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Abducted Ch. 00

By: HarleyFatboy1



Villain's Prologue

Okay, I'm thinking to myself, ... maybe this part was a mistake. 

But, I had to make sure she was gonna be there today. There's no use in exposing a perfectly beautiful plan, if the target is going to be taking one of her sick days. 

She's there, all right. All fresh, and crisp, and classy, like always. I watch her rise from her desk, and step lively around the lobby, talking to her colleagues. Then, she turns on her perky little heels with that white dress wisking around trim, shapely legs. She's all businesslike, and all 'professional', but, ... she kinda makes a fella wonder about just how long those legs really are up under that white dress. 

She's a looker. She's got great eyes, and a fabulous figure. And, she's even easy to talk to. If it weren't for the fact that she's standing between a half-a-million dollars, and me I'd even ask her out, after this is all over.

But, I'm guessing, she'd probably say no. 

Ah, well, ... now, she's seen me. But, what the hell, ... the plan's in place. Me 'n' the boys pretty much got it all wired. Not much she can do about any of it, even if she does recognize me. Besides, she won't even know anything's amiss until lunch time.

There, she's going on about her business again. I pull my fedora down over my eyes. I set about focusing on my own business, too.

I head off down the street, out of sight of the Miller Bank Building's main doors. I flip open my cell-phone, and dial a number from a scrap of paper in my vest pocket:

"Harris, ... she's here. We're on."

"Problem, Chief," Harris said. "Gotta technical glitch with Chano's electronic voice scrambler. It's not working."

That's not much of a problem, I figure. Chano's not supposed to speak, anyway. It's probably best that he have as little verbal contact with our prospective hostage as possible, knowing how he is. Fact is, he likes pretty girls too much, which plays into my plan. 

"What about all the other equipment?" I ask.

"The A/V works fine, comp links are up and running ... hey, wait, Chano wants to talk. Here, ..."

Chano's accented English crackles through the earpiece: "Hey, what's up, School?"

I grimace, and sigh. I'm beginning to hate that "School" stuff from him. Like a lot of young punks, they refer to anyone with an ounce of gray in his hair as "Old School", or "School" for short. Makes it sound like I'm old and infirm. 

The truth is, I still sling some mean iron at the gym, and still run a dozen miles every week. I'm still built like the point guard that I once was, thirty years ago, and I can hold my own on the court -- and anywhere else, for that matter -- against any of these steroid-heads that hang out at the gym, these days. 

I swallow that "School" stuff, only because I realize it is supposed to be an address of respect. Because mothers don't teach their children to say, "Sir", anymore.

I compose myself: "Chano, you're not even supposed to be around her very much until I say so. Just don't say anything, when we're at the staging area."

"Staging area? Oh, you mean the warehouse, yeah, right."

It is at this moment that I make the decision: Chano will not be saying anything. He's gonna screw it up, I can feel it. 

Bless him, Chano has his uses: At 6'3", and 210 lbs., he cuts an extremely intimidating figure. He can get physical, when he needs to, and he's pretty good at it. And, I have to concede this much: It was his baby-faced, smoldering Latin good looks, that got him next to that intern at the bank, which gave me this idea, in the first place. 

But, Chano's not the sharpest pencil in the box. Thinking on his feet is ... a liability. If I could replace him altogether, I would, but we're too far down the road for that.

Harris is my tech-expert and I am relying on him to make everything work. 

Like most tech experts, Harris looks the part: Thin, slightly built, average height, thick glasses. Not a bad looking dude, but he's no GQ poster boy, either. If I were to say he looked like anybody, I'd say it was a grown-up Harry Potter. Then, I chuckle -- his favorite color is brown. How in character is that?

But, what Harris brings behind those thick lenses, and large brown eyes, and shock of tousled brown hair is the ability to improvise, and to think quickly, like an engineer. 

He also brings a fat helping of good old-fashioned greed. 

I smile to myself, "Greed is good." Harris won't screw it up.

With that small adjustment in mind, I know we're ready to go. Ready to get rich.

I step around the corner and stride through the alley beside the Miller building. I hop into a rented blue Chevy and fire the ignition. I creep out into the morning rush-hour traffic, just as it begins to die down. 

The clock on the dashboard says, "9:25 AM". In a little less than three hours, we begin.

Six hours after that, I should be winging my way to a nice, comfortable Costa Rican retirement.

**********



It was one of those fabulous late summer mornings when every breath that you take lets you know that you are alive.

I wake up without the alarm clock feeling quite frisky from the residue of a very kinky little dream that I had had just before opening my eyes.

I slip into the shower and train the nozzle on that special place between my legs luxuriating in the sensual stimulation of the water vibrating off my very sensitive and enlarged female nub.

The memory of my dream where I was bound and helpless to a captor's whims and fancies brings me quickly to orgasm as my body shimmies to its own private sexual music.

As I dry off, I still can feel the energy of desire coursing through my body and wonder what kind of a day is in store for me.

It sure started out with a nice bang I think to myself and smile.

I slip on a pair of teeny light blue nylon panties that hug me everywhere that they should.

I love how they feel to wear under my clothes as they give me, simply by their fit, a constant reminder of sexy.

I apply my make up in the bathroom mirror, comb my hair, and decide what else to wear on such a fabulous day.

My job requires stockings, which are such a pain, so I comply by wearing my beige lace garter belt with the violet suspender straps and very sheer nude stockings.

A matching light blue balconette demi cup bra completes the outfit. My dress fits tight enough to show my bottom off along with my teeny panty lines, but flares out nicely to not show my garters bumps.

When I add my tan linen high heels, I feel wonderful.

One last check in the mirror confirms my sense of sexy self as I head out the door to catch my bus to work.

I am in my early 40's, divorced from a bad marriage and have spent the last 6 years rediscovering myself as well as allowing myself to be sexy again.

I hit the gym soon after my divorce and became quite happy with the results as I stand 5'5" in bare feet and am back to wearing a very comfortable size 6.

I am not very big on top and thus wear push up bras to enhance the little that I have.

My nipples on the other hand are quite perky and very sensitive. Once they become erect they have a tendency to remain stimulated for quite a while just like they still are this morning.

My hair is dark brown but has developed a streak of gray that I was initially going to color, but then thought twice about it. It is so distinctive as it forms almost a skunk stripe on the top of my head that it seemed a shame to conceal it.

I wear it relatively short, as my ex loved it long, a lingering residue of our relationship.

As to my private area, I keep my pubic hair trimmed and short, as it is very thick making it quite painful and difficult to either shave completely or to wax.

Oh the things that we do to feel sexy.

I walk out of my apartment building into the most glorious light of the early morning sun and head to the nearest bus stop.

It arrives on time as usual.

I step onto the bus and as I greet my regular bus driver I can tell that the morning sun is silhouetting me in the doorway of the bus as Frank, the driver, stares at me from head to toe and gives out a most complimentary exhale of air.

I swipe my bus card giving Frank a big smile walking back to the first seat facing forward in the bus.

I have become a consummate flirt and enjoy sitting in a front seat so Frank and I can exchange looks using his inside mirror.

Although my dress hangs down past my knees, I give it a bit of a tug northward to allow Frank some peeks at my legs and stockings.

He is always so cheerful in the morning and gives me an extra minute or two when I am running late, so I repay the favor by giving him peeks.

Today was one of those days that I was in a "mood", a somewhat natural continuation of my morning.

By the time the bus got close to my work, my peeks had turned into mini exhibitions of stocking tops, garter snaps, and light blue nylon.

Frank certainly enjoyed it, but I do feel that I enjoyed it more.

I pull on the stop request cord and as Frank pulls the bus to the curb, I let my legs wander far apart as I gather my laptop case up and rise out of my seat.

With a very impish smile directed at Frank along with a wish for a "great day" I head up the block to my place of employment.

I can feel his eyes follow me all the way up the block.

I work in a large bank downtown as an "banker" which gives me a desk, a chair, and a bit of a cubby hole to sit in as I help customers open checking and savings accounts as well as request certified checks etc. I am also privy to the bank codes, which are used to transfer funds from one bank to the next.

I do love the interaction with the customers, although the last few days I have had an unusual looking man requiring my help over very minor things. I almost feel that he is making up reasons to talk to me.

He is about 6'1" with a muscular build, who dresses a bit old fashioned but still stylish. He wears his hair short and well cared for, although he usually covers it with what I would call a fedora; one of those style of hats from the 40's gangster movies.

He has beautiful ebony skin that almost glows.

If he didn't wear such a menacing grimace most of the time, I would consider him quite handsome.

I enter the bank through the side door as it doesn't officially open for another 30 minutes and get myself settled into my workstation and log onto the computer system.

Once I am all ready to begin my day, I have a chance to look out the front window and there he is, my tall, dark and intriguing stranger looking right back at me.

A chill runs through my body, the kind that causes you to shudder from fright but mixes with a slight feeling of sexual excitement.

Well, isn't that just like me today i.e. to feel excited over an almost creepy stalker?

As the front doors of the bank are unlocked, my stalker disappears and I find myself quite busy for the morning, although the constant rubbing of the fabrics of my under things serve as a wonderful reminder of how sexy I feel today.

Lunchtime comes with a blink of an eye and I quickly log off as I have a number of errands to run within walking distance of the bank and want to get an early start.

As I rush out the revolving doors my dress doesn't quite fully make it into the small space between compartments and I find myself stuck between the inside and the outside of the bank.

My dress is caught between the glass and the rubber edge of the door so as I push forward on the sliding glass my dress becomes more extended behind me until I inadvertently give most of the customers a very nice look of the top of my stockings and my violet suspender straps.

I realize that unless I want to also share a view of my teeny light blue panties it would be best to stop pushing forward and attempt to resolve my predicament without further exposure.

The bank guard, who also is a subject of my teasing, hits a release button allowing the doors to slide freely resulting in my dress catching up with the rest of me and its hem to resume its place below my knees.

I simply shrug my shoulders at the guard adding a big smile and hurry out the doors.

As I turn the corner to take a short cut down the alley by our building I feel a strange foreboding pass through me and in a complete contradiction, my nipples become erect again just like they had been most of the morning.

What is going on within me today? 

Abducted Ch. 01



Chapter 1 – Max

Max took a deep breath, puckered his lips and blew a draught of cool air into Emma's glistening vagina. A muffled sigh, and a slight tightening of her thighs around his head, were testimony of her appreciation. She pressed her pussy against his face, and he extended his tongue to caress her soft musky cavern. He tried not to be aroused by the scent and feel of her damp recesses, but it was useless! He tried to force his thoughts to other matters - his mortgage - the children's school fees – to-morrow's agenda of boring meetings – anything to distract himself from the sensations emanating from his penis, as Emma continued to lick its tip.

No – no use! She was the best cocksucker ever! He felt her tongue gently caress the ridge around the helmet of his cock. He couldn't hold out much longer. Try counting backwards from 1000 in sevens – that had worked before!

'993… 986… 979… 972…' he counted silently.

Max tightened his arms around her hips, forcing her pussy further against his face, and extended his tongue fully, licking her copious juices.

'951… 944… 937… 930…'

Slowly he moved one of his arms, bringing it under her body, and sought her clitoris, gently massaging it between his forefinger and thumb. Another muffled gasp signalled her appreciation as she took his cock further into her warm mouth, moving her full lips up and down his shaft, as if using it to fuck her mouth. 

'909… 902… 895… 888…'

Emma adjusted her position, and took in his full length, her nose nuzzling against the reddish hairs covering his throbbing balls. Then she drew back, her tongue travelling down the full length of his cock, until it found and explored his pee-hole. He squeezed her clit more tightly, and she retaliated by nibbling his helmet with her teeth.

'867… 860… 853… 846…'

Again, his cock disappeared into her warm, wet mouth. He felt an intruder in her mouth, alongside his cock. He recognised it as her middle finger, gathering saliva as lubrication. Oh hell! He knew what was coming next!

'825… 818… 811… 804…'

Sure enough, the finger withdrew, and he felt it nudging against the tight opening of his anus, probing, seeking entry. Slowly it sank into his arse, and he moved his body against her, accepting, encouraging, and craving more. She began fucking his arse with her finger, sucking and biting on his cock at the same time.

'783… 776… 769…'

Max could take no more. He extricated his mouth from her pussy. "I'm cumming!" he screamed, unnecessarily.

Emma had sucked enough cocks over the years to know exactly when an explosion was imminent. "Mmm… mmm." She grunted her assent, and prepared to accept his load, increasing the rate at which her finger moved in and out of his arsehole, and pressing further into his bowels with each stroke, searching, seeking, finding his prostrate.

"Oh yes!" He bucked wildly and involuntarily, as if to force his cock further into her mouth, releasing a stream of semen, hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed quickly, and he bucked again, pulling her soft body against his face, muffling his yells of ecstasy. Another stream of semen gushed, then another – smaller this time. Slowly, he relaxed, and she swallowed again, running her tongue around the helmet of his softening cock. Another drop of semen oozed from his hole. She sensed it, and accepted it gladly.

Emma removed his cock from her mouth, and studied it lovingly. As it softened, she ran a finger along its full length, squeezing out another drop of semen, which she gathered on her pink tongue. She repeated the operation several times, the milky drops becoming smaller with each pass, until she was satisfied that his cock was empty. She gave his glans one final peck, and turned to face him. Their lips met in a tender embrace, and their tongues entwined. He tasted his own semen in her mouth, mingling with the after-taste of her pussy juices.

"Oh, Tiger," she murmured in his ear, "that was a huge one. Hope you've got a little left for pussy."

"Mmm – could probably manage to find a little more – in a few minutes. Sorry it was so big. Still, you managed to swallow it all! Good girl!"

"Yes. Yours tastes so good – must be because of your diet. Wouldn't like to waste it."

She snuggled her petite 5'2" frame against him, pressing her firm breasts against his hairy chest. His arm enfolded her, and his fingers caressed her breast, pinching gently on the nipple, encouraging it to full hardness. Idly, she stretched out her arm, seeking his softened penis, and stroking it gently.

"Can you stay to-night?" she murmured.

"No. Afraid not, Kitten. I'm supposed to be entertaining a client to dinner, but have to be home to-night."

"That's too bad," she pouted. "We haven't had a whole night together for nearly three weeks. Can't you plan another fake business trip to Munich, or Milan, or even Manchester, and come here instead?"

"Soon, my love. Maybe next week."

Her hand moved up his body, through his pubic hair, and played with the hairs on his chest, curling them between her fingers. She reached up to kiss him on the lips. "I don't suppose you've told your wife about us yet?"

"No, Kitten. I can't just now. Deborah is about to sit her A Level exams; she has a good chance of getting into Oxford or Cambridge, and I don't want to spoil her chances through worrying about her parents getting divorced. I'll tell Marjorie about us as soon as Deborah is settled. Promise."

'Always some excuse,' she thought to herself, with a hint of bitterness. 'Once Deborah gets settled, there'll be a problem with the younger daughter. What's her name again? Oh yes, Abigail!' She only half-believed that Max would ever tell his wife. Fleetingly, her mind turned to Peter, a colleague (a couple of years older than she was) who was currently on long-term secondment to the London office, but returned to Edinburgh every weekend. Peter said he couldn't get enough of her body. Last Sunday, a beautiful spring day, they had driven to Tweeddale. In the course of a long walk along the River Tweed, and through the forests, he had fucked her four times – and in four different positions. On the drive home, he had parked in a quiet lay-by to fuck her again, finishing the day with a quickie after supper, just before he left her flat to catch the last flight to London. Perhaps Peter was a better long-term prospect.

As if to prevent further questions, and perhaps sensing a cooling in her attitude, he pressed his lips against hers, probing them open with his tongue, and pinching hard on her nipple. She murmured in pain, and arched her back towards him, as her tongue duelled with his. He released her sore and flushed nipple, and moved down her body, stroking her neatly trimmed pussy, and parting her outer labia, seeking the soft dampness within. She murmured in pleasure and parted her thighs to allow him better access. Her hand moved on his shaft, feeling the blood return as his cock stiffened, regaining strength, beginning to pulsate between her fingers.

Two of Max's fingers parted her pussy lips and found the soft dark entrance. His thumb brushed across her clitoris. He began to fuck her with two fingers, at the same time pressing his thumb further against her engorged clit. She released her hold on his cock, and lay submissive, open to him. He withdrew his fingers from her cunt, and applied them to her hardened clitoris, rubbing gently and slowly at first, and then increasing both the pressure and the speed. She began gasping in pleasure, and raked her fingers across his back as he found her breast with his mouth and bit firmly on her flushed and erect nipple, sucking it between his teeth, and stimulating the tip with his tongue.

'Fuck!' Max thought, 'that's going to leave scratch marks on my back; I'll have to make sure Marjorie doesn't get to see.'

'Bugger!' Emma thought, 'that's going to leave a mark on my tit; hope it clears up before Peter gets back on Friday!'

As her cries grew louder, he suddenly removed his fingers from her clit and offered the tips to her open cunt. Greedily she accepted them, forcing her pussy against the tips, almost sucking them into her waiting vagina.

"Oh Tiger!" she cried, "fuck me. Fuck me now! I need you inside me!"

Obediently, Max moved between her open thighs, presented the heads of his cock to her waiting opening, and sank with one smooth movement into the depths, revelling as the soft, moist walls of her cunt appeared to contract around him. He began moving in and out of her, slowly and steadily, taking a deep breath with every stroke. He felt that she was close to orgasm, and moved a hand between their bodies, searching for her clit, without changing the rhythm of his steady penetration. Within seconds, she started to scream in pleasure, wrapping her thighs around him and arching her back against his body. 

"Oooh Tiger! Yes! Yes! I'm cumming! Don't stop!"

He drove his cock into her, and kept it buried within her, their pubic hairs mingling. He controlled his own orgasm, his cock still rigid within her. He held her tight as her climax washed over her, leaving her whimpering quietly, "Mmm, Tiger, you're so good!"

As soon as her breathing approached normality, he resumed his assault, again driving his cock in and out of her cunt, but this time at a slightly faster rhythm.

"More Tiger? Still more?"

"Oh yes, my Kitten, lots more!"

She lay still for a few moments, and then started to move her own body against him, in time with his penetrations. Perspiration built up on both their bodies, and started to drip from Max's brow. She licked the salty liquid from his face, and offered her lips to be kissed. His tongue found hers, and adopted the same rhythm as their combined bodies. He felt her breathing deepen again, and increased speed ever so slightly. She started whimpering, grinding her pubic bone against him, seeking release of the wave building up inside her. She felt him slip a hand under her bottom, and fingers stroke her perineum, gathering the juice from her pussy and spreading it towards her tight arsehole. Slowly and gently, a finger sought admission. She tightened her anal muscles momentarily, and then relaxed. His finger entered, but only for a couple of centimetres, then stayed still as she accustomed herself to the stranger. Still he pounded in and out of her, bringing her closer with each stroke.

Her whimpering became louder, building towards a scream. He pushed his finger further into her arsehole, now more receptive, and drove her over the top, screaming his name into his ear.

"Max! Max! Oh, yes darling Tiger! Cum in me! Now!"

But he refused. His cock stayed rigid inside her as she came down from her peak. She felt his finger withdraw from her anus and felt strangely empty, but his penis still filled her vagina. 'Oh yes,' she thought to herself, 'this is why I need Max!'

Last Sunday, Peter had fucked her six times, but never once given her an orgasm. A couple of times, she had been close enough to fake it realistically, but it was not like with Max. After Peter had left, she had retired early to bed with vibrator and dildo, to complete the task he had only begun. To-night, she had already cum twice on Max's fingers, before they adopted the classic sixty-nine position; she hadn't cum in sixty-nine, but now he had brought her off twice more, and a rock-hard cock in her cunt promised a third. Perhaps, in time, Peter would learn – it might be fun teaching him – but for now, she definitely needed a Max.

She lay on the bed, covered in sweat, and smiled at him, relaxing the grip of her thighs around him. His penis, still rock-hard, stirred in her vagina.

"Oh, Tiger, that was good," she whispered. "But you're still hard! Not cum yet?"

"No – not yet. One more?"

"Oh Max, I don't think I can. I'm exhausted, and pussy's a bit sore. I'll suck you off again, if you like."

"Come on, Kitten – we can manage another quick one. Turn over, and I'll fuck you from behind, doggie style. That way there'll be less pressure on pussy. I really want to cum inside you. Please, Kitten!"

Slowly, he withdrew his engorged cock, and she smiled at him, rolling over obediently, and rising on all fours to present her bottom to him. Smiling, he slapped it lightly. 

"Hell, Emma – you have the most adorable bum – so soft and yet firm," he exclaimed as he rubbed the globes of her backside with his palms. He knelt between her spread thighs, rubbing a thumb along the crack of her arse, towards her waiting cunt. 

He gazed longingly at the tight rosebud of her arsehole. 'One day – I hope,' he thought. Once, some weeks earlier, he had broached the subject of anal sex, but the vehemence of her response had warned him off the subject since then. 'Anyway,' he thought, 'the last few times she has accepted my finger in her bum with less reluctance. Perhaps I'll raise the subject again in a week or two.'

He presented the tip of his cock to her vaginal opening, and without further invitation, she sank smoothly on to it. As he started pounding in and out of her, he passed his left arm around her, fondling her swaying tits, while his right hand traversed her belly and his forefinger found her engorged clitoris. Slowly and methodically, he moved his prick in and out of her, increasing the pressure on her clit. Soon, he felt her pleasure rising as her breathing became more ragged. "Cum, my love, cum for me now!" he commanded. "I'll be right with you this time."

"Yes, nearly there! Just a little more!"

"Where? There?" he asked, pinching her clit.

"Yes! That's it! Yes! There! Now!" she screamed, her juices drenching his balls.

"Oh yes!" he replied, driving into her with one final effort, lifting her knees off the bed, and exploding into her depths.

"Too much, Tiger. No more! Please!" she whimpered. "I can't take any more just yet."

"Me neither," he agreed, "that was fantastic!"

His penis was softening rapidly. Sadly, she sensed it slipping out of her, and felt his semen trickling down her thighs, mingled with her own juices and with the sweat pouring from each of them. They collapsed onto the bed, and turned to face each other, their lips meeting in another kiss.

"Oh Tiger, I'll be sore for a week after all that!" she smiled.

"No – you'll soon get over it and be begging for more!"

He enfolded her in his arms, and she snuggled up lovingly, sighing deeply. He glanced towards the clock on the table next to her bed.

"Oh Hell! Sorry, Kitten, but it's nearly eleven o'clock. I must go. Can I use your shower?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, hiding the bitter thought that he found it necessary to wash off the scent and smell of his mistress before returning home. "Perhaps I'll join you. I'm all sweaty and sticky myself."

"OK. That would be fun!"

Swiftly, he moved to the shower room, and turned on the taps, checking the temperature before stepping in and soaping himself liberally. A minute later, the door opened, and she joined him. He watched the water running down her slim body, across her breasts and down her belly towards her pussy. Lovingly, he helped her soap herself, and they laughed as their hands entwined. She reached up to kiss him, prodding his tight stomach with her clenched fists, and admiring his firm muscles.

"Not bad for an old man!" she exclaimed.

"Hey – not so old!" he retorted, slapping her backside. "Not fifty yet, and not too old to give you a good spanking!"

At 22, Emma was only a year or so older than Max's son Robert, now at Cambridge University reading English, but he did not appreciate being reminded of the age gap between himself and Emma. He kept his muscles toned with regular exercise, and reckoned he was as fit as most men twenty years younger.

Her hand travelled idly down his body, finally finding his penis, now shrunk to a couple of inches. "Mmm!" she exclaimed, "that's still my favourite muscle, but he looks so innocent now! He's had a busy night poor thing!" She knelt to take it into her mouth, the water still running down his body and through her hair. He felt it stir slightly, but pushed her away.

"No, my love, not now! You are the greatest cocksucker ever, but I MUST go! Another time – please."

She gave it a final kiss, and pouted prettily. "OK, Tiger, he'll have to wait until next time."

After drying herself, Emma slipped into a blue bathrobe, and watched Max dressing. "When shall I see you again, Tiger?" she asked.

"Not sure, Kitten. Next week, I hope. I'll have to call you."

"Wish it could be more often," she pouted. "I get frustrated without you. You're much better than my vibrator – you press all the right buttons."

"Thanks for the compliment," he laughed, "I'm glad to be of service! I'll miss you too. I'll try to sort out an all-night session next week, but I really must go now!"

Her arms encircled his neck for a final kiss, and then he hurried out of the door, into his red BMW. Emma watched from her window and waved as he drove away into the night. Sadly, she turned and locked her door.

The flat felt suddenly empty. Emma found a little left in the bottle of Chablis he had brought for their meal, poured it into her glass, and sipped it as she cleared the table from the remnants of their meal together. She set the dishwasher, and looked at the clock – 11.30 – time to turn in.

The bed was untidy after their earlier exertions and damp in places from sweat and cum. She tidied it a little. 'Should really change the sheets,' she thought to herself, 'but I'm too tired now.'

She lay on top of the bed, still in her bathrobe, checked that the alarm clock was set, took her birth-control pill, and switched out the light. Drowsily, her hand made its way under her robe, and found her pussy, parting the lips and settling gently on her clitoris. 'Max was good to-night,' she thought. 'I wonder if I can train Peter to the same standard!'

Slowly and gently, she stroked her clit. Her eyes closed. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard a faint noise from the hall, but was too tired to investigate. 'Probably something fell off the hall table,' she thought. A strange odour wafted across her nostrils, and she dropped off to sleep.



Abducted Ch. 01



Chapter 1 -- In Broad Daylight

Harris drives the van.

It's a common brown delivery truck, and that's by design. It has dual doors that swing out from the baggage compartment. We covered the windows with cardboard cutouts, held loosely in place by silver duct tape. That's by design, too. 

Inside the compartment we lined the walls with thick, gray, sound-reducing rubber foam. We've nailed two more layers to the floor of the compartment, and a new cut of white shag carpet covers it on top. 

On one side wall of the van sits a long, low-slung tool box, wide enough to accommodate two large men sitting on it, more or less, comfortably. Inside the tool box is a pile of various lengths of brown hemp and white nylon ropes; a few rolls of colored duct tape; an assortment of torn bed sheet strips, a few discarded rags; and, some, er, used panties (Chano contributed those. He says it's good gagging material. I'll keep that in mind, when this is over; there have got to be some 'kinky' girls who like to play with rich Americans, down in Costa Rica, ... ) 

Harris wears a brown uniform, similar to those of a famous international delivery service.

Chano and I wear black from head to toe. Black sneakers, black socks, black slacks. I've got a pullover turtleneck, and Chano wears a tank top, naturally, to show off. Each of us wears a black ski mask, and black crushed-leather gloves, as well. 

I had the only electronic voice scrambler that's working. Harris thinks he can salvage one of the other ones. That sucks. All three of them were working, yesterday. I sigh -- never trust anything Made in China. It's a small problem, but, now, by necessity, I am the only one to do the talking inside the van, after Harris does his part. It should be okay; it's not a long ride from here to the warehouses on the waterfront. 

I've got time to go over our 'playbook', one last time, before we go into action.

I've done some homework on our prospective 'guest'. I know that her daily lunchtime schedule is between 11:45 AM, and 12:15 PM. On Fridays, sometimes, she takes an extra half-hour to do some shopping at the lingerie store around the corner. As long as she tells her boss, then, that's not a problem. 

She's pretty, and what's more, she carries herself that way. Most women don't know that that's the key, really, but this one? She's got the looks, the legs, the tight little ass, ... and she knows how to carry it off. 

She's the type who always manages to turn a fella's head. And, some, like her boss, ... well, let's say she has a ring through his nose, anytime she wants to. 

I also know that she's been working there long enough to have a authority, the kind that we need. To get done what we need done, we're going to need her 'cooperation'. 

I even know that her first name is Elizabeth. 

I review all this, as well as the mechanics of our plan, and everybody's role in it. I inform Chano about changing his role, explaining: "I think I might need a bit more muscle at the warehouse. She's small, and trim, but she's kind of a gym rat, probably stronger and quicker than she looks. You never know, but it pays to be careful. Harris, I think, blends in better in that environment. They won't notice him, as much, at least when he gets started." 

That's fine with the boys, especially Chano. I think he wants to stay with the tied-up lady, once we get her, well, tied up. Chano is, after all, a bit of a pervert. Harris, I think, instinctively understands that I don't want Chano mucking anything up at the bank.

We park the van across the street, just north of the bank's glass doors. We can't miss her leaving for her usual Friday afternoon lunch -- Chinese, at Happy Golden's, next to the lingerie shop. It's only a few blocks up, and we're poised to intercept her. 

It's 11:30 AM.

Harris let out a slow sigh. "Hey, Chief, ... what's it mean when your palms are sweaty?"

Chano laughs, "It means that you're about to come into a lot of money!"

"That's when your palms itch," I say. "When they sweat it means, ... you're nervous." Harris looks back at me. "You're supposed to be. You're supposed to have a couple of butterflies before the big game, ... keeps you alert. Just don't obsess on it, and you're fine. Remember, me 'n' Chano are the ones who have to get..."

She's early.

Out she comes, full of life, flouncing down the street with her white dress teasing those sumptuous legs, and without a care in the world. 

"Chief..."

"I see her. Breathe deep, ... and go!"

Harris nerves were always good in the crunch. That's part of why I clued him in on this caper. 

Calmly, he checks the rear-view's, eases out into the street, and then ... he makes a sharp left turn into the alley next to the bank building. He threads the needle -- the alleyway is just wide enough to fit our van -- and kills the engine when we pull out of view of the street. 

He grabs a clipboard, slides out of the driver's side door, exhales, ... and squeezes out to the street, just as Elizabeth approaches.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said in the most becoming, non-threatening voice, "... but my GPS isn't working, in the truck. I've got to find this building downtown, they call it the Miller building, but I don't have a street address. Do you know...?"

She must be in a good mood. She must be pretty unwary, or maybe both.

Elizabeth smiles a pleasant, perky smile, even as Chano and I get ready to pounce. Then, she turns her back on the van in the alley-way, so that she can point out to the silly, befuddled delivery driver that the Miller Building is right here, right where she had just left the bank lobby on her way to...

... Our clutches.

The van doors swing open. Chano envelops the shapely woman in his massive arms, wrapping around her upper body, ending with a black-gloved hand over her lips! I hop down -- I wasn't planning to do that, exactly -- and gather up her long, luscious legs in my grasp. Chano pulls her in. I scramble in, behind him. 

Harris slams the doors behind us. This, now, is the point of no return!

My face flushes with adrenaline! There's the risk of getting caught. The taste of big, fat money coming through, if we do this thing right. All mixed in with the sight, and the sounds, of the pretty lady that I'm about to tie up and gag, and the feel of poor, pretty Elizabeth's soft, creamy legs churning helplessly within my arms. Man, what a moment! Man, what a rush! 

Chano pins her down to the floor of the soundproofed van.

I reach into the toolbox. And, I grasp a length of rough, brown hemp rope.

**************************************************

Just as I round the corner into the alley, a young man steps out of a delivery van and walks towards me.

He is young, thin, and curiously looks like an adult Harry Potter. As our eyes meet, I immediately like him.

He tells me that his GPS isn't operating correctly and that he is trying to find the Miller Building for his delivery.

I can't help but laugh adding one of my flirty little looks as I explain that he is parked next to the same building that he is trying to find.

He is the perfect nerdy and cute type of young man that I always find myself drawn to at various events or parties as they are normally shy and withdrawn making them fun to flirt with without worrying about having to fight them off at the end of the evening.

As I finish explaining how close he is to his destination I hear the side doors of the van slide open behind me and before I can turn around a very strong man forcibly grabs me from behind.

He places one large meaty paw across my mouth effectively restricting any sort of sound that I might attempt to make. His other paw finds itself across my chest. To be more precise he grabs roughly between my breasts catching his fingers on the balconette bra that I am wearing under my dress.

As he adjusts his hold, he effectively pulls my bra down just a matter of an inch.

If you have any knowledge of a balconette style of bra, it essentially acts as a platform for a woman's breasts and in the case of a smaller chested woman like myself; it creates the illusion of being bigger on top than I really am.

The style that I prefer to wear has demi cups that barely cover my nipples adding to the illusion of size, however when the bra is inadvertently adjusted downward, as this brute has just done, it serves to pull my nipples free of the fabric causing them to now push forward against the thin rayon fabric of my summer dress.

I can't exactly explain why, unless it is a matter of adrenalin in a person's system, although I suspect that it is something else, but my now exposed nipples have popped to life creating a very prominent protrusion against the fabric of my dress.

The darker skin of my areole's and nipples also tell anyone facing me exactly where they are located.

The brute just happened to place his adjusted hand right on top of my right breast and almost naked nipple.

The worst part of it was that now I wasn't the only one to be aware of his hand placement, as he immediately felt the hard pebble of flesh against his hand where he has trapped it by squeezing two of his fingers together.

I am being grabbed and groped all at the same time, and besides all of this I can feel this man's large and very erect penis pressed firmly against my lower back.

As I stare with abject fear and total disbelief into the deliveryman's eyes, a second man dressed all in black including a black ski mask comes from behind me and just as I feel that I am about to break loose from the clutches of the man behind me, the new abductor grabs my ankles hoisting my legs skyward.

I frantically kick and squirm to loosen his grip but essentially only succeed in giving him an unobstructed view of my stocking tops, violet colored garter straps, and my light blue nylon covered crotch.

He counters my movements by slipping his hands up my calves until he is gripping me tightly around my knees, which greatly limits the movement of my legs.

My frantic struggles only flip the hem of my dress well up my legs and as I now stare into the eyes of my new assailant, I am carried back into the open door of the van.

I swear that I have seen his eyes before, but considering my current state I have no time to reflect on where or when.

The muscular man pinching my nipple drags me backward into the van stuffing some sort of fabric into my mouth totally muffling any sound that I might be able to make and while the man holding my lower thighs maintains his grip, a strip of duct tape is wound around my head securing the fabric in my mouth.

This has taken all of the fight out of me as I now have to concentrate on relaxing and breathing through my nose, which allows the man with "those eyes that I have seen before" to wind a length of strong rope around my ankles securely tying it between them and in effect creating a pair of rope leg irons.

As I continue to watch in horror and fascination he takes another length of rope and ties my knees together, while the man behind me secures my wrists and elbows with other lengths of rope.

I am now completely and hopelessly bound and helpless bringing an unexpected tingling sensation throughout my lower anatomy.

At no time does either of them rearrange my dress letting the hem remain well above my thighs giving them both a fine display of all of the sexy under things that I had purposely put on for work today.

My very erect nipples continue to push against the thin fabric of my dress clearly indicating that my obvious fear contains a mixture of sexual excitement first ignited by the dream of bondage that I had had this morning before waking.

It is such a contradiction of appropriate and inappropriate feelings to have my mind completely overtaken by fears of what might happen next, while every part of me below my waist aches in anticipation of what might happen next. 

As I sit bound and exposed on the floor of the van, the man with those eyes looks quite contently at my protruding nipples and very exposed legs.

The other brute, who is also wearing a black ski mask, just leers at me while his prominent manhood continues to press at the front of his trousers.

Within a matter of seconds the van takes off, driven by the adult Harry to what destination I do not know.

I think about trying to adjust my dress, but decide that I don't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing my discomfiture, and besides there is something about the one man's eyes that impels me to let him look.



Abducted Ch. 01



Chapter 1

Relax

"I'll never go away."

"You'll never get away," he said darkly.

His threat made me catch my breath.

Was that true? Would I truly never get away? Would I really be stuck here forever?

He pulled me against his body roughly, holding me tight.

His lips and nose ran the length of my neck. When he reach my ear, he bit it lightly.

But I didn't pull away as I had in the past. That'd show that I was lying when I promised I'd never leave. On top of that, what if he was right? If I never really was going to get away, why not stop fighting?

His hands slid down my back and wrapped around my butt as he kissed his way across my face and to my lips.

I didn't kiss him back, though. My lips stayed frozen in place.

What did it matter anyway? He was just testing me. Making sure what I'd said was true. That I wouldn't pull away and try to leave. He was biding his time. Waiting to see my resistance level before getting at what he really wanted.

When he found my lips unresponsive, he moved slowly back to my ear.

"What's with the resistance?" he asked.

"I'm not resisting," I insisted. "I just don't know what you want of me."

"Participation," he whispered.

"I don't know how," I whimpered.

"You're nineteen. Are you seriously saying you've never been with a man, Adara?"

"I've never even kissed a man," I muttered. "I don't know what to do."

I opened my eyes to the darkness, seeing his eyes staring back at me, almost disbelieving.

He took my lips with his once again and I closed my eyes, wishing I could stop this but not having any way around it other than to prove myself a liar.

I attempted to move my lips with his, but it wasn't exactly right.

He moved his hands up slightly and clasped the edge of my shirt in his fingers before pulling my shirt roughly over my head. His lips left mine as my shirt passed over my head, but they connected once again with mine the second my shirt was out of the way.

His hands slid down to my thighs just below my butt and he lifted me, forcing my legs around his waist.

Then we were moving. But only for a minute. After just a second, we stopped and he threw me onto the bed.

He was only gone for a second. He was soon on me and I instinctively wrapped my legs once more around his waist. I felt him smile at that.

He pressed his hand against my right breast.

I was becoming more accustomed to kissing as things progressed and, when he put his hand to my breast, I felt my whole body tingle. I began kissing him with more passion.

His other hand slid behind my back and, after a second, he unclasped my bra. Using both hands, he slid it down my arms and then tossed it across the room.

He pressed his hands against my now bare breasts.

My hands seemed to move as if of their own volition as they made their way from his shoulders to his waist just above my legs.

I adjusted slightly and, with that small movement, he pressed closer to me and I felt his hard penis.

I grabbed the edge of his shirt and attempted to work it up over his head.

He pulled one hand from my breast to help me and placed it back as soon as I had gotten his shirt to the floor beside the bed. At least, I think it was the floor. It was too dark to see how far the bed extended.

His hands slid off my breasts and over the bit of fat at my stomach. They reached the top of my jeans and undid the button before unzipping the zipper.

He slid his hands down my thighs and to my knees.

"Relax your legs," he whispered, pulling away from me slightly.

I did as he instructed, letting my legs fall from his body, my bare feet bouncing slightly as they hit the mattress.

He pulled my jeans down, the slight touch of his hand on my bare thighs sending a shock through me.

I was breathing hard as my jeans left my body and I heard the sound of them being thrown across the room.

I pressed my thighs together slightly, feeling the dampness of my panties as I did.

His hands grasped the top of my panties and yanked them off.

I started getting a twisty feeling in my stomach as I lay naked in front of this man that I could only see a bit in the dark. I pressed my thighs tighter together.

He leaned over me and kissed my lips.

"Relax," he told me.

"I-I don't know," I whimpered.

"Come on," he whispered darkly.

"Duncan, I -," I started to say but he cut me off by pressing his lips to mine.

I heard jeans being thrown across the room and figured he must have taken his jeans off.

"Duncan, please. I just-I don't know," I pleaded.

He ran his hand along my thighs.

"Relax," he told me again.

He kissed my lips and nipped at my chin. He pressed his hands to my breasts once more as he kissed.

I kissed him back and felt my legs relax as my thighs parted once more.

Then I felt his penis slowly creep inside me.

He kept it slow and gentle as he did, which I appreciated as I did not want my hymen to break. I didn't want that pain and he must have known that, just because I'd never been with a man, that didn't mean it had to break. It didn't mean I had to bleed. He seemed to understand that a woman's hymen would stretch if you were careful.

I pulled away from his kiss, gasping slightly. I put my hand to his hip to steady him.

"Slow....down," I gasped.

I wasn't used to something so big. My dildo at home was smaller than he was.

He paused in his forward motion, kissing my lips and letting my get used to him being there.

After a minute, he continued to go further, trying to get more of him inside of me.

He couldn't get much further so, instead, he began moving around.

I felt a pressure building up as a good feeling spread through me.

Moans escaped my mouth and he continued moving faster and harder. Soon, an orgasm racked my body. An orgasm unlike any other I had felt on my own.

At that moment as my vaginal walls contracted around his penis, I realized he wasn't wearing a condom. That thought was soon forgotten, though.

"Oh! Duncan!" I gasped.

My hands fell from his shoulders and sprawled out on the bed.

I didn't feel the edge of the bed near my fingertips.

My chest heaved as I breathed deeply, trying to catch my breath.

He smiled down at me but didn't stop moving. He needed his release, too.

And then another orgasm was coming.

It grew in strength and my hands flailed out beside me, looking for something to grab onto but only finding the sheets which were not enough.

As I climaxed, I let out a gasp and an exclamation of, "Oh god!"

My grip on the sheets relaxed.

He stayed still for a minute, letting me come down from the orgasms.

Then he pulled out of me and I'd felt like I'd been robbed of something vital.

"Hey!" I objected.

He chuckled slightly and grabbed my waist before turning me around so that I was facedown on the bed with my knees propping me up.

Then I felt him enter me once more.

He moved slightly inside me. He started slow and then gained speed.

As he pounded into me, I felt his thighs touch my butt. He was further in.

I couldn't help but to move to him every time he pulled away.

The good feeling spread through me again and my thighs began to get weak so that they felt like jello.

"Oh! Duncan!" I cried out as I orgasmed again my hands grasping around once again in an attempt to find something other than the sheets to grasp, but coming up short once again..

"Oh!" he groaned as I felt a liquid fill me and his cum spilled out.

I collapsed on the bed and blacked out, my heart racing as I gasped for air.



Abducted Ch. 01



It was completely dark when I opened my eyes. Seeing only vague shadows until my eyes adjusted, I tried to feel my surroundings. I realized then that I couldn't move my limbs, arms or legs, because I was bound to the mattress I was on. The mattress was bare, worn and thin. I could feel springs poking up into my back, through the thin fabric of my tank top. Each time I struggled to move, the bed squeaked as if it was complaining. How long I have I been here?

Adjusting to the pitch black of the room, I noted the walls were made of grey cinder block, the floors were concrete and the room had nothing else in it. The room was a significant size, at least ten feet around each of the free sides of the bed. The room had no windows, so I figured I was being kept in a basement or secret room. Scared that the squeaking would bring attention to my abductor, I kept still and studied my ties. My arms were tied to the bed frame at the far corners of the bed by a small rope attached to chain which wrapped around my wrist like a handcuff. Each time I struggled the chain became tighter against my wrist and I was incapable of loosening the bonds. On each ankle I could barely see the sharp handcuff attaching my long legs to each of the other bed posts. My body was stretched fairly long, making me unable to bend, reach or do anything which would enable me to escape. 

