The Torture of Heather
by
DEDHeather94@aol.com
Part 1
"Guess who wrote a rape story?"
I'd sent the instant message to my online friend, Dave. He
shared my interest in those kind of stories and I was somewhat proud
of my first attempt at that sort of writing.
"You??", he guessed, with obvious surprise and probably
amusement as well
.
Six months later I was lying face-down, locked in the trunk
of his car, hogtied and gagged. I was terrified...trying to keep my
head...praying he would remember we were friends and not hurt me too
badly...
I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start at the
beginning....
*******
I'd met Dave online in October of the previous year. We both
had the same type of job, so we had something in common, but we
didn't discover that till later. He'd sent me one picture of himself
during the time I knew him, but it wasn't until that hot day in
August that I actually met him for real. Unless one counted the day
before when I was desperately trying to keep my eyes averted. But
once again...that's too far ahead.
We fell into an odd sort of friendship. Much of it based on
debate and mild insults. He was intelligent, funny sometimes...an
interesting and somewhat disturbing person. He had a way of making
me feel exposed somehow--like he saw thru me right away. He never
requested cyber-sex, didn't appear particularly interested in
pictures of me and didn't try to make me his online girlfriend. He
knew how to get my back up and managed to push all my buttons when
feeling especially arrogant, but it was still a nice change to have a
male friend online who didn't seem to be constantly on the make.
Looking back, our hottest topic of debate was usually the
differences vs. the similarities of our seperate fantasies, fetishes,
etc. I had liked to think of myself as fairly normal in regards to
what thrilled me sexually. I considered some of his fetishes not
only abnormal, but downright frightening. His interest in rape,
torture and serial killers was one thing. His love of movies that
portrayed women being burned at stakes was what I found most
disturbing, and I told him so on many occasions. I wasn't really
trying to give him a hard time, I just needed to understand why these
things thrilled him so. That would ususally fire him up, so to
speak. Dave was open, defiant and totally unapologetic about himself
and his interests. Horrified as I was by most of them, I couldn't
help but admire that.
We had met in a chatroom where visitors there would often
play out rape scenes--either in the room for all to see and read, or
pair off privately. I couldn't stay out of that stupid room! I
never participated publicly in them, but loved reading the antics of
those who did. Something was going on with me back then; something I
didn't understand and wasn't very comfortable with. I'd cybered with
several guys after getting used to the whole idea (convincing myself
it was just writing and not cheating on my husband). Sometimes it
turned me on. Sometimes it was just boring.
Several months before meeting Dave, while peeping into the
darker-titled rooms toward the bottom of the list, I was sent an
Instant Message (IM in AOLspeak) from a guy who, out of the
blue "attacked" me. It was startling, almost frightening, although
at my computer I was of course, perfectly safe. Still, I felt
almost physically attacked. There was no "hi", "how are you?", "Do
you cyber?", "Do you have a pic?" or any of the usual intros.
Instead it said something like this: "I have a knife at your throat
Bitch! Shut the fuck up and don't move". Stunned at being accosted
without any preliminaries, I was nevertheless intrigued and decided
to play along. I think I replied with something like, "Don't hurt
me...please!" , to let him know I was willing to play. What
followed was my first online "rape" and it was a scene of shocking
brutality--I could almost feel waves of hatred from this guy.
Horrible as this particular scene was, I was more than a little
disturbed to find I was nearly overwhelmed by the sexual tingling and
throbbing that had taken over my body. I was hotter and wetter than
I'd been in a long time. I cringed at his words...the violence and
utter horror of the things he was describing....I hated that guy, but
couldn't deny that I was stirred up in a big way. I really didn't
want to admit that something this twisted inside myself had just been
unearthed.
This is what I hated about Dave. Whenever I got uppity about
his interests, he would hold up a mirror reflecting my own dark side
right back to me. He never let me forget he'd found me in a rape
room. I really hated that! I wasn't comfortable admitting even to
myself yet that I had rape fantasies. Sometimes realizing my body
reacted to things that my mind recoiled from--things that were wrong,
was too much and I'd lash out at him. I even blocked him for a while
after a particularly nasty argument. I wasn't even sure why I was so
mad, but I decided I couldn't talk to him for a while. I told myself
he was just too demented to be friends with....but I didn't forget
him.
