The Journey home...

[Sprayman]

"That is your reality, my dear. This is mine! You will do what I say, place this bracelet on your wrist, and leave with me when we stop at the next station or I will leave alone while you watch your lifeblood puddle on the dirty floor in front of you as you try to draw one last breath through your severed throat!"

"You cannot scream if you cannot breathe!"

"Now put out your arm and receive my gift or this knife will take away your breath - forever."

She puts on a brave front with her harsh words, but I can smell her fear as easily as I smell her expensive perfume. This one will not get away. . .

[Lia]

I've been wandering through the carriages since the last stop, looking for my booth. Carrying nothing but a messenger bag, my scruffy jeans, casual top, and black flats shout "Indie Journalist!" I need a place to sit and work through my thoughts; write things down in concrete words, but my inability to find where I am supposed to be is making me distracted and frustrated.

I head towards the end of the train, and hear a man's voice. People; finally. Maybe they know where the hell I am. The door has a small window, but the glass is glazed and I can only see vague silhouettes. The voice is low, firm, intoxicating, and it has a sense of purpose to it. I hope I'm not intruding too much, but... I really want to sit down, I think to myself.

My hand on the latch, I push the door open, and freeze. "Fuck." My voice is barely above a whisper. My left hand instinctively, automatically goes to my pocket, reassuring myself of a measure of safety, but not playing my only card yet...

[ghostgirl]

At the soft pneumatic hiss of the door we both freeze. i pitch to my right, taking advantage of the train's rocking, until i can catch a partial glimpse of the woman behind him, the one whose soft exclamation of surprise just might save me. In my peripheral vision, closer and unfocused, the dark trailing edge of his jacket swirls with his movement, but i can't tear my eyes from what my body thinks is an escape route, and my legs are already moving...

[Sprayman]

Years of Martial Arts training takes over. I studied many years ago, but the lessons were well learned. Repartition and pain are both excellent teachers, and my body reacts without conscious thought. My right forearm pushes my quarry back into her seat before she can move more than a few inches. The push isn't terribly hard but it has enough force to overcome her feeble attempt at flight. In a second swift motion, the bracelet of the manacles snaps over her wrist and a half second later, the other one locks on the aluminum pole beside her. She is secured!

Turning, I face the new threat! Or is it just more prey! Another young woman, but this one dressed to run, in jeans and low heeled shoes. If she flees, she could spoil my plans again. And my training tells me that this one is armed in some way. Her hand goes to a pocket and the way her body moves tells me there is a weapon there.

My knife is a good weapon and my training should allow me to prevail, but why take the chance! I have other weapons and guile is one of them. In my most officious voice, I say, "Police, I am making an arrest. Please remove your hand from your pocket slowly and with an open palm. Here is my identification." And I put my left hand confidently back into my coat pocket, as if to remove a badge. But what comes out is my cannister of Sabre spray! "Hands where I can see them please . . . "

[Lia]

Trust of government officials never came easily to me, and as the scene that has just unfurled before my eyes in those few seconds registers, I think to myself That's not how it's done... police procedure is... but the command - and the implied threat - of the man also becomes part of the equation. My equation for escape. I let my finger touch the metal in my pocket for reassurance, then hold my hands out in front of me, palms up, fingers slightly curled. The messenger bag I carry shifts purposefully, covering my targeted pocket. He's no police, but he isn't a civilian either.

"That would require being civil," I mumble to myself without conscious thought, my habit of thinking aloud manifesting itself even in this situation.

[ghostgirl]

He pushes me back down into the seat; i bounce to my my feet again, only to be halted by the bite of cold metal at my wrist. i'm nearly jerked off-balance by my own momentum; incredulously i tug at the manacle, hard, and receive the musical ting of metal on metal and another sharp twinge of pain coil around my wrist for my efforts.

i stare at his back; i can't see the young woman now. "He's not a cop," i spit through gritted teeth...

[Quixote]

Well, this is getting positively ridiculous, is what I am thinking as I press the stun gun to the back of Lia's neck.  She crumples to the floor, and Sprayman looks at me, half irritated, but maybe a little grateful.

"I know we said it was your turn to do the hunting, but once I saw that there were two girls ganging up on you..."

I smirk at him.

"I know, I know.  Impatience.  My great weakness.  Now, shall we?"

I smile at ghostgirl, imagining how her face will look as she screams.

"Hello, my dear," I say.

[Sprayman]

Well, it's about time Quix! I was beginning to think I would have to spray her, and in these tight spaces, I might get some too. Now then, my dear, I'm going to remove the cuff from the pole. If you don't want to be carried out like her, you will behave and do as you are told. Our station is coming up and your carriage awaits. You will help my associate carry the poor dear who overindulged at the pub. You will be handcuffed to her so running will be difficult. I have a badge that looks very official, so do not attempt to tell anyone that this is not what it seems.

I am about out of patience this evening. No more trouble from you now, or things will be extremely unpleasant for you very quickly! Keep your mouth shut and do as you are told. Otherwise you will die tonight! Do you understand. . .

[Sprayman]

And Quix, before I forget, check her pockets. She acted like there might be something in them she could use for a weapon! I'll search ghostgirl - which I, at least, will enjoy. . .

[ghostgirl]

i stare in horror at the young woman, crumpled in a heap at the newcomer's feet; the image of her tightly arched back, pain-clawed hands and drool-spangled grimace as he'd applied the stun gun laser-burned into my retinas. i can't tell if she's breathing; my own lungs are fluttering as ineffectually as rags in a stiff breeze, nearly panting and euphoric with fear.

