twonines
LIMERICUS
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A Lowland Adventure - Mr. Maxwells' Vacation
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
How this was written - continued.
I spent a while debating the names for Alex and Jes (you might guess the other, CF ones), but in the end decided it should be a tale of fiction, leaving the readers to fill in their own preferences. Similarly, I considered including Cruxgirls in the Dossiers (I'm sure several would love to be taken by Graeme), but nixed that for the same reason. A story based on a real place, but with imagined names and real characters with imagined names.
I spent a while debating the names for Alex and Jes (you might guess the other, CF ones), but in the end decided it should be a tale of fiction, leaving the readers to fill in their own preferences. Similarly, I considered including Cruxgirls in the Dossiers (I'm sure several would love to be taken by Graeme), but nixed that for the same reason. A story based on a real place, but with imagined names and real characters with imagined names.
A wise decision.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
[Episode 30]
Fo Bhruid 9
The cattle prod had started as a simple and popular tool used by cattle raisers in Gallovidia. Graeme had contracted with an electrician he knew in Switzerland to make modifications to suit his particular needs. First, he replaced the batteries with a power cord to facilitate long, extended sessions. Then he added controls for amperage, intermittent shocking, and voltage.
Jessie was still slumped on the cross when he returned to the torture chamber, deep red strips decorating her body. Graeme plugged in the prod and set amperage at 2 (of 10), duration to short-pulse, and voltage to 100. He brought the end with its twin electric probes toward his victim. Pressing them against her belly, directly over the navel, he pushed the red button for a quick pulse.
Jessie’s taut belly suddenly cramped and sucked in as she let loose a high cry.
"Well, lassie. That got your attention. Now I shall show you what heavy pain is about." He raised the setting to 3 and pressed the probes against her thigh, and delivered another pulse.
Jessie's leg jerked as far against the bondage as it could, and a shiver went through her whole being. After her cry dies down, she begged mindlessly, "Please. God, Och, please. No!"
Graeme noted the slight burn marks appearing when the electricity had shot into her flesh. No worry. He knew they would fade away long before the girl was delivered to her new owner.
He increased the setting to 4 and the voltage to 110 and switched to the wave duration. He brought the probes up to the underside of Jessie's small left breast, just above where it merged with her chest. He held down the button for five seconds as the girl flailed in rising and falling agony. Her mouth was open, the tendons in her neck bulging, but no sound came as her lungs were frozen by the current.
Graeme released the button and waited as her body spasmed for a quarter of a minute.
“The name of your boyfriend?”
Jessie's hair was plastered to her face with sweat, and her breathing was shallow and rapid. She raised her eyes to her tormentor, looking for some sympathy. All she saw was a sadistic grin. Graeme moved the prod to her other breast and held it for ten seconds. It took almost a full minute for the lassie to regain any control of herself.
“Your boyfriend’s name?”
“He isna ma boyfrien. An I was reet. Ye've anely got a tiny wee pintle!”
Graeme gave a snarl, increased the setting to 5, and placed the probes in her pussy lips. "Here you go, slut! Let's see you come with this!" This time he held it for twenty seconds before Jessie passed out.
A Knycht Aventurer 6
Careful not to make a sound on the hard, crumbling stone steps, Alex crawled slowly toward the top in his hands and knees. When the top of the house came into view, he ducked his head and continued slithering on his belly. You don't know what uncomfortable is until you've tried slithering up rough stone steps on your stomach.
Right below the top, Alex halted. He said a silent prayer that no one watched the steps, took a deep breath, and raised his head to look up.
There was nobody in sight. The back stone facade of the house loomed about seventy yards in front and to his left. The space down toward the bank was open with greens and purples. A dozen windows looked out toward the bay – each one could have a pair of eyes observing this approach. On top of the house flew an incongruous Scottish Flag.
To Alex’s left were trees beside the house, but a long distance from where he lay. However, a large, dense stand of trees and shrubs to the right stretched partway toward the steps. The nearest part to give cover was only twenty yards away. Alex fixed every detail of the landscape in his memory and then slid back down a few feet to think.
The course was clear. Sprint to the bushes for cover, stealthily approach the house, and look for a way to gain entry. Once inside and undiscovered, he would silently move from room to room until he found Graham or Jessie, or both. Simple!
Except, Alex had no idea of the layout, and there could be armed guards watching the yard and patrolling the inside corridors. Not to mention possible alarm systems! Facing such potential odds while your life and that of the girl you love were hanging in the balance did not help calm your fears!
