The Abduction of Monica 17: Flight
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from The Abduction of Monica 16: Insertion)
I knelt on the floor with the gun only inches behind my head, barely able to control the trembling if my body. Then I was kicked in the back and only just managed to cushion a face-first impact into the floor with my arms. The next thing I knew, Ivana was on top of me yanking my arms behind me and clamping my wrists in handcuffs. There was nothing custom made about these. They were standard, very secure cop cuffs, and I wasn’t getting out of them in a hurry. It nevertheless gave me a faint hope that I was not about to be shot there and then.
Ivana got off me and I was conscious of Sofiya about to kneel beside me when Warren barked an order.
“No! I want to make sure there are no more phones or anything else on these two. You – what’s your name?”
“Sofiya Volkonskaya. What’s yours?”
I was astonished at the strength and assertiveness in Sofiya’s voice. It left Warren momentarily speechless. It was probably partly that and the fact that he concluded that she was one of Ivana’s compatriots that raised some obvious questions in his mind. But her bolshie attitude scared me, for Warren was not a guy to be provoked – especially not in his present unstable state. I cautiously turned my head to peer up at him. He smiled at Sofiya.
“My name is Warren O’Rorke, Sofiya, though I suspect you already knew that.” He moved close to where she stood. He was nearly a head taller and much bulkier, although most of the human race fell into that category next to her. He put his hand on her shoulder, as though appraising her, then stepped back.
“Ivana! Do you know this woman?”
“Should I?”
“She is Russian. You are Russian. Am I an imbecile? Another Russian turns up in New Zealand when all the connections for this operation are through your people! What do you think?” He turned to Sofiya again. “Empty your pockets.”
Sofiya pulled out a sodden handkerchief from a small pocket in her dress and dropped it on the floor. There was no mistaking the defiance in her act.
“Your bag! - give it to Ivana!”
Ivana stepped forward and wrenched the bag from Sofiya, pulling the straps down off her shoulders. One woman going through another’s bag – there was always going to be trouble. I had no idea what Sofiya carried in it. I didn’t know if her passport was there, but for sure she would have some sort of purse and ID. It took Ivana only a few seconds to establish just this.
“I thought so!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “It is her. Detective Sofiya Karina Volkonskaya of the Vladivostok Criminal Investigation Department. Born Irkutsk, 19 May 1978. I have heard of you.”
I did not like the menacing tone of Ivana’s voice at all. She moved over to Sofia as well, and – like Warren – stood taller than her countrywoman. Ivana grasped a handful of Sofiya’s thick blonde mane and jerked her head back sharply.
“This woman has been following Dimitri and me in Sydney. She has been on our case since before we left Vladivostok. She is always sniffing around, when in fact she is the bad smell that keeps turning up. We will deal with her – she must disappear.”
“Oh, we will, my dear. But a little fun will be had along the way, don’t you think?” Warren and Ivana exchanged knowing smiles. Ivana released her grip on Sofiya’s hair.
“We must make sure they are carrying nothing else on them – no wires, no phones, no guns.”
“Quite right,” said Warren. “Miss Volkonskaya, perhaps you would oblige me by taking your clothes off.”
I was not sure what I expected at that moment. Sofiya’s likely rebelliousness would do her no favours, and a demand of this sort would surely find resistance. However, whether it was a consequence of what she had already been through in my presence, or whether it was the fact that she was already in the presence of two other naked women, she did not demur. I hoped her compliance was simply because there was a gun pointed at her, and that any reluctance would only incur punishment for someone in our helpless group.
She looked like a street urchin as she unbuttoned the halter dress and let it drop from her body. She was so slim that only her breasts provided any purchase for Monica’s dress that was probably a size too large. She wore a white matching halter-neck bra and knickers that were both soaked with the mud that likewise stained her body and face. Maybe simply getting out of wet clothes was sufficient incentive to obey the direction.
Moments later Sofiya stood naked except for socks and sneakers, and these, too, she was made to discard.
