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Prologue:
Early morning light snakes through a clear sky above a run-down apartment complex. A man kicks a child’s bicycle out of the sidewalk as he manhandles a pair of large cardboard boxes up a cracked cement walk to one of the apartment doors, huffing with the effort. The owner of the bike, a scrawny, ten-year old black boy sitting across the road on a trash-strewn stoop and eating cold cereal out of a crumpled yellow box, yells at him.
"Hey, motherfucker! That’s my bike. Leave it alone!"
The man mutters an oath. The boy jumps up, causing his baggy jeans to slide even further down around his skinny shanks.
"What? What’d you say, you spic motherfucker? Speak American, dammit!"
I should break your scrawny neck, boy.
"Ye-ah. That’s what I thought. Keep on walkin’. Pussy. "
The man grunts, ignoring the child’s prattle. There was a time when he acted much the same way, and if the boy wasn’t so annoying, his bravado might almost be amusing.
"Hey!" The boy peers at the boxes, curious. "What’choo got there, man? Huh?"
Exasperating child. Go home.
A puff of steam escapes the man’s lips into the chill air. He compresses his lips into a tight, pale line, getting control of himself. He awkwardly balances the boxes on a raised knee and gropes for the heavy key ring that jangles from his belt. The man lists from side to side and bounces on the ball of his foot, struggling to keep his balance.
The boxes stay put, and he unlocks the door and kicks it open.
"Hey! You spic fuck! I asked you a question! Hey! Hey!"
The man tumbles inside and sets the boxes on the floor, then quickly shuts the flimsy wood door and locks the deadbolt, blocking out the boys’ vulgarity. He wipes his hands and stretches, then walks through the tiny, one-bedroom apartment and pulls down the window blinds before he switches on the kitchen light.
A spark shoots from the bare light bulb that dangles from the ceiling. The man squints as the light flickers and slowly illuminates the meager room. He rubs his stubby fingers over a thick, black mustache and the bristly stubble covering his chin and neck.
When his eyes adjust to the dim light, he unclips a folding knife from his belt and cuts through the packing tape. He puts away the knife, opens the flaps of the larger box, and digs around until he finds a small instruction manual.
The man pulls out the contents of each box and organizes the equipment on a cheap Formica dining table, setting up a desktop computer as he reads the manual. He disconnects a cheap phone and an answering machine and plugs a cord into the modem slot on the back of the computer. The man grins and shrugs out of his faded green fatigue jacket, and carefully places it on the back of a rickety old dinette chair.
Dark. No power.
The little man frowns and checks the manual again. He matches the diagrams in the manual to the buttons on each machine and pokes the on/off buttons for the hard drive and the monitor.
Nothing.
Puzzled, the man flips through the manual again, then stands and peers around in the boxes. He smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand and swears.
He pulls out two bundled power cords that were hidden away in the packing material. He plugs them into an electrical outlet on the baseboard, next to the phone line.
He pushes the power button again and his lined face breaks into a smile as the hard drive whines and rattles. The computer blinks on, booting up. The smile grows and he turns on the printer, then reaches behind him and takes several folded pieces of yellow legal paper from his jacket pocket. He smoothes them out on the table and moves the mouse around on its pad, getting a feel for it.
The man follows the directions written on the paper, pecking carefully away at the keyboard, and sets up an anonymous email account. When he finishes, he rubs his moist palms off on his pant legs and pulls a rumpled porno magazine from the bag, a locally published magazine that he’d purchased at a strip club the night before. He chews on his lip and flips to the back, searching the advertisements and ignoring the lewd pictures of the naked women and the naked men, until he finds the particular add he’s looking for.
The man grins again, reads more of his notes, and pecks away until a website appears in the monitor. He leans over the table and scans the magazine ad intently, comparing the print from the page to the picture the screen.
He mouths the words that are lushly scripted in black and gold against a field of satin pink.
Fantasies, Inc
A small framed photo sits on the counter next to him. The photo is a picture of a family of three, a father, a wife and a baby daughter, all smiling for the camera. Happy.
The man smiles sadly at the photo.
Soon, my brother. All will be made right.
He uses the mouse to click on the words, and the screen changes.
Your fantasies, all fantasies, no matter how big or how small, brought to life
He clicks the mouse, scrolling down further.
