Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

Captivation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 6307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Bill or Tom Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel and this story is a complete work of fiction; it is all made up and not true. I am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: Big thanks to Soyna for her lovely review! Hope you enjoy this one, my dear. And thank you to everyone else who's lurking and doesn't want to admit they like twincest ;)
.........
Chapter 3. Reunion.
Bill is a good boy and takes his shower like I told him to without any more escape attempts. I give him his privacy. I go down the hall for a cigarette, stick a Band-Aid on my bitten finger, check to see if I have any emails (I do, but I delete most of them because they’re annoying spam) and then come back and wait for him, sitting on the couch in his room, listening for the water to be turned off. I can’t wait to see my little captive without makeup. I’ve seen his bare face in pictures but I want to see how it looks close up, in the flesh without any artificial additives or colourings. It’s quite exciting, actually, like a reverse makeover. A make-under, perhaps.
When Bill finally emerges from the steamy bathroom, smelling of soap and shampoo, the first thing I’m struck by is how much he looks like Tom. His eyebrows are thick and very dark and so are his lashes. His eyes are the most exquisite shape – like almonds, and tilt up intriguingly at the outer corners. They’re almost Asian in character. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some Eastern influence in his ancestral bloodline from way back, although the rest of his features are definitely European with his high stately forehead, finely formed nose and wide mouth. He must have found the safety razors I provided for his use as he has shaved the short layer of stubble from his upper lip and chin. His skin is ivory in colour and in exceptionally good condition for someone who spends a lot of his time with a mask of foundation on. Even though he’s a teenager he doesn’t have any pimples or clogged pores, his creamy complexion clear and smooth, save for that cute brown beauty mark under his bottom lip.
He’s wearing a white cotton bathrobe that I left in there for him to put on. It’s long, falling to his calves, and he’s got the belt tied securely around his tiny waist. It’s a bit big for him, swamping his thin frame with only the tips of his fingers showing beneath the sleeves but at least it covers him and keeps him warm. He soundlessly steps out from the cold tiles onto the carpet, tucks his damp, streaked hair behind delicately-shaped ears and wraps his arms nervously around himself, his gaze downcast.
“I don’t have anything else to wear,” he mumbles, a subtle reminder that all his belongs have been left in a hotel room that he should have been staying in right now with Tom, instead of being held down here in some underground jail with me, the deranged stalker. Or so he believes.
“In the bottom drawer of the wardrobe -” to which I turn and indicate, “there are some newly purchased clothes for you: sweatpants and a T-shirt, some boxers or trunks – I’m not sure what you call those stretchy types you prefer – as well as a pair of socks. That should do until tomorrow.”
He nods after I tell him that, staring down at his bare toes. His toenails are painted with black varnish, like the nails on his fingers, only without the white tips. Interesting. I admire them, noting that he has rather lovely feet, and then glance back up at his face, admiring it too in all its natural splendour. With his skin scrubbed clean and his hair combed back straight and sleek, he looks so much smaller, younger and more vulnerable. He only looks about fifteen years old. It’s like all his insolence and rebelliousness got sucked down the drain along with his eyeliner and mascara and he’s left stripped back to the timid, terrified child he really was inside all along. Without his stage makeup, he’s not a diva. Without his war paint, he’s not a warrior. He’s just a kid. A scared, lonely kid who just wants to go home.
“You’re a very brave young man, Bill,” I praise him. “Very beautiful too, without all that black stuff on your face.”
He doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground as though he’s too frightened to look directly at me, like any minute now I’ll tear his robe off and have my violent way with him, leaving him battered and bleeding on the floor.
“You don’t have to be so afraid of me. Deep down, I’m actually a gentle guy,” I reveal, hoping he will let me prove that while he’s down here. “And besides, I like you. I don’t hurt people I like.”
Finally, he lifts his gaze, reluctantly curious. “Why do you like me?”
“Because you’d ask a question like that.” I smile at his innocent naiveté. “Not only are you beautiful, but you’re nice, you’re polite, you’re sweet, happy and funny. You love animals and you care deeply about people, your friends, your fans, your band mates and your family. I saw all that when I watched you in private, before I took you. I wanted to make sure you were a good person. I wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t. You’re a very special boy, Bill.”
