‘Thief’s Prisoner’ was first published in Bondage Life, Vol. 1, No. 6, 1979, pp. 18-19, 74-75. It was posted about a year ago in the stories section of Bindher.com. The heroine Ronnie has been name-changed to my current favorite Rona, who is one of a select group of heroines in my thriller mystery stories who wind up getting - well, wound up - in tight situations, Peggy, Pam, Mignon, and of course more recently Mia, Melody and Molly. Readers may notice that this story is a direct predecessor to ‘Suddenly Melanie,’ but with the difference that it is a Heroine Confronts Burglar with Replica Pistol fantasy. The story also features an appearance of what was hailed in Bondage Life circles as ‘The Brian Sands gag!’ There is an illustrated version of this in an early issue of Bondage Life, but I do not have a copy.

Header: Detail from an evocative sketch for the original story in Bondage Life, artist unknown.

Rona was so tired at the end of work for the day that she nearly forgot her temporary plans for the weekend. The painters were in her apartment giving it a new spring look. She had felt like a change of décor after receiving her bonus for the latest successful thriller story and, since she could not stand the paint fumes that would linger for at least a week, she had asked around among her friends at the office.

Peggy, who was fast becoming her right hand in the editing section, remarked that a rich client had given her the freedom of his house in the outer suburbs whenever she needed time by herself to write or think. Peggy did not imagine that the client would begrudge the same to Rona who, like Peggy, had helped him with a film script. When Rona phoned the man earlier that week and explained the situation, he agreed readily, adding that he would be out of town for two weeks and she could make use of the house any time, she or Peggy. That was perfect, and Rona planned to move in during the weekend.

There was in fact no need to wait for the weekend to begin. The way she felt, that very Friday night would be more than welcome for the chance to sleep away from the clutter of her apartment. Her suitcase was packed already and in the back of her car, so there was no cause to return home for anything.

Rona could see through the window of her office that the sky was overcast and already spitting droplets of rain. The weather bureau had been forecasting rain for some days now, and had hit the jackpot. In spite of her scepticism, Rona had brought to work a smart satiny russet colored rain coat which for most of the week hung on the coat rack behind the office door. Now she flung it over the lightweight two piece silk skirt and matching jacket she had worn that morning, and stood for a minute or two at the window watching the streets below become slickly dark under the rain. The weather did not make her as depressed as it sometimes did for other people, because that was part of her happy-go-lucky nature, but on this occasion it was also because she felt so tired.

She opened her hand bag, took out a large filmy scarf in rainbow colors, predominantly pinks and blues, and knotted it loosely around her neck, fluffing it at her throat. Then down to the car in the open-air parking lot, a skitter through the rain, and she was on her way, the cares of the office behind her.

It took some time to find the house in the gathering dusk. Rona had the address and checked it out against a road map, but she was surprised at how far away it stood at the end of a long street with no neighbors on either side and completely surrounded by trees. She remembered Peggy saying the owner was something of a recluse who preferred privacy. The house moreover was in an outer suburb of the city which made it doubly isolated.

She turned her car up the long drive and rolled it into the garage at the side, closed the garage door and let herself into the dwelling from within. Perfunctorily, she explored it: downstairs a front living room on one side, dining room on the other side, behind the dining room a large office-cum-library which even had a wall safe, kitchen and pantry to the back; up the stairs more recreation rooms and bedrooms. Only one bedroom was properly set out - the others had dust drapes over all the furniture - so she guessed it was meant for her.

Rona turned on the small bedside lamp and retraced her steps to the front door where she switched off all downstairs lights. Back in the bedroom she threw off her clothes, wrapped a towel around herself and showered quickly under deliciously hot water in the adjoining bathroom. She then wriggled into an ankle length night dress of pink silk and lace, opaque and clinging. The gown matched the russet hues of her hair. Rona slid gratefully into bed.

The room she was in must have been a man’s den. The walls were covered with sporting photographs and trophies. There was an ornamental Japanese sword and a very real looking replica of a police revolver.

