Prologue



      “Waggle your tits at me, Vicky.”
      The tall, statuesque brunette with the delicate features of an aristocrat with her
hands linked behind her head duly obliged, smiling as she did so. To obtain full effect,
she dipped her knees and swivelled her hips at the same time that she shook her shoulders,
with the result that her naked breasts gyrated.
      The man on the sofa smiled broadly and clapped his hands. “Lovely, Vicky! A truly
lascivious sight!” His head cocked slightly as his gaze moved from her face, lingering on
her full, perfect breasts and went to her groin before moving back up. “Show me your
cunt.”
      Still smiling and with an eager-to-please, almost dog-like look of devotion on her
face, the tall girl spread her knees and cocked her hips forward so that her sex was
displayed.
      “You’re wet. I can see it shining.”
      “It’s you, sir. I get wet thinking of your cock.”
      “Do you, now? Do you know something, Lady Victoria? I think you’re a slut.”
      “I am, a slut, sir. You made me into a slut.”
      ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘sir is better than master. I’ll stay with that.’
      
***
      
      “Mr Bailey,” said the blonde-haired girl, leaning on the desk with her arms stiff
and fists balled, “I don’t care how dangerous it is, or what the reputation of this
tin-pot wop colonel or general or whatever is. My sister is somewhere in that damned
country and I want to get her out. And there’s nothing that you, the Foreign Office or all
the queen’s bloody men can do to stop me!” 
      The man behind the desk sighed, but kept it inside. Damn these aristocratic bitches
who thought they were still living a hundred years ago, when most of the world was
coloured pink and ninety per cent of the population called the rest ‘Sahib’. He swallowed
an impulse to shout some common sense at this stiff-necked silly cow who wouldn’t take no
for an answer. He might vote Labour and wish her and the rest of them banned, gone and
forgotten, but they were a reality and could cause all sorts of trouble for a civil
servant who was just trying to do his job. He’d try reason one more time and then the
stupid cow could damned well do as she bloody well liked.
      “Lady Mary,” he said, patiently, “all the evidence points to the tragic and
unfortunate fact that your sister is dead. I’m sorry to have to labour the point, but it’s
been almost two months…”
      “Two bloody months while all you’ve done is sat on your blasted hands and done
nothing!” she cried. “Two wasted months!”
      The sheer injustice of it almost snapped him, but once more he forced himself to be
calm. “That just isn’t so!” he protested. “We have made the most rigorous enquiries and
together with the forensic report from…”
      “But she was seen! An unidentified European women woman in a hospital, unconscious!
Have you checked that?”
      He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “I did hear that there was  some such
report, but it was extremely vague entirely uncorroborated. I’m afraid to say that there
are people who make mischief, even in tragic circumstances.”
      “Well, I believe it! I’m going, with or without your help!”
      “Lady Mary, I most earnestly advise against it. Quite apart from the political
situation, the country is fearfully dangerous from the point of view of health.” He
thought about the military attaché who had returned from  there at about the same
time that the blasted woman had gone missing; fit and healthy one minute and the next laid
up in isolation with what the doctors apparently said was the most vicious combination of
poxes that they’d ever seen. “And if you go up-country, which I fear will be necessary,
then the embassy won’t be able to help you. It really is far too dangerous. Even in the
capital isn’t safe. The terrorists have snatched and killed three businessmen in the past
year.”
      “I don’t care. I know that Victoria is alive and I won’t leave her there. If the
embassy can’t or won’t help, I’ll get some friends from the SAS to give me a hand.”
      He almost swallowed his tongue. The SA… You will do no such thing! Even if the
Ministry of Defence authorised it, which they most assuredly will not, they will not be
granted visas  by the Innocentian authorities. Which, I very much fear,” he felt a surge
of gratification and quite unjustified – and, if he was perfectly honest with himself,
unfair  - satisfaction as he played his trump card, “will be the case for you. Going on
their past record, they will refuse you entry.”
      A look of triumph crossed her beautiful features as she fished in her handbag and
then slapped her passport on to the desk in front of him. “Than what’s that?” she snarled.
“Fish paste?”
      He stared at the entry visa stamped in her passport and a feeling of awful,
inevitable doom settled in his stomach.
      
