Vanishing Act 5

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Vanishing Act 4)

8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter five
8
That was the point at which my captivity began – an unknown period bound on the bed.  I can’t adequately describe the welter of thoughts running riot in my head at that time.  My world had been turned upside down in the space of an hour.  I was due to fly to Seattle.  This thought kept intruding, totally illogically, amongst the others.  It didn’t seem to matter that I had been taken prisoner and lay bound and helpless for an unknown purpose, with possibly my life in the balance, but my stupid brain kept reminding me of what was going to be a missed flight.

After a short while my arms began to ache with the strain of being pulled back and pinioned rigidly.  My shoulders hurt with the tension in my arms, and the circulation began to make my hands and feet tingle.  I squirmed around but this only seemed to make matters worse, putting more pressure on my bound limbs.  At one stage I developed a snuffle, I guess from the attempts at tears that had welled uncontrollably behind the tape still binding my head.  I had panicked momentarily until I decided to blow my nose as best as I could.  I was past caring about any mess I made.  I had a headache from the tightness of the tape wrapped around it and I was alone, miserable and frightened.

Who was this person?  His voice had sounded English – possibly a London accent, but not quite.  There was something in the inflection that suggested a phoney accent.  What did he want with me? How long was he going to keep me?  Was this for money or something more sinister?  There could be no money involved, I decided.  I had no relatives who would pay any ransom, and any money I had possessed as a result of my parents had gone on the house.  I was not a target for wealth, I decided.  Which only left sex or some other perverted motive. 

I felt myself trembling and my breath came in stuttering little pants as the shock of what had happened slowly sank home.  I realised with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that nobody would come looking for me for maybe three weeks.  I was to have been away from work for at least that time.  I presumed the airlines and the conference organisers would just put me down as a no-show.  I had done all the organising from home, so any attempts to contact me would be met with an unanswered phone.

Alarm bells were starting to go off in a big way, at the same time as the coincidence of the whole thing was frantically banging on my reasoning cells, shouting that there was more to this than met the eye, and metaphorically waving something that I could not quite grasp.  What was I missing here?  I struggled to think straight, but the pain of my bonds made it hard to concentrate as the circulation slowly dwindled in my arms and my muscles protested.

It was warm in the room and my attempts to flop from resting on my right side to my left side left me sweating under the tape.  I could feel the perspiration soaking into the satin of my nightshirt and trickling in little rivulets down my neck.  I felt my mind start to wander and things began to go a bit muzzy.  I knew I was not concentrating and was missing something important…
Despite the stringency of my position I must have dozed.

*   *   *

He came back into the room.  I jerked back to the present at the sound of his voice.  It was different, and I knew my captor. 
It was Ash.

“How are we feeling, Jan?”  He sounded casual and matter of fact, like a doctor visiting a patient.  I squirmed and mewed as much as I could beneath the layers of tape.  Suddenly a whole clump of the jigsaw fell in place.  Ash was the only one in whom I had confided my submissive tendency, and of course he had helped me with Graham.  The timing of my abduction was obviously no coincidence, for Ash knew of my intending trip. That realisation scared me again.  I knew that he was aware of the three clear weeks that he had before anybody started asking questions.  My thoughts went racing in all directions at a thousand miles an hour, but all I could do was whine plaintively.

His hands were on my body, then.  I felt the cold steel of a knife as it slit the tape holding my calves against the backs of my thighs, and I groaned as I could finally straighten my legs.  He peeled the tape away fastidiously before allowing me to sit up on the edge of the bed.  I felt momentarily light headed after having lain prone for so long, and must have swayed forward, for his hands caught me by the shoulders.
“Okay?” he asked.  I was amazed at the conciliatory tone in his voice.  It was as though he was helping me in a perfectly normal situation, like having dropped a parcel in a shopping mall.  I recovered my balance and sat there.
“Jan, I’m going to undo some of the tape.  I don’t want any trouble from you, or you’ll wind up in a far worse situation than you can possibly imagine.  You will behave.  Do you understand?  Nod for me if you do.”  I bent my head forward, having no choice.