His frantic effort since this morning to learn what had happened to Jessie and then find Graham's place had kept Maxwell in an adrenaline-fueled rush of excitement for the last six hours. Now, sitting on the steps, reviewing the task ahead, his energy waned and he lapsed into panic and despair. Who the hell did he think he was? James Bond? Indiana Jones? Inspector Gadget? Rambo? He was timid, bookish Alexander Maxwell from the suburban town of Fitchburg, Wisconsin. He spent almost all his time behind a desk, reading reports and thinking abstractly about bad guys. When he went out with the real cops on a raid, they gave him a bullet-proof vest and helmet and told him to stay back near the cars, preferably behind the cars. There was no way he was capable of what he was planning. He should sit and wait for the real fighters and heroes to show up.
Fo Bhruid 10
After Jessie passed out, Graeme regained control. He cursed himself for losing his temper and wasting time by forcing her to faint. "I have to be smart," he told himself. "Work the plan. Hurt her until she can take no more and begs to tell me anything (or do anything, he thought, as he felt a growing erection in his pants. Yes, Jessie would make a fine sex-slave for the next couple of days! But he had information he needed first.) Graeme filled another bucket of cold water from the tap and threw it in her face. Sputtering with water in her nose and mouth and the sudden blast of cold, Jessie sprang to consciousness and screamed in memory of the last pain.
"Now we get down to work, Miss Mctaggert," Graeme said in his soft, kind, taunting voice, holding the prod before her face.
A Knycht Aventurer 7
Alex sat with his head in his hands and wept. Jessie had been at Graham's mercy for hours, and now he couldn't help her. It was devastating to think. His mind went back to when he met her in the forest – when he’d first seen her angelic face – to when she'd saved his life.
Dammit, Alex! he said to himself. Pull yourself together! Help the girl. What have you got to lose? Probably my life, he chuckled to himself. That little, self-deprecating humor snapped him out of his funk. He would try, no matter the odds.
Alex crawled back up the top and looked over. No appearance of any change. He hadn't been spotted. One step at a time, he told himself. Get to those bushes for cover. He looked at the intervening space. It seemed flat and featureless. Don't rush, he thought. Just go into a crouch and a hurry to cover. Dive at the end to become invisible.
He knew he would be spotted on the way. But he had to try!
Planting his feet firmly on the rough stones, Maxwell raised himself and charged ahead and to the right.
Fo Bhruid 9
The cattle prod had started as a simple and popular tool used by cattle raisers in Gallovidia. Graeme had contracted with an electrician he knew in Switzerland to make modifications to suit his particular needs. First, he replaced the batteries with a power cord to facilitate long, extended sessions. Then he added controls for amperage, intermittent shocking, and voltage.
Jessie was still slumped on the cross when he returned to the torture chamber, deep red strips decorating her body. Graeme plugged in the prod and set amperage at 2 (of 10), duration to short-pulse, and voltage to 100. He brought the end with its twin electric probes toward his victim. Pressing them against her belly, directly over the navel, he pushed the red button for a quick pulse.
Jessie’s taut belly suddenly cramped and sucked in as she let loose a high cry.
"Well, lassie. That got your attention. Now I shall show you what heavy pain is about." He raised the setting to 3 and pressed the probes against her thigh, and delivered another pulse.
Jessie's leg jerked as far against the bondage as it could, and a shiver went through her whole being. After her cry dies down, she begged mindlessly, "Please. God, Och, please. No!"
Graeme noted the slight burn marks appearing when the electricity had shot into her flesh. No worry. He knew they would fade away long before the girl was delivered to her new owner.
He increased the setting to 4 and the voltage to 110 and switched to the wave duration. He brought the probes up to the underside of Jessie's small left breast, just above where it merged with her chest. He held down the button for five seconds as the girl flailed in rising and falling agony. Her mouth was open, the tendons in her neck bulging, but no sound came as her lungs were frozen by the current.
Graeme released the button and waited as her body spasmed for a quarter of a minute.
“The name of your boyfriend?”
Jessie's hair was plastered to her face with sweat, and her breathing was shallow and rapid. She raised her eyes to her tormentor, looking for some sympathy. All she saw was a sadistic grin. Graeme moved the prod to her other breast and held it for ten seconds. It took almost a full minute for the lassie to regain any control of herself.
“Your boyfriend’s name?”
“He isna ma boyfrien. An I was reet. Ye've anely got a tiny wee pintle!”
Graeme gave a snarl, increased the setting to 5, and placed the probes in her pussy lips. "Here you go, slut! Let's see you come with this!" This time he held it for twenty seconds before Jessie passed out.
A Knycht Aventurer 6
Careful not to make a sound on the hard, crumbling stone steps, Alex crawled slowly toward the top in his hands and knees. When the top of the house came into view, he ducked his head and continued slithering on his belly. You don't know what uncomfortable is until you've tried slithering up rough stone steps on your stomach.