“Bind her hands,” Warren told Ivana, who seemed only too keen to get started. She looped a length of cord around Sofiya’s wrists and tied them tightly, pulling the tails up Sofiya’s back and finishing the job with multiple turns that brought Sofiya’s elbows together. Sofiya made no sound during this, enduring the indignity with a stoicism I found remarkable, but which was perhaps a legacy of her Russian blood.
“I think we should do a cavity search,” Ivana said maliciously. “These eastern Russian sluts will carry anything anywhere.”
Warren smiled but said nothing as Ivana tied a longer rope as a further cinch to Sofiya’s wrist bonds and threw the loose end over the main beam above. There was no gentleness in her pulling on the rope which this time elicited a gasp from Sofiya as her arms went up behind her, forcing her into a position directly beneath the rope standing on her tiptoes as she strained to stop her arms and shoulders dislocating.
Her head was down, partly obscured in the tangle of hair splotched with mud. Ivana again pulled back the blonde hair and thrust her fingers into Sofiya’s mouth as the latter made wet gagging sounds. It was clear Ivana took pleasure in this indignity, and when she had finished, she took a red ball gag from a large cardboard box in the corner and forced it behind Sofiya’s teeth, buckling the strap behind her neck over her hair.
“Nothing in the mouth,” she announced smugly. “Just making sure nothing can get in there – or get out - now.”
Ivana now stood behind Sofiya and made much of pulling on a latex glove before sliding her hand between the helpless girl’s legs, insinuating her fingers with great deliberation first in front, then in the back. With one hand on Sofiya’s neck she grinned at Warren as she explored the Sofiya’s orifices, causing her to utter muffled grunts of what might have been pain, indignation, or perhaps something else.
Finally Ivana tired of her game, removed her hand and pulled off the glove, slapping Sofiya hard across the backside with it.
“Enough of that – we don’t have time,” Warren grumbled irritably. “If this bitch has called the cops we have to clear out of here – which is why we have the fallback. Check out our friend Steven, then we’ll load them into the van.”
That was when I started getting the attention of Evil Ivana – the Evil ‘I’ – and it was no less detailed than Sofiya has received. It took no time for her to repeat the treatment, hauling me into a strappado with a rope around the connecting links of my handcuffs. While that had the effect of being less severe on my shoulders, because, handcuffed, I could fold my arms up my back, the effect of steel cuffs jammed into your wrists is a guarantee to cooperation. Suffice to say, I wound up beside Sofiya in a pretty similar position. I glanced at her from where our heads hung down together.
“Sor-ry,” I mouthed. Her big eyes stared at me in what I hoped was understanding, for she could enunciate nothing around the red ball strapped in her mouth. I took small comfort from the fact that her defiance still seemed to be holding sway over the fear and despair that was lurking in the back of my own mind.
Moments after Ivan had tied off the rope I felt a touch of cold steel in the small of my back as she commenced cutting my shirt off. My lower half was unhampered by pinioned arms, and before long I had become the fourth member of the team to be restrained naked in the room. Sure enough I got the mouth swab and a ball gag to match Sofiya’s, buckled brutally tight behind my head. Then I got the fondling of dangly bits which was more a full-blown squeeze than a fondle. It was clear why she had gagged me first as the pain rocketed through me. Had I not been all but hanging from the rafters I would have collapsed in agony on the ground. My restraints prevented me curling into a foetal position, but I did my best. By the time she had finished I was seeing stars. I figured Ivana had been a guy in a past life, for she knew exactly how painful this could be without – I hoped – doing irreparable damage. When she did the final anal inspection with as many fingers as she could manage, I hardly noticed.
Everything was a bit of a blur after that. I was simply trying to focus past the pain on my arms and the awful gut-racking pain through my groin. Even getting my breathing halfway back to normal was a protracted effort that left me moaning with the effort. I was dimly conscious of Monica’s frame being lowered and Monica being re-secured with a steel yoke about her neck and her wrists trapped in the surrender position. She was marched out to the van and Mary was the next victim.
