EXTRACT FOR
His Revenge
(Simon Grail)
Extract from: "His Revenge"Early on a bright summer's afternoon Natasha turned into the drive
of Egnever House. Before her at the end
of a sweep of gravel was an elegant Edwardian mansion, standing foursquare in
its secluded grounds. She parked her
metallic purple convertible beside a silver Mercedes saloon already standing in
front of house, the only other vehicle in sight. Good, she was one of the first to
arrive. She checked her watch: Natasha examined her face in the
mirror and adjusted the band that tied back her flowing shoulder length blonde
hair, smiling in approval at her reflection.
She had arching, inquisitive eyebrows, a firm straight nose, dark blue
eyes, good cheekbones and golden toned skin.
She was a very attractive twenty-three-year-old woman - and she knew it
- but was her ensemble appropriate? She
was wearing a light scoop-necked summer two-piece dress and skirt with all the
best labels, but was it too casual for the occasion? Should she put on the matching jacket? She was still a little unsure about the exact
tone of the gathering. Egnever House was hosting a reunion
of Granstead Priory students arranged by an old head girl with a view to
forming an exclusive society for promoting mutual social and business
benefits. Natasha had only learned of
its existence a month ago, being recommendation only and highly selective. Before being invited she even had to respond
to a detailed questionnaire about views on life and times at school. Since anything that might increase her
networking opportunities and social standing was worth pursuing, Natasha had of
course replied, carefully adjusting her answers to give the most flattering
impression of her time at Granstead. Checking her watch again, Natasha
assumed the air of confident self-assurance that all Granstead girls were
expected to present to the world, gathered up her bag and invitation card and
got out of her car, smoothing down her dress over her neat, trim figure. As she approached the flight of steps leading
up to the front door, it was swung wide to reveal a stocky young man in an
immaculate white jacket. His
short-cropped hair was stylishly bleached and sculpted, and he wore small round blue-tinted glasses. 'Good afternoon, Madam,' he said
smoothly, inclining his head a fraction.
'Are you expected?' 'Natasha Sellbridge,'
Natasha said, holding out her invitation. He examined it for a moment then
smiled dazzlingly. 'Welcome to Egnever House, Miss Sellbridge.' He touched the name badge pinned to his
jacket that read: RICK FREED. 'I am Rick.
Please step this way...' He stood aside and bowed her into the large cool
hallway. Rich rugs overlaid polished wood floors. A grand staircase wound its way to the upper
levels. In its well was a freestanding
folding display stand on which were mounted several images of Granstead Priory
and its staff, including some black and white reproductions clearly from years
past. Before the stand were set out a
couple of chairs and a table with champagne cooling on ice and a tray of
glasses. From behind the closed door of
a room to the right came a muted babble of conversation. 'I will take care of your baggage
in a moment, Miss Sellbridge,' Rick said, ushering
her over to a chair. On an occasional
table beside it was a single sheet of paper and a pen. 'But before joining the
others in the lounge, Miss Sisemen has asked that you
answer a final supplementary question, which I am to take through to her. Meanwhile, may I fetch you a drink?' Natasha nodded absently, frowning
at the paper before her. Another
question? There was a single line of
type and a large blank space: Is
there any single thing I regret doing while at Granstead that I wish I could
change? 'What's this meant to mean?' she
demanded as Rick attended to the champagne. 'I do not as yet
make the rules, Miss Sellbridge. I can only advise, from what I know of Angela
Sisemen, that it would be best to follow your conscience
and answer honestly.' 'Don't tell me what to do!' Natasha snapped. 'I would not dream of it, Miss Sellbridge.' Was all this supposed to be a test,
Natasha wondered? She'd better play
safe. Under the question she wrote I wish I could have been kinder and more
helpful to the younger girls. She
handed the paper to Rick with an angry glare.
He glanced over it, nodded and handed her a sparkling glass. As she drank, he crossed to the lounge and
slipped inside. A minute passed. Natasha began to feel annoyed. What sort of society was this who left its
guests in the hall with the hired help?
Where was this Angela Sisemen? The hall was
getting hot and airless. She started to
rise from her chair only to drop back as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Rick emerged from the lounge. 'I'm... not feeling well,' Natasha
groaned, her voice sounding alarmingly feeble. 'Oh dear, Miss Sellbridge,' Rick said, crossing over to peer closely at her. 'It could be the heat...' The room was spinning and getting darker about Natasha '...but it's more likely the sleeping draught I put in your champagne...' *** Rick looked down at Natasha's still figure slumped in the chair for a moment, breathing heavily as he contemplated her features. Then he slapped her face first one side and then the other, hard enough to leave livid imprints of his palm on her golden skin. Natasha moaned slightly but did not open her eyes. 'You never recognized me for a moment, did you, you selfish bitch!' he said wonderingly. Rick picked up Natasha's bag,
removed her car keys, found her cell phone and switched it off. Then he hauled Natasha to her feet, threw her
over his shoulder and carried her through a door at the end of the hall, along
a short corridor and into the large kitchen at the back of the house. Its floor and central sturdy worktable had
been covered with sheets of black plastic.
