Abduction Pt. 01

Part 1 - Schoolgirls?

Little Celia and tall, dark, Natasha could do nothing without instruction from the grey haired, seemingly genial old man they had so foolishly taken to be a teacher. Celia desperately needed to wee but could say nothing - neither ask permission nor release the pressure in her bladder. Did Natasha perhaps feel the same?

It was not as if she and Natasha had been bosom buddies or even friends. Natasha was in her class at uni. Celia certainly spoke to her, admired the way the tall girl moved, spoke and dressed, they had been at the same parties but they were not close. They were not intimate.

Not 'bosom buddies' - that was just so the wrong phrase and now simply not true. 'Not intimate?' It was absurd to say they were not that... now.

It had all happened so suddenly. Perhaps it had not been planned. Perhaps she had been caught up in something she should not have been involved in; perhaps it was another girl they had been after and not her: or was it Natasha that had been accidently involved?

The university had seemed so secure. Uniformed security personnel patrolling the grounds, CCTV cameras watching, yet one moment walking through a familiar short cut between buildings, one she had used many times before, the next...

The next, the next indeed. She had come from a lecture with Melia and Rollo but they had peeled off for a different class and Natasha had caught her up. Not, as she remembered, to speak but simply because her legs were longer. They had turned as one into the short alley; they had started talking a little before and had been walking together and to one side, to pass a white Transit van just at the end when...

The only other person in the passage - and it was not as if it was a narrow passage - was a grey haired old man whom she had taken to be a teacher, a lecturer, just standing holding a walking stick. What had been odd, so strange in retrospect was the way he seemed to be half looking beyond them, perhaps looking for others as he had smiled pleasantly and then tapped on the van door... Perhaps it had been the smile that had fixed him in her mind or what happened next - and of course later.

Celia knew about chloroform. Had seen it 'used' in the movies. The pad over the mouth, the brief struggle and then the collapse into oblivion.

It had been rather like that. The doors banging open, the pads and then... nothing. Presumably she had collapsed. She did not remember anything after the brief, the very brief struggle.

Celia had woken, groggy at first. Unsure where she was, disorientated. A nurse, she thought it was a nurse had asked her if she was "OK." Celia had answered in the affirmative. Again looking back it was hardly likely she would have said anything else. Not at that point. Not just when coming to her senses.

It was the nurse opening her mouth, dropping in what she took to be a pill - only it was too big, applying what she took to be toothpaste - only who squeezed toothpaste all along the teeth and not on the brush, followed by a feeling of something being tied around her wrists, perhaps a hospital name band - only that would be only to one wrist. It all helped to rather focus her still befuddled mind.

Even so, it took Celia a little time to realise she was not in hospital, was not wearing her own clothes and things were most definitely not right. Not right at all, not with the thing in her mouth seeming to be getting even larger and finding she was unable to spit it out. It was not that her jaw was not working or her tongue but she could not separate her teeth.

The long white socks, the sensible shoes, the pleated maroon skirt, the white blouse, neat tie and woollen jacket was not at all what she had been wearing. Not the sort of thing she had worn since sixteen at school. As her eyes cleared there too was Natasha in a matching uniform smiling in a rather toothy way at her. Her long hair no longer free but tied in plaits either side of her face.

What was she saying? Celia tried to ask but found it was surprisingly difficult to talk with teeth glued together and something rather large in her mouth. It came to her that Natasha was not so much smiling in a pleasant way as trying to talk with stuck together teeth.

Celia made to get up but the ropes around her wrists which were tied to the bed prevented her and as she tried to kick her legs she realised there were ropes around her long white socks, tied around her ankles holding her down.

Her next conscious thought was being on a train. She could not remember how she got there but there she was, sitting with her hands neatly folded in her lap, sitting next to Natasha, both in their mock school uniforms. Celia tried to rise but realised she was tied. Her hands were not so much resting on her lap but bound together under a coat, seemingly, casually thrown across Natasha and her laps. Her feet were neatly together - yet, again, she could not move them apart. She could not see if they were bound or perhaps in some way the shoes were hooked together.

