textfiles/sex/EROTICA/K/kidnap2.txt

Archive-name: Bondage/kidnap2.txt
Archive-author:
Archive-title: Kidnap - Part 2


After some measureless interval, I heard a car pull up, and the
door open.  I braced myself, certain that I'd be greeted by a
blow.  But I was surprised.  "Hi, Boss.  At least, I assume
that's you."  It was Roger -- and I nearly fainted with relief.

Quickly, he unfastened the ropes holding me in place, carried me
to the couch, and removed the hood and gag.  He didn't waste time
asking me if I was okay; the outlines of what had happened were
obvious enough.  "Where are the keys to your handcuffs and leg
chains?" he asked.  I told him that I had left the keys on the
night table, but that I suspected John had taken them with him.
"There's a master set in the linen closet, though; I always keep
spares there."  Roger disappeared for a moment, but returned
empty-handed:  "John apparently ransacked the place; there are no
keys to be found.  Let me run into town and pick up a few tools."

I demurred.  "Before you go anywhere, could you please carry me
to the bathroom?  And I have a well-equipped workshop downstairs;
you'll find what you need in there, I think."  Roger obliged in
the first respect, but before fetching the tools, he carried me
back to the couch and covered me with a sheet.  "I think you'll
be more comfortable this way," he said, without even a leer or
flirtatious note.  Teasing games were one thing -- I remembered
Roger at a company beach party when John had eased my bikini top
off -- but he knew that this wasn't the place for any such thing.
Of course, I was feeling safe again, which made my bondage seem a
bit sexy again; my reaction, at least partially, was that I
wouldn't mind the chains just then if only Roger had been the one
who had put them there!  I didn't let on, though; I just composed
myself while Roger got what he needed, and cut through the links.
He then dispatched me to the bedroom to shower and dress, while
he cooked some food for us.

Over the meal -- breakfast?  lunch? -- I told him what had hap-
pened, sparing no details.  I even explained the "Kidnap" game to
Roger; he seemed fascinated.  When I finished, I asked him to
explain how he had shown up to rescue me.

"When I saw John following you away from the office yesterday, I
knew there would be trouble.  I had biked in to work, so I had no
way of following you, and of course I had no idea where you were
going except for *the farmhouse*.  I tried going to the police,
but they weren't interested; everything was too vague and weird-
sounding.  So I went back to the office and thought for a while."

"It seemed to me that your farmhouse would be 30 minutes to two
hours from here.  Much closer and you wouldn't get any extra
privacy over your regular house; much further and it would be too
inconvenient for weekend visits.  I kind-of guessed it was a love
nest, but I wasn't certain just how you'd feather it."  We both
blushed.

"I narrowed down the search area a bit by assuming it was in the
same general direction as your house; the direction you headed
off in was at least consistent with that guess.  That still left
a lot of towns, though.  But it was all I had to go on, so I
started dialing Information for each of the towns.  No dice."

"No," I said.  "The purpose of this place is relaxation and
isolation; I deliberately didn't get a phone or even any clocks.
As far as possible, this is not the real world."

Roger nodded.  "That left the local tax offices, for all those
wretched little towns.  I knew there was nothing else to be done
until morning when they opened, so I called my `assistant' and
alerted her."  I looked a bit puzzled; Roger replied, "Surely you
remember Janice?" I nodded; Roger continued, "Even though we're
no longer going out, we're still friends.  And Janice hates John
with a passion.  Their relationship ended much like yours is
doing:  with John getting violent, though not quite to this ex-
tent.  He let her go after a week, and she never filed charges --
she said that she had no evidence it wasn't just another game,
and he could point to her collection of toys when defending
himself.  I didn't agree, but it's not the sort of thing you can
push a lover into doing, especially after a couple of years."

"Anyway, by morning I had compiled a complete list of numbers for
her to call; one of them eventually worked.  I couldn't make the
calls myself -- I had to give your presentation."

I jumped up.  "Roger!  How did it go?  What did you say about
me?"

"No problem -- I said you had a bad stomach virus, but would
probably be in tomorrow.  And I think things went quite well;
they really liked your stuff, even more than mine, I think."  He
paused.  "You always keep the best parts of these bids for your-
self," but he was smiling as he said that.

I smiled back at him.  "That's my real pay for running the busi-
ness, and tending to all the paperwork.  Anyway, that's neither
here nor there.  What are we going to do about John?"

Roger turned dead-serious.  "I don't know.  Would you prosecute?"

