Tied and Denied: The Kidnapping of Jeremy

Time seemed to stand still; it was maddening. It had been over a week since his son disappeared and Jason Cohen was going out of his mind. A terse twenty second phone call had alerted him of the upcoming ransom demand, but nothing had arrived and it seemed an eternity. What had Jeremy been thinking? As a billionaire and industrialist, he knew that he and his boy were likely targets. He had warned Jeremy to be cautious; if it were up to him, his scion would have been trailed by a bodyguard, but his kid would have none of that, so here he was. His son had gone missing from campus and he was impatiently waiting for the demands.

“Sir, I think I’ve got something,” his personal assistant yelled, running into the room with the package. “Oh my God, open it Kevin, please hurry”! His assistant ripped at the package, digging through the foam peanuts inside, pulling out the case containing the DVD. “Here, give it to me,” Detective Skinner demanded. Cal Skinner and Jason had been friends since college, having roomed together, so when this whole thing transpired, Jason called on him to help find his only son and the heir to the Cohen fortune. Cal had a reputation as one of the best investigators in the business; if anyone could fine Jeremy, he could.

Taking the disc from Kevin, he inserted it into his laptop and waited for it to boot up. Looking at his best friend, he assured him, “Jason, it’ll be all right. We’ll find Jeremy. Trust me, buddy. We’ll get him back.” He put his arm around Jason, assuring him. His friend responded, shaking, “I know. I just want him back. I’ll do anything to get him back.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke. Cal looked him in the eye and said, “It’s going to be okay. Let’s see what they want.” With that, he hit ‘play.’

After a few seconds of blackness, an image came on the screen. Jason drew his breath sharply. “Jeremy,” he whispered, his body trembling. On the video, a young man was tied to a large wooden chair. Cal scanned the screen, looking for anything that might identify where the young man was. It looked like he was in some sort of garage or outbuilding. There were tools and shelving behind him. Other than that, no specific identifying characteristics stood out. The young man’s eyes pleaded with the camera as he squirmed in his bondage.
A digitally altered voice jarred the silence of the room. “We have your son. Be assured he is all right. He will be returned to you upon payment of $3 million in U.S. dollars. The instructions for delivery are at the end of this video. If you do not comply, your son will not be killed. His fate is worse than death. You see, Mr. Cohen, we are aware of certain phobias from which you suffer. Your beloved son’s fate is set to take full advantage of the things you fear most. Watch further to see what will become of him should you decide not to pay what we demand.” Jason looked at his best friend, sobbing. “How do they know…what are they going to do”? Cal looked helplessly at the broken man; he could only do so much. “We’ll find him, I promise you. We’ll bring him home.” Jason nodded, sniffling as he tried to compose himself. They turned back to the screen.

For the next few moments they watched in increasing horror; Jason becoming queasy as he voyeuristically witnessed the tortures to which his only child was subjected. Covering his mouth with his hand, he turned and ran into the adjoining bathroom, Detective Skinner hearing the toilet seat slammed up as his friend wretched, vomiting into the porcelain bowl. After a couple of minutes, The businessman returned to the room, panting, eyes reddened and watering from his stint in the washroom. “I…I don’t care what they want; just pay them.” “Jason, we have…” “I DON’T CARE! PAY THEM. I WANT MY SON BACK! Kevin, have my accountants put the money togeth…” Just then, the electronic voice came back on, startling the room into silence. All attention turned back to the laptop screen.

“As you have just seen, we know what buttons to push. Should you decide that the ransom demands are unreasonable, we have lined up a buyer in a foreign country who will match our asking price. Your boy will become a slave to him. His life will be enduring that which you have just witnessed. When he is no longer viable to his master, he will be disposed of in the most agonizing way possible, struggling for breath for hours before succumbing to his torture. Do not try to trace the package as it has been rerouted multiple times and is untraceable. You have 72 hours in which to make up your mind.” Jason turned to his friend, panic etched on his face. “Get him back, Cal, please; I’m begging you.” His face paled again as he ran back to the restroom. “We will, buddy. We will,” Cal whispered under his breath, turning to the stunned assistant. “Make it happen, Kevin.” The young man nodded, pulling out his cell phone and turning hurriedly to leave the room.

