Seventy Three – Oakham

Following the hateful cleaning ritual, late afternoons at the Manor were filled with the use and punishment of slaves. Mostly they were not subjected to the same plan, often being taken to different locations within the Manor.

Kate often ended up on public display: made to stand on a small raised platform in the centre of the reception area. Her hands were bound together and pulled high above her head, restricted only by the pull on her ankles, secured to rings spaced widely on the base. The same form of restraint had been used to hold her before, during her training with Colonel Mason. A new variation involved the tying of her hair to hold her head as high as possible; the painful strain on her scalp made any movement impossible. While on display–the manager told her–she was for the use of anybody who passed through. Staff, guests and even other slaves had free use of her body. She meant nothing to any of them.

Left hanging there day after day, freshly beaten following the morning’s work, she attracted a lot of attention. People came to see her abused body and to admire the fresh welts. They pinched her nipples and opened her sex. Some forced their fingers into the smaller opening.

Being there worried her, the people using her were inexperienced and through their ignorance could do her real harm. The fact could have eluded those in charge or they were aware of it but chose not to act on it. Either way, the outcome for her was the same; she would remain there suffering until they chose to release her.

The humiliation taught her a valuable lesson. She was not the sex toy she had previously considered herself to be, but rather she was nothing more than an object, there for the amusement of those people.

The beatings she could take, she had been well trained. But being on display in the foyer she found far more demeaning. She was nothing to those unknown people. They carried out their tasks and continued with their daily lives, while she remained there, the object of their derision.

Richard, Colonel Mason and Graham Weston all knew her as a person, they had trained her and had a vested interest in her. Her new tormentors were everyday people, the sort of people she saw in cafes, shops and offices. People she had paid little attention to or given much consideration to, they were just doing their job. However, those people had now been given total control of her suffering and humiliation, with no regard for who she was or for what she felt. How things had turned around.

The busy reception area produced a constant stream of potential tormentors, all keen to increase her suffering. Only the constantly present receptionist could appreciate the extent of her anguish. Passers-by, male and female stopped to make her suffer. Her nipples were a popular target, and most continued the twisting and pinching until tears formed in her eyes. The lips between her legs received equally cruel treatment. Being pulled and stretched hurt badly enough but it was the constant probing of her holes and the lack of any lubricant that made her particularly sore.

Those with more experience and confidence often taught the younger staff and visitors how to make her suffer. “Look at this” or “they hate it when you do this” they would say before showing them how to proceed. One young girl became fascinated with Kate’s lips. She looked into Kate’s eyes while pulling and twisting them so severely that she cried out in pain. Kate worried that the girl had done some damage, pain like that must have consequences. Unable to move her head she had no way of checking to find out. “Come on, we’d better get back to work,” her friend said, and they left giggling. To them it was just a game; Kate was there for no other purpose than for their entertainment.

The manager came by often, checking with the receptionist and making sure that Kate was being used enough.

“I’ll get your total submission, however long it takes,” he whispered in her ear.” There’s still an element or resistance there but, sooner or later you’ll surrender yourself to me–totally. I can wait. You only need to think about pleasing others, not what it means for you or your own pleasure.”

He gripped her sore lips and pulled hard.

“See, you only thought of the pain you were suffering–what it meant to you. I’ll make you glad to suffer because it pleases me to do it, that’s the submission we’re after.”

Kate denied it to herself, she could put up with it all, whatever they did to her.

As he left he spoke to the receptionist. She took over a whip and placed it on the floor in front of Kate. For the next two hours she writhed and moaned as passers-by used it at will. Her tied hair caused her scalp as much pain as the whip itself.

Most cruel was the practice of making other slaves punish her. Often brought in on leashes, given the whip or a cane and told to beat her buttocks or breasts. All too often the slave would be timid with the whip, unsure or reluctant to use it to full effect. Once threatened with having to take Kate’s place they approached the task with greater urgency, swiftly producing red flesh and raised welts. Taking such treatment on her breasts produced the worst pain, her screaming and crying usually caused immense distress to the unfortunate slave.

