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CHAPTER 7
The morning dawned fair, though rain was forecast for the afternoon. Upon his return the previous evening, Dawson had checked on his prisoner. She had eaten the food he'd left her, and was lying on the bed, curled up in foetal position, sobbing. Clearly she was wounded, bruised and in pain, but her sobbing was more from fear – a fear that Dawson was going to ensure stayed with her for the rest of her life. Now, as the morning light streamed into his bedroom window he determined the time had come to act.
“Mrs Dawson,” he greeted her with the distorted voice behind his mask, “I hope you slept well and that you have learned from yesterday.”
“Oh I've learned all right. When I get out of this fucking shit hole I'm going to get my husband onto you. Dawson was my last married name, I'm now a Correlli, and my husband has connections. He'll get his team onto you, whoever you are.”
The news of marriage was fresh to Dawson and it made him stop short. He had no idea she had remarried, the bitch, and Dawson knew the surname was Italian. He'd spent some time checking out Correlli, and knew exactly who he was. It was not, he considered, wise to divulge his knowledge. It was the thoughts of “the mob” coming after him that made Dawson pause for a moment. He decided to feign ignorance.
“But you said yesterday you were Julia Dawson.”
“I know. I've only been married three months and I still react to my last name. I'm a Correlli now, in case the name means anything to you.”
“It doesn't, should it?”
“Correlli and Garlandier Merchant Bankers. Not familiar now?”
“Nope, not a thing. All I know is I've been paid to teach you a lesson of respect. Perhaps your man wants to knock some manners into you.”
“I doubt it. Now, I suggest you get me back to my house before he gets home, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Hell to pay,” Dawson almost choked. “Oh yeah, there's hell to pay all right. I can see you haven't learned from yesterday so we'll begin again. And, just so you can rest assured, I know exactly when your new man will be getting home. Don't worry because you'll be there to greet him, exactly as I've been told to deliver you.”
This time the woman paled. She had been sitting on the couch but now she stood to look evenly at her assailant.
“On your own head be it, but you are already in deep shit over this. I'd let me go if I were you.”
“I will, eventually, but first we have to get on with why you are here. It's time to look at your ruby cheeks. Turn round.”
The woman scowled at Dawson who smiled back at her from behind the mask – he had regained the upper hand and she knew she could not escape, so she complied with his demand.
Her buttocks were heavily bruised from the previous day's battering, though the general redness had faded until it was almost back to her normal flesh-colour.
“Right, out to the Chamber, it's time for your first session of the day.”
“What? You can't be serious? I absolutely refuse to allow you to beat me any more.”
“You can refuse all you want but it will do you no good. I've been paid for this so you're going to do as you're told.”
It was true, Dawson had been paid. He'd known for some time of her involvement with Correlli. He hadn't known she was married to him, though it didn't change things much. He also knew some of Correlli's adversaries and he'd conned them into paying him to inflict a personal attack against Correlli – the kind of wound that would weaken his credibility. After all, if “the mob” leader couldn't protect his own interests he obviously had a weakness, and one that could be exploited.
Dawson knew that by the end of the day, Correlli would be absolutely fuming mad at the attack on his wife, and that equally he would do nothing about it for the simple reason that to do so would expose his weakness
Dawson led the Correlli woman out into the Chamber and guided her over to the stocks.
“Just do what you're told and convince me you've learned a lesson in respect.” It was all he said as he forced her head onto the lower block. Without resistance he placed her wrists on the smaller cut-outs either side of her head and then he lowered the top block. With the block lowered her wrists and neck were trapped and she was unable to move. She was leaning forward, her breast hanging down, her nipples stiffening as the woman realised the hopelessness of her situation. Dawson knew she responded to dominance – she always did, eventually.
“Right, we'll start with a reminder of what respect is. You ask no questions, call me master and do whatever I tell you to do. Once I am convinced you understand this simple lesson, we'll move onto something a bit more demanding. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, master.”
“Better. Right, for a start we'll give your backside some treatment. A flogging should do it I think, bring up the pinkness that's died down.”
