Having It All (29 page)

Arriving at the mall parking area, Jim changed his mind and drove to the front entrance, which had several nice benches sheltered under leafy oak trees. He stopped in front, put the seldom-used handicapped tag on the rear view mirror and carried out the three steps he had rehearsed to get Sandy out of the van. First, he released the back cable and pushed the harness ring into the shirt, laying flat against the harness. Then he removed the ankle links and left the calf connection in place. He adjusted her wide brimmed straw hat so that it tipped slightly over her forehead and then assisted her out of the seat, helping her as he would anyone who was not ambulatory. He walked her to one of the benches, helped her sit, adjusting the back pack so it wasn't in the way. He reconnected the ankle links, pulled her duster coat around her so that it covered her legs and told her, via his radio, to just sit back while he parked the van. Sandy nodded and sat back gingerly, not wanting to press her already disabled arms and hands against the bench back. Checking the image she presented at the busy mall entrance, Jim pulled the coat's belt around her waist and cinched it.

When he returned, Jim discovered that an older couple was seated next to her, chatting amicably with the nearly unresponsive young woman in the duster. They seemed quite oblivious to the fact that aside from an occasional nod or tilt of the head, Sandy made no sound or even seemed to know they were there. Jim concealed his grin as he came up to them and thanked them for chatting with Sandy.

“My wife recently had a serious accident and this is her first day out, so thanks for keeping an eye on her while I parked the car,” he said.

The couple continued to banter to Sandy, ignoring Jim until finally he turned around and forcibly inserted himself between the man and Sandy, wiggling his butt until the man moved a few inches to make room for him. Jim turned to the man and held up his hand, saying, “She can't hear you and you are disturbing a disabled person. Now fuck off or I'll call a cop.”

Shocked, the couple stopped in mid sentence, glared at Jim and walked off in a huff, muttering about his rudeness

“Amen,” said Jim. “It's time to take a walk.” He bent over as if to tie his shoe and unlocked Sandy's ankle link, then helped her stand. Since the radio link was open to transmit only, Sandy had heard the entire exchange with the couple and was, as far as Jim could tell, giggling behind her packed mouth gag and rubber hood enclosure.

“Just take it slow,” Jim said as though talking to his ancient Aunt Mary. Sandy took a feeble step, restricted by the chain links at her knees, and slid her high-heeled boots slowly along the pavement. They made very slow progress, stopping to rest from time to time and ignoring the stares and veiled looks from other shoppers and tourists. Then, suddenly, two security guards descended upon them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Jim said, knowing Sandy would hear. “What can we do for Mall Security today?”

“Ah, Sir, we have been watching you and thought we should intervene,” said the taller one, as he checked out Sandy's prominent bust and ran his sunglass-covered eyes over the duster.

Sandy felt the usual mixed feelings of embarrassment and excitement while these men blatantly scanned her, supposedly for security, but in reality out of pure lust. She got the same feelings in the airport when the TSA Gestapo types ran their rubber gloved hands over her body, ostensively seeking explosives and anything illegal, but in fact just getting off by handling women within the sanctions of the government's “war on terror”. These mall security guards were engaged in their own little “war on shoppers” and Sandy thought that it was probably very rewarding for such types to be able to freely, (and legally), harass paying customers. To make matters even more interesting, Sandy felt her nipples harden as she watched through the mask and sunglasses as the men's eyes continued to return to her bust line.

“Intervene?” Jim asked. “We don’t need your help.”

“I think you do,” said the shorter man, taking off his reflective sun glasses and studying Jim and Sandy carefully, as though they looked suspicious.

“Thank you, no,” Jim reinforced, hoping they'd buzz off.

“I think you'll understand,” said the taller, whose name tag said 'Fred'.

“Yes,” added the other guard. “You'll understand.” He reached up to the mike on his left shoulder and pressed the talk button, saying: “Two-two to base. How long for that Whisky Charles, please? We have the four-fours with us now.” He stood listening for the response, his hand still on the mike.

“By the way, if I may ask,” said the second guard. “What's the nature of the lady's problem?”

