The Abduction of Amy

Content Warning: This story centers around an abduction and rape scene, planned by consenting adults in the context of a power-dynamic (BDSM) relationship, also called CNC (consensual non-consent). If that isn't your thing, please don't read this story.

This story is originally from 2014, but this version has been significantly cleaned up and expanded in some places.

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"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"I'm sure. I mean, I'm pretty sure. I mean, yes. I want to do this. With you."

"I have to admit I'm not totally convinced."

"Well, that's what the safeword email is for. So I have a couple of days to think about it."

"I suppose. But that won't help after."

"No, that's true. But I think that's part of the point."

"Okay. I guess."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes. I mean, I think so."

"You get to tap out of this too, if you need to."

"I know."

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Amy's hand hovered over the mouse button. Her laptop's screen glowed harshly white; despite the plethora of distractions in her email client, just a few words in the center of the screen held her attention, and it seemed like nothing else was on the page.

From: Adam Roberts

To: Amy Roberts

Subject: timing

It will be Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.

You have until noon Monday.

Beneath that, the reply she'd composed. It only had one word. The 'Send email' button lingered beneath the mouse pointer, smugly awaiting the click of her mouse, practically sneering at the 'Discard' button next to it.

Amy sighed, squinted, and shook her head to try and clear it. If she was already personifying her email client in her head, the next couple of days were going to be impossible to get through.

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Tuesday came and went. Wednesday was a blur. By the time Amy pulled her car into the garage Wednesday evening, she was a nervous wreck. She'd hardly eaten anything all day, instead riding the constant background haze of adrenaline to get her through the workday. She'd also been on a hair trigger, easily spooked by people casually knocking on her cubicle wall or dropping off paperwork. On one of many trips to the toilet, someone opened the door from the inside just as she was going to push it open from the outside, and she jumped back so fast she almost fell down.

Was she nuts? Were they nuts? This was the ultimate mindfuck. Adam didn't even have to do anything. Friday could come and go without anything happening at all, and Amy knew she would still be shaken to the core, solely from the experience of dreading the unknown for three days. Whatever she had signed herself up for, it was already happening.

She turned off the ignition and got out of the car, collecting her work things and stepping into the cold air of the garage. The nights came so quickly this time of year; it was dark before she even left the office most days, much less by the time she got home. She opened the door to the house and stepped into the kitchen, tossing her coat onto the back of a chair and setting her keys on the table next to her briefcase.

Something clattered on the other side of the room, and Amy jumped back, startled, throwing herself against the garage door. Groping for the light switch, the room suddenly flooded with light, but Amy didn't see anything moving. Maybe something settled in the dish drainer, she thought. I'm sure it's nothing.

A glass of wine suddenly sounded like a really good idea. Amy stepped over to the counter and reached for the bottle that usually lived there, but found it empty. She'd have to get another out of the wine rack that they kept in the dining room, but found herself pausing at the doorway from the kitchen to the front hall. It was awfully dark in there. Terribly dark. Lights! There's a light switch. She'd turned on that switch a thousand times since they'd bought this place, but suddenly she couldn't find it. Finally, on the third try, she managed to turn the hallway lights on.

Amy crept around the corner into the hallway, eyes wide open and full of fright. It was Wednesday night. Day one. Adam said it could be any night this week, at this point. What was she supposed to do? Act normally like nothing was happening? Like she didn't know that she was going to be assaulted at some point? Or should she creep around the place like she knew it was coming? Christ, she didn't have a choice at this point. She was already scared out of her wits and seeing ghosts everywhere.

Enough of this! This was her house, and dammit, she lived here. Amy took a deep breath, gathered herself, and strode purposefully into the living room, finding the lights on the first try and defiantly surveying the room. She crossed the living room and stepped into the dining room. Absolutely nothing jumped out and grabbed her. Amy silently thanked herself for not adopting a cat last year. The wine rack sat where it always did, gently guarding its red and white treasure.

She deftly pulled a wineglass off the rack with one hand and reached for a bottle with the other. She scanned the label, nodded to herself in approval, and set the glass down to reach for the wine opener. She exposed the pointy end of the corkscrew and tried to jam it into the cork, but slipped and almost shoved it into her hand instead, nearly dropping the bottle in the process.

