Visiting the McIntoshs

"You are only making this harder on yourself..."

Alistair, not outwitted by his wife's resistance, let go of her nose, only to press his index finger against a certain spot on her neck, a little below the larynx. Riona tried to wiggle away, but her attempt came too late. An overwhelming impulse to retch hit her, and a moment later she was coughing heavily. And another moment later her coughs were severely muffled by the hated rubber ball.

"Bon appétit!"

He closed the heavy buckle in the nape of her neck and pulled her long hair free. Riona still managed to get some insulting noises out, but the main body of her tirades was blocked by the fetish gag. With two inches in diameter it was a rather large exemplar, especially for an untrained mouth. And it was made of real, if high-grade rubber, not the softer silicone. There had been even bigger ones in that shop in Edinburgh, though, up to a monster of two and three quarter inches. Alistair had been particularly intrigued by that one, but it just wouldn't be practicable. So he had gone with the two-incher. He had to admit that she looked weirdly sexy with it, and for a short moment Alistair wished they had tried all this under more consensual circumstances.

~

The strong taste of rubber immediately filled her mouth. Maybe it was just her utter disgust that amplified the sensation. All the same, she had the impression of chewing on a brand new car tyre. Yet Riona could not help but digging her teeth into it in futile defiance. She had been right: Being gagged was worse than being tied up. She could not even begin to comprehend how anybody could see anything erotic in it! It was utterly demeaning, distorting and intimidating. The foul item rendered her literally speechless and pried her jaws open so her muscles began to throb almost immediately. Also -- speaking of demeaning -- her saliva was already gathering around her trapped tongue.

She would not make it that easy for him to humiliate her any further!

Riona wiggled her head left and right, her dark mane flying about. She twisted and jerked on her chair, not caring about the zip ties cutting and chaffing. She pressed with her tongue, fought the gag with all her strength, and under efforts she finally forced the red intruder past her teeth, past her lips. It bounced back onto her chin, but another round of head-shaking sent it down her neck, where it dangled like a pervy necklace.

Alistair, at first amused by the show she was putting on, wasn't pleased at all now. He seized the gag again and brought it back up.

"Spit that thing out one more time, and I will—"

"What will you, limp-dick, eh?! What will you do to mmghhh—"

Alistair wedged the ball back into her mouth and, stepping behind her once more, buckled the strap in its last hole, not caring at all about how deeply the leather cut into the corners of Riona's lips. He stood before her again.

"You were saying, dear?"

"Mmph."

~

Riona's eyes grew large -- Good! -- but Alistair noticed that her gaze went over his shoulder. He leant back with a weary sigh.

"Really, sweetheart? The old trick? 'Watch out, Alistair, behind you!' "

"Watch out, Alistair, behind you..."

He spun around, the unknown voice echoing in his mind. Yet every further action was cancel by a fist to his liver.

~

Their leader spoke with a faint Irish accent.

"Mr and Mrs McIntosh, we are here to take your worldly possessions. I trust you are adequately insured, so please show no sign of resistance. Mr Trick, who is the gentleman to my right, owns a reputation for meeting such behaviour quite roughly, as Mr McIntosh's still vivid desire to double over underlines."

Alistair groaned as if confirming the statement. He was by now secured to a chair vis-à-vis to Riona -- with zip ties, of all (they brought their own, of course -- nobody seemed to bother themselves with a good rope and the art of knotting anymore). The three strangers standing in their kitchen wore black overalls and balaclavas. One of them, the heavy-set one who had punched Alistair, let a large duffle bag thump to the floor. As very recently proven by her hubby, suspicious bags brought into a kitchen during the night hours were never a good sign.

Their leader seemed to have followed Riona's gaze.

"Be not afraid, though. Once you and your spouse have digested the initial scare, the both of you will be grand, albeit in need of a better security system."

"How did you get in here?" her husband asked, voice still thick with pain.

"Door."

It was the stocky man who had answered, Mr Trick. Then the tall one continued:

"However, I appreciate that Mrs McIntosh can already be found in a distinctive level of restraint, though the reasons as to why are not mine to investigate."

Mr Tick beckoned his accomplices to swarm out.

"Oh, and I would appreciate you to have got your PIN codes at hand."

"Of course," sighed Alistair.

