Stealing Cassie Pt. 04: Snatched

The next day I was sore, the doing of Erika and her new toy. Also what Adam brought to the party! No girl could refuse the chance of that. For an hour or more, on and on, each taking turns.

I have no idea what time it was when they finally let me be. The early hours at least. ­ A work day too. Towards the end of the night I hovered on the edge of something so beautiful — then I descended into a state of sexually induced delirium as Adam fucked me with machine-like implacability as Erika straddled my face, rubbing her unctuous cunt over my lips, chin and cheeks, and nose. How I wished she would settle her cunt so that my frantic tongue could taste, even if only momentarily, her succulent cunt. But her hips would not rest, incessantly grinding at me, the full-fat of her arse cheeks forever a threat of suffocation never realised.

How many orgasms? I never counted — ­ hers, nor mine. Neither have I any recollection of them releasing me from my restraints, no memory of their departing. Did they tuck me and kiss me goodnight?

Half-ten the next morning I awoke alone. Too late to go to work, so I phoned my line manager Saphire, muttered some transparent crap about a tummy bug.

Three awkward minutes on the phone with Saphire. Afterwards, I lay in bed until eleven-thirty going over the events of the previous night, trying to come to terms with the reality of Adam's cock, wondering if I would ever see him again; the pair of them for that matter. Erika was delicious. I only wished I'd been able to touch her body more, deprived as I was of the use of my hands for most of the night. Perhaps this was the sickest of Daddy's punishments, my inability to caress her soft, fragrant flesh.

I started to touch myself. Then a ping on my phone. A text. Me reaching for the phone from the bedside table.

JOSH: Did you like our gift?

ME: gift?

JOSH: Adam?

ME: Where did you find him!?!?

JOSH: We know lots of people. I knew you would especially appreciate Adam.

ME: I'm sore.

JOSH: You're a star.

ME: I don't feel like one.

JOSH: You did like our friends then?

ME: How could I not?

JOSH: If you continue to be a good girl, we will let them play with you again, but today we need to talk about this weekend. Meet us for lunch at Makita's. Be there for one. Do you know it?

ME: Oxford Street?

JOSH: Yeah.

I showered and dressed, felt so icky wearing yesterdays things.

At Makita's I ordered the salad, pushed rocket about my plate while I listened to them hint at their plans for the coming weekend. While Josh talked I saw how Becky looked at me, reminding me of the looks my mother gave me as an adolescent, her little girl no longer a child. The same sadness was in Becky's eyes.

Josh spoke of the Hendrix's parties. The gatherings, he called them, how they were always themed. I did not need to know all the details beforehand; surprises were much more fun, he said.

He indicated a small suitcase on the floor by his chair, said it was for me and that I was to take it home but was not to open it until Friday evening. Then I was to follow the instructions he would give me when I played the video he had recorded on to the memory stick I would find in the pocket of the case.

And so we sat and ate our food and conversed like rational adults. It was as if we were just friends again, chatting about books and movies, the news, politics. Over dessert, Becky started telling me about a girl from our school days named Alicia who she had run into in London, how she was now a doctor working for the World Health Organisation. I'd always thought her a geeky, uninteresting person. As Becky told me of about Alicia and her work in a refugee camp, a wave of inadequacy overcame me. I smiled and nodded, inside I felt worthless.

After the meal, before parting, I handed back the keys to their Fiat. He said I could hang on to it if I wanted to, but I said I could do without the hassle of finding a parking space every morning. We parted on the pavement; they each took turns to hug me before going our separate ways.

The following days at work were a pain; my mind now focused on the coming weekend, and how I would be meeting Jude Alexander and this Hendrix, they keep going on about. But Jude Alexander. Wow! Me meeting Jude Alexander; could it ever really happen? Whatever would I say to him? Would I come apart at the seams in his presence? Remember to watch your tongue, Cassie — if you are ever introduced to him. Remember, a loose tongue is what got you where you are today.

Was that a bad thing?

Home early from work Friday evening. I took their suitcase from the wardrobe, where I had stashed it so the sight of it would not tempt me to peek.

I placed it on the bed, sat and stared. The anticipation of seeing the contents was like being a little girl again, the young Cassie on Christmas morning with her presents before her. I took a deep breath and snapped open the catches, lifted the lid.

