2 comments/ 62928 views/ 2 favorites Produce By: jthserra   Produce It wasn't much of a job, but I was proud of it and when I was surprisingly promoted to Assistant Manager of Produce, I took it seriously. In a few short years I had progressed from basically a broom pusher, to stock boy, to backup cashier and now, Assistant Manager of Produce. Sure, I had seen others vault from summer stocking jobs to store manager as they graduated college, but no one had risen like I had without a college degree or a father in the business. So, yes, I took my job seriously, and in spite of some of my coworker's advice to "Lighten up," I approached produce like it was a valuable as fine diamonds or gold. I meticulously arranged the tomatoes, culling out the bruised ones, moving the ones that needed a touch more ripening to the back and keeping only the finest of the bunch in easy reach of the customer. Lettuce became an art, as every few hours I rotated the heads slightly, removing any off color leaves. At the end of each day, I personally fine misted the apples and other fruit, assuring myself the next day would be as fruitful as today. Perhaps I was my finest with the customers though, taking time out of my busy arranging and culling schedule to discuss the best way to determine the freshness and soundness of an incredible variety of produce with wary customers. I taught many how to lightly caress a tomato, so they could insure it was ripe without damaging the delicate flesh. The proper melon thumping technique fascinated numerous shoppers as did the finger roll of the cucumber. In fact, I believe I was at my finest as I tenderly manipulated a ripe cucumber through my fingers, feeling the soft, but definite firmness that attested to the perfect ripeness. It was during one such demonstration with a cucumber that I was rudely elbowed aside by a man, who grabbed several lengths, stroked them with his fingers (obviously mimicking me) and then carted away. Recovering from the sudden shock, I was able to compose myself and complete my explanation to the small group of people who had gathered. Handing the perfectly ripe cucumber to one of the spectators I returned to my hourly check of the counters and then went off in search of the rude shopper. He had already left the store, but he had burnt an image in my mind, so when he returned to my produce area several days later, I watched his every step and more importantly his every exploration into the produce. It was odd watching him as he carelessly grabbed the lettuce and melons and tossed them into his cart with a pathetic disinterest, but when he picked the bananas he carefully stroked the curved length, at one point lifting one to his face and running along the light stubble of his beard. Later, as he looked at some grapes, I noticed his long fingers cupping around just two grapes and rolling them in a manner that sent a tingle through my crotch. Although I was mad at his abuse of the fruit and vegetables, I found myself oddly drawn to this thin man. He seemed to saunter with an arrogance through produce, as if the fine products were simply his to play with. What finally sent me over the edge was his supercilious return to the cucumbers. I glared from across the room, as he lifted one after another member and circled his fist around the girth and moved his hand up and down the length. Watching him now, I realized he had not mocked me several days earlier, he just did this every visit, casually abusing the magnificently shaped cukes. After he finally chose two rather thin cucumbers, he put them in a small cellophane bag and placed them in his cart. Enraged at his brusque approach to my produce, I decided to face him down and teach him a lesson about fine fruit and vegetables. Unfortunately as I moved toward him, another customer cornered me with a question and by the time I quickly answered her, he had disappeared down the cereal aisle. I hurried in pursuit, but just as I spotted his tight ass moving down the aisle, he swirled off down the snack aisle and when I saw the light toss of his nicely groomed hair he moved over to the dairy section. Finally near the pharmacy, I noticed an abandoned cart, which, from the ravaged look of the fruit and vegetables inside, I recognized as his. Looking just past the cart, I realized he went into the restroom so I stepped down the short hallway and into the men's room. Listening to the door squeak closed, I looked around. The urinals were empty, but I saw a shadow in one of the open stalls so I walked over. His back was turned and his pants were at his ankles, so what I saw first was the fine dimples in a picture-perfect ass. "Step inside and lock the door," he said, his back still turned to me. I followed instructions and then moved closer to him, reaching my hand around him and clasping his already firm cock. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers over the gentle curve of him, caressing his soft skin like a cucumber. Leaning forward and resting his hands on the wall above the toilet, he pushed his ass back until it rubbed against me, against my hard cock. I continued running my fingers over the length of him as he wriggled his ass against me. I longed to turn him and take him in my mouth, but he seemed to be enjoying my finger technique on him too much. "Oh yeah, don't stop," he whispered in a breathless gasp. "You like this?" I growled, remembering his abuse of the cucumbers. I pressed my cock hard against his ass while my finger slid over the thick head of his cock and then firmly pattered down his shaft. I moved my other hand down to his balls and gently checked the ripeness of his grapes, actually thinking to myself they seemed more the size of lemons. He moaned and I felt him begin to stiffen. Knowing he was about to come, I continued my cucumber technique on him, teasing him, driving him wild. Feeling his ass against me, had me feeling pretty good when suddenly I heard the squeak of the door into the restroom. I immediately removed my hand, stood up and then slipped out of the stall, closing the door behind me. Leaving him hanging on the edge in the stall, I nodded to the other man at the urinal, walked to the sink, washed my hands and stepped through the door. Walking back to produce I smiled, thinking I had taught my rude and now very frustrated customer a valuable lesson about disturbing my produce.   Produce Urges The Woman checked her hair in the mirror before she shooed the kids out the door. She dropped them off at the sitters and off she went to the grocery store for the week's supplies. It was an ordinary start to an ordinary day. The Woman had on a pair of new jeans and they fit tight. Her ass was plump and filled them out with little room to spare. The crotch seam was thick and the way she sitting in her car, the seam was rubbing just right on her clit, making The Woman feel The Urge. The Urge would creep up on The Woman any time, there was no advanced notice! The Woman tried to ignore it and walked into the grocery store and picked a cart. She leaned on it slightly with her elbows which the way her back bended helped pull her pants to keep rubbing her in just the right spot. She knew she wouldn't be able to ignore The Urge for long, there was no escaping it until she has The Release. The Woman started to get a little shaky in the knees so she stood up straight and just by chance she was stopped near the zucchinis. She examined a long, thick, heavy zucchini. She imagined it in her ass. She felt her panties were wet now. Then she walked down the aisle browsing the fruits and vegetables. She picked up a bunch of bananas and thought, "Would it be horrible to feed my kids bananas that were once in my ass?" The Woman giggled. A young man working at the store looked up and The Woman realized that she had actually giggled out loud. She placed the bananas in the cart and winked at the stock boy. The Urge was taking over. The Woman knew she wouldn't make it out of the store. "But I'm in public!", she thought. Then she imagined the stock boy sticking his fingers up inside her while she shoved a zucchini in her ass. While she was passionately faithful to her husband, The Woman did enjoy a good fantasy. The Woman walked behind a display and slipped her hands into her tight pants. "Damn it, this won't work!" The Woman's pants were too tight; she couldn't get her hand in enough to stroke her pussy. The store's bathroom was nearby; maybe she could go in and sneak one off. So the woman parked her cart near the door. As she walked back she noticed that the stock room was pretty empty and there was a little cove made out of boxes. The Woman snuck through the doors and ducked behind the stacks of boxes. She sat on top a box and unbuttoned her tight jeans. She pulled them down to her ankles and with her undies at her knees she thrust two fingers into her hot wet pussy. She worked her fingers and started to moan. She realized she had kept the zucchini in her other hand this whole time. Her excitement of this public release was almost too much. She took the wetness from her fuck hand and rubbed it onto the zucchini. Then she pushed the wide tip into herself. "OH GOD!" She yelped. "Yes!" Then The Woman slipped a finger from her other hand into her ass. She imagined the stock boy fucking her and then she imagined her husband walking in. Instead of being angry he just fucked her in the ass as "punishment". The Woman moaned. She pushed the zucchini in deep until it hurt. She felt her pussy stretch to take it all. She took it out and shoved it in her ass. She shoved her fist into her own pussy. The she cried out. "OH God YES!" The Release. She came and her legs shook. She looked around and noticed in the corner there was a camera. "FUCK! Shit. No, no, no!" The Woman said and scrambled up and rapidly pulled her pants up. The Woman ran out to her cart. She realized she left the zucchini behind in the wet spot she left on the box. "Oops. That'll be a nice puzzling surprise for my stock boy!" The Woman giggled to herself. Later that night when all the excitement faded and the kids were in bed, The Woman's phone rang. It was her husband. He said he heard she had been a very naughty girl today. "What!? Ummm, what do you mean?" The Woman panicked. The Man replied, "I guess you forgot I'm friends with the manager at the grocery store. He said he was watching the surveillance and saw a woman fuck herself raw with some produce in the stock room. He said he also captured a nice still of her looking into the camera when she realized it was there, all while her pants were at her ankles." The Woman was silent. She was excited! This whole idea of being caught really turned her on. The Man said, "Now don't worry, I'm not mad. Just don't get too used to the Green Man, I'll be home tomorrow and maybe we three can try something new." The Woman laughed and said, "Only if I don't wear myself out tonight." "Oh, yeah? And why would that be, hmm?" The Man teased. "Mr. Yellow is here and he brought a bunch of friends." Replied the woman with a giggle. Producer & Director Author's Note: Considerably longer and somewhat softer than typical for this site. Hopefully worth the time for those interested in character development in a plausible reality. Chapters do not stand alone and should be read in sequence. Chapter 1 At my age it's more difficult than it used to be to enjoy the charms of younger women. That's OK, though. With lots of free time and a little money I've found a way to stay interested in sex and satisfied with life. I like to envision myself as the sponsor, producer and director of shows, and, unlike most, I act out my vision. My productions are actually staged – for an audience of one: me. It may not be Broadway, but watching and controlling get me off better than the half-hearted efforts of young but used-up women of the night. Because the net gives me a certain anonymity and I'm vain enough to want to show off, I'm going to give you an example of one of my presentations. Even though it may seem like fun, I don't suggest you try to copy me. A lot of time, money, and effort are needed and the penalty for bad reviews could be jail. Kidnapping is a serious offense. I'm good at it only because, like I said, I have enough time and a little money. Being well educated and possessing at least a few moral scruples, I'm also very careful to make sure no one really gets hurt in the end. After persistent searching, I found the boarded-up 10-unit, 1950s vintage motel sitting by itself behind a dense grove of trees on a deserted stretch of the 'old road'. Abandoned for several years because the area had been bypassed by the interstate, it was five miles from the nearest civilization. Civilization in this case was just a truck stop on the new highway consisting of a gas station, convenience store and a couple of fast food restaurants. The fact that the motel was about equidistant from the region's two major cities made it ideal for my purposes. Not wanting to chase me away by questioning why in the world I wanted it, the owner happily sold the building and half acre of land to me for next to nothing. I'm handy with tools and enjoyed doing the modifications myself. It took me about six months, but the only really expensive materials were the two-way mirrors and the video systems. The results were great, if I do say so myself. It's too bad it's not safe to use a place like that more than once. While I was working on my motel, I spent one or two days a week scouting the nicer parts of the two cities for my guests. In doing this I was exceedingly cautious. I never drove the same rental car twice and always changed my appearance with makeup, fake facial hair, wigs, and sometimes even a corset to make me look somewhat thinner. It took a lot of legwork, but by