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Capturing Cressida – ebook



Capturing Cressida by Imogen Edwards

SM Erotica. Cressida is a beautiful young university student. When she is suddenly taken in the dead of night, she-s taken to a house in the woods, where the evil Mr. Roberts tells her that he plans to sell her as a sex slave. With her pubic hair shaved and dressed like a schoolgirl, she’s forced to perform a striptease, as Mr. Roberts makes a video of the act for prospective buyers to view. She is later beaten to make her submit, then made to fellate her captor, all before the camera. Once sold, Cressida is flown to a mysterious destination, a palace in an unknown country, when she learns that she has been purchased by the wealthy Ruslan, and will be one of his many sex slaves. Sandhu, his right hand man takes charge of her sexual indoctrination and training. When she rebels, she-s cruelly punished. Although Cressida resents Sandhu-s authority over her, she is strangely drawn to her compelling trainer. Cressida is meticulously prepared for her first visit to Ruslan, through thorough physical workouts, a tattooing and elaborate henna designs painted on her body. Finally presented to her owner, Cressida learns he is a cold and degrading man. But protesting his treatment, only earns her a cruel whipping. When she-s given to yet another man she revolts. Sandhu drags her away, and chains her up to await what-s sure to be a horrific punishment. When Sandhu tells her that she has disappointed him with her disobedience, despite his careful training, Cressida is mortified, realizing only now that he has developed feelings for her. As the cruel punishment for her latest crime commences, a local uprising in Ruslan-s realm, threatens everything. Can Cressida escape her owner-s grasp? Can she find love from a most unexpected lover? Or, will she be forever consigned to serve the ruthless degradation of powerful owners, who keep her life locked firmly in their ruthless grasp. A stunning, passionate and romantic SM tale.


Bridget dropped her off at the corner of the road. “Are you sure you are okay to walk from here, she asked anxiously”.

“Of course”, Cressida said. “It’s only a hundred yards”.

It was a cool night and Cressida pulled her coat around her thin silk dress as she walked towards her apartment block. As she got near she saw a large black car parked outside, and then she saw the glow of a cigarette inside. Just as she went past, a door opened on the other side and a man got out. He came round the front of the car towards her.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, barring her way. “Can you help me?”

Cressida kept walking, intending to brush past him. She heard another car door open, and then suddenly she was grabbed from behind. She opened her mouth to scream and something was pushed against it, something cold. Too late she tried to stop herself breathing in. She felt herself falling.

When Cressida came to, she was in a car, driving fast through the night. Her wrists were pinned behind her back with what felt like handcuffs. A man sat beside her on the back seat as another one drove the car.

“Where are you taking me?” she cried. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

She knew how futile such protests must sound. The man beside her turned and leered.

“Shut her up, Billy,” the driver said.

Billy reached down and picked up a roll of duct tape and some scissors. He cut off a strip and held it up.

“No, no, please,” Cressida begged. She had a fear of suffocation.

“Close your mouth,” Billy said.

Cressida screamed. Billy hit her across the face.

“Close your fucking mouth, bitch,” he said.

She cowered in the corner of the car, trembling. Billy stuck the tape over her mouth. Cressida tried hard not to panic. Think, she said to herself. Think about what you’re going to do next.

She glanced sideways. Billy had a thin, sharp face. He looked barely out of his teens, with his spiky hair and skinny frame. The man in front was older, thick–set, though she couldn’t see his face. If she had to try and take one of them, it would have to be Billy. She knew she would have to do something the moment she got a chance. She had little doubt of the fate that awaited her. They had clearly come prepared, with the chloroform, the hand–cuffs, and the tape for her mouth. They would take her somewhere quiet and rape her. She could only pray they’d let her go afterwards.

After another ten minutes the car turned off the road and down a rough track through a wood. They drove three or four miles before approaching a house set in a clearing. There were no lights. The driver stopped the car, got out and went into the house. A light outside came on. Billy got out and opened the door on Cressida’s side. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her towards him.

“Out, bitch,” he snapped.

Cressida stumbled out of the car, her hands pinioned behind her. Billy was still holding her hair. He pushed her in front of him, steering her towards the house. The other man was waiting inside; he went ahead down the hallway and opened a door, turning on a light that illuminated some stairs descending.

At the top of the stairs Billy paused, pulling her back by the hair.

