D2-670A
Book One
There was nothing remarkable about the cellar - other than the fact that the
naked light-bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed it to be a little more lived
in than most. The center-piece of the room was a comfortable looking leather
recliner that faced a large television set, which was situated in the corner of
the room beneath a descending flight of stairs. The only other piece of
furniture was a wooden workbench on the opposite side of the room upon which a
wide array of tools had been haphazardly spread.
No, nothing remarkable at all . . .
. . . Until a glowing blue sphere the size of a basketball suddenly appeared in
front of the television. It hovered four feet off the ground for a few moments
and then began to expand at a rapid pace. As it grew, the sphere also flattened
out until it momentarily resembled a hula-hoop that had somehow learnt the
secret to defying gravity.
The hula-hoop, however, continued to stretch at a rapid rate and within thirty
seconds had grown to be six feet high and almost three feet across, whilst
maintaining the thickness of a piece of cardboard. The face of the now-oval
shaped figure was an unblemished dark blue, which seemed to lend it the air of a
closed door.
Suddenly, the face of the oval-figure irised open and a near-naked woman was
expelled as if by a terrific force. The woman slammed into the carpet covered
floor of the cellar with a quiet "Muughh" and rolled to a halt by the wooden
workbench. Behind her, the oval-figure again irised closed and quickly began to
shrink. By the time the mysterious woman had rolled herself over to eye the
portal suspiciously, it had shrunk back to its original size; and moments later,
disappeared.
*****
The red portal faded from sight just as Marcus returned to the empty bedroom.
Disbelief creased his thick lips and narrowed his dark eyes. Surely Rene
wouldn't have . . .
His hand dropped to check the D-keys that were always attached to his belt. He
grasped the handful of keys, but a glanced inspection revealed there were only
three instead of four . . .
She wouldn't dare! No female would. Such an action ran against every law
established in the last fifty years. If when) she was caught, she would be taken
before The Council and sentenced to twenty years torture at Reigel before being
put down. Surely, even Rene - spirited, defiant Rene - would not risk such a
fate.
But the evidence in front of Marcus was undeniable. He'd seen the last vestiges
of the portal, Rene - despite her bondage - was gone, and his key was missing.
Marcus ran a manicured hand through his shoulder length black hair. By rights,
he would have to report his favourite female to The Council.
But not before he gathered an unofficial Retrieval Team and went after her
himself.
*****
With the portal gone, Rene sagged with relief. Marcus hadn't returned in time.
She wanted to give thanks to Rayelle, Goddess of the Willow, but was silenced by
the bulbous rubber ball-gag that completely filled her mouth. The thin leather
straps binding her wrists behind her back ensured that she was unable to remove
the gag; while her elbows had also been bound together by more of the leather
straps which dug cruelly into the flesh of her upper arms and forced her breasts
to jut forward prominently.
Despite her bindings, speed was now of the essence. Rene knew that she had
crossed an all too blatant line by escaping to this dimension. Marcus would
either come after her himself, or inform the Council. Either way, a life of
torture faced her if she was caught. The only variable was whether that life
would be long or short - depending on whom it was that did the capturing.
Rene gripped the D-key in her right palm more tightly. She had lifted it off
Marcus' electric key ring as he had been busy binding her elbows. As long as
she had the key, she would be able to stay one step ahead of her pursuers - if
need be, by flashing back and forth between dimensions. At least, that was the
plan.
Showing no signs of discomfort from her bindings, Rene rose smoothly to her feet
and peered cautiously around the room. She was tall - perhaps 5' 11' - with
honey blond hair and pale blue eyes. Her lightly tanned body was trim and
athletic, as if she worked out a great deal and was careful to make sure she
maintained her figure. She wore only a high-cut, black G-string - but moved
toward the stairs without the awkwardness often associated with near-nakedness.
Just as she reached the lowest step, the door above her was opened. Rather than
pausing to see who was about to enter the cellar, Rene padded silently over to
hide behind the large bed. Heavy footfalls descended the stairs amid a
high-pitched whistling.