“Why, master?”
“Because I think it is necessary.” She was starting to play the game but if she thought she would be let off lightly, she was wrong.”
The flogger lay across her bent back, across the shoulder blades. Dawson flicked it into the air and cracked it down across the flesh where it had rested.
“Arrggghhh,” the woman groaned though she knew now that it would be best not to scream loudly.
The whip came down again, the nine strands of leather sounding a loud “thwack” as they snapped against her pale skin, turning it pink.
“Ohhhh,” she cried as the third stroke landed, this time around mid-back. He was moving down to her buttocks methodically, making sure she was striped the full length of her back.
When he had whipped her down the left side of her back, a total of eight strokes, including the three that had caressed her left buttock, Dawson paused and walked behind the woman. She was sobbing quietly now, and gasping with each fresh stroke.
Dawson started again with her right shoulder-blade, cutting into it with a particularly hard crack of the flogger. Again he proceeded down her back and onto her buttocks, and again the pale flesh turned a hint of pink under his carefully applied strokes. The sixteenth stroke of the morning landed and Dawson stood back. It was time to change the sensations for the woman – time to confuse her mind and destroy her self-belief.
Dawson knew that his ex-wife had never reached orgasm against her will. Indeed, unless she had decided sex was on the menu, it had been firmly refused. Now, Dawson was going to break her spirit. He reached over to the worktop and retrieved the tube of cream. He squirted some onto his finger and then walked back to the woman.
“Right, open those legs wide apart.”
She did so, sobbing quietly from the pain of her flogging.
Dawson walked up behind her and gently parted her buttock cheeks. The pale flesh of her labia was waiting for him – the pale flesh, the tight, almost virginal looking vulva, and the hard bud of her clitoris. They were all on display, and Dawson reached towards them, parting the labia gently, exposing her sex. She groaned as he did so, and Dawson realised that the woman was struggling against her will. The cream caressed the whole area between her legs, Dawson rubbing it in diligently, ensuring it covered the whole entrance to her vulva, and checking it was smeared on and around her clitoris. She gasped again at the coldness of the cream.
Dawson was close to her sex now. He blew cool air into her wispy pubes, and watched intently. Her clitoris started to change colour and stiffen as the cream attracted blood to the area. At the same time her labia puffed out as they too swelled. Dawson saw the first drop of juice as it leaked from her vulva and knew the cream had begun to work.
“Oh God,” she said as the waves of pleasure forced themselves upon her. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“It's just a little cream that is designed to numb the pain and make you feel good.”
“I don't want to feel like this. Get it off me now, do you hear?”
“I heard, but there is no respect. Request denied.” Dawson spoke flatly.
“Okay, master, please don't make me do this.”
“Request denied.” Her abdomen contracted as the pleasure inside her increased. Dawson walked over to the tube on the worktop, squeezed out another inch of the cream and walked back to the woman. She was already leaking juice from her arousal when Dawson opened the labia fully, inserted the finger with the cream and smeared it all round the inside of her vulva. Then he stood back.
“Okay, that will take a few minutes to work. While it does I'm going to give you six of the best for your lack of respect.”
The paddle was wooden, three inches wide, flat, an maybe eighteen inches wide. The woman's abdomen contracted again as she tried in vain to fight the feelings of arousal that were filtering through her sex into her body. She was losing control and it frightened her. The contraction eased and she felt the numb, blunt pain of the first swat of the paddle landed on her arse.
She hoped it would help her to fight the feelings of arousal, but instead she found the increased blood flow to that part of her body only added to her frustration. The next contraction was upon her before she had time to recover.
As it too ebbed away she felt the second swat land exactly where the first one had done. She gasped as it landed, determined that she would not succumb to the arousal. It was a battle she would lose but Dawson was getting pleasure from watching her struggle.
The chemicals were released into her labia and her clitoris and there was nothing she could do to stop their effects, but it was fun watching her try. The third swat landed. As it did so, the delayed effect of the cream inside her began to kick in. It's own first wave of power served to increase the woman's arousal until she actually started muttering,
“Oh God, this is killing me, fuck me, fuck me, I need to come, fuck me you bastard.”
