DAY THREE
The next day, the wardrobe choice that followed the PURPLE flashing of lights was unexpected. Severe black business suit with a pencil skirt, white button-down shirt, and black stiletto heels. The lacy black bra and panties, silky black stockings were the only whispers of anything kinky. With a small amount of makeup and her hair up in a tight bun, her look was pretty close to how she showed up for her last serious job interview.
It did not inspire the same confidence, though. After taking an hour to dress according to the instructions, the wait for the door in the Purple Armory to open had S truly worried for what lay beyond.
When it slid open to reveal a single wooden chair under a harsh spotlight, her heart dropped and her whole body felt cold and alien. The Summoned's teeth chattered, her eyes watering in real fear as she crossed the catwalk into THE CHAIR.
The rest of the room was in shadow, the walls darker than midnight at the bottom of a coal mine. There could be anything lurking there, but all the Summoned's attention was focused on the chair. It was so simple, part of a cheap dinette set you might find at Target, but her imagination made it utterly menacing. Tied or cuffed, blindfolded and gagged. Such a simple thing; so terrifying to behold. Noticing that it had been bolted to the floor made the rising anxiety make a hard turn into panic.
The Summoned stopped short of the light, hoping to remain hidden in the shadows for a few moments longer, to maybe catch sight her tormentors before the inevitable darkness fell.
-
"So, you used your safeword," Nurse Joan stated.
"I did," S admitted.
Safe in the Red Lounge, sometime later, Nurse Joan appeared with the Summoned's favorite hot coffee drink, complete in a paper Starbucks cup, her real name written on the side. Nurse Joan in street clothes, blue jeans, white t-shirt, sparkly flipflops, and warm smile but searching eyes.
"What happened?"
"I don't know," S lied. "It was all just too much."
-
Rough hands grabbed her from behind, one encircling her arms low around her waist, the other clamped over her mouth.
Then she must have fainted?
Her next moment of awareness was of her ankles and wrists already tied tightly to the chair's legs, another rope just below her breasts binding her torso to the chair back. One of her heels was missing, the concrete floor shockingly cold through the thin stockings.
A cruel metal device was holding her mouth about half-open; a black bag was over her head with just enough light seeping through the fabric to see the two men that loomed before her.
The Summoned's heart was pounding, jumping out of her chest. Her head swam and she started to hyperventilate. No comfort at all could be found awakening into this reality.
Something else, a foreign mass of plastic seemed to be tied to high up on her thigh, a bulbous mound pressing insistently, wedging her panties uncomfortably between her pussy lips.
Before she could register what it was, the Hitachi began to vibrate.
-
"I've fantasized forever about getting kidnapped and, you know, raped," S offered, suddenly ashamed of the admission. "It's weird though, it's like a secret that I keep from myself. And like, you know, I only indulge in that fantasy when I'm feeling like shit then I try to forget about it."
"I do know," Nurse Joan nodded.
"I never even shared that fantasy with any of my partners," S admitted. "Knowing that I was coming here, seeing it on the list as a possibility, I actually thought...I don't know."
"That you could get it out of your system," Nurse Joan finished.
-
Struggling and groaning the whole time, S found herself forced into a long, unpleasant orgasm. When it was over, her pussy felt raw. Shame spread from the continued vibration, adding to her panic.
The situation was becoming untenable.
One of the men pulled off the hood. The Summoned recoiled from both the light and the smear of cold gag slobber that got dragged across her face. The Magic Wand seemed to drill into her, adding pain to the whirlpool of sensations and emotions.
Her eyes adjusted and she was finally able to make out her two tormentors. The taller, heavier one seemed to have on a blonde wig and fake mustache and wore with an ill-fitting black business suit. The short, thin one was wearing a balaclava and an off-brand red track suit. S would have laughed if she had the wherewithal.
Mr. Tracksuit held a smartphone with an attached ring light. Mr. Fake Mustache had the remote for the Magic Wand in one hand and his cock in another.
"This video is proof of life. Now that you've seen her, if you ever want to see Mary-Elizabeth again, come alone to Union Station at 6 pm, the cash in a rolling suitcase."
"Uhhhhh," was all the Summoned could manage. Mary-Elizabeth? What the hell was going on here?
"Can I fuck her mouth now?" asked Mr. Fake Mustache, grinning.
"Good question," Mr. Tracksuit answered. He then addressed the unseen recipient of the video. "Does watching my friend fuck your wife's face make her more or less valuable to you?"
