She had been a survivor since she had been a child. Her upbringing had been far from warm. She had been shipped off to boarding school by largely uncaring parents when she had been four and had pretty much stayed there until she turned eighteen. There had been summer and Christmas holidays at home, but often her parents had not been there and she had been left in the care of the housekeeper Mrs. Graham. At first she had missed her parents, then she had resented them and finally she felt that they were intruding on her time when they did manage to stay in the house for any length of time when she was actually there. She was an only child and according to her mother she had done so much damage when she was being born that any siblings were simply impossible. Though Portia suspected that her mother had dropped one child and felt that her maternal requirements had been met and simply didn’t bother with any more. At school she had been popular with her classmates until she had decided that they were stifling her creativity and style and she abandoned them to their own lives as she sought out a more challenging existence. There had been three girls that she had genuinely liked and the four of them had ultimately gained the nickname ‘The Witches of Eastwick’ from the other girls. Portia had hated this because it showed exactly how dull and unimaginative the people she was forced to live and learn with were. However, it had still been gratifying that her small clan were disliked by these doltish girls to a point that they were ostracized. It had shown Portia that they were effectively doing something right.
When they were fifteen Caroline, one of their member, went missing. When she was eventually found six days later, the police reports had reported that she had been murdered but they had left out the details of how the fifteen year old brunette had been killed. Rumours and gossip danced through the school like a laughing demon and by the day of Caroline’s funeral the common wisdom was that she had been raped and tortured and eventually the person who had done this had cut her head off. Portia knew that this was partially true, but she also knew that the killer had allowed poor, sweet Caroline to keep her head if not her dignity.
The death had sent a shockwave through the school and some parents, the few that seemed to have sent their girls to the school for education and not just for convenience sake removed them and sent them to schools that didn’t have the spectre of a dead girl hovering over it. However there were always parents who had wanted to place their daughters in the school and the places were soon filled up. A long tradition was often more compelling than an unsolved and particularly grotesque murder for some people. Her friend Sara had suggested that some of the parents actually hoped their daughters would be next because it would save on school fees. However, the three remaining witches still regarded life with disdain and it was hard to tell if any of them had been particularly affected by Caroline’s death. Portia had found it sad; she had liked Caroline and found her to be genuine, sweet and witty without the ingrained cruelty that the others possessed.
Seven months after her death Portia had decided that now there was only three of them that perhaps the time had come to live up to their nicknames and her friends had agreed. They had dabbled in all sorts of occult practices and rituals and their age allowed them access to the nearest town on a regular basis and that in itself allowed them access to a succession of dull, handsome boys that had basically agreed to do whatever they wanted. Portia held no belief in the things they were doing and in fact was only practising because she had become bored of Sara and Valerie. They had stagnated in the glory of being the school outsiders, but Portia wanted something more and this brief dalliance with dark magic was a way of relieving that boredom. She had reasoned that if it worked, then everyone was a winner. Of course, they never managed to summon a demon but they had indulged in a succession of sexual encounters that had been physically stimulating but emotionally dulling and soon Portia had become bored with this too.
However they were soon graduating and although she had promised faithfully to keep in touch with her two friends, she had never seen them again and had absolutely no desire to. She avoided the social networking sites in the same way that she had avoided anything else she found dull and it proved to be almost laughably easy to lose contact with her past.
A sudden sensation of being grabbed and hauled to a sitting position drew her from her introspection and she knew that things were about to get interesting. Beneath her gag she smiled as much as the tight tape would allow.
*********
CHAPTER FOUR
Madeleine watched as David pulled both the pieces of luggage to a seated position. It was difficult to admit even to herself, but seeing him manhandling the bound and helpless women gave her a sexual thrill that was unlike any she had felt before they had chosen to fulfill what had been long hidden desires. She sat on the chair and looked at the blonde one; she shuddered slightly as she drank in every detail of this captive play thing. There was a small piece of her soul that would have frankly given anything to be in a similar position – bound and helpless with the palpable threat of imminent danger surrounding her was a huge aphrodisiac to her senses. David moved to the other one, a brunette with the most amazing green eyes that David have ever seen (according to what he had told her when they had started their car journey) and pulled her to the wall and sat her against it.
Madeleine wanted him to take their hoods and blindfolds off now but it wasn’t the way that they did things ever – David seemed to enjoy the continuing anticipation of the complete anonymity of their victims. She stopped the train of thought, calling them victims gave them a place in the room, it humanized them and that was something that neither of them wanted to do. They weren’t monsters, not fundamentally any way, and the idea of giving them names or identities meant that they would be unable to do the things that they wanted to do and that would have defeated the purpose of the exercise.
