by Van ©2004
		Chapter 2

To see the actresses I would cast in a RAGE AGAINST the MACHINE motion picture, follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.

From Cynthia's point of view, the three hour wait passed very slowly.  She could find no weakness in her bonds whatsoever.  The hinged handcuffs locked around her wrists were inescapable, her groping fingers couldn't even discover a knot in the cords within their limited reach, and the sitting hog-tie enforced by the thin black bands lashing her to the chair was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.  The weight of her legs was pulling on her cuffed wrists and the tight, well-placed, well-cinched cords were... tight.  She wasn't in pain, but the enforced immobility was becoming an ordeal.  Worst of all, Lillian kept leering at her.

Cynthia's tall, beautiful kidnapper remained slouched in one of Cynthia's visitor chairs, her long, spandex-clad legs and booted feet crossed in the other, her "dart gun" unholstered and resting on her lap.  Her smug, amused gaze kept roaming up and down Cynthia's captive form, lingering on her foam stuffed and tape covered mouth, the sweat beading on her brow, her worried brown eyes, her heaving breasts, framed by tight bands of black cord...  

At some point during her capture, the top buttons of Cynthia's blouse had come loose, and considerably more cleavage than it was her habit to show was peeking from her silk blouse and lab coat.  The lacy top of her bra was clearly visible.  Just as humiliating, her skirt had hiked up, and she was showing a flash of tan, cord-dimpled thigh.  About two hours into her squirming, half-hearted struggles, one of her heels came loose, dangled from her foot for several seconds, then clattered to the floor.  Her captor's only reaction was to raise herself from her relaxed slouch until she could see her captive's nylon-clad, wiggling toes and flexing foot.  She stared for several long seconds with an ogling smile... then settled back into her chair.

"I love the way the way your skin glimmers and gleams," Lillian whispered.  The glow of the half dozen computer screens and the dim light filtering through the frosted glass of the office door continued to be the only illumination.  "I think it's the sheen of sweat glistening on your smooth, tan, sexy little bod."  She glanced at her watch, then continued her brazen, grinning appreciation of her glaring prisoner.  "By all means, continue struggling," she suggested.  "It's pointless, and even if you somehow manage to make some headway, I'll simply tie you up tighter; but continue, please.  It's most entertaining."

Cynthia's cheeks burned.  It was pointless, but she had to do something.  She continued to squirm and fight the tight cords, defiant, angry and humiliated (and trying to suppress her fear and growing despair).

More time passed.  With the desk lamp off, Cynthia couldn't read the wall clock above her office door.  Finally, Lillian glanced at her watch, smiled, and climbed to her feet.  "Well, all good things come to an end," she purred, "and other good things begin."  She holstered her weapon, strolled behind Cynthia's chair, and began freeing her from her cord bonds.

One by one the black bands loosened, fell free, and slithered from Cynthia's view.  "Up you come, Doctor," Lillian said finally, hauling Cynthia to her feet and sliding her chair back under the desk with a deft kick.  She then eased Cynthia to her knees, tugged the prisoner's half-buttoned lab coat off her shoulders and left it in a tangle around her waist and cuffed hands.  Cynthia mewed through her gag in complaint as her elbows were pulled together and bound with cord.  Lillian looped band after band around them, using at least half the length she had had used to lash Cynthia to the chair.

By the time Lillian finished cinching a dozen vertical bands between her elbows, Cynthia's shoulders were pulled back even more, her breasts thrust provocatively forward, and she was showing even more cleavage above her half-buttoned blouse.  The remaining cord tightened around her arms and torso, above and below her breasts.  The lower bands reinforced the support of her bra.  The upper bands dimpled the exposed skin of her upper globes and pressed the lacy margin of her bra and the silky, rumpled folds of her gaping blouse against her chest.  The last knot tied, Lillian hauled Cynthia to her feet.  The captive stood awkwardly, still missing one shoe.

Lillian arranged the captive's wayward footwear in a convenient position.   "Step in," she ordered, bracing the prisoner's shoulders.  Cynthia lifted her stocking-clad foot, slid it into the heel, and twisted for a comfortable fit, grateful for this small favor, at least.  She then squawked through her gag when Lillian dragged her towards a visitor chair, sat down, and pulled the squirming, complaining prisoner onto her lap.

Cynthia found herself head down with her stomach on her captor's thighs.  She continued struggling and kicking, then yelped and went still.  Lillian had reached through the tangled lab coat, under her skirt, and had given her right butt cheek a nasty pinch!  Cynthia forced an angry, defiant complaint past her gag and resumed struggling.

