Producer & Director

The blonde fuzz on her mound didn't extend very far down between her legs. She could see two puffy, pale lips, which arched out and down towards her bottom, forming a vertical slit between them. She could see where the slit ended as it moved down and she knew her anus must be only a bit further, though in this position she couldn't see quite that far. Running up towards her front the slit ended in a little rounded structure that looked a bit like the top of an old fashioned keyhole. Even with her legs spread, Cindy couldn't see into the slit.

Balancing on her shoulders and back of her head, Cindy reached out and used her hands to pull the outer lips apart. In her current analytic mood the feelings were not as intense as before, but the tingly sensation was still there. Now she could see two reddish-pink strips of flesh running the length of the cleft. Unlike the outer lips, they were narrow and very wrinkled. Light was reflected from the moisture on them like sunlight on dew-covered grass. There was a small bump of tissue where the two crinkled strips joined together in the front. There was also a small hole below it, which she knew was where her pee came out. Cindy used her fingers to spread the inner lips. Squiggling around a bit so the light could illuminate this new area, Cindy could now see a smooth-walled tunnel leading into her pelvis. Besides being obviously very damp, it was a deep pink color that faded to black where the light was unable to reach. This must be her vagina. As she wiggled around to get better a better view Cindy was able to see a brighter red piece of tissue that seemed to partially block the tunnel. This she knew must be her hymen (her friends called it their 'cherry').

The position in which she was lying was beginning to get uncomfortable for her legs, and despite the pillow her neck was beginning to hurt from holding her head up, so Cindy quickly investigated the nubbin of tissue at the junction of her inner lips. She gently touched it and felt a jolt of the wonderful sensation that had dominated her such a short time ago. This must be her clit! Gently manipulating it back and forth she discovered that the feelings began to build when she barely brushed it, and were somewhat less intense if she pressed harder. Her breathing became faster and her legs began to twitch. She imagined that she felt her clit get harder and begin to grow. Bound down where the inner lips came together, the skin on the sides of her clit became stretched and something inside began to stick out a little bit. This change coincided with an increase in the waves of sensation.

As the feelings built Cindy felt like she was nearing a moment when something just had to give. Something did. All of the sudden her legs slipped out of position and with a soft plop she tumbled sideways onto the bed.

The mood was broken. Cindy lay on her side panting while her inner turmoil and mounting urges slowly abated. As the feelings subsided, she sat up on the side of the bed. Looking down in this position she could only see the wispy blonde hair growing on the top of her mound. The place that harbored such wonderful sensations was hidden away between her legs in what was now her lap. Shivering, she picked up the shift and put it on. She left the wet panties on the floor.

What if she hadn't fallen back? What would she have felt? She had a queer empty sensation in the pit of her stomach and knew she had missed out on something. It was like building up to a big sneeze and then not being able to. Had she been close to having an orgasm ('cumming' was the term used in the story)? She felt tired and a bit depressed, but not particularly sleepy. To distract herself and fill in time (hadn't that been the only thing she had been doing since the kidnap?) Cindy put on the tape of "The Lion King" and slowly ate the meal that was on the tray. After she finished eating she put the trash on the tray as she had been instructed and continued to watch the video, ultimately falling into a fitful slumber.
Chapter 6

Waking slowly, Cindy knew she had been dreaming, but was unable to remember what about. As she stretched she found that her shift was bunched up around her shoulders and her hand was between her legs. Sitting up, she felt an unpleasant prickly feeling between her legs, as though a liquid had dried and left a crusty residue. Recalling how wet she had felt before going to sleep, she assumed that the sensation was caused by the remains of her own fluids. She stood, turned off the TV, and went to the bathroom. She started filling the tub as she used the toilet. By the time she was done and the bathtub ready she was fully alert.

