The main surprise was the quality of the furnishings, black leather chairs and a huge television which, he told her, were for her use, when he was away. If it wasn't for the metal hoop in the centre of the room and the long chain attached to a belt, it would have been a veritable home from home.
"Let's try it on," he said, pointing to the belt. It had a link at the back to connect it to the chain, while at the front the ends were terminated in metal clasps that slipped one inside the other and could only be undone with the key. H slipped the contraption around her waist and fastened the clasps.
Not too tight, if she wanted to move it around or up her waist a bit she could. The only thing she couldn't do was remove it. Once it was fitted he left her alone to walk around her apartment while he fetched some underwear. She went straight towards the windows, although the chain stopped her about three feet away from them.
It all looked so beautiful. Just three feet in front of her were fields and grass, yet she remained naked and chained inside the house. She didn't know which was worse, a windowless cell, or the constant reminder of freedom.
"Put these on," said H, bringing in a tiny leather thong and black strapless bra. "You can take them off when I'm not here, but I want them back on when I arrive."
Susan acknowledged his demand and stepped into the panties.
"There's some depilatory creams in the shower cabinet,so don't let me catch you with any stubble on your cunt."
He threw her the remote control for the television and made to leave, stopping near the doorway that led into the corridor and then to the salon.
"I've got a job from a defence base," he told her. "So I can't take you. They check inside all the lorries. Food is in the fridge and I'll be back later, so be ready."
She had a good idea what he meant by that, but there was no point worrying about it. As she watched him leave she went across to the settee and flopped down in the cool leather, picking up the remote control handset. She hit the on button and the screen flickered, but no picture appeared. The other channels were all the same, none of them were tuned in, and when she tried to tune them herself, she discovered the facility had been taken off the set.
Chapter 8
On the shelf beneath the television was a video player and a wide selection of tapes. There were no labels on any of them, so she picked one at random and loaded the machine. The screen cleared of snow and she sat back to watch whatever had been recorded.
The first frames jumped and appeared jumbled before settling down to show a windswept garage forecourt sporting two Land Rovers, half a plough and a decrepit bus missing a back wheel. The camera panned back to rest on old, green painted doors, that juddered open as the camera zoomed in. As the lens struggled with the poor light, the amateur cameraman walked unsteadily inside the garage workshop to concentrate on a heavy metal plate that covered the engineering pit.
In the sudden glare of bright arc lamps an invisible force pulled the plate slowly away, and in the background could be heard the ominous thump of doors closing.
This was no prerecorded film, nor was it the run of the mill home made video. Her rapidly unsettled stomach told her to switch it off, her curiosity said otherwise. Through an emotional cocktail of fear and excitement, she felt compelled to watch.
The pit gave up its secret in the form of two young women who blinked gratefully up into the beams of bright camera lights. There was a look of hope on the girls faces, a sort of grateful thanks as if they'd finally been discovered in the jungle, rescued from the pot as the hungry natives polished the cutlery. When their eyes had grown accustomed to the glare the look fell away suddenly, to be replaced by alarm.
"Please," whined the girl with the long coal black hair. "I have to go home. Let me go home."
She pushed herself into the corner of the pit, forcing the other girl in front of her.
"Get the cry baby up," ordered a voice from behind the camera. "We'll do her first."
A black hand reached down and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her sobbing out of the pit. As the other girl looked out in panic the metal plate again slid across the hole. Her face followed the closing light as if she was gasping her last breath of air.
They tied the chosen girl's hands with bungee rope then took her across to the far wall where several nails and hooks protruded from the brick work.
"Nail her up H," said a voice Susan thought was familiar.
The black man turned the girl to face the camera then lifted her arms up to tie her wrists on a hook in the wall.
"Let's have a look at the cry baby's cunt," said the cameraman, who Susan now recognised to be Jack, the man who had kidnapped her. The girl began shaking her head from side to side and pleading to be released, but the black man laughed and lifted up her clothes. She wore a flimsy floral patterned dress, very short and shiny, made out of satin or something similar, and a pair of knee length black suede boots. Her friend in the pit was dressed much the same, except her short shoestring strapped dress was electric orange.
"Get her flaps out," laughed Jack, enjoying the situation immensely. "I think this one needs a lesson in growing up."
Black hands tugged her pretty flower-painted panties down to her knees, exposing a thick pubic bush, quite out of character with her small frame.
"Hairy little bitch aren't you?" said H. "How can I find your twat in all that fur." Her eyes closed and body stiffened as his hands began searching between her legs.
"Here she is!" the black man laughed. "Get a shot of this."
While the young girl begged them to leave her alone Jack must have rushed forward with the camera to film her now widely split cunt. H fingered her for a moment then suggested getting the other girl out of the pit to watch. Jack agreed, but thought it would be better to let the baby watch first.
"That way," he said. "She can see what's going to happen to her."
The other girl was brought up. Her first sight was of her friend tied against the wall, her knickers visible beneath the hem of her dress.
"What have they done, Tan?" she cried out. "The bastards! What have they done?"
"That's her name, is it, Tania?"
The girl nodded.
"Tania what?"
"Willows," she sobbed. "Tania Willows. I have to be in college tomorrow, please, I won't say anything, I'll…"
"Well Tania," said H calmly, his hand reaching behind the girl to feel her bottom. "When we've finished with your friend, we'll Tania backside."
The girl's head dropped at the sick joke, while her friend was dragged into a circle made from the back seats of old cars. Jack and H sat opposite each other while the girl was made to stand in the middle. Each man held an extended car aerial which they occasionally used to swipe the air, reminding the girl of the consequence of any disobedience.
"I sense a bit more spirit in this one," said Jack. "She should be a bit of fun."
H lifted the girl's dress with the tip of the car aerial to reveal a tiny luminous orange G-string. He let out an appreciative whistle. "This one likes a bit of fun alright. She was after a good fucking. Weren't you?"
The girl said nothing and knocked the aerial away with her hand.
"Oooh!" The two men laughed. "Naughty!"
Against the wall, floral pantied Tania whimpered. When H heard the pitiful sobs he called across to her. "Cry baby!" he teased. "You want to watch this, pick up a few pointers. When we've finished here we're coming to get you. Going to teach you it's dangerous hitching lifts after a night out."
The girl screwed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head, hoping it was all a bad dream. In the circle, Cora was about to feel the bite of the aerial.
"Lift the dress," ordered Jack.