Spoiled Heiress Gets Kidnapped Ch. 05

I ran stark naked into the street, a pretty dodgy area with houses set for demolition, some of them boarded up. I had no idea where I was, but could hear cars some distance away so turned and ran as fast as my bare feet would carry me in that direction, in case the stunned Dwayne recovered, chased and caught up with me or his brothers got back from the pub earlier than expected.

There were three things I was glad of as I ran barefoot through the London night in the direction of the traffic sounds. One, that there was no glass or other nasties on this pavement. Two that I had been good at sports in school and could run fast. And three, that at least I had been kidnapped in the late spring month of May. Running naked through a freezing midwinter night in England in January or February would not have been pleasant.

Reaching the main road I ran towards some oncoming traffic, the streetlights illuminating my naked 19-year-old body. I looked a lot like Lady Godiva. Well, I wasn't riding a horse and I was in London rather than Coventry, but still I had the long blonde hair.

I waved at the vehicles trying to flag them down. A taxi driver sped past obviously not keen to stop and pick up a crazy naked girl, and a lorry did not stop either. Coming towards me slowly was a sedan, and I stepped into the road, waving at it.

"Hello, hello, I need help here!" I called out.

To my relief the car stopped and I ran across to it, seeing four very clean-cut young men inside it. The driver rolled down the window. "Can I help you Miss?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, you need to help me," I said. "I'm Harriet Holmes, the girl who was abducted. I escaped and you have to take me to a police station."

All four young men looked most uncertain, but the back door opened. "Jump in," the driver said.

"Thank you," I said, climbing into the back of the car between the two very astonished looking young men already sitting there. Being completely naked, they saw my vagina as I climbed into the seat and sat my nudity down between them.

"Hurry!" I urged them, the young man stepping down on the accelerator and driving away.

"You've been headline and front page news Miss Holmes," the man in the front passenger seat observed.

"I know I have," I said. Beside me, the two young men I was squeezed between were speechless and stunned. I saw one of them had a bible, the other a folder with 'Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints' on the cover. They were Mormons, and I bet the last thing they expected on their way to or from church tonight was to be giving a lift to a naked 19-year-old woman who had escaped her kidnappers.

We arrived at the police station, which was very crowded. All five of us burst in through the front doors and into the chaos of a busy Thursday night.

Attention went to me as well it should. No doubt there were very strange things to be observed in a police station on any given day, but a nubile and naked 19-year-old blonde girl running in was pretty extraordinary. Silence fell among some of the people who were there, but unfortunately there was a large group of yobbos and football hooligans, so soon there were wolf-whistles, jeering and cat-calls, such as 'Looking great, darling!'

Ignoring them, I marched up to the front desk and the bewildered young male constable who was behind it. "I'm Harriet Holmes and I want to speak to whoever is in charge," I said.

Soon, and to the disappointment of the yobbos in the front of the station who acted like they had never seen a naked woman before, I was taken away from the public part of the police station and given an over-sized button up shirt from lost property and a pair of disposable paper panties to wear, while the officers handling my kidnap case and my parents were notified. The four young Mormons went to give statements to the police.

As I waited, I felt the call of nature in my bladder and my bowels, maybe from the excitement of escaping, more likely from the awful food my captors had fed me earlier in the day.

"I need to use the toilet," I said to a female sergeant.

"I'll take you there Miss Holmes," she said, walking me to a female toilet, which was a single room containing a toilet, a sink and a sanitary bin.

Going inside, I turned on the light and closed and locked the toilet door. Walking on my bare feet to the toilet, I felt relief already at being able to sit on the loo to do my business in peace and privacy. I slid my paper knickers down to my ankles and sat down on the toilet.

My pee felt good as it flowed from my urethra and tinkled into the toilet water, but not as good as being able to get toilet paper and wipe my wet pussy. Relaxing my rectum, my anus opened and I farted loudly into the toilet, before my poo came with an almighty and very smelly rush.

