Maid To Serve Ch 01

The rain had eased off enough for it not to matter that she had forgotten her umbrella. As usual the path that wound down through the small wood was deserted in the middle of the afternoon as people with proper lives were busy doing whatever it was they did on a weekday. There were a few quiet little things in life that kept Eleanor walking on the right side of sane, and being able to come here and be alone with her thoughts was one of the most important.

She was bundled up against the imaginary cold, scarf covering most of her face and woollen gloves pulled over the hands that were rammed into her pockets. The fact that the cold weather was finally getting closer by the day made her need to cover herself as much as possible far easier to pass off as normal in the months towards the end of the year.

Eleanor still chose to cover herself as much as she was able, despite the common tones that her vibrant red hair shared with the turning leaves of the season. In her mind it was better that the whole remain hidden than a small portion that might have passed muster be seen and lead to the rest being revealed.

The broad surface of the pond was just coming into view as she left the woods behind, her brain running on the automated track that she had furrowed with the countless times she had completed the same route.

But today she was taken by surprise by the sight of a figure sitting alone and silent upon one of the benches that stood by the side of the pond.

The initial sense of surprise lasted no more than a few moments as she reminded herself that there was no sensible reason for another human being not to be sitting on the bench. It was rare, but not unheard of for her to encounter the occasional person on her daily walk and in any other circumstances she would simply have put her head down and walked past, quickening her pace until she was alone again.

Today was different though, for some reason the sight of the stranger had unnerved her and no matter how hard she tried there was no shaking the feeling of unease at their presence.

As she came closer, Eleanor saw that the figure was dressed in an overcoat and wore a fur-lined cap with flaps that drooped down over his ears. She assumed the person was a man due to the width of his shoulders and the fact that he seemed to sit with hunched shoulders, not caring about his posture or the image that he projected.

She was sure that the sound of her footsteps on the gravel of the path had reached his ears. How could they not when apart from her own breathing they were all that she could hear herself. That meant the idea of turning back was out of the question; he knew someone was approaching and now the battle of wills had begun.

Eleanor wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her thoughts as she walked her familiar route every afternoon, but as much as she valued her solitude there was no way she would allow herself to be challenged on these grounds. The way she saw it, if she turned and retreated at the sight of a single individual on her walk, then she had lost one of the few things that really mattered to her in the course of her day.

So she forced the odd feeling of apprehension down as far as she was able and walked ever closer to the figure on the bench.

She was sure that the feeling was nothing more than a reaction to his unexpected presence, her mind reacting in an irrational manner to something perfectly normal. His back was turned to her and in all truth he was probably looking for some quiet time as much as she was. Walking past and keeping herself to herself was the sane and normal thing to do in this situation.

By the time she had reached the bench, she was convinced that nothing was amiss as the man made no effort to move from his contemplation of the pond. Eleanor thought how irrational it had been to fill her head with such nonsense and instead returned to the more rewarding realm of her own daydreams as she walked on past the bench.

The sound of feet scraping on gravel caused her to glance back over her shoulder a few seconds later to see the man had sat up from his hunched position. He had turned to regard her, moving the whole of his body as he did so and allowing her to see that his face was totally hidden beneath a layer of tight-fitting, white fabric.

Eleanor jumped physically and let out a cry of alarm at the sight.

She was well aware of the fact that his face was concealed under the fabric of what must have been some kind of mask or hood. But the unexpected nature of the thing took her off guard and she was genuinely shaken by the bizarre nature of the featureless face staring at her from the bench.

The only thought she could muster was that perhaps this was some new kind of flashing, an evolution of the time-honoured art of perverts exposing themselves in front of unsuspecting strangers for a cheap thrill. If that were the truth, she was genuinely happy to have been surprised with a mask rather than an exposed penis.

The sound of her cry seemed to have had no effect on the man, who simply remained staring at her as she edged further away from him. Perhaps that discounted the idea that he had been looking for a reaction, but Eleanor was still unwilling to turn her back on such a strange character. She fought the instinct to run, sure that loosing sight of him would be the worst thing she could do at that moment in time.

When she was no more than ten feet from where he sat, the man on the bench slowly rose to his feet and turned to face her before beginning to walk slowly in the same direction.

There was no sense of urgency in his movements, no hint that he was about to dash towards her, but Eleanor was not about to wait and find out what his intentions truly were.

She turned and ran.

It was at times like this that she was happy to have been sensible enough to be wearing a pair of flat-soled and mostly boring boots rather than something totally impractical. All the same the purchase of her feet on the loose gravel of the path was less than perfect and she found the first few steps of her flight turned into a scrabbling effort to make headway before she regained her balance and made off down the track.

As she ran, Eleanor’s mind quickly totted up the distance to the nearest road and weighed it against the fact that she had been telling herself she would go back to the gym for the best part of a year. Normally there would have been little capable of spurring her on to cover that distance at her current pace, but she was amazed at the motivation having a bizarre weirdo chasing after her could provide.

Ahead the path began to rise gradually as it made its way back up into the woods and eventually to the better frequented roadside that represented her best hope of coming across a normal human being.

