CHAPTER 1
Joanne consisted of no more than a disembodied thought process. Deprived of all other
senses, nothing else had been left to her. She was in a silent, dark void of her own –
utterly helpless. Quite unable to move, to see hear or talk or even smell properly, only
her mind could operate freely. It ran in endless circles of terror, frustration, shame and
bemusement.
It must have been many days since her ordeal began. She’d lost track of time.
Shuddering, she emptied her bladder, still shameful of having to do so where she was -
like a baby rather than a sophisticated, beautiful woman in her twenties. If she could
recall the number of times she had done so in this confinement or how often she had
received sustenance, it might give her some idea of time she supposed.
Mostly she had been entombed entirely within rubber and steel, unable to move, see, hear
or speak! Sometimes though she was partially released, still naked and trussed up like a
turkey, in a chair, hooded and unable to move. If anyone was looking at her – and
fearfully she never had any way of knowing whether she was under observation - she knew
that she must resemble a deep-sea diver. Or maybe she was enclosed entirely out of
anyone’s sight in the steel water tank completing her prison, totally alone? It made her
claustrophobic just thinking of her predicament.
Currently she was indeed encased totally in the thick padded rubber. Cushioned and
hanging, it felt as if she was embedded in treacle; no sound or light penetrated her
isolated world of drifting senses. When she had first been brought here she had seen the
red rubber suit suspended from the ceiling by thick nylon bands attached to numerous
reinforced eyelets. It had several strategically placed tubes running into it, all
connected to a pumping apparatus. The boy, her young German captor, had almost proudly
explained that the latter were to provide liquid, air to both breathe and cool and also to
vent her wastes. The suit completely enclosed the wearer, head to foot, leaving them
suspended by the wrists and the various strong webbed cords. These were sufficiently thick
to inhibit and resist any movement of the victim’s limbs. Further, there was a red rubber
mask complete with blacked-out goggles, earplugs and a gag sufficient to fill and stretch
her mouth covered her face. The gag also had feeding and air tubes through its hollow
centre to ensure there would be no merciful escape from her suffering.
The woman in the rubber mask, she had fleetingly mused to herself when she first saw the
contraption, trying to stifle the fear and horror then already threatening to consume her.
Only now did she fully appreciate the ability to see, hear, move and talk - ‘luxuries’ now
denied her.
The suit hung suspended on its webbing inside a metallic sphere, resembling a large
water tank. This tank had a skilfully concealed false wall which, when closed, would
convince anyone standing beside it that it was filled with water. Before removing her
senses, her kidnapper had proudly showed how the thick double skinned walls were filled
with water to give off a realistic sound if anyone rapped on the outside. She knew that
even if the police searched that room none would ever know she was entombed there!
Such thoughts panicked Joanne. It made the beautiful blonde’s mind race terrified into
various configurations, normally ending with her being abandoned here in her own private
void to slowly die – unbeknown to anyone. Her heart hammered drum-like in her plugged ears
until, taking deep breaths, she finally regained control. She would have screamed – if she
could.
Instead, her mind continued to wander. Sometimes blissfully she would even forget where
she was, imagining she was on a sun-kissed beach or in a soft bed. Then the hideous
reality would come crashing back and, no matter how horrible, she knew she had to grasp it
– or risk going mad. That reality was that she was totally helpless and had lost all
control over her actions or destiny. What were they going to do to her? What would her
husband, Chris, do? Why hadn’t she told him or left a note saying where she was going? Why
was she being held for ransom? How did they know so much about her? Were they trying to
brainwash her, destroy her as a person? She could only ponder pitifully such questions;
after all, what else could she do?
In comparison were the almost wonderful times when she felt the suit’s many zips being
undone as it was peeled off her in segments. She would be eased out, albeit with the hood
and gag in place and after her wrists had been cuffed behind her. Sometimes she thought
she smelt a forbidden waft of perfume through the nose plug filters pushed up each
nostril. Was it the young woman in whose house she had been captured? The thought of that
woman touching her had at first made her skin crawl – until she reached the stage of
relishing any human contact.
