SHE IS A PAIR …
Afterwards, I realised it would have been easier to run their message through a decoder program but nerves were clearly getting the better of me. Halfway along, my hand began to tremble as I printed out the letters. My face burned with a surge of shame and arousal.
SHE IS A PAIR OF TITS AND A HOLE. USE HER.
Me? How dare they? How very dare they? Hell, no wonder Mack had given me that interested smile. Well, the filthy, conniving, presumptuous bastards! I was furious, and yet ten minutes later, I was jilling off in a toilet cubicle, wondering if Mack’s cock had been hard beneath the table in that skanky little caff. But really, how dare they?
It was only after I’d climaxed that it occurred to me the note might refer to someone else. I was disappointed, not to mention baffled. I was worried, too. I didn’t want to call everything off with Dave, not yet while the sex was still OK, but maybe I was getting into territory too murky and dangerous for me.
A couple of days later, Dave asked me to meet Mack again, same place, same deal. I considered refusing. I didn’t want to be a pawn in their mysterious game, but Mack was hot and I am weak, so I agreed. Trying to convince myself that maybe the pawn could become a queen, I steamed open Dave’s envelope (it read ‘6’) over the kettle in the staffroom. Back at my desk, I entered the gobbledegook into a decoder:
SNATCH HER TOMORROW. SHE FINISHES WORK FIVE THIRTY. ARCHER ST. FOLLOW HER. GET HER TO THE ROOM. MEET YOU THERE. SHE WILL LOVE IT.
My heart raced, hammering out a binary of fear and excitement. Archer Street. It had to be me. Oh sweet Jesus, they were planning to abduct me. Until that point, I hadn’t made a connection with The Caesar Society. As far as my love life went, the network was old news. I hadn’t thought about it for months. But now a couple of guys were plotting to snatch me off the street and were using a Caesar shift to communicate with each other.
Eventually, I figured it had to be coincidence because I could find no connection that made sense. I racked my brains wondering if I’d ever told Dave I got off on kidnap fantasies. I imagined I probably had. I’d revealed a lot of stuff. For the most part, it seemed to amuse him. He was strictly vanilla and I felt it important for him to know that I wasn’t; I was just a pervert down on her luck. So was Dave trying to fulfil one of my fantasies? Well, that was kind of him – but naïve in the extreme.
I practised his handwriting for a while – a fairly easy challenge since the note was in upper case – then encoded a different note:
SNATCH HER TOMORROW. SHE FINISHES WORK AT THREE. ARCHER ST. FOLLOW HER. GET HER TO THE ROOM. YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN. TIE HER UP. TORMENT HER. FUCK HER. MAKE HER COME. SHE IS ALL YOURS. BITCH WILL LOVE IT.
Writing that got me horny as hell, and I had to resist expanding it into a long, pornographic letter detailing exactly what I wanted him to do to me. I felt bad for Dave. It might have been fun to have him there, intensifying my shame, but to be honest, I was starting to go off him. I conceived of my interest in Mack as comparable to a Caesar shift of one. Dave was the cipher, a substitute for what I really sought, but now I’d budged one along his social circle and sussed out that my truth lay in knobbing his best mate. OK, so I realise that may sound a little screwy but we’ve all done it, haven’t we? Used the lamest justifications to excuse our bad behaviour?
Throughout my lunch date with Mack, I tried not to act like a lust-sick loon. Oh, but he was such a perfect combination of beautiful and brute, his mink-blond crop gleaming under the strip lights, his big, macho watch glinting under his cuff. He listened to me yak on about a film I’d seen recently at Screen on the Green, his head tilted, his gaze diamond-sharp and ironic.
‘Doesn’t sound like Dave’s cup of tea,’ he said.
‘No,’ I replied, and I tried to explain that Dave and I don’t have much in common, that our relationship is based on other stuff (he smiled slyly at that), and that Dave doesn’t come to my part of town because I live in Islington. OK, so I live in an ex-council flat on the wrong side of Islington, but it’s Islington nonetheless; we drink a lot of macchiatos there and Dave doesn’t. Besides, it’s easier if I meet Dave straight from work, and anyway I’d hate us to bump into my friends. They wouldn’t understand. It would be embarrassing.
