He fell into his role quickly, loving the power. Kneeling behind her, face close, he inspected her again. He parted her lips and pushed with his fingers, before putting his tongue to her and tentatively licking along the opening. Was it his first time Kate asked herself. She sensed his lust and arousal and it frightened her.
Choosing a crop from the assorted implements left by Richard, he moved behind her, before taking a practice stroke in the air. The whistle it made alarmed Kate. The second whistle ended with a blazing sting across her buttocks, quickly repeated as she tried to twist and turn against the straps, desperate to escape the assault. The pain in her wrists and ankles became unbearable and her muscles ached from the strain. Her back soon felt raw, a mass of burning, her tears flowed and her throat felt sore from the screaming.
Was he experienced enough–sensible enough–to know when to stop? If not, how could they do that to her, how could she do it to herself?
He did stop but her screaming continued before turning to crying and finally sobbing. She once again marvelled at how quickly the human body recovered, moving from acute pain to a dull throbbing in just a few minutes. She liked that stage, gaining a comfort from the hot sensations as they spread through her body, reminding her of her need to suffer.
The sound of shoes thrown to one side, a zip pulled down and clothing being removed told of his next intention. Standing behind her he prepared himself, his erection felt cool against her burning buttocks. The probing at her holes forewarned of the inevitable. Bending forward to ease his entry, he rested his hands on her back. Which was his target? Thankfully, he slid easily into the larger opening. Her relief was short lived. Withdrawing slowly before lunging forward to bury himself into the tight passage brought another scream as the muscle failed to accommodate him quickly enough. The frenzied pounding soon made the opening hot and raw, her thoughts alternated between which was the most likely outcome; her opening being split or him losing control and the ordeal ending. As his tempo increased her tight opening paid the price. Was it blood she could feel dripping down her leg or fluid from her arousal?
Thankfully his lack of experience soon caused him to lose control, flooding her rear with his sperm, but his immediate and hurried withdrawal caused further suffering to the tortured opening. Despite the pain Kate also felt a loss, she felt empty but grateful for the cool air which soothed the burning.
Even at the end of her ordeal she continued to cry. The soreness and abuse she could tolerate, what upset her most was feeling dirty–used by a man she considered to be a slob. The humiliation was supposed to be her turn on, what she wanted from the encounters, but why somebody like him? Couldn’t she be humiliated by somebody a little more handsome, a little less repulsive? Should she even be thinking that way? Was it her place to pick and choose her abusers? Was that submission?
He dressed behind her before moving to face her and lifting her head, looking her in the eye.
“I’m leaving now, but you can be sure of seeing me again. I’ll request your services very soon, I promise.”
“You have to undo these straps before you go, you can’t just leave me here like this.” Her sobbing resumed and she started to panic.
“I was told to leave you there when I’d finished with you, and that’s what I’m doing.”
At the top of the stairs he turned out the lights and opened the door to the porch. Kate tried one last desperate attempt to get him to release her.
“Please don’t leave me here, please.” No reply came as she heard the door close.
“Bastard!” she shouted after him.
Remaining there in the dark and all alone, she wondered what would become of her. Her tears flowed. She hated him, how could he just leave her like that.
As the time slowly passed her level of anxiety increased. What a fool she was, how could she let them do it? Look at the state of her body, his sperm dripping from her. Why do it?
Her head snapped up, turning toward the sound of the kitchen door opening. Richard. Thank goodness he hadn’t gone after all, he was still there. A beam of light from the kitchen fell on her used, stretched and tortured body making the sweat glisten. Helen appeared at the top of the stairs, pausing briefly when she saw the image of Kate. She slowly descended the spiral staircase.
“Helen, thank god you’re here, I thought that swine had left me here. Get me off here, my arms are numb.”
Ignoring the request Helen circled her, deep in thought. Richard wanted to involve her, have her witness Kate’s cruel treatment, and see her tortured body. Was he testing her reaction? She was transfixed by the display: in awe.
She looked at the welts, red and raw. She put out a hand and touched, caressed, and traced a finger along the raised ridges on her back and buttocks. The criss crossed angry red marks failed to shock her, she was intrigued rather than horrified.
The spell was broken by Kate bringing her back from her thoughts.
“Helen…Helen…will you undo me from here?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, here let me.” Helen carefully undid the straps. “Look what he’s done to you. Why would Richard want that?”
“I deserved it, it’s what I asked for, it’s my fault not his, or the people at Oakham.” Kate found herself defending them despite her own thoughts only a few minutes earlier.
“I envy you two. Pick your foot up. Careful, there.”
“What do you mean, envy us?”
“How much you must love each other. You to trust him enough to have this done to you and him to love you enough to see you treated like this because he knows that’s what you want. You’re so lucky.”
“I suppose it’s a more meaningful proof than a bunch of flowers every now and again.” They both laughed at their stupid conversation.
“Come on you need to get in the shower, I’ll get us both a drink.”
Kate joined Helen in the lounge, feeling refreshed after her shower.
“Feeling better?”
“I’m just fine, I’ve had worse and I’m sure there’ll be worse ahead, don’t worry.
“You get over it very quickly, I’m impressed.”
“It gets easier, you get used to it.”
“This will cure anything,” said Helen, handing her a glass of cold white wine.
“Lovely, you’re a pal.” Kate pulled her towelling robe around her and slumped back into the deep sofa. Helen sat on the floor by her feet, her arm resting on the cushion.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Kate asked.
“Oh, well that’s a nice way to talk to your knight in shining armour.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m glad you’re here, you know that.”
“Richard asked if I’d come and make sure you were okay. You know he wouldn’t leave you on your own, it wouldn’t be safe. You should trust him more.”
Guilt suddenly swept over her, she’d called him all sorts of things for leaving her there, tied up and alone. She should have known he wouldn’t do that. She would make it up to him when he got back.
“I’m sorry you had to hear all that, you know, me screaming and all, and seeing the marks he left, sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, its good, no problem.” Kate waited during the long pause which followed, getting the impression that Helen hadn’t finished. “Kate, Can I tell you something?”
“Of course you can, what is it?”
“Seeing you like that…I enjoy it. I mean, like when I go with you to Colonel Mason’s and he beats you, it turns me on.”
“Well that’s probably normal; you’re an open minded sort of person.”
“No, I mean really turned on, as in getting myself off with my plastic friend when I got home…twice.” Kate laughed. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, just the situation. How weird we’d both look to other people–if only Melissa was here listening to this.”
“She’d think it was cool, like everything else.”
“So what was the turn on for you?”
“I couldn’t stop imagining being in your place, being held there having to take it. Do you think I should…you know…give it a try?”
“Of course not!” Kate snapped, “you’re too beautiful, proud and confident. You’re happy with your lot, why would you want to do that?”
“Listen to you. Isn’t that exactly what I told you all those months ago. Those are the qualities I admire in you, and it hasn’t done you any harm has it? Well apart from the obvious.” She gestured towards Kate’s backside.
“Are you going to stay over tonight?”
“I can if you like.”
“Right, I’ll get another bottle,” she said as she poured the last into their glasses. Shouting from the kitchen Kate carried on the conversation. “Anyway, getting back to you and this, I’m a dirty pervert who needs to be disgusting, but you’re classy and dignified.” She placed the new bottle onto the low table and flopped back into the sofa.
“That’s rubbish Kate and you know it. I’ve always known there’s something I’m missing, wanting I suppose. Why do you think I don’t have long term relationships? I just can’t imagine getting what I want from the people I date, nice as they are. I’ve thought about it a lot since you started this.”
“When did you start to think this way?”
“I always have, just like you. Oh, I have the fantasies and all that. Why do you think I wasn’t happy about you doing this and tried to talk you out of it. You remember, in the cafe when you told me you were going to do it? I was jealous.” She looked down, ashamed.
“Helen, jealousy’s natural, we all feel it.” Kate stroked her hair, comforting her.
“It just didn’t seem fair, I’d wanted it for so long and you suddenly said you’re going to do it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“It’s not the sort of thing you tell people is it?” Realising her poor choice of words, she clarified herself. “Unless you’re Kate Adams of course.”
“Kate the shameless pervert?”
“No, Kate who went and got what she wanted, Kate who was brave enough to defy convention. Do you think I should try and be that brave?”
“You don’t know what you’re saying–or what’s involved.”
“Of course I know, you’ve told me, I’ve seen it.”
“Not all of it, not the disgusting things, the things I haven’t shared with you.” Kate tried to put her off, feeling protective towards her. “And you said yourself, things progress, get more extreme. What might I have to do in the future?”
“If that’s what it takes that’s what I’d do.”
“Think what it’s like, how you’d feel. Even being naked in front of strangers is bad enough, but standing there while they look at you, with your private parts out and on show is dreadful.”
“I’ve imagined it and fantasised about it just the same as you did.”
“Then think what it’s like to have somebody else decide who’s going to have sex with you. Can you think what that’s like? Having to open your legs for somebody you don’t know, who you don’t even like the look of and feel him forcing his way into you, just like I had to earlier with that geek, think about it.”
“Oh I am.” Helen said, closing her eyes, feigning arousal.
“Don’t be disgusting, I’m being serious.”
“I know, and I know it’s with good intentions, but…”
“You’re serious aren’t you? You want to try this.” Helen looked embarrassed, talking about others doing it was one thing but admitting it was what she wanted was difficult.
“Yes, yes I do.” Kate leaned down and hugged her. She remembered back to how hard it was for her to admit her feelings to Richard, her husband. If Helen could open up to a friend like that then she must be serious.
“It’s OK, there’s no need to be embarrassed sharing this with me, I should know, look at my recent history.”
“I think I would like to try it but I don’t know if I could take it–be as brave as you. Some of it does sound horrible but it doesn’t put me off, why is that?”
“That’s the benefit of being submissive. You don’t have to sort out the conflict in your mind, you just do what you’re told and accept what comes, you’re given permission to be a slut and do dirty stuff. You’re free from any guilt, it wasn’t your fault, you were forced. There are benefits see.”
“Now you’re just talking it up see, trying to tempt me even more, you tease.”
“It is serious though, you need to be sure about it and what could happen to you.”
“Like what? I mean you’ve told me stuff that you’ve had to do.”
“You’d be shagged.”
