Author's Note:
Like previous installments of my Here & Now series, this is authored in 2nd person female perspective. This style, which I enjoy writing, is not for everyone, so buyer beware.
All characters and events portrayed are fictional.
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Its Tuesday, and your day has started out just like any other. You're up early, have made a breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs, and planted a goodbye kiss on your partner on their way out the door for work.
Now, with the house to yourself, you take a minute to put on some music, relax in your favorite spot on the couch, while pulling up the news on your laptop. Its a routine you've mastered over the years, and is perhaps foundational to your overall mental well-being; that is, time to do your own thing.
Opening the screen, and before going searching the headlines, you realize you'd left your browser open to your preferred porn site, stopped at the finishing moments of an arousing bondage and orgasm denial scene you'd enjoyed the prior morning. BDSM, while not a part of you and your partner's normal sex life together, is a deeply rooted fantasy for you. "not today," you say to yourself... and close the page.
After perusing the day's headlines, you find little of interest except for one local story about a girl you knew back in high school, and how she's now under investigation, accused of some sort of financial crime. The story is vague, but it seems the girl you once knew may have been into some complex and shady dealings.
You head back to the kitchen for more coffee, thinking about her, remembering the fun Friday nights and the secrets and hopes that the two of you once shared. You were close, like sisters, but you hadn't spoken to her or even thought about her in ages.
Now, you're curious.
Back on the couch, you put your newfound interest into action. Your social media searches don't produce much at all, beyond a name and more recent photo of her. She's aged well, you observe. But, then again so have you, you counter.
Not satisfied yet, you switch back to your laptop and begin google searching; her complete, full name, since you know it, the name of the company she was said to be involved with, and even the address where she used to live.
It worked, at least you think it has. An unfamiliar website appears is among the results and seems to provide a routine, if not detailed collection of information. You read a list of her previous addresses and various employers, all in chronological order.
Another section names a husband with a divorce date next to it, and a list of family members. You click a link labeled Known Associates & Friends, wondering if you'll see your own name there. Its not, but as you are about to back up to the previous page, you scroll right and see a red notation next to some of the individuals named.
It says "co-conspirators" and your heart stops. You realize, this is not a website you have any business looking at.
You quickly close the window and slam down the screen on your laptop. "Fuck." You whisper, fearing you'd stumbled into some law enforcement investigative database. "Hopefully I wasn't in long enough to be noticed," you think.
So you take a deep breath, head into your kitchen for another cup of coffee, and try to relax.
A while later you answer a knock at your door, to find a tall, slender man wearing a dark suit and tie asking to verify your name.
You're not sure what to make of his appearance. He's blonde, attractive but looks serious, to the point of being intimidating. He asks if he can come in to ask you some questions about your internet search activity. He shows you a badge that designates some federal agency that you've never heard of, but which looks official.
You let him in, and the two of you take seats at your dining table. His questions are all about the website you'd accessed earlier. He's direct but still patient in asking for whom, why, the nature of your normal job and your association with your former high school friend. You answer all of his questions honestly, since you don't feel like you have anything to hide.
He pauses for a moment, then tells you that you're going to have to go with him and that some other individuals will have some additional questions for you. Again, he is polite and patient with you, but you can tell this is not something you have a choice regarding.
You are getting nervous, but follow his instructions and gather your ID and a sweater, while he waits by the door, then you proceed outside together to a waiting black SUV with dark tinted windows. Another man is standing next to the car, dressed similarly, waiting. He opens the back door but the blonde man moves to block your entrance to the rear seat.
He tells you "Its protocol that we handcuff you before you get in. Can you turn around please?" You do as he asks, put your hands behind you and hear zip ties, not handcuffs, as they close tightly around your wrists. He helps you into the back seat and then pulls the seat belt across your chest. As he does, his other hand deliberately cups your breast, then as the buckle clicks, he squeezes you.
He makes intentional eye contact, seemingly to gauge your reaction to the intrusion. He studies the look on your face. While you're uncomfortable with your situation, for some reason you don't actually mind that he just groped you. Your expression sends a message of indifference.
The other suit and he get in and drive in silence. You occasionally notice him making eye contact in the rear view mirror, but he is emotionless as best you can tell. Meanwhile, you get more nervous with each passing minute.
The car soon pulls up at a nondescript office building with no signage. He unbuckles your seat belt, again brushing deliberately against your breast, as he looks you in the eyes. He then walks you inside, through a plain looking lobby with a handful of other suits walking through, and then through another locked door. No-one speaks. The other guy with you has veered off another area of the office.
He takes you down a short hallway and into a small room, with two chairs and a desk, what you recognize as an interrogation room. He leaves and you hear the lock of the door.
You're alone in this room for 10 or so minutes, before you hear talking, which turns to arguing outside the door in the hallway. The discussion is tense, but somehow professional. Abruptly he comes back inside and firmly grabs you by the arm and takes you out of the room, down the hall and secures you back in the backseat of the SUV. He makes no attempt to touch your breasts this time.
You can tell that he's flustered or irritated at whatever happened back at the office and presume, or you hope, that he's been accused of some kind of mistake and you'll be released now. He drives away, although in a different direction than you came. The other man is no longer with you.
You make a cautious attempt to talk to him, asking questions about what just happened, about where you're being taken now. He gives you nothing in return, just stoic silence.
The car turns onto a two-lane highway, then, after a short while, he pulls off into a deserted parking lot. You see him lift the lid on the console next to him and pull out a pair of scissors. You presume he's going to release you now, at least you hope so, although worried now where the hell you are.
Opening the car door beside you, he doesn't unbuckle you. Instead, he uses the scissors to start cutting upward from the hem of your pants, up your pants leg, and through your waist band, then repeating up the other side, eventually cutting away your pants. You're still handcuffed and seat belted in, so there's no point to resisting.
He continues this, cutting away your shirt sleeves, up the center of your blouse, and cutting away your bra straps. Finally, he snips away the sides of your panties and then pulls your shredded clothes out from underneath and behind you and tosses them on the floorboard.
You're now naked, handcuffed and buckled. He looks you in the eyes and smiles warmly at you. "You know you're all mine now, right?' He says. "Based on your lack of objections, I might even say you like this." The wet tingle between your legs tells you he's right.
He drives for what seems like another half hour, still in complete silence.
He pulls down a wooded driveway and arrives at a small house. It looks out of place, more like a tiny industrial building but with a porch and a traditional front door. An old barn can be seen off a hundred yards to one side. The driveway fizzles out and he drives up close to the front door, stopping in the grass.
He comes around to your side and opens the door. Again, Instead of unbuckling you, he squats next to the car and removes your shoes, then he touches your thigh. his hand glides slowly up and to the inside between your legs.
"Spread your legs," he tells you. You do what he asks, and his fingers touch the outside of your pussy. "Mmm... are you wet?" he asks. You nod yes. He probes a little deeper and confirms. Yes, your pussy is getting wet.
He grabs your breast, hard and forcefully this time, pinching your nipple... "I think you're going to like this," he smiles and says enthusiastically. He unbuckles you and walks you, naked, inside, locking the entry door behind him.
