The Wrangler

The Wrangler

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2016 By Pat Powers

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Sure, you can fuck her, said the Wrangler to the Agent. Just be sure to shower first and to wear a condom.

I prefer to shower after, said the Agent. He was a hard-looking dark-haired man, tall and muscular and who moved with a certain grace and economy of motion. He was one of five men who sat in the living room of a rented trailer tucked away on a remote bend of the Altamaha, a south Georgia river. They were all dressed casually, in jeans and shorts and T-shirts and polo shirts. They were supposed to look like a bunch of guys out for a weekend of fishing and drinking away from the wives. But none of them were drinking, though there was booze in the refrigerator. There was a baseball game on the television, and the men watched it, but without any real interest. They were not there to watch baseball. They were there to collect two million dollars.

Unless you also like spending time in a jail cell, you'll shower first. said the Cleaner, a grizzled old white-haired man who looked like a former street tough, the only one of the group that had a paunch. You leave any skin cells on her, it's DNA evidence, just like if you come on her or in her it's DNA evidence. Might as well just write your name, address and phone number on her butt. A shower will wash your skin cells off.

I'm OK with a condom and a shower, said the Agent. The shower sounds kinda nice, and staying outta jail sounds nice, too.

With those words, the Agent headed off to the showers. He wasn't one to hesitate once he decided on a course of action.

What position do you want her in? the Wrangler called after him. Doggie would be easiest.

Doggie it is, said the Agent. He didn't really care. A fuck was a fuck.

The Wrangler walked back into the bedroom. He was a compactly built man, average height and average build. In shorts and a polo shirt he looked like a racquetball player, muscular and lithe.

A naked woman lay tied on the bed in a half spreadeagle. Her hands were secured behind her back with ropes in Japanese shibari style bondage. Each wrist was tied securely to its opposite forearm just below the elbow. Ropes encircles her upper arms, tied together behind her back so she was unable to move her arms back and forth.

Her legs were encased in leather cuffs at the ankles, and tied to the corners of the bed so that they were spread wide.

The woman on the bed wore a sturdy leather collar around her neck and a hood that covered her head. A spray of lustrous brown hair spilled out from beneath the hood. A rope secured her collar to the headboard at the top of the bed. The way she was bound made her large breasts pillow beneath her as they were pressed into the bed, and left the round globes of her butt stretched taught, as if in invitation.

Beneath the hood the woman's mouth was filled with a small ball gag. The ball itself was a wiffle golf ball, big enough to block screams and keep her tongue from working effectively, but with holes that would permit her to breathe through it if it her nose got clogged up, as sometimes happened.

A slight ring of flesh where her lips were compressed between the leather hood and the ballgag and the pink between her nostrils were the only portions of the woman's face that were visible.

Her name was Christine Willock, and she was the daughter of Arthur Willock, the heir to the Genegineering fortune. She was absolutely helpless, and terrified, and had been for the last several hours, most of which had been spent hogtied, gagged and blindfolded in the trunk of a car.

The men had spoken to her only once. They must have spotted her slipping out of the Stateline Liquors store where she sneaked out to get booze (her father was against booze, necessitating secret trips to the liquor store every so often).

A couple of miles from the store, on a deserted back road that ran between the highway leading to the nearest town with a liquor store, her car died. Probably her car had been rigged to do just that, because moments after it died two cars came down the road and pulled over, boxing her in.

When she saw that the men approaching her car wore masks and carried assault weapons, Christine knew she was in trouble.

Her first thought was to lock the doors and activate the alarm on her car. It was not your average car alarm, but a radio broadcast akin to a Lojack that went out to every law enforcement agency in the area, letting them know the occupant of the vehicle in question was in trouble.

Before she could do so, her whole body shook violently as the windows in back of her car shattered and the rounds that had shattered them punched holes through the far side of the car.

Christine screamed in terror, her impulse to push the emergency alarm gone.

The windows of the car were bulletproof, its doors, trunk and roof armor-plated. The bullets shouldn't have broken the glass.

Git cher hands up now, bitch! barked a hard male voice as a machine gun poked its snout into the car.

Christine raised her hands over her head. They were shaking. She was crying.

A hand reached into her car and opened the door from the inside. A moment later a masked man leaned over, grabbed her by the arm, and jerked her roughly out of the car. Christine fell to the ground and a man crawled atop her. As she opened her mouth to scream, he shoved a ball into her mouth. She instinctively resisted, but he was very fast and very strong, and in a moment it was all the way in her mouth. There were straps dangling from the ball, and in a moment her attacker pulled the straps tightly together, and like that she was gagged. She could make sounds, though, because the ball that gagged her was plastic and had holes in it. That lasted only for a second, however, as her attacker pulled out a roll of duct tape and wrapped it twice around her head, very quickly. It pulled painfully on her hair as he wrapped the tape around her head, and Christine cried out in protest, but as