by Roger Clarke
Erica heard other male voices chuckling before the microphone was clicked off.
‘Just do it,’ the woman said. ‘You can’t afford to be soft, believe me.’
‘Silence 6!’
‘Sorry, Master.’
‘Proceed, 51.’
Erica knew she had no choice. And her conscience had been beaten out of her. If she did not whip 6 hard enough the treatment would go on longer and she would suffer more herself. She could not even think of suffering more herself. It was that selfishness borne of self-preservation that made her lash the crop across the woman’s buttocks until she screamed and cried, and to her shame Erica realised she had not even kept count.
‘Stop now, 51,’ the speaker called. ‘We said twelve and you’ve delivered fifteen already.’
Erica threw down the crop in disgust and went to check on her sobbing friend, who turned to face her, their arms slipping around each other in comfort. Erica’s thoughts were no longer her own. She had inflicted terrible punishment on this woman without any regret at all and now, driven on by some kind of warm passion she could not even begin to understand, their bodies were pressed together, wanting contact. Erica turned her face to 6 as, by some mutual sixth sense, the two melded into an open-mouthed kiss, with Erica giving just as good as she got.
The woman’s arms were around her waist, pulling her in, uncaring about the stinging in her bottom as she sat on the bed, pulling Erica on top of her, their lust for each other overtaking all external sensations, yet each knowing their surrender to their own debauchery was being watched by the observers on the camera.
Uncaring, Erica slid willingly downwards, repeating what she had learned with Emily, wanting to give this woman pleasure after the pain and unsure whether there was a difference. The men had driven her to this and she bitterly hoped they enjoyed the spectacle.
But even that was to be denied her. ‘Stand, both of you.’
Erica sighed. So did 6. They stood, breathing hard, coated in slick perspiration.
‘Time to leave, 6. 51 needs her rest, needs her strength back. She’s to be marked on Friday.’
‘Oh God,’ Erica cried.
‘Yes, Master,’ the blonde said, picking up her bra from the bed and moving to get her thong.
‘Leave those. Leave everything. Just go.’
The door swung open. 6 dropped the clothes where she stood and walked out of the door without a glance back. The door closed behind her, shutting the world away once more.
‘You did well, 51,’ said the same gruff voice. ‘Now eat, and then get some rest.’
Chapter 6
They left Erica alone for the rest of the day, apart from regular attention from the doctor and the nurse and more visits by the first girl she’d met, 36, to bring her food and refreshments. Despite the nagging terror of the ritual awaiting her she ate hungrily, as if she’d not been fed for days. 36 surprised her by pressing a switch on the wall, opening a small panel to reveal a television set. She was allowed to explain the controls, giving Erica a choice of piped video programmes and films. There were no programmes broadcasting dates, times or news, reinforcing the girls’ removal from normal society. Erica half-heartedly watched a movie, but struggled to concentrate on it.
The doctor gave her a sedative injection before she was settled down for the night.
The next morning brought more of the same attention, and a long soak in the bath helped relieve some of her discomfort. The loudspeakers stayed silent throughout.
After she’d had breakfast a man she had not seen before came to the room. He was in his forties, she guessed, small in height yet very muscular and self-assured. His ginger hair was well-groomed and that, combined with a black suit, white shirt and blue necktie, made him look more like a respectable businessman than a cruel gaoler. He placed the small case he was carrying on the bed before flicking open the catches.
‘I’m Don,’ he started. ‘We thought it’s about time we saw you dressed. Put these on,’ he said, handing her the expected thong, bra and suspender belt, all in white.
He sat on the bed to watch as Erica fitted the suspender belt round her waist and fastened the two hooks and eyes behind her. The label was still attached by its plastic tag. She tried to break it, but could not, so he beckoned her close, the smell of his cologne drifting up to her nostrils as he pulled the thong to one side and broke the tab. He indicated she was to continue dressing, telling her to hand him the other clothes to remove the tags. She held the thong as she stepped into it, pulling it to her waist and arranging the suspenders inside the legs. As she fitted the tiny bra the man opened the pack of stockings. All the items fitted her perfectly. Whoever these people were knew all there was to know about her. Maybe they measured her when she was first kidnapped, or maybe they got her sizes from her old clothes, wherever they were now. Destroyed, probably, like the rest of her past.
He watched avidly as she rolled the stockings up her legs. She had only ever worn stockings a few times, always in an outrageous, provocative way to shock the viewer. She had never worn anything like these non-stretch nylon ones and was not at all sure how to handle the seams. Don twirled a finger, ordering her to turn her back, and fiddled until both seams were straight and the suspenders tautly fastened. He opened a shoebox and passed her the high-heeled stilettos, another new experience for her. Once she put them on he had her walk up and down while he coached her how to walk elegantly in them. Erica felt about a foot too tall.
When he was happy with her deportment he surprised her by taking a dress out of the case, telling her to put it on. She moved across to him to take the dress and was immediately impressed by the feel of it. Black velvet encrusted with gems at the neck and around a diamond-shaped vent above the bust. She unzipped it and stepped in, pulling it up over her hips and sliding her arms into the short sleeves. Don stood and zipped it up. It fitted like a second skin, hugging her figure and moulding round her breasts and bottom. The hem fell to her ankles, but a slit up the front, again lined with jewels, reached to crotch level.
