The Kiss

By Don JulianWinslow

The Collector turned on a spirited little piece by Vivaldi, hummed along as he meandered around the darkened room, leisurely stripping to the waist. He took his time, his fingers working their way down the front of his shirt, deliberately opening each button, unbuttoning the cuffs, peeling the white shirt off his shoulders. Bare-chested, he turned on the overhead track lighting, and set about adjusting the twin lamps to flood the girl displayed before him. Then he picked up a tall wooden stool to move it into place directly in front of his pinioned captive. He poured himself a brandy and then climbed on his high perch, hooking his boot heels over a lower rung, to sit with folded knees elevated, facing the staked-out girl who, still unconscious, was slumped forward in her restraints, her head and shoulders sagging down. A shimmering cowl of soft brown hair fell forward to mostly hide her face. He took a sip from the brandy glass he held cradled in both hands, and glanced at his watch. The Collector was a patient man; he was prepared to wait. It wouldn’t be much longer till the chloroform began to wear off.

Meanwhile, he would use this interlude to leisurely enjoy the sight of the splendidly naked girl who was now in his hands; her young coltish body splayed open, pinned like a rare butterfly against the tilted slab of smooth, vinyl-covered plywood in the pose he especially favored -- arms held up as if in surrender; legs spread open. He had tried out many such arrangements, but he judged this one as best: the girl’s hands, slim and delicate, raised up even with her face; thin wrists positioned on either side of the head, held in place there by leather straps affixed to the board. Similar straps secured her opened ankles to the board, holding her bare feet in a widened stance, thus preventing the captive from closing her legs.

The imposed stance was not so wide as to stretch the legs uncomfortably, but it would serve to make the point when she came to and fully realized how she was splayed out. She would know then just how open she was to this man; her legs spread apart for him, her body completely exposed!

Now he saw the young woman stir, her lolling head rising up slowly, brown eyes fluttering open to find a half-naked man sitting there before her -- watching her with thoughtful gray eyes. At first it didn’t register. Her vision was still bleary from the lingering effects of the chloroformed rag he had pressed to her nose holding it there till she collapsed in his arms and he hauled her limp body into the van. The adduction had taken no more than half a minute, marked by a frantic, flailing struggle that crested in the final moment of panic. That moment had instantly yielded to the overcoming feeling of drowsiness that descended on her like a heavy blanket, obliterating her world as she fell into the abyss.

Joyce remembered little of what had happened, just bits and pieces that came to her, disconnected. Still disoriented, she looked at the smooth-muscled physique of the seated man, her mind struggling to make sense of it all. He was alert, watching for what he saw now as those big brown eyes began to focus and the girl gained a dawning awareness of her situation: spread out, unable to move her arms and legs, and worse, when the full realization hit her like a ton of bricks -- she was stark naked! She let out a howling scream, but only a muted bray came out, and it was then that she realized she was not only tied up but she was also gagged! She was totally helpless, a wildly scared animal driven by instinct. A wave of rising panic flooded over the captive; her eyes widened in alarm and she strained to free her arms, twisted in frenzied rage, yanked hard against her bonds, again and again! But the leather straps held.

The Collector watched her futile efforts with calm unwavering eyes; sat motionless while she brayed her protests in mounting urgency, all the while straining against the leather restraints, small fists working reflexively as she thrashed about in mounting panic. He did nothing, letting her flail about thumping against the backboard, till the futility of her resistance began to sink in. It was hopeless. Tied as she was, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do. In the end she could only give up, and with a final gurgled protest, she fell silent, hanging limply, breathing heavily, regarding him with glaring eyes widened in fear from over the red rubber ball jammed between her gaping teeth.

She was sweating lightly; her face sheened with perspiration. He could almost smell the girl’s fear. He said not a word, just looked deep into those frightened doe eyes…and gave her a smile.

***

“So Amy, how’re we feeling?” His voice, when it finally came, was a soft purr; warm, low-pitched and gently solicitous.

