by Roger Clarke
‘Come in, 29,’ he said. The door closed behind her. ‘Turn,’ he told her.
29 slowly turned so he could see her arms and hands, securely bound together with several turns of white rope, one length holding her wrists and another above her elbows, pulling them tight together, causing her shoulders to arch and her breasts to thrust forward.
‘This is 29,’ he told Erica, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘29, you’ve already met 51.’
The two girls made eye contact but there was no verbal communication, merely a slight physical acknowledgement of one another.
‘I’ve just come in her mouth,’ he told the new girl before he spoke to Erica. ‘Show her.’
He held her elbow to pull her forward to face the newcomer. ‘Open your mouth, 51.’
The girl looked casually at Erica’s lips as she parted them, then back to her eyes.
‘Kiss her,’ he told 29. ‘Share it. And when you have I want to see. Only then may you swallow.’
The girl closed the space between them, offering her lips to Erica, her tongue immediately seeking hers with some enthusiasm.
‘Did I tell you, 51, that 29 is a lesbian?’ Don asked. ‘She really doesn’t like men very much at all.’ He laughed as he watched them.
The girl seemed to know what to do, possibly because she had done it before. After all, a girl numbered 29 had to have been here for some time. She kissed well, her lips far more gentle than a man’s as she sought out and withdrew the semen on Erica’s tongue. When she was satisfied she broke the contact, leaving Erica rather breathless.
‘Open,’ said Don.
Each girl opened her mouth to show him what remained. When he was satisfied he told them to swallow.
‘OK, 29, you can go now,’ he said dismissively.
‘Yes, Master,’ the girl said as she turned to leave.
The familiar dull whirr of the door motors signalled its opening, but this time it did not close after the girl, and Erica watched her disappearing away down the passage, passing several other girls, some men and the occasional woman before going through a door in the distance.
‘Right,’ he suddenly said to her, ‘time for a tour.’
Erica waited while he dressed, still aware of his residue in her mouth, and even more aware of the feel of 29’s lips and tongue. Once he was fully clothed again he removed a leash from the drawer and attached it to her collar, more for its symbolism than to hold her with, since he applied no other restraints. His manner was one of a complete gentleman, yet he did not stand back to allow her through the door first, rather he led her. She felt like both a cherished lady and a worthless possession.
This time they did not turn right into the restaurant, keeping straight on instead until they reached the far end. Through the glass double doors facing them she could make out the waters of a large swimming pool, on the far side of which were floor-to-ceiling windows. As the automatic doors slid open the smell of chlorine took her back to her schooldays, to the swimming lessons she used to love.
Four girls and one man were in the pool, two girls swimming for exercise and the other two involved with the man. As far as Erica could see all were naked, the girls, for the moment at least, free of their usual collars. While the man fondled the breasts of one of them the other kept coming up for air before disappearing below the surface again, presumably to fellate him.
To the right of the pool another man was sitting in a jacuzzi, being served champagne by a costumed waitress while he watched two other girls performing an energetic soixante-neuf on the tiles in front of him.
Behind that, through full-height windows, was a large gymnasium, with a few girls on various keep fit machines, each in uncharacteristic leotards and trainers. Her escort explained that this was purely to act as support, to stop pulled muscles and so on. At all other times the girls had to wear the outfits given to them or wear nothing at all. Even in the gym, should a Master want it, any of the girls would have to remove the leotard without question.
Everything about her looked so strange and artificial, yet everyone there treated it as normal. Nobody paid undue attention to the fact she was so elegantly dressed yet was being led along by a leash.
‘In any part of The Complex, if a Master or a Mistress wants you, he or she will have you. Any complaint or resistance on your part will be severely punished, either immediately or in public at some future time. You’ve already experienced public punishment and I don’t imagine you want to again, do you?’
‘No, Master.’
‘You could well find someone will want more than one of you at once, or that several Masters will want to use you at the same time. Understand?’
‘Yes, Master.’
He pulled her towards the jacuzzi, exchanging cordial pleasantries with the man there.
‘Like these two, for example,’ he continued, indicating the two girls still giving each other oral pleasure. Erica could make out the number 31 tattooed into a buttock of the top girl.
‘They’re here because this Master wants some visual amusement.’
‘What’s this one’s number?’ the second man asked, with a hint of a Scottish accent.
‘51,’ Don told him.
‘Welcome to The Complex, 51,’ he said, smiling.
Erica glanced at her escort, unsure whether this counted as permission to speak. He nodded slightly.
‘Thank you, Master,’ she said back.
‘Polite, too,’ the Scot commented.
‘She is now,’ Don said. ‘She was trouble at first, but as they always do she succumbed to the initiation.’
‘51, will you do something for me?’ the Scot asked.
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Go and push your fingers inside… what’s the top one’s number?’
‘31,’ Don told him.
‘Push your fingers in her.’
Don tugged the leash slightly in case she delayed. She squatted next to the two girls, the one underneath apparently glad of the break, resting her head on the tiles to allow Erica access to her partner. The upper girl’s labia were soaked, so two fingers of Erica’s right hand slid in easily.