Dawson landed the fifth stroke, knowing that she was getting close to finishing – a few more minutes. He landed the sixth stroke, and by now the woman was fairly screaming for release.
“Fuck me, oh God, I can't take any more. You bastard, I need to come, fuck me.” Dawson smiled. He reached forward and lifted the top block of the stocks.
“You can lie on the couch,” he said and the woman hobbled off. The hidden cameras were catching everything. They would provide the proof, if any were needed, that he had completed the task. They would also help to ensure Correlli's downfall.
The woman lay on the couch and desperately tried to rub the cream off her body. Her actions served only to increase her arousal as Dawson knew they would. He knew the time was close and that she really could not take much more of this. Perspiration had covered much of her body and she was writhing about on the couch in the desperate searching for the final release.
Dawson felt his cock rise to attention, and as he watched the woman reach her climax he released his member. Purple, rigid, demanding its own action, Dawson walked calmly over to stand behind the woman. She seemed oblivious to his presence, now masturbating herself firmly and gasping her way to orgasm, an orgasm that would not come.
Finally it was happening. She felt every muscle tauten in contraction as the chemicals in the cream finally pushed her over the limits. She plunged three fingers deep inside her vulva and let out loud groan of pleasure as the love juice squirted from her body. She had ejaculated the ultimate orgasm of her frigid life onto the couch and now she lay back.
“Open your mouth, bitch,” Dawson commanded.
Her resistance gone, she complied. The thick, white and salty liquid dripped into her. She gagged as it dribbled into the back of her throat, and she was tempted to spit it out again, though something inside her made her realise this would only bring further torture. She fought to keep her mouth wide open until he had deposited every last drop of semen into it.
“Now swallow.”
She complied.
“Now, lick up your own juices off the couch.”
As Dawson zipped himself up he watched her lick the couch clean. When he was ready he walked over to his worktop.
“Right,” he said, you can go back into your cage for a couple of hours. When I come back, if you are respectful enough, we'll get you ready to go back home. If you're not respectful enough, then we'll have to give you another lesson. Now, get off the couch and crawl back to the cage.”
The woman did so, the hidden cameras filming her every move. When she had crawled into the cage, Dawson closed the door and secured the padlock.
“I'll be back in two hours. I suggest you sit there and contemplate the right way to behave next time you see me.” Dawson turned, walked out of the chamber and closed the door behind him. He locked it, though his precaution was totally unnecessary.
***
Having left the woman in the cage, Dawson retired to his control room. It was really the third bedroom but it housed all the recording equipment, and the computers he used. The next stage of the operation was to prepare the evidence that he had done what he was being paid for. His employers had no idea he was the ex-husband, and even if they did he doubted they would have raised any objection. Correlli was the target for their revenge, and the fact that his woman happened to be Dawson 's “ex” only gave the case an added twist, an extra nuance, an additional meaning.
But the Marinelli brothers were not going to pay for rubbish. Dawson had had that made quite clear to him from the outset. Actually it had not quite been from the outset, because the Marinelli brothers were not easy to reach. Dawson had had to make contact through a third party. He'd been quizzed, checked, passed and handed on to a fourth party. They in turn had repeated the checks and only when everyone had been convinced that Dawson really could get to Correlli had he met the Marinelli brothers.
In their late thirties they had “inherited” the family business when their father, the notorious Giuseppi Marinelli had carelessly walked free from a courtroom into the path of a sniper's bullet, a bullet which, the brother's had been told, had come from a contractor hired by Correlli.
It was only when Dawson had met them that he had realised they would not pay for rubbish. They had strict requirements and needed the evidence they could use to silence Correlli for ever. They'd all shaken hands on the deal and Dawson had received ten thousand pounds up front. He knew if he failed that the brothers would send someone round to recover their outlay. He knew, when he succeeded that another ten thousand would follow.