‘Walk up and down,’ he told her, sitting on the bed again.
As she obeyed the slit parted, showing the whole of each leg up to the tops of her stockings, and she had little doubt it would show even more when she sat down.
‘Very elegant,’ he told her. ‘You may thank me.’
Erica turned to face him. ‘Thank you, Master,’ she said.
He laughed, shaking his head. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you? That wasn’t quite what I meant. Come here.’
Erica walked over to stand in front of him. He reached up slowly, taking his time, running his hands over her body, assessing her curves through the dress. She wanted to react, to push his hands away, to be her own self. Yet she knew it was impossible; he had the power to let her be safe or to endure terrible punishment, and she’d had enough punishment. At least his hands were gentle. He reached for the slit in the dress, exploring her, travelling upwards to the front of her thong and then down, between, making her squirm in a mixture of wanting it to stop and wanting more.
‘Stand still,’ he told her as he rose from the bed. He quickly and tidily undressed, folding his clothes over the back of the bedside chair, not casting a glance her way until he turned, naked, to face her again. She had been right about his physique; there was not an ounce of fat on him, so it was clear he kept himself fit. She could not help noticing he was half erect and was not sure whether to be insulted that he wasn’t more so after his attentions to her body. He sat on the bed again, swinging his legs up and settling back until he was leaning against the headboard.
‘Come here,’ he beckoned, patting the mattress beside him.
Once again Erica knew this was no time to fight. She fully intended to tell the courts about it all when she eventually escaped, along with all the other abuses she was keeping careful mental notes of.
They would regret this, all of them, when she got to tell her story. But for now she would have to go along with everything. No point in encouraging more punishment, so she joined him on the bed, the slit in her dress opening wide as she did so.
‘Suck me fully erect,’ he told her bluntly.
Dutifully she bent over him and opened her mouth wide to take him inside, while he lifted her hair to the side so he could watch. In his semi-erect state she could take most of him into her mouth, but gradually he swelled until she had to back off, moving her head slowly up and down his shaft, feeling him spasm every now and again as she sucked extra deep.
‘Good, good,’ he encouraged.
She set about a steady, deep rhythm. She assumed he wanted to come in her mouth and decided she may as well do her utmost to get it over with as soon as possible. As her head rose and fell faster and faster the links in her collar provided the percussion, clinking each time she bobbed.
But Don had no intention of coming in her mouth. ‘Stop now,’ he told her. ‘Climb over me. Kneel.’
Erica sighed and raised herself above him, the slit opening wide enough for her to straddle his legs, showing all of her stockings and suspenders and most of the thong.
‘Pull it aside and slide down over my cock,’ he said, his voice deeper than before.
Erica reached down and pulled the thin strip of material covering her pussy to one side, then raised herself up over him, steadying his cock with her hand until she felt it at her entrance, then sinking slowly. She always enjoyed the very first moment of penetration whenever she had sex, and her body did not let her get away with it this time, making her moan out with the beautiful, searing feeling of surrender it brought. She desperately wanted to dislike it, but despite herself it felt good to be filled, partly because this felt normal. There were no bonds, no whips, no pain, no other women, just raw sex between a man and her. Granted she did not know Don, just his name, but that had happened before in her life. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was on a beach somewhere, under the warm sun, screwing with a faceless lover, with no walls to stop the daylight and the breeze and the sounds of a normal world reaching her.
She rose and pressed down slowly, feeling him slide deep within her, feeling his hands on her hips, pulling her back onto him before she went too far away. She felt him push his hips off the bed to stay within her and she felt the liquid warmth that joined them. Cutting through it all, insistently taking her created images of freedom from her, the metal collar around her throat, its weight and its annoying jangling forcing her back to her reality. She opened her eyes.
He had stopped moving, content to lie back and let her do the work, watching her rise and fall over him, a prisoner to her own lust.
‘Do you like the dress?’ he smiled up at her.
She nodded.
‘Speak.’
‘Yes, Master,’ she breathed, unable to stop her rhythmic rise and fall and the contractions of her inner muscles around his shaft.
‘It suits you,’ he continued. ‘Have you any idea how much it cost?’
‘No, Master.’
‘Just over five thousand, plus a few hundred to have it altered to fit you so perfectly.’
Five thousand pounds! She would never pay anything like that for a dress; the most she had ever paid was three hundred, and that was for her best friend’s wedding. And here she was being screwed in a five thousand pound dress! ‘What if it gets ruined?’ she had to ask. It seemed such a waste. What could be the point?
‘That’s not for you to worry about. Silence now.’
He thrust hard up inside her to emphasise his control, gripping her hips harder, forcing her up and down, faster and faster until he went suddenly rigid and erupted inside her. She wanted to remain detached and dispassionate, but feeling him ejaculate took her the last few steps over the precipice that was her own orgasm.
With it came feelings of cheapness. Erica hated herself. She needed warmth and human comfort at a time like this. She sat back on him, feeling the last of his convulsions inside her. She placed her hands palm upward on her thighs and waited.
