Tales Of Peril

Emily struggled to sit up as Ronald Strump and his goons left her bound, gagged and helpless in the basement. Suddenly a panel in the ceiling opened; it was the chute that allowed deliveries in from the sidewalk. She tried to scream through the gag but not much came out—certainly not enough sound to counter the roar of the cement truck parked outside! Emily’s eyes bugged out as the first trickle of gooey cement slid down the chute. He was going to bury her alive!!

The frantic inspector struggled to get off the floor as the wave of cement approached, managing to get to her knees before the viscous glop engulfed her. She just had to get her hands free! But Strump’s men knew their job and she found no slack in her bondage. The roar of the mixer filled the room and the level of the cement began to rise. Fighting panic, Emily was able to slide to the wall and, bracing herself against it, slowly managed to stand up.

By this time the cement was up to mid-calf. Emily writhed against the tight ropes that pinned her arms to her sides, her breasts heaving as the tough fibers dug into her soft skin. No one knew where she was, no one would come to save her! Was this awful fate her reward for being honest? Her struggles kept the rising cement from setting in a small area around her body, but how long before she would be unable to move her legs? The cool semi-liquid rose up over her knees, encasing her thighs, approaching her crotch. In a different context, it might have felt soothing—but here it only meant doom.

Refusing to give up, the helpless damsel looked for anything that could help her. Her eyes lit up as she noticed the building’s fuse box about a yard to her right. Heel to toe, heel to toe, she began to push her way through the rising cement towards the metal cover. The fact that the cement was lapping over her hips actually helped stabilize her, but pushing through the goop was a slow struggle. By the time she got there, it had risen to her waist!

She had to bend over to get her hands on the level of the fuse box, and she gasped as her nipples dipped into the rising tide. When she stood up straight there were wet circles of cement on her prominent boobs, and she grimly realized that unless her plan worked, that would be the last time they felt pleasure. She began flipping the circuit breakers, one by one, cutting the power to the apartments. She could only hope that someone would come down to investigate!

By the time Emily had flipped every switch she could reach, the cement had risen over her tummy to a level just below her breasts. The concrete that coated her nipples had begun to dry and tighten on her skin. Despite all her struggling, she could feel the cement around her legs was beginning to set as well, the pressure immobilizing her. Unless help arrived, she was doomed to be encased forever.

The heavy slop inched slowly up her breasts, so that the dried muck on her nipples was softened by fresh, wet cement. Fighting back tears, Emily realized that she had only minutes left; her writhing became less frantic as her exhausted body accepted defeat. But as the gooey mess finally covered her bosom, sudden silence from the cement mixer!!

True to his pattern of cutting corners, Strump had ordered the minimum amount of concrete needed—and his calculations had been off! Emily was stuck in slowly setting cement up to her shoulders, but for now there was no more pouring into the chamber! And above her in the complex, people had been able to call about the loss of electricity, and a man from Con Ed was on his way! It would take the rest of the day before she was finally pulled out, but Emily had beaten the tycoon!!

Ronald Strump had been a real estate tycoon since birth. He had buildings all over Gotham, and parlayed his fortune into the stratosphere of celebrity. Known world-wide for his extravagant lifestyle, beautiful wife, even more beautiful daughter, television show and commercials, you would think he had more than enough cash to maintain his empire properly. Well, he did—he just didn’t choose to spend it that way. He calculated that if something went wrong, insurance would pick up the costs.

Emily Addison didn’t set out to challenge such a powerful man; she was just trying to do her job as a building inspector. When a nervous tenant tipped off the city that Strump was cutting corners, she had been sent over to check things out. Emily had thought that when she filed her report, the problems would be fixed. How naive she had been!

When Strump did nothing, she filed a second report. Strump’s answer was to try to bribe her to shut up. Emily was indignant and filed a third citation. Strump figured a call to her boss would get her reassigned, but when her boss told her to back off, Emily threatened to go to the press.

