by Laurie Mann
“That’s all right, I’m grateful for what you’ve done anyway. Don’t worry about the kitchen, you’ve kept your side of the bargain.”
“I’ll come back next week and finish it.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be here.”
I was devastated. Rock was rejecting me. He’d had his fun with me but now my usefulness was over. Even in my desperation I knew that to pursue the matter further risked destroying my chances permanently, so I kept quiet, though my mind was furiously working on my next move.
I WILL get you, you bastard!
He seemed pleased with what I’d done and we left the house for the Italian restaurant he’d mentioned.
We took our places at a table and made small talk over the excellent dinner. He could be very entertaining when on his favourite subject; lorries. After the meal, over coffee, I asked. “Lisa tells me you are going to re-negotiate the deal with the lorries. Do you think you can save very much?”
“Possibly. It’s a sizeable order and sales aren’t strong at the moment, so it’s worth trying. We should at least be able to get the extras we need included in the price. If the dealer is inflexible, I’ve got some contacts I can try.”
“No. We’ll stay local. I’d feel better about giving a local business the whole deal. I’m sure, despite whatever assurances are given, that we’ll get better after sales support if we do that.”
“I agree, but at least we’ll have comparative prices, which will give us a lever.”
“Rock?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve made a lot of changes to Lisa’s plans. What’s your honest opinion of her?”
“She’s OK. The changes are only detail.”
“But you were so against working for me, why the change?” I wanted to discover if he had changed his mind because of Lisa.
“Lisa. She’s got her head screwed on and is eager to learn. If she does as she’s told, we’ll get on fine. I still don’t trust her as back up, but I can look after myself. Besides, I fancy getting back on the road but want more than just a driver’s job. What you’re offering gives me the chance to be involved as well.”
I hated the way he said ‘if she does as she’s told’ and decided to keep the conversation on business. I really didn’t want to hear any more of his plans for Lisa.
“I’ve got in mind the long term expansion the fleet to carry for other people as well. Wouldn’t you be interested in an managerial job instead?”
“No. Not yet anyway. You need to get your own operation up and running before getting other ideas. It’s a tough market and neither you nor Lisa are experienced enough - yet.” He looked me straight in the eye as he emphasised the last word. His look made me feel that it wasn’t only the business he thought we weren’t experienced in, which made me shiver and wonder what other ideas he had in mind.
“So you don’t think it’s a good idea, then?” I was trying to keep my growing excitement under control.
“No. The margins are small, but then you’ll have specialised vehicles and by specialising you can improve the margins. But, as I said, you haven’t even ordered the lorries yet. Until you’ve got some experience,” he paused, “despite what you think, you’re likely to burn your fingers.” Again there was the pause, the look that gave his words such potent ambiguity.
“Does that mean you think we’re just playing with it and making a mistake?”
“I did at first, but not now. If I did I wouldn’t be here. Look, it’s getting late. I’ll come into the office Monday and we’ll finalise the detail and, provided you accept my terms, we’ll see about getting the order placed.”
“Yes. OK. The sooner that’s done the sooner we can make more plans.”
The drive home left me wondering. I was more confident than ever that he was the right person for the job and pleased he felt we weren’t heading for disaster but desperately disappointed that he was showing no real interest in me, other than on a professional level. Every time I thought he was showing any interest, he left me dangling like a puppet waiting for her strings to be pulled. It was infuriating, but did nothing to lessen my growing awe of him.
I was greeted by the flashing red light of the answering machine. After the whirring as the cassette rewound, Madam’s imperious voice filled the room, telling me that she’d phone the next day at twelve o’clock to inform me of the details for an assignment. I was so excited. Just the sound of her voice had again aroused the butterflies in my stomach and I eagerly began counting the minutes to her call. The whole day with Rock seemed to diminish in significance as I heard her voice.