We specialize in fulfilling the kinky and cute, the timid or the daring, the loving or the deranged; reward or revenge - whatever you desire, no matter how sweet or how perverted, can and will be yours with Fantasies, Inc.
The man sits back in his chair, rubbing his hands nervously. He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out his breath in a whoosh. He leans forward again.
This site is for adults only.
Fantasies, Inc. is not a porn site, an escort service, theater or any type of performance art.
We are a multi-billion dollar global organization, specializing in the ultimate in sex and revenge fantasy fulfillment. We exist to help realize all types of real-life sex fantasies for our clientele. We accept projects that range from the ordinary and mundane to the most criminal and unusual. Therefore, please be aware that certain types of our projects may be illegal in many parts of the world, and that real, ordinary people - adults and children, friends, family, business associates, etc. -
Fantasies, Inc. accepts no responsibility for any legal action resulting from any or all accepted projects.
Payment must be submitted as a cash transfer, half in advance with the balance due upon completion of each project. No other forms of payment will be accepted.
Once the submission has been accepted, the customer will be notified with a general time-line as to when the fantasy will begin. Once started, each customer will receive regular instructions and updates until the conclusion of the scenario. You may submit an original fantasy or choose from our large database of completely customizable options. For the perfect fantasy experience, please be as specific and detailed as possible when submitting your scenario for consideration.
The wait time for new fantasies to be evaluated is currently an approximate six months to a year from the current date. Projects begin immediately after acceptance.
Satisfaction is guaranteed, or your money back.
Would you like us to make your fantasy come true? Yes/no.
can and will be unknowingly incorporated into each, special project, as dictated by the project description.The man decides and clicks on Yes. The screen changes again, showing more conditions and terms. Boilerplate.
Choose your fantasy.
Generate your own from our fully customizable database, provide a complete description of your own, intimate offering, or choose to experience someone else’s hidden desire from one of our many, most popular experiences
The man licks his lips, and clicks on Custom, then, Personal.
Now to decide: Sugar
or Spice, Naughty or Nice?A cute-as-a-button girl in pig-tails and dressed in a tight Catholic school girl uniform sucks on an oversized lollipop, hovering above the sugar and the nice words, flirting shamelessly. The same girl, now dressed as a black-leather clad bondage queen and brandishing a bullwhip, spits and snarls above the spice and naughty words. There’s a little check box next to each word. The man considers his options and checks both the Spice and the Naughty boxes. The screen changes again.
Okay. Let’s begin
***
Sharon Chapman jumped in her leather chair when her cell phone rang, startled.
Oh, Jesus
Ten forty-five.
I completely lost track of time
She peered out her office window. A light frosting of snow had built up in the corners of the glass.
When did it start to snow
As she reached for her phone, she realized that she hadn’t heard the office phones ring at all that evening.
Strange.
She thought Michelle had told her that they’d been fixed. But then again, she might not have noticed the phone ring anyway. Sharon knew that she had a tendency to let herself get wrapped up in her work, to the point that she’d tune out everyone and everything around her. And she’d been pretty focused on this new client’s case since she’d come into the office that afternoon.
But hadn’t she signed for the bill before everybody left? She was vaguely aware that Debbie asked her to sign some sort of paperwork.
God. Now the memory starts to go, too
Sharon was still trying to remember if she’d signed a work order or what, when she picked up her phone, pushed the on button, and cleared her throat.
"Hello? This is Sharon. "
"Mom?" said a tinny voice. "Is that you? It’s Amy. "
"Sweetie?"
"Hi. Sorry to call this late. "
Sharon thought her daughter sounded tired, but she didn’t say it.
Sharon leaned back in her chair, stretching. The soft leather creaked as she settled in. She pressed the phone back to her ear. "S’okay. How are you?"
"Good, Mom. Great. " Pause. "You’re burning the midnight oil tonight. "
A statement, not a question. Sharon nodded.
"Oh?"
"Domestic violence. There are kids involved. Anne and I are trying to work out a settlement. We’ve got a court date scheduled right after the holidays. "
"Oh. " Pause. "How is Ms. Laird?" Cold.
"Annie’s fine, too. "
Amy was quiet a moment. Even after all these years, she still had a tough time talking about Sharon’s work, and their past. When Amy was three, Sharon’s ex-husband, Mike, had left them, running away to the sunny beaches of Rio with another woman who was barely out of diapers.
