Missing Maid - Chapter 5

The Missing Maid

A Tawse Hall Mystery

By

Lisa

Chapter 5

Back home Agnes would never have trusted the Police, if she had seen a Police van she would have walked the other way. That was how she had been brought up. But since she had been in Britain she had kind of softened. The Police here held no fears for her.  And she was tired. She was hungry and knew that she was looking bad. Nights sleeping rough, absolutely terrifying.  Her phone had long since run out of credit and she only had £5 left from the money the lorry driver had given her.

Remembering what she had been prepared to do for £20 and a lift made her feel sick. Even in her dirty cloths, with her blond hair matted Agnes could still arouse. Her big blue eyes, fine features, high cheekbones and those breasts that men always stared at. She had hated going with the driver but there had been no choice. What were her options? She could have gone back to Talia but that would not be safe now, people would have been there asking questions. All she could do was go on, get to Glasgow. Find Auntie.

‘Hello Agnes.’

She was just wondering how the Police woman knew her name, when she noticed the ring, the snakehead ring. Three sets of strong hands were on her fast, before she could run. She kicked and screamed, but nobody came.

Those strong hands held her down, an injection and then a deep black hole. Nothing.

Nothing until she had woken up in this room.  Not a room, a cell. A bench for a bed, white tiled walls and a concrete floor. There were no windows, just a harsh strip light, and on one wall a heavy metal door. A cell, but not a police station. She had a huge headache, and a dry mouth like she had been on one hell of a drinking spree. She was naked and there was just a single rough blanket. It was cold. Her terror rose as she took it all in.

She had seen the snakehead ring. This was no police cell. Rohrstock? He would not forgive her, and she knew the splintered ice that ran in his veins.  She needed to piss. Nowhere to go, no toilet no bucket. All she could do was squat in the furthest corner. She wept. Eighteen months at Tawse Hall, she should never have run. She should have told her Mistress, Ms Strict would have protected her. But now after three weeks her past had caught up with her. And here she was with her bare feet in her own wee in this horrible cell.

She could see a metal ring on the wall, fixed firm with bolts about two feet above the floor. Agnes shuddered. That could only have one purpose. Somewhere to chain people to.

There was no way to tell if time was passing. Just silence. For a while she shouted and banged but nobody came. The sound of her own voice somehow felt like company.

Then a click, a clang and the door opened. Two big women, big strong women, like peasants Agnes thought, came through the door. They said nothing. As Agnes spotted the glint of the handcuffs she began to struggle but the women held her firm. The cuff bit hard into her wrists, the chain passed through the metal ring. Agnes was left in a forced squatting position without even the blanket to cover her. She wept. More time passed. She fell asleep, exhausted.

‘Agnes.’ The girl looked up from the pair of black leather boots in front of her

The voice sneered. ‘See you pissed yourself you disgusting little whore. I have a good mind to make you lick that up with your tongue. Make you suck your own stinking piss from the floor. Or maybe I should piss there too. You can clean up the mess for both of us.’

The woman in her 40’s, athletic, powerful, was dressed for riding. Boots, jodhpurs and a crop. Her face had a cruel and hard, grey eyes taking in the sight before her with undisguised delight. On her right hand was the snakehead ring.

‘I think your piss is on my boots, lick them.’ Agnes was frozen.

Shwick, crack, Aaaaiieee! I said lick my fucking boots you disgusting whore!

The crop came down hard on Agnes’ left thigh. A vicious red welt appeared almost immediately.

‘Please, who are you, why are you doing this.’

The woman leaned forward and smacked Agnes hard across the face. ‘Shut up and lick my fucking boots.’ Straining against the cuffs Agnes dropped to her knees and began to lick the top of the woman’s boot.

‘And the soles. They are covered in your wee-wee Agnes.’ The voice was filled with contempt. ‘That’s it, lick away. I might get you to lick my arse clean. Keep you chained to my toilet. That is all you are worth you disgusting Polish bitch.’

‘Smile for the camera.’ The woman was taking pictures with her phone.

One of the big women came back into the cell with two bowls. She placed them on the floor in front of Agnes. One contained water, the other what looked like cold porridge.

‘That is your dinner Agnes. If you want to eat you will have to eat like a dog. How does that feel Agnes? There is no point crying. Well. please feel free to cry. It pleases me, but it will not help you.’

The woman sat  back on the bench, tapping the crop against her boot.

‘You have made life difficult for some friends of mine. And you have wasted a lot of my time. But now you are here I will make the most of you. There are lots of people who would like to get their hands on you. I propose a simple auction. Whoever pays gets you. What they do with you is not my concern.’

