A Girl Called 51

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A Girl Called 51 Page 9

by Roger Clarke


  Emily announced that bets could be placed on who would succeed. The blonde’s naked breasts bobbled as she approached. At least the two understood each other. No mercy would be given, nor expected. Both girls would try to avoid a whipping. They understood each other.

  36 moved around Erica, gyrating her body close so they touched with the faintest of caresses. Her hands wandered over Erica’s breasts, down her stomach, along her cleft and deep inside. She attempted to bring her lips to Erica’s, to renew the sensuality they had experienced in the shower, but Erica twisted her head away. 36 shrugged and concentrated on her breasts instead, her lips seeking the nipples, still red and sore after the clamps. Her fingers had already set up a rhythm, circling rather than touching, producing juices where Erica had been determined there would be none.

  Erica concentrated on visions of her childhood, riding her horse through the meadows of the farm her grandmother owned in Wales. She closed her eyes and planned the route intricately, shutting out the invading fingers and lips. Each time she thought she was succeeding the bonds seemed to tug at her, pulling her back to the restaurant and the girl desperate to give her an orgasm. Her eyes snapped open, seeing the many eyes looking at her, willing her to lose.

  She wondered if she had any champions in the room, whether anyone had bet on 36 losing. She suspected not. Maybe they knew just how good 36 was. Maybe they knew something about Erica herself she had never seen before.

  As the eyes burrowed into her soul Erica already knew she had lost. She was their property, a worthless sex machine to be used and abused at the whim of other people. They had total control and Erica had none, she realised that now. And because she had no control she would not be able to stop her orgasm. They knew it. She knew it. And they knew she knew it.

  36 was on her knees, her tongue starting Erica on her journey. She knew that an orgasm meant a whipping. So she would have to be whipped; nothing she could do. She could hear a young woman moaning, whimpering, gasping. She could hear herself. She could see her hips bucking in front of the hungry blonde head on six TV screens. She could feel the tongue vibrating on her clitoris. Her only chance was to come before 36 moved away. That was the deal, that’s what she would do. She felt her legs trembling, knowing she was getting close, so she stopped resisting and let the feelings take over. Her only chance was to come as quickly as she could, to take 36 by surprise. Her pelvis ground forward. Her hands clenched. She called out.

  36 moved away a good two seconds before Erica reached her peak.

  ‘No!’ she screamed, watching her pelvis on the screen, reaching for the camera, wanting all eyes to penetrate her, to be inside her, the biggest gang-bang ever. Hardly a sound was heard from the diners as they watched Erica’s pussy contract and pulse as she came, screaming out her defeat to the entire audience. Five, six times she tried to reach her non-existent lover, sobbing and gasping as her orgasm defeated her. To her side she saw 36’s wry smile as she mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to her. She relaxed, unable to support herself any longer, sweat coating her body, leaving trails from her thighs and under her breasts and soaking into the suspender belt and stockings. Erica had no will for anything now. Only defeat.

  The room came to life once the visual impact of what had happened had sunk in to the audience. One of the men who had set up the video camera stepped forward and pressed a few buttons before the recorded images came back to life, reminding Erica of her surrender. The girls who had taken the bets were moving around the hall again as Emily mounted the stage.

  ‘36,’ she said, ‘you may return to your room. You did well.’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress.’

  Erica watched the naked girl walk towards the double doors, only to be stopped by a man and woman seated at a table next to the aisle. They said something to her, she nodded and the three left together.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Emily announced again, ‘we hope you enjoyed the performance. Anyone who bet on 51 has unfortunately lost. If those who bet on 36 will hand their slips to the slaves an order will be drawn up. The winners, in order, have the choice to go first or last.’ She walked up to Erica and ran her hands over her back. ‘You’ll have to decide, ladies and gents, whether you want to mark skin that has not already been punished, or whether you’d prefer to add to the marks of others.’

  Erica sobbed. OK, she knew she was to be punished and she had been so scared of it that the fear had found its level, leaving her unmoved, unthinking. But now they were to pile humiliation upon disgrace. They were already wandering to the front of the restaurant like they were queuing to settle their bills, each selecting what they would use on her, in the order of their estimates as to when she would climax.

  Someone had turned up the sound on the screens so she could hear her own orgasmic cries echoing around the hall again and again. She heard someone suggest they video her punishment as well.

  She sagged in her bonds as Emily pressed the remote control and the motors started to rotate her, turning her back and helpless buttocks to face her abusers. She closed her eyes as the first man stepped behind her and flexed his single-tailed whip.

  Chapter 8

  It took some time for Erica to recover. The doctor had tutted and complained how the second punishment had been done far too soon after the first, while Erica lay on her bed face down to meekly accept whatever lotions and dressings were put on her back, bottom and thighs. She was not bothered by any more punishments or sexual encounters; she was merely left to recover, locked into her room, spending unknown portions of days and nights watching the videos. She requested books, which were brought and given to her. She requested magazines that were refused. At regular intervals they brought food and refreshments, leaving her with a cordless bell-push in case she needed anything else.

