Rod Harden, Alison McKenna

Sharae and Melissa

CHAPTER 1

Sharae Stevens sat back and rubbed her neck. It was eleven o'clock at night and she was tired after working late to finish a report for the next day. Shaking her head, she thought about her boss, Keith Cunningham. She could never figure out why Keith was in management. He always made his employees do his work, while he reaped all the glory-and she was the one who got stuck doing most of it. She should be the manager of the department, not him.

Of course, she was stupid enough to actually do his work. No wonder he took advantage of her all the time. Sharae sighed and finished the report, then quickly emailed it to Keith and logged off her computer. She stood up and stretched her five foot five willowy frame.

At twenty-six, Sharae still hadn't married, although she'd been engaged twice. She had blonde hair to the middle of her back, which she usually wore pinned back with barrettes. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and her lips were full and sensuous.

After packing up her briefcase, she headed for the elevator, punched the down button and waited. When the doors opened, she stepped into the small cubicle, humming. Halfway down, the elevator slowed and came to a stop on the fifth floor. She chuckled to herself. She wasn't the only one working late.

The doors slid open and she looked up to see a man dressed in black step into the car. The sack he carried over his shoulder moved and writhed, twisting against his back. To her horror, Sharae realized there was a person in there!

“Shit!” the man cried. “I thought the fucking building was empty.” He dropped the sack to the floor, and Sharae heard a muffled cry of pain.

“What are you do-” she started to ask, but before she could finish, the man slapped her viciously across the face. Stumbling back, reeling in pain and confusion, she lifted her hands to fend off more blows. Quickly the man grabbed her wrists, twisting her around violently and forcing her arms behind her back.

More muted moans and whimpers emanated from the sack. Sharae tried to pull her arms free, but the man held them tightly pinned with one of his large burly hands. He seemed to be searching his pockets for something. The elevator door slid closed and the car continued on its way.

“Please,” she cried. “You can take my money. Just let me go. Don't hurt me."

“Shut up, bitch!” His grip grew tighter around her slender wrists. She heard a metallic clink and felt cold steel against her skin.

Despite the man's threatening tone, she continued to try talking her way out of the sudden attack. “You don't have to handcuff me. I won't give you any trouble. Please-” She was cut short when he grabbed her hair and threw her against the wall.

“I said shut up!"

Tears streamed down her face as she cowered in the corner, watching her attacker. He pointed a warning finger at her, then bent down to the sack. He unzipped it, and fished around for something. Sharae caught glimpses of writhing flesh and bands of silver, which she realized was duct tape, as the man pulled out a roll and started toward her.

The elevator came to another stop, this time on the parking garage level. As the doors slid open, Sharae saw it was deserted except for three vehicles. A red Ford Taurus, her own teal Pontiac Grand Prix, and a black Dodge van with tinted windows.

Her eyes darted looking for a way to escape, but there wasn't any. The man's body blocked the way.

“Please,” she whispered. “I won't say anything about this."

The man's cold sinister laugh made Sharae cringe. “I know you won't. ‘Cause you won't be able to."

The person in the sack whined again and the man delivered a kick to the midsection. “Shut the fuck up! I didn't forget you."

Sharae knew she had to make a run for it. She couldn't just stand there and let this… brute kidnap her without a fight. While he was crouched at the sack, she darted to the door, hoping he had slow reflexes.

She almost made it, when he managed to grab her ankle, sending her to her knees. Sharae tried to shimmy away from him, but he was on top of her, wrestling her, trying to pin her down. Despite her useless cuffed hands, she kicked out savagely. Her heel caught him hard in the gut. When he doubled over in pain, she squirmed away and tried to get to her feet again.

Using the wall for support, she managed to stand. Her attacker was up as well and his face was contorted with pain and anger. “You're gonna pay for that, bitch!” he shouted as he rushed at her.

This time, he fended off her kicks and slammed her against the wall. She huffed loudly in pain, as she heard him tear off a piece of tape. She opened her mouth to scream, but found it filled with a foul tasting rag. She tried to spit it out, only to have her lips sealed with the tape. Two more strips were added.

“Mmpphh!” she shouted.

