by Rod Harden
"Uhn!” grunted the bound girl as her shoulders were lifted off the mattress. The slack in the chain connecting her collar to the floor was soon taken up. She felt the tension in the short tether become taut as her arms were pulled even higher yet.
"Please!” she shouted. “You'll pull my arms off! Or strangle me!” But the woman had already stopped hoisting Brenda's wrists. The tormented girl was left in a precarious balance with her arms held aloft while her neck was tethered down. Bent over on her knees, she could only imagine how she must look with her head hovering unnaturally a foot or so off the ground.
The woman then grabbed Brenda's head and tilted it back. Before the helpless girl could sputter a single objection, her mouth was crammed full with a wad of leather, and the strap it was attached to was pulled tight and buckled behind her head.
"Huhmmph!” Brenda grunted.
Suddenly she felt the woman touching her exposed ass. Fingers tested the firmness of her rounded bottom, skimmed the edge of her anus and then worked their way between her pussy lips.
"Hm,” said the woman, “so wet! You like the rough stuff, don't you, bitch?"
"No!” screamed Brenda, her face burning with humiliation.
"No need to be ashamed. Saves me some lube.” Laughing, the woman began working a large dildo into Brenda's engorged cunt.
Helpless to resist, Brenda wiggled and squirmed as much as she could but the dildo's invasion of her was relentless. Behind the hood, her eyes grew wide at the perceived size of the intruder, and she moaned in spite of herself as she felt it stretch and fill her.
When it was fully seated deep within her, Brenda felt the woman smear her anus with lubricant, and then slowly begin to work another, thankfully smaller, shaft into that tightly puckered opening.
"No!" pleaded Brenda. “Pweeez, no more!"
After completely corking her captive, the woman finished by cinching a belt around Brenda's waist. The belt had an attached strap which ran down between Brenda's legs and held the two plugs inside her.
Brenda groaned and kicked her cuffed ankles uselessly, just because they were the only part of her body she could still move.
"I'll leave you like that for a while,” said the woman. “To think over your answer. An hour or two should do it.” Footsteps headed away and then stopped again. “Oh, by the way. Those plugs vibrate at random intervals, as you'll soon find out. But don't worry. They only buzz for a few seconds and then turn off again.” She laughed and then slammed the door shut.
No sooner had the sound of the door echoed off the wall, then the enormous shaft inside Brenda's pussy sprang to life. It sent a shudder throughout her body and then died away, just as the woman had said, leaving Brenda gasping and moaning and wondering how she could possibly stand two hours of this.
CHAPTER 19: BRENDA'S PEDESTAL
"Uh ... Uh ... Uh..."
Brenda's breath came in rhythmic whimpers as the stress of her position gradually built up. Beads of sweat appeared all over her body giving her tightly stretched flesh a shimmering glow. Under her hood, trickles of perspiration mingled with her tears and dripped steadily onto the foam mattress where it mixed with the steady stream of drool from her gagged mouth to form an ever widening wet spot beneath her head.
Periodically, the soft sobs were punctuated with a louder, but still muffled, “GAH-UHN-ERGH!” as one or both of the buried vibrators hummed into action.
Every now and then she tried shifting her position, only to be reminded of just how tightly she was held in place. There wasn't even a fraction of an inch of slack between the chain that held her arms skyward and the leash that anchored her neck down. In desperation, she would wiggle her toes, or flex her fingers now and then. Anything to recall how it felt simply to move.
Eventually, however, she gave up on even that much and focused merely on taking each next breath. In ... Out ... In ... Out...
Between breaths, her thoughts wandered to Mr. Sanders. He had to know by now that she was gone. He probably knew hours ago. She hoped he was looking for her. No, he must be looking for her. Of course he was. After all, he had just picked her as his new special assistant. He would never let her go missing without trying to find her.
That thought sparked a glimmer of hope in what had seemed until then a hopeless situation. If anyone could find her, it was Mr. Sanders. She just wished he'd hurry; she wasn't sure how much more of this torture she could take.
