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geminis-twisted-mind · 5 years ago

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Esme Blake stared at the screen, unable to process what she was reading. It was an email, with the subject line: Mandatory Self Defence Training: Kidnapping.

She read each line slowly, and then read the whole thing again. Finally, when no clarity seemed to be forthcoming, she drafted a message to Cheryl, the HR leader, who just happened to be an old friend from her graduating class.

Hi Cheryl,

This is a joke, right?! Ha ha, tease the new girl. No one actually does THIS?

Cheryl’s response arrived back with an aggressive ping.

Hi E,

No joke. Everyone on the international team does it. Company wants to be sure you know how to handle yourself if you get nicked while negotiating with one of our foreign buyers.

You wanted the promotion, this is part of it.

‘Get nicked’? Was that anyway for a senior team member to talk, even if they were friends? Esme typed back, still not convinced.

I never wanted to do anything dangerous! I just wanted some nice parties with diplomats, maybe some cute waiters with sexy accents. You don’t really think I'll get kidnapped?!

The response came back in seconds, suggesting Cheryl had been waiting.

Of course not. It’s never happened. But you should be prepared in cased it does. So stop complaining and book the course for this Friday.

That was it. The end of the discussion. Another ping told her that Cheryl wasn’t quite done.

And E, try not to enjoy it too much!

Bitch.

Esme held back her wounded pride and set about reading the 15-page disclaimer on the website. The word consent was used a lot, specifically regarding how the role-play was designed to simulate a real-life experience, and therefore would be run to completion no matter what, except for a medical emergency. By signing up, Esme was declaring that she knew what she was getting into and was OK with it.

Esme entered her details, including the billing which went straight to the company, and moved on to the permissions page. She was immediately alarmed when she saw what she was being asked to give permission for, starting with where she wanted to be abducted from.

Seriously, what the f*** kind of question is that? she thought as she read through the list.

Kidnapped from office would be far too embarrassing, with all her colleagues around to watch. Home-invasion was out, in case her wife tried to play the heroine and got herself hurt. That left the street, which made her very nervous but was the only acceptable answer.

Esme moved on to what they called the ‘core experience’. Her stomach did flips as she read through the list, a perverted menu of head-bagging, body-tying, car-boot-riding, handcuffs, blindfolds, and gags. The word ‘kinky’ wasn't used, but she sensed it was never far from the edges of the conversation.

At the bottom of the page was a section called ‘interrogation’. Esme felt her chest tighten just reading it. A warning in red marked it as recommended only for people with some prior experience. Esme realised with a sickening start that some people must do this more than once.

Half of the choices sounded like things she would expect to find in German dungeon porn, featuring blond, top-heavy maidens strapped helplessly to tables being horribly abused by leather-wearing sadists. Coming in at just under 5ft nothing, with a modest frame, short brown hair, and a cute face all but hidden behind a pair of glasses, Esme had a hard time picturing herself in the role of the helpless maiden.

Esme took a deep breath and carefully made her selections. in particular, she unchecked anything that sounded like it would hurt. She would let them take her and hold her until the ‘ransom’ was paid, a minimum of 2 hours. Otherwise she expected to be treated, if not nicely, then at least gently. Surreptitiously located next to the button for ‘confirm’ was another button that said ‘select all’, which she avoided.

“What’s that, Esme?” The voice came so suddenly that Esme had to grab the edge of her desk to keep from falling straight out of her chair.

It was Thomas. Stupidly-attractive Thomas. Always-flirting-but-only-in-that-nice-way Thomas. But worst of all, gossiped-like-an-American-hen-on-steroids Thomas. If he saw what she was looking at, it would be all over the office in nanoseconds.

She hit ‘confirm' in a blind panic and closed the browser.

.....

Friday came with all the speed and determination of a snail that had decided this was the week it was going to practice the art of moonwalking.

She left the office wearing her least-favourite skirt, her cheapest white Primark brand top, and a pair of comfortable shoes. After all, if she was going to be abducted, she was damned if she was going to do it in heels. She had deliberately not had anything to drink for two hours: the last thing she wanted was to have to ask her kidnappers for permission to use the loo.

She skipped the tube she normally took home and walked on as instructed, to a quieter place where there was less likely to be any witnesses. Then she activated the app that told them where she was, to make sure they got the right person.

The thought of someone watching her movements made her extremely nervous. Every dusk-born shadow seemed larger and scarier. If anyone had asked her for the time she might have punched them in the face on reflex.

She never even heard the silent electric vehicle drive up behind her. It wasn’t until two men leapt out and threw a black (and mercifully clean) bag over her head that she realised she was ‘nicked’.

.....

The memory of the journey was a blur. She had been in the boot, she knew that much. But it had been roomier than she had expected and, given that the max speed for inner-city London was about 5 miles per hour, it hadn’t been a bumpy ride. Her arms had been cuffed behind her back, so she had rested on her side to stop the metal cutting into her wrists.

She found she could breathe surprisingly well through the bag, even as they pulled up, opened the boot, and lifted her out. It was shocking having several pairs of hands grabbing her at the same time, but they were – polite – about where they touched her. She absently wondered if real kidnappers would be so considerate. Somehow she doubted it.

She was lowered into a solid metal chair, the kind of minimalist contraption used by chip shops with airs. The lower back portion was missing by design, which gave her cuffed hands somewhere to rest. She wondered if she was expected to participate, maybe get up and try to run away, but the addition of a cable tie holding her ankles together settled that debate.

There was darkness, and voices, but no one talked to her. The bag was pulled away just as a massive light burst to life and filled her field of vision, blinding her. She gasped and blinked, and then cried out as a cloth gag was forced roughly into her mouth.

