Ransom stories part 1 (MMM/F)

[tiedgirlie]

She didn’t see the van pull up behind her—not right away.
It was just past four-thirty. Late summer sun beat down against the narrow back road, and the cicadas screamed loud in the trees overhead. Lily had her earbuds in, backpack bouncing against her spine, a half-empty bottle of peach Snapple swinging from her hand. Sneakers kicked at dust and loose gravel, sending little sprays into the ditch, and she was halfway through mouthing the chorus when the tires crunched behind her—too fast.
She barely turned.
“Wha—?”
The side door of the van slammed open.
And everything changed.
A blur of dark fabric and arms, heavy boots hitting the dirt—then pain, sudden and searing across her ribs as she was tackled from the side, her bottle flying, her breath gone in a gasp that never quite became a scream. Fingers clamped over her mouth. Strong ones. Rough. Smelled like metal and oil and something sour.
“Mmmphhh—!! Hnnphhh—NNMMHH!!”
She kicked, thrashed, tried to bite—her head slamming back into someone’s chest—but there were too many hands, too fast, too practiced. Her arms were yanked behind her back, wrists twisted hard, and the zip-tie zipped tight before she could even register what it was.
Then came the gag.
She didn’t even see it—just felt her jaw suddenly pried wide, something rubbery shoving past her lips, thick between her teeth. Her tongue pushed, tried to spit it out, but the strap cinched hard behind her head, yanked tight against her scalp. She choked, coughed, gagged around it.
The world tilted.
Her stomach flipped as she was lifted, boots scrambling, dirt skidding beneath her. Her knees banged against metal, then carpeted floor. It stank inside—like sweat and gasoline and old cigarettes. The door slammed shut behind her, cutting out the light.
“Mmmhff!! NNHHFHH!! MMMMMH!”
Lily screamed into the gag, rolling to her side, heels kicking against the wheel well as she flailed—only to be met with a solid thump of someone’s knee pinning her back down. Cold fingers slipped beneath her shirt, yanked it up—tugged hard, then scissors—snip—snip—cold steel against hot skin.
Her backpack was already gone.
The van rumbled to life.
She didn’t know where she was going. Only that it was getting darker.
Faster.
Louder.
The gag muffled everything she tried to say. The zip-ties cinched tighter with every movement. Her ankles were already being bound, rope this time, scratchy and coarse. They crossed her legs at the calves, cinched them tight, then ran another loop up between her thighs. She could feel the cord biting in, every tiny movement making it worse.
A hand cupped her cheek.
Another grabbed her by the jaw.
And a voice—male, low, close to her ear—spoke for the first time:
“Shhhh. Quiet now.”
Then the blindfold came down. Thick black canvas, yanked tight across her eyes. Light gone. The world vanished.
The ride felt endless.
Lily had no idea how far they’d gone. Her sense of direction shredded after the first sharp turn. The van took corners hard, tires screeching against pavement, then gravel, then something bumpier—maybe a dirt path through woods? Her shoulders burned from how she was tied, wrists cinched behind her back and pulled so high they arched her spine off the floor. Sweat soaked her bra. Her underwear rode up with every jolt. Her mouth was raw from the gag. Her legs had gone numb.
Every few minutes, the man riding back there with her would touch her again—adjusting ropes, checking the zip ties, wiping her face with a rag that smelled like disinfectant and smoke. Once, he cupped her jaw again, fingers pressing into the gag straps like he was checking the fit. She flinched, whimpered into the rubber, and he just grunted.
The van slowed.
Gravel popped under the tires. Branches scraped against the roof. Then silence.
The door slid open.
Light hit her blindfold, heat pressing in. A breeze. Trees. Birds.
“C’mon,” a voice muttered. “Grab her legs.”
She twisted, kicked weakly, but a fist clamped hard over her thigh and another hooked beneath her shoulder. They dragged her out like luggage—her shoes scuffed, her face scraping the edge of the van. She screamed into the gag, throat hoarse.
They carried her across uneven dirt, up wooden steps, through a screen door that banged behind them.
Wood floor.
Cooler air.
Musty.
Basement?
They dumped her onto a mattress—thin, creaky. She bounced once, landing on her side. Then silence. Footsteps retreating. Door. Lock. Click.
Alone?
No.
Camera click again. Closer this time.
The blindfold came off.
Too fast. Light stabbed her eyes. She flinched, blinked hard—tears welling immediately. Her vision swam. A bare bulb swung overhead, the ceiling just wooden beams and exposed insulation. Cement walls, a tiny slit window too high to reach. A tripod in front of her, little red light blinking.
