Chapter 18

 

Saturday could not come soon enough for Erica. Grace outlined the plan again and again. There was no way the management of The Complex would permit it, so Grace had selected two men who were good friends and would assist without any recriminations.

After dark on Saturday they would bring one of The Complex’s limousines to Grace’s house and they would get in, with Erica in the boot for two reasons: firstly, nobody apart from the two of them and the two men must know they ever left The Complex, and secondly that Erica must have no clue as to where The Complex was.

Grace wanted to know everything Erica could remember about her parents’ house, including detailed descriptions of all the rooms and the grounds, plus any knowledge of alarms, neighbours, pets, locks, habits and so on. She made copious notes as Erica spoke, altering her plans at each relevant piece of information. When it was all finished Grace told Erica what she proposed, including the way she would kill her stepfather.

Erica slept very well each night. Until it was Friday. She hardly slept at all on Friday night. Grace probably realised she would be tense, so she strapped Erica to her bed and spent a long time sucking her pussy, as much for her own excitement as Erica’s.

 

On the Saturday itself both females did all they could to help time to pass quickly, and at last it was dark when the two men arrived, dressed all in black as if they were on some secret SAS mission. It almost made Erica smile at the theatrical way this was unfolding, until she realised that it was quite possible these men were SAS, or ex-SAS. They certainly moved with stealth as if they knew exactly what they were doing.

Grace was also dressed fully in black. It was the first time Erica had ever seen her dressed in trousers, but she was not allowed the same freedom. Grace had selected a very seductive outfit with black underwear – a thong, suspenders, seamed stockings – and a tiny black dress slit to the thigh on both sides, its bustier top holding Erica’s breasts firmly in place while making them look as if they would spill out with the slightest encouragement. Erica did not want to ask why the others were dressed appropriately while she looked as if she was attending a sexy cocktail party, and she did not need to as Grace decided to explain.

‘From what you told me, your stepfather has an eye for the women, yes?’ she asked.

Erica nodded.

‘Well, you could just go in and shoot him, just like that. But wouldn’t you like to show him, one last time, what he’s about to lose? Don’t you want to show him that he thought he could possess you, sexy, feisty Erica, but you’ve got the final victory?’

‘Yes, oh yes,’ Erica said. She loved the idea. She would taunt him and make him squirm. Then she would have her ultimate revenge for everything he had put her through.

Erica’s heels clicked on the paving as they led her out to the car. The large boot was already open, waiting for her, a feather duvet across the width of it. One of the men picked her up as if she weighed nothing and lowered her onto it. Grace appeared with ropes, wrapping one several times round her wrists in front of her and securing them to the framework at the left side of the car boot. Another rope tied her feet together and to the framework at the right side. A third rope, as if it was necessary, tied her knees together. Grace pushed a ball gag between her lips and fastened the straps.

‘See you later, slave,’ she smiled down as the man closed the boot lid.

Erica watched as darkness enfolded her, the only illumination coming from the interior light of the car’s boot, but when it was almost shut that went out too. She tried to imagine the journey as the car started and moved smoothly off. She could tell when it moved left and right. She heard gravel under the wheels for a few hundred yards. If she could remember the route and recognise where they emerged maybe, just maybe, she could lead the authorities back here one day. If she could find any authorities who were not a part of it all, that is. She had to believe she could, just as she had to believe that someday, somehow, she would escape.

Erica estimated they travelled for fifteen minutes before they stopped. She waited, since she could do nothing else, for them to come and free her from the boot, trying to make out words from the muffled voices within the car. But the soundproofing was too effective to hear clearly.

After a few minutes she heard the doors opening and footsteps making their way round. For some reason she expected to be blinded by lights when the boot lid opened, but outside was very dark. Until, that is, one of the men shone a torch straight into her face, and she was almost grateful when Grace fitted a blindfold on her. She felt her wrists being untied from the car and her legs being released, and then she was lifted clear from the boot.

She was unsteady on her feet at first and had to be supported, but when she could stand there was a tug on the rope and she was being pulled forward across solid ground, half walking, half running, her heels clicking on what felt like a concrete surface. Then she was being lifted into another vehicle, one that echoed and was big enough so that she could stand up in it without banging her head.

Her wrists were untied for a moment, but only long enough to have leather straps fitted around them. She heard locks snap in place before her arms were being pulled upwards and outwards, fastened to anchors above and to each side, stretching her out and holding her upright. When her arms were fastened they put straps around her ankles too, eventually pulling them wide apart, holding her in a vertical X shape.

