by Jennifer Harrison
Helen Baxter walked towards her car, letting the stresses and strains of another day slowly fall from her shoulders. She was employed as a teacher in an exclusive private school, her dream job since she had been a child, but the hours were surprisingly long - they paid really well but expected her to work plenty of hours for it. It was dark as she headed for the car park, well past 7 PM on this blustery March evening. But she didn't mind, she got incredible job satisfaction from her work, and now she had the Easter break to catch up on marking, lesson plans, a little down time…
She had almost not gone down the path into teaching because of her looks. At the age of 14, she had been spotted by a modelling agency and signed up on the spot - she was tall, thin, with gloriously long blonde hair, and an elfin face which the camera loved. For a couple of years, her head had been turned by the money and the ‘glamour’, as she moved from clothes for young people to haute couture and the catwalk. But she had been ‘saved’ by the late development of a serious set of curves as her breasts grew to a respectable C cup and her hips widened to give her a classic hourglass figure. The only problem with that was, the fashion industry isn't interested in curves, they just want clothes horses to hang their bizarre designs on. Suddenly, the only work she could get was ‘glamour modelling’, which involved taking off her clothes and showing her assets, not something she felt comfortable with.
Luckily, this had caused her to reassess her life and her priorities, and she had refocused on her first love, academic achievement. She had gone to university and got her degree in biology, before taking the teacher training course, and landing the perfect job just a few months ago. She had been competing against equally well-qualified and, in some cases more experienced, candidates but her natural confidence gained by parading in front of fashion audiences had helped her to stand out. She knew that her stunning good looks didn't hurt either, but she didn't worry that she had gained an unfair advantage, it was just a fact of life. She had received a lot of risqué comments in the classroom and unwanted advances in the staffroom, so she felt like she had paid her dues.
She clicked the remote to unlock her car, then opened the boot to put her bag and books in. Suddenly, she felt herself being grabbed from behind, an arm around her waist pinning her arms to her sides, and a hand clamped across her mouth and nose to keep her quiet. She tried desperately to break free, and kicked out behind her, trying to catch her assailant a nasty blow on the shins, but she couldn't wriggle out of the firm grasp holding her. Worse still, she realised that she was becoming dizzy, and the hand over her mouth and nose was holding a cloth, soaked in some sweet-smelling liquid which was affecting her ability to concentrate. She redoubled her efforts to escape, but she was rapidly losing her strength and ability to control her body, as well as her grip on consciousness. Every breath pulled in more of the noxious fumes which were sending her into oblivion, but she had no choice, her assailant clamped the cloth so tightly she could not get any air other than that which had passed through the cloth, which was tainted by the knockout drug. Gradually, her body became limp, her eyes closed, and she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She regained consciousness slowly, still very woozy from the drug. She was sure that she had been abducted, and her first tentative exploration of her current predicament confirmed her worst fears. Her arms were pulled tightly behind her back and, as she struggled, she could feel the ropes around her wrists and elbows which ensured that she could not move them beyond a useless waggling. She could feel ropes biting into her legs as well, around her thighs, just below her knees, and around her ankles.
As she moved her head, she realised that something was covering her face from her chin to the bridge of her nose, held in place by strong elastic behind her head. She decided it was some kind of dust mask, and underneath it was a cloth, presumably the cloth which had been used during her abduction, because she could still smell the sweet aroma of the drug in her nostrils. Although most of the anaesthetic had dissipated, there was still sufficient to keep her feeling confused and weak as she turned her attention to her surroundings.
She was in pitch dark, but she had a pretty good idea where she was. The tight pile of the scratchy carpet underneath her, the steel walls she felt as she stretched out her feet and as she reached behind her, but most of all because of the noise and constant rocking of her prison, she was certain that she was in the boot of a car. The alarming thought struck her that it might be her own car - maybe this was a carjacking? But then, she reasoned that the chloroform and her abduction indicated something far more serious. She also realised something else - that tight pile, scratchy carpet was rubbing against her bare leg, her bare shoulder, and her bare midriff. As she rolled over, she felt the carpet scratching against her bare breasts. A quick feel around with her bound hands revealed that she was completely naked.
Now her imagination ran wild, envisioning all kinds of gruesome fates which might await her at the end of this nightmare. She tried to block them out, as she was scaring herself silly, preferring to struggle uselessly against her bonds.
Eventually, the car slowed and the ride became bumpy, shaking Helen around alarmingly in the enclosed space, before finally coming to a halt. She heard a door slam and felt her heartbeat race as the seconds passed without a sound. Then she jumped as the boot lid popped open, allowing strong light to flood in, temporarily blinding her. A dark shape loomed over her and she felt herself being manhandled out of the car.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice indistinct behind the mask, but quavering as she was lifted up and put over the man’s shoulder. She had seen only dark clothing, and a black balaclava mask, completely covering his features, scaring her even more.
“What are you going to do to me? Let me go, please!” she begged, but there was no response. From what she could see, they seemed to be in some kind of industrial estate full of small units of workshops, all deserted at this time of night. He carried her struggling body towards one of these buildings, ignoring her desperate cries for help, opening the door and taking her inside. She could see that the interior was empty, just bare white walls and a concrete floor, all illuminated by a single fluorescent strip light attached to the centre of the ceiling, and her feelings of terror increased – the place seemed so cold and impersonal , and she projected these traits onto the man carrying her.
