Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (27 page)

      
Bibi
screamed a gag muffled “yes, yes, please.”

      
“Who
sent you?” the voice whispered, while the expert hands, now both of them,
worked at
Bibi’s
dripping apex, one at her asshole
and one still buried in her cunt.

      
“Are
you a cop?”

      
“
Nahhh
,
nahhh
,”
Bibi
yelled into the leather plug.

      
“Did
Luther send you to spy on us?”

      
“
Nahh
,
oooh
,
nahhgh
,”
Bibi
cried, still struggling as another finger
penetrated her ass and roamed around inside her now stretched rectum. “
naghaha
…..”

      
“Are
you sure?” the woman said more loudly, emphasizing the word ‘sure’ with a
double thrust of both hands into
Bibi’s
cunt and ass.

      
“
Uhu
,
huhhh
,”
Bibi
yelled, shaking her pinioned head wildly.

      
“Okay.
I believe you. You are too dumb to be from Luther and I don’t think the cops
would send a girl to do a man’s job. So…..” and she rapidly began to massage
and tweak the girl’s swollen and aroused clit while digging deeper into her
ass. It was only a few seconds until
Bibi
, already at
the threshold of climax, went rigid and shook, her extended fingers and toes
shaking and vibrating as she came and came and came.

      
The
violating hands stopped their action, one cupping
Bibi’s
liquid cunt and the other slowly withdrawing from her ass. The woman tormentor
worked
Bibi
like a fine musical instrument, removing
the digits of stimulation so slowly that the girl experienced yet another
orgasm as the fingers in her ass eased the knuckles through her clenching
sphincter and lightly tickled the edges of the aperture, while all the time
slowly withdrawing.

      
Bibi
slumped in her bonds; totally exhausted and still
trying to get a mental grasp on what was happening. Somewhere, something she
had done had triggered this extreme response on the part of these fools. People
didn’t abduct an inquiring woman just for the hell of it. And who the hell was
Luther?

      
The
photo was probably the key to all of this, which meant that she had found
someone who knew something about Lucy’s disappearance and was not troubled in
the least about kidnapping
Bibi
as well in the interest
of security. These people apparently had the daring and the motivation to take
her and interrogate her and, it suddenly occurred to
Bibi
,
kill her if they were so inclined. Why? What had been the trigger for this
overt action? Perhaps these were the same people who abducted Lucy and she had,
just by chance, discovered them. Was that possible? If so, it was certainly a
very long shot.
Bibi
tugged again at her clamped
wrists and ankles, then relaxed and, oddly enough, fell asleep, still pinned to
the wall like a collected bug. Above her in a small metal shed, the three men
who had attacked her sat around nursing their wounds, drinking Dutch beer and
watching, for the fourth time, the videos they took of
Bibi
chained to the wall. The one with the broken jaw was still in considerable pain
even after his visit to an emergency clinic and dental surgeon where he told
them of his accidental collision with an opening steel door. The second man had
his ribs taped up and was not feeling much better either. The third, a taller
man with a shock of light blond hair, was still wondering if he would ever have
sex again if and after his balls were back to their normal size. Sitting
against the metal wall of the shed was the fourth member of the group, the
young woman who, arriving on the scene in the nick of time, clubbed
Bibi
with a lead sap, hitting her just right behind the ear
and knocking her out cold. She resourcefully bound and gagged
Bibi
, helped her injured colleagues back to their van and
then loaded
Bibi
into it as well. As soon as they
were moving away from the scene, she took the large-faced Bell & Ross watch
from
Bibi’s
left wrist and administered a sedative to
make sure she wouldn’t cause any further havoc. If
Bibi
had been able to see them there in the light, she would have immediately
recognized the
ompah
band members who got off the
train with the tuba case.

Gstaad

      
By
the following Tuesday, agent Groff was becoming concerned that she hadn’t heard
from
Bibi
for three days. She was sure that this
meant something, but the last contact the two had did not indicate that
anything was wrong or that either was any closer to finding a clue to Lucy’s
fate. On Wednesday, Groff flew, at client expense of course, to
Gstaad
and visited the major hotels. She was not surprised
to discover that Lucy and Fabian had in fact stayed at one of the top hotels,
the Palace, not the Grand, as Ernst stated. She was even more pleased to
discover, after offering a substantial incentive of a hundred Swiss Francs,
that Marian
Garano
, the hotel photographer,
recognized Lucy and her handsome male partner. Groff wasn’t surprised either,
after she saw the photos, as to why the photographer remembered the couple so
well. It was Fabian who caught the female
photog’s
attention, not Lucy.
Garano
, a full-blooded, large
breasted, Italian in her early twenties, zeroed in on Fabian and simply caught
Lucy in her pictures as a necessary accompaniment. The photographer said she
was certain that she had some more proofs of the couple and for another hundred
CF, dug into her digital files and came up with three more photos showing Lucy
and an attractive, tanned, movie-star type young man. One shot was in the hotel
dining room. The two were elegantly dressed, Fabian in an Armani tuxedo and Lucy
in an extremely revealing, black sequined dress that displayed her more than
adequate cleavage and stopped an inch short of her crotch. They sat at a table
for two with a nearby ice bucket prominently displaying a magnum of
Roederer
Cristal Brut champagne. Three leering members of
the restaurant staff were serving what had to be a near overdose of caviar with
all the accompaniments.

