My head was still groggy from whatever tranquilizer had been in the gun I'd been shot with, but I was alert enough to understand the soliloquy Steven had given at the beginning of the video I was being forced to watch. Forced was the appropriate word as I was strapped into some sort of metallic chair. My arms, legs, chest, and waist were immobilized by thick leather restraints, while my head was held by some sort of padded vice. I would have closed my eyes to avoid seeing the images being played out on the large screen before me, but my eyes were being held open by some painful device that extended from the vice and fit under the lids. The metal of the chair was cold against my naked skin, and my ass was being invaded by a hard metalic dildo that I'm pretty sure was part of the chair. All of that was bad enough, but worse was being forced to watch as Steven pounded his cock in and out of my sweet Stephi as she was bent over his desk, and the knowledge that my actions had caused all of this.
After our son was born, our lives went back to normal, including our sex life. It was almost as if our trip to the Bahamas had never happened. Stephi put all her energy into raising our son and keeping the house, and my energy went to work and taking care of the two of them. I think the normalcy of our day to day lives allowed my mind to continually drift back to the Bahamas and the terrible experience we had at the hands of Steven and his gang. I never let on to Stephi that I thought about it, but it was always on my mind. We never heard about the progress of the investigation from the authorities in the Bahamas, so when our son was about a year old, I contacted them myself. They weren't very helpful, but I found out that Steven wasn't his real name and that he didn't live in the Bahamas. The police suspected he visited infrequently and stayed away long enough to be forgotten. One detective suggested I forget about the whole incident and move on with my life. Authorities in the states were even less helpful and I was told by the State Department that they weren't getting involved.
I started doing research on the internet and was able to locate a few of his other victims. None of them were willing to say much, other than confirm that their experiences were similar to ours, although one husband seemed very nervous and warned me to drop the matter entirely. With no new information, and very little to go on, I was considering following the advice everyone seemed to be giving me, until one day as I was leaving my office I saw a man that looked an awful lot Steven entering a high rise across the street. When I first saw him my stomach lurched and tied itself in knots. Then the uneasiness faded away as anger and rage took over. I almost marched across the street straight into traffic before I checked myself. I needed to call the police, not run off half-cocked and attack him. I wanted to destroy his life, not give him a few bumps and bruises.
The local police informed me there was no warrant for Steven (or whatever his real name was) and that they couldn't do anything. I called the State Department, who had helped get us home from the Bahamas, but they were little help. They said they would contact the Bahamian authorities and let them know Steven had been cited, but unless the Bahamian's wanted U.S. authorities to arrest and hold him, there was nothing they could do. Oh, they promised they'd look into it and possibly set up surveillance on him, but I could tell they were just trying to placate me.
Angry, the next day I left my office early and waited on the street to see if Steven would appear. Sure enough, at the same time as the previous day he came strolling down the other side of the street as if he didn't have a care in the world. This time I got a good look and was certain it was him. I couldn't believe that he was so close, that all I had to do was walk out onto the street and see him. All this time, he had been right under my nose.
I needed proof that it was Steven, and then maybe the State Department or FBI would do something. Obsessed with finding evidence, I wasn't thinking clearly when I decided to infiltrate Steven's office. The next day, I left work early, hours before I knew Steven would show up. I checked the registry in the lobby but couldn't find the name Steven anywhere, so I hid in the corner and waited for him to appear.
He showed up, right on time. I watched him behind a newspaper as he headed towards an elevator. I started for the stairs as soon as the elevator doors closed. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs, checking at every floor to see if the elevator stopped and Steven got out. By the time I saw him get out at the 14th floor, I was gasping for breath and worried that he might hear me. From the safety of the stairwell, I watched him as he went down the hallway away from me. Even the way the bastard walked seemed arrogant and superior. I had to control my anger to stop myself from running out of the stairwell and beating him senseless. I wanted Steven destroyed for all time, not just beaten once.
He rounded a corner and I had to leave the security of the stairwell to follow him. He never turned around, and never sensed me behind him. He just walked in his confident, carefree manner whistling and nearly skipping to an office. I waited several heartbeats to walk up to the door after he entered. There were windows on either side of the door and I was able to peer in without being seen.
The office was huge and very well decorated. An attractive receptionist sat behind a large semicircular desk and Steven was flirting with her. She laughed at something he said and then handed him what looked like mail and messages. He walked away to what I assume was his private office and I noticed that the secretary watched him with a pleased smile on her face which made me even angrier and more determined to destroy his life.
I noted the name on the office door, Parker Imports, and then quickly made my way back to the elevator and lobby. I thought about loitering around the lobby again until he left, but thought it would be too conspicuous a second time, so I left the building. There was a coffee shop across the street where I would be able to watch the front of Steven's building from the window.
I called Stephi as I crossed the street and told her I'd be working late and told her not to hold dinner for me. I could almost hear her cute frown on the other side of the phone. God, how I loved that woman; it was easy to remember why I was taking this risk when I talked to her. She had recovered so wonderfully after all that we had been through. While I waited in the coffee shop, images of her gang rape and the memory of my helplessness played through my mind.
I waited several hours, but Steven finally emerged from his building. Once he was out of sight, I hurried across the street. Businesses were beginning to close, and I needed to make it upstairs to his office before his secretary left.
When I got there, I peered through the side window again and was pleased to see that she was straightening her desk in preparation to go home. A minute after I arrived, she got up from her desk and headed down the hall in the opposite direction Steven had gone earlier. I silently prayed as I put my hand on the door handle and was rewarded; the door was unlocked. I entered as quickly and quietly as I could.
I took a quick peek down the hallway the secretary had taken. She was nowhere in sight so I quickly made my way to what I assumed would be Steven's office. I wasn't sure what I would find, but my plan had been to hide in his office until I could be assured everyone had left, and then search for anything that could incriminate him or prove he was the man who had kidnapped us.
I tried to look nonchalant as I walked down the hall. I passed a few other small offices and a few had people still working in them. I prayed that none of them would stop me and question my presence. Everyone seemed to be absorbed in their work and never even looked up at the stranger walking down the hall.
At the end of the hall was a large office. The nameplate on the door said Ronald Parker. Was this Steven's real name? It didn't matter. This had to be his office; he couldn't be anything other than the boss. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then quickly opened the door and stepped inside. The last thing I remember in his office was making my way to his desk to hide underneath it and then a sharp pain in the back of my left shoulder.
When I started coming back to my senses I tried to move but found myself restrained. Every muscle in my body ached, and I could hear light beeping noises that reminded me of a hospital. My eyes were already open, and when I tried to blink I couldn't close them. My body tensed on its own in surprise and jerked hard against the restraints. I couldn't even move my head from side to side.
