Constance sat in her chair, looking over the documents and shaking her head as she made various comments in the margins. She knew she was meant to reply with comments on the electronic document, but she preferred this way – and it was less stressful on her eyes as well.
Glancing at the clock, she shook her head at the time. “I need to be at the dinner in thirty minutes,” she said to herself as her thoughts returned to the papers. The conference dinner was a mandatory event, and she had already changed – a round necked dress with a yellow and black grid motif, and a black lace shawl over one shoulder, dark stockings and mid-calf black fabric boots with leather trim.
It was the knock on the door that she heard, as she called out “come in,” expecting it to be the maid. The door opened and closed, but she said “just turn the bed down” without looking up.
“Oh no – I think you will be far more comfortable in that chair, Constance.”
She looked up to see a man, about six feet tall, standing in front of her. He wore a brown tweed suit and a yellow waistcoat, a white shirt and mustard coloured cravat, patent leather brown shoes – and a mask over his head which was modelled on a fox head.
“What the hell...”
“Ah ah,” he said as he produced a gun and pointed it at her, “Not a word. I am afraid I am here to relieve you of your research and your papers – and it will be so much better for you if you cooperate and do as I say.”
“Who are you,” she said quietly.
“The daily periodicals refer to me rather fancifully as the Faversham Fox,” he said, and Constance could almost sense he was smiling. Her platinum blonde hair was cut in a bob, but as she looked at him, she said quietly “and how do you propose to ensure I do not stop you.”
The Fox looked at the chair she was sitting in – a large leather chair, with brown armrests – and smiled as he said “well, you can start by putting the papers down, and then resting your arms on the armrests of the chair, palms down.”
As she moved her arms to the rest, the Fox reached into his jacket pocket, and drew out a card with string wrapped round it. He unwound a little, and used it to secure Constance’s left wrist to the armrest, winding it round several times and then taking it over to secure her other wrist to the chair. Making a slip knot and tightening it, he then played the string out as he knelt down, crossing her ankles and then winding the string around and between them to secure them in place.
“Well, I suppose this will make it more difficult for me to reach a phone,” she said with a shrug as he pulled her ankles back and up, and hen wound the string around her lap, “what is this string anyway – cotton? Wool?”
“Fishing line,” The Fox said as he tied the line around the base of the chair, and then stood up, collecting the papers and placing them in Constance’s briefcase. He then removed her watch, rings and jewellery, placing them in the case before he closed it and smiled at Constance.
The thin cord was holding her arms and legs firmly in place, but she knew if she tried to move the filament would rub on her skin – and she did not exactly want to mark her skin.
“Now,” the Fox said quietly, “a little something to make it more difficult to hear you. Purse those lips, please.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well – no,” the Fox said as he took a roll of brown sticking plaster from another pocket, and tore off a long strip, “but a beautiful woman such as you, should not try to fight this. It is an inconvenience, nothing more, nothing less.”
Constance looked at him, and then smiled as the fabric was pressed firmly over her mouth, covering and sealing her mouth as she found herself unable to do more than grunt. The Fox smiled as he placed the card and roll in his pockets, closed the case and picked it up in his gloved hands.
“I apologise that you will miss the dinner – perhaps they will provide something when they find you,” he said as he walked out, Constance screaming as she tried to raise the alarm.
Outside, he removed the mask and walked along, smiling at the maid as she pushed her trolley down and knocked on the next door.
“Room service,” she heard on the other side of the door, and as she opened it she saw the dark haired maid standing there.
“Your food order, Miss Jones?”
“Thank you,” the middle aged woman said as she stood to one side, allowing the maid to wheel the trolley in. “You can leave the trolley over there?”
“Are you going out later miss,” the maid said as she put the brake on the trolley. The older woman had untidy black hair, and was wearing a black velvet dress with a low cut round neck and opaque lace sleeves. She also was wearing dark tights, with knee length black leather boots.
“I hope so,” she said as she picked up her purse, and took out a bill, “if I get the call. Here – this is for...”
