The Kidnapper (F/F) - Chapter 6 (with pics!)

[AlexUSA3]

The Kidnapper (F/F)
Chapter 1: The Kidnapper’s Friendship
Saturday, May 30, 2015

All right. Listen up. This ain’t a sob story. It’s not a drama either. It’s my version of the events that others might interpret differently, but it’s so special to me that I could cry over it in hindsight because it’s such a good story. It’s my version of the events that led my friend from the deepest depths of despair to being the woman she is today, a good Catholic with a sadistic enjoyment of bondage. You decide for yourself. I’m formatting things like I do because my friend who was my editor asked me to do this. I’m writing this while one kid takes a nap; another is in the play pen, and one is in the baby carrier on my chest. The fourth is out to lunch with my parents.

It starts with a girl named Felice Pryce. We were in prison together, and I don’t remember the day it happened. I just remember that I promised her I would find her on Facebook some day to send her a message. Well, I did it. I just wrote Hey, what’s up? I promised I’d reach out, and I hope we can meet in person someday. She responded two days later with her phone number. A week later, I was driving to Credit River, Minnesota.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pryce,” I said as I entered the home and felt like family.
“Please, Kendra, sit down,” Felice motioned, “Breakfast is almost done.”

The awkward origins of our friendship didn't matter. The Mudville Juvenile Detention Center is a place where lives fortunately often get a kickstart. Mine sure did, thanks to girls like Felice, a girl who recognized her own flaws, didn't point out other’s flaws, and respected advice. Unless it was unsolicited or dished out in a condescending manner. Then the sarcasm would flare.

I knew what Felice had done to end up in prison, but I didn’t really understand all of it. I was a bit desensitized to reality at that point in my life and focused on the good. When I got to go home, it was really hard for me to go back to the same abusive situation and not go back to a life of snorting rails and lying down under a tree in someone’s backyard. We all had issues that I could list, but we all chose to commit the actions that landed us in the Mudville Juvie. Now, I’m a best friend who can listen to all of her sorrows and joys and offer a comforting ear.

“Kendra, I know how you two met, but…,” Mr. Pryce was so nice, “How’d you become pals?”

That was a good question, and I don’t remember exactly what either of us said. I remember that I said I saw something innately good in Felice and that she said that she saw a different Kendra underneath the wounds I was still nursing at the time. I have a big sister and a little sister, and I have a little brother. She was an only child. Yet, we were both small and resilient! She’d lost her mom to cancer back in 2007, a devastating blow to both her and her dad.

Then we did Felice’s favorite thing— go for a walk in the woods. Here, the new me found God’s goodness surrounding us on all sides. I was just getting back into the groove of religion then, but Felice was raised in an open-minded agnostic background. She had only good things to say as I expressed such feelings, and I realized that we had so much in common despite the differences.

I was at one with God out here. I enjoyed it so much. Even back home in Mudville, I find peace in walks in the park with my closest confidantes. I felt that pang in my soul, though, while all of the trees shaded us in their awning, the flowers provided beautiful colors, the bees buzzed, and a host of birds sang above us. This was happiness, and it was an escape from suburban life. There was a tension in me though. I don’t want to get sidetracked, but it’s a story of love after all. Out here in nature, it was easy to remember that God is good and loves even former inmates. There’s a love story, but tragically too many love stories have a sad, sometimes heartrending, ending.

I had a true love that I lost too. Martin, my little brother, died of brain cancer when I was 13, just like Felice lost her mother to stomach cancer at 13. Martin was my only brother, the baby of our then big and happy family. That was when I first sought escapes from pain and questioned why I believed in God. It made no sense that my baby brother would die. He was eight. Robbed of his life by genetics. I was sick of burying my loved ones, and I still sometimes cry because it hurts me too much that he’s really gone. I loved Martin. Oh, how I loved you, baby brother! I’d harbored a grudge at God for years before I took to snorting rails, but here I felt comfort, as if my little brother still was with me. Maybe it was the reassurance that he was with God, and that God was still watching over me— nor did He abandon Martin. Life happens; God allows it but never leaves us to fight it alone.

“You know, Martin and I loved to go on walks together,” I murmured with a twinge of pain.

“Maybe someday you’ll get to do it again,” she kindly rubbed my back.

“No chance,” I choked on the tears forming, “Martin’s been dead for 7 years now.”

“I’m sorry,” we were both crying now… but we thankfully had happy memories.

We both lost loved ones to cancer. I comforted her in her mother’s death, and she comforted me in Martin’s death. Ironically, we both loved nature walks with our deceased loved ones. Felice had a strange uneasiness about her; I could feel a conflict within her, a yearning. It disturbed me that she seemed so distressed and confused. Emotions within her were tearing her apart, but she kept her poise for the time being. She took me to a specific spot she said was particularly special for a myriad of reasons, a spot overlooking the Credit River itself. It didn’t seem special to me; I knew it was a big part of why I was invited to visit. The more Felice talked, the more she started to squirm until I knew she was ready to confess something. I could tell she was either physically or mentally suffering. I kept looking across the river trying to see in my mind what could have transpired over there some years ago.

This spot, she explained, was her favorite spot to come with her mother. I could see why when it was such an idyllic spot, really. She sat here watching the river lazily pass by with her mom, and we sat down to watch the river lazily pass by with each other. I could feel something disrupting her peace; what a chilling feeling. I realized that there was much more to this spot. Her eyes had glazed over while staring at some point on the other side of the river; I strained my mind to stand in her shoes but found only ghosts of her past. Some trauma was living at this spot; whatever it was, she had not faced it since the traumatic day. She needed my love—now. I was here for her.

“Do you like your work? You said a mile back that you’re a bondage model?” Felice asked me, “Could I try it? You said you had an engagement with them. Could I come too?”

“It’s good work, at least. Honest. Maybe not the best, but it’s on my terms. I like the people a lot more than being tied up,” I admitted, “I have certain people I love who enjoy the sensation. I love them enough that I can engage in bondage, or tie-up games as some call them, with them,” I felt like my answer was inadequate, stupid, or outright nonsense, “You can come if you want.”

“That tree, across the river, right there. That’s where I brought Michelle when I kidnapped her. I told her that she was going to drop out of the class presidential race. At the time, I felt a rush— power coursing through my veins. I used handcuffs because I didn’t know how to bind a person, and I brought her home. Of course, Dad heard the commotion and figured it out, but I held her against her will for 10 hours that day while he was at work and some time afterwards.”

“Felice, why now? Why me?” I asked her while she cried.

“Because, Kendra, I see the peace you have. I saw the peace Mary-Ann and Ashley and so many others had in Pod F,” her tears grew more numerous, “And… I realize that… that I’m a sadist. I really can…,” her voice tightened, “get off on the thought… of consensually tying up a girl and subjecting them to torture. I would like to believe in God, but I’m struggling to do so and want to believe He’s real,” she couldn’t bring herself to look me in the eyes any longer.

Now, I’m not a warm fuzzy person— but I love my friends. When you go inside, you meet people with all sorts of stories. Some of my friends have been sexually assaulted; some of them have been held captive against their will; one survived a murder attempt; one was tortured by her father. When they cry, even if I play the tough girl routine and hold it in, I cry too. I’m a softy— just like another person in my life who I knew could be a source of healing to Felice.

I actually held Felice in my arms while she cried. She believed she was beyond redemption, but she had more hope than she realized. To believe her actions were monstrous was actually noble of her, and I knew a way to channel that energy into something safe, creative, and— I hoped— a bit therapeutic. What a captor she would be in films and games! It would be a healthy outlet for her to be in control, and it could be a way to teach her the importance of thinking of others too— God had given me a beautiful opportunity I couldn’t waste. I had the chance to change Felice’s life through TUGs and maybe, just maybe, start warming her heart up to God. I had to try it! I loved her too much! No one is too far away for God to reach while they’re still living, breathing, and thinking. I had the right friends to support Felice in exploring both faith and TUGs.

“Felice, I believe in you. I see someone great in you. C’mon,” I gazed into her sobbing eyes, “I have a cousin in Mudville who can help you. You. Will. Adore. Her. She’s softer than me.”

I spoke, of course, of my cousin Jenny. We’re going to talk about her a lot when the day comes a few short paragraphs from now. Mary-Ann Voisin, Ashley Calland, Jenny Kristensen, and Steve and Marcy Moreau are all people I still call my friends, and it was time for Felice to meet some of them. I knew that this would give Felice income, friendship, and a safe outlet for her desires.

Hearing that I believed in her shifted the mood. She felt that hope only because she trusted me; I didn’t feel very trustworthy considering I used to steal money from my parents to buy coke. I was a new person, but the old me wasn’t too far in the past. My arrest was in November 2012, or less than 3 years before this. Her shaking stopped, and she regained her composure.

“I… I want you to talk to someone. We’ll go sit in the car and call her, OK?” I asked Felice.

That’s when I called my cousin Jenny; she was just the kind of person Felice needed in her life. I sound like a savage trying to sick a self-admitted sadist on Jenny, but there was a purpose! Hear me out, OK? I knew Jenny wouldn’t fear Felice, and I knew she would patiently lay down all the rules to Felice as well. Together, she and I could teach Felice how to healthily explore herself in a respectful and consensual manner. I believed we could get through to her—hell, I knew it! It was my only chance to change the life of someone who had no one.

