Game, set and snatch

Sandra Rose took extra care getting ready on the day of the tournament. She took great pride in her tennis activities and to her, being invited to run the lines at the Scottish junior tennis championship, was a real honour. In her club in the village of Auchterarder some ten miles away, she was a renowned enthusiast and this invitation was big news in the club.

Sandra was approaching fifty, but still retained her figure, fitness and a zest for most things. She did not need to work, so her days were filled with volunteering, socialising, playing tennis of course and relaxing.

She had risen very early, enjoyed a relaxed breakfast, showered and then read the morning papers. She had seen her husband off to work with an embrace and settled down to await the taxi, arranged by the organisers. She wore her outfit which had been delivered two days previously and which she had tried on several times. It was a classic and simple outfit, with a crisp white blouse, navy cardigan and matching white pleated skirt, which reached her knees.  She decided to wear white ankle socks and white trainers, which beautifully showed her toned and shaven calves off to great effect. She was combing her shoulder length auburn hair once more, when the doorbell rang. Taking her gaze away from the mirror for the last time, she donned a quilted Barbour body warmer, collected her holdall with the days supplies in and set off.

The woman driver of the slightly menacing black BMW executive saloon, stood by the rear of the car and helped Sandra load the boot, held the door open to assist her elegant entry to the rear seat and set off for Perth. The driver was around mid-forties, a little overweight and a little shabbily dressed, with jogging bottoms, a T-shirt, and with the corporate fleece of the taxi firm. Sandra recognised the taxi firm as one that only had the one car that she had noticed parked on a driveway in a town not far from Auchterarder, when she had driven through. She racked her memory to try to remember if she had seen anyone driving it or being seen around it before.

Not much was said between the women, but basic pleasantries were exchanged. Sandra was happy enough with the relative silence, as she tried to take in the events that were to unfold at the tournament. All was well and the short journey was going by swiftly.

Shortly before the city came in to view however, the car took an unexpected left turn up a very small b-road and headed away from Perth. Naturally enough, Sandra immediately questioned this. The driver said not to worry, as she was just delivering something and it would only take a few minutes. Reluctantly and with some protest, Sandra had to accept this. About a mile up this road, the car took and even smaller track, which seemed to go nowhere, except into a wood. Sandra was getting worried at this stage.

“Please, I really must insist that we head back to Perth immediately,” she complained.

The driver merely ignored her pleas and came to a halt outside a large, green, static caravan, which looked like it was probably used an office during the shooting season judging by the various signs in the window and a very indulgent antler display which was above the doorway.

The driver got out and was greeted by 2 men.

“Excellent. Well done, it’s all going like clockwork today,” said one of them, whilst the other man nodded vigorously.

“Indeed it is,” the driver added “and here is your delivery.”

With that she opened the rear door and assisted Sandra to get out of the car.

Sandra had now became afraid and was sure that something was very wrong, but before she could really come to terms with her situation, she was marched into the caravan, under the control of two strange men.

Once inside, she was terrified by what she saw.

A woman was seated in a basic wooden slatted garden chair. She had rope around her mid-riff attaching her to the chair. Her arms were pulled behind her, no doubt tied securely. Her legs were lashed together above her knee and at the ankles. Her ankles were hitched slightly off the ground as binding had been used to pull them back. She pleaded with Sandra, both with her eyes and most of all with a series of mewls and grunts. She could not make any clear sounds as she was very effectively gagged. Sandra stared and took in this scene, in a bit of a trance, not at this stage thinking that this would also be her own fate. As she observed the woman’s gag, which was a packed mouth with a tightly drawn cleave, effected by two scarves, she thought she recognised her.

“Y-Yo—You are the real driver?  What have they done?” she stammered.

The bound and gagged woman could only nod and she sobbed.

“No time to wait, get your clothes off now.” Instructed the woman who had driven Sandra to this place.

Sandra protested and was spoken to sharply once more by the woman and one of the men. When the man who did not say anything reached into his jacket pocket and showed her a pistol, Sandra’s last complaints melted into stunned compliance.

After having stripped to her underwear, she was handed a grey fleece jogging suit to wear. Despite being in a state of extreme shock, Sandra allowed herself a moment’s relief that she was to be fully clothed again.

Ordered to sit on a small ledge in the corner of the caravan, she observed the woman removing her taxi driver’s outfit and put on Sandra’s own outfit. It was a little neat and she looked less comfortable and elegant in it, however, she looked every inch the tennis line judge.

