The Borrowing Part One.

THE BORROWED

My shoulders were aching, and my wrists were burning, but I couldn't feel my hands. I puzzled slightly as I started to wake, over why this should be. Bed was normally warm, and cosy, where were the covers? I tried to reach for them, and felt the resistance keeping my arms above my head. I frowned, and pulled hard, then gasped as pain seared through my already throbbing wrists. I struggled to sit upright and open my eyes, only to feel the room spin wildly, and have a sickening feeling of vertigo wash over me. Full consciousness returned abruptly, as I realised I had ground beneath my feet, I was in fact standing, not lying, and that wherever I was, it wasn't my own safe little bed.

Now that I was fully awake, it was clear that the reason for the darkness was that I was blindfolded. I managed to half open my eyes despite that, and there was still complete blackness. Either the fabric was designed to keep out the light, or it was night.

I tried to stop thinking for a moment, to put a lid on the can of worms that was my vivid imagination, in order to just concentrate on feeling, to get some sense of where I was. I could feel that there was space around me, maybe a great deal of space, as the air was cool, and I could feel occasional draughts stirring my hair. I stamped my foot, partly in frustration, and partly in temper at my own lack of memory, and felt a hard surface. There were no echoes from my petulant stamp. Concrete then?

My heart leaped, as realisation dawned. This was his doing! He'd mentioned playing a new game soon. One he would "Rope me into." Well that strange choice of words made sense now! This then, must be it. If I played my part well….

I shivered with excitement, and shook my head to try and clear the fuzziness. I stood still, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, and I tried to think. How had he got me here, and where exactly was here? Well, they weren't really important. What was important was what happened next.

Should I call out? Was that what he was waiting for?

"Hello" I called, a little hesitantly, half fearful that others might be listening. Others, who might take great delight in finding a woman tied and helpless, and who might have a different game plan.

Nothing.

"Hello, is there anyone there? Please help me! Please!! Hello?"

This was from the very bottom of my lungs, and tinged with a little over-acting to compensate for the tiny knot of real fear lurking within me, and it reverberated off the walls, faint echoes coming back to mock me, like backing singers supporting the main act. My throat closed up, and I suddenly felt as if I couldn't breathe, as my vulnerability struck me for the first time. I forced myself to breathe again, and to try and shut down the fear rising within me. It was just a game, after all.

The thing is, no matter how often I might tell myself that, there was always the possibility that this time it wasn't, that this time, it might not be him that had me bound and waiting to indulge his whims….

I concentrated on my breathing as that helped keep me from panic. In and out, regularly and deeply. I felt myself becoming calmer, and of the pain in my wrists lessening. The blood was flowing back into my hands now that I was supported by my feet, rather than my arms, and the tingling of pins and needles demanded that I focus more on my body than my situation. I flexed my fingers, helping the blood to circulate.

As I breathed, I realised there was a slight trace of a strange smell lingering. It nagged at me, and I felt I should recognise it. When I tried to focus on it, it vanished, as insubstantial as mist.

I shivered, suddenly wondering how long I had been here.

I was uncomfortably aware that I needed to pee. Then… it couldn't have been that long! A sudden memory, vivid and intense, I had been leaving work, glad to be finished for the day, and after a couple of coffees I'd thought about going to the bathroom before I set off on my journey, but was too eager to get home!

Yes, that was it. What next?

I'd collected some files, tucked them into my document case and put it under my arm. I'd headed for the stairs, calling out a "Bye guys!" to the 2 or 3 people still scattered around the offices.

The memories were coming thick and fast now.

I'd gone down into the underground car park, and walked towards my car, - my car! A security guard had been waiting by it, calling out something about a break in. I'd pushed past him, impatient to see how much damage had been done and then there had been an arm around my neck, and a hissing noise. And, that smell! I suddenly felt slightly sick again, although this time was more to do with the sudden jolt of recognition that I felt, than with disorientation. Was he the guard? Surely I'd have recognised him? Why would I though? I'd hardly spared him a glance in the hurry to push him aside. Obviously I was too fond of that damn car!

I should know better, I had read enough memos on personal safety.

