A six part continuing BDSM serial written exclusively for Oxy-Shop by taped2. Enjoy the adventures of Melody and Martin as they try to find each other, while helplessly bound by the actions and ambitions of others. Inspiration for this story comes from the classic bondage artist, Robert Bishop.
That day, five days ago, when Martin Porter disappeared from the shopping mall not far from his office, two policewomen had approached him. He had just finished a dispiriting lunch of chicken balls and chop suey, half of which remained uneaten on his styrofoam plate.
"Excuse me sir, I see you're eating . . . "
". . . and we don't mean to disturb you . . . " added the second, a younger blonde cop who flashed him an apologetic smile.
". . . but we're on official police business, and we'd like to have a few words. If we may." The lead cop was between thirty and forty, taller than her partner. Her dark hair looked to be tucked under her cap. Her shiny metal crest gleamed with authority. Both women were fit. They seemed very businesslike with their night-sticks, handcuffs, and holstered pistols on their hips.
"Please sit." He gestured to the three empty chairs at his table.
"Not expecting anyone to join you?"
He shook his head.
"You're Martin Porter, correct?" He nodded. "We're here about an unfulfilled contract. Do you know a woman named Mrs. Talbot?" Martin shook his head. "She specializes in alternative health therapies. Role-playing scenarios. That sort of thing. Ring any bells?" He shook his head again, still trying to remember if he knew a woman named Talbot. Was she a former employee at his company?
"Evidently you entered into a contractual arrangement with this Mrs. Talbot of Toronto and promised her the sum of $3500 if she would arrange a kidnapping for you."
Martin's eyes widened.
"A kidnapping would be a crime, of course. Were you ever involved in a kidnapping, Mr. Porter?"
"Uh, no. Never." His mind raced. Possibly, they were talking about a dominatrix he used to see?
Better not start talking kinky with vanilla law enforcement, he thought.Suddenly he recalled the idea of an abduction he and Mistress Destiny had spoken of. But that was over a year ago. In the end, he’d changed his mind. What had seemed like a fun idea for a weekend had just got weirder and weirder the more she described the details she’d have to arrange. He'd be swept up off the street in the middle of a weekday, or on a weekend. The costs had spiralled upward too. In the end she said It would cost over $8000. Martin couldn't imagine an abduction being that much of a thrill. Shortly after, he'd told her he was going to discontinue their BDSM sessions. He'd begun dating (again, at the ripe old age of 32) and it seemed like seeing a professional for his kinky outlets would be unfair to anyone he might try to start a relationship with. Within a few months, he had met Melody, then she and he had become a couple. A kidnapping was out of the question.
"We have some papers, including the contract in question, that we'd like you to look over. Because it constitutes evidence, we'd like you to come with us to the station to review this file. Do you have the time?"
Martin allowed a look of annoyance to cross his face. "Sure," he managed. He'd signed a lot of documents since he inherited his father's business. This one could easily be about something else entirely. They had just mentioned kidnapping. He had to learn what they knew. Maybe call his lawyer.He'd just shoot off a quick text to his secretary to cancel him out of whatever meetings he had this afternoon. Probably there was a cost accounting review on the schedule. That's all he could remember.
As they walked towards the police car, the younger, blonde cop walked ahead of him and kept up a chatter about the weather and how she was looking forward to attending a Blue Jays game over the weekend. The car looked odd to Martin but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was white with blue trim and lettering, like a City of Mississauga patrol car. Through the windows he could see the grill that separated the back seat from the front. In the front were papers and a laptop computer.
Suddenly his face was pushed against the glass by the older cop who had silently walked behind him. She grabbed his right wrist, twisted it behind his back and something like a rope went over his hand. The rope instantly went tight, as if a noose with a clamp mechanism had been tightened. His wrist was pulled up. Now Blondie, who stood beside him, pulled his left hand down, behind his back, doubled it up to meet his right hand. She snapped another rope with a clip attachment around the wrist and in less than two seconds they had both his wrists snugly joined behind him. Before he could cry out, before he could even shout "what the fuck?" they slipped a canvas bag over his head and tightened the draw-string around his neck. He struggled for breath. A door of the car opened. Something was strapped around his head, across his mouth. It was broad, heavy, and likely made of leather. "Open your mouth!" the senior cop ordered.