Breathe, Amy.

Setting the bottle down on the table and getting a firmer grip, she placed the corkscrew atop the cork and pressed again. This time she got the screw to bite, and as she spun the handle on top, the mechanical arms on the side of the opener rotated up as if in celebration. She gently grasped both arms and pulled down to eject the cork from the bottle, but the cork stayed firmly stuck. She got a solid grip on the opener and tried to pull the cork out, to no avail. Finally, she jerked even more forcefully, and with a muffled pop, the cork ripped in half, leaving the wine safely shrouded underneath the half still stuck in the neck of the wine bottle.

Amy collapsed on the floor and cradled her head in her hands.

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Flight 317 landed about ten minutes late due to backups in air traffic control. Adam deplaned in a haze, having spent all day at a client's office trying to talk through some technical integration issues. It was supposed to be straightforward, but it had involved an entire day of translating back and forth between the customer and the senior programmer they'd sent with him to fix the problem, and his brain was mush. He pulled out his mobile phone and opened the messaging app.

Just landed. Heading to baggage claim.

A minute later it chirped back at him:

In the cell phone waiting lot. ETA 10min

Naturally his bag was the last one onto the baggage carousel. As he stepped out to the curb, he recognized his own Honda Civic parked in the loading zone, hazard lights flashing, trunk open, and his best friend Jay standing next to it, being berated by a TSA officer.

"Look, I told you, here he is now."

"Fine, fine, just get this thing out of here. Have to keep the lane clear."

"We're leaving."

Adam tossed his bags into the trunk and slammed it shut, then fell into the passenger's seat. Jay turned off the hazards and pulled the car onto the airport loop road.

"Thanks for picking me up, Jay."

"Happy to do it. How was your trip?"

"Way worse than it should have been. I'm glad to not be there any more. TSA give you a hard time?"

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about Parking While Black."

"Christ. You couldn't have been here more than a couple of minutes."

"Nope. Barely had time to open the trunk before you popped out. The guy was all over me as soon as I stepped out of the car."

"Well, like I say, I appreciate it."

"Seems like the least I could do. We heading straight home?"

"I could use some dinner. And then..."

"...and then?"

"Well... is everything all set? Over at the warehouse?"

"Of course. Do you want to check it out?"

"Kind of."

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Of course I'm having second thoughts."

"Man, I did a lot of work to prep for this. I don't exactly keep my studio this way all the time."

"You're not helping."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just fooling around. It's your show, my friend. And your call."

"I know it is. I know."

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There was a certain calm to Friday morning.

Somehow, Amy had gotten through Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Nothing had happened; Adam hadn't come home from his business trip yet. After the disaster that was Wednesday night, Thursday went relatively smoothly. She'd even gone out for Happy Hour at the last minute with a few coworkers, although she'd been careful about how much she had to drink. It calmed her down just enough to be able to eat a real dinner that evening. And now here she was driving to work Friday morning, plastic container of leftovers on the passenger seat, humming along to the radio and looking forward to the workday.

Adam blinked his eyes open as the sun streamed through the window. He'd tried to go to bed early, but there was a lot of lying around staring at a dark ceiling. Apparently he had fallen asleep at some point. The smell of a fresh pot of coffee wafted into the room, luring him out of bed and into Jay's kitchen.

Amy's morning passed quickly, answering emails, checking in on her direct reports, even giving a presentation just after lunch. It was during their regular mid-afternoon coffee break that someone asked her if she had any big plans for the weekend. Amy felt the blood rush away from her face and her head began to spin ever so slightly. "Adam should be home from his trip tonight," she croaked.

Adam unlocked the front door and held it open for Jay. He looked around at the neighborhood, but nobody was home in the middle of the day. He'd walked into this house a thousand times since they'd bought this place, but never felt so much like a stranger. The front hall, the kitchen, the garage, the living room; suddenly they weren't his anymore, and his eye fell on the hidden corners and the shadows differently than before.

