by Jennifer Harrison
Libbie sat on the bank of the great river and watched it flowing by. She always enjoyed this time of day, watching the sun come up over the great expanse of water, nearly half a mile wide at this point. She shaded her eyes and focused on the heron perched on top of the jagged metal spars rising from the surface a few hundred yards away, watching as the bird lazily took to the air and flew upstream, its wings beating languidly in the still air.
It was so peaceful here these days, and it was difficult to remember that, only a few short years ago, this whole area was buzzing with activity. Indeed, those jagged steel pillars in midstream were all that remained of the mighty financial district formerly known as Canary Wharf. The place had been transformed by the great flood of ‘59 and, despite repeated government pledges and commitments, nothing had changed since. She actually preferred it this way. Her only regret was that no bankers drowned in the flood, as they had all decamped to Frankfurt and Shanghai a few years earlier, moving like rats leaving a sinking ship as the financial focus of the world moved on.
The grand metropolis had changed immeasurably over the last few years. When the Thames flood barrier had been overtopped by rising sea levels and storm surges, it had not only destroyed the financial district but also driven out the government, making them ‘temporarily’ relocate to Birmingham, a move that showed no signs of ever being reversed. 70% of the underground network had also been flooded beyond use. The end result was that moving around what was left of the city was difficult, and crossing the river virtually impossible.
Libbie of course knew all this, she’d lived through it, but like everyone else still here, she didn't think about it much, just accepted it as it was. Life was too short and too difficult to worry about things you couldn't change. She took out an electronic cigarette and lay back on the grass, looking up at the clouds scudding by. Today was her eighteenth birthday and, despite all the shit in the world, she was happy and proud to have reached that milestone.
In the old world, she would now be at an age where she would be examining her options, working out what she would do with her adult life, assessing the myriad opportunities available. Of course, that world did still exist if you had money or, more likely, your parents had money. Then, you could decide whether you were going to further your education, start a career, or maybe just live the easy life doing what wealthy people had always done – exploit those less fortunate than yourself.
But that world was closed to Libbie. She lived in the world where you grew up fast or died young. Speaking of which, she put away her cigarette and got up, heading back into the rabbit warren of streets that was London. It might be her birthday, but it was also just another day to earn some credits and stay alive.
Piccadilly Circus underground was her first stop. The trains were infrequent and unreliable, so it wasn't used as a station that much, but it was warm and relatively safe, so it had its own little community of residents, hawkers, and other ne’er-do-wells It was one of the latter that she was on her way to meet with.
She had just reached the bottom of the stairs and moved out onto the platform when she felt a burly arm encircle her, and the blade of a knife against her throat.
"Hand over your money, bitch," she heard from behind her, a gruff man's voice which told her that he was somewhat taller than her. His body pressed against her back, and she judged that he was quite thickset and muscular. Still, she thought, the bigger they come, the harder they fall.
"Oh my God!" she squealed, "please don't hurt me! I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me!"
She felt his body relax, just a little, and that was her cue. She swiftly took hold of his knife arm by the wrist, driving her steel-tipped thumbnail into the flesh just above the artery, until blood spurted out. Simultaneously, she reached behind her with her left hand and grabbed his balls, squeezing as hard as she could.
With an anguished cry, the assailant dropped the knife and concentrated on extricating his testicles from her death grip. Libbie took hold of his bleeding wrist with both hands and, making a back, threw him onto the concrete in front of her, almost feeling the ground shake as he hit it hard. Before he could recover, she drove the pointed toe of her stiletto into his ribs, eliciting a loud groan and hearing a satisfying crack. She stepped over to the knife and kicked it away, onto the tracks.
"Word of advice, arsehole," she hissed, squatting down beside him, "check who you’re robbing before making that mistake again. And I’d get that wrist checked out if I were you, you wouldn't want to bleed to death, would you?" She straightened up and continued on down the platform, not bothering to look back as he scrambled to his feet and staggered away towards the stairs.
"Having a little trouble there, boss?" Standing in front of her was the person she'd come to see, Chantelle. She was beautiful, black, brassy, and dressed like a whore - her silver bolero jacket exposing plenty of cleavage and leaving her midriff bare, her red plastic micro-skirt failing to reach the tops of her fishnet stockings, and her impressive 5 inch heels making her trim legs seem impossibly long. She didn't believe in hiding her light under a bushel, that was for sure, and the way she was dressed told you everything you wanted to know about her.
"Nah," Libbie replied dismissively, "it must be amateur hour down here at the moment. Anyway, how was your night?"
"Check it out!" Chantelle said proudly as she handed over her card. Libbie ran it over the reader at her waist and looked down at the tiny screen.
"Pretty impressive, honey," she said with a smile, "what did you have to do to make this much?" The black prostitute opened her jacket to display the electric blue bra which just barely contained her ample breasts. But Libbie could see the ugly welts across her chest where she had obviously been beaten.
"Jesus, that looks sore!" she exclaimed, "is this something I need to get involved with?"
"Don't worry about it, boss," Chantelle replied, still smiling as she fastened the jacket again, "it was just a guy who likes to use the whip to get hard, and I like the money he pays me to let him."
She took back her card and ran it by her own reader, sighing at how the total amount had been severely reduced, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it. She knew Libbie earned the money she took - she provided protection, she provided lodgings, she was the girl's agent, she even put some of it away for her retirement. She wasn't just her pimp.
"Well, be sure to put some cream on that," Libbie said, "you’d better get off home and get some rest."
"Yes, Mistress," Chantelle replied, and bowed her head a little in the usual submissive gesture. Libbie leaned forward and kissed her on the silver disc in the middle of her forehead, the mark of the slave, then held her at arm's length for a moment. The black girl was so beautiful, it was difficult to envisage just how terrible she had looked when Libbie had purchased her at the slave market. Naked, filthy, in chains, it was also obvious that she was a drug addict, and that seemed to have put off most of the other buyers. But Libbie had seen the beauty beneath, and had taken a chance on her. It had been a hard few weeks, but she had weaned her off the drugs, cleaned her up, and now she was one of her best earners.
The two young women walked up to the street together and then, after a brief hug and a kiss, parted to go their separate ways. Libbie moved on to the next stop on her collection route, Cafe Royal on Regent Street, where she met Arabella.
Arabella could not be more different from Chantelle. She was tall and willowy, with long blonde hair and a very fair complexion, elegantly dressed in a sober grey dress, pearl necklace and low heels. In other times, she could have been a catwalk model, but these weren't other times, and she was a slave-prostitute, owned and employed by Libbie, just like the girl in the underground.
And just like Chantelle, Libbie had first seen her standing on the block, up for sale. She had been in a bad way, bruised and heavily marked, as well as looking half starved, her hair short and lank. Again, the buyers were few and unenthusiastic, so Libbie had picked her up for a song. As she coaxed the story out of her new slave, she found out that Arabella had been the daughter of a wealthy financier, but had been kidnapped and held for ransom for several months while her captors extorted money from her family.
During that time, she had been raped and abused, kept chained to a radiator and fed only on scraps. Eventually, her family had stopped paying, sure that she was dead, certainly never going to be returned, and at that point the criminals had put her into the slave system.
It hadn’t taken Libbie long to clean her up and get her presentable once more, but it had taken much longer to gain the girl’s trust, and to get her confidence back up to the point where she could actually perform the job required of her. Now, she could confidently escort the richest man or woman to the most exclusive restaurant or party, mixing easily with guests, impressing whoever needed to be influenced, but also give them the most exciting and filthy night of debauchery of their lives. Having accepted her new position in life, Arabella had set her sights on becoming the best high-class prostitute in London and, as far as Libbie was concerned, she was well on her way to achieving that goal.
The two teenagers, having completed their electronic funds transfer, took coffee together and chatted like close friends. In fact Arabella, having lost her family and her old friends, did consider her owner to be as close a friend as she had in the world.
Libbie continued her rounds, checking up on her girls, collecting her dues and seeing if they needed any help or support. Even though they were all older than her, she took an almost motherly interest in them. There was an element of enlightened self-interest - they were her property, the sole source of her income, and she needed to make sure that they continued to deliver a good return on investment - but it was more than that.
All these women had been through the system, one way or another, and had been reduced to the status of slaves. Some were unlucky, some had made bad decisions, and some had been badly treated. But all of them had been cast adrift, left with nothing and no-one to help them out of the mire. Libbie knew all about that, and she wanted the best for these women. She hadn’t made them slaves and she couldn’t free them, but she could help them achieve some level of comfort and security.
Okay, so being a prostitute wasn’t most girls’ idea of a glittering career, but the choices for a slave were non-existent. All of Libbie’s girls knew that they were lucky to be working for someone like her – in fact, they knew that there was no-one else like her. The normal life for a prostitute was brutish and short. Libbie gave them a chance to survive, at least.
Her final call was at the block of flats she owned and where she housed her slaves.
“How’s it going, Tom?” she asked the doorman as she entered.
“All quiet, Miss,” the burly security guard responded as he jumped up from his chair, “we had a good night in the penthouse last night, but everyone’s gone now, and the girls are all tucked up in bed.”
“Excellent,” Libbie said, heading for the lift, “could you ask Crystal to come to my office, please.”
“Certainly, Miss,” Tom replied, reaching for the phone.
Crystal was her latest acquisition, bought only a few weeks before, and something of an experiment. Looking at her – short, black, slicked-down hair, heavy make-up, small breasts covered by a sequined tube top, teamed with a leather skirt, stockings and high heels – you might think transvestite, maybe transsexual, but you probably wouldn’t think hermaphrodite. She had been born with mixed hormones and, normally, such a child would choose a sex at puberty and undergo reconstructive surgery.
But her parents couldn’t afford such a procedure and, in desperation to help their child, they had appealed to their local Member of Parliament for help. He had arranged for a party grandee, Lord Blaine, to fund treatment in return for her ‘service’ for the next five years – this was a fairly common form of indentured servitude. But they had been duped. Rather than ‘gender reassignment’, the surgery the party apparatchik ordered had resulted in Crystal being endowed with both male and female sex organs. Her ‘service’ turned out to involve her presentation as some kind of circus freak at private parties, clubs and special events, where she was subjected to a bewildering array of sexual deviancy..
He had become bored of her after a couple of years and had abandoned her. Destitution was followed by petty theft, leading inevitably to conviction and, ultimately, to the slave auction where Libbie had bought her. She looked nervous standing in front of her new owner’s desk, still not sure of her.
"I have a first assignment for you, Crystal," Libbie said, giving her a reassuring smile. "He's a guy I know quite well, we've done business before, and he is quite an adventurous sort. When I told him about you, he was very keen to meet you." The hermaphrodite looked even more nervous at this news.
