Kidnapped Debutante in Bondage Hell

by Kristine Lichtlider

  Kristine Lichtlider’s

  Second Novel of Lust, Submission, and Revenge

  Published by Lot’s Cave

  Kidnapped No.2

  Kidnapped Debutante in Bondage Hell, © 2016, by Kristine Lichtlider

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover by Moira Nelligar

  All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A Lot’s Cave Novel

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Author’s Note

  Family Exotica

  Taboo Erotica

  Other Novels

  Chapter 1

  Tiffany pursed her lips, ensuring that her lipstick was applied evenly. She smiled, pleased both with her work and the image presented to her in the bathroom mirror.

  Reflected back at her was a heart stoppingly beautiful young woman, barely eighteen, with long blonde hair and a dash of cute freckles on her cheeks. Her nose was slightly upturned, perched above pouty lips that she'd stained with light red cosmetics. Today her hair was in pigtails to keep it off her bare shoulders. The heat had grown oppressive, and the Big Apple was baking in it.

  She sighed, squeezing her blue eyes shut. There was so much to do, now that she'd graduated high school. Finally, she could live her life as an adult, no more having to listen to her parents, her teachers, or her ex-boyfriend Saul.

  At last, she was the master of her own destiny. No one would boss Tiffany Portia Williams around again. Her trust fund was well-stocked with over two million, and she intended to party it up in the Riviera.

  Her parents, annoying as they were, actually wanted her to go to college. As if someone with pert, full breasts and an ass that wouldn't quit needed an education. She knew she would find some rich boy she could marry, and live life in luxury while her nanny raised their children for her.

  Tiffany fastened the top button on her white blouse, frowned, then unbuttoned it again. There, now she was showing the perfect amount of cleavage. Just enough to entice, to tease, but not to promise anything untoward. Tiffany was a practical girl, and wouldn't give herself away for free.

  She adjusted her light pink, billowy skirt, admiring her own shapely legs. The skirt was on the short side, but unless it grew a lot windier there was little risk of her white thong panties being displayed. Tugging on her striped thigh-high stockings, she clomped out of the hotel room in her patent leather high heeled boots.

  As she closed the door behind her, she noticed a heavyset cleaning lady bustling down the hallway of the Hilton with her cart of supplies. Tiffany moved directly in her path and put her hands on her wide hips.

  “Excuse me,” she said in her best polite tone “but do you guys know you're supposed to clean my room EVERY day?”

  “Que?” asked the cleaning lady, offering a smile.

  “Oh, god, are you kidding me?” Tiffany shoved past the woman and charged the elevator. “Five hundred dollars a night and they can't hire maids who speak English? What country is this, Bolivia?”

  Tiffany entered the elevator, rolling her eyes in disgust at the bellhop operating it. He was one of those fat, pasty white nerds who probably lived in his mother's basement arguing on the internet over who shot first in that stupid Star Trek Wars movie. His thick framed glasses couldn't hide his homely features, but the little jerk still thought he was in Tiff's league.

  As if.

  “Hello, Ms. Williams,” he said, eyes running up and down her body. “Going down?”

  “In your dreams,” she muttered.

  “I'm sorry, what was that?” he asked.

  “Don't speak to me,” Tiffany said, closing her eyes and asking God why he saw fit to surround her with idiots. “Gee, your mother must be proud. Pushing buttons for a living.”

  The bellhop frowned and pushed the main floor button.

  “I do what I can to get by, Miss Williams,” he said, deflating visibly.

  “Well, it's not enough,” she said. “Try showering. Oh, and deodorant—that goes on AFTER you shower. Ta ta.”

  Tiff left the elevator and the hapless bellhop. She scanned the wide, polished floors of the Hilton, thinking to herself how gauche the décor was, until she spotted the man she wanted.

  “You,” she said, walking up to the hotel manager. He was an older man with silver hair and a nicely trimmed mustache, dressed in a fine blue suit.

  “Yes, Ms. Williams?” he said, face smiling but eyes a bit strained.

  “How hard is your job?” she asked. “How come you can't hire competent help? Your bellhop leers at me, the maids don't clean—they don't even speak ENGLISH—and what you call room service I call poison.”

  “I'm sorry your stay isn't all you hoped it would be, Ms. Williams,” he said patiently. “As I told you yesterday, and the day before, we pride ourselves on—”

  “Can it,” she snapped. “I don't need the bullshit. Whose name is on the building outside?”

  “Your grandfather's, ma'am,” he replied cannily.

  “You bet your ass,” Tiff said, narrowing her pretty eyes. “And if you don't want me to call him right this second and tell what a shit job you've done with his property, well, you better fire that bellhop.”

  “Ma'am, I don't think—”

  “Shut up,” Tiff said, stomping her high heels on the floor. “You're not paid to think. Are you going to fire him or not?”

  The manager sighed.

  “Very well, ma'am,” he replied. “I'll let him finish out the day, and then give him his walking papers.”

  “I'll call my grandpa and ask him,” she said menacingly. “To see if you did what I told you to.”

  “Of course, Ms. Williams,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Anything you desire.”