Sandra was still unsure of what was going on, let alone that she was going to be held in the caravan, but when the woman drove off, she started to come to terms that she was indeed going to be spending some time there.

“Sandra. My friend here has a passion. He loves to do something. It’s not perhaps as wholesome as tennis, or helping out in the community as you do, oh yes, we have been watching you, we always do research, but it’s his passion and he is very good at it.”

‘What are you talking about and who are you and why have you been………” but Sandra’s words were silenced by a big hand over her mouth and one behind her head holding it there. It did the trick. Sandra also remembered the gun and when released from the hand gagging said, “OK, just please don’t hurt me.”

“That’s better,” said the man. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, you see, my friend here has a passion. He loves nothing more than to tie ladies up, securely and elegantly.”

Sandra simply whimpered at this point and just looked at a single mattress as it was tossed onto the floor between her and the seated taxi driver, who continued to mewl into her gag.

“Kneel down on the mattress for me Sandra.”

She did so.

“Head up please, just look straight ahead, hand behind your back.”

The quiet man reached into a bag, produced a soft scarf and lashed Sandra’s wrists together. She resisted the urge to cry, as she reasoned this would be a futile event, so she stoically allowed the binding to take place.

Her wrists had been crossed over and initially the tying had felt overly strict, but once the man had cinched the binding and secured it, it was merely tight but not at all uncomfortable.

She was assisted gently into a seated position, with her legs out in front.

Soft rope was used to lash her thighs together, just above her knees, which again was tight, but not unduly uncomfortable. She had become aware that although a hideous event was happening to her, at least she was treated with a good deal of care.

The man then put a pair of fleece bed socks on her feet, which struck her as very, very odd, even amongst her situation, but as rope was lashed around her ankles and cinched, she reasoned that this was to protect her from any discomfort with contact to the rope. Once more, she was aware that she was being treated with respect and a resolve that she was going to get through this was starting to consume her thoughts.

This resolve was tested, as a damp silk scarf was thrust into her mouth. This took her completely by surprise and when she felt it being stuffed and prodded into her mouth filling it completely, she nearly panicked and choked.

“Relax. You will get used to it and you’ll thank us later for moistening it,” said the man who did the talking, from his seated position where Sandra had once perched prior to her binding.

After a minute or so, to allow her to get used to the packing, the man doing the tying, folded over a scarf into a wide band. Getting in position behind her, Sandra knew her gag was going to get a whole lot more unpleasant and readied herself as best she could. The man pulled the scarf into her mouth and with some seesawing motions, managed to snap the gag behind her teeth and tied the scarf off firmly.  Just as the already seated woman had done before her, Sandra made ineffective pleading gag sounds and effectively only whimpered mild protests before seeming to give up.

Still sitting upright at this stage, Sandra was now turned onto her front. She felt her legs being lifted and became aware that the man was placing her into a hogtie. Once more, it was not too uncomfortable or tight and she coped with the constriction well, given her fitness.

“There now. My colleague is very good at that isn’t he?”

“Mmmmm ugh…” came the combined responses from the very securely bound and gagged ladies.

“Right my friend. I’d give it about three hours or so before we go. Would you like a cup of tea?”

The man who had taken such obvious delight in tying up his victim, nodded keenly, as the captive women struggled feebly and vainly in their bonds.

Meantime, elsewhere in perthshire…

As she approached the tournament, the woman was a little apprehensive that her new persona, that of Sandra Rose, would be discovered as a fake and their whole episode would be uncovered, but she remained strong enough to go through with it.

She parked in the car park, in the space for officials and made her way past the security guard and into the clubhouse, overlooking the course of the wonderful River Tay. In no time at all, she was sitting in a meeting with all the other officials and the mood was convivial and upbeat. She quickly fell into character, though she allowed some trepidation to surface in her mind, that her amateur experience of tennis umpiring would be exposed as inadequate, but she pressed on with the operation.

There would be a half hour break in the tournament for officials, assuming the play allowed this and it was loosely scheduled for 2pm.

The lady captain of the club who had been briefing the officials about the layout of the club, the expectations of their conduct, the timing of the de-briefing meeting and various housekeeping measures, was a formidable woman. She was clearly well heeled and given that she had the title Lady in front of her name, she was very much steeped in the upper class way of life. She spoke the Queen’s English to a level the Queen herself would have aspired to.

After the briefing meeting, the woman politely asked if she could have a look at the trophy cabinet and take a picture of a trophy she believed would have her name inscribed on it. The lady captain suggested that this was in the office and it would be fine to do if the situation allowed it.

