The woman that stood in front of her took hold of Samantha’s lower face in both hands and presented it for a kiss. She took the nozzle in her lips and sucked on it as Samantha stared with wide-eyed and lecherous intensity at the titillating image. The woman gave another few kisses to Samantha’s entombed mouth then moved back. There was an almost imperceptible nod and the other female began to drag Samantha into the trunk.
When she resisted, the two women ganged up on her and began to expertly work together. Samantha was forced onto her knees and her feet were set in each corner of a short end of the trunk. Two buckled straps of dense leather were fastened at her ankle and below her knees to trap her shins to the base of the box. Wriggling against the arm sheath and murmuring against the gag, Samantha tried to stop them from continuing her restraint but it was far too late.
One of the women forced her Lycra-clad form down so that Samantha’s hindquarters settled between her captive feet. It was then that she saw what appeared to be half of a pillory in front of her. The semi-circle groove in the polished wood was lined with soft padded leather and was of the perfect size to accept her neck if she stretched out toward it.
A hand pushed the arm sheath against her back then two long belts were drawn up passed her knees then over her hips and arms. They were wrenched into place across her limbs and hugged her forcefully into the floor of the trunk.
Samantha wiggled her toes and threw her head from side-to-side because after all, there was nothing else she could do.
Stern hands grabbed her head and began to demand that she accept the internal pillory. Samantha opposed their efforts but barely even influenced the process. Her head was strained forward and her neck was slipped into the awaiting groove. The sound of wood sliding against a set of runners reached her ears and the second half of the stocks was slotted into place. The box was now divided neatly into two sections by an interior wall of wood. The cushioned hole had her head within one end and her helplessly bound body resided in the other.
Samantha hollered against the gag as she felt fright and claustrophobia take over. She could not move in the slightest, and every flex and struggle only seemed to make the whole ensemble seem more oppressive. It was terrifying just how alien it felt not to have the power to shift any part of her body. On a daily basis, it was simply taken for granted that movement was possible. A little bit of restraint and a hint of bondage could be fun and intoxicatingly refreshing, but this level of absurd captivity had cleared Samantha’s tolerances. She was just not up to this sort of intense play, at least not yet.
There was a faint buzzing tone and Samantha jolted against her bondage with surprise as a vibrator was laid to her pussy. The small rigid finger of plastic poured soothing delight into her sex and Samantha relaxed a little into her predicament.
The woman started to move the toy around with lecherous proficiency. Samantha began to pant through her nostrils as she began to find actual satisfaction in her imprisonment. Since she had met Morgana, she had travelled in majestic old cars, luxurious limousines and now she was travelling in a most far removed manner to such comfortable methods of transport.
A small reading light was slotted into a waiting fixture on the inside of the trunk and a photo was tacked to the floor with four drawing pins. The picture was of Morgana and it instantly bolstered her enjoyment of the situation that had devoured her body and curtailed her every sense.
The elegant woman had been photographed from a lower position so that she seemed to loom over the viewer. She wore a purple latex dress with a black rubber corset set over its polished contours. Fingerless midnight opera gloves let her purple painted nails free and black stiletto thigh boots spilled up her legs, gripping eagerly to her curves and reaching up to the hem of the short skirt. The barest wink of naked skin was visible between the two.
Samantha focused her stare to the image and soaked up every detail of the dominatrix as the vibrator continued to enhance her prurient mood. As her eyes readjusted to the change in light, she noticed that the area around the picture was peppered with numerous tiny stab holes. Clearly the amazon had not been lying. Numerous other women had travelled in this heinous cell and had fixated their lewd desires on the very same picture.
The realisation that this was one of Morgana’s favoured modes of transporting her females and also the thought of the other women that had been trapped in this very spot was highly elating. As the thrumming tip of the toy continued to pleasure her she pictured each of the amazons being bound and strapped down in the trunk, their muscles rippling with strain as they tried to stop their incarceration and failed. She imagined their impassive features warped with fright and running with tears as the stocks were slotted into place. Had they been given a dose of the vibrator too? How had they stared at the image of Morgana? Was it with lust, or had they glared at it with dismay?
The vibrator came away and the weighty lid dropped down into place. Charged with sexual need, Samantha found the bonds even more infuriating now because they had made her wanton for more stimulation and yet she was stopped from doing anything that might ease her sexual frustration. The latches were fastened and the locks were set. The box entered the air and Samantha felt herself being carried out and toward the rule of the celestial Lady Morgana.
Chapter Eight
Eddy watched the surprisingly small trunk being loaded up into the back of the waiting van. The butch women set it down in the centre of the spacious interior and began diligently strapping it down so that it would not move. It was strange to think that in that tiny space was a female form. Samantha was trussed and compressed into total submission.