The beatings were devoid of sexual pleasure–of any pleasure at all. Pain for pains sake, that’s all it was, just to make the point that she would have no say in it, no control of the situation. She knew that the level of her suffering would have no bearing on its length. It would continue until they decided otherwise. She hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

Late one afternoon, on display in the reception area as usual, Kate heard voices approaching from behind. Unable to move her head she could only imagine the people to whom they belonged. One she recognised, the manager.

“Some fantasies concern rape or abduction, we can arrange that if it suits both your needs,” he was telling them.

The couple came into view. He, a late middle aged, distinguished looking gentleman, her a little younger and a stunning looking woman. Subtle hints of her expensive perfume drifted on the air. With her hair held up, clear of her long thin neck and her tall figure clad in designer clothing she looked the essence of sophistication.

“Not knowing what will happen to me,” the woman said, “will be part of the thrill. If I were to be abducted then I wouldn’t want to know when or where, and I could be raped of course, but it would be for the humiliation of it as much for the act itself.”

Her refined voice made the statement in a most matter of fact manner, her obvious wealth and refinement at odds with what she spoke of.

“I think she’d prefer a longer, more in depth experience. Perhaps being held and made to suffer,” the gentleman added.

“Would you be happy to go along with that, does it fit in with what you want, Mrs. Jameson?” the manager asked.

“Oh yes, I’d be happy with that, I’d go along with the non-consensual aspect, of course I would”

They stopped and waited as the lady studied Kate, hanging there marked and sobbing, fascinated by her sore nipples and lips. Reaching out the woman gently stroked Kate’s welted breast. With her flesh so sensitive the pain made her twitch. The woman repeated the action, testing Kate’s response.

“This is one of our own slaves, here to learn how to behave, she’s not free to leave but will stay here and suffer until we decide otherwise.”

“Do you get many outsiders here wanting to suffer in the same way?” she asked. They resumed their walk through the reception area, talking as they went.

“It’s not common but it can be arranged of course.”

Kate watched them go, hearing the woman’s stockings swishing as she walked. She’s fascinated, Kate thought, I bet she can’t resist turning for one last look. She did turn, trying to make it look like a casual glance around the area in general. I knew it. Will she be here again, perhaps held like this, taken by anybody at all, dripping with the sperm of strangers? Probably.

When things quietened down Kate would be released and taken to the lounge to join the other three slaves. The lounge was large, very large, perhaps the Grand Hall of the original, Jacobean house. The white walls, dark oak panelling and natural stone fireplaces contrasted most attractively with the burgundy red carpet. A square in the centre of the room remained free of carpet, the original elm floorboards left bare and polished.

In each corner of the square stood a set of heavy wooden stocks. The four slaves had their feet fixed to rings in the floor before leaning forward to place their necks and wrists into the semi-circular cut-outs. As the iron hinge creaked the top section would be lowered into place, securing the victim, allowing only forward vision. Once trapped in place the slaves were freely available–all holes open and vulnerable, breasts hanging beneath their naked bodies. With their heads facing toward the centre of the square each slave could observe the suffering and use of the others.

Kate looked across to Grace. As usual she looked dignified, obedient and accepting. The reality of their situation struck Kate, here were two middle class, respectable women, the gallery owner and the personal assistant, on display, humiliated and about to be used.

The room filled with cries and screams drawn out of the slaves as their abusers made use of the array of instruments available for their torture. Heads twisted and hands strained at the wood in a desperate but futile attempt to avoid the barrage. The terror and begging seemed to drive the tormentors on, eager to advance to higher levels of cruelty. Kate attempted to emulate Grace who took her punishment with stoicism, rarely screaming and never begging, always showing great restraint.

Guests at the Manor were seldom able to resist making use of the available bodies. Bent over and held in position all three holes took a share of the abuse. With her users unknown, and often unseen, Kate finally stopped caring who they were. It was just another person making use of an available opening.