I soften my tone. “I bet your brother thinks so, too.”
Remembering my promise, he looks to me in urgent hopefulness. “Tom? Can I talk to him now? Please?”
“Yes, you may.” I slip his cell phone out of my pocket but hold it out of reach, first warning him, “But don’t even think of calling the cops or there will be serious consequences.”
He gulps, gingerly touching his cheek where I slapped him. It’s already started to turn purple, alarmingly quickly.
“God, you bruise easily,” I remark, reaching out towards him but he flinches and turns his face away, expecting me to do it again.
I drop my hand, furrowing my brow a little. “Was that the first time you’ve ever been struck?”
“No.”
“You mean, you’ve been hit before?”
“Yeah.”
“Who was it?” I command, starting to feel unexpectedly and strongly angry that someone would deliberately beat and bully this harmless, fragile teenager. “Who’s been hitting you, Bill?”
“Nobody. Not lately, anyway. Just a couple of stupid kids when I was at school.” He gives a clumsy shrug. “It was ages ago.”
He’s acting like it’s no major deal but it’s evident that the experience affected him. Most kids have to contend with bullies at one stage or the other. It’s a part of childhood. Usually it’s just verbal abuse, though. Name calling, jeers, mockery. I didn’t realise he’d been punched in the face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, despite your ‘research’,” he stiffly answers.
After a few moments I answer, “If it’s any consolation to you, I was bullied at school too.”
He glances up in surprise.
“Oh, it’s quite true. My unusual looks made me a target. They used to call me Yellow-Eyes. Cat-Boy. Mutant Freak. Among other things.” My lips curl cynically. “I know only too well how cruel kids can be. That’s why I took up martial arts. So I could fight back. I wanted to protect myself and to defend others who were being picked on too.”
I look at him.
“If I’d been at your school, Bill, I’d have stood up for you. I would have fought for you. But I guess you had Tom for that, didn’t you?”
“I guess. Tom always tried to protect me. He couldn’t always, though.” The svelte singer glances down, shielding the old pain in his all-too-revealing eyes. “They’d wait until he wasn’t there and that’s when they’d make their attack. I was too small and weak to stop them. I suppose I was easy prey.”
Bill sounds bitter. It makes me sad to hear that tone in his voice. He’s only nineteen; he shouldn’t be so jaded yet.
“I’m truly sorry,” I offer for the second time, softer than before. “What I did was wrong. I won’t ever hit you again, Bill. I swear it.”
He looks up and meets my eyes, realising how serious I am and starting to see me a little more equally, a fellow victim of schoolyard thugs.
“I’d appreciate that,” he replies evenly. “I’ll try not to bite you anymore.”
“Well, if you eat my food then I won’t need to force feed you,” I negotiate. “Do we have a deal?”
He gazes at me and then affords an affirmative nod.
“Excellent. Here.” I pass him the phone. “You have twenty seconds. Make them count.”
With trembling fingers, Bill turns on his phone, scrolls through the menu to find Tom’s number and dials it. Upon hearing his brother’s voice, Bill closes his eyes and sags in relief.
“Tomi, it’s me. Ja, ja, I’m okay.” Quickly, in German, he blurts out, “Beeil dich Tom und hol' mich hier raus! Der Kerl ist irre! Ich hab' keine Ahnung wann er-” (Hurry up Tom and get me out of here! This guy is crazy! I don’t know what he’s going to-)
“That’s enough,” I cut in, snatching the phone back from Bill, much to his fearful helplessness. I frown at him. Here I was, believing that we were making progress and starting to trust each other but nope, he still thinks I’m a violent nut-job who’s going to strangle him with his own underwear.
I shove my hair back and lift the phone up to my ear. Bill watches me longingly but doesn’t dare try to grab the device out of my hand. He’s not that stupid.
To Tom, I instruct, “Get a pen and paper and write this address down. Underwood Alley, on the corner of Industrial Avenue. Meet me in the parking lot of the metal recycling plant at precisely seven pm tonight. Alone.” I pause. “Do I have to remind you of what will happen if you bring the Polizei along?”
“No, I already got that part,” Tom returns on the other end of the line, his voice tight. “No police. Nobody.”
