BDSM Library - A Tape

A Tape

Part One

The tape was waiting for me when I returned home from work, leaning against my apartment door just three days after my only daughter left for college. A note was slipped inside the case. It read:

Play this tape immediately and wait for further instructions. We’re watching you. Don’t do anything stupid.

No label, description, no other writing, just a simple tape that would mark the beginning of the end for my life as I knew it. Nothing I could possibly imagine would have prepared me for the devastation of that day. I thought it was some sort of prank, at first, and I still wish it were.

I slid it into the unused VCR and I reclined back onto the couch. The picture took a few moments to stabilize.

It showed an empty, windowless room with a small bed in the far corner and a toilet mounted into the floor beside it. The smooth, grey walls and concrete floor signaled that it was a prison.

For nearly a minute, nothing happened. What a lame joke, I thought to myself as I reached for the remote control. Just as I was about to hit pause, however, the action began.

A woman stumbled into the frame from the lower right-hand corner. I could see that her arms were stuck behind her back, but I couldn’t make out how they were bound. She wore tight jeans and a vaguely familiar baggy sweatshirt. Her hair dangled past her shoulders in two wide auburn pigtails. She frantically flailed her head from side to side as she scanned her surroundings.

“Calm down, Monica. You have work to do.”

Monica? Monica? I looked closer at the screen just as the girl turned to face the camera.

Monica, my one and only child. A piece of packing tape covered her mouth, but her distinct green eyes and purple-rimmed glasses gave away her identity.

A man followed her into the frame. He was a few inches taller than her, just over six feet tall, and had a short crew cut. An expressionless white mask covered his face and his identity.

Monica frantically backed into the corner, but the man grabbed her arms and threw her onto the bed.

My daughter tried to squirm away on the bed, but the man grabbed each of her thighs and pulled her closer. He undid her zipper and quickly worked her pants off of her body.

I knew what would come next. My stomach dropped as I realized what I was witnessing, what the pranksters had wanted me to see—the rape of my only daughter. A chill overtook my body, and I sprinted towards the kitchen phone intent on calling the police, but moments before I picked up the phone, it rang. I answered.

“Miss Brooks, what were you planning?”

“I…”

“We are deadly serious when we say we are watching you. I see you fidgeting with the hem of your blouse, and that you still haven’t let your hair down since work like you normally do.”

My eyes darted around the room, trying to spot the camera, but I saw no immediate signs of bugging. However, the mere fact that their cameras would be watching me at all times made my skin crawl, knowing their eyes were watching every bit of my body. “Who are you?” I demanded angrily.

“That doesn’t matter right now. If you do as exactly as we say, your daughter might live long enough to see you again. From this day forward, you will watch whatever we send you, and you will act only when we tell you. Tell anyone about this, and she dies. If you even hint that you know something, she dies. We are watching you at all times. Do you understand?”

On the TV, my daughter’s attacker grabbed her cotton patterned panties and tore them off, revealing her pussy. I yelled out her name, but the voice on the other side of the telephone merely laughed.

“She can’t hear you, Janine. What’s done is done.”

“Give me back my daughter, you freaks!”

“You’re pushing it, Janine. We’ll kill her if you defy us. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” I stammered, my eyes fixated on my daughter’s plight. Her assailant pierced her with his cock as he man-handled her thighs and tits.

“Good. Now, finish watching the tape. Once it is finished, check your private email account.”

“What?”

“I will not repeat my commands. Goodbye, Janine.”

I stood frozen holding the phone against my ear as the phone went dead. On the screen, the man was ramming his cock into my daughter as she screamed and cried beneath her gag. I wanted to run to the bathroom, to cry for the cruelty of their scheme, but my belief in the mysterious man’s words drew me closer to the television.

My only daughter, Monica, started her freshman year of college less than a week ago. She used her valedictorian status to get a full scholarship to the best public college in the state, where she hoped to get a degree in Biology. However, the last time I spoke to her was Monday night, less than forty-eight hours ago. The tape was recent, but how recent? Was her absence from campus noticed? Would people even notice she was gone? As I watched her raped and defiled, these questions swirled through my mind, but my thoughts always honed in the most important question of all.

How can I save her?

While her voice was muted by the tape gag, I swore I could make out the words. She was crying for me, crying ‘Mom’ over and over, hoping for the help and protection I had given her at every single moment of every day for the first nineteen years of her life.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks just as they slid down hers. I slid my hand against the television screen, as if to reach out and help her, but it was only a tape; nothing I could do would undo the indignation of the crime. All I could do was follow their demands and pray that they spare her any further assaults.