Extremely thirsty and hungry, I decided to try to speak. My mouth was insanely dry and my throat was sore. I realized then that I must've already suffered some abuse, physical and sexual at the hands of my captor. Hearing my attempts to speak, he moved into the doorway. Seeing only his shadow, I was immediately frightened. His large frame took up most of the doorway in both width and height. His body looked muscular and toned, and his frame was impressive. Slowly he moved closer, until I could see his face and body with more detail. Not handsome, his face looked rugged and worn but his body remained impressive. His skin on his arms and face was scarred. He was, in a word, menacing. I could see defined muscle tone in his arms, shoulders, chest, abdominals and legs underneath his dirty wife beater tank top and jeans. He wasn't wearing shoes. His head and face were fully shaved and his mouth was set in a hard line. He looked at me like I was less than human. "What?" he asked, coldly. 

"Where am I? Who are you? What do you want?" I asked desperately. In my 24 years I knew I had never done anything that would make this type of treatment remotely necessary, or deserved. Instead of answering my questions, his eyes narrowed as he took in my form. Lying on the bed, I felt incredibly vulnerable. As the silence grew my fear did too, waiting for any response from this mean looking man. 

Sneering into my face he reached out his hand and touched my leg. Running his fingers quickly but softly, he traced his fingers upward, caressing my calf at first, then my thigh and lastly running his fingers over my groin lewdly. My anger rising, I screamed and bucked wildly trying to throw his hands off my body to no avail. He increased the pressure of his touches and slapped my face in an effort to subdue me. Stinging from the pain, I stopped moving but began again when he reached to unbutton my jeans. I didn't want him to touch me again and tried all the I could to bring my knees up to both block him from his mission and to injure him if possible. My strength was low and my stamina was not what my athletic body should've had within it. I knew instantly I had been here for quite some time already. 

Grinning ear to ear, he watched my pathetic struggles. He almost laughed when my eyes met his and I called him nasty names and asked him to let me go. Now having removed my pants, at least, pulled them down past my knees, I was wearing only my tank top and thong. Still grinning, he ran his pointer and middle finger along the crotch of my panties, rubbing my clit through the fabric and running his fingers lower to feel along my pussy. The thin string covered nothing and was of no use protecting me from his fingers. He pulled the string aside and placed his body over my legs, and bringing his face between my thighs. 

I screamed bloody murder when he touched his tongue to my pussy lips and flicked the tip over my clit. He used three fingers to rub my hard nub quickly from side to side as he slid his tongue in further. Reaching his arms up and under my ass he lifted my body closer and pushed with his elbows to spread my legs as much as he could make them go while bound to the bed posts. 

I writhed in agony, not wanting him to touch me at all, and hating the way my body was reacting to his attention. He spit foully onto my pussy and bent back down to lick it all up. He licked slowly, covering every part of my body. His tongue moved down, lower than I'd ever experienced and rimmed my little asshole too. I moaned when his tongue lapped around my hole and he stiffened his tongue, attempting to penetrate my ass with it. Pushing hard, his tongue flicked and lapped at me. I hated how wet his tongue was making me. 

Bringing himself up above me he mocked me. "You want me to stop, bitch?" he cajoled. Pushing two fingers in my pussy he said, "I don't think you do, slut. Your pussy is begging me to fuck it. You're just a dirty little slam-pig aren't you?" Whimpering, I tried all I could to close my legs and keep him out. 

Seeing and feeling my refusal and smiling, he reached his hand upward and gripped my throat in one hand. His huge hand wrapped around my neck and squeezed. Seeing stars, I could no longer push my legs together, and my body gave way to him. Pushing my legs apart even further, he unzipped his pants and reached inside to grab his dick. It was hard, 7 inches long and thick. Without hesitation he rubbed the head into my wetness and slid inside in one hard thrust. 

Keeping his left hand around my neck and applying pressure with each thrust he fucked my pussy with long, hard, deep strokes. "Motherfuck!" he grunted as he pushed his cock deep into my tight pussy. "Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn," he repeated over and over as he fucked me. Within several minutes I felt like I might pass out and he was ready to fill my hole with his cum. His strokes became faster and harder and his grip on my neck became unbearable. He plunged with more and more force deep into my wet pussy before shuddering and screaming as he pumped me full of his hot jizz. 

He pulled his dick out and moved his body up toward my face. Straddling my chest and keeping his hand tight on my throat he ordered me to open my mouth and taste his dick. "If you even think about using those teeth, I will take pleasure in knocking each one out, one by one, do you understand?" His threat had the exact impact he wanted as I silently nodded my agreement. Loosening his grip slightly, I took the opportunity to take a deep breath and voice my understanding with a meek "Yes, Sir."

Suddenly he picked up my head with his right hand and stuck his still hard cock, covered in my juices and leaking his own cum, into my mouth. He pushed his dick as far as he could into my throat. "I want to feel my dick in your throat from the outside, you stupid whore," he told me as he continued to hold my neck with his left hand. I could barely breathe each time he pulled back and my face was covered in drool and spit the retching made me produce when I gagged on his dick. "Oh yeah, ahhhh right there," he groaned, "Just like that, bitch. Just like thaaaaat," he said while he pushed in and out of my mouth. Tears were dripping down my face, as I suffered his ruthless face fuck. All I could hope was that it would end soon. Finally satisfied, he quickly got off of me and the bed and straightened his pants, buttoning them back up. Catching his breath and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. 

I could hear the phone on the other end ringing. The other person answered on the fourth ring. "I have her here," the man beside me said into the phone. Looking at me and trailing his finger down my ample chest and around my navel he said, "She's a dirty slut just like you said she'd be." I could hear the other man laughing. "I fucked her pussy but I can tell she wants it up her ass. I think you should come by and we can give her what she really wants." I heard the man on the other end of the line give his approval for the plan, "Fuckin A, man. That bitch was hot." Before the man beside me hung up he added, "And bring a friend or two. This girl is trouble. She wants it in all of her filthy holes." Still chuckling, he walked slowly out of the room. Two hours later he returned to give me food and water. 

He's been gone now for what seems like hours. 



Abducted Ch. 02



Chapter 2 – Captive

Slowly and drowsily, Emma woke from sleep. Normally after an evening of sex with Max, she would sleep peacefully and deeply, but last night had been marred by a succession of dreams – nightmares even - quite unlike her usual dreams. Dimly, she tried to remember. Strange faces appeared and disappeared, strange hands on her body, her hands and feet being bound, her body enclosed in a box – a coffin perhaps? Her head ached from a horrendous hangover. 'Strange,' she thought, 'I only had a couple of glasses of wine last night; two glasses wouldn't normally affect me like this. I must get up and take a couple of Alka-Seltzers.' She glanced at the alarm clock on the table next to the bed – 6.40 – another fifteen minutes before it burst into life.

She moved to throw back the sheets, and then stopped short. 'I'm sure I nodded off last night on top of the bed, in my bathrobe, but now I'm under the covers – and nude! Strange!'

She lifted the sheets and looked down her naked body. "What the hell?" she exclaimed aloud. Her pussy, once adorned with neatly trimmed soft, blonde hair, was now entirely bare. 'Max?' she wondered. 'Has Max been playing games?' Max had often asked her to shave her pussy for him, but she had always refused. 'Did Max creep back in last night after I fell asleep? No – he doesn't have a key!'

She looked again, and something glistened at her navel – a small gold ring. "Ugh!" she ejaculated angrily. Who could have done that? She hated the very idea of being pierced. Anxiously, she felt her ear lobes, and encountered two small studs in each ear. 'Horrible!' she thought, 'How cruel! Surely Max couldn't be responsible?'

Her anxiety increasing, she looked again at the alarm clock. It wasn't hers! She became aware of the faint hum of an air-conditioning system. She looked around the room, dimly lit by a night-light in a far corner. This wasn't her room! Much bigger, with tables, armchairs and a large sofa – but not her room! She rushed to the curtains on one wall, and pulled them back, revealing only a mirror, from which her own frightened face gazed back at her. She looked at her ears, and sure enough, each lobe was decorated with two small studs, capped with what appeared to be diamonds. She turned on the central light and tried the doors. One was locked, and she saw no sign of a key. Another led into a capacious marbled bathroom, with a large bath, separate shower, two enormous basins, a WC, and a bidet, all with gilt fittings. A door next to the bathroom led into a small toilet, with WC and wash-hand basin, matching the furnishing in the main bathroom. The fourth door opened to reveal an enormous walk-in wardrobe – a dressing room really, she supposed. A quick glance revealed some of her own clothes, and an assortment of new items, all with original tags, and all in her size.

Puzzled, and increasingly frightened, she returned to the main room. She noticed a telephone by the bed and picked it up. Dead! No connection whatsoever! She slumped into an armchair, trying to get her head straight, and made an effort to collect her thoughts. God! Her head still hurt! She noticed a sheet of paper on the table, and picked it up.

"Thursday 20th May, 1999

Welcome. We hope you had a good sleep. When you are ready for breakfast, please pull on the rope next to the bed. Breakfast will be brought to you within a few minutes."

'Yes,' she thought, 'breakfast might help me get my thoughts in order. But I'd better put some clothes on first.'

A long hard pee helped a little – her bladder was almost at bursting point. She found a luxuriously soft robe behind the door, and went to put it on. As she did so, she noticed in the mirror something odd on the side of her left buttock. She looked down and saw strange marks, enclosed in an ornate small rectangle, about 2cm deep and 1.5cm wide, apparently tattooed. She tried to make out the marks. The first line looked like a number – squiggle–7–1–3–7. What could it mean? She looked again. 'Of course,' she realised, 'I'm looking at it upside-down! Try again.'

Using the mirror, and with a great effort to get her befuddled brain to work, she finally read L-E-I-L-A – LEILA – what could it mean?

Below the word 'LEILA' were some other characters, in what looked like Arabic script, and below that some characters in what she took to be Japanese or Chinese ideograms. Finally, at the bottom, was a letter, followed by a number – D297. Emma was mystified. She tried rubbing at the marks with soap and water, but to no avail. They did indeed appear to be tattoos. She hated tattoos! She loathed earrings, and especially navel-rings; thank goodness they hadn't given her nipple-rings as well! She even disliked her shaven bald pussy – it hadn't looked like that for over ten years. This had to be some sick joke. Surely Max couldn't be responsible for this!

She wrapped the bathrobe around herself, and went back to the table, again picking up the sheet of paper. Suddenly she noticed the date. Thursday? No – today was Wednesday, wasn't it? She thought back. Sunday, she had had a date with Peter. On Monday, she went to work as usual, and Max had called to make a date for the next evening – Tuesday. On Monday evening, she had stayed in, to wash her hair, bath, and do her nails. Tuesday was work again, and then an evening with Max. Yes – today was definitely Wednesday! Her mobile phone would confirm it!

Emma found the handbag she had used yesterday, placed neatly on top of a dressing table. Hurriedly she sorted through it; her wallet, purse, make-up, etc. were all in place, but her mobile phone had disappeared. She searched further – no credit cards, no driving license, and no diary. 

She needed coffee. She pulled the rope as instructed, and sat in an armchair to await developments.

Less than five minutes later, she heard a door being unlocked, and two tiny young women, plump but quite pretty, wearing traditional black maids' uniforms with white aprons, wheeled in a large trolley. They pushed it to the centre of the room, next to the table, and curtsied. "Please. Enjoy," one of them announced. Emma thought she was probably Thai – Oriental anyway - as was her companion. They turned to go.

"No," Emma called out. "Please don't go! Please tell me – where am I? Why am I here? Who are you?"

They shook their heads, smiled, and left hurriedly, locking the door behind them.

Emma surveyed the breakfast trolley, and felt suddenly hungry. Orange juice (freshly squeezed), a vast array of fresh fruit (each piece at the peak of ripeness), muesli and cereals of various types, milk and yoghurt, cold meats and smoked fish, cheeses, hard-boiled eggs, rolls and croissants, butter, marmalade, jams and honeys, coffee and tea. She rapidly downed an orange juice, poured a large cup of black coffee, and started munching through a bowl of cereal and nuts with fresh yoghurt.

She finally noticed a neatly folded sheet of A4 paper, and read as she ate:

"Thursday 20th May, 1999 

Please enjoy your breakfast.

You have been under sedation, and may be experiencing unfortunate after-effects. If your head hurts this morning, we suggest the pill in the blue box. If your stomach feels queasy, the pill in the pink box would be better. We do NOT recommend that you take both – the side effects can be most unpleasant.

No doubt, you have many questions. You will be interviewed at 10.00am, and we will answer as many as we can. You will be collected at 9.55; until then, we suggest you enjoy breakfast, have a leisurely bath, familiarise yourself with your wardrobe, and get dressed in something suitable for an interview.

Lunch is served between 1 and 2pm. A menu is in the trolley drawer. Please indicate with a cross the items you would like. We recommend a light lunch; the main meal of the day will be served between 7 and 8pm.

When you have finished, please pull on the rope next to the bed, and the trolley will be removed."

Emma took another sip of coffee. Sedation? What did that mean? She opened the blue box, and swallowed the small yellow pill she found inside. After yet another sip of coffee, she felt that her head was at last beginning to clear.

She started attacking a large plate of cold meats and salad. She particularly enjoyed the succulent mint-flavoured slices of chicken, and the thin slices of lamb, flavoured with what? Ah yes – coriander. As she ate, she began to take stock. An interview? At 10pm – nearly three hours away. What could that entail? Was this some sort of initiative test organised by her employers? It seemed unlikely for a highly respected and old-fashioned firm of Edinburgh accountants, but she knew that one of the senior partners had recently spent a few months in Japan. They did strange things there, she knew.

But the tattoo, the piercing of her ears and navel, the shaving of her pussy? Surely, no company could take such liberties with an employee without permission. It couldn't be buried in the small print of her contract, could it? If the interview didn't go well, she might need a good lawyer. Max would help.

She poured herself another cup of coffee, filled in her order for lunch – an interesting fish dish, to be followed by fresh fruit – and studied the room again. It wasn't like any hotel room she had experienced. There was no TV, not even a radio. The room was expensively furnished, and tastefully decorated. She wandered around, opening all the cupboards. Finally, she found what looked like a TV, but on closer examination turned out to be a DVD player. Next to it was an impressive collection of DVDs, and CDs carefully filed in order of composer. She found, and put to play, a copy of the Goldberg Variations, with Angela Hewitt on the harpsichord – she always thought better with Bach!

She removed a bottle of mineral water, a banana and a pear from the breakfast trolley, placed them on a small table for later consumption, and pulled the rope. Almost immediately, the two oriental maids reappeared, curtsied, cleared the table, and left, locking the door behind them. Her further attempts at questioning them were met only with polite smiles and further curtsies.

Two pairs of dark brown eyes watched her, unseen through a two-way mirror. "She appears surprisingly calm," remarked the woman.

"Yes," her companion replied, "a very promising attitude."

'Right,' Emma thought, 'two and a half hours to get ready. Bath first.' She looked at herself in the mirror, and felt her hair. 'And a hair-wash. And I must get rid of those horrible earrings!'

With a little difficulty, Emma managed to undo the studs in her ears, and remove the diamond pins, which she placed in a drawer. She could not, however, work out how to undo the gold ring in her navel. That would have to wait for later.

She ran her bath, selecting from the array of luxurious bath oils on the shelf, and relaxed in the large tub.

Just over an hour later, freshly bathed, powdered and conditioned, her soft blonde hair newly washed and dried, Emma appraised herself in the full-length mirror. 'Mmm – not bad!' she thought, twisting to admire her firm buttocks, and again catching sight of the tattoo on her left hip. Her headache had gone, and she was able to think more clearly. She had almost convinced herself about the correctness of her theory about an 'initiative test' of some kind, but the tattoo perturbed her. The pierced ears and shaven pussy would mend in time, but the tattoo seemed unduly permanent. Perhaps it was only some sort of indelible ink, and would wear off.

Her right breast and nipple were still discoloured, where Max had bitten them last night. She looked again at her shaven pussy. Now that she was getting used to it, she quite liked it. Max would be enthralled. She wasn't sure of Peter's reaction, but he was nowhere near as adept with his tongue as was Max; normally his only thought was how quickly he could get his cock up her; he might not even notice. She admired the way her clit peeked out, and stroked it gently. "Mmm – nice," she whispered to herself, "but no time for that now!"

Still naked, Emma vacated the bathroom, and returned to the bedroom. It felt silent and empty. She needed some cheerful, energetic music. Searching through the CD collection, she finally settled on Haydn – String Quartets, Opus 76, played by the Quattuor Mosaique. As the sound of the gut strings filled the room, she caught sight of her nude body again, in another mirror. Idly, her fingers brushed across her mound, and again found her clitoris. 'I wonder,' she thought, and hurried to the cabinet by the bed. Opening the drawer, she found, nestled at the back, not only her own favourite vibrator and dildo, but also some new toys. 'Very thoughtful of them!' she considered, 'I'll look forward to exploring those later.' Experimentally, she turned on one of the new vibrators, much larger than anything she had previously experienced, and pressed it against her clit. A familiar sensation wafted over her, and she sat on the bed.

"Surely she's not going to start masturbating now?" said one of the unseen watchers. "Oh no – just experimenting," as Emma regretfully switched off he vibrator and returned it to the drawer.

'LATER!' she said to herself in a firm voice. 'I must get ready now.'

She went to the dressing table, searched through the large selection of powders, creams and potions, and applied a light make-up.

'What to wear?' she wondered. 'I don't want to show that I'm worried or upset – something fairly frivolous, I think. Let's see what we've got.'

She entered the dressing room, out of sight of the watchers, and started perusing the clothes. It would help if she knew who might be interviewing her. Male or female? Probably male – there was only one female partner in the firm, and she was rumoured to be Lesbian anyway. Skirt or trousers? But there weren't any trousers. Several of her own skirts and dresses were hanging on the rails, but none of her trousers. OK – skirt or dress? She held various outfits in front of her body, looking in the mirror, and tried on a few of the new items, astonished at the array of designer labels. Finally, she settled on a bright jungle print Gucci dress, with short sleeves and a low neckline, which finished about ten centimetres above her knees. She thought it demonstrated confidence and nonchalance. Now for the accessories!

She searched thoroughly, but found no underwear – no panties, knickers, bras, anything. 'Some silly male must have packed,' she thought, 'Ah well – won't be the first time I've gone somewhere with no knickers!'

Similarly, she found no tights – a varied collection of stockings, some with suspenders, and some self-supporting. Finally, she settled on a pair of sheer tan silk stay-up stockings, not wanting to risk suspender catches spoiling the outline of her dress.


She found a wide leather belt, matching handbag, and a pair of strappy shoes with two-inch heels, all by Salvatore Ferragamo. She opened a large jewel box to reveal a stunning collection of expensive-looking necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings and several watches. She selected a plain gold necklace, with matching bracelet, and a simple Cartier watch to complete the outfit. She admired herself. Her breasts were small, and could have used a little enhancement, but were firm enough to fill out the dress sufficiently, even without a bra. She gave a little twirl, and smiled at her reflection. 'Yes, I think that'll do,' she mused. 'It should make him sit up and pay attention anyway, whoever it is. If necessary, I should be able to give him a flash of my pussy if I cross my legs! We'll see how it goes!'

Emma re-entered the bedroom and returned to the dressing table to apply lipstick, and ponder on a choice of perfume, finally settling on a light application of Gucci. The unseen watchers were impressed with her selection of dress, and her deportment. "An excellent and original choice!" said the woman.

"Yes – it shows great character. She's obviously trying to show that she is not at all worried by her predicament," agreed her companion.

"That will soon change!" remarked the woman with a smile.

The CD stopped playing and, right on cue at 9.55 prompt, there was a light knock on the door.

"Come in!"

She heard the door unlock, and in came two burly men in combat uniform with holsters at their waists.

"Good morning, Miss," said the blonde man, in what sounded like a Russian accent. "You are ready?"

She nodded assent.

"You need blindfold," he stated, in a tone which would brook no argument.

Meekly, she submitted, as the black man passed a black velvet hood over her head, and tied it loosely at her neck. Each man took one of her arms, holding on firmly, but quite gently, manoeuvring her towards the door and along a corridor. They walked for a few minutes, the sound of their steps on a hard floor echoing from the walls, and from the number of turns and twists, Emma felt that they were trying to disorientate her, to make sure she could not find her room again without assistance. Finally, she heard another door open, and they went in. She was manoeuvred around the room, and then was pushed backwards slightly. She felt something brush against her calves.

"Sit!" commanded the Russian, and she complied. Immediately, she felt her wrists being enclosed in what felt like leather clamps. Her handbag slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. As the hood was removed, she found that she was sitting in a wooden chair, with her wrists securely attached to the arms of the chair. She struggled, but obviously could not break free.

"Why are you doing this? Why am I tied up?" she asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive. She couldn't imagine why she needed to be restrained like this for an interview.

The two men simply smiled. "Madam will be with you soon," said the Russian, and turned to leave. "Don't go away!" he added unnecessarily.

As they left the room, Emma noticed that each of them was missing the little finger from the left hand. 'What a coincidence!' she thought.

She looked around the room. In front of her was a desk, and around he room various pieces of apparatus, looking similar to some of those she recalled from the gym.

Suddenly the door opened, and in walked a smartly dressed woman of about forty, about 5ft 7in tall, slimly built, with long raven hair, and dark brown eyes. She smoothed the back of her short navy skirt, and sat behind the desk, opposite Emma.

"Good morning, Leila," she began, "I am pleased to welcome you here. My name is Yasmin, but you will address me as 'Madam'."

"No, no – there's been a mistake," shouted Emma, suddenly losing her composure, and feeling very afraid. "I'm Emma Stewart – not Leila Somebody. You've got to let me go!"

"No! You WERE Emma, but that name is considered inappropriate. You are now Leila. And you WILL address me as 'Madam'!" retorted the woman, in a firm tone.

"Like fuck I will!" screamed Emma. "I demand to know who is responsible for bringing me here! I insist you release me at once!"

With an exasperated expression, Yasmin withdrew something from the desk drawer, and moved behind Emma.

"I will sue everybody involved! I want to go at once!" continued Emma, panic building in her voice. "I demand…"

Emma's shouts were cut off as Yasmin placed a simple gag over her mouth, and tied it tightly behind her head. "You, my slut, are in no position to demand anything!"

Yasmin returned to the desk and pressed a buzzer twice. Immediately the two men who had escorted Emma to the room re-appeared. "Yes, Madam?" asked the Russian.

"Boris, this stupid bitch is not being co-operative. Gag her properly, strip her and tie her to the frame. I will return shortly."

"Yes, Madam. At once. In which position, Madam?"

"Just a normal 'I' shape, Boris, arms straight up."




Abducted Ch. 02



Chapter 2 -- The Handling of Elizabeth

It was business, but this part of it was quite pleasant business. 

I take the ends of the length of rope. I hold them together, and straighten out the rope, until it has a loop in the middle. I pull the loose ends through the loop, forming a kind of slipknot. The slipknot goes around both of her ankles. I pull the knot, tight, and already, Elizabeth's ankles are fastened tight! 

Now, it's just a matter of winding the double strands around, and over, and under, and through her light brown heels. Heels that help make that sweet, dewdrop ass of hers look so tasty, when she sashays around the bank manager ... and around other perverts, like me. 

Four times, I wind the double strands around her ankles, before cinching them with the loose ends between, and knotting the ropes hard, twice, to keep her in place. 

Then, I reach for another length of rope. 

This time, I grasp her knees, and lock them in the crook of my arm. Again, loose ends, straighten, loop around her legs just above her knees, pull the ends through, and pull the double strands tight. Then, turn the rope, circle her trembling lower thighs until they are fastened, and cinched, and knotted. Tight.

I mop my brow, and admire my work. I smile to myself: "Nice. Stems. Lady."

I can't resist rubbing my hand along the length of her thighs. I squeeze them, as my hand strays upward. Something on my black glove catches the fine, delicate mesh of her sheer stocking, and causes a long, thin run in it. She jumps, and wriggles slightly, at my touch. 

That's a good thing. Fear is good. She'll be well motivated to 'cooperate' with us.

I glance over my shoulder as I finish my task, and Chano is still working. He's focused, somewhat, on the tying, but his eyes and his hands also roam over the woman's figure, especially that tight little ass of hers. Somehow, Chano's fingers seem to probe and massage sweet Elizabeth's buttocks, each time he turns a coil of rope around her wrists. And each time he gropes her, it seems, he lingers a little longer, his fingers probe a little deeper, and his large hand spreads out to cover more and more of her tiny tight cheeks. 

For the first time, I relax enough to enjoy watching him finish her off. 

The hem of that flouncey little white dress is all the way up above her thighs. She kicks, weakly, at my leg ropes, and her sweet little bum bounces and jiggles beneath her baby-blue panties. One of her garter straps works loose, and the stocking top begins to roll down her thigh, with her struggles. 

I press down on her legs, while Chano cinches and knots her wrists. He turns her over, and props her up against his broad chest. Now, I get a great upskirt view of the struggling damsel! Mmm, ... those legs do go quite a ways up, don't they? I lick my lips as I follow them up along her disheveled, torn stockings; to just that patch of creamy thigh above her stocking tops; to those teeny barely there panties, which shimmer as her legs squirm and churn inside my ropes. 

I watch silently as Chano mauls sweet Elizabeth's perky little titties while he turns coil after coil of rope around her chest. Above her breasts, and below them, and crossing between them, and still circling around the pretty kidnapped hostage!

When he's finished knotting her rope in the back, he begins cupping her titties in the palms of his hands. He rolls her nipples through the nearly-see-through summer dress. He pokes and pulls at them with his long, powerful fingers. He tugs at the top of her dress, rolling it down almost to her shoulders. He plays his fingertips along the top of her dress, and plunges them wickedly into her cleavage. Then, down inside her bra.

If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that Chano was having more fun tying her up than I did, ... which I knew was impossible. I made a conscious effort to cross my legs. I am almost embarrassed by how hard I was becoming, just watching him tie her up!

Elizabeth mewls, quietly, slightly beneath that cruel duct tape gag wrapped around her head. Her eyes plead, begging for release ... but I know what kind of 'release' that Chano and I are thinking about.

Presently, I hear seagulls calling as we slow down. Out of the city, now, and down on the docks. We are pretty much safe, now.

Elizabeth grows a bit more agitated when we stop. Harris gets out, and rolls a heavy wooden door to the side. Elizabeth continues to mewl helplessly into her gag as we cruise inside the cavernous warehouse floor, and hear the door roll shut, behind us. She churns, weakly. Once more, she implores me with her eyes, to let her go, ... I think.

Harris drives us into the deepest recess of the warehouse, near the manager's office, at the far end of the floor. 

I'd been impressed, so far, that the fellas had followed protocol and had remained wordless, up to this point. I clip the 'voice-box' scrambler around my neck, and break the silence: "End of the line, Miss Lady."

The scrambler makes my voice sound mechanical and alien, like something from a grade-B sci-fi movie. But the guys understand well enough: Harris climbs down and begins setting up the computers. I climb out the back and reach for the pretty hostage. 

"I got this," Chano volunteered, in his un-disguised voice. Ah, well, it was almost according to protocol.

Chano grabs the pretty girl with the trim figure in one arm. He pulls her through the sliding side door. And, without breaking a sweat, or taking even a deep breath, he gathers her legs in his arms, and hoists her high up into the air! She falls, bent at the waist, over his shoulder.

The big man locks her legs in place with one, long arm. And, with his free, leather-gloved hand, he begins exploring the back of the poor girl's thighs. 

I watch from behind, as he slowly plays up, and down her trembling legs; as he squeezes and gropes and massages her thighs. I see him slip his fingers between her legs, even as she tries to squeeze them tight, to keep him out. He just chuckles, and slides them deeper, and higher, up near those wispy, baby blue panties. She whimpers, and jerks, and "mmmphs!" in protest. 

"Callate, mamacita!" Then, he slides his fingers nearer and higher, toward her femininity. 

I almost think we were about to shoot a porno movie!

Up against a faded whitewashed wall, is a bare, light-gray mattress. Chano hauls Elizabeth to the mattress, pawing and squeezing and caressing her pretty bum all along the way. He warms her cheeks in the palm of his one, massive hand, and then finally lays her down -- gently -- upon the mattress.

Harris finally looks up from his laptop. He gawks at Elizabeth, as if seeing her in this situation for the first time. He rises, and stumbles his way across the room, and takes his place beside us.

We all gawk, just like Harris. We all admire the sight.

A vibrant, trim, very pretty woman lies before us. Her weak, futile squirming was almost sensual. She is tied at her ankles, her knees, her wrists, and her breasts; a long, wide strip of gray duct tape covers her entire face beneath her nose, and winds entirely around her head. 

She mewls softly into that gag. She rolls her head slowly, helplessly from side to side.

I can almost hear her torn stockings, rubbing against each other. Her purple garter belt hung askew, around her waist, due to our rough treatment. Her pale nude stockings are torn, out of line, drooping, but still clinging to her long, silky legs. Her dress is bunched around her waist, disheveled, sliding down her one shoulder, revealed a spaghetti-strap light blue matching bra, sheer, almost see-through. 

Through it, we could all see her titties, the darker circles around her ... around her erect nipples. 

They aren't the only things that are erect, around here, either. 

I sound out from the voice-scrambler: "Okay, gentlemen, ... you don't want her to think you're all just happy to see her. Let's get to work."

Harris goes back to his laptop, and signals that he is almost ready. 

I kneel down next to the bound and gagged beauty, and ... I paw at her dress to see if those titties really would pop out by 'accident'.

"MMMph!"

"Welcome to our little lair, Miss Lady. We just need some information from you, but feel that first it is important that you fully realize our seriousness.

"I'll advise you to try very, very hard to tell us what we need. You won't want to stay around us for very long." Instinctively, I grab and squeeze my own thickening, lengthening shaft, through my trousers. 

Her eyes follow me, and grow wide as she gives her head slow, little shakes.

"You won't want to stay around us, at all!"

********** 

After my legs and arms are secured the brute with the roaming paws hoists me up and over so I am facing downward while he wraps my upper torso essentially using the rope to outline my tiny breasts.

The strands are wound along the top of my sternum and then along the bottom of my sternum, which secures my bra in the aforementioned down position, so my bare nipples continue to poke unhindered against the thin fabric of my dress.

The brute makes sure to rub his paws over them with every turn and twist of the rope until my nipples are absolutely throbbing with sexual excitement.

I find myself extremely embarrassed by this physical reaction and hope that neither of the two in the back of the van notices.

My hope is a delusion as the man with those eyes notices everything.

While Mr. Brute was wrapping my breasts, Mr. Eyes takes his gloved hand and slowly slides it up my thighs. I feel it catch on my stockings knowing full well that they are at the point of being trashed as this recent activity has already popped most of the clasps of my garter belt and I can feel my stockings working their way down my legs.

Mr. Eyes seems to enjoy the obvious goose bumps forming on my uncovered flesh as well as the numerous upskirts that he is getting as Mr. Brute finishes his work of tying me and pawing me simultaneously.

I am thinking that Mr. Brute is now finished with me, but he takes some special time to make sure that my nipples don't feel neglected as he now devotes his attention to pulling and kneading them through the fabric of my dress.

His fingers are large and rough and my entire body revolts to his continued groping.

I attempt to protect myself, but what can I do when I am completely bound and helpless. 

Unexpectedly Mr. Brute now grabs my dress at my neck and gives it a good pull separating my top buttons from the fabric creating an opening that stops at the top of the ropes across my chest.

In contradiction, I now consider myself fortunate as my dress would have opened to my naval, if the ropes hadn't been applied prior to his latest affront.

Although my relief is short lived as Mr. Brute pulls the fabric of my dress that is between the ropes and as my buttons tear off, completely exposes my dark red and very erect nipples to the open air, along with most of my light blue bra.

Mr. Eyes obviously likes the scenery as he subtlely adjusts his legs undoubtedly making room for his male physical reaction to my new exposure. 

The entire time I squirm, twist, and turn allowing Mr. Eyes to no longer wonder what color panties I am wearing.

I feel my stockings completely separate from my garter straps and the eyehooks of my garter belt give way so the next time that I am in a vertical position, it will simply drop to the floor.

Now that I have given everyone but Mr. Potter a good view of my female attributes, I feel the anger and frustration grow inside of me as the van moves towards my next destination.

I can tell that we are in a very secluded warehouse district, which adds to my despondency.

The sound of seagulls tells me that we are somewhere near the waterfront.

The van stops and Mr. Brute gets out to open a large set of doors, which when opened reveal a cavernous warehouse.

The van enters through the open doors and while Mr. Brute closes them, we continue into the recesses pulling up to a small office deep within.

Mr. Eyes switches on some contraption near his throat and says in a nerve shattering mechanical voice, "End of the line, Miss. Lady."

I look at him with what I intend to be imploring eyes, but I am afraid that he may have only seen the burst of raw sexual energy passing through my body as a result of having my clothes rearranged exposing my bare breasts and teeny panties to these brutish men.

It seems that instead of being completely terrified and upset by my current situation, my deepest and darkest latent desires of abduction and submission are beginning to overrule any normal response.

Mr. Eyes rises to take a hold of me, but Mr. Brute intercedes grabbing my arms and lifting me easily over his shoulder while his free arm explores my bare thighs and nylon covered bottom.

I attempt to squeeze my legs together as he slides his hand between them moving upward towards my moistening kitty.

His gloved hand presses hard against the thin nylon fabric covering my swelling lower lips. 

I am again thankful since a bare hand would easily have felt how wet my panties have become, but since his hand is gloved he seems oblivious to my aroused condition.

Although I am quite sure that I have left a slight wet mark on his thumb.

He then proceeds to work my gluteal muscles as he grabs my cheeks and squeezes hard letting me know that he is in control.

I am carried to a mattress sitting on the concrete floor where I am, much to my surprise, lowered gently to the ground.

As my feet hit the mattress first, my garter belt slides down my legs and joins the ropes wrapped around my ankles. At this point my sheer stockings have found themselves hanging loosely around my calves, and my dress is riding so high upon my waist that all three men stand staring at my discomposure and almost full exposure.

My sheer balconette bra is now clearly visible through my missing buttons and my nipples aren't just peeking out, but are in full glare of my captor's headlamp sized eyes.

I would be embarrassed, but at this point it would be a waste of energy.

I am quite sure that my captors believe that I am expressing by displeasure by moaning into my gag, but the moans have nothing to do with my mental state. They derive from something much lower down and are directly associated with my exposed areas.

Mr. Eyes tells the others to get to work, as it seems that I am about to be interrogated.

While the other two get busy, Mr. Eyes pulls at my chest area causing my breasts to leave the safety of my bra entirely and my nipples to literally pop to full alert in response to the cool air of the warehouse, or at least that is what I am trying to convince myself.

At the same time he tells me not to worry, as all they want is information. 

"While I am almost undressed, how am I not supposed to worry? What the hell does he think?"

He then moves his hand down to his crotch and adjusts his emerging erection saying something about me not wanting to stay in their company for very long.

I stare at his groin as beads of saliva form in my mouth and decide that by vigorously shaking my head I should be able to convince him that all I want is to be let go.

I can barely admit to myself that I am extremely turned on by everything that has transpired in the last 30 minutes, so I am desperate to make sure that Mr. Eyes doesn't know.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks, Mr. Eyes is the bank customer with the fedora. The same man that always gave me a strange feeling of raw sexual energy anytime that he was around me or even looked at me.

"Oh my God, What have I gotten myself into?"



Abducted Ch. 02



As soon as I open my eyes I can tell I've been moved. The wall before me is glass bricks, giving much more light than the windowless cinder block room from before. I know I am still in the same building because the smell is the same and the floor is the same. The doorway to my left is where the man appeared. The room next to this is the cinder block room with just the bed. I have no idea how much time has passed or how long I've been in this position, but my muscles are sore. This time, I'm completely naked.

My wrists are shackled to two large metal rings in the cement floor but my legs are unrestricted. Raising myself somewhat, I come to be on all fours. I cannot raise my upper body more because of my shackles but I struggle against them in vain. I have almost six inches of chain which make it possible for me to switch my position slightly but I cannot reach the other hand with one. 

I scream for help but hear only my own voice echoing in the large empty expanse of space. Terrified that I'll never escape, tears begin to run down my cheeks as I sob uncontrollably. Unable to reach my face I cannot brush the tears away and they fall onto the cold, damp cement. In an effort to comfort myself, I bring my legs in close, into the fetal position as best I can. Feeling the cold, my body begins to shiver and shake while I cry.

Not hearing him enter I continue weeping. Suddenly and from behind, he reaches down, grabs my legs under my knees and lifts my lower body into the wheelbarrow position. Shocked and terrified, I thrash and kick my legs as powerfully and violently as I can. 

He came prepared and swiftly drops my legs. I fall hard onto the floor, unable to soften my landing. Screaming out partially in shock and partially in pain, I scramble to protect myself from more abuse. There is no position that I can get into, to protect myself from this man. 

"There's no use in fighting against me, cum slut," he taunts. Knowing that I am no match for him physically, I realize he's right. Still, I can't just give up. Saying nothing, I continue to try to keep him away from my naked body. 

Standing before me, he orders me up all fours. Reluctantly, I comply, knowing that fighting him back would likely cause me more pain. Despite my compliance, my captor slaps my face hard then reaches below me to place hard, tight clamps on my nipples as they hang beneath me. Once the clamps are placed, he slaps my tits together, making me scream with pain. Taking the clamps off, minutes later, a rush of pleasure takes my body as the pain subsides. 

"Did you like that, whore?" he asks, squatting down in front of my face and wrenching my head back so ensure I'm looking into his face. Still crying, I moan something inaudible in response. Pulling my head back harder, he slaps my face violently. 

"Next time you speak you had better call me Master. You should really know by now, that's who I am." His voice is just above a whisper and at this level is almost more terrifying than if he had yelled it. Standing again he uses his grip in my hair to smash my face hard into the front of his pants. 

"Suck it, bitch," he whispers, "Take it into your whore mouth for me. What do you say, bitch?" Looking up into his face I do my best to respond the way he wants. 

"Yes, Master" I mumble into his crotch as he pushes himself harder against my face and grips my neck with his left hand again. 

Letting go of me with both hands he removes his pants. When he returns to stand before me, he simply says "Suck it." Leaning up as far as I can go with my hands still shackled to the floor, I take his dick into my mouth. Looking up at him, tears streaming down both cheeks, he returns both of his hands to the back of my head and begins to push my mouth further down onto him again and again. At times, he pulls my face down and refuses to let me back up, causing me to gag and retch loudly around his long, thick cock in my throat. "Do you like getting your face fucked?" he asks in between long, deep thrusts into my mouth. 

"Yes, Master" I sob whenever I next get the chance to speak at all. Putting his cock into my mouth he bends over my body and reaches his arms down to grab, squeeze and spank my ass. Making it jiggle with each strike, my ass becomes red within a matter of minutes. My mouth is so tired from staying open so long, that my saliva begins to drip in large, white drips onto the cement floor. 

After slapping my ass raw, he begins to rub my asshole from above. Rubbing his fingers along my crack he touches my wet pussy and brings my juices to my little asshole. Forcefully, he pushes the wetness into my hole with the tip of his middle finger. Having never experienced anal penetration, I gasp and scream at the unwanted invasion, but I am powerless to stop him and my resistance is futile against the cock stuffed into my mouth. 

I had no idea that the second man was in the room, watching me get face fucked and fingered until the first man spoke to him. 

"I think you should fuck her ass wide open, man," he started, "I got her little asshole ready for you. I know she wants you to." Laughing he pulled his dick out of my mouth and asked me, "You want my friend's dick up your ass, don't you sweetheart?" 

Shocked and unable to reply with what would've been a resounding "No" I blinked up at him blankly, with eyes that begged to be let go. Getting an unsatisfactory response, the man backhanded my face. Reeling from his slap, my eyes teared again and I begged him to stop. Motioning to his friend, the man continued to slap my face until I answered "Yes, Master" but his friend had already approached my ass with his hard cock ready to fuck my hole. Placing his thick cock at my pussy he pushed in, enough to lube his cock to take my virgin asshole. Terrified and having never seen the man, I screamed around the dick now in my mouth and tried to move away with my more mobile lower half. 

Grabbing me hard, fingers digging into my hips, the unknown man began to push his lubed cock into my tight asshole. Wiggling as much as I could, his dick slipped down the crack and back into my pussy. Chuckling, the man pulled out and pushed harder onto my tiny hole and popped the head in. Pushing deeper, he began to slowly pull out and push in, allowing my body time to accept the intrusion. 

"You like my cock in your ass?" he asked me. His voice was gruff and low. Unable to respond he decided to take my lack of answer as yes. He began to fuck my ass harder and faster. It hurt like hell to feel his huge dick pushing hard into my ass. 

"Tell me you want it, slut," he said, "I bet you want to taste your ass don't you?" Pulling his dick out and walking around, he switched places with my captor and rammed his filthy dick into my mouth. I gagged immediately as he shoved himself into my mouth, balls deep. 

Crawling beneath me, my captor reached his arms up around my body, forcing me to straddle his body with my knees on the cement while he pushed himself up into my pussy. Riding his dick, I continued to be face fucked. 

My captor said to his buddy, "Did you bring another friend? She needs her ass filled while we take these two holes." Smiling, the second man motioned to the doorway. Within seconds I felt another set of hands grip my hips from behind me. I knew the man was squatting down over my body when the tip of his dick starting rubbing against my asshole. My pussy was already being filled and stretched by the thick cock of my captor when he popped the tip of his hard dick into my ass. I screamed around the prick in my mouth as he stretched my ass. I felt incredibly full, like I might be torn apart this way. Needing to fight back in some way, I began to close my mouth, refusing to allow this man to fuck my face. It was the only hole I could control from the onslaught of these three men. 

Keeping my teeth clamped I refused to allow the third dick to penetrate me, but the man did not give up. He slid his hard length over my face in every direction, smothering my face, nose and eyes with his balls in every way possible. He pinched my nose closed forcing me to open my mouth to breathe. With excellent timing, he reached his fingers into my mouth with both pointer fingers pulled my lips back, essentially fishhooking my face on both sides. 

Unable to do anything but open my mouth, he slammed his hard dick inside and ordered me to use my tongue to lick him. Holding my lips like this he came into my open mouth, filling my mouth with his hot seed. Letting go with one hand, he reached up and plugged my nose, forcing me to close my mouth and ordering me to swallow his load. 

"When you open your mouth, bitch I better not see any of my cum. I want you to swallow everything I gave you." The other two men, fucking my holes and filling me up wanted to cum in my mouth too. Crawling out from under my body, my captor pulled my hair back and began to jerk his cock over my face. 