“There better not be. After I’m assured that you haven’t notified the authorities of our meeting, I will take you to where Bill is being held.”
“You’re gonna let me see him?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Of course. I give you my word that he will be safe and unharmed if you give me your word that you will come alone.”
“Deal. You have my word.”
“Good. Look for the black van. And don’t be late. Your little brother is counting on you.”
I hang up and switch the phone off, pocketing it. I can’t leave it on for longer than thirty seconds or so otherwise the signal can be tracked.
“So, Tom’s coming?” Bill’s big eyes gaze up at me fretfully. “Is he coming?”
“He is. He’ll be here tonight. But I need to go get him first so I’m afraid I will have to leave you here alone for a while.”
Eager to see his twin, he begs, “Can I come with you?”
“No.”
His expression of disappointment is swift and heartbroken.
“Be patient, Bill. I shall return with your brother later and then you will be together again. Just get dressed, be good and wait for us.” I assess him carefully, gauging his mental state. “Do you think you will be all right while I’m gone?”
He gives a glum nod, let down that he can’t go with me to fetch Tom, but I can sense his underlying excitement at the thought of his twin’s arrival.
“Remember there’s food in the fridge if you get hungry and if you’re bored, turn on the TV and watch a movie. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
I turn to leave.
“Koji?”
Hearing my name on his lips is a thrill. I didn’t think he’d even remember it.
“Yes, Bill?”
“Please don’t hurt him.”
Bill is the one who’s been kidnapped and here he is, worrying about his brother’s safety. How touching. I smile in a reassuring manner. “I’m not planning to hurt Tom. I’m just going to escort him back here for you. That’s all.”
His apprehensive expression and creased brow are the last things I see as I close the door on him and lock him in. Even though I can’t monitor him while I’m driving to collect his brother, I’m not concerned that Bill will try anything silly or harm himself during the wait until I get back. He might chew all his pretty nails off with anxiety but he’ll behave. He just wants to see Tom again and he’ll hang in there until he does.
***
The drive to my chosen meeting point that evening is uneventful. As I travel from busy city highway to almost deserted outskirts I listen to some E Nomine on the van’s stereo system to pass the minutes away, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. I’m completely calm. I’m positive that everything will go according to schedule. I know Tom will be there to meet me and there won’t be any law enforcement officers with him. He values his brother’s life more than he values the justice system or the police force. Still, just to be one hundred percent certain he’s alone, I pull up in my van with the tinted windows, stopping on top of a hill and getting out my high-tech night-vision binoculars, gazing down into the industrial area where we have arranged to meet. Around me are silent factories, warehouses and other large manufacturing and processing plants, all closed down for the night. Through the binocular lenses, I can see Tom’s black Cadillac already parked in the rear lot of the metal recycling facility. He’s sitting in the front seat smoking, an intermittent glow illuminating his tense features as he draws deeply on the cigarette. Everything looks green. With a simple button-press, I change into an infrared mode that enables me to detect heat signatures of living creatures. Scanning the area, I can spot the tell-tale red and yellow orbs of a few nocturnal animals scavenging around the factory lots but Tom’s brightly coloured halo is the only human shape in the vicinity. Tom has kept his word and arrived unaccompanied. Now it is time to keep my word and prove to him that Bill is still alive.
I drive down and park behind him, pulling on my handbrake. Tom quickly flicks his cigarette butt out the electric window and emerges from the driver’s side, just as I jump out from mine, both of us slamming our doors shut at the same time, Tom also engaging the central locking system on his relatively new car, not wanting it stolen while we’re negotiating the terms of Bill’s release.
“Hello, Tom.” I greet him amicably like an old friend, as if he hadn’t earlier threatened to cut my dick off with a butcher’s knife. “It’s nice to meet you at last.”
Tom’s stare widens when he sees me in the moonlight. He clearly didn’t expect me to look the way I do. He probably expected some ugly, balding creep in a sleazy trench coat, not a fit-looking Japanese dude in his later twenties with amber eyes and a long ponytail, wearing cargo pants, army boots and a denim jacket. Outwardly, I appear relatively normal for a kidnapper, even attractive, which must be surprising and startling to the slightly older Kaulitz twin.
