He runs out of time

Adam starts back towards the bed.

Those panties just have to come down, he thinks. I'll never get another opportunity to see Lady Chapman's pussy. I've got to take it

But then the bathroom door opens. Just a crack. But wide enough to make Adam freeze and panic.

"I'll be right out," a gruff man's voice. "And you'd better be ready for the fucking you deserve, you filthy little slut. I'm going to fuck the living shit out of you, and you're gonna cum like a cheap tart."

Lady Chapman mumbles into her gag, sounding indignant.

Helpless, but indignant.

Adam backs away, and slips out of the bedroom.

The heavy door shuts quietly behind him.

Then he runs.

He darts quickly down the corridor and runs down the spiral staircase, no longer caring about noise.

He imagines the gruff man chasing after him. He can feel his fingers reaching out for him.

Only when he reaches the safety of the second floor again does he stop.

He slumps to the floor, breathing heavily.

And then he laughs.

That was close. Too close.

But what a sight! What a vision Lady Chapman had been, bound helpless to the bed! Normally she was so elegant and suave. He'll never forget it.

For a moment he pictures the rough fucking he imagines she is getting from the gruff man. Tied and thrashing as he pounds her mercilessly into the mattress. The man had sounded mean and hard and nasty - the kind of man that would tie up poor Lady Chapman and subject her to such a shameful thing.

He grins. Filthy bitch.

He has caught his breath back. He starts off down the corridor again, past the blunt but shining weapons.

It's the daughter I want, he reminds himself. Not the mother.

He slips Lady Chapman's thong and nightdress into his jeans pocket, which bulges out, and begins making his way to Ilsa's room in the East Wing to complete the wager.