Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (9 page)

Bound to
ride the rails

It had all begun
when she had stepped into the curtain-shrouded first class compartment on the
ICE train to Amsterdam. Boarding in the small southern German town of
Rosenheim, Lucy had been surprised to find the compartment already occupied by
a uniformed pair of well built young men who appeared to be not much older than
she was.

“Come right in,
Miss Van Holt,” the taller man had said in German accented English. His uniform
was strange, Lucy thought, quickly looking over both men and wondering why they
were in her compartment.

“And close the
door,” the second man had said, curtly.

“Who are you?”
Lucy demanded, annoyance clear in her voice as she fired a series of blunt
questions and orders at the pair. “This is my private compartment. Why you are
here and why is it so dark. Open these curtains at once.”

“Oh yes, we know
that you booked it, but you are going to share it with us for the trip, Miss
Van Holt,” smirked the first man, as he stepped toward Lucy, his left hand
extended as though he wanted to shake hands.

“No I’m not,”
was Lucy’s angry reply. “Find your own damned compartment.” She stepped back
and began to turn, reaching for the doorknob. A strong hand grabbed her arm and
easily twisted it back and upwards. Lucy opened her mouth to scream, but
another tanned and rough male hand was clapped over her mouth, silencing the
shout. Suddenly, both men were holding her and she felt rope being wound around
her wrists. They tied her hands first, binding the arms behind her back with
the palms pressed together. The hand over her mouth was replaced with a soft
foam rubber ball that was forced between her teeth while her nostrils were
pinched to shut off air. Gasping to breathe, Lucy opened her mouth and the foam
ball was jammed inside. Lucy kicked and struggled. Her legs were held by one of
the men who wrapped her legs with his own long, well muscled legs. Her
struggles, as she bent her knees and tried to kick, made her tight, short black
dress rise up higher on her thighs.

“It will be
easier for you if you don’t fight with us,” said the first young man who had
stuffed her mouth and was now knotting a thin rope around her elbows. “We have
all the combat skills we need to subdue you, Miss Van Holt, so you are wasting
your energy resisting us,” he whispered into Lucy’s ear as he clamped her legs
tighter and cinched the thin rope from her elbows around Lucy’s upper chest,
holding her arms close to her back.

Man #2 was
fastening strips of tape over Lucy’s stuffed mouth. The tape sealed her mouth
and held the foam ball in place. Lucy whined through her nose, still
struggling, but now trying to get her breath and shaking her head frantically,
searching the small First Class room for anything or anyone who might help her.

The three
wrestled to the carpeted floor, with Lucy on the bottom and her two captors on
top. As soon as the girl’s mouth was sealed, man #2 turned and went to work
securing Lucy’s booted ankles with the same thin nylon cord they had used on
her wrists and arms. Meanwhile, man #1 wrapped an elastic adhesive bandage
slowly around Lucy’s lower head, covering the tape and all of the girl’s face
below her nose. The bandage wrap pressed into Lucy’s cheeks and compressed her
face, forcing some of her facial tissue upwards and puffing out her cheeks
under her eyes. The girl continued to whine, but her struggles grew less as the
men worked to secure her legs. The rope was wound around her ankles, pressing
them tightly together, then it was cinched between her booted feet and tied
off. Man #1 sat casually astride the girl’s back, facing Lucy’s feet, while he
tied the ropes. A second rope went around the girl’s legs, just above the knees
and was cinched off as well. Then another loop of rope was wound around her
legs just below the knees and tied off with a cinch knot. The hem of Lucy’s
chic woolen dress was up around her waist and both men went to work wrapping
several turns of rope around her narrow waist and tying it tightly in place.
They used another length of cord to bind her upper thighs together, locating
the rope loops right at the tops of her dark stockings. Now Lucy was fully
immobilized, her legs bound at ankles, knees and thighs, her dress bunched up
around her waist and a belt of rope wound tightly about her waist as well.

The two captors
got off the girl’s back and sat back on the coach compartment’s plush seats
studying the bound captive girl and lighting up cigarettes.

Lucy struggled
and twisted in her new bondage, baffled as to why this was happening, but
deciding that it was a kidnapping and that she was in trouble because no one
knew where she was except the new boy friend in Amsterdam.