He rolled me on to my stomach again, and I felt the tape slowly cut away from my arms below the elbows.  I flexed my fingers but had little movement beyond that, with the elbows themselves still firmly bound.  But I was not to be freed just like that.  It was merely a change, not a removal of my bonds.  Several turns of cord were wrapped around each wrist and knotted separately.  Obviously there were two tails attached to these, for as I was allowed to sit up again I felt the two pieces of rope pulled around my body to be tied in front. 

The rest of the tape then came off my upper arms and from around my body.  Ash was apparently incapable of doing this without groping my breasts and tweaking my nipples in the process, it seemed, but I was so pleased to have the tightness removed from my body that I barely noticed. With the last of the tape removed he pulled on the two ropes encircling my body, and I found out exactly how I had been secured as my arms were pulled into a kind of straightjacket tie behind me, my left wrist touching my right elbow and vice versa. I made more whining noises, not that these made any difference.

Now Ash turned his attention to my head.  This was more painful, as the tape was firmly stuck to my hair.  I suppose I complained rather too much as the tape came away and I got the impression that Ash didn’t suffer fools gladly.  I received a sudden slap on the face.  His tone had changed dramatically.
“Shut up, damn you!  Would you like me to leave it on?  Well?”  Miserably I shook my head.  There was more cutting and pulling and I gritted my teeth as it came away as a mass of tape probably in the shape of my head.  That still left the individual strips he had first placed over my mouth and eyes.
With the removal of the tape the sweat poured down my face in the rivulets that had accumulated underneath.  I felt it dripping off my chin on to my nightshirt.  My hair was wet and plastered down.  I could smell my own sweat and an overtone of fear mingled with it.

“Stand up!”  Ash ordered.  He seemed to be stopping short of finally removing the last pieces of tape. I did as I was told, and was guided across the room, my feet experiencing the coldness of bare concrete as I did so.  I was backed against some sort of a chair.  I felt the metal frame against the back of my knees and sat down.  The chair did not move with my arrival and I quickly established it was somehow bolted to the floor.  It seemed to be a basic chair of the type you often find in conferences – padded seat and back on a steel frame.  The rope connecting my wrists was loosened enough for my arms to slide behind the back of the chair before the cord was retied at navel level.  Things were still passable until a wide leather strap was buckled around me, just below my breasts, pinning me to the chair.  Ash grunted as he pulled the thing tight and fastened the buckle.  Then some sort of leather cuff was secured on each ankle, which then got pulled backwards to be tethered to the rear of the frame, so that my feet were off the ground.  When a second strap was buckled tightly across my thighs I thought the extent of my confinement had been reached.  But this man had not quite finished with me as a rope was run from the left rear leg of the chair, over my right shoulder, around my throat and down to the right leg.  He pulled it just tight enough so that my head was forced to stay in an erect position.

There came a silence and I could feel his eyes on me, gauging and appraising my bound form.  The sound of another chair followed, grating on the bare concrete.
“Yes, very nice,” he said, sounding pleased.  “You make a wonderful exhibit, Jan.  Quite stunning.  I expect you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here.  Or maybe you’ve worked out a few things in the process.  Smart girl like you…  Of course you have.  Well then, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?  Are we comfortable?  I hope so.  You have been placed in that position so that you can focus properly on what I am about to tell you.  It is very important that you understand fully the nature of your captivity, the purpose of it, and most importantly, the absolute nature of it.  Simply put, you will not leave here until I decide.  If ever.  Is that clear?”

I made no movement.

“I said, is that clear?!”  His voice changed suddenly from a calm, reasoned tone to a shout and there was a swish in the air, followed by a biting pain across my left breast where it was confined by the satin of my nightshirt.  I cried out in pain behind the tape and nodded my head as much as I was able with the rope about my throat, which was really very little.
He was all smoothness and warmth in the next breath.
“Good, good, Jan.  I’m glad we understand each other.  Today I am only going to tell you a little of the story.  I will tell you more tomorrow, perhaps, depending on how adept a student you prove to be. 

