WARNING! This is a work of erotic BDSM FICTION. It is ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL of an EXTREME SEXUAL NATURE, including acts of abduction, exhibitionism, humiliation, and discipline. This is not for readers who are easily offended or incapable of distinguishing fact from fiction. The author does not promote such activity in real life unless it is between consenting adults and practiced safely. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give anyone the rights to post or print content without obtaining the author’s permission first.
by Night Owl
Chapter 31: The House of Cards
Amber thought she was going to die, and by the time Sonia returned to release her from her suspension, she could scarcely move a muscle she was so weak. Her body went limp like a ragdoll when Tony picked her up in his arms. Her head fell sharply back, her arms dangling uselessly as he carried her to the door. Through blurred vision, she saw Heidi’s rigging hanging empty and wondered if her friend was alive or dead.
The door opened and a blast of cool air hit them. Early morning fog covered the trees like a shroud and dark clouds smothered the sunlight struggling to shine through. Amber cried out as she felt the pain flood through her body again. The sickening paralysis of her faculties still lingered, but her muscles and joints slowly began to awaken like the day and scream their displeasure.
She was finally set down and forced to kneel into a carpet of wet leaves. Tony and Gino were standing to each side of her, their powerful hands tightly grasping her upper arms, keeping her from falling over as she swayed between the two men. No clothing was offered, not even a blanket to cover her naked body and she began to shiver as the chilled air settled into her bones.
Then he approached — a tall, dark form mounted on a horse looming over her with shadowed columns of trees behind him. Amber dared to look up at him and cry out,
“Master, I’m sorry . . .”
His command was hard; his low voice pierced her ears. She saw the glint of the crop handle under his belt. Instinctive fear revived her old faculties. She began to tremble, only this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.
Raven dismounted his horse and approached while unzipping his fly. Still kneeling, Amber prepared herself for what she knew would happen next, but she was not ready for the suddenness of it, as he seized her by the nape of her neck and drove himself deep into her open mouth. It was not the caress of her lips he was looking for, but the back of her throat. For a long time he probed, and she felt the suffocating gag of flesh swell and harden, its slow repeated hammering finally bringing her to tears. Although he delighted and reveled the warmth of her mouth, Raven did not bring his pleasure to a climax, but withdrew in silence and turned away while zipping up his fly again.
“So is your mind right?”
“Yes, Master,” she responded between gasps.
Raven sighed in disappointment as he climbed back up on the horse.
“I don’t think so,” then turning his mount briefly to face Sonia he issued the order before leaving.
“Take her back.”
For the next several days, and she had no idea how many, Amber was kept alone in a small, dark room within a crude stone building next to the kennels. She remained there night and day, naked, but at least she was allowed a filthy blanket to lie on. A chain linking her wrists and ankles to her collar, and from there to the wall made it impossible for her to stand or even straighten her body while she slept. Though her world had no windows, Amber was able to tell when the sun was up by the way it filtered through pin holes in the roof and when evening finally set by the sounds of crickets chirping outside.
Occasionally Sonia came to check on her, and when the door was opened, what Amber saw in the light offered little comfort. From cracks in the walls, water leached down the broken, vertical surfaces. Moss and mildew grew in the corners, and insects crawled secretly along the musty surfaces. Occasionally, she heard the distant barking of dogs in the kennel nearby.
One day, Sonia came and tied he up with hemp rope in hogtie fashion – arms and legs wrenched back and bound together to keep her body bent sharply backward as she lay on her side. More ropes were then wrapped tightly around the rest of her body — her breasts, shoulders, abdomen, with a knot pressed against her navel, around her thighs and in between – all cinched and tied in visually intricate and decorative patterns. Sonia studied the art of Japanese ‘shibari’ rope bondage and used it for years, so for her, it was as fast and easy as lacing up a shoe.
After the last knot was tightened, Amber was then left alone, again, in complete darkness and dead silence with nothing to occupy her thoughts other than how the ropes were tormenting her body. She often tried keeping her mind busy by conjuring up memories of the past, of her childhood, of when she was free, anything, but those memories seemed distant and too weak to blot out the bleak surroundings and her wretched situation. When Sonia finally, returned, Amber was finally freed of the ropes, only to be chained up again as before.
