by Roger Clarke
‘Do I get privacy if I want it, or do you watch everything?’ the man asked.
‘You can have privacy if you want it,’ the voice told him. ‘Just ask.’
Another click signalled the stopping of the hook. ‘Attach the rope to it,’ he told Erica, and when she had done so he asked for the winch to be raised, dragging the woman’s arms up behind her and bending her forward as it did so. He released her hair and waited until she was gasping with the discomfort of the position, then called for a stop and some privacy.
‘Ring the bell by the door if you want anything,’ the voice informed him before silence fell.
The man moved behind the trussed woman, amused by her futile struggles. ‘Are you going to apologise now?’ he asked.
‘What for?’ she defiantly spat back.
He turned slowly to Erica. ‘Do you have a cane?’ he asked.
Erica moved once again to the drawer unit, returning moments later with a swishy school cane, which she handed to him. ‘Pull up her dress,’ he ordered, and Erica was beginning to enjoy herself; the woman had treated her like an object and now she was being humiliated in return. She bent to grasp the hem of the dress, lifting it up the woman’s shapely legs to her waist, following the man’s instructions to tuck the hem into the low back, leaving the woman’s rear totally exposed.
‘Pull her knickers down,’ he continued, clearly wanting her humiliation to be complete, so Erica put her thumbs in the sides of the tiny black panties and lowered them to the woman’s feet.
‘I’ll give you a choice, Beth,’ the man then proceeded. ‘Do you want 51 to cane you, or me?’
‘What?’ came the incredulous reply. ‘Ray, please, we don’t have to do this. Please, I’ll do anything.’
‘You should have thought of that before,’ he countered. ‘Now choose. Her, or me?’
The reply was quick. ‘Her, not you.’
Maybe she had seen him use a cane before, and the idea that he could be brutal with it made Erica shudder. She hated the cane most of all. The man held it out to her.
‘Make it hard,’ he instructed her. ‘If I don’t think you’re doing it conscientiously enough I’ll do it to you instead. Understand?’
‘Yes, Master,’ Erica whispered anxiously, then moved behind the woman, the cane ready to strike the taut flesh of her bottom. She waited for the signal to begin.
‘Unless, Beth…’ he teased, ‘how about you suck me off instead?’
‘Yes, anything,’ she gasped.
‘No biting?’
‘No, no, I promise.’
The man was already undressing. He glanced at Erica’s face, taking in her expression before she averted her gaze. ‘The slave looks disappointed, Beth,’ he told the woman. ‘I think she wanted to cane you.’
When he was naked and erect he presented his pulsing cock to the woman’s mouth. She hesitated before sliding her rouged lips over him and sucking deep. The man gazed down at her face as he fucked it, pulling her hair to one side so as not to obscure his view. Erica watched the way her mouth struggled to contain his thrusts, and too late she realised he was now looking at her.
‘You think you could do better, slave?’ he asked. ‘Answer me!’ he snapped impatiently when she failed to reply.
‘Y-yes, Master,’ she blurted without thinking.
‘Then come here and kneel,’ he ordered smugly.
Erica placed the cane on the bed and knelt beside the woman, their faces mere inches apart. The man pulled out of the redhead’s mouth and presented his glistening cock for her to suck. She obediently licked around the helmet, twisting her practised movements this way and that to give him pleasure. She had learned well during her time at The Complex. Slowly she drew him in, opening her mouth wide and making sure her teeth did not nip him. Lifting her head slightly she pushed forward until he could feel the head of his cock at the back of her throat. Then she opened her eyes wide and looked directly up into his as she swallowed it even deeper into her throat.
The man let out a strangled gasp. ‘Oh, yessss… that’s very good…’ He inhaled deeply to calm his heightening excitement. ‘Are you watching this, Beth? You see now how to suck a man’s cock?’
‘Bitch!’ the redhead spat at Erica, and if Erica could have smiled she would have. She was actually going to enjoy caning the spoilt woman.