She was left with no doubt that the guests using the slaves enjoyed seeing them suffer. It was real punishment, not just physical but mental. Being used by people who didn’t care for you as a person was hard to take. At the Boardroom, members could request the use of a particular slave. At the Manor they were used just because they were there and available, an object for sex. The reality left Kate close to tears. The feeling of pride in her slavery disappeared; there was no pride in being forced to obey. Pride came from the conscious decision to obey. No choice, no pride. Before, the choice existed to quit, to say no, that too had now been taken away.

However, as the days passed, and being used like that became routine, she began to see events from another perspective. Seeing the pleasure the male and female guests gained from using the four slaves changed how she viewed the evening activities.

From her position she saw the others being beaten, used for sex and generally humiliated, but she also saw the pleasure their suffering gave to their abusers. As the slaves bodies struggled under the whip and their flesh flattened from the impact, even she waited for the howl of pain. Seeing breasts distorted from pulling, being twisted and squeezed until the tears flowed thrilled her as much as those causing the torment. She enjoyed seeing the other slaves sweating from their ordeal, sperm dripping down their chins and bodily fluids running from between their legs.

That, she realised, was the thrill her abusers got–though no doubt theirs would be to a far greater degree–from using and abusing her in the same way. With regained pride she realised that by giving her body to them, she was enabling them to enjoy doing what she was enjoying seeing.

She slept peacefully that night, comfortable and at ease with her role at the Manor.

58

As Kate and the others worked on the new road, she continued to reflect on her role, and her future. The monotonous task gave her time to develop a clearer view of things.

To reach her goal she had to come to terms with the feelings that had always been there but proved so hard to define. That was all they’d ever been, impressions of how she wanted to be and to feel, with no definitive handle to grasp. She had to change her way of thinking and take a fresh look at her reasons for wanting to be a submissive. When she could sort out the confusion of emotions, mental dilemmas and physical needs she was sure she’d reach the thing that had always been there, wanting to surface but so difficult to identify and embrace.

Looking back she couldn’t understand why she’d been acting and thinking as she had. Why did she think those businessmen at the service station were dirty old men? Was she not the guilty party, the dirty one, and them the innocent bystanders dragged into the game? She was the one exposing herself, who wouldn’t look if given the chance?

Why did she hate Marshall Ralston for using her cruelly in the gym? Wasn’t that what was being offered to him? Shouldn’t she feel pleased, honoured even, to be made available for his pleasure? Wasn’t she just passing the guilt over to him, blaming him for the situation? He should be viewed as an innocent pawn in the game, just taking up a golden opportunity denied to most.

Being made to exhibit herself to strangers had turned her on, she couldn’t deny it. Having to wear the tiny dress at the Boardroom and having to cross London in only her short coat had thrilled her. What woman wouldn’t want men to notice her and appreciate her body. She wanted to be the centre of attention–it aroused her.

She’d mistakenly thought that being exhibited like that was being done for her benefit, and for her pleasure. She should have considered the excitement other people felt during her ordeals, Richard, The Colonel and even Helen, they had all enjoyed her humiliation and they all got a thrill from her submission. It wasn’t all about her.

During her training she’d been the centre of attention, the focus of all the activity. At the boardroom she was wanted, lusted after and given orgasms all of which fed her sexual needs.

The make believe fantasy world she’d been experiencing broke down as soon as she was used in the way that she always said she wanted to be used–like a true submissive. That night she’d panicked, lost her bottle–frozen when the going got tough.

During that fateful evening, there had been no concern for her pleasure and no sexual planning. She hadn’t undressed; even the exhibitionist in her had been denied. No consideration had been given to her lust or excitement: she’d even been denied the pleasure of somebody using the openings between her legs. She became an object of derision for personal reasons.

And why hadn’t she just sucked the tramp? She’d had headaches before and the problem with the laddered stocking was laughable. If she’d done as she was told she would have been repulsed, yes–but that was the whole point. Lloyd wanted her to be repulsed and it was her duty to obey. To give that pleasure to the tramp would have stopped Lloyd dead–she’d have beaten him. He’d hoped that she wouldn’t be able to do it: his intension was to break her, hers should have been to obey.

