The Bridesmaid
Amy Flanagan
For some hours, he had been sitting in the driver's seat of the hired limousine, which was parked between others containing bored chauffeurs. Unlike them, he was concentrating fully, watching the entrance to the mansion across the carriage drive for Lisa to appear.
The wedding between the Honourable Amy Grosvenor Cavendish Montagu and Clive Wilkins was one of the society weddings of the year. She was as aristocratic as you can get without being royal, and his father was a multi-millionaire. It was one of those win-win marriages; her relatively non-affluent parents knew that she was now well-provided for, and he could now move in social circles that despite his wealth he could never have aspired to.
Lisa had been a long‑time friend of the bride. In fact, her new husband might have been shocked by how close friends they were when they had shared accommodation at university. As a result, Lisa was one of the bridesmaids, and one of the last to say her goodbyes and walk out of the building and down the stairs in front.
The motor started instantly, and the driver pulled forward before the other chauffeurs could react, halting perfectly so that the rear passenger door was perfectly positioned for her. Then he got out and explained that this was a free luxury taxi service home, arranged as part of the reception, and could he have her address please? He opened the rear passenger door, and Lisa slid backwards onto the cool white leather seats before swivelling her legs in, facing forward, and arranging her light blue silk dress so that it wouldn't get wrinkled or caught in the door.
As they went down the drive, he glanced in the rear-view mirror, and saw Lisa making herself comfortable. The small cylinder of knockout gas he had activated while closing the door did its work and she was soon unconscious, leaving him unaffected behind the glass privacy screen.
It had been quite traumatic when Amy had announced her engagement. Had I lost my best friend forever? Not yet – we had managed to continue to see each other, albeit less frequently than before. But the wedding was another blow. Now she would be living with her husband in Manchester, hundreds of miles away, as his father was sending him there to run a subsidiary of the family business. Amy had admitted that she would miss London almost as much as she would miss me.
“It could have been worse,” I laughed. “Doesn’t he have a business in Middlesbrough too? And maybe you can make the odd visit back to London, allegedly to see your parents, but surely you can slip over to my flat for an hour or two.”
Despite my brave talk, I had to bite my lip and even brush away a tear or two during the wedding ceremony, especially when she was asked if she would “forsaking all others keep thee only unto him as long as you both shall live” and she replied, “I will”. I was sure that she didn’t really mean it, at least about me, but a little bit of me worried, and there was a knot in my stomach.
At the reception, there was no shortage of men wanting to chat me up, but I did my best to decline them all politely. I won’t say that I’ve never been interested in men, but Amy was always the love of my life; I was too upset at losing her to want to be sociable with anyone amorously inclined. I did dance with one man, but he didn’t dance well and I didn’t enjoy it. I was tempted to do a solo, but it was Amy’s day; I didn’t want to steal the limelight by outdancing her.
But eventually the reception was over, and the guests left one by one. I stayed for as long as I reasonably could, and with one last big hug of Amy and a quick kiss with her new husband I departed. A limousine was waiting to take me home. I gave my address and settled back on the soft leather. Suddenly, I felt very sleepy. It must have been the effect of all that trauma. I must have gone to sleep.
As he drove the sleeping Lisa towards their destination, he reflected on the events that had brought him to this point in his life. After twelve years of very active service in the British Army, he had five years in the Metropolitan Police. This ended abruptly when he was asked to resign following the discovery of a case of cash that had belonged to a deceased gangster, 'resting' in his car boot. However, this less than stellar CV proved ideal for his new job. He now worked for a firm as a 'fixer', carrying out tasks that were outside their skill set, or, if the job went wrong, ensuring their association with him could be plausibly denied. The work had ranged from simple legal fetching and carrying as a trusted courier to the outright illegal, such as this evening's task.
The M25 and M1 were quiet at this time of night, and the limousine travelled steadily, setting off no speed cameras, exciting no police patrols. The darkened glass successfully hid the abductee. After two hours, he turned off the motorway just north of Rugby, and within half a mile had entered the roller door of a small industrial unit hired for the purpose. He stopped the car, and walked back to the unit’s door, pressing the button for it to descend. He then opened the rear passenger door of the car to allow the vestiges of the sleeping gas to dissipate, and while that happened, he used a screwdriver to replace the fake registration plates with other fakes.
He looked at the sleeping Lisa. She was very pretty, and it was clear why his boss wanted her enough to go to this much trouble. A side effect of the gas had been to put a little red in her cheeks, and her long blonde hair lay in disarray across the seat. She would be out for at least another hour, unaware of how her world was changing. He had been given very specific instructions on her treatment and preparation, and he knew that he would enjoy this task.
