The Drama Queen Takes A Detour




It was a cool and overcast afternoon in late September 1972 and some real-life drama was about to enter the life of Daphne Morrison.


It was approaching 5.30 and the two thirty-something women who sat chatting in the cafe would soon have to leave. One of them, Caroline, was secretly looking forward to it. Daphne was a good friend but when she got on the subject of amateur dramatics, she became a bit of a bore. She went on and on, rarely letting anybody get a word in, and never wondering if her friends were really interested in what she was telling them.


"Yes, it's an interesting idea. A bit of a challenge, what with the hound, and the scenes on the moor. The way he's done it is ever so clever. It does illustrate just how talented Howard is. You have to use your imagination of course". Daphne was telling her friend Caroline about the finer nuances of an amateur dramatic production in which she played a minor character. The play in question was a stage version of "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Knowing the story, Caroline had commented that it was quite ambitious for an am-dram company to try it, but now she was wishing she hadn't asked. The explanation was taking far too long. Finally Daphne got on to the subject of her own role. She played a minor character named Mrs Stapleton. She went on to explain that near the end, Sherlock Holmes and Sir Henry discover the lady, bound and gagged, and that in the first rehearsal Howard had been dissatisfied with the way this scene was portrayed.


"He's a perfectionist, you see. I'm sitting on a stool, tied and gagged. A big white handkerchief was tied over my mouth and my hands were tied behind my back with some white cord. They were tied properly, but not very tight. When he said "cut", I pulled my hands free myself. Howard said that just emphasised how amateurish it was". Fancy saying "cut" in a show at this level, Caroline thought to herself. It just showed how pretentious these people could be. But she said nothing and let her friend carry on. She had already realised that Daphne, though married, had something of a crush on Howard, and lapped up any attention he gave her. "He went to the back of the auditorium and said that, from there, it didn't look as if I was really tied up. He says, why do it at all if you don't do it properly. I said, do you want to see me tied up properly then. And he said, most definitely. The audience will be disappointed if you aren't and so will I. He says that my physique is "rubenesque". Have you heard that before?"


"Yes, of course I have" replied Caroline. She chose her words carefully. "It's a compliment"


Daphne continued her discourse. "He says that it would make the scene more memorable if I'm tied quite thoroughly, plenty of rope of the old clothesline type. Not the new plastic stuff. He actually showed me how. He found a piece of cord and showed me how it works. "


"How what works?" Caroline didn't understand.


Daphne grinned knowingly. "How to tie a lady up so that her boobs stick out more" she whispered, glancing round to make sure nobody was listening. "He passed it round my arms here" she tapped her upper arm above the elbow "then pulled the ends behind my back and tied them. Then he tied a loop in the ends, in the middle of my back, and put one of my hands through it. He had made the loop into a figure of eight, so when he put my other hand through, I couldn't untwist it to get my hands loose. He said to look at myself in a mirror, and sure enough it does make them push out more. But the string was white, so couldn't be seen from a distance, you see.

He said, imagine how you would look with lots more rope round here. I thought he was going to touch my tits for a minute! He said I would definitely steal the show".


"I saw a film of this, and she's a tall brunette, isn't she?" said Caroline. Her friend was really getting too carried away with this Howard.


"Yes, but so what. I mean, Don does not look like old Basil Rathbone, but he is good as  Sherlock Holmes. That’s not all. He's so flirtatious! He told me to try and get loose, but I couldn't. It was too tight round my arms.  He said if I wasn't loose in ten minutes he would put me over his knee. He really fancies me you know. I could see he had a hard-on while this was going on. Then that Judith came over. You know, the old dear who likes to play duchesses and so on. She sniggered at me, me being tied up, and asked him what we were doing. He put her down very smartly and said that the visual impact of Mrs Stapleton's rescue scene left something to be desired. Do you know what the old bat said then? She looked down at his hard-on and laughed, and said that the audience reaction seemed favourable. He got a bit flustered and untied my hands then. But doesn't all that make you think he fancies me?"


"Can't argue with that" replied Caroline. Inwardly she thought, that’s a man who thinks he'll get his leg over soon.