Never let your guard down, never get taken unawares. Just failed that test hadn't I? Now that I thought about it, his voice had been familiar. How had he got the uniform?

He had planned this well! What else was on his agenda for today?

Well, seeing as he'd taken me straight from work, he probably wanted me to carry on with the efficient and cool businesswoman façade that I wore during the working day. Fine, that was a role I was well practised in!

So, if I was at work, I would explore the options, check my resources, make a plan and implement it.

So first things first, could I break free of my bonds?

I tried to walk in a little circle, to see how much slack was available. Precious little, was the answer to that.

I stretched upright gingerly, tensing and loosening my muscles in an attempt to bring some relief to my stiff limbs. I stood on tiptoes as high as I could get, wishing that my shoes were platform soled, and reached up, trying to feel what was around my wrists, to see if there were knots I could reach, and maybe undo. There weren't any. It was certainly rope of some kind, but it was thin, and circled each wrist individually before joining them together. I wasn't going to be able to break it in a hurry, if at all. I slumped back down flat-footed with a curse of frustration. I was actually a little scared, and angry that I was scared! Of course, this just added to the excitement, as he knew full well. He always knew me better than I knew myself. Knew what it was that I really wanted, what I craved, no matter how much I might try to deny it, even to myself.

I blamed my upbringing. Over-achieving parents who wanted a good career for their daughter, and taught her early on that to show feelings and lose control was to be weak. The end result? I learnt those lessons so well that now I had to be the one in control of every situation, and relinquishing that control was difficult for me. Went against all my years of practice.

But with him I'd learnt that breaking down those barriers led to such ecstasy. That was why I loved him. Why I trusted him implicitly. Hell, I could never play these games without that! And if they were sometimes hard to play, well an easy game is no fun for anybody.

The unspoken rules, such as they were, were simple. If I managed to keep my self control, I won. As easy, and as difficult as that. Thing is, deep down I didn't want to win. Losing, for me, was always better, the rewards far outweighing the sacrifice, but it was hard. And my pride demanded that I try to win, and try really hard. And I would continue to try, every time we played.

I shivered, only partly due to the cold whisper of a breeze that caressed my cheek. I was suddenly grateful that I had chosen a longer jacket that morning, and wished I had worn trousers instead of a skirt. And knitted tights would have been preferable to the sheer stockings that may as well not have been there. But it gave me a kick to walk through the office, looking every inch the professional businesswoman, whilst feeling the flimsy wisps of lace and silk against my skin underneath those well-cut power suits. Knowing that the men were casting sly glances at me, wondering just what lay underneath that perfectly poised glossy exterior.

The thrill of their glances never failed to arouse me, and my breathing quickened briefly at the memory. What would they think if they could see me now? Probably think I deserved whatever I got, and wishing they could be the ones to give it to me.

I was cold, possibly alone, more than a little nervous and to cap it all I felt as if I would burst if I didn't get to a toilet soon.

I stood still, my head bowed between my aching shoulders, and waited. Where was he? What if he never came? There were times I wished to be one of those people untroubled by an active imagination. My nerves were stretched to snapping point, and I was becoming lost in my thoughts, when there was a movement of air at my side, a soft chuckle, and a finger glided along the line of my cheek –bone.

I screamed and instinctively flung myself away from the touch, only to be snapped up short by the restraining ropes. The horror was compounded when I felt heat suffuse my thighs, and realised that, for my bladder, this shock was the final straw. The hot wetness coursed down my legs, drenching my panties and my stockings. To my utter humiliation, the sudden rush of heat between my legs combined with niggles of fear and the thrill of the restraint, all came together, and a sudden flush of arousal drew a loud moan from me.

I was glad at that moment that I could not see his face. It was enough to know that my self-control had lapsed, without having to witness the appreciation of that fact written across his face. Would he be disgusted with such a blatant lapse? Or aroused by it? Probably the latter. We were black and white after all, complementing each other perfectly. My submission fuelling his power.

I strained to listen, to try and position myself so as to face him. The waiting was unbearable, each second winding me tighter and making standing there a near impossibility, but there was nowhere I could go, even had I wanted to.

