Chapter 1

 

I am very wealthy. Extraordinarily so, as it happens. With my lifelong friend, companion and valet, Travis Gordon, I live in a very old but beautiful mansion which has been in my family since it was built in the middle of the Nineteenth Century. It is set in a couple of hectares of quite lovely gardens in Bardon, one of Brisbane's elite suburbs, quite near Government House.

Travis does some of the housework, cooks, chauffeurs and valets for me, but we have daily help come in for the house really is huge and he couldn't possibly do it all, neither would I want him to.

I am also a graduate lawyer although I have never practised my profession as it held no real appeal for me. Instead, I sit on the boards of various charities and travel a fair bit. One might say I live a life of leisure interspersed with charity bashes.

I loved my life and so did Travis and no, we weren't a number. Not in that way. In fact, I had better explain my (and his) sexuality straight away for it is crucial to the events that followed.

I think we are what might be termed asexual. That is, neither of us is turned on by the sexual act itself. We are interested in people as sexual objects and delight in the perfect physique but we don't want to fuck them. Another strange aspect of our sexuality is that we are both as much interested in males as females - as long as they are perfect specimens!

We both delight in athletic bodies in our sexual subjects. A voluptuous female is of little interest to us but a handsome, clean-cut, muscular female athlete is a dreamboat to us both, as of course is a male of similar athleticism.

Perhaps you can see now why Travis and I have made a home together. He is much more my friend and companion than a servant although he insists on performing the duties of a valet, houseman and driver. We have never slept together and are not interested in doing so although both of us work very hard in the gym I installed into the house.

So how do we get our rocks off? I have built up a quite extraordinary library of magazines, books, videos and DVDs as well as a huge portfolio of photographs and drawings of naked subjects, all with beautiful physiques. I stress here, though, that every single one of those photographs is legal.

But there is another aspect to it of which neither of us is very proud. We are both closet sadists. Not that we ever seriously contemplated acting out our fantasies on real people. At least not until IT happened. Many of my tapes, DVDs and the like are of subjects of both genders being tortured or punished corporally. Many of the European films are very real or appear so and Travis and I spend many delicious hours in one of the many rooms down in the cellars of the old house in which we keep this library, watching the films, leafing through the photos while we mutually jerk off or in fingering some of the many instruments of torture I have quietly acquired and placed in other rooms down there over the years.

Oh, I should say we are both now thirty years old and as my parents both died in a plane crash when I was just twenty-two, this lifestyle has been going on for eight wonderful years.

So, I have now set the scene for the events which now overtook us.

I have an older sister, Margaret and while I, as the only male heir, inherited the bulk of my father's estate, she came into a substantial trust fund which set her up for life, too. We are very close and we see her, her husband and their daughter Anne a lot. John Winters is a very successful consultant engineer and travels the world advising on huge projects. He too is a millionaire in his own right and he is also a great bloke whom I count as a real friend as well as brother-in-law.

And so, when Anne was assaulted by the young punk who then got off on one of those legal technicalities which plague the laws, we were all outraged.

Of course we offered Anne all the support and love we could but despite her previous sunny nature and true physical beauty, she slowly slipped into a depression that nothing any of us could do or say seemed to help.

As I watched her decline, Travis observed that we should do something about it.

"What," I said. "What can we do...?"

"We can teach that young bastard a lesson he will never forget, that's what we can do," he said grimly.

"You really mean it, don't you, Travis?" I said, perking up as I stared at him wonderingly.

"Darned tootin' I do. And what's more, I know just how we can do it!"

"Go on," I said softly.

"This house is perfect, Ash. In a few weeks or months, when everybody has forgotten young Jeremy King, we kidnap him and bring him here. We put a special mask on him that won't blind him completely but its lenses will blur everything so he won't be able to distinguish us and we will lock it on him permanently. The mask will also cover his ears and slur the sounds he will hear. He will be able to see us and understand our words but he won't recognise us, his surroundings or be able to identify us later.

"We then strip him naked, depilate him totally, at least all his body hair (this was another of our fetishes - we both hated hair on the human body and had long had our own removed) and then proceed to punish him as the courts cannot.

"By the time we've finished with him, he won't dare report what we've done to him and I suspect will have lost that bravado and arrogance he displayed during the investigation and trial."

"And just what is it that you are proposing we do to him?" I said but I wasn't being critical. By now I was right with him and as long as I felt we could protect ourselves from retribution, I was all for giving Anne's attacker what the legal system had failed so dismally to achieve.

"Ah, I have thought out quite few, er, treatments which he isn't going to like one bit. You know all those 'torture chambers' and the other empty rooms next to our private room down below?"

I nodded briefly. "Yes?"

"Well they will make wonderful little punishment rooms ... and that barred area where your father kept all those wines...?"

"His prison cell?" I breathed. "Oh yes! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes..."