“Shall we have a look at her?” he said to the other man. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

He reached down and pulled Cressida’s dress up to her waist. The other man stared at her legs.

“Want to pull her knickers down and see her pussy, Harold?” Billy asked.

“Better not,” the other man said. “You know Mr. Roberts doesn’t like us interfering with them before he gets here.”

Billy shrugged, then let Cressida’s dress fall. Pushing her forward, he marched her down the stairs. She might have stumbled but for his hand gripping her hair so tightly. It hurt.

At the foot of the stairs Billy let her go. On the dirty floor was a mattress, grubby and stained. The basement was half full of old furniture, packing cases and other assorted junk. There was a dank, musty smell. In a corner she saw a bucket. On the mattress was a pair of iron manacles, the sort you might find in a museum.

“Stand still,” said Billy gruffly.

He fixed an iron ring around each of her ankles, locking them with a large key. The rings were joined with a heavy chain about six inches long. Cressida lifted a foot:; the iron was heavy round her leg.

Billy reached out and ripped the tape from her mouth. It stung and Cressida cried out.

“If you scream here, no one will hear you,” he said. “But Harold and I like a quiet life. So be a good girl and shut up, will you?”

He turned her round and unlocked her cuffs. Cressida stood rubbing her wrists, wondering if the moment had come. Should she struggle, or lie passively as he did his worst? With the irons on her legs she couldn’t do much else.

“Sleep well, darling,” Billy said. He leered at her again, then turned and walked back up the stairs, turning out the light. Cressida heard a key turn in the lock. She trudged towards the mattress, almost falling as the chain between her ankles held her back. Even if she should manage to escape, she could not run far or fast in her shackles.

She sank to her knees, sobbing quietly. These men were going to violate her, of that she had no doubt. But why had they delayed? And who was the Mr. Roberts they were waiting for? She wrapped the blanket around her and curled up into a little ball. In the far corner of the room, lit only by a faint light from a grill up near the ceiling, Cressida thought she heard a rustling sound. God, no, anything but that, she thought and shuddered.

There was silence in the house. Evidently they were not coming for her tonight. As the hours passed she drifted in and out of sleep, constantly awakened by lurid dreams. At last the gloom grew a little brighter as the dawn came up. Cressida shuffled over to the bucket, her chain clinking, relieved herself, and then tried to sleep some more. But she was more afraid than ever now. Whatever fate was in store for her, she would find out soon enough. She resolved to resist them as far she could. If she went down, she would go down fighting.

She heard the door being unlocked. Billy came down the stairs.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said. “It’s your big day today.”

“What’s going to happen to me? Please tell me,” Cressida pleaded.

He grinned. “It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Are you going to rape me?” Cressida asked bravely, looking him in the eye. He was so young that she thought she might shame him.

“It’s not as simple as that,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Look,” she said urgently, “I can get you money. I know people who will pay you to let me go.”

“They couldn’t afford you, darling,” he said contemptuously. “Professors don’t have money.”

So he knew she was from the university, thought Cressida. What else did they know about her?

“We can get a lot more for you than they could pay, take it from me.”

With that Billy, grabbed her once more by the hair and led her to the stairs. Awkwardly Cressida shuffled up them, her shackles heavy on her feet. Billy led her down the hallway and through a door into a kitchen. Harold sat at the table drinking coffee. He glanced up at her, and then lowered his eyes to the newspaper he was reading. Billy pushed Cressida down into a chair.

“Tina?” he yelled.

A door at the side opened and a girl came in. She was thin and pale, dressed only in a cotton shirt that reached just below her hips, and a pair of sandals. She too had shackles on her ankles.

“Get her something to eat,” Billy said to the girl. “And hurry up.”

The girl turned without a word and went out again. Cressida saw that the backs of her thighs were criss–crossed with ugly red welts, the signs of a recent beating. Soon the girl came back with some buttered toast and set it in front of Cressida. Billy poured her some coffee from a pot on the table.

Cressida couldn’t understand why they were waiting. Why did they need to feed her first? She ate some of the toast. Tina busied herself clearing up some cups and plates. If only, Cressida thought, she’d tell me what’s going on. But she dared not open her mouth with Billy watching.

As Cressida sipped her coffee she heard what sounded like a car in the distance. It drew nearer and seemed to pass right in front of the house. On an impulse Cressida rushed to the window and stared out. She couldn’t see the car but it must be close and, she started to scream at the top of her voice.

