“Hey, earth to Max!”
Chloe’s voice forced Max’s attention away from the television screen. Turning to face her, Max saw the look of mild annoyance mixed with confusion on her friend’s face.
“Don’t zone out on me, Maximus,” Chloe said, flicking her forehead. Max yelped at the unexpected sting, her already warming cheeks going redder. She glared at her friend, feeling flustered and awkward. “Don’t flick me!”
Chloe rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the grin on her face. “You were so out there I could have flicked you twice and you wouldn’t have noticed!”
“I was not!” Max shot back, squirming in place. Her embarrassment was getting the better of her, but she wasn’t quite mature enough to realize that.
Nor was she able to recognize that most of it had nothing to do with Chloe’s antics.
It was a Saturday sleepover night, like any other she and Chloe had had before. They were at Max’s house, and her parents were asleep already. Now, at eleven o’clock, the eleven and twelve year olds were dressed in pajamas, holding bowls of popcorn with soda cans nearby and glued to the TV. They had to keep the volume a little low to avoid waking the two adults upstairs.
This was because neither knew that the two girls were watching a movie without permission. Usually any films they rented had to be screened past the parental censors, and Max and Chloe often found themselves wanting to watch things they just weren’t quite old enough for yet.
Not tonight. Somehow Chloe had gotten a hold of a PG-13 movie, one they had been wanting to watch for at least a year.
That movie was Charlie’s Angels.
Now that they were watching it, though, they had devolved into cracking jokes and snickering at things. It was a fun flick, and at the more dramatic moments it kept them pretty quiet and engaged.
But not always. Max hadn’t heard whatever joke Chloe had made and her friend had clearly expected a response. She had been too engrossed in the scene that was playing out, though, and was angry to be torn away from it.
She just didn’t understand why she felt that way, and Chloe was an easy target to project her frustration on.
“Yeah you were,” her friend snickered. She went to poke Max, but the other girl swatted her hand away. “You were leaning in like you had been hypnotized or something.”
Chloe made a show of going slack-jawed and glaze eyed, and mumbled, “You totally were drooling.”
Max threw popcorn at her. Chloe squealed and responded in kind.
They both froze as they heard a voice from upstairs.
“Girls, please keep the noise down, or you’ll be going bed immediately,” Max’s mother said, her weary voice tinged with that warning maternal humor both kids knew very well.
“Sorry,” they both said in unison. When they heard the door close again on the parents’ room, the two looked at each other. Max still felt embarrassed, but her humor had returned a little.
Chloe was hard to stay mad at. Especially with that grin.
So after sharing a look for a charged moment, they both burst into giggles, trying very hard to keep their laughter quiet.
“Sorry for flicking you,” Chloe said, as they started to recover. She took a big swig of her soda, the illicit beverage they were also consuming without permission.
“You’re a butt, but it’s okay,” Max told her somberly, and had to stifle a squeal as Chloe’s hand darted out at her again. Rather than a flick to her head, Chloe’s fingers went to Max’s side, briefly digging into it.
Max clamped a hand over her own mouth to muffle an involuntary giggle, warding Chloe’s attack off with the other. “Stahap, noo!”
“Am I still a butt?” Chloe challenged, laughing herself. She had to pause her attack to set the soda down, and Max waved her hands in a frantic gesture of surrender. “No, no! You’re not a butt.”
Chloe nodded in satisfaction.
“You’re like, one cheek of a butt,” Max then clarified.
Following the next outburst of giggles that had them both covering their mouths to avoid being too loud, Max grabbed the remote and started to rewind the movie. As she did so, her mind came back to what she had been focused on, and her cheeks started to warm again. Thankfully she and Chloe sported healthy blushes from their childish antics.
Drew Barrymore’s character, Dylan, had been captured. Bound to a chair, she had sat in quiet fury as the antagonist, Eric Knox, had told her about his evil plans. That had been interesting enough, the start of what had drawn her in, but interwoven with other moments of action and fighting. It was only this last part that she had been totally consumed by.
The moments leading up to Eric pressing duct tape, a parody of Dylan’s red lips drawn onto the strip, over her mouth.
