"But that was those… those… bandits. What they did to me is not what Bolling would do, is it?"
"No-" He was terribly troubled. "But it would be no picnic."
"I handled Royden. He and I were getting along famously when it… it happened."
"I can see you were, from the whipmarks'" I knew I was being foolishly female with that brand of feminine nobility that, I am told, afflicts girls my age. But I was getting visions of James Pollard dead in a ditch.
"I sort of collect whipmarks, darling." I giggled, "It's the way I get a living. If you take me back to Yolanda the first thing she'll do is thrash me for being so stupid in the first place… luring you into that bedroom."
"It was me who lured you. Bolling had picked up hints about you. No, Phemie, there's only one place for you right now, that's Castle Glynt." He smiled in genuine amusement. "If your beloved Yolanda whips your bottom for you, it's your hard luck. Incidentally, don't worry about me, there's a lot of Roland Bolling's in the world." It was all so lovely. I mean the falling into place. A sort of out of the fire back into the frying pan. I know I'm shameless and erotic and raging with lust at all times, but even with my darling naked James watching my nipples and puss and me with an amused and proprietary smile, the thought of Yolanda and Glynt and an end to fear sent my pulse racing. How good it would be! Me and James and Yolanda! The absurdity of such a triangle never entered my girlish head. "You mean it, darling'? You really truly want to take me back to Glynt?"
"I'd take you back even if you didn't want to go."
"Oh, darling!" I was breathless. "Then I'm no longer a prisoner'?"
"I've just rung up a 'No Sale'." Delightedly I turned my back to him and wiggled my handcuffs. "Then we don't need these, do we!" There was a silence. Waiting expectantly I became aware of it only after a good many moments had passed. I looked back coyly over one shoulder. James still knelt. He eyed me ruefully. I knew instantly what was coming. "I don't have a key, Phemie. Both of them were in the car." It was a funny feeling — not all bad! I mean, it's one thing for a girl to be handcuffed when she knows there's someone knocking about somewhere with the key, but it's quite something else again to suddenly discover there is no key. A silly vision of having my hands locked behind my back for life crossed my mind. I tittered.
"It's not funny," said James. I could see he was right. It wasn't funny! Looking over that deserted moor in the dusk told me no girl in her right mind would want to be wandering around across it, naked and with her wrists handcuffed behind her back. But I wasn't in my right mind. Maybe I never am! My predicament struck me as hilarious. I produced a fit of the giggles.
"Well, if you don't mind." There was faint reproof in James's voice.
"I am your slave girl, darling, it's quite appropriate. I'm sort of glad we don't have the key. It's you, of course. Without you I'd be scared to death and horrified, and probably very indignant. You will look after me extra special, won't you?"
"Extra special, Phemie girl. I love you." It was positively pussy puckering. I lay down instantly. No wandering shepherd's eye beheld the strangeness of our passing. One normally attired male and a naked girl in a blanket. James had torn a hole in the center of the rug so that I now wore it as a poncho. I did not miss the use of my hands at all. We were indeed an odd pair. But neither of us minded. Love is beautiful. James had to be severe with me from time to time when I got the giggles and wanted to lay down and spread my legs. He finally had to tell me, gorgeously embarrassed, that men can't do it every fifteen minutes the way I wanted. I promised I'd wait. It was hours before we walked over the gentle rise and saw the farm. The sight was not reassuring. It was as grim as the moor itself. All stone and slate, even the barn and few small sheds, a smallish place that missed rustic charm by miles. It sort of glowered at us in the gloom.
