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While Freddie’s teams have been cutting a swath through Norman’s back catalogue of wives, Norman St John-Ferris has been hosting a conference on the Commercialisation Of Heritage. Hamblingham Hall has provided a venue of historical distinction for discussions on the development of access, the improvement of presentation, and the role of info-tainment.
The Trust has provided speakers. Members of Britain’s impoverished aristocracy have come together to cry on one another’s shoulders in an attempt to reverse the tide of wealth driving out breeding. A range of re-enactment societies, architectural restorers and theme park operators have tried to present their various products as panaceas for an ailing industry.
The conference has served its purpose. Contacts have been made, relationships formed, ideas exchanged and, most of all, Norman has been seen in the company of a large number of people while his former wives have been accosted, drugged, abducted, and imprisoned hundreds of miles away from him.
Alicia was the first one to reach the holding cells on Agoras, but, then, it was less than a day’s sailing across the Aegean from Mykonos.
They’d left her naked, wrists chained behind her and ankles shackled, for what had seemed like days in a windowless stone room with a barred front wall. Every so often they would bring her food and water and take her to use a bucket and shower. She’d tried pleading with them, tried telling them that no-one would pay a ransom for her, but they hadn’t seemed interested. She’d even tried getting around one of the guards with the flirtatious look and double meaning suggestions that had worked so well for her in her business. The guard had just grinned. "You think that if, I wanted to, I wouldn’t just fuck you, honey? What you gonna do with your hands chained up in back? Ain’t gonna pull no Princess Leia – Jabba the Hutt trick on me, are you?" He’d reached over through the bars and pinched her tits just to prove his point. She’d decided that seduction wasn’t a very fruitful course.
Rani had a more complicated journey. Drugged and fitted into an insulated capsule within the meat compartment of one of the Clegg Meat Transport freezer trucks, she’d been driven down from Milan to Reggio di Calabria and via ferry to Messina before being dropped off at a warehouse in Catania. From there, it was a 170km ride, doped, blindfolded and unable to enjoy the mountain views, in the back of small van to Agrigento. Carried on board a small yacht, wrapped Cleopatra-style in a rug, she had woken up to find herself out at sea, helpless and providing passing amusement to the two men who had snatched her from the Milan showroom. They’d kept her chained up and gagged on a bench in the cabin, one watching her while the other steered the vessel, each taking turn and turn about until they got to what she took to be a small island somewhere in the Aegean. Then, it had been more drugs and more rope until she found herself behind bars in a rock-walled room onshore somewhere, with a heavy metal collar locked around her neck and without the Donna Karen suit, the Stella MacCartney underwear and, of course, the Rani shoes she’d been wearing at the time she was snatched.
Finally, Denise Tallis arrived to join the others. From her tack box prison, she had been moved to the cellar of a house somewhere on the south coast of France where she’d been kept bound and gagged on the floor by Karen and Trudy. She had made one brief bid for escape, struggling with Karen as she tried to change her tape bonds. It had been no good. She had managed to head-butt Karen in the abdomen, knocking her back, but Karen had recovered quickly, pulling a pistol from the waist band of her skirt. Denise was left standing with her hands raised while Karen called Trudy down to help. They’d forced her to strip then, as much as a punishment for attempting to get free as from any security need. Karen had been especially cruel in making sure Denise was well secured. The ropes around her wrists, ankles, knees and arms were pretty standard, but the hog tie and the rope gag and harness that pulled her head back simply added to Denise’s discomfort. Karen made her point further by using the helpless Denise as a footstool, keeping her on the floor beside the chair where Karen was sitting, reading or watching TV, waiting for the truck that would take her on the next stage of her journey. The truck brought a wooden crate and Denise was loaded inside, still hogtied and tape gagged. The crate was her home for the next twenty hours while she was loaded on board a small cargo plane, flown to Kalamata, driven to the port at Gythio, and shipped on to Agoras. When they broke open the crate, the naked and helpless Denise found herself in a rock-walled room with a steel-barred front wall. A heavy steel collar, wrist cuffs and leg fetters replaced the ropes. A thick leather pad gag replaced the tape. This time, she had no opportunity to attempt her escape.
Given that he was looking to place his three new acquisitions individually, Freddie felt he should take a close look at Denise, Rani and Alicia. After all, he reasoned, he could hardly recommend one or the other without a careful consideration of the attributes of each.
