Chapter Seven
I had many hours from that point to reflect on my circumstances. He left me
alone again, this time stanäing, my hands at the level of my mouth, my wrists
cuffed and locked together and attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling. A
spreader bar spread my ankles apart.
By comparison with the extremes I had recently experienced the position was
mild. I was neither blindfolded nor gagged, and by way of a treat he hung a
small basket of food in front of me, perhaps a metre away at shoulder height.
In it were some bread and fruit and a bottle of water. Of course nothing was
easy where Ash was concerned. He left me there, having shown me the contents,
turning the lights out as he exited.
I was desperately hungry, but couldn't reach the basket with my hands. The only
thing I could eventually do was to back towards it and start it swinging using
my head or shoulders. In the darkness the basket swung randomly, hitting me
unexpectedly a number of times before I could finally catch it with my hands.
What with the arc of the swing and the arc in which I could move my hands, the
basket was around head height when I captured it. Removing and consuming the
contents took perhaps an hour, so scared was I of dropping some food and wasting
the potential nutrition. I had to let go of the basket a number of times in
order to eat a piece of fruit with both hands or to drink some of the water.
For a while this immediate distraction occupied my thoughts until eventually the
basket was empty and I stood there in the darkness. My thoughts turned to Ash's
words and what I was faced with, and I saw the methodology in his plan. It
terrified me, even though I did not know the details. It also angered me, and
for that spur I was grateful. His arrogance in the taking and disposing of my
house, my car and all my possessions brought me back from the pain that still
left my body sore and aching from the beating I had received. I was overwhelmed
by a mixture of despair and outrage that this was happening to me. The fact of
my immediate predicament and the beating I had suffered somehow took on a lesser
importance than the violation of my house and possessions. How dare he!
But as the hours passed the effect of my punishment caught up with my. My flesh
was sore all over, striped and striated as it was from the lash and the cane. I
had been weakened by the lack of sleep and the tortuous positions into which I
had been suspended, and now the subtlety of my present stance began to take its
toll as my legs slowly began to tremble, forced as they were into a rigid
triangle by the spreader bar. I was able to bend at the knees somewhat to ease
the stance, but I could only lower myself as far as the suspension chain holding
my wrists would let me, which was not enough to actually kneel. Hanging on the
chain itself was not at all pleasant.
I wondered how he was going to sell off my possessions. I wondered what was
going to happen to me. Countless black and depressing thoughts floated through
my increasingly disoriented brain. At some stage I must have fallen asleep on
my feet then fallen forward, jerking myself awake on my chains. The aches
through my body had magnified and the pain in my legs was becoming unbearable as
I desperately flexed them as much as I could. The heat must have been turned up
again, for I sweated as I strained. The food was all gone and I had drunk the
water. I was not thinking at all straight and began to hallucinate on the verge
of consciousness, as if I had a virus. I think I was groaning and talking to
myself by the time he returned. My leg muscles were screaming for release and I
collapsed in a tear-stained mess as the lights were switched on and eventually
my ankles were freed from the terrible bar, and my still-cuffed wrists were
unlocked from the overhead chain.
Ash looked down on me as I lay sobbing on the cold concrete.
"I have something I want you to sign," he told me brusquely. "Come on - on your
feet." He hauled me up by the arm and across to the chair bolted to the floor.
On it was some sort of document comprising several sheets of typing. He made me
kneel in front of the chair and thrust a pen into my cuffed right hand. "If you
would be so kind as to sign on the proverbial dotted line at the bottom..." It
was an order, not a request.
"W-what is it?" I stammered, not focussing clearly on the printed words.
The answer to my question was a savage slash across my exposed back with a cat
of nine tails that I had not seen him pick up. I screamed at the pain on my
already acutely tender and sensitive skin.
"Would you like some more?" he demanded fiercely. I shook my head miserably,
the heat of the slash burning into my back. I was conscious of his arm raised
again and I desperately scribbled my signature on the line at the bottom of the
page, ahead of the expected blow. It didn't come. Instead the voice said:
"Now put you initials on the next pages on the places marked with a cross."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I did as I was ordered. As I
signed again on the last page and put down the pen I saw the words "Power of
Attorney" at the top.
