In Too Deep

by Roxane Beaufort

  When they stopped at a service station she was conducted to a waiting van, put in the back and blindfolded. Grace stayed with her, though there were four men and the driver, and Julia recognised them as some of Vincent's hell raisers, before the scarf was tightened around her eyes.

  It was stuffy in there, and the vehicle lacked the Range Rover's suspension. Seated on a slatted bench, Julia couldn't steady herself against its jolting. She felt hands groping, heard heavy breathing and inhaled sweat. It wasn't Grace, though she sat to Julia's right. This was an undeniably masculine odour.

  'Can we do it?' she heard a gruff voice ask. 'Can we touch her?'

  'He's given orders that she's not to be penetrated, but apart from that, yes, use her,' Grace replied.

  Deprived of tactile contact and sight, Julia stayed still while fingers pushed her thighs apart and slithered across her shaven pubis. The hair was sprouting again, forming an itchy stubble which she couldn't even scratch. She needed the attentions of Jason and his razor, and welcomed the alien hands that now relieved the irritation. A man was kneeling between her thighs on the van floor, probing and investigating. Fingertips felt slippery, moistened by the juice trickling from her vulva. Her clitoris responded, a traitor when it came to being offered pleasure unlimited.

  More fingers found her nipples, rolling and pinching them, a hotline of yearning darting down to her swelling labia and gravid bud. She moaned as the feeling intensified, resting her head against the back of the seat. A mouth took the place of the busy fingers, and her unseen lover was licking her avenue, then fastening his lips on her clit, sucking it strongly, drawing it from its cowl. Another person straddled her, squeezing her breasts together to form a channel for his cock. As she started to peak, awash with intense lust that insisted on being satisfied, so he rubbed his weapon up and down between her breasts and then showered her throat and cleavage with hot, cloying semen.

  Others took the place of the first men, and throughout the long drive she experienced climax after climax, and heard Grace coming, too; she was always vocal when her crisis was upon her. She may have preferred her own gender, but was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. And there was sex aplenty in the van that afternoon. Even the driver stopped at one point, and there was an argument as he insisted on changing places with one of the already sated bodyguards, refusing to be denied his share.

  When they at last reached their destination Julia was helped out, exhausted by frequent orgasms.

  She could smell the sea, hear its hiss and the cries of seagulls dipping and swaying in their constant search for food. After being confined in the stuffy van for so long she inhaled deeply the fresh sea air, gratefully filling her lungs. The blindfold was removed, and she blinked and focused her eyes. Though the light was fading it was still bright enough to disorient her. She stood near a jetty. One end led to the water, the other to a boathouse and this, in turn, was part of an unkempt garden. She glimpsed chimney pots through the trees and, as she was led forward up a winding path, the frontage of a large tumbledown mansion came into view.

  The wind gusted from the sea, and the place had a remote and menacing air. She had no idea which part of the coast this was. There were no signposts, and there wasn't a name on the gate, only a large, battered, lop-sided piece of wood printed with the words: KEEP OUT. PRIVATE PROPERTY.

  'Where are we?' she asked, walking behind Grace, guarded by men on either side.

  'Never you mind.'

  'What are you going to do with me?'

  'You'll see, all in good time.'

  Anyone would think she was a political prisoner or something, she fretted. And where were Gabor and Blake?

  The windows of the house were boarded up or shuttered, and the front door creaked as Jason pushed it open. Julia stared at him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. If ever a man looked guilty and ill at ease, it was he. They had orders to kill her, she was becoming convinced, and went cold from head to foot. She didn't want to die. This couldn't be real. She would wake at any moment and find herself in her own bed at home, and this would all have been part of a horrible nightmare.

  She was escorted across a baronial hall with holes in the floorboards and a trapped bird fluttering somewhere high among the rafters, having entered through one of the broken windowpanes. The poor thing was like her, she thought sadly, a blanket of gloom engulfing her.

  A monumental staircase loomed ahead. It looked as if it needed scaling ladders to climb it. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere, and the scattered bones of small rodents. Owls and bats no doubt inhabited its upper regions.

