Abducted Ch. 00byHarleyFatboy1©
Okay, I'm thinking to myself, ... maybe this part was a mistake.
But, I had to make sure she was gonna be there today. There's no use in exposing a perfectly beautiful plan, if the target is going to be taking one of her sick days.
She's there, all right. All fresh, and crisp, and classy, like always. I watch her rise from her desk, and step lively around the lobby, talking to her colleagues. Then, she turns on her perky little heels with that white dress wisking around trim, shapely legs. She's all businesslike, and all 'professional', but, ... she kinda makes a fella wonder about just how long those legs really are up under that white dress.
She's a looker. She's got great eyes, and a fabulous figure. And, she's even easy to talk to. If it weren't for the fact that she's standing between a half-a-million dollars, and me I'd even ask her out, after this is all over.
But, I'm guessing, she'd probably say no.
Ah, well, ... now, she's seen me. But, what the hell, ... the plan's in place. Me 'n' the boys pretty much got it all wired. Not much she can do about any of it, even if she does recognize me. Besides, she won't even know anything's amiss until lunch time.
There, she's going on about her business again. I pull my fedora down over my eyes. I set about focusing on my own business, too.
I head off down the street, out of sight of the Miller Bank Building's main doors. I flip open my cell-phone, and dial a number from a scrap of paper in my vest pocket:
"Harris, ... she's here. We're on."
"Problem, Chief," Harris said. "Gotta technical glitch with Chano's electronic voice scrambler. It's not working."
That's not much of a problem, I figure. Chano's not supposed to speak, anyway. It's probably best that he have as little verbal contact with our prospective hostage as possible, knowing how he is. Fact is, he likes pretty girls too much, which plays into my plan.
"What about all the other equipment?" I ask.
"The A/V works fine, comp links are up and running ... hey, wait, Chano wants to talk. Here, ..."
Chano's accented English crackles through the earpiece: "Hey, what's up, School?"
I grimace, and sigh. I'm beginning to hate that "School" stuff from him. Like a lot of young punks, they refer to anyone with an ounce of gray in his hair as "Old School", or "School" for short. Makes it sound like I'm old and infirm.
The truth is, I still sling some mean iron at the gym, and still run a dozen miles every week. I'm still built like the point guard that I once was, thirty years ago, and I can hold my own on the court -- and anywhere else, for that matter -- against any of these steroid-heads that hang out at the gym, these days.
I swallow that "School" stuff, only because I realize it is supposed to be an address of respect. Because mothers don't teach their children to say, "Sir", anymore.
I compose myself: "Chano, you're not even supposed to be around her very much until I say so. Just don't say anything, when we're at the staging area."
"Staging area? Oh, you mean the warehouse, yeah, right."
It is at this moment that I make the decision: Chano will not be saying anything. He's gonna screw it up, I can feel it.
Bless him, Chano has his uses: At 6'3", and 210 lbs., he cuts an extremely intimidating figure. He can get physical, when he needs to, and he's pretty good at it. And, I have to concede this much: It was his baby-faced, smoldering Latin good looks, that got him next to that intern at the bank, which gave me this idea, in the first place.
But, Chano's not the sharpest pencil in the box. Thinking on his feet is ... a liability. If I could replace him altogether, I would, but we're too far down the road for that.
Harris is my tech-expert and I am relying on him to make everything work.
Like most tech experts, Harris looks the part: Thin, slightly built, average height, thick glasses. Not a bad looking dude, but he's no GQ poster boy, either. If I were to say he looked like anybody, I'd say it was a grown-up Harry Potter. Then, I chuckle -- his favorite color is brown. How in character is that?
But, what Harris brings behind those thick lenses, and large brown eyes, and shock of tousled brown hair is the ability to improvise, and to think quickly, like an engineer.
He also brings a fat helping of good old-fashioned greed.
I smile to myself, "Greed is good." Harris won't screw it up.
With that small adjustment in mind, I know we're ready to go. Ready to get rich.
I step around the corner and stride through the alley beside the Miller building. I hop into a rented blue Chevy and fire the ignition. I creep out into the morning rush-hour traffic, just as it begins to die down.
The clock on the dashboard says, "9:25 AM". In a little less than three hours, we begin.
Six hours after that, I should be winging my way to a nice, comfortable Costa Rican retirement.
It was one of those fabulous late summer mornings when every breath that you take lets you know that you are alive.
I wake up without the alarm clock feeling quite frisky from the residue of a very kinky little dream that I had had just before opening my eyes.
I slip into the shower and train the nozzle on that special place between my legs luxuriating in the sensual stimulation of the water vibrating off my very sensitive and enlarged female nub.
The memory of my dream where I was bound and helpless to a captor's whims and fancies brings me quickly to orgasm as my body shimmies to its own private sexual music.
As I dry off, I still can feel the energy of desire coursing through my body and wonder what kind of a day is in store for me.
It sure started out with a nice bang I think to myself and smile.
I slip on a pair of teeny light blue nylon panties that hug me everywhere that they should.
I love how they feel to wear under my clothes as they give me, simply by their fit, a constant reminder of sexy.