When they suddenly removed the blindfold Erica saw that she was inside a van. The rear doors were open behind her, but when she turn to try to see any signs of where she was, the torch shone right in her face again. Ahead of her was the front of the compartment, with no view through to the cab to give her any clues.

Then Grace was by her side again. ‘Are you ready for this?’ she asked. ‘Still want to go through with it?’

Erica took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said.

‘One of my friends thinks you’ll benefit from a reminder of what your stepfather committed you to,’ Grace told her, already tugging the dress up and tucking it into her suspender belt. Then she stepped away and Erica felt the van shift as she climbed out. A moment later the whip cracked across her backside, making her scream out loud and arch her back away from the pain.

One of the men was almost immediately beside her again, binding some kind of leather belt around her waist and attaching straps to the van’s sides, and Erica found she could not move her hips at all once they were fastened, so this time when the whip lashed out there was no way to arch away from it. Five more times it bit into her and each time she yelped out in pain. If their idea was to get her adrenalin going for the task ahead, it was certainly effective. She could feel once more the driving need to get even with the man who had her condemned to a life of slavery. And as for her mother, how could she stand by and commit her own daughter to what she’d had to endure?

The doors slammed, leaving Erica alone. She heard both of the cabin doors shut before the engine started, and they were off, driving fast and smoothly down meandering roads. Erica had no choice other than to hang on to her bonds, adjusting her weight as best she could as the van twisted its way towards her revenge.

In a desperate effort to guess the approximate whereabouts of The Complex, as the van came to a halt, Erica estimated their travelling time at a little less than an hour, though she had no real idea how fast the van had been moving. She felt as if she was in familiar surroundings, more of an incomprehensible sixth sense than any clue she could define. Then she heard the faint squeak – the automatic gates of the house she grew up in! At last she had arrived back home, and a quick mental calculation told her The Complex was probably only about thirty to forty miles away, though she had no idea in which direction.

The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath the van’s wheels as it slowly made its way towards the house and drew to a halt. Erica listened intently as the van’s doors opened and closed quietly, so as to conceal their arrival for as long as possible. Two sets of footsteps receded stealthily towards the house. Erica was not sure if Grace was still in the van, but she could do little except wait.

About ten minutes later she heard footsteps again, except this time they were heavier, as if stealth were no longer required. The rear doors of the van opened again and Grace climbed in to untie her, first her ankles, then her waist, and finally her wrists. She snapped a leash into the ring on Erica’s collar and turned to leave the van. Through the open doors Erica saw once again the features of the gardens of her home, illuminated by the floodlights set in the lawns.

Grace jumped down from the van, assisted by one of the men, pulling Erica behind her. It was then that Erica noticed the gun tucked in his waistband. The second man was nowhere to be seen.

Grace led her to the open front door of her old house. Erica felt cold and emotionless; she had often imagined coming back here, either as a free person or with a score to settle, as now. It felt strange returning to the house she had once known so well. It was familiar, yet at the same time so unreal. Erica climbed the three stone steps to the front door and went in, the leash dangling behind her. Inside the hall lights sent eerie shadows across the walls – her parents never did like strong lighting.

Then it was left, to the library door. As Grace pushed it open Erica saw her stepfather sitting in the leather chair in front of his desk, and her pulse started to quicken. The lights were low in here too, only the MP’s desk lamp illuminating the tense scene. He did not look at her as she entered; instead he stared at the pistol the second man was pointing at his chest. They moved forward, towards him.

‘Erica!’ The exclamation came from their right. In the shadows, sitting on a high-backed dining chair was her mother, looking terrified. Her arms had been tied behind her and her ankles were bound together.

‘Hello, Mother,’ Erica said coldly, her face expressionless.

‘Take her away,’ Grace told one of the men, nodding at Erica’s mother, and Erica watched without feeling as he untied her, picked her up and carried her out of the room, everyone ignoring her pleas for leniency.

‘If this is some kind of joke, young lady—’ Laurence Pettinger started to say, but Grace stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face with the back of her hand.

‘Silence!’ she hissed.

He looked up at her slowly. ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You’re…’

‘I said silence!’ Grace growled, striking him again, the impact snapping his head to the other side.

The other man returned to the room and nodded to Grace, who walked back to Erica and unfastened the leash. ‘We have some special rules tonight,’ she explained to her. ‘My associates both have guns, and if you make any attempt to escape they will stop you. Do you understand me?’

