Catherine, Kidnapped

Catherine had always loved sex. She'd started young and had several lovers and many casual sex partners before she met her husband in college. They'd invited friends and former lovers for threesomes and group sex many times before and after they got married. They might not be "swingers", but they were close. She'd spread her legs for dozens of men, given head and enjoyed men and women going down on her. At age 28, she was certainly no stranger to sex, but this was nothing like what she was used to. Before, she'd always had a choice. She could say no, but she almost never did. She and Jason had made a deal early on. If one of them wanted to have sex or party with friends, the other one would go along. There were a few times when one of them had been sick or having a serious problem, otherwise, they were both ready all the time. Catherine could remember fucking guys or sucking them off when she really wasn't in the mood. She was going to have to get into that mindset, big-time. If she didn't, she knew Bob was going to make her life hell.

There was a pump bottle of anti-bacterial soap and another of drugstore shampoo on a recessed shelf. A loofah and an old fashioned douche bag hung from the shower head. Bob really had thought of everything. Catherine had never used a bag like that, but there was no mystery about how it worked. After she'd washed her hair and body, she filled the bag and hosed out her vagina. Then she did it again. She was constantly aware of the camera and aware of Bob watching her. She kept her back to the camera as much as possible, knowing it was futile. Bob was probably amused. Well, fuck him.

In the living room, Bob smiled at Catherine's attempts to hide her body. He had a 32" TV dedicated to the security camera in her room. Next to it was an identical TV showing her husband. Of the two, Bob thought Catherine was handling it the best and she was the one getting raped. Good for her, thought Bob. Maybe he wouldn't have to zap her after all.

Catherine checked the clock and saw that it was almost 10:00. She toweled off, went to the corner and picked up the first pile of clothing on the right. She wanted to put something on and she didn't much care what it was. It turned out to be a pair of yellow bicycle pants and a dark blue shirt that buttoned up the front. There was no underwear. With her back to the camera, Catherine pulled on the pants and slipped into the shirt. The pants fit her well enough, but the shirt was too tight across the bust. She left the four top buttons unbuttoned, exposing a lot of cleavage. She was sure Bob had deliberately given her a shirt that was too tight, just to mess with her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of watching her root through the rest of the clothes looking for a better fit. She pushed her breasts up and together, accentuating her cleavage. Fuck Bob. And the horse he rode in on.

Right on time, Bob opened the door. He brought in the TV tray, holding a tuna sandwich, a fruit cup and a plastic glass of red wine. Apparently, he'd been watching long enough to know what Catherine liked for lunch. Bob set the tray near the heavy chair and left without a word.

Catherine examined the meal. The tuna was obviously from some supermarket deli and the fruit cup had a Dole label on the side. She sipped the wine. It was pretty good. She pulled the tray in front of the oak chair and sat down. The sandwich wasn't the best she'd ever had, but it wasn't bad, either.

At 12:40, Bob opened the door. Catherine was on the bed, watching an episode of COPS. She turned off the TV, rolled off the bed and stood up. Bob was nude and had the beginnings of an erection. He also had the stun gun.

"Time for round two," said Bob.

Without hesitation, Catherine unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. The pants followed. Naked, she walked to the end of her chain and held out her hands. Bob locked the cuffs on her wrists, then turned and put the handcuff key on top of the door frame. When he turned around, Catherine was sitting on the foot of the bed.

"Scoot up in the middle of the bed," said Bob as he walked over to her. Catherine slid back until she was fully on the bed. She lay on her back and stretched her arms toward the headboard. From the side of the bed, Bob locked her to the short chain, leaving very little slack. He knelt on the bed beside Catherine and looked at her body. "Very nice. All clean and smooth. Eminently fuckable." He explored her body with both hands. "Really great tits." Catherine opened her legs.

Bob finger-fucked Catherine with one, then two fingers of his left hand. He licked his fingers and smiled. "You taste good. I usually don't eat pussy, but I'm going to eat yours." He crawled between her thighs and gave her a lick. For the next five minutes, Bob slurped and lapped at her vagina. Catherine had been eaten hundreds of times and she gave Bob a solid D-minus. Of course, he wasn't trying to please her.

