The Wrangler: The only thing standing between the beautiful kidnapped heiress and death was -- The Wrangler. (3 page)

The Wrangler had checked himself. No arterial bleeding. He'd bandaged his wounds with some cut up bedsheets and headed out, pausing only to call in a 911 about the place from the remote phone they'd planned to set up the ransom drop with, so the kidnapee would be rescued. He didn't try to collect the ransom -- getting medical attention seemed more germane.

The main reason kidnapees tended to survive when the Wrangler was involved in a job was that they didn't tend to have a chance to give him any trouble. If they had a chance to given him trouble, and they took it, their chances of dying went up sharply.

Christine was giving the Wrangler no trouble, for the same reason most of his charges didn't give him any trouble -- she had no chance. Naked, vulnerable, blinded, gagged and deafened, she was unable to move and unable to communicate.

Christine did some rational thinking while she was lying naked and bound to the bed. What else was there for her to do? She figured this was a kidnapping for money. Her father had warned her never to travel alone. She knew there were bad people out there, but she hadn't thought they'd gotten all the way to Savannah. Savannah had always felt safe, not like New York or L.A.

Christine now realized she was wrong about that.

Well, if they were kidnapping her for money, her father had plenty of that, and he'd pay up for her, although he'd be royally pissed about it. So the only thing to do -- the only thing she could do -- was try to ride it out as best she could until she was released by the kidnappers.

Of course, things might not work out. Or they might be planning to kill her from the beginning. That was a scary thought, first time she had it. Then she had a happier one. They probably weren't going to kill her, because if they were going to, they probably already would have done so. After all, so long as she was alive, she might escape. Dead, she was much less of a problem for them.

Then Christine had an even happier thought -- the fact that they had gone to so much trouble to keep her blinded and deafened and helpless was further evidence that they didn't intend to kill her. There would be no point in concealing their identities and locations and so forth if they intended her to wind up with a bullet in her head.

Those were scary thoughts to have to think, but given her circumstances -- naked, bound and gagged -- they were oddly comforting.

Of course, even if they didn't intend to kill her it didn't mean that they didn't intend to do other things to her. Like rape. She didn't understand why her captor had stripped her naked and then left her. She'd been expecting rape when she was secured to the bed after going to the bathroom. In fact, she'd been crying under the hood, expecting rape. And when her captor spread her legs so wide, she'd felt SURE it was because he intended to rape her.

Well, he didn't intend to rape her, apparently, because he left her alone, stretched out like that. She thought she was alone, too, but she couldn't tell because the white noise made the small noises people made when they moved around in a room invisible. For all she knew, the men were sitting around her in a circle, looking at her and masturbating.

That was such an odd thought it almost made her laugh. Under other circumstances, it certainly would have.

Christine had been tied up by a couple of boyfriends during sex play, but it had always been strictly voluntary and of short duration, with her deciding how long the duration was.

And of course she had not been in terror of her life. That made this a VERY different experience. Having no idea when she would be untied or what would happen to her when she was made the experience screamingly intense, and not in a good way. Nothing at all like the mild pleasures of consensual bondage with a boyfriend.

There was also the pain. Her body had cramped much worse in the trunk in that nasty hogtie. But at least she had been clothed. And at least her legs were bound together. Lying with her legs spread so far apart was painful, but it also made her feel incredibly vulnerable. She only laid with her legs this for two reasons: sex and gymnastics.

It did not occur to Christine that she might have been chained with her legs spread apart specifically to make her feel vulnerable.

Christine waited for what seemed like many hours but was not nearly that long. In her sensory-deprived state, she had no way to keep track of time, so it passed very slowly.

When she felt a hand casually slap her shin, Christine's entire body jerked in an involuntary start. She couldn't help it, her nerves were on hair trigger.

The hands were the same ones that had handled her before -- they had a certain quality of assurance in the way they moved.

