Gwyn toweled off as she
came out of the shower in the Slave Quarters of the Villa. The sign over the
entryway said Slave Quarters in ornate letters, but it was really more like the
locker room of a posh resort, complete with spa tubs and massage tables.
Before dressing she stopped
to look at herself in the full length mirror. She sighed. She’d picked Gwyn,
short for Gwyneth, as her Villa name because of her favorite actress. Alas, she
was never going to be tall, blonde and beautiful like that Gwyneth. She was
short, with a robust build, broad shoulders and broad hips. But not fat. She
worked hard to keep toned. On the plus side, her natural body type gave her a
nice round ass in back balanced by a nice full rack up front. She placed her
hands under her breasts, lifted them up as if presenting them. She was never
going to feel the need of a boob job, unless maybe for a slight reduction.
Her face was pleasant but
nothing special. She thought it was too round. But a full head of striking dark
red hair set it off nicely. That was natural, too. The drapes and carpet
matched, at least before she’d shaved her crotch that morning as the Planners
suggested.
She put on the outfit she
had selected. The few items were old things from her closet, things that
wouldn’t be missed, which was good because they weren’t going to survive the
day. An old pair of jeans, too tight to begin with, cut down to the skimpiest
pair of Daisy Dukes. A tank top, cropped to just below her boobs, just covering
a bra that barely contained her 36 D’s. She’d splurged on one new item, a lacy
and very minimal thong. Her first reaction when she pulled it into place was
that this thing was NOT comfortable. But what did that matter? She wouldn’t be
wearing it long. Oversized sunglasses and a pair of flip-flops completed the
ensemble.
She checked herself in the
mirror. “Damn!” she thought happily, “I am a SLUT!” She turned and looked over
her shoulder for the rear view. “All I need is a flashing neon sign across my
ass. Take me! Fuck me!”
The attendant looked in to
see how she was coming. “We’re ready when you are,” she said.
Gwyn nodded, then followed
the attendant out to the small waiting area just inside the door. The Handler,
a middle aged and somewhat plain, maternal looking woman who’d escorted her to
the Slave Quarters that morning, was waiting for her.
“So,” she said brightly,
“ready for your adventure?”
Gwyn nodded again.
Excitement was building in her. She didn’t trust her voice to answer without
becoming squeaky or otherwise embarrassing her.
“Then follow me,” she said,
opening the door.
The Handler led Gwyn down a
passageway, up a flight of stairs, and out a door on the east side of the
building to where an electric golf cart waited. The Handler motioned her to the
passenger seat as she slid behind the wheel. They glided, noiselessly except
for the crunch of the gravel on the driveway, away from the building and left
the grounds of the Villa by a side gate. A short paved driveway brought them
out onto the worn gray asphalt of a county road, barely a lane and a half wide.
A few hundred yards down the road the Handler pulled over at a wide spot.
“Well, Gwyn,” she asked,
“are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” Gwyn answered, almost
truthfully.
“So, you want to enter into
your adventure as planned?”
“Yes.”
“And you remember your safe
word? Please repeat it for me.”
“Enough.”
“Good. Then, as we say, the
game begins.” She motioned Gwyn out of the cart. When Gwyn had stepped out she
made another motion with the index finger of her right hand, an overly
elaborate pointing down the road. “Now, just walk.”
Gwyn started to ask “How
far?” but the Handler cut her off.
“Just walk and the story
will unfold. And don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”
She turned the wheel hard
left and stepped on the accelerator. The golf cart made a U turn and headed
back the way they’d come. Gwyn saw the Handler pick up a handy-talkie and speak
into it as she disappeared.
She felt mixed emotions as
she started walking, a strange combination of excitement and apprehension, and
a little fear. Well, more than a little fear. News reports of young women
abducted genuinely horrified her. Sometimes she would obsess over what terrors
the victims must suffer. Yet, something about the idea of being a helpless
victim of evil strangers, even the most private, sensitive parts of her body
exposed, offered up to their wicked attentions, excited her like nothing else.
She tried to reason it out.
“It’s just a way of
defanging the threat,” she told herself. “Minimizing it by making it weirdly
erotic.” But after playing out the scenario in her mind, and laying there under
the covers, fingers sticky with her juices, she’d still say to herself, “Girl,
you are one sick puppy.”
“Abduction is not really a
very odd fantasy,” one of the Planners had said when she finally managed to
describe what she wanted in a coherent manner. “You’d be surprised how many
people have fantasies that are variations on that theme.”
It really shouldn’t have
been so hard to explain it to them. The two Planners who arranged her
adventure, a man and a woman, both somewhere in middle age and very vanilla
looking, had the mannerisms of a couple salespeople discussing new cabinets for
the kitchen or new carpet for the living room.
Before long she heard a
car, or maybe a truck, approaching from behind. She intentionally emphasized
the rolling of her hips. An old pickup truck slowed as it passed her, but kept
on rolling. Through the back window, she could see the driver, an older man in
a ball cap, turn to look at her.
Two more vehicles passed
her. A minivan with a middle aged women who studiously avoided looking at her.
A dusty sedan with a couple teenage boys. One yelled something unintelligible
and made an obscene gesture.
“Busy road,” she thought,
“for being out in the country.”
She heard another vehicle
approach. Maybe this was the one. A van went past her. It was an older model,
with double side doors and no windows in the back. The doors at the rear were
plastered with Harley-Davidson and “Kill a Biker, Go to Jail” stickers. At
first she thought it was going to continue on its way, but it slowed to a stop
and then backed up towards her.
She saw the passenger side
window roll down and an arm, bare below a white t-shirt and cutoff Levis
jacket, motion her to approach. She took two steps towards the van. Then the
side doors exploded open. Two figures in loose black clothing, like ninjas, ski
masks over their heads, leapt from the van, covered the few steps to Gwyn in
seconds, and grabbed her. One wrapped his arms around her chest, pinning her
arms to her sides. The other bent down and grabbed her ankles, pulling them out
from underneath her. They lifted her off her feet, carried her to the van, and
dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. One of her assailants sat on her while
the other slammed the doors shut.