Daphne continued "And apparently I must wear a light coloured blouse, so it shows up how I am tied up. Well I was going to anyway, because that high-necked blouse and long skirt look was the thing in Edwardian times. That’s why I'm half prepared already." She was of course dressed for work, having not long left her office. She worked in the accounts department at a  large electrical components factory, so she dressed fashionably, but in an "office worker" kind of way. Today she was dressed in a black and green mock-tartan pinafore dress, belted at the waist, which stopped six inches above her knees. Under this was a white high-necked blouse, buttoned at the collar, with fashionably pointed collar and full sleeves. The outfit was completed by a pair of shiny black calf length boots with zips at the side, and two-inch heels.


"You mean you'll keep that blouse on but change into a long skirt?"


That's right. I've got it in the back of the van.  So when I leave here, I'll call at the hardware shop and buy a clothesline. One should be enough, shouldn't it?"


Caroline couldn't help laughing suddenly. "Just had a funny thought. I was imagining you asking the man in the shop how much clothesline it would take to tie you up properly. You being rubenesque and all"


Daphne gave her an irritated look, then not wanting to seem pompous, joined in "Yes, I'd love to see his face. Wonder if people selling clotheslines ever get asked things like that? Anyway, don’t call me at about nine o'clock, I'll probably be a bit tied up!" she giggled.


"What does Bob think about the role, and Howard paying you all this attention?" Caroline knew that Daphne's husband was pretty dismissive of the whole drama thing, but she couldn't help asking the mischievous question.

"Oh, he's not interested in it. And if Howard pays me more attention than he does, well, serves him right if his nose is put out of joint".


After they had left the cafe and gone their separate ways, Daphne headed for a nearby parade of shops. In a small hardware store, she selected some suitable clothesline rope. It was sold in ten-yard lengths, so to be on the safe side she purchased two of them. She didn't quite know what Howard had in mind, but she had a 38-inch bust, and it would have to go round her arms as well. To have a dramatic visual effect there need to be plenty of it, she reasoned.


Her arrival at the parade of shops had been noticed with interest. Pat O'Hare needed to get out of town fast. He had been arrested for a minor offence and taken to the small local police station. He had the foresight to disguise his Ulster accent. The officers holding him were unaware that he was wanted for something much more serious, but they would have found out in a very short time. Then he would be on course for a very long jail sentence. So Pat had made his escape, by feigning a heart attack. It had worked well. They had taken him for a slightly drunk shoplifter, and their search for weapons had not been thorough enough. Two miles away, on a farm track, an ambulance was parked. In the back, twenty-five year old WPC Polly Collins and ambulance drivers Sophie Duncan, thirty, and Marie Lawrence, thirty-two, were all reluctant witnesses to how convincing his act had been. The vehicle was of course well supplied with bandages, and Sophie, at knife-point, had forced to hogtie, gag and blindfold her colleagues, all the while knowing that she was going to endure the same treatment as soon as she had finished. Once the three ladies had been efficiently immobilised and silenced, Pat had driven the ambulance further down the track, out of sight from the main road.


In his career he had been involved in a few armed raids on property belonging to the armed forces and police in Ireland. He had a deep disrespect for those organisations. During two of the raids it had been necessary to restrain female members of the uniformed services, and he had used their own panties and neckties to gag them. This had worked for him on two levels. It expressed his disrespect for the organisation, but mainly. It was a real turn-on for him. An officious woman, rather sexy in  a prim kind of way, bossing him about, looking down her nose as she ordered him about. Why did you ring that bell? Don't touch that! Wait here, don't go there! A few minutes later, she's looking up at him tearfully, tightly bound, her own tie holding her balled-up knickers in her mouth. Not so full of herself then. He would never forget the looks on their faces! And, he supposed, Sgt. Nancy McFaul and Garda constable Maggie Sullivan would probably not forget their meeting with him either. But this time, with all the bandages on hand in the ambulance, there was no need for such delicacies. He was also aware that his activities were on a police record somewhere, and that if he did that here, a connection might be made. His modus operandi might be identified. He didn't want to give the local police any clues about his real identity. So he contented himself, once these three women were securely trussed up, with a little familiarity. He was getting aroused again, thinking about it. He had lasciviously fondled their breasts, stroked their pussies and playfully spanked their bottoms, through their clothes, before they were left to their futile struggles. Their indignant muffled protests only amused him even more. It would be two more hours before farmer Eddie Bligh, finding his way blocked by the vehicle, looked inside and freed the very distressed damsels inside it.


