Holding her for ransom

Even i am a realistic man. I recognize that there are some fantasies that are not feasible. I'm someone who cringes at the statement: "Some things are best left as fantasies." I've always caustically railed against that. Speaks of laziness, fear, perhaps even self-doubt. Besides, most people who i've heard utter this remark offer fantasies that i deem tame enough to attempt (i.e none of them have the fantasy of making a bridge of foreskin across the English Channel). I believe rather than dismiss your fantasy as poison one should never consume, recognize it for the native energy and passion that it is, having been borne from your thoughts and neuroses. That being said, i am a realistic man. I have a rather intricate (read: detail-heavy) and therefore nearly impossible fantasy (read: too much propensity to spin out of my control).

I want to kidnap my girl.

I remember when i first learned of the Patty Hearst kidnapping, and the term "Stockholm syndrome", the idea of abducting someone, torturing them to the point where they would eventually offer you their allegiance and loyalty, something stirred very deep within me. I admit to feeling this same way when i've heard on the news of other females kidnapped (and thankfully not harmed). I viewed it as an exercise in absolute surrender. She, my victim, would be forced to, as a way to preserve herself, exist how i wanted her to, how i allowed her to, eventually losing what she had hoped to defend.

I recognized this was a dark, dark fantasy, but i also realized i never wanted to indulge in this without the victim's consent. It only sustained any of its stimulation at the point where i assumed all victims exhibited signs of the "Stockholm syndrome". Present a danger (the abduction, any weaponry used to enforce it), and practice heroism (spare her, show mercy, etc.) and she will gladly do your bidding. This was SM 101, as far as i was concerned.

Many obstacles exist for me to attempt in full glorious technicolor my kidnapping scenario. First of all, we live in a day and age (i.e. war on terror) where our neighbors' attentions are piqued for suspicious behavior. There have been enough times where, as a result of the heightened security, i have been put under unnecessary scrutiny by the TSA to save me and my girl from our own vacationing kinky perversions. I don't even want to test my common citizen's ability to absorb the latest crime-fighting tactics they've viewed on television. Secondly, I do not own a car. Transporting my victim would laughably be reliant upon public transportation or a hired car, which means transporting a bound, gagged and blindfolded damsel may arouse some severe alarm from even the most disinterested livery driver. Thirdly, this scenario seeps heavily with roleplay. I am not acting as my girl's dominant. Instead, i am a complete stranger, a fugitive who must create the possible fear that implies i may mean harm, and she must dissolve into this character, be it the 'bank teller, the 'school marm', the 'traffic cop' or whatever.

Accepting these limitations, i have assembled a decent collection of kidnapped-inspired sessions ranging from interrogation scenes to bouts of torture until she broke down. The most recent took place on an innocuous weekend afternoon, where my girl was lazing on the couch in the calm air of a gentle and mild day.

I snuck up behind her, and thrust a pillow case over her head, quickly securing it in place with a locking wire strap (the plastic kind cops use in place of metal handcuffs) i tightened around her neck. i pushed her over onto her belly, and held her arms above her head, as she squirmed, fighting against my aggression; shocked, uncertain, and definitely a little petrified. I ripped off her shirt, pulling it over her hooded head. I quickly removed her bra, tossing that to the floor. I lassoed her wrists down behind her back with one tight strap. I affixed another just below her elbows, squashing them together. I pulled her upto her feet, then walked her down along the hallway to the back room. I held her up as she stumbled along the way, gasping through the pillowcase, to the point where a moist oval darkened the spot where her mouth lay beneath the fabric. I threw her on top of the bed, onto her stomach, then pulled off her skirt and now completely damp panties. Bending her legs up behind her, i pulled out two more wire straps and bound her ankles to where they rested on her thighs.

I didn't say a single word to her the entire time.

I took my time retrieving a knife, letting the chain of events sink in. A period of eight minutes passed. I could hear the sweet evidence of her struggle while in the other room. The first thing i did upon my return was to lace another strap in between her lips and around the back of her head, gagging her, pulling more of the cotton pillowcase into her mouth, further heightening the stakes. I stood over her, giving space to a silence that separated her from i.

I reached out and touched her naked form. She jerked. I ran my hand up and down her side, letting my fingers trace the spectrum of her curves. I replaced my fingers with the single, thin blade of the knife, dragging the sharp surface gently across her flesh. She jerked again. Her minute gyrations told me she could tell the difference between these two implements. I turned the point into her side, pressing with a little force until she took notice and stopped. I traced the sharp metal down to her thighs, reaching the knee, then boomeranging back up to her bound ankles. I spread her legs wider, to reveal her glistening cunt and quivering fuckhole.

She could feel where i'd turned my focus, pondering the weapon in my hand, and could not contain the unwillingness to let this proceed without protest. She pleaded through her gag, straining all the muscles in her hips and thighs. I slapped her hard on her ass cheek. She froze. I drew a sinister line with the knife along her inner thigh, upto the darker flesh of her mound. She held onto any reflexes that might move her opening as i traced around it, alternating between softer and harder touches. I spread her glistening lips with the blade, looking deep into the heaving slit. With a flick of the wrist, i ran the blunt edge against her asshole and up her crack. She yelped. I slapped the flesh of her butt three times. I lubed up her asshole, then quickly forced a medium-sized buttplug inside, which appropriately did not receive any objections.

I left her again, to let her body adjust to the penetration, further sinking her into subliminal despair. I'd return shortly, pulling her open crotch to just the edge of the bed, to claim my ransom.