Jilted
By Butch Wrigley     butchwrigley69@gmail.com     stores.lulu.com/butchwrigley 
An innocent mistake has deadly consequences when a transit worker crosses paths with a physically and psychologically scarred passenger.

I can feel my life ebbing away now. The pain is as sharp as ever, and is
showing no signs of abating. But having been left in such a state for some
time now, it is almost certain that the damage is irreversible. And as I begin
to drift into the edge of consciousness, I realise the relative unimportance
of this fact. I was going to die. And in these final moments, I reflected on
how I got myself into this situation................

Yet another body had been found. It was the third one this year. Like the
other two, this one had been severely bashed. On top of this, all three
victims had suffered extensive mutilation as a result of acid burns. I was so
engrossed in the morning paper that I failed to see her approach the window.
She cleared her throat gently, and I glanced up in shock at the beautiful
Indian girl who stood patiently waiting to purchase a ticket.

She flashed me a shy smile as I apologised profusely for my inattention. She
forgave my temporary lack of professionalism with gentle grace, before asking
for a return ticket to the city. I issued her ticket, all the while taking in
the physical details of the mesmerising beauty standing before me.

She had a beautiful round face with lovely doe-like eyes, a slightly flat but
nicely proportioned nose, and full luscious lips. Her dense voluminous,
jet-black hair was pulled back into a simple but elegant ponytail which ended
just below her shoulder blades. Overall, from a facial perspective, she was
pretty in a very homely and non- intimidating manner. This was in stark
contrast to her utterly stunning figure.

A taut, muscular five foot eight inches tall, she was dressed in a short,
close fitting blouse which accentuated her full, round breasts, together with
figure hugging black slacks which perfectly complemented her dynamic curves.
She certainly cut a fine figure, and the gap between her blouse and her slacks
provided a tantalising glance of the svelte body that was concealed beneath
her garments. But it was clearly not a body without flaw, for the gap also
revealed what appeared to be considerable scarring, with areas of skin
seemingly deformed into agonised unnatural patterns. Despite her overall lithe
beauty, one's glance was invariably drawn to this mysterious abnormality, and
I was certainly no exception.

She clearly noticed my wandering gaze, but seemed to take such reaction or
revulsion in her stride, and she didn't chide me for my indiscretion. In fact,
there was nothing during the entire transaction to suggest that she had any
chip on her shoulder, and she conducted herself in a manner which only served
to enhance her aura. She completed the transaction with a friendly smile
before wandering off to a spot on the platform in full view of my ticket
window.

Whether or not this was just a deliberate, flirtatious ploy to remain the
focus of my attention, I would never know. However, I was certainly
captivated, and could not help staring at her between serving other
passengers. Her train eventually arrived, and she glanced at me and gave one
final smile before boarding and disappearing inside the carriage. In short, I
was hooked, and I suddenly felt an urge to better know this mysterious beauty.

She became a regular at the station, and over the coming weeks we became
increasingly friendly. The small talk gradually expanded into more lengthy and
comfortable conversations, and before too long we had happily exchanged e-mail
addresses and mobile phone numbers. Conversations at one point turned to the
subject of mutual interests, and it was soon discovered that we both shared a
passion for photography.

At the time I was undertaking a course on portrait photography, and in a
moment of uninhibited inspiration, decided to ask her if she would be willing
to model for me for a class assignment. For me, it was not only an opportunity
to complete a homework task, but it was also a chance to intimately bask in
her glorious beauty, and to capture it for posterity to lust and drool over at
will. Without giving it any further thought, I abruptly blurted out my
suggestion.

If I was hoping that she would be receptive to my idea, then I was to be
worryingly disappointed. Her normally demure and friendly demeanour
immediately vanished, as she glanced self-consciously at the scarring on her
midriff before fixing me with an icy, wary stare. She must have been
apprehensive about her imperfections being laid bare for all to see, and I
scrambled to explain that all I wanted was to meet at a mutually agreed
location for a couple of facial portraits. I knew in my own mind that this was
not entirely true, as I was hoping to eventually convince her to include a few
three quarter and full length portraits as well. Even then, there was
considerable hesitation on her part, given that some of the scarring was
visible at the base of her neck, and that there was a possibility that this
would show up even in a facial portrait.