  A doorway yawned, leading into blackness. A blast of cold air rushed up as Julia was led down treacherous, winding stone steps. She was so glad that no one had taken the fleece from her. It just might help her survive in whatever hole they flung her.

  The darkness gave way to a faint glow that grew stronger as they reached the bottom. It was a cellar, perhaps, or maybe a torture chamber left over from a much earlier time when this place had belonged to a feudal lord. She saw cells with iron bars; braziers and rusted implements the use of which didn't bear dwelling on; a whipping post; a rack and, by an alcove in one of the moist, moss patched walls, stood Vincent Gabor, with a whip braced between his hands.

  'Oh, you're here!' she cried, misplaced relief making her voice break into sobs. 'I'm so glad to see you!'

  He smiled sardonically. 'How sweet,' he said. 'It's heart-warming to be so popular.'

  'I hoped you'd be here,' she babbled. 'Why have I been moved? Why won't you let me go?'

  'Could I survive without my Julia?' he questioned darkly, and moved closer, the many-tailed whip slapping against the side of his trousers. 'I never let go of anything that belongs to me,' he went on, and inserted the silver butt of the whip between her legs, crudely twisting it into her sex. 'Oh, Julia, you've been having orgasms, haven't you? I can smell it, and look how wet this has become.'

  He withdrew the handle and held it in front of her face. The silver was smeared with her juice. It had even run down and stained the lash. Her cheeks burned, and so did her buttocks. 'Your men... they took advantage of me on the j-journey,' she faltered.

  'Did they indeed? And you couldn't stop yourself from coming, is that it? You say you're devoted to me, yet any common soldier can bring you to bliss.' He flicked the whip across her breasts. The fleece tangled in it and he shook if off, sending it flying across the cellar.

  Now she shivered, the cold draping around her naked torso like a wintry mist. 'But, why here?' she asked plaintively. 'Why do you continue to punish me?'

  'People have been to Hazel House, prying and asking to see you. How did they know I owned it? What have you been telling Arlene Murphy and your friends?'

  'N-nothing,' she stammered, limp with fear but still inexplicably aroused as she read the merciless fury in his eyes.

  'Then why won't they accept the story that you've gone to Bermuda?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You've been very foolish, my dear,' he murmured, bending to kiss her on the lips. 'I could have given you everything. I still could, but I want your promise that you'll never reveal anything you see here.'

  'I'm yours, Mr Gabor,' she whispered, strangely enough, almost meaning it, yet using her reporter's instinct to try and bleed him of information without him being aware. 'I'm happy to serve you.'

  'This place is a repository,' he said, with an expansive gesture that encompassed the cellar, the mansion, the grounds and the boathouse. 'Here I take delivery of goods from abroad, if they can't be immediately shipped to my depot at Abbey Reach. Here, too, I dispatch them to foreign buyers. Sometimes it's prudent to keep my operations away from London. If the customs and excise officials have been on the knock and it's too risky to send my lorries on the ferries going to the continent, I'll do shipments from here until the trouble dies down. There are two fast cruisers moored in the cove. It rather depends on the delicate nature of the cargo.'

  The bottom seemed to drop
out of Julia's world. She had hoped against all hope that what Arlene had told her about him was untrue. But now she could no longer deceive herself: Vincent Gabor was a dyed-in-the-wool villain, a greedy man who cared nothing for the lives that were ruined by the illegal use of drugs, or the people maimed and killed by the arms he supplied to any country or military organisation prepared to buy them.

  It was as if she had been rudely awakened from a hypnotic trance. But, just for now, she had to go along with it, or risk her life, for she no longer had any doubt that if she crossed him, he'd be as ruthless with her as he was with everyone else.

  'How clever of you,' she breathed, pretending vast admiration. 'So no one knows about this house?'

  'No one,' he said, with that arrogance she still found exciting. 'I bought it ostensibly as a business venture. Told the estate agent I was going to open a hotel. I pay the council tax, run my own generator, use cell phones instead of land lines and no one interferes.'

