Lauren In Captivity
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by Frank McCall
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: He was an ordinary, law-abiding citizen and trusted member of the community... until a chance encounter gave him the opportunity to take complete power over the one girl he desired, but couldn't have. That moment changed two lives: his, and that of the young girl who awoke to find herself naked, chained and hooded in his home, his to abuse and toy with as he played out his every fantasy.
eBook Publisher: Fiction4All/FetishWorld,
eBookwise Release Date: July 2012
4 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [152 KB]
Reading time: 103-144 min.
I had been waiting for the sound of his arrival for almost two hours, growing increasingly tense. Every time a car went by I all but sprang to the window, peeking nervously round the side of the curtains. And every time I resumed my seat, fingers drumming impatiently on the armchair.
I went upstairs several times to check the room I had prepared, though it was unlikely I would spot a problem at this stage. Then I would be struck by the thought that if I spent too long up there I might not hear him ring the doorbell, and would flee downstairs again. It was becoming absurd.
I was checking my watch every minute or so. He wasn't even late, yet I was convinced that something was wrong. He had been caught. The next knock on my door would be the police, asking me if I knew this gentleman, and would I care to accompany them to the station. That or the whole thing had been some massive practical joke at my expense.
I poured myself a drink -- unwise, really, since tonight of all nights I should keep a clear head. But it gave me something to do with my hands other than fidget, at least.
Just before ten, I heard a car pull up outside, right in the driveway. I stood up. My mouth was dry, my heart hammering so hard and fast in my chest that I thought I might actually be about to faint. The car fell silent, the engine switched off. I heard a door open and slam shut as someone got out.
This is it, I told myself.
The doorbell rang; the sound cutting through the still air like a siren. I jumped, even though I had been expecting it. I stepped into the hall; I could see a silhouette behind the frosted glass of the front door. I took a deep breath: stay calm, for fuck's sake! Then I opened it.
The Sheik was standing on the front step. He smiled broadly on seeing me, and spread his arms in a delighted greeting. We embraced.
"My dear friend! I do apologise for keeping you waiting!"
It was nothing, I assured him. Was he late? I'd barely noticed. He grinned at this; I imagine my flushed face rather gave me away. Nevertheless, he followed me into the house, removing his white, silken gloves.
"So, did everything go OK?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager. "No complications? I haven't heard anything."
"You will, my friend. I imagine the media will be informed tomorrow, if they are not already preparing their front pages. But no, we had no complications. Everything transpired just as I promised."
"Good, good!" I heaved a sigh of relief, and realised I was forgetting my manners. "I'm sorry. Can I offer you a drink?"
We were in the main living room by then, and he was looking about himself. My house is a big, three-storey place; I bought it in the late 90s, once the band had ceased to be a going concern. In the living room, for instance, I knocked out a wall into the dining area to make one big space, which allowed... actually, that's not important. Still, it was one step up from a wreck when I took possession, and I spent a lot of time and money remodelling the place and doing it up. I'm pretty satisfied with the results, so when I saw the Sheik had an approving expression, I felt a rush of pride.
"Perhaps in a moment. First, we must complete the delivery. Your driveway is not exactly public, but still not as private as I would like for such business. Could you direct my man? He is outside."
The Sheik's man turned out to be six foot two of muscle in an expensive suit. When he saw me gesturing sheepishly toward the front door, he opened the boot and slung its contents over one shoulder. It appeared to be long roll of carpet. It could not have been light, but he bore its weight with little effort.
He followed me up two flights of stairs to the room I had prepared. I was about to tell him to put it down anywhere, when I saw that he already had. The Sheik was looking at the new fixtures.
"You have done a nice job," he said. He tugged at the ring which was secured to the centre of one wall, before looking up at the chains which hung from the centre of the ceiling. "A pulley?"
"Yes," I nodded. "It seemed practical."
"Very much so. And en suite! Such luxury!" He chuckled at his little joke, indicating the saniflow toilet and shower I had installed in one corner. "It is soundproof, you say? This is certain?"
"Completely. Originally, I needed somewhere to work... you have to think of the neighbours."
By now, his chauffeur -- or henchman, or whatever -- had unrolled the carpet, leaving its contents lying on the floor. I licked my lips at what he had revealed.
He chuckled at my expression, and clapped me on the shoulder. "Perhaps now is the time for us to take that drink, eh? Then I can leave you to your new toy. But first..."
He showed me a couple of things, then we retired downstairs. While his man waited in the car, I got out a bottle of excellent scotch that I had been saving for a special occasion. This certainly bloody qualified. The Sheik is not an easy man to impress in these matters, but it seemed to pass muster.
We chatted -- about what, I don't remember. I was struggling to concentrate on small talk. He kept going for a little while -- I think he was quite amused by my efforts to avoid what I obviously wanted to talk about. But in the end, he took pity on me.
