Linda's Late, What Happened Next

Arriving back from work on Friday night, she found another envelope on her door mat, hand delivered again, with just her name, handwritten on the front. Linda had been a solicitor's clerk for many years, she knew that the right thing to do was go straight to the police and tell them everything. Yet, because of her profession, she also knew the fearfully intrusive questions that she would have to answer, to the police and eventually in court.

What were you doing in that area?

Can you tell the court exactly how you were dressed on that day?

How could you be lost in an area where you have, by your own admission, worked for many years?

What was your real motive when you approached those young boys?

Why didn't you resist, scream or fight? Why didn't you report this alleged rape immediately?

The look in the eyes of all those people... the newspapers... Oh god! No! Anything but that! Her rape had been shocking, degrading and awful, but Linda was trying to come to terms with it and was attempting to move on. Her way of dealing with it, right or wrong, was to try and totally erase it, as if it never happened, but now, she began to realise, that may not be possible.

Linda was torn between ripping it open and ripping it up, but her shaking hands did neither. Sitting on her sofa, after a glass of wine to help calm herself down, she eventually read the letter.

"Hello Linda

Hope you enjoyed watching yourself getting well fucked we have watched it loads of times its really great but I don't think you would want your family or friends to see it.

Don't worry we are not going to take all of your money off you we are just a bit skint and we thought that nice Mrs Jones might help.

Anyway now you know what the stakes are we will ring you on your house number that we got off your phone, tomorrow at 10.00 a. m. and tell you how we want you to pay.

P. S.

This is important

DO NOT CALL THE POLICE OR ANYONE ELSE

DO EXACTLY AS YOU ARE TOLD!!!

If you don't the price will double and if try to trick us, or we end up getting done by the cops we will not have anything to lose so our mate will post copies of the video to your work place and through all your neighbours' letter boxes as well as online.

Mr Black and Mr White

Linda swallowed the remains of her wine. This was awful, but anyone finding out about... what had happened to her... after all this time, after she had tried so hard to hide it... even from herself... would be far worse! She hated the thought of being blackmailed and the idea of giving money to those scum, but what else could she do? She felt that she couldn't tell the police now, even if she wanted to, and the thought of doing so, terrified her anyway. Linda had no one else to turn to, to confide in, or seek advice from, without telling them everything. Reluctantly, she concluded that she had no choice. It wasn't a lot of money, she could afford to pay them off and if that made this all go away, it would be worth it. Linda wasn't convinced and realised that it seemed doubtful, but it was worth a try, wasn't it?

She shivered, just the thought of being in their power, following their coarse instructions, but then, that thought also stirred something uncomfortable inside her. Linda shook her head, what was wrong with her? She appeased her self-recriminations by reasoning that she really had no choice in the matter and pushing it from her mind, poured another glass of wine. The mature divorcee lived alone, she had no one to discuss this horrible dilemma with and it wasn't something that she could imagine sharing with anyone, even if she did. Finally, she decided that she just had to try it. If it's money that they want, then she would just have to do it, but she didn't want to be alone with them! So, she had to make sure that she met them in a public space.

Linda finally came to terms with the realisation, that she would be complying with her blackmailer's coercion. Fleetingly, she had the unnerving thought that, paying off these criminals and submitting to their demands, carried disturbing parallels with not fighting back, when she was being raped by them. Once again, Linda banished all unwanted thoughts from her mind the way she always did. She tried to summon up a very English, middle-class "Keep calm and carry on" attitude. Pull yourself together and concentrate on the practicalities of gathering the money to begin with.

She went to the bank early, so at 10.00am on Saturday morning, she was pacing the house waiting for a call. She rehearsed over and over in her head what she would say, irritatingly they were late calling. Despite waiting for so long, when her telephone rang, Linda jumped nervously and snatched at it.

"Hello..."

"Hey, Mrs Jones, how's your day going...?"

Linda's nerves were strung out, but she didn't really recognise the voice on the phone

"Who is this?"

Her voice was sharp and quite high pitched.

"This is Mr White speaking... "

The voice had the hint of a smirk in it.

"Oh, stop all that Mr White, Mr Black nonsense... Who are you?"

He ignored, what seemed to him, a stupid question and tried one of his own.

"Have you got the money?"