"What are you doing?" Martin pleaded. "Is this how everyone goes down to the station to help you with an investigation?"
"Open your mouth!" the senior cop hissed. Scared now, Martin obeyed. The belt slipped between his teeth, forcing the fabric of the canvas hood onto his tongue. His jaw was jacked open and he could not close his mouth around the strap. The strap became quite tight. Someone undid the buttons on his shirt cuffs. A pair of steel handcuffs were snapped to his wrists, in addition to the rope snares. His head was pushed down and they shoved him into the back seat of the car: he landed on his shoulder. From the other side, one of them began to help him sit upright. It was a warm day. The hood clung to his skin. His face was covered in sweat. They attached a steel collar that clicked closed like a handcuff. A chain leash touched his chest, and dangled down his body.
The two cops got into the front seats, one of them fired up the engine and they edged out of the parking lot without saying a word. At least, nothing Martin could hear. They made two right turns, followed by a left, and then in quick succession, two more right turns. There was a long curving turn, as if the car was rotating 180 degrees. By the sound of the engine, Martin figured they must be accelerating onto the QEW. The highway traffic must be good. They were going fast. Perhaps they had the car's roof lights on, making other traffic give way to them in the fast lane? Suddenly, Martin realized what else was odd about the police car. Although the paint job made it look just like a Mississauga police vehicle, the word "Mississauga," usually so prominent on the doors, was missing. And they couldn’t have any roof lights on, because the car that Martin had been thrown into, didn’t have a rack of lights on its roof!
He began to lose all sense of time. His shoulder was sore. His wrists chafed with the rope snares and the handcuffs. He'd never worn real police handcuffs in his sessions with Mistress Destiny.
Finally, they pulled off the highway, made several rapid turns, and came to a stop. Then they inched forward. Martin guessed they had pulled into a building of some sort. The windows in the back of the car were being lowered. He heard a heavy mechanical door rolling down from the ceiling. For someone in Martin's business, the sound of a door motor and chain mechanism was distinctive.
He was pulled from the back of the car by his feet. He didn't try to kick. They stood him up. He was on concrete. His chain leash dangled against his chest. They led him down a corridor and then, slowly up a flight of stairs. They sat him on a padded chair. Under the hood, it was hard to tell if the two cops were with him or not. He simply heard a woman's voice say, "Wait here. We're going to make a few changes.”
After fifteen minutes, Martin heard two sets of footsteps come towards him. They removed the steel collar-cuff and the leash from his neck. They undid the strap in his mouth and pulled off the canvas bag. The light was blinding. He instantly closed his eyes. They removed his handcuffs but left the rope snares on his wrists, to hold his hands behind him.
The two women who had snatched him out of the shopping mall stood before him. They had changed from police uniforms into street clothes. The brunette had short hair, and looked to be every bit as menacing in her tank top and jeans as she'd been in her cop uniform. She wore knee-length black leather boots that gleamed under the fluorescent ceiling light.
"This is what binds you to us." Blondie presented some papers from the table behind them. There was Martin's original contract with Mistress Destiny, followed by a series of addenda where his former mistress had itemized the changes and increased charges he'd at first agreed to and later, objected to. Then there were transfer documents wherein Mistress Destiny had basically sold this contract with Martin's financial obligation to a numbered company, who had then increased its value, with some mysterious services added, and transferred (or flipped) it to a company called Duct Ab. Inc.
Martin shook his head. His lawyer could take this paperwork apart in a minute. But he wasn't going to be given the chance to call anyone, was he?
"You must have questions."
Martin nodded. His mouth was dry. “That’s an understatement.”
"We work for a specialty company. We do abductions, obviously. You are our – oh what's the term – in your case? Are you our client? Not really because we don't have any certainty you'll pay us for this service."
“So you’re not really cops.” Gales of laughter erupted from both women. The brunette grinned and wiped a tear from her eye. “No, not today.” She offered Martin a cup of water. “You must be dry.” He sipped from her hand, his hands still caught by the rope snares.