When Strump heard that, he went ballistic! For more money than it would have cost to fix the damn building, he organized an elaborate kidnapping scheme, making it look like Emily had taken hush money and fled to Brazil. Instead, she awoke to find herself bound and gagged in a grimy basement.

Emily struggled helplessly against the bondage, but she was wrapped top to bottom with heavy rope. She was amazed when the great man himself walked in, his face flushed with anger. He told her she had only herself to blame for what was going to happen, and Emily tried fruitlessly to call for help through her gag.

She had one moment of… well, hope… when his expression changed as his eyes followed her struggles. Emily wasn’t just honest and brave—she was one of the hottest women Strump had ever seen, and he had sponsored beauty contests! Maybe he would decide that such a marvelous creature should be spared…

But no… all he did was open her dress, pull down her bra and fondle her full, heaving bosom. Then, laughing, he walked away and told one of his goons “Start it up”

What evil plan did he have in mind for the helpless heroine?

Marta found the shower addictive. After her last minute escape from being boiled alive, her college had recalled her and decided to send her to a less dangerous place. Zimbabwe had been a close call, but the Administration thought if she was very careful Egypt would be much less of a problem for the young blonde. Even though her nemeis, Bart Craig, had escaped while she was being rescued, no one thought he would be crazy enough to keep pursuing her.

Most of her work consisted of desk and paper work which she welcomed after the Sub-Saharan bush. Even the heat and sand was a welcome change. She usually stayed in the compound with no desire to go out and explore the town. She had already experienced all the “excitement” and “danger” that anyone would ever care to remember. Though the rope marks had long since disappeared from her ankles and wrists, the memories of hanging over the vat of water starting to boil… being slowly lowered into it…these were still all too fresh in her mind. But a nice cool shower, that was her refuge, cleansing her mind as well as body.

She had disrobed and had the water running, so she didn’t hear the door open and close. The first hint that something was wrong was the volume of her TV being turned up. Marta slipped her robe on to investigate, but when she entered her bedroom she froze. A strange man was pointing a gun right between her eyes, his other hand up to his lips to signal she must be quiet. Two other Arabs grasped her arms and forced them behind her. They ripped the flimsy cover off her, gasping audibly as their eyes took in her voluptuous form. She felt the rope encircling her wrists and ankles, and a cloth was jammed into her mouth which was then covered with a piece of duct tape. She could only sound a muffled cry for help as they bound her naked body thoroughly, winding loop after loop around her. The man with the gun slipped outside, and the helpless damsel tried a desperate plan. Wobbling to keep her balance, she hopped over to the window, hoping someone would see her and alert the authorities. But there was not a soul to be seen, and soon she found herself tossed into the back of a van as the two men leered at the curvaceous damsel struggling as the vehicle sped out into the desert. Strangely, they never molested her, as if she needed to be kept pure. Night fell and she fell into an uneasy sleep, wondering why she had been kidnapped.

Dawn was breaking when the jeep stopped before three tents. The gunman led the way into one one of the tents as Marta was pushed through the flap by her pair of guards . The tent was bare except for futon and a chair. A woman sat in the chair and looked at her, sneering and aloof. Marta had been all too aware of her nudity with the men, but under the gaze of this woman who probably never left home without her burkha, Marta felt shameful and dirty, her dark nipples involuntarily hard from the suspense—not that she could do anything to cover up!

Now the woman, speaking in a language Marta could not understand, was speaking to the men in an angry tone. One of the men stepped behind her, untied her wrists and unwound the harness of rope that had criss-crossed her full breasts. She was only grateful for an instant; in halting English the woman explained her awful fate. Bart Craig had indeed tracked her down and sold her to this cult of Jinn worshipers! Long before Islam, the desert tribes had believed their very lives depended on appeasing the evil spirits of the sands. She was going to a sacrifice!! One of the men motioned for her to hold her hands out in front of her. She saw that fight would be useless. The woman spoke a few words and nodded, two of the men left the tent. The gunman and the woman remained with Marta.