Erica nodded obediently. She was not going anywhere… not yet. This moment was far too important to her.

‘Good.’ Grace smiled knowingly. ‘But apart from that you may do pretty much as you please. He wronged you, and now at last here’s your chance to get your own back. I’ll provide anything you want.’ She stepped back, allowing Erica to move in front of her stepfather.

‘Stand up,’ she told him. He looked up at her, but did not move. Erica glanced towards Grace, who nodded to her nearest male accomplice. He moved to the sitting man and pressed the gun to his temple.

‘I’d advise you to do exactly as your daughter says,’ he threatened coldly.

‘I’m not his daughter,’ Erica snapped with pent up venom.

The man turned to stare at her. ‘Just because you’re at home does not mean you have any rights, slave,’ he warned, and Erica flinched; nothing must ruin her moment of vengeance.

‘I’m sorry, Master,’ she said meekly.

‘And you, do as she says,’ the man said again, turning his attention back to Laurence Pettinger and pressing the gun harder against his temple.

Suddenly the pressure seemed to get to Erica’s stepfather and he crumbled visibly, his shoulders sagging as he gingerly stood up, keeping a wary eye on the man with the gun, who retreated to lean his hips against the edge of the desk, the gun still trained on its target. Erica watched, thinking how pathetic her stepfather now looked. All that austere arrogance, yet now he was a quivering coward. But she still felt not a shred of sympathy for him.

She walked close to him, stared him in the eye, and then kneed him in the groin, making him crumple back into the leather chair. Then swaying slowly to imaginary music, the way a lap-dancer would, Erica leaned towards him and ran her right hand sexily through her hair, enticing him with her shadowy cleavage.

‘Do you want me?’ she purred seductively, seeing his lecherous eyes unable to resist taking a peep at the smoothness of the upper slopes of her breasts, despite the predicament he was in.

‘Erica, I—’

‘Nobody said you could speak, slave!’ she spat, slapping him hard across the face. Then immediately she was softer again, renewing her swaying, cupping her breasts, turning her back to entice him with the glorious shape of her bottom.

Then suddenly, unable to control his lusty urges, Laurence Pettinger grabbed for her. It bundled Erica off balance and she fell onto him, but the nearest man moved swiftly from his post against the desk, his fist smashing into Pettinger’s face, knocking him sideways and allowing Erica to recover and pull from his clutches.

‘Don’t try that again,’ the man spat. ‘She’s not yours to use any more. Anyone else’s, but not yours.’

And then to emphasise his point the man unzipped his trousers and withdrew an erection that put her stepfather’s to shame. He pushed Erica’s shoulder until she bent forward slightly, then lifted her skirt and bent his legs to allow him an angle to callously feed that column of throbbing flesh into her.

‘I can fuck you, 51, can’t I?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I can use you in any way I want, can’t I?’

‘Yes, Master, anything,’ she panted back, her eyes closing as his cock stretched her.

‘And can he fuck you, 51?’ the man goaded.

Erica shook her head, her moist lips parting as a shunt of his hips caused her to gasp softly.

‘Any man in the world can have you, except your stepfather?’

Erica nodded dreamily. ‘Yes, Master.’

The man twisted his hand in her hair, pulling her back against him as he fucked her from behind, aggressively stabbing his cock into her, the pistol still in his free hand. ‘Anyone but you, Laurence Pettinger, MP,’ he mocked.

‘What have I ever done to you?’ Laurence whimpered, gingerly touching his fingertips to his already swelling lower lip. ‘What?’

The man ignored him, pulling away from Erica and resuming his position against the desk, the gun trained on its target still.

Erica took a few moments to compose herself. Laurence Pettinger could not fail to be entranced by her, but then again he always was, back to when she was a precocious teenager living at home. She was dancing again, right in front of him, then Grace’s voice cut into the electric atmosphere. ‘Are you ready, Erica?’ she asked, and Erica stopped dancing for a moment, nodding tentatively.

Grace spoke to the second man, who advanced on Laurence Pettinger. From his pocket he pulled a pair of handcuffs and, after pulling the captive roughly to his feet, he snapped them onto his wrists so his hands were locked behind his back. From somewhere the other man had produced a heavy rope, coiled as if prepared beforehand. As he tossed it to his associate it uncoiled slightly, and the second man roped the MP’s ankles together while the first handed Erica a dark, sinister shape, and it was not until she turned to face her stepfather that he saw it was another gun.

