Producer & Director

She had been right. The shift barely covered her and she could see her hard little nipples pushing against the fabric. It was cut with a deep "V" in the front, and she could even see part of her birthmark. The side mirrors revealed almost all of her breasts through the armholes. Gathering up her clothes she ran and placed them on the tray, pushing the button unnecessarily hard.

This time she saw the tray pulled through the wall. It happened so fast that she would have been unable to see anything on the other side, but she knew not to try anyway. Cindy sat on the bed, pulling at the hem of the shift. She was uncomfortable in her new clothes, but not because she was cold. Obviously there was good heating in the room. Maybe that was why there was no top sheet or blanket on the bed.

She was still hungry.

Again she heard the clicking sound. Food was on the tray this time. There must be a MacDonalds near by, she thought, as she saw the Big Mac, large fries, apple pie, and large drink along with some napkins. A note said, "Here is food. On the piece of paper write what kind of drink you like and if whether you would like Carl's Jr. instead. When done, put the trash on the tray and push the button. When you are hungry again push the button." Taking a sip she recognized the sweet, slightly slimy taste of regular coke. There was a pencil on tray. On the note she wrote, "I like Dr. Pepper. MacDonalds is OK, but the Bacon Western Cheeseburger at Carl's is best." She gobbled down the food, put the trash on the tray and pushed the button. A few minutes later the tray was withdrawn.

Cindy thought to herself that it was nice that the kidnappers cared about what food she preferred. But then she remembered with a shudder that they were kidnappers, that they were making her sit there nearly naked, that they wouldn't let her go home, and that her mom and dad and brother would be worried sick. Exhausted by the accumulated trauma Cindy lay down on the bed and cried until she again fell asleep.

****

So far, everything had gone exactly as I had planned. Grabbing the girl had been easy, and I was sure that nobody had seen it happen. Even if anyone remembered the utility repair van, the police would never be able to trace it. I had rented it (disguised and with phony ID) 100 miles away, attached magnetic signs to its sides with the utility company's logo, and replaced its license plates with some I removed from a city truck in a storage lot. After leaving the girl at my motel, I cleaned up and returned the van almost before her parents realized their kid was gone.

The sedative I injected her with made her sleep almost 16 hours. When she woke up, she actually coped much better than I had thought she would, given her age. Having seen how fast she wolfed down the food, my guess was that she finally decided to change her clothes because she was hungry. The little show she gave as she put on her new outfit was an unexpected bonus. I jerked off as I replayed the videotapes.

Her disappearance made the second section of the newspapers the next day. One day later the story was in the first section, which said that her family did not believe that their daughter was a runaway. It indicated that the police were interviewing her friends and neighbors and 'following up leads'. While wearing disposable plastic gloves that I used when doing all my correspondence, I sent her parents one of the girl's school notebooks using a prepaid mailer that I deposited in a mailbox 50 miles away. I included a letter printed with a broad felt-tip marker on notebook paper I bought at Walmart. I told them to be patient, that their child would not be harmed if they followed my directions, and that it would be some time before they heard from me again as to what they needed to do to get her back.

Over the next few days the girl passed the time watching the videos and reading books. I was prepared to give her some Valium in her drinks if she appeared too traumatized, but she didn't seem to need it. I had been interested to see what sort of wake-sleep cycle she would settle into given that the lights were on all the time. She generally was awake for about ten hours and then slept for eight. It was interesting that each time she woke from sleep (whether it was a nap or a long rest), she tested both doors to see if they were still locked. I had to adapt to her altered sleep cycle, but I was so keyed up anyway that it wasn't a problem. I fed her mostly fast food, with an occasional bowl of soup and frozen dinners heated up in a microwave.

I couldn't tell if she thought she was being watched all the time or not, but she finally brought herself to take a bath on about the fourth day. She was beautiful. As she lay in the water her coral-colored nipples seemed to float like twin atolls in a sun-kissed South Pacific.