And two men.
One standing behind the camera. The other crouched beside her, his hands on his knees, watching her like a dog trying to decide if it should bark or bite.
He leaned in. Spoke softly.
“You’re gonna be good now, Lily. Gonna help us out.”
Her eyes went wide. She moaned into the gag—panic sharp and fast again.
“Shhhh. Nod if you understand.”
She shook her head.
Wrong move.
His hand snapped to her face—smack—palm hard against her cheek. Not enough to bruise, but enough to shock. She whimpered.
“Nod.”
Tears spilled. She nodded.
“Good.”
The man behind the camera started adjusting something—zoom, angle, light. The one beside her kept talking.
“Your phone’s already in pieces. So’s your SIM. Your parents are gonna get a video. You’re gonna be in it.”
She jerked in the ropes.
“They’re gonna see you like this. Gagged. Tied up. Scared.”
He reached up, adjusted the strap on her gag with surprising gentleness.
“They’ll pay.”
He looked into her eyes, voice lowering.
“And if they don’t… you’ll be worth plenty anyway.”
She screamed into the rubber, bucking against the ropes, twisting her wrists until the zip ties cut deep—but he just sat back, calm, letting her flail. The camera clicked again. And then the red light went solid.
“Rolling.”
He clapped his hands once, sharp. The sound echoed.
And the recording began.
“Alright, get her up.”
The man at the camera stayed back, checking the viewfinder, while the other moved fast—pulling a switchblade from his belt, flicking it open with a snk. Lily froze, wide-eyed. He didn’t go for her, though—not yet. He crouched behind her, sliding the cold steel under the rope cinching her thighs to her calves.
Snip.
The tension loosened.
Another tug at her ankles, then the rope there went too. She tried to kick—but her legs were dead from the way they’d been folded. She groaned through the gag, tears still drying in sticky trails down her cheeks.
He grabbed her under the arms.
“Lift.”
A second set of hands joined—rougher, stronger, digging into her waist and thighs. They hoisted her like she weighed nothing, her legs dragging, head lolling. One of them grunted as her sneaker knocked into his shin. She twisted, but it was pointless. They turned her toward the corner of the room.
A wooden chair waited. Armless, straight-backed. Narrow enough to control her posture, old enough to creak just from being moved.
They dropped her into it.
“Unghh—hhmmpfh!”
Her head snapped forward as her spine slammed upright against the backrest, shoulders yanked back by the pull of her still-bound wrists. The wood felt splintery against her arms, her bra strap pinched where the ropes dug in. Her thighs parted involuntarily with the way they pushed her down, legs still rubbery.
One crouched in front, forcing her knees apart.
She flinched. Tried to slam them shut.
Another slap. Not hard. Not even angry. Just efficient.
Thwip. More rope. They bound her ankles to the front legs of the chair, then a longer line pulled her knees apart—one loop behind the chair legs, one around each thigh, cinched tight and knotted high. She couldn’t close them now. Could barely shift.
A strap came next—leather this time—tightening across her belly and buckling behind the backrest. It drove her lower spine hard into the wood, forcing her upright. Then a second strap, across her chest, just above her breasts, making her sit fully exposed, chest rising and falling, soaked shirt clinging transparent to her skin.
She moaned again. Long. Wordless. A helpless, wavering sound of rage and fear. The gag muffled it, bubbling with spit.
Her blindfold dangled now around her neck. She could see everything.
The man in front of her lifted her chin with two fingers. The other checked the lens.
“She’s ready.”
He turned her face toward the camera, hands stroking down her wet cheeks like he was straightening her for a school portrait.
“We’re rolling in three…”
She shook her head.
“…two…”
Her body trembled in every rope, her lips stretching wide around the gag as she tried to scream something. A name. A plea. Anything.
“…one.”
Red light solid.
The man leaned in close, crouched by her side, eyes on the lens.
“To the parents of Lily Anne Porter…”
His voice calm. Measured. Every syllable aimed with precision.
“…this is what your daughter looks like right now. And this is what she’ll keep looking like, until you follow every single instruction we give you.”
He reached up—tilted her chin again.
“We know you can pay.”
He smiled.
The camera clicked again.

[GreyLord]

Excellent start, @tiedgirlie. If I may make a suggestion, your story will be easier to read if you insert a blank line between each paragraph. If you need additional help, send me a PM.

[tiedgirlie]

I’ll try. I write with help of AI. If anyone is interested I can give link to gpt model i use for writing.