There would be plenty of opportunity in the morning to find out more about this intriguing house. Wearily, Rona switched off the bed lamp and within minutes was drifting off to sleep.

*

Something had woken her. Rona lay still, suddenly very wide-awake, but she could not make out what had disturbed her. Then she heard it again, some kind of scratching sound which seemed to be coming from the wall at the head of her bed. Was it rats or mice? But then she would have heard them earlier.

Rona always felt uneasy when she was in strange places and alone. A girl can’t be too careful. Maybe, she thought ironically, she too often imagined herself caught up in the situations she created for the women’s thriller magazines. Was there a burglar in the house? Or badgers? She had read about them somewhere. It was a cliché prone situation. But what if there was?

Rona was only a slender and light weight young woman, five feet five in her stockinged feet, and in the hands of a man of slightly above average strength she knew she could be easily over-powered. What she lacked in strength, however, she could make up for in fleetness of foot. She was trimly put-together with a narrow waist and well-rounded and perky breasts. One of her male friends had once likened her figure to those of the slender and well-proportioned ladies in Indian temple carvings.

Rona decided that if there was anyone in the house below, her best move would be to flit to the front door and run for help, and at all costs to avoid confrontation. As quietly as she could, she stepped out of bed and donned the plain long-sleeved negligee matching her nightdress, tying a thin chiffon sash around her waist. She slipped her feet into the pair of high-heeled shoes she had worn the day before - a glance at her wrist watch showed the time was past two in the morning - and stood irresolutely at her bedroom door.

What if she was discovered? How could she bluff her way out? The revolver on the wall, she thought. Turning, she took it down and inspected it. As she had suspected, it could not fire and the blanks in the revolving chamber had been cemented in. Still, from a distance it looked real enough and it would make an attacker pause long enough to give her a head start. With her heart pounding so loud that she imagined someone could hear, she started down the stairs.

She paused at the landing and, crouching so as to make herself less conspicuous there in the dark, she peered into the gloomy well of the hallway. There was a strip of light showing beneath the door leading into the library. Cautiously, Rona descended the remaining flight of stairs and made her way softly to the library door, which she now saw stood slightly ajar. She knew that she should run on into the night and safety, but curiosity took the better of her. Very gently she nudged the door so that it swung open sufficiently wide to allow her to see into the room. The desk lamp was shaded so that its light was flung mostly over the area around the wall safe, in front of which a man stood attentively, his back towards her. Rona also saw a telephone on the desk, and a daring plan formed in her mind to hold the thief at bay with the replica revolver in her hands and dial for the police.

Rona straightened up, took a deep breath for confidence, and walked into the room straight to the telephone before the burglar realized someone else was there with him, and as he began to turn she snapped sharply, ‘Stay where you are or I’ll have to shoot.’ She hoped the slight quaver in her voice did not give her away.

The man stood very still, then slowly he turned his head towards her. Rona’s hand raised the revolver, but she almost dropped it in fright when she saw how the man’s face was distorted by the black stocking mask he wore over his head.

‘Turn back to the wall,’ she ordered. But he continued to look at her in an amused and expectant manner. She brought the receiver to her ears and froze. The line was dead. She saw then that the flex connecting the phone to the wall had been cut.

‘Ain’t no one goin to call in, or out, on that now Ma’am,’ the thief spoke softly. ‘You’re goin to have to deal with me all by yourself.’

Fighting down panic, Rona backed away slowly towards the door. The man turned around fully - he was very tall - and took a step towards her.

‘Stay there! I warn you I will shoot,’ the young woman repeated, but with not much conviction.

I don’t think you’ll do that,’ said the man, and slowly he took one step and then another towards her. Rona’s knees felt like lead and she stood frozen to the spot, the dummy pistol still trained on the man’s chest.

He came right up to her, reached out lazily, and took the gun from her unresisting fingers. ‘It’s a replica, ain’t it?’ Rona nodded. ‘Anyway, I don’t think you’re the kind of girl who would shoot anyone,’ he added almost kindly.

‘Wh-What are you going to do with me?’ Rona asked shakily. This close to him, she had no chance of running.

