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Copyright Oggbashan August 2006/2019
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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I was dreaming about the great sex I used to have with my ex-wife before we grew apart and she didn't want any sex at all. I woke up to a banging noise behind my head. I groaned as I looked at my travel alarm. It was about four in the morning. The banging continued. There was no way I could sleep with that noise.
It was a hot summer night and I had my window open as far as it would go. I thought at first that the noise was outside but it was too close.
I rolled out of the motel bed, pulled my jeans over my pyjama trousers and changed the jacket for my shirt. If I had to go down to the reception desk I wanted to be partially dressed. I slid my bare feet into my shoes, picked up my room key and went out into the corridor. My door was at the end furthest from the stairs.
The noise was coming from the next room. The door was slightly ajar as if it hadn't been shut properly. That was odd because my room's door had a powerful spring. I listened at the door. The banging was louder and there was a muffled grunt with each bang.
I pushed gently at the door. There was a woman's high-heeled shoe stopping it from shutting and a trail of clothes across the floor. I entered the room cautiously. Beyond the shower room I could see that the bedside lights were on. I tip-toed further and saw a woman's naked legs thrashing on the bed. If I was interrupting their lovemaking I would retreat hurriedly but there was no sign of a man's legs.
As I moved forward I could see a bare blonde pussy writhing on the bed and then her breasts tossing from side to side. What I could see so far was a very fit and attractive body but why the noise?
I gulped before turning the corner to see the whole woman. Her wrists were handcuffed to the bed head and a black ball-gag filled her mouth. She was banging the bed against the wall as hard as she could.
"Are you all right?" I said stupidly. What could I say? This might be part of her normal sexual play.
She shook her head violently and grunted as loud as she could. That was enough for me. I knelt beside the bed and unbuckled the gag that was cutting into her face. She spat the ball out and croaked "Water."
I fetched a plastic cup of water from the shower room and held it to her lips, propping her up with an arm behind her shoulder. That wrenched her wrists and she winced. She sluiced the water around her mouth before swallowing.
"What happened?" I asked.
"He jumped me and did this. I think he's taken my purse and my car."
"Shall I call the Police?"
"Yes," she said, "unless you can get me out of these handcuffs first."
"Where's the key?"
"How do I know?" She retorted. "They're not mine."
I looked quickly around the room. Apart from her clothes strewn across the floor when her suitcase had been upended there was nothing else. Certainly there was no sign of a key. I looked carefully at the handcuffs. They weren't police issue and didn't look very strong, strong enough for sex play but not to restrain a violent prisoner.
"I think I can cut these with tools from my car. Would that do?"
"Yes please," she said. "I don't want the Police and Fire Brigade seeing me like this..."
"OK," I said. "I'll be back in about five minutes. Meanwhile..."
I picked up the duvet off the floor and covered her from feet to chin.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
I collected my car keys from my room and went to my car. In the boot I had some new bolt-cutters I was going to use on my son's old fencing when I got to his house. I put them in a supermarket bag and took them into the motel. The clerk looked at me oddly.
"Forgot something," I said as I passed the office. He nodded.
Back in her room two quick snips and the chains linking the handcuffs were broken. I might have been able to cut the cuffs around her wrists as well but thought it better to leave them on her until the Police arrived.
She brought her hands down under the duvet.
"Thanks"
"Shall I get my mobile so you can call the Police?" I asked.
"Yes please."
In my room I picked up my mobile before putting it down again. There was too much data on that phone to risk handing it to a stranger. I had my deceased father's basic mobile as an emergency back up. I took that one. The only numbers in the memory were my son's and the automobile recovery service. I took it to her.
She rang the Police. Her name was Caroline Smith. She described her attacker as a tall fair-haired man who called himself Tony Jones. They had met in the motel's bar and he had introduced himself as a fellow delegate to the conference that she was to attend tomorrow. They had got on well, had consensual sex and then he had suddenly gagged and handcuffed her. He had taken her purse including her mobile phone, car keys and credit cards and had searched her suitcase.
He had been remarkably calm once she had been gagged and secured; taking his time as if this was a routine for him. The Police were on their way.
"What about your credit cards, Caroline?" I asked. "Can you stop them?"
"Yes, if I can use your phone again. I have insurance and a single number to ring. It is on the back of the label on my suitcase. Could you...?"
I brought the suitcase label to her and took it out of its holder. She rang the number and reported the theft.
"I know your name, Caroline." I said. "I'm Thomas Owens. I'm stopping here tonight on the way to my son in South Wales. Do you want me to stay when the Police arrive?"
"Yes please, Thomas. You can explain how you found me and..."
"You want a friend with you?"
Caroline nodded.
Before the police arrived she had found a night-dress and I had helped her to put it on. She couldn't get any of her normal upper clothing over the handcuffs.
The Police routine took forever. She had to go to the Police's rape suite to be swabbed and interviewed. I followed the Police car and waited for her. I had made a statement and had been interrogated about the bolt-cutters. Why did I have bolt-cutters in my car? They rang my son James about seven am. He confirmed that he had asked me to bring them. There was an old chain link fence in his garden that we were going to remove and it was too rusty to cut any other way.
After a couple of hours I was allowed to take Caroline, with the cuffs finally removed, back to the hotel. We tidied up her room. I made her a cup of instant coffee. I sat on the only chair.
"What do I do now?" she asked, sitting on the bed.
"Attend your conference?" I suggested.
"I suppose so, but then what? I have no money, no car, no way of getting home..."
"Where do you live?" I asked. I knew the answer because she had given the Police her home address. It was about sixty miles away on the way to my son's house.
She told me.
"Then you have no problem," I said. "I can take you there on my way, if you can trust a stranger..."
She put her coffee down, walked across the room to me and sat on my lap, winding her arms around my neck.
"You've been great, Thomas. You rescued me, got me out of the handcuffs, brought me back from the Police station and I haven't said thank you properly."
She kissed me. I responded. She kissed me harder and then pulled back.
"Thomas?"