You really needed this. You’re not normally the type to treat yourself, especially not so lavishly, but you’ve earned yourself a spa day. You aren’t going to worry yourself with the cost or anything. Your pep talk to yourself was swift and assured before you went into the spa for your appointment, and the last minute cancellation to get you in immediately seemed like it was fate.

You were nervous, taking off your clothes, waiting for some stranger to put their hands all over you. Lying on your stomach on the padded table, with just a soft, white towel over your butt, you feel anything but relaxed, but the room is pleasantly warm, the smell of candles appealing, and calming music playing softly from the speakers.

“How are you doing today?”

You tense up, hearing a man’s voice. You’d had the option to request a female masseuse when you booked the appointment. Maybe you were trying to be more woke when you opted not to specify; it’s not like gender should matter in terms of their skill. You’d even heard that some people prefer male masseuses because they tend to be stronger. You weren’t looking for an especially powerful massage, but maybe part of you, subconsciously, longed for a man’s touch.

Whether you did or didn’t, his voice still startles you. You can see his bare feet padding quietly across the floor from where your face is pressed into the pillowed rest. You realize you’ve been quiet for a long time since he asked how you were, and you blurt out “Good!”

“Ah, if you were good, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?” Suddenly, his hands, wet and slick with warm oil, are on your shoulders.

“No,” you answer, resisting the urge to jump up, remembering that you wanted this massage, not just wanted, deserved.

“You have a lot of tension in your shoulders.”

You moan in spite of yourself as his strong fingers dig into your shoulders. It feels good. Really good. You melt as he massages you, becoming putty in his talented hands as they work their magic, molding you into a relaxed puddle of bliss.

He doesn’t talk much, and what he does say blends with the soothing music. He seems to perfectly understand your moans of pleasure when you utter when he hitting just the right spot.

You relax into a trance, the calming music, the smell of the oils mingling with the candles burning around the room, and his incredible hands. You’re completely caught off guard when he tells you that unfortunately, your time is up. It takes you a moment to process, but you can’t be too disappointed, because you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt better than you do at that exact moment.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, unable to quite bring yourself to lift up your head yet.

“You can take a few minutes before you get up,” he tells you.

“That was wonderful,” you exhale.

“It was my pleasure.”

You hear the soft pad of his bare feet walking away from you and then the creak of the door opening and closing. You could lie there forever, but finally you manage to pull yourself up, clutching the towel to yourself even though you’re alone. You grab the white terry cloth robe provided and swiftly don it. There’s a mirror set above where you left your clothes, neatly folded in a pile. Aside from the imprint of the creases of the cushion left on your face, you look relaxed, all traces of stress removed from your features.

And then you see the figure behind you.

Before your brain even processes what you’re seeing, he’s grabbed you, wrapping you in his powerful arms, one across your shoulders, the other hand clamped over your mouth.

“Don’t scream.”

You recognize the voice. Calm. Soothing.

Commanding.

“Good girl,” he tells you when you stay quiet, resisting every impulse to scream your lungs out.

His hand holding your upper body slowly relinquishes you, but the hand over your mouth maintains its strong seal over your lips. You watch as he reaches down to your pile of clothes, brushing aside your shirt and revealing your neatly folded panties. “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth,” he whispers in your ear as he picks up your panties, lifting them towards your face. “And you’re going to chew on your panties so you remember to shut up. Nod your head if you understand.”

Furiously, you nod your head. If this is what he’s going to do to you if you obey, you can only imagine what he’d do if you disobey him.

“Good girl,” he tells you, slowly unfurling his fingers from across your mouth. You part your lips, just barely, when the fabric of your worn panties are pressed against them. “Open up. Take them all.” He pries your jaw open, working your underwear fully into your mouth. He grabs the cloth belt from your robe, yanking it off in one clean jerk. Reflexively, you try to pull your disheveled robe closed, but he grabs your wrists, staying them. Looking down, you see one of your boobs is bared, and as you glance up in the mirror, he’s clearly noticed. He lets go of your wrist to grab the other end of the belt and swiftly tie it over your well-stuffed mouth.

“Now that I know you’ll be quiet for me.” He spins you around so you’re facing him, and pulls open your robe, yanking it off your shoulders.

You try to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrists, those powerful hands that had worked such magic on your back and neck and shoulders now easily keeping you helpless while he assess your nude form.

“Not too shabby.” His hands are on your naked body. It was only a few minutes ago that you were willingly let him put his hands all over your back, but this is different. You again try to cover yourself, but this time he’s more forceful when he grabs you, spinning you back around and wrenching your arms behind your back. He rips the robe all the way off your arms, leaving you naked. He wrangles your wrists back up behind you and swiftly zipties your arms behind your back. Satisfied your hands are useless, he slaps you on the ass and then throws you back down on the massage table.