“Good, and…”
“Shagged everywhere its possible, not just pleasant lovemaking, and sex with women.”
“You haven’t have you?” Helen turned to face her, a look of esteem on her face. “Really?”
“Of course, and you’d have to do it with whoever you were told, it could be me. Oh they’d love that, making you do things with your best friend.”
“I could think of worse.” Kate raised her eyebrows at her.
“And any of the members could use you, Richard’s a member, he could have you. I’d kill him if he did but that’s the reality. It would be his right.”
“Kate, as wrong as it sounds, you trying to put me off is just turning me on, and anyway, even if I did all those things, it wouldn’t be my fault would it, I’d be forced.”
“Don’t be a smart arse with me young lady or I’ll smack your backside myself.” Her smile put Helen at ease. “I think you might be cut out for it after all. Pass your glass, there’s no point in leaving this bit.”
“Thanks, anyway the turn on for me is different. You like the humiliation and being shamed. My fantasies are always about the pain and the suffering. You know when you told me about having to wear butt plugs to stretch you.”
“Yes.”
“Well I just thought how sexy it would be to be forced to do it with no preparation; I got turned on from the thought of it hurting.”
“These are inventive people, show that you can take it and there’s more to come.”
“There you go again, see, turning me on.”
“Will you be serious. Even if it was for you they may not be the people for you. They take on slaves; you may only want the physical bit and not what comes with it. We have to do as we’re told, be obedient. You’re a slave or you’re not, there’s no in between. Oakham can’t operate on negotiation, only compliance.”
“I think I’m still willing to give it a try, I need some excitement in my life. I should get rid of the careful, reliable Helen…let go…be a slut…face the challenge.
Do you think they’d give me the chance?”
51
Nearly two weeks had passed since Kate had been used by Marshall Ralston in the gym, so it was unlikely that he’d complained. Her duties at the Boardroom had produced nothing out of the ordinary, so why had she been summoned?
The welcome from Grace came with her usual warmth and efficiency, suggesting that Kate was still in favour at Oakham. Being shown straight through to Weston’s office denied Kate the opportunity to try and calm her nerves. Weston’s greeting also proved to be friendly and polite, putting her more at ease. The two visitors already waiting in the office both stood and shook her hand as Weston introduced them. The elder of the two, a casually dressed man in his late fifties reminded her of a typical country gent, looking quite out of place in the city. The other, an attractive young lad perhaps in his late twenties, constantly swept back the long blond hair from his forehead. His eyes flicked from one person to the other, unable to stay focused on any one point, indicating his unease, and probably his reluctance to be here.
“Would you like to join us in a coffee Catherine?”
“No thank you Sir, I’m fine.”
“Very well. You must be wondering why we’ve asked you here, so I’ll come straight to the point. This is Mr. Donald Mercier, one of our members, and his nephew, James. James has been seeing his young lady for, what is it now James, two years?” the young man confirmed it with a nod, requiring the hair to be swept back once again.
“The young lady in question has been serving at the Boardroom, on a regular basis, for the past four years. James here knows of her activities and has always respected her wish to continue. The issue which has now arisen is James’s intention to propose to the young lady. Her wish, when she reaches 25, is to become a full slave to the group, like yourself.”
“I see.” Kate looked from one visitor to the other, gauging their reaction to Weston’s summary. There was none.
“Quite. Donald has asked us to make clear to James what the implications would be, to explain to him the difference between girlfriend and wife. The conflict is between her commitment to him and her commitment to us.”
“You see Catherine,” Donald said, “she wants to continue to serve the group, needs to continue would probably be more accurate, but would also most likely accept James’s proposal. I’ve no doubt that she loves James and, if he asked her to give up her slavery, she might agree. But for how long? How long would it be before her need to submit came to a head and caused her to want to return? The implications for the relationship are obvious.”
“Whilst we have no intension of interfering in other people’s personal affairs,” Weston continued, “we thought it best for James to see and hear all the ramifications before making such an important decision. The young lady has had training, enjoys what she does and has never tried to hide her activities from James. She needs it, it’s part of her, but, I fear that James only tolerates rather than supports her in it and there lies the possibility of conflict.”
“Probable conflict,” Donald corrected. “James isn’t a member and may not be fully aware of what her duties involve.”
“As we’ve said, the young lady has served us willingly and has asked to be considered for a full time contract, which we would be more than happy to grant, if it’s in the best interests of all those involved.”
The side of the group she was seeing impressed Kate. They weren’t taking what they wanted or using people for their own selfish reasons regardless of the impact on people’s lives. They were showing a high level of concern, and doing it in a tactful manner.
“I thought it would be of benefit if these gentlemen could ask you for your views and opinions on these matters, to help James see the road ahead. What do you think?”
“Of course, I’m happy to help.”
“Excellent, please answer truthfully and fully, hold nothing back.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Gentlemen, fire away.”
The young lad spoke for the first time. “Tell me, why do you want to do this, I mean, you’re very attractive and from what I hear, successful in business, why do you want more?”
“It’s not that I want more but need more, it’s an inner thing, part of me and it’s fulfilling.”
“Could you stop now if your husband asked you to?”
“It’s part of me, my make up, and now my life style. One day I’ll be too old, then who knows what will happen, but to have it taken away, that’s different. If my husband gave an ultimatum; it or him…well that would cause a very difficult situation.”
“Is it completely voluntary?” James asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And there’s no payment or force?”
“Of course not, no. Myself and the group are doing each other a favour.”
“So you like the treatment you receive?” Donald asked.
“Yes of course, it’s often tough but I need that.”
“And painful?” James asked.
“At times, yes.”
“You’d have to get used to seeing her body mistreated and marked.” Weston continued. “She’s already been spanked, you may have seen the results, but full slavery would up the stakes. Her suffering would increase dramatically.”
Donald looked uneasy posing such a personal question to Kate; “how does your husband cope with you having sex with other men?”
“He sees it as part of my slavery, separate from our marriage and a means to an end, nothing personal.” Donald looked to James checking that he understood the purpose of the question and, in case he hadn’t, Weston continued to clarify the point.
“She’d become a group slave James, which means that she’d be used by whoever we wish, could you cope with that?”
“But that’s not safe.”
“Oh it is, all of the members have the appropriate medical checks and are fully vetted beforehand. We look after each other, don’t we Catherine?”
“Yes Sir.”
“And you enjoy it?” Donald asked.
“Yes I do. I knew I wanted this but now I know I need it. I want to obey, it satisfies me. The harder it is to obey, the more satisfied I feel.”
“But what won’t you do?”
“The question’s irrelevant. I have to do as I’m told. There’s no negotiation, it’s obey or leave.”
“But don’t you want to be free?” James asked.
“I am free, free to be myself, not constrained by moral standards imposed by society or other people’s opinions. I just do it, whether it’s acceptable, wrong, disgusting or painful doesn’t matter.”
“But you could get all that without the pain and the suffering, why is that necessary?” James asked.
“That’s what we have to endure, the price we have to pay, and we’re happy to do it.”
Weston continued his questioning. “Could you see your young lady doing these things and then coming home to you, her loving husband?”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he admitted.
“Well you should, and preferably before asking her to marry you. These women are volunteers, but they do what’s asked of them, however distasteful. Catherine, take off your dress.”
The young man once again looked ill at ease as Kate stood before him in only her stockings and heels.
“It seems to make you uneasy James.”
“Yes, she doesn’t know us.”
“Picture your young lady here, doing this. Catherine, bend over the desk.” Kate turned to face Weston, obeying the instruction, the two gentlemen behind her faced with the view of her exposed openings.
“Open your legs Catherine. Picture your wife on display to strangers like this James; it could be her turn one day. But you’re enjoying it aren’t you Catherine?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Tell them how you feel.”
“Awkward and humiliated Sir.”
“Don’t you feel like getting up to stop it?” James asked, cynical of her complicity.
“No, it’s my duty to obey; the humiliation is my own problem. Besides, it would embarrass Mr. Weston.” He smiled at her.
“Are these gentlemen free to touch your body?”
“Yes Sir.”
“She’s well trained, one of our best.” Kate blushed at the compliment. “Your fiancée could be here, about to be used and she would also agree to it. You’ll have to live with that James. Don’t kid yourself that you could, be certain. You need to know what you’re getting into. I would suggest that you base your decision on facts you’ve heard and things you’ve seen here today, don’t assume it will be any different for your young lady and yourself.”
Having obtained the information they went for, Donald suggested they leave, having taken up enough of Mr. Weston’s time. Both thanked him and left the office. Before following them out, Weston told Kate to dress, but asked if she would stay for a short while: he had another matter to discuss with her.
As she stood, waiting patiently for his return, Kate’s curiosity resurfaced. Having seen out his visitors Weston returned to the office.
“Please sit down Catherine, relax.”
“Thank you.”
“You were a credit to the group Catherine, well done.”
“Thank you Sir.”
“I’ve asked you to stay for a short while to inform you of an offer we’ve had, an offer to purchase you.”
“What!” she exclaimed rather too loudly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”
“Oh don’t worry; I expected you’d react like that.”
“But what do you mean?”
“Slaves are property and therefore can be bought and sold. We do this openly, well in reality slaves sell themselves, they get the money from the sale.”
“The stunned look on your face tells me you have no idea what I’m talking about,” her confusion amused him, “so let me explain. From time to time we have auctions or conduct individual sales of slaves.”
“Why would people do that?”
“There are various reasons, and they’re not as dark and sinister as you’re no doubt imagining; but we’re not into people trafficking or anything like that, don’t worry.”
“That’s a comfort at least.”
“You see, some of the younger slaves have no commitments and do it for the thrill. Older ones often do it purely for the money. At the last auction we had a slave who sold herself to a new master for a year. The money she earned enabled her and her husband to retire early. That was quite extreme, and quite unusual, one year of full time slavery, but it paid well.”
“That’s amazing.”
“What normally happens though is that people buy control of a slave, which is what we’ve been offered in your case. If an offer were to be accepted, control of the slave passes to the new owner; they then have her for their personal use or to share with whoever they choose, it’s up to them. The slave still lives on their own or with their partner, goes to work, sees friends and family and so on. For them all that changes is that they’re under the control of a different master or mistress.”
“But how are they paid?”