He gently lifted her from the car and carried her to the work area he had prepared the day before. He sat Lisa on a solid wooden chair that had arms to prevent her falling off, and a back only as high as her shoulder blades. Next to this was a table with the equipment needed for this part of the work.
Bending Lisa forward at the waist, he found the zip on the back of her dress and pulled it down, relishing the anticipation generated by that slight noise. He slipped her arms out of the dress, then sat her upright again. Walking round to the front of the chair to start working the dress out from under her and down her legs, he enjoyed the sight of the white satin lace-trimmed bra holding her shapely natural breasts firmly in place, and soon after he saw the matching mini panties though her sheer tights.
Once he had removed her dress, shoes, tights and jewellery, and placed them on the table, he took a minute to admire the sleeping beauty, understanding the motives behind this exercise. The gas was wearing off faster than he had expected, and she was starting to twitch slightly, making a low mewling sound at the same time.
He wrapped and cinched white cotton ropes around Lisa's ankles and above her knees to stop her running away. He draped her arms over the back of the chair and tied her wrists together in the same way. Next, he took a black leather armbinder, drew it up over her arms, and buckled it in place with a strap around her wrists, and a strap over each shoulder, buckling back onto the sheaf. He tightened the other straps around it until her elbows touched. The end of the binder had a small D ring at the fingertips, and he tied this to the rear stretcher of the chair for extra security.
Moving back round to the front of Lisa, he was surprised to see her trying to open her eyes. For safety reasons he had not yet gagged her, but now he had to move quickly. He grabbed the sponge off the table and stood behind her. As he tilted Lisa's head back, she looked at him blearily, a look that rapidly became more focused as he started to push the large sponge into her mouth. The unintelligible noises she made became quieter, and the many layers of white duct tape that he applied over the gag ensured that it was there to stay.
Again he used some white rope. The bondage around Lisa's chest wasn't really necessary, but it had been specified, and it looked good on her, drawing further attention to her breasts, as if they needed it.
He checked that everything was in place. The work had been completed just in time, as a very angry Lisa bounced in her chair and glared at him. Now he settled down and waited for a call to initiate the next phase of Lisa's journey.
Slowly, I woke up. Where was I? Not in the car – I was sitting on something hard and wooden. There was a man standing behind of me, possibly the driver. He pulled my head back, and as my mouth began to open he started to push something into it. I had no idea what it was, but I didn’t like the taste. I tried to raise my arms to stop him, but they would not move. They were trapped in something that forced them together so much that my elbows were touching. Whatever surrounded my arms seemed to be anchored to something so that it was immovable, imprisoning my arms. I also felt that my wrists were bound.
By the time that I had taken all of this in, the object had been forced into my mouth, filling it almost to bursting, and my mouth had been sealed shut with loads of tape. I tried to speak, but realised at once that I could say nothing intelligible. I did not try to shout; no doubt we were somewhere isolated, so that any sound I could make would be audible only to my captor. My legs were bound at ankles and knees. They did not seem to be anchored like my arms. I gathered that I was sitting on a chair, and guessed that the thing around my arms was fixed to it. Probably I could stand up, raising the chair with me, but with my legs bound and the weight of the chair I might well lose my balance. Anyway, what would be the point? I’d still be totally helpless; no way could I escape.
Now my captor tied more rope around my body and arms, above and below my breasts. Having my elbows touching pulled my shoulders back, making my breasts more prominent. He tied a loop of rope around the back of my neck and the rope below my breasts; this pulled up the latter rope, lifting my breasts further. By now I was fully alert and bounced up and down in the chair, but I knew that this was futile and just amused my captor. So far, he had not said a word. He fished a phone out of his pocket, looked at it and put it back.
I looked around. Clearly, this was some industrial unit, probably miles out in the country. I saw the car that I had got into as I left the reception. I saw my dress, shoes and tights on a table, and realised that I was naked except for my bra and panties. My earrings, necklace and bracelet – family heirlooms – also lay on the table. What was he after? I doubted that he intended to rape me, or he’d have removed my bra and panties too. He clearly admired my near-naked body, but I saw no lust in his eyes, and he had not touched me except to tie me up. If it was a kidnap for ransom, he had the wrong girl. My family was not wealthy, and he’d have done far better to get one of the many rich heiresses who’d been at the wedding.