He had no idea how long it had been. Awakening slowly, Jeremy felt the by now familiar bite of the leather restraints on his ankles and wrists. Lying on the cot, he squirmed with the need of morning. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he squinted to see it in the dull dusty light of dawn; 7:36 was the reflected time. He squeezed down on the increasing pressure. His captors wouldn’t be in until 8:00. He could probably hold out until then, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. In his helpless state, he reflected on the events of the past days.
It was Thursday evening. He had been at the library with a study group. He remembered leaving, strolling down the winding walkway to the secluded spot where his white BMW was parked, almost tripping on the concrete in the rapidly fading light of dusk. He had become complacent in the months he had been at university. Despite his father’s warnings to be careful, he felt no danger here, so he became progressively more reckless with regard to his personal safety. As he approached the car, he caught the figure approaching him out of the corner of his eye. The young man was shirtless; his carved body accentuated by the tattoos on his shoulders and left bicep, his shaved head glistening with beads of sweat. He looked like a collegiate out for a run in his sweatpants and sneakers. “Hey, bud, you got the time”? The request seemed perfectly normal. Reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, he did not see or sense the person approaching him from behind. As he glanced at the screen, a strong arm reached around, clamping an acrid rag to his face, the phone falling to the concrete below. As he struggled, the stench of ether burned his nostrils. Fighting the ebbing strength in his body, he passed into unconsciousness.

Fading slowly back into the world, he pried his sticky, mattered eyes open, the pounding in his head shocking him back into reality. He was seated in a large wooden chair. He tried to rise only to be jerked back into place by the restraints holding his arms behind the chair back. As he cried out in protest, he realized his mouth was covered by a large gag; the plug sticking into his mouth and gagging him. Suddenly panicked, he looked around the room. He was in what looked like a shop or garage; a dirty, dusty space filled with tools and lawn equipment. To his left was a door; he assumed to the outside. The windows were covered with newspaper. On his right was a small module. Leaning forward, he looked in the open door. It was a tiny toilet and sink. The whole thing was kind of freestanding. It looked like a bathroom module that would be installed on a plane. In the right corner was a cot, and between that and the bathroom unit was another door.

Panicked, he struggled mightily against his bonds, screaming through the gag in hopes that someone would hear him. After about five minutes he began to tire, sweat pouring off his brow and soaking his t-shirt. He leaned back against the chair panting for breath, his nose flaring as he inhaled sharply.
Just then, a loud creak emanated from the door between the bathroom and cot. Two men entered through the door, both shirtless. The first he recognized as the young man who had asked him for the time. Behind him an older, absolutely massive man, also with shaved head entered, muscles glistening with perspiration. As they approached the lad, he fought valiantly against his restraints, scared out of his wits and screaming unintelligibly through the invasive gag. The older giant knelt in front of his chair as the younger one stood back.

“Hey, baby, how’re you doing”? The stud placed his massive paw on the young man’s knee as he posed his question. Jeremy jerked his leg away as much as he could, eyes glaring hate at the muscled thug in front of him. Rising to his feet, his captor leaned his huge frame in close to the captive youngster. “I want you to listen…very…closely to what I have to say; got it”? He said, tapping his massive paw against the jaw of the tied stud in emphasis. Jeremy nodded in acknowledgment knowing that he better comply if he wanted to live.
“Your daddy is going to pay dearly for your sorry ass,” the huge captor barked at his helpless prey. “Just so you’re aware, I know your dad pretty well, and I have a few secrets up my sleeve that will ensure that he coughs up the dough.” Jeremy’s eyes widened in terror; he could identify both of these men. He would most assuredly be killed as he was a witness to his captors’ identity. Sensing his realization, the half-naked man assured him, “Don’t worry your cute little head. If daddy complies, you’ll go home safely. I have a secret weapon to make sure you forget all this ever happened. Just hope he pays. If he doesn’t, I wouldn’t want to be you.” With that, the two left.

Over the next days, a routine developed. At midnight on the first day, he was untied from the chair and led to the bathroom module to pee. After that he was restrained in four-point restraints to the cot until 8:00 in the morning, at which time he was led again to the bathroom to relieve his bladder, then to the chair where he would spend his day, being granted yet another pee-break at four in the afternoon. On day two he was allowed to sit on the toilet after his night spread-eagle on the cot in full view of both his captors; however because he was poop-shy as well as very constipated by this time, he was unable to pass anything.

