Chapter 16D

At first, I resisted. I was ashamed and embarrassed at having been caught due to my own clumsy recklessness and I didn't want to have these two hoodlums thinking they could control me so easily. As I got hotter and wetter, that seemed laughable. I was tied up in a way that kept me very effectively restrained. Even when my head quit spinning and I calmed down and got myself together enough to regain control of my body, the way I was tied up I still might not be able to get enough leverage to break free quickly. Even if I did get my arms free, Jones would shoot me before I could free my legs. At this range he could hardly miss. I regretted not having my bullet-resistant suit. Skin was useful as a disguise, but it left a lot to be desired when it came to protection.

As the probing of the gun became more insistent and I became more aroused, my will to resist the very seductive fantasy crumbled until I was starting to let little sounds slip out. Then I felt my traitorous labia fold back like the gates of a surrendering medieval castle. I pushed my pussy back against the slick metal, trying to suck the gun inside me.

"Holy shit!" Jones exclaimed. "She's really getting off on this. I think she wants to be in a movie real bad."

Smith looked back in the rear-view mirror to watch me try to hump Jones' pistol. From my terribly cramped position, out of the corner of my eye I could just see him leering at me.

"Looks like we found a live one, all right. She seems positively enthusiastic. She can't be a pro."

"Nah, she's too tight," Jones observed. He pressed the muzzle against my opening, testing my resilience. The gun stretched my hole and after a few deliciously suspenseful seconds, it slid in a couple of inches.

I bit my tongue to keep from moaning. My eyes tried to roll back in my head and my pussy took a firm grip on Jones' gun. It wasn't that big, but it was hard and it was right where I needed it.

"Humpf," Jones grunted, probably surprised to find himself in a tug-of-war. He twisted the gun and pulled it out of me. I felt his breath as he leaned in to watch my hole recover from his probing. Then he said, "This one's a real snapper. She's not cherry, but she sure can't have any mileage on her."

"Well, keep her entertained until we get to the farm."

Jones knew just how to entertain a girl. He teased me into a near-frenzy by letting me hump the barrel of his gun; then he moved it just out of reach to let me cool off some before he gave it back again. By the time we arrived, I was desperate to cum. If I had thought it would have done any good, I would have begged him for it.

The car came to a stop and Jones reached back and yanked the scarf down over my eyes as a blindfold. This ended any hope I might have had of seeing where we were when they took me out of the car. I expected them to cut the tape on my legs, but they simply grabbed my already contorted arms like handles and carried me between them.

When they dropped me I landed face-first in a pile of hay, so I knew that this place had that much in common with a real farm. I hadn't been paying really close attention for the last part of the ride, but it seemed to me that there hadn't been very much traffic noise, so it was likely that we were out of town somewhere. Just where, I had no clue.

I could hear Smith and Jones walking around. Their footfalls were muffled, so I guessed that the hay under me must be all over the floor of whatever building we were in. It was either a barn or a stable of some kind. I didn't hear any animals, but I could smell the hay and a whiff of something spicy, a strong odor that seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.

I heard a sound of something being dragged and then Smith said, "I've got the lead. Let's get the collar on her."

"OK," Jones said. "Hey, I've got a better idea. Look at this."

I felt hands grab me and roll me over on my back. Someone took hold of the ring in my left nipple and fiddled with it. When they let go, there was a sensation of weight, as though something had been attached to that ring.

"Brilliant, Mr. Jones. Very innovative."

"Thank you."

I was naturally curious about what they had done to me. I wiggled my eyebrows against the scarf and tossed my head. I found that if I strained to push my forehead up and my upper lip down, I could just through see a tiny sliver of a gap next to my nose. I scanned this small view back and forth until I could make out that they had connected the end of a thin vinyl-covered stranded metal cable to my ring with a small brass padlock. The cable snaked away into the hay. I couldn't see where.

"But let me make one minor modification," Smith said. I felt him undo the padlock and remove the cable. He ran the end of the cable through my other ring before reconnecting it to the padlock and locking it back.

"Much more effective," Smith said, smugly. "And much more aesthetically pleasing, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah. That works."

"Then I think we can give her legs back."

Jones' switchblade came out with a snick and he cut the tape holding my legs. When he peeled it off I tried to straighten them out and nearly fainted from the pain. I managed to roll to my knees and rocked back and forth while the awful pins and needles feeling surged through them.

