Rescued:
Whether she likes it or not
By
Rayron D'Olier
The scene opens with a shot
of an old door of the kind that might be found in a building built before WWII;
or long before. It is a heavy, wooden door with a tarnished brass knob and a
hole for a skeleton key. The walls are white plaster and lathe and a little
stained and cracked. The uncovered floor is wood. There are ornate baseboards.
We hear a rustling noise and
the occasional muffled grunt or sigh from a female voice.
The camera pans to the right
and on an old leather couch sits a young woman. Although she is sitting, we can
see that she is tall for a girl; her legs are long and her upper body looks
fit. She has a round face, auburn hair and large green eyes. He hair is long
and straight with bangs over her eyes. She is about 30. The couch and the
captive are in front of a window that is blocked by closed venetian blinds; old
and dusty.
She is wearing what appears
to be a classic little black dress; sleeveless, low-cut bosom and a little more
than knee length. The dress is well-fitted to her upper body and the skirt
portion is somewhat snug with slits just above her knees. Down the front is a
row of largish buttons. Around her waist is a tasteful cloth belt that appears
to be integral to the dress. She is wearing pantyhose or stockings; natural
tan, sheer. Her shoes are black leather pumps with tiny one-inch spiked heels
and very small bows over her toes. She has kicked off her shoes.
The woman is also tightly
bound and gagged. Her hands are tied behind her back, there is rope around her
arms and body just below her bosom. It is cinched between her body and elbows.
Her feet are tied together with rope; cinched between the ankles. The ropes are
neatly tied and appear to be quite snug. She has a thick, white, linen cloth
between her dark red lips. It makes her cheeks bulge a bit and it traps her
hair.
She is sitting quietly for
the most part, her feet flat on the floor in front of her. She is leaning back
against the couch and a little sideways as if to give her bound hands a little
room. She is looking quietly around and occasionally struggling a bit; not so
much to escape, but simply as a reflex or a way to stay comfortable. Her
stocking feet point from time to time and pull and push at the rope binding her
ankles.
As was mentioned, she will
make incoherent verbal noises along with her intermittent writhing movements.
She doesn't appear to be
frightened, but she seems to be exasperated and irritated. Her demeanor is that
of reluctant acceptance of her plight.
The camera pans back until we
can see most of the room. Opposite our lovely captive is an old desk and office
chair. On the desk are a black winter coat, a black purse, a bunch of things
presumably dumped out of the purse, a woman's wristwatch, a telephone, a small
automatic pistol and a bottle of vodka. There is also a large old leather
suitcase on the floor.
Then we hear heavy footsteps
in the hall outside. A man is cheerfully whistling. Upon hearing this, the
woman starts. She leans forward and attempts to stand. She seems surprised for
a moment and twists her body and legs against the ropes; as if she forgot she
was tied for a moment. She says something under her gag. She remains leaning
forward with her stocking feet flat on the floor as if still planning to spring
up and go somewhere. She watches the door. The fingers of her bound hands flex
behind her. Her legs rise up on her toes.
The camera centers on the
door while also allowing us to watch the bound girl tense up and watch the
door.
The footsteps stop outside
the door. We hear the knob being rattled and the door being pushed and pulled,
but it is obviously locked. We hear a man's voice, "Jesus Hartwell
Christ."
Then there is a deep booming
crash and a tearing of wood as the door is kicked open; the door jamb
splintering and scattering on the floor.
In walks a large man. He is
wearing an ankle-length black overcoat. Under that is a black suit, white
shirt, thin flowery tie. Incongruously he is also wearing engineer's boots. His
head is thin and tall; his features aquiline. He is a good looking man, but a
bit weathered; around 40 years old. His red hair is streaked with gray. It is
almost a crew cut on the backs and sides but up top it is thick and wavy.
He is carrying an automatic
pistol with a long silencer on the barrel. He stands in the middle of the room
facing the bound woman. He grins a little.
Man: "Hmmm. Well how did
that happen? You must be a keeper. We'll have a little talk in a minute, but I
want to ask you a question and I'm going to leave that thing in your mouth for
awhile so you can think it over quietly. Ready for the question?"