Eleanor risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that the man in the mask was still behind her, but he had not made any effort to quicken his pace. He merely followed at the same speed, falling behind as she ran.

There seemed to be no obvious explanation for his lack of speed, no visible limp or deformity that could have stopped him from running. She wondered if that was part of it, did he get off on following his victims at a snail’s pace like a zombie? If so there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of trailing after her much longer.

Though took some effort, Eleanor quickened her pace and rounded another corner on the path so that the man was lost from view. His vanishing from her sight lifted her spirits a little and she ploughed on up the hill towards the next point where the trail cut back on itself as it wound up the slope.

But as she rounded the second corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

There he was, standing in the middle of the path and right in front of her.

Eleanor panicked at the sight, sure that there was no way the man could have managed to get ahead of her and distraught at her route to freedom being suddenly cut off by his appearance.

Had she been more in possession of her wits, she may have noted the fact that the man had also gained a few inches in height and some pounds on his frame. But such was her mental state at that moment that she totally overlooked to possibility of this being anything other than the man who was chasing her at that moment in time.

Unlike his seemingly sedate twin, this new masked man waited no more than a few seconds before he rushed forwards and roughly grabbed hold of the collar of her coat. She struggled as best she could, but he was taller, stronger and fuelled by adrenaline that made her efforts to break loose less than useless. His left arm slipped around her neck and as he brought the hand of his right towards her face, Eleanor caught the first hints of a stink that watered her eyes and heightened her panic.

The whites of her eyes showed as the man clamped a wad of white material over her mouth and nose. Eleanor was no expert on the subject, but she had watched enough TV to guess what the substance soaking the material was; chloroform, the most common of all dramatic anaesthetics. But while she may have been aware of chemical’s effects, she had no idea of its potency. In the black and white films that formed her only reference for the experience, the heroine always had a few moments to valiantly fight the effects before she succumbed to unconsciousness.

As it was there were perhaps five whole seconds between the wad covering her face and darkness closing in around her.

The masked man kept the wad of material pressed against the face of his victim until he was satisfied that the anaesthetic had fully taken hold. Unlike Eleanor, he was well versed in its use and all too aware of the speed with which a person not properly dosed could regain their senses. The last thing he wanted after the morning he had been forced to put up with was more cock ups to follow in the afternoon.

His mask was doing a very good job of concealing the fact that he was fuming mad and a great deal of his anger was directed towards his colleague, just coming into view around the corner of the path. He noted that while it was obvious that he was struggling to keep from dropping the unconscious woman in a heap, the pace of his anonymous double was no more hurried than it had been throughout the chase.

From his vantage point in the woods, the first man had been able to see perfectly the bench where the second had been sat. The plan might have been no more complicated than being prepared to jump out on the target that the second chose to follow; it might also have gone off without a hitch. But there was just something that got under his skin about the leisurely pace that his colleague had chosen to adopt, as though he was out for a stroll rather than playing a part in an abduction.

“Today would be nice,” he hissed as the second man came within earshot.

“Oh shut up,” the second man shook his head, “what’s wrong now?”

“Just grab the legs and help me get her to the car,” the first man cast his head around nervously.

“There’s no one around for miles,” the second man shook his head again.

“Never mind that, just do as you’re told.”

“You’re scared stiff,” the second man laughed as he hauled Eleanor’s legs up to his waist.

“I’m bloody not.”

“Yes you are!”

“No I bloody am not!”

“HELLO,” the second man bellowed at the top of his voice, “MY MATE AND I ARE JUST IN THE MIDDLE OF KIDNAPPING THIS POOR COW HERE…WE’VE KNOCKED HER OUT AND WE’RE HAULING HER OFF TO A PLACE WHERE SHE’LL BE RIDDEN LIKE A…”

“ALRIGHT…alright,” the first man gave in, “you made your point.”

Together they manhandled Eleanor’s unconscious form down the remainder of the path and out onto the side of a deserted country road.

A black Range Rover with tinted windows stood silently no more than a few feet from the end of the path and the men quickly hauled her into the backseat, the first climbing in beside her and the second making his way round to the drivers seat. Once inside they wasted no time in starting the engine and driving away at a moderate pace down the road.

Neither had bothered to remove their masks upon entering the vehicle out of habit more than a need to remain anonymous. They were driving a familiar route towards a remote destination and the chances of them being stopped were so small that it would have been a waste of time to unmask at all. Instead they attended to their individual tasks in silence, some irritable resentment still hanging in the air after the altercation on the path.

While the second man devoted himself to driving, the first set about checking their prize over with some deliberate care. He had strapped her in with the seatbelt and propped her head still with an inflatable cushion and was now measuring her pulse with his fingers. He was no doctor, but he had a basic understanding of how the tools of his trade worked and satisfied himself that the effects of the chloroform were such that he could take further steps to ensure Eleanor remained unconscious.

He reached under the seat and retrieved a small bag that clinked and rattled with the motion of the vehicle. Rummaging inside he produced a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid, then proceeded to fill the former from the latter. He undid her coat, pulling off the scarf and yanking the sleeves off her arms to expose the pale skin of her forearms. As soon as he found a likely vein he injected the contents of the syringe, cleaned the area and taped some cotton wool over it.