The man finished and pulled out, leaving a pool of cum between Monica’s legs. For minutes after the screen went black, I stayed kneeling in front of the television, still in shock over what I had witnessed. Somebody was forcing me to play a cruel game over the life of my daughter, but it would be weeks and months before I realized the true extent and purpose behind the captors’ sadism.

I stumbled to the computer in a daze and logged into my email account. As expected there was an email waiting.

‘Janine Brooks,’ as you know by now, we have your daughter. You will do exactly as we say or she dies. You will tell nobody of this or she dies. You will follow each and everyone of our requests perfectly or she dies.

We are watching you, at home, at work, and in your car. If we see anything suspicious, we will make her pay for your transgressions.

You are to return home straight from work next Monday and await instructions. We will communicate with you primarily through email, so have a laptop at your side when watching future videos. Do not bother to respond to the email- we are spoofing the IP and address of origin.

Your daughter will live as long as you obey us.

Do not disappoint,

I collapsed to the floor and cried at my helplessness. Why were they doing this to her? What motivate could a person possibly have to force a mother to watch her own daughter’s rape? Was it to punish her?

Or, was it to punish me?

A Tape

Part Two

The police arrived to notify me of my daughter’s disappearance two days later. When asked if I knew where she went, I lied, believing the kidnapper’s threats; they were perverted and disturbed monsters, and I knew they told the truth.

My tears were dismissed away as those of a distraught mother, learning that her daughter had gone missing. I wanted to tell them everything, to scream about my daughter’s sad fate and her captor’s perverse demands. I wanted to beg for help.

I wanted mercy.

I wanted my daughter back.

However, I kept that knowledge to myself and thanked the police for notifying me.

That weekend was the worst weekend of my life. No matter how much I tried to do work or have fun, my thoughts returned to the tape and the horrors it contained. Time dragged by as I waited for news that would not come.

Monday, I returned to work. The news of my daughter’s disappearance had gone public. My coworkers never ceased their parade of good wishes, continually salting the wound of my forced silence, driving me deeper and deeper into depression. The stack of insurance claims in my inbox barely diminished that day.

Just as I was about to leave, my boss called me into her office.

“Janine, have a seat.”

“Sorry, I have to get going,” I said, not wanting to defy the day’s instructions.

“Please, Janine, this will be quick.”

I sat in front of her desk in an uncomfortable chair.

“I can only imagine what you’re going through right now, Janine. You should take some time off. Don’t worry, they won’t count as personal days.”

“No,” I responded quickly, realizing that taking a vacation would violate the captors’ rules. “Please, I need this. Don’t throw me away.”

My boss leaned forward onto her desk, supporting her with her elbows. “Are you absolutely positive you’re up for this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. Just remember that you can take as much time off as you want if you need it.”

“Thank you Sarah.” I left the office and drove home.

-------------------------------

Another tape sat on the hall floor, leaning against my apartment door. I felt satisfied, despite knowing the unspeakable horrors that would be portrayed on that tape.

I setup my laptop beside me on the couch and checked my email account. A new message was waiting, sent less than a minute ago.

Start the video and await further instructions.

Once again, the tape started with a ceiling mounted perspective of an empty room, but not the same room from the previous tape. The walls were of the same dull and windowless concrete construct shown in the previous video, though the room contained a gynecologists chair instead of a mattress.

A man walked in the room tugging on a leash behind him. At its end stumbled my daughter, naked except for a tiny red band encircling her neck. Her hair still dangled in pigtails behind her, but her hair had clearly not been washed in several days; the video was, at the very least, a few days newer than the first.

“Sit,” commanded the man. He was not the same as the man that had raped her days earlier.

Monica hesitated and looked the man in the eyes before crouching onto the floor.

“Not there, you dumb cunt. In the chair.”

She stood and sat in the gynecologist’s chair.

“Legs up.”

Once again, she hesitated, but eventually spread her legs apart and placed them into the stirrups. Her pussy had been shaved since the last video, and her lips were red and swollen from whatever the men had done in the intervening days.

Her naked body filled me with awe. For the first time, I noticed how beautiful my daughter had grown. Her reticent and studious nature kept her focused on school work throughout her adolescent years, and despite my advice she never managed to land a boyfriend. I finally saw that it was all by choice. However, her beauty scared me, as it would undoubtedly fuel even more perverse fantasies inside her captors’ dark and cruel hearts.