The few times she ever saw the world outside her room was when Sonia came for her next session, and that was very brief, for as soon as the door opened, a blindfold was usually placed over her eyes. The chains were then re-attached to the cuffs on her wrists and ankles before she was led away by a leash tripping and stumbling in the wet leaves behind her mistress.
The sessions themselves were rigorous and brutal. The limbs of her body were often stretched or contorted in ways that left her screaming and whimpering for mercy. Sometimes she was flogged; other times she was merely left alone to suffer the cruelty of her bondage – always in darkness and always in silence. Since her isolation, Amber had not been allowed to bathe. Hair grew out under her arms and it began to show on her legs. She felt abandoned and began to lose all hope that she would be given back what little she had before.
Another day, Sonia arrived as usual for another session, but this time without the blindfold. She attached a leash to Amber’s collar and guided her out into the woods to an old well behind the building. A crane assembly with a wheel and chain were set up next to it with the arm of the crane reaching out to them. Amber was told to remain standing while the chain was attached to her wrist cuffs. Her ankle cuffs were then chained and another pair of cuffs fastened to her knees to keep them together. Amber stared into the well, her heart racing. The hole seemed to go on forever, engulfing the light completely, and there was a smell of dirt and mold emanating from its ancient stone walls, like a mildewy cellar after a rainstorm – more horrible than the smell of death.
A pair of goggles with a head strap was secured over her eyes, and plugs placed on her nose and in her ears. She wanted to beg Sonia for mercy, to try and convince her Mistress that whatever they were about to do wasn’t necessary, that she had learned her lesson; yet before she could even speak, a tube with a mouthpiece on the end was forced between her lips and secured with duct tape.
Tony manned the wheel, and when given the order, he began turning a crank. Amber could hear the metallic clicks and clunks ringing in her ears even through the earplugs. In a short time, she felt the chain tugging against her wrists. Her arms were then raised and stretched high above her head until she was on her toes. Her head fell back and her breath quickened through the tube in her mouth, a sublime ache permeating her young body. After so many days of inactivity, other than her painful sessions; with very little to eat, her muscles felt tender, like it wouldn’t take much effort to tear her limbs right out of their sockets.
As the ground left her feet, her stomach hollowed and her ribs protruded sharply, exaggerating her waif-like frame. Her flesh looked pale and anemic. Only her breasts retained their youthful appearance, her nipples standing proudly erect in the open air.
Suddenly, the wheel stopped and the arm of the crane was pivoted over until she hung directly above the well. A cinderblock with a rope attached was tied to her ankle restraints then thrown unceremoniously into the hole. When the block reached the end of the rope, Amber felt a jolt against her body and moaned as the pain lanced through her knees, thighs, arms, and shoulders simultaneously.
More clicks from the wheel sounded as her weighted down body began to descend into the hole. She felt like a morsel of raw meat dangling over the open gullet of some strange creature and there was nothing she could do to save herself from being sacrificed. She was far too weak to even put up a struggle, much less free herself from the chain, and if she did, the sudden release would only have hurled her downward into the depths below.
Slowly, the murky blackness crept in around her as the opening above grew smaller and smaller. She felt the water engulf her feet, then her legs. Her entire body clenched in reaction. A coldness crept around her thighs, around her belly and breasts. When her face went under, it was so dark and murky that she could see nothing, even with the goggles on. Her long hair swirled around her.
The wheel didn’t stop turning until she was completely submerged and once again, Amber was left alone, in darkness and silence. Her only lifeline was a long hose attached to her mouthpiece that snaked upward through the hole and out of the well. She breathed heavily into it, sucking in gulps of stale air.
A small piece of her consciousness tried to command her legs to kick her toward the surface, to push off the walls, but her body refused to do anything other than contort and writhe in the brackish water. Her vision began to go fuzzy, blurring around the edges, and an eerie calm settled over her thoughts. Amber had no way of knowing how long this would last, nor what would happen to her after it was over, but she was sure of one thing – that in the end, her mind would “be right”.
