Stockholm Syndrome

by Brooks, JB

  “That is a lot of work for the Captain of The Chase, but it ensures that we can all relax and enjoy ourselves this evening without fear of unpleasant consequences or repercussions, in the knowledge that the safety and secrecy which is so vital for this event will be upheld.”

  Really impressed by now, Mason wondered who had put all those procedures in place, for he doubted it was Owen. But perhaps they had simply been developed over the years, as necessity arose.

  “Now, in accordance with our tradition, I am going to destroy The Pact and all of the accompanying documentation from last year.”

  Another black-shirted and masked man brought Owen a sturdy metal trash can and a bottle. Owen unlocked a strongbox lying on a table beside him and removed a loose stack of paper. He dumped it into the trash can and doused it with liquid from the bottle. The pungent smell of fuel reached Mason’s nostrils.

  “We have to do this outside,” said Owen, “or we’ll set off the fire alarms. Can I have some witnesses, please?”

  He strutted outside to the courtyard, followed by three men and four women. They returned about five minutes later, accompanied by a faint odor of smoke.

  “Let the records show it was done,” announced Owen. Mason noticed that one of the women near the front was taking notes, like a secretary in a meeting. Owen went on with his task.

  “I will now run through The Rules. If you have any questions, please wait until I have finished before asking.” He took a deep breath.

  “Right, firstly and most importantly, all participation and activities taking place tonight, and for the duration of The Chase, must be entered into freely and be fully consented to by all parties. It is mandatory for all participants to sign The Pact prior to commencement. All participants must be aware that The Chase is a game of a highly sexual nature, involving forceful sex, role-play, and coercion fantasy, possibly with multiple partners. Your participation implies your willingness to accept those conditions.” An excited ripple stirred the audience but Owen ignored it.

  “No weapons may be used or carried during The Chase. No person may hurt or injure another. Force may be used, but carefully moderated so as not to cause harm to fellow participants. A safe word may be used by any participant at any time, and if used, all activities must immediately stop, and the person who is safe-wording must be attended to and made comfortable.”

  Owen paused at this point and looked around at the rapt audience.

  “The safe word for this year is exit,” he said. “Please all repeat it three times.”

  They all chanted in unison. He nodded, satisfied.

  “If you are unable to speak then three claps, clicks, or taps will be the safe signal. Does everybody understand?” A chorus in the affirmative followed.

  “To continue, all activities for The Chase will take place on the campus. If you leave the campus, you terminate your participation. We have guards at all the gates, and if you pass them, you’re out. This entire facility has been made available for the use of the participants for twenty-four hours.” He gestured widely, indicating the residence and the grounds beyond, and grinned. “It was neither easy nor cheap to arrange. As always, our cover story is that we are holding an esoteric retreat for meditation and relaxation.” Sniggers and sarcastic comments flew around the room.

  “There are private rooms upstairs, and a communal session will be held in this room. Women who want to participate in the communal session after capture will wear a black armband on their right arm. If you catch a woman wearing an armband, you must bring her here, not to a private room.”

  Mason assumed that the communal session referred to an orgy, and watched with interest as a bag of armbands passed around the women. He estimated that about a third of them took one and put it on. It was going to be a riot of an orgy! He wouldn’t be looking for a woman with an armband though—he’d had his share of orgies, some of them while playing The Chase, but it wasn’t what he wanted tonight.

  “Just a few more points!” Owen clapped again. “You may not use drugs during The Chase, and that includes roofies. No photography is permitted. The kitchen will be open, and snacks and drinks will be available. Do not, at any time, leave any participants alone while tied up, or in any position where they could come to harm in your absence. At all times, consider the safety and comfort of your fellow participants. And finally, a very important point…” he shouted over the rising excitement, “absolute secrecy is to be maintained about The Chase. Do not speak about it to anybody except your fellow participants. Do not email about it, or post about it on any of your social media sites, don’t blog about it. If the secret gets out, it will be the end of The Chase. Would you like that?”

  “No!” roared sixty-five voices.

  “Then don’t do anything fucking stupid!” shouted Owen. “Now does anyone have any questions?” Nobody made a sound. Owen moved back to the table.

  “Then it’s time to come up and sign The Pact. Form a line please, ladies first.”

  By the time Mason reached the table, most of the others had already signed. He saw that Owen slid a piece of card down the list of names and signatures, effectively covering the ones above so that each person could see only his or her own name.

  When everybody, including Owen himself, had signed, he folded up The Pact and placed it, along with various other papers and the notes taken by the woman, into the strongbox. He then made a show of locking the box and hanging the key on a short, sturdy chain around his neck.

  “In twenty-four hours, assuming all goes well and we don’t need to access any of those documents, I’ll take the strongbox back to the safe-storage facility where it will be kept until next year.” He returned to his spot at the front of the room. The excitement was reaching a fever pitch, and he had to clap several times before the crowd quieted down.

  “It is almost time for The Chase to begin. Once you leave this room, you are permitted to remove your masks and veils if you want to. Everyone has signed, so it is your decision if you wish to reveal your identity to the other participants. On your way out, there are some necessary supplies for the gentlemen, in those baskets on the left. Please help yourselves.” He paused, letting the tension mount in the silent room before announcing, “Let The Chase begin! We’ll give our ladies the customary ten-minute head start. Run away, ladies—the clock is ticking, and we’re coming to get you!”

