The Kidnapper

By Kidnappedboi

Author’s Note: This story is a work of fiction, but is inspired by the work of a fantastic Dominant Top based on the South Coast of England, JamesbondageSX. This story is rooted in fantasy, and both SIR and i believe in explicit and enthusiastic consent in all aspects of kink and sex.

To reflect my submission to SIR, all pronouns relating to me are in lower case, all referring to SIR in upper case.



The profile blurb almost said it all – unlike so many other profiles on Recon, this one didn’t bother with excessive text, or even too many pictures. Instead, it got straight to the point with a list.


  • Experienced Kidnapper
  • Superior Being
  • Brutal Skinhead
  • Your Worst Nightmare


  • inferior fag trash
  • worthless bootlickers
  • warm fleshlights
  • future gimps and prisoners

If you meet My expectations, expect to be abducted, abused, and disposed of. Tears are non-negotiable. Suffering guaranteed.


i’d spent a few hours scrolling through a multitude of other profiles, and yet something about how brief the profile text was made me stand to attention, and a hard on instantly manifested under my jeans. i re-read the text and took in the few pictures on display. One showed only a pair of cherry red boots, gleaming beautifully, their wearer sadly cropped from the frame. Evidently the boots were to be the main focus, and as i would later find out, this would soon become my default view.

Another showed a mass of black rubber and chains, a whole mess of steel, cuffs, links, padlocks, seemingly dropped onto shining latex onto the floor. It took me a few seconds to realise underneath all the bondage was in fact a lucky – or unlucky – sub. He’d been restrained to within an inch of his life, all trace of his identity and freedom snuffed out.

But somehow, as horny as the first two pictures were, it was the third that made my cock start leaking precum: It was a picture of a car in a forest, with the boot open. The space was completely self-contained, so anything locked within would be in instant darkness. Inside the boot, on display, was a set of handcuffs, some leg irons attached with a simple chain, some broad ear protectors, and a large roll of wide, black, PVC tape. A chain of no more than four, or five, links was attached to one side of the boot interior, and i could see that it had been padlocked to a stiff-looking leather collar. Imposed on the picture was a caption above: “FAG SNATCHING EQUIPMENT”.

For a moment i’d forgotten how sadistic the man’s text had sounded, and could only focus on what it’d be like to be kidnapped by a brutal Skinhead. i didn’t have much experience in BDSM so far, much of which had been some fairly casual rope and ballgag ties, awkwardly around fairly normal, vanilla sex. i’d never been assured that escape was impossible, and it was always too easy to get my own way. Hell, even with sex, outside of one or two tries in my early twenties, i hadn’t even tried that much anal – to even submit my hole to a fucking felt like too much. i had only a few pictures on my profile – two with my face in social settings, one with me in a fairly basic hogtie and a ballgag that a previous top had been kind enough to put me in for an hour or so. my text was meagre and merely outlined how i was still a learner in the scene, and looking for fun. i wasn’t going to dare sign up for something that extreme, or embarrass myself by messaging this guy.


I froze.

It was him. He’d just sent a message. Trembling with anticipation, i opened it up.

“You need this, cunt.”

i wasn’t sure how to respond. But decided just to play along for now. Like so many other messages, this wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Thank you sir, but I’m not sure if I can handle it”

“It’s not sir, boi. It’s SIR.”

i felt my cock spring to life a little more – something about being told how to even type out a three letter word felt deviant, but it made sense. If He was in control, He would at least make sure i referred to Him correctly.

“Yes SIR.” i replied.

“Good. I play hard, fag. I’m not interested in what you like. I’m going to use and ruin you.”

i hesitated for a moment, but my heart beat faster and my fingers began to tremble as they typed, almost unconsciously, as if the responses were being written by something other than my rational self.

“How do you know SIR?”

“It’s You, fag. your pronouns in lower case. Mine in upper. I won’t say it again.”

“How do You know SIR?”

“Because you didn’t hesitate to follow My instructions boi. you’re already doing as you’re told, using the right terms in the right manner as befits your status. you know this is what you need.”

He was right. my hard on poised straight upwards, almost out of my pants, and as depraved as this stranger made me feel, i felt compelled to keep talking and see where this would go.