Linda tried to cover her nervous anxiety by attempting to establish some sort of authority. All the things that she had rehearsed to say were forgotten, in the heat of the moment. She didn't know why, but she began to make it up as she went along.

"No, I... er no, I haven't got the money... and you are going to be in a great deal of trouble... I'm going to call the police if you don't leave me alone!"

There was a few seconds of muffled silence on the other end, suggestive of a hand being placed over the receiver and then another voice spoke, clearly angry, but icily cold.

"OK, enough fucking around bitch..."

"Don't call me that, I don't like it!"

"I don't give a fuck what you like, you dumb, stuck up, cunt... You call the police and I promise you that this video will be being watched by your family and friends, before the police can be bothered to get up off their fat, lazy, cop, arses to come round to see you!"

A wave of pure panic swept over Linda. She shouldn't have mentioned the police, she didn't know why she had, now she had antagonised them, it was all going wrong.

" No, no... don't do that... I.. I haven't called the police yet... "

She needed to appease him.

"... and the money, I have the money for you... I have it here, now! "

So much for establishing some sort of authority! There was a few seconds pause, before a slightly calmer tone continued on the other end. However, the person's voice, which she assumed to be the black lad's, remained harsh and assertive and left no room for misunderstanding.

"... you fucking better have it... We will be around to pick it up tomorrow morning... and if I so much as see a cop on the way... "

Linda's stomach flipped at the thought of meeting her rapists, face to face, alone at her house, she had to disuede them.

"No! No... please not here..."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I want to leave the money somewhere and you can pick it up..."

"You don't get to dictate terms Mrs Jones, we're not in your fucking solicitor's office!"

"Please... I don't want to meet you here... alone... I... I..."

"Worried about what your respectable neighbours might think?"

"Yes... I mean, no... Oh look, you must realise that I'm too frightened to meet two of you, alone again... after... after... what happened!"

"Well you ain't dropping that money off anywhere... you already said that you wanted to call the cops and we ain't walking into no trap!"

Linda, despite having inexplicably wrong, sordid, erotic fantasies about that day, was still traumatised by the squalid, humiliating reality of her rape. She was very frightened by the thought of even meeting her attackers again, let alone possibility of anything like that happening again.

"I promise that I won't involve the police... I could take the money to the... church..!"

Linda hadn't thought it through, it had just occurred to her.

"At the church tomorrow... I could... "

Lloyd thought that she was losing the plot.

"What the fucking hell are you talking about you dumb bitch...?"

"No, please... listen, I can't meet you alone, but... but if you came to St. Mary's Church, where I attend tomorrow, there would be other people there, it would be safer... and perhaps I could pass you the envelope, with the money there... somehow?"

"Church! What the f......"

There was a muffled interruption, that Linda couldn't quite hear and then a short exchange took place, whilst the receiver was covered. Then the original youth she had spoken to, came back on the phone. He seemed less aggressive and more amenable to the idea.

"So, just be clear you want to give us the money at your church Mrs Jones?"

"Yes, yes there will be no trouble, I promise... you must understand... I can't risk being alone... with you..."

Her soft middle class voice trailed off and there was a few seconds of silence before his far more confident voice resumed.

"Hmmm! I see... well if we agree to meet at this church... there will be conditions..."

Making the payment in her church, at Sunday worship, would guarantee her safety and keep them away from her home, she breathed a mental sigh of relief and agreed readily... perhaps too readily.

"Yes, yes, what do you want?"

"OK Mrs Jones you got a deal. All you got to do is dress up a bit for us!"

Linda cringed at the thought.

"I... I can't go to church dressed... like... a trollope!"

Robbie sniggered at her tone of middle class outrage and the use of such an old fashioned term.

"Oh dear, such language from a church going lady... You will wear what I tell you to wear, or we'll be round your house to discuss the matter, understand!"

Linda remained silent, Robbie took that as a tacit agreement.

"Now, although it would be a real laugh to see you turn up to church, in a mini skirt, fishnet stockings and those lovely, big tits, spilling out of a tight vest top... '

Linda coloured up and she distinctly heard the other youth burst into laughter, away from the phone.

"... I think that might draw a bit too much unwanted attention, don't you?"

"Please... I can't do that... people know me at church, the vicar... I have... my reputation..."

