The guests were of course free to admire them from the front and make use of them from the rear. Trying to take her mind off the problem of the intruders, Vanessa thought how economical it was that while one half of her was being decorative the other could be providing more intimate pleasure.
A little later another string of girls was led in and mounted on the opposite wall.
Now Vanessa could see them as the guests did, and for a while she was able to lose herself in the erotic tableau they presented. With their antlers on and heads braced firmly facing outward, at first glance they very nearly merged with the trophies they had displaced. They were simply more exotic animals that had been hunted down by the masters of the house. Their red ball-gags showing between their teeth were a unifying splash of colour. Only when their eyes moved or the tremble of their breasts showed was it apparent they were still living creatures.
Guests passing through the hall or using the stairs paused to admire them. Later the hunters would return and no doubt boast about the ones they had caught. That night their prizes would be delivered to their rooms. Would that be the last time hunters celebrated their success in the castle?
Vanessa suddenly felt frustrated and angry. Being on display gave her too much time to dwell on her new fears. What if the Laird could not reason with the couple? They could not simply keep them in detention indefinitely.
The face of one of the girls opposite changed. Her eyes screwed up and she clenched her teeth about her gag. Vanessa knew somebody had entered her alcove and was now using her. Lucky thing. She became aware of people moving along her own gallery. Please pick me, she thought, wiggling her hips invitingly. She wanted to get screwed. It would help distract her from worry. But instead she saw along the wall to one side of her the antlered head of one of the other girls begin to bob rhythmically to the muffled sound of energetic grunting. After they were done, the girl with the douche gun would clean them up ready for the next guest.
Perhaps two hours passed this way, and then Vanessa felt somebody was touching her, but not as a prelude to intercourse.
She was pulled back through the aperture, the block was unclamped from about her torso and her ankle cuffs were released. It was Slavemaster MacDonald. He clipped a leash to her collar and then peeled the fake antlers off her head and tossed them aside.
‘The Laird has said you’re to be taken to his office,’ he said gravely. ‘Director Shiller wants to talk to you.’
The Laird’s private office overlooked the gardens at the back of the castle. Through the window Vanessa could see a guest walking between the flowerbeds with a leashed slave girl trotting along at his heels. On the walls hung paintings of the castle and glen. The Laird himself sat behind a massive, ancient and well-worn desk on which rested the inevitable modern incongruity of a computer terminal. The screen was currently angled so it was visible to those seated on both sides of the desk. On it was an image of Director Shiller.
Vanessa felt instinctively that she should be kneeling, but the Laird pointed to one of the high-backed leather-seated chairs in front of the desk. ‘Sit there, girl. The Director wants to speak to you.’
Nervously Vanessa sat, the leather cool on her bare bottom. MacDonald took the other chair. It felt strange to sit amongst these powerful people like an equal. She felt the weight of expectation descending upon her. It was so much easier being a slave.
Shiller looked out at her from the screen and a brief smile crooked her tight lips. ‘Sorry to disturb your stay, Vanessa, but a situation has arisen that I think you might be able to help us with. Perhaps you already know something about it?’
‘I saw two trespassers being brought in, Director. I heard the woman shouting about what she was going to do. I understand the implications if they can’t be kept quiet about what they’ve seen.’
‘Yes, perhaps you more than any of us,’ Shiller agreed. ‘A few months ago that angry woman might have been you. Independent, outspoken and strong-minded …’
‘She’s an unreconstructed feminist!’ the Laird muttered. ‘You should have heard the names she called me!’
Shiller again smiled thinly. ‘Be that as it may, from what has been reported to me of her words especially, you sound like kindred spirits, Vanessa.’
Vanessa blushed and hung her head. ‘Director, I didn’t know the truth then, I didn’t accept what I was …’
The Director raised a reassuring hand. ‘Vanessa, your loyalty to the company is unquestioned. I asked for you to be brought here because you might be able to provide insight from your recent personal experience into how this couple might be thinking as outsiders suddenly confronted with slave life on such a scale, so we can determine the best way of handling them. The Laird has of course tried to explain, but –’
‘They flatly won’t listen to reason!’ the Laird cut in angrily.
‘You did your best, Malcolm,’ Shiller said gently.
‘But it was not good enough! They can’t believe our girls can all be here of their own free will. Before we found them they’d seen some ponygirls being driven through the woods. Their driver was using the whip on them. Just a few licks to put a bit more spring in their steps, but they didn’t see it that way.’
‘That sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Vanessa?’ Shiller said. ‘You were not convinced by my assurances the girls in B3 were there voluntarily either.’
Vanessa forced a wry smile of her own. ‘No, Director. It was all such a shock.’
‘Yes, that is the state these people are in right now. In one respect only is the situation different from yours. They appear to be innocent trespassers.’
‘Are you sure, Director?’ Vanessa asked, feeling the hair rising on the back of her neck. ‘After what Rochester tried with Kashika and me he might do anything. We know he’s after incriminating evidence to use against the company. Glen Lothy must be the biggest company facility outside London. It would make a good target if he knows about it.’
