“Oh yes,” said the courier, finally picking himself up off the floor and brushing the dust and dirt from his clothes. “Very clean. Well muscled, and...” his voice trailed off as though he was trying to recall something else. “And...” He added, almost in a whisper. “I think they were women.”
“Long hair?” the cop asked.
“No, not visible anyway. But they pulled me against them and I’d swear they had big tits and really nice asses.”
“Dirty old man,” the cop said, laughing.
Chapter Four
Closet Case
“We advise our guests to place their valuables in the room safe. Additional secure space is in the locking close.”....hotel guidelines booklet.
An unadvertised feature of the Grand Hotel in Frankfurt was the large hanging closet with plenty of space for visiting guests to hang their clothes and store shoes and luggage. The closet had unusually heavy sliding wooden doors and it took some effort to move them from open to closed position. With the one side of this space devoted to hanging garments, an ironing board and iron, there was still considerable space unseen between this area and the other end of the closet, which contained a safe and shelves for folded clothing.
It was against this inside partition that Sidney found herself immovably bound. The partition had a chromed steel handle bolted in place at eye level, perhaps intended to hold some sort of hanging bag or luggage. About five feet below it was another U-shaped metal fitting, also of undetermined function, but sturdy enough to retain Sidney’s small feet and ankles which were closely cuffed together with two common handcuffs welded together to form a rigid double restraint. Her feet were then bound as well with braided Dacron rope that held them to the U-bolt. The rope also reached higher and secured her legs with single rope strands slightly below and above her knees. The long rope then went around her narrow waist, was tightly knotted and pulled through her black-thonged crotch, digging into her sex. Finally, it was knotted to the waist rope at the base of her spine. As she applied pressure to her legs, seeking some relief from the rope and cuffs, the crotch ropes tightened and further split her bisected sex, sending complicated signals to her brain. She was already terribly confused by the fear and anxieties about her capture and yet strangely stimulated by the careful and thorough binding that her captors applied to her unresisting body.
She already hated the fact that she dressed hurriedly that morning in the black nylon thong, a tiny, black, under-wired bra and thigh-top, stay-up black hose with a lacy pattern at the elastic top. It was, in her mind, bare minimum underwear in this warm, summer-like weather for this part of Germany and now she was sorry she hadn’t worn something that she considered to be a bit more modest.
They stripped her down to these basics quickly, cutting and tearing her T-shirt and skirt, pulling off her new boots and then making her stand still while they finished the job of immobilizing her.
Sydney’s head was wrapped in elastic bandages, sealing her eyes and mouth, which contained a pair of her own nylon panties taken from her luggage. This was supplemented with a silk scarf tied tightly around her head, pulled through her stuffed mouth and forcing the panty plug deeper into her mouth and throat.
She was surprised by the well-dressed pair of twenty-something women when she returned to her room from a short shopping trip to three stores and another stop to pick up bottled water. Somehow, the pair, one a tall redhead with a rather too large nose and boobs to match, the other a slimmer, dark-haired woman with green eyes and a pleasant manner, had let themselves into her room and prepared for Syd’s return. Apparently, she was earlier than they expected, so the reception was a bit disorganized. As she entered and turned to close the door, the women, who had been going through her luggage, stood and introduced themselves as Sheila and May, both extending their hands and moving towards her. Syd backed up against the door which had already locked automatically and before she could think of anything to do to protect herself, the two women were on her. One cuffed her thin wrists behind her while the other jammed a ready pair of black panties from her dresser drawer into her open mouth and began to wrap the large scarf and bandage around her head. The cuffs were locked down snugly, but not so tight as to hurt. Sydney thought the design of the cuffs was a bit odd, since the only handcuffs she had ever examined were those of a policeman boyfriend she kicked out of her bed late one winter morning after he’d suggested anal sex. These cuffs were flat and instead of a short chain between them, there was a rigid hinge. In this configuration the bound limbs were held close together and very little movement was possible. It also made the even remote possibility of the wearer unlocking the cuffs quite difficult if not impossible
“It is better if you do not struggle, Sweetheart,” Sheila, the redhead and the one locking Sydney’s hands behind her, said softly. “We have no intention of hurting you, but you were not gone quite long enough, so we must accommodate you here for awhile. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”
“Muurph, att ouu oouin?” Sydney mumbled into the panty and scarf gag, assuming that she was interrupting a robbery or, worse yet, was being kidnapped to be held for ransom. “Ahhht eee oooo, eeezze,” she complained.
