A Girl Called 51

by Roger Clarke

  ‘Y-yes, Master!’ she panicked.

  Erica twisted 21 around to face her, quickly pulling the thong down to her feet, crouching as she did so. She hated doing this because the skin of her back felt taut and exposed, difficult for a man who liked to use a whip to resist. As she held the thong for 21 to step out of she sensed the man tense, but not soon enough for her to prepare for the whip’s bite. The force of it knocked her over. The man was on the stage immediately, pushing her onto her back with his black leather shoe, the pain of the whip making her wince. The man beckoned 21 towards him, pushing her down until she was kneeling astride Erica’s face and pushing until Erica’s lips were smothered by her damp sex.

  ‘Lick her, slave,’ the man ordered, nudging Erica’s arm with the toe of his shoe. Erica obeyed. She had become detached from the orders. In her mind she again turned the hatred she had for this latest in a long line of abusers towards her stepfather, and that made her lick with a vengeance, pushing her tongue up into her friend again and again as her eyes glazed over.

  Before too long the man got bored and went back to his original plan. ‘Stand, both of you,’ he ordered, and when they were on their feet he circled them threateningly. ‘How many strokes did I give you, 51?’ he barked.

  ‘Two, Master,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Louder!’ he said, lashing across her bottom with the whip again.

  ‘Three, Master!’ she cried.

  ‘Confused, are we, 51?’ he taunted.

  ‘No, Master. It was two and that made it three.’ She could not disguise the defiance in her voice, and the man did not miss it either.

  ‘Do I sense some rebellion in you, 51?’ he mused.

  ‘No, Master, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ask me for another and I might be lenient,’ he offered.

  Erica steeled herself. She had played out this scenario before. ‘Please, Master, hit me again with your whip.’

  She had hardly finished speaking when the next strike came, turning her legs to jelly with its ferocity. A loud scream escaped her lips, bringing a murmur of approval from the audience. If that was lenient, she did not want to know severe.

  ‘How many is that now, 51?’ he asked when 21 had helped her to straighten up.

  ‘F-four, Master,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Good. Amazing how you can learn how to count with the right encouragement.’

  Erica hated the man. She hated all of them.

  ‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I got you up here.’

  Both girls stayed silent, heads bowed.

  ‘Well?’ His voice was suddenly sharper, his hands tightening on the whips.

  ‘Yes, Master,’ they said quickly, as one voice.

  ‘You’re going to whip each other. And what’s more, you’re going to do it until one or other of you concedes. Any attempt to fake it will be punished in ways you don’t even want to imagine. Whoever triumphs over the other will receive some special privileges. Understood?’

  Both girls nodded nervously. The man handed them a whip each and moved them so they were facing each other. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Erica tensed. 21 was her friend, but now she was also her opponent. She knew 21 would be too scared to go easy, and that she would not expect Erica to either. There would be no quarter given or expected, but this would not spoil their friendship. Besides that, the sooner this was over the better. They waited for the odious man to start the contest.

  ‘Ah, but 51, you’ve had four strokes already and 21 has had none. That’s hardly fair, is it?’ he mocked. ‘So you get the first four strikes, 51. And if you make them count perhaps you can defeat her without taking any more yourself. Worth a try, don’t you think?’

  ‘Y-yes, Master,’ Erica said. And he was right; it was a chance of a reprieve. Erica’s flesh was already smarting and if she could avoid any more then she would.

  ‘Turn your back,’ he told the blonde, and 21 gave Erica a nervous look as she obeyed. ‘When you’re ready, 51,’ the man said as he moved away from the arc of the whip.

  Erica let the coils of the terrible implement fall to the floor, holding the handle in her right hand. She moved into a position where she judged the whip would have the maximum effect, the tail of it lashing around with its inevitable crack and bite. Her hand tensed on the handle as she drew back.