He stands there in hi-top skater sneakers, staring at me, his body dwarfed by a pair of over-sized jeans, an extra-large printed green sweater and a slightly askew baseball cap, dark blond dreadlocks gathered in a chunky bundle at the back of his head. With that ring through his lower lip and the slouchy, slump-shouldered way he’s standing he looks like a white rapper or gangster - what kids call a wigga - brimming with enough attitude to fill his baggy designer duds.
“You know, you’re even cuter in person,” I remark with a smile. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Koji.”
I courteously hold out my hand, which I don’t expect Tom to take. And he doesn’t.
Blinking back to his senses, he snaps, “I don’t give a shit what your name is.”
From somewhere in the depths of his hoodie he pulls out a gleaming silver gun, holding it in both hands and aiming it right at my heart.
“Take me to my brother.” His voice is a low, dangerous snarl. “Now.”
I arch my brow at the weapon. “That’s really not necessary. I was taking you to him anyway.”
“Yeah? Well, hurry it up, asshole! I’m not in the mood for chatting.”
“Just a moment,” I say unhurriedly. “Lift up your shirt, please.”
He just stares. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a high-profile person, Tom, which means I have to take special security precautions. You may not have brought the police with you but I need to make sure you’re not wearing a wire or any other recording device taped to your chest. Lift up your shirt,” I repeat. “We’re not going anywhere until you do.”
Gradually, he sees the sense in what I’m asking and takes one hand off the gun to roughly yank the front of his sloppy T-shirt up to his neckline, revealing a set of rock-hard abs and a smooth, bare chest, broad and chiselled to perfection. Damn. Kid’s got a hot body. My gaze lingers on his superb muscle tone and tanned skin, not even looking for wires now.
“Satisfied?” He pulls his top back down, scowling at me.
“Not quite. There’s something else I have to do before we can leave.”
I reach into my jacket and Tom stiffens and steps backward, expecting me to pull out my own gun but instead I bring forth a white plastic device shaped like a playing card, no bigger than the palm of my hand. It has a small antenna attached to one corner and a row of tiny lights on the face of it.
“This is a bug detector,” I explain, showing it to him. “It’s used to locate tiny tracking or transmitting devices. Do you mind if I run it over you? You can keep your gun while I’m doing it. It’ll only take a minute.”
Exhaling in impatience, he finally agrees, “Fine. Do it.”
The weapon stays aimed warningly in my direction as I step closer to him, the detector held in my hand.
“You try anything and I’ll take your head off, fucker,” he threatens.
“Understood,” I return calmly.
I could disarm Tom in three seconds flat but if the gun makes him feel safer in my presence then I will allow him to hold onto it. He won’t shoot me or even try, not until he knows what’s happened to Bill. Besides, he’s more likely to co-operate with me if he thinks it’s on his own terms.
I slowly sweep the scanner over his body, starting from one arm and moving across his chest to the other. I scan above his hat in case he’s hiding something under it and then move the tracker down over his belly and groin, waiting for any tell-tale beeps. I’m not even touching him, merely sweeping the device about five centimetres in front of his clothing.
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not bugged.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you or your word,” I murmur as I crouch to scan his left leg and begin moving up the right one, “but I have to be completely sure.”
Bugs are almost invisible these days. You can have one on your person without even knowing it. If Tom has talked to any federal investigation or secret surveillance organisations recently, one of their agents could have stuck a transmitter on him without his knowledge, covertly tracing his movements. That way he will look completely convincing when he denies having one.
The detector starts beeping and lights up as I sweep his right jeans pocket. He looks alarmed.
“I’m not bugged. I swear! I don’t even know what that is!”
“Are you carrying a phone?” I suggest. “That’ll set it off.”
“Oh. Yeah, I do have one.”
“Turn it off and give it to me.”
He digs in his pocket with one hand and retrieves his cell, hitting the power button with his thumb and handing it to me without any fuss. I scan the phone but there’s no reaction now that it’s off. I sweep Tom’s pockets again and wave the scanner up and down his back. Not a single beep to be heard. I think he’s relieved not to be proven a liar. He wants me to know that he’s honest and hasn’t spoken to the police or any investigative agencies about me or this meeting. Tom has honour. Good for him.
