Spoiled Heiress Gets Kidnapped Ch 01

INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - When a trio of bumbling criminals want to get rich quick, they abduct 19-year-old Harriet Holmes, the daughter of one of Britain's richest men to extort a hefty ransom from her parents. Unfortunately for the dim-witted crooks, Harriet is a complete bitch. She is spoiled, selfish, stuck-up, stubborn and a bit of a sociopath, giving her kidnappers nothing but trouble. Maybe they should have chosen a different rich girl to abduct?

Please enjoy this crime/comedy series set in London England in 1994 and rate and comment. It contains fetish themes such as urination, scat and menstruation, so if these aren't your thing, this story may not be for you. All characters and events are fictional, with any similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and older are involved in any sexual situations, all of which are consensual.

*

The day that I was kidnapped began as a fairly ordinary Tuesday in London in May of 1994. I had recently turned 19, and awoke quite early in the luxuriously comfortable bed in the fabulous up-market apartment I called home. One could call it a flat, but flat is such a terribly lower class term and reminds me of the disgusting council housing estates or high rise towers around Britain where I would never dream of setting foot.

Unlike most people, I did not have to worry about going to work to make the rental or mortgage payments, nor to pay expenses. My Daddy owned the apartment, and I lived there rent free, with ownership to be transferred to me on my 21st birthday so long as I proved I was responsible looking after the flat. But given that I was the youngest child, only daughter and absolutely the apple of my Daddy's eye, I knew that I would be owning this apartment in less than two years.

There wasn't much for me to do, save for preparing breakfast and other meals from time to time, but often I ate out with my girlfriends when we went out around Chelsea, Knightsbridge or Mayfair. The generous monthly allowance my Daddy paid me allowed me to live the lifestyle I deserved and desired, and there was also interest and other incomes from my trust fund. When I had bills to pay such as my credit card statements, all I had to do was forward them to one of Daddy's accountants who paid them for me.

My pink sports car with the personalized 'Princess' license plates had been a gift from my parents for my 17th birthday when I passed my driver's test, and again any associated expenses were taken care of by my accountant. A cleaning lady visited my house once a day and did my housework, which was only fair. Why should I do cleaning and washing when I could pay somebody else to do it? This left me more time to enjoy the princess-like lifestyle I was entitled to as the daughter of one of Britain's wealthiest men.

The man I called Daddy was Keith Holmes, a millionaire many times over whose company owned quite a conglomerate. My mother was Helen, and I had two brothers named Simon and Paul, who were four and three years older than me respectively. Daddy was much more stringent with my brothers than with me, insisting on them obtaining degrees with high honors at prestigious universities before entering into the family business.

Simon, Paul and I had attended Britain's finest and most expensive schools, where if one had to ask how much the fees were then one could not afford to send one's child there in a million years. Simon and Paul attended a very well-known boys' school as boarders, but Daddy would have missed me too much had I gone to boarding school, so I attended one of London's most prestigious girls' schools as a day pupil like my friends.

I got straight A's in my A levels and was a star on the hockey field and the netball courts, and while bright enough to attend university, Daddy did not insist on me commencing tertiary education the year I turned 18 unlike my brothers, and I knew he never would. Should I choose to study at university in coming years, all I would have to do was ask Daddy, and within a minute Daddy would be writing a cheque to cover my tuition expenses in full. But for now, university was not on my agenda. My best friends Felicity, Poppy, Sophie, Annabelle and Camilla and I were free to enjoy life however we pleased - partying, shopping and attending society events - in England without the pressure of work or study, and if we wanted to travel overseas, such as to Paris, Milan or further afield to places such as New York or the luxury resort owned by my father on a Caribbean Island, all we had to do was ask our parents or withdraw the money from the substantial earnings of our trust funds.

And what is wrong with that? My friends and I were all born rich and as so entitled to live this way. Jobs were for working class people; that is why they were called working class. If my friends and I had jobs, especially jobs that were beneath our higher social status, we would be depriving working class people of jobs they needed to serve upper class people such as myself, my family and friends.