"Thanks Jan - you've just given me power of attorney over all your assets. Not
that such is really necessary, since officially you will be dead very shortly.
It just makes things a bit easier for me." He smiled - a self-satisfied
expression that send a chill down my spine.
Then he turned and pulled a long envelope from his pocket. "I have another
document here." He opened the end of the envelope and extracted the papers from
within. They were of heavy parchment folded once lengthwise, and I knew at once
they were more legal papers. He placed them on the chair beside me. "Sign at
the pencilled crosses," he ordered.
I stared at the words 'Last Will and Testament' in heavy gothic print across the
top. I could not believe this. Two brutal slashes with the cat across my
shoulder blades made the point and I struggled, weeping, to make a legible
signature where the pencilled crosses indicated. My tears made it hard to read
the writing - not that I had time - and stained the paper where they fell.
In a minute it was all over and Ash hauled me to my feet again by my plait,
dragging me squealing and protesting back to the bed. With a few deft moves he
had my hands cuffed behind me and my ankles cuffed together. He turned and
stalked off towards the door, collecting the papers on the way. He paused in
the doorway.
"Your food is by the door here," he said. "Make it last. I may be out for
some time..." With that the lights went out and the door slammed with a deathly
clang, followed by the solid click of the well-oiled lock. Distantly I thought
I head the sound of a car door and an engine start, but so effective was the
soundproofing that I was not even sure of that.
What had I done? I had given this bastard power of attorney... He could now
sell off all my possessions - my house, my car - everything I owned... The
picture now became graphically clear - or so I thought. But my mind was not
working properly. Even though I was bound hand and foot, the fact that my
restraints were locked leather cuffs made it slightly less stringent and I was
at very least grateful for this small mercy. I did not understand what he meant
by being gone for some time and I did not care. I was simply so tired and pain
wracked that I merely wanted to curl up and die. I lay on the plastic-covered
bed and eventually fell asleep. I was all cried out and my body could not
sustain the stress any longer. I was past caring what was happening beyond this
room, beyond my own torment-filled world.
* * *
I have no idea how long I slept or how long Ash was gone. At one stage I awoke
and used the toilet and the shower, albeit in the dark and from a sitting
position. I was now sufficiently compos mentis to realise that there was in
fact a hot tap in the shower - but also that there was no water in it. I found
the food in a basket by the door and dragged it laboriously back to the bed, the
only place I could sit that didn't chill me. The room temperature appeared
reasonably even now, and I suspected that Ash was not home or had no need to
play mind games with me to quite the same extent. I was ravenous and very
thirsty. I had not realised how dehydrated I had become. This time, however,
there was no water in a bottle for me. My only option was to drink from the
shower, and I thus ended up getting a wash whether I wanted it or not. The food
comprised more bread and fruit. I ate some - not without difficulty with my
hands cuffed behind me and in the absolute darkness that was my prison - and
slept some more.
In my waking moments I cursed myself for having given in so easily to his
demand, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I could not have resisted. The
thought of another beating and more sleep deprivation was enough to convince me
I would have given in at some stage anyway. The longer I tried to resist the
more pain I would have had to endure, and to what end? He would ultimately get
his way in the end. I knew I had no choice but to make it as quick and
minimally damaging to me as I could.
Nevertheless as I lay in the darkness, I steeled myself to be strong and I
resolved that somehow I would get my revenge on this scumbag.
* * *
It was at least a day later when Ash returned. I had realised the fact that I
could at least tell one day from the previous by the fact that the guy changed
his clothes - like any human being. I began to look for patterns in his
clothing and over time I started to work out patterns, but that was not for a
couple of weeks. Initially I concluded that he must be on holiday, since it was
now in the New Year period and there appeared to be no pattern to his choice of
clothes or his comings and goings. In regard to the former he was casual
without being slovenly, but at an early stage I began to spot the change of
business shirt that identified one day from the next.