***
         
      “Do you know what my favourite part of you is at the moment?”
      “No, M… sir.”
      “Your tongue, especially when it licks, laps and pokes into my arse-hole. It makes
me wonderfully stiff.”
      “Do you want me to lick your arse-hole now, sir?”
      “D’ye know, I think I would? On the bed, hands and knees. Twenty minutes of that
and then a nice, long suck. Would you like to do that, Vicky?”
      “Yes, please sir!”
      He gazed at the beautiful, eager face – the face that he had made eager – and
wondered what she would think if she knew that he was going to starting hurting her again
soon. Hurting her a lot, because the telephone call that he’d had just fifteen minutes ago
said that by the London embassy had reported that a visa had just been issued to The
Honourable Mary Melville-Richmond. She wasn’t on her way yet, but it wouldn’t be long.
      
***
      
      Donald Bailey was a man who liked a nice, quiet life, though he might have amended
that to read: a nice, quiet, predictable life, something of which his wife of fifteen
years – who would have enjoyed the odd good time and/or mad fling - was painfully aware.
So, as usual on every week-day, she laid the Times – though she’d never understood why a
life-time socialist would read that particular paper – neatly folded, lead story up beside
his scrambled eggs, then went and busied herself in the small conservatory they’d built
off the kitchen. True to form, he came down, sat at the table, shouted ‘good morning’,
started eating and then looked at the front page only, leaving the rest and the crossword
for the train journey. Invariably, once he’d sat down, there’d be silence for the ten
minutes it took him to eat and read, drink two cups of coffee, come into the conservatory
to peck her cheek, say ‘goodbye’ and then leave, collecting his bowler, umbrella and
brief-case at the door as he left. It was unvarying. Predictable.
      Today, however, there was precisely one minute of silence before she heard him
splutter, utter a strangled cry of  ‘Oh, my God!’ accompanied by the noise of his chair
clattering as it fell. Alarmed, she ran back into the kitchen to find him standing, gazing
down at the front page of the Times and looking as if he’d just read his own death
sentence.
      “Donald!” she cried. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
      “Oh, my God!” he said again and then looked at her, his eyes unfocussed. His face
was chalky white.
      Thoroughly alarmed now and spotting a coffee stain on his normally immaculate
shirt, she went to him. “Donald? Whatever is it?”
      “Oh, my God,” he groaned and handed her the paper.
      She took it and read, seeing nothing until his shaking finger pointed to an article
near the bottom of the page.
      ‘Lady Mary Melville-Richmond Reported Missing’ she read. Puzzled, she looked at his
strained face.
      “They’ll all be out now,” he croaked, “the bloody lot of them, all blaming me and
screaming for blood. And I told her not to go!” 
      