‘That we’re looking into, girl,’ the Laird said. ‘We have their names and home addresses and checks are being made to be sure they are who they say they are. Mike Kendal and Jennifer Morton, both from London. He works in the city and she’s a freelance writer. So far they seem genuine enough. They had the usual camping gear with them. We’re taken that, their mobile phones and cameras, and made a superficial search of their persons for any hidden devices such as Rochester wanted you to use. They’re objecting to anything more intimate and we’re not forcing them to comply just yet.’
‘As innocent people might, Laird,’ Vanessa said.
The Laird scowled. ‘Yes, and until we know better we must continue to treat them as innocent. But if we want to win their confidence we have to begin by showing them we’re not the monsters they think we are. Some of my less reputable ancestors would simply have locked them in the dungeons and thrown away the keys …’ He sighed. ‘But these are more enlightened times and we can’t keep them prisoners indefinitely. They seem to be on a walking holiday which might give us a few days, but eventually somebody will raise the alarm if they don’t contact them.’
‘Which is where you come in, Vanessa,’ the Director said. ‘In your case I had to act more forcefully. I also had a suspicion you might be a potential convert to our ways. But this time we have nothing like that to work with. Perhaps if this couple were able to talk to a slave girl face to face they might at least begin to admit the possibility that this is not a haven of sex-traffickers and exploiters.’
‘We don’t expect miracles from you, girl,’ the Laird said, ‘but it might make them a little more amenable and it would be something to do while we wait for background checks.’
Vanessa thought furiously, aware of their eyes upon her. The reporter in her wanted to know more facts. ‘May I ask how they got into the grounds, Laird?’
‘Kendal told us that. It was up on the hill there where the woods run against the boundary fence. Yesterday’s storm must have brought down a tree. It fell outwards over the
fence making a bridge of sorts without triggering the alarms. Late last night they climbed in over that. My men have checked it out and the tree’s there right enough.’
‘Did they know this was private land and they were trespassing?’
‘He said they missed the notices in the dark and thought it was forestry land. They just wanted a bit of shelter to pitch their tent if the weather turned worse.’
‘Did you believe him, Laird?’
‘It sounds reasonable enough. At least he was a bit more forthcoming than his girlfriend. All she does is curse me and promise disgrace and damnation for us all.’
Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do what I can, Laird. Director, if I make any progress, do you or the Laird want to take over and try to make some sort of deal with them?’
‘You must use your own judgement, Vanessa,’ Shiller said. ‘In business negotiations you do not jeopardise any personal trust established between the different parties by changing negotiators halfway through the process. I will fully support any agreement you make.’
Vanessa felt pride swell within her even as the weight of daunting responsibility seemed to settle on her shoulders. ‘Thank you, Director, I promise I’ll do my best. Slavemaster, can I fetch my reporting gear from the slave quarters, please? And something from the magazine rack …’
MacDonald led Vanessa to where Kendal and Morton were being kept in the detention room of the security office. A castle security man stood in the corridor outside. As he unlocked the door the Slavemaster unclipped Vanessa’s leash and said: ‘Good luck, girl …’
Vanessa took a deep breath and strode boldly in.
The intruders were seated at a plain table in the middle of an otherwise empty room with bars on the window. Vanessa had only caught a glimpse of them earlier. Now she saw they were both in their mid-twenties. Mike Kendal was a bristle-cut blond, well groomed and lean with grey eyes, at the moment looking nervous and uncertain. Jennifer Morton had a nice figure, dark brown hair and dark eyes under full straight brows and a determined set to her lips.
They looked up as she entered and their jaws dropped.
‘Hallo,’ Vanessa said brightly, ‘I’m Vanessa the Slave Reporter for the Girlflesh News.’ She pulled up a spare chair and sat down opposite them, putting her camera, recorder and a folded magazine on the table. ‘Sorry about all this trouble you’ve been having, but you understand this is private land and you were trespassing. Still, I’m sure it’ll all be sorted out. Meanwhile I thought as you were here you might be ready to do an interview? I’m sure my readers would be interested in your story.’
She had achieved the effect she intended. They were thrown off balance, both goggling at her incredulously. Whatever else they might have been expecting she was sure it wasn’t the offer of an interview by a naked slave-collared reporter in a white fedora.
Vanessa took the hat off and fanned herself with it. ‘Hasn’t it been a lovely sunny day? I hear you were caught out in that storm yesterday. We were all indoors. You must have got wet. I don’t blame you for wanting to pitch your tent in the woods; they’re lovely. Are you on holiday for long?’
Mike was dividing his attention between her face and her breasts while Jennifer was struggling to find her tongue. At last she managed to say: ‘Who … who the hell are you meant to be?’
Vanessa smiled sweetly. ‘I said, I’m Vanessa the Slave Reporter for the Girlflesh News. Do you want to see a copy?’ She unfolded the magazine in front of them.
It was last month’s issue with a picture of a dozen girls in orange collars and chains kneeling in a semi-circle and smiling brightly at the camera as they showed off their newly depilated pink pussy lips. The heading read: ‘A CLOSE SHAVE FOR PEACH CHAIN’, with the tagline: ‘Why did clients request the trim? See page 4.’.