During the time of Dave's banishment something changed.
Slowly, I eased into doing more forced roleplays. I began reading
rape stories online....more and more of them, with the fascination
of one who can't look away from a train wreck. With time I felt more
comfortable with my body's reactions to them and consequently, my own
sex life became hotter--because after nearly three years of little to
no interest in sex, I became hotter...hot as a firecracker
actually....insatiable. By the time I'd written my first rape story,
I'd accepted that strange, frightening part of myself. Embraced it
even. I'd totally surrendered to my own dark side and it changed
me. I began to accept everything about myself--for the first time in
my life actually. I stopped lying about my age online, stopped
sending the younger, thinner pictures of myself when someone
requested one, and decided that, flaws and all, I was an attractive
woman with brains and talent. I never would have imagined feeling
that way about myself one short year ago. Even people in my real
life seemed to notice my new confidence. Strange men would often
stare at me when I was out shopping, driving, or even just at work,
and I'd wonder what they were thinking--and if force was involved. I
wondered somewhat uneasily if I was unconsciously transmitting vibes
to others with the same fantasies. It was scary, yet thrilling to
think about. Even my husband began to comment about how much sexier
I was than before....his lovemaking taking on more of an edge...he
started using more force, sensing how wild it made me. My new
attitude was definitely changing things.
During this time, I began to miss my old friend Dave and the
banter between us. I think I realized that my unease with my own
dark side was what made me so uneasy about his, and began to feel
ashamed about how our friendship had ended. Soon we resumed our
friendship, and it was much more relaxed this time, less tense.
Knowing of his own fondness for rape stories, I sent him the one I
had written and was very happy and proud that he liked it. After all,
he was practically a connoisseur of such stories, and his opinion
meant a lot to me. If he liked it, it must be pretty decent. His
only criticism was that it should have been darker--the heroine
should have been tortured some. On that small point, I considered
the source. I didn't really want to go that dark, and didn't know
anything about torture. Not yet anyway.
Sometime around May our friendship began to subtly change. I
was working on my next story...putting more time and effort into it.
For Dave, I made this one somewhat darker, but still tame compared
to many. I knew my own comfort level and had no desire to go too
extreme. Dave was eagerly anticipating my next tale of the perils of
Heather. It was around this timeframe when he told me he'd saved
every IM conversation we'd ever had. I thought it somewhat strange,
but harmless. Being in writer's mode, however, I easily imagined how
such a thing could cease being harmless and become a trap. Inspired,
I used the concept in my new story. The villain saved everything
that the clueless Heather sent to him or said to him in their
conversations. I considered Heather to be my alter-ego, and when
writing a Heather story I used elements of truth in my fiction. She
was a little tease, and in my online Heather mode, I was one too. By
saving every teasing, provocative thing she said, the villain had
rendered her unable to go to the police when he attacked her--at
least not without major embarrassment. Like me, she had a husband
and child and something of a career. Unwilling to risk losing her
family or credibility if her dark side were exposed, she preferred to
keep her attack a secret--I knew I'd be the same way. I really had
no idea how soon that theory would be tested.
When I finally finished the story, I sent it out to the many
assorted friends and fans of my last story and was gratified with the
praise. However, while nervously waiting for Dave to finish reading
it, I realized he was the one I wanted to impress the most. Maybe
because I knew he'd be honest. I knew he'd read it with his
practiced eye rather than his hormones, unlike my other friends. I
was very proud when he declared it awesome and said it was much
better than the first one.
Before long, Dave began joking with me in ways he hadn't
before. I'm quite sure, even now, that he was joking at first. He
would kid around and say he didn't live all that far from me and that
he should come find me and rape me himself. I totally laughed it
off. I mean, this was coming from a guy who'd never expressed any
sexual interest in me before, besides very jokingly. I didn't even
think he found me particularly attractive. Being perversly female
and a shameless tease, I would send him provocative pictures of
myself on occasion. Whenever I'd make some for my online "admirers"
I would send him some too--I think I wanted to see what his reaction
would be. If I'd been hoping for the same drooling, lustful response
I was getting from the others I would have been sorely disappointed.