Chapter 1
      
      “Are you obedient, Vicky?” he asked.
      “Yes! Yes! I’m obedient! Oh, please, no more.”
      He looked her and the new rig that he’d devised to hold her, or more accurately,
Mary, who’d soon be where her sister was, a thought that further stiffened his
already-erect penis.
      Victoria Melville-Richmond, proud scion of the English aristocracy who had spent so
long defying him, but had eventually broken as he knew she must, was a mass of red welts
from  her shoulders to her thighs. This latest beating probably hadn’t been necessary, but
he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t have to divert too much time from bringing her
sister to heel to re-taming an errant Victoria, who had re-discovered family loyalty. She
would, of course; it was inevitable, but she could be brought back to heel so much easier
with fresh memories of the sort of pain she was suffering now. It had to be so, because
Victoria was going to be inflicting some of the pain on Mary and he was looking forward to
watching the reactions and interaction.
      He examined the device into which Victoria was fastened, checking it for signs of
stress or wear and then her for scuffs and bruises it, rather than the strap he’d been
using had caused. It all looked perfect; what a good idea it had been. He moved round it,
ignoring the sobbing Victoria, who could  do nothing but stand there and weep, with the
tears spilling down her unmarked front. He always found it difficult to mark those
wonderful breasts, though a half-dozen wouldn’t be too bad. And the beauty of this little
device was that he could give her those whacks here and now, if he liked.
      He could, but he wouldn’t; he’d let her wait, thinking it was over for this
session. Instead, he leaned on one of the posts and examined his invention: two pillars
about eight feet wide with loops cemented in at intervals all the way up. Well, they
didn’t count, because they were already here, but then he’d specified this place, so he
could take credit for them, he supposed. But the clever bits were the foot-wide strips of
heavy-duty rubber a quarter of an inch thick that extended from each pillar to rods on
either side of the high collar that she wore. Another pair did the same thing at waist
level, without the need for the rods, so that her waist was effectively wrapped in a belt
of rubber that protected her kidneys. Her arms were lifted and fastened to the top straps,
leaving her entire body available and able to move within limits, while even stretching
the rubber a fraction occasionally. Yes, it was a masterstroke.
      He pushed himself away from the pillar and went to stand in front of her. Her head
was down, but she seen him coming and lifted it, looking at him  with eyes that were
brimming with tears. Even like that, she was stunningly beautiful. The full lips trembled,
but she didn’t speak; that was one of the first lessons she’d learned. On an impulse, he
leaned in and kissed her, ignoring the salt tears and snot. Her tongue met his, just as he
knew it would. He pulled back.
      “Do you know why I’m hurting you, Vicky?”
      “Y… yes, sir. B… because you want me to help you to … to tame Mary.”
      “Tame her?”
      She blinked, paused. “Hurt her, sir. Break her, as you did me. So… so she’ll beg to
suck your cock.”
      “And are you going to help me?”
      “Yes, sir. Because I must, sir. And because she was horrid to you.”
      “Yes, you must.” His hand went to her breast and found the nipple. She thrust
forward, offering herself. “I’m going to hurt you some more, Vicky.”
      She blinked, shedding new tears. “You don’t have to, sir. Truly.”
      “I know that, but I’m still going to do it. I’m going to give you six across the
tits, Vicky. And then I’m going to tie you face up over a nice, spiky  gym mat, wear a
bristle apron and fuck you. Do you know why I’m going to do that, Vicky?”
      She was weeping harder than ever. “No, sir.”
      “Because Mary’s here, in the country. She’s going to arrive tomorrow. And the first
thing that you’re going to do is cut of the top off her little finger.” He stepped back
and lifted the strap. She didn’t scream until he buried his cock into her and then, quite
deliberately, laid his full weight on her. She hadn’t done that for a long time.
      
