The Abduction of Monica 19: Home Away From Home

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

The torture seemed endless as the truck rumbled through the night.  Somewhere along the way we stopped – presumably so that Warren could grab a bite to eat.  I assumed Ivana would be following in the 4WD towing the caravan and that the pair would be meeting up for a meal.  I had a suspicion that the video he had just shot of us would likely find its way to Bilboes courtesy of the wireless internet at the café where we stopped, such being the joys of modern technology.

I could see the ad now: Kidnapped, bound, gagged and on the road?  Stay in touch with your loved ones even in the back woods, thanks to the Next Generation Telstra network. You need never be alone again.

We were in what I guessed was a truck stop car park for perhaps an hour while no doubt Warren and Ivana stuffed their faces and we could do nothing but chew on our gags.  We tried to make a noise, to thump, but we were all tied too tightly.  Sofiya and I could barely move a muscle, and Mary and Monica were little better.  With their legs pulled apart and back and tied to the wall via ropes on their ankles, they could still make ineffectual stamping noises on the floor but sitting as we probably were in a car park away from other vehicles, nobody would hear us.  Even if they did, Warren would no doubt tell a nice tail about transporting animals in cages.  If only we could shout, but the jaw-aching gags we never going to allow this.  Rocking the truck was out of the question – there was not enough slack and the biting pain from the nipple clamps was bad enough even going around a corner, much less starting some sort of pendulum effect.

Warren didn’t look in on us when he returned. He just climbed in, started up and away we went again.  I was aching all over – my jaw, my nips, my arse, my legs… The ropes were probably going to leave bruises, for they had been tied so tightly as to restrict my breathing a little.  Every time we went over a bump there was enough vertical movement to make the big dong between my cheeks move just enough to be at once painful and stimulating – something Mr Willy didn’t know what the hell to do with.  Not that he could do much, however.  His own bound position was as painful as all the other parts of me.  No, I didn’t want to struggle, thanks very much.

We had travelled along a long section of motorway.  I figured we had to be going south, passing through Auckland again and down the southern motorway back towards Hamilton.  At some stage we reached the end of the motorway or else turned off, but the road continued to be relatively good.  I (and I’m sure Sofiya) had become instant experts on the degree of curvature of the road – steep bends or shallow, we felt every one as the weights tugged at our poor nips and made me, at any rate, groan in the darkness.  I couldn’t hear the others above the engine and road noise, assuming they were making any attempt at complaint, that is.

We finally began to climb along a winding road through unseen hills.  I had no idea where we were – my New Zealand geography was not that good.  Eventually it seemed that our speed was slowing and the turns were becoming tighter.  Finally, as the vehicle gave a lurch that made the weights swing wildly, we turned off on to what had to be a side road.  It was still sealed but our speed was right down and we were climbing once again.  The road turned to gravel shortly thereafter and I sensed occasional trees brushing the truck as we drove at low speed up a winding incline.  Finally we turned off the gravel and on to a rutted track, or so it felt like.

Then it was quiet and there came the sound of the opening and closing of the cab door, but nothing coming our way.  No doubt Warren was setting up whatever delightful little accommodation surprise he had organised for us, though things might have been complicated by the fact that he now had four prisoners instead of two.

A little while later there was the noise of an engine and what was obviously the 4WD rumbled past, presumably towing the caravan.  More time elapsed and we heard distant voices as Ivana and Warren talked and prepared.  At last the roller door at the rear slid up and the elevating platform dropped down to reveal Warren and Ivana standing like generals reviewing the troops.

Warren climbed into the back and switched on the overhead light, before hauling out the planks and setting up a ramp, which was evidently deemed easier than waiting for the platform to raise and lower every time access was needed.

“Hello boys and girls.  Did we enjoy the ride?”  Whatever Warren had had for dinner, it must have agreed with him, for he was in a buoyant mood.  “Welcome to your new home in the Coromandel.  Perhaps not quite the same as before, but plain and private.  Who’d like to be first?  Monica?  The guest of honour, I think.”

There followed the release of us in the same sequence in which we had been secured.  First Monica, then Mary, then Sofiya.  I looked closely at her, concerned for her health since she had endured an experience that would have reduced many women to tears.  But I saw no sign of such, and the stubborn defiance was still there as Ivana unclamped the two rods and slid the intruders downward from between Sofiya’s legs.  I thought I heard her sigh, but I wasn’t sure.  Then the ropes binding her to the slats were undone and she stepped forward clumsily, deep red grooves in her pale skin where the ropes had been.  She walked awkwardly, tentatively, probably in part from having been immobile for so long, but also from the pain of the nipple clamps which still hadn’t been removed.  I watched her leave the truck, her wrists and elbows still bound tightly and I knew her fingers would be tingling, if not numb.  She was a brave girl, that one.

I was left alone in the truck, listening to the sounds of the night.  Beyond the limited range of the overhead fluorescent light I could see little – just a bit of bush and long grass.  There was no sound of traffic but given that we were probably so far up a side road, it was not surprising.  The Coromandel – where the hell was that?  Recalling the map I had studied when we had arrived, I thought it was on east coast.  There had been pictures of native bush and old gold mine workings and white beaches.  Somehow I didn’t think we were going to be going for a swim.