She let herself imagine what it would be like when he finally found her. A scene, like in an action movie, formed in her mind. Sanders storming in, guns blazing, picking off the sadistic, mind-game-playing bitch who left her like this.
Then he'd free his princess in distress. He'd lift her into his arms. She would gaze into his eyes. ‘Thank you for finding me, Master,’ she imagined herself saying. Of course, he wouldn't be able to wait until he got her home. He would throw her to the ground before they were even out of this awful place. He'd show his joy of finding her by fucking her until...
Buzz!
"GAH-ERGH-UHN!” she groaned as the plug in her anus announced its presence again.
"Damn,” she muttered aloud.
The sweet dream vanished and harsh reality imposed itself on her mind again. How had she come to this? she asked herself. Not just to this wretched physical predicament, but to her utterly captivated mental state as well. Here she was longing to be rescued from a kidnapping by a man who had virtually kidnapped her himself.
But as she thought about it more, she realized he had never actually forced her to do anything, even though he had been both forceful and sly. He hadn't so much captured her as simply guided her to where he wanted her. In retrospect it was as though she'd been an empty vessel into which he had poured his own will.
And it had happened almost immediately, as soon as she stepped into his office, with it quirky “Magic Theater” sign on the door. No, she corrected herself, it was before that even. Really, it happened the moment he touched her on the plane. With that touch—unwanted, unwelcome, and inappropriate as it was—that he'd had her. He had known it at the time, and at some level, Brenda had known it as well.
Now, if only he could find her and claim her again...
"Well, well, well...” The voice of her female captor broke the silence of the room. “Don't you look cozy? You've given my questions plenty of thought I assume."
"Yef!” Brenda muttered through her gag, praying the right answer would get her freed from this hideously awkward bondage.
"Good girl. First question: Do you?"
"Yef, I do."
"And are you sure?"
"Yef, I'm fir.” Please, please, please be the right answer, she pleaded silently.
"Very good! Such confidence is quite refreshing."
The woman came closer and unbuckled Brenda's gag, and then pried the leather wad from her mouth. As Brenda flexed her jaw and licked her lips, she became aware of the tension on her arms easing up. Her upper body began to descend and she sighed when she felt the soft, if damp, comfort of the mattress against her face.
Soon, her shoulders sank into the padding as well and at last her arms came to rest against her back. For a moment her limbs lay there as though lifeless, unresponsive to her attempts to move them.
Just as she got her fingers to wiggle, the vibrator in her pussy began to throb again.
"Ah!" she groaned. “Um, ma'am? Please take the vibrators out."
"Too much of a good thing, slut?"
"Y—Yes. Please!"
"Hm ... Not yet."
"Ohh!"
"Stop sniveling,” scolded the woman as she disconnected the leash from Brenda's collar. “Now get up,” she commanded.
"I—I'll try. But my hands—"
"Your hands stay in the mittens. They're not tied behind you, you stupid bitch. You can use your arms if you try."
"Oh, okay. I'm sorry."
Slowly, Brenda brought her arms around to her sides. They tingled as feeling returned to the stressed muscle
s and nerves. She pushed herself up to her knees and then stood.
"Follow me,” said the woman.
"Aren't you going to take the hood off? I can't see, and it hurts my head."
"You are a whiner, aren't you? The hood stays on for now. Just do as I say and you'll be fine. I won't let you walk into any walls or anything."
Using simple directional commands, the woman guided Brenda along. But blindfolded or not, the simple act of taking a step was both uncomfortable and stimulating with the large intruders still buried inside her. And every few steps one of them would start buzzing again.
Sometimes the sudden onset of the vibration would cause her to stumble, but even if it didn't, Brenda found she had to stand still until it stopped. Of course, every time she stopped the woman would berate her for being “a lazy slut".
