Chapter 1: The rescue attempt

Two hours earlier

“Do you know the difference between me and you Mister Priest?” The Moroccan asked smugly. “I’m kneeling in a iron cage while you are hung spread-eagled in the middle of the room” “Very droll. Is this the much vaunted working class humour? I’m so glad the upper classes have done away with it” he replied. “You speak very good English” “Better than you Mister Priest” “English public boarding school education” I asked. “Indeed my father ensured that I had the very best start in life” “Moroccan aristocracy?” “No Mister Priest he gained his money through violence and extortion taking over the drug trade of the entire North Africa coastline” he crowed. “And he put you in charge of the European operation?”. The pause and look of unease told me that I had hit a nerve. “Let me guess. You work for the Global Elite, the 13 families” I said. “You don’t know what you are talking about” he snapped but visibly shaken.

“In a few short hours I will be free and you will have a bullet through your brain. Do you know why?” “Why?” “Because I am surgically fitted with a tracker for circumstances such as this. Half an hour ago when these crazy bitches let me go to the gents I activated the emergency beacon” he said smugly. I didn’t want to know the details of where that was hidden! “Shortly a highly experienced unit of commandos will free me and you and these bitches will be dead” His grin was pure evil.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the old Indian cleaning woman squatting wide-legged with her sari tucked between her skinny legs as she quietly scrubbed the floor. The Moroccan never noticed her. People like that are socially conditioned not to notice the servants. Quietly she picked up her bucket and brush and stealthily left the room.

Alan

Place Vendôme, Paris, famed for it’s fashionable and deluxe hotels, such as the Ritz and the salons of famous clothes designers. At the end of autumn it was dark by late afternoon. Dark enough that nobody noticed three big powerfully built men in black combat jackets in the streets behind the square.

I thought on how a young man from County Durham left school with no qualifications to become a team leader of the private army of one of the richest men in Europe. Like so many lads from Consett, there was nothing to do when you left school except join the British Army. After a few years I was laid off when the Nasty Party decided that the Army like the Police and Health Service could be staffed by volunteers freeing large amounts of tax-payers money to go into the pockets of the fat-cats they appointed to oversee the changes. Being redundant in the North of England meant little likelihood of work. The outlook was grim until I was offered the chance to go to Europe and join some rich sod’s private army. I jumped at the chance.

I chose a small team that could move quickly and quietly. The three of us crept around to the loading area at the back of the lingerie shop. “What are you guys doing here?” the old watchman asked. He reminded me of my grandfather god bless his soul. A blur of movement. WHOCK! A look of surprise in his eyes before they glazed over and he fell to the ground. Behind him stood Ahmed. “I told you to chloroform him not bash his brains out” I scolded the aged looking scraggly bearded Ethiopian. Ahmed just grinned widely while chewing Khat as if he didn’t understand a word. “KAPHAT!” he spat a nasty glob right on top of the unconscious watchman. “That’s just disgusting” I told him for the nth time. Ahmed just giggled in that annoying high-pitched nasal manner of his “Nihenihenihe”. “Not going soft on us are you, Alan?” Mac asked in his broad Glaswegian accent. That was one thing to watch out. In this organisation, weakness was not tolerated and was used as a stepping stone to promotion. “The door” I replied.

Mac rapped the code on the rear door which was promptly answered by a young Croatian girl. She was blonde, pretty and petite wearing a short mini-dress and thick black leggings. “You have my money?” was the first thing she asked, her greed confirmed by the look in her eyes when I took out the wad of folded notes from my pocket. I slapped her hand away as she made an eager grab for it. “Show us the merchandise. Payment on delivery” I stated. “Hehehehehe” Ahmed laughed nastily leering at her which visibly unsettled her. “Don’t you trust me?” she purred trying to look coy and seductive. “No” I stated “Get on with it or I’ll give you to him” I indicated Ahmed still leering. Visibly spooked, she led us through a loading bay and up some internal stairs into what looked like a large gymnasium. The lights were all on and I immediately saw the boss upright with his arms and legs spread and tied up. Without looking away from my target I hold out the bank-roll which is snatched greedily. As the girl leaves engrossed in flicking through the notes, I activate the tracer that I pinned to her dress. We’ll deal with her later, “Dead men tell no tales” is our boss’s motto.

“About bloody time” The Moroccan shouts “Get me out of here then burn the bloody place to the ground” “What about him?” I nod to an iron cage containing the kneeling form of a dark curly haired man. “Kill him” The Moroccan replies as I knew he would. “KAWTCPAH!” Ahmed spits another nasty glob on the rubber matted floor then laughing nastily pulls out his knife and starts breaking the lock. “No get away from me you bastard!” the man cries in a London accent.

