ROBBERY AT THE SWANK BOUTIQUE
By Brian Sands
Prey, from Grumpy’s site.
Chapter Eight: Bid for Freedom
When she awoke, Simone felt confused and very lost. As her head cleared she found that she was lying upon a mattress on the floor of a small room. Wooden beams high above gave the place a rural feel. It was morning, but the single small window let in only a wan patch of light. Rain beat against the glass. A storm was raging outside. She could hear the wind.
Simone reviewed the previous day’s experiences, coming to anguished awareness of the terrible trap she was in. Madame and her sidekick Dougie had carried out the next step of their plan. Simone had been spirited away from the city a helpless kidnap victim. She remembered the preparations to bind her in shoulder to foot wrappings, the professional way it was done leaving nothing to chance.
Now she was lying under a thick blanket, her hands tied behind her at the wrists, which were crossed and held with what felt like cloth of some kind. When she moved her legs she found that her ankles were bound as well. And beneath the blanket she was naked. Her face was hot. Was she still gagged? She explored between her lips with her tongue. It came against a band of material that stretched taut across her mouth. It felt like a strip of bed sheet and from the resistance against her wrists and ankles she was probably bound hand and foot by the same material.
I’ve been abducted and bound hand and foot and gagged for hours, she thought with a sense of wonder. She used to believe that such experiences only happened to fictional heroines in crime novels or in thriller movies, and she enjoyed those situations vicariously. Real life was so very different! Being really bound meant not only claustrophic helplessness but also the loss of freedom to make choices. She was completely at the mercy of other people’s will. Being kept gagged most of the time meant that she could not engage in conversation with her captors to negotiate her position, to ask for small comforts such as not having the bonds or the gag quite so tight or, in the long run, persuading them to set her free.
Simone rolled onto her back and looked around the room. This was the first time she had been left alone in a condition that allowed her to take stock of more than four narrow walls or the tight enclosures of trunk or box, or the bands of a silken blindfold. She was in some kind of storeroom. At least, the place looked as though it had been a storeroom once in its history. A large rectangular board attached to one wall had the outlines of various tools marked on it in chalk. Some she recognised, such as two types of hammer and three different sizes of hand saw; others she was not quite certain about, and one or two shapes gave her a creepy feeling. They did not appear to fit in with any traditional tool kit. But there were no implements as such, certainly no sharp-edged ones against which she might cut her bonds. But there came rushing through Simone’s head thoughts of escape.
Up until now, she had been able to exercise virtually no free will. Now her captors seemed not to be near. Probably they were in another part of the house. She assumed that it was a farmhouse from the country feel. And she knew that perhaps this was her one chance to escape. She was only bound hand and foot and not trussed up. And her gag, though it was efficient at muffling her when she put it to the test, was just a linen bandage around her mouth.
Simone pushed herself upright with her hands pressed against the mattress. The blanket slid from her shoulders and bunched around her waist revealing her full breasts. Her nipples began to harden and come erect against the cooler air of the room. The young woman bent her head and tucked her chin into her throat, and by gradual stages she managed to slip her mouth from under the gag so that the band of linen fell loose around her neck. It was more difficult than she had supposed. The cloth was tight very tight and seemed attached to her skin. Lifting her head, she took the first free deep breaths she had taken for hours. Then she cast her eyes about the room again, looking for something that she might use to cut her wrist bonds. They were too tight for her fingers to search out the knots. The thin linen cloth had been secured against the junction between her wrists and her hands and no amount of bending her fingers brought even their tips to touch the knot that nestled tight between the inner bones of one wrist. At least I have the gag off, she thought.
Her eyes explored the room again more carefully. The metal grooves in the wall that supported the tool rack glinted faintly in the shadows. They did not look very sharp but were the only hope for freedom that she could see. Bracing her hands behind her, Simone arched her back and lifted her bottom, inching her way across the cold wooden floor towards her goal. At first her legs became entangled in the blanket as it fell lower to wrap itself loosely about her knees. But she kicked it off, almost falling over backwards with the effort when the blanket reluctantly gave her up.