“Yes SIR”

“you’re free this Friday, or I block you”

i was diplomatically what you’d call “in between jobs” at this point, so i didn’t really have an excuse. Of course i was free, but i felt nervous in even admitting to it. Once again, it seemed like my hard on was doing the talking rather than my head.

“Yes SIR…are You sure You’re happy with playing with me, SIR?”

The response was immediate.

“I’ve made My decision fag. I need a new slave and you fit the bill. you need to be used.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but the hard-on wasn’t going anywhere.

“you get four limits. Everything else is open. Choose wisely.”

i didn’t have to think too long, but settling on three felt bewildering. What if he wanted to resort to piss? Or to hard fucking? Or boxing my torso?

“SIR, spitting in my mouth. Sounds. Scat. And anything that can draw blood, like needles.”

“Those limits will be honoured fag. your body and mind will not be.”


The train ride wasn’t too long, but long enough for nerves to set in and for me to seriously question what i was about to get into. i was under strict instructions to not message or contact SIR without Him messaging me first, so i couldn’t even ask questions about exactly what plans he had, only that i knew my limits would be respected, and that if i was still hard, it would be enough to keep going. As i watched fields pass outside the train window, i thought about just how much power i’d ceded over to a total stranger already: SIR had set out exactly what i should wear and how i should look. i’d gone as far as bought a few things to fulfil the brief: a branded hoodie with a sports tee underneath, trackie bottoms over a tight white jock, football socks, trainers, and a baseball cap. He specified that my hair be slicked back, my facial hair trimmed, my face cleaned and moisturised, and my whole body sprayed with a decent amount of deodorant and cheap cologne. His final specs were to abstain from all food and drink except for water, saying He wanted “fag recepticles empty on arrival.” i wasn’t sure what that meant, but i’d complied nevertheless.

The train pulled into the station, and i climbed off. The sun was setting, and i knew it would be dark soon, so i opened up my phone and pulled up a map – the place where SIR had specified i meet him was about thirty minutes walk away, which according to the map was appropriately in the middle of almost nowhere, ostensibly a woodland trail of sorts, but secluded enough for the kidnap to happen. With the hard on becoming apparent under the trackies, i set off along the road, turning off within a hundred feet to a quiet path that led into the some woods.

Half an hour later i was still walking. Though there was still a little light left from post-sunset, the dense trees obscured much of it. i could still make out the path but to do so while staring at my phone screen proved difficult. Was this all a joke? How would i know SIR would even be out here?


It was a message. my cock sprang immediately to attention, and my phone nearly slipped out of my hand when my fingers dashed to open it up.

“Nearly there, fag.”

i almost stopped in my tracks, but instead kept moving, as i looked over my shoulder, worried that SIR might be right behind me and i wouldn’t have even noticed. But nobody was there, only the path i’d just been walking along, getting darker by the minute. Turning back ahead, i checked my map once more, apparently mere seconds from where i was supposed to meet SIR. i pushed on for a few more steps, then stopped. It was a small clearing, the path slightly wider than before, but nothing especially notable about where i’d been told to meet. The light had almost completely gone now, and i squinted to get a look at my surroundings: tall trees, densely packed on each side, remnants of a blue sky silhouetting the trunks ahead. i returned to my phone, hoping for a new message from SIR detailing what would happen next. The light from the screen momentarily dazzling me, i heard a rustling, and looked up. For a moment, it seemed like nothing was there, and as my eyes adjusted, it was already too late.

An arm quickly wrapped around my throat, gripping it tight, my arms launching up to grab it almost in reflex, and my phone clattered to the ground. But any whimper or scream immediately thwarted as i felt SIR’s gloved hand clasping immediately across my mouth. It was Him. Knowing full well what i’d signed up for, i still struggled, attempting to yell through the leather, but the grip across my mouth and throat became even tighter, to the extent that if i kept it up, i’d probably pass out. He must have known this. Even without bondage, i was immobile under His power, and had to struggle to even breathe.

“Don’t say a fucking word, fag. Just nod or shake your head. Understand?”

i tried to inhale, but all I could do was take in the scent of SIR’s leather covered hands, and the manly scent drifting from behind. But not enough to bring in the oxygen i needed.

