Solo Work

Professional kidnapper Benny enjoys a full week with Maria Godiva Pierce, the trophy wife he's kidnapped for ransom. Maria finds the week somewhat less satisfying than he does. 5.5k words, very dark content rating.

Content warnings/tags: villain POV; noncon; kidnapping; restraints; mild misogyny, including victim-blaming and slut-shaming; careless use; anal; forced exhibitionism; overstimulation; cops

I went independent about half a year ago. Best decision of my life.

In my career--like most, I'd guess--there are a lot of drawbacks to working for yourself. The working hours, for one; it's all good and well to say that you get to make your own hours when you're your own boss, but the reality is that those hours are probably going to be a lot longer now that you're trying to handle everything on your own.

Used to be that I only really had to worry about going in and grabbing the leverage at the start of a job, and then I was mostly the babysitter, sitting around until the payment came in. But these days, I gotta be a jack-of-all-trades: I'm the one going out and finding the opportunities, I'm the one identifying holes in some rich fuck's private security schedule.

I'm the one chloroforming the leverage and I'm also the one driving the getaway car to the safe-house that I, personally, scoped out ahead of time.

I'm the one writing the ransom notes and the one arranging the drop and setting up a way to get the hell out of dodge after the trade because no matter how many times you tell people not to call the cops, they always call the cops.

So it's easy enough to say I can work around my schedule, but really--when I'm on a job--it's the other way around; I gotta schedule around my work.

There's more risk, too, of course. No back-up, nobody else to tail security while I'm grabbing the leverage, no second pair of eyes on the perimeter. But I guess that doesn't bother me too much; I've never liked relying on other people. I feel better knowing I'm on my own from the start, rather than having it come as a nasty surprise.

And the benefits are pretty significant. Especially not having to split the payout.

The first job I did on my own was a bit of a test run: just a small take, thirty thousand for some rich guy's spoiled grandson. The grandson was a pain in the ass, but the job went well enough otherwise, and thirty thousand--when you're not splitting it with three or four other people--lasts long enough that I could plan something bigger.

This job, if I pull it off, should net me enough that I won't have to lift a finger for at least a year. Two, if I'm careful with my spending.

The other benefit, of course, is that nobody but me needs to approve of how I entertain myself when I'm babysitting.

With the grandson, I'd mostly just pissed him off for fun. I sat him in front of a TV playing a twenty-four-hour Barney the Dinosaur marathon and talked to him like I thought he was five years old instead of fifteen. By the end of the job, though, that had mostly lost interest for me, and he'd figured out how to piss me off, too. I ended up just locking him in the bathroom for the last twenty-four hours so we didn't have to look at each other.

This time, though--this time I'm gonna have some real fun.

The leverage for this job is Maria Godiva Pierce, third wife of Lt. Jonathan Pierce. Lt. Pierce retired with honors from the army and went straight on to found one of the most lucrative arms manufacturing businesses in the country.

Maria's about half his age, which still puts her in her mid-thirties, but she's got the tight body and bleach-blond hair of a career trophy wife.

She's also got a reputation for scandal and sex tapes. She doesn't even look especially shocked to wake up handcuffed to a bed, though she gives me a fuzzy kind of look that says she doesn't remember me, and probably doesn't remember being chloroformed.

"Who, uhh," she slurs out, rattling one wrist weakly in the restraints. Still not fully with it. "Where...am I?"

"Sleepover party," I inform her. "You can call me Benny. I'm your new best friend for the next...oh...let's say the next week. Assuming your husband gets his shit together in a timely fashion."

She squints at me in confusion for several long seconds, then closes her eyes again and returns to unconsciousness.

I shrug and turn my attention back to my laptop, putting the final touches on a ransom note that'll be delivered anonymously, both electronically and physically, to Lt. Pierce.

Half an hour later, Maria wakes up properly, and that's when she starts throwing a tantrum.

***

I give Mrs. Pierce about an hour to wear herself out with kicking, screaming, trying to break the handcuffs, all the usual bullshit.

Then I sit her up on the bed--she hisses at me like a cat when I touch her, which makes me laugh--and set up a video camera on a tripod, pointed at her. I stand behind the tripod and mute the mic while I speak.