He had made his way to the town and now needed to get to a main line station. He knew where it was, about ten miles away, and he had to be on the move, quick, before the ambulance was found. He needed another easily intimidated female driver, and lurking by the small group of shops, he saw his opportunity. She parked a little van, jumped out and strolled into the hardware shop. An attractive blonde in her thirties, all tits and bum. Very tasty in her white blouse, short skirt and shiny black boots. It was going to be nice having her for company for the next hour or so. Nice for him, he didn't think she would enjoy it too much.


He noticed that she hadn't bothered to lock the Viva Van. Some folk made crime so easy! He sidled over to it, looking about to ensure he wasn't being watched, and opened the driver door. He scrambled over the driving seat into the back and looked round. He checked the contents. There was a small suitcase with some clothes inside, a tool box, a pair of jump leads. An old woollen picnic blanket covered the floor. He looked in the little case. There was a very old-fashioned looking long skirt, a couple of chiffon scarves, some gloves, and some other old-fashioned stuff. He made a mental note of the scarves. He crouched and waited.


The door opened, she got in and reaching back, dropped the paper bag with the clotheslines in the back of the van. She turned the ignition key and the engine came to life. At this point Pat clamped his hand over her mouth and said softly in a voice full of menace

"Do just what I tell you, nothing else. Don't try to be clever, and then I won't hurt you. Understand? Going to be good?" He could see her eyes, wide with fear, in the interior mirror. She nodded as best she could. He dropped one of the jump leads over her head and pulled it round her throat. Not tight, just enough for her to know it was there. He could yank it tight and throttle her if she did something he didn't like. "I want you to drive in the direction of Leicester. Don't get nicked, no speeding. Got it? Let's go". He slipped back into his accent for this one.


Daphne pulled away from the kerb."What are you going to do with me when you get there?" she asked fearfully."It's not where I was heading for".


"You're taking a detour. I won’t hurt you if you do what I say. I just want to go there, you don't need to know why. No more talking though".  


About half an hour later Daphne stopped the van on the empty top floor of a multi-storey car park close to Leicester Station. It seemed like the longest drive of her life. She had followed his instructions religiously, trying not to dwell on what might happen next.


"Turn it off then throw the key over here" he ordered."And don't be scared" 


"Of course I'm scared" she almost shouted. "You make me drive here, with a wire round my neck, you don't say what you want. Who wouldn't be scared?"


"I'll put your mind at rest then. I'm going now, but you can stay here in your van. I'm going to make sure you stay here in your van". He had found her paper bag with the clotheslines inside. "Looks like you've made it easy for me"


Daphne felt as if a cold hand was gripping her insides. "Oh. So you’re going to tie me up" she said in a little voice. Though he himself was very frightening, the idea of being tied up was kind of thrilling, especially after the rehearsal. And if being tied up was all that was going to happen, well, it could be so much worse.


"Can't have you raising the alarm just yet, can I. Get in the back, climb over the seat. And then kneel facing the back of the van".


She sat, her head turned slightly toward him. What could she do? Nothing, she realised, the wire was still round her neck. She pulled the passenger seat forward and clambered over it. As she positioned herself on the blanket, facing the back, he removed the jump lead. She heard the rustle of the paper bag and then her hands were pulled behind her back. She felt the rope, her new rope that she had bought for the purpose of tying her up, being wound round her wrists. In a detached way, she noted how much tighter she was being tied than when Howard did it.