Her face became a mask of intense neutrality as she considered my request. You
could almost sense that she was formulating a plan as to how she was going to
deal with this, how she would get through the experience with the minimum of
potential embarrassment and with her dignity intact. Or at least, that was
what I believed at the time. If I had have known what she was really thinking
at the time, then I would have banished all thoughts of ever having anything
to do with her, and I would never have found myself in the predicament that I
would eventually wind up in....

After a few more moments, the fa'ade of wariness was replaced equally as
quickly with a beaming smile, and she agreed to my proposal to model for some
portraits. Despite my optimistic hope, I was still a little taken aback that
she agreed, and I bumbled along in excited incoherence as we decided on a
location to meet for a photo shoot in a couple of days time. I excitedly
thanked her before completing the transaction, and watched her take her now
customary spot on the platform in view of my ticket window.

I continued to glance at her every now and again between serving passengers,
except on this occasion as she boarded her train, she gave me a cold,
calculating, almost malevolent grin before entering. I felt the pit of my
stomach knot momentarily in response, and the colour briefly flushed from my
face, before her train finally departed and I went back serving other
passengers.

The days passed by leading up to our photo shoot, and strangely enough I did
not see her once during that period. On the day of the shoot itself, I had my
camera and equipment prepared, and the list of images I was hoping to achieve
compiled and ready for referral. It was certainly with eager anticipation that
I looked forward to the session. But during the course of my work day, things
went haywire with the rail network, as they so often painfully did in this
bloated, inefficient and top heavy organisation. As a result, all of us were
swept off our feet trying to keep passengers informed of the delays that
continued to build up, while trying to maintain communication with the signal
boxes and control centres who were themselves trying to re-establish some kind
of normality with the services.

Amongst the turmoil, I completely forgot about the photo shoot, and it was the
last thing on my mind when I reluctantly agreed to extend my shift to help
keep things running as smoothly as possible until the system returned to
normal. Several hours after I was due to finish, I finally signed off, and I
wearily boarded my train for home. I dragged my feet through the front door
pondering yet another meaningless and unsatisfactory day at work, when I
spotted my camera gear on my bed ready and waiting for me to conduct the
shoot.

I momentarily recoiled in horror, before closing my eyes and angrily cursing
my forgetfulness under my breath. She would have been waiting for some time
now, and would undoubtedly be annoyed about having been stood up like this. I
scrambled about for my mobile phone, and immediately dialled her number. She
must have recognised who was calling, for without a hint of greeting or small
talk, she immediately voiced her displeasure.

"You didn't turn up........"

Her voice was cold, hard and unforgiving. I immediately felt a surge of guilt
for leaving her in the lurch, despite the legitimate circumstances for doing
so. I also felt a decided tinge of anxiety at how badly she was reacting to my
error. I stammered through my explanation, and initially even this did very
little to appease her. I continued to apologise earnestly, repeatedly
stressing that it was an honest mistake, and that it was in no way intended as
a deliberate act of humiliation.

There was a tense, pregnant pause as she considered my excuses, and when she
eventually spoke again, her tone had softened considerably. She seemed to
accept the truth of what I was trying to tell her, and eventually she
suggested that I come over to her apartment for a drink and a chat. There was
still an edge to her voice which cast a seed of doubt in my mind. She somehow
seemed to sense this, but she continued to gently but firmly persuade me to
come over. I finally relented, and I scribbled down her address before hanging
up the phone.

Alarm bells rang in my mind as I freshened up and changed clothes before
stepping out the door. My instincts were sending a clear message that
something was not quite right, and they continued to do so right up to the
point where I stood on her front doorstep. Despite all this, I took a deep
breath, and knocked authoritatively on her door. Some of my uncertainty
subsided when she opened the door and smiled warmly, and she certainly seemed
sweet enough when I entered the apartment.