"Not a telephone pole in sight," James muttered disgustedly. I can't tell you why we did not rush to the door and knock. There was a quality about the place we both felt. It was like a small block house in the war. You felt sure a machine gun was trained on you from an embrasure somewhere and followed you as you moved. We half circled it before James guided me to a clump of bushes and made me kneel. "I'll go and thump on the door," he whispered. "They may not be too pally this time of night. You can come if I call." It was eerie. I wondered why we were acting like this. It was only a lonely farm. But we both felt something. I watched my hero. James strode in forthright manner in a straight line, climbing a fence and parting barbed wire. He did not have to open the gate, it was broken and sagged on its hinges. I saw him knock at what was presumably the back door. When there was no response he gave the panel a right royal thump that I could hear from a distance. When that got no results he walked round to the front and out of sight. It was then the hand clamped across my mouth. I didn't have any pants to get wet, but I peed just the way they say you do when scared nearly out of your skin. I was galvanized into a frenzy of ineffectual motion. The handcuffs defeated me. I cherish the belief I could have bit and scratched enough to have attracted James's attention when he came back into view. But with my wrists cuffed where they were I did not have a chance. My captor must have wondered at the unexpected ease in which he achieved the business of gagging me: a filthy handkerchief in my mouth and a spotted tie bound tight to keep it there and prison my tongue. It was knotted tight beneath my hair at the back of my neck. A large strong hand gathered up my hair and gave it a tug or two to exert authority. I found myself forced to continue to kneel and watch, sound and movement were denied. The distance to the house was littered with the odd bramble bush, scrub tree, or wrecked implement. I was thrown over a male shoulder so that my head hung behind and an iron arm embraced my legs. I was reduced to a silent package. My eyes were fearfully active so that I was able to understand that he who carried me was watching James. Whenever James was lost to sight in or around a building we took long loping strides from cover to cover until, when James disgustedly gave up and walked back to where he had left me, my captor was able to take the last steps to the stone portal, slip a key into the lock and get us both inside without James knowing a thing of what had happened. It was clever. There was no pause. My weight was as nothing to whoever carried me. I could have wept at the indignity of my utter impotence. I was a piece of baggage with a pussy! The absurd thought filled my fevered mind. A flap was pulled up from the middle of the floor, and a dank odor of rot swept up. In almost complete darkness I was carried down a few steps and dumped on damp earth, my feet were thrust against a post, lifted a foot from the floor to make me doubly helpless, and savagely bound there with what I guessed to be a bit of electric flex. It was very adequate and very tight. What happened then was one of the worst times of my life, frustrating and bereft of hope. Half sitting, half lying on my bare bottom, able to make no effectual motion at all and gagged into silence, I could still hear most of what took place above me. I even heard the slither of the mat thrust above the cracks of my dank prison and then the stentorian bellow of a country voice demanding of the outside night: "What's up, mate'! You in trouble?" James was back in short order. There was a jumble of voices, the last words of which I got distinctly: "I'll go and get her." In James's jubilant voice. Imagine it! The lout who had put me where I was and tied me tight must have been laughing his head off. I was going to be a silent audience to James's distress. Once he was back in the kitchen I heard it all.
"She's not there'"
"You sure she ever was, mate? You bin' drinking!"
"Of course I'm sure! I'll have to search. Will you help'!"
"Mebbe' she don't like yer company, jocko. She likely done a flit. There's enough cover… never find her in this light."
"Where's the nearest phone?"
"Over in the village. 'Bout three miles."
"But will you help me now? A few quick circles about?"
"Oh aye, if ye must. Ruddy waste o'time…" They went and left me to my thoughts and a cold bottom. I made my usual explorations of escape and soon abandoned them. I was foxed! For company I had the agonizing knowledge of what James must be thinking. He would suppose I had actually run away from him by my own choice or that our Middle Eastern enemies had trailed us and taken me. I wondered what he would do. Whatever it was it would take time. I moaned inwardly at thought of that time and what my captor would do with it… and me! When they returned their conversation was not inspiring. "Dammit, she had to be around somewhere'" A coarse chuckle. "She'll be two miles gone my now. Looking fer a longer cock most likely. That's wimmen!"
"Look, my name's Pollard, James Pollard. I don't mind spending money."
"You got extra cash, Pollard, yer best try the barmaid at the Cask and Hoop. Fine arse when she's sober."
"Thanks, no! What's your name?"
"Hennery. Call me Collin. How about a pot o' tea?"
"Tea'" There was a world of outrage in James' word. "Well, yer' screwed me night's sleep. I'm havin' one."
"Oh alright, and thanks. I suppose we might as well." James was making the best of a bad job. "Are there other farms near'!"
"Here and there. 'Bout a mile apart. T'old moor don't produce much. Ain't no telephones." Poor darling James! He was facing an enigma. My heart went out to him. He would never, never find me now. What would he think of the girl he had loved in the coppice! I would seem like a wraith of the moor. The familiar sounds came to me with bitter clarity. The comforting kitchen sounds in which I had no part. The clatter of cups and spoons, the prodding of a lazy fire, water in the kettle. When I heard the pouring of the hot water and the lid go on the teapot I was angry at the discovery I wanted a cup of tea so bad I was forgetting all else. Tea can help a girl through all sorts of agonies, but little Phemie was not going to get any. I went into a frenzy of striving to produce any kind of sound that would alert the defeated man sipping his tea upstairs. But it was pitch dark. If there was some object against which I could knock my head or reach with hobbled fingers, I could not see it. Raising my feet up to be bound against the post had been clever. I could not roll or kick or properly sit up. In between my futile struggles I lay back on my pinioned arms in despair. I tried to get my arms in a spot where I could clink the single link of my handcuffs. But the damn rug, which had slipped off most of me, was bunched in some way as to totally muffle the small metallic sound I might have contrived. I was infuriatingly helpless. That damn little cellar was an ideal place for keeping potatoes and turnips and naked girls!
"The village is Little Kirby," said the country voice. "That where you'll head for?"
"Any better idea'?" James sounded cheesed-off.