"Do you think I'll be safe, Mistress?" she asked, "I'm worried that… you know… some people have threatened me before… this guy might just decide to torture me… or worse!"
"That's why I'm sending David, one of my minders, with you," Libbie replied, "The client I'm sending you to might be a bit rough but he's not going to seriously hurt you. David will make sure that nothing happens on the way there or on the way back, and he'll be around during, in case you start to get nervous. I think it's time, you need to get out there and start earning me some money!" She said this last with a smile, though they both knew it was just a fact of life. She got up from behind her desk and went around to Crystal, giving her a hug.
"You okay with this, honey?" she asked, looking sympathetically into her eyes, "I know it's tough, but that's just the way it is. Knock ‘em dead, girl!" Crystal gave her a brave smile and, after they had hugged a little bit longer, she made her way out of the office.
Libbie spent the next few hours conducting business - accounting for the money she had collected overnight, checking on her investments, making preliminary arrangements for another party upstairs, and calling a few favoured clients to check whether they had any specific needs over the next few days, which was really just a sales call to get bookings for her girls.
"There's a delivery here for you, Miss," Tom said over the phone, "from a company called Tracy's Transformations?”
“Brilliant!” Libbie responded enthusiastically “have them deliver it to my apartment please, Tom.”
“Right you are, Miss,” Tom replied, but the line was already dead and Libbie was running out of the office.
"Where would you like us to put it, Miss?" One of the delivery men asked once they had wheeled the large crate into the apartment.
"Just there is a fine," Libbie replied, barely able to contain her excitement. "Don't worry about unpacking it, I can manage."
She swiped her card against each of their readers to give them both a tip, and then waited impatiently as they made their way out. She locked the door behind them and turned back to the box. She didn't have any family left, and no one else knew it was her birthday, so she had done the obvious thing, and bought herself a present which she knew she would enjoy.
She picked up her crowbar and prized the lid off the crate. Inside, she could see the transport straps holding the cargo tightly in place. Impatiently, she took her knife and sliced through them, before standing back and watching as the crate’s contents unpacked itself. Moments later, standing before her was the enormous bulk of her latest slave.
At six foot seven, the giant brute of a man was more than a foot taller than her and, with his broad shoulders and heavily muscled body, must have been more than twice her weight. When she had first seen him, he had been very hairy - on his head, chest, back, basically all over - but now, after his treatment by Tracy's Transformations, he was entirely smooth, depilated from his head to his toes. They had also treated his skin so that it always glistened as if it had been freshly oiled. His wrists, ankles and neck were encased in thick steel bands, making him look like a fantasy slave from some old-time movie about the Roman Empire. Her fantasy slave.
Libbie felt a tingle of excitement tinged with fear as she approached the motionless figure. The fear was, of course, completely irrational - the silver disc on his forehead which marked him as a slave was not there just for decoration, it concealed the electrodes which had been inserted into his brain, enabling anyone with a slave controller to ‘shut him down’ in an instant if he went rogue. Like many professional slave handlers, Libbie had had the controller surgically implanted into her forearm so that she could never be taken off-guard by her own, or anyone else's, slave. The controller also allowed the owner of a slave to inflict intense pain or intense pleasure on the slave, although Libbie avoided using that as a rule.
She ran her well-manicured nail down his chest, feeling the muscles twitch and ripple under her touch, and watched for any reaction on his face, with its chiselled features and lantern jaw, a silver chain strung between each pierced ear and the corresponding pierced nostril. She saw none. Her hand moved down across the six-pack of his flat stomach, marvelling at the sculpted beauty of his naked body. Finally, her eyes and her hand both focused their attentions on his groin, and the impressive tool which hung there, flaccid, but still long enough that the four brass rings which encircled it were probably over two inches apart. The circumcised head of it was adorned with a silver Prince Albert piercing, making the whole thing a work of art in its own right.
"I think," Libbie mused, "I think I'll call you… Goliath. Do you like your new name, Goliath?"
The man mountain grunted. She smiled. She liked his animalistic response, in fact she had specifically ordered the company making the modifications to manipulate his vocal chords so that grunting was all he could do from now on - she hadn’t bought him for his conversational skills.
"Come, Goliath," Libbie purred as she took up the heavy chain hanging from his collar and led him across the room, "time for your road test."
Once in the bedroom, she ordered him to lie down on the bed, which he did without a sound. As if on command, his manhood stood to attention like a parade ground soldier, although one that was leaning over like the Tower of Pisa. Libbie licked her lips in excitement, and kicked off her shoes, before pulling off her top and peeling off her skintight leggings. She stood there for a moment, naked, looking down at him, and noticing that, seemingly for the first time, he was staring back at her. His face remained expressionless, but she saw the smouldering look in his eyes and felt her heart skip a beat.
She crawled onto the bed, along his body, until her knees were either side of his hips. She checked between her thighs, but she was lubricated well enough, and she carefully lowered herself onto the massive organ below, gasping and moaning as it slid inside, filling her completely. Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to rock back and forwards, feeling the monster move around inside her, the piercing and the brass rings rubbing against the walls of her vagina, intensifying the feeling and the stimulation to almost unbearable levels. She placed her hands on his pectoral muscles, her fingers convulsively clutching at him, her nails digging into the flesh as her arousal soared.
Suddenly the recumbent form beneath her came to life. In a moment, he had flicked her over and she was now lying on the bed looking up at him looming over her. He grabbed her ankles, pulling her legs up into the air until they were around his shoulders, and he thrust deep inside her. Libbie screamed as her body was driven up the bed by the force of his strokes, hardly able to cope with the piston-like rhythm with which he pumped her. She looked up into his face and again saw the fire burning in his eyes as he grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the mattress. Saliva began to drool from his mouth and dripped onto her cheek and neck as she thrashed uselessly below him, trying to escape and yet not wanting to succeed.
"Oh-muh-my-guh-God-the-that-is-suh-so-fuh- fuck- ker-king-guh-good!" Her desperate, breathless words were forced out of her in a rhythm which matched that with which he was pounding away at her.
Everything changed again as he lifted her up off the mattress, turned her and planted her back down on her hands and knees, his huge erection never leaving her body, and the rhythm of his thrusts barely broken. She grabbed onto the rail of the headboard, hanging on for dear life and to prevent her from crashing against the iron bars. A huge, meaty hand was suddenly covering her face, one fat finger across her eyes, another squashing her nose, and the other two clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries almost completely. Again she felt a thrill of fear, but it was quickly overwhelmed as she exploded in a huge orgasm.
As if someone had flicked a switch, the hulk rolled off her and lay on the bed beside her, motionless, staring at the ceiling passively, not even out of breath. Libbie knew that he hadn't cum, but he didn't seem to mind, in fact it was impossible to tell whether he had even noticed. His monster of a cock had detumesced, and no longer represented a threat to woman, beast, or low-flying aircraft.
"Fuck, you're good," Libbie panted as she tried to get her breath back, "Happy Birthday to me!"
* * * * *
It was several hours later that Libbie, refreshed and fully invigorated, arrived outside the club to begin her evening’s work. Her new slave had certainly proved himself capable of carrying out the task for which she had bought him, namely satisfying her sexual needs. Indeed, he had exceeded all her expectations in that regard, several times. She had bought him purely as a present to herself, but now she was wondering whether she could sell his excellent services to women with a similar taste to her own - that is, women who liked it rough from an animal of a man, but one whom they could still control. It certainly appealed to her business sense…
Having fucked some more, Libbie showered and then dressed in her ‘glad rags’ - a strappy top, sparkly skin-tight leggings which came to mid-calf, and the obligatory high heels. She approached the nightclub, currently the most popular in the city, where she had several girls working that night. She walked past the line of wealthy revellers and, with a casual wave to the bouncers, walked in. The waiting crowd stared at her with envious eyes, affronted that anyone should be considered more important than themselves, let alone a girl who obviously wasn't as deserving, that is as rich, as them! She was also being watched rather more dispassionately by the CCTV camera on the lamppost outside the club.
"We need to do something about her," the heavily built man said as he watched her disappear inside.
"Do you want me to kill her, boss?" his eager colleague responded, licking his lips in an unconscious gesture like the tell of a poker player, possibly indicating nervousness, possibly excitement. His narrow face and sharp pointed nose were reminiscent of a rat, which seemed to accurately reflect his personality.
"I could lose her body in the river, no problem. Tie her up, give her some concrete boots, we could just let the tide wash over her, a nice, slow death…" His boss looked at him with disgust, knowing what a sick mind his subordinate had - he was sure that, in his little fantasy, Enrico was imagining the girl naked and gagged, probably whipped and begging for mercy. Now that he had conjured up the image for himself, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea…
"Hmm…" he mused, before deciding to stick to his original plan. The girl would certainly suffer just as much his way, and for much longer. It also seemed a suitably ironic way to deal with the problem.
"No, I think just killing her and having her disappear, it’s too good for her. A female pimp isn’t natural!” He sounded genuinely outraged and affronted by her choice of profession, but his next remark indicated his true feelings.
"And certainly not a successful one - she's cutting into my profit margin, and making me look bad! She needs to be made an example of, for everyone to see, so that they know what happens to people who become my enemy. I think we'll go down the legal route on this one. Get me Judge Harmon on the phone."
"Right now?" Enrico asked nervously. "It's Saturday night, boss, and we sent several girls over to his house earlier. You know he doesn't like to be disturbed." The boss just gave him a withering look, making the henchman blanch.
"Right away, boss!" he squeaked, running out of the room, while the boss turned back to the screen. ‘Enjoy yourself while you can, Libbie’, he thought to himself, ‘your days of freedom are running out…’
Giuseppe Alfredo Marcetti - Joe to everyone except the taxman - looked through his latest brief:
Suspect: Olivia Mary Parker, answers to the name ‘Libbie’, female, white Caucasian, 18, wanted for suspected human trafficking, prostitution, organised crime, murder. Last known location: Central London.
He gave a mirthless laugh - the first three counts against her were a joke, hardly even crimes in this day and age. The only one that counted was the murder charge and, when he looked at the attached mugshot, his cynical mind immediately assumed that was trumped up. The suspect, his target, was gorgeous. Funny how so many of the women he brought in on murder charges were young, fit, and good-looking. The fact was that, if convicted - and just about everyone brought in was convicted - the death sentence was mandatory, but could be commuted to life slavery. Funny how the pretty ones always seemed to get the commuted sentence while the ugly ones quickly received the lethal injection. Yes, fucking hilarious, he thought.
