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1.
“A toast, to John and Marsha. May they have the best of luck in their new adventure together.” The heavyset, balding man raised the champagne glass in the air and subsequently the entire marble-floored ballroom was filled the tinkling of glass against glass. Everyone in the firm had come out, the men in fancy black tuxedos, the women in sexy evening dress.
The speaker was Mr. Dulaney, the senior partner, and to his right were the guests of honor. After almost 20 years at Dulaney, Wallis, and Mitchell, John Hamilton and Marsha Greenman were leaving the 90-hour per week cut-throat world of corporate insurance law for a new life together. The attractive couple, both in their mid 40s, had sacrificed the pleasures of life for the prestige and monetary rewards of the law. Although married a decade and a half, John and Marsha never had the time to raise a family, go on vacations they could easily afford, or do much else except acquire a well-appointed house in an expensive suburb, a Lexus and a Hummer, and, most importantly, a sizable nest egg, enough to allow them the early retirement on which they were about to embark.
Even with a head of hair that had turned a premature gray, Marsha Greenman’s was a vibrant, youthful-looking woman. Her hair coupled with her small, gold-rimmed glasses, she believed, had always given an air of authority in the courtroom despite her relatively young age. That fact that she rarely lost a case stood as proof. Her skin, however, was that of a much younger woman, a fact which the black sleeveless, v-necked dress she wore demonstrated. She was not overly muscular, but fit, with slender legs and lithe arms.
John Hamilton stood with his arm around her waist. With his black-rimmed glasses, he looked like the class nerd grown up, although he had lost his pimply complexion, baby fat, and poor sense of fashion over the years. Years of defending insurance companies against workers’ bogus disability claims had given him the confidence he lacked when he was in school. He was too involved in his own thoughts to notice the flirtations of the young female clerks.
In a few moments, they would leave this world behind. Once they left the farewell party, a car would pick them up and take them off into their new lives. Their house and everything in it was sold and the cash invested. The plane tickets were purchased, and hotel reservations made. Although they were sad to see their colleagues go, they were thrilled to finally begin living.
After a round of teary farewells, they walked down to the lobby to await the arrival of their car.
“Wonderful bunch of people, that crew. I’m going to miss them,” John said, wistfully.
“I know,” Marsha replied. “That was our life for so long, it’s going to be weird not having to get up and get to court by 8 a.m. I don’t know what we’ll do with ourselves.”
“Oh, I think we can find some things do to,” John said. He looked over his shoulder, and when he was convinced no one was looking, he gave his wife’s bottom a playful squeeze. She gasped and then giggled girlishly.
“John and Marsha Hamilton?” a voice asked, jolting them out of their reverie.
“We’re John and Marsha,” Marsha replied, having made this explanation many, many times. “But I kept my name. I’m Marsha Greenman.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.” The voice was that of a woman. She was dressed rather mannishly in a chauffeur’s uniform of black slacks, jacket, and tie with a white shirt. She wore a cap and dark sunglasses and held a small sign that read “Hamilton.” She was short, little overweight, but her body still had well-defined curves. “If you will follow me, please, the car is parked out front. Your bags are already loaded.”
The couple held hands as the dream they had had for so long seemed to be finally unfolding. Money can’t buy everything, John thought, but it can sure go a heck of a long way. The woman opened the door of the long black limousine and motioned her passengers to come inside. Marsha slid across the leather seat and John followed. The door was shut and locked.
The woman got into the passenger side of the car as there was a second driver already behind the wheel, a man. He wore the same uniform as his female counterpart. Very quickly, the two lawyers noticed that the atmosphere in the car was especially tense.
The car zoomed off in silence, the two drivers looking ahead determinedly.
“This is a nice car,” Marsha said, trying to be friendly with her drivers. “Do you get to drive the same one all the time?”
“Sometimes,” the woman said coolly.
After a few moments of more silence, it was John’s turn to try to warm things up. “I didn’t know they have two drivers for these cars. Is that standard?”
“Sometimes,” the woman replied. “If the trip is long”
“But we’re only going to the airport,” John stated. “That’s only 10 miles away from here.”
