At The Salon

By Aksinia

Part Three: Ines tells her story

I managed to retrieve my blouse, finding it under the bed, and made my way into the box room. The vibrator was buzzing so I turned it off at the plug. Ines, still blindfolded, let out a long anguished moan from behind her gag. I reached up to unfasten it, and of course she jumped at my touch, causing her more anguish as the nipple clamps jiggled. I removed these and unplugged her ears and quickly explained who I was and what was happening. She was still very jumpy, hardly surprising, but I took off the head harness and blindfold, then began to unpick the knots in the various ropes. Eventually she was free and I helped her through to the bedroom, took the black sheet from the mattress and wrapped her in it. When she saw the bed, she made a groaning noise and moved out of the room, bad memories I guess.

After a quick dash to the lavatory, which we found beyond the kitchen, I sat her down in a chair. She was worn out, not only from having to stand in that position for so long, but surely from all those orgasms forced upon her. I found some rudimentary supplies in the kitchen, and made us some black coffee, and after a while she perked up enough to ask me questions about what had happened to me. I told her the basics, and she confirmed what Donna had told me about this being an elaborate scam. I left her there temporarily as I went downstairs to the now dark and silent salon, listening carefully to check there was no-one in. I found that the second key they had taped to my arse cheeks unlocked the main door, so we could get out. As Donna had said, the phone was no longer working, and our mobiles were gone, so I went back and gave Ines the news. I suggested we stayed until morning, then I could go out and get help.

I found her clothes and handed them over, then asked her to tell me what had happened to her, if felt able to. She did, between munching on biscuits, and we had a second hot coffee. She spoke with a faint Spanish accent.

"My parents are Spanish but they have lived over here for years and I was born here. My mother is descended from one of the old noble families or so she tells me, but they made their money in property and we have a place in Madrid and another on the coast near Valencia.

After coming to University here, I had decided I wanted a career as a fashion model. People said my Mediterranean looks would be great for this, and anyway I wasn't good at studying, too many parties. It was Donna who told me about a photo shoot where they were looking for new talent. The theme was rich and flashy, "a bit like footballer's wives" she said, "proper WAG". I knew what she meant, football is big in Spain like it is here.

So yesterday morning I came to the salon for the full treatment: hair, facial, make-up and nails. Donna said she would make a really good job of the make-up for me; in fact you know she said she would do a really good job on me, I thought it was strange thing to say but sometimes I don't know all the English expressions. I was the only customer, which was unusual."

I concurred. Most times that I visited the salon myself there were other clients in, and I wondered if they too were probably victims of Donna's gang by now. "Yes, and what happened to Donna's assistant, what was her name, Nicole? She wasn't in the gang, do you think they've robbed her too?" I'd forgotten about her. She wasn't always there of course but we'd chatted many times. She seemed quite sweet, owned several ponies, so her family was well-off.

Ines continued. "I had decided on the outfit the night before: seamed hold-up stockings, white bra, and matching lace knickers, plus my waist cincher for a bit of firm control on my middle. Over this I wore a leopard print top and white skirt, lots of gold jewellery, and my short white faux-fur coat. And of course the big sunglasses, even though  it's so dark in the British autumn. Then I chose a pair of high heels, also in white.

Anyway the beauty treatments took quite a while, I enjoy this kind of thing, you know?  Especially the warm oil treatment on my hair. Anyway, then this other woman turned up, clearly very wealthy from the way she was dressed, smart grey business suit, bleached blonde hair. Donna introduced her as the organiser of the shoot, and she went to a cupboard, unlocked it and brought out a bottle of champagne. I thought it was a bit early in the day but I didn't feel as if I could refuse. I had skipped lunch, but she was very persuasive and dropped hints about me mixing with the decision-makers. So I drank it and my head felt suddenly very heavy and I sat down in a chair.

The next thing I new I was lying on a bed, it was the one you were on, waking like from a deep sleep. I was groggy but suddenly aware of my where I was. My legs were vertical, roped to hooks in the ceiling, and held apart by a wooden bar, fixed to a band around each ankle. My wrists were attached by ropes to the bed head and further straps held me by the waist so I was unable to move. I felt a gag in my mouth, a rubber thing but with a solid ring around it, and realising I had been drugged, I tried to shake my head to clear it, but found that a collar around my neck made any movement very difficult.

I had been stripped to my underwear, but my knickers had been removed and I felt a cool draught around my rear.

At first the room was silent but then I heard the whirr of a video camera off to my left, and I was just able to see it, on a tripod, pointing at me. I tried to move, to escape, shouting  through the gag, but it was no use. Three people came into the room, all dressed in dark blue overalls and wearing masks. The first I was sure was the woman who Donna had introduced me to. Her hair was tied back now, and she stood next to the bed, joined by another woman, the small one, who spoke: "so, the bitch is awake, good, now the fun begins". "Tarty make-up, just look at her" said the third one, the one with dark hair. They laughed at that, I suppose they thought it was funny, me being helpless and at their mercy.