Suddenly there was a loud CRACK and a feminine squeal followed by the re-appearance of the Croatian. To my amazement she is being manhandled by a geeky looking girl in a white gi jacket. One arm was around the girl’s throat and the other pressing her hand behind her back in a hammerlock. “Ouch let go of me you stupid four-eyed bitch” the struggling Croatian cried. The geek girl was about 5’9” with a slender lanky figure and in her late teens. Her face was small, long and slim dominated by a large nose yet quite pretty in a way. Her eyes were narrow slits through which peer small blue irises that gave me a hard but unconcerned glance through large spectacles. A small but pleasant thin-lipped mouth was stoically silent as she forced her struggling captive forward. Above a wide expanse of forehead sat pale blonde hair cut very short and worn in a bob behind the head that left her ears exposed.

As she manoeuvred the wriggling girl around the gym I saw that her long slim legs were fully on display and clad in silky smooth tan-coloured pantyhose. The gi jacket was so short it acted as a micro skirt like the women in the original Star Trek series. I had to admit that there was something sexy about the sight of the geek girl with her very short jacket and a stunning pair of legs physically in control of the young Croatian. The poor girl was squirming and squealing with delightful cries of pain, her face an expression of utter defeat.

I was just about to tell Mac to deal with her when another young female voice shouted from what appeared to be the changing room. “You’re such a greedy ct Elena”. Despite the shocking language the voice had a cultured tone to it. “An ungrateful greedy ct, considering all that Madame Michelle has done for you”. Four girls in their late teens marched into the room. All were stunningly beautiful with the coiffured and tanned arrogant elitist and dominant appearance of the upper-class. My groin lurched strongly at the sight of 4 pairs of absolutely fantastic legs sheathed in high-sheen sheer tan-coloured pantyhose. Like the geek, they also wore gi jackets like micro-dresses. The black belts around their slims waists gave me little cause for concern suspecting that were more of a fashion accessory.

Two of the girls broke off, with a dismissive glance at me, heading straight for the captive girl held fast by the geek who showed a sexy calve muscle as she balanced to keep control. One was 5’7” with a very slim athletic build and long brown hair cascading softly down either side of a long narrow face past her shoulders. Full of cultured beauty she fixed her prey with blue eyes atop a sleek nose and generous mouth. Her legs were absolutely stunning being slender which made them appear very long and sensational in slightly dark tan coloured pantyhose. There was a sense of hidden strength in those long thighs and shapely calves as she walked. Her friend was slightly shorter and plumper with a more noticeable bust-line and hour-glass figure. She had an elfin face full of mischief with chubby cheeks with small soft brown eyes, a short sleek nose and a small cheekily-smiling mouth. Her brown hair was short with a soft fringe and flopped stylishly over her ears and mid-way down her neck. Wearing a whiter shade of tan nylon, her legs were more sturdy and shapely but just as eye-catching. The gi jackets had a wide slit up each side that teasingly cut high on the hip and as they moved it became very apparent that the jackets failed to cover the lower part of their tight compact nylon-clad buttocks. PHROAR! That was a highly arousing sight indeed that went straight to a man’s loins.

“HALT!” I shouted “You girls up against the wall”. “Oh look Veronique, the help have arrived” chuckled the cheeky faced girl in a posh tone. “Yes Adriana. They will have to wait. We’re busy” the longer haired girl said dismissively. To my amazement they totally ignored me and turned to face the Croatian girl. The arrogant high-handed way these girls treated us like servants annoyed me. “I’m serious” I said trying to put on an authoritative voice which totally failed to impress them. “So are we. So you’ll have to wait your turn like a good pleb” Veronique replied in an imperious tone then the girls broke into laughter.

Before I could say another word Veronique addressed Elena. “We are going to discipline you for your betrayal. That’s the only way you will learn to be a proper servant. HAI!” with a shout that made me jump both girls proceeded to drive their fists over and over into the poor girl’s gut. It was a non-stop barrage, as soon as one girl had pounded her gut the other girl would slam in her fist to take it’s place. WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! Continuous rapid-fire jabs pounded against the girl’s belly like beating a taut drum. The pitiful cries of their victim soon turned to painful winded grunts as the two bully girls flattened her diaphragm. WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! Their fists sank deep into Elena’s belly, her body jerking with every punch. I had to admit that they had good co-ordination as they alternated punches and good stamina keeping up a steady rhythm without tiring. Crying pitifully, Elena’s knee rose as her body tried to crease up around her ruined gut but the geek maintained solid restraint. For the Croatian there was no escape from this savage beating. It was stimulating to watch these two sexy toffs beat up this poor girl. I saw Ahmed gurgling with glee, eyes wide and hand rubbing the front of his trousers. Mac was also spell-bound. “Don’t just stand there! Shoot them then release me!” The Moroccan’s angry shout broke the trance.