So far, the experience had not been totally unpleasant, Martin reasoned. Blondie smirked at him. She wore skin-tight leather pants. Her toes, with their carmine red polish cried out to be kissed. She move a little closer to him. He admired her strappy sandals with five inch high heels. Braless, her small pert breasts pushed against her white blouse, that tucked so seamlessly into the band of her leathers.
"If you promise to be good about this. I can release your hands out of those rope cuffs," Blondie cooed. "They're neat aren't they? Very versatile, we find, and quite secure."
"Yes, they sure are." Martin said. He was dying to get his hands back around the front of his body. He took another sip of water from the brunette’s cup.
"This is Magda." Blondie gestured to her partner. "Mistress Destiny told us quite a bit about you in the process of transferring your contract. You seem to like being bossed around by women, but you have a terrible habit of dictating details. Of interrupting, of reneging on contracts, of canceling appointments. I could release you, but I need some kind of certainty you're docile."
"I'm exhausted. My shoulders ache," Martin replied. "Besides I'd love to kiss your gorgeous toes. Love those shoes."
Blondie stared at him. She was no longer smiling. The compliments had gained him nothing.
"Yes, I'll behave," he added.
Magda put down the cup of water and picked up a night-stick from the table. "As you surmised, we aren't cops, but I have been one in the past, I graduated near the top of my class at the police academy in Aylmer. I can handle a twerp like you, Marty." She paused. She gently slapped the night-stick in the palm of her hand. "Blaise, offer him your feet. We've got a few minutes to kill. Might as well amuse ourselves while Nicky gets the van ready." Magda walked behind his chair and put the night-stick under Martin's chin, slowly forcing him to stand.
Blondie now had a name, it was Blaise. Martin liked it. Blaise reached in and pulled at his wrists and loosened the rope snares. She held one up to Martin's face so he could admire how the metal hasp could tighten one side of the rope against another; it was a very simple clasp and latch system. Blaise threw the rope snares on the table and suddenly kneed Martin in the groin. Magda released him and he fell to the floor, his eyes less than six inches from Blaise's perfectly pedicured toes. Despite the intense pain, he began kissing Blaise's foot. Then he switched to the other. He put his aching hands together around one of them as if in prayer. Blaise responded by putting one of her feet on the back of his hand and pinning him, gently at first and then harder and harder to the floor.
Magda lowered herself behind Martin and yanked his pants and his underwear down in one motion. "Lift your left knee, now your right." She pulled his pants clear of his knees. She stood and emptied the pockets, taking his wallet, loose change, a substantial set of metal keys, corporate tags, and electronic passes. She put them on the table with a clatter. "Where's your cell phone?"
"Check the cop car before we leave," Blaise said to her. “I think it’s there.”
Magda took Martin's belt from his pants and noosed it around his neck. It made an effective leash, to be used if he became overly affectionate towards Blaise or her pretty toes. In addition to her black stiletto boots, Magda wore black stockings, a short red cloth skirt, a white blouse and a matching jacket. She touched Martin's balls with the sharp tip of her boot.
Martin felt this, but did not react. He was obsessed with what was before him: Blaise's feet. Magda kicked harder, at his swinging balls. "What's this?"
"Uhhhh. What?" He didn't know what to say, but to be safe he added: ". . . mistress?"
"Mrs. Talbot – or Destiny to you – told us you were a cock cage kind of guy. Where's your chastity? Not wearing one?" She tapped his balls again, with her toe.
"Can't remember. I haven't worn it for months." Martin spoke in a high-pitched, frightened voice. "I've switched you know, since I stopped seeing Mistress Destiny. I'm dating now. Finding a submissive girl now and then. Trying out my dominant side."
Magda snickered. "You look pretty useless to me. A dominant man with his ass in the air! Never heard of such a thing. You can't control yourself so when you see a pretty set of toes you just fall the ground?"
"What do you think?" Blaise asked.
"Get him in a short plastic cage for now. Lock him up. Jeez, what a small dick."
Blaise left the room. “Cock cages are to remind men, all men, of their submissive and inferior status. You’re such a fucking beginner," Magda said. "You had the chance to serve one of the best pro-dommes in the province but no, you thought you'd go off hunting some young girl like a trophy!"
"No, it's not like that."
"We have you now, under contract, and unpaid. It will cost you to get out, little Marty." She paused. "Who's the girl?"
"Her name is Melody."
