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Your wrists were raw from the ropes and at this point, your scars had scars. If you had to guess the exact amount of time you’ve been here, you might’ve said four weeks. There’s no way to tell. He covered the windows on the third day just in case someone might see you. It was unlikely, anyway, you knew that you were far from on the ground floor at least.
The large shirt barely covered your body. It was an old t-shirt that he owned. He didn’t allow you to wear anything else. He wanted you to be easily accessible. It’s not like you could stop him either way. The Gotham University logo was faded, the only possible way that you could pinpoint an age and it didn’t even have a graduation date etched into the fabric.
When you fall asleep, you see glimpses of your old life. They were clear in the beginning, but the faces soon blurred into empty bodies you felt an invisible connection to. They used to be your solace, the saving grace in which you could escape your life for just a few hours. Now, they serve to taunt you. You longed for the droning monotony of your office job.
His voice was muffled through the walls, but you knew that he was talking to his followers. They worshiped him for his schemes to take down the corrupt government in Gotham by the most violent means. He streamed himself every night and after he was finished, he unlocked the door to your room.
He wore a mask and an outfit when he streamed. They knew him as a persona. The Riddler . You had only seen him in his uniform on three occasions. Once: When he took you. The Second Time: When he showed his followers that you were his captive. And Third: When he had fucked you for his followers to see.
The blouse you had worn the day you were taken was draped on the dresser on the other side of the room, mocking you. It still had the campaign pin that everyone in the office wore with Mayor Mitchell’s name in big white letters.
Your degree in Political Science from Gotham University reflected the screen of your computer at your desk. Only a few months out of college and you were thrust into the competitive world of Gotham Politics, straight on the re-election campaign of Mayor Mitchell.
Everyone had gone home about an hour ago. It wasn’t like you had much to do on a Friday night other than take the extra work of your co-workers before Labor Day Weekend. Election Day was getting insanely close and it was about to be an all hands on desk situation.
If you weren’t a pushover, you would have gone home with everyone else. And he wouldn’t have found you. Nicer people would call you a people pleaser. But you were a pushover.
You wiped your eyes as you looked over the grammar of the Labor Day email for the campaign. You scheduled the send for six in the morning on Monday and finally let go of the anxious breath you were holding. A hot shower and the newest episode of Real Housewives: Gotham was calling your name.
The office door creaked open. All you saw was the swing of the door, but nobody was there. You stood. “Hello?”
You were beginning to think all that working made you hallucinate. The computer shut down and you quickly grabbed your things. The next campaign will be a smaller position, you promised yourself.
Again, the sound of a chair moving echoed through the room.
A shadow with a pair of bright eyes faced you. Taller than you. Standing menacingly with his head slightly tilted sideways. He was studying you. You were in between him and the door. Escape was possible.
“Who are you?” Maybe it was foolish to ask. “We’re closed. For, uh, Labor Day. You can schedule a meeting with Mayor-”
He brought his finger up to his mouth. You complied.
You should have ran when you noticed him coming closer. Or when he wrapped his hands around your neck. Before he had sealed your fate.
His farewell words to his followers was something you always dreaded hearing. He had a routine. Once the stream was over, he unwrapped himself from the constraints of his uniform. You could hear each item as they dropped on the floor. He’d walk around for a little bit before finally turning the key that he left in the lock.
If you had met him on the subway and saw his doughy face and sad eyes, you would’ve liked him. If you didn’t know the kind of man he was, you would have fallen for him.
He leaned against the doorframe with a smirk plastered on his face. “Today’s a big day. You know why?”
You looked at him with contempt as he walked closer to the bed and sat next to you. He pushed your hair from your face and leaned in, pressing his lips against your cheek. “It’s the day Gotham gave up on you.”
The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin. “GCPD has stopped their investigation. Your parents held a vigil. Even your precious Mayor Mitchell lit a candle and gave a whole speech, right before he replaced your desk with some work-for-free college intern.”
He began to pepper kisses on your neck despite your attempts at pulling away from him. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks. “You’re all mine now. Even though you still hate me.”
It was as if you were watching yourself from a third person point of view. Your family thought you were dead and so did the entire city of Gotham. The only ones that knew of your existence were the ones that followed him. How many of them attended your vigil? Did they light candles with a knowing smirk?
He gently lapped the tears from your cheeks, cherishing the salty taste. “You know I love it when you cry. Why don’t we celebrate?”