When she washed herself it was with the innocence of a child in a post-pubescent body. As she gently stroked her breasts with soap-slippery hands it was evident that she was feeling more than mere friction. Small, tremulous shudders betrayed her nascent sexuality as she cleaned around her pussy. At one point she slowly extended her hips, bringing her lightly fuzzed mons up out of the water. Viewing her ablutions through the one-way mirror at the end of the tub I could see her labia forming two nearly bare, pale hillocks, extending down into the water. One dark pink, wrinkled edge of an inside lip peeked out through the cleft between them, coyly hinting at the delights within.

Her fingers must have probed more deeply than she intended as she washed her pussy. She seemed to have to catch herself and suppress the sensations this had created. Quickly rising, she stepped from the tub and began to dry off. Even in the process of denying her natural urges, however, I could see that she rubbed her pleasure centers a bit longer than needed with the terrycloth towel. It seemed that the next few days would be fun for me and maybe for her as well.

I enjoyed the release I achieved when replaying videos of the bath, but all in all this initial period was really only mildly stimulating for me. The ever-present edge of danger in the back of my mind (after all, the cops and probably the FBI were looking for my guest) was part of the high I was working to achieve, but it was time to move on with my plans to complete my fantasy. I was sure she was getting bored, too, but I was ready to do something to change that. While she slept I provided her with something new using the trap doors I had installed through the wall behind the dresser.

Chapter 4

Cindy was bored. The tedious waiting had dulled the acute sense of danger. One by one she had watched many of the videos, but "The Little Mermaid" and even "Mulan" didn't appeal to her as much as when she was a little girl, especially on the third or fourth viewing. The "Absent Minded Professor" wasn't much better. She read a couple of the books, but the adventures of the 'Sweet Valley High' kids all seemed about the same when read one after the other. Besides, none of those stories really compared to what she was going through in real life. She was even getting tired of Bacon Western Cheeseburgers.

She ultimately gave in and took a bath. She didn't like being naked in her present circumstances, but disliked feeling dirty even more. After reaching the age of ten or so she had only taken showers, and Cindy found the process of getting clean in a tub to be a bit awkward. She tried to stay under water as much as possible because she was still worried that she was being watched. This made soaping up and rinsing off difficult. Perversely, the feeling of being exposed to hidden eyes somehow seemed to excite Cindy. The goose bumps she got were not altogether unpleasant and her nipples were so erect that they almost hurt.

As she washed her breasts the tingling feeling that she had periodically begun to experience around the time she first started having her periods was greater than usual. Not only did she feel it in her nipples, but similar sensations grew in her vagina as well, almost as if there was an electric wire connecting them. Her hips gave a small involuntary jerk, making waves in the tub that splashed over her nipples, setting off the feelings again. Without conscious thought she arched her back and moved her pelvis upward. Paradoxically, this seemed to both relieve and accentuate the sensations. The sight of her pubic mound involuntarily rising up out of the water added a visual stimulation that intensified what Cindy was experiencing.

Unnerved by what she had always considered to be 'dirty' feelings (why she thought of them this way she did not know), Cindy began to gently wash her vagina, hoping that this would cause the feelings to subside like scratching an itch. Just the opposite happened. The now intense 'tingles' seemed both to spread and at the same time focus in one point near the top of her cleft. When her fingers touched that place she shuddered and for a second she thought she would lose control entirely. She knew that the little nubbin of flesh at that point was what her girlfriends called their 'clit'. A few of them had said that playing with it made them feel really good. Increasingly distressed at feeling so good and bad at the same time Cindy abruptly stood up and got out of the tub, rapidly drying herself off and putting on her panties and shift. As she stretched out on the bed the analytic part of her mind gradually resumed control and she decided that the problem was that she was upset because of being a captive for so long.

A 'day' or two later (with no clocks, who could tell how long it had been) Cindy awoke, tried the doors (they always were locked), and ate the breakfast that appeared after she pushed the button by the tray. For what seemed to her the umpteenth time she decided to look through the dresser drawers. Among the books she found a slim paperback, which she must have missed before. It was called "Teenage Tale" and contained what was really only a short story. Cindy took it to the bed, lay down and started to read, hoping it would be better than the other books.