"You could you know, exchange her freedom for your own. If things get, too hectic, too intense." Magda smirked. "Though I would really enjoy breaking you instead. Rather have you than her. And this seems to have been your problem, hasn't it? An inability to commit to your own submission. A cowardice to engage with real pain, to commit to the demands, and needs, the intensity of love demanded by your own spirit. In short, little Marty, you don't seem to know yourself, or what you are capable of."
"Yes, Mistress, I guess."
"I am not your mistress!" She slammed the nightstick on the metal table. All the items on it jumped. Martin whimpered. Suddenly, he was reminded of the difficulties he'd had with Mistress Destiny. His mind swirled. They weren't going to let him go. And they weren't going to name the cash price he'd have to pay to buy his freedom. He couldn't sacrifice Melody, let them abduct her. He loved her far too much.
"You guess!!" Magda shouted. She picked up a pair of sharp shears and began cutting his shirt off. She snapped the small chain with a pendant from around his neck. "Any significance to this?" Martin looked up at her and shook his head. Sher threw it on the floor. He began softly sobbing.
“No staring at me! You will not look up at your female superiors.” She kicked him hard in the gut. He fell flat to the floor.
Blaise swung back into the room. "Found one. Comes with five or six different base rings so no matter how pathetic his cock and balls, we'll be able to get a nice snug fit."
"Put it on him. Up worm! Bend over the chair, spread your legs!" Martin got up on his hands and knees. Blaise kicked off her pumps and looked at Martin's cock and balls. "God his ass looks tight. I'm gonna guess he's never had any anal."
"Did Mistress Destiny ever do any strapon training with you?" Magda demanded.
"No." Martin stared resolutely at the floor and Magda’s glistening black toed boots, her five inch heels.
"What DID she do with you? No chastity cage, no strapon training, and you were fucking topping from below! Lack of fucking commitment, and yet you thought you'd be a good candidate for an abduction scenario!" Magda spat on his back. It seemed to sting. She meant it. He tried to remember what he asked Mistress Destiny to do to him when they first met. He couldn't remember.
Blaise said, "I've gotta get some medical gloves. Can't bear to touch those slimy balls." She returned in a moment wearing the gloves and attached the base ring about his cock and balls.
"They're not slimy," Martin protested.
“Stand up! Lean on the chair!” Magda slapped him twice, hard across the face. "Shut up! If she finds them disgusting, they are disgusting. What I find most disgusting is your lack of character."
Blaise stood up. "The ring is on, but I really should take it off again and shave this pussy-boy." She went to a cabinet on the other side of the room, found a straight razor and some foaming soap in a can. She pulled out a chair. Magda jerked the belt around Martin's neck, "Hands and knees. Crawl to her. She's going to make you beautiful." Martin got down on his knees quickly and crawled across the room. The floor was filthy.
They sat him in an armless wooden chair. It was cold and unforgiving. Magda strapped his legs open at the ankles and knees. She returned with the police handcuffs and pulled his arms back hard, behind the back of the chair. She snapped on the cuffs and set the button in each to prevent them over-tightening. Martin was grateful for this. Magda was a pro with cuffs, the story about police school was probably true. But they weren't cops! And they'd driven an almost bona fide police cruiser here, wherever this was.
Martin was afraid Blaise would accidentally cut his cock or balls, while shaving him. He figured they weren't going to castrate him. They wanted his money, didn't they? Oh hell, he didn't know what they were after. He felt the cold shaving foam. The straight razor began to scrape his skin above his cock. She alternated between this blade and a less terrifying plastic safety razor. She shaved and shaved, working up and down the folds and creases, where his cock met his body, the skin where the balls hung down, and across the shaft of his cock. Several times she went around the bottom of the balls themselves. Martin had only ever shaved his cock a few times. Blaise was methodical. He could smell her perfume. He wanted to ask about it, but he was afraid. Her red-tipped fingernails, pulled and stretched him. He could feel and see he was stiffening.
"Better not get too much bigger or I won't be able to get the cage on you," Blaise said.
"Use a bigger one?" he asked plaintively. Magda had disappeared down the hall.
