Others took
the place of the first men, and throughout the long drive she
experienced climax after climax, and heard Grace coming, too; she
was always vocal when her crisis was upon her. She may have
preferred her own gender, but was never one to look a gift horse in
the mouth. And there was sex aplenty in the van that afternoon.
Even the driver stopped at one point, and there was an argument as
he insisted on changing places with one of the already sated
bodyguards, refusing to be denied his share.
When they at
last reached their destination Julia was helped out, exhausted by
frequent orgasms.
She could
smell the sea, hear its hiss and the cries of seagulls dipping and
swaying in their constant search for food. After being confined in
the stuffy van for so long she inhaled deeply the fresh sea air,
gratefully filling her lungs. The blindfold was removed, and she
blinked and focused her eyes. Though the light was fading it was
still bright enough to disorient her. She stood near a jetty. One
end led to the water, the other to a boathouse and this, in turn,
was part of an unkempt garden. She glimpsed chimney pots through
the trees and, as she was led forward up a winding path, the
frontage of a large tumbledown mansion came into view.
The wind
gusted from the sea, and the place had a remote and menacing air.
She had no idea which part of the coast this was. There were no
signposts, and there wasn't a name on the gate, only a large,
battered, lop-sided piece of wood printed with the words: KEEP OUT.
PRIVATE PROPERTY.
'Where are
we?' she asked, walking behind Grace, guarded by men on either
side.
'Never you
mind.'
'What are you
going to do with me?'
'You'll see,
all in good time.'
Anyone would
think she was a political prisoner or something, she fretted. And
where were Gabor and Blake?
The windows of
the house were boarded up or shuttered, and the front door creaked
as Jason pushed it open. Julia stared at him, but he wouldn't meet
her eyes. If ever a man looked guilty and ill at ease, it was he.
They had orders to kill her, she was becoming convinced, and went
cold from head to foot. She didn't want to die. This couldn't be
real. She would wake at any moment and find herself in her own bed
at home, and this would all have been part of a horrible
nightmare.
She was
escorted across a baronial hall with holes in the floorboards and a
trapped bird fluttering somewhere high among the rafters, having
entered through one of the broken windowpanes. The poor thing was
like her, she thought sadly, a blanket of gloom engulfing her.
A monumental
staircase loomed ahead. It looked as if it needed scaling ladders
to climb it. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere, and the
scattered bones of small rodents. Owls and bats no doubt inhabited
its upper regions.
A doorway
yawned, leading into blackness. A blast of cold air rushed up as
Julia was led down treacherous, winding stone steps. She was so
glad that no one had taken the fleece from her. It just might help
her survive in whatever hole they flung her.
The darkness
gave way to a faint glow that grew stronger as they reached the
bottom. It was a cellar, perhaps, or maybe a torture chamber left
over from a much earlier time when this place had belonged to a
feudal lord. She saw cells with iron bars; braziers and rusted
implements the use of which didn't bear dwelling on; a whipping
post; a rack and, by an alcove in one of the moist, moss patched
walls, stood Vincent Gabor, with a whip braced between his
hands.
'Oh, you're
here!' she cried, misplaced relief making her voice break into
sobs. 'I'm so glad to see you!'
He smiled
sardonically. 'How sweet,' he said. 'It's heart-warming to be so
popular.'
'I hoped you'd
be here,' she babbled. 'Why have I been moved? Why won't you let me
go?'
'Could I
survive without my Julia?' he questioned darkly, and moved closer,
the many-tailed whip slapping against the side of his trousers. 'I
never let go of anything that belongs to me,' he went on, and
inserted the silver butt of the whip between her legs, crudely
twisting it into her sex. 'Oh, Julia, you've been having orgasms,
haven't you? I can smell it, and look how wet this has become.'
He withdrew
the handle and held it in front of her face. The silver was smeared
with her juice. It had even run down and stained the lash. Her
cheeks burned, and so did her buttocks. 'Your men... they took
advantage of me on the j-journey,' she faltered.