He had been a cop for nearly twenty years - his dad had been in the force and had pulled a few strings to get the fresh-faced youngster in - but everything had changed in that time. It had all started when the government privatised the police force - for purely ideological reasons, of course, not because they couldn't afford to spend their dwindling tax revenue on them. There had been private security firms around for a long time, and even private armies were becoming more in evidence. But that had been different. Now, the official upholders of law and order were available for hire to the highest bidder.
It was like he was a pre-emptive bounty hunter. Someone paid Central Clearing to have a person arrested – anyone could pay, it could be a lawyer, maybe a judge, perhaps a crime syndicate, who knew, Central certainly didn't care. It could be a wealthy private citizen, a husband who had been cuckolded by, or just got bored of, his wife - divorce these days was only for the ‘little people ‘. Central just gave him his assignments and, on completion, he got a cut of the fee. He didn't investigate, he didn't collect evidence, he just brought in whoever they said.
As a police officer, he could arrest virtually anybody and, to some extent, do whatever he wanted with them. ‘Shot while evading detention’ was a classic catch-all which was rarely investigated. Beating up suspects was hardly new, but it had become almost de rigueur - it was a good way to ‘pacify’ the suspect, but occasionally someone would offer the police a little extra to rough up the target during the arrest procedure. This had been extended to the rape and abuse of suspects, sometimes for money, sometimes just for the kicks. It was a perk of the job.
Take this girl, for instance. He looked at the pictures again. He had always been a ‘bum’ man, and this Libbie had a pretty spectacular arse, very nicely presented in leggings which showed off every fold and crease around her plump buttocks. Her face wasn't bad either. In fact, all in all, he would definitely like to take this girl…
* * * * *
He didn't have any trouble tracking her down - whoever wanted her brought in had provided more than enough information in terms of addresses and regular haunts. He had first spotted her walking up to Trafalgar Square, and followed her as she went about her daily business. She looked pretty harmless, but he always liked to be cautious and to confirm whether his target had backup in the form of bodyguards or other security staff.
But Libbie was clearly working alone, and it was also pretty clear what her line of work was. He watched as she met with several prostitutes, chatting with them and carrying out monetary transactions, all activities usually the province of the pimp. He was surprised that an eighteen-year old girl was managing a group of streetwalkers, let alone one so large and diverse, although nothing in this screwed-up world really surprised him anymore.
He followed her back to a block of flats, which his information told him she owned. Not bad for an eighteen -year-old girl either, he thought. By the time she emerged, it was late and the sun had gone down. Joe saw that she was dressed for her evening’s activities, and he was impressed. She had changed out of her ‘work’ clothes and looked like she was heading for a nightclub - make-up perfect, a pretty halter-neck top which left her back bare, a very short skirt, stockings and high heels. Drop dead gorgeous, he thought, seems such a waste to put her into the legal system…
He decided to carry out the arrest as she came out of a bar, having met with some of her girls there.
"Olivia Parker?" Libbie looked surprised, not having heard that name since she lost her mother several years before. She was immediately on her guard, but as the man in front of her took out a gun and a badge, she realised that resistance at this point would be both pointless and dangerous.
"Assume the position, please," Joe ordered, keeping a watchful eye on her as she turned to face the wall and placed her fingertips on it. He moved her feet a little further apart to make sure that she was off-balance, and then took out the handcuffs. With practised ease, he clicked one bracelet shut around her right wrist before drawing it down to the small of her back. Quickly pocketing his gun, he pulled her other arm down and locked it into the handcuffs, forcing her momentarily against the wall.
"What's the charge, officer?" Libbie asked calmly as she turned to face him.
"Murder," Joe replied curtly, noting that, rather than being shocked and denying it, she merely raised an eyebrow. He reached into the pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulled out a restraining collar, slipping it around her neck and locking it in place. He could relax now, as the collar could deliver an electric shock strong enough to stop an elephant. He picked up her clutch bag and quickly checked inside - no guns, drugs, or identifying papers, just lipstick, keys and a compact.
"Okay, if you'd like to accompany me…" Joe said, taking her arm and marching her down the street. A few people looked at them, but quickly looked away and concentrated on their own business once they saw Joe’s police badge hanging from his breast pocket.
"How could I refuse such an enticing offer?" Libbie said sarcastically. "By the way, the name’s Libbie. And you are…?"
"Officer Marcetti, but everybody calls me Joe." Despite himself, he was impressed by her coolness under pressure.
"Pleased to meet you, Officer Joe," she said pleasantly, "mind if I ask where you are taking me?"
"Well," Joe replied, looking at his watch, "normally I’d take you to Central Clearing, but they're closed for the night, so I'll have to keep you at my place until the morning."
"Oh, how convenient," Libbie remarked in an amused tone, "I'm sure you have something very entertaining lined up." Joe was amazed to find that he was actually blushing at this. How am I letting this girl gets to me? he thought.
They had reached his unmarked car at this point, and he helped her into the back seat. As he did so, he couldn't help looking at the expanse of young, perfect flesh between the hem of her skirt and the top of her stockings, reminding him of exactly how long it was since he had had a woman.
As he drove along, he kept an eye on his prisoner in the rear-view mirror. She was discreetly struggling against the handcuffs, squirming in her seat a little. But what Joe saw was her breasts moving inside the thin top, threatening to break loose; the hem of her skirt moving around against her thighs, tantalisingly rising up and down; her thighs parting briefly and revealing - was she wearing panties?! Dragging his eyes away before he hit the car in front, he tried to get that image out of his mind. When he looked back again, he kept his eyes firmly on her face. Her beautiful face, framed by her dark hair, those high cheekbones, that perfect nose, her full red lips, the bottom lip caught between her white teeth… he slammed on the brakes, stopping inches short before his bumper smashed into the stationary car in front. He stopped looking behind at that point.
He parked in the underground garage beneath his apartment block and helped Libbie out of the car, trying hard but failing to keep his eyes off her legs. He led her into the lift and pressed the button for his floor.
"You must be doing quite well for yourself, Joe," Libbie said, "this is a nice block in a good part of town. How much do they pay cops these days?"
"I get by," Joe replied, trying to shut down any conversation she might want to start.
"You know," Libbie went on, knowing what he was doing, but ignoring it, "I'm sure we can make this… unpleasantness go away and just have a very enjoyable evening together. I do rather better than getting by…" They both knew that the bribe was metaphorically on the table. The lift doors opened and he took her arm again, leading her down the corridor.
"You're a nice girl, Libbie," Joe finally responded, "but you have some pretty rich and powerful enemies. I don't think even you could afford to outbid them, and I know that it would be literally more than my life’s worth to accept." He unlocked the door to his apartment and led her inside.
"Oh well, it was worth a try," she said lightly, managing to hide her disappointment, frustration and alarm. Who the fuck wants me put away this badly?, she wondered, I'm not exactly a kingpin of the criminal underworld!
Joe moved out a dining chair and indicated she should sit down on it.
"I don't suppose there's any chance I might get these off?" Libbie asked, turning to the side and wiggling her cuffed hands at him. He gave her an almost apologetic smile and shook his head. With a shrug and a smile, she sat down on the chair.
Joe went over to a drawer and, to Libbie's alarm, came back with a sturdy chain and lock. She felt him attach one end of the chain to the collar around her neck and he wrapped the other end around the post behind her, locking it in place.
"Fancy something to eat?" he asked. Libbie smiled, and then giggled.
"Well, this rates as the weirdest dinner date I've ever been on," she laughed, "but yes, I'm starving!"
Joe went through to the kitchen and got out his wok to cook up his speciality, prawn stir fry. Okay, he admitted, not so much a speciality as one of the few things I can actually cook without it coming from a packet. It was also quick, which meant that he would be back with the girl that much sooner. He realised he had a high probability of making a fool of himself, but he didn't care - she was going to be in prison tomorrow, and he'd probably never see her again. So what if he embarrassed himself?
He put down two wine glasses and filled them from a bottle of Chablis he had been saving for a special occasion - such as the arrival of Saturday night, about the only special occasion he had these days. He placed the bowl of food between them and picked up the glasses.
"Cheers," he said, holding one of the glasses up to Libbie’s lips, the other to his own. After a healthy swig by both of them, he put the glasses down and picked up the chopsticks. He grasped some of the beansprouts between the sticks and lifted them to her mouth, watching with poorly concealed intensity as she leaned forward and took the vegetables between her teeth, allowing her luscious red lips to close on the chopsticks and only slowly release them. Fuck, he thought, that was the sexiest thing I've seen for a long time!
"Not bad," Libbie said as Joe took some of the food for himself, "I don't know about you, but I'm finding this whole ‘feeding me whilst I'm handcuffed’ thing incredibly erotic."
Joe almost choked on the food, and had to take a swig of the wine to cover his momentary discomfort. He held the glass up for Libby to take a drink, but her eyes never left his. Still rather distracted, Joe picked up a prawn and lifted it towards his delectable prisoner’s mouth but, as he did so, he lost concentration, lost control of the utensils, and dropped the prawn. He watched in horror as it fell into her cleavage, right between her delectable breasts, and began to slide out of sight. In a panic to reach it before it disappeared altogether, he poked the sticks down into the gap, only succeeding in pushing it further down. As he looked up, he could see that the girl was laughing at him.
"You're going to have to use your fingers, you know that, don't you?" she said, fighting to keep a straight face, the shaking of her shoulders making the situation worse. Realising he had no other option, he reached down into the soft, warm cleft and, after some embarrassing rummaging around, managed to get hold of the prawn between his thumb and forefinger, finally pulling it clear.
"20 seconds rule applies," Libbie said as she leaned forward and opened her mouth to receive the errant morsel. "Come on, I told you I was starving!" she urged when Joe hesitated. Admitting defeat, he popped it into her open mouth and watched as she chewed it like it was the most wonderful sweetmeat ever.
Ice well and truly broken, they chatted through the rest of the meal, finishing off the bottle of wine in the process and starting on another. Joe brought out some ice cream for dessert, and watching Libbie eat it immediately went into the top ten of his ‘most erotic events of my life’ list. Eventually, during a lull in the conversation, he decided to ask the question which had been at the forefront of his mind since he had arrested her.
"So, I noticed that you didn't deny the charge when I said ‘murder’," he said, "I can't believe that you have killed someone… have you?" Libbie looked down and he immediately regretted asking, knowing that he had spoiled the mood. He wished he could take it back but, now that it was out there, he had to just wait for an answer.
"I did kill someone, once," she replied after a long delay, "but there were… extenuating circumstances." Joe stared at her intently, wanting to show interest but not to push. He waited for her to go on and, after another long pause, she did.
"I was eleven when my father died," she continued haltingly, "he earned the money which kept the family going - once that was gone, we were in deep trouble." Joe knew that, with the much-vaunted British welfare system destroyed years before, there was no benefits safety net when hardship struck.