The bound woman's eyes are
wide. It is apparent that her entire body would like to get up and run, but the
ropes hold her fast. She has shrunk back in the couch and is gently writhing
against the ropes.
Woman nods her head and says,
"Eph."
Man: "Why do girls and
women ALWAYS kick off their shoes? Don't get me wrong. I like it just fine. It
looks cute and sexy. But you all are constantly kicking them off and putting
them back on. I just want to hear your opinion. Is it for MY benefit, or is it
some sort of unconscious instinct? But first things first. Keep your seat. I
can find my way around."
The man flashes a warm grin.
He does not project a creepy vibe. He does have an aura of serious menace
however.
The woman relaxes a little
and watches him go over to the desk.
A the desk the man lays down
his pistol and rummages through the things on the desk. He looks at her
driver's license and compares the picture with her.
Man: "Don't you hate the
license pictures? Rhetorical question. Of course you do."
The man picks up the small
automatic that was already there.
Man: "Is this
yours?"
Woman: "Mo."
Man: "I bet it is, too.
No need to lie to me. I'm your bestest buddy right now."
He paws through all the other
stuff. He opens the vodka bottle, smells it and bubbles some of it down his
throat. He says, "Ahhhhh. That's it."
He looks at the suitcase,
opens it, peers in and whistles, "That's a nice one. I guess that ain't
yours either huh? Well, we'll get to know each other now and see what's
what."
The man rolls the office
chair into the middle of the room so that it is closer to and facing the bound
woman. He closes the door. He sheds his coat and throws it on the floor. He
grabs the voda bottle, his pistol and the woman's driver's license and places
them on the floor next to the chair.
He walks over to her. She
shrinks back, but stares at him defiantly.
Man: "Simmer down
sweetie. Sit up straight for me."
The woman sits up with a
slight assist from the man. He takes a look at how she is tied; he pulls at the
ropes and says, "Very nice. Not too tight. Not too loose. Looking
good."
Then he unties the knot in
the gag and unwinds it out or her mouth.
The woman exclaims,
"Haaaa. Wow thanks. Umm."
The man draps the gag over
the back of the couch and goes to the chair, sits down, leans back and picks up
the vodka. The woman looks at him with a quizzical stare.
She waits until he has loudly
chugged a few swallows and put down the bottle, "Offer me a drink."
Man: "You want some of
this?"
Woman: "Obviously."
He laughs and goes back over
to her and helps her with a few swallows. She nods her head, he takes the
bottle away and then she leans back against the couch; again a little sideways
to give her tied up hands some room. She signs loudly and tosses her head to
get her hair in some kind of order. She points her bound stocking feet and rubs
them on the floor a little.
The man takes a seat again.
They look at each other for a minute, more or less expressionless.
The man looks at her driver's
license: "So it says here that your name is Elizabeth. Mind if I call you
Lizzie?"
Woman: "Yes I do. My
name is Betsy if you don't mind."
Man: "Ha ha. Betsy.
Cool. Full disclaimer: I know who you really are. I know your full name. I know
where you live. I know what you do. I know your cover. It's no big deal though.
I'll take you at face value. No sense muddying those waters."
Betsy looks at him with mild
alarm, but then her face becomes inscrutable. Her body gives her away a bit by
forgetting it's tied, resulting in a slight spasm of struggling.
Man: "I saw that. Hey,
have you given any thought to the question I asked you?"
Betsy: "I gave deep
consideration to your query. I gave it top priority."
Man: "And..."
Betsy: "If we become
friends I'll be happy to discuss it at length. It sounds perverted to me."
Man: "Like I said. I am
your total BFF. I'll grow on you. Believe me."
Betsy: "What are you
even doing here? Who the hell are you? What's your stupid name? Do you have any
idea how unsafe it is in here? For you? Obviously for me."
The man appears not to be
listening. He is looking around the room: "This is an old, old building
for sure. Man. It's a wonderment that such a big building is just sitting here
entirely empty. You can call me Steve. It's a fake name. I'm here because you
are here. I'm here because I saw your new friends go out for a sandwich. Except
for the one sitting at the end of the hall. He got all killed. The rest are
having some drinks with their lunch."