the time I was finished with the building I had picked out both of my prospective tenants and had discovered everything it was possible to find out about them and their families. To do this I used public and credit records, the Internet, and even school records (I won't tell you how I got access to these, but its fairly easy if you know how – ditto for health records). Their friends at work and school also revealed lots of information to me (there are ways to get people to share things without arousing suspicion if you are patient and seem very ordinary). I was able to observe them closely in their daily routines and even briefly spoke to their parents. I was just one more anonymous participant in day-to-day suburban activities. It's a rush when you realize you know so much about people without them having a clue to your existence. The two of them lived in different cities, each about 50 miles from my motel. They were in the last year of high school and of course didn't know one another (a requirement for my plans). Both were members of relatively affluent, two-parent families. The parents were well known in their communities, but not really movers and shakers. These were families that would be able and more than willing to pay for the safe return of their children and I would need the money for future projects. The kids (I call them that even though both of them were somewhat older than their classmates, having recently turned 18) were intelligent, attractive and outgoing. Based on what I discovered I was as sure as I could be that neither of them had yet experienced sex (it's amazing what you can find out by quietly keeping a keen ear open at school, soccer games and church picnics). Despite what you may read in the papers and see on TV, there really are kids of their age who for whatever reason don't sleep around. Maybe it's religion, maybe they are 'late bloomers', or maybe they are just 'saving it for marriage'. Who knows? The part of the country in which they lived probably played a role. This was not east or west coast urban America. Even so, in my search I had to reject many other possible candidates just because they were already sexually active. After finishing my plans and stocking up on needed supplies, I finally was ready. The girl had to be first because my study of psychology indicated that what I was planning would take longer with her. It was time to begin. **** Cindy walked slowly up the curving hillside street that led to her house, the last one on the cul-de-sac. It was Thursday and she was in no particular hurry to get home from school. She knew her mom was getting her nails done and wouldn't be home until after 4:30. Her brother had football practice at school and her dad worked until 5:00. No other kids her age lived on her street, and Cindy paid little attention to what was going on around her. All of the houses were set back, totally screened from the street by trees and bushes planted just for that purpose. It almost felt like living in the country. The ambiance was great, but Cindy would have been willing to live in a more crowded area if it would have meant she could have some friends closer by. The good thing about Thursday afternoons was that Cindy could spend at least a whole hour on the phone without her mom getting on her case. This thought made her walk a bit faster. She wanted to talk to Stephanie about the rumor that Phil liked Susie and was going to ask her to go to the dance with him. Cindy glanced up and saw that the city utility repairman was there again. This was the second day that the large yellow van was parked along the sidewalk, flanked by large red-orange traffic cones. The man with the hardhat, dark glasses, and orange jumpsuit was there again, doing something with his tools and equipment in the open side door of the van. As she passed she had to slow down to step over some wires on the sidewalk. Suddenly, she felt herself grabbed from behind by powerful arms. Shocked, Cindy tried to suck in a large breath to scream, but something was covering her face. Her nose and throat filled with a strong, biting odor that made her want to cough and gag. She was able to resist only briefly as she rapidly lost consciousness. Chapter 2 Cindy was struggling to get away from somebody (or something) which had her arms pinned against her sides. She tried to cry out but was unable to make a sound. As she thrashed about the dream began to recede, and Cindy gradually realized she was lying in bed with her eyes squeezed shut to keep out the light. Her head hurt and she knew she would need an aspirin before she got dressed for school. She wondered why the light was so bright in her room. Had she overslept? She sat up and opened her eyes. A sick feeling of panic rose from the pit of her stomach and forced itself out of her mouth in a piercing wail. She wasn't in her own bed! She wasn't even at home! Suddenly remembering the struggle as she was headed home from school, she shrieked again and tears streamed down her face. Gasping after her second cry of horror, Cindy fought to control her breathing as her tears continued to fall. With her eyes closed she gradually slowed her hyperventilation and the consequent bout of dizziness passed. She opened her eyes again and looked around the room. She was alone. She was sitting on a bed. Her first impression upon opening her eyes had been that a crowd of people surrounded her, but now she could see that the others were only more Cindys, reflected and re-reflected by large mirrors on the walls. She was alone except for her own multiplied self. In the midst of her despair Cindy was suddenly seized by an urgent need to relieve herself. The thought of making a mess increased her panic. Wildly casting her eyes around the room she saw through her tears an open area at one end of the room that held a sink and a doorway. Remembering motels her family had stayed in, Cindy automatically assumed that the door went to a bathroom. Quickly Cindy stood up, staggering as she sought her balance. She walked unsteadily past the sink and into what was indeed a bathroom. There was no door to close and she felt exposed and vulnerable seated weeping on the toilet, even though there was no one in the room to see her. As she emptied her bladder she realized she was still wearing the same clothes as when she was attacked. Except for the headache (which was gradually fading) she felt physically OK. The rush of relief at not being hurt (or worse!) abruptly disappeared as she realized that she might be a prisoner, and it was possible she could be hurt (or worse!) at any time. She quickly wiped herself, pulled up her panties and bluejeans, flushed the toilet and washed her hands at the sink (the analytic part of her mind was briefly amazed to see how automatic that sequence was, even in such a horrible situation). A bit calmer now, Cindy surveyed the room. It did look a lot like the motel rooms she had been in on trips with her family (the thought of her family brought a stab of loneliness), but in this one there were no windows. One door was located at the far end with a second next to the bed (queen sized, her mind decided, working on its own). Large mirrors hung at the head of the bed, on the wall opposite the bed, and on the wall next to what appeared to be the entry door. Below the mirror opposite the bed there was a low dresser half occupied by a large TV. There was some sort of opening next to the TV covered by a recessed piece of dark wood or metal. The bright light came from a large overhead fixture and was accentuated by the mirrors. Quickly stepping to what she supposed was the entry Cindy grabbed the doorknob. The knob turned, but despite her best efforts the door would not budge. The same was true of the other door next to the bed. Both doors were cold to her touch, and after futilely pounding on them with her fists she knew that they were made of metal. She sank into the upholstered chair next to the bed and quietly began to cry again. She felt so alone and so scared. This was not a motel room. There were no windows. There was no phone. There was no way out. She hadn't even seen a switch with which to turn out the lights! The weeping turned to agonized sobs as she threw herself face down on the bed, overcome by despair. She was roused by a sharp clicking sound. Dried tears made opening her eyes an effort and she realized she must have been asleep (Why? Had she been drugged?). Next to the TV she saw a tray protruding from the rectangular hole in the wall. There was something on it. Moving to the dresser she picked up a piece of paper from the tray. Cindy read the printed words: "Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you. We are trying to get money from your parents. When they pay us we will let you go. Even if they do not pay us we will eventually let you go. You will never see us. If you do see any of us you can never go home, so do not try. Be patient. We will get you food. If you understand, put this note on the tray and push the button on the wall next to the TV." Her mother had always said that Cindy was an 'analyzer', and even in her fearful state part of her mind noted the simple sentences. Did they think she was dumb? Cindy looked at the wall and saw what looked like a doorbell button next to where the tray stuck out. Before doing anything she stooped and tried to see into the hole. Something either in it or on the other side blocked her view. Then she remembered what the note said about seeing her captors and experienced a renewed spasm of fear. She put the paper on the tray and pushed the button. Nothing happened. After a few seconds she nervously moved back to the chair to sit down. As she turned there was a clicking sound and the tray disappeared into the hole. She did not know whether to be relieved by what the note said or not. They said they would not hurt her. She knew her family had money and was certain they would pay to get her back, but she didn't know if she could trust whoever was on the other side of that wall. Then Cindy grimaced. What did it matter if she trusted them or not? There was nothing she could do, anyway. She had no other choice except to 'be patient'. Having come to this conclusion she walked back into the bathroom to examine her surroundings more closely (she remembered a teacher who said that analysis was better than paralysis, or was it that too much analysis caused paralysis?). There was a toilet and tub but no shower or shower curtain. As in the rest of the room, the walls held mirrors and there was no switch with which to control the lights. There were clean towels and a washcloth on the back of the toilet. On the sink outside the bathroom she found a toothbrush still in its cellophane-wrapped box and a new tube of toothpaste. There was a glass also wrapped in cellophane (just like a 'real' motel, she thought). She noted a large tube of shampoo, a brush and a comb. In addition, there was a box of sanitary napkins. Her initial response to seeing the pads was a sense of relief that she had just finished her period, but then with a pang she wondered if she would be a prisoner so long that she might need them at some point. The clicking noise drew her attention back into the main room. The tray again was sticking out of the hole in the wall. On it was another note and what appeared to be clothing. She read the note: "Your clothes are dirty. Take all of them off, including your underwear, and put them on the tray. We will wash them. Also put your shoes and socks on the tray. Dress yourself in this outfit. When you are finished push the button." Looking down at her blouse and jeans, she noted large smudges of oil and dirt that hadn't been there when she was on her way home. They must have been soiled during her struggle with the kidnapper. Picking up the piece of clothing from the tray Cindy saw that it was a shift made of a filmy pink material that was almost see-through. She held it up to herself. The straps were thin and the hem hit her legs at about mid thigh. There was a pair of panties to match. It was an outfit she might wear to bed at home, but certainly not in public. She recoiled at the idea of putting it on in her present circumstances. She had no idea who could or would see her in it. She said loudly "No", sat down in the chair and waited fearfully. Nothing happened. Cindy sat for what seemed to her to be forever and nothing happened. She did not have a watch and after looking around she realized there was no clock in the room. She had no way to tell time or even know if it was night or day. Still nothing happened. Cindy began to get bored. For the first time she acknowledged the gnawing feelings of hunger that had been present ever since she had awakened. It must have been a long time since she had had a sandwich and coke for lunch at school. The note said the kidnappers would feed her. Where was the food? Using the glass, she drank some water from the sink and decided to look in the dresser drawers, halfway expecting to find a copy of a Gideon Bible, something that always seemed to be present in motel rooms. In one drawer she did indeed find books, but they weren't religious. It seemed by the titles that all were 'teenage' books like the ones she and her friends sometimes read if they had nothing else to do. In the other drawer was a large collection of videotapes. Some looked like 'Disney' type animated movies while others were live action. She examined the TV. It had a built-in VCR. She turned the power on but no matter what channel she chose she got only static. Evidently it only functioned as a video-player. She was getting hungrier. Maybe the only way she could get food was to do what the note said and change her clothes. She didn't want to. They could probably watch her change. She looked