“Okay, you’re clean,” I announce, deactivating the device and standing up again.
“Told you so.” He impatiently jabs the revolver at me and then towards the van, signifying that I should open the passenger side for him. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Oh no, you’re not riding up front with me.” I haul open the sliding door on the side of the vehicle, revealing the back of it, empty save for a clean foam mattress.
“You have to get in here.” In a pleasant, civil tone I add, “Please.”
“No way!” He immediately and strongly objects to that suggestion. “Forget it. I’m not letting you lock me in there!”
“I can’t let you see where we’re going. Then my private hideout won’t be so private anymore, will it?”
“Fuck you. I’m not getting in there.”
“My van, my rules,” I stipulate.
Stubbornly, he still doesn’t move. I level my gaze at him in a cool, confronting manner, letting him know that I’m not fucking around.
“Get in the back of the van, Tom,” I say in a much icier voice, “or you don’t see Bill. Your choice.”
He debates his options and then, very reluctantly, he shuffles past me and climbs sideways into the vehicle, keeping the revolver pointed at me the whole time. He’s got no choice but to get in and he knows it. He’s not very happy about it, though.
“You try to trick me, you’re a dead man,” he warns. Not at all concerned by his threats, I simply shut the door on him, trapping him in there. He cannot open the door from the inside and the windows are resistant to bullets. I get into the driver’s seat, start the van up and head back the same way I came.
The return trip is quiet. I don’t turn on my music, wanting to hear if Tom is causing any trouble back there behind me but he doesn’t fire his gun, yell, or even bang on the walls. He’s most likely just sitting on the mattress, too stressed and on edge to move. I’m sure he’s freaking out, not knowing where he’s going to be taken or what I’ll do to him when we get there but I’m letting him keep his weapon and so he’ll still feel as though he has some control over the situation and his own safety. He can’t shoot me through the back anyway. The shell of the vehicle and the dividing wall between the rear and the driver’s side are fully armoured, at least against small arms fire. Plus he knows that if he kills me, I can’t take him to Bill. If I die he won’t find out where Bill is being kept and without anyone to rescue him, his already-skinny sibling will starve to death all alone in a locked room somewhere beneath the cold earth. Tom won’t risk that possibility or put his twin’s life in jeopardy. The hope of seeing his little brother again is the only thing that’s stopping Tom from shooting me or else he would have done it by now. In a way, Bill is protecting me.
So is the bullet-resistant Kevlar vest I’m wearing under my jacket but Tom doesn’t know that. I’m a confident criminal but not a cocky one.
When I get back to base, I guide the van into my underground garage and park it, letting the remote-controlled electric roller door descend back down after me with a mechanical whirr. The lights are on for our arrival. I slide the van door open, already prepared for the sight of a gun muzzle in my face.
“We’re here,” I tell Tom, gesturing for him to get out of the back. “This way, please.”
He clambers out and follows me as I ascend a short set of stairs. They lead to a door, which in turn leads to the main corridor of my sub-basement dwelling, our path lit by naked light bulbs.
As we’re walking along the concreted hallway, Tom growls, “I swear, if you’ve hurt my brother I will kill you. I will shoot your fucking balls off and then I’ll blow your brains all over the fucking floor.”
“Vicious little thing, aren’t you?” I comment over my shoulder. “But you don’t have to go to such extreme measures. Bill is perfectly fine. As you’ll soon see.”
“He better be.”
I can feel his glare on me, can sense the gun trained on my back. He certainly didn’t get his weapon from the police. Or anybody legal. A high-powered revolver like that is usually sold on the streets for a large wad of Euros.
When we reach the room Bill is being kept in, I enter the required password, covering the keypad as I’m putting it in so Tom can’t see it. The green access light flashes and the lock clicks open. I pull the handle down and the door swings inward.
Standing beside me, Tom glances in to see Bill sitting on the bed, dressed in the sweatpants and T-shirt I bought for him. Bill looks up, jumps to his feet and cries out, “Tom!”
“You okay?” Tom demands, keeping the gun on me, aimed at my chest.
“Yeah,” Bill answers, breathless with excitement.
