by Roger Clarke
‘I can fuck you, 51, can’t I?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I can use you in any way I want, can’t I?’
‘Yes, Master, anything,’ she panted back, her eyes closing as his cock stretched her.
‘And can he fuck you, 51?’ the man goaded.
Erica shook her head, her moist lips parting as a shunt of his hips caused her to gasp softly.
‘Any man in the world can have you, except your stepfather?’
Erica nodded dreamily. ‘Yes, Master.’
The man twisted his hand in her hair, pulling her back against him as he fucked her from behind, aggressively stabbing his cock into her, the pistol still in his free hand. ‘Anyone but you, Laurence Pettinger, MP,’ he mocked.
‘What have I ever done to you?’ Laurence whimpered, gingerly touching his fingertips to his already swelling lower lip. ‘What?’
The man ignored him, pulling away from Erica and resuming his position against the desk, the gun trained on its target still.
Erica took a few moments to compose herself. Laurence Pettinger could not fail to be entranced by her, but then again he always was, back to when she was a precocious teenager living at home. She was dancing again, right in front of him, then Grace’s voice cut into the electric atmosphere. ‘Are you ready, Erica?’ she asked, and Erica stopped dancing for a moment, nodding tentatively.
Grace spoke to the second man, who advanced on Laurence Pettinger. From his pocket he pulled a pair of handcuffs and, after pulling the captive roughly to his feet, he snapped them onto his wrists so his hands were locked behind his back. From somewhere the other man had produced a heavy rope, coiled as if prepared beforehand. As he tossed it to his associate it uncoiled slightly, and the second man roped the MP’s ankles together while the first handed Erica a dark, sinister shape, and it was not until she turned to face her stepfather that he saw it was another gun.
‘Oh God, n-no!’ he stammered. ‘Erica, please, you can’t…’
‘One shot, 51,’ the man told her, ignoring the blubbering of her stepfather. ‘That’s all you have in there. And if you try anything clever…’ He did not need to finish his threat. The gun he now had trained on her heart said it for him, so Erica turned her focus back to her stepfather.
‘You took my life away,’ she said, her tone strangely emotionless. ‘I’ll never be free again; somehow I’ve come to accept that. But because of you… because of your devious cruelty… my life doesn’t belong to me any more. So if I can’t have my own life, because of you, you’re not going to have your life either.’
‘Erica…’ he mumbled pitifully.
‘I think that’s only fair. Don’t you?’
‘Erica, please no…’ Laurence Pettinger, MP, sank to his knees. ‘You want me to say I’m sorry? Is that what you want? Then I’ll say it. I’m sorry, Erica, really I am.’
‘Too late,’ was Erica’s simple response.
‘I can get you freed,’ he suddenly gabbled desperately. ‘I have influence.’
‘Will I ever be freed, Mistress?’ Erica asked, not taking her eyes off the grovelling, pitiful man kneeling before her. ‘Can he promise me that?’
‘No, Erica,’ Grace replied gently. ‘There’s nothing he can do for you.’
‘Please, I’m begging!’ He leaned forward, toppling onto the floor with no arms to support him, snivelling at Erica’s feet, trying to kiss them in some pathetic, belated attempt at appeasement. ‘Please, please Erica,’ he babbled over and over.
Erica lifted her foot, pressing the point of her stiletto heel down into his cheek until he was gasping in agony. She should have felt remorse. She was glad she felt none.
The lurking man moved to Laurence and lifted him back into the chair, while he surprised Erica by seemingly recovering some strength and defiance. She looked at her stepfather, and he stared back up at her, his head tilted slightly to one side.
‘OK, young lady, you’ve had your moment,’ he said. ‘Now let me go, there’s a good girl. I’ll come to The Complex tomorrow and bring you home.’
Erica pouted at him. ‘But can’t I stay here at home now?’ she asked. ‘Why send me back there only to come and get me again in the morning?’
Laurence Pettinger faltered. ‘Yes, yes… that’s what I meant,’ he stumbled.
‘And will we have fun together, when I’m back home?’ she coaxed suggestively.
He was unsure how to answer. ‘Ah, anything you want.’
Whether he thought she was actually going to release him or not, she could not tell. Maybe fear had convinced him that this was all a vengeful joke, that it was inconceivable that it could go any further.
But Erica was enjoying herself.
Erica was making the moment last.
Erica slowly lifted the pistol, surprised at its weight. Laurence stared, speechless now, his eyes fixed on the small circular hole of the barrel. Nobody in that room was going to help him. He was already dead.
She stared at him, so focussed that everything else receded from her consciousness. They had never before been this close; never before had this intensity of communication. She had no idea how long the silent moment lasted, and then a tear trickling down his cheek broke the spell.
Erica raised the pistol a little more and pointed at her stepfather’s forehead. She had never fired a gun before but she was confident that at this range she would not fail herself. ‘Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.’ Wasn’t that what they always said on TV?
Erica squeezed. She didn’t pull. The explosion of noise deafened her and the bright glare was like lightning. In slow motion she watched a small hole appear in the centre of her stepfather’s forehead. He didn’t move, and she thought she must have missed in some way. He was still there, staring at her. Still alive. Damn him!
This time she pulled, and all she got was a click. But it didn’t matter. Laurence Pettinger’s head fell forward and his slack chin lolled on his chest. A trickle of blood seeped from the wound. She expected more. She felt cheated that there wasn’t more.
Then there were noises from in the room. Tense breathing. People.
Erica turned to face them. The men were silent. Grace was lurking in the shadows, hardly visible apart from a tiny red light where her face should be, and it was then that Erica realised the entire scene had been captured on a video camera. ‘W-what…?’ she started.
‘Insurance,’ Grace stated frankly, lowering the camera a little. ‘Now you’re mine forever.’ The red light went out as she moved forward. ‘Right, time to go,’ she said, addressing her two accomplices rather than Erica. ‘Tie her again, ready for the journey.’
Erica stood hopelessly still as the men roped her arms and legs together until she could not move.
‘What about…?’ She meant her mother, just before a strip of tape was smoothed across her mouth.
‘No loose ends,’ the taller man said, and Erica screamed behind the gag as the other man nodded at his male accomplice and silently left the room – clearly intent on finishing the job.
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