Stocks and Shares

This one is a short story inspired by a little planning I was able to do of my own recently. It wasn't anything quite as elaborate as this but, then, fiction is allowed to be stranger (and better organised, less expensive, less painful...) than truth!

With an unladylike grunt, Hannah picked up the shopping bags and elbowed her way into her flat. It was dark, the curtains pulled tightly shut, and she felt her knee bang against something in the middle of the kitchen. Suddenly she paused, stood stock-still, then slowly placed the shopping on the floor. The bags rustled loudly in the silence, then were silent. She held her breath.

The quiet sound of another person breathing in the darkness caused fear to seize her heart in an icy grip. She moved back towards where she knew the door was and fumbled for the light switch. Her own breathing quickened as she clicked it once, twice, each time failing to bring the lights to life.

A match flared in the darkness. Illuminating vague shadows, but she could see that her small table had been moved into the kitchen. Whoever was in there with her lit a cigarette and then waved the match out. There was the sound of a long inhalation, then a blowing sigh and the smell of smoke.

“Who... who’s there?” Hannah said. Her voice sounded high and brittle in the darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” came a low voice.

“Who’s that?” she asked, a little more firmly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave my home.”

“That’s not going to happen,” the voice replied, and there was the sound of fabric moving. Hannah instinctively moved back but not fast enough as hands came up, covering mouth and holding one wrist, pinning her against the wall. She let out a strangled yelp, but he was so much stronger than her.

Faster than she could react, he was behind her, his arm around her neck, one hand twisted behind her back. She struggled but he started to move her forward. The cigarette, still burning, invaded her nostrils with its acrid scent, but then underneath it she smelt the aftershave. His aftershave. With adrenaline still pumping around her system she suddenly realised that this was it, what they had agreed all those months ago. The idea of it actually happening both thrilled her and scared her, and she struggled anew, her mind burning with excitement and fear in equal measure.

He pushed her forward with stumbling steps into the lounge. Candles were alight there and, in the soft light, Hannah saw that the room had been transformed. There were black sheets draped over all the furniture and, impossibly, a pair of stocks stood in the middle of the room where the table normally was. As she was manoeuvred to stand in front of it, she could see it was made of black wood and metal, smoothly polished, and stood about chest-height on her. It was standing open, waiting, three metal hoops waiting to close over hands and neck.

The arm around her throat wasn’t choking her as much as the fear was and when he released her she coughed, head going forward. Quick as a flash he pushed down on the back of her head and the metal hoop was around her neck, leaving her feeling ridiculously vulnerable. It wasn’t comfortable but, she realised, the rim of the neck hole was lined with smooth leather, cool against her skin.

Stuck staring at the floor, Hannah was helpless as he kept hold of one wrist, twisting it cruelly behind her. She felt his hands come around and glide down her front, lightly touching her breasts and stomach. The hands went back up to her neckline and tugged at the buttons of her shirt. Hannah hung on to the frame of the stocks, slightly unbalanced in her heels and desperate not to choke herself further.

“Wait,” she panted, “I’ll give you money. You want money?”

She felt his fingers undoing the buttons one by one, the shirt falling open. Quickly he slipped it off of her arms and she heard him throw it to one side. The fingers deftly flicked her black bra open next, then stripped her of that as well. The hands grabbed first one wrist, fastening that into the stocks, then the other. Hannah was trapped.

Her skirt and heels felt like poor armour against the oncoming attack, and she braced herself for what was to come. In the far reaches of her mind she was telling herself that this was ok, that it was planned, but the suddenness and unpredictable nature of the attack kept her heart hammering. Her nipples hardened painfully in the cool air.

Hannah opened her eyes and tried to crane her head up to see where he was, but the hoop of the stocks kept her head low. He was off to one side, smoking, hand in pocket, dressed all in black with a hat pulled low to keep the candlelight from giving his features away.

Despite the situation, Hannah found her body anticipating what might come next, almost feeling betrayed by her own excitement. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he inhaled smoke, blew it out and then stubbed the cigarette out on a nearby candle-holder. He moved back behind her, out of sight.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he said. His voice was a low burr, dangerous and yet warm. “Keeping me awake all those nights, thinking what I would do to you. Planning this. And now, here you are.”

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