The Abduction of Monica 9: Transported - Mary's Story
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from The Abduction of Monica 8: Connection)
From the time the tasers struck Monica and me simultaneously, we knew we were in big league trouble.
I lay on my side under the blanket in the back of the BMW X5, pressed up against Monica who faced me. The awful packing tape around my eyes and mouth left me blind and silent. When the time finally arrived for the removal of the tape it was going to be a very painful and major hair-pulling process.
As a gag it was pretty good stuff – I was able only to make the usual grunting noises. The problem was that whatever noise I did make, I could not hear any response because of the plugs in my ears and the industrial ear protectors over them – plus the tape, of course! I bumped against Monica, breast to breast, and the softness of her body gave me some small comfort, if only from the fact that we were still alive. Whatever they wanted us for, we were not to be killed, it seemed. This idea was perhaps of little use, but I was ready to grasp any such thought as a faint hope.
My back was arched as the plastic cable ties pulled my wrists tightly down beside my ankles. Other than rolling over on my stomach, I had almost no movement. On your side in a hogtie was better than on your stomach, I knew from many experiences. On your stomach your legs pulled more and everything seemed to become tighter.
I was scared as hell. Whatever my brain told me about the fact that we were still alive, it also told me that we were being taken against our will to a place where bad things were going to happen to us. I had sized up the Russians at our first meeting at Bilboes, and despite Monica’s optimism I secretly knew that no good would come of this relationship. I was right. I hoped Monica was satisfied now!
Bereft of sight, speech and hearing, I found it hard to estimate the passing of time. Maybe half an hour passed and I had no idea of our direction. A few twists and turns away from the hotel and I was totally disoriented. I thought I detected a brief rhythm that might have been the road joints in the Story Bridge across the Brisbane River, but after that I lost the plot again. It might mean we were going south, but so what?
Maybe thirty minutes passed. The traffic was light at this time of night and we evidently got where we had to be without delay. There came the slight shudder of the rear door opening and a cooler breeze on my skin. A hand dragged me painfully by my bonds to the edge of the opening and another cable tie was done up linking my wrists, before the first wrist-ankle tie was cut. They were taking no chances – not that a blind, deaf and dumb woman would have been in a fit state to resist even had I had the full use of my limbs.
I was swung around so my legs dangled over the back and my shoes touched the ground. It was concrete or asphalt. Hands pulled me upright. I stood there, not knowing where I was or what was going on, while presumably Monica was similarly extracted from the car. A hand gripped me by the arm and towed me forward. I moved awkwardly, not because of my high heels but because I couldn’t see where I was putting them. I was stopped and my right leg was lifted and put on a step. There was a set of stairs in front of me.
I was nudged in the back and cautiously I moved on to the bottom step. I knew at once that it was an aircraft, and a small aircraft at that. I had been on Lear jets before now and I knew the feel of the narrow curved door panel that drops down with the ladder on the inside. Holy crap – we were flying somewhere! This was becoming scarier by the minute.
I was shoved up the 4 steps and made to bend low on entering the cabin, then shunted blindly into a seat where I rested on my bound hands. A seat belt was threaded between my arms and my body and clicked shut over my stomach. This restrained my arms and body even more – I was definitely not going to cause any disruption to the flight. However even this was not seen as sufficient, for more cable ties came out and before I knew it each ankle was immovably secured to the side of the seat frame low down, pulling my legs apart. I wriggled my body, trying to stop my dress riding up my thighs. It was no doubt a decidedly unladylike exhibition, but that was par for the course that night.
I had only been seated a matter of minutes when the air pressure seemed to change and there was the vibration and distant roar as jet engines started. Moments later we were moving, down the runway and driving into the night sky with a force that thrust my helplessly bound body deep into the leather seat.
All manner of thoughts had been rushing through my mind about our destination. The Russians had big organisations in Sydney and Melbourne – about one and two hours flying time away. Maybe this was all a big power play, the same way that Monica and her one-time rival Megan had been lured to Oman at Steven’s secret instigation . They had been convinced they had been kidnapped and had suffered many indignities until the game had been revealed. Of course Steven had suffered far worse afterwards, and not even he would make that same mistake twice. It was a faint hope, but one that I clung to. Perhaps we were going north. It was two hours flying time to Cairns on the Great Barrier Reef – Australia was such a huge country. It wasn’t the first time we had gone there and I couldn’t see where else we might be going.
We levelled out and I tried to imagine who was on board with us. I assumed Monica was immobilised near me in a similar fashion. I assumed Ivana and Dimitri were seated nearby, and who knew what other members of the Russian Mafia might also be aboard.
Humourlessly I wondered what sort of in-flight cabin service would be provided. Nobody undid the bindings on my head and offered me champagne. A long time passed and I began to get drowsy despite the tight bindings about my head. All I could hear was a distant drone and the incessant beat of my own blood within my ears.
My questions concerning cabin service were definitely not being resolved, until a hand began to undo the buttons on the front of my silk blouse. They were a woman’s hands – I could tell from the nails and the familiarity with which the buttons were freed, followed by the front clasp of my bra.
