Teena Thyme (17 page)

The only positive point - and was I merely grasping at straws here? - was that, whilst I was clearly surplus to requirements just at the moment, I still had to have some potential value, otherwise why go to all this bother instead of simply slitting my lily-white throat, etcetera, etcetera?

Erik pushed me gently into my stall, pointing towards the unpromising mattress and stepped back, swinging the lower section of the door closed behind him. He stood there for several seconds, regarding me as I took stock of my new surroundings, for what stock there was to be taken. At last he grunted, nodded and rewarded me with a peculiarly lopsided smile.

'Sleeping you are to be, I think,' he said, pointing even more urgently. 'Food it will be coming later and eating it you will be and then exercised you will be.'

Grateful for sure I am, I thought darkly. And what about the rest of the time? A week of being incarcerated here and I'd be ready for a straitjacket. Except, I realised as I gazed morosely down at myself, what I was wearing was as efficient as any straitjacket could be and hid far less. Completely covered or not, my body
felt
naked in this skin and that fact clearly wasn't lost on good old Erik, whose features were already flushing.

Raising my hands as far as the chains would permit, I tried to indicate my mouth and made small grunting noises in an attempt to convey my request the clearer. Funny English or not, Erik understood right enough, but that didn't mean he was about to comply.

'Staying as things are it must be,' he said, shaking his head and tossing his blond mane from side to side. 'The gag later removing I shall be, if sleeping like the girl good you now are.'

I sighed and bit hard into the foul leather covering in frustration. I sighed again and turned away from him, regarding the mattress. Oh well, I
was
tired, there was no arguing with that; my fuzzled brain tried to work out how long it had been without real sleep and came up with several different answers at once, probably none of them right. I tried to yawn - not easy when you're gagged, take my word for it.

Slowly, I managed to lower myself onto my knees, landing with a bump and just about managing to prevent myself toppling forward with my hampered hands. Getting down further presented a greater difficulty and I looked around, wondering if Erik might suddenly decide to play the gentleman and help me. Some hope.

At last, however, I managed it and wriggled over onto my back with some difficulty. Unappealing though it looked from above, the mattress was surprisingly comfortable as I squirmed for position, but as my eyelids grew heavy and sleep rose to claim me, I vaguely wondered just how long it would remain so...

13
.

By the time I finally awoke the atmosphere inside the confines of my stall was becoming quite stuffy. Despite the vent gaps high in the walls, the soft leather skin inside which I was confined did nothing to help my comfort.

I let my eyes flick open momentarily and quickly appraised the situation, but nothing seemed to have changed while I slept and if Erik the Viking was still beyond the half section door he was keeping very quiet about it. I sucked reluctantly against my gag, swallowing the awful tasting saliva that had gathered in my mouth and wondering how it was that I had managed not to choke while asleep and then closed my eyes again and lay still, listening as best I could, given that the hide over my ears muffled all sounds anyway.

Eventually, I assumed, Mr Scandinavia would have to come in to check my situation, but there seemed little point in drawing his attention to me too soon. I
was
thirsty and I would need a drink before long, but for the moment I wanted to take stock and this was the first opportunity I'd had of that for some time. Things did not look good, but that was both an obvious and simplistic conclusion and I needed to be slightly more analytical and systematic about things than that.

I began making a mental list...

Point One: Gregory Hacklebury and his cohorts thought I was Angelina and having Angelina as his wife was
mucho
important to the sadistic bastard. Exactly how much my/Angelina's estate was worth I had no idea, but even a few tens of thousands of pounds was worth a lot more back now.

Point Two: I wasn't actually legally married to Hacklebury - that was to say Angelina wasn't legally married to him, but given my present predicament that much subtlety didn't seem to matter in the equation.

Point Three: Despite having the doppelganger go through the wedding ceremony and a bent vicar to conduct it, Hacklebury must still have a very good reason for keeping me alive; something this other girl couldn't perform for him. Or was keeping me alive just a safety valve?