“Did Jenny really say ‘Love you both’ at the end?” Felice asked me with a composed laugh.

“Yes, Felice, Jenny really said that. That’s the kind of person she is,” I patted her on the arm.

I knew I could count on Jenny for anything.

TO BE CONTINUED

[hafnermg]

The start of another personal journey for growth!! I look forward to it!!

[LunaDog]

That makes two of us.

[AlexUSA3]

The start of another personal journey for growth!! I look forward to it!!

That makes two of us.

My apologies for keeping everyone waiting on the next installment of this tale! It's been written for months, and I just plumb forgot!

Chapter 2: The Kidnapper's TUG Debut
Thursday, June 04, 2015

Of course Jenny understood. Jenny loves me! Like, she really, really loves me as if I'm a sister and not a cousin. The resemblance between us helps so much, but she's energetic and very bouncy while I'm more laid back. We think a lot alike when calm, and we have an unwavering dedication to others. That's why I needed her help with Felice. I wanted to help. Augggghhhh!

Unlike Jenny, I hate being warm and fuzzy like this. I'm like her. I love people. Even when I'd be spaced out from a rail, I wanted to be able to love my family better, and my inability to handle the rejection led to a meltdown. I wanted to have meaning, and the coke was the only thing that I found helped me forget the pain of unreturned affections. I loved Mom, Dad, and both my sisters, and to have them just start treating me like trash—well, I decided I must be trash.

"Jenny, you have to understand Felice is different," I denied that she understood me, "She's got a devilish streak that's going to enjoy this," I said it all for the third or fourth time, "And I—"

"Kenny, cousin… stop fretting… I talked to other people who knew her already."

I looked into her eyes and suddenly realized that she never stopped loving me for a heartbeat just because I went to prison. She really was, and still is a Gangsta Princess. More than that, she was a Godsend in my life and in many others. I never forgot her visits when I was inside or trying to meet her at the park when I wore the ankle monitor. Never did she leave my side, but then…

Yes, I was crying. I needed my cousin. This story isn't only about Felice; it's my story too. That cry felt so good. I never felt so overwhelmed by love before, and actually I haven't felt like that since then. That moment was my spiritual reawakening. I knew my friends had me on the right path. It was just the start, and rarely was I so vulnerable—but this was bouncy Jenny, after all. I didn't have to put up the tough girl routine in front of this bundle of love. People so frequently pick on Jenny for her size not realizing that I'm even smaller!

"Felice, meet my cousin Jenny, the Gangsta Princess in the flesh. Jenny, Felice, pro kidnapper."
"Oh, just positively charmed!" Felice extended a hand to shake, "Kendra adores you!"
"Glad to meet you, Felice!" Jenny just took the hug anyway, "You have a good spirit in you."
"Actually, no, I'm kind of a sick f-ck, and I—" Felice stammered at the awkwardness.
"No, no, no," my cousin cut her off, "Knowing what's right and wrong means you're not sick."
"You're so freaking happy. Like proof," my friend shrank a little, "there must be a loving God."
"Felice, my home is your home. What do you like to drink?" the Gangsta Princess was so sweet.
"Oh," the brunette was overwhelmed by this, "I love Pepsi."

Jenny could see it. Felice was in overload. She kindly put the soda in front of Felice and did the best thing she could do—absolutely nothing. We sat there in silence, quiet understanding, while Felice struggled, both with the overwhelming feelings aroused in her by Jenny and with her own past. Jenny possibly judged, but even her harshest judgments didn't stop her unconditional love and affection towards anyone. That's what made her perfect to be Felice's introduction to TUGs.

Here we were, the meeting of the midget society at which Felice was the giant, a mammoth 5'2". Jenny and I both looked like Gangsta Princesses, but only Jenny is one. I'm no Princess. Jenny and I both had red gym shorts, a testament to a common love of physical fitness. She had a lime green tank top, a testament to her blue-yellow colorblindness; I wore a blue tank t-shirt because I could. We both had red bandana headbands, a testament to our unique pasts that were beautifully blended into the Cool Girls' Club. Both of us had long brown-blonde hair worn in a pretty braid, but Jenny's had a brown scrunchie while mine was blue. We both wore red crew socks and white canvas sneakers. She has blue eyes, and I have brown eyes.

There I got all the lame physical crap out of the way. We watched Felice slowly take a drink of her soda. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and Jenny kindly held her hand out with a gentleness that could be felt by all. Felice never turned her head. She only rolled her eyes down to see Jenny's offer before reaching out and graspingJenny's hand. Gangsta Princess had done it again, breaking down barriers between those who felt forsaken and hopeless and showing them a beautiful truth: that all can be redeemed so long as their minds aren't seared beyond repair.

"Everywhere I go, people whisper, ‘That's the girl who kidnapped Michelle.' Credit River is just a small town," Felice spoke in a way that showed the both behavior startled and deeply impacted her, "Everyone knows me. And they hate me. No forgiveness exists there."

"I forgive you," Jenny's happy, squeaky voice and bright smile took over, and then she paused in a moment of deep thought, "Are you sorry for what you did to Michelle?"

"Of course I am," Felice sighed, "I don't know why I did such an inhumane thing, but I… The only unconditional love I know… Comes from Dad, Kenny, and you. Why you two?"

"Because that's how Jesus loves us… how I love Kenny… how Cool Girls' love because it's right," Jenny's face lit up with excitement at her own words, "It's a vow we take as Cool Girls," she reached down into a bag and grabbed a piece of rope, "And Cool Girls love TUGs."

"Have you ever suffered?" Felice was brilliantly philosophical, "Been in pain? Wondered why it had to be this way?" Felice turned and looked into Jenny's eyes with a piercing, unjudging gaze, "Of course you have, but have you? Are you aware?"

Jenny let go of Felice's hand and ran over to the fireplace mantle. She grabbed pictures off the mantle and brought them over to Felice. I could never forget my late cousin, Jenny's big brother, and Jenny's best friend is the Gangsta Queen to Jenny's Princess status. She explained how she still carries the agonized pain and how his memory lives on in subtle ways, like her bizarre love for all things automotive and in her middle name. She explained the joy of her best friend being in her life since shortly after her brother's death, and the pain of finding out just a month before the present that her best friend was a victim of both physical and sexual abuse from her father and brothers and that such had been happening for 7 years. Jenny had indeed suffered.

"Then, Jenny, how about you tie me and Kendra," Felice asked with trepidation, "together?"

Now the curtains are drawn. My first scene as a bondage model was in 2014. It's 2025, and it's time for the revelation everyone knew was true despite my verbal denials: I do love being bound and gagged because it is so freeing to just let go and fall back into my friend's arms like in the trust routine. I just don't like the actual physical aspects. I have my preferences, but it's not the bondage itself that I love. That's why I love dirty sock gags, being locked in that box my best friend built and dubbed The Human Solar Cooker, smothering, choking, getting a good beating, being forced to climax or being denied climax, and so many other things. It's that psychological aspect, the exchange of control. Sure, I like being ziptied best, but besides that it's not about the restraint itself as much as being restrained. Gagged. Tortured. And trusting. With no trust aspect, there's no enjoyment. No, I don't love bondage, but I love TUGs.

That's why I brought Felice to Jenny. No judgment came, but love overflowed. Jenny gets that I enjoy TUGS, not bondage, so we can play like it's a game. No drama except whatever we all agree is desirable to us. No pressure. Only as much sexualization as we desire. I know some of my friends tease me about things, but it's hard to admit to something in the heat of a moment where they can easily misconstrue, misinterpret, or misunderstand your words. Here, with Jenny, I can lean back, enjoy having my elbows torqued together behind my back, and savor the flavors of her disgusting socks when I know she just came back from a 10 mile run.

One-by-one, pieces of Jenny's awesome pink rope tied us up. Each of us got the same, me first and Felice second. The wrists tied together behind our backs; the tight elbow binding; waist and crotch ropes that Jenny so innocently didn't realize were sexualized (and we didn't tell her so she wouldn't stop doing it!), breast harnesses that made us feel so proud of our femininity, and ropes going up our legs at our ankles, below and above our knees, and at our upper thighs. Wonderful stuff from the Gangsta Princess. She knew me too well; she took off her sneakers and talked.

"Gangsta Jewel, I read your mind," she leaned me back on the sofa and put one of her stocking feet on my nose and sat on me to hold me down, "I did a half-marathon today. Well?"

"It smells like it. Now, cousin, I love you, but man these are still wet even!" I grimaced, "They'd better go back where they belong, in your sweaty sneakers," I was playfully egging her on now.

"Oh, come on, pretty Kenny," she kept following my nose with her feet, "Jeg elsker dig, men lad være med at bevæge hovedet," which means, "I love you, but quit moving your head!"

"Lad være med at lugte mig til at dufte til dine lækre sokker," I responded to her, which likewise meant, "Quit forcing me to smell your yummy socks."