Then in walked Donna. At first I thought she would help me, or would be kidnapped by the gang too, but then I realised she was one of them, and why they were laughing. She had just done the make-up herself. She told me I was being robbed, and humiliated for being a stuck-up cow..."

I interrupted at this point: "That's what she said to me too! The nerve!".

Ines went on. "She asked me for the combination to the safe at my house! I was amazed that anyone else even knew about it. I don't know how they could, they must have been watching me for weeks. I keep some money and jewellery in there, and really important documents, so of course I refused, well I shook my head and made a noise through the gag to tell them 'no way'.

"I knew you'd be difficult" said Donna. "Well we'll just have to make you talk. Jackie, Nesrin, over to you."

"Nesrin?" I asked. That's an unusual name. "It's Turkish" Ines said. "I don't know if she was Turkish but she was dark-haired. Anyway she brought into the room a large bag, which she placed on the floor and began to empty. She stood over me and brandished first a small silver chain, a hairbrush, then a hair dryer, then curling tongs.

The small one, Jackie, she was Asian I think, it was difficult to tell behind the mask, she knelt on the bed next to me and pulled my bra down, then put clips onto my nipples and connected them with that chain they had just shown me."

"Did she have highlights in her hair, swept up like this?" I indicated with my hands. "And heavy make-up?" "Si, yes, that's her" replied Ines.

Nesrin began to beat me on the behind with the back of the hairbrush, oh, it was painful." She winced as she told me. "Then she'd stop, turn the brush over and scrape the spiky bristles down my legs. Ay! And each time she scraped it, she went lower down my thighs until she began to touch me down there." She reddened, pointing, remembering the experience. "All the time Jackie was pulling and shaking the chain so my breasts were being abused. Then someone turned the hairdryer on and started to blow hot air over the back of my legs and my bottom. They'd leave it in one place until I began to cry out, well, you know, as much as I could with that thing in my mouth, then they'd move it to another place. Eventually they turned it off, and Donna stood over me, demanding the security code. I couldn't think straight, so didn't answer but I didn't want to answer anyway. So they started again, hairbrush and dryer, on my legs, and…then between them." She paused again. I too tensed, remembering what I had been through. "After a while they stopped, and Donna said they could go on all night but did I want them to use the curling tongs on me? That would have been very bad, so I shook my head and grunted to say no, no!

So Donna told them to take my gag out, that left the ring in my mouth so I couldn't speak properly, but I managed to get the code out. "Good girl" she said. "Are there any alarm or other security traps we should know about?" I shook my head, but in fact there is an alarm, I wanted the police to catch them of course so I didn't tell her.

Immediately the gag plug was replaced and a hood was pulled over my head, secured by a cord round my neck. Then all was silent and I was vaguely aware of retreating footsteps. My legs were still sore, but I was OK.

A little later, maybe 20 minutes, they came back in, and roughly untied me from the bed, pulled me upright and took off the hood. Donna's face was very close to mine, very angry. "You didn't tell us about the alarm did you, you bitch. Good job my men are professionals, they disconnected it before it could call the police. Oh you'll be sorry for that." Mierda, I thought, that plan had failed. "Gosh you were brave" I said.

They took me through to the other room and that's where you found me. Before they tied me to that bench they bent me forward and put some kind of plug up my behind."

"Ooh, and you were sitting on that as well as all the other…?"

"Yes, I left it in the bathroom. It was torture, that's the word for it. "

I asked her about Jackie. I had thought she was Eurasian. Donna's make-up was professional because she was a beautician (or so we thought before today), maybe Jackie had her own salon somewhere. Then there was Nesrin. Neither of us liked the look of her, I bet she was a bully at school. "And the blonde, the fourth one? Do you know her name?"

"No" replied Ines, "she just watched and took pictures with the cameras. Anyway do you think they would give their real names?" I hadn't thought of that.

"You said Donna told you her men were at your house. So they're a bigger gang than we thought."  

"Si, esto es grave, this is serious. But you know, that bathroom, there's only a single door between it and the kitchen. That's against building regulations. Wait till I tell the authorities." She paused, looking at me, straight-faced, then laughed. We both laughed realising the ludicrous nature of the situation. But it lightened the mood.

The sky also got lighter as we made plans, and as we got to know each other these seemed to mostly involve going out drinking and pulling guys, but we both wanted revenge for our humiliation and suffering. It seemed like a forlorn hope. We would go to the police first of all, certainly, then make our own enquiries. An operation like this must have left many victims bound, gagged and abused, maybe across the country, and surely some of them would want to tell their stories. I had had a revelation of my own whilst I was tied up, about who I was and what I enjoyed deep down, but I'd still been robbed and that was just not on.


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