“Answer me fag, you might pass out.”

i nodded intently, with what little room i had to do .

“Good fag. I’m going to let you breathe again, but it will be on My terms. Understand?”

i nodded again. i started feeling lost in the darkness and from what must’ve been a lack of oxygen, so i thought it best to keep nodding.

“You’re mine now, you fucking slut. Don’t say a word.”

As the arm pulled away from my neck, i involuntarily inhaled through my nostrils, taking in even more of SIR’s manly scent, my hard on impossible to calm. The hand slowly came off my mouth, but the arm around my throat remained in place.

“Get on your knees, fag.”

The voice was dark, assertive, and controlling.


“Don’t make me fucking wait, fag”

Before i could respond, SIR pushed his knees against mine, causing me to buckle, and SIR directed my fall to the ground, where i landed on my knees, and felt SIR’s whole body behind my own. It felt strong, broad, and easily able to keep me in line with little effort on His part. Just as the arm around my neck finally came off, i felt a boot violently push against my back, and a hand forcing my head towards the dirt below.

“Down, fag!”

It pushed hard until my torso hit the ground, the booted foot pinning me down, my hands splayed at either side, the hand pushing my whole face into the dirt. Struggling to face away, i felt a knee between my legs, coming to rest directly above my balls. All of a sudden i froze, and i heard a chuckle from SIR, making it clear that the worst was yet to come, and any attempt to struggle now would be extremely painful indeed. His knee pushed down gently, causing a tiny squeal to escape from my lips.

“Any backchat or disobedience, and these useless fag balls get crushed. Understand?”

The hand released from my head to allow me to respond.

“Yes SIR.”

“Hands behind your back. Now.”

I motioned my arms behind me, bringing my hands together. i thought about how easily i’d let a total stranger talk me into walking into the middle of nowhere, like an idiot. Surely this was all part of the scene though, right? A kidnap wasn’t supposed to be soft and fuzzy. As the boot came off of my back, part of me still somehow wondered if i could get up and run, a feat that wouldn’t happen without getting seriously hurt in the process, and still, i was undeniably still hard underneath my trackies. My sweaty wrist was grabbed with a gloved hand, and i felt cold steel press hard against it. The sound of a ratcheting hinge signalled a cuff encircling the whole wrist, and SIR pressed on it to tighten and guarantee no room for escape. Pulling my other arm up my back, the second cuff was quickly locked on, both checked for security, and both proving impossible to open without the key. i felt hands rustling through my pockets, taking my keys and wallet, and i saw the light from my phone disappear out of view as He picked it up.

“Head up, fag”

i lifted my head a few inches, as much as i could.

“I said, head UP”, and a hand grabbed the baseball cap, throwing it off, before it gripped a fistful of my hair, pulling it upwards. my head was craned back, and as the hand left, i knew better than attempt to move it down. The unmistakeable sound of duct tape ripping from the roll echoed in the air, and i saw a long strip heading towards my face.

“Eyes closed, fag”

With the knee still on my balls, i clasped my eyes shut. The tape stuck straight to my skin, plunging me into darkness, and i immediately couldn’t see a thing. The tape was stretched against my face, pulling it around my head, and i felt the roll release more slack as SIR pulled against it, winding more tape to reinforce the makeshift blindfold. i counted the number of times SIR wound the tape around my head, figuring He must have stopped at about five or six. Each time it became tighter, and each time things got inexplicably darker.

SIR pushed my head back down to the ground, forcing my face back into the dirt below. my heart was beating faster than ever before, and worse, despite the fear of my balls being crushed and the fact that SIR had so easily taken control, my cock was rock hard. I wondered if He’d noticed as the knee lifted off my package.

“Legs up, whore”

Without waiting, SIR, grabbed my ankles and lifted them up, as if to try hogging me. But instead, i felt another cuff ratchet quickly around my left leg, around the sock, tightened in place and digging into my ankle. Repeating the same on my right ankle, i realised He was applying a set of legs cuffs, but with a chain that felt unforgivingly short. The knee finally lifted off my balls.