"Open your mouth, whore. Stick out your tongue," he ordered, "Tell me you want to taste my cum. Tell me you want to swallow this load like you did the last one." Sneering down at me, he slapped my face with his dick when I did not respond immediately. 

"Yes, Master," I said, "I want your cum in my mouth, Master. Please, let me taste it." I opened my mouth under his fast moving hand and stuck out my tongue to catch his cum. Moaning loudly he jerked his dick hard as he watched his buddy's dick work in and out of my ass. Faster and faster his hand moved over his dick as he watched the other dick disappear into my tiny, tight hole. 

"Ahhhh, I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum," he groaned as he positioned the tip of his dick onto my tongue and the first long, thick rope of cum landed in my mouth and over my face, almost reaching my eye. "Oh, shiiiit," he moaned as the next two waves of cum landed into my mouth. As he finished cumming, I closed my eyes and mouth and swallowed what he gave me quickly to show him that I would no longer fight his orders. 

Next, the man who had been plowing deep into my asshole pulled it out with a loud pop and stood before me. "Lick it slowly," he ordered. Still on all fours, I licked his dick from bottom to the top and swirled my tongue at the top and back down to his balls. I made sure I licked all the way down and not to forget his balls. 

"Oh, yeah you fucking whore, suck on my nuts," he groaned. I took each of his balls into my mouth and sucked, pulling them lower and making them pop out of my mouth. Loving it, he was almost ready to cum. Moaning and grunting his pleasure as I licked up and down his balls and shaft, he reached his hands into my hair and pulled my mouth over and around his cock, forcing me to deepthroat him. As his cock pushed into my throat he screamed, "Fuuuuuck!" and came deep in the back of my mouth, almost choking me. Quickly enough I swallowed the load and he pulled his dick from my face. 

Each of them was standing in front of me, stroking their softening cocks and grinning with satisfied faces. My captor collected money from each of the men and told them they were welcome back anytime. Then he walked behind me again and reached between my legs to rub my sore, raw but soaking wet pussy. 

He rubbed my clit with his thumb and fucked my pussy with three fingers on his other hand until my body was unable to hide that I was soon going to cum too. As he began pushing harder and deeper, I came hard on his fingers and squirted my juices out onto the cement floor. 

"She's such a filthy cum slut, man," the second man said to the third, "We should come back tomorrow to give her another little lesson in pain and pleasure, don't you think?" 

"Fuck yeah!" replied the third man. 

Sobbing from humiliation, pain and the pleasure of cumming, I dropped to the floor in a heap.



Abducted Ch. 02



"Suspended, Madam?"

"No," replied Yasmin, after a second's thought. "Leave her feet on the base, but secure her ankles about half a metre apart. I might need access to her pussy; move the frame away from the wall so that I can get around the back. And Boris," she continued, "no funny tricks!"

"Madam?"

"Remember, she's still unclean, won't you? And try not to rip the dress when you take it off her – it cost more than a month's salary for the two of you!"

"Yes, Madam, we'll be very gentle," replied Boris, with a smile.

Yasmin left the room, and the two men approached Emma. The larger black man held her shoulders, while Boris undid the gag. Immediately, Emma started shouting again, but was cut off as a spongy rubber ball was forced between her teeth, expanding to fill her mouth. The ball was then secured by a strap behind her head. Boris undid the arm shackles. She tried to break free, but the black man held her tightly, forcing her arms tight behind her back, immobilising her.

She tried to kick out with her feet, but Boris quickly and expertly tied them together. While she was held with her arms stretched out above her, Boris unzipped the Gucci dress, and with surprising ease, whipped it over her head, the two men working together to ease her arms out of the dress without mishap. Boris folded the dress neatly and set it on the floor next to her dropped handbag. The black man held her wrists together in one enormous fist, lifted her off the floor and carried her to a wooden frame set against the wall. Expertly, Boris shackled her wrists to the top of the frame, and his colleague let go of her.

Momentarily, she was left dangling by her arms, her feet several centimetres above the bottom beam of the frame. Boris pushed a switch, and she felt herself being lowered until her feet touched the bottom beam.

The two men stepped back to look at her. "What do you think, Clyde?" asked Boris.

"Very nice! Small, but nicely formed!" appraised the black man. "I'd prefer bigger tits and longer hair, but she would do nicely."

Boris untied her legs, which Clyde held steady as he removed her shoes and stockings, placing them with the dress on the floor. He shackled one ankle to the beam, carefully measured exactly fifty centimetres, and shackled the other ankle. He then removed her necklace, bracelet and watch, leaving her completely naked. These items joined the others on the floor.

Boris ran a finger slowly up the inside of her thigh, and across her pussy. "Mmm, Clyde, come feel how soft she is." A finger parted her pussy lips, and felt inside. "Not very damp!" he remarked. Emma squirmed uselessly, and wordless whimpers emanated from the gag.

Clyde's finger joined Boris' on her pussy. "Oh yes!" he retorted. "Very nice." He explored further. "Hey, man, come see this lovely asshole – bet it's real tight up there!"

"Careful, Clyde, remember she's unclean!"

"Shame. Perhaps we'll get a chance later."

"I think she might have trouble taking your monster up her!" grinned Boris.

"Yeah, man, but would be fun trying, especially up the back! I'll just show her what I've got – it might cheer her up," laughed his colleague.

Immediately, he dropped his pants, and boxers, and pulled up his shirt to reveal the largest cock Emma had ever seen – or even imagined. As it rose to full splendour, it exceeded 30cm in length, with the huge helmet at least 5cm in diameter. Emma's eyes widened, and her whimpers increased.

"See, Slut," he grinned, "sorry I can't give it to you now, but you can look forward to it one day. And it's not the longest in the palace," he added, a twinkle in his eye, as he raised his trousers and stowed his weapon.

Finally, they wheeled the frame away from the wall, and locked it in position, walking round her one last time to admire the view. She felt a finger on her anus again. "Oh, yes, man! I'd really like to get up there!" She felt the finger explore briefly inside her arse. "But she'll need to be spread a bit first!"

"Come on, Clyde. We'd better go!"

"OK, Boris. Coming."

Emma heard the door close and was left alone in the room. Tears collected in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She felt scared, lonely, sort and helpless. Her arms were stretched above her head and felt as if they became heavier every second. She struggled a little, but without optimism.

She lost track of the amount of time that had passed since she had been left alone. The pain in her arms increased, and seemed to move through her entire torso. She thought of the monstrous cock on the black man, and his promise to use it on her one day. The thought horrified her, but against her will, she felt her pussy moisten in anticipation. 

Suddenly the door opened, and a very beautiful and slim dark girl entered, wearing a bright blue sari. She looked at Emma, sympathy showing in her eyes. "I am sorry," she stated, with an Indian accent, "but Madam insists that you wear your ear studs."

Emma was powerless to resist, and could only mumble through her gag. The Indian girl deftly inserted all four studs into Emma's ear lobes, stroked her cheek affectionately, and whispered, "Be brave; it will be over soon, and things will get better. I must go now, or I will be whipped."

Emma was left alone again. More time passed; she had no idea how long. She felt that her arms would break, that she was close to passing out. This was no initiative test. Questions surged through her brain, but her mind kept returning to the pain in her arms. She would have to pretend to co-operate, to buy time, to try to get some idea as to where she was and who was keeping her here. But for the moment, it hurt – it hurt so much.

Eventually, the door opened, and Yasmin returned, a determined expression on her face. "Well, Slut," she demanded, "are you prepared to see sense now?"

Emma nodded.

"OK. I'll make you a little more comfortable. But first, while you are on it, I should demonstrate the frame. By moving this switch, I can raise or lower the top beam. Of course, since your ankles are shackled, raising it would simply stretch you further, but if your legs were free, I could leave you suspended by your arms. As it is, I will lower it a little, to take some of the strain off your arms."

Emma heard a whirring noise, and felt the pain in her arms subside a little as the strain reduced and the circulation improved.

"Alternatively," continued Yasmin, "with this switch, I can rotate you, forwards or backwards, through 360 degrees."

Emma suddenly felt her legs thrown forward as her arms went backwards, and soon found herself parallel with the floor, her body sagging in the middle, suspended by wrists and ankles. The pain returned to her arms, magnified by the additional weight. She screamed silently through her gag and looked beseechingly at Yasmin through tear-stained eyes.

Yasmin pressed again on the switch, and now Emma was upside-down, hanging from her ankles, her pussy level with Yasmin's face. "Oh yes; very pretty, and already a little damp," murmured the older women, "You'll have them all begging for a little of that!"


Emma panicked. All? What did she mean 'All'? What was in store for her?

Yasmin returned Emma to her original position, and studied her carefully, feeling the firmness of her breasts, and her arse cheeks. "Yes," she announced, "Very pretty; very appropriate. I think you'll be quite an asset."

She went to one of the many cupboards set against the wall. Emma craned her neck to try to see what she was doing, and was startled to see Yasmin returning in her direction carrying a riding crop in her right hand, and a cane in her left. "Personally," Yasmin explained, "I prefer the crop, but sometimes the cane works better. If necessary, we also have whips, paddles and lashes of various types. Let's see what you think." A quick flick of the riding crop produced a piercing pain on Emma's left buttock. She tried to scream, but only a muffled yelp emerged from the gag.

"Now, Slut," explained Yasmin, "you have to learn and understand the results of indiscipline and defiance. With this simple crop, I can produce pain very easily, here… here… here…"

Yasmin swung the crop to produce angry red weals on Emma's thigh, stomach and breast. At each strike, Emma screamed into her gag, and tears again flowed down her cheeks.

"Or even here…" Yasmin continued, stroking the crop across Emma's naked and exposed pussy, "it can be particularly sensitive here!" She flicked the crop lightly and an unbelievable pain shot through Emma's body. Silently, she stared at her aggressor, appealing for release.

Yasmin laid the crop on the desk, and picked up the cane, bending it in her hands to demonstrate its suppleness. "The cane, however, can be particularly effective across the breasts." 

She raised it in the air. Emma stared at it in disbelief, and watched helplessly as Yasmin brought the cane down across both her breasts. Then the pain hit her brain. Her body tensed and she tried to release a scream; it was muffled by the gag, and emerged as a frightened whimper.

She was dimly aware of a voice saying, "Or on the backside," just before a second blow landed, delivered from behind, in an upward direction, across the lower cheeks of her bottom. Another scream followed the first, again muffled by the gag. Emma thought she was about to pass out, and watched helplessly as an angry red weal appeared along the top of both breasts. Tears flowed. She tried to beg for release, but no sound emerged.

"So, Leila," Yasmin said, her voice lower, and more pliant, "you have a simple choice. Either you promise to behave, in which case we can have a civilised conversation and go through some questions, or I can leave you hanging here for another hour or so and then introduce you to some of our other toys. Think carefully. I shall only ask once. Are you going to behave properly?"

Emma looked into her captor's eyes, and nodded faintly, and then more stridently. A voice in her head said, 'Yes, yes, yes – anything to stop this constant pain!'

"Good girl!" Yasmin smiled at her. "Let's get this gag off you."

She unbuckled the strap, and helped as Emma used her tongue to force the unwelcome ball past her swollen lips. She gasped for breath, and swallowed thirstily at the glass of water Yasmin offered.



Abducted Ch. 03



Chapter 3 – Interrogation

“So, what do you say, Slut?”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you what?”

A sharp flick of the crop and a stinging sensation on the inside of her thigh brought a yelp from the captive girl.

“Thank you, Madam. I’m sorry, Madam.”

“Good girl. Now, I’ll just leave you on the frame while I go through a few questions, just to make sure you behave correctly. Then we’ll see. If you’re a really good girl I might even release you.”

“Thank you, Madam. I’ll be very good, Madam, I promise.”

“You have a bruise around your right nipple. Looks like teeth marks. A boyfriend?” Yasmin queried.

“Yes, Madam. Max, last night.” Last night? It seemed ages ago, in another world almost. 

“So you like a little rough sex?”

“Oh no, Madam, not really.”

“We’ll see!” announced Yasmin, with a strange, knowing smile. She reached for a clipboard. “Let’s just check that we have your details correct. If anything is wrong, stop me.

“Name – Leila (formerly Emma Stewart). 

“Date of Birth – 13th February, 1977, in Edinburgh, Scotland. 

“Only child – parents divorced – both re-married.

“Education – Loretto School and Glasgow University (First Class Honours in Business Studies). 

“Most Recent Employer – GMDC Accountants, Edinburgh. 

“OK so far?”

Emma nodded, “Yes, Madam.”

“OK, now we get more personal. Hair - Blonde. Natural blonde, I presume?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Nice hair, but you’ll have to let it grow longer.”

“Yes, Madam, if you think it fit.”

Emma didn’t like her hair long, but daren’t say so.

“Eyes – Blue. Height - 157cm. Weight - 48 kilos…”

Emma interrupted. “I’m sorry, Madam, but could you tell Height and Weight in feet and stones; I’m not very familiar with centimetres and kilograms.”

“OK, Leila, let’s see. 5 feet 2 inches, and 106 pounds, 7 stone 8 if you prefer. Does that sound right?”

“Oh, yes, Madam. Precisely right. Thank you, Madam.”

Yasmin continued. “Bust - 34B. Waist - 23. Hips - 35. Status – Single but not a virgin.

“A shame, but not surprising these days,” Yasmin went on, conversationally. “It seems to be impossible to find a virgin older than fifteen in the UK these days. What about anal sex? Have you done that too?”

“Oh no, never. I could never do that! The thought disgusts me!” Emma almost shouted. 

A quick flick from the crop stung against Emma’s left breast, producing a surprised yelp. “You will NOT shout at me, Slut! I thought you were going to behave?”

“Sorry, Madam, very sorry. I’ll try harder, Madam.”

“OK, I can put down ‘Anal Virgin’; His Highness will enjoy breaking you in. You’ll probably come to like anal sex in time; I did, but I never really took to Double Penetration; it’s usually pretty uncomfortable – too many legs to find space for.”

Emma felt suddenly increasingly uncomfortable herself, and squirmed in her bonds. “Oh no, please Madam, not that. And who is ‘His Highness’? Why am I here?”

Yet another sharp pain ran through her body as the crop caught her on her left breast again, but this time right across the nipple. “Behave, Slut! For now, I am asking questions. You will ask questions only when you have been given permission to do so! Understand?”

“Yes, Madam,” murmured Emma, with a resigned expression.

“Have you had any bi-sexual experiences, or lesbian affairs?”

“Oh no, Madam, never!”

“Mmm – you have some wonderful new experiences to look forward to, Slut! I feel quite envious,” she smiled enigmatically.

“I’m sorry, Madam; I don’t understand.”

“You will be expected to make your body available to BOTH sexes. This will be covered in your training. You will also learn how to pleasure another woman.”

“Oh, Madam, I could never do that. The thought disgusts me!”

“You will learn! It seems you have much to learn,” asserted Yasmin, with a smile. She looked down again at her clipboard, and asked, “Any group sex – sex with more than one man at a time?”

“No, Madam, never.”

“Oh yes, you have indeed much to learn – and much to look forward to! Birth Control – you are on the Pill?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Good; we’ll continue that for the present, until we decide whether or not to breed from you. It will be supplied with your breakfast every morning; we find that more convenient than at night, and just as effective. We have details of the one prescribed to you.”

Emma gasped inwardly. ‘Breed from me!’ she repeated to herself, ‘am I going to be treated like a prize cow?’ She didn’t dare ask. She felt increasingly scared, and alone, and helpless.

“Any other regular medication? Or medical problems?”

“No, Madam.”

“What about your periods? Are they regular?”

“Like clockwork, Madam.”

“Fine. You will be allowed a week off training every month, for relaxation, recuperation and refreshment, starting on the twenty-fifth day after the end of your last period. When was your last?”

“It finished on Wednesday last week, Madam.”

“Right, that would be May 12th,” said Yasmin. “Nearly finished. I’ll just change ‘Status’ on your record to read ‘Single – sexually active heterosexual slut – anal virgin’, and that’s all for now. I’ll update the computer later.”

“Please, Madam?” Emma began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Please, Madam, I’m not a slut,” Emma murmured.

“NOT a slut! Have I been misinformed?” retorted Yasmin angrily. “Let’s look at the evidence. How many lovers have you had?”

“I’m sorry, Madam, I can’t remember off-hand; I’d have to think about it.”

“Can’t remember? Well, approximately? More than five?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“More than ten?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“More than a hundred?”

“Goodness, no!” exclaimed Emma in horror. She thought for a few seconds. “About twenty I guess, but some of them were only casual.”

“Twenty! And you’re only twenty-two years old. And I suppose that figure only includes those who’ve been lucky enough to get their cocks up you, not others who’ve had their fingers inside your pants, or their cocks in your mouth?”

“Yes, Madam,” she agreed, sheepishly.

“Well, I’d say that was a promising start for a potential slut. Let’s look at some more recent evidence.”

Yasmin reached for a folder, and extracted some photos. “Here we are. Last Sunday. A couple walking in the woods. The girl looks remarkably like you. She appears to be showing the man a pair of panties, and smiling.”

Yasmin held the photo in front of Emma’s eyes. She recognised herself, with Peter, but couldn’t understand who could have taken the photo; they had both thought they were completely alone in the forest. He had been making suggestive remarks, and she had gone behind a bush for a pee. She was showing him that she hadn’t bothered to pull up her panties, but had taken them off. Almost immediately, he had wrestled her to the ground while she pretended to resist, and had fucked her hard for the first time that day. Who had been watching them?

Yasmin turned to the next photo. “I’m not sure if these are all in order, and on some the faces are obscured, but they do seem to be the same couple. This one appears to be in the same location as the first, missionary position, on the grass, in public, in broad daylight. A third one is a different location, with him fucking her from behind, bent over a large rock. A fourth one seems to show them fucking, standing up, face-to-face, against a tree. And finally, here’s one with him lying down on the grass with her on top.

“Sunday evening. Same couple, lying on a bed, naked, his cock down her throat. And again, missionary position.”

Emma looked at the photos in astonishment. How had they got photos of her and Peter in her bedroom?

“And now Monday. Looks like the same girl, lying on the same bed alone, naked, her thighs spread, with a large dildo up her pussy and a vibrator on her clit. She looks totally absorbed! And this is probably the same girl, on all fours, from behind, still with the dildo up her pussy, but now with the vibrator on her arsehole. Mmm – very sexy!

“And finally, Tuesday. Looks like the same girl on the same bed, but with a different man. Again, I’m not sure if they’re in order but it’s quite a collection. Fellatio; cunnilingus, with him on top; cunnilingus but with her on top this time; fellatio again; sixty-nine with him on top; and sixty-nine with her on top; missionary; doggie position. Looks like a busy night!

“Perhaps,” she continued, “the meaning of the word ‘slut’ has changed since I left England, but I would have thought the evidence pretty conclusive. What about you?”

Emma looked in horror at the photos of herself with Max. “Yes, Madam,” she concurred, in a whisper, “I suppose I am a slut.”

“Good girl. When you’ve finished your training here, you will be a real slut, and will be proud of being a slut. You will enjoy being your Master’s slut. Now that you’ve learnt to be good, would you like to be released from the frame, so that we can chat in more comfort? I will allow you to ask some questions.”

“Oh yes please, Madam, please, Madam, please!”

“Mmm – you should really say, ‘If it pleases you, Madam, it would please me greatly,’ or something similar, but you’ll learn that during your training, so we’ll let it pass for now. I’ll undo your ankles first. Don’t forget, there are two guards outside the door whom I can summon immediately if I need to!”

Yasmin knelt to undo the ankle restraints. “Now brace yourself while I release your wrists. You may feel a little shaky and wobbly at first. Grab hold of the edge of the frame while the circulation returns.”

Emma indeed felt giddy as her wrists were released. As blood rushed back to her fingers, the pain increased momentarily, but as she rubbed her arms and wrists together, she began to recover.

“I expect you would like a toilet now?” Yasmin asked, with surprising concern.

“Oh yes, please, Madam,” Emma replied, adding after a short hesitation, “if it would please you.”

Yasmin smiled. “Good girl; you learn quickly. Through that door there. You will also find a basin with soap and hot water; you’ll look better if you wash your tears away. You’ll find a robe and some slippers too; put them on and come back here. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh yes, Madam, if it would please you.”

Yasmin pressed a button on the desk. A guard immediately appeared at the door and she ordered tea – “English style,” she said. 

Emma went through the door that Yasmin had pointed out. She sat on the toilet seat, still rubbing her arms and wrists, trying to regain circulation and improve the pain. She looked at the chafe marks on her wrists and the weals on her breasts and on the rest of her body. Her head spun with questions. She had to find a way out of here. For the moment, she would try to placate Yasmin, to obey her, maybe even to befriend her.

She looked in the mirror at her tear-stained face, appearing almost haggard. She washed away the stains. She mustn’t crack now! She had to get answers to her questions. She needed a plan.

Emma returned to the room to find the furniture rearranged. In front of the desk was a comfortable armchair, in place of the chair to which she had been shackled earlier. Yasmin sat behind the desk, and beckoned her to be seated, while she poured tea. “Milk, but no sugar?”

“Yes, please, Madam.”

“I thought we could dispense with the shackles now. You have permission to ask questions. Please drink your tea.”

“Thank you, Madam. I have so many questions it is difficult to get them in order. But first, where am I, please Madam?”

“I am not allowed to tell you that yet. But we are not in the United Kingdom – not even in Europe.”

“How did I get here, Madam?”

“I’m not sure of the details, but some of our agents gained entry to your flat on Tuesday, knocked you out by blowing a gas into your bedroom, and took you, with some of your possessions. You were kept under sedation all day Wednesday, and were flown here as part of the diplomatic baggage.”

It began to make sense. Emma recalled the noise, and the faint smell as she had fallen asleep on Tuesday. And what she had thought were dreams, were actually dim memories of events that had taken place.

“In a box, Madam?” she asked.

“Probably. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I remembered a nightmare, Madam, but perhaps I woke up briefly. Is it now Thursday, Madam?”

“Yes, that’s right. You slept through Wednesday.”

“Is that when I was tattooed, Madam? And shaved, and pierced?”

“Yes.”

“Please, Madam, what does the tattoo mean?”

“It shows your new name ‘Leila’ in Roman characters, Arabic and Japanese, and then your reference number.”

“D297? Are there 296 others, Madam?”

Yasmin laughed. “No, little slut, the last figure is a check digit. You are really number 29. The check digit prevents accidental access on the computer if someone makes a mistake in keying in your reference. The letter ‘D’ refers to your prospective master, His Highness.”

“But, Madam, I don’t understand. Why am I here? Why me?”

“You are here, my dear, because His Highness wishes it. He has selected you, and wants you trained to join his court. You are especially privileged to have been selected to serve him.”

“His Highness, Madam? Who is he?”

“I am not allowed to tell you yet. This is only one of his many palaces. He rules in this country, and his word is law. You will meet him when your training is complete.”

“Training for what, Madam?”

“To be a slave, of course. His slave. His slut. His servant. Unless, of course, he decides in the end that he doesn’t want you after all.”

“And what would happen to me then, Madam?”

“Oh, he will try to sell you to one of his brothers, or a minister, a general or anyone else he sees fit. If he can’t find a buyer for you, you will almost certainly go to one of the military bases, for the troops to use.”

“As a prostitute, Madam?” asked Emma, horrified.

“Oh, it’s not such a bad life, I believe. The girls are limited to six men a day, and a maximum of three at a time. They get a week off every month, and are paid piecework. They also get a whole year off for a pregnancy (four months before the birth and eight after) and additional payment – more for a boy of course. Some end up quite wealthy, and make a good marriage to a soldier. But I don’t think you need worry about that; I’m sure His Highness will want to keep you. Once he has confirmed that, you will be branded with his mark.”

“Branded?” exclaimed Emma, panic in her voice.

“Yes, of course. We all carry our Master’s mark. I belonged to His Highness’s late father, and have his mark here on my thigh.” Yasmin stood up, raised her skirt to reveal slim legs, well shaped for a woman of forty, encased in silk stockings. Emma caught a glimpse of her shaven pussy. On her soft inner thigh, about two inches below her crutch, were a pair of crossed swords enclosed in a 2cm square. “This is his mark; I am glad to wear it!”

“But that must hurt terribly!”

“Yes, of course, Leila. It hurts for weeks. But after your training is complete, you will come to yearn for it. It is a bit like a wedding ring, and shows that you have been fully accepted by your Master, that he has accepted responsibility for you, and that he is proud of you. You will not feel a complete woman until you have your Master’s mark on your body. My Master, God rest his soul, always had his women marked on the inner right thigh, like me. His Highness, my Master’s favourite son, usually prefers the outside of the left breast. I’m not sure which hurts most.”

Emma shuddered at the thought. Her future prospects were becoming clearer to her. She was destined to be a sex slave to some foreign prince, to be subject to his every whim, and branded with his mark. Unless, of course, she failed in her training, in which case she would at best be a sex slave to some lower official, at worst a prostitute in a military base.

“But Madam, I don’t understand. Why me? How and when would His Highness have selected me?”

“I have no idea, Leila. I know he was in Scotland a few months ago. He may have had business with your company and seen you there. Or he may simply have noticed you in the street, or in a restaurant, and taken a liking to you. He is very partial to petite blondes, and he doesn’t have any Scottish girls in his entourage. Perhaps he took a liking to your soft Scottish accent.”

“And he has had me followed ever since?”

“No, only for about three weeks. As you will have realised from the photos I showed you, they would have gained entry to your house, and installed recording equipment for both sound and video, probably when you were at work. We needed to be quite sure we had the correct person, and required photos to show His Highness to confirm that he was still interested. He was most impressed with some of the photos we showed him. Once he had given his approval, we could go into action. The planning for an abduction has to be precise, and co-ordinate with a shipment of diplomatic bags.”

“And will I ever be released, Madam?”

“Unlikely, but possible. When my late Master died, I was offered my freedom, but I decided to stay here. I have four children here now, between six and eighteen. My eldest boy is just starting officer training. He was my Master’s son. I was very privileged in that my Master ensured only he would have access to me for the first three years after my training was complete. Both my first son and my first daughter are his children; I’m unsure about the other two. By then, His Highness was sometimes lending me to others – high officials and visiting ambassadors – people whom he particularly wanted to reward or impress.”

Emma pondered, and a tear trickled down her cheek. The thought of being used as a sex-toy filled her with horror and despair.

“I think that’s enough questions for now,” continued Yasmin. “You must be tired, and probably a little confused. I suggest we break for lunch now, and resume this afternoon. I’ll get the guards to escort you back to your room. I suggest you bathe before lunch; you will find a large jar in the bathroom labelled ‘Bath Balm’. Apply it liberally to the marks from your beating; it will soothe the pain and help to heal the marks.”

“One final question, Madam, if it would please you?”

“Yes, OK.”

“Well, Madam, in my room are some very fine clothes, but I can find no underwear. Also, I like to wear trousers, but there are none.”

“Ah, Leila, we don’t allow trousers here, or knickers or panties, or normal tights. Crotchless tights are allowed sometimes, but stockings are preferred. All our orifices have to be available at all times.”

“Orifices, Madam? Available to whom?”

“Mouth, vagina and anus. They must all be accessible, and available to anyone who has authority to use them, at any time. In your case, that means anyone in Level 3 or above; that includes the palace guards, but not common soldiers or domestic staff. Where possible, breasts should also be free and accessible. Bras are allowed for older women, or those with large bosoms requiring support. Yours are nice and firm, and do not need supporting yet.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Emma whispered, increasingly downcast at her prospects.

“One final thing, Slut – don’t try to get information from the maidservants. They are sworn to silence, and they know that if either of them divulges any information to you, they will both have their tongues cut out! In any case, the two girls servicing your room are new here, and have very little English as yet.”

“Tongues cut out, Madam,” exclaimed Emma in horror, “Both of them?”

“Oh yes, both. We operate a system here, which we call the ‘Système Copain’. It comes from the French word ‘Copain’, meaning ‘Friend’ or ‘Mate’. The feminine is ‘Copine’. Every employee, up to Level 6, is assigned a ‘Copain’ of the same sex and the same Level, with whom he or she works most of the time. Any privileges earned by one are automatically given to the other, and any punishment due to one is given to both. We find it improves discipline and promotes team spirit. Soon, you will be assigned a suitable ‘Copine’.”




Abducted Ch. 03



Chapter 3 -- The Art(s) of Persuasion

The 'script' calls for a little 'motivation'. We need Elizabeth to cooperate. We need her to see that it is in her best interest. 

We've already done the 'preliminaries', in the van on the way over to our warehouse hideaway. Those delicate stockings, covering those trim, toned legs, tore like tissue paper under my 'educated' touch. Her smooth, goose-pimply skin quivered beneath my fingers. Those wide eyes, implored, begged me to stop, over the cruel tape gag wrapped around her head. Her cheeks bulged, ... and, was that a tear beginning to roll down her cheek?

Certainly, Chano has 'motivated' her, too, in his own crude, hungry way. His massive paws terrified and -- despite herself? -- excited the pretty little hostage while he mauled her perky-tight breasts. I saw her eyes drawn to the bulge in his pants, when she thought I wasn't looking. I watched her squirm, reflexively, and heard her moan each time he coiled another turn of rope around her body. 

I began to wonder ... do we have a little 'freak' here, with us? It would explain my attraction to her. We freaks can kind of sense each other, instinctively. If so, then maybe she'll enjoy this next part. 

I kneel next to her on the mattress. She pushes back against the white brick wall, as I approach her. It's no use: I dominate her space with my physical presence. Her eyes fixed on mine. My fingers explore her bound, sumptuous body.

She shivers as my hand rolls across her bound legs. My fingers rise to her upper thighs. I watch the change in her eyes, and hear a soft, unexpected moan from behind the tape. I trace the nylon blue panties with my fingertips, and she tries to scooch away. But, I toss my arm across her shoulders, and pull her back. I can smell the sweet mix of her perspiration, and her perfume, filling my nostrils. 

I breathe heavily on her neck -- intentionally. She turns her head, and shakes it "NO!" I grab her chin, and force her to face me. I fix my eyes on hers, while my 'educated' fingers slip inside her panties. She jumps at my touch, but I hold her firm in my arm. I smile from beneath my mask as I pull back a spot of wetness beneath her panties. 

She gives little shakes of her head, while I explore her with probing fingers. A muffled sob, and again, a tear rolling down her puffed cheeks above the silver tape gag.

I toss my leg across her body, pinning her even further. I press my fat, hot cock through my pants, against her bare thigh. Her eyes widen when I give my hips a little 'boost', and let her feel my excitement. 

I lick her cheek.

Little Elizabeth chokes a sob, and shakes her head. 

My fingers continue to explore her body, now, above her waist. I unhook her smooth, baby blue bra. I expose her titties. I circle that broad, dark patch of areola, and I roll her nipples in my fingertips. I lick the side of her neck ... and, when she turns away, I play the tip of my tongue across the tight buds on her heaving chest.

I writhe my hips again, and let my cock grow fatter, heavier, and hungrier, as I rub myself against her supple, naked thighs.

I work my other leg beneath her, and behind her. I lock my legs around her waist. I pull Elizabeth back against me, and wrap my long, powerful arms around her bound body, to the front, to those delicious mounds on her chest. I squeeeeeeze! her titties, one at a time, in the palms of my black-gloved hands. She shakes her head, weakly, and moans when I play those hard nipple-buds between my fingertips, again, ... 

I lick behind her ear, and whisper: "You see? Things can only get worse for you unless you tell us what we want to know.

********** 

I then leave Elizabeth in the capable and greedy hands of Chano. 

Elizabeth swallows, and tries to wriggle away from him, slowly, bit by bit. To his credit, Chano keeps his hands, more or less, to himself, this time. Not as if that were any relief to her:

Chano pulls on a hook, dangling from a rope running to a pulley above the mattress. He keeps his other hand on his crotch, massaging the mammoth erection inside his pants. Once in a while, he clucks from behind his ski mask, and squeezes himself, conspicuously, with his manhood mere inches from the face of the poor, captured Elizabeth. 

She mewls, helplessly, into her gag.

While Harris and I consult on his decryption code in case we can't get Elizabeth's password, Chano becomes a bit creative. 

When I look up, again, Elizabeth is laying flat on her stomach, her head turned to the wall. Her lithe, toned legs looked sweet, and inviting, and smooth, and creamy. Her skimpy blue panties barely cover her tight, teardrop derriere even as she wiggles and moans, and kicks her bound heels. 

Chano relaxes ... though his bulge was still quite an "embarrassment" of riches, shall we say. He throws his legs across Elizabeth's, pinning her down. He holds the pulley-hook assembly in one hand, but he has the other large paw casually covering her ass. Squeezing, and patting, and *thwaaack!*-ing her, from time to time.

"Do you really, really think she'll give us the codes?" Harris asked, as he finishes booting up his computers. "I mean, really...?"

"That's what Chano is for, my young friend. I nod toward Chano. That's his signal.

Chano lifts himself from the back of Elizabeth's bare-naked thighs, and paws at her sweet, barely-clad bum along the way. She kicks back at him, in protest, but he snags her tied ankles and pins them in his arm. 

He lowers the hook from the pulley assembly, and he pulls it between her ankles. He slides it between her calves, upward, until it catches her ankle ropes.

Chano begins to pull on the rope. Slowly, Elizabeth is lifted from the mattress. I wonder how 'freaky' she is now: She's been bound, gagged, pawed, and molested by three men who ogle over her near-naked body with big fat bulging cocks straining their pants. Now, she's hanging, upside down, totally exposed, with her tattered summer dress hanging down over her upper body!

On cue, Chano flashes a long, sharp hunting knife.

He flashes it in her face, for full effect. He squats, and twirls the blade with practiced, nonchalant skill, two inches from Elizabeth's eyes!

Elizabeth, for the first time, truly screeeeeeeams! into her gag!

>>RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP!!!!

With a flick, and a turn, Chano shears the rest of Elizabeth's delicate white summer dress from her. It drops, piece by piece, tatter by tatter, in strips and wads to the mattress below. 

Pretty Elizabeth sobs ... 

... And, then, up she goes, higher, until she hangs, suspended, about one foot above the mattress. Chano gives her a slow spin, turning her from back, to front, showing off those lovely butt-cheeks, those cute, perky breasts, that smooth, naked flesh, ... and all that rope. 

And, then, ... Chano unzips his jeans. His massive swollen member pops out, flexing, pulsing, still expanding, mere inches away from Elizabeth's barely there blue panties. 

He pulls her close to him, letting her feel his warmth against her naked thighs.

Her eyes grow wide, wider than ever, and she violently shakes her head! Chano strokes himself against her, his wide, eager hood expanding and flexing ... noticeably.

"Yes, she really, really will do as we say," I whisper to Harris. "Those transfer codes are as good as ours!"

Harris stares at Chano and Elizabeth wiping his brow. 

Chano, meanwhile, seems lost as his member rubs against poor Elizabeth's bare thighs, ...

I had confidence in Harris. I had less confidence in Chano, except in this regard: I was sure he would be quite 'persuasive', with Miss Elizabeth, regarding her computer access passwords. Quite persuasive, indeed!

**********

I try to get a grip on this reality. Mr. Eyes is the same man that has been essentially stalking me for the past month or so.

Is this why? 

As I try to understand what exactly is happening, he approaches me on the mattress. I try to scoot my bottom backwards, but I am already up against the cold concrete wall of the warehouse.

Mr. Eyes places both hands on my legs and moves them slowly upward towards my moistening nylon covered crotch.

As his one hand grips my upper thigh, the other pushes firmly against my heat seductively rubbing my swollen lips.

I moan into my gag as my eyes clearly tell him that I am getting turned on, very turned on.

I try to clench my thighs together as he slides a finger up inside my panties running it along my secreting kitty.

His eyes tell me that he knows me. I mean that he really knows me. The kind of knowing that only a long time lover would have.

His finger slides back out and he holds it up to me to show me my juices glistening on the black leather of his glove as if mocking me for my unladylike desires.

I just want him to go away, or do I?

A tear forms in my eye, as I feel so humiliated by my sexual reaction to this helplessness and submission.

Mr. Eyes presses his groin against my leg and I easily feel his excitement hard against my bare skin.

An uncontrolled shiver passes through my body as he grinds himself on my thigh hinting at what may be in my future.

I try desperately to fixate on my predicament and any opportunity for escape, but it only serves to further my excitement.

He licks me and I turn away only to have my face pulled back.

Mr. Eyes isn't done with me yet as he unhooks the front clasp of my bra totally freeing my small breasts and very erect nipples from the little cover that was left.

His black gloves trap my throbbing pebbles between his forefinger and thumb and he rolls them back and forth exacerbating the pulse coursing through my body.

He licks my neck and I instinctively turn away only to have him lower his head and run his tongue across my aching nubs.

I try to scream into my gag, but do I really want this to end?

Mr. Eyes now straddles me as I feel his rock hard member pushed against my stomach and again he squeezes my nipples and palms my breasts with his black gloves.

Before he is done, he licks me behind my ear telling me, "I told you that it wouldn't be hard."

Did he mean to say "difficult" or is this part of his game, since he is definitely hard.

Mr. Eyes and Harry Potter discuss banking codes.

I am sure that I should be paying attention to this, but my entire body has become a wound up spring that wants to be let loose.

Mr. Brute now comes towards me positioning his groin mere inches from my face as his huge erection pushes against the front of his pants preventing me from concentrating on any of the discussion going on behind him.

As he pulls a rope with an attached hook from a pulley system hanging from the ceiling he flagrantly checks his "Package" in my face.

I start to whimper as I don't like this man and am afraid of what he might be capable of.

Thank goodness he rolls me over onto my front, however as I lay there face down, Mr. Brute grabs my panty covered bottom and squeezes it repeatedly and then swats me like a little school girl who has been naughty.

I try to kick and squirm to get him off of me but to no avail. I don't even recognize the sounds that I am making as they are indistinguishable between a woman in protest and a woman in heat.

Just as I think that it can't get much worse, I feel myself rising from the mattress feet first and I am hanging upside down, with what remains of my summer dress covering my eyes as I am now completely naked from the waist down except for my ever shrinking panties and high heels. 

My exertions have caused what little bit of nylon material that was covering my bottom to slide up my round cheeks exposing most of them.

Mr. Brute gives me a good whack on my exposed flesh further inciting the already conflicting sensations enveloping my body and mind.

He spins my hanging body around to face him, flashing a long hunting knife in front of my eyes and my conflicting emotions dissolve to be replaced by sheer unadulterated terror as I scream over and over again into my gag.

Mr. Brute uses the knife to expertly cut my dress in layers away from my body creating a slow and methodical striptease for my exclusive audience.

Along with the dress any dignity remaining inside of me is stripped away as well, as I hang upside down with nothing left to cover me but the teeny light blue panties that only hours ago I was playfully giving peeks of to my bus driver.

As Mr. Brute swings me around, the emotion of total helplessness floods through me and I start to weep.

Such a conflict is being created inside of me, as the cool air on so much exposed skin coupled with the leering faces of my captors causes a flush of raw sexual energy to redden my skin.

I am hoping that these three men see it as embarrassment, but I can tell by the look on Mr. Eyes face that he recognizes it for what it truly is.

As if this wasn't enough for me to endure, Mr. Brute now lowers the zipper on his pants and pulls his immense organ free. Immediately the phrase "hung like a horse" fills my mind and I try to swing myself away from his engorged instrument.

He straddles my body so my head now hangs between his legs about knee high and rubs himself against my thighs then spinning me around he does the same on my bare cheeks protruding from my tight little panties.

I am horrified by his size as he works himself between my bound legs, grabbing both of my hips with his gloved hands as he starts to hump me between my upper thighs sliding his maleness against my wet nylon covered crotch.

The other two are lost in conversation as Mr. Brute continues to violate me. I can feel his erection getting harder and hotter as I sense him getting close to climax.

My own heat is starting to match his as his friction results in my panties becoming soaked with my own secretions allowing his mushroom headed monster to slide easily back and forth between my legs.

As if on cue his body tightens into one large muscle, his back arches, and with a loud groan of satisfaction he ejects a long projectile of white crème through the opening of my thighs across the mattress and up against the concrete wall.

He repeats this performance with a multitude of others until his last remaining dribbles of liquid sex run along my panties, down my stomach, and onto my breasts.

Mr. Eyes and Harry just stare at this pornographic display. 

While Mr. Brute pulls on the rope so I am lifted until I am eye level with his glistening shaft, Harry stares in disbelief. It seems that he didn't exactly sign on for what is now transpiring.

Mr. Eyes turns to me telling me that he needs my computer password. I shake my head as Mr. Brute rubs himself across my face leaving his gooey residue on my forehead.

I continue to shake my head and am horrified to see Mr. Brute start to grow again.

"What kind of animal is he?" I think to myself.

I find this man to be akin to a caveman and am mortified at how close I am to an orgasm.

How can I possibly find this so sexually stimulating as I am hanging upside down and treated like a plaything?

Mr. Eyes tells Mr. Brute to put himself away and walks towards me.

He grabs a hold of my bottom and squeezes it hard. I squeal through my gag from the pain and pressure.

He then takes his hand away and with very little hesitation slaps me hard across my exposed flesh. I tighten my buttocks to lessen the pain as a bolt of electricity passes through my body.

He slaps me hard again and I whimper into my gag as my entire bottom stings like fire.

Another slap and tears well up in my eyes and yet an unexpected change is starting to occur.

That original bolt of electricity is now centered right between my legs and I am starting to heat up again.

Mr. Eyes now gets into a rhythm of slapping each of my checks one right after the other while the strange combination of pain and pleasure vibrates through my lower region.

As his slaps continue to rain down on my buttocks I start to moan in stifled sounds of " Oh God, Oh God, Oh God."

The spasms start deep inside of me, and very soon my entire body is rocked by my orgasmic convulsions as I look like an epileptic in the midst of a seizure.

Again I am humiliated by my reaction as my body is covered in sweat from the orgasm.

Mr. Eyes whispers to me, "I knew you were a little freak. Let's see what else gets you off." 



Abducted Ch. 03



When I awoke I was in the cinder block room again, curled up in the middle of the bare mattress. Naked, I was unrestrained and alone. I looked around for any clothes or items I could use to fashion makeshift clothes. Finding nothing, I then made my way clumsily to the doorway. 

My body ached everywhere and my legs were sore from being dropped in the other room. My knees, arms, ribs and back were bruised from the abuse I'd received from the men last time. My legs wobbled as I crept quietly to the edge of the doorway. Sneaking a peek, I poked my head around the corner, into the room with the glass wall and the other way, down a long corridor with several doors. 

