Angela

The music filled the bathroom, echoing over the running water. Angela liked the shower hot; it woke her up and got her ready for the day ahead.

Reluctantly, she turned the taps off. She stood momentarily, the water dripping from her body towards the drain, her long wet red hair matted to her body. She turned and slid back the shower curtain, and jumped.

"Don't scream," the man in the balaclava pointing a gun at her said, "the silencer will keep anyone from hearing me unload this into you bitch."

Angela froze momentarily, then quickly grabbed a towel from the hook, wrapping it around her tight.

"What do you fucking want?" she asked, stammering, suddenly feeling cold.

"Firstly, you little twat," the man said, "put the towel back and stand upright, your hands behind your head."

"No, please," Angela said, "my boyfriend, yeah, my boyfriend will be back soon; he just stepped out to get the paper."

The man laughed, "is that right?"

"Yes," Angela said defiantly, "so you better get out of here."

The man reached into a bag and pulled a ball gag; Angela's eyes widened.

"Is your boyfriend getting the newspapers from Melbourne?" the man said, "cos that was where the flight he boarded earlier was heading."

Angela's heart sank, her head dropping forward as she cried out.

"Now," the man said, throwing the gag towards her, "you put that on tight, stand upright, your hands behind your head."

Angela started hiccuping as she cried; fear rushed through her. She slowly put the ball in her mouth, and she felt the hard rubber, her teeth sinking into it; she put the straps behind her head and buckled the gag in place; she then put the towel back on the hook and stood upright, naked, her hands behind her head.

The man took in the vision before him. The girl was short and curvy, not overly so; her curves were in all the right places, like a Renaissance art piece. Her red hair clung to her wet skin, her blue eyes wide, looking back at him, fearful. His eyes moved down her body past her perfectly round breasts, her nipples firm from the cool air or maybe excitement. Her mound had a light covering of hair, soft, confirming she was a natural redhead.

The man stood and approached her. "Come," he said, grabbing her arm and leading her forward. He led her to her bedroom, throwing her along a little.

"Get your bank cards," he said, all of them.

Angela looked back at him. She fumbled nervously in her purse, her heart racing; she took out two debit cards and handed them to him.

"That all of them?" the man asked.

Angela nodded a slight flush in her cheeks.

The man grabbed her purse and started rifling through it. He looked up, removing another card from it.

"Forget about this one, did you?" he said; he slapped her breast, knocking her back a bit; she squealed behind the gag.

"I said all of them, for fucks sake."

Angela tried to beg him off behind the gag.

He gave her a pen and some sticky notes. "Write down all the pin numbers, now," his voice rising at the end of his sentence.

Angela shook as she wrote the numbers.

"Make them fucking legible, you dumb bitch," the man said.

Angela continued to try and apologise behind the gag.

She handed him the note and pen. The man looked at them.

"Right," he said, time to sort you out.

Angela's eyes widened as he took her by the arm and threw her face first onto the bed. He used some of her stockings to tie her wrists and elbows together tight behind her back; he then tied her knees above and below and then her ankles. He completed the tie by bringing her legs up behind her and securing her in a tight hogtie.

Anglea mumbled at him.

"That's no good; I can kind of understand you," the man said; he then tightened Angela's gag, despite her protests.

"Now, let's look to see what you have for some real fun," the man said, looking around Angela's room.

Angela's eyes followed him around the room; she could hear her heart pounding; she got more scared when she saw him turn around, holding something.

"A plug-in massager with a nice big ball head, " the man said, "I wonder how powerful it is?"

He plugged it in and switched it on; it vibrated loudly; he then turned the thumb dial and watched as the vibrations got faster and louder.

He switched it off and then looked around the room some more. "Only a real kinky bitch keeps duct tape in her room," the man said, holding up the roll.

Angela tried to wriggle away, but her soft mattress and tight hogtie restricted all movement.

The man pushed Angela onto her side. He then secured the massager to her thigh, moving the ball against her sensitive and alarmed mound.

"Now," the man said, standing over Angela, "I'm going to go to the ATM and drain your bank accounts, then I will be back. You better hope you gave me the correct pin numbers. If they don't work, I'm not coming back."

Angela screamed behind the gag, struggling, suddenly regretting her earlier choice. The man just laughed and leaned forward; he switched the massager on and went straight to full power.

Angela tensed up; she watched the man leave and tried to scream after him but to no avail. She felt the intense vibrations against her warm wet spot. Her stomach clenched, her body tight. But it was relentless; she relaxed momentarily and moaned loudly as the intense orgasm swept over her.

In the lounge room, the man picked up a photo frame. He reached up and removed his balaclava, then looked down at the photo of himself and Angela.

"God, I married a kinky one," he thought, a smile on his face.