‘Speak,’ he breathed at last.
‘May I kiss you, Master?’ She hated herself for asking, but she needed some humanity.
He smiled up at her. ‘Yes, you may.’
So she leaned forward, resting down on his chest as her lips sought his, kissing gently at first and then with more passion, using her tongue and lips and teeth, closing her eyes and trying to imagine herself free again. She was the one doing the kissing, not him. She was controlling the pace. And he, still within her, was growing again because of what she was doing, because she was turning him on. He was moving again, fully erect, thrusting into her, the wet sounds serving to amplify his lust for her. She ceased to care about the dress; let him worry about their mutual passion damaging or staining such a lovely piece of clothing.
Suddenly he moved, rolling her off him, pushing her to her hands and knees in the centre of the bed, parting her legs and kneeling between them as he rucked the dress above her waist. She rested on her elbows, waiting for him to be inside her again, impatient for her warm wet emptiness to be refilled. She felt his cock nudge against her buttocks as he gripped her, taking himself in hand to steady his aim.
His first thrust back inside her was hard and deep and was just as quickly gone. He had used it to lubricate himself. Next time his aim was higher, between the cheeks of her bottom.
‘No, please!’ she cried, suddenly realising his perverse intent.
‘Silence!’
He pushed slowly, steadily and firmly, until he was buried deep in her anus. It immediately reminded her of Emily and the dreadful implements she had used there, yet it was different, more natural, more human.
He was gentle at first, sliding nearly all the way out and then all the way back inside her again, clearly getting off on how his large erection could possibly fit inside such a slim, perfect body. It was obvious a part of him wanted to possess, to demonstrate his ownership, to have her regardless of her wishes. He thrust harder, faster, delighting in her submissive moans.
Erica hated herself. She liked it. She did not want to, but her hips had their own agenda. They thrust back at him despite her mind telling them not to. She wanted him even deeper inside her rectum. She started to have powerful imaginings of how he would be so deep inside her she could feel him in her throat, and had a sudden vision of him coming in her mouth from within and his semen dripping down her chin as it escaped her. In this crazed state, overcome by lust, she did not care where his cock was now, she wanted it all, everywhere at once, filling her with its power, drowning her with its seed.
She put her hands down on the bed, wanting to ask the question, hoping he would notice.
‘What?’ he gasped. ‘Speak.’
‘Please, Master…’ her voice jerked from his thrusts. ‘Please come in my mouth.’
‘That’s my decision, bitch,’ he growled. ‘Silence.’
Her comments made him more urgent, more desperate to abuse her, to take all of her. But she had sown the seeds of a very erotic idea. She was the rebel he had seen flogged in the restaurant, the fighter Emily had told her of, the strong one he had watched on the video monitors. And here she was a victim to her own animal lust. Maybe letting her have her own way this once would make her more compliant. Maybe he would do it.
As he imagined pulling out of her rectum and shoving his cock in her mouth he felt his climax getting close, the point where his leg muscles tensed and his temples started to pulse. He was seconds away. As he felt his come start to rise up his shaft he pulled free of her, pushing her roughly on her side. Taking a handful of hair he pulled her head down.
Erica opened her mouth wide to receive him, almost gratefully accepting him into her throat. Immediately she felt him convulse. She concentrat
ed hard, wanting to feel the moment his come sprayed into her. The first spurt hit the back of her throat, welling there until she swallowed. She backed her head off slightly until the head of his cock rested on her tongue and she could feel how the next few sprays burst forth. There was no taste, no smell. Somewhere from above he grunted and stared down at her. She did not want to swallow, not yet. She wanted him to see what he had done. What she had done.
She waited until he finished filling her mouth and pulled out, sinking back onto the bed beside her. She quickly adopted the position again.
‘You want to say something?’ he croaked wearily.
Erica shook her head. He looked puzzled until she settled down on the bed next to him and pointed to her mouth. As he watched she opened it slowly, letting him see the sticky whiteness on her tongue. A trickle escaped, running down her chin. She raised a finger to retrieve it, feeding it back between her glazed lips, and a very erotic idea came to him. ‘Don’t swallow,’ he said. ‘Keep it there until I say. Send in 21,’ he called up to the camera.
‘21 is rather tied up at the moment,’ a female voice responded.
‘How about 29?’
‘She’ll be there. Any requests?’
‘Naked,’ he told the speaker. ‘Hands tied behind her.’ He turned to Erica. ‘Don’t swallow now. Not yet.’
His words to the camera served to remind Erica that others had almost certainly observed her actions and her capitulation. The possibility that all this could be recorded had crossed her mind before. If it ever got out it would ruin her stepfather’s political ambitions forever. But there was not much she could do about that now.
Don rose from the bed and made her stand too, just as a buzzer sounded at the door. ‘Open,’ he said.
Erica had noticed the girl who entered at the restaurant. She was the one who dropped a dish and was publicly spanked for it. Her dark hair was cut fairly short, and apart from her collar she was naked, even to the point that all her pubic area was shaved, making her look younger than she probably was.