Miss taken A Taxi Ride Story
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Miss Taken Misadventurte free porn video
MISS TAKEN MISADVENTURE
(By "Harve")
Well, when you're just 19 years old, straight out of college,
and you're already a Vice-Pres in a large multi-national
corporation, you can't be doing too bad. I looked out of the
12th storey window over the Los Angeles skyline from my office,
and for once the pollution wasn't too bad and the vista
amazingly clear. "Wayne Rogers", I thought to myself with my
feet straddling my junior executive's desk, "you haven't done
too badly for yourself - Vice-President I/C Design And
Innovation, at just 19!"
However, although I'm only 19 I'm not that stupid to think that
my position within "Lady-In-Waiting" Fashions Inc, might just
have something to do with my father Vince Rogers being President
and CEO of the Company! In fact, my title of "Vice-President I/C
Design And Innovation" was a bit of a joke in itself - I mean,
I don't either design or innovate anything, I'm just here to
learn the family business of running a large retail company. We
could be selling ice-cream or steel nails, it doesn't really
matter - a large company is a large company. We hire and fire,
we do deals, and if we do things right, we make a lot of money.
My father Vince had the necessary foresight some 20 years ago to
realize that there was a potential market for a company selling
fashionable clothes and underwear for the mother-to-be, rather
than the awful drab tent-like stuff that the competition were
offering at the time. The rest is history of course - we have
cornered the market now, and although most of our inventory is
manufactured overseas in cheap-labor countries, we have "The
Name", and of course, that's what counts today. So, we import
dresses that cost us maybe $2.50 to make in our Indonesian
factory, and we sell them for $125 and more to the smartly
dressed expectant mums of the USA.
In fact, my father Vince was overseas in Indonesia right now,
checking the New Season's Fashions, so I've been taking things
even easier than usual. However, July, my PA has asked me if I
can meet two representatives from a company we haven't dealt
with before, called "Miss Taken A La Mode". (Jeeze, what a title
for a fashion company, I thought to myself!) Their appointment
was at 3 pm, and so I just passed the time admiring that
unusually clear view from my window and scanning through some
new sales brochures we'd got printed for the New Season's
Fashions.
One new item was a prenatal bra that had an especially soft
cotton lining, something we'd developed after complaints that
our more traditional bras were a little abrasive in that tender
part of a prospective new mother's anatomy. For some strange
reason, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wear
one of these new soft bras. One of my previous tasks had been to
correlate the data from ladies who'd worn both our old and new
type bras, and it was a fact that every one of them had
preferred the new super-soft textured one. I don't normally make
a habit of wearing ladies' underwear, but the input had been so
overwhelmingly in favor of the new model, I just couldn't help
but wonder what it would be like to try one on, secretly.
I was still browsing through the catalog and imagining myself in
a 34B or whatever, when July buzzed me on the intercom that the
two ladies from "Miss Taken" were here for their appointment,
and could she bring them in? "Go for it", I said, thinking that
this might be the one interesting part of an otherwise dull and
boring day for Wayne Rogers.
So, the door opened and in came July with the two ladies
following her. One was a very petite lady in her late 30s, but
very smartly dressed in a tailored 2-piece navy jacket and
skirt, with matching 3-inch pumps, and carrying a small
briefcase. The other lady was much younger and a lot taller, but
still very smartly dressed in jacket and skirt. She was carrying
two small cases.
July introduced them as Mary Clements, the older lady, and her
assistant as Sarah Stevens. I walked over to greet them, and
dismissed July for the afternoon as she'd already asked to leave
early to attend a dental appointment.
"July's off to see the dentist now,"I explained to my two
visitors. "She's a very brave girl, don't you think?"
The two ladies gave her a big smile and Mary, the older one,
said in a slow, Southern accent "No problem - we'll look after
him real fine, while you are gone!"
I thought it was a strange thing to say at the time, but just
put it down to the usual sort of comments from older people
about my relative youth.
Usually this sort of comment really pisses me off, but Mary
Clements sat down on one of my visitor's chairs right at that
moment, and I couldn't help but notice just what a great pair of
legs she had, for someone pushing 40. She was wearing dark tan
hose, which really complimented her navy 2-piece outfit and
shoes.
Mary must have noticed me casting my eyes over her great gams,
because she gave me a sort of wry smile. Now, remember, I'm in
the fashion game, and it's my job to notice things like how a
lady's hose matches her outfit, so just because I'd been
fantasizing about what it would be like to try on one of the new
season's bras, don't think I make a habit of going the whole
nine yards and becoming Wendy Rogers For The Day (Or Night).
I mean, when I was at college I did a couple of acting parts for
the Dramatic Society as a girl, in a wig and dress, because I'm
only 5' 4" tall and very slightly built. The rest of the guys
all seemed to be at least 6' tall, so I always seemed to end up
as a Sandra or Susan.