“Put your legs down, faggot.”

I did, albeit slowly, and foolishly tried to test the chain by pulling my legs apart. It can’t have been more than 18 inches. They weren’t going anywhere, and walking in this condition would be embarrassing. SIR must have noticed, as i heard a snigger from the Skinhead watching a captured scally realise his predicament. But He wasn’t finished yet. Putting the weight of his body back on top of me, i felt His gloved hand come back around to my mouth. i thought he wanted to gag me again but instead, a finger pushed in through my lips. i reflexively tried to keep my mouth shut, but the finger, and then two, forced their way in. Probing my mouth, SIR pushed the fingers all the way to the back of my throat, causing an immediate gag, made all the worse by being unable to take full breaths for SIR pinning me down.

“Good boy. I like a new throat to ruin”

i felt the knee return to my balls, threatening to squash them. i knew it would hurt worse this time if He pushed even a little.

“I’ve got one question for you fag. If you hesitate, I’ll crush your balls. It will be agony. And then I’ll ask you again. What’s your phone’s PIN number?”

A wave of fear hit, but sensing it, SIR started to push with His knee. As the pain cursed through my body, i let out a pathetic moan, gagging on His fingers.


i struggled the numbers out, one by one, through His fingers lodged in my throat. Barely able to enunciate, He repeated the number back, and laughed at how easy it was to get out the number He needed. Pulling the fingers out, i struggled to take another breath, but barely a second had passed.

“Open up that throat, fag”

i complied and tried to open up.


i pushed my jaws to be as open as possible. SIR grabbed my hair and pulled my head up, as i felt something being forced into my mouth. It was soft, wet, and tasted rancid. i couldn’t tell what it was but SIR took a few moments to stuff it in, filling up every crevasse in my mouth. The interloper teased my gag reflex and pushed against my cheeks, pressing my tongue down and making it impossible to hum out a sound. i heard more tape ripping, and seconds later the first strip of it had already stretched itself across my mouth, sticking to my face, and holding in the stuffing my mouth was clamping onto. More ripping as i felt the tape being pulled to the right, then the back of my head, and again around the left, securing the the new tape gag with a second layer.

“Two” i heard SIR say.

Again, the tape circulated my head, getting tighter with each wrap.

“Three….Four…..and one more for luck….Five.”

i tried to lift my head as the taping stopped, and the gag was feeling impenenetrable. i even tried to make a sound, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper, a fact that made my kidnapper laugh.

“That’s more like it. Fucking scally fags like you need to be kept quiet. Something missing though.”

i felt SIR’s body on top of mine once again, this time His soft lips and full beard pressing against my ear.

“Admit it fag. You’re my property now, aren’t you? Go on, you can answer.”

i mustered up what few mumbles i could through the gag, with the intent of saying “Yes SIR,” involuntarily nodding at the same time.

“Good slut.”

As He pulled away, i felt His hand grip my hair again to lift up my head, and something cold, soft, but supple was encircling my neck. i realised it was a collar, but it felt thick, like nothing i’d been collared with before. As it was buckled, i felt SIR tug at it, twice, and hard, almost making me whimper with how He wanted to control even my ability to breathe. Just as it was in place, i heard a gentle click, realising the collar was now padlocked in place. It would not be coming off without His permission. The lips returned to my ears.

“This means you’re mine, boi. My fucking property. Until the collar comes off, I OWN you. And I might never take it off”

i suddenly felt the pit of my stomach drop. i wanted to question if he really meant it, but the kidnap had been terrifying enough that i thought He was serious. What if he was going to do far worse? Mulling the thoughts over in my head only resulted in a few passive moans, which SIR likely expected as he only laughed.

i felt his hands underneath the side of my torso, rolling me over to the side, until i was on my back, my cuffed hands awkwardly beneath me. i heard the click of a sharpie lid being hastily pushed off, and a felt tip land on my forehead. SIR was writing something.


After a few seconds, i heard an odd click sound, and another, followed by an evil-sounding laugh. A boot sole landed on my chest, pinning me down, and something attached at the front of the collar. i felt a sharp tug.

