Stealing Cassie Pt. 01: Taken

As Becky edges from the parking space, I look through the side window and see the wide-eyed face of Mrs Smithers, my next door neighbour, staring in at me, her expression one of scandalous disbelief.

My heart is racing. I think about Ian still in our Kitchen. How will he react when he finds I'm not home? I imagine Mrs Smithers hurrying to our front door to tell him she has witnessed my abduction. I start to wriggle, trying to free myself while saying, "Josh you really have to let me go. This is just getting silly." He ignores me, and so I try pleading, "Please, Josh."

But my voice betrays my real feelings. I'm starting to enjoy the wrongness of all this.

As we leave the street where I live, I realise I don't want to go back to Ian ever again. What I want is for Josh to Kiss me like he did in the car on Friday evening. He already has his arm around me, his big palms gripping my wrists, the back of his hand pressing down onto the tops of my bare thighs. It would be so easy for him to just put his face on mine and let slip his tongue.

I turn to him, my eyes beaming need. Can he read my look? But what about Becky? With her here it will never happen.

"You can let go of my wrists now, Josh. You know I'm not going to escape — at this speed," I say.

"I don't want to let go."

I don't want him to let go either. I look at Josh and then scan the back of Becky's head and then look back at him, my eyes beaming my confusion.

"Tell her, Becks," he calls to her. She remains silent as she accelerates onto the bypass.

I see her mascara framed eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. Her right arm goes up and brushes back wayward strands of hair, hooking a wild strand ineffectively behind her ear, only for it to immediately slide free. Her hair is long and downy, fine as fairy-stuff

"Josh often talked about this, Cassie," Becky says.

"About what?" I say.

"Did you know he told me about the kiss you shared."

She waits for my response, and when none is forthcoming, she continues, "You know . . . The one you shared together on Friday."

It takes me a moment to register her words. And when I do, when I understand what she is saying, my heart starts to pound. My stomach spawns a thousand tiny scurrying things.

I look at Josh, my eyes accusing. I hiss my incredulity, "You told her!"

God! He's smiling. I hate his smugness. Then he says:

"Of course I did, Becks and I tell each other everything. Just like Becky told me all about the night you and she shared a sleeping bag. Cornwall wasn't it?"

God how could she have! Neither Becks or I have never, ever mentioned that night to anyone else — Not even to each other. Neither of us has ever spoken of that night, not the morning after, or not once ever since.

My head starts to spin. I feel like I might pass out. I don't understand what is going on.

He whispers in my ear, "The thought of you and Becky together naked. Kissing . . . "

"We weren't naked." I almost whimper the words.

But the truth is I'd often remembered that night under canvas when Becky and I lay all snug in each other's arms, our bare breast pressing together, our lips just kissing and kissing. I will never forget it, or her large, soft breasts.

Now Becky is saying, "Josh and I often talked about you Cassie, tell each other what it would be like if . . ."

Josh's breath is like feathers against my cheek. He whispers, "Cassie, just think how nice it would be to have us both pamper you." His voice unable to contain a dark excitement, "Would you like that, Cassie?"

God, they want to share me. Is that what this is all about? Suddenly Josh is kissing me. I dissolve in his kiss. I don't care what they want to do with me, as long as there is lots of kissing Josh.

.

Then I remember: Oh-my-god, I'm kissing Josh and Becky is right here too. Will I be kissing her next? Both of them together, or one and then the other?

Then we're in their drive. Becky quickly out of the car, she opens the door nearest me. I stretch my legs through the open door and am about to put them on the ground when I see the gravel. I have no shoes, the sharp stones will hurt. I hesitate. Josh hurries out of his door and round to my side, lifting me out of the car and up into his densely muscled arms. I wrap my own arms around his neck and hold onto him as we are three miles high.

Becky goes ahead and opens up with her keys. In the hall, she turns on the light and watches her husband carry me over the threshold. Is it really two years now since he brought her to her new home? I wonder what has changed for them in that time.

He lowers me onto my feet, and I stand upright and look around while he retains hold of each of my wrists, which he separates while twisting my arms, so that my hands go behind my back. It's painful, and I squeal, tell him he's hurting me. He ignores me. He has both my hands clasped in his right hand, which is large enough, and powerful enough, to hold both wrists tightly in place behind my back as if bound by shackles.