“My apologies, Miss Jones,” the maid said in a calm and even voice as she pointed a pistol at her, “but my employer cannot allow you to make that meeting.”
“Ah – and may I know who your employer is?”
“No – but you have something that would jeopardise certain plans she has, and that cannot be allowed to happen. Very slowly, walk over to the bed and lie on it, face down, hands behind your back.”
“If you insist,” Miss Jones said, trying to hide her fear as she complied. The maid lifted the cloche on the trolley, and removed a zip tie which was curled up underneath.
Walking over, she placed the pistol down and crossed Miss Jones’ wrists, using the zip tie to secure them tightly together, the woman grunting as she pulled it tighter. She then picked up a second zip tie, returned and secured her ankles together, the plastic squeaking on the leather as she felt them forced side by side.
“How did you get onto me?”
“Well, you did try to cover your tracks,” the maid said as she turned Miss Jones over, and used a third tie to secure her legs below her knees, “but you should know we have very good security, and more than state of the art cyber security.”
“Well, I did try,” Miss Jones said with a smile as she was sat up, and a coil of rope used to secure her arms to her sides, stretching her dress and forcing her chest out.
“And you failed,” the maid said as she pulled the rope tight, then continued with “save the real housekeeping a job – where is it?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she said “my case.” The maid walked over and looked in the small black case, using a flick knife to cut into the lining and removing a USB stick.
“You need to be aware,” she said as she slipped the stick into her dress, “our cyber security experts have traced your back up copies, and wiped them. We have also informed certain parties that the auction is off, and of the consequences if they continue to pursue this information.”
“So what happens to me?”
“My orders with you were specific – leave you here, in the full knowledge we know, and that if we so desire, we could take you down at any time. Now, open your mouth.”
“Why shllddeemmggg,” Miss Jones said, but as she did so the maid forced the red ball into her mouth, and fastened the leather straps tightly round her head, before pushing her onto her side, pulling her ankles back and using one final zip tie to secure them to her chest ropes.
“Have a nice evening – ma’am,” she said as she put the cloche back on the plate, and pulled the trolley out, Miss Jones struggling on the bed.
Walking down the corridor, the maid took out a mobile phone and dialled a number.
“Lily? Dom – inform Madame I have the files, and have left the woman in no doubt as to what would happen if she tries again.”
She walked slowly along, passing the door to room 3 as she heard the muted music inside.
“You truly are gifted,” the dark haired woman said as she sat by the piano, watching as his fingers danced over the keys. He was casually dressed, with a jacket over a plain shirt and light pants, and suede shoes.
“Why thank you, Joan,” he said as he looked at the young Chinese woman, “it is very kind of you to say that.” She was wearing a black top with a shoulder wide neckline, the straps of her black bra visible over her shoulders, a black and white tartan mini skirt, sheer white tights, and pull on black knee length leather boots with a square heel.
“Well, I was always told to speak the truth, and you do play well,” the girl said with a smile. “So, are you prepared to do the favour I have asked of you?”
“Of course, if that is what you want,” he said as he finished the piece, and then stood up, walking to a bag and taking out a long length of black rope. Doubling it on his hands, he tied a small loop in the centre, and then walked over as Joan smiled, standing with her arms to her side.
He draped the ropes over her shoulders, allowing the long lengths to fall to the floor as he positioned the loop at the base of her neck. Joan moved her arms out slightly, smiling as he began to wind the rope down her arms in a spiral, pulling them behind her at the same time and folding them so that they were secured together. She then sighed as he tied her wrists together, and fed the length of rope up through the loop, so that her arms were held behind her back.
“Does that feel good,” he said, Joan closing her eyes and nodding as he started to wrap the rope around her upper body, encircling and embracing her chest in a rope harness that fitted snugly all round, her breasts forced up and out. This did not bother her – in fact, she was anticipating the way this was making her feel all day, and she was glad to feel that her anticipation had not been disappointed.