Jim, astonished by the insensitivity and illegality of the question, decide to ignore it. He smiled at both guards and kept his arm around Sandy's waist. She snuggled up to him, making hard contact from hips to shoulders. “What the hell is a Whiskey Charles?” he asked, trying to keep it light.

The radio buzzed and a voice said, “They should be there now, two-two.”

“Copy,” said the guard into the mike, as they both turned left and right, looking for something. “Ah, here it comes now,” he said, pointing.

“And what is a four-four?” Jim pressed.

“Two persons. Both adults, one needing a Whisky Charles,” the first guard replied.

“Sure.”
Thought Jim to himself.
“These guys are really nuts.”

Exactly how that translated into “four-four”, Jim decided to ignore. The “Whisky Charles” code was explained at that moment. Around the corner of the mall's anchor department store came an electric cart towing a trailer. It ran right up to the guards and stopped. Another guard, who appeared to be sweating badly, jumped out and went to the trailer, removing a folded up wheel chair, opening it and wheeled it up to the four people who were standing there, just looking.

Jim realized what had been going on and recovered quickly. “Really, gentlemen. This isn’t necessary.”

“It is if you want to stay in the mall,” said the short guy officiously.”Our rules, posted at every entrance, specifically state that disabled or otherwise mobility-challenged persons shall use a wheelchair while on the premises. Our insurance requires it. Too many older folks were falling on the property and then suing the company. By the way,” the guard repeated, “can you tell us the situation with the lady?”

“Gentlemen,” Jim said in his best-controlled tone. “My wife was seriously injured by an electric cart like yours in a mall like this six months ago. She has regained some mobility but still cannot speak or get about on her own.” Both guards unconsciously looked at their cart.

“Further,” said Jim, increasing his voice level slightly, “it is a violation of federal law, the Americans with Disabilities Act, ADA, to be precise, for you to ask such a question. You are both in violation, gentlemen.” Jim guided Sandy to the chair and helped her sit, putting her booted feet on the leg supports, taking the pack off and placing it in her lap and making sure she was sitting all the way back so that her bound arms under the coat were not apparent. He fastened the seat belt around her.

“Ah…ah…we meant no offense,” babbled the first guard, backing away. “We just wanted to make sure that she didn't require additional assistance. We're going now. Have a nice day and thanks for visiting the Central Mall.” The first two guards turned and walked away briskly. The third, now sweating profusely, climbed into his cart and backed carefully away from Jim and Sandy, who was quietly giggling behind her rubber face.

“Hey,” shouted Jim to the cart driver. “Where do you want me to leave it when we depart?”

“Oh,” said the third guard, who was apparently in charge of wheel chairs. “You just turn that switch.” He pointed to a small switch on the right armrest of the chair. “It sends me a signal and tells me where it is. I'll pick it up. It also functions as an emergency signal for single visitors. If they need help, they just hit the switch and our team will be there fast.”

“Got it,” said Jim, hoping to get rid of these meddling, overly enthusiastic escorts and wondering if the German guards at Dachau had been equally contentious.
”It's all for your own security,”
he thought.
That kind of nonsense and other lies had helped villains in government throughout history destroy societies and nations
, he mused.
Next they'll be telling us that everyone should have the same income, house, life style and blue eyes.

“Thanks again for your help,”
you moron
, he said to the guard and simultaneously thought to himself. “We appreciate it, don't we, dear?”

Sandy nodded slightly.

The guard smiled uncertainly, perhaps visualizing some forthcoming chewing out or perhaps a special recognition award he would get for being so observant and helping disabled people on the property.

Chapter Nine

Attic

She was in the attic of a huge house on the beach at Newport, Rhode Island, an old mansion that was only open in the summer. She had wandered the empty beaches late one Fall afternoon and hated the idea that summer was finally gone. She had to leave the next day. As fate decided it, she never left. No one missed her.

Now it was winter and she was still held captive in the attic. At first, she was efficiently tied and silenced. Her clothes were long gone, her wrists tied with coarse rope to an overhead rafter, a leather gag forced and tied deep in her mouth and sealed with tape, her legs bound together at the knee and ankle and then to a steel eyebolt in the old hardwood flooring of the attic. In time, the terrible bondage of rope and tape was altered to allow better circulation and a bit more comfort, but it was still, curiously, both fearful and pleasant for her. Chains with leather-lined cuffs were eventually substituted for rope and a leather head harness with a built-in rubber ball gag replaced the rags, rope and tape.

