Captured Fancy

Chapter One Simone Jones . Summer. My office baked like an oven while an ancient, dented fan spun on my desk. Occasional dips into a half-empty bottle of booze quenched my thirst like a cup of sand. I stared out from the open fourth floor window and squinted against the white washed concrete glare. It didn’t pretend to be anything else but light and heat, unlike the people I dealt with in my previous job. Most folks want simple in their professions. Not me. I created intricate fantasies for people, and I loved it. Everything was great, until I got blackballed and was forced into getting the goods on cheating spouses just to put bread on the table. The hours and the clients stank, and I wanted my old life back. But little did I know the complicated, torturously dangerous path I would take. She didn’t even knock on the office’s half-glass frosted door with my stenciled professional name and occupation. Just strutted right in with a body that would set any man on fire and so glacial a manner that the temp fell twenty degrees. A retro fifties style blue dress clung to her like a second skin and a wide-brimmed, dark hat with spiderweb netting covered the top half of a forbidding angelic face. Ice-blue eyes pinned me into immobility while light blonde hair about her shoulders shone like a beacon. A somewhat cruel smile quirked at extreme edges of full lips red as a sunset while poised between fingers of a black, satin gloved hand was a lit cigarette. Her voice was just as smoky. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hawk. If that is your real name? Garrett Hawk?” “A sobriquet from my previous lamented career.” “I’m glad you continue to use it. It’s how I found you. Or how my friends said I could find you. They said you were reliable and discreet once.” My lips curled, remembering the past injustice. “I still am.” “In spite of your current reputation, that’s what they said too.” “They?” I said. “And they are?” “People. People we both know. They highly recommend you. Said you wouldn’t disappoint.” “Nice to have fans. I’m sure they have names too. Like you?” She slid around and sat on the edge of my desk, right next to me. Smooth, graceful. She crossed a pair of shapely legs, slow and provocative, stubbed out her cigarette and removed another from a gold case. “Jones. Simone Jones.” Of course. How many times had I heard that last name. “All right, Jonesey. What’s on your mind?” “I have a job for you. You’ll be handsomely compensated. And no questions asked.” “A job. Well, that’s what I’m in business for. But I do have one question: What’s the job?” Her lips parted, just enough to accept her unlit cigarette. I grabbed my lighter and torched it. Who did she want me to follow and photograph? A wandering husband? His mistress? Or maybe it was a muscle job? Lean on someone to “quietly” leave town? Other possibilities ran through my head, all of them depressing. She took a long drag, then held her cig up to one side with her other arm folded under those generous, well-shaped breasts. Her eyes narrowed and those ice-blues stabbed me like a knife. “I want you to kidnap me.” My lighter lid closed with a snap. I said, “Sure.” * * * In my previous life I would take precautions, like check out the client, make sure they were giving me the straight scoop, then negotiate boundaries on what they wanted done versus what I was willing to enact. All nice, proper, legal and safe. But the money Ms. Simone Jones plunked down on my desk bought my total cooperation. No questions asked and so I didn’t. The wad reminded me of how I used to call the shots with the photographers, the models, and the occasional thrill seeker who wanted a bit of safe danger in her love life. But it had been two years since word got out that I couldn’t be trusted with a tied up woman. Overnight I had gone from the best rigger in the business to persona non grata. Photographers had stopped calling, models that I had never worked with spread rumors about me and private clients dropped me like a bad habit. Not that anyone ever called to get my side of the story; I was a man who tied up women for a living, so if anyone said anything bad about me it had to be true. Right? And now a chance to get back in the game just waltzed through my door. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I wanted this. Bad. So I pocketed the money and kept my mouth shut without telling Ms. Jones I would have tied her up for free. Hey, when a beautiful woman asks you to kidnap her, who are you to say no? So after arrangements were made, or rather dictated by Ms. Jones, I dug out the ropes, choose the gag and blindfold and drove my SUV to the appropriate place, but at a time of my choosing. I dimmed the headlights, swung left across the narrow, twisting blacktop, cut the engine and coasted to a stop on a downward slope of a dirt road. To the right and below, about fifty yards away, was the cabin. I say “cabin” but it was large enough for a regular house, although to someone of Simone Jones’s means it would be considered just “a little place” in the mountains. It was two stories, lower part made of stone, upper of logs, with a wide deck above the patio just off the master bedroom at one end. Tall pine trees that surrounded it insured privacy from the prying eyes of the curious. Or a kidnap stalker, like me. I grabbed my “kit” and jumped down from the cab, using the cabin’s lights as a beacon to navigate through the dark growth. A wealth of stars twinkled overhead, no longer competing with the city lights and foul smog. Fallen pine needles underfoot with their resin scent filled the night air and I took care to make as little noise as possible. There wasn’t any real need for sneakiness on my part, Simone knew I was coming, but if the client spots the “kidnapper” too soon the fantasy is ruined. Simone said she would be on the watch and if she saw me before the kidnap then she would demand a refund. So I dressed all in black, including my ski mask and satchel tool kit that held the ropes, gags