“The details vary with each transaction, but normally the slave gets a small salary to cover her living costs and, if they complete the contract receive the rest as a sort of bonus payment. If they fail to finish they forfeit the lump sum. It’s all official and overseen by lawyers. Partners are usually happy to go along with it, it’s not a lot different for them, just that their wife is being abused by different people.”
“Incredible, but I suppose I can see why people would do it.”
“Oh yes, imagine it, you’re on your own, in a job you’re not that keen on and you’re into the lifestyle. Along comes someone who wants to pay you a huge sum of money to treat you like you wanted to be treated anyway. It’s all your birthdays at once.”
“I can see that, yes.”
“The downside is of course, if it’s done through an auction there’s often more money paid but you don’t know who’ll buy you, and by then it’s too late to pull out, but for a lot of the women who do it, that’s part of the thrill.”
“Are you thinking of selling me?” Kate held her breath as she waited for the answer.
“Of course not, don’t worry.” She let out the breath, relieved. “But we could do of course, and you’d have no say in it. You’re our property, to do with as we like.” His words struck home. Kate felt a surge of excitement pass through her. She didn’t want to be sold in the way he’d described, of course not, but the thought that she could be, without her consent, thrilled her.
“After all the training we’ve put you through we want to get our returns,” he joked, “but we do have an obligation to pass on these offers as the slave themselves might choose to be sold, and we think they have that right.”
“So you won’t sell me then?”
“No, not unless you wanted it.”
“Anyway, who wants to buy me?”
“The couple who had the successful bid at the charity auction.”
“Can I ask how much?” Kate smiled, knowing he’d see through the reason for her question, which was not curiosity.
“Ah, the vanity of women, never far away is it. I can’t disclose that if there’s no intention to go ahead, but it was substantial, and only an opening offer. I’m sure they’d go higher. Are you reconsidering now?”
“No!”
“I was only joking.”
Later that evening as Kate and Richard enjoyed their pasta meal she couldn’t resist the urge to share her news.
“Richard…”
“Yes?”
“Do you value me?”
“What do you mean, value you? I love you, you know that.”
“Value’s different though isn’t it? I know you went all the way to £7.50 at the auction,” he smirked, “but how would you really value me, you know if you had to bid real money from your own pocket to keep me?”
“Oh blimey, I don’t know, how can you put a price on beauty, intelligence, wit and an ability to engage in stimulating conversation, unlike this one?”
“Well someone can.”
“Can what?”
“Put a price on those qualities you so correctly attributed to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Somebody has made an offer to buy me from Oakham.”
“Buy you?”
“Don’t sound so surprised and it was a substantial offer apparently.” She passed on the information Weston had shared with her earlier.
“That’s incredible.”
“Oh thanks very much.
“No I didn’t mean that, I meant that the system’s there, that people do that.”
“Well as he said, look at the benefits for those who want to do it. They’re turning their fantasies into a short term, full time, highly paid job. Just imagine being well paid for doing something that you’d be happy to do for nothing, it’s ideal.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right…what would my cut be?”
“Richard, you’d get nothing, it would all be mine.”
“What, I should at least get a finder’s fee.”
52
The niggling headache had been with Kate since she woke from her afternoon nap: over an hour before. Earlier in the day a message had informed her of an assignment; her services were required at an Inner City hotel that evening. The damned headache had better be gone by then. If it persisted, she would have to ignore her dislike of taking tablets.
Oscar’s constant rubbing around her legs reminded her not only of his need for food, but also her own. Not feeling at all hungry herself she only fed Oscar but knew she’d regret the decision later. The thought of having to go out that night and perform her duty left her feeling miserable. Convinced that the headache was only a symptom of some irritating bug depressed her further. She had little sympathy with people who felt ill, herself included. Still, she had no choice but to carry out the assignment, she wasn’t a slave only when it pleased her; it wasn’t her place to pick and choose when she complied.
After a welcome cup of tea which washed down the headache tablet, Kate went upstairs to prepare herself. After completing the unpleasant task of using one of the disposable enemas, she showered, made sure there was no sign of any stray hairs on her legs or underarms, then dried her hair.
Not knowing who she was seeing she decided on the safe option–the little black dress–smart enough for any venue and practical. With hair and make-up fixed she rummaged through the draw for a fresh packet of stockings. After a brief panic she came across a pair of seamed hold-ups in black. Grateful for finding what appeared to be the last pair, Kate reminded herself to visit Janes on Monday to restock. Even when feeling as rough as she did the sensation of the silky stockings sliding up her legs lifted her spirits. Checking her seams in the mirror she took a moment to admire her own image, stockings and heels never failed to arouse her. The dress completed her outfit, she looked good. Taking longer than she intended to get ready and forgetting about the time, left her running slightly late. Deciding that driving to the hotel would be quicker than public transport, she set off.
Road works. Why were there always road works when you were in a hurry and running late? She didn’t need the hassle. The tablet had little effect on her headache, which by then had started to pound in her temples. She hoped it turned out to be one of her easier assignments.
All the side roads seemed to be choked with people attempting to find an alternative route, leaving her little choice but sit it out. It shouldn’t take long she told herself, and thankfully she was correct.
She pulled into the car park at just after eight, fortunately just a couple of minutes late. The only parking place left was a little narrow: tight even for her Mini. Squeezing from the car proved difficult enough, then disaster stuck. Shit, she’d caught her new stocking on the corner of the door. The pull spread in both directions leaving a white eight inch ladder on the front of her leg. She felt like crying. She considered ladders in stockings to look cheap and tacky. The stress did nothing to ease the constant pounding in her head. The evening was going from bad to worse.
Inside the hotel she followed her self-imposed routine: ignore the people she was sure were all staring at her, head straight for the lifts and don’t look across at the desk–it made you look guilty. Normal guests wouldn’t look at the desk, they knew where they’re going. Thankfully the corridor was quiet. After checking the number once again she knocked. No response. She tried again. Would it be somebody new or would she know him? She heard voices and laughter. More than one, so much for her easy time–she didn’t feel up to it.
She hoped her task would be made easier once the door was opened by a tall, attractive hunk in a dinner suit. The short overweight man wasn’t even attractive. He did have trousers and shirt but no Jacket or tie. He looked like he was in the middle of a meeting. Strangely Kate considered that to be disrespectful, but then what did she expect, she’s just the whore he’s ordered.
“I’m from Oakham.”
“You’re late,” he said walking into the room.
“Yes, sorry, there were road works.” She left off the rest–and I laddered my stocking, and I feel crap, and my head’s thumping you ungrateful little shit.
“He was right about you.” The man’s comment puzzled her. Was that a recommendation, a compliment? If so from whom? She just wanted to let him take her and leave. Voices drifted through from the next room; the connecting door had been left slightly ajar. How many of them might there be? She couldn’t take a rough session. She felt disappointed that it wasn’t just him, however unpleasant he may be.
He told her to kneel, then left her there staring at the door through which she’d just entered. He must have gone to the other room; the voices became clearer as he opened the door. She fixed her gaze on the fire instructions fixed to the door, trying to take her mind off her headache and churning stomach, she just wanted to go home. She knew she would see it through, and in a proper manner, she had her pride.
“She’s here, waiting for you,” the man announced. The voices got nearer, but still she couldn’t make out how many there were. Vulnerable and helpless she waited. The man stood her up and turned her round.
Shit. Sebastian Lloyd. The thumping from her heart compounded the hammering in her head. In all those weeks at the Boardroom, he’d not used her at all, so what did he want with her? The very last person she wanted to see at that moment stood before her with a leering smirk on his face. Kate hated him. If all four of them were going to use her she wished they would just do it and let her go. She couldn’t refuse them, only tolerate their abuse.
As Lloyd walked around her, looking her body up and down, he talked to the others.
“See, I told you she was a slut, and now she’s even come here dressed like one. Look at the ladder in her stocking–like a common street whore.”
She hated him, how dare he treat her like that. The normal arousal she felt in those situations evaded her. She was no sex object, here for their pleasure, she was a normal person being bullied, a victim of abuse. They moved in and started groping her breasts, putting hands under her dress while commenting on and appraising her body. Her anger made her head pound. It might be thrilling at any other time but not then, all she felt was loathing.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Because I was told to come.”
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“And that you service other men?”
“Yes.”
“That you’ve no more self-respect than to give your body to whoever you’re told to?”
“Yes.” He turned away and spoke to the others.
“I used to work with her,” he told them. Not ‘with’ Kate thought, ‘for’.
“Always the stuck up Mrs. primm and propper this one, and now look at her, just a filthy whore.”
“Do you have underwear?”
“No.”
“No what?” he snarled.
“No Sir.” She hated him, he was a repulsive male chauvinist shit who was only trying to shame her–and succeeding. She hoped they wouldn’t beat her, her head couldn’t take that: she’d probably throw up. What was wrong with Aspirin? They used to work.
“Me and my friends are going to show you what a big mistake you made four years ago. By the time you leave here you’ll regret you ever went to that company. You’ll beg for my forgiveness.” She knew she wouldn’t, but dreaded what was in store for her as he tried.
He probably saw the defiance in her eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I have to obey.”
“Do you want to obey?” There was no acceptable answer, if she said no she’d be insulting him, if she said yes she’d be lying to him.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“Always the smart mouth weren’t you. We’ll break you, show you that you’re not as high and mighty as you think you are.”
What an idiot, she thought, how can a slave be high and mighty? It was just personal point scoring, not erotic or sexy; if she hadn’t already felt bad he’d have turned her stomach by then.
“The trouble is, I’ve watched you, you’re a dirty bitch, you do things that would test others, so we’ll have to do better than usual to make you suffer.”
That worried her, greatly. What would they do, what could they do? If they knew how rough she felt they’d know that ‘normal’ would be enough of a test.
Lloyd held her arm, more for effect than to restrain her, wanting to show his authority.
“Carl, ask Mr. Reyland in would you.” Kate’s curiosity ended as soon as ‘Mr. Reyland’ was brought in. The man’s dirty coat, split boots and baggy trousers make him look like what he was, a filthy street beggar–a tramp. His long matted beard blended in with his greasy hair; she could smell him from across the room. Her heart and her head dropped. Pulling her head up by her hair caused a new agony.