Right below the top, Alex halted. He said a silent prayer that no one watched the steps, took a deep breath, and raised his head to look up.
There was nobody in sight. The back stone facade of the house loomed about seventy yards in front and to his left. The space down toward the bank was open with greens and purples. A dozen windows looked out toward the bay – each one could have a pair of eyes observing this approach. On top of the house flew an incongruous Scottish Flag.
To Alex’s left were trees beside the house, but a long distance from where he lay. However, a large, dense stand of trees and shrubs to the right stretched partway toward the steps. The nearest part to give cover was only twenty yards away. Alex fixed every detail of the landscape in his memory and then slid back down a few feet to think.
The course was clear. Sprint to the bushes for cover, stealthily approach the house, and look for a way to gain entry. Once inside and undiscovered, he would silently move from room to room until he found Graham or Jessie, or both. Simple!
Except, Alex had no idea of the layout, and there could be armed guards watching the yard and patrolling the inside corridors. Not to mention possible alarm systems! Facing such potential odds while your life and that of the girl you love were hanging in the balance did not help calm your fears!
His frantic effort since this morning to learn what had happened to Jessie and then find Graham's place had kept Maxwell in an adrenaline-fueled rush of excitement for the last six hours. Now, sitting on the steps, reviewing the task ahead, his energy waned and he lapsed into panic and despair. Who the hell did he think he was? James Bond? Indiana Jones? Inspector Gadget? Rambo? He was timid, bookish Alexander Maxwell from the suburban town of Fitchburg, Wisconsin. He spent almost all his time behind a desk, reading reports and thinking abstractly about bad guys. When he went out with the real cops on a raid, they gave him a bullet-proof vest and helmet and told him to stay back near the cars, preferably behind the cars. There was no way he was capable of what he was planning. He should sit and wait for the real fighters and heroes to show up.
Fo Bhruid 10
After Jessie passed out, Graeme regained control. He cursed himself for losing his temper and wasting time by forcing her to faint. "I have to be smart," he told himself. "Work the plan. Hurt her until she can take no more and begs to tell me anything (or do anything, he thought, as he felt a growing erection in his pants. Yes, Jessie would make a fine sex-slave for the next couple of days! But he had information he needed first.) Graeme filled another bucket of cold water from the tap and threw it in her face. Sputtering with water in her nose and mouth and the sudden blast of cold, Jessie sprang to consciousness and screamed in memory of the last pain.
"Now we get down to work, Miss Mctaggert," Graeme said in his soft, kind, taunting voice, holding the prod before her face.
A Knycht Aventurer 7
Alex sat with his head in his hands and wept. Jessie had been at Graham's mercy for hours, and now he couldn't help her. It was devastating to think. His mind went back to when he met her in the forest – when he’d first seen her angelic face – to when she'd saved his life.
Dammit, Alex! he said to himself. Pull yourself together! Help the girl. What have you got to lose? Probably my life, he chuckled to himself. That little, self-deprecating humor snapped him out of his funk. He would try, no matter the odds.
Alex crawled back up the top and looked over. No appearance of any change. He hadn't been spotted. One step at a time, he told himself. Get to those bushes for cover. He looked at the intervening space. It seemed flat and featureless. Don't rush, he thought. Just go into a crouch and a hurry to cover. Dive at the end to become invisible.
He knew he would be spotted on the way. But he had to try!
Planting his feet firmly on the rough stones, Maxwell raised himself and charged ahead and to the right.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Gripping stuff, PrPr, poor Jessie is certainly having a hard time of it. Really well written , as usual.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
You mean after they have written the risk assessment, obtained permission from a senior officer, assembled the armed response unit, then driven the 100 miles from Glasgow?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Uh...Yeah. Like that.
twonines
LIMERICUS
If it wasn`t so true it would be laughable!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
“He isna ma boyfrien. An I was reet. Ye've anely got a tiny wee pintle!” You certainly have to admire Jess's spunk! Let's hope she isn't 'admiring' Graeme's spunk in the very near future (sorry for the crudeness of the comment but it had to be said!) - WOnderful building of tension, I honestly can picture the scene in my mind's eye. As with many of PrPr's tales, it really would make brillliant TV!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
[Episode 31]
“Live For Nothing Or Die For Something.”*
Alex covered the distance in no more than ten seconds before diving head-first into a yew shrub. It was not the perfectly executed dive he had planned. About eight feet from the shrubs, he tripped over a tree root and went flying, head over heels. He ended up, on his back, behind a yew bush, stunned. However he had done it, he had achieved the desired cover.
