Vanishing Act

by Richard Alexander

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© Copyright 2001 - Richard Alexander - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; kidnap; slave; bondage; bdsm; n/c; XX

Vanishing Act
I snapped awake in an instant.  It was one of those rare moments when the body, aware of an unseen danger, seems to rise to the height of alertness in a fraction of a second.

In that fraction of a second I knew there was someone else in the room, before I had even opened my eyes and found myself blinded by the beam of a torch.  Time seemed to slow, and I caught a harsh intake of breath and the smell of cigarettes on clothing.  But however slowly time seemed to pass, I found myself unable to react against this unknown enemy until a rough hand pressing down a strip of tape over my mouth stung me into a response.  By that time, the man – for I knew at once that my assailant was a male – was on top of me, pinning my body under the bedclothes.

I reacted without thinking at this point, feeling the pressure of his knees on the blankets and my arms.  I tried to buck him off with my lower body and legs, but the bedclothes held me back, making my efforts feeble and ineffective.  As I did this, I began to feel the effect of the tape over my mouth, for neither could I scream or gasp for air.  Struggling to move my arms, legs or torso, I could put up little resistance other than to make wild ‘hmmming’ noises through my nose, all the while shaking my head and struggling as best I could under the bedclothes.

I was terrified, to say the least.  I was not able to rationalise who this was and why it was happening to me.  Burglary, rape and murder were words that flashed through my brain, and each spurred me to a greater frenzy of thrashing about and trying to heave the weight off my body, but to no avail.  Breathing only through my nose starved me of the air I needed to fight off this intruder.  He said nothing, but I could hear his own heavy breathing as he fought to subdue me.  The torch kept flashing in my eyes – he was obviously wearing it on a headband – until a hand gripped my hair and another piece of tape was slapped over my eyes.

This blindness panicked me even further, and I must have paused, to try to gather my wits at that point.  The momentary respite was all he needed, for a second later my head was on the receiving end of more duct tape, this time wound around and around, over eyes, over mouth, then vertically around my chin and head.  It was no clinical job, encompassing hair, ears and all, but it was tight and very scary and at once I knew I was in real trouble, for I was not going to get the tape off in a hurry. 

Then my head was released.  I was making pitiful moans now, realising the sudden deterioration in my circumstances and the fact that I was not going to fight off this man, blindfolded and gagged as securely as I was.  I was now pleading, I realised – if the pitiful whimpering escaping through my nose could be classed as such.

There was a further pause at that point.  I could hear the man panting and the blood pounding in my ears.  We both halted our struggles, trying to regroup and gain some form of composure.  My attacker had still not said anything, which scared me as much as anything.  I could smell his breath  - stale cigarettes, which made me recoil, to the extent I that I could.

Then he eased himself off me, and once again I went wild, bucking and flailing under the blanket, trying to get my hands free so that I could go on the attack, but he was too quick for me.  In a mess of sheet and nightshirt I was rolled over and he was again on top.  This time my taped head was buried in the pillow, making me forget all else in an effort to continue breathing.
The next steps, I now realise, were entirely predictable, and looking back I know that the battle had already been lost.  I had no hope from this point, and the dragging down of the bedclothes and the handcuffing of my wrists behind me were but a formality.  I knew there was nothing I could do, and that there was no choice but to submit to whatever this person had in store for me.  Further fighting was only going to get me hurt.  Unconsciously I knew I had no choice but to bide my time and look for an opportunity, a moment in which to escape or flee.

The blankets were then pulled off fully, and I felt the cool night air on the backs of my legs.  The man rolled me over again, on to my manacled wrists, ignoring the whine of pain I made, then swung my bare legs over the edge of the bed such that I was sitting up, my head wrapped in tape in what was now my own private world. 

He stood me up, smoothing down the maroon satin nightshirt I wore.  His hands ran roughly over my body, kneading my breasts through the soft material and toying with my nipples.  I was aghast when they hardened up, feeling my body betray me in a way I did not expect.  I had experienced bondage before, of course, and I make no bones about it being a turn on, but those circumstances had been different – a controlled environment where rules existed and a ‘safeword’ could bring things to an end.  That had all been many months ago in Sydney, before I had cut my ties and moved north to the sunnier climes of Brisbane.  Nobody here knew my ‘safeword’.  A desperate, hopeful humming of  ‘happy birthday’ through my nose only got me a slap on the face.  It did not really hurt, through all the tape, but it shocked me into silence. 

