In Too Deep

by Roxane Beaufort

  The limousine swung between electronically controlled gates, rolled across the gravel, and braked outside the house. Grace was the first person Julia saw as she climbed out. Tall and gaunt as ever, she spiked her with her gimlet eyes and took over from Gabor. Julia's wrists were drawn behind her back and manacled. With her hands bound and her shoulders back, her thrusting breasts looked like a sacrificial offering. Grace eyed them and licked her lips, and then conducted her up the stone steps and under the portal.

  'Take her to the cellar,' Gabor barked. 'Prepare her. We'll be with you shortly.'

  It was cool down there after the heat outside, as dimly lit and sinister as Julia remembered. What would they do first? Hang her from the crosspiece? Her imagination painted lurid pictures and her flesh crawled, but she was unwittingly aroused, a hungry ache in her epicentre.

  Grace marched her across the stone floor and sat her on a high-backed wooden chair fitted with chains, to which the handcuffs were attached. This forced her to keep her spine straight. She stared at the door, waiting for Vincent. Grace stood at her side in the attitude of a warder. Julia dared not speak to her, feeling that they were both taking part in a strange, sexual ritual. The area between her legs was moist, and she wriggled slightly, bearing down so the central ridge in the seat pressed into her sensitive labia.

  Vincent Gabor materialised. He was carrying a small cane, no more than eighteen inches in length. He swished it against his palm as he stood in front of Julia. 'You need severe correction,' he said. 'If there's one thing that offends me, it's disloyalty.'

  'I was being loyal to Arlene,' she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.

  'I'm speaking of loyalty to me,' he continued, his handsome face hard, as if chiselled from granite. 'You're very lovely, my dear, and I've grown fond of you. It grieves me to think that you were about to betray Marty, and in doing so, betraying me.'

  He grabbed the neck of her T-shirt, tearing it away. Her breasts rose above the tatters, lifted high by her lace-trimmed bra cups. He smiled sombrely, and bent to suck each in turn.

  When he left her the material formed two dark wet circles over her pronounced nipples. Julia's breath shortened, the exquisite sensation caused by his lips shooting straight down to her clitoris. Then she gasped fearfully as her mind associated the cane with her breasts. She felt it for a split second before he actually hit her. The first blow across those tender globes raised a raging heat and broke the terrible tension of anticipation. She glanced down at the smooth upper slopes, seeing a red stripe forming on the tanned flesh.

  'Stand up,' Gabor demanded.

  Grace unhitched the chains and Julia got to her feet, though it was awkward with her arms strained behind her. Her breasts smarted intolerably.

  Gabor smiled a cruel smile. 'I think it's time she was pierced, don't you, Marty?' he said.

  'And shaved,' added Kevin, almost hopping with delight at the prospect of his rival's torment.

  'And plugged,' Blake said spitefully. 'Didn't you say her arsehole was tight? Grace should be given the job of stretching it, using her wicked collection of dildos. That'll make the bitch squirm.'

  'Exactly,' Gabor agreed, and he drew the cane across the tops of Julia's thighs, worked it under the hem of her short skirt and dragged the tip between her legs. 'But first, she needs to learn what it means to be punished for her misdemeanours. Julia, bend over the trestle.'

  She hesitated, but Grace pushed her towards a bench normally associated with supporting wood when being sawn. With a hand on Julia's bottom, Grace thrust her over the top, which had been modified with padding. She then spread Julia's wrists and ankles and chained them to eye screw bolts, so that she was firmly anchored to the contraption's legs.

  'It's too tight,' Julia whined, and Grace slackened the restraints a trifle. Then the cool air caressed Julia's rear as her skirt was raised and tucked up. She winced at the feel of cold steel touching her opened sex as her panties were sliced across and pushed up to join her skirt. The trestle pressed against her tender breasts, the cuffs cut into her skin, and she needed to pass water, her bladder irritated by nerves. What was it called? The relief of fear.

  She was coping better than on former occasions, having had practise in the art of submission. Yet when the cane rapped across her bare, rounded hinds, she knew she'd never become blasé about it. He did it again, harder this time. She screamed, bucked and wet herself. Another blow followed, and then another, until Vincent Gabor had laid on six more. Each one was an agonising, exhilarating experience. Her bottom was bathed in fire, and her pelvis pushed against the trestle as she sought pressure on her clit. Her nipples rubbed on the padding, and she wanted Vincent with a raw, passionate hunger.

