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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