Part Two
Sheik Achmed Ben Shahad had to act fast to avoid having to pay the exorbitant, precedent setting price he'd bid for Gwenn and Lara. Once that was accomplished, he also had to figure out a way to extract the location of the treasure from Cross without tipping his hand to whomever else knew of its existence, let alone Lara's involvement.
Paula's phoned signaled. She wasted no time getting down to business.
"Will that be cash or cash?"
"Ah-yes, Ms. Trace," smiled the Sheik, who, unless terrorist thugs were involved, never paid cash for anything. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with us tonight?"
"Sure, if dessert is a sack filled with greenbacks."
"To be sure; in let's say twenty-minutes?"
"Twenty it is," she agreed before heading back to her responsibilities.
With the exception of the nipple tethers, wrist, and individually re-tied elbow cinches, Mark had already freed Lara and Gwenn from their enforced pleasure suspension. He was applying a four-inch-wide, thick-leather collar to Dolan's neck when Trace walked into the studio to say, "Something smells fishy here."
"Tell me about it," quipped Mark Bower as he fitted Lara with her collar, took a deep, appreciating breath and savored the succulent aroma of post orgasmic pussy.
"The Sheik is not telling me everything," guessed Paula, "else why would he pay such a high price for these two twits."
Using a thin, four-foot chain, Mark connected Lara's nipple tether to a ring in the back of Dolan's collar and said. "Who the hell cares? We scored big enough to keep us fancy for years."
"Yeah, but first we have to make the exchange."
Paula knelt down to pick up a tether chain off the floor and stared a look of severe concern back at her long-time lover and partner.
"Trust me on this. My gut never lies," she warned before clipping the end of the chain to Gwenn's nipple tether and snapping, "Let's go, you two."
Mark followed and asked, "Well?"
"His place in 20," informed Trace as she tugged on the shiny-silver leash. "Pay and thank Sasha for letting us in here on such short notice and bring the van around back."
"Already did."
When the four of them reached the rear door to the studio, Lara and Gwenn were ball-gagged and led up a flight of stairs and into the back of a van big enough to stand in. Chains hanging from its ceiling were clipped onto their collar rings, with most of the slack drawn out, allowing not more than a foot or so of movement in any direction.
The back doors were closed and locked before Mark and Paula got into a red Jag parked in front of the van. Debra and Kathryn sat and waited for orders in the front seats of the rented vehicle. Cell phones would keep them in touch with Bower and Trace as they navigated the streets of Cairo en route to the Sheik's place.
Mark fired up the Jag while Trace said to Deb and Kath through their cells, "Let's do it."
Gwenn shot Lara a very concerned look as the two braced themselves as best they could so as not to challenge the collar-to-nipple tether chain into a discomfort zone they'd already tasted when the Master locks were doing their thing at the auction. The chain hanging from Gwenn's nipple tether had been clipped to the ceiling also, with less than two-inches of slack.
They faced forward, instinctively widening their stance to establish a more doable stability. The trade off was that most of the slack in all the chains was lost, an outcome both struggled vigilantly to endure.
Paula cracked a sardonic smile when turning onto a shortcut route to the airport, "Let's pick it up a little."
"Where the hell are they going?" wondered Kath, following close behind to keep from losing the Jag in the thick fog that had moved into town a few minutes earlier. "Why is she taking the shortcut…" (The first three potholes immediately and rudely answered her question.) "…and why so damned fast?"
Lara and Gwenn were literally beside themselves with distress as the two-vehicle caravan wound its way through some of Cairo's worst paved streets, making the maintaining of their balance a perilous, if not almost impossible test of their seriously imposed upon physical acuity.
"Slow down," said Debra, just as Kathryn caught on.
"Oh, I get it," she smirked. "They're just giving the two brats in the back something fun to do while they ponder their futures."
"I said slow down."
The edge in Debra's tone suggested more than what Kath had assumed about her reasoning.
"But we'll lose them."
"Exactly."
When Kathryn turned to establish eye contact, the look she saw on her sister's face convinced her to consider the command. A chuckle and a nervous smile questioned what she thought was a jest. "Ha-ha, very funny."
"This is no joke. Stop the fucking van–NOW!"
Kath slammed on the breaks. "Are you crazy?"
