Captivating Sacha

An eager young guy in a tree-hugging sweatshirt and whispy beard, smiled at me and said, ‘I promise you, this isn’t for long.’ That was just before he put the blindfold on me and just after he’d tied my hands behind my back. ‘You’ll be absolutely fine. Trust me.’

If there’s one phrase makes me nervous, it’s ‘Trust me’.

I screamed like a banshee, which was a waste of time as in the distance I could hear the Romwick Brass Band giving it their all for the village fete and TV cameras.

‘Calm down. This is just for fun, remember?’

Remember? Had we met before? No matter how many V&Ts I might down in a night, surely this arrangement wouldn’t have slipped my mind?

‘Are you with that film crew?’ I asked.

‘Stop worrying,’ he chuckled, his hands surprisingly gentle as he bundled me into the back of a van and slammed the door.

I slumped onto a carpeted floor, where a deep grunt to my left announced I had male company.

‘Who are you? Where are we going?’ I demanded.

Another muffled grunt.

‘Are you gagged?’

Grunt.

Now, it’s hard to imagine feeling relief in this situation, but knowing I wasn’t completely alone did raise my spirits –marginally.

Then the thought occurred to me, Where on earth did I get the impression that some guy being tied up and gagged is a good thing? I wriggled away and stared at the back of my eyelids.

Some people clam up when they’re anxious –not me. ‘Why didn’t I just stay at the fete? I could be sitting in a deck chair now, sipping stewed tea and eating chocolate cake. Instead, I had to go and check if the film crew wanted refreshments, didn’t I?’

Slight exaggeration, actually. I’d volunteered so I could check out the local hunk, Alex Maxwell. He’d recently returned to Romwick after spending two years filming the tribes of Peru. Now he was making a documentary about our village fete. I’d heard about him, of course, Romwick’s famous son. Heard but never seen. So imagine my delight when I first clapped eyes on him: not remotely geeky but tall, lean and tanned, with dark hair and blue eyes –my favourite combination. Alex had been the only reason I’d hung around at the Dog & Duck on karaoke night. OK…he was the only reason I went to the Dog & Duck.

The driver started the engine.

‘Apparently, ours is the oldest village fete in the country,’ I continued. ‘But why the Indiana Jones of Hampshire wants to film it, I’ve no idea. Maybe he arranged this kidnapping as a stunt to make his documentary more exciting, you know, a study in how laws of the jungle impact on the anthropology of English rural life.’ I sighed. ‘God, now I’m talking complete garbage.’

There was a murmur of agreement beside me.

The van lurched off down the road. I could feel every bump and stone, despite the tufted Wilton beneath me. Seconds later there was a long, sweeping bend and I was forced to roll away from my companion. He quickly followed. Followed and landed right up against me, uttering a two-syllable grunt of apology. He was heavy and my tethered hands were trapped between us, crushed against his belt buckle.

‘If this is a TV stunt, there’ll be cameras in here, too. Well, I want it on record that I’m here under duress so there’d better be a decent fee, or I’m suing!’

There was a sigh behind me. His chin was resting on my shoulder and, as the road evened out, he managed to move away from me and started humming. His voice was quiet but very close. Sinister. Like something spawned from Stephen King’s imagination. The tune became clearer, it was a Rod Stewart classic –‘Tonight’s the Night’ – the one about deflowering a virgin.

That settled it. The man was depraved. He and the driver were a double act. On a good day, the prospect of a threesome with the likes of Rafa Nadal and Hugh Jackman might have been titillating. But bondage with two complete strangers had never appealed –at least not with me on the receiving end.

He continued to hum tunefully, and as he reached the end of the first chorus, it suddenly hit me. I’d heard his voice before and singing this song.

I swallowed. ‘Are you…Alex Maxwell? Give me one grunt for yes, two grunts for no.’

Grunt.

Things were looking up.

Another corner, and this time Alex headed back in the other direction and I followed, ending up with my face pressed against his chest. He smelled of clean linen and spice. The warmth of his muscle beneath my cheek was comforting. Suddenly, I had a change of heart and wished we were heading for Timbuktu.

‘Sorry about the Indiana Jones comment,’ I said. ‘Hope you didn’t take offence.’

Grunt, grunt.

We lay for a moment, breathing in unison. It was almost cosy.

‘I just don’t understand what we’re doing here.’

Silence.

Maybe…

‘Do you think I could use my teeth to get your gag off? Then at least we can have a conversation.’

His grunt was softer, more of a ‘hmm’, which was encouraging.

I wriggled up until I felt I was on a level with his face, and prayed the van didn’t hit a zigzag bend. Inching over, I investigated the gag with my nose. It was sticky-tape. OK, I thought, tough job but I can do it.

‘I hope this doesn’t hurt,’ I said quietly.

He let out a low hum of agreement, which started up a chain reaction, from my ears to my solar plexus, and supercharged my libido. Carefully, I ran my tongue along to the corner of the tape and worked at it until it lifted. Another bend forced our bodies even closer. I stopped working on his gag. I didn’t want to take a chunk out of him by mistake. As the van straightened up, I began to tackle the tape again until its removal was finally enhanced by the lurching van, as it tumbled us to the other side, leaving me pinioned to the floor by Alex’s full body weight.