“As you have probably guessed, Jan, my name is Ash.  Yes, he to whom you have confided your doubts and desires for the past six months.  I know a lot about you now.  It’s a shame you have to miss your holiday, but that is a problem that doesn’t concern you, as I may explain in more detail tomorrow – or some time later.  The important thing is that you are now here in Ash’s dungeon, which is now your home for the foreseeable future.  It sounds a little melodramatic, doesn’t it – the word ‘dungeon’.” He chuckled. “There are no rats.  There is no moss on the walls with initials carved in it from previous inhabitants.  Sound proofed and constructed to world’s best practice, haha. In due course I will let you study it more closely, and from less restrictive confinement.  But make no mistake, you will remain under restraint for as long as I consider necessary, until you bend to my will completely.

“The reason you have been brought here, Jan, is both experimental and for my personal gain.  It is experimental in the sense that you have in effect been condemned to a life as a slave – my slave.  You will remain confined here while your training takes place.  One day, when you have demonstrated your complete and total submission to my will, you may be permitted some small degree of freedom.  Oh yes I know – it all sounds over the top and a bit mad professor, but this is the twenty first century, Jan.  Strange things happen the world over every day.  People go missing and are never found…

“In the meantime, you will obey me without hesitation.  I know what you’re thinking.  The whole business of Domination/submission – this is not at all what I told you, is it.  No, there’s none of that consensual crap here.  None of the loving relationships stuff and the gift of total trust in the power exchange.  This is simple and basic.  I am in total control of you.  You will eat only when I decide.  You will sleep when I decide.  You will go for a shit when I decide!”  His voice rose an octave.  “Am I getting through to you, Jan Sherwood?” 

 I nodded, abruptly feeling my body start to tremble as much as it was able in my confinement.  The room at once seemed to go from hot to cold at the import of his words.  The guy was a psychopath.  A certifiable mental case.  A part of my mind went into denial, telling me it was all a mistake and that this was really just a cruel joke, and in a minute he would let me go free and take me to the airport in time to catch my plane.

“In short, Jan, your very life is dependent on me.  I can leave you chained up here to die of starvation.  Or thirst.  It would be a long and lingering process.  Or there would be other ways that would be much quicker and less painful.  The point I am making is that while a Master is responsible for the welfare of his slave, if that slave fails to perform, the welfare will suffer.  Disobedience will be punished.  It will be severe.  Do you understand, Jan?”

Another nod.

“Good.  We will get to your training in due course.  My final point for the moment is that you may dismiss all hope from your mind of any form of escape.  If you so much as think of it, I will know, and you will regret it in the most agonising way.  We are not playing at master and slave, here.  This will be a scientific experiment, to determine just what it takes to break your will.  I will document this in the most methodical manner.  White mice in cages are passé in my world.  Only by dealing with people can you understand what makes them tick.

“And just to put an end to your wondering, Jan, it wasn’t hard to track down your new address.  I have a friend in Telstra who has access to all sorts of goodies on the computer lists of names and addresses.  You changed everything else, Jan, when you left Sydney, but you kept your old mobile number. It was a simple matter to trace the change of address against it.  Then I could keep a close eye on you. I couldn’t believe my luck when you moved up here to Brisbane. And of course all that stuff about me being in Cairns was a fabrication – but you’ve guessed that already, haven’t you.  A mobile phone and an email address mean nothing about the owner’s whereabouts, as you’ve now realised.  Isn’t technology wonderful?

”And I’m sorry you have to miss your holiday.  You won’t be missed, of course.  I’ll sort that out.  I wish I could go in your place – I’d really like an overseas trip.  Do you know, I’ve never been outside Australia?  Don’t even have a passport.  Yet you’ve travelled all over the world.  A little bit inequitable, don’t you think, Jan? But of course what goes around, comes around, and to all intents and purposes you’ve had your little fling, and now it’s my turn.”
There was the sound of the other chair rasping on the floor as he stood up.

