The Hitchhiker

THE HITCH HIKER by Long Tall Mary

It was a frigid, Thursday January afternoon in Syracuse, as I left my downtown bar and headed home to Camillus, driving my beloved van. The Sirius-XM radio was tuned to the sixties channel, with the volume cranked up for “Come On Down To My Boat” by Every Mother’s Son, as I accelerated from the first red light.

My recently acquired, shiny red Ford Transit Connect, is an eye catcher. My previous blazer, which I drove for three years, lacked sufficient cargo space. As my cargo is occasionally human, additional features have been installed in the van. The most conspicuous is a partition between the passenger and cargo compartments, with a walk through door. This makes it impossible for anyone to see into or out of the rear compartment, with a video camera enabling the driver to view the activity on the navigation screen.

Padding has been installed for soundproofing purposes. To facilitate securing the cargo, several bolts have been installed upon the floor and the sides. The side and rear doors have been modified so that they can not be opened from the inside without a key. These additional features cost me nearly three thousand dollars.

The schedule called for me to meet Lynn, my associate dominatrix at 2:30 to discuss some business, today instead of taking the beltway as usual, I took the business route intending to stop at the supermarket. Before arriving there I observed a female hitch hiker standing in the roadway, thumbing her way in my direction, which was west.

Over the years I’ve had some interesting experiences with hitch hikers, but one must be cautious in dealing with them, as they tend to carry knives and commit other crimes. One scheme is to have a male accomplice watching from a nearby vehicle, when the female is picked up the male follows, at some point the female pulls a weapon and orders the driver to pull over, after which a robbery or some other crime is committed.

My response was to pull into a business lot a few hundred feet in front of the hitcher and size up the situation. My prey was no minor, she was at least in her mid twenties, a somewhat chunky long haired brunette, wearing jeans and a blue pea coat type jacket.

As she was about to cross in front of me, I motioned her over to the van. Rolling down the window I called out “where are you headed?”, her reply was “Auburn”, a city about twenty miles to the west. “Hop in” I stated, which she readily did.

Putting my ingrained chicanery to use I made a ploy, “I’m going to Auburn but I live only about five minutes from here, would you like to stop and get something to eat?”, I asked. “No thanks” was her immediate reply. At this point I produced a can of pepper spray and stunned her with one squirt to the face.

Escape was prevented due to an automatic door lock, which engaged upon her entry. Taking advantage of her disorientation I used a set of steel cuffs to quickly secure her hands to the rear, prompting a brief but futile struggle. The next move was to place a spandex hood over her head.

“Lady what are you doing this for?”, she cried. Ignoring her question and without exiting the vehicle, I dragged her to the rear cargo compartment, where the handcuffs were attached to a floor bolt. She could struggle to her hearts delight, but would go nowhere. “Lady please let me go’, she repeatedly cried. A search of her jeans revealed a switchblade knife, which was confiscated.

As a further precaution I confiscated her cell phone and removed the battery, attention to such detail is what makes for a successful abduction. Continuing to ignore her cries I climbed through the partition door, into the drivers seat and drove off. It had been my good fortune that no passer by had observed the struggle.

The radio was turned to a heavy metal channel and the volume cranked up, not that I was afraid anyone would hear her, but merely to further disorient her. With the partition door closed, I was able to observe her futile struggles on the navigation screen. Unfortunately the pepper spray odor would linger for a few minutes but I considered it a minor inconvenience.

My home sits back about three hundred feet from the highway, not visible to any neighbors or persons driving by, most propitious for this type of mission.

Leaving her unattended momentarily in the van, I walked into the house where Lynn was standing in the kitchen. “We have a guest for the dungeon, I need your help bringing her in”, I announced. Without any questions Lynn followed me outside. My captive was removed through the side door of the van, still howling in protest, as Lynn and I dragged her into the garage.

At that point I removed her hood, enabling her to safely descend the basement stairs. This was done without incident, she then caught her first look at the dungeon, continuing to wail “lady please let me go”.

With my patience taxed to the limit I announced “I’ve heard enough from you, I’m going to put a gag in that big mouth of yours”, with the gag of choice being a ball gag, attached to a face muzzle. She clearly was going to be uncooperative, so it was necessary for Lynn to hold her by the neck and pinch her nostrils shut. A minor struggle ensued, but the muzzle and gag were quickly secured.