"Be still, Doctor," Lillian purred, "or you'll get more of the same."  Cynthia had no intention of obeying her captor's order, but then she hummed through her gag and froze.

Lillian's gloved hand was cupping her nylon and panty-clad sex!

"And this time I'll pinch more than your firm little heinie," Lillian whispered.  Cynthia understood, and remained perfectly still.  "Better," Lillian continued, "Now, cross your legs and extend them full length until the tips of your toes are the only thing touching the floor, and don't move."  

Again, Cynthia followed Lillian's orders, and the smug, smiling kidnapper slid her hand from under Cynthia's skirt, sorted through the folds of the lab coat until she could unlock one of the cuffs, pulled the prisoner's hands free, and relocked the cuffs.  She then spun the coat until she could free the remaining buttons, pulled it out from between Cynthia's body and her lap, and tossed it towards the desk.

Cynthia resumed her squirming, but stopped when Lillian landed a pop on her flank.  "Settle down," she scolded, gave the offended area a gentle caress, then turned her head to stare at Cynthia's outstretched legs.  "Such pretty calves," she cooed, then stood, hauling her prisoner to her feet.

"Stand there and don't move," she ordered, then shook out the lab coat, hung it on the clothes tree beside the desk, and returned with Cynthia's raincoat.  She settled it over the prisoner's shoulders, secured a couple of buttons at her waist, then tucked the cuffs of the dangling sleeves into their respective pockets.

Cynthia sighed through her gag, still frustrated and angry (but realizing she remained totally helpless).

Lillian smiled as she shouldered the small black bag filled with the CD's, data cartridges, and mailers she'd looted from her captive's files and desk, and added Cynthia's purse.  "We're going for a little late night stroll," she explained.  "We'll keep to the shadows as much as possible, but this time of night it won't matter.  We shouldn't encounter anyone.  Campus Security foot patrols are concentrated around the dorms, and we can easily evade the infrequent Security cruisers prowling the streets."

She strolled over to Cynthia and draped her left arm over the glowering prisoner's shoulders.  "That special film doing such an effective job of sealing your pretty lips is virtually invisible at a distance, especially at night.  And if, by chance, we have an encounter and you cause a scene—I'll simply dart whoever it is—then dart you—then carry you over my shoulder.  But when we get where we're going and you wake up... you'll learn what I'm like when I'm angry.  Do we understand each other?"

Cynthia's blood ran cold.  Lillian's smug, superior smile had frozen into a chilling, threatening grimace.  She shivered in her bonds... and slowly nodded.

"Good," Lillian whispered, her smile returning.  "In any case... we're leaving."

They negotiated the corridors and stairs of the Computer Science Building without incident, exiting by a side entrance.  The security light over the door had been blinking on and off for three days, as if from a short in the wiring, and had finally failed completely.  The problem (caused by a visit from Lillian, earlier in the week) had been duly noted and logged, and would be addressed by University  Maintenance in due course (meaning some time next month).

They reached the CS Faculty parking lot.  Cynthia's Lexus was one of the few cars still in the lot.  "An ES-3300 in Oasis Green Pearl," Lillian whispered.  "What good taste you have, Doctor."  She reached into her pocket, and produced Cynthia's keys.  "One of its best features..."  She pressed a button on the remote.  "...is its spacious trunk."

The trunk popped open and Cynthia whined in distress, knowing what was coming next.  She took a tentative step back, but Lillian pushed her forward.

"Don't be a wuss, Doctor," Lillian cooed.  "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like?  Bound and gagged and stuffed in the trunk of a car by some desperate kidnapper?  Where's your sense of adventure?  Your sense of fun?"

Cynthia stared down at the gaping trunk, then squawked through her gag as she was lifted and set on her side atop the gray carpet.

"Careful, Doctor," Lillian whispered as she folded her captive's feet and legs inside.  "If you keep kicking like that you'll bruise your shins.  Here, let me help."

Cynthia whined as cord tightened around her ankles, then was threaded between her cuffs and pulled, forcing her into a tight hog-tie. The cord was tied off to Cynthia's elbow bonds, and Lillian smiled down at her, one hand on the trunk lid.  Cynthia craned her neck and stared up at her gloating captor, pleading with her eyes.

Lillian's smile turned slightly mischievous.  "Look on the bright side, Doctor," she purred.  "Now you'll know the answer to the eternal question: does the little light really go out when you close the trunk lid?"