"Go ahead and talk to the camera, sweetheart. Tell your husband that as long as he follows the instructions, he'll get you back safe and sound."

"Fuck you," she spits. I un-mute in the middle of the second word, but anyone watching the video will probably be able to fill in the blanks from the shape of her mouth and the look on her face. "My husband's a retired lieutenant of the United States Armed Forces. When he tracks you down, he'll turn you into fucking hamburger meat."

I shrug and mute again. "Good enough." I just need proof of life; all the important information is in the note that'll be going with the video. "Now, I don't need to send that out for another hour or so, so--front hole or back?"

"Excuse me?" she demands, and then hisses when I turn off the camera and approach the bed. "Don't you fucking dare--"

"I think I'm being a pretty nice guy here, letting you pick," I tell her, and catch her by the ankle when she tries to kick me in the face. "Come on now, Maria, it doesn't have to be like that. I'm not a meanie, I'm not gonna hurt you. Am I fucking the front or the back?"

"Neither, you low-life, ugly-ass--" she tries to kick me again, then shrieks in anger when I easily wrangle both her legs, folding them in towards her stomach and dragging her across the bed so she's lying down again. She's wearing a skirt, which is pretty damned convenient, since folding her legs up like that just exposes her skimpy little g-string.

I tug it to one side--she screeches at me again--and give her a good look-over. She's waxed Brazilian-style, which I should've known to expect, but it's still interesting. Kind of makes it feel like I'm playing with a professional, like a porn star in real life. No obvious signs of disease, though I'm still not taking any risks; I stocked up plenty of condoms.

"Not looking too eager there, Mrs. Pierce," I remark, patting two fingers against the plump, dry lips of her cunt. "So I guess, if you're leaving the choice up to me, I'll go in the back way, since we're gonna need lube either way."

"My husband will murder you--!"

"Nah. That actor you fucked last year is still walking around, isn't he?" I point out, leaning my weight on her to keep her folded up while I reach over and rummage around in the bedside table drawer, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube.

"That--you have no right to touch me!"

"Yeah, my whole job is kind of a violation of people's rights," I remind her with a half-smile. "So I figure I might as well enjoy it, right?"

She gapes at me, stunned and outraged. The expression takes a comical turn, her eyes bugging out a bit, when I start rubbing two lube-slicked fingers over her asshole; then, right as she seems to be working up to saying something else, I worm one of my fingers into her. She grits her teeth and lets out a sort of tea kettle noise instead.

I laugh. She glares at me.

Once Maria realizes she's not gonna talk me out of it, she's a lot more taciturn. She lobs the occasional insult at me, but mostly she seems focused on stoically refusing to show any more reaction than she absolutely has to.

And I can tell it's wearing on her. True to my word, I don't want to do anything to hurt her, and since she's pretty well closed up to start with, that means I dedicate a good quarter of an hour to just stretching her open and getting her back hole as slick as I can.

Even women who aren't partial to anal stimulation would be feeling something after fifteen minutes of fingering, and--based on what was in that sex tape, the one with the actor--I know she doesn't mind getting it up the ass on occasion. So by the time I finally think she's ready for me, she's reduced to mostly glaring and a sort of huffing noise through her nose that I think is meant to hide how hard she's breathing.

I slide my fingers out of her and watch as her asshole winks a few times. She's loose enough now that it stays open after that, waiting for me.

I pat the inside of her thigh, leaving a smear of lube there. "Good girl."

Her eyes narrow to sharp little green slits. "Don't you fucking--h-h-ohh," she slams her head back and chokes on whatever she was going to say as I slide my condom-wrapped, lubed-up cock all the way in with one thrust.

I lean in over her, my knees bracketing her hips, and practically fold her in half, staring down into her face as my cock plunges as deep into her as it'll go. "Sorry? What was that?"

"F-f-fuck you," she spits. There are two little spots of color coming in on her cheeks, and I look forward to figuring out if that's because she's angry or because she's embarrassed.

"Oh, well. If you insist." I wink and then start to pump my hips.

Her ass squeezes on me a couple of times, tellingly rhythmic little pulses that I know she's trying to hide. She keeps right on glaring at me the whole time, though, her lips closed tight on whatever sounds she might've made, doing her best to appear unaffected, like she gets a good ass-railing from a dick as thick as mine every Sunday.