And if I thought it felt good to be able to wipe my pussy after a piss, it was nothing compared to the relief of being able to unwind toilet paper from the roll and wipe my shit from my own arse. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be relieved to be able to wipe my bottom, but as I sat pooing on the toilet in the police station, I felt just this.

It took close to ten minutes for me to finish having my shit, and after wiping my bum clean I stood up and flushed the toilet. I then noticed some wet wipes on the cistern and took some, using them to wash first my vagina and then my buttocks and anus, before disposing of them in the feminine waste bin.

With the noise of the toilet cistern refilling continuing, I washed my hands, then opened the door. My toilet smell followed me out of the lavatory, and the female officer who had waited outside for me had to conceal her disgust as the stench of my shit hit her nostrils.

"Your parents are on their way right now, Miss Holmes," she said.

"Well take me to meet them," I said, feeling so relieved when my Daddy finally entered the room, Mum behind him. They had been escorted in the back way, to avoid the press who already were out the front having heard of my escape. As Daddy hugged me, so clearly relieved that the apple of his eye was safe, I kept thinking about what would happen to Dwayne when Rod and Nick found out I had escaped.

*

It didn't take the police long to arrest Rod, Nick and Dwayne. It seemed Rod and Nick were enraged that their bumbling younger brother had allowed me to escape while he was supposed to be watching me. This was understandable as no rich heiress meant no 12 million pounds of ransom money, not that the trio of twits were even a chance of getting so much as 12 pence out of their insane plan to extort ransom money from Daddy for my safe return.

I of course didn't see what happened, but from what came about Rod and Nick were so incensed by their younger brother's incompetence that they chased him, the Phillips brothers drawing attention to themselves by running through London yelling at each other at the tops of their voices, throwing projectiles and running across roads in front of cars, buses and lorries. Of course, people saw and heard the commotion and called the police, with the three brothers arrested for disorderly conduct.

Rod and Nick proved just as stupid as their younger brother as they were being dragged away by the police in handcuffs, yelling that they were going to 'fuck him up for letting Harriet Holmes escape'. This, my statements to police and plenty of forensic evidence led to Rod, Nick and Dwayne charged with kidnapping and extortion, as well as an array of other offenses.

There was also the small matter of the school exercise book in which Rod and Nick planned the crime, complete with flow charts of how they were going to abduct me, extort the ransom money and finally collect their twelve million pounds, all while evading the police referenced as 'the pigs' and 'the filth' in the incriminating exercise book, which none of the brothers thought to dispose of. There was also the last ransom demand to my parents, left sitting on the kitchen table. They also didn't think that getting rid of the distinctive stolen purple van they used to abduct me was a good idea. It was in the garage, my DNA and clothing fibers all over it along with those of the brothers. And in the bin were heaps of soiled period pads, the red blood AB negative.

The media sensation that began when I disappeared escalated exponentially after I was rescued and the brothers arrested. The pretty 19-year-old daughter of one of Britain's wealthiest men being abducted and held for ransom before escaping and the bumbling crooks being arrested was like crack cocaine to every media outlet in the UK and overseas, and for months after I could not go anywhere without being photographed or filmed.

Mum and Daddy thought I might have suffered some trauma from my ordeal, and arranged for me to have counselling with a psychiatrist, and not just any psychiatrist, one of the best and most expensive from Harley Street. But I didn't need counselling, I was perfectly fine and only went four times, the psychiatrist agreeing that my sessions were a waste of time for both of us, noting that he had never seen a patient, much less a 19-year-old girl, respond so well after a traumatic experience.

The publicity eventually died down a bit, but soon picked up again when the trial commenced. Rod, Nick and Dwayne pled not guilty, but the evidence was overwhelming, the brothers were useless in court when on the stand or trying to keep quiet during court proceedings - their defense barrister must have been exasperated and the trial judge most certainly was - and it took the jury less than an hour to return with guilty verdicts for all three Phillips brothers on all charges.