There was nothing I could do about this wanton invasion of my personal space. It was unexpected, but not wholly without its upside. There was nothing I could do about it, except lie back and enjoy wherever it was going. This had to be Ivana, and I accepted the gentleness with which her hands slipped in and cupped my breasts. Despite my bonds, it was nice. I may be a Domme, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the finer subtleties of being on the receiving end. As one hand caressed my breasts and coaxed my nipples into flinty hardness, the other slipped under my skirt and began a thorough investigation of my sex, albeit through a thin layer of nylon.
The teasing and tantalising continued for many minutes. Ivana seemed to be in no hurry. Maybe it was a long flight with no movies. I could feel my pulse increase and the pounding of my blood in my ears. I was trying to breathe and moan through my nose at the same time – a feat that even I find difficult. Soon I was squirming and wriggling within the confinement of my seatbelt and tugging at the bindings securing my ankles. I tried to squeeze my legs together, to resist the probing, knowledgeable fingers that were pushing all my buttons, but the seat was too wide and I couldn’t do it. My fires were being stoked relentlessly and I felt myself on my own runway to lift off, when abruptly the teasing stopped and the fingers were gone. I was panting and snorting through my nose, horny as all hell and frustrated like you wouldn’t believe. Damn the woman. Moments later someone dashed a jug of cold water over me, soaking my clothes and making me utter a stifled scream.
The bitch! I had gone from stoking hot and ready to blast off into orgasm, to cold, wet and miserable in the space of two seconds. It was like accelerating your car and changing down into reverse instead of up a gear. I moaned in frustration and thought that maybe I heard a distant laugh, or was it my imagination?
A long time passed as the plane droned on and I shivered in wide awake disappointment and indignation. Then the fingers were back. I wondered if Monica had been getting the same treatment. It was the same thing all over again, brought to the brink by someone very skilled in her knowledge of womankind and also well versed in the subtleties of sexual teasing. This time her lips joined the fun, teasing, toying and biting at my nipples. I tried to struggle, to shake my head, to shrug my tormentor off, having decided that I did not want to go down disappointment road again. The response was a rope looped around my neck and secured down the back of the seat. I was now held immobile in the seat, helpless to resist the attentions that were being lavishly bestowed on my breasts and pussy.
This time it happened more slowly, the teasing protracted and building an increasing heat inside me. Again I squirmed in my bonds, and the fingers departed momentarily, before returning with slowly increasing vigour. This time I knew I would not be denied - yet denied I was, as two vice-like grips seized my nipples and sent an exquisite but excruciating pain through my body. It was enough to drive back the orgasm I so desperately wanted to smuggle under the radar of my tormentor. I threw myself against my restraints in a frantic but futile expression of anger and frustration, but again the hands and lips were gone and another dose of cold water was my reward.
That was when the plane began to descend and I knew that the torment interval was over. We were approaching our destination – wherever that might be. All manner of mixed feelings ran through my head after those two sessions. I did not know what was going on – whether I was in the hands of friend or foe.
The landing was followed by the reverse of the embarkation, stepping carefully down the stairs in my own world of darkness and quiet. My skirt and blouse were wet and clinging to me, and nobody made any effort to do them up or cover my breasts. Was Monica suffering the same indignity?
I was made to walk perhaps a hundred metres with a hand firmly holding my arm, then to stand on what felt like a steel platform a few centimetres off the ground. Moments later it began to rise, and I figured it must be attached to the rear of a truck, like one of those removal vans. For a brief instant I bumped into another wet female form, and with huge relief I took in that Monica and I were still together.
My suspicions were confirmed when I took tentative steps on what was obviously the wooden floor of a truck, and was made to stand against one side wall of the rear cargo area. The wall was faced with solid wooden battens about 5 centimetres apart, to allow for the roping in of your average refrigerator, chest of drawers or upright piano. It also made a terrific place to bind your helpless female kidnappee.
My feet were pulled apart and ropes were wound around my ankles and up my legs, melding me solidly to the battens. Only then were ties cut from my wrists and my arms pulled out horizontally on each side and roped to the battens. More ropes went above and below my breasts and around my waist, my blouse and bra being tucked away in open mode, to allow full access to my breasts. I knew a set-up when I experienced one.
I could only move my head, but even this luxury was denied me when some smart arse put a cable tie under the centre of the industrial earmuffs band and looped it back to a batten behind my head, zipping it tight. I was left immobile for a few minutes, during which time I could only suspect Monica was undergoing similar treatment.
Things would have been bearable even at that point. I had no idea of the time – probably 1 or 2 in the morning. The cold water and the ungratified sexual arousal had kept me wide awake, but I reckoned I might be able to sleep standing up in such a well-secured position. It would not have been the first time I had fallen asleep in strict bondage. My hopes for that option were destroyed when a biting pain seized my right nipple, and then my left, as some form of nipple clamps were attached, followed by a continuous application of the pain as weights were hung on them. Oh dear God, they hurt!
There was a distant rumble that might have been the closing of the rear roller door, and then the truck started, lurching forward with anything but a smooth acceleration and gear change. Whether that was deliberate I don’t know, but my nipples were on fire and I screamed into the tape covering my mouth, though nothing would have been heard outside. I knew then that it was going to be a very painful journey to our destination. Something told me the destination was not close, and the journey would not only be painful, but long and anything but smooth. If tears could have escaped from my eyes, that was the moment they would have made an appearance.
* * *
28.06.09
story continues in The Abduction of Monica 10: Incarceration - Mary's Story
o0o