Mister Kingi’s handiwork was trotted out again and a heavy iron collar was bolted closed around Mary’s slender neck. Extending from a lug on the front of it was a steel bar about half a metre long with two D-shaped manacles back to back at the end, in which Mary’s wrists were clamped. The whole device appeared to be rigid, so that her arms and head were locked into sympathetic movements.
After Mary’s disappearance outside, Sofiya was next to be taken out, while I hung there and the ache in my back, arms and body barely lessened. I took a few moments to look around the place. There was a doorway through into another room, and I could see what I thought might have been one of the frames that had been used in one of the videos we had been emailed.
Warren appeared to be thinking a bit more clearly now, directing what Ivana should take, and together they carried several large cartons of stuff out of the building. It was obvious what was in these, if the occasional clinking sounds and odd trailing piece of rope or strap was anything to go by.
At length Warren turned out the lights and the generator died. I realised it was almost dark, with only a pale dusk illumination coming through the big windows. The quietness that descended on the place after the cessation of the generator was startling and a little chilling. Warren appeared and removed the two floodlights on their stands, leaving me still bent in a strappado in a room empty save for the iron frames that had held Monica and Mary.
“Would you like to be left behind, Steven?”
It was Ivana, who had sneaked up behind me.
“Are the police on their way? I’m sure they’ll find you. Otherwise you’ll be in for a very slow and painful death, I think. Perhaps you’d like to take your chances with me?” Her hand groped between my legs and cupped my scrotum. “Would you like to come and play so more with me?” she taunted.
The thought of more of that awful pain was anathema to me, but the possibility of being left here to die was unthinkable. I knew we had not got through to the police. I was sure Sofiya had somehow affected her phone, for I was now in no doubt that she had some strange effects on both people and electrical devices. God knows, she was having a strange effect on me.
“Well?” asked Ivana impatiently. “You want to come with us?” Her fingers began to tighten.
“Urhn, urhm!” I agreed frantically, trying to nod my head, but it was already so far down that making it go any lower was difficult.
“I take that as a ‘yes’,” said Ivana. “Good. I’m really looking forward to playing with you again. Women are okay, but I do like a real man...” She released her grip and I sighed. “Oh, by the way, I should tell you that Warren is seriously pissed off with you and your little friend. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when we get to... where we’re going.”
She untied the overhead rope and with huge relief I was able to lower my arms, massaging my bruised wrists as best I could. I was sure whatever lay ahead would not be pleasant, but any change from that strappado was a relief.
Ivana gave me a shove and I walked unsteadily outside to the truck. A couple of planks had been laid as a ramp up to the back, and a light was on in the interior. With the roller door open I saw that the truck was one of the smaller moving van types, with the walls lined with horizontal wooden battens spaced about ten centimetres apart, which allow pieces of furniture to be conveniently secured. Near the back end were four piles of cartons – two on each side, which had been roped off to the wall slats just as intended. As I was prodded inside, I saw other things – namely three naked females – that had also been bound to the slats.
Monica and Mary were sitting on the floor, still wearing the iron restraints in the form of the yoke and the collar-wrist clamps. Ropes around their stomachs and above and below their breasts attached their torsos to the slats, while their legs had been bent and pulled back towards the wall, their ankles secured with further ropes. The fact that their pussies were on display for Warren and Ivana was obviously an intention of the positioning, and even as we entered, Warren was teasing a helpless Monica, his hand in her crotch.
What looked like rubber corks had been jammed into the steel rings in their mouths, just to take a further few decibels off any sound they might emit, and further ropes had been used to stop the iron restraints from banging against the slats.
Sofiya was standing at the far end of the truck, bound to the slats on the wall behind the driver’s cab, legs stretched wide apart, her arms still secured behind her. I was made to stand against the wall beside her while my ankles were tied with my legs apart and further ropes secured me at waist and chest, trapping my arms behind me. I had no idea how far we were going to be travelling, but at least if there was an accident we had the best restraints money could buy. What a pity I couldn’t cheer up my travel companions with this optimistic observation.
