The Wrong Choices - Chapter 2

Ride to Revenge








A sudden jerk woke me up from my stupor. It could have been just a few minutes or several hours, I could not tell. After all, how can someone even fall asleep in trunk of a car – especially when she is crammed in a golf bag, hand-cuffed and gagged.


Whether I had slept or passed out, I did not know that, but that short break from the millions of thoughts and fears racing through my mind, had given me some strength. He drove along as I adjusted to my condition. Tying me was one thing, but he had crossed the limits by gagging me and putting me in the trunk. It wasn’t a punishment, it was an insult. I was an idiot if I didn’t make him pay for this cruelty.


When the “road-trip” began, I had stayed quiet and almost unresponsive because of the shock. If I had started thrashing around and shouting through the tape right then, someone in his building or the society guard or even a passerby would have noticed and stopped him. But wait. Did I even want that?


Being discovered like this meant a call to police and then names being asked and details getting dug up.


My statement would be taken, and if I admitted that he had taken me by force, he would be jailed and prosecuted. If I denied it and then what could be a genuine explanation for being tied and gagged in a cricket-bag in your boyfriend’s trunk? No, that would have been a very awkward situation for him as well as me. Or was that the right thing to do? had I made the wrong choice by not reacting then and was I continuing that mistake by not reacting now? It was all twisted and confusing.



Out of the need to do something, but not able to conclude what to do, I yelled. The duct tape on my lips prevented lip movement but I could still make loud enough noise. With all the strength, I had, I began the ruckus by yelling at full volume. What it sounded inside my head was similar to “Ahhhhhh” but what came out was “mmmmmmmmm – gulp – gulp --- mmmmm”. The car slowed a little, so the sound must have reached his ears. Worth it! I checked my wrists and pulled at the handcuffs.


They were meant to stay. Cold, hard steel brushing and rubbing against my delicate skin, like shackles of guilt and regret. My feet almost touched my hands and I realized that if I balled up a little more I could bring my hands forward. So, I crawled further in and brought my knees as close to my chin as I could, arched my shoulders backwards and stretched my arms straight. Taking in a deep breath through my  nose, I pulled my hands forward. It worked! My left arm ached like hell, as I had been lying on my left side all the time.


Having my hands in front, allowed me to shift my weight and get as comfortable as I could.  I clawed at my face with my hand, to find the corner of the tape sealing my lips. Finally, I found a corner, which was all wet from my sweat. It was good thing, because the wetness helped me rip off the tape from my lips with less damage. My mouth felt stick and dry, and my lips burnt from the tape’s glue. It was obvious that this was the most that could be done for now, yet, an attempt to open the bag from

within felt justified. Another few minutes passed in futile attempts to open the bag’s zip, but there was no way out. It was surely locked from outside. Should I start yelling for help? No. No Police.



Bad Idea. Because after what seemed like almost half an hour the car stopped and I was carried up some stairs again before being put down. Being carried around in a bag felt even more uncomfortable than being held in a car-trunk. While leaving his home, I was so much in shock that I ignored what I felt, plus the distance from his ground floor flat to the car wasn’t that much. But now I could focus on each and every step and it messed up my head.


The bag, with me in it, swayed and turned as he walked. Despite his strength, he was having trouble hauling my ass, especially up the stairs. And the worst part was the feeling of weightlessness. Zero gravity as he moved. It made me nauseous and I started struggling and shouting. This needed to stop. If I didn’t get out I was going to either faint, or puke, or maybe both. He just ignored my cries and kept going.


Finally, a door opened, he took me in and put the bag down on the hard floor. The zip opened and light rushed through the bag blinding me. I tried to breath in the fresh air eventually started coughing. That few seconds lost, took away the advantage I had. On recovering from the light exposure and the cough fit, I saw him looking at me with a smirk on his face. I balled up my fist and punched him in the chest with both my hands, and yelled at him: “Enough is enough. This is complete non-sense. Remove these stupid cuffs now anmmmmphhhh”.


In a lighting fast movement his one hand was clamped on my mouth and the other held my hands. It was a huge hand and covered not just my lips, but my nose too.

It was crushing my lower face so hard that I could hardly breathe. While all my concentration was on breathing, he removed his hand and replaced it with the strip of duct tape that lay discarded in the bag.