"Even better, cousin," Jenny took off her socks, "Why don't you eat them since they're yummy?"

"Now, Jenny don't doommmmpph!" the horrible, salty flavors tasted like a half-marathon, too.

"There, there, sweetie," she used one hand to hold the socks in my mouth while she rummaged in her bag before pulling out a mostly empty roll of pink duct tape, "This should make you nice and quiet now," she wrapped the tape several times around my head, but she didn't stop, first putting one of those smelly sneaker's opening over my nose, and then she wrapped a few more times and broke the tape off, "There, I know it's just what you wanted," and she kissed me on the forehead.

I now was free to sit up, but Jenny was too damn fast for me. In a flash, I was on my stomach on the coffee table, and she was hogtying me from my ankles to my elbows. I was a beloved cousin and a good friend in one; she didn't spare me a thing. That little shrimp did it like she had played TUGs for years… because she had, ha ha! I think it's a good time to wax poetic about Jenny for a moment because Felice is just sitting there, shrinking back in a mix of fear and confusion.

Jenny and I come from a jumbo family of Danish immigrants where everyone has 3-5 kids by the time they're 30, often having the first as a teenage adult. The result is dozens of relations, and an ability to speak fluent Danish because we knew many of our great-great-grandparents. We are actually second cousins, but we look so much alike and even like many of the same things. I can still remember kind of lying to Jenny about the bruises on my body from the beatings that I'd get from my parents and sisters during my house arrest period. That time was really, really hard on me, and it took me from soft, cuddly, and cute like Jenny and made me a curmudgeon.

Jenny introduced me to running during this time of my life, and what a difference it made. She is so innocent she bought the lies about my bruises, and it was only later she knew the truth. It was more self-preservation, because I didn't want her to worry about me or for word to get around to other relations, leading to more savagery for me. Once I was out of there, she soon learned. The worst 18 months of my life were then, and thank you Jenny for being there for me. Cousin, I am sorry, but I wasn't at the 2013 Kristensen Christmas bash because I was locked in a cage. It beat being locked in the closet. Oh, Jenny, how badly I needed your hugs back then. Now to Felice.

"Felice, welcome to love," Jenny grinned, "Normally, I prefer Kenny's spot. What'll it be?"

"What'll what be?" Jenny's warmth alleviates Felice's shock, "I'm tied up already."

"The gag, Miss Pryce," Jenny sat next to Felice and squeezed her, "When was your last hug?"

"I'm not a hugger, but the last one like that was… many years ago," Felice admitted, "What do you use for gags? Obviously half-marathon socks," she chuckled, "But besides that?"

"Homemade ball gags. Clean socks. Bandanas. Tapes. Vet wrap," Jenny gave the options.

"All right, all right… Let's just be stupid," Felice blushed, "Gimme Kendra's socks."

Jenny took my sneakers and socks off my feet as if this were a Michelin 5-star restaurant and not a pair of dirty socks of my own feet because I ran a 5K this morning. Not bad for a girl who had to spend one Christmas crated like a dog and New Year's chained to her bed, huh? Between that and Jenny, it's no wonder bandanas are part of my daily wardrobe. Unlike me, Felice welcomed my socks with open arms and was rewarded by having her lips sealed with double-sided tape and a red bandana OTM gag. Jenny just as quickly and professionally laid Felice on her stomach on the sofa and hogtied her from her ankles to her wrists.

"Felice, I like you. You're not scared of the unknown once you're not alone. You trust us."

Jenny could not have said it better. Felice really did trust us. A hogtie with a dirty sock gag was a rough first game. The look on our friend's face while she explored her TUG debut said every last word: she loved and hated my socks. It was a face that said "This is sooooo humiliating, but I love it even though it's absolutely horrible." We were safe, we were loved, and we were unable to do anything about it; Felice and I had it really good. Seriously! What could be better than my mouth serving as a cauldron pot for a yummy soup in which my saliva was the liquid and Jenny's socks were the solids? It was a glorious smell, too; thank you for the shoe, cousin.

What could be better than to be wrapped in a hug from which I cannot escape? Jenny always has a glow in her eyes when the topic of TUGs comes up. She has an almost spastic love of them but is able to control that love so much that she can easily go days without thinking about them with the right circumstances. She had such a pure, innocent love of them. Since this story the married Jenny who has 2 kids and is expecting her third now allows some mild breathplay, orgasms, and some nudity. Yet she still plays within strict rules of games and friendship, even with her own husband! I can't say I've changed that much over the years, either; I just have less time for this or even for bondage modeling. But that's what this story's about: TUGs and modeling!

"Now, Felice, you have to experience the best part," Jenny playfully untied Felice's combat boot laces, "The part that's even better than what I've done to Kenny. I'm sure you'll like it!"

I never told you Felice's outfit, did I? Felice looked like a tough girl: black. Combat boots, crew socks, cargo pants, a tank top, and even the scrunchie that held her ponytail. She was a bundle of joy with those piercing brown eyes. She understood guilt, sadness, loss, and rejection, and today was a wonderful lesson in redemption, happiness, friendship, and love. She squirmed a lot, but a TUG rookie had no chance of escaping elbow bondage let alone bondage at the hands of a calm, happy, playful, dominant Jenny.

A rarity: dominant Jenny! We usually call her a "rope bunny" because she likes being bound and gagged and hopping around like a bunny in her helpless state. Today was in that 10% of days in which control thrilled her. It was with a playful smile that she removed Felice's socks, but it was with a mischievous grin that she used brown twine to tie Felice's big toes together; of course she tied my big toes, too! This is Jenny, not some rookie or some softie. She likes her TUGs playful yet physically intense. That's why Felice's nose was covered with her own socks and five layers of white vet wrap. Jenny wanted Felice to have the full experience, and that was about to come.

"Y'know," Jenny crouched in between us and kissed us each on the cheek, "Friendship is sweet, but tickling," she stroked our cheeks, "is amazing. I know you agree, Kenny. Shall we?"

Tickle torture from Jenny is amazing. Trust me. Look, this story's in June 2015; I first played an actual TUG with Jenny only in the prior May, and my bondage modeling debut was in the prior December. Being cousins and friends, we have jumped each other for tickling over the years. I knew Jenny co-founded the CGC in 2011 or around then because she was always bugging me to join them because she loved me and wanted me to be part of her circle of friendship. How much I regret not joining! But, I ended up meeting all the CGC through the Cool Girl who also went to prison; that girl was my drug dealer and someone you will also meet in the next chapter.

Then again, this is good too, really. Getting tickled senseless. Laughing into dirty socks. Taking nasty sniffs of dirty socks and sneakers and being helpless. There it is: the story of Felice's TUG debut, of life after my release from prison, of a wonderful cousin whose love changed lives, and of why I think, like Jenny, TUGs are way better than bondage. We had a hasty release when we found out Jenny's mom was coming home early, but we had a good time.

In the next chapter, Felice will make her bondage modeling debut. See you then!

TO BE CONTINUED

[hafnermg]

Ooh a rare Jenny turn at kidnapper!! Great update!!

[LunaDog]

TO BE CONTINUED

Sure hope so!

[Caesar73]

All right. Listen up. This ain’t a sob story. It’s not a drama either. It’s my version of the events that others might interpret differently, but it’s so special to me that I could cry over it in hindsight because it’s such a good story. It’s my version of the events that led my friend from the deepest depths of despair to being the woman she is today, a good Catholic with a sadistic enjoyment of bondage. You decide for yourself. I’m formatting things like I do because my friend who was my editor asked me to do this. I’m writing this while one kid takes a nap; another is in the play pen, and one is in the baby carrier on my chest. The fourth is out to lunch with my parents.

I do like the first Paragraph of this Tale. First Sentences, first Paragrphs have an important Function in any Narative. This one is no different. In this first Sentences the Stage is set for what to follow. A Journey to Reconcilliation.

Well done @AlexUSA3

[AlexUSA3]

Ooh a rare Jenny turn at kidnapper!! Great update!!

Yes, it seemed to make perfect sense to have Jenny be the kidnapper for Felice's TUG debut because she's sweet and caring.

Sure hope so!

There are going to be six chapters in all, and I hope you will enjoy Felice's transformation over that time.

I do like the first Paragraph of this Tale. First Sentences, first Paragrphs have an important Function in any Narative. This one is no different. In this first Sentences the Stage is set for what to follow. A Journey to Reconcilliation.

I do try to open with a bang so that things are as immersive as possible.

Chapter 3: The Kidnapper's Modeling Debut
Sunday, June 07, 2015

I love nothing more than coffee and donuts. Seriously. Not pie. Not cake. Not dessert (except Jenny's tiramisu that she learned to make from her sister-in-law). Not cookies. Donuts. Coffee. As a felon bearing the mark of Cain forever, job opportunities were few and far between. It was through my drug dealer that I found a job that I could do without flunking a background check.

"Heyyyyyyyy, Hannah. Sit down and don't shut up," I motioned for her in the Dunkin' Donuts.

"Well, the gang's all here!" Hannah Larsson let out a boisterous laugh when she saw us.