When I left work early the next day, having invented some cock and bull tale about needing to see a dentist, I was giddy with excitement. My legs were feeble and the pavement beneath my feet was made of marshmallow, the air as thin and debilitating as mountain-top air. I saw no sign of him but thought it best not to look. Instead, I fiddled with my iPod to give him a chance. Seconds later, I sensed him behind me, felt his approach, saw his shape looming over my shoulder.
And someone’s sneakin’ ’round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?
I spun, my heart thundering, then the world tipped as he hooked his arm across my belly and dragged me sideways, a hand clamped to my mouth, my earphones flinging across my vision. A flash of grey sky, square high windows, street lamps, bollards, cobbles and yellow lines collapsed into one jagged scene as I stumbled with his brogues into the windowless recess of an office doorway. He pressed my back to the wall, his hand still covering my mouth, and fixed me with a cold grin.
My breath pumped hot and hard against his palm. He leaned close. Over his shoulder, below a security keypad, were the names of the businesses who occupied the building, too small for me to read. I don’t know what goes on behind the closed doors around here. Mack’s voice was low and scratchy. ‘Consider yourself kidnapped, bitch.’
My legs practically gave way, a whoosh of horniness flooding my groin. I’d grown so used to dreaming of being overtaken that the intensity of the experience knocked me for six. It was real, it was happening, no cipher substitute.
‘Don’t say a word,’ he warned. ‘Don’t even try.’
His hand over my mouth made me feel paradoxically safe, reminding me of bitterly cold schooldays when I’d wait for the bus, feeling pleasantly cocooned with a scarf wrapped over half my face, my breath making a pocket of humidity against the wool. Mack edged closer, angling his body to shield us from passersby. We probably looked like a randy couple or maybe a pimp sorting out his tart. Either way, no one paid us any attention.
He ground against me with deliberate, intimidating lechery. I could feel his erection jutting against the soft cloth of his suit. In a whisper, he said, ‘You’re gonna get this big dick inside you soon. How about that, eh?’
I groaned into his hand. It’s a miracle I didn’t simply slump to the floor and melt into a puddle of lust. But a jolt of fear kept me bolt upright as I suddenly realised I hadn’t thought this through. Oh, Alison, you idiot! Too late now. Because supposing this wasn’t about me at all? I’d been so blinded by fantasy, I hadn’t considered the scenario from any perspective but my own. Supposing what they had in store for me went beyond anything I’d imagined? I thought I knew Dave, we’d been dating several weeks. But on the other hand, he was just some bloke I’d got off the internet, wasn’t he?
‘You’re going to be very good,’ murmured Mack. ‘Aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Now I’m going to remove my hand and you’re not going to scream or shout or do anything stupid. OK?’
Again, I nodded, and when he took his hand away I was as quiet as a petrified mouse. Mack’s eyes were steely, his voice stern as he warned me to act like a girlfriend, to take his hand, keep my mouth shut and simply follow him. Funny kind of girlfriends you’ve had, I thought. But I said nothing and slipped my hand into his, both of us hot and clammy as we headed northwards through Berwick Street market. I wondered if we looked strange but the market, with its apples, oranges, knock-off jeans and household goods, and not a sliver of artisan cheese in sight, is such a throwback that no one would bat an eyelid at a meek, nervous girlfriend trotting loyally alongside her man. Me and my geezer, we were perfectly at home in the mish-mash of Berwick Street where old Soho rubs shoulders with the new.
<
br /> He took me to a hotel. It was nothing special but all the same it must have cost him a whack.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ I hissed.
‘Don’t ask questions.’ Mack locked the door, cool as a cucumber. He’d already checked in and had a few bits and bobs scattered around the room: a laptop on the dressing table, a jacket on the chair back, leaflets on the bed which was smooth and angular as hotel beds always are.
‘Hey, I’ve every right to ask –’
‘If you don’t shut your fucking mouth,’ said Mack, strolling towards me, ‘I’ll shut it for you.’
I folded my arms. ‘Meaning what, exactly?’
Mack touched his thumb to my chin, tipping my head back to meet his eyes. ‘Meaning one more stupid question and I’ll gag you.’
I jerked away from his thumb. ‘What sort of stupid question?’
‘That sort.’ He suppressed a smile. He knew I was goading him. ‘Take your knickers off.’