"Mother tried to get a job," Libbie went on, "but nobody wants to employ a 40-year-old mother of two. She was reduced to stealing and, inevitably, she was soon caught. She received a fine she couldn’t pay, and when she didn't, they sentenced her to slavery, and that was the last I ever saw of her."
"How did you survive?" Joe asked.
"My sister, Charlotte, she was eighteen and gave up her degree course to become a prostitute to support us. She lasted six months, hating every minute of it. I came home from school one day and found her on the bed. She was naked, tied down, her body covered in cuts and whip marks. The rope around her neck had strangled her. It was probably one of her customers, but I blamed her pimp. And that’s who I killed."
Joe picked up a napkin and wiped away the tear rolling down Libbie’s cheek. There was a long silence while she wallowed in those memories, and he desperately sought something to say which would make it all better. Of course, there was nothing he could say.
"How did you end up doing what you do now?" he asked eventually.
"The guy I killed had three other girls." Libbie replied, "they had no idea what to do, they would have been taken in, probably executed. So, I did the only thing I could do - I became their pimp. I was good at maths, I could handle the money, I got them organised, and so began my glorious career in renting human flesh."
There was an awkward silence for a long time.
"So, that's probably as much as you want to hear about me," Libbie said briskly, trying to break the newly-reformed ice, "how did you become a cop?"
"Meh," Joe shrugged, "dad was in the business, seemed like a good option at the time, end of story."
"Wow, you really know how to tell a story, don't you, Joe?" Libbie responded sarcastically, but with a smile on her face, "do tell, where did you learn to be such a witty raconteur?" Joe gave an embarrassed laugh and brought out some more wine.
They carried on talking into the small hours, until Joe finally looked at his watch.
"Time for bed, I think, we’ve both got a busy day tomorrow," he said as he stood up.
"Why, Officer Marcetti, are you propositioning me?" Joe looked sharply at her, but saw that she still had that amused look on her face.
"I don't think I could afford you," he joked.
"You mistake me for one of my employees, Joe," Libbie replied, looking at him intently, "I may have learned a lot from them, but I don't charge, I only do it for pleasure. And right now, I'm definitely in the mood for some pleasure…"
Joe stared into her half-lidded eyes, saw her tongue lick her lips hungrily, and decided that she was either a very good actress, or she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Swallowing hard and trying to control himself, he went around the table and unlocked the chain from the post. She stood up, and moved close to him, her breasts squashing up against his chest. She went up on her tiptoes and planted her lips against his, her tongue quickly moving into his mouth. He started to kiss back, appreciating her taste, and the waft of perfume which came up from her warm body.
As she started to disengage, he grabbed her, one hand behind her head pushing their lips together once more, the other on her behind, feeling the material of her skirt moving against the skin below. Urgently, he led her to the bedroom.
"Take me, Joe," Libbie breathed as she stood before him. He reached behind her neck and unfastened the halter, pulling it down to reveal her perfect, pert breasts and erect nipples. The garment was tossed aside and he fumbled with the clasp and zip of her skirt. Moments later, that too was thrown across the room, and Libbie's magnificent body was naked before him. She moved over to the bed and lay down on it, her legs wide apart.
She was surprised, and more than a little disappointed, when he attached the chain, still locked to her collar, to the iron bedstead, before turning back to her.
"Not taking any chances, huh?" Libbie remarked, "why don’t you tie me up real tight as well? Would you like that? Ropes all over my body? Gagged? Is that what turns you on, Joe? You can do that to me if you want - hell, I'm not exactly in a position to stop you!" She had meant it as a joke, or possibly an admonition, but she was finding herself quite turned on by her ‘dirty talk’. Joe said nothing, but started to take off his clothes.
"Not a bad body!" Libbie commented as he stripped in front of her.
"For an old guy, were you going to say?" Joe shot back good-humouredly.
"Your age and experience teamed with my youth and enthusiasm," she responded, "could be a winning combination."
Now completely naked, he crawled on top of her, lying between her legs and pressing his body against hers. He took his time, kissing her mouth while he fondled her, then moving to her neck and down across her chest. He sucked on her large nipples, flicking them with his tongue until she moaned in appreciation. He continued on down across her soft stomach until he reached the small landing strip of curly hair across her mound.
Abruptly, he moved away from her, sitting on the bed and lifting one of her legs. He began to massage her foot, taking her toes into his mouth one by one, sucking on them as she flexed them in response. He planted kisses along her instep, moving to her ankle, up her calf, behind her knee and along the inside of her thigh. Once again, he stopped short of where she was hoping he was going, and repeated the torment on her other leg.
"You're going to have to fuck me soon, Joe," Libbie groaned, "or I'm going to explode!"
She let out a squeal as he held her legs up on either side of his head and his tongue delved deep into her. Fuck me, he's good!, she thought as he proceeded to use his lips and agile tongue to tease her to the brink. Suddenly he was looking down into her face, watching as her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O in response to his gradual penetration of her.
Slowly, he began moving inside her, in and out. He could feel the tension in her body, in every muscle. Her head was thrown back, air rasping in an out of her lungs. Her legs rose up and gripped him tightly around his waist, moving in time to his thrusts, pulling him onto her.
Gradually, he increased the pace of his movement, driving into her as she writhed beneath him, small grunts being forced from her throat to match his rhythm. Her head came up and her teeth sank into his shoulder, hanging on. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head up until their lips met in a passionate kiss, their tongues battling for supremacy, their saliva mingling unheeded.
On and on he went, reducing his pace when he needed to constrain his arousal, increasing when he sensed that she was close and he had the opportunity to make her cum. Time and again, she screamed out in orgasm, hardly able to believe his stamina and control. Their bodies, slick with sweat, slid over each other as the bed squeaked insistently below them.
Eventually, he could hold back no longer and, with an anguished cry, he climaxed, spurting his seed inside her as she cried out in ecstasy one final time. At last, utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her.
"I think I can safely say," Libbie gasped, "that was the best fuck I've ever had."
"It was certainly right up there for me too," Joe conceded, "thanks."
"I think you did most of the work," she replied, "of course, if you took these cuffs off me, I could show you what I can do…"
"Sorry, Libbie," Joe said, "I can't take any chances. Speaking of which, it's time we went to sleep and, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to restrict you a little more."
He got up off the bed and pulled on his boxers, then went out of the room. Libbie checked the chain locking her to the bed and struggled against the handcuffs, but knew there was no escape. Moments later, Joe returned with a handful of leather straps. Turning the girl onto her stomach on the bed, he bent each leg until her calf was flat against her thigh and strapped it in place.
"Is this really necessary?" Libbie asked, sounding a little desperate, "it's not like I'm going to escape, chained to the bed already."
"Sorry, I guess I'm just the cautious type." As he said this, Joe put the final strap he was holding around her head. It turned out that it was a gag which entirely covered the lower half of her face, with restraining straps running under her chin, across her cheeks, and over her head, all buckling and locking tightly at the nape of her neck. There was even some kind of protrusion on the inside which had been forced between her teeth, leaving her only able to make muffled noises of protest, which she did now.
"Good night, honey," he said, slapping her on the buttock, "I'll see you in the morning." With that, he switched out the light and left the room.
Fuck and bollocks! she thought, I don't believe it! I flirt with the guy all evening, I even let him fuck me, and he's still too fucking professional to give me even an iota of a chance to escape! Mind you, she admitted to herself, he was a pretty good fuck, I'll give him that. Still, this isn't getting me out of this mess, I’d better get on with it!
She wriggled onto her side and pulled her knees up towards her chest. She gradually worked her cuffed wrists past her buttocks, as she had done many times before to free herself when playing her self-bondage games, but then came to a problem. With her legs doubled over, her feet were stopping her from getting her hands out in front of her. Try as she might, she couldn't get the chain between the cuffs past her toes. The metal bracelets bruised and broke the skin on her wrists as she tried desperately to free herself, but it was no use.
Okay, she thought, I’d hoped it wouldn't come to this, but needs must when the devil drives. Time for a little Houdini-style escapology.
Gradually, she relaxed her whole body, letting everything loosen up as best she could, given her bondage. She breathed out and relaxed her mind as well, knowing that this was not going to be pleasant. When she was perfectly still, she flexed her arm. There was a sharp crack, her right arm seemed to move several inches away from her body, and she screamed into the gag, biting down hard on the rubber plug between her teeth. She repeated the exercise on her left arm, again screaming as the joint came loose.
Fighting against the pain, she now worked her arms over her buttocks, her feet, and down towards her knees. Once her cuffed hands were in front of her, she carefully worked her shoulder joints back into place. Fuck, that hurt! she thought. She took several minutes to recover before she could carry on with her escape plan.
She reached up into her hair and took out the electronic lock pick hidden there. The first target was the lock holding the collar around her neck and, after a few minutes work, she had it free. Next was the lock holding the gag which, despite being in such an awkward position, didn't take too much longer to release. She already knew that the handcuffs were mechanical - very old-fashioned, and she wondered if they were some kind of family heirloom from Joe’s dad - so she put the lock pick back in her hair. She unfastened the leather straps holding her legs and was finally able to sit up. She took a moment to catch her breath, before rescuing her clothes from the places to which they had been dispatched.
* * * * *
"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!"
Joe opened his eyes blearily, saw Libbie standing beside the bed, and immediately knew he was in trouble. He quickly realised that his wrists were handcuffed to the bed frame, and the shock collar around his neck was also locked to the frame by the chain he had used last night. He also realised that he was wearing the gag. Not only that, he had a banging hangover. What a fucking great start to the day! he thought.
"Thanks for a lovely evening last night," Libbie said as she checked her make-up in her compact mirror, "now, I’ve left the handcuff key over here, but then the key to the other lock is way over there. But, you're a resourceful cop, I know you’ll figure it out. Gotta run, byee!"
Joe watched as Libbie sashayed her way out and closed the door. Dear God, don't let the guys at Central find out about this!
Libbie made her way back to the apartment block as quickly as she could. She knew she didn't have long before someone came after her, and she had a lot to do.
"Tom," she said to the security guard by the door, "I need to leave the city in a hurry, and you’re in charge until I get back. Get the girls back in here and lock the place down for the next week. After that, play it by ear - if you think it's safe, get the girls working, but don't take any risks. The police are after me, but there could be some far worse people after the business."
"Okay, Miss," Tom replied, looking alarmed, "what do I say if anyone comes looking for you?"
"Just tell them the truth," Libbie said, "that I've left the city, you don't know where I've gone or how long I'll be away." With that, she strode into the lift, leaving her worried subordinate to make the necessary arrangements.