I stood there, feeling the reaction starting to set in.  I was shaking like a leaf, my wrists making little rattling noises in the handcuffs.  Suddenly the room appeared to have become very cold.  The roving hands had stopped and I did not know where he was or what was happening.  I turned my head, trying to locate the sound of movement, but all was silent save the continued pounding of blood in my ears and my own ragged breathing.  I could still smell the stale cigarettes.  He was near me, I knew.
“Urghh?”  I ventured.  A slap on the face.  My ears rang.  He was standing in front of me.
“Shut up, you little slut!” a voice hissed in my ear.  It was deep and sharp, filled with menace.  I jumped, so sudden and unexpected were the words.  The voice was like nobody I knew, destroying the remote possibility that someone from a distant relationship had somehow tracked me here to play some sort of cruel joke.  I would never mistake this voice again, I knew at that point, so much was it now etched into my brain with those few words.

Pressure came with fingers grasping my nipples through the satin, pulling me downwards.  Blindly I obeyed, sinking to my knees with trepidation.  Strong hands grasped my shoulders and laid me face down on the carpet.  The same hands quickly bound my ankles tightly with some sort of cord and rolled me on to my back.  I felt the cold touch of the steel bed leg against my thigh before my ankles were abruptly hoisted into the air and the ankle rope was tied to the top of the bedframe at one corner.  The bedframe itself is wrought iron, with waist high frames at the head and foot.  I now found myself bent at the waist, with the lower part of my body naked as my nightshirt slipped back to my waist.

My sexual vulnerability really came home to me at that point.  My face burned under the tape, in part no doubt with the blood rushing to my head, but in part also due to my awareness of being exposed in front of my assailant, who now slid his hand down my thighs to the triangle of soft hair.  I squirmed and whimpered.  Was he going to rape me there and then?  Did he have a knife? 

Then came the soft tread of footsteps on the carpet and the bedroom door opening and closing, and I knew I was alone.
I lay there for perhaps ten minutes, unable to stop trembling.  I had never been so terrified in my life.  The thought of what might lie ahead gave me no comfort, the unknown nature of it playing havoc with my imagination.  My feet were starting to go numb under the painful tension induced by the weight of my legs hanging from the rope tied to the bed frame.  I tried to ease myself into a less stressed position, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.  I wondered how long he was going to leave me like this? How could I attract someone?  Where was the phone?  How would I ever reach it.  And Jesus, I was going to the States tomorrow! 

It was odd how something as totally illogical as missing a flight popped into my head.  Here I was in a potentially life-threatening situation and I was worried about upsetting my travel plans.  I squirmed on to my stomach, my breasts crushed against the floor, then tried to arch my back sufficiently to get my hands up towards the ankle ropes, but they came nowhere near.  On to my back again, panic adding a desperate impetus to my contortions as I tried to pull my body weight upwards, resting on my shoulders and bending my knees in an effort to get my hands close to the knots.  The room was now hot, what with my exertions, and I could feel the sweat trickling through the maze of tape around my head with my inverted position.

Then he was back.   I was pushed down smartly and my ankles caught with a jerk.  I cried into the tape, but it came out as a muted nasal whine.  Then my ankles were undone and I was hauled to my feet.  Standing in my dark world I felt more duct tape go around the material of my nightshirt above my right elbow, before it was drawn hard against the left one, after which more turns of tape locked the elbows hard against each other.  Then the handcuffs came off and my wrists were taped palm to palm – tape which then enveloped my hands and fingers right to their tips.  God I had never had my arms bound so immovably before.

This man was obviously the duct tape king, for there was more tape around my body, above and below my breasts, welding my arms immovably to my torso, followed by further bands tethering my wrists against my buttocks.
Without a word I was pushed on to my knees again, and then laid face-down.  My legs were bent at the knee and more of that dreadful tape was wound around the length of each thigh, wrapping my lower leg, ankle and foot hard against it.  After five minutes I was virtually unable to move, save to open and close my bent, bound legs, which I decided was not a good idea.

There was a faint squeaking sound, like that of a rusty trolley wheel.  I was lifted bodily and placed face down on to some sort of board.  One end of it came to just under my chin, while the other end appeared to end just beyond my bent knees.  It was barely as wide as my body, and predictably enough more tape came out, enveloping my body and crushing it to the board.  I finally lost it at this point as my immobility hit home to me, and I began to scream again. 
Of course it wasn’t exactly going to wake up the neighbourhood.  My jaw was bound tightly closed and my mouth was sealed very effectively.  All I could do was make as much noise through my nose as I could, kind of like a loud discordant humming. 
“Urrrnnh!  Urrrnhh! Urrngh!”