The entrance to the parking garage was well lit and loomed ahead, so Phil Trask slowed the pace of his Crown Vic as he approached it. Beside him in the passenger seat, his partner, Joe Kelly, sat in silence, gazing at the garage through the windshield. Kelly checked his watch again, although he already knew the time — 10:30 pm, right on schedule.
Trask turned into the inclined ramp and proceeded to the second level. The place was deserted with the exception of one or two parked vehicles. It reminded him of the movie, “All The President’s Men,” and how Robert Redford met his informant, Deep Throat, while trying to uncover the Nixon Watergate scandal.
They parked the car at the very back of the second level on its north side. Without a word, they popped open their doors and got out, then waited. A few moments later, the man they were scheduled to meet emerged from the shadows behind a pillar to greet them. Despite there differing backgrounds, the informant looked strikingly similar to the two FBI agents. All three were clean-shaven with short, trimmed hair, and dressed in dark slacks, a button down shirt with no tie, and a light jacket. The jackets on both agents fit loosely though, masking the Glock 22 they each carried shoulder-holstered underneath.
The informant pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his lighter – another cheap Hollywood gimmick Trask remembered from the Redford movie. Still standing in the shadows about six feet away, he looked over his shoulder nervously and took a draw from the cigarette, the embers glowing a bright red on the tip.
Finally Trask broke the silence, “What do you have for us?”
The man took another draw, “Enough to indict a lot of people.”
“So start spilling,” Kelly broke in.
The man’s eyes flashed at Kelly then back to Trask.
“You’ll have to excuse my partner,” Trask told him. “He’s a bit impatient.”
For the first time, the informant cracked a smile, “This isn’t the good cop/bad cop routine is it?”
“We’re not cops,” Trask answered shortly, “and you’re not auditioning for the Lux Radio Theater either. You called us, remember? And it was your idea to set up a meeting. Now you told me over the phone you had compiled a list of names. Is this true or not?”
“Do we have an agreement?”
“If you have what we want, but that’ll take a lot more than a list, my friend.”
The informant looked over his shoulder again, then pulled a folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket and handed it to the agent.
Trask unfolded it and quickly scanned the names.
“Jesus,” he shook his head. “There has to be at least forty women here.”
“Any from our Missing Persons files?” Kelly asked.
Trask nodded, “Looks like all of them.”
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” the man took another nervous puff from his cigarette.
“Do you know a man named, Marco Sanchez?” Trask folded the paper again and carefully put it in his pocket.
“Yeah, I knew him. He’s gone.”
“You mean, dead?”
“That’s right. They knew you guys were looking for him, so naturally they put out an order.”
“Very efficient. Who did the hit?”
The informant tossed his cigarette on the ground and squashed the butt underfoot. “Maybe later,” he said, “after we work out the details of our arrangement.”
“You do realize we’re armed,” Kelly said with a hint of contempt in his voice. “We could just take you in and let you sit in cold cell for a while until you talk.”
“That would be doing things the hard way . . .”
“You’ve got a deal,” Trask broke in. “You give us all the information you have and testify in court, then we’ll give you complete immunity and put you in our witness protection program.”
“I won’t testify.”
“I don’t want these people to know who sold them out. You FBI guys really don’t understand what you have here, do you? This organization is big, as big as the American Mafia. You’ll never get all of them, which means for the rest of my life, I’ll be looking over my shoulder. So no court appearances, no signed confessions either. Just bring me in and set something up for me that’ll keep me off the grid. In return, I’ll give you all the leads, all the background information you need to bring this whole organization down, and plenty of people who’ll be begging to testify. Fair enough?”
“All right,” Trask said. “but can you at least tell us your name, or should I just call you Deep Throat?”
The man grinned again, and for the first time he looked relaxed, “I saw that movie too. Six times. As for my name . . . it’s Dave Roberts.”