"No I ain't! Tell yer what though! Just in case there's a bit o' hank-panky with this filly o' yours — smart little bitches they are! Let's you and me do a thorough dekker through all the buildings. We'd feel proper Charlies if she's asleep with the hens." The sly clever bastard! What better way to divert poor James! I heard his disgusted voice say "She wouldn't do it, there'd be no point… but I suppose we might as well." They made a fine old commotion up above. They ransacked the house and went outside, talking into the distance where I could no longer hear. I filled the silence they left behind with tears. Hennery took his time. No doubt he wanted James well over the hills before he took a chance on him turning back. He had me safe! I could imagine him gloating at the treat he had tucked away in his cellar. I had no illusions as to what he wanted me for. I was going to get fucked, fucked, fucked! I used the hated word over and over in the savagery of my grief. I saw how apt its four letters were for what would be done to Me. He was big, about forty, a saturnine face with greying stubble. I shivered at the way his pale blue eyes devoured me when he whisked away the rug that had been my only covering.
"Stand in the middle o' the kitchen, lass, so's I can take a good long look at yer." I did as I was told. I was still gagged. Hennery's eyes made me five times naked. He got the kettle going again while I stood meekly for his approval. The heat in my sex was very low, but it was there. This creature was male and had me nude and helpless. Unattractive as my prospects might be they still held the tinder for my spark. As I said, I'm quite beyond hope. Incorrigible might be the word. Yolanda would know.
"I wouldn't suppose murder, lass. More likely a spot o' shoplifting, or maybe embezzlement." I must have looked so startled that it prompted him to laugh and remove my gag. There was a gamey smell of unwashed clothes. "Thank you," I said politely. "May I please have a cup of tea?" It was the right note. My rape might be delayed five minutes. He slapped his thigh and chuckled. "Oh aye, 'tis you I'm brewin' for. Tell us thy crime, lass!" The penny dropped. The light dawned. "You mean my being handcuffed?"
"The copper's gone. You're safe." Here was a new dilemma. Would I get fucked less with truth or with fiction." At a quick guess I'd get my legs parted as often one way as the other. He wasn't going to believe me anyway. I was about to tell him the whole story truthfully when I realized that nobody, absolutely nobody would believe it. It was too far out. If Hennery wanted to think me a fugitive from the Law, well and good. When he had finished fucking me he might make a hero of himself by returning me to custody. A nice large uniformed policeman would have been a godsend right then.
"It was the official secrets Act," I fabricated. "I sold a few papers." I pulled at my handcuffs fretfully to show him my contempt for authority. "Lot of fuss about nothing — a lot of dots and dashes… "
"Where'd you work'!"
"Delsington. With Marriot Dynamics. They do Government work." He nodded. It had sounded good. "Bloody little spy, eh?" He was amused and approving. "What yer' get paid'!"
"A lousy couple of hundred, and look where it got me'"
"How come you're wandering on the moor?"
"Detective Pollard was taking me from one prison to another when we got jumped and shot up. I suppose it was the people who paid me." I gave him what I hoped was a sly female glance. "If you want money I can tell you where to go. Someone will pay a lot to get hold of me."
"Don't you want ter' stay here, love?" He sounded hurt.
"You mean you'd harbour a spy? I'll get about seven years if they catch me. You'd get the same." It hit him. I could see the impact. But he was not about to relinquish a good thing. "I gotcha', see lass. I ain't never had none o' the likes o' you — lovely body an all! I'm going ter enjoy yer proper." I shrugged and kept silent. I was sure he would enjoy me. "In fact, gal', don't it occur ter you same as it has ter me, I could keep you here for life. You've done a vanishing act. I might as well take advantage of it." I cringed. He was so absolutely right. He got up and fingered the handcuffs. "Always bin' curious 'bout these things, love. Never got this close. Where's the key?"
"There isn't any. It's lost." He was startled at the prospect. "Sure it ain't up yer cunt'!" He asked suspiciously.
"If it was, I'm sure you'd have no trouble finding it."
"Well I'll be damned! I got tools and I expect I could get 'em off yer." He mused, silently considering, "but hell, I'd be crazy. You can keep 'em. Best things I ever see to keep a filly in her place." My heart sank again. My hands forever linked in steel behind my back! What a prospect for a girl! "I can't do much for you without my hands," I offered disconsolately. He chuckled, pleased as punch. "You'll be surprised, love." I would not be surprised, but I was not going to tell him so. Instead I asked: "Do you want a thousand pounds? If so, phone-" I gave him Yolanda's number.
"Not now, love. Right now you and me's going to have tea. After we've had it you're going to get the fucking of your life." I didn't know what to do or say to be right. I resorted to need: "Could I have breakfast please? I haven't eaten for a day and a night."
"Bacon and eggs do yer? I'm hungry myself." I drank the tea thankfully, and ate the food he shovelled into my mouth. I forbore mentioning the advantage of giving me my hands. He would only do that when he was damn good and ready, if ever! Then Mr. Colin Hennery fucked me with immense panache. Why talk about if! It's like being whipped. I could make a pun of the comparison. Stroke by stroke! I'd been fucked by an uncouth stranger who did it rather well. No doubt he would fuck me again. And that's that! I hoped that next time he would take off his trousers.
"Another cup, lass?" We were sitting in the afterglow, or whatever you want to call it. I said: "Yes, please."