This continued for a few days. By day four, he was utterly desperate for a shit, the massive log filling his bowels and causing incredible discomfort. That morning the gag was removed as he was released from his nightly captivity and led to the toilet to sit. His captors yanked his jeans and shorts down around his ankles and shoved him down onto the can. The younger one knelt in front of him and grabbed him by the nape of the neck. “You got two minutes. I suggest you push as hard as you can.” Standing up, he joined his cohort at the door, watching the young man grimace as he grunted and pushed as hard as he could, to no avail.
A beeping alerted them all to the expiration of time. The young captive looked up at his kidnappers with concern. “What are you going to do to me”? He asked. The young hairy stud entered the cramped stall, pulling the prisoner to his feet, his jeans and white briefs still around his ankles. Grasping him by the arms, he clamped handcuffs onto his wrists. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said soothingly as he pulled the young man to the wall, securing the cuffs to a clasp high above his head. Jeremy was pressed against the wall, his ass exposed. He began to tremble as the young captor whispered hoarsely in his ear. “It’s okay, baby. When I first went in the joint, Daddy was my cellie.” He secured the leather plug gag to the sobbing boy’s face as he whispered hotly in his ear. “I was poop-shy, just like you. After a few days, Daddy gave me what’s known in prison as the ‘slammer suppository.’ It’ll get things moving, I promise you.”

The lad was sobbing openly at this point, begging through the gag for the thug to show mercy. The muscled stud leaned in as he whipped his dick out. “Trust me, baby, you gotta poop; it’ll help you go.” The helpless boy cried out, “Mo, mo, pweaze, bom’t bo wis!” “Oh, yes, baby, I’m gonna do this.” The sadistic monster pressed his greased member against the boy’s full shit chute and pressed in as his victim screamed; the giant member compacting his log as it entered his hole.

“You ever seen the movie ‘Training Day’”? His rapist asked. The boy shook his head no, trembling as he was slowly violated. “I’m going to ask you a question. You ever had your shit pushed in”? He emphasized the question with a thrust, causing the anguished lad to fart on his abuser’s dick. “MO, MO!” “I had my shit pushed in.” He chuckled in the boy’s ear. “I had MMYY SH…IT PU…SHHHH…ED in, big time, Bro!” The handsome abuser laughed loudly in the boy’s ear as he violated his pooper, his member fighting for room in the overfilled space. After a few moments of thrusting, he grimaced in the lad’s ear, shooting his wad into the anus of his tortured victim, the whole thing filmed for the benefit of the ransom video.

As he withdrew from the sobbing man, he leaned in, whispering, “That was only the beginning. Daddy’s twice my size, and he don’t show no mercy. Good luck, boy.” Jeremy wailed as the younger man retreated. He could see out of the corner of his eye the older bodybuilder approach; the beer-can sized prick jutting out in front of him. He screamed in protest, his captors taking great delight in his desperation. The massive stud positioned himself behind his prisoner, pressing his huge member against the boy’s tortured hole and pushing in. The young heir cried in absolute agony as the huge invader violated him, dueling for occupancy in his rectum. Stars of pain shot through his brain as he was brutally fucked, the giant screaming in release as he creamed in the boy’s fudgy backside.

The older dominant left the room as the younger kidnapper pulled the boy’s shorts and jeans back up, unclasping the cuffs from the wall and leading him to his daytime perch. He was almost apologetic as he restrained the lad in his usual daytime bondage position. The rest of the morning and early afternoon progressed as usual.

By about two in the afternoon, the effects of the brutal fucking as well as the cumulative effects of lube and two generous loads of jizz began to affect the captive in a well-foreseen way. The huge load that had been building in his rear had been greased and given slick passageway to exit and was pushing brutally at his hole. He struggled mightily to retain it as he clamped against the almost impossible pressure he was enduring. At the same time, his bladder was rapidly filling and burned with unreleased need. He watched the clock tick in slow motion, knowing that his next opportunity for relief was not until 4pm.

By 3:45, his desperation was absolute; the fudge was pushing forcefully against his sphincter and his bladder was in spasm. He squirmed in total need, watching the clock tick ever so slowly by. Finally 4pm arrived. He literally couldn’t wait another minute. Glancing in complete desperation at the door to the back, he silently begged his captors to come through and give him relief.

The door creaked open. The lad screamed at his captors through the gag as they entered, imploring them to hurry and release him so he could gain the relief he so desperately needed. The two handsome kidnappers stood across the room from him, pausing as the younger one pulled out his cell phone and began filming the struggling, desperate teen. In his bonds, the young man screamed out his all-encompassing need, his eyes alternating between his captors and the clock, begging them to let him go so he could relieve himself.
As the younger one filmed the scene, the older muscle stud looked at the desperate young man and said, “I guess we didn’t tell you that your bathroom breaks are done with.” As this registered in the frantic lad’s brain, he went into all-out crisis mode, struggling and yelling with everything he had. “Yep, that was the last time you see a john while you’re here with us.” He came in close to the terrified boy and whispered, “I know your dad has a phobia about this. Putting you in this position is a guarantee that he’ll pay up. Toilet’s in your pants, dude. Enjoy.” He backed away from the about-to-burst man and joined his filming partner, who had by this time whipped out his dick and was whacking himself to the young man’s agony.

