Corporate Greed

by Studbound

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© Copyright 2002 - Studbound - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/m; bond; kidnap; tape; gag; reluct; X

Jammison Peters was a mild-mannered man of average height, forty-five years old, muscular build who kept in shape and held an executive position with the Pembroke Corporation. Pembroke was one of the principal suppliers of heavy machine parts in North America and Europe with hopes of expanding more into Asia. A multi-billion dollar enterprise, it was successful because, as the CEO put it, " wear out, and we replace them!" Jammison Peters oversaw a division that dealt with public relations, advertising, and he also put out the company's weekly newsletter - "The Pembroke Voice."

One topic that caught Jammison's attention was a series of kidnappings that appeared to plague the Pembroke Corporation. Over the last two years five upper level executives had been snatched either off the street or from their homes and held for ransom. Four were men, one was a woman and one of the men had been captured in Europe - the others from places near the corporate headquarters. Each kidnapping had been followed by receipt of a box with the employees clothes and then a couple of e-mails to the company with a demand for five million dollars accompanied by a jpeg photograph of the victim bound and gagged and looking quite helpless. In each case the company had quietly paid the money and the executive had been returned - usually with a tip to someone in the upper levels of the company about where to go and find the captive..

Fascinated by the kidnappings, Jammison had gone out of his way to interview each captive, subsequently running a story in the next weekly newsletter. Filled with applause over the executive's heroism and bravery in the face of danger, Jammison relayed vivid descriptions of the ordeal complete with a richly detailed account of how the executive had been captured, the surroundings where he or she was held, and very exact narration picturing precisely how they were bound, gagged, and held for the few days until the ransom was delivered.

Jammison was pleased with the articles. He had relished the interviews and had asked repeated questions about specifically how the captors tied the victims, what was used to gag them, and what it felt like to be so thoroughly trussed up and kept that way for many days. Each time Jammison felt very aroused and he hoped that his excitement went unnoticed by the executive. He made recordings of the interviews and listened to them repeatedly, finding himself fully erect as he repeatedly reran the tapes, closing his eyes and imagining himself in the place of the captive.

The woman executive Jammison had interviewed over the phone - likewise the man in Paris. The three others he had seen fact-to-face in their offices right in the corporate headquarters building. The best interview had been with Parker Thomas III - the grandson of Pembroke Corporation's founder and the son of its current CEO. Jammison remembered sitting in Thomas' posh office probing about the kidnapping. He had in front of him a print of the photograph showing the approximately thirty-year-old Thomas spread-eagled on a bed, his mouth covered with silver-colored tape, stripped to his white bikini briefs.

"What did it feel like being restrained and gagged?" Jammison had asked.

"Well, it's hard to describe," said Parker Thomas slowly. "I don't suppose anyone can fully understand unless one had himself been tied up."

"I suppose not," said Jammison disappointed a little.

"Have you ever been tied up Mr. Peters?" asked Parker Thomas III.

"No, never," said Jammison, a touch of disappointment showing in his voice.

"Not even as a child in kid's games?"

"No, never. I guess it's something I'll personally never know," he said with a sigh.

"Well," said Thomas, "it's an unusual feeling, not being able to move much, feeling the tight ropes holding you, unable to speak with something filling your mouth and the wraps of tape keeping it there - you reduced to pathetic moans and groans. It's like nothing else you might experience."

Jammison squirmed in his chair, subtly adjusting his pants to accommodate his rapidly rising erection. He hoped Mr. Thomas didn't notice.

Jammison had run the pictures of all five executives in the newsletter, although he had to blot out parts - especially the woman's breasts which showed clearly in the picture of her as she sat bound to a chair. There was considerable chatter around the company about the kidnappings, and Jammison even interviewed a few others recording their feelings about such happenings. A surprisingly large number of people commented to Jammison on how much they liked the articles and the unusual depth of detail they revealed.

Nothing happened for about six months, and Jammison, along with everyone else, more or less forgot about the kidnappings - news being what it is, stories come and then quickly disappear from the collective memory.

One Thursday evening on a warm summer night, Jammison Peters walked out of the exercise room located on the main floor of the condominium where he had lived since his divorce. He had the night free - no date for a change, and he decided to work out. He thought of Friday night when he would take Valerie to the opera, and then a late dinner followed by some spirited and enjoyable sex at either her place or his. He smiled to himself thinking of her soft full breasts when it happened. Two figures came around the corner – both dressed in dark clothes and ski masks, which struck Jammison as odd on a warm summer night. Out came the gun and the caution that he should go quietly and quickly and he wouldn't be hurt.

They escorted Jammison to a waiting car driven by a third person - one figure sat on either side of him in the back seat and as the car drove away, the men tied Jammison's hands, then blindfolded him with a strip of tape. Wearing only a tank top, nylon shorts, jockstrap, and Nikes, Jammison sat patiently waiting to see what would happen. 

They drove for a long time - silence. Jammison didn't protest or ask what was happening. He knew. He was being kidnapped. His heart raced. He was in for the thrill of a lifetime. He would spent three or four days tied up, and then be returned to his company. It was a dream come true.