Clothes. A note on top. I put the note to one side and lifted the garments. A plain white cotton blouse, short back skirt with buttons down the front; matching waistcoat, small white cotton apron; also a new pack of black pantyhose and ballet flats; plain cotton panties, matching bras. Also, there was a leather shoulder bag.

I laid the skirt and blouse out on the bed, still not sure what was intended by such mundane garments, and then I read the note.

Take the memory stick you will find in the case pocket and plug into the USB on your laptop.

I did what the note said. When he appeared on the tv screen I immediately recognised his Daddy persona, the alter-ego he would assume for the "game". He would don it just like a person slips into a new jacket.

"Slave!" he barked. "Tonight you will carry out these instructions to the letter."

A pause, allowing me to focus.

"You are a waitress about to begin her shift. You have showered and dressed for work. Hair in a ponytail, minimal makeup. Any small personal items must go into the leather bag. Darling Girl and I will provide everything else you may need for the weekend.

"At six-thirty, you'll leave your house for your evening shift. When outside, turn right at your front gate and walk to the end of the avenue, where you will turn left. Carry on for a half a mile. Just before the lights at the Melbourne road junction, there is an ally. Wait on the corner of it until we contact you again. If you let us down, bad things will happen."

The screen went blank.

I had an hour to get ready. I wasn't hungry, nerves playing up wrecked my appetite. I did not know when I would eat again, so I forced myself to warm a can of tomato soup, sat at the breakfast bar and spooned it slowly.

My younger sister phoned at six ­ Abbi ­, but I had no time to speak, so did not pick up, even though she lives in Cornwall and we rarely get time to talk. I wondered if she was okay.

After showering and doing my hair, I stood by the bed and began to dress. The new cotton panties were quite small, stretched tight on my hips, cutting into my buttocks. The pantyhose packaging crackled as I tore it open. I sipped them over my legs and pulled the waist high. Their sheerness pleased me, and I ran my palms over my thighs and thought them not at all day to day wear. Probably expensive.

When dressed, I looked into the mirror and saw I had become what they had intended: a young waitress like you might see in any hotel or bistro. I wondered if this was Becky's idea. We had worked weekends together at a small hotel when we were seventeen before going off to different universities. This uniform was quite similar to the one we had back then, though the skirt was shorter, the tights finer. For a moment it was like going back in time. I wondered what had happened to the carefree girl I was at seventeen.

Soon I was ready to leave, but something didn't seem right about how I looked. I decided I would never have walked to work in just a uniform. I'd have put on a jacket, or at least a cardigan, but more likely I would change on arriving. Especially the shoes; definitely would have changed my shoes for work. I decided to risk Daddy's displeasure by slipping on my denim jacket. Then I thought long and hard, decided not to risk messing with his footwear instructions.

Out on the street, I set a smart pace, hoping not to run into any of the neighbours. Not that we were that friendly with any, but I was not in the mood for explanations.

I managed to round the corner of the avenue without an encounter, only to turn the corner and collide with Sandra Johnson from number seven.

"Oh! Sorry, luv." Sandra said. Then she saw it was me. "Oh, it's you, Cassie. In a hurry aren't you?"

She looked me over, and I could see her trying to make sense of my clothes.

"Hi Sandra, Can't chat, I'm late already. I'm doing my friend who owns a bistro a massive favour. Loads of staff off with something horrible. They're desperate for staff s I'm helping out. ­Must dash, we open soon, and I'm already running late."

And with that, I was off again. While still moving, after ten paces I looked over my shoulder and saw her still standing at the spot where we had collided; her face a rendering of bewilderment. I waved a breezy goodbye and hurried on.

I turned the corner at the end of our road onto Beckham Avenue, which led to the main road. I walked briskly along, but after only two-hundred yards, a metallic silver Volkswagen with darkened glass slowed. It reminded me of the van my sister's boyfriend Ashley owned, accept his was metallic blue.

The van kept pace alongside me, and I became anxious. I reassured myself by imagining Daddy and Darling Girl inside. I tried to peer in but couldn't see anything, the glass too dark. I picked up my pace, and the van instantly matched it. Then the passenger window slowly went down. When I looked to my side, I saw the guy in the passenger seat watching me. He wore shades and was smoking something hand rolled. I could smell dope.

"Need a lift, darling?" he said.