Vanessa was not risking any further security breach. Nothing in GN ever mentioned Shiller or her company by name. She was always: ‘The Director’. Nor did it give away anything that would reveal the location of its headquarters or the identities of its clients. What it did feature in great detail were incidents and achievements in the lives of working slave girls reported in a matter-of-fact manner as though they were of personal interest and everyday familiarity to its readers, which they were.
The pair already thought the worst, Vanessa decided, so any attempt at a cover-up would only seem to confirm their suspicions. Therefore she might as well push them all the way until they were forced to re-examine their prejudices about the alternate lifestyle into which they had stumbled.
‘The next issue will have my article about the Glen,’ Vanessa continued brightly. ‘That’s why I was up here. I think it’ll make a great read because this is such a wonderful place. Anyway, I’d like to do a little piece on you as well. Maybe I’ll call it: UNEXPECTED GUESTS, what do you think?’
Still looking dazed, Mike had started to flip though the pages of GN, perhaps looking for page 4. Jennifer suddenly snatched it out of his hand and waved it under Vanessa’s nose.
‘Is this pornography some sort of joke?’ she demanded.
‘Of course not,’ Vanessa said.
‘You expect us to believe this is a magazine about slave keeping … and you write for it?’
Vanessa took the copy from her hand and opened it at the page featuring her last article with her own by-line and picture, of which she was very proud. ‘Yes I do. Unless you think I’ve just thrown this together in the few hours since you turned up.’
Mike finally found his voice. ‘So … this is for people who want to read about slave girls?’
‘No, it’s primarily aimed at slave girls to read about things of interest to them,’ Vanessa explained, ‘though of course other interested people see it as well.’
Jennifer’s lips pinched. ‘That’s … sheer nonsense!’
Vanessa recalled the words Zara had used when she had first expressed her incredulity that such a publication could exist. ‘Why do you find it so hard to believe? Sportsmen read sports magazines and engineers read technical journals so naturally slave girls read about slavery.’
It was such a self-evident statement it was hard to counter. Jennifer fell back on her argument of faith. ‘I don’t care about this filth. This is evil and I’m going straight to the police as soon as I get out of here.’
‘And what exactly do you think is going on here? I understand the Laird told you earlier it was all voluntary.’
Jennifer looked contemptuous. ‘He was lying of course. I know what I saw! Those girls chained to the carts being whipped like animals!’
‘And that boat on the lake,’ Mike added helpfully. ‘It looked like a slave galley. There was this girl tied over the prow and there was this man who looked like he was –’
‘He was raping her!’ Jennifer said.
Vanessa wished they hadn’t seen a galley but it was probably preferable to witnessing the hunt. That would really take some explaining. Aloud she said: ‘But did you ask any of the girls if they were enjoying themselves?’
‘Don’t be absurd!’
‘But would you if you had the chance?’
‘I know women would never want to behave like this of their own free will!’ Jennifer declared with absolute conviction.
‘Why?’ Vanessa asked simply.
She looked at Vanessa with disbelief. ‘You have to ask?’
‘I was just wondering what your reasons were for making such a universal statement about what a relative handful of women amongst a few billion on this planet enjoy doing.’
‘Because it degrades and dehumanises them, that’s why! It makes them objects of exploitation. Nobody can want that!’
Vanessa arranged her recorder on the table. ‘If we’re going to debate the morals and philosophy of slavery can I record this? My readers will be interested. I’ll show you a transcript first, of course, so you can check it’s accurate.’
Mike sat back, frowning at the device. Suddenly he took in a rasping breath, pulled an asthma inhaler
from his shirt pocket, shook it and sucked from its spout a couple of times.
Jennifer turned aside to look at him in concern. ‘Are you all right, Mike?’
He took a deep breath, nodded and tucked the device away again, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Sorry … it catches me like that sometimes. All this … is a hell of a shock.’
Jennifer looked back at Vanessa, her anger returning. ‘Are you seriously telling me you’d print what we say in that disgusting paper?’
‘As I said, slave girls are interested in anything concerning their lifestyle. Especially coming from people who want to destroy it. After they read this at least they’ll understand you meant well, even if you were misguided.’
She had them confused again and that was good. This was where being who and what she was gave her an advantage over the Laird. She started the recorder.
‘Now, you were saying nobody could want to be a slave.’ Vanessa pointed to her neck. ‘See the collar? Note the absence of clothes. I’m here of my own free choice and I’m a happy slave. Do I look dehumanised and degraded?’
Jennifer was shaking her head. ‘You must be part of it. Or they’ve got some hold over you … or you’ve been brainwashed.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘Make up your mind which one it is! Or better still, admit the faint possibility that I’m telling the truth and every girl here is happy with what she is. Don’t condemn them or the people in charge just because they don’t conform to your narrow view of what’s right and wrong.’
‘My views aren’t narrow!’
‘But you didn’t know about this place until today, did you? How does this fit in to your preconceptions, or are you too frightened to try to expand them?’
The Girlflesh Castle Page 15