It took a long time to shimmy across the floor. Her muscles were sore and aching from four days of lying tied up in different positions, and she had to stop every minute to catch her breath. But the sight of herself naked, bound, and therefore vulnerable spurred her on. What if Dougie found her like this with her downy pubic mound available for all to see? Madame would only laugh ... but the man? There was no knowing what he was capable of. The diffident, silent types were often just the ones to watch. Especially those who read poetry.
At last she reached the wall and snugged her back against it. Her fingers found the grooved strip of metal into which, higher up, the tool board was screwed. The inner flange of the groove was relatively sharp-edged and Simone hoped that she could somehow work it against the cloth strip that held her wrists. She began patiently to saw her bonds up and down on it. It was slow because her body did not have enough energy for frantic sustained effort.
The break-through came when she snagged an edge of linen against a screw that was not fully flush with the metal strip and there was a small but satisfying tearing sound. Until then she had been rubbing her wrists against the metal groove. Now she sought for and found over and over that small screw head, and the cloth frayed gradually.
At last one strand of linen gave way far enough for Simone to pull against it. The bonds slackened appreciably but not enough to allow her to slip a wrist through. But the cloth, which had been tied in three loops, was a lot looser and it became easier to snag it against the screw. Finally, she caught the linen band at the place where it was already half parted and, still slowly, it ripped altogether until the bindings fell from her wrists. She nursed her arms and hands in front of her, licking skin that was sore and bruised and even bleeding a little at one place where it was chafed. But it was heaven to have her hands and arms free at last.
With shaking fingers, Simone worked at the knot that held her ankle bonds. She picked at it with her long nails and reluctantly the knot gave up its secret and parted for her. With tears in her eyes she massaged her ankles and feet. She was completely free for the first time, aside from the brief bathroom privileges, and then she had been tethered at the ankles most of the time so that she could take only small steps.
Simone got to her feet on rubbery legs and listened apprehensively for any sounds of movement in the house. There was no convenient bedside clock (there was no bed as such) but she knew that her efforts to free herself had taken a very long time, it felt like an hour at least. But all was quiet. It was still early morning. Time to find her way out of the room and to get as far from the place as she could, whether it was raining hard or not. But first there was the question of clothes. At present she was standing naked in the middle of a cool room.
The suitcase that held oddments of fashion clothing stood by the door. Simone knelt as though at a shrine and rummaged through the satins, silks and taffetas. There was no lingerie: no bras, panties, stockings or pantyhose in the box. But there were beautiful dresses. Simone chose a simple dress in shimmering red facets and pulled it on over her head. She then gathered up the blanket that had covered her overnight, wound it across her shoulders like a wrap, and made her way to the door. It was locked. She stooped and looked through the keyhole. The key still was still there.
Simone remembered an old trick for unlocking a door that still had its key on the other side, and there was fortunately the means to carry it through. From a corner of the room she fetched two crumpled sheets of newspaper, smoothed them out, and pushed them overlapped under the door so that the key would most likely fall onto one or the other sheet. With one of her long fingernails she was able to loosen the key. It dropped with a tinny clunk onto the floor and with bated breath she managed to draw the key through to her side with the newspaper. It took only a moment to unlock the door.
She stepped into a large living room. An open fire burned low and fitfully in a wide stone-edged hearth. The room was empty. Three goblets stood on a nearby table, one on its side, another still holding an inch of red wine. An empty wine bottle stood near them. A large picture window showed indeed a rural scene of open green fields with a line of trees in the middle distance separated from the fields by a road. The outlook was half obscured behind driving rain. Simone shivered. If she was to escape from the house, she needed something more substantial to wear than a thin silk dress and a blanket.