So I did the only thing I could, I waited, and while I waited, I reasoned with myself.

He must be enjoying my unease; therefore I would deny him that. I wouldn't play his game, but my own. I would be the consummate actress, bargaining with a criminal low-life. And I was going to win this battle of wills. I was not going to scream and try to dodge his touch; I would wait for him to make the next move. I smiled to myself a little, as I felt some of my composure returning. I would talk my way through this, be unyielding, and not give him what he wanted! It would be a change, admittedly, but good for him to lose for once.

I stood upright, my head lifted and my chin up, ready to take him on and to win. God it must be getting cold in here! As I was breathing, I could feel that my nipples were hard, and rubbing against the silk of my blouse. I had a bra on, of course, but it was only a little half cup, and my frantic exertions, combined with my arms being held upright, must have made it slip, allowing my breasts to spill out a little. The sensation was far from unpleasant, and I flushed a little, feeling very dirty, as I remembered how only a very short time ago I had felt a similar thrill run through me as I wet myself. What on earth was the matter with me? I felt disgust that my body could betray me by allowing these sensations to flood over me, to allow arousal from such a perverse act!

A faint movement of air again, and I could tell he was stood in front of me. I tensed, and waited, forced myself to stand steady. I felt the touch of a finger again; gently it caressed my cheek, ran lightly across my bottom lip, and then moved smoothly down the long, white column of my throat. I swallowed, and said nothing. A hand moved through my hair and there was a sharp tug, and then it all fell down loose across my shoulders, freed from its restraints, unlike me.

"Shake your head" said the voice, and I had already obeyed before my brain kicked in, it's order to protest coming too late. I smelt the oranges that perfumed my shampoo, as my hair tumbled down about my face.

"Ok, enough of these games, what do you want?" I asked, cursing inwardly as I heard my voice. It sounded squeaky, like a nervous child's might.

I steadied it, and went on "I've got money, jewellery, a good car, whatever you want, it's yours."

The silence pressed in around me, more menacing than words could ever be. Fingers ran through my hair, lifting and combing it, before letting it fall.

"Stop that!" I snapped, and pulled my head away.

The hand returned, stroking the back of my head, burrowing under my hair to caress the back of my neck.

With a shriek of anger I pulled away again, and kicked out at where I thought my tormentor was stood. I didn't hit anything so I turned a little and lashed out again. And again, over and over I kicked out, hitting nothing, screaming for him to keep his hands off me, and swearing to make him pay for this indignity.

Then the hand returned, gentleness gone, grabbing my hair and wrenching my head back, stretching my throat out, making me gasp in pain as the pressure on my shoulders increased. And there was something cold and unyielding pressed against my throat.

"Do you feel the knife?" he asked, conversationally.

Yes!" I gasped, straining my protesting muscles even further as I tried to lean away from the blade.

He kept the pressure constant, but rolled the knife from side to side, allowing me to feel the length of the blade. Then he tilted it, and I whimpered involuntarily as I felt the sharpness pressing into my flesh.

"And do you feel how sharp it is?"

When I said nothing, he increased the pressure with the flat of the blade, making me gasp for breath.

"Yes, yes I feel it, please don't hurt me!" came out in a rush, as my legs turned to jelly under me. Damn he was good! He had me immersed totally in the fantasy now. I felt terror and anger both. Logic had gone out of the window.

"I could hurt you, if that was what I wanted…" he continued, in his even tone of voice. "It would be easy, with a knife this big, and this sharp. It wouldn't take much effort on my part"

He let go of my hair, and took the knife from my throat, and I straightened up, trembling, as I heard him move around in front of me. There was a tug on my jacket, and I heard something fall to the floor, and bounce away. I frowned, as it happened again, wondering what was happening. As my jacket grew looser, I knew, and my heart missed a beat. He was cutting off my buttons! My stomach turned over, as I wondered if this was just a demonstration of the prowess of the blade, and if so, what was to follow?

My jacket fell open, as the final button was sliced from it. I felt the point of the knife trail across my collarbone, and then turn, and start downwards, towards my cleavage. Then it slid beneath the silk collar of my shirt, and I felt it make short work of the tiny pearly buttons that had been holding the sleek garment together.