As if if reminding himself of
something Steve takes another pull of vodka. He helps Betsy to another also. He
resumes his seat.
Steve: "Who am I you
ask? I'll tell you if we become friends."
Betsy: "I'm guessing you
know more or less what is supposed to happen then?"
Steve: "I know enough.
Bad surprise for you though huh?"
Betsy: "I'm a little
embarrassed about it. I'm trying to forget it."
Steve: "That's a tough
one. Looking good though, I'll give you that."
Betsy: "Thank you. I
think. The guy at the end of the hall. Was he the one with the leather suit
coat and the comb-over."
Steve: "I believe
so."
Betsy: "Mercy
killing."
Steve: "Yeah. We do what
we can. We'll need more vodka soon."
Betsy: "I'm getting a
little impatient with you. You just sit there like you're just hanging around
the bus station shooting the shit. You're here. What are you going to do?"
Betsy leans forward to
deliver this tirade, and her body strains against the ropes to participate.
This results in a bit of twisting and hand waving. Her feet pivot up on her
heels and then make a little thumping noise as the hit the floor a couple of
times. Then she angrily falls back into the couch. Her face is in a bit of a
pout. Her feet are awkwardly splayed out and tapping up and down on the floor.
Steve: "I hear you. What
am I doing? I am enjoying my work. Everything's going great. You just need to
relax. From here on out you are along for the ride, and that's pretty much it.
We'll be getting out of here pretty soon though. Just take a deep breath. Cop a
chill. I am in control. Feeling loose."
Betsy: "Pffft. You're
not growing on me. Hey. I'll bet you are a smoker."
Steve: "That is correct.
You guessed that because I am a studly, badass guy like a cowboy, right?"
Betsy: "Well in that
case, you don't mind if I have a smoke then?"
Steve flashes Betsy a warm
lopsided grin. He gets up to rummage through the stuff on the desk. With her
cigarettes in hand, he grabs the vodka and his pistol and sits next to her on
the couch.
Betsy is still limply
reclining against the back of the couch. Her only movement besides her eyes, is
a restless figeting with her bound stocking feet. She gently pulls and pushes
against the ropes much like women do when they are playing with their shoes.
One of her shoes is now gripped by the toes of one foot, and she is sliding it
around a little.
Steve helps her toBetsy a
drink out of their bottle, and then he finishes it off. He lights one of her
cigarettes and one of his and helps her smoke hers.
Betsy: "God I hate cigarettes."
Steve: "Yeah, they suck
out loud."
Steve snubs the butts out on
the window sill behind them and goes back to his chair. Betsy giggles.
Steve whispers: "Hush
up."
He is now all business. He
creeps to the door and pulls it open. He looks down the hall and then relaxes.
Steve: "There's a rat
out there. That's all. Cute little fella."
Betsy: "Ugh."
Steve sits in the chair
slowly rotating it back and forth looking at Betsy. The chair creaks and
squeaks.
Steve: "Here's another
question for you. Why haven't you asked me to untie you? You haven't said a
word about it."
Betsy: "I was waiting
for you to take the initiative; waiting for you to be a gentleman. I guess
you're not one of those though, huh."
Steve: "So what you're
telling me is you're eager to be gagged again."
Betsy: "You'd like a
straight answer."
Steve: "If that's at all
possible. Do your best, but don't make yourself pass out or anything."
Betsy: "I could tell the
moment you first um... entered the room and looked at me, that, number one, you
expected to find me; number two, that you were quite happy to see me all tied
up. Like I still am. I want another cigarette. If you untied me I could smoke
it myself."
Betsy struggles to move as if
to demonstrate that she is indeed tied up if anyone would like to know.
Steve gets up to get her a
cigarette, talking as he does so.
Steve: "You are a
perceptive young lady. I was also happy to see what you look like. I've been
interested in you for a quite awhile. I pretty much expected you to be kind of
a bull dyke. But you're all girly and cute. You ain't scared at all though are
you."
Betsy: "As a matter of
fact, I'm a little scared to death. You should be too. Oh!! That's good. They
ARE coming back you know."
