That was Then, This is Now – The Secretary







It’s funny the things that events bring to mind – right now, what I’m thinking off is an incident over forty years ago, when I was a younger woman in my first job.


Why is this coming to mind?  Well, somehow my current circumstances are striking a similar note.   After all, two men wearing stocking masks can only be a coincidence, right…


My hair was a bit lighter then, and I had it cut in a style which had it swept back from my face.  The job was with a firm of accountants, and I had to dress in a professional, yet fashionable way – the way it was then when you worked in a mainly male environment…


So that day, if I remember correctly, it was a white short sleeved blouse under a black jacket, and a long flowing black skirt with white polka dots.  It was long in the sense it came down over my knees, and I clearly remember I was wearing a pair of mid-calf black leather boots with a wide heel – very much the fashion at the time.


So anyway, I was having a perfectly normal day, when one of the partners asked if I would work back, and make sure a particular report that had to be sent that night was finished off.  IO had no particular plans, and he promised triple time – so I agreed.


Never should have done that…


And yet, here I am, reliving that experience in my own home, with two more masked men…




Anyway – that day, it would have been about six thirty, and I had just about finished typing the report.  Yes, typing – the word processor was an expensive thing to have in those days, and I had my qualifications.  I typed the signature line and the name underneath, tore the sheet down, looked up – and saw the sawn-off shotgun pointed right at me.


There were two men, both wearing boiler suits, gloves and with a dark stocking pulled down over their heads to obscure and mask them.  They also, as I said, had the sawn-off shotgun.


That’s one thing that is different – the men today don’t have a shotgun, but they do have a pistol pointing at me as I sit in this chair.  I’m retired now, after ending my career as an executive assistant for a corporate chairman – one who, if these visitors are right, did the wrong thing and has implied I have the evidence.


I have no idea if I do – but I digress.  I need to keep focused for now on what happened then.  As I said, two men, boiler suits, shotgun.  The one holding it asked me if anyone else was in the office, and I didn’t reply – but I did look towards the door of the office where the partner was working.  He nodded at me, and then to his partner.  As he walked behind me, I saw he had a bag, and then saw the ropes at the top as he knelt behind me.


His first action was to reach round and pull my arms round the chair back, and then I felt ropes on my wrists as they were bound together.  He was efficient – it only took two minutes, and when he was done, I could not move my hands apart, or even off the chair back – he had tied the ends to the central support of the chair back.


He then produced the longest length of rope I had ever seen and passed it round my upper body, pulling my arms against my sides as he pulled it tighter.  He kept wrapping the rope around me, forcing my arms against me but also forcing me back into the chair, so that all I could conceivably think of doing was wriggle in the seat.  It really was tight.


The man who was pointing the shotgun at me then put it down – where I could see it and where he could reach it, and took from his pocket a roll of brown sticking plaster.  Tearing a strip off, he pressed it down over my mouth with his gloved hands, so that all I could do then was mumble.  I watched as he picked up the shotgun and walked into the inner office, then heard the partner shout out something.


Doesn’t really matter what it was, except that it was rude – it’s not as if I could offer any constructive criticism or warn him, after all.  The second man was still with me, kneeling in front of me and using more rope to bind my ankles together.  I watched him, wondering how he was feeling doing this to me – and knowing I could not even ask the question, as the rope went between my legs to make it even tighter.


He then smiled as he folded my skirt back, and used more rope to bind my legs together below my knees, again taking the rope around and between my legs.  


I could hear some soft mumbling in the inner office, but what was I meant to do?  As the second man pulled my ankles back under the chair and secured them to the centre support, I could only watch, feeling the sweat at the back of my neck as the man looked at me.


I was aware of how my blouse was clinging to me now, and he could not take his eyes off me – a fact that made me feel even more nervous as he pulled my jacket to the side, and then slowly unbuttoned my blouse, revealing the white bra I was wearing as I struggled afraid of what he might do to me.


And what he did was to grab my breasts and start to knead them with his gloved hands, as I shook my head and screamed into the plaster - to little or no effect.  Nut there was something else.