  The women rushed out, shrieking, knocking over chairs on their way, and scattering in different directions as they burst out of the door. Owen flicked on a timer on the table next to him.

  “When this beeps, they’re all yours,” he said to the men. “Good luck!”

  ***

  Mason watched Owen cross over to his seat beside him, stopping to chat to several people on the way.

  “You’ve become quite the showman, little brother. Well done.”

  “Glad you approve. Pretty well organized, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m quite impressed. It isn’t spontaneous, like it used to be, but I can understand why, with so many people wanting to play. And this meeting’s quite an exciting buildup to it.”

  Owen grinned. “Yeah, it is. And with all this fucking planning, it’s impossible for anything to go wrong.”

  The timer beeped. The men jumped to their feet and moved swiftly and silently to the door.

  Mason didn’t rush out. He was in no hurry, knowing from experience that half the fun was in the chase, and prolonging it enhanced the pleasure of the experience. Already shrieks and screams radiated from outside, and the occasional burst of male laughter.

  “Sounds like some of them couldn’t wait to be caught,” he said to Owen. “I still remember the screaming.” They grinned at each other.

  “Yeah. Some of them get so caught up in it. They cry and fight so hard, you’d think it was for real. Anyway, I’ll be off to hunt now.” They shook hands, and Owen jogged to the door.

  Mason stood alone for a moment, considering, then headed up the stairs. A planner by nature
, he decided to check out the accommodations first. When he’d been in res here he’d stayed on the first floor, in a room little bigger than a closet, and he’d shared a bathroom with four other residents. He remembered that the upper level had slightly larger rooms, though, so he bypassed the first two landings and came out on the third floor.

  At the end of the corridor, he found what he was looking for—a clean, well-lit room with its own little bathroom, and a queen-sized bed. He turned down the quilt to check that the sheets were clean, grunting in satisfaction at the smell of freshly laundered linen that wafted up to greet his nose. The bed also had a sturdy headboard and footboard, which would be helpful if he decided to tie up his captive. His cock bucked at the thought. It was time to hunt.

  The key to the room was in the door, on the inside. He removed it, locked the door behind him, and slid the key deep into his pocket.

  ***

  Mason paused at the baskets near the door, curious as to what the “necessary supplies” might be. There were ball gags, lengths of soft, black rope, and black fabric hoods, like elasticized bags, to pull over a captive’s head to blindfold her. He shrugged and stuffed a gag, a hood, and several lengths of rope into his pockets. The women obviously expected to be tied up and gagged, and who was he to disappoint?

  He emerged into the warm night. Nobody was in sight but all ’round he heard the sounds of pursuit and capture. Soon the men would return to the res with their prisoners.

  On a whim, he strolled toward the sports grounds. If he remembered correctly, there was a wide band of parkland with paved walkways beyond the rugby field. The dark trees would be a great place to hunt and stalk his prey.

  He jogged along for about five minutes, leaving the sounds of The Chase behind him. When he found the area he remembered, he slowed down to a walk again, enjoying the night smells of rich, wet vegetation and the breeze on his face. He felt keenly alive. The paths seemed deserted, though, and after exploring for about ten minutes, he turned back the way he’d come. It seemed none of the women had come this far.

  But then he saw her, a glimmer of white through the trees, walking swiftly along a path perpendicular to his. Adrenaline flooded his veins in a rush, and all his senses sharpened. Time stretched into a series of protracted moments interspersed with the deafening thudding of his heart as he fell in behind her, rapidly closing the distance between them with his longer stride. Was this how primitive man had felt, in a time when life was lived on the edge of a knife blade, always ready to fight or flee…or fuck?

  He sensed the exact moment when she became aware of him and her steps quickened. Close enough to see she’d removed the ridiculous veil, he saw her inky-black hair hanging in waves down her back. She was small but fast, running at full speed now, her feet skimming the bricks without seeming to touch them. He pounded after her, so close, but when he reached for her, she seemed to find an extra burst of strength and surged ahead of his grasping fingers. She made no sound as she ran, and he guessed she focused all her energy on staying ahead of him. He also realized that she was nearing the edge of the parkland. If she didn’t slow down, she’d run right out of the campus grounds, disqualifying herself from the game. Catching her became the most important thing in Mason’s life at that moment. His failure would be absolute if she got away.

  At that moment, with escape in sight—a busy street looming beyond one final bend in the path—she glanced back over her shoulder. In his hyperalert state, he saw and heard her trainer scrape against a protruding brick in the wet pathway. She stumbled forward five more paces, arms flailing, trying to regain her balance, as he drew level with her. His arms swept ’round her torso as she fell, capturing her and saving her in one move, and she landed gently on her knees.

  Reaching into his pocket for the ball gag, he forced it into her gaping mouth, cutting off her scream. Holding it in place with the palm of his hand plastered across her face and the back of her neck wedged against his thigh, he hooked the strap over her head with the other hand and pulled it tight.

