Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

After the blast, only Taylor's surprised yelps, then her choked off sobs, and finally just silence. Taylor could tell someone was in the vehicle with her. She held her breath for a moment, and even over the the pounding in her chest she could hear faint sounds through the stifling sack, breathing or perhaps someone working a device. Whoever it was -- only one person she thought -- was in the front, or what she assumed was the front based on the long cushioned seat back running the length of her body as she lay lengthwise across the vehicle, still more or less where she'd been tossed. Her head wasn't touching the far side but it seemed close, and her feet -- one of them bare after she lost a shoe in the dirt outside -- were just up against the other door. It must be a wide vehicle for her to fit across it, even curled up in fear as she was. But the man in front, how could he stay so quiet with everything going on? No sound of him getting out to help any of the men screaming in the distance. No frightened cursing or slamming the vehicle into gear to get away from the trouble. Silence that sounded like trouble. Taylor lay quiet, not wanting to make trouble, at least not yet. She wasn't being hurt for the moment, and there was no sign of anywhere to go or get away even if she could do something. The sound of sirens would have been welcome, real police or firemen she could have screamed to, but it was just her and a silent cipher and the screaming beasts presumably burning up outside in the private hells they probably deserved. No help for her yet though. Patience, whispered her dad in her ear, as if he was there with her, keeping her calm and focused on smart decisions, just like he did through all the hard times trying to break through, struggling for an agent or a booking or whatever. He always reminded her to be patient, keep plugging away like water on the stone, it just takes enough time. She waited. The vehicle started, rocking her back against the seat, and swerved out onto the road. The brief crackling and popping sounds and heat at the window by her feet told Taylor the story of what had gone down. Recognize when a decision must be made. Her dad drove the lessons home over and over while she was coming up, wanting to make sure she'd be ready to take care of herself and her own affairs, not just rely on a bunch of parasites. Being sped off in who knew what direction now, in a car driven by a man she'd never seen or heard, Taylor's worries grew. Where would he take her? If the sirens would just come! She couldn't delay it any longer, the decision to try to break herself free. Even if she ended up out in the scrub with her hands cuffed and only one shoe and hooded so she couldn't see there would be a chance someone would see her, someone could save her or at least know she'd been taken. Taylor didn't scream. No sense giving him any warning to let him stop her. She struggled to get herself sitting upright, her shoulder flairing painfully and making her do all the work with her abs, feeling like the end of a megaset of crunches before she was halfway upright. She squirmed and wiggled her way toward the door to her right, the seat's material warm against the bar underside of her legs as her skirt rode up with nothing she could do about it. Turning slightly so her back was to the door, she struggled to extend her cuffed wrists, feeling around for a handle. The pain in her shoulder grew worse as she stretched and she had to bite her lip to keep a sharp gasp from warning the driver. It took a minute and several painful bumps in the road before her fingers found the handle, fingers grabbing it firmly and then pulling. The handle gave way as it should, but nothing happened. Locked! No! Taylor almost sobbed, her shoulder hurt so bad. Don't give up. You can't succeed if you stop trying. It was like he was there with her, and she knew in her heart she could do it, she always had. Grasping, wiggling more, bending forward to feel along the edge of the window sill for a lock, she finally found it and tried pulling it up, but it already was up. She should have known, the stupid child lock thing. The thought of repeating the process, wiggling across and struggling on the other side, this time right behind the driver, was too much for Taylor, especially since it would just be child-locked the same way of course. She felt a tear on her cheek but told herself it was sweat. No time to give in to tears, they only sold tissues and she sold music. But what else? Kick the driver? At best that would just hurt him enough to crash the van, and she wasn't wearing a seat belt and her hands were cuffed behind he back -- she'd be killed. The sob trapped in her throat was so big it was almost choking her but Taylor refused to let it out. She lay back, eyes shut tight, trying to think, and holding back the tears at the same time. Nothing in her pockets, her phone back in the ruined limo, nothing else she could do. But she couldn't give up, just couldn't. The panic and the anger and the fear were suddenly too much and Taylor lashed out with her feet, pounding the door again and again as hard as she could, yelling out her frustration now that there was no way she was going to surprise him anyway. She battered her feet against the door for a minute, her other shoe even flying off at one point, but she kept at it in bare feet, until it felt like she was injuring her heels and risking broken toes and the door showed no sign at all of giving way. She was stuck. Trapped. Try as she might, Taylor didn't think she could hold it in any longer and allowed herself ten seconds to sob quietly. It was all she could afford, or she might spend what remained of her life crying. When it was over, and she was sniffling back more tears in the dark dank heat of the