Lara and Gwenn screamed and maneuvered awkwardly when their nipples bore the brunt of Kathryn's lack of consideration, purposely hanging themselves by the neck for a few seconds to regain their balance. And never mind about what Gwenn's nipple tether did to add another level of perilous difficulty to the mix. An odd wave of sexual sensation spoke to the momentary suspension, which, had they not acted quickly and athletically enough, might have snapped their necks and killed them both instantly.
"MMMMUHUHUH!!!"
Debra's BMW pulled up alongside and passed them. Another, identical van followed and passed the BMW.
"Follow my car," she quipped and smiled, which tipped her sister off to an unbeknownst change of plan and brought a tiny grin to her face as well.
The command was obeyed without hesitation. A few tight turns later, they were on a main drag headed in an opposite direction.
"Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"
"You don't need to know just yet."
"Slow down," said Paula to give the van a chance to catch up.
Within a few seconds, a familiar silhouette and blinking headlights in the rear view mirror assured Mark they had.
"I'll bet those bumps gave our two bozos a bit of a start," figured Paula as she reached for her cell. "How we doing back there?"
"Just fine," reported Debra as she and Kath pulled into an alley, stopped, and waited on their new partner in crime to make the next move.
"I want to know now," demanded Kath.
Meanwhile, in the back of the van, Lara and Gwenn listened carefully to the goings-on in front and blessed their lucky stars both were in the kind of shape that had prevented any serious damage to their rock hard, but severely overtaxed nipples.
"Just sit tight." glared Debra before opening her door and saying with a tongue-n-cheek smile, "If I'm not back in ten minutes, get your ass outta here."
After making a mental note of the time, Deb watched as the driver of the lead car and Kath shook hands and disappeared into a side alley.
"Yeah, right."
Six minutes later, Mark Bower and Paula Trace drove through an airport rear gate and headed for Sheik Achmed Ben Shahad's 747.
"It's that time again," said Paula as they pulled up to a gathering of security people and aids, stopped, and stepped out of the Jag.
The fog had thickened considerably, causing both to squint for a glimpse of the van as they thought, "Geese, I hope we didn't lose them."
Paula unzipped her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell. "Where are you two?"
Debra didn't bother to answer.
"Deb?" asked Trace as she headed for the jumbo jet's boarding ramp.
"Can you hear me?"
"Cut that crap out," snapped Kathryn when she spotted Gwenn trying to untie Lara's elbows.
Suddenly, the back door of the van swung open and a rather loud flashlight filled it with exploring light.
"Right," said a male voice. "Get them out of there."
The sisters Karns jumped to the task as a rush of horny fear made their charge's pussies twitch with double-edged trepidation. A stretch limo had been backed into the alley behind the van. Lara and Gwenn's chain tethers were undone before both were carefully guided into its rear seat, where a second man waited.
He wasted no time intertwining and tightly chaining and locking all four of their ankles together. He then stepped out of the stretch and got into the driver's seat while the one who'd done the deal with Debra Karns sat across from his purchases and introduced himself.
"Good evening, ladies," he said rather flippantly, as if this sort of thing happened in his life all the time, "I'm Martin Trent." He then stared at Lara and smiled, "I know who you are," then back at Gwenn, "but who might you be?"
Lara flushed with sickening fear in the realization of who her abductor was.
The stretch slowly accelerated , leaving Debra and Kathryn Karns to wonder what fate held in store for their former abductees as they got into the BMW and sped into the night with an attachè case packed tight with neatly wrapped and stacked twenty dollar bills and the satisfaction of having very profitably burned an especially annoying, pain-in-the-ass bridge behind them.
"Well-now," opened Martin Trent, "Would anyone like their elbows untied?"
Lara Cross could not imagine what was going to happen next, but of one thing she was certain, no matter what did come to pass, she wanted to be raped as soon as possible.
As for Gwenn, she finally figured that boyfriend Rob Banks had almost nothing
to do with the recent turn of events, and hoped he had the presence of mind to
triangulate her location through the satellite monitored homing device hidden
under her thick, blond hair.
Meanwhile, back at Sheik Achmed's place, Mark Bower and Paula Trace were doing their best to avoid the inevitable over champagne and appetizers. They had not yet disclosed the 'hijack' wrinkle to their host, who thought it standard operating procedure that the location of his recently acquired damsels had not yet been made known.
"Show me the money," smiled Paula before the three sat at table, opened and placed napkins in their laps, and got on with the negotiation.
"I never discuss business on an empty stomach," said the Sheik as a bevy of overly clothed and veiled harem girls stood by and waited for commands.