In her apartment, she put her mobile phones, card reader, and any other electronic equipment into the wall safe and took out the stash of cash she kept there for emergencies, putting as much as she would need immediately into her handbag. The rest went into two unusually shaped canisters, which she screwed shut, covered in gel and then, with a certain amount of difficulty and discomfort, inserted into her body. She straightened up a little stiffly before she got used to the feeling of being stuffed front and back.
She changed out of her clothes into leggings, a sweatshirt and trainers, then threw some extra clothes and toiletries into a rucksack. Ten minutes after entering, she was on her way back to the lobby.
"See you, Tom," she called out as she rushed by, "look after things for me while I'm gone."
"Any idea when you'll be back, Miss?" he asked as she headed for the door.
"I don't know who is after me or why, so the answer is no." Moments later, the door shut behind her and she was gone.
* * * * *
"What the hell happened, Joe?"
"Like I said, I arrested her, and she… escaped." Amanda McDonald, his boss, did not look happy.
"How could that happen?" she asked again, clearly exasperated that she felt that she wasn't getting a straight answer.
"I don't know," Joe said uneasily, "she was chained, cuffed, gagged, even strapped up! She must be some kind of contortionist or something." The chief of Central Clearing gave him a hard stare.
"You do realise how important this arrest is, don't you?" Amanda railed, "I did point that out when I gave you the assignment, didn't I?"
"Yes, boss, you made that very clear." He sounded pissed off now, but not as pissed off as she was.
"It's just that the people who want this done don't take bad news well." Maybe we shouldn’t be doing business with people like that, then, Joe thought bitterly, but kept his mouth shut.
"I guess I'll have to tell them that she got wind of the arrest and left town in a hurry," she said finally, "which isn't that far from the truth, it just fails to mention your incompetence, for both our sakes. So, if I give you one more chance, Joe, do you think you could bring this girl in for me? You know, if it's not too much trouble?"
Joe bit back a sarcastic response, and left the chief’s office in silence.
"Hey, Joe, I heard you got the run-around from a little girl!" Inevitably, it was Brady who made the remark loud enough for everyone in the department to hear, for which he received a few hearty laughs, some sniggers, and smiles all round. Joe knew better than to deny it
"Yeah, Brady, but she was a damn good fuck beforehand!" That got a few more laughs and gave him time to escape out of the limelight and head out in pursuit of his quarry.
* * * * *
Libbie made her way to a small, backstreet garage where she knew she could pay cash for a rundown, beaten up old car, no questions asked.
"I need the auto-drive disabled, and the satnav taken out," she told the owner of the garage.
"Sure, no problem," he replied, "I'll get somebody onto it, it'll only take half an hour."
The auto-drive function was very useful, allowing the driver to enter their destination and the car would drive itself. However, they contained a tracking device to allow stolen cars to be located or, more importantly, for the police to track any car they wanted. The satnav may or may not have been bugged as well, but she wasn't going to take any chances with electronic equipment.
She watched as the owner called over one of the mechanics to work on the car. Libbie could tell that the woman was a slave, and not just from the silver disc on her forehead. She was very good-looking, she was wearing nothing but a skimpy white bikini, and she was covered in oily smears, on her face and hands, but also on her large breasts and plump buttocks. Libbie wondered how many of those were from her own hands and how many were those of the other mechanics, or the owner.
Once the work was completed, Libbie paid the man and drove away. She headed out of the city onto the M11, going north-east into Cambridgeshire. This road was covered by many surveillance cameras, so anyone tracking her would see that she was heading out into East Anglia.
When she was well outside the city, she took the smallest exit she could find and headed down the smallest road from there, the one which was least likely to be observed via CCTV. Gradually, she began to make her way West, sacrificing speed on the motorways for the anonymity of the back roads. This meant that a journey which she could have done in about four hours required an overnight stop, sleeping in the car in some woods somewhere in Wiltshire.
She finally arrived at her destination as twilight approached at the end of the next day. She parked the car and looked out over the vast expanse of water which now separated her from Cornwall. The ruins of the city of Plymouth rose out of the waves, another victim of global warming which had virtually turned the far western county of England into an island.
She took her handbag and rucksack from the car, put the gear stick into drive, and leapt out, rolling onto the grassy hillside. She watched as the vehicle trundled down the hill until it reached the cliff edge and plummeted into the sea below. Without a backward glance, she walked towards the ferry which plied its trade across the Tamar estuary, carrying the few pedestrians and the occasional car into or back from Cornwall. She knew there would be no need to show her papers, and the ferry man was more than happy to take cash, unlike virtually everybody in London.
When she got to the other side, she still had a four hour walk to get to her final destination, and it was nearly midnight by the time she stood outside the small cottage and knocked on the door. It seemed to take a very long time before she heard the creaking of footsteps on the stairs inside and then the door opened a fraction. A woman in a bed shawl peered out at her from behind the security chain, clearly nervous, probably frightened by such a late caller.
"Who's there?" the woman asked with a trembling voice.
"Aunt Sarah?" Libbie asked, not sure if the old lady standing before her really was who she had come to see.
"Libbie?" The woman leaned forward to get a better look. "Libbie! It is you! Hang on a second!"
The door closed, the chain rattled across, and then the door opened wide. The woman's face lit up with a broad smile, and Libbie could now see that it was indeed Sarah, a friend of her parents she had known since she was six. The woman ushered her inside and grabbed her in a tight hug, which went on slightly longer than Libbie was comfortable with.
"Oh, Libbie!" Sarah exclaimed, holding the girl at arm's length, "my, how you've grown! And so beautiful!"
"You're looking good too, Sarah," the girl lied. The woman before her was no more than mid-fifties, but she looked at least ten years older, lines of care and worry criss-crossing her face.
"Where's David?" Libbie asked, looking around for her friend’s husband, but then seeing the look of pain and anguish on Sarah's face.
"I'm afraid he passed away last year, dear," she replied sadly, "pneumonia. We couldn't get any treatment out here."
"I'm so sorry," the girl responded, and the two women hugged again, though it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. When Sarah had recovered her composure, she led them into the kitchen and fussed about making tea, the perennial British drink in a crisis.
"How long has it been?" Sarah asked as they sat at the kitchen table with their drinks.
"Seven years," Libbie replied, as they both thought back to their last meeting, at her father's funeral. "How are you doing?"
"It's been hard since David died," Sarah said, her head down, "very hard. We never had that much, never needed that much either, but without his income…"
The way of the world these days, Libbie thought. "So, how have you been getting by?"
"I do a bit of work up at the big house," the older woman replied, "cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing. It doesn't pay much, but I'm grateful for the work that Her Ladyship can put my way."
“Her Ladyship?” Libbie repeated incredulously – such class-based terms and titles had all but died out, even in England, since the monarchy had finally been swept away.
“It’s just something she calls herself,” Sarah responded, “but we all humour her – it’s best not to get on her wrong side.” A shadow passed over her face as if at some painful memory, but Libbie missed it as she yawned extravagantly.
“You must be tired after your journey, dear,” Sarah said, getting up and clearing away the dishes, “let me show you to your room.”
“If you could point me in the direction of the loo, I’d be grateful,” Libbie groaned as she stood up stiffly, “there are… a couple of things I need to… work out before I go to bed…”
* * * * *
Sarah refused to take anything in rent initially, but Libbie eventually threatened to leave if she wouldn’t let her pay her way, and Sarah gave in. They finally agreed on a weekly amount which Sarah said was far too much but Libbie protested was half what she’d pay in the city.
With the money agreed, and while Sarah went to work, Libbie could relax and decompress from the pressures of the city, walking on the hills and exploring the nearby villages. Despite their initial suspicion of the strange girl from ‘the smoke’, the locals proved very open and friendly.
Libbie returned from one of her long walks and, seeing Sarah at the sink washing up, went up to the older woman and pressed herself against her, hugging her tight.
“What’s wrong, Sarah?” she asked when she felt her flinch and suck in a sharp breath.
"It's nothing, dear," Sarah responded, a pained look passing over her face before she could replace it with a stoic smile. Libbie released her and looked at her with concern.
"It's not nothing," she countered with suspicion, "you're in pain."
"Just a… bad back," Sarah replied unconvincingly, "too much bending down." Libbie knew that her old friend was lying, and determined to get to the bottom of it. She pulled the woman's blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and lifted it so that she could see her midriff.
"Stop that!" Sarah cried, backing away and pulling the garment back into place.
"Take off your blouse," Libbie said sternly. Sarah tried to look shocked at the effrontery, but ended up looking shifty, guilty and then defeated under the younger woman's steady gaze. Reluctantly, she slowly unbuttoned the blouse and, having seen her silent plea rejected, slid it off her shoulders and down to her waist.
"Oh my God!" Libbie breathed when she saw the angry red marks criss-crossing her friend’s body. As Sarah slowly turned her back, Libbie gasped at the sight of the open, suppurating wounds across her shoulders.
"Who did this to you?" she demanded. Sarah glanced nervously around like a hunted animal looking for an escape route, but found none.
"Please, Libbie," she begged, her face twisted in fear while her hands were clasped in beseeching gesture, "don't cause trouble! There's nothing you can do!"
Libbie took her friend’s hands in her own and locked eyes with her. "Tell me who did this, Sarah," she urged, "nobody has the right to treat you like this!" Sarah shook her head, and the tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"It's the people at the big house, isn't it?" Libbie said angrily, "is it that woman? The one that calls herself ‘her ladyship’?" Sarah's sobs became worse, and Libbie took her gently into her arms, trying to reassure her and comfort her in her distress. Eventually, the older woman broke down and began to nod her head in assent.
Libbie found some antiseptic cream and carefully applied it to Sarah's wounds as the distraught woman finally gave the full story.
"She's so cruel," Sarah explained, "she buys slaves so that she can torture them. She mistreats her servants, as you can see. There are even rumours that several local girls who have disappeared were kidnapped by her and are now imprisoned in her dungeons! Everybody around here hates her, but everybody fears her even more. She owns most of the land and has the local council eating out of her hand, while a police are on her payroll. There's nothing you can do, there's nothing any of us can do, she is just too powerful!"
"We'll see about that," Libbie said determinedly, "I think I'll go and have a word with ‘her ladyship’!"
With righteous anger burning within her, and with the natural arrogance of youth and big city superiority, Libbie ignored all of Sarah's warnings and pleas for caution, and marched up to the ‘big house’…
* * * * *
Yvonne Masterson looked up from her work and saw her butler, John, standing in front of the desk.
"A visitor, your ladyship," he announced, "a young lady calling herself ‘Libbie’. She has no appointment and refuses to divulge the nature of or state her business."
