The Telemachus Story Archive

Part 10 - Kidnap
By Hooder

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You've parked at the arranged spot, near to where the trees begin and, after a moment's hesitation, you begin to walk into the forest. You're thinking to yourself 'is this a good idea? What's going to happen?' Your adrenaline is flowing and you're nervous. You look around - everything is quiet. A bird sings somewhere off to the left, and then you almost jump out of your skin as a twig snaps, and something darts out across your path. You laugh with relief - it's only a rabbit - but you can feel your heart thumping in your chest. With a smile, you turn your head to watch it scamper away into the undergrowth.

Suddenly, your eyes snap forward again. From nowhere, a figure is standing in front of you - a leather-clad biker in a black-visored helmet is blocking your way. There is something in the biker's gloved hands - and your mouth goes dry as you realise it's a hood. You panic - you begin to turn, you're gonna get out of here - but there's someone else behind you! You see another flash of leather as a strong pair of hands grabs your arms from behind and forces them behind your back, holding you helpless while the first biker - the bottom of the hood stretched open between his leather-gloved hands - raises it towards your head.

You begin to fight now, knowing that if they get you hooded you'll stand no chance against them. You struggle against the biker who's holding you, but your elbows are locked in his arms; you try to kick, but your trainers make little impression on their bike boots and the armour of their thick leather jeans. Wildly, you shout for help and thrash your head from side to side to stop the one in front of you from getting that hood onto you - but no matter how you struggle he forces it down over your head. The black leather comes down and as it covers your eyes you're plunged into a world of blackness. He tightens the hood around your neck and you're conscious of the smell of leather as it encloses your head completely. It clings to your face as you inhale, and for a moment you worry that you won't be able to breathe - but you find that you can get enough air.

Taking advantage now of the fact that you can't see anything, the bikers easily wrestle you to the ground and handcuff your wrists behind your back, and now all you can do is kick. But one of them grabs your legs and you feel a strong leather strap go around your ankles, fastening them tightly together. Another strap around your thighs, just above the knees, and they've got you completely helpless. Not a single word has been spoken; the only sounds have been your yelling for help - shouts that are now muffled by the leather pressing tightly across your face.

You feel yourself being lifted, then carried. You continue to struggle, but there is very little you can do now. They've got you.

After carrying you for a while the bikers put you down - you can feel a solid surface under your feet - the road? Something hard and heavy is being lowered over your head. A crash helmet! It's fastened under your chin, and hands check that you can still breathe. You feel the straps around your legs being unfastened, and you get ready to make a run for it - but then you realise you're not going anywhere while you can't see anything and your hands are cuffed behind your back. Strong arms lift you into position, and you're sitting on the pillion of a motorbike. Your feet are guided onto the footrests, your wrists are uncuffed, and placed around the rider's waist, and then the bike roars to life and you're moving.

You've never experienced anything like this before. You've been on the back of a motorbike a couple of times before, but never hooded. You realise that although you're not restrained in any other way, there is nothing you can do without being able to see, short of bringing you both off the bike. You move one hand to try to undo the strap of the crash helmet - if you can only get that hood off you can escape - but you feel a small padlock under your fingers. There is no way you're going to get that helmet off. Was that your imagination, or did you hear a quiet laugh from the rider?

You're fairly familiar with the area, and so you hold on to the rider again and concentrate on keeping your bearings. You want to know where you're being taken. You must concentrate. The bike goes through the gears, slows down, then turns right - aha, that's Greenwood Road. You know it well. There's a left-hand bend in a moment...... there, the bike leans over to the left as you go round it. Now a straight...... yes, and the roundabout. There are four roads off this roundabout, and you keep a mental image of the layout so that you'll know which one he takes. The bike slows, leans to the left as it enters the roundabout, then to the right as it begins to go around. Past the first road.... past the second.....and the third... must be taking the fourth. But the bike doesn't straighten up, it continues to go around, and around, and around...... and then suddenly it leans the other way and you're off the roundabout. But you have absolutely no idea which road you've taken. The bastard went round several times to make you lose your sense of direction!

