The Abduction

I tried to talk but couldn't. I grunted. My whole body hurt from that punch. I don't know how long I lay curled on the bed. Slowly, the pain subsided to manageable. I finally got up. Amy helped me to the sink and I got some water. What seemed like several hours later, I was moving around the room with a semblance of normality.

I suppose that it was my apparent recovery from the gut-punch that triggered another beep from the device. This time, the screen said, "TRY AGAIN BLOW JOB."

Amy looked at the screen until it went dark. Then, she looked at me. "I guess I had better do it," she said. Amy gently pushed me into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She knelt on the floor in front of me. She took a deep breath, pushed my legs apart, and began stroking my dick.

Amy had a marvelous light touch that distracted me from the pain that had made a home just below my ribs. As I started to get just a little firm, Amy reached under my balls with her other hand and began running a finger just behind my sack. That had a stimulating effect. When Amy began softly blowing on my dickhead, I really got hard.

Amy wrapped her right hand around the middle of my shaft. She let out another deep breath and leaned forward. One of Amy's features that I had always thought was especially beautiful were her lips. Watching those lips close around the head of my dick was, well, incredible; notwithstanding where we were and why we were there.

Amy moved my dick in and out of her lips several times, which felt great. She then took me deeper into her mouth and began to use her tongue. Amy obviously had some skill at doing this. Before I was ready to shoot, Amy looked up at me. I could read the message in her eyes. She wanted me to fake coming and she'd fake swallowing. Ok, I could do that. I started to breathe harder as part of my ruse.

Someone apparently appreciated our intentions. The device beeped. Amy let me out of her mouth while we read "COME ON FACE." Amy looked at me, shrugged, and took me back into her mouth.

It didn't take Amy much more effort to get me to the point of coming. I pushed on her forehead and she let my dick out of her mouth. I shot my load squarely in Amy's face. While that might have been exciting had it been consensual, I felt like shit shooting semen into such a beautiful face under these circumstances. The other issue was that we had nothing for Amy to wipe it off with.

Amy stayed on her knees in front of my dick until I finished coming. Then, she got up, went to the sink, and washed herself off. She let water drip off of her face for a time before she rubbed what was left into her skin. I got up, walked over to her, and whispered very softly, "I'm sorry."

Before Amy could respond, the damned device beeped again. This time, the screen said, "GOOD EAT HER."

Amy I and looked at each other. "I guess that's fair," I said. This time Amy sat on the edge of the bed and I knelt before her. I spread her thighs apart and looked at her vulva. I know that it sounds weird to say that a woman's genitals are beautiful, but Amy's are. Part of me was thrilled to give oral to someone that beautiful. Part of me was sad because I knew that Amy would never consent to me going down on her.

I thought for a moment. I decided that, if Amy had to go through this, I'd try to make it as pleasurable for her as I could. I moved my head between her thighs and began flicking her clit with my tongue. After a few moments of that, I started sucking her clit. When I sensed Amy reacting, I kept her clit in my mouth and worked my tongue farther into her, searching for a spot she'd react to. Thankfully, I found one at the outer reach of my tongue. I alternated between that spot and her clit. The circumstances notwithstanding, it was one of the more pleasurable things I had done to that point in my life.

Amy began breathing harder and squirming. I hoped that I was actually stimulating her. As I kept going, her pelvis started bucking. I glanced up at her face once. Her eyes were closed. Finally, Amy clamped both thighs hard against my head. I sucked her clit hard as she said, "Oh . . .Oh . . .Oh . . .Uh!" After a moment, her thighs relaxed. Although I really was in no hurry to move from between Amy's legs, I leaned back and then stood up. Amy looked up at me. For the first time since we'd been kidnapped the day before, Amy smiled.

After a few moments, Amy gestured for me to sit beside her on the bed. In a very low voice, Amy asked, "You didn't mind doing that?"

I softly replied, "Of course not. Even if we're being coerced, it's a pleasure to give oral sex to a very beautiful woman."

Amy said, "Michael won't do that. I've asked. He thinks that putting his head between my legs is disgusting."

"Amy," I said, "there is nothing between your legs that is at all disgusting. You are beautiful all over."

Amy giggled softly. "You're just trying to get into my pants," she said.

