Chapter 4: Lessons Learnt
Still tape
tied, thong-gagged and bra-blindfolded, I lay in the golf bag, while he dragged
me out of the dimly lit room. Unable to move, aching with pain and thirsty as
hell, I could feel the frictional heat on my skin because of being dragged.
What he and his whore had done to me, was unforgivable in so many ways, I could
not imagine. On the road trip to this place, while being trussed up in the
trunk I had a chance to yell, scream and attract attention. I should have done
that. Instead I stayed stuck to maintaining an uneventful journey, so that he
would not undergo any troubles with the police or the passersby.
But not this
time. The journey back home was going to teach him a lesson he would never
forget. I convinced myself that this wasn’t my boyfriend, or someone I knew or
cared about. He was a random stranger. Probably, a burglar who had kidnapped me
from my boyfriend’s house. His intentions? I didn’t know. Rape or ransom or
probably to sell me off, each equally worse than the other. That’s it. That’s
all he was now. And how should a girl react when she has been kidnapped by a
stranger for any of the above purposes? With an anger that rises from fear,
with a relentless effort to free herself, and with no care or worry for what
might be the outcome. Yes! That is exactly I was going to react.
Several doors
opened and closed, while I was dragged, lifted, turned about and then finally
placed on some sort of rest. What I felt beneath me wasn’t the hard surface of
the trunk, it was soft, and there was more air to breath. There was no
suffocation nor any banging across walls, and I concurred that this time I will
be travelling in the backseat of the car. Good for me, bad for him, because I
was in a mood to make this trip a hell for him. I let the car start and waited
for another 5-10 minutes, before beginning my planned and controlled ruckus.
The thong stuffed in my mouth was so wet, it had reduced to a small wad of
mess, leaving room for air in my oral cavity.
Taking a deep
breath, I started yelling as loudly as I could. No specific words were
necessary, no shouts for “help” or “let me go”. Just pure screams, rising form
the throat and ending in the taped lips.
Simultaneously,
I started hitting the door with my feet, and moving my torso back and forth as
much as I could. I paused to see if there was any effect. Well there was, but
not in my favor. He turned up the music on his stereo
and it subdued my screams. Yet, I was not so easily discouraged, and continued
the screams and the door-thrashing with as much vigor
as I could muster. And then suddenly, the car screeched to a halt. Yay!!
Doors opened
and closed, I felt being lifted and then dropped again, not in the trunk, but
on the floor. His sedan had enough
legroom to accommodate the golf bag with me in it, on the floor. I resumed my thrashing,
until I heard a feminine voice, “What the fuck?”
What the fuck
indeed, for that voice was of his whore, and until that moment I had no idea
she was in the car too. The car started again, and the zip was slightly opened,
small hands were on my taped mouth again, and feet were on my bum. She was on
the backseat now, which infuriated me even further. I screamed through her
palm, and instantly received a hard slap on my face. The zip was closed again,
and almost immediately I felt something heavy being dumped on me. The blankets
from the trunk – one by one were laid out on the bag, and above them she rested
her tiny feet. One on my ass, and the other on my face, crushing my nose and
mouth. There was no room to move, and even if I struggled, a passer-by or a car
next to ours, would never realize that there was tied up girl beneath this
woman’s feet. With that all my planning and resolve got kicked in the butt.
Literally.
The rest of the
journey remained largely uneventful, except my continuous attempts to re-adjust
my position, as being stationery was impossible, considering the state I was
in. Finally, the crazy ride was over, and from all the turns he had taken, I
was confident that we were back in his bedroom. Yet, I was still crammed up in
the bag. It had been more than a few minutes, but he hadn’t taken the pain of unzipping
the bag and getting me out. My arms and shoulder ached from lying in that
balled up position.
The tape stuck
so tight that I feared my skin would come off when it was finally ripped off. I
could hear sounds of him shuffling around, of something heavy being moved, and
the smell of cigarettes. He was smoking, right now? Having his cigarette was
more important than releasing me from the bag. I tried to shout, but the black
panties had soaked up my saliva, leaving my mouth and throat dry. One thing was
for sure, I was going throw those panties right at his smug face as soon as he
untied my hands.
I was imagining
myself doing that, when finally, the zip opened, but the bra-blindfold made
sure that I couldn’t see a thing. He lifted me up and held me as I tried to
stand. I had no control over my legs, and it took a while before I could stand
steadily. He undid the blindfold’s knot, breaking of a few strands of my hair,
making me grunt in anger. Scissors snipped around my waist, breasts and wrists,
tearing the tape apart. Most of it was still stuck to my hands and my t-shirt
but at least my hands were free. With that he just walked away. Slowly I
removed the tape from my lips, and then pulled out the panties from my mouth.