Billy grabbed her by the hair and swung her round, striking her a violent blow in the face. Cressida dropped to her knees, holding her mouth. She could taste blood.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid little cunt,” he shouted. “There’s nobody there to help you.”

He pulled her to her feet and dragged her out into the hall. A man was coming in through the front door. Cressida could see his car parked outside. Her screams had been in vain; clearly, he was expected. The man looked about forty, well–built, wearing a suit. His hair was black and glossy, swept back. He was handsome in a saturnine way.

“So this is her,” he said. He took hold of Cressida’s chin and lifted it. “She’s a looker, isn’t she? But who gave her a split lip?”

“She was screaming, boss, I had to control her.” Billy’s voice had taken on a whining note.

“You stupid little prick,” the man said. “Haven’t I told you before, we can’t sell damaged goods? The next time you mark her, I’ll fucking well mark you too.”

“Yes, Mr. Roberts,” Billy said. Cressida could see he was afraid.

“Bring her into the front room,” said Mr. Roberts. “And get that little slut Tina to bring coffee, with some brandy. It’s fucking cold out there.”

Billy pushed her into the room at the front of the house. Cressida was glad to see it was warm, with a log fire burning in the grate. What did they mean about selling her? To who? What for? It would explain why they hadn’t violated her yet. But it only left her with more questions.

Mr. Roberts settled into an armchair while Billy stood holding Cressida. Tina came in with the coffee and brandy. She poured some for Mr. Roberts, glancing at him anxiously, then left.

“Okay,” said Mr. Roberts. “Let’s have a look at her. Take the dress off.”

Cressida instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking away from Billy. He tried to grab her, fumbling for the zip at the back of her dress.

“Hurt her,” said Mr. Roberts. There was coldness, an indifference to her suffering in his voice. Billy twisted Cressida’s arm up behind her back, so hard she feared it might break. She cried out in pain.

“All right,” she whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Billy unzipped her dress and pulled it down and Cressida stepped out of it. The men looked her up and down. Mr. Roberts made a gesture and Billy pulled her bra up to expose her breasts. Cressida tried to put her hands across to cover them, but Billy pulled them away.

“Nice tits,” said Mr. Roberts. “Now the rest.”

“I need to take her shackles off to get her knickers off too,” said Billy.

“Just rip them,” Mr. Roberts said.

Billy took hold of Cressida’s black silk knickers and tore them, pulling them away from her hips. Cressida stood naked, her arms meekly at her sides. Mr. Roberts made another gesture and Billy turned her round.

“Cute ass,” said Mr. Roberts. “Just made for a whipping.”

It was clear now who had made the marks on the back of Tina’s thighs and Cressida. She shuddered inwardly, trying not to show her fear.

“Okay, Billy, you can leave us.”

“Are you sure, boss?” said Billy, clearly disappointed he might be missing something. Mr. Roberts waved his hand and Billy left the room. There was silence for a moment as Mr. Roberts looked Cressida up and down.

“You really are rather a dish,” he said. He had an educated voice, rather melodious but with a supercilious tone. “Did they tell you what this is all about?”

“No,” said Cressida. “But if you let me go I won’t press charges. We can forget all about it.”

Mr. Roberts smiled. “Oh, could we? I doubt that. But in any case, you are much too valuable a catch to throw back.”

“What are you going to do with me? If you want money, I know people who will pay,” Cressida pleaded. She thought she needed to sound defiant at all costs, even though inside she was quaking.

“I’ll explain, my dear,” said Mr. Roberts with exaggerated politeness. “We’ve kidnapped you. But not for ransom. For sale.”

“For sale?” Cressida echoed. “What do you mean? Sale to whom?”

“We don’t know yet. To the highest bidder, of course.”

“But what are they bidding for?” Cressida cried. It didn’t make much sense.

“For you, of course. The world is full of rich men. Some of them very rich indeed. When a man has that much money, he comes to believe everything can be purchased. Even human beings. Especially human beings. And what do most men want, in their heart of hearts? What do they want most?”

He paused, as if Cressida might supply an answer, and then continued.