Something - anything to help.
But he never paid a dime. Sharon quickly ran out of her meager savings, and she had no other family to turn to for help. For the next few years, she scrimped and saved, working two jobs, scratching and clawing to make a better life for her daughter.
There were hard times, and worse times.
But Sharon managed to put herself through law school, swearing that if she could make it, she would do whatever it took to help other women who were stuck in the same sort of ugly situations. It was in law school that Sharon met Anne Laird, who would later become her partner and closest friend.
In a particularly bad moment, Amy had made it clear that she didn’t care for Anne, or her relationship with Sharon.
Sharon tried to change the subject. "So, anyway. Enough of that. What are you up to? How’s Jenny?"
"Jenny’s great.
Sharon looked at the framed pictures on her desk, of her daughter and her beautiful granddaughter, Jennifer. Without her glasses, they were all blurry. She thought she’d been able to see them okay yesterday.
God, this is frustrating. .
"It’s all right, babe. No need to apologize. We’ve been having a little trouble with our phone lines. "
What the hell
was wrong with them? Sharon had no idea. Must’ve been pretty bad for those guys to be here all day. Michelle probably had a coronary over the cost. The thought of Michelle made Sharon smile."Mom, look, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I…uh, well, we were all wondering if you’d like to fly down for Christmas. Jenny hasn’t seen you in a while, and Jeff’s folks are going to be staying with us over the weekend. I thought maybe you’d want to come too…"
Amy sounded uncomfortable, like she was asking because she was supposed to. Sharon didn’t think they would really want her over for the holiday, much less have her stay for an entire three-day weekend. Well, except for Jenny. Certainly not Jeff.
They’d started off on a bad note when Amy introduced them on the night of their engagement party. Jeff had been drunkenly telling a horribly sexist joke, something about how many horny women it took to screw in a light bulb, when Sharon mentioned that she thought that men should be snipped and tied at puberty.
"I’d love to Sweetie, but this might not be the best time. "
"Oh. "
"I’ve got so much work right now…"
"But Jenny and I would really like for you to be here. " Another short pause. "And Jeff wants you to come too. "
Sharon tried not to snort at that last comment.
"Sweetie, your house is going to be packed full with Jeff’s parents staying there.
"Really?" Amy sounded relieved.
"Sure. We can go do the theme parks. "
Sharon smiled.
Jenny loved roller-coasters, and so did she. They reminded her of how life really worked: up one minute, down the next, then right back up again. Life was a series of highs and lows.
Sharon’s favorite picture of Jenny, one of the pictures she kept on her desk, was of Jenny and her mom that had been snapped during a roller coaster ride. The picture was taken as they went through a double loop-de-loop. Jenny was grinning like only a twelve year old can grin: a huge, ear-to-ear, this-is-the best thing ever kind of grin. Amy looked terrified.
"Uh, okay.
Maybe she wasn’t so relieved. Sharon chuckled.
They made small talk for a few more moments, and then Amy told Sharon that she should go home and get some sleep. Sharon wished her daughter a good night and told her to give Jenny a kiss and a hug for her, and they both hung up. The cell phone buzzed in Sharon’s hand, letting her know she had messages.
Wow. I must’ve been really out of it tonight. No idea I had other calls
She pressed the auto-dial and listened to the messages. A couple of the calls were about business, but could wait until next week, after the holidays. Jenny had called once and left a short, terse message. So had Annie, asking her to drop by for dinner if she felt like it. She said she was dying for a pizza, and she thought she’d be getting home about seven.
Slightly annoyed, Sharon half-listened while Annie droned on and on, like a tired mother tolerating a child. Inwardly, she winced at the pleading tone in Annie’s voice, and stared blankly at the work on her desk, distracted.
Sharon looked at the clock again and turned off her phone.
Too late to call now
Afterwards, Sharon sat quietly and stared at the phone until she heard the soft chime that announced that someone was walking through the front door. A second later she heard a series of beeps, letting her know that the alarm system was being deactivated.
"Annie?" No answer. Sharon knew it probably wasn’t Annie; she never came to the office after work, unless it was an emergency. And she would never stop by without calling first, anyway. But, maybe… Sharon broke into a little smile. "Michelle? Is that you?
"Hallo?" answered a heavily accented voice from the foyer a moment later. "Who is it here?"