      
The
second shot was in the hotel lobby with Fabian holding a long, smoldering cigar
and Lucy in a very tight-fitting ski jumper with front zipper opened to the
waist, smiling broadly at the camera and once again showing plenty of tanned
breast and leg. They looked like they had just come in from the nearby ski
slopes. The third shot was of Lucy alone on the hotel porch, in tight Tyrolean
sweater, black Lycra leggings and knee-high fur-lined boots. She looked less
than pleased and, based on the finger she extended, was telling the
photographer to take a hike. For a mere seventy-five CF, Groff purchased copies
of all the photos, instantly printed on the photographer’s laser color printer.

      
So
, thought Groff as the chartered
Pilatus Turboprop flew her back to Frankfurt.
We now know whom she was seeing and that could be a breakthrough.

      
That
afternoon she called Ernst and told him of her discovery, then faxed the photos
to him. Von Holt said he did not know Fabian but would do some research on his
own to see if anyone in his large private and corporate circle knew the young
man. Groff cautioned him to the effect that they didn’t want to tip off any
possible conspirators and requested that he not circulate the photos beyond his
immediate family quite yet. Von Holt objected, but agreed to follow Groff’s
guidelines.

      
Meanwhile,
Bibi
still had not checked in and Groff was now
concerned. She phoned
Mickeal
D’Assandro
,
another associate in Amsterdam, gave him the list of rental firms that
Bibi
was supposedly working and warned him to be very
careful on the possibility that
Bibi
 
had stumbled into a hornet’s nest.
Mickeal
was a former Dutch Infantry captain, skilled in
firearms and martial arts and knew how to handle himself, but he took Groff’s
caution seriously and, before heading for Utrecht in his Audi A4, armed himself
with a .40cal
Glock
automatic and several full
magazines. He also put a black gun with collapsible stock and 250 rounds of
ball ammunition into a locked compartment behind the rear seat. He was licensed
to carry a gun, as well as a black handled MAKORA, an intimidating, illegal,
out the front (OTF) automatic knife, which he kept in his boot.

      
The
second stop he made smelled bad to him. It looked more like a junk yard than a
rental agency, it was in an area that was unlikely to attract much business and
the signage was almost non-existent, as though whoever ran it really didn’t
want anyone making stops or inquiries. These same elements which had alerted
Bibi
too late made him drive past twice and then park
further down the road and approach the building with caution. He walked in and
said he wanted to rent a large truck and was told by the jerk at a beaten up
old desk that none would be available for a week. He asked if they had another
location and was told that their renovation and repair facility was in the
southern part of the city, but that he’d get the same answer there. He thanked
the clerk anyway and drove to the location, discovering that it was on the site
of an old windmill. What remained was the stone foundation with a small
corrugated building on top of the base. The original tower was gone. The fenced
in yard contained the skeletons of several vehicles, most of them in various
states of cannibalization. One newer looking Mini Cooper S looked oddly out of
place and
Mickeal
considered that
Bibi
was supposedly driving a Mini when Groff last heard from her. That was enough
to get
Mickeal’s
interest renewed. He photographed
the car from a distance, took more shots of the rest of the place, and then,
lacking anything else to do, wandered into the rusting sheet metal building.
Going through the unlocked door without knocking,
Mickeal
found himself in a poorly lit room populated by three young men, all sporting
bandages, cuts and bruises, sitting on folding chairs with a deck of cards,
some paper money and half empty beer bottles in front of them on an old wooden
table. Dozens more empties surrounded the trio on the floor. Clearly, they were
all in various stages of drunkenness and did not seem to appreciate
Mickeal’s
company.

      
“We’re
gshlosed
,” one of the men, the tall blond with long
hair in his eyes, slurred at
Mickeal
.

      
“Oh,
really?” said
Mickeal
, moving inside the door and
looking around, then putting his back to the wall and staring at the blond.
“I’m looking for my partner,
Bibi
. Cute girl. Big
tits. Eyes like a cat. Tattoo on her left tit. Seen her?”

      
“No
broads here,” said a dark man in the corner, reaching for his beer but picking
the bottle up with the base turned outward. “The last bitch left an hour ago.
Now get out.”

      
“No
way to treat your customers, fellow,”
Mickeal
said,
putting his hand in his pocket and slipping the safety off the
Glock
. “If you haven’t seen
Bibi
,
what are you doing with her car in your lot? Huh?”

      
The
Dark Man got up from his chair, knocking it backwards and smashed the bottle on
the table edge, holding onto the neck and coming forward with it poised as a
weapon.
Mickeal
noted that he wasn’t moving very fast
and then saw the tape around his ribs and the open shirt.