‘No.’
Mack gripped my face, pinching my cheeks so hard they hurt. He glowered at me. ‘Take your fucking knickers off. Now. Or I’ll tear them off.’
I obeyed, unsteady on my feet as I stepped out of my underwear, slipping the silkiness and lace over my best suede boots. Mack crossed the room to draw the curtains, blocking out the jumbled backsides of buildings and fire escapes peeping through the slatted blinds. He switched on a wall lamp above the bed, enclosing us in a small anonymous world where the light was soft and transporting. I could be anywhere, I thought, and anything could happen here.
Mack gestured for me to hand him the knickers then in one swift, evil movement, he scrunched the fabric into a ball and crammed it into my mouth. I spluttered in shock as he whipped a tie from his pocket and strapped it twice across my stuffed mouth, securing it at the back with a knot.
‘Hands behind your back,’ he said, grabbing my wrists and giving me no choice in the matter.
I twisted around to see him binding my wrists with a short length of rope. ‘There.’ He went to stand a few feet in front of me, hands deep in his pockets as he surveyed me. My breath came hard and fast. I felt his attention like a touch, sliding beneath my clothes and grazing my skin, squeezing my breasts and invading me with a gleeful disregard for my wishes.
‘Gotcha,’ he said, smirking. ‘You’re all mine now. And I’m going to use and abuse you till I’m bored, use that sweet little body of yours.’ He shrugged off his jacket, slung it onto the bed, then turned back his shirt sleeves with neat efficiency, his watch winking as it caught the light.
He stepped forwards. ‘Let’s have a look at you, then.’
My pulses rushed as he set two hands to the top button of my blouse, my cheeks burning. I moaned behind my gag, implying I didn’t want him to touch me but he continued, unfastening one button, then another. Between my thighs, my lips fattened and a beat hammered in the swelling flesh. I tossed back my hair in a gesture of disdain as he undid the third button and the fourth. Pushing my blouse open, Mack bared my pale cleavage and brown and blue bra which, had he cared, he would have noticed matched the knickers in my mouth.
‘Nice tits,’ he said matter-of-factly. He shoved my blouse further back so it was halfway down my arms then swooped a hand above my cleavage. He dipped his fingers into a bra cup, watching my expression as he found my soft, pliant nipple.
‘Ah,’ he sighed, swirling his fingers. ‘I knew you’d like it.’
I shook my head, feeling the looseness of my nipple shrivel to tightness beneath his touch. After a short while, he withdrew, reaching round to clutch my arse. He pulled me close, rubbing his hard-on against my belly. ‘Want some cock, do you?’
Again, I shook my head.
‘Course you do,’ he said. ‘I have it on good authority. Bitch is gonna love it. Let’s hear you say ‘yes’, shall we?’
I protested into my gag. He merely laughed and reached behind me to unfasten my bra, pushing it down to join the crumpled mess of my blouse bunched around my waist. The air was cool on my exposed breasts and, half undressed, I felt more naked than naked. Taking a nipple in each hand, Mack pinched lightly between thumb and forefinger. I inhaled sharply as he intensified the pressure, squeezing and twisting. The pain rose higher and higher and he held me there on a plateau of suffering until tears pricked my eyes. When he released me, the pain was slow to ebb away. I heaved for breath, panting through my nostrils, so stunned that he’d done that to me. So stunned and so aroused.
It was my Patti Hearst moment, the point where I started to bond with my captor, grateful for his acts of apparent kindness.
‘Again?’ he asked.
I gave a nod, reluctant and ashamed. He twisted my nipples once more, pulling and lifting my breasts. The pain ballooned and peaked, and he smiled at the stream of tiny bleats echoing in my throat. When he released me again, the pain receded to leave me shot through with sensation, my cunt throbbing at the centre of it all.
‘Like that do you?’ He reached for the hem of my skirt, hitched up the fabric and cupped my groin. He scoured the heel of his hand against my pubes then trailed a finger along my slippery crease, spreading my lips. ‘Ah yes, I can see that you do.’
