But then if Robin really wanted to win me over to her side, she wouldn’t hurt me. Not too badly, anyway. So it couldn’t really hurt anything to follow this AFF lead, whether it was legit or not. I’d just have to be on guard against anything that seemed fishy.

The fishiness, though, started as soon as I walked into the apartment.

After I walked in, the door closed and locked behind me. It seemed strange that “freedom fighters” would use such features of the very system they were trying to free themselves of, but no matter. I turned to see that there was no one behind me, shrugged, and continued walking in.

An ornate metal tray floated into the room, carrying a glass of iced tea and a pitcher. I started to say aloud that I hoped the tea wasn’t poisoned, then thought better of it. I was thirsty, anyway… I took the glass and drank the tea in two gulps. It was still a bit warm, which means it had just been made, or at least that whoever was behind this wanted me to get that impression.

I really wanted to sit down, but I figured that in such a formal-looking setting, it would be better to wait for a host or hostess to greet me. Besides, where would I sit? I didn’t see a chair anywhere, which was fitting, since I was still in the lobby of this impressive mansion.

It was only then that I realized that the room was full of artwork. The wall itself was painted with artistic patterns, and in unpainted areas there were framed paintings and pencil sketches on display. I was busy noticing the detail in one particular sketch when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. The voice was female.

I turned around and didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt for the door.

Descending the stairs was what appeared to be, based on her size, a young girl in her mid-to-late teens. Olive skinned, in a white tube top and matching white capri pants. But — but she was missing her head!

This shapely… headless female body?! was descending the stairs, and I couldn’t help but stare at something that wasn’t there, hoping that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Or something.

I was a few steps away from the door, so I wasn’t exactly right next to the stairs, but it was plain to see that the body’s (girl’s?) neck did not appear to have been chopped — her neck stump was rounded. Which means that either whatever process had removed her head happened a long time before this, or… or she was born without it?

*Game, Bryan,* I reminded myself. *You’re inside a game. Whatever is going on here, this isn’t real.* But it also occurred to me that if I did what Robin probably expected me to do — assume that this was just some mindless body that would happily get freaky with any other warm bodies that crossed its path — she could use that against me later. How she might do that, I didn’t have any idea, and I didn’t want to find out.

The girl was now at the bottom of the stairs, and I was now staring at her tube top, which was now stretched out quite a bit more than when she started down the stairs. Not only was the top itself stretched out more by breasts that had clearly grown a bit on the way down the stairs, but they also spilled out over the top of the tube, giving the impression that they might pop out at any moment.

As she began walking slowly towards me, making little side-to-side movements that resulted in much jiggling, I began backing up towards where I thought the door was. When I got there, it was actually open, though I know for a fact it had closed and locked itself behind me when I came in. I grabbed the doorknob, only for the door to yank itself out of my grasp and slam shut again! When I tried to open it a second time, the doorknob came off in my hand.

By this time the headless girl was still about halfway across the room. I still wanted to leave rather than participate in what might be a trap, but I had no idea how else to get out of there. So when the girl began beckoning to me, I didn’t see how I had any choice but to play along, at least for awhile. Not that I was given one, because when I didn’t immediately begin moving over towards her,  I was shoved roughly in her direction. I turned around to see that, again, there was no one there. And again, as soon as I was facing the girl, I was shoved her way again.

This time she began walking towards a side room, and I followed, hoping the unseen hands would not keep shoving me. When I entered the side room, the young lady was standing a few feet away, facing me. She motioned towards a couch along the far wall, then ducked into what had appeared to be a walk-in closet in the few seconds I’d been able to see inside it before the door closed behind her.

When she emerged from the closet, she had changed from capri pants to a pair of white shorts. And of course that drew my attention to what was now visible — her shapely legs. She walked a few steps towards me, then turned back towards the closet to pull the door closed. I wondered briefly why the door hadn’t closed on its own, like the outside door had done when I came in (and when I tried to leave). But when she made a show of closing the door, at one point bending at the waist as if inspecting the doorknob, it was obvious she — or someone – wanted me to check out her butt.

*Game, it’s a game,* the warning voice in my head said again, but I was barely paying attention. When she turned around, I had to stifle a grunt of disappointment — it was a nice booty — but of course I was treated to a view of her boobs still sheathed tightly in a tube top, jiggling slightly as  she made her way towards me. When she was in front of me, she leaned towards me a bit, no doubt confident of where my eyes would wander to as she drew nearer. I didn’t get a chance to gawk too long, though, because she actually turned around and sat in my lap, leaning into me as she began to let out what sounded very much like a contented purr. For half a second I wondered, *Is there actually enough of anything inside her throat to make that sound?* and then I remembered the throat-clearing earlier. A game, it’s a game.