As if she was a violent criminal or trained soldier, rather than a helpless
disorientated woman, a hostage blindfolded and gagged, they took absolutely no chances
when moving her. One wrist would be released at a time from the suit's confines and cuffed
to something behind her until the other wrist was free. Then they would both be cuffed
together behind her before her body was freed from the suit. Even Houdini would have
absolutely no hope of escaping her bondage!
Trying to set aside her shame at being naked, wondering who or how many people guided
her shaking limbs, she could at least enjoy the wonderful fresh feeling of air on her
skin, if only for a short time. It made her feel somewhat alive and human - even if only
to be bound tightly in a chair with broad rubber straps, rendering her immobile until
returned to the suit.
Maybe even one day she hoped she would be allowed the luxury of feeding or washing
herself or use a lavatory. As it was, even when released from the suit’s confines, the
tubes remained in place to ‘satisfy’ her bodily needs. She relied on her anonymous captors
for everything. They decided when the sickly milk would pour down her feeding tubes; also
when she would be eased out of the rubber and into the chair for a flannel to be wiped
over her sticky body and the suit presumably washed. Her head always remained totally
enclosed in the rubber helmet.
The loss of all control over herself and the denial of any information, of not really
knowing who her captors were or how they had targeted her so successfully, were the worst
things. They treated her like an inanimate object, not allowing her to see hear or speak.
She was more helpless than a new-born baby, her feelings or thoughts obviously of
absolutely no consequence to them.
She always had the hope of being rescued by her husband, he was so close; or the police.
Had she been reported missing despite the note she had been forced to write? She had
simply dropped out of life. Someone must be missing her, though, she had been due to
attend a dinner-dance on the evening of her kidnap. She should have been enjoying a
sumptuous meal, being flattered by admiring male glances and comments as she twirled in
her low-cut evening gown. Instead she hung helpless in her suit, sucking the milk passing
through her feeding tube, wishing she could hear anything but the ‘white noise’ humming
continually through her earplugs.
Would she ever get out or be rescued? She had been rescued countless times in her
imagination, surrounded by concerned, friendly faces until the darkness and silence of her
prisoner’s world oozed back into her reality. With nothing else to occupy her mind, it
constantly travelled back to the start of her troubles – trying to understand how and
why.
Joanne had felt at once both excited and frightened. She was trying to obtain definite
proof or evidence that her German neighbour, Eva, who she thought came across as something
of a snooty cow - an ‘iceberg’ - was a lesbian. She would then have a moral advantage over
the woman. Also, according to Chris, Eva was apparently very rich. As she was a popular
school gym-teacher, might there not, she wondered, be scope for some subtle blackmail? She
shook her head to clear such stray thoughts. That wasn’t her real reason for doing this
she tried to assure herself. Although extra money would of course be welcome she was
fairly rich anyway in her own right. However, as she always told her husband, it was her
money, inherited and it was always to his annoyance that she kept it in her building
society for a ‘rainy day.’
Her proposed venture that fateful day also frightened her somewhat because she knew she
was taking a risk. Although Eva lived alone and had left for school at her normal time an
hour ago, there was always an outside chance that she could return unexpectedly. Perhaps,
she justified to herself her quiet, almost dull life required such a risk now and again?
Momentarily, Joanne stopped and shook herself again in customary indecision. Did she
really want to do this? Her curiosity was leading her astray. Yet somehow she must
discover if Eva did have a deep dark secret. She knew that although her neighbour was
outwardly friendly, she secretly looked down on her, a housewife several years her senior,
with no career. Chris had confirmed to her this belief apparently held by Eva.
The thought of the woman’s sly, haughty looks, when she thought none could see her,
stiffened Joanne’s resolve. She gripped the tiny camera which she would plant somewhere
discreet in Eva’s bedroom to record any indiscretions. And if she came across any proof
here and now, such as photographs or notebooks, she had another tiny digital camera on
her. Although Joanne was no real expert in their use her husband was in the surveillance
business, selling such things and had by chance explained such matters in recent idle
moments.
What would Chris think of her escapade? Joanne stopped again. She would tell him – if
she discovered anything. He had almost encouraged her to do something like this anyway,
putting ideas in her mind, mentioning that today Eva had let slip to him that she was
leaving in the early morning for an appointment in town and would be away until late. He
definitely thought that the woman had an unusual number of young schoolgirls visit her
house. Perhaps she had some illegal hold over them? Drugs maybe? He’d said that flippantly
but if Eva was up so something illegal, Joanne decided she would be doing a public service
by exposing her; lots of praise and credit. She basked briefly in a warm glow.
