This year I’ve made a commitment to myself to produce much more adult fiction. A lot of time has been spent restructuring the way I write and the tools I use to get things done. Coupled with the amount of time we’ve all been inside during the pandemic, some good reading material is always needed. My plans are to continue headfirst into the realm of being an erotic author but also provide other forms of adult fiction. Xotica 3 is in development. Progress is picking up in a major way as well. I’m excited to be adding a new volume to the series.
This story is set in the future. In an America that has been broken into pieces and still faces the centuries-old conflicts between groups in the United States. In this reality, communities try to stay to themselves. But it is human nature to seek power and from that nature conflict is inevitable. Robin finds herself snatched from her protected life to be victimized in this dark time.
This project is something I’m considering adding to. If the opportunities arise, I will definitely take advantage of them. Look for more adult fiction and erotic stories in the future.
Anyone captured during these times could guess what their outcome will be. For men, being caught meant death. Sometimes quick and mercifully. Most of the time torture awaited. For women, torture and death were almost tame. In a world devoid of government and all of the protections society had in the early 2020s, there were many things worse than death for a woman. Especially young, beautiful women. Robin was one of those beautiful women. She’d been three when everything crumbled and hardly remembered that time. Her parents did. Their expressions became blank and their eyes distant whenever the subject came up. Robin had learned to stop asking.
Robin was told where she grew up was in the South. The State of Alabama. At least it had been. Now, every state that could be considered southern had been broken into a collection of loosely controlled areas defended by the people who called it home. Neighborhoods and communities had banded together as the seats of power shifted in what was once the United States. This was the world Robin grew up in. The little town she lived in was part of a group of towns in what was Eastern Alabama. It was quiet and everyone she knew had always been friendly. She’d been sheltered like many of the children in the town. The conflicts that happened in the larger towns and cities that still existed never happened in Anniston.
Robin had recently turned 19. Even had a birthday party. Something that was a luxury for many as very few could say when they’d been born these days. Robin was stunningly beautiful. Her long, curly hair flowed like water down her back. She’d somehow avoided the pox a few years before and didn’t have the telltale blotches on her skin from infection. That kind of beauty was dangerous. A fact Robin would experience first hand in the worse way. Anniston was attacked without warning. Their attackers had been silent and extremely deadly. Nearly every male in the town and been murdered as they slept. The women and girls snatched from their beds and incapacitated with chloroform.
When she woke up, Robin was in a dark room and she was not alone. Several of the faces she knew. A friend she’d been in school with. Another young woman, a few years Robin’s senior still unconscious on the cold floor. And her mother. Robin had been taken without a struggle, but her mother had not. The bruises from that resistance could be seen on her mother’s face. She wasn’t the only one with injuries from the attack. Several of the women had bruises and various wounds.
“Where are we? Where’s father?” Robin asked her mother. She didn’t reply. Robin begged her with her eyes, “Is he dead?” she asked again, pleading for answers. Her mothers’ silence was enough of one.
“Be quiet and save your strength,” was all her mother told Robin.
Days could have gone by. There were no windows where they were being kept. Robin guessed that they were underground in a basement of some kind. Food was brought in by a man whose face was covered by a filthy cloth. Whatever it was had been contained in a large boiler. Inside was a stinking substance with a misshapen wooden spoon sticking out from it. Hunger kept Robin from throwing up. The foul soup smelled awful but everyone ate. Unsure when they’d be fed next.
Sometime later, the man with the cloth over his face returned. He was with another man. After picking up the boiler, the two men surveyed the room. They said something to one another that Robin couldn’t hear but could guess it wasn’t pleasant. A few more moments passed and the first man pointed to a woman a few feet from Robin and her mother. The woman had noticed and her face was full of fear. The two men grabbed her and she began to sob. No one moved to help her and Robin was ashamed she didn’t help. Her mother must have felt this and held Robin in place by the arm. When they’d dragged through the door, her wails could still be heard through the door.
Robin was stunned. Her mother was no coward. The bruises on her were evidence of that. Even if no one else helped, Robin had been sure her mother would have. Instead, there was silence. If her mother did speak, it was to scold or provide wisdom in her usual cutting way. In the darkness of the room, Robin looked at the deep wrinkles and marked skin of her mother. She had the same features as Robin but was weathered by conflict. She’d had a life as a lawyer when there were still laws. Lived a whole life and lost it. Anytime the door opened, she would pull Robin close. The woman they’d taken first had not been returned. Robin imagined the worst things she could had happened. They’d moved to a corner of the room for privacy and to hopefully stay out of view of the men. A woman wasn’t taken each time they came, but there had been two more.
They came for Robin. Events unfolded slowly in her mind. She tried and failed not to look in their direction. Her eyes locked on the men and they were staring directly back. It was as if they’d felt her eyes on them. When their hands wrapped around Robin, she felt her body give in to fear. She told herself to fight. Try breaking free and making a run from them with her mother. The door was open and they were fast. But her body wouldn’t follow her commands. Robin saw her mothers’ face go pale. Then the woman lunged at the captors with fury. She was stopped quickly. The men were too strong and too accustomed to handling unruly prisoners. The last Robin saw before the door closed behind them was her mothers’ unconscious body.
Robin was too afraid to scream. She was brought to a much smaller room than she’d been in. The single item of furniture was a small bed in the center of the room. Robin was placed roughly on the bed and then bound with rope at the wrists. The men spoke in a language Robin didn’t understand. They seemed to be having a dispute that was finally settled by what looked like a game. Both of them raised their fists three times in the air. The smaller man held his fingers as if to be counting to two. The other had held his hand in a fist and appeared to be the winner. The loser left the room clearly disappointed. The winner patted him on the back in consolation but was clearly pleased with himself.
The door to the smaller room closed and Robin felt the energy change in the room. The man’s attention had become focused on her. He approached slowly as if savoring what he was seeing. Robin tried to find her voice, “Please…, don’t…” she began to say. She’d been interrupted by the man lifting her head by the chin. His gaze was withering.
“You’re a pretty one aren’t you,” he said. Not really asking. Robin was surprised as it was the first time she’d heard any of the captors speak English. Robin couldn’t speak from shock even if she’d known what to say. Instead, she kept still, eyes wide. The man felt her hair with his battered hands. Calloused and tough, in a swift movement he’d snatched all of her hair into his hand yanking it back hard. Robin gasped.
“That’s what I wanted to see right there,” he said, his voice low and full of intent. Robin strained against the ropes but they held. The more she struggled in his grip, the tighter they became.
“I like the squirming,” he told Robin. “No open up.”
Robin didn’t comply quickly enough. Her hair was released but only in exchange for the hand grip against her neck. Her mouth was forced open and Robin’s tears and saliva became lubricant for the captors’ pleasure.