To show my captors that I wasn't cowering or groveling, I got to my feet as soon as I could manage and stood facing the last direction I had heard their voices. I kept my chin high. Keeping my shoulders back wasn't an issue, since my arms were still bound behind me and I knew my breasts were still prominently displayed. The cable hanging from my rings wasn't very heavy, or even particularly uncomfortable. It was clearly the simplest, cheapest way they had devised to keep the girls they used in the videos from escaping. From their conversation, I gathered that the normal procedure would have been to hook it to a collar locked around the neck, but I had come equipped for an even easier and more entertaining set of connections.

Since humiliation seemed to be their main way of dominating and controlling the girls they kidnapped, I decided that, whatever they did to me, I would refuse to accept the role of victim. If I remained composed and collected through this, and refused to be cowed by their threats or intimidation, I might rattle them. By playing my game and not theirs, I might get them to make some mistake that would give me the opportunity to get the upper hand. The same approach had worked with my friend The Torturer and while he was an amateur and these two were professionals, I hoped that the same principles would apply. If they didn't, I was going to be in trouble.

While I stood patiently waiting for their next move, I tried to refine my strategy. They either hadn't seen or hadn't noticed my Dragon persona; it had faded with my conscious control when I hit my stupid head on their car. They had kidnapped a naked girl, but they had no clue who I was and no way to identify me without my cooperation. They still might try to coerce the information out of me, and I almost wished they would try.

Switching to the Dragon now would give them more information than I wanted them to have. It would also tell them that I was dangerous and they might decide to kill me right away, so that was out. Whatever I did, I would have to do without revealing my secret identity. This also meant I would have to be careful about any displays of strength. With all these restrictions, I was going to have to wait until I had better options than I had at the moment.

I heard a rumbling noise followed by a slam, as though a big door had been rolled open and then shut again. There was some shuffling by Smith and Jones before a new voice said, "What are you two doing back so soon? What's going on here?"

"Well," Smith said, all the smugness gone from his voice, "we hit two of the places you told us to, and we were just leaving the second, when Peaches here fell out of a tree and dented in the roof of the car. We figured we should bring her around and check in before we did anything else."

"You did the right thing, then. Anything not according to plan needs my attention. You can visit the rest of the places some other time. Now, where are her clothes? Do you know who she is?" Mr. King's voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I resisted the temptation to try to get a peek at him under the blindfold.

"She wasn't wearing anything when we dragged her off the car. I figured she was out streaking or playing some kind of sex-game or something. Maybe some kind of kinky club initiation. Anyway, nobody saw us pick her up. We kept her head down on the way out here and we blindfolded her like usual when we took her out of the car so she has no idea where she is. She hasn't said a word."

"Peaches wants to be in a video," Jones volunteered. "She's a real hot one, as well as being a stone fox. She almost came all over the back seat on the way here."

He seemed really into this video idea. I wondered how many girls they had featured in their films and had all of them been kidnapped for the purpose? More importantly, what had become of them afterward? The reminder that I might be starring in a film that was both my debut and my farewell in the industry brought back some of the heat that I had felt when the idea first occurred to me. I felt my areolas tighten, trying to shift the cable through my rings.

Mr. King must have noticed my reaction. He said, "Yes, I see the idea interests her. Very well, you can pick up where you left off after we get your vehicle repaired. It wouldn't do to project the wrong image during the negotiations and that project is a long-term one anyway. As for the girl, if no one knows she's here, it really doesn't matter who she was, she's ours now. Mr. Jones, your suggestion seems to appeal to everyone. Your previous selections have all been second-rate streetwalkers who have lacked the fresh appeal of Peaches, here. I confess, she's easily the best we've ever had to appear in one of our little epics and I am anxious to see how she performs on camera. Let's get a look at her face."

He pulled the scarf off my head and I blinked to let my eyes adjust to the glare of the lights. The place seemed to be very well lit for a barn. I wondered if this was also where they did their filming. The light was very white and stung my eyes.

When I could see again, I had to get a fast grip on my reactions. I blinked some more and tried not to give away the fact that I had met Mr. King before. He wouldn't recognize me, of course. At the time I had been disguised as an old woman. Mr. King was also Mr. Winslow, the owner and some-time operator of the highly suspicious convenience store that I had visited in the bad section of town.

He hadn't smelled right to me then, and I had given him a bullshit warning about the coming of the Dragon instead of reassuring him that I was there to help. Now, it seemed I was quite correct to be suspicious of him. He was obviously a real, live bad-guy, and maybe even a major player in what passed for organized crime in the area. So far, I knew he was involved with extortion and kidnapping. I had a long list of other things that I suspected he might be responsible for as well.