“They want sexual pleasure. Pleasure untrammelled by considerations of morality or of decency or of compunction. I am speaking of men who wish to indulge themselves to the ultimate, through the ownership of another human being. A female human being, a beautiful female human being. Such as yourself.”

He paused again.

“You are going to sell me? As a sort of slave?” Cressida did not believe such things existed.

Mr. Roberts smiled. “Not a sort of slave,” he said. “A slave, no more any less.” He let his words sink in.

“You can’t get away with that,” Cressida said indignantly. “There are laws in this country.”

“Well, probably you won’t be in this country much longer,” Mr. Roberts answered. “All the big money for goods of this type comes from abroad.”

Goods? She was to be goods? It was just a bluff, she thought. Designed to threaten her, undermine her. She was still sure they meant to rape her. She almost wished they would get on with it. She was beginning to find Mr. Roberts creepy.

“But first,” Mr. Roberts said, “there will be an auction. The bidders need to see you. They need to get a proper look at you, at your physical charms, and also get an idea of what you are capable of. At these prices, nobody wants to buy a dummy that just lies there. Nor a wildcat. You’re not a wildcat, are you, dear?”

Mr. Roberts smiled sweetly. Cressida stared at him, hoping to project a defiance she did not feel confident of.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating a straight–backed chair close by.

Cressida shrugged her shoulders and sat down. She felt acutely self–conscious of her nakedness, though she knew it was a deliberate ploy to unsettle her. Wasn’t this what they did to prisoners to disorient them?

“Open your legs,” Mr. Roberts said.

Cressida stared at him, not moving. She’d be damned if she would co–operate in her own degradation. Mr. Roberts got out of his chair and stood over her. He took hold of her hair, the way Billy had, and twisted it fiercely. Cressida gasped; it was sore where Billy had done that earlier.

“If you don’t open your legs,” Mr. Roberts said, “I’m going to hit you. Very hard. And I’ll keep hitting you until you do.”

Cressida moved her thighs apart, as far as she could with the shackles round her ankles. Mr. Roberts let go of her and returned to his chair. He stared at Cressida’s crotch. She knew the pink lips of her vagina would be visible to him through the blonde curls of her pubic hair. She tried to look indifferent.

“Potential purchasers will want to see you. All of you. There’s no point in being modest. They will also want to see how you perform.”

He paused, waiting to see if she would respond but Cressida was silent.

“They want to know if you can fuck, my dear. Do you know how to fuck?”

Cressida coloured slightly. She knew he was trying to shock her, to intimidate her by his coarseness. She resolved to ignore it.

Mr. Roberts took a piece of paper from inside his jacket and unfolded it.

“It appears that you do,” he said. “At least your medical records say you are not a virgin.”

“Where did you get that?” Cressida demanded.

“We know a lot about you,” Mr. Roberts said. “In the second year of majoring in economics. So you know all about money. I wonder if you could predict how much you’ll be worth? We could run a little competition to see who guesses closest.”

He laughed at his little joke, then glanced down at the paper again.

“You were going to leave today, were you not? Going back east for Christmas? Going to get a job in a store?”

How could he know this, Cressida wondered. She planned to drive for three days.

“It’s a long drive. No one will know you’re missing for a while, will they?”

Cressida felt despair. It was true. She’d said her goodbyes. She didn’t plan to arrive at her aunt’s till the end of the week and if she didn’t phone they wouldn’t worry.

Mr. Roberts glanced at the paper again. “Six sexual partners,” he read. “Some would say that’s a lot for a young girl.”

Cressida coloured again. Only two of those had meant anything, she thought. It was hardly promiscuity.

“All men, I suppose?” Mr. Roberts said, raising an eyebrow. “Never gone to bat for the other side?”

Cressida ignored him.

“Well,” said Mr. Roberts, standing up, “Let me tell you what we’re going to do. I’ve got things to sort out now, but after lunch we’ll go to work. First thing, I shall give you a thorough beating, just so you know who’s in charge. So as to ensure your total co–operation.”

He grabbed her once more by the hair, lifting her from her seat and dragging her to a chest of drawers at the side of the room. Still holding her hair, he opened a drawer. Inside Cressida saw rows of whips, wooden paddles, riding crops, canes.

“We’re well–equipped, you see although I haven’t decided which one I’ll use yet.”

He pulled Cressida back to her chair and pushed her down. The feeling of dread had tightened to a hard knot of fear in her belly.


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