“Look at Mr. Reyland, don’t be rude,” Lloyd said, “It’s his Birthday this week so we said he could have a special present. He’s had whatever he wanted from the menu, room service of course–we couldn’t have him using the dining room–and now it’s time for his special present.”
The man looked sheepish and unsure, embarrassed even. Kate wondered if he’d been forced into it, whether he too was an unwilling player. Either way she knew what the present was. She’d been repulsed as soon as he walked in, Letting the tramp use her was disgusting and taking things too far.
Was it the step too far, the one they shouldn’t take? Did Oakham even know about it or was it all Lloyd’s doing? Either way she could do it, she’d show Lloyd that he couldn’t beat her, that she was stronger than he thought.
She wanted to please but in a safe and controlled environment. She felt neither. It had been set up to break her will, solely for personal revenge. She looked at the floor, averting her eyes from the man. She considered leaving. If she did, would she be in trouble or would the group agree with her? Her head pounded.
“I think she’s learnt her lesson, shouldn’t she be left alone now?” One of the group asked. Lloyd seethed, glaring at the man.
“I’ll decide when she’s learnt her lesson thank you, and I’ll decide when she’s finished. She needs to be taught that she’s just a whore and needs taking down a peg or two.”
In her mind Kate thanked the man for trying to save her from the indignity.
“Mr. Reyland, you’d like this whore to be your Birthday present wouldn’t you?”
“Yes Sir, I would sir, yes.”
“Sorry she hasn’t made much of an effort to present herself properly, laddered stockings…shoddy.” he said, slowly shaking his head and tutting. “She has no standards you see, but don’t worry, we’ll punish her for that afterwards.” He turned to Kate.
“Kneel.” Christ, she thought, he’s going to let this filthy man put his disgusting dick into me and shag me while they all watch. Uneasily, she raised her dress to her waist and got down on all fours. The blood pumped to her head, her forehead throbbed and tears dripped from her stinging eyes. She hoped he’d be quick. And at least they couldn’t see her face.
“Oh no, it’s not going to be that easy–kneel up.” She got to her knees and lowered her dress.
“Mr. Reyland, come over here,” then to Kate, “he’d like oral.” Her horror was matched by that of the tramp himself who looked at Lloyd; even he had a better understanding of right and wrong than Lloyd himself.
“Take him out.” Holding her breath she pulled apart the sides of the broken zip.
“Phew, Mr. Reyland, you need a bath. Never mind she can do that first. Lick him clean and then give him his present.”
“Sebastian, this is going too far, leave her now.” The same man tried to defend her once more.
“If you don’t like it you’re free to leave.” He did.
“Get on with it.” Lloyd instructed.
As Kate reached out and held him he started to harden. Slowly, she moved her head forward. His sharp, pungent smell filled her nostrils. She tried to subtly clean him with her fingers.
“Oh no,” Lloyd pulled her chin up to look him in the eyes, “with your mouth and tongue.” She forced her mouth to open. His musty smell disgusted her. It was sticky and red, sore looking, surrounded by greasy pubic hair. Kate felt herself heave and closed her mouth, hesitating. Her head was wrenched back by the hair. Lloyd almost spit his words into her face. “Open your mouth and do it.” As he shouted he gave another twist of her hair–increasing the throbbing–her eyes flickered from the pain. She refused to open her mouth. She knew she’d be punished, and she’d rather that.
A sudden pain left a ringing in her ear as her eyes blacked out, he’d slapped her.
“How dare you refuse, you’re here to obey.” His hand slapped back the other way, stinging her cheek. Sprawled on the floor, her face to the carpet she thought her head would explode.
“Do as you’re told,” he repeated.
Kate felt the flush of anger rise within her, she didn’t have to take that from a shit like him, he sickened her. She was better than that. His insults disgusted her, leaving an uncontrollable fury. Her other self took over–Kate the person denied Kate the slave. She felt degraded not submissive, having only hatred for Lloyd. Gritting her teeth she dragged herself to her feet. As Lloyd made a grab for her arm she pulled away.
“Get the fuck off me you bastard.” The others looked on in astonishment. She was furious and screaming.
“Don’t you ever touch me again.” As she pushed him away he stumbled backwards, falling over a chair. Kate’s reactions took over, she was on auto pilot. There was no consideration of her obligation to the group, no thought of obeying, only disgust and anger. She grabbed her bag and stormed from the room, leaving the open mouthed observers stunned.
Reaching the end of the corridor, and with no lift available, she panicked. Spotting the door to the toilets, she sought refuge there. She hoped that closing the cubicle door would shut out the world. She sat down, and she cried.
How long she sat there she had no idea, it seemed like no time at all, and forever. She finally got herself together and forced herself to act.
A quick repair job with her make-up left her presentable, but the puffy red eyes were beyond remedy. She left the hotel with her cheeks glowing, her head thumping and her stomach churning. She resented what her stupidity had done to her. Why had she got into the whole thing? The extent of her foolishness shocked her.
The drive home passed in a daze. That night, sleep eluded her and the tears persisted. As she lay awake, she wondered what her punishment would be.
Part 4
Restitution
53
Sunday 25th May.
Kate woke to the sound of Oscar’s purring. Golden light flooding in through the windows suggested a late hour and a glance at the bedside clock confirmed it. Although feeling much better in herself, Kate reluctantly left the bed in desperate need of a visit to the bathroom. In the early hours of the morning her desperate need for sleep eventually triumphed over her active mind.
Attempting to remember back to the events of the previous evening seemed like trying to capture an elusive dream, knowing its subject matter but unable to pinpoint any detail. Was the whole episode a dream– or a nightmare? She hoped so. That first tentative look in the mirror confirmed the reality. Surely dreams didn’t leave puffy red eyes, and swollen lips.
There was something about the smell of hot coffee which always lifted her spirits, and the speed at which she ate the bowl of muesli reminded her of how little she’d eaten the day before. Relaxing with a second cup of coffee gave her time to consider the implications of her actions.
What would happen next? She didn’t know but she knew it was too late to change the events; they were in the past, fixed in history. Lloyd’s sneering face came to mind–the bastard. The whole thing was personal from the beginning; he just wanted to get his revenge, to beat her. He didn’t even want to use her, just humiliate her and destroy her. In her opinion he’d taken things to a new level, outside of slave humiliation. The bastard. What would happen to her now? She knew she’d be punished, but how severely? She hoped she could take it, whatever it was.
What had she done? She’d broken rule number one, the only rule. Shit, how stupid was that. She’d refused to let people use her body, and technically it wasn’t even hers: she’d signed it away.
Perhaps her punishment would turn out to be a good thing; a severe beating would leave marks to be proud of, necessary evidence of her desire to re-establish her slavery. When Richard turned informer and handed her over to The Colonel it worked out well. That experience did her good, perhaps this will as well.
Unable to draw any conclusions from her jumbled thoughts, Kate returned to the starting point. She could take the beating which she knew was inevitable, but what form would it take? It was a much greater transgression than last time; would the beating increase by the same proportion? She’d be more than happy to pay the price and move on but, of far greater importance, what of letting people down? Not Lloyd, he was a git. But she’d let down Richard, Oakham, The Colonel and herself. Her body would heal after the punishment, but she would always be left with the guilt of disappointing them all. Surely they would all see the unfairness of her treatment, Richard would, he loved her.
She rebuked herself; why didn’t she just do it at the time?
She spent a long time trying to convince herself that all would be okay. She was sure they’d take all the issues into account. She’d shown that she was different, that she’d broken away from socially acceptable behaviour and she’d always obeyed orders. It was Lloyd who was out of line, not her.
For years she’d hidden her dirty thoughts: her slave fantasies. Being sold at auction, being thrashed, being treated badly–she’d kept them all private. Of course she felt guilty for having the thoughts but they were useful masturbation material. The ironic thing was, that in recent weeks, she felt guilty for having normal thoughts. She felt guilty for doing what most people would consider the right thing in such situations. What a turn around.
The day dragged, and even though she finally got around to all those long neglected domestic chores, they still failed to take her mind off things. She took a long walk which was pleasant enough, but still failed to help her draw any comfort. She knew there was only one course of action–to wait.
Monday 26th May.
The telephone rang. Kate froze. Who was it? What would she say if it were Graham Weston? All of the speeches she’d practised deserted her.
“Hello.”
“Kate, it’s me.”
“Oh Richard, thank god.” What should she say? Does he know? Should she tell him?
“I’ve heard Kate, Graham called this morning.”
“Oh.”
“What were you thinking? You know you can’t do that–just walk out.”
“I know that, but there was more to it than there seems. Lloyd was a shit. It wasn’t a slave thing.”
“But why did you refuse?”
“That man they had…he was disgusting, and I wasn’t feeling well and…well what if he’d been on drugs or he had something, some disease?”
“Kate, they were challenging you, he’d been with them all day, he was tested in the morning. You know they wouldn’t do anything to endanger you like that.”
Shit, shit, shit, she thought, she should have trusted. “He was just filthy,” Richard continued, “they fed him and gave him a day to remember.”
“I think he’ll remember it alright, I certainly will. So what happens now?”
“I don’t know.” Richard said calmly. He wasn’t shouting or telling her off, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice–she’d let him down. She felt the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Look, I’ll be back on Wednesday and we’ll decide what to do then, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got to go now, I’m due in a meeting, I’ll see you Wednesday alright? Bye.”
“Bye.”
He put the phone down. He put the phone down without saying he loved her, he always told her he loved her. The flow of tears increased. She hated that she seemed to have done nothing but cry since Saturday night. Why was it all her fault? Look at all she’d done, all she’d put up with, had done to her, and now just one mistake and she felt like shit. It wasn’t fair.
As soon as she walked into the gallery Helen knew there was a problem.
“Kate, what on earth’s happened, look at you?”
There was no reply, Kate couldn’t form sensible words. Her outstretched arms seemed to be the only method of communicating her distress. Helen locked the door and hugged her. After a few minutes Kate started to control her sobbing.
“I’m sorry; I’ve done nothing but cry lately.”
“What’s happened? Tell me.”
“It’s all gone wrong, just like you said it would.”
“Come on, let’s go in the back and you tell me.” Two cups of tea later and Helen had heard the full story.