"You're not wearing pants," I replied.

"I guess you're halfway there," Amy said.

Something started to change between us after I had given Amy oral. Amy stayed closer to me. That was fine with me. I had no problem being close to a very beautiful naked woman.

Amy and I also started to talk. Not the commiserating about our situation or the mindless stuff of the day before. This time we talked about ourselves, what we valued and despised, our ambitions and hopes, our like and dislikes. While there were differences between us, there were also a lot of things that Amy and I shared. Where we disagreed, Amy had a rational explanation for her views which I could easily respect.

When it seemed like evening, we went to the refrigerator and shared more sausage and cheese. We also ate some grapes that were in the fridge. Amy pointed out that a bruise was forming where I'd been punched earlier that day.

Some time after we'd finished eating, the text device beeped again. There was one word on the screen: "FUCK."

I looked at Amy. She gave a slight smile. "If we've got to," she said, "we might as well enjoy it." She lay back on the bed and spread her legs. I got on the small bed above her. Amy used her right hand to guide my dick into her. I started pounding Amy fairly vigorously. She pulled my head towards her face so that my ear was beside her mouth. "Slow down," she whispered, "we've got nothing but time and each other."

I slowed down and let Amy set the pace. Although it was all done in a whisper, she was very good at telling me what she liked and what she wanted me to do next. She was also very active, from moving her hips to using her hands on my ass to gently biting my nipples. When I pulled my head back and looked into Amy's eyes, I got the impression that she was enjoying herself.

We slowly worked ourselves towards a crescendo. As Amy signaled me to speed up, I found a spot on the front wall of her vagina that she seemed to like. I thrust my dickhead at it consistently, which had the advantage of forcing my shaft against her clit. As I did that, Amy bucked her hips more energetically. Finally, she put her left arm on my back and her right arm behind my head. She pulled me to her tightly. She whispered, "keep . . . going . . . right . . . there." I tried hard to hold the spot and stay in rhythm with her hips.

I could feel myself getting ready to shoot. Thinking about pregnancy, I tried to pull out. Amy wrapped her legs around me tightly. She was no longer whispering. "Come . . . in . . .ME!" The last word was a cross between a shout and a moan. She hugged me so forcefully with her legs and arms that it actually hurt. A second or so later I did, in fact, come in Amy.

Once I had come, I started to get off of Amy. She held on. "Stay . . . right . . . there" she gasped. She was sucking in a lot of air and I could feel her heart pounding. I stayed on top of her and in her. As her breathing slowed, she let go of my head and kissed my cheek. I pulled my head up so that we were face-to-face. We kissed on the lips, for a long time. The text device beeped. We ignored it.

I awoke the next "morning" on my side with Amy in my arms. I've always believed that, if you really wanted to know whether a woman is beautiful, you should see her asleep, when she isn't consciously trying to create an impression. By that test, Amy Rollins was an exceptionally beautiful woman. I looked at her face until her eyes finally opened.

I was heartened by the fact that Amy smiled just after she opened her eyes. It looked like she was starting to say something but then changed her mind. After a moment, she asked in a normal voice. "What do you think they're doing with all of the cameras?" I'd counted a total of 12 around the room, including the one of a swivel in the center of the ceiling.

"Broadcasting us on the Internet, I suppose," I replied.

A little gleam came into Amy's eyes. "In that case," she said, "we'd better give them a good show." She stroked my morning hard-on. "On your back buster," she said. I rolled onto my back and let Amy mount me.

My rational brain, which had not completely stopped functioning, realized that there was some psychological process going on. Our captivity was causing Amy and me to bond. My irrational brain was thinking that she cared for me.

In fact, as our captors had obviously intended, there wasn't much else for us to do besides sex. Amy and I made a tacit agreement that our captivity would be more pleasant if we surrendered to that reality.

We spent most of what I counted as our third day exploring each other's bodies. We paid attention to pubes and tits, but also spent time on each other's backs, necks, feet, arms, and faces. By what I thought of as late afternoon, we had worked up an almost unbearable sexual tension. We were standing in the center of the room when Amy began stroking my dick. Once I was hard, she said, in a very arousing voice, "fuck me, now, hard" and led me to the bed.

