by Ian Smith
“You won’t get a conviction against influential people like this unless you can explain that bit - unless it was one of the slaves.”
“Don’t I know it and no it wasn’t. You’re safe, my dear,” he said to Rosie.
“Thank you, Master,” said Rosie with feeling, although she remained frightened.
“Well, I’ll leave you to the tapes,” said Jeff. “They might help. Goodnight.”
He departed. Donald Peters looked at Rosie, having expected her to go as well. Rosie would certainly have preferred to, but she knew it was highly unwise. “My owner asked me to see to your needs, Master,” she said. “That means I should stay here all night - unless you would prefer me not to,” she added, keeping the slight hope from her voice.
“No, no, by all means stay. The quaint customs of this town always amuse me,” he said lightly.
You wouldn’t think they were so quaint if you were in my position, Rosie thought, but she said nothing. He began to undress, exposing a squat, rotund, hairy body which Rosie found highly unattractive. Her first estimate, that he was around sixty years old, looked pretty accurate. He showered and then got into bed. For a long moment, he looked pensively at Rosie as she stood to attention. As so often, she found herself wishing that her boobs didn’t stick out quite so much through the holes in her uniform. Well, she thought, is he going to order me to go to bed with him or not? She most certainly didn’t want to, but she knew that was irrelevant. In fact, perhaps she ought to make the running a bit: if he spoke to Tyler Mason in the morning and gave any slightest hint of a less than wonderful night, she would be in for a beating. It was far better to take a fucking than risk that. At one time, Rosie would have thought otherwise, but that was a long time ago. Yes, better to volunteer, to be safe.
“Master?” she asked quietly. “May I join you?”
“Hmm?” he said vacantly, his mind evidently elsewhere. “Oh yes, of course.”
Clearly he was thinking about the murder mystery. Rosie wondered if she might have got away without this, but it was too late now. She lifted her uniform over her head, feeling the familiar flush of shame as her pubic hair shaven into the letter M came in sight. At least, as she slipped under the covers, it was no longer on view, but now she had to nestle up close to his hairy body, which reminded her of a huge, bloated spider.
Paying her little attention, Donald Peters switched on the tape recorder and began listening to the interrogations of the slaves. Every so often there would be a squeal of pain from the tape that sent a shiver through Rosie. Her own interview was the second he listened to and she heard her own screams and recalled the torments that had been applied to her. Her fingers caressed him gently as he lay there listening intently.
There was a knock on the door. Moments later, one of the uniformed policemen entered the room. He showed no surprise at seeing Rosie naked in bed with a man forty years her senior, but it didn’t stop Rosie from feeling embarrassed.
“Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but Mr. Williams asked if you would like to come with me. We’ve found something.”
“Of course,” Donald Peters said, switching the tape off, getting out of bed and reaching for a dressing gown. “You can come with us, girl.”
Rosie got up and hurriedly pulled her uniform on - at least with no underwear that was quick and easy to do - and followed them into the lounge. Jefferson Williams was there, along with another policeman. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Don,” he said, “but have a look at this.” There was a small ornamental box, like a musical box, around eight inches along each side, on the table. Williams looked at it nervously. “Is that ...” he began.
“A poison trap device, yes, I would say it is,” replied Donald Peters. He examined it for a minute or so. “You know, I’ve been expecting this to turn up.”
“Well, obviously, since it must be how the trick was done.”
“No, no, my boy, you’re missing the point. But never mind that right now. Look, here’s how it works: there’s this rather impressive jewel in a centre mounting. You see the jewel, and think it could find a better home in your pocket, so you try to take it out. No, don’t actually try it, if you value your life!” He rummaged in his pocket and found a pair of pliers. “I’ve been expecting something like this, so I borrowed these from Bassett. The victim would need to hold the jewel with his finger and thumb to try to dislodge it, just like I’m doing with the pliers, and then ...”
Click!
A wicked-looking but very small and thin needle shot out of the mounting as the diamond became dislodged. It bounced harmlessly off the pliers then it slid back into the casing. The precious stone, which it could now be seen had a spring wire attached to the back of it, was pulled back into the mounting behind it.
“Ingenious,” said Donald Peters. “You try and get the jewel out, the needle catches you underneath your fingernail, where no autopsy would be able to find a mark, the poison does its job and the whole thing slides back into place ready for the next victim.”
“Is there poison on it?” Jeff asked breathlessly.
“I’m willing to bet there is. I saw a smear of brown on the tip of the needle: curare, and fresh at that, I would say. I suggest your pathologist or whoever takes maximum caution in confirming that.”
“And it was found in Tyler Mason’s room,” rumbled Jeff Williams.
“What was found in my room?”
Neither of them had noticed the head of the Mason family come up behind them. Jeff Williams jumped, but Donald Peters just looked around. Rosie shied back: her owner looked furious.
“I am given to understand, Police Chief Williams, that your men have conducted a search of my room without my permission,” said Tyler Mason with heat. “I will ask you to confirm that and say if it was on your orders.”
Jefferson Williams drew himself up to his full height. “I confirm both, Sir,” he said firmly. “Further, they found this ornament there. We have reason to believe that it may be the poison trap that killed Edward Harris. Do you have any comment to make on that?”