Again Celia tried to rise but was gently pushed back into her seat by the very same old man she had seen in the alley way at the university.

"Sit still, my dear, we have a long journey ahead of us. You can't need to go again already."

He turned to the man sitting next to him. A man smartly dressed, clearly a businessman.

"I don't know. Have you daughters? These are my two granddaughters... yes I know - don't ask - it was, how might I put it? A mixed marriage. They do so like their drinks, their Cokes and 7-UPs but these fizzy drinks do go through them so."

The old man's chatter caused the man's eyes to flick from Celia's face to Natasha and back again.

"Don't they look so smart in their school uniforms?"

To Celia it seemed the business man had been given permission to cast his eyes all over the girls and he did. Celia had the distinct feeling of being mentally undressed.

"I'm taking them south for the holiday. Their parents take time away and they come to stay at my old beach house. Have done for years. They do so love it there. The sand and the sea you know. I'm fortunate. It's such a lovely place and so private. Such happy days on the beach. Every year; I do so look forward to it and I know the girls do. Sand and sea - they have a lovely time.

You know, I'll tell you a bit of a secret, I don't think it will embarrass the girls if I say the place is so private we've never had to bother with swimming costumes. It all makes it so much easier than having to pull things on under towels and so on. Don't you think?"

The business man looked surprised, more than surprised.

"Of course they are getting bigger but I can't imagine they will want the bother. Would you?"

The man seemed almost tongue tied. Celia rather thought he was imagining running after a naked Natasha and herself across the sands to the sea. Playing with the girls and not with a bucket and spade either. Bother? No, he probably would rather not 'bother.' She could barely move but she did not miss movement in his trousers. The man's thoughts betrayed. But could he not see they were not schoolgirls?

Celia thought it a good time to really try and move but again a firm push from the old man.

"Emily-Sue! Sit still or it'll be the hairbrush on your backside later."

He turned back to the business man. "You have to be firm you know. There's no point in being lax. Don't you think?"

"Oh, um, no," replied the man, staring at Celia, "no a firm hand is the best policy."

'Or a firm something else,' thought Celia. It was just so obvious what the man was thinking - a firm spanking and then a firm... She turned to Natasha who was now seeming a bit more animated as if waking from some sort of stupor. She looked into Natasha's eyes and smiled, a rather toothy smile but there was nothing else she could do.

Surely the man must realise they were not schoolgirls but, instead, young women dressed as schoolgirls, or did he just think girls grew up rather fast these days?

Why were they on a train? Why such a public place if they were being - or rather had been - abducted? Why were they not travelling in a car or locked up in the back of a van? Why the strange pretence of them being schoolgirls on the way to the beach and apparently expected as 15, 16 or was it 17 or 18 year old schoolgirls to be happy to frolic naked whilst building sandcastles and swimming with their aged grandfather?

And was it not so risky with the two girls however tightly bound and gagged to be in a public place - just him and them? It was then Celia noticed the two big men dressed in identical dark suits sitting very close by and seeming to be watching Natasha and herself through dark glasses. Were they in on the act or just men interested in observing rather well built schoolgirls?

The old man seemed happy to engage any one in conversation. Even the ticket collector who seemed a little unsure whether really Celia and Natasha should be half price fares.

A young woman sitting nearby was quizzed on her own school days having, Celia thought, made the mistake of commenting on the neat uniforms. The old man seemed to take a surprising delight in finding out what the young woman had worn at school and was more than delighted to find she had been in the forces until recently. Her army uniform was asked about. Celia was amazed, and the woman clearly a little put out, when the old man began discussing under garments. How the girls wore matching maroon knickers and asking whether she had worn matching navy blue knickers at school and whether the army issued khaki panties for the women service personnel. He had even made a rather excruciating joke about privates for privates. It had rather terminated the conversation but not before he had elicited the information that there had indeed been navy blue knickers.

"Not too long girls. Emily-Sue and Tabitha, you sit still now. We'll soon be there and you can go to your room and change and visit the bathroom. Yes, it's still the big old bed."