Alex lay perfectly still, pressed to the ground, expecting to hear the baying of attack dogs loosed to their prey, searchlights panning the grounds, sirens wailing, and guards swarming with M35 sub-machine guns and shouting, “Achtung! Wer ist da? Komm jetzt raus!”
But all was silent. After a couple of minutes, Alex lifted his head and peered through the bush. Nothing was astir! The first step was successful, only about a half dozen more to execute flawlessly for Jessie and he to come out alive.
Maxwell rolled over on his stomach and scoped the route to take through the brush to approach the side of the house. Going slowly and silently on his hands and knees, Alex worked his way toward the house. Seventy-five yards – Fifty yards – Thirty-five yards. Not a sound of reaction to his presence. He felt the sweat run down his neck.
Twenty-five yards now - Alex could see the side of the house. The bushes came up close to the structure. He could approach unseen almost to touch the wall. But how to get in?
When he was only fifteen yards from the house, Maxwell saw it. A small, tiled patio with a metal table and four chairs, surrounded by a low stone wall. It seemed a most charming place for two couples taking the afternoon tea. He hated the thought of Graeme relaxing there between sessions of abusing Jessie and other girls.
A pair of French Doors opened onto the enclosed space. It was swept clean and seemed regularly used. Working the way carefully closer, Alex could see the doors. One was ajar!
Alex squatted down out of sight. He had to think. Part of him screamed that this was too good to be true. It must be a trap! He raised back up enough to examine the details. There was nothing to indicate danger. The door was only slightly ajar, an easy mistake to make in these old, quasi-dilapidated buildings. Annie had talked about how it was in much disrepair when Graeme came. Perhaps.
However, another nagging thought arose. It had been lurking for a while. Now, about to enter the house, Alex couldn't help questioning: was this Graeme's house? True, all his profiling pointed this way. But, even as he exuded confidence toward others, Alex knew that none of his detecting was perfect. He was puzzled that there were no guards in sight, no security. He might be at the wrong place and burst in, brandishing the revolver, and end up terrifying an innocent family. Worse, that would mean he was wasting his time.
"Too late to go back now, you ninny," he told himself. In the end, Alex decided he couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It was the only house that had any real likelihood of being Graeme's. And these doors were the only way he was likely to get in without breaking something and causing a stir. He would try it.
There were no windows in the wall next to the patio doors. Maxwell made a quick run and pressed himself flat against the stone wall, listening for any signs of life. Silence.
He slid slowly along the side, stepped over the low border wall, and was on the patio, just a yard from the door—still nothing.
Alex looked at the table and saw a teacup and saucer with a bit of tea and a plate with biscuit crumbs. Someone had been here. Were they coming back? He listened intently. There was no sound. He would have to pray that he would have the element of surprise on his side if he ran into Graeme.
One step at a time, he thought. I've got to the house, and I have a way in.
Holding his gun at the ready, he pivoted and gently pulled the door outward a few inches. Thank God the hinges didn't squeak. Alex opened it just enough to slide through into the interior.
Alex swept the room and saw no other person. He found he was in a dimly-lit library, the kind seen in old houses of the rich. Walnut paneling and bookcases lined all the walls, floor to twelve-foot ceiling. Hundreds of old, slightly moldy books filled the shelves. The only light came from the french door. Alex looked closely at the interior and noted that none of the books seemed to have been touched in years. There was thick dust everywhere. On the handsome parquet floor, there were footprints in a straight line from the outside doors to the one straight ahead, presumably to the hallway. This evidence fit his image of Graeme, self-indulgent – tea on the veranda – but not a reader.
Maxwell, holding the revolver at the ready, began walking gingerly toward the door ahead. He had been incredibly fortunate to get this far, undiscovered, and he didn't want to make any noise on a squeaky floorboard. Twice he stopped and spun around. He had an overwhelming feeling of dread. As he stepped gingerly ahead, Alex was sure someone was watching him, waiting to take him from behind.
The parquet proved to be stable enough, and Alex made it to the door without incident. It was slightly ajar, and he carefully glanced through the opening into what he guessed was the entrance hall. There was no sound or motion. He opened the door a little more to allow passage. How long, he wondered, could he wander a strange house without announcing his presence or being observed? Maxwell felt a cold sweat run down his spine. Jessie, he told himself. I must find Jessie!
Alex stepped out into the hall and swept his eyes and gun over the space quickly. It was empty. He now was seriously worried that he was in the wrong place or that it was Graeme’s and he had taken Jes somewhere else. God! He thought. If so, I'll never find her! He came very close to breaking down and sobbing.
Stop it! He told himself. Remember, only one challenge at a time. Explore the whole house before you give up!