Being sent to the Manor had shown her what a true slave really was and how others viewed and treated them. She had watched slaves giving themselves, but importantly, she had seen great pleasure derived from their suffering. Did she want to accept that deeper state of submission? Was she happy to be an object of pleasure and discard the trivial thrills of her own? Yes she did, definitely.

Her epiphany moment came as she toiled in the afternoon heat. Was that what people experienced when they said they had ‘seen the light’, or they’d ‘found God’? Did he just suddenly appear to them; was it really an instant thing, or an overnight thing? If so then her god had come to her, she too could see the way forward.

She would be used for the pleasure of others; but to satisfy her deep submissive desire, not to satisfy her shallow sexual desires. She had her body to offer for their pleasure, however and whenever they wished to use it. She’d put her basic needs to one side and aim for more meaningful rewards.

59

As Friday morning dawned, the routine continued, just as it had for almost two weeks, an uncomfortable night spent on the thin, hard mattress, followed by the horrible ritual with the freezing water and scrubbing brushes. Kate took it in her stride. Heartened by her deliberations she faced the day with a renewed determination to succeed. She had the motivation and attitude she needed to see it through to the end; she only hoped that the end would be in her favour.

The day’s labour took the same form as all of the previous days, except that Kate relished being given her tasks, accepted the cruelty and suffered the pain. If that was what they wanted from her, then she was happy to endure the treatment.

As afternoon turned to evening the four slaves returned to the stables. Without being told, all four obediently knelt in a row on the cold cobbles, waiting for the inescapable blast of freezing water, followed by the harsh scrubbing. As the final traces of soap were being rinsed away the manager entered and spoke to the staff member. Assuming one of them would be selected for an unpleasant task, all eyes quickly lowered, careful to do nothing which would draw attention to themselves. However hard she tried, Kate found it impossible to pick up any of the conversation. Their glances toward the line of kneeling women indicated that one or all of them were the subject of the discussion. As the talk ended the questions were answered.

“You, come with me.”

It was Kate; she could almost hear the others exhale with relief. He walked her back through the house and into the reception area.

“Stand on there,” he said, gesturing toward the now familiar raised platform, “spread your legs and put your hands behind your head.”

He called over the receptionist and spoke to her as he looked into Kate’s eyes.

“It seems that this one may have changed. I’ve heard she worked harder this morning, got a bit of a spring in her step.”

Kate tried to confirm his suppositions, tried to use her eyes to tell him he was correct.

“Perhaps you’re ready, maybe you’ve reached that third stage I told you about, the one where you want to obey orders because it satisfies your desire to submit. Let’s find out shall we.”

He turned to the receptionist, “she’s to be used as normal, but she’s not to be bound.” He placed the whip on the stand in front of her. “She’s to take her treatment without being restrained, call me if there are any problems.”

Kate tried not to let her joy show. It was a chance to prove herself, to show them that she was worthy of keeping rather than sending back to her previous life: an opportunity to make up for her mistake.

For the rest of the afternoon she remained on the platform withstanding whatever indignities and punishments they chose to impose on her. The manager came through far more frequently than he had on previous occasions, obviously monitoring the situation. Word must have spread amongst the staff as some returned time after time to see if they could be the one to cause her capitulation. Determined to withstand the ruthless treatment she remained on the platform–she would not fail again. If her body bent from the pain of having her lips twisted, she stood back straight, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks. If she lost her footing from the force of the whip she would return immediately, enduring all they had to offer.

When the time came for the slaves to be used in the lounge Kate followed the manager to the wash-room where she cleaned and prepared herself for the evening’s activities. The other three were in position in the stocks when the manager took Kate into the lounge. The fourth set of stocks had been removed and in its place stood a trestle similar to the bar used at Colonel Mason’s.