Fortunately, wherever they were going, it was mostly straight ahead with only a few turns along the way. But despite the woman's assurance that she wouldn't let Brenda walk into anything, the helpless girl still kept her arms in front of her, groping the air with her leather-wrapped fists.
At last the woman told her to stop, and without at word of warning, she grabbed Brenda's hands in front of her and lifted them above her head, where she locked them into thick leather cuffs. Brenda whimpered when she heard a cranking sound and felt her arms being pulled upward again.
When she was on her toes, the woman stopped cranking and Brenda could hear her wheeling something across the floor in her direction.
"There's a small box right in front of you, Blondie,” said the woman. “Step up onto it. Be careful, ‘cause it's on wheels."
Brenda did as she was told. As soon as she was on the box, the crank started again, until she was once again on her toes, this time on top of the box.
"There!” announced the woman. “You must feel right at home now."
Confused, Brenda shook her head. “N—Not really."
"But you just admitted that this is where you belong."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Young lady, I asked you repeatedly, ‘Do you think you belong on a pedestal?’ and you said ‘yes’ and even confirmed that you were sure of it. Don't try to deny it."
"B—But all you said was ‘Do you'."
"And you said yes!"
"But I didn't know what I was agreeing to!"
"That's not my problem."
"But wait! The first time you asked I said ‘no', remember? And you told my I was lying."
"Don't you argue with me, you arrogant little slut! You are a liar. I know your type. You think that just because you're young and pretty, you can say whatever you want and get away with it. You think you deserve special treatment. You want to be the center of attention, admired, looked at. You think men should treat you like a fragile little china doll!"
The woman raved on and on, her voice rising in hysteria. Brenda shook her head mutely, shocked by the twisted things this total stranger was saying about her. None of it was true. Well, most of it wasn't. Sure Brenda liked attention and being admired, but she in fact hated it when men acted like she was made of glass. And she certainly had never wanted to be placed on any kind of pedestal, real or metaphorical.
"No!” she cried at last, unable to bear the string of hateful lies any longer. “You're wrong. I don't think any of those things. I swear!"
"Shut up! We've already established that you're a liar and you'll say anything to save yourself. I have some lessons planned for you, my dear ... And here's the first one!"
At that, Brenda felt the box roll out from under her. With a scream, she found herself dangling from her wrists, her legs flailing in the air trying to find a surface to rest on again.
"There!” announced the woman. “See what happens when you're put on a pedestal! It just gets yanked out from under you eventually. Not so pleasant now, is it, Blondie?"
"No, it's not!” gasped Brenda. “It hurts! Please put the box back."
"Oh, so now you want it. Here!” Brenda's toes found the top of the box again as the woman slid it back in place. “Better?"
"Y—yes, thank you."
"Now admit you like being placed on a pedestal."
Brenda's lip trembled. Her initial impulse was to say it, to do whatever the woman wanted, just to avoid more torment. But as the nature of the crazy bitch became clear, Brenda's resolve to resist her hardened. “I—” she began. “I like being on ... that box. But only because the alternative is hanging from my wrists."
As soon as she finished speaking the box was yanked away again. She groaned as her weight fell upon her wrists again.
"If you think,” bellowed the woman, “that you can outlast me, you're sadly mistaken. You can just dangle there all day for all I care. Until you admit the truth!"
Brenda moaned in anguish. She held her legs still this time and let herself slowly twist around and around. But it didn't take long before the ache in her wrists and arms became hard to ignore.
Just then, she heard a door slam somewhere in the distance. A male voice called out, “Pumpkin! I'm home!"
"We're in the playroom, Charles,” shouted the woman.
Brenda was so focused on ignoring the pain, she didn't realize at first that she recognized the man's voice.
His heavy footsteps echoed as if walking down a hall, and then another door opened. He was right there in the same room now. In his easy jovial drawl, he said, “Well butter my butt—"
"-And call you a biscuit,” the woman broke in, finishing his quip. “Really, Charles, you're home now, you can turn off the folksy crap."
