Jilly sat in the back of the taxi feeling worn out. It had been a poor day, an unsuccessful day, a waste of a day away from the office, and away from her home. She was not particularly looking forward to the night at the hotel, but it was too late to get a train and there was no other choice. She realised how much she would miss George, her husband of some six years, aware how much their life together had been pepped up, spiced up even of late, since they had started playing their little games together.
But not tonight!
Even the rather good looking taxi driver hardly sparked much interest in her, not that she was the sort to do anything much about it anyway.
Only when the taxi pulled up outside the hotel did she realise she had no cash on her, or at least not enough to pay the seven pounds sixty, that was displayed on the meter.
At least the taxi driver was good enough about it, realising that women who looked as good as Jilly, and stayed in hotels like that one, did not make a habit of running off without paying.
"That's OK." He replied to her plight, "I'll wait here while you go up to your room and get the money." He was well aware that the meter would keep clicking over, and the longer she took, then the more he would earn.
Jilly struggled out with her briefcase, and equipment, grabbing at her shopping from earlier, the only bright thing during a miserable day.
"Let me give you a hand." Called the cabbie, jumping out of his taxi, and taking some of the things from her, helping her with them up to her room. It was never a problem to help such an attractive woman, as you never knew where it might lead, and anyway there was always the tip to consider.
George was at home, fretting mildly. Jilly didn't go away often, but when she did he always looked forward to her call. This evenings' call was late, already an hour late, and though he knew it was silly he simply felt uneasy, knowing what a funny, but most enjoyable mood his lovely wife had been in of late.
He tried to watch TV for a while but somehow could not concentrate, not even the heroin in the TV film taking most of her clothes off sparked much more than a passing interest.
Nearly an hour later than expected, the telephone rang, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he reached over to pick it up.
"Hi Jilly, how are you;" he asked expectantly, but it was not his wife that answered.
"Is that George?" asked the male voice on the other end of the phone.
"Yes," he replied, "who is that?"
"You don't need to know." Came back the voice, a vaguely sinister tone becoming evident. "All you need to know at the moment is that I have your wife."
George was struck dumb. What did he mean by saying he had his wife?
"Did you hear that George, I have your wife?"
"What do you mean?" George at last spluttered back. "You've got my wife where?"
"Where doesn't matter. Co-operate and nothing too bad will happen to her. Nothing she won't enjoy anyway." Came back the even more sinister reply.
"I don't believe it you bastard." Shouted George down the phone, carrying on to hurl obscenities at his tormentor.
"Well," said the voice calmly, "I'm ringing you on her mobile, so if you want proof, just ring me back." And with that he rang off.
George fumed with frustration as he grabbed his own mobile to find his wife's number, clumsily tapping out the keys, having to restart twice, hoping that it would be her voice that answered.
"Believe me now." Answered the same voice.
"No! No I don't." shouted George back at him. "What is she wearing? You'd know that if you've got her." He was clutching at straws.
"Not very much at the moment." Came back the awful reply, stunning George, "but I suppose you mean the grey suit that she was wearing when I first spotted her. Grey suit with a nice short skirt, and black high heels, with that pretty white blouse. I can see them now, over there by the door where I threw them."
"You bloody monster, what are you after?" screamed George in despair.
"For her sake I hope I'm not a monster. Why don't you just calm down and listen? For poor Jilly's sake if nothing else."
"Let me talk to her. If she's really there and OK, let me just talk to her." George said, his voice more under control.
"Why not." Came the response.
"Hello George. Is that really you?" George heard the unmistakeable voice of his lovely wife, the tension even fear very obvious.
"Yes, it's me. Are you OK?"
"Yes, but just do as he says. I'll be OK, really OK. Just do as he says." At that, the phone was taken away from her, and the voice came back on, demanding, "I want your permission George, and maybe a bit of help. That's all I want."
What permission? Anything, but just don't hurt Jilly."
There was a pause.
"I want your permission to take her bra off George." Came the answer, shocking poor George into silence again.
"Well George, can I? Can I take her bra off or not?" came from the voice.
"If she wanted to she could take her own bra off." Said George bravely, playing for time while he tried to sort out what he should do.
"Difficult that. She's a bit tied up at the moment, if you know what I mean." Came the voice. " Tied up to the bed in fact. So you see it would be difficult for her to take her own bra off herself wouldn't it?"
"I'll bloody well kill you if I get my hands on you." Screamed George full of pent up emotion.
"Yes, quite probably, but for now, we're discussing your beautiful wife's bra, and I'm getting keen to see exactly what she has underneath. You want me to take it off don't you Jilly?" he ended.
George heard his wife sob in the background, and call out for him to agree, to agree to anything, but just don't upset her captor.
"Well?" was the simple question.
"OK. OK. But then let her go." Said George in not much more than a whisper.