“Ummph!” was the best the poor girl could do by way of reply; a sound of desperation forced with terrible urgency around the hard rubber stopper that effectively plugged her opened mouth.

“Now, now. It’s okay,” he quickly soothed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. No one’s going to hurt you,” he muttered reassuringly.

“How could anyone hurt such a pretty thing? So very pretty…,” he crooned in sincere admiration. His eyes caressed the girl’s splayed-out body: the slender coltish limbs, the slim chest with its small neat breasts, shaped like little champagne glasses with their up-tilted nipples, perky and hopeful; the flat in-sloping belly with the slight hollow just before the rise of the soft mound of a lightly-furred vulva -- all held on open display before him.

His silky words sent a shiver through her, and she watched with growing alarm as he quite deliberately set the brandy snifter down on a nearby table, shifted in his seat, and leaned in toward her. And when she saw him reaching for her, the girl’s head immediately snapped up and to the left. Whimpering in fear, she reared up on her toes, stretching back in an effort to retreat from the outstretched fingers.

His touch, when it came, was surprisingly gentle, no more than a brushing of two fingertips that made brief contact with the side of her face; just a touch on her soft cheek that trailed lightly down her chin and then withdrew.

He pulled the stool a few inches closer, closing the gap between them.

Once again he reached out; she looked down, following his approaching hand which, this time, went to the top of her bare chest. She whimpered into her gag as he pressed two joined fingers there, lightly indenting the soft smooth skin. She stiffened at his touch then quivered as the pads of his fingertips lightly skated downward, curving around to follow the well-defined curve of her left breast. He sampled that tight little breast, lifting the taut jellied mound on his fingertips, using the pad of his extended thumb to lightly rub over the nascent nipple. Joyce cut off a tiny moan which escaped in spite of herself, as his thumb brushed back and forth over her rubbery nubbin.

The Collector reflected that his newest captive had the sort of taut-skinned breasts that jutted out, unsupported, with both innocence and a certain audacity, like some lovely sculpted marble whose seductive contours irresistibly attracted the hand of a male admirer. His fingers nosed under the little mound and he cupped them loosely to balance the little tittie on the very tips, as if weighing the floppy weight.

“Look at me Amy,” he coaxed, while the thumb slowly kept up its incessant caress of her sensate nipple. In the only protest left to her, Joyce had kept her head defiantly turned, craning as hard as she could to one side.

The man seemed infinitely patient, sitting there like some bare-chested Buddha, simply holding her left breast, while the pad of his thumb teased over the tip, coaxing her nipples into greater prominence, so that they started to tingle. After a few minutes of this stimulation, Joyce slowly turned back to face her seated captor.

“There, that’s better.” His hand fitted the sloping curve of her small breast, the emerging nipple resting in his curved palm of his hand, as he scanned her face, as if searching for something.

She felt the warmth of his covering hand, but hardly noticed that her body was betraying her with the first signs of arousal. Struggling with her heightened emotions, she was too terrified to take notice of the sexual tingling. The sheer panic had receded, but Joyce’s heart was still pounding; her mind racing with a thousand questions: ‘Who was this guy? Where was she?!’ She looked around the room frantically -- a darkened basement room, with cement block walls and small high windows that had been boarded up. The wave of panic came over her again. She was sure this had all been some kind of mistake. It had to be! He kept calling her “Amy.” ‘He had the wrong person! Was he confused, or deranged; some kind of psychopath?’ A new shiver of fear shot through her, as the thought struck her. ‘He was going to rape her. Maybe even …kill her?!’

She closed her eyes; took a deep breath through flaring nostrils, struggling to gain control of herself. From over her gag, Joyce stared at her captor with pleading desperation in her eyes. He returned her mute begging with a smile. The smile was kind, but the man’s eyes remained cold, detached, and strangely hypnotic. Her stared into her eyes as he lightly held her trembling breast. She couldn’t tear herself away from those terrible eyes that cut through her to lick her soul. She watched him slowly thoughtfully nod his head.

