Kidnapping Mary

The lights were blindingly bright behind her and Mary could hardly see the next corner on the twisty country lane. To matters worse, it was raining, not a heavy rain but the annoying drizzle that obscures windows and makes intermittent wipers struggle. After nearly missing one corner, she floored it on the next straight. But the lights were still right behind her, filling the Mini with their light and putting a shadow in front of her car. Spotting a farm gateway, she braked heavily and swerved in, skidding to a gravelly stop just before hitting the gate.

“Get out,” commanded the gruff voice, as someone tugged at the door handle. Mary put the car in reverse but the van was across the back of her car. The gate in front of her. She had nowhere to go. The man rattled the door handle again but the central locking held the door firmly closed. Mary frantically fished for her phone but her handbag had shot into the passenger footwell with the sudden deceleration.

A figure walked across the front of the car, pouring something over the bonnet. He continued along the passenger side, and Mary watched as liquid washed the drizzle from the glass.

Suddenly the car erupted in flame, Oh god, they’re going to burn me alive. Frantically scrabbling at the door catch, her phone forgotten, Mary clawed at her seatbelt belt catch, which, after an age, clicked undone. The door opened and she tumbled out in the night. A figure, dressed in dark overalls, loomed out of the dark, gripped her wrist and pulled her towards the open side door of the van. By the flickering light of the flames, she got a glimpse of carpet, before a bag descended over her head and she was pushed inside.

“Go!” said the voice, and the van surged forward. “Right then, young Mary, I’m just going to handcuff you, try and keep quiet and we’ll try not to hurt you.”

Her hands were pulled together and a handcuff clicked around her wrists, but she didn’t feel the expected cold steel, but rather, something soft and furry. They definitely clicked though. More clicked around her stockinged ankles.

“Stop and change the plates before we hit the main road,” said the voice, and after a few minutes the van came to a halt and a front door opened.

“What’s happening?” Mary asked.

“Never you mind, now be quiet.”

The van moved off and Mary felt two hands grip her shoulders and pull her into a sitting position. The bag lifted from her head. By the flickering of passed sodium lamps, she could see that she was sitting against the bulkhead of a van. Sat on a piece of paisley-pattern carpet, somewhat like her grandmother used to have in her lounge. They were clearly on a main road now and travelling quite quickly.

“Where are we going?”

“Sush or the bag goes back on.”

The man was dressed in one-piece black overalls with a back ski mask or balaclava over his head. Mary looked down at her hands and saw they were held together by pink, furry handcuffs. Her ankles were encircled with the same, but a short length of chain meant that she could probably walk if she took it carefully.

After two more stops to ‘change the plates’, the van turned onto a bumpy track and the man picked up the bag.

“Right then, bag time, but it won’t be for long. Now you just stay calm and keep quiet.”

The side door opened.

“Ready?” said a new voice.

“Reckon so.”

Hands pulled her feet around and Mary felt her ankles bump over the doorway. The hands moved to her armpits and she was lifted up and onto her feet. A hand took one of hers.

“OK, now walk slowly this way, small steps, remember you are chained.”

Mary walked in the direction she was bid and counted the steps. Ten on soft ground, through a gateway of some kind, ten more on concrete by the clicking of her heels and then a stop.

“OK, there’s a doorstep here and then some stairs, upwards.”

Mary felt the warmth as they moved over the threshold, out of the cold, wet night and into a warm house It smelt of fresh coffee and log fires and a smell. Old and strangely familiar. Her mind clawed to remember the smell, all she could think of was her grandmother’s kitchen. Not cooking. Zebrite, the black leading her granny had polished the Aga with every day, polished until it shone.

“Stairs,” said the voice, snatching her back to the here and now.

Mary slowly ascended the stairs, feeling for each one with her toes and struggling to lift her foot up the tread because of the chain. Finally, they reached the landing at the top.

“Right then. Now I have to take your coat off. We can do it the easy way, or I can cut it off you.”

“Please don’t cut my coat,” begged Mary, “it’s new.”

“Be sensible then, stand still.”

Her hands were raised and she felt a handcuff released from one wrist. Someone behind her lifted her coat off. As soon as it was free, the handcuff snapped back around her free wrist.

“Mary,” said the gruff voice, “you are going to be here sometime, so we aim to make you as comfortable as possible. Now take three steps backwards, now, that’s a good girl. OK, mate, you can leave us, she’s not going anywhere now. Go dump the van, don’t forget the plate changes.”

Mary heard footsteps descending the stairs.

“OK, I’m going to take your bag off, hold still.”

As the bag raised over her head, Mary blinked and looked about. She was in a very narrow room, facing the door, and the balaclava-clad man. She turned around and behind her was a toilet. The man reached down to one wrist, picked up the free handcuff and snapped it onto a ring that was screw-plated to the wall. He turned and did the same with the other wrist. Mary was tied, held in the middle of the room.

“Sorry about this, but it’s for your own comfort, try not to struggle.”

The man moved forward and his hand reached for her waist.

“What are you doing?”

“You are going to sit on the toilet. Now you can sit there and shit your pants, or I can take them off.”

“Oh god, no”, please no.”

“You want to shit yourself? Really? Because I don’t want the smell.”

“Oh god, please?”

The man slowly pulled her skirt down until it landed around her ankles.

“Mary! Stockings and suspenders and tiny briefs, as office wear? You are a little minx, aren’t you?”

The man looked down appreciatively at Mary’s stocking-clad legs and the smooth white flesh of her thighs. His chin rested on her shoulder and he whispered in her ear.

“I’ll not look as I pull your panties down.”

Mary clenched her eyes tight shut and felt the lace slide down her hips and the material pulled from between her lips, where it had ridden up.

“OK, sit.” Hand pushed down on her shoulders and Mary sat.

The man knelt before her and snapped a padlock around the chain between her legs and onto a ringbolt screwed into the floor.

“OK, I’ll go and fetch you a drink. Don’t go away.”