“Why am I here?” she asked.

The man slapped her in response. “No talking.” He strapped her legs into place and bound her arms with sets of leather straps and exited off screen for a few minutes.

Monica’s lithe body shook in the man’s absence, undoubtedly fearful of what he had planned for her. My fear mirrored hers as I awaited the next atrocity that I would have to witness.

The man returned with cardboard box. He placed it on the floor between Monica’s legs and rifled through it, pulling various toys from the bin.

He held up a dildo in his left hand a weighted nipple clip in his other. “Here we go. The Mister and Misses felt this would be a good next step.”

Mister and Misses? For the first time, I gleaned insight into who had ordered the abduction of my daughter, useless as it may be.

When the man shoved the dildos into my daughter’s ass and pussy, I cringed and looked away from the television, unable to look at my daughter’s sexual torture.

My laptop beeped. An email had arrived.

Watch the video, or else…

I turned my eyes back towards the television. Monica was shaking and screaming, trying to loose the invading rods. My laptop beeped again.

Finger yourself.

My stomach dropped. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

I looked back at my daughter. There was nothing at all erotic about her tortured screams. However, I had to patronize their wishes to spare her life. I slipped my right hand down the hem of my skirt and placed it against the middle of my panties.

Not good enough. Take your skirt off so we can see if you’re faking.

I cursed underneath by breath as I stood and undid the zipper of my black skirt. It dropped to the floor, revealing my white cotton panties and pantyhose.

I reclined comfortably back on the couch and took in the gravity of what the men were asking of me; in front of my eyes but in the past was my daughter, sexually abused for the perverse pleasure of our unknown captors. They were watching me constantly, their cameras tucked away all over my apartment, for God knows how long prior to Monica’s abduction, and they wanted me to fondle myself in the midst of it all.

I had no choice. My body would be theirs as long as they held my daughter.

I slid my right down my panties and beneath the pantyhose and rested my palm on my clit. Shamefully, it was pleasurable; self-pleasure was an art and hobby which I had long ago given up. I had let my sexuality wither away in the five years since Eric’s death, but the touch of my hand against my clit felt instantly familiar.

My daughter screamed as the man pushed the dildo further inside.

I lost my composure and began to cry. Calling out “Monica… forgive me,” beneath my breath, I began to rub at my clit.

The effect was immediately noticeable as I felt true physical pleasure for the first time in ages. My thoughts strayed from the horrific acts upon my daughter and turned to myself as I caressed my clit, first gently, but soon vigorously. It felt good.

And then it hit me. I lost myself in the pleasure, and nothing else mattered. Not my solitude, not my job, and not the horrific plight of my only daughter,

Everything around me faded into nothingness as I reached my climax. It was pure bliss, and for a brief instant I completely forgot the hellhole that my life had become.

My body jerked. Juices flowed from my pussy and soiled my panties. I didn’t care about the mess.

Good. We will contact you next week. The same rules apply.

What had I done? How could I enjoy myself when my daughter was being raped and tortured by psychopaths? I was never more ashamed in my entire life.

That night, as I lay alone in bed, scared of the world around me, I fingered myself. The skill had never faded, and I soon remembered why I was such a sex addict before marrying Eric.

I fell asleep in a daze of oblivious happiness, as if my problems were a far away dream.

A Tape

Part Three

My daughter’s plight lingered over me constantly that entire week, save from the brief moments of self-pleasure that granted me the escape I needed. I had nobody to turn to; no true friends or family to guide me through the darkness.

I was alone.

A package sat on my doorstep the following Tuesday. No address. Just a tiny little nametag in cute cursive that simply read “Janine.” I brought it inside and placed it on the kitchen table.

The mere presence of the box scared me. Something had changed, and all I could think about were the countless movies I’d seen where the kidnappers start sending body parts. In my heart I prayed, but with my body I hid all signs of terror. The cameras were watching, and I couldn’t let them see my fear.

I did not forget my obligations. I removed the tag and opened the box. Inside, atop the packing material, was a tape. And beneath it, a dildo.

There was no doubt in my mind what they would ask of me, and in a sick and twisted way, it turned me on. I knew what I would be forced to watch.

The tape flickered on into a black screen. It held me in suspense, a sense of dread captivating my soul and keeping me from turning away. It flickered again, and revealed my daughter’s newest horror.

Monica was being led around on all fours through non-descript corridors of rusted metal and peeling paint. It was my first glimpse into the lair of the monsters that took and destroyed my daughter. A red collar encircled her neck. Her hair draped across her back and shoulders, no longer in the clean pigtails that she wore for most of her life.