I looked down at the well-endowed impossibility sitting in my lap and leaning back against me, noticing that her neck stump was so well rounded that there was no hint that there had ever been a head there. There was also no way she could breathe, at least not through conventional means. This was looking more and more like Robin had set a trap to gather ammunition against me should I ever get free from the game. It was possible that I was wrong, though I couldn’t see how. I could also see only one way, at that moment, to find out.

“Nice rack,” I said, more-or-less directly to it, since I was staring down at her boobs when I said it. “And nice butt, for that matter. Too bad there’s no way to know which side you’re on.”

She shrugged, which in my mind sealed it. She was on Robin’s side. A real AFF agent or proxy would have tried to reassure me in some way that they were on my side. Yet, again, this was Robin’s game, and I was stuck in it at the moment. I had to play along.

My hands had been around her waist almost from the moment she sat down but now I began to rub my fingers up and down her sides and around her navel. At the same time I began to nuzzle against the crook of her headless neck. She let out a contented moan and I had to wonder how was that getting out when she had no apparent breathing orifice?

A passing thought caught my attention — in stories by guys who get turned on by the idea of living headless women, the neck stump is portrayed as some kind of erogenous zone. This might have been just a game, but no doubt this headless girl was there in the first place because Robin knew that I had followed such stories and had even attempted to write one. I was pretty sure I’d never get another chance like this one, game or not, so…

I began to flick the tip of my tongue against the rounded end of her neck stump. At first contact her whole body tensed up so much I thought I had done something wrong, but then she went through the motions of sighing deeply, and the accompanying movement of her boobs of course grabbed my attention. I had to wonder how she was able to breathe, and audibly at that, when there was no visible breathing aperture — and when such opening, had it existed, would have been completely engulfed by my mouth?

I kept staring at those heaving boobs as their movement increased in time with her breathing, which itself had sped up as my tongue played with her neck stump. I wanted to get at them but I didn’t want either of us to have to shift our positions even an iota. I pulled away from her neck just long enough to whisper a quick, “If you want to you could take off your top,” before returning to the task at hand. I got a surprising response.

“Nn-nnn.”

Although I wanted her to comply, I actually felt a slight tinge of relief at her response. Sometimes it’s funny how the human mind works — as unreal as this situation was, a part of my mind had been crying out, Underage forbidden trap no get-out, practically since I first laid eyes on her.  I knew I was stick inside a game, and thus a headless woman was probably just a character in the game, but yet my eyes were telling me this was a situation I didn’t want to get into. With no facial, vocal, or verbal cues  all I had to go on to estimate who I was dealing with was, well, measurements, and the dimensions I had seen when she was at the top of the stairs suggested that she might have been underage. And of course it was the part that first noticed those dimensions that was relieved at her negative response to my request.

Only that part. The rest of me, including the little soldier who had been standing at attention practically since the girl first cleared her throat, was extremely disappointed. I was gonna say let down, but, well, let’s say that hadn’t quite been let down just yet.

I had to know why, though. It was plain to me that her whole purpose was to turn me on. It was equally plain that she herself had been turned on, or at least had been working hard to give that impression, ever since the little soldier had snapped to attention.

“Why?” I asked. She responded by reaching for the top of her tube top and attempting to roll the top downwards. She had moved the top edge down maybe a half-inch before I saw the problem — the seam that attached the tube top to her body. I was caught so off-guard that I flinched, pulling my mouth from her neck stump and causing her to start to raise herself from my lap.

She was not a woman, not even a headless one at that. She was — what was she? A balloon? A mannequin come to life? Some kind of doll? In retrospect I can remember the Unreal! warnings, but at that moment I was totally oblivious to them.

My arms were still wrapped around her, though, and provided just enough resistance as she tried to raise herself from my lap. “Wait a minute,” I said. She may have been some weird something-or-other but she was close enough to female that enough… parts of me didn’t want her to move. My rational mind scrambled for something to say.

“Are you…  like that all over?” I said. She motioned towards her crotch with both hands. See for yourself, more or less.