  Suddenly she brought her arm up and forward, as hard as she could, so that the tail would strike a vertical line midway between 21’s shoulder blades. The blonde screamed as it struck, arching her back against the blow.

  ‘Keep still, 21,’ the man ordered. ‘You’ll get your turn, perhaps.’ He turned to face Erica again, a sadistic grin playing on his lips. ‘Harder, 51. Do it harder. Break her.’

  Erica was not sure she could do it any harder, but she would give it a try. Drawing back she repeated the manoeuvre exactly, aiming for the deep pink welt that had risen down the length of 21’s spine. The girl screamed again as she struck, falling to her knees and sobbing with the pain.

  ‘Get up,’ the man called to her, then turned to Erica. ‘Help her up.’

  Erica dropped the whip and moved quickly to her friend, putting her right arm round the girl’s shoulder and helping her to stand again. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I-I know, I would be too,’ 21 stammered between sobs.

  ‘Carry on, 51,’ the man impatiently ordered.

  The third blow followed the previous ones, making 21 squeal again, yet she did not sink to her knees this time. She stood, ready. She was determined to have her chance. Erica drew back one last time. She had to make this good. After the three she had already dealt if 21 got her chance for revenge it was going to hurt badly.

  Summoning up all the strength she could she snaked the whip sideways, across her friend’s tender back. The red weal arose immediately and moments later, when the worst of 21’s shrieks had subsided and she once again sunk to her knees, Erica saw the livid streak of the strike, some six inches long in the centre of her back.

  Yet within a few moments 21 was back on her feet, turning to face Erica. Her face was twisted, gasping from her ordeal, yet held a determination to succeed that frightened Erica.

  The man was highly amused. ‘Very impressive, both of you. I never thought you’d endure that, 21. But now it’s all to play for. Last one standing wins. Wait until I tell you to start.’

  The man stepped off the stage and pulled up a chair from one of the front tables. ‘OK, you may begin,’ he told them casually.

  Erica tensed again, ready to reconvene the struggle, but 21 had already decided to act, lashing her whip out and catching Erica across her tummy, the end flicking round behind and nipping her bottom cheeks. She reacted immediately, catching 21 on her upper arm. It was a mistake, not having the damaging effect she hoped for. Worse still, the tip of her whip somehow became entangled round 21’s bicep, so she could hold on and prevent further blows while she lashed out again and again at Erica, each blow making her yelp and making her weaker. Finally, with a supreme effort, Erica managed to pull her whip free, staggering back slightly right into the path of a high blow that caught her around her face, stinging her cheek and tangling in her sweat-dampened hair.

  21 pulled, twisting Erica’s head around with the whip, turning her back to face her. As Erica put her hands up to try and untangle her hair 21 lunged forward to yank the whip from her hand and, transferring her own whip to her left hand, she pulled back to use Erica’s against her.

  From then on it was a lost cause. Countless strikes snaked across Erica’s back and bottom and thighs until she was crying and screaming, weakening fast. And she knew she was losing. Even when she managed to get the tangled whip from her hair she no longer had the strength to fend off the assault. On her knees she turned towards 21, tears rolling down her face as she looked up, pleading for it to st
op. 21 did stop, tossing the second whip away, out of Erica’s reach and pulling her own whip back, ready to strike again. She was panting, coated in sweat, looking like a gladiator in the Roman arena, ready to kill.

  The room had become tense with silence, the assembled audience sensing the end was close. The cruel man rose to his feet, taking a pace towards them.

  ‘Stand up, 51,’ he said quietly.

  Erica sagged to her hands and knees, trying to gain some strength to stand. She got herself into a crouching position, and then slowly started to rise, wincing from the stinging fire permeating her body.

  ‘What are you waiting for, 21?’ he said. ‘Finish her off.’

  Erica knew she had lost. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her back on her friend, gritting her teeth for the final agony.

  ‘Do it,’ the man growled.

