Patty pulled uselessly against the cuffs that trapped her wrists against the bondage horse. Her body had been bent over the horse, the cuffs placed in such a way that her wrists were closer to her legs causing her shoulders to strain uncomfortably; everything about her position was uncomfortable. Her ankles were shoulder width apart, welded to the legs with cuffs that were built into the bondage contraption. Her breasts were pillowed by the ledge in-between the gap in the horse, providing both a lift and mash of her mammaries like a perverted push up bra. A metal extension had been welded onto the horse with a collar on the end of it, Patty’s neck was locked into the collar, her neck forced to extend and remain looking forward at shoulder level. A ring gag had also been forced into her mouth. Patty thought anything would be better than the rubber ball that had caused her jaws to ache, but the ring gag did nothing to alleviate that ache, plus, she was well aware that the gaping O her mouth formed left all kinds of possibilities, none of them good.
Patty furtively tried to look around, but the black cloth that served as a blindfold prevented her from taking in her surroundings. While she was robbed of sight, she could still hear Elsa grunting into her gag, valiantly fighting against her restraints.
Frankie and Frannie had thrown Elsa against a St. Andrew’s Cross, putting her in the restraints while she struggled to catch her breath. She was still in the garish police uniform and her gag remained unchanged, drool spilling from around the rubber stopping her mouth and dripping onto her exposed breasts. Once embarrassed by the drool, Elsa was actually grateful for the cool liquid on her overheated skin. Elsa looked at Patty with sympathy, she knew the next day was going to be rough. They were in a BDSM playroom, the room outfitted with much of the same gear Elsa had seen when perusing Capello’s kink store. Frankie and Frannie could inflict a number of sexual torture scenarios in the time so graciously allotted to them.
“Ok! Time to play!” Frannie declared gleefully, carrying in a laptop with a camera attached with her, the red light already beaming bright. Frankie followed her inside wearing only his boxer briefs, the coffee stain had spread over the crotch of his underwear, thanks to Patty. Patty couldn’t hold back a sob, still in disbelief that a split second decision could dramatically change the course of her life.
“Aw, don’t cry yet. You’ll ruin the mood,” Frannie admonished as she set up the laptop in front of Elsa so she wasn’t in the camera’s view, but she could watch the online response in real-time. Frannie winked at Elsa, squeezing her left breast. “Enjoy the show,” she whispered before prancing off.
Elsa was glad Patty couldn’t see the monster strap on Frannie was wearing. A chain brassiere and red stilettos completed Frannie’s ensemble, something that Elsa noticed in passing to help distract her from the sight of Frannie inspecting whips.
“We are broadcasting part of our session for our loyal supporters, and to those willing to pay a hefty sum, of course.”
Patty flinched, a whimper escaping when she heard the swish of the whip, feeling a whisper of contact; Frannie was in a teasing mood.
“Plus, it will be useful for your new Master to know how you react to different stimuli,” Frannie slowly dragged the whip across Patty’s flank, tickling her side, and ending between her breasts. “They will need to know your pain threshold, too.” Frannie cracked the whip, hitting Patty center mass, eliciting a pained grunt from her plaything. “You ready, baby?” Patty didn’t respond, assuming it was another sick taunt from Frannie, but she realized Frannie wasn’t talking to her when Frankie answered.
“Uh huh,” Frankie grunted. He waited for Frannie to walk behind Patty before shucking his boxer briefs and stepping up until he was inches from Patty’s gaping mouth. Patty tried to recoil, sensing the closeness of Frankie’s cock—Frankie’s cock was an angry pink, obviously suffering from the hot liquid spill—what limited movement she had made her back into Frannie’s enhanced strap on, already ready to pummel into Patty’s entrance.
Patty whined, blindly looking up pleadingly at Frankie, but she knew it was a wasted effort.
“See, we thought about having you blow Frannie first. Get her off, lube her dick so it wouldn’t be so bad for you, but I am tired of waiting, and I am fucking pissed about you injuring my cock. So, you are going to show lil’ Frankie some love, and Frannie is going to have some fun, too. Needless to say, it won’t be very comfortable for you, but what can I say? Payback’s a bitch.”
With that, Frankie plunged himself into Patty’s wide open mouth. Patty’s unintelligible pleas soon turned to gagging when she got a taste of Frankie’s dick. She never enjoyed the taste of cock, but the taste of cock mixed with the remnants of a flavored latte was a whole other level of disgusting. Patty’s distressed moans mingled with Frankie and Frannie’s pleasurable ones (Frannie had taken a cue from Frankie and plunged hilt deep into Patty’s exposed pussy). Elsa joined the chorus of moans and grunts, voicing her disapproval for principle’s sake; she had made zero progress in breaking free of her restraints, only succeeding in fast-tracking the welts she could feel forming on her body.
Elsa couldn’t help but look at the laptop. There were over a million people watching the broadcast, and the comment ticker was scrolling up quicker than Elsa could read. From what she could gather, nobody was very sympathetic to Patty’s plight. The site was polluted with the deviants’ lewd, disgusting comments such as, “STUFF THAT BITCH!” And that was one of the tamer ones.
Elsa could only hope and pray that a law enforcement officer was tracking live porn streams—for work not their own personal enjoyment—and could piece together enough clues to find their location in time. Capello had promised the crazy teens 24 hours, so that meant they would be staying in the same location, right? Elsa was torn from her desperate prayer by Frankie’s hoarse roar, she could see Patty’s cheeks widened as Frankie unloaded his spunk down her throat faster than she could swallow.
“Lick it clean, bitch,” Frankie demanded after partially pulling out. Patty hesitated for a second, haltingly sticking out her tongue before stilling completely, Frannie’s outburst preceding her orgasm, her fingernails digging into Patty’s taut ass cheeks. Patty let out her own cry that soon into hopeless sobs. Her despair compounded by Frannie and Frankie’s mocking laughter….