‘Aw, I’m not goin to hurt you, if that’s what you mean,’ he answered, a little embarrassed. ‘I ain’t no rapist or killer or anything. I thought this place was empty, and I’ve had my eyes on this safe for some time now. I tell you what, you let me finish this job, don’t scream or anything, and before I go I’ll tie you up just enough so’s you’ll take about an hour to work loose. By the time you do that and call the police I’ll be outa the neighborhood.’

‘All right,’ Rona found herself saying through dry lips, ‘Thank you.’

‘You can keep me company and watch the show,’ said the man. He was almost a boy. ‘But I’ll have to take my eyes off you a lotta the time, so I gotta tie you a little now. Make yourself comfortable in that chair.’

Rona obeyed.

The thief walked to the venetian blinds and with a small pocketknife cut several long pieces of the thin cord. He tossed all but one onto the desk and then went to her. Kneeling at her feet, he tied the piece of cord several times around her ankles. It went round them four times before he made a firm reef knot. Rona’s ankles were held together snugly but the cords were not tight and caused her no discomfort. The burglar turned back to his unfinished work.

After five minutes of waiting, Rona realized that the burglar’s concentration was entirely upon the safe and that she was forgotten. She began to entertain thoughts of escape. What if he was really lying and intended to rape or beat her, or worse? What if, in spite of his good intentions, the sight of her at his mercy triggered something off in him?

Stealthily, Rona reached her arm down the side of her leg and her fingers began to work on the double knot. It came free! With another movement of her fingers the cord fell away. She paused, looked at the man’s back, which was towards her, then slowly rose from the chair and step by step moved towards the door.

She was more than halfway there when a slight rustle from her silk gown made the burglar turn. Like a startled rabbit, Rona bolted through the door, turned right, and ran down the hallway. She grasped frantically at the front door handle but it would not open. Then she remembered that she had bolted both its latches above and below the main lock.

Rona was reaching for the upper latch when a large arm encircled her waist and a hand cupped itself over her mouth. Defeated, she did not struggle, and the tight grip was loosened. Bu the man’s arm was not taken from her waist, nor the hand from her mouth, until they were standing in the library once again.

‘Why’d you do that," the burglar asked reproachfully.

‘I got frightened,’ Rona answered truthfully. ‘You can’t blame me for wanting to get out of this.’

Shaking his head, the boy directed her to sit in the chair again. He knelt down as before and replaced the cord, only this time he wound it about her ankles three times and, with the ends that were left, securely cinched the cords between. This was a good deal tighter and more uncomfortable that before , and there was very little freedom of movement for her legs now.

The burglar turned to the desk, took up one of the other coils of thin venetian blind cord, and came back to her. He raised the cord ends and gestured.

‘I’ll have to tie your hands together too.’

Rona raised her arms to him, wrists together in front.

‘No,’ he said, ‘Behind ya. Y’might untie your legs again.’

Rona twisted around in the chair until her back was to to him and allowed her arms to be gathered together behind her. With care and deliberation the boy bound her wrists in the same manner as her ankles, cinched tightly between.

‘Now you sit there. Don’t give no more trouble.’

He returned his attentions to the wall safe, and Rona sat still, defeated and subdued.

Tied like this, she felt extremely helpless, and she wriggled uncomfortably, straining apprehensively at the bonds. Oblivious to her struggles, the thief finished his job. It took another half an hour. The burglar would have to leave soon in order to get away while it was still dark, thought Rona.

*

The bank notes and jewelry had been stuffed into the burglar’s carpetbag. He turned, and Rona looked up expectantly.

‘I been watching the place all week,’ the boy said, ‘An nobody come in. How come you’re here now?’

Rona told him that she was using the house while the owner was away for two weeks.

‘Anyone know you’re here?’

‘Only my girlfriend, and she’s gone to the country for a couple of days. If you leave me tied up too tight so I can’t get free, nobody’ll find me for days. And these ropes feel real tight.’

‘Yeah. You’ll be alright,’ the boy said matter-of-factly. Then, after a short pause, ‘You like to lie down and sleep? I won’t go yet. Still plenty of things in other rooms. An I don’t have to hurry now, after what you just told me!’