“Sorry, My Dear, we can’t release you. We just began,” said May, pressing her extensive breastworks against Sydney’s less abundant chest and guiding her towards the open closet. “We can’t let you go until later. Sorry. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
They both pushed Sydney into the closet. May began working with the rope on Syd’s ankles and legs while the other secured her neck to the sturdy overhead metal rail for clothes hangers and the U-shaped bolt on the partition. Sydney’s closely cuffed hands were tied with another rope and pulled back and up towards the overhead hanger bar, then, almost as an afterthought, Sheila snapped the closure of another set of cuffs around Syd’s right arm, just above the elbow. These steel cuffs were slightly larger than the first hinged pair and were joined by a longer chain.
“Can you bring your elbows together behind you?” Sheila asked.
“Nahnnggg,” Syd muttered, shaking her head vigorously.
“Let’s try it, the woman pressed, pulled the left arm closer to the right and locking the second cuff in the same position as the one on Syd’s right arm.
Syd felt the tension of the chain increase as Shield slowly pulled the two cuffed elbows towards each other. Syd’s shoulders protested silently and her muffled voice sang an objection that went unheeded. It seemed unlikely that both elbows could touch without dislocating Syd’s shoulders, so, after a brief exchange, the women produced a small padlock from their bondage equipment bag and used it to shorten the elbow chain.
“The chains on your upper arms are leg irons, intended to use used if you were wearing boots or just for your ankles. They fit your biceps well enough though, so this arrangement will do for the time being,” May said. “Nice muscle tone though,” she added. “Guess you work out and can lift some pretty good weight. If you’re a good girl and behave yourself, we’ll loosen the elbow chain a bit before we leave, okay?”
Sydney’s arms were now totally immobilized; her forearms parallel and the new leg shackle bondage on her upper arms the most painful thing they had done to her thus far. Sheila loosened the rope that had been holding Syd’s arms up and back, decreasing the tension somewhat.
“There now, Honey,” May crooned, running her gloved hands down from Syd’s straining shoulders, over her bra-enclosed breasts and down further, slowly tracing her body curves and making sure that the double strands of knotted rope were buried well inside Syd’s pussy.
“Isn’t that strange?” May said, leaving her hand in the nylon-covered triangle between Syd’s upper thighs. “I will swear that she’s wet down there. Does this turn you on, My Dear?”
Astonished to realize that what the woman said was true, Sydney shook her head, but without making any verbal denial. Her position was uncomfortable and untenable. The backwards pressure on her wrists and arms made her want t
o bend over forward, but the partition in front of her made this impossible. Her head and neck were bound to the chromed fixture which, like the hanging bar holding her hands, proved to be very sturdy and well attached to the closet wall. Unaccountably, Syd wondered if the closet might have been designed for similar activity as a sort of unmentioned, optional, extra hotel facility. Instantly, as she involuntarily tried to lower her arms and felt the pang of resistance in her straining shoulder muscles, she realized how dumb that thought really was.
“No one is going to design a hotel closet for keeping someone captive,” she realized. “But this sure is a simple way to keep a guest quiet and immobilized.”
When they finished securing her, Sydney Price found that she was unable to move without hurting herself, but if she just stood still, like a nearly naked statute in black hose and lingerie, the pressure of the ropes and cuffs relaxed somewhat. The closet doors slid shut and she heard them applying some sort of portable lock to the doors. She would later see that this unnecessary security was in the form of a simple lock designed for the sliding doors on display cases, with notched steel brackets that fit into a keyed, armored lock. It was simple and efficient and, Sydney supposed, more to keep others from opening the doors from the outside than to prevent her unlikely escape.