With that he sat back in his seat and glanced out of the window, confident that the drug would keep her unconscious for a long time to come.

Perhaps half an hour later, the Range Rover drove through a pair of wooden gates that looked as though they were intended to resist an armed siege. Plain and unadorned, the gates were the only visible break in a ten foot wall of solid stone that stood at the end of a narrow lane bordered on both sides by thick woodland. Everything about the location spoke of privacy and it would have been almost impossible to stumble upon the location by mere chance or accident.

As the vehicle continued down the driveway beyond the gates, a discrete figure dressed in the tweeds of a groundskeeper and the black leather mask of a sadomasochist closed the gates and locked them firmly.

What could be seen of the grounds inside the wall as the Range Rover left the gates behind was dominated by a red brick house that was slightly too large to be called a manor and just too small to be considered a mansion. It rose to three stories in most places and spread over two and a half wings, punctuated with tall windows and the occasional attempt at a tower that instead ended in a garret. In the rough centre of the building stood an archway that led into a courtyard beyond and the vehicle passed under this just as it had passed through the gates.

The house itself comprised one half of the courtyard while the other was made up of various smaller buildings that in past times would have served a functional purpose in the daily running of the estate. But modern times had seen them fall out of their original use and be converted for more practical purposes. The Range Rover stopped in front of one of these buildings which had in a previous existence been a combination of a barn and a stable block, but was now fitted with modern doors and windows, shuttered so that there was no way to see what lay inside.

The first man climbed out of the back seat and waited for his colleague to join him before they manoeuvred Eleanor out of the vehicle and carried her through the nearest door into the barn. All the time they worked at their task there was no sign or sound of another human being in the courtyard and once they had entered the barn they closed the door behind themselves, leaving an almost unnatural silence in their wake.

Harsh electric lights flickered into life as they carried their burden inside, triggered by motion sensors so that they remained free to attend to the job at hand. The lights illuminated walls painted stark white and floors tiled in resilient plastic, original beams that had been scrubbed clean and hung with dozens of hooks, loops and shelves made of brushed metal.

A casual observer might have been forgiven for thinking that the room into which Eleanor was being carried was still used as a stable, or at least to store riding tack. The walls, shelves and beams were hung with a myriad of straps, buckles and metal tools that bore a resemblance to equestrian kit. But closer inspection would have revealed the truth, betraying the fact that the leather straps were not intended for a horse, the whips more elaborate than anything used by a jockey and stranger objects of rubber and plastic that had no use other than in another world entirely.

The centre of the room was taken up by a table with a metal surface and it was onto this that the masked men deposited Eleanor before stripping off their coats and hats and pulling off their gloves to reveal hands covered with the same material as their heads. They looked her up and down for a moment as if making sure there had been no unseen damage done and then gave each other a nod that seemed to indicate that both were satisfied she was in one piece.

With that one man disappeared through a door at the far end of the room and the other busied himself with Eleanor’s inert form, whistling an unidentifiable tune as he worked.

Furnishing himself with a pair of monstrous scissors from a nearby shelf, he wasted no time in simply cutting her coat off her body by slicing the sleeves from cuff to shoulder and then up to the collar. He pulled the tatters of the coat out from under her and tossed the whole thing into a plastic bin in the nearest corner of the room.

He unzipped her boots and worked them off her feet, not harshly, but in a businesslike manner that saw him move at a brisk pace as they followed the coat into the bin. Under the boot, Eleanor had been wearing two layers of socks and these too were pulled off and thrown into the bin in short measure alongside her gloves.

The scissors travelled the length of her jeans from the ankle to the groin in a matter of seconds and soon the man had begun to strip them away from Eleanor’s legs. When they were gone, she was left wearing only her knickers below the waist and a pair of thick woollen tights that had been intended to serve as a final barrier against the cold.

The man stopped for a moment with the scissors held just above the waistband of the tights and contemplated the sight. Despite the need for him to seem a faceless drone as he carried out his work, he was a devoted lover of hosiery. There was no one else around and opportunities like this were surely, he thought, a perk of the job. He slowly stretched out his hand until his fingers were no more than an half an inch from the point where the tights began.

He stood frozen for a moment, caught between temptation and guilt.

Suddenly there was a loud clattering from the next room and the man jumped physically at the shock, almost stabbing the scissors into Eleanor’s flesh as he did so.

The door to the next room remained closed, but the man had been suitably chastened by the surprise and the realisation that he had almost damaged the goods in his moment of distraction. He wasted no more time in lifting the waistband of the tights and slicing them off of Eleanor’s legs to reveal the pale skin beneath.

Next he made short work of her blouse, slicing the sides and then the arms so that he could remove that in a matter of seconds as well. Now that he had been spurred on to keep his mind on the job, it was no time at all until he snipped away Eleanor’s underwear and left her lying naked on the table. Only her jewellery remained and the man slipped off her rings and earrings, dropping them casually alongside her watch on one of the shelves nearby.