"Well, to some extent I have the same problem as Janice:  where's
the evidence?  You rescued me, of course, but all of the para-
phernalia here is mine -- and that's a pretty strong defense.
We'd need to get more evidence."

Roger paused.  "Can we frighten him, maybe even punish him enough
to make him stay away?"

"I doubt it -- and in any event I will not be a party to that
sort of violence."  Roger seemed to sigh in relief as I contin-
ued, "Hmm -- if we did manage to get some more evidence, could we
use it for blackmail instead?  Neither of us wants our proclivi-
ties known."  I blushed; I'd been fidgeting with the remains of
the handcuff the way I do with bracelets, treating it almost as
if it belonged there.  Roger noticed, and laughed.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" he asked, as he pulled the two
chain remnants close together.  "Do you mean you like this?" he
asked as he grabbed a discarded twist-tie and fastened the two
together again.

"Roger!  Stop that this instant!  Or I'll have to spank you," I
said.  But I left my hands together, not pulling them apart,
while we continued talking.

"Can you tolerate being bound again, the way you were when I
found you?" Roger asked.  I hesitated; he continued.  "If the
chains and hood are on you, but you're laying on the floor, I
think I can pull the rope taut when I see his car entering the
driveway.  There would still be time for me to hide.  Here's what
we'll do."

Eventually, reluctantly, I agreed.  And so it was that after
Roger chiseled the remains of the old manacles from me, I brought
out some new ones -- sans any keys -- from the toybox.  I
stalled, looking for every last excuse not to go through with it.
Was the kitchen properly cleaned up?  Was Roger's car well-hid-
den?  Finally, there was nothing left to prepare; it was time to
do it or flee.  I went into my room and undressed, then headed
back to the living room.  "Are you ready?" Roger asked.  I re-
mained mute, no more able to agree than I had been when John
bound me to his whipping post.  I draped the gag around my neck
-- we decided to try pretending I had managed to spit it out --
and Roger tied the hood.  He handed me the handcuffs then and
asked me to chain myself.  "No, Roger -- you do it."  I hugged
him; he hugged my naked body, and bent to his task.  The locks
clicked home.  "Roger?  Touch me again?" I pleaded.  He finished
tying my ankles to the floor, and properly threading the ceiling
rope.  I felt a gentle caress on the side of my breast as I lay
on the floor.  "Let's talk about that later, when we're equal
again," he replied.  But he caressed my breast once more, loving-
ly and lingeringly, taking the sting out of his words.  And
though we lay there silently, his arm remained on my shoulder,
reassuringly.

I don't know how long I laid there, bound.  This time, the chains
were Roger's; the scene, though, was John's, and there was still
very real danger ahead.  And I could do nothing to help; we had
no key for me to use to escape and come to Roger's aid if neces-
sary.  Eventually, we heard tires kicking up gravel in the drive.
"He's here," Roger said, unnecessarily.  He helped me to my feet,
pulled the rope taut, and vanished without even a kiss.  Help-
less, I waited for John.

A few minutes later, John came in.  "Waiting where I left you, I
see.  Polite of you," he sneered.  I heard the sound of a heavy
object hitting floor, and the clank of some metal.  John chuck-
led.  "Remember what I said I'd do tonight?  Here are my branding
tools, all nice and clean.  I ordered them weeks ago, waiting for
this moment." Now that was an interesting revelation; my revenge
for his apparent thoughtlessness had nothing to do with the
situation.  It struck me as quite likely that if I hadn't escaped
from the motel, all this might have happened last night.

As if he were reading my mind, John said, "Yup -- last night was
to be the lead-in, if you hadn't dawdled.  You thought you were
playing bondage games with me, but it was never really a game to
either of us, was it?"  With that, he slapped my buttocks, hard.
"Of course, I could never have afforded a place like this before
today anyway; it was thoughtful of you to provide it for me.  I
hope you like it a lot; I don't think you're ever going to leave.
While you're here, you life will be like this."

With that, he started to hit me, hard.  I stifled a scream; I was
supposed to be gagged.  Roger stayed hidden; he was going to come
out on my signal only.  For now, we had to elicit as many incrim-
inating comments as possible from John, which meant that I had to
take as many blows as I could stand.  And I had to judge the
psychological moment just right; expelling the gag with a scream
after a blow seemed more plausible if I were silent despite
having been ungagged for some time.