“That sod was always bad news, now look what he’s done. I could kill him.”
“Whatever he’s done doesn’t seem to matter now, it’s me who’s got to pick up the pieces, not him.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Richards not back ’till Wednesday and I haven’t heard anything from anybody at Oakham.”
“I know what you should do. I’ll look after things here and you go and see Elizabeth, she’ll understand.” Kate couldn’t hide the look of surprise on her face.
“How do you know about Elizabeth?”
“Oh Kate, I’m not stupid. I can put two and two together. Those meetings at the coffee shop couldn’t all have been about her artwork. Go and give her a call–now.” Helen passed her the phone and went to open the front door.
“Well, what did she say?”
“She’s here in town; I’m going to meet her in an hour. Will you be okay here?”
“Of course I will,” Helen assured her.
“I’d better go and sort myself out. Judging by your reaction to seeing me, I must look like shit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, but you might try a little work on the eyes.” Kate smiled for the first time in days.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After fixing her face as best she could, she returned to the gallery.
“That’s much better–the old Kate. Look don’t worry, it’ll all be sorted out.”
“Thanks Helen, you’re a real pal.”
The warm embrace conveyed her gratitude. At least Helen still loved her.
Over a large coffee, Kate relayed the events of Saturday night to Elizabeth.
“But why didn’t you just do it Kate, however horrible it might have been?”
“It wasn’t the thing itself, that was just the final straw. I had a splitting headache, and I’d laddered my last stocking, then there were the road works making me late. It just sort of all built up. Then when it turned out to be Sebastian bloody Lloyd, well…”
“The problem here is that the circumstances don’t change the facts, as they’ll see them. You walked out on an assignment.”
“I know but…”
“There is no but, Kate. We’re slaves, always slaves, that doesn’t stop when we don’t feel like it, our feelings are immaterial. We don’t play at it when we want to; we’re always at the beck and call of others.” Kate looked away, taking in what she’d said, and knowing it to be the truth.
“I’m sorry Kate; I didn’t mean it to sound so unsympathetic.”
“I know, and you’re right.”
“I can see that it was a personal thing and he was in the wrong, so they’ll be able to as well.”
“But besides that, the tramp was disgusting, he smelt awful.”
“But that’s not the point, is it. This isn’t all handsome blokes in dinner suits you know. If it was it wouldn’t satisfy that need you have to submit, your craving for meeting a challenge, it would be too easy. It would just be sex. No, picking and choosing would be too easy.”
“I can see that now–now that it’s too late.”
“You should have been grateful.”
“What?”
“You should have been grateful,” Elizabeth said again. “You were given a real challenge, an opportunity to really submit but you failed to live up to it.”
Why can other people make her see things so clearly? Elizabeth was right, she’d failed herself, failed to pursue the very thing she set out to achieve, her submission.
“But what now? I’ve given them everything so far, all the pain, my dignity, the lot.”
“That wasn’t what you wanted though was it, the pain and the degradation. You wanted to please, to make them proud, show what a good slave you could be. Tolerating the pain and humiliation were only the means of doing that, the way to get what you really wanted. The harder the challenge, the closer you got to achieving that dream.”
“I know what I’ve done, I need to know what to do about it, how to put things right.”
“I think the only thing you can do is go and see Graham Weston, make him see how you feel, that you know what you’ve done.”
Kate knew that Elizabeth was right. That’s what she’d have to do.
The evening had dragged by slowly. Kate felt lonely and miserable. Unable to concentrate on her book, she tried to watch some television. How she was feeling made the offerings seem even more banal than usual. The only break from her gloom came in the form of a phone call: Helen, checking that she was okay. What would she do without Helen? They spoke for a long while, and it lifted her spirits. Helen agreed with Elizabeth, she should go to see Graham Weston. He knew what had happened, Richard said so, but there had been no contact. Neither of them could offer a plausible reason why. They both agreed, she would go first thing tomorrow. Helen would sort everything out at the gallery.
Tuesday 27th May.
Trying to show a degree of confidence she wasn’t feeling, Kate entered the Oakham office. Her frequent visits there counted for nothing, she felt nervous, a stranger amongst the familiar. Grace rose from her desk looking uneasy, her greeting more formal than warm.
“I’ve come to see Mr. Weston.”
“I’m sorry; he’s not in the office.” The flicking of her eyes and her hesitant voice led Kate to believe that the reality may be different. She needed to sort something out; she couldn’t let it drag on any longer.
“I’ll wait then, if that’s okay?”
“As you wish,” Grace said.
Two hours passed, people came and went, mainly to the other offices upstairs. Nobody went in or out from Weston’s office. Kate’s mind ran through the fateful events for the umpteenth time. How she longed for Weston to emerge from his office and tell her she was to be severely beaten, oh what joy those words would bring.
But nothing happened. She just sat and waited. As the morning turned to afternoon Grace brought her coffee and biscuits.
“He’s really not here Kate, you’d be better to go home.”
“I’ve been at home stewing over this for three days, I need to sort things out.”
“I know, but I don’t know what else to suggest.” Her sympathetic look persuaded Kate to give up her vigil. Beaten once again she left the office. Rather than return to the gallery she spent a large portion of the afternoon in the coffee shop, thinking, contemplating and regretting. She pictured Lloyd’s smug face revelling in his victory. She had to do something. The only possibility which presented itself was to contact Weston through the Oakham website. Why hadn’t she done that before? It seemed the obvious course of action.
As soon as Oscar had been fed Kate turned on her laptop and logged on. ‘Password incorrect’ the new window informed her. Three more attempts convinced her that there was no mistake on her part. She’d been closed out of the site. She was an outcast, ostracised by the group. She’d committed the gravest error and was paying the price. Never had she felt so alone. She realised that her expulsion was not the result of refusing to suck the tramp, it came for refusing to obey.
The human reaction of self-preservation took over. She didn’t need them. She would do without them, without being beaten and abused. She would go back to her old life, she’d choose when to have sex, and when to say no. Sod the lot of them.
Her first act of defiance sprang to mind. She rushed upstairs and searched through the wardrobe in the spare bedroom. There they were; her black tailored trousers. I can wear trousers if I bloody well like–and underwear.
She found out, then put on, some panties and a bra followed by trousers. She was pleased that they fit well, ten months after they were last worn.
She returned downstairs to prepare a light snack. After forcing down the ham sandwich, she went back to the bedroom and undressed. The underwear and trousers just felt wrong, uncomfortable and enclosing. Who was she trying to kid? She didn’t want her old life back, or want to choose, she wanted to be told.
In desperation she sent an Email to Weston, no password needed, she knew the address off by heart. She had pleaded many times before, most often while being punished, but this was genuine cold light of day pleading. She would do anything, accept any punishment if only they would give her one more chance and take her back into the group.
Any punishment of theirs she could cope with, she was living with her own punishment; her rejection.
The night followed the same pattern as the previous three; in bed, alone and crying.
Wednesday 28th May.
“Kate, Elizabeth’s here,” Helen called upstairs where she was tidying the storeroom, “shall I send her up?”
“No, I’m done here I’ll be down in a minute.”
“How’s she doing today?” Elizabeth asked, unsure of how much Helen knew.
“She’s okay, stronger than people give her credit for. She’s not right though, she’d never normally have cleaned up that storeroom.”
“Wanting to keep busy I suppose.” Elizabeth stopped talking as she heard Kate enter.
“Hi, Elizabeth, sorry about that. Doing a bit of sorting out.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Helen offered, walking to the front of the gallery.
“No need Helen.” Kate turned to Elizabeth. “Helen knows the whole story, she’s been great. I fancy a coffee break anyway; shall we go round the corner?”
“You two go, I’ll look after things here, I’ll see you later Kate.”
Stirring her steaming coffee, Elizabeth asked what progress Kate had made.
“Did you go to see Mr. Weston?”
“I went, but I didn’t see him, I waited, for ages actually, but he didn’t show. Perhaps he really wasn’t there, I don’t know. I sent an Email last night but got no reply from that either.”
“They have to say or do something, one way or the other.”
“I thought about what you said, on Monday, and you were right.”
“Right about what exactly?”
“That I’d been looking at this whole thing in the wrong way, and what I wanted from it.”
“And what have you come up with?”
“That I’d been living under some stupid illusion that it was all set up for me, to satisfy my own kinky needs and selfish cravings. I set out wanting to be submissive, to serve other people, but I’ve ended up being the powerful one, thinking these people are doing this for me, to satisfy my need to be humiliated not to satisfy their own desire to be in control. My God, I even wanted Richard to change for me, to fit in with my pleasure.”
“You’re being a bit hard on yourself…”
“No, I’m not, I’ve been selfish. Richard couldn’t beat me but I looked for ways to urge him on, get him to be stronger with me. Even at the Boardroom, I loved it, having those people wanting to use me, do things with me, but not for their pleasure–to satisfy me. I was the one in control; they were all helping me get my thrills.”
“It’s not like that Kate; don’t beat yourself up over this.”
“But it was like that and now I’ve blown it. I’ve lost my chance to put things right. That saying was right you know: you don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone.”
“I’m sure it can still be sorted. When does Richard get back?”
“Tomorrow, but I don’t know what he can do–if anything. I suppose I’ve learnt that they were in total control after all. It seems they also have the power to say no, and in this case they have. And now I’m powerless to reverse it, all I can do is keep begging for another chance. And I’m prepared to do that. I’ll do anything to get back what I’ve lost.”
“You have to keep at it Kate, I’m sure it can be worked out.”
“Thanks, I hope so.”
54
The traffic seemed to be fairly light for a Friday morning, easing the tension for Kate.
“How did you set this up”?
“I went to see Graham on my way back from the airport yesterday,” Richard said.
“You’re so good; I couldn’t even get through his door.”
“I can’t promise anything will come of it, but we can give it a try.”
“I don’t deserve you, you know. I’m sorry for letting you down.”
“I know, and we’ve been through all that, let’s move on and see what we can do.” Kate sat back and watched the city passing by. Grateful for the chance to even attempt an explanation of her failing. She swore to herself that any offer of retribution would be seized with pleasure.
Arriving with time to spare, they weren’t invited to go straight through. Instead Grace asked them to wait in the reception area. Kate chose to take the hard upright chairs closer to the office rather than the more comfortable sofa. She sat with knees together and fingers curled into tight fists resting on her lap. She hoped that her impatience would not be too obvious.