He would simply send a polite "Thanks for the pics" and leave it at
that. It really didn't matter because we were buds, pals,
intellectual equals. We'd never even done the cyber thing, and at
that point it would have felt weird anyway. We talked about many
things sexual, but never got personal about it, as in wanting each
other. I wasn't his type, I figured, and that was ok--I didn't think
he was my type either. Being perversely female, however, I suppose I
was a little disappointed that he didn't drool.
Now here he was....talking about raping me out of the blue.
"If only I could be sure I'd get away with it", he'd lament
"Oh, I wouldn't have you arrested....you have too much on me,
remember?"
I'd said this carelessly, jokingly, but I did mean it, and
ironically for the same reasons that Heather wouldn't do it.
Besides, he was my friend. What was the harm of assuring him that my
feelings of friendship as well as my fear of exposure would keep me
quiet? I was sure he was full of it, and equally sure he'd never
find me anyway. I wasn't scared of him. It was all a big joke.
Before long,..almost alarmingly fast, what I'd considered a
big joke began to escalate. Nobody dwells on a joke that long. He
spoke of finding me more and more; turning nearly every conversation
around to his now favorite subject--raping me.
"You will be mine", he would say nearly every day now..."oh
yes....you will be mine!"
I was still laughing about it, responding with things
like "yeah right" and "whatever", but in truth, I was becoming
somewhat uneasy. This seemed to be turning into an obsession with
him--he wouldn't shut up about it! To be honest, part of my unease
was how I would find myself thinking about his "plans" at odd moments
during my days and even while having sex with my husband. I wondered
what it would be like to be taken that way by my best online
friend...one whose fantasies still frightened me....and my heartbeat
would quicken. While worrying about his sanity I couldn't help
worrying about mine as well.
I think I should say that I'm not a stupid woman as a rule,
but I was letting him get deeper into this fantasy every day. I
never said, "Dave, now cut the shit! I mean it!!" Would he have
stopped the talk if I had? I don't really know, but the fact is I
didn't. Skepticism was the only resistance I was offering and that
only seemed to make him more determined. But still....it was all
just talk. He couldn't rape me if he couldn't find me, and I wasn't
about to just tell him where I lived. He knew the state and the city
and that was all he was going to get out of me. Some of our funniest
conversations were the ones in which he would try to wheedle, trick,
threaten and even beg the information out of me. Every attempt was
met with my mocking laughter. I admit I was enjoying this game. I
should have known that every time I laughed I was sealing my own
fate. Maybe I did know it and the reckless little Heather inside me
just didn't care.
One busy Friday, I received a call at work from our local
paper. The reporter, a man with a pleasant, professional-sounding
voice who introduced himself as Wes Dever, said the paper was doing
a spotlight on local businesses and wanted to profile our store if
that was agreeable, and requested an interview with me, the manager.
Knowing the owner wouldn't mind some free publicity I agreed to a
short interview. After some basic questions about our customers and
the brands we carried he asked for my name (not unusual), then asked
if I would verify the store's address. He ended the interview by
saying some photographers would be there in the next day or so. Nice
guy.
Dave couldn't even let the weekend pass before he addressed
me by my real name....first and last. I stared at my screen with a
sort of dull shock when I saw he had somehow figured it out. He'd
sworn he would and there it was. While I was trying to figure out
what to say, he then asked if those photographers ever came to the
store. I gasped out loud as I realized that he was the reporter and
not only had he gotten my name from me, but I'd been kind enough to
spell it for him as well!
I remembered then--back when I was promoted to manager, when
he and I were friends who happened to share the same occupation, I
had announced excitedly, "Guess who's the new manager of ______?",
revealing the name of my store to him. It sounds really dumb now,
but back then he'd never so much as hinted at ever trying to find me--
of even wanting to. It's still strange that I'd told him. I hadn't
told anyone online the name of my store before. That had been
several months before, and most people would have forgotten the name
by then anyway, but remember, he saved everything. If I had doubted
that claim before, I couldn't now.
I began to feel the first stirrings of fear. The unease was
deepening. He'd obviously gone to some length for that "prank"--
finding the website for my town and even looking up the name of our
local paper. Recovering some of my feelings of safety, I reminded
him that he still didn't have my address, but realized before he even
replied that it mattered very little at that point. He of course
could watch from a safe distance when I left work, and follow me home
easily if he really decided to do this thing. For that matter he
could grab me as I left the building. I felt very vulnerable then.