We remain in the hall while an electric current of anticipation surges through my body. Then the silence of the place hits me like a dark wave of nothingness. It is unnerving. No sounds from the world outside penetrate the two-hundred-year-old, three foot thick, walls. If I cry out, no calls for help or screams will escape the newly installed triple-glazed windows. And besides, we are in the heart of the countryside, there is nobody to hear. The closest neighbours are a quarter of a mile away.

I watch Becky kick off her pumps, see her feet manicured to perfection, her nails a freshly done sky blue. She is wearing denim shorts cut high, and my eyes scan her long, smooth legs, so sleek and tanned. For a moment my old envy rushes up, and I hate her for being so perfect. Then, in the flare of a second, I desire her. Immediately I push the thought down and think of Josh. His breath is on the nape my neck. I sense his bulk looming behind me. His grip on my wrists has slackened, but I no longer try to wriggle free.

"Josh has told me all about your car-share, Cassie," Becky says.

She is standing right in front of me, our bodies just inches apart. She is a good six inches taller, and so I have to crane my neck to meet her eyes, which are enormous and full of mischief. Her breath grazes my forehead. A smile as sneer; the hint of something cruel at one corner, so subtle, yet it tells me she knows my compliance is inevitable. Becky is my oldest friend, she knows me like no other, understands my needs.

I can't think of a reply. I look up at her with feigned defiance. The truth is I am already theirs.

She continues, "At first I was disappointed he'd chosen you, of all people, Cassie . . . " She pauses, expecting me to say something. Then she continues: "After all you are such a pretty little thing, all princess precious, aren't you? I should have known it would be you eventually. I mean what man could resist sweet little Cassie? And besides, it isn't as if you and I haven't already . . . Is it Cassie? If only you knew all the things that I've told him about our night together. He loves to hear about how sexy your sweet, little titties feel, your mouth tasting of gin and cigarettes. He always listens intently when I tell him all about how you came on to me, the way you kissed me. Oh yes, he used to get hard for you long before he ever got to kiss you."

I can't believe this is Becky. I've never heard her speak like this. She sounds so false, so contrived. It's as if she is playing a part, but a part she does not really believe in. Something lurks behind all the innuendo. A bigger something. Is it anger? She must be mad at me, surely for me kissing Josh. I half expect her to pull out a knife and stick into my belly.

"Remember when we were together in the sleeping bags, Cassie?. How you wouldn't let me touch you where it matters."

As she says this, her left-hand lifts the hem of my frock while her right-hand goes flat on my bare belly, sliding quickly into my panties. Between my legs, her fingers start to worm. In spite of myself, I ever-so-slightly part my legs. Then she is pressing into my tender softness, the ball of her hand hard against my swell of fuzz as her fingers unfold my labia and search.

Her palm is warm and, in spite of myself, I subtly part my legs for her. Josh tightens his grip on my wrists, and with his free hand he grabs a handful of my hair and makes a ponytail from what he has collected and then pulls it hard, stretching my scalp. I panic like a newly harnessed filly, gasp out loud.

I am theirs completely, increasingly thrilled by his casual cruelty, her perfect fingers. And my pleasure is not just from her hand, I love the way her beautiful large eyes sparkle for me. So much meaning passes between us while Josh continues to constrain me. I imagine how it must excite him to hold me like this while Becky fingers me softly. I am no longer my own self. I am a thing shared.

A change in her. Over-laden with genuine arousal now, her breathing changes, becomes heavy as she continues to speak.

"Remember how we kissed Cassie. Just kissed and kissed. But you wouldn't let me touch you here, would you?" Her fingers thrust sharply, and I gasp. " Nor would you let me touch me would you? Why wouldn't you let me touch you, Cassie . . . And why wouldn't you touch me either? I was so wet for you that night, Cassie."

But, oh god! How I want to touch her now, And oh how I want her to continue what she has begun. And if only if it were possible to touch her, but Josh has my hands. Instead, I imagine what it would be like to sink three fingers into her cunt, how silky soft and enfolding she would be.

She works me with her right hand while with her left hand she undoes the small buttons that run down the front of my flowery-pattern, summer frock. One and then another are loosened, and all the while her eyes hold mine, daring me to say something.