Her mind was drawn back to the first time they sat there waiting. That was just before Grace had stood and watched her suck Eric; how much had happened since then. During the fifteen minute wait Kate’s nervousness increased. In a failed attempt to distract her mind she watched Grace devote herself to her work.
Was that the whole point? Was the purpose of the wait to make a statement? Thankfully there was no more time to dwell on that one, the buzzer made her jump, and then it made her heart race.
“Mr. Weston will see you now, if you’d like to go through.” Grace said, holding the door open for them.
“Thank you.” Kate caught her eye as she passed. There was no smile just a barely noticeable nod. What did that mean? Was that good or was she just being polite?
“Hello Richard, nice to see you again,” Weston said, smiling, as he rose from his desk, “Catherine.” The one word greeting made her fearful. The atmosphere was not one of reconciliation.
“What can I do for you?” He knows very well what he can do for us, Kate thought, he just wants to hear it out loud, rub salt into the wounds. Richard stepped in.
“I’d like you to consider taking Kate back into service with Oakham.”
“But Richard, she broke the cardinal rule.”
“I know that, we both know that, but there were exceptional circumstances, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“I did hear that there were personal issues at play in this case yes, but the fact is that she refused to obey, whatever the circumstances, and that’s unacceptable.”
“I hear what you’re saying and I totally understand, but until this unfortunate incident occurred you must have been pleased with her service.”
Richard was putting the onus back on Weston, making him justify his decision to exclude her rather than them having to beg for her to be taken back–clever.
“Kate was highly thought of and one of our best women, we both know that, but if we let this sort of incident go unpunished and relent, others will hear of it and choose to do the same, then where would we be?”
Kate’s heart lifted. There was hope. He was going to let her back, she was sure of it. ‘If we let these sort of incidents go unpunished’ he said, not: we can’t accept them or won’t tolerate them. It meant that there was a way out, taking the punishment was her way back, she was convinced of it.
“There must be a way in which this could be resolved to everybody’s satisfaction, Kate being taken back and the seriousness of the offence getting through to others,” Richard pressed. My hero, she thought, he’s going to do it.
“Well, as you can imagine, this is not the first time this has happened, there have been three others in fact. In those cases we gave the ladies the opportunity to…how shall I put this…atone for their offence, at our residential facility in Surrey.”
Yes, yes, Yes. I’ll do it, Kate thought trying not to show her joy.
“And what would that involve?” It doesn’t matter, she thought, just tell him I’ll do it, don’t blow it now.
“Oakham Manor is a country estate in Surrey which caters for the needs of people with differing requirements within the lifestyle, everything from mild humiliation to the most extreme perversions. We could send her there to…learn the error of her ways, but there would be provisos.”
“And what are they?”
“Well, undergoing the experience doesn’t necessarily mean reinstatement into the group. What she gains from the experience would be far more important than enduring it. It’s not just a punishment; that would be too easy.”
“What do you think Kate?” Richard asked, bringing her into the discussion.
“I’m happy to do whatever it takes.”
“Before you agree Catherine, you must consider what you’re asking for, where you are now and what you want in the future and then decide if you want to be put through it. Make no mistake, it is a choice, but once chosen there’s no resolution until we decide, one way or the other.”
Kate felt elated. How many times through the years had similar material been used for her masturbation sessions: the fantasy of the cold damp cell, the hours of punishment, the constant beatings and the lack of mercy? Surely she could endure that for real. Her euphoria was dispelled by one question from Richard.
“You said, ‘one way or the other’, what does that mean?”
“When we send ladies there–under these circumstances–it’s to test their suitability for a future with the group. What they do there and how they respond to the experience will indicate their suitability for a future with us. Enduring it is only one of the criteria for success. Of the three ladies I mentioned, two were not reinstated into the group.”
Kate’s realisation that the key to success was more than just enduring punishment did nothing to dampen her desire to be given a chance.
“So how long is it for?” Richard enquired.
“Until we see, one way or the other, that it’s finished. There’s no fixed time.”
“Will you give Kate the chance?” Kate held her breath, waiting.
“Judging on past performance, yes.” Joy, yes, yes. Oh, thank you, thank you.
“But, first she would have to agree, and then she’d be obligated, forced if necessary, to see it through. As you know, our policy states that slaves can say no at any time–before an assignment,” he added, looking directly at Kate, “but this is different. Once there, that’s it until we say otherwise. It’s hard, severe even, and can be too much for some. You need to be certain that it’s what you want.”
“That sounds very fair, I’m sure she’ll decide wisely.” There’s no decision to be made, Kate thought, I already know.
“Is this what you want Catherine, do you want to be given the chance?”
“I’ll do anything to be given another chance, yes please, and thank you.” She tried not to sound too desperate.
“When would this be?” Richard asked.
“Let’s see…” Weston checked his diary, “oh yes, I’d forgotten that…” he reminded himself of a personal note, “there are others going on June 2nd. She can join them. That’s this Monday.”
“That sounds ideal, Monday it is.”
“Then she must be brought here on Monday afternoon, shall we say, at about five?”
“Are you sure that you want to do it?” Richard asked, as they drove home. “It doesn’t sound easy.”
“The past week has been the worst I can remember, total shit in fact, of course I want to do it, or at least be given the chance to do it. We don’t know what it is, do we, what they’re looking for?”
“No, but whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve got it.” His smile told her that he still loved her. She wouldn’t let him down again; she would make amends.
Once home Kate couldn’t wait to call Helen.
“Helen, guess what, I’ve been given another chance. They’re letting me back.”
“What just like that?”
“Well no, not quite.” Kate told her the details.
“What will you have to do, or what will they do to you?”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care. I didn’t think I’d even get this far.”
“Well done Kate, I’m happy for you, really happy. How long will it take?”
“Ah, that’s the other reason I was calling, I don’t know. Will you be alright with the gallery?”
“Of course, don’t worry about that, it’s no problem.”
“The other thing is, if Richard’s away could you look after Oscar for me?”
“Of course I can, just get him to ring if he needs me.”
“He can’t use a phone Helen, he’s a cat.”
“No, I meant…Oh very funny Kate. I tell you what then; get Richard to call me.
“You’re a star Helen, I love you, bye.”
55
They sat in the car for a few minutes before entering the Oakham offices, Richard asked one more time, even though he knew what her answer would be.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. Are you sure you want me to?”
“You know I do, but you don’t know what’s involved, or what they’ll do.”
“I don’t have to, without it we’ll lose what we had and it’ll all be my fault.”
“Kate you don’t have to, we can always pick up as we were before, and this is a big step.”
“I know, and that’s why I have to do it. The only worry is that I don’t know what they want, what they’re looking for, so how do I know what to do?”
“Just be yourself. All you’ve been through should see you through it; they can’t want anything else, surely. What else is there?”
“Come on then, let’s do it,” he said.
Richard took her in. All looked normal apart from the young girl on the desk, standing in for Grace. She politely showed them into Weston’s office, announcing them as Mr. and Mrs. Adams; perhaps she was unaware of the offices’ activities.
“Hello Richard, nice to see you. You’ve considered this well I hope, Catherine.”
“Yes Sir I have–we have.”
“And you give your consent to your treatment, without knowing what it will be?”
“Yes Sir, I do.”
“Very well then.” Weston sounded sombre, almost sorry to be pushing it forward. Would he have been pleased or even relieved if she’d refused?
“The transports ready, she may as well be on her way.” An awkward moment ensued. For once Richard was unsure of what to do, he hesitated. Should he kiss her or not? Say goodbye or not? Weston sensed his unease and granted them some privacy.
“I’ll tell them she’s ready.” He left them alone for Richard to comfort her.
“It’ll all be okay,” he assured her, “and I’ll see you soon. When it’s sorted out we’ll get back to where we were before.”
“I love you, I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” The hug and kiss calmed her. Weston returned with Eric.
“Richard,” Weston said, “we’ll be in touch to keep you informed.” Then he showed him out, shaking his hand.
“Take her to the Manor,” Weston told Eric. He led her from the office, opening a door Kate had never noticed before. They passed through what looked like a storeroom before he opened an outside door to reveal a courtyard half filled with a black van, an up market swish looking black van. Eric opened the rear doors.
“Take your jacket and skirt off.” After complying, Kate stood in the warm summer air dressed only in stockings, heels and an almost transparent blouse.
“Put your hands behind your back please.” After tying her wrists securely he added a second cord above her elbows. The constriction felt good. Kate needed help to get into the back of the van before lying, as directed, on the rough black carpet. Eric secured her ankles and thighs with similar cords. The closing of the back doors left her in total darkness. The creaking of the gate hinges and the sound of the engine foretold of their departure.
The journey proved to be uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Kate tried to imagine their progress from the changing sounds. The noises of the city and the constant stopping and starting seemed to go on forever. Car horns, motorcycle engines and sirens could be picked out above the general hustle and bustle. The number of stops reduced and she sensed the speed increase until the monotonous, rumbling drone led her to assume they were on a motorway.
Her mind eventually drifted back to her situation. Was she fearful or excited; full of dread or anticipation? Perhaps she was dreading the ‘treatment’ but would welcome the result. As long as things returned to normal, whatever that was, she would be happy. How impressed and proud would Richard be if she were to be declared a true slave; to have undergone whatever the test was and come out triumphant.
The general speed reduced. She heard cars passing close by and moving in the opposite direction: they must have left the motorway. There were more bends and turns. Gravel crunched beneath the tyres before the van drew to a halt. The front door opened and closed moments before the rear doors opened filling the interior with light and the scent of freshly cut grass. Leaning in, Eric undid the cords on her legs before helping her out. He supported her until her legs began to function as normal.
Dusk had begun to take over the day; crows cawed in a row of tall trees. Turning around Kate saw the old house, the beautiful stone mullioned windows surrounded by ivy and the huge stone roof tiles above castellated bay windows. The well-tended gardens extended well beyond the croquet set left on the front lawn, it was beautiful and all so English.