“Get in position and don’t move until told otherwise, understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

After she positioned herself, he left, leaving her at the mercy of the guests and staff who made continual use of the offering. Her complicity appeared to spur them on; determined to make her move, object or refuse. To Kate, the sore and burning holes between her legs became her salvation, the vehicle she used to demonstrate her submission. She placed no value on the physical feelings which were impossible to ignore, feeling none of the titillation of the past. Being used like that pleased all involved, their physical needs were met and her need for submission rewarded. Being continually used in such a distasteful manner pleased her. She hoped that pleasure failed to show on her face lest it be misinterpreted as the result of the physical sensations.

The evening came to a close as the guests drifted away leaving only the slaves and staff in the lounge. The manager returned and, after speaking with the staff, took out his telephone. Once again–straining–Kate attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation, convinced that she would be the subject. It proved possible to catch only small snippets of speech as he walked back and forth.

“… yes, that’s right… only three… could you? so there’s nothing more to be done… yes tomorrow… OK… fine…”

He then nodded to the staff and left the room. While being escorted back to the bedroom below the scullery, Kate’s mind whirled in turmoil. Pleased with her performance in the lounge, she felt her soreness to be a price worth paying. Holding her position during the ordeal and refusing to give in to their mistreatment filled her with pride. However, once secured to the bed and as the other three slept, her mind analysed the few words she managed to pick out from the phone call. It must have been about her she thought, he kept glancing toward her. Tomorrow, whatever it was about, it would be tomorrow. Then there was the most worrying part, ‘so there’s nothing more to be done’. What did that mean? They’d run out of options? They could do nothing else for her? They’d tried their best, but they’ve failed? Had she failed to show that magical ‘thing’ they spoke of? They did say that she may be able to tolerate the treatment but still not show the unknown quality they were looking for, making her unsuitable for a future with the group. Was that what had happened? Was she to be expelled tomorrow? Could all of her hope and suffering have been for nothing?

60

The four slaves looked at each other, overwhelmed by the confusion. The days routine had been identical to that of any other, the washing, the scrubbing and breakfast. But then something had changed; they hadn’t been taken out to the yard or told to put on the working shoes. Instead they waited; watched over by two members of the staff who sat on a table chatting. They welcomed the diversity, anything to break the routine–however distasteful–would be welcome.

Kate jumped as the door flew open, banging hard against the wooden wall. Two people entered, both dressed in the customary black clothing. The man carried a crate on a sack truck which he’d used to force the door open. The woman following behind carried a clipboard. The two who’d been chatting left the table to join the newcomers.

“We’ve come to collect one,” said the man with the sack truck as he lowered the crate to the floor. He unscrewed the fixings, releasing the top from the crate, and then slid out the bars which formed the crate’s front wall.

“Which one?” Asked one of their over lookers. The woman checked her clipboard.

“Grace.” The other three slaves gave a sigh of relief. Grace showed no emotion. Released from her chains she stood when told.

“Sit with your back against the wood. Good. Knees touching either side.” With cords placed just above her knees the man secured her legs to the sides of the crate, close to her shoulders. The position stretched her legs wide open to the gaze of the others. Her wrists were secured in the same manner: one either side of her head. Even in that position she still looked elegant and classy.

“Nice and comfortable?” he asked, in a sarcastic manner. Grace moved slightly trying to improve her position.

“Yes thank you.”

“Good. Where’s she going?”

The woman consulted her clipboard as the man slid the bars back and screwed down the top of the crate.

“Let’s see…to…here it is…to Robert Hardcastle, in the City.”

“Oh dear, you’re in for a hard time then, I’ve heard about him.”

So had Grace and knew the man’s information to be correct. She looked forward to it.

After manoeuvring the crate back onto the sack truck, he wheeled Grace from the room.

“What’s happening to these three?”

The woman once again checked her clipboard.

“The other two are going to the kitchen, Seventy Three’s coming with me. Stand up.”