‘Oh God, n-no!’ he stammered. ‘Erica, please, you can’t…’

‘One shot, 51,’ the man told her, ignoring the blubbering of her stepfather. ‘That’s all you have in there. And if you try anything clever…’ He did not need to finish his threat. The gun he now had trained on her heart said it for him, so Erica turned her focus back to her stepfather.

‘You took my life away,’ she said, her tone strangely emotionless. ‘I’ll never be free again; somehow I’ve come to accept that. But because of you… because of your devious cruelty… my life doesn’t belong to me any more. So if I can’t have my own life, because of you, you’re not going to have your life either.’

‘Erica…’ he mumbled pitifully.

‘I think that’s only fair. Don’t you?’

‘Erica, please no…’ Laurence Pettinger, MP, sank to his knees. ‘You want me to say I’m sorry? Is that what you want? Then I’ll say it. I’m sorry, Erica, really I am.’

‘Too late,’ was Erica’s simple response.

‘I can get you freed,’ he suddenly gabbled desperately. ‘I have influence.’

‘Will I ever be freed, Mistress?’ Erica asked, not taking her eyes off the grovelling, pitiful man kneeling before her. ‘Can he promise me that?’

‘No, Erica,’ Grace replied gently. ‘There’s nothing he can do for you.’

‘Please, I’m begging!’ He leaned forward, toppling onto the floor with no arms to support him, snivelling at Erica’s feet, trying to kiss them in some pathetic, belated attempt at appeasement. ‘Please, please Erica,’ he babbled over and over.

Erica lifted her foot, pressing the point of her stiletto heel down into his cheek until he was gasping in agony. She should have felt remorse. She was glad she felt none.

The lurking man moved to Laurence and lifted him back into the chair, while he surprised Erica by seemingly recovering some strength and defiance. She looked at her stepfather, and he stared back up at her, his head tilted slightly to one side.

‘OK, young lady, you’ve had your moment,’ he said. ‘Now let me go, there’s a good girl. I’ll come to The Complex tomorrow and bring you home.’

Erica pouted at him. ‘But can’t I stay here at home now?’ she asked. ‘Why send me back there only to come and get me again in the morning?’

Laurence Pettinger faltered. ‘Yes, yes… that’s what I meant,’ he stumbled.

‘And will we have fun together, when I’m back home?’ she coaxed suggestively.

He was unsure how to answer. ‘Ah, anything you want.’

Whether he thought she was actually going to release him or not, she could not tell. Maybe fear had convinced him that this was all a vengeful joke, that it was inconceivable that it could go any further.

But Erica was enjoying herself.

Erica was making the moment last.

Erica slowly lifted the pistol, surprised at its weight. Laurence stared, speechless now, his eyes fixed on the small circular hole of the barrel. Nobody in that room was going to help him. He was already dead.

She stared at him, so focussed that everything else receded from her consciousness. They had never before been this close; never before had this intensity of communication. She had no idea how long the silent moment lasted, and then a tear trickling down his cheek broke the spell.

Erica raised the pistol a little more and pointed at her stepfather’s forehead. She had never fired a gun before but she was confident that at this range she would not fail herself. ‘Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.’ Wasn’t that what they always said on TV?

Erica squeezed. She didn’t pull. The explosion of noise deafened her and the bright glare was like lightning. In slow motion she watched a small hole appear in the centre of her stepfather’s forehead. He didn’t move, and she thought she must have missed in some way. He was still there, staring at her. Still alive. Damn him!

This time she pulled, and all she got was a click. But it didn’t matter. Laurence Pettinger’s head fell forward and his slack chin lolled on his chest. A trickle of blood seeped from the wound. She expected more. She felt cheated that there wasn’t more.

Then there were noises from in the room. Tense breathing. People.

Erica turned to face them. The men were silent. Grace was lurking in the shadows, hardly visible apart from a tiny red light where her face should be, and it was then that Erica realised the entire scene had been captured on a video camera. ‘W-what…?’ she started.

‘Insurance,’ Grace stated frankly, lowering the camera a little. ‘Now you’re mine forever.’ The red light went out as she moved forward. ‘Right, time to go,’ she said, addressing her two accomplices rather than Erica. ‘Tie her again, ready for the journey.’

Erica stood hopelessly still as the men roped her arms and legs together until she could not move.

‘What about…?’ She meant her mother, just before a strip of tape was smoothed across her mouth.

‘No loose ends,’ the taller man said, and Erica screamed behind the gag as the other man nodded at his male accomplice and silently left the room – clearly intent on finishing the job.