hood, Dad was back with her. She'd never be alone. Taylor would always have Dad's lessons, his faith and pragmatism with her. Don't lose hope, Taylor. Do what you have to do. Stay alive. You know we'll find you, somehow we will. It was true. Her imagined Dad spoke just like her real one would, she was sure of it. Taylor could have thought it through herself, but it made her feel better that it came from him. It's only a matter of an hour or two until the ashram wonders where you are, another hour for the security company to notice Rock and Antonio don't check in. That should be enough to send them to the GPS and back track it from the airport. Honey, you've seen enough TV and movies to know what's possible. I'll spend whatever it takes for satellite imagery, we'll find the car you're in, trace it. A rescue team could easily be on the scene inside 24 hours. You just have to hold it together for 24 hours! She sat with that, a quiet thought of meager hope, but it was enough for Taylor. She'd made do with less plenty of times. At least nothing horrible was happening at the moment except the sounds of the city outside again, or some city, Taylor had no idea where she was, but she wasn't the one who needed to know. Just delay, get Dad any kind of info, make it easier for him to find her. And stay alive. Excuse me? No answer. Louder, Excuse me? Taylor wiggled and worked her way over to where she imagined the middle of the long bench seat to be, and tried to lean forward. Rubbing her head against the side of the car door and the back of the seat had done nothing to dislodge the hood, so she was stuck in its dank warmth, but she could talk. Could you please make a quick stop? You can handcuff me to something back here if you're worried, but I'd like to give you my father's email address and my code, he'll recognize the message is from me. You can ask for money for yourself, you can even take some out from the bank with the code if you want. But I want you to have him wire money to the families of the men that got killed back there. If you have any heart at all, please, at least think of their wives and children or parents. More of the infuriating silence. Don't you at least want to send a ransom note? You could email it with that code and I guarantee they would listen to you. Silence. Hello? Hello! Will you listen to me?!! She wanted to punch him, and not like the little pops she gave her brother when they used to have their Who's Tougher contests, but her fists were trapped behind her. She sat and thought a minute trying to find a new avenue of hope. Hey, it was the city outside! He must be going slowly! If she kicked him hard enough, a lucky shot to the head, he wouldn't crash at high speed! And even if she missed, what was he going to do to her that he wasn't already going to. Taylor started squirming into a bit of a slouch, gasping with the pain it caused her shoulder but ignoring it. She wanted her leg at full extension when she took her shot at where she thought his saw was. Yes, they were in the city, she could hear the little kids begging outside the window, or selling stuff, or whatever they were saying. Kids. Oh crap. Maybe she wouldn't be killed, but if she did somehow knock him out, the vehicle would careen into a crowd with lots of kids in it. Taylor wasn't raised to think her life was somehow worth more just because she was rich and important and the kids she might get hurt were living in poverty. She couldn't do it. But if she could hear them, then surely they must be able to hear her! Taylor began screaming again, her voice already hoarse for the way she'd misused it earlier, no warmups, abused her instrument as Ms. Kelly would have said. It didn't matter. She was going to be in an ashram for the next 6 months, no concerts to cancel. She screamed and hollered for help, skooching over closer to the door for her best chance. HELP!! I'm being held PRISONER in here!!! No sooner had she started up than a tremendously loud sound came from the four corners of the van. It took but a moment to realize he'd turned on the stereo, ultra-loud, clearly trying to drown out her screams which she refused to stop. Someone still might here her. But then she realized the worst part. By some random chance this Indian radio station happened to be playing one of HER songs -- Treacherous and it made Taylor shudder to listen to it now. He was drowning out her cries for help with her own music so that no one would notice her screams, lost in the background of her own voice! She kept screaming, her voice her only weapon, and so her only defense. If only she had a pen. It was when the stereo continued on, drowning out her cries with I Knew You Were Trouble that Taylor got the message, that she knew she was in trouble. Her voice trailed off as her insides went cold and her lyrics, still playing at full volume, pounded into her. He knew who she was. He'd set this all up. All because of who she was. Being Taylor Swift wasn't going to save her, it had doomed her. She knew better. Dad even sat there next to her telling her so, imploring her to get up, to keep her head on straight, but she'd had it. She was exhausted from the 24 hour flight and everything that had happened. Taylor slowly slumped to the side on her good shoulder and lay quietly on the seat, like her head was in Dad's lap and he could stroke her hair if he was really there and if her head wasn't trapped in a sack. The driver kept playing more of her songs even after her screams and struggles had ceased, just to make sure she was sobbing hard enough. By the time the interior finally went silent, she heard nothing over her sad sniffs in the darkness of the hood but the sound of wind and road whizzing by outside -- they were out of the city now and back at high speed. Taylor closed her eyes, just for a moment. It was that very