The story was about a high school girl. There didn't seem to be much of a plot. The heroine was popular but wished her boyfriend (who was on the football team) would spend more time with her. After reading this much Cindy thought that this story was going to be same as all of the other books. Her opinion changed as she read on. The girl in the story was now in her bedroom, wishing her boyfriend was there with her. The girl began to fantasize about having sex with him, and at the same time she began to do things herself. In graphic detail the text described the girl massaging her breasts ('tits' was the word the author used), pinching her nipples, pulling down her panties and putting her fingers in her vagina ('pussy'), and playing with herself ('finger-fucking') until she had an orgasm ('came').

Cindy put the book down, shocked not only at what she had read, but that she had continued reading after discovering the content. The analytic part of her mind noted that she was breathing harder than normal and that her face felt hot. It must be because she was embarrassed.

It wasn't that she didn't know the words that were used. Cindy had heard both girls and boys use them in a variety of contexts. Even some of her friends occasionally talked like that. Cindy, however, never did. She knew that she was sexually less advanced than some girls her age, but also knew that her friends didn't do the things that the girl in the book was dreaming about doing with her boyfriend. They also didn't do what the girl was doing to herself in the story.

Or did they?

Cindy got up and started to pace. When she had first started her periods her mother had discussed the 'facts of life' with her. She knew where babies came from, and how the sex act was done. Her mom had been nervous about discussing it. She had stressed that it was natural for girls and boys to be attracted to one another and to even experiment with kissing and holding each other, but that 'good' girls didn't do any more than that. She said that Cindy was still several years away from having that kind of boyfriend and that when the time came they would talk again. Well, it had already been several years since that initial talk and they hadn't had another one. Probably, Cindy thought, this was because she hadn't pushed the issue. Cindy had lots of friends who were boys but she hadn't yet met any she wanted as a boyfriend. She had too much fun with all her friends to want to pair up with any one person in particular. As she got older it even seemed to be harder to get into a boy-girl relationship because she hadn't had the practice that her girlfriends had accumulated. When she did go to a school dance it was always with a group. Many of her girlfriends were well into the 'boyfriend scene', and when she was honest with herself Cindy admitted that she at times felt somewhat left out. Cindy was good in school and loved reasoning things out and solving problems. Maybe that was getting in the way of her getting a boyfriend. Maybe her self-assurance scared them away.

But in that talk with her mom masturbation hadn't been mentioned (Cindy knew that word, too, from friends). Did good girls refrain from that? She remembered her bath the other day and how she had felt good but bad at the same time. To be honest, that hadn't been the first time she had felt like exploring her body and her feelings in that way. Why had she stopped? Because she was a 'good' girl?

In her confused state, the analytic Cindy stepped in. Why was that book in the dresser, anyway? Was she worrying about the wrong thing? Were her kidnappers trying to mess with her mind by giving her pornography to read? Cindy thought she knew what pornography was, and for sure she knew that girls her age should not be reading it. She didn't remember seeing that book before, but it must have been there from the start. Probably it was in the dresser by accident, judging from the other books and videos. Cindy decided that the thing to do was to put the book away and stop worrying about it. She would be home soon and then she could talk to her mother and sort it all out.

With the thought of home Cindy felt again her acute loneliness. Would she really ever be home again? She couldn't talk to her mom or her dad or her brother. She had no way to let them know she was OK (so far!). She had been gone so long. Why hadn't the police come? Maybe everyone had forgotten all about her. A spasm of grief surged through her. She flung the book against the entry door and collapsed on the bed in a fetal position, wracked by the tearful sobs she had experienced so many times before.

****

After seeing the girl begin to read the book, I knew it was time to go get the boy. I put in new tapes so my cameras would miss nothing while I was gone. In the process I also played a portion of each previous tape to make sure the sound levels from the numerous button microphones in the room were OK. They were working fine. Not knowing how long I would be gone, I put some food on the tray. She was crying so hard she didn't even notice when I pushed it into the room.