Why not put the gag back in?  Well, apart from the dangers I
described earlier, I need to be free to give our release word.
And we were certain that the hood was going to come off before
the attempted branding; John would certainly want to tease me
with the sight of the hot iron.  If we were wrong about that, I
was going to suffer a lot of pain before I got out of this.
Worse yet, John might consider the hot iron a weapon to use
against Roger; in a fight like that, anything could happen.

I was bracing myself to scream when John stopped the beating.
"Time for a different game," he said.  He untied the ropes hold-
ing me in place, and pushed me to the floor.  My arms and legs
were still chained; he further secured my by tying my handcuffs
to my waist.  Finally, he tied another rope to my leg chains and
dragged me, feet first, towards the barn.

My sense of panic, which had vanished when I heard Roger's voice,
returned in full measure.  Could Roger follow us and not be
noticed?  Did Roger even know where we were going?  Was there a
place for him to hide in the barn?  I didn't know, and it worried
me.

If I'd known what Roger was up to, I'd have been even more wor-
ried.  He hadn't even been in the house during the whipping!
Rather, he'd been out searching John's car, an action that was
ultimately to prove very helpful, but almost got him caught at
the time.

When we reached the gravel drive, I couldn't hold in my screams
any longer.  I was being dragged face down, and the rocks raking
across my breasts were too much to bear.  John dropped me, swore,
and came over to investigate.  "Maybe I should have dragged you
by the hair; the gag seems to have been pulled off."  Sure
enough, the hood was shredded, so his explanation was quite
plausible.  "No matter, I'm the only one who can hear you scream,
and I quite enjoy it."  He laughed again, and twisted my breasts.
"But I think I'll let you recover a bit while I prepare the next
set of toys."  With that, he picked me up in a fireman's carry
and went into the barn.

It would have been out of character not to plead, so I did.
"John, stop this; you know I'll play any sort of game you want,
do anything you want."

"Of course you will, dear; did you think I'd give you the oppor-
tunity to refuse.  Now shut up; if you say another word I'll gag
you again."  I was silent; another gag could have been deadly.
John continued, "But I do think I'll put the hood back on for
now; wondering what I'm going to do next will be half your pleas-
ure."

When we got into the barn, John tied a rope to my ankle cuffs,
and hoisted me into the air up-side-down.  "Next time, instead of
leaving your hands tied to your waist like that, I'll just attach
them to a heavy weight, and bounce it down on occasion; this
time, though, this pose is just to hold you for a while."  I
moaned, and had no need to fake it.

What followed next was a bit odd -- some hammering, drilling,
sounds of something -- a ladder, I learned later -- being dragged
around, plus more than a few curses -- John wasn't the handiest
guy around.  Finally, he was done.  He informed me of this by
unceremoniously cutting through the rope; if I had been much
higher off the ground, I could easily have broken my neck when I
fell.  He then unlocked my leg chains, and fastened a strap
around each ankle.  Some footsteps, and the clicking of a ratch-
et.  Slowly, my legs were pulled further and further apart.
Slowly, they were raised into the air.  I started to scream, but
John didn't say anything until I was again suspended, this time
with my legs pulled uncomfortably far apart.  He pulled off the
hood and looked at me.

"I'm going to spread you a bit more, then leave you like this.
Then I'm going to brand the inside of your thighs while you can't
move an inch to stop me.  Then I'll drop you to the ground,
rearrange the pulleys to spread you like you've never been spread
before, and take you till you scream."  True to his word, he
tightened the ratchet a bit more, and vanished.

For some reason, I felt the urge to look around and understand
what he had done.  A rope from each ankle went through a pulley
wheel mounted high off the ground, at either end of the barn.
One rope was simply tied, at ground level; the other went to a
winch, also near the ground.  By turning it, he dragged my ankles
apart, and raised me into the air.  Obviously, by simply removing
the pulley wheels, he could stretch me on the floor, in a more
convenient position for rape.

Suddenly, I heard Roger's voice.  "I think we've got him.  If you
can, try the release word before he lights the torch!"  But where
was Roger hiding?  The whole inside of the barn was open; there
weren't even any stalls left.

I didn't get a chance to ask him; John came back in.  "I found
something else I want to try before branding you; it should be
even more fun."  It was a round file, a very coarse one, that he
had found in the workshop.  He rubbed it, hard, on the inside of
my thighs.  It would have hurt enough under any circumstances;
with my legs stretched that tight, it was sheer agony.  I
screamed, then used our release word.  I'd only done that once
before with John, and that time it was a test, though he never
knew that -- it's always wise to learn if your partner really
will stop when things get too rough.