“Go ahead, bitch, shout all you want.” He smacked her across the face again, and punched her in the stomach. She gasped and doubled over. Before she could catch her breath her legs were tightly bound together at the ankles and knees.

He picked her up and carried her to the sack. Whoever was trapped inside had managed to wiggle it several feet away. The man set Sharae down and gave the sack another kick. He looked Sharae up and down. “It'll be snug, but you'll fit,” he said, half to himself.

“Mmpphhh!” she protested again, pulling on the steel cuffs. She looked at the sack fearfully. He intended to put her in there, and she was powerless to stop him.

Chuckling to himself, Preston, slaver for hire, pulled the blonde over and forced her into the sack along with his first victim. As he zipped it closed, he grinned at the fear he saw in her sexy green eyes. He watched his two victims struggle within the constricting sack, then grabbed one end and dragged it over to his van. He opened the doors, and hefted the sack into the back of the van.

Hearing the moans of pain, he briefly felt sympathy for the blonde, but it didn't last long. It was her fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite that, she was definitely an unexpected bonus.

CHAPTER 2

Sharae lay staring into the darkness of the sack. What kind of madness have I stumbled into? She tugged in vain at the cuffs around her wrists and shifted her weight, trying to find some degree of comfort.

Her movements provoked a sharp yelp of pain from her companion. She tried to mumble an apology through her gag, but couldn't tell if the other woman understood.

They were both doubled over within the confines of the sack, with one's head at the other's feet. The Yin-Yang girls, Sharae thought bitterly, as the other woman twisted herself, giving Sharae a facefull of shoe. Sharae squeaked in alarm and tried to pull away. Good thing she's not wearing stiletto heels.

The other woman mumbled what sounded like an apology. Sharae knew they had to remain still or they'd kill each other. Aloud, she called out, “Try not to move!” It sounded more like, “Hi offa ooff.” She wondered if the other woman would understand.

“Oh hay,” came the muted reply.

Sharae assumed that meant “okay.” She groaned as the van hit a particularly deep pothole, and prayed the trip would be a short one.

The trip, in fact, lasted longer than Sharae thought she could endure. The other woman had been sobbing and moaning for the last half hour-or was it a full hour?

She thought of her boyfriend. He'd know something was wrong when she didn't come home. He'd alert the police and they would investigate. They'd see this nimrod's van on the surveillance tapes, trace it, then they'd hunt him down. She and the other woman would be saved!

Sharae felt a little calmer. All she had to do was wait for the police to arrive. She wouldn't have to endure the whims of this madman for long.

****

Angel watched out the picture window as cars drove by below. The house was set on a hill and had a long driveway, hidden from the main road. She loved the house. It was so perfect for Master Preston and her.

He was out that evening on business. She was supposed to be tying herself up for him, but she figured she still had plenty of time.

When headlights suddenly shone in the driveway, she jumped. He was home!

“Shit!” she cried and sprinted to the toy box. She grabbed several lengths of white cotton rope and tossed them on the floor. Using one of them, she quickly bound her ankles together. She was just starting on her wrists when she heard the garage door open.

Angel heard footsteps and muffled moans in the hall. She tied off her wrists the best she could before realizing she'd forgotten her gag. She panicked knowing she had no time to get it. Master Preston was not going to be happy.

The door swung open quickly and Preston entered the room, dragging his heavy, writhing sack. From her position, kneeling by his favorite chair, Angel looked up fearfully. She held her loosely bound hands up as though praying her Master wouldn't notice the lack of a gag.

Preston dropped the end of the sack, and stood shaking his head. “Waited until the last minute again, didn't you, my angel?"

She lowered her head. “Yes, Master."

“Not even a gag… Well, I'll deal with your punishment later. Fortunately for you, I'm in a very forgiving mood right now. I managed to snare two birds with one stone.” He laughed and Angel looked up with the beginnings of a hopeful smile on her lips. He motioned with his head. “Come and see."

She stood and shuffled across the room. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the opposite wall. She liked the way her red bustier almost matched the color of her hair. She also liked how it lifted her breasts as if in offering to the man who had collared her.

As Angel approached, Preston opened the sack, and shook it from the closed end. The contents tumbled out onto the floor. Angel gasped when she realized he'd meant the “two birds” comment literally. There, sprawled out on the carpet, were two beautiful, bound women.