When they
finished the smokes, the men hoisted Lucy up between them and stood her upright
against the inside wall of the compartment, next to the door. A heavy steel
hook, intended for hanging garment bags, was fastened about six feet off the
floor, strongly bolted into the wall. Holding Lucy against the wall, the men
used more rope to bind her to the hook, passing rope under her arms, across her
chest above her breasts. They created a suspension harness by also linking the
chest ropes to those around her slim waist and fastened the harness around the
hook. When they finished, Lucy hung suspended from the hook, the toes of her
high-heeled boots just touching the carpet. Conveniently, there was a small luggage
tie-down ring mounted in the compartment’s steel floor and the two men lashed
her bound ankles to this ring. She watched with fearful curiosity as the two
abductors moved about the compartment, removing packages from their own luggage
and opening Lucy’s as well. There was nothing she could do but watch as the
train began to move out of the Rosenheim station towards Munich, about thirty
minutes away. Both men spoke in a language Lucy did not understand, but she
thought it sounded like Dutch. It certainly wasn’t German or Italian; languages
Lucy knew at least conversationally, having been educated in a good boarding
school and at an even better university in the States.

Man #1 turned
and faced his victim, grinning as he surveyed Lucy from bandage-wrapped head to
roped ankles.

“You are going
to have a nice, interesting trip, Van Holt,” he said. “We are going to make
sure that you enjoy every click and clack of the rails, all night long. We’ll
be having some new guests join us in Munich; then it’s about eight uninterrupted
hours of fun and games until Amsterdam, if the train is on time. I know you’ll
enjoy the trip. We will too, won’t we Peter?” he said, turning his head toward
man #2.

Peter was almost
a twin of man #1. Both were medium height, slim and compactly built like
soldiers. They reminded Lucy of the paratroopers she had once met in a small
military base outside Munich. They wore black sweaters and snug black trousers
tucked into what she had noted were top quality German boots made by the Haix
Company. The boots were something she identified because while one man was
sitting on her back and tying her feet, his boots had been next to her head and
she had noted the large Haix labels on the boots.

Their sweaters
had crew necks, black leather patches on the elbows and epaulets with some sort
of silver and red insignia on them. Over the right breast on each sweater was
another insignia with some kind of coat of arms in gold, red and silver thread
and an inscription on a scroll below. Peter’s epaulets had a gold circle and a
star next to the insignia crest. Man #2 had a single star on his. Each wore a
bright red turtleneck under the sweater.

“Of course we
will, Henry,” the second man replied, busying himself with inspecting the
contents of Lucy’s luggage, his back to the door. He leaned over and opened
curtains on one of the windows just enough to look out, then he yanked the
curtains apart, letting in the bleak winter daylight. Lucy could see the
passing country landscape as the train sped parallel to the autobahn about two
hundred meters away. Cars and trucks moved slowly because of the recent snow
and the afternoon light was quickly fading. Peter shut off the compartment
lights; thus making sure that no one outside could see into the railway car and
perhaps catch a glimpse of the men and their bound captive, who hung from the
luggage hook against the wall.

Lucy groaned and
twisted in her ropes. Peter came back over to her with something shiny in his
right hand. Fearfully, Lucy tried to pull back, but succeeded only in moving
but a few millimeters. Peter reached up and unbuttoned the girl’s dress,
beginning at the third button from the top, since the first two were already
open and displaying Lucy’s fine cleavage. He undid each button slowly, while
Lucy writhed in her tight rope suspension, her toes springing up and down from
the floor as she tried to avoid the man’s cold, rough fingers moving down her
chest, touching lightly the soft skin and straying to each rounded breast for a
few moments before continuing down to her waist. Peter unbuttoned until he
reached Lucy’s waist. There, he slowly undid the wide silver belt, letting it
fall away to the floor. Lucy’s chest was heaving. She whined and gurgled in her
throat, blowing and sniffing through her nose, trying to avoid the involuntary
disrobing by this attractive and forceful man.

“Look here,
Henry,” Peter said excitedly. “I think our little Lucy has been holding out on
us.”