Steve: "How'd you let
them get the drop on you, and put the ropes on you?"
Betsy: "I'm fairly
certain I was ratted out. Let me stress my earlier sentiment. We need to get
out of here."
Steve: "Calm down. I'm
not working alone today. If and when "They" come back, they won't
even make it past the downstairs hall. But we will be leaving in a couple of
hours."
Steve, still sitting on the
couch next to Betsy, turns around and peers through the blinds to the street
below.
Steve: "Nothing
happening. Hang on, I'm gonna go talk to a guy real quick."
Steve grabs his pistol and
takes of quickly down the hall. He leaves the door wide open.
Betsy struggles to her feet.
She almost loses her balance, she sits down again and then stands again. She
hops a couple of times experimentally, and then slowly hops to the side of the
couch and wriggles her head beneath the blinds so she can see out the window.
The camera switches to her point of view, and through the dusty window, she can
see the street about four stories down. She immediately focuses on a man
panhandling. We see though that the man is a large guy with a shaved head and
sunglasses. An obvious tough guy.
The camera switches to
viewing Betsy from behind. Her bound hands a flexing thoughtfully against the
ropes. She is raising up and down slightly on her toes. She tosses the hair out
of her eyes and hops to turn toward us.
Betsy carefully hops back
from the window and looks around the room. She hops over to the desk, pausing
to toss the hair out of her eyes a couple of times. She looks thoughtfully at
all the stuff on the desk.
She sees a little flat
penknife. With much difficulty she turns her back to the desk and fumbles for
the knife. Finally grabbing it in two fingers, she then carefully, slowly slips
it under her cloth belt near where her bound hands can reach it. She starts and
almost falls when she hears the thumping of bootsteps in the hall.
Betsy hops quickly and with
surprising grace back over to the couch. She doesn't have time to get back to
her seat, so she just tosses her now extremely disheveled hair and stands near
the couch as Steve wanders back in smoking a cigarette.
He glances at her, but seems
to not really take much notice. Under one arm is a large laptop. He makes room
for it on the desk, opens it and fires it up. He stands looking at it, taking a
second to type in a password. The computer is facing the wrong way on the desk.
Steve looks thoughtfully at all the junk on the desk. He turns the chair around
so he can sit at the computer.
Betsy: "What are you
doing?"
Steve: "Studying. What
are YOU doing?"
Betsy, sweetly: "I just
thought I would get up and move around a little."
Steve, mock offended:
"Don't lie to me God Damn it. Mess with me and you'll find yourself
hogtied naked."
Betsy: "I have to pee a
little."
Steve: "Cool. Hang on a
minute."
The computer seems all booted
up and Steve opens something. Betsy sees that it's a live video image of the
backdoor entrance to the building from a narrow alley.
Steve spins around in his
chair and says, "Hop on over here."
Betsy looks a little nervous.
She tentatively hops over to Steve.
Steve: "Turn
around."
Betsy hops around so her back
is to Steve.
Steve: "Stand still for
a frisk... punk."
Betsy: "Tough talk. I'm
just a little girl all tied up. Boo hoo."
Steve actually giggles. He
runs his hands all over her. Under her dress, he pauses, "Ummmm
Hmmmm!"
His hands emerge and he is
holding a wicked looking little dagger. He throws it at the wall and it slams
in point first with a healthy thump.
Betsy's face looks very
nervous. She even bites her lip. She smiles a little when she sees the knife
fly into the wall.
Steve bends down and unties
her feet. Then he unties the rope holding her arms to her body, and finally
unties her hands.
He carefully drapes the ropes
on top of the desk so they are not tangled with each other.
Betsy stretches and
gracefully walks around in circles.
Betsy: "Wheww."
Steve gets up and grabs her
upper arm and gently, but firmly, marches her out the door, down the hall and
into a fairly crappy-looking ladies room.
Betsy: "Ewwww. Do they
even have the water on?"
Steve opens and closes a
faucet which groans, but loudly spews out gobs of rusty looking water.
Steve: "Looking good.
I'll stand here while you have a sit down in the stall. I'll make sure nobody
grabs you and does anything to you."