“Maybe they have another passenger, sweetie, after they drop us off,” Marsha surmised.
They thought they heard the man give a small guffaw, the first sound he had uttered. Then there was silence again.
“So,” asked the female driver. “What do you two do?”
“We’re lawyers,” Marsha replied.
“Actually,” added John. “We used to be lawyers. We’re retiring.”
“Oh, but you’re so young,” the woman replied. Was there a hint of sarcasm in her voice?
“You know,” the co-driver continued, “My husband was just in court recently.”
“That’s interesting,” Marsha said uncomfortably. She was used to being asked for legal advice once it was determined that she was a lawyer. Usually it entailed her finding out private things about people that she’s rather not know.
“Don’t worry,” the woman answered, sensing the couple’s unease. “He hadn’t committed a crime. No, he was completely innocent. He didn’t do anything at all. Except get himself hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” John said, trying to sound sympathetic. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Oh, he’s fine now,” she said. “A year ago, he was hurt while he was working. He used to make a good living at the Eastar warehouse, driving a forklift. Paid about 15 dollars an hour. Then one day on his shift, real late at night, a crate fell. A crate of winter coats, hit him right on the head.”
“That’s a shame,” John said, still attempting to sound engaged.
“Yes, a shame,” she continued. “Was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Then when he got out the doctors told him he couldn’t work anymore. He couldn’t focus his mind as well anymore, and they don’t need forklift drivers that can’t think right. But he had disability insurance that would have kept him from starving. Not living well, mind you, but living humble. But then the insurance company got their lawyers on the case.”
Marsha Greenman started shifting uncomfortably in her seat. This story was starting to sound familiar.
“There was one lawyer in particular. A lady. She went after him and you know how much money he got?”
The couple was silent.
“I think Miss Greenman would remember,” the woman said sharply. “Wouldn’t she?”
“Duane Phillips,” Marsha replied. “That’s his name right?”
“No, Miss Greenman,” the woman said, her voice getting angrier. “Dave Phillips. You can’t even remember his name can you? But you knew him well enough to ruin him and make yourself a shitload of money in the process.”
“I was just doing my job,” Marsha defended. “He didn’t have a very good case.”
“Just doing her job,” the woman said to the driver. “Didn’t have a good enough case, did you Dave?”
The driver suddenly turned around and pulled of his dark glasses. Marsha could now see the familiar scar on his forehead. She had seen this man many, many times. It was Dave Phillips.
“No, I guess I didn’t have enough of a case, Karen, because of this…lady,” Dave Phillips sneered.
“Listen,” John interjected. “She didn’t mean anything personal. It was just business you know. She doesn’t even do that anymore.”
“I know she doesn’t,” the co-driver who it was now determined was named Karen, and was Dave Phillip’s wife. “Things are going to be a lot different for her starting today.” With that, she pulled a handgun from her jacket pocket and turned it on the couple in the backseat.
“Please, don’t” Marsha pleaded, her voice shaking. “Do you want money? We have money. Just stop that car now and let us out. Drive us to the ATM machine if you want.”
“Drive you to the ATM, huh?” Karen said, her voice becoming more menacing. “What, you going to give us 20 bucks? We have a plenty of money now. At least we will have money, as long as we have you two.”
The couple sat in silent terror.
“Dave’s new job pays a heck of a lot better than driving a forklift. All we have to do is make sure you are delivered to our employer. We’re getting a lot of money for you. Your profile is just perfect. Attractive, healthy, no family, no jobs, no one will be looking for you. That adds up to a lot of loot.”
“But, we have plane tickets,” shot back John, trying to gain a higher ground. “We have hotel reservations. People will know to look for us.”
“Oh?” said Karen with a chuckle. “Those have been taken care of. You see, our employer has a lot of money and a lot of power. Right now, there are a couple of our associates getting reading to get on a plane to Helena, Montana, to the Big Pines Hotel. No, you two are as good as gone.”
Marsha looked at the gun. “Please, don’t kill us.”
Dave chuckled. Karen the driver replied. “Please, don’t worry; we have no intention of killing you. However, we’re not beyond blowing off a finger or two if you don’t follow our every order to the letter. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” the two lawyers muttered in reply.