Yes, we were all here. I was here, and my housemates were here. Mary-Ann Voisin and Ashley Calland. Two girls with their own stories. As awkward as it was, Mary-Ann and I had become the ex-inmate legal guardians of our fellow inmate, Ashley, for the month timeframe in between her release and her 18th birthday, which was going to happen in just 6 days. We embraced it as best friends, and Ashley became the cute, lovable tragedy of the inhumanity of corruption.

"Believe me, coffee is a better source of energy than snortin' rails," I joked to Hannah.

"It's hard to believe that this girl used to be the grouch in withdrawal!" Mary grabbed me by the shoulders and playfully shook me, "Now she's just a grouch who sees a bright future for us!"

Mary-Ann was so much taller than me, a gigantic 5'7½"! She towered over me, and her hair was just insanely curly and like a brown bush on her head. What a kind smile and loving brown eyes she has, too! Oh, you could just feel the love come out of her just like Jenny, but Mary-Ann had a miserable life that sometimes shows even today in her unusual approaches to life. My Mary!

Hannah and Ashley had a beautiful connection. Hannah was lucky: her felony was expunged at 18 for not getting formally charged again. Ashley was a felon, but her imprisonment ended with adulthood and with it the weight of the felony. Mary-Ann never had one. Me? Six in the clink and 24 with an ankle monitor that got reduced to 21 with good behavior. I had a ton of snow on me when I got busted. To put it bluntly, my life was completely f-cked, and Hannah saved me. I find it ironic that I found salvation through the girl who sold me the material that ruined me.

"Do you enjoy working with Ashley as much as she enjoys working with you?" I asked Hannah.

"Ha ha, yeah," she grinned and leaned back while holding a coffee in one hand and a donut in the other, "I really do love it. I love her. Let's face it: Maddy and I always wanted a little sister."

Maddy. Ha! Hannah, you were a lovable pervert back then! Mary-Ann = M.A. ("Ma"). Mary has, as Hannah calls them, "wonderful 34DD squishy French titties". M.A. + 34DD = M.A.DD = Mad-D = Maddy. Not bad for a girl who absolutely loathed algebra in school! Hannah and I both hated algebra, but Hannah was smart enough to kick algebra's arse anyway. That's a funny story, but it's a good one too. Anyway, you get the idea: we're a tight-knit circle here.

Ashley and Hannah had to go to work at Best Buy today. They sat there, looking so cute with their Best Buy uniforms, even if Ashley was 6 days shy of 18. Her story comes later in this tale of friendship and affection. She was silent on this occasion, and the revelation was about to be made in a week as to why she was the way she was. Hannah, Ash, and I had a pact, too. After Ash turned 18, I was getting my wrists tattooed while Hannah and Ash got their navels pierced. On this note, I move away from Ashley and Hannah and focus on Mary. She and I hopped in the big white old Chevy SUV that Mary had bought with the kind help of her paternal relations.

"OK, Maddy Big Tits," I said and almost snorted in laughter, "Geez, Hannah, what a sicko you are to come up with that nickname!" I howled in a loud laugh, "Let's go see the Moreau's."

"Hey, now!" she drove out of the parking lot with a giggle, "Remember what I've done for you!"

How could I forget? I couldn't forget! There's no forgetting what she did for me. The day that the ankle monitor came off, she drove to my house at 1 AM. I passed all of my belongings out the window to her in the icy cold of February in Minnesota (Mudville is a small town east of Savage, in Scott County) and soon slipped out the window behind her. Ah, love and warmth!

"MarrrrRRRYYYYYYYY!" I called her name so many times during our 24 months as bedmates although at the time of this story it had been only 1 month. To make a long story short, we had a 2 bedroom home, and the state demanded Ashley have a bedroom to herself. Simple enough for two straight girls, actually. We shared a full bed in Mary's bedroom. Mary liked waking me up by hand gagging me and wrapping an arm around me; she always giggled at my reactions. I'm glad to say that we didn't waste an opportunity to love each other then. We still love each other, but it's a little different now with all of us: me, Mary, Ashley, and Hannah all being married.

The Moreau house was like an escape where we got paid just to be beautiful. OK, maybe being a bondage model wasn't the best work. Adult entertainment, even when it's the thrill of being a damsel-in-distress, is still pornography, nude or not, because people buy it with dirty intentions. I have to admit that, but I've met enough people who just enjoy bondage or TUGs to say that, in my opinion, it's their personal problem if that's what they do with my photos, videos, and gag talk. Please, if you're one of those folks, go see a psychiatrist. Like the one couple who schmoozed and dined with the Moreau's, acting nice and all that crap. It turned out the wife had the hots for me and wanted to screw me; needless to say, Steve saw that and drove them off.

Such gray areas are what we acknowledge these days with Mary-Ann owning her own studio in Maddy Tied Her. We do that which makes us comfortable, much like the Moreau's never did anything with which they weren't comfortable or with which the model wasn't comfortable. Ha ha! Thank you, Hannah! I got the grammar right on that one. Anyway, where was I? I'm using a voice dictation machine and—Mary-Ann Elizabeth Gentry, don't do that! Sorry, that's my daughter causing havoc because she's only 6 years old and… Michael, don't put that in your mouth! I'm really sorry. I'm taking off this headset. One paragraph, and the kids start on me.

So, yeah, right. Steve and Marcy Moreau. Some girls wouldn't allow ball gags to be used; Steve allowed that. Won't let your breasts be exposed? Fine. I'm all about the damsel-in-distress side of it all, not the "Ooh, creepy man has me" like so many studios produce, but I admit that I made a lot of films that I regret making. Not for the Moreau's, though. It's a moral gray area, even for us as Roman Catholics, and that's why we mostly focus on power dynamics, drama, and such. It is time to focus on Felice's story though, because this is about her and not me, Steve, or Mary!

"Kendra," this time Felice hugged me without me making the first motion, "Good to see you."
"Been a long time you saw this girl, too," I pointed to Mary-Ann, "She's excited for today!"
"Ahhh, Maddy Voisin, I… I finally get to touch you," Felice said with incredible happiness.
"Come here!" Mary-Ann then squeezed Felice in a tight, affectionate hug, "Cute teddy bear."
"Me, a teddy bear? I'm a kidnapper, Mary-Ann, not exactly cuddles and love," she blushed.
"Former criminal. Now!" Mary-Ann explained, "A good person! Watch and learn!"
"Wait, wait," Felice stopped her right there, "I want to go first, if that's OK."

Felice stepped into her modeling debut without fear, allowing Marcy Moreau to tie her up while maintaining her confidence. For her first scene, Marcy tied Felice's arms together behind her back in three places, which is a lot for a newbie who just found out the other day that she's able to handle elbow ties. Marcy wrapped Felice's fingers in duct tape, too, and tied her legs at her ankles, knees, and mid-thigh. It was an adventurous first time in bondage!

The outfit was so cute on her! I just loved the white knee socks, the red miniskirt, the matching red heels, and the white long-sleeved blouse. She looked so adorable dressed like that, although I realized that formal clothing was completely foreign to her. The best part was her confidence in her position; she looked ready to rule the world. Then the red bandana cleave gagged her.

So it happened. Felice's first photo shoot with her own name: "Roxanne Rutledge." I liked her choice of name; it sounded grounded and emotionally confident. She had no fears, either, which I'd always admired about her. She's the girl to ask to kill spiders, to chase frogs, and even to go into that corner of the basement that always gives you the willies.

She allowed Marcy to blindfold her with a long scarf, and she even allowed her bust to come out to play. She struggled for a few shots, and while Steve adjusted the camera he even encouraged me to go over and fondle her. Thus, Roxanne Rutledge made her film debut, too, squealing tons while I just helped myself to her situation. What fun! I already knew it—I loved Felice. When I love someone, I have so much more fun making a scene with them, and I enjoyed this one.

"Well, Kendra," Felice said to me while posing nude for cheesecake shots, "I like my new job."



With total confidence, Felice strode to the closet and chose her next wardrobe, or some ensemble that mocked a wardrobe. She put on skin tone pantyhose, white heels, a white miniskirt slip, and a white bra. That was it. As funny as it sounds, that was all she did. She tottered on the heels as she hadn't much experience wearing them, but she accepted it.

This one was a straight photo shoot without video, so no stuffing under the strips of duct tape for her gag. Her legs were tied at her ankles, shins, and lower and mid thighs. Her arms were bound in the same three spots as before, wrists and either side of her elbows. Then the photos began to be snapped one by one, but then Marcy came over and unhitched the bra to expose Felice. A few photos followed, but Marcy appeared again in order to manhandle Felice. Foot shots finished it.



"Feeling your Moreau status threatened yet?" Mary playfully asked me right there.

"Get out of town. There's room for all of us in this operation!" I cackled at that statement.

Felice kept the same pair of pantyhose. Frankly, they looked beautiful on her, and she thrived on Steve's compliments and Marcy's motherly management. When Marcy was the one in charge of the girls, she handled them with almost maternal care or like a trusted mentor. She was quite the dominatrix for Steve's photography. Even Marcy had compliments for Felice's choice and style.