Bob moved into position, lined himself up with Catherine's pussy and plunged in. He fucked her with long, powerful strokes. Catherine moved in response, but she felt nothing. She'd fucked or sucked off guys that her husband brought home, usually because Jason wanted to screw the guy's wife or girlfriend. Sometimes she thought the guy was an asshole or an idiot, but she'd gone along with it. She treated this the same way. Just get the fool off and be done with it.

Bob pulled out and gave her a light slap on the hip. "Flip over and get on your hands and knees. Doggie time." Catherine rolled over and got into position. Bob pushed his cock into her. "Fuck me. You know what I want." Catherine rocked forward and back while Bob held still with his hands on her hips. Soon, Bob started moving with her. "Keep doing that," he said softly. "That feels good." They moved together for several minutes. "Don't stop,' whispered Bob. "Don't stop. Yeah, right there. Here we go, yeah, oh yeah, oh fuck!" Bob's hips smacked into her ass and Catherine felt him cum. It didn't bother her. Fuck you, you piece of shit, she thought. You can fuck me, but I'll be going home to a man who loves me. Nobody will ever love you.

Bob got up. "That's more like it," he said. "You keep that attitude and we'll get along."

Bob unlocked her from the headboard and they went through the routine of getting the handcuffs off. He set the plastic glass on the arm of the oak chair before picking up the tray. "When you get thirsty, you can get water from the shower." He grinned. "Too bad I won't be able to get a blowjob from you," he said. "I watched the way you blew your husband. When he came in your mouth, it looked excellent. I can't trust you, though. You might think trying to bite my dick off would be worth what I'd do to you." He smiled. "It wouldn't be worth it. I'd beat you to death. Slowly. I'd break your bones and crush your hands and feet. The next time your husband saw you, you'd be in several large plastic buckets." He opened the door and looked back at Catherine. "Remember who you're dealing with. Don't do anything stupid."

Catherine took a quick shower and douched. She put on the bicycle pants, but didn't bother with the shirt. She sat cross-legged on the bed, turned on the TV and surfed until she found a re-run of CSI Miami. Bob was right about one thing; this was mostly going to be boring.

Bob checked to see what Collins was doing. He was in the den, reading. The guy really didn't have a lot of choices.

Bob drank a beer and watched his two TVs. Nothing was going on. He set his phone alarm for an hour and took a nap.

At 4:45, Bob was back. Catherine immediately took off the pants and Bob cuffed her. This time, Bob made her stand bent over at the foot of the bed while he fucked her from behind. Then he had her lay on her back and fucked her in the missionary position until he came. Catherine wondered how many times Bob was going to rape her over the next two days. It didn't matter all that much. At least it gave her something to do.

Dinner was lasagna from a package, some mixed veggies and another glass of wine. Desert was a Payday candy bar. Catherine ate it all. After Bob took the tray, she found an "Ice Road Truckers" marathon.

At exactly 8:00, Catherine and Bob were in their chairs. Bob hit the speed dial button and Collins picked up right away. Bob let them talk for 5 minutes. That was enough to reassure Collins that his wife was okay. Then Bob cut them off and hung up.

"You've got the rest of the evening off, Catherine. I probably won't fuck you again until tomorrow morning."

At 10:00, Bob came in and set the TV tray next to the oak chair. On it was a plastic bottle of wine and a clean plastic glass. "I'm going to turn off the overhead lights at 11," he told her. "The night light will let you find the toilet." He closed the door and Catherine went straight for the wine. She was bored and getting drunk sounded like a pretty good idea.