I undid the crotch button to her shorts and unzipped. She was wearing white  panties that were more there than a thong, but not nearly as much so as “granny” panties. Rather than simply pull them away from the skin, I tried to ease my fingers below the waistband and found the same result as with the tube top — a hidden seam that corresponded to the visible seam just below the panties’ waistline. Basically, the outwardly visible seam was the seam that held her panties to her body.

I heaved a sigh. I searched for words and wound up sighing again.

“OK,” I finally managed to say. “OK,” I repeated. “So… you’re not really a woman. What are you, a mannequin? Some kind of balloon? A doll? What?”

Obviously I wasn’t gonna get a concise answer to that, since there were too many options, and she wasn’t exactly able to verbalize an answer. At least I hadn’t expected a concise answer, so I was a bit surprised when she raised one hand, holding up three fingers.

Three? What does that mean? Three… third… wait, the third option — a doll?!

“You’re a doll?” I asked for confirmation.

She replied with a “mm-hmm” and a thumbs-up. Figures. Robin probably figured I’d get all hot and bothered only to find out I wouldn’t be doing any thumbs-upping. But I already knew that if I wanted to keep from agreeing to her plan out of desperation, I’d have to keep my wits about me  — however tempted I was to do otherwise…

MORE TO COME

I felt the van begin moving, and then suddenly stop. The hands pinning my shoulders and holding onto my wrists let go, and my blindfold was removed. The back door swung open, and the leather gloves were floating there again, holding what appeared to be a wad of money. “Before you go, Kenneth -” the voice began, then stopped. “Excuse me, sir, I don’t believe we even got your proper name…”

“Bryan,” I corrected.

“Very well,” the voice said. “Bryan, I do believe you should be compensated for the mistaken identity.” Then the gloves began counting out hundred-dollar bills. After a few, they stopped, the voice saying, “Oh, what’s the point? Take it all.”

I gladly accepted the wad and counted. “But this is… ten thousand dollars,” I said.

“Not enough?” the hostess-voice asked. “I could always arrange -”

“No, this is fine,” I said. No need to get greedy, especially since I didn’t know what other “games” they’d have in mind while the other money was being arranged.

“Then I’ll let you be on your way,” the voice said. “And don’t worry about that blindfold. You won’t need it, since you can’t see anything outside the van anyway. In fact -” at this point an overhead light in the cargo compartment was switched on. “That might make your ride home a bit more interesting,” the voice said, sounding like the unseen speaker was smiling. The van door swung closed again, and the kissing resumed as the van pulled off. Invisible kisses rained all over my face and chest, and just like before, every few minutes a pair of invisible lips would engage mine, pushing an invisible tongue into my mouth.

The van came to a stop and again the doors swung open. All hands holding me let go, and the kissing stopped. It was dusk, and we appeared to be parked outside my job, right where I had been abducted hours earlier. I swung my legs out of the van and hopped out. The driver’s door of my own car swung open as I approached, and that’s when something rather crucial occurred to me.

“Um,” I started, not really knowing whether the drone(s) responsible for driving my car was/were even still there. Addressing my car and the van, I continued, “I can’t see any of you, so how do I know that when your van pulls off, you’ll really be gone?”

“You don’t,” was the whispered reply. I got an unseen peck on the lips, and a soft giggling voice retreated towards the van. The doors closed, and the van pulled off.

I just stood there, my car door hanging open, staring at the space the van had been parked in long after it had pulled off, letting those whispered words sink in. I won’t ever know if they’re tailing me, waiting for another opportunity to have their way with me?

HOME

“Yes, I’m sure you can,” said the voice in a conciliatory tone, “but as Kenneth is so fond of saying, ‘Every man has his price.’ Even if you wouldn’t choose to give out our location, someone could torture you or threaten a family member or something. We can’t take that chance.” The voice paused a moment, then continued, “Besides, from the report I received, you rather enjoyed your trip here. Is that correct?”

“Uhh… yes, ma’am, I did,” I said. “But -”

“It’s settled, then,” the voice said, cutting me off. “We will serve you a wonderful dinner, and then we will take you back where we first found you.”

The floating latex glove that had led me to the leathers now beckoned for me to follow it yet again. I did so, noting that the strong aroma of some kind of gravy grew stronger as I followed. After a few twists and turns, I came across what appeared to be another recreation room, though this one was more of a den than an exercise room. The glove motioned toward a chair that I figured Archie Bunker’s favorite must have looked like when it was brand new. I sat, opposite a huge fifty-inch television, which blinked on as soon as I hit the chair. The channels flew by, stopping at Jeopardy, which was just coming on.

