“So, how do you want to die?”

 

“Please,” she begged “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“You’re absolutely correct,” I replied, “I don’t HAVE to do this. The thing is, Laura, I want to do it. And I’m going to do it. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

 

“But I don’t want to die!” she screamed, eyes pleading as she burst into tears.

 

“Oh, little Laura,” I whispered as I bent over my young captive. She was naked, of course, wrists shackled together behind her and chained high up to the wall, keeping her arms tight and high. She was kneeling, legs apart, her ankles restrained in a similar manner. Her head was now hanging limply against her chest again, her long brown hair, a little matted after nearly two months in the basement, almost reaching the floor.

 

“You know better than to shout at me.” I produced a gag from my belt and forced the rubber ball between her pretty red lips, fastening the leather straps just tight enough to hurt her.

 

The slender 18-year-old snuffled adorably, and went back to hanging in her chains.

 

“Come on Laura,” I said. I loved using her name. Claiming something else of hers that she didn’t want me to have, you see. “You have to decide. Just point your head at what you want me to use to kill you, and I promise to respect your wishes. I’m nice like that.”

 

Laid out on the filthy tiles were my prisoner’s three choices. Pointing to each in turn I talked her through the options.

 

“This,” I said, indicating a loop of wire with a wooden stick on one side, “is the garot. It is the quickest way of killing you, but is also very painful. It will feel like your head is being separated from your body as your windpipe and spine are crushed into each other.”

 

Laura was shaking visibly now, eyes transfixed on the devilish device. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

 

“Your eyes will bulge out of your head as the blood supply is cut off and, eventually, after a couple of minutes depending on how hard I turn the handle, you’re dead. No more Laura Topham.”

 

“Option two,” I pointed to the perfectly tied noose, “is death by hanging. That’s old-skool hanging, slow-hanging. None of the quick-broken-neck stuff you may have seen on the news of late. Noose around your neck, you’ll be slowly lifted off the floor until your own weight starts to cut off your air supply. It’s the slowest option on display this morning, taking up to 10 minutes to kill you, and in the middle on the pain scale. You’ll piss yourself, probably shit yourself, and your legs will kick wildly away underneath you, something that I will capture on film as it’s very popular in the darker corners of the internet these days.

 

“Still with me, dear?” Laura nodded weakly. “Good. Your final option is the least painful, but takes the longest – suffocation. I will place this plastic bag over your head and seal it off tightly, then fuck you as you are slowly killed off by your own body, the carbon dioxide you exhale eventually filling the bag, your lungs and your bloodstream, killing off your brain. With a bit of luck and the right timing, the last thing you feel will be me coming deep inside you. Won’t that be fun?”

 

I removed her gag and lifted her chin up to face me. Her eyes were puffy with tears, not the first tears she’d shed since I snatched her off the street on her first day at university, and almost certainly not the last.

 

“You can’t make me choose,” she wimpered. “I won’t do it.”

 

I had been expecting this.

 

“Well, Miss Topham, if you don’t choose one of these three then we go to default option number four. You see that alcove over there?”

 

I indicated a small hollow in the wall opposite, perhaps six feet by three feet and no more than three feet high.

 

“If you don’t choose one of these three options, I’ll drag you over to that alcove, chain you to the floor and then brick you up inside – build a wall over the gap. I’ll put some water in there to keep you alive for a while, but no food. After seven or eight weeks you’ll starve to death. And that’s how Laura Topham will die, slowly, agonisingly, alone in the dark. And nobody will ever know your body is there, so you’ll lie there forever.”

 

She looked terrified now, more so than at any point until now.

 

“You wouldn’t!” she said, between desperate sobs, “You WOULDN’T!”

 

“Oh, believe me, sweetie, I would,” I replied. “If you look closely you will see three other alcoves down here that have bricks newer than the surrounding walls. I don’t need to tell you what is behind those three walls, but maybe I should tell you who. You might recognise their names from the newspapers…

 

“Wall number one is the final resting place of Anna Sowerby, age 15, from Leicester. She went in there after four happy months in my care 10 years ago. Wall number two is home to Holly Broadfoot, age 21, from Cardiff. I wanted to let her have a proper funeral and all that, but she refused to co-operate and left me with no choice.

 

“And behind wall number three is Chloe Williams, aged 14, from Nottingham. She went in not long before you arrived, so she probably died while you were down here.

