The Adventures of Belinda Carver, Ace Reporter

Hot Wheels-- Chapter One

By Jeb

The blindfold was damp. She had been crying for what seemed like days, but could only have been a few hours. It had all happened so quickly.

"Bring me the telephone." The voice was icy and hard, with a Teutonic accent. She had already heard entirely too much of that voice today.

In her shock, she had trouble remembering details of what had happened. It was something to do with her husband, and a car. A man and a woman, dark, Hispanic. They had pulled into the driveway as she had been ready to leave, and said...what? Did they work for Stan?

"Dial the husband." The German voice again. Not the Hispanic woman, that was certain.

", Baroness." A man's voice this time. Was he the man from her driveway? That man hadn't spoken, had just watched as the woman said she had a message from Stan, that he needed her to come to the car lot right away. Their vehicle had been a dark limousine, and it was impossible to tell if anyone else was inside. The Hispanic woman had opened the door, without waiting for an answer, and the man stepped behind her.

"Did Stan send you? I don't know..." those were the last intelligible words she uttered all day. What else she might have said was muffled by the scarred hand that was pressed over her lips from behind. The man's strength was terrifying. Even twisting her head violently to the side brought no opportunity to free her mouth from his grip. From behind, he forced her into the open door of the limousine, flattening her face down on the floor. A second pair of hands, no doubt the Hispanic woman's, whipped a wide, dark cloth across her eyes, and tied it tightly behind her head, sealing her in darkness.

"Bind her hands." The voice came from the darkened interior of the limousine. That was the first time she heard the German woman's voice. Cold, pitiless. The very precise use of "bind" rather than "tie".

She fought with all her strength. It wasn't even close to being enough. As the man held her brutally still, the woman pulled her arms behind her, and crossed the wrists together. Some kind of thin cord bit into her skin as use of her hands was denied her.

"She will kick. Restrain her legs." Again the voice, with no face to go with it. Again the cord, shredding nylons as it fastened her ankles and legs together. Her attempt to kick was met with a blow across the back of her head that left her seeing stars, and her legs flopped heavily on the floor as the last knot was tightened.

"We must have no noise. Gag her mouth."

Relief. Her face was pulled up from where it had been buried in the carpeting. She had barely gasped in a lungful of oxygen when the air was followed into her mouth by a wad of some kind of cloth. Now, it was clearly the man's fingers at work, brutally jamming coarse fabric atop her tongue and against the back of her throat, choking her. More of the thin cord binding her hands was threaded between her jaws, and tightened painfully behind her head,

"Uuunnnggghh." It might have been a moan of pain or a plea for mercy. Her captors were interested in neither. Helpless, she squirmed on the floor, desperate for some chance of escape, but was stilled as the heel of a shoe dug into her back.

"Lie still." The woman with the German accent rested both feet on the captive's back as the door to the limousine slammed, and the big car slid smoothly out of the driveway.

That had been this morning. In this darkened room, now, it might be afternoon, or evening, or even tomorrow. She had been carried from the car, over the man's shoulder, into some kind of building that smelled of oil and industry. She was seated on a small, hard wooden chair. Though still tied hand and foot, she was not actually fastened to the chair, but no part of her terrified mind would have dreamed of trying to move from it.

She heard the voice of the German woman. "Hello. Is this Bullard?" Even her fear couldn't prevent her from attempting to choke her husband's name through the cloth in her mouth. The woman didn't even pause.

"Do not be concerned as to my name. It is not important. What is important is that your wife is here with me. You will listen to my instructions, and obey without question, unless you wish great harm to come to her." There was a pause, as the woman listened.

"Very well." Some sort of signal must have been given, as the rope was yanked brutally down from her mouth, and the cloth pulled free. She gasped as the phone was jammed to her face.

"Aaahh! Heeellpp! Stan! Stan!" She couldn't tell if her parched mouth had actually formed the words, but she could hear his voice in the phone.

