I started from where I had noticed the car following me along my track, at about 8pm. I explained how I’d accepted his offer once I’d gotten into the Audi and how the guy, who called himself John, wasn’t interested in touching me, even though I gave him ample opportunity.
I explained about the garage at the back of the property and the walk up to the house, before finding the utility room empty and unused. I gave them another description of the German and how he drugged me with something that made me drowsy, confused and limp.
The memories of what happened to me after being drugged, only returned while I was in prison, I explained to the detectives.
Four or five men appeared, dressed in mauve clothing and dragged me onto the plush carpeting, whereupon they proceeded to undress me in an orderly fashion, presumably so that they’d be able to redress me when they were ready to dispose of my body.
Once I was naked, they hauled me to my feet and led me to a room, which I thought resembled a church or a chapel. I was manhandled to a low, waist high dais, which was covered in mauve satin and laid upon it so that my legs hung down at the back and my arms at the front corners. I was completely limp, so there was no need for them to tie me to the podium.
I lay there for some time, while the men prodded and poked me. Someone smeared cream in my anus and then penetrated me with an object. The men took it in turns to lift my head up by the hair, before making comments about me, which sounded as though they were singing in the distance. I do remember one phrase which stuck in my memory, because as each of the men lifted my head, the main man kept chanting it in his heavy, German accented voice.
“She’s too good to be a filthy street whore!” was the phrase, which chilled me to the bone, I explained to Mary and Jack.
Then the music started, which was soon accompanied by a cacophony of weird chanting. I just lay on the dais while the group belted out their mumbo jumbo. Then the pain began, as one of the men started lashing me with a whip, or a stick. Whichever it was they hurt me badly and even though my senses had been dulled by the drug, I was soon screaming at the top of my voice.
When they stopped, I was unceremoniously rolled over onto my back. My legs were lifted, spread wide apart and attached to ropes hanging from the ceiling; while my arms were attached low down on the podium. More blows followed on my posterior and my breasts, which came in for a lot of punishment. My head fell back, making it convenient for the throat fuckers, who after impaling me at one end, were soon queuing up to deep-throat me at the other.
Their party, or ceremony, lasted for hours, with me being the centre of their sadistic activities. When the music stopped and everyone had disappeared, I was left there to suffer in silence for what seemed like ages. I wasn’t sure how long the monsters left me lying there, in such terrible pain, but it must have been hours. I slipped in and out of consciousness several times, before hearing the door open and the sound of footsteps approaching.
When my lifted my head, I recognized the young man who had picked me up in the first place and brought me to his sadistic master. I was vaguely aware of him releasing my arms and legs, before he rolled me off the dais. I landed with a bump onto a pile of my clothes beside the podium. John, as he called himself, proceeded to dress me, as though he was a nurse in some sort of sick hospital!
He forced a ball gag into my mouth and buckled it in place. Before tying my hands behind my back.
“Come on sweetheart, time to meet your maker,” he muttered to himself, while lifting me bodily and throwing me over his shoulder.
The moment he stepped outside the house and began to trudge down the path toward the garage my head started to clear. The bitterly cold air shocked me back to my senses. However, I lay limp over his shoulder, desperately trying to act as though the effects of the drug still had a firm grip on me. The car boot was already open, so all he had to do was tip me into it and slam the lid down.
I was a prisoner, but I had hope. If I could fake the effect of the drug then maybe he’d take his eye off the ball, enabling me to escape. The journey was a short one and soon after the car had parked, the boot lid opened once again, exposing me to another blast of bitterly cold air. He hauled me out and once again let me drop heavily, but onto a thick layer of snow that cushioned my fall somewhat.
I released a low soulful moan, making it sound as though I was still in a state of semi-consciousness. He had parked in a dark, isolated location, leaving me in no doubt that he was about to kill me and dispose of my body. He rolled me onto my side, sending daggers of pain shooting up my arm into my shoulder. I desperately tried to figure out what to do.
The weather was bitterly cold, but it was the terror of my situation that was having a far more disabling effect on me. When he leant over me, he looked like the shadow of the grim reaper. I saw the glint of a knife blade and resigned myself to being stabbed to death, but instead he cut the rope holding my hands together.
After discarding the rope in the trunk he unbuckle the gag and threw that in as well. I continued to feign unconsciousness, while he silently closed the boot lid. Then, when I glanced up, I saw that he had paused for a moment to look around, presumably to check if the coast was clear. I suddenly saw my chance to fight back. Pulling my right leg back, I delivered a kick to the back of his legs with as much force as I could muster.
I spun round on the icy surface, while his feet flew out from under him. He grabbed for the side of the car, to stop himself falling and dropped the knife right in front of me, which I reached for and grabbed.
“You little cunt!” exclaimed the young man, making a grab for my leg as he fell, but I squirmed away from him. “Fucking whore,” he cursed as he went down with a heavy thud.
My feet were bare, apart from the stockings and I was up and running in a flash. I staggered for a few strides, but the snow was soft and provided a good grip. I looked to my left and saw that I was running along the embankment of a river. Was that to be my fate, I wondered, death by drowning?
Looking over my shoulder I saw that my attacker was about 20 yards behind me, but his arms were flailing, while he skidded on the slippery surface. I was a half decent ice skater and thanked my lucky stars that I had bothered when I was in my pre-teens. I veered to the right, across the road and headed down another narrower road between two warehouses.
“Someone help me!” I cried at the top of my voice.
My abductor had put my dress and bomber jacket back on me, but not my thong or corset. I cursed the cunt under my breath, but appreciated that the corset would have slowed me down. Six months in the nick had definitely made me fitter, while the bitter wind whipping around my bare ass, gave me every incentive to run faster. The deserted streets and lack of street lighting suggested that it was around 4am, a dreadful time to find help!
“Help, help!” I yelled again.
I was running for my life and could hear my pursuer panting behind me, when I suddenly emerged onto a main road, which at first glance, appeared deserted. However, on the far side of the road I spotted a black cab parked outside an office which was well lit and unmistakably open. As I approached at a pell-mell speed a man emerged to talk to the driver of the taxi. They looked up with alarmed expressions on their faces, as I raced toward them.
“Stop her, she’s stolen my wallet!” The man shouted behind me.
We all came together in a melee of arms and legs and the last thing I remember was lashing out with the knife. Someone screamed, just before I was punched in the face for the second time that night.
When the police arrived, the young man who’d been chasing me, was apparently nowhere to be seen, while the friend of the taxi driver I stabbed, claimed I was waving a knife in the air, just before I attacked him. The witness said that there was another man, but he was too embarrassed to give evidence, because he was a married man. He told the uninjured taxi driver that he’d been having sex with me, before I ran off with his wallet.
I couldn’t show the police where I’d been taken, despite riding around the area in the back of a police car, so the only evidence I could produce to back up my story was the welts and bruises on my body. It was a weak defence, because the prosecution claimed that it was common for prostitutes to allow their punters to punish them as a prelude to sex.
In the end the police and the jury believed the taxi driver and not me. I didn’t stand a chance and the judge handed me a 5 year sentence for grievous bodily harm.