The warm water felt good. Cindy soaked lazily, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. The wear and tear of her predicament on her psyche had been too much to bear, and she wished she could somehow just sleep until the police came or she was released. Taking the soap, she stood up and began to wash her body, willing herself not to feel anything as her hands slipped across her breasts, down her sides and over her tummy. Despite her efforts her nipples, softly rounded and puffy to begin with, began to tighten and protrude. She avoided the inside of her thighs at first, but her hands seemed to move there of their own accord. She slowly sank back down into the tub, finally abandoning herself to the sensations of which she had previously been so afraid.

With both hands she tickled and then pinched her nipples, feeling the now familiar tingles spreading downward. Keeping one hand at her chest, she let the other follow the sensations down to her vagina. The slipperiness of the soap was augmented by her own secretions as her fingers gently worked their way into the crevice. She inserted her middle finger into her tunnel up to her first knuckle, feeling it meet resistance at that point. Instead of pushing further she shifted her attention to her clit, and gasped as the electric feelings began to mount. Cindy began to pant as her hips bucked in a spasm of pleasure. Down again her finger went into her vagina, pressing a bit harder against the resistance. Her fingertip found a small opening and she gasped as it moved a bit deeper. The sensation of stretching was a juxtaposition of pleasure and pain. Keeping her middle finger there and responding to a suddenly imperative need, she used her index finger to caress her clit again, finding that it was harder than before and sticking out like a miniature misplaced nipple. She roughly pinched her breasts with her other hand while she continued to softly stroke the firm nubbin of flesh in which her whole being now seemed to be concentrated. The simultaneous twisting of her nipples, stretching of her maidenhead and caressing of her clit reinforced each other and the exquisite feelings mounted and mounted. On its own accord, her pelvis began a rhythmic pulsation up and down, creating waves that gently caressed her nakedness.

She fought against the rising tide of sensation, instinctively knowing that the inevitable release would be magnified if she could hold out longer. Now beyond her control, however, the manic manipulations of her hands and fingers continued, increasing the tension to ever-greater heights. Hyperventilating like she did in her first moments of captivity, Cindy's last coherent thought was that her breathing sounded like the huffing and puffing of "The Little Engine That Could". Would she reach the top of the mountain, too?

In a momentary pause time hung suspended as Cindy's back arched, her hands ceased their frenzied ministrations, and she held her breath. The magical summit had been reached. The brief instant of expectation was followed by an earthquake of pleasure that created a tsunami in the bathtub. With her hips bucking, fingers flailing, heart racing and animal sounds wrung from her throat Cindy felt that she had to be dying, and that this death was the most wonderful thing a person could ever experience.

When she was a little girl her father had taught Cindy how to 'make music' by humming through a comb covered with wax paper. It sounded like a kazoo, but even more fun it had made her lips all buzzy-tingly from the vibrations. As she lay quietly in the now half-filled tub slowly recovering from the cataclysm, Cindy's analytic mind (gradually beginning once again to assert itself) decided that that was exactly how she felt now. This time, however, the buzz was all over her body and infinitely more pleasant. She slowly reached down and brushed her clit, discovering that what moments before had created pleasure now bordered on being noxious. Probably to keep you from really killing yourself, her analytic mind observed. Her feeling self agreed, and noted that it was too bad that good girls had to be bad to feel so good.

****

The neighborhood in which the boy lived was too busy for me to use the repairman ploy, but I knew his habits well. He liked to stop at a convenience store on the way home from school for a soft drink. Leaving the store he walked down an alley on his way to the main street leading to his neighborhood. He almost always walked alone because although he had friends he was regarded as a bit nerdy by many of the boys his age (his grades led him to be considered a 'Brainer'). He had no reason to be afraid as he passed by my rental van in the alley, and the snatch went as easy as with the girl (I am not a small man, nor am I as weak as some my age). He was ensconced in the room next to the girl's, the rental van returned, and a letter to his parents (along with one of his homework papers) posted within the day. He woke up about 12 hours later.