"Valerie! Valerie! My God--" the phone was yanked away, the tinny voice of her husband fading, and the disgusting wad of cloth jammed back nearly to her throat. As it was tied in place, the German woman's conversation with her husband continued.

"So. You see that she is well. Do not waste time! Your threats are empty. If you wish your wife to stay alive, be silent! Better. Now, at midnight tonight, a truck will arrive at your car lot. You will assist my employees in providing documents that will allow these cars to be sold legally. You will ask no questions, and contact no one. Tomorrow, if you do as I have instructed, your wife will be returned unharmed. You are being watched; do not do anything foolish."

Valerie Bullard heard the phone replaced in its cradle. The German voice then spoke to her; the ice in its tone had been replaced with something else-- something that was, in its way, even more chilling.

"Now, liebchen," Valerie felt cool fingers under her chin. "I am sure your husband will do the intelligent thing, and all will be well. However, it is my belief that we should always have a little insurance, eh? So, I think we prepare a few...how you say...'souvenirs', to be certain that your husband is just as careful after he is through helping us."

Something cold and metallic on her shoulder: a knife; the back of the blade oily against her skin. A useless shriek into a packed mouth, and then the quick movement, the "snick" sound, cold air on her skin as the dress fell off her shoulder. She scarcely even noticed as the other shoulder was bared, because light suddenly filled her prison; the blindfold had been yanked off.

Squinting, Valerie looked up at the woman who had removed her blindfold: the same Hispanic woman she had seen in the driveway, wearing black jeans and a purple tank top. Wiry and powerful-looking, with a sharp nose and piercing black eyes which glared at their captive.

"It's no good she sees us, Baroness." Clearly, the dark woman would have no qualms about dealing harshly with Valerie.

"Not at all." For the first time, Valerie was able to put a face to the Germanic voice. It was less frigid, now, but the warmth was brittle, like ice breaking up on a sunny midwinter day. "It is important that her face be seen." The woman was tall, with broad shoulders emphasizing an astonishing figure, which seemed to strain the designer blouse to its limits. Hair of a frosty gold flowed past her shoulders and across her large breasts. She approached her captive, and took her chin firmly in one hand. Glacial blue eyes bored into Valerie's.

"I allow now my associates to take some pictures. I will keep the negatives, and your husband will know that he is never to speak of our dealings, unless he wishes your tabloid newspapers to see THIS." At that, she released Valerie's chin, and used her other hand to finish the job of ripping the top of Valerie's dress from her.

"NNNNNgggghhhh!!!" As she shook her head violently, Valerie shut her eyes tight, as though to return to the darkness of the blindfold. The blond woman gave a slight chuckle, and moved her hand down Valerie's chest to hook her fingers into her captive's bra. Now, the bound woman's eyes flew open again as the blonde ripped the bra apart, and Valerie felt cold air rush over her now-exposed breasts. The tears which she had tried to control now flowed again, and through her clouded vision, she could see the Hispanic man, camera before his face. She was nearly blinded as the camera flashed, and began to make an obscene series of clicking and whirring sounds, recording her naked degradation. Now, she gave no thought to consequences, and tried to throw herself from the chair. Strong hands that must have belonged to the Hispanic woman grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back down, moaning uselessly into her gag. As if to show her that the worst had not yet come, the woman now allowed her fingers to stray down Valerie's chest, and tweak her nipple as the camera moved in for a closeup. Valerie tried to throw herself back against the woman's strength, but the blond woman seized her head in both hands and forced it back down toward her chest.

"Be certain her face is in the picture. It must be clear whose breasts Lupe is enjoying."

Valerie Bullard led a pampered existence, her husband wealthy and willing to indulge her, her control over her life absolute. Now, she didn't even have control of her own body, as two vicious women displayed it for the filthy attentions of the man with the camera. And the worst part was, when they were done, they wouldn't even kill her.

Chapter Two

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