Yvonne pressed a key on her computer and an image of the hallway appeared. She examined the young woman in question, who was looking around the decor appraisingly, and liked what she saw. She had a certain predilection for beautiful young girls, and the one before her, with her short, frilly skirt, bare midriff and long legs certainly appealed. She wasn't used to receiving many visitors, not willingly anyway, so the unknown woman intrigued her.
"Show her in, John," she decided, "but stay close to the door, just in case."
"Yes, your ladyship," the servant replied, before leaving the room and, moments later, returning with the visitor. Yvonne rose and came out from behind her desk.
"Welcome, mysterious stranger," she smiled, waving her guest over towards a plush sofa, "I haven't seen you around here before, and I do pride myself on knowing what is happening in my little fiefdom." She smiled, not exactly a friendly gesture in Libbie's view, as she sat down in the chair opposite. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Libbie looked at the woman sitting opposite her, appraising her, the way one does one's enemy. The mistress of the house looked to be in her early thirties, and was beautiful, in the way that very rich women with far too much time on their hands often contrived to be. Her make-up was perfect, and her eyebrows plucked within an inch of their lives, while her shiny black hair fell just so, as it waved over her shoulders and down her back.
She wore a simple white blouse and black pencil skirt, although Libbie was sure that the ‘simple’ look was achieved at great expense. Her breasts were prominently displayed, her cleavage revealed by the number of buttons left undone. Her waist was very slim and, Libbie guessed, artificially so, some kind of strict foundation garment keeping her in the perfect shape. Her hips flared out, and the tight skirt ended just above her knees, leaving an expanse of sheer black nylon leading down to her black patent leather stilettos.
In any other environment, Libbie would have taken her for a high-powered businesswoman, dressed to impress as well as excite. In the current situation, she knew that the woman was dressed to intimidate, to project the power granted her by her money. If she hadn't decided already, Libbie would have instantly hated her.
"A friend of mine, Sarah, works for you," Libbie said evenly, keeping her temper in check.
"Ah yes, the maid," the woman replied, managing to infuse the single word with both amusement and disdain, "she performs her menial tasks adequately most of the time." A slight smile played on her lips, irritating Libbie even further.
"It has come to my attention," she growled, "that you think it is acceptable to use corporal punishment if you are displeased with her work?" Libbie's chest rose and fell rapidly as she sought to control her breathing, something which did not escape Yvonne’s close attention.
"You are correctly informed," Yvonne said, her smile broadening, "but you misinterpret. I don't beat her because she displeases me, quite the opposite. I do it because beating her pleases me, and because I can. Would you like something to drink?" She picked up a small bell on the table beside her chair and rang it. Immediately, the door opened and John entered.
"I'm not here to enjoy your hospitality," Libbie said, her anger rising, "I'm here to warn you that if you ever touch Sarah again, I will seek you out and I will hurt you, a lot. Do you understand, ‘your ladyship’?"
There was a long, silent pause, Yvonne’s smile not wavering in the slightest as the two women stared each other down. Eventually, the older woman turned to her servant, who was still standing patiently, waiting for her orders.
"John, our young friend seems to be under the misapprehension that she can in some way intimidate me," Yvonne said in a pleasant, unthreatening tone, "perhaps you could show her to the guest quarters, where we can discuss this further a little later."
"I don't think we have anything more to discuss," Libbie said, rising to her feet as the manservant moved towards her, setting off all her alarm bells. She saw his hand go to his pocket and pull something out, but that was her last clear memory of what happened. Moments later, she collapsed on the floor, shaking and screaming as her muscles spasmed under the assault of the tazer fired by the butler. The electronically induced fit lasted only a few seconds before she lost consciousness.
"Very good, John," the mistress said in a satisfied tone, "do make her comfortable, won't you? I'll be along presently."
"Yes, your ladyship."
* * * * *
“Well, well, well, Olivia Mary Parker, what a bad girl you must have been!”
Her ladyship strutted around the younger woman suspended from the ceiling by chains cuffed to her wrists, inordinately pleased with herself at what she had discovered about her guest.
“There’s a warrant and substantial reward out for you, dear,” she crowed, “so, really, I’m doing you a favour by hiding you down here in my basement.”
“Gosh, thank you so much!” Libbie responded sarcastically, pulling futilely at the bonds which held her ankles as well as her wrists. Her captor had changed from her ultra-professional business attire into a fetishistic dominatrix outfit of a shiny black latex catsuit which made it look as if she’d been dipped in crude oil from neck to ankles. The skintight fit showed Libbie that the woman was naked under the suit, as evidenced by the cleavage outlined between her buttocks, the bulge of her erect nipples, and the cleft between her obviously shaved labia. That she also kept herself in very good shape was proven by the flatness of her stomach and the perky firmness of her breasts, although Libbie suspected that she had had some surgical assistance in that department.
“Welcome to my dungeon,” Yvonne said, "I do hope you enjoy your stay."
Libbie looked around the blank white walls of the featureless room. "It's rather… minimalist," she remarked.
"I can make it more traditional if you like," Yvonne replied. She pressed a switch on the remote control in her hand and suddenly the walls, floor and ceiling all changed. Now it looked as though they were standing in a mediaeval dungeon, with stone slabs underfoot and the walls made of large stone blocks. There even seemed to be torches burning brightly in iron brackets on the walls, the 3-D effect so good that Libbie would have believed they were real, if she hadn't seen the blank walls moments before. There were also chains hanging from the ceiling and manacles on the walls, adding to the ambience of the traditional torture chamber. Although she knew it was all fake, Libbie couldn't help but feel more nervous in the new surroundings.
"I picked up this neat little gadget last time I was in Tokyo," the latex-clad dominatrix continued in a conversational tone, holding up what looked like the handle of a knife. "It has some rather interesting properties that I'm sure you will be interested in."
She reached up to where Libbie’s T-shirt sleeve ended on her bicep and waved the device, drawing it in a line down across her body, between her breasts and down to the shirt’s lower hem. To Libbie's astonishment, the garment parted along the line with no tearing or cutting, it was as if the molecules had simply been rearranged so that they no longer formed part of the same entity. When Yvonne repeated the action across her other sleeve, the T-shirt simply fell apart and floated to the floor. A similar, simple swish of the device parted her skirt and that went the same way, leaving the girl naked except for her shoes.
"You notice how, on that setting, the electronic knife makes absolutely no impact on your skin, however hard I press it." As she said this, Yvonne illustrated the point by pressing the knife firmly against Libbie's cheek, but all the chained girl fell was the pressure of the handle against her skin.
"However," she went on, making a minor adjustment to a small switch on the handle, "when I do this, you will certainly notice it." She pulled the reconfigured tool across Libbie's breast and elicited a howl of pain. Libbie was sure that she had been sliced open, the pain was so great, but when she looked down, there was not even a mark on her body. Her tormentor now lifted her left breast and slashed again, circling the base of the soft flesh, and Libbie screamed even harder, feeling as if her mammary had been cut clean away, but again, when she looked down expecting to see spurting blood, there was nothing.
"Clever, huh?" Yvonne smirked, "but I think you will like this one even more." She thrust the blade directly into the fuzz of pubic hair over Libbie's mound, driving it in until it parted her labia and pressed against her clitoris.
Libbie screamed at the top of her voice as sensation shot through her. It took several moments before she realised that, rather than the excruciating pain she had prepared herself for, the feelings coursing through her were ones of pleasure, overwhelming, almost unbearable levels of pleasure. Her screams of anguish turned immediately to cries of unexpected and unwanted delight as the device outperformed any vibrator she had ever experienced.
Her tormentor forced the electronic stimulator hard against her sensitive flesh, driving her unrelentingly towards an orgasm she desperately wished to avoid. In the final moments, Libbie couldn't resist any longer and, despite all her mental efforts, her body took over, her hips thrusting forward onto Yvonne's hand, trying to drive herself over the edge and deliver the ecstasy she now so badly needed. At the very last moment, Yvonne withdrew the stimulation and watched as her captive slumped in her chains, gulping in air and twisting as the burgeoning climax ebbed away, leaving only exhaustion and intense frustration.
"There is one other mode," the self-styled lady of the manor went on once Libbie had recovered sufficiently to pay attention, "the one for which most people probably use it."
She took a lock of Libbie's hair and pulled it in front of the naked girl’s face. When she ran the blade across it, there was a strong smell of burning and then the hair was in her fingers, no longer attached to the girls head.
"Now, I suggest you keep very still," Yvonne said, then pressed a button on the remote control. The chains holding Libbie's wrists and ankles shot out to either side, and she found herself stretched tightly, her arms and legs forming a cross, her feet several inches off the floor. The latex-clad woman bent down until she was staring at Libbie's crotch.
"I've never done this before," Yvonne remarked, taking a grip on the girl’s pubic hair, "and I really wouldn't want to cut you. Not yet, anyway."
Libbie held her breath as she watched the electronic knife approach her body. The stench of sizzling hair filled the room as, gradually, she was scalped. Soon, she was bald down there, and Yvonne was just trying to tidy up the last few short stragglers. Suddenly Libbie screamed as the knife edge nicked her on the soft, newly shaved flesh. She looked down and saw the tiny trickle of blood running down across her vagina.
"Oops, sorry," Yvonne said insincerely as she straightened up, "but you're going to have to toughen up – it’s going to get a lot worse than that!"
As she walked to the wall, a section popped open and she reached into it. When she turned and walked back towards Libbie, the young woman could see that she was carrying a vicious-looking bullwhip.
"You know what I really enjoy about hurting someone?" she asked rhetorically, "what really gets my juices flowing? I enjoy the screaming and crying, of course I do, I'm a sadist! But what really turns me on is seeing the fear of anticipation in their eyes before I start. When they know what is coming, and they know there is absolutely nothing they can do about it."
She held the thick leather plait of the whip up in front of Libbie's face, pressing it against her unresisting lips in a mockery of the submissive kiss.
"You're a very beautiful girl, Olivia," she murmured, "your skin so soft and white and perfect. I am going to take great pleasure in marking it." Despite her deep desire not to give ‘her ladyship’ the satisfaction, Libbie found her eyes widening in horror at the gleeful anticipation on the woman's face, and her breath became short as she steeled herself for the ordeal to come.
Yvonne's stiletto heels rang out on the projected stone slabs as she walked around behind the chained girl and took up her position. She surveyed the expanse of naked flesh before her, the long narrow back and the pear-shape of her waist and buttocks, idly determining which to strike first. She could see the girl's shoulders rising and falling as she sucked in great draughts of air, trying to calm herself. As the moment stretched, she saw the nervous twitching of the head as she tried to turn sufficiently to see when and where the first blow would land. Yvonne smiled to herself before finally drawing her arm back.