Warren stood back to consider his handiwork, and I felt a chill when he focussed on Sofiya and myself.
“Ivana – make sure these two are not too comfortable. They’re the cause of this whole relocation. They should suffer for it.”
His words were brief and direct, and Ivana smiled with obvious glee as she rooted in one of the cartons, emerging with two identical devices that had obviously been made my Mister Kingi for this truck. Each was of steel – a folded plate that slipped over one of the slats and had a short tube protruding horizontally, with two vertical ones passing through holes in it and able to be clamped by butterfly nuts. As soon as Ivana positioned this between Sofiya’s legs I knew where things were going. The vertical bars could be slid up and down and were made to take a dildo on each. Ivana selected two slick black dildos from the carton and fastened them to the rods, working the first up between the cheeks of Sofiya’s backside as she wriggled and tried to prevent its entry. It was the instinctive reaction of a newcomer, to resist the Invasion of the Rosebud, as we called it, not realising that there was no defence, and that the best thing you could do was to relax and simply accept the inevitable.
It didn’t take long for Sofiya to work this out – she was a smart girl – and her muffled sounds of resistance subsided into a drawn-out groan as Ivana slid the big dong inside her and clamped it in place. Then came the front one – a much larger one that again Sofiya tried to resist until she saw the futility of it. Ivana worked it in and out, the silicon coming away wetter each time, before Ivana finally drove it in to the hilt. Sofiya squealed behind the gag and squirmed as the intruder was locked in place.
Things were going to get worse, though. Ivana was obviously relishing the helplessness of the woman who had been tracking her and Dimitri, and was determined to enjoy the brief pleasure of a hands-on approach, designed to leave her victim in a most painful situation. With Sofiya’s beautiful breasts presenting themselves to Ivana, it was hardly surprising that they were the next objects of Ivana’s attention. I watched as she produced some strips of hide and bound each breast so that it bulged into a sphere, tipped by an erect nipple as Ivana sucked and teased each one. Sofiya’s eyes were closed as she tried to focus her mind away from the indignity and pain that was starting to arise. I wondered if she was feeling things other than pain, and if her proud nipples were merely an uncontrollable reaction to Ivana, or something deeper. Had it been Leila or Emma in that position I knew they would be on a flight to Nirvana.
But Sofiya was different. I hadn’t managed to suss her out. She was at once an innocent amongst these perverted professionals. I knew she had come from a tough background where she must have seen things that would give me nightmares, yet somehow she seemed to have shrugged these off and not let them obviously affect her. She was an enigma, I figured. Not someone you can put in a box. Right then I had a dozen different mental boxes in my head and she fitted none.
When Ivana had finished binding Sofiya’s breasts to her satisfaction, I was dismayed to see the nipple clamps come out – each with a lead weight the size of a walnut. I should have expected this from Ivana – she had a breast fetish, I knew from Leila’s experience in her hands at Bilboes. Sofiya made barely a sound as the jaws of the first clamp closed behind the swollen nipple. Ivana jiggled it and made sure it was positioned far enough back to get a good grip and not slip off if Sofiya’s skin became too sweaty. Then the other clamp went on, with the weights dangling from both. I knew it might not be quite so bad at first, but it would get worse and worse. Subbies could take themselves off to sub-space, focussing on the pain and overcoming it – even revelling in it. I did not think Sofiya possessed this ability, although who knew with this Enigma?
