As Sarah read it her blood pressure rose, but she took comfort from the realisation that Haughtry had now well and truly put his own head in the noose. All she had to do was open the trapdoor and watch him squirm as he choked. The sick, perverted bastard!
Sarah spent the weekend alone watching horror videos in the evening and walking in the park during the sunny afternoons. It was lovely weather and she wished desperately that she had someone to share it with, but although she was lonely, she was happy. Happy at the thought of all the lovely money she would soon make, and happier still at the thought of ruining Haughtry. She’d screw that pervert all right, but not in the way he hoped.
Monday evening she curled up on the settee reading a book then, with plenty of time to spare, she made herself up, not too much perfume, she didn’t want to appear tarty, put on her best dress, and painted her finger and toe nails blood red. Abandoning her statutory tights, she put on her low, sling-back shoes and, standing in front of the bedroom mirror, growled playfully like a tiger. Completing her outfit with a shoulder bag, she had to admit that, without being the slightest bit vain, she was a very attractive young woman. In fact, if she were a man she’d probably make a pass at herself here and now. She giggled like a schoolgirl at the thought of it and went off, still giggling, to The Nag’s Head.
The pub was only about a twenty minute walk, so as it was a nice evening and there were a lot of people about, she decided to go on foot. When she arrived it was not yet half past ten and there were only about eight customers in the saloon bar. She walked up to the bar to order a drink, but the barman turned to her and said, “You come to meet Joe?”
“Er, yes,” said Sarah, a little surprised.
“He’ll be in a bit later. Fruit juice isn’t it?”
“No thank you, I’ll have a whisky,” she smiled.
She recognised him too, he was the one who had served her the afternoon she’d tried to pick up the little runt. Tried? She’d succeeded. It was only later she’d spoiled it by trying to get him to spank her and mentioning the bank. She should have come right out and told him what Haughtry had done to her instead of beating around the bush.
Sarah handed the barman a five pound note, but he ignored it.
“On the house,” he said “any friend of Joe’s is a friend of mine.”
He smiled so disarmingly that Sarah’s butterflies vanished at once; she didn’t need the whisky now, but taking it she said, “You know Joe well?”
“Known him years,” he said
“Did he tell you about me?”
The barman touched his nose and tsk tsked, “That’s none of my business.”
He served another customer, and Sarah looked round the small pub. There was another bar, and another member of staff, a mature woman who was serving it, but the place was like a morgue. The barman came over to her.
“It’s quiet tonight,” she said.
“Quiet?” he laughed, “this is busy; they get more customers next door.”
Sarah laughed at the reference to the funeral parlour. The phone rang and the barman excused himself. The phone was in the hall at the back of the bar, and when her returned he said, “That was Joe, he’ll be a bit late, but you’re to stay here after closing time.”
“Oh.”
“He’s working,” he said.
“Yes, of course.”
Eleven o’clock came, but instead of ringing a bell and shouting last orders the barman collected the glasses of his customers and said good night to each in turn. He appeared to know them all by their full names; this was the strangest little pub Sarah had ever been in. She wondered how it could ever stay in business; it was a bit like a drinking den on a small Caledonian island.
She quite fancied that she was the only stranger who’d been in here for the past six months. The barmaid came through from the other bar and looked at Sarah, but the barman said, “She’s waiting for someone.”
The woman gave Sarah a brief smile then said, “I’ll get off now, Maxie, is that all right?”
“Fine,” he replied.
“You off tomorrow?”
“Rest of the week, the governor’s back tomorrow morning.”
He saw her out then locked the door behind her. Walking through, as he passed Sarah he said, "Back in a minute, Miss."
He disappeared for five minutes, then came back and poured a large whisky. Turning his back he fumbled around under the bar for something, then faced Sarah and, putting the whisky on the bar, pushed it towards her, "On the house," he said.
Sarah was embarrassed, “Oh, I c-couldn’t.”
“You’ll have to, I’ve poured it now,” he smiled disarmingly again, “any friend of Joe’s is a friend of mine.” he said.
He opened the till and began counting the day’s takings into some cloth and plastic bags.
Sarah sighed. If only she’d been meeting this fine, moustachioed hunk instead of that other little worm. She gave the barman an approving stare; he was all muscle, all man, and he had a pleasant personality too.
“You don’t own this place, then?!” she asked.
He looked up from his counting and smiled, “The Nag’s? No. It’s my brother-in-law’s; he’s got other business interests, so I help out here a bit. There’s usually only me and Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
“The barmaid.”
“Oh,” she took another sip of her drink, “You not married then?”
“Me? No.”
He finished counting the night’s takings, which didn’t take long, then locked them in the small safe under the bar.
“How do you know Joe?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He stood in front of her and smiled, “He keeps the place ticking over.”
She laughed,“Does he drink a lot?”
“Only when he’s under pressure,” he said.
Sarah looked at her watch; she’d hoped he wouldn’t be too late because she had to walk home, but standing here talking to this affable giant she couldn’t give a toss about the little runt now. Perhaps she could get the barman to walk her home. She needed a man, she hadn’t had one for so long. Most men left her cold, but this one was making her horny just standing there. The next time she slept with a man she wanted it to be him, or someone like him.
She smiled, suddenly she felt dizzy and closed her eyes momentarily. “He’s late,” she said.