The sound of the whip cracking in the air as the tip went supersonic preceded the explosion of pain across Libbie’s shoulders by a fraction of a second and was quickly consumed by the sound of her screams bouncing back off the surrounding walls. Yvonne watched as the body in front of her twitched and danced in the chains, trying to process the trauma of that first strike. She waited until the desperate cries had subsided into forlorn sobs before she raised the whip once again. As it struck its mark, she watched the red line blossom across her back, relishing the renewed screams and how they expressed the extent of her victim’s suffering. She drew back a third time, and this time set the plump buttocks quivering. She slowly walked back to the hanging figure, examining the marks left with a professional eye.
"What would you give to make me stop right now, Libbie?" Yvonne asked as she stood in front of the girl, whose face was already blotched and red, tears streaming from her eyes. Libbie looked at the woman with beseeching eyes, wishing more than anything that she would stop, but knowing that this was just part of her game, taunting her prey with the prospect of relief merely so that she could cruelly snatch it away again. She kept her silence.
"I'll tell you what," Yvonne went on when she got no reaction, "the whip is so vicious, it must be very painful, so why don't I change to something else, something which isn't going to rip your skin open the way that the whip will do? What do you say, Libbie, what would you like me to use instead?" Libbie stared at her with hate in her eyes.
"Do whatever you fucking want," she spat, "I know you will anyway."
Her ladyship smiled, patted the naked girl on the cheek patronisingly, and sashayed over to the drawer in the wall.
"Well, if you're going to sulk, I think I'll choose this cane…"
* * * * *
The latex-clad woman lifted Libbie’s head from her chest by her sweat-soaked hair and looked into her red-rimmed eyes.
"How are you doing, Libbie?" she asked with well-faked concern. The girl's eyes finally seemed to focus on the figure in front of her.
"Please…" Libbie croaked, "your ladyship, your Majesty, Mistress, whatever you want me to call you… please, no more! I can't take any more!" She broke down in sobs and, when Yvonne released her grip, her head lolled back down onto her chest and she hung limply by her wrists from the chains.
At that moment, a look of triumph flashed across the sadist’s face - after more than four hours of torture with cane, crop, flogger and other tools, she had finally broken the girl’s will to resist. It was the ultimate thrill for her, but it also came tinged with anti-climax. There were many humiliations and torments she could and would inflict on her, weeks, even months, of tortures, and they would give her pleasure as well. But there was only ever one moment like this, one moment of total and abject surrender. It would be a long time before she had finished with Libbie, but it was already time to be looking for her next victim.
She stepped back and pressed a sequence of buttons on the remote control. The chains holding Libbie instantly released from the cuffs and she fell to the floor, barely conscious. After a long moments of lying there, trying to recover, she finally managed to drag herself to her hands and knees, looking around to see what was happening. Her brain slowly took in the fact that she was now unrestrained, free to move… free to escape?
Yvonne waited for that realisation to dawn, watched as the strength and the will to fight returned, even if only to a fraction of its previous level, buoyed by the faint flicker of hope. Just when she judged that the naked and abused girl was ready to fly, about to begin her desperate bid for freedom, she pressed another button on the remote.
Libbie let out a scream as the floor below her gave way and she found herself falling. She landed with a thump, jarring her body and banging her head. She could see nothing around her except when she looked up and saw the square of light which was the trapdoor through which she had tumbled. The light was broken by the black outline of her torturer, looking down at her broken body. And then the light disappeared as the trapdoor closed, leaving her in total, inky blackness.
Libbie slumped onto the unseen surface and wept, great racking sobs shaking her body…
"So what can I do for you, Officer… Marcetti?"
Joe appraised the woman sitting across from him, trying to work out exactly what her attitude towards him was. He had booked this appointment with her, so her current dress must be for his benefit. And, he had to admit, he appreciated what he saw. She wore a black lace corset/bustier which cinched her waist tight and presented her ample bosom alluringly. A red leather miniskirt left plenty of bare thigh on display before her over-the-knee black patent leather boots encased her legs and ended in needle-sharp stiletto heels and pointed toes. The overall effect was enhanced by the way her hair was pulled back from her face into a tight ponytail, and by the lacy fingerless gloves which covered her forearms. All in all, a very domineering and sexy look.
He already had a strong impression of the power she held around here from the deferential attitude towards her from the local police, and their suspicion of his enquiries regarding her. He had also seen the fear on the face of Libbie's friend, Sarah, when he questioned her over Libbie's whereabouts. He hadn’t told her that he was a police officer on an assignment to arrest the young woman, instead implying that he was an old friend from the city looking her up, so her evident agitation and concern was entirely down to this woman. He would have to tread carefully.
"I want to congratulate you, Lady Masterson," he began, on the basis that a little flattery never hurt.
"Oh? And why would that be?" Yvonne asked, her smile guarded.
"For capturing the notorious and dangerous criminal, Olivia Parker," Joe replied.
"Who?" she countered, feigning confusion and surprise.
"The young woman came here to confront you, I believe," Joe went on, "and she hasn't been seen since. I'm sure that, once you place her in my custody, the local police will be more than happy to pay you the handsome reward which has been placed on her head."
The policeman and the dominatrix locked their gaze in a battle of wills. He knew now, by her clumsy denial, that she had met with Libbie and, possibly, still had her under lock and key somewhere in this house. Conversely she knew that, while he could cause her some trouble, he had no jurisdiction here, so was on some kind of fishing expedition. The stand-off stretched out as she weighed up her options.
"Ah yes, there was a young girl," she finally said, "came here making wild threats and accusations. I had to… restrain her."
"No more than she deserved, I'm sure," Joe remarked, although he suspected she had probably received far more than she deserved, "if you’d like to hand her over, I won't disturb you any longer."
"Follow me, Officer." Lady Masterson stood up and Joe followed as she sashayed across the room, his eyes firmly fixed on her swaying hips and the way the shiny leather of her skirt crinkled across her buttocks.
"Please, call me Joe," he said as she led him down the hallway to a sturdy door.
"Okay, Joe," she smiled as she unlocked the door and led him down a flight of stairs. Jesus, Joe thought, it took me nearly a month to track down Libbie, I hope she hasn't been locked down here the whole time! He was surprised when, at the bottom of the stairs, she led him into a room which seemed entirely empty, with blank white walls, ceiling and floor.
"So, where is she?" he asked, trying to hide his impatience. Without a word, Yvonne went to one of the walls and a section opened up in front of her. She took out a remote control and pressed the trapdoor release.
As the square in the floor fell away, an horrendous stench wafted up from the hole beneath, a mixture of stale body odour, urine and faeces. An eerie wail also emanated from the hole, sounding like a wounded animal rather than a woman.
Yvonne pressed another button on the remote, and a length of chain descended from the ceiling, before disappearing into the hole.
"Ready, Mistress." Joe recognised Libbie's voice, although it was shaking, and sounded very frightened. The chain began to ascend and then he saw her, hanging limply by the cuffs around her wrists which she must have attached to the chain herself. Once she was clear of the hole, the trapdoor shut and she was unceremoniously dumped down onto the floor.
Joe was horrified by what he saw. She was filthy where she had soiled herself and then, presumably, rolled in the mess. But, far worse than that, her skin was bruised and cut, marked by what looked like repeated beatings all over her body. He knelt down beside her and cradled her head, pushing her matted hair away from her face. Now he could see her cut lip, her bruised cheek and her black eye. What shocked him was the haunted, frightened look in her eyes. She stared across the room at the other woman like a hunted animal, obviously terrified of the treatment she was expecting to receive.
"Libbie, are you okay?" At the sound of his voice, something buried within her seemed to awaken. She looked up into his face and he saw the confusion gradually pass and her eyes light up in recognition.
"Joe? Is that you?" Hope flickered across her face, and then was replaced by a more familiar expression.
"I've had better days," she replied, managing to raise a faint smile, "to be honest, I’ve had better months."
"My God," Joe breathed, "what the hell have you been doing to her?" The woman's stiletto heels rang out on the floor as she walked towards him. He felt Libbie scrambling to get away, but he held her tight.
"Well, well, Officer Marcetti," she said smugly, "anyone would think you had feelings for this felon." Joe immediately knew he had made a mistake.
"I'm just worried that she might not survive long enough for me to pick up my finders’ fee," he snarled, but he knew she wasn't fooled.
"Hmm, I'm not sure I want to give her up anymore," Yvonne said, as if musing about the situation, "she has provided me with a lot of entertainment over the last few weeks, with her crying and begging and everything…"
"Well," Joe responded evenly, "I could just take her out of here."
"You could," Yvonne smiled, baring her teeth, "but you did voluntarily give up your weapon when you came into this house, so my little tazer here might persuade you not to." She brandished the small electronic device to back up the point.
"I could go to the local police and get a squad back here to ‘persuade’ you," he said with as much threat as he could muster.
"You could," she responded again, "but we both know poor Libbie wouldn't be here when you got back, she’d either be at the bottom of the cliffs, or she'd be on the way to one of my specialist friends, where we could enjoy her as long as we liked, away from prying eyes."
Joe heard the whimpering of the beaten girl in his arms, and knew that he had been outflanked.
"What do you want?" The dominatrix smiled at him, enjoying her triumph.
"Well," she replied oleaginously, "I’ve been admiring that rather sensational body of yours since you arrived. I think I'd like to take a closer look."
"What?" Joe asked, rather taken aback.
"Come on, Joe, don't be shy," Yvonne went on, her voice taking on a steely, commanding tone. "Strip!"
Slowly, Jo stripped out of his clothes until he stood before the woman naked. She walked around him, inspecting him closely, her fingers trailing across his chest, down to his hip and then around to his buttocks, but her other hand kept the tazer trained on him and just out of reach. She tickled under his balls and took his flaccid, but still impressive, member into her hand, before stepping back and taking up the remote again. When she pressed a button, a large rectangular area of the floor slid back and a platform rose to form a bed. Joe noted the manacles attached to each corner.
"Lie down and stretch out spreadeagled," Yvonne commanded. Joe did so, looking up at her the whole time, waiting for her guard to drop for just a second and an opportunity to present itself.
"Libbie," she barked at the naked woman cowering in a corner, "get over here and put Joe in the restraints. Now!" Libbie scuttled across the floor, not rising from her knees, glancing fearfully at the woman who had cause her so much agony. She closed the manacles around his wrists and ankles, each one clicking as it locked in place. Joe looked on helplessly, knowing that to resist would only result in a painful and debilitating shock from the tazer.
"Well done," Yvonne said condescendingly, "now you can get him ready for me. Use that pretty little mouth of yours to get him nice and hard."