I was a sitting duck. Even if I hadn't realized that fact on my own,
Dave was more than happy to tell me. He told me many things. My
friend was changing almost before my eyes. Each email and IM he sent
was becoming more and more sinister.
He asked for my phone number and was no doubt surprised when
I gave it to him. I really wasn't afraid to do that since it was
unlisted and I was sure he couldn't trace me with it. Besides, for
all practical purposes he already knew everything he really needed to
know to carry out his threat. All he had to do was actually find me
now.
When he called me, I could feel myself trembling as the voice
of the charming reporter smoothly informed me that he was going to
find me, take me from my own home with the help of a stun gun, then
torture and rape me repeatedly.
"It's going to happen", he said, going on to remind me that
there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I was starting to feel real terror now. Hearing his voice,
how serious he sounded, was somehow much worse than reading those
same words on the computer screen. There was no joking around, no
friendliness at all--only these threats. It felt like the game was
spinning out of control. Every conversation we had online now was
about my impending rape. He told me how turned on he was hearing the
fear in my voice. He was playing his part too well and really
warming up to the idea of torturing me as well as raping me...sending
me horrific pictures of the various fiendish things he wanted to do
to me. That, I think, scared me the most. Sexual torture, what
little I knew about it, was a vague, shadowy horror to me. I knew it
existed, but had never experienced it. Never wanted to. That
particular dark side of sexuality had never entered my rape
fantasies, nor my stories.
I was very scared of my friend by now. I was wondering if I
ever knew him at all. The drama that was unfolding began to occupy
my thoughts more and more during my real life. Sometimes I would
feel nearly paralyzed with fear knowing he could really do this and
probably would if he were as determined as he sounded. Sometimes I
would ask myself, "What are you doing?? Make him stop it!!" I
wasn't even sure if I could stop him, but I can't honestly say I
really tried that hard. The whole concept of somebody actually
traveling to find me didn't seem real or likely--also he'd figured
out that I lived further from him than he originally thought.
One time I did say something like "if I asked you not to do
this, would you not?" After some hesitation he came back with "it's
more complicated than that now". I took that as a no. I told myself
it was still a "safe" fear as long as he was there and I was here.
But there was something else....and I can't deny it. I was
fascinated despite my fear, real as that fear was.
I could have stopped going online. I could have blocked him
again. I could have told him I changed my mind--that if he really
did this I would have him arrested and damn the consequences. There
were any number of things I could have said or done. Instead I would
read his words as if in a trance, feel the fear....then unable to
help myself, would feel the sexual thrill--the unbearable throbbing
tingles, the warm wetness that always seemed to accompany that fear.
I never really asked him not to do it. However, I would beg
him not to do it when I would be missed. Being a wife, mother and
store manager means that most times somebody always knows where I'm
at or where I'm supposed to be. If this thing were to really
happen, I knew I couldn't bear the drama of having to explain why I
was missing (for however length of time he was planning this). He
seemed to think those fears were amusing when I brought them up, and
mostly responded with things like "that's your problem".
I had one real chance to put a stop to it all and keep our
friendship intact. One night, between sending me gruesome pictures
of tortured rape victims, Dave nearly frightened me into fits by
supporting the "logic" of murdering one's victim. "Even one," he
continued cruelly, "who promised not to tell"--like me. In the
beginning of this madness, while it was all still a joke and before I
was genuinely scared of him, he'd joked about having to kill me if he
raped me, and even then it had bothered me--his twisted sense of
humor, but now it was way too real. It was too much. I got offline
in a hurry, unable to read any more, after informing him I was going
to get a gun. Shaking, I wondered if I was really going to have to.
He could still find me easily, and he was obviously more dangerous
than I'd ever thought. The erotic fear I'd experienced over his rape
threats were one thing, but this was something entirely different.
If my life was in danger it was time to retreat in a big way.
The next day, when I saw I had mail from him, I had to read
it; had to see if he was still threatening me. If so, I'd have to
take steps to protect myself. This had just gone way too far.
The letter he wrote to me added a touching and bizarre new
facet to what has to be the strangest friendship I've ever known or
even heard of:
Hey...
I was just talking hypothetically. I'm sorry I upset you. I really
feel bad about the way our conversation ended tonight.
