It had been twelve years after the last great battle of Carrandolan, the subjugation of the Badhul Khani, as the king marshall passed away, at the ripe old age of forty-two. King Sabraen had ruled his country for over twenty years and he had been beloved by his people. Step by step, he had been working to make his land safe, by strengthening the borders where necessary, and by negotiating peace treaties when possible.
And after he had suppressed the biggest domestic thread, the poison of the roaming, plundering amazons of the Badhul, the whole nation had started to flourish in an ever-increasing wealth.
As his son, Prince Tallis, was only fourteen years of age at the time of the King's passing, the country was going to be ruled by the Princess-Regent Samana, the King's older sister, who was the next closest in blood. This until, in two years, her nephew would be old enough to become the rightful new king. But things turned out differently.
She had decided to come in early, to make sure that the conference later that day would be perfectly organized. That turned out to be a mistake.
As she opened the door to her office, a man was sitting behind her computer. Furious, she switched on the light, about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but the words never came out. The gun that apparently had been lying on the desk was now pointing straight at her. Almost automatically her hands went up in the air. Then she noticed something else that sent chills up her spine: he was wearing a black mask. It went over his entire head. Despite the dire situation, she was wondering how he was able to see in the thing. But he obviously was, because he got up and hurled an office chair straight at her, with great precision. It hit her against the knees.
"You weren't supposed to be here, not this early..."
Strong accent. Middle east, possibly.
"Close the door and lock it. Good, now: if you try to run away, be sure that you're never going to make it in time. Now turn around and keep standing there. Keep your hands up."
Trembling uncontrollably by now, she heard him approach. Standing right behind her, he spoke again.
Mrs. Davis was sitting perched on the edge of the desk, with her back to the window. Her elbows were tied behind her back, and her wrists were secured at her waist sides, with a rope that also anchored a tight crotch rope, running through her lips and buttocks up to the elbow tie. Her distinguished silver-grey coiffure had been distorted into two ridiculous little girl pigtails. With her ankles cross-tied as they were, getting off the desk wasn't an option, so she was just sitting there, biding her time. Oh well, and earning money at the same time, she mused. At the moment, she was on her own, once more. As ever once happened, Gerald was off for a few minutes, to do whatever an errand that couldn't wait.
For seven months now, she had been modeling for Gerald, and it had actually become a very pleasant working relationship, despite the age difference. Gerald had turned out to be an extremely considerate young man, and notwithstanding the nature of the shoots, she felt totally safe in his hands. At one point, she had encouraged him to call her by her first name, but he had refused, kindly but firmly, saying that it would make him feel uncomfortable.
Once again, she arched her back. Her head went up and her knees down a bit, and as she did, she could feel the ropes tighten in her private parts. She shouldn't be doing much more of that, she realized, slumping forward again. A reaction was starting to build up. She felt it in her buttocks, creeping up her lower spine, tingling... Better to just sit erect, motionless.
As she sat in the chair, reversed and kneeling, she could hear him going through the closets. He did it quietly, methodically, and even though she couldn't see him, she had the impression that the whole place wasn't turned into a mess. It just sounded as if he picked things up, and put them right back. Whenever he looked in a drawer, she heard a little rummaging, and after that, he would just slide it back.
She leaned forward a bit, trying to find some slack in her bonds. There was none. her knees and wrists were tied firmly together, and though her elbows weren't quite touching,
she couldn't move those more than an inch at the most. The worst was the rope that kept her legs doubled up beneath her, keeping her in this humiliating kneeling position. It was cutting into her upper thighs like crazy.