“Poor Amy. I know it must be terribly uncomfortable for you, being tied up like this, with that nasty ol’ gag stuffed in your mouth.”

His hand fondled lovingly her for a few seconds and then withdrew, leaving her breasts abandoned, the nipple semi-hard.

“I know you want me to take the gag out, and I will. Very soon now. But first there’s a few things we got to get straight between us, and I can’t have you interrupting me, now can I? No. No. That wouldn’t do at all,’ he tsked, shaking his head.

“You see, it’s important that I have your full attention. Do I have your full attention, Amy?”

He waited.

She nodded.

He smiled. “Good girl.”

Now while the splayed-out girl took in his words with eyes growing wide in disbelief over the distorting ball gag, the strange man quietly laid out his plans for her. She was in his house where she would remain… for some time (and the fateful words gave her a terrible sinking feeling) -- as his “guest.” And while she lived under his roof, she was to obey his rules, and do exactly as she was told. If she followed orders, no harm would come to her. She would learn to be a “good girl,” the perfect houseguest; to behave herself, and always be obedient and respectful. She would learn to speak only when spoken to, and she would always answer with a polite “Sir.”

And if she were a good girl, he would remove the gag, and possibly even untie her. But if she was bad, she would find herself immediately backed up against the board, hands and feet tied down, the gag jammed in her mouth. And she would wait like that till he was ready to mete out her punishment, for bad girls must be punished. That was one of the house rules.

He leaned closer bringing his face to just a few inches from hers, so that he was looking deep into her terrified eyes.

“Now if you want the gag out, you have to promise me to be good,” he whispered.

“Will you be my good girl, Amy?”

The girl looked up at him and nodded vigorously; the look of a hopeful puppy dog in her big brown eyes.

He returned her nod, and his hands went up to find the strap behind her head, fingers working blindly to open the catch. The gag fell loose and she expelled the hated ball from her mouth with a wave of relief to be rid of the hated thing.

For a moment she sagged forward, heaving in ragged gasps, and working her mouth and lips and tongue. Then she straightened, and a desperate rush of words came tumbling out.

“Who are you?! What do you want?!! Listen to me, this is all some kind of mistake! My name’s not Amy! I’m…”

A hand shot up to cup her mouth, the fingers clamping hard.

“Uuumph,” she protested in a muted scream, trying mightily to twist out of his grasp, but his fingers tightened, holding her jaw in an iron grip, keeping her head immobilized.

“Hush, hush, Amy. You promised to be good. I’m disappointed in you; I’m afraid you’ll be wearing the gag for some time.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

“Nnnnngh!! The muffled protest was forced with even greater vehemence, but the Collector merely took her nose between two fingers and pinched her nostrils shut, effectively shutting off her air. Joyce struggled in alarm, and though she was determined to keep her mouth defiantly shut, she had to breathe and when the squirming girl opened up to suck in a quick breath of air, the ball was instantly jammed right into her gaping mouth.

In a flash, his deft fingers had the elastic straps secured, the ball now pressed into her mouth and held there, snugly in place.

“UUUUUnnngh,” Joyce’s wail of despair was reduced to a strangled cry.

“That was very bad, Amy. I can see you’re going to have to learn to be good girl. It would be best if you had some time to think about what you’ve done in disobeying me. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, he turned away from her, walked across the room and turned off the background music, then the lights, leaving the frightened girl in total darkness. She heard him moving behind her, heard the trod of his boots ascending some stairs, strained to listen as he came to the top of the stairs where a door opened and then closed again with a heavy and definite ‘thunk’. He had left her there! Alone! Bound and gagged; a naked prisoner in a darkened basement! Once again the wave of sheer terror overwhelmed her. Driven by panic, she struggled. And though the pinioned girl whimpered like a hurt puppy, there was no one in the darkness to hear her plaintive moans.