“I must say, Jan, you are much more attractive than I had imagined when I first spoke to you in Sydney.  Funny how you form a picture of someone in your mind, and often it’s totally false.  What do you think I look like, Jan?” 
I felt the closeness of his person, the rustle of clothes and the smell of cigarettes. I shook my head in despair.  I had formed some sort of vague notion of dark hair and a warm, strong attractive personality.  Boy, had I got that part wrong.  There was no warmth in his voice now as he moved around behind me.
“Never mind.  You will find out all in good time. I am going to leave you now, Jan.  I want you to focus on four things while I am gone. 

“Firstly, there is no escape. 

“Secondly, you will do exactly what I say, without hesitation. 

“Thirdly, any resistance or disobedience will be punished severely.  You will sit and ponder on these three points as though your life depends on it, because maybe it does. 

“The fourth point is something to look forward to.  Tomorrow your training begins.  It will start with a thorough flogging and whipping that will leave you in pain from head to toe, Jan.  This will simply be necessary to lay down a baseline, to show who really is the master, and who is the worthless slave.  It is to expose your limits and to demonstrate my power, Jan.  It will be very unpleasant for you, but absolutely necessary.  It will leave you scarred mentally and physically and will be an experience you will never forget as long as you live or as long as you remain here, whichever ends first.

”Like a visit to the dentist there is a natural fear that comes with the anticipation of pain, and it is important that you experience this as well.  That is why I am telling you that you will experience the full horror of the clamps on all parts of your body, the weights on the clamps, and the whips, crops and floggers that will lay waste to the most intimate parts of your body, and you will experience pain the like of which you have never imagined possible.” 

Ash explained this with such matter-of-fact calm, as one might explain how to change a car tyre.  I could not believe what I was hearing, and the manner in which he told me sent shivers down my spine and left a hollow dead feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was the departing tread of footsteps on the concrete then a heavy door closing.  It sounded as though it was made of steel, and it shut with a hollow booming sound that echoed momentarily with a horrible finality.

I sat there in my misery.  I tried to cry, but the tape over my eyes made this impossible.  Instead they seemed only to sting and my nose began to run instead.  I could do nothing to stop this as the mucus ran down over the tape covering my mouth and dripped on to my chest.  I struggled and jerked hard against the ropes and straps holding me, but it was utterly futile.  Everything was tied too well and all buckles were out of reach.  The chair was definitely bolted to the floor, for it gave not an inch.  I moaned and tried to scream behind the tape in a panic of frustration and mounting terror that I might not emerge from this predicament alive.  The deep foreboding fear that had been lurking in my innermost depths now rose to the surface.  This was not some sort of joke that would burst upon me and everything would be made good.  I had been kidnapped for some intention that I still did not understand.  I wanted to sob, but even that outlet was denied me.  Instead I could only moan and mew in despair.

*   *   *

I lost track of time again.  The position I had been secured in was not unbearable.  I suspect it had been deliberately intended as such so that my discomfort did not distract me from thoughts of my future.  I may have nodded off once or twice, but the pressure of the rope around my windpipe brought me back to reality with a start each time.  And each time the same reality left me with that cold clamminess of fear gripping my body.  I listened for the door, dreading its opening.  I wanted to pee by now.  I had no idea whether it was morning or afternoon, but I was becoming increasingly desperate to relieve myself.  I was hungry, too, but only in the way that my stomach was empty, as distinct from actually having an appetite.  How much longer?  I felt like a prisoner on death row waiting for the tramp of the warders’ feet, as the escort would come to take him to the execution chamber.

Sitting in the silence unnerved me.  The only sounds I could hear were movements from upstairs on the floor above.  No sounds from outside seemed able to penetrate my prison.  I tried to reason what that would mean.  We were on some sort of acreage, with large grounds that would shield the house from traffic noise and prying eyes?  Maybe the soundproofing was just too good and there was still a road quite near…

Why was he doing this to me?  Despite what he said about the master and slave thing, I was sure there was something more to it than this.  He had hinted that he was only telling me part of the story at this stage.  He had talked about personal gain.  What could he hope to get from me?  Was it sexual?  So far he had refrained from taking obvious advantage of me.  But he had described what lay before me, and the thought scared me silly.  The guy was obviously a control freak into sadism in some sort of major way.  Or was he playing games with me – letting my mind work overtime in visualising what lay ahead?  Surely he would not go through with such horrors?  I began to shake again, eventually overcoming it only with a major focus on my body.