Fearful of what she would face, Kate obediently followed as they climbed the stairs. Making their way through the main house and up a further flight of stairs, the woman ushered her into a first floor room–a bedroom. Kate looked around. An open door revealed an en-suite bathroom. The large room could belong in any high class hotel. The flat screen television on the wall, the well-stocked drinks cabinet and the large, high bed gave an air of luxury denied to Kate since her arrival.

“You’re to remain here today,” the woman told her, “your lunch will be delivered later. Feel free to make use of the facilities.”

With that she left the room, and Kate panicked. She wanted to rush after the woman, tell her there had been a mistake, she was a slave and this was not how slaves were treated. In her confusion she felt like crying. This must have been what the manager had been discussing on the telephone. Soon she would be returned to her old life. His phrase, ‘so there’s nothing more to be done’ now became clear. Flinging herself onto the bed she put her face in her hands and wept. For how long she lay there she had no idea. It took a long while to control her sobbing, after which she decided to make the most of the luxurious surroundings. No doubt Richard would be along later to pick her up. For over half an hour she enjoyed a long hot bath, after being subjected to the freezing showers twice a day it was pure luxury. After watching some television, she found out that nothing of any great interest had happened since her arrival. Trying to take her mind off her imminent departure she read an assortment of magazines. It didn’t work, her mind kept wandering back to try and work out where she’d made her mistake, or what she hadn’t done correctly–her thoughts drew no conclusions.

The only break in the day came when her lunch arrived. A member of staff, dressed in black, supervised a chained slave who carried the tray. The crab salad, and fresh, warm, crusty bread accompanied by a glass of white wine tasted divine, but Kate would have swapped it for a bowl of stew in the scullery if doing so would mean that she still had a chance to alter the course of her future.

As early evening approached and the light began to fade, the door to her room opened. Kate expected to see Richard, there to take her home and comfort her, instead the manager entered accompanied by a female member of staff. Kate stood, unsure of the conventions to adopt in the situation. She remained silent.

“You’re to be tested again; you did well in the reception area yesterday and very well in the lounge.”

“But…I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“That I was leaving, being thrown out… from the group.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well I…” Kate stopped herself, she could hardly admit to trying to listen in to his telephone conversation. “I just assumed that I’d failed to meet your needs, that I’d proved unsuitable.”

“Far from it…so far you’ve done well, but tonight is confirmation time–make or break.”

“What does that mean, what’s to happen now?”

“You’re to be used, in front of an audience–by Sebastian Lloyd.” He waited to see what reaction the news invoked.

“Very well,” Kate said, trying to keep her face neutral. Inside she was more than happy with the news. What could he do to her, surely nothing which she’d not already experienced, and he was unlikely to have brought a tramp. No, she welcomed the challenge. She’d sort the problem that night–for good.

“Kelly here will help you prepare. Bring her down when she’s ready.”

As soon as he left the room the woman relaxed, chatting in a friendly manner as Kate bathed and cleaned herself with one of the enemas. Sitting Kate at the dressing table the woman brushed her hair and applied heavy make-up, the first Kate had worn for a long time.

“This will be hard you know, I’ve seen it done before.”

“What happened?”

“She couldn’t handle it, she gave in.” Thinking about how negative that must have sounded she quickly qualified her statement. “But she wasn’t like you. I saw you yesterday in reception, and I heard this morning how well you stood up to it in the lounge. No, you’ll be fine.”

“I know this man and what he’s capable of, nothing about it will be easy,” Kate told her.

“Have you had dealings with him before then?”

Kate gave her a brief outline of the story.

“What a nasty slob.”

Kate laughed at her precise but accurate character assessment.

“You show him you’re better than his biased opinion.”

“The problem before was that I’d no desire to give myself to him, he wasn’t worthy of it. I only wanted to suffer for people who deserved to have power over me.”

“Do you think you can handle this then?”

“I’ll give it a damn good try. He’ll only be testing my body not my emotions. The more he does to me the more I’ll be able to prove my worth to those that do matter to me.”

“Go girl, you show the pig. Come on it’s time.”

She secured the wrist and ankle straps before carefully fixing the collar.