  A second later the whip lashed across Erica’s back, the stomach-churning retort cannoning around the room, accompanied immediately by Erica’s weary scream. The audience watched as she seemed to hang there, held up by ever-weakening legs before slowly, slowly sinking to her knees once more.

  ‘Do it again!’ she heard from some seemingly distant point. The sounds of the room had become hollow and everything in it appeared to be moving away from her, as if she was falling, weightlessly, down some endless tunnel. The pain had blended into a state of mind she neither understood nor cared about. She closed her eyes and waited.

  ‘Now!’ the man demanded, and Erica felt the cruel lash burn into her back moments before everything flashed red behind her closed eyes and slowly faded to black.

  Erica never saw or heard of 21 ever again.

  Chapter 10

  Life gradually got back to normal for Erica. When she was fully recovered from the ordeal she was put back to work, serving in the restaurant, required at all times to be naked save for her high heels and hold-up stockings so that the guests could see and examine her fading welts and perhaps so that fellow slaves could appreciate the folly of disobedience.

  Occasionally someone would want to examine her in closer detail. One woman in particular was fascinated by the way Erica’s skin was marked where the whip had struck hardest, stopping her in the passageway outside the restaurant and spending several minutes running her fingers over the ridges. After a few minutes the swing doors opened and they were joined by a distinguished grey-haired man, who Erica recognised as a television news broadcaster.

  ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ he said to the woman. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Look, Ray, come and look at this,’ the red-haired woman replied enthusiastically. Even though it was early she was dressed in a deep-blue satin evening dress, cut low enough to reveal a deep cleavage and slit up the line of one leg to the top of her thigh, showing just a glimpse of the dark band of her stocking top when she moved. The man studied Erica’s back. ‘Can I have her, please?’ the woman implored.

  Erica had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, thinking of how 21 had been taken away, almost certainly bought by some unknown person. Could this woman mean that? But then if so, would it be so bad? Perhaps if she was bought and taken away from The Complex she would stand a better chance of escape. At least the couple were English so it was unlikely she would be taken overseas.

  The man looked her up and down. ‘We’re new here,’ he said, ‘our first time. Are you available?’

  ‘Yes, Master, whatever you instruct,’ Erica said, hating herself for her subservience.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘You don’t object if my lady friend wants you?’

  ‘I am not permitted choices, Master.’

  ‘And we can have you now, here, or we can buy you permanently, am I correct?’

  Erica could feel her blood run cold. ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘You want me to buy her for you, my pet?’ the man asked. ‘Or do you just want to have her for now?’

  ‘Just for now,’ the redhead cooed, slipping two fingers between Erica’s legs and sliding them inside her. ‘But if she’s as good as she looks and feels I might want her permanently. She’s very wet, Ray. I think she wants me too. Don’t you want to watch me have her?’

  ‘Where’s your room, slave?’ Ray asked Erica.

  ‘Her name is 51,’ the woman said, moving her free hand over the numbers adorning Erica’s buttock.

  Despite herself Erica said under her breath, ‘My name is Erica.’

  Ray sniggered. ‘Oh, this is the one. I’ve heard of you.’

  ‘What?’ the woman demanded.

  ‘Apparently she can be a bit of a rebel, this one,’ he said. ‘You know Laurence Pettinger, the MP?’

  The redhead nodded. ‘The one who was in all the news when his daughter disappeared? You mean this… this is her?’

  ‘The very same,’ Ray replied.

  ‘But the newspapers said she was dead,’ the woman purred, seemingly finding Erica even more interesting with this revelation. ‘They even had a funeral for her.’

  Erica’s heart sank further. She had always clung on to the faint hope that someone, somewhere, was still looking for her. Now all hope was gone. The world no longer knew she existed.

  ‘Well, slave, where’s your room?’ Ray asked again.

  ‘This way, Master,’ she said quietly, indicating the passage to their right.

