novelraw Chapter 59: I Was Captured by Georgina
Chapter 59: I Was Captured by Georgina
Sharon’s eyelids twitched once, twice, fighting against the weight of unconsciousness, as if exhaustion had sealed them with invisible glue. They parted at last, inch by agonizing inch, only to reveal utter blackness.
Where am I...?
A blindfold clamped over her eyes—coarse, heavy cloth, rough as burlap, knotted so tightly it ground into her temples and forehead.
What the fuck? I can’t see. Oh, I have been blindfolded. Fuck!
It was damp, clammy with her own sweat, stiff patches of crusted blood flaking against her lashes, the itch maddening but unreachable.
Worse was her mouth—a throbbing cage of humiliation and pain. Someone had shoved a thick wad of rag deep inside, the material gritty with dirt and fibres that scraped her palate like sandpaper.
It reeked and tasted vile—sharp, acrid motor oil clinging to every thread, overlaid with the coppery penny-bite of her own dried blood from split lips and bitten tongue.
The stuffing ballooned her cheeks, forcing her jaw unnaturally wide—muscles in her face and neck screaming from the stretch, teeth grinding helplessly against the unyielding bulk. Her tongue lay pinned flat beneath it, numb and useless, swelling against the invasion.
Leather straps secured the nightmare—two wide bands crisscrossing her face like a bridle—one cinched over the bridge of her nose and under her chin, the other looping from cheeks to the back of her skull.
They were buckled mercilessly tight, leather creaking under tension, digging red welts into her skin that already wept thin trickles of blood.
Every tiny movement tugged them deeper—grooves forming behind her ears, raw and burning. Saliva flooded uncontrollably, thick and foamy from the obstruction, pooling in her mouth until it had nowhere to go.
It bubbled past the gag’s edges in slow, sticky dribbles, tracing cold paths down her chin, soaking her shirt collar in warm shame. Breathing was a labour—shallow, frantic whistles through flared nostrils, each inhale pulling in the dank, mouldy air of her prison.
Instinct screamed for help. She tried—a full-throated yell from her gut—but it died in her throat, emerging as a pitiful mmphh, wet and strangled, the gag vibrating with the force like a muffled sob from a buried thing.
Ropes owned the rest of her—coarse hemp, rough as wire, coiled multiple times around her wrists—pulled behind the chair’s backrest, knotted with sailor’s precision that bit deeper with every twitch.
Ankles lashed to the front legs, forcing her knees apart against the cold metal frame that creaked and groaned under her struggles. Her shoulders wrenched backward at an unnatural angle, joints popping on the verge of dislocation, every muscle in her arms and back a knot of fire.
She fought anyway, pure rage fuelling it. The chair rocked violently, metal feet screeching across gritty concrete, sending vibrations up her spine. Ropes sawed her wrists raw—skin splitting to expose weeping flesh, blood slicking the fibres—but they held fast, unyielding. Her muffled protests escalated: hnngh... mmph-mmmph... hnngh-mmmph!
Her face ballooning red, veins throbbing in her temples and neck, lungs burning for air that wouldn’t come clean. Sweat poured, stinging the gag’s cuts, mixing with drool into a sloppy mess on her chest.
Silence answered. No footsteps, no voices—just the relentless drip-drip-drip
of water echoing from some unseen corner, counting seconds in this fetid concrete tomb. Was she an interrogation room? Georgia’s trap?
Questions swirled, fuelling the helpless fury boiling in her gut. She bucked harder, chair tipping dangerously, gag now a sodden, choking swamp—bitter, suffocating failure coating her tongue.
Muscles quivered toward collapse, but the bonds didn’t break. She was trapped, exposed, utterly caught.
Sudden hands yanked the blindfold away, and the leather straps across Sharon’s face were loosened with a sharp tug. She blinked rapidly against the harsh light overhead, her eyes watering as the room slowly came into focus.
Georgia stood in front of her, green hair falling over one shoulder, a faint smirk on her blood-streaked face. Before Sharon could say anything, rough fingers hooked the rag from her mouth and pulled it out slowly.
The cloth came away damp and grimy, leaving her jaw aching and her lips dry and sore. She coughed once, tasting dust, sweat, and the bitter edge of bile.
She looked around and realized she was no longer in the mansion. The ruined halls and shattered furniture were gone.
In their place was a plain concrete room with bare walls, a metal door, and a single flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead. The air was cold and stale. It seeped through the chair beneath her and into her skin, making her shiver.
"How are you doing? Are you feeling well?" Georgia asked, her tone casual, almost polite, as if they were meeting under ordinary circumstances.
"F-fuck... you..." Sharon rasped. Her throat felt raw, and each word came out rough and weak, but the anger behind it was still clear.
Georgia tilted her head slightly, studying her. "Your mouth is terrible. Although, you are face is too good," she said with a small smile. "Maybe I should keep you quiet."
She took out a white cloth from her pocket and held it up before folding it tightly. Sharon strained against the ropes, but before she could move away, Georgia pressed a hand to her face and shoved the cloth back into her mouth. It filled her cheeks and pressed against her tongue, cutting off any chance of speaking.
Georgia then tied another strip of cloth around her mouth, tightening it carefully so it would not come loose.
"Let’s take some precautions, shall we?"
That still wasn’t enough for her. Georgia reached for a roll of silver tape and tore off a long strip with her teeth. She wrapped it around Sharon’s mouth, pressing it firmly into place until the cloth was sealed in and her lips were held shut.
Sharon could only breathe through her nose now, her chest rising and falling faster with frustration. A few drops of saliva gathered behind the gag, and her eyes flashed with anger as she stared at Georgia.
Georgia stepped back and looked pleased with herself. "There. Much better," she said. "Now we can talk properly."