By Jason Bindura
Special Agent Lea Martinez was angry, frustrated and frightened.
She lay on a carpeted surface on her stomach. Her hands were crossed behind her back, secured with rough unyielding rope that felt like hemp: not that she knew about such things. Her ankles were also crossed and secured with the same material. More rope had been wrapped unnecessarily around her legs above the knees and probably damaging her tan pantyhose. She knew that her grey skirt was riding up showing glimpses of her red panties under the hose.
Embarrassment was not the worst of her problems. She was struggling to breathe. They had rammed some soft material into her mouth and secured it by wrapping a long piece of another type of material around her head. It felt suspiciously like more pantyhose. As if that wasn't enough they had blindfolded her with her own black satin scarf.
She thought back to how she had got into this situation. She had been leaving her house when the girl had run to her door crying. Her brother, she said had been fallen and he wasn't moving. The girl with her curly strawberry blonde hair looked no older then nineteen or twenty, and Martinez followed her to see if she could help.
She had not noticed the transit van pull up next to them until it was too late. A black Bag had been thrown over her head as she was pulled into the vehicle.
Worse still they had, apparently grabbed the girl. She heard her crying as they demanded she give them access to her email account. Scared for the girl's safety she complied on condition they let her go.
True to their word they released the girl once she had given them her password and user name. Martinez actually heard the girl laughing she had been had been duped. The bitch was another member of the gang.
She pulled on the ropes again and after another eternity she pulled a hand free.
Almost immediately hands grabbed her and forced her wrists together retying the knots she had loosened.
“That was naughty,” a female voice giggled, and Martinez felt her skirt being pulled up. She couldn't believe what was happening as a hand slapped her butt – hard.
The woman struck her at least seven times, bringing tears of pain and frustration to her blindfolded eyes.
Part Two – the Supervisor
The tall dark haired woman: the supervisor, as she insisted on being called, smiled at the captive.
The disused warehouse had proven ideal for her purposes. The road that led to the main arterial highway just outside of town was easy to monitor to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed,
The captive was bound to a metal pole that was cemented into the concrete floor. The supervisor neither knew nor cared what the poles – there were eight of them - had been originally used for. This one was ideal for her purpose.
At twenty five dark haired young woman was the ideal age for the supervisor's gang, but at the moment she was was tightly bound with blue rope around her naked torso. Rope encircled her legs below and above her knees with more at the ankles.
Her hands were crossed behind the pole, with more rope pulling her arms together also behind the pole forcing her well rounded breasts invitingly forward. The supervisor found herself idly stroking those delicious orbs with her gloved hands.
Such a pity.
The blonde haired young woman had been invited into her gang some six months ago, and had shown a lot of promise. Alas she had turned out to be a traitor who had leaked information to the FBI. Now two of her people were serving time in jail as a result. Fortunately they hadn't betrayed their mistress, but it was important to get them released.
Had she been recruited by the FBI before joining her gang the supervisor wondered? Well soon they would begin questioning her and would find the truth.
A 'mmpphh' from behind the black cloth wrapped over the woman's mouth indicated that the gag in her mouth was effective. She was privileged, the supervisor thought, the red lingerie in her mouth belonged to the supervisor herself and was more expensive than any FBI agent would be able to afford to buy. The supervisor had brought the underwear along especially to emphasize that point.
She beckoned with her left hand and a blonde haired young woman appeared at her side. It was almost time to begin the interrogation.
The captive was begging for mercy her with her bright blue eyes, but she wasn't interested. She was going to enjoy watching her squirm.
A ping on her cell phone indicated a text received. She glanced at it.
Good they had the FBI Agent.
She sent a text to a different recipient.
and two more
“Move in now.”
Debbie smiled as she prodded the captive. Even with the gag the captive's screams were disturbing. Well she had behaved like a cow so the use of a cattle prod was appropriate, the supervisor decided.
She clicked her fingers and the torture stopped.
Slowly the tall dark haired woman strode back to the captive. Her gloved hand stroked the woman's cheek.
“The pain will stop as soon as you co-operate,” she said softly. “Do you want to co-operate?”
The gagged woman's eyes widened in fear. She clear didn't want to co-operate, but then she didn't want to be tortured further. Her body shook as she sobbed behind her gag. Her breasts shook invitingly, and the supervisor cupped one in her hand and brushed her lips against it.
She brought those same ruby coloured lips to the captive's cheek. Gently she brushed the short hair away from the ear which she nibbled slowly, sensually, then opened her mouth and breathed into it.
The captive squirmed, and so did Debbie, the girl reached to her own beasts and started to gently massage them, as the supervisor continued her show.
“Will you talk now, will you tell me what I need to know?” the supervisor asked.
Crying behind the gag the captive nodded. Shame, humiliation and fear chased themselves across her face.
The supervisor slowly lowered the cloth from the girl's mouth and gently removed the underwear.
“Well,” she began gently, “why did you betray me? Was that always your plan?”
“No, supervisor. When I joined I didn't know how much harm you were doing how evil you are ...” the girl began.
The supervisor slapped her across the face.
“Stupid child. I rob from people who can afford the loss. I hurt no-one. My assistants are expert at persuading people to co-operate without the need for violence.”
“No,” replied the girl screwing up the last of her courage. “The man whose wife and daughters you kidnapped. You hurt him, you destroyed him.”
“Nonsense we left his wife and daughters bound and gagged where they could be found the next day.”
“But,” the girl cried, her fear warring with her revulsion at what she had learned she had been a part of. “You left them tied up for eight hours. They were hysterical when they were found. Mr Robson was left almost penniless.”
“He will recover,” the supervisor replied smoothly, “and a few hours in bondage does no harm. I imagine the girls quite enjoyed the touch of smooth stimulating rope against their tender feminine parts.”
“Mr Howard is an alcoholic now. He couldn't live with what happened. His wife and children were left with nothing. The older daughter is working as a prostitute thanks to you.
“You can live with what you've done, but I can't. I helped you, and for that I deserve to die. Kill me if you want, but I can't work for a piece of filth like you again.”
Part Three - An Unhappy Man
Chuck Hendry was not happy, but then he never was. A prison guard for fifteen years he hated his job, He hadn’t always been this way, but since the death of his friend Jake five years ago he had taken on a sour view of life.
Jake had been killed – murdered – in a prison breakout. It had been well planned, and executed. Unfortunately for Jake that plan had necessitated the killing of a guard.
The prisoners had eventually been recaptured along with the gang that had freed them. The gang members had received life sentences.
That was in Chuck’s view a joke. They take a life and are given life. They are promised free medical aid, food living accommodation, freedom from all the worries that burdened married men like him. They would not have to lay awake at night worrying about bills, about the future of their children, about the possibility of their homes being repossessed. No the government would do all the worrying for them.
He had large debts to pay, not least the house: then there were the medical bills to pay – those not covered by the insurance. When you took out the money they saved for the college fund for his kids he barely had enough to go out for a drink once in a while.
Now he had to help transport a couple of female prisoners to the local FBI building. They were needed for questioning about some kidnappings he was told.
To Be Continued...