It had sent a thrill through her that gave her goosebumps. Her eyes had fixed on Dylan’s face, how the tape looked over her mouth, the rage now muffled beneath it.
That had been when Chloe had gotten her attention.
“What were you so interested in, anyway?”
The question caught Max off-guard, and she sputtered her answer. “N-nothing!”
Chloe arched an eyebrow, a confused but teasing smile growing on her face. “N-nothing?” she asked, repeated the stutter. Max flushed again and glowered, but spurred on by the question, a chance to try and articulate whatever it was she had been feeling, she decided to answer honestly.
“It was just…” she floundered for words, trying to make sense of how she felt, not sure why it had felt so good to see Dylan get gagged, just that it felt so right, “when he put the tape on. Y’know, over her mouth and stuff.”
Ugh, that was lame. She sounded so stupid.
Chloe’s brow furrowed, clearly not understanding. “That’s weird,” she said. She hadn’t meant it as an insult, hadn’t wanted to wound her friend. Like Max, she was young and still immature. She had just said what she felt.
But it did wound. Max struggled not to let the hurt show on her face, and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry.” She clicked the movie back on before Chloe could respond, and immediately stuffed her mouth full of popcorn.
She didn’t catch Chloe’s brief look, or see the curiosity in her friend’s eyes. Whatever else Chloe had thought, it was lost to time as her friend also faced the film again and watched it play out, repeating the moment Dylan had tape pressed over her lips.
Max never brought it up again, but it never quite left her mind. She watched the movie several more times, on her own, before and after leaving Arcadia Bay. She’d rewind to that scene, and watch as over and over, the heroine was silenced, voice captured as surely as she had been.
“Please, Mr. Jeff-nnmh!” Mark’s hand, which had been on her chin, shifted to cover her mouth so quickly and with such force that Max felt her own head tilted back. Her vision wasn’t quite back to normal, but she still had enough focus to see the change in his face, from edged artistic passion to cool disapproval.
Her eyes went wide and she whimpered into his palm, not daring to try and move her mouth away. His hands were cooler than her skin, only just dampened by sweat. As she breathed through her nose, the smell of him became thicker in her nostrils.
Max could feel her nipples hardening as her arousal forced itself upon her, not caring of the severity of her situation. The parallels to Silence flashed through her mind, giving her a vivid picture of what she might look like as its model.
“Don’t beg. I hate that!” He pressed his palm harder against her, and she wilted further. Stupid, stupid! Of course begging isn’t going to work!
She didn’t even know what she would have been begging for. Her life?
Jesus, Max, are you that fucked up?
“It’s time for you to beg. Not yet.” He released her mouth and instinctively she tried to follow it. When he looked quizzical for a moment, she realized what she had done.
Oh God, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-
Staring at Mark Jefferson, a timid deer caught in the headlights glaring down at her, Max went still, mind racing with chastising thoughts.
His smirk doused her inner fire in gasoline. With an unhurried movement, he deliberately brought his hand down onto her lips again.
Max shuddered beneath his grasp, hands in white-knuckled fists.
“You see, Maxine?” Mark leaned in further, dominating her vision even more with his visage. Max whined, a plaintive little “Mmnh,” that sounded small and pitiful to her ears.
“Precipice,” he finished, withdrawing his grip very slowly. His fingers slid over her lips, their tips the last to withdraw. God, she didn’t even know what to think anymore. Everything was fear and trembling.
Only her God would have Max sacrifice herself on the altar – or do it himself.
Not willing to risk speaking again, as much to avoid shaming herself further as to risk angering him, Max laid her head back and let him continue to photograph her.
Yeah, right. Let him. Like I could do anything to stop him.
Every so often, Mark gave her instructions, look this way, pull her legs in or stretch out, simple commands. She followed every one.
They were clipped but enthusiastic. Max could almost imagine the same tone being used on real models, not victims in his twisted murderden, or whatever the fuck this place was.
Her arousal didn’t go away, though. If anything it just simmered, happy to wait for her captor to toy with her further.
Max squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her thoughts away from being tied up and helpless and hand-gagged and silenced and dominated and FUCK, stop it!
“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that!”