I knew the exit had to be down the corridor but I was scared to move. If I was caught outside of the cinder block room I know I'd be in for some special kind of torture. But then again, I knew staying in the room I'd continue to be raped and abused. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, I made my way to the first door on the left. The door was solid oak, with no window. I put my ear up to the door to see if I could hear any movement or activity within. Hearing nothing, I grabbed the brass handle and twisted, making sure not to rattle the knob. Pushing the door open, I stepped in slowly. The room was dimly lit with four red lightbulbs. The red glass provides a dark, ominous glow to the room. Adjusting to the difference in lighting my eyes finally take it all in. 

The far wall is padded, but covered with black leather. On the wall to my right, there are several tools, whips, chains, yards of rope, ball gags, dildos and other things I don't recognize. On the left there is a basic metal chair. The concrete floor is covered with rubber matting throughout the space. Terrified to see what else I'd find in this red room of horrors, I turned to leave. As I turned to leave, my exit was blocked by a very large, muscular man.

Shocked, I tried to force my way past him, back into the hallway so I could run. His face was much more handsome than the man before, but his body was just as large and muscular. He was wearing a black button up shirt and black pants, black shoes and belt. He was white but tanned with blond hair and light eyes. His lips are full and his face is angular. His size and strength are much too great and he caught me about my waist and slammed me back into the room. Turning the lock, I was trapped in this small red room with this strange and powerful man. As he slammed me against the wall, he knocked the wind from my body and I lay limp on the rubber mat. As I righted myself to a sitting position I pulled my knees in and wrapped my arms tight around my legs in a protective stance. 

"Stay away from me," I told him, so angry now that I'd been taken and abused like this to even worry about being respectful.

"He told me you had a mouth on you. He didn't tell me it was so pretty." The man replied. "You can call me Sir. And if you call me anything other than that I will make sure you know how disappointed I am." 

His threat resonated with me when I realized that the front of his pants was bulging with his growing erection. He picked up a small crop and approached me on the floor. "Stick your tongue out, girl," he said darkly. 

I didn't know what to do. I knew I didn't want him to hit me, whip me or tie me up. Soon he stood menacingly tall at my feet as I looked up with big, terrified eyes. He repeated his command in a voice I knew was his last warning. Opening my mouth slightly this time, he pounced. Squatting down in front of me he shoved two of his fingers from his left hand into my mouth. 

"Suck, bitch," he ordered as he pushed his fingers to the back of my throat and used his right hand to smack my face with the crop. Blinking rapidly to stem the tears, I gagged on his long fingers and tried to move my face away from the crop. 

Suddenly the man wrapped his arms around my small frame and lifted me completely off the ground, still in the fetal position. Pushing my body up against the padded leather wall he set my crotch onto his thigh and adjusted his position. Still fully clothed, he reached down to unzip his pants and pull out his rock hard dick. Stroking it, he pulled it out of the opening.

Reaching down he grabbed each of my legs directly under the knee and pushed them up, holding my back to the wall and lifting my legs as if I were on my back and he were on top of me. Pushing my legs up this way gave him unrestricted access to my pussy. Despite being scared, by body's reaction was unmistakable. I was dripping wet. Realizing my reaction, I felt humiliated and ashamed. 

With his dick between my thighs, pushing into my clit and his arms and body holding me suspended against the wall he began to whisper in my ear. "I'm going to make your slutty body scream for me, baby. You're not going to be able to move when I'm done with you, you fucking whore. How do you like it? You like it rough, bitch? You want me to slam my cock into your ass, don't you? I heard you moaning last night when the other guys took their turns fucking your cunt and ass." Whimpering against his verbal assault, I denied enjoying the assault from the day before. 

"Your pussy is dripping with juices. You cream just thinking of being fucked, don't you?" As his whispers continued, he got more and more enraged. "Answer me, cum-slut. Tell me how you want me to fuck your little holes." 

"Yes, Sir," was all I could manage to whisper because his cock was hitting my body so fast and hard directly on my clit, making my orgasm build and build, making my resistance weaker and weaker. As I came, my body shook and slumped against his torso, forcing him to hold onto my body even tighter and harder. His fingers were digging into my thighs as he held them up. 

Exhausted, I slumped forward and he lifted my body back down to the floor and set me down. Kneeling between my knees he returned me to the former position, pushing my legs up toward my head at the knees, and actually rolling me backward, so that my ass was lifted completely off the ground and my pussy and ass were bare and open to him. 

Reaching backward, he grabbed a large black dildo from the shelf. First he pushed the dildo into my mouth. "Get this fucker wet, whore. I'm putting it into one of your holes." Not telling me which one, I did my best to get the dildo lubricated for use. He pushed it deep into my throat making me gag repeatedly. Each time I gagged on the thick dildo, my mouth foamed with saliva and got it soaking wet. From this angle, being held up on my upper back and neck, I had no choice but to allow him to fuck my face with the toy. 

Once he was satisfied that the dildo was wet enough for its next purpose he placed the tip at my backdoor. Resting the bottom of the dildo on his muscular chest he pushed his body forward to push the phallus into my anus. As it inched in, my ass adjusted but each new inch hurt, and I screamed with pain. "Please, Sir," I begged. "Please stop. It hurts Sir, please." Every time I begged him to stop he smiled. 

Once the dildo was fully inserted into my ass he leaned his head forward and began to lick and suck my pussy. Swirling his tongue up and around my clit, flicking it with fast strokes and long cat like licks, I became wetter than before. Leaking juices from my pussy, he leaned back and forth to move the dildo in and out of my ass as he licked me.

"Ohhhh my god," I couldn't help but moan in pleasure when his tongue found the entrance to my pussy and dipped inside. Licking as deep within me as he could get, his nose pressing constant pressure onto my clit and his chest pressing the dildo deep within my ass, I came harder than I'd ever cum before. My pussy squirted juices all over his face as he licked and sucked. "Oh my god! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" I couldn't stop moaning as the waves overtook my body over and over again. 

Standing over me and pulling my body even higher off the ground so that only my upper back and neck touched the ground he turned to face the other direction. Then, stepping back pushed his big, fat prick down, and pushed it into my pussy hard, keeping the dildo fully into my ass with his other hand. Squatting down to fuck me, he rammed his cock into my pussy hard and fast. 

"Ahhhhhh, it's too big," I screamed as his mammoth hard dick stretched my body to its limits. I felt so full of dick at this moment I felt like his prick would spit me wide open. The dildo was bigger than any dick I'd ever had up my ass before. Not long after the initial shock of it, the pain mixed with pleasure and I began to cum again. My body spasmed, tightening hard onto his dick as he plowed into me. 

"Shit!" he cursed, "Fuck you're a tight little slut," he said as he felt my pussy clamp on his junk and almost made him lose his load inside me. Pushing into my pussy, he stopped his thrusts and pulled on the dildo in my ass. Slowly he removed the big fake cock from my asshole, admiring the gaping hole it left behind. Without warning, he pulled his dick out of my pussy and slammed it hard into my asshole. He pumped himself in hard and fast three times before he came deep in my ass, filling me with a big load of cum. 

"Now squat down close to the floor and push out that cum, baby," he told me, as he dropped my body down onto my back. Doing what I was told I sat up, got to my feet and squatted. Using my muscles within, I squeezed his cum out of my asshole. It dripped slowly onto the rubber mat. The white cum was easy to see on the black matting, even in the red light. 

"Now get on all fours, bitch and lick it all up. I gave you that cum and you better not waste a drop." When I hesitated, he slapped my face and pulled my head backward, spitting onto my face. Dropping to all fours I propped my body over the stain and lowered my mouth to lick it up. "Yeah, you nasty cum-eater, lick it all up. Tell me you like the way it tastes straight from your slutty little ass," he commanded. 

"I like how it tastes out of my ass, Sir," I sobbed quietly, after I swallowed the load from the ground.

"You like how it tastes out of your ass?" he asked as he stood over me and stroked his still hard dick. "If you like that, you'll like this," he said before he grabbed a fist full of my hair, pulling me back up onto my knees and pushed his cock into my mouth. 

"Clean that cock off, bitch. Taste yourself on my fat dick." I began to bob my head up and down his dick, gripping his cock with one hand. "Yeah, show me how much you like sucking cock. Show me those eyes as you suck it." Keeping my eyes open and looking at his face, I sucked his dick hard and with all the enthusiasm I could muster. When it was too much for him, he pulled his dick back and slapped my face on alternating cheeks, repeatedly until tears fell from my eyes and I sobbed, begging him to stop. 

"This will never stop, bitch. And you love it." 



Abducted Ch. 03



“So the two guards who brought me here, Madam, each was missing a finger!”

“Very observant, Slut! Yes, a couple of years ago, Boris couldn’t resist buggering a slut whose arse was reserved for her Master. The punishment should really have been castration, but that would have meant castrating his ‘Copain’ Clyde as well, and His Highness was reluctant to do that. Clyde has some very impressive equipment.”

“I know, Madam, he showed me!”

“Did he indeed? Yes, he’s very proud of it. He only showed you, I trust?” Yasmin added with a frown. “He didn’t try to use it?”

“Oh, no, Madam, but I think he was tempted!”

“I’m sure he was, Slut. Anyway, His Highness reduced the punishment to loss of rank and loss of a finger – for both of them, of course. It was considered very lenient.”

With that, Yasmin pressed the buzzer twice, and the two guards re-appeared. “Take the slut back to her room now, blindfolded, of course,” she commanded. “And Leila,” she continued, “take back your dress, and the rest of that stuff. I’ll see you at about 2.30. I’ll come to your room.”

Yasmin gathered her papers, and hurried out of the room. The sound of her high heels on the floor receded into the distance. Emma collected the items she had been wearing earlier, and submitted to being hooded again. The guards took an arm each, and escorted her back to her room in silence.



Abducted Ch. 04



Chapter 4 – More Questions

Back in her room, Emma looked at the clock. 12 noon. She had been in the 'interview room' for less than two hours! It was hard to believe. So much had happened.

She went to the bathroom, started to run the water for a bath, and slipped off her robe. She stared in the mirror at her soft, white body, the whiteness of her skin marred by angry red marks on her breasts, torso, thighs and buttocks. She found the jar marked 'Bath Balm' and applied the ointment liberally to her wounds as instructed. Immediately, she felt the stinging pain lessen as the balm worked its way into her sore skin. Gratefully, she stepped into the bath and immersed herself.

As she lay soaking, Emma tried to take stock. She didn't know where she was, but it was obviously a long way from home. There seemed little prospect of escape, but they seemed careful not to allow her out of the room without a blindfold. Did that mean they were worried about her seeing something or someone who might help her? She stored the thought.

Emma pondered her situation. This was no initiative test, she thought bitterly. She couldn't get used to the idea that this could be happening to her, and at the end of the twentieth century. Surely she would have been missed by now, at least at work. How long before they raised the alarm and started looking for her? Would they find any clues?

She was promised another session this afternoon. There was much she needed to know, and she needed to concentrate and get her mind in order. How long before they started her 'training'? She had no real indication as to what the 'training' would consist of, but she felt that it was certain to be unpleasant, and that her freedom would be curtailed still further. 

The bath and the balm eased her pain considerably. As she dried herself, she noticed the weals appeared less angry. She patted them gently with the towel. When dry, she dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, and sat in a comfortable armchair to contemplate.

Shortly after one o'clock, the two oriental maids appeared with her lunch trolley. Remembering Yasmin's instructions, Emma didn't try to get any information from them. Gratefully, she noticed that a half-bottle of Sancerre 1993 had been supplied. Emma would have liked something stronger; a large gin and tonic might have settled her shattered nerves, but it was probably better, she reflected, to keep a clear head. She poured a glass of wine – an excellent vintage, and served at just the right temperature, cool but not chilled – and picked at her lunch without much enthusiasm. A plan was beginning to form in her mind. She secreted another bottle of water inside a small cupboard, together with a couple of bread rolls, and some fruit. She ordered steak (rare) for her evening meal.

Yasmin watched, unseen behind the two-way mirror.

After the meal had been cleared away, Emma started looking through the books installed in a bookcase along one wall. She noticed several which seemed to relate to slavery and submission, sadism and masochism. She had heard of one, 'The Story of O', and started reading. As she read, her worries increased. Was this the sort of regime to which she would be subjected?

Suddenly, at precisely 2.30, the door opened and Yasmin entered. Emma, surprised, looked up from her book. "On your knees, Slut!" barked the older woman. "When I enter a room, you will get down on your knees, and stay there until given permission to rise!"

Emma obeyed immediately. "I am sorry, Madam. I didn't realise."

"That's it, and spread your legs. Lower your gaze; look at the floor, not at me. Place your hands behind your back, to accentuate your breasts. No keep your back straight, and your head up, but lower your gaze. Yes, like that. That is the posture you will adopt in future when I, or anyone else in authority, enters your room."

"Yes, Madam."

She picked up the book Emma had been reading. "Yes," she said, "you'll find this useful, Slut. I would also recommend these." Yasmin selected another three books from the shelf, and laid them on the table. "Try these when you have finished 'The Story of O'. They will give you a greater understanding of the journey you are about to make."

Emma thought to herself that she would do anything possible to avoid making that journey, but for the moment, it was important to obey Yasmin and to try to gain her trust.

Yasmin seated herself in an armchair. "Very well, Leila," she began, "you may rise now and be seated. You have some more questions?"

Emma got up from her knees, and sat opposite Yasmin. "Thank you, Madam," she said, careful to keep her eyes lowered, in what she hoped was a sufficiently submissive pose. "If it would please you, Madam, could you tell me about my training? When will it start?"

"As soon as we have the results of your tests."

"Tests, Madam? What tests?"

"Everyone in the palace who is sexually active is tested each month for sexually-transmitted diseases, including HIV. Anyone new is considered 'unclean' until they have been tested. It is a serious offence to have sex with an unclean person. Samples were taken while you were under sedation, and we should have the results in a day or two. You will then be assigned a trainer, and your lessons will start."

"I see, Madam; I wondered why you told the guards that I was unclean. Now I understand."

"We need to be careful with new arrivals," continued Yasmin, "especially in your case, because of your partners."

"But I have only two, Madam."

"Yes, but one – Max I believe – is married. He has sex with his wife, and you were not his only mistress."

"What?"

"Oh yes. Only last week he took his secretary to Amsterdam on business. They booked separate rooms, but only used one bed."

"Bastard!" exclaimed Emma under her breath.

"We believe," Yasmin went on, "that she has another regular partner as well. And your other lover – Peter – spends every week in London, where he also has a regular girlfriend. We didn't have time to establish what she does at weekends when Peter returns to Edinburgh."

"Him too!" muttered Emma. "Bastards both!"

"The system is not foolproof, of course, because of the gestation period for some diseases, but it has been remarkably effective so far. In my twenty years here, I can only remember one outbreak of syphilis, which was rapidly controlled. The cause was discovered – one of the guards admitted to using a prostitute while on leave in the capital. He was castrated and dismissed from the force – as was his 'copain' of course. I believe his 'copain' later killed him, in revenge for the loss of his virility. No-one blamed him, and he was never prosecuted."

Emma continued to be astonished at the matter-of-fact manner in which Yasmin talked of these atrocities, and shuddered.

"Please, Madam, of what will my training consist?" she asked, hesitantly, not sure she wanted to hear the reply.

"It would not be proper to go into detail now, but you will not find it pleasant at first, until you have learnt how to suffer pain and humiliation, and even to welcome them. You will learn how to treat a Master correctly and properly, and come to understand the beauty of true submission to your Master's desires."

"How long will it take, Madam?"

"That depends, of course, on how well you learn, but probably between three and nine months. I have already explained that you have one week each month free from training, during your period. In addition, you will be released every fifth or sixth day, to recover and contemplate what you have learnt. Training takes place in special training rooms; during your rest days you will be brought back here."

"And will I always be in solitary, Madam?"

"For the present, yes. As your training proceeds, the rules will be relaxed, and you will be allowed to mix with the others, and spend your allowance."

"Allowance, Madam?"

"Yes, of course. When you have completed your training, and assuming His Highness is happy with you, you will receive a monthly allowance of four thousand US dollars, to spend on anything you wish – clothes, jewellery, books, anything you decide. That will increase periodically, depending on your performance. Your Master will expect you to look your best at all times. It is also most important that you keep your mind active; you are expected to be a companion, not just a toy. During training, of course, your allowance is lower, only one thousand per month. The first thousand will be credited to your account one month from yesterday. In addition, all the clothes, jewellery, etc. in this room are yours. Some came from your flat, but we have added a few extras, which I hope you will like."

"Thank you, Madam. I haven't yet investigated them all, but the person who chose them has very good taste."

"Why thank you, Leila. I co-ordinated it myself," replied Yasmin, smiling. "I'm glad you approve. I hope you will learn to be happy here."

"But, Madam, surely they will miss me at home, and at work. Will they not be alarmed at my disappearance?"

"For the moment, no. Your mother received an e-mail to say that you were going abroad for a few days. Your office had a phone call on Wednesday morning, purporting to be you, and explaining in a very weak voice that you had a bad dose of influenza. Very soon, however," continued Yasmin, smiling, "many people will be searching for you, including the Fraud Squad, Europol and Interpol!"

Emma started. "Why, Madam? Why Interpol?"

"Well, your company will shortly discover a large hole in their accounts, amounting to nearly two and a half million pounds sterling." Yasmin checked a record in her folder, and continued, "Two million, four hundred and eighty-two thousand, five hundred and eighty-four pounds and twelve pence, to be precise!"

"What?" gasped Emma in surprise.

"I'm not sure of the exact details," Yasmin went on, "but they will trace it initially to a bank account opened by you, with an account name very similar to one of your company's major clients. By the time they get there, however, it will all have disappeared into several numbered Swiss bank accounts, all of which are now empty."

Emma gasped. "And they will think it was me, Madam?"

"Oh, yes. Enquiries will show that you left your flat early on Wednesday morning and drove to the Airport for the early morning flight to Paris, on a ticket you booked a week ago. From there, they will probably be able to trace you to Zurich, Vienna, Budapest, and finally to Belgrade, after which the trail will go blank! It's all been very carefully planned! It took a little time to find some-one sufficiently like you to use your passport."

In spite of herself, Emma was impressed at the lengths to which they had gone to cover her tracks. 

"Oh yes, and one other thing," continued Yasmin, smiling, "They will be able to trace one hundred thousand pounds to a bank account held by your friend Max. It would be interesting to hear how he explains that to the police!"

Emma was surprised at her reaction. Yes, it quite amused her to wonder how Max would react. He could be very pompous at times; this would prick his pride! Served him right for two-timing her! She smiled.

"I see the thought amuses you, Slut! That's good; we'll make a good slave of you yet!" 

"Am I allowed any contact with the outside world, Madam?"

"For the present, no, none at all. In a few days, we will install a computer terminal in your room, and you will be able to access the internet. It will be barred, however, to prevent any information flowing out. It is pointless to try to access your e-mail account – we have changed your password. We will monitor it for you, and let you know about anything we regard as important. I will also arrange for the internal phone to be re-connected. You will have access to only two numbers. If you need to see me, or have urgent problems, dial 200. My office is manned at all times. For general requirements – room service, etc. – dial 210."

"Thank you, Madam," replied Emma, with a resigned expression.

"Do not be down-hearted, Leila. We hope you will soon learn to be happy here. We will cater for all your requirements. In time, you will meet the other girls and I trust you will make some good friends."

"How many women does His Highness have, Madam?"

"Currently forty-six, not counting his two official wives, of course. In addition, there are two trainees – yourself and another girl who has been here about six months now. The women are spread around his three palaces, but thirty are here permanently. This is his favourite retreat, perhaps because his wives never come here," added Yasmin, smiling.

"Forty-six, Madam?" asked Emma, with a puzzled expression. "But I thought I was Number 29!"

"You are the twenty-ninth recruited since His Highness succeeded his late father, my Master, nearly ten years ago. Before that, His Highness already had his own small court, but those women had his father's prefix. Also, he inherited, and decided to keep, some of the younger women from his father's court. When he took charge, he augmented his court by about twelve in the first year, but since then he has restricted himself to no more than two or three every year."

"May I ask, Madam, were you abducted too?"

"Yes, twenty years ago, from London. I understand your apprehension and your fear. Please be assured that we do not wish to harm you. We simply want to train you to fulfil your destiny. Pain and discomfort are an essential part of the training, but you will find much pleasure as well."

"I'm frightened, Madam!"

"That is natural and understandable. Mainly, you are frightened of the unknown. As you learn more, the fear will recede. Believe me."

"Yes, Madam."

"I will leave you now. Shortly, two women will come here to take some measurements; obey their instructions, but do NOT try to get information from them. That should not take more than twenty minutes and the rest of the day is free for you to amuse yourself. To-morrow, at 10 in the morning, I have booked you a session with our physiotherapist. It is most important that you keep supple and fit. She will also help with aches and pains. Following that, you will see our resident beautician and manicurist. She will help you to look your best at all times. You will be collected at 9.55."

"Thank you, Madam."

Yasmin left, locking the door behind her. 

Emma started to plan. She knew had to try to escape before her 'training' started. She wasn't sure how long that gave her, but probably no more than two days, until the results of her tests were known. She had no clear idea where she was, except that it was not in Europe, but started to put clues together. 'His Highness' (whoever he was) had nearly fifty women in his harem. She did some mental arithmetic. Fifty women, at four thousand dollars per month; that came to about two and a half million dollars per annum - just for 'allowances', not counting all the other costs! This man was seriously rich; that had to mean either oil, or crime, or both.

She thought about the clothes in her wardrobe. They were predominantly suitable for a hot climate. In addition, the entire palace seemed to be air-conditioned – she heard all the time the faint hum of the system.

What other clues could she glean? His Highness had two official wives. 

She thought back to the two meals she had had, and the menus; the prolific but subtle use of spices reminded her of a Lebanese restaurant she had once visited with Peter. It suddenly stuck her – there were no pork, ham or bacon derivatives on either menu, or on the tray of cold meats supplied for breakfast.

Oil – heat – harems – multiple wives – lack of pork. It HAD to be somewhere in the Middle East.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, and in walked two women, about thirty years old, smartly dressed in matching white overalls. "Good afternoon," said the first, curtly, in a strange foreign accent, possibly Eastern European, thought Emma. "We need some measurements. Take off your clothes and lie on the bed."

Meekly, Emma complied. One woman wielded a tape measure and called out the numbers for the other to record. Emma was astonished at the number of measurements, and had difficulty in restraining herself from asking questions. They measured the circumference of her ankles, knees, thighs in two places, wrists, elbows, upper arms, neck, and finally her head, first around the mouth, then the forehead, and finally from her chin to crown. Her arms were measured, from armpit to wrist, and her legs, from the sole of her feet to her crutch. They asked her to stand up and extend her arms above her head. They then measured the full distance from the tips of her fingers to the floor, then from the top of her head to the floor. She extended her arms sideways at right angles, and they measured the full distance from the tips of the fingers of her right hand to those of her left. Finally, they took some body circumference measures, bust across her breasts, bust below her breasts, waist and hip.

"OK. That's all. You can get dressed now," announced the first woman. She and her colleague departed without further comment.

Emma slipped into a bathrobe, and looked around the room again. No windows. She tapped the walls, trying to get some hint as to which might be an outside wall, but to no avail. 'Even if I had the tools,' she thought bitterly, 'I've no way of knowing which wall to tunnel through.'

She looked closely at the grille covering the air-conditioning duct. 'No use – even if I could get the grille off, I'd never squeeze through there,' she mused. Similarly, in the bathroom, the ventilation ducts were far too narrow to contemplate their use as a means of escape. It would have to be the door! If she could surprise the maids bringing a meal, she might be able to get out of the door and lock it behind her. She might have a chance of finding a way out before they were able to raise the alarm. It was a slim chance, but she had no alternative.

Unseen eyes watched Emma all the time. "She's plotting something," said Yasmin. "I'm certain of it!"

But how, and when, to attempt an escape? If she was right about being somewhere in the Middle East, Emma did not want to risk a full day in the open air, with no shelter from the sun. On the other hand, it might be essential to have some daylight to help her get her bearings, and perhaps find somewhere to hide. She seemed to recollect from school geography lessons that night fell very quickly, and earlier than in Scotland, in summer at least. About five o'clock in the evening would be good. If she were to arrange to have tea brought to her at about five o'clock, it might be possible to make an escape, and find somewhere to lie low until darkness fell. Possibly, if she was only bringing a small trolley for tea, they would just send one maid, and that would assist her escape; she would only have to cope with one potential hindrance. After that – goodness knows! It all depended on what she would find out there. Hide, and wait for darkness to fall? Then wait until early dawn, and try to find a large hotel with British or American guests? Failing that, a Western company headquarters? Even without proof of identity, surely someone would believe her story.

Emma began to feel better, having organised the glimmer of a plan. She looked at her watch, and saw that it was 4.25pm. Emma wondered if the phone had been reconnected yet, as Yasmin had promised. She picked up the receiver and heard a dialling tone. She dialled 210. Within seconds, a soft feminine voice answered, "Yes, Miss Leila, how may I help you?"

"Hello. Would it be possible to have some tea sent to my room?"

"Yes, of course, Miss. English tea?"

"Please. With milk, but no sugar. And a bottle of mineral water if possible."

"Right away, Miss. Anything else?"




Abducted Ch. 04



Chapter 4 -- The Plot

I move my hand over her warm, nearly bare buttocks. I massage her, kneading her skin, almost gently, as if I were smoothing in a creamy lotion into her skin. I playfully pick and nip at those blue, nearly-thong nylon panties. I feel her shudder, and moan, and try to swing away from my eager hands.

I give her ass a quick, sharp *slaaaaaaaap!*

I grasp the pulley rope, and carefully, slowly, lower her down onto the mattress. Her long, lithe legs tremor as she is lowered back down. Her head, then her shoulders, her back, her butt cheeks, ... finally, her legs lower to the dirty mattress, giving her a chance to relax. 

Her breathing is heavy. Her chest heaves beneath our tight ropes; her areolas seem to glow; her nipples remain rock hard; and, her legs squirm, and her hips sway ... as if she were still trying to escape my ropes.

I know better. 

I glance at Chano. I'm surprised he hasn't picked it up yet. He's supposed to be the "ladies' man" among us. He's the one who can 'read' a woman from across the room. I smile a crooked smile under my mask. 

Maybe he was too busy getting off to notice. Or, maybe, there are some things that only experience can teach, something that takes an "old school" guy to understand. 

Of course, it helps that I'm also a pervert.

Elizabeth lays prone on the mattress, rolling her head slowly from side to side. She mewls softly into her gag. All the while, I can't help but think of my secret childhood games, and what I would love to have done with little Mary Jane all those years ago! All those times when I'd tied her cute little red plaid skirt around her kicking legs, and wrapped that sturdy clothesline around her frilly white blouses. All those times she 'begged', and said she'd do 'anything' to keep me from tying her to the 'railroad tracks'!

All those times I climbed on top of her, and rubbed myself against her, not quite understanding, but knowing it felt good! She knew it, too, even though all the while she shook her head, "No! NO! Not that!"

I clucked to myself. Little Mary Jane was a good Catholic girl, and she 'had' to resist my carnal desires. But, it's not like Elizabeth can refuse any offer I make to her right now, can she?

I motion to Chano. "You've made kind of a mess here, bud. Get a towel. Let's clean Ms. Elizabeth up."

I smile and sidle next to the prone, nearly nude hostage. When she tries to scoot away, I sit her up, propping her against the dingy white brick wall. I drink in those long, churning legs, inside those taut brown ropes. I almost can't see those skimpy blue panties, now, wedged between her thighs, and her cheeks.

Instinctively, I begin tweaking and teasing those still hard little pebbles on her chest. I lick her neck, long, and slow, and feel her tense in my arms. I slide close enough to feel her body heat, almost close enough to taste the sweat rolling between her titties. I whisper:

"Your password, my dear. Your password is the only reason you still have to be here. Of course, ... " I slip my fingers between her warm, humid upper thighs, "... you could choose to stay. You could choose to stay, and 'entertain' us."

Then, my tone grows menacing: "But, we'd only let you stay as long as you 'amuse' us, ... and as long as we get those computer passwords."

Chano re-emerges from the manager's office, just off to the side. He tosses me a couple of greasy towels -- I guess it was the best he could do. I feel him behind me, positioning himself over my shoulder, ... no doubt squeezing, and displaying that 'big unit' of his through his jeans. As I start to wipe her down, I notice Elizabeth's gaze on him behind me, ... watching her eyes grow big, and wide, and watching her shake her head in quick little shakes. 

Yep, Chano's back there 'showing off', again.

"School, ... I'm hungry."

I glance over my shoulder as I wipe Elizabeth down. "You mean, you want more? Looked to me like you just satisfied your 'hunger'." I squeeeeeeze her erect little buds through the towel. I smile, and my gloved fingers probe between the bound woman's hot, wet thighs. The Woman shakes her head again. 

"That hunger don't ever get satisfied," Chano laughed. "I meant hungry, the other way."

"Well, hold on to that for a second. Right now, I'd like you to stay here, in case I need you. You see, ... I'm about to take off our guest's gag, and let her have a say in the proceedings." 

I reach for the tape with my fingers, and then, ... I think better of it. Little Elizabeth seems to be 'enjoying' our 'hospitality', too much, ... 

... So, I reach back for a box-cutter knife in my back pocket, and I twirl it in her face! 

I smile while her eyes grow wide, and she scoots away, only to be brought back roughly by my free arm! I back her up against the wall, and crowd her, all the while twirling the short, lethal blade between my fingers!

"Now, needless to say, ... Miss Lady here won't want to scream, or do anything stupid when I remove her gag, now, will she?" Elizabeth vigorously nods her head, "YES!"

"And, of course, ... she's going to sit real still and quiet while I remove this gag, from her sweet, pretty face, ... surely, she wouldn't want anything to cause my hand to 'slip', ... that would be tragic. Wouldn't it?"

I see the pretty bound hostage swallow hard! I can feel her heart beating faster, through her chest. 

I chuckle when I notice her squirming legs fall still inside my tight ropes.

I toss my leg over hers. I get close. Close enough to press myself against her thighs. Close enough to begin grinding my thick, heavy bulge rhythmically against her bare, smooth skin.

"But, before I remove her gag, we'll need to go over a few ground rules. She'll want to know everything she needs to know, so that she can make a wise decision." 

I smile, and insinuate my arm around your bare shoulders.

"See, Ms Elizabeth, we've done a little homework. We know that your bank transfers billions of dollars a day, electronically. We know that, as deputy bank manager, it's you who makes the actual keystrokes, which make those transfers, possible. We know that all that money, in a manner of speaking, goes right ... through ... your ... computer!

I slide the flat of my short blade down, along her nipple-hardened right breast.

Poor little bound-and-gagged Elizabeth trembles in my arms!

I rub myself slowly against her bound legs, and I rub a slow, 'soothing' gloved hand between her quivering thighs. She turns her head away, but not before I see her eyes rolling at the feel of the blade ... and of the soft leather glove between her legs, ... or, is it my eager manhood, trying to burst out of my trousers, and inside her blue panties?

"You see, Elizabeth, ... we know the inner workings. We know that the bank doesn't officially 'settle' its accounts until the end of the business day. Today being Friday, that'll be 6:00 PM, local time. So, you see, you will only be our 'guest' here, for a few more hours, ... one way, or the other!"

I twirl the short blade, and press the cold, flat edge against her puckered breast's hard little nipples. 

She tenses, then turns toward me, ... her eyes pleading, ... shaking her head, ... sobbing behind the tape gag wrapped around her face!

"Shhh, shhh, darling, ... we know it's not all in your hands. We know that your boss, Mr. Dietrich, has to enter the confirmation codes for the transactions to go through. We're taking care of that little detail, don't you worry." 

I lean in, and liiiiiick her neck slowly, while slipping two soft leather gloved fingers beneath her wet panties.

She tenses around my fingers, ... but not before her moisture begins to seep through the glove. 

I whisper: "We're gonna make him an offer he can't refuse. You've been flashing leg at that old man for weeks. Terrible the way you tease him, tsk, tsk! We'll just let him know, ... no confirmation codes? No more of Elizabeth's pretty little panties around the office." 

Chano pipes in, menacingly: "He don't want 'em, I'll take 'em. I can do a lot with her pretty little panties!"

I fix my stare deep into Elizabeth's wide, now terrified eyes!

"No, no, this is one of those one-time offers. And, it expires at 6:00, tonight." I pause. "I use the word, 'expire' ... advisedly. You get me?!"

Elizabeth chokes back her sobs, as a tear escapes the corner of her eye.

"So, now, that we all understand each other, ..." I smile wickedly, and run my blade from one nipple, ... to the other ... back, and forth, ... 

"... Now that we all understand each other, I feel confident that I can remove the little lady's gag, without incident. I'm certain that you will be most cooperative, now, won't you, darling? Yes, I thought so, now that we understand each other, ..."

I tease the gap beneath her panties, with my fingertips, deep inside and between her trembling upper thighs.

" ... Now that we truly understand each other, I'm sure the first thing out of your mouth will be how much you want to help us out. And, the second thing will be the computer password to your account at the bank. Right, honey?

"Right?"



Abducted Ch. 04



***As some readers have commented, my stories can be more violent than might be expected.  I don't apologize for what gets me going, but I will give fair warning that if you don't like rougher treatment, you may not want to read further.  

Also, hopefully we can all agree that these stories are exactly that, stories.  Fantasies are meant to push boundaries of reality and make life a bit more interesting.  Thanks for reading.

***

The next time I awoke I knew I had been drugged.  My faculties were intact but I was unable to move my limbs, but I could feel the rope digging into my skin.  

Looking at my body from the distorted view I had, I could see that my tits, stomach and thighs were bound in lengths of rope in almost every direction.  The rope separated and squeezed my ample breasts and one string went down between my legs.  The friction I felt from the rope directly on my clit was constant and almost unbearable.  The pain and pleasure mixed, making me feel close to orgasm. Though I couldn't move my own body, the man in black from the day before, and my original captor were standing above me, watching. 

My arms were tied behind me. I was on my knees.  My neck was in a leather collar, attached to a strong metal frame.  The collar made it impossible for me to turn my head as I would've liked, or to look down more than slightly. 

The man in black's cock was pressing hard against the front of his trousers.  He was standing slightly forward to my captor, brandishing his riding crop.  "Good morning, cum-slut," he cajoled, congratulating me for waking up.  He stood in front of me and slapped my hard, erect nipples. 

Starting softly, he increased the intensity of the smacks, alternating between hitting me on my tit or my nipple, and increased the frequency.  Alternating between my nipples and the softer flesh of my breasts, I screamed aloud each time he hit me.  The crop felt hard and caused extreme pain when it hit my sensitive, erect nipples directly.  

"Shut up, bitch," he said, "In fact, I don't want to hear anything from you."  Turning, he gestured to my captor, who passed him a thick leather strap with a big red ball in the middle.  Approaching me, my captor fitted the strap around my head and forced the red ball into my mouth.  Adjusting the strap, the ball gag was fitted into place making me unable to speak or make any noise other than indiscernible moans and grunts. 

My captor reached forward at this time and pulled upward on the rope travelling between my legs.  Unable to move my limbs or fight back I was unable to protect my body from his assault.  Screaming behind the gag in my mouth as he pulled up on the rope, my pussy and clit ached from the increased friction each movement caused.  Reaching lower, he pulled aside the rope and dipped two of his long, thick fingers into my pussy.  My pussy was dripping wet. 

The rope had made me so close to cumming that his fingers inside me and his thumb on my clit for mere seconds brought me straight to orgasm.  Feeling my pussy tighten and hearing my moans against the gag the men each took turns telling me what a good whore I was. 

"You're such a fucking slut," said the man in black as he slapped my tits again with the riding crop.  
My captor agreed, telling me I was a filthy whore. He took his fingers out of my pussy and rubbed my juices over my asshole, preparing my ass to be taken yet again.  I wanted to squirm away but my attempts to move faltered because of the drugs they'd fed me.

Next the two men stood before me and removed all of their clothes.  Naked and erect they stood side by side and slapped my face on each side with their growing and hardening cocks.  Standing before me they each repeatedly slapped their meat hard into my face. 

The man previously in black slid his erection between my arm and my body, basically into my armpit.  Pushing my arm harder against my body he thrust in and out of the tunnel he made for his cock. 

"Yeah, you goddamn fucking whore, I'm going to fuck every inch of your hot little body." As he spoke, I felt his cock get harder and harder.   The other man walked behind me and knelt down, aligning the tip of his cock with my tight little asshole. 

Rubbing the tip of his cock in my asscrack, my captor groaned. Pushing forward slowly, he pressed the fat tip of his cock into my ass.  "That's it, girl," he gruffled moaned, "Your ass is so relaxed I could push all the way in like this," and without mercy he pulled out and pushed back in, all the way.  Violently and painfully, his entire hard dick pounded into my ass over and over while the man in black squeezed and pulled my nipples between his fingers and fucked my armpit. 

The man in black unbuckled the strap holding my ball-gag in my mouth. It fell to the ground.  "Please, Master, you're hurting me. Please, stop," I whined as soon as I had the chance, begging them to have mercy, hoping that my use of the word Master would get them to listen.  Ignoring me completely, he continued to ram his dick harder and harder into my little asshole again and again.  

"This is my ass now, bitch," he grunted between slower thrusts into my ass.  He began to alternate which holes he fucked, thrusting into my ass then pussy and back to my ass.  In front of me, the man in black shoved his dick into my mouth. 

My captor could no longer hold his orgasm back and thrust himself into my hot, wet pussy and filled me with a load of hot cum.  When he pulled out, I felt the cum drip from within my pussy and down my pussy lips, torturing me.  It was then that he reached back and grabbed a dildo even larger than the black one used on me the day before.  This dildo was at least 10 inches long and almost as thick as two cocks.  As soon as possible, he worked it slowly but ruthlessly into my pussy and fucked me like that until his dick hardened again.  

The man in black was shoving his dick into my mouth faster and harder, slapping and hitting my cheek as he fucked the insides of my mouth.  "Whose mouth is this, bitch?" he asked me.  Unable to speak I looked up into his face. "Yeah, you fucking whore, we own you now."  He grabbed my hair and pulled my head up further, forcing his cock deep into my throat. 

Ordering me to stick out my tongue, I did as I was told.  He began to slap his dick onto my tongue.  Then, unexpectedly he turned his body around and squatted down in front of me and sat on my mouth.  

"Keep that tongue out, whore," he commanded, "Lick my asshole like the worthless piece of shit you are." He pushed his ass harder into my face, reaching around the back of my head and pulling it forward as far as the collar would allow, forcing me to lick his asshole.  "Oh, yeah! Clean that ass, slut," he whispered nastily. "You like how that tastes, cunt?" he asked.  

Turning back to face me, he shoved his hard cock back into my mouth, and all the way down my throat. Cumming now, he shot his first stream of cum into my throat before pulling out and covering my face in long, thick ropes of white, sticky cum. 

Hard again, my captor suggested they trade places.  The man in black took over fucking my pussy with the enormous dildo and my captor stood before me.  Pulling his dick up, he demanded I suck on his balls.  

"Stick your tongue out and lick those nuts," he commanded, "Now suck and lick them like the good little whore you are."  I lapped and licked his balls like he asked and sucked each one into my mouth, making a popping sound as I released them from my mouth.  Loving it, he kept his balls in my face for some time. 

The man in black suddenly removed the big dildo from my pussy and placed it at the entrance of my ass.  Shocked and terrified, I screamed against his intentions.  I knew my ass couldn't take something so huge.  My screams were muffled by my captor's huge, hanging ball sack in my mouth. 

As he pressed forward, I screamed around the balls, which my captor actually liked and which made the man in black push further.  With great effort, the bulbous head of the dildo popped into my ass.  The pain was incredible.  Tears streamed down my face from the immense discomfort, pressure and pain I felt from this intrusion. 

Not stopping, he pushed on, forcing the big dildo in and out of my ass, at least three or four inches deep.   What was worse, was the man reached below me and began to lightly touch and tease my swollen clit, until I came, squirting cum all over the floor beneath me and covering his hand.  The orgasm worked initially, but caused me to tighten my muscles, making the dildo feel even bigger inside my ass.

Needing to fuck me himself, he removed the giant dildo and replaced it with his only slightly smaller cock.  Slamming in all the way, he fucked me raw until he came deep inside my asshole. Grunting and groaning as he came, he reached down again and rubbed my clit, pushing two fingers into my pussy, hitting my g-spot perfectly, making my pussy gush and leak cum over and over. 

Hearing my juices and needing to cum, my captor pulled his dick out of my mouth and shot his hot load of load of jizz all over my face.  Saying nothing, the men stood quickly, collected their clothes and left the room.  I was forced to stay, bound and unable to move for hours before they returned.  When my captor untied me, picked me up and carried me to the bed I didn't struggle against him.  He placed me on the bed, restrained my arms to the bedposts and left me.  I soon passed out.  



Abducted Ch. 04



"No, thank you."

In less than ten minutes, the door was opened, and one of the oriental maids appeared with a small trolley. As Emma had hoped, she was alone. The maid curtsied, and left.

Emma poured a cup of tea, and smiled inwardly. Yes, she felt much more positive now. She picked up a pen and some paper from the writing table and began to make a list. Emma was fond of lists.

Things to decide:

Day(Soon)

Time (5pm approximately)

Clothing (Full as possible for coolness, long sleeved, a hat to protect against the sun, comfortable shoes, socks if possible, something warm for cold nights)

Water (3 bottles already hidden)

Food (Fruit and bread rolls hidden)

Toiletries(Minimum)

Tissues(From bathroom)

Money (for bribes)(None – take jewellery)

Phone(Disable phone in room to prevent maid calling for help)

Torch/Light (Problem)

Weapon (Problem – perhaps knife)

Bag(Check wardrobe)

Emma wished she had gone on that survival course with her friend Lorna last year, but at the time she thought she had better things to do. She finished her tea, added the bottle of water to the others she had already hidden, and started going through her wardrobe, ticking off on her list as she made a selection. A long-sleeved cotton shirt dress, coming almost to her ankles, would do well, with a comfortable pair of trainers and a large floppy hat. She sorted through the large array of handbags, finding a small back-pack, and a large shoulder bag. They would be perfect.

She returned to the bedroom, and started sorting out the jewellery, putting to one side all the plain pure gold items, on the basis that they would be easier to sell, or use as bribes. She was unsure about the jewelled pieces; they looked like genuine diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, but she was not entirely sure.

To obtain a torch might be a problem, but she had an idea. She dialled 210 again. "Yes, Miss Leila?"