Mason peered at the ornament. “I don’t recall ever seeing that thing before,” he said.
“Nevertheless, it was found there,” Williams insisted. “It is a very serious piece of evidence.”
Mason stared at him. “Do you think I killed that young man? Is that it?” He glared at Williams. “Well then, arrest me and put me on trial if you want. But I warn you, my lawyers will tear your case, and you, to shreds and you will end up as a constable on the beat if you are lucky. I hope you have the appetite for such a battle.”
Williams held his ground, although the threat clearly worried him. “Mr. Mason, I am just doing my duty ... what is it, Don?”
Everybody turned to look at Donald Peters, whose face had gone white and whose eyes seemed to stare out of shrunken sockets. “Appetite! Tomato soup,” he muttered to himself, and then, much louder: “that’s it! Tomato soup!”
“What on earth ...” began Mason.
“No, be quiet for a moment and let me think! Yes, of course, that’s how it was done! And Phillip Saunders ... yes, how beautifully simple!”
“Are you suggesting now that my friend Phillip is the murderer? Perhaps by poisoning the soup? That’s almost as preposterous as accusing me!” Mason thundered.
“Eh?” Only now did Donald Peters seem to become aware once more of the people around him. “No, no, no, it’s just ... oh, I say, Jeff, this murderer is fiendishly clever. We’ve been duped by the most beautiful piece of misdirection all along.”
“And who duped us?” Mason asked irritably.
“We did,” Peters replied simply. “That’s the beauty of it: we were allowed to send ourselves off on a wild goose chase that embarrasses me when I think about it.”
“I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about and I don’t care,�
� said Jefferson Williams. “But if you can solve this impossible murder ...”
“I can now,” said Donald Peters, returning to normality. “Proving it will be something else, though. Hmm, yes. Can you get everybody assembled in the main lounge, say tomorrow evening, make it after dinner say nine o’clock. That should give me time to get what I want.”
“And in the meantime, am I under arrest?” Mason asked forcefully.
“I think it best, if Jeff will agree, that we maintain a high police presence in the house and keep you ostensibly under close scrutiny, Sir. I hope you don’t mind.” Tyler Mason grunted and said nothing. Jeff Williams could only nod his acquiescence; but the relief on the policeman’s face was palpable.
Arrangements were made and then Donald Peters returned to his room, Rosie in tow. She climbed into bed beside him and he carried on listening to the tapes. Only when he had finished the last one did he turn his attention to her. His hands started to explore her nubile young body and Rosie could feel the beast in him rise. Fighting down her nausea, she used the skills she had learnt to bring him on, her hands stroking him, her body pressed to his. His growing erection was like a tent pole holding the bedclothes up. Rosie’s slim fingers slipped inside his boxer shorts and she felt him stiffen as she touched his penis. For a little while she lightly ran her fingertips up and down the shaft, then she ducked her head under the sheets and brought her mouth into play. She hated doing this, but at least he was better than Master Freddie. Her tongue replaced her hands on active duty, whilst her hands cupped his flabby buttocks and then ran down his hairy, fleshy thighs. After long minutes, he was ready and he took over, moving on top of her, crushing her with his considerable weight as his hands guided his manhood between her legs and into her. Rosie gasped, but she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into her. He began to thrust, bruisingly hard for her, but she put the discomfort from her mind and focused on her task. For long minutes he pounded, until eventually he lost control and ejaculated. Rosie took it all in, hiding her grimace and then quietly let him disengage himself.
As they lay there side by side, she could not contain her curiosity, adding to the fact that as usual she wanted not to think about what they had just done. “Master, is my owner really guilty?”
She could just make out his smile in the dimness. “I think you’re an intelligent girl,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I’m just a slave, Master,” Rosie said quietly.
“Meaning that people use your other attributes rather than your intelligence and it’s best if you keep your pretty head down.”
“Exactly, Master,” she affirmed bitterly.
“Well, if nobody could get into or out of that room, a poison trap could solve the problem,” he said, inviting comment.
“Yes, Master, but ...”
“Go on,” he encouraged her.
“But how did he get it out of the room? It’s too big to conceal easily. I’m sure he didn’t have it on him when he came out of there and it wasn’t inside.”
“Aha! So?”
Rosie reflected. “It wasn’t in there when we searched and nobody could have concealed it and brought it out with them. The doorway was in everybody’s view all the time.”
“Exactly. That is where the murderer’s plan went astray.”
“But he managed it!”
“Oh no, he didn’t,” said Donald Peters quietly and turned over and went to sleep.
Flashback Six
Rosie could recall vividly the blessed day she was discharged from the Slave Training Centre.
It was a very sobering moment. On the one hand she was free of the terrible torments she had suffered there but on the other hand she was leaving to be sold as a slave. Rosie knew that she was going to co-operate. The alternative - being returned to the centre for ‘retraining’, which it had been graphically pointed out to her was even more intensive and painful than what she had already gone through - was unthinkable. No, Rosie would co-operate. She would be a slave.