The ice-eyed bastard is talking to me, giving instructions; his voice distant but precise. As he issues his death-threat my eyes leap from the girl to the one he called Quix, whose smile is, just possibly, the most terrifying sight yet...

i bow my head, nodding mutely, miserably; my mind is spinning. 'Cooperate for now,' i tell myself. 'Remember who you are. If you can get close, maybe you can help that poor girl. These...pathetic nobodies will be in police custody in short order, you'll have missed a tedious meeting, and be free to focus on more pleasurable things, like the ballet gala tonight...'

My reverie is cut short by his next words, vaporized. i shrink back against the vinyl seat as he approaches, trying to curl into a ball, tethered wrist taut, knees rising protectively."Don't touch me..."

[Quixote]

I take the stunned girl's bag and search it quickly, before slipping the strap over my shoulder.  I search the girl just as efficiently.  I pocket her cellphone for suitable disposal, and her weapon.

I do it fast and calm.  I look forward to molesting her, but not now, before we have gotten our prizes safely tucked away.

And, more importantly, not when I can't watch the violation show in her face.  I bet she'll try to be strong.  She won't want to give me the ... satisfaction.  I smile, anticipating pleasure to come.

I look at her body, not that I can see much through all those clothes.

This is always so much fun ...

[Sprayman]

I have only a minute or two before the train will stop, but at last the situation is under control. Quix searches the second girl and empties her pockets. My target tries to melt into the corner as I approach. Knife closed and back into my pocket, the target's laptop turned off and stored in the Oriental girl's satchel bag. Now to more pleasent things.

ghostgirl doesn't want to be touched. "My dear, soon you will beg me to touch you gently, like I'm going to do now." As I run my hands over her body, I don't linger anywhere. Time for lingering later at the barn. For now, I make sure she isn't armed or hiding any surprises. Her cellphone is in her jacket pocket and I turn it off and remove the battery. We will dispose of it along the highway. Her jacket joins the laptop in the satchel.

"ghostgirl, no more speaking. If you speak without my permission, I will hurt you. If you try to speak to anyone we see at the station, I will kill you. Quix, give me Lia's wrist and I'll lock ghostgirl to her. The train is slowing for our station and we need to be ready to leave. The van is in the usual spot. At this time of the evening, the station should be empty but if anyone is there, Lia had a bit to much at the pub and we are helping the ladies home!"

The train slows as we approach the station. Time to get on the road. . .

[ghostgirl]

His hands are as impersonal and efficient as a gynecologist's on my body, stiff with outrage as i am; i find it oddly calming: perhaps he has no sexual intent after all. The moment this thought appears, i latch onto it with a deathgrip; if it's ransom they're after, their target is well-chosen. Money, and the privilege and power it summons, will grease the wheels, even on this sordid vehicle: business as usual. My guttered confidence flickers, then flares to life: the tall one had claimed "adequate funds" - bullshit. There's no such thing.

i remain in my little bubble of serenity as he unshackles me from the pole and handcuffs me to the young woman; looking at her pretty face, shockingly pale, i see that she is about my age, give or take a year or two. Even supporting her limp form, i can't tell with certainty whether she's breathing; only the thready tick of a pulse at her throat, in the shadow of her jaw, lends credence to the presumption she's alive. Her head lolls alarmingly as we shift her weight and drag her into a standing position; she looks like a broken doll. i drop my gaze, concealing a sudden wave of anger....not the panic-stricken rage that washed over me earlier, but cold fury that clears the fog of terror from my head: instant sobriety. i resolve not to show fear again, and silently urge her to hang on.

The train slows to a smooth stop. The doors swish open. i shift my hips, bracing against her weight, and follow Ice-Eyes out.

[Quixote]

As we exit the train and move away, toward the waiting van, I can barely stop myself from grinning.

It isn't just that we captured two new sluts to play with and enjoy; to take pleasure in, and make suffer.

It isn't just that.

It's the flicker of rage in this one's eyes.  The hardness I see.  Her natural arrogance is reasserting itself as she calms down.  As she convinces herself of who knows what reassuring fantasy.

I am grinning because I know that she won't want to beg.  She won't want to beg for me to stop hurting her.  She probably thinks she won't.  But I know she will.

[Sprayman]

As I expected, the station is empty. Quix and ghostgirl move the limp second girl out and follow me through the quiet station. The van is parked close to the station door in a pool of near darkness. It will take days for the maintenance man to replace the halogen bulb that I broke with a pebble this morning.

All goes smoothly as we load the girls into the cargo bay and manacle their free hands with the waiting cuffs attached to cargo tiedowns in back. Now they are locked together and to the truck! I take the wheel and we move off down the service road toward the A20 that will take us to the M20 and on to the farm near Lenham Heath. The farm that has no neighbor closer than 4 KM and the old barn that we use to hold our playthings.

I've got good feelings about these two. I really wanted the Oriental girl but this young rich girl will do quite nicely. She has some fire in her and it's always nice to quench that fire and watch dispair take it's place! I'm not so sure about the other one. But then, it is hard to look pretty when Quix has just tickled you with 600,000 volts.

"Quix, our sleeping beauty will wake soon. why don't you unwrap our new toys and see what they really look like! The hoods are under your seat and we need to put them in place soon. No sense letting our prizes have any idea of where we are taking them. I'm rather curious about how well made the second one is. She looks like a street urchin, the way she is dressed."

As I talk, I turn onto the A20 and head out of London. . .