Ivana came back.  For the first time I began to think I might take her on.  If I could escape, I could get help.  I thought I might have the muscle to do that – I was slightly bigger and certainly heavier than she was.  I began to nerve myself to get the jump on her.

Unfortunately, Ivana was no moron.  I had under-estimated her – as I found out when she rummaged in one of the cardboard boxes and emerged with one of the e-collars.  Oh crap, I thought.  I had never worn one, but had heard bad – or good, depending on who had the remote – things about them.  She approached me with a mischievous smile – make that ‘mischievous with a touch of evil thrown in’. 

“I think this will look good on you, Steven.  Bend your head.”

I had no choice as I stood bound to the slats.  The heavy weight encircled my neck and made a smooth click as the ends came together.  Ivana turned the key in the lock and I was caught.  There was only one way this was coming off.  A number of things ran through my mind at that moment.  I had the feeling that Ivana was actually a very smart cookie.  She was also a very careful cookie.  Somehow, my ideas about getting the drop on her suddenly didn’t seem so good.  She stepped back. 

“I am going to release you in a minute, but first I want you to understand the position you are in.  By that I mean the power I hold over you.  I will tell you to do something and you will obey instantly.  Failure to obey will result in this.”  She pulled a device from the pocket of her jeans, slightly smaller than a mobile phone.  She thumbed a button on it and instantly my world dissolved in a flash of pain as the collar shocked my body.  Had I not been bound to the slats I would have collapsed, for all control seemed to disappear from my legs.  The pain was a mere split second, but enough for me to gasp and try to cry out around the ball wedged in my mouth.  I found myself hanging there, snorting and dragging in as much air as I could manage, my eyes watering.

Everything seemed to hurt at once.  Whatever I had felt from my bonds and the crotch restraints suddenly tripled in intensity.  Ivana appeared amused by the whole episode, by the power she had over me, a mere male.

“The scale goes up to over one hundred,” she said, holding up the device so I could see a small LED number.  It read “52”.  “You have received barely half that.  Imagine what a full charge would be like…  Would you like to experience that, Steven?” She gave me a look that suggested for a moment that she was actually going to do it.”

“Nnnn! Nnnn!” I mmphed, shaking my head vehemently.

“Good.  Then you understand me.  One mistake, one delay in obeying me and the button gets pushed.  Consider it your own personal hurry-up button.” 

She undid the ropes around my body, leaving me still impaled on the dildo and with Mr Willy still bound to the front rod.  She stepped back.

“Lean forward while I undo your cuffs.”

I could barely lean forward at all but managed to somehow drag my wrists to one side so that she could release one of the cuffs.  As I pulled my arms from behind me she grabbed the loose cuff and secured my wrists in front.  It seemed that even with the horrific collar, she was still taking no chances.  Ivana was no muggins.

“You may undo the rest of your bonds now,” she said.  But as I moved to unbuckle the gag behind my head: “Uh-uh.  That stays in.  I can’t be bothered dealing with idle chatter and complaints.” I moved to release the nipple clamps, but got the thumbs down on those, too.  “Only when I say so,” she told me.  No, I was not happy.

She sat down on a box and watched with obvious amusement as I grappled with the clamps on the rods between my legs.  With difficulty I finally managed to free Mr Willy which gave me an enormous sense of relief.  Eventually I released the clamp on the rear rod and gingerly slid the big intruder out.  Another sigh of relief.

Finally I was able to undo the ropes on my ankles, though not without a resurgence of pain through my nips in the course of bending over and waggling them about.  Perhaps the gag was a good thing.

When I could at last stand upright, I was made to pick up and carry two of the cartons down the ramp to our new home.  Evidently I was the hired help now.

I was able to look around – to the extent that I could see in the darkness.  The truck was parked beside a low set wooden house that looked like it had been built in the 1940’s or 50’s.  It needed a lot of work but the power was at least on because lights burned in the windows.  In front of the truck the caravan had been parked and the 4WD disconnected from it.  Lights were on in the caravan, too.  It looked as though we were settling in for a while.

We seemed to be in a clearing in the bush.  I could see the grassy track disappearing into the night from the turning area in front of the house, on the left of which was a dilapidated single garage with old style hinged wooden doors.

I followed Ivana up the three front steps and through the front door.  The place had a musty, decaying smell, and it was empty, as I found, peering into several rooms.  We passed through the living room, its walls mildewy and the floor consisting of bare boards.  Several cheap green folding camp chairs occupied the room.  The kitchen had old fashioned linoleum on the floor, and the two bedrooms again were bare.  Mary and Monica sat on the floor in one of these, chained by their necks to steel U-brackets screwed to the floor and still restrained as they had been in the truck, although their metal ring gags had been removed.  They looked up as I passed, but said nothing.  Their body language told me everything.