Sharon frowned for a second, slightly disappointed, but then shrugged. She slipped back on the high heels that she’d kicked off under her desk, and then stood and planted her fists in the small of her back, stretching until a series of loud pops ran along her spine. She stepped to her office door and pushed it open to find the custodian, Hector, at the alarm pad with his ever present bin of cleaning equipment.
"Hello, Hector," she said, and gave him a little friendly wave and a smile.
Hector jumped about a foot in the air, grabbed a mop handle and waved it in her direction. When he saw who it was, he grinned sheepishly.
"Ahh. Miz Chapman. " He cleared his throat and put down the mop. "You scared me, a little. " He waved at the alarm pad. "The lights were on, but the…the alarm, it was turned on, too. I din’ know if an’one was still here. "
Sharon smiled at him and pulled her long, tan cashmere overcoat from the coat rack.
"I’m sorry Hector. I didn’t mean to startle you. Debbie armed the door when she left, so no one could sneak in. "
"Oh. Ho-kay. "
Sharon buttoned her coat and wrapped a light silk scarf around her neck. Annie had given her the scarf as a Christmas present a few years ago.
"I was just finishing up Hector. Everybody else has gone home for the night. "
"Staying late again, heh?"
"You know me. "
"Ehh, you say you always there for…for your people. " Hector smiled at her. His English was getting much better.
"Yes. Exactly. "
Sharon nodded at his grin and went back to her desk to shut off her laptop. She packed the computer away in her briefcase and tidied up; then locked her desk drawers and stepped out of the office with her briefcase in hand. She said good night to Hector, who was busy emptying the trash cans and filling them with new plastic bags. Sharon pulled on a pair of soft, brown leather gloves, and then searched her purse for her car keys.
"Hector, I’ll get out of your way. You’ll reset the alarm?" He nodded. "See you next week. "
"’Night, Miz Chapman. "
Sharon gave him another smile, and walked outside into the cold.
***
The snow was just starting to stick, the wet pavement was still relatively free of ice, and the air felt brisk and clean. Even so, Sharon stepped carefully around a few ice-crusted puddles so she wouldn’t slip and beeped the remote key pad to her new Beamer. The door locks ka-chunked and the car alarm de-activated from yards away. She stepped around a big, white utility van.
Hector must be doing pretty well for himself,
The van’s engine was still ticking, and steam evaporated from the hood. Sharon passed through a curtain of steam, then opened her car door and tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, pausing with her door open for a moment to enjoy the crisp winter air after being cooped up in her office for so long. She closed her eyes and let the snowflakes fall on her face. She looked up at the sky. The thick clouds were bright in the night sky, lit from behind by the moon, puffy like wispy balls of cotton.
Sharon stuck out her tongue, feeling like a child again.
She opened wide, and said, "Aaaahh. "
Sharon looked back at her office. So much work, trying to help others.
She sighed, thinking of Amy and Jenny, and wondered where she’d gone wrong raising Amy. After all the crap the two of them had gone through together, how had Amy become exactly the kind of meek, abused woman Sharon had made her life’s work to try to help?
In Sharon’s mind, at some point Amy had become a victim. She was timid and withdrawn, co-dependent and clinging desperately to a cheating, drunken sham of a man who blatantly detested her. At least Jenny had spunk, thank God; she had a zest for life that Amy had never been able to muster. Sharon fervently hoped that Jenny could keep that spark safe so it could bloom and grow, and that life or her family wouldn’t pound it from her.
And me?
Sharon reminded herself again that this is what she’d wanted, all the effort spent, the sacrifice, the sweat and tears. This was her life, not just her work. She and Anne had found the offices years ago, right after they’d passed the bar exams. They had both been working for a large downtown law firm, and were both miserable. Anne found the office when she’d taken a business lunch with a client, a dentist who was retiring.
It was perfect.
That afternoon, Anne had returned from lunch, breathless and talking a mile-a-minute. Sharon remembered grinning like a fool; charmed by Anne’s exuberance. They made an appointment and went back to see the building that night, right after they got off work. They’d bought the property the next week. The dentist gave them a great price and let them rent to own the property, otherwise they never could’ve afforded to buy it. As soon as the ink dried on the contract, the dentist high-tailed off to Florida with his wife and Sharon and Anne moved in and began the tedious business of cleaning up, taking care of most of the renovations and repairs themselves to save money.