"Ha! Don't y'all just love this ol’ battleaxe of mine, little gal?"
In shock, Brenda hung limp in midair. She stared into the blackness of the hood, trying to comprehend what was going on. After a moment of stunned silence, she managed to say just two breathless words: “S—Senator Morrison?!"
* * * *
By the time the Anchorage flight returned, Tom Sanders had almost all the information he needed. Payne's investigation had discovered quite a bit of circumstantial evidence, but he was still working on the last piece of the puzzle.
Nevertheless, Sanders decided to tip his hand. He had called Number Twelve to meet him in his office, and she was on her way up. Payne would call as soon as he had confirmed the final item he needed to nail down his conclusion.
Sanders let Twelve stand by the door for a minute before saying anything. Under the circumstances he wasn't sure she would remember to take three steps in and wait, and was glad to see her training held up.
When he finally looked up, he said, “How was the flight?"
"It went well, sir."
"Good ... Good..."
"May I ask a question, sir?"
"Go ahead."
"Do you know what happened to Brenda yet?"
"Your concern is touching."
"But I am concerned, sir. Honest."
"Mm hm. Well, we don't know where she is yet, but we're very close to knowing who inside the company is responsible."
"Someone inside?"
"Yes, Twelve. Does that surprise you?"
She nodded and lowered her eyes, fidgeting nervously.
"Do you know who I suspect, Number Twelve?"
"I think I do, sir."
"Who?"
In a whisper, she said, “Me, sir?"
"Yes."
She looked up again, meeting his gaze straight on. “Tom, I—I understand why you might think that, but I didn't do it. I swear!"
He stared at her for a minute. She still wore her “public” uniform, so prim and proper. “Take off your jacket. And unbutton your blouse."
"Y—Yes, sir."
He watched as she obeyed. She wore no bra of course and he felt his cock grow stiff as her breasts gradually came into view with each button she loosened. If only he could forget everything else and just get lost in her body right now.
"Good girl,” he said as she stood with her blouse held open for his inspection. He k
new he would have to put his lust aside in a minute, but couldn't resist a little more of their mutual tease. “Get on all fours and crawl over here."
"Yes, sir,” she said with a half smile. Before lowering herself, she shoved the tails of her blouse back into her skirt, being careful to leave herself exposed. Now on all fours, her tits dangled in full view, for Sanders’ amusement.
As she slunk across the room, his phone rang. “Yes,” he said into the mouthpiece. He listened for a moment, then said, “You're absolutely sure? ... Okay, that settles it. You know what to do."
He hung up and looked down at his longtime companion. She had crouched at his feet with her face against his right shoe. She trembled slightly, perhaps anticipating what he was about to say.
"All the evidence,” he said, “points to you, Lindsay."
"But sir, I—"
"Shut up and listen! Your door was opened last night around the time the alarm was disabled."
"I know. I thought I heard someth—"
"I said shut up! Your fingerprints were on the alarm console. Several strands of your hair were there as well. Earlier in the day you were in communication with that aide who wanted to abduct her. It was common knowledge that you were jealous of her. You had the means and the motive, bitch!"
"Please, sir. It wasn't me."
He lifted his foot and put it on her neck. “I could snuff you out right now.” She sobbed, but said nothing more. He watched her contrition for a moment before adding, “But Lindsay, if I really thought you did it, you'd be dead already."
"Sir?” she sniffed.
He lifted his foot off her. “Sit up, precious.” Her cheeks were stained with tears. He took her head and cradled it on his lap. “Following the leads,” he said, almost to himself, “was like one of those TV shows, where they want you to think it was the obvious suspect, but it was really someone else all along."
"I don't understand."
"It was all just a little too neat. Something just didn't add up. You would never make such dumb mistakes, for one thing. You'd cover your tracks better. On a hunch I had Payne check to see if Jim Gibson had opened any new bank accounts recently. And to see if there were any large transfers into his accounts today.” He sighed wearily. “That was Payne on the phone, confirming my suspicions."