 

“That’s what happens to the naughty girls, Laura. The good girls – Emma, Sally, Jessica, Emily and a couple of others whose names now escape me — died down here at my hands and turned up in a ditch on the other side of the country a few days later. Their families got ‘closure’ and they got a nice proper burial. The naughty girls got walled in and starved to death alone.

 

“No matter what you do, you are going to die in this basement. You are never going to leave here alive. So all you have to do is decide whether you’re going to be a good girl or a naughty girl.”

 

+++++

 

I’d grabbed her seven weeks earlier. It was the first day of fresher’s week at the university and she’d been walking home from a nightclub in her finest pulling clothes. If you know where to go and when, it’s the ideal time to attack pretty young girls in Sheffield – they get lost so easily. There’s a road junction between a certain nightclub and a certain hall of residence. Pick the correct turning and you’re home and safe within half an hour. Pick the wrong one and before you realise you’ve made a mistake you’re in the middle of a poorly lit wasteland with a vast cemetery running down one side.

 

As it’s the students’ first week in a new town nobody knows them so nobody misses them. Their parents aren’t expecting to hear anything from them for a while, so the first time anyone notices they’ve vanished is when they fail to turn up for lectures on the Monday morning.

 

So I got my gear together, stole a car and headed north. And then I waited. A few possible targets had tottered past on high heels, but nobody really matched when I was after this time. My previous victim, young Chloe who was rapidly losing weight in her subterrainian tomb back down south, had only been 14, and I was after something older. Student rather than schoolgirl.

 

When Laura Topham, very drunk and slightly confused, ambled into view I recognised an ideal opportunity to combine the two. She’d been to one of those school disco nights, where grown women dress up like schoolgirls to try and capture that Britney Spears vibe. And capture it she had: her silky brown hair was tied in bunches, her skirt was hitched to mid-thigh with fishnets underneath, and her blouse was ruffed up at the front to reveal a taut little tummy. She must have been freezing. A tie hung loose around her neck.

 

After wondering about how she had failed to get picked up by a guy while dressed like that, I snapped back into kidnapper mode and prepared to strike. It was all too easy. Sometimes I have to drag them off somewhere to subdue them, make them think I’m just a mugger before hitting them with the horrible truth once they’re nice and quiet. But Laura was clearly three sheets to the wind and was not going to put up much of a fight.

 

I watched in the rear-view mirror as she approached, weaving along the road. She even stopped and steadied herself on the boot of my car, little realising she’d be inside it within minutes. It was time.

 

I popped the boot, throwing her off her balance. She landed flat on her arse, and sat giggling in the gutter.

 

“You alright love?” I asked, getting out of the car.

 

“YES!” she replied perkily. Her voice was delightfully English middle class. “Just taking the scenic route home. I’m fine.”

 

“Not for long you’re not,” I said, causing a sweet look of confusion to spread across her face.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said you’re not going to be fine for long. In a second I’m going to knock you out with a stun gun, tie you up, put you in the boot of my car and take you to a dungeon down south. Then I’m going to strip you naked and keep you as my sex slave until I get bored and kill you.”

 

She burst out laughing. I reached for my stun gun.

 

When she came round she was lying naked on the cold floor of the basement, a chain around her neck tethering her to the wall, he hands cuffed behind her back and a rubber ball strapped between her teeth.

 

For Laura it all went downhill from then on. Seven weeks of rape, much of it anal. Seven weeks of whippings. Seven weeks of electro-shock torture. Seven weeks of sleep deprivation. Seven weeks of suspension from a range of body parts. Seven weeks of hell.

 

+++++++++++++

 

I knew she would do anything to avoid being walled up. I’d discovered her extreme claustrophobia not long after I snatched her, when for amusement I locked her in the hole, I two-foot square drain in the floor with a heavy wooden trapdoor over it. She’d freaked out big time, even more that I’d expected, screaming and thrashing around as best her chains would allow. I thought about getting her out, such was her panic, but decided to enjoy her screams instead. When I fished her out three days later she was covered in cuts and bruises from throwing herself against the walls of her tiny cell.

 

So she was never going to voluntarily choose such an end.

 

After several minutes she eventually nodded at the plastic bag. “That one,” she muttered, unable to say its name.

 

“A wise choice,” I said. “Now, at some point in the next three days you’ll be dead. I shan’t tell you exactly when as that would spoil the surprise. Now I’m off to bed, but to keep you occupied for the night I’ve prepared a little movie for you. Enjoy!”