“Good. Now, we have a long trip ahead of us, and I don’t want to have to hold this gun on you the whole time.” She grabbed an item from the glove compartment and threw it to Marsha. It was a pair of leather restraints.
“Here,” she ordered Marsha. “Put these on him. Now.”
Marsha, afraid for her safety, managed to buckle the restraints onto John’s wrists with fumbling fingers.
“Be sure to make them tight.”
Marsha made the restraints tighter.
Karen threw another set of restraints at Marsha.
“These are for his ankles. Put them on him.”
She obeyed.
Once John was restrained in the back seat, a third pair of restraints went sent back. This time, Marsha was ordered to place a pair on her own ankles, which she did. Then, the gun still pointed menacingly at her, Marsha was ordered to bring her wrists to the front seat. The driver secured another pair of restraints to her wrists.
“Now, that looks a lot better, and I feel a lot safer,” Karen laughed.
“Please, what are you going to do to us?” John asked. “If you hurt us, I’ll…sue you.”
“It’s part of Dave’s new job to keep you as comfortable as possible,” Karen said with a chuckle. Her husband laughed along. “Of course, your definition of comfortable may have to change a bit over the next few days.”
“Please, let her go,” John pleaded, eyeing his frightened wife on the seat next to him. “Keep me and let her go.”
“How cute and chivalrous,” Karen taunted. “No, I’m afraid you travel as a couple. And The Company is especially interested in your very pretty wife and you together. Things are lot more interesting with a couple. Now, if you want to stay unhurt, I suggest you be quiet for the rest of the drive. Or I do have to make you shut up?”
For the rest of the ride, the two drivers and the two captives rode in silence.
2.
“Here we are, boys and girls,” said Karen. The drive had taken about three hours, and the car was now parked outside of a small house in the middle of the country. For as far as either John or Marsha could see in the blackness, there was nothing but miles and miles of cornfields.
“Get out, now,” Dave ordered, the first word he had said in hours.
Their movements greatly restricted by their restraints, John and Marsha awkwardly wiggled their way out of the back seat and out the door. Dave reached in and pulled each of the captives to their feet while Karen held her gun at them.
“To the house,” instructed Karen. The house was at the end of a long dirt driveway. The two hobbled as much as their ankle restraints would allow them, a process made even more difficult by the poor condition of the muddy, potholed driveway. Although it was early summer, the air was cooler out here in the country. Marsha wished she had worn a warmer dress. Goose pimples soon covered her bare arms and legs.
After many minutes, the two prisoners somehow made it to side of the house without falling on their faces. They were led to a pair cellar doors, the kinds used for tornado shelters. Pulling a key from his shirt pocket, Dave Phillips opened the heavy padlock which secured the two doors while Karen jabbed the pistol into the couple’s backs. It was difficult for them to make it down the old stone steps without losing their balance, but the couple made it without hurting themselves. The two captors followed and flipped on a light switch.
Once their eyes adjusted to the light, John and Marsha could see that they were in what appeared to be an old basement workshop. A wooden bench covered with woodworking tools stood up against the far wall. Scraps of wood of various sizes and shapes stood in the corner. A small wooden bench stood on the wall closest the stairs.
The heavy metallic sound of the cellar door slamming made the couple jump in fear, their nerves already on edge. Karen came around and faced them. She pulled off her cap. Her long, dark-brown hair spilled out around her shoulders. Next she took off her sunglasses. Once she was out of her uniform, she looked a lot less intimidating; plain, but pretty. The gun in her hand, however, made it clear that she was still a force worthy of respect.
“Dave is going to release you now,” she said. “Don’t get any notion that you will turn the tables on us since I’m quite a good shot with this thing. I’d hate to have to put a hole in your pretty legs since our paycheck goes down in price if you’re injured. Dave is armed, too.”
To make the point, Dave, who had also removed his cap and glasses, displayed a large, shiny hunting knife that had heretofore been concealed.
“Please, let us go,” Dave pleaded again. “We won’t say a thing, and I think we might be able to make the money worth your while.”
