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Vanishing Act 7

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Vanishing Act 6)

8
8
Vanishing Act
Chapter Seven
8
I had many hours from that point to reflect on my circumstances.  He left me alone again, this time standing, my hands at the level of my mouth, my wrists cuffed and locked together and attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling.  A spreader bar spread my ankles apart.

By comparison with the extremes I had recently experienced the position was mild.  I was neither blindfolded nor gagged, and by way of a treat he hung a small basket of food in front of me, perhaps a metre away at shoulder height.  In it were some bread and fruit and a bottle of water.  Of course nothing was easy where Ash was concerned.  He left me there, having shown me the contents, turning the lights out as he exited.

I was desperately hungry, but couldn’t reach the basket with my hands.  The only thing I could eventually do was to back towards it and start it swinging using my head or shoulders.  In the darkness the basket swung randomly, hitting me unexpectedly a number of times before I could finally catch it with my hands.  What with the arc of the swing and the arc in which I could move my hands, the basket was around head height when I captured it.  Removing and consuming the contents took perhaps an hour, so scared was I of dropping some food and wasting the potential nutrition.  I had to let go of the basket a number of times in order to eat a piece of fruit with both hands or to drink some of the water.

For a while this immediate distraction occupied my thoughts until eventually the basket was empty and I stood there in the darkness.  My thoughts turned to Ash’s words and what I was faced with, and I saw the methodology in his plan.  It terrified me, even though I did not know the details.  It also angered me, and for that spur I was grateful.  His arrogance in the taking and disposing of my house, my car and all my possessions brought me back from the pain that still left my body sore and aching from the beating I had received.  I was overwhelmed by a mixture of despair and outrage that this was happening to me.  The fact of my immediate predicament and the beating I had suffered somehow took on a lesser importance than the violation of my house and possessions.  How dare he!

But as the hours passed the effect of my punishment caught up with me.  My flesh was sore all over, striped and striated as it was from the lash and the cane.  I had been weakened by the lack of sleep and the tortuous positions into which I had been suspended, and now the subtlety of my present stance began to take its toll as my legs slowly began to tremble, forced as they were into a rigid triangle by the spreader bar.  I was able to bend at the knees somewhat to ease the stance, but I could only lower myself as far as the suspension chain holding my wrists would let me, which was not enough to actually kneel.  Hanging on the chain itself was not at all pleasant.

I wondered how he was going to sell off my possessions.  I wondered what was going to happen to me.  Countless black and depressing thoughts floated through my increasingly disoriented brain.  At some stage I must have fallen asleep on my feet then fallen forward, jerking myself awake on my chains.  The aches through my body had magnified and the pain in my legs was becoming unbearable as I desperately flexed them as much as I could.  The heat must have been turned up again, for I sweated as I strained.  The food was all gone and I had drunk the water.  I was not thinking at all straight and began to hallucinate on the verge of consciousness, as if I had a virus.  I think I was groaning and talking to myself by the time he returned.  My leg muscles were screaming for release and I collapsed in a tear-stained mess as the lights were switched on and eventually my ankles were freed from the terrible bar, and my still-cuffed wrists were unlocked from the overhead chain.
Ash looked down on me as I lay sobbing on the cold concrete.

“I have something I want you to sign,” he told me brusquely.  “Come on – on your feet.”  He hauled me up by the arm and across to the chair bolted to the floor.  On it was some sort of document comprising several sheets of typing.  He made me kneel in front of the chair and thrust a pen into my cuffed right hand.  “If you would be so kind as to sign on the proverbial dotted line at the bottom…” It was an order, not a request.
“W-what is it?”  I stammered, not focussing clearly on the printed words.

The answer to my question was a savage slash across my exposed back with a cat of nine tails that I had not seen him pick up.  I screamed at the pain on my already acutely tender and sensitive skin.

“Would you like some more?” he demanded fiercely.  I shook my head miserably, the heat of the slash burning into my back.  I was conscious of his arm raised again and I desperately scribbled my signature on the line at the bottom of the page, ahead of the expected blow.  It didn’t come.  Instead the voice said:  “Now put you initials on the next pages on the places marked with a cross.”

