Boulder City Ambush (MF/M) (Part 2 published)

[Jonestown]

As a YouTuber might say, I commonly experience repeated lapses in judgment, and today’s tale is no exception.

For some context, my name’s Sean and I’m a twenty-something travel writer and photographer for a magazine that very few people probably read. This issue has sent me packing out west, to cover various ghost towns left behind from the Gold Rush. More interesting than the stuff I usually cover. And it’s in our western setting that my story begins.

It started off with me waking up (cliché, I know) in a motel room with a hangover. I’d definitely hooked up with someone the night previously, but she was now gone. She’d left a note on the side table, however.

“See you in Boulder City! - Lisa”

I’ve changed name and location for privacy’s sake, which may seem gracious in context of future events. Anyway, “Boulder City” was a little known ghost town on my itinerary, one I was headed for today. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to see her again, thought my naive, hungover self.

I took off from the roadside motel I had been staying at, and headed for Boulder City. It’s a few miles out of the way of anything, and you have to break away from the interstate to get to it. From a distance it looks like little more than a smudge on the desert landscape.

So, a mile into the desert and a few miles away from any settlements, I arrived in Boulder City. I took out my camera with me. I took a few shots of the old, dilapidated place. Even got a nice panorama shot, though that wouldn’t make it into the magazine.

Chances are I caught my assailant in it, somewhere.

Continuing through, my photo session came to an end just as I reached the old saloon. Typical western shot, good for some photos. I took a couple, but before I could lower my camera and go inside the place, I was ambushed.

First off I was tackled to the ground from behind. Bizarre as it may sound, my first concern was for my camera. I’d later come to wish it had been broken, but that’s for later.

My attacker then forced a gag into my mouth, some sort of panel thing with an oddly-phallic plug to fill your mouth. Not pleasant. This was followed up by a blindfold, looked kind of like the sort of thing you’d wear to get some better sleep (not me, I was too paranoid about the sort of thing happening to me now happening to me back at home).

Then came a simple pair of handcuffs, holding my arms behind me, and then the attacker stood up, wiped his hands off and I assume, admired his handiwork for a moment. I tried to get up while moaning exclamations through the gag. Both were foiled. First, he pinned me back to the ground with a simple shoe to the back, and anything I said was rendered inaudible. Swearing at him was mildly cathartic amid the panic though, I will admit, even if only I knew what I was saying.

He picked up my camera while saying “what have we here?” It was definitely a man’s voice. “I’m sure we’ll get plenty of use out of this.” He pulled me to my feet and pushed me up the stairs of the saloon decking and pushed me inside. But three pairs of feet ascended those stairs, the last coming after me and my captor.

He paused for a moment, so I took the opportunity to try and struggle out of his grip. No luck, and he simply grabbed both of my upper arms to quell me. He’d handed my camera to somebody.

Now yes, he could have simply had it around his neck, but when he saw what he wanted and started pulling me towards it, the shutter snapped once. A hand left my arm and he said “no pictures of me! Do you want me to get caught?” The shutter went a couple of times more, but then stopped. The photographer didn’t say anything.

After wrestling me to a spot to the left of the saloon, he stopped again and started searching me. His hands lingered on my butt and crotch for far longer than was comfortable. He took my wallet and my car keys, but didn’t find anything else.

I heard the jingle of my car keys being thrown onto a nearby table, and then my cuffs were unlocked, though a firm grip on my upper arm made sure I wasn’t running off anywhere. My shirt was slowly pulled off, and I was pushed to the floor. My arms were pulled above my head, and the cuffs began to rattle again. My back was against a stair railing of some kind.

“Cuffs aren’t going to work.” The man said.

There came a sigh, and the sound of a bag being unzipped. Something was tossed over my head, which the man caught. Pulling my hands back up, he wrapped the rope around them a few times, before tying a knot between them, forcing them slightly apart. He then tied my hands to something secure, presumably the top of the railing. After a few pulls, they only pulled tighter. The bindings were so tight my butt hovered ever so slightly off the ground.
The binding stopped for a moment, and at least a dozen photos were taken, judging from the shutter. When it stopped, the tying continued.