It was only when the three barred doors to their cells were opened that the three women realised their joint fate. Denise, Rani and Alicia stared at each other in shock as they were dragged from their cells into the space outside. A chorus of gag-muffled cries of recognition, distress, and anger greeted Freddie as they saw one another.
"Ladies," Freddie admonished as the three were arranged in a line. "Please don’t distress yourselves. It really won’t do any good and you might bruise yourselves. That’s going to make everybody here unhappy and, believe me, you don’t want that."
Freddie’s quiet, matter of fact turn of speech seemed even more disturbing to the three women than threats of violence would have sounded.
"Now, for the sake of clear understanding, while I know that you three have had some association in the past, that is really not any concern of mine or my associates. You have not been abducted for the purpose of extracting money from your ex-husband, who, I understand, doesn’t have any, from your businesses, or from your families. We are in the business of trading flesh. You represent three units of what we hope to be profitable merchandise. As far as we are concerned, we would like you unmarked and, shall we say, unsoiled."
The shared looks of fright, distaste, and fear on the girls told Freddie his message was getting across.
"So, I can promise you that, if you cooperate with us, you will be treated reasonably well and you will not be subject to any sexual assault. The outcome of this will be that you will stand the best possible chance of the more desirable placements. You really want to achieve this, believe me. You are all used to using your bodies to get what you want; now what you want is a new position where you can do the same. Tits, arses, cunts," the crudeness shocked the girls from their wide-eyed disbelief, "are what my clients want. You ladies are in possession of three sets. You’d better start working out how to make the best use of them here, because you aren’t going anywhere else."
Freddie turned to Andrea. "We’d better get some photographs taken. Usual thing: full frontals, full face and profile, close up of tits and crotch. I’d like to get them on the wire to the prospectives this afternoon." Andrea started to move Rani and Alicia over to where they would get their mug shots done. Freddie was left with Denise. "You know, the research guys were right about you," he said, looking appraisingly at her body, small tits, trim waist, tanned. Even after the ordeal of her abduction and transport, the neat bob of her dark hair showed the skill of her hairdresser. She looked at him quizzically, still bemused by his conversational tone. The thick leather pad that was strapped across her face prevented any questions, but Freddie could tell that she was thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Yes," said Freddie, "you’ll definitely go down well with the MILF fanciers." Freddie could see she looked confused. "Mothers I’d Like To Fuck, dear," he explained. The scowl she returned him was no surprise.
Andrea started having trouble with Rani as soon as she took her gag off. "You can’t really get a good picture of the merchandise if half their face is covered in leather" is one of Freddie's favourite sayings, but it does mean that you have to put up with a certain amount of distressed abuse from the guests in the process. Rani seemed to have a fascinatingly wide range of abusive remarks at her disposal. Expletives had never bothered Freddie and some of the more creative ones were beyond Andrea’s grasp of English. In the end, they managed Rani's photo-session with Freddie holding her neck still while Andrea took the pictures.
Freddie was more than a little pissed at Rani’s recalcitrance.
With the intention of reminding Rani just who was in charge, he grabbed a single arm binder from the rack of restraints and pulled it in place over her shackled wrists. Tightening the straps, he dragged her elbows back towards one another painfully, drawing a gasp of pain that he took as a mark of encouragement. As he tightened more of the binder’s straps, he pushed Rani forward onto her knees before Andrea.
"You’re wearing a pair of my fucking shoes!" Rani’s exclamation was as loud as it was unexpected. With her head inches from the floor and black, sweat-soaked hair dangling over her face, her reaction to Andrea’s orange and purple suede high-heeled pumps that she could see right in front of her was explosive. "What gives you the right to do this to me and wear my fucking shoes!"
"They were a present, darling," Andrea responded, coolly. "Some friends of mine picked them up in Milan along with some other odds and ends. I’m told they could be a real rarity. The last of the line."
In a rage, Rani tried to lunge forward at Andrea. Freddie grabbed at the single arm binder, stopping her short with a jerk that felt to Rani like her arms were being pulled out of their sockets. She gave an exasperated cry and fell forward at Andrea’s feet.
"Beautiful they are, but you don’t have to worship them," Andrea laughed as she reached down and fitted the pad gag back in place. Rani growled as Freddie pulled her to her feet and slapped her back against the wall.
"Get the photos of her tits and cunt and push her back in her cell until we need her again," he said. He turned back towards Alicia and Denise. "Now, tell me you two don’t want to make my life difficult as well."
The two women shook their heads and waited submissively for their turn in the photo booth.
© Freddie Clegg 2012
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