Cynthia moaned through her gag as the lid slammed, and she was plunged into darkness.  She heard the driver's door open and slam, then the engine purred to life.  The radio blared (set on her favorite cool jazz station), and they were moving.  Cynthia squirmed and writhed in her bonds... but it was hopeless.  Her captor had done her usual competent job of rendering her completely helpless.  She settled her gagged head against the vibrating carpet of her dark prison, and tried not to cry.

Wherever they were going, the journey was surprisingly brief.  After only three and a half songs on the radio, several turns, a long stretch of more or less straight travel, then several more turns, the car paused... the engine idling... then continued forward at a slower pace.  More turns... then they stopped again, and the engine fell silent.

Seconds passed, then the trunk popped and bright light was shining directly in Cynthia's eyes.  She blinked and mewed through her gag as Lillian released her from the hog-tie, untied her ankles, then lifted her from the trunk and onto her feet.  She found herself in what looked like a small warehouse.  It was a long, narrow space with a high ceiling.  Against one wall was a set of loading docks.  Her wrists were still cuffed behind her back, her elbows lashed together and her arms to her torso, her mouth still stuffed with foam and her lips sealed with plastic film, and her now badly rumpled raincoat was still draped over her shoulders.

Her Lexus was parked next to a couple of other automobiles, both shrouded with canvas covers.  Other than herself and her captor, there wasn't a soul in sight.  Much of the space was occupied by pallets loaded with crates and boxes, all shrouded in shrink-wrap and banded with plastic or metal.  There was a system of overhead tracks, and as she watched, a motorized hoist rolled over a pallet, lowered a set of grapples and grabbed one of the pallets.  The cargo was lifted into the air and carried away, down the track system towards a loading dock that was perhaps thirty yards distant.  The operation appeared to be completely automatic.

A driverless electric cart with a flashing light rolled up and stopped.  Lillian set the black nylon shoulder bag full of the things she'd looted from Cynthia's office in the basket on its top surface.  Cynthia realized the cart was a "mail robot", one of the simple robots used to move snail-mail and packages around large offices.  The robot rolled away, its apparent destination the same loading dock as the cargo still in transit on the overhead track.

"C'mon," Lillian said, and pulled her prisoner towards a set of stairs.  They climbed to the level of the nearest loading dock, and with a hydraulic hiss, a side door opened.  Cynthia was hustled into a stark corridor with cinderblock walls, concrete ceiling, and a tile floor.  The door closed behind them with another hiss and locked with an echoing clang.  Their heels echoed on the tiles as her captor led her down the long corridor, through a second door, and out into a vast, open, modern lobby.

Cynthia looked up and counted six balconies looming overhead, all connected by elegant, curving stairways.  They were set back like the steps of a ziggurat, or the layers of a colossal wedding cake.  Overhead there was nothing but dark glass.  Huge panels set in steel frames continued in a half-dome to a set of glass doors facing an elegantly landscaped entryway.  Several low clouds hung in the indigo sky, their undersides lit by the yellow-orange glow of the surrounding city.

The lobby was dark, lit only by rows of emergency lights along the baseboards and under the lips of the stair risers.  Cynthia turned her head towards the glass doors.  Beyond the entry was a brightly lit parking lot, and beyond that she could see car lights streaming by on a busy highway.

"Don't worry," Lillian said with another gloating smile.  "All that thick glass is heavily mirrored on the outside.  Light comes in, but it doesn't go out.  It's great UV protection for the carpets... and keeps out prying eyes."  She dragged Cynthia past the lobby's reception desk.  The chairs was empty and the security monitors dark.  They approached a bank of elevators, and one of the set of doors opened automatically.  They entered the stainless steel paneled cubicle beyond, the door closed, and they began to ascend.

The LED display above the row of buttons changed from "L", to "2", to "3"... and on to "7".  The doors opened, and Cynthia was led onto an apparently deserted floor of offices, all with glass walls.  In all directions she could see the lights of the city, distorted by multiple layers of glass. Only the concrete pillars of the building's structure, the central core with the elevators, rest rooms, and a few other opaque spaces obstructed her view.  The entire floor was dark, except for a few night lights.

"Our journey is almost over," Lillian murmured, and shepherded her prisoner through a maze of corridors with transparent walls.  They passed office after office, all completely empty, all spotlessly clean.  As they approached a large corner office, its door slid open with a rasping hiss.  Captive and captor entered, and the door hissed closed.