The entrance hall continued the same parquet floor as the library, clean and polished here. The plaster was painted a deep orange, and the copious woodwork was bright white. The space rose a generous two stories. Large windows on the front flanked the door and were supplemented at the second level by a massive Palladian window. These let in a fair amount of light, even on an overcast day. On the back wall, a large archway between white corinthian columns led into what appeared to be a receiving parlor with windows overlooking the garden in the back. Dominating one half of the entry was a sweeping staircase with a contrasting mahogany balustrade and a rich dark carpet, mimicking the floor's parquet pattern. The whole space screamed wealth. However, there was still no sign of life and no sound.
Once out into this large open space, Alex felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. There were so many places in which someone could hide. So many ways someone could come at him from behind! Looking down, he saw the gun shaking in his hand! Steady, Maxwell! He took several deep breaths and began to move ever so slowly forward. The suspicion of being watched was stronger than ever.
Where next? Maxwell thought. Randomly choosing a path, he began moving toward the stair. Just then, a sound made him freeze in place as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
He spun around.
*Die For Something – Rambo (2008)
“Live For Nothing Or Die For Something.”*
Alex covered the distance in no more than ten seconds before diving head-first into a yew shrub. It was not the perfectly executed dive he had planned. About eight feet from the shrubs, he tripped over a tree root and went flying, head over heels. He ended up, on his back, behind a yew bush, stunned. However he had done it, he had achieved the desired cover.
Alex lay perfectly still, pressed to the ground, expecting to hear the baying of attack dogs loosed to their prey, searchlights panning the grounds, sirens wailing, and guards swarming with M35 sub-machine guns and shouting, “Achtung! Wer ist da? Komm jetzt raus!”
But all was silent. After a couple of minutes, Alex lifted his head and peered through the bush. Nothing was astir! The first step was successful, only about a half dozen more to execute flawlessly for Jessie and he to come out alive.
Maxwell rolled over on his stomach and scoped the route to take through the brush to approach the side of the house. Going slowly and silently on his hands and knees, Alex worked his way toward the house. Seventy-five yards – Fifty yards – Thirty-five yards. Not a sound of reaction to his presence. He felt the sweat run down his neck.
Twenty-five yards now - Alex could see the side of the house. The bushes came up close to the structure. He could approach unseen almost to touch the wall. But how to get in?
When he was only fifteen yards from the house, Maxwell saw it. A small, tiled patio with a metal table and four chairs, surrounded by a low stone wall. It seemed a most charming place for two couples taking the afternoon tea. He hated the thought of Graeme relaxing there between sessions of abusing Jessie and other girls.
A pair of French Doors opened onto the enclosed space. It was swept clean and seemed regularly used. Working the way carefully closer, Alex could see the doors. One was ajar!
Alex squatted down out of sight. He had to think. Part of him screamed that this was too good to be true. It must be a trap! He raised back up enough to examine the details. There was nothing to indicate danger. The door was only slightly ajar, an easy mistake to make in these old, quasi-dilapidated buildings. Annie had talked about how it was in much disrepair when Graeme came. Perhaps.
However, another nagging thought arose. It had been lurking for a while. Now, about to enter the house, Alex couldn't help questioning: was this Graeme's house? True, all his profiling pointed this way. But, even as he exuded confidence toward others, Alex knew that none of his detecting was perfect. He was puzzled that there were no guards in sight, no security. He might be at the wrong place and burst in, brandishing the revolver, and end up terrifying an innocent family. Worse, that would mean he was wasting his time.
"Too late to go back now, you ninny," he told himself. In the end, Alex decided he couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It was the only house that had any real likelihood of being Graeme's. And these doors were the only way he was likely to get in without breaking something and causing a stir. He would try it.
There were no windows in the wall next to the patio doors. Maxwell made a quick run and pressed himself flat against the stone wall, listening for any signs of life. Silence.
He slid slowly along the side, stepped over the low border wall, and was on the patio, just a yard from the door—still nothing.
Alex looked at the table and saw a teacup and saucer with a bit of tea and a plate with biscuit crumbs. Someone had been here. Were they coming back? He listened intently. There was no sound. He would have to pray that he would have the element of surprise on his side if he ran into Graeme.
One step at a time, he thought. I've got to the house, and I have a way in.
Holding his gun at the ready, he pivoted and gently pulled the door outward a few inches. Thank God the hinges didn't squeak. Alex opened it just enough to slide through into the interior.
Alex swept the room and saw no other person. He found he was in a dimly-lit library, the kind seen in old houses of the rich. Walnut paneling and bookcases lined all the walls, floor to twelve-foot ceiling. Hundreds of old, slightly moldy books filled the shelves. The only light came from the french door. Alex looked closely at the interior and noted that none of the books seemed to have been touched in years. There was thick dust everywhere. On the handsome parquet floor, there were footprints in a straight line from the outside doors to the one straight ahead, presumably to the hallway. This evidence fit his image of Graeme, self-indulgent – tea on the veranda – but not a reader.