Now, in his office, Dawson began to edit the hours of videotape. Some, taken from outside the Correlli's country home took only a few moments. It was there to show the brothers that Dawson had spent time doing his research. The picture of the pool and the patio with the woman sitting on her deckchair on the morning of her abduction was particularly compelling. It showed the “before” state of the woman, and would serve to show that Dawson had done his job well.
The thought of being paid to exact his own revenge had appealed enormously to Dawson , and twenty thousand was a lot of money to have some fun with. He'd been meticulous, and the next video inclusion showed the drugged woman being stripped of her bikini and then being laid in the cage. She would have no idea where she had travelled to, nor how long the journey had taken. The plastic cover in the boot of the van could easily be removed, leaving no DNA evidence, supposing his vehicle was ever traced.
The video sequence continued with the woman's first few sessions of torture. Dawson edited the feature to make it look like one long session, a session of torture, and of sexual arousal. It was a session that culminated in the woman writhing on the couch reaching her own orgasm and then taking in the semen of her hidden assailant before licking up her own juices. It was a session that was not quite complete.
Dawson selected the best camera angles to reveal the true horror and pain that he was inflicting, after all the audience would be more interested in the woman's reactions than simply staring at the scene. In between the woman's reactions Dawson included footage of the strikes, the swats, the flogging, and the other torture he had so far inflicted.
He worked fast, checking the work he had completed the previous evening before continuing to add the best scenes from the first of the morning's sessions. He worked fast, and impassively, with the hand and eye of someone who was skilled in such work. The overall movie would be about an hour and a half long and it would be a saleable product, though it would only ever be sold if the Marinelli brothers wished it to be, and that was their hold of Correlli.
Dawson looked up at the screen and realised the morning had flown by. He'd spent over two and a half hours on the video, and now he had to go and shoot the footage that would effectively make up the last two parts.
***
Dawson opened the door to the Chamber and unlocked the cage.
“Come out and crawl into the middle of the floor.”
The woman glowered at him but made no comment. Her arse was still sore from the beating and she had spent the previous couple of hours in convincing herself that compliance was the best option. It repulsed her to think in this way, but common sense dictated she now obey without question.
“What would you like me to do now, master?” Her question was spoken softly and she stayed kneeling on the cold, hard floor.
“That's better. Well, first off, I hope I never get paid to see you again. From now on you had better always do as you are told unless you want a repeat performance. Now, we have one last session to go through – the icing on the case, so to speak.” Dawson 's voice still sounded distorted behind the mask he had replaced over his face before entering the room.
“Yes, master,” she responded.
“Okay, bitch, go and lie on the couch. Put your hands down on the floor either side and expose your cunt by drawing your legs up, feet together and then parting your knees as wide as you can.”
“Yes, master,” her voice was becoming irritating to Dawson .
She lay on the couch and Dawson picked up the thick, red candle.
“Right, this is called wax therapy. Just lie still or I'll have to tie you down.” He walked over to the woman and held the candle over her right breast. He tilted it slowly allowing the molten wax to drip from the pool that had begun to form on the candle's top. The red liquid dripped onto the woman's breast and some covered her nipple. As it touched her she winced inwardly, the heat burning her skin as it rapidly cooled against her body.
“Ow,” she reacted, “ow, ow, ow!”
Dawson ignored her cries and shifted position to her left breast. Again the candle was tilted and the red liquid dripped onto the flesh causing her to cry out again.
“Yeeow, that hurts.”
“It's meant to hurt. After all we don't want you coming back here, do we?”
“No, master.”
“Exactly, right, once more I think.” Again Dawson shifted position and this time when he tilted the candle the red liquid dripped directly between the woman's legs and onto the tender flesh of her labia.
“Arrgghhh, that burns, oh God it hurts too much.” She called out but managed to maintain the position she knew she could not move from.
“Excellent,” Dawson smiled behind the mask.
He put the candle down and took up the riveter and a cloth. Standing behind the woman he rubbed the cloth over her left breast. The wax came away quite easily and the cold liquid on the cloth stung her nipple.
