
You feel the needle enter you and its insidious liquid spread through your vein and then swiftly into your system. What are they giving me? you think, wildly attempting to focus on anything so as to keep whatever effect this drug has on you from taking you over completely. You recognize this as part of your training, just before your mind decides it’s had quite enough of discipline and goes off in search of a good time.
You have literally seconds to choose that good time before you are no longer aware of anything.
So you grab at a memory.
Desirée.
Soft, smooth, creamily tanned skin you love running your hands gently over. Round breasts you hold in your hands and taste with your tongue. Dark-brown, almost black hair that falls in a mass of tresses to the middle of her back. Beautiful, full, cherry red lips that can at once pout and smile seductively at you, depending on her mood. Dancing brown eyes that shine with love for you, shine with mischievous delight at her latest escapade, shine with tears, shine with need, just simply shine. Cute button nose, sculpted cheeks with a soft, natural blush that spreads across her body when you say something wicked. Slightly pouty belly that curves down to hips that have driven you mad, pounding into yours. Soft, black curls that point the way to that part of her that makes you desire her in a way you never thought possible. Makes you laughingly tease her about her name and your need of her. Long, coltish legs that have wrapped themselves around you so many times…
Desirée.
In the haze of the drug coursing through you, you latch onto this memory and with your last ounce of will, force yourself to focus. Whatever reason you’re here, whatever reason they’re putting you through this, you have to try not to give in. Latching onto a memory is part of your training, too.
You just hope you’re doing the right thing, remembering something that’s okay to remember. Because you actually aren’t sure.
Too late now, anyway…
She’s bending back from you, her eyes closed and a smile on her lips and you can feel your cock at her entrance. All you want is to sink into her and she raises her hips demandingly, letting you know that’s what she wants, too. It‘s been too long since you’ve last seen her and you must take her, must drive into her.
And then you are.
You’re into her up to your root and, oh fuck, it feels so good, so unbelievably good. Sliding inside her wetness, feeling her tighten around you, wrapping her legs about your hips and meeting each of your thrusts with her own. You can feel the head of your cock hitting the entrance to her womb with each stroke, hear her cries in your ears of how much she loves you inside her, hear your own grunts of need escaping your throat forcefully as you rock your hips into hers. Feel that ramp up into climax that you both want and don’t want. Just want that feeling to last and last and last and you’re coming, oh fuck, you’re coming and you can’t stop and it feels good, it feels great but you want to hear her coming but you need to keep spurting into her and yes, GOD, YES, so good, so very good…
As you slow your hips and just nestle in the warmth of her, kissing her gently as you both try to just breathe, you know that this is only so good because you love this woman.
“I love you, Desirée,” you say softly.
“Love you, too, T,” she answers.
And you both smile.
~*~
You rock back from the slap across your face which now demands your attention.
“No time for dreaming now, Senor Thorne, so sorry. Looks like it was a good one, too,” the same voice that was taunting you earlier, says with a chuckle. “You should exert more control over yourself.”
You blush involuntarily, realizing that you didn’t just come in the memory.
Suddenly your tormentor is right next to your ear. “How are you feeling? Ready to tell me what I want to know?”
You shrink from him, while at the same time screaming at yourself for being scared. You’ve handled worse than this before, you’re certain. And yet you are feeling like a timid little child, terrified of everything. He was right. Whatever he has given you is making you paranoid.
You think you might be in trouble.
“So, where is she, Senor Thorne? Where is my daughter?”
You don’t have a fucking clue what he’s talking about.
No doubt about it, you are in trouble.
TBC