I looked in on the girl when I first dropped off the boy. She was watching a video and seemed calm enough. Later, as I fast-forwarded through my tapes after returning, I realized that I had struck a true bonanza. I knew that females supposedly responded more readily to written sexual materials than to visual presentations, but didn't really expect the short story to result in the graphic display that my cameras had recorded. What I had was a complete visual and auditory record of a young lady's first experiences with masturbation, with the evidence of the attendant internal struggles written all over her face.

This was not the acting of a twenty-something bimbo trying to make money by recreating her first time and faking an orgasm for the cameras. It was reality itself. No porno flick could duplicate what happened in that bathtub. I knew I would derive hours of pleasure as I spliced together the different camera angles and combined the throes of her final orgasm with her preliminary experiments (including the glorious pussy shots from the camera I had set up behind the mirror at the head of the bed).

As priceless as the tapes would be to me personally, I might even make some money by selling them in the future if I ever decided to take the risk (remember, I couldn't let anyone ever trace me back to the kidnapping of the girl). I must have spewed quarts of cum as I played the unedited tapes over and over.
Chapter 7

By nature, Alan was reserved, but in an outgoing way. It took him some time to accommodate to strangers, and he barely acknowledged the kids who sometimes teased him about his success in school. In contrast, when he was with his real friends he could be absolutely irrepressible in his behavior, even if at times it was a bit hard to understand where he was coming from. He was inquisitive and had a quirky sense of humor.
Alan didn't find anything funny about his present situation, however, as he woke up in what seemed to be a strangely decorated motel room. He decided that whoever had selected the wall coverings must have been a narcissist. No matter where he was in the room or bathroom he could see himself from multiple angles in mirrors which seemed to cover almost every square inch of wall space.

He spent no time crying, but that wasn't because Alan didn't feel frightened. The way he coped with his apprehension was by closely examining his surroundings, pushing his feelings aside. This included trying to see around the tray that delivered him the note, which said, among other things, not to try to catch a glimpse of his kidnappers. He didn't take the note at face value, figuring if his captors were looking to get money his family would eventually pay whatever ransom was demanded. If the people orchestrating this wanted to kill or harm him they would have done so already. He mind began to view his predicament as a real-life computer game. He understood and was good at those.

After continued inspection determined that the doors were metal and that there was concrete under the carpet Alan had to admit that so far it looked like the 'game' was rigged against him. He would have to bide his time and wait for a chance to get away sometime in the future. While waiting he knew he must not give in to the fear that had already become like a toothache. It was a constant but tolerable pain when he kept his mind occupied, but he knew it was fully capable of taking over and dominating him if he for the briefest moment let it do so.

At first Alan had a problem with turning in his clothes and putting on the bikini-cut stretch briefs the kidnappers gave him to wear. It wasn't that he thought he could be seen. There were no windows and he had to push a button to get the kidnappers' attention. It was also warm in the room. The problem was that like most boys his age Alan had a love-hate relationship with his body. Even though he had inherited a decent physique from his dad and liked to flex his muscles in front of the mirror in his bedroom, he was reluctant for even his parents to see him in swim trunks. No matter how good or how buff he looked, the fear that someone else looked better (or was bigger) was stronger than any rational analysis. When you added in worries about the occasional zit on his face and back Alan was just like millions of other males in his belief that life was a circus crowd just waiting to laugh when the clothes were stripped away, revealing the clown beneath.

After thinking it through, however, Alan decided the kidnappers were trying to use his modesty to reduce the chance he might try to escape. They must think he wouldn't try to get away because he would worry that someone might see him in his underwear. When you put it that way, of course he had to shed his clothes. Let them think he was too insecure to be seen in underwear? No way. Quickly doffing his clothes and donning the silky briefs, he placed his garments on the tray with a flourish, and couldn't suppress the urge to strike his best Hulk Hogan pose, rotating slowly to see his bod from every direction. Then he punched the button.