He turned to the man sitting next to him. "They do like sleeping in that big old bed together unless... Sometimes if it gets stormy and there is thunder and lightning when they do come to my room and creep into bed with me. They get a little frightened and want a cuddle."

The man's eyes bulged and the young woman looked most disapproving.

Celia could not really believe the strange perverted pleasure the old man seemed to get from discussing Natasha and herself. Could the man or the woman really believe she and Natasha would get into bed with the old man in a thunderstorm and cuddle up to him? The business man, surely, would be imagining what it would be like - the difficulty with one girl perhaps either side of avoiding either girl realising there was something very firm and unusual in his pyjamas! She could imagine he would so like them to find the hard thing and play with it.

All of a sudden both Natasha and she gave a start - in unison.

"Now sit still now."

That was not at all easy. With all the tying up, the thing in her mouth and the stuck together teeth, Celia had not noticed there was something intimately within her. She was now very aware of it. Something had been inserted in her vagina whilst she had been unconscious, something that was now vibrating away to itself in a very teasing, stimulating way. It was evident Natasha was similarly installed. Her eyes, her movement, her wriggling gave it away.

Celia could not help herself; her hips seemed to have a mind of their own; they just would not stay still. If only she could extract the little machine, or for its batteries to run down, but with her hands tied there was nothing she could do. Onwards the train rattled and she just had to sit there feeling the little machine doing its worst - and all the time the old man was watching, watching the movements she and Natasha were making. The little squirming movements in their smart school uniforms. And he was not the only one watching.

"Sit still girls. You are annoying the other passengers!"

She knew she was not. Far from it. Men were looking at Natasha and Celia with undisguised lust. She knew for a certainty; could not see it being any other way that all the men - the old man, the man sitting next to him, the probable minders and a few others - were erect within their trousers; just loving the sight of the squirming schoolgirls.

"Girls!" The old man's voice was cross now. "We are nearly there. You are not to wet your panties!"

Celia could not help it. It was as if the phrase. 'wet your panties' had just pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm came strongly and, remarkably, it seemed the same thing happened to Natasha as well.

"Girls I told you not to. I really did. Too many fizzy drinks. I do hope you haven't..."

His hand under her skirt; his hand forcing itself between her thighs; his hand inside her skirt whilst the man and, indeed, other passengers watched in disbelief; the old man's hand touching her, touching her so intimately. Celia realised she was not in fact wearing panties - maroon or otherwise.

"Look. Look!" He said, holding up his hand and waggling his fingers. They were wet. "Look what the naughty girl has done. It'll be the hair brush for you, young lady, as soon as we are in. Both of you, indeed. As soon as we are in, it's up to your room, those wet things off and the two of you bending over the tailboard of the bed. It'll be a sound thrashing I can tell you!"

Could the business man not see it was not wee? Could he not know the scent in the air, the scent of an aroused young woman? He did seem very flustered.

Natasha and Celia sat still. The buzzing had ceased as quickly as it had started. The train rattled over points and began to slow.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you. I think this is the end of the line."

The business man said some pleasantries as he stood up but he was clearly unsettled. Another glance - no more than that at Natasha and herself - perhaps trying to fix their image in his mind. She could not miss - at her eye level - the bulge in his trousers. So obvious to her that he was strongly erect.

The old man seemed happy to let the other passengers get off first.

"Come girls..."

But Celia's last image was of the two dark suited men standing and moving towards them.

Celia awoke. Slowly she came to her senses. No longer in uniform, no longer in any clothes but tied. Just lying on a bed next to Natasha. Next to tall, beautiful, naked Natasha. Tall, beautiful, naked Natasha and the old man - the old man from the train - also naked and crouched over her. Such a creepy thing to awake to: but the worse for Natasha.

The man was literally dragging it. He was not holding his sexual organ at all, just letting it rub gently against her flawless brown skin - the silk of her skin against the smoothness of his knob. Crouched over her he let the organ just hang away from his body. Not at all as you usually saw the penis, neat against the pubic hair. The tidy model of the classical statue. No, this was the unusual view when it was hanging, as if both penis and balls were suspended on a stalk beneath the man. He was on all fours over Natasha, his penis hanging like an animal's and he was just gently stroking her with it.