Rona nodded, biting her lip and inwardly kicking herself for giving away that information.

Before carrying Ron up to her bedroom, her captor took the remaining two pieces of cord from the desktop and bound one around her legs just above her knees, over the long silk chiffon gown she wore. With the other piece he tied her arms back from just above her elbows. It was the longest of the pieces, and he was able to wind it twice about her arms and body just below her breasts.

Rona was laid carefully, almost tenderly, on the bed. The boy cast his eyes around the room. Rona’s suitcase stood on a chair with the lid open and, thrown carelessly across the back of the chair were the raincoat and silk scarf Rona had worn earlier that day. The burglar stepped across and took up the large, gaily colored silk scarf, folded it over rectangularly several times to a three-inch wide strip, and turned back to his prisoner.

He sat Rona up on the bed and, bringing the scarf over her head, tied it tightly across her mouth and lips, making the double knot secure at the back of her neck under her hair. There seemed no point in protesting. Bound as she was, Rona could do nothing about it. She accepted the gag without a struggle. It did not hurt too badly, and in a funny way she found that she enjoyed the feel of the smooth, soft material, crisp and taut around her face.

Rona was left sitting there on the bed while the thief searched the other rooms. She took the opportunity to work on her wrist bonds, knowing that she had to loosen them before she could hope to wriggle out of the remaining ropes. But she had no success. The struggling made her panic and she lost balance and fell softly onto her side with her head close to the pillow. The silk over her mouth muffled her. She felt stifled after a few minutes and worked her jaw open awkwardly. The fine cloth slipped neatly between her teeth and she was able to breathe easier, drawing the air into her lungs around the gag.

If I try to yell really loud, she thought, I could still make plenty of noise. But only someone in this house would be able to hear me. The walls are too thick for much sound to get through, and anyway this place is too far away from the neighbors.

Rona decided that if her mouth, now lightly coerced, was completely free she could probably cry for help loud enough for someone outside the walls to hear, however faintly. So she resolved that when the thief left for good she would work to slip the gag wholly out of her mouth. If it remained there, if she could not push it over her chin with her tongue, it would muffle sufficiently to prevent her from being heard.

She remembered how in her mind she used to criticize the old thriller movies that showed ‘Damsels in Distress.’ Their gags were simple handkerchiefs or flimsy scarves tied either over their mouths or between their lips or teeth, and she had maintained that they could not possibly muffle the victim’s cries enough when the hero passed close by. Even less did they do their implied job, to gag, Rona changed her mind about it. She could see that in certain circumstances, such as those she was now in, a gag tied that way, provided it could not be shaken off, would be extremely effective in doing its job.

About twenty minutes later, the thief padded softly into the room. ‘You all right?’ he asked. Rona nodded. The boy walked to the window and looked out. Although the sky was still overcast, the atmosphere was lighter, a morning gray. He turned back and spoke to Rona again.

‘Looks like mornin’s comin up, and there’s no sense me takin off if no one’s comin here for a week. I’ll sleep here till it’s dark again.’

He bent down and checked the knot of the gag at the back of her neck.

‘Your gag’s loose. That ain’t good. I gotta keep you a bit quieter while I sleep. If you shout, someone might hear you from the front door.’

Rona was propped up at the bed-head again and the scarf between her teeth was drawn tighter. She was then arranged neatly in the middle of the bed on her side, and left. The burglar went down to the library again and Rona could hear him doing something to the wall safe, or that was what she guessed the sound to be, coming from the wall. The acoustics in the old house were strange. It was the same sort of sound that had awakened her early in the morning. And she knew with regret that if she had slept in she might not be in her present state of intense discomfort and fear.

Throughout the morning, Rona tossed and struggled restlessly on the bed. The thin cords biting into her wrists, arms, legs, and ankles caused her the greatest discomfort. The gag, though fixed more firmly between her teeth, was not too uncomfortable although it did chafe a little. She found however that it was impossible to work it out of her mouth over her chin, and she guessed that of somebody did knock at the front door the gag would impede her speech enough to make any cry inaudible at that distance from the bedroom.

