Kidnapped

My mouth was dry and tasted of something bitter as my eyes cracked open with that irritation at the corners that said I'd slept long enough to have sand in them.

When I tried to reach up, my arm didn't move. A band of something prevented any motion and my involuntary jerking hurt my wrists and shoulders. The padded seat was suddenly much less comfortable when I realized my ankles were bound too.

Panic rose as I tried to move, and the more I moved, the more my bindings tightened. I even tried to throw myself to the side, hoping the chair might tip over and break.

My panic kept getting worse as I had no idea how I got here. I had no wealth or friends with it.

That left the worst of possible reasons: rape, torture, and death, a trifecta of pain and fear. With hope fading, my breaths came in shallow panting as I torqued higher and higher in my panic, until my vision spotted to gray and darker.

I'm pretty sure I passed out. When I could breathe again, I was worn out and sore where I was tied. I also had a nasty headache.

This time I refused to even think about my future and looked around the room.

It still didn't look like anyplace I'd been. Oh, nothing was really strange. It was a living room, furnished with the usual kind of things: sofa, chairs, rug, decorative tables and lamps, burning fireplace and fine art of some kind. Curtains were drawn and looked heavy, so I couldn't really tell what time of day it was.

There was a normal looking wooden door. No locks, no barred cell window, it was just an interior door.

Another odd thing, despite the burning fire, there were no pictures or other personal objects visible.

I just watched the fire for a while, starting at imagined sounds every few minutes, hoping my bladder wouldn't embarrass me.

I barely heard a quiet sound, but I did hear a man's voice say, “Oh, my.”

When I looked that way, I saw an older man on the portly side, walk in the door. He had white hair and a full beard, and I might have thought he looked like Santa if it weren't for my situation.

I was more alarmed when he smacked his lips wetly. My stomach started to roil. “Look I'm sure there's a lot of chicks who are into this kind of thing, and are much prettier to boot. I'm not, and I'd like to go home. ...Please.”

“The little buggers have outdone themselves this time. None will desire what is mine again...”

Oh, shit.

I must have whimpered as he finally met my eyes.

He stepped closer and touched my forehead in the middle, making me relax completely. When he bent over, I saw something in his eyes; something shriveled inside me.

The bindings were gone and he stepped back, eyeing me like some artist. I had no interest in moving now.

Another wave, and I was suddenly off balance, so overendowed now that I expected my back to hurt, but it didn't. I mean, I had melons now that seemed to be defying gravity, despite my age.

“Excellent, you have good stock and that makes it easier.” Stepping closer again, he gripped me briefly, his fingernails dug in enough to cause wetness from those spots.

I hadn't winced or make a sound, even if the injuries clotted and disappeared in a moment. Part of me demanded I flee.

A trace of horns or nubs appeared in his hair and then disappeared, and my earlier panic seemed mild now. It attenuated even as I tried to hold it close.

“Oh, there are benefits to being my consort. Health immediately and optimization as soon as you're settled in, as long as you are useful. My minions are so very limited now that they cannot adapt as ages pass and need competent direction. Your predecessor had the understanding of industrial innovation. Where you come in is for the present and future, you have your feet in the old world and myth, as well as technology. That span will be invaluable... and in other ways” His hand glided along my altered curves and inside my thighs, making something stir that I didn't want stirred. He pulled me to stand.

Walking was an adjustment in heels, especially when my change of clothing into a short dress sank in. It wasn't the classic little black dress, but the bright and pure red of blood.

I was led through a few steps and saw myself in a large mirror. It was me, but not quite. I touched my hair. I'd had few strands of grey, and I'd been proud of resisting the crowd and not dying my hair. Now I had a distinct wave of pure white hair, though the rest was still dark.

“Can't have interfering busybodies think I might possibly be involved with a child, can I?” That laugh was dark.

I noticed a smaller mirror, but in that one I looked dumpier and stereotypical.

“Few will see you as anything but what is mine. This is my price for all that giving and generosity, especially around the birth celebration of that upstart sun godling. I'm much older and they'd best appease me even now with worship and pleas I can ignore.” His eyes glowed, but not any hue that was reassuring.

The bindings weren't physical anymore but I could feel them tightening.

I couldn't prevent a sob.

He laughed and it wasn't jolly. Shoving me against the wall mirror, my skirt pushed aside as I hated and feared and wanted a tiny, hated bit. He spoke against my ear as he shoved into me over and over, “How do you think I get more minions under their dominion?”

--- x ---

A/N: Written as a response to a Writer's Digest challenge. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.