It was really not a bright idea, and that was what he told me, right after he had smoothed a piece of tape over my nostrils.
I went berserk at that point, shaking my head and trying to throw my body about, but the former was the only part I could get to move.  I strained to breathe in, or to blow the tape off, but it was futile, and I knew I was suffocating.  I was barely aware that I was making faint peeping noises that even the tape couldn’t cover, but that was the least of my problems.  My lungs were on fire and I knew I was going to die.  So this was what it was like, I thought desperately.  God, what a way to go, to die trussed up in a bedroom at the hands of a madman…

Then came a glimmer of hope, the merest whisper of air dragged greedily into my lungs as the sharp point of a knife pierced the tape over each nostril.
“You can do it the hard way,” the voice hissed, “or the easy way.  It’s your choice, Jan.  What’s it to be?”  The knife gave a small twist and I felt the coldness of steel against my nose, as more glorious air rushed into my lungs.  I was snorting and gasping so much the implication of the fact that he knew who I was almost passed me. 
“Are we going to behave?” said the voice again.  Desperate, exhausted, I nodded. “I’m quite prepared to seal one or both, again.  You really don’t want that, do you, girl?”  Miserably, I shook my head.

Whether it was that movement that brought on the next act, or whether it was all part of the master plan, I don’t know, but I then felt some sort of frame, like one of those handles on a small pull-along suitcase, positioned either side of my head, with a bar alongside each temple.  The inevitable tape secured my last movable body part and I realised moments later that the comparison with a pull-along suitcase was indeed apt, for I discovered that there were wheels at the bottom of the board as I was tilted at an angle and towed behind my captor.  Oh no, I thought, realising that the stairs outside my bedroom lay ahead.
I was petrified as I became nearly horizontal and descended the stairs behind him with a series of thumps that shook me to the core.  I could do nothing but endure it, of course, and I became conscious of the fact that we were now in the closed in area under the house where my car was parked.  There came the familiar grating of the latticework door and then a faint breeze rippled across the few bits of me not covered in tape.  I suspected another vehicle would be parked in the drive, and I was not wrong.  I heard what sounded like a van door opening, and I was hauled up a ramp into the interior.  Several ropes were fastened across my body until the trolley and I were immovably secured inside the van.  He placed another piece of tape over one nostril and I momentarily panicked again. But then the door closed and we were on our way…where?

The trip seemed to take forever, like we were doing a tour of Brisbane.  There obviously wasn’t much traffic at this time, which I presumed to be in the early hours of the morning.  I tried to focus my mind on opportunities to escape, like the possibility of being pulled over for a random breath test, but even had that happened, I could not make enough movement or sound to attract any attention, of that I was sure.  Breathing only through one nostril forced me to relax and take measured breaths as calmly as I could.  I did not feel calm at all.  I was shit scared as to what was going to happen to me.  The physical limits of my situation were also starting to make themselves felt, with cramps starting to manifest in my shoulders, arms and legs.  Each bump transmitted itself through the floor of the van into my body.  I was sure I felt the successive thumps of the expansion joints of the Storey Bridge – or was it the Riverside Expressway?  Where was he taking me?

At length we were there.  The engine stopped and in my dark, rigid prison I felt my stomach begin to churn again.  The doors of the van opened, my trolley was untethered and I was wheeled down the ramp like a piece of luggage.  There were several bumps up steps, then the sound of a door opening, then closing after we had entered the room it served. I was pulled some distance into the room then lowered to the floor, where the tape binding me to the trolley was cut and that over my nostril removed.  I heaved a sigh of relief, but my position was no less strained.  I was picked up at this point and deposited on my side on a hard bed.  I involuntarily bent into a foetal position, just to ease my limbs, but this really made little difference, so tautly was I bound.  I whined through the tape.

“Get used to it Jan,” came the voice, speaking softly next to my ear. “This is your new home.  You are going to be here a long time, during which you will learn to cooperate with me and provide me with everything I ask for.  If you do this, maybe you will survive.  If not, well… “ He paused, his deep voice full of implied menace.  “I’ll leave you now.  Plenty of time to get to know each other.  Relax and enjoy your bonds for a few hours.  I need some sleep.”

Which was how I came to be in my new home.

Vanishing Act continues in
Chapter One
updated: 26.06.02

story continues in