Catherine was sleeping hard when she felt someone cuffing her wrists. In the dim glow of the night light, Bob locked her to the short chain and yanked the covers off. "Doggie," he said. Still groggy, Catherine got into position. Apparently, Bob didn't want to waste any time. He squirted some lube onto his erection and shoved it into her. He fucked her hard and Catherine moved with him, hoping he'd cum quickly. He did. The rape only took six or seven minutes. As Bob got closer to his orgasm, he grunted and mumbled to himself, finally slamming into her as he came. Catherine could feel his cock throb, cum shooting into her. Go away, she thought. I want to go back to sleep.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and wheat toast with apple juice. Catherine ate and took a shower. She was ready when Bob came in with the phone. Husband and wife had nothing new to say. Catherine felt relieved that there would only be two more calls before Bob turned her loose. She thought about the possibility that Bob was going to kill her, despite his promise. She couldn't trust him, after all. He was a psychopath. She pushed the thought aside. If he was going to kill her, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

When the 8AM call was over, Bob raped her. He cuffed her behind her back, laid down on the bed and made her fuck him cowgirl style. It was difficult to balance, but Bob steadied her with both hands on her breasts and Catherine got through it. It took Bob a long time to cum and Catherine was tired when he finished. Bob had raped her five times now. There was a day and a half left and he didn't seem to be slowing down. Catherine figured he'd probably rape her another half dozen times, at least. Oh, well.

When Bob had gone, Catherine took another shower. It was cool but comfortable in the room and she decided that getting dressed wasn't worth the trouble. She lay nude on the bed and channel surfed.

Catherine was well aware that almost all rape victims were traumatized by the experience. Most rapists were violent, vicious animals, though. They wanted to hurt and humiliate their victims. Bob wasn't like that. He was a psychopath, but he wasn't mean. He just wanted to fuck. He'd certainly never had a normal sexual relationship with a woman. Did he use prostitutes and call girls? Did he go to "massage parlors"? Did he pick up girls for one-night stands? Catherine couldn't imagine him with a girlfriend, but who knew? He probably didn't see any significant difference between what he was doing to her and what he did to other women. Psychopaths were notoriously manipulative. Bob had undoubtedly learned to simulate any emotion. Would he keep his word? An image popped into her mind of her husband, looking down at her body, beaten and torn to pieces, dumped into "several large plastic buckets". She shivered.

Lunch was the same as the day before, except there was a piece of cherry pie for desert. Bob raped her right after lunch. He must have been feeling frisky, because he started off in missionary, switched to spooning her from the rear, then fucked her breasts, went to doggie and then back to missionary. His orgasm was intense and protracted, after which he lay on top of her until his erection softened and he slid out. The only part that bothered Catherine was the titty-fucking. Bob got a little rough. She'd have some interesting bruises tomorrow. No point complaining.

Catherine had a boring afternoon. She tried watching a History Channel show on the French Revolution, but kept dozing off. Bob came in a little after 5:00 and raped her. He made her stand up and bend over while he fucked her. Catherine kept her hands on the side of the bed while Bob played with her breasts and fucked her, pausing frequently, enjoying himself . It was taking him longer and longer to cum. Was he getting bored with her? After 20 minutes, Catherine was getting tired. Her back and legs were aching when Bob made her lie on her side with her knees drawn up and her butt at the end of the bed. Bob got her positioned with her upper body turned so that he could play with her breasts while he fucked her. That seemed to turn him on and it wasn't long before he shot his load into her. It occurred to her that being fucked for half an hour by a man with a big, thick cock should have made her feel something, but it didn't. It was just an unpleasant chore.

Catherine showered, douched and washed her hair. She ate dinner nude, not caring if Bob looked at her. Being raped by that asshole no longer frightened her. She'd put up with worse. She and Jason played a little game, seeing which one could bring home the least sexy person for the other to have sex with. Almost all of them were worse than Bob. At least he wasn't fat and didn't smell bad. The only thing that really bugged Catherine was the lack of a toothbrush. Her teeth were starting to feel furry.

Instead of turning off the lights at 11:00, Bob raped her. He ate her pussy for a while, fucked her doggy style for nearly half an hour and then finished with her on her back. Then he made her lay there while he played with her boobs and generally touched and stroked her. It took him 15 minutes to get hard and then he raped her again. This time he lay with his full weight on her, holding her ass with both hands. He came in less than 10 minutes, pounding into her, gasping and grunting in his orgasm. Catherine's shoulders were starting to cramp from lying there with her arms extended. She was left with a sizable wet spot on the bed. She wiped herself with a damp towel and went to sleep with another towel over Bob's cum puddle.

Catherine woke when the lights came on. When she opened her eyes, Bob was standing at the door.