A plaid skirt, red curved-neck blouse, and red heels were the next outfit for Felice. I know I'm a little dry here, but it's because I didn't want to disturb the scene. Instead, I was sitting down with the best friend I could ever have, my beloved Mary Voisin. Maybe it was because she was sitting on a chair and brutally handgagging me at the moment while giggling. I didn't mind. I love her.

Felice's arms were bound above the elbows again and at the wrists as usual, but the mid forearm bondage was skipped. Even the leg bondage was simplified with one rope at the ankles and one above the knees. Instead, Felice got a simple harness with ropes above and below her boobs. A white bandana cleave gagged her, and she looked cute like that with her brown hair scattered on her body while she sat on an inverted plastic crate.

It took all of 9 pictures for Felice to discard the red heels. What a shame. She looked so sweet and innocent with them! Eh, I'd rather see her stocking feet as well. I wanted to tickle her feet so badly. It took all of 19 photos for Marcy to come and check the bondage and the gag, too, and she reknotted the gag for real before giving Felice a stern remonstration for the camera. Then the crate disappeared for some more photos before Marcy appeared one last time. A quick 3 minute video of Felice struggling and gag talking followed to close out an adorable moment we all were going to remember forever, the day Felice Pryce realized she wasn't the monster she thought she was. It was the day that Felice began to believe in a higher power, in trust, and in friendship.



"I'm going to go pick up the pizza. Kendra, take care of your friend," Marcy smiled at me.

"Oh, all right," I sprang into action and saw my opportunity, "Well, Felice, how do you feel?"

"I feel safe, to explore myself, the bondage, the interpersonal dynamics. I'm a child here," her eyes glowed with happiness, "I feel appreciated like I do only with your friends or at home."

"Then you've discovered the real Steve and Marcy Moreau," I felt compelled to hug her.

"Kendra," Mary-Ann smiled at us, "I remember the day you arrived in Pod F. It's so good to see you really becoming the person I always knew you could be!"

"She's onto something," Steve contributed, too, "Kendra, you've changed since we met, and for the better in all regards. You've become someone I trust. How'd you 3 girls like to go to a car show with me on the 4th of July? We'll do the show and get ice cream afterwards."

"That sounds like fun to me!" I said to that, and all my friends agreed with me with happy nods.

The matte red ball gag was perfect in Felice's mouth. What a jump, right? Well, she put on this shiny leopard print spaghetti strap top, a black A-cut miniskirt, and black high heels. She wore it with confidence, with a smile, with pleasure, with sensuality, with joy, with style, and with calm. It was everything a bold, confident woman should be. She was 6 months older than Mary and I, and sometimes it was hard to realize with how she could play like a child and pose like a lady.

"Mmmmmmmmm!" she sensually groaned into the ball gag and deliberately made herself drool.

She could take the elbow bondage and loved it, so I tied her elbows again, but this time I added a connection between her elbows and wrists. I tied her legs at her ankles, shins, and thighs, and I seated her on a metal folding chair for variety. I stepped back, and I left it all to Steve and Felice to sort out while standing beside our employer. Want to know something funny? I'm sitting here as a 30 year old mother of 4, and, except for one attempt at producing my own foot fetish videos (before I realized I just had a bizarre kink for foot elements in TUGs and wasn't actually turned on by feet), have only earned money through bondage modeling. It's the only job I've ever had!

Felice knew how to play the damsel-in-distress so well, and she did it to absolute perfection. It was a genuine treat on display before our eyes here in the Moreau's basement. And then came the fun: pulling out her breasts for the camera to capture. Eventually, I took the chair away, and we finished the scene with a big smile on Felice's face as she held the ball gag for a pinup shot.



"Kendra," Felice said to me privately, in the dressing room while putting her own clothes on, "Is it OK if I… I'd enjoy… I mean… May we go visit your cousin again? I… You know I gave her my number, and she texted me the cutest thing…," she showed me a text that was classic Jenny.

Hi, Felice! I enjoyed our playdate so much! Would you and Kenny come over after work? it said, followed by a bunch of emojis, and then, You're a good person, and God loves you!

"You want to go see Jenny. You, me, and Mary will go see Jenny," I responded, and then, later, as we ate pizza, I asked my own question in front of the Moreau's, "Well, Felice, how was it?"

"Let's just say I'm very curious," she mused, "To see how you and Mary-Ann handle being the ones who are bound and gagged. I'd love to bring a nice, wide pizza paddle into the mix, too."

"Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Mary said in a fake deep voice, "We got a bad girl over here, Steve."

"Let's see how she reacts to being on the floor as the observer first," he laughed quite loudly.

"I'm curious about all of this. Kendra's shown me something fun, honest, and that happens to be a good source of income, too," Felice smiled, "I'm eager to learn more about what you all do."

It was going to be a fun afternoon portion of the program with me and Mary being the center of attention in the next chapter of The Kidnapper.

TO BE CONTINUED

[Caesar73]

Fantastic Chapter! Looking forward to the next Chapter!

[AlexUSA3]

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue, @JohnnyRockets

I apparently never tagged a soul on this story, hence the lack of readers!

Chapter 4: The Kidnapper's New Friends
Sunday, June 07, 2015

I bet you thought that title referred to me and Mary-Ann, right? Well, you're wrong. I meant to refer to Steve and Marcy Moreau. If you wished to be such, you became a daughter the moment you stepped into their house, and they would shield you in their love from harm, spoil you with a pleasant surprise, and treat you as a long lost friend. That's what many before us discovered, and it's something that we learned to apply later when Mary founded Maddy Tied Her. But, it was clear there were boundaries, and Moreau's weren't about to chase after you if you decided to quietly disappear from their lives.

Out of us all, no one enjoyed the dress-up aspect of the job more than Mary. For her first scene of the day, Marcy suggested a pleated plaid skirt, and Mary added a red spaghetti strap to beg for her breasts to be pulled out, and she naturally didn't wear a bra. Bras were rare in this basement. Mary's wild brown curls were pulled up into a bun, the almost-skin tone pantyhose brought extra pizzazz . It was time to transform Mary-Ann Voisin into Maddy Vee, damsel-in-distress!

"Am I gorgeous yet?" Mary asked us all while Marcy tightly bound her wrists and elbows.

"I'd enjoy bringing those… I can't remember…," Felice mused, "Those large, sumptuous breasts out to play. How big are they again? I only remember the DD part."

"Oh, Felice, you're talking like a playful girl now," Marcy giggled, "If you're good, I'll let you bring them out to play," she wagged a finger, "Behave yourself, Miss Pryce."

I could see a playful thirst in Felice's eyes. The more she witnessed from the industry, the more she wanted to be a part of it in a good way. She saw here a safe outlet for all of those strange and seemingly taboo desires of her heart. It was unusual for Marcy to tie elbows so tightly, but Mary could handle it. Of course the three classic leg positions followed with long ropes that wrapped Mary's legs many times before the clothesline was cinched to keep her imprisoned. Mary! Oh, my sweet friend, how beautiful you were with a big red ball gag in your mouth. Tighten it really well, Marcy, because we don't want Mary getting away from us!

Ahhhh… Mary, how we love each other! I'm sitting here typing about my best friend Mary-Ann Elizabeth Voisin Jamison while my daughter Mary-Ann Elizabeth Gentry takes a nap in my arms while I sit on the sofa. Let's get into Mary's moment of beauty because she really is a beautiful young woman, inside and out. Oh, Mary, you are so precious to me! Let's get into things.

"Helll -eeeeee!" Mary started working herself into the right mentality for the photoshoot.

And so the photoshoot began with a brilliant look of distress and having been kidnapped upon a beautiful young French woman's face. Doesn't that big matte red ball gag look gorgeous when it is jammed in her mouth? I love the look of it, and I never get sick of seeing it used on my friend Mary or any other friend for that matter! Mary… sigh… Oh, Mary, I love you so much that I am emailing you while typing this story up to get your opinion. C'mon, Mary, it's 2025. Time to get a smartphone so you can text me while I tell my readers about our fun from ten years ago!

Mary looked up and away towards an imaginary kidnapper holding her hostage for nefarious and hilarious purposes while Steve captured shot after shot. How convincing Mary could be! She is a delight even still when she's the damsel-in-distress, and Felice's prior comments about desiring a paddle were so spot on at the moment. That wasn't for a Tied After Class style scene, but that wasn't a make or break issue for any of us anyway. Just look at her feigned anger and terror!

After enough wailing and posing, which is a lot of work compared to what you might think when you just look at the photos, Steve implored me to take away Mary's heels because I love the foot stuff, even just robbing shoes. More distressed shots followed for a… damsel-in-distress! I had a keen eye on the face, and Felice was studying every aspect of the scene while exploring what I knew was that sadistic side she mentioned fearing at Jenny's. She'd found her healthy outlet for that sadism, an outlet where she could be "sadistic" yet not hurt a soul. But then it was time for Mary's, ahem, let me get this right "34 Double-D squishy French titties to come out and play." I hope you're laughing because I just snorted so loudly it woke up the child sleeping beside me as I was typing that line out. Oh, I really do have the best friends!