Amy sat in her car in the parking lot of her office building and stared out the windshield. In the harsh white light of the streetlamp, she watched the snow fall onto the ground, onto the pavement, onto her windshield, clouding her view. Every couple of seconds, the wipers would clear the glass and she would stare out into the night again, engine running, lights on, radio playing softly.

Adam felt the house grow dark around him. He'd moved a chair into a dark corner, where at least he could sit and wait, eyes closed, hands slowly clenching and unclenching. He felt the sweat building up on his forehead, under his arms, in the palms of his hands. He checked his inventory for the twentieth time, making sure he knew where everything was.

A high whistle pierced the silence. Adam whistled back. A moment later, he heard the whine of the garage door opener and he settled forward, crouching on the ground.

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Amy turned off the ignition and got out of the car. The garage air smelled of dust, damp, and cold. She closed the car door and walked to the kitchen, kicking off her shoes, dropping her keys on the kitchen table, and taking off her coat. The bottle of wine sat on the counter where she'd left it the night before, and she pulled the stopper and poured herself a glass, draining it quickly and pouring another.

Were her senses extra sharp this evening or were they playing tricks on her? That crinkling sound -- no, that's just my coat settling on the rack. That rumbling! No, it's the automatic garage door closing itself. Her mind swirled with questions. Was Adam home? When was he coming home? How was he going to surprise her? Would it be a surprise or would she just walk into a room and he would be sitting there? Briefly an image flashed into her head of Adam, sitting in a chair, naked, wearing a ski mask and sporting a huge erection. Amy closed her eyes and pictured herself crawling to him, mouth watering, feeling herself get wet with anticipation, taking him into her mouth.

Amy smiled to herself as she walked into the living room, reaching over to turn on the light switch. The lights went on but immediately went out again. She heard the whoosh of air just before something slammed into her diaphragm, knocking the wind out of her, stars flashing in front of her blinded eyes. She crumpled to the ground and felt her head snap back and smack against the floor. Disoriented, unable to find the breath to scream, crushed on the floor by a heavy weight on top of her, Amy began to panic, but couldn't move or flail or strike out at anything.

Some sort of fabric was pulled down over her head. She tried to raise her hands to her face to remove it but couldn't do anything except bend her elbows. As she did, she felt her hands crushed into fists and pinned closed, and something cinched tightly around her wrists. She heard the sound of tape ripping off a roll and felt something press the fabric against her eyes. Her diaphragm spasmed and then relaxed and she sucked in a big breath, but before she could get it out an open palm smashed into the side of her face and all she could do was exhale suddenly. Something pressed against her open mouth and as her head reeled to the side she could feel straps being pulled tight, forcing her jaw open painfully.

The weight on her chest lifted off her and she gasped for air, scrambling her hands under her, unable to grab on to anything or even open her fists. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and flipped her over hard, sending her crashing to the floor again, this time on her stomach. The fabric closed in around her head and she desperately sucked air in through her nose, afraid of asphyxiating but nearly unable to breathe through her mouth. All at once, her ankles were pulled together sharply and her hands were jerked behind her back, sending shooting pain up her shoulders as her elbows were pinned together and her hands flailed uselessly at the ends of her arms. Her elbows were pulled down towards her ass and her ankles were pulled up, bending her knees tightly until her heels touched her fists.

Amy thrashed. Nothing would come loose. She tried to push the fabric and gag out of her mouth but couldn't muster enough strength with her tongue. She tried to rub the mask off her eyes but all she could do was move it around side to side a little. She couldn't open her hands, she couldn't unbend her knees, and she couldn't move her elbows. All she managed to do was tip herself over onto her side, breathing hard through her nose and grunting in frustration.

That was when a hand grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. Time screeched to a halt and Amy froze, mind suddenly crystal clear and focused only on that hand around her neck. The hand relaxed slightly and Amy sucked in a breath. Something slid around her neck and she felt it pull tight in front of her throat -- a collar? Her collar? Memories flashed through her mind. The day she handed Adam a collar. The feeling of him sliding it onto her neck for the first time. The look on his face as she watched him buckle it closed. The sound of the ring hanging from the front jingling as he tapped it with a finger, eyes twinkling with wonder and more than a little bit of mischief. Wait, no -- that sound was real. The collar was jingling now. Someone was tapping it.

