Mastering the Virgin Box Set Five: A BDSM Ménage Erotic Romance

Chapter 53

…. Not great odds, but handleable with surprise….

But how to keep the surprise…?

Charlotte’s wrist twists and tugs in my hand. I grab, but she’s gone, running, heading for the darkness

beyond the farmyard, as though she is trying to escape into the night. There are yells and shouts,

pursuing figures, the sound of running feet echoing into the darkness….

…. And I stand, cursing under my breath, fists raised to empty air as my Jade-Eyes sets the distraction

which she wanted, and I forbade.

*****

Five Years Ago

He sits in an armchair by the fireside, a teapot, cup and saucer and a small jug of milk on the table to

his side.

The room is warm and comfortable, homely, with framed photos displayed on a mantle. One is old,

monochrome ageing to yellow of a young couple, smiling and arm-in-arm. Another is of a young red-

haired girl.

Mr Kalkowski moves slowly, his hair silver and cheeks sunken, but his eyes are bright and dark behind

the spectacles.

He takes the cup, sighing with enjoyment as he takes his first sip of morning tea, then unfolds the

newspaper, shaking it to settle it to a comfortable reading position.

And as he sees the headline, he goes still.

Child Slavery Scandal - Children's Home Linked to Sex Market

Reports are emerging of the escape of up to eighty children from the Blessingmoors Children’s Home.

Speculation is rife that the children were trafficked from countries worldwide and were destined for the

sex market and labour gangs….

He reads the article carefully, drinking his tea. Then he pours himself another cup and re-reads the

article.

Breathing deeply, he sits back in his chair, fingers steepled.

After a while, he stands, walking carefully to his desk. He takes out a pad of paper and a pen and in a

neat and careful hand, begins to write.

Dear Jenny,

I do not know when or if this letter will find you.

I am writing to you now because I have read today in the newspaper of the scandal which has broken

from the 'home' in which you were incarcerated prior to your life here….

He continues to write for some time….

*****

Five Years Ago

“What the fuck's happening, Bech?”

“Sir, we have a situation here.”

“Situation? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“There has been a breakout, sir, from Blessingmoors.”

“Ah, crap. Well find the kid and haul him back.”

“No sir, you don't understand. This isn’t a single escapee. It's all of them.”

A pause.

Klempner's voice is slow. “Did I hear you correctly, Bech? All of them?”

“Yes, sir. All of them.”

There is a long silence on the end of the line.

“That’s not good, Bech. How the hell did it happen?”

“I’m still trying to find out. From what I’m hearing, there was some kind of break-in.”

“Who the hell was on security? I’ll have their balls for this.”

“It barely matters sir. The staff are all in custody. Every one of them that hasn’t made a run for it. Hilda

is under arrest too.…”

Another long silence. “What’s your own position, Bech? Can they trace her back to you?”

“No, sir. I was never more than a voice on the line to her. So long as I keep my head down, no-one has

any reason to suspect me. That being the case, I'll stay put.”

“Bech, just how serious is the situation over there?”

Bech takes a deep breath. “All hell's breaking loose.”

“What about Jennifer?”

“Jennifer?” Bech is startled. “She’s where she’s always been. On the farm.”

“Retrieve her, Bech. I’ll get her out of the country.”

“Sir, surely, given the currrent situation, this is hardly the most pressing matter that….”

“Do as you’re fucking told, Bech. I’m on my way now. I want her there and available when I arrive.”

“Sir, where are you?”

“Right now, I'm in Juba on my way back, in what passes for an airport here.”

“Sir I strongly advise that you do not return here. And don't travel on your usual passport. Do not return

to this country. Not yet and not under your current identity.”

“And where am I going to get another passport from? They're in the fucking stone age here.”

“I suggest sir, make whatever changes in your appearance seem appropriate then get an image to me.

If I have an ID, visa and so on made up for you and get one couriered across to you, are you able to

pass through the system there?”

“Yes, that’s no problem. The local officials are corrupt as it comes. It’s why I’m here goddammit. There’ll

be no problems greasing a few palms.”

“Fine sir. In that case, get the photo to me and I’ll deal with the paperwork at this end.”