Betsy: "Sigh. You are
such a gentleman."
She goes in a stall and
closes the door.
Betsy from the stall:
"So am I free to go after this?"
Steve: "I'll let you
know. We'll be hanging together for a couple of days maybe. No more."
Betsy: "This is a really
bad first date."
She emerges from the stall
and inspects herself in the mirror. With a finger she wipes off some lipstick
where it was smeared on her face by the gag.
Betsy: "Better. Not
great."
Steve tickles her ribs and
guides her out the door, down the hall and back into the office.
Steve: "Drink, smoke?
Have at it."
Betsy: "What a pleasant
surprise. I kind of assumed I'd be roped up again. I think you like that."
Steve: "True, but it
makes me feel great to be kind and gentle. But if you try anything at all; and
I mean anything, I'm going to hogtie you naked on this gross floor where there
are cooties and shit. Got it?"
Betsy: "No. You need to
expand on that. Your meaning was too subtle."
Steve: "Quit goofing
around. Drink this. Go sit on the couch. Don't fuck up."
Betsy laughs and goes to the
couch. She wriggles her feet into her shoes and sits down. She lights a
cigarette. She crosses her legs.
Steve rolls the chair over to
the couch. He sits off to the side but facing Betsy. He puts his boots up on
the arm of the couch and leans back. They pass the bottle back and forth. They
smoke.
Betsy: "I'm almost
afraid to ask, but what are you planning to do with me?"
Steve: "As I said, we'll
keep you around for a couple of days maybe, and then we'll cut you loose. We're
also going to cut you in on our fee. It's not your fault you had bad timing. We
had to punk you on your job though. Our gallant rescue from amateur goons
required some ad hoc team building. Alpha Team deployed."
Betsy: "So I've been
snatched. I guess I'll be tied up a bunch, huh."
Steve: "That will be
necessary from time to time. Can't have you running around doing stuff. We
might get all killed."
Betsy: "You're afraid of
me? Pffft. And you a big rough man."
Steve: "I respect your
professional skills. Nothing to be ashamed of."
Betsy: "What if I
promised to not try to escape; be a part of your team. A buddy. A pal."
Steve: "I like you a ton
Betsy, but I need to trust you. Don't know you that well. Tied up you are
definitely trustworthy. You'll meet one of the guys. She's a girl though.
Apprentice in training."
Betsy: "Should I feel
jealous?"
Steve: "I like the way
you think sweetie, but that one's a bit of a hog for other girls. She's a
looker though. She's a waif. We found her and took her home with us. She's
grateful. A quick learner."
Betsy: "So I get paid
for doing nothing."
Steve: "It's a
professional courtesy. We would like to establish a mutual, if loose,
affiliation with you, and we feel profoundly guilty that we saved a scumbag
from you. We need him to do something before we send him to his reward. But
everybody involved will be either dead or happy in the end. Your happiness is
of major concern."
Betsy: "You've got a
funny way of showing it. Obviously you don't want to kill me. What if I don't
let you tie me up again?"
Steve: "We'll do it
anyway... or I will to be perfectly accurate. All fighting it will get you is
less comfort and you'll get your dress all messed up. Hair too. Unhappy girl.
Would you like me to demonstrate?"
Betsy: "Speaking of a
messed up dress, I'm don't really have a change of clothes. Two days might be a
problem. Just thought I'd bring it up. Guess you can't keep me now."
Steve: "Hadn't thought
of that. I kind of assumed kidnapped girls might have more important things on
their minds. But we'll figure it out. We'll deploy Team Beta to find a viable
solution. Maybe you could just take all your clothes off and be naked for two
days. We could just take all your clothes away from you."
Betsy: "It's very
strange being essentially helpless."
Steve: "Never been tied
up before huh."
Betsy: "No. At first my
body kept urgently wanting to do stuff. Get up and go, go, go. After awhile I
got weirdly relaxed. Where's a God Damned ashtray?"
Steve reaches out, grabs her
cigarette, snubs it out with is fingers and throws it on the floor.
Steve: "Care for a sip
of the old infuriator my dear?"
