A Busy Night.
It's late, the vast majority of my Guests had gone away since more than an hour. The others, after had some chat sitting on the sofas located in the lounge that separates the old barn converted in a large dinning room from the atrium/reception, they have withdrawn to their rooms to enjoy the cool of this end of August's night.
And I, on the other hand, poor, so to speak, and happy, a lot!
, owner of this old farmhouse located in the Emilian Apennines, as well as excellent cook ... I'm in the kitchen to finish the last few things to tidy up and then, finally, I'm going to sleep in my bedroom.
In the meantime, there, in the dinning room, my dearest friend Elena after helping me throughout the evening to serve at the tables, after having cleared up everything, now, trying to make less noise as possible, is ending to set the tables for the breakfasts.
The night is quiet here and I think that it wouldn't ever more possible for me to live in a big town. When, suddenly, the metallic noise of an overturned bucket coming from the rear courtyard, breaks the silence.
Stupid dog!!
Or perhaps they are those fools of cats in heat that are chasing each other!!
Without thinking to much, I put my hand on the old ceramic switch that turn on the bulb underneath the small porch, I open the back door of the kitchen and I go out.
That's it !!
As I imagined a couple of buckets and brooms are spilled on the ground.
As I bent down to reorder them, a cool night breeze caresses my legs and accomplice to the fact that when I'm next at the stove, during hot summertime, I use to wear lightly, (now I'm dressing only a light-blue floral knee-length wrap-up cotton dress, a pair of white short cotton socks and vintage open-toed wooden-flat-clogs) I feel a sudden rush of cold that, coming up trough my back, radiates throughout my whole body.
Jeez! What cold wind! I think that the weather is going to change.
Two strong gloved hands grab me from behind.
One big hand, covering my mouth completely, prevents me from making any sound. I can't figure out what's going on and I have not yet understand the situation that, already, I find myself dragged into the kitchen.
The weight of a large male body crushes me onto the floor while, even before I realize, what appears to be a tightly rolled up sock is tucked at strength in my mouth.
I have no time to react when, two other hands, smaller and nimble, have already wrapped up my wrists with a few tight turns of rope.
They are tied at the small of my back and fastened to my waist with a couple of turns of rope. Others loops of ropes are wrapped around my elbows other forcing them one against the other into an uncomfortable position while, a strip of cloth and several turns of duct tape, are gagging me, preventing any effective call for help that I could emit.
With my head still crushed on the kitchen floor by the hand of the robber, with the corner of my eye, I can see the smaller and more agile robber that is going towards the door that lead to the former stables.
Cabbage!!
Only now I realize that in the house there is also Elena!!! I hope that she has been aware of their presence and she would be able to run away searching for help.
I can't finish worrying for my friend that I feel myself lifted by force, blindfolded without mercy and, suddenly, I find myself tied with my back forced against the sturdy leg of the old and bare massif table that dominates the middle of my kitchen.
I hear some noises coming from beyond the door.
A smothered mumphing, a couple of thumps, and little more.
I'm struggling like a mad, try yelling, kicking as strong as I can, I even try to move the massive piece of furniture to which I'm bound.
I dont get anything if not only a big sense of frustration and several ice-cold chills that shake my cold-sweat-covered body.
Footsteps.
The rope that imprisons my torso is loosened and after being placed with my back on the floor, I feel the usual powerful hands that grab my ankles.
Treated like a big sack of potatoes, I'm hauled by my feet throughout the Atrium up to the lounge. My back is hurting while I'm dragged on the terracotta floor tiles.
An hand takes off the blindfold from my eyes and a female voice tells me to be quiet and to don't make nonsense.
As soon as I can regain the sense of sight, I realize that I'm lying on the Lounge's large Persian carpet, close to a single black ballet flat that is turned upside down.
Some of the sofa's cushions are scattered all around and there is a certain disorder.
At the end, at the dim orange light that comes from a couple of tabletop abatjours I'm able to see Elena.
She lies on the floor at a couple of meters from me, next to the longue's large fireplace.
She's laying on her right side. Blindfolded, tied and gagged.
Her white shirt has slightly unbuttoned during the scuffle, and now her medium sized breasts, that are pushed forward by the ropes that are blocking her arms almost behind her body, are showing off, barely contained by a delicate white lace bra.
Her black "just-above-the-knees" stretch miniskirt rose along her thights but, luckly for her, the opaque 50 deniers black pantyhose that she is wearing is protecting her privacy (even if just only at a slightly degree) from too prying looks.
The female burglar crouches behind her and pulled off the blindfold.
My friend, at my sight, with an expression more amazed than scared, stares at me in amazement with her beautiful brown eyes wide opened.
She doesn't seem to notice that the woman, after being brought close to her feet and having removed the only shoe remained, has just overlapped and tied up firmly her crossed ankles and now, she is binding her legs above the knees.
Neither do I'm understanding very much what's happening that, in the meantime, the masked man turned me on my stomach and suddenly, I find my ankles tied up side by side. A long doubled rope is passed behind my neck, in front of my shoulders, under the armpits and then is knotted among the elbows behind my back and …
... in no time...
... my legs was folded up behind my back ...
... the rope is cinched among my feet, a sharp tug …
… my upper body arch back, the palms of my hands almost touch the heels of my feet ...
… and I'm tightly hogtied.
Elena, instead, is agitating vainly in the air the tips of her feet.
She lies on her back with her legs up in the air and the female outlaw is linking a long rope to the binding that already join her legs at thights level.
Then, pushing with the weight of her body, she folds up the girl's legs against the body, and after have passed the rope under the armpits, she pulls hard the two ends of the rope forcing Elena's knees against her chest, putting, this way, the poor waitress into a some kind of curled-up foetal position.
The evil woman seems to be proud of her vicious work and after two last tight knots, she stand proudly, with one foot resting on her balltied prey.
After a few moments, using only her leather-booted-feet, she turns Elena on the right flank and with a grin on her face she gives a pair of short, hard, slapps to her prisoner's helpless butt.
A deep male voice, with a tone somewhere between amused and mocking, tells us to relax and enjoy a bit of forced relax after all the hard work we do every day.
That said, the two villains, as they arrived, apparently, departed, leaving us here, alone and completely trussed-up and gagged, to await the arrival of the dawn.
Only now, just after the fear has leaved me, I begin to think in horror to what is going to occur in a few hours
It's highly probable that in the aftermath, when our Guests will arrive to have breakfast, they will found us still here, on the longue's floor, in this so awkward position, half-naked, in a mess and matted and tanned like stuffed turkeys.
What a shame!! And what an embarrassment!!! …
I can't imagine what is passing in Elena's mind, but regarding me, the oddest thing was that
despite being all bundled up in these bindings, so tight and so surprisingly comfortable, I am really relaxing myself.
I'm feeling like embraced by a whole series of strong male hands.
Defenseless but cuddled at the same time.
But what's even more embarrassing is that, I'm just realizing that, the sight of Helen, here, so close tor me, so tied and so helpless...
... it's shifting something inside me!
Hearing her moaning watching her slow writhing, observing the expressions of her beautiful eyes.
The sight of her hands with their long fingers that are trying to reach the knots, the wiggling of her pretty small stockinged-toes and the unmistakable sound of pantyhosed legs rubbing one against the other ...
… In short, although I was always "straight", briefly and without that I realize it ...
... I find rubbing myself on the soft Persian carpet.
So horny and aroused !!