***
      
      Fernandez remembered the scene when Victoria had been brought into this office and
held by a couple of his men on the other side of the desk. She looked as if she’d wanted
to strangle him with her bare hands and her sister was no different. Mary, like Victoria
before her, was gagged with a dirty piece of cloth, but the look in her eyes was
identical. It was odd, he mused, noting that the top two buttons of her white blouse had
been ripped of at some point, that their reactions to captivity were so similar, because
in almost all other respects, they looked quite different. Victoria was tall, slim, her
figure svelte, curving gently, the breasts perhaps too large for the body that carried
them, though he wasn’t going to argue or complain about that. Mary was almost exactly then
same height, but her build appeared to be slimmer, the carriage even more erect, which
made her seem taller. She had a fit, alert look about her, with crinkles at the side of
her eyes and the slightly weather-beaten features of one who spent a lot of time outdoors.
She was the horsewoman of the pair, of course and if she spent as much time in the saddle
now as she had when he’d first seen her, she’d certainly be fit enough. He grinned
inwardly: it’ll be him in her saddle soon enough.
      She hadn’t recognised him, that was clear. Not too surprising, since he had changed
in the seven years since their last meeting. He was wearing his uniform, too, which would
make a lot of difference. His eyes roved over her as far as the desk would allow, his
imagination stripping her, just as it had when, as a sixteen-year-old, she’d teased and
flirted with him in the stables, having enticed him there. He remembered how his blood had
boiled and now his cock had strained his trousers and how suddenly it had all ended with a
shock like a cold shower when she called him ‘a greasy little dago prick’ and had actually
slapped his face and spat at him when he took her arm. He remembered her laughter as she
spun, neatly evading his lunge and ran out of the stable; laughter that echoed around the
stone yard and still did so in his brain.
      That was bad enough and despite the three burly toughs who’d cornered him in the
same stall a few minutes later and beaten the shit out of him, it was – almost - the thing
that had burned deepest. She’d worn a white blouse then, too, he remembered, that and
tight riding trousers that hid nothing, even showing the cleft of her sex. Now she had a
blue jacket over that white blouse and a matching blue skirt; what they called a ‘twin
set’, he thought, having heard the expression. All wrong for this country, but then they’d
taken her in the capital in a typical guerillero snatch attack, just like three others
this year.
      He looked up at his sergeant major, who was standing behind the women, grinning
slightly.
      “Any trouble, Alfonso?”
      A shake of the head. “Not a thing, mi Coronel. A few rounds in the air and those
cowards just ran away.” He made a ‘tsssk’ sound with tongue and teeth,” the people they
recruit for the police…” he shrugged and smiled. 
      Fernandez nodded, relaxing slightly. Those ‘few rounds in the air’ were from an
AK-47, the universal weapon of terrorists everywhere, so when the easily-identifiable
7.62mm cases were found, there could be only once conclusion: Lady Mary had been snatched
by terrorists, who might or might not make a ransom demand: they were very erratic and
unreliable about such things. Then again, he mused, smiling inwardly: since the
‘terrorists’ were a creation of his own fertile imagination, giving him freedom to roam
the country doing what he liked in the name of ‘law and order’, they could be just as
erratic and unreliable as he chose them to be. The other three attacks had been his doing,
too: if businessmen refused to pay for proper protection, then they deserved what they
got; which in their cases was a post-mortem bathe in a crocodile-infested river. It
encouraged the others.
      “Why is her blouse torn?” he demanded.
      The big NCO looked as innocent as was possible for him to, given his looks. “She
didn’t want to get out of the car,” he said, wide-eyed. “There was a struggle…” He didn’t
add that he’d shoved his hand inside and had a bloody good feel. After all, he’d done the
job, so he was entitled to something, wasn’t he? True, the Colonel had given him the
American girl, who was a pretty good fuck, but he hadn’t had a sniff at that dark-haired
English slut. Now that was high-class fuck-meat and he’d love to have her! He wondered
where she was.
      Fernandez gave him a long stare, suspecting the truth, but he brushed it aside; the
man was entitled to a feel. He let his eyes move back to Mary, who was hating him with her
eyes and struggling against the grip of the two men holding her.
      “Take the gag out,” he ordered.
      “She is very loud, mi Coronel,” warned the sergeant major.
      “I expect she is, but she’ll settle down soon enough. Take it out.”
      