and other things. She wanted a real kidnap and, with the money she threw around, she would get it. I crouched behind a tree about fifty feet from the back of the cabin and pulled out my binoculars. A distinctly feminine shape moved behind almost sheer curtains from what appeared to be the couch to the kitchen, then back to the couch that faced the loud TV set. Yep, it was her all right. I bided my time and soon enough the television was turned off and the lights downstairs went out one by one. But instead of going up to bed, she stepped through the sliding glass doors onto the covered patio. My old army ranger training took over and I flattened behind the tree. There she was, sipping what looked like a glass of milk, most likely warm to help her get past any jitters and let her sleep, while her eyes swept first away, then toward me. I held my breath, sure that despite the night and my dark clothes she saw me. But her head turned past me as she sauntered around, barefoot, in a short, loose pink silk bathrobe, her long hair all about her shoulders. She seemed softer now than at my office, less removed and cold while she stood there in the night, ready to take a leap that maybe she wasn’t too sure about anymore. Vulnerable and fragile. I could have rushed her then, snuck up behind and grabbed her, but that wasn’t my plan. Through roundabout questioning that day in my office I determined she usually read in bed before lights out. Also, I implied that once she was upstairs each night I wouldn’t be coming and she would have to wait until at least another night, but of course, that was a lie. Taking her in the bedroom after she was asleep was the best time. After a few minutes of her strolling about, I think I caught something of a sigh from Simone; she drained the last of her drink then went back inside. The sliding door scraped shut with a definite click. Nope, she probably thought, not tonight. This was her third night up here and her insides were most likely twisted in nervous knots. Moments later a dim light snapped on upstairs, but that also went out soon enough. I waited another hour, long enough for her to fall asleep and checked my kit one last time. Then I froze. Maybe it was nerves and the fact I hadn’t done this in such a long time that I was afraid I had lost my edge. But then an owl hooted, right above me, and its night call spurred me into action. The bottom of the upper deck was ten feet high and, from a crouch, I managed to jump up and grab the lower part of the guardrail that ran across the edge. I thanked myself again for staying in shape as I swung my legs like a pendulum and landed my sneakers on the ledge. Stretched out, hanging by my finger and toenails, I managed to grip the balusters and pull myself up and over the handrail. Down in a crouch, I scurried to the deck door. Picking the lock was simple. A tiny night light in an adjoining bathroom cast a pale glow across the foot of the bed and faded to black just below her shoulders. She lay on her side, facing away from the light, one arm crooked on top of a white coverlet that rose and fell in time with her even breaths. From what little I could see, her face was warm and serene, a definite change from the cold, almost angry attitude at my office. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say she had undergone a major change. I had seen such changes before; in slaves who flew in subspace, that sweet spot of heightened consciousness, and in some unjaded models who didn’t understand what was happening to them, but never before on a woman without a rope on her, much less asleep. I shook my head and got back to work. I reached inside my satchel and found the wadding for her mouth. I stepped forward on the wooden floor...and the board creaked. Loudly. She stirred, rolled onto her back. Her eyes opened to slits, then on seeing me flew wide. The mouth opened too, ready to scream. I jumped the remaining distance, sprawled on top of her and shoved the wadding in the mouth. Her eyes bulged and she whimpered in the back of her throat. Then, in a sudden fury she tried to push me off but I squatted on top, above her waist and used my legs to pin her arms at her sides. But she still fought. I grabbed her throat. “Hold still,” I rasped. She twisted out of my grip. Her eyes blazed. This wasn’t going well. I needed to assert control, so I grabbed a bunch of her hair and wrenched her face back to me. I raised my hand and bluffed that I would give her a good backhand across the chin. She got the message and went very still. I had never struck a woman like that before, but if necessary she had given me the green light back in my office. “Do what you need to do,” she had said. “Make it feel real.” “And how far is that?” I asked. “I won’t go quietly. Go as far as you’d like.” Her hand slid inside her skirt and back up between her legs. “Whatever feels natural.” Simone Jones had paid for a kidnapping and she was going to get her money’s worth and, I suddenly decided, a little bonus. Something natural. I worked fast. I pulled down the covers, flipped her over to her stomach and wound rope around the side by side wrists, then looped the end of it between them to cinch the whole thing down. I treated her elbows the same way until they nearly touched, then flipped her back around on her arms. Her hair fell across her face while her eyes bulged once more, a close match to her breasts that fairly strained to bust out from her nightie. One hand still in her hair I used my teeth to pull off a glove and slid my bare hand down between her legs. Holy s**t, was she wet! A virtual river! Her silk panties were soaked. I ripped them off, waved them under her nose, then shoved them deep in her mouth under the first wadding, right on the tongue so she could taste them. They weren’t enough so I forced more wadding inside, and then more until the cheeks ballooned while I wrapped dark red gauze around her head. Then I ripped the nightie apart and those ripe, full breasts pointed right up at me. I dove