Robbie cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah! We wouldn't want to see your church reputation fucked up would we? Because... well let's just say that they don't know you like we do. Heh! Heh! Heh!"

Linda didn't find any of this awful situation remotely funny, she was close to tears as she quietly pleaded with her young tormentor..

"What do you want from me?"

"Well, let's see Mrs Jones... we really liked that you were all dressed up so nice, when we first met, that... well, we kind of expect you to maintain those standards, y'know what I mean? And, unless you want us to put the price up and come around your house to collect... we don't expect you to let us down!"

Linda remained silent, biting her lip, dreading what would be demanded of her, but whatever it was, it would be preferable to being alone in her house with them.

The idea had flashed through Robbie's mind as soon as he had heard her mention the church to Lloyd.

"I just want you to look your very very best for church Mrs Jones, I want you to put on your poshest, most elegant, Sunday dress... You know, pearls and shit like that... something special, I'm thinking mother of the bride here...!"

There was a gloating tone in his voice and she couldn't quite catch the mumbled comment, which came from the background.

"...eh? Oh yeah, and a hat.. Wear a nice posh hat... a lady like you is bound to have a Sunday hat for church... and some of your highest heels, that's very important... eh, what's 'at...?"

More low mumbling, followed by a short laugh.

"... yeah, yeah... and some of them nice little white gloves, like women wore on old films... Oh, yeah that's sweet man. Ha! Ha!

This was both humiliating and exasperating for Linda. She could tell that they were just trying to embarrass her and laughing about it, yet she was compelled to, not only, listen to their distasteful drivel, but would have to agree to their seedy, schoolboy, fantasies and carry out their whims. Her voice had a note of resignation, like a tired parent giving in to a willful child

"You want me to look completely overdressed and foolish, in order to embarrass me... yes... I see that this is just a joke to you... well I have no choice I suppose... is that it... is that all?"

"Well, now you mention it Mrs Jones... we haven't discussed your underwear, have we?"

"My what?"

"Your posh, dainty, fillies Mrs Jones! We know how much you like to wear sexy underwear Linda..."

Linda cringed as she remembered how, because of the planned office party, she had been wearing some of her more expensive, lingerie on the day of the rape.

"How dare you... you...!"

"Don't get on your high horse Mrs Jones, I'm not judging you, just stating a fact, you haven't got any secrets from us, remember? Now, all you have to do is wear some of those nice, shiny stockings with the lines up the back and some suspenders. Oh... I don't know if I mentioned it... but, don't put any panties on, we really like the idea of you singing hymns, in church, with no knickers. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

She could hear both of them laughing. Linda was mortified, and blushing furiously at the outrageously perverted and juvenile demands. Yet, at the same time, she felt that tingling feeling again, strangely erotic, hearing this nasty, young criminal, talking about her underwear and dictating to her what she could and couldn't wear, in church! It carried uncomfortable similarities to the perverted dictates of her ex-husband. The younger Linda had been regularly ordered her to wear specific items of clothing and underwear in public and at home, to pander to Gerald's twisted sexual desires. She had thought that such coercive control was behind her and she resented what they were trying to impose upon her.

"I won't do any such thing... You can have the money but...."

"Shut up! I ain't finished..."

The voice, suddenly louder and harsher, cut her off her indignation.

"... It was your fucking idea to meet us at the fucking church tomorrow. Would you sooner that we came 'round you place now... we know where you live and we know that you've got the money?"

Linda realised that, to do what they wanted, regardless of her feelings on the subject, was by far the lesser of two evils.

"No, no I didn't mean...!"

"Then shut the fuck up and listen... Go to the church tomorrow, as usual, sit at the back, you give us the money and we're gone, easy peasy... "

He paused to let the preferred option sink in.

"... But, if you don't show, if we don't get the money, or we smell any kind of rat,,, and if you're not dressed exactly..."

He paused again, after emphasising the word, exactly.

"... the way I say... the deal is off, your porn film is viral and... you can still expect a visit one dark night... Understood?"

Linda, a little shocked, found herself nodding at the receiver and had to make a conscious effort to speak, which she did with quiet resignation.

"Yes... yes... I understand"

"Good girl. See you at church then Mrs Jones"

Linda heard a burst of cruel laughter, just before the phone went dead.