Riona, on account of still being gagged, only rolled her eyes.

For claiming to take their worldly possessions, they were quite picky. Stocky and the third one didn't give their mobile phones so much as a glance, same with their high end laptops. Some of her jewellery found a new home in Stocky's duffle bag, but only the very highlights, such as the sapphire ear rings and a massive silver choker. They ignored Alistair's wrist watch as well, and Riona wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. It had been her present for his first birthday they had celebrated as husband and wife. The watch wasn't so much what she had thought he would like, but what she had liked to see on him -- a sensible-sized TAG Heuer chronograph, chronometre-certified. It sported an engravement on its back around the glass inlay:

To Alistair -- May It Never Stop Counting Our Hours Together

In Love

Ro

She wondered why he was still wearing it. Perhaps that dork just had forgotten about the dedication. The appearance of their guests had rendered her situation even more complicated. But overcoming the initial shock -- the second one this night -- Riona also saw the possibilities. Grunting into the mouth-filling ball, she sought eye contact with the leader.

"How may I help you, Mrs McIntosh?"

"Taghe igh ough, 'eave."

He hunched down in front of her.

"And you will not start any cascades of revilements?"

Riona shook her head.

"Well then..."

He rose and reached around her to loosen the buckle. As soon as the gag left her mouth, she yelled at Alistair:

"You prick, how dare you—"

"And back in it goes..." announced Mr Tick, bringing the saliva-shining rubber to her lips again.

"No, no, please!" Riona pled, switching instantaneously to damsel-in-distress mode. "You have to listen to me! He is out of his mind! He tried to kill me! I don't care what you take, but you can't leave me at his mercy!"

Mr Tick paused in his motion, and she decided to drive the point home.

"Surely don't want a homicide connected to your coup in any form."

"We prefer the term 'operation'," Trick informed her whilst closing his duffle bag.

"Besides," the leader took over, "he is currently not in the position to harm you."

"You just can't help it, huh?" Alistair snarled at her.

"Say what?"

"You have to manipulate everyone around you, even some bloody criminals breaking into our home!"

"Easy, handsome," Track warned, apparently more eager to aggrandise himself than actually taking offence at Alistair's description of their profession.

"Why, eh? I've listened to that frigid bitch long enough!" Alistair stated.

"Oh, now I'm frigid! You are so drunk every night, you cannot get a hard-on anymore!"

"Take a wild guess why I drink!"

"Because you are a pathetic little—"

"I hate to interrupt, but my associates and I did not travel all the way from Dublin..." from Mr Tick's mouth it sounded like 'Dobbelen', "... to arbitrate your marital conflicts. So we are going back to civilised manners, or it will be Big Red for you again." He pointed to the ball gag dangling around her neck once more, just loosely re-buckled so it won't get lost.

Opposite her Alistair scoffed.

"For ten minutes these blokes are here, and already they are as tired of listening to your nagging as I am."

Riona, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her gagged again, swallowed a sharp riposte. After all, Alistair would soon pack up complaining about her nagging at all.

~

The signs in the kitchen hadn't gone unnoticed by Mr Tick. Over the shattered remains of the wine glass his gaze wandered to the island counter with its scenery of tool and flickering gas flames. Judging from the collection some considerable bloodletting had been imminent -- that, or these two were seriously far out with their role-playing. He found himself hoping for the latter, lest the main purpose of their home invasion would be affected.

"Far be it from me to come between spouses living through a difficult time," he announced whilst switching the gas off, "yet I have to ask for your cooperation once again to make this night count."

After the completed collecting of money, valuables, credit cards and PIN codes by Mr Trick and Mr Track, a certain level of reluctance could be seen on Mr McIntosh's face. His better half, however, showed more spirit...

~

"Far be it from me to come between spouses living through a difficult time, yet I have to ask for your cooperation once again to make this night count."

The leader's request was a downright cue for Riona.

"Sure. Why not start with Mr McIntosh's Porsche?"

She intentionally mispronounced it as "porsh", knowing fully well how that always annoyed him. Nobody was to speak badly about the one thing dearest to his heart. During their four years of marriage -- not to mention the time before -- he had not let her drive that car a single time.

"Why not start with it, Mr Trick?" the leader requested.