The hands unbuckled the shackles that held her feet spreadeagled. Then they rolled Christine over onto her stomach.

Ah, she thought, they were turning her. She remembered one of her friends who'd volunteered at a hospital for a time talking about turning bedridden patients over so their bodies didn't develop bedsores. How professional.

But they didn't leave her lying face down and spreadeagled as before. Oh, it started out like that, with her ankles once again cuffed to the corners of the bed. But then her captor took a rope and ran it over her shoulders and across the back of her neck, coming forward and down under her armpits, then under her body where he secured the ends to the foot of the bed. But before he pulled the rope tight, he took a thick heavy cloth of some kind -- probably a towel -- and slipped it between the rope and her shoulders, so that the rope wouldn't rub her skin raw. He also pulled Christine up so that she was kneeling on her knees, with her face pressed into the bed and her ass hiked into the air. When he tied the ropes down she discovered she was locked in that position -- she could not slide her torso forward because of the rope halter around her shoulders, and she could not stretch her legs out because of the ropes around her knees and ankles. And she couldn't move her torso backward because of the rope at the tip of her head harness that secured her to the headboard.

She was just as helpless and just as displayed as she was a few moments ago. She couldn't get her knees close together because of those ropes, either.

Still, it was nice to be able to change position. But she was beginning to wonder if she hadn't been kidnapped by some kind of bondage freaks. All those ropes on her -- it seemed like a lot more rope than they could possibly need to keep her tied down.

That thought was unsettling. She would much rather have been kidnapped by professional kidnappers who would release her as soon as they had the money than by some wacked out sexual freaks who might want to keep her around a long time and do all sorts of things with her before ... before ... well, that didn't bear thinking about.

Christine was busily thinking about that which didn't bear thinking about when she felt a hand on her butt. She knew immediately it was not the one who tied her up. Or thought she knew. The touch was entirely different. It wasn't the assured, professional touch of the other one, almost like a nurse's touch. It was more of a caress.

It WAS a caress. The hand was moving all over her legs, then her butt. It probed the cleft of her butt and then probed the cleft of her vaginal lips.

Christina found herself going, "No! No! No!" yelling the word at the top of her lungs, but the ballgag and the way her face was pressed into the bed rendered the word unintelligible, a muffled exclamation that meant nothing.

At least, it meant nothing to the man who fondled her and the climbed onto the bed behind her. Kneeling behind her, he reached forward and fondled her breasts, squeezing and pulling on her nipples. Then he plunged his fingers into her pussy. He didn't really jab them in there, but he didn't work them in slowly and carefully either. It was more like he was a mechanic sticking a dipstick into an engine to check the oil level.

He pulled his fingers out a minute later and smelled them with one hand while masturbating himself to erection with the other. It smelled right, the bitch was ready, or at least, ready enough.

He wasn't quite hard yet so he returned his hand to Christine's exposed pussy and began working his hand in and out and around, probing he pussy and also her anus with his fingers.

This did nothing to arouse Christine, who was mindlessly struggling against her bonds by this time. It was futile, there was no way she could escape the many coils of rope that held her in place -- in fact, the Wrangler had done his job so well that she couldn't even hurt herself in her struggles -- but she wasn't thinking rationally. The horror of what was being done to her had overcome her, and she only knew that she wanted to be OUT of this situation NOW.

As the daughter of a very wealthy man, all she had ever had to do in her life was express a desire to be out of a situation loudly and forcefully enough, and she was out of it.

But now although she screamed "NO!" the ropes and the men who had put them on her paid no attention. She was helpless to resist what was being done to her.

And what was being done to her, finally, was rape. She felt a familiar blunt probing at her pussy. Then she felt it working its way in.

She was no virgin, she knew that feeling, but it had never felt so much like an invasion in her life.

Once he had it all the way in her, he started vigorously ramming it in and out of her. She'd been vigorously fucked before, but never like this -- never by someone whom she had never even seen, someone who might kill her when he finished with her.