Maxwell, holding the revolver at the ready, began walking gingerly toward the door ahead. He had been incredibly fortunate to get this far, undiscovered, and he didn't want to make any noise on a squeaky floorboard. Twice he stopped and spun around. He had an overwhelming feeling of dread. As he stepped gingerly ahead, Alex was sure someone was watching him, waiting to take him from behind.
The parquet proved to be stable enough, and Alex made it to the door without incident. It was slightly ajar, and he carefully glanced through the opening into what he guessed was the entrance hall. There was no sound or motion. He opened the door a little more to allow passage. How long, he wondered, could he wander a strange house without announcing his presence or being observed? Maxwell felt a cold sweat run down his spine. Jessie, he told himself. I must find Jessie!
Alex stepped out into the hall and swept his eyes and gun over the space quickly. It was empty. He now was seriously worried that he was in the wrong place or that it was Graeme’s and he had taken Jes somewhere else. God! He thought. If so, I'll never find her! He came very close to breaking down and sobbing.
Stop it! He told himself. Remember, only one challenge at a time. Explore the whole house before you give up!
The entrance hall continued the same parquet floor as the library, clean and polished here. The plaster was painted a deep orange, and the copious woodwork was bright white. The space rose a generous two stories. Large windows on the front flanked the door and were supplemented at the second level by a massive Palladian window. These let in a fair amount of light, even on an overcast day. On the back wall, a large archway between white corinthian columns led into what appeared to be a receiving parlor with windows overlooking the garden in the back. Dominating one half of the entry was a sweeping staircase with a contrasting mahogany balustrade and a rich dark carpet, mimicking the floor's parquet pattern. The whole space screamed wealth. However, there was still no sign of life and no sound.
Once out into this large open space, Alex felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. There were so many places in which someone could hide. So many ways someone could come at him from behind! Looking down, he saw the gun shaking in his hand! Steady, Maxwell! He took several deep breaths and began to move ever so slowly forward. The suspicion of being watched was stronger than ever.
Where next? Maxwell thought. Randomly choosing a path, he began moving toward the stair. Just then, a sound made him freeze in place as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
He spun around.
*Die For Something – Rambo (2008)
Nice play Shakespeare!
A pratfall is always a welcome way to momentarily relieve tensions.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Whether it is Graeme that has entered into Alex's space or not, the main torture chamber and dungeon has to be in the basement right? So Maxwell you need to find the trap door or the small, almost hidden side-door! Will he make it in time ... if he does indeed manage to find the place where Graeme carries out his heinous deeds then I damn well hope so! Gripping stuff ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
[Episode 32]
"But she breaks just like a little girl"*
It was a “distant,” muffled sound that Alex heard. Even as soft as it was, he knew it was a woman's cry of pain. Jessie! He was in the right place! Jessie was here!
Alex listened intently. He wasn't sure where she was. From in the house, but where? Then he heard it again, more distinctly. It came from the rear of the house. He walked carefully but swiftly toward the parlor. He was almost to the archway when a third cry, this one weaker, came. Behind him! But how? He turned and saw a door at the back of the stairs. The basement!
Alex had to walk even more carefully now. If Graeme was below him in the basement, any squeak on the floor might be fatal. Taking an agonizingly slow time to get to the basement door, Alex found it just ajar. What is it with Graeme, he thought? Did the man have a phobia of closed doors?
A slow and silent opening revealed stone stairs lit with overhead lights. Alex took the first few steps with the utmost care. Then another scream, much louder now, curdled his blood. Fighting the desire to rush to the rescue, he worked his way down the steps.
At the bottom was a stone floor. Alex looked around and saw ancient, arched stone walls with two passages leading in opposite directions. He forced himself to wait. In the meantime, he removed his shoes. He could not afford even a scuff on the stones to reveal his presence.
Then, another cry rang out. Maxwell could hear terrible pain in her voice. But now he knew which way to go. With the gun at the ready, he turned left and walked carefully down the passage on tiptoe. Two more heart-rending screams rang out before he got to the source. A doorway on the right had bright light streaming out. As he approached, he heard a deep man's voice, "Enough play, little Jessie. I think you might enjoy the light stuff too much. It's time to get serious and for you to tell me who your boyfriend is. Believe me. The next part will not be fun for you - for me, yes - but not for you."