It did not matter to him whether Samantha was enjoying it or if she was in hellish purgatory, just so long as the money was paid. If the yuppie pushed her too far or hurt her too badly, Samantha would probably be begging and moaning to have him send someone else in her stead. Thinking ahead on such an eventuality, he wondered how he could rededicate her to obeying the will of the client. He would have to hurt and intimidate her to an extent that would prove worse and more unbearable than what the depraved acts of the woman could impart, but not so severe as to damage the property and break the deal. From his days in the Ukrainian gulag, he knew how well a cattle prod in the right place could alter an attitude and still leave a body undamaged and work worthy.
Eddy hoped that the rich dyke would stay interested in Samantha and keep coming back for more. The money she was handing over was impressive and he wanted it to become a regular part of his income.
The van doors were closed and the women drove off into traffic with their subdued cargo safely secured in the back. Eddy shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled into the building. Walking down the hall, he leisurely entered the area he and his aids lived in.
“They take her, then?” asked Yuri.
His two aids were sat at a table with a pack of cards, a pile of various small denomination bills, a half-drained bottle of whisky, and a 9mm each.
“Fucking weirdoes,” mumbled Gregor as he took up his freshly dealt hand and scrutinised the cards. The sneer that touched his features openly betrayed a poor hand.
The two men were not too smart, but Eddy kept them around for the muscles amply spread on their bodies and not the one between their ears. Eddy had run into them at the gulag and when he had bribed his way out, he also added enough to ensure that they could accompany him. The pair had been with him ever since.
After the Petrov kidnapping had gone wrong, he ferried them out of Russia with him. It was a prudent consideration for the future. He was going to be in alien lands and he could do with backup he trusted and could rely upon in any tricky situation.
“The fucking weirdoes paid top dollar,” he said and dumped his coat on the battered couch before heading into his bedroom.
Eddy had run a stable of hookers in St Petersburg. It was a good basic income to help provide living costs and also to fund the more risky ventures such as robbery, extortion, smu
ggling and kidnapping. When he had relocated to the States, it had been ridiculously easy to wrest a territory from the previous pimps of the area. They were unorganised strutting peacocks who could ineptly rough up a woman but who had little stomach for anything more harsh or permanent. Eddy had noticed that fact about the gangs and other criminal elements in the city and indeed the whole country. People feared them, the media harped on about how dangerous they were, but if they had found themselves on Soviet soil, they would last mere seconds, and only then if they were really lucky.
The Soviet Union, Mother Russia, the USSR—Eddy refused to drop the old titles for his homeland. Throughout his whole life, the party had ingrained it into him and he was not about to bother changing just because the country wanted to alter its image to the world and illicit sympathy and assistance from its former mortal enemies. Why not just replace the hammer and sickle with a dollar sign, or Mickey Mouse. Stalin would be spinning in his grave. Not that Eddy cared; it was no more than habit.
Fleeing Russia had been one of the best things to happen to Eddy. The money he regularly scraped up in St Petersburg was a mere pittance compared to what could be earned here. In Russia, he also had to contend with much more danger and competition, as well. Here the money was good and the future was bright. Paperwork, the ever-vigilant eye of public opinion, over-cautious politicians, and paranoid superiors all served to hamstring the police. They could not act with murderous impunity as they could at home. Due process could well have been the greatest criminal invention of all time.
“Excuse me. Would you be Eddy?” asked a soft male voice.
Eddy span around and saw that the bedroom door had swung shut and someone was standing behind it. The man was small and reedy looking and so he failed to put Eddy on his guard. Eddy had a pistol tucked into the back of his trousers and his two sentries were within earshot should the intruder become a threat.
“How the fuck did you—?” he began.
“Are you Eddy, the employer of a certain young lady called Samantha?” sedately interrupted the stranger.
“Too late, man. That piece of meat’s been picked up for the weekend,” he said.
The notion that maybe he should be charging more for Samantha because of her popularity assisted in pushing concern further from Eddy’s thoughts.
The man stepped forward and without warning hurled a punch into Eddy’s face. It was impossibly ferocious for someone so diminutive of stature, and the impact span Eddy on his heel and robbed him of balance. He crumpled and dropped to the floor with a heavy smack.
The door flew open at the sound of trouble and Gregor and Yuri charged in with pistols in hand. With his back to them, the stranger stepped away and swung the side of his hand around in a broad and accurate arc. The chopping sweep caught Yuri straight in the front of the throat. The ferocity of the strike countered his momentum. His feet flew up into the air, and he collapsed onto his shoulders. Yuri struck the floor with a heavy tone and went slack. A steady rasping wheeze emerged from his fractured throat and he gave several meek gurgles.
Before Gregor could even bring his pistol to bear, the stranger had whirled around and slammed a knee into his groin. As Gregor doubled up with a choked gasp, the man caught his head in both hands. With unnerving ease he span his skull and snapped the vertebrae. Gregor collapsed next to his friend and gave a few twitches before going limp.
The figure stepped forward while pulling a silenced pistol from within his coat. Eddy went for his own gun and gave a roar of pain as a spluttering cough preceded a spear of anguish into each of his shoulders.