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I did as I was ordered.  As I signed again on the last page and put down the pen I saw the words “Power of Attorney” at the top.
“Thanks Jan – you’ve just given me power of attorney over all your assets.  Not that such is really necessary, since officially you will be dead very shortly.  It just makes things a bit easier for me.” He smiled - a self-satisfied expression that send a chill down my spine. 

Then he turned and pulled a long envelope from his pocket.  “I have another document here.” He opened the end of the envelope and extracted the papers from within.  They were of heavy parchment folded once lengthwise, and I knew at once they were more legal papers.  He placed them on the chair beside me.  “Sign at the pencilled crosses,” he ordered.
I stared at the words ‘Last Will and Testament’ in heavy gothic print across the top.  I could not believe this.  Two brutal slashes with the cat across my shoulder blades made the point and I struggled, weeping, to make a legible signature where the pencilled crosses indicated.  My tears made it hard to read the writing – not that I had time – and stained the paper where they fell. 

 In a minute it was all over and Ash hauled me to my feet again by my plait, dragging me squealing and protesting back to the bed.  With a few deft moves he had my hands cuffed behind me and my ankles cuffed together.  He turned and stalked off towards the door, collecting the papers on the way.  He paused in the doorway.
 “Your food is by the door here,” he said.  “Make it last.  I may be out for some time…” With that the lights went out and the door slammed with a deathly clang, followed by the solid click of the well-oiled lock.  Distantly I thought I heard the sound of a car door and an engine start, but so effective was the soundproofing that I was not even sure of that. 

What had I done?  I had given this bastard power of attorney… He could now sell off all my possessions – my house, my car – everything I owned…  The picture now became graphically clear – or so I thought.  But my mind was not working properly.  Even though I was bound hand and foot, the fact that my restraints were locked leather cuffs made it slightly less stringent and I was at very least grateful for this small mercy.  I did not understand what he meant by being gone for some time and I did not care.  I was simply so tired and pain wracked that I merely wanted to curl up and die.  I lay on the plastic-covered bed and eventually fell asleep.  I was all cried out and my body could not sustain the stress any longer.  I was past caring what was happening beyond this room, beyond my own torment-filled world.

*   *   *

I have no idea how long I slept or how long Ash was gone.  At one stage I awoke and used the toilet and the shower, albeit in the dark and from a sitting position.  I was now sufficiently compos mentis to realise that there was in fact a hot tap in the shower – but also that there was no water in it.  I found the food in a basket by the door and dragged it laboriously back to the bed, the only place I could sit that didn’t chill me.  The room temperature appeared reasonably even now, and I suspected that Ash was not home or had no need to play mind games with me to quite the same extent.  I was ravenous and very thirsty.  I had not realised how dehydrated I had become.  This time, however, there was no water in a bottle for me.  My only option was to drink from the shower, and I thus ended up getting a wash whether I wanted it or not.  The food comprised more bread and fruit.  I ate some – not without difficulty with my hands cuffed behind me and in the absolute darkness that was my prison - and slept some more.

In my waking moments I cursed myself for having given in so easily to his demand, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I could not have resisted.  The thought of another beating and more sleep deprivation was enough to convince me I would have given in at some stage anyway.  The longer I tried to resist the more pain I would have had to endure, and to what end? He would ultimately get his way in the end.  I knew I had no choice but to make it as quick and minimally damaging to me as I could. Nevertheless as I lay in the darkness, I steeled myself to be strong and I resolved that somehow I would get my revenge on this scumbag.

*   *   *

It was at least a day later when Ash returned.  I had realised the fact that I could at least tell one day from the previous by the fact that the guy changed his clothes – like any human being.  I began to look for patterns in his clothing and over time I started to work out patterns, but that was not for a couple of weeks.  Initially I concluded that he must be on holiday, since it was now in the New Year period and there appeared to be no pattern to his choice of clothes or his comings and goings.  In regard to the former he was casual without being slovenly, but at an early stage I began to spot the change of business shirt that identified one day from the next.