My desperation to urinate was a spur that kept me from dozing further.  Whatever else happened I could not bear the thought of disgracing myself.  I was terrified of what he might do to me.  When the key finally turned in the lock and the door swung open with a faint creak I turned my head and moaned pitifully, squirming as best I could in my bonds.
There came the footsteps again and the cigarette smell.

“How are we doing, Jan?” said the voice beside my ear.  It seemed calm and easy, and it was this casualness that scared me the most.  “Are we hungry?  I’ll bet we are.  I bet you’re dying for a piss as well.”  Thank God!  I nodded emphatically.
“Well Jan, here’s your first quandary.  I have here your meal.  It’s in a glass and it comes with a straw.  Just like a thickshake – very nutritious.  But you have to make a decision – you can go for a leak now, and miss out on your meal or drink it now and wait fifteen minutes before you get to relieve yourself.”  He chuckled.  He seemed to find the situation genuinely humorous.  “So which is it to be, Jan?  One nod for drink now, two nods for a pee and no food.”   I thought for a moment.  My desperation should not be replaced by starvation, I knew.  I had no idea what lay ahead of me, and my practical mind told me I had to keep up my strength.  I nodded once.

“A good decision, Jan.  You still have your wits about you, I see.  I wonder how you’ll be thinking after twenty or thirty hours without proper sleep and after a sustained flogging.  Something to really think about, isn’t it.”  I was now conscious of his breathing close in front of me, and then his hands were on my head, one gripping me by the jaw while something pointed pressed into the tape across my mouth.  My lips felt the cold touch of steel as a pointed screwdriver or something similar made a small hole through the gag.  Moments later a straw was thrust through this penetration and I sucked greedily.  The liquid was indeed the consistency of a thickshake, but tasted bland.  I did not know how much was in the glass, nor how long he would let me drink, so I went as fast as I could, ignoring my protesting bladder.  The liquid filled my stomach and after a minute or two I concluded it was a large glass I had been given.  It seemed to go on forever.  I tried to pull away, but one hand held me by the back of my head. 

“You will stop drinking when I tell you to stop, my dear,” he ordered.  I continued, feeling my stomach fill until finally there was a slurping noise that indicated the end of the process.  “Good girl.”  He was almost complimentary, talking the way one would to a small child.  The straw was taken out and another piece of tape was pressed over the small hole remaining.  Again I felt the pressure on my bladder and could not help a plaintive whine.  He ignored me and began to play with my hair, running his fingers through it in what seemed to be almost a thoughtful manner.

“I’ve seen you with a plait before, Jan.  It suits you.  I think we’ll give you one now.  It will make an excellent anchor point.”  Anchor point?  God, what was he going to do to me?  The strong hands began to twist through my hair and I felt the roots being tugged methodically into a plait, but it was on top of my head, not at the back, where I normally had it.  I did not like where this was leading. It took him perhaps ten minutes to do it.  He had clearly done it before and knew what he wanted.  The ends were tied off somehow and my hair was then tightly stretched across my scalp into this single top plait that now flopped against the back of my head.

“It’s time for a change of blindfold, Jan.  That tape is a bit inconvenient for long term, I think.  We want something a little more comfortable.”  Comfortable?   This was the first time he had expressed any concern remotely connected with my comfort.  Already I had him picked as someone who did nothing without a good reason – someone with agendas and motives.  I had decided also that Jan’s comfort did not rank highly on any of those lists.

“I am going to pull the tape off, Jan, and if you so much as flutter an eyelid, I will have you hanging by your plait.  Nod if you understand.”  His voice was icy, all of a sudden, and there was no mistaking the intention behind his statement.  I believed him absolutely, and I nodded.

First one piece of tape, then the other, was pulled clear of my eyelids.  I kept them closed, despite the temptation to sneak a look at my prison.  There was precious little time for this, for some form of harness or hood was pulled into place over my head.  It seemed to be made of thick rubber, and had holes for my ears, the plait and my nose.  It stopped just below my nose, the edge running around under my ears to the nape of my neck.  Soft padding was pressed hard against my eyes, but it was definitely more comfortable than the tape.  A strap was buckled under my chin and I thought I detected the click of a tiny padlock.