“He’s not coming,” said the barman.
“What’s your name?” she asked, then realised what he’d said and lurched forward unsteadily, “P-pardon.”
“I said he’s not coming.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Sarah closed her eyes momentarily again.
“I mean your little game’s up,” he said.
She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Suddenly her legs gave way under her, her eyes rolled in her head and she fell sideways, sprawling the length of the bar.
The barman stood there non-chalant, watching her fall, then poured himself a grapefruit juice from one of the mixes. Drinking it slowly, he walked round to the other side of the bar and looked down at Sarah where she lay unconscious. Picking up her shoulder bag, he rummaged through it examining the contents then took it round the back. A few minutes later he returned for her.
Sarah lay flat on her back, dead to the world. Bending down he seized her under the armpits and, pulling her to her feet in one swift movement, propped her up against the bar, her head rolling back grotesquely. Sarah was only a small woman and the barman was both very big and very strong. Bending forwards, he wrapped his arm round behind her knees and, with his other hand, pulled her towards him. She flopped limply over his shoulder; standing up he shrugged his broad shoulders and with Sarah’s torso dangling over his back, carried her round behind the bar and out into the yard to his waiting car. Dumping her unceremoniously across the back seat, he returned to the pub, locked up then climbed into the car and drove off into the night.
He drove for twenty minutes then pulled up outside a tower block. It was now close to midnight and there was no sign of life on the estate. Pulling her out of the back of the car where she lay sprawled face down across the seats, he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her into the building to the lift. While Sarah wasn’t very heavy, he was still unpleasantly surprised to find both lifts out of order and, turning to the stairs, began ascending the four floors to his flat. As he carried her, Sarah’s arms and head swung back and forth like a pendulum, while her bare legs rubbed against his chin. She was out cold and probably wouldn’t wake up for several hours. Reaching the flat he thrust the key into the lock, opened the door and carried her straight into the small bedroom. Flicking out the light he threw her down onto the bed.
“Right, you fucking bitch!” he said, “Now we’ll see how clever you are.”
Sarah opened her eyes and lay still for a long time before she realised she was awake. It was only the distant cawing of a crow which brought her entirely to her senses. She tried to move, but couldn’t. Raising her head she realised why; she tried to say something, but a handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth. She rubbed her ankles together and realised her shoes had been removed, but nothing else, thank God!
“Uuuuhhmmm!” she screamed through the gag. Tugging frantically at the bed, she rolled her head to the other side where she saw the barman sitting in an armchair drawn up close to the bed. He was asleep, his hand propping up his chin, but as she squirmed, he opened his bleary eyes. Sarah guessed he had been sitting over her all night. Smiling triumphantly, he roused himself from his catnap and stared down at her where she lay, face down on the bed.
“So you’re awake at last, and not before time.” He looked at his watch, “Ten to seven.”
He walked over to the window and pulled apart the thin curtain.
“I’m gonna have a wash and freshen up, then you an’ me are gonna have a little talk.”
Sarah kicked out and tugged at her bonds.
“Don’t do that,” he said, then pulling up her dress and tugging down her knickers, he gave her bare arse a hard slap.
“...or that’s what you’ll get!” he finished.
Sarah closed her eyes in a mixture of dull agony and stinging ecstasy.
“Not so nice when it happens to you, is it?”
“Yes it fucking well was,” she thought, but she was scared stiff of what else he would do to her. She had already been kidnapped; perhaps he intended to rape her, but Sarah guessed correctly that rape was the last thing on his mind, and she knew there were some things far more terrible than rape.
He left the room, returning ten minutes later with a change of clothing and a mug of tea in his hand. Standing over her, he said, “Right, I’m going to let you talk now, but if you scream I’ll shut you up again and give you a good kicking as well, understand?”
She nodded.
“A kicking,” he repeated, “not a spanking.”
He felt under the bed and came up with her shoulder bag. “Nearly missed this,” he said, “good thing I went through it again at three o’clock this morning.”
He opened it, took out a piece of paper and read:
"Want a groan And a spank? Take a loan Out with your bank."
Where had that come from? thought Sarah; then she remembered: she’d put it in her bag as an afterthought. She’d intended to tell Joe Tibbs everything that had happened to her so far, everything that perverted wretch Haughtry had done.
Still she didn’t know her kidnapper’s name, even though she’d heard it several times the previous evening. Now the barman, Max as he was called, folded up the letter, and as he did so, spoke the last three lines of Haughtry’s sick poem:
"Don’t delay, Phone your spank manager today."
With this he began to unfasten his belt with his free hand, “You dirty, little blackmailer,” he said.
“God, you stupid prick,” she thought, “I’m the fucking victim, not the culprit!”
“Well, seeing you as you like a good spank,” he continued “a good spank is what you’re gonna get.”
He stressed the word good, and Sarah’s heart raced with anticipation, but lying face down as she was, she hadn’t seen him remove his belt, so when he pulled up her dress and pulled her knickers down to her ankles, she was still feeling excitement and fear in equal measure. But when she felt the strap come slashing down across her bare buttocks, her eyes bulged and the fear drove out her excitement in the blink of an eye. The pain zapped across her arse and sent a sickly, stinging sensation half way down her legs and all the way up her back. She screamed through the gag, began kicking out and jerked her whole body in a spasm of pain.
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