 

We fell to talking over the details then and the more we talked, the more I began to think we could do it - and get away with it. Was I not, as a lawyer, concerned that I was now contemplating flouting the law myself; acting as a vigilante? Of course I was, but I was more concerned with my niece's physical and mental health and both of them were in very serious jeopardy right then.

We decided to tell no-one of our plans. The fewer people who knew of them, the better, we thought. But we started straight away checking out the existing instruments of torture we had already installed and which we were going to use on young Mr Jeremy King and in preparing the empty rooms we were going to prepare for others of them. In a few weeks, he would be as far from the arrogant upstart who had got away with assault as it was possible to be.

I won't go into the details of our preparations. Suffice it to say we worked hard and in a few weeks we were ready. One thing I will mention though is that we were able fairly simply to block off the part of the cellars which housed our new little prison. The cellars were extensive and because the foundations down there supported the huge house above it, there were numerous massive pillars and convoluted passageways. We were able to install a new wall with a secret hidden door which led into the passage which in turn led to our torture chambers and his cell so that if anyone searched down there, their chances of finding him would be very remote indeed.

 

Kidnapping him was easy. But that was because we took pains to make sure this first part of the operation went smoothly and so we covertly watched him and learned his habits. When we were sure we had it right, we pounced.

He was a ladies man. That's what had landed him into trouble with Anne in the first place. But she wasn't interested in his flamboyant good looks and nicely muscled body and as she was apparently the first girl to rebuff him, he took offence, laid in wait for her and then raped her brutally. He got off because there was no corroborative evidence to back up Anne's story.

Although he was also a footballer and a track and field athlete as well as a competent gymnast, he spent every Friday night at his local pub and preyed on the best-looking girl there and usually ended up in taking her home to her place for a fling. He never stayed the whole night though, which suited us down to the ground.

We watched and waited another two months which amounted to four months after his acquittal and we thought this might well divert suspicion from my family for as a ladies man he had bedded countless girls and then dumped them for better pickings. His affairs were usually one-night-stands for there was always a new girl to be found next week. There must be many fathers and brothers who would have it in for this young man (He was just twenty-two at the time but he had been at these sexual shenanigans for years).

He usually took the girl home to her flat at around ten and his little party then went on until around midnight at which he emerged sporting a self-satisfied smugness (which made us see red), got into his little red MGB and sped off.

But this time, we were ready for him. We had each armed ourselves with one of those small automatic syringes (which activate when pressed against the flesh) and which were charged with an instant knock-out drug which would last an hour or so.

We made sure the street was deserted as he emerged and then we brushed past him. As I did so, I then turned and hit his buttock with my needle. As he began to fall we grabbed him, supporting him as if he was drunk and then loaded him into the back of the small nondescript van I had bought for the occasion. I would sell it in a week or so.

While I drove, Travis stripped him naked and bundled his clothes into four separate shopping bags which we then unloaded into four different rubbish bins a long way from the girl's address.

When we got him home, we took him straight down to the cellar, fitted the metal mask over his eyes and ears and locked it shut then threw him down naked onto the plain sheet of uncovered thin foam rubber we had laid over the steel and wire army cot and on which was provided one plain army blanket and no pillow. When he woke up he would be cold and in total darkness but we would be watching him from upstairs in my study for I had installed a CCTV system which included infra-red cameras as well as ordinary light ones so that we would be able to watch him even when there was no light at all.

Sure enough, seventy-five minutes after I had jabbed him he started to stir and then when he came to life and realised he was masked but otherwise totally naked, lying on a cot in what he soon discovered was a cell, he tried to remove the mask - but of course failed. It was made of stainless steel and there was no way he could get it off or even loose so he could peer out beside the blurring lenses - and then he screamed in rage - and in fear.

"Where am I? Let me out," he yelled. "Who the hell are you? What am I doing here?"

They weren't all said at once. There were snorts and little silences in between the words but then he found the blanket and wrapped it around his now shivering body and then sat on the side of the bed. Eventually though, when there was no response to his questions and threats from out of the stygian darkness, he ceased making them and then laid down, curled into a foetal ball and eventually dropped off.

We went to bed ourselves then but in the morning, wearing nondescript track suits and a hood (just in case), we went down to see how our prisoner was faring.

He was again sitting on the side of the bed with the blanket around his still shivering body but he now stared up at us in fear and hate, repeating the questions and threats he had made last night.

We ignored them but I now informed him that we were agents of a secret organisation which had been set up to redress wrongs where the courts had failed to do so. He sat there and stared up at us, now in fear more than anything else. He had suddenly realised he was in deep shit and that things were not going to be too pleasant for him in the immediate future.

I then ordered him to stand and to shed the blanket. Of course he refused (as we had expected him to) and so Travis went over to the wall and uncoiled a hose we had provided there. He brought it over, aimed it at the still sitting young man and then turned it on - full force, battering his blanket-enshrouded body with a full blast of the mains water supply - cold of course.