by Roger Clarke
But nobody had told 36 to stop.
Nobody had told Erica to stop.
As she stared at her reflection she saw herself jerk, she watched her eyes glaze over again as the kneeling girl’s practised fingers took her back up the slope to the inevitable conclusion, with who-knew how many unseen eyes witnessing her degradation. But this time they waited until the perfect moment, when Erica was about to crash over into orgasmic oblivion once more.
‘Stop,’ said a male voice.
36 stopped and removed her hand, but Erica could not. Jerking her hips forward, trying to reach for something that was no longer there, she orgasmed, taken there by her mind alone, dizzily sliding from the toilet to the beige carpet. She convulsed as 36 looked down at her. Erica wanted to stay there, to sleep, to close her eyes and dream she was free.
‘Leave now, 36,’ said the voice.
In the control room near the front door, a place none of the girls had ever seen, those who witnessed Erica’s spontaneous orgasms watched her on the big monitor, listening to her sobs, excited by the display of stockings and legs and bound hands. Don was already formulating an idea as Erica drifted off to sleep where she lay on the carpet, and by the time her breathing slowed and regulated he had started discussing the details with the others.
Chapter 7
Erica awoke because of her arms. She had no feeling in the left one at all, so it was a struggle to sit up. Rolling to a kneeling position she managed to get to her feet, sitting on the toilet while she flexed her hands until the feeling returned. She glanced up at the camera, expecting some orders or comments, but all remained quiet. Maybe they had got bored and were not even watching. She decided to sit a while longer and have some peace.
Her face looked a mess, streaked with perspiration, her hair awry. The slit in the dress had fallen open, revealing the whole of her stockinged legs, but she did not bother to attempt to cover herself. It would probably amuse them and they had seen all there was to see anyway.
She stood and looked at everything in the bathroom – the bottles of shampoos and cosmetics, the hair dryer, the electric toothbrush, the mirror, the shower; not because she was curious, but it was something to do. She gave a few half-hearted tugs at her bonds, but they stayed fast. Erica was bored. She had no choices as such, nothing to occupy her, but found herself wondering whether this was some additional torture. Maybe they were trying to subdue her by showing her that even their mistreatment of her mind and body was better than solitary confinement. Maybe it was. Erica’s edges were fraying.
Would staying there show defiance and strength, or were they just not watching? Was she so insignificant in their eyes that they did not even bother to watch her all the time? Would asking to be let out be a further sign of submission? She sighed. She had no answers, but she could not take much more of being shut up, so she sank to her knees, lowered her head and waited.
‘Stay like that, 51, we’re busy at the moment,’ said a woman’s voice. So they were watching, and a few minutes later the door clicked open to admit 36 again.
‘We can talk,’ she said. ‘We have to shower.’
‘Together?’ Erica asked.
‘Yes.’ 36 untied the ropes and then helped her off with the dress, going back into the bedroom to place it carefully on the bed.
‘Do you believe that dress is worth five thousand pounds?’ Erica asked when she returned.
‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ the girl answered. ‘They want to show you that money is no object.’
Erica unfastened her bra and removed the shoes, stockings and suspenders while the blonde undressed quickly and turned on the shower. When the temperature was right she stepped in, telling Erica to follow. The cubicle was easily big enough for two but Erica wondered why they had to shower together, although 36’s touch as she soaped and washed Erica’s back was pleasant enough. She did not even mind when 36 turned her around and washed her front, paying as much attention to her breasts and pubis as everywhere else. If their aim was to make the girls more sexually alert or embarrassed, they failed, since their sexuality had become matter-of-fact. The girls had become objects. Maybe that was their aim.
‘Will you wash me now?’ 36 asked, handing Erica the soap.
With gentle curiosity Erica smoothed her hands over the other girl’s skin, at first avoiding contact with anywhere that might be considered sexual. The blonde’s reaction was to close her eyes and enjoy, and was so delightfully innocent that Erica forgot her shyness and just touched everywhere, including her breasts and her pussy, enjoying the feeling of actually connecting with another person without the cruelty of this dreadful place. ‘You like this?’ she asked.
‘Mmmm,’ came the other’s confirmation. ‘It’s nice to be treated gently.’
That gave Erica the encouragement to show how gentle she could be, smoothing her hands over the wet flesh and washing some of the pain and horror away.
She did not pull back when 36 kissed her, finding it a welcome difference from the previous time, and soon she was kissing back, the soap falling to the shower tray, forgotten as the two young women crushed together in a passionate embrace, the invigorating water cascading over them as they kissed, their arms around each other as much for sympathetic comfort as for anything sexual.
‘Are we allowed to do this?’ Erica whispered, breaking away from the kiss.
‘They’ll soon let us know if we’re not,’ 36 told her.
Erica kissed her way down to the girl’s breasts, wanting her, the need to make her own decisions driving her on. After sucking and licking her nipples Erica kept going until she was kneeling, willingly searching out the cleft between her friend’s legs, snaking her hand back up the wet body to hold her breasts as she sucked. 36’s hands were busy too, seeking out Erica’s breasts to cup and caress while she trembled under Erica’s inexperienced oral attention.