***

Slumped in the bonds that held her up against the smoothly-covered slab, the prisoner must have dozed off. Her frantic fear had subsided, but a vague sense of dread remained. Disengaged in the darkness, her mind floated, adrift as in some twilight zone. She came out of her dream world abruptly, dimly aware of the dull ache in her upraised arms. She worked her fists, roused herself, and raised her head to crane back against the board. Then she became aware of something else -- the dryness in her mouth and throat. It must have been her parched throat that awakened her, caused her to stir. She let herself hang in despair, her world now reduced in the dark cellar to one overpowering need, the need for water. She tried a strangled cry for help, but it came out as a weak and pitiful whimper. By now, she had lost all track of time, but as she hung in the silent darkness, with her dry mouth and now ragging thirst, she, unbelievably, heard the sound of the door opening above her.

Wildly hopeful, she tried another cry, desperate to get the man’s attention. But this time it came out as nothing more than a tiny whimper. If he heard it at all, he paid no attention, for the booted feet never skipped a beat as they methodically descended the wooden steps behind her. But even if he wasn’t coming in response to her cries for help, the captive was elated. The main thing was he was coming back! He was coming back!

A sudden snap and she was blinded by the brilliant flash of the overhead lights. In a few seconds her eyes fluttered open to find her captor sitting there, bare-chested, just as before, except that this time he held in his hand…a glass of water!

“Well Amy, I see you’re still here.”

His cruel joke brought a piteous moan of despair from the hanging girl.

“Look what I’ve brought you.” He held the glass up prominently right before her eyes.

“Of course, if you’re going to have a drink, I’ll have to remove the gag first. We tried that before, but you were bad. Remember? Well, I’m willing to try again, if you’ll promise to be good this time. Really promise.” He let that sink in. “Now tell me Amy, if I take the gag out, promise me that this time you’re going to be a good girl.”

Joyce bobbed her head vigorously, wildly desperate to get across to him her pathetic eagerness to comply with whatever this madman said.

Once again he reached for her, but this time instead of resisting, she docilely bowed her head, leaning forward to meet him, eager to help his hands find the binding straps that were clipped together behind her head. The sense of relief to be rid of the expelled gag was overwhelming. Greedily, she gulped at the glass he held to her lips. She took several long drinks, pausing only to breathe, draining the glass. Then she looked up at him, as if she considering saying something. But one look at the warning expression on his face made her think better of it.

“Enough?” he asked politely.

She nodded in silent obedience.

“Good. You’re learning. But you must answer properly. From now on when I ask you a question you will respond with ‘Yes, Sir.’ Do you understand?”

The girl licked her lips, dropped her eyes to the floor, and tried the words that came out in soft whisper: “Yes, Sir.”

She glanced up to find him smiling in satisfaction. She had pleased the man, and for some strange reason she felt good about that, weirdly proud.

“Yes, you’ll be a good girl, and I’ll be nice to you, you’ll see.” He closed in on her. “Now kiss me.”

Her lips were pursed, but now she curled them, pressing them tight together in mute refusal. The man might take her, but he would not enjoy it!

He simply grinned and took her small face between his hands. He drew her to him, her eyes widening in helpless alarm as his lips covered hers. He forced open her lips and sent his tongue darting into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed and she arched back, as his plunging tongue explored her mouth while his lips pressed against hers with terrible hunger.

She struggled against the upwelling of lust, determined to deny herself and her captor the pleasures that threatened to overwhelm her. But the fires that the passionate kiss kindled in her healthy young body sent her up on her toes, surging back against him as he ground his chest against the pliant softness of her maidenly breasts. Soon she was kissing him back, her own tongue answering his probes, slithering up against his in that lewd intimate dance that only lovers know.

Then he pulled back, and she was left breathless and panting, her small breasts heaving in the aftermath of their first kiss.

 



 


The End



Copyright 2004, Don Julian Winslow