‘Want to try again?’ the man asked her, reluctantly pulling out of Erica’s mouth. He did not wait for a reply, he just moved to Beth and fed his cock between her lips, shunting his hips as she valiantly tried to swallow him. Her eyes widened as he reached the back of her mouth and she fought the natural reaction to gag, and finally she could take no more, pulling her head back and spluttering as she half choked.
‘Oh dear,’ the man mocked, pulling away from her and sinking back into Erica’s waiting mouth. ‘Now make me come, slave,’ he told her.
Erica was emotionless about it. She had no choices. If she had she would not obey. She did not enjoy it, she endured it. It was less unpleasant than a refusal would be, and a refusal would result in some kind of reprisal until she obeyed anyway. They knew she would break eventually and so did she, so it was simpler to just get on with it. And she had become a good actress; she could make each male believe theirs was the biggest and finest cock in The Complex.
She could not say she had no interest in the act at all, but it was usually an interest in avoiding pain and humiliation. And this time she had an extra motivation; she wanted to see Beth punished instead of her. So she sucked and licked and moaned and pumped her fingers up and down his shaft, and when he gurgled in the back of his throat before ejaculating deep into her mouth she made all the appropriately appreciative noises.
‘Very good, 51,’ he panted, when he had recovered somewhat. ‘Very good indeed. I’ll have you do that again sometime.’
‘Thank you, Master,’ she whispered meekly; well, it never did any harm to appear grateful.
‘What did you think of that, Beth?’ the man asked the sulking redhead.
‘I think she’s a bitch and when I get free I’m going to kill her,’ she sneered.
Ray laughed. ‘No, my vicious little pet, you’ll do no such thing. One, you haven’t the guts and two, I forbid it.’ He helped Erica to her feet. ‘Now, slave,’ he said, ‘have you any objection to caning Beth?’
‘No, Master.’
Beth started to plead again. ‘Why’s that, 51?’ the man asked, talking over her protests.
‘Because I do as I’m told, Master,’ Erica said.
‘So if I tell you to cane her harder, you’ll cane her harder?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Good. Pick up the cane, 51.’
Erica retrieved the implement from the bed and took her position behind Beth, slightly to her left. Ray sat in the chair, watching.
‘Start now, 51,’ he ordered. ‘And keep going until I tell you to stop.’
‘Ray, please…’ the redhead started, but Erica’s cutting stroke across her waiting cheeks stopped the words dead.
Erica kept going with regular strokes, varying the position slightly with each so as to make the woman’s bottom red all over. Meanwhile Beth screamed and cried, so much so that Ray picked up her discarded knickers and stuffed them in her mouth. Erica noticed the look of hatred on Beth’s face when she caught her eye. He did not miss it either.
‘Stop,’ he said suddenly, and the woman visibly relaxed. Ray moved to her face and twisted it up to his gaze, pulling the knickers from her mouth.
‘Are you angry with me, Beth?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she spat, before reconsidering. ‘No, I…’
‘You wanted this slave before. You still want her?’
‘Untie me and I’ll show you what I want to do to her.’ The woman’s voice was strained and tens
e because of the extreme position he had her in.
‘Later, maybe. But you can’t blame her; she’s only doing as I tell her.’ He turned to Erica. ‘Hit her again, harder.’
Erica struck once, making the woman tense again and scream out loud.
‘Bastard!’ she growled through gritted teeth.
‘Good, Beth. Direct your frustration at me, not 51. Who knows, you could be joining her in here soon.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘You don’t think?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t test me, Beth.’
He let go of her chin and let her head fall back. ‘Now,’ he continued as he walked back to the chair by the bed. ‘Be nice to her. You said you’d fuck her. I prefer to watch you suck her. 51, push the button.’
Erica moved to the door to press the button that would reconnect them to the control room.
‘Yes?’ the same disembodied voice asked.