His hands reached down to grab the fat of your thighs and pull you closer to him. You could feel the strain of his erection against his pants. There was nothing that you hated more than the fact that your body was getting used to his body and his abuse. He was the only person you interacted with, the only one that would touch you.
One hand started to free himself from his pants and the other wrapped around your waist, resting on your clit to gently rub it. Your back was pressed against his chest and his chin rested on your shoulder. “I know you hate it, but you’re gonna take it. You always do. You wanna be my good girl, don’t you?”
You sniffled. He hated when you didn’t answer him. The hand on your clit now gripped your chin and he pushed two fingers into your mouth. You now felt his cock pressed against you, resting just against your ass.
“You really want to disobey me after all this time? You know what happens to sluts that don’t listen to their owners, huh?” He leaned in closer, even though you didn’t think that was possible. His breath burned your ear. “They get my big cock in their tight little ass.”
You shook your head violently, letting tears fall faster down your face. He kissed your neck and laughed against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”
He pushed the head of his cock inside of you, stopped for a moment, then pulled you close to him. Your ass pressed against him. As you adjusted to him inside of you, he moaned, nearly whimpered in your ear.
“God, you feel so good. Fuck, I could stay like this forever. Won’t even move. You’d hate that, huh? Being my little cock sleeve?” He ruts into you, the bedspring squeaking under every movement. He keeps a moderate pace of thrusting deep into you, kissing your cervix and making you whimper under him.
He kept his fingers in your mouth, ordering you to suck them as he fucks into you. You earned a degree, even graduated in the top 5% of your class and here you were, degraded into an overcomplicated sex doll for a terrorist with a love for riddles and online streaming.
“It’s like you were made for my cock. I knew it from the first time I saw you. On the subway, we got off at the same stop.” He moaned on your neck and began to nibble on the tip of your ear.
“Subway?” You would have known if you’ve seen him before, certainly. Maybe you were more oblivious than you thought.
He chuckled. “You really thought I didn’t plan this out from the beginning? I knew everything about you before you even suspected something was wrong. You’re smart, but nowhere as much as I am. Did you really think that I would come the only night that you were alone just accidentally?”
Your tears fell harder at the realization. He had planned everything and you were entirely none the wiser. And now, he was relentlessly fucking you as he had already did countless times before. This felt worse than all of those other times. You were his prize and he was claiming you as his own for good.
“Why? Why me?” You whimpered the words out with each thrust.
He kissed your neck. “I saved you. That mayor of yours was wasting your life away when you and I both know that your purpose is to be with me.”
A hard slap against your cheek woke you up and you realized that you were no longer in the office. You were tied to the headboard of a bed with thick duct tape over your mouth. The man that had choked you stood over the bed with a camera. “Good morning, sunshine.”
He laughed as you tried to scream through the tape and free yourself from the restraints. The next thing you noticed was yourself on a computer monitor. Comments filled half of the screen, continuously refreshing with new ones.
His gloved hand caressed the button attached to your shirt. He tsked. “This is what happens when you devote yourself to the corrupt. Mayor Mitchell…we all know about that liar. Wasting and manipulating the lives of the less fortunate for their own benefit.”
You tried to not whimper against his touch or give him the satisfaction that he was getting to you. Not this early. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re in good hands now. He can’t find you here.”
From the look of his stature, you knew why he did what he did. You were never the strongest or most athletic person, but you could take him in a fight. All he had was intimidation and now, ropes binding you in place.
“Say hi to your mayor.” He instructed, knowing that you couldn’t say anything. You screamed against the tape over your mouth. He flipped the camera towards himself and monologued about fixing the city, starting with Mayor Mitchell.
You couldn’t believe the apathy the viewers had towards you. They knew that you couldn’t possibly be here voluntarily. Your face and place of work was right there. You hoped that there was just one normal soul that wanted to help you. There had to be.
A warm liquid filled your womb after he pushed himself inside of you as far as he could. As he softened, he kept himself inside. “You think I could get you pregnant? Be more than just my slut? I’ve seen that secret pinterest page of yours…all the baby outfits.”
“Fuck you.” The last thing you ever needed was to have psychopathic little babies with him. And your pinterest page was only for some fantasy that you wanted years into the future.
“You don’t mean that, you’re just tired.” He played with a few strands of your hair, pulling it so that it was no longer against your chest. His chest was still pressed against your back, his body heat warming you up.
As you began to fall asleep, you could feel him harden inside of you. A part of you hoped that you would be fast asleep before he began to get an urge again. At least you wouldn’t remember it.