It has been over a year since my previous story, and while this tale has a few of the same characters involved, it isn't necessary to have read the other story first, though I do hope this will stir you into reading the previous offering. For those of you who have emailed me in the past, I thank you, and hope to hear from you again, along with anyone else who likes my stories.
SD
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I had been following her for a while now. I followed her to work, and watched her taking her kids to school. She kept to quite a rigid timetable which was good for me, even her Monday afternoon trips to her mother's could be timed to the nearest 10 minutes. Her patterns were pretty much the same week in week out, even going to the same supermarket straight from work on Thursdays, and now the time was right.
She had a confident walk, kept her head held high and never missed a step in her high heels. She had long flowing brunette hair, which shone in the sunlight, like in those adverts you see on the box for shampoo. In her heels she was nearly 6 feet tall, her legs were slim and usually covered in nylon, I liked that. Her cheek bones were high, her lips begged to be kissed, and the cleavage of her C cup tits, was usual there for all to see. Two kids hadn't made a mess of her figure, which was slim, and almost athletic.
She had only been home 15 minutes when her ex husband arrived to pick up the kids for a two week holiday, and as she waved them off, still in her work clothes, I pulled the mask over my head. My heart was beating like fuck, and I knew taking her now wasn't exactly the plan, but hell, I didn't want to wait any longer.
Conveniently, her garage was built on to the side of the house. I had moved a few things to get my van in there, but I banked on her not going in there, in the time she would have spent ushering the kids to get their stuff together. I knew she had never once put her car in the garage. The kid's bikes and assorted boxes made it virtually impossible to put her car in it, so I was quite happy she wouldn't notice my van, in her closed garage.
As I made my way in through the unlocked front door, I heard her singing along to the radio. Then I caught a glimpse of her bending to put a few items of clothing in her washing machine. I made my way silently into the kitchen. I watched her pull open the drawer for the washing powder. I could smell her now, her deodorant, a cheap brand, but one I had come to recognise, after sniffing it on Cynthia while she was totally unaware. It hung in the air now, and I assume she had gone to the toilet at work, and then sprayed a little more on, before she left to come home.
As I stood there I asked myself, why the fuck was I doing this, and then I remembered why.
I moved forward as she turned round. Her blue eyes opened wide in shock. She dropped the washing powder at her feet, and backed against the work top. Her eyes looked at the mask I was wearing, and then the gun pointing at her. Her eyes questioned me, and then she realised something was terribly wrong. I moved forward just as she started shaking her head. I grabbed her arm and spun her round, and put my free hand over her mouth. I pressed the barrel of the gun in her temple, as the padding round my waist pressed into her back.
"Money, and jewellery, now," I hissed in a foreign accent.
A trembling finger pointed to her handbag. I walked her forwards, and whispered in her ear, "Open it."
Fumbling fingers pulled the flap off her bag, and she yanked out her purse. She opened it and handed me what amounted to around £20 in total.
"More," I snarled and cocked the gun.
She whimpered into my hand, and pointed to the living room. I walked her forward and she gestured up at a doll sat high on shelf.
"I will let you go and reach for it. Any sudden move and I blow a hole in your back."
She nodded frantically. She moved forward and I watched from a few steps away as her calf muscles flexed as she reached up. She turned to me and took the top off the doll. She reached in and pulled out a roll of notes. I snatched them from her and pushed them in my pocket.
"Good, jewellery now."
I climbed the stairs behind her, again watching her legs. I took the jewellery box and then spotted her lap top, "Bring it."
We went downstairs and I taped her hands behind her back, and put a small strip over her mouth before the pleading the started. I pointed the gun at the back of head, and shoved her to the back door which went straight into the garage.
I secured her in the back of my van, blindfolded her, and took my mask off. I went back through the house, locking the door, and made sure everything was switched off. I opened the garage door, drove the van out, and then shut the garage door.
Getting her up to my flat wasn't going to be easy. I knew Keith and his trophy wife were away, but that still left Mrs Johnston on the ground floor, she would probably shit a brick if she watched me struggling to get the bound Cynthia up the stairs.
I walked her into the flat and sat her in a chair. Keeping up my foreign accent I made her nodded her head to my demands to keep quiet. I took off her gag, but left the blindfold on. At least I didn't have to wear that fucking awful itchy mask again.
"Not what you expected Cynthia? Well, I won't be here long, just long enough to tell you how I got lucky."
"Let me go, please," she panted.
"I don't want to hear anything from you, unless I ask, do you understand?"
"Yes," she gasped, and then nodded her head.