"I have finished my tea, thank you. Could you help me with two other matters? Firstly, I am about to take a bath, and would really welcome some scented candles in the bathroom; would that be possible? Secondly, I would be very grateful if I could have a small torch to keep by my bed, in case I wake up in the night."

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Leila."

"Thank you."

Yasmin continued to watch Emma through the two-way mirror. When told about Emma's request for candles and a torch, she agreed. 'Play along for the moment,' she thought to herself. 'Let's try to find out what she's up to.'

A few minutes later, Emma's door opened and a maid entered with candles, matches and a small torch. Emma smiled. Things were working out well so far. She felt encouraged, and ticked off another item on her list.

Emma returned to 'The Story of O', and read until her dinner arrived, wheeled in on a trolley by the two oriental maids. To her delight, Emma found that she had, as she had hoped, been supplied with a large and sharp steak knife. A weapon at last! Another item to tick off on her list.

She poured herself a glass of red wine from the decanter, and sipped. The aromas exploded in her mouth. Never had she experienced a wine of such complexity, and with such a pronounced bouquet. She looked at the empty bottle – Chateau Margaux, 1978. 'When I get out of here,' she promised herself, 'I'll buy a case of that!'

The knife sliced through her steak with ease, and the red meat proved tender and succulent. Emma ate with gusto, her appetite returned, and poured another glass of the excellent Bordeaux wine.

Her meal completed, Emma carefully secreted her steak knife, a roll, and another bottle of water, placing them in the cupboard beside the rest of her cache. She refilled her wine glass, and placed the decanter on a table next to her armchair. 'I'll finish that later,' she thought to herself.

Her dinner was cleared away. Emma read a little, and then ran a bath. She settled into the tub, a glass of wine in her hand, enjoying the scent of the lighted candles, and luxuriated in the warm water. Idly, her fingers caressed her white skin, and she noticed that most of the angry red weals had completely disappeared.

Emma wrapped herself in a large soft bath towel, rubbing her body, now pink from the warm water. She drained her glass, and refilled it from the decanter. 'Oh dear,' she giggled to herself, slightly tipsy, 'I seem to have finished the whole bottle! But it was rather good – the best bottle I've had in ages. Perhaps it'll help me sleep!'

As if in a daze, Emma paced around the room, finishing her final glass of wine, and contemplating the events of the day. She turned out the central light, leaving on the lamp above the bed, let the towel fall from her petite frame, and relaxed on top of the king-size bed with its luxuriantly soft mattress. Absent-mindedly, the fingers of her right hand wandered across her belly and found her smooth, newly-shaven pussy. Contentedly, she parted the lips and let her fingertips lie on top of her waiting clitoris. She thought of Max, wishing his head was between her thighs. 'Oh, Max – you two-timing bastard!' she whispered to herself, 'You'd love my bald pussy. Wish you were here – you're so good with your tongue!'

Her nipples tingled in the cool air, and swelled into tiny buds. She sighed and let her other hand caress her breasts, squeezing her taut nipples. She sighed again, as her fingers traced her right areola. She looked down at her full breasts, with her pink nipples standing straight up, hard and long. She felt dampness on her right hand, and momentarily believed that Max's tongue was performing its magic. She slid a finger along her slit. It was burning, wet, and slippery. It needed attention.

Eagerly, she opened the drawer and looked at the array of toys. Her favourite vibrator beckoned, but as she reached out to take it, her gaze fell on a new one – bright blue, and much larger than anything she had used before. Suddenly, she remembered the black guard from this morning. What was his name? Clyde? Yes – that's right. He had showed her his monstrous penis. Emma had seen large ones on the internet, but had always assumed they were fakes – digitally enhanced. She had never expected to see anything that big in the flesh. And he had promised to use it on her one day. She shuddered. Surely her dainty little pussy couldn't accommodate a weapon like that?

She picked up the blue vibrator, and examined it more closely. In spite of its colour, it was quite life-like, and felt soft to the touch, with a bulging helmet at the tip. It was big, but she thought Clyde was even bigger. A switch at the end caused it to vibrate gently at first, then more violently as she turned the knob in a clockwise direction. Almost mechanically, she quickly brought the head of the vibrator to the entrance of her pussy, smearing it with her juices. She bent her knees and raised her hips off the bed. Then she pushed gently and the curved tip pushed through the sopping entrance to her slit. That sensation alone made her gasp in delight. She reconsidered. Even with just the slightest pressure, it was impossibly tight. The lips of her pussy were crushed in on themselves by the girth of the dildo.

The tight pressure felt good, though - good enough to make her continue. She slowly rolled the tip around her open hole, soaking it with her juices. She was now able to give it more pressure, and the tip sank in slightly. She inhaled sharply at the feeling of fullness that came with even the slightest penetration. 

Emma spread her legs wider for better access. Her bare toes curled against the silk sheets as she slowly worked the tip around her wet hole. The pleasurable sensations allowed her to fit just a little more in every time. She looked down between her legs. There were now perhaps two inches of the vibrator inside her. She could feel the throb of her arousal in her lips as they pressed against the fake cock. Her pussy felt impossibly full. She wasn't sure how she could fit any more into her. She ran her fingers across her shaven mound. A closer inspection showed her that her lips were completely folded in on themselves by the dildo's pressure. She gently pinched her folds and, leaving the dildo inside her, she stretched them back out so that instead of being crushed, they sucked on it. That relieved enough of the pressure so that she felt she could continue. 

She flopped backwards on the bed, sighing in ecstasy now that she had discovered a system. Through rotation and gentle pressure, she was able fit more and more of the cock inside her, feeling it slide in a little deeper with every movement. 

Finally, she could feel the tip pressing against her back wall, and it felt great. Clearly, she was unable to fit any more inside her, and there were only a few inches left outside. She sighed with pride. As she relaxed, she could actually begin to glide the shaft in and out of her. It felt wonderful. She moaned deeply as the soft, smooth dildo rubbed against her spongy insides. The thickness of the false cock made her insides feel electric with heightened senses. She was convinced that no hollow space existed in her cunt. 

'Oh, Max,' she whispered to herself, 'Oh, Max, fuck me hard. Please!' She moved the dildo in and out, fucking her pussy deep and hard, imagining Max's cock inside her. Slowly, Max's cock metamorphosed into Peter's larger, younger one, and then, to her bewilderment, into Clyde's thick black instrument. She sighed in satisfaction. The more she relaxed, the more pleasure she felt.

Emma soon noticed that the huge cock was not just rubbing her cervix and pussy lips, but indirectly, her clit as well. The intensity was building and she was rocking her hips inadvertently. Her body writhed as she set a deep, slow rhythm to maximize the friction with which she rubbed herself. At the end of each stroke, she bumped her cervix, emitting a little cry of joy with the feeling it brought. Much too quickly, her breathing began to come in short, agonized gasps, which she punctuated by soft whimpers and murmurs. Slowly, a feeling of warmth began to flow over her body. It began with a tingling at the base of her spine, and soon grew into a strong fire in her stomach. She was acutely aware that it was building, overwhelming her, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. She began to breathe more rapidly, unable to do much besides grunt and pump the vibrator into her swollen, wet pussy with a mechanical urgency. She had never experienced anything like this engulfing feeling before, and she was compelled to follow it to the very end.

Suddenly, warmth erupted into heat as Emma's already sensitive skin tingled with the feeling of thousands of needles. Where the false cock penetrated her, however, was the most intense. Her clit cried out to her, and her pussy clenched the interloper of its own accord. She was a passenger on the orgasmic ride her body was taking. Her toes curled and her legs tensed; her body trembled and shuddered from uncontrollable eruptions. 

Her left hand went to her breast and squeezed the nipple tightly, as her right hand continued to pump the dildo in and out of her sopping cunt, rubbing against her clitoris with every movement. She lost track of how long it lasted, but she felt her body drifting inexorably towards an all-compassing climax. She screamed, "Yes! Yes, Clyde, like that! OH FUCK ME! MORE! HARDER! YES!" 

Another scream began to build, as a further orgasmic wave crashed over her. She felt her orgasm start in her toes and tingle all over her body before settling in her clit and finally exploding, erupting into a succession of shivers of ecstasy. "Oh yes, Clyde, you're so big! FUCK ME CLYDE!"

A final orgasm crashed over her as she screamed. Carefully, she removed the huge weapon from her dripping vagina, and felt empty. Perspiration beaded her skin. She whimpered quietly. She was too lost in ecstatic bliss to get out of bed, but simply slipped under the silk sheets and enjoyed the aftershock of her climax, out of breath and sated, drifting off into a sound sleep.

Yasmin watched behind the mirror and smiled. Her hand was under her skirt, between her legs, with her fingers caressing her engorged and moist clitoris. 'Yes – a very promising slut!' she thought to herself. She pressed the intercom button.

"Yes, Madam?" came the immediate response.

"Find Clyde, and tell him I have a job for him. He is to report to my room at once – and alone."

"Right away, Madam."

Yasmin smiled, and walked towards the door, heading for her own room. Her position in the household gave her certain privileges, and tonight she felt she deserved a treat. She felt her pussy moisten further at the thought of the severe onslaught it would shortly receive from Clyde's impressive equipment.



Abducted Ch. 05



Chapter 5 – A Bid for Freedom

The next morning, as Emma ate her breakfast, the phone rang.

"Good morning. Emma Stewart speaking!" she announced brightly, refreshed after a good night's sleep, with no nightmares.

"You are NOT Emma Stewart, Slut!" shouted a familiar voice.

Emma was suddenly flustered. "Oh! Sorry, Madam; I forgot. Leila speaking, Madam! What can I do for you, Madam?"

"That's better! But don't forget in future, or I will need to punish you. I just called to remind you of your appointment at ten o'clock..."

"Oh, yes, Madam, I remember. I'm looking forward to it."

"...and to congratulate you!"

"Congratulate, Madam? For what?"

"We have the results of your tests. You are quite clear, and officially declared 'Clean'. I will discuss with my colleagues this afternoon the appointment of a trainer for you, and we might even be able to start to-morrow."

"So soon?" exclaimed Emma.

"Yes, why not? The sooner we start, the quicker you will be trained. I see no point in delaying."

"Yes, Madam. If you say so, Madam."

"OK. I will see you later."

The phone went dead. Emma felt suddenly dazed. Training might start to-morrow! That meant she had to escape to-day! She mustn't panic; she had several hours to go through her plans, and refine them.

Promptly at 9.55, Boris the palace guard unlocked her door, hooded her as usual, and escorted her to the resident physiotherapist. Exhibiting a thorough professionalism, the physio discussed with Emma means of alleviating aches and pains, and a regime of exercises to increase the suppleness of Emma's body so as to minimise pain and the risk of permanent injury. Emma felt unsettled at the matter-of-fact way in which the physio accepted that Emma would in the following days be beaten, stretched, tortured and tormented. It was as if these degradations were viewed as 'normal'.

It was the same with the palace beautician. She accepted as inevitable that Emma's body would be subject to unusual strains and stresses; her job was simply to advise Emma how best to avoid damage to the perfection of her body, and how to rectify any possible blemishes.

For over two hours, Emma's body was cosseted, massaged, and titillated. Her limbs were subjected to professional attention, following thorough manicure and pedicure. A hot scented bath was followed by a refreshing cold plunge, and further massage. Her hair was washed and carefully set. The range of available beauty products was explained and discussed. 

When Emma was returned to her room just before one o'clock, she admired herself in the full length mirror. Her blonde hair bounced on top of her head. A fresh, beautiful face smiled back at her, flashing perfectly-formed bright white teeth. Emma thought she had never looked so good.

Emma ate her lunch hurriedly, not even glancing at the half bottle of wine provided. She added more fruit, water and bread rolls to her secret cache, impatient to act.

After lunch, Emma reviewed her plans. It HAD to be this afternoon; she couldn't afford to delay. It had just passed two o'clock, and she meant to make her escape at about five. That gave her nearly three hours – more than enough to get ready.

Emma laid out the items she planned to take, and divided them between her back-pack and shoulder bag, so that if she lost one, there would still be some clothing, food, water, light and jewellery in the other. She wondered if she would be able to disguise herself by changing clothes with one of the maids, but rejected the idea – both of the oriental girls were considerably smaller than Emma, and in any case, it might be too complicated to get one of them to undress. She finally settled on a loose-fitting long linen dress, with long sleeves, and a pair of comfortable trainers. She would have liked socks, but could find none, and settled on a pair of thick denier hold-up stockings. A floppy sun-hat completed the outfit. 

Yasmin watched attentively from behind the secret mirror, and sent for Boris and Clyde.

As the hands of the clock moved through half-past-four, Emma made her final preparations. She used the phone to order tea, as planned, and then managed to cut the phone connection with her steak knife. That would prevent the maid from phoning for help and raising the alarm.

Emma waited behind the door, wearing her back-pack and shoulder bag, holding the knife in her hand.

"She's going to make an escape attempt," announced Yasmin. "You know what to do; go to your places now."

"Yes, Madam," agreed Boris and Clyde in unison, leaving at a trot.

Yasmin continued to watch. The door of Emma's room opened, and one of the maids entered, wheeling a small trolley. She looked surprised not to see Emma immediately, and then started in astonishment as Emma shouted from behind the door, "Don't be afraid; I don't want to hurt you!" She brandished her knife at the terrified maid. "Lie on the bed, face down!"

The maid obeyed. Inexpertly, Emma managed to tie the maid's hands behind her back, using silk stockings, and secure her to the bed-post. A large silk scarf around her mouth served as a rudimentary gag.

"Don't make a sound!" ordered Emma. "They will miss you before long, and come to look for you."

Emma carefully closed the door behind her, and looked left and right along a wide corridor. She saw no clues as to the best exit, and headed off to her left, running as lightly as she could. She had covered no more than fifteen metres when a large figure in combat uniform appeared from a side corridor and began walking towards her. Immediately, she recognised Clyde, swore gently, and turned to run in the opposite direction, hoping that he hadn't recognised her.

Almost at once, another figure – Boris – appeared from further down the corridor, holding up his hand in a clear order to halt. Emma slowed down, her brain racing. She had Boris in front of her, and Clyde behind. Certainly Boris had already recognised her. But she couldn't just give up. Hoping to gain a small advantage by surprise, and that the larger man might be less agile, she turned quickly and ran towards Clyde, waving her knife in front of her. Clyde watched her approach, crouching. With astonishing speed for such a large man, his actions looking like something out of a martial arts movie, he was upon her. His clenched fist struck the side of her head, stunning her slightly. He then grasped her right arm, twisting it painfully behind her, and the knife fell uselessly from her hand. Somehow, the hold completely paralysed her. She blinked back tears from the pain, as Boris also approached. Emma kept telling herself to move, to fight, but her muscles wouldn't respond. She stared in disbelief as Boris pulled a large, squishy ball from his pocket and began forcing it into her mouth. 

"No!" she finally managed to shout, just as the spongy sphere slipped past her lips, expanding to fill her cheeks. She struggled to suppress her gagging reflex. Boris immediately began circling her head with a bandage which was obviously meant to prevent her from spitting out the ball. All the while, Clyde held her helpless. He twisted her wrist and hand in a way that caused indescribable pain whenever she tried to struggle. 

They set about binding her. Clyde moved to one side, allowing Boris access to her wrists, which were quickly immobilized with tape. More tape was applied to her elbows, drawing her arms painfully close together behind her. At last, Clyde let her go. She stood there glaring at her captors, unable to move, apparently rooted to the spot. Fear seemed to constrict her chest. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. 

She heard the click-clack of high-heeled shoes approaching from behind. "Well done boys," announced Yasmin. "No injuries, I hope?"

"No, Madam," replied Clyde, smiling, "but she did try to stick me with that little knife on the floor!"

"Stupid girl!" grinned Yasmin. "Fancy trying to attack a hulk like you with that little thing! She needs a lesson, but first, blindfold her, and bring her to the tower. Leave her bags here; I'll see to them later."

Boris removed a hood from his pocket, placed it over Emma's head, and secured it with a loose knot. He picked up the tightly-bound girl, and threw her over his left shoulder. The sudden movement sent agonising shivers through Emma's arms, and she screamed into her gag. Boris took no notice. Emma could hear Yasmin's high heels tapping down the corridor. Boris followed, with Clyde just behind.

In her blindfold, all was darkness for Emma. She felt Boris come to a halt, and then heard doors opening. After a forward movement, the doors closed, and she felt the ground rising as the lift sprang into action. Boris' left arm held her tightly, over his shoulder. To her horror and consternation, she felt his right hand under her skirt. His rough-skinned fingers forced themselves between her thighs, and worked upwards. She tried to clench her thighs together, but every movement increased the agony she felt in her arms as the binding dug into her flesh. Inexorably, his thumb found her slit. She tried to force her legs together, to prevent access, but his thumb parted the dry lips of her naked pussy. Suddenly, she felt herself becoming damp. 'NO!' she screamed to herself. 'NO! I don't want this! I don't do this! I am not aroused!' She fought, but could not resist the flow from her pussy as Boris' fingers explored further.

The lift stopped, she heard doors open, and Boris moved forward. It was as if he had carried her into a hot oven. She gasped as the hot air hit the back of her throat. She winced in pain when Boris lifted her to the ground, and blinked in the bright sunlight as he removed her blindfold. 

Emma looked around her. They seemed to be on top of a slim tower, about forty metres high. Radiating out from the tower were various buildings, enclosing courtyards, and covering an area of about five hectares, completely surrounded by a high wall. Many of the courtyards had elaborate gardens, with shady trees and tinkling fountains. Beyond the wall, in all directions, was sand – nothing but sand, undulating into the distance. The sun blazed down unremittingly. Even in the late afternoon shade at the top of the tower, the temperature was well in excess of 40ºC.

"OK, you stupid bitch," started Yasmin, "where the hell did you think you were going? From here, there's nothing but sand in all directions. The nearest oasis is fifty kilometres away. If you look over there, to the north, you can just make out a caravan. Their next water is eighty kilometres away. Most of our essentials come in by helicopter, from the capital; that's over sixty kilometres away. Even if you'd managed to get out of the palace, how long do you think you'd have lasted out there?"

Tears rolled down Emma's cheeks, reflecting not only the excruciating pain in her arms and elbows, but the hopelessness of her situation. She tried to speak, but the gag muffled her words.

"OK, boys," Yasmin continued, "it's just gone five o'clock. You can have the bitch until eleven tonight. That should give you ample time to teach her a lesson. Use Room 48."

"Yes, Madam. Thank you Madam. That will be a pleasure," smiled Boris. "Is she clean now, Madam?"

"Yes, but you know the rules. Check on the computer before you do anything, and record what you do. And remember – her back passage is strictly reserved for His Highness. If either of you mess about with her arse, I'll make it a personal priority to have both of you chopped – and I mean properly chopped – both testicles and penis. That would be a real shame, wouldn't it, Clyde?"

"Oh, yes, Madam," grinned the large black man, "a real shame – especially for someone who had unfinished business with a fine cock, and had promised to experiment further." 

"I can't think what you mean, Clyde," said Yasmin, suppressing a smile. "Let's go!"

Boris put the hood over Emma's head, and slung her over his shoulder again, causing fresh spasms of excruciating pain in her bound arms. As the lift descended, she again felt his fingers exploring between her soft thighs and searching out her pussy. The lift door opened, and she heard Yasmin's footsteps receding into the distance as Boris carried her relentlessly in the opposite direction. Each footstep jarred, and sent a dart of pain through her whole body. Finally, she heard a door open, and then slam behind her. Boris threw her off his shoulder and she landed on something soft, screaming silently into her gag as her body fell on top of her bound wrists.

"I'll just secure her temporarily," she heard Boris announce. "Log onto the computer, Clyde, and we'll make a plan."

She heard chains clink, and felt her ankles being shackled together. The hood was removed and she looked around. She was in a room about twelve metres square, lying on a large bed. Around the room were various pieces of equipment. She recognised a frame similar to the one to which she had been attached the previous morning. Another item looked like a set of stocks, and another like a rack. In the corner was a collection of what appeared to be vaulting horses. Various metallic items were scattered around the floor, with neat piles of ropes and chains. On the ceiling, she noticed a variety of pulleys.

"What's her number, Boris?" Clyde was sitting at a computer screen.

"D297, I think."

"Yes – that's it. Leila. She's clean now; confirmation received this morning. She's cleared for punishment up to Level 3 – the usual."

"Hey!" exclaimed Boris, looking over Clyde's shoulder, "This is her third day here, and she hasn't been fucked yet. We got to put that right first. Can't have her thinking that nobody fancies her."

"OK," agreed Clyde. "You go first; open her up a bit for me. She's probably never had one as big as mine before."

"I'm surprised you've got the energy, Clyde. I heard you had a busy night."

"Yeah," grinned Clyde. "Madame Yasmin sent for me. She likes a good helping of dark meat when she's in the mood. She's used me a couple of times before, but last night was wild. I'm not sure what turned her on; she was a bit shy about it, but I got the impression she had been watching one of her sluts perform. I nearly got her to agree to anal sex with me for the first time, but in the end she thought better of it. She did promise me one day, after she'd prepared herself better. I had to make do with fucking her from behind, with a large dildo up her ass at the same time. She screamed and screamed! It was wild."

Emma reflected on what she had just heard. Had Yasmin been watching her last night? Was she watched all the time? Was that how they knew she was planning an escape?

"One day," continued Clyde, "I'm definitely going to get my dong up her ass. She promised."

"Right," said Boris, "let's take a good look at what we've got here. You hold her steady while I get the clothes off her."

Clyde pulled Emma to her feet, and held her while Boris tore and cut at her dress until it lay like rags at her feet. She thought of kicking out as he stooped to remove her ankle chains, shoes and stockings, but knew it would simply antagonise him. Boris stepped back to study her naked body.

"Oh, yes," he announced, "very beautiful." His fingers traced her breasts and down to her pussy. "Mmm – lovely tight pussy. And just a little bit damp. Won't need too much lubrication. Undo her arms, Clyde, and hold her steady while I get ready. Take out the gag, too; I want to hear her!"

With relief, Emma felt Clyde cutting the tape binding her wrists and elbows. She rubbed her limbs, trying to get the circulation to return. Clyde cut the bandage securing her gag, and she gratefully ejected it, coughing quietly. Clyde held both her wrists in one hand. She knew it was useless to struggle. With disbelief, she watched Boris stripping naked, revealing a smooth, hairless torso. His penis stood erect and proud, grown to a full fifteen centimetres, and of more than average thickness. Casually, he stroked his cock, massaging it with lubricant from a large tube.

"Where do you want her, Boris?"

"On the bed – face up. Hold her down by the shoulders."

Emma struggled, but Clyde had no difficulty in overcoming her, and she was thrown onto the bed. Clyde knelt behind her, using his knees to pin her shoulders to the bed, so that his hands remained free.

Boris walked towards the bed, took one of her ankles in each hand, and spread her legs. He positioned himself between them and stroked the insides of her thighs. She let out an involuntary moan.

"Hey... maybe you're going to enjoy this!"

He pushed her thighs further apart. He reached out and traced the outside of her pussy with his fingers, feeling her heat and slippery juices. Emma closed her eyes. 

"Do you like it when I touch you?" he whispered, moving his fingers between her labia, dangerously close to her clitoris. 

She said nothing, but sucked in her breath when she felt him touching the area around her super-sensitive button. 

"I asked you a question... and I'm not going to repeat myself," he warned, pulling back the hood of the pink organ. 

"Yes!" she finally replied hoarsely. 

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Sir. I like it when you touch me."

"Good girl!"

He bent down and blew cold air on her exposed clit. She shivered. Her eyes still remained closed. Emma's mind was in a whirl. She was scared, and about to be raped, but on the other hand, she was very aroused. Yes, she wanted him!

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she felt his tongue on her pussy. 

"Ohh!" a moan escaped her mouth. 

He licked his way around her swollen labia, and then moved his tongue in between the pink slippery petals. She tasted so sweet and her scent was clean and inviting. He was always amazed that every girl smelt and tasted different. He liked this one. 

Sliding his hands under her thighs and wrapping them around, he pulled them apart, opening her up more. He watched as the juices that had accumulated in her cunt now steadily flowed down between her buttocks, coating her little puckered anus. And then he went back to her sweet warm gash. 

With the aid of his fingers he held her pussy lips open, and then began licking up her nectar. Every swipe of his powerful tongue elicited a moan from his sexy victim. He looked up to see Clyde pulling at her hard nipples and digging his nails into the soft flesh of her tits. He was actually leaving red marks. Her juices flowed faster.

"Hmm... she's a little bit masochistic," he thought, and decided to alter his cunt-eating tactics. He continued licking her, but would occasionally nibble hard on her inner labia, causing her to cry out - but an increase in the flow of her juices would occur. She liked it. When he began to suck on her erect clitoris, she started writhing and her breathing became shallow. Whines and yelps replaced the regular moans. He bit down on it, unintentionally a little too hard. 

"OHH! GOD!!! OHHH! OHHH!" Emma screamed at first, but then her screams gave way to moans and guttural noises. Her face was flushed. He felt that she had climaxed. Just to make sure, he plunged two fingers into her very tight love canal, feeling her powerful muscles spasm around them. He was right. 

"Come on, Boris," urged Clyde. "She's enjoying this far too much. This is supposed to be a punishment session!"

"OK," agreed Boris, "I'm ready now – and so is she!"

Quickly he moved up her body, and without further fore-play, sank his rampant organ to the hilt into her waiting vagina. Instinctively, she clasped his body between her thighs, grinding her groin against him as he thrust in and out, his pace increasing. He paid no attention to her needs, grinding his cock against her pubic bone. "Oh yes! She's so good – so tight!" he yelled. 

She felt a rush of semen erupt in her vagina, and he thrust a final time, before collapsing heavily on top of her. She felt his penis wilting in her cunt, and tried to understand her feeling of disappointment as it slipped from her sheath.




Abducted Ch. 05



Chapter 5 -- "I want your password."

Mr. Eyes or School, as he seems to go by, starts to grope me using his hands to knead my almost bare checks and then his fingers to trace the fabric of my panties down between my legs where he presses them against my still swollen nylon covered lips. He then gives me a good smack on my bottom reigniting my over stimulated nerve endings. I can feel my juices again starting to soak into my panties.

Why does he have to tease me so maniacally? He has to know how this excites me.

Unexpectedly School lowers me back down to the mattress, where I am again laid prone with my damnable headlights on high beam making it quite apparent to him that my libido is on high alert.

Thank goodness Mr. Brute has no clue as to my true nature as he continues to play with himself through his pants. I am afraid that if he did, I would get a first hand experience of how his oversized flesh roll fits inside of me. I hate the thought of rape, however being tied up with nothing left of my clothing but my panties and heels has been such a forbidden fantasy for me that my entire body is vibrating with sexual energy.

School tells Mr. Brute to get something to clean me up as I have some of his male juice sticking to the inside of my thighs and across my chest. After Mr. Brute leaves he moves towards me. The look in his eyes tells me that his intentions are not honorable, which further excites me, but I still try to move away. He takes a hold of me and casually props me up in a sitting position against the cement wall. The cold of the wall feels good against my overheated body. School moves his gloved hands over my newly formed goose bumps slowly tweaking my now permanently hardened nipples. Thank God the gag muffles my moan of pleasure as his fingers cause waves of carnal pleasure to course through me.

He begins to lick my neck, but the sensation feels much lower down to me. I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to increase the sensation.

Again he talks to me about my password. I realize that the bank would undoubtedly understand if I gave it to them as how can I be held responsible when my life may be at stake, but something inside of me wants to hold out. But why? It seems that I want to see how far this could go.  Do women have a little brain that takes over when they are turned on just like men? If so, my little brain has pretty much been in charge since they grabbed me.

He continues to play with my nipples as he talks to me about my damn password, and my freedom being based upon my divulging it, unless I choose to stay to entertain them. As he says the word, "entertain" he slips two of his gloved fingers up between my thighs. I instinctively squeeze my thighs together, but his fingers find their target causing another shudder of wanton desire to pass through me.

His tone turns nasty and he hints at my limited use to them and lack of time. I sense his confliction as just a second ago I was going to be entertainment for them. I believe that he is having as difficult a time staying focused on their original plan as I am on his threats.

Maybe there is an opportunity for me if I could just be alone with either of them.

Mr. Brute now returns with two rags.

School takes them from Mr. Brute and begins to wipe me off paying particular attention to my erect nipples. The sensations are exquisite and as I close my eyes to lose myself in them, I notice Mr. Brute again pulling his one eyed monster from his pants. I want him gone. My eyes grow wide in fear and School notices immediately.

His other hand continues to probe between my legs. I feel my thighs relax allowing him better access to my purring kitty. School notices this as well and rubs me along my nylon covered lower lips until they open exposing my throbbing pearl to his continuing massage.

Suddenly he pulls a box cutter from his back pocket and spins it menacingly between his fingers. I realize that playtime is over and my little brain relinquishes its control back to my big brain.

I again try to move away from the blade, but to no avail.

School explains to me the importance of my password to their plan and that he is going to cut off my gag to allow me to talk. He continues to wave the box cutter in my face as he straddles my legs pressing his groin hard against my left thigh. I can feel his engorged member making its presence known to me as he grinds his crotch against my goose pimpled flesh.

This confirms my suspicion that he is "hot" for me.

He explains to me all that they know about the bank, the specifics of my job, and Mr. Dietrich. It is difficult for me to completely follow his monologue as I can feel the heat of his passion emanating through his trousers.

School moves the side of the box cutter blade across my nipple while his gloved fingers again finding the enlarged nub between my legs. My own eyes give me away as they roll back into my head at the exquisite sensations all of this causes me.

It seems that with my password and Mr. Dietrich's belief that I will no longer be around to tease him with my stocking and panty peeks is hat they expect to use to get everything that they need to transfer a lot of money into their own account.

I find it almost comical that these men are seeing a whole lot more of me than Mr. Dietrich ever would.  Again a shudder of raw passion passes through me as my mind assimilates this realization.

He licks my neck and presses his two fingers up into me. If my panties had been off, his fingers would have easily disappeared inside of me. When he brings his hand up to his face, the telltale dark stain of moisture provides him further confirmation of my complacency.

He tells me that my time is up at 6:00 p.m. and again the blade rubs across my responding nipples and his fingers are once again exploring my moisture.

Tears form in my eyes as I truly fear for my life and yet I subtly scoot my bottom forward to allow his probing fingers better access to my heat.

His own heat continues to leak out of his trousers and I feel sweat dripping down the sides of the thigh that he is straddling. 

The box cutter blade is moved towards my mouth as I am asked twice if I understand what I was just told.

I nod in the affirmative as a tear runs down my cheek and in a single motion the tape is cut from my mouth. School quickly removes the tape from around my head to lessen the pull on my hair and skin. The cloth is pulled from my mouth and I take a long inhale of the musty air of the warehouse.

School continues my release by cutting the ropes around my ankles and thighs, which create a feeling of nakedness as they covered so much of my bare skin.

As he moves off of my leg, I instinctively move them apart to stretch them, giving him a very good view of my current state of stimulation as the nylon fabric covering my most sensitive spot is soaked with my moisture providing clear evidence of my arousal.

School thankfully sends the Brute away to go and get us all something to eat. Once Mr. Brute has left, he again turns his attention to me rolling me over onto my chest. He now removes both of his gloves and then slides his one hand under my stomach and moves it down taking a hold of my crotch lifting my butt off of the floor. "I have wanted to do this from the first time that I saw you in the bank", he says and with his other hand he gives me a good swat on one of my exposed cheeks.

The hand using my crotch as a grip moves slightly as I react to the slap across my buttocks. The sensations are almost maddening as my bare flesh stings from the physical affront while my nylon covered kitty purrs in response to the placement of his hand. Another smack is applied across my quivering flesh and I moan out loud as the conflicting vibrations of pain and extreme pleasure pass through me.

I know that he is trying to show me who is in charge and the hopelessness of my situation, but all it serves is to further stimulate me.

"I want your password!" he intones applying another stinging smack across my reddening skin. The fingers of his gripping hand push up into the nylon covering my dripping aperture and I moan aloud again.

Another series of stinging smacks cross my cheeks and with each one my misery continues, as I know that I am close to another orgasm.

"I want your password," he says again with more insistence and as the next hard smack reverberates across my exposed flesh, the first of many convulsions begin. As my body spasms on the mattress, School increases his grip on my crotch only intensifying the effect of what he started. I go epileptic against his legs as my entire body squirms and quivers in the throes of another inopportune orgasm.

My uncontrolled movements cause me to roll out of his grip and onto my back as I continue to shake in erotic ecstasy.

School continues to kneel next to me and watch my teeny breasts quiver as my entire body clenches and then unclenches from the waves of delicious deliria overtaking it. At long last the final spasms subside and I am soaked in sweat and overcome with embarrassment.

How can I display such a vulgar reaction to my situation with such wanton abandonment? My God, I just orgasmed for this man: something that I have only done previously in the privacy of my own apartment.

School continues to look at me with a mixture of amazement and pleasure.

I continue to try and catch my breath as if I have just run up four flights of stairs.

He rolls me over again, but this time he straddles my bottom with his legs and I immediately feel his excitement pressed between my cheeks. I hear the telltale sound of his pants being unzipped and immediately feel the warmth of his hardened flesh against my barely there nylon panties.

He begins to move against my moisture soaked skin pressing himself between my buttocks sliding his erection over the thin nylon of my panties. When he moves forward enough I can feel the head of his excitement against my tied hands.

I push my bottom up and meet the pressure with my own as we began to match rhythms, pushing my groin into the mattress.

The feel of his warm mushroom like head throbbing with excitement against my lower back elicits another series of moans from my open mouth. I wiggle my fingers letting him know that I want to feel his manhood.

He slides upward placing his throbbing handle between my palms tied behind my back. I immediately grip him as best I can and he responds with a long moan of satisfaction. After a few more thrusts between my hot and sweaty hands, I squeeze my gluteus tightly together feeling his body tense and the first glorious spray of hot liquid erupts between my hands and across my back while School emits an animalistic groan of pleasure.

He continues to thrust his shaft back and forth as another and another splash of hot sex hits my back. I respond by grinding my pelvis into the mattress in order to reactivate the erogenous zone between my legs. As I hump the mattress, School continues to grind himself into my bottom milking the last bit of crème from his enlarged utter.

I feel a series of mini spasms course through me as I experience my own tiny orgasm.

Every nerve ending in my body is alive and vibrating. I have lost control as the enactment of my deepest fantasies is played out inside this dirty warehouse.

I have become an instrument for orgasmic pleasure played so expertly by my solitary captor, School.

He leaves me for a while, but I don't even think of getting up and running away. Upon his return he is carrying some cleaner towels and a bucket of warm water.

He now cuts the remaining ropes from my upper torso and hands instructing me to clean myself off. I do my best to wipe my back and hair, but realize that I might find my chance for escape if I enlist his help. I turn my back to him with my hands and knees on the mattress so my panty-clad bottom is pointing directly at him. I seductively turn my head towards him and ask for his help with my back. School takes one of the wet towels and cleans my back off spending an inordinate amount of time on the lowest part of it, so I wiggle my bottom and purr ever so slightly. His reaction is immediate as he places his bare hand on my bottom and squeezes my checks. Very slowly his hand moves down my bottom and between my legs as my posture automatically presents my swollen lips to his ministrations. I moan sticking my butt higher into the air, while his other hand plays with my nipples.

I began to move my pelvis rubbing my wet spot on his exploring fingers.

I can tell by his breathing that he is getting worked up again and I do so want him to play with me.

Just as we are about to create more hot and humid weather, Mr. Brute comes back with the food.

School smacks me on my butt in seemingly frustration and quickly rises from the mattress. Mr. Brute is too dense to realize that something was about to happen. 



Abducted Ch. 05



"Wow, Clyde, I needed that. She's very good! You want a go now?" He wiped his cock with a towel, and slipped into a white bathrobe.

"Later, Boris. We got some punishment to inflict first. She tried to stick a knife in me – remember? I fancy trying a 'Double Four' on her. I believe that REALLY hurts!"

"Careful, Clyde. Isn't that dangerous? We'll be in big trouble if we break any bones," asked Boris, anxiously.

Clyde walked to the computer screen. "She's only 48 kilos," he announced. "That'll be OK; she'll be able to stand that weight for a good half-hour without permanent damage. Believe me, Boris!"

"OK, Clyde. Bring over that metal bar, and some ropes."

Emma found herself roughly turned over, lying face down on the bed. Her arms were pulled behind her back. Clyde handed Boris a length of rope and he immediately started re-tying her elbows. Emma groaned. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but she was sure he was tying her even tighter than the first time. She didn't remember feeling her elbows actually touch the first time, but they were definitely touching now. She whimpered helplessly, and then screamed; it felt as if her arms were being pulled from their sockets.

She felt a cold metal bar being threaded under her elbows, above her back. Bewildered, she watched as ropes were attached to the ends of the metal bar, and then threaded through pulleys on the ceiling. Suddenly she understood. She screamed in agony as the two men pulled on the ropes, lifting the front of her torso off the bed. 

"Please, no! That hurts! I'm sorry! I'll be good!" she whimpered, and then screamed anew as the pressure on her arms was increased.

"Better gag her again," suggested Boris, "or we won't be able to think straight."

Emma's screams were cut off as another ball gag was forced between her lips and secured with a bandage. Tears and sweat trickled down her face.

Working in unison, the guards turned their attention to her legs. Her knees were bent, and more ropes were attached to her ankles. The ropes were passed around the metal bar. As they pulled on the ropes, her legs bent further, until her feet nearly touched the metal bar. They tied off the ropes on the bar. "That'll do," announced Clyde. "Any more pressure might break something."

Emma felt another rope being passed around her waist and tied off on her belly. She writhed in discomfort as the end of the rope passed between her legs and up to a third pulley. As the rope was pulled, it tightened and dug into the slit of her pussy.

The men stepped back to admire their work. Emma could only gaze at them, silently pleading. Boris fetched something from a drawer; she couldn't see what it was. He stood behind her and took some of her weight to relieve the strain on the rope biting into her pussy. She felt his finger at the entrance to her cunt, and rocked back against it. His finger vanished, but soon she felt pressure again. She could tell at once that it wasn't his finger this time. It was too cool, too hard, and too smooth. Whatever it was, she felt it enter her completely, her cunt eagerly swallowing it. Boris released his hold, and the rope tightened on her pussy again, effectively trapping the intruder inside her. He moved to the front, and Emma saw him fiddling with a control box. All at once, the plastic stranger in her vagina began to vibrate. Emma bucked madly, moaning and pleading. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped, and she found herself almost wishing it would start again. Boris flicked a switch and the vibrator started again. He moved another switch. "I'll set it to 'Random' mode," he announced. "That way, it'll come on every so often, without warning, but only for ten to twenty seconds."

Carefully, Boris and Clyde pulled gently on the three ropes by which Emma was suspended from the ceiling, until she was hanging about a metre above the bed. Boris moved the bed from under her, and looked at her closely. "Just one more thing, I think," he said, and retreated towards a large drawer. After rummaging for a short while, he returned and held something in front of Emma's face. "Know what these are, Bitch?" he enquired. "Ever used them before?"

Emma peered at what she thought were two small chrome-plated tongs, tipped with black rubber, and connected with a chain. She shook her head as best she could. 

"Nipple clamps," explained Boris with a grin. "They work like this." He opened one of the clamps, and closed it on his little finger to demonstrate. "But these are rather special. They've got these adjustable screws on the head, to increase the pressure. Let's try them for size."

Boris attached the first clamp to Emma's left nipple. She winced a little at the added pain, but it was nothing compared to the intense agony in her arms and legs. Boris fiddled expertly with the clamp. "A little tighter, I think," he mused, adjusting the screw and testing it again on his finger. "Yeah, that's better; just enough to remind you it's there!"

She felt him teasing her nipples until they became erect. She winced again in anticipation, and took a deep breath as the clamps bit into her. She moaned as the added pain swept through her and settled into a steady ache. Boris pulled on the chain, distending her breasts. "No," he said thoughtfully, "we'll not bother with additional weights just now. I think you look great as you are. What do you think, Clyde?"

Suddenly the vibrator leapt into action again, causing Emma to squirm even more. Clyde studied her appreciatively. "Oh yes!" he agreed. "Very good! That must really hurt! It makes me feel quite horny just watching her. I gotta get my cock in there before long!"

"Leave her there for a bit, Clyde. Let's look at the other equipment and make a plan."

"OK, Boris! But I can't wait much longer. I'm feeling real randy!"

The vibrator suddenly stopped. Boris pushed Emma slightly, so that she swung backwards and forwards in her bonds. The two men moved off, out of her sight.

For what to her seemed hours, but was in reality only a few minutes, Emma hung suspended in her cocoon of pain, oblivious to everything but the intense agony in her limbs, the constant ache in her nipples, and the irregular buzzing sensation in her cunt as the vibrator turned on and off. She sobbed gently, but her tears had dried up. At one point, she thought she had passed out, and her mind seemed to float away, distancing itself from her suffering body. The vibrator started up again; she tried to concentrate on that sensation, and forget the pain for a while. She found that if she clenched her thighs more tightly, the rope between her legs dug further into her pussy, and seemed to massage her aroused clitoris. Oh, yes, that helped. Perhaps if she moved a little, she could actually orgasm. She squirmed against the rope, and felt the sensations building. Just as she felt she was attaining her goal, the vibrations stopped, and she whimpered in despair. 'Start again! Please, start again!' she begged silently. 'Take my mind off this agony!'

The random switch fired again after only a few seconds. Thankfully, she tensed her body and bore down on the crotch rope. The sensations spiralled higher and higher. She made herself cum. Overcome by the throes of her orgasm, she almost forgot about her plight. She couldn't understand what was happening to her. Often, she had masturbated herself to a climax, but never to one as intense as this. She had never realised the extent to which supreme pain could add to the ecstasy of orgasm. She closed her eyes and came again, whimpering into her gag.

Boris sensed the change of tone in her voice, and looked round. "Hey, Clyde," he announced with astonishment, "I think the bitch is cumming!"

Clyde looked at Emma in admiration, seeing the look of concentration and rapture on her face, shining through the beads of perspiration. He whistled. "Wow! That is real special, Boris! Who would've thought the bitch could bring herself off, trussed up like that? That is really horny! I've got to have a piece of that!"

Boris looked at his watch. "It's time she came down, anyway," he announced. "We don't want any permanent damage."

They moved the bed back under Emma and with a surprising gentleness lowered her agonised body to the soft mattress. Almost tenderly, they unbound her, stretching her limbs, and rubbing them to restore the circulation. Boris removed the vibrator, and patted her raw pussy, almost with affection. Clyde helped her remove the gag from her aching mouth, and held her as Boris wiped her face with a damp flannel.