Again, it became a case of 'whose game are we playing'. They had their agenda and I had mine. They had the upper hand at the moment, but I had a secret that could put an end to all this just as soon as I got the chance. I decided to continue to go along for the moment — as if I had a choice.

King/Winslow studied my face with a professional detachment. He brushed my hair back with his fingers to get a better look. I tilted my chin up as he examined my profile. His expression didn't change much, but I could tell he liked what he saw. His gaze tracked downward and he examined my boobs carefully. He put his hands under them and squeezed, presumably to satisfy himself that they were real. He took hold of my nipples and pinched them. Then he held them and waited. When they responded by becoming stiff in a matter of seconds, he smiled and twisted them more gently, rolling them expertly between his fingers. He might be a scumbag, but he knew how to handle a girl in a way that made her hot despite herself. At least that was the effect his handling was having on me. Although I tried as best I could not to let it show, I had a hard time lying below the neck. My body was reacting on its own, and I was finding it hard to deny that I was enjoying it.

He seemed to find my stoic reaction to be a challenge. He reached behind me and squeezed my butt, working my cheeks and dipping his fingers toward my anus. My jaw dropped briefly as the threat of anal penetration made me weaken and he took note of this even though I clamped my mouth shut as soon as I realized what had happened.

He moved down past my pussy and started stroking my thighs, coming closer and closer to my sex with each pass. When his fingers brushed my still-damp labia, the sensation was too much and I gasped, a quick one, but a tell-tale nonetheless. He moved on to direct contract then, sliding his fingers deliciously over my pussy-lips, prying them apart to expose my pink. Again, my body betrayed me. I quivered and my eyes closed for a moment as the heat inside me rose to a slow boil.

"Spread your legs for me," he said. It was said in a mild tone, not commanding or insisting but still irresistible, and I obeyed immediately. I slid my feet further than shoulder-width apart, giving him more access to my pussy.

For my reward, he briefly stroked my clit, making me bite my tongue to keep from vocalizing the pleasure I felt. Still, my sharp intake of breath must have told him that I was very sensitive there. When he probed my opening with his middle finger, I nearly lost control. My eyes rolled and my mouth opened and I felt a couple of contractions down there as my pussy kissed his finger.

To my intense frustration, he stopped at that point. He stepped back and examined the juice dripping from his hand. He took out a handkerchief and wiped it dry with a flourish.

"Peaches will make us a lot of money," he declared, smiling at his underlings. "She is going to be our biggest star yet. I will have to notify our special customers that we have something new for them and see if they have any requests. In the meantime, Mr. Jones, get the camera set-up and test it. We'll get started as soon as I get back."

"Should I free her arms? She hasn't given us any trouble so far."

King considered this. He looked into my eyes before making up his mind.

"No. I think we'll leave her bound for the first few scenes. After that, we'll see how she does. I'll let Roxy know we have a new performer."

With that, he left and Smith and Jones started hauling equipment from another room and setting it up. It seemed to be quite a professional system. The camera was an expensive-looking digital one that connected to a DVD recorder. They had sound equipment too — boom mikes and everything. There were no lights, though. Apparently I had been right about the ceiling lights being bright enough.

While they were getting ready, I gradually adjusted my makeup. If I was going to be photographed, I wanted to look good, even if it was some awful amateur film. Heck, even if it was a snuff film, I wanted to go out looking good. At first, I didn't do too much, thinking they were sure to notice. I enhanced some shading of my all-over tan and I added some blush and highlights that would give my curves better definition. Then I remembered that bright lights tended to wash out skin tones, so I went a little further than I really should have. Heck, even if these crooks noticed something different, they wouldn't be able to explain it.

While I had some time to myself, I looked around. The place was definitely a barn. It had big wooden beams all over and the 'room' I was in was large enough for a few horses. It had only three walls, with the fourth just a couple of support columns between it and the hallway. It looked like a row of horse stalls with the dividing walls and doors knocked out.

I rubbed my toe on the floor and found that it was dirt with a couple of inches of hay over it. The overhead lights were big industrial-looking things that didn't belong in a place like this at all. The bright bluish-white light they gave off reminded me of the grow-lights we used in the Botany lab at school to germinate seeds and record their growth. It was in keeping with the idea of the place being a farm, I supposed, but what kind of farm grew its crops indoors?

"The illegal kind, you dolt!" I thought, answering my own question. The spicy odor must be coming from hundreds or even thousands of marijuana plants in other parts of the barn. I checked out the lofted ceiling to get an idea of how big the place was, and I nearly whistled when I came up with a guess that made it close to the size of a football field. There was room enough for a forest of dope to be grown in there. It was no wonder I felt comfortable in just my skin, the temperature and humidity were quite tropical, even at this time of night.