Next she was attached to the overhead, which is a ceiling mounted winch and cable, that can be adjusted to the desired position. With her hands cuffed behind her I raised the cable so that she was bent at nearly a forty five degree angle, clearly an uncomfortable position. In addition a pre knotted nylon rope was used to bind her legs together, just below the knee cap.

She would remain in this position for about an hour, at which time her will to resist would be worn down. At this time she would be undressed, either voluntarily, or by cutting off her clothing.

My captive was in a state of high anxiety, which was quite understandable. After all she had been pepper sprayed and handcuffed in a van, restrained in a dungeon, and was now confronted by two female captors, without knowing their motives. To add to the bizarreness one captor was a 61 year old, 6 foot, 190 pound blond, the other a slim 21 year old of Chinese descent.

Stepping back to rummage through her wallet, a social services card revealed her name to be Darlene, 27 years old, and from Utica. My opinion of these social service types is distinctly negative, with this one impressing me as a vagabond slut, probably thrown out by her boy friend.

It was time to deliver my standard monolog to my newest submissive, this is much easier when they remain gagged, as they tend to interrupt. Darlene impressed me as the submissive type, despite her initial protests, she would be relatively easy to break. At this point my plans for her were uncertain. One possibility was to be trained and used as my personal slave, another was selling her to a local lesbian biker gang.

My speech began by introducing myself as a dominatrix and describing these possibilities to her. She had offended me by rejecting my initial offer of hospitality, by abducting her I was acting in her best interests. I made clear my disdain for the parasitic lifestyle she typified, with training she would see the error of her ways and they would be corrected.

The description of her training was most candid. It would be replete with whippings and forced lesbian sex, she would not be permitted to have any contact with males, nor allowed to communicate with friends or relatives. The necessity of addressing me as “Mistress”, and Lynn as “Associate Mistress”, as well as not speaking without permission were emphasized.

Seldom do I allow my captives any erotic pleasure so early in their training but an exception was made in this case. An eight inch vibrating dildo was inserted in her twat, held only in place by her panties. She would be attached to the overhead, fully clothed, for about an hour, at which time she would be stripped and her bondage made less restrictive. The incessant humming of the intruder would make her current arrangement a bit more bearable. It was made clear that should the intruder be dislodged, that it would be glued in place.

To further occupy her, various bondage videos were displayed on a wide screen TV visible to her, these depicted females being tortured in one way or another, with enhanced audio to further terrify her. Lynn and I spent the next hour discussing business, with my captive in constant view, but out of earshot.

At this point Darlene was released from the overhead and ordered to undress, with her gag remaining in place. As I predicted she complied until it came time to remove her bra and panties, at which she balked. “Associate Mistress undress the bitch”, I commanded and before she could react Lynn had ripped them off, followed by a brutal flogger lash to her boobs. “Do as told”, Lynn tersely commanded, her Cantonese accent conspicuous.

Not surprisingly fifty dollars was stashed inside her bra, this was put aside after Darlene was assured that robbery was not my intent. Leather cuffs were put on her wrists, she was then reattached to the overhead with her hands above her head, and the ball gag portion of her muzzle was removed, giving me an opportunity to study her figure.

At about 5’3” and 170 pounds, she clearly was overweight, her most noticeable attribute was a pair of sagging 36C-D breasts. The sagging was fairly well concealed by the bra, making her reluctance to remove it understandable.

She grimaced when told that her full mound of pussy hair would be shaved, in addition she would wear a special metal spiked torture bra. To further improve appearance her hair would be cut to above ear length, then fitted with a blond wig, “after all blonds have more fun”, I chortled. This evoked a rare smile from Lynn, who would serve as the barber.

My next task was to interrogate the tramp, as it was important to learn more about her. Darlene related a tale of woe: being kicked out by her boyfriend, facing a six month jail sentence for welfare fraud, and hoping to make a fresh start with an old boyfriend in Auburn. Wisely she answered the questions, without pleading for release, but then had the audacity to ask for a cigarette. This brought another vicious flogger lash to her breasts by Lynn, who admonished, “you don’t ask questions, you only answer”.