As star witness I was on the stand for longest, but looking across the courtroom I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Dwayne given he was clearly a follower and his older brothers the leaders, and he had at least been nice to me and helped me with personal things. I made sure when giving evidence that I emphasized how Dwayne was the follower who acted upon his older brothers' instructions, and how he had assisted me.

The judge handed down long prison terms to the Phillips brothers, but Dwayne did receive a lighter sentence than Rod and Nick, based on my descriptions of the brothers' dynamic while giving evidence and no doubt His Honor's own observations in court. I was glad. While Dwayne thoroughly deserved to go to prison for kidnapping me, he did not deserved to be as heavily punished as Rod and Nick.

Things of course were never the same for me after that. The attention while not as strong did continue after the trial, and some of it turned quite negative and nasty. One common rumor that went around given that it had come out at trial that I had slept with Dwayne as a means to escape was that I was nothing but a spoiled little rich girl who liked rough trade and mixed with bad guys. Apparently, I had not only been in on my own abduction with the three criminal brothers from London's East End I was in fact the mastermind behind the whole plot, orchestrating it to get my hands on even more of my Daddy's money, before setting up and selling the brothers out when the plan failed. Some of the things that came out at trial - that I had instructed the brothers what to put in the ransom letters so my parents knew I was still alive and the letters were genuine and that all three described me as 'bossy', 'demanding' and that I liked giving orders - were misinterpreted as me being complicit to the plot.

Was I a spoiled little rich girl? Yes. Did I like rough trade? Not exclusively, but some of the men I had let get into my knickers were hardly part of my own social status, but they were nice looking and had big cocks, which more than satisfied me. But did I set up the whole kidnapping thing? Not a chance darling, not a chance in hell. If I had set up such a scheme I would have chosen far more competent accomplices, and most definitely would not have been in a position where one of the guys had to pull my knickers down, sit me on the toilet, wipe my bottom when I took a shit, change my dirty knickers and also change my pads and wash my vagina for me when I got my period.

Daddy and I engaged our high-priced lawyers to try and head off some of these rumors from being reported in the tabloids with threats of lawsuits for libel, but unfortunately one cannot stop gossip in the street completely, and the stories still circulated around England and abroad. It wasn't helped that from inside gaol Nick Phillips in an attempt to get an appeal and retrial began claiming that the rumors were true, that I was indeed the fourth conspirator on the plot, but given that he had changed his story about five times already, this was not believed and quickly died on the vine.

So what happens when a pretty rich blonde girl gets abducted and held for ransom? A movie gets made of course, and in 1996 a movie about my kidnapping was made and released. It starred a young soap opera actress as me, and while I have to say she did flatter my good looks, I was not impressed by my portrayal overall. I was depicted as a hapless cry baby, a damsel in distress who burst into tears at the drop of a hat and spent the whole time sobbing, when in fact throughout the ordeal I never cried once.

Of course, no mention was made in the film about how I changed my knickers, went to the toilet and how I managed my periods which I was grateful for, and my escape was different than what really happened. Rather than making a run for it naked after fucking Dwayne, movie version me was depicted as persuading him to let her take a bath, then managing to open the bathroom window and escape that way. And movie me had her nudity covered by a bathrobe, while I was stark naked running through London and getting into the Mormons' car, like a modern day version of Lady Godiva.

Some documentaries were made about the case, a serious one the same year and another one in 1997 about dumb criminals, and I was more impressed with my portrayal in those TV shows than in the movie. Then there was of course the book deal. Initially I was to work with an author engaged by the publishers to put my story into print and it to make millions as a worldwide bestseller, but I could not get along with the fat old bag writing the book and we parted ways acrimoniously, the author describing me as 'one very difficult young lady'.

I then took over writing the book myself, but some people are meant to be writers and others not, and I definitely fell into the latter category. By the time I finished it was late 1997, and after editing and other processes involved in publishing the book didn't get released until the middle of 1998. Of course, by this time more than four years had gone by since my kidnapping and the story had long since faded from the television screens, radios and newspaper pages, and it was a major flop. By 1999 the only place one might see the book was in the bargain bins of bookshops, where one could buy five paperback books for five pounds, presumably for one to read by torchlight when power failed due to the Y2K bug.