They’d been there ever since.
Over the years they’d added a few employees here and there: Debbie Jones, their receptionist, who had been one of their first clients, Hector Aria, who had been with them now for the last several years and who took care of all the general building maintenance. And finally, Michelle, their sharp new junior partner, who had joined the firm only a year or so ago, right out of law school.
Sharon smiled again thinking of Michelle, and actually blushed as a warm, smoky wetness spread between her legs.
Then her stomach growled. She looked down, patted it, and said, "Guess the snow might not be quite enough, huh?" Another series of growls. Insistent.
Must be remembering Anne’s request for a pizza dinner
Growl
Laughing to herself, Sharon snuck a last look up, then got in her car and pulled out of the parking lot. She never noticed the van as it started up, turned on its lights, and followed, slipping into traffic behind her.
***
Sharon turned on her radio. Soft jazz filled the car, and she hummed along with the tunes. She eased to a stop at a red light, then turned north and drove for about a mile. The snow patted her windshield, creating little patterns, and then the wipers would flick the flakes away. She bobbed her head in time to the music, humming away, careful of the slick streets when she merged with the few other cars that were out, braving the weather.
A few minutes later, Sharon pulled into the slushy parking lot of a big, twenty-four hour grocery store. The lot was almost deserted, due to the hour or the snow, Sharon wasn’t sure. She pulled past some construction equipment that was blocking the first few rows of parking spots, sighed, and parked as close to the doors as she could, just next to an old, rusting Toyota. She shut off the lights and the wipers, turned off the ignition, and took her keys and her purse and stepped out into the cold. She beeped the alarm, locking her car, and walked inside, past a couple having a heated argument in another language.
The couple marched straight to the Toyota as the store’s automatic sliding doors smacked closed behind Sharon. They continued their argument, shouting at each other over the hood of the car, until the woman took an apple out of a shopping bag and threw it at the man’s face. The apple caromed off his forehead and bounced under the car.
The lot was quiet again, except for a muffled buzz from a flickering streetlamp, until the white van pulled in a few moments later and parked in the newly vacant spot.
The driver killed the engine and shut off the headlights, and waited.
***
Inside the store, Sharon grabbed a red plastic shopping basket and looped the handles over her arm. She started her shopping in the produce aisle and grabbed a crisp head of green lettuce, a red onion, a couple ripe tomatoes and a small cucumber. She found some delicious honey-mustard dressing that was bottled by a local restaurant, and took two jars. Then she went to the back of the store to the meat section, winding her way around a few tired-looking employees and boxes and boxes of merchandise waiting to be restocked. She didn’t notice any other customers, and the employees ignored her.
At the freezers, Sharon picked up a package of fresh chicken breasts, then hummed a little tune on her way back to the coolers and found some coffee ice cream. She completed her circuit at a small rack of wines. Sharon read the labels and selected a nice Red, changed her mind for something a bit less expensive, then changed her mind again and headed to the checkout stands.
Out of about twenty stands there was only one with its light on. A small cow-bell sat on the edge of the conveyor belt. A note attached to the bell read: For cashier, please ring the bell once.
A skinny Asian woman with lank, greasy hair and a bad complexion peered over a rack of cereal boxes and gave Sharon a sour look.
She picked at her scalp and shouted, "You ready?"
Sharon nodded. "Yes, thank you. "
The woman took her time, moseying over and wiping her grubby hands on a stained green apron tied over blue jeans and a black polo shirt. She scratched her head with the tip of a dirty finger, flicking at the top of her scalp. Dandruff drifted out of her hair onto her shirt, blending in with a light dusting already clinging to her shoulders. A white nametag pinned to her apron read, Hi. My name is Vang. Vang had a button pinned just below the nametag: This WGL store is proudly employee owned. A big smiley face wrapped completely around the slogan, letting everyone know that Vang was indeed, happy to own her own little part of WGL.
Sharon smiled and opened her purse. "Can I have paper instead of plastic?"
"You bag yourself. "
Sharon blinked.
Vang glared at Sharon like she was and idiot and pointed down to a bunch of shopping bags at the end of the belts.
"You bag yourself," she repeated.
Vang stepped behind the cash register and typed an access code into the ten-key pad, then flipped the small, swinging flap that separated two conveyor belts. She started to swipe the items under the scanner, one-by-one, beep-beep-beep, and shoved them all onto the conveyor belt on her other side. The belt engaged and scooted everything down to the end of the aisle.
