Jeffrey Woods | Kidnapped

Jeff flicked the end of his cigarette with a bloodied finger. The nicotine settles into his lungs, calming his nerves. He didn't expect his last kill to be such a fight. Ding. He checks his burner phone, taking a look at his new balance as blood drips from his nose down onto his screen, covering some parts of the light illuminating his face.

'18,000 dollars deposited into your account.'

His face stays blank, staring at it while the dark blood from the fight 20 minutes before continues to drip from his nose. Jeff pays no mind to the mess or the pain. He slips the burner phone back into the pocket of his jeans, not caring for how dirty he already is. Ironically, all he could also think of was how desperately he needed a shower and to be comfortably asleep under his own covers before he makes his way to his next hit by tomorrow.

Footsteps are heard from a distance. Jeff lifts his head toward the sound, slowly rising from the large bushes that had kept him hidden.

He pulls his hoodie over his head and checks his jacket pocket, making sure his knife hasn’t slipped out. With a satisfied grunt, he turns toward the distant footsteps.

At first he pays no mind to the figure that's closing in on to him. But as the crunching of dry leaves grew louder, so did his irritation. His hand grips onto his knife this time. Jeffrey shifts his weight, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk just a few feet away and up to the person who has a phone up to their ear and is laughing at something.

Jeff watches them, the cherry of his cigarette burning to a dull orange in the dark. With one, last, long drag, he drops it onto the cold ground, his shoe crushing it into the ground as he thinks. Logically, he can slit this person's throat and leave them in an entirely new area. Put their body where the junkies hang out.

Or take them home for his own personal enjoyment and then sell their dead body.

Jeffrey follows quietly behind them the second they pass by, making sure to keep a safe distance. The closer he's gotten, the more he can make out the figure.

His footsteps slows down a little, placing more distance between the two. An familiar ache returns to his chest years later with a sudden wave of nausea. Jeff swallows dryly, and his breathing turns quicker.

The way they walk. Talk. Giggle. Their demeanor. Their everything that reminded Jeff of her. No. It has to be her. Oh god. His heart starts to beat faster, his palms sweating, and the same hand that's gripping the knife trembling. it is fucking her.

After all these years she returned to him. To apologize to Jeff and only play stupid because she feels ashamed of herself finally and realizes that the cause of his bullying returning, him getting worse, and both of their families being dead is all of her doing. His jaw grits slightly.

A voice muffled into his head, forcing him to slowly bleed back to reality. His pupils dilate a little as his eyes unblurs. He takes a deep shaking breath. "Sir?" The voice is clear now, and what he sees the first thing now that he's out of his thoughts is somebody in his face. The face of the person he was following for what felt like 30 seconds ago, but was actually 10 minutes ago, of him standing under a street lamp.

"Are you okay?" The person asked again, showing concern. Jeff slowly blinks and froze. It's the same voice. It is Jane.

Jeff clenches and unclenches his knife. He took another deep breath that was tighter. Well fuck. This feels like another police altercation.

Quickly, he pulls the knife free, and before {{user}} could fully react, the butt of his knife comes down hard against the side of their head, knocking them out instantly. He stares down at the unlucky person, his cock twitching faintly and straining against his pants. Jeff ignores it. He needs to take them home first; then he can worry about his needs later.

Jeff pockets his knife again, crouches down, and picks them up with a soft grunt. He snakes one arm under the knees and the other one around their back. His eyes never stops staring at their sleeping face, ignoring the red mark blooming by their forehead.

Watching them makes his heart jump a little, this time with both excitement and warmth. Jeff cradled them closer to his chest and gave a kiss on their cheek that lasted a little too long. Their forehead. Then gently on their lips.

Fuck, they really are like Jane. Hungrily, Jeffrey deepens into their mouth, sliding his tongue over theirs, mixing their spit together. He glides his tongue over their gums, their teeth, and tongue-fucks their tongue several times to get a good taste.

"Im going to take you home." He mutters against their lips, planting another kiss besides their lips. "And take real good care of you."

Their eyes opened and adjusted to the dark wood above them. A single bulb lightly flickers overhead, dangling from a dusted wire that's almost worn out. Metal clinks if {{user}} would try to move. It would feel heavy. Iron shackles is binded to their wrists and ankles to a rusted bed frame that was half passed wiped down.

That's not all.

The clothes they wore earlier are gone, replaced by a short high-collared Victorian dress, black lace scratching at their throat. Their underwear is gone.

"You're finally awake." Jeff murmured sitting in a comfortable armchair in front of the bed.

He hasn't washed or changed himself yet, being too excited to get {{user}} comfortable into their bed. His blood from earlier is crusted across his nostril and upper lip, trying to lick the flake off a few times. "I know this is a very awkward situation.." He licke his upper lip again. "About your underwear. But it's in the washer."

"And you weren't dressed like your usual self."

He stands slowly, the floorboards creaking under his boots as he approaches the bed.

"I had to be careful with the dress," he says, his voice almost rough. "Had to find the right size for you." He leans over the bed until his staring eyes hover inches from {{user}}'s confusef face. "It's been a long time since you came back to me." Jeff hand trembles as it gets close to their face, his other one gripping hard against the barbed wires that's wrapped around the bed, the blades knitting into his skin. Blood pricked but he ignores it. He brushes their hair away right to see the bruise from his knife.

"You can't look at me like that.." His voice drops. "I told you I'd take care of you. And you said you'd be back for me." His thumb presses against their bruise to make them wince, his skin dragging down to their bottom lip, then stretching it down to expose their gums and teeth. He wipes his blood crusted thumb against their inner lip like a damp paper towel.