But I say nothing, just hold her gaze, bluffing a surly defiance. Then Josh lets go of my ponytail and slips the loosened dress from my shoulders. He still has my wrists clasped in his other hand, but his deftness in undoing my bras with his free hand surprises me — Ian fumbles even with both hands. Josh has to manoeuvre the dress over my captured hands, letting go of them for only seconds to let it pass. When it has fallen away, he takes my wrists and secures them again in his tight grip.

The air chills my nipples, a ghostly kiss that stiffens them.

She goes down as if about to curtsy. But it is only so she can pull down my panties. I do not cooperate in their removal, and so she lifts each of my feet in turn so that I can be free of them.

Then she stands and once again begins to rub my clit with just enough pressure to maintain my arousal, but not enough to bring me to completion. As her fingers slowly knead, she says:

"Josh and I like to play games, Cassie." Her eyes flare wide, commanding me to pay attention.

"What kind of games?" I ask. "Do we need dice?" I giggle stupidly.

But I am curious now. I really want to know what their sex games entail, learn the nature of their private kinks. The salaciousness of the moment sends a wild and scorching torrent of energy running through my body.

"We have lots and lots of games, Cassie . . . But there is one we have talked about more than any other over these last few weeks. And now look at us: our fantasy game is happening, no longer just talk."

"What are the rules?" I ask.

She almost seems embarrassed, but then goes on, " There has to be a girl — a girl as our prisoner."

"Like I am tonight, you mean?"

"In a way . . . But there is much more to this game — isn't there, Josh?

"Oh yes, so much more," Josh says.

While looking into Becky's eyes, I'd momentarily forgotten Josh behind me, even though he has my hands clasped tight in his big palm. Now I become aware of his heavy breathing on the nape of my neck. I sense his growing excitement. Their desire for me is electricity in the air about us. It surges through me and carries me away to a mental space, just as they planned all along.

Now I want them to use me, use me in any way they want to. The old Cassie must be consumed by their desire, utterly erased. I will surrender myself and be whatever they want me to be.

"You won't hurt me . . . Will you?" I say.

"NOt at first . . . And even later, not unless you ask us to," Becky replies.

My mouth is dry like flint. If I speak, sparks will fly from my lips. I swallow and nod.

She takes her hand from between my legs and places it on my shoulder, gently prompting me to turn to face Josh. Josh loosens his grip as I turn, see him looking down at me. I offer a smile, but his eyes are dark with focused lust. He takes me in his arms and wraps them around me, a fortress of flesh that enfolds me. In his embrace, I feel the life breath squeezed from my lungs. We begin to kiss and my mind soars..

I put my arms around him and pull myself against him like he is a hero come to rescue me. Becky is momentarily forgotten as Josh and I become lost in each other. We just kiss and kiss.

I don't know how long we kiss, then little by little I again sense her presence behind me. I do not break from Josh to look for her, but I do moan with delight when her nakedness pressed against my back, her firm and shapely breasts cushioning into my shoulder blades, warm and soft.

She undressed while I was lost in kissing Josh. Now it is she who gathers my hair into a ponytail, but instead of pulling hard like a spiteful girl, she gently moves strands to one side so she can kiss the nape of my neck. She sucks and bites gently sending new shivers to thrill me.

Her left-hand slides between mine and Josh's bodies to find my left breast, while her right-hand moves over my bare buttocks and on down between my legs. I part my legs further than before, and her palm cradles my cunt while her fingers probe upwards towards my clit. My cunt is humming with need. Her palm slides, lubricated by what seeps from me.

I am caught in the vice of their flesh, plates of meat pressing my body, front and back. I sense their focused lust for me, notching higher and higher, becoming off the scale. And I think to myself, this is all your doing, Cassie. It is you have done this to them, Yes you, sad little Cassie. You have filled them with desire and now look at how they can hardly contain themselves in their rush to explore your body.

This knowledge causes my excitement to grow, it exceeds anything I have previously experienced.

Josh's tongue is rampant. Two of Becky's fingers are inside me while her thumb rotates over my clit. My excitement is no longer containable, and I begin to shudder and quake. I have to call out, not for effect but because I can't help it. A wild scream burst from me. My body is rocked by the spasms of orgasm, washing over me in wave after wave. I am grateful that I am held tight in the vice of their bodies. If not for their support I would have fallen to the ground, thrashed and twisted, become lost in the unravelling my senses during most intense orgasm I have ever know.

