BDSM Library - Story: Stiffkey Blues, Chapter: Chapter 7 Return From The Pub

Chapter 7: Return From The Pub

Madeleine was shivering, cold and wet, on the floor of the pump tower. She had been half drowned by her terrifying experience in the sluice and while the woman that had pulled her from the water had taken the trouble to wrap her in some old sacking, her clothes were still soaking wet and she was shivering with cold. She had been dragged over to one of the other pillars and tied against it, to stop her, as the woman had said, getting into any more trouble.

Krysta had been rewarded for the struggles that dislodged the brake with a rope around her neck holding her head back against her pillar. Intended to discourage her from further efforts to free herself, it was working, Madeleine could see the terrified look on Krysta’s face as she stood hardly daring to move less she choke herself.

Their attackers had left them about fifteen minutes before. Now Madeleine could hear the sound of Celia’s car returning as she and Angela got back from the pub. Madeleine first thought she should try to attract their attention; then feared that it would only warn their attacker; then that Celia and Angela represented their only hope of freedom. And where was Penny? Had she been seized as well or had she somehow managed to escape?

The slamming of Angela’s car doors told Madeleine that if she was to try to attract attention it had to be now. In desperation she tried to cry out but her gag was no less effective for having been jammed in her mouth for half an hour or more. There was no sign that she had been heard.

“Spooky noises!” Angela exclaimed as she and Celia headed for the door of the cottage.

“What WAS that? It sounded like some strange bird or something. Could be an owl, I guess. We’ll ask Krysta; she’ll know,” Celia said as she opened the door.

The two girls stepped through the door into the dark of the lounge. As Angela fumbled for the light switch Celia pushed the door shut.

Before she could turn the light on, Angela felt someone grip her hand, spin her around and pulled her backwards. She collided with whoever it was that had grabbed her as a hand clamped over her mouth. Thinking that Penny was attempting to recreate some of her stories she was perhaps less panicked than she should have been.

Celia was experiencing something similar. As the door swung shut, she too had been gripped with cry-stifling efficiency.

It was only when the lights came on and the two girls realised that their masked and black clad captors were not any of their other week-end companions, that the terror began.

++++++

Angela was wrestled face down to the floor in spite of her struggles. The weight of her assailant laying on her back pushed her down hard against the floor as a man’s voice hissed, “Keep foocking quiet”. With the man’s gloved hand firmly over her lips she could do little else as the man pushed the barrel of a pistol where she could see it. “And foocking still too,” he snarled as he slid the pistol around to press it against the back of her neck.

Celia was treated no less harshly. Her captor, span her around and slammed her back against the wall, knocking the breath from her. By the time she had recovered, she was staring into grey emotionless eyes, a gloved hand was clamped over her mouth and the wide blade of a knife was pricking against the underside of her chin. “Very still, ducks,” a woman’s voice said, “Very still and very, very quiet.”

Celia whimpered behind the woman’s gloved hand and was rewarded with the order to “Open wide!” Leather fingers pushed between her lips and pressed a wad of cloth between them stuffing her mouth full. “Don’t try to spit that out.”

Celia looked across at Angela. She could see her eyes wide in terror, white cloth spilling from her mouth like some rabid froth. She knew that she looked just the same. Somehow she felt guilty for Angela’s situation. It wasn’t her fault, she knew but she felt guilty just the same. All she could hope, as Angela did, was that heir attackers would take whatever they had come for and then leave. Unfortunately for them both, this was just what their attackers intended.

They set to work securing the girls’ wrists and ankles with broad strips of tape satisfying themselves that their limbs were locked hopelessly immobile before adding tape to their mouths and across pads over their eyes. Only then did the masked man and woman feel able to relax.

++++++

Reg Tobin allowed himself a grunt of satisfaction. The girls were, as planned, trussed, silenced and blindfolded. He pulled the ski mask from his face, glad to remove it, his skin sweaty and prickly beneath it.

Deirdre did the same. They looked at each other. It hadn’t been too bad, so far. The business with the girl in the mill – which one was it? oh, yes, Madeleine – had been a disruption but not a problem in the end.

Reg looked out through the cottage window. He stared longingly at the Anglia and the Eriba connected up behind it. Deirdre knew what he was thinking. She shook her head. That wasn’t in the plan. Reg acknowledged her admonishment with a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders. What was in the plan was to take the Land Rover and tow the sailing dinghy on its trailer down to the nearby slipway.

Deirdre went to fetch the Land Rover while Reg unzipped the tarpaulin that covered the boat. He went in to the mill first of all and then into the cottage returning each time with one of the girls over his shoulder. One by one he threaded them through the gap in the tarpaulin, sliding their helpless forms down into the well of the dinghy. He didn’t bother with a sedative, they weren’t going very far.

Deidre arrived back with the Land Rover and together they hitched up the launching trailer, bringing muffled squeals from the girls as the movement added to their sense of panic. The two climbed into the Land Rover and drove off.

Under the dinghy’s tarpaulin, the girl’s bounced against one another and the wooden inside of the dinghy’s clinker built hull as the Land Rover crunched down the uneven drive that led to Mill Cottage.

At the nearby slipway, the girl’s distress became heightened as they realised the boat was being launched. Lapping water and the drop in temperature as the boat slid into the waters of the North Sea told them they were being set afloat. Their cries of panic, still stifled by the wadding, the cable ties and the tape, sounded like an alarmed flock of marsh birds. The sound fell away as the boat drifted off with the last of the ebb tide.

They couldn’t know, of course, that a darkened launch was waiting a way off shore to take them in tow for a few miles out to sea before taking them on board and cutting the dinghy adrift..

Reg and Deirdre climbed out of the Land Rover being careful to leave their foot prints only where they would be washed away as the tide turned.

They watched the dinghy slip away and then headed back to their own car, their work for the week-end completed.

All characters fictitious

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