One role I filled meant I had to wear high heels for a
particular scene, so I had to practice walking around in 4"
pumps for hours up and down the dormitory corridor until I got
it right. Needless to say, the comments from the other guys were
the usual sort of things you expect from a bunch of college
morons. To me at the time, it was just like Dustin Hoffman in
"Tootsie", i. e. filling a role to the best of my acting
ability.
"OK, ladies", I said, "now, just what does your company 'Miss
Taken A La Mode' do? Are you designers or manufacturers?"
Mary Clements gave me another one of her special smiles, and
crossed her gorgeous legs for at least the 10th time in 3
minutes.
"Well, Mr Rogers," she drawled in that fascinating accent of
hers, "it's like this - but can ah call you 'Wayne'? It's so
much nicer to be on first name terms, don't you think? Ah'm Mary
and this here is Sarah, by the way. Ain't she a great-lookin'
gal? You wouldn't think she's as strong as an ox, just to look
at her, but she does all that thar workin' out in the gym and
all."
I couldn't see just where all this was leading, so I steered the
conversation back to whatever it was their company did. After
all, we did our own manufacturing mainly in Indonesia, so any
possible interest from our company in their products could only
be from a design aspect.
"Well, Wayne," said Mary, "we actually both manufacture and
design, but in a unique sort of way and for a very unique
section of the fashion market. Can Sarah here demonstrate some
of our unique products, for you, Sir?"
Well, I've always been a sucker for an accent from the Deep
South, and when that comes along with as great a pair of legs as
Mary had, well ....... how could I refuse? So, I nodded my
acquiescence and tried not to look too amazed as the Amazonian
Susan started to produce all sorts of, well 'unusual' items from
her two cases. She brought out a pair of medium heeled shoes
with ankle straps, a firm control corselet, padded control
panties, a pair of silicone falsies, a dark brunette wig, a long
navy skirt and jacket, a cream blouse and finally a lightweight
raincoat. All this stuff was paraded on my executive desk in
front of me. What the hell is going on, I thought? None of this
stuff was for the average mum-to-be, surely?
In spite of my increasing fascination with Mary Clements' great
legs, I thought it was time to lay down the law.
"Look, ladies", I said, "all this stuff looks really nicely
designed and manufactured - but we're a company that specializes
in fashions and undergarments for the mum-to-be. Besides, we
make our own garments overseas, so we're only interested in
appropriate designs, not buying ready-made stuff from other
manufacturers."
"Why, yes", said Mary, standing up and moving towards me, "but
can I show you this catalog of ours so things will become
clearer to you, Wayne?"
She stuck a brochure of some sort under my nose and I tried to
make out its very small writing, which was so small I had to
peer really close. What the fuck was going on? It seemed to be
a sort of 'Prospectus for Ideal Kidnaping', but as I looked up
in amazement at Mary Clements, I felt a pair of strong arms
grabbing me around my shoulders and neck, holding me in a
vice-like grip. It was Sarah, who'd slipped around my desk while
I was trying to make out the small script of the Catalog From
Hell.
She just propelled me straight onto my desk face downwards, and
I felt a needle prick my arm. Within seconds I was in Cloud
Cuckoo Land, unable to move or speak, but still fully aware of
what was going on around me. They pulled me back into my
executive chair, and Sarah began to unload some other items from
her two cases while Mary started a long monologue. All I could
do was listen, with my throat as paralyzed as my limbs were.
"Right, Mr Wayne Rogers, this is the situation, OK? I told you
we at 'Miss Taken A La Mode' cater for a very unique section of
the fashion market, didn't I? Well, that section is for female
clothes to fit guys like you! We're in the Abduction Business -
OK, call it Kidnaping if you like. By the way, it was real
handsome of you to give your PA July the rest of the afternoon
off, to give us the time to get you nicely dolled up and
shackled properly, without any interference! The way we operate
is to find young brats like you with rich and doting parents,
who will pay up handsomely to get their sons back in one piece,
without going to the Police or FBI. You're no doubt wondering
where the female clothes fit into the picture - well, just
think, Wayne my darling, who's going to be expecting to be
looking for you as 'Wendy Rogers', dressed like a young lady?
All this stuff on your desk has been chosen to fit you
perfectly, along with some other items that Sarah has for you.
Oh, look, there's a nice handcuff belt with matching leg irons
- now ain't you gonna look real nice in those, Wendy?"
I couldn't believe it, just what she was telling me, but I
couldn't move or talk - all I could do was sit there in my
chair, staring blankly at this pair of bitches. She moved on to
say that I'd been injected with a synthetic form of curare,
which would paralyze me for several hours without actually
knocking me out. They also had a second injection prepared for
me, to counteract the effects of the synthetic curare - when
they were ready!