This session was not like the slow, tender lovemaking of the evening before. This time, we banged each other. The session was shorter, but very intense. Once again, Amy insisted that I come in her.

What seemed like a couple of hours after we'd finished fucking, the small sliding door in the bottom of the big door to the outside opened. Two small boxes of carryout pizza were pushed into our room. Taped to one box was a typewritten note that said "GOOD JOB." We gratefully ate the pizza. When we were done, I shoved the boxes under the bed. I hoped that they'd be forgotten and might provide evidence of who our captors were whenever we got out of there.

The days went on. Amy and I found new things to do with each other. We spent one day playing with each other's assholes. Again, this probably sounds weird, but Amy has a very alluring asshole. On her own initiative, Amy discovered that a prostate massage got me very hard and, when she persisted, got me off. We spent much of another day masturbating ourselves for each other to watch. I'd never seen anything as erotic, or as beautiful, as seeing Amy Rollins orgasm.

Between episodes of sex, we talked. There wasn't much else to do. We ended up confessing our deepest thoughts to each other. I had admired Amy before we were kidnapped. Listening to her and talking with her over those days drove her way up in my estimation. She was an intelligent, articulate, kind, and caring person who was also a drop-dead gorgeous woman.

Fortunately, we had not seen any of our captors since I'd been gut-punched the second day of our ordeal. I still had the bruise. Every couple of days, the small sliding door would open and more food would be pushed in, although we never got pizza again. After the second day, the text device stayed silent. I guess that we were giving our captors what they wanted without prompting.

I said "ordeal," and it was. We were being held in a small room against our will. However, if you managed to ignore that overriding fact, there were positive aspects to the experience. I was in close quarters with a beautiful and intelligent woman who was always naked. We had basically nothing else to do besides have sex. We both put effort into giving each other pleasure and, as time went on, we got more creative.

I had lost count of how many days Amy and I had been locked up together naked or what time it was. By our reckoning, it was mid-morning when the small sliding door opened and a male voice called, seemingly in jest, "Hey! Anyone in there?"

Amy and I answered in unison with a loud "YES!"

We heard the voice say "What the fuck?" and another voice, farther from the door, said "Oh shit!"

Amy yelled, "Please don't leave!"

The voice asked, "What the fuck y'all doin in there?"

I let Amy talk on the theory that a woman was less threatening. She said, "I'm Amy Rollins. Harry Stone is with me. We were kidnapped from the City. Please call the police!"

The voice said, "Yeah, we heard about y'all. Didn't figure you'd be anywhur around here."

The other voice said, "Shit. It's going to take bolt cutters or a torch to get them outta there."

The first voice said, "They really got y'all locked up. There's a big ass iron bar across the door with the biggest padlock I ever seed."

Amy said again, "Please call the police."

The voice said, "Yup, Ma'am. We'll do 'er straight as we get to our truck. Ain't no cell phone work out here."

Amy added, "Please ask the police to bring us some clothes. The kidnappers took all of ours."

"Really?" the voice said.

I'm guessing that it was an hour later when the small door slid open again. A more authoritative voice asked, "Are you folks Amy Rollins and Harry Stone?"

"Yes," we both said.

"I'm Deputy Spencer with the ____ County Sheriff," the voice said. Two orange bundles were pushed through the door. "We brought you some clothes," the Deputy said. "Sorry, but jail jumpsuits are all we have. We've got some folks here with tools to get this door open. It may take a while, but we'll get you out."

I picked the jumpsuits off of the floor and handed one to Amy. She looked at it for a second then looked at me. "I was getting pretty used to being naked," she said, "but, I guess that we better get dressed."

We each put a jumpsuit on. Naturally, mine was too big. The legs extended almost to my toes and the sleeves went past my fingers. Amy's jumpsuit was, probably, a size too small. It did nothing to conceal her figure and it was obvious that she had nothing on underneath. She looked very good.

The Deputy had left the sliding door open so we could hear the discussion outside as whomever was there tried to get the door open. Finally, we heard a voice say, "I don't have bolt cutters big enough. We're going to have to get an acetylene torch out here."

Deputy Spencer called in to us. "Uh, whoever locked you up didn't want to make it easy to get you out. We're going to have to bring some other equipment out here. Sorry, this is going to take some time."