  He paused and considered his next move. She would scream the moment he took his hand away from her mouth, he knew it. Ball gags were great for fun, but not for muffling sound, and that’s why he liked them—the desperate, inarticulate noises that gagged women made when he pleasured them were some of his favorite sex sounds. He had every intention of hearing this girl scream, but not now, not here, close to the public road. He decided to settle for good old-fashioned intimidation. After all, she would expect him to act like the bad guy.

  He tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the soft skin of her face, but taking care to stop short of bruising her.

  “Don’t you dare make a noise.” His voice was so hoarse and gravelly, he startled himself. “If you scream, it will be the last sound you ever make, do you understand?” He considered this a bit melodramatic, but what the hell—nobody else was watching their performance.

  He turned her face to the side so he could see her properly. Her eyes rolled up to peer at him, the whites startling in the dim glow of one of the walkway lights. She looked quite frightened, the little drama queen. And she was a beauty too! His hand covered most of her face, but her eyes were large, her nose delicate, and her skin pale and flawless.

  “Do you understand?” he repeated. “Not a sound!”

  She gave a jerky little nod, all she could manage with his firm grip on her face.

  ***

  Disbelief overwhelmed Evelyn. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Shock immobilized her, and all her useless muscles could do was shake. The adrenaline that had given her feet wings just moments ago now surged through her veins, futile, drowning out her ability to think. The man’s huge hand crushed her face, partially obstructing her nostrils, and she breathed in panicked gasps, unable to draw enough air into her desperately straining lungs. He’d rammed something into her mouth, and now as he spoke to her, his voice hoarse and terrifying, she strained to look up at him.

  Oh god, he was huge…a hulking black shape looming over her. A sinister mask concealed half his face and the top, sides, and back of his head; only his eyes glittered through the holes. Chilling waves of panic washed over her and darkness swirled across her vision. The only thing that kept her from passing out was the thought that if she did, she’d be utterly at his mercy.

  What had he said? Oh yes, if she screamed, it would be the last sound she’d ever make—what did he mean by that? Would he kill her if she screamed? Even if she dared test him, even if she could force her petrified body to move, to claw desperately for freedom, his grip was too strong. She nodded, choking back a sob of fear.

  The hand withdrew from her face. Relieved, she gulped in huge breaths of air around the obstruction in her mouth.

  The man put his hands under her arms and lifted her gently to her feet like a child. She lost her balance and reflexively grabbed his forearms to stop herself crashing to the bricks then snatched her hands away, appalled that she had touched him. The corded muscles under his skin felt as hard as steel. He held on to her arm with one strong hand, supporting her, but she had no illusions—that grip was to stop her making another run for freedom.

  He slipped a twist of rope over her hand, and with astonishing deftness and speed, tied her wrists together in front of her, looping the rope around and between them, several times. Her arms and legs felt weak and shaky, and she wondered if it was from shock, or just plain fear.

  He was speaking to her again.

  “Will you walk, or must I carry you? I’m warning you, it’s quite far. It will hurt to bounce over my shoulder all the way.”

  She had no doubt that he could carry her for miles, for she was half his size, but if he carried her, she would have no opportunity to escape.

  “Aawk,” she croaked around the foul-tasting thing in her mouth. What the hell was it? Saliva ran down her chin from the corners of her lips and she twisted her head around to wipe it on her shoulder.

  “Good choice. Get moving!” He pus
hed her along the path, back in the direction she had come from, away from the road and her hopes of freedom. He walked close to her, to the side and a little behind, holding on to her upper arm with his nearest hand. With his other hand, he loosened his mask and pulled it off. She could see his movements out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare turn to look at him even though she was intensely curious.

  Evelyn walked as slowly as she could, in no hurry to reach wherever he was taking her, hoping that something, anything, might offer her a chance to run away again. He didn’t object to the slow pace, seeming strangely relaxed as he ambled along, his unrelenting grip on her arm the only sign of his vigilance.

  He guided her back past the sports fields and around the side of the main building toward the residences. As they drew closer, she heard the sounds of other people around—screams and laughter. It sounded like a rowdy party. How very strange that he was heading closer to the noise. Why wasn’t he leading her off to some dark and lonely corner to do whatever wicked deed he had in mind? The sounds of revelry soothed her slightly. She wasn’t all alone with him, and she reasoned that he wouldn’t do anything too terrible in such close proximity to other people. The adrenaline had receded somewhat during the walk and her mind was starting up again. If only she could speak to him, but his threat and the thing in her mouth made that impossible for now. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse.

  Without warning, he stopped, jerking her to a halt. He took some black fabric from his pocket and shook it out. It looked like a bag, the open end loosely gathered by elastic. Before she could move, he stretched it wide and popped it over her head. Just before it descended, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a startlingly handsome face, shaggy dark hair, and pale eyes that flashed in the dim light. Deprived of sight, she reeled away, almost falling again before he caught her.

  This time he swept her up, but not to sling her over his shoulder, as he had threatened. He cradled her in his arms like a baby…or a lover. She squirmed and kicked, and cried out around her gag, and he bounced her in his arms as if he was going to drop her.