The pair of them then set about my transformation. They were
really efficient about it, stripping me completely first. I just
sat there like a tailor's dummy, unable to move. Then, I was
smeared with some sort of hair-remover all over my body and
legs, even my head. In 5 minutes I was as bare as the day I was
born. Then, I had the pair of falsies stuck to my chest, the
padded control panty pulled up around my waist followed by a
pair of panty-hose, and finally the corselet.
Even with the pair of them straining and heaving, that took some
effort to fit around me. However, even as drugged as I was, I
could see that my body shape was getting more and more feminine
as each item of underwear was fitted. It was then the
medium-heel shoes with the ankle straps, which they laughed
about as they fitted to my feet.
"Now, Wendy, just you try and run off in these, you bitch!"
laughed Mary.
Of course, all I could do was just watch. It was just as if this
was all happening to some other poor bastard - I seemed to be
watching it from a far-off distance. They then started on my
outer clothes, such as my blouse and skirt, followed by a set of
loose double pearl beads for my neck. The skirt was unusually
long, almost right down to my ankles in fact, and quite
restrictive too. As they fitted it around my waist, Mary joked
that I'd soon be finding out how difficult it is to walk in both
heels and an ankle-length skirt, plus with the added restraint
of leg irons around my ankles as well!
I was still as docile as a lamb with the effects of the
sedative, but Sarah was as strong as an ox and just lifted me up
to enable Mary to fit me with this or that item. I was just like
a small sack of potatoes for her. The blouse had a high collar,
which they didn't fasten immediately, leaving my neck bare.
That, like everything else they'd one so far, turned out to have
a purpose.
One of the last things that Sarah got out of her cases was a
strange thick collar with an electronic-looking apparatus built
in, which was clamped around my neck before my blouse was
finally done up to its top. Mary sneered in my left ear that
this collar was to ensure my 'Best Behavior', as we left the
building.
"Now, Wendy dear", she said, "ah don't want to frighten you, but
that collar we've fitted round your pretty little neck is what
some nasty dog trainers use on naughty dogs, for correct
attitude training, OK? You're going to be both handcuffed and
leg-ironed as we leave your Daddy's building, but just in case
you get any stupid ideas about calling for help, or being un-
cooperative in any way whatsoever - get my drift, Wendy? -
you're going to get a short, sharp blast of THIS!!"
She was holding some sort of TV remote device, but it sure
wasn't any TV that I wanted to watch. Suddenly I got the most
awful jolting in my neck, which was maybe even worse in that I
was still unable to move my arms or legs because of the curare
jab they'd given me. I just sat there, now in my heels and hose,
skirt and blouse, etc, but quivering with the pain of the dog
collar shock treatment. It was the most painful thing I've ever
experienced.
The Bitch from Hell, Mary, just turned the 'remote' off and got
close to me again.
"Now, Wendy," she purred, "you get the picture, OK? Any sign of
the least bit of disobedience as we leave this building, and
that's what you're going to get, except maybe an even stronger
dose. You can't remove the collar, because you're going to have
your wrists cuffed to a prisoner waist transport belt, so just
think - is it worth it, to get so much pain for so little
purpose? Ah don't think so, do you?"
I couldn't move my head to nod agreement because I was still
zonked with the curare sedative, of course. However, things were
getting close to our departure now. They'd gotten rid of any
facial or head hair with their industrial strength hair remover,
just like the rest of my body. Sarah produced a latex head mask
and sprinkled some powder inside it, then pulled it over my head
in one quick motion. I was blinded for a couple of seconds, but
then the eye slit holes aligned properly and I could see again.
They both peered at me closely, and laughed at how 'nice' I
looked with my new facial features. Then, it was the long-haired
brunette wig over my head, which also impressed them greatly.
"Say, Sarah," said Mary, "ain't she just the cutest lil' gal
we've ever kidnaped? OK, time for her matching accessories and
the second jab now."
Sarah just grabbed me by my shoulders and heaved me upwards.
Like I've said, this girl was as strong as an ox. Even without
the lingering effects of the curare sedative, I doubt that I
could have fought her off. Mary moved towards me carrying a
thick leather belt with handcuffs attached at the front, and
fastened it around my waist. Strangely, she didn't cuff my
wrists, though the reason for that would shortly become clear.
However, she did fit my ankles with their leg restraints, which
had a central short chain that met my waist cuff belt at the
back. "Hey, Wendy, don't you worry, girl - this is for your own
good, OK? We don't want you tripping up over those leg irons
chains!" said Mary.
Sarah was still holding me upright by the shoulders as Mary
fastened this and that restraint onto my unresisting body, of
course. However, now the reason that my wrists hadn't been
restrained in the waist belt cuffs became clear - I was to be
dressed in a lightweight overcoat, to conceal as much as
possible. The coat was fitted around me, and my arms shoved
through its pocket holes, which were just vacant slits to allow
my wrists to reach the cuffs on my waist belt.