"Release you?" John asked?  "Are you joking?  That was when we
were playing your games.  This is my game, and I'm the one who
decides when to let go.  Come now -- are you ready for your
brand?  Or shall I use this a bit more?"  He pointed the file
downward, as if ready to insert it.  "No, no!" I screamed.  "Beg
to be branded," he replied, touching me with the tip of the file.
"I beg you, I beg you!" I screamed, all but forgetting that
rescue was at hand.  But I had to get him away from me, lest he
use me as a hostage.

I needn't have worried.  As John stepped towards the propane
torch he'd brought, I yelled, "Roger!"  John looked up, and an
amazing thing happened:  Roger jumped him from above; he'd been
in the hayloft!

It wasn't really a fight; John was stunned by the impact.  Roger
pushed him, roughly, towards the winch, slammed John into the
wall to immobilize him, and released me.  He caught the crank so
he could lower me slowly to the floor.  The keys had fallen from
John's pocket during all this; ignoring him for the moment, Roger
picked them up, walked over to me, and unlocked me.

John slowly rose to his feet.  "I'm not done with you yet, bitch.
And don't try calling the cops; with this setup, I'll have no
trouble convincing any judge this wasn't just a game.  And you
can't even afford to have this public; your precious business
would fall apart."

I was going to reply, and dare him to expose me.  He didn't
really understand the situation.  I, and my competitors, are
fundamentally artists.  So are the client representatives we deal
with.  And in the art world, people pride themselves on ignoring
odd personal lives; such things are irrelevant.  What I did was
quite tame by comparison to some of them.

I didn't get a chance to answer, though; Roger spoke first.  "Of
course, you can't afford the exposure, either.  What's more,
there will be no trouble with the jury; I have the whole thing on
tape, even the part about you rejecting the release word."  John
started looking concerned.  "But there's more.  While you were
busy, I had a look in your car."  At that, John started looking
very alarmed.  Roger continued, "I'm sure the D.A. would love to
send that funny white powder to a lab.  But that's not all.  That
stuff was packaged for sale, not home use.  And there was a lot
of cash in the trunk as well, which suggests that you didn't
purchase the stuff.  Tell me -- what would the kind of folks you
ripped off do if they learned your name and address?  Wait --
don't leave yet.  I'm not going to do anything with that tape
now.  Nor have I removed anything from your car.  But I did use
your very own car phone to tell some friends what's going on.  I
suggest that you leave, immediately.  And if you ever come near
her or me again -- well, that tape will be page 1 news, and a
letter about the drug ripoff will be mailed to a certain
address."

John didn't stay to hear any more; he fled.  All I wanted to do
was lay down and have a good screaming fit, but Roger dissuaded
me.  With some justice, he pointed out that I should not stay at
a known address until he had distributed copies of the tape and I
had installed suitable alarm systems.  We walked back to the
house, arm in arm.  Roger cleaned me up and bandaged me; then we
headed for a randomly-chosen hotel to spend the night.  Obvious-
ly, all we did was cuddle.

Roger was a bit distant in the morning, when I was a bit in the
mood for more.  "Right now, you're feeling very grateful to me.
Don't mistake that for infatuation.  And remember, we still work
together, even if you do make me a partner to handle half of this
contract."  How had he guessed my thoughts!  "Relax for a while,
date others, and recover from all this.  In a few months, you can
make a decision about us."

His logic was, of course, impeccable.  And I did start dating
others, though I remained celibate; I wasn't ready for anything
deep.  Work kept me busy; we did get that contract, and I did
promote Roger.  And we never heard a word from John; when we
checked with his neighbours, we learned that he had never re-
turned that day.  I never did learn if he fled or if the mob got
him without our help.

Finally, I hit it off with someone.  We retired to his place that
evening; he even had a reasonable set of toys of his own.  And it
felt good -- when you chain yourself up, as I had been doing,
there isn't that sense of abandoning control that you get when
someone else does it.  Most important, though, it clarified my
feelings about Roger.

I waited until the next time both of us had to work late, well
after everyone else had gone.  I walked up behind him as he sat
at his desk, put my arms around his neck, and rested my head on
his shoulders.  "You've been kidnaped," I said in a dreamy voice,
closing my eyes.  He grasped my hands, and I felt something hard.
"No, it's you who's been kidnaped," he said, as he snapped a pair
of handcuffs shut.

We drifted back to the couch in my office.  Before this, I'd
often spent the night there when I'd been working late, but never
nude, never bound, and never with Roger chained beside me.

--