With a signal from the woman the remaining man came to her and, grasping the rope that encircled her wrists, pulled her out of the tent. The two Arabs that had left the tent re-appeared, each holding the reins of a horse. They walked the horses to face in opposite directions and Marta was dragged between them. She offered no resistance as she was turned, her back pressed against one horse. Her arms were raised above her head as her wrists were strapped to the saddle. Her exposed breasts rose and fell, her breath coming in swift gasps. They tied a rope tightly around her ankles. She stood, hoping that they weren’t about to do what she thought they were…

One of the Arabs grasped her bound ankles and lifted. Oh God, she realized exactly what they were going to do as her legs were lashed to the saddle on the other horse. She was working her legs, bouncing and arching between the horses. One of the Arabs spoke and the two horses began to be led in a circle. Marta jerked and pulled against the ropes holding her to the saddles as the animals began to get farther apart in an ever-widening spiral. She gave no thought to her jiggling body in the hungry gaze of her captors as she jerked and worked against her bindings to no avail. She fought knowing that she was to be stretched and pulled apart! She screamed!

The woman exited from the tent, chanting some ancient invocation. Marta hardly noticed her. The pain in her arms, shoulders, hips and knees was becoming unbearable and still the horses were drawing farther and farther apart. Marta could barely move her arms and legs as the hoofs sounded on the hard sand. She could no longer pull and arch against her bonds, her helpless body stretched to the limit. She screamed again as she felt the joints in her shoulders and knees strain. Her screams were continuous as the horses were led on their route. She was only dimly aware of the helicopter landing and the shouts of the soldiers coming to stop her ordeal. She had escaped the vile plans of Bart Craig again!
 

When Lola came into the room she felt a reversal of power. Sure, she had lost all of her clothes and had agreed to wear the leather bondage harness. But watching her host gape at the way the leather accentuated every curve on her young body, she was sure that he would do whatever it took to keep her playing. And if Andersen had just been your normal frat boy out to enjoy himself, she would have been right.

Sadly, he had a whole different agenda.

He was the son of an oil executive, and in a room of rich, entitled kids, he stood out as the Alpha dog. When he took Lola by the arm and escorted her to his room, everyone thought she had struck gold. Surely she’d be in the lap of luxury from then on.

They had no idea.

Once he got her alone, he kept her glass full and turned on the charm. Lola was flattered that such a big man on campus was going to court her, and she was such a trusting person that she never dreamed what was in store. When he proposed a game of strip poker, she figured he wanted what all the guys wanted— and she didn’t see anything wrong with playing along.

The first couple of hands, he let her win. She admired his hard body when she had him down to his boxers, and was intent on getting his last article of clothing off. Everyone would win, right? But once he saw she was hooked, he began to play for keeps, and soon the tide had turned. When he had the shapely co-ed down to her bra and panties, he almost reconsidered. But he knew what was expected of him, and put aside his sympathy for the unsuspecting beauty.

He dealt her a pair of Aces, while he only had a 3 and a 5 in the hole. There was a third ace in the flop, and he knew she’d never pay attention to the 2 and 6 alongside it. He could tell she was excited at the chance to get all her clothes back, so he offered that as a bet… but if she lost, she’d have to put on something kinky. When she asked what he had in mind, he went to the closet and pulled out a bondage harness. Lola blushed a deep red just looking at it, but she had three Aces! She couldn’t lose!

But when the river card was a 4 and he turned over his straight, she gasped in disbelief. Still, a bet was a bet; and this might be the kind of thing where this rich boy found himself even deeper under her spell! Lola took the leather into his bathroom and figured out how to put it on. She stepped back into his bedroom and saw his eyes go wide. She felt surprisingly comfortable in the harness, sexy and “out there”…

Cali Logan had come out of nowhere to become the biggest star on the Food Channel. And what was her specialty? Irish cooking! Who in the world truly likes Irish food? I don’t even think the Irish really like the stuff, they just want to make the tourists feel they’re going to see a leprechaun or something.