"Listen, my friend," he said, leaning forward. "This is very important advice. You must not think of her as the person she was. That person is gone now. She is only an animal, a pet, an item of property. Your property. Do not make the mistake of showing weakness, of giving the consideration which would be due to another human being. You and she are no longer the same."
I nodded, my pulse racing, my hand gripping the glass in a largely successful bid to keep it from trembling.
He continued, "Soon, these girls' images will be everywhere. People will ask..."
I broke in, "Girls?"
He paused; for a moment he seemed annoyed by my interruption, but then smiled. "My friend, surely you do not mind that I picked up something for myself as well? Sometimes it is as easy to take three as one. One for you, one for me, and one I shall give as a gift to a business colleague. Is something wrong? Are any of the girl's associates important to you?"
"Important? No. No, not at all. I'm sorry, please go on."
"As I was saying. These girls will be sought. People will ask questions. You must remember that you know nothing. Perhaps you know them by sight, but no more. You must not show more than the proper degree of interest in the case, nor seek out information. Do nothing to attract attention to yourself. Do you understand? If she is found here, I cannot help you. And I will, you must understand, not allow myself to be linked with this matter -- no matter what that entails. Am I making myself clear?"
I looked into the Sheik's piercing eyes, and felt a shiver run up my spine. "I understand," I told him, hoarsely.
He smiled, and was instantly back to his convivial self. "Excellent! You must forgive me for discussing such matters. Sadly, those of us with privileges must occasionally do unsavoury things to maintain our position." He drained his glass, and set it down. "Now, I regret I can enjoy your company no further. I have a plane to catch."
He stood, and we shook hands warmly. "I can't thank you enough," I whispered, suddenly moved.
He smiled, modestly batting away my words. "It is little, compared to what I owe you. Now remember, you may call on me in an emergency -- but only in an emergency. We had best keep our distance from this time on."
I saw him to the door. "How long before she wakes?"
"I would estimate an hour or so, no longer. How do you intend to greet her?"
I told him what I had in mind, and he nodded. "Much as I suspected; a man after my own heart." And he bid me farewell.
I watched until the car was out of sight. Then I waited a bit longer, standing in the open doorway, the cool evening air feeling good on my hot skin. I breathed it in, deeply, until I felt calm. Then I closed and locked the door.
I went up the stairs to the room and opened the door. All was as we had left it. The carpet -- actually a large rug, I could now see -- was unrolled on top of the carpet of my refitted music room. She was lying on her side at the end of the rug, half on, half off it.
I crouched down close to her for a better look. She seemed smaller than I had anticipated -- only about five two high, though she would normally wear heels. She was naked except for the mask and restraints; wide leather bands on her wrists and ankles. They were not secured, though the Sheik had shown me briefly how to fasten them together. I tried it again, bringing one limp arm across her body to the other, and clipping her wrists together. An experimental tug showed they were secure. I released them again; I had no need to bind her at the moment.
Her feet, though, were another matter. I crossed to the corner, where the long chain was neatly coiled. One end was securely affixed to the wall; the other I carried to where she lay, and locked it about one of her ankles, snapping the padlock shut. I smiled grimly. That'll keep you in place, I muttered to myself.
As yet, she showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Fascinated, I lay down alongside her. Her current position, lying on her side as she was, nicely emphasised the curves of her hips and waist. Her breasts were a bit smaller than they usually appeared -- that's modern underwear design for you. I wasn't complaining, though; they were very nice, with sweet little pink nipples at the centre. I reached out and touched one gently, carefully running my finger about it. She didn't stir.
For a nasty moment, I wondered if someone had fucked up the dosage of whatever she had been given. I put my hand on her side, and was relieved to feel it moving slightly with her breathing. I exhaled heavily. I was going to have to get my nerves under control.
I gazed at where her face would have been, if not for the mask. It, too, was either leather or something that looked exactly like it. It covered her whole head, with just two small holes at her nostrils for her to breathe through. I knew what she looked like, though. I had seen enough pictures over the last few years in the local paper. The blonde hair -- I could see tufts of it poking from underneath the mask -- the blue eyes, the flawless skin, the perfect teeth in the centre of the perfect smile. I ran my fingers over the mask. The Sheik had shown me how it was made of several different sections, and how I could remove the gag that was locked behind her head, or the earpieces that blocked her hearing. The mask itself was secured at the back of her neck with a small padlock, the key for which was safely in my back pocket.
My eyes drifted down her unconscious form. Her nudity offered confirmation that she was a natural blonde. She had trimmed her bush back though; it was just a slim line of hair directly above her cleft. I grinned, wondering which salon she'd visited to have that done. I remember a time when girls never shaved themselves like that. Now, it seemed like it was almost as common as wearing lipstick.
I rose, and went downstairs to retrieve my drink. Returning, I moved the swivel chair to a point where I could watch her, and wait for her to come round. The town sweetheart, the community's little princess, taken from under the noses of her nearest and dearest. Mine. All mine.