Max saw the flash through her eyelids. She kept them squeezed shut, feeling a few tears slip down, one to the bridge of her nose, the other to the floor. She couldn’t face his gaze right now. She couldn’t face herself right now. Even his praise of her embarrassment and pain sent hot lines of desire through her core!
“That should be enough,” Mark said, bringing Max out of her self-flagellation. She looked at him as he stood from the squatting position he had been in, and hesitantly stretched out a little.
He smiled at her. “You aren’t going to try to escape, are you, Max? The drugs should be mostly worn off by now.”
He knew. Of course he knew. She hadn’t been planning on any such attempt, far too afraid to dare it. But his mind seemed preternatural, and that more than anything stayed her hand.
There simply was no escape from Mark Jefferson. Nothing she did would succeed. She’d fail, and be caught, and…
Max shook her head quickly.
“Use your words, Maxine.”
He spoke it with such a casual tone, Max could almost imagine hearing them in the classroom. But she wasn’t fooled – when he gave her an order here, he expected it followed.
“No, Mr. Jefferson, I won’t try to… to escape.” Her mouth was dry, her words quiet and timid.
“Good. That’s good, Maxine. Just lay there and relax. I’ll be right back.”
Then he was gone from her sight, stepping away. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she didn’t want to try to get past the heavy lights bathing her to see him.
Max looked down at herself, grimacing. She was sweaty, but that wasn’t the wetness that embarrassed her. Her hoodie was missing, but aside from that she still had her jeans and t-shirt on. Even her shoes still sat on her feet. For all Mr. Jefferson’s framing of her in his lens, the only one of them to have any sexual reactions had been her.
I’ve been getting off to my kidnapper! God, this is so fucked up…
At least with her jeans on her arousal wouldn’t be showing. She didn’t even want to think about how wet she was. It shocked her to feel the sensation. She knew what her arousal felt like, how wet she could be when masturbating – though the thought of doing that gave her fresh warmth for her cheeks.
She hadn’t even touched herself, and she knew her underwear must have been slick through.
The restraints were making it worse. Max had experimented with taping her wrists together before – not an easy task to achieve on her own – but after the marks they had left, she hadn’t been willing to do so again. That had been only two years ago. She had taped her mouth shut, too, before trying to masturbate to the image of Silence again. It was a memory that kept coming back to her, the most intense she’d ever had.
Now here she was getting aroused from how tightly they were bound together, the sting of it against her skin as she squirmed. Her groin ached in that pleasant, needy way. She had to stop herself from putting her hands between her legs. Just a little relief, a rush of heat and clenching in her core…
No! I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this! Am I really such a slut?
Max tried to focus her mind elsewhere. She needed to figure out how she was going to get out of here alive. She had to escape, but how? She wasn’t brave enough to try and rip the tape off her wrists with her teeth. Even if she did, and he somehow didn’t hear her, she didn’t know how to get out of here. She didn’t even know where here fucking was!
All roads lead back to her captivity. Mr. Jefferson didn’t even need to be near her to control her. She was just going to lay there like a good little girl, placidly waiting for him to come back and then rip her shirt apart, pull her bra up, expose her small, virginal breasts to his gaze while she whimpered and squirmed, until he taped her mouth closed to shut her up.
Her hands had slipped toward her groin. Max bit her lower lip, taking deeper breaths to try and calm herself, even as it flared the headache the drugs had left her with. She didn’t know what to do – or even how to stop herself from doing what she knew she shouldn’t be doing.
Mark’s amused chuckle cut into her reverie. Max’s hands snapped up to her chest, scalded by his attention. Oh, god, please, don’t let him have seen that.
“You can’t hide yourself from me, Maxine. But seeing you try is… evocative. There’s so much more of you I want to capture on film.”
He came back into her view, brightly illuminated by the powerful lights. She could see him adjusting things above her, and she realized there were other cameras set up near the ceiling, on adjustable frames. “So often the photographer and the photographed are separate. For my work, especially, it can be difficult to capture the right… angles,” he said as he locked one camera in place. “There are so many ways to view the corruption of innocence. But I can’t be everywhere, and some of the most potent images require me to become part of the subject.”