'Did they
indeed? And you couldn't stop yourself from coming, is that it? You
say you're devoted to me, yet any common soldier can bring you to
bliss.' He flicked the whip across her breasts. The fleece tangled
in it and he shook if off, sending it flying across the cellar.
Now she
shivered, the cold draping around her naked torso like a wintry
mist. 'But, why here?' she asked plaintively. 'Why do you continue
to punish me?'
'People have
been to Hazel House, prying and asking to see you. How did they
know I owned it? What have you been telling Arlene Murphy and your
friends?'
'N-nothing,'
she stammered, limp with fear but still inexplicably aroused as she
read the merciless fury in his eyes.
'Then why
won't they accept the story that you've gone to Bermuda?'
'I don't
know.'
'You've been
very foolish, my dear,' he murmured, bending to kiss her on the
lips. 'I could have given you everything. I still could, but I want
your promise that you'll never reveal anything you see here.'
'I'm yours, Mr
Gabor,' she whispered, strangely enough, almost meaning it, yet
using her reporter's instinct to try and bleed him of information
without him being aware. 'I'm happy to serve you.'
'This place is
a repository,' he said, with an expansive gesture that encompassed
the cellar, the mansion, the grounds and the boathouse. 'Here I
take delivery of goods from abroad, if they can't be immediately
shipped to my depot at Abbey Reach. Here, too, I dispatch them to
foreign buyers. Sometimes it's prudent to keep my operations away
from London. If the customs and excise officials have been on the
knock and it's too risky to send my lorries on the ferries going to
the continent, I'll do shipments from here until the trouble dies
down. There are two fast cruisers moored in the cove. It rather
depends on the delicate nature of the cargo.'
The bottom
seemed to drop out of Julia's world. She had hoped against all hope
that what Arlene had told her about him was untrue. But now she
could no longer deceive herself: Vincent Gabor was a
dyed-in-the-wool villain, a greedy man who cared nothing for the
lives that were ruined by the illegal use of drugs, or the people
maimed and killed by the arms he supplied to any country or
military organisation prepared to buy them.
It was as if
she had been rudely awakened from a hypnotic trance. But, just for
now, she had to go along with it, or risk her life, for she no
longer had any doubt that if she crossed him, he'd be as ruthless
with her as he was with everyone else.
'How clever of
you,' she breathed, pretending vast admiration. 'So no one knows
about this house?'
'No one,' he
said, with that arrogance she still found exciting. 'I bought it
ostensibly as a business venture. Told the estate agent I was going
to open a hotel. I pay the council tax, run my own generator, use
cell phones instead of land lines and no one interferes.'
'Why are you
telling me this now?' Keep him talking, she thought, even though
she'd never be able to prove a thing.
'Because I
believe you would rather die than see me come to harm. You say
you're mine, and I'm sure it's true. Wherever I go, sweet Julia,
you shall be with me.
'I've arranged
a welcome for you,' he continued, and pushed her towards the solid
wall of the alcove. Ringbolts had been anchored to the stone. He
replaced the shackles with ropes around her wrists, then made her
stand at the base, her arms strung up so high that they almost
lifted her feet from the cold floor.
With Grace's
help he secured the spreaders that forced her legs wide and
fastened her ankles to iron rings. With her face and body pressed
to the chilly stone, she was strapped tightly across the thighs to
keep her in position. She knew she was being prepared for a severe
dose of punishment, but also knew that any form of resistance was
futile.
A draught
wafted across her spine, making her shiver. She was naked to the
waist, but this wasn't enough for Vincent Gabor. He took a knife to
her skirt and the scrap of silk that had once been her panties.
Both were cut away, and cold fingers of air crept impudently
between her thighs, exploring her denuded mons and tantalising the
hard gem of her clitoris.
The whip
descended and left a trail of fire. Her bottom burned with the heat
of the leather biting into her flesh, not one strand, but nine.
They were like fiery sparks, and then turned into the patter of
driving tropical rain. He struck her a second time, and she was
lured into the pain, aroused by it, and so was he. She knew without
looking that seeing her suffer was turning him on and giving him an
erection.