‘Lower the winch,’ Ray told him, and immediately the motor whirred into action, lowering Beth’s hands until she could stand straight again. As she did her dress slid back down her thighs, catching for a moment on the tops of her stockings before continuing its noiseless descent to her ankles.
Ray told Erica to unhook the winch and asked the man to raise it again, and when the whirring motor stopped he once again asked for privacy.
‘Kiss each other,’ he told the two females. Beth shot him an indignant glance again, and then lowered her gaze as he continued. ‘Or I’ll use the cane.’
Erica was unmoved. She kissed Beth on the lips, meeting a hard, tense, reluctant response.
‘Do it, Beth,’ he warned. ‘I can assure you I cane far harder than this slave. You said you wanted her, so do it.’ To emphasise his threat he moved to pick up the pliable implement.
‘All right,’ she said quickly. ‘All right.’
So the two women kissed, both putting on their act to amuse and placate Ray, because both knew they had no other choice. Erica was surprised to find Beth quickly responsive, opening her mouth and pressing her tongue forward to engage her own, and then she chose her moment to viciously bite Erica’s lower lip.
‘Bitch!’ she spat as Erica yelped and pulled away, raising her hand to her mouth and finding blood there.
Ray moved fast. ‘I told you,’ he said, bringing the cane down with force across Beth’s back, making her legs buckle as she screamed out and sank to her knees.
‘No, please!’ she pleaded, and he calmed quickly.
‘Beth,’ he told her, his voice almost soothing. ‘You still have choices and I suggest you use them wisely while you do. You can do as I say and later today we can go back to London, or you can continue to rebel, in which case I’ll have no qualms at all about leaving you here to become one of the slaves. I could even suggest you share a room with your new friend, 51.’ He thought for a moment before turning to Erica. ‘How many slaves are there here now?’
‘About 42 at the moment, Master, I think,’ she replied uncertainly.
‘And what’s the name of the most recent?’
‘I think it’s 81, Master,’ she answered, remembering the induction of a Japanese girl fairly recently.
‘Well, Beth,’ he resumed. ‘You would become number 82.’
‘No!’ she quavered.
‘And you could have the numbers tattooed into your skin like 51 has. Did it hurt?’
‘Yes, Master,’ Erica told him truthfully.
‘Worse than any beating?’
‘Perhaps, Master.’
‘Did you pass out?’
Erica nodded, remembering the blackness that had descended on her moments after her own parents had pressed the wicked needles into her flesh.
‘Now, what do you think?’ he continued. ‘Do you want to remain Beth, and retain all your freedoms, or do you want to become 82 and stay locked up here as a slave?’
‘No, I’ll do anything,’ she sobbed, crying openly. ‘Anything.’
‘Good. Now, you’re going to thank 51 for caning you by sucking her. Do you understand?’
She nodded meekly.
‘And if you bite or do anything spiteful you become number 82. Now, have you got that?’
‘Yes… I’ve got that.’ She knew she was beaten.
Ray told Erica to get on the bed and spread her legs, and then instructed Beth to climb between them and do as she was told. Without her hands to support her, Beth’s face pressed hard into Erica’s crotch, but despite herself Erica responded to the woman’s tongue as it separated her pussy lips and sought out her clitoris. Either Beth had done this before or she was a natural, and Erica settled back to get whatever enjoyment she could from the act. That’s how she had become; resigned to the beatings and humiliation, taking what pleasure she could from life and waiting, waiting for the day she would get free.
Beth never did become 82. But she did become 83.
The number 82 was reserved for a tall, willowy blonde who, they were told at her induction, was consigned to The Complex on her eighteenth birthday by her stepfather, who was introduced to the diners. The man stood and waved a hand in acknowledgement. They were not often told of a slave’s background, but for some reason the Director went to some lengths to explain this girl’s past.
