Taking A Toy

I saw this on a picture on Tumblr, a party scene with a beautiful brunette in an evening gown, holding a blonde tight. Below the image, there was a caption:

When your girl came back from the dance floor, she was being held by a woman you had never met before. She was breathtaking. no wonder your girlfriend seemed to melt into her embrace.

"My husband and I picked up your girl as our toy for the night," she said. "We're leaving now. You can have her back in the morning."

At first I was REALLY mad, the tone of this just set me off entirely the wrong way, the assumption that they could just take her away with no consequence. Would you trust a pair you never met to walk off with your girlfriend? I kept thinking about it, though. Besides the standard hotwife/cuckold fantasy, what else might happen in such a circumstance? My first attempt went VERY dark, very fast, this is the more wish-fulfillment version instead...

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Leaning on the table as I sip my ninth club soda, I scan the dance club for my partner, Wendy. God, I hate clubbing, my sister Tara got all the party genes in my family. Wendy, on the other hand, she says she was born without panties and shaking her butt, and that's how she'll be till she dies, so I drink mixers while she gets her groove on.

The DJ must be on a break, or he feels sorry for the dancers, because the music shifts from 'shake it till you break it' to a series of slow dance tunes. There's a visible change in the composition of the dance pool; the unattached stream off to the bar while couples drift around in their lovers' embrace. I'd be out there myself if I could. I'll give her five more minutes, then I'm hunting her sweet ass down.

About the four-minute mark, I see her, slowly headed my way. Wrapped around a woman I've never seen before; she seems to melt into the embrace. Wendy looks surprisingly beat, I can't believe she's worn out this early from dancing. Her companion isn't just hot, she is breathtaking. They make a surprisingly erotic couple; the tall, willowy, dark-haired stranger and my short, busty blonde sweetheart.

Wendy can't meet my eyes; she keeps her gaze on the floor as the brunette speaks. "My husband and I picked up your girl as our toy for the night," she says, her voice is lovely, rich and smoky. "We're leaving now. You can have her back in the morning."

"Unacceptable. I don't know you, why would I let you take her away some place?" I pull out my phone and take her picture. "Sit down for a minute and let's set some terms. Where were you going to take her? Your room? Another hotel? A house somewhere? How would you get her back? At what time? You seemed to think this was a done deal, but I don't see your husband, did he think I might object less if I didn't meet him?"

The brunette eyes me coolly. "Are you done?" That just pisses me off.

"SIT, you cow. Wendy, do you want to go with this couple?" She shudders and nods her bowed head. The brunette parks her ass on a chair.

"Okay, smartass, here's how it's going to be. You call your husband, and tell him to get you a room here, at this hotel. We'll go meet him at the front desk. When he shows me a key, you three can go jump in an elevator and you're off to enjoy your evening with my girl here. I have just three stipulations; no pain, no marks, and you bring her to me in the lobby by," I look at my watch, "let's call it 11:OO. That gives you a solid twelve hours to play. Don't try to go anywhere else, I've got a friend in security who'll be keeping an eye out for you or your husband."

She calls him and speaks in hushed tones. I don't bother listening, I'm still trying to catch Wendy's eyes. When she hangs up, I rise from the table. Wendy still hasn't looked up. As I follow the brunette toward the door, she mutters, "you're awfully testy for someone who'd let her go with strangers."

"We're partners, but I'm not the boss of her. You convinced her, be happy with that. I'm just making sure you don't hurt her and run away, now shut up or I'll change my mind."

He's just finishing up as we reach the desk, he shows me a keycard but not the wrapper with the room number. No matter. I nod at the lobby security man, and point at the husband and wife, then the ceiling camera. He nods back. I turn and walk away as they head for the elevators. Time to drain off some used club soda.

As I leave the restroom my phone rings. "We couldn't get a clear view from above but your phone shot did it, facial rec says its her. They are going to room 845. Marshals are already inside. We're holding the elevator nearest the desk for you." I stroll to my elevator, there's no rush.

I hear some commotion as I step out onto the 8th floor; it looks like the marshals screwed the pooch. I see the husband running for the elevator I just left, so I step aside politely, then snap-kick his knee as he bolts past. He pitches over screaming as I ride him down and cuff him. I lean close to his ear and snarl, "I could have used the Taser but I'd rather break your knee. Now you'll have something to remember me in prison. Tara says you can both burn in hell." I drag him out of the elevator and down the hall by the broken leg... you have to find ways to enjoy your work.

One of the marshals takes the husband off my hands, the bed is littered with well-worn bondage gear and torture implements but the wife is still protesting her innocence in one corner. I walk up and spit in her face; as she turns and sputters I say, "That was from my sister, Tara says you can both burn in hell. Cuff this one too." An evidence tech is cataloging the tools on the bed.

The marshals take husband and wife out the door, one of my team follows. The doc has Wendy sitting on the edge of the bed, he's just putting blood samples into an evidence bag and she's got a big cup of coffee in her hand. She looks up at me. "I couldn't be sure until I felt the drug, then I had to fight just to stay up and not let them know how mad I was. We got them!"

Doc nods and leaves; I scoop up Wendy and follow him out. She's fading as I carry her down to the elevator and up to our suite; I peel off her dress and lay her on the bed then turn down the lights. "Sleep, baby, we'll talk in the morning." She mutters something I don't catch as I walk into the other room; I leave the door ajar in case she wakes. I start filling out the after-action report, glad to be done with these scumbags.

Most of my targets aren't so close to home; a year and a half ago this pair of serial rapists pulled their trick on my baby sister Tara, they drugged her at a club then took her away and abused her. It took weeks for her to heal physically and months for her to recover emotionally.

I campaigned relentlessly to get onto the task force to get the bastards; in the end, they decided that having my partner Wendy for a lure meant they would have to accept me as well.

We gleaned every clue we could get from my sister and the other victims, and eventually set up our operation at the hotel that best fit the rapists profile. We rotated from club to club, her dancing and me watching; tonight was the 17th day we had trolled for the couple, and I never want another glass of club soda. Between the drug evidence and the tools (they all match the description my sister gave), these two are going away for good. This time the toy played them.