The perils with sailing

Postby lasse672000 » Mon May 20, 2013 12:51 am

Sailing, I find, is a great way to pass time. The wind in your hair, the stillness, the sun in your face, all of those things makes a great day on the lake. Something that’s almost as nice is to get off the boat and wade ashore on a secluded and sandy beach, or just lie down on your back, on the bottom of the boat, and let the wind take you wherever it pleases. You meet such friendly people, too.
In short, it’s nothing like being on a speed-boat, doing a hundred miles an hour, splashing water everywhere. Sure, that is fun too, but sailing is way nicer.

I was lying on the bottom of my sail-boat, trying to soak up some sun, dressed in my red and pink bikini, when I heard someone yelling:
“OHOY THERE; DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE?”
I sat up, and shook my head:”NO,” I yelled back,” I DON’T. I’M JUST TRYING TO GET A NICE TAN, BUT THANKS FOR ASKING.”
It was the (male) driver of a speed-boat, in the mega-bucks class, that wanted to know.
“ARE YOU SURE? I CAN COME OVER AND HAVE A LOOK AT YOUR ENGINE, AND MAYBE HELP YOU, IF YOU HAVE GOT ANY TROUBLE. IT WON’T TAKE LONG!”
Was he blind, or what? Couldn’t he see there was a mast and a sail on the boat, but no engine of any kind, indicating to anyone this was not a speed-boat?
Before I had a chance to stop him, he was along-side my boat, and climbing over the rails.

“Right,” he said, rubbing his hands, enthusiastically, “show me the engine, young lady. I’ll soon have it fixed for you, don’t you worry.” I had my first really good look at him.
He was about twenty years old, sun-bleached shoulder-length hair, evenly tanned body, tall and muscular, wearing yellow and green Speedos, perhaps one size too small for my liking.
By the way: my hair is a thick, brown carpet, which hangs straight down, no matter what you do to it, and stops half way to my waist. My fringe is cut straight off, just below my eyebrows. I’m quite tall for being a fourteen-year old, and slender. Earlier that day, I had painted the nails on my fingers and toes in a vivid red colour I had nicked from my mum.

He looked at my body and commented on my tanned back, beginning to look more like a sun-burned back, to him. “Oh, that’s gonno sting something awful tonight. Why don’t you come over to my boat, and I’ll put some cooling-creme on it? I’m Aaron, by the way. “
“And I’m Alice.” We shook hands, and climbed aboard his boat. He told me to go and sit in the cabin, and he’d put some creme on the burns. I did, and could hear him rummage around in various cabinets and drawers.
“Ah, there we are!” he said, and I was all of a sudden tied to the chair by a rope, tightly wound several times around my waist and tied off behind the back of the chair. He grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back, tied my ankles together, shoved a rag in my mouth, wound a bandana around my head and knotted it off behind my head.

“O.K; was it Alice you’re calling yourself these days?” he huffed. “About time I found you! You’re not the easiest person to locate, let me tell you. I bet you’ve enjoyed your time on the run; most likely you’ve robbed some banks, while you were at it. I’ll check when we get back. Because now; it’s time for you to go back to where you came from!”
I just stared at him. What was he talking about? I wasn’t due home for hours, and besides, my parents knew exactly where I was, so there was no need for them to go and search for me.
“I can see you’re pretending not to understand what I’m talking about, Jenny Broadside.” he said, with an evil grin. “Oh, well; have it your way. It is back to prison for you, anyway.”
What was he talking about; prison; Jenny Broadside; robbing banks? This was getting more and more confusing by the minute. I couldn’t protest, or explain anything, or demand an explanation. Aaron, if that was his real name, left me and a short while later the engine started with a mighty roar.

A couple of minutes later, the boat stopped. Aaron came down and released me from the chair. With ease, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me ashore, dumping me in the trunk of a rusty old car. He slammed the boot-lid closed and drove off, with me as his prisoner.
When the car stopped, and he opened the lid, I was half-dead from breathing in the exhaust-fumes. Once again he threw me over his shoulder, this time carrying me inside a house, which most certainly did not look like a prison to me. Instead it looked like a timber-framed hut.
He dumped me not too gently onto the floor, closed the door as he left and locked it.
Whether or not there was a Jenny Broadside I didn’t know, but one thing I did know was that I had been kidnapped.
Last edited by lasse672000 on Tue May 21, 2013 8:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
Whazzzz up!.