It was some time after midday when the boy returned. He was still wearing the black stocking mask, and the sight of his sudden reappearance at the doorway gave Rona a fright. When she realized that it was the same man, Rona lifted her head and made noises through the gag, shaking her head from side to side and trying to indicate as well as she could that she wanted the gag taken off. The boy sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and set to work on the knotted silk. It had been drawn very tight and it took him several minutes to pick the knot open. As the scarf came gently away from her mouth, the bound girl worked her jaw to relieve the stiffness she felt in her face.

‘Thank you,’ said Rona huskily. Then after a pause she added, ‘Can I be untied for awhile? I’ve been kept like this for hours and I’d really like to stretch and get circulation going again. The ropes are hurting.’

‘You promise not to try to get away again?’

‘I promise.’

So a few minutes later Rona was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing the circulation back lightly into her wrists and arms.

‘Can we have something to eat?’ she asked. ‘I’ll make it myself.’

For the next two hours Rona prepared bacon and eggs, watched carefully by the thief as she worked at it in the kitchen. Later she showered and changed in the bathroom, which the burglar allowed her to lock. She did not attempt to escape. The bathroom was on the upper floor of the house and she was just as much a prisoner there, she reasoned, as she would be in the bedroom bound hand and foot.

Rona emerged fresh and pretty, her hair tied by a blue silk scarf in the manner of an Alice headband, the scent of talc and warm woman flesh about her. She wore a slender floating skirt of tulle covered with a design of small black and red flower buds on a white background, and a very smart and expensive white silk chiffon blouse with a wide collar and lapels, and long sleeves to the wrists, puffed from the shoulders to her forearms.

Rona and the boy stood facing each other in the hallway. It was now three-thirty in the afternoon.

‘I have to be tied up again don’t I? I can see it in your face,’ Rona began. The boy nodded a little shamefacedly. ‘All right,’ continued Rona. ‘But first let me fix my hair.’ She walked to the bedroom while the young burglar followed a few paces behind.

Rona sat at the dressing table in front of the mirror, pulled off her head scarf, and began combing out her heavy russet tinged hair. She continued for several minutes and made a good job of it so that her auburn hair glowed silkily about her shoulders. She knew the effect she was having on the boy. But she noticed him also growing restless, and she had indeed taken her time because she did not like the idea of being trussed and helpless again.

Finally, the thief said, ‘Come on, that’s enough. I’ve gotta get ready to go as soon as it gets dark.’

‘That’s many hours away,’ answered the young woman. ‘Why do I have to be tied up so soon?’

‘Cause I’ve still gotta do some things in other parts of the house. Now hurry. You’re going slow on purpose.’

‘Just a minute.’

Rona picked up her blue silk scarf and tied it neatly at her throat with the knot behind so that it looked like a simple choker. She then turned and faced her captor.

‘Are my arms to be tied the same way as before?’

‘Yes, but I’ve got different ropes this time so’s not to hurt you too much.’

He held up several coils of soft cotton rope.

Rona turned and put her arms behind her back. Her wrists were bound together with a thin cord that was cinched as on the earlier occasion. It was softer than the venetian cord and did not cut so painfully into her wrists. However it was not tied over the broad ample cuffs of her blouse, as she had hoped, but beneath the cuffs close against skin and bone. A thicker cord was fastened around her upper arms and they were pulled back, then her arms were trussed tightly to her body below her breasts with a second length. This piece was extremely long, yards and yards, and it was wrapped around her from just below her breasts to just above her arms, to her waist and over elbows and forearms.

Rona wriggled with vexation.

‘Hey, there’s no need to wrap me up like a parcel!’

‘No,’ her captor answered, ‘That’s right. But I like it.’

This made Rona go quiet and cease any attempt to struggle. She did not want this young man to get too carried away with excitement.

However, another length of many yards was produced and wound about her upper body some more, starting far enough below her shoulders to prevent the coils from slipping off, and passing round her body many times above her breasts. It continued lower, around her waist to her hips, where her wrists were anchored.