The penis did, though, rub very softly because the skin was so very smooth.

It was not as if it was erect or even anything like it but there was no question his action was sexual. His flaccid penis, his flaccid uncut penis, was gently, ever so gently being rubbed over Natasha. None of her skin was exempt. It seemed all must be touched.

There appeared to be no hurry on his part. The man just moving slowly, pulling his penis over Natasha's body. There was nothing else for Celia to do but watch. She seemed to have no volition over her own body. She was sure Natasha was the same.

Celia stared at the little trail the penis had begun to make as if a snail had slid over the so brown skin. The contrast of the white penis and the black skin. The trail so clearly made. Would it be her turn next? The man was literally dragging it.

There was nothing Celia could do but watch. She could not move without permission, even if she had been untied. She knew that. Could feel something had been done to her mind.

It was only then, as she watched the old man's slow progress across Natasha's smooth skin, that Celia realised the true import of the man's actions. He was not impotent in the true sense of the word but was unable to maintain or achieve an erection. His pleasure was in a flaccid sex. Not vaginal intercourse for him but an epidermal intercourse - an intercourse between himself and the whole woman. The snail's trail the indication: the man evidently fully capable of producing seminal fluid.

He was a patient man; there was no hurry in his action; seemingly as happy to rub his penis across Natasha's shoulder as her bottom. He moved everywhere leaving his little trails of silver.

Celia watched with fascination the way the old man rubbed himself against Natasha's breasts, the careful circuit his soft glans made of the areolae, the evident excitement he got from wrapping, no, rolling his long foreskin over each of her nipples in turn, taking them into its folds. Such an intimacy, such a wrong, a so wrong, yet so delicate an act. The soft touch seemed to have an effect on the nipples. He left them wet and sticky with his oozing semen but standing nonetheless.

It was no surprise the old man left Natasha's sex until last. No surprise when he took the ropes securing her ankles and eased her legs gently but firmly apart. Not roughly, not in a violent way: yet it was just so obscene the way he opened her but, at the same time, fascinating and arousing. Yes, arousing! Celia could not believe the sudden surge of wetness between her legs at the very moment Natasha was so visibly exposed. Celia had never really had much to do with Natasha but now was seeing the tall black girl not simply naked but with her sex open, exposed and seemingly wet. What a pretty mons! Celia was surprised at herself. She had never thought of the sex of a woman in such terms but now, seeing Natasha's, her thoughts were different; the dark, dark hair lying flat across the flawless skin of her pubis - not curly but just so straight. It ran to left and right from her slit forming a dark triangle and it was almost as if someone had combed it and given it a parting right where her slit was. Perhaps someone had. A stronger growth at the slit and then running on downwards on her labia major. Peeking out through the slightly swollen lips was her little brown clitoral hood and the soft fold of her labia minora; the pulling apart of her legs had slightly parted these and between them it looked more than a little damp. Celia noted the detail.

The man's silver trail, his snail trail up Natasha's soft brown thigh fascinated Celia. She watched his snail - no, his pink slug - making its way closer and closer to Natasha's exposed femininity. Natasha was struggling, her body and head shaking from side to side, despite the bindings, but still the pink slug slipped gently over her brown skin. Was it in protest or in pleasure? Celia watched fascinated. She would have thought protest, but the touch of the man's penis was so gentle, might well be so teasing. Celia wanted to touch Natasha. Touch her sex.

Celia could not see how the old man could penetrate, how he could finish the act. But still closer he came until, finally, he was rubbing, rubbing his penis against Natasha's outer lips, rubbing, making a slow circuit, crossing the valley twice. And then he was sort of 'in,' with his penis pushing aside the dark fringed labia minora, first one and then the other, and exposing that oyster shell of soft wetness girls have. The man was not in her vagina but in the soft wetness of her sex.