 

I left the basement, locking the heavy metal door behind me, climbed the steps and closed and bolted the wooden trapdoor, covering it with carpet. I headed off to my studio, which doubled as a control room for the underground torture chamber, and flicked the switch that killed the lights, plunging little Laura into darkness. Another switch turned on the night-vision cameras that monitored my little captive. She was still just hanging limply, her body shuddering with sobs. I turned on the video projector and her head shot upwards as a white screen whirred down from the ceiling across the wall in front of her. Then the projector behind her sprang into life. It was showtime.

 

The film was a collection of images, still and moving, of my previous victims. Laura looked on curiously at the earlier pictures. There were surveillance photos from before I’d snatched girls, newspaper front pages pleading for the return of some of the them, clips from the TV news. Her attention was really caught when she saw the front page of her own hometown paper with her smiling school photo beaming out from the front page. She started to cry yet again. Then the tone of the images changed, along with the setting. It was the basement she knew so well, but the girl hanging from her wrists as she was whipped with a length of barbed wire was not her. It was my first ever victim, the oh-so-adorable schoolgirl Anna. She was 15 when I grabbed her as she did her paper round, and her abduction made headlines around the country. Eventually the fuss died down, ironically just as she died, down in the dungeon.

 

Then there was tiny little Chloe, gagged and tightly strapped over a bench with tears pouring down her face as a masked man (that’ll be me) fucked her from behind. There was Holly’s body shuddering as electric shocks coursed through her. Sally, chained spread-eagled to the wall, screaming into her gag as I branded her breasts with a red-hot piece of iron. Jessica, a 25-year-old teacher, having her pussy pounded by a brutal fucking machine. The film went on and on, and Laura couldn’t help but watch. The she froze as a close-up of her face appeared on screen. You could tell it was from early on in her captivity as she wasn’t bruised or bloodied. Her face, with a bit gag forcing her lips apart, was contorted in shame and pain, her head jerking as she was roughly taken from behind. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, with tears leaking out of either side and mixing with the sweat that drenched her head and matted her hair. Slowly the camera pulled back to reveal a fuller picture. She was naked on all fours, bent across a low table. Her wrists were bound together in front of her, a long rope keeping them tightly pulled out across the table top. Her legs were spread with her taut little thighs held to the table legs with leather straps.

 

Laura seemed to have forgotten what had happened on her second day in my care, as she kept looking at the screen in horror. But as the camera pulled back further to reveal the Doberman with its cock buried deep inside her, she looked away, screaming, wailing, pulling at her chains. I had a put a great deal of time and effort into editing this film, though, as wasn’t prepared to have it ignored. I flicked a switch and a burst of electricity was fired into the large metal dildo buried deep in her anus.

 

She screamed in pain and shock. “Eyes forward, bitch” I intoned over the PA system. Her body quivering from the jolt she slowly raised her head back to the screen, where the scene was now changing again.

 

It was the same girls in the same order, but this time Laura was seeing them die. Most of them had chosen the bag option, so there was plenty of pretty teenage flesh expiring of asphyxiation while I fucked them from various directions in various holes. Emily, perhaps not heeding my warning about how long it would take, had opted for hanging. The silent film showed the 17-year-old redhead restrained in a position similar to Laura’s current predicament, but she was clearly begging and shaking her head I walked into the frame carrying a noose. I placed it around her neck and pulled it tight, then released the manacles holding her ankles in place. I walked out of shot, Emily now screaming at me to stop. She struggled to her feet as the rope pulled tight, trying to escape the inevitable as the noose rose towards the ceiling. I came back into the shot and unclipped her wrists from the wall, leaving them cuffed behind her back, then departed. Once again the rope started slowly winching higher. Emily moved onto her tiptoes, no longer screaming, just gasping frantically as she began to be strangled. She was only a little thing, no more than 5’2”, so it didn’t take long for her feet to leave the ground. As they did so she started to thrash wildly, legs twitching as she span on the rope.

 

I took my eyes off the video monitor for a moment and saw that Laura was again looking away in horror. I shocked her again, this time for 15 seconds non-stop. “I said eyes forward, Miss Topham. Keep watching or you’re going back in the hole and this time you’re not coming out.”

