by Ashley Hind
Title Page
SNATCHED
by
Ashley Hind
Publisher Information
Snatched
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Ashley Hind 2014
The right of Ashley Hind has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Intro
It was hard to say when she first knew, or at least suspected. Perhaps right from that initial, unfamiliar feel of metal at her wrists, or the cool on her wet, hotly desperate puss as her underwear first came down. Fortunately, she had the instinct to simply absorb it all as her new reality and question nothing - especially nothing that her new Mistress and Master did or said - because something in her told her that, as long as she might live, such body-quaking, mind enlivening scintillation might never be felt again. She just sensed, why ever it was happening to her of all people, that these might well be the most gloriously, guiltlessly filthy few days that she would ever know.
And they were.
One
Leah was standing in the drinks aisle when she saw the unmistakeable figure. Her knees turned instantly to jelly. It was undoubtedly Miss Pierce. Even with her back turned the stature was absolutely recognisable. The jet black hair was drawn as ever into a pony tail that hung right down her back and reached beyond the leather belt that held her waist so tightly. The narrow skirt clung to the curve of her behind and stopped three inches above her knees, giving a tantalising glimpse of black fishnet stockings. Then the boots started, in shiny patent leather to match her belt, clinging closely to the legs all the way down to the spiked heels.
The woman turned and very slowly swept the shop with her gaze, looking for a potential victim. Her eyes were dark, the arch of her brows thin and defined. Her face was cut by blusher to accentuate the high cheekbones. Her lips were painted with a gloss of red, so dark it was almost purple. Leah’s gaze fell to the jut of the woman’s breasts within the tight black jumper. They were perfect; slightly pointed and uplifted despite their weight, like a busty mannequin. Leah’s drying mouth was at sharp odds with the gathering wetness between her thighs as her mind filled with the thought of Miss Pierce’s bare breasts. They would be soft and heavy, peaked with long dark nipples, exquisite orbs that any slave would give anything to touch, let alone suck.
Leah dragged her guilty vision away from the woman’s chest and saw that the sweeping gaze was coming towards her. She tried to look away but she couldn’t. All she had to do was simply turn and continue to tidy the shelves, but her stomach was fizzing and her body was frozen, and it was already too late. Miss Pierce’s eyes continued on their relentless path and then stopped and locked on Leah’s. The woman broke into a satisfied sneer at having located her target. She raised her hand and beckoned the victim to her with one finger. Leah’s muscles defrosted and she found herself being inexorably propelled towards the woman, drawn in like a fish on a line until she was standing, cowering, before her. Miss Pierce’s smile grew broader, friendly even.
‘I’m glad it’s you,’ she said.
Every week she came shopping, and why she couldn’t pack her own trolley was anyone’s guess, but she didn’t. Instead she picked one of the female assistants to push it around and load it with items as requested, and then unload it all again at the checkout before dismissing them with barely discernible thanks. Leah had done more than her fair share of these tasks. Perhaps, thrillingly, this was because the woman sought her out. More likely it was simply because she found it so difficult to avoid her. Although the task was demeaning the woman somehow compelled her, so that she felt not just obligated but strangely thankful for the opportunity to do her bidding.
How the woman conveyed such magnetism was a mystery. Leah was sure that any other shopper who had the bare-faced cheek to make such demands would be told with anatomical precision exactly where they could stick their request. But any other shopper did not have her poise. They did not have the perfection of her appearance or the same intoxicating perfume. They certainly did not have the delicious curves that threatened to burst from such tight restraints. Any other shopper did not instil in Leah the dark delight of wanting to serve them completely. She was utterly disarming. In her presence Leah found herself unable to do anything, other than that which Miss Pierce commanded.
‘Can I help you, madam?’ As Leah spoke, her voice faltered as if the breath was being forced from her lungs.
‘Yes. I was having someone over to my house this evening but unfortunately illness has prevented it. I want you to come in their place. I trust you are available?’
Leah’s eyes were saucer-wide as she struggled to process the woman’s words and cope with the excitement of the invitation. Eventually she was able to stammer some kind of answer in the affirmative.
‘Good. I need twenty things and I want you to choose them. If not, I shall have to. You will need that.’
The woman pointed towards an abandoned trolley and then turned on her heels and set off towards the drinks aisle, leaving a flustered Leah to grab the trolley and follow in her wake. Halfway up the aisle Miss Pierce stopped and spread her hands wide.
‘Any suggestions?’ she said.
Leah was still breathlessly trying to make sense of it all and could only scan the shelves with clueless vacancy.
‘Erm, wine? White wi-’
‘Champagne, I think,’ the woman cut in, pointing to a bottle of Veuve Cliquot before marching off again. Leah grabbed the champers and trailed after the goddess in black, who had now moved to the next section and was holding up two jars for inspection.
‘Honey or chocolate spread?’