She remembered the first one; Sixteen years ago, a girl with an Eastern European accent. David had thought she might have been Latvian or Estonian, not that it had mattered. They had taken her from where they had found her, living rough on the streets and Madeleine could still remember how grateful she had seemed at first. As it had been their first time, they had cajoled and persuaded her to come with them on the promise of a hot meal and perhaps a bed for the night. Madeline still remembered the look on her face as they drove her to a derelict farmhouse that David knew of. She remembered the cries of fear and pleading when they dragged her from the car. She had been disappointed that the girl had wept as they had tied her up in the old barn. She didn’t want the girl to cry. Not at that point. It was too early, she had wanted the girl to enjoy the act of being made helpless. She had wanted her to feel a thrill of erotic pleasure as the knots had been tied. However she hadn’t; She had mewled and wept with terror.
Within forty minutes the girl had been killed, again a disappointment, but the seed of the thrill had been planted and it was only a matter of time before they would kill again.
They had killed eleven more women before they had found the cottage. With each one, they found what they both liked, what worked and what didn’t work. They spoke about the killings between each and every one, mutually finding out what excited them and to be honest it had almost been like they were getting to know each other for the first time. He liked a lot of bindings being placed on the girls. He wanted to see how helpless they were rather than just know it. David liked the costumes that they would eventually put these girls in. She liked knives, David liked suffocation. She liked blue eyes and blonde hair, David liked brunettes and green eyes. The lists became quite specific and that, of course, meant that in many ways it was sometimes difficult to find an appropriate girl that fitted either of their criteria. They still killed even when they couldn’t find someone that fit the bill, but it was never as satisfying. In fact David called them ‘quickies’ which always made her laugh. They had experimented with props. They had once taken a mouthy red head that they had found staggering aimlessly through the streets, drunk as a skunk, one Sunday afternoon.
She had been a particularly easy ‘take’ and had fallen into the car. They had driven her to an old derelict military bunker and had waited patiently until she sobered up a little before they started. David had held a knife up as she had made the girl change into the ‘costume’ and then they had made her put on a blonde wig (it had been Maddy’s turn to choose the victim on that occasion) before they had tightly bound her and gagged her to a metal support pole. The wig had been a disaster to be honest; It had slipped on a number of occasions, and to be honest, Maddy had felt cheated. They killed her and buried her as usual and David, bless him, had forgone his turn and they had taken a proper blonde to the same place four weeks later.
Of course, they always had limited time. Wherever they were, there was always the slightest chance that they might get caught. At first this had added to the thrill, but it soon became more of a worry than anything else. They had decided to look for somewhere that they could call their own. A special little hideaway where they could relax and take their time over things and after a lot of searching they had found this place. It had been ideal; Outbuildings, thick stone walls and lots and lots of land. She loved this cottage, not just because of the opportunities that it presented but for the general location and atmosphere. Even when they came with no luggage it was still perfect.
David sat on the sofa beside her and picked the wine glass up from the table. He put his other arm around her and hugged her tight. They both looked at their handiwork and felt the warmth of love pass between them. She loved his dexterity with rope, what he could do was almost artistry and these girls were totally and utterly within their power. In fact she and her husband were the closest things to gods as they would ever meet. They had the ultimate power of life and death over them and this was what it was all about for her. She looked at the way the ropes were intertwined around each other, the way the flesh bulged between the loops, the manner in which every curve of their bodies was accentuated with the rope and she leaned into him and kissed his neck.
‘I love you,’ she whispered and he smiled at her.
They sat there in silence for a moment and then he looked at her. ‘Shall we get ready?’
She smiled and nodded and together, hand in hand, they walked to their bedroom.
The weekend was about to begin.
*******
CHAPTER FIVE
Katie had, against any of her expectations, fallen asleep. The ropes had stopped causing her pain. In fact they were beginning to feel like part of her and whether the boredom of being bound, silent and hooded had caused her to doze off or whether her body had shut down because of the trauma and shock of finding herself in this position had caused it, she didn’t know but she woke up as the hood was removed from her head. She felt cool air caress her face and within seconds the tape had been peeled carefully from her eyes and the two pieces of cotton wool that had been placed over each one had been removed.