She looked absolutely stunning as well, dressed in a gorgeous, translucent
yellow blouse with matching pants, complete with a beautiful pink scarf draped
like a sash from her left shoulder. She would have looked like the
quintessential Bollywood megastar, except that her bra and panties were
clearly visible beneath the sheer material of her outfit. As smokingly erotic
as this was, it still wasn't enough, however, to draw attention away from the
scarring on her midriff, which was now clearly visible in the gap between her
blouse and pants.

Her deformity was even more severe than I first anticipated, and I
involuntarily let out a gasp of shock. I immediately realised my gaffe and
looked up at her in contrite embarrassment. I was about to apologise for my
lack of tact, when she sidled up to me and placed a finger to my lips. She
then led me to the lounge, and drew my attention to the digital camera set up
on a tripod in front of the leather sofa. She then sat me down on the sofa and
arranged my legs and arms to her satisfaction before stepping behind the
camera and commencing to take photographs.

I was aghast, and I was certain that this would have shown in my facial
expressions. If she was deterred by this, then it certainly didn't show, for
she continued to stop periodically to adjust my pose before recommencing with
the photography, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Not a word
had been uttered by either of us since I arrived, and for me the whole
situation was bordering on the surreal. I felt an increasingly strong urge to
voice my protestation. Despite all this, however, I was so thoroughly
hypnotised by the proceedings and her actions, that I continued to allow
myself to go through the motions of this bizarre photo shoot.

It was when she innocently asked me to remove my T-shirt that I started to
become irritated. I abruptly stood up in disgust, when she once again stepped
up close to me and gently calmed me down. She took my arm, and placed a hand
on my chest, gently and soothingly rubbing it. She purred slightly, saying
that this was a small price to pay considering the grief I had caused her. In
the end, even I could not deny this. The close vicinity of her body next to
mine, together with her gentle lulling and the alluring fragrance of her
perfume had a hypnotic effect upon me. My anger quickly dissipated, and soon
enough I had removed my shirt and tossed it gently on the sofa.

I stood there passively in the middle of the floor, as she slowly and
deliberately walked around me, carefully and searchingly eyeing me off. The
whole experience was deeply unnerving, and I swallowed in anxiety. It was as
she was appraising my body that she quickly and deftly stood to my side and
delivered a sharp, accurate round kick to my midriff. I doubled over in shock
as the wind was knocked out of me. I felt a sharp pain as she delivered a
sidekick to the back of my right knee, and I collapsed to the floor. I then
felt her grab my upper arms from behind, and she commenced to pull them behind
me as she mercilessly kneed my back until I was face down on the floor.

Before I had any chance to gather my senses, I felt a cold hard ring of steel
being secured about one wrist before feeling the other wrist subjected to the
same thing. She had secured me with a pair of hinged handcuffs. I was about to
voice my protestation when I felt her finger jab my neck just behind my ear
lobe. She had expertly located a pressure point and I involuntarily opened my
mouth in pain. Before a sound could escape, she jammed a huge rubber ball gag
in my mouth, which she secured tightly at the back of my head.

She had overpowered and subdued me in no more than a minute. My male ego was
shattered for all of five seconds before she firmly wedged her fingers in my
hair and yanked me to my feet. She marched me to a large whitewashed room
which contained a home gym, martial arts equipment, and a stout heavy metal
chair with chains draped all over it sitting in what appeared to be an
automotive drip dray. She directed me to the chair before giving a sharp
karate chop to my midriff, upon which I collapsed down onto it.

As I tried to make sense of what was going on, she had completely removed my
pants and briefs and had begun to chain one of my ankles to the leg support. I
made a meek effort to resist, upon which she sprang up and punched me in the
face. It was just powerful enough to break my resistance, and before I knew it
both ankles had been securely chained and padlocked. She then did the same
thing above and below both knees. My thighs were spread apart, and she now had
easy access to my genitalia.