"All the slut-men will be caged for the entire time they are at our main building, at the Abduction Company. You'll only be exempted for a genuine reason and a momentary hard-on doesn't qualify. All cages will be properly fitted. No one wears an ill-fitting chastity around me," said Blaise.
Blaise wiped the remnants of shaving soap from his cock and from under his balls. "Looks good." Martin nodded. She had not nicked him at all. He was relieved.
She picked up the small plastic chastity cage. She got the ring on as before, but now his cock was too big. She slapped it down. It rebounded. There was no change in its girth. She slapped it again, harder. Martin howled. She removed the ring and kicked his balls several times with her bare foot – one of the two beautiful feet with the red toenail polish that he had so adoringly kissed just a few minutes ago.
Magda returned and watched Blaise trying to reduce Martin's erection. "Forget it for a few minutes. Leave him alone in this drab room and it will shrink again. We have to pack for the drive." They left him. He heard their footsteps descend the metal staircase. They were conferring with someone. A man. Martin caught snatches of what he was saying. Something about the "new chair" which was mentioned repeatedly. "Oil change is done. Quitting. Mr. Stephano. Cell phone."
After ten minutes, the women returned. Magda removed the belt that hung loosely from Martin's neck and put it in the cloth bag she carried. She gathered up a few other things, including Martin's wallet, keys, and other identifying objects.
Blaise noticed that Martin's erection had receded. "That’s handy." She worked the cage over his shrunken cock, and locked it in place. Martin had never worn a plastic cage before. It was light. After the two steel cages he had purchased at Mistress Destiny's urging, this one felt very comfortable, almost like he wasn't wearing a cage at all. Blaise put the key on a jewellery necklace she wore that held six or seven keys already.
Magda gathered up Martin's pants and underwear, and his shirt she'd cut in half. She released the straps on his knees and ankles. His hands remained handcuffed however, behind him. Magda helped him stand and to slide his arms up the narrow back of the chair. She put a leather collar on his neck and the chain leash dangled again, touching and clinking against his plastic cock cage.
The three of them paraded slowly down the metal staircase. The metal bars of the steps cut into Martin's bare feet. He was utterly naked. Suddenly they were face to face with a man, an auto mechanic, to judge by his overalls, grease-smudged hands, and welder's cloth cap. Martin was humiliated and bent over. His hands were still cuffed in steel behind him. He wrenched them around as best he could to hide his cock. His balls protruded grotesquely from under his dick. Standing between Magda and Blaise, Martin felt utterly lost, utterly helpless like a child between his stern and all-powerful aunts. Magda and Blaise of course, were feeling no discomfort at all; they knew Nicky the garage operator very well. They were all Company employees. Martin felt like an animal, leashed by the chain in Magda's hand. He began to sob. He turned his back to the man. Magda wrenched him back to face him.
"This is the new one. Here's his clothes. Dispose of them will you? Usual protocol. Backyard. Drum fire. Ashes into some fast-running stream or drain?" Nicky nodded at both Blaise and Magda. He took the clothes and threw them with some oily rags in a corner of the garage.
"I guess you'll need some help getting him in the travel chair?"
"Please," said Magda. "That would be nice."
Martin had recovered a little and he looked around the garage. Next to the fake cop car was a plain white van with the words "Information Security" in black letters on the side. Nicky swung the back doors open and avoided looking at Martin.
Martin was mortified. Across the floor of the van were numerous steel rails and In the centre of the van – securely clipped into the floor, was an ominous looking steel welded frame that sort of resembled a chair. Anyone sitting on it would be facing backwards to the direction of travel. Two probes – one vaginal and one anal, presumably – stood threateningly in the centre of the seat. My god, he couldn't sit on that. Nicky cleared his throat and spoke to the women. "I can take the two probes off the chair, if you'd like. Or just one of them. I don't know how much of a virgin this one is."
Blaise laughed. "Yeah, he's a total virgin. You'd better take them both off. I don’t imagine we could get anything up his tight butt for now.” Martin was urged to put one knee up on the floor of the van. Blaise pushed his other leg behind him, and Martin and rolled over on his shoulder. Magda tucked his feet inside and closed both doors. He was trapped. He got to his knees and stared out the back windows.
