'This is
intolerable,' Blake cursed. 'She's got to be punished, and if you
don't do it, Vincent, then I will.'
The sleek
black limousine snaked through the traffic. Julia could look out of
the darkened windows, but no one could see in. She was seated in
the back, with Vincent Gabor on one side of her and Marty Blake on
the other. Kevin occupied the front passenger seat and a uniformed
chauffeur was driving. An ironic touch, she thought, considering
his employer's intentions towards her, though she could only guess
as to what these might be.
She had been
frogmarched to the parking lot. Gabor kept his hand round her arm,
preventing any attempt to escape. They had removed her mobile from
her bag, and she was thankful she'd had the forethought to erase
any incriminating numbers; Denise's, Will's and Arlene's. She could
only pray they might get worried if they couldn't get in touch with
her. There was one small ray of hope: her abductors obviously
thought she was after the sketches, nothing more. Neither suspected
she was involved with the press, or that Theona Blue was working to
expose Gabor's involvement with contraband.
She recognised
the route. The car was heading towards Hazel House, and she
rummaged through her memory bank to recall if she had given Will
the address. She had, but how long would it be before he put two
and two together and came up with the right answer? She might be
held prisoner for days. It was useless trying to convince herself
that she had been removed there for any other reason. She was
Vincent Gabor's captive.
The limousine
swung between electronically controlled gates, rolled across the
gravel, and braked outside the house. Grace was the first person
Julia saw as she climbed out. Tall and gaunt as ever, she spiked
her with her gimlet eyes and took over from Gabor. Julia's wrists
were drawn behind her back and manacled. With her hands bound and
her shoulders back, her thrusting breasts looked like a sacrificial
offering. Grace eyed them and licked her lips, and then conducted
her up the stone steps and under the portal.
'Take her to
the cellar,' Gabor barked. 'Prepare her. We'll be with you
shortly.'
It was cool
down there after the heat outside, as dimly lit and sinister as
Julia remembered. What would they do first? Hang her from the
crosspiece? Her imagination painted lurid pictures and her flesh
crawled, but she was unwittingly aroused, a hungry ache in her
epicentre.
Grace marched
her across the stone floor and sat her on a high-backed wooden
chair fitted with chains, to which the handcuffs were attached.
This forced her to keep her spine straight. She stared at the door,
waiting for Vincent. Grace stood at her side in the attitude of a
warder. Julia dared not speak to her, feeling that they were both
taking part in a strange, sexual ritual. The area between her legs
was moist, and she wriggled slightly, bearing down so the central
ridge in the seat pressed into her sensitive labia.
Vincent Gabor
materialised. He was carrying a small cane, no more than eighteen
inches in length. He swished it against his palm as he stood in
front of Julia. 'You need severe correction,' he said. 'If there's
one thing that offends me, it's disloyalty.'
'I was being
loyal to Arlene,' she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.
'I'm speaking
of loyalty to me,' he continued, his handsome face hard, as if
chiselled from granite. 'You're very lovely, my dear, and I've
grown fond of you. It grieves me to think that you were about to
betray Marty, and in doing so, betraying me.'
He grabbed the
neck of her T-shirt, tearing it away. Her breasts rose above the
tatters, lifted high by her lace-trimmed bra cups. He smiled
sombrely, and bent to suck each in turn.
When he left
her the material formed two dark wet circles over her pronounced
nipples. Julia's breath shortened, the exquisite sensation caused
by his lips shooting straight down to her clitoris. Then she gasped
fearfully as her mind associated the cane with her breasts. She
felt it for a split second before he actually hit her. The first
blow across those tender globes raised a raging heat and broke the
terrible tension of anticipation. She glanced down at the smooth
upper slopes, seeing a red stripe forming on the tanned flesh.
'Stand up,'
Gabor demanded.
Grace
unhitched the chains and Julia got to her feet, though it was
awkward with her arms strained behind her. Her breasts smarted
intolerably.
Gabor smiled a
cruel smile. 'I think it's time she was pierced, don't you, Marty?'
he said.
'And shaved,'
added Kevin, almost hopping with delight at the prospect of his
rival's torment.
'And plugged,'
Blake said spitefully. 'Didn't you say her arsehole was tight?