  The attention was so luxurious, so instant. Nothing was denied her apart from anything connected to her past or future. She could almost believe they realised they had made some terrible mistake and were making it up to her before they let her go. Almost.

  36 visited often, the two being allowed to chat for long periods and the blonde applying relaxing massage, for which, she told Erica, she had been trained. Erica had no idea how long she was left like this, but she could not get around the restlessness. She assumed they would treat her the same as the others soon enough, making her available to the guests and requiring her to wait at the tables and serve drinks. At least that would mean she could use the library, the swimming pool and the gym instead of being locked into her four walls.

  Gradually the wheals healed and the discomfort waned. She checked her back often in the mirrors, watching as the skin regained her original smooth colouring. She was lulled into a sense of boredom, of nothing happening. Visitors were regular and frequent, giving her a sense of day and night. Still she longed for a past that seemed so far away it could almost have been fictional. The more she tried to imagine her mother’s face, the less she could remember the features.

  When the soreness was at its worst she spent the day naked. There was no shyness any more, because there were no choices. The wardrobe doors remained locked and no clothes were supplied. The people who visited her did not appear to notice the fact that they were dressed and she was not, so it became the norm. The temperature of the room was kept constantly comfortable; so much so that she wondered whether that was another way of making time cease to matter. Just as darkness hid the borders between day and night, so a uniform temperature would hide the changing seasons. Only when they were allowed to go outside or into rooms with windows could they get a sense of time.

  Then one day there was a change of mood. She could not tell why she felt it, but she did. She had the same number of visitors, from the other girls serving her food or sitting to watch videos, or even talking if it was permitted, to the regular visits from the nurse. The doctor had stopped calling by now, so she knew she was OK. The people who came acted much as th
ey always had, yet Erica did sense a shift.

  When Emily arrived accompanied by two masked men Erica knew something was afoot. They gave her a black thong to wear, and that was it. No bra, no shoes, no stockings. The men fitted the same thick leather cuffs she had been forced to wear on her first day, snapping the padlocks in place on each. Emily told her to sit on the bed.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘51,’ Erica told her, weary of being shown her own weakness.

  ‘Today that number will be your own for good,’ Emily told her. ‘Today you will be marked.’

  Erica’s stomach sank, feelings of nausea overtaking her. She looked up at the heartless woman who was quite clearly taking such sadistic pleasure in telling her. Erica dropped to her knees, crawling to her.

  ‘Please, please, I’ll do anything, please not that.’

  ‘Silence, 51,’ Emily growled. ‘You will stay silent.’

  Tears of terror fell down Erica’s cheeks. She had known this moment would come and mentally prepared herself, but all that was bravado. Now she was faced with the reality she felt physically sick. She had to get out. She had to. The door was still open, so perhaps…

  In a moment she was on her feet, springing towards it. Nobody reacted fast enough and she was through it. She ran, straight down the passage, heading for the entrance hall, knocking into another girl and sending her tray of drinks flying. The doors to the foyer were yards away and the shouting from behind her seemed a long way off. As she sprinted towards the daylight the doors in front slid quickly closed. She crashed into them, but they did not budge.

  She could see two men running towards them through the small toughened-glass windows, so she turned, facing the way she had come, seeing the two masked men approaching. They had already reached the turning for the restaurant, so there was no way she could escape that way. All that was left were a few doors to her left and right. She tried the first but it was locked. The second opened and she crashed through, closing it behind her, looking for a way to lock it, to keep her pursuers at bay for a few more valuable seconds while she tried to find another way out.

  Then she noticed them. The room was opulently furnished, much bigger than hers with a large four-poster bed in the centre. On it a fair-haired man was being attended by two of the girls, one sucking him deep, her head bobbing up and down while the other lay on the bed next to his avid eyes, masturbating with an enormous dildo. He looked up as Erica crashed in, while the two girls did not flinch.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he shouted at her, but Erica was too busy looking towards the patio windows, already wide open to admit the fresh summer air.

  The door burst open behind her as she dashed for the light. She almost made it, but before she reached the open air a hand grabbed her hair and yanked her back, throwing her to the floor, making her scream out. The two masked men hauled her to her feet, holding an arm each as Emily arrived in the room. She apologised to the fair-haired man, who dismissed her words, saying he had quite enjoyed some action for a change.

  Emily faced Erica. ‘Apologise to the Master,’ she growled, but Erica stared back at her and remained silent. ‘You never learn, do you?’ Emily sighed. She nodded to the men, who quickly forced Erica to her knees. ‘Now apologise!’

  ‘S-sorry, Master,’ Erica gasped, cringing with pain.

  ‘Do you want to punish her?’ Emily asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said casually, ‘but not now. Is she the one to be marked today?’

  ‘Yes. 51,’ Emily told him.

  ‘So,’ the man continued. ‘It’ll take a few days to heal. I want to be the first to have her afterwards, OK?’

  ‘OK, consider her booked.’

  The men hauled Erica to her feet while the two girls remained faithful to their robotic tasks, as if none of this was happening.

  ‘Where did you think you could go?’ Emily sneered. ‘Speak.’

  ‘Anywhere,’ Erica panted. ‘Just away somewhere… anywhere.’