I knew why little miss Logan was so popular—sex appeal. It was those flimsy little tops and frilly dresses and tight jeans… whatever she put on, she just popped on the screen. And her voice was so flirty and inviting. I was so jealous at being replaced as the sweetheart of the airwaves, I just had to do something.

So I laid the groundwork for a way to get her off the air for good. I had a friend get me several doses of those “” pills you can slip into a drink, and dosed all the water bottles for her set. I turned up the heat in the studio, so she and the crew were just guzzling the stuff, and hid in the walk-in fridge until the drugs did the job. One by one, the staff staggered off until the producer told them to take half an hour. When only Cali was left in the kitchen, I made my move.

I locked the door to the set and propped a chair against it for good measure. By this time, Cali was slumped down in her chair, dead to the world. Soon, she’d be literally dead! I tied her feet and legs, pulled her arms behind her back and lashed them together. I ripped the dress off her shoulders, leaving her nude to the waist. The little whore wasn’t wearing a bra and I could see why– I’ve never seen such perfect tits, and mine aren’t bad! Biting my lip in anger, I wrapped coil after coil around her boobs and torso– let her flirt her way out of this!

I got the cooking oil and saturated the counter top with it, all around the microwave, which I filled with ladles and knives and spoons. Setting the timer for 10 minutes would give me time to sneak out the back. Now all that remained was making sure she knew what was going to happen–and recording it for posterity!

I snapped a popper under her nose and she woke up with a start, and began struggling weakly as she realized she was bound. I slapped her across the face and told her just what I thought of her no-talent act, then gagged her with a bandanna when she started to beg for mercy. I explained just what would happen when the microwave timer went on and the sparks that resulted would turn the whole place into an inferno. I laughed as her body writhed in the ropes as the danger she was in set in. If I had just left then, it all would have been perfect.

But no, I had to turn on the camera, so there would be a record for the world to see. I made it out the back door as planned and went to wait in my trailer, counting down the minutes until the explosion. I imagined the panicked struggles of my rival as she watched the timer count down. I now know she was able to get up and hop towards the microwave, her full bosom swaying, her long legs tensed as she tried to keep her balance. About halfway to the device, she tripped and fell. Frantic to get back on her feet, she kicked over a display and the racket alerted one of the guys in the control room to look in the monitor.

He had witnessed the half nude form of America’s sweetheart wriggling to free herself and escape, and after a moment of wide-eyed staring had the presence of mind to switch on the announcer’s mic and call for help. Cali could only watch helplessly as the microwave timer ticked under a minute, but before my plan could finish her off, the Best Boy was able to kick in the door and rush in to pull the plug on the microwave. As soon as the gag was out of her mouth, Cali told everyone who was responsible.

And that’s why I’m on trial today….

The natives had captured her as she slept in the tent. As far as she knew the others in the party had not been disturbed. Her kidnapping had been so fast and she had had no chance to alert the others when a rough hand was clamped over her mouth and she was dragged out of the tent and carried off. Now she stood helpless, two natives on each side of her and Bart Craig, her rival anthropologist who had turned the people against her, standing before her. She had been taken to the sacred cave where unspeakable ceremonies were carried out in the name of the old religion.

“Well, Marta, lets see how much resistance you have now that you are in the care of me and my faithful friends.” The man that hated her smiled. She hit his hand as he reached for her breast. “No matter,” He was still smiling. “Obey what I order or you will be burned alive. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” her answer was a whisper. She didn’t doubt that he would carry out the threat and she held no hope of rescue. The cave was known to very few and well guarded.