Erica did not want anything for herself. She had been selfish most of her life, a taker, ruthlessly treading on anyone to get what she wanted. But this was different, an overwhelming need to give, to make another human being feel good. She extended her tongue to flick around 36’s clitoris, teasing it until she felt the girl’s legs start to give, then holding her up by putting one leg over her shoulder, angling her head so she could spear her tongue inside, rapidly bringing her friend to a shattering orgasm, freed as she was to mumble, ‘Oh my God… oh my God…’
Afterwards Erica let her slide down the shower wall until both sat in the tray, the warm water still cascading over them as they sat and enjoyed the afterglow.
‘Can I do the same for you now?’ 36 asked.
‘Do you want to?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Later on they dried each other and went through to the bedroom. Erica knelt to examine the numbers etched into 36’s buttocks while the girl stood still. ‘Did it hurt?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a little,’ the girl said matter-of-factly.
Erica did not want to have it done, but knew the inevitability of it, so she wanted to think she would be stoic, would bravely withstand the pain.
‘What about afterwards? How long does it take to heal?’
‘About a week.’
‘I’m scared.’
The other girl turned and pulled her up, putting her arms around her while she sobbed.
‘I don’t want them to see me weak,’ she said, glancing at the camera.
‘It makes no difference, 51,’ the blonde said. ‘They want you broken and obedient, but they also like breaking you. They like it if you obey, they also like it if you don’t, but believe me, obeying is considerably less painful.’
‘I guess so,’ she whispered.
‘Time to get dressed,’ the speaker told them. ‘Not you, 36. You stay naked. 51, put the dress and some clean underwear on. 36, show her where everything is. She’s to be dressed
as before, but no bra this time.’
36 showed Erica the wardrobes, which slid open with expensive efficiency. They were lined with clothes, from the elegant to the tarty, including various uniforms.
Behind the leftmost door stood a multi-drawer unit, full of enticing lacy underwear. A drawer of thongs and knickers, one of bras, one of suspenders and stockings and one of slips. The lower drawers were dedicated to rubber and leather. To the right a cabinet contained dozens of shoes and boots.
As Erica gazed at it all 36 took out what she needed; a black underwear set and a new pair of seamed stockings. Erica dressed herself this time, checking with 36 that her seams were straight and finally asking her new friend to zip her into the dress, her breasts firm despite the lack of a bra.
‘36, fit her with the chains.’
The girl obeyed instantly each time the voice spoke. From the bottom drawer of the unit she took out one of the chain contraptions Erica had seen various girls wearing, clipping the chains to her collar before fastening the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. When fitted it hardly restricted her movements at all.
‘What’s the idea of these?’ she asked. ‘They don’t exactly impede me.’
‘They’re more symbolic really, like part of the uniform, but the Masters can clip them together if they want, or attach us to something with them. All ready?’
Erica looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a young woman she hardly recognised, tall in her heels, elegant and feminine in the superb dress, sexy in the slinky underwear.
‘What are they going to do to me now?’ she asked.
‘No idea,’ the blonde replied. ‘And even if I had they’d probably stop me telling you.’ She paused a few seconds, watching Erica look at her reflection. ‘51?’
‘Yes?’
‘I just want to tell you, when I have to whip you and stuff… there’s no hard feelings.’
‘I know,’ Erica assured her. ‘Same here.’
‘We have to do it properly or we just get more ourselves, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Silence now,’ warned the voice.
The two sat on the bed, waiting anxiously for the door to open. When it did Emily was there accompanied by two of the masked men. She looked so different this time. Gone was the severe suit, replaced instead by a short flared dress in deep-blue satin.
Emily looked at the blonde briefly. ‘36, go to the restaurant.’
‘Naked, Mistress?’ the girl asked.
‘Did I tell you to dress?’ Emily asked, one eyebrow raised.
‘No, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress.’ She glanced quickly back to Erica, and was gone.
‘You look good, 51,’ Emily told her.
‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Erica replied, cautious not to incur any wrath, anxious as to what was planned for her. She prayed it would not be another ritual beating like the last time.
‘Bring her,’ Emily barked at the two men, who each took an arm and marched her out of her room, following the swaying bottom and sexy legs of the woman in front.
They followed the same route as before, along the corridor and turning right to the busy restaurant, straight through the doors and towards the dreadful platform topped by the binding posts. Erica wanted to pull back and run, fearful of the same treatment, but the two men held her firm. A few heads turned to watch her as she passed, seemingly anticipating some treat she was unaware of.
They led her onto the stage again, quickly unfastening her chains so they could rope her hands to the tops of the posts before dragging her legs wide and tying her ankles to the bottom. Once again she stared helplessly out over the assembled diners. She saw her stepfather’s friend James again, sitting talking to a man she recognised as a TV chat show host, whose public whiter-than-white image would be destroyed if people knew he was part of this place.