Morning came after fitful sleep and passed painfully slowly, with glances at the clock all too frequent, as I tried, yet again, to make sense of the confusion in my mind. I knew I had no foundation for it but felt guilty at what I saw as disloyalty to Rock. I had come to despise Madam’s hold over me, but couldn’t disregard, or even explain, the frisson of excitement that overwhelmed me the second I heard her voice. The relief I felt was in not failing her, knowing my reputation was at least safe for now, coupled with the excited memories of previous visits and wild imaginings as to what the next would bring. I waited for the twelve o’clock phone call.
Eventually the phone rang and I snatched the handset.
“Francesca Mildmay?”
“Yes.” It was Madam and I couldn’t keep the tremor from my reply.
“You are required to be at number Thirty Seven, Charing Road, Henford at ten thirty next Sunday morning. It’s a sales assistant role for a valued client. I am sure I don’t have to remind of the importance of your co-operation, or the consequence of your failure.”
“Yes Madam.” I began, but the line had gone dead. I quickly wrote down the address and time. Then picked up the phone, dialled 1471 and was told that the caller had withheld their number. I hadn’t expected to be able to trace Madam’s number so wasn’t really disappointed, I’m not even sure why I tried. The pulsating excitement at being trusted with my first assignment for Madam couldn’t be quelled. Concentrating on my meeting tomorrow with Rock didn’t purge Madam from my thoughts, however much I tried.
The week passed with every day seemingly getting longer as Sunday approached. The meeting with Rock, which included Lisa, was very successful and after negotiating a further five per cent discount and numerous extras within the price we confirmed the order for the lorries. Fortunately I hadn’t given him a date to clean his kitchen and he seemed to have forgotten all about it, so my mind was free to concentrate on not letting Madam down.
6th August 1998
The journey to Henford was straightforward, courtesy of the route planner on the computer in the office. Even the traffic was light and I arrived at Thirty Seven, Charing Road with a good hour to spare. I’d already learnt about punctuality from Rock and had a shrewd idea that Madam’s policy would be no different, so I used the time to explore the shop windows of what was obviously a prosperous village in stock broker land. It certainly passed the time more quickly and pleasantly than just waiting on a doorstep, wondering what lay in store for me.
37 stood between a dress shop and delicatessen. It was a small shop with bay windows either side of the glass door. The sign pronounced proudly in gold leaf script ‘The Tannery.’ With a few minutes still to spare, I perused the window displays; everything from suitcases to book marks and saddles to crops. All made from leather or suede, none priced, all looking very expensive. I particularly liked one of the handbags but decided it would be too expensive, although if the opportunity arose I’d enquire.
At precisely ten thirty, I tried the door, then rang the bell when it refused to open. When the door opened, a lady of almost aristocratic appearance, maybe mid-forties, greeted me.
“You must be the new girl. We were told to expect someone. Come in, we’ll soon have you ready.”
“Thank you, yes.” I said to her back as she’d already turned and was leading me through the shop to a door at the rear. There was a strong leather smell. I wondered what my job would be. Madam had said I was to be a sales assistant but serving behind a counter, in a shop that wasn’t open, didn’t seem to make any sense at all.
“You are to assist with the new range being unveiled to our trade buyers today. You may undress in here.” She opened a side door for me and ushered me in just as the doorbell rang and she glided serenely back through the shop.
I had noticed a small range of clothing in the shop, coats and riding boots mainly and instantly grew excited at being able to strut my stuff, modelling The Tannery’s new range of clothing, although it still didn’t fit the type of assignment that I expected from Madam.
The room was small, square and plainly decorated. Two sofas, with three women already sitting on them, lined the walls of the austere changing room that made even a doctor’s waiting room seem hospitable.
“Hello.” I stammered. All three were naked and sitting impassively. I was still taking in the scene when another woman entered the room, immediately and silently removing her clothes, folding them and placing them in a neat pile next the others on the floor.