  ‘Well then, lead on,’ he instructed, and Erica walked ahead, aware that the couple’s eyes were watching her nakedness, but too weary with it all to protest. She had deserted her duties in the restaurant, but that was not her problem. The girls were not allowed choices like that. It was their prime directive, as the recently installed new Director had put it, to obey any of the guests regardless of what else they were doing at the time. So someone else would have to worry if they were shorthanded in the restaurant. With over seventy girls now in The Complex a replacement would soon be found.

  As they approached her door she heard the familiar click as it unlocked and slid open. Her bed, as always, had been made by some unknown person. Erica entered and stood facing the foot of it, aware of the couple behind her.

  ‘Can I do whatever I want with her?’ the woman asked breathlessly.

  ‘Apparently you can, yes,’ the man replied. ‘You heard what they said at the introduction gathering. We can do what we want, when we want. The slaves are, as they say, expendable. So what do you want to do with her?’

  Without answering the woman walked over to where Erica stood, then slowly around her, looking her up and down. ‘Kneel,’ she instructed.

  There was something in her tone that Erica did not like, and was even slightly afraid of. It was soft, almost casual, yet held an unmistakable menace. Erica immediately sank to her knees.

  ‘She’s obedient now, it seems,’ the woman said, looking back at her partner. ‘Want to watch me fuck her?’

  ‘Sure I do,’ he replied, moving over to the chair to the right of the bed. ‘And you’ll bring me off in her mouth after you have.’

  The woman stared daggers at him. ‘I’m not your slave!’ she snapped vehemently, and at least Erica had stopped being the focus of attention for a moment as the man stood again, moving quickly across to the woman and twisting his hand into her hair, pulling sideways and down, making her gasp and snatch at his hand to stop the sudden pain. Erica kept looking at the floor, watching developments from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Fuck you!’ the woman cried. ‘Get off!’

  The man twisted his hand tighter in her hair and pulled her face to his. ‘Let’s not forget who’s the boss here, slut!’ he spat. ‘You were in the gutter when I found you and I can put you right back there without a second thought.’

  ‘All right, all right, I’m sorry,’ she wailed, trying to stop his hand pulling her hair. Her prev
ious elegance had gone, the slit in her skirt wide now, showing her black suspenders and the ‘V’ of her knickers as she struggled. To add to her humiliation the man reached up with his free hand to yank her neckline down, snapping the thin straps of her dress and exposing her ample breasts.

  ‘You, 51,’ he said suddenly, ‘find some rope. You can help me teach this spoilt little bitch a lesson.’

  ‘Yes, Master,’ Erica said, standing and moving to the drawer unit beside the door, where all the paraphernalia of bondage and restraint were kept. She pulled out four of the neatly coiled white ropes and moved back to the feuding couple.

  ‘Tie her hands behind her back,’ he ordered. ‘Make it good or you’ll be sorry too.’

  Erica dropped three of the ropes onto the bed before she uncoiled the fourth. The woman was still trying to tug the man’s grip from her hair, but he was far too strong for her.

  ‘Put your hands behind your back,’ he told her.

  ‘No!’ she wailed.

  His free hand flew to her chin and clamped her jaw roughly. His voice was calm, yet with unmistakable menace. ‘Look, you’re just as expendable as any of the slaves here. Now put your hands behind your back or I may decide to enrol you as an inmate.’

  Her eyes stared venomously back at him, but slowly she realised he was serious and dropped her hands, moving them behind her so Erica could tie them. She knew well enough how to do it, since not many days went by when she wasn’t bound in some way, and frequently she was required to assist in the subjugation of one of the other girls. Five times around the woman’s wrists, crossover, pass the cinch loop through and back again, then securely knot the ends.

  The man was looking around the room, spotting the winch hook in the ceiling above them. ‘How do we get that down?’ he asked, then there was a click and a mechanical whir as the hook started to lower. ‘How…?’

  Erica’s eyes darted to the ever-watchful video camera.

  ‘Ah, thank you,’ the man called, amused.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ came an equally amused male voice from the speaker.