My feet were pulled up and onto a small table of some kind, making me hover completely. One ankle was tied, and after a moment, so was the other one with a loop from the same rope. He then pushed my feet together until the rope connecting them, going under the table, was pulled tight. With an additional, short rope, I felt him tie one ankle to the other yet again. I tried struggling, but my legs were held together tightly.

“I think you’re done.” Said a woman’s voice. The photographs continued to be taken. I shouted into my gag, before I realised something. I knew that voice.

As soon as the realisation set in, I stopped struggling, it was pointless anyway. When I stopped, the blindfold rather suddenly came off. When my eyes readjusted to the light, my suspicions were affirmed.

There she was. Though the camera, my camera, was obscuring part of her face, it was definitely her.

Lisa.

~~

Back again from my slumber with another story. Maybe I'll finish this one.

Decided to go for a pulp fiction-y title with this one. Hope it got your attenton

Feedback, comments, all of that are, of course, appreciated.

[Red86]

Ok, you caught my attention! I definitely want to see this continued!!

[DeeperThanRed]

I'm loving the style and tone of this story. Old Western setting but with anachronic bondage equipment. Looking forward to read the rest!

[Jonestown]

Lisa.

A few, less than polite words immediately sprung to mind. Words which I won’t repeat here.

My anger clearly manifested in my eyes, as she mused “such an angry one you are.”

Any fondness I held for our encounter last night was fading, really fast. Unlike his accomplice, the man who had done the tying had now donned a balaclava, and was going through my wallet. He counted the cash, no more than ten dollars, memory serving, before pulling out my credit card, and then my driving license.

“Milton… Sean.” He read out.

I rolled my eyes and Lisa sighed. She pulled the license from him, brushed a lock of red hair from her face and said “Sean Milton. New York, eh? You’re a long way from home.” I didn’t know how to respond, so for once my circumstances helped me out. Panic was starting to spread, however. “Why so angry? You’re much more handsome when you’re not.”

She lightly slapped the side of my face, and looked at my credit card. “Man in a job such as yours, with a camera like this, must have something in the bank.” I smiled a bit under my gag. The rag I work for was far from well-paying and the camera was a company-provided camera. They could rob me, for the pennies that were there to be robbed.

My satisfaction was short lived, however, because she saw my obscured smile. She quickly added “or we could just ruin his credit score.”

She sat down on the coffee table my legs were affixed to, just between my feet, and looked me in the eye. “So, here’s how this is going to play out. I’m going to ungag you. You aren’t going to scream because the only people that are going to hear you is me and him. Rather than screaming, you’re going to give us the pin for your credit card.”

I scoffed, and she raised an eyebrow. “We will get your pin. One way or another.” She reached over, and unbuckled the gag.

I took a few breaths and flexed my mouth. “Well?”

“Alright, fine.” I said. “One.” The man started writing on a notepad he’d pulled from the duffel bag.

“Two.” Lisa’s eyebrow raised again. The man kept writing.

“Three, and four.” Lisa slapped me around the face. Much harder this time.

“Well that was easy.” The man said.

“He’s lying, you idiot. I was hoping this wouldn’t be easy.” Now my eyebrows were raised. She stood up from the table, and the two of them went over to the duffel bag, their backs to me. I began to test my binds again. No luck, both were too tight.

Lisa nodded at the man, though about what, I wasn’t aware. She turned back to me, and began to tug at my shoelaces. “What are you doing?”

She ignored me, and kept pulling until the laces were undone, and the cream canvas shoe came loose. Lisa immediately yanked it off and tossed it aside. She chuckled and said “you’re gonna wish that you’d worn socks today” as I instinctively flexed my toes. She took off the other one and tossed it in the direction of the first.

I was now left wearing only my denim shorts. Too little for my liking, especially when I’ve just been tied up.

I was so caught up in pondering my predicament that I hadn’t noticed the man approach me now. He sat on the table so that his back was to me and one of my legs was trapped beneath his weight. Suddenly, my foot was being tickled.

I tried to kick out, but even without him on my leg, my bindings likely wouldn’t have allowed for much kicking. I pulled at my wrists, almost hoping they would also come lose, to whatever good it would have done me. No such look. Not a solitary woodworm had found it’s way to the staircase so that wasn’t likely to break if I pulled.

