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Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Vanishing Point Part 12 (M/ff, NC B and D)
Date: Thu, 12 Jul 2001 03:10:04 -0400
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                                     STANDARD DISCLAIMER
                                     ===================

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and 
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.

The authors explicitly prohibits.

1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form. 

2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express 
    permission.

3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
    written permission of the author.

This work is copyright TM Quin and timidt 2000

All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to 
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.

Timid and Quin 2000

  timidt@hotmail.com                           tmquin@attglobal.net
*****************************************************************

		Vanishing Point Part 12 (Ben)
	===================================

"Oh, God, Please....you can't. I'll do anything...pay you
      anything. Just no...you can't put me in there. Oh, god no...you
      can't. I can't. Please...oh, god please...." Liz flashed me
      another pleading look, I started to regret removing her gag.

      I sighed, rolled my eyes a little, gave her all those unspoken
      indications that the conversation was over. She ignored me.

      "Please," she started but I'd had enough of her moaning it was
      time she realized just what her place was.

      "Enough!" I said, letting my tone cut through her whining. "I
      am *Master* here slave. Understand that? When I order
      something, then that is what happens."

      She licked her lips, thought for a moment, then lowered her
      eyes in a perfect picture of submission. "P....please Master,
      this slave will do whatever you demand." She was good, I'll
      give her that, if Plan A didn't work she would slip seamlessly
      into Plan B. She was going to make some lucky guy an
      exceptional plaything.

      It was obvious that the box really worried her. I'd seen a lot
      of reactions over the years ranging from intense anger to a
      bitter acceptance of an uncontrollable fate. Yet at no time had
      any woman been so determined to avoid the box at any cost. If
      you'd told me that morning that Elizabeth would be calling me
      Master before the end of the day I'd have laughed. In fact, if
      I'd been a betting man I'd have laid odds that it would have
      taken at least a whipping to get the proper respect from the
      little cunt. Even then I'd have figured it would have taken
      half a dozen lashes before she decided to play ball.

      Reaching forwards I played with her naked breasts. She flinched
      a little, but it was obvious she was trying to control her
      reaction. She thrust her little titty into my hand, letting my
      fingers play over the nipple. I raised an eyebrow. This was
      another unexpected and interesting reaction, I wondered how far
      she would go. As if she was reading my thoughts little Liz
      blushed a bright crimson.

      "Y.... you could tie me to the bed instead Master," she begged,
      " like last night." She blushed deeper. "Then I'd be ......"
      she swallowed, "available for you." She looked down at her
      tangled mass of brown pubic fur. I glanced down too, noting how
      her hips continued to be teased by the vibrator I'd strapped
      inside her. She thrust those hips towards me in an open
      invitation that I almost couldn't resist.

      Almost.

      I sighed. "Look Liz, if you're good, it won't be for long. Not
      if you're good. But, I have to do this now because I can't
      afford to have you out in the open when I'm the only one in the
      camper. If I'm stopped I'll have no opportunity to hide you,
      nobody to help me get you under cover."

      She swallowed again, looking at the padded interior of the box
      with obvious dread, "I....I won't give you any trouble. I
      promise. I give you my word that if we're stopped I'll keep
      quiet, no one will even know I'm here."

      She gave me her most earnest look. For a second I was tempted.
      Hell, having Liz to talk to, even if that conversation was a
      little single sided, seemed a lot better than hours of
      loneliness on the road. I looked at her. At that moment she was
      truthful about keeping quiet but I knew that her resolve would
      evaporate if we were stopped by the cops.

      I bent down and started to lift her naked body. "The
      discussions over," I told her, " You have to learn that what
      your master decides is what happens. This is not a democracy,
      there is no room for compromise, what I say goes, period. It's
      a hard lesson, Liz. A very hard lesson. But you'll learn it."

      I hadn't expected Liz to take that lying down but the violence
      of her struggles surprised me. For a second I had difficulty
      just holding on to her. She struggled until she was breathless,
      then paused, flashed me a look of pure terror and started to
      shake her head.

