The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 57

Dana awoke on the foor of the front room. Much to her amazement she was alive and, as well as she could tell without her glasses, alone. Also, as near as she could tell, she was dressed in virtually the same outft she was wearing when he had kidnapped her originally. It was a tailored gray suit with a slit miniskirt, a v-necked beige silk shirt, and gray, three-and-a-half inch highheel pumps.

“Accident,” she immediately thought, not even comprehending how alert she was. That’s why she was redressed, she decided. They weren’t going to take the chance her body would be traced back to them...they were going to come out with a reasonable explanation for her disappearance, so the authorities wouldn’t investigate further. A car accident...!

Dana tried to sit up, discovering she still wasn’t free. Damn! The mesh was still over her mouth and around her wrists. By the feel of it, it probably required some kind of solvent to loosen...but then, once it was gone, it probably wouldn’t leave a trace.

She tried to get to her feet, only to fnd that something still wrapped her ankles. Curse the luck; they couldn’t have her feet fopping free until she was truly doomed. But after surviving binds that had secured her chest, elbows, neck, waist, thighs, and knees, this was practically a mere seat belt.

But try to get out of a stuck seatbelt...! Dana jerked her head up, listening intently. She heard nothing. Maybe they were out preparing the car. Maybe they were dumping the others somewhere. Whatever the reason, she was alone.

She jerked her head toward the front door. She had been in this room enough to know it perfectly—near-sighted or not. She knew every inch of this damned house...and its occupants as well.

She knew them both because, every moment she wasn’t being raped, she was being cleansed and strengthened and trained. The enemas, the i.v.’s, the forced exercises, the drugs, the potions, the creams, the makeup, the clothes, the shoes....

The ointment which froze her vocal chords for the feedings...the glue which went inside the shoes so she couldn’t kick them off. The pushups or her ass would be whipped...the sit-ups or her breasts would be lashed. The blindness...the brainwashing...!

And now they were done with her...but she wasn’t done yet. Dana began to crawl toward the door, all hundred and ffteen shapely pounds of her writhing like a snake across the carpet toward the front door. She felt her throbbing breasts surging in the contain- ment of some strict underwire push-up bra. She heard the quiet swish of stockings rubbing against each other. She breathed deeply through her nose, feeling the thick warm velvet of her mahogany hair on the back of her neck as she surged with untold strength toward the partition.

Then she was there, her breath coming in silent, heaving gulps, the shirt straining to contain her ample chest. She tried to focus on the doorknob but it was still all a blur to her. She tried her ankle bonds. They gave. It seemed to be a simple rubber strap, like a rubber band with delusions of grandeur.

Without waiting, she pulled her feet under her, balanced on the less severe heels and stood.

The doorknob all but slid directly into her hands. She refused to relax. Instead, she felt a sudden stab of panic. To be so close now...! Her wrists twisted in the mesh. The panic turned to a nearly overwhelming feeling of release when the doorknob moved. It was unlocked.

Now, no matter what happened, she would be outside. There was a chance...a very good chance that there would be a passing car...that someone would see her... that someone would help her...that she would be res- cued....

But even if she wasn’t...even if they discovered her and grabbed her and dragged her back inside...even if they fucked her again...! She would know that she had made it outside. For one brief triumphant second, she had made it outside....

She swung the door open and fell into the darkness beyond.

The black velvet bag worked perfectly. The wooden frame pressed against the door and held as Dana fell amongst the folds of the material. In the darkness, no one on the street would see anything. And from her nearsighted perspective, it just looked like starless night.

Either way, it was over in seconds. She was bundled up in the cloth—her limbs further constricted and her muffed cries of panic and confusion further silenced—carried over to the car, and dumped into the padded trunk.

Dana screamed and struggled like mad, but the heavy duty shock absorbers took it all without finching. The car pulled out into the dark, nearly empty street, and drove west with a hysterical girl unknown and out of sight.

Within the trunk Dana screamed, her head shaking madly, her legs like pistons, but it was like trying to escape a wickedly made bed. What the velvet enfolds didn’t still, the padding swallowed up.

