The Present

THE PRESENT

By Ross Martin

Chapter One: The Journey Forth

She didn't resist when they came for her. It would have been foolish to have done so though part of her wanted to very much. The other part was tingling with excitement. When they knocked on the door she opened it for them.

They didn't impress her at first sight. They looked like ordinary delivery men and their van parked in front of her small suburban home looked ordinary as well. The taller of the two, a big bald fellow with thin cruel looking lips, tipped his hat to her politely and said in a gentlemanly tone: "G'Day, Miss. Is there a package here to pick up? Do we have the right address?"

Here she could simply answer inn the negative and send them on their way. No one would know and only one man in the entire world would care. But if she was to do it she had to do it now and she had to be firm about it. A simple straightforward denial, that's all it would take.

"Yes, there is a package," came out of her lips as she invited them in with a hand gesture meant to be inviting but may have been a little too fluttery though she didn't normally think of her hands as the kind of hands that can flutter.

"Sign here, Miss," said the shorter late teens other deliveryman. Being younger he was bound to be less experienced with deliveries. She wondered if this was a good or bad thing. His lips may have been even thinner and crueler.

He handed her the usual contract and a pen. He also looked her up and down. With trepidation mixed with anticipation of what was to come, she handed the contract back. He made a real show of touching her hand as he did so. She wasn't sure if she liked that or not but soon it wouldn't matter.

"Where's the package?" asked the taller of the two.

"Right here," she said, bowing her head.

"You, Miss?" said the taller of the two pretending to be surprised.

"Yes," she said feeling the blood rising in her cheeks.

"There must be some mistake," said the taller one, winking at his mate. "I don't think we can manage that much cargo."

"But a contract is a contract," said the younger deliveryman, "and we don't disappoint our customers."

"Point taken," said his mate. "Ready to go, Miss?"

"No!" she cried out more sharply and with more emphasis than she had intended. Damn! The scaredy-cat part of her was acting up.

"We could tear this up and go," suggested the taller one. The other looked a little disappointed. Good, she thought. Perhaps I won't be in for a dull trip after all.

"Please don't," she said. "Just give me a minute to freshen up in the bathroom."

"Very well," said the taller man. "But don't be too long. We're on a tight schedule and I always honor my contracts."

I bet you do, she thought, hurrying to her bathroom. I just bet you do.

The men settled into her plush lounge chairs. She knew they could see photos of her on the television set of when she was a little girl and there was a large one of her graduating high school. There were ones of her graduating college, getting married and her two kids, a boy and a girl at age nine, but she put them away. This weekend was about her and not them. Besides, it might help if they thought she only graduated high school. She was sure it did last time.

Looking at herself critically in the big bathroom mirror, she noted her shortcomings. She was fat. Not fat enough to take up a whole park bench or frighten an airline pilot, thank goodness, but enough for men to continually rag her about it. She'd been ragged through primary, high school, college and it was yet to stop. But she had made a strange peace with it over the years.

There were also qualities she knew she had which kept her going. For instance, her breasts were big and men liked that. Also, she had lovely, expressive eyes she was now highlighting with mascara. And then there were her large hips. Once she'd done with the mascara she painted her mouth a bright inviting pink. It should be noted, however, that though her lips were big like the rest her mouth was rather small and dainty. She wondered of this was an asset or a deficit. She knew some time today she'd be thinking of it as a definite deficit.

She had on a light cotton dress and high heeled shoes and nothing else. Only three times in her life had she left the house dressed like this and blushed at the thought of doing so now. Still, that's what she intended to do and that's what she would do.

"Coming Miss?" called out the taller of the deliverymen.

"Yes," she called back. She eyed her dress once more, combed her short hair and decided that the time had come. She quietly left her bathroom and handed the taller one her keys.

They'll be safe with me for when you get back," he said. "I'll give them to you when we get back."

"Thank you," she said with a faint smile.

"Your welcome, Miss," he replied.

It was the other one who twisted her arms behind her back and snapped the cuffs on her wrists. For a second there she thought she might resist but she didn't. Even the fraidy-cat part of her had now accepted her fate. The tingling in certain quarters increased – especially when she saw the grin on her younger captor's face.

To hide the cuffs from plain view, the tall one threw her pink cardigan over her shoulders as he marched her out of the house. He stopped to lock up her place and said: "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"It said on the sheet she's a repeat delivery," murmured the younger one.

"Shut up!" snapped the taller man and turned once more to face her. "Well, Miss," he said in a gentler voice.

"Fulfill your contract," she said boldly and he took her by the elbow to the back of the van and said: "Get in."

She struggled in and they slammed the door on her and locked it. They drove off before she had settled properly and she banged her head on the side door. No more niceties now, she told herself as she surveyed where they had put her. It was nothing but an old van and she had nothing for company but an old tire and their voices drifting in. Her heart sank a little. This was it, no turning back.

"Who's paying for her?" asked the young one.

"It doesn't say," said the taller man.

"Her husband maybe?"

"If so, she be contrite when she gets back."

Once she was shuffled aboard the private plane they removed the cuffs and replaced them straight away with a spreader bar for her arms and a spreader bar for her legs. The cardigan was tossed aside. The tall one worked on making her spread her arms as far away from each other as they could possibly go before he tied her wrists to the device. The other did the same with her legs only he delighted in kicking her calves until her legs were spread to his satisfaction. It hurt a little but she didn't grunt, didn't complain. The tingling south of her belly button got stronger, more dominant, driving away her fears. Now, except for her vocal cords, she was completely helpless.

"Last chance, Miss," said the taller one, showing her a frighteningly large ball gag. How on earth were they going to get that in her mouth? Its small, the lips are fat, she wanted to tell them.