      "Oh please......." she looked at me with wide pleading eyes.
      Finding no sympathy she struggled harder, straining and
      thrashing against the ropes, her face red and contorted by the
      exertion. Of course it did her no good, I was hardly a novice
      when it came to tying women and the cords held firm. I was
      content to wait until she tired herself out, the rest stop was
      deserted and there was no one to hear her cries. Just then she
      twisted, slipping from my grasp. Somehow I followed her down,
      showing her a little before I collapsed on top of her.

      She lay there for a moment, winded and unable to move. I
      grinned as the exhaustion and helplessness crashed down on her.
      She kept herself in good shape, probably went to a gym two or
      three times a week, I think she had expected to be able to put
      up more of a struggle. What she didn't know is that the easiest
      way to get tired is to use muscles in ways that they aren't
      trained for. Bound and helpless her restricted movements were
      more tiring than a three mile run. She lay panting for the
      longest time, a look of helpless frustration in her eyes. I
      straddled her naked body, pinning her underneath me. I had won,
      we both understood that, from the moment she stepped into my
      world she had become my property and I was the one who decided
      her fate.

      Oxygen debt repaid she started to writhe again. Her body slid
      under mine and the smooth softness of her skin rubbing against
      crotch caused my cock to harden. I smiled, perhaps I would
      slate my needs on her body before I put her away. I wondered
      where the ring gag was? Probably too far away, but the teasing
      vibrator had done it's work well enough. Even as she struggled
      against me her thighs were undulating to the vibrator's
      insistent little call.

      I began to imagine the silky smooth warmth of her damp pussy
      wrapped around my throbbing cock and her gag muffled cry of
      pleasure/frustration/helplessness that would accompany the
      orgasm I forced from her. I smiled at that warm thought and
      reached for my fly buttons.

      And then she screamed.

      The sound wasn't loud, she was still a little winded, but it
      had an horrific, disturbing quality to it, one that provoked a
      memory.

      .......A beech in Iraq, Day two of the war. Our Seal team,
      inserted by Navy submarine on a supposedly clean and undefended
      stretch of coastline, the target, the Iraqi Silkworm battery at
      El Baz. A routine operation that became a military disaster,
      one so large that it is missing from the official history of
      Desert Storm. We discovered within seconds of coming ashore
      that the beech had been littered with thousands of anti
      personnel mines. As our point men had pushed out to the first
      line of dunes the carnage had started. I remember the
      explosions, the frantic cries, the moment of chaos before our
      training took hold.

      But more than anything I remember the screams, the cries of men
      in pain, the screams of those who knew that this was their last
      moment on earth.

      The screams of the dying............

      I looked down to find I had both hands clamped over Liz's
      mouth. Her wide, panicked eyes looked up at me again. She was
      trying to shake her head, but I'd pinned her down too hard.

      For a crazy moment I almost reconsidered my decision. There
      were several other places on board where I could happily
      conceal her, in fact we could have up to four "guests" hidden
      away at any one time. I started to wonder if one of the other
      places might not be more humane. For a moment I hesitated while
      Liz bucked and struggled beneath me, but then common sense
      broke through. If I was to have any hope of breaking Elizabeth,
      if she was ever to give up her former life and become a slave
      girl, then her loss of control had to be total.

      She screamed again, the wild inhuman sound of her terror
      cutting through me like a knife. I had to shut her up, I had
      to.

      Keeping one hand clamped firmly over her mouth I fumbled for
      the emergency syringe. I saw her eyes, wide, begging as I sank
      the needle into her. I pushed the plunger watching as the drug
      flowed into her veins. For a second she looked at me, not with
      the hate I'd expected but with a look of pure horror. Then,
      mercifully, a confused look came into her eyes followed a
      moment later by a flickering of her eyebrows. For a while she
      tried to fight but then the drug took hold. Her struggles
      weakened and finally, thankfully, her eyes rolled back as the
      drug stole her consciousness from her.