Waking up in bed that Tuesday morning, I rubbed one of my bare feet up and down the leg of the man beside me, tall, handsome and fit 18-year-old Adam Brown. Adam was not my boyfriend, I didn't have a serious boyfriend. Although with my stunning good looks of long blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes, perfect figure and flawless English complexion coupled with a hot, slim figure, I could have had the choice of any man I wanted. If I set my sights on a camp homosexual, I could turn him straight and have him eating out of my hand for a chance to get into my knickers. It is one of the advantages of being from a wealthy family in the upper classes of British society, no nasty working class DNA in my bloodline that could lead me to having imperfect skin or getting fat.

Adam was just one of a number of young men who were lucky enough to be allowed into my bed and into my pants. Why should I limit myself to just one man when I could have lots of different men to satisfy my very high sex drive? Provided I took precautions to stop myself getting pregnant or winding up with VD, there was nothing wrong with it. Last week I even I had two lucky guys in my bed for a threesome, one a handsome white guy, the other an equally handsome black guy. Both were enormously well-endowed, and I was a young lady with a very satisfied fanny come the next morning.

Good looking Adam, with his dark brown hair, brown eyes and olive complexion was a professional footballer for the league football team of which my Daddy was Chairman. In bed, I wore an oversized teal-colored football shirt of the team Adam played for over a pair of white cotton bikini brief knickers. I continued to run my bare teenage toes up and down his leg, and he twitched, moaned and smiled in his sleep.

"Harriet," he said sleepily.

The double cotton panty saddle of my knickers was getting pretty damp, and my hands went to Adam's boxer shorts, teasing his cock and balls and feeling his huge erection rise in my hands.

"That's a real great way to wake up, Harriet," said Adam as I continued to play with his dick, stroking the nice hard shaft and jerking him off gently.

"Somebody's got an erection I see," I said, pulling back the duvet cover to show the tent in his boxer shorts.

I leaped my slim body on top of him and we embraced, writhing on the bed together, snogging and my knickers getting nice and sticky as Adam and I made out, his strong hands on my slim young female body and me teasing his erection through his boxer shorts.

"I think you want to fuck my fanny, don't you Adam?" I teased as we stopped French-kissing to draw breath.

"That sounds so hot when you say it, Harriet," said Adam.

"That's because I'm posh and I have a proper British accent," I asserted, as I played with Adam's cock. It was true. Years ago, media organizations like the BBC would train their presenters to speak with in Received Pronunciation, i.e. the 'posh' British accent. But in my case, I would have not needed such training, I could have just stepped into the job with no issues at all. In contrast, my lover for today Adam had a more general accent from the South of England.

"I didn't think posh birds were supposed to do that." Adam indicated me jerking him off.

"And well brought up young ladies were supposed to do this either."

I removed my hand from Adam's dick and quickly replaced it with my head, opening my mouth and going down, taking his large shaft in my mouth and sucking him off.

Adam moaned and groaned as I gave him head, twitching on the bed. I put my hands to good use, playing with his balls to get him doubly turned on. Then I stopped, removed my head from his groin and took off my knickers.

I sat naked on my bed in a most unladylike position that a young lady of my upbringing should never do, my legs far apart showing off my blonde pubic hair and my pussy. Adam looked up my football shirt at my vagina, and I could see him drooling with desire.

"I'm not going to turn down an invitation like that, Harriet," Adam grinned.

"I should hope not," I said. Like the rest of me, my fanny was perfect, pink, oval-shaped and totally symmetrical. I also knew Adam could see my tight anal opening below my vagina, and this was a huge turn on too.

Adam quickly had his head between my legs, his hair tickling the inside of my thighs and he eagerly plunged his face into my pussy, his tongue traversing my twat and circling my clitoris. The toes on my bare feet clenched and unclenched, and Adam drank my pussy juice as it flowed between my legs at the oral stimulation to my snatch.

Sometimes Adam's tongue would wander, going down the sensitive skin that separated my vulva from my anus and lingering on my tight little rear opening. Not that I minded, far from it. I absolutely loved guys fingering or licking the private place where I had a poo, it felt so forbidden, so intimate. By Adam's huge erection, he obviously loved licking my bum as well as my fanny.

"So Adam, do you want to fuck the shit out of the chairman's daughter?" I teased, as Adam removed my teal football shirt to show my wonderful C-cup teenage tits.