"Oh. Okay. " I get it now. I get to bag everything myself. Swift on the uptake there, lawyer-girl. Sharon took out her wallet, slipped out her credit card and waited for the woman to finish.
Beep-beep-beep.
Vang hit the total button on the register, put her hands on her hips. "Thirty-one dollars and ninety-seven cents.
"Okay. " Sharon tried to swipe her card in the little machine hooked to the lip of the counter, but Vang shook her head.
"No, no, no. We don’t take no credit cards. "
Sharon shook her head, confused. "What?" She pointed to the machine. "But this…"
Vang shook her head again. "That for the food stamp card. They don’ make the paper stamp anymore; they put the money on a card that look like that.
Sharon couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but she put away her card and opened her wallet. Vang picked at her head and glared at Sharon suspiciously; as if a woman dressed nicely in a skirt and high heels (who’d already waited in line and rang a damn cowbell for help!) might suddenly freak out, grab the bottle of wine and make a run for it out into the ice and snow.
Once the cash was in her hands, Vang dropped most of the coins and had to scrounge around on the floor. When she finally stood up again she counted the money twice before she grunted, opened her till drawer and handed Sharon her receipt.
"You five cents short, but I find later. "
"Thanks," Sharon said, but Vang had already disappeared, no doubt anxious to sprinkle more of her dandruff all over the cereal boxes.
Sharon shook her head and quickly bagged her groceries, using paper instead of plastic. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hoisted the bag, then walked to the wide glass doors. They swooped open for her. A freezing gust of wind swirled her coat-tails around her calves. Sharon’s eyes watered and she blinked as the bitter cold settled over her like a frozen blanket.
Great
The wind peppered Sharon with icy chunks of snow. She slipped on a slick spot on the pavement, turned her ankle, and fell on her ass.
"Whouff!" Sharon sat in the middle of the parking strip for a second, with her legs stuck out straight in front of her. She started laughing.
Somehow, she’d managed to not drop her bag. Sharon set it down and carefully picked herself and brushed the snow off her butt. She bent over and retrieved her bag of food and trudged around the construction equipment to her car. Sharon hurried around a big white van that blocked the path to her car, her teeth chattering a mile-a-minute. She balanced her groceries on her knee while she searched her bottomless purse for her car keys. They weren’t there. Sharon swore under her breath, patted her coat, and found the keys in a pocket. She grumbled at herself and beeped the alarm.
"Thank God for automatic locks," she mumbled.
Sharon opened the trunk and put away her groceries. She shut the trunk and her foot slid out from under her, banging her shin painfully on the bumper. She swore.
"Owww…Dang it!"
That’s when someone grabbed her by the shoulder and said, "Hey lady? S’cuze me?"
Sharon jumped, dropping her purse. She turned and slipped again, catching herself on the hood of her car.
A man stood in front of her, bundled up in a heavy parka, a furry hood pulled up over his head. Sharon couldn’t see his face. He didn’t look like an employee.
"Sorry, lady. Didn’t mean ta scare ya like that. "
The guy just stood there with his hands up, empty, except for what looked like a three-by-five index card. Sharon tried to collect herself, thought of the mace in her purse. She wondered if she could reach it. She caught the purse strap with the heel of her shoe and inched the bag closer. The man didn’t move.
"What do you want?"
Sharon reached down slowly, watching him, and felt for the purse. She found the strap, picked up the purse, and started backing towards her car door, when he looked at the card in his hand, and asked:
"You Sharon Chapman?"
That stopped her. She looked at him quizzically.
"Yes? How…how do you know my name?"
He stepped closer. "And you live at five-oh-one-two Cherry Lane?"
"Yes, I… How…how do you know where I live? Who are you?"
"Oh, we know a lot about you. We know you have a daughter named Amy Cole who lives in California with her daughter, Jenny, who’s just about to turn thirteen. You don’t want to see them hurt, do you?"
Oh, God
"Stop. Please. I’ve got mace. "
The man stopped. "Oh, yeah?"
"Who the hell are you?"
Sharon pulled out the canister and pointed it.
The man laughed.
Lipstick
"Shit!"
Sharon dropped the lipstick and fumbled with her purse. The man took another step closer. He laughed again, a low rumble. Sharon shivered, not just from the cold.