“Undress… don’t speak or I will give the order for you to be tied to a post and burned. Now strip!” As she began to unbutton her blouse she gaze wandered around the cave. In the center of the huge room was a glass tank. It was about three feet in diameter and six feet deep. Piles of wood lay around the base and a large pile of logs were against one wall. There was a hole in the roof of the cave. A scaffold had been erected approximately seven feet above the vat. Two natives were busy filling the glass enclosure with water. Marta shrugged her blouse from her shoulders and unbuttoned her shorts and let them fall around her ankles. Unhooking her bra she tried to place a brave look on her face as she threw it aside, but the fear in her eyes plainly showed. “Now your shoes and panties.” His attention was on her breasts, creamy and soft with dark nipples swollen in fear. She stepped out of her panties leaving her naked. Now his gaze moved down from her bosom, across her stomach to the strip of blonde hair showing from between her smooth thighs. She attempted to cover her nakedness as best she could but one of the men grasped her wrists, tied them together and fastened the rope to a ring set in the wall. She felt the rope being fitted around her thighs and ankles and cruelly tightened. She could only watch helplessly, her body swaying back and forth as the tank was filled to the top. Bart stepped up to her and sneered as he jammed a gag into her mouth “I won’t burn you at the stake.. but I do have something hot in mind for you!”

The natives began to chant as one end of a long rope was tied to her ankles and knotted. The rope pulling her hands above her was undone, only to be lashed around her waist, clinching her arms to her body. Three of the men lifted her and she was carried to the base of the glass cylinder.She writhed in her bounds, smelled the strong odor of kerosene.

She felt a light tug at her ankles. The long end of the rope had been thrown over the cross beam on the scaffold and was being pulled up by two natives. Her legs were lifted as the rope was pulled over the cross beam. Her buttocks was next to be pulled up as her weight rested on her shoulders and the back of her head. Within seconds she was sliding off the floor and up and over the smooth side of the tank, until she swung out hanging naked, head down, suspended by her ankles over the water-filled tank. Craig caught her right breast in his hand and stopped her swinging. He nodded his head to the men and she felt herself being lowered into the tank. Marta held her breath and struggled to jackknife her body above the surface, but they just lowered her deeper and deeper. The glass allowed the entranced natives and Bart Craig to watch her futile efforts as the water filled her nostrils. Just when she thought she was sure to drown, Marta felt the rope pulling at her ankles as she was raised out of the water. She gasped for fresh air, not noticing men piling the wood around the base of the tank. They gave her a few seconds, dangling above the surface, then she was lowered under water again.

Again she wriggled to get relief, but this time she saw a horrifying sight through the glass: torches being thrown on the wood at the base of the tank. As Marta was pulled up once more, Craig was sneering, “We’re going to have a blonde boil!” She was lowered under water again as the flames lept up the side of the tank. She lost count of the times that she was lowered into the tank or how many times logs were thrown on the fire but she could feel the water temperature rising.

As the water was becoming uncomfortably hot, her merciless captors stared at their beautiful sacrifice as her struggles became more intense. A hot mist had formed over the water and bubbles formed against the glass. Marta jerked and pulled against the rope but couldn’t resist as she was raised and lowered into the water that was beginning to swirl around the edges of the tank. Craig watched in amusement as her pale skin started to take on a pink shade. He signalled for his men to stop the torment and tie off their end of the rope as the water approached a full boil. She could barely breathe from the rising steam, but began to struggle even more frantically as Craig positioned one of the torches under the rope supporting her. When that burned through, she’d be plunged into the bubbling water!! Marta screamed through her gag, eyes fixed on the rope beginning to smoke, when she heard shots ring out. Through the steam around her, she could make out signs of fighting. She didn’t know how it happened but the rest of her party had found her, possibly by the smoke escaping through the hole in the ceiling of the cave. But could they rescue her in time? The helpless blonde writhed in deadly anticipation as the rope that held her above the boiling water caught on fire! Just as it seemed ready to give, someone knocked the torch over and extinquished the flame, pulling her higher and swinging her back over the side of the tank! She was safe now as they applied ointment to her reddened flesh and COLD WATER!

We all hate The University.

