i dide not write this. a person named Danielle wrote this. but i love it so much, i read it again and again.

from Lynsey's Game

by Danielle 

Lynsey stepped out of her apartment for the first time in days to buy a few groceries and a newspaper. She pored over job listings. Turned on the television and watched it. Finally, she went to her computer and updated her resume. After doing that, she closed down at the program and stared at her screensaver, almost losing herself in its placid evolution, like watching goldfish.

She knew what she had to do.

She had to stop it, end it, bring it to a close.

And then she could go on with her life, put it all back together, find a new job, a new apartment, get back on the rails.

She signed into the chatroom.

There were all there, waiting for her.

Hey bitch, Mike said, took you long enough. How's your ass?

One by one, the others greeted her, with little references that told her that each one of them had had her, had used her and brutalized her and made her body love it. She was frightened, despite herself, but soldiered on.

It's over, she typed.

Really? Mike wrote, his sarcasm blinking quietly on her screen.

It was a stupid thing I did, I paid for it. You all had your fun. Fine, she wrote, with more confidence than she felt. But it's finished now. No more. If it happens again I will go to the police.

And she would, she knew instinctively. It wasn't an idle threat. She would risk the police, she'd risk humiliation and disgrace to bring it all crashing down, as long as she stopped them.

I mean it.

Oh yeah, Mike wrote, did you mean this?

A window appeared on her screen, she glanced at it. It was a transcript of her original invitation to be raped.

Or these?

The window disappeared, more flickered on, lasting a few seconds and vanishing. Lynsey could only catch the gist, her sickest fantasies appeared before her eyes, a succession of rapes and tortures, animals, children, private awful things shared with no one. How was he doing this? How did he have these.

Her bookmarks abruptly pulled down, making her jump. Windows opened and then closed on her sickest and nastiest pornographic sites. Oh my god, she thought, they know, they know everything, and they have it.

How do you think the cops will act, when they read this stuff, Mike challenged, when they find out what you like to play with yourself over?

Lynsey felt her confidence rock. A complaint to the cops was one thing, she could risk embarrassment. But this... Would the cops just see it all as some sick kinky game, one that she was playing, perhaps even running? She might become a suspect herself, what would they think, what would they do?

Or maybe you can show them some pictures? Mike typed.

An image popped on her screen, she jumped again. It was her in the red knit dress and fishnets, a particularly provocative picture that made it clear she wore no bra. Another picture of her in the dress, this one creeping up her thighs hinting at no panties. Others appeared in her slut outfits. A picture of her at the peep show, dressed like a whore. Another on the skytrain in that outrageously slutty outfit of bikini top and microskirt. Pictures of her made up outrageously.

Oh god, she thought, they've been watching me all along, taking pictures.

She was almost prepared for the pictures of her in the alley, taking two of her rapists on at once, the expression on her face almost one of bliss as a large cock sawed into her mouth, while one plunged her from behind.

But she wasn't at all prepared for the next pictures of her in her own apartment, nude and slutty, dressed in different kinds of lingerie, playing with dildos. In many, her eyes were closed in apparent ecstasy, her face slack with implicit bliss. Cocks hovered over her, their owners out of camera range, semen dripped on her breasts and face. In some, her lips closed around. The pictures kept coming, getting worse. Was that her in sixty nine with a ... Child? Oh my god, was she sucking a dog's cock? An aching feeling grew in her stomach as her guts knotted.

These can't be real, she thought. They can't, can't possibly be real. But they were all taken in her apartment, if they were fakes, then they were well done. The backgrounds, the familiarity of her home made them terrifyingly real to her.

You drugged me! She typed with a sudden burst of insight.

Whatever you say, bitch, Mike replied, neither confirming or denying. But that's really you sucking that dogs cock, and licking thirteen year old pussy.

No! No! I don't remember that!

So? Do you remember the other pictures? Slutting out? Going to peep shows? Getting double teamed? I suppose you don't remember those? You weren't there for those.

STOP!!! Lynsey hammered the keys.

She stared at the screen, trying to control her heartrate.

Look, she wrote, I'm not going to the police, okay.

The others noted this surrender.

But it's over, okay. It has to be over. The game is finished, and I don't want to play any more.

For a few seconds, the screens were silent. Then Mike's response came back.

You stupid bitch.... he wrote. Of course the game is over. Let me tell you about the game. We won, you lost. You made the rules, you lost, and now you live with it.

Lynsey stared at the screen with numb horror.

And hey, when you were making the rules, you set the prize. You remember what the prize was? You were the prize. We got you. You lost, we won. Now we own you. Do you understand that, you stupid fucking cunt. The game is over and we own your ass, and we get to keep it, it's not yours any more.

The words sank into her, filling her.

Do you understand? You stupid bitch?

The screen stared at her, the letters blinking mutely. She stared, a sinking, surrendering feeling suffusing her. Desperately, some small part of her searched for a way out.

I said, do you fucking understand, you stupid ignorant, self absorbed bitch?

She stared. Six men held their breaths, waiting....

Yes. She typed finally.

Yes, Sir, you stupid cunt. Mike answered.

Yes, Sir. She typed.

All over Vancouver on a handful of men celebrated at their computer screens, phoning and congratulating each other. It was over, the long struggle with the bitch, the war against her was over. She had surrendered, they owned her now, body and soul.

Finally. Goddamn, but you're slow and stupid. We'll have to fix that. Right now, we're going to play... Here is how we want you to get dressed. You understand.

Yes, Sir, she typed dully.

Instructions flashed on the screen, vividly detailed instructions on lingerie, dress, makeup. They knew every article of clothing that she owned, she realized. They knew everything about her. She was trapped. There was no way out...

Got that?

Yes, Sir.

Then get started you stupid cunt!

There was no resistance left in her. Yes Sir' she typed, and then went to obey her masters.