It was obvious what was expected, so as the last woman took her seat in the centre of the sofa, I began very selfconsciously to remove my clothes as well. I’m not usually shy but the idea of undressing in front of other females with nothing to look at, except me undressing, was a new and most uncomfortable experience, but soon I was naked and took my place on the sofa.
“It’s your first time, isn’t it? Be quiet. It doesn’t do to be caught talking.” The woman next to me whispered, stopping abruptly when the door opened to admit another smartly dressed female.
“Madam will be certain to find out and that will be very bad news,” she continued to whisper after the door was shut, ignoring the nervous but understanding glances of the others.
It was my first confirmation that Madam had more girls working for her and I wondered what hold she had over each of them. It was obviously not their first time: they all seemed at ease, though scared of incurring Madam’s wrath.
I wonder who they are in normal life? I wondered as all six of us sat in naked silence, all, except me, seemingly oblivious to each other. They seemed to know each other, but they all ignored each other’s presence, sitting with bland expressions, waiting with solemn acceptance for the assignment to begin.
The atmosphere in the room was overbearing because of it absence and I studied the others while we waited. It occurred to me, after a while, that we’d all been carefully chosen. We were in pairs. Opposite was a large lady, huge frame, enormous thighs that looked all the bigger as she sat on them, mountainous breasts with nipples pointing downwards as they sagged almost to her thighs. The folds of fat, as she slumped in her seat, made her look grotesque and I imagined her in a cage, a curiosity at a Victorian street fair. Her twin was just like an African queen. Despite her size and the unflattering sagging ebony flesh, she looked serene and the ceremonial scars on her chubby face made it easy to imagine her presiding over ceremonies in a primitive African village.
Alongside her sat a tiny, waif-like girl with elfin face and short dark hair which accentuated her boyish looks. She had spindly thighs, the tiniest of waists and ribs almost as prominent as her flat breasts. Only the crow’s feet around her sparkling eyes suggested she was in her late thirties and not the pre-pubescent schoolgirl she looked. I suspected that she was seriously anorexic but the clarity of her skin was testimony to her good health.
Next to me sat an exotic Asian beauty, with glorious waist length jet-black hair, that made me envious. Although no more than skin and bone, she had the poise and confidence so natural to the aristocracy, giving her a striking beauty.
My twin sat to my right. She looked more West Indian than African with shiny, blemish free skin. Her full, rounded breasts stood proud and firm above her flat stomach and her perfect muscle tone continued to the long legs with the shapeliest thighs I’d ever seen.
We sat and waited while I continued to wonder how far Madam’s tentacles reached to be able to muster such a cosmopolitan variety of willing women. I knew that Madam had a hold over all of them, but couldn’t imagine what the African and Asian, especially, had done. I found the obvious extent of Madam’s influence and power scary and began to think that she was too powerful for me to escape her clutches. That thought filled me with despair but proud that Madam had considered me fit to be included in her business. I oozed love juice, such was the excitement of such a powerful owner.
All these thoughts had completely distracted me from the assignment and I was taken by surprise when the door opened. Everybody immediately stood up, with me a second behind the rest. The same lady who had greeted us stood in the doorway, staring straight at me.
“As it’s your first time, just follow the others. Learn from them and your report will be satisfactory.”
She turned and we followed her from the room. I must admit to difficulty in suppressing my giggles. It was a very strange sight. Two enormous beamers sagging and wobbling as ginormous hips swung them from side to side, followed by two almost non-existent buttocks with no more than a teasing wiggle and then the glorious moons of my twin, swaying provocatively, delightfully in balance as her perfect hips swaggered, telling the world she knew she was the best. I hoped that my own cheeks showed at least some of the pride hers did.
The corridor we walked down led to a large room. The first thing I noticed was the opulent decor and the wooden rail about three feet from the wall to my left. Between the wall and the rail were six posts, each with leather manacles attached to the top. To the right was a cluster of men, some in suits, some casual. Some, in Arab clothes, were taking a close interest in array of implements that I couldn’t see clearly enough to identify.