With no further explanation he untied the knot at my navel that secured my arms in the straightjacket position, and with relief I let them drop, only to have them captured again and bound together, palm to palm in front, with the trailing ropes encircling my wrists further before being cinched off, leaving them rigidly secured.  There followed the release of the straps securing me to the chair and the ropes attached to my ankle cuffs. 

“Stand up,” he ordered.  I did so, and he led me across the room until I felt the cold touch of a toilet bowl against my legs.  He turned me about and thrust a roll of toilet paper into my hands.  “You have five minutes,” he said brusquely.
I sat down gingerly, establishing that the toilet had no seat, that I was sitting directly on the porcelain.  I knew he was watching, but my need was so urgent that I didn’t care.  I had no way of knowing when I might next have the opportunity, and resolved to make the most of any such chance. 

With difficulty I worked the hem of my nightshirt up with my bound hands, then let nature take its course with little encouragement needed.  For the first time since my capture I felt better, albeit in a small way.  I began to be more aware of my surroundings and to start to consider the possibility of escape.

He gave me little opportunity for this the moment I had finished my ablutions.  I was dragged unceremoniously across the room and my bound wrists were secured to some sort of pulley rope, for at once there was the sound of a ratchet and my arms began to rise.  They touched the cold metal of a post in front of me, and my hands briefly explored a circular steel post, maybe fifteen centimetres in diameter, that must have been some sort of support column for the house above.  As my hands rose above my head I moved forward until I touched the steel post with my nose.  I don’t know what I expected to learn from this.  It simply seemed a small piece of information that might one day form part of a larger jigsaw that I needed to understand in order to escape.

The ratchet noise stopped, with my hands a little above my head.  I was not fully stretched out, and wondered at this.  My curiosity was addressed moments later when a rope was tied to each of my ankle cuffs.  Oh shit, I thought – what was he doing?

I was quickly enlightened as he nudged my feet apart and backward, at the same time pulling on the ropes attached to them.  I found my ankles widely spread and suddenly with tension on the rope tethering my wrists as I was moved backwards away from the post.  I saw at once what he was up to and my heart sank.  His next sentence confirmed this, and also left me wondering what grander scheme he had planned.

“I’m leaving you, now, Jan.  I shall be gone maybe three or four hours.  I have to pay another visit to your house.  Time is of the essence, you see.  There are things to do, concerning which you will be advised in due course.  In the meantime, you may practice your yoga or your isometrics or whatever you see most befitting to your present circumstances.”  And then he was gone, with the terrible sound of the door closing.

*   *   *

The position I found myself in was tolerable for a short time, after which it became more and more painful as my muscles began to weaken.  As a nurse I knew what was happening to my body.  My arms were raised above and forward of me, meaning that my back and legs had to counter the tendency for me to tip forward.  I could not put too much weight on the rope, as that would only exacerbate the situation.  My legs were spread and the ropes attached to my ankles were tied to anchor points somewhere behind me, maybe at 45 degrees to the line between my feet.  My calves and thighs were likewise under strain because of the spread, but also because of the load on my arms.

I could not tell the passage of time.  I guessed that half an hour had gone, by which time things had started to get very uncomfortable and I could feel the muscles in my back and legs beginning to protest.  I could not fully straighten my back or lean backwards any further, because my arms were now at full stretch.  It was all I could do to stop toppling forward as my strength began to weaken.  The sinews were beginning to knot along the backs of my calves as I desperately considered my options.  If I did fall forward, what would my position be?  How far away from the post was I?  I might gain some relief, or would I make the situation worse?  Could I recover, back to my present situation?  I doubted it.  Any attempt to thrust myself back upright, unless judged exactly, would inevitably bring me up short on the wrist rope, which would pull me forward again. 

