Romeo Dragon Tango

You were relaxing having a coffee at an outdoor cafe one afternoon in Paris when a handsome man approached and boldly sat down on the chair at your little two-person table. He smiled and opened his mouth as if to introduce himself or roll out a pickup line but instead he uttered three unusual words -- together in a rare sequence -- as if he wished that his first impression on you would be that of a memorable mystery, saying only:

"Romeo Dragon Tango."

It sent an electric shiver through you in an instant. You knew what it meant. It meant that The Event was now happening. That a certain Dark Thing was about to begin. One you always knew was possible and yet a part of you also expected never really would.

Your nipples stiffened in seconds and you knew your panties would get damp.

The phrase the man had uttered was of course a "code word" of sorts, and pre-arranged. And if you cared to follow the protocol agreed upon beforehand there was now an option available to you. If you chose to exercise it. If you wished to bail out of the planned events, at any time, including as early as *now* at the very beginning -- essentially if you wished to convey DNP (do not proceed) then all you had to do in response was to say a specific "vanilla" phrase back. All you had to say was, "The weather's not right today." You even had a backup fallback phrase if you failed to remember the first one.

And so now you had a decision to make. One which could potentially have enormous consequences for your life.

You spent about a second on it.

You... said nothing.

The man was silent a little while, and perfectly still, and his eyes seemed to be gauging you the entire while. Your face, your chest, your hands, the way you sat, your outfit, your purse and coffee cup on the table, and then back to your face again, and lastly he looked straight into your eyes. His *own* eyes were the kind she could fall into, deep.

He seemed to approve of whatever all he had took in.

He stood up and adjusted his jacket. He held a hand out to you.

"Come with me."

You looked at his hand a moment as if having second thoughts. His hand was large with long fingers. Tanned like the rest of him, with no scars or callouses she could see.

You reached out and grasped his hand -- firmly. Then you stood up as well and made sure to grab your purse, so you'd have it no matter what.

The man led you by hand casually as he proceeded to walk down the street, you at his side. If anyone had saw the scene they would have assumed a blind date had just begun, or, perhaps just a meeting of two old lovers -- ones long past the point where words were much needed.

In a way they would both be right.

....

*From the journal of the "abduction" survivor and main female "star" of the events retold herein, an unknown and yet now infamous woman whose initials are suspected to be: DZ.*

We are in an alley. Still in Paris somewhere.

Just the two of us.

A white van is parked nearby.

Without asking me he unbuttons the top of my blouse and then forces it down over my shoulders and off my arms -- he doesn't remove it entirely, and so my blouse remains fastened by its lower buttons but hanging forlornly around my waist. Quickly, as if well-practiced, he stepped behind me, unclasps my bra, then pushes the bra straps down over my shoulders, and draws the breast cups away from me, then yanks the bra off me completely. My breasts are bared to him. And fully exposed and visible to anyone else who might come into the alley or even look down from some higher floor's windows. If my nipples hadn't already been bullets by then they surely would have become so then. He tossed the bra on the ground. I did not complain.

He opened the van's side door. He made a gesture as if he invited me to get in.

I did.

He then did a funny thing: he turned around in a full circle once or twice looking as if he wished to face a large and adoring, gathered audience. He even turned his face up as if he wanted people watching us from upper stories to get a better look at his features. He wanted to leave them no doubt as to his visual identity and that he had no reason to hide or be afraid of being reported to the police.

And then... he bowed.

Then he straightened back up. Entered the van through the side door too. He slid the door shut behind him.

He pulled handcuffs out from a pouch on the back of the driver's seat. There had been no seats in the van's back area interior and so when I first entered I had defaulted to trying my best to sit down (in my long tight gray skirt, no less!) on the floor. Now the man gestured and even guided me with one hand indicating he wished me to lay down flat on my belly.

I did. First setting my purse down on the floorboards to my side.

My bare breasts now pressed against the floor's cold metal and rough-grained traction strips. Almost painful -- certainly unclean -- and yet it turned me on. He grabbed my wrists one by one and drew them behind me, cuffed them there.

Next, again via gestures and help with his own strong arms he had me roll over onto my back, my hands now awkwardly and somewhat painfully behind me.

From the same seat pouch he withdrew a  roll of duct tape and small set of scissors. My eyes did widen at this.

And yet I said *nothing.*

He quickly acquired a length of that super sticky and strong tape and pressed it firmly across my mouth, sealing it shut. He left my nose unobstructed.

And now I could *not* say anything.

Out of one of his jacket's pockets he pulled a thick black cloth hood. He placed this around my head, completely, cinching it tight at the neck via draw strings. It had  several holes around my mouth and nose, so air could get in and out. But otherwise I could not see and nobody would be able to see my face or learn my identity. And with my mouth sealed by the tape of course I was now in a place beyond words.

It only remained to be seen whether this man was truly more like an old lover or, perhaps, something very different or more dangerous.

Or... some exciting hybrid of the two?

My future was now truly an undiscovered country. One I could not wait to visit and explore further, potentially for The Duration. My panties had "voted" already: SOAKED.

Speaking of panties: the man wormed a hand under my skirt and worked it all the way up to my crotch. He felt my panty-covered pubic mound and by-then swollen labia. He surely could feel the dampness and heat. His fingers lingered some and rubbed around in the area approximately where he might assume my clit was located. He was... not wrong. Essentially he masturbated me, a little, without my permission.