Alex crept up and peeked around the door. What he saw resembled, for all the world, a medieval torture chamber. Various weapons and machines for torment were placed around the walls. But he had no time to examine these. At the far end, stretched on a steel X-cross, was Jessie. Her body was covered by bright red marks, deeper colored bruises, and several blood blisters. Her pretty face was hung forward, surrounded by her soft brown hair, matted with sweat.
A large, burly man, stripped to the waist and wearing tight leather pants, had his back to Alex. He was bringing the end of a cattle prod up toward Jessie’s exposed cunt.
The monster spoke, "Once I spark this inside your womb, Jessie, you will wish I'd killed you instead. I've never known a woman who could endure it. I must have my answer now." He spread her nether lips with his left hand and began inserting the prod into her vagina. Jessie moaned softly, "Please, God. I canna. Please. No."
“Hold it right there,” ordered Alex, as he stepped into the room and pointed his gun straight at the man's chest. Though not a marksman, he had taken and passed the department's gun safety and usage course. Graeme turned and stared at the intruder in shock.
"Drop that on the floor and move over there," Maxwell ordered, gesturing the gun to a bare wall to the left.
Graeme obeyed, moving slowly as he regained his bearings. "So you found me," he said. "But why come alone?"
Alex kept the gun pointed at Graeme's chest as he moved away from Jessie. As he did so, Alex moved to the right, closer to her. The girl regained enough strength to realize that Maxwell was there, and her torture had halted. "Alec...whit..?"
"It's OK now, Jes. Everything will be alright. I'm not alone, Graeme. The police are just behind me. You and your whole operation are going down. Now stand there quietly. I'd gladly fill you full of holes right now."
"You don't seem the type to do that, Alec, is it? You kill me, unarmed and in cold blood, and you'll go to prison."
"I don't give a rat's fuck about that, you bastard! Now stand there until the police come."
Alex reached Jessie and softly caressed her cheek with his right hand while keeping the revolver on Graeme. He knelt and felt with his hands for the buckles fastening her ankles and pulled them loose. Straightening up, Maxwell did the same with her wrists. However, when he freed the last, the tortured woman slumped toward the floor, and he needed both hands to catch her.
Graeme took that moment to strike. He grabbed a hammer from the table beside him and threw it at Alex while bolting for the door. Alex tried to turn and fire, but the hammer hit his shoulder, and his shot went wild into the ceiling. "Shit!" he exclaimed as he watched as Graeme run out and slam the door behind him. In frustration, he fired another shot into the wood, to no avail.
A groan from Jessie drew his attention back to her. He held her in his arms and stroked her cheek, acutely aware of her naked body pressing close to his. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and muttered, "Thanks, Alec."
Alex put on his best Oklahoma cowboy voice and drawled, "Shucks. Tain't nothin' Ma'am. Right glad to be 'o help."
Jessie started to laugh but then winced with pain in her side.
“Here,” Alex said. “You take it easy for a moment. He stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around her.
"He..he wanted tae ken whaur ye were...I wouldna tell him," the girl sighed, the recent torture and her resistance still dominating her mind.
“You are very brave, Jes. I’m so proud of you.”
She quieted down and lay in his arms. After a couple of minutes, Alex decided it was time to move. Maybe they couldn't catch Graeme anymore, but he could make Jessie more comfortable upstairs and try to call for help.
With a little encouragement, Alex got her to her feet, leaning heavily on his right side while still holding the gun in his left. They moved slowly over to the door, and Alex grabbed the lever.
It didn't move. Graeme had locked it from the outside.
"She takes just like a woman
Yes, she does, she makes love just like a woman
Yes, she does, and she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl." - Bob Dylan
"But she breaks just like a little girl"*
It was a “distant,” muffled sound that Alex heard. Even as soft as it was, he knew it was a woman's cry of pain. Jessie! He was in the right place! Jessie was here!
Alex listened intently. He wasn't sure where she was. From in the house, but where? Then he heard it again, more distinctly. It came from the rear of the house. He walked carefully but swiftly toward the parlor. He was almost to the archway when a third cry, this one weaker, came. Behind him! But how? He turned and saw a door at the back of the stairs. The basement!
Alex had to walk even more carefully now. If Graeme was below him in the basement, any squeak on the floor might be fatal. Taking an agonizingly slow time to get to the basement door, Alex found it just ajar. What is it with Graeme, he thought? Did the man have a phobia of closed doors?
A slow and silent opening revealed stone stairs lit with overhead lights. Alex took the first few steps with the utmost care. Then another scream, much louder now, curdled his blood. Fighting the desire to rush to the rescue, he worked his way down the steps.
At the bottom was a stone floor. Alex looked around and saw ancient, arched stone walls with two passages leading in opposite directions. He forced himself to wait. In the meantime, he removed his shoes. He could not afford even a scuff on the stones to reveal his presence.