Well, maybe she does. I don't know her schedule.

Her attitude doesn't bother me. Like I said, we'll have a whole week to get to know each other.

Her ass is tight and hot, and I'm not putting much of an effort into drawing things out, so I only last a couple of minutes before I have to pick up the pace--my balls slapping loudly against her asscheeks, providing a hilarious counterpoint to her venomous glare--and then spill inside the condom.

"I don't know how you'd ever satisfy a woman with that kind of stamina," she says snippily as I pull out.

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, here's the thing, Maria. If the woman's tied up and can't get away, I figure I don't need to put any effort into satisfying her."

I wink, then drag a fingertip through the lips of her pussy, to let her know that she hasn't managed to distract me from noticing that she's not as dry now as she was to start with.

She aims another kick at my head.

***

Lt. Pierce responds quickly enough to the ransom note, but his initial reply is less than promising. A lot of threats, mostly--remarkably specific threats when it comes to how many tactical troops he'll mis-appropriate to hunt me down, and which weapons he'll use to obliterate me from the face of the planet, and so on.

I tut. "Your husband's got a temper, Mrs. Pierce. He doesn't talk to you this way, does he? With the threats and violence and all of that? Because that wouldn't be right, you know."

"You've got a lot of fucking nerve, making jokes like that," she snaps.

"Oh, I never joke about domestic violence, Mrs. Pierce. It's a very serious issue," I assure her gravely. "Ah well. I'll give him a few hours to cool down." If I'm lucky, he'll start to regret blowing his head at the guy who has his wife all on his own without me even having to remind him why that's a bad idea. I check my watch. "Guess that means we'll have some time to kill."

Maria just glares at me with the typical catty malevolence I've come to expect from her over the past twelve hours or so, and then--as I shut my laptop and stand up--a look of realization comes over her face. "You had better not--"

"Front or back?" I ask, because I'm a nice guy like that, even if she doesn't appreciate it yet.

"Neither, you creep!" she yells, and kicks me in the chest.

Oh well. I pick for her: the back it is.

It's been a few hours since the first fuck, so I get to open her up all over again. This time there's no denying the way her pussy starts to plump up and leak jealously.

If I had a hand free, I'd tease her there a little, but I need one arm to hold her legs down so she doesn't get me with a heel to the nose.

"Uh," she grunts when I slide in, grimacing.

I laugh. "You act like you're not enjoying yourself."

"I'm not, you pig!"

"No?" I lean in and start thrusting, rolling my hips to rub the head of my cock along the thin wall between her anus and her cunt.

Her muscles shudder and clench around me, and her eyes unfocus for a second.

I laugh again. "Okay. If you say so." I roll my hips a few more times that way, slow and careful, massaging her cunt indirectly. "We're gonna have a whole week together, you know. Maybe you don't remember that I said that earlier, so I guess I should repeat it. And--while I'm clarifying things--we're gonna do this," I roll my hips again, and her mouth goes a little lax, lips opening just enough for her to take a quick breath through them, "about twice a day, until your husband pays up and you go home."

"As if you have--the energy--" she mutters, but she's staring past my head now, her gaze focused inward, like she's envisioning the drag of my cock inside her.

"Not all of us need to take pills to get it up like your husband, honey," I remind her, and then I'm done playing.

I start fucking her hard and fast again, and she gasps out a near-silent sound of complaint when I change the angle so that I'm not giving so much attention to the places she wants it.

I pretend not to hear. Because she obviously doesn't want me to, and like I said, I'm a pretty nice guy.

Not long after that, I finish, filling up another condom. As I pull out of her and tie it off--Maria is just staring at the ceiling, probably refusing to acknowledge how damp her neglected pussy is getting--my laptop dings to notify me of a new voicemail.

Lt. Pierce, it turns out, is feeling a lot more cooperative after his little time-out.

***

Negotiations are often the most trying part. People will try all sorts of shit: they ask for time to contact their banker, time to liquidate assets, time to get cash together, whatever delaying shit they can think of. They're always hoping this is some kind of amateur operation, I guess.