  ‘But there’s nothing out there, not for you. Nothing exists outside The Complex. But,’ she tilted her head slightly as she continued, ‘if you think you can escape, go ahead.’ She spoke to the two men. ‘Let her go.’

  Immediately they released her arms. Erica looked at them, and then back at Emily.

  ‘Go on, run!’ the woman shouted, pointing at the open patio door. ‘There’s the way out.’

  Erica did not move at first, certain that if she did she would be pulled down again. Slowly circling around Emily, watching her all the time, she backed to the opening, feeling behind her as she went. She backed slowly onto the small patio, glancing out of the corner of her eyes at the low parapet surrounding it and the lawns beyond. She took one last look at Emily before she ran, springing over the wall onto the neatly mown grass, sprinting away from the building as fast as she could.

  A siren sounded behind her. Shouts joined the frightening noise and over to her left a large black 4x4 raced up the driveway, slamming to a halt to let three uniformed guards out. Erica veered left towards the trees, perhaps fifty yards away now, blood pounding in her head and breath rasping in her lungs.

  She heard dogs barking just as she reached the undergrowth and trees, but she was too fired up to worry now. Onwards she ran, jumping over branches, fallen twigs hurting her feet. She ran on, sure in her step until suddenly her world turned upside down. Something had snared her foot and whatever it was tightened and whipped upward, taking her with it. She had no time to react and when she refocused the ground was swaying and something tight held her upside down by her right leg, her arms dangling helplessly towards the ground several feet below her.

  Within seconds a dozen faces were looking at her, two fierce dogs barking and snarling. Then into the middle of the crowd strode Emily.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ she said. ‘There are many traps out here, and you find a mild one. Have you ever seen a gin trap?’

  Erica did not answer, she just stared all the hatred she could muster back at her tormentor.

  ‘Well, have you?’ Emily snapped.

  ‘No,’ Erica spat.

  ‘Cut her down and show her,’ she told one of the uniformed guards.

  The man moved behind the tree from which Erica dangled, taking a pocket knife from his jacket. A few seconds later Erica fell, crashing to the ground, slightly winded and grimacing at the sharp pain as she landed on her side. Another guard pulled her roughly to her feet.

  ‘This way,’ the first said.

  They walked a few feet further into the bracken, in the direction Erica had been heading before the noose so devastatingly halted her flight. The guard searched for a few seconds until he found a broken branch, using it to gingerly clear away the leaves from a point he obviously knew well. The cold, black shape of a device Erica had only ever seen in books and films gradually came into view. A circle of sharp serrations pointed upwards, two metal bars across the centre.

  ‘Imagine this was your foot, slave.’ He grinned, though there was nothing pleasant about his appearance.

  The guard holding her arm pushed her forward until she fell to her knees, her head pushed within inches of the device. The man put the end of the stick in the centre, and with a sudden jerk the circle snapped inwards and upwards, the jaws’ interlocking teeth crashing together. Erica jerked back and screamed.

  ‘That could have been your pretty leg,’ Emily told her. ‘Think of the pain of that. It would probably be broken now.’

  A tear rolled down Erica’s cheek.

  ‘Let her go,’ Emily told the guards. ‘Now, 51, do you want to continue your amusingly futile dash for freedom or come back inside? There’s about half a mile to go before you reach the perimeter fence, and the nearer you get the nastier our little surprises will be.’ She paused. ‘So which is it to be? Speak now.’

&nbs
p; ‘I… I’ll come back, Mistress,’ Erica said sorrowfully, fully defeated.

  ‘A wise choice, 51,’ the woman said. ‘Very wise. But just to make sure you remember this silly episode you can crawl back on your hands and knees.’

  Erica’s feelings bordered on claustrophobia. She was shut in, there truly was no chance of escape and the whole thing felt like it was closing in, crushing her under its enormous weight. But she crawled, as instructed, with Emily walking beside her while the guards and the dogs went back whence they came, their excitement over. Emily directed her to the left, round the side of the building, through the patio areas and past rooms where people looked out to witness her destruction, while all the time Emily walked beside her like an animal handler.

  ‘Stand now,’ Emily said as they reached the door near the tennis courts. ‘I want you to show me just how obedient you can be. You are to be labelled today and there’s no way to avoid that. You do realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Erica whispered mournfully.

  ‘Speak up.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  ‘So show me how you obey. Walk to the restaurant proudly. Keep your head up and walk ahead, up onto the stage. A man will be there to bind you to the frame. You can struggle or you can cooperate. I want you to cooperate. Will you?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Erica acquiesced. ‘May I ask a question?’

  ‘Ask.’

  ‘Will it be you who does it?’

  ‘The labelling? No, not me. The right to mark you has been the subject of an auction. The highest bidder wins. You may be interested to know you broke the record for the highest ever bid. That was because of your rebellious nature. They like that.’

  Erica stayed silent. Emily was right. It was not avoidable. She had no choices, no freedom, no ability to resist. Emily had given her a chance to retain her dignity, so she would take it. ‘I’ll obey, Mistress,’ she said as proudly as she could.

 

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