Some time later, we heard a truck engine approaching. We heard multiple voices and metal hitting against metal. We heard the hiss of a gas flame. Finally, a voice said, "That's got it" and the door outside swung open.

Deputy Spencer was a fairly young-looking man who was somewhat intimidating in his black uniform shirt, grey uniform trousers, and grey "Smokey Bear" hat. He had photos in his hand. He looked from the pictures to Amy and me. With a slight smile, he said, "You look like Rollins and Stone." He looked around the room. "Someone put a lot of work and some money into this," he said with some amazement.

Deputy Spencer led us outside and put us into the back of his patrol car, behind the wire mesh screen that protects the driver from prisoners in the back seat. "We're going to the Sheriff's office in Winston," he said. "A couple of City detectives are there. They'll take you home."

At the Sheriff's Office, Amy and I were fingerprinted. We'd both been fingerprinted when we'd applied to be admitted to the bar so there was a record for comparison to confirm our identities. We were introduced to Detectives Jack Robinson and Karen Wellman. Detective Wellman explained, "Ms. Rollins, we'd like you to ride back to the City with me. Mr. Stone will ride with Detective Robinson. It is the best part of two hours back, if traffic cooperates. Hopefully, we can get your interviews done on the drive."

I understood that the Detectives wanted to interview Amy and me separately to see whether our stories were consistent with each other. Detective Robinson asked me to get into the back seat on an unmarked Dodge. On the two-lane out of Winston, the Detective told me that we had been "missing" for 15 days.

When we reached the divided highway going back to the City, the Detective held up a small recorder for me to see. "Do you mind if I record this?" he asked. "I need both hands to drive," he explained. "This thing will pick up everything that both of us say. That way, I can get the interview out of the way instead of waiting until we're back at the station where I can take notes." I readily consented to being recorded.

It was almost 6:00 p.m. as we approached the far eastern suburbs on the City, not far from where I'd grown up. The drive took over two hours. During that time, Detective Robinson had me take him chronologically through everything that had happened, starting with that morning two weeks ago in our firm's reception area. At times, the Detective asked for greater detail. He covered the key facts two or three times. I disclosed that Amy and I had sex while we were prisoners. Thankfully, the Detective didn't press for details about that.

Police headquarters were just north of downtown, only a couple of miles from the office where Amy and I worked. When we both got there, Amy and I were put in a waiting area while Detective Wellman and Detective Robinson talked in another room. After twenty minutes or so, Detective Wellman came into the waiting room. "We're satisfied that you're both telling the truth, as far as you know it," she said. "You can go home."

Detective Robinson came out carrying two paper bags. "Here are your clothes that we took from the law office. Ms. Rollins, your purse is also in there. Everything's been checked by our forensic folks, but your keys and wallets are there. You can get dressed in the washrooms. We'll send those jumpsuits back to ____ County. We've got uniformed officers to drive each of you home."

There were separate officers to drive each of us home. Once we were dressed in normal clothes, right before we left the station, Amy took my hand and held it. We looked into each other's eyes but didn't say anything.

The officer driving me knew where he was going without asking. As he let me off in front of my apartment building, he said, "I know that they searched your apartment, so don't be surprised if things aren't where you left them."

"Did they find anything interesting," I asked in an attempt at a joke.

The officer smiled. "They wouldn't tell me," he said, "but, they let you go home."

After more than two weeks locked up with Amy Rollins, my apartment seemed like something from the distant past, like looking at my high school yearbook. It also seemed very empty. The police really hadn't disturbed things much, but they also hadn't left any groceries. Everything in my fridge was spoiled. I walked down the street to one of those mid-market chains for a beer and an over-priced burger.

Oddly, I did not sleep very well in my own bed that night. I called the office first thing the next morning. My department head told me that the police had informed them that Amy and I had been rescued. Under the circumstances, he graciously allowed me to take the rest of the week off.

I very much wanted to reach out to Amy. I had to find out whether the connection we had made while we were kidnapped was, as I thought likely, just a product of that circumstance or whether it could last. I remembered that Amy had mentioned that she had wanted to see the road show of a Broadway musical that was coming to town and had been frustrated that she'd miss it. I went online and found out that the show was in town but was closing that coming weekend and that tickets were sold out. A ticket broker had tickets for $ 350 each.