Nicky came around to the side door, threw it open and lowered both the wooden vaginal probe and silicone anal probe. The chair was ready. Martin was strapped in, his legs held open at the ankle, knee, and at his upper thigh, almost in his groin. His cock and balls, in their humiliating plastic bondage were on full display. He could barely move either of his legs. It would be impossible to cover up.
The back doors were reopened and Nicky lifted a comfortable passenger seat into place and latched it down in the tracks at the very back of the van, facing forward. After some more arrangements and talking outside – that Martin couldn't hear – Magda got into the driver's seat and Blaise entered the back with Martin. She produced a combination blindfold and gag trainer and popped the large rubber ball in his mouth. Martin’s mouth was fully stretched. Almost immediately he began to drool. She fastened the blindfold and the gag strap behind his head. She attached the leather strap over the top of his head, securing the top of the blindfold to the gag strap at the back. She tightened everything. He could neither see or speak. He felt like his head was being squeezed by pressure over his nose, around the corners of his mouth, and by the straps at the back.
Blaise fingered a D-ring sewn into the trainer strap across the top of his skull. She threaded a short chain from this ring to a metal ring welded to the top of the chair back. She gently pulled his head further and further back. The metal bars in the chair cut into the undersides of Martin's legs.
She attached two copper wires to Martin's chastity cage. The cage had been lined inside with small metal filaments and there were filaments inside the ring around his balls too. Blaise studied her captive. The van backed out of the garage into the afternoon light. It would be about two hours until they arrived at the mansion. They sat, idling in the parking lot. Blaise was talking to Magda through the dividing wall between the driver’s cab and the rest of the van. They were waiting for something.
Blaise turned back to Martin. "Pretty little toy," she murmured in his ear. She stood and steadied herself by holding the back of his chair. She fingered the electrical controller and adjusted the output of the power unit. "We'll get you showered and more fully shaved when we get there. You'll have to be processed of course. Get you pierced and tagged, as all the sub-boys are when they are admitted. It will be a busy evening for you. Meeting new people, initiation ceremony. Won't that be fun?"
Martin groaned in protest. "Ready to do the perp walk, when we arrive?" Blaise teased. He had no idea. He hoped Melody would be concerned when her texts and phone messages to him went unanswered. But how would she be able to find him? How would she know where he was, where to look? Martin was naked, bound, and utterly lost. In the power of crazy women. He started to feel a repeating pulse, a warming feeling in his balls. Suddenly there was a jolt to the underside of his cock. He let out a scream that was muffled by the gag. He twisted in the cuffs behind him. He pulled against the chain that held his head back. He thought he would black out. Blaise laughed in his ear.
He tried to ignore the likelihood of another shock. He imagined Melody at home, watching TV. He imagined the two steel cock cages he had given her after she discovered them in his sock drawer. She'd teased him with them, but he'd never let her put them on. He barely wore them when he was alone. He remembered how they felt, the weight of the stainless steel. Relics from his days with Mistress Destiny. They'd been her idea. He and Melody both thought of themselves as switchable kinksters. They tried to take turns holding the whip, each night they were together. But Martin had been unable to whip her. He did good rope knots and liked to see her gagged. The last night they were together he'd hogtied her and she'd sucked him off, while lying on her belly on his living room floor. It was such a sweet kind of play. They took turns tying and releasing each other. It was love-making, with all the romance that the word implied. All play and little pain.
Blaise released the chain holding his head back. “Don’t want you to have a stiff neck when you arrive, going over the bumps in the road.” Martin tried to utter the words “Thank-you.”
Blaise went to the back of the van and took her seat, and fastened her seat belt. She picked up the electrical control and adjusted the power unit higher. Then she and gave him a big shock through his chastity ring. He screamed. Then, as if she had changed her mind, she got out of her seat and approached him. She gripped his balls in the palm of her left hand. She lowered the voltage ever so slightly and shocked him. And again. And again. He screamed. He jerked his head back and forth.
Blaise let go of his balls. "Oooo, I felt that too. In the palm of my hand. Just like you. In the palm of my hand." She smirked at her captive. “Poor little Marty. Little baby.”
Blaise returned to her seat at the back, electrical controller in hand. She called out in a loud voice. “Ready, Magda. Any time!” The van began to move, turned onto the road, and accelerated away from the garage.