I had heard stories of girls being abducted to be trafficked for sex. Could that be it? A sudden wild and chilling thought – could it be Amy’s new father-in-law? He’d have a motive, to avoid a continued affair with her that would damage his son’s marriage. No, that was too absurd. I had no reason to believe that he knew about Amy and me. Of course, if I was being trafficked, he might be involved … stop being so stupid! Whatever, the fact that my captor did not seem worried that I’d seen him so clearly meant that he did not think that I’d ever be able to report him to the police. That was very worrying. There was nothing I could do, and panicking would not help. I decided to sit quietly and await further developments.
Eventually, the phone vibrated on the table. The single word text read 'Proceed'. He undid the rope holding her armbinder to the chair, and then picked her up in a fireman's lift and put her over his shoulder, clamping her thighs tight against his chest with his left arm, while she tried to kick out and make him drop her. The feel of Lisa struggling against him was very pleasant. At the car, he hauled her off his shoulder onto the white leather seats in the rear, where she landed in a slightly undignified heap. He sat her up and tucked her hair behind her shoulders, as she continued to try to fight him off. Catching Lisa by surprise, he backed off and took her picture with his phone, then texted it off as requested.
Now he had to get her ready for the rest of the journey. He knew Lisa would struggle, but she was too well bound to resist effectively. She fought as best she could, but five minutes later, she was face down with the tip of the armbinder tied to the rope between her ankles in a classic hogtie. He restrained her further by tying a short rope around her elbows and through the seatbelt guide in the top centre of the seat. This attached her securely to the car, so she wouldn't slip off the smooth seats, and it also lifted her a little so that her back had to be slightly arched for her to remain in contact with the seat. It was not meant to be painful, but it could be very uncomfortable if she relaxed the arch. This reduced her ability to struggle and gave her something to concentrate on.
He had a message on his phone, presumably to go ahead. I could do nothing now; maybe there would be some chance when I was moved. He released me from the chair, picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, with one arm firmly around my legs; he used his other hand to rub my bottom. I did my best to struggle, but he was far too strong for me in my helplessly bound state. He opened the rear door of the car and shoved me into the back. Putting me into a sitting position, he photographed me, no doubt to confirm to whoever was employing him that all was well. He then forced me to lie face down on the seat. I struggled in vain as he lifted my legs, folded them over and tied my ankle bonds to the end of the sheath around my arms, hogtying me.
He took a small bag off the table and put it on the seat next to her. The first object out of the bag caught her attention immediately, and she lay still with her eyes widening as she recognised it. It was a metal butt plug. He explained that it was made of solid silver. He told her it would be cold and heavy to start with, but she would get used to it rapidly, and it would warm up eventually. As he smeared lubricant to it, Lisa tried to shake her head. He said that it was going into her, whatever happened, so co‑operating would be less of a problem for them both. He inched her panties down across the soft curve of her bottom until he located her anus. Lisa had seen reason and stopped struggling. He put lube on her anus and pressed the tip of the plug against it. For a moment nothing happened, then the puckered flesh began to stretch around the girth of the plug, widening steadily, before passing the widest point, and clamping down again, drawing the rest of the plug into her, accompanied by small noises of protest from Lisa. Once satisfied everything was safely in place, he wiped off the excess lube and pulled her panties back up. The last item in the bag was a white satin padded blindfold, which he easily put on her despite her head wagging and muffled protests.
Confident that Lisa was secure and could see nothing, he tidied up the workshop, putting some things into the boot, and then opened the roller door and reversed the limousine out of the building, closing the door again before re‑joining the M1 north, glancing occasionally at the glorious sight of a fully restrained, gagged and blindfolded lovely blonde on the rear seat.
He put a bag on the seat in front of my face. I was startled by what he took out – a metal butt plug. He said that it was made of solid silver so it would be cold and heavy to start with; well, yes, of course. Why on earth couldn’t he warm it up a bit first? He smeared some lube on it. I shook my head; I didn’t want him to put it into me. He smiled. “It’s going in now Lisa, whatever happens, so co‑operating will be less of a problem for both of us.” So he knew my name, and must have deliberately picked me out to abduct He pulled down my panties. I decided that there was no point in making futile attempts to resist. He stuck a finger into me, presumably to apply lube, then pressed the tip of the plug against me. He gradually worked it in, ignoring my muted protests, until I felt my sphincter closing around it, forcing it entirely inside except for the base. That done, he wiped my bottom and pulled up my panties. Then I struggled in vain as he blindfolded me. Once he was satisfied with the blindfold, he left me for a few minutes. Then he returned. I heard a sound, presumably the raising of the room’s roller blind, and then the car’s engine started – we were off.