Re: The perils with sailing

Postby xtc » Mon May 20, 2013 1:41 am

Good start. A well paced story.
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!

More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

Re: The perils with sailing

Postby lasse672000 » Tue May 21, 2013 4:37 am

As I lay there, I soon started getting a creepy-crawly feeling all over my body. I looked down, and saw that I had been dumped onto what must have been the ant-equivalent of a super high-way.
Their constant walking of course wasn’t painful as it was annoying. I started “MMMPH”-ing as loudly as I possibly could through the gag, hoping someone, it didn’t matter who, would hear me, and when they found their way inside my bikini, I tried to yell even louder.
As I had hoped the door flung open.
“What are you screaming about? Don’t you know no one can hear you?” Aaron scornfully said. Then he noticed the ants crawling all over me.
“Oh, so there’s where the ant-trail was?” he noted, grinning from ear to ear. “I was pretty sure it was somewhere around here, but now I know for sure. Are you comfortable there? No? Tell you what; you tell me everything I want to know about your criminal activities, like if there are more people involved, who they are, and where your base of operations is located, and I’ll put you somewhere where there definitely are no ants.”

I looked up at him, my thoughts going at full speed. I figured I had little chance of convincing him I wasn’t who he thought I was, so I had to come up with some pretty convincing lies, fast!
“Think Ali; think!” I told myself, and lo and behold; it was actually quite easy to come up with a story which I thought was convincing about a gang of murderers, thieves, bank-robbers and kidnappers and whatever else I could come up with as I talked, and their activities.

About halfway through my story, Aaron held up a hand.
“What an absolutely fascinating story you’ve managed to come up with, given the fact you haven’t had much time!” he said, with a chuckle. “And I probably would have believed it too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the real Jenny Broadside’s already been apprehended and brought to the nearest police station. I’ve checked your story, and it is as legitimate as any story I’ve heard, since I became a cop.”
He, all of a sudden, got a thoughtful look in his face. He started walking from one wall to the other, all the time muttering:
“The question now is; what am I going to do with her? I can’t just turn her lose, and risk her going to my colleagues. No, that is definitely not an option. Not while I’m still around here, anyway. I’d be laughed right out of the police force for mistaking her for someone else.
I could cut her ankles free and, after having escaped, let her walk to the nearest road, but as she doesn’t have any socks or shoes on and it is a road more or less covered with sharp gravel; that would be downright cruel.
On the other hand; I could send her parents an e-mail telling them what I’ve done, and that I will let her go; only not just yet. That would of course mean she’d have to remain my prisoner until after the trial and sentencing, and that could, quite possibly, take quite some time.”
He stopped pacing and turned and looked down at me.
“What do you say” he asked, “do you want to be released now, and quite possibly risk my entire career, or later? If you chose option number two, I could keep my job and you would get the experience of your life.
I’ll let you have an hour to really think things through. This is definitely not a decision you can make in five seconds.
“To remind you of the options;
Number one: I turn you lose now, and you go straight to the police telling them what I’ve done.
Number two; I get the hell out of here, taking you with me. That way, I’d be safe, and you’d get an adventure.
But there is actually a third option, I hear you think. I’d turn you lose, and you’d keep your mouth shut? Nah, that’s not really an option, is it? You see; I don’t think girls your age, or any age for that matter, can keep quiet about a thing like this for more than five seconds, if that.
So, come to think of it; screw the options. You’re coming with me.”

Aaron untied me from the chair, lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder, and carried me outside. He dumped me on the ground and went and got the garden hose, which he used to rinse the ants off of my body. I again started hollering, but this time I did it because the water was freezing. He untied my ankles, grabbed my elbow and led me to his car. He had already put a tarp in the back seat, and now he pushed me on to it.
“You’re soaking wet, you know!” he jokingly said. “I can’t have you ruining the upholstery!”
And that’s how my life on the run began.
Whazzzz up!.

Re: The perils with sailing

Postby lasse672000 » Wed May 22, 2013 11:22 am

Late that night Aaron stopped at a motel. He got a room for the night, and herded me inside. The gag hadn’t been out of my mouth since he captured me, and although it was a fairly soft one, the strain on the muscles around the mouth was getting to the point where it was no longer bearable. Thankfully, the first thing he did after tying me to a chair was to take it out and give me a drink of water.