“Hey! Be gentle!” she tried to say, but it came out as a frustrated “hmph! hmmph hmfmph”.

“We’ve got a live one,” said a man’s voice. It was perfectly intoned English, but with a light European accent. He could have been anywhere in the room – Esme couldn't see anything.

She was slightly surprised to hear a woman with a similar accent respond. “She should be, given this order. It says she’s down for the full package.”

But then, why couldn’t women be kidnappers? Was she a bad feminist for assuming her abductors would be male? Wait what?!

“No that’s not right! I don't want the full package, I don't even want the box! Just leave me here for two hours until my office ‘rescues’ me.” That's how it sounded in her head. The gagged version was a series of indecipherable grunts and hmphs.

Her mind looked around and did the equivalent of a teenager realising he actually can’t jump clean over that pointy fire hydrant.

Two words: ‘select all’.

Thomas, when I get out of this, I am going to MURDER you.

Esme had never seen the confirmation. All the correspondence had gone to the billing address, the office, to Cheryl. And that two-timing wench never said a damn thing.

Esme’s eyes adjusted to the bright light, enough that she could make out the shadowy forms of her two captors standing behind it.

Please, she thought desperately, don't hurt me...

.....

Esme was lifted out of the chair by two pairs of strong hands, one on each arm. Her ankles were still bound together, giving her all the dignity of a fish flopping on a hook. There was the rattle of keys and the cuffs came loose, but as soon as her hands were free they were pulled abover her head and recuffed, this time in leather. At first she could stand comfortably on her own feet, but a loud noise and a horrible pulling sensation later and she found herself practically hanging from the ceiling!

Oh god, no, this can’t be happening! This isn’t me, I don’t do things like this! Please take off the gag and I can explain this is all a misunderstanding!

“Hmmmph” on repeat is all she managed to say.

The woman walked between Esme and the light. She was dressed in a black pantsuit and obligatory stilletto heels. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had sharp, beautiful features and piercing eyes. The only thing missing was a riding crop in her hands.

“Now, Ms Blake. We are going to ask you some questions about the people you work for, and I understand you may not want to answer out of loyalty. That won’t last. We have six hours to make you talk, and I promise, you will talk.

Six hours?! I only agreed to two! I’ll talk, I’ll tell you everything, starting with where that bitch Cheryl lives!

The man moved up beside her. Like the woman, he was extremely handsome. In fact, he looked so much like her they could have been siblings. He was wearing a pair of army-issue kakis and a vest. In his hand was a knife as long as Esme’s arm from elbow to wrist. Esme’s eyes widened and she began to struggle against the cuffs, causing her body to shake in the air.

“Hold her still!” said the man, not loudly but with a clear authorative voice. It was so compelling that Esme nearly stopped moving to obey him herself. More hands grabbed her and she was stuck in position, with the strength of their arms taking some of the weight off her wrists. She followed the man with the knife as he walked around her, straining her neck until he was out of sight.

She screamed as he tore through her blouse, exposing her back but leaving her chest covered as the top hung from the sleeves. She hadn’t been ready to be treated this way in front of so many people. The woman came up and held Esme’s chin in her hand.

“There there,” she said, almost whispering. “It won’t be all bad. My brother is very good at what he does.”

A sudden weight landed against her back, with just a hint of sting, announcing the fact that she was being flogged! She gasped and tried to catch her breath even as another hit landed. The weight of the leather assulted her back again and again, never really stinging nor hard enough to be truely punishing, but making her skin raw with every slap. She didn’t know how long he hit her for, the rythmic pulsing of it pushing her against the bondage that held her. After the initial shock of it, she found it was almost relaxing.

Endorphines mixed with the adrenaline of fear in her brain, creating an unexpected cocktail that clouded her mind and muddled her thoughts. It took her by surprise when the woman took her by the chin again.

“Don’t think this is all you’re getting.” The woman was holding a whip now, a cruel looking thing that was twisted and folded from one thick end which served as a handle, to a thin tapered end that finished in a point. Esme looked at her pleadingly and shook her head.

The flogging had stopped. Now the man walked into Esme’s view and the woman disappeared behind her. His vest was gone and there was sweat across the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked for all the world like a professional body builder. He leaned close to her and for a moment Esme felt her heart beat a bit harder for a reason that had nothing to do with her predicament.

Then the whipping started.

The first crack was like pinch on her back being delivered at the speed of sound. Esme’s head arched backwards and she screamed into the gag. Another hit swiftly followed the first, but the shock of it wasn’t there, and she found she could handle the sharp, stinging pain a bit better.

The man was watching her, she realised. Even as the whip landed again and again, his eyes never left hers. She focused on those eyes and the pain of the whip was somehow dulled. He moved closer and held up a hand and she leaned her head towards it, brushing it with her cheek, then jumped back as the whip cracked even more painfully across her sensitive skin.

Her breathing was hard and fast, but under control. Her back was on fire from the whipping, but her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest anymore. And those eyes, watching her like she was the only thing that mattered, made her want to take more just so he could see her do it. Then maybe she would get to feel his hand again...

Oh my god... it’s not possible... I can’t be.... I’m not actually... enjoying this?

The chain was lowered until she was able to sit on the ground. The man disappeared as the woman circled in front of her. She had the same eyes, the ones that saw everything. She leaned in close, as though she meant to whisper to Esme as a lover might, as the man untied the gag from behind Esme’s head.

“Are you ready to talk?” as the woman. The hint of accent make the words sound delicious, like something out of a bad spy movie. “We have five hours left to change your mind if you refuse to cooperate.”

Esme looked up at her captor, at her fierce face, and felt her own determination rising. Maybe she hadn’t meant to get herself into this mess, but now that she was here, she was going to own it.

“I’m not telling you anything.��

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