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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.



--



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