 

For a claustrophobe like Laura, the threat of dying in the hole was worse than the threat of simply dying at my hands. She looked back a the screen just in time to see Emily’s bowels emptying all over the floor where Laura now kneeled — she looked up at the ceiling, obviously spotting the noose still dangling above her in the gloom.  Urine was now streaming down Emily’s legs as her twitching slowed. The camera zoomed in on her face as her eyes bulged and her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Eventually the twitching stopped. She hung there for a minute or so as her body stopped swinging before the camera cut.

 

The next scene showed the naked bodies of the girls Laura had just seen being murdered as they were dumped in various fields and ditches in pre-dawn light. It made the point well.

 

Laura was a smart girl and knew there were three girls she had seen being snatched and tortured but not killed. And she knew exactly what their deaths entailed. I saw her eyes darting around the cell, looking at the three alcoves I’d indicated earlier as the film cut to show the desperate face of Anna Sowerby. Even though it was a decade since she vanished, her face was still instantly recognizable. It had been plastered over so many posters, so many TV bulletins. There had even been “10 years on” features just the week before I grabbed Laura.

 

However, this was not the well-known school photo of a beaming 15-year-old brunette. Anna’s face had been brutally battered. One eye was swollen shut, the other badly bruised. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises and a trail of dried blood led from her obviously broken nose. The shot was closely framed around her head and bare shoulders, but as it pulled back you could see she was completely naked. Her wrists were chained to the wall behind her and she was screaming, pleading, begging for mercy as one by one I carefully cemented the bricks into place in front of her. About half the wall had been built while she was unconscious, but now she had come round and was in doubt about what was happening to her.

 

Until now there had been a largely musical soundtrack to the tape, but it abruptly cut out to be replaced by the real audio. Anna’s screams filled the basement, just as they had done a decade earlier, as the wall slowly grew higher in front of her.

 

“PLEASE! OH, GOD, NO! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS! I’LL BE GOOD! I’LL BE A GOOD GIRL! I WON’T TELL ANYONE!” She went on, tears streaming down her face, her body jerking as she pulled against the chain holding her wrists tightly to the wall.

 

“It’s alright, Anna,” I said, out of shot as I fetched more bricks. “Calm down or you’ll knock over your water bowl, and then you’ll die in an even more unpleasant fashion.”

 

The begging, pleading and wailing continued as I bricked the innocent schoolgirl into her tomb until there was only room for one more block. She had pressed her face as close to it as she could, still screaming at me to stop as the last beam of light she’d ever see fell on her cheek. On the tape all you could see was her right eye as I carefully lined the hole with cement.

 

“Bye, Anna,” I said. “It was nice knowing you.”

 

“NOOOOO!” came the inevitable shriek, only to be reduced to a barely audible muffled moan as the brick slid into place.

 

I checked the monitor that was keeping an eye on Laura as the scene cut to 21-year-old student Holly Broadfoot. Laura was staring straight ahead, transfixed in horror. Holly – blonde, classically pretty — was in a similar predicament to Anna, chained to the wall, naked, covered in blood, begging and pleading as the bricks went in one by one. Again, the sound cut in at just the right moment so that Laura heard her final screams before she was lost forever.

 

I’d seen many expressions on Laura’s face over the past seven weeks, but none matched the terror that gripped her now. It gave me an idea.

 

The tape moved on, this time to my favourite part. It was little Chloe, my youngest victim. She had only just turned 14 when I snatched as she walked to school one morning. We had so much fun together. She honestly thought that if she complied and did everything I asked of her I’d let her go. It was so funny when I showed her the snuff tapes on her final night and she finally realised that she was going to die in a deeply unpleasant manner. That’s when she stopped co-operating, and that’s why ended up behind the wall. We’d been together for seven months, so I was sad to see her go, but those were the rules.

 

Laura looked on as the camera zoomed in on Chloe’s face. Unlike the other girls, she was small enough to be chained spread-eagled to the back wall of the alcove. A bright red rubber ball gag was strapped into her mouth. There were to be no bowls of water for this little girl. She tried to pull at her chains as I walled her up, but she was so tightly restrained she could barely move. I built the wall carefully so that her face was visible to the camera right until the last minute. As soon as I was done and Chloe was entombed, I reached out of shot and placed a large clock on the wall in front of the camera. Then the footage began to fast forward, quick enough to make time fly by but still slow enough for Laura to see that the hands only went all the way around twice before I entered the shot again, carrying an unconscious teenage girl dressed in a slutty school uniform. I checked the monitor as Laura realised it was her own arrival she was  watching. He eyes immediately darted to the wall to her right, where the clock was still ticking away. Laura had entered the dungeon just two days after Chloe had been bricked up – the girl really had died on the other side of the wall while she was down there.