“Hurry up, bitch,” taunted the man that tugged on the red and black leash that connected to her collar. “You really need to learn to pick up the pace. Mom and Dad won’t be happy if you don’t learn how to walk like that.”

Mom and Dad? The circumstances behind Monica’s abduction were getting stranger. This was a new man leading her around on leash, and he apparently answered to his parents.

A family had chosen to wage war on my own. Why? Why would somebody do that and commit countless sins along the way?

My laptop blinked.

Use it.

I knew what they meant. I looked from the monitor, to the TV, to the pink dildo I held in my hand. It had to be done. I unzipped my skirt and slid down my panties, exposing my pussy to the open air.

On screen, Monica had reached the end of the dirty corridor. Her tormentor pushed the door open, and the tape switched to the perspective of another camera.

This one showed a much larger room than either of the previous videos had shown. Not only was it much better lit than the others, but it was also better furnished. A king-sized bed with full linings, a wide table, dressers, and paintings that dangled from the wall.

A man and a woman sat at the edge of the bed. The man had his arm wrapped around the woman. I recognized him as the man from the previous video. However, the woman was somebody new. Her hair looked to be almost pure black, which contrasted bizarrely with her pale white skin and dark red lipstick. She had the aura of a goth, but her attire looked far too expensive and classy for the clique.

“Is that her?” the woman asked.

“It sure is. Isn’t she cute?”

“No, she isn’t. I see a revolting little worm that deserves everything that is coming to her.”

The masked man laughed. “Come on,” he said before the sound cut out of the video. “No need to be so harsh.”

“Hey, this is all for,” the woman answered before her voice dropped out, too. I could tell that it was sound editing; the kidnappers did not want me to hear names. Did they think I was going to tell the police?

I would never betray my daughter like that. Everything was for her.

“I can’t believe you have gotten around to using her yet,” he said. He held the woman’s hand in his own, drawing my attention to their wedding rings. “She should be more important to you than me.”

The woman turned away from her husband. “I know, I know. But, just seeing her makes me sad, knowing why she’s here.”

“She’s here to be used.”

“That isn’t the reason why.”

“Trust me, your opinion will change once you get a test drive.” He turned to the masked man and patted the bed. “Come on, bring her over here.”

Their discussion shed little light on their reasons for abducting and raping Monica. Was she targeted specifically, or was it a sick game? Why her? Why me?

I wanted to avert my eyes to the events that unfolded once Monica was on the bed, but I knew and accepted their rules. I would have to watch. On all fours, her mouth and bottom were perfectly exposed for use from the two monsters.

Why was Monica so compliant? Why was she going with their movements and sucking on his cock? Her mouth was unrestrained. Any moment she could have bitten it clean off. But, she didn’t. My innocent little girl sucked on the dick that filled her mouth and thrust her hips to get the most out of her rapists. Slight moans escaped her vocal chords, but I could not tell if they were of pleasure or pain.

The computer beeped.

Do it.

I had no choice. I steadied the dildo and pushed it up against my pussy. I was already wet, but I hadn’t noticed it until that moment. Had I already descended so far to be turned on by the site of sex, no matter how cruel the circumstances? I pressed it in, eliciting a slight moan.

Monica’s tits swayed back and forth beneath her chest. She was pumped from both ends and showed no signs of resistance.

For a brief moment, I imagined that I was her. Something that men actually wanted, something they would pleasure. It was a disgusting thought, but I couldn’t help but imagine it as I pushed I slid the dildo in and out. How long had it been since I last used one? I couldn’t remember, but I apparently retained my former skills. It was over a decade since my last cock of any kind and I was absolutely craving for something like it. I pushed in harder and faster, rotating my grip to prod every inch of my insides.

On screen, the woman joined in. She leaned onto Monica, reached around her body and pinched her nipples between her nails. Monica moaned sharply, drawing a slight smile from the woman. She must be some sort of sadist—nothing else could explain the growing look of glee as she pinched, squeezed, and kneaded my daughter’s tits and nipples. I immediately disliked her. The others, while cruel, at least drew physical pleasure from their violations.

The entire time, they made sure to not block Monica from the camera site. The show was for me, after all.

Soon, I too was moaning out loud. I grabbed the dildo tighter and pushed it everywhere with deeper, penetrating force. Within a minute of the men dumping their loads inside my Monica, I too was on the verge of cumming.