Betsy takes a long pull on
the vodka.
Betsy: "I feel like such
a slut drinking out of the bottle. I feel naked too. Kinda sweaty. Gross. Guess
I'll just go with the flow though. Don't expect any Damsel in Distress whining
or begging though."
Steve: "Why naked?"
Betsy: "Oh you know. My
body is sort of in your hands. I am NOT used to that. It makes me feel naked. I
feel tied up just sitting here."
A long look passes between
Steve and Betsy. Betsy's legs are crossed and she's dangling a shoe from her
toes.
They both giggle and look
away. Betsy shakes her head. She lights another cigarette.
Betsy: "Where are we
going when we leave here."
Steve: "I have a place
where I live. I work from home."
Betsy: "Do you throw
cigarette butts on the floor there?"
Steve: "I'd like to, but
I can't quite work myself up to it. I even drink out of a glass at home. That's
one reason I like going out on a job so much. I get to channel my inner
12-year-old."
Betsy: "Why is that such
a sinister thought?"
Steve: "I am a sinister
guy. It's an asset in our business to be seen as a predator. How do you work
around the fact that you don't project a menacing aura? Do you count on people underestimating
you?"
Betsy: "I don't worry
about it. It's not like we're going into the boxing ring or having a fair fight
with knives or whatever. If you kill the ones that need to be killed, then you
are fine. Of course today I have not been fine, but you take the breaks. I
guess I sort of got rescued. But that was out of my hands too. I just sat here
like a girl. Which I am, but you know."
Steve: "Yeah. Hey, let's
make a list of the junk you might need, and I'll give it to our professional
shopper."
Betsy starts to get up.
Steve: "Uh uh. Stay put.
Ask before you get up. I mean that. Ask."
Betsy sits back down with a
little smile on her face: "Fuck you."
Steve: "No. Fuck
YOU."
Steve fishes a pen out of his
shirt pocket and a business card from his wallet. He gives them to Betsy.
Steve: "This will come
out of your end. Consider it your expense account report. Keep in under 200
items. No weapons allowed."
Betsy: "So unreasonable.
Such a dick."
She writes for a while and
hands Steve the card.
Steve: "Pen. Now."
She hands him the pen.
Without looking at it, Steve
puts the card in his pocket.
Steve: "Have another
cigarette. Take a nice big drink."
Betsy: "About that time,
huh."
Steve: "Maybe."
Steve swivels around to look
at the computer, but also sits a little sideways to he can see Betsy off to the
side.
Betsy: "Are we gonna
see?"
Steve: "Yes. Question.
If you enter a room and there's a guy you want to kill, up close now. What do
you do?"
Betsy: "One to the
chest, one to the head. Then finish off if needed."
Steve: "Why that
order?"
Betsy: "One to the chest
because you can't miss. Then to the head to be sure, but if you miss, so what
probably. I don't do what you said much though. Maybe twice total. And I can't
kick down a door either. That was damned awesome when you did it."
Steve: "I must admit, I
enjoy my work most of the time."
On the computer they watch as
a woman faces the camera and flashes four fingers; then five fingers. Then she
disappears.
Steve gets up and selects a
length of rope. While he's walking over to Betsy he says: "Stand up, stand
up."
Betsy sighs, wriggles her
heel into her dangled shoe, stands up, turns around and crosses her wrists
behind her back.
Steve: "That's what we
like to see. Cheerful compliance. Acceptance of our plight."
Betsy: "Please top
rubbing it in you goon."
Steve swiftly, efficiently
ties Betsy's hands together behind her back; wrists crossed and rope cinched
between. Then he goes back to the desk to check the screen.
Betsy stands and thoughtfully
works her hands in the ropes. She pulls her hands to her side where she can
look down and see them. She wriggles her fingers, she pouts, then relaxes, and
clicks over to watch the screen with Steve.
Betsy: "I wish I'd
thought to put my hair in a ponytail before you tied my hands. It's gonna drive
me nuts."
Steve: "I'll do it.
Where's the thing?"
Betsy: "The
"thing?" It's right there on the desk. There. To the right."