Leah’s heart felt like it was going to leap from her chest. She didn’t know what she was meant to be doing but the jars suggested pudding ingredients or, dare she think it, breakfast condiments. She could hardly hope to believe that this woman was going to invite her to stay the night. Miss Pierce didn’t wait for Leah’s reply.
‘Runny honey, I think,’ she said, ‘as it’s your first time.’
She was off again down the next aisle, the sight of that skirt stretching over the round bottom within making the hot itch between Leah’s thighs ever more insistent. She stopped next in the kitchen section, this time holding up a long plastic spoon and a spatula and raising her eyebrows questioningly. Leah could only shake her head and shrug. The woman tutted and handed her the spoon.
‘You aren’t very good at this, are you?’ she said. ‘And we shall definitely need that.’
Leah grabbed the specified plastic funnel and made off after the woman as she disappeared around the corner, heading for the far end of the store. She caught up with her as she halted to peruse the vegetables, again looking around enquiringly at Leah.
‘Well? I believe I said I wanted you to choose.’
‘But madam, I don’t know what I’m choosing for. I don’t know what you like, or what you want to cook, or -’
‘What are you talking about? Did I not make myself perfectly clear?’
Leah fumbl
ed blankly for an answer, trying to recall their earlier words. In the silence the woman moved gently forward, and for one heart-stopping moment Leah thought she was going to be embraced. She could smell the woman’s sweet scent. They were so close now their breasts were almost touching, just inches apart, and as the woman leant further in Leah felt them brush together and the heat emanate through her clothes. This was it. Miss Pierce was going to kiss her. Her lips parted as they neared the target but suddenly veered off, moving instead over the side of the face so that Leah could feel the breath on her cheek. Then came the hot, tingling whisper in her ear.
‘We are not going to be eating, my girl. I have asked you over to my house to serve me. These items will be used tonight as part of your subjugation. They will be used either on your body, or in your body. That is why it must be champagne.’
She moved away again, presumably to gauge the younger girl’s expression of shock and longing. Leah was still shaking and rendered mute, but this was irrelevant because Miss Pierce had not yet finished talking, reverting back to her normal volume as she continued.
‘I was allowing you the privilege of choosing today simply because it is your first visit, but if you find yourself unable to do so, then I will take the decision out of your hands. I thought you understood all this. I must admit I was surprised when you didn’t choose the spatula - the spoon will hurt much more.’
Leah couldn’t breathe. She was shaking and speechless but her sex had given up its juices in a true expression of her feelings. Visions flashed of at last being pulled across the lap of this woman, and of her bright red bottom singing with the slaps and stinging with glorious pain. Next would be the champagne, poured ice cold to sizzle against her sensitive, burning cheeks. And then - oh God - then the funnel! The implications were unimaginable, the promise of being used too exhilarating. Her butterflies flew to panic as she watched the woman go over to the shelves to study some large squashes. How could anyone possibly think such monsters could fit inside her tight confines?
Miss Pierce turned and smiled, her slim fingers wiggling over the squashes as if pondering a selection. In her haste, Leah grabbed for the nearby box of courgettes, her heart jumping as she felt the thick girth in her palm as she held it up for inspection. The woman wordlessly assented to the choice and moved on. Leah was still rueing her rash selection but while she stood dithering, the Mistress, demonstrating her impatience for any kind of procrastination, was already adding some grapes to the trolley.
Leah caught the giggles of derision from a couple of other female co-workers. Was it possible that they knew her plight and perhaps had suffered the same? Were they aware that every single item picked was to be used to inflict humiliation as this woman abused and ravished her? A further pang of almost unbearable excitement surged through Leah with the realisation that at long last she was going to have sex with another woman. Better still, she was going to be made to do it. Her head cleared only slightly with the startling discovery that somehow she had been rushed into adding a netted bag of large ripe limes to the trolley.
She managed to head off the threat of the larger plantain by picking a particularly prize banana, but the woman was obviously in a merciless mood. As she began rummaging through some vast parsnips, Leah instead hurriedly scanned the next-door carrots, trying to find one small enough to be accommodated though large enough to placate her new mistress. Just in time she found one and held it up to be viewed.
‘Oh yes,’ said Miss Pierce loudly, ‘that will definitely do for your other hole. That reminds me - we ought to get some olive oil.’
Leah stared at the vegetable and felt her backside clench shut in defence. She glanced back to the box to see if she could substitute her pick for a smaller example but her Mistress had already turned to face her again, smiling as she tauntingly held up a little clear plastic packet. Leaning forward to try and focus on the small red shapes within, Leah’s heart raced again as she realised with dismay what the packet contained. The insignificant-looking pods were, in fact, chillies...