“No,” Karen replied with a laugh. “You’re here now. And you’ll be with us for about a week before they come for you. But I think it will be a very interesting time, don’t you agree, dear?”
Dave responded by running a rough, calloused fingertip down the flesh of Marsha’s back. Marsha shut her eyes tightly, trying to shut it out.
“The good thing about this house is,” Karen explained, “Is that you can make as much noise as you want and no one will hear you. Scream your heads off and nothing will happen. No help is ever coming. But now it is time for a little justice. Probably not the kind you’re used to, though. Something a little older. Do you know what prisons were like in the olden days?”
The couple was silent.
“They were dark, scary places. Prisoners had no dignity. They were chained and tortured. But not to reform or redeem them, no. They were tortured because they could be, endlessly. And a modern prison cell is a suite at the Waldorf compared to a dungeon cell. There was no proper bedding, or running water.”
She paused a moment to let her words sink in, then continued. “But enough speeches,” Karen said after a pause to let her words sink in. “It’s time for both of you to strip naked for me.”
“Please,” John begged, “We can offer you money.”
“Sorry, but no thanks,” Karen said, moving closer to John, her gun pointed directly at his head. “Undress. Now.”
Dave Philips made a mocking laugh – a cold, merciless sound -- from the corner of the room.
In fear for their safety, the couple started the humiliating task of removing their clothes. The shoes were the first to go. John removed his tuxedo jacket, bow tie, cufflinks, and dress shirt. Marsha had a little less to work with, and after her black ballet slippers were off, she had little choice but to remove her black evening dress, leaving her standing in a matching black bra and panties and hose. The cellar floor felt dirty and cold against their feet.
Karen waved the gun, and it was clear that they were to continue without protest. In a few moments, John was left with nothing on but his wristwatch and light blue boxer shorts. Marsha reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The undergarment fell away from her body revealing her small, round breasts. Her coral-colored nipples stood upright in the chill air. She bent over, removed her hose and stepped out of her panties. Although gray-haired, her public hair still displayed the light brown of her younger days. John stepped out his boxer shorts. Under a tuft of thick, brown hair, his penis hung shriveled and limp in the shadow of the gun.
“Jewelry, too,” Karen ordered. “You won’t need that where you’re going. Although you may keep your wedding rings. And your glasses. Things won’t be nearly as interesting if you can’t see what’s going to happen to you.”
Karen removed the thin gold chain from around her neck and her wristwatch. John removed his watch, a heavy gold Rolex a client had given to him.
The two captors let their prisoners bask in the humiliation of their nudity. Dave and Karen could see why The Company was interested in these two. They were attractive people, especially unclothed. The Company had clients who were especially interested in Actors in their 40s and 50s. These two sit the bill nicely.
“Good,” Karen continued. “You won’t have to bother with clothes ever again. Such nice bodies. It will be a shame to hurt you. Dave, secure them.”
Dave took two pairs of heavy manacles from a drawer in the wooden tool bench and hung them over a thick metal pipe which ran along the middle of the ceiling. Under the threat of the gun, the two prisoners were each led to their respective restraints. Each of their wrists was locked into the metal cuffs. They felt cold and heavy around their wrists. Now they stood naked, facing each other, their arms stretched high above their heads. The tension in their arms and chest made their ribs prominent and caused them to breathe short, quick breaths. The two lawyers looked at each other, at their helpless naked bodies, and wondered what indignities were in store for them.
“Now I can put this away,” Karen stated as she placed her gun onto the tool bench.
“Look at the back of the room. See that door?” Karen asked her captives. She circled the couple as she spoke, using their immobility as an excuse to molest their bodies. At times she would lightly caress their buttocks; other times she would slowly twist their nipples until their faces winced in pain.
“That door is the entrance to your home for the coming days,” she continued. “It’s very old-fashioned, as you will see. Once the door is locked, you’re not coming out. But like in the olden days, you’ll see a small door cut into the bottom of the door. Do you know what that’s for?
Karen punctuated this last query by cupping her hand around John’s balls, and squeezing. He gasped loudly.
Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “That door is your only contact to the outside world. Water and whatever sort of food we decide to feed you goes in. Your shit and piss comes out, at least whenever we feel it is a good time to clean out your slop bucket. But my guess is that it will probably stink a lot more in there before it will out here, so we might forget sometimes.”
Dave chuckled again, his evil chuckle. It bespoke so much pent-up rage that the couple was rightfully frightened.
“But before we check you in, I believe Dave has a score to settle. Isn’t that right?”
Dave murmured a curt “yes” under his breath. From the tool bench drawer that held the manacles beneath, he removed a thick, leather strap. He whipped it through the air. It let out a sharp, piercing swish which made the helpless captives’ blood run cold.
“Please, please,” Marsha said, her voice cracking, tears starting to run down her face. “I am so, so sorry about your settlement. Please, I’ll help with your appeal myself, I’ll work pro bono. Just don’t hurt the both of us.”
“Oh, I’m not going to hurt the both you,” Dave laughed to Marsha. Then staring at the helpless woman, he spat. “I’m going to hurt you: only you.”
With that, he struck the lawyer, remembering all of her sarcastic barbs in the courtroom. At first, his blows were not too hard as he swung the strap across her thighs and between her shoulder blades. When John tried to protest, his words were met by a Karen’s knee, which delivered a short, sharp blow to his naked groin. The blow winded him, yet he was unable to double over as the restraints kept him upright.
As Dave continued tormenting his enemy, it became clear that it was his intent to hurt all of her. Heavy blows on her back were accompanied by lighter slaps of the strap across her breasts, stomach, and calves. He lifted each of her legs let the strap fall on the soles of her feet. Holding the thigh of her right leg, he even let a few weaker whacks attack her pussy. The blows were met with a variety of cries, screams, gasps, and moans depending on the body part struck. Any of John’s objections, soon fewer and fewer, were met by more kicks to his naked genitals.
Then it stopped. The poor woman stood naked and sweating. Her limp body hung in the metal bonds and the edges dug into her wrists.
“Not so powerful now, Miss Attorney, are we?” Karen mocked. “It’s a shame that your pretty white skin is so red. You look like you haven’t been wearing your sun block.”
The couple hurt too much to respond to their tormentor’s words.
“Help me get her down and over to the bench,” Dave ordered his spouse. “I’m not done with her yet.”
The tormented woman was released from her bonds as her own husband watched. John was too preoccupied with the pain in his own balls to offer any comments. He only wished he could just curl up into a ball in the corner and cup his hands over his tortured genitals, protect them.
Weakened by the beating, Marsha was easy to move across the room to the low narrow wooden bench that Dave had moved to the middle of the room. She was made to lay the sore, naked flesh of her breasts and stomach against the old, splintery wood of the bench. Once in position, her knees and arms easily touched the cold stone floor. Leather restraints were used to secure her wrists and ankles to hooks driven into the four legs of the bench. Obviously, this bench was modified to fit such a purpose. A large leather belt around her middle kept her torso immobile.
“Now, to hurt all of you,” Dave Phillips taunted.
Marsha heard the unmistakable sound of the ripping of tape. She felt a rough hand place what felt like duct tape on her right buttock, then roughly pull it away from the left one, pulling her cheek uncomfortably to the right. Once she was stretched to his satisfaction, Dave secured the tape to the skin of her thigh. After the process was repeated with her left buttock, she realized that her cheeks were now stretched wide apart, leaving her previously safe asshole unprotected and available for view. Try as she might, she could not clench her buttocks together
“It’s so cute and brown, your little hole,” Karen said in a voice reserved for your children. “I’m sure you keep her nice and clean and safe.”
Karen kneeled down and blew a sharp stream of warm air on Marsha’s naked hole. It responded with a round of uncontrollable twitching. Like a child playing with a trapped, helpless animal, Karen playfully tormented Marsha’s sphincter, alternately running a finger over it, letting her long brown hair tickle it, and blowing lightly on it until it seemed to be in constant motion. Marsha moaned. Was it a moan of pain, of frustration? Or pleasure?
Dave motioned his wife Karen to move aside. He had removed a long leather thong from the same drawer that held the dreaded leather strap. He swung the thin strand of leather it past Marsha’s head, ensuring that she made the dreadful connection between the whistling of this new instrument and her vulnerable ass.