Mark and Paula breathed a hidden sigh of relief as they collected what was
left of their cool, dug into their cantaloupes, and, while smiling and
hyper-thinking nervously, tried on a few lies for size.
Since all were killed in the explosion that whacked Wellington Trent and a sizable chunk of his organization just a few minutes earlier, news of the event had not yet reached his son.
Lara wondered first if the led chest had been found, and if the bomb had indeed exploded as planned. And, if it had, was Wellington close enough to appreciate its deadly purpose, and, if so, was son Martin yet aware of the event. And if he was, had his suspicions as to who was responsible yet zeroed in on her. Since none of his body language or verbal tone indicated knowledge of the possible big bang, Lara did her best to put the whole matter out of her mind by letting go completely to the kinky consequences that had thus far developed.
"Might as well make the best of it."
Her eyes begged Trent Jr. to take full advantage of the situation. "God-he's- gorgeous."
As for Gwenn, all she could do was get hornier and hornier and apply her private investigator training by staring out the window in the hope a landmark or two would divulge their ongoing locations.
"At last we meet," broke the ice of silence building up between the three. "Father tends to be quite secretive whenever your name comes up," informed Martin Trent. "But I've done my homework on you and have waited for just the right situation in which to meet the indomitable Ms. Cross."
Lara writhed provocatively, hoping to steer the conversation away from its obvious conclusions. "Muh," she indicated, as if to say, "Let's talk, and then screw."
But Martin was not one to rush things where new relationships were concerned, professional or otherwise.
"If I didn't know better," he noticed, "I'd say you were trying to seduce me."
Lara neither admitted to, nor negated the notion.
"I see," said her newest protagonist. "I must say, you two are remarkably well endowed, and, by the looks of it, seem to be enjoying yourselves to a degree I find enormously appetizing, given the stressful particulars of the situation."
He lit up a cigar and sat back in his seat, spreading his legs farther apart as a flashback invaded his thinking. "If the Bishop were here, he'd know what to do with you two."
Gwenn's attention suddenly waxed acute when the remark inspired a few flashbacks of her own. They splattered across the view screen of memory in the form of favorite snippets from magazines featuring bondage artist Bob Bishop, whose legendary work she'd salivated over and drawn vicarious delight for more years than she cared to admit.
Martin Trent blew four smoke rings in Lara's direction. "Now, Ms. Cross, is there anything you'd like to confess after you thank me for paying your ransom and saving you from a fate worse than death?"
"Muhuh!" nodded Lara frantically, hoping he would remove the gag then and there. "Who the hell is Bob Bishop?"
"Good. Hold that thought until we've settled into a more suitable location."
Just then, Martin's cell signaled.
"Yes?"
Lara watched as his expression slowly changed from self-satisfaction to unmitigated shock.
"Say that again."
Lara did her best to hide her fear by emulating Gwenn's oblivious body language. As she did, the fire down below grew more intense, lending itself to the cover-up in a way that served both her immediate and self-stimulating purposes.
Martin closed his call and reached for the limo's intercom. "Pull over."
For the rest of the ride to wherever, he sat up front with Dent Chalmer,
placing calls and pulling himself together as the news of his dad's death sunk
in and shifted his thinking into high gear.
The Karns sisters were stopped at a red light. Kathryn had a thought.
"Wanna go for double jeopardy?"
"You read my mind," affirmed Debra while reaching for her cell.
The harem girls were removing main course plates from the Sheik's dining room table when Paula Trace answered the call. "Yes?"
"We were hijacked."
Paula smiled. "Hi. How've you been?" She then rose from the table and headed for the ladies room. "Excuse me, won't you?" Her napkin fell to the floor.
Achmed smiled and waved his hand as if, had he not, Trace would not have been allowed to leave his presence. He then turned to Mark and said, "Shall we retire to the study for coffee?"
"Anyone we know?" asked Paula after locking herself into the head and letting go of the placidly cordial expression she'd been artificially generating since climbing onboard.
"We have no idea," admitted Debra. "They wore hoods and acted with extreme, professional prejudice."
"Accents?"
Deb cracked a smile. "Aussies."
"Australian?"
"Yup."
Paula's memory raced back to the auction. "Son of a bitch."
"What do you want us to do?"
"Just sit tight," said Trace before closing the cell, staring angrily at herself in the bathroom mirror and whispering a loud, "Shit!"