Twice every day her captor came up the stairs and greeted her with a coffee, tea or a bit of whiskey in a paper cup, forcing her to drink it after he removed her gag. He would bring her some food and let her use the toilet while he watched, her hands captive in steel cuffs in front of her. And then he would string her up again and whip her with a riding crop that was old and worn, the crooked bone handle stained with his sweat and anger. The leather portion of the crop would cut across her hips and ass, stinging, hurting, leaving bruises that only partly healed before the next unpredictable assault came a day later. She screamed and cried as he beat her, feeling the intensity of the strokes as her body twisted and swung on the chain from the rafter, her legs sometimes left free to flail about and at other times chained and pulled wide so that the crop's flails explored her ass and her cunt. He used its crooked bone handle to probe deep inside her and caused her to stop her ragged movements and feel the sexual tension begin to mount in her head as he rummaged about in her ass and cunt, tweaking the whip and alternately tugging and pushing on the handle.

Some nights he cut her down, cuffed her hands to the ring that normally held her feet and fucked her without passion or words, doing her first face to face and then turning her over and taking her in the ass while she struggled and fought, hammering the stained, dirty floor with her bound hands. Although she knew that she had in fact consented to, even asked for this, she did not understand it at first. As always, she was sexually excited each time he ravaged her, with either his cock or his mouth or his whip. No matter what he did, she always came wildly before he did, screaming into the gag, keeping her eyes squeezed shut and always, always having that surging, mind-ripping climax that was only part relief and was also a demand for more intensity, more depth of his probing and more slippery cum from his cock. At some point, when the gag was out, she asked him who he was and why he had taken her. He said that the house was his. He'd owned it for years, but could no longer afford to keep it up, so the bank had a lien on it. As to why her, he calmly explained, more than once, that all summer long he watched her walk the beach and noted that there was no one walking with her. He also said that she looked, at first glance, a lot like the vice president of the local Rhode Island bank who had carried out the foreclosure on the house.

So, on the last day of the season, he was there on the beach, waiting for her, just a few yards from the house. He chatted with her and then, out of the blue, suggested that walking alone was dangerous and that someone might come along and swoop down from the property onto the deserted beach, throw a bag over her head, tie her hand and foot and carry her off to his attic. Remarkably for both of them, she looked him in the eye and said that she thought that might be preferable to going back to New York and toiling away the winter in an overheated, mid-city office.

“Really?” he had asked.

“Really,” she said, still looking him in the eye.

“Turn around,” he said, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders. She obeyed and he quickly tied her hands behind her and put a rubber ball gag into her mouth, pulling the straps back cruelly and fastening them behind her head. She didn't struggle, even when he placed a cloth bag over her head, picked her up, put her over his sturdy shoulder and carried her up the path, through the dunes and into the house. In minutes she was tied to the rafter in the attic; silent, shocked that her fantasy was coming true.

She asked him to let her go. He replied that he might. Someday.

As if to try to accommodate her fantasy, that afternoon, he tied her hands high overhead while she knelt on a soft cushion on the floor. He left the gag in place and tied two additional ropes from the rafter to her ankles, leaving her on her knees with her feet elevated behind her. Then he slid in under her and wrapped the long ends of the ropes from her ankles around each soft and pliable breast, pulling the rope tight and forcing her tits into pear-shaped, shiny bulbs. She struggled as he watched her tits bobble while he pressed his already hard cock into her pussy and told her to fuck him. When she only responded half-heartedly, he brought the crop into play and began to whip her tits and back and ass until her hips started to move with a more vigorous forward and back action. The more he flogged her, the faster she moved. That was the first time they came together and he stayed under her for a longtime that night, slipping his cock into her welcoming ass for an additional hard fuck and telling her, as she squirmed and bounced on his belly, that she was a whore and a thief for taking his home from him. And so it continued until she woke up.