I was wet, so wet and hot, and my juices spilled as he drove two fingers inside me, curling them onto my sweet spot. I tottered then steadied myself, my entire body fizzing with pleasure as he rubbed me there. Bowing his head to one breast, he took my flesh in a gentle bite, his tongue fretting the stiffened bud of my nipple. The room was silent save for my stifled moans and the soft clicks of my wetness being stirred by his fingers. I ached to stroke his velvety head and yet I loved that my hands were trapped and I couldn’t. I could do nothing. All I could do was be done to. And Mack really did me.
When I thought I was on the brink of collapse, he ushered me to the bed, ordering me to lie back and spread my legs over the edge. My bound hands raised my buttocks and Mack dropped to his knees between my thighs. I closed my eyes, giving it all up to him as his supple lips fluttered over my folds and his clever tongue danced on my clit. He shoved his fingers into me when I was close, packing me with solidity, and I came in a rush with his lips on my clit, wailing into my gag as I shuddered and jerked.
Mack moved away from me. I lay there, bombed out on bliss, vaguely aware of him undressing. Moments later, he clambered onto the bed, kneeling astride me. ‘Good girl,’ he said, edging higher. ‘I knew you wanted it. You want this as well?’
Half dazed, I struggled to understand where he was coming from. He was still there, still horny, still chasing it, whereas I was on cloud nine, my body glowing with the most delicious heat and exhaustion. Then I saw his nakedness towering above me, his cock big and virile in his fist, his flat belly rising to a broad chest whose pecs were taut and furred with gold. How could I have ever wanted a fat man? Mack straddled my shoulders, biceps flexing as he jerked his cock above my face, his balls leaping as his weighted sac hitched below his fist.
‘You want some of this dick inside you, huh?’ He angled himself to skim my lips and chin, his cock’s glossy crown an obscene violet-red like the neon lights in Soho. The nearness of him, the smell of his musk, the hint of his power before my gagged mouth had me writhing in frustration.
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘If you want it, take it. Turn around. Get on your knees.’
I wriggled against my bound wrists, grunting into my gag, trying to show him I was helpless.
‘Oh, come on,’ he mocked. ‘Don’t give me that. On your knees. Show me your cunt. Come on, you little slut. Show me your cunt and I’ll fuck it for you.’
Fire blazed in his cheeks, eyes bright, face twisted with passion. He wanked himself as if it were a threat, hurrying me to roll onto my belly and wriggle higher up the bed. He wanted it as badly as I did. Gathering my knees beneath me and using my shoulders as leverage, I managed to struggle into position, head to the bed, arse in the air, my neck in grave danger of getting a crick. I thrust back, searching for him, desperate to
feel his penetration.
‘That’s right,’ cooed Mack. He grasped my buttocks, steadying me as he slid the heavy bar of his cock up and down the wet split of my lips. My need for him was agony but clearly he liked making me suffer. He nudged at my entrance and for a terrible moment I thought he was going to keep doing that till I passed out with wanting. Then he rammed me with a sudden, sure bang, slamming himself to my core. I gave a muffled howl, grunting over and over as he began powering away at me, his hands clutching my hips.
Inside, I was tender and swollen from coming and the fat thrust of his cock edged me to new heights. I felt loose and half-delirious, my mind spinning strange trippy patterns as he pounded me. Soon, he grew more frantic and he clasped me above the elbows, lifting my upper body so it was at right angles to his. I jerked like a rag doll on the end of his cock, shuddering and shaking as he drilled like a man possessed. Moments later, he released a series of rough, exuberant grunts then peaked on a half-roar of bliss, lodging himself deep as he shot his load.
He held me there as he caught his breath before gently lowering me to the bed. He removed my gag first. I ran my tongue around my gums and waggled my jaw.
‘You OK?’ He untied my wrists and stroked hair away from my face. ‘Was it good for you?’
‘Amazing,’ I breathed.
‘Likewise.’
We lay on the bed, feeling very pleased with ourselves. Outside, a car honked its horn several times, and I thought how great it was to have kidnap-sex in the afternoon when the rest of the world is busy and stressed.
At length, Mack said, ‘A shame Dave couldn’t make it.’
‘Oh, I dunno. I quite like it this way, just the two of us.’ I sat up, remembering I needed to text Dave to tell him I was at the dentist. I didn’t want him turning up at the hotel and spoiling my one-on-one abduction.
‘I know we should’ve played by the rules and arranged this via The Caesar Society,’ began Mack, ‘but I thought –’
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