  “Well, now, was that so hard?” Tiffany felt a little bad for him, so she gave him a smile.

  She turned on her heel and left him. The doorman was tardy opening the entrance for her, which earned him a glare. Tiffany swung her head around until she spotted a long, blue limousine parked near the hotel. There was a man standing beside it holding a placard with her name.

  “Who are you?” she demanded before he could even speak.

  “Barry, ma'am,” he said, tipping his hat to her. “I'm your driver today.”

  “What happened to Chester?” Tiff asked, crossing her arms under her breasts and tapping her toe impatiently. “Chester knows the rounds I like to make when I'm in Jew York City.”

  Barry's eyes narrowed.

  “I'm a Jew, ma'am,” he said carefully.

  “Like I couldn't tell, from your massive nose,” she said. “Well, whatever. There better be a bottle of Dom Perignon in the back on ice!”

  Barry smiled.

  “Of course, Miss Williams,” he said with a sweet smile. “Anything y
ou desire.”

  “Damn straight,” she huffed. “Well?”

  “Ma'am?” he asked.

  “Are you going to get the door for me, Jerry?”

  “It's Barry,” he said, opening the door “and it would be my pleasure.”

  “God,” she rolled her eyes to the heavens “is everyone a fucking incompetent?”

  Tiffany got into the limo and immediately was vexed. No TV, nowhere to plug in her phone, and the interior had numerous bare spots and holes in the upholstery. It was as if someone had hauled a Limo out of a junkyard and only polished the outside.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Hey, the door won't open!”

  “It's all right Ma'am,” said Barry from the front seat. “The door only opens from the outside.”

  “How stupid is that?” Tiffany asked. “Well, your owner will hear about this, Barry. Mark my words.”

  She sighed and pulled the bottle of champagne out of the cooler. Her eyes scrutinized the label, and she sniffed.

  “Hmpf. Not a great year for the vintage, but at least it's the right thing.”

  “Glasses are on the console beside you, ma'am,” said Barry with a smile. He pulled the limo out into traffic as Tiffany relaxed.

  She drained one glass, then another, and was working on her third when she spotted Barry leering at her from the rear-view mirror. Tiff admonished herself for sitting with her legs spread. The pervert could see her panties and was enjoying every moment.

  “Do you mind?” she asked, closing her legs quickly.

  “I don't mind at all,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Hey,” she said, peering out the tinted window. “Wait a second. This isn't the way to Fifth avenue.”

  “Shortcut, ma'am,” Barry said.

  “Shortcut?” Tiffany's eyes drooped. Why was it so hard to stay awake all of the sudden? She'd only had two glasses of champagne.

  “Feeling sleepy, ma'am?” Barry asked with a grin.

  “Shut up,” she said, but her voice sounded distant to her own ears. The wine glass dropped from her hand and she slumped in the seat. “What...what's going on?”

  “Shh,” Barry said “sleep, little princess. When you wake up you'll be in Wonderland.”

  “I...you...” Tiff's head fell forward and she knew only blackness.

  ***

  Tiffany awoke with a start, snorting in air through her nose. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  She remembered the Limo, and the glasses of wine which made her muzzy, and tried to sit up. Her head only moved a few inches before it was held fast.

  “What in the hell?” she tried to say, but nearly choked instead.

  It was dark outside the limo, but the interior lights were on enough that she could see her predicament. There was something covering the lower half of her face, held on with wide leather straps. The device held what felt like a rubber ball deep inside her mouth, tickling the back of her throat with its length. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to remove it, only to find she couldn't move her hands.

  She twisted her spine and craned her neck, while trying to bring her arms around in front of her. Tiffany squealed when she saw that her limbs were restrained in a leather sheath, which buckled to her shoulders. Her palms were held together behind her, effectively glued in place. Something akin to a dog collar was padlocked—PADLOCKED—around her neck, with a short chain tethering her to the limo's back seat. Tiff's legs were restrained as well, bound wide apart by a metal bar attached to leather cuffs around both ankles.

  Tiff wasn't stupid. She'd seen Fifty Shades, she knew what bondage gear was well enough. What she couldn’t figure out was why she, a woman who hated—HATED—bondage was doing wearing it.

  “Comfy, Ma'am?”

  Tiff's head snapped around as the door opened. Barry squeezed inside and sat opposite her, leering as he ran his eyes up and down her figure. His gaze lingered on her panties, so exposed in her humiliating position. She struggled in vain to close them, to squirm away so he couldn't stare, but it was hopeless.

  She was panicking now, and found that only breathing through her nose made her dizzy. Her hear hammered in her chest, and went up in tempo when Barry grabbed one of her pigtails and jerked her head forward.

  “God, you're really something,” he said, pawing her breasts. Tiffany screamed behind the gag but even she could barely hear herself. “You could be in Playboy, without any airbrushing.”

  She tried to kick him, but the ankle spreader was attached to the floor of the limo.

  “Mmm, feisty,” he said with a grin. His fingers toyed with her nipple, which made her squeal all the more angrily. “I like that! After all, it's no fun to reel in the fish if it doesn't fight the hook...”