“Put your shoes on. Ready?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

Clipping the lead to her collar she led Kate from the room. Walking in heels once again felt strange, extra care needed to be taken on the stone stairs.

The layout of the lounge had been changed; one wall left clear and the chairs arranged in semicircles around a low, raised stage. They waited for a crying slave to be led out. The general murmuring and discussion probably centred around the treatment she had received and her response to it. Kate scanned the room, looking at the back of the heads, trying to spot Richard. There he was, at the front and to the left sitting with Graham Weston. Just behind them sat Janet and Colonel Mason. For the first time Kate suddenly became nervous. Failing was one thing, but doing so in front of the people who mattered to her was something else.

“Here we go then, come on.”

The lead guided her forward, through the crowded room. Kate spotted Elizabeth and Robin. The audience quietened as she made her way to the clear area at the front. The murmuring soon turned into a deafening, expectant silence as the audience eagerly awaited the main event. The woman turned Kate to face them.

“Legs spread, hands behind your head,” she said, before undoing the lead and whispering “good luck, and you show him.” The kind gesture heartened Kate. From the corner of her eye she saw him, standing, and waiting.

He stepped forward to address the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here this evening to test the suitability of this slave–to see whether she deserves to be kept in the group. She defied me once but this time will be the last.”

Kate noted that, from the very start. he was speaking of defeat and her failing, He was there to finish the task, not to test her but to try and break her, and in front of people who care for her. Her determination soared, she would not let him beat her again.

“Name?”

“Seventy Three.”

“Seventy Three what?”

“Seventy Three, Sir.”

She hesitated, her voice reluctant. The leather belt slashed across the front of her thighs.

“See, no respect, that’s why she’s here. She needs,” slash, “to learn,” slash, “some manners.”

Kate winced from the blows but stood still.

“Lean over the table.”

She moved forward and carried out the instruction. Facing the audience but unable to see them due to the lights in her eyes, she gripped the front edge, her legs widely spread, and waited. Five or six strokes cut into her buttocks forcing her to cry out. Drawing only a minimal reaction from her he moved upwards and placed five blazing lines across her back between her shoulders. Then he moved down lower and repeated the exercise on the tender flesh in the middle of her back. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the table, determined to remain in position. She hoped he would move his attentions from the middle of her back, he must have damaged the skin, she had no idea if it was blood or sweat trickling along her ribs.

As the punishment continued she reverted back to her training, remembering what Colonel Mason had told her. Breath hard and get a rhythm to match the strokes, out with the strike in between strikes. But Lloyd changed the tempo. He was shrewd, a skilled wielder of the whip. The noise from the punishment echoed around the room, but still the assault hadn’t achieved the effect he’d hoped for.

“Get up.”

Had he stopped? Was it a small victory?

“Turn around, lean back against the edge of the table and grip the edge behind you.” Delivered with a sneer his next instruction made his intentions clear, “and open your legs.”

Kate dreaded punishment to the front of her body. The extra sensitive flesh and seeing the blows coming added to the agony. Standing to one side he slashed the first blow across her stomach. The burning pain caused an immediate red line to appear; only to be repeated as he covered the area above, marking her breasts. The most painful part came from the tip of the belt catching her nipple. She fought to bear the agony until he finally stopped, leaving the room filled with the sound of her continued screaming.

What will Richard think? Will he be turned on or will he consider Lloyd to be taking things too far?

As her screams turned to sobs she opened her eyes to see Lloyd standing before her. She knew what to expect and closed her eyes.

“Look at me,” he shouted, “how dare you look away.”

The belt sliced down between her legs, her body reacted–curling up in agony. As soon as she regained control she recovered her position, opened her legs and looked him in the eyes. He saw her defiance challenging him.

He repeated the cruel act, eliciting the same response. She screamed and moaned convinced he must have broken the skin. She looked down to check. No sign of blood but a deep red mark. He gave up the struggle and moved on. Kate inwardly smiled. It was her day, her opportunity to shine. She’d been punished for her mistake and Lloyd’s cruelty didn’t form part of that punishment; she was the innocent party. It was a one on one bout between him and her. She had submitted and endured. Round one won on points.