His reappearance in this instance was welcomed if only to have my wrists
released from behind my back. While they had not been tightly bound, I was
unused to such restraint for such a period and my shoulders and arms ached from
the restriction they had endured. That was over and above all the raw and
tender areas of my skin that had suffered from the lash and the cane. It was
almost a relief to find myself stretched tautly into a Y-shape with my wrists
pulled high on two separate ropes towards the rafters. I was standing on
tiptoes, my ankles still cuffed, and he had strapped another of his favourite
ball gags into my mouth, before undoing the plait in my hair. I wondered what
he was up to - the mere contemplation of which filled me with dread.
But he seemed to be in a good mood. He was dressed in this instance in a suit -
the first time I had seen him attired this way. His hair was slicked back and
he looked quite presentable, in a vaguely sleazy way. I wondered what was going
on as I teetered there, trying not to put too much weight on my arms and not
being very successful. He sat down on the chair and watched me for a minute.
"Do you know where I've been today, Jan?" I shook my head, wondering where this
was going. "I've been and talked to your partners - you know, Pat and Peter and
Nicole."
What? What was he doing?
"Yes, I thought that would get your attention. They were very upset when I told
them about you. I suppose I should tell you the story as well." He chuckled,
then his expression turned grave. "You see, I work for Collins and Forde. We
are lawyers who often have to deal with deaths and all the complications that
these entail." He stood up and began to pace slowly up and down the room,
talking as though to someone other than me. "As you know, Jan was scheduled to
attend a conference in Seattle, with a few days in Los Angeles first. It was in
LA that the accident occurred and she was killed instantly by a hit and run
driver near her hotel in Anaheim. Terrible thing - terrible..." He shook his
head as though hardly able to believe what he was saying. "I have been notified
by the local police who were advised by the LA police. I should explain that I
am executor for Jan's will and I hold power of attorney over her assets. I
haven't known her long - only six months or so, since I looked after the
purchase of her house - but I found her a most likeable person. I'm sure this
must come as a terrible shock to you - as it did to me - at an age when we
really don't think about death. I have to offer my deepest sympathy to you, who
have worked with Jan.
"It is always difficult at times like this to grasp the realities of such a
situation as this, but there are the inevitable formalities that will have to be
dealt with..." He stopped and stared at the floor, as though struggling to
contain his grief.
Then he looked at me and grinned. "Your back-pay and other earnings will go
into the Collins and Forde Trust Account by the end of the week," he said
triumphantly.
I stared at him, disbelieving.
"Nnnnnnnuhh!" I wailed into the gag, shaking my head and feeling utter despair
overwhelm me at the thought of my colleagues taken in and conned by this
arsehole. I wept with frustration at the pain and helplessness that came
crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I think it was at that moment that I
realised Ash had a plan that he intended to carry through, and that nothing was
beyond him.
"Oh yes, Jan. They have my mobile number if they need to contact me. I told
them I was based in Sydney since I had helped you down there first - which was
where we had met. I had made the flight up here to clear up your affairs as
best as I could in a limited time. Wheels are in motion, my dear. The
juggernaut is rolling and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. You
should also know -" He stopped as there was a ringing sound of a mobile phone,
as though on cue. "I wonder who this will be?" he murmured with half to
himself, a smug tone to his voice.
"Ashley Forde.... Ah yes, hello Jason. You've checked it out? All the papers
in order? Good. Look, yes I have considered your offer and I am prepared to
accept it. Shall I see you this afternoon? Excellent. Bye."
"Another little part of the jigsaw, my dear Jan." He walked across and stood in
front of me, smiling. "That was the nice used car salesman, who will give me a
very good price for your VW Golf. You have looked after it well and it shows.
Aren't you pleased?"
I guess I just lost it at that point. My frustration and despair turned to
momentary, unthinking anger, and I wanted to lash out at this man.
Unfortunately the only parts of my body I could move were my legs, though they
were still cuffed at the ankles. I say unfortunately, because I was not really
thinking what I was doing, nor what the consequences might be. Instinctively I
pulled on the ropes holding my arms and jack-knifed my legs at him. He was
standing perhaps two paces away, and though I caught him off guard and gave him
a soft kick in the stomach, he simply laughed at me while I mmphed at him in
gagged fury and swung impotently from the ropes, my toes scraping the floor.