 

She looked back at the screen just in time to see me stripping her naked and wrapping a chain around her throat. I grabbed a handful of her hair and held her face up to the camera, just to make the point, then let her limp body slump back to the floor. Then came the final cut – it was Laura again, but this time it was the live night-vision feed of her, eyes wide. She screamed, over and over and over again. I turned off the speakers, turned off the video screen, whispered “Sweet dreams” over the PA and headed to bed.

 

 

++++++++

 

 

I left her down there, alone in the dark with only her racing mind for company for 24 hours or so. I wanted her to really stew. When I finally returned for one of our regular sex sessions (anal this time, with Laura’s wrists chained to her ankles), I didn’t even mention our previous chat. She started begging for mercy, somewhat predictably and tediously, alluding to her imminent fate but I swiftly silenced her with the good-old rubber ball gag.

 

I took my time raping her this time, wanted to make the most of it as I knew it would be the penultimate time I screwed her. When I was done I turned my sobbing little captive around so that she could see the video screen and turned it on with my remote. I sat back, feet up on her back, as the clip I had taped off the news earlier that night came on. “Day 50 in the hunt for missing student Laura Topham” was the headline, followed by a charming little scene in which the whole Topham family appeared outside their lovely family home to plead for the return of their missing member.

 

“Is that your sister?” I asked as the camera focused on the face of a pretty little brunette.

 

Laura turned her head and glared at me through matted hair, a line of drool pooling at the side of her well-gagged mouth.

 

“Of course, I forgot about the gag. Just grunt once for yes and twice for no.”

 

She said nothing, just looking back to the screen. I stood up and kicked her, hard, in the crotch. She screamed a muffled scream and fell onto her side.

 

“Once for yes and twice for no. Right now, otherwise you’re in the hole for a week.”

 

She grunted once, but her face betrayed the fact that her mind was elsewhere. She was dwelling on the fact that I had suggested she might be alive for another week at least.

 

“I want to know old she is. I’m going to start whipping and you’re going to count the strokes in your head. When I get to the right number for her age, you’re allowed to scream. Do it too early and, like I said, it’s the hole for you. I can check myself very easily, so it’s not worth lying.”

 

I removed the gag and picked up a long, cruel leather bullwhip. It was hard to really get it moving in the confines of the cellar, but I’d had plenty of practice, as the welts on Laura’s back testified. She grunted and moaned as the strokes bit into her buttocks once again, grimacing, wheezing, but not screaming out. On the 14^th stroke she let out a long, primal scream and drew herself into the smallest ball she could manage given her restraints.

 

“14, eh?” I replied. “Well, she’s got more of a future than you, Laura, as she’s going to live for a while yet. You, however, are going to die. Right now.”

 

I rolled her onto her back and climbed between her legs. She was trying to fight, but the whipping had taken out of her what little strength she still had. Instead she resorted to her usual, annoying, whiny begging. When Chloe begged it gave me a hard-on, when Laura did it I just got angry.

 

I rammed my cock into her pussy, hitting her repeatedly across the face until she fell silent. As she did so I grabbed the clear plastic bag and forced it over head, closing it tight with a length of nylon cord.

 

Her eyes widened as I continued to fuck her. Her wrists pulled against their chains in a frantic but futile attempt to save herself. He mouth gaped at the last of her oxygen as the bag became misty with condensation and slowly closed around her face. I continued to pump into her, never losing eye contact as her struggles became weaker. Her eyelids became heavy and closed, he breath coming in short, ragged bursts. She stopped moving just as I came. It was over.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Laura slowly regained consciousness, her eyes flickering back to life. It took her a moment to take in her surroundings, but once she did so her reaction was instant. She tried to scream, but the gag took care of that. She tried to pull forward, but her wrists were chained securely to the wall. She kicked out, but her legs couldn’t reach far enough to do any damage. All she could do was look on in horror as I slowly built the wall up in front of her, bricking her into the alcove forever. I couldn’t help but laugh, not least because the terror in her eyes was nothing compared to the terror in the eyes of her 14-year-old sister, naked, gagged and chained up in the main basement, forced to watch as I condemned her big sister to a slow, lonely death.