My wrists were secured, and then Mary shuffled around in her
briefcase and came up with a syringe to stick in my arm -
clearly the antidote to counteract the effect of the initial
curare stuff I'd been hit with originally. This new stuff worked
amazingly quickly.
Suddenly, I could feel the life coming back into my arms and
legs. Not that I could do anything special with them of course,
with my wrists cuffed to a waist belt and my ankles shackled.
Still, it's always good to know that your limbs are mobile
again, even if they're as restrained as mine were.
"OK," said Mary, "it's walkies time for you now, Wendy. Let's
see how you can move around this office of yours in those heels,
plus your cuffs and shackles. By the way - remember what I told
you about the dog collar, OK? If I even detect the slightest
sign that you're going to scream or alert somebody, you get the
full 250 volts zapping dose in one hit, understand?"
All I could do was nod my agreement. After all, what else could
I do? My wrists were cuffed to the waist belt, my ankles were
shackled together, and they had this awful canine obedience
collar around my neck ready to be zapped at the slightest sign
of any trouble from me. So, I had to show them that I could
manage a reasonable facsimile of how the average young lady
around LA walks in a long overcoat, with her hands in her
pockets. Mary even mentioned that they'd done some research on
my drama activities at college, and found I'd proved quite adept
at walking in heels in one of my roles as a Blanche Dubois Femme
Fatale.
"So, Wendy, Darling" she hissed - "you don't try and make out
that walking in those 3-inch heels is anything unusual, you
copy? We know you can do it, so don't make me hit this here
button on the remote, now ......"
If you think I'd been hatching any ideas of fighting back at
these two Bitches From Hell, you're totally wrong. I was by then
as docile as a lamb, and more than happy to go along with each
and every of their wishes. Maybe it was the lingering effects of
the sedative (despite the antidote), or just the way being
dressed as a woman, cuffed and shackled has on you? I don't
know, but whatever it was, I left the building walking as best
as I could in my heels between Mary and Sarah.
It was then shortly after 4 pm, a mere 60 minutes since the pair
of them had first walked into my office. God, it seemed like a
lifetime! Would somebody recognize me, even dressed as I was?
Apparently not, because nobody seemed to even give me a cursory
glance as I shuffled in my long coat towards the elevator. The
deeply piled carpet seemed to hide the one chance I had, that
maybe someone would hear the characteristic clank of ankle
chains and investigate.
By the time we got down to the basement, there was nobody there
to the now much more evident clanking as we headed across the
bare concrete. Mary had got out her mobile phone and made a
short call to somebody, to the effect "Object Retrieved".
Clearly that was me. We headed across the basement car park
towards a large white Ford van, minus any windows. As we got
close the side door opened up, and a big guy helped my two lady
captors haul me up inside. With my tight skirt and the leg
irons, I don't think I could have managed to get up myself
unaided.
They maneuvered me across to a central seat in the rear, with
arm rests. It was quite comfortable, except that my leg iron
central chain was secured to a shackle in the floor, and my neck
was secured with a leather collar. I was going nowhere, that was
clear. Worse, Mary went to the back of the van and brought back
a really hideous leather hood that she fitted over my head,
blindfolding me. It even included a sort of wedge rubber thing
that was rammed inside my mouth. I couldn't move my head, talk,
see or do anything.
Mary just whispered in my ear "well, Wendy, you're now our
'guest' for the next couple of days while we negotiate your
ransom with your father. You've been a good girl so far, but
remember that I have the remote to give you the most almighty
zap in your life, if you play up on us. I know that leather head
harness is painful for you, and it will only stay on until we're
out of the City limits and into the country, so long as you're
well behaved. Once we reach the country and our remote
farmhouse, we'll remove that head restraint. You'll just be
chained to the wall in a sound-proof basement, so there'll be no
need for any of these sort of things. Nobody will be able to
hear you. Remember, even if we get stopped by the cops, you
don't look a bit like the now-missing Wayne Rogers, so don't get
any ideas of being stupid. Your father can easily spare the
million dollars we're asking for your release, and we always
keep to our side of a deal."
We drove on into the night, with me still dressed as 'Wendy
Rogers'. Mary has kept to her side of the bargain and removed
that awful leather head harness once we hit the country roads,
but I'm still handcuffed and leg ironed. Of course, I'm still
disguised as 'Wendy', so even if we're stopped, which is
unlikely in these backwoods, who's going to recognize me? I
can't call for help, because Mary keeps the remote control to my
dog obedience collar close to hand at all times. What can I do?
The best I can hope for is that my father returns from Indonesia
as soon as possible, and pays up the $1m ransom. Meanwhile, I
can only live in hope ...............
(copyright Jan 2005 - "Harve")
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