‘What do you want with me?’

‘Nothing, you have nothing I want. You are just livestock.’ Again the woman leant forward taking Agnes big nipples and twisting them hard. ‘Maybe I will sell you for milking, or maybe for slaughter. It does not matter to me.’

‘It worked like a fucking dream, a fucking dream.’ Shona was so pleased with herself. ‘Little Lisa is going to get such a caning Friday. I hope it is a public one. I cannot wait to see that fat little arse of hers covered in stripes, to see her bawling those sweet little eyes out.’

William was not so full of himself. He had played is part, because Shona had promised him a fuck. But seeing Lisa, stuck out on the chair in the Kitchen. Yes it had turned him on, but he did not have Shona’s venom.

 ‘I cannot believe Ma’am walked in on her holding the fags, ha-ha.’ Shona was pacing around the shed. I’ thought she would just find them and blame Lisa, but red handed. Brilliant. I wish I had been there to see it.’

‘It was close thing.’ William shivered. ‘I was at the top of the ladder putting them inside the bathroom when the girl walked in. She did not see me but it was close.’

Shona sniggered. ‘I have a plan to take this to a whole new level William. So that Lisa gets such caning that she fucks off for good. You will have some work to do again with that ladder of yours.’

‘Shona, no. I was happy to help you once but....’

Shona grabbed him by his hair and hissed. ‘Well done William, you were a very good boy today, but if you ever want to come again do not even think about disobeying me, understand!

‘Yes, Shona, sorry.’

‘Good boy, now come to my room tonight, at 11. I will not be there but undress and wait in the middle of my bed with your bottom in their air. I will join you and you will get your reward.’  Shona squeezed the gardener’s chaste cock and balls, feeling them swell and tighten against their cage as she waved that little nasty key under his nose.

Julius Ferrule liked doing favours. It gave you a bit of leverage if ever you needed it down the line. Julius did not want violence. Not that he was squeamish. Growing up in North Peckham he had learnt quickly that sometimes you had to enforce your authority. No, violence often had messy outcomes that got in the way of good business. Blackmail, bribery or just a well judged hint of nastiness was preferable.

He had fashioned his appearance to good effect tall, muscular, facial features as if carved from teak and immaculate dress. He also knew how to exploit an opportunity when he saw one. That was the secret of his success. Drugs had been easy to come by where he grew up. But the only people who made much were the guys at the top of tree. The cost benefit in dealing anything other than a bit of blow did not appeal. Then he met Connie. It was a wet afternoon. He dropped by a friend in Croydon. There were a few guys there watching TV and skinning up. And there was Connie, sat quietly getting stoned. He knew plenty of white girls but her clothes and hair told him she was not one of the sorts who had grown up in his neighbourhood.  One of the other guys, Bruno, thought that she was his but was not going to get in the way of Julius.

When the girl spoke it was with a lovely soft, posh accent. Not the braying kind that he heard on TV. No, soft smooth like milk. And she had this smile full of innocent excitement and mischief. He could have fucked her that afternoon, but he did not. He was enchanted by her. Even stoned she moved with the graceful ease of a gymnast. She was funny and made him feel special. Not because of his money, his clothes, his reputation, but for being him. Connie wanted to be bad, and Connie changed his life forever.

He stared in the mirror in his office. 80’s disco music was thudding below.

But he was sick to the back teeth of women today. One woman in particular, Horse. Fucking Horse! Never work with children or animals. He was just trying to do somebody a favour. Somebody who he wanted to owe him. Why had he given the job to Horse? He knew she was a proper nutter. But Horse could scrub up well.  Look the part. All she had to do was go and pick up the goods and bring them back. But no, she collected as planned and then nothing. Silence. And now he was in the shit. Because when you do a favour for Bastion Rohrstock....... Shit, shit, shit. But Julius could always see the opportunity, play both sides off against the middle. He was going to tell Howard Figgings everything. Well mostly everything.

He gazed at the  TV monitor. It was showing the recording in progress next door. A large middle aged woman, dressed in school uniform was bent over a bar stool. Her huge bottom showing the evidence of the caning being dished out by a haughty black domme.

Shit, it was the wrong fucking way round. He could not see her face. What use was that going to be?  He spoke into mic. The Dominatrix’s blond wig concealed a discrete ear piece.

‘Turn her round for fuck sake you stupid bitch. When you have a Junior Education Minister bent over a bar stool dressed as a school girl you at least want the camera to pick up the woman’s fucking face!’ Blackmail. So much better than violence.

From the dull thud below he made out ‘Dancing Queen.’ Good. He was going to do somebody a big favour, and do himself one in the process.