Chapter 1:
I parked my car four houses down from the house the man I was following had parked in front. I watched the middle-aged man who was about six-two and wearing a brown fleece jacket, jeans and a brown baseball cap get out of his car, throw a backpack over his shoulder and walk up to the front door of the non-descript but rather large house in a newer subdivision of my north Idaho town.
I turned off my engine and was glad I had chosen to wear a thick black woolen turtleneck along with my jeans and black walking shoes. It was early March and the temperature was in the middle thirties.
It was my first stakeout. After a month of looking for a job to no avail, I had been hired by a one-man private detective agency as a freelancer. My initial assignment was to follow Gerald Jenkins whose wife suspected him of cheating on her and had hired my boss to find out. My boss, Samuel Richards, had another stakeout to run this Wednesday evening so he had entrusted me with the job. My only task was to keep a log of his movements after he left his job as a junior college professor of English.
His wife had gone out of town so that we could follow him and thus far he had gone home, changed clothes, gone to a grocery store where he had bought a bottle of wine and then driven straight to this house. It looked like it was a pre-arranged appointment since he had knocked on the door precisely at seven o'clock in the evening.
I knew he had not picked up my car following him since he had never looked back or made any evasive maneuvers. He had take the obvious route from the store to this house along our town's main arterial and then into the subdivision.
I settled in to wait for him, hoping it would not be an all-nighter which would mean I would have to remain parked on the street for a number of hours.
It was just after eight when a big RV pulled up behind me with its lights out. I slouched down in my seat, wondering why someone was driving his RV at this time of year.
I didn't hear any doors open or close and was, therefore, surprised when there was a knock on the driver's side window and I found myself staring into the barrel of a gun.
A giant of a man who had to be at least six-five and was built like a NFL linebacker opened the door and told me to get out. Like me, he was dressed in a black woolen turtleneck and jeans. However, he was wearing black leather gloves and had black woolen ski mask pulled down over his face.
I obeyed and said, "What's this all about?"
Immediately a gloved hand went over my mouth. There were two of them!
"mmmpppphhh!" I protested.
"Shut up!" I was told by the man with the gun. "Now, you little snoop, listen carefully and you won't get hurt.
"We are all going into that RV. We can do the easy way or the hard way. Which will it be—easy I hope?"
I nodded and they hustled me away from the car and into the RV. All the shades had been pulled and there was only a soft light coming from some kind of lamp on the main table. Before I could say anything, a gloved hand went over my mouth and I was once again told to shut up.
"Open up," I was told. When my mouth was open in went some kind of white fabric. A roll of black duct tape was produced out of a back pack and while the bigger guy held me, captor number two, an older man with short white hair, and a smirk on his face, tore off two six-inch long strips of the duct tape and very carefully placed them over my lips.
"Turn him around," the older man said to the ski-masked linebacker. He did so and my arms were pulled behind me and I felt rope encircling my wrists. The rope was cinched and then knotted. I was pushed onto one of the benches that made up the main eating area in the RV. The older man produced two more multiple foot lengths of the white rope and proceeded to very efficiently tie my ankles together and then my knees. I knew as he worked that there would no escape from his handiworks. Just a few minutes ago, I was rather bored and now, all of a sudden, I was bound, gagged and at the total and complete mercy of my two captors.
The odd thing about all this I realized was that I actually liked being bound and gagged. My ex-wife and I had played bondage games in the bedroom at least once a month while we were together and I had even, on two occasions within the last year, gone to a house in a nearby town and been bound and gagged by a so-called bondage master.
This time, though, it was not consensual bondage and I was quite fearful about what these two had in mind.
The older man pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of me. The flash caused me to shut my eyes and when I opened them he was just finishing sending the picture off somewhere, probably to his boss, whoever that might be.
He turned his attention to me, the same smirk on his face.
"How are you doing?" he asked. "Oh, that's right, you've got a pair of panties sealed in your mouth with duct tape don't you?"
Panties, I thought, that's just great. Jeffrey, my bondage master friend, was particularly fond of exactly the same type of gag. I felt my cock begin to stir and tried my best to ignore the memory of me on Jeffrey's St. Andrew's Cross, naked, a pair of frilly silk panties sealed in my mouth with white duct tape and another pair draped over my head in what Jeffrey called "the ultimate bondage embarrassment."
The older man came closer and I saw he had another item of women's clothing in his hand—a pink mohair scarf. He ran a finger along my tape gag and, then, satisfied with either his handiwork or my complete helplessness leaned in even closer and whispered in my ear, "I am going to have so much fun with you," before blindfolding me with the scarf.
After he knotted the scarf behind his head, his phone chirped and he said, "Yes boss." A few seconds passed and he said, "Understood. We'll be leaving in just a minute. We'll bring his car as well."
He then said to the linebacker, "Take him to the bedroom. Lay him on his back in the center of the blanket."
I was picked up and carried with ease a few feet and then was unceremoniously dumped onto a bed.
The older man spoke again, more to himself than to either me or his accomplice, "I do such good work don't I?"
His hands patted my pockets and he said, "The key must still be in the ignition. You get into his car and wait for me to start the RV, then we'll drive to the ranch."
