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HOME >> Product 0161 >> BONDAGE HOUSE>>

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BONDAGE HOUSE

R. Richard

Roadrunner has a neat little operation.  He drives a very fast dune buggy that the police can't catch or even see, most of the time.  He goes back and forth to Mexico, importing some 'product' that he sells in Los Angeles.

One day, Roadrunner is told by his customer that he solves a problem for a mysterious woman, or he's out of business.  Roadrunner contacts the woman and finds that her daughter has likely been forced into some sort of sexual slavery.

$3.00

The woman shows Roadrunner sex scenes from a DVD that has been smuggled out of some sort of bondage operation.

Roadrunner uses the DVD scenes to develop the beginning of a plan to rescue the woman's daughter.  He then leaves the woman's house and becomes aware that he's being followed by experts, probably FBI.  Roadrunner loses the people following him and then visits a woman named Beth in the area East of Los Angeles.

Beth runs a DVD producing operation and she mostly works for a man called Captain 30 (See Pirate of The Keys.)  The woman has DVDs showing sexual action at a bondage operation run by Captain 30.  The DVDs are obviously intended to be used by Captain 30 to blackmail the people in the videos.  The woman then reveals that she's one of the girls in a bondage DVD video.

Roadrunner tells Beth of the high probability of an FBI raid on Captain 30's bondage operation.

Beth is terrified of Captain 30, but Roadrunner convinces her that he can get her out of her current situation and that she can stay with him down in Mexico.

Roadrunner then leads Beth out of an FBI trap and sends her on her way to San Diego. He then picks up Captain 30, a product customer of Roadrunner's, and outsmarts and outruns the FBI to San Diego.

Roadrunner then picks up Beth in San Diego and they try to escape to Mexico.

The action is fast and furious, but Roadrunner is also a thinking man and he figures ways out of traps set by the FBI and by Captain 30.

 

eBOOK STATS:

   

Length:

35140 Words

Price:

$5.99

Sale Price:

$3.00

Published:

2010

Cover Art:

T.L. Davison

Editor:

W. Richard St. James

Copyright:

R. Richard

ISBN Number:

978-1-926839-07-3

Available Formats:

PDF; iPhone PDF; HTML; Microsoft Reader(LIT); MobiPocket (PRC); Palm (PDB); Nook, Iphone, Ipad, Android (EPUB); Older Kindle (MOBI);

 

EXCERPT

   

I LIVE IN THE San Bernardino area.  Los Angles is the coast, Hollywood and the big city.  San Bernardino is inland, in the desert and a small town.

The reason I live in San Bernardino is that I import pharmaceuticals from Mexico.  No, San Bernardino isn't usually a center for pharmaceuticals.  However, what I import is a bit illegal, maybe more than a bit.  I drive from the Mexican border to my place just South of San Bernardino.  I drive a dune buggy and I don't always use the roads to get from the Mexican border to my place.  As a result of my business trips, I know the area from the Mexican border to San Bernardino as few others do.  I know where there are roads that go through from south to north and where there are roads that don't go through from south to north.  I also know where I can get through cross country, where there are no roads.

The vehicle I drive is a rather unusual dune buggy.  It's VW based, but is completely enclosed unlike most of the open cars you see out in the dunes.  The engine is a dual-turbo Type IV VW engine, built by a man in Cleveland, Georgia who has no idea what I use the unit for.  The engine is of a series called Super Hero and churns out 427 reliable horsepower.  My self timed top speed is 185 MPH.

The California Highway Patrol has some experience with my buggy, but they really don't know a great deal about it, since they mostly just see the back of the buggy as I move away from them at speed.

Oh yeah, I have my own, personally designed, exhaust system on my dune buggy.  As long as I don't need more than about 300 HP, the exhaust note is very quiet.  The quiet is very useful in my business, as those who might wish to pursue me have a difficult time trying to track me by sound.

 

OKAY, ONCE I GET my pharmaceuticals from Mexico up to my place in San Bernardino, I load up my pickup truck and drive, rather sedately, into Los Angeles.  The California Highway Patrol and, for that matter, the local police aren't looking for my pickup and all I need to do is just keep it at the speed limit, drive safely and signal my lane changes to arrive in the big city in pretty much anonymous fashion.

Once I get to LA, I sell my pharmaceuticals to my usual buyers and then depart to return to my desert base.  It isn't that I don't like the big city, but I don't need any record at all that I was ever even in LA, as I don't want anyone to wonder why I was in the big city.

I get to LA on one of my sales trips.  I deliver the goods and get paid.

The guy who buys my stuff wants to talk to me.

I just like to deliver the goods to the buyer people, get paid, then drive back home.  However, I'm dealing with a customer here, so I listen a little bit.

The buyer tells me, "I got a lady who's having a little problem with an operation out in the desert.  A place out there, off Interstate 215.  The place is down a side road.  They don't like tourists."

I say, "I'm not a tourist, so I don't have any trouble with the place."

"Then you know of the place?"

"I know of a couple of places out in the desert where they don't like tourists.  I don't need any trouble, so I avoid those places when practical."

"The lady is stirring up trouble around here.  I need someone to at least talk to her."

"Why the hell is she stirring up trouble here in Los Angeles, if she's worried about some operation out in the desert?"

"Her daughter was working the Sunset Strip. The daughter disappeared.  The lady talked to some of the girls who work the Sunset Strip places.  They told her about some sort of operation in the desert.  They apparently grab girls from the Strip and then take them out into the desert to work."

"Let me see if I have this straight.  A girl works the clubs along the Strip.  She's maybe a dancer.  If a customer wants a private dance, horizontal mambo style, the girl's got to take the customer into the back room and dance with the customer.  Why do they have to grab girls off the Strip?  Pay 'em a little and they travel to the desert and dance there.  Same way as back on the Strip."

"The girls have to dance if they work the Strip. They also got to be lookers.  They got to fuck customers.  They don't got to do it while they're tied up.  Girl wants to dance on the Sunset Strip, she gotta be a looker.  They want looker girls for the desert operation."

 "Sounds like trouble.  I don't need trouble."

"You need to sell your product."

"I talk to the lady or I don't sell my product?"

"Nowhere in LA.  Also nowhere they know LA,"

"It looks like I talk to the lady."

"Very wise."  He slides a piece of paper with an address and a string of letters and numbers written on it.  He tells me how to get to the lady's place.  He tells me that I tell the lady the code and then I talk to her.  I get the lady off of making trouble in LA.  How I do it is my problem.

I stand up and tell the guy, "One of the troubles with dealing with criminals, is that they think like criminals."  I then walk out of the place, fire up my pickup and drive to where the buyer told me to drive.

 

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