Later, Linda couldn't stop thinking about the phone call. She dreaded tomorrow coming and, with the benefit of hindsight, thought that she may have made a mistake agreeing to it. However, they had made it plain, backing out wasn't an option now, she had no choice. Taking money from her, it seemed, wasn't enough, they wanted to humiliate her too.... stockings and high heels was one thing, but no panties!

Even alone, in the privacy of her own home, her face flushed crimson at the thought. These demands clearly stemmed from the fact that she had stupidly been wearing stockings and suspenders on that day. Oh God, was it all her fault, had she encouraged them and brought this on herself, with her foolish and vain penchant for nice clothes and expensive lingerie? The thought that someone might find out and utter that phrase "She was asking for it!", made her feel utterly ashamed, indecent... and at the same time, wanton and senselessly excited? Why were her feelings so inexplicably mixed up about this? These young men were nasty, degenerate, animals, any decent woman would be appalled at the idea of dressing to instruction for them, especially in such a vulgar fashion.

Despite all of this confusion, Linda knew that she would do what they said, she would have do it! She consoled herself with the thought that aside from being outwardly, overdressed, no one would know what she was wearing under her clothes. Linda had always dressed up for church anyway and often received complimentary comments from the young Reverend James and some of the older ladies. So, hopefully, she may not draw too much disparaging attention, but she knew that she would feel self- conscious. At least she thought that the church would be safe and she knew most of the other regular attendees. So, if she had to hand over money to these criminals, she would feel safer doing it at the church, they wouldn't dare touch her there.

When Sunday morning came, Linda was up early, after a sleepless night and feeling very anxious. She had the money, neatly sealed in an envelope, determined to go through with it one minute, and the next, holding her phone and contemplating that call to the police. Notwithstanding the early hour and shortly having to attend church, she again sought the support of a glass of wine, in the absence of anyone else to turn to. It worked, to an extent and although she couldn't contemplate breakfast, a few cups of coffee got her into the shower.

As the middle aged woman passed her full length mirror, she stopped, picked up her spectacles from the dressing table and looked at herself critically. Her shoulder length, auburn hair was still a little damp, but had been brushed out and was shiny, the dark fringe framing her, still pretty, face. Distractedly, she turned, silently assessing her 45 year old body. Her 40 D breasts were still round and full, which pleased her, but gravity had made them hang lower, without support. Her tummy was also soft, white and rounded and her hips and bottom were wider and more prominent, than she wanted, but no amount of dieting or spin classes had seemed to alter her assets much. Linda's figure could most kindly be described as a more rounded version of a 50's film star. Wearing her spectacles and aided by a holiday tan, she had twice been compared to the older, but still beautiful Sophia Loren. Although Linda had laughingly dismissed it, at the time, like most women, she had never forgotten it. As she dressed, a certain level of detachment, meant that Linda again felt that tingling mixture of fear, danger, and a sort of weird excitement. The adrenaline acting like a drug seeping into her system, heightening her anticipation....

"... all you have to do is wear some of those nice, shiny stockings with the lines up the back and some sexy suspenders. Oh... I don't know if I mentioned it... but, don't put any panties on..."

Linda could tell from the cocky tone of his voice, as he gave her the instructions, that he was confident his orders would be carried out. It was so wrong that young boys of that age, could exert such arrogant control over a respectable woman of her age, but what could she do?

Moving around her bedroom, she began to experience that strange, detached feeling again, which she had felt whilst watching the video. Like an actress in a film or a play, she began to carefully prepare for her role. She remembered that she had been told that she must wear a hat. Brushing her gleaming hair out straight, she then added a few soft curls. She reflected that she had worn a hat to church occasionally, usually to more important services, weddings or christenings. Linda always dressed up to go to church and often received appreciative comments from Reverend Ian James, the young vicar, who, for some reason, always showed the vivacious older lady a good deal of attention. Today was different though and this 45 year old member of his flock, had been given the task of looking outwardly respectable, whilst secretly appeasing her blackmailer's unsavoury demands. At first, after showering, Linda had wandered around her bedroom, in a fog of indecision, distracted by other thoughts. Perhaps, she could confide in the vicar? He was young and caring and seemed easy to talk to, but she just couldn't face telling such a nice, young man what had happened to her. No, no, that would be awful and, if she did, he would still insist on involving the police. She thought about the consequences of doing this and their explicit threat.