  'Why are you telling me this now?' Keep him talking, she thought, even though she'd never be able to prove a thing.

  'Because I believe you would rather die than see me come to harm. You say you're mine, and I'm sure it's true. Wherever I go, sweet Julia, you shall be with me.

  'I've arranged a welcome for you,' he continued, and pushed her towards the solid wall of the alcove. Ringbolts had been anchored to the stone. He replaced the shackles with ropes around her wrists, then made her stand at the base, her arms strung up so high that they almost lifted her feet from the cold floor.

  With Grace's help he secured the spreaders that forced her legs wide and fastened her ankles to iron rings. With her face and body pressed to the chilly stone, she was strapped tightly across the thighs to keep her in position. She knew she was being prepared for a severe dose of punishment, but also knew that any form of resistance was futile.

  A draught wafted across her spine, making her shiver. She was naked to the waist, but this wasn't enough for Vincent Gabor. He took a knife to her skirt and the scrap of silk that had once been her panties. Both were cut away, and cold fingers of air crept impudently between her thighs, exploring her denuded mons and tantalising the hard gem of her clitoris.

  The whip descended and left a trail of fire. Her bottom burned with the heat of the leather biting into her flesh, not one strand, but nine. They were like fiery sparks, and then turned into the patter of driving tropical rain. He struck her a second time, and she was lured into the pain, aroused by it, and so was he. She knew without looking that seeing her suffer was turning him on and giving him an erection.

  He would mark her, she was sure, yet thought of the thrill she would get from turning round in front of her mirror and seeing her striped backside. Then she'd become wet between the legs as she remembered him pushing his cock into her vagina or anus, so excited that she'd have to play with herself. But that was in the future; now there was the reality of the whip.

  'Ah...' she cried, agonised, taking blow after blow till the endorphins kicked in and she entered a state bordering on oblivion, aware of the sounds of the lash landing on her body, aware of the searing pain, but distantly, as if it was happening to someone else.

  Her muscles relaxed. She didn't thresh any more, too limp and dazed to even cry. He stopped beating her and undid the ropes. There were indents on her wrists and ankles. She swayed and almost fell.

  He pushed her to her place at his feet, and she bent low until she could put her lips to his instep. She clung to his legs, feeling the smoothness of the material under her hands and rising higher, till she could mouth the long line of his cock pressing upwards towards his waistband. He thrust his pelvis towards her, and she rubbed harder, sensing his need to ejaculate very soon.

  She expected him to do it there, in front of the bodyguards and Grace, but with that mercurial change of mood that was a part of his enigmatic personality, he suddenly swept her up and strode towards the steps. He moved as easily as if she weighed no more than thistledown, reaching the hall and running lightly up the staircase. The second floor was as gloomy and magnificent as the hall; there were dusty portraits in chipped gilt frames, moth-eaten rugs, tattered hangings, suits of rusted armour, a fine headquarters indeed for a swashbuckling pirate king like him.

  He kicked open a door, crossed a dusty floor and deposited her in the midst of an antique bed. More dust rose from the embroidered quilt with its tarnished gold stump-work. Kneeling over her, he pulled his sweater off over his head and, hands akimbo, smiled down.

  'This is the master bedchamber. This is where I sleep - not often, but occasionally. I like to think of the men who robbed their brides of their virginity, or seduced housemaids or even pageboys, in this great monster of a bed. I haven't brought a woman here before. Count yourself privileged, my dear. First, I shall fuck you. Then you'll dress up for me. I found a number of old garments left behind in the wardrobe. Imprisonment won't be so bad, Julia. Come, confess that you're enjoying it and want me to go on. Say it, Julia... say, "I want you to use me, master. I am your slave".'

  Julia's back was burning and she longed for him to apply some of his special lotion, and her sex was burning and she longed to have him bring her relief and peace. 'Yes, master,' she said, mesmerised by the glinting, enlarged pupils of his dark eyes. 'Use me as you will. I belong to you...'