      I worked quickly to pack her away. The rest stop was quiet for
      the moment but I couldn't count on it staying that way. I
      lifted her into the box and strapped her down. First I fitted
      her with the mask, threading the breathing and feeding tubes
      down her throat before inflating the huge mouth gag. For the
      moment her screaming was over. I relaxed a little and worked
      mechanically to get the rest of the hardware installed. For now
      I didn't bother installing the anal catheter, for it to work
      efficiently I would have to give her an enema and I didn't have
      time for that. Instead I fitted her with a nice big butt plug
      and replaced the vibrator with a dildo to remind her what her
      cunt was for. With the gag and the ureathal catheter it meant
      that every hole in her body was occupied --- I had taken
      complete ownership of her body. I stuck the wires from a small
      heart monitor to her breast just above her clamped nipples. The
      little unit flashed a warning light in the cab if her heartbeat
      became too fast or if it faltered for more than a couple of
      seconds. Satisfied that Liz would be no further trouble, I
      closed the box and returned to the cab.

      There are a lot of practical reasons why I always travel with a
      trained slave. A couple traveling together draws far less
      official attention than a man on his own and the presence of a
      woman helps to quiet the fears of young female hitchers who
      make up the majority of my prey. However, those are not the
      main reasons why I do it. Quite simply I hate traveling alone,
      it's dull and boring and the long tedious hours behind the
      wheel soon wear you down.

      I found from practical experience that having someone else to
      talk to helps to ease that empty feeling. Hell, I have driven
      with a bound and gagged girl in the passenger footwell, my
      unwilling audience forced to listen to my opinions on life the
      universe and everything.

      Even a quiet companion is still a companion.

      It took me less than an hour before I missed Thelma's company.
      An hour later that had extended to the feeling of emptiness I
      got when I was away from Louise and the kids. I missed their
      presence, the warm feeling of companionship that came just from
      talking to them. Strange how the women in your life rule your
      thoughts even when you own their bodies?

      After a couple of hours I'd had enough. I sighed and headed off
      the highway and into a roadside McDonalds. Breakfast and a
      little human company were on my menu so I didn't notice the
      Merc sports car until I'd slipped out of the cab and started
      walking towards the restaurant. For a second I just stood there
      confused. The model, color, and the custom detailing on the car
      were so distinctive there seemed no room for error.

      Liz's car, but that was impossible, my orders to Thelma had
      been explicit!

      I slowly walked towards the car, my mind in turmoil. Had Thelma
      reverted? Had she just gone along with me, convinced me that
      she was my trained little slave girl until I gave her the
      opportunity to escape? It didn't seem possible, I had been so
      sure, and if she was making a bid for freedom then why stop
      here? It was then I saw the two police cruisers parked nearby.
      Every instinct said run, but I knew I would stand no chance, if
      Thelma had turned on me then a description of my vehicle would
      already be on the wires and Louise and the kids were probably
      in custody. I had a profound feeling of loss. Best to get this
      over and done with I decided. With a heavy heart I walked down
      the side of the Merc towards the entrance. I was trying to
      determine exactly what I would say but kept coming up short.
      Over the past few years I'd collected over thirty women and
      sold them into slavery. What could you say to that? Given the
      gung ho nature of most state troopers I'd be lucky if I even
      made it back to the police station.

      As I passed the Merc I glanced inside, noticing for the first
      time the short female leather jacket draped on the back seat
      and the paper sack containing the remains of two or three
      discarded fast food meals that was dumped in the rear footwell.

      I frowned. Either Thelma had been real busy over the last
      couple of hours or this wasn't the same car. I had been so
      sure... I waited until I had made it to the front of the car
      and then paused to flash an admiring glance backwards. It was a
      natural reaction, it was a beautiful car, but my motives in
      looking back were a little more focused that just checking out
      a nice set of wheels. I glanced down, noting for the first time
      the single digit difference in the vanity plate. Either this
      was the most incredible coincidence or....
      A suspicion popped into my mind, one that was confirmed an
      instant later when I entered the restaurant.