They think they’re so superior, and we’re nothing. Just because they were founded by some tycoon and have a gazillion dollars, and their campus is like a movie set, and they get all the newest technology, and they booked Arcade Fire for their Homecoming Dance—so what?

Oh, and they constantly beat us in every sport you can think of, sports I’ve never heard of. I guess that’s why they picked up for the Homecoming game, to have an easy win while the rich alums got wasted in the stands. So me and my boys decided they needed to be punked. Hard.

But one by one, our plans had been foiled. There was some kind of alarm that went off when we tried to paint that stupid bell, and their stupid cow was guarded 24/7 so we couldn’t snatch it. They even had Campus Security patrolling their stupid Sacred Oak, so we couldn’t even TP it. But we had one last plan up our sleeve….

I had a chauffeur’s hat and shirt, and we found out which Limo service was going to provide cars for the Homecoming Court. It was easy to divert the real driver with some weed, and I got behind the wheel of the limo without anyone the wiser. Now it was just a matter of seeing which girl was assigned to my car— and we hit the jackpot, it was the Homecoming Queen!

Damn, she deserved it. She had a body that was poured into that dress, and it even matched her hair color! I wondered if that was just luck, or if she had a dye job, but either way she was just ridiculous. By the way, these days that means “good”.

No one suspected a thing for the first 2 miles of the parade. She was sitting on the back waving to the crowds and I could tell she wasn’t as snooty as I expected, her going to The University and all; she was nice to me and we even had a little small talk. So she was as stunned as anyone when I got to the place where I could take the left fork and leave the parade! I gunned the engine and we were gone! We were going too fast for her to jump or anything, she just slumped down into the backseat and looked like her eyes had turned to saucers.

In 2 minutes I pulled into the 7-11 where the guys were waiting with the panel truck. I ditched the hat and shirt as I got into the driver’s seat while the guys manhandled the redhead into the back. As I drove to my house I could hear a lot of bumping and noise in the back, but didn’t think it was anything serious.

Man, was I wrong. The guys had taken it way over the limit— before tying her up, someone had pulled down her gown and exposed her boobs. Don’t get me wrong, they were superb and the ropes just enhanced her curves, but this was sexual assault! We could get some serious charges, and I knew we had to think fast. As we pushed her inside the garage, I whispered to Tiny “we have to do some good cop/bad cop thing or we’re in it deep!”

Tiny was one of those guys you can underestimate. Of course he got that nickname since he was 6′ 4″ and weighed close to 300, and he usually had that goofy smile going like Randy from “My Name is Earl”. But Tiny was sharp, and he immediately started talking about needing to get rid of her and looking around for a tub and some concrete. She started screaming and twisting in her bonds— an amazing sight— and I stepped in to take over. I slapped Tiny (not too hard but I made it look real) and told the guys to drop that idea, that I’d take care of it, just get out. Tiny played along beautifully and got them out, so now it was just me and her on the mattress we had ready in the garage.

I made the big sacrifice and put my jacket around her; I didn’t really want to cover her boobs, but I needed her to trust me. I assured her that it wasn’t supposed to get this intense and nothing was going to happen to her. I could see her relax, but wasn’t at all prepared for her to shrug my jacket off her shoulders. Puzzled, I carefully pulled the duct tape off her mouth, and as soon as she could speak she told me that she believed me… and she had always had a fantasy of being taken this way… and asked me if I would “ravish” her.

As it turned out… she really was a redhead!

I’ve had a crush on Rebecca Paulina for years, ever since her ‘one hit wonder’ song “Sinking” hit the charts. It didn’t matter that she never had another platinum record, or that her career was reduced to lounge singing at a third rate casino in Atlantic City. To me, she sounded just as good as ever. Oh, and I loved the way she filled out those tight dresses. But in all the years I was her number one fan, I never got up the nerve to talk with her. Sometimes when she was singing, it seemed like she realized mine was the only face that appeared at all her shows, and our eyes would lock—but then she’d turn and gaze at somebody else.