“Ooohh, that's cold and it stings,” she moaned.
Dawson placed the stiffened nipple between the plates of the riveter.
“This may hurt a bit, but we have to give you something to go home with.”
“What are you doing? Owww,” she cried as Dawson pressed the trigger, piercing her nipple with the stud. He put the instrument down and fiddled with the stud for a moment. Satisfied, he pulled it out from the nipple and replaced it with the ring he had prepared. The woman was pierced.
“God that hurt,” she was still sobbing. “What did you do that for?”
“Because it is part of your inheritance – a small item of jewellery from an admirer, but we're not done yet. Dawson changed position and rubbed the wax off the woman's right breast. Then he applied the cloth, the cold liquid causing her nipple to stiffen. Before she had time to complain the riveter was holding the nipple firmly in place and in a second the trigger had fired the stud through the flesh, piercing her for the second time.
“A matching set,” Dawson smirked a minute later as he admired his handiwork.
“Argghh, that bloody hurt you brute,” she yelped as he playfully tugged on her new rings.
“Nice and secure, and they'll stay that way.”
“They won't. When I get out of here the first thing I'll do is take them out.”
“I see,” said Dawson thoughtfully. “Oh well, if that is how you want to treat your inheritance, so be it.”
“My inheritance?” Her question was genuine.
“Yes, but you can worry about that later. Now, we must clean up between your legs. This will sting, but we can't leave you waxed.”
Dawson moved down between her legs and began to gouge the wax off her pubes and flesh. After a couple of minutes he was satisfied and applied the cold cloth. The woman gasped as it stung her. Then she felt the riveter around her sex. In fact Dawson had placed the upper part of her left labia between the plates and as the woman howled in protest he squeezed the trigger, releasing the pin that pierced her flesh. It took a couple of seconds to move the instrument over to her right labia and repeat the action while the woman screamed blue murder, though she decided it was best to lie as still as possible rather than risk injury by moving. The two pins were replaced by small bronze rings and Dawson smiled wickedly.
Both of the woman's nipples were bleeding slightly from the wounds. Dawson rubbed them gently with the cold, wet cloth, the liquid stinging the woman as she creamed again, whilst at the same time acting as a clotting agent against the wound. When he had cleaned both of her wounds he performed the same operation on her bleeding lips.
“Okay,” he said finally, “it's time to get you ready to go home.”
The woman made as if to stand up.
“Don't move,” said Dawson , as he put a hand on the woman's shoulders. She relaxed and waited while he walked back round to his worktop. The pad was waiting and Dawson opened the bottle, dabbing the cloth with the liquid contents several times. He walked up behind the woman, placed his hand under her chin and covered her mouth and nose with the pad of chloroform. She gulped in the fumes, struggling without hope to escape from what was happening. Suddenly the room began to go hazy, spinning, and then blackness descended as she fell unconscious.
Dawson removed the pad and set to work. First he took the little soldering iron that had been warming up on his work bench. With a dab of solder he secured each of the woman's four rings in turn. They could not now be removed without mechanical means. The two rings in her labia he also soldered together – they would prevent any man, other than a midget, from having intercourse with her again until they were removed.
When he had finished with the solder, Dawson picked up the cane. He was going to teach the bitch a lesson she would never forget, a lesson that would be driven home straight between her legs. He walked over to her motionless body, positioned her just as he wanted, her vulva exposed, and then delivered six cracking strokes directly onto her exposed cunt. The fifth stroke cut her and blood appeared. It did not matter, for in a minute she would be cleaned properly. After delivering the six strokes Dawson put down the cane and picked up a razor. He set about shaving her completely. He knew she hated being bare like that and he was determined she should be as humiliated as he had been by the divorce. So he shaved her, without using soap, with the barest of cold water, until every last hair had been removed. Occasionally the blade cut into her skin causing her to bleed but Dawson did not care. She stirred momentarily so Dawson stopped what he was doing and reapplied the pad until she went limp again.