As the light flooded her senses she took a moment to try to gather at least a sense of her bearings. She turned her head to see another girl sitting against the wall next to her, bound with a voluminous amount of ropes – their captor had already removed her hood and was having her blindfold removed by a man who was dressed entirely in black leather, his face obscured by a mask that looked like a carved wooden clown face. As he removed her companion in captivity’s blindfold, he stood back and looked at them both. He was not a particularly tall man, less than six feet in her estimation and he looked as though he were a little bit overweight. He stood and looked at them, his face a carved, painted rictus grin of bright colour and bizarrely, he afforded them a little bow. He moved his hand in a theatrical manner indicating a table that had been set out in the middle of the floor. The man skipped and danced until he was standing directly behind the table and he looked at them, his head cocked quizzically to the side.
The table had a long red satin sheet placed on top of it and beneath that there was a shape, it was unmoving and looked like a human being. The masked man swept the sheet dramatically from the table to reveal the figure of another woman. She was strapped to the table with heavy brown leather belts that were wound across and around her limbs and body. She was dressed in black fetish style underwear and had a leather hood stretched over her head. The man crouched down and produced a long, silver skewer from inside his coat. He held it up so that it caught the light and Katie shuddered at the sight of it. He looked at the bound woman on the table and then pantomimed a sniggering silent laugh as he held the skewer above her exposed stomach. The woman writhed as she felt the cold tip of the weapon caress her flesh and the man held it tantalising close, placing enough pressure on the skewer that Katie could see the flesh dimple. The captive woman moaned as the pressure was increased; a bright bead of crimson blood began to form around the edge of the blade.
Katie wondered who this woman was, she knew that there had been another girl brought here at the same time as her but the fact there was a third captive was disturbing because it implied that she had been here for a while and that implied that they were in a house that was sufficiently isolated that her captors could keep someone here with no real concern that they would be found. She turned to look at the blonde, pale skinned woman that was tied up next to her and saw that she was deeply engrossed in what was happening in front of them. What struck her most was the fact that there didn’t seem to be much fear in her eyes. In fact her expression was cool and calm and Katie wondered if she was in shock.
Portia felt the brunette prisoner looking at her but she was too interested in what was transpiring in front of them. This was a ludicrous pantomime and she was a bit disappointed that her captor would stoop to such a ridiculously false level of showmanship for their benefit. She looked at the woman and even though she was hooded and lying down, Portia knew that the woman was in her thirties, probably mid-thirties, possibly late thirties and this was telling within itself. Portia was twenty two and from the brief glance she had given the girl tied up next to her, she knew that she would be around the same age. From her knowledge it would be unusual for someone who went to all the trouble to kidnap two people and to transport them miles away from where they had been taken to have a third captive of a different type. She also saw a few little scars on the woman’s stomach, nothing large and nothing too deep or in any way life threatening and this implied that this charade was part of a long standing game. This was not the first time that the woman on the table had been strapped down and pricked with the skewer. The way the woman was reacting was born of sensuality rather than fear and the bonds were applied tightly, but also in a way that seemed to imply there was a level of tenderness between the victim and the captor. She watched and if she could, she would have probably laughed.
She turned her attention to the man. He was not tall and he was not powerfully built and by his stance he was not entirely comfortable dressed in the leather trousers and harnesses. The mask was a nice touch, but she could tell that it was shop bought. Obviously it had been bought to hide his identity, but it was also bought because of the dichotomy of the grinning clown face and the situation. Portia had met a number of people with Coulrophobia; a morbid fear of clowns, and this mask was obviously tied in with that. What she had found interesting was that there were people who had the fear but were not too affected by grotesque caricatures like this one. It was too far removed from the source of their fear and was subsequently not what they were afraid of. He was making all the right theatrical moves. His gestures and his movements were practiced and to her this showed that this man was someone who was playing a part and to her it seemed that it might not necessarily be for their benefit.
The man crouched down and held the skewer above the bound woman’s throat and looked at Portia and the other captive as if he was a gladiator waiting for either a thumb up or thumbs down and Portia could feel the woman sitting next to her tensing up against her bonds. Personally, she wished he would stab through the skin and get on with it but she knew that he never would. Well at lea
st he never would with the woman strapped to the table.
Maddy felt the skewer against her throat and a thrill raced along her spine. He had never done this before. She had asked him to, but he had always worried that if he made a mistake, a slip, then she would be left choking on her own blood. She moaned into the gag that was in her mouth and raised her head back a little, exposing her jugular to him. She pulled against the leather straps that were fastened around her wrists and ankles. Her body strained against the bonds that were around her waist, chest and thighs. She loved being his helpless captive. In fact, she loved this more than she loved the subsequent torture and killing of their captives – this, to her, was the most potent display of love that she could offer David (and in fact that he could offer her). To be bound and gagged as he played with a blade on her body showed her that he was the only man for her.
The Scarlet Anniversary Page 3