Martin sobbed softly behind his gag: his eyes watering from the shocks. Blaise delighted in delivering the current, whenever Magda accelerated. Finally they were out of the city. The rural countryside flashed by. After letting him recover for a while, Blaise decided she would now give him a shock every time Magda touched the brakes.
How Martin missed Melody now. How he needed to be rescued!
Melody of course, had no idea, as Burly lifted her out of the wooden transportation box, that she and her captors were travelling through the same countryside Martin had crossed on his journey five days before.
Burly lifted her out of the box, removed her hood, and then loosened and removed the armbinder. Her eyes were closed, as she lay on her side on the floor of the van, not wishing to immediately experience the brilliance of the afternoon. Next Burly undid the ropes on her arms. She slowly moved them to her sides. She'd been in bondage for over two hours and was numb in all sorts of places. The heat in the box had risen since they had taken her from her apartment. Burly figured she'd be grateful for the release. Perhaps she was. She moaned. He surveyed her gag. The knotted cloth was completely soaked with saliva. Gently he rolled her over.
Moustache had pulled the wooden box to one side of the van and began stowing the restraints Burly had removed from her limp frame. Next, Moustache began to set up the hammock net. They would suspend her from two points in the ceiling of the van for the rest of the journey.
Burly took some medical scissors and slid one blade under the white cotton across her cheek. He worked the blades against the cloth and at last, it parted. The handkerchiefs were firmly wadded in her mouth. She put one of her hands to her lip. She pulled something half out. Burly grabbed at it and removed it one slow continuous pull. He took the other handkerchief out from between her teeth too, where it had been half wedged into one of her cheeks. Totally soaked. She gasped. He pulled her up and helped her to sit on the floor, with her back to the transportation box.
Burly undid her leg bindings and removed the harness of straps around her hips. "I think I peed myself," she whispered. Burly, showing a shocking amount of familiarity, pushed her legs apart so he could see the crotch of her sky blue hot pants. They were darkened, sopping wet, between her legs. "Yeah, maybe a little. Let's get you out of the van." Burly helped her to stand.
"Take off your blue shorts, and those panties." She pulled them down and then she unzipped her boots, removed them, and unrolled her knee-high nylons. She was naked from the waist down. Burly offered her the three and half inch wide collar she'd worn during her abduction in the box. She put it on herself. Burly tightened and locked the collar’s straps and attached, with a padlock, her chain leash. They gingerly dismounted from the van's side door. He pointed. "Over there. You can pee by those bushes."
"Not with you watching." Burly held her by the elbow and pulled her towards the greenery.
"Yes, with me watching," he insisted. "You aren't going on the lam after all the trouble we've gone to."
“I never asked you to go to any trouble.” Melody squatted and let go of a strong stream of urine.
"Just a few more hours. Soon be there," Burly tried to reassure her. They were miles away from anyone. She could scream for help if she wanted. It wouldn’t do any good. But she didn't scream or even raise her voice. She took the toilet paper he offered, wiped herself and stood up. "Back in the van?" she asked, innocently. He nodded.
With the door closed behind them, Moustache checked Melody's collar. It was secure. “Might as well remove your top. Get fully naked.” It was an order. Melody complied. She blushed as both men got their first look at her soft, firm breasts.
Her hands went into fingerless leather gloves and were steel-cuffed together in front of her. Her legs were roped securely together, but only at the ankles. They were allowing her some small freedom of movement. They rolled her into the mesh hammock, face down. Burly produced a large dark blue ballgag on a single leather strap. She opened her mouth willingly, as much as could while wearing the heavy collar. He worked it behind her teeth, bent her chin forward until she yelped, and tightened the strap. When her head was straightened, the ball sank deeper into her mouth. Not bad. Sure beats the cloth wad in the cheeks.
They turned her over in the hammock, then lifted her head and ankles up from the floor. They chained the ends of the hammock to short dangling steel chains. She was on her back, looking up at the ceiling, at all the attachment points that had been welded into the van's steel frame. Not unpleasant, I could handle this. I'm still alive. They said they knew where Martin was. I hope they aren't lying to me. A few more hours.
As the van pressed on into the night, Melody felt herself falling asleep. The hammock swung gently with the rhythm of the van's engine and its tires and the long curves in the concession roads.