She was still a virgin. Indeed, her only clothing as she was marched down the street under the hot sun was the metal chastity belt. The unyielding, cold steel chafed her slightly in places and she knew that it would only protect her virginity until she was sold. Then her new owner would enjoy taking it off and having her. Rosie was going to be a sex slave. She knew the mechanics of sex, of course, but not what it was really like. She wondered how it would be. She was not looking forward to it at all, but she accepted that it was going to happen. There was no way out.
Being nearly naked on the street was extremely embarrassing. Rosie covered her boobs with her hands as much as she could, not easy as her mammaries were fairly sizeable. Her crotch was covered by the chastity belt but her legs and bottom weren’t and she could do nothing about it without showing her tits. At least the hot sun was better than the dank, dark, depressing Slave Centre.
There were seven of them in the line. Five were from her hockey team; one, Sarah, was like her wearing a chastity belt. The other three - Hannah, Simone and Hayley - were all fully nude. Hannah in particular was finding public nudity very hard to bear, although the other two were not enthusiastic either. Rosie wondered what had happened to the other girls. The other two in the line were about her age and looked equally frightened and miserable. One was Arabic, the other Caucasian - French, Rosie had the impression.
They came to a series of shops, which made things much worse because of the increasing number of pedestrians about. On the roads, too, were quite a few light carts drawn by near naked, harnessed girls, each sweating as they laboured to pull their burdens. It was all truly alien and bizarre.
One of the shops had a large sign above it saying “The Slave Shop.” In the bay windows, several girls languished naked, whilst two more stood chained one either side of the entrance. Each of these girls had a price advertised on a card or poster displayed near to them, along with some personal details. The prices were in the local currency, varying from below 2000 local dollars for the bargains to 6000 for the most beautiful. There was no way of knowing what that would be in sterling, but Rosie had the distinct impression that the prices were not sky-high. Slaves in this town were evidently cheap and plentiful. One of the girls was being groped by a passer-by. She endured it stoically, but her clenched fists indicated her distaste.
They were taken into the shop. Several more naked girls were standing on display platforms some marked as basement bargains and others as ‘pick of the week’, ‘top buy’ or other standard sale slogans. Even the ‘bargain’ girls were very attractive and those at the upper end of the price range were stunningly beautiful. The five non-virgins were detached from the chain coffle. Four of them were taken into what Rosie gathered was the main sales section, whilst Simone, who was particularly lovely with a full, sensuous body, was put on a display dais in the foyer with a placard describing her as “fresh in and eager to go” and a price of $4800. Simone certainly did not look eager but put a brave face on things. She had often sunbathed topless, as her tan indicated, and was able to display herself without too much difficulty.
Sarah and Rosie were taken to the ‘virgins’ section. Rosie saw that the shop was laid out in sections such as first time girls, only one owner girls, shy girls, big boobs, ethnic minorities, untamed girls and virgins. There must have been nearly a hundred chained, naked or near-naked girls, of which she was now one. As she and Sarah were chained to berths (a berth was just a space with a patch of straw for the girl to lie on, a ring in the wall for a chain to be secured to and a place for a card giving price and details) in the virgins section, Rosie saw three other virgins, each wearing a chastity belt: a cute little elfin girl who could not have been more than sixteen, a big-boned, big breasted girl of around twenty, and a timid, bookworm type with glasses and a sensible haircut who was probably closer to thirty. Rosie found herself thinking rather cattily that this
was the only way the bookworm girl was going to lose her virginity: she wasn’t unattractive and had a decent if un-sensational body, but she looked as if she’d never tried to make the best of herself.
Cards had been prepared for each of the new girls, an assessor had visited the Slave Training Centre, were put up. Rosie saw that her own price was $4300, more than the elfin girl who was priced at $4000 and considerably more than the other two, but to her irritation she saw Sarah had a price of $4400. The blonde was very pretty but in Rosie’s opinion her body was a bit flabby rather than curvaceous.
But as her chain was attached to the wall ring and she was left there, reality dawned on Rosie once again. A customer, a florid man with a beer belly in his forties, was wandering round. He could be the one to buy her! She saw him glance over her as she huddled in a ball on the straw, her hands still over her breasts. Then his eyes moved on. Rosie breathed a sigh of relief. But sooner or later, somebody would not move on. Sooner or later, she would catch someone’s eye and be sold. Someone would buy the key to her chastity belt, unlock it and break her in.
Rosie shrank into her unprotected little corner, feeling very alone and afraid.
Chapter Seven
When Einstein stated that nothing travelled faster than the speed of light, Rosie mused, he had obviously forgotten about gossip.
By breakfast the next morning, everybody was talking about Tyler Mason’s ‘house arrest’. Unusually, he did not appear in the dining room, allowing conversation to be less restrained, at least once his wife Joanne had completed her very brief visit and had departed. Rosie knelt under the table, her tongue working up and down Master Freddie’s prick as he, with a distinct lack of brotherly loyalty, speculated on mental instability and all but suggested that the previous death in the room, which had occurred when Tyler was an infant, was also down to him in some unexplained way.
“I think you’re being perfectly horrid,” said Elizabeth. “I hope that girl under the table bites your thing right off.” Nothing would have given Rosie more pleasure!