"You're okay," I said. "I'm nearly at work now — just round this corner. ­Thanks anyway."

I didn't like the look of him at all. About forty, I'd say. Scraggy long hair, a weeks worth of stubble, thick Scouse accent.

"Come on darling; you look as if you know how to have a good time."

I got out my phone as I walked, dialled Josh's number. No reply.

"That's right sweetheart, phone a friend. The more the merrier."

The way he leered unnerved me. I could not imagine this creep having anything to do with Josh or Becky. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face him. The van stopped with a judder.

"Listen, creep! Just do one, will you!. Okay. I'm phoning the police now."

"Okay, okay. Take a chill-pill, darling! Just trying to be friendly."

The window went up, and they were gone.

Ten minutes later I was at the at the corner of the ally mentioned by Josh. As instructed, I stood and waited. And waited. Looking around I saw no pedestrians, but the traffic was becoming snarled at the main junction a few yards away. At any moment I expected Daddy and Darling Girl to pull up and snatch me from the street.

A middle-aged man walked past, looked unashamedly at my legs. When he tried to catch my eye, I turned away. He carried on walking, looked back once. I scowled.

Ten minutes went by and still no Daddy. I got my phone out. I was about to ring him when I swore I heard someone call my name. Not loud, more like a raised whisper. A, "Psssst, Cassie."

I turned and looked into the alley and saw a van parked up, about twenty-five yards away, near to the rear door of one of the shops that face the main road. Fear shot through me. Was it the silver van? Both rear doors were open, and it was hard to make out the colour in the gloom of the alley. Two men were unloading boxes. They came and went.

I turned my back to the alley and began to scan the traffic, wishing Daddy would hurry. I texted a message.

ME: Where are you?

A man's sweaty hand around my mouth gagging my squeal of surprise. The stink of tobacco and dope thick in his palm. A fore-arm round my ribs squeezing the breath out of my lungs. My utter incomprehension as I was lifted off my feet and pulled into the shadows of the alley. Then another man appeared, his face covered by a black ski-mask. He was big, too big even to consider resisting.

I kept saying to myself: this is all part of the game, it's all part of the game. It has to be. Then I thought it might not be, might be something else completely. It was a possibility that caused total apprehension to grip my heart, becoming a riot of fear that clawed at my guts.

I was carried to the van and thrown into the back, travelling through the air to land on a mattress beneath the crushing of empty boxes. My abductor quickly beside me, so powerful, gagging me. My feet kicked out, arms flailed. My shoes gone, one and then the other. They pushed me down. I continued to twist and wriggle, trying to slip from between the two.

A large hand around my neck, squeezing. "Keep fucking still — and you'll be okay."

I tried to calm myself, saying to myself over and over, it's just the game, just the game.

His grip relaxed when he understood I wanted to surrender.

Then a cloth in my mouth, a leather gag tight to keep it in.

A bag over my head. Something tight about my neck.

I remained still, listening intently, and then understanding. There was someone else. That made three. Laboured breathing and muffled words exchanged between uncouth men. Then the bite of ropes around my ankles, my thighs. My arms twisted behind me, shackles for my hands.

The words, "Good work, guys."

"Ready?"

"Okay."

The hollow bang of metal doors slamming. Stillness in darkness before the engine started.

The van moved away. Cassie! You stupid, stupid girl.

*******************************

I tried to picture the route as the van stopped and started, turned corners, braked, accelerated and slowed again. I gave up, surrendered myself to a hopeless disorientated confusion.

I focused on their voices; casual, matter of fact.

One asked, "What's going to happen to her?"

"Something spectacular," said another.

"You ever been to one?"

"Loads! Fucking mind-blowing."

Silence.

"Come on Kal." You can't leave it at that. In what way mind-blowing?"

"I'm saying nothing. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for their little princess here. And besides, you're on the rota for the one after this one, the big winter do. You are, aren't you?"

"That's months way.."

"It'll be worth the wait. You wait and see."

"Do you think this one will be there . . . as well as tonight?"

"You like her?"

"Could say that. She's very pretty."

"I've seen prettier."

"Yeah, but there's something about this one."

I felt a hand stroke my calf. Instinctively I kicked out with my bound legs.

Laugher.

The Scouse voice said, "Better not, Kal. Hendrix will cut your balls off if you soil the goods."