Then, another cry rang out. Maxwell could hear terrible pain in her voice. But now he knew which way to go. With the gun at the ready, he turned left and walked carefully down the passage on tiptoe. Two more heart-rending screams rang out before he got to the source. A doorway on the right had bright light streaming out. As he approached, he heard a deep man's voice, "Enough play, little Jessie. I think you might enjoy the light stuff too much. It's time to get serious and for you to tell me who your boyfriend is. Believe me. The next part will not be fun for you - for me, yes - but not for you."
Alex crept up and peeked around the door. What he saw resembled, for all the world, a medieval torture chamber. Various weapons and machines for torment were placed around the walls. But he had no time to examine these. At the far end, stretched on a steel X-cross, was Jessie. Her body was covered by bright red marks, deeper colored bruises, and several blood blisters. Her pretty face was hung forward, surrounded by her soft brown hair, matted with sweat.
A large, burly man, stripped to the waist and wearing tight leather pants, had his back to Alex. He was bringing the end of a cattle prod up toward Jessie’s exposed cunt.
The monster spoke, "Once I spark this inside your womb, Jessie, you will wish I'd killed you instead. I've never known a woman who could endure it. I must have my answer now." He spread her nether lips with his left hand and began inserting the prod into her vagina. Jessie moaned softly, "Please, God. I canna. Please. No."
“Hold it right there,” ordered Alex, as he stepped into the room and pointed his gun straight at the man's chest. Though not a marksman, he had taken and passed the department's gun safety and usage course. Graeme turned and stared at the intruder in shock.
"Drop that on the floor and move over there," Maxwell ordered, gesturing the gun to a bare wall to the left.
Graeme obeyed, moving slowly as he regained his bearings. "So you found me," he said. "But why come alone?"
Alex kept the gun pointed at Graeme's chest as he moved away from Jessie. As he did so, Alex moved to the right, closer to her. The girl regained enough strength to realize that Maxwell was there, and her torture had halted. "Alec...whit..?"
"It's OK now, Jes. Everything will be alright. I'm not alone, Graeme. The police are just behind me. You and your whole operation are going down. Now stand there quietly. I'd gladly fill you full of holes right now."
"You don't seem the type to do that, Alec, is it? You kill me, unarmed and in cold blood, and you'll go to prison."
"I don't give a rat's fuck about that, you bastard! Now stand there until the police come."
Alex reached Jessie and softly caressed her cheek with his right hand while keeping the revolver on Graeme. He knelt and felt with his hands for the buckles fastening her ankles and pulled them loose. Straightening up, Maxwell did the same with her wrists. However, when he freed the last, the tortured woman slumped toward the floor, and he needed both hands to catch her.
Graeme took that moment to strike. He grabbed a hammer from the table beside him and threw it at Alex while bolting for the door. Alex tried to turn and fire, but the hammer hit his shoulder, and his shot went wild into the ceiling. "Shit!" he exclaimed as he watched as Graeme run out and slam the door behind him. In frustration, he fired another shot into the wood, to no avail.
A groan from Jessie drew his attention back to her. He held her in his arms and stroked her cheek, acutely aware of her naked body pressing close to his. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and muttered, "Thanks, Alec."
Alex put on his best Oklahoma cowboy voice and drawled, "Shucks. Tain't nothin' Ma'am. Right glad to be 'o help."
Jessie started to laugh but then winced with pain in her side.
“Here,” Alex said. “You take it easy for a moment. He stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around her.
"He..he wanted tae ken whaur ye were...I wouldna tell him," the girl sighed, the recent torture and her resistance still dominating her mind.
“You are very brave, Jes. I’m so proud of you.”
She quieted down and lay in his arms. After a couple of minutes, Alex decided it was time to move. Maybe they couldn't catch Graeme anymore, but he could make Jessie more comfortable upstairs and try to call for help.
With a little encouragement, Alex got her to her feet, leaning heavily on his right side while still holding the gun in his left. They moved slowly over to the door, and Alex grabbed the lever.
It didn't move. Graeme had locked it from the outside.
"She takes just like a woman
Yes, she does, she makes love just like a woman
Yes, she does, and she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl." - Bob Dylan
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Good old Alex, but Graeme is s still on the loose! On a brighter note Alex and Jess could find themselves locked inside a worse place. Given their predilections a bondage dungeon could certainly help to pass the time
I’m impressed .... never would have occurred to me to do that.
traveler66
Condemned
Sounds like an Aida ending. Will the bad guy burn the place down?
NewUser
Magistrate
Or maybe like in "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame" by Victor Hugo...
"As the guards attempt to pull the embracing skeletons apart, they both crumble into dust."