Once her breathing had returned to normal he used her hair to pull her upright–her scalp burned. Forced down onto hands and knees, she faced the audience, before having her face and breasts flattened against the floor. With her backside high in the air she waited to feel the sting of the strap, none came. Instead she felt him hard and warm, pushing at her opening. He knew Richard was there. With one violent thrust he filled her, more easily than she would have expected, she must be moister than she imagined.

Her attractive looks and slim figure meant nothing here, her face pushed into the floor and her body doubled up to make her holes more accessible, she became just an opening for his use: the only part of her he considered to be of any use.

Being as hard and rough as he could, he used her. Even to him the sex meant nothing. He used her just to make the point that he could, that she was the lowest of beings, there for his use whatever she thought of him. He withdrew completely many times before thrusting into her again to repeat the act of taking her, of opening her and demonstrating his power. The sex wasn’t the goal, he didn’t want to climax, that wasn’t the point. Thick, stiff and pumped up from his arousal, she thought it would have felt good in other circumstances. Her body gripped him, the walls of her hole sensitive, but she felt no lust, not there and not with him. The mentality had changed, his anger overcame him and the adrenaline flowed. He was raping her; wanting her to suffer–and suffer she did.

He moved to her smaller opening; she felt him at the entrance. Slaves often got more physical pleasure from being used that way, and he would know that. Kate also knew why he wanted to use her that way, in front of all those people. Despite the physical pleasure she may get from it, being used there was always degrading. Having her backside used at any time was humiliating but there, being used by Lloyd, in front of Richard and all those people, she wanted to curl up and die from the shame.

She could have avoided it. She could have run away, and he knew it. She wouldn’t run again; once was a mistake, twice would be the end. He had no mercy, he was big and hard. There were no preliminaries and he took no care, he just wanted to hurt her, and he did. She screamed from the discomfort as well as her distaste. He pounded at her and thrust into her as deeply as possible, his hair scratching the raw skin on her buttocks. When he could hold out no longer he withdrew, grabbed her hair and spun her round before making her clean the disgusting slime from him. Perhaps he hoped she hadn’t been as thorough with her preparations, making the task more sickening.

Lifting her off him he made her kneel on her haunches. She remained still, facing the crowd of people as he went behind her, out of sight; it made her nervous. Coming back into view she saw his rapidly subsiding erection at eye level. He held it. She remained still, unsure if she should lean forward and take him into her mouth. No order came, so she waited. Then she realised his intention, but glad of the break she waited. She’d never been subjected to it before but had seen it done to other slaves at the Boardroom, and she knew the reason for it: to demonstrate the power of one person over another. It was a repulsive act, but effective. It was his big moment, the point at which she would refuse and seal her fate, he was sure of it.

Kate saw the liquid moments before she felt it hit her face, closing her eyes just in time to prevent it entering. As she felt the stream move down to cover her breasts she opened her eyes. He directed the stream upward once more, and when it reached her chin she looked into his eyes and opened her mouth. As she took in the liquid she tried closing her throat but some went down before she could spit out the rest.

Which look could he see in her eyes? Was it the look of triumph or the smirk? Either way it enraged him. His face reddened and his fists clenched. As he grabbed the whip she cringed and cowered, waiting for the onslaught to begin. Two members of the audience came forward ready to step in. He raised the whip… then stopped, his better judgement taking over. Throwing the whip to the floor he turned and stormed from the room. The men on the front row returned to their seats, sure of her safety. She had won–it was his turn to run.

Kate remained on the floor, the cold spreading goosebumps over her skin. The area between her legs felt sore, her make-up was ruined, her body welted and raw and the urine smelt foul. What must she look like to the people who’d just witnessed her debasement? Her answer came when she heard the clapping and appreciative comments. Richard put a blanket around her before picking her up, holding her tight and kissing her dirty face.