  The last stroke brought tears to her eyes and she shrieked, unable to endure more, needing a break. Yet she didn't want mercy. If Vincent had suddenly softened, she would have been cast into a wasteland of confusion. A blinding flash of insight revealed that she wanted him to be cruel and despicable, mastering her, making her his slave.

  She heard the cane clatter as he threw it down, then felt smooth trouser fabric and hot flesh as he pushed between her legs, his covered thighs nudging hers further apart, his cock positioned to penetrate her. He thrust firmly and planted it inside. Julia jerked with the force of it, waves of pleasure mingling with the hot wash of pain as he chaffed her stripes with each inward stroke. She felt him lodged all the way in, but though her vaginal walls responded, he was ignoring that most important piece of sexual equipment - her clitoris.

  'Please, Mr Gabor, rub me,' she begged, shameless in her extremity.

  'Not this time,' he panted, and finished the act selfishly, concerned with nothing but his own climax.

  'Let me,' Marty Blake said, his voice husky.

  'Be my guest,' Vincent answered with a smile, withdrawing from Julia's glistening sex.

  No, no! She wanted to protest, hating the treacherous Blake, but she felt him there, taking Vincent's place, felt the slippery slide of his latex covered cock possessing her. It took him longer to reach his apogee. Kevin had already satisfied him twice that afternoon, and now he pumped and panted, threshed and rocked, till he finally came, groaning and leaning his weight on Julia's welted buttocks.

  Vincent Gabor was waiting with ill-concealed impatience, hardly giving Blake time to recover before commanding, 'Right, get off her. Unchain her, Grace.'

  Grace snapped open the ankle and wrist cuffs and Julia started to rise, every movement causing her anguish. She ached so badly that her legs trembled and she almost fell. Vincent caught her, and deliberately tore one of her bra straps. The cup drooped, baring her breast. She instinctively put up a hand to protect her modesty, but he slapped it away.

  'Why?' she whispered, cringing from him.

  'You look so tarty with your clothing torn and your breast exposed. I want to see you like that, and to proclaim to all that you're a dirty whore.' He jerked at her skirt and she heard it rip. He chuckled, and continued, 'You'll keep this on, but no doubt it will be in tatters by the time my men have finished using you.'

  'You'll look like a slag,' Kevin said bitchily. 'A right slapper.'

  'They aren't gentlemen, by any means,' Blake added spitefully. 'Big boys, all of them, and uncouth in the extreme. You won't know what's hit you.'

  'The trouble is, she'll probably enjoy it,' said Kevin.

  'What d'you mean?' she demanded, her eyes so full of tears she could hardly make out those mocking, leering faces. 'What are you going to do with me?'

  'Well, we can't let you go, can we?' Gabor replied. 'You know too much. Can't have you sounding off about Marty's little peccadilloes.'

  'My friends will search for me,' she said.

  He laughed again. 'Oh? And who might they be? Arlene, perhaps?'

  'Arlene and Eugene, yes.' She clung steadfastly to this thought.

  'They won't find you. I shall let it be known that I've sent you on ahead to Bermuda. I might just do that, but first you must undergo more traini
ng.' He turned to Grace, issued an order, then said, 'Lie on the couch, Julia.'

  'I can't. I'm too sore.'

  'Do it!'

  She staggered over to where a bench stood. Covered in brown leather, it resembled a doctor's examination couch. She eased herself onto it, groaning as she did so. It was impossible to get comfortable on her back, so she propped herself up on one elbow, making a feeble attempt to cover her naked lower regions with her skirt.

  'He said to lie flat,' Grace said, knocking her supporting arm from under her. The skirt rode up, displaying her pussy. 'We'll have to shave you there,' she said.

  A man appeared from the shadows. He had a military shaven haircut, tattoos and the build associated with weightlifters. A spiked collar circled his stout neck, and bands of studded leather passed across his wide chest and clipped to the belt round his waist. He wore tight leather shorts, but his genitals were bare. They were bound by thin straps drawn tight, lifting his balls and keeping his cock in a permanent state of erection. A smooth onyx ring pierced his foreskin, and this too was attached to the belt by a chain. She recognised him as one of Gabor's henchmen, had seen him lurking around Abbey Reach, along with others. All strapping men, casually dressed but with the air of soldiers in mufti.