***
      
      For a second or two after the cloth was untied and the rag that had been stuffed
into her mouth removed, there was silence. She gave a grimace of utter distaste, made a
dry spitting motion as if to rid herself of a foul taste, seemed about to wipe the back of
her hand across her mouth before being abruptly reminded that her hands were hand-cuffed
behind her. That’s when the silence was broken.
      “What the hell do you mean by this?” she stormed at him. “I am a British citizen!
You cannot treat me like this! I demand that you release me immediately, or it will be the
worse for you! I warn you, I am highly placed and can cause you more trouble than you
imagine! Why, you cheeky…!”
      That last was in response to the fact that Fernandez had just given an elaborate
yawn, bringing his hand to his mouth and then glancing ostentatiously at his watch.
      “You insufferable little man!” she raged, clearly tugging with her hands and
getting nowhere. “Take these damned things off me immediately! “I am…”
      “The Honourable Mary Melville-Richmond,” he said easily glancing at her then
looking down at his desk as if he wanted really interested.
      There was a fractional silence, during which he lifted his eyes to hers once more.
She was staring at him, eyes narrowed, but there was no recognition there. He didn’t
expect there to be any, since the last time they’d met he’d been nothing more than an
insignificant worm in her eyes. He felt the familiar fury mingled with shame building in
him again as the memory rose, unbidden. He’d still been in the stable box where they’d
left him when one of them came back about five minutes afterwards. He didn’t know it at
the time, but he had three cracked ribs, three broken fingers and a dislocated jaw, as
well as pain from his balls that swamped everything else, since they’d put the boot in
there more than once. So he was in no condition to protect himself or even to protest much
when he was thrown over a bale of hay, face down, his trousers pulled down and he was
sodomised, callously and expertly. He might have forgiven and forgotten the beating, but
the shame of that last act burned in his Latin soul like acid. He hadn’t given up hope of
finding the man one day – and when he did, there would be no mercy and a long, lingering
death – but he could and had laid hands on the cause of it all. 
      She stood opposite him now, red faced, hair dishevelled, furiously indignant and
completely ignorant of the pain and humiliation that was coming her way. Quite apart from
the surprises that lay in store, too. This was a moment to be savoured and enjoyed to the
full and he revelled in it.
      “What are you smirking about? You do speak English, don’t you? How do you  know who
I am? And why am I here in these bloody hand-cuffs? Get them off me this instant!”
      Her agitation was doing interesting things to the content of her blouse, her
noticed; he wasn’t the only one: Alfonso, his trusted right hand, had sidled round from
behind his men and was admiring the view with an open gaze. Time to push the game along a
little; but not too fast, not when – once he’d pushed down that corrosive memory – he was
enjoying himself so much.
      “You really must get out of the habit of giving me orders,” he said mildly. “You
aren’t at Martingrove Hall any more, you know. You’re in Innocentia, my country.”
      “I don’t care what bloo…” the angry flow stopped and she looked at him with
narrowed eyes once more. “What do you know about Martingrove? How the hell…?”
      He grinned and removed his high-peaked uniform cap, smoothing his hair before he
put it on the desk. Her eyes seemed to narrow even further, but there was still no
recognition in them. “You don’t remember me, do you? The little dago-boy under-footman who
you enticed into the stables and then had three of your bully boys kick the shit out of?”
      She remembered the incident, because he eyes suddenly widened and she drew in a
quick breath. Then she shook her head, disbelieving. “No, you aren’t… can’t be!”
      “Oh, I was a lot younger then, Mary. Seven years younger. So were you, but you
filled out those tight riding breeches well. You’ve grown up and filled out a few more
things since then,” he finished, looking at her breasts with frank admiration. True, they
weren’t as big as Vicky’s, but they appeared to be perfectly shaped. 
      She’d lost colour, but now she found reason to puff again. “Don’t you…!” she
stopped, peering at him with the faintest hint of recognition. “Are you…?” She shook her
head again. “You can’t be! It was a joke, only a joke. A prank, to teach you a lesson!”
      “Oh, you taught me a lesson, all right. You taught me to hate you and your kind, a
lesson reinforced by your father who sent the letter of dismissal to the hospital your
little joke landed me in. Dismissal without pay, I might add. And did he have a hand  in
having me deported, too? Was he behind those ‘irregularities in my papers’? Quite a joke
for a little dago, wasn’t it?”
      She thought fast, like her sister. There and then, he decided to change his plans
and leave her finger until later so that he produce Vicky at a really dramatic moment and
he’d just thought when that would be.
      “I… I’m sorry about that,” she blurted. It sounded awkward, as if she didn’t
apologise much. “It… it was only a joke.”
      “So is all this, My Lady,” he responded, raising his arms to encompass their
surroundings. “This is all one, big joke, designed to amuse you. You’ll be enjoying it for
some time to come.”
      “What do you mean? You can’t keep me here! I have to…” she broke off and bit her
lip.
      “Have to what, Mary?”
      She flared “Don’t be so famili…,” she choked it off. “I… I have to find my sister.
She’s missing.”
      He raised his eyebrows. “Missing? Truly? How unfortunate. You must give me a
description and I’ll get my men to look for her while you’re here… er, enjoying the
joke.”
      “I don’t want to be here! Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Let’s just leave it at that!”
      He pretended to consider it but then shook his head. “No, I think we’ll do things
my way,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he looked at Alfonso who, having no English,
had been unable to follow the conversation. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “We can do
the finger later. Get that jaw spreader on her, strip her in here and then get her up on
the ropes, same as you did her sister.”
      “Sure thing, mi Coronel. Do we get to play with her?” he asked hopefully.
      “Not yet. Keep your hands to yourself, though why I bother saying that I don’t
know, because you’ve already had a feel if I know you. But if you want a surprise  , hang
around and I’ll get the other one to give you a treat.”
      The grin was huge and grew wider as the joke occurred. “You want me to hang around
while she’s hanging around, eh?” He guffawed, clearly keen to know just what form this
‘treat’ would take.
      Fernandez allowed himself a smile; it wasn’t too bad a joke, given his usual
ponderous style. But then the woman was back at it and he had to switch back to thinking
in English while Alfonso headed for the cupboard.
      “What do you mean, you’ll do things your way? You’ve got no authority to hold me
here! When the embassy hears about this, you’ll be in real trouble, I promise you!”
      “Mary…”
      “And don’t call me ‘Mary’! I’m ‘Lady Mary’ to you!”
      Just like her sister. Lovely! He saw Alfonso coming back with the stainless steel
wire contraption in his huge hands. It was quite a job to fit on a conscious subject, but
he had no doubt about his man’s ability to get the job done.
      “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mary, because that’s what I’m going to call you. Now,
if you look to your right, my Sergeant Major has something for you. If you’ll be good
enough to open your mouth?”
      She took one look, shrank back and started screaming, a high, shrill sound that cut
of abruptly as Alfonso made a blade of his hand and jabbed its stiffened fingers into her
stomach. She doubled up, gasping for breath, mouth gaping, but she was pulled upright - by
the two men with one hand each on her breasts, he noted wryly – while her head was hauled
back by the hair. It really was a neat and slick job.
      “Well done!” he said. “Now, let her get her breath back and then use that damned
great knife of yours to strip her, Sarn’t Major. Nice and slow. And you pair,” he glared
at the two soldiers, “keep your bloody hands to yourselves. Look, don’t touch, except her
arms.”
      