The woman had a few minutes before she was due on court to run the lines and made a quick text on her mobile.

‘Please be in place at 2pm. Sandra’

back at the caravan…….

The atmosphere with the two men at the caravan is very relaxed, however, only one male seems to do any talking, so conversation is almost zero. The men drink tea, play cards and generally waste the time away, as their two captives remain strictly bound and gagged.

The women’s gags are removed one at a time and sips of water are offered, though conversation from them is stopped by immediate hand gagging. Both women find the gags being replaced and securely tightened off.

“I think you’ll find that by moistening your packing, it’s less uncomfortable and dry. You should thank us for being so considerate.”

This was only met with a resigned grunt from the women.

“We’ll be leaving you pair shortly, but we will return a bit later. You won’t go anywhere, now will you?” the man laughed.

The tournament begins……

The woman pretending to be Sandra, had clearly managed to be accepted into the tournament fold and found the line judging a relatively easy task. She had good eyesight, it’s not complicated and so long as she played her role with conviction, it would all be fine. After only a couple of disputed calls and the odd tantrum from the young players, the lunch break arrived. It was slightly before two, so this concerned ‘Sandra’ a little, but she needed to act.

In the clubhouse, a nice spread of sandwiches was on offer, but the woman wasn’t partaking. Instead, she was chatting to the lady captain and soon, the pair were walking to her office, with the woman carrying her branded holdall, which had belonged to the ‘real’ Sandra Rose. Once inside the office, which had been locked, gleaming silver trophies dominated the room, filling a locked glass cabinet, set behind a desk and very expensive leather armchair.

“Beautiful trophies aren’t they?” the lady captain said.

“Beautiful indeed. Now, where is my junior singles champion from 1982?”

The lady captain unlocked the main cabinet and produced a trophy.

“That looks familiar, can I take a photograph please?”

“Of course.”

The woman reached inside the bag and rather than producing a camera, she pointed a pistol at the lady captain, whose mouth dropped immediately towards the floor.

“What….what……”

“Silence. No talking or I will shoot. Understand?”

She nodded.

The woman then removed a different trophy from the cabinet and put it into her holdall, as the terrified lady captain looked on.

“But I won that mixed doubles trophy….please you can’t take that……….”

“QUIET,” hissed the woman.

“Now. I am going to leave down the fire escape with you and we will take a little journey. If you co-operate, you will not be harmed. Do I have your co-operation?”

Once more she nodded.

Just then, a young girl of around 19 years of age, bounced into the room.

“Excuse me, can I speak with the senior official?”

Calmly and swiftly, the woman playing Sandra took charge. Hiding her pistol in her jacket, as if she had a broken arm in a sling, she asked the girl to come in and take a seat. Making eye contact with the lady captain, which left the lady captain in no doubt that she was in charge and still demanded her to co-operate, she turned her attention to the girl.

“Please come in and take a seat. Now then young girl, before you speak, there is I must do a couple of things. I’ll just lock this big door and then we’ll be able to sort this out.”

“Ok,” the girl said.

“Now then,” the woman said, “I want you to sit quietly there for a moment as I get something out of my bag.”

The bag was behind the young girl and an item was slyly removed.

The woman’s next move was to forcefully stuff a large cloth into the girl’s mouth, before brandishing her pistol inches from the girl’s head. Any screams were muffled and very quickly gave way to fearful sobs and panting.

“It’s a shame you came in just then. I will not harm you. I will merely detain you for a while. Understood?”

The terrified girl nodded.

“Now Lady Poshington-Trumpington or whatever your stupid name is, you will tie her up to this chair.

Do it quickly and do it well. And you! Don’t even think of spitting that cloth out.”

“But, I can’t ……..”

“Oh but you will my dear, you will, “ said the woman brandishing her pistol.

Handing her some cut lengths of rope, she instructed the lady captain to tie her wrists behind her back, her legs together at the ankles and to strap a length of rope around her waist to keep her firmly in the chair.

The lady did a good and swift job, as the young girl sat and sobbed throughout.

“Stand over there, as I sort that gag out.”

The woman pushed the cloth in even more, before she used a scarf folded into a wide band and tied this across the girl’s mouth and tied it off securely.

“There. That didn’t take long, now did it? I’m impressed by your bondage skills. Now come on, we need to get out of here and fast.”

The two men were parked in a little public car park behind the tournament venue, in their white van.