He would mark
her, she was sure, yet thought of the thrill she would get from
turning round in front of her mirror and seeing her striped
backside. Then she'd become wet between the legs as she remembered
him pushing his cock into her vagina or anus, so excited that she'd
have to play with herself. But that was in the future; now there
was the reality of the whip.
'Ah...' she
cried, agonised, taking blow after blow till the endorphins kicked
in and she entered a state bordering on oblivion, aware of the
sounds of the lash landing on her body, aware of the searing pain,
but distantly, as if it was happening to someone else.
Her muscles
relaxed. She didn't thresh any more, too limp and dazed to even
cry. He stopped beating her and undid the ropes. There were indents
on her wrists and ankles. She swayed and almost fell.
He pushed her
to her place at his feet, and she bent low until she could put her
lips to his instep. She clung to his legs, feeling the smoothness
of the material under her hands and rising higher, till she could
mouth the long line of his cock pressing upwards towards his
waistband. He thrust his pelvis towards her, and she rubbed harder,
sensing his need to ejaculate very soon.
She expected
him to do it there, in front of the bodyguards and Grace, but with
that mercurial change of mood that was a part of his enigmatic
personality, he suddenly swept her up and strode towards the steps.
He moved as easily as if she weighed no more than thistledown,
reaching the hall and running lightly up the staircase. The second
floor was as gloomy and magnificent as the hall; there were dusty
portraits in chipped gilt frames, moth-eaten rugs, tattered
hangings, suits of rusted armour, a fine headquarters indeed for a
swashbuckling pirate king like him.
He kicked open
a door, crossed a dusty floor and deposited her in the midst of an
antique bed. More dust rose from the embroidered quilt with its
tarnished gold stump-work. Kneeling over her, he pulled his sweater
off over his head and, hands akimbo, smiled down.
'This is the
master bedchamber. This is where I sleep - not often, but
occasionally. I like to think of the men who robbed their brides of
their virginity, or seduced housemaids or even pageboys, in this
great monster of a bed. I haven't brought a woman here before.
Count yourself privileged, my dear. First, I shall fuck you. Then
you'll dress up for me. I found a number of old garments left
behind in the wardrobe. Imprisonment won't be so bad, Julia. Come,
confess that you're enjoying it and want me to go on. Say it,
Julia... say, "I want you to use me, master. I am your slave".'
Julia's back
was burning and she longed for him to apply some of his special
lotion, and her sex was burning and she longed to have him bring
her relief and peace. 'Yes, master,' she said, mesmerised by the
glinting, enlarged pupils of his dark eyes. 'Use me as you will. I
belong to you...'
It was as easy
as taking candy from a baby, Theona thought, letting herself in the
main entrance of Abbey Reach, using the code that opened the
majority of its doors. Vincent Gabor may be a smart cookie, but he
was no match for her. If she'd have been him and fallen out with
her, there was no way she'd have kept the same pass code. No sir,
she'd have had it all changed, and hang the expense. But, like many
a tycoon before him, he had a mean streak and often spoiled the
ship for a hap'orth of tar, as her old granny used to say.
The light was
on in the cubbyhole usually occupied by a security man. She could
hear a sports commentator on a TV channel, and a glance in showed
the uniformed guard glued to a football match on the screen. She
had been prepared to seduce him, if need be, but he was obviously
in love with the 'beautiful game', probably preferring it to sex
any day.
She flitted
across the foyer and decided against using the lift. Gabor's office
was on the third floor, and she climbed the stairs, thanking her
lucky stars that she worked out every day, Gus keeping her body in
trim and watching her food and alcohol intake like a hawk.
It was spooky
there, the winding staircase, the vastness and silence of the
building. It was brightly lit everywhere, and she found the office
of Hunter's Moon without any trouble. This was the name of a chain
of hotels of which Gabor was president. Which meant that he sat in
on board meetings and took a hefty slice of the profits. All very
innocent, and he kept the taxman happy, but she knew there was much
more behind it.