***
      
      When she was returned to full comprehension, Lady Mary made quite a fuss about
having her clothes cut from her. Unfortunately for her, all her protests came out as
inarticulate grunts, because her mouth was held very firmly open by the jaw spreader. It
was exactly the same one that Victoria had worn for her initiation, but that was where the
similarities ended, because Vicky had passed out when the top joint of her little finger
had been chopped off, which allowed them to strip her and string her up without
difficulty. Mary, on the other hand, was wide awake and protesting furiously, if
incoherently, every step of the way.
      Her hair was the palest of blondes and her eyes were a clear, almost startling
blue, but her face wasn’t the pale, fragile, porcelain of her sister: is was deeply
tanned, almost weathered, though that colour stopped at a clear line just beneath her
hair. The skin of her upper chest, revealed by the torn blouse was pure, milky white; a
contrast to the tanning brought on by her outdoor life. As the stripping went on,
accompanied by a good deal of kicking and what must have been cursing, though the sounds
were quite incoherent, the body that was revealed was that of a very fit young woman with
a pair of tits that were firm, but which did tend to sag a little; but then she’d bounced
up and down on a horse for a good part of her life, so that was to be expected. But there
wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on her, plus a beautiful pair of tip-tilted nipples
adorning each breast. When that tan faded, she’d be  a picture of milky-white perfection,
he thought, but by that time, she’d be anything but milky-white inside; except and he
grinned at the thought, where she was coated with his spunk.
        ‘Nice,’ he thought, as she was held erect by his men, facing him, her head
hanging as she wept in shame and anger, ‘very nice indeed. This is going to be a real
pleasure!’ “All right, he said, “take her out there and fix her up.” He didn’t go with
them; there’d be fumbling and poking and he didn’t want to have to keep on at them to take
their hands off and their fingers out; they’d earned some fun.