Grace should be given the job of stretching it, using her wicked
collection of dildos. That'll make the bitch squirm.'
'Exactly,'
Gabor agreed, and he drew the cane across the tops of Julia's
thighs, worked it under the hem of her short skirt and dragged the
tip between her legs. 'But first, she needs to learn what it means
to be punished for her misdemeanours. Julia, bend over the
trestle.'
She hesitated,
but Grace pushed her towards a bench normally associated with
supporting wood when being sawn. With a hand on Julia's bottom,
Grace thrust her over the top, which had been modified with
padding. She then spread Julia's wrists and ankles and chained them
to eye screw bolts, so that she was firmly anchored to the
contraption's legs.
'It's too
tight,' Julia whined, and Grace slackened the restraints a trifle.
Then the cool air caressed Julia's rear as her skirt was raised and
tucked up. She winced at the feel of cold steel touching her opened
sex as her panties were sliced across and pushed up to join her
skirt. The trestle pressed against her tender breasts, the cuffs
cut into her skin, and she needed to pass water, her bladder
irritated by nerves. What was it called? The relief of fear.
She was coping
better than on former occasions, having had practise in the art of
submission. Yet when the cane rapped across her bare, rounded
hinds, she knew she'd never become blasé about it. He did it again,
harder this time. She screamed, bucked and wet herself. Another
blow followed, and then another, until Vincent Gabor had laid on
six more. Each one was an agonising, exhilarating experience. Her
bottom was bathed in fire, and her pelvis pushed against the
trestle as she sought pressure on her clit. Her nipples rubbed on
the padding, and she wanted Vincent with a raw, passionate
hunger.
The last
stroke brought tears to her eyes and she shrieked, unable to endure
more, needing a break. Yet she didn't want mercy. If Vincent had
suddenly softened, she would have been cast into a wasteland of
confusion. A blinding flash of insight revealed that she wanted him
to be cruel and despicable, mastering her, making her his
slave.
She heard the
cane clatter as he threw it down, then felt smooth trouser fabric
and hot flesh as he pushed between her legs, his covered thighs
nudging hers further apart, his cock positioned to penetrate her.
He thrust firmly and planted it inside. Julia jerked with the force
of it, waves of pleasure mingling with the hot wash of pain as he
chaffed her stripes with each inward stroke. She felt him lodged
all the way in, but though her vaginal walls responded, he was
ignoring that most important piece of sexual equipment - her
clitoris.
'Please, Mr
Gabor, rub me,' she begged, shameless in her extremity.
'Not this
time,' he panted, and finished the act selfishly, concerned with
nothing but his own climax.
'Let me,'
Marty Blake said, his voice husky.
'Be my guest,'
Vincent answered with a smile, withdrawing from Julia's glistening
sex.
No, no! She
wanted to protest, hating the treacherous Blake, but she felt him
there, taking Vincent's place, felt the slippery slide of his latex
covered cock possessing her. It took him longer to reach his
apogee. Kevin had already satisfied him twice that afternoon, and
now he pumped and panted, threshed and rocked, till he finally
came, groaning and leaning his weight on Julia's welted
buttocks.
Vincent Gabor
was waiting with ill-concealed impatience, hardly giving Blake time
to recover before commanding, 'Right, get off her. Unchain her,
Grace.'
Grace snapped
open the ankle and wrist cuffs and Julia started to rise, every
movement causing her anguish. She ached so badly that her legs
trembled and she almost fell. Vincent caught her, and deliberately
tore one of her bra straps. The cup drooped, baring her breast. She
instinctively put up a hand to protect her modesty, but he slapped
it away.
'Why?' she
whispered, cringing from him.
'You look so
tarty with your clothing torn and your breast exposed. I want to
see you like that, and to proclaim to all that you're a dirty
whore.' He jerked at her skirt and she heard it rip. He chuckled,
and continued, 'You'll keep this on, but no doubt it will be in
tatters by the time my men have finished using you.'
'You'll look
like a slag,' Kevin said bitchily. 'A right slapper.'
'They aren't
gentlemen, by any means,' Blake added spitefully. 'Big boys, all of
them, and uncouth in the extreme. You won't know what's hit
you.'