Libbie looked around at her, but did not protest. She started to manipulate his flaccid length with her fingers, before bending over his crotch and licking him, liberally coating his member with her saliva. Gradually, it began to stiffen, and she closed her lips around it, taking him deep into her mouth, sucking gently as her tongue worked inside to stimulate his glans.
Joe tugged at his bonds as he felt himself responding to the girl’s exquisite touch. He hated being manipulated like this by the woman now standing over him, watching as Libbie kissed and slurped at his fully erect penis, but he had no choice.
"Okay, that's enough, slut," Yvonne snarled as she roughly pushed Libbie aside with her boot, sending her sprawling on the floor. "He looks more than ready now."
She mounted the bed and straddled Joe, the leather skirt riding up her thighs to reveal her dripping wet pussy. Slowly, she lowered herself onto his erection, moaning as it slid inside her, arching her back in pleasure and putting her head back until her face was looking up at the ceiling. When she was completely filled, she snapped forward, her talon-like fingernails digging into Joe's chest, a look of pure, unadulterated lust across her face.
"My, my, what a big boy you are, Officer Marcetti," she growled as she started to move gingerly, backwards and forwards, "I can tell we are going to have a wonderful time together, you and I."
Her eyes closed and her mouth dropped open as she moved faster and faster, rocking herself on his cock, bouncing up and down with squeals of pleasure. One hand twisted his nipple painfully, the other grabbing a handful of his hair and turning his head this way and that as convulsions racked her body. She controlled herself so that she would not cum too quickly, to milk him for as long as possible, keeping herself on the edge of ecstasy for as long as possible.
Eventually, she could hold back no longer. With eyes closed and her hands now clutching at her own hair, she ground her hips against his crotch, everything but her impending orgasm driven out of her mind.
That ultimate moment of pleasure, the pinnacle of her climax, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations emanating from her loins, was the moment at which Libbie struck. Suddenly unable to breathe, Yvonne felt the forearm pressing across her windpipe, but rather than killing the orgasm rolling through her body, the oxygen deprivation seemed to intensify it. Hardly aware of what was happening, she felt herself being dragged off the bed and backwards across the floor, until she was suddenly falling.
She landed hard, what little air still left in her lungs driven out, leaving her gasping. With stars swimming before her eyes, she looked up and saw, silhouetted against the square of light above, the outline of the girl she had kept imprisoned in this confined space for nearly a month.
"Let's see how you like a dose of your own medicine, bitch!" Libbie shouted down at her. To Yvonne’s horror, the trapdoor slid shut above and she was suddenly plunged into absolute darkness. From her standpoint, Libbie heard the other woman's desperate screams, curses and pleadings suddenly cut short as the hole in the floor closed. I didn't realise that stinking hole was soundproof as well, Libbie thought to herself before turning away and returning to Joe's side.
"This looks like another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Joe," she smiled down at the prone figure, "every time we get together, you seem to end up in bondage. I guess you must like it."
"Just get me out," Joe snapped, before remembering his current situation, "please?"
Libbie sat down on the bed beside him and kissed him on the lips.
"Mmm, maybe I like it," she smiled, "I do have a thing for big, strong men in chains…" She kissed him again, more passionately this time, and he felt her fingers stroking his balls…
* * * * *
"She'll sleep for a while now," the doctor said as he straightened up from examining her, "her wounds are largely superficial and will heal of their own accord in a couple of days. Use the cream I gave you on those welts and bruises, that should help."
"Thank you so much, Doctor," Sarah said with a smile of gratitude as she led him out of the bedroom and downstairs.
Joe looked down at the now peaceful Libbie, wondering at the amount of punishment she had suffered and survived. She is one tough cookie, he thought with admiration, before leaning down and clicking the handcuffs around her wrist and the frame of the bed – she’d escaped him once, he didn’t intend to let it happen again. He covered her cuffed wrist with a pillow, so that Sarah would not see when she came back into the room - Libbie had implored him not to let her know that he had been sent to arrest her and take her back for trial, to which he had readily agreed.
Libbie slept for nearly thirty-six straight hours, and then Sarah insisted that she spent another day in bed before she could be allowed to travel. Joe ground his teeth in frustration, but kept his silence. I suppose I'm already weeks late with this case, he thought to himself, Another couple of days won't make any difference.
"I'm worried that that bitch is going to come after us," Libbie frowned, sitting up in bed, "or if not us then Sarah."
"Don't be," Joe replied with a grim smile, "her ladyship and I had a long talk, and she agreed that it would not be in her best interests to get on my wrong side." Libbie looked at him quizzically, but he wouldn't say more. He did not want to tell her that, when he had returned to the mansion that morning, he had found that the servants had no idea where she was, they had assumed that she had gone away for a few days.
So, by the time he found her, she had been trapped in that dark, stinking hole for three days without food or water. After pointing out to her that she would have died in there if he hadn't returned, he hoisted her out, just as he had seen her do with Libbie. Leaving her hanging by her wrists above the floor, he had sought out the compartments containing her sadistic little toys and, after cutting her clothes from her body, had beaten her until she looked almost as bad as Libbie.
When he threatened to lower her back into the hole, she had readily agreed to his terms for her surrender. Just to enable her to prove her sincerity, he had gathered her staff together in the torture chamber and invited her to pleasure each and every one of them with her tongue. It has been an impressive sight.
Eventually, Sarah could not prevent them leaving any longer. After putting her bags into the car, Libbie returned to give Sarah a huge hug and several kisses.
"I want you to have this," she said, pressing the roll of banknotes which she had brought with her into her friends hands." Now, don't make a fuss, Sarah, I know you need the money, and with this you won't need to work for that awful woman any longer."
"But darling," Sarah protested, "this is so much! How can you afford it?"
"Don't worry," Libbie replied, looking over at Joe, "I won't be needing it when we get back to town, will I, honey?" Joe looked back at her, and they exchanged a meaningful look.
"No," he said, managing to look sheepish, "she won't need to worry about money from now on." Sarah's eyes lit up in delight as she misinterpreted his meaning in exactly the way he had hoped.
They climbed into the open-top sports car and, with many cheery waves, drove off down the lane. Just around the corner, Joe pulled over to the side of the road. Without a word, he took the handcuffs from his pocket and, pulling her arms around the back of the seat, clicked them shut around her wrists.
"You just cannot resist putting a girl in bondage, can you, Joe?" Libbie smiled.
"Certainly not a girl like you," Joe replied, before leaning across her and placing his lips over hers. As their tongues intertwined, she felt his hand squeezing her breast, and she let out a long breath through her nose.
"Does this qualify me for compensation for assault during arrest?" Libbie murmured when they finally broke the kiss.
"Not yet, but don't worry, we'll get there," Joe smirked as he turned back to the steering wheel and gunned the engine.
Several hours later, they had made good time and were approaching the outskirts of the city.
"Please, Joe," Libbie moaned, "can we take a break? My shoulders are killing me!" Joe pulled the car over into the next layby and unlocked the handcuffs. Libbie grimaced as she rotated her shoulders, trying to ease the ache in the joints and muscles, while Joe got out of the car and came around her side, opening the door and ushering her out so that she could stretch.
"Joe," she said eventually, "we both know this is my last night of freedom – maybe forever. Can I spend it with you?"
"The last time we spent the night together," he replied, "it didn't work out too well for me, I almost lost my job."
"I promise I won't try to escape this time," Libbie responded, "I just… need you tonight." Joe gave her a broad smile.
"I'd love that."
"You can still handcuff me, if you like," Libbie purred, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body against his.
“How could I refuse an offer like that?” Joe smirked. They took a room in a motel just outside the city and checked in.
“You fancy a bit to eat?” Joe asked as he closed the door, “we could order room s-“ But by the time he’d turned around, Libbie had already pulled off her top, dropped her skirt and stepped out of her shoes.
“I’m not hungry for food,” she growled as she moved towards him purposefully. While he pulled off his shirt, she scrabbled at his belt buckle, tugging down his trousers as she sank to her knees. He thought for a moment she was literally going to eat him alive, but moments later she was up and throwing herself on the bed, legs spread wide and inviting.
“Climb aboard and strap yourself in, big boy, it could be a bumpy ride.”
Joe quickly found himself in the unusual position of being the passive partner in bed. Libbie’s love-making was passionate, aggressive, even desperate, as they writhed and coupled on the sheets, blissfully uncaring of the noise or the mess they were making. She rode joyfully astride him like a rodeo star on a bucking bronco, before sliding beneath him to be speared by his violent, urgent thrusts. Then he was behind her, pounding away as she cried out in ecstasy.
It was hours before they finally slowed down and collapsed, breathless and dripping with perspiration, their bodies still intertwined.
“Libbie, I-“ Joe began, but felt a finger against his lips.
“If you’ve got energy to speak, you’ve got energy to fuck,” Libbie chided, before wrapping her lips around his gradually returning erection. Unable to quite believe the level of insatiable lust unleashed on him, Joe gathered his remaining strength and pinned the girl below him, drawing a sigh of satisfaction from her as he entered her yet again.
They finally fell asleep around dawn, and were awoken only as the late morning sun blazed down on their naked bodies sprawled across the bed. Joe planned to take a quick shower, but Libbie had other ideas, joining him and, rather than getting clean, seemed intent on getting more dirty. Three times he had to start over again, after satisfying her insistent requests for attention.
Eventually, there was no putting it off any longer, and they made their way to the nondescript office block housing the Central Clearing police department.
"I'm sorry," Joe said as he pulled Libbie’s arms behind her back and applied the handcuffs, "these have to go back on at this point. It's just procedure."
"Whatever you say, Officer Marcetti," Libbie said as she turned to face him, "nothing to do with your bondage fixation, of course." Joe saw the smile on her face, but could hear the waver in her voice and knew that she was close to tears.
"Listen, Libbie," Joe murmured, his face deadly serious, "you know they're probably going to give you Life Slavery. But I'll be waiting for you when they auction you - I'm going to buy you. This will soon be over, I promise you." Libbie took a couple of deep breaths, trying to stop herself from crying.
"Do you think you can afford me on a copper's salary?" she responded, holding herself together. Joe swallowed hard and didn't trust himself to reply, instead leading her inside.
"Well, well, Joe, so good of you to join us," the Sergeant behind the desk called out wryly, "I suppose you're already four weeks late, another few hours doesn't make much difference."
"Fuck you, Cooper," he growled in reply before signing the day book, transferring control of his prisoner.
"Don't get upset, Marcetti," the desk sergeant grinned, "at least she didn't get away from you this time." Joe removed the cuffs and let the guard take Libbie towards the internal door to the prep room.
Libbie turned and looked back at him. He saw the fear in her eyes, and she saw the concern in his. Neither was reassured. The guard pushed her roughly through the doorway and she was gone.
End of part 1
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.