      There was no queue, not at this time of the morning, I was
      served immediately and when I had what I wanted I headed off in
      search of the Merc's owners. They proved easy to spot, sitting
      in a booth by the window, a booth that overlooked the section
      of the lot in which the Merc was parked.

      Of course I noticed her first, a guy in my business can spot a
      beautiful woman at a hundred yards and there was no doubt that
      this one was beautiful. I figured she was in her mid twenties,
      young and athletic, I checked out her cute little nose, the sun
      bleached hair, full pouting lips and the outdoor clothes she
      was wearing. In style and presentation she couldn't have been
      more unlike Liz, but their relationship showed through in the
      structure of her cheeks, in the eyes, in the set of the jaw.

      He was in his mid thirties fit, slim, dark brown hair thinning
      a little, with a touch of premature gray at his temples. Dress
      him in a power suit and he could be the poster boy for
      corporate America but at the moment he was dressed out of
      sorts, practical crew neck sweater, hideous golf pants and a
      shirt that had one collar tucked into the sweater and other
      poking out. It looked like he'd dressed in a hurry, throwing on
      whatever was available. He had developed a strange nervous
      motion, first craning his neck to check that his precious car
      was all right, then looking out at the highway as if he was
      searching for something and finally, almost as an after
      thought, he would glance towards his blonde female companion.
      He obviously out of his depth, cast adrift in a territory he
      was uncomfortable with. Stubble showed that he hadn't shaved
      that morning and the rings around his eyes spoke of a long,
      sleepless night.

      One look and I knew immediately who these people were and what
      they were doing cruising the country in a twin of Liz's car.

      It was Keith the cheating husband and Ruth the faithless
      sister.

      As I took my tray to a nearby table he started into his action
      again, car, highway, girl in an ordered mechanical precision.
      This time I noted the deliberate lack of eye contact when he
      looked towards Ruth, the way her displeasure was written into
      the tight line of her jaw and the angle of her shoulders. I
      settled down at a table and took the opportunity to look her
      over.

      Ruth, the fun sister, the mistress, the betrayer, sucked on her
      drink and looked around the room. I had to admit to being a
      little disappointed, Ruth was nothing like I'd imagined. From
      Liz's description I had expected a fun loving adventuress, a
      girl willing to rough it in order to see the world on her
      terms. Such people tend to be warm and friendly, when you are
      forced to trust strangers and members of different cultures
      just to survive you tend to be more tolerant. The Tibet story
      had led me to expect a poor little secretary living hand to
      mouth but living life to the full.

      What I saw in that McDonalds was a spoiled brat, one of those
      beautiful women that unfortunately knew that she was
      attractive, an exploiter, a user of people. She was dressed in
      hiking kit but every item was an expensive designer name,
      couture for the weekend adventurer. As I watched she flicked
      her blonde hair backwards, glanced around the room and sneered,
      her attitude just screaming out to anyone who chose to hear. I
      sighed, it seemed that family just had a talent for breeding
      bitches.

      She didn't seem particularly concerned that Liz was missing, at
      least she didn't look worried. I watched as she furtively
      checked out the rest of the guys in the restaurant. Keith's
      attraction was obviously wearing a little thin and the girl was
      looking to move on. For a second she looked my way, flashing me
      a small, coy smile of recognition. However, I don't think she
      liked what she saw. After a few seconds her little nose turned
      up and she moved on.

      A roadside Micky D's doesn't offer that many prospects however
      and at length she seemed to decide that Keith was still her
      best bet. Reaching over the table she touched the back of his
      hand, breaking him from his surveillance of the road. He looked
      up and blinked, smiled for the first time, and gently kissed
      her forehead. Reaching for the table he pulled out a road map
      and started to unfurl it. He started to point, talking
      urgently, pointing out roads I couldn't see on the map.