"God, she is cute, though, " Scouse said.

"Do you hear that princess: Nathan loves you," Kal said, and I had a name for Scouse.

One of them pinched my thigh, and I squealed into my gag.

"If we had her to ourselves for an hour, I'm sure he'd understand," Kal said.

I felt the reflected warmth of flesh near my cheek. Then came the smell of cock.

"Put it away, Kal," Nathan said.

Silence for half an hour. Winding roads, wild cornering throwing me from side to side, then them having to reposition me.

Slowing and turning onto a dirt road, small stones spat into wheel arches, rattling like bullets on armour. An uneven surface, the bounce of the van lifting and dropping me.

We came to a halt, and I heard the hollow bang of metal doors flung open.

Hands grabbed my ankles. I twisted, yelled a muffled protest.

"Just your shoes, princess. You'll need them where we're going. Now keep still," Nathan said, in his thick Scouse accent, as he slipped each shoe onto the appropriate foot.

Then he lifted me, and I was passed out of the van into another male's arms and thrown over his shoulder, just like a sack of potatoes.

Carried by a stranger in the warm evening air. It was eerily silent apart from the sound of the wind high in trees, and there was a bloom of sweetness in the air, and so I understood we were in the countryside. Then from behind me, the sound of tyres on gravel. Another car was coming to a halt back on the dirt road.

He lowered me to my feet, then supported me while another undid the bindings on my legs.

My hood removed, I saw a helicopter at rest in the middle of an open grassy space surrounded by woodland, its blades dead, engine silent. A uniformed man in shades and pilots cap stood close by smoking a cigarette.

Behind me lay the path to the road over which he had carried me. At the bottom of the path, two men stood by the silver van, parked behind it was a car, which I immediately recognised as Becky's Range Rover.

The relief knowing she was here was like a reprieve from death row. I focused on the car, desperately aching to see her again. When I spotted her and Daddy alight from the car and begin casually walking towards me, I understood how much I loved them both, would do anything they asked.

Both dressed so elegantly; he in tuxedo and bow, showing through an open Crombie overcoat that had a scarlet lining showing as he walked; she in a knee-length white cashmere coat with grey trim and high upturned collar, silver knee-length boots, with matching bag and peaked cap-type hat. A pair of A-listers arriving on the red carpet at some film or music award.

I watched them approach and felt a thrill of pleasure at seeing them both, but also of apprehension about what they had planned for me. What would happen now? Were we still going to Hendrix's Scottish castle?

They did not acknowledge me at first. I wanted to call out to them, but I knew the game was on so held my tongue. I watched in silence as Daddy exchange words with Nathan, shake his hand and pass him a manila envelope.

At last, Daddy turned his attention to me, came closer, stood and looked me up and down and said:

"Oh dear, Slave! You really are a pathetic creature, aren't you? Can't even follow simple instructions, can you?"

I didn't understand. I'd done everything required, just like he'd told me to. The gag muffled my attempts at protest.

He reached out and fingered the collar of my denim jacket, "What the fuck is this? No! Don't even try to explain. You were given strict instructions what to wear."

He turned to Becky and said, "Give Kal the car Keys and tell him to bring the bag from the boot."

He called to Nathan, "take her to the tree over there," he said, pointing to the edge of the woods. "The big one. Yes, that one with the long, low branch."

I looked over to where he pointed and saw an ancient oak standing all forlorn at the edge of the woods, set against q dark tangle of shrubbery.

Nathan came to me, grabbed my arm and marched me over to the tree. We stood beneath, waiting. Kal joined us carrying the bag requested by Daddy.

Daddy pulled a coil of rope from the bag and threw it over a large, low hanging branch, keeping hold of one end. It dangled, and he fastened the other end to my cuffed hands, positioned me a certain way beneath the branch.

"You two Grab the end," he said, to Kal and Nathan, who immediately went and picked up the rope on the far side of the branch.

Both men began hauling on the rope, and my arms went high with my body following. They lifted me until my feet were off the ground. One of my shoes came off, and I cursed the bloody things.

"Darling Girl, would you be so kind as to remove Salve's skirt and underwear," Daddy said.

She came to me and undid the buttons that ran up the front of my skirt. When it was free, she folded it neatly and placed it on the ground a little distance away. My tights, panties and remaining shoe quickly followed.