Steve gathers Betsy's hair
and more or less competently makes her hair into a nice ponytail high up on her
head.
Betsy shakes her head to feel
it.
Betsy: "I would have
done it low on the neck."
Steve: "But you aren't
able to do that stuff because your hands are all tied up. Quit whining. I'm a
nice guy. Until I came along you were in deep shit. Now it's all cool."
Betsy looking at the screen:
"Look at that. They're drunk."
Four men enter the hallway on
the computer screen. They are shoving each other and laughing. Then suddenly
they all four simultaneously fall to the floor. There are bloodstains
everywhere. A man walks among them shooting each in the head. He then turns to
the camera and flashes a fist pump. Then two men join him and they leave out of
the door.
Steve closes the laptop. He
motions Betsy to go sit on the couch. She does so.
Steve hits a number on a cell
phone.
Steve: "Yeah little
buddy. Come on up here and grab everything you see that's not furniture. Right.
Throw it in the van. They'll be another package in there waiting for you. I'll
follow you most of the way, but I have to stop for a minute. See you then.
Start dating redheaded boys. Fuck you too."
Steve looks at Betsy
grinning, "Kids these days."
Steve sits on the floor and
ties Betsy's feet together. She leans over and watches.
With the longest rope, Steve
then sits next to Betsy, makes her turn her back to him and he ties her arms
just above the elbows. He doesn't make her elbows touch, but they are drawn
more sharply behind her than before. He doesn't wrap any of the rope around her
body, but he does leave a longish rope dangling behind her back after the knot
is tied.
Steve: "Open up."
Betsy, understanding
immediately: "What? Why? It's all wet."
Steve: "Are you
ticklish?"
Betsy opens wide and Steve
gags her with thick wrappings between her teeth and the knot tightly tied
behind her head.
Betsy, greatly muffled:
"Bamm oo, oo phom uph uh vish!"
Steve: "Hey fuck it
sweetie, you looking GOOD!!"
At that moment a girl in her
early-20s glides into the room. She is carrying a large tote bag.
She is about 5 ft. 8 in. and
has the body of a dancer. Her face is sweet and pale. She has large blue eyes.
Her hair is almost black and is cut in a cute pageboy, but without bangs; just
parted in the middle. Her demeanor is apathetic.
She is dressed in a simple,
flowing print dress that's mostly blue and white; ending just below her knees.
She has on sheer white stockings and very low-cut, simple, black leather flats,
and incongruously a short, black leather jacket.
When she sees Betsy she
stares for a moment: "Hi. Bet you're relieved huh."
Betsy rolls her eyes and
wriggles in the ropes involuntarily.
Steve: "Betsy, meet
Caroline. We call her Deedee. Caroline, Betsy. No time for girlish chit
chat."
Deedee: "Hi. All this
stuff?"
Steve:
"Everything."
Deedee: "Sure thing bossy
man."
Steve picks up Betsy and
draps her over his shoulder; her head facing his back. She emits a surprised,
incoherent protest.
Steve marches out of the
door, down the hall, down four flights of stairs with Betsy trying to talk or
grunt or squeal. They head for the back door of the building past the bodies of
the Betsy's kidnappers. They emerge into an alley where there is parked a van.
Steve places Betsy in the
van. He pulls her legs up behind her and with the length of rope he had left
hanging from her elbows, he threads and ties it to the rope binding her hands
and then attaches the end to the rope binding her feet. She is in a loose
hogtie now with her legs bent at about right angles.
Steve: "Sorry to treat
you like baggage sweetie. Ha ha, well not too sorry. Relax. You can spend some
time with Deedee.
Betsy: "Ah aph oo
vuphs."
Steve: "I know. We'll
make it all better."
He shoves her on her side and
shuts the van door. He looks around and heads for a black BMW parked in the
alley. He sits and waits.
Deedee emerges from the
building carrying the large, and now heavy, tote. She has on Steve's long
overcoat. It makes her look like a deranged monk. Deedee flings the bag into
the back of the van next to a struggling Betsy. We see that she has lost a shoe.
Then Deedee hops in the driver's seat and takes off down the alley.
(C) Rayron
D’Olier, 2013
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