The Despair Of Bound Servitude

By Laurie King

When Megan and her husband are kidnapped, they could not have foreseen their fate. Kept shackled and bound, used for their captors enjoyment, their lives sink to new levels of degradation. At times, it seems as if there will be no end to the sexual torment they are forced to suffer. But they can hope and in the meantime, there are some definite benefits. A story that has everything, thrills, spills and hot, eye-watering sex.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Specialist Books
• Release date: Jan 28, 2011

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The Despair Of Bound Servitude

By Laurie King

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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The Despair Of Bound Servitude

Copyright © 2010 by Laurie King

Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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The Despair Of Bound Servitude

CHAPTER ONE

The beautiful, smartly dressed, tousle hair blond who was visiting the shabby apartment in New York looked somewhat out of place. She was a glorious vision, beneath a black leather jacket she wore a light blue blouse through which a delightful pair of breasts, thrust eagerly. A small white lacy bra, barely needed to support their shapely firmness, tantalizingly visible through the wispy top, enhanced them. Below that, a blue pleated miniskirt clung to the tightly rounded of a, so touchable, bottom revealing much of her tanned shapely thighs and slim legs.

An observer, collecting his thoughts might have wonder why the girl stood with legs widely, immodestly space! More unusually, her hands were raised high above her head, uplifting her breasts still higher. Further into that dingy room, it would be see that her lovely green eyes, framed in a doll-like face, were wide with fear. They were fixed on the wheelchair-bound figure of an obese Chinese slob just before her. Looking like a loathsome toad, he was the sort of creature that such a wondrous beauty would cross a busy street to avoid.

It would now be apparent that the Oriental man had some kind of hold over the girl. That was confirmed by the gray sub-nose gun protruding toy-like from the man's large fist. Furthermore, as if evidence was needed of the trouble the girl was in, there was the figure of a young man slumped beside the wheelchair. Blood oozed into the cheap carpet from a gash in his head. Behind the wheelchair stood an old frumpy Chinese woman, smirking at the scene, content to simply watch the act unfolding before her. When the girl, following the orders of the old man, began unbuttoning her jacket, shuddering as she did so, her awful predicament would be all too clear.

Megan's eyes were wide with despair, her bowels a hot liquid pit of churning fear. It was difficult to remain absolutely still, as she had been instructed, hands above her head and tongue fully extended to balance her police identity card on it. She looked and felt ridiculous, that was the idea she guessed. To add to her humiliation before the gloating slob in the wheelchair, she had been made to strip completely naked. Her captor had also clipped her police lapel badge to one delicate throbbing nipple. It tinkled with every anguished breath.

How could she and Edward, whose body was slumped unconscious on the floor, have allowed themselves to walk into the trap? Why had she volunteered to go on these raids? She didn't have to. But if Megan was honest with herself, it was revenge and it had been most sweet -- until now.

Only a few minutes ago she had been totally in control. Holding her slim Beretta handgun in marksmen's twin-handed grip, she had assumed a routine crouch to one side of the apartment door the rugged, handsome figure of her fellow agent.

Edward was on the opposite side. Despite the three months of intensive training in Fort Bragg, and her subsequent experience of such missions, she still felt the thrill of adrenaline course through her body. There was also the shiver of pleasure when Edward had affectionately (sensually she had wondered?) patted her bottom, making her tingle. She had then wanted to complete the job before the moment between them was lost. Maybe preoccupation had blunted caution?

Subsequent to her training she had enjoyed a successful six months working with a team of undercover agents. The white slave and drug running gang they were after had gone to ground in this country. Recruited for her knowledge of that criminal empire, run by her old adversaries Rillington and Carmen, she was a member of a squad tracking down the remaining gang members. She recalled now the wonderful sense of power, almost like an aphrodisiac, as her adversaries realized that the girl who had been their slave, their sexual plaything, now called the shots. Initially disbelieving, they soon appreciated the reality of the steady gun in her hands. So unnaturally for such people who unthinkingly dominated others, they had to obey Megan's curt commands. She enjoyed seeing their gloating expressions changing to shock as they realized it was all over -- and that she had achieved it.