moment later that the vehicle lurched to a stop. Taylor blinked in the darkness, feeling wetness around her mouth and very weary. She must have fallen asleep, for how long she had no idea. Taylor tried to get herself upright, despite the pain and weariness, panic at having stopped suddenly driving her. She tried to reason with him, her voice not sounding like her own suddenly, but not knowing anything else to try as she heard keys jingling and the engine shutting off. Please, p-p-please, you're a fan, right? Crazed fan. Insane. Let me go, just let me g-g-go, I can get you help. I won't say a th-th-anything. You had nothing to do with whatever went down back there, I'm sure of it! I can help you get help. Private room, best facilities. And when you're better we could... we could be friends. But only if you get help first! Nothing. No response. Just the sound of a door opening, something like boots on pavement or hard packed dirt, and her sobs resumed. The door next to Taylor opened and she fell back instinctively in the opposite direction, kicking out with her bare feet, the sweat on her legs exposed to the hot breeze from outside for the first time in hours. She felt a toe graze him, and she screamed at him to stop, to leave her alone, cried out for Daddy to come now, come now please, to save her. But no one came for her but the strong hands gripping her ankles and lower legs, hauling her out across the long seat, making her skirt bunch up even worse. She would have pounded him even though it was useless except having her cuffed wrists and shoulders jerked around against the seat like that had her in tears, and she couldn't even dream of moving them. OOooof! All the air was knocked out of her as he hoisted her easily from the seat, up in the air like a kid in Daddy's arms -- the wrong Daddy! -- and then belly first across her shoulder. Her weakened, breathless cries for help died in the distance, no echo or return to give her hope, like she was in the middle of the biggest most empty place imaginable. Even through the sack it smelled foul to Taylor, like it was where bodies went to rot. Please come daddy, please save me, NOOOWWW!!!! Whatever evil force of nature was carrying her was walking fast, Taylor could tell that. As her breath slowly returned, she understood her dad couldn't save her yet, it was too soon, and all he could do was help her save herself. Never give up, Taylor, never give up. Hands still cuffed, she started trying to squirm and twist loose. The man -- with the broad, thick shoulder and gruff breath sounds and long stride that bounced her so painfully of course he was a man -- he was too strong, her own situation too helpless. Kicking her feet earned her nothing but swats and pinches and smacks on her bottom, right on her panties as her skirt was clearly up around her hips now. She didn't like it but she had no say now even though her wrists were cuffed back there she couldn't fend him off. Slowly she settled down as she felt them going up, the sound of wood creaking, the air getting even hotter if that was possible. There was a sound of something sliding open, and a few more steps. She grunted and groaned as he slid her down from his shoulder, digging into her belly and chest before finally letting her legs down fully to the floor. It was hard and hot under her bare feet, no comfort at all. Taylor knew she was going to fall, her legs so weak she couldn't wouldn't have been able to stay up if her first recording contract depended on it. He didn't let her fall, though, holding her up as she started to slip with a strength only momentarily reassuring, until she realized it could hurt as much as it could help. But was it some sign of caring or concern for her, his holding her up? Cling to it. Please, please, you don't want to do this, please don't do this. Held upright with one arm inappropriately across her chest and under her arms, Taylor heard a sound of gears or some machine, chains like in a factory or a garage, all the echos coming like this hot room was very small. She felt the click on her cuffed wrists as much as heard it. Something snapped on the chain between her trapped wrists and then started pulling up, the gear sound coming again. She moaned as her wrists pulled slowly and relentlessly upwards behind her, her shoulder starting to throb horribly again. Please! She begged through the sobs. Stop it! Stop, please, you're hurting me! The unyielding upward pull made her bend forward to keep her shoulder from breaking off like a Thanksgiving drumstick pulled from the carcass. No more words from her, the pain too much, just shrieks as each extra tug impossibly lifted her arms yet even higher, straining her shoulders, arms pulled taut and straight and lifted high behind her, her bare feet up on her toes now trying not to let her weight pull on her arms anymore than necessary. Her fingers grasped and struggled to get a grip on the chain hooked to the cuffs, to do anything at all to help hold herself up. Somehow it was finally decided her lever of torment was perfect and the chain stopped moving. There were some final sounds like it was somehow locked in place, and then she was left there to struggle in her awkward pose alone. Taylor's head hung low, shrouded in darkness and defeat, each breath a painful achievement. She had to keep her bare feet close together and up on tip-toes as high as she could or it pulled down even worse on her shoulder, making her cry out every time she briefly failed. But it was almost impossible to balance like this without using her agonized shoulders to keep her steady as she hobbled about on the hard surface in teeny tiny little steps seeking balance, unable to keep the agony at bay, scarcely aware of the disrobing sounds around her, focused entirely on the sound of her toes scrabbling for purchase, seeking an elusive