‘Thanks,’ he said, his voice husky.

‘You’re welcome.’ My own voice was breathy, as much from his weight as my excitement. With no visual signals, I had to go on other senses: the heat of him, the steady beat of his heart, the length of his thighs against mine, the draught of his breath over my face. I suddenly found myself reassessing my opinion on bondage.

‘Shall I have a go at your blindfold?’ he asked.

Like there was a choice? I had hoped he might consider applying his mouth to more pleasant pursuits. I could tell it was only inches from my own.

‘Or you can keep it on if you prefer,’ he added.

Had I hesitated that long?

‘Definitely, take it off,’ I said.

‘OK. I need you to move your head so I can reach the knot.’ His voice was soft and close to my ear. If he came any nearer, he’d hear my pulse. At the very least, he must be getting a lungful of my pheromones.

The blindfold loosened quickly and he tugged it off with his teeth. The first thing I saw was the dusty, grey wall of the van. Slowly, I turned to focus on Alex. In my head, the theme tune to Titanic was playing. He was looking down at me, a friendly smile in his eyes. A lock of dark hair had drifted over his forehead and his face was pink from the discarded tape, but he still looked utterly delicious.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi.’

He had my unspoken permission to kiss me. So it was a bit of a bummer when he said, ‘Sorry. This is a stunt for the college’s charity week. They were supposed to get my sound girl, Jules.’

Jules…We’d met earlier by the raffle stall. Her style was just-tumbled-out-of-bed chic, with masses of honey blonde hair and a succulent pout. Alongside her, I felt like an inferior species. Any man would want to be shackled to Jules. I could only imagine the disappointment Alex must have felt when he realised they’d bagged me instead of her.

‘Unfortunately, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he added.

Charming.

As I lay there, feeling like a consolation prize, the van obstinately shifted him closer until, finally, it came to a standstill. We heard the ratchet of the handbrake and, moments after the engine was switched off, the doors were pulled open to a cheering mob. Alex rolled off me as a joker in the crowd made a lewd comment, which elicited a roar from our audience. I sat up to discover we were outside the Dog & Duck.

Eager to leave, I began to inch to the edge of the van. ‘Thanks for the ride, guys. Shame you got the wrong girl.’

The tree-hugger looked mildly perplexed –like he’d been given a pint of lager instead of Guinness. He glanced first at Alex then back at me. ‘So, you’re not Jules?’ he asked with lightning perception.

‘Didn’t my screaming give it away?’

He shrugged. ‘Thought you were, like, getting into the drama of it.’

Another student began untying my hands and muttering apologies. I stood up, my knees spongy beneath my weight, and held onto the van door.

Alex stood up beside me. Unfolded, he was easily a foot taller than I was. ‘Actually guys, maybe the blindfold and tape were a bit over the top.’ He looked down at me. ‘Sacha here seems a bit shaken.’

‘Shaken?’ I said, gathering my shredded wits. ‘Try shaking!’ I held out my hands. I was trembling like a dog at the vet’s –although it had little to do with the abduction. ‘Now, if you’ve finished with me, I’m going for a drink.’

With a flick of my hair, I headed off towards the pub, knowing full well I only had some loose change and a mobile in my jeans.

Hang on a minute…

I turned round. Alex was right behind me. I looked up at him. ‘How d’you know my name?’

His eyes softened as he smiled. ‘We live in a village. It’s not difficult to find out.’

Questions collided in my head. He’d found out…like…he was interested? ‘Did you know who I was when they put me in the van?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure. I wasn’t wearing a blindfold.’

I could feel myself blinking as cogs whirred in my brain. ‘So, why didn’t you tell them?’

‘How?’ He was grinning now. ‘Morse code?’

‘You could have done something.’

He studied me for a moment, his smile fading. His eyes searched mine until I could feel the pulse pounding in my ears. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer. ‘You’re right. I should have realised it was more of an ordeal for you. I really am sorry.’

I swallowed and took a breath. ‘It wasn’t that bad. I suppose there was an air of fun about it…sort of.’

‘Really?’ His face relaxed. ‘Not so much you’d want to repeat it, though.’

An image played across my mind. ‘Not…exactly.’

A straight ‘no’ would have closed the subject. He considered my answer for a moment and I swear the air crackled between us. ‘So, which bit –exactly –would you repeat?’

It felt like someone had stolen the oxygen. ‘Well…not the van…and probably not the tape…’

‘Agreed.’ He was getting closer. I studied the outline of his mouth; there was a faint scar on his top lip. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

I shrugged, mesmerised, until a voice from a galaxy far, far away said, ‘Can we just tie you two together in the back of the van? It’ll make a better picture for the paper.’

Alex held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

‘Well, it is for charity,’ I said, taking his hand and making a mental note to pick up the blindfold. Just as a memento, of course.