Adam. Adam was tapping it.

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About half an hour later, Jay and Adam stumbled down the stairs from the kitchen into the garage, carrying a giant hockey bag between then. Jay fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the trunk of the car. He and Adam lifted the bag into the trunk and set it and their cargo down unceremoniously with a thunk.

Inside the bag, Amy groaned, laying on her side, having been stripped of her business clothes and dressed for transport. The pillowcase over her head had been secured with several wraps of duct tape, including a couple of extras over the ballgag in her mouth. They'd opened a slit near her nose to make it easier for her to breathe. Her collar was pulled tightly around her neck and the ring tied off to the belt pinning her knees together. They'd tied her ankles to her thighs and then pulled her knees almost up to her neck, crushing her small breasts against her torso, with three belts wrapped around her pinning her tightly into a ball.

Her hands still balled up inside leather bondage mittens, they'd tied her elbows together and then pulled a leather singleglove over the whole thing, lacing it completely closed and pulling the straps tightly across the top of her chest. Before cinching the ball-tie belts and pulling her arms harder against her back, they'd tied a rope around her waist, pulled it snug, and then run it tightly through her crotch. A vibrating silicone butt plug stretched her rear open and hummed away, held in place by the rope. Amy could feel it bumping against the giant metal phallus that they'd slid into her sopping wet pussy and anchored with the same rope. That one wasn't vibrating, and it was driving her nuts to have something that large inside her but not moving.

Amy shifted around and tried to get as comfortable as she could. Whoever was driving wasn't being very careful about going over bumps, and every time the car jerked, Amy felt the crotchrope shift around, jostling the toys inside her and rubbing painfully against her clit. She didn't know where they were going or how far away it was -- right, that was kind of the point, wasn't it? She'd gone mostly docile when Adam slipped the collar around her neck, but this was supposed to be an abduction and rape scene. Now that they were into the midst of it, Amy found that she'd gotten past the initial fear and surprise of being assaulted, and was looking forward to whatever else Adam had in mind. Plus, there had to be someone else along for the ride, right? She was sure there had been two sets of hands on her at the same time at some point... pretty sure, anyway. Amy reminded herself to fight back some when Adam got around to fucking her, if only to keep up her part of the show for him. And maybe whoever else that was in the front seat. Amy clenched down on the metal phallus again and felt the hum of the vibrator in her ass, and tried to grind against the rope in her crotch a little harder.

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"You've been quiet the whole trip. How you doing?"

"I'm okay. She got me once, hard, when I was trying to get her legs belted together. Still hurts a bit. Gonna be a nasty bruise tomorrow."

"No, I mean, how are you doing?"

"Oh.... good, I think."

"You think?"

"That was... intense."

"Well done, though. I haven't seen you lay a tackle on someone like that since our rugby days."

"Yeah, we make a good team. But I'm still shaking a little."

"I get it. She calmed right down when you grabbed her by the neck."

"Moment of inspiration, I guess. She's always been kind of sensitive about her neck, and it really grabs her focus when I do that."

"It was pretty hot, too."

"... yeah. Yeah. It was."

"This is the exit."

"Nah, I'm gonna go past it and loop around. I don't want to take her out of the trunk just yet. That vibe in her ass won't make her come, so the longer we drive around, the longer she has to sit on the edge."

"Cool."

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Finally, the car came to a stop. There was some back and forth as the driver maneuvered it into a parking space of some sort, and then Amy heard the trunk open and felt the cold December air seep into the bag. The bag was lifted out of the trunk, and with some grunting and manipulation, carried up and set down on a hard floor. There was the mechanical sound of a gate opening, and then the bag was moved again, then more mechanical sounds. Ah -- they were in an elevator! Amy tried to piece together the trip, but she wasn't sure how long they'd been in the car, and there had been too many turns to keep track of. And where on earth would Adam have access to a building with an industrial elevator?