CHAPTER FIVE: BEST FRIENDS, ENSLAVED
The drive home was longer than Ben could have ever imagined. In truth, the entire trip took no more than ten minutes, but to a horny teenager who had more or less succeeded in enslaving his younger sister, and had the house to himself for an entire night, those few fleeting moments seemed as though an eternity.
By the time Ben had pulled his car into the driveway, the sun was just beginning to set over the cape, and it cast a beautiful, crimson hue overhead. To watch a beautiful sunset fade into the dark of the night reminded him strangely of his sister, and by extension, all of her friends. He looked up at his bedroom window as he turned the ignition of the car. As he began to unpack his ‘party supplies’ for the evening, he pondered about what his sister was enduring in that room.
It was perhaps somewhat poetic that Jane, too, was peering up at that very same window. Though for her, it was a symbol of the escape she desired, and the escape she was incapable of obtaining. She had, what seemed to her hours, struggling against her bonds and screaming for help through the duct tape that acted as a very effective gag.
Jane’s shoulders were in agony, as her wrists were bound behind her back. Her ankles were also in a similarly sorry state, covered in agonizing burns from her futile struggles. By now though, she had given up all hope of escape and instead resigned herself to watching the light disappear slowly from the window as the space around her became enveloped in a thick blackness.
She had all but surrendered herself to this terrible fate in which she found herself entwined. Or at least, she thought she did. Her struggles renewed and her fiery will was rekindled when she heard footsteps stammering loudly through the house. She knew Ben was home, or rather, whatever was left of the loving brother she thought she knew. This man looked like Ben, and even spoke like him, but there was something different about him, something evil. Surely, he would never do something so horrible to anyone, let alone his own sister. Jane was trying to grasp at any explanation she could to cope with what was happening between them.
Truth was there wasn’t anything ‘evil’ or otherwise supernatural about him. He was what he was; a monster. Perhaps she knew it all along and simply chose to ignore it, or maybe she truly was blind to it all those years growing up together. It didn’t matter in the end. He was a monster and he was going to do to her what monsters do to the vulnerable and weak; consume.
This realization dawned over Jane as she heard the door creak open just behind her. She immediately began to struggle and buck about in attempt to escape him, but there was no escaping it now. She was his, and deep down, she knew it, although she would never freely admit it.
Fear stabbed through her heart like a hot knife through soft butter as her brother began to speak.
“Well, Sis. Glad to see you haven’t tried to do anything stupid like escape. I really would hate to have all your friends at school see your sex-capades.”
Jane screamed angrily through the rape, but remained incoherent.
“What’s that?” Ben mocked. “You’ll have to speak up.”
Again, she screamed.
She felt Ben kneeling down behind her, his knees touching her legs, and felt him smack her hard on the small of her back. This caused the poor girl to illicit a muffled cry through her gag, and Ben watched the handprint fade into her skin; an amusing proof of ownership.
Jane began to sob uncontrollably, thinking she was about to be raped yet again. She shocked when Ben instead stood up, and suddenly left the room without a word. Somehow the waiting and helplessness of her isolation in this room was far worse than anything her brother could actually do to her. Maybe that his intention, but of that, she couldn’t certain.
Suddenly, she heard loud noises coming from downstairs. It sounded like someone was moving furniture. Bound, gagged, and immobile, she did the only thing she could do which was turn her head and press her ear to the floor.
She listened intently and could hear what sounded like chains rattling. She wondered what in the world he was doing down there. Unfortunately for her, Ben was carrying his chains through the living room, along with the work bench and all of the other toys he had picked up for tonight’s festivities.
Ben had moved the work bench down into the basement, which was little more than a large, empty space dotted only with a washing machine, a dryer, and some old boxes under the stairs. He arranged the work horse in the middle of the room, along with some large flood lights in a corona surrounding it. He then moved an end table from the living room downstairs, placing the rope, clamps, and pliers on it. The last thing he prepared was a tripod and the family camcorder, which he mounted it to, and pointed it directly across from the work horse, just a few feet away – the perfect distance for capturing everything.