It suddenly occurred to me, that with those buttons gone, my chest would be on show.

I drew a sharp breath as the last button fell tinkling to the floor, and the 2 sides of the material slid slowly apart, draping themselves down either side of my breasts, like delicate curtains.

I imagined the sight it presented, the creamy white globes of my breasts, with the pale caramel nipples, rising above the vivid scarlet of the little lacy bra, framed by the dusky violet of my ruined shirt. I bit my lip, as I felt a warm tingle deep down in my belly. The thought of presenting such a pretty picture appealed to my exhibitionist streak and try as I might, I couldn't suppress the excitement.

The picture was altered somewhat by the cold steel of the knife, reaching up between my breasts, and snipping my bra in two. I felt my breasts spill out of their confines, and bounce pertly to attention. With my arms stretched above my head, they were pulled up very high, and it felt if they were on display, begging to be noticed.

Then the knife tip traced a lazy path down to my skirt, and I sucked my tummy in as far as I could, shrinking from its touch, making it so easy for it to slip under the waistband, and tear down through the expensive fabric, and in a few short seconds, my skirt dropped to the floor.

The air circulated coolly around my lower body, chilling my damp panties and making me shiver just a little.

"Oh, did you wet yourself? Were you really that frightened?"

Did I imagine it, or was there real concern in his voice? Was he going to feel sorry for me and stop the game? The part of me that revelled in his mastery of me hoped not. But my ego yelled "Hell yeah, I win!"

"Y-yes, I was very scared" I replied, the stutter genuine.

His hand took hold of my wrists, one at a time, and gently held me very still while the knife separated the remains of my jacket from my body. I felt the chill of the air turn my skin to goose bumps as he sawed through the thick fabric, and flung it aside.

He had no intention of letting me off, obviously.

As my shirt received the same treatment, I found myself jumping a little, and small gasps were dragged from me, as the light silk acted like feathery fingers, caressing me with the faintest of touches, tickling and teasing my skin into almost unbearable sensitivity.

He was stood so close behind me now, that I could feel the heat of his body radiating outwards and soaking into my skin, skin that was newly bared for his pleasure. One hand stroked my hair, then traced the line of my jaw, around to my throat, and down…down between my breasts. I shuddered, and a small whimper escaped my lips, and I leant back into him. His hand continued, firm and strong, one confident squeeze, then on underneath my breast, and around my ribcage. My breathing was becoming increasingly ragged, and I could feel my heart pounding, as he took hold of the remains of my bra, and snipped them away.

His infrequent touches, so deft and assured, were making me want him to touch me again, to linger over my sensitive curves, and to stroke and soothe away my trembling.

As he was shredding and removing my clothes, it felt as if he were breaking through all of my defences, stripping away my control, layer by layer. And although the superficially emancipated boss might resent it, the woman in me wanted it to continue.

Somehow, in spite of having the knife, he was weaving a spell over me, and making me feel safe, almost treasured… Who knew what else he might do? I grew hotter thinking about it, and the pictures it conjured up were not unwelcome. On the contrary, I yearned to be a participant in them, and I felt a surge of arousal send heat coursing through me.

I thought about the faint memory of a dream I'd had once, years ago when I was still a young girl, and how my dreams after that had all seemed so pale and two-dimensional. I had often longed to remember the details of that dream...

"What are you thinking?"

The voice startled me out of my reverie, and I jumped. I yelped as a sharp sting jarred me back to the present, and a few tears were surprised into flowing beneath my blindfold.

"Shhh, don't cry. You should hold still though…"

I felt his lips on my thigh, and the stinging faded, replaced by a warm glow.

My stockings and suspender belt were going the way of the rest of my clothes. I felt the knife slide under the leather strap on my shoe, and realised that I was to be left with nothing at all on my body. The thin leather offered no resistance, and neither did I as I stepped out of my ruined shoe, and onto the rough floor. I shivered, and pulled back, balancing on my one shod foot, putting off the moment when both feet would be on cold, bare concrete, and when the loss of my heels would stretch my body even further than it already was. He continued relentlessly, and I duly shivered, and stretched…