The large collection of videos he found in the dresser was a mix of Disney cartoon and live action movies. This was a big turn-off, but not as big a bummer as the 'teenage' books in the other drawer. What a waste. Alan figured he was going to be very bored by the time this was over. He decided to put on "Swiss Family Robinson" first. Maybe watching the castaways figure out how to live on their own would inspire him with a way to get loose. Fat chance, said an inner voice, and the toothache began to get stronger.

****

Following the experience of her first orgasm, Cindy's feelings were understandably muddled. Because she was who she was, she solved the immediate problem of what to do now by doing something other than just sitting. After she mopped up the water on the bathroom floor with a towel (she hadn't seen any evidence yet of a maid service in this 'motel') she dried her hair with another and then brushed and combed it. It wasn't until she was done with her hair that she realized she was still naked. Distressed at not noticing this before, and the implication that her experience had unbalanced her more than she had realized, she quickly put on the shift, washed out the panties and hung them over the towel rack to dry. She saw that the trash from lunch was still on the tray, which surprised her. Usually it was removed within minutes after she pushed the button. Perhaps she had forgotten to do that the last time. She put the wet towels on the tray alongside the trash and firmly pressed the button. Five minutes later the tray was withdrawn with the familiar clicking sound.

It was interesting, Cindy mused as she sat on the bed, that despite how wonderful the feelings of masturbation were she had no immediate urge to do it again. It seemed logical that a person would want to just keep doing it over and over if it felt so good. Perhaps since everyone must do it at some point, the lack of that impulse was protection against nothing else in life ever getting done. Oh well, she decided, she wouldn't think about it any more for a while. She just wished she could get home soon. What was the hang up? She was sure her parents would pay any reasonable ransom. Maybe the kidnappers weren't being reasonable. She tried to push that unsettling thought so deep inside it wouldn't surface again. As she began to watch another video she knew for sure that regardless of those efforts the thought would be back soon, along with the fear.
Chapter 8

He had been right. It had only been a couple of 'days' and Alan was very bored. Having watched at least eight videos (without being inspired as to how to escape yet), he had finally decided to bite the bullet and look through the books in the dresser. At least the food was OK. He practically lived on fast food at home and his present diet was not a big change. At the thought of home he felt a flutter of the ever-present fear. It wasn't so much for himself as for his mother. She would be having a hard time not knowing where he was and if he was OK. He hoped his father would help her get by.

As he looked through the books he found a thin one that seemed to contain only one short story. Its title, "Teenage Tale", wasn't exciting, but at least the cover lacked the picture of a blonde, blue-eyed coed simpering at the reader with pouting lips like most of the rest. He took the book, lay down on the bed and began to read.

At the start it seemed like this story would be like most of what passed for 'teenage' literature. The hero was a popular guy in school who was worried that his girlfriend was mad at him because he was pressuring her to 'put out' more than she wanted. He was at home fantasizing how it would be when she finally gave in. Alan's interest started to increase as he read on. The boy in the story began describe in precise and colorful detail the things they would do to each other in bed, if he ever got her there. While doing this, the boy played with himself until he blew his load all over the sheets.

This wasn't too different from some other stories he had read, and despite the circumstances it was sufficient to give Alan a hard-on as usual. He looked down and saw that his briefs were really stretchy. This was good, because when it was erect Alan's prick was almost exactly five and a half inches long (like most boys, he had measured it). Also like most boys, he figured that given his age it had a chance to grow a couple of inches more before it was done. When he had on his jeans a boner could be very uncomfortable.

Alan had been beating off for about as long as he could remember. It had become much more pleasurable when he first began to really cum ('ejaculate', his father had corrected him). He couldn't count how many sheets, socks, washcloths, and pairs of underwear he had covered with his jism ('semen', said his dad). Unfortunately he was limited to playing with himself because his only outlet was to fantasize like the guy in the story. He had yet to get to first base, let alone hit a home run with a girl.