The tall one dropped the remote in the Summoned's still vibrating lap and began wrenching the dental gag open wider.
-
"I couldn't remember, at first."
"What's that?" Nurse Joan asked.
"The safeword, the finger code that could stop it."
-
Within moments, Mr. Fake Mustache's thick cock was sliding on her tongue, nudging the back of her throat while Mr. Tracksuit came in for a closeup.
-
"It was when I tasted him, that's when I remembered."
"Interesting."
"He smelled and tasted nice," S admitted. "Part of me wanted out of that chair so much; another, weirder part wanted this stranger, this rapist, to have a nice time fucking my face. I wanted the other guy to free one of my hands so I could jerk him off at the same time."
"Hmm."
"I thought, they went to all this trouble to kidnap and tie me up, why not give them what they want? Is that weird?"
-
The Summoned extended three fingers on both of her hands, clenched, then showed the safeword again. Thirty-three. The tall one moaned once and a couple of generous squirts of cum went down her throat. Coughing, she began flashing three fingers on each hand rapidly.
The tall one withdrew allowing S to see that the short one had removed his pants and was evidently ready to make his own deposit.
Thirty-three.
Thirty-three.
The Hitachi burned her crotch, her jaw ached from the dental gag, and her body strained against the bindings, but the pounding of her heart and the raging chaos in her head was the worst.
Thirty-three.
Eleven, or one-one on her fingers would have cautioned them to back off, slow down, or move on to the next bullet point on their 'Kidnapper's To-Do' list.
Twenty-two, two-two on her fingers would have put a hold on the scene and the tormentors would have left character for unambiguous communication.
Thirty-three, three-three on her fingers was meant to be the evacuation alert and worked as promised.
-
"Why did you never share that fantasy with any of your male partners?"
"They were all nice guys, you know. Kinky was just a thing that happened occasionally as, you know, a treat. Darker stuff like that, I respected them all too much to ask them do that to me. I guess?"
"I hear you," Nurse Joan sighed. "You think to yourself, sure it would be hot if my boo roughed me up and forced me to have sex, but do I really want to be in a relationship with someone who would get off on that?"
-
The walls were suddenly white, and the overhead lights were on, exposing the rest of the room.
S couldn't make out what the voice was saying through the fog of panic, but it seemed to startle her kidnappers. They jumped into action, Mr. Tracksuit untying her bonds, while Mr. Fake Mustache removed the gag. Neither of them looked her in the eyes again.
She couldn't find the strength to look at them either, so she took in what devices she would have been in store her had she not pulled the ripcord. One was a narrow cage with a top that appeared to be a barstool seat, complete with a hole for her neck. Another was a large red painted metal monstrosity that wouldn't look out of place in an auto-repair shop. The last was a tall, varnished wood stool with a slatted, concave seat, a sturdy base, and multiple leather belts for restraint.
She was shocked to recognize this last one as something she had seen falling down a rabbit-hole of spanking porn one night. An old series of videos shot in Eastern Europe starring a stern principal and many, many naughty schoolgirls. Ursid Studios? Lupin Pictures?
Lupine, she thought. Lupine Films, or something.
Anyway, it was an odd train of thought barreling through the wasteland that the kidnapping scene had made of her mind.
Her stomach sunk again. The ass whipping and sodomy that would have happened to her, strapped to that thing.
Once free, the Summoned kicked off her other shoe and walked alone back across the catwalk, physically rescued but still in throes of panic.
Thirty-three.
Defeated.
-
S sipped on her sugary concoction, rubbing the small white pill that Nurse Joan had pressed into her other hand. Saint Xanax, to the rescue.
"Something you should know, though," Nurse Joan broke a long silence. "You shouldn't feel ashamed, or broken, or angry with yourself for using the safeword."
"No?"
"No. I was serious when I said that this isn't a test or a competition. It's great to find your limits and push them a bit, and so liberating to embrace submission, lose yourself in a sexy scene."
S smiled and sipped, waiting for the 'but...'; Nurse Joan was content to let the conversation play out.
"It is, but there's also like a weird pressure to this thing."
"True, but you aren't a captive here," Nurse Joan insisted. "You're a free agent, your submissive role notwithstanding."
"I guess so," the Summoned sighed.
"You are a trooper, and I believe in you. I feel like no one has shown you that the healthiest way to play is by assuming power and maintaining control, and you have it all here."
"That's such a weird thing to say, you know, about me getting tied down and face-fucked."