I could feel my strength failing.  If I went forward, what if my feet slipped out?  I would end up hanging by my wrists.  My hands were already numb from the bonds and from being held up above my head.  I was starting to become really desperate and scared.  I would never keep this up for four hours!
As the pain grew in my back I began to cry again.  This time, under the hood and the eye padding, the tears found their way out, unlike with the terrible tape.  The foam eye pads became saturated and my eyes stung, but I felt the wetness trickle down my cheeks.

At length I could sustain the tension no longer, and with my heart in my mouth I slowly toppled forward, desperately trying to maintain my footing, my hands spread as wide as they could, as though trying to catch a cricket ball.  They collided with the pole after a very short distance, maybe only six inches, and I gripped it desperately, trying to make sure I stopped my momentum at that point and did not slip past it.  My heart was beating wildly and I was panting hard through my nose. 

I forced myself to relax and examined my new position.  It took some of the pressure off my back, since my forearms were now touching the pole over their full length and could take some of the weight, but I was now leaning forward on my legs, and from being flat on my feet I was now resting on the balls of them, the cuffs taut on my ankles. 

More time passed, and the drag on my arms and legs became intolerable.  My back, previously straining not to bend forward, now sagged under the weight of my body.  My tears had stopped after my forward movement, so relieved was I at pulling it off, but as the new strains on my muscles took their toll, I could not help but let the mood of self pity take hold of me. 
I wondered what Ash was up to.  Focussing on this took me away from my torment, at least briefly.  What was he doing in my house?  Was he robbing it?  Where did that fit in with my kidnapping?  So far, despite my being tied and helpless, he had not attempted to sexually molest me.  I had a feeling that this was still to come, that it was on his agenda, but at a time that suited him.  You did not go to all this trouble to kidnap a woman and torture her without some element of sexual punishment coming into the picture.  However much I dreaded such a turn of events, I was realistic enough to expect this.  Ash had been too into the bondage scene not to exploit this, if the advice he had given me in Sydney was anything to go by.

Everything he had done to date, the whole planning of my abduction, from the tracking down of my address from the phone company to the leaving of presents, the mind games, the watching, and now the deliberately debilitating bondage torment all showed a calculating mind that had a goal to be achieved.  It was this likelihood that scared me most of all.  I did not know how much pain I could tolerate.  I had never been in a situation where I had had to cope with physical pain in any major way.  My life had been free of stays in hospital, of broken limbs or major accidents or diseases.  I had no idea what my limits were and what I could withstand.  I only knew that any chance I had of survival was going to depend on my willpower being greater than his.  Likewise, any chance I had for escape would depend on my ability to outthink him, to spot the weak link, the thing that he had overlooked.

All these thoughts passed though my head in a random manner as I hung disconsolately against the post, feeling my strength ebbing slowly.  My elbows had slowly spread, letting me rest the rubber encasing my forehead against the steel column.  My back ached and I could feel little runnels of sweat slide down my legs.  My feet were in grave danger of cramping, as were my calves.  I knew the first signs from my time playing netball, and the thought of this brought more trepidation to my mind.  My feet began to slip, little by little as the concrete became wet with sweat.  Every so often I would have to drag my foot forward to the limit of its tether as the load came down more heavily on my arms. 

My hands had long since lost their feeling and I was now starting to whimper to myself with the strain on all my muscles.  I was keening a tuneless, self-pitying dirge, sniffling as the tears of pain slipped down my cheeks, when the door finally clanged open.

He said nothing at first and seemed to pause, for perhaps a minute, watching my struggle, then he undid the ropes attached to the post, and I thought I heard him chuckle under his breath.  He pulled me backwards until I was finally able to stand up straight and to lower my arms.  Delivered from the intense strain my body began to shake again and my knees went wobbly.  I could still not sit down to rest my quivering legs, but any relief was blessed.  I realised I was still keening softly and stopped, not wanting to give him any more comfort.

“You’ve done well, Jan,” said the voice.  “Not bad for a first time.  Mind you, I must stress that this is only the beginning.  I’m going to break you – you need to understand that.  There is no other outcome possible here.”  Again, the calm matter-of-fact tone sent shivers up my spine.  “But now it’s late.  I want to get some sleep.  Unfortunately, that is something you will not be doing.  I like a good ten-hour sleep.  What about you?”  I hung my head but made no sound.  “It’s irrelevant, anyway, he said dismissively. “Now we have to prepare you for bed.”