All around slaves served food and drinks, never giving Erica a second glance. Emily walked towards her and clicked on the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something rather special for your entertainment,’ she announced. ‘We’re not going to rush it though, so enjoy your meal.’
‘Is she still a disobedient bitch?’ a man’s voice shouted from the left.
Emily smiled and moved next to Erica. ‘What’s your name, slave?’ she said, pushing the microphone towards Erica.
‘51, Mistress,’ Erica responded.
‘Are you a disobedient bitch, 51?’
‘No, Mistress.’
Emily addressed the audience again. ‘Notice 51’s elegant gown, ladies and gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Do you know how much it cost, 51?’
‘Five thousand pounds, Mistress.’
‘Over five thousand pounds,’ she corrected. ‘You have been careful with such an expensive item, haven’t you, 51?’
‘I’ve tried to be, Mistress.’
‘Good,’ the woman said. ‘Good.’ She walked round behind Erica as she talked, and when she appeared again she was holding a frightening looking knife. She put the microphone down and stood in front of Erica, staring into her eyes. Lowering the knife she placed it inside the dress, at the top of the slit.
Erica heard the rip as she moved, feeling the air touch her stomach as the dress parted. A few more cuts with the knife and the front of the dress was split completely, leaving Erica’s breasts bare and the almost see-through thong showing her pubic hair to the assembled diners. Emily walked behind her again, using one movement to shred the back of the dress, finally moving to her sides to slit the shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at her feet.
Erica was stunned. They had gone to great lengths to impose the value of the dress on her mind. She had thought it was to make sure she took great care of it and the message was that they would clothe her in the finest things if she behaved. Now she realised she’d had the message all wrong. The valuable dress was to show her just how rich and powerful these people were, so that ruining a five thousand pound dress for amusement meant nothing to them. Just as she meant nothing to them. They would destroy her just as easily and with as little conscience as they had destroyed the dress.
And worst of all, Emily could see the realisation on her face. Erica knew it. She could see it in the eyes of the smug woman.
‘What’s your name, slave?’ she said into the microphone.
‘51, Mistress,’ Erica sobbed.
‘And what value are you, 51?’
‘Nothing, Mistress. Nothing at all.’
A ripple of spontaneous applause broke out in the room. They had beaten her. They had won. Erica sagged against her bonds, ready to crawl, ready to suck and fuck and do anything they demanded.
But nobody untied her. This had been an appetiser, nothing more. There were other things in store before they were through. A short while later 36 was told to bring her water and talk to her quietly.
‘They’ll get a new girl soon,’ she whispered. ‘Then you won’t be the new slave any more. Things will settle down, you see. Come on, don’t cry.’
A few of the diners would occasionally mount the stage and look at her, or touch her, or spank her, or feel her breasts or bottom or pussy. The women were more catty than the men; they wanted her to be a worthless slut, as if her total degradation made them somehow superior. One twisted her nipples painfully, and then pulled her pubic hair until she cried out. She slapped Erica’s face and called for clamps, fitting them tightly onto Erica’s nipples before returning to her seat.
When the meals were finished and coffee served nobody left their seats. Those not facing the stage turned their chairs to see the floorshow, whatever it was going to be. Erica noticed a tripod being set up on the floor in front of the platform, not obscuring anyone’s direct view but allowing a large video camera to be mounted on it. As it was connected up Erica noticed the large TV sets mounted o
n brackets high on the walls flicker into life. As she watched her pubic area came into clear, obscene close-up. Emily mounted the stage and spoke into the microphone.
‘36, come here.’ Within seconds the blonde was next to her.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the main event of the evening. We were watching the new slave 51 in her room earlier. We arranged for 36 to masturbate this slave, timing it carefully so she would stop before her orgasm. We were amazed to see that despite stopping the slut orgasmed anyway. As far as we could make out she was trying to fuck thin air. We thought you’d like to see it.’
Again the applause rang out, but this time accompanied by a few ribald shouts and whistles. Emily moved next to Erica.
‘51, do you like being whipped?’
‘No, Mistress.’ That was an easy answer, though Erica dreaded having been asked.
‘No, of course you don’t. Well you have a chance to avoid being whipped this evening. All you have to do is to not orgasm. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. So that’s the challenge, ladies and gentlemen. If she doesn’t orgasm she doesn’t get whipped.’ Emily reached out and took hold of the thong and Erica yelped as she gave a quick tug, ripping it from her. As she unscrewed the clamps the blood rushed back into Erica’s nipples and with it came the pain of feeling again. She cried out aloud.
Emily spoke again. ‘36, do you like being whipped?’
‘No, Mistress.’
‘Well, if you don’t make 51 come you will be. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ She lowered her head, dreading this.
‘Your job won’t be an easy one, 36,’ Emily continued. ‘But you did it once, earlier today, so you have to do it again now. When and if you make her come you must not be touching her pussy in any way when she does. And make sure you’re not in the way of the cameras, so the Masters and Mistresses will be able to see every detail.’