She felt the rope being passed round her upper arms, pulling them tight against her sides, a knot here, a knot there, winding round her body above and below her bust. It was being knotted behind her, in the middle of her back, then more went round her wrists, and they were being drawn upwards toward the ropes round her body. Looking down she could see that her captor, like Howard, knew how to make her breasts look more prominent by the skilful use of cords. Then the binding stopped briefly. He was fumbling around, she couldn't see where. "Open up" he ordered her. He was holding one of her chiffon scarves, screwed up very small, to her mouth. She didn't want to, was there another way? Could she talk him out of it?


"There's no need for that. Promise I won't shout out till you've gone. I'll wait for as long as you say". She knew how stupid it sounded. But she didn't want to be gagged. The idea of being abandoned up here, however helplessly she was tied up, she could handle, she supposed. But being unable to speak or call out, that seemed such a bleak prospect.


"Of course you'll shout. If somebody comes as soon as I go, you’ll yell. Fool if you don't. But tell you what. I won't do it till I've finished tying you up. But if someone comes and you make a sound, I'll strangle you. You got that?" 


"Thanks" she muttered. "I'll just enjoy not being gagged for a few more minutes".


"Good girl. Just keep quiet".


She felt him doing something with the ropes at her wrists, then two lengths were brought forward, one over each shoulder, passed inside the ropes round her body and allowed to drop to her knees. She wondered what these were for. To her dismay he reached round, pulled her skirt up, and pushed the ends between her thighs. His other hand caught the ends and  pulled them through, tight against her pubic area, between the cheeks of her bottom, hiking her skirt up in the process. He finished by pulling the ends up behind her and tying them round her wrists again. Her first instinct was to protest loudly but she knew that would bring reprisals. As he was working near to her bottom she could easily imagine what form they might take. She contented herself with  a mildly spoken question "What are you doing? What's that for?"


"My amusement and yours. No more questions". Daphne moved her hands slightly. Oh yes, she realised. Every move she made would exert pressure on her down there. It wouldn't help her to concentrate on getting loose. He continued the binding, her booted ankles were next, then her legs just above the knee. Then he took her by the shoulders and carefully lowered her so that she lay face down on the blanket. "Loads of rope left. What did you buy all this for?"


Daphne didn't know what to say. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you" she said. "You'll think I'm being sarcastic".


"Tell me anyway. You'll be gagged soon enough, you'll wish you could talk. Go on ,tell me? Some sex game?".


"No, nothing like that!" she retorted indignantly. She blushed as a vision of Howard and her having a cuddle, with her tied up by him, as she had been, came into her mind. "I'm in a play where I'm the heroine. Amateur dramatics. I'm the heroine and I get tied up by the villain. We’re rehearsing this week. The rope we had didn't create the desired visual impression, so I said I'd buy some more"


"You're kidding me" he said. He thought for a moment."What do you mean, desired visual impression?"


"It does not look like I'm properly tied up, of course" she said. Didn't he understand anything?


He laughed. "It looks like you are tied up properly now, doesn't it. Does this meet with madam's approval? Are you the leading lady?"


"I am, really"


"What's it called then?"


"You won't have heard of it" Secretly she thought he probably hadn't heard of much." It's called The Disappearing Diamonds Mystery" She prided herself on her imagination. "I'm a female detective and I find out more than is good for me. And since you ask, no it does not meet with my approval". 


"Oh. You surprise me. I thought I'd done a fine job. Technically, that is. You wanted to look properly tied up after all"


"Yes, didn't I?" she said in a resigned voice."And I got it!"


"Perhaps I'll buy a ticket and see the play for myself one day" he said. "Anyway, got to go now" He wasn't going to mention trains. He was talking too much already. She wasn't behaving like the other women he had tied up. They had been either scared or angry. Perhaps it was because she saw herself as an actress. It was as if she was playing a role, she seemed detached. But then she suddenly changed.


Daphne had just realised that she was going to be left alone here in this car park, unable to move or speak. She could be here all night. Or she could be found here by some rapist, still bound and gagged. Or even a person with no criminal record, who didn't know they were a potential rapist until they found a delicious lady trussed up and helpless in a deserted car park. "Please don't leave me here all night. I'm frightened, all sorts of things could happen to me" She stopped at this point, realising that her captor could be that man. In fact that had crossed his mind as well. It wasn't his conscience that prevented him from letting his fingers wander inside Daphne's panties, it was the knowledge that the police would realise that her abductor was the same man who had left the three ladies in the ambulance. That was why Daphne was not hogtied, and why the most tempting parts of her anatomy had been left unmolested.