Now what? She thought, chewing on the panties that tasted slightly of laundry soap. The fact that she heard no further conversation or noise in the room must mean that her abductors had left. So, who, Syd wondered, was going to save her and how long would it take before someone came to the room and unlocked the closet? She had no plans for dinner or the rest of the evening because the next day would be a busy one with the convention opening early and several seminar sessions already on her long list of things she wanted to do and see.
I could be trapped here for days, she thought, tugging once again at her roped and cuffed hands and feet and feeling the tingling sensation that she often felt when having sex.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to have a very spontaneous orgasm right here in this hotel closet. Even with the gag, someone might hear me. Maybe I should try it.
Indeed, Sydney Price presented a fetching sight. She was pressed up against the sturdy vertical panel, well cuffed and tied. She exhibited a youthful woman’s well-cared for body that got second and third stares from men and women where ever she went. Many people, at first glance, assumed Syd was a model, or at least some sort of celebrity because she picked her clothes carefully and wore things that she knew showed off her fine figure. Her auburn hair, cut every two weeks by her friend and confidant, Marie, at home, hung softly around her head and face. It covered the bandage wrapped around her head. Her firm, seductively sized breasts were pressed hard against the panel’s polished wood surface. She could feel the cool wood thorough the thin fabric of her unlined lace bra, the lower temperature causing her nipples to swell and harden, only to further enhance the already frustrating feeling of sexual arousal.
The slowly creeping tentacles of erotic excitement came on, despite her mentally willing her body to resist. The warmth spread upwards from her rope split cunt where the perfectly spaced knots continued to dig in without respite or mercy, encouraging the new wetness to spread as it soaked the tiny triangle of the thong. She could feel the minute threads of sticky sex juice starting to run down the inside of her smooth thighs, finally reaching the double coils of rope that held her thighs tightly pressed together. The rope stopped the flow for awhile. She once again tried to ease the pressure on her shoulders and arms and this movement pressed her already compressed breasts even harder against the wood panel, making Syd cry in discomfort and frustration into the panty mouth stuffing and twist her head slightly to one side.
It would be a long wait before Syd was taken out of the closet, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a room service cart which was trundled down the hall and into the service elevator. No one saw the strap of the black fashion bra trailing along behind the cart and no one knew that inside the cart’s small cabinet, Sydney Price lay bound and gagged, heading for a new adventure.
Chapter Five
Bibi
“You have friends who tie you up?” she asked.
“How nice,” she added with just a touch of sarcasm, ...Bibi Wolfe Lynx.
Totally relaxed, Bibi Wolf Lynx, free-lance investigator, body guard to the wealthy, celebrity set and all-around detective for persons and agencies who needed brilliant, discrete and effective investigative work anywhere in the world, lay naked in a huge, double beanbag chair. The outsized design of the bags allowed her to drape her well-tanned body completely across the chair without touching the floor. The original chair had been covered in some tacky plastic material, but Bibi found a furniture expert who bound the two original bags neatly together, refreshed the puffy interior material and recovered the mass in sheared, white sheepskin, a far more comfortable fabric and one that she felt was more suitable to her character. Leaning back in the chair with the digital tablet resting on a pillow just below her bare breasts, Bibi studied a series of reports, maps and diagrams showing three different locations where Peterman’s Bank couriers were recently assaulted and robbed. When, after the third robbery, the local police robbery squad developed no useful leads, the bank’s security director contacted Bibi, asking if she would take the case under advisement. He reminded her that he knew this was not her usual kind of work, but that the bank’s board had been “prompted” he said, to at least discuss the case with her and see what she might recommend. It was not accidental that the bank’s board contained two of Bibi’s former clients, one of whom made it well known that she was, in his opinion, solely responsible for the safe recovery of his only daughter when she was abducted and held prisoner in Czechoslovakia by a disenchanted, and now dead, Dutch boyfriend. Ernst von Holt had sufficient influence in enough quarters to get his suggestions quickly implemented and now Bibi was on the second day of reviewing all of the case materials furnished by the bank’s security team, as well as a second set of data files from the police.