"Brace yourself," he murmured, taking hold of the clamps on her ravaged nipples. "This is going to hurt!"

Simultaneously, he released both clamps, allowing the blood to rush back into her tender nipples. The pain was far worse than the pain of the clamps in place. He watched as Emma's eyes clenched tight. She screeched in agony and her whole body tensed. As she calmed, and her screams subsided into quiet sobs, he cruelly grasped both of her sore, abused tits, squeezing and twisting them, chuckling as she renewed her anguished cries. 

"You see," he said, smiling, "we can hurt you when we want; not because it pleases us, but because you need punishing. The 'Double Four' is the worst we have planned, but remember – if you don't co-operate, we can always try it again, but with the added stimulation of canes or whips. Do you understand?"

Emma nodded. "Yes, Sir. Please," she started hesitantly, "could I have some water?"

"Sure," said Boris. He disappeared behind a screen. She heard running water, and then he re-appeared with a full glass, which she accepted thankfully. "You might need a toilet as well – and a wash. You'll find the necessary things behind that screen. Can you walk OK?"

Emma sipped the water. "Thank you," she whispered, "yes, I think I can manage."

Painfully, she pushed herself off the bed, and hobbled across the room.

"And don't be too long," called Boris after her, "we have a lot more to do. Above all, poor Clyde is feeling very horny."

Emma shuddered, remembering the size of Clyde's massive penis.

She settled on the toilet seat and relieved herself. Moving to the bidet, she bathed her tender private parts, and gently rubbed her aching arms and legs, massaging the rope marks. Softly, she washed her poor, abused tits. Naturally, she was in no hurry to return, but eventually she heard Boris' voice. "Come on! What are you doing in there? We got work to do! Are you coming out or do I have to come and fetch you?"

"Coming, Sir," she replied, and tentatively headed back to the main room, a towel wrapped around her body.

Clyde was lying naked on the bed, stroking his partially erect cock. Already it exceeded twenty centimetres. "Come on!" he called. "Come and get acquainted with Roger. He's a growing boy, but needs some help. He'd love a pair of lips around himself. And don't forget – no funny business! One bite, and we'll get really nasty and cruel!"

Boris reclined in an armchair, playing with a riding crop, and smiling in anticipation.

Emma stared at Clyde's massive cock. "Hurry up!" he commanded, impatiently, dragging the towel from her body.

Gingerly, Emma reached out and grasped his penis. It was still growing – like a balloon being inflated, she thought. She tried to close her fist around it, but it was impossible; her thumb finished a good three centimetres away from her fingers. Hesitantly, she extended her tongue and licked the head. It grew further. She opened her mouth as wide as it would go, and found that she could just get the head inside. She took it out again, and licked the shaft from top to bottom, and back again. Then she licked around the knob, and tickled his pee-hole with the tip of her tongue. Finally, she took the head back into her mouth, sucking while her tongue played with the tip. One hand stroked his balls, while the other stroked his massive shaft. 'Perhaps,' she thought to herself, 'perhaps, if I can get him to cum in my mouth, he'll spare my poor pussy. There's no way all this will fit!'

She continued her ministrations, and sensed that he was now fully erect. His breathing was becoming more ragged, and she tasted a drop of pre-cum on her tongue. Encouraged, she redoubled her efforts, and to her surprise felt a familiar moistening between her thighs. A large black hand reached out, travelled up her soft inner thighs and she felt fingers parting her labia.

"Mmm, you are a good cock-sucker; one of the best," announced Clyde appreciatively. "And already you're getting damp, you little slut. But you'll need to stop now; I don't want to waste it all down your throat."

Reluctantly, she removed the monster from her mouth. "No," she whimpered. "Please, no. It won't fit! It'll hurt. Please let me suck you off. Please, Sir."

"No way," he replied. "So you think Roger is too big to fit in your little pussy? Well, you're wrong. Roger will get in there OK, one way or another. You're a very lucky girl, because I'm giving you a choice. Either we strap you to that frame over there and I force Roger up you, or else you co-operate and together we get him in there nice and gentle. Your choice – but he's definitely going up there in the next ten minutes!"

His hand still explored Emma's pussy, two fingers now finding their way into her channel. "And you're quite damp up there," he added encouragingly. "I think we could manage without too much effort. So – your decision – which method?"

Emma hesitated. "I'll co-operate, Sir," she whispered, almost inaudibly, "but please be gentle."

"Good choice," agreed Clyde in his booming voice.

Clyde reached out and picked up a tube of KY gel. He squeezed a little onto his fingers, and then spread it over his cock, making it glisten in the soft light. "Doesn't he look inviting?" he enquired. "Bet you can't wait to get him up your cunt! That will help," he added, as he squirted a dollop of lubrication on her pussy, and massaged it with his fingers, liberally across her labia, and into her vagina.

"OK, lie back," he commanded. "Spread your thighs as much as possible, and I'll get between them. Yeah, that's it, but hunch forward a bit. Yes, that's good; that improves the angle. Now, you've never had one that big I guess. Am I right?"

"No, Sir – never that big," she agreed.

"OK! Thought not! It's best if you take hold of him, and try to guide him in."

Emma felt the tip of his massive cock against her pussy. She pressed against it, and her lips opened. His cock rested against her clitoris, and she moved it up and down over the responsive button. Tentatively, she moved forward a couple of centimetres, and the colossal head tried to enter. The pain began to build. "No! No!" she cried, "It's too big! It won't fit!"

"Yes, it will! Either now, gently and slowly, or on the frame – quickly and brutally. It's up to you!"

Emma looked into Clyde's eyes. He meant what he said. She bit her lip and moved herself against his monster. She was being stretched. She let go of his cock and put her hands around her knees, pulling them backwards and apart, trying to widen her slit. She felt him push against her, and a cry escaped from her lips as she felt herself being stretched again. "Oh no! Stop! You're killing me! I can't take any more!"

But there was no stopping Clyde now. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he worked his cock deeper into her channel. Faintly, through the pain, she felt that an orgasm was building somewhere deep inside her. She pulled harder on her knees, trying to open herself still wider. "Yes!" she panted, "It's OK now – push into me! Deeper. Yes! No! No! Fuck me! Yes! No! That hurts too much! Go on! Split me! I'm coming! Oh God! Fuck me!"

Emma's cries of pain merged into whimpers and gasps as her orgasm swept over her. Again, Emma couldn't understand the unaccustomed way in which her body was reacting. She felt as if the orgasm actually grew out of the pain. Not even with Max had she come like this. Clyde redoubled his efforts, forcing Roger deeper and deeper, until he felt the tip reach the neck of her cervix. He slid his hand between their bodies to feel how much of Roger remained outside. Satisfied, he began to move his body backwards and forwards, trying to fuck her properly, in spite of the tightness of her cunt, which seemed to grip Roger in a vice. Emma threw back her head in abandon, and screamed. As her orgasm died away, his approached, until finally she felt him pumping his semen deep inside her.

Emma felt a reduction in the pain between her thighs as Roger began to shrink. Slowly, Clyde began to pull him out; her stretched pussy seemed to cling to it. She gasped. "It feels as if you're tearing out my insides!"

At last, Emma found herself empty. She put a hand to her pussy and felt. Instead of the accustomed small opening, there appeared to be a gaping hole. She looked at her hand and saw blood. "I'm bleeding!" she cried.

"That's quite normal the first time with Roger," explained Clyde. "It's just a minor tear and will soon clear up."

Clyde got to his feet, leaving her sprawled on the bed. Still dazed, Emma felt his spunk oozing out of her stretched pussy and trickling down the insides of her thighs. Suddenly Boris threw himself on top of her. She had forgotten that he was in the room. "That was some show!" he exclaimed. "It's made me horny again!"

In one movement, he sank his cock full length in her cunt. She hardly felt it. She lay submissively as he pounded in and out of her, unable to breathe as his heavy chest pressed against hers, squashing her breasts. He grunted every time he thrust into her, until finally she felt him tense and her cunt was again sprayed with semen. "That's better," he grunted, "but you certainly spread her, Clyde; she's much looser than earlier."

Emma lay on the bed, looking up at the two men, feeling used. "You've both fucked me now," she began, slightly timorously. "Can I go now?"

"Go? No way!" exploded Boris. "You heard Madam Yasmin – we've got you until eleven o'clock, and it's only just gone seven."

"But what are you going to do with me for another four hours?" Emma asked, unsure whether she actually wanted to know the answer to her question.

"I'm sure we'll think of something; anyway, we haven't really punished you yet. Time we started," he grinned.



Abducted Ch. 06



Chapter 6 – It Just Got Worse

The two men got back into their uniforms, but left Emma naked. They conversed together in whispers. Emma strained her ears, but could make out nothing. Suddenly Clyde strode towards her, grabbed her wrists and pulled her off the bed and to her feet. He marched her across the room to an upright frame and tied her wrists to the cross-bar, above her head, about a metre apart. She struggled, and kicked out, but Boris held her around her thighs, taking the opportunity to let his fingers explore again her cum-soaked cunt.

Clyde pressed a button, and she felt the cross-bar rise, pulling her arms upwards until her feet left the ground and she was suspended by her wrists. He pressed again, and the bar fell a few centimetres, allowing her extended toes to take a little of the pressure as they touched the floor. She heard the rustling of a package being opened. "Hey, Clyde, look what I've found," called Boris, obviously impressed with a discovery. "These are brand new – I've never seen them before."

"What?" enquired Clyde, sounding bored. "More toys?"

"Japanese Clover Clamps," announced Boris proudly. "Apparently, they actually tighten on the nipple when you pull on them. Very ingenious. Let's try them on the slut!"

Boris walked towards Emma, who stared at him apprehensively. He reached out towards her right breast, and stroked it lightly. Emma swung a leg, trying to knee him in the groin, but he deftly avoided her.

"Fucking minx!" he swore. "Fasten her ankles please, Clyde!"

Emma struggled helplessly as Clyde adeptly fixed ropes to her ankles and secured them to the base of the frame.

Boris again stroked her right breast, with surprising gentleness. He grinned. "Mmm! Great tits!" he announced, "So firm!" He licked her nipple, and then hungrily sucked it between his lips, biting it gently, and feeling it harden to his touch. He pulled back to admire her again. "Oh yes, really great!" he exclaimed. "Nicest tits I've seen in ages!"

Then he let his nails drag along the white flesh. He flexed his fingers, digging in harder, as Emma squirmed and tried to pull away. Holding her breast with his left hand, Boris took the clamps and tried to apply them to Emma's erect nipple, but couldn't get the jaws positioned correctly. He looked at Clyde, silently asking for help. Clyde gripped first one breast then the other, holding out the distended nipples so that Boris could snap the clamps in place. Emma stared with disbelief at the torture being applied to her poor tits. Silently, she begged for mercy, and sobbed. Boris pulled on the chain which connected the two clamps, and she grimaced as they tightened even more around her nipples. Boris noticed. "It works!" he announced triumphantly. "They tighten up as you apply pressure! Great!"

"Very interesting!" replied Clyde, with a bored expression, "But we still haven't punished her for trying to escape, and for trying to stick me with a knife! You can play with your fancy toys later, but what this bitch needs is a damn good whipping!"

He went over to a cupboard on the wall and selected a thin cane, flicking it through the air several times, and enjoying the 'WHOOSH' sound it made. Emma's eyes opened wide as she watched his practice swings. She braced herself, realising that there was no possible escape. Boris watched his companion, noting his steely gaze; obviously Clyde intended revenge.

There was a brief silence, and then the whistle of the thin cane as it sliced through the air, followed by a satisfying crack as it came to a halt against the soft white flesh of Emma's left buttock. Boris heard the sudden intake of breath as the blow landed and the brief pause before it registered on Emma's brain. Then came the first scream. It always surprised him that a girl experiencing the cane for the first time could communicate so much with a single scream - the shock that such a simple stick could yield so much pain, the agony of the stroke itself, the begging and pleading, and the utter horror in the realisation that the stroke was the first of many. Again Clyde struck, this time on the other buttock. Emma screamed again, watching the cane rise, trying to work out how she could avoid the pain. Clyde continued caning her, carefully picking the placement of each stroke, sometimes spacing them far apart, sometimes right on top of each other. After only a few minutes, Emma's bottom and the back of her thighs were covered with welts. 

"Wait!" Boris interjected.

Emma whimpered. "Thank you," she gasped, thinking that he was stopping the punishment.

"Let me re-arrange her for you," continued Boris. 

He untied Emma's right ankle, but then pulled it sideways, until her leg was at an angle of forty-five degrees to her body. He attached her ankle to the side of the frame, leaving her weight balanced on her left foot. He then untied that foot, and pulled it sideways as well, attaching it to the opposite side of the frame. Now, her weight hung from her wrists, and her body formed an 'X'.

"Thanks," said Clyde, smiling broadly, and swishing the cane underhand, twice, in rapid succession, across the tender insides of Emma's thighs. She howled, but she had no more tears. Clyde repeated his onslaught, and two more red weals decorated her thighs. 

Emma gasped. "Please, no!" she pleaded, "I'm sorry I tried to escape. I'm sorry I attacked you. Please stop. I can't take any more!"

She sighed in relief when she saw Clyde set the cane down. Then, to her utter dismay, she realised that he had not finished; he was merely switching to a flogger. Emma stared at it in disbelief. It had about a dozen long, thin leather tails, each ending in a thick knot. She strained uselessly at the bonds that held her suspended in midair. Perspiration streamed down her body, so open, so exposed, and so vulnerable. She braced herself against the inevitable pain.

Clyde aimed the first stroke right across Emma's breasts. Most of the leather strips found their way directly to her flesh, the knots at their ends stinging her violently, but some tangled with the chain on her nipple clamps, increasing the pressure on her tender tits. Her body stiffened in agony as she screamed for the hundredth time and begged her tormentor to stop.

Clyde ignored her pleas, and kept on whipping her. The strands of leather fell on her stomach, her thighs, and again on her breasts. He moved behind her and directed more strokes on her buttocks and back. He then used an uppercut motion to land a blow directly against her sore, abused pussy. It was too much. Emma felt herself fainting, felt as if her mind was leaving her body behind. She knew she couldn't take anymore. Then she heard a soft, guttural moan, followed by a gentle hiss. She opened her eyes wide. Boris and Clyde were staring at her. "Hell, Clyde," exclaimed Boris in astonishment, "I think she liked that last one. Give it to her there again."

Emma realised that she herself had made the moaning sound, and the hiss. She shook her head violently. "No!" she screamed. "No more, please!"

The stroke landed despite her cries. The animal moan returned as she shuddered and quaked. The soaring sensation returned. She stared in disbelief at Clyde. "Please, Sir," she whispered, "please. I need to cum. Please!"

Clyde whistled in admiration. "Hell, woman," he exclaimed, "you are some fine slut!" He let the flogger fall to the floor, and reached out his hand to feel between her legs. "Mmm, really damp. OK, Slut, I'll bring you off!"

Almost brutally, he forced two fingers of his right hand into her welcoming cunt, and pressed urgently on her clitoris with the tips of the fingers of his left. Suspended from her wrists, Emma strained against him. "Yes," she heard herself say, "yes, that's good!"

Clyde continued to fuck her with his fingers, and frig her clitoris. Her moans and cries grew louder. Boris pulled on the chain attached to her nipple clamps, and the additional pressure on her tender buds sent her over the top, crying out loudly as she came.

As Emma recovered from a shattering orgasm, she felt her ankles being released from the frame, and thankfully was able to support her weight on her feet, taking the strain off her agonised arms and shoulders. She opened her eyes and noticed Boris seated at the computer screen. "OK, Clyde!" he announced, "I've entered up the details. What's next?"

"Don't know," replied Clyde. "I think we've beaten her enough to teach her a lesson. I'm a bit bored with it, and hungry. Let's go for dinner, and continue here later."

"But I want to experiment with some more toys," complained Boris.

"Come on, Boris, I'm really hungry. We can leave her tied up and come back after we've eaten; there's lots of time."

"OK," agreed Boris with some reluctance, "but help me set her up before we go. There's something here I really must try."

Emma watched with bewilderment as Boris picked up what looked like a large metal T-square, with a spike, about fifty centimetres long, and about one centimetre in diameter, and a couple of switches. He carried it over to the frame, turned it upside down, and placed it on the bottom bar of the frame, moving Emma's feet to allow him access. "Here, Clyde," he commanded, "I'll hold it steady while you screw it to the frame at both ends."

Emma looked down. To her horror she now realised that the spike on the T-square was aimed straight at her pussy. Realisation dawned. She whimpered. She squirmed, cursing the bonds which held her wrists secure, and swung her right leg, yelling, "NO! You can't do that!"

Boris grabbed her ankle. Silently, he started to tie it to the bottom of the frame. She swung her left leg, but Clyde was ready for her and grabbed it almost as soon as it moved. "Tie her ankle to the frame, Clyde," ordered Boris, "but leave about ten centimetres play, like I'm doing. You'll see why in a few minutes."

"Now, we need a suitable cover," he continued, opening a wooden case, and revealing a large selection of dildos, in a variety of shapes and sizes. "This would be great," he mused, picking up a large double dildo, "but we've been warned off your ass!"

He rummaged further. "This will do nicely," he finally announced, "not too big, not too small." He picked out a large flesh-coloured, natural-looking specimen, twenty centimetres long and about three centimetres across, fitting it snugly onto the waiting spike. He loosened the nut at the end of the spike, raising it so that the end of the dildo was at the entrance to Emma's vagina. Instinctively, she shrank away from it, rising on tip-toe. Boris took a tube of lubricating gel, applied a good dollop to the dildo, and smeared some on the inner walls of her vagina. "Hold her hips steady, Clyde," he asked, "I'll make sure this thing docks correctly." He pushed a switch, and Emma felt the intruder pushing upwards, separating the lips of her pussy, and entering her cavern. She winced, and tried to get further on to her tip-toes, but the dildo continued its slow progress. Emma tried lifting her body by pulling with her bound wrists, but the ropes on her ankles allowed only a couple of centimetres extra movement.

Finally, Boris flicked the switch again, and the advance ceased. "That should do it," he announced, "there's about twelve centimetres up there now, but you're on tip-toe. If you come down, I reckon your clit will rub nicely on the little nub at the base. Want to try it?"

"No, I don't, you bastard. You can't leave me here like this. Let me go!"

"Oh yes, we can," he sneered, "and I'm not finished yet. I need to do something about these!"

Boris pulled roughly on the chain attaching the clamps on her nipples, and Emma gasped as the clamps dug deeper into her flesh. Boris looked thoughtful. He sought and found a couple of lead weights, which he attached to the chain. Emma gasped again. Boris stepped back and viewed her with a practised eye. "No," he mused, "I don't like the way it makes your tits sag and hang down." He thought again, his brow furrowed, but suddenly a smile appeared on his lips. "Yes!" he hissed, "I've got it!"

He searched and found some thin twine. Standing on a stool, he passed one end through a pulley on the ceiling directly above Emma. He then tied one end of the twine to the centre of the nipple chain, and removed the weights. Getting down on the floor, he attached the weights to the other end of the twine, so that they just rested on the floor. Emma watched with consternation as he pulled on the twine, her breasts being forced upwards in the shape of a cone, the clamps biting into her tender nipples. Boris added some more weights, made a few further adjustments, and then stood up to admire his handiwork.

"What do you think, Clyde," he asked proudly. "Look, if the bitch stands on tip-toe, the weights rest on the floor, but when her feet and ankles get too sore for tip-toe, and she comes down, the weights are pulled off the floor, and the pain in her tits will increase. Ingenious, isn't it?"

"Yes, Boris," said Clyde, with a supremely bored expression, "Very clever. Can we go now?"

"Please, no!" screamed Emma suddenly. "You can't do this, please. I can't bear any more."

"Oh, and one final thing," replied Boris, "this switch works as well."

As he pressed the second switch, the dildo began vibrating gently. It didn't move a lot, just buzzed slightly in Emma's vagina, feeling remarkably like a fast-fluttering tongue. Emma sighed, and moaned. "No, please," she whimpered. "No more!"

"Not sure how long the battery will last," announced Boris, "but we're off now. We won't be too long. Enjoy yourself while we're away."

"You bastards!" called Emma as they locked the door behind them.

Emma hung on her frame, and considered her sad predicament. Raped, abused, humiliated, tortured, left here in agony, she saw no prospect of release. The dildo in her pussy was no problem; she could cope with that – in fact the constant buzz was becoming quite pleasant. She could live with the clamps on her nipples; they had been there so long, she was getting used to the constant pain. If, however, she came down from tip-toe, the weights applied extra pressure to the clamps, and the pain increased tenfold. Already, a pain was building in the arches of her feet, and travelling up the backs of her calves; it got worse with every second. She wouldn't be able to keep on tip-toe much longer.

She tried pulling on her wrists, attempting to take the strain off her feet and legs, but her arms were already wracked with pain. No – she couldn't hold this much longer. Experimentally, she lowered her heels to the top of the bar to which she was attached. The weights came off the floor, and a piercing agonising pain grasped her distended nipples. Her breasts were pulled, distorted into a sharp cone. She grimaced, and suppressed a scream.

No, that was no good; she couldn't stand this for long either.

She peered down towards her feet, at the weights hanging from the long length of twine, watching them sway backwards and forwards.

Suddenly, an idea began to take shape in her befuddled brain. The weights were swaying, like a pendulum, almost touching her toes. She bit her lip against the impending pain, went on tip-toe so as to ground the weights, and quickly dropped her heels again.

Yes! As a shot of agony surged through her tortured tits, she saw with delight that the swaying was increased. Concentrating madly, fighting the immense pain, she raised and lowered her heels in time with the swinging of the pendulum, increasing the arc of swing, and bringing the twine ever closer to her outstretched toes. Finally, in exuberance, she was able to grasp the twine between the toes of her right foot and hold it there. Her pulse raced. She relaxed momentarily, and then pulled on her wrists, raising her feet as much as possible, managing to reach the weights with the outstretched toes of her left foot. She tried to guide them onto the bottom bar of her frame. At the third attempt she succeeded. She relaxed her wrists, and allowed her heels to descend to the bar. Oh yes! With utter joy, she realised that the weights stayed on the bar, above the floor, and now she could relax her feet from tip-toe without having to submit to an unendurable agony from the nipple clamps.

Through the dull ache in her nipples, Emma was aware of the constant throb from the dildo in her pussy. It penetrated her by about twenty centimetres. She pushed against it, and found that the little ridge at the end vibrated gently against her clitoris. It felt good, and she automatically tightened the walls of her vagina around the intruder. "Oh, Max!" she whispered to herself, tears trickling down her cheek, "Oh, Tiger! I wish you were here!"

Exhausted, she hung on her frame, barely conscious, aware only of the pain in her arms and breasts, and of the vibrations in her pussy. She gazed down at her naked body, the soft white flesh criss-crossed with angry red welts – on her breasts, stomach, pubic area, and thighs. She could only imagine what her poor buttocks and back looked like. She sobbed quietly, all hope now vanquished. She lost track of time. It seemed that hours had passed since her tormentors had left her here. She found that the pain lessened a little if she pushed herself against the dildo, clamped her pussy around it, and thought of Max, remembering his expert love-making, and imagining his tongue on her clit, his cock in her cunt. Slowly, almost unwittingly, she found herself moving up and down on the dildo. "Oh, Max. Oh, yes, Max, my Tiger! Fuck me! Hurt me!" Her mind seemed distant again. She closed her eyes, and drifted in a warm sea of pleasure, mixed with numbing pain. She rubbed her clit against Max's finger as if drunk, trying to forget to her predicament.

Suddenly, the door burst open. The abrupt movement startled Emma from her reverie, and the resulting vibration on the frame toppled the weights. Emma howled as the clamps bit into her nipples and the chains distended her tits. She came to; Max had disappeared; only Boris and Clyde were in the room, shouting at each other, and at her.

"Hurry up. Get her off that frame quickly. We've only got a few minutes before they arrive," cried Boris excitably.

Boris untied her ankles and Clyde her wrists. Boris lifted her off the still-throbbing dildo, and Emma screamed as Clyde removed the nipple clamps, allowing the blood to rush back into her tormented buds. Hurriedly, Boris carried her over to the screen. "Quick!" he commanded, "Have a toilet and clean yourself up a bit. We're expecting company."

Emma sat on the toilet seat, glad to relieve her bursting bladder. She rubbed her aching wrists and arms, trying to restore circulation. "Hurry up!" called Clyde. "We don't have much time."

In a daze, Emma hobbled to the basin, wet a flannel, and tried to rub it over her face and body. Her arms were so sore she could hardly manage to hold the flannel, let alone use it. "I can't!" she said. "My arms won't work. They're too sore."

Boris appeared behind the screen, grabbed the flannel from her and roughly wiped it over her tear-stained face. "Water, please," she murmured to him.

He filled a glass, and she drank greedily.

Boris continued wiping down her ravaged body and with his incompetent fingers made an attempt to re-arrange her hair. "That'll have to do," he finally announced. "We're running out of time."

"Who is coming?" asked Emma, tremulously.

"Just some friends. You'll find out soon. I hope you like them," he responded with a grin.

Roughly, Boris grabbed her arm, and pulled her back into the room. Clyde was standing near the bed, holding ropes. "On the bed?" he asked.

"Yes. Face up!" agreed Boris.

Within seconds, Emma found herself lying on the bed, her wrists and ankles tied to the four corners, leaving her thighs spread and her pussy exposed. The door rattled. "OK!" yelled Boris, "Two minutes! Nearly there!"




Abducted Ch. 06-07



Chapter 6         "The Interrogation"

I must admit that I really, really enjoy the way Elizabeth reacts to my hand. It's almost a natural thing; somehow, I just 'know' when and where is the best place to torment her, torture her ... and get her 'off' at the same time. Problem is, sometimes, she seems to be enjoying it too much. 


I do, too.


>>Thwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!


She bounces that little ass of hers up, after every lick. Can't help but see how perfectly formed and round and juicy it is! Then I rub my gloved hand over her cheeks. I can just about completely swallow up one cheek in just the palm of my hand. I know it's warm, and soothing after each *whack* I give her. 


I can hear through her moans -- and I can feel with my fingers -- how much she likes it, despite herself. 


But, I gotta make sure she knows, too, that this is serious business. 


I sit Elizabeth back up against the wall, tossing my leg across her thighs, and rubbing myself against her. But, I also make sure to lay the flat of my short box-cutter blade against her flush red skin, letting her feel how cold and sharp it is. I tease the tip of the blade along her taut little buds.


I lick along her neck, and she turns away. Again, I force her head back to me: "We want the passwords, Elizabeth,", I say.


I feel her body tense -- I think it's from fear, but I also feel a touch of her passion. But, she seems to shake her head, little small shakes, as I apply the pressure ... and the 'pressure' ... against her body. 


I'm thinking, this may be more delicate than we had believed. Most women would be scared to death to be tied up and sexually molested by three strange men, ... with more, yet to come. But, this time, this woman is excited by it!


Yes, this might be more delicate. "Chano, ... go pick us up something. I don't want Ms Elizabeth here to make us all rich on an empty stomach."


Chano smiles. "Oh, I get it, School. You want her all to yourself." He laughs as he heads out: "There's a chicken joint just up the way. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do!"


I think to myself, "That would be impossible."


Then, I turn my attention back to Elizabeth. 


I remove my gloves, and begin to play with her. 


Her body is like a ... like an instrument. She makes fine, erotic music as I strum along. My fingers lift her by her crotch from the mattress, yet, ... like a finely tuned violin, she responds. I am delicate with her, ... perhaps, I catch myself, too delicate.


>>Thwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!


She moans, and groans, ... and grinds against my fingers, now, almost desperately. "I want your password, Elizabeth." 


I know I'm torturing her. I know that she wants to explode, terribly, desperately wants to explode. I know, because I do, too! I can feel how fat and thick my cock is inside my pants; I can feel her lips swelling, and the wetness on her panties, from the sweat and from her arousal. 


I dip my fingertips toward her femininity, again, and she shudders. "I want your password, Elizabeth."


>>>THWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!


I play with her pubis, and I spank her ass, sharply; over and over, again, and again. Let's make a deal, my pretty one. Let's make the deal.


It needn't even have been said. It's the carrot, and the stick; pleasure and pain. Give me the password, Elizabeth. And, I'll fuck your brains out. I can be rich, ... and you'll get your release.


But why does she resist me? 


Then I realize ... it's my own fault. My instinct got the better of me. My intent was to tease, not to please. But, I've gone too far. I begin to feel the quivering inside her, and her juices begin to flow over my fingers. Her nipples erect, and her breasts begin to ripple. I feel her twisting her hands inside my ropes, and grinding herself against my hands ... too late for me to stop her from reaching that point.


Besides, ... I'm quivering, and flexing, and throbbing myself, ... 


In a moment, she climaxes. She squeezes her thighs around my fingers, and thrusts her hips up, and down, and up again, and she tenses, and thrusts...


... And, she explodes. 


I have this urge to grab her, and to envelope her in my arms while she's spasming in pleasure. 


But that wasn't the plan. And, then, childishly, almost, I become jealous: She's not gonna get away with cumming like that ... not without me!


I allow her to catch her breath, before I ask again: "We want the password, Elizabeth." And, with tiny little shakes of her head, once more, she refuses me.


I turn her over onto her stomach. That cute, perfect little teardrop bottom faces me, now, as I toss my leg over her body. Instantly, I feel my own 'instrument' begging ... no, demanding ... release. 


I unzip my pants. I fish myself out of my boxers. 


And, I lay my long, hard, fat, eager cock in the groove of Elizabeth's panty-clad buttocks. 


I begin to stroke. She groans, and ... she lifts her ass upward, to meet me!


I grooooove myself between her cheeks, and moan ... and, she beckons with her fingers for me to come closer, so that she can tug on me, and help me to cum!


Moments later -- it seems like years, though, but it was mere moments -- I am grinding and grooving my hot, naked cock against her butt cheeks in rhythm, and she is tugging at the head of my shaft, and rising to meet my thrusts! 


Slowly, but surely, I grind myself into her more deeply, more insistently, until I can feel the rise of the sticky seed inside me! Soon, I am pushing and pumping with the speed of a jackhammer ... and then, I am erupting, exploding ... blasting my warm, sticky fluid all over her! 


I keep pushing, and thrusting, and stroking, and pumping my seed upon her nearly naked body. Over, and pumping, and again, and strooooking ... strooking ... stroking, until I've milked myself dry, on the back of her soaking blue panties.


I turn her over, and the fair-skinned Elizabeth's face is flushed red from the fear, or the exertion, or ... the excitement. 


I wipe a bead of sweat off of my own brow. I look down at Elizabeth, and I chuckle. She's pretty wet, too, inside and out. Funny thing, I think, ... but I probably don't want her to catch her death of cold.


I leave her, still, basking in her glow, and still quite firmly tied up and helpless. I return shortly, with some damp washrags, and some dry towels. I turn her back over, and slice through her ropes. I toss her some towels, and tell her to wipe herself down.


She tries to turn it into a game!


"Could you do my back?" she asks coyly. Then, she turns that tight little bum with the tiny, wet blue panties to me. 


What ... why is she still not scared to death? She's been forcibly kidnapped, tied up, gagged, and just barely this side of raped, so far, and ... she thinks this little ploy will make me let her go. 


If I hadn't been expecting to get her password, and unlock the key to a half-million dollars, ... it might have worked. 


And, if Chano hadn't gotten back with the food, ... 


I chuckle, and give the kinky little hostage a big, fat >slaaaaaaap!


"We'll eat, now," I tell her. "Then you're going to give me your password, Elizabeth.


"I promise you that."


**********

Abducted
Chapter 7 – Escape #1


We all eat the food with Mr. Brute spending the entire time staring at my nakedness.  The lack of ropes to cover my bare skin has me exposed akin to a Carnivale dancer without the pasties to cover my nipples.

School excuses himself, as he wants to check something on the computer.  He tells Mr. Brute to watch me, particularly since I am now untied.
I am now alone with this animal, however it seems that my series of orgasms may have cleared my head a little.
I feel that if I am going to have any change to escape, that I need do something about Mr. Brute.
School and Harry Potter are too smart to allow me to fool them, so I need to try something now.

As if on cue, Mr. Brute pulls his erect hose of throbbing flesh out of his pants and points it into my face.
I force myself to not think about him and what I am about to do, as I take a hold of his large protuberance with my hand and pull it towards my mouth.
He grins and says some crude remark like, "That's it, bitch. Suck it."
I slowly lick his huge helmet shaped head swirling my tongue over and under it, while I cup his immense coconuts with my other hand.
Mr. Brute closes his eyes and groans.
I am hoping that he is as quick a comer as I remembered the first time and following his large meal, I might have a chance for him to fall asleep.

I put him into my mouth desperately fighting my need to gag at the thought of what I am doing.
I place my tongue under the distinctive ridge of his erection and silently hum to vibrate it.

His reaction is immediate as he tries to push himself deeper into my throat and I feel the first spasm accompanied by a quick release of thick goo filling my mouth.
Thank goodness, he was has fast as I remembered or I might have choked on him.
I want to spit it out but compel myself to swallow.  
The gag reflex is back, but I again fight it as another splash of male juice hits the back of my throat.
This time the volume is much less so I am able to allow his remaining spasms to play out without another large swallow.
I want to throw up, but know that I can't.  I try not to think about it to calm my stomach, but with his meat still in my face it is easier said than done.
I pull my mouth off of him and use my hand to milk his organ until he is sated. 

I am physically and mentally sick as he calls me "his little bitch" promising to let me have "another taste a little later."

The good news is that within 15 minutes Mr. Brute is sound asleep on the dirty mattress and I am silently making my way to the side door of the warehouse.  I grab what remains of my dress and head for the nearest door.

I slowly crack the door and slip through making my way down the side of the building not exactly sure of where to go other than as far away as I can.
Although I am only wearing a pair of abused and teeny bikini panties along with my high heels, I am totally unaware of my nakedness as I move away from the brick and into the early evening.

I am free, but for how long?

I feel my body fill with remorse as I leave my perfect fantasy behind.
It is a very different kind of sensation to be sneaking down alleyways between warehouses looking for help and at the same time hoping that no one sees me.
The longer that I am away from my captors the more aware I have become that I am wearing nothing but a teeny pair of light blue panties and high heels, an outfit much more suitable for a Gentleman's Club or the bedroom.
I make a feeble attempt at tying my tattered dress around my chest providing me at least a small modicum of decency.
What became perfectly natural for me in front of three total strangers has me now feeling quite vulnerable and unprotected.

I turn a corner unexpectedly walking out of the protection of the high walls of the warehouses and find myself in what might loosely be called a neighborhood.
A group of 6 young men see me immediately and come towards me.
At first I feel relief that I have found someone to help me, but as they draw nearer my sense of discovery is replaced by extreme dread.

These young men are obviously part of a gang and the sudden appearance of a middle aged Caucasian woman wearing just a pair of panties along with a makeshift halter top seems to have made their day.
"Hey, what have we here?  A runaway stripper, I think." The first young man says.
They are similarly dressed in oversized white t-shirts, jeans at half-mast, expensive looking sneakers and large gold chains around their necks.

The first man grabs my arms and pins them behind my back forcing my teeny breasts to poke out provocatively at the others as he removes my temporary top.
A second man pinches one of my nipples causing me to yelp in pain and try to draw away, but I am held firmly from behind.
The same man grabs my crotch making a rude remark about my moist mound.

The other four now are gathered around me and I am released only to be pawed and prodded by all six as they form a neat little circle around my almost naked body.
As they continue to grab at everything that is exposed, the general discussion is centered around who I am going to blow first and whether or not I like it up the a**.

I can't believe that I have escaped from my deepest fantasy only to walk into my darkest nightmare.
I feel myself fading from reality as everything starts to spin and I am collapsing to the ground.


****************************************************
"What do you mean ... !!"

I thought I would pull a muscle trying to keep myself calm. I screwed my eyes tight shut, and almost bit my own teeth out of my head!

She'sgone??? HOW the hell, ... 

This isn't quite like misplacing your keys.

I sighed. That answer is obvious. Chano fell asleep. He fucked her, and then fell asleep. Somehow. And, she must have played him, too. Harris? His attention is on exactly what he was supposed to be doing, hacking her password. 

So, where the hell is she?!

I exhaled. That's obvious, too. Not far. Shapely women wearing baby-blue panties aren't really built for distance, especially in this neighborhood. But, she only has to get far enough to call the cops. Or, to talk to someone else who might. Then, we're all sunk. 

So, we just have to find her, first. 

I already sense that, even though he screwed this thing up, but good, ... I am going to need Chano in the streets with me. Harris? He has more important things to do, IF we can get Elizabeth back!

"Tell Chano to get the van. I know he doesn't want to talk to me right now. No, you're staying here. You're finishing what you started, ... and, you monitor us. You're going to have to co-ordinate. I'll have my cell phone. Chano will have the van, and the GPS. You will have to keep us both in contact." I pause. "Is that too much to ask of you? Can you do that?"

For a half-million dollars, I think Harris was willing to bungee-jump off of the Empire State building. 

"I'm searching on foot. Have Chano cruise the neighborhood. There's a residential block about a half-mile from here. Have him start there."

I'll scour the docks briefly ... anywhere there is a car parked, there is a potential threat. But, human nature might work for us; when a woman is almost naked like that, she'll be looking to cover yourself. Elizabeth would not head to someplace that kept her exposed, out in the open. Trees, houses, enclosed spaces, ... there is where she would run.

I jog along the docks, just to be sure. A little over a half-mile up, as I get nearer to the barrio, I promised myself to quit smoking for good this time, ... if I can get myself out of this. Make no mistake, I know that now, I was fighting for my life. 

And, for the first time, I started to get angry with Elizabeth.

**********

I check my cell phone, for the time: Three-thirty PM. Friday afternoon, yes, and even here, kids are getting out of school. Away from the docks, and down here near people, this can become problematic in a hurry. How do I explain a naked lady in the middle of the afternoon? How do I explain that I've come to re-kidnap her again, after she'd escaped me the first time?

I got my first text message: Harris is telling me that Chano is out on Scanlon Street, already, on the other side of the neighborhood, and moving south, back toward the pier. 

I take a deep breath. IF we are lucky, Elizabeth has done half of our job for us -- kept herself out of sight. And, IF we are lucky, she'll see Chano in the van, and head back this way, toward me. Or maybe, vice versa. Either way, that will be good for us ... and better than we probably deserve, at this point. How the hell do you let her get away!?

I feel the blood rising in my head, and my senses are hyper-alert. But, I have to breathe. I have to think calmly, ... no telling what I will have to do in the next moment. Fight or flight, either way, I need a clear head.

Because, a couple of blocks in, I know that I will be entering gang territory. 
It'll be obvious that I don't belong. Elizabeth won't, either. 

Damn, I want that woman tied up, and in my hands, again!

Harris is texting. Chano thinks he saw her (thinks he saw her? How many naked Caucasian women does he see walking around in broad daylight?) on Luger Street. He thinks that she didn't see him. Luger's a one-way street, so he's turning around for a better look. 

Luger Street is just two blocks up. 

I increase my jog in that direction, trying to stay close to the fences, and behind the older model cars parked on the street, out of line of sight of ... well, hopefully, anybody.

A half-block before I get to the corner of Luger and South Leavitt Avenue, I just sense something. In the alley; right here. Something tells me to turn up in here, I don't know why. But, at this point, I trust my senses. 

I hear something. Familiar. Sobbing? Pleading?

I see her, near the other end of the alley. I see the cholos, as well ... maybe a half-dozen of them. All gathered around a near-naked White woman with a perfect teardrop ass, groping at her; at her breast nipples; at her damp blue panties.

I calmly open my cell phone, and press a series of buttons. Then, I stride, purposefully, into the alley.

"Mira! Esperate, ... que da?"
"Policia?"
"Parece que no, ... un viejo. No mas que pinche viejo."

"Please ... help me." (I wasn't yet sure who Elizabeth was talking to, but ... in light of the situation, I think I had a clue.)

I exhale, and smile. It's show time, make or break: "Good evening, gentlemen. I see that you've found my, uh, 'wife'. Good. I'll be taking her off your hands, ... that is to say, right now."

I halted about 20 feet away from them. For a moment, there was a disbelieving silence. Then, a low murmur of scorn:

"Que crees?"
"Quien es ese pinche viejo?"
"Esta fregado!"

The 'Leader' of the group -- I assume he's the Leader, since he's the one who comes forward -- hikes up his sagging jeans, and tells me to get lost. 

"Get outta here, old man, before you get fucked up. My 'homies' and your 'wife', we gonna party ... and you're not invited! Unless, ... you wanna watch!"

That got a titter of laughter. Some of the cholos started mauling pretty Elizabeth's titties again, and laughed, back, looking at me. 

Which is where I want their attention.

"Not today, fellas. Not today." Then, I authoritatively cross my arms.

The Leader -- a short man, I guess you'd say, but truthfully he was no more than a teenager -- saunters forward, closer to me. I lean against a dumpster, calmly perusing the contents; yet another sign of my disrespect. I knew he'd take it that way.

He lifts his tank top, and flashes the butt of a handgun stuck in his belt loop. "Oye, hit the road, cabron!"

"Not until I get my 'wife' back."

"Yeah, whachu gonna do?" He gets closer, within arm's length ... then gets directly into my face! "I don't see no weapon on you. Who you think you are, Chuck Norris? Whatcha gonna do, take her away from me and the homies?"

Without flinching: "Yes. I don't need a weapon to do that. All I need is that big Mexican standing over there behind your 'homies'. He's got all the weapons I need."

Chano stepped out of the van, on cue. In one hand, he held a short-barrel shotgun, with a pistol grip. In the other, an AK-style assault rifle, with a banana clip. He says nothing, but aims the weapons on the gathering.

"One other thing, ... I don't need a weapon to take care of you. I could do you with a soup can."

"El Jefe" turns from Chano, to me, just in time to see me fish a discarded soup can from the dumpster. Very deliberately, I fish out the top of the opened can, and palm the sharp disc in my left palm. "Check him out. He's a big guy, isn't he? If those sticks go off, it's gonna get bloody in here."




Abducted Ch. 06-07



"Hey, man, I don't give a shit ... "

Before he could finish, and well before he thought of reaching for his own gun, I already have the razor-sharp disc to his neck, and my right arm curled around his chin. I spin him around, and press:

"All I need is a soup can, amigito," I hissed. "And, all you have to do is walk the fuck away. No harm, no foul. Tell 'em. Tell your boys, back off. If you don't ... you won't even live to see the first shot fired." 