He said no more for a short time and I could hear him moving about the room.  Then my nightshirt was lifted and a nozzle was inserted in my rectum, delivering a cold squirt of what I presumed was lubricant.  Oh no, I groaned, please, not that!  There followed the cold penetration of some form of butt plug.  It was not as big as the one Graham had used, but I still squirmed and tried instinctively to reject it.  My rebellion was punished by a sharp pinch on my left nipple, which made me squeal behind the tape.
“I’d behave, if I were you, Jan,” said the voice curtly.  “Relax and let it in – or I will force it anyway.”

I saw reason and let the horrid thing slide into place.  My pussy was next – the first time he had ventured into that area, and I felt intensely vulnerable as some sort of dildo slid coldly inside me here on a further slime of lubricant. A belt was placed around my waist under the nightshirt and buckled behind me, with a wide crotch strap connected from front to back and buckled tightly there as well.  It seemed my implants were not going to be readily expelled.  I could feel some sort of weights hanging from the belt.  They seemed to be like huge padlocks, one at each hip and one in the small of my back.  The metal was cold and bulky against my flesh.  I wondered anxiously what such enormous locks could possibly be for, and why they were covered by the nightshirt.

The ropes connected to my ankle cuffs were undone at this point and I was at last able to draw my feet together to relieve the awful tension in my thighs.  It would have felt marvellous had the awful unknown expectation of what was to come next been hanging over me.  I was walked several paces and made to sit on the edge of a bed.  There appeared to be no bedclothes, just a foam mattress that felt as though the original plastic covering had not yet been removed.  There was a click at my feet as my ankle cuffs were locked together. 

“Put out your hands,” I was ordered.  I did so, sightlessly holding them out in front of me, my fingers steepled in the attitude of prayer.  If I had been religious I would have been well into my repertoire of prayers by that stage, but I knew there was no future there.  There came the tight constriction of duct tape as it wound around my fingers and hands down to the wrists and over the rope wrapped around them.  My arms had become now locked into a kind of diving position, as though I was about to leap off the edge of the pool.  My fingers and hands had become rigid under the tape, and I realised abruptly how my movements were about to be curtailed.  This was something quite different from what I had just gone through.

He looped a rope around my neck in what felt like a noose and pulled my head forward so that it was a handspan above my knees, then tied the loose end of the rope to my ankle cuffs.
“You’re almost ready, Jan.  But before I complete your ensemble for the night I thought I’d fill you in on a few things you may wish to consider.  Firstly, I am about to tape a pair of industrial earmuffs over your pretty head, which is why I am telling you this now, since you are about to become deaf, as well as dumb and blind.  Inside the earmuffs are speakers, just like you have on your Walkman that you like to use when you go running.  Yes, I’ve watched you.  These speakers are connected to a tape, which is connected to a timer.  It’s like a Walkman, but really won’t have a lot for you to listen to – just enough to stop you nodding off, yes? 

“Something else which might also help you in this regard is this.  What do the following have in common: furniture vans, used car salesmen, ATM’s, computers and real estate?  I’ll leave you to think about this little riddle.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll help you work out the answer.”

While I was still struggling to grasp the meaning of his words the earmuffs were clamped on my head and secured immovably in place with metres of tape horizontally and vertically around my head.  I felt a cable slipped down the back of my nightshirt and I was tipped forward briefly while he pulled up the rear of it.  There was more tape, this time around my waist, pulling what felt like a knot of cables into the small of my back, and clearly that wasn’t going to be moved in a hurry.  But there was another cable or cord I could feel, nestling against the crotch strap and seeming to run up to my waist where it was taped next to the Walkman in the small of my back.  I whined timorously, startled at how loud my voice sounded with all extraneous noise suddenly filtered out.  That was the point when I was pushed backward on to the bed and left alone with my thoughts.
  21.07.01
updated: 26.06.02

story continues in Vanishing Act 6

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