Rillington had been captured, by herself, during her and husband Malcolm's rescue by the Special Forces from his Middle Eastern palace. She recalled his expression at her threat to castrate him. Now, the ringleaders, apart from Vera, had been caught and the assignment was, she gathered, shortly to be wrapped up.

For Megan her job as an agent was perfect. Allowing her to renew her career as a model whilst providing perfect cover for her undercover police activities. Modeling assignments would conveniently take place in locations near to suspected gang members and a covert operation undertaken to capture them. She knew she would be at a loss when she reverted to being just a model or housewife again. Apart from the power, there were also the secret feelings for her partner, Edward. Feelings which she knew she must hide from her husband, Malcolm. It would be an anti-climax when Vera herself had been brought to justice. The Negress, her ex-maid, had originally, by blackmail, turned her and her husband's lives in London upside down, making her do disgusting, vile things. The vixen had been ultimately responsible for making slaves of them both in the harem and subsequently Carmen's mansion in England.

Now defeat stared Megan in the face. Maybe she and Edward should have been concentrating harder on the task in hand. However, their informant had said that the man in the apartment, who could lead them to Vera, was an invalid. Indeed, he had been recently photographed at a hospital in a wheelchair. Living only with his elderly wife he could hardly they thought, Present a potent threat!

There had been silence from within the apartment and Edward's careful turn of the handle ascertained that the door was locked. Megan had maintained her posture, checking the corridor was empty. Whilst he deftly gained access. On the, practiced, count of three they had leapt into the darkened and seemingly empty lounge. Lowering their guns, relaxing a little, they individually checked the rooms, which led off it.

The bastard's out... Megan had begun.

Crack!

As she began to turn instinctively towards the sickening sound of metal hitting bone, a voice called out of the darkness. It was chillingly frightening.

Freeze, bitch! One more move... you and partner be history.

Megan's belly flip-flopped as she obediently stopped. Whoever was in the room must have been expecting them, a set up. Suddenly her feelings of invincibility and power evaporated. After being in control in so many of these situations she was again on the receiving end.

Total silence. Then a small sidelight was switched on, chasing away some of the shadows. Moving only her eyes she could just make out a large seated figure and Edward's slumped form by it. He was groaning softly and she could see the sheen of a small pool by his head.

Let me help him, he's bleeding! screamed Megan but, as she made to move, the room erupted in a blaze of light and she saw more clearly the fat, gloating slob in the wheelchair.

I said fucking freeze! he shouted.

He was Oriental, somewhere in his fifties she guessed. Bald, slimy utterly repellent. His small slanted eyes, like two currants in bowl of rice, glinted fiercely. In addition to a gun, he held a knife. She stared at the tiny, blue-gray blade caressing her partner's helpless face. It mesmerized her like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, making her realize just how much that man meant to her.

The greasy toad's eyes darted greedily over the gorgeous creature standing immobile before him.

Quite looker for Western woman, but I take no chances, I hear you dangerous. Look at friend later. First we worry about you. With one hand put gun safety catch on. Then drop. Good, he continued as she reluctantly obeyed, now, kick over to me, then spread pretty legs wide.

Her captor's slobbish exterior had been apparent from his photos in hospital. However, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of those coal-black eyes. They could have been pitched up from the darkest recess of hell to penetrate her soul. He was confined to a wheelchair by the plaster casts on his legs. So their informant had been right about the man being helpless -- but had misled them about his remaining abilities.

Then, from behind him, Megan saw with dawning realization, the fat homely figure of the old Chinese woman whose information had brought them here. The glasses and wig she had worn at the police station were now lying on the chair. Grunting with effort, she picked up Megan's discarded gun and gave