Eddy dropped back to the floorboards. Blood was freely running from the small holes that filled each limb with crippling agony. Looking up, he found himself staring into the dark eye at the end of the barrel.
“I asked you a question. I will not ask it again,” said the man with an insipid tone.
At that moment, Eddy realised that this was a veteran professional. The bland look in his eyes testified to countless lives snuffed out at close quarters, and a conscience that had been isolated and meticulously removed.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck you! I’m Eddy! What the fuck do you want, man?”
“Miss Samantha is being given a choice this weekend and to permit her an unbiased mind in the decision making process you are to be removed from the equation.”
“What?”
“Let me explain...”
Three hot cartridges bounced upon the floor and rolled to a stop. Farrall turned and put two more rounds into each of the guards then dropped the gun. Straightening his gloves, he avoided the growing pools of crimson and nimbly scuttled out of the window. The small opening would be an impossible means of escape for even an average person, but not for him. Small and agile, his body could wriggle through gaps that would make a contortionist weep with envy. After dropping to the street, he donned sunglasses and wandered out toward the world. At the final corner before reaching a main street, he removed the gloves and dropped them into an open trash bin.
He did not like having to explain things to the client or otherwise converse with them before their deletion. It was not smart and opened countless possibilities for things to get complicated. Farrall hated complication. Smooth, precise, and efficient was his mantra.
Besides, his employer could have easily arranged for those cretins to be arrested and sent to jail for an indefinite period. Instead, she had opted for the more drastic step of deletion.
The picking of his singular services rather than her sanguinary team of lawyers suggested that he had caused great offence. He surmised that he had abused the girl or otherwise stood in the way of Morgana getting what she wanted. The woman was almost as implacable and relentless as he was. He guessed that was why he liked doing jobs for her, because they were never based on spite or pettiness, just a cold, calculated intent.
Chapter Nine
Samantha was soon yowling against her gag as her journey continued. Her arms had gone numb and the feeling had been replaced with steady waves of excruciating havoc. She flexed and strained with all her might in a bid to break out of the box, to straighten out and escape the brutal confinement but there was nothing she could do. When she had exhausted herself with such efforts she sagged and sobbed privately within the trunk, cursing her fate and the woman that had put her in it.
All she wanted to do was please Morgana. Why then had she deemed it necessary to have her brought to her in such terrible containment?
After what seemed like days of terrible straits, the van came to a halt and did not move again. The sound of the doors opening permeated the box and Samantha’s heart leapt with joy that she was finally going to be let loose. The prospect of having her pains ended made her wriggle and strain with new effort. Suddenly the ordeal did not seem that bad and as the trunk was lifted up she found herself staring at Morgana’s image with new devotion.
The latches and locks were set free and Samantha screwed her eyes shut as the lid lifted up and let light pour in. The tiny light inside the box and her long sentence of imprisonment had left her totally unprepared for the full potency of day.
The slat holding her neck down was drawn out and the straps that dragged her into the hideous pose were unfastened. The women grabbed her as though she were made of feathers and hoisted her out.
Samantha was laid onto the floor and the two amazons backed up as she jerked and convulsed. Samantha hollered onto her gag as her body stretched out and flared with residual pain at having been cooped up for so long. It took a few minutes for her to recover, and through tear-filled eyes she saw that she was in a small and plain box room.
The wooden walls were varnished so that they were almost black in appearance. The slender windows on one wall looked out over treetops and an open vault of blue sky. There were a couple of cupboards on the wall and a series of dark eyelets set in the ceiling. Several sconces that looked like they were made from riveted dark iron each held squat red candles. The medieval lights wer
e spaced regularly along each wall and were currently unlit.
Samantha was in two minds about the arm sheath. She wanted it off, but she also now knew that its flight was going to be even worse than her removal from the box. It was an irrelevant consideration because when the two burly women descended on her they ignored the device.
One of them screwed a thick metal pole into a fitting that had been bolted into the carpeted floor. The pole had a metal ring set in the top and reached to about waist height.
“Okay, let’s get on with it,” said one of them and the other woman moved behind Samantha and brought her onto her knees. She enveloped her in a firm hold just as the other produced a small straight razor.
“Let’s set those tits free. We can’t have them all cooped up now can we?” commented the woman who was behind Samantha.
Samantha felt the woman begin to suckle and nibble on her ear as she watched her partner work. Samantha stiffened and held as still as she could while the fabric over her breasts was lifted up then cut. The steady slices were applied and the woman put the blade away before using her hands to lengthen the slit. With enough of an opening, she drew Samantha’s assets through the breaches.
“Now for some more fun,” said her captor, and the woman tightened her hold as twin coils of thin rope were produced.
The lengths were crafted into hoops and Samantha was leaned forward a little so that her breasts dangled and were easier targets. The hoops were threaded onto Samantha’s breasts and tightened forcefully to the base.
“There we go. I bet that feels great, doesn’t it?” whispered the woman, then her tongue tip started to tickle Samantha’s earlobe.
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