"Get up, Catherine. It's time to go home. Take a leak and get in the shower. Let's go."

Catherine struggled to move. It took her a minute to wake up enough to process what Bob had said. She checked the clock. It read 4:35. It couldn't be mid-afternoon! Without a window, she couldn't tell night from day. Had Bob drugged her? Had she been knocked out for over 16 hours? But she didn't feel drugged, just sleepy. What the hell was going on?

She staggered to the toilet and pissed. Naked, she made her way to the shower. She set the water temperature and soaped up. "Do your hair, too," Bob told her. "Then use the douche bag." Bob made her douche three times. "Okay, dry off and sit in the chair. I'll be right back." Catherine toweled her hair and body, then sat in the oak chair. Less than a minute later, Bob came back. He dropped a large zip-lock bag on the floor. It seemed to contain clothing. Familiar looking clothing.

"Stand up," said Bob. He was dressed in jeans, a polo shirt and running shoes, plus Latex gloves and his usual mask. He held the stun gun in his left hand. "Turn around and face the bed." Catherine did as she was told. Bob unlocked the padlock holding the chain around her neck and dropped it on the floor. The chain rattled to Catherine's feet. She rubbed her neck.

"Now," said Bob, "stay where you are and put on the clothes in that bag. They're the ones you were wearing when we grabbed you. They're clean. Move slow. If you do anything I don't like, I'll zap you."

Catherine pulled on her panties, shorts, sports bra and shirt. There was a black cotton bag which she ignored. She slipped the socks and shoes on and stood up.

"Here's the deal," said Bob. "You're going home earlier than I said you would. That's mostly to catch your husband off guard. We'll be going for a ride. It's about 45 minutes to the drop-off. You'll recognize the place. You'll have a cell phone. All you have to do is call home and tell your husband where to pick you up." Catherine, still with her back to Bob, nodded.

"Put that bag over your head and put your hands behind your back." Bob cuffed her and checked to make sure the bag was pulled down all the way. "I'm going to lead you to a car. You'll sit in the front passenger seat. It's dark outside and the windows are tinted, so no one will be able to see you. Not much traffic this time of the morning, anyway."

Bob guided Catherine through a darkened room and into a garage. He opened a car door and helped her into the seat. Having her hands cuffed behind her made it uncomfortable, but it wasn't painful. Bob went around to the driver's door, got in and fastened Catherine's seat belt. Catherine heard the garage door opening and heard Bob put on his seat belt. He started the car and backed out.

Catherine tried to memorize the turns, but it was impossible. Bob made at least twenty turns in the first few minutes. He got onto a main road and they continued for five minutes or so before going up an on-ramp to the Interstate. As he drove, Bob reached over with his right hand and fondled Catherine's breasts. "I'm going to miss these," he said. "They're just perfect." Catherine arched her back and let him have his fun.

Bob took an off-ramp and turned into what seemed to be a residential neighborhood. He drove through the streets, making turns that were obviously intended to confuse his captive. Catherine thought, This is one careful motherfucker. Then he drove to another main road. There were traffic lights and every time they stopped, Bob groped Catherine. After another ten minutes, he slowed, made a right turn and stopped.

"I'm going to uncuff you and give you a cell phone," he said. "You'll open the door and take two steps. There's a bench right there. Sit on the bench. Leave the bag on. Count to two hundred, then you can take the bag off and call home. I'm going to drive away, but I'll circle back. If you've taken the bag off, I'll chase you down and gut you with a knife. It's a bad way to die. Now, lean forward."

Catherine leaned forward and Bob unlocked the cuffs. He put a phone in her left hand. "Get going."

Catherine opened the door, got out and took a step. She slammed the car door, took another step and felt for the bench. It was just where Bob had said it would be. She sat down and, as she started counting, she heard Bob drive away. She counted to two hundred and then added another hundred, just to be safe. When she pulled the bag off, the sun was almost up and she saw she was right across the street from where she'd been kidnapped. She flipped the phone open and dialed.

On the fourth ring, she heard a grumpy, familiar voice. "This better be good."

"It's good, baby! Come get me!!