I apply my make up in the bathroom mirror, comb my hair, and decide what else to wear on such a fabulous day.
My job requires stockings, which are such a pain, so I comply by wearing my beige lace garter belt with the violet suspender straps and very sheer nude stockings.
A matching light blue balconette demi cup bra completes the outfit. My dress fits tight enough to show my bottom off along with my teeny panty lines, but flares out nicely to not show my garters bumps.
When I add my tan linen high heels, I feel wonderful.
One last check in the mirror confirms my sense of sexy self as I head out the door to catch my bus to work.
I am in my early 40's, divorced from a bad marriage and have spent the last 6 years rediscovering myself as well as allowing myself to be sexy again.
I hit the gym soon after my divorce and became quite happy with the results as I stand 5'5" in bare feet and am back to wearing a very comfortable size 6.
I am not very big on top and thus wear push up bras to enhance the little that I have.
My nipples on the other hand are quite perky and very sensitive. Once they become erect they have a tendency to remain stimulated for quite a while just like they still are this morning.
My hair is dark brown but has developed a streak of gray that I was initially going to color, but then thought twice about it. It is so distinctive as it forms almost a skunk stripe on the top of my head that it seemed a shame to conceal it.
I wear it relatively short, as my ex loved it long, a lingering residue of our relationship.
As to my private area, I keep my pubic hair trimmed and short, as it is very thick making it quite painful and difficult to either shave completely or to wax.
Oh the things that we do to feel sexy.
I walk out of my apartment building into the most glorious light of the early morning sun and head to the nearest bus stop.
It arrives on time as usual.
I step onto the bus and as I greet my regular bus driver I can tell that the morning sun is silhouetting me in the doorway of the bus as Frank, the driver, stares at me from head to toe and gives out a most complimentary exhale of air.
I swipe my bus card giving Frank a big smile walking back to the first seat facing forward in the bus.
I have become a consummate flirt and enjoy sitting in a front seat so Frank and I can exchange looks using his inside mirror.
Although my dress hangs down past my knees, I give it a bit of a tug northward to allow Frank some peeks at my legs and stockings.
He is always so cheerful in the morning and gives me an extra minute or two when I am running late, so I repay the favor by giving him peeks.
Today was one of those days that I was in a "mood", a somewhat natural continuation of my morning.
By the time the bus got close to my work, my peeks had turned into mini exhibitions of stocking tops, garter snaps, and light blue nylon.
Frank certainly enjoyed it, but I do feel that I enjoyed it more.
I pull on the stop request cord and as Frank pulls the bus to the curb, I let my legs wander far apart as I gather my laptop case up and rise out of my seat.
With a very impish smile directed at Frank along with a wish for a "great day" I head up the block to my place of employment.
I can feel his eyes follow me all the way up the block.
I work in a large bank downtown as an "banker" which gives me a desk, a chair, and a bit of a cubby hole to sit in as I help customers open checking and savings accounts as well as request certified checks etc. I am also privy to the bank codes, which are used to transfer funds from one bank to the next.
I do love the interaction with the customers, although the last few days I have had an unusual looking man requiring my help over very minor things. I almost feel that he is making up reasons to talk to me.
He is about 6'1" with a muscular build, who dresses a bit old fashioned but still stylish. He wears his hair short and well cared for, although he usually covers it with what I would call a fedora; one of those style of hats from the 40's gangster movies.
He has beautiful ebony skin that almost glows.
If he didn't wear such a menacing grimace most of the time, I would consider him quite handsome.
I enter the bank through the side door as it doesn't officially open for another 30 minutes and get myself settled into my workstation and log onto the computer system.
Once I am all ready to begin my day, I have a chance to look out the front window and there he is, my tall, dark and intriguing stranger looking right back at me.
A chill runs through my body, the kind that causes you to shudder from fright but mixes with a slight feeling of sexual excitement.
Well, isn't that just like me today i.e. to feel excited over an almost creepy stalker?
As the front doors of the bank are unlocked, my stalker disappears and I find myself quite busy for the morning, although the constant rubbing of the fabrics of my under things serve as a wonderful reminder of how sexy I feel today.
Lunchtime comes with a blink of an eye and I quickly log off as I have a number of errands to run within walking distance of the bank and want to get an early start.
As I rush out the revolving doors my dress doesn't quite fully make it into the small space between compartments and I find myself stuck between the inside and the outside of the bank.
My dress is caught between the glass and the rubber edge of the door so as I push forward on the sliding glass my dress becomes more extended behind me until I inadvertently give most of the customers a very nice look of the top of my stockings and my violet suspender straps.
I realize that unless I want to also share a view of my teeny light blue panties it would be best to stop pushing forward and attempt to resolve my predicament without further exposure.
The bank guard, who also is a subject of my teasing, hits a release button allowing the doors to slide freely resulting in my dress catching up with the rest of me and its hem to resume its place below my knees.
I simply shrug my shoulders at the guard adding a big smile and hurry out the doors.
As I turn the corner to take a short cut down the alley by our building I feel a strange foreboding pass through me and in a complete contradiction, my nipples become erect again just like they had been most of the morning.
What is going on within me today?