balance that would let her rest for just a few seconds. As she felt her clothes slowly soaking with the sweat of her agonized efforts, she started to become aware of him circling her, the sound of his breath. She suffered and struggled and waited and weakened with every passing minute. Where were the commandos? How long had it been? How long was 24 hours, and why had her mind imagined 24 hours? Who knew how long it could be? Could there be local teams, on standby for this very emergency? She doubted it. The evil circling presence kept touching her in places had no right to touch, but Taylor steeled herself against it, trying to keep her wits as her body slowly failed her, understanding clearly that a little inappropriate touching was the least of her problems now. How long would a rescue take? Taylor prayed it wouldn't be more than 24 hours. She didn't know if she could take more than that. The sound of circling stopped and she held her breath. Sensations came before she was ready, before she could steel herself. A sharp tug at her neck, strong fingers grazing her chest, pulling downward, jerking her tshirt. A ripping sound and pain lancing through her as the downward force of whatever he'd done all ended up in her injured shoulder. She cried out and sobbed, only slowly aware of the feeling of stale warm air against the beads of perspiration on her chest, now exposed. She tried not to think of her breasts, nothing she could do about it, praying her nipples weren't hard. Then, as if she'd spoken her fears aloud, he tweaked them, twisting and tweaking harder than she ever did on those times when she gave in to her needs. She gasped with every painful pinch. Without warning her skirt jerked down and Taylor was suddenly in just her panties, perversely grateful she wasn't some bare-it-all-to-the-wind skank like some of the other pop stars she knew -- and liked actually. A light touch walked its way down her spine, almost a caress compared to everything else he was doing to her, a touch that might have felt good under drastically different circumstances, but now only made her shake and struggle to keep her balance up on her weakening toes all the more. His fingers teased and toyed with her panties, but it wasn't a game. It was for real, and he stripped those away, too, ripping them off even though he easily could have simply pulled them down like a civilized person. Taylor knew she was naked now, fully naked before a man like never quite before. She felt like she was glistening with sweat, and she hoped it made her look ugly to him, not like some perfect naked fashion model posed here for his enjoyment. She prayed he would see the real Taylor Swift, here trussed and nude, and find it was nothing like his airbrushed fantasies. He would let her go then, right? His hands were on her hips, it felt like from behind. She moaned. Not good, not good. Please no, please no don't! She prayed her dad wouldn't pop up to give her advice now, wouldn't see what was about to happen even in her imagination. Sure enough she felt something hard against her bottom. With her legs together and prancing in little unbalanced steps as she nearly dangled by her contorted shoulders, the hard thick thing pressed against the little gap between her thighs, pushing upward. Taylor knew full well what it was, had imagined it enough times, but not like this. The man kept pushing and found what he sought. She knew where he was, her body tensed, teeth gritted as his thickness opened her, pushed in. She prayed he was wearing a condom. Taylor would rather die than have him impregnate her, whoever he was. If she had the chance to abort it -- she never asked for this -- would she ever forgive herself? But there was no space in her life at the moment for the luxury of thoughts like that. There was room only for the brutality of the rape. As he pushed in it felt awful, like every inch he grunted to force into her was an awful effort and it hurt her incredibly, not at all the wonderful, joyful pleasure she read about and expected. But this was rape, not love. Of course it would hurt, of course there was no joy. If he was actually wearing a condom then Taylor was sure it must be made of brillo pads. Finally he'd scraped his way all the way in to her, buried deep. She could feel him up against her back side, making her dangle forwards a bit and scream at the pain in her shoulder and the searing pain of him ripping her up inside. Then he began stroking her, in and out, and she suddenly knew what it meant to be fucked. Such an awful word, and now she knew. Being so invaded, no control, just taken and used and hurt, the sound of him grunting, the firm, repetitive slaps of his belly against her bottom, and her screams, crying out with every stroke, her shoulder certainly close to snapping loose. Taylor cried and sobbed when she wasn't screaming in her dark hood, and closed her eyes -- as if she could somehow make her world any darker than it already was -- wanting to shut it all out, pretend she wasn't looking and it would just go away, but it went on. Slowly the harsh thrusting got a little easier, and Taylor sobbed, sure she must be hemorrhaging inside, the blood making his raping thrusts that much easier. She was frankly surprised she didn't feel the blood pouring down her thighs along with the sweat. Taylor remembered the little bit of blood, the slight nip of pain the night she accidentally took her own hymen, so regretful afterward for her loss of control. But this was so much worse. She would probably die from the incredible blood loss, she was sure, just not fast enough. How long could it go on? The rhythm and force of his pounding against her back side as solid and steady as any drummer she'd ever toured with, beating her again and again, her own cries the result. Please daddy, come save me, just ... don't look.