  Tiff squealed as Barry slipped his hand between her thin panties and her pussy. His middle fingers probed her smoothly shaven labia and pinched them hard. Tears welled in her eyes as she fought helplessly to escape his grip.

  “Does it hurt, bitch?” he asked, pulling her face close to his own. She was forced to smell his fetid breath and nearly vomited. “Get used to it. Your life from now on is going to be all about pain and getting fucked.”

  Tiffany's hopes rose when Barry started messing with the ankle spreader, but they were dashed when all he did was unsnap the d ring from the floor of the limo. He seized her by the hips and flipped her over onto her belly as if she weighed nothing. Her face was crushed into the foul smelling upholstery as he lifted her skirt.

  “Mmm, what a tight ass!” Barry said. His palm cracked across her bare buttocks, and Tiffany screamed. “Look at those cheeks dance! My god, I love my job!”

  Tiffany hadn't been spanked in her life—as in EVER—and found the experience to be utterly humiliating. The pain was bad, but it was her dignity that suffered with each resounding blow on her ass. Soon her bottom was blazing with pain, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “You won't be needing these,” Barry said, ripping of her panties. They snagged on her waist and cut in almost enough to make her bleed. “What view this is.”

  Tiff groaned as his finger traced around her rectum. Her flesh pimpled with goosebumps at his touch, on an intimate area she never allowed ANYONE to get near. Barry probed the orifice, working it inside slowly in spite of Tiffany's desperate struggles.

  “So tight,” he said with a snicker. “Hey, are you an ass virgin?”

  Tiffany screamed into her gag until her throat was raw. It was too much! This wasn't supposed to happen to her. She was upper class. Surely someone saw her get into the limo outside the hotel and was looking for her even now.

  She kept praying that help would arrive, but his finger slid deeper.

  “I asked you a question, you fucking slut,” Barry said in a gravelly voice. He kept his finger jammed up her ass, and grabbed a handful of hair with his free hand. Tiffany felt her head jerked up until she was forced to stare her rapist in the eye. She shuddered at the expression of utter lust on his face.

  “Are you an ass virgin?” he asked again. “ANSWER ME!”

  He shook her head roughly. Tiffany tried to say “no you asshole” but the gag only allowed her to gurgle and drool.

  “Just nod your head yes, bitch,” he said. “We both know a stuck up cunt like you would never let a bloke near your pretty little asshole. You're an ass virgin, aren't you?”

  Tiffany felt her hair released, only to have his hand glom onto her throat. Fearing death, she managed to nod slightly.

  “I knew it,” Barry said, releasing her throat and allowing her to breathe again. “Well, not for much longer…”

  He shoved her face back to the car seat and fumbled with his belt. She groaned when she felt his already dripping member rub against her ass cheeks.

  “Feel how big it is, baby?” he cooed. “You're going to squirm when it goes in. All the bucking… makes for good fucking!”

  Tiffany squealed around the rubber packing her mouth. Her hands remained glued behind her in the
leather sheath. There was nothing she could do as the head of Barry's cock pressed against her anus.

  “That was a good joke, bitch,” Barry said, yanking her head back by her pigtails. “Why don't you laugh?”

  Barry slammed his thighs into her ass, driving his cock deep inside. Tiffany's feet squirmed about on the floor, digging her toes into the carpet, but she couldn't budge the much larger man from her back. Barry's cock slid in and out, gaining speed as his lust took hold.

  “Uh... uh... uh...” he grunted, sickening her with the animistic quality of his voice. Tiffany tried to interpose her single glove between the two of them, but Barry grabbed her arms and shoved them to the side.

  “Nope,” he said between thrusts “you aren't going to stop this. Nothing you can do but lay there and take it. Stuck up cunt. All that money, and what did it get you? Ass raped, that's where.”

  Tiffany's mind still roiled at the damage being done to her ass, but her traitor body responded. She was close to an orgasm, and her own disgust with herself did nothing to abate the feeling.

  “I think your pussy is getting wet,” Barry said, rubbing his hands all over her twat. “Why, yes it is. You must be an anal slut.”

  Still inside her, Barry pulled back on her hair and twisted her neck until she was barely able to see him

  “Say it,” he said. “Tell me you're an anal slut.”

  Tiffany's eyes narrowed and she grunted in rage. She would never say such a thing, never!”

  “SAY IT.” Barry reached around her torso with his free hand and mauled her breasts. He seized a nipple and stretched it so far Tiffany was certain it would rip right off. “SAY IT BITCH!”

  Tiffany resisted, shaking her head in denial. He might take her body, but she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her declare herself a slut, anal or otherwise.

  “Fine,” Barry said, shoving her head back to the seat. “I don't have to break you. Not my job. I'm just the delivery boy.”

  Barry returned to fucking her asshole. She hadn't seen his cock yet, but by the feel it was huge, at least eight inches long and half as wide. Or maybe it just felt huge, since her asshole was so tight. She'd only went all the way a few times before, and had never lowered herself to sucking cock or allowing assplay.