Then, of course, came my turn, and the same treatment followed. Ivana selected a huge shiny black dildo that made me shudder just looking at it. I could manage most, but this one – I knew she had it in for me almost as much as Sofiya, and it was all I could do to accommodate the beast as my sphincter muscle rebelled at the intruder being forced inside. Desperately I tried to relax, to think of anything other than the pain, and gradually it settled, despite Ivana’s persistent thrusts and the final clamping in place. If I had been secured before, I was just about immobile then with the great dong jammed inside of me. What was more embarrassing was that Mr Willy had decided to wake up despite the pain. There was just something about him at times that I found beyond my comprehension. Perhaps there was an argument that suggested the presence of three naked bound women was enough to warrant any man becoming aroused, but considering our potential fate, I thought there was an equal counter argument.
Ivana thought his appearance was fortuitous, to say the least, and she had nothing but encouragement for him. Regrettably I was helpless to resist, for the brain-penis connection appeared to have been severed some minutes previously. I suppose it was Mr Willy’s own fault when he found himself being tied to the second vertical bar, now bent at a slight angle so that it poked up past my groin. Ivana used some small diameter cord to bind Mr Willy over his entire length to the rod, with further turns around my scrotum. I was sure my eyes were bulging as much as my balls. This was going to be an extremely unpleasant and frustrating trip – not necessarily in that order.
I was hardly surprised when my nipples got the same treatment as Sofiya’s. At least I didn’t have the indignity of breast bondage – I thought I was already suffering worse than that down below. Of course that didn’t stop the pain as the jaws fastened into the skin just behind my nips and the weight of the lead ball came into play. I moaned unhappily. Monica and Mary looked up at me sympathetically, but their own misery overshadowed everything.
The engine started and moments later Warren appeared, lifting the lower end of the first of the ramp planks and shoving it back into the truck.
“Hurry up!” he barked. “I want to be out of here!”
“Wait – wait – wait...” Ivana said, scurrying down the plank and disappearing from sight. She reappeared moments later carrying an old tin can. I wondered what on earth she was up to. She hurried up to Sofiya and lifted her chin with one hand.
“One final present for you, my little queen of the east.” Sofiya’s eyes opened wide as Ivana poured water over the rawhide binding her breasts. I groaned inwardly, wondering if Sofiya realised what would be the result of this, as the wet hide began to shrink and tighten. Ivana had displayed her last touch of cruelty. “Ready to roll, Warren,” she announced.
“Ah – I’ve just had one last idea!” he said quickly. “It will only take a minute...” Ivana shrugged and walked down the plank. Warren appeared again, clutching a small video camera. I groaned inwardly. I knew what was about to happen.
“I want you all to smile for the camera,” he said cheerfully. “Oh – I forgot – you can’t!”
He focussed on Mary to start with, from the bonds on her ankles to the iron bands around her neck and wrists, and the ring holding her mouth open and causing a thin runnel of drool to slip down on to the brace between her wrists and neck. Then it was Monica’s turn, the same routine, the same helpless vulnerability and the same inescapable iron restraints. Monica closed her eyes and did her best not to look at the camera.
Sofiya came in for special attention, though I noticed Warren was careful not to speak or otherwise indicate his presence. With Sofiya there were the lingering shots of the big intruders between her legs and the clamps on her nipples, capped with a close up of the red ball gag stretching her jaw and – unlike Monica - her grey-green eyes looking directly into the camera. I felt proud of Sofie, for despite the indignities and pain she was not yet cowed.
Lastly it was me, the same routine and me doing my best to emulate Sofiya’s defiance. I knew what this would do to the girls back at Bilboes. The fact that Sofiya and I had been captured would be a huge blow to everyone. The fact that we were all still alive was of little import if there were now four of us to be tortured for another 96 days. Warren would get himself off just sending this video.
He pushed the off switch.
“All right boys and girls. Let’s move. We can send this when we’re on the road.”
Ivana flicked off the lights and ran down the last plank before Warren pushed it inside. The roller door began to drop down and the rear lifting platform rose up and closed outside it. We were now in total darkness with the engine rumble filling the space around us. A minute later the gears engaged and the truck jerked into movement as we set out on our pain-filled journey to an unknown fate.
* * *
29.08.09
story continues in The Abduction of Monica 18: Home Invasion - Leila's Story
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