"In an hour or so people will be arriving here to park for a night out. If you start kicking the sides they'll hear you and come over. I'm not a complete bastard, I just want to get away. But I am going to gag you so there's no point in you arguing. So open your mouth up nice and helpful."


Knowing he would do it anyway without her co-operation, she chose the less painful option. First one of her scarves was folded up very small and pushed into her mouth, then the other was folded into a band and tied tightly across her mouth and knotted at the back of her neck.

"There you are. All set for a relaxing evening". He opened the rear doors of the van and got out quickly, resisting the temptation to give her upturned bottom a smack before he left. He thought he had done well keeping his hands off her. It wasn't his usual style. He thought of the women in the ambulance and wondered how they were getting on.


Inside the ambulance, the occupants were no nearer to freedom than they had been when he left them. Sophie had been the last one to be bound. Ever conscious of Pat's flick-knife, she had hogtied her two colleagues as tightly and securely as she knew how, then gagged and blindfolded them. All three were aware that if she had intentionally tied them too loosely, he would make somebody suffer. Once dealt with, Polly and Marie lay face down on the beds, one fixed and one wheeled, on either side of the vehicle. When it was Sophie's turn to be tied, he had bound her hands and arms and blindfolded her before pushing her face down in the gangway, where she was hogtied and gagged. She was mortified at what she had been forced to do, and she dreaded telling the story at the inevitable police interview. It didn't make her sound very brave, she thought. As she lay there she heard their captor moving about, then the ambulance started up and pulled away. She guessed he was driving further along the farm track to where it would be out of sight from the main road. The engine stopped, he applied the handbrake and opened the driver door. In a moment he was back with them. She had lain there, not daring to move, albeit she was barely able to, listening. There were sounds from above and to her left, where her hogtied policewoman colleague lay. Muffled squeals and grunts of protest, the man chuckling. Then a repetitive sound which she soon realised, with some dismay, was the sound of a skirt-clad bottom being soundly spanked. The dismay was partly sympathy for Polly, and partly the fear that her own bottom would soon be getting the same treatment. Her fear had been justified. She had been left till last, which she thought was probably worse. She had listened for what seemed like half an hour to the sounds of indecent assaults being carried out on her helpless colleagues, occasionally punctuated by a muffled squeal of protest. There was an unexpected consequence of hearing all the sounds of the things being done to her friends, all the time knowing what was going to happen to her as well. When Pat's fingers finally intruded inside her panties, they found a moist welcome waiting for them. Sophie hadn't wanted this to happen but laying there in helpless anticipation had got her aroused in spite of her resentment at the situation. Pat realised the situation and brought her to orgasm without a word. He figured that she wouldn’t be saying anything about this to the others. Her orgasm was enhanced by knowing she was probably going to be spanked afterwards. It occurred to her that, just as she had listened to hear fellow-prisoners having their bottoms spanked, they would be listening to her getting the same treatment. And once it had happened, she stopped feeling as if she was exploding, and began to feel relaxed, that was indeed what befell her.


Daphne listened as the doors closed. They had to be locked with the key, and he hadn't done that. That meant that somebody outside only had to turn the handle to open the door. But, she mused, there wasn't anybody there. It didn't bring rescue any closer. She flexed her arms against the cords and was immediately reminded of those between her legs. Every tentative move she made seemed to be reflected in a quite pleasing feeling down there. She struggled violently for a moment, and was rewarded with exactly the sensation she had hoped for. She suddenly wondered what Howard would do if he came across her, here in the back of the van. Thinking about that certainly enhanced her feelings of arousal. The more she thought about being found bound and helpless by some handsome hero, the more turned on she was. A hero with no scruples, a cad rather than a gentleman, who might appreciate the chance to get his hands on a rubensque lady. That was how she viewed Howard.