More photos followed showing her doing the same brilliant faces but now while exposed. Then, Steve asked her to get up on her knees, and she instantly did so without assistance! Some of my all-time favorite pictures of Mary come from this scene, and I still refer to it as my favorite since I had a good time with my best friend while Felice discovered a niche in the worlds of TUGs and bondage. Ooooohh, look at the scowl in that picture! Mary! Of course Steve took lots of photos of her feet; foot shots sold more sets than you could shake a stick at. Now, it was time for a film.

"Oh, Maddy! Are you having fun?" Felice asked her in the most patronizing way she could.

"Guh huh huhhhh!" she pretended to be terrified and crying while jiggling her bust up and down.

"Awww, I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere soon," our new friend pet Mary's head like it was time to seduce her, more of a patronizing pet than a dehumanizing pet; it was brilliant.

"Wuh ahh ooh oohin hoo ee?!" Mary wailed for the camera and so forth.

Brilliance in motion right there. Natural chemistry had been found. Felice was going to star in a special way going forward.



I'm straight; Mary's straight. What do we do? Why we make a scene in which Mary is captured by me, playing the role of a horny lesbian determined to win Mary's affections! That's the fun in this kind of work, exploring silly roles and dynamics amongst yourselves and then marketing the resultant photos and films to people who simply enjoy the performance. It's more cathartic than the films you see at the theater or on TV, and we have a lot more fun than those actresses do, too.

Yeah, that's right. I taped Mary's mouth shut, of course after some well-worn pair of my socks in her mouth because I love foot elements in bondage, and it led to a more genuine look of total disgust from her while I removed her heels, played with her feet, played with her with my own feet, forced her to smell her heels, pulled her shirt down, and fondled her. Oh, were besties living the life of working together. It's awesome that I've always had my best friend as my boss or coworker since this is the only job I've ever had!

"Oh, Maddy, run away with me! C'mon!" I said to her in a most devious tone.
"Noooooo!" she wailed and made an exaggerated struggle just so she could jiggle her boobs.
"You're so cute when you do that!" I squeezed her cheek and kissed her gagged lips.

I exposed Mary. I tortured Mary. I fondled Mary. I hugged her and cuddled her and made her smell my stinky feet and even rubbed her face on my own bare breast. It was dirty and naughty, but it was fun. Our witnesses, the Moreau's and Felice, found it all to be a humorous scene, one that would earn its clicks as a total mockery of all things bondage films typically are. Mary and I were one hell of a team then, and we still are a team today. Ahh, Mary, I do love you! Just not in a creepy lesbian-who'll-kidnap-you-to-try-to-convince-you-to-sleep-with-her kind of way.



"You two are almost crazy, but it makes me feel more privileged to be your friend," Felice said.

What logically follows me being the lesbian predator of a helpless Mary? Why Mary being the lesbian predator of a helpless Kendra, of course! Yep. And as I so lovingly recall this moment, my sweet little daughter, named after my friend, is asking me to read her a bedtime story while I'm texting none other than Felice. This is Felice's story as well as mine, so I'll gloss over what was happening, give you the photos to enjoy, and then talk about Felice and the Moreau's so that I can get to reading my child a bedtime story.

We started with pinup shots of me solo and then me and Mary. I was conventionally bound with clothesline and gagged with a big white ball gag. That one was my favorite of all the gags Steve and Marcy used on us. Then Mary-Ann proceeded to play the role of the lesbian kidnapper who was hell-bent on earning my affections. She kissed me, exposed me, fondled me, whispered the funniest jokes she knew in my ear, and even forced me to look at the drool puddles I made on the floor. Oh, I can smile just thinking about it. Now to handle my maternal duties!



All right. I am back. Now to Felice. Felice drank in the entire scene with childlike wonder. She had found the true outlet she needed for all those desires to be strong and dominant and tender. I understand what she was battling with better now than I did then. Bondage is perfect for her. In bondage modeling, she can pretend to be a wicked kidnapper and then 20 minutes later be all soft and cuddly with the same person. It's two sides of the same coin.

Hmm, in this last scene, there was a lot to like. The leather skirt, the garter, the pantyhose cleave gag, and the conventional bondage were all good. It was the standard fare of posing, squirming a little, gag talking for everyone's amusement, and showing off my feet. Steve and Marcy did such a good job, and that day they even slipped a $50 Dunkin' Donuts gift card into my pay envelope. Marcy was the gentle, caring rigger, and Steve was the quiet photographer. Ah, the memories. It may have been a "workout," but it was as good as any of my gym workouts.



I sit here at home with my husband while our four precious children sleep. The children's names are Mary-Ann Elizabeth (named after Mary), Michael George (born on St. George Day and also named after Ross's dad), Danielle Jenny (named after my cousin), and Bryson James (born on St. James Day, and we just liked Bryson). Ross and Kendra Gentry couldn't be happier, and I bring you the good news that, a little earlier than expected, baby #5 is expected in early December! I know it's bad to get off topic from a story, but this short chapter was the perfect place for it.

The joy expands soon because Felice is expecting her first, due around her 31st birthday. Mary has two of her own. We're all married and happy! I'm going to also tell you that my plan is that this story focuses on Felice's full integration into bondage modeling. This means I will not show any more of our adventures with my cousin, her friends, or my friends. At least not until I handle these next two chapters. Remember Steve mentioning the car show? Well, we're going to watch Felice have combustion engine fun, enjoy ourselves at a car show, and play at a junkyard! That'll do it for now. I'll see you in the next chapter of The Kidnapper.

TO BE CONTINUED

[AlexUSA3]

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue, @JohnnyRockets

I guess people only read and comment if it's violent non-con, purely fantastical, or the like? That's a serious question.

Chapter 5: The Kidnapper's Automotive Adventure
Saturday, July 04, 2015

Steve and Marcy Moreau have a love for motorized vehicles that continues to this day, and the two of them would frequent car shows in the area. They picked up a couple of models at these normal gatherings during their years in the business, and they'd sometimes hire the models for being the glamour girls standing beside their own vehicles at the car shows. In particular, Steve had an old 1970s Chevrolet Corvette that was bright white. It was a nice car, and, ironically, I'm one of the few people Steve would dare let drive it who could drive it.

Back before I acquired a Mom bod, I weighed under 100 pounds. Now I weigh 105 pounds, but I am still only 5' tall. My cousin Jenny—God bless her—insisted that I learn to drive a car with a stick shift, and every car I've personally owned since then—all 1 of them—has been a stick. The old Corvette was a stick shift, and thankfully between prison and running I had the leg muscle to push that sucker hard enough to be able to shift it; I also need seat pads to see above the dash of 95% of cars. That's why Ross and I have four cars. His personal, my personal, a sedan for any trips that only require a couple of kids; and the minivan for family trips. I love my life!

The cars? I have a 2018 Mini Cooper; Ross has a 1982 Ford F150 with a tonneau cover that has seen me and most of my friends end up being the damsel-in-distress stowed away inside it during either Maddy Tied Her or Nabber Cellar productions; the sedan is a Honda Civic. I proudly tell you all are stick shifts, and all are kept show ready. Actually, a car show is where I met Ross, when I went with Jenny to display her show-condition 1990s Mustang GT. But, 2015 was another time and place, and Felice, Mary, and I all went to be beauty queens standing next to the Moreau's Corvette and their older old Pontiac GTO. It's July 4th, baby!

When it's Independence Day in the USA, you dress for the USA, and that's why we three girls all were wearing American flag swimsuits and bandanas. Actually, Felice and I had the bikini tops and navy gym shorts; Mary had a one-piece full swimsuit. Mary reflected that phase when she'd lived as a homeless person: she had neither shoes nor socks for this. I had running sneakers, but Felice—because she couldn't resist—had knee socks and combat boots. Likewise, I kept my hair in a messy bun; Felice had a gorgeous braid; Mary's was everywhere. I had a bandana headband like Felice; Mary had a kerchief holding her hair back because… those wild curls. Mary, Mary, Mary, we love you, but your hair really is something else, even to this very day… Bestie!

"Steve, take some pics of me solo and with my fellow dolls so I can send them around," I asked.
"Sure thing, Kendra. Girls, gather around the Corvette. Mary-Ann, you sit on the roof with your legs spread out. Kendra, recline on the hood like you're beachcoming; Felice, stand by the door."
"All right!" and "OK!" were our responses to the photographer's clever eye.

I sent those photos to Jenny who naturally loved seeing her favorite cousin as a beauty queen… and promptly came over to find us all. Now, as you know, Jenny disapproved of my employment on principle, but that didn't dilute her affection for me. The "favorite" thing is mutual, as if that's not readily apparent from Chapter 2. Joining us was the little rope bunny who had—you guessed correctly—an American flag bandana headband. She practically bounced over, and I warned my employers not to ask her any such questions as soon as I saw her approaching. I got you on that, didn't I? You weren't expecting Jenny to be here after I mentioned her going to car shows!

"What are you doing here?" I asked my cousin while she swallowed me in a tight hug.
"Blue Secretariat and I are over with the 90s cars," she mentioned her blue Mustang.
"Oh, I have to go get a picture of you!" I said to her, "Come on, Felice; I know you love Jenny!"
"I'll be back shortly," Felice quietly but confidently said as she backed away, "I promise."
"Miss Pryce, it's good to hang out with you again. How are you?" Jenny asked in a sweet tone.
"As good as I can be," Felice said with a sigh, "I'm in an unfamiliar but fun environment here."
"You? Give it an hour, and you will be the star of the show," my cousin encouraged our friend.