She then grabbed a long piece of chain and fed one end through the handle on
top of the back of the chair. She draped an equal length over each shoulder
before feeding an end under each armpit and wrapping them around the back of
the chair, back under my armpits, crossing the lengths up over my shoulders
and securing them one more time around the back of the chair, before finally
padlocking the ends over my chest. Apart from her martial arts prowess, she
was obviously exceptionally fit and strong, because the chain was very heavy,
and she handled and manipulated it as though it were nothing more than a
shoelace.

I was struggling to bear the weight, when I felt another length of chain being
wrapped around my waist. She made two loops about my waist, further securing
me to the back of the chair. She then proceeded to feed an end between each
thigh, pulling both ends under my buttocks before pulling them back around my
waist and between my thighs several more times before finally securing the
ends over my navel. Finally, she chained my handcuffed wrists to the back of
the chair, before pulling the ends in front of my torso and padlocking them
together.

By this point I had fully recovered my senses, and I was well aware of the
gravity of my predicament. I was fully aware of the futility of the effort,
and yet I struggled violently in sheer uncontrollable fear. She had, however,
rendered me helpless from the moment she applied the handcuffs. A few lengths
of rope would have been more than sufficient to complete the task of binding
me to the chair. It seemed like complete overkill to have used such a massive
quantity of chain to achieve the same result. But to my cost and incredible
discomfort, that was what she had done. And here I was, completely and
comprehensively immobilised in the most final and unyielding manner.

For some incomprehensible reason, I continued to struggle with all the
strength I had. I was sweating profusely. The struggling had aggravated the
rubbing of the chains between my thighs, which had the effect of stimulating
my testicles. Before too long, I ejaculated in a great shower of cum. I paused
only briefly to catch whatever breath I could given the gag, and continued to
struggle. It wasn't long, therefore, before my penis once again became fully
erect.

Through all of this, she watched me in silent, smug satisfaction. The weight
of the chain tightly grasping my body quickly sapped my energy, despite the
constant adrenalin surging through my system, and eventually I gave up. At
this point, she got up and left the room. I heard her rumbling through
whatever chores and activities she was carrying out, before I heard the
unmistakable jingle of keys, and the sound of the front door closing as she
left the apartment.

I closed my eyes and tried to reassess the situation, but despite my best
attempts, I simply could not slow down my breathing. I looked about at the
taunting, ungiving coils of chain that held me in stone-cold disbelief, and
wondered why this was happening. Who the hell was this woman, and what the
hell did she want? I could just imagine her out there, inconspicuously going
about doing god knows what, confident in the knowledge that she held a captive
who had absolutely no chance of escaping, and who would be there to taunt and
abuse at will when she returned home. Who knew what sort of deep, twisted
erotic pleasure that knowledge gave her.

After what seemed an eternity of staring helplessly at the chains that bound
me, she finally returned home. My heart began hammering even faster than it
already was, and I noticed my breathing become increasingly shallower. She
didn't immediately come in to see me, but when she did enter the room she was
wearing nothing more that a lycra G-String and a crop top. Her athletic figure
was immediately obvious. Unfortunately, so was the extensive hideous scarring
that covered her side from her neck all the way to her waist.

The extent of her deformity was now clearly apparent. What I had seen peeking
through the gaps of her clothing had been only the tip of the iceberg. Her
shoulder was a moonscape of pockmarks and craters, and it appeared to extend
all the way to one of her breasts. Much of the scarring resembled splash
marks, while others looked like rivulets where liquid had trickled down her
ribcage towards her waist and hips. The overall effect was truly horrendous,
and I stared at her grotesque injuries in stunned horror. I could not imagine
what physical pain she endured in sustaining such terrible injuries. But one
thing for certain was that I was now experiencing the full effects of the
intense and merciless psychological scars that accompanied them.

As I dwelled further on how she obtained her horrifying disfigurement, she
went up to a portable stereo and put on a classical CD. She then turned up the
volume before walking behind me and removing the ball gag. Before I had a
chance to scream for help, she had replaced the ball gag with a ring gag. I
still tried to scream for help, but my cries were overwhelmed by the music.
She then commenced to go through an elaborate stretching routine before
putting on a pair of punching bag mitts and shin guards. And for the next hour
she proceeded to practice her martial arts moves on me.