again through the collection of videos, recognizing many of the titles. None were 'R' rated. Maybe the kidnappers didn't know she was over 17. She was really hungry. There were no windows, so how could the kidnappers see her? Besides, they needed her to push the button to know when she was ready to have her clothes pulled in on the tray. They must not be able to see her. She was famished. With tremendous trepidation, Cindy decided she had to do something. Chapter 3 Only halfway believing her rationalizations, Cindy took the shift and panties and went into the bathroom (somehow it seemed safer to change there). She slowly removed her shoes and socks. Then she took off her blouse and jeans. She stood still in her cotton bra and panties. Should she disobey and keep them on? As she stared at her reflection in the mirrors Cindy saw what she always saw: a short, not quite pretty girl who never would compare to most of her friends in looks. Truthfully, though, she did have to admit that she was reasonably well developed for her age. Sometimes her girlfriends said they wished they had a figure like hers. She was embarrassed by this, but also flattered. Her bra was only a B cup and she wasn't as big busted as many of her friends, but her softly padded slender hips and flat tummy gave her a shape that was slightly more curvaceous than bony. She looked good in almost any type of clothing, something her friends with more voluptuous bodies envied. Her figure was just right for her 5'2" frame. Fear and hunger finally overcame her modesty. Looking around again nervously, Cindy slipped off her panties and bra. She could now see herself naked from all sides in the mirrors. This was a novel experience and she stood for a moment, briefly mesmerized by the way her body looked. She could see her firm, round bottom reflected from the mirror behind her and on impulse stood on her tiptoes to see what that made it look like. It got firmer and rounder with a small dimple on each side near her backbone. Cindy examined her breasts. She had seen some of her friends' chests during sleepovers and knew that while many were bigger, none of them had breasts that were as round and gently turned up as hers. Now she could see them from the side as well as from the front. In her present mood the small light-brown birthmark on the left side of her breastbone didn't distress her like it usually did (despite reassurances from her mother she was convinced that the spot was ugly and always chose swimsuit tops which covered it). Her light pink areolae were about the size of quarters. She could see her nipples sticking out. They were the size and shape of hard pink miniature marshmallows. She knew if she touched them when they were like this she might get that tingly feeling both in her nipples and 'down below'. Vaguely feeling that this was wrong, she repressed the urge to do it. 'Down below' some of her friends had patches of dark hair but Cindy had only a dusting of almost colorless fuzz on her mound (it matched her straw-colored hair). This made it easy for her to wear bikinis. Some of her friends had to shave (or wax, or even pluck!) to keep their hair from showing at the pool. She ran her hands slowly down her sides, briefly enjoying the 'almost tickling' sensation. In her semi-trance she was fleetingly tempted to spread her legs and look at herself more closely, but with a sudden start she remembered where she was and quickly put on the panties and shift. Producer & Director She had been right. The shift barely covered her and she could see her hard little nipples pushing against the fabric. It was cut with a deep "V" in the front, and she could even see part of her birthmark. The side mirrors revealed almost all of her breasts through the armholes. Gathering up her clothes she ran and placed them on the tray, pushing the button unnecessarily hard. This time she saw the tray pulled through the wall. It happened so fast that she would have been unable to see anything on the other side, but she knew not to try anyway. Cindy sat on the bed, pulling at the hem of the shift. She was uncomfortable in her new clothes, but not because she was cold. Obviously there was good heating in the room. Maybe that was why there was no top sheet or blanket on the bed. She was still hungry. Again she heard the clicking sound. Food was on the tray this time. There must be a MacDonalds near by, she thought, as she saw the Big Mac, large fries, apple pie, and large drink along with some napkins. A note said, "Here is food. On the piece of paper write what kind of drink you like and if whether you would like Carl's Jr. instead. When done, put the trash on the tray and push the button. When you are hungry again push the button." Taking a sip she recognized the sweet, slightly slimy taste of regular coke. There was a pencil on tray. On the note she wrote, "I like Dr. Pepper. MacDonalds is OK, but the Bacon Western Cheeseburger at Carl's is best." She gobbled down the food, put the trash on the tray and pushed the button. A few minutes later the tray was withdrawn. Cindy thought to herself that it was nice that the kidnappers cared about what food she preferred. But then she remembered with a shudder that they were kidnappers, that they were making her sit there nearly naked, that they wouldn't let her go home, and that her mom and dad and brother would be worried sick. Exhausted by the accumulated trauma Cindy lay down on the bed and cried until she again fell asleep. **** So far, everything had gone exactly as I had planned. Grabbing the girl had been easy, and I was sure that nobody had seen it happen. Even if anyone remembered the utility repair van, the police would never be able to trace it. I had rented it (disguised and with phony ID) 100 miles away, attached magnetic signs to its sides with the utility company's logo, and replaced its license plates with some I removed from a city truck in a storage lot. After leaving the girl at my motel, I cleaned up and returned the van almost before her parents realized their kid was gone. The sedative I injected her with made her sleep almost 16 hours. When she woke up, she actually coped much better than I had thought she would, given her age. Having seen how fast she wolfed down the food, my guess was that she finally decided to change her clothes because she was hungry. The little show she gave as she put on her new outfit was an unexpected bonus. I jerked off as I replayed the videotapes. Her disappearance made the second section of the newspapers the next day. One day later the story was in the first section, which said that her family did not believe that their daughter was a runaway. It indicated that the police were interviewing her friends and neighbors and 'following up leads'. While wearing disposable plastic gloves that I used when doing all my correspondence, I sent her parents one of the girl's school notebooks using a prepaid mailer that I deposited in a mailbox 50 miles away. I included a letter printed with a broad felt-tip marker on notebook paper I bought at Walmart. I told them to be patient, that their child would not be harmed if they followed my directions, and that it would be some time before they heard from me again as to what they needed to do to get her back. Over the next few days the girl passed the time watching the videos and reading books. I was prepared to give her some Valium in her drinks if she appeared too traumatized, but she didn't seem to need it. I had been interested to see what sort of wake-sleep cycle she would settle into given that the lights were on all the time. She generally was awake for about ten hours and then slept for eight. It was interesting that each time she woke from sleep (whether it was a nap or a long rest), she tested both doors to see if they were still locked. I had to adapt to her altered sleep cycle, but I was so keyed up anyway that it wasn't a problem. I fed her mostly fast food, with an occasional bowl of soup and frozen dinners heated up in a microwave. I couldn't tell if she thought she was being watched all the time or not, but she finally brought herself to take a bath on about the fourth day. She was beautiful. As she lay in the water her coral-colored nipples seemed to float like twin atolls in a sun-kissed South Pacific. When she washed herself it was with the innocence of a child in a post-pubescent body. As she gently stroked her breasts with soap-slippery hands it was evident that she was feeling more than mere friction. Small, tremulous shudders betrayed her nascent sexuality as she cleaned around her pussy. At one point she slowly extended her hips, bringing her lightly fuzzed mons up out of the water. Viewing her ablutions through the one-way mirror at the end of the tub I could see her labia forming two nearly bare, pale hillocks, extending down into the water. One dark pink, wrinkled edge of an inside lip peeked out through the cleft between them, coyly hinting at the delights within. Her fingers must have probed more deeply than she intended as she washed her pussy. She seemed to have to catch herself and suppress the sensations this had created. Quickly rising, she stepped from the tub and began to dry off. Even in the process of denying her natural urges, however, I could see that she rubbed her pleasure centers a bit longer than needed with the terrycloth towel. It seemed that the next few days would be fun for me and maybe for her as well. I enjoyed the release I achieved when replaying videos of the bath, but all in all this initial period was really only mildly stimulating for me. The ever-present edge of danger in the back of my mind (after all, the cops and probably the FBI were looking for my guest) was part of the high I was working to achieve, but it was time to move on with my plans to complete my fantasy. I was sure she was getting bored, too, but I was ready to do something to change that. While she slept I provided her with something new using the trap doors I had installed through the wall behind the dresser. Chapter 4 Cindy was bored. The tedious waiting had dulled the acute sense of danger. One by one she had watched many of the videos, but "The Little Mermaid" and even "Mulan" didn't appeal to her as much as when she was a little girl, especially on the third or fourth viewing. The "Absent Minded Professor" wasn't much better. She read a couple of the books, but the adventures of the 'Sweet Valley High' kids all seemed about the same when read one after the other. Besides, none of those stories really compared to what she was going through in real life. She was even getting tired of Bacon Western Cheeseburgers. She ultimately gave in and took a bath. She didn't like being naked in her present circumstances, but disliked feeling dirty even more. After reaching the age of ten or so she had only taken showers, and Cindy found the process of getting clean in a tub to be a bit awkward. She tried to stay under water as much as possible because she was still worried that she was being watched. This made soaping up and rinsing off difficult. Perversely, the feeling of being exposed to hidden eyes somehow seemed to excite Cindy. The goose bumps she got were not altogether unpleasant and her nipples were so erect that they almost hurt. As she washed her breasts the tingling feeling that she had periodically begun to experience around the time she first started having her periods was greater than usual. Not only did she feel it in her nipples, but similar sensations grew in her vagina as well, almost as if there was an electric wire connecting them. Her hips gave a small involuntary jerk, making waves in the tub that splashed over her nipples, setting off the feelings again. Without conscious thought she arched her back and moved her pelvis upward. Paradoxically, this seemed to both relieve and accentuate the sensations. The sight of her pubic mound involuntarily rising up out of the water added a visual stimulation that intensified what Cindy was experiencing. Unnerved by what she had always considered to be 'dirty' feelings (why she thought of them this way she did not know), Cindy began to gently wash her vagina, hoping that this would cause the feelings to subside like scratching an itch. Just the opposite happened. The now intense 'tingles' seemed both to spread and at the same time focus in one point near the top of her cleft. When her fingers touched that place she shuddered and for a second she thought she would lose control entirely. She knew that the little nubbin of flesh at that point was what her girlfriends called their 'clit'. A few of them had said that playing with it made them feel really good. Increasingly distressed at feeling so good and bad at the same time Cindy abruptly stood up and got out of the tub, rapidly drying herself off and putting on her panties and shift. As she stretched out on the bed the analytic part of her mind gradually resumed control and she decided that the problem was that she was upset because of being a captive for so long. A 'day' or two later (with no clocks, who could tell how long it had been) Cindy awoke, tried the doors (they always were locked), and ate the breakfast that appeared after she pushed the button by the tray. For what seemed to her the umpteenth time she decided to look through the dresser drawers. Among the books she found a slim paperback, which she must have missed before. It was called "Teenage Tale" and contained what was really only a short story. Cindy took it to the bed, lay down and started to read, hoping it would be better than the other books. The story was about a high school girl. There didn't seem to be much of a plot. The heroine was popular but wished her boyfriend (who was on the football team) would spend more time with her. After reading