They were all wet and stinky and as they came out of my mouth, I got a retching
feeling. Somehow, I controlled it and
turned around and threw them right at his face.
He looked at me
with a blank expression, not even uttering a single word, offered me a water
bottle and I quickly drank up almost half of it. There was no shame in his
eyes, just some weird determination to do what he had planned. Either way,
score 1. At least I had successfully done one thing that I had decided.
Now it was time
for the second. He had dragged the wooden table away from the wall, and emptied
it of all the books and files that he kept on it. I walked past him, pushing
him out of my way, right to the corner where I had kept my overnight bag.
Grabbing my
purse from the bed, I took my bag and walked out of the room. I was not even
going to change my clothes. Wearing my coat would be enough. On my way, out, I
noticed the wall clock which had just struck at 2am. 10pm to 2am. Four hours
had gone in all this crap, and he still had 20 hours more to do as he wished.
But I had had my fill and I was walking away from him then and there. To hell
with guilt and the punishment. He was standing at the door blocking my way.
We stood face
to face and finally he spoke up: “You are not going anywhere. Its 2 am anyway,
and there is no reason to walk away right now. Let’s finish what you started,
after all we won’t be getting this chance ever again.”
I just pushed
him hard, making him fall back to the couch, and walked out. I didn’t pay much
attention to what he had just said, though, much later, I was going to find out
what his every word and every action had really meant.
I was about to
take my coat from the living room, when suddenly I was gripped from behind. His
left hand was wrapped around my chest in a vice like grip, while the right hand
was once again clamped at my mouth. He weighed 100 kgs, which was almost double
of what I did, and he had a bull’s strength as well as stubbornness. I had
often even called him bull-headed. The shock and surprise had made me drop my
bag and purse. I tried to pull away his arm from my chest, with both my hands,
but he didn’t budge, no matter how hard I pulled, clawed or gnawed. The hand
clamping my mouth was so tight that I couldn’t event part my lips to bite him.
One of his fingers and the thumb, were used to pinch my nose, while the other
four fingers and palm, covered my lips – making it impossible for me to breathe.
My chest heaved as I tried to breath, and I could feel his crotch pressed
against my butt. Holding me like this was giving him an erection. He dragged me
back towards the bedroom as I continued kicking at his feet and legs. The man
felt no pain at all, or even if he did feel it, it wasn’t bad enough to make
him let go off me. The pervert was getting his kicks out of making me suffer.
Once we were in
the bedroom, he pushed me onto the table, picked up my scarf, that might have dropped
from my purse, from the floor and came back to me. I had just steadied myself,
when the black band appeared in front of my face. I was about to yell “Fuck
off” when the scarf was pulled between my lips and tied around my head. The
soft black silk was now filling my mouth, holding my tongue down, keeping my
teeth and lips apart effectively shutting off any sensible sound. The scarf was
gifted by him, and was among one of my favorites. As
soon as this shit was over, I was surely going to burn it down.
What I said
next and the curses I hurled at him, came out as garbled speech. The gag
allowed me to make enough noise, but prevented any meaningful words. I could remember, that in Bollywood movies
and Hindi TV serials, it was the most common way used to silence the kidnapped
actress. Her dupatta or scarf pulled between her lips rendered her so helpless that
she couldn’t even alert the hero who stood a few feet away. From my current
condition and newly acquired experience, I could testify that it was completely
fake and stupid – apart from the fact that it made the actress look very hot.
With just a cloth between the lips, the damsel could easily attract all the attention
she needed to get free. In my case, though, it was irrelevant since my hero was
my villain as well. As compared to the tape and stuffed panties, this was
something I could bear.
Plus, this
permitted being kissed. Ever since I had seen him make out with the woman, I
was craving for a soft, deep kiss. Should I turn around and kiss him with my
gagged lips? Was I too looking hot right now? Shit, what the hell was I
thinking. Suddenly, I felt ashamed at my own thoughts. Instead of fighting off
I had wasted precious moments pondering over something so stupid and
unimportant. “Kidnapped actresses in Movies” deserved a google search, but
obviously not right now.