"Um no, Harriet, I've had a religious vision and I no longer believe in sex before marriage," laughed Adam.

I giggled and chucked a pillow at him. "Cheeky sod."

After some messing around, Adam mainly playing with my pubes, pussy, bare bottom and tits as well as smelling my knickers as I jerked him off, I took a condom and put it on Adam's throbbing cock.

"You don't want to get the chairman's daughter pregnant, otherwise next football season you might be playing Third Division in Darlington, Aldershot or some little town in Wales nobody has ever heard of," I teased, before I laid him down on his back.

"Yeah," Adam agreed.

Getting into position, one bare foot either side of his groin, I lowered my fanny down and inserted Adam's huge cock up my cunt, gasping as he entered me.

I leaned forward and we exchanged a deep French kiss, before we went to town and fucked hard, me riding Adam's cock cowgirl style, my pussy juices flowing. My long blonde hair flew around and my teenage tits bounced up and down as Adam nailed me good.

Adam was as good at fucking as he was at football, and my fanny was well satisfied. But two things made it hotter. One, my Daddy was the chairman and majority shareholder of Adam's football team and it made me feel powerful. Two, the fact that I was now 19 and Adam still 18 really turned me on, here I was getting fucked by a younger man. True, Adam was born in 1975 the same as me and later in the year he would turn 19 too, but for now the age difference was there and it was hot.

I was not only a rich bitch, I was a dirty little rich bitch with a filthy foul mouth especially when she was getting fucked, and I swore like a sailor and squealed like a pig as I reached orgasm. I felt the muscles in my vagina and my bowels tighten, my bare toes clenched tight and my fanny flowed my sticky female orgasm over Adam's balls, causing my bedroom to smell of pussy.

Adam reached his own orgasm at the same moment, the sweaty young footballer ejaculating into the condom deep inside me, the contraceptive capturing the semen and preventing it from spraying up my birth canal and into my uterus, and the semen swimming up my fallopian tubes and finding one of my ova released in my current monthly cycle.

Adam and I separated our sweaty naked bodies, I removed and the condom and with a naughty smile, performed my party trick of tipping the semen into my mouth and drinking it, something Adam definitely seemed to appreciate.

Then it was shower time, and we had no end of fun under the warm droplets, Adam really enjoying washing both of my bottoms. First he washed my front bottom, really doing a good job at cleaning away all traces of my sticky orgasm that would have caused me to have a smelly fanny had it remained like that all day, my blonde pubic hair filled with soap and bubbles in the process. Then it was my back bottom's turn, Adam washing my bum cheeks first then my anus, me loving his touch to the entrance of my bowels. For my part I washed his cock and balls, feeling him get hard again at my touch.

After shower time, Adam got fully dressed while I simply put on some fresh knickers - white cotton bikini briefs with pink waist and leg elastic and pink and purple flowers - and a short bathrobe over the rest of me, and walked barefoot into the kitchen, Adam following me.

We had breakfast together, until Adam had to leave to go to training.

"See you later, Harriet," said Adam as we exchanged a French kiss.

"See you later, Adam," I said as my young lover went on his way.

Still barefoot and wearing my short bath robe over my knickers, I went back into the living room and picked up my phone. "Hello Jonathon?" I asked, confirming the name even though I recognized his posh voice right away. "Its Harriet Holmes here, how are you?"

I listened to his reply delivered in his upper middle class British accent. Jonathon would probably be labelled by lower class people as a 'rich twat' and while this might have been true, he was good looking and had caught my eye when we met at a polo match one day. Plus he had a really big dick, and he sure knew how to use it.

"So Jonathon, how about we play a little game? Have a guess what color and design of knickers I'm wearing today?"

I listened and laughed at some of his more outlandish suggestions, before saying, "Well, you'll see for yourself tonight when you come over and get into my pants."

*

After finishing my call to Jonathon, I dressed for the day. I put on a white bra, harnessing my C-cup breasts and a short sleeved white blouse. Next I pulled up a pair of tight blue denim jeans, feeling them pushing my flowery white knickers into my fanny as I adjusted them between my legs, followed by a pink jumper. It was a pretty nice spring day in London, the weather sunny, so I wouldn't need too many clothes. I sat on the edge of my bed, and encased my feet in white socks then pristine white trainers.