So last night when her set was over, I was doing my usual thing—stalking behind her at a safe distance, just trying to gaze on her a few more minutes. Tonight she was wearing all white, from her head to her heels, and every move accentuated her breathtaking physique. She went out into the back alley to get some fresh air, but after a couple of minutes when she didn’t reappear, I realized something was different. Normally she’d be right back and head to her dressing room, but it had been over 10 minutes. I summoned the nerve to crack the door open to see where she could have gone.

The sight before me froze me. Lying in a puddle of blood was some poor drug mule who apparently had tried to resist being robbed. But I didn’t care about him, my eyes were on the punks who had tied Rebecca’s hands and were stuffing her into the trunk of their car. She must have blundered onto the scene, and now they were going to dispose of her! My Rebecca!!

I had to do something or I’d never see her again! Looking around the alley, I was able to find a car left unlocked by some tourist who didn’t appreciate how mean AC can get at night. I hot-wired it and left the lights off as I tried to tail them. They were heading for the Expressway, and I kept my distance until they made the exit onto Old Mill Road.

There actually was an Old Mill at the end of the road, back from Civil War days when the stream that ran past was strong enough to turn the big water wheel. It had been abandoned when the growing city needed that water for drinking, and all that was left was a soupy marsh. Oh my god, did they plan to drown my fantasy girl in the swamp?

I had to look hard for a place to hide my car when I found the Mill… I didn’t want them to know they had been followed. By the time I was able to sneak down to the edge of the marsh, things had taken a desperate turn. One of the gangsters had ripped off Rebecca’s dress and was pawing at her breasts, pulling her bra down as she fought back without success. I had dreamed of seeing her naked body a thousand times, but never like this, with some other man’s hands squeezing her heaving boobs.

Even more upsetting was what the other goon was doing—passing a length of rope through the hole in the center of an old millstone. The first killer then manhandled the helpless singer over to his waiting partner, who tied the rope around her waist. She screamed through her gag as they dragged her and the stone to a patch of open water—then tossed the stone into the mire.

As the heavy millstone sank into the mud, Rebecca instantly sank knee deep and was pulled backwards, landing on her butt. She struggled to get her hands free, but without success. The killers laughed and mocked as the millstone disappeared from view, dragging the frantic victim ever deeper. Soon her legs and waist were out of sight, her body jiggling as she struggled to find any give in her bonds. The mud claimed more of her torso, and I tried to convince myself that I had to wait until they left. If I ran out of my hiding place too soon, I wouldn’t be any use to her if the hoodlums killed me— but how much longer could I wait?

The water was now muddy and discolored as Rebecca fought for her life, her breasts floating on the surface for a while but slowly covered as she sank into the ooze. Luckily, that seemed to be all the show the gangsters wanted, and they hooted in laughter as they walked back to their car.

As soon as they drove off, I ran to help my damsel in distress. Her bound hands stretched out to me as she saw I came to help, but I knew it would be pointless if I couldn’t get that millstone off her. I stepped into the swamp, sinking to mid-calf as I bent over and plunged my hands under the surface. Only her neck and face remained visible, but she looped her arms around me as I felt around for the rope around her waist. I have to admit it— while there, my hands came into contact with lots more of her, but I barely noticed, so desperate to find the deadly cord.

When I finally found the knots, it was hard to untie them and I sank past my knees, but at least she wasn’t going under and she was brave enough to control her panic and let me work. At last, I got the rope untied and we both could feel the release as the weight of the millstone was no longer dragging her down. Her eyes filled with relief as I slowly but surely began to pull her out. It wasn’t long before she showed me just how grateful a damsel can be to her hero.

Christina loved almost everything about her job as an Au Pair. The chance to move to America, of course… but the two children were adorable, the Eastside condo they lived in was spectacular, she was making new friends with the other nannies at the park and even had her eye on a young man who played softball on Saturdays.

The only problem was the Wife. She could tell how jealous this woman was.