“There,” he said as he tied the ropes behind her, Jason wriggling round as the bands of rope pressed on her, “Do you still wish me to use the rope in the way you asked?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed as he walked in front of her, watching as he knelt and pulled the ends of the rope through and between her legs, pulling them up as her skirt was lifted, and she felt the dual strands rub on her most sensitive area. She gasped as she felt this, and moaned softly while he secured the ends between her breasts, tightening the harness still further.
“Walk round,” he said, Joan traversing the room as the ropes rubbed her. She felt so helpless, and so free at the same time...”
“Now my legs,” she said as she walked over to the piano, waiting until he walked over and lifted her onto the top, and then taking a second length of black rope, He doubled that over as well, and wrapped it around her legs below her knees, pulling them together as he took the rope around and between her legs. He tied that end off, then produced a third length, Joan watching as he used that to secure her ankles together side by side.
When he had finished, Joan lifted her legs up and tired to move them, the squeal of rope and leather the only sound.
“You really are very good,” she said as she looked at him. “Please, complete the job.”
“Then I need you to assume the position,” he said with a smile, Joan nodding as she moved herself back onto the piano top, and then turned herself round, before lying down and rolling over. He took one last length of rope, and pulled her ankles back, Joan shivering as he tied it between her ankles. He then pulled the rope back, winding it round her crotch rope and finally tying it to her chest ropes.
As Joan looked up, she opened her mouth as he pushed a folded scarf in, the edges sticking out from between her lips as she moaned. The man sat down, and started to play again, the music allowing her moans to be kept quiet as she moved the ropes holding her in place.
As he played, he glanced to the wall. He was sure he had heard something in the next room, but he had a job to do here...
“How much longer do we have to stay here for?”
“Until the boss calls to say the deed is done,” the fair haired man said as he looked over to the bed. “Comfy?”
“Whdduufnk,” the girl said through the knotted silk scarf that had been tied round her head, stifling most attempts at trying to talk or even be understood. The scarf was tied tightly round her head, keeping her chestnut brown hair firmly against the back of her head and her neck, while the ties that were holding the front of her cropped black cardigan had come undone, the triangular panels falling over the lower of the two bands of rope that framed and pulled her white roll neck crop top over her chest.
Her wrists were secured together behind her back, the rope rubbing on her wrists, while her ankles and legs were just as tightly secured. The two bands below and above her knees were so tightly cinched, the tights underneath were almost as pale as her skin, while the rope around her ankles squeaked as it rubbed on the leather of her tight mid-calf boots.
She had been snatched as she had left the recording studio, a damp cloth clamped over her nose and mouth. Oh she had struggled, tried to pull the cloth away, tried to call for help, but the pair of bozos now watching her had been too strong, and she had passed out – waking to find herself on this bed, her ankles secured to each other and to the foot of the bed.
That had been hours ago – she had heard them talking on the phone to someone they kept calling ‘boss’ and gathered a ransom demand had been made, but not much more than that.
The man looked over at her, and then sat her up, yanking the silk knot out of her mouth as she said “yeah?”
“Any chance of a drink? My mouth feels as if it’s never known moisture.”
The other man nodded as he opened a bottle of water and handed it over, her captor holding the bottle to her lips as she took a drink.
“Thanks – I needed that,” she gasped after she had finished, and looked at both of them. “I guess been cut free is out of the question?”
“Of course it is – what do you think we are, idiots?”
“Well, the thought had crssddhgddntgn”
“You need to learn manners,” the captor said as he shoved the grey. Damp knot back into her mouth and re-tightened the band around her head. “How much longer?”
The knock on the door made them both turn and look, as the first man said “that will be him.” He walked over and looked through the spyhole, before opening the door and looking out.
“What is it?”
“No idea – there’s nobody there except...”
She looked on as the man was pushed to the floor, three policemen in flak jackets running in and saying “POLICE! GET ON THE FLOOR!”
“Wllsbttm,” the girl said as they cuffed and pulled away the two captors, the third man coming over and untying her, “whtkpptuu?”
“Honestly? Traffic,” he said as she reached up and removed her gag, “sorry about that.”
“Next time, you play the part of the kidnapped person,” she said.
“It worked though, Sarge?”
“Yeah it worked – get them to the station and book them...”