‘Put your whole hand in,’ the Scot told her. ‘Fist her.’
Erica blushed. She had never performed such an act, but with the Scot’s guidance she squeezed her fingers together, making them into a tight conical shape and tucking her thumb inside them.
‘Have you ever done this before, 51?’ the Scot asked.
‘No, Master.’
‘Go steadily but firmly,’ he instructed. ‘You’ll manage.’
So Erica pushed, sliding in easily up to the knuckle as the girl tensed and moaned.
‘Push now, steady,’ the man said.
The girl helped her, pushing back against her hand until it slid fully into the tight channel.
‘Now explore her.’
To Erica it looked as though her forearm was growing out of the girl, whose pussy clamped her tight in its warm wetness. The girl moaned, her head arching back as Erica’s hand twisted inside her. She tried opening and closing her fingers slightly.
‘How does that feel, 31?’ the Scot asked, moving to get a better view.
‘Good, Master,’ the girl breathed.
‘Do you want her to make you come, 31?’
‘As you please, Master.’
‘Yes, as I please. But no, I don’t please. You can wait. Take your hand out, 51.’
The girl’s muscles seemed reluctant to release Erica, but eventually her hand slid free, slick and slippery from the girl’s juices.
‘Put your fingers in her mouth, 51.’
Erica did as instructed and waited patiently while the girl licked her own fluids from her hand.
‘Well done, 51,’ the Scot said, smiling apprecia
tively. ‘I’ll look forward to using you when you’re ready. You two, carry on as you were,’ he ordered as he settled back to his champagne.
Don pulled the leash again, leading her along the side of the pool to a small hallway fronted by glass doors. He did not stop, pushing the doors open to take her outside, the first genuine fresh air and daylight she had experienced since she’d been here. A grassy slope led upwards, with paved steps set into it. As they neared the top Erica got her first glimpse of how vast the grounds were. The land sloped very gradually away in front of them, to trees and shrubbery in the distance.
Over to the right stood wire netting fences enclosing five tennis courts, only two of which were being used by people in regular tennis kit, so probably not slaves. As she watched one of the girls, dressed as usual in heels, stockings, bra, thong and suspenders, came from a door near the restaurant with a tray of drinks and sandwiches, taking them to a table beside one of the courts.
‘If you want to run,’ Don interrupted Erica’s thoughts, ‘it’s that way.’ He pointed directly ahead into the distance. ‘But I warn you, there are video cameras, trip fences, a very high wall with razor-barbed wire on top, some very nasty guards and some very hungry dogs. But if you still want to try then feel free to at any time; it does amuse some of the Masters.’
‘May I ask a question?’
‘Ask away. I may even answer.’
‘Has nobody ever suspected this place exists?’
That amused him. ‘Suspected? Anyone who’s anyone knows it exists. That’s what keeps it running. No matter what happens there’s always someone who can sort it out, keep it out of the papers and so on. We can do anything we like here. Anything at all.’
To one side of The Complex was a large ornamental garden, where twenty or so of the guests sat sipping drinks, talking, reading papers or just taking the air.
Again they were being served by the scantily-uniformed girls, one of whom, for reasons not explained to Erica, was hanging by her tied arms from a stout pergola, her toes inches from the ground and her face a mixture of tension and tears. Erica assumed she had done something wrong and was being punished, or maybe they just wanted her that way for decoration. Whichever it was, nobody was even looking at her.
Quite a few watched Erica approach, though, possibly because her elegant gown stood out from what everyone else wore. One man stopped her and reached into the slit, roughly investigating her pussy with his fingers without saying a word, while Don used the opportunity to chat to two women at one of the tables, still holding her leash loosely in his hand. A few minutes later, either bored or finished, the man moved back into the building and their tour continued.
The car park at the front of The Complex looked like a luxury car show. Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Mercedes and a whole host of cars Erica could not even name shone in the sunlight. As they watched a blue Aston Martin appeared in the distance, making fast headway up the sweeping driveway before stopping at the main doors, where its occupants – a man and a striking blonde woman – got out, leaving one of the masked men to park the car. Erica’s mind was working fast. If she could get the keys of one of these, that could be a way out.
‘Don’t even think it, 51.’ Don was ahead of her thoughts. ‘The drive to and from the car park has spikes that have to be lowered to get a car in or out. The two sets of main gates – two in case anyone tried to ram them – are protected by armed guards and there’s a pit that has to be raised to get a car in or out.’
‘Just because one of us could steal a car and try to escape?’ she asked.
‘Did I say you could speak?’
‘No, Master. Sorry.’
‘In answer to your question, no, it’s not because of that. We have politicians and foreign heads of state here. If anyone should attempt an assassination, or perhaps the gutter press tried to get in…’ he left the comment incomplete.
Erica sighed and sank to her knees on the grass, her hands upwards. Don pulled her upright with the leash. ‘Speak.’