Our escort led us round in front of the baize-covered table and I followed the lead of the others, eyeing the implements as we filed slowly past them. Their purpose filled me with a mixture of horror and excitement even as I appreciated the workmanship. There were bullwhips, martinets, strops, paddles, tawses and leather handled canes. All were beautifully crafted from the finest leather; some even had jewel encrusted handles and silver studs.
We continued until we each stood opposite one of the posts. I copied the others and leaned over the rail, slipping my hands into the cuffs and waiting with growing anticipation for them to be buckled. When we had all been tightly secured, the posts began to rise, lifting our arms until we each hung at full stretch.
I couldn’t hear all of the conversation behind our backs but I could make out enough to realise that the men were either buyers for personal use or for companies and I wondered what the people of Henford would think if they knew the true extent of The Tannery’s trade.
A Middle Eastern sounding voice was enquiring about the different jewels available on an implement I couldn’t see and whether he could supply his own jewels. It seemed that there were enough young sheikhs with harems eager for the best that money could buy.
When he questioned the jewels affecting the balance of the tool, he was invited to try it and within seconds a loud crack of leather on flesh rang out, eliciting a stifled gasp from one of the large ladies. Further blows and gasps echoed around the room as the various customers tested their chosen implements for balance and effect. None of us were treated with any favour, sometimes just one viciously hard stroke, sometimes several in quick succession, but all, as far as I could tell, received an equal thrashing.
Time passed and as my cheeks grew increasingly bruised and painful, my ability to keep track of the various conversations taking place behind me diminished, until I was only aware of the scorching agony of my rear. Blow upon blow continued to batter me and as my cheeks wobbled the tears flowed, such was the pain. Only my cuffed wrists kept me up
right and positioned for the next stroke, which I’d have given anything to avoid, but in reality I knew I could do nothing.
How long my torture lasted I have no idea, time had long since ceased to have any relevance. Eventually it did stop and we were left hanging from our posts as our torturers left the room.
Slowly the fierce intensity of the pain abated to the warm glow that, without reason, justifies the pain and creates the intense excitement that I can only find from slavery. In time my mind began to clear and I became aware of the strong musky scent of sex and sweat. I was glad I wasn’t the only one to have become so aroused. Murmurs and whimpers broke the silence. Aftershocks rippled through me and O strained against the bonds, pubic bones imploring the rail to give the satisfaction my increasing frustration craved.
When the men returned, invading our privacy, I wondered what we must have looked like. Six women, all different shapes and sizes, lined up along a wall, with reddened and bruised buttocks on display, writhing with gay abandon, totally lost in pleasure. I decided it must have been a strange sight indeed, or the most erotic imaginable. If the latter, I desperately hoped we’d be used to vent the frustration we were hopefully causing.
The strain on my shoulders eased as I watched the post lower my hands, pass my eyes and onwards toward the floor until my head was level with my knees, hair hanging loose. Six voices cried out as our cheeks were agonisingly stretched over the rail, now holding our hips high. The realisation that, having used our lax cheeks, they now intended to sample the wares on our stretched moons filled me with dread. I had been secretly pleased that I’d taken as much as the others who, I imagined, were much more experienced, but I doubted I could take much more. The added distress of the rail pressing hard into my midriff, making my breathing laboured and the disabling feeling of blood flowing to my head, increased my doubts.
My fear increased, making me tremble, as I watched someone approaching. I couldn’t see above the person’s waist but my eyes were fixed on the wide strap alongside the dark grey trousers. Each deliberate step seemed to take forever and I felt myself tense more with every step. When I saw the strap rise out of my vision, I froze and waited, heart in mouth for the inevitable assault on my tender cheeks. When the fire eventually ended the suspense, it forced the air from my lungs so violently that the initial gasp was followed by silence as I strained against the cuffs and clenched my cheeks, totally unable to draw breath.