Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*
Natalie was leaving work, walking to her car, enjoying the spring sunshine and happy to be free for the weekend. Paying no attention to her surroundings she had just closed her door and put her key in the ignition when her passenger door was jerked open and a woman slipped inside.
Startled, Natalie only had an impression of her unwanted passenger's long, dark hair and dark eyes when a strong hand gripped her arm. She felt a sharp pain and looked down to see the point of a knife pressed into her side just beside her breast. She froze.
The woman whispered harshly, "Don't move! Don't scream! Do what I say or get stabbed!"
Frozen, staring down, Natalie noticed the big, tanned hand on the knife looked strong and work-hardened though the nails were carefully tended.
"What do you want?" she said, voice shaking, looking at the woman. "My purse is right there!"
"Shut your mouth and start the car!" was accompanied by another tiny stab of the knife point in her ribs.
Helplessly Natalie started her car and followed the woman's instructions with a sense of fearful unreality. She drove as directed to a secluded spot in a nearby park where the knife-wielding woman dragged her by her blonde hair out of the driver's seat, across the passenger seat and out of the car, popping one of her spaghetti straps. She didn't know how the trunk got open, but the woman was forcing her down into that dark, confined space.
"Please! Please don't kill me!" was all the girl could think to say.
"Nobody's getting killed if you follow orders," the woman hissed. "But those fine tits might get slashed if you don't get in the trunk!"
The trunk lid slammed and Natalie lay in the dark, trembling, breathing the unpleasant odors of gasoline and old dust. She listened, hoping to hear a passing jogger, wondering if she had the courage to scream for help.
A minute later the trunk reopened and the woman blindfolded her with her own scarf then roughly tied her hands and feet. The rope reminded Natalie of the clothesline in her grandmother's back yard. Finally the woman tied the girl's hands and feet together behind her and again slammed the trunk.
Natalie heard the car start and soon it was moving. She heard traffic sounds, felt the car turn and stop and turn and stop, accelerate to freeway speeds, cruise and slow, cruise and slow, for what seemed like a long time. Finally the car stopped and the engine died. There was no sound except for distant traffic and a passing helicopter.
"News at 11, kidnapped receptionist on the 405," she thought, fighting her panic. She couldn't resist, she reasoned, her assailant had a knife and was obviously very strong. Natalie was in good shape, mostly from walking and playing tennis. But the body she saw in her mirror was not athletic in any way, but pale, full and soft.
Her attacker on the other hand had visible biceps in a sleeveless top and the kind of angular planes in her face that hinted at hard physical work or long miles of running.
And breasts.
Natalie had glimpsed a pair of large, round breasts contained in a thick bra.
The trunk opened again and a little light leaked around the scarf over her eyes. Her kidnapper confirmed Natalie's impression of strength by lifting her legs out of the trunk then levering her upper body up until she was standing, teetering a little. The other spaghetti strap broke or fell off her shoulder. The trunk lid slammed. Her heels were gone somewhere and her tender feet felt loose gravel through her hose while a breeze fluttered her skirt.
"Walk!" came the command and she was led onto a concrete path around a couple of turns. Then came the sound of a key in a lock and a door opening. She was led forward a few steps, feeling carpet under her feet, turned for a few steps, then led through a doorway. A hard shove sent her tumbling into space and she started to cry out, but her fall was broken by a bed or mattress and then she lay still face down.
"Don't. Make. A. Sound!" ordered her attacker, and the door closed.
The scarf binding Natalie's eyes had also gotten wrapped around her throat and the slight constriction triggered a panicky feeling until she forced herself to be calm and take slow, shallow breaths. Testing her bonds, she found the ropes around her hands were slightly loose. She considered trying to free her hands, then remembered the knife and the determined woman she could hear moving around in an adjoining room. Her barely audible voice sounded like she was talking on the phone.
"What the hell is happening?" Natalie thought, confused. "I've been abducted, but why?"
She had every woman's fears of robbery and rape, and took the usual precautions, but the money in her purse didn't seem to interest her abductor. The door opened as she struggled into a sitting position.
"Bad news Natalie. The phone at your office is answered by a machine and your parents' number isn't listed, so it might be awhile before I find somebody to pay your ransom."
"Ransom? My parents?"
"Yes! Your mother the former star of "Passion in the City" and your father Randy King, the Lawn Irrigation King of Los Angeles!"
"Are you crazy? My father is dead and my mother is a school teacher in Salinas!"
"Shut up! That's a LIE!"
"It's the truth! I'm a RECEPTIONIST for the Lawn Irrigation King of Los Angeles who is NOT my FATHER!" Natalie shouted, her voice muffled by her scarf.
"They have a daughter named Natalie who's 20 years old. YOU!"
"My name is Natalie and I'm 20, but my last name is different and Randy King's daughter goes to college in Ohio."
A long silence fell in the room.
"The other day I heard a man call you the King's daughter."
Then Natalie remembered why her abductor looked faintly familiar. A week before, one of the salesmen had been hanging around the receptionist's desk, flirting. He had joked that the Lawn Irrigation King must be her father because Randy King often complimented her clothing or hair.
At the same time, a woman had been delivering sushi for a late afternoon meeting and Natalie signed for the order. She had barely looked at the woman, but as she left the salesman remarked on her "amazing ass" and Natalie had scolded him for being a jerk.
The delivery woman must have overheard the salesman calling Natalie the King's daughter, without realizing he was joking.
And now Natalie was tied up in what she guessed was this scary woman's spare bedroom.
"That idiot was JOKING about me being Randy King's daughter, because the King compliments me all the time. The King says nice things about my dresses and hair, but he says it while looking at my tits!"