"Welcome to your new home," Lillian said, then forced Cynthia to the floor.  The carpet was thick and soft under her chin.  Obviously, this was an executive-grade office.  Lillian pulled her feet together, and a second pair of cuffs tightened around her ankles.  Like the pair around her wrists, they were hinged.

Lillian straddled Cynthia's waist and settled a portion of her weight on the squirming captive's forearms.  "Settle down," Lillian purred, squeezing Cynthia's waist and arms between her thighs.

Cynthia laid her cheek against the carpet.  Lillian was untying her arms and elbows.  The cords loosened and slithered away, band by band.

"Let's make you more comfortable," Cynthia suggested, unbuttoned and pulled the raincoat from Cynthia's body, and tossed it towards the door.  She then lifted her left leg, rolled Cynthia onto her back, and settled her weight back down.  Cynthia kicked and squirmed.  "I said, settle down," Lillian repeated, a gloating smile curling her lips.  She reached down and began unbuttoning the remaining buttons of Cynthia's blouse.

Cynthia screamed through her gag and struggled in earnest.

Lillian laughed and placed one hand between Cynthia's breasts and the other on her left thigh.  The outraged captive continued bucking and writhing, but Lillian controlled her with little difficulty.  "Well, you were warned," she stated calmly.  "Actually, I don't really mind a little wrestling fun."  Lillian unzipped her jacket and tossed it towards Cynthia's raincoat, then stretched her arms overhead and smiled.  

Cynthia paused in her struggles, staring up at her captor.  The body-hugging jacket had left little to the imagination, and the thin black top underneath left even less.  Cynthia examined the harness of black nylon straps hugging Lillian's torso.  It held the holster of her dart gun, an array of pockets and pouches, and a clever set of velcro closures that secured the coils of black cord that had been used to bind her.

Lillian continued undressing her prisoner, and Cynthia resumed her energetic resistance.  Despite her efforts, the blouse soon became a tangle of silk around her wrists, and was quickly joined by her bra.  "Very nice tits, Doctor," Lillian cooed, gripping a handful of the captive's hair.  Cynthia glared and continued struggling, causing her breasts to bobble and sway as she rolled her bare shoulders and tried to buck and squirm from under her gloating captor's weight.  "They're everything I hoped they'd be," Lillian added, then reversed direction, settled back down on Cynthia's upper arms and waist, and unbuttoned and unzipped Cynthia's skirt.

Cynthia kicked her joined legs and tried to sit up, but it was pointless.  All she accomplished was to send her heels flying from her feet.  Her face flushed, she sent a steady stream of gagged invective at Lillian's back, then abruptly went limp in her bonds.  A tear rolled from the corner of her left eye and a muffled whimper escaped her gag.

Lillian pulled down Cynthia's skirt, pantyhose, and panties, scooting down to settle her weight on the prisoner's thrashing thighs as she peeled the tangled mass of white silk and sheer nylon down her legs.  She then stood and stepped away, gathering her jacket and Cynthia's coat, skirt, and shoes.  Her back to the door, she folded the garments one by one, dropped them in a neat pile, then placed the heels on top.  All the while, her eyes were on her captive, a leering, gloating smirk curling her lips.

Her blouse and bra tangled around her cuffed wrists, her pantyhose and panties tangled around her cuffed ankles, Cynthia was rolling on the thick carpet, struggling hopelessly against her inescapable steel bonds, moaning through her gag, and weeping bitter tears.

"Yes, such a sexy, petite little body," Lillian sighed.  "Smooth, tan skin... toned muscles..."  Lillian walked a slow circle around her prisoner.  "Flat little tummy with the cutest little bellybutton... Luxuriant, silky bush above the prettiest mound...  And that pretty little cunt... Lacy folds like pink rose petals—Oh, don't roll away, Doctor!" Lillian scolded with a mocking pout.  She marched over and straddled Cynthia's waist with her booted feet.  Gloved hands on hip, she smiled down at the still squirming captive  "I'm afraid we need to come to more of an understanding."

Lillian settled her weight onto Cynthia's tummy, took both of the prisoner's breasts in her hands and squeezed until the firm, smooth flesh bulged between her leather-clad fingers.  Cynthia glared at her captor, then squeezed her eyes tightly closed and screamed through her gag.

Lillian had captured her right nipple between the thumb and index finger of her right hand and was giving it a cruel pinch.  Seconds passed and the pressure continued.  Cynthia squealed, moaned, and kicked her feet.