this much Cindy thought that this story was going to be same as all of the other books. Her opinion changed as she read on. The girl in the story was now in her bedroom, wishing her boyfriend was there with her. The girl began to fantasize about having sex with him, and at the same time she began to do things herself. In graphic detail the text described the girl massaging her breasts ('tits' was the word the author used), pinching her nipples, pulling down her panties and putting her fingers in her vagina ('pussy'), and playing with herself ('finger-fucking') until she had an orgasm ('came'). Cindy put the book down, shocked not only at what she had read, but that she had continued reading after discovering the content. The analytic part of her mind noted that she was breathing harder than normal and that her face felt hot. It must be because she was embarrassed. It wasn't that she didn't know the words that were used. Cindy had heard both girls and boys use them in a variety of contexts. Even some of her friends occasionally talked like that. Cindy, however, never did. She knew that she was sexually less advanced than some girls her age, but also knew that her friends didn't do the things that the girl in the book was dreaming about doing with her boyfriend. They also didn't do what the girl was doing to herself in the story. Or did they? Cindy got up and started to pace. When she had first started her periods her mother had discussed the 'facts of life' with her. She knew where babies came from, and how the sex act was done. Her mom had been nervous about discussing it. She had stressed that it was natural for girls and boys to be attracted to one another and to even experiment with kissing and holding each other, but that 'good' girls didn't do any more than that. She said that Cindy was still several years away from having that kind of boyfriend and that when the time came they would talk again. Well, it had already been several years since that initial talk and they hadn't had another one. Probably, Cindy thought, this was because she hadn't pushed the issue. Cindy had lots of friends who were boys but she hadn't yet met any she wanted as a boyfriend. She had too much fun with all her friends to want to pair up with any one person in particular. As she got older it even seemed to be harder to get into a boy-girl relationship because she hadn't had the practice that her girlfriends had accumulated. When she did go to a school dance it was always with a group. Many of her girlfriends were well into the 'boyfriend scene', and when she was honest with herself Cindy admitted that she at times felt somewhat left out. Cindy was good in school and loved reasoning things out and solving problems. Maybe that was getting in the way of her getting a boyfriend. Maybe her self-assurance scared them away. But in that talk with her mom masturbation hadn't been mentioned (Cindy knew that word, too, from friends). Did good girls refrain from that? She remembered her bath the other day and how she had felt good but bad at the same time. To be honest, that hadn't been the first time she had felt like exploring her body and her feelings in that way. Why had she stopped? Because she was a 'good' girl? In her confused state, the analytic Cindy stepped in. Why was that book in the dresser, anyway? Was she worrying about the wrong thing? Were her kidnappers trying to mess with her mind by giving her pornography to read? Cindy thought she knew what pornography was, and for sure she knew that girls her age should not be reading it. She didn't remember seeing that book before, but it must have been there from the start. Probably it was in the dresser by accident, judging from the other books and videos. Cindy decided that the thing to do was to put the book away and stop worrying about it. She would be home soon and then she could talk to her mother and sort it all out. With the thought of home Cindy felt again her acute loneliness. Would she really ever be home again? She couldn't talk to her mom or her dad or her brother. She had no way to let them know she was OK (so far!). She had been gone so long. Why hadn't the police come? Maybe everyone had forgotten all about her. A spasm of grief surged through her. She flung the book against the entry door and collapsed on the bed in a fetal position, wracked by the tearful sobs she had experienced so many times before. **** After seeing the girl begin to read the book, I knew it was time to go get the boy. I put in new tapes so my cameras would miss nothing while I was gone. In the process I also played a portion of each previous tape to make sure the sound levels from the numerous button microphones in the room were OK. They were working fine. Not knowing how long I would be gone, I put some food on the tray. She was crying so hard she didn't even notice when I pushed it into the room. My plans to kidnap the boy were similar, though not identical, to how I grabbed the girl. I was comfortably certain I would meet with no difficulty and be back with him in a day or so. At that point it would be twice the fun (and twice the danger). The rush I felt at this thought drove me to the bathroom for another round of beating my meat. After getting off, off I went to get my next victim. Chapter 5 Gradually Cindy pulled herself together and her crying jag subsided. She went to the bathroom and washed her face. Rationally, she knew that her parents wouldn't forget her and that the police would be doing all they could to find her. All she needed to do was to hold herself together until she was found or released. She was a little surprised to see that there was food on the tray. She wasn't really hungry and hadn't signaled for it. The meal was a sandwich wrapped in cellophane (like you would get at a convenience store), a banana, a package of cookies, and large soft drink. She decided to eat it later. Using one of the mirrors in the bathroom she worked on her hair for a while. She braided it and then unbraided it. She brushed it until it shone, the natural light blonde color emphasized by tan highlights. In addition to her figure, the part of her that her girlfriends admired the most was her hair. But Cindy was still bored. Pacing back and forth she saw the book lying on the floor where she had thrown it. She picked it up and moved to put it back in the dresser, but hesitated with her hand on the drawer handle. She was not conscious of making a decision, but guiltily glancing around (as if there were anyone around to see her!) she instead took the book and lay down on the bed. Cindy began to reread the story. As she reached the part where the girl began playing with herself, the analytical part of Cindy's mind noticed that she was unconsciously rubbing her legs together. She stopped doing this and moved them apart, but then became aware that she felt damp 'down there'. Gently she felt between her legs and confirmed the wetness of her panties. Thinking that this was a bit gross, she set the book down and slid the panties off, throwing them on the floor. For some reason, she had forgotten her worry that the kidnappers might be watching. She finished reading the story and lay back, gently caressing her thighs. One hand moved to her chest and felt the hardness of her nipples. The filmy material of the shift rubbed gently on them and caused shivers to spread all over her body. To prevent this (her analytic mind said), Cindy quickly pulled off the shift and it joined her panties on the floor. She was now lying naked on the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly in her excited state. With her eyes closed, Cindy replayed the story in her mind. She softly brushed her fingers over her nipples, feeling the contrast of their hardness with the softness of the surrounding tissue. As the crinkled tips were contacted by each of her fingers in succession little electric shocks seemed to shoot out from them, mysteriously ending and blending between her legs. Involuntarily, she placed one hand over her mound, pressing down lightly to try to mitigate the feelings. This placed the tips of her fingers in contact with the outside lips of her vagina, with the middle one resting in her cleft. Her hips gave a small jerk and, lubricated by her juices, the finger slid into the crevice and came to rest on the extremely sensitive spot she had discovered in the bathtub. Immediately Cindy's hips rapidly bucked two or three times, sliding her finger over the spot and deeper into her cleft. The feeling was incredible and indescribable. Jerking her hand away, Cindy tried to calm herself and collect her thoughts. The feeling Cindy warred with the analytic Cindy. Trying to cope with the conflict of the wonderful sensations and the idea that good girls shouldn't feel this way, Cindy desperately looked for a way out. She was playing with a part of her body she hadn't ever even really looked at. She always used pads during her periods, not the tampons some of her friends did. Maybe if she examined herself and knew what she was dealing with, the clinical activity would make the good/bad feelings go away. Mirrors were all around her. Why not use one? The wall at the head of the bed was one big mirror. Still on her back, Cindy spun around so her legs pointed in that direction. She scooted her bottom toward the mirrored wall, put the pillow under her head and raised her legs. Spreading them, she rested her heels on the mirror. With the help of the constantly burning bright lights she now had a clear view of what the girl in the story called her pussy or her cunt. Producer & Director The blonde fuzz on her mound didn't extend very far down between her legs. She could see two puffy, pale lips, which arched out and down towards her bottom, forming a vertical slit between them. She could see where the slit ended as it moved down and she knew her anus must be only a bit further, though in this position she couldn't see quite that far. Running up towards her front the slit ended in a little rounded structure that looked a bit like the top of an old fashioned keyhole. Even with her legs spread, Cindy couldn't see into the slit. Balancing on her shoulders and back of her head, Cindy reached out and used her hands to pull the outer lips apart. In her current analytic mood the feelings were not as intense as before, but the tingly sensation was still there. Now she could see two reddish-pink strips of flesh running the length of the cleft. Unlike the outer lips, they were narrow and very wrinkled. Light was reflected from the moisture on them like sunlight on dew-covered grass. There was a small bump of tissue where the two crinkled strips joined together in the front. There was also a small hole below it, which she knew was where her pee came out. Cindy used her fingers to spread the inner lips. Squiggling around a bit so the light could illuminate this new area, Cindy could now see a smooth-walled tunnel leading into her pelvis. Besides being obviously very damp, it was a deep pink color that faded to black where the light was unable to reach. This must be her vagina. As she wiggled around to get better a better view Cindy was able to see a brighter red piece of tissue that seemed to partially block the tunnel. This she knew must be her hymen (her friends called it their 'cherry'). The position in which she was lying was beginning to get uncomfortable for her legs, and despite the pillow her neck was beginning to hurt from holding her head up, so Cindy quickly investigated the nubbin of tissue at the junction of her inner lips. She gently touched it and felt a jolt of the wonderful sensation that had dominated her such a short time ago. This must be her clit! Gently manipulating it back and forth she discovered that the feelings began to build when she barely brushed it, and were somewhat less intense if she pressed harder. Her breathing became faster and her legs began to twitch. She imagined that she felt her clit get harder and begin to grow. Bound down where the inner lips came together, the skin on the sides of her clit became stretched and something inside began to stick out a little bit. This change coincided with an increase in the waves of sensation. As the feelings built Cindy felt like she was nearing a moment when something just had to give. Something did. All of the sudden her legs slipped out of position and with a soft plop she tumbled sideways onto the bed. The mood was broken. Cindy lay on her side panting while her inner turmoil and mounting urges slowly abated. As the feelings subsided, she sat up on the side of the bed. Looking down in this position she could only see the wispy blonde hair growing on the top of her mound. The place that harbored such wonderful sensations was hidden away between her legs in what was now her lap. Shivering, she picked up the shift and put it on. She left the wet panties on the floor. What if she hadn't fallen back? What would she have felt? She had a queer empty sensation in the pit of her stomach and knew she had missed out on something. It was like building up to a big sneeze and then not being able to. Had she been close to having an orgasm ('cumming' was the term used in the story)? She felt tired and a bit depressed, but not particularly sleepy. To distract herself and fill in time (hadn't that been the only thing she had been doing since the kidnap?) Cindy put on the tape of "The Lion King" and slowly ate the meal that was on the tray. After she finished eating she put the trash on the tray as she had been instructed and continued to watch the video, ultimately falling into a fitful slumber. Chapter 6 Waking slowly, Cindy knew she had been dreaming, but was unable to remember what about. As she stretched she found that her shift was bunched up around her shoulders and her