Whiteness overtook my mind. My body jerked, and I could feel my juices spraying out, hitting my thighs and soaking the skirt and couch beneath them.

The masked torturer turned to the camera and waved. He grabbed a newspaper from the table and brought it over to the ceiling mounted camera.

I didn’t understand the meaning of until I took a closer look at the numbers in the upper right hand corner. It was dated two weeks ago, only a week after my daughter had been abducted. The implications flooded my mind all at once. First, that I had no recent proof that she was still alive and intact. Second, that the blank and vacant stare was the result of only a week of captivity. How far had things gotten in the past two weeks?

Would Monica even make it through her crisis sane?

The tape ended, and I turned my attention to the phone. I stared and waited for hours, but nothing happened. No voice to haunt me, to mock me, to let me know that daughter was still alive.

Dread returned. A weeks-old video and no word from the kidnappers? What had gone wrong?

I returned to my computer and replied to the most recent email.

Address not found. The origin was forged. There was no way for me to get back in contact with them.

What did I do wrong? Why did they not contact me? Was she… dead?

I collapsed to my knees and cried.

Weeks passed without word. The police kept me updated on their fruitless investigation. There were no leads at all. All they could tell me were the circumstance of her disappearance; one night, as she walked home from class, she just disappeared into the darkness. They could barely think of a reason, though they brought up three ideas. That she had run away, that she had drowned in the river near to campus, or that she was abducted. They eagerly pushed the first idea, probably because they knew it would be the least traumatic.

I knew the truth, but I could say nothing. For all the torture visited upon my Monica and me, I was forbidden from speaking out, from telling anyone of my plight. I was truly alone for the first time in my life.

My only solace rested in that disgusting phallus. It was thick, rigid, and heavy. I detested the role it played in my torture and the sinister story that led to its arrival, but I had nobody and nothing else to turn to.

I used it. Everyday and every night, I used that accursed plastic to pleasure myself, for it was the only thing that could take my mind off of the hopelessness that had befallen the lives of my daughter and me. I often cried while doing so, but the pleasure soothed my damaged soul.

It was shameful, but I couldn’t stop.

A full month passed since that last tape. Never before had I missed her so much. She was everything to me since Robert died, but I had just about given up hope.

The phone rang.

“Hello, Janine,” said the familiar voice.

“Please, please, please!” I yelled into the phone. “Please tell me she’s okay.”

The raspy voice on the end of the line laughed. “We’ll let you see her, if you want.”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll do anything for her.”

“Even if it meant giving up everything?”

I needn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’d give my life to see her again.”

“Tomorrow at four in the morning. Be ready and waiting by your phone for further instructions.”

A Tape

Part Four

Four A.M. on a Thursday morning and I was ready to go. I was dressed as I would for a business luncheon—a nice light blue skirt and jacket that accentuated without ever wandering close to improper. It was for a reunion, after all.

I didn’t know what the future would hold. So many questions swirled in my mind, yet I could speculate answers to none. Who were their kidnappers? Why did they choose Monica? Was she their ultimate target, or was I? What would they do to me? Would they set us free?

I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the phone, anxiously playing with the strap of my purse. However, the phone did not ring.

Four-fifteen came and went, and I began to worry. They were watching me, I knew, but what was the sense in toying with my fears?

A knock came from my front door. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door but a crack, keeping the security latch in place. It was the pale woman from the video.

“Are you Janine?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me in.”

Her voice was cold and emotionless, as if her role in the abduction was all part of a job. Something about her enraged me and I wanted to strangle her, but my desire to see my daughter again trumped my violent urges. I closed the door, swung out the latch, and reopened the door.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked inside. A man followed her in a few steps behind. “We need to gather a few things before you can see Monica. Where is your laptop and the tapes?”

I pointed to the top of the VCR and the kitchen table. She walked over to them, grabbed the laptop case in her left hand and the tapes in her right. The man made a quick tour of the apartment, plucking out the tiny cameras that had recorded me over the last month. I was ashamed how simply they were hidden. In plants, above lamps, wedged between paintings and the wall, and even some from my bathroom and bedroom—how had I been so blind to not see them, even accidentally? Did I pay that little attention to my surroundings?

Perhaps that was what led me into this plight.

“Good. Now, do you have your cellphone with you?

I nodded.

“Leave it behind.”

They led the way out of my apartment. I turned off the lights and locked the door behind us, and briefly wondered if I would ever see my apartment again. However, that was not my main concern and it quickly slipped from my mind.