      Still, it didn't take a genius to realize when they were doing
      out here in the boonies. I figure that the cops probably told
      them that they couldn't start a missing persons case for at
      least two days. If they had come clean about the circumstances
      of Liz's disappearance I doubt the police would have been
      interested at all, if there is no evidence of a crime then the
      police tend to do very little with missing persons cases. If
      the victim has a reason to disappear then the police do even
      less. Faced with a lack of official interest the lovers had
      done what they could. They had come looking themselves.

      I frowned and wondered what to do. This kind of complicated my
      decoy plans, I could hardly have them come across Thelma by
      accident. On the other hand they had a whole lot of territory
      to cover and just one car, the chances of them being in the
      wrong place at the right time were slim. While I was thinking
      about it Keith seemed to come to the end of his plans.
      Standing, the pair headed for the exit hand in hand. As I had
      finished I followed them, watching as their car reversed close
      to my camper. Keith stopped for a moment while he shifted gear.
      At that moment Ruth was sitting less than ten feet from her
      kidnapped sister. Then, Keith moved the car forward and slowly
      slipped out of the car park and on to an on ramp. A few minutes
      later they roared off down the highway.

      As I waked back to the camper I couldn't resist a small smile.

      If only they knew.........

      ======================================================

      The rest of the trip was uneventful. I kept a lookout to see if
      Keith and Ruth would show up again and I was still a little
      worried that somehow they might catch up with Thelma but as
      there was nothing I could do about that at this stage I had to
      trust to luck. I kept to my course and speed, crossing the
      state border at around seven and finally arriving at the
      deserted rest stop around sunset.

      To my relief Thelma was already there and waiting. I think I
      hugged her more tightly than a master should hug a slave but my
      girl just laughed and smiled, her trip had been long but
      uneventful and I started to relax. I had Thelma change while I
      loaded the Merc back on the trailer and covered it with the
      tarp. I knew of a roadhouse nearby where the management was
      discrete and the prices reasonable. After such an emotional day
      I think we all needed the rest.

      ======================================================

      I knew I had problems the moment I opened the box. Liz lay
      inside, her eyes open but unseeing, her body showing the
      unmistakable signs of shock. I cursed, for some reason she
      seemed to be in an almost catatonic state.

      I checked her eyes. They responded to light but seemed
      unfocused. There was no indication of voluntary movement or
      tracking when I moved a penlight across her field of view.

      I admit that I was suspicious, it wouldn't be the first time a
      girl had feigned illness in an attempt to escape. Given that
      Liz had a better than average knowledge of psychology and knew
      that as a paramedic I would be able to spot a faked physical
      ailment it seemed reasonable that she would attempt to fake a
      mental problem. Casual slapping and pinching got me nowhere and
      I started to think that perhaps she wasn't faking after all.

      I scratched my head and wondered what was going on. There was
      something strange about Liz, her reactions were all wrong, her
      tendency to phase out on me went far beyond the shock
      associated with the kidnapping. Hell she'd started doing it
      back at the Vanishing Point long before I'd snatched her. I
      took my time and did a quick physical check. Over the years I'd
      seen all kinds of reactions to the bondage and imprisonment
      none of which were nearly as servier as this. One thing seemed
      clear, I needed to get her back to Louise's gentle professional
      care as soon as possible. I sucked my bottom lip and cast
      Thelma a worried glance. the problem was that Keith and Ruth's
      little hunt made the laying of a false trail even more urgent.
      At all cost I needed to keep them and the police as far from
      the Vanishing Point as I could.

      I looked up to find Thelma looking at me, her eyes asking
      questions for which I had no answers.

      If I was going to do anything now I would have to have more
      space than this. I thought again about the roadhouse, it had a
      small motel in it's grounds, a place for secret sexual liaisons
      and for drunks to sleep off heavy nights. If we could get Liz
      into one of those rooms we would be in better shape. Problem
      was that at the moment that area would be at it's busiest and I
      still wasn't sure this wasn't an elaborate escape attempt.

      Despite Liz's condition it was best to be sure. I looked up at
      the worried Thelma.

      "Get me the duffel bag and a couple of rolls of duct tape," I
      said.


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