The young woman took further stock of the room. There were things she had missed at first glance. To her left and behind her she found the stolen boxes of fashion goods arranged neatly along one wall, clearly Dougie’s work. Most were already closed and sealed with tape. The long dress box that had been Simone’s tight prison was still open, and the colourful fabric of the dresses peeped above its edge. Simone shuddered, wondering whether there were more plans to seal her in it again bound and gagged. Further along stood another box, still open, from which spilled mixed colours of black, tan, white and red. It was the lingerie collection that Douglas had taken almost as an afterthought.
Very conscious of her nakedness under the dress, Simone went to the box and selected a pair of black satin panties, suspender belt, black stockings, and a white half-slip. The gorgeous silks were scarcely appropriate for tramping through fields in driving rain. But their beautiful texture had always fascinated Simone. That was one aesthetic reason why she was in the clothing and fashion business. She quickly stepped into the panties, slipped the stockings on, rolling them up her legs to her thighs and fastening them with the suspender belt, and pulled on the silk slip. The silks crackled sensuously as they slid against one another and caressed her skin.
While she was dressing, Simone listened for any sounds of movement or voices in other parts of the house. She was sharply aware that delaying her departure in this way might jeopardise her chances of escape. But she needed clothes, and the precious silks and satins were better than nothing. She remembered that Judy the window designer had persuaded her to have several pairs of high heel shoes put aside for their models to wear at the next lingerie exhibition, and she wondered whether Dougie had included them as well. She discovered the shoes at the bottom of the box, and after several tries found a pair that fitted her well enough.
Simone studied herself in a wall mirror with satisfaction. Something should be done about her hair, and a touch of make-up on cheeks and lips would not go amiss, but she knew that it was dangerous to succumb further to the more frivolous side of her nature. The extra layers of clothes felt warmer however, and she guessed that when she reached the front door she would find a heavy coat and pairs of boots from which to choose. Farms usually had such items handy.
As she was about to leave, her eyes fell upon several bras that she had missed in her haste. They lay tucked into a corner of the box. Quickly she read the labels, found one that was her size, snatched it up, picked up the blanket with her other hand, and made for the steps that appeared to lead from the living room to what she guessed was the front door.
She was correct in her expectations. As she descended the steps into a hallway she saw up ahead two doors to her left that appeared to open onto other rooms, but a large door at the end of the hall led to the open air and freedom, as tinted light from a side window panel showed. And on a rack next to it hung a number of fleecy lined jackets. Pairs of thick heavy boots lined the wall beneath the coats. One pair was the sort sometimes called ugg boots, made of sheepskin with the fleecy lining inside. They would be perfect.
Simone walked quickly forwards, her heels clicking on the stone flags. But when she had almost drawn level with the first door to her left, the second door ahead opened and a large figure with tousled hair clad in a multi-coloured dressing gown emerged stretching her arms and yawning. Simone froze in surprise. It was the boutique gossip, the new employee, the secret plant who by her connivance had helped Madame and Douglas make the robbery of the Swank Boutique an inside job. Simone had completely forgotten about her, had never speculated where she was or how she fitted in with the other members of the gang. The woman stood between her and the door to freedom. She was large and strong looking and Simone feared that she would be no match against her.
With her heart in her mouth, Simone turned and ran back towards the living room, the woman’s shout of surprise and anger following her. There must be another way out of the house. Farmhouses often had more doors leading to the outside than were usual in city houses. But when she entered the living room the only doors she saw were the one to the room where she had been held prisoner and a door at the further end that probably led to other bedrooms. But maybe to a kitchen too, she thought, and there might be a way out there.
She opened the door and rushed through into another long hallway lined with more closed doors. Then her high heels betrayed her, catching on a scatter rug and causing her almost to fall. As she regained her balance, the door immediately to her right opened and she blundered straight into Douglas’s arms.
The man reacted instinctively, clamping a hand tight over Simone’s mouth, stifling her cry of disappointment into a faint yip and temporarily blocking her breath so that her head spun. For a few seconds she fainted. As her mind swam back into consciousness, Simone felt that she was being carried. She was laid on the sofa in the living room and looked up to see Douglas leaning over her. She observed that he was already dressed in dark jacket and trousers. The boutique gossip stood at one end of the room by the steps that lead to the front hallway, her arms akimbo.