In the same way Erica had been when she had first arrived here, the blonde girl had her arms and legs strapped to the two vertical posts on the turntable in the centre of the stage. Unusually, she wore a T-shirt and jeans. She looked rebellious; staring back at the crowd with a fire that Erica knew only too well would soon be doused. The more defiant the slave was, the more sadistic pleasure they would take in her absolute subjugation.
They had all been called, as usual, to the packed restaurant and made to kneel in a row facing the stage during the induction ceremony. This was not the labelling ceremony; that would come later. This was an opportunity for the guests and the other slaves to meet the new inmate. For certain she would be humiliated and whipped, that happened every time. At some point in the ceremony all the slaves would be required to walk onto the stage and whip her too. It had happened at Erica’s initiation and all the ones she had attended since. She had done it without malice or emotion. Better someone else than her. Noble gestures just brought more pain.
Erica, as with several of the other girls present, was shackled with loose chains attached to locked leather cuffs at her ankles, wrists and neck. It gave them sufficient freedom of movement to serve at the tables, yet not enough to protect themselves should one of the guests decide to use a whip or a cane on them.
The general murmur of conversation and the clattering of cutlery were constantly underlined by the jangling of chains as the slaves moved among the tables. Apart from the chains she was dressed, as instructed, in black underwear comprising a tiny see-through thong, wispy suspender belt and uplift bra. Black seamed nylons and high stilettos completed the outfit.
They were told the girl’s father had left her and her mother when she was a baby, and that her mother had remarried soon after. Two years ago her mother died and she lived with her stepfather. Erica could imagine what that entailed. The stepfather had the sort of manner that made her think the new girl had probably been the target of his sexual attentions for some years.
Apparently for the last year the girl had become unruly and delinquent. She had run away a few times but he always found her. And then finally he snapped and decided to put an end to her rebellious behaviour. Her stepfather, they were told, was a judge. He knew people. As far as the world at large was concerned the girl had run away and he could not look for her any more. She would become another statistic. The Complex was full of such statistics.
From the corner of her eye Erica noticed the stepfather was accompanied by a female who did not look much over eighteen herself. No doubt the man had a new interest in his life and wanted
his inconvenient stepdaughter out of the way. For good.
The man she only knew as the Director continued to speak, telling the girl the familiar facts that she was here for as long as they wanted her, that she was expendable, that she was required to obey any instructions from the guests without question, that she was not allowed to talk unless given permission and that if she needed to talk she must kneel and await permission.
Erica held her breath, as always willing the new girl to just agree, to avoid the inevitable punishments that would come from defiance. But it rarely happened.
‘Fuck you!’ the girl snarled, then louder, to the room, ‘Fuck you all!’ She focussed on her stepfather and his new girl. ‘And most of all, fuck you…!’ Her last two words were uttered with intense venom, so everyone knew he never had been a real father to her.
The reaction was obviously planned. A man and a woman stepped forward from the back of the stage. He held her face and pressed his finger and thumb into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. She tugged uselessly at her bonds. The woman pressed a rubber ball-gag between her teeth and moved round to fasten the strap tightly behind her neck. When it was complete, both resumed their positions at the rear of the stage. Still the girl mumbled obscenities at the room, her eyes glowing with defiance.
‘These are her favourite clothes, apparently,’ the Director said into his microphone. ‘Not very elegant, are they?’ A few amused murmurs arose from the room. ‘Scissors, please,’ the man called, and the woman brought a pair forward for him, relieving him of his microphone.
He started at the bound and gagged girl’s waist, cutting upwards from the hem, between her breasts to her throat, so that the fabric fell apart to reveal a white bra and tanned flesh. He continued to cut, to her left shoulder, down the arm, then again on the right, so that the shirt fell in tatters to the stage. She watched, mumbling curses at him, but taking care lest the sharp scissors should cut her.
When the shirt was a ruined rag around her feet, two quick snips severed her bra straps. He reached up with his left hand to pull the delicate cups away from her breasts before sliding the scissors between them to cut there too, and it quickly joined the ruined shirt on the floor.