down to bite, lick, and suck those delicious mounds. Her moans filled the room, one of pleasure mixed with pain and I knew I had her. I took off my other glove, unzipped my pants and my c**k sprang out, full and erect, its purple head engorged. I pushed her shapely, strong legs aside and speared her. She was slick, and warm, and tight. My c**k eased in and out, deeper with each thrust. She groaned and her hips moved against mine. An awakened beast that soon pushed back, she rammed up at me, tried to set the pace, tried to take back some kind of control. The sooner she could make me c*m the sooner it would be over and she would win. I let her think that, but I hadn’t got my rep by letting my second brain do all the thinking. I got into what I thought of as my “master space”, a somewhat detached groove and just kept up a rate of hard but steady thrusts. She still flailed about underneath me, her hips an almost endless driving machine, but I didn’t allow her to con me with passion. Instead I let her do it to herself and soon she shook underneath me. A whole, racking body orgasm so intense that I held her tight against me to protect her from butting up against the headboard, and to let her know that I was still there, that she wasn’t alone and that I would gently lay her back down as the massive tremors subsided. When I did her eyes brimmed in tears. In gratitude? Perhaps not, that was my male ego talking, but I was still inside her and we both knew she wasn’t yet going anywhere. I started the thrusts again, but slower now, gentler. I kissed her about the neck and shoulders, took off my mask and buried my face in her luxuriant, soft hair. Deeper, deeper I went, until all I wanted was to get in all the way. Faster, faster, faster! Harder, harder! Aw, f**k! f**k f**k f**k! God, I almost passed out! My c**k shot hard jets of c*m up her hot little box. Dimly, I heard her scream behind her gag, but there was nothing she could do but take it, and there was nothing I could do but keep giving it to her until there was nothing left to empty into that tight, little snatch. At last I went dry, gasped for air and at least had the presence of mind to pull the ski mask back over me before I sat up. Still had to keep the kidnap/home invader fantasy alive. Back in character, I paused only the barest moment as I pulled the tight, leather hood over her head, down past her wet eyes, and covered the tear tracks on her cheeks. * * * I rested a bit more, then gave her the finishing touch; a chastity belt complete with dildo and butt plug. The dildo went in easily enough, but the plug took some work. I took a soft approach at first on the theory that you can get more with honey than vinegar, and made nice, soft cooing sounds, but her hole stayed tight. Maybe it was a last chance at control on her part, an unwillingness to let completely go, but I couldn’t allow her any let-up. It wasn’t my style, but I had to get harsh with her. “Open up. Open up, you goddam b***h! Or I’ll ram it up so high it’ll come out the other end. Open up, you f*****g cunt!” It worked. The plug slid in like a natural fit. I buckled up the chastity belt, tied her legs together and threw her over my shoulder. Down the stairs, then outside. It was a bit of a trudge, especially the slope I had to climb back to my SUV, but we got there and I laid her down in back. After a fifteen minute drive further up the mountain I found the “rescue” site, clearly marked with a white towel nailed to a tree. I turned right, bumped along for about a hundred yards and pulled up in clearing beside a thin tree. Soon enough I had her dragged out of the vehicle and roped upright against the tree, a tiny, white delicious figure that stood out in the warm darkness. I gave her a gentle pat on a tit then drove off, my contracted work done for the night. Simone had assured me that she had made arrangements with others to “find” her and that I didn’t need to also play the role of rescuer, but I wasn’t about to leave a naked, tied up woman alone in the woods. She didn’t know it, but I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew she was safe. I drove about a half mile up the road, hid the SUV in a secluded glen and doubled back on foot. I found a spot that gave me a good view of her, but still kept me hidden, and settled down to witness the rescue. After about an hour, a dark van lurched through the trees. Three people got out, a woman and two men. I couldn’t make out their faces, it was still too dark, but their voices carried. Like me, they wore dark clothes with hoods over their heads and the woman seemed to be in charge. She said something about Simone’s hood and motioned to it. The smaller of the two men removed it and the woman got real close to Simone, studying her. Then the woman’s hand wheeled up and slapped Simone not once, but three times. And she didn’t hold back. This was a rescue? Who were these people? The way Simone reacted it was clear she hadn’t counted on this. I nearly jumped up right then and went in there, but I held back. Is this what she wanted? But when they loosed her from the tree and the blonde roughly threw her down, I knew something was wrong. A large strap-on dildo protruded from the blonde’s crotch but she stepped back and directed the larger of the two men to take her. While the blonde and the smaller watched, the large one cut away the ropes, tore off Simone’s chastity belt and plunged his d**k into her, driving with such force that Simone was pushed along the forest floor, her back all scratched up and bleeding. That was enough for me. I got up, ready to put a stop to it, or at least call a time out, but something heavy hit me from behind. I sprawled forward, my face in the dirt. A pointed boot turned me over and through a patch in the trees I stared up at the spinning stars. I heard a woman’s cruel laughter then a boot kicked me along side my head. I wasn’t sure, but just before I passed out I thought I saw a beautiful face that I longed to forget. One that had turned my life to hell.