Next, Rona was lowered gently to the floor and her ankles bound and cinched with a thin cord. Then her legs below the knees, above the knees, and around her thighs, were wrapped tightly in multiple bindings that ended at her hips.

She was now sitting on the floor with her legs in front of her and angled slightly away, her back straight, head held proudly.

The boy squatted in front of her, his face flushed and excited.

‘This is just like the games of cowboys and Indians we played when we were kids. And you’re a lot like one of the girls we used to tie up.’

‘But this isn’t a game,’ Rona said, close to tears. ‘Please, you’re not going to do anything silly and hurt me are you? It’s not nice to be gagged and tied up!’

The boy’s face looked downcast, but in a rebellious voice he said, ‘I gotta tie you so the police won’t come too quick. It’s fun. And anyway, you can’t do anything about it.’

That was true. Try as she might, it was impossible for Rona to move her arms.

‘Well, look,’ she said desperately, ‘It’s nearly dark enough now with the rain outside. Why don’t you gag me and leave me, like you planned?’

Rona preferred to take the chance of spending several days helpless before anyone found her, rather than be the plaything of this youth.

‘What will I use for a gag?’ the boy asked. ‘I gotta make you very quiet.’

‘Why don’t you use one of my scarves like before?’

‘Aw, a girl’s scarf like that ain’t thick enough. It’s gotta go in your mouth properly, like rolled up cotton wool or something, I once saw on TV.’

The thought of having cotton wool crammed into her throat terrified Rona. Thinking quickly, she said, ‘Why don’t you use two or three scarves? Roll them up inside a long one, and tie that in my mouth. There are a couple in my handbag and one or two in my suitcase.’

She watched with some relief while the boy collected all her scarves. He sat on the floor sorting them out, selected one large silk square in a plain pink and folded it in half to a rectangle. Two other scarves, a small silk neck square and a large green silk headscarf, were rolled into a single wad that was then in turn rolled up in the center of the pink rectangle.

As the burglar began to apply the gag to her lips, Rona pulled away and resisted as much as she could at first. But then, remembering that the young fellow might forget himself in the excitement and be too rough with her, she relaxed and sat still while the thick roll of silk was bound tightly between her jaws. When this was done, the silk scarf which had been used on her earlier that day was refolded and bound very tightly so that it made a three-inch bandage around the lower part of her face just below her nose.

The thief stepped back and surveyed his handiwork with obvious pleasure. Rona sat quietly with her head bowed, her heart beating furiously. She began to shiver uncontrollably.

‘Try to cry out,’ the thief ordered.

Rona obeyed.

‘Louder. You can do better than that!’ he said roughly.

Taking a deep breath, Rona tried again, and if her mouth had been free the scream would very likely have been heard a block away. But all that came out was a strangled squeal.

Without another word, the burglar took up his kit bag and left the room. Rona, her face strained and flushed and with the blood pounding in her head from the attempt to scream, fell slowly sideways onto the carpet and lay there dizzily waiting for her head to clear.

*

It was one of the longest nights that the poor girl could remember. Most of the time she lay semi-conscious from the effects of the stifling gag. With her body completely trussed from ankles to shoulders, she could only wriggle across the floor with the smallest of movements, each one of which progressively exhausted her. The fine silks she wore, blouse and skirt, did little to soften the restrictions of the bonds against her body.

Somehow she found herself outside the bedroom door in the hallway. Later she lay at the head of the stairs. And it was there that Peggy found her, returning several days earlier than planned in the late Sunday afternoon.

‘Y-you always turn up at the right time,’ croaked Rona when the gag was tenderly removed. This was a wry allusion to Peggy’s value as a right hand girl Friday. ‘Thank you, Peggy. I don’t think I could have lasted another day with that horrible gag.’

‘For God’s sake, what happened, Rona?’

‘I disturbed a thief at your recluse’s wall safe and he made me live out one of my thriller stories!’

Rona laid her head in Peg’s lap and fell into an exhausted sleep under her friend’s caresses, and the ropes gradually fell away. ›

End

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