Meanwhile he
had rushed to his black bag that probably contained all the tools being used to
humiliate me. Once again, I was pushed back on the table while he pulled my
hands behind me and put back the handcuffs on my wrist. Not again! How the hell
did he even have handcuffs? Which normal human being kept a pair of handcuffs
in his room? The table was half of my height, and as he pushed me and adjusted my
position, I realized that he had made me bend down such that my butt was
exposed to him. He came near my face, making me anticipate a kiss. But instead
of that, I saw him holding a long white rope. The rope was passed under my
armpits, taken around my back and brought back to the front again – such that,
the loop was right above my breasts.
He tied a knot
in the center, and allowed the rest of the rope to
fall off, and went to my rear side again. I couldn’t understand what he
intended to do. I tried to stand again but suddenly felt my chest being pulled
down. He was holding the rope from under the table and pulling at it. My
breasts were squeezed against the surface, while my shoulder and face hung in
the air. I strained to look back and saw him standing on the taut rope. His
hands touched my waist and then I felt my shorts being unbuttoned as he started
pulling the shorts down. They fell to my feet, and then he pulled at my panties
too. I was wearing white lacy panties, one which he really liked, and had
always found me super-hot whenever I wore just my white laced camisole and
these panties.
I shouted “Donnn do dathh”. But he didn’t
listen. My legs were lifted one by one, and the shorts and panties were cast
aside. With a few snips at my t-shirt, it was torn and ripped off my body too,
so that I was left in nothing but my white bra.
To make matters
worse, I suddenly felt something soft at my crotch. I turned my head around as
much as I could and saw him pulling the rope between my legs, from beneath the
table. It went between my butt-crack, also touching my vagina, trapping the
pubic hair with it. The rope was held just above my butt, as he passed it
around my waist and tied it into a tight knot, while the remaining rope was connected
to the loop encircling my chest. The knot pressed into my back, and the
tightness made me feel that my body was going to be ripped in two pieces. I
tried to raise my body, which just made me the rope dig deeper into me. So,
this was his idea all along.
Even a little
movement caused pressure near my chest, and pulled at the rope. It felt weird
and super uncomfortable to have something right between my ass cheeks. The pain
made me forget all the thoughts about how I looked or about kissing him. When
he came forward and tried to kiss my lips, I just banged my head against his
forehead. Once again, his expression turned into anger. He stormed off and came
back with a knife and used it to tear my t-shirt apart. Within a minute, he had
pulled the torn t-shirt from beneath me, exposing my white bra. He lighted a
cigarette and stood there watching me struggling and squirming. With every
struggle the rope brushed against my vagina, and I realized that my crotch was
getting wet. Lying there naked, with my butt exposed to him was bad enough, but
I knew there was more to come.
I was lost in
my struggles, hoping deep down that he wouldn’t notice the wetness between my
legs. What was happening? Was I getting
turned on too from my current state? Or was I still under the craving that had
started after seeing them make out. How could being helpless, naked and
embarrassed turn me on? It seemed completely illogical. Smack! My reverie was
interrupted by a sharp smack on my right butt cheek. Then another and another.
With each slap on the butt, I yelped. Did he just spank me?
Shit. He had
adjusted this position all along with the purpose of spanking me. Before I
could get a hold on my senses, another smack came hard on my left butt cheek.
It literally made me jump. I squealed as more and more slaps came along.
At times, he
would hit super-hard. Then he would switch to short smacks back-to-back in a
quick succession. The random method made sure that I was never hit at the same
place twice and I was never prepared for what came next. Ahhhhhhhh.
Another one.
“You are
enjoying this aren’t you, Miss Steele? You thought he was like Christian Gray. “Well, here’s some 50 shades for you. For starters,
your butt is a nice shade of red.”
Shit. How the
fuck did he know that I had called his best friend as Christian Gray. He must have read the chats on my phone again, and
now he was acting out on me out of jealousy. Finally, I got an insight on his
thought process. “nooooo.i dinnn
ean ihhht.” I wanted to
tell him, that I didn’t really mean that.
But he just
ignored that. “I know you like the idea of being spanked. Like Kate Winslet in
The Dangerous Method? Yes, Ananya. I know it all.”
The Dangerous
Method was among my favorite movies. Much like her, I
had never experienced sex, nor did I ever watch porn. I had always been a
stubborn girl, always saying out loud whatever the hell came to mind, often
disrespecting those around me. I knew there were countless occasions when I had
insulted him. And the idea of being spanked as a punishment for being a bad
girl seemed to turn me on. Or at least that’s what I thought. He was bang on
target, because I could feel dampness between my legs. As if he had just read
my mind, he put his finger under the rope and touched right near my vagina.
Fuck. Amidst
being table-tied and being split in two halves by the ropes, there was the
stinging pain on my bums, and now the damned wet crotch. This was just going to
encourage him more.
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