This explained the odd status of Winslow's convenience store. He was selling something profitable, but it wasn't cheap beer or stale snacks. People looking to buy drugs wouldn't care how run-down the place was and he would hardly need to advertise. Word of mouth would be sufficient for his needs.

With one puzzle solved, I looked around for more clues. There were several bales of hay lying about. Some were piled in the corner, but a few had been arranged in a more organized group in the middle of the floor. These were mashed down on top, as if someone had been rolling around on them.

"The stage setting," I thought. With that in mind, the arrangements of bales did seem convenient for the purpose of sex.

The back wall of the room was heavy, rough planks. I could see large metal hooks and brackets had been mounted on it at what would seem to be odd places, if you didn't know they were for tying girls to. I walked over and saw that they were set just right to spread-eagle someone between. Even the hay bales had leather restraints beside them that were attached to bolts in the floor.

As I walked to the wall, the cable trailed behind me for a bit, then, as I approached its limit, I saw it rise from the floor. It ran over a pulley suspended from a track hanging under an overhead steel beam that was several feet higher than my head. The cable ran through another pulley a few feet from the first and then through a hole in the wall. I thought this was odd, until I realized that the other use for the cable was to lift and move the large bales of hay. The cable must be connected to a winch of some kind in the other room. That meant that if the winch were turned on, I would be pulled off my feet to dangle in the air by the rings in my nipples.

"No wonder Smith and Jones were so proud of their little innovation," I thought. "Kinky devils. If I were wearing the collar instead... I'd be hung by the neck. Damn! That's probably what they did to the other girls to break them and get them to cooperate in the videos. They let them hang until they gave in and did whatever they wanted. The choice would be between cooperation and strangulation. Maybe they did other things to them while they dangled by their necks. I take back the part about 'kinky devils'. These are some sick bastards."

I was facing the back wall when I heard a door open down the hall. A gust of air came in, carrying with it the worst stink I had ever smelled. It was an awful acrid odor that felt like it was eating away the inside of my nose. I wanted to pinch my nostrils shut, but I couldn't with my hands tied behind me. I tried breathing through my mouth, but that way felt like I could taste the stink.

Smith and Jones felt the same way I did. Smith held a handkerchief over his face, while Jones fanned the air with one of the photographic reflectors. It helped, but not a lot.

Smith took the cloth away long enough to choke out, "Hi, Roxy." Jones just coughed.

I looked to see who Roxy was and was startled to see someone clumping down the hall wearing a moon-suit with an air-tank strapped to the back. It was one of those white, full-body things you see Hazardous Material crews wearing at a clean-up site. Whoever was inside must have been wearing it so they could work in the horrible atmosphere of the room at the end of the hall without being asphyxiated.

"Meth!" I thought. "They're running a methamphetamine laboratory, too. They've got that suit so they don't have to vent the place and stink up the neighborhood. This must be the person they call the 'cook'."

I was going strictly by what I had got off the TV news. I had never been personally exposed to meth, or 'crank', or any other slang names for the drug. The only stories I had heard at school were about kids who got sick from taking it and had to be hospitalized. I had no idea the size of the problem locally, but I knew a small amount of the stuff was worth a lot of money. First extortion, then kidnapping and illicit videos, now hard drugs. It looked like these people were into just about every kind of crime that would turn a buck.

"What kind of warped person manufactures something that ruins lives?" I wondered as I watched the figure in the moon-suit unzip and unstrap.

Off came the headgear, the respirator mask, the tank of air, the boots, and the bulky suit. All the gear was carefully hung up in a shallow closet close to the door to the lab and the cook shut the closet and came down the hall to see the fresh meat that Smith and Jones had brought in.

I was stunned. She was incredibly beautiful. She had the same kind of face that Helen of Troy must have had — the classical beauty that sculptors have been trying to reproduce in marble for thousands of years. Under the protective suit, she wore just a brief top and a pair of bikini panties, both of which were soaked with sweat and clinging to her body.

Her walk was grace in motion. Every movement seemed choreographed. Her raven-haired head didn't bob as she walked, but her full, round breasts jiggled beautifully. They seemed to be trying to shake off the clingy cotton cloth and I suddenly wanted to help them get free. They weren't as big as mine or Mom's, but their shape was as perfect as her face. All of her that I could see — which was most — was perfect.

The goddess walked right past Jones, Smith, and the video camera that Smith was pointing right at me, as though they didn't exist. She stopped in front of me and looked down at me from only a couple of extra inches of height, but I would have sworn she was on a pedestal.