Although he sometimes accused her of being nosy, Chris too, she was sure, would also
enjoy the feeling of superiority of looking down on the woman. And maybe also save the
girls from her influence? And if the woman was doing nothing unusual – well nothing lost.
No one would ever know. And, who knows; if Eva did have a harmless secret might she indeed
treat her with a little more respect if she knew it could be revealed. Power! She shivered
in secret, ashamed delight.
As Chris had said, it would be so easy to get into their neighbour’s house without
anyone being aware. Eva had given them a spare key a week ago because she had apparently
locked herself out. Stupid bitch, thought Joanne ; she wasn’t so clever after all!
She continued cautiously down the narrow walkway between their two fractionally detached
houses, conveniently shielded by trees from observers. She would be visible only from the
windows in their houses and nowhere else. The door opened easily with the key. It had been
a piece of cake, she could easily retrieve the camera again in a few weeks after it had
fed its pictures to their computer next door and satisfied her curiosity.
The house was quite neat and tidy. However, Joanne only gave it a cursory, curious look,
keeping away from the windows, heading upstairs. The bedroom was bright and airy but
shielded by blinds, allowing her to wander freely. It was feminine but without the bears
and cuddly toys which cluttered hers.
She froze. Was that a creak from the loft? She remained still for a complete minute,
ready to run, her heart hammering in her ears. Nothing, it was a heating pipe cooling down
she guessed.
The small desk wasn’t locked and she began foraging before deciding on a whim to check
the dressing table instead. A woman’s instinct had drawn her to Eva’s ‘undies’ drawer and
she trailed the tiny wispy pieces of silk through her fingers. If the woman was a lesbian,
she certainly wasn’t the butch partner, she decided.
Having made a cursory search and found nothing of particular interest, she concentrated
on secreting the tiny camera. It would fit easily into a tiny black vent high on the wall
opposite the bed, she decided, recalling Chris’s advice. It was as she stood facing that
wall that the voice erupted from behind her, making her jump, making her gasp but then
warning her to silence and obedience. “Not a move - thief, not a sound, only if you obey
totally will you avoid get hurt.” The young male voice had a German accent, arrogant,
totally in control. “Don’t turn round, slowly put your handbag on the floor, kick it back
towards me, then you’ll lean against wall.”
“Please I ?ouch. ”
“Silence!” the voice had a sinister edge as something small and metallic jabbed her
back. Was it a gun?
“Lean further from the wall, arms and legs straight and wide apart. Support yourself
just on fingertips. Do it.”
Trembling, her mouth dry, Joanne obeyed the precise instructions. After pushing her
handbag backwards, hearing a clatter as it overturned, she gradually edged her limbs apart
into a cross until he was satisfied. Her wide, frightened, eyes focused on the bedroom
wall inches away, her weight resting on aching fingers. She longed to turn around, face
her accuser, but daren’t. Gulping, she felt lost, vulnerable and frightened, wishing she
hadn't chosen to wear the short skirt, which had risen up her thighs with her splayed
posture. Did Eva have a visiting boyfriend or family member? Was the youngster a thief?
How would she talk her way out of this? Would she have the opportunity? Maybe he would
just call the police, or take her money and not attack her.
“Please I can explain ? aghh,” she yelped as something cracked against her legs,
creating a painful burning sensation as if she’d touched an electric wire. “Shut up,
English bitch, no talking. If you move or turn I have something here to make you more
sorry than you can imagine – I’ll not warn you again,” the threat hung in the air.
“What are you doing here?” the voice, after nearly five minutes of quaking silence
whilst he’d leafed through her handbag, made her jump.
“I-I have a key. I’m a neighbour. I was just checking that all was well. Please, this
isn’t my house, I’ll not tell anyone you’re here if you just let me go ?”
“I think you lie,” the voice interrupting her was so self-assured and in control. “Your
penalty - remove your sweater.”
“Look please ? haaah,” she yelped, sagging against the wall, nearly turning around as
she clutched another throbbing line of pain on her leg where he had again touched her with
what felt like a burning metallic rod.