Standing up, I admired my reflection in the mirror as I put on some make-up, not much I was pretty enough without it, then tied my long blonde hair back into a pony-tail with a pink scrunchie. I was meeting my friends for lunch in Knightsbridge followed by shopping, but this wasn't until about one o'clock, and it was still early, just nine a.m. Time for a nice walk in the park.

I collected my handbag, sunglasses and my mobile phone, juggling them in my hands. My phone was huge, it was like a house brick and mine was an up-to-date model. Still, it was handy to call my friends or my mother with at any time. Last week I even had a conversation with my mother while I was sitting on the loo with my knickers around my ankles.

About to leave, I heard a knocking. "Hello, Miss Holmes?" came the voice of my cleaner Shirley, her South London accent distinctive.

"Yes Shirley, come in," I called.

The plump, dowdy figure of Shirley let herself into the apartment. Shirley and I weren't friends, she wasn't my type of person, but she did a good job and she knew her place unlike the other two cleaners I had previously. Maybe it was because Shirley was white and the other two women were not?

The first cleaner was an Asian woman who was overly familiar with me, calling me Harriet without permission instead of Miss Holmes. She would try to talk to me about personal things in my life that were not her place, and one day when I had my period and returned after buying some more pads I heard her talking to one of her friends on my phone - which she was using without my permission - and gossiping to her friend that it was my time of the month. That was the end of her.

The second cleaner was a black African woman, who wasn't all that good at her job, but at least she called me Miss Holmes as she should have done. I turned a blind eye to her tardy cleaning, and tolerated her sometimes bringing her two young sons along saying she had childcare issues. However one day after I had been to the toilet the two kids came running through the flat, laughing and yelling to his mother to clean the toilet last, that the blonde girl who lived here had just done a really smelly poo and had stank the toilet out. Her job was to clean the toilet which I used to have a shit, not have her kids who shouldn't have been there in the first place commenting and laughing about how smelly my shit was. That was the end of cleaner number two, and Shirley was her replacement.

I had always been good at getting employees who pissed me off fired. When I was a little girl one of my nannies was this dreadful obese old bag who looked about 80, very strict and stern. I turned on the waterworks pleading for her to go and my Daddy soon got her fat arse fired and a black mark against her name, preventing any more nanny work for her. I later heard that she committed suicide, throwing herself in front of a train on the London Underground. I never felt bad about it, why should I? She should have done a better job looking after me, and anyway given how fat she was I think the train might have come off second best.

"I'm just heading out, I'll see you when I get back Shirley," I said. Tuesday was the day Shirley did her big clean of my flat, and given I would return sometime between 11 and 12 she should still be there.

"Yes, see you later Miss Holmes," said Shirley.

Going down into the street, I put on my sunglasses and considered whether I should drive my sports car to the park, or whether I should walk. I decided to walk, it was a nice day and the park wasn't far, plus I would drive my car later when I met the girls for lunch.

Setting off down the street, several cars drove past me. There was a black taxi cab, followed by a white sedan, then a blue lorry and a red double decker bus. However my attention was drawn most to the fifth vehicle which passed by, a van that was purple in color, a really bright purple. I might not have noticed a van except that it was unusual to see a purple van. There were cars of unusual color all over the place, I mean my sports car was pink, but this was a custom paint job. I had seen cars that were silver, brown or turquoise in the past, but purple? It was very rare. At least it should have been rare to see a purple van.

Last Thursday I had been driving my sports car through London when I had seen a bright purple van in my rear vision mirror. It made some of the same turns I did, but when I turned right at an intersection it drove past and went on its way.

I wouldn't have thought any more of it, except that on Saturday afternoon I was at the races with my friends, all of us dressed to the nines, me attired in a pretty pink frock, fancy hat and high heeled shoes. Leaving the track after the race meeting, the expensive French Champagne had been flowing freely in the members' area all afternoon so I was feeling a bit tipsy and light headed from all the bubbly, and finding it hard to balance on my stiletto heels. However, I wasn't drunk enough to notice that there was a van parked not far away, and like the van that I had seen on Thursday, it was purple in color.