She didn't use any overwhelming power, instead concentrating on technique and
precision. There was a clear purpose to the ring gag. By submitting me to one,
she could both punch my face and attack my midriff, and I would still be able
to breathe. The blows where just powerful enough to cause extreme pain without
knocking me out, and all the while I could not help thinking that she had done
this sort of thing before. By this time my nose was broken and both eyes were
black, and my body was covered in bruises. I was wondering how on earth she
felt she could get away with such brutality.

Eventually she completed her work out. She took a quick swig from her water
bottle before grabbing what appeared to be a condom pack and walking
purposefully towards me. She began to vigorously fondle my penis with her
perspiring, well lubricated hand, and halted after she had done just enough to
get it firmly erect. She ripped open the condom wrapper before unfurling it
over my penis. She peeled off her G-string, and without further ado turned her
back to me and sat on my lap while feeding my penis into her anus.

She began to pump vigorously, and I had immense trouble breathing. Eventually
I came , upon which she stood up, grabbed me by the hair, and began slapping
my face with all her might. The stinging pain surged through my entire body. I
stared at her with stunned incomprehension as she looked back at me
impassively. This woman was seriously demented. Surely she realised that
people were going to ask questions when they saw my appearance. I could not
exactly tell them that I had merely walked into a door. The only way she could
keep me silent on such an ordeal was to kill me....................

.......................and it was then that the reality of my situation dawned
on me.

She could see me physically shrink in horror, and it was at this point that
she too realised that I knew who she was. Once again I began to struggle
relentlessly. I began to scream uncontrollably, but the classical music
drowned out my strains. She calmly sat down on the floor and waited for me to
drain my strength. Once I had done that, she stood up and replaced the ring
gag for the ball gag, before turning down the volume of the stereo. And for
the first time since she had applied the handcuffs, she began to speak.

" I've been jilted before you know. In India. The bastard threw acid on me and
left me to die. The law wouldn't touch him. But I did. I wasn't a martial
artist then. I had to use more subtle means to entrap him. I didn't use chains
either. I only had rope to tie him up back then. And I used a plain rag to gag
him. Very efficient in drowning out his screams for mercy, even if it isn't as
classy as the ball gag you've got the privilege of wearing. It was such fun to
watch him vainly writhe and squirm. His eyes just begged me for compassion.
Compassion which he certainly never showed me. Still, the rope was certainly
sufficient to hold him for the application of the acid, even if it did
dissolve almost immediately. You'll soon understand why I use chains now. Much
more effective. I must say that between you and every other bastard who's ever
abandoned me, that I've learnt something with every victim......"

She eventually left the room, leaving me to mull over her words. I immediately
began to fear the worst, and those fears were confirmed when she wheeled in a
surgeon's trolley. In the tray was a large bottle of undiluted hydrochloric
acid, a large stainless steel dish, a pair of safety goggles and a pair of
heavy protective gloves. I no longer tried to struggle against the chains. I
simply began to cry. I sobbed shamelessly as she stepped up and ripped the
condom off my languid penis and dropped it in the drip tray, before wiping it
dry with a small towel. I then hypnotically watched her don the goggles and
gloves before pouring the acid into the dish. It was only as she walked
assuredly towards me that I averted my eyes. And despite what I had been
through that night, the real pain was only now about to begin..............

As with everything else she had done, she had administered the acid in just
enough quantity to cause excruciating pain without having me go unconscious.
The ball gag had successfully drowned my screaming, and I became acutely aware
of the reasons for the chains and drip tray. Although the chains suffered
considerable damage, they continued to hold me unyieldingly in place. She left
the house again not long after administering this final blow. No doubt, she
expects me to have died by the time she returns. As the last pulse of life
flickered through my mortally wounded body, I thought about how she would
dispose of my body, and how my workmates would read of my death in the morning
paper.....................................

THE END