I strained and twisted as I involuntarily laughed. He was dragging what I later saw to be a spiked wheel on a stick across my sole and between my toes. It was unbearable.

After thirty seconds, Lisa signalled for him to stop. “So, Sean.”

I took a few breaths and banished the smile from my face. I shifted around in attempt to get as comfortable as I could with a two hundred pound man on my leg and my body pulled off the floor.

“I’m going to ask you again. If you don’t give me an answer, this’ll happen again, except the time will double. And it will keep doubling until you give me an answer. What’s the pin?”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing, you don’t need a pin to use it online. I think.”

She shook her head “not the answer I wanted.” She nodded at the man, and he continued tickling me with the wheel. The only good pulling at my bindings did was arch my back and pull me further into the air. Doing so meant that the man’s main target, my soles, would end up facing downwards on the table. This provided momentary relief.

This relief stopped when the man grabbed my foot in a firm grip, ending its limited struggling.

Fortunately for me, more relief came when the minute of torture came to a close. Looking away from her watch, Lisa looked down at me. I’d already pointed out that this was unneeded, this was probably for their own pleasure. Well I wasn’t going to satisfy them. I remained silent.

He was about to continue, when she beckoned him over to the bag. I took the few seconds to regain my breath, and to try the knots on my wrists. No luck.

Once again, my hyperfocus on trying to free my wrists had rendered me unaware of what my captives were up to. The man and Lisa had each taken the shoelaces from my discarded shoes, and were now using them to tie my big toes to their respective ankle’s binding. My attempts at struggling proved even more futile. Now I could barely move my feet except for side to side. Not good for trying to limit their access to my soles, which were easily the most ticklish parts, so I had just found out the hard way.

And yet somehow, the worst was to come.

From her seemingly bottomless bag of gear, Lisa had procured what seemed like baby oil or some other vile concoction. She sat on my other ankle, and began to rather ferociously apply it to my foot. She handed the bottle to the man, who began to do the same.

She had moved the duffel bag from a nearby table to between herself and her accomplice, though the tabletop of the coffee table continued to obscure it from my view. My camera had been positioned in front of us. Something told me that it was recording.

The tickling continued, the sensation exacerbated by both whatever had been applied to my foot and the fact that there were now two people tickling me. The man continued using his favoured tool, Lisa used a nail brush or something similar on my other foot. It continued for two minutes, though it felt much, much longer.

The two minutes ended, but I remained adamant. And so they continued.

Four minutes, and I could barely even catch a breath. But in spite of that, I had intentions to spite them. So I remained silent. They waited for a couple of minutes, allowing me to prepare for the next ordeal. It made for an awkward two minutes with them both sitting on my legs.

Any concern for the awkwardness of the scenario was quickly forgotten when they immediately attacked my feet as soon as I stopped wheezing. Eight minutes of struggling, laughing, coughing, tears and, of course, tickling, with various objects. About half way through, I began to hope that my laughter would alert a chance passer by.

But while pondering this scenario between tickle-induced spams and laughing fits, I quickly put myself in the shoes of the passer by (compensating for the fact that I would have liked mine to be on at that moment). Maniacal, uncontrollable laughter radiating out from a rickety ghost town across the desert. I’d probably walk in the other direction.

Regardless, the intermittent fifteen and a half minutes of tickling had exhausted me completely. Finding it unlikely that I would survive sixteen minutes uninterrupted, I finally caved and gave them my pin, which I will also keep to myself, for obvious reasons.

“And you’re sure that’s the correct number?” Lisa asked. “If my friend here drives three hours to the nearest ATM and finds out you’ve given us the wrong number, it’ll be sixteen minutes.”

“Completely sure.” I said, defeated.

“OK.” She said. She turned to her accomplice and said “take him upstairs, put him in one of the rooms and hogtie him. I’ll stay here, just in case he’s lying.” The man nodded, unpicked my bindings, before carrying me upstairs. I couldn’t have fought him if I wanted to, so I decided to conserve my energy.

[Red86]

Good continuation! With 3 hours to the nearest ATM, I wonder what she'll have in store for Sean to keep herself occupied

I also wonder if there's more to this then a potential robbery?