She soon gave in to temptation and was in a world of her own, enjoying the backward and forward motion of the cords between her legs, only slightly cushioned by her panties and crumpled skirt. It wasn't quick, but it was eventually very satisfying. Enhanced by the feeling that she shouldn't be doing this, much less enjoying it. I should be trying to escape, to warn the police about a dangerous man, she thought. But I can't, I'm tied up tight like a present wrapped up for Christmas. She thought about Howard again. She was going to be seeing him every night. He wanted to make love to her, and every night he was going to tie her up, either in rehearsal or in the real performances. They would make love, she just knew it, and it would be soon.

And then she was just lying there breathing deeply, still wrapped in the ropes, glowing with satisfaction. Part of her couldn't believe what she had just enjoyed. She really should try to get free. Everything felt so tight now, the ropes around her arms and ankles, those between her legs, even the buttoned collar of her blouse. And there wasn't anything she could do about it. It was making the feelings come back. But she would just relax for a while first.


As she lay wondering about how to escape, or more likely, attract the attention of a rescuer, she remembered something about her van. She knew that you could operate the horn without the ignition being switched on. Not like their new Vauxhall Victor, a more sophisticated vehicle. Perhaps she would be able to wriggle round to it. She was facing the wrong way though, so it would take some time. And every movement meant a pull on the cords between her legs. It wasn't quite so welcome now, but she was getting more used to it. She tried to ignore it now, though, she would need to pee soon and she didn't want to be still tied up in here in an hour or two. As she squirmed her way backwards she began to hear activity. People were starting to arrive here, parking before a night out. Cars were being parked nearby. It occurred to her that she could kick against the side of the van, and somebody walking past would hear her. At the moment she was laying across the floor of the vehicle, on her side. She squirmed to position her feet nearer to the side, drew her feet back and rolled over, face down once again. She waited until she heard a car door closing not far away. There were voices, young men chatting. She kicked furiously against the side of the van. It sounded to her as if her booted feet were making quite a noise. They heard it too, and their voices went quiet for an instant. She kicked some more. One of them spoke.


"Sounds like some lucky fellow's getting his oats". Another voice commented "That'll be me later on, I'm on a promise tonight"

"Come on" said another voice. "Don't stand there watching like a perv".


"You're right. Give her one for me, mate!" The last phrase was shouted as they hurried away.

So much for that, she thought. Can you believe it. They heard but they just thought it was a couple making love. She kicked against the side of the van again, in helpless frustrated anger. Maybe there was something else she could do. It was then that she remembered the van's electrical system. It was quite primitive compared to that on their Victor saloon. Daphne was sure that you could sound the horn without the ignition being turned on. She thought she remembered having done it. She hoped she was right. She knew the keys were somewhere in the back of the van, but even if she could find them it would take forever to wriggle over to where she could turn it on. But if she could get her feet across the seat to the steering wheel, she could press  the centre pad and sound the horn. How long would it take her to get in position to do that, she wondered.


She began the slow and awkward journey to the front of the van. Every movement pulled at the cords between her legs and added to the returning feeling of excitement. She kept imagining herself, in a few minutes, being found by a group of young men in their late teens, like that last group. They would get hold of her, help her out of the van, and start untying her. They would see the ropes between her legs, her skirt hiked up and her panties on display. She guessed they would unfasten her gag first. Then it occurred to her with a perverse thrill of excitement that they might not do those things. Instead they might start touching her, and there would be nothing she could do about it. But no matter, she had to attract some attention or she could be here all night. She continued her tortuous progress toward the passenger seat. And every movement of her hands pulled on the cords between her legs, just enough to tease and titillate her again. But she had to concentrate. She knew that the spring mechanism that held the back upright was damaged, and it could be pushed forward. Eventually after  an eternity of struggle she was able, by lying on her side and doubling her knees up, to push her feet over to the steering wheel. She waited until she heard a car approaching, she was in luck. It parked next to her. She heard the engine stop, the door open and shut. She brought her heels down hard against the central pad and held them there for a few seconds as the annoying, strangely high pitched note rang out. The driver was at first startled then annoyed by the sudden sound. As he locked the car he said to his wife, loudly, intending to be heard by the person in the van "I'm nowhere near your bloody van" as they began to walk away.