"We have until it the early hours, and then we are going into town. You will then withdraw your money from the cash machine, and then you will never see me again. Do you understand?"
She nodded and then said, "Yes."
"While we have a few hours, tell me about your arrangement, with the man from the Spider club."
Her mouth dropped open, shocked by what I had asked.
"This is his flat; I burgled it two nights ago. He came back and now, well best you don't go in the spare room. Now talk."
She cleared her throat, and started trying to find the right words to say.
"He, was supposed to, kidnap me, sometime next, next week. It was just a, a fantasy. He was supposed to come in and hold a....knife. Please don't kill me."
At that point I stripped off her blindfold.
Once again those big blue eyes opened wide. She looked at the padding around my stomach, making me appear to be much fatter than I actually am. I lifted my jumper and pulled out the padding.
"You bastard, you fucking prick. You changed your accent, my god I thought it was you, but the gun and how you spoke, fucking idiot, untie my hands. I said nothing about you pretending to rob me, we didn't agree to that, you fucking dickhead."
"Cynthia, I told you I'd put a few twists in it."
"Twists you moron?! I didn't expect you to pick me up half an hour after the kids had gone. I had things planned for this evening."
"Okay, maybe I got a little enthusiastic, but you did say you wanted it as real as I could make it, and you'd leave the details to me."
I untied her and handed her a glass of vodka.
She sighed and then stared at me, took a sip of her vodka, and then sat quietly for awhile.
"God, it was just what I wanted too. Look maybe you could do it again, something different. Perhaps we could carry on?"
"I don't know it wouldn't be the same you would be expecting it."
She drained the last of her drink and pulled her skirt right up.
"Look stockings, I know they are your favourite," she said with a teasing smile.
She stayed the night, we fucked, and then I took her home. Maybe I had gone too far, but what would be the point if she knew it was me from the start?
Now and then I like to go for a walk, just a stroll around the town and the river. On this particular day I was still wondering about Cynthia, and what would have happened if I had decided to keep going with her fantasy, but she had real terror in her eyes, and I just couldn't carry on after seeing how scared she was.
I had walked from Hangman's Cottage, past Judge Jeffreys old court house, up to the top of town and the statue of Thomas Hardy, which over looks the busy round-a-bout, and then to the car park.
I got in my car, turned the key, and pulled out of the parking space. I stopped as a car approached, it kept approaching. It was getting nearer and nearer. I blasted my horn, but it didn't stop and, bang!
Still she drove into me, and right now I'm thinking off all the fucking hassle with the insurance company. My mind quickly flipped to what Judge Jeffreys would do, perhaps a hanging, he liked those. Thomas Hardy would look at it differently I guess, but someone once told me he was a grumpy old fucker.
As she emerged from her car she looked shaken, she looked at the front of her white escort and I saw her shoulders drop.
She turned to face me and brushed the fallen strands of her clipped up dyed blond hair behind her ear. She looked back at the damage, and then back to me, by this time I was on my feet stood next to her.
"I'm real sorry," she said in a quivering voice.
I looked at the side of my car, funny how you remember it as it was just before a prang, but at least the damage wasn't that bad.
"Fuck, he's going to kill me," she mumbled.
She wasn't talking to me, just stating something to her self.
"I'm sure he won't, anyway there is only minor damage. My car isn't that bad, but yours will probably need a paint job. Still you're okay, I'm okay, and that's the main thing."
She turned to look at me, and the tears in her eyes surprised me.
"It's really not that bad, I'm sure Judge Jeffreys wouldn't hang you for that," I said, still thinking about my earlier thoughts.
She wasn't listening to me. She had reached back into her car, and I really tried not to stare at her ass, moulded nicely in the tight navy blue knee length skirt. She stood up holding her purse.
"How much do you want? I mean to fix the car."
At first I'm guessing no insurance, Judge Jeffreys would be salivating at this news, but this woman doesn't look the sort not to have insurance. The tears started again, and I stood there feeling like I had just called her a few rude names, but I hadn't, in fact I was being quite considerate.
"I've only got 40 pounds, that's not enough is it?"
The tears came again, and the shaking hands holding the money out seemed a little over the top. I glanced at an old couple who had stopped to stare. Old people do that; they stop and gawp at anything. The young mum pushing her pram past had quickened her step; young people don't want to get involved, although she did glance back now and then.
"I've got this mate who runs a garage, and he owes me a favour, let's see what he has to say, and honestly it isn't that bad."
"Will he look at my car too?"
"Yeah, he'll give you a decent price."
"Can he do it before, well, Sunday?"
