All characters in sexual situations are above 18 years of age.
*
Don Julian Winslow
The Collector turned on a spirited little piece by Vivaldi, hummed along as he meandered around the darkened room, leisurely stripping to the waist. He took his time, his fingers working their way down the front of his shirt, deliberately opening each button, unbuttoning the cuffs, peeling the white shirt off his shoulders. Bare-chested, he turned on the overhead track lighting, and set about adjusting the twin lamps to flood the girl displayed before him. Then he picked up a tall wooden stool to move it into place directly in front of his pinioned captive. He poured himself a brandy and then climbed on his high perch, hooking his boot heels over a lower rung, to sit with folded knees elevated, facing the staked-out girl who, still unconscious, was slumped forward in her restraints, her head and shoulders sagging down. A shimmering cowl of soft brown hair fell forward to mostly hide her face. He took a sip from the brandy glass he held cradled in both hands, and glanced at his watch. The Collector was a patient man; he was prepared to wait. It wouldn't be much longer till the chloroform began to wear off.
Meanwhile, he would use this interlude to leisurely enjoy the sight of the splendidly naked girl who was now in his hands; her young coltish body splayed open, pinned like a rare butterfly against the tilted slab of smooth, vinyl-covered plywood in the pose he especially favored -- arms held up as if in surrender; legs spread open. He had tried out many such arrangements, but he judged this one as best: the girl's hands, slim and delicate, raised up even with her face; thin wrists positioned on either side of the head, held in place there by leather straps affixed to the board. Similar straps secured her opened ankles to the board, holding her bare feet in a widened stance, thus preventing the captive from closing her legs.
The imposed stance was not so wide as to stretch the legs uncomfortably, but it would serve to make the point when she came to and fully realized how she was splayed out. She would know then just how open she was to this man; her legs spread apart for him, her body completely exposed!
Now he saw the young woman stir, her lolling head rising up slowly, brown eyes fluttering open to find a half-naked man sitting there before her -- watching her with thoughtful gray eyes. At first it didn't register. Her vision was still bleary from the lingering effects of the chloroformed rag he had pressed to her nose holding it there till she collapsed in his arms and he hauled her limp body into the van. The abduction had taken no more than half a minute, marked by a frantic, flailing struggle that crested in the final moment of panic. That moment had instantly yielded to the overcoming feeling of drowsiness that descended on her like a heavy blanket, obliterating her world as she fell into the abyss.
Joyce remembered little of what had happened, just bits and pieces that came to her, disconnected. Still disoriented, she looked at the smooth-muscled physique of the seated man, her mind struggling to make sense of it all. He was alert, watching for what he saw now as those big brown eyes began to focus and the girl gained a dawning awareness of her situation: spread out, unable to move her arms and legs, and worse, when the full realization hit her like a ton of bricks -- she was stark naked! She let out a howling scream, but only a muted bray came out, and it was then that she realized she was not only tied up but she was also gagged! She was totally helpless, a wildly scared animal driven by instinct. A wave of rising panic flooded over the captive; her eyes widened in alarm and she strained to free her arms, twisted in frenzied rage, yanked hard against her bonds, again and again! But the leather straps held.
The Collector watched her futile efforts with calm unwavering eyes; sat motionless while she brayed her protests in mounting urgency, all the while straining against the leather restraints, small fists working reflexively as she thrashed about in mounting panic. He did nothing, letting her flail about thumping against the backboard, till the futility of her resistance began to sink in. It was hopeless. Tied as she was, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do. In the end she could only give up, and with a final gurgled protest, she fell silent, hanging limply, breathing heavily, regarding him with glaring eyes widened in fear from over the red rubber ball jammed between her gaping teeth.
She was sweating lightly; her face sheened with perspiration. He could almost smell the girl's fear. He said not a word, just looked deep into those frightened doe eyes...and gave her a smile.
***
"So Amy, how're we feeling?" His voice, when it finally came, was a soft purr; warm, low-pitched and gently solicitous.
"Ummph!" was the best the poor girl could do by way of reply; a sound of desperation forced with terrible urgency around the hard rubber stopper that effectively plugged her opened mouth.
"Now, now. It's okay," he quickly soothed. "There's nothing to be afraid of. No one's going to hurt you," he muttered reassuringly.
"How could anyone hurt such a pretty thing? So very pretty...," he crooned in sincere admiration. His eyes caressed the girl's splayed-out body: the slender coltish limbs, the slim chest with its small neat breasts, shaped like little champagne glasses with their up-tilted nipples, perky and hopeful; the flat in-sloping belly with the slight hollow just before the rise of the soft mound of a lightly-furred vulva -- all held on open display before him.
His silky words sent a shiver through her, and she watched with growing alarm as he quite deliberately set the brandy snifter down on a nearby table, shifted in his seat, and leaned in toward her. And when she saw him reaching for her, the girl's head immediately snapped up and to the left. Whimpering in fear, she reared up on her toes, stretching back in an effort to retreat from the outstretched fingers.
His touch, when it came, was surprisingly gentle, no more than a brushing of two fingertips that made brief contact with the side of her face; just a touch on her soft cheek that trailed lightly down her chin and then withdrew.
He pulled the stool a few inches closer, closing the gap between them.
Once again he reached out; she looked down, following his approaching hand which, this time, went to the top of her bare chest. She whimpered into her gag as he pressed two joined fingers there, lightly indenting the soft smooth skin. She stiffened at his touch then quivered as the pads of his fingertips lightly skated downward, curving around to follow the well-defined curve of her left breast. He sampled that tight little breast, lifting the taut jellied mound on his fingertips, using the pad of his extended thumb to lightly rub over the nascent nipple. Joyce cut off a tiny moan which escaped in spite of herself, as his thumb brushed back and forth over her rubbery nubbin.
The Collector reflected that his newest captive had the sort of taut-skinned breasts that jutted out, unsupported, with both innocence and a certain audacity, like some lovely sculpted marble whose seductive contours irresistibly attracted the hand of a male admirer. His fingers nosed under the little mound and he cupped them loosely to balance the little tittie on the very tips, as if weighing the floppy weight.
"Look at me Amy," he coaxed, while the thumb slowly kept up its incessant caress of her sensate nipple. In the only protest left to her, Joyce had kept her head defiantly turned, craning as hard as she could to one side.
The man seemed infinitely patient, sitting there like some bare-chested Buddha, simply holding her left breast, while the pad of his thumb teased over the tip, coaxing her nipples into greater prominence, so that they started to tingle. After a few minutes of this stimulation, Joyce slowly turned back to face her seated captor.
"There, that's better." His hand fitted the sloping curve of her small breast, the emerging nipple resting in his curved palm of his hand, as he scanned her face, as if searching for something.