  He carried a small plastic bowl and a tray of implements. He set them down on a table drawn close then went off again, returning shortly with a jug of hot water. He took up a cutthroat razor and opened it. Julia heard the vigorous sound made by the blade as he honed it on a leather strop. She wanted to press her thighs tightly together, to put her hand over her bush and prevent this further rape of her privacy. Once, it seemed a lifetime ago, Roberta had talked of shaving her, and now she wished it had been done then.

  Grace leaned over and spread Julia's legs. She struggled and managed to fight her off, but Grace was strong and quickly subdued her. To Julia's horror and embarrassment, the man positioned himself on a stool placed at the foot of the couch. He adjusted a reading lamp, directing the beam directly between her thighs. Her lower lips unfurled, revealing the pink slit between, and in spite of herself, she experienced that telltale tingling in her clit that betrayed her inner arousal.

  'Get on with it, Jason,' Grace said, striking him across the shoulders.

  He flinched and looked at Julia, and she read sympathy in his eyes. Big man though he was, maybe once a paratrooper, he was also a slave, and so was she - a slave of her own passions. She trusted him, longed to confide in him, needing a friend most desperately in that fraught moment. But she said nothing, just met his gaze mutely. He worked the shaving brush in the basin's soapy suds, and then wet her hair-fringed lips with warm water. The shaving brush tickled as he stroked it over her mons. It was a stimulating feeling, and her nubbin began to swell. She closed her eyes, relaxed and opened her legs further, inviting Jason to trail the brush over her clitoris. But he didn't, carefully avoiding contact with it. He had his orders and dared not disobey.

  Peeping from beneath lowered lids, Julia saw that Gabor and Blake were watching. Jason picked up the razor and held her sex lips together with one hand while he let the blade glide over her hairy triangle. He shaved her with sure sweeps till her mound was as smooth and bald as an egg. It felt cold, stinging slightly, and she opened her eyes and craned her neck to look. So pink, so naked; she'd not seen it like that since puberty.

  Dew seeped from Jason's glans, but he didn't touch her, simply washing the razor off, removing the blonde floss and soap from the glistening steel. He then eased her down on the couch till her legs dangled over the edge. Her arousal intensified as she lifted her legs, one at a time, so he could snick off stray hairs that curled round her perineum.

  'All done,' he said, his lips curving in a quirky smile.

  He bathed her labia and dabbed her dry, then dusted it with talcum powder. She fought the urge to drag him down and kiss him till they were both senseless. She longed to feel his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her breasts, his thumb bringing bliss to her clitoris.

  But it was Vincent Gabor who ran a hand over her satin-soft pubis, smiling. 'That looks so sweet,' he said, and then probed the bud that crowned her delta, the sensation acute, almost bringing on her crisis.

  'And the nipple piercing?' Kevin asked, absentmindedly twisting the rings in his own.

  'That, too,' Vincent promised, and signalled to Jason.

  'No...' Julia cried, sitting up, her bruises forgotten.

  'But yes,' he insisted. 'Look on it as a fashion accessory. Many use piercing these days, but for you it will be my mark; a constant reminder that you belong to me.'

  Grace's arms snaked around her. The back of the bench was raised and Julia's wrists and legs tethered to it. The last remnants of her tattered T-shirt were hauled off and her bra removed. She felt the astringent sting of disinfectant as Grace applied it, after carefully washing her nipples with a pad of cotton wool.

  'Do her navel too, while you're about it,' Gabor said, regarding the preparations coolly.

  Part of Julia wanted to run away, but deep inside her smouldered a dark ember of desire. She had secretly considered having her bellybutton pierced, and had poured over pictures of women with rings through their nipples, labia and clitoris, wondering what it would feel like. The write-ups suggested that they enhanced sexual sensations - especially the one through the clit. But she would have come to this in her own good time, maybe. Now she was being forced. Vincent had made up her mind for her.