She couldn't be more correct. Felice has a natural flair for domination even when she has neither the desire nor the intent. Within the hour, Felice was bringing more attention to the car with only her natural self. It's truly amazing how she can play carny, villain, hero, captor, and captive as a moment demands, and she also can be a wrestling valet, a bathing beauty, and a friend. What we all really loved, though, was the beautiful soul that brought forth so many entertaining faces.

Then came the highlight of my morning—maybe everyone else's, too? I don't know. I was next to the GTO when this one young man came up to the car. He knew me; I knew him; we went to the same church although I was a relative rookie at the whole Roman Catholicism thing while he was a seasoned professional. Brown hair, friendly eyes, a scruffy beard, a modest sense of self, and a sly grin told me that I had suddenly bumped up from "a girl at church" to "a love interest." I speak, of course, of the one, the only, the beloved—my husband—Ross Edward Gentry, III.

"Hi, Ross, good to see you here," I somewhat seductively leaned against the GTO.
"Why, Kendra, that is you! I thought it was you from over there!" he replied, and by some divine intervention—despite that start—we never copulated until marriage. That is willpower.
Ha! I bet you didn't expect both Jenny and Ross to appear in the same chapter!

Felice looked so great that Steve decided that a shoot was in order… or maybe Mary suggested it to him. Either way, we stopped for ice cream on the way back to the Moreau's house, where that beautiful white Corvette went back into its own garage to stay nice and save from people and the elements. Then Steve decided that the car was going to guest star in the photo shoot!

Marcy took it easy on Felice, only binding her wrists. The outfit chosen for Felice was more befitting a streetwalker, but then again that is kind of sexy to most men. Let's face it: most of the consumers of this kind of content are men. The red ball gag; long black silken gloves; a leopard print skirt that was shiny silvery; fishnet stockings; high heels; Felice looked sexy as all get out. Mary and I were sexy as could be, too, but we weren't the ones getting tied up. Nope. It was the little 5'2" starlet, the magnetic personality, who was the one sitting in a white 1970s Corvette and drooling from a red ball gag. That was when I saw it in Felice's eyes: she truly liked bondage.



"Ohhhhhh, that was wonderful," Felice cooed afterwards, "It was so freeing."
"Well, now what, cowgirl?" I asked her now that we were no longer at a car show.
"May we go inside to spend some time with your roommates? I'm ready," she smiled at me.
"Ready to do what?" I asked her with a sly grin on my face, somewhat sure of what she meant.
"Why stuff our socks in their mouths, of course!" she said with flair like I'd never heard.
"I'm sitting right here, you know?" Mary said right from the driver's seat, "Seriously?!"

Felice, back in the original clothes from before, wiggled her eyebrows and slid over in the back seat to be behind the front seat where Mary was sitting. Without a word, she reached up and put a hand over Mary-Ann's mouth, and she then put a fingernail up to Mary's neck. "Pishewwww! Bam! I've injected a sedative into your neck, and now you lose consciousness, Miss Mary-Ann Voisin," the dominatrix beamed in a seductive, powerful voice, "And now you're all ours!"

And Mary? She played along with a soft, exaggerated "Uggghh!" before pretending to flop over in the driver's seat, leaving a 5' girl and a 5'2" girl to work together to carry her inside, but that's a minor task for two former inmates who both still maintained workout routines. Mary played her role as only a good bondage model, Cool Girl, and friend could. She offered no resistance while we took out her own rope so Felice could bind her and gag her to the best. This was Felice's first true experiment with domination and consensual, CGC-style faux-kidnapping.

Of course I stuffed my socks in Mary's mouth. I'm the one who at the time shared a bed with her because we didn't have money for me to have my own bed (yet). Of course I pulled the straps on that swimsuit to expose what a friend still jokingly calls "34DD squishy French titties." I had all such privileges in this place, and I was the one who used white duct tape to squish, pun intended, her face under 7 layers of wrap gag goodness. We were having fun, and I knew that Mary would have said something if I'd done anything that disturbed her. Friendship at work right there!

"Gmmm," Mary started to regain the feigned-lost consciousness from the equally fake sedative.
"Hello, Mary-Ann, how are you?" Felice had tied Mary's wrists and was tying her elbows, too.
"GMMMMMM!" our captive friend started to cause a ruckus that I quelled with a nose pinch.
"Ashley's napping," I said to Felice, "Go give her a wake-up call."

I will be brief with the bondage. Mary had the works with her wrists and elbows bound together behind her back, and her legs were tied at the ankles, knees, lower thighs, and upper thighs. We tied a harness as well, but we wanted her to struggle a bit. Ashley ended up bound and gagged in the same manner, including the same color of tape, but I want to take a little bit of time since our sweet Ash is going to appear in the junkyard chapter as an observer of the hijinks.

You will never find Ashley with anything but shoulder-length brown hair; at its longest, it comes to the base of her shoulder blades. Her eyes are a friendly chocolate brown; her smile is genuine even if it's not seen as often as we'd like. Like the rest of us, she had an American flag bandana headband, a clever trick that skirted her employer's (Best Buy) uniform rules since it was a flag bandana on an American holiday. Yes, Ashley is a clever girl. She's as big as Maddy, but she is even stronger! Can you believe that? You can? Well, sh-t. I'm running out of surprises for you.

"Excuse me?" Ashley's gorgeous French accent filled the air, "Madamoiselle, you are kidnapping me, oui? I beg your pardon, but please take me dressed more comfortably, if you please."

Which meant that, besides the bandana, Ashley arrived with nothing else on her personage but an average pair of black panties. Felice's socks filled her mouth, and a playful scowl failed to hide her enjoyment of the mock kidnapping. It was only then that, with me demonstrating on Ashley to ensure her maximum pleasure, that I taught Felice how to die a waist-and-crotch rope and how to utilize those for pain and pleasure, as based on my real life and experience modeling at studios that created films much gnarlier and more graphic than anything the kindly Moreau's produced.

Ashley may have moved to America when she was 9 years old, but she was still French. It doesn't matter how she got to be here because that's for the next chapter, because she and Felice are going to have a touching moment to themselves during the junkyard adventure. I'm writing this chapter while Ashley's sitting on the floor playing with my son, Michael, her godson.

Oh, how I love these three girls present right here. Unfortunately, Mary will not be present in the next chapter of the story, but I suppose that doesn't matter because you've gotten to see glimpses of her through my eyes, as the best friend I love and cherish so much that we both named a child after the other. In the next chapter, you're going to see precious Ashley and Felice connect while I get tortured in a junkyard before we enjoy a lovely lunch with my cousin Jenny.

All that and more in the final chapter of… THE KIDNAPPER.

TO BE CONTINUED

[hafnermg]

I definitely do not go for the violent and non con. Great update!! These girls are so much fun!!

[AlexUSA3]

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue, @JohnnyRockets

If you haven't read this one, you're missing out!

Chapter 6: The Kidnapper's Junkyard Adventure
Sunday, July 19, 2015

Now Felice has a Mazda MX-5, so she fits into the car culture of the Moreau's better than me. I could drive a stick—and I could whack the clutch on that white Corvette—but Felice loves all of the TLC that goes into maintaining a car like that. Hers was an automatic then, but Jenny—that persistent saleswoman—convinced Felice to switch to a manual transmission after an accident I remember all too well. That was a scary moment for everyone who knew and loved Felice.

I will get into it. The accident happened on New Year's Day, 2020. Felice was driving home at around 9 AM after a shift on the job when her car skidded on some ice. That wasn't the problem; the driver behind her was doing 75 MPH in a 40 MPH zone and hit her so hard that she flipped it two or three times, breaking her leg and ankle. The car was totaled. Thankfully, she recovered!

Back to 2015 and happy memories now. When Felice arrived at the junkyard that Sunday, fresh after attending her first mass with me the previous evening, I knew something special was about to happen. You just can tell when something different is happening by the change in someone's body language or their inflection. Felice very much carried about herself that tone that we'd one day refer to as her "dominatrix personality" or phrases that carried the exact same meaning.

"Well, hel-lo, my sweets," Felice greeted me and Ashley, having arrived before us.

Ashley and I looked at each other and realized this was a further development of what we'd both witnessed during the hilarious adventure we'd had two weeks before this. Felice was wearing a camouflage bandana headband that added a strange feminine mystique to her yet made her also a bit more menacing. When she smiled brightly, it made her look happier; when she gave me a sly grin, it made her look mischievous; when she scowled, she looked sinister; when she frowned, she looked like the former inmate, still struggling not to break under the weight of her mistakes. Thus was born the multi-faceted persona of Roxanne Rutledge.

Rusty cars were everywhere except for the three obvious exceptions: Felice's Mazda MX-5, the 2015 Chevrolet Camaro which brought Steve and Marcy Moreau, and the 1990s GMC SUV POS that was Mary's and which she sweetly let Ashley and me borrow so we could do this without her present. I did the stupid thing—the sappy thing—I gave Marcy a hug. Me?! Hug?! That's a testament to how much of a difference they made in the life of a girl recovering from addiction.