"Oh-no, we weren't hurt or anything," fun-poked Debra Karns to herself as she slipped out of character, closed the phone and turned to her sister. "Got any ideas?"
"Yeah, but we gotta turn around and get the van back first."
"That's just what I was thinking."
Paula waited another few minutes before stepping out of the bathroom. As she passed through the dining area, she noticed her napkin on the floor beside her chair and regretted the blunder, which probably told the Sheik something about the phone call's effect on Trace's falibility. "Shit."
Mark Bower and the Sheik were puffing on their Havana stogies when Paula joined them in the study. A snifter of brandy awaited her pleasure as she sat, crossed her legs, and waited for something to develop.
"I know we have a deal," opened Achmed, "but I have a better one. How would you like to make twice as much as what is in this leather bag?" It sat on the floor next to him. "Miss Cross is in possession of certain information to which I wish to have access. Since your organization is more adept at extracting data from operatives of her reluctant persuasion, and since mine is better prepared to make use of that information, perhaps you would be interested in adding a codicil to our agreement that would keep this operation on an more profitable and professional track."
Mark and Paula exchanged glances and shifted into expressions that would suggest they were mildly interested in Achmed's proposal.
Mark played with his cigar a bit before saying, "Tell us more."
Twenty-Three Minutes Later
It occurred to Lara that, since neither she nor Gwenn had been blindfolded, their new owners were not all that concerned about security, an observation that tended to support her fear of being done away with or sold to yet another asshole should things get ugly.
The elbow cinches were yet to be undone, which caused both to surmise, also, that Martin Trent was now not in the least bit concerned with keeping their comfort zones out of redlining territory.
Lara watched as Dent suspended Gwenn's wrists to a ring in the cellar ceiling of the two story dwelling Dent Trent rented for his master for when the latter was in the mood to play with the various prostitutes both used to satisfy their passion for kinky sex. A spreader bar separated her ankles a good four plus feet.
Lara had already been tied into the exact same position, directly opposite and facing Gwenn, five or so feet apart. Cranks affixed to opposite walls behind them saw to it that both damsels were raised to a desired height while Martin watched and spoke his mind.
"The room and cellar are soundproofed, but the gags will stay in until you are ready to tell me what I want to know."
"Shit," thought Lara, for she knew that if she could speak the various scenarios the limo ride allowed her time to come up with, there might be hope for the consummating of a deceiving compromise or four.
A one-foot square block of ice sat on the floor between Dolan and Cross. A gallon of paint had been placed atop it. A thin chain ran from the center of Lara's nipple tether, under the wire-thin can handle, and back up to the center of Gwenn's tether. Lara's right ankle was tethered to Dolan's left, and the left to her right, which allowed only forward movement, thereby completing the damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't configuration in such a way as to suggest their captors were more than just proficient, where the art of bondage torture was concerned.
The coolness of the room ensured the ice would melt a lot slower than if the fix had been set up anywhere else in the house, let alone during the sweltering heat of day.
"Geese!" commented Lara when most of the slack in her suspension line was cranked out and the adjustment passed on its consequences to the tension increase around her nipples.
"Just nod your head when you're ready to spill the beans," said Trent as he stepped in back of Lara and began to fondle her exquisite rear end. Dent did the same with Gwenn's.
Except for the heels, both women were now naked and dripping wet with sensual abandon and over-the-top frustration.
"Are you or aren't you going to tell me what dad was after before it cost him his life."
"Muh?"Lara did her best to act surprised, while Gwenn looked up and stared deeply into her new friend's eyes.
"Have you any idea who might have been responsible?"
"Muh," said Cross as she shook her head negatively.
Lara was obviously co-controlling the situation, but her reasoning vacillated between two, diametric agendas, the first and currently foremost being to achieve some kind of orgasmic conclusion. The second, to escape without divulging the top secret poop Martin Trent was determined to extract from his newfound plaything. Both priorities had long since been labeled interchangeable, a realization Lara had difficulty justifying to her normally professional acumen.
A powerful slap on the ass officially initiated the interrogation. Dent followed suit as one blow after another spoke to the determination Martin and Dent had been doing their best to conceal.
"I know that, to one degree or another, both of you are enjoying this event," continued Trent as he and his trusty accomplice spanked the crap out of their unwilling detainees. "…But the pleasure of our disciplinary company will soon take on a whole new complexion as the evening wares on…(SPANK!) So why not save yourselves that punishing discomfort by cooperating before things get REALLY (SPANK!) out of hand."