“Up, fag.”

i felt SIR pull against the leash, forcing me awkward up to my knees, then to standing, my movements coarse and strained by the chain securing my legs. In a standing position, my hard-on felt like it was on full display, and going by the evil chuckles i could hear, SIR could very clearly see how depraved i was.

“You’re enjoying this fag, aren’t you?

i nodded intently, it was true, after all. But i was still unwilling to anger the Skinhead who’d just threatened to crush my balls or cut off my air, yet despite my fear at his assertion of maybe never taking the collar off, the hard-on continued to ignore the thoughts in my head.

“Because this is your place, cunt. Inferior faggot trash like you belongs underneath a Skinhead boot. Your purpose is use, your fate is abuse and disposal.”

i tried to mumble something out. A slap landed across my face.

“Shut the fuck up, whore”

i heard more tape being ripped from the roll, and soon enough came the familiar feeling of it being forced around my head, securing the gag underneath another few layers of silver silence. The reinforced gag tightened up against my skin even more, and even a whimper was barely audible now. i imagine this was precisely what He wanted – no need to alert anyone to the kidnap, so best to keep the victim silent.

But the tape kept on coming – i felt SIR wind the tape in a new direction, going underneath my chin, encircling upward, and over my head, back down, and under my chin again. Repeating the action several times, the effect was to clamp my jaw shut, pressing the inside of mouth down against the cloth, forcing it to seep out rancid liquid that dripped down my throat. More tape secured it shut, and i felt SIR reinforcing parts of the gag and blindfold with singular strips. A final round of duct tape went across my eyes, mouth, and anywhere else SIR could cover, until it felt like only my nose was exposed to the cold. i lost count of how many layers of tape my face was buried beneath. Whimpering, i nearly buckled over, moaning into the gag and keeling slightly, before a hard slap immediately brought me to attention. And another, right across my right cheek. The singing pain almost covering for the sound of SIR taking a big spit over His victim’s taped up face, before another slap across my left cheek brought me back up. Suitably disoriented, SIR pulled hard against the leash, His voice close than before.

“Fucking little cunt… you better shut the fuck up and take it”

i felt SIR’s fingers over my nose, suddenly clamping it shut. i writhed immediately in terror, my head unable to move for the leash keeping me in place.

“Take it fag, accept it”

i writhed more, against the cuffs, the chains, the collar, the tape, but to no avail. i wasn’t getting any oxygen through struggle, and trusting my instincts, i let my body go limp, and SIR removed the fingers. Sweet air filled my nostrils, and i felt SIR pull himself close to my face again.

“What do you say, fag?”

i muffled out a pathetic “Thank You SIR”

“That’s right, you nasty little cunt.”

SIR spit on my face again, and slapped it for good measure.

“There’s a lot we’ll need to get through. Fag trash needs to be broken in. you’re going to learn a lot, you fucking whore”.

i felt SIR replace my baseball cap on my head, and thought for a moment how slutty i looked in full scally gear, in bondage, tape covering my whole head, with the cap on top. Before i could react any further, my hearing was cut off. The ear protectors. SIR had placed them over my head, taking away my last sense of where He would be taking me next. In darkness and silence, i felt SIR tug at the collar three times, and then pulled. Instinctively i moved forward, taking a foolish and tiny step, awkwardly, lurching forward as far as the leg cuffs would allow.

It was easy to lose track of time – not knowing how far we’d walked, or for how long. i couldn’t see anything, or hear a word. All i had to guide me ahead were tugs that pulled against the tight collar left, right, or ahead. i’d nearly fallen over at one point, but SIR had deftly caught me in time, and for my stupidity took another spit or slap across my face. It felt odd to be simultaneously cared for to avoid falling, but be seemingly hated enough to be worth slapping or spitting over. Eventually, the tugs stopped, and i stood in my tracks. The cuffs were digging into my ankles and wrists, my head feeling hot and sweaty under all the tape.

i felt hands on my shoulders, pushing down. i took this to mean i should kneel, so i slid a leg out, but instead of landing on my knees, i was sitting on something. It was thin, rubberised almost, and feeling a hand on my head to keep it low, i realised i was sitting against an open car boot. It made sense, this was SIR’s fag-snatching equipment after all.