The basement looked like something out of a horror movie. It is the stereotypical lair of a depraved rapist, and Ben loved everything about it. Well, almost everything. There was one thing he had forgotten about in his fervor, a particular itch he had long wanted to scratch, but had saved it especially for his sister. He ran upstairs and found a few of their dog’s old collars. They were leather, thick and heavy, and would be the perfect accessory for an enslaved younger sibling like Jane, he thought.
Ben was still in awe at how well, and flawlessly nonetheless, his plan had come together. A year of preparation and practice with Jane’s friends had given him the courage to finally do what he had been fantasizing about for years – enslaving a girl. The fact that the girl in question was his own sister, just fueled the fires of sadistic desire that much greater.
He still did have reservations about Santana though. Taking her in such a manner was always a thought of his, but he hadn’t initially intended to rape them together nor to enslave the two of them. But in Ben’s mind, the only scenario better than an enslaved sister is an enslaved sister and her best friend enslaved, too. Best friends, enslaved, he thought. It would make an excellent title for their first home movie he thought amusingly.
His reverie was interrupted by a sudden door bell that rung through the house. Ben knew it had to be Santana. It was unexpected, her being this early, but it was at worst a minor inconvenience. He sprinted to answer the door, and as expected, was greeted by a bubbly teenage girl with long, black curly hair and icy blue eyes. She bore a smile that could thaw even the coldest of hearts.
“Hiya, Ben!” She exclaimed.
“Hey, you’re here to see, Jane, right? She actually just went out for a walk, but she’ll back soon if you want to wait for her?”
“Yeah, that’s okay!” Santana replied, sealing her own fate as she stepped out of the approaching darkness and into the house.
“Take a seat.” Ben pointed to the couch. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Soda?”
The trap was laid, and she took the bait happily. “Soda, please!” She happily answered.
“Okay.” Ben smiled. “One soda coming right up!”
Ben walked into the kitchen, out of the Santana’s sight, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He reached into his pocket and fished out a small vial. In it was clear fluid that was both tasteless and odorless. It was the same drug that he had given to Jane the night before. Handy stuff, that GHB.
Ben hastily removed the cap, and poured the vial’s contents into an empty glass. He then grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and poured it too in the glass. Giving it a quick stir with a spoon, and slipping the empty vial pack into his pocket, he returned to the living room where Santana was sat waiting, her nose buried in her cell phone.
He handed her the glass, and at first, she didn’t see to notice his hand just inches from her face.
“Hey, earth to Santana.” He joked.
“Oh, sorry! I was just texting my Mom. She’s so lame. She always wants me to text her where I’m going and when I get there.” She reached out and took the drink, sipping at twice before continuing. “Like, I’m fourteen. I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself, you know?”
Ben chuckled internally. How wrong she was, talking of being able to care for herself, when she was currently sat alone with a rapist, sipping at a spiked drink, and was a few minutes from what would no doubt be the worst night of her entire life.
“Oh, I know.” Ben related. “My parents are the same way, even now. Constantly worried about every little thing, always getting pissed if I come home drunk from a party.”
Ben was lying through his teeth. His parents were actually really understanding and ‘free-range,’ giving him space to make mistakes and trusting him enough to let him party on weekends. He just needed Santana to keep talking, and more importantly, to keep drinking.
“It sucks, right?” Santana agreed. “I mean, they could at least trust me enough to walk over here without worrying about whether I made it or not. As if it was so far.” Santana playfully laughed.
“Oh, well.” She stretched her arms high in the air, yawning, and inadvertently forcing her chest out. Ben’s eyes watched her every tiny move, as her small breasts heaved along with her every breath.
“What are you gonna do, right?” Ben finished her sentence.