Your pleading into your gag as you look back over your shoulder. He grabs your legs, rolling you onto your side so he can similarly bind your ankles. In a matter of minutes he has you bound and gagged and at his mercy.

“Well well well, Miss Cavandale.”

Your eyes widen and you scream somehow even louder into your panties.

“I’m sure your family will pay quite a pretty penny to get you back all safe and sound.”

You wiggle, but any more struggling and you’ll fall off the table for sure. At the very least you manage to curl your legs up; you can’t quite get your knees up to hide your breasts from his view, but your pussy is, at the moment, concealed.

“Smile for the camera.” He has his phone out, taking pictures of you in your helpless state. “That’s it, keep up the damsel in distress act. Make it clear that you need to be rescued.”

It’s not an act. Your expression is terrified, surely your bulging cheeks and stretched lips only adding to the sense of desperation.

“A couple more.” He rolls you onto your back and forcefully spreads your thighs, making sure his camera captures everything. “It really encapsulates the implications of what might happen if daddy doesn’t fork up the cash for your tight little ass.”

You scream, not even in an effort to be heard as you exhale every last decibel until you run out of breath.

“Fire these up to the folks in charge, and then I’ll get you wrapped up and secured away while we wait for the ransom, Miss Cavandale.”

The first time he said it, you were sure you just have just misheard, and who could blame you under the circumstances. But he definitely said Miss Cavandale.

And you have no idea who that is, but it’s not you.

“Hang on, I have to take this,” he says, putting his hand over your gagged mouth just as you start yelling again, trying to communicate that he’s got the wrong girl.

“Hello?

“Yeah, I’ve got her right—

“What? Are you fucking kidding me! Shit!”

He’s looking down on you as the person on the other end of the phone screams so loud you can almost make it out. They’re telling him the same thing you’ve been trying to tell him.

“Alright.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of her.”

He hangs up and looks down at you. “Well that’s my bad. I’m terribly sorry, I seem to have grabbed the wrong girl.”

You remember how you got the last minute reservation, the receptionist saying something about a last minute cancellation. You must’ve taken whoever they were planning to kidnap’s spot.

“I’m going to let you go, and you’re just going to pretend this never happened, gotcha?”

You nod rapidly, mumbling pleading affirmatives into your gag.

“I know you will. Because if you say anything, I’ll find you.”

You nod harder. You won’t say a thing; just count your lucky stars that you escaped a far worse fate.

He helps you to your feet, standing behind you and helping you balance on your bound legs. He leans in, his lips touching your ear. “On second thought, I think I’ll keep you.”

You lunge forward, trying to hop away, but he grabs you, wrapping his arms around you. He was handsy before, but now he’s manhandling you, groping at your soft flesh, mauling your boobs, clutching your pussy. “It’s a good thing you’re not worth ransoming. I can strip a wealthy heiress. I can rough her up a little, and I can even cop a feel. But rich daddies and hubbies don’t like paying for damaged goods.” You feel his fingers curve up into you. “But you, I can do whatever I want with you.”

Your screams that you could be ransomed, that somebody would pay for you, are muted by your panties.

He forces you against the massage table and bends you over it. “I should have known you weren’t the right girl.”

Yes, if he knew he’d never have abducted you, but he doesn’t seem to mind his little screw up, not in the slightest as he slaps your upturned ass. “All those rich girls, they’ve got self defense training, they put up a real struggle. But not you. You were so easy to take.”

What were you supposed to do? Once he grabbed you, you didn’t want to risk pissing him off. You’d like to think maybe if he hadn’t snuck up on you, you could have run, called for help maybe before he stuffed your own panties in your mouth, but he had you so relaxed from that wonderful massage, that now feels like a lifetime ago.

“It’s like you wanted me to kidnap you,” he whispers in your ear.

You can feel him, behind you, ready to take you. You hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper, and you know what’s next.

“Hot little slut like you, you were just begging for this.”

You scream into your gag as he thrusts his dick inside you.

“Nice and tight and wet for me.”

You are, his rough way with you activating deep, perverted pleasure centers in your brain locked behind dark fantasies.

“Moan for me like you did while I was massaging your back.”

Your terrified bleating is nothing like the deep moans of sensual pleasure you were making while he was working the tension out of your neck and shoulders, but through the panties packed in your mouth, it doesn’t make much of a difference.

He thrusts into you, driving his shaft deeper and faster into your sex. “You’re going to be my helpless slave, my bound and gagged fuck toy, to use and abuse whenever I feel like it!”

You try to shake your head, but he grabs your hair, savagely yanking it back so your ear is right next to his mouth. “I’m never going to let you go.”

You feel him cum inside you, his dick spasming as he pumps his load into you. You can feel his seed dripping down your inner thighs as you lay there, panting through your nose. There’s no use struggling any more, no use fighting. You offer no resistance as he throws you over his shoulder and carries you off, his new plaything.