Thru the Veil: The Collective

Disclaimer: This story contains thoughts and fantasies about abduction, being exposed and lots of forced masturbation. The idea being exposed to some faceless organization, which might have immoral methods but isn’t malicious plays a big role in this story.

Similar fantasies would be abduction by aliens and their subsequent sexual experiments.

The events in this story are pure fiction. An expression of my erotic and fetish fantasies – in which everything works out just fine for everyone involved. I wouldn’t want to experience such a scenario in real life, nor would I wish that on anyone else. (not without a heads up, and the usual talk about limits an expectations at least).

Intro

Nobody really knows who or what ‚The Collective‘ is. They are the secretive hunters of the night hiding in the abandoned industrial wastelands of the City, preying on innocent wanderers in their territory to do all sorts of sexual stuff to them. There are rumors: Diluted accounts from friends of friends who had some encounter with them, one more lewd than the last one…

I didn’t believe the stories. Urban legends. Modern horror fairy tales, with no place in reality. I was sure of that. At least until last Friday.

Chapter 1: The Abduction

Friday evening, and I was hitting the bars and clubs of the “Culture Harbor” district. One of the revived quarters of the City. Clubs in old warehouses, shops, cafes and bars occupying abandoned and renovated office buildings and workshops. I fine mixture of old rugged industrial harbor and modern urban culture.

My plans of find a girl to dance … and maybe more didn’t play out as anticipated. Maybe because I was new – just arrived here to study at the new university – and didn’t know the places to be or the clubs to hang out if you seek for some fun.

It was close to midnight and I was stranded in some bar in a red brick building with those large half blind windows, lots of visible steel beams, old mechanic stuff and a good mile long bar with craft beers. I had met a guy, seemingly as hapless as myself hanging out at the bar. And with no better option we started a nice, beer fueled conversation.

He also was a student but been here for a while now. We talked about beer, the girls here and somehow ended with the weird stories floating around. About the haunted mansions of the factory owners from back in the day – with horny ghosts lurking there.. or about the demented sexual experiments still going on in the old Sanatorium – one of quite a few old insane asylums in the city limits… And about those rubber drone monsters lurking in the industrial wasteland separating Culture Harbor and Student Town Districts.

He seemed to be quite a horny little fella. And maybe it was the alcohol… but while not believing what he told, the stories where quite interesting. I told him as much. Which got him drunkenly agitated, insisting that he knew those stories were true.

One word gave another – and no, we didn’t fall out in a fight… but we agreed to a bet. I should take the shortcut through the abandoned district. From here to the bridge over the river leading to the university dorms.

It was quite on the road, even when the ‘abandoned’ quarter wasn’t as abandoned. Some houses close to the main road had shops – closed and locked with iron bars for the night. In lone windows was still light. But the looming shadow of the old giant factories, the corroding towers of former industrial glory where everywhere.

“You know… one way I absolutely know, your stories are just that…”, I started, fumbling for words…

My beer buddy looked my way.

“Stories! Yes. Because IF there were some crazies hunting students for sports… to fuck them or whatever… you wouldn’t come with me… now would you?”

Proud of my logic, I took a few steps down the road. It was almost as if I could see the old iron bridge already. However looks are deceiving. Especially in an environment like this. The straight road crossing the district would end on some factory gate. That far I knew already.

“You do know the way?”, I asked him.

“Yes. Don’t worry. In your condition we probably shouldn’t climb the old walls but go for the roads around the factory.”

“Ah.”, I remarked. “To lure us deeper into the ‘hunting grounds’ amirite?!”

Minutes later, we left the main and followed a narrow alleyway. Along overflowing garbage containers, rusty fire ladders, the faint noises of thumping music from some hidden underground club nearby we reached a large backyard.