CHAPTER 3

Angel cooed in delight as she appraised the two women. One was slender and curvy, blonde with fiery green eyes. The other was a buxom brunette with eyes of chocolate brown. Both were cuffed and taped, and stared back at her. The brunette's large breasts mesmerized Angel. Surely those can't be real, she thought.

Angel knew the brunette. It was Melissa Brentwood, whom Angel referred to as ‘that bitch', ever since she had snubbed Preston at Club 27. If Melissa was unhappy now, it was her own fault for being such a bitch then.

Club 27 was one of the most happening spots in town, and where Preston had found Angel. She had been with her then fiancee, Joe, at the time. They had gotten into a fight and Angel literally plowed into Preston while running from the dance floor. She'd had a few too many drinks and ended up going home with Preston, only to wake up the next morning spread-eagled and gagged on his bed.

She had resisted him at first, but discovered that his taking total control of her what was exactly what she craved. It wasn't long before she'd given herself to Preston, mind, body and soul. She became Slave Angel and her former existence as Angela Carlisle was forgotten.

Melissa stared fearfully at Angel for a moment. She moaned and pleaded with her eyes. Angel laughed, knowing what Melissa was hoping.

“I'm not here to let you go, sweetie. Oh, no. In fact, I get to have my own fun with you.” Angel looked at Preston, who nodded his approval. Melissa moaned in despair and began another frantic but futile attempt at freedom.

Angel turned her attention to the blonde who recoiled in fear. “What about her, Master? Who is she?"

Preston shrugged his broad muscular shoulders. “I have no idea. Just some dumb blonde who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Angel smiled greedily. “Do we keep her then?"

“For a while, or until we tire of her. Although…” He looked the blonde over, his eyes exploring every inch of her body. “We might not tire of her.” The blonde glared at him and shook her head, growling angrily behind her gag.

Angel nodded. “I know what you mean, Master. She's cute, but I think she needs an attitude adjustment."

Preston chuckled. “Don't they all?"

“May I, Master?” Angel asked. Her eyes implored Preston for the first shot at the blonde.

Preston wagged his finger at Angel. “I don't think so, slave. You've been a naughty girl."

Angel bowed her head. She'd forgotten about her failure to complete his bidding. Now she had to face her punishment. She suppressed a smile, as she looked forward to it.

“I'd better make sure these two can't get into any mischief while I'm dealing with you.” Preston grabbed his roll of duct tape, then quickly and efficiently sealed the girls’ fingers together. It looked as if they were wearing silver mittens. He pulled each girl roughly across the floor to opposite ends of the room. Joining ankles to wrists, he taped them into strict hogties, then he used short chains to leash them to eyebolts set low in the walls.

Angel watched eagerly as Preston secured their guests before turning his attention to her. He picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the toy box, then set her on her feet and surveyed the assortment of ropes and straps on the floor.

“Angel, Angel, Angel,” he admonished her. “You know you're supposed to clean up after yourself."

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, biting back a remark about him arriving home earlier than planned. She knew not to question him.

“Sometimes I think you wait till the last minute on purpose. I think you enjoy being punished.” He walked in a slow circle around her, eyeing her lovely body up and down. “Isn't that right?"

“Yes, Master.” She yipped in surprise as his hand found her ass with a slap.

“Yes, what?"

“Yes, I enjoy your punishments, my Master."

Preston smiled. “Good. That's what I like to hear.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down in front of the toy box. “Pick your gag."

Angel eyed the assortment of gags mixed in with the ropes. She picked a medium sized red ball-gag with a thick leather strap and held it up to him. She knew this was his favorite-it silenced her so nicely.

Preston took the gag and immediately pressed the ball into her mouth. He bent her forward, lifted up her rich, dark red hair and buckled the strap to its tightest position.

Pulling her to her feet, he quickly untied her loose wrist bindings, then turned her around and pulled her arms behind her. He looped the rope several times around her wrists, cinched it down and tied the knots out of her reach. Taking another coil of rope, he wrapped it around her elbows, pulling them together and forcing her lovely chest to stand out even more. After grabbing several more lengths of cord, he lifted her up over his shoulder again, and carried her off to the playroom.