She was semi-conscious, on her back, her arms twisted behind her, lashed wrist to elbow, forearm to forearm, then to her torso beneath and above her bulging tits. Her knees were up, ankles tied to thighs, then again to her waist. Her head was twisted to the side to fit in the box, the ball wedged back into her mouth and tape wrapped around her head -- covering everything from her nostrils to her chin line like cement.
Had she been awake, that wouldn't have kept her from alerting the men. But she hadn't been awake.
"Nice shower?" Agnes asked him.
"Great," he replied. "Come on guys, let a man at least dress, all right?"
"Sure, sure," said Jim. "We'll wait for you in the living room, okay?"
The Brannigans watched them head for the front stairs before Agnes slowly closed the bedroom door. She looked at her husband knowingly. He looked back placidly before going to get his shirt and pants. Agnes walked over to the bathroom. The dildo, towel rack, high heels, and ropes were still on the floor. The shower curtain was closed. She moved over to it and peeked inside.
Leesa Mendaski lay on her back, the dress in tatters around her, the elastics bunching her bruised tits. Milky liquid dripped from her nipples. A wet towel was tied around her head. Her big toes were wired to the spigots. The toilet plunger handle was shoved up her cunt, viscous liquid drooling around it. She didn't move.
Agnes walked back to the bedroom door. She opened her mouth to speak. She didn't get the chance to. From downstairs they both heard a hearty young voice.
"Mom, dad, I'm home...!"
Blonde, blue-eyed, 5'7", 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski, 36D-23-33: abducted by the parents of the boy she "broke the heart of" five years before. This secretly sadistic couple keep her at their bed and breakfast out by the lake, along with 5'3", 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33), the daughter of a family renting suite 4A, who stumbled into their clutches. Now guess who just got back from college….
“Ta-da!” said Agnes Brannigan.
The sight took Andy Brannigan’s breath away. For a moment, the burly college student’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. There were his folks – the male ex-nurse and the female ex-phys ed teacher – standing on either side of his old room’s doorway.
But inside, “sitting” on a plain, harsh, wooden chair in the middle of his room, was unmistakably Leesa Mendaski.
Unmistakable, because someone who hadn’t obsessed on her for the past eighteen hundred and twenty-five days might not have recognized her, despite her bright blue eyes and long, natural blonde hair.
They might not have recognized her because at least a third of her face was obscured. Everything beneath her nostrils were completely covered and sealed. They might not have recognized her because the agonized, desperate expression on her face was so different than her customary delight and joy.
And they might not have recognized her because of her unusual outfit and the way it “fit” her. Her head was back because of the way her arms were wrenched back and down, her hair knotted in the rubber coated wire and thin black rope binding her elbows and wrists. Her chest was thrust up for the same reason. Her legs were spread, with her ankles tied back to the chair’s side leg slats.
Her spectacular body twitched in a stunning, skin-tight, black rubber/latex micromini dress, but her full, seemingly inflated breasts practically hummed– thrust out in space, bunched between the deep v-cleavage of the punishing outfit. On her legs and feet were matching, black, five-inch heals and rubber/latex thigh highs, which set off her lustrous ivory skin like nothing before.
“For you, Sonny,” his mother went on, presenting the coming home present like a game show gift. “Just the way you like it.”
TO BE CONTINUED