I was directed to put the boxes in the next room which had likely also been a bedroom. Bars had been fitted to the small window and I noticed that there were numerous U-brackets screwed into the walls and floor and ceiling here, too.  Doubtless this was going to be a place of major restraint.  Heading back out to the truck unencumbered by boxes, I noticed more U-brackets in the living room, which was larger than the bedrooms and would likely serve as an ideal spot for Warren and Ivana to satisfy their warped imaginations. 

How long had they been preparing this place, I wondered?  Warren had been the busy one, and would have been so obsessed about the whole thing that he would no doubt have detailed plans somewhere for every dreadful torture he was going to subject Monica and Mary to on a daily basis.  I would not have been surprised to find – probably on a laptop – details of all the gear he needed and all the preparations he would have made, right down to the last anchor bolt and length of chain.  Warren was obsessive like that, as many of the bondage fraternity are.  Monica was the same, but I suspected Warren had taken things to new levels. 

Two more trips and the last of the boxes was dumped in the spare room.  It concerned me that I had not seen Sofiya or Warren.  As I emerged from the house ahead of Ivana, Warren came out of the garage, grinned at me then went into the caravan.  A light was on in the garage and this was where I was now directed by Ivana.

I tugged open one of the doors on its rusty hinges, the door scraping a curve through the grass where it had sagged under the effects of time and settlement.  The bulb was dim but the sight inside the garage filled me with horror.

Sofiya was bound as before in the truck – wrists and elbows behind her, and still gagged with the red ball.  Warren had stood her on a solitary brick, feet together, and had looped a noose tightly about her neck before throwing the loose end over one of the exposed roof trusses and tying it off.  The sight was so awful that I at once made to rush to her, but was felled by an agonising shock from the collar.  My legs and arms wouldn’t function as I tried to get up, only to be felled again as Ivana pushed the button on her remote.

The pain was such that I couldn’t focus on anything.  I scrabbled at the collar, trying to slide my fingers in the space between the steel and my skin, but the fit was too snug.  It was an instinctive reaction but did me no good whatsoever.  Everything went black for a moment – I’m not really sure how long it was.  Somewhere in that time Ivana locked a heavy chain to a U-shaped lug on the collar and then to the wall opposite Sofiya.

She stepped over to where Sofiya stood motionless on the brick, balanced on the balls of her bare feet.  Her body trembled as Ivana stroked her still-bound breasts which jutted forward from the tightness of the ropes pulling her arms behind her.  The nipple weights were still in place, ideal targets for Ivana to wiggle and tug.  Sofiya was unable to suppress a moan of pain. 

Ivana’s hand dropped, sliding down Sofiya’s belly and nestling in the dark blonde bush between her thighs.  Ivana turned to me to ensure I was watching, and I found myself unable to tear my gaze away as her fingers insinuated themselves into Sofiya’s pussy.  Sofiya’s eyes closed as she tried to concentrate on simply keeping her balance and making no sudden move.  Ivana removed her fingers and toyed with a line of drool that ran from the edge of the ball in Sofiya’s mouth, wetting them before thrusting them inside Sofiya again.  She brought her lips up to Sofiya’s breasts and kissed them, adding her second hand to Sofiya’s crotch.

“Such a pity that Warren is unable to enjoy these pleasures any more,” she murmured, loud enough for me to hear.  A piece of the jigsaw dropped into place with a clang.  What had happened to Warren?  Something bad in jail, no doubt.  Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, I thought, but the explanation didn’t help us one iota. 

Ivana moved her hands up and down with the touch of one woman to another.  I saw Sofiya’s eyes snap open and stare off into the distance, as though trying to deal with the pain, the pleasure and the danger that she was now experiencing together.  Ivana appeared in no hurry to go to bed.  I assumed she would be sharing the caravan with Warren, but my new knowledge now placed such sharing on a different level.

Ivana’s insistent hands began to have their effect and further kissing of Sofiya’s breasts and neck took her beyond the pain.  I had seen it often enough but always with our clients.  Now I was seeing Sofiya – a complete newbie to the world in which I lived – experiencing a hidden side that I was sure she had never suspected. 

She came with a sudden rush that saw her bouncing on her toes and uttering small grunts as Ivana hugged her and ground her fingers into the helpless girl’s crotch.  Sofiya was snorting and wriggling, the rope tight about her neck as she struggled to breathe and cry out at the same time.  Finally her body seemed to go limp, and Ivana slowly eased her grip and retreated towards the door.

“I think I’ll leave the light on,” she said to me.  “You two have caused us much inconvenience.  This Siberian slut will likely be dead by morning and you’ll be next after that.  Warren wants the other two.  He’ll still get his three months out of them.  Maybe longer now – thanks to you!”

As she stepped out the door I made a last desperate effort to undo the gag to plead with her.  Again the fire jolted through my body and I collapsed on the dirt floor.  The door swung shut with a creak and there came the sound of a bolt being driven closed.  Sofiya and I were left staring at each other unable to touch.  This couldn’t be happening!

*   *   *

16.09.09

story continues in The Abduction of Monica 20: Inferno - Trish's Story

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