"I could tear up the contract, I could tell them you changed your mind," he said, dangling the great red ball under her nose.

"But I've already been paid for," she protested.

"He's a bastard, Miss," reasoned the taller one.

"I know," she sighed weakly. "Put the gag in now, please, nice and tight like you're supposed to. I won't change my mind."

"Very well, Miss," he said, pushing the ball gag as far as she thought it could reasonably go and then shoving it deeper and deeper by manipulating her mouth with his fingers. He was none too gentle about it. She didn't expect him to be. She wobbled a bit on her feet but managed to hold her balance. Her expanded mouth ached horribly and would continue to ache more as the journey continued. He secured it tightly to her head with a strap and then patted her on the head as if he were patting a dog. "All done," he said, satisfied with his work.

"You should have let me do it," groused the younger man.

"Maybe next time," said the older one with a wink, "She travels back this way too, doesn't she?"

"I suppose so."

She tried to sit on the bench provided and, after three goes, managed to succeed in doing it. They watched her and applauded her efforts.

"Maybe he'll get something out of the old bitch after all," commented the younger one.

"He did the last time or so I've been told," replied the taller one with a glint of pleasure in his eye.

An hour passed and her mouth seemed beyond caring. Her jaw, however, wasn't. Already drool was threatening to burst forth. Good.

"Tight enough?" asked the tall one in a professional tone as he examined her bonds.

She nodded and a wisp of spittle left the ball and touched her cotton covered left breast.

"What kind of a mongrel would send her three times to that bloke?" asked the younger man.

Someone who really hates you dear?" asked the taller one of her. She nodded and a second line of spittle touched her breast.

But it's none of my business," said the other one. "You gave her the chance to get out of this. Can I feel her up?"

"Naw!" cried the taller one. "We're to deliver her undamaged. It's in the contract."

"I just want to cop a feel," the younger one said grinning.

She'd been wondering if she'd have enough sex appeal for them to risk the contract and possibly a future complaint from her to their boss. Now she felt as if the contract was hanging loose and anything could happen. Part of her couldn't have been more pleased.

The flight was four hours long and, by the second hour, the cabin they were in was really beginning to hot up. The taller one put on the air conditioning above his seat and the younger one followed suit. They looked to her but left her to sweat. It was what they'd been told to do.

The older man took out a bottle of water from an Esky and took a long refreshing swig. He then handed the bottle to his mate who also took a long refreshing swig and handed it back. He was about to put it away when as a seeming afterthought he showed it to her. If her tongue could have gotten past the ball she would have licked her lips at the sight of it. He even let the open bottle drift for a couple of precious seconds under her nose before taking it away.

"Want some, hon.?" He asked, putting the bottle this time up to her eyes. He took some of the webbing of accumulated drool handing down from her mouth and wiped it on her knees. She nodded eagerly and, though her mouth couldn't smile, her eyes did their best. They were, after all, so very expressive.

"Sorry, Miss," he said after a moment of pretend thought. "We don't feed or water cargo on this flight. Yes, I know it's been left up to us but I think you can go without unless, of course, you're willing to do something for us."

If she could have shrugged her shoulders she would have. Instead she cocked her head to one side.

"Can we cop a feel then, Miss?" asked the younger of the two, making groping movements with his fingers.

"You can't get fairer than that," said the other. "One mouthful a grope."

She thought about it knowing full well they could quite easily force themselves onto her. The water was tempting, very tempting but not in the spirit of the thing. Slowly she shook her head. If they were going to cop a feel it would be on their own volition and not with her blessings. She knew it was a dangerous move on her part and it felt dangerous but oh so right. What would happen next? Nothing apparently except for her sweating and drooling and aching.

When the plane did touch down in a remote field outside some outback town (part of the contract as stipulated by the organizer was the she was never to be privy to its locale) she felt exhausted. For the whole flight neither of her buttocks had made full contact with her seat because of the way her legs were spread and it took some effort, via the use of her spread out arms, to keep what could be balanced there balanced.

"Maybe on the return you'll be more sociable," opined the younger man as the helped the other haul her to her feet. She shook her head vehemently preventing a stream of sweat from going into her eyes and stinging them like other such streams had.

She was jostled off the plane and into the back of a waiting pick up where she was shoved up against several bags of feed and a box full of barbed wire and nails. It was the barbed wire which caught her attention.

"Let's go," said the older man getting into the seat opposite the driver. The younger one got behind the wheel and they were off.

The trip from the airport to their destination was at best rough and rugged. She was bounced around a lot, her arms and legs flailing helplessly, her buttocks bouncing on hard metal and her breasts occasionally doing the same. For once she was glad of her extra padding. She suspected the driver was trying to hit every pot hole he could possibly find and to run over every rock he came across. What made matters worse was she had an itch in her somewhat hairy triangle that started up when they pulled out and wouldn't stop. If one of the men had been in back with her she would have surely given in to him copping a feel. All he would have to do was ask once more.

The sun was like a blast furnace and it was all she could do to occasionally blink away sweat from her eyes. She didn't want her mascara to run – not just yet – but she was certain that it had. She knew her arms and legs were also bursting forth with sweat and she could smell her hairy armpits. Her lips were as dry as parchment and it was beginning to seem she had run out of saliva.

Just as she was about to doze with the heat, the pick-up stopped amid a cloud of dust which momentarily choked her. Brutal hands that didn't care what part of her they grabbed took her down from where she was to the dirt below. She grunted in protest but no one heeded her. No one cared. She felt happy and apprehensive and worn all at the same time.