A white van was waiting in the parking lot. The doors opened as we approached, revealing a thin and tall man with dark black hair. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in, with the husband and wife following quickly behind me. The door slammed shut.

“Do you have everything?” asked the dark haired man.

“Yup. Three tapes and eleven cameras.”

“Good, let’s hit the road.”

He crawled back to the front of the van and into the driver’s seat. The keys were already in the ignition and the engine hummed quietly.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Miss,” answered the blond man. He was older than the other two and had a hardened look to him. “Help me with this, Fiona.” He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to the floor of the van.

“Hey!”

“Quiet, you fucking bitch,” hissed the black-haired woman. “You’re finally going to fucking pay for what you did to Clarissa.”

“I don’t know any…” I tried to answer, but the husband shoved a piece of foam into my mouth, quieting my protests. I recognized the feel as that of a bit gag. My husband had tried getting me to use it several times, but I could never adapt to my missing voice. I knew why it bothered me—to be without speech is to be without value. I’m a strong, assertive woman, and to cede even a little control was degrading and dehumanizing.

He pulled the gag tighter into my mouth and strapped it beneath my ears. My mouth stretched painfully into a toothy grin.

They continued to grab and bend my body. They shackled my wrists behind my back, locked a collar around my neck, and placed a blindfold over my eyes. The rest of the ride continued in darkness and in silence.

They did not remove my blindfold until we were underground. All I know is that we parked in some type of garage, and they led me out of the van and down some stairs by a leash. I was being treated like they treated my daughter, but how far would the similarities go? I began to sweat.

We stopped in a small room with concrete walls. There was nothing in there except a dirty old mattress in the center of the floor, and an old TV and VCR on a stand in the corner.

“Sit,” he commanded.

I complied, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice. Once I was kneeling on the mattress, the woman attached a length of chain to my collar and undid the bit gag and the chain that fastened my wrist cuffs. “Go get Mother and father,” she told her husband. From there, all I could do was wait. Soon, I would have all of the answers I wanted, and with any luck, the chance to once again hold my Monica in my arms.

The masterminds behind my plot arrived a few minutes later. They did not seem at all like what I had imagined the sadists to be like. A couple somewhere in their fifties, they were both slightly overweight and wore the type of clothing you’d expect from the average PTA member. He wore a thick moustache mustache on his chubby face. She wore her graying hair down just past her shoulders.

“Hello, Janine,” said the father. “Do you remember us?”

“No,” I answered. I didn’t think I had ever seen them before in my life.

I was wrong.

They looked at each other with sadness in their eyes. My answer had disappointed them in some profound way. “I see…” said the mother. She walked over to the VCR and inserted a tape. The screen filled with footage of me violating myself with the white dildo they had given me.

“Ten years ago, you rejected service for our Clarissa.”

I could only sit there silently as this fellow mother relayed her tale.

“It was a vital surgery, but you and your company said no. You called it a ‘pre-existing’ condition, said that it wasn’t covered. Nobody would give us a loan, our family too poor, too worthless to justify the cost and risk of the surgery.”

“I…”

“We did everything we could to haggle with the insurance company. Where else could we get our money? Our entire emergency plan counted on insurance, counted on its ability to handle the worst case scenarios, but…”

She began to cry.

“She died because of your decision”

It was an aspect of my job that I never wanted to think about. I know that Clarissa was not the only person to die based on my decision, but that is how insurance works. Rejecting the claims of anyone I logically could was my job. So many claims come across my desk each day, and I have to look at the evidence and make a decision. Clarissa’s landed on my desk, and I said no. And what if it had landed on somebody else’s? What if the paperwork bore the signature of a coworker rather than me? Would Alan’s daughter have been kidnapped, or Kelly’s husband? Is fate really that fickle?

I turned my attention back towards the TV. It had switched to footage of me watching my daughter’s plight on television, immersing myself in self-pleasure to evade reality. How far had I fallen since they took my daughter…

“Tell me, Janine. Do you feel bad about what you did?”

“Yes!” I pleaded immediately, knowing that it might be my only chance to sway the sentence they had cast on me. “Yes, I regret rejecting her, but I had no choice!”

The father grimaced and slapped me across the face, knocking me onto the mattress. “Human beings always have a choice.”

“I had to do it, I swear!”

“Is that really the best you can come up with?” asked the mother. “Are you so concerned with your job that that you won’t save the life of a teenage girl? She had so much ahead of her. She too was on the verge of entering college, of seizing the world in her hands when the disease struck, and fast. You had a choice to save her life, but you said no.”