“Exactly.” She giggled. “Hey, so, do you like, wanna watch something while we wait? It’s kinda boring just sitting here and talking. Uh, no offense.”
“None taken.” Ben replied. This was going better than he thought, she had almost finished her drink, and know she wanted to watch some TV. It was playing out just as it had with Jane the night before. “I was actually going to suggest the same thing.”
“Cool!” She giggled, but with a slight tone of intoxication. It was slurred in a subtle way, and Ben knew the drugs had set in.
Ben grabbed the remote and turned on one of the movie channels. He had no idea what was on, though it looked like some cheesy action movie, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was goading this naïve girl into finishing her drink and raping her. He was about to suggest she finish her drink, but to his delight, it was unnecessary, as he watched her down the rest of the glass in one, big gulp.
“That’s a good girl.” He whispered under his breath.
The two continued to watch the movie for all of ten minute before Ben began making moves. At first, he would pretend to shift his weight and move slightly closer to Santana. She didn’t seem to notice or even care, so he got bolder. He slid right next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her tightly to him.
Ben looked down at her face, she looked drugged beyond belief. More so than Jane, or Gillean, or any of the other girls he had raped over the past year. He panicked for a moment, thinking that maybe he had given her way too much, but he gripped her chin between two fingers and pointed her head towards his.
Looking directly into those cerulean eyes, he saw that she was very much alive and conscious. She was extremely inebriated, mind you, but alive and well at least.
Deciding to test the waters as it were, Ben boldly squeezed her left breast through the thin fabric of her white tank top. Not hearing a sound from her, nor any attempt of a struggle or protest, he smiled, knowing she was going to easy. He liked them to fight sometimes, sure, but having a girl as docile as Santana was in this moment was so much better. For Ben, he took it as acceptance on the girl’s part and proof that she wanted it. He was wrong, of course, but monster’s rarely see beyond the surface of such things.
Ben climbed off the couch and scooped Santana’s tiny body into his arms just as he did too his sister one night ago. Instead of carrying the drugged girl upstairs and into a bedroom, he chose to take her into the basement where he decided a photoshoot was in order. He had, after all, plenty of time to fuck and torture the two girls, and figured that his ever-expanding collection of photographs could use some new material.
Before he could do so however, he needed to set-up a little ‘space’ for the shoot. Ben carried Santana’s limp body over to the work horse, and lay her on her stomach, with her arms and legs hanging lifelessly over each side. Santana’s dead face peered at the stairs to her right. The only thing she could see was the light that emanated from the top of them, and even then, it was little more than a blur. She hadn’t the faintest idea as to what was happening, or even where in the world she was.
All the poor girl could focus on was the light above her. She grew anxious as nothing moved for a long time. There was no shift in the light, no voices, no nothing. She couldn’t concentrate, and she tried her best to focus her eyes in the dark, but found herself unable to. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, there was a shift in that very light, as though a shadow was cutting through it. It was small at first; microscopic, but then, it grew larger as she began to hear the faint sound of footsteps approach her.
Santana was freaking out, but her mind couldn’t connect the dots. She was filled with a hundred different thoughts and feelings all at once and her mind was overloading. Her flickering eyes followed the shadow as it floated throughout the room. It stopped in the corner opposite of the light, and it remained there for some time, constantly moving and shifting, but never leaving that spot.
After a few minutes of staring intently at this shadow in the room, she was suddenly blinded by an immense ray of light pointed towards the shadow. She now saw only white. A white ray of light, a white wall, and a figure of someone approaching her.
A single tear crept across her cheek and fell to the floor below her, falling through a crack in the concrete foundation. Santana watched as the figure began to approach her, and then stopped beside her. The figure’s arms lifted her up with seemingly no difficulty, and she watched on as the white, illuminated wall seemed to get closer and closer. Then, just as quickly as she had been lifted in the air, she was dropped to the ground. But instead of rough concrete, she was met by a soft, silky white sheet of some kind. She lay on the ground, motionless, on her side with her legs sprawled and her head to the side, facing towards the immense, white light and the figure. Then, she heard the figure speak in a familiar voice.