Roberta Baskel stormed into her office, flinging the files she had been holding onto her desk. Her motion to extend a trial date had been denied. The judge had accused her of stalling (which she absolutely was) and declared that the trial of Mafia foot soldier, Giovanni Gambino, would resume the next day, wanting to wrap up the trial before the holiday break: things couldn’t get any worse.
Roberta plopped herself into her leather chair, heaving a world-suffering sigh before reaching for her phone and hitting number one on her speed dial.
“David. Please, pretty please with a cherry on top, tell me you have a lead on Patty.” David Stamper was the SAC—Special Agent in Charge—of the Missing Persons Unit in New York. Roberta had put in a call to him just a couple hours after Patty’s life changing Starbucks run. Roberta knew with absolute certainty that something bad had happened to Patty when she didn’t see her at her desk at 5:30 in the morning. Patty was never late. If anything, Roberta would have to shake Patty awake when she came in because the young girl had fallen asleep working overtime at her desk.
David started to give her the spiel of waiting 24 hours, but she cut him off and called in one of the many favors she had stockpiled in her career. David had begrudgingly opened the case, sending agents to her home, getting more agents to call into the local hospitals and police departments. They got a hit around 2 O’clock in the afternoon, a Starbucks that was on Patty’s route home from the office had reported a car theft from their employee lot earlier in the morning, pretty rudimentary at first glance. It wasn’t until they did some digging that they realized there had been a fender bender in the drive through moments before the theft. When they finally got access to the security tapes from the drive through and employee lot, David was able to positively identify Patty Finch when she stepped out of her car after crashing into the van. He couldn’t make out any identifying features in the young couple that stepped out of the van; their hats and scarfs concealing a majority of their facial features. He found Patty again on the employee lot camera, but the video was grainy and she stepped out of view when she approached the other party: That grainy video was the last known trace of Patty’s whereabouts. Nothing else appeared on the video until the stolen Civic rolled out of the lot with the young couple in the front seats. David would get a warrant to check the cars in the lot, but he seriously doubted he would find Patty Finch in that lot.
David had called Roberta to let her know the bittersweet news. He was able to confirm that Roberta was correct in her suspicions, but they hadn’t located her yet. David did all he could to find Patty Finch. He put out a bolo on the stolen car—not surprised when the car was found torched—he had the lab check the dented van for prints—nada—and the trail went stone cold. He had no idea why the couple kidnapped Patty. What he did know, and he was certain Baskel was aware of this, after 48 hours the chances of finding Patty alive were slim.
David indulged Roberta, however, because he knew she was having a rough time at work with Patty gone, she really had been the backbone of the office. “I wish I could Roberta, but—“
“I’m sorry, David. I have to go,” Roberta cut him off abruptly, hanging up just as fast, leaving David to look at his phone with a bemused expression. “Nice talking with you, too.”
Roberta held a letter in her shaking hands. The letter had been buried under the files she had thrown haphazardly on her desk, but now it was front and center. The envelope red, the lettering green to follow the Christmas color scheme. Obviously it wasn’t the color scheme that had drained the color from Roberta’s face. No, it was name of the person who had allegedly sent her the letter: Patty Finch.
She grabbed her letter opener and tore open the seal, cutting her finger in her haste. Roberta dropped the contents on her desk as soon as they were revealed, letting out a horrified screech.
An intern she had pulled trying to catch up on all of the work piling up with Patty missing, ran into the office holding up a stapler as a makeshift weapon. “What? What’s wrong?” He asked once he realized nobody else was in the office.
“Get out!” Roberta screeched.
“But, but you’re bleeding!” The intern pointed with his stapler wielding hand.
“I don’t care! Get out! Now!” Roberta threw a file at the poor schmuck who scurried out without a backwards glance—he was used to some office abuse assuming it was par for the course being an intern.
Roberta Baskel pushed her fingers into her hair, blood dripping onto her desk and the contents of the letter from her cut finger, but Roberta didn’t notice. She couldn’t stop staring at the “holiday card” she had received, along with Patty’s work badge, her innocent, beaming smile a stark contrast to the picture next to it. Frannie and Frankie had chosen a still from the video they had taken of their time with Patty, careful to crop their faces out of the picture. The still showed the pair of them balls deep in Patty, her face scrunched up in pain and disgust, Frannie was pulling back on Patty’s signature long braid, causing Patty to bend her neck backwards while still taking Frankie in orally. The card said simply: Happy Holidays! I hope you get to blow off some steam. You deserve it! Love, Patty.
Roberta flipped the card over and noticed a second note: Back off.
Roberta collapsed into her chair sobbing uncontrollably as the fate of her paralegal, and friend. was finally revealed. She wouldn’t be able to prove it, but she knew down to her bones that the Mob had captured Patty.
If they were smart, they would have sent Patty halfway across the world to serve out the rest of her miserable days as a concubine for a wealthy sheik. If Roberta was lucky, they had given Patty to a lieutenant within the Mob, or some other high ranking supporter. Then there was still a modicum of hope that they could recover Patty and punish the bastards that had taken and abused her.
Fuck them! Roberta thought savagely, instantly regretting her choice of words when her gaze strayed back to the picture. There is no way in hell I am giving up now. She picked the picture back up, studying the two kidnappers/rapists in detail. I might not be able to save you, Patty, but I swear to God I will avenge you.
With the flare of vengeance burning through her tears, Roberta Baskel picked the phone back up and called David Stamper again. “David. I am sorry for my rude goodbye, but I need something you need to see, only you.” It was time to get back to work.