I didn’t know how to respond. How could I explain the way insurance works? My signature would have meant nothing for something so expensive, for it would have been audited by a higher up that would have vetoed my approval. And even if it initially slipped, it would have shown up on an employee review, likely costing my job over something so expensive. What little freedom I had was limited on all sides. I could only turn my head away and cry.

They had suffered so much for what I did to them, and now they were intent on bringing me the same degree of anguish. But… would they kill her? Was it all leading up to them killing her before my eyes, just as I undoubtedly did to them? I curled into a ball on the mattress and began to cry, the tears streaming continuously as my thoughts were only of what these monsters would do to us. Their evils were born not out of sadism, but revenge.

“Bring her in,” said the father. Their surviving daughter left the room and returned a minute later with my Monica

She stared straight ahead, her hands clenched together behind her straightened back. Her glasses were gone, and her hair hung down as a mantle across her shoulders—an unusual sight for a girl that wore pigtails since she was seven. Her skin was clean, save for the occasional blemish or scar from whatever her captors did to her. She wore the same dog collar from the videos, connected to her captor’s hand.

The mother and father stood idly as they watched their own daughter lead mine closer to me. She said, “Here you go, Monica. Somebody new to play with.”

Monica flashed a toothy grin and stumbled towards me. I sat up on my knees and held out my arms to accept her, to bring her in my arms in a loving embrace after a month part.. She moved closer within my grasp, but with her own arms pushed me onto my back.

“Huh?” I yelled in puzzlement. She held my shoulder blades down with her tiny hands, her legs to each side of my waist. “Monica?”

She did not respond with words. Instead, she leaned back and begun to undo the buttons on my blouse one by one. I immediately understood our captors’ intent. My own daughter was to treat me like she had been trained to treat them—as a sexual plaything. They wanted her to service me.

“Monica, no!” I yelled and grabbed her wrists. I wouldn’t allow them to taint our souls with incest.

“Don’t resist, Janine. We will avenge Clarissa’s death, one way or another. Play along with our little game or we’ll visit your fate back onto Monica ten fold.”

That was their ploy. For an entire decade, their feelings of injustice about their daughter’s death brewed without remedy. It festered, until at long last they found the target for their rage—the woman who had signed the rejection slip. Me.

But where as their daughter died, they believed it would be too simple a punishment for mine, too brief and immediate to carry the weight of their loss. They wanted to see me suffer. Not just a little, but constantly for the rest of my life so that they could feel better about their daughter’s death. And, the only way to do that was to destroy my own daughter and force me to watch it, every step of the way.

Why did it have to be sexual? Why did they have to explore dozens of perverse and unnatural fetishes? Perhaps they were mere bondage enthusiasts and loving parents that kept everything separate until I ruined their lives. Were they really just a normal family until a simple death distorted their dream? How could the parents convince their own children to join in?

The answer was simple: they all loved their daughter and sister, and would do anything to avenge her death. Their family was as close knit as possible, silencing any qualms with kidnap and rape for the sake of family preservation.

I turned back towards Monica. Her stare was vacant and unsettling. Though the body was the same, the… thing… before me was not my daughter. No, no, no, my daughter was smart, perky, beautiful, the only ray of hope I had in my life after my husband died. To lose my Monica...

I put down my arms and let the girl continue her work. She unfastened the buttons of my blouse and revealed the simple white bra beneath it. With each of her hands, she pulled the cups down, exposing my tits to the cold air of the basement. I blushed in shame; it had been years since anyone but my doctor saw my bare breasts. She leaned in closer to me and drew her face closer. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, but I did not resist, for what purpose would it serve? I had lost everything. Fighting back now would only make things harder.

Her tongue thrust in and out with uncharacteristic ferocity and aggression. The Monica I knew was timid. This was unnatural. She swirled her tongue and slobbered on my lips, but I just let it happen. And as it continued… I realized what was happening. I was getting wet.

I cursed myself for allowing my body to react that way, but there was nothing I could do. It was disgusting, filthy, incestuous, and completely disgraceful to all that I considered noble about being a mother, but it happened. My panties began to drench with my fluids.

“She’s ready,” proclaimed the son. I could see what he was doing until I felt him below my waist. He was grabbing the panties that Monica had ignored from beneath my skirt and pulled them down legs and off my ankles. Something pressed against my cunt, and then pushed inside.

I gasped for air. It was huge, but I couldn’t tell what it was. A dildo? It was larger than any other I had ever used, but the distinct ridges gave it away. “Gyah!” I yelled, the object prying me open unlike anything had ever down since I gave birth two decades ago.