You should know that I'm 90% bullshit. I have no life, I don't do
anything, and messing with your mind is merely a source of amusement
in my empty, meaningless life.
I was torturing you with words about this rape/torture thing. Just
remember to consider the source when talking to me, okay?
You are a kewl person, and I do feel bad about hurting you. I may
not be perfect, but I am a Christian (just not a very good one!) and
much more of a lover than a fighter. Or should I say more a lover
than a rapist?
Anyway, I care about you and wouldn't want to see you hurt. Honestly.
Maybe I am misogynistic (Hell, I know I at least have a streak of it)
but I am basically a good person. Let me repeat this again. I WILL
NEVER KILL YOU!! It's a promise; it's a fact. You have nothing to
worry about in that regard. In fact, if it makes you feel better, I
would not even rape you either, if you truly didn't want it and asked
me not to.
I took the joke too far, and I am sorry. I just got carried away in
thinking and typing at the same time. I wish there were the some way
to go back and unsay the words I said before, but you can't unring a
bell. You are my friend, and I feel awful that I hurt you.
I can't say I'm sorry enough about what I did. It was fun for me,
and I was enjoying your fear. Pretty sick, huh? I don't deserve to
be forgiven, but if being sorry counts for anything, it's all I can
offer. I really do care about you, probably more than you know, and
I value our friendship. We share a bond, and I hope in time we'll be
able to mend it. So I hope everything works out all right.
Oh, by the way...you don't deserve to be raped, contrary to what you
said last night. Writing about it and dreaming about it does not
justify having it done to you. I was just on too much of a roll last
night to correct you.
Take care...
Dave
So there it was; my chance to respond with "No Dave, this is
just too fucked up. I don't want you to rape me. I don't want you
to even talk about it anymore." Instead I dropped the matter
entirely--so touched was I by the letter. I figured the whole crazy
episode was over anyway. For a while he let it drop too.
Oddly, our friendship seemed to deepen after that. We went
back to being just good friends --no more stalker vs. prey. At
least for a while. I began to feel closer to him after that letter.
He'd opened himself up to me more than he ever had. Strange to say,
perhaps, but I was genuinely moved. I found myself ignoring or
putting off my other online friends whenever he was on. We would
chat for hours.
I'm not sure how or why, but it wasn't long before the whole
thing started again. He began jokingly at first, like before, then
gradually became serious again. The whole thing was confusing me
terribly. Was he kidding or dead serious?? Was he sane or a total
psycho? I just couldn't tell anymore.
For the next several weeks my life was a torment. Every day
brought a new threat. I was at the point of just wishing he'd get it
over with. I even went so far as to tell him when I was going to the
movies next--like Heather in the Gamer story. I was calling him out--
calling his bluff--throwing myself to him so it could either be over
or he'd be forced to admit he was just fucking with me. Either way,
I had to get on with my life and stop looking over my shoulder all
the time.
He didn't get me the night I went to the movie. I managed to
get into the theater and back home unmolested. The fear while
sitting in my car, smoking and waiting to go in, however, was
intense. I did have a bad moment when a truck circled me (I had no
idea what he drove) and a lone male passenger looked at me closely
before driving on. Before I nearly choked on my heart, which had
just leaped into my throat, I was greatly relieved to realize the guy
wasn't him--this guy was most likely meeting someone there and
searching for them. No, Dave didn't get me that night--nor did my
fictional Vile Gamer suddenly come to life like a villain in a
Stephen King book and show up with his pearl-handled switchblade and
the hardon from Hell. I did, however manage to get quite a fear-fix
that night. I went home somewhat exhilarated from the thrill of my
imagination and reflected absently that I was just too twisted to
live.
Finally the day came that, frustrated by his torments I made
him angry. Very angry according to the next letter he sent. I had
finally snapped under the pressure when he hinted that he might drag
this on for years. I couldn't imagine feeling this constant suspense
for years. I just couldn't take any more and went off.
I understand that you're playing a game and you want me as off-
balance as I can be, but you're really starting to overplay this
maybe/maybe not bullshit. I don't even feel scared anymore after
reading your last letter. I'm not helping you anymore either.
After everything I said in my last several letters to you, all I get
in reply is more of the same fucking bullshit. You say I live for
the fear. Maybe you're right, but I don't feel afraid when all I
hear is fucking bullshit.