"What do you want? How do you know about my family?"
"You’ve got a secret admirer. "
"What?"
"Welcome to his fantasy, bitch.
The man laughed again and reached for her as Sharon’s groping fingers finally wrapped around the mace. She yanked it out of the bag and dropped her purse, and had the nozzle halfway up when another man, huge and shaped like a mountain, stepped out of the passenger side of the van and wrapped a heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders.
"Gotcha, bitch. "
Sharon let out a pitiful squeak as a dirty rag smashed over her face. A cloying, sweet smell filled her nose and her lungs as she took a breath, trying to scream for help, and then the world spun around her. Her vision blurred.
Sharon blinked back tears and thought, the snow’s in my eyes. I can’t see. I’m being kidnapped, and I can’t see. Please, someone help me.
The mace fell from her nerveless fingers and bounced under the van. Sharon was vaguely aware of the sound of a heavy door sliding open. She heard someone say, "Get her purse and the mace. Take the car back to her house and dump it there. Wipe it down before you leave.
"Right. "
"Do it right. You screw this shit up and you’re a dead motherfucker. "
"Okey-dokie. "
Silence. Sharon’s head began to swim. She was focused on the hand clamped around her mouth, the rag covering her nose. She remembered an old movie she’d seen once, where someone was kidnapped.
Chloroform
She kicked and tried to bite the hand covering her face, but just got another lungful of fumes for her trouble. More dark shapes - people? - gathered around her. Little bright spots started popping in front of her eyes. She heard the jangle of keys.
"Fuck, man. Don’t need to look at me like that. I got it.
"I’m serious. Do the shit right. "
"I said, I got it, dude. No problem-o. "
"Then move it before somebody sees us. "
"Nobody gonna see us with all this snow. " Another voice, grumbling.
"I said, move it, motherfucker! You fuck this up and I’ll kill you myself. "
A car door slammed. Sharon heard an engine start, and felt the hot exhaust on her legs as her car was driven away.
Sharon panicked. She couldn’t breathe. She squirmed and twisted, frantically clawing and biting at the hand clamped around her mouth. The man holding her just squeezed her tighter, keeping her locked in place like she was a child. Vaguely, as she drifted on the edge of consciousness, Sharon realized someone was laughing; a deep, awful laugh.
"Fucking asswipe. " The arms around her shifted again, and Sharon was turned around. "Help me get this coat off her. "
Sharon’s arms were yanked out in front of her, and someone pulled at her sleeves.
"What about the gloves?"
She was shifted again, and the coat was ripped from her back. Sharon felt the cold bite into her body, enveloping her like a living thing.
They took my coat
. I want my coat back. It was expensive."Leave ‘em on ‘till we can tie her up. I don’t want her scratching me. "
"Heh. Not yet, anyway, huh?" Grunt. "There. Got it.
"Toss it in the front seat. She won’t need it no more. "
"Cool. "
Through the haze of the chloroform, Sharon felt strong hands groping her. She tried to struggle, kicking feebly, but she was too weak to break free. Someone pulled at her skirt until it ripped up the back. A hand slid between her thighs and a finger poked at her crotch through the material of her nylons and panties, tearing a hole through, pulling and tearing at the material until her crotch was bare. Someone tore open her blouse and squeezed her breasts, painfully tweaking her nipples through her bra.
"You better be filming this shit. This is what he’s payin’ for. "
"We’re on. "
Oh God…
Sharon tried to scream, but only heard a weak, muffled groan escape her lips. She felt the man holding her getting excited, his cock digging into her ass. His breath was warm on her neck.
A low whistle.
Sharon mumbled through the rag, "Mmmgrmph. "
"Nice legs. "
"Nice big titties, too. " Pinch, pinch. "Holy crap!"
"Huh? S’matter?"
"These titties are real! Thought they’d be fakes, they so firm an’ perky. "
"Hell, she got nice everything, man. ‘Specially for an old bitch. " More hands roamed over her body. "Shit, I think I just came in my shorts. "
The men around Sharon laughed, and the Mountain rubbed his crotch up against Sharon’s ass. It felt like he had a thick steel pole in his pants.
"The profile said she runs and plays tennis almost every morning. Athletic. "
Profile? That struck a chord.
Someone continued to play with her breasts, squeezing her tits like they were kneading bread.