He withdrew his hand from under my skirt a minute later, as if not wishing to spoil me or rush too much. Though of course I had no idea of his exact plans or even his goals. Though I *did* suspect it would culminate with sex -- being no fool. And... I was at peace with that. If it were to happen. My pussy was, at the very least, certainly!

He fondled my tits some, roughly, with both his hands. Took one of my nipples between his teeth, but did not bite down. Eventually he had seemed to have enough and left me alone on the van's floor.

He got up and moved to the driver's seat, started the van and drove us off, heading to I know not where...

We had been driving a while, perhaps an hour but the time was only a guess. I had a phone in my purse, of course, but could not get to it or see it anyway. I was left to focus only on the senses and knowledge I did have. Sound, mainly: the rumblings of the van as it drove. And my own inner thoughts. My memories, newly cobbled-together plans, and of course my own dangerous imagination, and... my fears.

Speaking of memories it might be a good time to fill my readers in on a little more of what I myself knew, at the time anyway.

That code? Romeo Dragon Tango? I had been expecting it. Well, not truly. It had been years and years since I had first heard of it and was taught what it would signify.

Let me explain.

Many years prior I had been offered... a deal.

A certain man representing a *certain* organization (its own name and nature not important now) presented me with An Opportunity.

Why?

He said that they had observed me for a while and knew I was struggling. He told me all this, their rep, and I had no reason yet to not believe him, however otherwise weird or unusual it sounded.

And he said that despite my so-called (by them) struggling they had assessed me and felt that I had promise -- in a purely impartial, almost economic sense, mind you!

Frankly, they said, they found me beautiful. Very! He said one of their assesors had classified me as a "stunning beauty of the kind born perhaps once a generation, perhaps a century" and so he concluded personally that it was "absolutely imperative" The Org "keep watch" over me and work to ensure I stayed "above water"  metaphorically. They didn't want the world "to lose out" by my absence, or to see me suffer -- well, not without good reason anyway, he said. The last part was a really weird little point he added, by the way, and so it stuck out in my mind.

Anyway I was flattered, of course.

To cut it short he made an offer: they were willing to "invest" in me. Essentially, to intervene financially in my life. To give me money.  A *lot* of money. Once. Just once! Then they would retreat back into the shadows. I would be free to do with it as I pleased, though he advised I put it first to debt payoff and then set aside most of the rest for a rainy day. There would be no strings attached otherwise.

Well... that was not true. Not completely. There *would* be one. String. The string would be that I *must* accept that there *might* come a day when The Org (or a rep) would reach out to me and "call in" the favor. Basically they would ask me to do... *certain things.* Certain deeds. Potentially unusual, risque and adult ones. Not really a request. More of an expectation. A demand. One assumed that I would meet. It would be a big demand, they knew, and a large ask. Especially for a woman -- a beautiful young American woman with her whole life ahead of her still, especially, he emphasized for some reason. And yet a request I *must* answer, at the time. Without hesitation. They would expect obedience. And full compliance. Total.

They would not be without sanity and maturity, however, or even basic compassion: they gave me an escape clause. A last minute eject button of sorts. When the rep approached me and informed me The Call had been made -- via a pre-arranged code phrase (that "R.D.T.") that *if* I wished to decline I simply had to reply back with a code phrase of my own.

If I did that? The rep would honor it. They would not pester me or try again. There *would* be further consequences, however, perhaps  including the withdrawal of certain other perks or so-called career patrons or mentors (who themselves were also involved in The Org) and so this *might* degrade my life going forward from that point. Otherwise I would not personally come to harm, either via violence or law. They were not utter barbarians (like *certain* nations he refused to name outright but did also make clear, at the time, who he meant.)

Alternately, if I chose to heed the call -- to go along, willingly -- then new benefits would be unlocked. What they promised was that as long as I was obedient and complied with The Call and generally pleased them and they felt satisfied, afterward -- to their sole satisfaction, or their unspecified assessors -- then The Org would at the end of it reward me by one more act of "reciprocal charity."

A lucrative one: a fresh injection of money, both electronic, paper cash and other hard assets, all with proper paperwork to keep the world's bureaucrats happy. I won't say the total sum. But let me say it would be around 10x larger than their very first payout to me all those years ago.

The Org was loaded, as you might have guessed. At least by *my* standards. And so it was hard for me to ignore them. I never thought of myself as a prostitute and to this day don't think of myself as one. But... a girl's got Bills To Pay and money has a logic all its own.

I had spent a whole week thinking about it, torturing myself, and the rep was generous in waiting for me to mull it over.

"I accept."

They wired an amount within the hour. There was also a knock on my apartment door too. When I went to answer it, opening it up, I saw down on the floor a small cardboard box, as if delivered by The Mega Online Store Dot Com, though of course all faked in order to look ordinary to others. I took it inside and opened the box:

Cash. Fat stacks.

I would not be having money problems for... well, not for quite a long time!

Several years later I found myself on a brief vacation in the City of Light, enjoying a coffee and totally relaxed and happy, and then That Man walked up, sat down and spoke the code that meant The Call was happening.

And so... that, my dear readers, is how and why I ended up in a plain white, window-less van one afternoon, somewhere in France, laying on its dirty floor on my side, my hands metal-cuffed tightly behind my back, a duct taped mouth, blindfolded completely by a black hood, my blouse open and tits out -- exposed for anyone to see or touch as they wished.

It was not because I was on a "normal" vacation to Europe at all.

I only hoped I continued to be on the same continent by the end of the day...

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: TO BE CONTINUED (?)