hand was between her legs. Sitting up, she felt an unpleasant prickly feeling between her legs, as though a liquid had dried and left a crusty residue. Recalling how wet she had felt before going to sleep, she assumed that the sensation was caused by the remains of her own fluids. She stood, turned off the TV, and went to the bathroom. She started filling the tub as she used the toilet. By the time she was done and the bathtub ready she was fully alert. The warm water felt good. Cindy soaked lazily, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. The wear and tear of her predicament on her psyche had been too much to bear, and she wished she could somehow just sleep until the police came or she was released. Taking the soap, she stood up and began to wash her body, willing herself not to feel anything as her hands slipped across her breasts, down her sides and over her tummy. Despite her efforts her nipples, softly rounded and puffy to begin with, began to tighten and protrude. She avoided the inside of her thighs at first, but her hands seemed to move there of their own accord. She slowly sank back down into the tub, finally abandoning herself to the sensations of which she had previously been so afraid. With both hands she tickled and then pinched her nipples, feeling the now familiar tingles spreading downward. Keeping one hand at her chest, she let the other follow the sensations down to her vagina. The slipperiness of the soap was augmented by her own secretions as her fingers gently worked their way into the crevice. She inserted her middle finger into her tunnel up to her first knuckle, feeling it meet resistance at that point. Instead of pushing further she shifted her attention to her clit, and gasped as the electric feelings began to mount. Cindy began to pant as her hips bucked in a spasm of pleasure. Down again her finger went into her vagina, pressing a bit harder against the resistance. Her fingertip found a small opening and she gasped as it moved a bit deeper. The sensation of stretching was a juxtaposition of pleasure and pain. Keeping her middle finger there and responding to a suddenly imperative need, she used her index finger to caress her clit again, finding that it was harder than before and sticking out like a miniature misplaced nipple. She roughly pinched her breasts with her other hand while she continued to softly stroke the firm nubbin of flesh in which her whole being now seemed to be concentrated. The simultaneous twisting of her nipples, stretching of her maidenhead and caressing of her clit reinforced each other and the exquisite feelings mounted and mounted. On its own accord, her pelvis began a rhythmic pulsation up and down, creating waves that gently caressed her nakedness. She fought against the rising tide of sensation, instinctively knowing that the inevitable release would be magnified if she could hold out longer. Now beyond her control, however, the manic manipulations of her hands and fingers continued, increasing the tension to ever-greater heights. Hyperventilating like she did in her first moments of captivity, Cindy's last coherent thought was that her breathing sounded like the huffing and puffing of "The Little Engine That Could". Would she reach the top of the mountain, too? In a momentary pause time hung suspended as Cindy's back arched, her hands ceased their frenzied ministrations, and she held her breath. The magical summit had been reached. The brief instant of expectation was followed by an earthquake of pleasure that created a tsunami in the bathtub. With her hips bucking, fingers flailing, heart racing and animal sounds wrung from her throat Cindy felt that she had to be dying, and that this death was the most wonderful thing a person could ever experience. When she was a little girl her father had taught Cindy how to 'make music' by humming through a comb covered with wax paper. It sounded like a kazoo, but even more fun it had made her lips all buzzy-tingly from the vibrations. As she lay quietly in the now half-filled tub slowly recovering from the cataclysm, Cindy's analytic mind (gradually beginning once again to assert itself) decided that that was exactly how she felt now. This time, however, the buzz was all over her body and infinitely more pleasant. She slowly reached down and brushed her clit, discovering that what moments before had created pleasure now bordered on being noxious. Probably to keep you from really killing yourself, her analytic mind observed. Her feeling self agreed, and noted that it was too bad that good girls had to be bad to feel so good. **** The neighborhood in which the boy lived was too busy for me to use the repairman ploy, but I knew his habits well. He liked to stop at a convenience store on the way home from school for a soft drink. Leaving the store he walked down an alley on his way to the main street leading to his neighborhood. He almost always walked alone because although he had friends he was regarded as a bit nerdy by many of the boys his age (his grades led him to be considered a 'Brainer'). He had no reason to be afraid as he passed by my rental van in the alley, and the snatch went as easy as with the girl (I am not a small man, nor am I as weak as some my age). He was ensconced in the room next to the girl's, the rental van returned, and a letter to his parents (along with one of his homework papers) posted within the day. He woke up about 12 hours later. I looked in on the girl when I first dropped off the boy. She was watching a video and seemed calm enough. Later, as I fast-forwarded through my tapes after returning, I realized that I had struck a true bonanza. I knew that females supposedly responded more readily to written sexual materials than to visual presentations, but didn't really expect the short story to result in the graphic display that my cameras had recorded. What I had was a complete visual and auditory record of a young lady's first experiences with masturbation, with the evidence of the attendant internal struggles written all over her face. This was not the acting of a twenty-something bimbo trying to make money by recreating her first time and faking an orgasm for the cameras. It was reality itself. No porno flick could duplicate what happened in that bathtub. I knew I would derive hours of pleasure as I spliced together the different camera angles and combined the throes of her final orgasm with her preliminary experiments (including the glorious pussy shots from the camera I had set up behind the mirror at the head of the bed). As priceless as the tapes would be to me personally, I might even make some money by selling them in the future if I ever decided to take the risk (remember, I couldn't let anyone ever trace me back to the kidnapping of the girl). I must have spewed quarts of cum as I played the unedited tapes over and over. Chapter 7 By nature, Alan was reserved, but in an outgoing way. It took him some time to accommodate to strangers, and he barely acknowledged the kids who sometimes teased him about his success in school. In contrast, when he was with his real friends he could be absolutely irrepressible in his behavior, even if at times it was a bit hard to understand where he was coming from. He was inquisitive and had a quirky sense of humor. Alan didn't find anything funny about his present situation, however, as he woke up in what seemed to be a strangely decorated motel room. He decided that whoever had selected the wall coverings must have been a narcissist. No matter where he was in the room or bathroom he could see himself from multiple angles in mirrors which seemed to cover almost every square inch of wall space. He spent no time crying, but that wasn't because Alan didn't feel frightened. The way he coped with his apprehension was by closely examining his surroundings, pushing his feelings aside. This included trying to see around the tray that delivered him the note, which said, among other things, not to try to catch a glimpse of his kidnappers. He didn't take the note at face value, figuring if his captors were looking to get money his family would eventually pay whatever ransom was demanded. If the people orchestrating this wanted to kill or harm him they would have done so already. He mind began to view his predicament as a real-life computer game. He understood and was good at those. After continued inspection determined that the doors were metal and that there was concrete under the carpet Alan had to admit that so far it looked like the 'game' was rigged against him. He would have to bide his time and wait for a chance to get away sometime in the future. While waiting he knew he must not give in to the fear that had already become like a toothache. It was a constant but tolerable pain when he kept his mind occupied, but he knew it was fully capable of taking over and dominating him if he for the briefest moment let it do so. At first Alan had a problem with turning in his clothes and putting on the bikini-cut stretch briefs the kidnappers gave him to wear. It wasn't that he thought he could be seen. There were no windows and he had to push a button to get the kidnappers' attention. It was also warm in the room. The problem was that like most boys his age Alan had a love-hate relationship with his body. Even though he had inherited a decent physique from his dad and liked to flex his muscles in front of the mirror in his bedroom, he was reluctant for even his parents to see him in swim trunks. No matter how good or how buff he looked, the fear that someone else looked better (or was bigger) was stronger than any rational analysis. When you added in worries about the occasional zit on his face and back Alan was just like millions of other males in his belief that life was a circus crowd just waiting to laugh when the clothes were stripped away, revealing the clown beneath. After thinking it through, however, Alan decided the kidnappers were trying to use his modesty to reduce the chance he might try to escape. They must think he wouldn't try to get away because he would worry that someone might see him in his underwear. When you put it that way, of course he had to shed his clothes. Let them think he was too insecure to be seen in underwear? No way. Quickly doffing his clothes and donning the silky briefs, he placed his garments on the tray with a flourish, and couldn't suppress the urge to strike his best Hulk Hogan pose, rotating slowly to see his bod from every direction. Then he punched the button. The large collection of videos he found in the dresser was a mix of Disney cartoon and live action movies. This was a big turn-off, but not as big a bummer as the 'teenage' books in the other drawer. What a waste. Alan figured he was going to be very bored by the time this was over. He decided to put on "Swiss Family Robinson" first. Maybe watching the castaways figure out how to live on their own would inspire him with a way to get loose. Fat chance, said an inner voice, and the toothache began to get stronger. **** Following the experience of her first orgasm, Cindy's feelings were understandably muddled. Because she was who she was, she solved the immediate problem of what to do now by doing something other than just sitting. After she mopped up the water on the bathroom floor with a towel (she hadn't seen any evidence yet of a maid service in this 'motel') she dried her hair with another and then brushed and combed it. It wasn't until she was done with her hair that she realized she was still naked. Distressed at not noticing this before, and the implication that her experience had unbalanced her more than she had realized, she quickly put on the shift, washed out the panties and hung them over the towel rack to dry. She saw that the trash from lunch was still on the tray, which surprised her. Usually it was removed within minutes after she pushed the button. Perhaps she had forgotten to do that the last time. She put the wet towels on the tray alongside the trash and firmly pressed the button. Five minutes later the tray was withdrawn with the familiar clicking sound. It was interesting, Cindy mused as she sat on the bed, that despite how wonderful the feelings of masturbation were she had no immediate urge to do it again. It seemed logical that a person would want to just keep doing it over and over if it felt so good. Perhaps since everyone must do it at some point, the lack of that impulse was protection against nothing else in life ever getting done. Oh well, she decided, she wouldn't think about it any more for a while. She just wished she could get home soon. What was the hang up? She was sure her parents would pay any reasonable ransom. Maybe the kidnappers weren't being reasonable. She tried to push that unsettling thought so deep inside it wouldn't surface again. As she began to watch another video she knew for sure that regardless of those efforts the thought would be back soon, along with the fear. Chapter 8 He had been right. It had only been a couple of 'days' and Alan was very bored. Having watched at least eight videos (without being inspired as to how to escape yet), he had finally decided to bite the bullet and look through the books in the dresser. At least the food was OK. He practically lived on fast food at home and his present diet was not a big change. At the thought of home he felt a flutter of the ever-present fear. It wasn't so much for himself as for his mother. She would be having a hard time not knowing where he was and if he was OK. He hoped his father would help her get by. As he looked through the books he found a thin one that seemed to contain only one short story. Its title, "Teenage Tale", wasn't exciting, but at least the cover lacked the picture of a blonde, blue-eyed coed simpering at the reader