The doorbell made Leah jump and hauled her back to full consciousness. She swore at the interruption and hastily raised her hips off the bed so she could pull her knickers back up. She looked around for somewhere to wipe her sticky fingers but seeing nowhere obvious she elected to suck them clean. She leapt off the bed and smoothed down her cotton dress. This had better be good, she thought as she ran downstairs, realising too late that her flustered state would be all too evident to whoever was behind the door. It was the milkman. She inwardly cursed his ugly mug but knew it was her fault and that he had said he would come for his payment today. She should give him up, really. It seemed ridiculous to work in a supermarket and then get milk delivered, but she felt guilty at depriving him of the work. Still, if he was going to prevent her from playing with herself whenever she felt like it then...
‘Morning, Love. Four pounds today, please.’
She fetched her purse and paid him in change.
‘Don’t forget I’m away for the next two weeks, will you?’ she said.
‘No, I did remember. Where are you off to again?’
‘I don’t know’ she smiled excitedly, ‘My husband is going to surprise me.’
She closed the door and looked at her watch. There was still an hour before her husband would be home. Saturday was their busiest day at the supermarket and as manager Thomas found it hard to relinquish his responsibilities, even when he was supposed to be on holiday. Still, he had promised to be home by eleven and then he would whisk her away to his chosen destination. Packing had been difficult without knowing where she was going. All he had told her was that she didn’t need her passport. Britain in high summer was still unpredictable so she hedged her bets and loaded as much into the suitcase as possible.
She had been gripped by fevered anticipation for weeks but he had refused to divulge any further information about the holiday, enduring pleas, threats and attacks in which she pinned him to the bed and tickled him until he was exhausted but still resolutely tight-lipped. It was his look of knowing smugness that most drove her to distraction. Last year’s holiday to the adult resort in the Caribbean had promised much but delivered mainly unspeakable German men with vast bellies inversely proportional to the size of their sexual organs. Thomas had sworn to make amends this year, and clearly he was confident he was going to deliver.
The tingle between her legs persisted and although the moment had gone, she still considered retreating to the bedroom to tease out her orgasm. At the foot of the stairs she caught her reflection and realised just how dishevelled and rosy-cheeked she was. It could not have been more obvious if she had answered the door wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words: “Morning, Milko - I’ve Just Been Wanking”. The hairdresser had done a good job yesterday, though. The roots were dyed out properly and the mainly blonde tresses were intermingled with darker streaks closer to her natural colouring. He had given her a fringe and layers, with the shorter lengths curving in slightly to frame her face.
She gave herself a smile, her best feature according to her husband. It made her eyes light up and her cheeks expand to little morsels of soft flesh. It also stretched her lips, which Thomas loved but which she found too full, especially the bottom one. Although he seemed to prefer her when carrying a little extra weight, which she was prone to around her hips and bottom, Leah had secretly been exercising and had managed to keep her body looking fairly lithe, just in case she needed to display it. The fact that they were not going abroad seemed disappointingly to suggest there would be little chance to show her body, but at least that precluded the necessity of being gawped at by fat ageing men. What she really wanted, above all things, was to be made to reveal herself to another woman.
The mere thought of this was enough to produce another little flood of excitement between her legs and have her scurrying back upstairs, only to be halted once more by the doorbell. She curse
d again and descended, opening the door with impatient anger that evaporated into shock the moment she set eyes on her visitor. Standing on her doorstep, perusing notes on a clipboard, was none other than Miss Pierce.
‘Hello Mrs Ryder, my name is Gwendolen Davies. I shall be standing as an independent in the local by-election under the banner of “Save Our Hospital” - you’ve probably seen my leaflet?’
Leah had a vague recollection but was still too surprised to offer an answer and could only reply with a faint shrug. The woman was seemingly unperturbed.
‘Mr Ryder said we will have his full support. He said we could run through a brief questionnaire with him today.’
Leah finally found her voice.
‘He’s not in,’ she said.
‘Oh, I see. Then maybe you could? It won’t take a minute - perhaps I can come in?’
The woman wasn’t Miss Pierce of course, and the more Leah looked at her, the fewer similarities there actually were. She had the same black hair and the tight jumper filled with jutting breasts. Her face was sterner and less beautiful but she carried some of the same poise and air of absolute assured confidence, and perhaps it was this that prevented Leah from barring her entry, rather than the associated guilt of her husband’s error. Whatever the cause, she could only move back as the woman stepped into the hallway, and soon the door was shut and they were standing together, so close their breasts were almost touching.
This Gwendolen Davies launched into her chat about her policies but Leah wasn’t really listening. For a brief moment she thought that she must have seen the woman’s flyer and used her picture for inspiration for Miss Pierce. She dismissed this instantly though, since her fantasy figure was based wholly on a teacher of the same name from her schooldays. Thinking about it, she did have a vague memory of the flyer, and oddly didn’t remember the picture bearing any resemblance to the woman in her hall. Nor could she remember any reference to her being Welsh, which she clearly was by her accent. The woman was still talking at her but simultaneously pressing buttons on her mobile phone.