With expert precision, Dave flicked the end of the thong against Marsha’s puckered hole. A hissing gasp, as is she had been dropped into a tub of ice water, escaped from the tormented woman’s lips. After he struck her, he then let the end of the thong playfully tickle her hole, causing Marsha to twitch involuntarily. This cycle of light whipping, followed by gentle torment, continued for several minutes until Marsha was openly weeping and begging her torturer to stop.
Once it did stop, Marsha had little time for rest before she was shocked by the ripping of the tape from her buttocks. She screamed. Her husband’s protests were once again met with promptly by Karen’s knee. Dave picked up the larger strap again and proceeded to give Karen’s bottom the whipping it had been spared until now.
The blows were light at first, but quickly built in intensity until they were very, very hard. After years or arguing important cases concerning the most esoteric points of law, Marsha was reduced to a blubbering, begging, incoherent mess of a person. Karen’s training at The Company had prepared her for this, and she was able to watch and feel very little sympathy for the helpless woman. Dave Phillips, who had had his life ruined by his accident and the legal expertise of the woman who now suffered under his lash, felt justified in his punishment.
Finally, it stopped. Marsha had little time to catch her breath before she was released from her bonds and pulled roughly to her feet. The soles of her feet still stung from the strapping they had received. She noticed that the cell door she was shown earlier was now opened. She was led to it and then pushed inside. Luckily, something soft in the darkness broke her fall. Soon, she felt another body fall in top of hers: John’s. The door slammed closed, clanging as it was locked.
3.
In a few moments, a light was turned on. John Hamilton looked down to see his wife on an old mattress. She was not bleeding, but he could see that she was definitely hurt. The only parts of her back that were not red and raw were those covered with painful-looking purple bruises. He wanted to touch her, but he soon realized that any contact with her flesh would just make her pain greater.
He looked about the room. That woman had not kidded them. There was something positively medieval about the place. The room smelled old and musty and the stone walls were far from clean. There were no windows: only a locked heavy wooden door that would be their only contact with the world. The only furnishings were the old mattress, and the metal pail that would serve as their toilet. They did provide a roll of toilet paper; at least that part wasn’t medieval. The room was illuminated by a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. If that their captors stood to earn as much money as they said, John reasoned, it seemed probable that they would have to feed them and keep them relatively healthy.
His attention turned to his wife, who still lay face down on the mattress.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
“I hurt,” was the only response from the body which lay face down on the mattress. “But, I’m alive.”
“That’s good,” John replied. “Would you like me to help you up?”
“Yes, please.”
John pulled his wife to a sitting position. As she moved up, different parts of her naked body would hurt as they moved against the stone wall into a sitting position on the mattress. He straightened her glasses and pushed the sweaty gray hair from her eyes. Her hands lay limply on her naked lap.
“John,” Marsha asked her husband. “What’s happening to us?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like we’re the captives of a couple of sickos who make their living capturing and selling human beings,” he explained, trying his best to adopt a confident air. “The good thing is that we’re worth too much to them for them to really hurt or kill us. Since someone is paying a lot money for us, I can’t imagine that anyone wants anything bad to happen to us.”
“You certainly know how to put a good spin on things,” Marsha said with a forced smile. “You should work for the White House.”
“You look exhausted,” John remarked. “You should rest.”
John moved to the far edge of the bed. Then, carefully, he lowered his wife’s body toward him until her head rested on his lap. He slipped off her glasses and placed them on the floor, and then gently stroked her hair, one of the few parts of her tired body that hadn’t felt Dave Phillip’s vengeful strap.
“How are you doing, baby?” Marsha inquired.
“Oh, guy parts seem sensitive, but they bounce back really quickly.” It was true. His balls only slightly hurt from the punishment they had received earlier. “Now try to rest.”
In a few moments, the small cell was filled with his wife’s light snoring. John looked down at her naked, bruised body. For a second, he almost felt aroused seeing her condition, but soon mentally talked himself out of it. As he played with her soft gray hair, he too fell asleep.
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