Help me, please…
"Stop it man. Shit. You’ll have plenty o’ those big old white bitch titties soon enough. Ya’ll ready for this?"
"Hell yes. "
"Let’s get the show on the road. "
Sharon was lifted up. She felt like she was floating.
Please, someone, help me
Sharon was pulled into the van. She felt the van list to the side as another person got in, then another, and another. Someone rolled the door shut, pounded the wall of the van and yelled "Drive!" A muffled voice shouted a reply. The engine rumbled when it turned over, and Sharon started to cry as they pulled out of the parking lot. Her eyes burned and the hot tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
"Aww, look.
A dark face swum in front of her blurry eyes, wearing a black ski mask. The man in the parka. Maybe. Sharon couldn’t tell.
"Crying?" The Mountain whispered in her ear. He taunted her. "We gonna give you a lot more to cry ‘bout tonight, bitch. Bet on that. "
The big hand clamped on her mouth finally let go. Sharon heard a zipper open, and The Mountain sat down, pulling her roughly onto his lap. He was so big, her head rolled on his chest. She blinked back tears and squirmed in his lap until she felt a huge, warm cock wedged under her ass, throbbing.
"P-please, don’t do this. Please let me go.
"Time to give her the pills. "
"Got ‘em right here. "
The van was freezing. Sharon took a huge breath, trying to calm herself, and let it out slowly; a fine, foggy mist. She took a mental inventory. Her head was pounding and the world around her was blurry and spinning. She felt slightly nauseous. Sharon tried to focus, thought that she might throw up. She glanced around, trying to figure out who had taken her, what their plan was.
"Please…what do you want from me?"
A chorus of laughter.
Sharon looked around, squinting to see in the gloom. The van was easily large enough for the men to stand up straight. Including the man holding her, she counted five…maybe six or seven more? She couldn’t tell. Two of them held compact video cameras pointed right at her, on and recording.
The interior of the van was grimy and smelled like vomit and stale cigar smoke.
"Hold her arms and spread her legs," said the Mountain.
Two of the men grabbed Sharon by wrists and slapped handcuffs on her, locking them tight enough that she cried out. They locked the free ends of the cuffs to the piping, and then they grabbed her ankles and pulled until she was sitting spread-eagled in the Mountain’s lap.
"I…I can give you money. I don’t have a lot, but…"
"No cash?" Snort. "Saw the nice, new Beamer you was drivin’, bitch. And the new Jag your partner just bought? Damn if that didn’t set her back a fair chunk. Didn’t you hear me tell you we know all ‘bout you? We’ve seen your bank accounts. We know what kinda investments you got; everythin’. Don’t tell me you got no money.
"Please!" Sharon heard the whine in her voice, and felt ashamed. "I don’t…"
Someone slapped her, rocking her head back and to the side. She tasted blood. The men laughed, and another blurry, masked face joined the crowd in front of her. The man pried apart Sharon’s mouth, and her eyes popped open with fear as they stepped closer.
"Gggrhagggrrrmmmnn!"
Sharon kicked and struggled as the parka man stuffed two light blue pills down her throat. He smashed her mouth shut, keeping her jaw locked tight and pinched her nose closed. He massaged her throat until Sharon choked and swallowed.
"Damn, bitch. Cut it out. Shit ain’t gonna hurt you. "
The Mountain held her firmly as she futily kicked and twisted and thrashed. Fresh tears spilled down her face and snot ran down her nose as the men finally stepped back.
"Wh-what were those?" Sharon croaked. She tried to look over her shoulder at the Mountain.
"Somethin’ to help make your night more…fun. "
"Unnngh. " A moan came from the front of the van.
"Sounds like your friends are finally waking up. "
"My friends…" Sharon stared at the vague shapes covered with an old blanket, lying on the floor of the van. One of the men yanked the blanket away, and stepped back so she could see.
"Oh, my God. " She gasped.
"Hand me that lube, yo’. "
The mountain wrapped his hands around Sharon’s waist and lifted her up, shifting his hips underneath her. She felt his cock slip down along the crack of her ass.
"Hold her a sec. "
Strong hands held Sharon suspended above the seat, her arms and legs spread wide. She heard the wet sound of liquid being squirted from a tube, and then slurping, like lotion being rubbed on someone’s hands.
"All right. I got her. ".