"Ignore it!" said a female voice. "We're running late for the film already". 


She sounded further away. Daphne desperately didn't want them to ignore her. She forced her heels down again. She didn't like the noise much herself, but this time she kept her feet in place. "What is it with this idiot?" the male voice spoke again. He was coming back. He opened the door "Listen mate!" he began, then stopped as he saw, instead of a driver, Daphne's bound and booted feet resting on the wheel. He looked back and saw her, ungracefully huddled behind the seat, her eyes wide above her scarf gag. He was only speechless for a moment. "Quick, Jen there's a woman all tied up in here!". The woman opened the back doors, making it much lighter inside the van. The light was fading anyway. The woman, in her fifties and smartly dressed for an evening out, leaned over Daphne and scrutinised her.


"Oh heavens, look at you. Are you all right apart from being tied up?" Daphne nodded frantically. "We'll untie you if that's what you want? Do you want us to?"

Daphne nodded again furiously and tried to say "of course I do, you stupid cow", through the scarves. Fortunately her outburst was unintelligible. The woman did however seem to be taking charge "Dave, run and see if you can find a phone box or a policeman". Dave was leaning in through the driver's door, staring at Daphne's well-bound lower half. The skirt of her pinafore dress was hiked up around her hips after her struggles, exposing her white satin panties, and he was momentarily transfixed by  the sight of the crotch-ropes tight between her legs as they passed between the cheeks of her bottom to her bound wrists.

"DAVE! Don’t stand there gawping, go and get some help.  The poor girl needs help for goodness sake". Dave quickly composed himself and stood up.


"I'll be as quick as I can" he said unnecessarily as he walked toward the exit. His wife meanwhile was fumbling at the back of Daphne's neck and soon managed to unfasten the scarves. Daphne was able to spit out the second scarf. Her rescuer looked at it in horror. "How awful. I didn't realise that was in your mouth. What a brute! Do you know who did this to you?"


"No. I was, well, sort of kidnapped. He made me drive him here then tied me up. Please, have you got a drink at all? My mouth is so dry".


"No, I haven't. Perhaps when the police come they'll have one. But let me get you untied anyway".


Daphne was secretly hoping that the ropes against her private parts would be gone before any more men came. She'd noticed how Dave had been mesmerised. "Yes please. Could you start with the ones down there".


The woman examined the cords and began to work on the knots. Pat's ropework had been lavish and thorough. He was not a man to use one knot where five would do. Soon she had broken a fingernail, and her pulling on the cords was starting to tease Daphne again. And of course, the more Daphne tried to ignore it, the more teasing it was. After  a few minutes though, the offending knots had been found and undone. Her hands, arms and legs were tied as tightly as ever. "Let's sit you up" said her rescuer. It'll be dark soon and I can't see what I'm doing here". She helped Daphne into a sitting position and helped her to turn facing the open rear doors. As she sat with her bound feet dangling, the  woman began work on the ankle-ropes, breaking another fingernail.


"Don't you have a knife, or anything, in the car tool kit?" Daphne asked, hoping she didn't sound too impatient or ungrateful. It occurred to her as she spoke that her old van didn't even have a tool kit.

"No, it's just spanners and things. Anyway, Dave deals with all that" Before Daphne could comment on this, Dave appeared at the entrance accompanied by a PC and a WPC, who both strode over to the van, leaving him behind.


The following evening, Daphne had answered her phone at home to hear a concerned Howard. He had read what happened to in the local paper. After a few minutes the subject got round to the play. How did she feel about continuing in the role, after what had happened? Howard didn't plan to let Daphne slip out of his circle just yet, he would find her some other role. He need not have worried.

"I thought about that. Surely being kidnapped will help me to play the role more realistically, won't it. You know, now I understand what it's like being really captured and tied up. And if I'm being tied up every night on stage it will help me get over the shock and everything, won't it".


"Sounds good to me. I don't want to lose my leading lady" 









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