I posted ‘Kidnapped‘ a few days ago. This is the same story, but from the kidnapper’s perspective…
It’s more difficult than you’d think to kidnap someone, even if they want to be kidnapped.
You have to work out how to do it unobserved; a location with no witnesses, no CCTV, preferably no way to trace vehicles from nearby street cameras. You have to co-ordinate people, places, surveillance. And because it’s the fulfillment of a kidnap fantasy, you need to brief everyone involved and make sure they know what they’re doing and what the victim’s limits are.
It takes a while to set up.
Snatching Jessica from right outside her house went perfectly. She hadn’t made me as I’d tailed her, relaying her position to the team. Because she’d had a couple of drinks on the way home, she wasn’t paying attention to our car, which was twenty metres from her front door. Paul and Phil, the snatch squad, simply stood in the deep shadow cast by a convenient tree. Jessica herself had been expecting the kidnap at any point from five o’clock onwards, so after almost three hours of nothing happening her attention had wandered.
It was only from her perspective that nothing had been happening. We’d been keyed up, ready and waiting, for the whole of that time. And we were ready to give her exactly what she wanted…
They had her hands cuffed behind her back, and the hood on, before she knew what had hit her. She was too surprised even to struggle as Paul picked her up bodily and placed her in the back of Rob’s SUV. He climbed in after her, so he and I sat either side of her while Phil took the front passenger seat.
I leaned in close, telling her she was going to be punished, tortured and turned into a fuckpet. I was explicit. I was pornographic. Jessica’s squeals were precisely halfway between excitement and terror.
While Paul ripped her blouse open to release her breasts, and squeezed her nipples, I parted her thighs and moved the thin strip of material to stroke her shaved mons, her clit, and then put two fingers into her unresisting cunt. She moaned, and shifted in her seat to allow me even better access.
Rob lives out in the country, in a property that has an outbuilding fitted out as a workshop. He parked on the driveway. Jessica looked cute, standing there in her hood and cuffs, wondering where we were and what would happen next.
She looked even cuter when we’d finished removing her clothes with a big pair of scissors; naked except for her fuck-me-now red high heels. Her nipples puckered at the slightest breeze, and there was a telltale tremble of frightened anticipation in her belly. I put a collar and leash on her. A pull on that, and a spank on the arse from Phil, was all she needed to make her move uncertainly, testing the gravel surface with each step.
We exchanged the metal handcuffs for leather ones, Jessica’s wrists now held above her head by a chain to an overhead beam.
‘I’m going to punish you,’ I told her. ‘Not because you’ve done anything wrong, but because you’re a slut, and because it’s a taste of what will happen if you don’t obey my orders. And because I can. Ten strokes, and if you yelp I’ll start the count over again.’
Since we’d only just started, I didn’t even consider using the bullwhip. I picked a heavy suede flogger from the workbench and used it on her arse, her tits and her back. Its characteristic ‘thwack’ sound echoed harshly off the workshop walls.
However, because it was a flogger, I didn’t hold back. She bounced and twisted in her bonds like a fish trying to escape a hook.
Ten strokes, clear of any yelps or squeals. It took forty-seven strokes to achieve that.
When she stopped shaking, we let her down. But only so we could put her in the cage in the corner of the workshop, hands still locked in front of her by the leather cuffs.
‘As far as I’m concerned,’ I told her, ‘there’s only one reason to take the hood off you. You need to say the magic words. You need to tell me you’re a fuckpet and a suckslut, and you want to suck all of our cocks.’
She mumbled the words. I made her repeat them until they were loud and clear. Until she wasn’t just repeating them, but believing them – not, of course, that she didn’t believe them before. She had negotiated with us to be treated this way…
I removed the hood.
She was as good as her word, and her throat was deep.
There were, I remind you, four of us. It took an hour and a half, and by the end of it, one cock after another, she was unable even to close her mouth properly, let alone talk. Dried juices plastered her face. Phil took pity and rinsed her down. ‘Otherwise she’ll have layers of it on her, like candle wax.’
Now that was an idea…
It was the work of a minute to have her out of that cage, in fact lying on top of it face-up, ankles and wrists secured to the bars. Rob and I had the candles. She squealed as the first splash of hot wax hit her left tit. In fact she squealed every time a splash of hot wax landed on her skin. It was very gratifying, though she probably didn’t appreciate our evil chuckles.
There’s only one way, in my opinion, to get wax off flesh when it’s cooled, and that’s with a flogger.
Jessica has those wonderfully big, sensual, pleading eyes that seem to ask why people want to hurt her. And the answer is: because she looks so damn sexy when she’s being abused.
I stopped when all the wax was off. Actually I didn’t, I confess I carried on for a while. ‘Look, is that another little piece?’ Thwap. ‘I’d better make sure it’s gone.’ Thwap.
Her body was rosy and shaking when I finished.
How we kept up the pressure: simple. We took six-hour shifts, so the next time I saw her was mid-morning on Saturday.
Jessica didn’t look like she’d had a whole lot of sleep. There were cane marks on her buttocks, more spunk across her breasts. I dragged her to the bathroom, let her pee and gave her a drink of water, then put her under the shower. Especially for her I turned the water to freezing, so she jumped and squealed and gasped for breath.
‘You need warming up,’ I observed casually. ‘A flogging should do that nicely.’
On wet skin, interestingly, it also stings more, as Jessica discovered.
By Saturday evening the poor girl was exhausted. Hardly surprising, because she’d been systematically beaten and fucked on the hour, every hour, for twenty-four hours. She was barely coherent. We showed her no mercy, though, because sleep deprivation was part of the brief, part of the deal.
I think she already knew, before the kidnap, what the word ‘fuckslut’ meant. At any rate, when we put her over a trestle and strapped her down, and I pulled her head up by her hair, her mouth was already wide, tongue out, to receive my cock. We spit-roasted her, me in her mouth while Rob fucked her.
Afterwards, I found it extraordinary how the disheveled look suited her: she looked sexy as hell with mascara streaks across her face and a blob of my spunk on her lip.
While she was finding her breath, we moved a pile of tarps to form a makeshift mattress, anchored her wrists to eyebolts in the wall and ankles to piles of circular weights from the weightlifting kit. The position, spread-eagled on her back, was probably the most comfortable – or least uncomfortable – she’d been in for the whole time we’d held her. Remarkably, we noticed after ten minutes that her hips were gyrating. As she flexed her thighs there was, I saw, a wonderful little concave spot, almost a dimple, running alongside the tendons of her inner thighs. It seemed to be winking at me.
There’s nothing easy about having four men fuck you, one after the other, the pressure of their thighs against yours, the violence of their thrusts bruising your mons and clit, the knowledge that your bonds make you helpless, not just literally but symbolically as well.
We were relentless, but even then I doubt we plumbed Jessica’s depths.
Much later, before we took her home, I made her kneel on the floor and thank us for treating her well.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘We could have been really unkind. We could have used nipple clamps. Taken you for a walk on your hands and knees, like an animal. Tortured you with a cattle prod.’
‘I thought you were saving those for next time,’ she replied.
I slapped her face, not too hard, just enough to make her realise who was in charge.
‘So when are you kidnapping me again?’ she asked.
We fixed a date and sealed the deal with a blowjob.
Next time there will be six of us.
The pic used in this post is by a friend of ours, Jon Wilson. His website isn’t online at the moment but if you like his pic and are interested in buying prints of his work we can put you in touch with him. Use the contact form on our ‘About’ page.
If you liked this story, you might like to know Fulani’s novel The Secret Circus of Pain and Degradation also starts with a kidnapping and contains numerous scenes of bdsm and rough sex…