Taking her by the arm, Eric led her through the Large, carved stone entrance and into a huge reception area. Her gaze was drawn upwards, following the dark oak staircase as it rose toward the exposed heavy oak roof timbers high above. She could imagine being booked into an upmarket hotel if she weren’t standing with her arms tied behind her back, no skirt and only a transparent blouse above her stockings. The people moving through the area took little notice. The lady at the front desk obviously knew Eric and greeted him warmly.
“Seventy Three” he said, as he gestured toward Kate. After referring to papers on her desk the lady nodded, signed Eric’s clipboard and watched him leave, just like handing over a parcel Kate thought. Moving from behind the desk the lady led Kate through to an office where a man sat at a large oak desk while reading through paperwork. In his mid-forties and wearing a suit he looked like an organiser, the manager perhaps? After standing her in front of the desk the lady left. The man slowly looked her up and down before speaking.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good, you’re going to learn that slaves are supposed to please their owners, whatever the personal discomfort. They do that by having rules to obey, which also need to be enforced. You were given only one rule, am I correct?”
“Yes Sir.”
“And what did you do?”
“I broke it Sir.”
“Correct and now you’ve been sent here to face the consequences, physically and emotionally. If you break the rules you have to pay, but more importantly than that, you need to show promise for the future, get back into the group’s good books. Retribution is needed.”
“Yes Sir.”
“You’ve already said you’re willing to obey us or you wouldn’t be here–you may come to regret that decision. Now you are here your obedience will be ensured–by force if necessary.” Kate swallowed hard, as her heart raced, was that from fear or excitement?
“Do you want this or do you wish that you hadn’t agreed?”
“I want it Sir.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes Sir.” He nodded, but made no comment as he picked up the telephone.
“Seventy Three’s here…yes…send somebody to collect her…yes…okay.” He returned to reading his papers. Kate studied the room; it was beautifully restored, simple but tasteful. The knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, she lowered her head.
“Come in.”
The woman was dressed totally in black. The tight polo neck top, leggings and calf boots gave her a threatening look.
“Can you take her to the east wing please.” The man said. The woman faced Kate, with a look of sympathy on her face, adding to Kate’s concern. What did the East Wing hold to get such a reaction?
As they progressed from office to passageway then to corridor the surroundings became more functional and less opulent. Waiting in the scullery Kate smelt the damp musty air as she waited for the woman to unlock the door. Her heels clicked on the flagstones as they passed through to what appeared to be a former stable block with rough wooden walls and cobbled floors.
From a small room to one side, emerged two men and a woman, all dressed in a similar fashion to her escort.
“Seventy Three, here for treatment,” her escort announced, “finds it hard to obey rules.”
“Does she now?” one of the men said, “we can help her with that. Take her clothes off.” The other woman approached, gripped the front of Kate’s blouse and ripped it open, buttons flew to the floor. Using scissors she cut the sleeves open to remove the garment before throwing the remains to one side.
“Take the shoes off.” The woman picked them up and threw them with the blouse before cutting off the suspender belt and ripping off the stockings to leave Kate standing naked, cold and frightened.
“Stand over there,” the woman said, pointing to the other side of the stable, “and then face this way.”
When Kate reached the position and turned she could no longer see the people in black, bright spotlights blinded her. Her tied hands prevented her from shielding her eyes from the glare. She waited.
A split second after hearing the loud whoosh a powerful blast of ice cold water hit her. She cried out, not only from the shock but from the pain–it was no domestic hosepipe. It was fireman stuff and the power knocked her backwards. As the onslaught continued she dropped to her knees. With no hands to protect her she lay on the hard cobbles trying to curl up in an effort to avoid the blast. Other jets started hitting her from new directions. The freezing water was being aimed between her legs, and at her breasts and stomach as she squirmed around on the floor.
When the blasts stopped, one of the women poured a bucket of cold soapy water over her before the others used long handled brushes to scrub her tender flesh. Seeking out the areas between her legs, under her arms and the bottom of her feet increased the discomfort. As soon as the scrubbing ended Kate knew what to expect and braced herself for the icy water used to rinse away the soap. Crying out proved to be impossible as the water in her mouth prevented her from breathing. There was no escape. Her spluttering and sobbing continued as she lay there with no option but to accept the cruel treatment.
When the water stopped she lay motionless on the wet cobbles, shivering and miserable. Footsteps approached. A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her to her feet, the pain intense. Still blinded by the light she failed to see the hand that slapped her backside. The slaps came, hard and fast before moving to her breasts. The punishment continued until the flesh became warm and red. Unable to use her hands to remove the wet hair sticking to her face, she tried to shake it free.
Hands guided her to the side of the room, forced her to sit and secured her wrists to a ring set into the bottom of the wall. There she sat, freezing cold, watching the people and wondering what would follow. It was going to be worse than she imagined. She thought of her warm bed–of Richard and Oscar–and wondered when would she see them again.
Voices broke into her thoughts, footsteps came nearer and the door opened. The staff brought in two new victims, their hands tied just like hers. Kate sympathised as she watched them go through the same torture she herself had just undergone. The older of the two, perhaps somewhere near Kate’s age, took it well. The younger one, little more than a girl, looked terrified. Once finished they were secured next to Kate.
“There’s one more yet, she’s just arrived,” a voice called from the small room.
As she sat waiting Kate she couldn’t decide why she felt better, she may have been warming up, or maybe she’d gone numb from the cold. She wondered what the others were doing there, what crime they’d committed. Perhaps they’d committed no crime, perhaps they’d been sent by partners. They may even be volunteers, there for the experience. Perhaps it was their fantasy they were living out.
The waiting ended with the opening of the door. The voices gave away nothing, leaving Kate shocked to see Grace enter. The shock turned to astonishment as she moved forward revealing her arms to be bound behind her–Grace was the fourth victim.
Kate leaned forward to get a better look. In the dim light she could have made a mistake, was it somebody who looked like Grace? No, there was no mistake. She watched as the staff began the now familiar routine. When her clothes had been cut from her, Kate looked at Grace’s body. She’d always assumed her to be in her early fifties but she had the body of a woman in her late thirties, fit and almost athletic. Her breasts were firm with large pert nipples, not over large, but bigger than Kate had assumed from only seeing her in office suits. Her pubic area looked smooth like Kate’s, her lips small and almost hidden. The blasts of icy water had the same affect it had on the others, soon reducing her to a sobbing wreck on the cold floor and hair plastered to her face.
Kate found it difficult to comprehend the contrast between the immaculately dressed, efficient and composed office assistant and the soaked, crying and humiliated woman on the floor in front of her. After being pulled up by her hair Grace stood in the middle of the room waiting for the others to be released. Being taken to the back of the line enabled Kate to catch Grace’s eye as they passed. Grace gave a half smile. Was that to comfort her, to tell Kate she was okay, or maybe it was just from embarrassment?
The smile soon disappeared as one of the men brought in chains, dropping a set in front of each woman. Their ankles were put in metal bands connected by a small length of chain before their hands were secured behind their backs with similar bands and chains. The neck collar felt cold, heavy and uncomfortable. The front of their bodies were left exposed with no way of covering themselves as they were led from the room.
Being taken back to the main house brought some small comfort; the stable block conveyed a far more sinister impression as darkness fell. With the short chains restricting their movement the four women struggled to keep pace with the staff, resulting in frequent pushing and prodding.
The main house looked far busier than when Kate had arrived. In the long corridor, two young girls wearing aprons stood to one side. As the four passed, the girls whispered and nodded their heads. An elderly gentleman showed no hint of astonishment as four soaking wet, naked women passed him, their chains rattling as they went. Ushered into the same office as before the women stood before the manager, or was he a warden?
Sitting at his desk, elbows resting on the surface, fingers interlocked and thumbs under his chin the man silently looked along the line. After a few minutes he rose and spoke.
“You four are here for intensive training, sent here for varying reasons, but to achieve the same outcome. That is, to teach you a lesson you will remember for a very long time. People have a wide variety of needs, and here at the Manor we endeavour to satisfy those needs. Some of our guests are weekender’s who want to experience different aspects of the lifestyle, some are sent here by partners to learn obedience or to be taught certain sexual skills. Some are even single and come of their own free will to be humiliated and punished before returning–satisfied–to their lives and jobs. But not you four, you’re here until we decide that you can leave.”
The man walked along the back of the line as he spoke, unnerving Kate.
“The treatment you’ll experience is based on the methods used in Victorian prisons. People like you, guilty of a crime, needed two things. The first was punishment; society wanted revenge and the guilty needed to suffer. Secondly, to make sure that the crime was not repeated, they needed rehabilitation–made to see the error of their ways.”
Moving round to the front of the line he handled the women, cupping breasts and groping between their legs. The younger girl pulled away as her nipple was twisted, earning her a slap across her face before the twisting was repeated with no resistance.
“Spread your legs and bend forward.”
The older woman hesitated, looking down the line, to see if the others would obey. The vicious slap across her backside encouraged her to conform. The man worked his way down the line spreading buttocks, forcing fingers into openings, peering closely at their private parts. All intended, Kate assumed, to add to their humiliation. It worked.
“You’ll be here for as long as it takes us to teach you that lesson or to send you away if we consider you to be unsuitable for a future with the group. Now you’re here you have no option but to endure and suffer,” he lifted the chin of the older woman, looking her in the eye, “and I promise you that you will.”
He circled the line once more before continuing his dialogue.
“Your experience will most likely follow the usual pattern. To start with you’ll need to be forced to obey orders.” Picking on the young girl he pulled and twisted both nipples, whilst staring into her eyes. “Defiance will bring you pain. You will learn to do as you’re told. Now, you may think that you’ll put up with it, but when the time comes you’ll wish you hadn’t agreed to come here. When you know what real pain feels like, you’ll obey just to avoid any more of it. You’ll do anything we say to avoid it; things you thought you’d never do, you will.”
He moved in front of Kate and placed his hand between her legs before pulling and twisting her lips until tears filled her eyes. She fought to remain still.
“After that stage, you’ll want to obey. Not out of fear of more pain, but because you want to. You need to satisfy your desire to submit, you’ll even be pleased to debase yourselves at the whim of others. You’ll humiliate yourselves in ways that you swore you would never do.”
He moved back to stand in front of the older woman and spoke to her directly. “Women like you think that you won’t obey, that you’re too proud to do these things, let me tell you–you will. You’ll beg to be allowed to carry out orders. Women like you–the proud ones–just suffer more along the way, but we can wait until you’re ready, it may take more time but the result will be the same.”