At home and in my personal life, things were changing too. Paul and Simon got married, and I could not stand either of their wives, the feelings of hatred completely mutual. And my friends and I were drifting apart. Camilla claimed that the fame had gone to my head and disassociated herself from me, while Annabelle and Sophie both got married and drifted out of our circle of friends.

I have to say that my falling out with my friend Felicity was entirely my fault. She walked in on me when I had my knickers down and her fiancé Andrew had his head between my legs and up my skirt, eating out my pussy. Andrew was actually a doctor who was specializing in gynecology, but what he was doing with my vagina would have seen him struck off as a medical practitioner had he done it with a patient, a fundamental breach of the Hippocratic Oath.

Felicity freaked of course, the engagement ending and me ending up with the nickname 'Harriet the Homewrecker', our friend Sophie siding with her, and me blacklisted in London society as a slut. There was much unpleasantness with Felicity's parents, who had spent thousands of pounds already on their daughter's 600 guest and now cancelled white wedding for London's social elite. Although maybe Felicity should have taken some of the blame, Andrew only wanted to go down on her, and as Felicity kept her knickers up and her vagina off limits to him for this purpose, he was always going to find another vagina somewhere to do this. It just happened that the vagina he found happened to be my vagina. And I was always more than willing to get my knickers down.

This happened in the year 2000 which wasn't a good start to the new millennium, and things only got worse the following year when Daddy fell sick in July and died in September. He actually died on September 11 2001 which led to people wrongly claiming for years afterward that Keith Holmes the rich British businessman died in the terrorist attacks while in America, but this of course was not the case. Daddy was in no position to travel anywhere by that stage, and he passed away in palliative care in a London hospital that morning.

My father's death soon brought to a head simmering tensions within the family over Daddy's business interests, my brothers and their wives on one side, me on the other. Mum tried to keep out of it. Of course I called in lawyers as did my brothers and sisters-in-law, but an out of court settlement was reached.

I received a simply enormous cash settlement to keep out of the family business, and coupled with the regular income from my trust fund, it would set me up for life. And I met and married Grant, a very handsome rich young man from a very wealthy UK family. So now, if I didn't already have enough money of my own, I had access to plenty of my husband's money too.

Grant's parents were not at all happy that their son had chosen to marry me. Rumors still circulated that I was involved in my own kidnapping, and that I had set up three guys to take the fall. Then of course there was the 'Harriet the Homewrecker' tag after my affair with my friend's fiancée, the nasty legal battles with my brothers and the fact that drama seemed to follow me around like a character from a soap opera. Eventually they came to accept me more, but never really warmed to me as a daughter-in-law. I never really cared less about what they thought.

Getting out of London seemed the best option for Grant and I, and we bought a large house on the coast at Devon to live a quiet life in the countryside, where we had two children, a daughter and son, now both aged in their early teens. My kids have never really played a major part of my life, I'm not the maternal type. I engaged a nanny to look after them when they were younger and packed them off to boarding school at the first possible chance. And during the school holidays, it was visits to their grandparents, camps and when Grant and I took the children on a holiday, we always found plenty of activities to keep them occupied and out of the way, such as kids' clubs on cruise ships.

Having children was a source of pride for me, especially given that one of my estranged brothers and his wife could never have children, despite really wanting them and wasting fuck only knows how many thousands of pounds on IVF all to no avail. And with my other brother and his wife, they did have a healthy daughter but their son was born a retard and can only sit in his wheelchair drooling and going 'blub-blub-blub' all day.

With me, who didn't really give a shit if she had kids or not, all she had to do was take off her knickers, spread her legs and let her husband mount and fuck her at the mid-point in her cycle, and nine months later delivers a healthy daughter with no pregnancy problems. Rinse and repeat 18 months later for our son.