His reappearance in this instance was welcomed if only to have my wrists released from behind my back.  While they had not been tightly bound, I was unused to such restraint for such a period and my shoulders and arms ached from the restriction they had endured.  That was over and above all the raw and tender areas of my skin that had suffered from the lash and the cane.  It was almost a relief to find myself stretched tautly into a Y-shape with my wrists pulled high on two separate ropes towards the rafters.  I was standing on tiptoes, my ankles still cuffed, and he had strapped another of his favourite ball gags into my mouth, before undoing the plait in my hair.  I wondered what he was up to – the mere contemplation of which filled me with dread.

But he seemed to be in a good mood.  He was dressed in this instance in a suit – the first time I had seen him attired this way.  His hair was slicked back and he looked quite presentable, in a vaguely sleazy way.  I wondered what was going on as I teetered there, trying not to put too much weight on my arms and not being very successful.  He sat down on the chair and watched me for a minute.
“Do you know where I’ve been today, Jan?”  I shook my head, wondering where this was going.  “I’ve been and talked to your partners – you know, Pat and Peter and Nicole.”
What? What was he doing?

“Yes, I thought that would get your attention.  They were very upset when I told them about you.  I suppose I should tell you the story as well.”  He chuckled, then his expression turned grave.  “You see, I work for Collins and Forde.  We are lawyers who often have to deal with deaths and all the complications that these entail.”  He stood up and began to pace slowly up and down the room, talking as though to someone other than me.  “As you know, Jan was scheduled to attend a conference in Seattle, with a few days in Los Angeles first.  It was in LA that the accident occurred and she was killed instantly by a hit and run driver near her hotel in Anaheim.  Terrible thing – terrible…” He shook his head as though hardly able to believe what he was saying.  “I have been notified by the local police who were advised by the LA police.  I should explain that I am executor for Jan’s will and I hold power of attorney over her assets.  I haven’t known her long – only six months or so, since I looked after the purchase of her house – but I found her a most likeable person.  I’m sure this must come as a terrible shock to you – as it did to me – at an age when we really don’t think about death.  I have to offer my deepest sympathy to you, who have worked with Jan. 

“It is always difficult at times like this to grasp the realities of such a situation as this, but there are the inevitable formalities that will have to be dealt with…” He stopped and stared at the floor, as though struggling to contain his grief.
Then he looked at me and grinned.  “Your back-pay and other earnings will go into the Collins and Forde Trust Account by the end of the week,” he said triumphantly. 
I stared at him, disbelieving.

“Nnnnnnnuhh!” I wailed into the gag, shaking my head and feeling utter despair overwhelm me at the thought of my colleagues taken in and conned by this arsehole.  I wept with frustration at the pain and helplessness that came crashing down on me like a tidal wave.  I think it was at that moment that I realised Ash had a plan that he intended to carry through, and that nothing was beyond him. 
“Oh yes, Jan.  They have my mobile number if they need to contact me.  I told them I was based in Sydney since I had helped you down there first – which was where we had met.  I had made the flight up here to clear up your affairs as best as I could in a limited time.  Wheels are in motion, my dear.  The juggernaut is rolling and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. You should also know –” He stopped as there was a ringing sound of a mobile phone, as though on cue.  “I wonder who this will be?” he murmured with half to himself, a smug tone to his voice.

“Ashley Forde….  Ah yes, hello Jason.  You’ve checked it out?  All the papers in order?  Good.  Look, yes I have considered your offer and I am prepared to accept it.  Shall I see you this afternoon?  Excellent.  Bye.”

“Another little part of the jigsaw, my dear Jan.”  He walked across and stood in front of me, smiling.  “That was the nice used car salesman, who will give me a very good price for your VW Golf.  You have looked after it well and it shows.  Aren’t you pleased?”

I guess I just lost it at that point.  My frustration and despair turned to momentary, unthinking anger, and I wanted to lash out at this man.  Unfortunately the only parts of my body I could move were my legs, though they were still cuffed at the ankles.  I say unfortunately, because I was not really thinking what I was doing, nor what the consequences might be.  Instinctively I pulled on the ropes holding my arms and jack-knifed my legs at him.  He was standing perhaps two paces away, and though I caught him off guard and gave him a soft kick in the stomach, he simply laughed at me while I mmphed at him in gagged fury and swung impotently from the ropes, my toes scraping the floor.