It was almost pointless and ineffective, but he seemed to be aware of that, as he lifted me out and made me sit on a chair. I felt dazed and tried to breathe in heavily through my nose. My nostrils flared and muscles ached as I recovered from the suffocating trip. A few minutes passed by before I had completely stopped struggling and finally took in the surroundings. It was a small dimly lit room furnished with a huge bed in the center and a large mirror right opposite me. He had made me sit on a straight backed chair which creaked as I was pushed on it. While he continued to work on me, I stared at the mirror for a moment longer, shocked at the reflection my disheveled state. Was it really me?


While I stared at my own reflection in disbelief, my dearest boyfriend got busy taping my left wrist to the chair. The ripping sound brought me back to reality and the pain caused by the tape pulling at my skin made me shriek. One wrist was taped to the chair’s armrest with layers of duct tape, while my other wrist, still cuffed, was lying useless on my lap. The smart ass was down on his knees taping my left ankle to the chair’s leg. In all my stupidity, I tried to kick him with my right foot thinking it was free, but unfortunately it was still cuffed and attached to the other ankle. I could see him laughing as he produced the hand cuff keys from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs.


As soon as the click sound came I tried to kick him again, but obviously, he had anticipated it. He swiftly caught my foot, pushed it to the chair’s leg and wrapped it in tape, making it impossible to attempt another kick. He rose upwards and proceeded to binding my legs together, with layers of tape above the knees holding my thighs squished tight. I was trying to pull away but the tape held my feet a little above the floor, and dug deep into my skin. I wished I had worn my track pants instead of shorts because this tape was surely going to hurt my skin pretty bad. He went behind me, and started wrapping tape around my waist, securing it to the chair’s backrest.


Last came the right wrist which was uncuffed and taped too. All this time I was focused on my taped lips and kept moving and pursing them until I had managed to loosen the old strip of tape and it dangled from the side of my mouth. I asked him calmly, “Where the hell are we? Stop it and let’s just get home.”


But he just smiled and said “You will understand soon”. With that a large strip was torn off from the roll and applied to my mouth, once again sealing my lips shut. Now I knew I could shout and make a hell lot of noise, after all, a single strip could silence a woman only in movies and Hindi television serials. I guess that was the idea, the symbolism of having your lips taped. The kidnapped person won’t even try to make noise, just because she knows that her lips have been sealed.



What was the point, anyway? No matter how I looked or what I said, he had agenda in his head, and he was going to see it through. I was held tight to the chair, and it was impossible to move, no matter how much I shuffled or pulled. The tape around my waist was the worst because it held me in a straight sitting position with no room for adjustment or comfort. In all this time, he had hardly spoken 10 words.


The bastard was not letting me onto anything, and leaving me out in the dark to do all the guess work, because he knew, that curiosity was my biggest virtue and my worst vice. It drove me nuts, and yet, kept me going, no matter how bad things ever got. He settled down on the bed and dialed a number on his phone but hung up without talking.


That was weird. Was this some cheap hotel room? Did he bring me here so that he could have his way with me without his neighbors hearing the ruckus?


I gasped as a woman entered the room. The door was right next to the chair, so from where I sat I couldn’t see her face. She didn’t even look in my direction and just walked to the bed. Her manner was sophisticated, and she did seem like a woman who knew her style. Seeing her back triggered a memory but I could not recollect whether I had seen her before or not. Maybe she was a hooker he had hired for

the night. I couldn’t help but notice that she looked elegant. She wore a black tight knee-length skirt and a white shirt.


In spite of my predicament, I could not help admiring the beauty of her body. She had the perfect hour glass figure and a smooth skin. Her face must have been pretty too because my boyfriend was delighted to see her. It seemed he knew her quite well and this wasn’t their first rodeo. My natural reaction was to compare her with myself. I was 5 feet 6 inches tall, had a wheatish complex and weighed 55 kgs. With a figure of 32-24-34, I came across as a strong, attractive long-haired brunette. My broad shoulders gave me a certain air of masculinity and the 32B breast made it even worse. All my exes had found me rough, tough and sexy in a particular way, and I agreed to them. I was not a fragile, delicate damsel, nor was I a complete cowboy. No matter whether I wore a salwar-kameez, a saree or a skirt, some heads surely turned as I passed.


But all of it was nothing compared to the delicate woman whose back was turned to me and, arms were wrapped around my boyfriend.  They hugged each other and soon were locked into a deep kiss. My brain just couldn’t process what was happening. I was just too shocked to react. While I was taped to this stupid chair, he was making out with a hooker? And was the kissing just the beginning or maybe this was just a guest appearance and she would possibly leave in a few minutes? Well, I was about to find out.



To be Continued…






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