My plans to kidnap the boy were similar, though not identical, to how I grabbed the girl. I was comfortably certain I would meet with no difficulty and be back with him in a day or so. At that point it would be twice the fun (and twice the danger). The rush I felt at this thought drove me to the bathroom for another round of beating my meat. After getting off, off I went to get my next victim.
Chapter 5

Gradually Cindy pulled herself together and her crying jag subsided. She went to the bathroom and washed her face. Rationally, she knew that her parents wouldn't forget her and that the police would be doing all they could to find her. All she needed to do was to hold herself together until she was found or released. She was a little surprised to see that there was food on the tray. She wasn't really hungry and hadn't signaled for it. The meal was a sandwich wrapped in cellophane (like you would get at a convenience store), a banana, a package of cookies, and large soft drink. She decided to eat it later.

Using one of the mirrors in the bathroom she worked on her hair for a while. She braided it and then unbraided it. She brushed it until it shone, the natural light blonde color emphasized by tan highlights. In addition to her figure, the part of her that her girlfriends admired the most was her hair.

But Cindy was still bored.

Pacing back and forth she saw the book lying on the floor where she had thrown it. She picked it up and moved to put it back in the dresser, but hesitated with her hand on the drawer handle. She was not conscious of making a decision, but guiltily glancing around (as if there were anyone around to see her!) she instead took the book and lay down on the bed. Cindy began to reread the story.

As she reached the part where the girl began playing with herself, the analytical part of Cindy's mind noticed that she was unconsciously rubbing her legs together. She stopped doing this and moved them apart, but then became aware that she felt damp 'down there'. Gently she felt between her legs and confirmed the wetness of her panties. Thinking that this was a bit gross, she set the book down and slid the panties off, throwing them on the floor. For some reason, she had forgotten her worry that the kidnappers might be watching.

She finished reading the story and lay back, gently caressing her thighs. One hand moved to her chest and felt the hardness of her nipples. The filmy material of the shift rubbed gently on them and caused shivers to spread all over her body. To prevent this (her analytic mind said), Cindy quickly pulled off the shift and it joined her panties on the floor. She was now lying naked on the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly in her excited state.

With her eyes closed, Cindy replayed the story in her mind. She softly brushed her fingers over her nipples, feeling the contrast of their hardness with the softness of the surrounding tissue. As the crinkled tips were contacted by each of her fingers in succession little electric shocks seemed to shoot out from them, mysteriously ending and blending between her legs. Involuntarily, she placed one hand over her mound, pressing down lightly to try to mitigate the feelings. This placed the tips of her fingers in contact with the outside lips of her vagina, with the middle one resting in her cleft. Her hips gave a small jerk and, lubricated by her juices, the finger slid into the crevice and came to rest on the extremely sensitive spot she had discovered in the bathtub. Immediately Cindy's hips rapidly bucked two or three times, sliding her finger over the spot and deeper into her cleft. The feeling was incredible and indescribable. Jerking her hand away, Cindy tried to calm herself and collect her thoughts.

The feeling Cindy warred with the analytic Cindy. Trying to cope with the conflict of the wonderful sensations and the idea that good girls shouldn't feel this way, Cindy desperately looked for a way out. She was playing with a part of her body she hadn't ever even really looked at. She always used pads during her periods, not the tampons some of her friends did. Maybe if she examined herself and knew what she was dealing with, the clinical activity would make the good/bad feelings go away. Mirrors were all around her. Why not use one?

The wall at the head of the bed was one big mirror. Still on her back, Cindy spun around so her legs pointed in that direction. She scooted her bottom toward the mirrored wall, put the pillow under her head and raised her legs. Spreading them, she rested her heels on the mirror. With the help of the constantly burning bright lights she now had a clear view of what the girl in the story called her pussy or her cunt.