“Tsk, Jan,” he said, tut-tutting the way one would to a recalcitrant child.  “You need to have a reality check my dear.  Point one, this is going to happen. There is nothing you can do to prevent it.  You car will be sold this afternoon.  You salary is already taken care of.  I have spoken to an estate agent and an auction company, and very soon your possessions will be sold off as a deceased estate, followed thereafter by your house.  It is all going as per plan, and will continue to do so.  Your trying to kick me will achieve nothing, except to demonstrate to me that I have not yet succeeded in properly training you.  You should know by now that disobedience gets punished in this room.” 

He walked over to the cabinet, opened it, then paused, deciding which implement to use.  My stomach turned over as he selected a riding crop.  It was bound in leather with a pointed leather flap at the end.  Ash was smiling as he came back to me, slapping the device meaningfully against his leg.  I shook my head in fear, pleading ‘no’ as best I could beneath the rubber ball silencing my tongue.  The sound came out as a nasal whine.

“Oh yes, Jan.  You must remain accountable for your actions.  What you did was unforgivable.  A slave does not attack her master.  A slave must understand unconditional obedience – clearly a point I have not demonstrated adequately.  So not only have you carried out this unspeakable act, you have implied that I am a poor teacher, unable to properly get my ideas into your pretty head.  My methods are obviously insufficiently motivating…” He smiled at me – an expression that made me tremble.  I was crying again, snuffling and making unintelligible animal noises that would have begged forgiveness if they could have been understood.  I briefly wondered if the actual pain I was about to experience could be worse than the terror I felt looking at the crop in his hand.  I tried to back away, but the ropes on my wrists left little room for movement.

He circled me, drawing on my fear and laughing at the way my body shook in anticipation of the bite of the crop.  Except that when the stroke came I was in no way really prepared for it.  He caught me three times in quick succession across the buttocks while I yowled into my gag and strained forward in a futile attempt to distance myself from the evil weapon.  Then he was round the front and my breasts took two strokes each.  I was now on the verge of hyperventilating, drawing ragged gasps through my nose, in between trying to make as much noise as possible.  When he stopped in front of me and slowly drew the crop up between my legs I froze in horror. 

“Nnnnn!  Nnnn!  Nnnn!”  I pleaded desperately, shaking my head and trying to convey my message through my own tears.  His expression was detached and clinical, as one might have in dissecting an insect for research.  The crop was momentarily replaced by his hand stroking my pussy as though preparing it for attack.  When the blow came I nearly fainted from the pain, going berserk in my bonds.  I screamed into the gag and tried to go foetal by lifting up my legs even though I was suspended from the ceiling. 

I won’t go into the details of the remainder of the beating.  I thought it would never end, and when he finally attached another cord to my ankles and pulled my feet backwards from under me I thought he had finally finished as I wound up stretched out nearly horizontal, staring at the concrete floor.  My hair, now loose, was damp and straggly, hanging below me.  On the floor was a pool of dampness that was partly sweat and partly drool from my efforts to cry out around the rubber ball wedged behind my teeth.

I could not see what was happening behind me, other than the pair of feet standing beyond my own. When the slash fell across my soles I jerked and struggled like a puppet, but to no result.  My feet received a series of such strokes as I cried and wailed and the tears dropped in a puddle beneath me.  The beating of my feet was almost the final act of my torturer for the session.  His parting gift was something I could obviously savour and think about in his absence – a clothes peg on each nipple and one on each of my pussy lips, all connected with string on which a lead ball the size of a ping pong ball was suspended.

I was keening continuously with the pain by this time and barely understood him as he squatted casually beside my head.
“Do we think we have learned our lesson now, Jan?”  I moaned and nodded in my misery. “We are prepared to remain obedient and to not act impetuously?”  More nodding and piteous whining.  “Good.  I think by the time I come back you will have fully understood what it will take to save yourself this unnecessary inconvenience.  I shall be gone several hours.  I have a car to deliver and will then need to visit the bank.  I’m sure you understand that I’m a busy man…”
I barely heard the closing of the door over my own desolate sobs.
  21.07.01
updated: 26.06.02

story continues in Vanishing Act 8

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