  There was no escape. Grace held her still and Jason loomed with an instrument similar to that which had pierced her ears long ago. She had been frightened then, but this was as nothing compared to the terror that now made her tremble. Grace held Julia's right breast steady and, so swiftly that she hardly felt it, Jason pierced her nipple and inserted a gold guard ring. There was a minimal loss of blood, Grace bathed it away, and the disinfectant stung.

  'Nice,' Vincent said, nodding his approval.

  'She didn't scream - you're being too soft with her, Jason,' Kevin whined.

  'Shut up,' Vincent growled. 'Do the other one.'

  After what seemed like an eternity her ordeal was over, both nipples ringed, and her navel too. At first these wounds were numb but, as the shock wore off, they began to throb. Tears streaked her cheeks and she crawled wearily from the couch, dreading what further torments lay in store for her. Grace made her put on her bra and the remnants of her top, the fabric rubbing against her sore teats, while her skirt and what was left of her knickers added to the pain in her navel.

  She still harboured the faint hope that she would be locked in one of the guestrooms, but to her dismay, she saw Jason and Grace manoeuvring a cage into position. It was small and on wheels, similar to the kind once used by circuses to contain wild animals.

  'Get in,' said Grace.

  'This is a joke, surely?' Julia said, her voice rising in desperate appeal.

  'No joke; a means of correction,' Vincent Gabor answered.

  Julia glanced round wildly, but each face wore an implacable expression 'I won't go in there,' she insisted. 'It's too claustrophobic. I can't stand confinement.'

  Kevin and Marty Blake gripped her arms and dragged her towards it. She stumbled on the low step, cracked her shin, and was then catapulted into the musty interior. The gate clanged behind her and the padlock shut with a snap.

  'Good night, and sweet dreams,' mocked Blake.

  'Have you seen Julia?' Will said, arriving unannounced in Arlene's workshop.

  She was on her knees, working on a made-to-measure garment draped on a dummy and looked up, mumbling through the pins held between her lips. 'No, I thought she was with you.'

  'I haven't heard from her for two days. Not since she went to Marty Blake's studio,' he said, and searched his pockets fruitlessly for his cigarettes.

  Arlene straightened up, removed the dressmaker's pins, returned them to their crimson velvet cushion and reached for her own pack. 'Have one of mine. Shit, this isn't good news. Have you tried phoning
Abbey Reach?'

  'I didn't; I'm not supposed to know her. But I did get Denise to do it, with the excuse that she wanted to interview Julia after her success at the fashion show. She was told that Miss Jones was away on a shoot.'

  'D'you believe that?' To give her hands something to do while her thoughts whirled, Arlene made for the kettle and jar of instant coffee. 'Sugar?' she asked, while her imagination dreamed up images of Julia being enslaved, used, turned into Gabor's whore - or worse still - seriously hurt if she'd been caught snooping.

  'Two,' Will answered absently, then added, as if his thoughts were on the same track, 'Supposing she fouled up, and they've kidnapped her?'

  'That's pretty farfetched, isn't it?' she said. 'I can't believe that.'

  He frowned, and ran a hand through his untidy hair. He looked crumpled and worried. 'Would you have believed a year ago that Marty Blake would rob you?' he said sharply. 'I'd have dismissed it as crap, and so would you.'

  'You're right. So, where do we go from here?' Arlene asked, making a space on the table for her cup, and fishing for an ashtray among the debris - snippets of fabric, reels of cotton, scissors, scraps of paper covered in rough sketches - but underneath these practical actions, she was running around screaming, panic-stricken for her friend's safety.

  'We could try Hazel House, or Blake's apartment. Denise has Julia's notes. She's been scrupulous about keeping the magazine informed of her actions and whereabouts.'

  'But there's been no communication?'

  'Not over the past forty-eight hours.'

  'I'll give Eugene a bell. He'll be up for it. He can ferret around, maybe make a trip out to Hazel House. Don't worry. He's cool.'

  'Someone may recognise him from the show.'

  'I doubt it. They were all too busy wanking their own egos.'

  'If she doesn't turn up, then I'll get hold of Theona. She's gigging up north till tomorrow.'

  'Then you'll hack into Gabor's system?'

  'There won't be any alternative; we've just got to find her.' Will's brown eyes registered deep concern, and Arlene realised he really did care for Julia. She was lucky to have someone so devoted. In many ways, he was like Eugene.