On the table were a stack of bin bags, four seaside buckets with chains
attached to their handles and an array of plug-gags and goggle blindfolds. Arranged in a row to one side of the table
stood four sets of grocers' wheels of the sort used to deliver sacks and
crates. Lengths of metal tube had been
bolted to the wheel frames, extending them upwards above their handles,
providing support for sets of restraining straps and cuffs on stout chains. Laying Natasha on her back on the
table, Rick put her handbag into one of the rubbish sacks and then gagged and
blindfolded her, smiling as her eyes and lips were concealed by the disks and
bands of heavy black rubber that contrasted so starkly with her blushing cheeks
and golden skin. She couldn't quell him
with a contemptuous glance or acid words anymore. From now on he decided if
and when she would be permitted to see or speak to him. She had been reduced to an anonymous pretty
body. Methodically he stripped her,
rolling her limp body from side to side as he opened buttons and slid down
bands of elastic. Expensive sandals,
dress and lacy underwear all went into the rubbish bag. She would not need them where she was
going. Finally, Natasha lay sprawled on
her back naked on the table, her golden body stark against the black
sheeting. Rick ran his hands over her
bare flesh, drinking in its perfumed heat, watching the perfectly neat rounded mounds of her breasts, capped by little russet
nipple cones, rising and falling slowly.
Her waist was tight, her navel round.
Her darker pubic hair had been trimmed back to a narrow strip,
highlighted by a pale triangle of bikini shadow. The tips of her inner labia protruded almost
carelessly from her cleft. Entranced, Rick slid his hand
between her thighs, feeling the humid warmth trapped between them. He bent over and sniffed that intimate
orifice, smelling expensive perfume mingled with female musk. He rolled her onto her front and examined
her bottom. It was peach-perfect in its
smooth rotundity. He pried her cheeks
apart and examined the tight pucker of her anus, tracing its contours. I'm fingering Natasha Sellbridge's
bumhole and she can't stop me, he thought exultantly. His cock was straining in his
trousers by now. How long since he'd
been this hard? The things he wanted to do to her! But did he have time? He had to stick to the plan. He'd be a fool to spoil things now. But how could he deny his need after all
these years? Restrain her first and then
see! Rick hauled Natasha off the table
and over to the nearest of the modified sets of grocery wheels, setting her
feet down on its base plate. She flopped
over his shoulder until he got a broad strap round her waist and another about
her neck, holding her head in place between the two uprights. Then he was able
to cuff her wrists down to her sides and put another strap across her chest and
upper arms, passing just under her breasts.
He raised and bent first one of her legs and then the other until her
knees nearly touched the undersides of her breasts. He secured her legs with broad cuffs about
her thighs just above the knees that hung from adjustable chains hooked to the
supporting frame above her shoulders. A
second set of cuffs went round her ankles and their chains were drawn back to
clip to the frame by her wrists. Now Natasha hung open and utterly
defenceless before him, her hips lifted and bent up about her waist strap, her
crooked legs splayed wide, offering the cleft pouch of her pubes and even the
clenched bronze eye of her anus for his delectation. Panting, Rick checked his watch. There was time. He tore open his flies, freeing his
rock-hard shaft, hooked his thumbs into Natasha's vulva, parted her lips and
rammed into her. She was not wet or
aroused and he had to drive his way in, opening up her
passage with his cockhead. But he was
inside Natasha Sellbridge! Such was his excitement that half a
dozen thrusts were all it took for him to come.
He gasped at the intensity of it, clinging onto his sleeping captive for
support. Oh, yes, he'd needed to do that
for so long... so very long! After a minute he withdrew his
still hard cock. He could have done it
again, but the urgency had been taken off his lust. Anyway, he'd save that for the others. Yes, he'd screw them one at a time. He could do it. He could do anything he wanted now, unlike
Natasha. He contemplated her lovely body
hanging in its bonds. When the knockout
draught wore off and she woke she would know she was exposed and feel the
soreness where he had used her. His
sperm would still be tricking out of her vagina. Then she would understand what it felt like
to be misused and helpless. Rick tided himself up, closed the
door of the kitchen behind him and returned to the hall. There he cleaned Natasha's glass, put a fresh
bottle of champagne in ice and a new question slip on the table and waited for
the next arrival. Meanwhile, the sound
of party chatter continued undiminished from the lounge... |