As I read his response, I coverd my open mouth in horror with
shaking hands:
If you're not scared anymore, then fine, I don't give a shit. I said
what I was planning on doing and I do intend to follow though with
it. If I have to hurt you, I will. And if you fucking think of
reporting me, I am going to be seriously pissed. I have enough
evidence against you that you will never win a rape conviction. You
want to get raped, then just call me a bullshitter and you will get
your wish. Your ass will be seriously mine, and this is not
bullshit!
Hope that's the answer you wanted, Bitch!
Dave
Was he serious? Was he nuts? I wrote back trying to explain
myself, but the threatening, hostile emails kept coming....
Oh, shut the fuck up, Bitch!
I'll do whatever the hell I want to do with you. I already promised
I wouldn't kill you, and I meant it. But I do intend on having some
fun with you, and whether you'll enjoy that or not...well, you
probably won't. It's too bad. You're going to experience what being
a true victim is about, and I can't guarantee what I will or won't
do. And I won't discuss it, either, for you to talk me out of it.
It may be nothing; I may go all out. I don't really know right now.
The fact that you're my friend may count in your favor. But I'm not
planning of thinking of you as a friend when you're hogtied in my car
trunk. You'll simply be cargo.
So you think I'm scary, huh? You have nothing to be scared of. It's
all talk. I haven't laid a single finger on you yet. But maybe you
should re-read that letter again where you trashed me and said this
was fucking bullshit. I'm just out to prove to you, in a big way,
that it is not. It will be real, and you will feel how real it will
be when I get you. You challenged me, and practically laid out the
red carpet for me. Any doubts I had about going through with it were
eliminated when you said that. So you sealed your own fate, and you
will have to deal with the consequences.
So just remember...You asked for it, Bitch!
You want it, you will get it. I will have you, sometime when you are
not expecting it. There is nothing you will be able to do about it.
Your mouth will be mine, your pussy will be mine, your whole body
will be mine. I will attack you, gag you, tie you up and visciously
rape you, Bitch. Wait for it, because it will come, and so will you.
Dave
I had to respond to his hostility somehow:
I can feel you trying to dehumanize me again. That scares me worse
than anything. If you're digging up things I've said to you in the
past hoping to get pissed off all over again then I know you must be
very close.
My life is a torment right now.
"Tell me why
Do you like playing around with..
My
Narrow scope of reality
I
Can feel it all start slipping
I think I'm breaking down..."
--Disturbed
His reply:
Fuck you Bitch. I have no sympathy for you.
And another disguised as a friendly greeting....
||||||
(o o)
oOOo-(_)-oOOo
___|___|___|___|___|
___|___|___|___|___|
Just popping over to say...
Hello!
After scrolling down a long way, this was at the bottom...
And to tell you that I am still planning on getting you, so watch
out, you fucking bitch! You will be tied up, gagged, raped and I
might even hurt you, just for fun...my fun, not yours. This
dehumanizing thing is correct; for one day, you will no longer be my
friend, just my personal fucktoy, and I intend to use you and abuse
you to the fullest. It will happen sooner than you think, so keep an
eye out for me. I will be there and I will be ready, and there is
nothing you will be able to do about it.
You want what I am going to give you; you can't really think of
anything else, can you? You had your chance to stop me; all you had
to do was ask and being your friend, I would have complied. It's
past that point now; there is no turning back. It pains me that I'm
going to be doing this to one of my best online friends, a person I
like and admire, but I feel forced into going through with it. I
can't NOT do it; this is my chance in a lifetime and if you're going
to offer it up to me, I'd be a damn fool not to take advantage of
it. So sorry if you're scared, because this WILL happen, and it may
not be pleasant, but it's what you and I both want so you might as
well lay back and enjoy it, you little cunt.
I could feel things getting out of hand. It really didn't
feel like a joke anymore. My friend was determined to do this
thing. It was all he talked about anymore. I went through my days
with an odd sense of fate catching up to me....the walls were closing
in.
Then the week arrived that my daughter was out of town
visiting my sister. He knew about it, and somehow I knew that if he
was going to make his move, it would be that week. That Monday
night we were both online and somehow I'd managed to make him mad
again....