Point Four: Whatever reasons Hacklebury had for not just slitting my throat and dropping me down the nearest well, my continued existence did not please Meg and, whilst it was probably a toss up as to which of them was furthest from touching base with sanity, there was little doubt in my mind that the supposed maidservant was far less logical. My presence and Hacklebury's possible continued intimacy with me would be acting like a sharp thorn in her clitoris and I wouldn't have put it past her to arrange some sort of 'accident' in order to get me out of the frame.

Point Six: The way I had now been so efficiently incapacitated was not the work of amateurs and, if my continued survival was important, my continuing comfort clearly was not. I tried to flex my hands inside the confining gloves and tight mitts and grimaced around my gag. No, I wasn't getting out of this little lot without some sort of outside help.

My thoughts turned again to Erik. If there was likely to be a weak link, then it definitely had to be him. He was, after all, a man, and like all men...

No. I frowned to myself and tried to sigh. It would be just my luck if Erik was only in to men and it would be typical of the sort of perverted cunning I'd so far seen displayed for Hacklebury to have selected him for his role as my minder for just that reason. There would be, of course, only one way to find that out, but first I had to get myself into some sort of position for that.

I sighed again and reopened my eyes. Patience, Teena, I told myself. He'll have to take your gag out sooner or later and then your first chance will come. Just don't rush into it and balls it up first time around. Somehow, I had the sneakiest suspicion that any chances that did come my way certainly wouldn't be second ones...

Patience may be a virtue, but it was one that was sore tried on this occasion. Of course, time is also relative and, as I had no way of accurately marking its passing, it may well not have been that long at all before my warder eventually reappeared, but to me, lying there, hot, sweating and thirsty, my mouth crammed with that foul leather, it seemed like a lifetime.

However...

'Up to be getting then, please.' I opened my eyes, which I had long since closed again, there being only so much interest in counting bricks, to find Mr Muscles leaning in over the half door, a lopsided grin on his face. In his hand he held a metal mug, or small jug, and I could already taste the water. I hauled myself to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster and stumbled towards him, proffering my face.

It was about this time that I realised Erik's brain cells weren't in the same league as the visible parts of his body: the lacing that was keeping my face mask closed over my gag was fiddly and trying to release it with only one free hand was a non-starter, but would he admit this to himself and put down the jug? Would he
fuck!

However, after several frustrating minutes the logistics of the problem seemed to permeate even his thick skull and, as he stooped out of sight to put down his small burden, I just hoped he wouldn't be that clumsy as to kick the damned thing over. Even a few minutes further delay if he had to go for a refill was now too much to contemplate.

Finally, after still more fumbling, he managed to release the lace and tugged the ghastly gag from between my teeth even as I thrust it out with my parched tongue. The water, much of which dribbled down the outside of my mask, wasn't as fresh as might have been desired under normal circumstances, but right at that moment it tasted like the finest spring water, or even champagne.

The small jug ran empty all too soon and I peered out at him imploringly.

'Please!' I gasped. 'I need more!'

He regarded me gravely and inclined his head a little. 'More in time getting you will be,' he lilted. 'First a minute waiting you should be, or cramps the stomach will be getting.' Well, I guess he had a point, but I could have quaffed a bucketful of pond water without pausing for breath, or at least, that's how I felt.

'Please?' I tried a different tack. 'This stuff...' I nodded my head downwards, trying to indicate the leather costume. 'It's so hot in here,' I continued. 'Can't you release me from this lot, if only for an hour or so? I promise I won't try to run off. In any case, I haven't got the foggiest idea of where I could run to.' Erik shook his head.

'Removing that I cannot be doing,' he said gravely, and my heart sank like a brick in a tank full of helium. 'Instructions I am having, the strictest nature of. Remaining as you are you must be.' He paused, furrowed his brow slightly and appeared to be studying me closely. Finally he nodded, as much to himself as to me, it seemed.