He carefully placed her on the cold floor, and she was able to look at him for the first time. His body beneath a black polo neck sweater looked powerful, and black jeans, black leather gloves and black trainers added to the air of menace. The only parts of his body she could see were his eyes and his lips through holes in the balaclava, and those frightened her even more – the eyes looked hard and cruel, the lips thin. She flinched as he reached for her, but he only pulled the plastic mask from her head, uncovering her face.
“Hello, Ms Baxter.” The incongruity of what she had just heard made Helen look in bemusement at her attacker. Here she was, kidnapped, stripped naked and tied up, and she had been addressed as if she were walking down a corridor at school! He obviously knew her, and somehow that voice sounded vaguely familiar. She watched in astonishment as he pulled off the woollen hood…
“Bennet? Tom Bennet?” she said, amazed. Tom was a pupil in her A level biology class, only a couple of months from finishing school.
“What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded, trying to muster as much righteous indignation as she could, given her vulnerable position. She began struggling again, but saw that Tom was just staring at her body and realised that all she was achieving was to shake her breasts alluringly. She stopped, instead glaring at her student, trying to will him to free her.
“I’m really sorry about this, Ms Baxter,” he said, but continued to run his eyes over her gorgeous body, so wonderfully presented in those tight ropes…
“What are you talking about, Tom?” the young teacher asked, the sound of regret in his voice making her even more nervous. “Just untie me, give me my clothes back, and we can pretend this never happened.”
“I can’t do that, Helen,” he replied, reaching out and stroking her shapely thigh, “you’re going to get me to where I want to go in life.”
“Take your hands off me and stop this nonsense at once!” The stern teacher act seemed worth a try at this stage to the desperate young woman. Tom continued to stroke her helpless body, seemingly fascinated by the way the ropes bit into her smooth, creamy flesh. Helen was becoming more and more frightened by his calm demeanour – he wasn’t anxious or over-excited, he seemed in total control of himself – the archetypal psychopath.
“My parents gave up everything to send me to that school,” he said quietly, almost as if talking to himself, “I’m not a spoilt rich kid like those other Hooray Henry’s in school, I’ve had to work every school holiday to make enough money to live. When my parents died in a car crash, there was just enough money to finish school, but now there are tuition fees for university to be paid, living expenses… which is where you come in, Helen.
“You see, I know this guy, someone I met in this really bizarre chatroom on the internet, and he’s paying me seriously good money to bring you to him. He can sell a beautiful woman like you to the highest bidder – a Middle Eastern sheikh, or a wealthy Chinese businessman.”
“You can’t be serious!” Helen cried. “For God’s sake, this is madness! Please! Tom! Don’t do this!”
“I’m sorry, Helen,” the young man replied, taking out a leather strap with a ball attached, “I really don’t have a choice.”
“Please! I’ll give y-MMMPPF!!” Her desperate entreaties were cut short as he forced the large ball roughly into her mouth, lodging it behind her teeth, before buckling the strap tight behind her head.
“Time to get you ready for your onward journey,” he said with a grin. He flipped her onto her stomach, ignoring her muffled cries and useless struggles. He took a moment to run his hand over her perfect peach of a backside, wondering if he has time to sample the goods…
Sighing with frustration as he resisted the temptation, knowing it would be too dangerous to untie her and, anyway, he was on a tight schedule, he bent her legs up behind her and roped her ankles to her thighs. Passing a rope around her slender waist, he secured her arms against her back, reducing her movement still further. As he turned her back, he couldn’t resist groping those magnificently pert breasts, and he cursed himself again for not leaving himself enough time to enjoy his prize fully before she was gone forever. After this brief interlude, he tied another rope loosely around her neck, attaching the free end to the bindings just above her knees, holding her body in a tight ball.
Helen continued to struggle and to cry and beg, even though she knew it was hopeless. Her only chance now was if Tom had a sudden change of heart, or possibly a heart attack. But he looked pretty healthy, and that evil leer on his face as he touched her up didn’t promise an attack of sympathy any time soon. She watched him walk out of the room and return a minute later, dragging a packing case. That’s when the tears started, huge sobs racking her body as she saw the fate laid out for her.
Tom lifted her easily and placed her carefully in the crate, not wanting to damage her now. Helen looked up into his face, pleading with her eyes and shaking her head, begging unintelligibly. In response, he emptied a bag of packing peanuts into the case, filling around her body up to her neck. Moments later, she saw him holding the dust mask, pouring the contents of a small bottle onto the cloth.
“Don’t worry, Helen,” he said as he reached down and put the elastic behind her head, “you’ll go to sleep now, and when you wake up, you’ll be well on your way to your new life, and I’ll be a lot richer!”
Just before he pressed the plastic against her face, she took a deep breath and held it. She had to resist as long as she could – maybe the police would magically arrive! She saw a shadow pass over her and looked up to see the lid of the crate coming down, shutting her into total darkness. As the last of the light was cut off, she let out a wail of despair, expelling the air held in her lungs, to be replaced by the fumes exuding from the soaked cloth. Once more, she felt herself losing her gasp on consciousness, but as she did so, she could hear the nails being driven into the wood above her, sealing her inside her makeshift coffin. What will it be like to be owned like some slave, her addled brain wondered, unable to string coherent thoughts together as the chloroform took hold – no more classes, no more cheeky students, no more marking to do…
Her head fell forward onto her chest, even her random thoughts finally extinguished by the icy fingers of Morpheus…
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.