      
“I
wouldn’t do that, man. I really wouldn’t,” said
Mickeal
as he removed his hand and the
Glock
. The man kept
coming.

      
His
first shot caught the Dark Man in the left leg, just above the knee, but close
enough to the joint to cause him to tip over backwards and begin to scream as
he dropped the broken bottle and grabbed his shattered leg.

      
“Where’s
the girl?”
Mickeal
asked, moving the gun toward the
Blond.

      
The
Third Man, the one with the heavily bandaged jaw and who had stayed very still
throughout this time, waved his hands in front of him and mumbled something
unintelligible through clenched teeth.

      
“What?”
shouted
Mickeal
, moving the
Glock
from one man to the next.

      
“She’s
downstairs,” said The Blond.” We didn’t mean anything. She came snooping around
and we thought we’d teach her a lesson. She’s okay. She’s here, in the
basement. Don’t shoot me, please,” shouted The Blond.
    
The Dark Man continued to scream.

      
“Get
her up here now,”
Mickeal
shouted. “And you,” he said
pointing the gun at the screaming Dark Man, “shut up, unless you want a
matching hole in the other leg.” The Dark Man stopped screaming and settled
down to a continuous low whine.

      
The
Third Man got up cautiously.
Mickeal
aimed at The
Blond, saying, “Not a twitch out of you.” The man froze. “You got handcuffs?”

      
The
Blond nodded slowly and slowly produced a set from his back pocket.

      
“Cuff
yourself to the radiator pipe over there. Slowly,”
Mickeal
ordered. The man complied and
Mickeal
walked over,
tugged on the cuffs and the pipe, satisfied that the Blond would stay put while
he went to the cellar. “And you,” he motioned to the Third Man. “Don’t do
something stupid as I would be delighted to put a few more ten millimeter holes
in all of you. Move nice and slow because I’m right behind you.”

      
The
Third Man nodded his bandaged head, keeping his hands up and moving towards the
door to the cellar. “Ay
oodendt
tink
of it…” he hissed through a wire jaw.

      
Bibi
heard the shot, even though she was well below ground
and more or less insulated from the rest of the local sounds. She was thinking
of the last few days and wondering if someone was finally coming to save her.
The experience of being a kidnap victim wasn’t new to her and neither was the
bondage. When she had nothing else to do, she and a few other girl friends
often ventured into Berlin’s underground S&M scene and even though
Bibi
considered herself a neophyte, she had been through
enough encounters with both men and women to know the ropes, so to speak. That
past spring, on one of their adventures into the old eastern bloc of the city
she and another girl, a ravishingly beautiful redhead, had mistakenly agreed to
a one
nighter
with two cute and apparently harmless
guys who said they were from a local university. Too much alcohol, plus too
much foolish trust and drugs resulted in the girls finding themselves abducted
by a youthful gang, tied up and thrown into the back of an SUV. They were
driven into the countryside somewhere further east and taken to a large old
house where they were strung up by their wrists in the main room, stripped,
gagged with their own underwear in a very creative fashion, and left standing on
their toes for the night. After stuffing panties into their mouth, the men used
the girls’ bras to hold them in. The bra was wrapped twice around the head over
the mouth and then clipped, forming a unique and effective sound-stopper as
well as erotic head bondage. The bra shoulder straps were pulled up over the
top of their head, placing the bra cups over their eyes, making an imperfect
but partial blindfold as well. Their captors used ordinary rope to tie their
hands over their heads, tight enough so that they had to stand on tiptoes to
ease the strain. Their ankles were tied together and a longer rope was fastened
between them, restricting any possible leg action or kicking. Struggle as they
could, neither girl got loose, they stayed where they hung, silently weeping
and cursing into the panty, and bra gags.

      
When
the men returned much later, they had two more captured women who were
similarly bound and gagged. The captive foursome was told that they would
remain there until their abductors decided what to do with them. They also
implied that when they tired of the women, they would be sold to some Russians
who traded in girls much like some people traded stamps and coins. The picture
as the bound women saw it was both frightening and bleak. No one would find
them and none of the women had left anything to indicate what had happened to
them.

      
The
weekend passed with each of the girls being systematically cut down, tormented
with cigarettes, canes and various whips. Beaten into stunned submission, they
were then raped repeatedly, sodomized and finally hung back up with the others
who were being entertained by the skillful manipulation of a braided,
eight-foot horsewhip. Each girl was raped and whipped while the others watched.

      
When
her turn came,
Bibi
was instructed to perform a
blowjob on one guy and so her gag was removed. Appearing to be unstable from
being tied up and whipped, she kept falling over when they placed her on her
knees. She said she hurt so badly from the whipping that she needed her hands if
she was going to perform to their satisfaction. The man responded by freeing
her bound wrists and ankles. Kneeling in the middle of the candlelit room,
Bibi
began her task.