“You nearly turned then – very nasty.” The voice was so cold and calm. “You’ll not
question me, just obey. If you behave, do exactly as told without question, it’ll be less
painful for you. Ten seconds for your jumper to come off or ? prepare for something very
unpleasant, something worse.”
Her face flushed, Joanne pulled her sweater off, holding it in her arms, clasped to her
chest.
“Throw it behind you, then lean back against wall. Hurry!” he snapped.
She knew she had no choice. Leaning back against the wall on shaking arms, she didn’t
have the skill or bravado to do anything else.
“Name?”
“Joanne – Joanne Patterson.”
"Age?"
“Why?”
“Age – or ? .”
"Twenty eight."
“Address?”
“Next door. I live at number 36.”
“Why are you here?” the voice was almost relaxed conspiratorial.
“Like I said, I-I do have a key, I was being a little nosy maybe. My husband sent me, he
knows I’m- I’m here ?”
“Naughty girl,” he laughed, nearly making her turn and snap at him; a youngster treating
her, a grown woman, like a kid! “Why don’t I believe you Joanne?” he continued, “skirt
off, throw it back to me. Hurry, it gets worse; I’m not joking.” The boy amplified the
threat with an ominous metallic noise when she hesitated, which could easily to her
tortured imagination have been a gun cocking.
Terrified, she took a deep breath, she kicked off her shoes, unzipped her black skirt
and dropped it behind her.
“Wall.”
Shuddering, she pressed against it.
“Further away, legs arms, straighter, wider, and rest on fingertips only.” He was
precise in his requirements and demands, belying his lack of years; allowing her
absolutely no leeway.
Again assuming the spread-eagle posture, now in just her small set of red bra, panties
and hold-up stockings, she felt incredibly vulnerable before her unknown assailant. She
was only thankful that her minimal clothing was at least presentable and that she was not
in her comfy, dressing down, slumming underwear. Then anger momentarily boiled up that she
should feel grateful. Why had this young creep any right to make her expose herself in
this fashion?
There was however a reason, an important one, for her choosing glamorous underwear. This
afternoon she was due to see the handsome and muscled Martin. Maybe fate would determine
that this afternoon it would be right for their friendship and flirting to progress to
another stage. The guy who was once merely her gym instructor but who was now something
more important in her life clearly wanted their relationship to blossom. It had been left
that if she too felt the same way she would go the gym that afternoon.
Bitterness gripped her heart. She knew now that she wanted that man, her marriage was
faltering and she needed more excitement in her life. Now this bastard would put all of
her plans and dreams in jeopardy. Martin would think she had rejected him, maybe he would
leave town.
“Please – please let me go, I’ll say nothing,” she begged impulsively, simply wanting to
be out of this house, run to Martin - let him know she wanted him; he could no doubt make
mincemeat of the cocky young German. Even just escaping this frightening situation to seek
solace with boring Chris would be preferable to being at the mercy of her captor.
“I gave no permission to talk. Silence or you get hurt.”
A tear of frustration trickled from her wide green eyes, emphasising her helplessness
and lack of control over her life and destiny. Only by remembering the circumstances of
her predicament here and the potential for her to suffer, quelled her temper. She stood
compliant as her skirt rustled away behind her, imagining the bastard holding it - holding
her skirt!
“Why go through the dressing table?” The persistent questioning continued. Joanne was
caught on the hop, she had to forget everything else, concentrate on the present – her
life might depend on it. She flushed a deeper hue, cursing her curiosity, the impromptu
look.
“I was looking for ? I - I wondered, it looked as if it was open and I was closing it.”
“Tut –tut, lying again. Stockings, then back to wall.”
Feeling like a stripper, a whore, she unrolled her stockings to drop them behind her.
Obediently she leaned against the wall again.
“What this little gadget in handbag?” he changed tack again, keeping her guessing.
“It – it’s something of my husband’s he was showing me. I’m not sure exactly what it is.
I forgot about it and ? ” She was interrupted now by his laughter, cold, clinical.
“You think I’m stupid – I don’t like that. Bra please, Mrs Patterson.”
“Please,” she practically whimpered.
“Don’t make me hurt you again – yet.”
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