“C’mon,” Tom urgently orders Bill, not moving his eyes, or his loaded firearm, away from me. “I’m taking you out of here.”
By the smaller boy’s body language, I can tell that Bill wants to go with Tom, very badly, but at the same time he’s afraid to budge. He has knowledge of me and what I’m physically capable of, whereas Tom doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. And that’s his downfall.
For one split-second he takes his gaze off me, to glance at Bill and see why he’s not hurrying the fuck up already, and in that second I make my attack. He’s holding the weapon out in front of him using both fists, cop-style, and I grab his left wrist, jamming the flattened fingers of my other hand between his forearms like a spade, separating them and smacking one arm aside with the heel of my palm, leaving the gun held in only one of Tom’s hands. Simultaneously, I shove that hand up so the weapon is aimed away from me, towards the corridor ceiling. Tom reflexively clenches his fist, squeezing off a round. There’s a very loud bang and Bill jumps at the shot, covering his mouth and the frightened yelp that escapes from it. The expelled bullet misses me, skimming the concrete wall and ricocheting off the far end of the passageway, the flattened projectile dropping to one corner with a pinging sound. I give Tom two hard karate chops in the side of his neck, stunning him, and then I can simply snatch the gun right out of his hand, well before he can twitch a finger, let alone squeeze the trigger again.
In the time it takes him to blink once in stupefied surprise, I have Tom on the ground, sweeping his feet out from under him with one of my hooked legs and striking a blow to his chest, knocking the well-built teenager flat on his back and holding him down with my boot to his throat, his own gun pointed square at him. My foot is firmly lodged under his chin but I’m not choking him, just pinning him in place. He’s too stunned to struggle, staring up at me with enormous brown eyes, his dreadlocks spread out behind him like Medusa’s dead snakes, the nineteen year old guitarist gasping with shocked breaths. He looks truly petrified. Barring a couple of games of paintball, I bet he’s never had a gun in his face before and didn’t realise how terrifying and confronting it is. Tom thinks he’s going to die - right here, right now.
Inside the room, Bill is frozen and equally in terror. There’s a high, thin whine at the back of the smaller boy’s throat, an instinctual and animal-like sound of pure fear, only his fear is for Tom’s life now instead of his own.
“I’m not going to shoot him, Bill,” I state softly, turning the muzzle aside, away from Tom. “I just can’t allow him to take you. I need you both here for a reason.”
Lifting my boot, I step back, indicating with the weapon for Tom to get up off the floor. Very shakily, he does so, his huge eyes never leaving me. When he’s standing he realises that his baseball cap had fallen off during his knock-down and is currently sitting on the ground near his feet. With jerky motions, he scoops it up but he doesn’t put it back on.
I motion to the deep pockets in Tom’s jeans. “Give me your wallet, cigarettes, lighter and car keys.”
Tom stares at me uncomprehendingly.
“Empty your pockets, Tom,” I say in a firmer tone. “Don’t make me use force again.”
That seems to stir Tom into action and he digs in his jeans for the requested items, throwing them over to me. There’s even a box of bullets in there.
“Thank you. Now, in you go,” I reply, gesturing towards the open door, through which Bill is fretfully waiting. “Hug your brother. He missed you.”
Tom turns to look at Bill.
“Tomi?” Bill whispers, almost afraid to believe that his twin is really standing there in the doorway. They look at each other for a wordless moment and then in a few fast strides, Tom is over there, flinging his strong arms around his little brother and holding him tight, uttering prayers of gratitude in hoarse, broken German, almost crushing Bill with relief that he’s unharmed and still in one piece. Giving a small sob, Bill clings to him like a drowning swimmer onto a lifebuoy, his thinner arms wrapped about Tom’s middle, his chin on Tom’s shoulder, eyes shut tightly as if to prevent himself from crying, both boys visibly thankful and relieved to be reunited again. These last couple of days apart have probably seemed like the longest, most torturous days in existence for them. They might get sick of living in the same apartment and sleeping on the same tour bus together, frequently pestering and annoying the shit out of each other like brothers tend to do, but I bet right now they’ve never been so damn glad to see each other’s faces.
While they’re busily locked in an emotional embrace, that’s when I discreetly back out and close the door on them, making them both my prisoners.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Captivation