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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