11 Jun 2013
June 11, 2013

First time kidnapped by Mr. Stockholm Part 3

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Following the frenzy of the Takedown, the relative calm of the car journey allowed me to orientate myself in my new, unfamiliar surroundings. When you are deprived of sight, the other senses strive to compensate. Working overtime, my hearing quickly identified the two distinct voices of my captors.
One sounded harsh, aggressive – the other more even. I had no idea which voice belonged to which Mistress, but the contrast in their tones unsettled me. The feeling that I was at the mercy of two strangers began to resurface and it accelerated when the car stopped, no more than five minutes into our chaotic odyssey.  The aggressive voice barked: “Stay still and don’t move from under the blanket!”. The opening and slamming of doors soon followed. They had left me.

Abandonment is a terrifying feeling.

Vulnerable and bound, I was completely dependent on my kidnappers. The relationship had umbilical undertones and, while I had yet to figure out the Mistresses’ nature, their sudden disappearance sparked a ferocious, and hitherto unexperienced, fear. They’d left me. Irrational thoughts quickly overwhelmed me.  They were going to torch the car. No, I was going to be crushed beneath the powerful press of a scrap metal yard’s mangling apparatus. This was it. I had finally gone too far.
Spitting out the gag, I yelled. I was scared. I wanted Mistress Pip and Mistress Kali to return. I wanted them close so they could look after me …

Within seconds, they’d returned. Sounding angry and more aggressive than before – especially the vicious voice – they scolded me for panicking.  Beneath the hood, I felt sheepish. I now realized that this little episode had been a device to test me. The Mistresses had merely stopped in another deserted carpark and stood beside the car to see how I would react.  I guess those few minutes truly broke me. I had failed the test.

The rest of the journey to their lair was quiet. The sun had risen and it was an unseasonably warm day. Under the hood and the blanket, I began to drift in and out of consciousness.  Perforating the drowsy fog, however, was an elegant scent. In the calmness that now pervaded in the car, I could finally relax and I breathed in that distinctive fragrance. Later I discovered that it, and the aggressive voice, belonged to Mistress Kali. To this day, if I smell that perfume, I am briefly transported back to the hours I spent as her captive. And, naturally, I long to back under her protection and authority. To be her hostage. To be hers.

Stockholm Syndrome? You’d better believe it.

The car journey to the lair took around an hour.  It was now daylight and I grew curious about how I would be transported from the car. In the end, my hoody was pulled up to conceal the mask I still wore and with my ankles and wrists still bound, I was hauled from the car and forced to hobble into a building. Shuffling along a concrete floor, it felt as if I was in an abandoned industrial warehouse. I pictured a place fashioned from steel and brick, remote and impersonal. It was here that the session would be concluded.
Within a minute we had arrived at the final destination. I was ordered to strip before being bound to a bench while the Mistresses went about their business.  I could hear the sounds of preparatory activity all around me. Bags were being dumped and unzipped, implements unloaded and clothes changed. Tied down and senseless, I had little idea of the dimensions of my holding cell and could do little more than wait for the torture to begin.
What followed was a skilled and testing session at the hands of two firm and professional Mistresses. I found the whole experience cleansing.  That’s how it is with me: I seek pain to purge stress.  As an aside, I should also say that if you ever have a two Domme session, go for a pair that complement each other.  Temperamentally, Pip and Kali appear quite different. They make a fine double act as a result.
Despite being firmly in control, the Mistresses had clearly read my requests for the session carefully and they wove the various elements with imagination.  By the time they had finished with me, some five hours later, they finally lifted the hood and I cast my eyes upon them in the flesh for the first time. Strangely, I couldn’t tell who was who immediately. The release of tension at the end of a long session overwhelmed me. I felt emotional. I wanted to hold them both.
The mopping up took a while as they gently let me wind down before being released.  Over a cup of tea and a chat, I got to know my captors under less fraught circumstances. That downtime was extremely important. If you are ever kidnapped, make sure you ask for a few minutes to orientate yourself before you leave as I can guarantee that you will feel perturbed for hours, possibly days, after.  Some fears will never leave you. Even now, if I’m walking along and a van pulls up nearby me, my heart-rate still jumps in anticipation. Stockholm Syndrome never really leaves you. Kidnapping is not for the fainthearted.
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