A second of disbelief followed as Jeremy couldn’t register in his brain that he wasn’t to be released. After the reality sank in, he began to fight with every ounce of strength he possessed; his struggle and desperation seeming only to turn his captors on even more. They were both masturbating openly to his fight to contain himself, his screams for help ignored.

His bladder began its betrayal first; spurts of pale yellow staining his white shorts and leaving dark spots on his crotch. Scooting frantically around in the chair, he grunted, “umph, umph” as he began to lose control, the quiet hiss accompanied by a darkening of his ample crotch, the yellow flood running to the edge of the chair and water-falling over the edge. As the flow retreated, he was in control for a full minute before the next and more desperate incident began. A loud, wet fart into the piss accumulated under his ass announced the beginning of an unavoidable evacuation of his bowels.

He cast a final “please help me” look at the studs jerking off before him as his log began its turtle-head. Gasping in necessity, he lifted his butt off the chair, the log pressing into his white shorts and pushing against the fabric, straining it outward. The denim stretched down toward the seat, bulging as he relieved himself, bearing down forcefully against the restraining effect of the jeans and white briefs encasing his ass. It seemed to take forever, but in reality it was only a couple of minutes. With a final sigh, his relief was complete, the boy poised above the chair, pushing himself up awkwardly against his restraints.

The younger of his captors shot his load at this point, still filming the whole fiasco for the ransom video. The boy was unable to hold his position, having to lower himself into the chair, squishing the mighty load into his butt-crack as he sat down, which caused the older man to shoot stringy white strands of jizz across the room.
It was this very scene that caused his father so much agony. Despite his dad’s success and constant coverage in the media, very few people knew that he suffered from an OCD aversion to germs, especially human waste. When Jeremy was young, he couldn’t even change his diaper, nor be in the room when it was done. He was absolutely phobic about it. Only a select few knew about this. Detective Skinner had scoured every avenue at his disposal and still couldn’t figure out who was responsible for this reprehensible act.

The video had directed that the money be deposited into a waste basket in the center of the city. The police were all over the scene, but didn’t realize that the basket was over a manhole. By the time they became aware, the kidnappers were hours away on their way to Mexico, the money having been sent by courier to Baja. They crossed the border about the time young Mr. Cohen was found in the woods.

The captive lad had no recollection of the events that had transpired, his kidnappers injecting him with a serum that erased his memory of the entire week. Indeed his last cognitive memory took place at the library before his abduction. His father didn’t want him to relive any of it, so the whole thing was dropped. The boy had been found in clean clothes and had been douched anally, erasing any trace of DNA. The case was at a dead end.

Detective Skinner took a copy of the ransom DVD with him to pore over for any additional evidence. He and Jason parted ways, the latter man happy to have his son back. Cal returned to his hotel room for his final night in the city before returning to his home on the other coast.

Back in his room, he plugged the disc into his computer to watch yet again. He viewed it a few times, looking for anything that might help him identify the perpetrators. Realizing that there wasn’t anything, he ran it once again, this time watching the young captive. He felt himself harden as young Jeremy struggled with his desperation, the cop feeling his own pressing need as he watched the struggling lad. Just as his captors had done, Cal was getting off on the young man’s desperate aching need.

Taking the laptop into the hotel bathroom, he set the disc to the point where the boy was about to lose control. Reaching into his bag, he pulled his cuffs out, securing his arms behind his back. Leaning down, he hit play with his nose, bringing up the struggling young man in sync with his own need for a bathroom. As the boy began to foul his trousers, Detective Skinner bore down, pushing a massive log into his own dress slacks. As he messed himself, his prick pressed against the zipper of his slacks. Squirming against the cuffs, he shot inside his shorts, the warm load dripping down and mingling with the hot brown load in his shorts. Palming the key, he undid the cuffs, cupping the massive load in his seat with the palm of his hand. He undressed, placing his clothing into a plastic bag for transport, utterly exhausted.

On a sun-kissed beach, a massive stud lay soaking up the sun. In the distance, his younger hairy friend jogged in the glistening sand. He opened the book in his lap. Grazing through the photos, he found the alumni, Jason Cohen and Cal Skinner. Turning a page, he found another picture; Marc Murphy. The man in the photo bore no resemblance to the massive stud viewing the yearbook. The man in the photo was wimpy and effeminate; the same man who turned the pages on the white sand beaches was beefy and masculine. He was also $3 million richer. The younger, hairy man ran up to him. “So, what do you think about that one”? “He looks pretty good to me,” the muscleman replied. “Just make sure he has to go…”

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