Stocky shrugged his shoulders.

"An older model. Type 993. A grey 4S, if I saw correctly."

"Arctic Silver," Alistair corrected automatically.

"What would be so special about it?"

Trick shrugged his shoulders again: "Well..."

"Nothing!" hurried Alistair. "She doesn't know—"

"It's the last one ever built and delivered."

"Shut up!" he hissed.

She leant forwards to him, almost sculpturing the words with evil satisfaction.

"It's worth twice as much as new."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Make me."

"You bitch," he gnarled. "You damn bitch."

She sneered and stuck her tongue out at him.

"The last of the all-air-cooled..." pondered Tick. "Well, in that case: There are certain discrete collectors who may take a fancy on such a gem."

"And easier to transport than a telly," Mr Track threw in.

"Yes, self-propelled indeed..." the leader mused. "Although I reckon Mrs McIntosh to be exaggerating about the actual worth, I will consider this and let you know. However, if you please direct me to the keys?"

"In his underpants."

He appeared to frown underneath his balaclava, but Mr Trick just shrugged his shoulders again and began to grope Alistair's crotch.

~

"Knock it off!" Alistair yelled in a voice higher than intended. That berk really took Riona's bosh seriously!

"Would you please just check his pockets?" their leader assigned.

Apparently deprived of her fun by Tick's intervention, his wife told them to look on the ōdana near the stairs, where he always put his keys onto.

Track gawped at her.

"The what?"

"A shelf-like piece of furniture used in Japanese tea ceremonies," the leader clarified, as if ōdana could be found at every corner in Dublin. "Mr Trick, would you be so kind?"

When the stocky bloke returned with the bunch of keys, Riona assumed herself to be in a bargaining position.

"Great, now that I've cooperated so nicely and your mates learnt a new word, how about cutting my ties? Just as a gesture?"

"I'm afraid this would send the wrong signal, not to mention that it is still a wee bit early for granting you full sway again."

"Seems your bribery didn't work out, you back-stabbing tart!" Alistair chuckled bitterly. "You stay on your chair just I have to stay on mine."

"A small inconvenience for having a front row seat at what is about to happen."

Again one of those innuendoes! The thing he hated the most about her -- by virtue of significance maybe even the one thing he hated about her -- was that damn proneness to ambiguities, side blows and downright invidious comments. Only meant to make his life miserable. If he could keep her gagged permanently, she would be the perfect companion.

"And what would that be, huh? What will be happening capable of amusing you so much despite our situation?"

"You want to know it? Fine. Since you are no longer in any position to harm me, courtesy of our guests, why should I not take some additional pleasure in listening to your pathetic whining which is inevitably to follow: I have poisoned you."

~

That felt good!

Riona couldn't believe how freeing it had been to say these four words. With satisfaction she followed the struggle of doubt and disbelieve on Alistair's face.

"Bollocks!" he decided.

She only shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, as far as it was possible in her strained position.

"How?"

"Interesting. Five seconds earlier it was bollocks, now we have arrived at the 'how'."

Behind Mr Tick his two accomplices became a bit fidgety. The leader himself felt it necessary to intervene:

"Is there any chance your dear wife's comment has a solely figurative meaning?"

"She's making that up as she goes along! Where could she even put—"

"In your moronic anti-stress chewing gums," she lied. No need to give anybody funny ideas. Actually, she had indeed considered soaking the chewing gums. But beside the difficulty of letting the toxic liquid dry in before re-wrapping, there had been the taste. Her poison of choice had been the extract of Alsangania atrosanguinea, in these parts better known as Bloodroot or Red Root. The herb sported a unique combination of acerbic and sweet that wouldn't go very well with peppermint. She had reckoned the sensation to be like the one from drinking orange juice after having brushed one's teeth. But luckily there was always a bottle of Auchentoshan Classic around. Riona had taken a sip to test it -- without the Bloodroot, of course. The scotch's complex flavour had turned out to be perfect! There had been the sharpness of the alcohol itself together with some fruity element on her tongue that had reminded her of apples.

