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| At Last! He's Mine! All Mine! |
Another sportsman, a rugby player, being tied up on the field of play (see Supersaver)
He was the only one who turned up for training, defying the miserable weather.
In the dull light he'd not noticed the figure in black approaching until it was too late.
This does not look like a run of the mill, criminal kidnap (if there is such a thing).
The attacker's shiny, black kit looks highly professional (and just a bit kinky)
It's as if the Special Forces have come to take out an important, 'person of interest',
intending to put him under extreme interrogation at a secret, military base.
It's hard to imagine why a muscular and very handsome Rugby player would be hunted down by the Army like this. (Oh I don't know though).The mud on his kit suggests he didn't surrender easily, but somehow this skilled operator persuaded him to sit calmly on a bench so that his arms could be tightly clamped behind his back with dense, neat roping.
His mouth is tightly gagged, it's more symbolic than practical, but nevertheless it muffles his protests and makes him feel uncomfortable and restrained. The same applies to the ropes tied around his thighs. They don't seem to have a restraining purpose, they don't prevent the man from using his legs, but they do restrain the muscles, severely restricting his ability to walk and run. This means the kidnapper can walk him to his vehicle rather than carrying him, but hobbling is a simpler way to do this.
The rain buckets down depressingly. The captive gazes upwards as if resigned to his fate - perhaps he's a deserter, a military offender of some sort whose past has finally caught up with him. Or perhaps he's trying to work out, what's going on, why me? You see, something's not quite right here. His attacker has not hidden his face with a balaclava as you would expect to keep his identity secret. The captive can see it's not someone known to him, pursuing a grudge. He looks more mature than would be expected of a professional kidnapper. Obviously, though, he's still good enough to take out a fit, rugby player. But then again the over-elaborate restraint has taken up a lot of time when you'd think he'd be keen to get away with his catch. Obviously he's done his homework and the filthy weather gives some insurance against being seen, but there's no accounting for the obsessive routines of joggers and dog walkers, so why take the risk?
The alarming explanation that seeps into the Rugby player's mind at this point is that he's enjoying all this, overpowering him, tying him up, gagging him. It's too late now, his attacker moves to lift him off the bench, in what looks like a precursor to hoisting the guy over his shoulder, commando style, and sprinting off into the wood with him .
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I'll give links to this artist in a fuller review scheduled for mid-June
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