'Gagging you again I will not be,' he announced. 'Necessary I think it not, for the moment at least.'

'Thank you,' I said. Well, I couldn't think of any other suitable response and I certainly wasn't going to risk antagonising him by trying some smart-arsed remark; I could still taste that foul leather and it was going to take more than a few mouthfuls of water to wash it away.

'Talking though you must not be,' he added. 'Necessary only questions and answers.' He paused again, his eyes now carefully scrutinising me from the neck down to where the top of the lower door reached to just above my waist. The two neat rounded mounds that were my/Angelina's breasts under the carefully tailored leather seemed suddenly to have grown very large and conspicuous. I'd seen
that
sort of look in a man's eyes before and I knew
exactly
what it meant.

'More water I shall now be getting,' he announced, suddenly breaking free of his curious reverie. 'Then Buttercup exercising must be. Trot-trot around the yard and up the path the woods we shall be going. Legs strong we must be keeping.'

Strong? Trot-trot? In these damned boots? I'd end up with legs the size of his if this went on for much longer. On the other hand, the interior of my small prison held nothing of interest and even 'trot-trot' in weighted footwear could be preferable to the slow onset of insanity that continued incarceration would surely guarantee.

And so the next stage of my ordeal began.

To my complete relief, Erik's idea of trot-trot was fairly gentle and I guessed he must have been made aware of my weighted footwear, for he never pressed me beyond a very slow jog and even allowed me to slow frequently to a shuffling walking pace.

'Heavy?' he said, finally tugging me to a halt and pointing down at my feet.

'Very,' I panted. 'Yes, very heavy.' He nodded and looked almost sympathetic, but I knew it would be a waste of time even suggesting he might remove the boots for me. Staying as I was I was to be, I thought grimly to myself. Well, maybe for the time being, but then Erik's orders were probably only reinforced by money, so perhaps I could offer other inducements. I decided to go fishing.

'You will make love to me tonight?' I suggested. He looked back at me in a blank way, almost as if he hadn't heard me. I tried again. 'You want to fuck me, don't you?' Okay, it wasn't very ladylike and certainly not in keeping with the character I was supposed to be, but then I didn't look ladylike, I didn't feel ladylike and I was beginning to think this lad needed some things spelling out for him. I sort of thrust my pelvis forward and made a gyrating motion.

'Fuck?' I said. 'You know, down there, you and me?' I nodded downwards towards where his genitalia were visible as a bulge beneath the tight breeches. Was the bulge larger now than when I had first seen it, or was that just my imagination or wishful thinking. I sighed. I didn't seem to be penetrating and, at this rate, neither would he be.

'You take care of me, yes?' I said. He considered this for a moment and then nodded himself, very slowly. 'Erik in charge of Buttercup, yes?'

'Yes, Erik in charge,' he eventually replied. 'Taking care of Buttercup, you - I be doing, yes.'

'And poor little Buttercup is totally helpless, eh?' I waggled my imprisoned hands on the ends of their very short chains to illustrate my point, though it scarcely needed much illustration, in all honesty. 'So Erik can have his awful way with poor Buttercup?' I suggested. His eyes narrowed. Was I getting through? 'You know what "fuck" means?' I added.

Thinking back on the scene and situation now, it was utterly ridiculous, but now is now and then is then - and then, right then, things were just a bit serious for yours truly and everything was being seen in a different light and viewed through two small slits in that awful leather helmet mask.

We had walked/jogged maybe a few hundred yards, moving farther away from the house and gardens and deeper into the uncultivated woodlands, so that everything was now dappled sunshine and patches of deep green shadow. To describe the place where we halted as a clearing would have been going just a bit too far, but here, certainly, the uncertain track had widened considerably and there were the lopped trunks of fallen trees laying to either side of the path proper, together with a hunk of stone that had at one time possibly been intended as some kind of seat.