Without waiting for an answer, he walked to a wall, where he plucked two, hard-leather switches, tossing one to Dent as he positioned himself behind Lara and continued his low key, but whack-punctuated tirade.
"If you don't tell me what I want to know before we get tired of temporarily damaging those gorgeous cheeks of yours, we will just leave you this way for a half hour at a time until you do."
"MMMMUHUHU!!" screamed Lara.
"Should I take that as a yes?"
She shook her head vehemently.
"Maybe we should double plug them while we're at it," said Trent. "I want them sexually exhausted and drained of their last ounce of pleasurable satisfaction before making them completely appreciate the full weight of their dilemma."
Lara twitched uncontrollably at the prospect of having her anis and pussy stuffed with something other than Martin Trent's cock. On the other hand, Gwenn thought back to the night she'd first experienced double-plugging and did her best not to betray the sudden increase of hormonal activity lava doming between her upper thighs.
The call Debra Karns earlier made to Wellington Trent to arrange Lara and
Gwenn's second abduction had been intercepted by son Martin when he'd been
denied access to the cabin in which the opening of the led chest that exploded
in his father's face took place. He'd used the lockout to his own advantage
by rifling through Wellington's files, draws, and such. When the desk phone
rang, he picked it up and did an impression of his dad whereby setting up the
meet and subsequent exchange that took place in the alley. All he had to do was
wait in Kathryn's car in back of the auction studio, supply the second,
identical, rented van and driver to fool Paula and Mark into believing the real
one was still behind them, and come up with an attachè case packed with twenty
dollar bills.
Now that news of Wellington's death had reached him, and Lara and Gwenn were
in his very capable clutches, Martin half regretted having done so, but knew
that, if he hadn't, he too would have been blown to bits as well. As he
pounded Lara's ass with the leather switch, the frustration of not knowing
exactly what was going on between Cross and his dad, coupled with the nasty
wrinkle of his death, took on a profound immediacy.
"MMMUHUH!"
"MMMUHUHUH!"
Ten whacks, between four-second intervals, served well to introduce both damsels to the unnerving realities ahead.
"Leave us alone," said Martin Trent to Dent Chalmer. "And close the door behind you."
Lara immediately felt a hand slowly working its way down the crack in her ass.
"Mmmmmm," she approved as her fingers danced wildly above her head and the sting of jealousy invaded Gwenn's observing deliberations.
"Tell me what I want to know," whispered Martin, "and I will give you anything your dripping pussy can handle."
The middle finger of his right hand toyed with Lara's crevice as he spoke. "Decide otherwise, and we will leave you both die as you stand."
The titillation went on for another four minutes before Trent pulled down his
pants and pressed his rock hard erection against and between Lara's cheeks and
said, "Well?"
His now, thoroughly out-of-control victim writhed wildly against the teasing
pressure as she lowered and shook her head "NO!" Gwenn did the same, but for
different reasons.
"Dent!" shouted Trent while pulling up his pants. "When we return, we will double the dose to twenty strokes of the switch, and keep doubling it every half hour until you decide to listen to reason." He then turned to his partner in crime as he walked out of the room, "Remove the ball gags, double plug them securely, and leave the door open."
He then relit his cigar out in the hallway and listened to the moans and groans of his victims as Dent applied the AC adapted, vibrating plugs and added his two cents to the festivities.
"He's very spoiled. If he doesn't get what he wants, he tells ME to get it for him.
We'll keep the doors open. Just scream 'uncle' when you're ready to sing."
Lara had never been either single OR double-plugged before, nor had a wickedly wielded, leather switch ever done its business on her tightly toned ass cheeks. Add to this the requirements placed on her and Gwenn;s legs and arms by the nipple and ankle tether;s slowly but ever insisting demands, and what we had here was an unprecedented experience they would not soon forget, if, in fact, they lived to remember it.
"FUCK YOU!!!" screamed Lara Cross a soon as her gag popped out.
"Yeah-yeah-yeah, yada-yada-yada," said Martin Trent while climbing the cellar stairs and deciding to fuck her brains out after finding out everything there was to know from the woman with whom his father had been unsuccessfully and criminally competing for the last five and a half years.
John Roper
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18.10.04 | updated - 06.05.17
story continues in The Bondage Adventures of Lara Cross 3
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