Finally, Lillian released her pinch and gave the tortured nub a gentle massage.  Cynthia stopped her struggles and went perfectly still, staring up at her captor with wide, frightened eyes.   "That's better," Lillian said.  "I don't need to reinforce the lesson with a left tittie-twister, do I?"  Tears welling in her eyes, Cynthia shook her head.  "Gooood," Lillian cooed.  "You will learn to obey me, Doctor," she said.  "I promise you that."

She released Cynthia's breasts and her smile faded.  "I'm going to unlock your cuffs, pull your remaining clothes free, then relock your cuffs.  I have experience in this sort of thing and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop me.  So... you're going to be a rational scientist and stop this nonsense.  You've already earned yourself a demerit.  Don't make me add another.  Okay?"

Cynthia was frightened, humiliated, and angry; but she wasn't stupid.  She slowly nodded.

Lillian's smile returned.  She leaned close and planted a quick kiss on Cynthia's gagged lips.  "Good girl."  She flopped the limp captive over onto her stomach, unlocked one wrist cuff, pulled Cynthia's blouse and bra free, and relocked the cuffs.  "I'm double locking them this time," Lillian explained, "so they won't over-tighten if you roll over on them."

The cuffs around the prisoner's ankles were next, and Cynthia's remaining lingerie was removed.  Lillian folded Cynthia's blouse, bra, pantyhose, and panties and added them to the pile of clothes by the door.

Lillian returned to her captive, knelt beside her head, and removed Cynthia's simple post earrings, first the left, then the right.  "I have detailed instructions from our employers regarding corporate dress code," she explained as the posts disappeared into one of her harness pockets.  "For you, every day will be 'Casual Friday'."  She stood and smiled down at Cynthia's nude, helpless, bound and gagged body.  "Make that Very Casual Friday," she quipped, then walked to one of the walls.  She inserted a barrel key into a socket, gave it a turn, and a door slid open.

Cynthia now realized that particular wall of the office and the door in question were covered with mirrored tiles.  The city lights had been a reflection.  She hadn't noticed before because she'd been... preoccupied.  The three remaining walls were transparent.  Two provided vistas of the city, and the third the glass-walled corridors and empty offices of the rest of the top floor.

"That's a washroom," Lillian explained, nodding towards the dark room behind the mirrored wall.  "Toilet, bidet, washbasin, all with automatic, motion-sensitive controls.  Feel free to hop in any time you feel the need."  

Lillian returned to the office door, stooped and retrieved the stack of clothes, then turned back to face her prisoner.  "I was going to remove your gag and leave you with your hands in front," she said with a mockingly sad shake of the head, "but our employers' insist you become a submissive and obedient employee in as little time as is humanly possible."  

The glass door opened with a dry scrape and Lillian backed into the corridor.  "So... the gag stays, the cuffs remain behind, and no supper for you, you naughty girl."  The door slid closed and locked with an audible click.  "I'll be back in the morning, with a late breakfast," she said, her voice attenuated by the thick glass, then turned and walked away... and Cynthia was alone.

The captive struggled to her feet, and hopped to the door.  Her captor's black-clad, graceful form disappeared into the glimmering, distorted darkness.  Cynthia forced a sad whine past her gag, then turned and hopped to the far wall.  The parking lot below was empty... but as she watched, a police car slowly cruised by on the perimeter road.  Cynthia watched as it reached the access to a main artery, paused for a series of cars and one large truck to pass, then pulled onto the highway and sped away.  Cynthia didn't bother trying to attract attention.  She knew it was pointless.  

She raised her chin and examined the surrounding country, and realized where she was.  She was in one of the buildings of the half-empty industrial park about four miles from campus.  She'd driven down the nearby interstate countless times, barely noticing the series of office buildings and warehouses set back in a pocket valley between two steep hills.  The warehouses were all featureless blocks, their gray walls relieved only by loading docks and signs advertising their occupants.  The office buildings were all identical, the same generic, modern design; the same heavily mirrored glass.

Cynthia twisted her cuffed wrists and watched the cars pass below on the freeway and side roads.  She could see her own dim, naked, bound, gagged, and helpless reflection in the glass, but knew herself to be invisible to the early morning travelers.

She took a few hopping steps back, awkwardly dropped to her knees, rolled onto her side, and sighed.  Tears rolled from her eyes, down her face, and fell to the soft, thick carpet.

I know what it wants from me, she thought, and I can't do it.  I can't.