“So, just out of curiosity; how long are you planning on keeping me your prisoner? I mean ‘how long’, as in ‘how many days’?” I asked.
“Days?” he said, with a delighted smile, “Who said anything about days? It might take weeks; months, even.”
As he talked, the look on my face must have changed, because he suddenly asked: “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“No I’m fine; it’s just, well, my clothes.” I answered.
He looked as if that was an issue he really didn’t care about. “Yea so?” He looked as if he really didn’t know what I was talking about, and didn’t really want to find out, “what about’ em?”
I was getting worked up despite, or perhaps thanks to, my troublesome situation.
“Well,” I said as if talking to a child, “if you hadn’t noticed, I’m still wearing nothing but a bikini, and a damp one at that. If you don’t want me to catch a cold or something worse, you’d better get me some proper clothes!” Too late I realized I might have been a bit careless in using that particular tone of voice and in the choice of words, but he just laughed.
“As much as I love seeing you in it, I guess you’re right; a bikini might be a bit chilly to wear all day long, even this time of year. Tomorrow, I’ll buy you something else to wear. I saw a thrift shop near here, which I might visit.”

Aaron untied me from the chair early the next morning. But after allowing me to eat some breakfast he, after having checked it couldn’t be easily seen from the window, tied my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. He tore off two long strips of duct tape and put them over my mouth to keep me quiet, and on the way out, he hung the “Do not disturb” sign on the door.
When he came back, he carried two plastic bags, one from the thrift shop, and one from a local clothes-store.
The bag from the thrift shop contained a brown, one-piece corduroy suit, and a denim one-piece suit, both a couple of sizes too big, but hey, I was in no position to complain; was I? The other one contained a small packet of rubber bands for my hair, a lime-green and black peaked hat, socks and underwear (again at least one size too big) and a toothbrush.
He released me from the bed, and allowed me to get dressed.
“Wear the corduroy suit, “he instructed.
When I had finished getting dressed, he made me cross my hands in front of me, and tied them together, gagged me (in fact, he kept tying and gagging me every day until the end, and if and if he forgot, he made me promise to remind him), bundled up my hair on the back of my head, and fastened it with one of the rubber bands, before pulling the hat down over my head, almost covering my eyes. He grabbed my arm and, after having checked the coast was clear, he pulled me out and into the back-seat of his car.
“I’ve already paid for the room,” he said as he drove out of the parking-lot. So much for my first, and thus far only, chance to escape!

Around noon we stopped for lunch at a road-side café. Before we went in, he attached rope to my bound wrists, and just about dragged me inside. He ordered food for both of us, and we sat down at a table in the corner. He took the gag out, and gave me a fork.
”Eat!” he ordered.
“How am I supposed to eat, with my hands tied together?” I sarcastically asked.
“I don’t know; do I?” he replied. “You just have to figure something out. But do it quickly, because when I’ve finished, we leave.”

They say something like: ‘necessity is the mother of all inventions’, and I did find a way to use the fork, get (most of) the food inside me, wipe my mouth acceptably clean, before he had finished his meal. He didn’t verbally comment on that fact, he just shoved the gag back in my mouth, and tied it in place, a bit more forceful than perhaps was necessary.
He grabbed the lead, and we went back to our car. When I was seated, he tied the rope to the handle on the door next to me, and went and sat behind the wheel.
“Did you notice something odd back there?” he asked.
When I shook my head, he sighed and gave me an impatient look. “So you didn’t notice no one seemed to care about the fact you had your hands tied and was gagged both when coming in and leaving the place?”
Hesitantly, I nodded. Of course I had noticed that, but I wasn’t sure what point he wanted to make.
“Well, now you see firsthand, how little care and attention people in this country pay one another. Sad; isn’t it?”
This time, I nodded without being hesitant.
“Oh, well! There’s always the next place. And if not that one, then there’s always the next one, and so on. Someone; somewhere; is bound to take notice of you!”
I shook my head in disbelief. This guy seemed to get more and more certifiable by the minute.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder, and worry about, what would happen if and when someone really tried to rescue me!
Whazzzz up!.