A tall, slightly over-weight, middle aged man wearing a grey sweatshirt, black
jeans and white runners came into view. Rene found his appearance strange purely
due to the fact that he carried no instrument of restraint or torture in his
hands. Otherwise, he could have easily passed for a man from her own world. It
seemed that Marcus had been telling the truth - the ways of this dimension were
very different from their own. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
Buoyed by this revelation, Rene almost exposed herself to the man as he walked
across the floor toward the workbench. Caution, however, prevented such a move
and she instead watched carefully as the man proceeded to pull the end section
of the workbench away from the wall.
Moments later, Rene was very glad her cautious nature had won out - as the man
opened a hidden door and dragged a young, and very pretty, bound and gagged
woman into view.
*****
Shana took a deep breath and for the thousandth time tried to fight off the
panic rising within her. Not that anyone would blame her for panicking - after
all, how many people could claim to have been kidnapped, tortured and imprisoned
in what amounted to a vertical coffin for an indeterminate amount of time,
without losing their cool?
From the moment she'd been bundled into the tiny closet, Shana had felt like the
walls were closing in on her. To her, the sight of the secret door opening to
reveal the coffin-like interior had been worse than when her kidnapper had
proudly produced the leather bullwhip he'd proceeded to thrash her with. She'd
fought and screamed against his mockery of an embrace as he had pushed her
toward the closet. However, his superior strength and the ropes binding her
wrists, elbows, ankles and knees, had combined to render her struggles
pointless. The cloth that had been packed into the mouth and the tape sealing it
in place had been equally effective in silencing her screams.
The man had pushed her into the closet and immediately slammed the door shut,
plunging her into pitch blackness. Shana had screamed and screamed into her gag
until she was hoarse. Then she'd tried kicking her way free - but by that time
she'd had no idea which "wall" was actually the door. Soon afterwards, the
inevitable feeling of pressure had begun to build and with it the knowledge that
she was going to be crushed by the ever advancing walls . . .
Gradually, however, Shana had learnt to breathe deeply and evenly through her
nose, and occupy her thoughts with other matters. In combination, these
techniques helped to quell the panic. She had spent most of her time wandering
why she of all people had been kidnapped and then tortured, and it was to this
topic she again found her thoughts turning. She had very little money, no rich
family members, and had never made a real enemy in her life. Jesus, she was just
a 23 year old college student! So who, in their right mind, would do this to
her?
Shana immediately knew she had answered her own question upon phrasing it in
such a manner. Nobody in their right mind would. In which case, her kidnapper
was obviously crazy - an assessment supported by the glee he had taken in
whipping her breasts, stomach and back. She shuddered within the grip of her
tight bonds at the remembered pain.
But how did the man's insanity affect her chances of escape? Was he going to
kill her when he was done with her? Or would he dump her, bound and gagged, on
the side of a lonely road as he made his getaway out of state? Shana was well
aware that he'd made no effort to conceal his identity, and that he had to know
she'd seen enough to identify him.
Both of which did not bode well.
Shana refused to think in that manner. It was bad enough having to deal with the
claustrophobia without dwelling on what he might do. Better to focus on what she
could do to make a difference.
Right then, a loud thump sounded from outside the closet. Shana froze. Was he
coming back for her? Conflicting feelings of terror and relief flooded through
her. She wanted out of the closet desperately, but would it be a case of
out-of-the-frying pan . . . ?
The bound and gagged woman listened intently, but for a short time heard no
further sound. She was just beginning to think she'd imagined the thump when the
sound of muted footsteps reached her. At the same time, it sounded as if . . .
yes, as if someone was whistling.
Moments later, someone was right outside the closet door (which, it turned out,
was to her left rather than straight in front of her). Suddenly, Shana was
squinting against the bright light that was pouring into her prison as the man
who had kidnapped her opened the door and leaned in to grab her ankles. Roughly,
he dragged her out into the cellar. Shana uttered a muffled yelp as her ass slid
painfully along the frayed carpet.
"Sorry about your closet-time, baby. I was having visitors and didn't want you
to disturb them." He leered down at her. "Now, what say you and I get a little
better acquainted?"
*****
