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Kidnap, Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I was hard at work. The design, both sketches and clay models, had
to be done by the next day, and I did not want to stay late -- my
lover was finally interested in a date for that evening, and I was
certainly ready. The last several weeks he had been acting very odd,
avoiding me, acting surly, etc. I suspected trouble at work; this
didn't seem to be the boredom accompanying the end of a relationship,
but it was irritating me nevertheless. And he wouldn't talk about
the problem, whatever it was. Hmm. Tie him to the bed and tickle
him till he talked? I grinned; whether or not he said anything, the
game sounded like fun.
I returned to work. Reaching for the eraser, my hand tangled in the
phone cord. The momentary hint of bondage brought a smile to my
lips, and a wetness to my groin. Almost unconsciously, I smoothed my
skirt. The unexpected contact of hand to thigh startled me, and then
generated another smile. I didn't often wear such skimpy outfits to
work. But I was intent on celebrating that evening, and no one would
say anything to me -- there are advantages to owning the firm.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Cursing -- I had told me secretary I
wanted no interruptions -- I picked it up. A distorted voice said,
"You've been kidnapped".
Shit. The call had come in on my private line, the one that did not
go through my secretary's phone. Only one person was likely to be
calling me on that phone these days. "John? Is that you? We were
supposed to meet tonight, not now -- I told you how busy I'd be
today."
It was John. He repeated, "You've been kidnapped. You know the
situation: any time, any place -- you drop what you're doing and come
with me. Now."
I did indeed know the rules. Many years, and not a few
relationships, ago, a lover and I had evolved the kidnap game as a
way to spice up our bondage lives. Either of us, at any time, could
"kidnap" the other, simply by announcing it. The "victim" would go
to the other's car to be bound, and off we'd go. The kidnapper would
drive off to some prepared place, where a scenario had been prepared.
We'd then have an evening, or a weekend, or even more, of delicious
servitude.
One of the iron-clad rules, though, was that we didn't hurt each
other. I like being tied up -- and I like tying my lovers up -- but
I'm not into pain. A whipping, if that's what the game called for,
was just a few strokes, enough to tingle, but not sting more than
slightly. But locks were real locks, and while we often used Velcro
for convenience bonds, if the game called for sleeping chained, real
handcuffs were used. Neither of us had ever escaped -- and the rules
do permit escapes and turnabouts. In fact, that was why I started a
serious exercise program; I didn't like being overpowered that
easily. I don't know if I'm as strong as John is, but he can't
easily overpower me without risking hurting me -- and that, as I
said, is beyond the rules. Be that as it may, I grew to like
exercise for its own sake; even today, as busy as I was, I found time
to work out.
We always took the "no pain" rule seriously. When we played our
discreet public bondage games, we always did it an hour or more away,
to avoid any public embarrassment. We'd keep each other minutely
apprised of our professional schedules, so that kidnappings didn't
cause problems at work.
John always seemed to walk the edge of that rule, though. His ropes
were often a bit tighter than necessary, and his spankings a bit
harder. I never really knew what was going to happen next, and that
was both a thrill and a source of worry. The essence of bondage is
helplessness -- that you are not at all in control, that you are at
the complete and total mercy of another. But there must also be
trust -- you must know that your partner won't exceed your bounds --
and I was never really sure if I could trust John. But that, of
course, meant I was really at his mercy, which turned me on even more
sometimes. Other times, of course, it made me worry, and I had been
giving serious thought to ending the relationship.
I remembered what he had done a few months earlier. While I was
sleeping, he had broken into my house, slipped upstairs, and quickly
handcuffed me. As I struggled awake, he kissed me, announced a
kidnapping, and slipped a hood over my head. He then led me
downstairs, out the back door -- nude! -- into his car, and drove me
to his house. He was courteous to drive around to his back door,
too, something he doesn't usually do, and led me in. Of course, I
didn't know where I was; he wouldn't tell me. He then fastened my
hands high over my head to some sort of post, and tied my legs to
either side of it. My toes could just barely touch the ground.