It was a junkyard all right: overgrown, rust, dilapidated vehicles and buildings, poison ivy, nasty rotted tires, scurrying animals. It was quite the locale, a real Michelin Five-Star experience and a swell place for a kidnapping. Can you find a more appropriate place for a 5' tall captive and her friend the 5'2" dominatrix to be hanging out with their friend and a bondage-producing couple?

For scenework, you always either wear what you're told to wear or get sent to the wardrobe and told not to repeat a previous outfit. Marcy did that for me since we were not exactly in the nicest spot for a girl to change her clothes, and she provided me with all the outfits you will see in these shots. Felice and I were asked to remove our bandanas, to which we sweetly obliged. What I do to earn money! To this day, bondage modeling is still the only job I've ever had.

"Ready to be bound and gagged," Felice winked at me, "and to suffer, my sweet friend?"
"Oh, my," Ashley said with her gorgeous inflection, "She likes doing this to us, it seems."
"I only like it because it's you," the rookie dominatrix debuted her patent coo, "I trust you all."
"Well," I said while Marcy used gray duct tape to bind me, "I trust you more than you trust me."
"Do not get competitive with me, Miss Kristensen," she stared into my eyes with a growl.
"This is going to be an interesting shoot," Steve nodded his head and grabbed his camera.

Duct tape bondage is pretty special and unique. It's tough, sticky, and forgiving. Squirming like a damsel-in-distress is a heck of a lot easier, and, believe me, it cuts less than anything else used. There is the problem of residue, but it's not a big deal if the tape is applied over clothing. Repeat after me: "Tape's not a big deal if it's applied over clothing." I had blue jeans, beige high heels, and a white long-sleeve button-down shirt. Tape wasn't a big deal to me, and I even didn't have to worry about the gag because we weren't shooting a video for this scene.

All I had to do was sit on a rusted out hull from an old pickup truck and let Felice menace me for a little bit, but it was all photographs. Without video, everything happened by our eyes and body language. We clearly had an imaginary exchange, though, even as Felice exposed my tits with a bit of a semi-dominant giggle. We'll get more into giggles, both semi-dominant and dominant, at the appropriate time. This part was just us posing next to a dilapidated rust bucket.



"Wait until we make a video to go with that last scene," Felice smiled and blew me a kiss.
"She is so pretty," Ashley whispered to me, "I feel ashamed that I want to take your place."

This is what we call "working on a shoestring budget. I wore the same heels and hose again for the next scene, but I changed into a red skirt and a loudly patterned long-sleeve blouse. Felice only changed her shirt into a pink sleeveless polo shirt, and Marcy again wielded a big roll of my beloved duct tape. Thank God for pantyhose because she taped my legs the same way as before, and she boxtied my arms in front of me. A little more tape and a red bandana cleave gag, and in a few minutes I was sitting on the trunk of the remains of an old car while Marcy made sure that I was all right. I did love working with the Moreau's and miss them and their kindness. They've since retired and moved to the South, but they always let me know when they're in Minnesota!

It started with pics of me posing with that old car. Then it quietly escalated to me standing next to Felice while she put on that semi-dominant smile that was half friendship and half kidnapper. She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered little threats into my ears to keep a mood going. Then she sat on the car with me across the knee and pantomimed spanking me. But the spanks were real, as were the sounds of me being spanked and us berating each other.



"Oh, my sweet," Felice cooed, spanking me while Steve took photos of us, "dear… friend."
"Unhie ee! Hocthanne, leh ee ho!" I retorted as my pathetic plea for a freedom I didn't deserve.
"Nonsense, my gorgeous, smoking hot, Penny," she immersed herself in her new persona, "No."
"Ow!" I yelped with the spanks, but deep down inside I loved the entire moment.
"You're all mine to do as I please, and I won't waste the opportunity," was strangely affectionate.
"No! Unhie ee. I wanna ho home," I played along, knowing the next scene would have video.

You can imagine now what this was like for us. Marcy standing at the side with Ashley, both at the ready to act should anything go wrong. Steve took the pictures of me and Felice, and we two short glamour girls acted out scenes without minimal scripting and a big dose of friendship. As a high schooler, Felice kidnapped to terrorize; now, she kidnapped to harmonize. The reformation, the transformation, was complete. Felice Pryce had discovered a safe outlet for the feelings she did not know how to verbalize or properly communicate. She had found the inroad to becoming the person God wanted her to be, while still maintaining the personality quirks God gave her.

Back to my blue jeans and my sneakers I went for the last scene of the day. A blue tank top was all I needed to finish this outfit, and it was time for the rough stuff. I could see the desire shining in Ashley's eyes—it was the desire to be a junkyard captive. I didn't get to work with her on any of her junkyard scenes, unfortunately, and afterwards the junkyard material came to an end after a shoot in which the Moreau's nearly got caught by a random junkyard explorer.

The childish wonder in Ashley's eyes was adequately accentuated by the garter, hose, skirt, and bandana she wore. That's how she dressed then, and she still dresses that way. I hate dressing up like a secretary, but for money I'll dress up as a secretary, a bandit, a Hooter's girl, a cop, a pirate, and even certain cosplay characters as long as I think it'll be a safe way to earn my moolah. This, as societally taboo as it was, was honest work, and it was time for a film and photos. Ashley had her chance, and she motioned to be allowed to get into the film—for free!—to help kidnap me.

"There's the conniving witch!" Felice called out and charged at me, "Get her!"
"I will do my best," Ashley called out with a loyal inflection, the birth of renewed friendship.
"What on earth?!" I howled at my fellow former inmates, "GMMMMM!"
"Ah, mon amie, enjoy the taste of my feet," the French girl spoke of her socks in my mouth.
"MMMMMMMM!" I made the saddest faces possible because it's my job to sell the scene!
"Less talking, my lovelies. Hold her down so I can tie her up," Felice cooed in that way.

It all happened so quickly that I didn't process it all. Ashley's socks. Clothesline binding my arms and legs. Tape over my lips. Next thing I knew, I was sitting by a rusty old pickup truck and making faces of disgust at the fun sensation of Ashley's socks in my mouth. She would be wearing socks with her pantyhose! Then I was posing for photos and having my tits exposed. The whirlwind of activity was overwhelming, and I was even put into a bodybag!



That's the story of the shoots that day, the story of how I helped Felice to discover her dominatrix side. I admit now that between that July and the next April, Ashley and I, along with a couple of our friends, appeared in intense films for a studio called Nabber Cellar. We weren't forced to do so, but the four of us appeared in scenes, always with each other, where we used the effigy of male junk to simulate sexual acts with one another. Mary and Felice, among others, refused to engage in such actions. I eventually learned better. Ashley did it to her utter shame, a testimony to her brokenness, despite being a devout Catholic her entire life, but we all eventually stopped doing so except for the one friend, who took longer. It was apparent to me even then that Felice had an honor code and understood human decency far better than I did, and she lovingly guided us, along with others, towards a better path. Felice continued her academic pursuits that fall and eventually became a police officer, becoming one who upholds the very laws she once violated.

What a transformation! What a day! And did I mention the pay was good?

Lunch with Jenny was heartwarming and meaningful. Four Cool Girls, all with their bandanas, sat together eating at Teddy's All Day Breakfast, the restaurant that had become the unofficial meeting place for Bondagettes and Cool Girls alike. It was a wonderful occasion full of loving banter, laughter, and growth. Jenny and Felice solidified their friendship, helping the latter find herself, her comfort zone, in life after prison. Maybe Credit River didn't forgive its citizens, but Jenny sure forgave even though Felice was a stranger at first. Now, look at them! Soon, Felice would have a circle of precious people she could call… her friends. Now we share friendship, modeling, play, and so much more, but it's true friendship. Dang it, baby, we overcame all the prejudice the world threw at us, but we only did it by the grace of God as He used us to help each other, to be the people we were made to be. I'm glad to call these girls my friends.

Thank you for reading my view of Felice Pryce, the girl her friends now lovingly call…

The Kidnapper

[Caesar73]

Truly magnificent Tale! And the Pictures add to it. Well done! Do please continue the good work my Friend!

[LunaDog]

There's nothing wrong with a manual transmission, much prefer them if i'm being honest! And nothing wrong with this story too! Agree, the superb photos just add to it.

[hafnermg]

Excellent addition to this story!!

[Caesar73]

There's nothing wrong with a manual transmission, much prefer them if i'm being honest! And nothing wrong with this story too! Agree, the superb photos just add to it.

I do wholeheartedly agree!

[AlexUSA3]

Truly magnificent Tale! And the Pictures add to it. Well done! Do please continue the good work my Friend!

That was actually the end of this particular tale.

There's nothing wrong with a manual transmission, much prefer them if i'm being honest! And nothing wrong with this story too! Agree, the superb photos just add to it.

I really felt like Kendra brought this story to life in a special way with her asides about cars, family, and the like.

Excellent addition to this story!!

Thank you!