'The trouble
is, she'll probably enjoy it,' said Kevin.
'What d'you
mean?' she demanded, her eyes so full of tears she could hardly
make out those mocking, leering faces. 'What are you going to do
with me?'
'Well, we
can't let you go, can we?' Gabor replied. 'You know too much. Can't
have you sounding off about Marty's little peccadilloes.'
'My friends
will search for me,' she said.
He laughed
again. 'Oh? And who might they be? Arlene, perhaps?'
'Arlene and
Eugene, yes.' She clung steadfastly to this thought.
'They won't
find you. I shall let it be known that I've sent you on ahead to
Bermuda. I might just do that, but first you must undergo more
training.' He turned to Grace, issued an order, then said, 'Lie on
the couch, Julia.'
'I can't. I'm
too sore.'
'Do it!'
She staggered
over to where a bench stood. Covered in brown leather, it resembled
a doctor's examination couch. She eased herself onto it, groaning
as she did so. It was impossible to get comfortable on her back, so
she propped herself up on one elbow, making a feeble attempt to
cover her naked lower regions with her skirt.
'He said to
lie flat,' Grace said, knocking her supporting arm from under her.
The skirt rode up, displaying her pussy. 'We'll have to shave you
there,' she said.
A man appeared
from the shadows. He had a military shaven haircut, tattoos and the
build associated with weightlifters. A spiked collar circled his
stout neck, and bands of studded leather passed across his wide
chest and clipped to the belt round his waist. He wore tight
leather shorts, but his genitals were bare. They were bound by thin
straps drawn tight, lifting his balls and keeping his cock in a
permanent state of erection. A smooth onyx ring pierced his
foreskin, and this too was attached to the belt by a chain. She
recognised him as one of Gabor's henchmen, had seen him lurking
around Abbey Reach, along with others. All strapping men, casually
dressed but with the air of soldiers in mufti.
He carried a
small plastic bowl and a tray of implements. He set them down on a
table drawn close then went off again, returning shortly with a jug
of hot water. He took up a cutthroat razor and opened it. Julia
heard the vigorous sound made by the blade as he honed it on a
leather strop. She wanted to press her thighs tightly together, to
put her hand over her bush and prevent this further rape of her
privacy. Once, it seemed a lifetime ago, Roberta had talked of
shaving her, and now she wished it had been done then.
Grace leaned
over and spread Julia's legs. She struggled and managed to fight
her off, but Grace was strong and quickly subdued her. To Julia's
horror and embarrassment, the man positioned himself on a stool
placed at the foot of the couch. He adjusted a reading lamp,
directing the beam directly between her thighs. Her lower lips
unfurled, revealing the pink slit between, and in spite of herself,
she experienced that telltale tingling in her clit that betrayed
her inner arousal.
'Get on with
it, Jason,' Grace said, striking him across the shoulders.
He flinched
and looked at Julia, and she read sympathy in his eyes. Big man
though he was, maybe once a paratrooper, he was also a slave, and
so was she - a slave of her own passions. She trusted him, longed
to confide in him, needing a friend most desperately in that
fraught moment. But she said nothing, just met his gaze mutely. He
worked the shaving brush in the basin's soapy suds, and then wet
her hair-fringed lips with warm water. The shaving brush tickled as
he stroked it over her mons. It was a stimulating feeling, and her
nubbin began to swell. She closed her eyes, relaxed and opened her
legs further, inviting Jason to trail the brush over her clitoris.
But he didn't, carefully avoiding contact with it. He had his
orders and dared not disobey.
Peeping from
beneath lowered lids, Julia saw that Gabor and Blake were watching.
Jason picked up the razor and held her sex lips together with one
hand while he let the blade glide over her hairy triangle. He
shaved her with sure sweeps till her mound was as smooth and bald
as an egg. It felt cold, stinging slightly, and she opened her eyes
and craned her neck to look. So pink, so naked; she'd not seen it
like that since puberty.
Dew seeped
from Jason's glans, but he didn't touch her, simply washing the
razor off, removing the blonde floss and soap from the glistening
steel. He then eased her down on the couch till her legs dangled
over the edge. Her arousal intensified as she lifted her legs, one
at a time, so he could snick off stray hairs that curled round her
perineum.