At Bibi’s feet was one of her new toys, Donna Elizabeth Cann, a strikingly beautiful university student who, although nearly twenty, reminded Bibi of herself when she too was a footloose, licensed private investigator, jobless and trying to make fiscal ends meet as she waited for her first crime case.
Dede, as the girl preferred to be called, struck up a conversation with Bibi in a nearby coffee shop when the display TV showed a news broadcast about a new club in Berlin that catered to the off-beat and kinky tastes of the city’s vast avant-garde, youthful population.
“I just don’t get it,” Dede said in English as they both sat with their coffees at the counter and studied the TV on one wall. “Why do people have to go to a club to get tied up?”
“Where else would they go?” Bibi asked, only half interested in the lovely girl’s somewhat different approach to starting a conversation with a stranger and not surprised that she apparently assumed Bibi was either a Brit or an American. She half turned in her chair and looked carefully at the woman.
Dede was a natural blond with almost white hair, cut long and straight. She had the blue-green eyes to match and even without make-up, her eyes seemed almost too big for her small and pixie-like face. Her complexion was in sharp contrast in smooth features with the long, light blond hair because she had an unlikely tan that, despite the winter weather, looked natural. From what Bibi could see, the body, slim and well cared for, matched the face and seemed suited for the girl next door look Dede apparently favored.
“Friends, for one,” Dede said, after thinking a bit.
On the overhead display, the TV broadcast showed video clips of the various jail cells, mirrored rooms and playrooms in the club which at one time had been an army installation and was now in a sleazy part of the city that was slated for urban renewal sometime in the distant future. The club was called Gwendolyn’s, named perhaps Bibi thought, after the hapless heroine in John Willie’s now nearly ancient cartoon se
ries from the nineteen fifties when cartoon art of tightly bound women in skimpy attire was a bit avant-garde and BDSM was almost totally underground.
“You have friends who will tie you up?” Bibi asked. “How nice,” she added with just a touch of sarcasm.
“No. Not really,” Dede said. “The last time I asked a date to put me in handcuffs he got pissed and finally, after I pestered him, put them on much too tight. He hurt me, the prick.”
“What did you expect?” Bibi asked, by now a bit more interested in this girl’s seemingly absurd dilemma. “You get a stranger to restrain you and then complain about it not being to your liking? A bit of a rätsel, a conundrum, I would say, if that’s the proper English term. By the way, your English is super. I gather you practice a lot?”
Bibi used the English word as well as the German, trying to make a point as she often did with strangers, especially those who seemed to demonstrate a higher level of education and intelligence. This worked well for her with both men and women and she did it often without thinking, even though her own education was extensive and she, like many Europeans in her generation, spoke four languages well and a few others barely.
“Yes,” Dede said. “I know. But don’t you think it’s strange that so many people have to go to a club to enjoy a very basic kind of sexual experience that hurts no one and shouldn’t cost anything?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Bibi answered, somewhat vaguely, but now studying more carefully the girl sitting next to her. “I’ve certainly never paid for it. Any other bondage experiences you want to tell me about?”
“Ha,” said Dede as she emptied her coffee cup. “I’ve had more than my share of fetish flops. Sandy, one of my classmates who I didn’t know very well, texted me a rather cryptic note saying that she would love to have me as her slave. Just like that.”
“And...” said Bibi.
“She was pretty direct. I ignored the text, but in gym class one day I found her in the shower room without a robe or towel and saw what looked like some pretty heavy whip marks on her back and thighs. Nothing was said, but she knew that I had seen her. A few days later, she stopped at my table in the café and asked if she could join me. One thing led to another and that night we got together in her dorm room, supposedly to study Western Civilizations, a course we both were taking. We’re sitting at the table next to each other to share the same books and she reached under the table and squeezed my leg. When I turned, she kissed me, hard, and her hand moved to my breast.”
The Couriers Page 2