with pouting lips like most of the rest. He took the book, lay down on the bed and began to read. At the start it seemed like this story would be like most of what passed for 'teenage' literature. The hero was a popular guy in school who was worried that his girlfriend was mad at him because he was pressuring her to 'put out' more than she wanted. He was at home fantasizing how it would be when she finally gave in. Alan's interest started to increase as he read on. The boy in the story began describe in precise and colorful detail the things they would do to each other in bed, if he ever got her there. While doing this, the boy played with himself until he blew his load all over the sheets. This wasn't too different from some other stories he had read, and despite the circumstances it was sufficient to give Alan a hard-on as usual. He looked down and saw that his briefs were really stretchy. This was good, because when it was erect Alan's prick was almost exactly five and a half inches long (like most boys, he had measured it). Also like most boys, he figured that given his age it had a chance to grow a couple of inches more before it was done. When he had on his jeans a boner could be very uncomfortable. Alan had been beating off for about as long as he could remember. It had become much more pleasurable when he first began to really cum ('ejaculate', his father had corrected him). He couldn't count how many sheets, socks, washcloths, and pairs of underwear he had covered with his jism ('semen', said his dad). Unfortunately he was limited to playing with himself because his only outlet was to fantasize like the guy in the story. He had yet to get to first base, let alone hit a home run with a girl. Producer & Director Alan reached down and gently ran his hand up and down his prick. The silky, stretchy fabric made the feeling a bit different than usual. He remembered the scenes imagined by the boy in the story: french kissing his girl, feeling her tits, putting his finger in her pussy, and playing with her clit. His hand moved faster and he both felt and saw the spot of moisture spreading over his briefs from the tip of his rod. These were his only clothes and to prevent messing them up Alan slid them off and kicked them to the floor. When he lay back down with his head on the pillow he could see his piss-hole as his dick lay extended on his flat belly. With his hips and knees flexed and legs spread apart he could also see his balls and ass in the mirror on the wall across from the bed. What a turn-on! His dick twitched as he lightly ran his fingers along its underside and played with his balls with his other hand at the same time. It had been awhile since his last session, and Alan wasn't about to prolong things in his present state of mind. Grabbing his rod firmly he began to rub it faster and faster, occasionally pressing it flat against his belly to briefly feel the warmth of the blood that engorged it. The tempo of his breathing increased and he felt the little tingle grow and grow until felt it in his face and even the tips of his ears. After a brief pause and holding of breath, the spurts came fast one after another, showering his belly with his white, viscous cum. Afterwards he decided that this time it had felt OK but only just OK. It hadn't been nearly as good as it could be when Alan was in the right mood and had the right stimulus to help. Masturbation was best when he could get his hands on a Playboy or Penthouse. Some guys seemed to be able to get better mags like Hustler, but Alan wasn't part of that crowd and hadn't seen much real hard-core stuff. Alan was most content when he could beat his meat slowly while looking at the naked Playboy babes imagining Mandy Rice's face on their bodies (Mandy was his current heartthrob, as if she would ever consider dating a nerd like him). The buildup would be great and the release, fantastico. When jacking off that way he couldn't aim his prick at his face unless he wanted to taste his own cum. With that somewhat gross thought he drifted off to sleep Upon waking and cleaning up with a washcloth, Alan put his shorts on again and started watching another video. He was hungry and pushed the button hard with his fist. The fist was for the kidnappers, but despite his bravado Alan wondered what he would really do if he ever saw them face-to-face. **** I was now juggling several balls at the same time and had never felt more exhilarated. The boy and girl were well settled in and ready for my next intervention. I had sent new letters to both sets of parents along with additional things from their schoolwork to prove they were from me. In the letters I told them to be patient, that their kids were safe, and that they should be looking into getting cash together. How much, and when I wanted it, I would tell them later. I also told them that if the police got too close to finding their offspring and me we all would just disappear. They would never know what had happened to their kids. This last was not true. As always, I had put a safeguard in place. If I were to miss contacting a certain person at certain times that person would open a storage locker in one of the cities. The locker contained information that would allow my prisoners to be found. I may have needs I sometimes satisfy in illegal ways, but I am neither a killer nor unnecessarily cruel. I said nothing to link the two kidnappings and wrote the letters in different styles and words, but it was too much to expect that the two different local police jurisdictions wouldn't eventually figure out that they were dealing with the same person. Probably the FBI already knew, even though the newspapers didn't indicate that this was the case. I had long ago prepared for the payment of the ransom and my escape. On some of my journeys into the cities, I periodically checked to see that all was still in place. It was time, I decided, to do some editing of the videotapes I was collecting of my guests. Chapter 9 After eating what she considered breakfast (any meal eaten after she first woke up) Cindy rummaged through the videotapes to find one she had yet to watch. In a corner of the drawer she found a videocassette case that had no identifying label. She didn't remember seeing one like that before. Puzzled, she took it out and popped it open. The cassette itself had no label, either. She put it in the VCR and turned it on. It was obvious to Cindy from the lack of the usual warnings that were at the beginning of a video that this one was made non-commercially, probably by recording a program on television or by a person with their own video camera. When it finally began she was sure of it. She saw what looked like a teenaged boy posing as though he was a bodybuilder. He was wearing only red bikini-cut shorts. There seemed to be no sound, just the picture. The boy had a reasonably good body and was actually pretty good looking in a way, but he was obviously goofing around for the camera. There was a brief period of no picture followed by a scene in which the same boy was lying on his back on a bed reading a book. Periodically the view shifted from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed and then to one side. As the boy read Cindy noticed that the bulge in his shorts (which she had noted in the first scene, but hadn't acknowledged to herself before) began to get larger. Entranced by the process she watched the shorts stretch out until there was a good-sized 'tent' in the boy's crotch. At that point the boy reached down with one hand and began to rub what was obviously his penis through his shorts. He began to rub faster and faster and then put down the book and proceeded to take off his shorts and throw them on the floor. At this point Cindy turned off the VCR. She felt herself flushing. She was both attracted and repelled by what she had seen. She had babysat for little boys and had seen their penises and knew how they got bigger when the boys got an erection. She also knew that an erection was necessary for having sex. She had even joked around with her friends about the possible size of the penises (they called them 'dicks') of boys that they knew, but she had never actually seen the penis of anyone her age or older. Her brother was always careful to stay covered around the house. He was almost paranoid about modesty (as was Cindy). She remembered the descriptions in the short story she had read that had gotten her so excited the other 'day'. This thought, coupled with what she had just seen, made her flush even more. She pressed the start button again. The boy's penis (for some reason she still couldn't call it a 'dick') stood almost straight up and looked huge. It was reddish pink with some bluish lines squiggled on it. The tip was smooth and round with a ridge of flesh running around it about an inch below its end. There was a patch of brown hair growing at the base of the shaft. As the view switched to the end of the bed she could see a sack at the base that had two bulges (they must be his 'balls'). The sack appeared to be hairless. The boy touched his penis softly and ran his finger along the bottom side of the shaft. As he did this, Cindy saw the penis jerk several times and it seemed to get a bit larger. As it grew it fell onto his tummy pointed at his head. The boy began to rub harder, almost jerking on his penis. She could see the skin wrinkle as he slid his hand up and down. His other hand began to play with his balls. From the side she could see that the boy had his eyes closed and his face began to tense up. Cindy realized that there really was sound on the tape as the panting and grunting of the boy became audible. The view shifted to the head of the bed. Cindy could now see straight down the boy's trunk to his penis. She could see a slit in its end when the boy every so often stopped jerking on it, pushing it down onto the skin of his stomach. The speed of the rubbing and jerking increased and Cindy's breathing seemed to increase to keep pace with that of the boy. Shivering, she slid forward in her chair, instinctively knowing that something was going to happen. All of the sudden a large spurt of white stuff sprayed from the hole at the end of the penis. Squirt after squirt of the viscous substance followed. As this was happening the boy lifted his hips off the bed in a series of jerky motions. The white stuff (which Cindy knew had to be semen) was much thicker than water or urine. It stayed where it landed in sticky blobs, sometimes leaving a thin thread connected to the boy's penis. The view then shifted to the side and the scene was replayed. She saw the increasing activity of the boy's hands, the jerking of the hips and then spurt after spurt of semen (she remembered her friends called this 'cum' or 'jism'). One or two times the cum squirted all the way up onto his chest almost to his neck. As the screen went blank, Cindy realized she was panting and that her heart was pounding. She looked down and saw that her hand was in her crotch pushing and almost rubbing on her mound and the lips of her vagina. She was both mortified and exhilarated. She had just seen a boy masturbate, and had almost masturbated along with him. She lay back on the bed, her head swimming. Remembering the story and seeing the video had 'turned her on' (now she finally knew what this meant). She felt like she just had to make herself feel as good as she had before. Before her analytic mind could get in the way Cindy took off her panties and shift, lay back on the bed and began to caress herself. No longer present was the doubt and hesitation of her first time. She knew what she wanted and had concluded that making yourself feel good couldn't be such a bad thing. No one was being hurt. In addition, she actually felt an urgent need for relief. Softly, she tickled her breasts and nipples. Gently and not so gently squeezing and poking she again experienced the joint feelings of pain and pleasure. Bending her head forward she tried to raise one nipple to her mouth, but was thwarted just short of her goal. If only her tongue were longer! Moving one hand to her cunt (thinking the 'dirty' word seemed to excite her even more) she felt its dampness. Her finger slid into the cleft almost effortlessly, accentuating the tingling and buzzing sensations sent there from her breasts. Her hips bucked once or twice (just like the boy in the video!) when she touched her swollen clit. As she lightly traced one finger back and forth over her clit, Cindy inserted another into her cunt. At the point of resistance she pushed harder. There was some pain, but she was able to push deeper than before and the feeling of fullness seemed to satisfy some inner need. Her other hand reached down and caressed her thighs. She began to feel the mounting sensations that led her the last time to orgasm. She wanted to delay this if she could (this was one time when denial of the thing you wanted most was almost as wonderful as getting it). Her squirming had caused her hair to fall across her face. She reached a hand up to brush it away from her mouth. In the process her finger touched her lips and Cindy's tongue automatically licked the wet spot it left behind. Instead of yucky, she found the warm, salty taste to be strangely stimulating. Simultaneously she became aware of a musky odor. It had to be coming from her pussy. The odor and taste were the same, but yet not the same. She brought her other hand to her mouth (oh, the agony of leaving her clit unstimulated) and licked the secretions from her fingers. How deliciously dirty she felt. She quickly returned her hands to their marvelous work, licking her fingers at least once more. The feelings began to build again and this time she was not going to interrupt them. Huffing and puffing, Cindy again