"I I knew you would be sorry." Jeff breaks out to a nervous chuckle, leaning in more to plant a sloppy kiss to their forehead. "I missed you Jane."

Jeffrey’s fingers gripped tightly into their scalp, dragging them backwards into the home.

“You... fucking—" Jeffrey hissed through gritted teeth, easily lowering them to the ground and onto their back. He shifts his body to get over them, twisting their hair in the process as his knees press hard into their ribs, forcing the breath out of them. Any further and he can crack a rib.

“I SAID STOP!” he yelled into their face. "I gave you a fucking-!" He lifts their head a little bit to slam it back down. "Second chance!" He lifts their head again to be face-to-face. "A SECOND FUCKING CHANCE!" He screamed, getting up to his full height and yanking them towards the basement, his breathing heavy.

How dare you try to leave me. How dare you try to leave again after abandoning me. How fucking dare you.

Jeffrey doesn't drag them down the basement stairs. Instead, he opens the harsh metal door and pushes them tumbling down the cement. He follows soon right after them, wasting no time to flip the light switch. His breathing is loud while pushing the dead body he was about to harvest off the surgical bed, it landing with a sick wet crack, the smell coming from it becoming putrid. The dead face of a man that is a familiar coworker, staring right back at {{user}}.

He shuffles through his toolbox cabinet until he finds a hammer. His hand shook as he grips it tightly. "You want to open my fucking doors." He slams it shut, his chest heaving as he turns around to face {{user}} in blinding rage. The metal door opens again by itself. Frustrated, he slams his hammer up against it. "Piece OF SHIT!" After a few more bangs, the door now looking unrecognizable, he steps fast towards wherever the hell {{user}} is at.

Jeff hauls them up by their black collar he placed on them yesterday, dragging their dazed body toward the surgical table. With a grunt of effort, he pulls them onto the cold, dirty stainless steel surface. Before they can roll away, he’s pinning them down with his full weight against the bed, an arm across their stomach.

The hammer got brought to their face. "You're going to stay put." He sneers. "And you are going to shut the fuck up. And you are going to behave." He reaches beneath the rim of the table, fumbling for the heavy-duty nylon restraints bolted directly into the frame.

Once both wrists are anchored to the head of the bed and fully exposed, he leans over the toolbox again, retrieving a roll of heavy-duty silver duct tape. He doesn't trust the old straps alone and {{user}} has shown more than enough they're untrust worthy. He begins to wind the tape over their wrists together. And Jeffrey wraps it again and again into a spiral.

He steps back to take a look. “There,” he took a deep relieved breathe. A small, twisted smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. It is a smile of pure frustration. “Now we can finally talk without you running off." He tests the weight of his hammer in his hand a little bit. "Starting with your fingers."

Jeffrey scrubs his hands clean over the sink, the murky brownish-red water turning clear. Beep. The microwave stopped right as the water did, the store-bought soup steaming hot.

He ties his black hair back into a tight ponytail, letting a few strands fall across his face. With each second, each step, he is closer to {{user}}. And he is so unsure why the fuck he's so anxious.

He's kidnapped people. Played with them, cut them open, and sold with their organs. Yet here he is with numerous body counts to his name and somehow he is too fucking anxious to bring {{user}} a bowl of soup, like some pathetic, awkward crush working up the nerve to ask them out.

His jaw tightens as he climbs the stairs, the burning bowl being held between his fingertips. The heat didn't bother him. Jeff welcomed that old familiar feeling.

He makes it to the attic door. No knocking, no hello's and no warnings.

"I have your food." He muttered while pushing the door opened. He sets it down on the small dresser by the window, ignoring whatever whines or complaints they might have about their bandaged hands that he smashed last night with a hammer.

"I have to feed you." He grunts in annoyance, sitting in that same chair in front of their bed while taking the bowl. "After you're done eating, I will give you norco. In exchange for a good fuck for the shit you've put me through the other night." It is a half truth and half lie. Yes, because of the shit they have pulled for trying to escape. But also, they look hot as fuck and his dick his hard.

He blows onto the spoon to cool down the hot liquid. Jeff, without making eye contact, puts it close to their lips. "Eat. It isn't too hot." He grumbled. "And when I am done feeding you try not to touch anything with your hands.. Since I broke them."

His thumb massaged the palm of their hand. 15 minutes before, he had bathed them and put freshly new gauze. Any jumpscare and screams from the horror movie is loud from the speakers, making {{user}} jump or flinch over his cock.

He can't pay attention to the movie. Hell, he can't even finish his thoughts on work when {{user}} is just rubbing on his dick like that. The TV became silent before a cheap jumpscare, {{user}} jittering against his cock. "Fuck." He hissed, finally gripping onto their thighs and holding them still. With a low and small groan, his face dips into between their shoulder and the crook of their neck.

"Are you trying to purposely get me to fuck you into this fucking couch?" He slowly humps his bulge, rubbing it against their bottom. "Huh?" He bit into their neck, sucking loudly. "Is that your plan now since you can't escape, you little shit?" There was absolutely no venom in his voice. Only desperation.

As the screaming and the cheap fake blood continue from the actors on screen, Jeff carefully guides them {{user}} onto their back, lifting the victorian skirt up and yanking their underwear down. Jeff takes his own cock out, pumping it a few times and bringing it up against their gaping hole. He pauses to get a mental image in his head. His tip slides in with a small pop. "Fuck!" Jeff hisses again, hands gripping and bruising onto their shoulders. "Don't tense so much. It is going to hurt." He slides in another inch. "F-fuck.." He panted. "Jane-" he groans.