As I lay there, helpless, I tried to piece together what I knew. Could it be Amy behind this? Surely not. If she wanted me to be in Manchester with her, of course she wouldn’t want me kidnapped; we’d have discussed it and worked out something. Again I wondered, could it be her husband or his father? I had no idea where we had been or where we were headed now. We were going along smoothly, with no sudden changes of speed or direction, presumably on a motorway. Eventually he slowed and veered. After that, the driving was very different, starting and stopping, so we had left the motorway. Then he came to a stop and switched off the engine. We had arrived. What next?
He continued north along the M1, then joined the M6, going through Birmingham, and turned onto the M56 towards Manchester. Leaving the M56, he drove along a maze of small country roads. Eventually, he arrived at his destination. To the side of the lane stood a pair of ornate gates, resembling Victorian cast iron, but made of steel, with better foundations, and electronically controlled. Pulling up in front, he used his telephone to send a key code. The gates swung open, and he drove through, stopping the other side for a moment to ensure they closed again without any intruders entering. The drive led to a mansion, but he turned off it to drive to the garages at the rear. Here there was another roller door, opened by another telephone code, and he drove in and parked the car in a well-lit bay, next to three others.
He opened the rear passenger door and leant in to release Lisa's hogtie. She had been in that position for a long time, and it was best to let her regain proper circulation in her legs. She was awake, and moving slightly on the seat, but it was obvious that she knew that the best she could achieve would be to roll off into the footwell, which would hurt and do nothing useful. When he judged that Lisa was fit to move, he slid her off the seat and threw her over his shoulder again. A lift from the garage led to the service rooms, and from there he went down corridors to the main part of the house. They entered a large room where a large chair stood by itself on the carpet in the middle of the floor. It was the kind of gold-coloured metal framed chair with plush red upholstery seen in wedding venues. He fixed Lisa to the chair by tying the ring on the armbinder to the frame as he had in the factory unit and securing her ankle bonds to a leg. He then took another chair, sent a text to announce his arrival, and sat and waited, watching her trying in vain to struggle against the bonds.
Time passed, and he started to feel a little uneasy; this should have been done and dusted 40 minutes ago. A short text requesting further orders received no response, so all they could do was sit there, both of us unwillingly. Eventually the phone vibrated, and the text said, '5 minutes'.
In a few minutes the door opened, and Clive Wilkins strode in, looking more flustered than the kidnapper had seen him in a long time. Amy came in just behind him, and stood in the door, evidently furious and shocked at the sight there. He ignored the kidnapper and went straight over to Lisa. He lifted her blindfold, and as she blinked in the light it took a couple of seconds to realise what she was seeing. Before her was Amy's new husband, already starting to undo the ropes around her ankles, and apologising at the same time for the dreadful mistake he'd made.
Amy pushed Clive aside. “Remove the gag first, you idiot,” she said, peeling off the tape and taking great care with the last layer not to hurt Lisa as it came off her skin. Extracting the sponge, Amy held it up in disgust. “I ought to stuff this into you, and not in your mouth,” she snarled at her husband. Turning to the kidnapper, she ordered him to bring Lisa’s clothes and then arrange for a guest room to be prepared, and a bath to be run. “And don’t forget my jewellery,” croaked Lisa, barely able to speak. The kidnapper ran out of the room as fast as he could, while Amy’s husband continued his frantic apologies.
“I have a butt plug in me,” croaked Lisa.
Amy carefully removed it, shocked by its size and weight. Spinning around, she wiped it across Clive’s face “Yes, this ought to go into you too, you monster!”
Amy explained that she had confided in him some time ago about her relationship with me, hoping that despite the marriage, they could find an arrangement where she could continue to see me. He'd agreed, but used to having things his own way, he'd arranged for me to be kidnapped as a form of wedding present for her. He hadn't told her anything about it until an hour ago and had been very surprised when she exploded over his actions.
After a nice long soak in a warm bath, and a sleep in a comfortable bed, I felt a lot better. Amy came in with a breakfast tray. “I can’t imagine how awful this has been for you, you poor dear,” she said, kissing me gently. “As a safety precaution, I’ve sent a brief account of all this to several people in case anything happens to us. Today we’re going back to London – both of us. And as I’m sure that Clive won’t want this to leak out, he’ll no doubt give you a very generous sum in compensation. I’ll live in London with an ample allowance, though I’ll be available when he needs to be seen with a wife. And now I’ve seen how cute you look in bondage – in future, the only person allowed to tie you up and gag you will be myself!”
The End