Lucy whined
louder behind the ball gag, turning her head away. Henry left the luggage search
and stepped over to see what his partner was doing. Peter had opened up the
front of Lucy’s dress, pulling back the stretchy material and exposing the fine
black lace slip that barely covered the magnificent set of heaving, jiggling
breasts inside their own black lace bra. Carefully, using the thin blade of the
small silver knife, he began to cut away the garments, starting with the fabric
of Lucy’s dress, continuing with the girl’s slip and moving to the black lace
and nylon bra beneath. He discovered that it was not a bra at all, but a
beautifully tailored, black stretch lace all-in-one garment that obviously was
struggling unsuccessfully to hide the girl’s impressive chest. The garment was
partially compressing, almost as if it was designed to deceive the observer, a
very large set of breasts behind twin, tight, Lycra lace cups. The breasts were
squashed back against the chest and literally oozed out from around the bra
cups, showing soft white skin above and at the sides of the garment. The center
cleavage was magnificent and both captors oohed and ahhed as they probed and
pinched Lucy’s chest. Peter moved the small pocket knife he held lightly in his
fingers and quickly cut the shoulder straps on the garment. Lucy’s breasts
slowly rolled out of the confining fabric and popped completely into view as
the bra cups fell away and rolled down to below the chest, resting over Lucy’s
flat little stomach.

“We’ll have to
get some photos of this,” Peter said excitedly. “No one thought she was this,
ah, this well-equipped. You’re a naughty little girl, Lucy,” said Henry,
shaking a finger at Lucy and then pointing a finger at the girl’s abundant
chest. “Why have you been hiding this from us?” he asked with a laugh, poking
the left nipple with some force.

Lucy jerked and
surged against the ropes, trying to twist away from the embarrassing
exploration, having no idea what this was all about and deeply ashamed to have
these two men poking and probing her most carefully guarded assets. Peter was
now cutting away the rest of the dress, letting it fall to the floor and
leaving, for the time being, the long sleeves which were held by the rope
around the girl’s upper arms and wrists behind her. The all-in-one under
garment was now the subject of Peter’s cutting work and he carefully trimmed it
away until it too fell to the floor, leaving Lucy wearing nothing more than her
smoky, thigh-high hose, the bandages wrapped around her face and the ropes
around her arms, legs and waist. They left her boots, fine black leather, with three-inch
heels, that reached to just below her twice-bound knees.

Lucy whimpered
and squeezed her eyes shut, for Peter was now exploring her sex. With clearly
experienced hands, Peter moved his fingers over the trimmed, light brown fur
between her bound thighs. He then inserted an exploratory middle finger between
the lips, parting them easily and sliding his finger up and into the moist
interior. Lucy’s body contorted with horror. Her knees came up a fraction of an
inch and she squeezed her legs closer together, grasping Peter’s exploring hand
tightly, Peter pushed Lucy’s closely bound knees down and drove his hand deeper
into the girl’s cleft. Then he removed his hand and stooped to tighten the rope
that attached Lucy’s feet to the floor ring. Air rushed into Lucy’s distended
nostrils as Peter took an extra strain on the ankle rope and then rose and
wiggled his hand again, deep in the girl’s private grotto. He looked straight
into Lucy’s terrified eyes.

“Do you have any
more rope, Henry?” Peter said over his shoulder.

“Sure. Here.”

“Put some knots
into it, please.”

Henry complied,
immediately aware of what his partner planned to do. He tied several figure
eight knots into the length of braided nylon and then passed the rope to Peter.

Peter extracted
his exploratory hand from Lisa’s crotch and, taking the doubled and knotted
length of cord, reached behind the bound, hanging girl and pulled the rope
through the waist rope at the center of her back. Then he poked the knotted
rope through the triangle of soft tightness of Lucy’s damp crotch, bringing the
ends up and under the waist rope belt in front. His left hand went again to the
girl’s lower lips and he carefully aligned the knots so that they extended
through the entire frontal area between Lisa’s legs. Then, with his right hand,
Peter began to pull the rope through Lucy’s cunt. The two strands of nylon rope
quickly disappeared into the fury slit, the small, bumpy knots burying
themselves neatly inside their new warm little cave. Peter made sure the ropes were
very, very tight, pulling hard on the end before tying it off at Lucy’s surging
waist. Lucy jerked and sputtered into her gag, the thin rope cutting into her
slit and the little knots pressing hard against her clit. Peter cut the ends of
the rope at the waist belt, leaving a neat pattern of nylon cord, which tightly
divided the struggling girl’s mid section into two twitching segments. The rope
was deep inside the girl’s cunt and the waist belt of cord held it secure.