Christine didn't respond sexually to his assault, she was too terrified to feel anything like that. As her "partner" got into his stroking, she was forced to respond physically. When he rammed his whole pelvis into her backside, it shoved her whole body forward, straining her shoulders against the rope harness that held them, and her knees and ankles against the ropes that held them. She understood now why the man who'd tied her up had put a towel under the ropes across her shoulders -- that's where most of the force of his thrusts went, and if it weren't for the towel under the rope, it would soon have rubbed her skin raw.

As it was, she very quickly had sore, aching shoulders from the pounding she was taking. Soon she was grunting into her gag every time he thrust forward, not from pleasure but as a simple physical response to his thrusting. Her hands and clenched and unclenched in her bonds. Christine wasn't even aware she was doing it, it was a totally unconscious physical response, as was the way her toes arched. It was all she could do to protest the assault being visited upon her, so she did it.

When her captor came, grunting so loudly that she cold make it out over the white noise, and thrusting hard into her, all Christine felt was relief. When he slapped her butt and pulled out of her, she was so glad it was over. He climbed off the bed, and as soon as he was off the bed, she lost him -- she couldn't hear him or see him.

Christine just lay there and sobbed into the gag. She wanted to curl up into a ball, but she couldn't, the ropes held her in the same position she'd been in while being fucked, kneeling, face down, her ass hiked in the air, her legs spread wide, her arms helpless behind her back.

But now the rope around her shoulders was really painful, and she writhed and wriggled her upper torso in an attempt to get more comfortable. Christine did not mean to look appealing when she did this, but a naked woman writhing, for whatever reason, generally DOES look appealing, as Christine discovered when she felt a finger probing her pussy. There was no subtlety, no fondling, just a finger thrust into her from nowhere.

Christine started again, though not as completely as she had earlier. She cried because she knew what the finger must mean. Another one.

Christine continued to cry into her gag, but to no avail. Her current captor began running his hands all over her body, leaving no part unfondled and unprobed. He even felt the thin ridges of her lips around the ball gag.

But he gave special attention to Christine's breasts, pussy and anus. Once again, he did not arouse Christine, but clearly it wasn't a problem. Almost as an involuntary response, her butt clenched when he probed her pussy and anus, and that made her whole body writhe, and that turned her captor on.

In a little bit, Christine felt his cock probing her pussy. Then he was in her pussy. Then he was fucking her, just like the one before him, driving his cock into her like a piston while she helplessly took it. It was as if all she was, was a hole. Her body once again struggled uselessly in its bonds. She didn't seem to have any more control of it. Her physical helplessness had engendered a sort of mental helplessness.

Christine had been told by a boyfriend that the term "fuck" originated from an Old English term "fokken" -- to strike repeatedly. At that moment she fully understood what the "fokken" derivation was all about. Her butt was held up, splayed open, unable to retreat in any way, while her captor's cock pounded repeatedly at it. She was thrust forward against the ropes with every stroke, and all she could do was moan and grunt and writhe.

Then he sent his finger probing into her anus. Her anus clenched reflexively at his touch, but he kept pushing, and with a burst of pain he got his finger in her. He continued to fuck her vigorously while probing her ass with his finger.

She did not like having things stuck up her butt, but it did not matter. She was a roped animal, as far as these men were concerned.

Her second captor was taking a lot longer to come than her first did. She wanted him to come, but there was nothing she could do to either make him come faster or slow him down. She might as well have been watching it on videotape for all the control she had over it.

No, that wasn't true. She could have stopped a videotape.

When he finished there was just a sudden cessation of the pounding. She felt his finger pulled out of her butt, then his cock out of her pussy, then she felt some shifting on the bed and that was it. She was ... so far as she knew ... alone once more.

Her shoulders now hurt abominably and so did her pussy and her knees and ankles where they were roped. At least the leather hood kept her face from being abraded against the bed.