"Tsk, Jan," he said, tut-tutting the way one would to a recalcitrant child.
"You need to have a reality check my dear. Point one, this is going to happen.
There is nothing you can do to prevent it. You car will be sold this afternoon.
You salary is already taken care of. I have spoken to an estate agent and an
auction company, and very soon your possessions will be sold off as a deceased
estate, followed thereafter by your house. It is all going as per plan, and
will continue to do so. Your trying to kick me will achieve nothing, except to
demonstrate to me that I have not yet succeeded in properly training you. You
should know by now that disobedience gets punished in this room."
He walked over to the cabinet, opened it, then paused, deciding which implement
to use. My stomach turned over as he selected a riding crop. It was bound in
leather with a pointed leather flap at the end. Ash was smiling as he came back
to me, slapping the device meaningfully against his leg. I shook my head in
fear, pleading 'no' as best I could beneath the rubber ball silencing my tongue.
The sound came out as a nasal whine.
"Oh yes, Jan. You must remain accountable for your actions. What you did was
unforgivable. A slave does not attack her master. A slave must understand
unconditional obedience - clearly a point I have not demonstrated adequately.
So not only have you carried out this unspeakable act, you have implied that I
am a poor teacher, unable to properly get my ideas into your pretty head. My
methods are obviously insufficiently motivating..." He smiled at me - an
expression that made me tremble. I was crying again, snuffling and making
unintelligible animal noises that would have begged forgiveness if they could
have been understood. I briefly wondered if the actual pain I was about to
experience could be worse than the terror I felt looking at the crop in his
hand. I tried to back away, but the ropes on my wrists left little room for
movement.
He circled me, drawing on my fear and laughing at the way my body shook in
anticipation of the bite of the crop. Except that when the stroke came I was in
no way really prepared for it. He caught me three times in quick succession
across the buttocks while I yowled into my gag and strained forward in a futile
attempt to distance myself from the evil weapon. Then he was round the front
and my breasts took two strokes each. I was now on the verge of
hyperventilating, drawing ragged gasps through my nose, in between trying to
make as much noise as possible. When he stopped in front of me and slowly drew
the crop up between my legs I froze in horror.
"Nnnnn! Nnnn! Nnnn!" I pleaded desperately, shaking my head and trying to
convey my message through my own tears. His expression was detached and
clinical, as one might have in dissecting an insect for research. The crop was
momentarily replaced by his hand stroking my pussy as though preparing it for
attack. When the blow came I nearly fainted from the pain, going berserk in my
bonds. I screamed into the gag and tried to go foetal by lifting up my legs
even though I was suspended from the ceiling.
I won't go into the details of the remainder of the beating. I thought it would
never end, and when he finally attached another cord to my ankles and pulled my
feet backwards from under me I thought he had finally finished as I wound up
stretched out nearly horizontal, staring at the concrete floor. My hair, now
loose, was damp and straggly, hanging below me. On the floor was a pool of
dampness that was partly sweat and partly drool from my efforts to cry out
around the rubber ball wedged behind my teeth.
I could not see what was happening behind me, other than the pair of feet
standing beyond my own. When the slash fell across my soles I jerked and
struggled like a puppet, but to no result. My feet received a series of such
strokes as I cried and wailed and the tears dropped in a puddle beneath me. The
beating of my feet was almost the final act of my torturer for the session. His
parting gift was something I could obviously savour and think about in his
absence - a clothes peg on each nipple and one on each of my pussy lips, all
connected with string on which a lead ball the size of a ping pong ball was
suspended.
I was keening continuously with the pain by this time and barely understood him
as he squatted casually beside my head.
"Do we think we have learned our lesson now, Jan?" I moaned and nodded in my
misery. "We are prepared to remain obedient and to not act impetuously?" More
nodding and piteous whining. "Good. I think by the time I come back you will
have fully understood what it will take to save yourself this unnecessary
inconvenience. I shall be gone several hours. I have a car to deliver and will
then need to visit the bank. I'm sure you understand that I'm a busy man..."
I barely heard the closing of the door over my own desolate sobs.
* * *