“Fuck me, you are one hot piece, Santana. I mean, I always knew you were, but up close, it’s something entirely different. Let’s relieve you of those clothes, you must be so hot down in this muggy basement?” Ben grinned as he spoke.
He proceeded to walk towards her, and with one quick motion, tore the tank top from her chest, revealing her small breasts enveloped in a cute, lime green bra.
“Kinda small, huh?” Ben mocked as he bent down and kneaded and squeezed her breasts. “But that’s okay, I like them. I don’t judge you know, you’re still a growing girl after all.”
His hands then left her chest, and ran down her flat belly, he could feel her shallow breaths as his fingers crawled lower to the hem of her shorts. He slid slowly under them, and rubbed his hand against her pantie-covered snatch.
“You’re wet, Santana. They always are.” He chuckled as he withdrew his hand, and tugged her shorts down her legs and pulled them roughly off, leaving the exposed girl in only her undergarments and shoes.
“You’re almost as perfect as Jane, Santana. Almost.” He teased as he pulled his phone from his pocket and began to snap dozens of pictures of her.
She felt her body being constantly being moved and shifted; as though she was being purposefully positioned for some reason. Unbeknownst to the young teen, she was having some extremely sensitive pictures taken. The kind that, if revealed to the wrong person, could cause a lot of problems for a young girl. Blackmail was cliché, but it was tried and true, and still used so heavily for just that reason. It worked. Surely Jane, Santana, Maggie, Gillean, and all the rest of his victims who were suffering in silence still to this day were a testament to that fact.
Ben continued to snap away at his latest prize with no remorse for his actions. Growing bored with not seeing the whole picture, he stepped towards Santana’s lifeless body yet again and this time removed her shoes, and then her socks, tossing them aside. Then, he forcefully tore the bra from her chest, and proceeded to do the same to her panties. They were unwearable, now torn and tattered from such forceful removal. But that was okay, Ben thought, it’s not as if she would be needing them anytime soon.
Now exposed completely, Ben began to repose the young girl, first sitting with her back to the wall, her head slung to the side, and her legs wide open. He took several shots before shifting her into a different position, this time she was laying on her tummy, with her bottom facing Ben. He captured dozens of images of her puckered anus and couldn’t wait to have his cock buried deep within when she sobered up and could feel every inch of it sliding within her.
Growing bored again after a few hundreds snaps of her naked body, he wanted to have some fun with the toys he had purchased earlier in the day. He fitted her tiny nipples with the alligator clamps, tied her wrists, fingered her, and more. He captured every moment of sadistic abuse with his phone and the camcorder. Not a single moment was going to be wasted tonight. Ben intended to take full advantage of the time he had with these two young whores.
And that’s exactly what he did. The night was still early, and Santana’s photoshoot had only just begun. Then he would do Jane, and then the two of them together. Hopefully, Santana would be less ‘under the influence’ by then. He wanted her to fight him, if only to make breaking her that much sweeter. Ben could hardly wait to fuck them both in his sister’s bed.
But he was getting ahead of himself, he thought as he picked up Santana and carried over to the work horse yet again. Only this time, he bound her wrists and ankles with the rope, and tied her securely to the bench. He then proceeded to snap more pictures from every angle imaginable.
The photoshoot went on for nearly an hour. By the time he was finished, Ben had taken a staggering number of pictures, totalling just north of one thousand. He connected his phone to his laptop, sitting in the dark of the basement with Santana still bound to the bench, and created a new folder, in which he copied all the pictures and videos of both Jane and Santana to.
The folder, now filled with more than a thousand images of two, naked fourteen-year old girls, was already the favourite among his large collection. He right clicked, selected rename, and titled the folder: ‘Best Friends, Enslaved.’