When the car stopped the three figures led Jammison inside some building or something, up two flights of stairs, along what seemed to be a hallway, and into a room. There they removed the tank top, the nylon shorts and the Nikes. Then they retied Jammison's hands in front of him. Wraps of tape covered the rope and also Jammison's hands and fingers. Next they tied his elbows behind him pulling them tight so that his now bound hands were held firmly against his stomach. Another rope secured to his wrists went up around behind his neck and down in front to his wrists where it was also tied. A third rope started from his bound wrists and went down between his legs on one side of the bulging jockstrap - up in back and over the rope that held his elbows and back down and up through his legs on the other side of the manly bulge and back to his wrists. Finally more tape covered the rope on his wrists and hands.

Next they bound Jammison's legs - at the ankles and above and below his knees. A soft voice, probably a woman Jammison speculated, told him to open his mouth. The hand inserted a soft spongy wet object that filled his mouth. He was told to close his mouth. Wraps of tape followed circling his head front to back. Next he was guided, lifted, and laid on what he felt was a bed. His heels were drawn up in back and rope secured his legs to the rope that held his elbows - pulling his heels so that they almost touched his back. He could hardly move. 

Someone removed the tape that covered Jammison's eyes. After he adjusted to the low light, he looked around. The room was Spartan at best - the furniture old and the place smelled of mildew and mould. The bed was only a mattress on an old metal frame. It might be an abandoned hotel or one of the many flophouses that littered the city's crumbling downtown area. The three figures were still there. One was taking more rope and securing Jammison to the bed so that he couldn't squirm or wiggle off of it. Another held up a camera. When he was alone, fully tied, there were two flashes from the camera. One of the figures went over to a plain wood table on which sat a very old television set. The man or woman turned on the set, black and white. When the picture came on, it tended to roll now and then, but it was viewable. The figure turned up the volume so Jammison could hear. Then all three left, closing the door behind them. Jammison was alone, stripped to his jockstrap, bound, gagged, tied to a bed.

It was wonderful. Jammison loved it. He squirmed feeling the tightness of the ropes against his body. He struggled, tried to move as much as he could, savouring the restraint. He shouted into the gag, moved his head about trying to see if there was any weakness - any way to spit out whatever it was that filled his mouth. There was not. He noted the completeness of the bondage. His hands were covered with light strapping tape that surely wouldn't give and it covered the ropes that held him. Apparently wide strapping tape also covered his mouth. It was most complete and efficient. He noted the swelling that caused the pouch of the jockstrap to stand out from his body. Obscene evidence of his pleasure. He could never remember feeling such divine physical gratification. He vowed to himself to explore the sensations to the fullest. It was everything he had ever imagined and more. He was in paradise.

Jammison now and then watched the little television set, going through the late night talk shows, and on to a couple of movies that weren't very entertaining.  News came on in the morning. At around nine, according to the television announcers, two figures, still dressed in black, came into the room. They released Jammison enough to take him to the bathroom, removed the gag and fed him, re-gagged him and returned him to the bed as he had been. Silently they left.

Jammison waited for the evening news. Maybe there would be a report of his kidnapping. He was disappointed. Nothing. Shortly after the news, the three figures came, again took him to the bathroom, fed him, re-gagged him and again left him trussed up on the bed exactly as he had been the first night. And again, he loved it. God, it was wonderful. He wondered how long it would take for him to be tired of it, if ever. 

That evening, after a second full day bound and gagged on the bed, Jammison watched the news certain that he would hear his own name and reports of his kidnapping. So he was startled by the lead story. In deeply serious tones the announcer began, "Authorities today have arrested three executives of the international Pembroke Corporation. Parker Thomas III, son of the CEO, Parker Thomas Junior, First Vice President Austin McCloud and the head of accounting, Rafael Jamanez were all indicted for fraud. The three have more or less admitted to staging kidnappings of executives, including Jamanez and Thomas in a clever plot to collect for themselves the ransom moneys, which they convinced the board and officers to pay. Parker Thomas Junior was unavailable for comment but through a representative said that he was very disappointed in his son. Apparently the three, and others who have yet to be arrested, staged the kidnappings complete with photographs of the victims. Then sat by and collected the money which they divided among themselves. Much of the twenty-five million dispersed as ransom so far has been recovered. Thomas announced that only the fifth person was actually held for any amount of time, and that there was currently a sixth victim, Mr. Jammison Peters who disappeared two days ago. (At this point a Jammison saw a picture of himself bound and gagged, on the screen). Thomas and Jamanez said that they contracted through an Internet chat room for Peters and the previous victim to be kidnapped and held. They maintained that they had never actually met the hired kidnappers who have apparently fled the city and they had no idea where Peters was being held. The police are now looking for Jammison Peters but have no leads at all on where in the city he might be. In other news ..... "

Jammison Peters squirmed around on his bed. No wonder nobody had come to feed him that evening. He worked with his hands to see if he could free them. No luck. It slowly sunk in to Jammison what had happened, and the position he was in. Before the news program Jammison Peters had feel the euphoria of bondage – his fantasy come true. He had revelled in the captivity, the tight bindings and the effective gag. Now suddenly a wave of new emotions rolled over him. Fear and Panic.

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