She tried to follow the lines of his thoughts, but it was difficult. From the persistent but lessening ache in her head to the ever increasing need in her core, Max’s mind felt addled.
It didn’t help that she was staring up at him from the floor, letting him loom powerfully over her. The way he made her feel small and insignificant compared to him, all of him, made her hips want to buck for friction.
“Part of the subject?” she managed to ask. His knowledge that she was aroused in some way made her feel naked, even with clothes on.
“I admit it’s an indulgence.” With three cameras set up at different points, aimed at different angles, Mark knelt down and looked her full in the face. “But please understand that this isn’t for my pleasure. I may enjoy my role, but it’s only to help you achieve your potential.”
He’s going to rape me.
She should have felt horror, terror, panic. Instead she felt a strange sort of numbness, a quivering of her soul that left her transfixed on him, a man she loved, a man who would hurt her so intimately.
Max just felt too much.
She wasn’t expecting the assault that came next. He had been so controlled up to now, gentle even. Mark grabbed her hair in one hand and yanked her head up, and as she squealed from the pain, he crammed a cloth into her mouth with the other.
Gagging, Max tried to shake her head, but it was no use – his grip was too tight, too painful to let her get away. Her mouth filled with the taste of cotton, pressing her tongue down, soaking up what little saliva was in her mouth.
He let her go and she slumped painfully back to the floor. Her hands moved up toward her mouth, to yank the foreign cloth free, but Mark’s hand caught them.
“Look at me. Don’t spit those out.”
She did. God, why the fuck was it so hard to resist him? Even just staring at his stern face, the rough lines of his jaw, his captivating eyes, Max simply knew she would do what he told her to.
Mark brought the gleaming grey tape into the light. Max knew instantly what he was going to do, and she started shaking again. He’s going to gag me. Tape my mouth shut. Silence me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, peeling off a strip. Her eyes were glued to it, watching it hover above her. “You write it all over your pretty face. This is what I want to capture, Maxine. Those moments as you gaze upon your own corruption, and succumb to it.”
Slowly, he lowered it down toward her lips. She didn’t shy away, nor try to resist. The only sign of the maelstrom inside her was the harsh wheezing of air in and out of her nose.
“Close your lips.”
She did. Whatever he had put in her mouth was large, and threatened to make her gag, but he had worked it in until she could just obscure the whole of the wadded fabric.
Oh god, oh god, oh fucking god please, please!
Then it was on her. Mark pressed down firmly, the tape adhering to her skin in an instant. Max moaned, her eyes fluttering closed, tilting her chin up to more fully surrender to its tight, stifling embrace. Her voice was truly gone.
She couldn’t talk.
I can’t say anything. I’m – I’m totally helpless.
Her hands were at her sex, fingers trying to apply pressure through denim and cotton. She moved her hips as best she could, grinding against them.
He wound the tape around her jaw, making her lift her head so he could complete tight circles around it. Every turn he pulled the tape tighter and she felt it press down with greater cruelty as he encased the lower half of head in sticky silence.
Thoroughly overwhelmed, she barely tried to resist when he pulled her hands away from her groin and unbuttoned her jeans. She watched him pull the zipper down and then tug on their waistband, mewling into the gag. It didn’t matter what she wanted anymore – what she was even asking through the cloth and tape. She could make as much noise as she wanted, even scream. No one would understand her.
Her jeans were around her thighs, her plain white panties exposed to his gaze. He gave them a cursory look, smirking. Warmth filled her cheeks, her blush hidden beneath the tape. She knew how wet she was. Now all that remained was for him to do whatever he wanted with her. To do to her what she had been denied herself.
Shifting his position slightly, allowing more light to bathe Max’s groin, Mark placed his hand on her lower belly, dipping his thumb beneath the waistband of her underwear. Max gasped and bucked her hips, a flash of electric desire pulsing through her. A familiar pressure throbbed along with it.
Max would have blushed at how close she already was, had she not been so overwrought by his single, simple touch.
Mark rubbed that same sweet nub, the lightest of touches as he coaxed her clit out. “So pure. You’re mesmerizing, Maxine.”