“I'll be in touch, Bech.”

*****

Richard

She twists from James’ grip and out, baiting the gunmen

“Charlotte!” he hisses, but she’s gone, and the gunmen are already pursuing.

James is a study in rage and frustration, standing, fists balled, raised to heaven, spluttering and cursing

incoherently.

“When I catch her again, she is not going to sit down for a fucking week!”

You’re going to pay dearly for this, Charlotte….

…. When he catches up with you

When…

… not if….

And I put that thought from my head, knowing that what she has done, she has done for my Elizabeth.

Better put in a good word….

…. Tactfully though….

“She had a point though.”

James spins on me, hands still raised and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to punch me, then he

reins himself in. “Yes, she did. Let’s….”

Shouts and yells come from the darkness beyond the yard. “We’ve got her.”

So quickly?

She outran them before….

…. And she had Elizabeth with her then….

She let herself be caught….

Figures emerge from the beyond, Charlotte, arms held at both sides, being frog-marched back by her

captors.

And waiting for her, in the light washing from inside, the figure of Klempner leans against the doorjamb,

all nonchalance. “Back inside with her. It’s party-time.” His voice is slow, enunciated….

And she’s marched back into the farmhouse, the door closes and we three are left, safe and

undetected in the silence.

James has cooled down, but I don’t think he’s calm. Instead, heat has turned to ice and his voice is

cold. “How many of them did you count?” he murmurs.

“Five out here chasing,” says Michael, “plus I think I saw a couple more moving inside, plus Klempner.”

He nods. “Okay, so we’re agreeing with Charlotte’s eight.”

But beyond them, something is happening. I nudge Michael. “Hold on, the door’s opening again.” This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

We watch as one of Klempner’s apes exits, crosses the courtyard and, opening one of a pair of large

double doors, vanishes inside one of the outbuildings.

“Back in a minute,” mutters Michael.

For such a large man, he moves silently, almost gracefully through the dimness.

I'm pleased to have him with us. I can look after myself and I don't doubt that James can handle himself

too. But Michael is much younger, built like the side of a house and it's all muscle.

I’m not sure of his intentions, but as he moves noiselessly closer, I don’t judge that he means the man

well. James and I follow.

At the door, he pauses, looking in, then stepping, he waits for a second, then lunges, head-first, at the

emerging figure. As his forehead makes contact with his opponent’s face, there is a crack of splintered

bone and cartilage that makes me wince.

Rather him than me….

The man, bowed and bloody, his nose gushing blood, staggers but doesn’t go down. Michael repeats

his head-butt and this time the man falls without a sound and Michael steps over him and inside,

closely followed by James.

…. Wonder when he learned street-fighting…?

City kid….

I take a moment to survey the fallen, without sympathy but interested to see just how much damage

has been done.

Mmmm… Reconstructive surgery there I think….

Following inside, I find the two friends sorting through the contents of a car trunk

“Any rope in the back?” asks James

Michael holds something up. “Better than that. Tape.”

The two work together in that way they have; almost no words, simply knowing what they each are

doing.

I’m not needed to help, and I find myself, once more, watching the two of them, operating as a pair and

so smoothly I doubt whether it even occurs to them to think of it as teamwork.

Here’s me, CEO of a multi-billion corporation and I feel like a fifth wheel…

James gags then binds the man’s wrists tight with the tape while Michael does his ankles. “It’s probably

what they used on the women.”

“Or were going to.…” I say. “You’re a dirty fighter, Michael. That’s not a fighting style from polite circles.”

His voice is dry. “I’m not interested in fighting. Just in taking them out.”

James sniffs with a philosophical kind of air. Michael nods out. “Looks like they’re all safely inside now.

Shall we take a look?”

The window is brightly lit and from where we are, across the yard, the figures moving inside are clearly

visible, looking entirely relaxed.

No sign of alarm….

No idea we’re here….

Surprise on our side….

Quietly we move closer. A figure passes close by the window. Michael, his bright hair unmissable if

anyone looks, flattens himself to the ground. But the men inside are looking inward, not out, drawn to

some sight within. A voice is screeching and cursing; Charlotte’s voice.

Her distraction…?

For sure….