Monica lifted her bottom, allowing me to see between our waists and revealing the true purpose of the object. It was shaped like a U, and Monica grabbed the other end and slid it into her own pussy. She moaned in pleasure as the end disappeared into her body.

“Monica, please, snap out of it…” I said, but she went about her business as if my words or voice no longer held a special meaning to her. Did she even recognize who I was? I honestly thought she couldn’t.

My daughter held onto the base of the dildo between us, holding the dildo in her as much as possible as she thrust back and forth to force me to experience the pain. It hurt so badly, but there was physical pleasure intermingled with the suffering of my body and mind. How many years had it been since another naked body rubbed against my own, since another human being used my body as a sexual object. Even if it was with my daughter, even if it was an obscene rape engineered by my enemies, it felt good on some based level.

We were soon joined by the son. He had stripped naked and mounted Monica from behind. Her grin grew wider as his cock joined the dildo that pierced her other hole, her body rubbing back and forth against my own in rhythm with his thrusts.

With Monica sandwiched between the son and me, I knew that she was gone for good. While some of her might remain, she would never be the same. Sweet, innocent, brilliant Monica was no more, now replaced with the lascivious girl on top of me. She screamed and moaned as she kissed me and licked my face, but I did nothing to enable them but lie there motionless.

I came. It was the most shameful moment of my life, but I came, raped by my own daughter. Once that had happened, there was nothing that could be worse. Struggling against them further was useless, for they had taken my dignity and pride in a way that it could never be restored.

The rest of the family stared, expression no emotion but satisfaction, as if defiling me sated their vengeful souls.

Monica continued long after I was finished, and even more after the other rapist had stopped. She soon collapsed to her side and fell asleep where she lay, curled up on the dirty used mattress. On her face, I could see the peaceful, serene look that I was used to. Somewhere in there, even if it was hidden away deep beyond whatever shell of mental scarring she had been forced to construct, my Monica was still alive. Not the sex slave, sex fiend, or mindless monster that had raped me, but the daughter I had loved and protected for her entire life.

They pushed me down the hallway and threw me into a tiny prison cell. I immediately recognized it as the room from the first tape they sent me. It was tiny and reeked of sweat and other fluids. There was nothing in it but a tiny sink, toilet, and single cot. I took a seat at its edge and rested my legs. I stretched my freshly freed arms and neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see something dangling off the edge of the cot, in the corner of the cell. I reached over and picked it up.

It was Monica’s glasses. Thick purple frames surrounding the powerful prescription lenses. She had picked them out herself weeks before leaving to college. I don’t thick she imagined their ultimate condition, however. The hinges were cracked, and the lenses were encrusted over with dried cum. I squeezed them tightly and pulled them closer to my chest.

And, at that moment, I finally broke down.

---

The dumped her back into the cell many hours later, but she said nothing. She instinctually headed straight for the cot and crawled onto it, as if I weren’t even there. I called out, but there was no answer.

I wanted to hold her and protect her. So, I too crawled onto the cot beside her and covered her with my arms. We slept that way as if she were still a scared child, fearful of whatever monsters lurked in the dark.

But now, the monsters were real.

----

How long did we share that cell in silence? I held her every minute that our captors did not, but she said nothing. My only daughter, shocked into muteness by undeserved brutality.

I think it was weeks after I joined her that she finally spoke. “Mama,” she muttered, just like she did when she was but a child.

I hugged her tighter. “Oh, Monica. Your mother is here. I’m going to protect you, always.”

“Mama…” she cried.

Monica, Monica. My sweet Monica. She means everything to me, and though I could not spare her this terrible fate spurred by my own errors, I can at least be with her through it all.

I do everything that I can to keep her safe, despite the miserable pit of despair that our lives have fallen into. It’s all my fault, but… I cannot bring myself to apologize. Does she know what I did? How my callous rejection of a medical claim over decade ago set in motion this chain of events? Her potential… her body… her life… all destroyed because of my mistake. I will devote the rest of my life to allaying her pain, but I’ll never confess my sin. Never.

But, sometimes, she gives me a look as if she knows everything. When she’s getting reamed in her ass by the perverted son and deviant husband, or tortured by that crazed and malicious daughter, I can tell that she knows. I can tell that she blames me for everything, that she hates the life that I’ve led her into.

And, through it all, the video cameras zoom and whir, recording our plight for some perverted future use.

THE END

A Tape

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