When the shaving was complete Dawson took a length of pipe. This was the messy part of the operation but vital to ensure he evaded detection. The pipe was connected to a container that provided a soapy liquid. Dawson washed the woman, front and back, inside and out, ensuring she was well cleansed, removing all possible traces of his DNA. When he'd applied the soapy liquid he reworked her entire body with cool, fresh water, sluicing her out, ensuring the soapy liquid was completely removed. She would wake up feeling sore and wonderfully empty, Dawson was sure of that. He smiled as he pumped the water up her vulva. He remembered the one and only time he'd done that to her before. She'd hated it and had felt sore for days afterwards. Her claimed pain had annoyed him at the time but now he hoped she would take days to get over the current torture. He rubbed her groin with olive oil until she was glistening. He poured some into her vulva and then into her anus.
Finally he retrieved her bikini from the bag he'd put it in when he'd dragged her into the Chamber. He stuffed the bra up hr back passage and the bikini bottoms into her vulva. On the part of the bikini bottoms that still protruded he stapled a crudely written note. It said,
“With Love – Your Inheritance – Martinelli”
Then he wrapped the woman in a plastic sheet and dragged her drugged body up the stairway to his garage where he dumped her back in the van.
***
It was two hours later and Dawson was sat back on the hill he had so often sat on. The binoculars were glued to his eyes as he watched the Correlli house.
Julia Correlli, ex-Dawson, was lying on her deckchair by the pool, exactly where she had been when Dawson had taken her. Now, her body was naked and bruised, and through the binoculars Dawson caught a glimpse of her new jewellery as it glistened in the late afternoon sun. The operation had gone perfectly and he was rightly pleased with himself. Now, the woman stirred as if from sleep. Hers was no ordinary sleep, but that of a drug-induced period of unconsciousness.
She opened her eyes and looked around. She felt her body, looked with horror at her breasts and felt between her legs. Visibly shaking, she removed the bikini bottoms and the bra. She looked with a dazed expression at the crudely written note. Then it dawned on her, she had got involved in something dangerous and she was a pawn in their sinister game.
For a moment she looked with desperation out over the countryside, and Dawson thought she looked straight at him. She did. There it was again, the same glint of glass she had seen so often before but thought nothing of. They were watching her, waiting for her reaction. Well, they would get one.
She opened the patio doors and went inside. A minute later she returned, dressed in a bathrobe. She looked out over the countryside to the hill. There it was again, the glint of the glass.
She extended her hand and the first two fingers, opening them so the backs of the fingers were pointing at the hills. As she did so, she mouthed the words,
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, too,” Dawson murmured to himself. She could have no idea just who was behind the torture that had been delivered to her. Indeed, she would now blame her new husband for her plight, something that delighted Dawson .
He knew that Correlli would soon be home. Correlli was a creature of habit. Dawson had discovered that during the weeks and weeks of research. Correlli would be back soon and Dawson could scarcely conceal his excitement. From his vantage point on the hill he could watch everything as it unfolded around the poolside.
Then it was happening. To the right of the house a puff of dust appeared, signalling the arrival of Correlli's car. The driveway was also visible to Dawson and he watched as Correlli and a couple of thugs alighted. They went in through the front door and in a minute they reappeared from the patio doors in front of the pool.
By now the woman was lying back in her deckchair but when her husband appeared she stood, walked over to him and slapped him across the face. From where Dawson was watching it looked like a vicious slap.
Correlli was clearly confused. His silent protestations and his evident concern at the state of his wife cut no ice with her. She remonstrated furiously and then, suddenly, she gesticulated in the direction of the hills.
As Dawson watched through the binoculars, her finger pointed almost directly at the lens. Correlli turned to look in his direction. In a moment Correlli was making signs of his own, not to Dawson but to the two thugs who had accompanied him from the car.
They, in turn, disappeared into the house, and in a few moments Dawson saw the puff of dust as the car sped away from the Correlli house. Dawson knew where they were headed and he knew it was time to leave. The package had been delivered and the reaction was just what he had hoped for.
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