proved that the little engine could indeed climb the mountain, only this time her shuddering climax threatened to throw her from the bed rather than to flood the bathroom. As she recovered, Cindy decided that this time had not been better, but had been just as good as the first. In addition, just like the first time, after having reached what had to be the epitome of ecstasy followed by the buzzy-tingly floating sensation, she gradually lapsed into a listless letdown. Returning to the real world, she again had to face the fact of a captivity that seemed to have no end. In an attempt to break the lethargy, she watched the video a second time. Given her somber mood, the results were the antithesis of what they were before. All she could do was analyze again. Who was the boy? Why would he let someone videotape such an intensely private experience? And, more disturbingly, what was there about the video that seemed so familiar? Chapter 10 Alan had gone through all of the books in the dresser trying to find another story like "Teenage Tale". He was unsuccessful. Having read the story several times, he no longer was able to get excited enough by it to beat off. In his frustration he again picked over the collection of videos. This time he found an unlabeled box containing a tape that also lacked a label. Puzzled, he put it in the VCR and began to watch. The tape was obviously home made (but of high quality) and it began with a girl standing and looking at the camera. She was a cute blonde who appeared to be about Alan's age. The camera angle allowed him to see her down to her knees. She was wearing a pale pink blouse and blue jeans. Her eyes darted back and forth as though she was looking for someone. She wasn't smiling for the camera. The girl bent over for a few seconds and then stood up again, tossing a pair of shoes and socks to the floor. Then, to Alan's surprise, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor as well. Without pausing, she unsnapped her pants and removed those, too, leaving herself standing in front of the camera clad only in a white bra and panties. Alan changed his mind: she wasn't cute; she was beautiful. He could feel his dick starting to twitch. The girl stood still and her face made none of the smirking, come and get me looks that girls usually made in the pictures Alan was used to seeing in the skin mags. If anything, she looked scared. In a movement that thrust her breasts out towards the camera, the girl reached back with both hands and unhooked her bra. She slipped it off her shoulders, letting it join her other clothes on the floor. Before he could get a clear look at her chest, she reached down and took off her panties as well. Now she was standing totally naked, looking into the camera with a detached, distant look in her eyes. Alan's dick was now fully erect, stretching his shorts almost to the limit. She was gorgeous and perfectly proportioned. Her breasts were large, but not huge, with pink nipples that jutted straight out towards him but with a slight angle upward as though pulled by strings attached to invisible helium-filled balloons. A tiny brown blemish on the inside of her left breast accentuated her silky complexion. Below her soft, flat tummy he could see a tiny patch of blonde hair and the beginning of a crack that disappeared between her legs. Alan jumped as she moved, bringing her hands up to the sides of her breasts. She rose as though standing on tiptoes and slowly slid her hands downwards along her torso. She continued to be almost expressionless, like she was in a trance. Then the picture went blank. When the picture came on again the same girl could be seen lying naked on a bed. Every so often the camera angle would shift: sometimes from the side, sometimes from the foot of the bed and sometimes from the head. From the side Alan could see the girl playing with her breasts. At times she gently brushed her nipples with her fingertips and at others she grabbed them between thumb and index finger, giving them a sudden twist. He could see her shudder as she tweaked and caressed herself. He unconsciously reached down and began to play with himself as he saw her bend her head down while lifting up one breast, trying to reach her nipple with her mouth and tongue. Her hands now were between her legs. The camera shifted to the foot of the bed and Alan could see that she had one or two fingers shoved into her pussy while she fiddled with the top of her slit with her other hand. Her hips bucked as she worked her fingers in and out. The girl's panting and soft moans became audible on the tape. She lifted one hand to her face, brushing away her hair. To his amazement, she quickly followed this by lifting up her other hand, sticking her fingers one at a time into her mouth and sucking on them. She even reached down, inserted her fingers into her slit again, and then put them back into her mouth. It was as though she couldn't get enough of the taste of herself! Both her hands soon were at work again between her legs. Her face was now scrunched up, eyes closed as though she was in pain – or ecstasy. The bucking began to increase and her moans came louder and faster. Alan's hand jerked his dick in time with the video, his build-up paralleling the girl's. All of a sudden, as though in the grip of an epileptic seizure, the girl screamed and spasmed again and again, flopping uncontrollably on the bed as she thrust her hands into her pussy. It was as though she was trying to prevent the escape of some personal essence. As her incredibly erotic workout gradually wound down, she ended up lying curled on her side with her hands still between her legs, exhausted, asleep, or both. Alan was able to see these specific details only during repeated viewings. He missed most of them the first time as he, too, came with a ferocity he had never before experienced. He actually shot some of his cum right through the thin stretchy material of his shorts; there was even one small glob of it on the TV screen. After a while Alan stopped rerunning the tape. He was as exhausted as the girl and his prick was too sore to touch. **** I was elated after viewing my latest group of tapes. I had already collected more material than in any of my previous 'productions' and the final act was yet to be played. It was time to begin it, though. The kids had been away from home longer than was safe for me, even though it seemed that they were enjoying their sojourn at my motel more now than they had at the start. I mailed letters to set in motion the series of events that would allow the parents pay me for the time I had invested in the education of their children. In the letters I specified the amounts and dates on which the ransoms would be required. They would find out how to deliver the money later by phone. While my guests were sleeping (helped by a soporific I placed in their drinks to synchronize their waking up) I made the few changes needed to begin the denouement of my little drama. Chapter 11 As she awoke, the thought came again to Cindy that she really had no clue as to how long she had been a captive. Except for the pleasures of self-exploration she had recently experienced, the time spent in her prison had been a boring succession of mindless videos (she had come to hate Disney flicks), stupid teen romance novels, and fast food. Her mind was even numb to the continued sense of danger. As always when she first got up, Cindy tried to open the entry door. As always, it remained obstinately unmovable. She then methodically twisted the knob on the side door and pushed on it as usual. This time, with a sudden lurch, the door swung outward! Producer & Director Cindy's heart pounded a staccato beat in her ears and chest as she stared down an empty hallway. Brightly lighted from above, it appeared to be about twenty feet long and had the ubiquitous mirrors along the left side. She could see a door at the far end as well as one on the left about halfway down. Cindy hesitated as her analytic mind tried to decide what to do. Obviously the kidnappers had unlocked the door. Therefore, they also obviously wanted her to go down the hallway. Should she go or not? Her feeling self responded that a debate over this was stupid. It was like all of the other 'choices' she had been given: there was really no choice at all. She was a prisoner. Ultimately she would have to do what her captors wished. She might as well go now. Automatically adjusting her panties and shift (as though they really covered her very much), Cindy slowly walked down the hall to the first door. It was locked and wouldn't move. She advanced to the one at the end, gently turned the knob and felt the door begin to open towards her. Taking a deep breath she opened the door completely and found herself looking into a clone of the room she had just left. Actually, it was a mirror image of her room. Everything was reversed. She could see the dresser, the mirrors, and the bed. She gasped in surprise as she became aware that a person was lying on the bed. Without taking time to think, Cindy stepped back into the doorway, closing the door except for a crack through which she peered. You're being stupid said her analytic self, but Cindy wasn't listening. The figure was a boy about her age, naked except for red bikini briefs. He appeared to be asleep. As she examined him from behind the door, Cindy realized with a start that it was the boy in the video. The boy who had masturbated while she had…had… Cindy's face began to burn with embarrassment. She shut the door completely and retreated back into her own room, struggling to regain her composure. What should she do? Was the boy one of the kidnappers or was he a prisoner like she was? Had he been forced to make the video? In the video he didn't look like he had been forced, said her analytic mind. But, replied her feeling self, she hadn't been forced to do what she had done as a result of watching it. Refusing to go any further down that path Cindy's mind went blank. She sat down on her bed and wept quietly in frustration. Would she ever be able to go home? **** Alan awoke slowly. He was aware that some sort of noise had initiated the process, but was unable to identify what it was. Sitting up, he looked around the room. Nothing had changed except that the tray was gone along with the trash from his last meal. On impulse he stood and tried to open the entrance door. It remained unyielding. He had stopped testing the doors early on when he finally accepted that he truly was a prisoner and had little or no chance of escape. If he avoided the existence of the locked doors he was better able to keep under control the gnawing toothache of fear. As he tried the side door he was astonished as it opened. How long had it been unlocked? He couldn't remember when he had last attempted to open it. Could he have walked out long ago? Moving down the mirrored hall, he tested a door on the right side. It was locked. Reaching the door at the end of the passageway he turned the knob. The latch released and he swung the door towards him. Acting more boldly than he felt, he stepped into what appeared to be the same room he had just left. Except for being reversed, there was only one thing different about it. In this room there was a beautiful blonde girl sitting on the bed staring at him with wide, tear filled eyes. He recognized her instantly, even though this time she was wearing clothes. Following about 30 seconds of awkward silence (which felt to the two teenagers more like 30 minutes) Alan was the first to speak. His simple, "Hi, I'm Alan" was said in such a subdued, uncomfortable tone that Cindy immediately responded with her name in the same manner, somehow reassured that she wasn't confronted by a threat, but was instead speaking to a fellow prisoner. Without conscious thought she set aside until some later time her questions regarding the video she had seen, something Alan had also unknowingly done himself after looking into Cindy's tear-stained face during the those first quiet moments. With a gesture Cindy told her visitor to come in and sit in the chair by the bed. As Alan took the first step he glanced down and suddenly realized his near nakedness, which he had become so used to since the start of his captivity. He stopped and blushed. His reaction reminded Cindy of her like situation and she automatically crossed her arms across her chest and her face assumed a reddish color as bright as his. She spoke first this time. "Did they make you dress like that?" Alan nodded, and she continued, "Me, too. Come and sit down." As they sat facing each other, he in the chair, she on the bed, silence again settled upon them. Finally Alan, looking for something to fill the void, said, "Your room is the same as mine." "I know," responded Cindy. "I saw yours." "When?" "A few minutes ago. You were asleep." "Why didn't you wake me?" Alan asked. Cindy blushed again. "I was afraid. I thought you might be one of the kidnappers. I've been alone for so long." He voice cracked as tears threatened to spill from her eyes again. "Don't cry. I'm not mad. I thought I was the only one here, too. It feels weird to have someone to actually talk to. How did they get you here?" Once the conversation began it was as though a dam had burst. Both of them were by nature talkers (although for Alan it was mostly when with his close friends) and they had been silent for many days. For the next hour or more they discovered where each lived, where they went to school (they were the same age and in the same grade), what their families were like, what they liked to do for fun, how they were kidnapped and what their experiences had been once they got to their 'rooms'. They found that they had been treated alike, even down to the videos and books that were