Finally, he moved some sort of lever, and the whole thing tilted
forward about 10 or 15 degrees. My breasts and crotch were pressed
against the post, creating a delicious pressure. I had just enough
leverage to wiggle my crotch against the post.
John spoke. "I'd like your permission to bend the rules a bit. I'd
like to whip you rather harder than we usually do. It's really going
to hurt this time, and I'm not going to stop after 2 or 3 strokes. I
think you'll find it's worth it, though, at least this time."
I wiggled in my bonds, trying to get loose. I couldn't, of course.
And I didn't know what to say. If I said no, would he whip me
anyway? If I said yes, could I take it? John isn't particularly
large -- in fact, we're about the same height -- but I hadn't even
seen the whip. And would I really enjoy the experience? I had never
found pain to be a particular stimulus in the past. I moaned and
wiggled some more, which of course stimulated my crotch and provoked
a different sort of moan.
John said, "You don't have to explicitly agree. I'll count to ten;
if you don't demur by then, I'll proceed." I remained silent,
stilled by an agony of indecision. Oddly enough, rather than simply
counting, he activated a metronome, a slow one, and counted with
every tick.
"One. Two. Three. Four. Five." Still I said nothing, but still,
I struggled with the ropes and chains. "Six. Seven. Eight. Nine."
I braced myself. "Ten."
Nothing happened. Two more ticks went by, and still nothing
happened. "Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen." I had just started to
relax, when I heard, and then felt the whip, exactly on the sixteenth
tick. I screamed, and pressed wildly against the post, rubbing on
it. John kept counting; on twenty, he hit me again, and again on
twenty-four and twenty-eight. I knew when each blow was coming, and
before each one I'd try to escape, and press myself deep into the
pole to hide before he hit me again. But each of these attempts
stimulated me more; I found myself trying to embrace the pole like a
lover. Around the tenth stroke, I felt the pole responding -- John
had built a vibrator into it. My life was just a haze; all I could
focus on was the pain in my back and the pleasure in my groin. I
couldn't tell which was more intense.
Then he skipped a tick, and another, and a third. Was it over?
Suddenly, the hardest stroke of all landed, on my buttocks instead of
my back. Before I could even react, John operated a quick release,
freeing my legs and my handcuffs from the pole. He caught me as I
slumped down, eased me to my back, attached the handcuffs to a floor
ring. John then spread-eagled my legs, tied them that way, and
mounted me. Again, there were the conflicting sensations, of the
pain of my back and rear against the floor, and John within me. The
pain subsided, John didn't, and I had one of the most intense orgasms
I'd ever had. All I wanted to do was to hug and hold him, but my
hands were chained, and that made my thrill even greater. When we
were both spent, he lay along side me, hugging me until I fell asleep
still bound.
I awoke the next morning alone in his bed, not remembering being
moved. To the side of the bed was a bottle of champagne, a note, and
a key. "Dearest. Your turn now." A riding crop dangled from the
doorknob, and I knew he hadn't used that on me -- you never forget
what one feels like, even years later. Investigating downstairs, I
found John bound to the pole, where I had been. I ignored him while
I looked at the mechanisms. Finally, I released him from the pole,
and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. "John, that was a
wonderful night, and if you ever do anything like it again I'll cut
your nuts off and feed them to you for breakfast. I'll see you next
month." After watching him writhe in pain a bit longer, I tossed the
key down, helped myself to some clothes and his car, and left. I
refused to take any calls from him for 4 weeks, though I did mail his
car keys back.
Remembering that incident, I pondered what to say to him this time.
Thinking of it still gave me a frisson and made me rub my legs
together. "OK, John, I'll go along. But I'm going to bring some
work along; I really do have to finish this for tomorrow."
Now it was John's turn to pause. "We'll see. I have plans, too." I
shuddered. "You will be downstairs in the parking lot within five
minutes. Move!" I heard a click before I could reply. I put some
clay and some pencils in a sample case, grabbed it and my gym bag,
and left, telling my secretary that I was going to finish up at home.
His red car was waiting outside. Slowly, I got in, and closed the
door.X-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-X
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