I become still, remaining propped between them both. I don't want to move because I know my legs will fail if I do. I want my flesh to meld with theirs, be a part of them both. Always. To become some strange amalgamation of the three of us would be perfect.

Beck is whispering in my ear, telling me I'm beautiful. Josh is kissing me again. Becky moves from me for the briefest of instants and then returns. Josh's large, powerful hands now grip my arms, constraining them, then quickly he pushed them behind me, holding my wrists together. As quick and seamless as a Peirppoint hanging, Becky has manacled my wrists in cuffs.

Fear inundates me like a spring tide.

Then I remember their game. Instantly fear is gone, replaced by a tormenting need.

Josh is saying, "See, Darling girl, how easily she gave herself to us. Didn't I say that behind that pretty face of hers was the mind of a whore. What do you think we should do with the whore now, Darling Girl?"

"Whores like her need to be locked away," says Darling Girl

"For her own good," Josh says. "We don't want that husband of hers finding her."

They march me from the hall and into the lounge and on through to the kitchen, where Becky unbolts the back door before reaching a rechargeable torch from the wall mount. Out in the back garden, I look up as I walk. I see the are stars but the path ahead is patched by moonlight-shadows cast by the wild shrubbery of their yet untamed garden. They lead me into the night along a narrow stone path picked out by Becky's torch. The summer air is fragrant and cloying from blossoms unseen. I look up at the stars. Above the trees, a half-slice of the flesh-hued moon looks down on me without.

We stop at an old stable door set in crumbling brickwork. Becky shines her beam and fumbles with a padlock that looks ancient is bigger and older than any I have ever seen. The door squeals a rusty song as it retreats from us.

Once inside, a switch is flicked. Dark red light floods the room, subdued yet lushly erotic.

A person-sized wooden cross-frame in one corner. A wall rack of lashes and whips side by side with mounted dildos and vibrators of varying designs.

Becky goes to a cabinet and brings me what she has taken from it. I see a black suede strap ball bag. At first, I do not understand.

"This is so we won't have to hear you begging us to stop," she says.

"I won't wear it, no way," I say, as calmly as I can.

She holds it in the flat of her hand for me to see. It's black leather and silver buckles. The ball looks too big for a mouth.

Don't spoil it for us, Cassie. It's just a game — remember?" she says.

Game or no game, I know if that thing goes into my mouth I have lost control, would be theirs utterly.

"No way!"

Josh hisses in my ear, "Listen, little girl, you do as you're told. You have no say in anything anymore." He looks at Becky and says, "Disobedient girls need to be taught how to behave. See to her, Darling Girl ."

Becky is po-faced. "She most certainly needs to be taught a lesson." I watch as she takes the ball-gag back to the cabinet, turns and says "We'll come back to this soon."

The way they are talking is so corny. Becky is a crap actress.

She goes and sits on a large wooden stool next to the cross-frame, says, "Bring her to me if you would"

He pushes me forward, says, "Bend over for your mistress."

I stand looking stupidly at Becky.

"Over her knee, Slave!"

So you're no longer just a captive now, Cassie. In the blink of an eye, you've become a slave. What does it mean to be a slave? A re

I kneel before her, my hands awkward behind my back. The handcuffs chaff.

"Over my knee, Slave," she says.

I have to wriggle to take up the position she wants me in. The sensation of my small breasts as they are squeezed by my weight when I slide torso over the soft top-flesh of her thighs. I feel so self-conscious, though this whole ridiculous situation arouses me like nothing ever has.

I can't get myself right because how my hands are behind me, cuffed. Josh has to position me. My face is low, I'm looking at Becky's calves, my thick blonde curls tumble to the floor, curtains my eyes. My feet are not so far down on the other side, but my belly presses into her soft thighs, though her knees are hard against my lower ribs on my left side. I am bent in the middle, almost bowed.

When her first slap hits my rump, I yell out in shock and pain, call out, "Ow! You fucking Bitch, Becky!"

She slaps me again. Harder. Much harder. The whack of her hand on my taut flesh echoes off the bare stone walls of this dungeon of space. Again and again, her hand falls. The sound her blows make is like the repeated crack of rifles echoing among high cliffs. Tears fill my eyes. In my gut, a glow of something new begins, something I could never have foreseen stirs, starts to smoulder. The pleasure to be had from pain is a revelation.