He moved away from her to address the line in general.
“Agony and success or agony and rejection, the treatment’s the same, so take your pick.”
It was Kate’s dread, being sent away. How would she know if she was about to be sent away. She didn’t know what they wanted or what the criteria were. How did they know when they had a no hoper? What were the rules? Nobody had told them.
“During your stay you’ll see a lot of these people,” he gestured toward the staff in black, “to them, and indeed everybody else you come across, you’re the lowest of the low. As such you will do whatever anybody tells you to do. The caterers, gardeners, anybody, you’ll obey them all. There are other guests staying here, for various reasons, do as they say. They’ll use you and punish you, obey them.”
He went over and spoke quietly to one of the staff, confirming something, judging by the agreement they reached.
With a clinking of chains they were led out, back through the reception area, and into the scullery. From there the cold stone steps descended to a damp, musty smelling cellar, the only contents of which seemed to be six metal framed beds. Each bed had a thin, hard looking mattress and a single, coarse blanket. With no toilet break their neck collars were padlocked to the bed-head by a short length of chain. It was going to be a cold and miserable night.
When the staff left and the door at the top of the stairs closed, Kate turned to Grace, desperate to hear why she was there.
“Grace, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I was sent, like you.”
“But I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought really.”
“Mr. Weston had already booked me in for this and then when Richard got him to give you another chance he thought it would be humiliating for both of us to be sent at the same time.”
“But why has he sent you at all, I thought you were his assistant.”
“I am now, but I wasn’t always; I was a slave just like you. Well not quite like you, I had a master, more like Elizabeth, but we weren’t married. I had a variety of relationships, some worked out and others didn’t.”
“You were a slave? Incredible.”
“I still am I suppose. The master I’d been with for about two years had to move abroad for professional reasons, to the Middle East in fact, and couldn’t take me with him. I didn’t want to go anyway; I had my flat and money from my contract with him…”
“You’d sold yourself?”
“Yes, and at a good price I’ll have you know–for an old bird,” she laughed at herself. “Anyway, he decided to put me into one of Oakham’s auctions, pass me on to a new owner, which was fine with me.”
“My god, you’re so brave, it could have been anybody.”
“I know, but it was exciting. Before the auction came up Mr. Weston called me in to see him. From the sheets he’d seen that I had experience in office work, his assistant was leaving and he offered me the position.”
“I see, but why are you here, now?”
“He sends me two or three times a year for some sort of ‘refresher course’ as he calls it. If I’m honest, I was getting a bit too old for the full time stuff anyway, and I didn’t want to finish completely, I wouldn’t ever want to do that.”
“And you’re OK with this then?”
“Oh yes, he says it’s good for me to remember my background, and that it keeps me in line. I enjoy it.”
“Enjoy this?”
“Well not this particular thing, I’ve never done this before, heard about it though.”
Grace said no more and changed the subject, perhaps she had no more details to share or perhaps she didn’t want to alarm Kate. At a late hour Kate eventually drifted off to sleep, still full of admiration and respect for Grace and her slavery.
56
With no natural light entering the cellar, Kate had no idea if it was morning or whether the cellar’s natural chill and the aching throughout her body had woken her early.
Having her hands chained to the collar and the collar secured to the bed made moving into a comfortable position almost impossible. As the others stirred their moans and groans indicated similar problems. She knew her lack of sleep would do her no favours later in the day–she needed her sleep. A more pressing problem was the need–the desperate need–to go to the toilet. They probably wanted them to wet themselves, adding to their humiliation, but so far all had held out.
Moments before the door opened, the bare, single light bulb unexpectedly illuminated the cellar. Footsteps descended the stairs, echoing around the cold stone walls. The releasing of the padlocks freed their hands, allowing the women to sit upright and stretch their stiff limbs.
“Up the stairs, first door to the right, back here in fifteen minutes.”
The four looked at each other, unsure of how to react to the brusque order. Grace made the first move toward the stairs, closely followed by the others. Through the door they found a bathroom. The room may have been sparse but it was a bathroom–heaven to the women. The two open toilets were put to immediate use; the two left waiting became desperate for their turn. Toothpaste and toothbrushes; soap and hair brushes were all supplied. Even the single cold tap above each sink seemed like a luxury. Conscious of the passing time Kate rushed to prepare herself. As quickly as possible she returned to stand by her bed.
The young girl, the last to return, missed the deadline. As she approached her bed one of the men took hold of her long dark hair and pulled her down. Bent her over and held her in position she received a dozen cruel cuts from his leather crop. Kate and the others stood and watched as she cried, screamed and kicked. Watching another being punished felt quite alien to Kate.
“You’ll be on time tomorrow, I guarantee it,” he told her. Then he turned to face the others. “You eat in the scullery, up you go.”
The women climbed the stairs as fast as their chains would allow. Sitting on benches at the long, scrubbed oak table they ate breakfast; fresh fruit and as much porridge as they could eat, very good porridge too, Kate thought. Before they had finished, one of the men barked out the next order.
“Stand.” The speed of response from the attractive young girl made him smile. Having learnt the price of being slow to obey, she wasn’t going to be caught out again.
“Into the yard–quickly.”
Even at such an early hour, the yard was in full sunshine. They welcomed the warmth which helped to restore their body heat back to normal. Standing in line, Kate took the opportunity to study her surroundings. A variety of people passed through the yard; some in aprons or overalls, some with tool belts, all going about their daily tasks. Others, in suits or dresses, stopped and watched. To her left she heard the clanking of pans and saw steam drifting from an extractor fan. Must be the kitchen area she thought, her conclusion was confirmed on seeing the young man outside–dressed in the white top and checked trousers–smoking a cigarette. He sat and watched the four ladies standing in a semi-circle, naked and chained. A staff member, dressed in black, walked in front of them. He dropped a pair of slip on shoes at their feet.
“Put them on, quickly.”
Kate held herself more upright and rigid as she saw the manager enter the yard. He began to talk as he walked toward them.
“I hope you slept well, ladies.” His sarcastic comment fell on deaf ears. “We do try to look after our guests.”
When he reached a spot in front of the group he addressed them.
“Other slaves at Oakham work in the kitchens, as cleaners, chambermaids or in any other role we need them for. You ladies however are special. Just like your Victorian counterparts you’ve been allocated a regime of hard labour. To the rear of the house we’re building a new access road. The work could of course be completed in a day with the use of a mechanical digger, or in as long as it takes with free labour from people like yourselves. We’ve chosen the latter option. You’ll work, and you’ll work hard. The staff supervising you will make sure that you do.”
As he moved behind the line he paused, stroking the buttocks of the young girl.
“I see you’ve already had a lesson today young lady. I wouldn’t think you’ll want too many more.”
He continued.
“Any slacking or talking and the staff will punish you severely.”
He watched the look of fear cross the young girls face.
“The chains will restrict your movements but not diminish your efforts.”
As they walked from the yard, the chains dragged and the uncomfortable bands chaffed their skin. What would they be like at the end of the day? The short walk to the work place brought wheelbarrows, shovels and pickaxes into view. The staff allocated tasks and the ladies set to, digging, pushing heavy wheelbarrows and moving piles of gravel.
The mindless labour needed to be attacked with seeming enthusiasm, any slacking was met with hard slashes from the single strand whips carried by the staff. Towards the middle of the morning Kate whispered to Grace.
“Phew, it’s getting hot.”
The slash of the whip across her back and the command to remain silent taught her, and the others, that the staff meant what they said.
The only break in the routine came at lunchtime when they were taken back to the scullery to enjoy a bowl of what looked like stew. Kate assumed the look of the dish–lumps in liquid–was intended to be in keeping with the Victorian theme, it actually tasted good and there was enough of it.
Back out at the work site the afternoon passed with the same boredom and toil. There was no shortage of exposed skin for the hot sun to burn. By the time the day’s work ended. Kate felt red, tired and miserable, her body covered in a layer of dirt and dust which stuck to her sweating skin. After lining up to be walked back to the stable block she noted that the others appeared to be in a similar condition. Exhaustion made the walk back far more of a trial than the walk out earlier in the day, constant prodding and whipping being used to keep up the pace. Walking behind Grace, Kate admired the way she coped with the ordeal: she took it all in her stride. Kate was there to pay for her mistake; Grace was there for no reason of her own making. Despite the facts, she made no mention of unfairness or complained of her unwarranted treatment–she just accepted.
Kate thought of Richard, Helen and the gallery. It all seemed a million miles away, part of another world. Should she be there with them or relaxing with a Gin and Tonic? No, she should be there paying for her mistake, she too felt no injustice.
Kneeling in line on the stable floor, hands cuffed behind their backs the women waited. Kate expected and dreaded what was to come.
“You’re all filthy and a disgrace,” the woman said, “so unladylike, covered in dirt and sweat. Perhaps you’d like a shower.”
She braced herself as the whoosh announced the imminent arrival of the blast of freezing water. With their skin hot and tender from the sun the force of the water seemed more intense, sharper and stinging. The same routine followed; the cruel aiming of the jets on the intimate body parts, the bucket of soapy water followed by the scrubbing, and finally the ice cold water to rinse away the soap. Each part of the ritual was accompanied by the same screaming, writhing around on the hard cobbles and difficulty of breathing. The sobbing continued long after the water stopped.
“That’s better,” the woman announced, “we can’t have you looking a disgraceful mess in front of the guests can we.”
57
At the Manor ritual was everything; anticipation of it equated to punishment itself. The morning routine never varied, except the choice of who was to be beaten for an infraction of the rules, or for none at all, who knew. The daily work schedule continued. The digging, lifting and moving only interrupted by the staff enforcing their discipline.
Although it remained warm most days tended to be cloudy, removing the worry of sunburn. Surprisingly Kate felt good from the work, fitter, slimmer and more toned. People who paid to go to a gym should go there she thought, it was guaranteed to work and it was free.
The rehabilitation they’d spoken of, and which she expected to experience, still eluded her. She had formed the impression that she’d gone there to be used, or perhaps taught, by an authority figure, somebody to look up to. Somebody similar to Colonel Mason, she thought, but no figure had appeared.