The door through which Douglas had just carried Simone swung open and Madame burst in, tying a thin grey sash around her waist mismatched against the darker black silk of her dressing gown, an expression of fury contorting her face.
‘She almost got away from us, Dougie. I knew we should have bound her more securely.’
‘Yers, Mod-arm. But she wouldn’t have gone far in this storm, an’ we’re miles from nowhere.’ Douglas turned to Simone who was now sitting straight-backed on the edge of the sofa looking defiantly at her captors. ‘Brave gel,’ he mused, as much to himself as to the others in the room. He sighed and took Simone by both hands, hauling her firmly to her feet.
‘Dougie ...?’
‘I know, Mod-arm ... ‘ And to Simone he said, ‘Tak’ off that nice dress, m’dear. You’re not goin’ anywhere.’
‘Very good, Dougie,’ Madame grunted under her breath. ‘You better do what he says my girl, right now! I see you didn’t have time to put on your bra. That saves us the trouble of making you take it off again, aha-ha.’
Simone pulled the dress up over her head and handed it to Douglas.
‘You’re also wearing panties I think,’ said Madame, ‘I can see them through that thin silk. We’d better make sure they’re panties and not you, hadn’t we? They come off too. Help her, Dougie.’
‘No!’ cried Simone in confusion, ‘I’m quite capable of undressing myself!’ When she thought about it later, Simone realised that under the circumstances it was a pretty silly think to say.
Simone bent to her task with all the dignity she could muster, which wasn’t much. Her cheeks and neck glowed with embarrassment as she bent forward, unfastened the suspender belt, and pulled the panties down her legs and out from under the slip. She could almost feel her captors’ eyes appraising her rear and her thighs with different reactions. A friend had once said that she looked very like Goldie Hawn from that angle. She had loved the compliment. But having physical beauty could be a disadvantage if she was abducted. She consoled herself with the thought that, although he had touched her, Dougie had so far been a perfect gentleman about it.
As she handed the panties to Douglas, they locked eyes. The man winced slightly but his face was turned from Madame who did not notice.
Madame’s thoughts were on a different tack. ‘I’ll allow you to keep your slip, dear, for now anyway. You’d look ridiculous naked except for stockings and suspender belt. There’s a certain, ahh, artistic, or shall we say aesthetic, pleasure in seeing a delectable woman such as yourself all neatly trussed up. A little flimsy apparel adds to the allure, doesn’t it Dougie?’
‘Yers, Mod-arm.’
Simone stood erect in front of her captors, her hands crossed modestly over her chest. She looked from Madame to the boutique assistant. Her gaze rested longer on the second woman who was still standing by the steps at the other end of the room in her arrogant pose.
‘You’re despicable,’ said Simone. Her quiet voice cut like a knife through the room. ‘We believed the hard-luck story you gave us and made the mistake of hiring you without references. Your betrayal puts you below these two. Compared to you, they’re just honest thieves, Dougie and Madame, honest robb ... ghgggg.’
Simone’s voice came to an abrupt end as Douglas packed into her mouth the bunched satin panties she had just been wearing. It was not done roughly but with firmness and a gentleness of manner. It made her feel no less helpless however. The man’s fingers worked patiently until most of the smooth cloth filled the front of her mouth behind her teeth, with a little protruding from between her lips.
Though her hands were still free, Simone did not attempt to do anything about it. The thought crossed her mind that a heroine does not remove her gag when still in the presence of her captors. They would simply put it straight back in her mouth.
Taking control again, Madame strode to Simone, seized her arms and jerked her roughly around before tying her wrists very tightly with the sash she had been wearing.
‘Dougie, find plenty of thin rope. When I’ve finished with you, Miss Simone, you will wish you had never been born!’
ã Brian Sands 2002