“I hope we get moving soon,” said the one who did the talking.

At last the fire escape door at the rear of the office opened and the lady captain descended the stairs metal stairs, which led directly into the little car park with the woman close behind.

They walk close together to the waiting can and the woman assists the captain in through the side door.

Inside the van, she is greeted by a man who pushes her to the floor and urges her to be quiet.

“That was difficult. A young competitor came in, but she’s tied up in the office. I don’t know how long we have, so let’s get out of here.”

The van speeds out of Perth and before long, the dirt track to the caravan appears.

As they come to a halt, the three villains quickly get out and roughly march the lady captain out of the vehicle. From inside the caravan, very faint muffled cries can be heard and the lady captain realises that she is not alone in being tricked by the gang.

Inside, the caravan, the two women are still securely bound and gagged, though there is clear evidence that they have been struggling to get free. The taxi driver’s chair has fallen onto it’s side and the two women are as back to back as their bonds allow, clearly having tried to free each other. The struggles have been futile and the desperate looking pair are swiftly straightened up by the silent man, to a chorus of sobs and mmmphing sounds.

The lady captain is ushered inside and falls to her knees at the sight that greets her, but is pulled up by the woman.

“We don’t have time for that. On your feet.”

The man who never spoke, moves over and pulling her wrists behind her, starts to tie up the lady captain.

First the wrists, crossed over and tied with a scarf, finished with cinching.

Still standing, her ankles are next to be tied, with a wad of material between her ankles, so as not to hurt them, or that was how the lady captain thought anyway. The ankles are tied tightly and are cinched.

The lady captain remains silent, defiantly remaining proud, as she was being bound. Only the bound colleagues made any noise as they continued to whimper into their full gags.

The lady captain then had a scarf tied and cinched above the knees, keeping her ample thighs together. Her skirt was hitched up to allow this and she clearly didn’t like this procedure, as she enquired, “must you?”

The reply from the man tying her was simple. He just nodded.

The lady was then position on the ledge seat of the caravan.

A large A3 sized typed document was now produced, along with a small video camera, which was placed on a tripod and trained on the lady captain.

The woman who played Sandra Rose that day then spoke:

“Now then. You will read these words, whilst I rest this trophy you said was won by yourself, on your lap”

“But, but………..”

“You have no choice. DO IT”

Summoning up reserves of courage, she spoke clearly into the now recording camera.

“I Phyllis Eddington, admit wholeheartedly, that I cheated when I took part in the final of the Scottish junior mixed doubles tournament in 1963. I am a liar and a cheat and deserve to be stripped of the title and for it to go elsewhere. I am truly sorry for this deception and accept the humiliation that is befalling me.”

With the camera still running, the now broken Lady Phyllis Eddington, found herself being gagged. A pair of Sandra Rose’s spare tennis socks from her holdall was pushed into her mouth and held into place with a scarf folded into a wide band, that was pulled behind her teeth with a snap. Her head was held up and tilted towards the camera, so full hopelessness of her binding was captured on film.

She was then lifted onto the floor and placed onto her front, before being placed into a very loose hogtie.

“OK ladies. We’re leaving you all now. We will ensure you are rescued soon. It’s been a pleasure knowing you all.” The man who spoke said coldly.

With a final wave at the three bound and gagged captives, he closes the door and locks it.

‘That went well, but it was a little complicated,” the woman said. “I was really flustered there when the girl appeared, but I dealt with her well. They’ll have found her by now, won’t they?”

‘Undoubtedly, so we need to move swiftly,” said the man who did the talking, as he drove down the lane. “Perth will be sealed off soon.”

The man who didn’t talk during the whole event, then got out of the van at the main road and placed a traffic cone with a sign taped securely to it, in the quiet back road.

The sign had a large arrow pointing up the lane, with the words:

‘GAGGED WOMEN 1 MILE’ clearly visible in big, bold letters.

“They’ll get found shoon enough. They’re fine, they’re going to have a great shtory to tell though, aren’t they? The day them met the Baron’sh gang,” said the otherwise silent man.

The woman who played Sandra during the day added, “this really meant a lot to the Baron. I think he really harboured a grudge against this woman for so long, he just couldn’t contain it any longer. I wonder if he’ll have her and her partner’s name obliterated from the trophy and his name added instead?”

“We’ll never know,” said the talkative man. “You pair hungry?”

There was no answer as the quiet man and the woman who played Sandra had fallen into a clinch with the silent one and they were oblivious to his comment.