Quickly you review your mental image of the layout, trying to match up the bike's changes of direction to the roads you know - but it's no good. You're lost. The bike turns right, then left, right again, and again, then a brief stop, and another roundabout - or was that a U-turn? Blindfolded by the leather, you don't know how fast the bike's actually travelling, so you can't estimate distances between bends and road junctions. The engine is revving quite fast, but is it in top gear, or third? Fourth? How fast are you moving? You have absolutely no idea.

With a curse, you give up trying to keep track of where you are. It's no good - you have no idea at all. This biker is good - he knows exactly what he's doing. In a few short minutes, and in an area you know well, he's managed to get you completely disorientated. For some reason you find that very sexy indeed.

Unable to see anything, you begin to concentrate now on your other senses. You can hear the wind noise in your helmet, smell the leather of the hood, feel the engine vibrating between your legs, and under your hands you can feel the cool black leather of the biker's jeans. Each time the bike slows, your body is pushed forward, tight against his back. Your cock - which, you notice for the first time is hard inside your denim jeans - is squeezed against your kidnapper's leather-clad arse. Suddenly, and for no logical reason, you feel more than physically close to this biker. You squeeze your arms around his waist and hug him.

The biker's leather jeans feel good under your hands, and so you experimentally stroke your fingers over the top of his thighs. The smooth, cool, tight leather feels sexy, and your fingers explore further up - until you feel the outline of a rock-hard erection stretching the leather outwards between the biker's thighs. You stroke it and squeeze it gently, feeling it jerk in response under the leather. Bolder now, you begin to run your hands slowly all over the biker's body - feeling his leather boots, his thighs, his studded belt. You run your hands over the back of his leather jacket; up the front, tracing the stitching of the seams, feeling the cold metal zips; and back down again to that wonderful bulge of his cock. You are so horny - and he feels unbelievably sexy as you play with his hard cock through those skintight black leather jeans.

The bike finally slows, turns into a drive, and stops, and you hear the second biker pull up behind you. He gets off his bike, grabs your arms and cuffs them again behind your back, removes the helmet from your head, and lifts you off the bike. Between them, the two bikers guide you inside a house, up some stairs and into a room.

The handcuffs on your wrists are replaced by leather cuffs, your arms are lifted, and the cuffs are fastened to posts at either side of you. More cuffs are strapped around your ankles, and - in spite of some last-minute kicking - they're secured to the bottom of the same posts. You're spread-eagled and completely helpless.

There is a pause, some murmuring between the bikers, and a door closes. Hands loosen the leather hood around your neck, and pull it off. Immediately you shut your eyes tight, as a brilliant light blinds you. Little by little, you get them open, and look around. All you can see is blackness, with a bright spotlight shining directly towards you from the other side of the room. Suddenly a figure steps between you and the spotlight. You can only see him in silhouette - a menacing black shadow - but then, as your eyes adjust, you can make out the reflections from his shiny black leather jacket and jeans at the edges of the shadow. He's taken off his helmet - but, as he walks slowly towards you, you can see that his head is completely covered by a black balaclava. The only holes are for the mouth, and the eyes.

You stare into those eyes - and you suddenly feel very afraid at what you see in them. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt - and, worse, you know that he knows - that you are totally, absolutely at his mercy. He can do anything he wants to you, and there is nothing you can do about it. You have no idea where you are, you don't know who he is, you can't see his face so you can't identify him, and you don't know what's going to happen to you. He could torture you, he could kill you, he could be a psycho. All you know is his email address - and that's not going to help you very much. When you arranged this kidnap with him, you negotiated the kind of things that would be done to you, and it all seemed fine, safe, and horny fun. But now? You're restrained so you can't move, and an unknown - although incredibly sexy - leather-clad biker is stood there watching you, enjoying your total helplessness.

After a moment, he disappears back into the blackness of the room, and you listen, desperate to know where he is, what he's doing. You have time to realise that your cock is as hard as steel in your jeans, and dripping precum - then, suddenly, the spotlight is turned off and the room lights come on. You look around and, with a moan of terror, you see the black rubber-covered floor, the barred cell in the corner, and the shelves full of leather manacles, hoods, gags, blindfolds, restraints.

But it's the other devices which scare you the most: the ones you can't identify - the ones which look horrifyingly like instruments of torture...

And, as you struggle helplessly in the strong leather restraints, the masked, horny biker slowly approaches you.....

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