It was a half-million dollar move. We were about to see if it paid off.

Chano cocked a round into the shotgun chamber. He kept the AK pointed, directly, at the gang.

**********

"You won't get away with this, maricon! We got an army behind us! We gonna hunt you down, and you pinche cabron flunky, tambien!"

"Go read 'Sun Tzu', son. Then you'll know you're wasting your time."

I shift the shotgun that Chano hands me into my right hand as I bundle Elizabeth inside. I don't slam the van doors shut until Chano has reached the end of the alley, and makes a wild left-turn into the streets.

We've wasted over half-an-hour on this bullshit.



Abducted Ch. 06



"Get a blindfold, Clyde," he ordered, "and a gag."

Emma felt pillows or cushions being forced under her bottom, to raise her pussy further off the bed. Suddenly, everything went black as the blindfold was clapped over her eyes. She opened her mouth to object, but found a ball gag being forced past her lips. Blind and mute, she tried to struggle, but had no energy left. She felt fingers on her pussy, and realised that lubricating gel was being applied to her cunt. 'Oh no!' she thought, 'What next?'

She sensed Boris lying between her legs, rubbing his crotch against her. "Yes," he announced, "that should do fine. That angle should be good for most of them. Open the door, Clyde."

Emma heard footsteps, and several unknown voices. She couldn't guess how many. "Oh yes, very nice!" commented a gruff voice. "But someone's been beating her up a bit. Lovely body and tits though – and a great pussy!"

Emma felt two rough fingers at the entrance to her cunt. "You said twenty-five dollars?"

"Yes! In advance!" Emma recognised Boris' voice.

"It's a deal. Me first."

Emma heard the sounds of money changing hands, and of trouser zips being opened. Almost at once, she sensed a body between her thighs and a heavy chest pressed against hers, squashing her breasts. She had difficulty breathing as he thrust into her, without finesse, in one steady movement. She felt his balls slapping against her bottom as she wriggled beneath him. Her pussy ached as it stretched to accommodate him, but there was no escape. Finally, Emma just lay quietly as he fucked her mercilessly, pounding in and out of her cunt, and squeezing her poor injured tits. He accelerated. Eventually, she felt him pushing harder into her, then stopping as he climaxed and his cum began to pump into her. He squeezed her tits still harder and seemed to collapse across her. She smelt beer and cigarettes on his breath. His cock began to shrink, and he gave a couple of final spasms, before she heard voices raised.

"Come on, Juan. Let me have my turn now. You've had your money's worth!"

The first cock disappeared from her vagina, but almost immediately she felt a new cock rub its head over the thick lips of her pussy before lunging forward, piercing her roughly. She screamed into her gag as he penetrated her, surprised at the unexpected size. Then he began to fuck her, slowly at first, then speeding up as her pussy stretched to accommodate him. Again she felt rough hands on her tits, and moaned as her nipples were squeezed. She was dimly aware of encouraging shouts from some of the on-lookers as the unseen attacker pounded into her, finally crying out in pleasure as he exploded inside her.

She hardly felt the third cock. A much smaller body lay on top of her, encouraged by his friends, until his semen erupted to join the juices already flowing out of her cavern. "Well done, Ali. Not bad for a little one!" chortled an unfamiliar voice.

"Yeah! But wait until she feels this one!"

Emma sensed an enormous body on top of her. Suddenly it felt as if her vagina was being ripped apart. She struggled uselessly. 'This one feels nearly as big as Clyde,' she thought. Finally, he managed to get his weapon inside her. Emma made a supreme effort to relax as he moved in and out of her, trying to reduce the pain, until he eventually cried out loudly and shot his load into her. 

Emma hardly noticed his withdrawal, and fainted completely away as the fifth cock entered her ravaged cunt. Her assailant took no notice, and ploughed into her unconscious body, bringing himself to climax. She was completely oblivious that a sixth man was preparing to enter her, and of marching feet in the corridor outside. The door flew open and a commanding voice demanded, "What the hell is going on here? Whose idea was this?"

The speaker was a man of about fifty, dressed in a beige linen suit, with blue open-neck shirt. Behind him were six palace guards, in standard combat clothes, their rifles at the ready. He looked around the room with his piercing grey yes, appraising the situation. The man between Emma's thighs got to his feet, and sheepishly retrieved his trousers. Boris, Clyde and the other ten looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"OK Sergeant," commanded the man, "arrest those two!" He pointed at Boris and Clyde. "Take them to the guardhouse. As to the others, take their names and numbers, and send them back to their barracks."

"Yes, Sir!" shouted a tall, slim black guard. He swiftly detailed his troops. Two of them grabbed Boris, taking an arm each, and two more dealt with Clyde in the same way. Soon the two were being marched out of the room and along the corridor. The sergeant produced a notebook and began recording the details of the other eleven, who then trudged off, their eyes downcast.

The bearded man approached the bed, and stared down at the pale unconscious figure of Emma. 'Very pretty,' he thought to himself, 'but she's certainly had a tough time. I don't understand what got into Yasmin – leaving her to those two gorillas!'

Gently, he untied her wrists and ankles, and removed the blindfold and gag. He fetched a damp cloth, and began wiping her face, cleaning off the stains of tears and perspiration. She stirred, and opened her eyes. She peered at the stranger with a puzzled expression.

"Please, no more," she whispered, "I can't take any more."

"Oh, but you can, Little One – lots more!"

Her heart sank, her hopes vanished. She sobbed quietly. "No! No! Please!"

"But not to-night Little One. I think you've had enough excitement for one day."

Relief flooded over her. She burst into tears. "Thank you. Oh, thank you," she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck in gratitude.

"Don't worry," he murmured to her, "I'm here to look after you."

He wrapped her barely conscious naked body in a sheet, and picked her up in his strong arms, heading towards the door and along the corridor. He passed a saluting guard, went out through the main door, and across a brightly-lit courtyard. Within minutes, he entered a door marked 'Hospital' and a smartly-dressed nurse approached.

"Ah, Nurse," he began, "this is Leila, a new slave. She's been badly beaten and raped several times. Look after her please. And tell the doctor we'll need a full report for a tribunal."

"Oh, the poor lamb," said the nurse in a soft Irish brogue. "Lay her here on this trolley, Master Hans. I'll see to her."

The man she had referred to as 'Master Hans' did as he was bid. "Goodbye for now, Little One," he murmured to Leila, brushing her cheek gently with his fingers, "but I'll see you again soon. I'm your new trainer."



Abducted Ch. 07



Chapter 7 – Recovery

{AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Apologies to my few ardent fans about the delay in publishing Chapter 7 of Emma's Saga. Blame holidays, pressure of work, lack of time for research, and writer's block – in no particular order. Emma doesn't get fucked a lot in the next few chapters, but I'm still developing some important characters. Chapters 8 to 11 follow almost immediately. There may be more, but only if you want it. Please take the time to give me your reactions – for good or ill. Please vote! Thanks for your interest}

Emma barely remembered the next several hours. The nurse brought her a pill and a glass of water. "My name is Kathleen," she started. "I'll just get you cleaned up a bit, and then the doctor will see you. This is a pain-killer, and a mild sedative. It will help you relax."

Dimly, Emma recalled being washed and bathed. Her sore, tortured body was rubbed with healing ointments. A female doctor examined her from top to toe, making copious notes. She was X-rayed, and a digital camera recorded the marks on her skin. Finally, she was laid in a comfortable bed and given a sleeping pill. Within minutes, she had drifted off into a welcome slumber.

The following morning, she awoke, feeling a little refreshed, but with a sore head and a body which seemed to ache all over, and in every joint. Gingerly, she lifted the silk bed cover and looked down at her naked flesh, covered in red welts and blue-black bruises. Another nurse, younger than Kathleen, but also smartly attired in a white uniform, came in with a trolley.

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked brightly in an Italian accent. "A little better?"

"Yes, I think so," agreed Emma, "but I need a toilet."

"OK. Through that door there," said the nurse, pointing to a door on the far wall. "Can you manage?"

"I think so." Emma swung her legs out of bed, and painfully staggered across the room, through the door and into a well-appointed bathroom. Refreshed, she returned to the bedroom. The nurse had laid plates on a small table.

"Hi. You're managing fine. I'm Paola, by the way. I believe you had a rough time yesterday."

"Yes," agreed Emma, "pretty rough. But I'll survive."

"The doctor thought a light breakfast would be best – just fruit juice, cereals, yoghurt and bread," explained the nurse. "I've laid it out on the table here. Slip into that robe and sit here."

Emma did as she was told. 

"First some pills," continued Paola, smiling. "A mild pain-killer, your normal contraceptive, and a special 'morning-after' one – we normally use this if a patient has had several men ejaculating inside her." 

Emma swallowed them obediently. 

"Now, eat some breakfast, and then I'll be back to wash you and dress your wounds. After that the doctor will see you again. I'm pleased to say that there are no broken bones, and no signs of serious damage."

Emma felt suddenly hungry, realising that she hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day. As she ate, she realised that her room had a window. She hadn't seen a window since she arrived here. Quickly, but painfully, she rushed to the window and looked out. The morning sun blazed down from a clear sky. She looked out into a large courtyard, about thirty metres square, with four fountains symmetrically arranged, surrounded by shady arbours and numerous trees, under which a paved path wound. The fountains looked inviting; she heard nothing through the double-glazing, but imagined the water tinkling gently in the shade. A black and white bird, about the size of a robin, but of a species she did not recognise, flew from a tree and drank from one of the fountains. She watched it open its bill as if to sing, but heard nothing.

The door opened behind her, startling Emma. "Enjoying the view?" asked Paola.

"Yes – it looks very beautiful, and cool."

"It's OK early morning and late evening, but in the middle of the day it's far too hot to venture out, even in the shade. It makes my home town in Italy seem quite chilly," laughed the nurse. "Are you ready for your bath now?"

Paola carefully and tenderly anointed Emma's injuries with a soothing balm, and helped her lower herself into a bath of warm perfumed water. Emma lay back, relaxed, enjoying the scent. Paola massaged a delicate shampoo into Emma's scalp, and rinsed it off. She helped Emma out of the bath and wrapped her in a huge soft towel, gently patting her dry. She laid a waterproof sheet across the bed, and beckoned Emma to lie down. Paola applied more of the cool balmy ointment to Emma's body, and expertly massaged it in. Emma lay still, enjoying the soothing effect of the nurse's hands on her tender skin, feeling her aches vanishing, wondering if perhaps Paola was paying a little too much attention to her breasts and her pussy, and almost wishing for more.

Emma sighed contentedly and seemed just about to drift off to sleep when the door flew open. Flustered, Paola looked up. "G... g… good morning, Doctor," she stammered. "The patient is ready for you now."

"Thank you, Paola. You may go."

Paola left the room hurriedly, blushing slightly. Emma recognised the doctor as the one who had examined her the previous night, a small, slight woman, in her fifties, with straight hair and a prim expression. She looked down at Emma's naked body with apparent disinterest.

"How are you feeling to-day?" she began.

"Much better, thank you. A bit sore, but improving."

"Fortunately, you have no broken bones, and no serious injury. There is a little superficial damage to your vagina – probably caused by a particularly large penis. I'll examine it again shortly, just to be sure, but I think it will heal in a couple of days. The rest of your injuries will improve quickly, given the right treatment. I have made a full medical report, and will pass it to the appropriate authorities; they will probably want to interview you to ascertain what actually happened, but in the mean time, I want you to stay here for recuperation. Now, open your legs and let me look at your vagina."

Emma felt a tube being inserted, and the doctor moved in closely to examine Emma. "Yes," she asserted, "it's clearing up quite well, as I thought – but you should keep off penetrative sex for a few more days. I'll make a report to your trainer. Now, put on that nightdress, get back into bed and rest until lunchtime. I'll give you another mild sedative."

The rest of the day passed in something of a blur. Emma was cosseted, pampered, and regularly anointed. The physiotherapist visited, massaged Emma thoroughly, and encouraged exercises to alleviate the pains in her joints and muscles. Emma began to feel much better. She reflected on the events of the past twenty-four hours. It seemed that escape would be nearly impossible, in the short term at least. She resolved to co-operate with her captors for the present. She felt that by co-operating she would not only minimise the amount of pain and torture which she would have to endure, but in time they might allow her more freedom which she could use to advantage.

Later in the afternoon, towards five o'clock, a tall blonde lady entered Emma's room, wearing an immaculately cut plain navy shift dress, which showed off her slim body to perfection. "Good afternoon," she began, "my name is Amira, but you will call me 'Madam'."

"Yes, Madam," replied Emma.

"You should really be naked and on your knees in front of me," continued the stranger, flashing her bright blue eyes, "but we'll let that pass for now." Her English was perfect, with the merest trace of a foreign accent. Emma was strangely reminded of Ingrid Bergmann, from old films on television.

"I'm sorry, Madam; I didn't realise," apologised Emma, making as if to get out of bed.

"No – stay in bed," replied the woman in a stern voice, taking a notebook out of her capacious Louis Vuitton handbag. "I need to ask you some questions. I have been appointed by the Inquest, and need to report to them."

"Inquest, Madam? Inquest into what?" asked Emma, puzzled.

"Into the events of yesterday evening, of course, after your failed escape attempt. It seems that some people may have behaved inappropriately."

"Oh!" remarked Emma, in surprise. "Inappropriately? Who, Madam?"

"That is not your concern," frowned the woman, suddenly showing wrinkles that revealed her age as approaching sixty. "Your business now is to answer my questions, and tell me what happened. You must tell me the truth; I have full judicial authority. If you lie to me, it will be treated as perjury, and the penalty for perjury is to have your tongue cut out. Very unpleasant!"

For the next two hours, Emma answered questions, and related the events of the previous evening. Amira made notes, dispassionately cajoling Emma into remembering how many times she had been beaten, and by whom, and with what. She exhibited no obvious sympathy for Emma's experience, but asked detailed questions about how she had been penetrated, and by whom (or what) and whether she had succumbed to orgasms. Finally, she closed her notebook and stood up. "OK, that will do for now, Leila. I'll get these notes typed up, and then you can go through them. If you think of anything else that might be important, let me know in the morning. Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye, Madam," replied Emma demurely.

'Strange!' thought Emma. 'I dreaded going through yesterday's events, but now that I've done it, I feel much more comfortable, and at ease.'

Shortly afterwards, the nurse called Kathleen arrived with a light dinner for Emma. This was followed by a final massage and a further anointment of soothing balm, before Emma was given a sedative and a pain-killer, and put to bed with instructions to 'sleep well'.

Emma lay in her comfortable bed, drowsily contemplating the whirlwind of events. Automatically, her fingers found their way to her shaved and pouting pussy, and stroked her clitoris, encouraging it to bloom. She snuggled into the soft mattress, feeling the juices begin to flow from her vagina. 'Mmm,' she murmured to herself, 'that feels good.' Her cunt still felt sore, but less so than before. She wished she had access to her favourite vibrator; she would have been so gentle with herself. Her finger moved faster on her clit, and her other hand grasped her bruised left breast, squeezing it hard. A streak of severe pain emanated from her tortured nipple, and radiated through her body. She cried out aloud as the pain metamorphosed into an intense orgasm, and fell into a deep sleep, her fingers still on her damp pussy.

The next day followed a similar course, with frequent massage and application of soothing ointments. At about eleven o'clock, Emma heard the clack of high heels outside her door, and Amira entered, dressed in a cream linen suit, with a short skirt, showing legs well proportioned for a woman of her age. She was carrying a lap-top computer. Quickly, Emma slipped off her robe and fell to her knees in the submissive pose which Yasmin had taught her.

"Good girl," smiled Amira. "You learn quickly."

Amira studied the kneeling girl with a practised eye. "Oh yes," she finally announced, "You are indeed very lovely, and have beautiful white skin. The marks are beginning to fade already. You show real promise. I would have liked the opportunity to train you myself, but His Highness prefers male trainers for his female slaves. His grandfather was more flexible; I myself was trained by a woman. Hans is a lucky man!"

"You too were a slave, Madam?"

"Oh, yes, many years ago," replied Amira, smiling, "but I was freed when His Highness' grandfather died. Since then, I have had several important positions in the royal household."

Amira sat down, placed the computer on her lap and opened it. "The Inquest has been scheduled for Tuesday," she continued. "I have typed up my notes and need you to go through and check the accuracy. You are familiar with Microsoft Word, I assume?"

"Oh, yes, Madam," replied Emma, "I have used it a lot." She thought for a moment, and spoke again. "Excuse me, Madam, but I think I am a little confused about the days. To-day is Sunday, I think. Is that right?"

"Yes, and the Inquest will be on Tuesday, in two day's time. You'll find the notes on this disk, in a file called 'Leila notes.doc'. Go through them carefully, and amend anything that is not quite correct. Remember that any untruths will be classified as perjury, and you know the penalty for that!"

"Yes, Madam," agreed Emma, shuddering inwardly.

"If there are points in the notes on which you are not absolutely certain, you must say so. If, for example, you can no longer be quite sure which man did something to you at a certain point, you must make that clear. This is most important. Use a phrase such as 'I cannot be quite sure, but I think it was X'. The Inquisitors will understand, and make suitable allowance. They will receive written testimonies from all the parties involved, and will be particularly keen to explore any discrepancies."

"Will I have to attend the Inquest, Madam?" asked Emma.

"Of course. You are one of the principals. Your testimony will be crucial. It is very important for you that the Inquisitors believe your account, otherwise they may accuse you of perjury."

Emma's brain was in turmoil. It sounded as if she was going to be on trial herself. She was close to panic.

"But Madam," she began, cautiously, "am I allowed a lawyer?"

"Of course not," replied the older woman in an exasperated tone. "Why on earth would you need a lawyer? All you have to do is tell the truth; the Inquest will then decide. However, your Master will be at the Inquest, and because you are new here, he has been given permission to advise you. I must leave now. Go through the notes this afternoon; I will collect your amended version at six o'clock."

"Yes, Madam. When will I see Hans?"

"HANS???" Amira exploded. "You must NEVER refer to him as 'Hans'. He is your Master!" she insisted.

"I am sorry, Madam. When will I see my Master?" Emma replied, in a soft, quavering voice.

"That's better! I don't know for sure. Probably to-morrow afternoon, after he has had time to study your testimony, and that of the other principals."

After lunch, and between further sessions with the physiotherapist and attention from her nurse, Emma carefully went through Amira's notes, amending a few points. As promised, Amira returned shortly after six o'clock. Emma again removed her robe and adopted her submissive posture.

"Very good, Leila," remarked Amira, approvingly. "You have been through the notes?"

"Yes, Madam, and made a few changes. I believe they are quite accurate now."

"I hope so. Your Master has confirmed that he will see you to-morrow afternoon, at about two o'clock. I will arrange for you to see the hairdresser and beautician in the morning; you will want to look your best for your first proper session with your Master."

"Oh, yes, Madam," agreed Emma. "Thank you, Madam."

"I will collect you at nine o'clock, and will bring suitable clothing for you. Make sure you have bathed and had your bruises dressed before then."

"Yes, Madam."

In bed that night, Emma pondered her day. It was odd, but for the first time since her abduction, she couldn't recall having thought about Max, Peter, her family, her work, or even the possibility of escape. Was she getting used to her new life already? Hazily, she wondered if she was being surreptitiously drugged, and brainwashed.

True, she had had a busy day. The process of going through in detail the events of her punishment, torture and rape had left her strangely disconcerted and aroused. Several times, as she read the report on screen, she had felt uncomfortably damp between her thighs, and only with some difficulty had resisted the urge to let her hand wander under her robe to stroke her pussy. She had difficulty understanding what was happening to her. The index finger of her right hand brushed casually over her clitoris, feeling the juices seeping from her empty vagina. Was she actually missing the pain, wanting it? She raised her left hand to her left breast, grasped her tortured nipple and squeezed hard. Pain shot through her body. She gasped aloud, and pressed her finger against her swollen clit. Taking it between her thumb and forefinger, she squeezed hard. She rolled it between her finger tips, and did the same with her nipple. Oh yes, that was so sore, but it felt so good. How she wished she had a vibrator for her cunt - or a spare finger for her arsehole. Oh yes, yes – she needed that so much.

Reluctantly, she released her nipple, pushed her free hand under her buttocks, and tested the tight bud of her anal hole. It felt damp, wet with the juices flowing down from her pussy. Her legs opened wider, giving her hands better access to play. Her lips moistened even more, as she slipped a finger into her cunt. The still-tender walls seemed to grasp her finger and contract around it. She gave a low moan of sheer pleasure, pushing a second finger, and then a third, inside herself, the soft warmth of her pussy seeming to suck them in. She took a deep breath, and forced her legs back over her head, opening herself still further. 

A vision of Clyde's massive penis swept unbidden before her closed eyes. Oh no! She couldn't take that monster again! Desperately, she tried to force her fingers further inside herself, opening her fist to stretch her cunt wider, remembering the feeling of being filled so completely by Clyde's Roger. 

Oh yes! Her fingers worked faster, building her arousal, slipping inside her, stretching her, filling her, feeling how wet, hot and slippery she was. Perspiration flowed from every pore in her body. Her left index finger pressed harder against the rosebud of her anus, seeking entry, gaining entry, sliding into her passage. She began moving her finger in and out of her anus, in time with the fingers in her cunt. Her clitoris needed attention! She didn't have enough hands. Desperately, she tried to stimulate her clit with the thumb of her right hand, but she couldn't get the angle right. In exasperation, she withdrew the finger from her anus and brought it round the front to attack her clit. Furiously she rubbed, and then squeezed it tight. She was aware of a loud whimpering, building to a scream, and a long low howl as she climaxed. Still her hands and fingers moved frantically, building her orgasm to greater heights. "Oh fuck, yes, Clyde! Fuck me harder. I need Roger. Yes!!! Right up me. All the way!!! Yes!!!"

Still her fingers moved inside her. The sound, feel and smell of her wet pussy pushed her on. Her other hand continued to work on her clit, circling it, rolling it, pinching it, moving faster and faster as the intensity built. Her whole body tensed as she found release, moaning further obscenities as she shuddered and felt her sopping cunt grip the fingers inside it.

Finally, she relaxed, withdrawing her hand from her pussy, and bringing it to her face to savour the potent scent of her arousal. She continued to stroke her clitoris, but gently now. Sweat pooled on her body, and dripped onto the crisp sheets. Dreamily, she turned onto her right side, pulled the sheet around her body and settled into a foetal position, her finger still on her clit. She sighed contentedly, snuggled into her pillow, and drifted into a contented slumber.

The next morning, after Emma had bathed and breakfasted, the door to her room opened and a strange figure entered, completely enveloped in pale grey cloth, and carrying a package.

"Madam?" queried Emma, dropping to her knees in submission.

"Yes, Leila; it is I!" The voice came from behind a veil.

As she looked more closely, Emma noticed a slit in the veil, behind which shone Amira's piercing blue eyes.

"Why are you looking at me?" shouted Amira, crossly. "Lower your gaze to the floor as you were told!"




Abducted Ch. 07



"I'm sorry, Madam," whispered Emma meekly. "I was surprised, and unsure who it was."

"And wondering why I am completely covered up, no doubt?"

"Yes, Madam," agreed Emma.

"Well, inside the palace, women are encouraged – even expected – to wear Western clothing. Outside, however, traditional local dress is compulsory. We have to go outside to get to the Health and Beauty Section, so we need to dress up. This is your outfit."

Amira dropped her package in front of Emma, who opened it to reveal a shapeless heap of beige cotton, and a pair of sandals.

"You'll need some help. Stand up, Leila," ordered Amira.

Emma did as she was bid. Amira picked up the largest piece of clothing and held it up. "This is your abaya," she explained. "It's a sort of neck to floor dress. This is the front, but you'll find it is pretty shapeless. Slip it over your head, and put your arms through the sleeves as usual."

Emma looked at herself in a mirror. Indeed, the abaya hung straight from her shoulders, completely hiding her body, giving no hint of the curves beneath.

"And this," continued the older woman, "is your khimar," holding up another piece of cotton. "As you can see, it's basically a circle with a hole cut for your face. It goes on like this."

Amira placed the garment over Emma's head, and adjusted it. Emma's hair was completely hidden; the garment clung snugly to the side of her face, and her chin, and then hung down to her waist.

"And to complete the look," Amira went on, "we need the niqab. It's a sort of veil. It goes around the forehead and is tied at the back of the head. As you can see, there's a slit for the eyes."

Emma looked in the mirror again. She saw a figure completely encased in beige cotton, anonymous except for a pair of bright blue eyes staring out through a small slit.

"That will do fine," announced Amira. "Put on the sandals, and follow me. You'll actually find the dress quite comfortable in time, and much cooler than Western clothes. I'm wearing my normal clothes underneath, because I won't be outside for long, but often I go naked like you. It's much better than being constricted."

Emma followed Amira out of the door, and along a corridor, down some stairs and towards the entrance hall. The doors swung open as they approached, and the two women left the hospital, suddenly finding themselves bathed in bright sunshine. Even at that early hour, the temperature was nearly unbearable in the sunshine, and Amira hurried towards the shade of a covered walkway. They crossed a couple of courtyards and then entered another building, which Emma soon recognised as that in which she had been held for the first days of her captivity.

Soon Amira opened the door to the Health and Beauty Section. The beautician who had attended to Emma the previous Friday welcomed her with a smile. 'Was it really only three days ago?' pondered Emma to herself; so much seemed to have happened in the intervening time.

"Welcome, Miss Leila," exclaimed the beautician, a young woman, mid twenties, with an olive complexion, and slightly plump. "My name is Khadija. I believe you have had some adventures since we last met!" She smiled at Emma, revealing a row of pure white, perfectly-formed teeth. "Please take off your clothes and lie down here on the couch, and we'll get started."

As Emma began to remove the unaccustomed garments, Amira took her leave. "I'll arrange for someone to collect you just before one o'clock, and take you back to your hospital room for lunch. Don't forget to put on your costume; Khadija will help if you have problems. Your new master will see you at about two, in your hospital room."

Emma lay on the couch. Khadija expertly reviewed her client's naked body, feeling her bruises, and tracing gently the outline of her still-red wheals. "Oh yes," she murmured, almost to herself, "a bit of a beating; but healing very well."

She reached for a bottle, and began applying ointment to Emma's skin. "It's Master Hans, isn't it?" she asked. Emma nodded. "That's good. He doesn't like a lot of make-up, just the merest hint, and a very subtle lipstick. He likes a smooth body, however, so I think we'll shave you again, and give you a really good manicure and pedicure. You'll want to make a good impression on him, and he's very keen on perfect nails, on both fingers and toes!"

"You know him?" asked Emma, intrigued.

"Oh yes, of course; everybody knows Master Hans," replied Khadija, smiling. "He's great – the best and most experienced trainer in the palace. And they say he's a great lover. Apparently, when he was younger, he used to be able to last over an hour without cumming; that made him very popular with the ladies of the court, and he became quite wealthy. Unfortunately, he's never asked me, but I'd go with him gladly, if I got the chance. He has a reputation of being very strict, but very fair, and knows what he wants." 

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I probably shouldn't tell you this," she continued, "but I've looked after several of his trainees, and they've all turned out to be pretty special. I feel quite envious of you."

"Why? Are you a slave too?" asked Emma.

"Oh, no, Miss Leila," replied Khadija with a smile, "but my mother was. She wasn't keen for me to become one, and anyway I'm really not pretty enough to please His Highness," she continued modestly. Her voice again dropped to a whisper. "In any case, there's a bit of uncertainty as to who my father might be. It could be His Highness himself, or his late father, and it would be embarrassing if His Highness were to find out that he had committed incest with me!"

Emma was intrigued. "Why?" she finally asked. "How did that happen?"

Khadija giggled as she carried on anointing Emma's skin with soothing oil, and massaging it in. "Well," she began quietly, "the story I got from my mother was that she and about twelve other slaves were involved in a big orgy, organised by His Highness' late father, lasting over twelve hours. She lost count of how many men had her during the night, but they included both His Highness and his father. She was on the pill, but at the end of the month she and two of the other girls were found to be pregnant. It seems they had been sent a faulty batch of contraceptive pills. There was a big row with the supplier, but the result was my birth, nine months later. So, you see, my father is unknown. I suppose they could do DNA tests to find out, but probably they would rather not know for certain. Anyway, I was brought up in the harem, until my mother left to get married."

"Get married?" repeated Emma, surprised. "You mean slave girls can leave and get married?"

"Oh, yes," whispered Khadija, "but probably I shouldn't be telling you all this. Please keep your voice down."

"Sorry! But do go on," murmured Emma.

"When I was about four, one of the senior palace officials became very fond of my mother, and asked His Late Highness if he could buy her. The prince agreed, but only on condition that he paid a pretty hefty price, and took me as well. My mother liked him a lot. When I was six, she gave birth to a boy, my half-brother; he's eighteen now, and being trained as an officer in the army. Soon after that one of the official's wives died; he gave my mother her freedom and married her. They seemed very happy together, and she was very upset when my step-father died a couple of years ago. They had two other children, another boy now aged fifteen, and a girl of twelve."

Yet again, Emma marvelled at the attitude of the people who inhabited this strange environment. Khadija's attitude to the events she had described indicated that she regarded them as perfectly normal and natural. "And what about you?" she asked Khadija. "Are you kept here permanently?"

"Goodness no! I could leave at any time, but this is my home. I went to Paris for training as a beautician and masseuse, and was offered several jobs there, but the money is much better here at home – and the work more interesting," replied Khadija. She smiled. "Also," she continued in a whisper, "my boyfriend is here, in the palace guard. Perhaps we'll get married soon."

Two hours later, her whole body tingling gently from the thorough shaving, her finger nails and toe nails freshly painted, and her hair washed and dried, Emma admired herself in the mirror as Khadija put the finishing touches to her discreet make-up. Suddenly she was startled as the door flew open, and a veiled figure rushed in. Emma recognised Amira, and promptly fell to her knees in submission. "Hurry," gasped Amira breathlessly, "there's been a change of plan. The Grand Inquisitor is needed at the capital to-morrow, so the Inquest has been re-arranged for to-day. You need to report to Master Hans at once, for preparation. We don't need to go outside, so just put on that robe and follow me! Leave your traditional clothes here; I'll get them sent on later."

Quickly, Emma did as instructed, thanking Khadija as she scurried out of the door behind the older woman. Several corners, a flight of stairs, another corner, and a long corridor brought them to a door marked 'Room 111'. Amira knocked. A deep voice, muffled by the thick wooden door, sounded. "Come!"

Amira pushed the door open and entered, beckoning Emma to follow. "Good morning, Master Hans," she started. "This is Slave Leila D297, as arranged."



Abducted Ch. 08



Chapter 8 – Master Hans Takes Charge

Emma saw a figure seated behind a large mahogany desk, perusing a bundle of papers. She recognised her rescuer of Friday night. He didn't look up.

"Thank you, Madam Amira," he replied in a gruff voice. "Leave her here; you may go."

"Quick, take off your robe and kneel down," hissed Amira. "This is your Slave Master."

Obediently, Emma let her robe fall to the ground, and knelt submissively in front of the desk, her gaze lowered towards the floor. She heard the door close softly behind her as Amira left. 

Hans remained silent. He continued to study his papers, making the occasional note in the margin, apparently ignoring his pupil. Emma studied the intricate pattern in the luxurious hand-woven Persian carpet, and surreptitiously allowed her eyes to wander around the room. It appeared to be about ten metres square, with dark masculine furniture. Behind the large desk, a well-stocked bookcase covered the entire wall, and a comfortable black leather three piece suite was set around a large coffee table. A Bang & Olufsen television set stood in one corner, next to a radio and CD player by the same manufacturer. Several doors led off, presumably into adjoining rooms; from where she knelt, Emma could see four, two on each side wall.

Finally, after what seemed an age to Emma, she sensed him looking in her direction. He coughed gently, and rose from his chair. "I see somebody has already started your training," he remarked. "Madam Yasmin?"

"Yes, Master."

His voice was deep and strong. She recognised it from their first encounter, three days ago. She tried to place the accent – slightly Germanic, she thought, but probably from the South, or from Austria.

"Not bad, but needs improvement. Hold your head higher. Yes, like that, but lower your gaze. Good. Head high, but gaze lowered. Shoulders further back – show off your tits better. It'll probably help if you clasp your hands behind your back."

He reached out to stroke the upper surface of her right breast. Instinctively, she flinched slightly. "You have lovely breasts," he said appreciatively, "but you must learn to accept my touch – to welcome it even."

"I… I'm sorry, Master," she murmured. "I wasn't expecting it."

"You will learn," he asserted. He squeezed her breast gently, allowing his thumb to play over the nipple, which hardened further at his touch. "Oh, yes, very nice - excellent," he murmured approvingly, as if to himself.

He released her breast, and stepped back to study her further. "I want your thighs further apart," he announced finally. "I want to see your pussy more clearly. Ideally, the lips should just protrude, like a bud about to burst."

Emma forced her thighs further apart, and shifted slightly, to move her pubic area forward slightly.

"Excellent! Very good!" he expressed, encouragingly, and with obvious admiration. "That will be Position One. Can you remember that?"

"Oh yes, Master, I think so."

Emma smiled at his approval. Without thinking, she raised her eyes to look at him.

"NO!" he shouted. "You will NOT look at me unless I give you permission. You will keep your eyes lowered at all times!"

"Sorry, Master." Quickly, Emma lowered her gaze to the floor, but remembered to keep her head high.

"Now for Position Two. Stay on your knees, but put your hands behind your head," he ordered. "Now force your elbows back as far as possible, and thrust your bust forward. Good. You see how that makes your tits stand out?"

"Yes, Master."

"Very good. Later, we'll do it in front of a mirror, and you will see more clearly. For Position Three you need to stand up.

Obediently, Emma got to her feet, and stood with her hands by her side. She felt his grey eyes explore her body. "No, hands behind back, clasped together. Shoulders back, thrusting out your breasts. Head up, looking proud. Remember, you are a beautiful woman, and you always want your Master to be proud of you. But place your feet about 40 centimetres apart, so that I can access your pussy if I want to. Yes, that's good; I can just make out the lips poking through, invitingly. That is a perfect Position Three."

Emma felt his hand slide up her soft inner thigh. A finger parted her pussy lips, and explored within. "And already a little damp," he whispered approvingly. "I believe I am going to enjoy your training. I can hardly wait to get my cock up there, and believe me, it will get up there a lot!"

Roughly, a second finger joined the first in Emma's cunt. She winced slightly, but then relaxed as, with surprising gentleness, he caressed her cheek with his free hand, and brushed her freshly painted pink lips with his.

"Unfortunately," he murmured into her ear, "there is no time now; we need to prepare for the Inquest."

Emma's vagina felt empty as Hans removed his fingers, and moved behind her back. She sensed his piercing eyes moving over her body. He patted her buttocks approvingly. "Yes!" he announced. "You'll do very well. Lovely skin. Beautiful features. Nice tits. Great firm bum. Hard to fault you – except that your hair needs to be longer. You look to be in good shape, in spite of the marks from your punishment, but I think we'll have to watch your diet, and keep you fit – you look as if you could put on a bit of weight quite easily."

"Yes, Master," Emma agreed.

"I'll arrange an hour at the gym every day, and appoint an instructor to take care of you. How supple are you? Keeping your legs straight, can you touch your toes?"

"I think so, Master, but I haven't tried since I left school." With obvious effort, Emma just managed to touch her toes.

"Could be better," he remarked. "I think I'll arrange Yoga lessons for you as well; that will improve your suppleness, and help you to move better. Dance instruction might also be good. I'll think about it. No, stay as you are!" he commanded, as Emma made to straighten up.

Emma felt a palm on each of her buttocks, and sensed Hans bending down behind her. He pushed gently on her round globes, opening the crack in her backside. "Oh, yes, very nice!" he exclaimed. "That's the best-looking arse I've seen in ages!"

Emma felt a finger dipping into her vagina from behind, and then tracing its way backwards towards the tiny puckered opening of her rectum. The finger probed. "Hmm," he pondered, "ever had anything up there?"

"Only a fingertip, Master. Some of my lovers liked exploring up there while they made love to me, but I didn't like it much."

"What you like or don't like is of absolutely no interest to me," he burst out, angrily. "What is important to me is that when His Highness gets around to taking your little virgin arse, he will enjoy it. And after that, once he's broken you in, I will enjoy getting my own cock up there, as and when I feel like it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," she murmured, not wishing to increase Hans's obvious anger.

"OK. Stand up straight now. NO – POSITION 3! Hands behind back, head up. Yes, like that, but I shouldn't have to remind you every time!" Hans returned to his desk and sat down. "In general," he continued, "I am pleased with you. You show promise. I think I will enjoy training you, but you have much to learn. My name is Hans, but you will always call me 'Master'. If you have cause to speak to anybody else about me, you will refer to me as 'my Master', not as 'Master Hans'. You will speak only if you are asked to. If you wish to comment or ask a question, you will ask permission first. If permission is not granted, you will stay silent. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master."

"But the problem remains – what shall I call you?"

"I don't know, Master. 'Leila', I suppose. That's the name they gave me when I arrived here."

"No, I don't think so. I don't think it's a very appropriate name. It means 'Night', and I don't see you as 'Night'! I wish they would think about names first, and not just use the next one on the list. For the moment," he pondered, "I'll just call you 'Girl', until I decide on something more suitable."

"Very well, Master," agreed Emma, not daring to suggest a return to her real name.

"But sometimes," he went on, "especially if I'm displeased with you, I'll call you 'Cunt'. It's not the most pleasant name, but it will remind you what you are. Most of the time, you will be treated as a walking vagina; the most important bit of you is between your legs. You need to remember that, Cunt, and I will remind you from time to time."

"Yes, Master," murmured Emma, silently horrified. There were a few seconds silence, as Hans rearranged the papers on his desk. "M… Master…" she stammered querulously, "m… m… may I say something?"

"Yes, Girl, go ahead."

"When you rescued me the other night," she began, "you called me 'Little One'. I liked that. It made me feel safe."

He chuckled. "OK," he agreed, "I'll call you 'Little One' sometimes – especially if I'm pleased with you. That gives you three names, which should be enough for now, Little One!"

"Thank you, Master."

"Next," he said, "we need to attend to your collar and cuffs. These have been specially made to your measurements." Hans held up small five black suede belts. "They are hand-made from the finest and softest kid suede, with hand-crafted bronze fittings. The largest one goes round your neck."

He rose from his chair, and deftly surrounded Emma's neck with a suede collar, buckling it snugly in place.

"Hold your hands out in front of you," he ordered. Emma complied. "These small ones go round your wrists like this."

As he fastened the bracelets, Emma could admire at close hand the craftsmanship, the tooling on the suede, and the intricate patterns on the bronze fittings. "They are beautifully made," she gasped.

"And the middle-sized ones will fit your ankles perfectly," he continued, kneeling to attach them. "You will wear these at all times, except in the bath or shower, or if you are undergoing strenuous exercise in the gym. There are other matching items, for your waist and thighs, for example, but we will only use them rarely. These five will suffice, and mark you as His Highness' slave. All of them bear his emblem – crossed swords surmounted by a rose – see?"

"Oh, yes, Master. I see."

"These fittings are ideal for rapid use," explained Hans. "If I take your wrists, I can attach the hook on your left wrist to the ring on the right wrist, and you are effectively hand-cuffed, like this." Expertly, with a skill derived from many years practice, he attached her wrists together. "Or I could attach your feet together, or your wrists to your ankles, or your wrists to your neck collar – all very quick and simple."

"Yes, Master."

He released her wrists, as deftly as he had earlier attached them. "Next," he went on, "I will show you around. Follow me." He moved towards the first door on the left wall. "Through here is a small kitchen, with a dining area. We will have many of our meals here. Do you cook?"

"Yes, Master, of course, but not well," Emma answered modestly.

"You won't need to cook much – just occasionally. Most of our meals will be brought to us, but it is good to cook for oneself occasionally. The next door is my private bedroom. You will enter only if asked, otherwise it is strictly out of bounds." Hans crossed the room to the right-hand wall. He opened the door nearer the main entrance. "This is the bathroom," he announced. "You will see it is fitted out with everything you could need."

Emma looked in to find a large room, about four metres wide by six metres long, furnished in pale green marble. The main feature was a circular sunken bath, about two metres in diameter and one metre deep, obviously fitted with a Jacuzzi system. Further back was a large double shower and a smaller conventional bath. Nearer the door were two basins, two WCs and two bidets.

"And finally," she heard Hans say, "behind this door is our playroom."

Emma struggled to comprehend what she saw. The room was about ten metres square, decorated in sombre dark brown and maroon, with the most unusual furniture Emma had ever seen. She recognised a frame similar to that to which she had been attached during her ordeal with Boris and Clyde, and shivered involuntarily. Glancing upwards, she noticed several pulleys set into the ceiling. Ropes were neatly coiled and placed at intervals around the walls. In the centre of the room were two large vertical wooden posts, with hooks set into them. Large cupboards surrounded the walls. One was open and Emma spotted a collection of whips and riding crops. In one corner was what appeared to be a wooden vaulting horse, and next to it a large wooden drum; both had metal fittings. Hanging from the ceiling were two large wooden crosses, a Latin cross and a St Andrews cross. Emma couldn't imagine to what use these items could be put, but had a distinct foreboding that in time she would find out, and that the discovery would not be altogether enjoyable.

"I can tell you're impressed," laughed Hans, pulling back a large maroon curtain that partitioned one corner, to reveal a king-size four-poster bed. "In time we'll get to play with all of these toys, and a few others as well. You will sleep here. In the dressing table you will find all the toiletries you need. Most of the time here, you will be naked, but in the wardrobe are a few clothes, and three sets of traditional costume for use out of doors. Through that door is a toilet, a small shower and a wash-hand basin. Use the toilet now, and come back to my desk when you've finished."

"It's OK, Master. I don't need to go just now, thank you."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough," he said sternly, his eyes seeming to pierce through her body. "When I say, 'Use the toilet', I mean USE THE TOILET!" His voice grew to a bellow. "You will use the toilet when it suits me, NOT WHEN IT SUITS YOU!!! IS THAT CLEAR, CUNT?"

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master," Emma replied, hurriedly moving towards the door to which Hans had pointed.

When Emma returned to the main room, Hans was again seated at his desk. He had moved an upright armchair in front of the desk, facing him. "Come and sit down, Girl," he commanded, "but put your robe back on first. Your naked body is making me quite randy, and we just don't have time for that now. We have work to do."

Quickly, she complied, and sat facing her Master, her hands held demurely in her lap, and her gaze submissively downwards.

"You may look at me now," he said, a gentler tone in his voice.