After a moment or two, a handmade-looking wooden lap tray floated into the room, stopping a few inches away from where I sat. A cloth napkin rose from it, opening itself out, spreading itself out over my clothes, and tucking itself inside my shirt collar. The cover rose from the steaming hot serving dish to reveal… beef stroganoff, one of my favorites!

This was getting more and more freakish, even as the circumstances of my being here had cleared themselves up. My likes and those of this Kenneth person were so apparently similar that I began to wonder if maybe we were really the same person but from parallel universes and somehow I wound up in his (temporarily, I hoped), or something. Whatever the explanation, though, my favorite beef-and-noodle dish was smelling mighty good…

I reached for a fork, but as soon as I did so an unseen hand gently but firmly pushed my right arm back to my side… and held it there! Another hand, also unseen, then took hold of my left wrist and held that one still. The fork and other utensils then moved by themselves and began feeding me!

When the fork began to rise from the tray, I pulled gently against my unseen bonds, softly but feebly protesting against being catered to. Not because I didn’t like it, exactly, but more because I wasn’t used to it. As I tried to vocalize a protest, I felt a finger press against my lips, and a voice very softly shushing me. “Let us,” a voice breathed in my ear. So… I let ‘em.

The fork and knife fed me one of the few dishes that I could really and truly eat until I can’t move. When I finished the first serving, the tray floated out of the room as another took its place. When that one was done, I looked up hopefully, towards where the first tray had disappeared to. When the second tray floated away without a replacement, I said, “No more?”

“Enough,” came the whispered reply, as the hands released my arms. A finger hooked my shirt collar and led me to a washroom, where I washed my hands and face, and then I was beckoned again by the floating glove and led back to the first rec room. As soon as I entered the room, my feet broke contact with the floor beneath them as my body was shifted to a horizontal position. I didn’t feel any grips on me as I first left the ground, but as soon as I became horizontal, I felt soft hands caressing my chest once again. This time, they were caressing through my buttoned shirt, as though I weren’t wearing one. The same effect was applying fingertips to my ankles and the soles of my feet, though I was wearing pants, socks, and shoes.

I tried moving my leg, to shake off the unseen ticklers, only for hands with what felt like an iron grip to take firm hold of each ankle and each wrist. They weren’t causing any pain, but it was clear that their owners didn’t want me to interfere in the, uh, activities. Meanwhile, a lone fingertip was all it took to keep Mr. Johnson standing at attention. I kept expecting that particular movement to transform into a fondle or a squeeze, but all I got was a fingertip gently and S-L-O-W-L-Y stroking up and down, down and up, until it was plain that the feeling was too much, and I was about to go over the top, at which point the fingertip would withdraw for a while. Talk about your Postcards from the Edge…

Soft unseen lips planted invisible kisses all over my face. That was a fantasy I’d had practically since elementary school, and again, the idea that my captors were doing it because they initially thought I was someone else was mind-blowing. Of course, the kisses themselves, especially the ones sending a tongue to duel with mine, were mind-blowing enough on their own.

I’d closed my eyes as soon as the kissing started, but as soon as I realized I was being carried I opened my eyes to confirm. I was being carried, towards the front door of the house. I looked around for some sign of the woman… or voice, or whatever-she/it-was with the British accent that was in charge, but there was no sign.

As we approached the front door, it swung open, and I floated out and across the porch towards the van. The doors swung open, and I was placed gently on the floor, my arms and legs still securely held. I tried to sit up, but as soon as my shoulders broke contact with the van’s floor, I felt a couple of hands push me back down, pinning my shoulders. I lay there for what seemed like hours while the kisses continued, but eventually my captors stopped with the kissing as the van’s engine started. My head was raised, and the back door of the van was kept open just long enough for me to see my own car pulling into the driveway behind us with no one at the wheel. Then the van doors closed, and a blindfold was reapplied.

“I just want to say -,” I started, before a finger was placed against my lips and a voice softly shushed me. I only wanted to tell them that this was the oddest day I had ever experienced, odd because it was both scary and enjoyable, and both for the same reasons. But every time I tried to open my mouth, I’d feel a hand pressing against it. After a while I gave up and just lay there, taking in the sensations of these hands holding me down. Every so often I’d feel fingers drawing patterns on my chest, or on the soles of my feet. Remember, at this point I was fully dressed, but these fingers were manipulating my skin as if I were buck naked.

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