"Bollocks," Alistair stated again, as if repeating it would change the facts. He did not look too well already. Maybe it was the booze, or the stress. But Riona had her third theory ready. She didn't know exactly when the main effects would occur, maybe the alcohol was interfering with the process. Yet she had a rather clear idea as to what would happen once the poison had went to work on his organism. The result would be a quick and painless death -- after about ten minutes of excruciating cramping, that was. Two hours later, though, there would be no trace of the agent within the body, if one didn't know what to look for.

"Your call. Just tell me how it worked out for you."

She let her response hover halfway between question and statement, a habit of which she knew putting Alistair particularly on edge.

~

He didn't want to believe Riona's claim, of course, but the more Alistair thought about it, the more likely it appeared. "Hell hath no fury..." and so on. In his mind he had already started to count the number of anti-stress gums he had chewed today.

"Why, this is quite an aggravating development..." Tick sighed from between them.

"What is it to you? Secure yourself some alibis for that cretin's time of death. My offer still stands: Take whatever you want and cut me loose once you're done."

"And what a generous offer it is. Thing is, though, a certain item is still remaining on our wish list."

His wife frowned at Mr Tick.

"You've got our money, our stuff, you've got his bloody car. What could there be else?"

"Maybe you should increase your offer by a free blow job for each one," Alistair suggested. As he had hoped, Riona blushed noticeably.

Fellatio was a topic his better half wholeheartedly avoided -- because or in spite of the fact that she hadn't always showed the same consequence in avoiding the act itself. Just to clarify it to their nocturnal visitors, he added with a slight exaggeration:

"Took it all like a good lass without gagging once."

"Wanna discuss why I didn't have to gag, shorty?!"

"I understand that by escalating to intimate details, this conversation is reaching a critical point, so I have to take measures for de-escalation," Mr Tick stated. "Which means imposing silence upon at least one of you. That would be you, Mrs McIntosh. Nothing personal nor misogynistic -- you just came already fitted with a suitable device."

With amazing skill he forced the gag back into Riona's mouth, despite her heavy resistance. She winced as he tightened the strap and bit the rubber sphere in defiance. Alistair didn't try to hide his schadenfreude one bit, earning a scornful gaze -- which was the worst thing she was capable of doing to him right now. Didn't look like her offer would be accepted any time soon. Poor lass...

Mr Tick, in the meantime, was determined to not let himself be interrupted again during his big moment:

"Tomorrow morning or...," he checked his showy pilot's watch with a flamboyant swing of his arm "... to be precise, today morning Mr McIntosh will enter a certain branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh. The branch farthest away from his office as well as from his wife's office. That one where he has rented a safe deposit box."

Riona jerked her head around.

"Wha' 'ox?"

"Excuse me?"

She managed to work the delightfully effective ball past her lips.

"Wha—"

The gag snapped back into her mouth, making her growl in frustration.

"Arrgh! Wha' sa'e de'osi' 'ox?!"

"The safe deposit box your husband has failed to inform you about. Which happens to be the same box he stores certain sensible material related to the clientele of Claymore in. Unbeknownst to his employer, as a matter of course.

Alistair reckoned that now it would be on him to blush, but his face could not decide whether to turn red or pale. These clowns knew about the box and its content!

"As I mentioned, Mr McIntosh will enter the bank in his function of the owner of said box, extract its content and return to our car for passing it over."

"Why exactly would I do that?"

"Because your beloved wife is held hostage and will pay dearly if you show any shortage on cooperation."

Alistair threw his head back and cackled.

"I do whatever you want, but please don't hurt her! No, seriously: It may come as a surprise to you, but my wife and I are momentary not on the best terms."

"This scheme indeed appears somewhat flawed in the light of tonight's event, I have to admit that much."

~

He had to think outside the box, Mr Tick told himself. He had to put his undeniably xyresic intellect to work. The leverage that came from holding Mr McIntosh's wife hostage was essential to the operation. He couldn't send anyone into the bank with Mr McIntosh, not into a place sporting an overkill of CCTV. So, if not capable of coercing him by threatening to kill his wife, he had to reward him.

"We kill your wife for you."

"Huh, and have all the fun?"

"Very well then, you can kill her, and we take care of the body."

"Well, I don't know..."

"We dispose the body, and you can have your car keys back." He let the keys fall into his host's lap. The young man was hesitating, though. He kept scrutinising his wife who gazed back at him whilst chewing on the ball-gag.