  It was as easy as taking candy from a baby, Theona thought, letting herself in the main entrance of Abbey Reach, using the code that opened the majority of its doors. Vincent Gabor may be a smart cookie, but he was no match for her. If she'd have been him and fallen out with her, there was no way she'd have kept the same pass code. No sir, she'd have had it all changed, and hang the expense. But, like many a tycoon before him, he had a mean streak and often spoiled the ship for a hap'orth of tar, as her old granny used to say.

  The light was on in the cubbyhole usually occupied by a security man. She could hear a sports commentator on a TV channel, and a glance in showed the uniformed guard glued to a football match on the screen. She had been prepared to seduce him, if need be, but he was obviously in love with the 'beautiful game', probably preferring it to sex any day.

  She flitted across the foyer and decided against using the lift. Gabor's office was on the third floor, and she climbed the stairs, thanking her lucky stars that she worked out every day, Gus keeping her body in trim and watching her food and alcohol intake like a hawk.

  It was spooky there, the winding staircase, the vastness and silence of the building. It was brightly lit everywhere, and she found the office of Hunter's Moon without any trouble. This was the name of a chain of hotels of which Gabor was president. Which meant that he sat in on board meetings and took a hefty slice of the profits. All very innocent, and he kept the taxman happy, but she knew there was much more behind it.

  She navigated the rooms and reached his locked office. She used the key-card again, and opened it easily.

  Now for the computer.

  In her days of working for him, when she had been infatuated like Julia was, he carelessly made her privy to many secrets. She recalled how she sat on his knee while he punched in files, although at that time she had been more concerned in wriggling her fanny against his cock, than in observing what was happening online.

  But Pete had given her the password, and she winged a prayer to LA. Damn Vincent Gabor, she thought savagely. Damn him; her friend could have been dead because of the stuff he smuggled.

  Controlling her anger, she calmly booted up one of the machines and searched through the files. This showed her nothing vital, merely linked to business accounts pertaining to Hunter's Moon. She had noticed another standing on Gabor's desk, a high-powered personal computer. This seemed promising, so she opened up the system and found that most of the files were protected by a password. She logged on under Incagold. It worked and she began to investigate the secret documents, and her pulse quickened as she found everything she needed; records of monetary transactions, dates, times, and destinations, Swiss bank accounts
and offshore accounts and the means by which he laundered the money. There was enough evidence to send him down for fifteen years or more. His contacts were all there, men with names like Juan Lopez and Ali ben Hamal, and Russian ones, too - Anatolii Pashenka, Sacha Rurik and suchlike.

  'You've been careless, dear Vincent,' she chided him quietly. 'This is what comes of having too high an opinion of yourself and your abilities. You've landed everyone up shit creek without a paddle.'

  Now she clicked the mouse and opened another file. It listed the locations, phone numbers, e-mail addresses and residential districts of every property he owned in England. There was one strong possibility, and the more she scrolled and read about it, the more convinced she became that this was where Julia was being held.

  It was a manor house called Wylde Court, situated in a remote corner of the Suffolk coast. It sounded perfect for a hideaway; ancient, rundown, of little interest to local authorities, and right on the edge of the sea. What could be better for smugglers, and as a handy prison for a kidnap victim? Theona had a gut feeling about it.

  She'd had the forethought to bring a packet of floppy discs with her, and it was a matter of seconds to begin downloading all the information. Every one of her suspicions had now been confirmed and she knew she had to tell Will, then go to the police.

  Will would want to go rushing off like a knight-errant to save Julia, and Theona realised she'd have a hard job stopping him. But if the police knew, then they'd send a posse after him. Rather like an old-style western, she mused, and then sobered immediately when she remembered that this was for real and Julia was at risk.

  The computer buzzed and clicked and took its time. She glanced around nervously, and then caught sight of herself in the darkened plate glass window. She was dressed entirely in black - black trousers, black anorak, a black balaclava. What, she thought suddenly, was she doing there? She should be off gigging and entertaining the masses, not prating about playing at being a private eye.