She cried out, more tears slipping from her eyes, staining her cheeks and the tops of the tape. Max didn’t understand what he meant, her shame and despair mingling with the hot pleasure setting her skin on fire. She whined uselessly into her gag, daring to look at him, to see the man that was taking so much from her.
Please, Mr. Jefferson…! Please…!
“Can you feel it? The coming moment you’ll fall?” His hand shifted and suddenly two fingers were pressing inside her wet folds, drawing a strangled moan from the captive her. Her bound wrists were up at her chest, which rose and fell ever quicker. “Girls start so pure, before they lose their naiveté.”
He spoke with increasing intensity, and fingered her with a pace to match. Max writhed and moaned and cried. She hated herself for feeling this way, for loving her own rape. She felt pathetic and violated, and it was just so good.
“You’re a special kind of girl, Maxine. Most never realize the truth, but you’ve been looking at it for so long, haven’t you?”
The pressure built. Max bit down onto the fabric in her mouth, feeling the oncoming flood and her utter inability to stop or quicken it.
“This is the moment I want to capture. The corruption of your innocence. Your fall.”
Wetness oozed out of her drenched sex, the slickness of it sending hot stabs of shame into her heart. She could hear the sounds of him penetrating her, destroying her with nothing more than his fingers.
Fuck fuck god fuck please please! “Mmmmnnnh!”
“The moment you understand that you were never a person at all. That you’ve always been nothing more than a cunt.”
He spat the word, and Maxine Caulfield wailed into her gag, her body tensing in the sweetest bliss as the flood claimed her.
Mark’s fingers pushed her over the edge, and she fell.
Her sense of time and place slipped away. She felt unmoored from reality, her only links to the world the tightness of her restraints and gag. Dimly she became aware that he was gone, but not far. She mewled, not wanting to be alone. Max was nothing without him; he had stripped away everything of her.
The word echoed in her mind.
It made her shiver in delicious, damp places.
I’m a cunt.
“I’m afraid that’s all we have time for, Maxine. You’ve been a wonderful subject. These photographs are going to be some of my very best work.”
She tried to look for him, blinking her vision back into focus. “Mmm?”
Once again she saw him step into the light, a syringe in hand.
He knelt as her mind started to clear, a sudden cold chill piercing through the fog. N-no, wait, I don’t – I don’t want to die! “Mmmn!”
“Goodbye, Maxine. Don’t worry. Where you’re going, you won’t remember any of this.”
He grabbed her hair with his free hand, holding her still. She was still too weak from her orgasm to mount a strong resistance, so all she managed to do was wriggle, a fish choking on air.
The pinprick of the needle pressed into her neck. Max pleaded into her gag, knowing it wasn’t enough.
The darkness swirled in to claim her. Her eyes fluttering closed, the last thing she saw the distinct flash of a camera.
Her eyes snapped open. Max lurched up from her chair, her heart hammering in her chest. Wild with sudden panic, she spun her head from side to side, looking for danger, any sign of a threat.
Her dorm was quiet. The sun, still in the sky, let dwindling beams of light into it.
Max blinked, struck dumb with confusion. She looked down at herself, fully clothed. Her computer sat open on her desk, a half-finished homework assignment open and waiting.
Her wrists were smooth and unblemished. When her fingers touched her lips and cheeks, they felt soft and normal.
Scrambling for a mirror, Max looked at her face in disbelief.
“What the fuck?” she whispered. She had been – she had been somewhere, bound and drugged, Mr. Jefferson taking pictures of her, and then…
Her face burned with a sudden blush, and she put the mirror down, almost tossing it out of her grip.
Was that just, I don’t know, a fucked up dream?
“No way,” she said aloud, shaking her head. Feeling suddenly weak, she sat down on the side of her bed, putting her face in her hands. Her mind replayed the scene in fast-forward, over and over. Before she even knew what was happening, she felt herself growing hot.
“Oh my god, Max, really?” she mumbled, too baffled to even be angry at herself. But her need grew, and her confusion offered nothing but questions. Fuck it. I’ll figure this shit out after I get off. Holy shit that was hot.
No one saw Max Caulfield for the rest of the night.