Emma raised her gaze, and for the first time was able to study her Master. Immediately, she was struck by the strength in his face. His deep-set grey eyes promised wisdom and fairness. He looked to be in his forties, but might have been a little older. His thick dark hair was greying slightly at the temples. A well-trimmed beard adorned his chin; it too showed signs of encroaching greyness. She realised that he was shorter than she remembered – less than 1.80 metres, she suspected. His body looked trim, with little sign of excess fat. He smiled at her, creases showing around his eyes. "I said you could look at me, Girl, not stare at me!"

"I'm sorry, Master," she said, hurriedly lowering her gaze again.

"OK, let's get started," he went on. "It's now almost two o'clock, and the Inquest starts at six. Here I have copies of your statement, and the statements of all the others involved. I have highlighted possible discrepancies; we need to go through them in detail and get any amendments to the Inquisitors by five o'clock. After that, we can have a meal, and then set off for the Inquest."

"Six o'clock, Master. That's very late!"

"Yes, it's a throwback to the old days, before air-conditioning, when it would have been too hot to carry out inquests and tribunals in the afternoon. Of course, it would be OK nowadays, but this is a very traditional country, and things take a long time to change. The Inquest will probably last about four hours, after which we will return here – assuming, of course, that neither of us is ordered to be locked up by the Inquest."

"Why? Are you on trial as well, Master?"

"You must NOT ask questions without permission!" he interjected. "I shouldn't have to keep reminding you, Girl!"

"I'm sorry, Master. I will remember in future."

"Good. To explain further, it's not a trial, as such – it's an Inquest. Officially, nobody has been charged with anything. The function of the Inquest is to establish the facts, and then decide if anybody is culpable and needs to be punished. I don't think either of us really needs to worry. The most likely culprits will be your two friends Boris and Clyde, and Madam Yasmin, of course."

"Madame Yasmin?"

"Yes. I think it was rash of her to leave you to those two, and she will have to explain that to the Inquest. But first, I need to ask you a very important question. During your captivity with Boris and Clyde, did you have an orgasm?"

Emma blushed. "Yes, Master," she agreed quietly.

"How many times?"

"I can't remember exactly, Master, but several – at least three."

"We need to be more precise. Let's go through your statement."

Slowly and methodically, Hans went through Emma's statement, asking searching questions. Eventually, Emma agreed that she had cum four times, and was on the brink of a fifth when Boris and Clyde had returned to prepare her for their friends. "How did these orgasms compare with any you have had before?" he probed.

"I don't understand it, Master, but two of them were the most intense I have ever experienced. At the time, I was in so much pain that the experience overwhelmed me and I almost fainted. I don't understand how pain and pleasure can be intertwined like that."

"Mmm. That's very interesting. It is something we will pursue in detail over the coming months, but it seems to me that you are especially suited to your new position. You are a very lucky girl!"

"Lucky, Master? I don't think so!"

"We'll see," he replied mysteriously.

Without further comment, Hans reached for the telephone on his desk, and dialled a number. After a few seconds, he spoke. Emma could hear only one side of the subsequent conversation.

"Good afternoon, Excellency; this is Hans. I have interviewed the slave Leila…

"Yes, indeed, as you suspected, Excellency…

"Four times for certain, Excellency, and almost a fifth…

"Very intense, Excellency. Two were the most intense ever, according to her…

"Yes, Excellency, very much. I believe she will be quite special…

"I hope so, Excellency. Goodbye, Excellency."

Hans replaced the receiver. "That was the Grand Inquisitor," he explained. "He was anxious to know, before the Inquest, if you had derived any pleasure from the experience. Now, here are copies of the other statements. Read through them carefully, and point out any items with which you would take issue."

For nearly three hours, Emma and Hans perused the various statements. Hans made copious notes. Emma was impressed at his quick mind, his decisive comments, and the speed with which he summed up a situation. At last, he pushed his chair back from the desk. "Good," he commented, "I think that's enough. You've worked hard, Little One. It's just half past four now. There's time for you to take a shower before we eat at five. Use the big bathroom, and take off your collar and cuffs first. I'll get someone to take these papers across to the Grand Inquisitor."

Emma showered, dried and wrapped a luxuriously soft full-length towel around her petite body. A voice called her from the kitchen, and she entered to find the table set out for a simple meal of steak, salad and fruit. "Just one glass of wine, Girl," announced Hans. "We will need clear heads for the Inquest. Perhaps we'll finish it later."

Music emanated from the CD player. Emma recognised the supremely beautiful tune soaring heavenwards, and sighed gratefully.




Abducted Ch. 08-09



Chapter 8: Testosterone

My nerves are still jangled. I feel my heart pumping, my teeth grinding, my muscles tensing. I'm still on edge, and it's already over! 
Mostly.

Elizabeth sits against the wall of the van, shivering under the blanket we bundled her in. She pulls herself into a near-fetal position, and ... then, she has the audacity to speak!

I shut her off with a swift, sharp backhand to her cheek. 

>>Thwaack!

Then, I give her another. >>Whaa-aak

I yank a length of rope off of the floor, practically out from under her. "Turn around! Lay your ass down on the floor! Face first! Do it, now!"

I fling her to the floor! Roughly I yank her hands behind her, and begin tying and knotting in a blur!

I know what it is. It's my testosterone rising. Fight or flight. Those bangers back there almost cost me a half-million dollars. She almost cost me a half-million dollars! "All you had to do was give us the damn password! You'd be home by now! ... god dammit, Chano, slow the fuck down! You want to get us killed now?"

I don't really give a damn about testosterone, and I don't give a shit about Elizabeth crying at the bottom of the van. I don't even care if we have an accident, and the whole thing ends right now! This was supposed to be an easy, non-violent, simple operation. I almost became a damn gang-land statistic ... because of her.

I Smaaa-ck!  her ass, through the blanket. Even then, I know it stings. I put my all behind another big Smaack!ack!

I throw my leg across her body and pull her arms back good and tight, while I finish binding her. I can feel her, racking with sobs, and still wriggling helplessly. 

Hell, I bet she can feel me, now, even through the blanket. I know, maybe, intellectually, that she had to take the chance. I don't even give a damn about that.

I'm still caught in the moment. I still feel the blood surging to my face. It's the testosterone, I know. A few moments ago, it was fight-or-flight, no way around it, and somehow, ... we got out of there having to do either. I was primed for it, and I didn't really release. 

It's all her fault.

I rip the blanket off of her, off of her sweet, teardrop ass barely clad in those tiny, damp blue panties, now, to begin tying her ankles. "This will make sure that you never run away from me, again!," I hiss. Winding the rope, watching her struggle weakly, and bounce those pretty panties around while we're being bounced around in the van.

"God-dang it, ain't we there, yet, Chano?!"

"Cerca, Patron ... cerca! Calmase, por favor!"

Well, it was kinda Chano's fault, too, but I don't care. I just got out of a dangerous situation, and now ... now, I want to hunt something, fuck something, or kill something. 

Not necessarily in that order.

I knot Elizabeth's ankles, and grab a final length of rope. "Open wide!" I barely wait for her to comply, before I force the rope between her teeth! No soft mouth-packing this time. I won't waste the effort! She gets just as cruel a rope-gag as I can think of, right now. I wind it ... around, and around, and around again, until I have at least 4 strands of brown rope between her teeth, pulled tight! I begin to tie the final knots.

I lay on her, grinding my fat cock against her bare thighs, now, not even bothering to do the 'gentlemanly' thing, and cover her back up. Because, as soon as I feel my dick against her bum, I'm horny as hell again!

I grasp a handful of her hair, and pull back. I hiss slowly, menacingly into her ear: "Do not ever ... I mean, ever, pull a stunt like that on me again! Do you hear me? Do you understand me!?

"You are never to run away from us, again, ... not for as long as you live!!"

********** 
Way off in the distance I hear a familiar voice telling my molesters to "back off ".
I feel myself being scooped up and slung over a large shoulder as a man's hand grabs my nylon-covered bottom to keep me balanced high off of the ground.

The familiar voice sends a very pleasant sensation through my body and I feel my nipples coming to attention despite the fact that I am barely conscious.
I am placed into a large van and pass out.





                                              Chapter 9 -- Reprieved?

I got her attention. I got her attention so much that she passed out.

I wanted to wake her up, so that I could hunt her, fuck her, and kill her, ... not necessarily in that order.

"Patron, por favor, ... calmase!"

It was obvious. I had become so obviously upset that Chano noticed. He was beginning to pay more attention to me than to the driving, which was not a good thing. 

Some part of my conscious brain did find a way to assert itself, and I took a deep breath. "I'm okay, compa," I assured him. Then, I sit back against the wall, so that he would really be assured. I relax only when he stops glancing into the mirror every other second.

We arrive back at the dockside warehouse, without incident. 

It's almost four o'clock. Time is getting short.

**********

I carry Elizabeth inside. Only then do I begin to calm down, and to think. Rather, I should say, my thinking begins to pursue a more normal, perverted path, for me.

I throw the limp beauty over my shoulder. I adjust her weight for balance. I lock her legs in one arm, using my free hand to hold her in place.

To hold her sweet, teardrop ass in place, that is. It isn't long before my hands began to roam along those tender, bare thighs.

Up, slowly, and down, ... and slowly back up, toward her soaked blue panties. Up, to where my fingers, eager probing fingers, can trace the edges of her panties, and thrust briefly between her upper thighs. 

I warm her ass beneath the palm of my hand. Alternately, I squeeze her cheeks, ... and, then give her a short, sharp slaaaaap on her ass! Then, I smooth my hand over her panties, and massage her as if I were rubbing in a creamy lotion on her creamy skin. 

I caress the back of her legs, down toward her bound knees ... just so that I can make my way back up her thighs, to her pretty little blue panties, again.

The sight of Harris working feverishly over his bank of computer monitors brings my mind back to business. Elizabeth is still worth at least six figures to me -- but, only if she talks!

I don't want to disturb Harris. "Chano, help me string her up, here." 

I cut the bonds around her wrists, and pull her arms apart. Chano attaches each wrist to a length of rope, and throws the loose ends up to the catwalk above. He goes up, and ties the loose ends to the railing, while I hold her up. 

"Pull it tighter, Chano. I want her on her tiptoes." I whisper to a now semi-conscious, near-naked hostage: "Perhaps you will respond to a more 'traditional' form of torture, my dear. Surely, it should not have come to this, but ... you leave me no choice."

Elizabeth moans.

When she is tied properly, with her arms bound together and stretched tight above her head, I fetch a bucket of nice, cold water. 

Elizabeth gets doused with a full dose!
**********************************************

A bucket of cold water hits the entire front side of my body as I am rudely brought back to reality.
I find myself strung up by my wrists to a rope holding me upright with my toes just barely touching the floor.
School, Mr. Brute, and Harry Potter are all staring at me with the same look that I remember when my dress was working its way up my thighs.
Both of my erect nipples have drops of water seductively hanging from them and my light blue panties have essentially become transparent as a result of my recent shower.
And to make matters worse, my entire body is vibrating in a most delectable manner as the feeling of being a deliciously ripe piece of fruit hanging in front of three starving men overtakes me.
I am again a captive and couldn't be more pleased.


I have never felt so exposed, vulnerable, or as sexy as I feel right now hanging almost naked in front of these three leering men.

School comes up behind me and slaps my wet bottom sending a fine spray of water into the air.
The vibrations inside of me intensify.

*********************************************



"MMM-kk-pfff-kkk-pffffff!"

"Welcome back, hon. Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted us," I hissed, "we want your passwords. Period. That's it. 

"We want them now."

Elizabeth shivers, visibly, at the dousing. Her little buds, which had been so hard because of her 'exciting' adventure before, were hardening now because of the cold. Or was it, because of the fear? 

For the first time, I see something in her eyes that I haven't seen before, that I have -- perhaps secretly -- wanted: Pure terror. It was no longer a game or a 'toy' to her. Now, she was truly afraid of me. 

Good.

She tries to spit, through the rope pulled so tightly between her teeth. All she manages is a sloppy drool. And, weakly, she shakes her head.

I check my watch.

"We've got exactly one hour fifty minutes before we leave here, sweetness. That means you've got exactly one hour and forty-nine minutes to tell us the passwords." 

I walk, menacingly, slowly, around her. Her eyes try to follow me, then she tries to twist in her ropes. But, she grimaces, groaning beneath her gag. With the ropes biting into her wrists, she is reminded of how tightly strung up she is.

Good!

I stop in front of her, and make sure her eyes are focused solely on me. I reach into my jacket pocket, and pull out two black leather gloves. I take my time pulling them on, one at a time. I flex my fingers. I ball my fists, until we can both hear my knuckles crack. I tighten my gloves, again, and crack my knuckles inches from her face.

Her eyes dart from me, to my balled fists, and back to me again.

I step forward, and reach for her pretty, gagged face. She flinches ... but I merely stroke her cheek. Gently. 

This time, she shudders at my touch.

"You have a very pretty, very delicate face, my dear. Anyone ever told you that? I bet you have a smile that would light up a room, don't you?"

Elizabeth swallows hard. A tear begins to roll down her cheek.

I withdraw my hand. I plant my feet, and roll my shoulders, ready to begin throwing my punches.

"Before we begin, Elizabeth, ... you get one last chance. And, before you shake your head, again, you need to take this into consideration: 

"By six o'clock, we -- me, Chano, and Harris -- we're all going to be out of here. Where you're going to be is going to be up to you. In two hours, do you want to be safe, at home? Or ... do you want to be left back in that alley -- all tied up, and gagged, and naked, after dark? It's your choice."

Elizabeth shakes her head, violently. She pleads with her eyes. She starts to rack with sobs, and she begins weeping openly. But, still, she doesn't say anything. 

Even through that gag, she should have said something.

I would have stopped. I would have listened to what she had to say. She could have made us rich. Maybe, she could have gotten herself released, relatively unharmed. 

As I reach back to deliver the first blow, I watch Elizabeth brace for it, as best she can. Swinging in the cold air of the warehouse. Twisting her ropes, trying to turn her body. 

I thought of how brave she was. Foolish, yes, ... but, brave, too.

"BOSS!"

"What, Harris?!"

"I have something I think you should see."

Harris whispers in my ear. I keep cold, hard, dangerous eyes, on Elizabeth.

Then, I follow Harris to his station, and his bank of computers. 

I'll always remember, it was 4:15 PM, when he told me.

I take a deep sigh when he finishes showing me what he has. "Go confirm it," I say. "Whisper it to her."

For the first time, Harris approaches her. He oh-so-shyly nears Elizabeth, who looks at him with curiosity, and swallows. Harris reaches for her, and she tries to pull away. He assures her that he won't hurt her, but then, ... slyly, I thought, and well played, ... he glances conspicuously over his shoulder, at me. 

I flex my hands, and crack my knuckles.

Elizabeth swallows again. 

Then, Harris whispers to her.

Her eyes widen. She seems to slump from her wrists, tied above her. 

We've got it. We know we've got it, now. 

We have her bank transfer authorization password.

*********



Abducted Ch. 08



"You like Mozart?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, Master – very much. That's the Clarinet Quintet, I think."

"Yes. He was born in my home town."

"Salzburg! I thought, Master, that you were Austrian, from your accent."

Emma felt hungry, and ate with enthusiasm. She sipped her red wine and felt an explosion of flavours in her mouth. Astonished, she couldn't help looking at her master. "Oh, Master," she exclaimed, "please may I speak?"

"Good Girl! Yes, you may."

"This wine tastes wonderful, Master."

"So it should, Girl. It's a Château Latour 1970, just about coming to its peak. I was lucky enough to be given ten cases as a present twenty-five years ago, and I've been nursing them carefully ever since."

Hans explained the procedures of the Inquest. There would be three Inquisitors, seated on a raised dais, with the Grand Inquisitor in the middle. They alone would ask questions. They would be addressed as 'Excellency'. Those being investigated had no right to be heard, unless invited to speak by the Inquisitors. Emma was not to be misled by their advanced years – their minds were still as alert as ever. The Grand Inquisitor was a most influential personage, great-uncle to His Highness, and full brother of His Highness' grandfather.

Hans drained his glass. "Time to get ready," he announced. "Where are your collar and cuffs?"

Emma went to fetch them, and Hans began putting them on Emma again. He spoke as his fingers manipulated the fastenings. "Apply a very little make-up, as discreet as possible, and the merest hint of perfume. You'll need traditional costume. The black set would be best – it's normal for formal occasions like an Inquest. Do you know how to put them on?"

"Yes, Master, I think I can remember."

"OK, off you go. And you'll be more comfortable with nothing on underneath. You are also allowed a small handbag, for handkerchief, makeup, etc. – but nothing ostentatious."

"Very good, Master."

Emma went to her corner of the 'playroom' and followed her instructions. She opened the wardrobe and managed to put on the abaya, khimar and niqab without difficulty. Returning to the main room, she found Hans had changed into a black linen suit, with pure white shirt and a black and white silk tie. He appraised Emma, and made a small adjustment to her niqab. "That's fine," he announced. "There are just two more things to add. We don't always bother with these, but for formal occasions they are obligatory for slaves. First, your shackles." He took from his pocket a length of thin gold chain about thirty centimetres long, and knelt to attach each end to her suede anklets. "Yes, it is solid gold," he responded to her unasked question. "It's really symbolic, and won't worry you too much, but it means you will have to take quite short steps."

He stood up and removed another chain from his pocket. "And this is your leash," he explained, holding up another gold chain, much thicker than the first, with a black suede handle at one end. He reached under Emma's khimar and fastened the leash to her collar. "Right," he announced, "we need to go. Walk closely behind me."



Abducted Ch. 09



Chapter 9 – The Inquest

On the way to the Inquest Chamber, Emma adjusted her step to accommodate the chain connecting her ankles. The chain tinkled musically on the floor as she walked. Hans held the handle to her leash loosely in his left hand, and she walked closely behind him, like a dog walking to heel.

They left the building through a pair of swing doors and walked into the late afternoon heat. Immediately, Emma felt beads of perspiration on her body.

"I know it's still unbearably hot out here," exclaimed Hans, "But the Inquest Chamber is only five minutes away."

As they hurried along, Emma took in the strange sights and the exotic perfume of unusual spices which permeated the air. She noticed three other women, encased like herself in shapeless robes, attached to men by metal leashes. None of the other leashes was gold, she noticed, and felt an unaccountable surge of pride. They too tinkled as they walked, obviously from chains attached to their ankles. Other women walked in pairs, or with men, but without leashes or chains, but they too were encased from head to toe in traditional black garb.

Finally, they reached the Inquest Chamber and were ushered towards the front, to a line of seats immediately in front of the raised dais, in the centre of which were three ornate armchairs – thrones, perhaps. Hans sat, and Emma made to sit next to him. "No!" he commanded. "You are a slave. You kneel at my feet!"

Emma complied. "Position One!" he hissed. "Look proud! And you can remove your niqab now!"

Emma untied her veil, folded it neatly and placed it in her handbag. Hans undid her leash, but the gold chain remained attached to her ankles. Emma remained on her knees, her eyes lowered, but surreptitiously glanced around the room. It was a large hall, with seating, she estimated, for about two hundred. The seats were filling rapidly. She noticed Boris and Clyde, in full dress uniform, sitting a few metres away. Further along were another eleven soldiers. 'Mmm,' she thought, 'they must be the men that Boris and Clyde sold me to!'

There was a sudden buzz in the gathering crowd. A lone woman, wearing the usual black costume, was ushered to a seat at the front of the hall. She removed her niqab, and Emma recognised Yasmin. She sat, bolt upright, shuffling some papers in her hands. As the clock on the wall moved towards six o'clock, a large man, with a full black beard, wearing full-length white robes and a white headdress entered from the back of the dais and sat at a small table off to the left side. He was accompanied by a tall woman in black abaya and khimar, whom Emma recognised as Amira. She sat next to the man and moved a few files around.

"That's the Clerk of the Chamber," whispered Hans, "with his assistant, whom I think you have met. He's wearing traditional robes; the body garment is called a jalabiyyah, and the head-dress is an aghal."

"I like the black cord which keeps it in place," said Emma. "It has great tassels."

"You'll see even better ones soon," smiled Hans.

Almost immediately, two other men appeared, dressed similarly to the Clerk. One sat on the extreme right of the dais, and the other just to the left side of the three thrones. "We must be about to start," Hans remarked. "Those are the translators."

"Translators, Master?" queried Emma.

"Yes. I forgot to say, but although everything in the Inquest is said in English, it all has to be translated into the Old Language. It's silly, really, as so few people now understand it, but it's traditional, and it's very hard to change tradition here. That's why the process takes so long. One of the translators – the one in the centre – speaks for the Inquisitors, and the other for the rest of us."

Suddenly, a trumpet sounded. The Clerk leapt to his feet, banged a hammer on his table, and shouted, "All stand!"

The trumpet sounded again, and three men appeared from the back of the chamber. All wore pure white jalabiyyahs, and bright scarlet aghals on their heads, but the most striking thing was that all three had a large mailed glove on their right arm, on which sat a hawk. The three men walked sedately to the centre of the dais, and stood still. One seemed to Emma to be well over seventy, and the others were certainly in their sixties. In spite of their advanced years, they stood straight and proud, haughty even, thought Emma. 

"The one in the centre is the Grand Inquisitor," whispered Hans. "He's carrying a Gyr Falcon. The other two have Peregrine Falcons, which are smaller. It's all very symbolic – something about falcons representing justice, and going straight at their goal, without swerving, without favour."

A soldier, carrying a large perch, approached the three Inquisitors. He took each falcon in turn, and transferred it to the perch, which he then sat at the back of the dais, as if to oversee the Inquest. The Inquisitors turned, and walked towards the thrones. Emma then noticed that the tassels on the ends of their headdresses were woven from solid gold. The Inquisitors turned, to face the chamber, and sat on their thrones. The Grand Inquisitor raised his right hand and announced in a stentorian tone, "Let the Inquest commence!"

Immediately, the translator to his right repeated his words, in a tongue which Emma found quite indecipherable. The assembled company sat back on their seats; Emma resumed her place on her knees, next to Hans.

"We have received written statements from all parties," started the Grand Inquisitor. At once, the translator repeated his words. 

"All that remains is to ask a few questions. Let me remind all that to lie to this Inquest is perjury, and the penalty is severe." Again, the translator spoke.

For over two hours, the Inquisitors interrogated Yasmin, Boris and Clyde, about what had happened, and their motives. Every question, and every reply, was translated into the Old Language.

"It's going well," whispered Hans. "They are asking all the right questions."

Finally, the Grand Inquisitor turned and looked towards Emma.

"You are the slave Leila?"

"Yes, Excellency," started Emma, but was drowned by the translator.

"Stand up, Girl!" hissed Hans, quietly, "and wait for the translator to finish before you speak!"

Emma rose to her feet. "Yes, Excellency," she repeated. "I am Leila."

Her words were repeated by the translator at the side of the dais.

"What were your feelings towards your captors, the Guards Boris and Clyde?"

Emma was grateful that the translator gave her time to think. Finally, she spoke. "I think they were confused, Excellency," she finally said.

Her translator spoke, and then the Grand Inquisitor replied. "Confused, Slave? How so?"

Emma now decided that she liked the translation pause. Again, she had time to think! She began to regain the self-assurance for which she had been well-known in her job in Edinburgh. "Yes, Excellency. They were like two children with a new toy. At first, they were excited, but soon became bored."

Emma paused dramatically, and waited for the translator to finish. She watched the slightly puzzled expression on the faces of the Inquisitors. The translator finished. Emma's confidence increased. Her attendances at her student drama classes began to seem important. Pauses were so vital! She could use the translators to her advantage!

"Oh yes, Excellencies," she continued, and then stopped, peering in the direction of the translator, obviously waiting for him to speak. He spoke, briefly, and Emma continued. "It was as if they had lost the instructions."

Once again, she paused, waiting for the translation. The translator was non-plussed. Normally, witnesses spoke for longer, which gave him time to formulate his words. Translating small phrases was difficult! Finally, he spoke, and Emma went on. "I don't think they really knew what was expected of them, or what to do with me."

The Second Inquisitor spoke. "So you think you were tortured and raped out of boredom and confusion?"

"Yes, Excellency. I don't think they are evil men; they were carrying out what they thought was their duty."

"Very interesting," interjected the Grand Inquisitor. "I understand you derived some pleasure from your experience. Is this true?"

Emma blushed. "Yes, Excellency." She paused, waiting for the translator, and then continued. "I had several orgasms – some very intense." A buzz of amazement went around the Chamber. One or two men chuckled.

"Silence!" called the Grand Inquisitor. "I will have no laughter at my Inquest."

He studied his notes. "I have written here, 'The most intense ever'. Is this true?"

"Yes, Excellency," she nodded, "the most intense I ever had."

"You may stand down now, for the moment."

Emma resumed her position, kneeling at Hans' feet. The three Inquisitors whispered amongst themselves for a few minutes. Emma strained to hear what they were saying, but could hear only a few words – 'photos' – 'level three' – 'three days'. Finally, the Grand Inquisitor spoke again. "Slave!"

Emma rose to her feet. "Yes, Excellency?"

"We have seen photos of your injuries, taken within a few hours of the event, but we need to establish that the marks are still in evidence, and that the punishment you received was definitely in excess of Level 3. Take off your costume!"

Horrified, Emma whispered to Hans, as the translator repeated the Grand Inquisitor's words. "Must I, Master? In front of all these people?"

"Yes, you must!" he hissed. "And stand as I taught you – Position Three. Be proud of your body! Make me proud of you."

"Quickly!" interjected the Grand Inquisitor. "I am not used to being kept waiting!"

Emma hurriedly complied, first removing her khimar, and then the long abaya, which she dropped at her feet. A low gasp of approval was heard from the Chamber as her petite frame was revealed. She clasped her hands behind her back, thrusting her breasts out, and stood with her feet apart and her head held high. She heard a whispered, "Good Girl!" from her master.

"Come closer!"

Emma obeyed, and walked a few steps towards the Inquisitors. Her gold chain rustled on the floor as she moved. When she was about three metres from the seated Inquisitors, one raised his hand, signalling her to stop. She stood in front of them, her legs parted, careful not to look into their eyes, but holding her head high.

The three men studied her. Finally, the Grand Inquisitor rose and walked towards her. His colleagues followed. "See," he began, "there are still pronounced marks on her breasts and stomach."

"And here on her back," announced another.

"Master Hans," said the Grand Inquisitor, "have you had occasion to punish this slave since she arrived with you?"

"Not physically, Excellency. I have been careful not to harm her before the Inquest."

"Good." His hand moved between her parted thighs. "See, there are more marks here."

Emma watched his hand approach her soft thighs, and felt the first signs of arousal. As the Grand Inquisitor's wizened fingers traced the residual marks of her injuries, and moved closer to her pussy, she felt her juices begin to flow. One of the other Inquisitors ran his finger across the marks on her buttocks, and she smelt the unmistakeable odour of her excitement.

The Grand Inquisitor smelt it too. "Outrageous!" he bellowed. His finger felt her pussy, and insinuated itself in her moistening cunt. "Look," he shouted, withdrawing his finger and holding it up, "this bitch is in heat! Do you think my Inquest is a proper place to have an orgasm, Slave? How dare you!"

"I… I… I'm s… s… sorry, Excellency. I c… c… couldn't help it," stammered Emma.

"Master Hans, you will have to punish this slave severely, and teach her proper manners and decorum!"

"Yes, Excellency!" replied Hans, "but please remember, Excellency, that she is very new. I have only had a few hours with her. She has much to learn."

"Well, she must learn quickly how to behave in public. Get dressed now, Slave, and try to contain your sexual urges."

"Yes, Excellency," whispered Emma, her face flushed with embarrassment, gratefully retrieving her abaya and pulling it over her head. She knelt by Hans and put on her khimar. 

The three Inquisitors resumed their seats and again talked quietly amongst themselves. After a few minutes, the Grand Inquisitor announced, "The hour approaches nine. We will now retire to consider. The Inquest will resume at ten."

The translator repeated his words, and then the Clerk shouted, "All stand!"

The audience got to their feet, and a trumpet sounded. The Inquisitors stood and walked slowly towards the back of the dais, followed by a soldier carrying the three hawks. 

"Put on your niqab," said Hans, reaching under Emma's khimar to re-attach her leash. "Let's go for a walk."

They stepped out of the Inquest Chamber into the dark night. The temperature had dropped considerably, to a much more pleasant 25°C. The streets were much busier than at any time during the day, and the volume of noise much higher, especially from an area off to the right where Emma saw what appeared to be a line of market stalls.

As they headed towards the stalls, Emma heard the mournful sound of a reed pipe, accompanied by some sort of stringed instrument. The music came to a halt, and the crowd burst into appreciative applause. After a few moments, a different tune started. The first stall groaned under the weight of a mass of fresh vegetables and fruit. The second was a butcher, and the third a fishmonger. The fourth displayed a stunning array of breads, cakes and sweetmeats, and the fifth a profusion of spices. Emma breathed in deeply, savouring the heady aroma. Hans explained that most trading took place after dark, when the temperature had cooled a little.

"Please, Master," began Emma, "may I ask a question?"

"Yes, Girl."

"In the Inquest, Master, there was much talk of 'Punishment Level'. I didn't understand. Can you please explain to me?"

"Well, all members of His Highness' court have a Punishment Level assigned to them. That represents the severity of the physical punishment that can be given them by those in authority over them. Your level is three, which I the normal, and that means that I, or anyone else in authority over you, can punish you to the extent that any marks disappear within three days. It is three days since Boris and Clyde punished you, and the marks are still visible; therefore, by definition, your punishment was excessive."

"I see, Master. Can the level be changed?"

"Oh, yes. For example, this Inquest has the authority to mete out punishment, and change punishment levels if the Inquisitors deem fit. The levels go from zero to twelve. Zero is usually for babies and very young children, and means no physical punishment at all. At level one, marks must vanish within two hours – the equivalent of a light smack. Level two means one day, and level three is three days, as I said. Level four means seven days, and level five is twenty-eight, but the skin must not be broken. Six is getting serious, and blood can be shed, by lashing for example, but no bones broken. Seven allows for broken bones, and by eight we are getting really serious, and into the realms of judicial amputation."

Emma shuddered, not sure if she wanted to hear more.

Hans continued. "Eight allows the amputation of a digit, finger or toe, or an ear. Nine allows for a hand, a foot, or a tongue, and ten for castration. Eleven allows for the severance of a limb, an arm or a leg, and twelve for the amputation of the head. Twelve is usually fatal," he added unnecessarily. "Judicial amputations are carried out in public, and without anaesthetic. We don't have them very often, but they are extremely popular."

Emma shuddered again. "It sounds a bit barbaric, Master."

"Yes," he replied, after a pause. "If you come from Western Europe at the end of the twentieth century, I suppose it does seem barbaric. But when you've been here as long as I, it seems quite normal."

"How long is that, Master?"

He thought for a few seconds. "Nearly thirty years. I joined the Army as a mercenary – I wasn't too popular at home in Austria. Perhaps I'll tell you about it some time – it would be good for your appreciation of history – but I think we'd better get back to the Chamber. Their Excellencies will not take it well if we are late."

On the way back, Hans pointed out the official palace buildings, the domestic quarters of His Highness. They also passed the pipeline, bringing water from the desalination plant some sixty kilometres away. As they entered the Chamber, the buzz of conversation suddenly diminished, as people turned to stare at Hans and his companion.

"I think you've made quite an impact," he said with a smile. "It's a long time since there's been a strip-tease at an official Inquest."

"It wasn't my idea, Master," replied Emma huffily. "I didn't exactly enjoy it!"

"No, but you carried it off very well. I was proud of you."

"Thank you, Master."

They resumed their seats, Emma kneeling at her Master's feet, and gradually the Chamber filled. Emma removed her niqab and Hans undid the chain from her collar. Emma became aware that more people were trying to crowd in than before the adjournment. Scuffles occurred in all areas as people vied for vantage points. Court officials and palace guards were in evidence, sorting out the problems. Eventually, peace was restored, and an expectant hush fell over the Chamber.

At last, the trumpet sounded. The Clerk, banged his hammer, and shouted, "All stand!" The trumpet sounded again, and the three Inquisitors re-appeared, preceded by their hawks. They resumed their seats, and the audience sat in silence.

"We have reached our conclusions," announced the Grand Inquisitor. The translator spoke.

"First, the eleven soldiers." The Clerk began reading out names, and each soldier in turn stood to attention. When they were all standing, the Grand Inquisitor continued, "You each paid twenty-five dollars for the services of the Slave. You no doubt assumed that Guards Boris and Clyde had the right to sell her services, but you did not check the truth of that assumption. To that extent, you are all culpable. The twenty-five dollars you paid is forfeit. Those of you who had sex with the Slave probably feel they have had their money's worth. Those who did not have sex may feel cheated. If so, you should address yourselves to Guards Boris and Clyde. You are free to go."

The soldiers regained their seats, most of them wearing a relieved expression.

"Master Hans!" called the Grand Inquisitor. Hans got to his feet. "You have behaved properly and correctly in all matters, first in stopping the gang rape of the Slave, and secondly in referring this case to the Inquest. You are free to go." Hans nodded at the Grand Inquisitor, and sat down.

"Slave Leila!" Emma got to her feet, and stood proudly. The Grand Inquisitor inspected his notes, then looked up and studied her reaction while he spoke. "First, we have the matter of your attempted escape. Some may regard this as a serious matter, particularly since you armed yourself secretly, and threatened a member of His Highness' Guard. We take the view, however, that since you were abducted, and not sold into slavery, you can justifiably be considered to have the right to attempt an escape. For the misdemeanour of threatening a Guard you have already been punished severely. We decide, therefore, that no further punishment is required. We believe, however, that you may prove difficult, and to enable your Master to control you adequately, your Punishment Level is increased to Four for the next month, until the twenty-fourth of June."

Emma heaved a quiet sigh of relief; she had feared worse. The Grand Inquisitor's expression grew sterner. He spoke again, after the Translator had finished. "Secondly, we have the question of your behaviour in this Chamber, and your apparent belief that this is a suitable place to exhibit sexual arousal. This is a very serious matter, but we make allowances for the fact that you are new to this environment, and will rely on your new Master to see that you are punished, and trained for the future. In order that he may punish you sufficiently, your Punishment Level is temporarily increased to Five, for the next twelve hours."




Abducted Ch. 09



Emma gasped. She tried to remember. Five? Didn't that mean the marks would last for a month? That had to hurt. She looked at Hans, silently appealing. He smiled at her and motioned for her to resume her kneeling position next to him. Relieved, she nodded at the Inquisitors, and knelt. Her Master was not going to take advantage of her increased Punishment Level.

Hans was worried. He could conceive of no circumstance with a new and inexperienced trainee slave in which he would need a Punishment Level as high as Five. Why had the Grand Inquisitor considered this necessary? The old man was well-known as a Sadist, and allegedly had a particular liking for petite blondes. Was he plotting something? He tried to hide his concern from his slave, and stroked her head.

"Madam Yasmin!" called the Grand Inquisitor. Yasmin stood, her head erect, looking proud. 

"You have exceeded your authority," he began, angrily. "You had no authority to give this Slave to Guards Boris and Clyde for punishment. You knew that the Guards had not been properly trained in punishment procedures, and we hold you responsible for the fact that the Slave was excessively punished. We believe your actions were influenced by your sexual desire for one of the Guards."

Yasmin's head dropped; a worried frown crossed her face. The words she dreaded were pronounced. "TAKE HER AWAY AND PREPARE HER FOR SENTENCE!"

Two armed officials appeared from the back of the Chamber. Each took hold of one of Yasmin's arms, and escorted her out of sight. She made no attempt to struggle.

The Grand Inquisitor's voice boomed again. "Guard Boris and Guard Clyde!" he pronounced. The two Guards rose and stood to attention. "First there is the question of the excessive punishment administered by you to this Slave, which is proved by the marks still being noticeable on her body. You have been in trouble before, and initially we thought that an amputation, or even castration, would be appropriate. We were influenced, however, by the remarks made by the Slave herself, and agree to a more lenient punishment. Since you are copains, it is not necessary to try to decide which of you is more culpable; you will both have the same sentence. You will be dismissed from the Palace Guard forthwith, and returned to service with the Desert Infantry. In addition, for a period of three months, your Punishment Levels are increased to Four!"

The two Guards shuffled uneasily, looking slightly relieved.

"Secondly, however," continued the Grand Inquisitor, "there is the much more serious offence of selling this Slave's body to your companions. You had no authority for this, and the motive was purely personal greed. This demands severe punishment. TAKE THEM AWAY AND PREPARE THEM FOR SENTENCE!"

Four more armed officials appeared, as if fore-warned, took the arms of Boris and Clyde, and led them away. A buzz of conversation ran around the Chamber. "This will take about five minutes," whispered Hans. "They will soon be brought back."

"What is happening, Master?" asked Emma. "How are they prepared?"

"You forget yourself, Girl," he replied, with a stern expression. "You don't ask questions without permission. You will soon see."

A few minutes later, a noise was heard at the back of the Chamber. Emma turned, to see a naked woman being drawn in by an official, pulling on a noose around her neck. The woman walked awkwardly with bent knees, her long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Emma recognised Yasmin, and gasped in surprise. She looked more closely. To Yasmin's ankles was attached a heavy chain, about fifty centimetres long. This necessitated small steps, and the chain clanked on the floor as she moved. She moved awkwardly, obviously in pain and discomfort. As Yasmin approached the front of the Chamber, Emma saw that her wrists were tightly bound behind her back, as were her elbows, pulled so close together that they almost touched. Then she realised why Yasmin's knees were bent. Each of Yasmin's nipples was pierced and bore a small gold ring. A fine cord ran from each nipple ring to her ankle, the short length of the cord requiring her to bend her knees to avoid pulling excessively on her breasts. At last, the official leading Yasmin came to a halt, and she sank to her knees in front of the Inquisitors, leaning forward to relieve the tension on her nipples. From her position behind Yasmin, Emma admired the older woman's slim body, as she tried to comport herself with as much dignity as possible. Yasmin's long ponytail fell awkwardly across her face; haughtily, she shook her head to make it lie down her back.

Hans whispered. "It's all very traditional, and symbolic, of course. Mere men and women are naked, in pain and in fear, in front of the Majesty of the Law. Only the Law can release them from their plight, and through punishment they may find redemption. Something like that, anyway!"

"Oh!" said Emma. "I see."

She turned in response to further noise from the back of the Chamber. Boris and Clyde were being led into the Chamber. Like Yasmin, both were naked, their hands and elbows were tied behind their backs, and their knees were bent uncomfortably. The officials pulled on the ropes around their necks, trying to speed up their progress, and chains between their ankles clanked as they moved. Emma craned her neck, and finally saw that each man was forced into the uncomfortable semi-kneeling position because a cord was tied tightly around his genitals, with the ends attached to his ankles. Finally, they reached the front of the Chamber, and the two men sank to their knees next to Yasmin.

The Grand Inquisitor studied the three prisoners for what seemed to them an age. Eventually he spoke. "Madam Yasmin! You are in need of a lesson in humility. You will be taken from here, and to-morrow, from eight o'clock in the morning, you will be successively displayed in the five corners."

There were a few gasps from the audience, followed by a ripple of applause. Emma had no idea what the sentence meant, but it seemed to meet the approval of the people.

The Grand Inquisitor continued. "Following that, you will be sold to the highest bidder for twelve hours. The bidding will cease at eight o'clock in the morning on the day after to-morrow, and the successful bidder will decide on the twelve hours, so long as they are taken up within one week of the end of the auction. One half of the amount raised will be given to the Chief Executioner towards his costs; the other half will be credited to the Slave Leila. May you learn from the leniency of this judgement!"


Another ripple of applause greeted the second half of the sentence, and there were a few murmurs of approval. Yasmin's head bowed, and her shoulders drooped.

The Grand Inquisitor turned towards the two naked men. "Soldiers Boris and Clyde!" he began. "You subjected this Slave to unwarranted pain and shame! You will suffer accordingly! To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, you will be taken to the Execution Ground. There you will first be ritually Sodomised!"

There were several loud cheers from the audience, and cries of, "Yes!" 

'Obviously this is popular with the people,' thought Emma.

"Silence!" called the Grand Inquisitor. "Following that ritual humiliation, you will each receive thirty-six strokes of the lash, to be administered by His Highness' Executioners on your naked bodies. Your Punishment Levels are increased to Six, for the next twenty-four hours. Following the flogging, your bleeding bodies will be left on display for six hours."

The Grand Inquisitor paused for effect, turned over his paper, and continued, "Furthermore, the total of two hundred and seventy-five dollars you extracted from your eleven comrades is forfeited and will be credited to the Chief Executioner towards his costs. Two hundred and seventy-five dollars equates to approximately 2373 karhuts. This is rounded up to 2500 karhuts and you are each fined this amount, the total sum of 5000 karhuts to be credited to the Slave Leila. May you learn from the leniency of this judgement! Remove the prisoners!"

Three officials moved forwards to grasp the ends of the halters around the three prisoners' necks, and urged them to move as quickly as possible towards a door at the back. The abject figures hobbled painfully, their knees bent uncomfortably. The Grand Inquisitor announced, "This Inquest is ended. May all learn from the leniency of our judgements!"

The Clerk called, "All stand!" and the audience complied. The Inquisitors processed out of the Chamber, preceded by their hawks, and the audience began filing out, chatting animatedly.

"They seem to approve of the sentences," remarked Hans as he and Emma made for the door. He re-attached the leash to her collar, and instructed her to replace her niqab. 

"May I ask, Master?" began Emma, "I don't understand all the sentences?"

Hans thought momentarily. "It will be easier to wait until to-morrow; you will then see for yourself, and I will answer your questions. It will be confusing if I try to explain now. But a karhut is the local unit of currency. Most business is carried out in US Dollars, but fines are pronounced in the traditional money. There are 60 sheks in a karhut, and the current rate of exchange is about 8.63 karhuts to one dollar."

Suddenly, an official appeared at Hans' side and passed him a sealed envelope. Hans opened it and read silently.

'The Grand Inquisitor presents his compliments to Master Hans. Be advised that the Grand Inquisitor will attend Master Hans' apartment at midnight to-night, to assure himself that the Slave Leila has been properly punished.'

Hans frowned, his lips pursed. He looked at his watch, and saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock. "Come," he announced quickly, "we need to hurry!" He pulled on Emma's leash and she almost stumbled, forgetting momentarily about the chain attached to her ankles. 

As they hurried back to Hans' rooms, she enquired breathlessly, "Please, Master, may I ask if there is a problem?"

"Yes," he replied crossly, "I'll explain when we get back."