Not being able to hear a thing, i suddenly felt tight in my chest. And then tighter. Was it something wrong with my heart? i tried to shift my arms to feel, but suddenly they felt tight too. It wasn’t a heart problem at all, it was tape. SIR was winding the duct tape around my chest and arms to keep them secure, as if the cuffs and aggression weren’t enough of a reason for me to behave.

i felt a shove, and my ass felt like it landed in the boot, with my legs still hanging outside of it. my knees were held together, and I felt more of the endless tape winding around them, meaning any walking now would be effectively impossible. my head was pushed down, and i felt SIR’s hands manipulating my body so that i was lying on my side, in a near fetal position, inside the boot. i still couldn’t see or hear anything, but i could feel tugs against the collar and the chain securing the cuffs on my ankles. Now and then SIR would grab the prominent hard on through the trackies, and as if to elicit sympathy, i would moan in appreciation. Suddenly, He grabbed my balls. i writhed in agony, and realised i couldn’t move my head, or my feet, any further. They’d been locked in place to each end of the boot, and i wasn’t going anywhere.

Slowly, i felt the protectors coming off my ears.

“You’re mine, you fucking little cunt.”

The sudden cold against my ears made me shiver, and in doing so i heard the clink of chains and padlocks, securing me in place. As SIR laughed, i wondered why He’d wanted me to be able to hear again. i didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“Yeah, it’s locked up in the boot now…fucking little cunt thought it was gonna be easy, poor little stupid fag….Did you get the pictures I sent?”

Pictures? What was SIR talking about? i listened intently.

“You can come over and use it when it’s ready….Yeah we’ll break the little fag in two, think it needs all the Skinhead boot it can lick. You wanna hear it?”

SIR’s voice came closer, talking to me now rather than the unknown assailant.

“By the way, that thing in your mouth. That was an old jock I found lying around. Thought it would be nice to piss all over it this morning and give you a preview of what’s to come.”

i gagged immediately, moaned hard, and tried to spit, but nothing came up, the jock was lodged in my mouth with layers of tape and all i could do now was thinking of the piss within it seeping out and into my stomach. It was disgusting, and SIR could only laugh at how upset it made me.

“Did you hear the fag just then? Pathetic isn’t it?….Yeah, it’s going to suffer. I’ll make it fucking beg to suffer worse.…Yeah, see you soon mate.”

SIR’s voice returned closer to my ear.

“I wanted you to hear that, fag. This is only the beginning. You’re mine.”

i felt SIR’s gloved hand grab my balls once more.

“I don’t have a problem with disposing of you fag. Or showing the pictures I’ve been taking, or the screencaps of your messages, to everyone in your contacts list.”

Wait, what? The question in my head seemingly reflected in my body language, or what little of it could express surprise.

“Awww you didn’t know, fag?”

My blood turned cold, and i suddenly felt like i was sinking, getting more out of my depth by the second. Of course. The clicks. He’d been taking pictures of me. Cuffed, gagged, blindfolded. FAG written in marker pen on my forehead. He’d probably been taking pictures the whole time on the way here. SIR repeated the PIN number of my phone back to me, as if to reinforce just how easily He’d been able to find it out, and how willing He’d be to follow through on His threats.

“Do you really want them all to see all your messages? Where you show what a dumb little whore you are? Or how that pathetic little nub gets hard when under a Real Man’s control?”

i wanted to scream expletives, but i knew it was useless. Even if He could hear them through the gag there was no way they’d have any effect other than to piss him off.

“So you’re going to behave, cunt. This is just insurance to make sure I get what I want. And seeing as you’re still hard, you know it’s exactly what you need.”

He tapped my hard on, and i squirmed with what little give i had.

“Time to go fag. I’m going to enjoy taking you apart, you piece of shit”

One more slap landed across my face, and the ear protectors came back on. A loud thump signalled the boot closing in, guaranteeing my fate. A few seconds elapsed, and the hum of the engine starting vibrated under me, before the compartment seemed to lean one way, and then the next. Finally on the move to wherever SIR was taking me.

Metal would like to thank Kidnappedboi for this story!

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