‘So people do know about this place?’
‘Don’t get your hopes up, 51. The only people who know about it will not be talking about it. If the press find it, it’ll be because they manage to follow someone.’ He held the leash in his left hand while he reached into his right pocket. ‘Enough questions now. Open your mouth.’
The ball tasted of rubber and forced her mouth wider than was comfortable. The straps behind her neck held it firmly. When he had fastened the gag in place he used a cord to tie her hands behind her for the rest of the tour.
She was shown the medical facilities, a guest room, a small cinema, a full office suite where the guests could use secretarial services, photocopiers, faxes and phones.
Don went overboard in showing her how secure everything was, especially anywhere that could be used to communicate with the outside world. It was not ever a case of hiding the facilities so much as showing her how futile any attempts to use them would be.
Erica made mental notes. They could not be faultless. There had to be a way.
The tour took in all three floors above ground and ended in the basement, which Don referred to as the dungeon. It was fitted out with some extensive, evil-looking equipment, upon which two girls were bound.
One was on some kind of rack, her hands and legs being stretched by a woman using a remote control. The second was strapped to a cross, being whipped by the silver-haired man who had been in charge of her initiation. Erica was glad she was unable to speak, lest she fall foul of some rule and end up on one of these contraptions.
Finally she was taken to the restaurant, where the gag was removed and she was untied while Don enjoyed some coffee and sandwiches, served by another girl whom she recognised from her initiation.
‘Do you remember her?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Master, from the other night.’
‘She whipped you.’
Erica stayed silent.
‘Would you like to get revenge for that?’
‘No, Master, she was only doing what she was told.’
‘You’ll whip her anyway. Come here,’ he called to the girl, ‘and bring a crop.’
The girl hurried to a cupboard, collecting a riding crop and offering it to Don.
‘Bend over that chair,’ he told her, and she obeyed immediately. ‘A question, 51?’
‘Yes, Master. Why must I hit her? I don’t blame her for what she did.’
‘You’ll do it for no other reason than I tell you to. I’m not concerned with your anger or blame. You could be desperate to whip her, but if I don’t want you to it doesn’t happen. But I do want you to, so you will do it.’
Erica stood, taken aback by his sudden anger. She mechanically raised the crop and then swept it down against the girl’s bottom, not knowing whether she was doing it too hard or too soft, nor whether the girl’s yelps and tears were real or for effect. By the time he let her rise her poor bottom was striped, blotchy and red, but strangely Erica felt no guilt at all. She had no control over events, and she knew that in the reverse situation the girl would have shown no mercy either. She was being turned into a heartless machine.
‘Did you enjoy whipping her?’ Don asked her.
‘No, Master,’ she told him honestly.
‘Did you enjoy being whipped?’ he asked the tearful girl. ‘Speak honestly.’
‘No, Master,’ she echoed Erica.
‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘If you liked it, it wouldn’t be as exciting.’
Erica stored this information, thinking about it later, after she’d been retied and led back to her room, where she sat, helpless to do anything except watch the screen on her wall, showing a camera overlooking the garden terraces she had been in earlier.
The girl was still suspended from the pergola, still being ignored by the guests. She watched as another
undressed in front of two couples before she carried on serving them their refreshments.
She knelt on the floor for attention.
‘Yes, 51?’ a female voice asked.
‘Please, I need to use the toilet.’
Immediately the bathroom door clicked and swung open.
‘With my hands tied?’ she asked.
‘Wait,’ the voice told her.
A few minutes later 36, the first one she had met, arrived in her room.
‘She needs the toilet, 36. Help her.’
Erica turned her back, offering her hands to be untied.
‘Leave her tied,’ the woman’s voice said.
36 stood aside to let Erica enter the bathroom, blushing at the thought of what was to happen, sure in the knowledge this was yet another attempt to humiliate and thereby subjugate. She turned as she reached the toilet, waiting while 36 pulled up the dress and pulled down the thong before she sat down.
The girl waited, even managing a reassuring smile, perhaps aware the camera would not be watching her face. When Erica had finished the girl unrolled some toilet paper and wiped her dry.
‘Bring her off, 36,’ the woman’s voice interrupted. ‘Make her come.’
Maybe 36 had been here long enough to just accept such orders. Certainly she showed no signs of embarrassment as she pulled the thong off and pressed her fingers to Erica’s pussy, seeking out her clitoris and circling it gently, making Erica squirm from the pleasurable sensations. She knew exactly what to do to quickly make Erica gasp and moan. The fingers became more insistent, until Erica’s legs trembled and her mouth opened in a searing gasp, her hips responding, trying to make her own rhythm, trying to maintain that glorious contact.
Within moments she was there, reaching her peak, eyes closed, sighing, ‘No, no, no,’ regardless of the possible consequences of speaking.
When she recovered she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her hair a mess, her face a betrayal of the fact that once more her body had succumbed to a place her mind did not want to go. Post-orgasm, she resented the girl’s fingers still within her, wanted to shout out loud and fight.