in the dressers. Both, however, left out any mention of masturbation or the untitled videos they had seen. Much more comfortable with each other now, they were amazed at how similar they were in likes and dislikes. Eventually this led them into speculation as to why they were the ones chosen to be kidnapped. The only reason they could arrive at was that their parents had some money. By comparing dates they knew that Cindy had been taken first and Alan five days after. They could come up with no clue as to why there had been the time difference just as they had no real idea of how long they had been in captivity. The torrent of words unleashed by their meeting gradually abated. Cindy finally asked the key question they had not yet discussed. What now? Why had the kidnappers allowed them to meet? It was highly unlikely that the doors had been accidentally unlocked. Should they stay together in one room so as to keep each other company? Both strongly favored trying to stay together for mutual support. They truly wanted this, but inside each was somewhat nervous at the prospect. Hunger eventually provided them with the means to see if they were going to be able to stay together. Since neither had eaten since last awakening, they decided to see what would happen if they pushed the button to signal for food. Would the kidnappers give them two meals in Cindy's room or only one? Would the food be accompanied by a note as sometimes happened? Cindy pushed the button and she and Alan waited apprehensively. **** My meticulous planning had paid off once again. The two were together and fast becoming friends. It would be interesting to see if either would reveal to the other the tapes they had seen. They had been guarded in their conversation and each at this point had to think that only the other one had been taped. Whether or not I added more to my growing collection of videos depended on how they handled a situation no one had ever been in before: a situation that was my creation! It would be fun to watch no matter how it came out. I put together two meals. To drink I gave each of my guests a glass of Dr. Pepper and included a pitcher holding enough for two more glasses. Into each glass I added a jigger of vodka. Into the pitcher I poured two jiggers. It was a little something to 'assist' in their decision-making. Chapter 12 Two meals came back and there was no note. The kidnappers knew they were together and apparently weren't going to force them apart, at least for the time being. Both Cindy and Alan were pleased and in their joy neither realized that this also confirmed that the kidnappers were actively observing them. They didn't discuss possible reasons why they had been allowed to get together. Simply relieved at having someone to talk to, they chatted about family and friends as they ate and drank their soft drinks. About halfway through her second glass of Dr. Pepper, Cindy felt herself getting a bit dizzy. When she stood up to put some trash on the tray she staggered a little. Alan didn't seem to notice as she again sat down on the bed. He himself was talking a bit louder than before and stumbled on some words, but Cindy didn't notice this in return. When they finished their drinks, Alan stood and said he wanted to watch a video (it was a way to fill in the silences which had begun to grow as their torrent of talking began to abate). He stepped to the TV, rewound the tape inside, pushed the play button and sat down in the chair. Cindy, her senses dulled, couldn't remember what she had last been watching. Probably a cartoon, she thought. It was obvious to both of them from the lack of the usual warnings that were at the beginning of a video that this one was made non-commercially, probably by recording a program on television or by a person with their own video camera. When it finally began they saw what looked like a teenaged boy posing as though he was a bodybuilder. He was wearing only red bikini-cut shorts. There seemed to be no sound, just the picture. The boy had a reasonably good body and was actually pretty good looking in a way, but he was obviously goofing around for the camera. Cindy gasped and sprang from the bed to turn off the machine. Betrayed by her impaired reflexes she ended up on the floor instead. Not saying a word, Alan gently put his hand on her shoulder and prevented her from getting up. There was a brief period of no picture followed by a scene in which the same boy was lying on his back on a bed reading a book. Periodically the view shifted from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed and then to one side. As the boy read, the bulge in his shorts began to get larger. The shorts stretched out until there was a good-sized 'tent' in the boy's crotch. At that point the boy reached down with one hand and began to rub what was obviously his penis through his shorts. He began to rub faster and faster and then put down the book and proceeded to take off his shorts and throw them on the floor. Alan turned off the video. Leaving Cindy weeping on the floor, he silently left the room through the side door, bumping into the walls several times as he strode down the hall into his own room. He returned before Cindy could get back onto the bed. Alan still said nothing. Through her tears Cindy watched him eject the video and insert another. He pushed the fast forward button for about 15 seconds and then pushed the play button. When the picture came on a girl could be seen lying naked on a bed. Every so often the camera angle would shift: sometimes from the side, sometimes from the foot of the bed and sometimes from the head. From the side they could see the girl playing with her breasts. At times she gently brushed her nipples with her fingertips and at others she grabbed them between thumb and index finger, giving them a sudden twist. They could see her shudder as she tweaked and caressed herself. They saw her bend her head down while lifting up one boob trying to reach her nipple with her mouth and tongue. Then Alan turned off the video a second time. Numbed by the whirlwind transition from joy to distress, they both sat silently: Alan in the chair and Cindy on the floor. As she leaned back against the bed occasional tears slowly made lonely tracks down Cindy's cheeks. She held her knees tightly against her chest with her arms. Each kept their eyes averted from the other, but both stole furtive glances from time to time to assess the status of their fellow prisoner and to seek assurance they were still there. After a lifetime Alan softly spoke. "Why are you crying?" His tone of voice carried no hint of judgment. Cindy considered the question. Why was she crying? What a dumb thing to ask! Obviously she was ashamed and embarrassed. Who wouldn't be crying? But then her analytic self asked the next question: ashamed of what? Was she ashamed that she had masturbated, something she had already pretty much decided was not wrong, or was she ashamed because someone had seen her doing it? If it was the latter, it wasn't her fault she was seen. Maybe Alan was the one who should be ashamed for watching the video. But then, what about her watching the video of Alan? Was she ashamed of having seen it, and even more so, her responses to it? Confused, all she knew was that she felt terrible and that her feeling self needed to cry. She answered truthfully. "I don't know". Then she added plaintively, "You must think I'm horrible". Alan thought for a minute. He knew he didn't think Cindy was 'horrible'. Was he shocked at meeting the girl in the tape? Without a doubt. When he had viewed it (how many times?) he hadn't even considered that he was watching a real person. It was like looking at the pictures in the magazines. He was turned on by what he saw and responded accordingly. All boys beat off, but he hadn't really thought about girls. Guys he knew called girls who put out or weren't modest 'sluts'. A slut wasn't really a person. It something to be looked down on and sneered at. Was this fair? No way did he think Cindy was a slut. When he really considered it, why should girls be any different than boys when it came to 'playing' with themselves? Come to think about it, shouldn't she think he was 'horrible' for doing the same thing she had done? "Did you know someone was videotaping you?" he asked in the same soft tone that until today he had no idea he was capable of using. "Of course not!" Cindy snapped, the flash of anger breaking through her despondency. "Neither did I", he responded, keeping his cool. "I feel as terrible as you do, but I don't think you are horrible at all. I'm sorry I showed you the tape. I was just so angry when I saw the one made of me, I just had to show that I wasn't the only pervert around here." For once Cindy's analytic and feeling selves were in agreement. She took a deep breath, sniffling a bit in the process. "Alan, what you did on the tape doesn't make you a pervert." She paused, seeking the right words. "None of this is our fault. It's the kidnappers' fault." (Was she talking to Alan or to herself?) "All I know is that when we were talking together it was the first time since this thing started that I didn't feel afraid. We need to stick together, no matter what you think of me. Please?" The rush of warmth that Alan experienced at that moment revealed to him just how bad and how scared he had been feeling since he had seen himself on the TV screen. He hadn't realized how frightened he was that he would be rejected by Cindy and be forced to be on his own again in this motel prison. The relief was evident in his voice. "We've been in this together from the start and just didn't know it. Now that we do, it would be stupid to split up. Let's just start over, OK?" Cindy nodded in agreement with a small smile (the first smile in a long time, her feeling self noted). Both of them shifted positions briefly, as though to seal the pact with a hug, but she was still on the floor and he was in the chair and the necessary maneuvering would have taken away the spontaneity. Both of them at that instant formed very similar assessments in their minds. Despite what each of them had seen the other do on the tapes, their newfound friendship was going to develop. It was just that several steps backward would be needed before it moved in any other direction. The alcohol in their systems kept them from considering the fact that their kidnappers had the ability to watch, listen, and record their every action and word. How would that influence their behavior when they figured it out? The combination of emotional exhaustion and being slightly drunk allowed them to drift into sleep right where they were: first Alan and then Cindy. Cindy's last coherent thought (perhaps also influenced by the vodka) was that she should have another talk with her mother soon because it seemed as though she was going to have a boyfriend. Chapter 13 As I watched them go to sleep I was amazed at what had transpired. It was incredible that the tape in the machine just happened to the one I had made of the boy. I wished I could get into their minds and know what they were thinking. The situation I had constructed was new for me and I had no idea how it would turn out. I did know, however, that I had not expected to see what had happened. They didn't withdraw into cocoons, so embarrassed that they could no longer talk to each other. They didn't yell and scream, taking out on each other their anger at what each had seen. And they certainly didn't fall into each other's arms and screw, their inhibitions removed by having already seen each other making love to themselves. Perhaps the problem was that I was expecting them to act more like adults. I wasn't all that surprised to see them go to sleep so soon. Based on my research I knew they weren't heavy drinkers like so many kids their ages seem to be nowadays. The alcohol, the emotional upset, and their already messed up sleep/wake cycles had to be responsible. I knew that I would have one or two more days to observe them after I collected the ransoms. This was in order to make sure the money I received was not obviously traceable before I released them. It was time to make the phone calls and get the money. This was the most dangerous part of my plan (I had to coordinate two different drop-offs in two different cities), but if it went well it wouldn't take too long. I pulled in the tray to remove their trash, and after making sure my cameras were loaded I left to collect my hard-earned 'pay'. **** Alan woke first. Without moving from the chair he looked down at Cindy, quietly sleeping on the floor curled up by the bed. Her shift was in disarray, having been twisted around her as she had tossed and turned in her sleep. Through the right armhole he could see one pale white breast. The pink nipple was softly rounded and notably absent was the hard, pencil-eraser tip that had been so prominent in the video. He knew he shouldn't be staring at her like this, but couldn't help himself. He felt his dick start to expand and with a start realized that he was betraying the fragile trust that the two had begun to build only hours ago. Alan stood up quickly and went into the bathroom. Following a quick pee to relieve his bladder (difficult to do with a hard-on without making a mess), he just as quickly relieved his other need, hoping Cindy wouldn't walk in on him while he beat off. Cindy awoke slowly, at first surprised to find herself on the floor. She sat up rapidly to see Alan sitting on the edge of the bed watching her. As she remembered all that had happened 'yesterday' she blushed and pulled down on her shift to better cover herself. All that this accomplished was to accentuate the bulges made by her nipples, now erect in her nervousness. She gave him an embarrassed smile.