Lt. Pierce tries all the usual tactics. I send him back screenshots I have of his bank accounts, to show him that I know that he has the cash on hand; then I send him instructions for how to convert it to cryptocurrency and drop it into a couple of different designated wallets. I tell him he can get a buddy to help him if he doesn't understand.

I know the 'buddy' will be the cops, but that's fine.

Like I said, they always call the cops, so I just plan on it.

That's most of day two and three, on the business end. On the pleasure end, I make good on my promise to Maria, fucking her twice a day.

By the end of the third day, she's wet like a water slide, and no longer bothering to hide it.

She's stopped trying to kick me, too. I reward her the first time she behaves herself by rubbing a couple teasing fingers over her pussy while I fuck her, giving a little double-tap on her clit to make it clear that I know exactly where it is and that I'm ignoring it on purpose.

She's still glaring at me all the time, but there's a certain kind of heat to her glares now, a wild spark of desperation, like an animal on the edge of rabid.

I wonder if three days is the longest she's ever gone unsatisfied. Sure, I figure there's been vacations with her husband and whatever where she couldn't find the time to sneak off with a pool boy, but a rich lady like her can afford some pretty good toys to get through those dry spells.

After our evening fuck on the third day, I put her in the bath with her hands cuffed behind her back. I let her lay in there while the water's running, because she's getting just shameless enough to try and creep her cunt up under the faucet to stimulate herself that way, and it's funny to watch. When she starts to breath faster, I turn the water off, and she glares at me, but she still isn't bold enough to try and ask me to turn it back on, or to ask me to touch her.

Maybe she already knows I'm not going to even if she does ask.

I give a lot of attention to her sensitive spots while I'm washing her--her nipples, of course, but other parts too, along her ribs and under her belly button, the insides of her thighs. She shivers.

I push my fingers up inside her back hole to get some of the lube out, because she still hasn't asked for anything else yet so I've been fucking her twice a day in the ass. She squirms and growls at me, so I pump my fingers in and out a few times, bracing my thumb against her other hole just to see her eyes get big and needy and to feel her try to wriggle her way into impaling herself on it.

"You better start re-thinking your strategy here," I inform her as I pull my hand away, "because it'll be at least another three days before we can arrange the payment and a safe way to get you back to your husband, and I think you'll be pretty damned miserable if I'm still fucking you in the ass three days from now."

"Fuck off," she snaps, trying to splash water at me with her foot, and I laugh and pat the inside of her thigh, feeling her shudder under my grip in a fight not to grind towards my hand.

***

That night, I hear her moaning in her sleep. I wake to find a sticky patch on the sheets between her thighs.

She stares at me when I approach, the rage on her face banked into a smoldering heat.

"Front or back?" I ask, smirking.

"The front, you bastard, if you're going to fuck me," she snaps.

"Good girl," I say, and climb into the bed and slip a condom on.

I don't need to bother with the lube.

When my cock slides in, she throws her head back and groans, her thighs trembling in my grip. She's sensitive like a virgin, her cunt clamping around me and milking me for all it's worth, and she lets out a loud cry of pleasure when I lean into her and start fucking her properly.

She doesn't come, though. Most women can't, not without either clitoral stimulation or a lot of patience, and I already told her I don't see a need for either one when she can't exactly turn me down.

But it's obvious from her expression that she's hoping for something, maybe thinking she's wound-up enough for miracles to happen. I can see on her face when she realizes it's not going to happen. I use her for one minute, two, three, and her forehead screws up and her mouth gapes open--and then when I press into her and my cock starts twitching with the power of my orgasm, her face falls into this dramatic expression of betrayal, like she can't believe her body would do this to her, force her to humiliate herself to beg for my cock and then not even reward her for it.

"You're fuckin' cute like that," I inform her, breathing heavily through my release. "Don't pout. Maybe next time, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up," she groans.

***

She doesn't come the next time, either.

After, in the bath, I pump my fingers into her pussy and massage her clit with my thumb, and she wails and thrashes and tries to ride my hand. I get her so close to the edge that when I pull my hand away, she screams, and then finally starts to beg.

"Please, don't fucking stop, please! Ohh, you bastard!"

I pat her on the hip. "Now what would be the fun in that?"