Within minutes the car had stopped, the trunk was open, and the velvet sheet was lifted out again. Even past the shrieks inside her head and the surging of her bound body, she heard a door shut behind her and feet walking on tile. Then another door opened and she was being carried down a fight of stairs.

She was slammed up against a standing beam of some sort. Before she could collapse, some sort of wide belt was strapped around her waist. Then another was tightened at her thighs. Then another went around her torso, just under her heaving chest.

Incredibly she was strapped upright inside the velvet bag—still blinded, still captive—without a single word. She was trapped inside her darkness, in a silent, musty place, her mind spinning, her muscles spasming...

In the distance she heard a door close, and then another, and then a third—the last one being a car door. Then, she heard it back out into a street and drive away.

After that, nothing...save the sound of her own fevered breathing in the darkness of her own basement...beneath the foor of her apartment...just six blocks away from the house where she was kept captive.

Barbara awoke in the back room, her arms behind her, her ankles strapped side by side. She was half on her side and half on her front, the mesh still over her mouth. She blinked down at herself. She was wearing a sexy satire of a school uniform: a tight white shirt, a plaid pleated miniskirt, anklesocks and two tone saddle shoes.

Her blue eyes wide, she checked out the room, her mind working. She, too, was alone, except for drug paraphernalia. There were pristine, unused spoons and vials and candles and needles all around her. Realizing that they were going to dump her somewhere, the “victim of an ‘accidental’ overdose,” she started crawling toward the back door for all she was worth. She didn’t care whether they didn’t know she wasn’t dead, or what. All she knew was that if she didn’t get out of there, she soon would be. She didn’t stop to reason or theorize, she just headed for the nearest exit; the sliding glass doors at the very back of the room.

The heavy drapes covering them didn’t deter her, nor did the basic bondage. Using her feet, she swept the curtains aside. Backing herself against the thick, unbreakable glass, she slid up to stand between the cloth and the pane. Her lissome fngers found the latch and clicked it open as if fring a gun. She didn’t question her vitality or clear-headedness. She didn’t dare dwell on what she had been through. She was young—she could survive anything. The door slid open and the cool night air hit her. Her nipples immediately swelled and then a bag was yanked over her head.

Suddenly there was a darkness and a distant thumping. Her knees buckled and she felt herself being half dragged and half carried down the back steps. She fell heavily onto a car seat. She distantly heard a door close and another open.

Then a cold hand was on the back of her neck and an engine was throbbing to life.

A seatbelt was wrapped around her neck and buckled down, pinning her head to a lap...a male lap. Then a hand was in her shirt and under a bra cup.

Barbara kicked and struggled, but it was no use. She was stunned and dazed. She thought she was clawing for the window, but her arms were behind her, her elbows slamming the seatback. Her bound ankles prevented her from getting leverage or height to her kicks. All her soft saddle shoes hit was the area beneath the dashboard.

And the wicked mauling of her swollen breast didn’t help either.

By the time the car stopped, she was nearly insensible. The belt around her neck had tightened with her struggles and the bag over her head was almost like a shroud. The hand had left her chest and crawled under her skirt, snaking into the pure white panties there. By the time the buzz in her loins and head quieted she realized that arms were clenched under her breasts. She was being half dragged/half carried across some sort of open space. Before she could completely absorb that, she was thrown down.

She landed on the back seat of a car, only she instinctively knew this wasn’t the same car. The smell of rust and mold flled her head, even under the bag, and the padding beneath her contorting form was thin and ripped. But then another car door slammed behind her and she was alone.

She sucked in air desperately, ignoring the acidic feel of it, dimly hearing the sound of retreating steps. She heard another car screeching away, it’s tires smoking, and then nothing but the distant sounds of a highway.

Wrenching at her wrists and ankles she found the mesh as unforgiving as always. She reared up, trying to kick again and scream as loud as she could, but, much to her horror, her blackened vision became gray and grainy. She felt light-headed. Ohmigod, she realized, I’m going to fai....

The blonde coed fell back, collapsing on the rear seat of the stripped, abandoned car in the middle of the garbage-strewn empty lot at the edge of a downtown slum....