I need to confess something here – I was a virgin at the time, and no man had touched me there.  No man had touched me apart from my father and brothers – and after a few minutes, I had the strangest feeling running through me, little electric shocks as his fingers pressed down on my breasts.  I could also feel them getting firmer, and I had no idea why.


I opened my eyes to see him smile at me, and he was about to lower my bra – and what was more, I was wanting him to – when his partner came back out of the office, carrying the bag and said they had to go.  He leant over and kissed my cheek, and then the two men walked out as I sat there, blushing, sweating a little – but feeling strangely good…


It took a while for the senior partner to push himself out – they had bound and gagged him as well – and his eyes opened wide when he saw me, before he pushed himself over, managed to pull a phone down from the desk, and contacted the police in some way…





Those memories have stayed with me for so long, but why they have really resurfaced today – for very good reasons.  As I said, I have recently retired as an executive assistant, but I look different now – darker short hair, and wearing a grey jersey dress with a low neckline, dark tights and black knee length leather boots.  I also had a long grey wool scarf over my shoulders.


The operative word being ‘had’ – because when I opened the door, and had t step back when my two guests came in, the first thing one of them did was use the scarf as a cleave gag, pulling it so tight the corners of my mouth were pulled back and the ends lay down the back of my head.


These men are certainly slightly better dressed – dark suits, white shirts, tie and highly polished shoes.  One of them was also, as I said, a pistol that he had pointed at me as I was gagged – and they both had stockings pulled down over their heads.  He explained they had no wish to harm me, but they needed something from the records I had being allowed to keep.


Why?  I was going to write a book -and it looked as if I had a new closing chapter.  I was made at gunpoint to walk into the dining room, as the second man placed a leather briefcase on the table and pulled one of the chairs away into the centre of the room.


His partner waved the fun and said I should sit down, which I did before his partner opened the briefcase and took out a length of white rope.  He then took my arms over the chair back and I felt the rope wrapped around my wrists as they were secured together.


And as happened that day, he then secured them to one of the chair back spars.  He then took a long length of rope and passed it round my arms and body, between the two support bars, so that my arms were pulled into my sides before he took it round my arms and body above my chest.  The bands were tight, and stretched my top over my chest as my breasts were pushed up and out.


He then did something else with a second long length of rope – tying off the end to a joint, he then cinched the bands between one of my arms and my body so that it was much tighter, and then wrapped it between the spars behind me before he cinched the bands on the other side.   He then took the rope over one shoulder, and walked in front of me, smiling as he took it under and round the lower band between my breasts, and then took it back up again.


The end result?  I really was stuck in the chair, and the ropes rubbed on me from all sides as I twisted round.  And it was a truly different feeling, which brought back all those memories.


Coming back round, he knelt down and crossed my ankles and lashed them together with rope, taking it around them in neat bands and then between my legs to make it even tighter.  A second band round my legs below my knees, cinched as well, and then he pulled my ankles back, lifting my feet off the floor as it was secured behind me as well.


I could feel the material of the scarf getting wetter and wetter in my mouth, and I was wondering if there would be a chance to push it out when they were not looking.  I twisted round – with no way of loosening the ropes as my binder left the room, leaving the older man with me, looking at me.



I looked back at him, my eyes wide open and questioning, as he looked in the case and brought out a roll of black tape.  Tape that made a soft, squelchy sound as he peeled the end free, and then wrapped it tightly round my head, making me even mor silent before he kissed my neck.


Yes – he kissed my neck through the nylon, and then the memories really came to the fore as he reached round from behind me and started to massage my chest, the ropes rubbing even more as I twisted round to try and stop me.


But I had to ask myself – did I really want him to stop?  I had never married, had a few relationships, but as my body started to respond I closed my eyes.  I could not stop him doing this to me – all I could do was make the best of all this, and try to get some enjoyment out of it.


My body was certainly appearing to enjoy the attention - they felt much firmer, and I found myself trying to push my body into his hands as he kissed me again.  I could feel a dampness between my legs, and a warmth that wasn’t unpleasant…


His partner came back, and saw what was happening -but they did not leave this time, as he knelt in front of me and slipped his hand under the skirt of my dress, and I twisted even more to their touches, loving every second of my captivity…







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