Having no further need for her to speak, the ball gag was reinserted. After I commented out loud about the need for improved posture, a cervical style leather collar was attached. The spiked torture bra was then fastened in place, any significant movement would result in great pain. To round out her bondage, a three foot spreader bar was attached between her ankles, using leather cuffs.

The arrangement enabled Lynn to sit on a stool in front of her. Using a straight razor and lather, her pussy was shaved bare, followed by the cutting of her shoulder length hair to just above the ear. “Snip snip”, chuckled Lynn as she gleefully demonstrated her cosmetology talent. The wig was then fitted in place, and using a mirror Darlene was permitted to view her makeover, prompting me to opine that “Your new hairstyle is most becoming of a useless tramp like yourself”.

The vibrator, which had been temporarily removed during shaving, was reinserted. The threat of gluing it in place, should it be dislodged, was repeated. For further good measure I tugged on her torture bra from behind, causing her to shriek in pain.

Darlene was left unattended for the time being, but would be monitored from upstairs over the CCTV. As Lynn had an early evening class, she would return at 11:00AM the following day. Before leaving it was necessary to discuss some business with Lynn.

It was becoming increasing apparent that Lynn was reluctant to engage in the cunnilingus and anilingus portions of the training, as the top girl of course. I suggested to Lynn that perhaps some practice, with her as the bottom girl, might be beneficial. She immediately became defensive and emphatically stated “Mistress I will serve as top girl without question”.

None the less, I have grown accustomed to having my cunt or asshole pleasured by the tongue of another female, and Lynn would now provide that pleasure. She could not conceal a look of disgust when I so informed her, but she complied without balking, as I removed my skirt and sat on the couch, to watch a rerun tape of an Oprah episode on TV.

Lynn was allowed to remain fully clothed, without restraints, as she knelt before me and burrowed furiously into my cunt with her tongue. I informed her that if the mouth work was adequate, she would be spared the more repugnant task of pleasuring my asshole.

For nearly fifteen minutes Lynn performed superbly with her mouth, even as I took a call on my cell phone. The caller was Patti, my bar manager, and I’m certain she realized what was taking place. Patti has instructions not to call unless the matter is of dire importance. As this was not the case I suggested, only half jokingly, that she visit me later in the evening for a “counseling session”. As this is code for bondage sex, Patti promptly apologized for the indiscretion.

Lynn, having satisfied my erotic urges, was allowed to leave after being commended for her performance. Age related hormonal changes have diminished such pleasure, but not the pleasure of observing another female performing an activity she intensely dislikes. Before Lynn’s departure, Darlene was transferred from the overhead and locked in the holding cell. Generously her torture bra, collar and vibrator were removed.

My Chicom associate does not serve out of the goodness of her heart, and is generously compensated. A pre-med student at a local college, she is from a family of modest means, and while on a scholarship, relies on dominatrix income to meet living expenses.

My CCTV has the Orwellian capability of being able to transmit remote audio commands to the holding cell. The occupant can not see the person making the commands, nor be aware of exactly when visual monitoring is taking place. I routinely amuse myself by issuing commands such as to stand at attention, or to recite one demeaning phrase or another.

When I ordered Darlene to stand at attention, she had the audacity to remain seated on the floor mattress, her head buried between her knees. I angrily repeated the command with still no response. Immediately I proceeded to the basement cell and ordered Darlene to stand facing the steel barred door.

Once again she refused, my response was to threaten to empty my pepper spray container into the cell. This was sufficient to induce compliance, at which time I handcuffed her wrists, in front of her, to the bars. She would spend the rest of the night standing in this position, unable to sit down. “You will learn to obey and in the morning you will receive a severe flogging as well as other discipline”, I snapped before returning upstairs without saying another word.

My next move was to telephone Mother Jugs, the honcho of a regional lesbian biker gang, much to my disappointment she expressed no interest in acquiring a slave. Unable to concentrate as Darlene begged for mercy over the CCTV, I reacted by piping gospel music from Sirius-XM into her cell, effectively drowning her out. I was beginning to think that my impulsive abduction of the tramp was a serious mistake, but for the immediate future I was stuck with her.

One option was to train her to be my personal house servant, however I harbored serious doubt about her suitability. The likelihood of finding another buyer for her was slim, leaving me with no choice but to eventually release her, probably with some type of compensation. Yet this would require me to treat her in a kind and benevolent manner, something that is antithetical to my character.

END PART 1