by Roger Clarke
For some time the same nurse attended Erica, bathing her nipples and twisting the sleepers to keep the piercings from healing. She never spoke to Erica at all, not a single word in the conversational sense. Erica was told to ‘sit’ or ‘keep still’, and that was it. She assumed the nurse was trained, yet how could she care for people and still witness the cruelty of The Complex?
Soon there was little discomfort and at least it meant the Masters and Mistresses left her breasts alone until they healed. Thankfully, for a while there were no sex and no punishments, though she worked long hours in the restaurant and serving drinks in the gardens.
Most of the time she had to wear the familiar shackles joining her ankles to her wrists, and her clothing varied between elegant evening dresses and flimsy underwear, from tiny thongs to panties with bras, suspenders, corsets, and slips. Each day she wore a special band around her upper left arm to inform the guests that she had been recently pierced, though whether that was to give them the opportunity to examine the sleepers or to warn them away from causing her damage, she never found out.
One day the nurse did not arrive at the expected time. Instead Grace, the housemistress, opened the door and walked into Erica’s room.
‘Stand, 51,’ she said as the door slid silently shut behind her. ‘Have you wondered why you had your nipples pierced? You may speak.’
‘No, Mistress,’ Erica said honestly. ‘Just because someone decided it, I imagine.’
‘Not quite,’ the woman told her, craning her head forward slightly to look at the sleepers. ‘There’s another reason. But you’re to have new rings fitted first.’
As always, right on cue, the door clicked open again and a man she had never seen before entered. He wore a white coat just as the doctor had, and Erica shrank back at the sight of him. He was small and timid, moving to the bedside table with shuffling feet and opening a case on its polished surface.
‘Over here, on the bed,’ he muttered, though Erica could not be sure whether he was giving her an order or telling Grace where she should go. She glanced at Grace.
‘You heard him,’ the woman said. ‘On the bed. Sit.’
When seated, the man unfastened the sleeper in her left breast and took it out, placing it in his case. Erica had always been proud of her breasts, yet the little man did not seem at all moved by them, or even aware they were beautifully ripe breasts he was handling at all. He quickly removed the other sleeper and placed it with the first, before opening a small box to remove a pair of gold rings about an inch in diameter. He threaded them through her nipples in turn, pushing the joints together loosely. Once in place, he took from his bag a tiny butane torch and what looked like two grey flannels with a small slit in the centre of each. Erica gasped at the sight of the torch, wondering what torture this was.
‘Heat-proof,’ the nervous man explained, indicating the two squares of material. ‘So you don’t get burned.’
He pushed a cloth over each ring so it rested on her breast, and then screwed clamps in place on either side of the joins to shunt the heat away from her nipples. Lighting the blowtorch he adjusted the flame until it was a narrow blue spear, and then applied it quickly to the joint of the ring piercing her left nipple.
‘Can you get me a wet cloth please, Grace?’ he asked as he worked. ‘Use cold water.’
Erica watched Grace go to the bathroom and return moments later with the wet flannel. He took it from her and moved the blowtorch away from the ring, pressing the cloth in place where he had worked. It hissed slightly as it cooled the hot metal, and water dripped onto her thighs.
A few moments later and he had repeated the exercise on the other ring. When it was cold too he removed the cloths and inspected his work.
‘The only way they’ll come off now is with a cutter,’ he smiled at Grace.
Both females waited as he packed his case and left, and when the door was shut again Grace reached in her pocket for a gold chain with clip fasteners at each end and a ring in the centre. She clipped each of the fasteners to Erica’s nipple rings and hooked her finger into the centre ring.
‘Follow me,’ she said, as if Erica had any choice, and moved her to stand beneath the ceiling winch, the chain of which started to lower immediately. Grace went to the drawer unit by the door to select a set of steel handcuffs. She efficiently snapped one on Erica’s left wrist and moved behind her to snap the other to her right. Whatever was to happen, Erica’s hands would play no further part.
‘Your stepfather has ordered all this,’ Grace said. ‘He told us how you used to keep them up all night, wondering when, or even if, you were going to come home from yet another debauched night on the tiles.’
‘They never waited up for me,’ retorted Erica without thinking, only to be stopped short with a stinging slap across her face.
‘Nobody gave you permission to speak, 51!’
Grace snapped the winch hook to the ring at the centre of Erica’s breast chain, calling for it to be raised again, quickly stopping it when it was level with her breasts, so the chain hung loosely in front of her.
‘You’ll be fed later, 51,’ Grace told her as she turned to leave. The door opened for Grace’s exit and slid silently and solidly shut after she had gone. Erica did not understand at first. There was no discomfort, no pain, so what was her torture to be? Boredom?
After a short time standing there she was indeed bored, and Erica discovered what her torture was to be. Her feet ached from standing in one place for so long and her legs started to become restless. She moved around as much as she was able, but that was not much before the winch chain tightened and started to pull at her nipples.
That all meant she could not relax; she had to stand still and wait – but for how long? It also meant she was unable to sleep, and the realisation of that alarmed her. If she did she would fall and if she fell the rings would rip through her poor nipples. So she had to stay awake until they released her. So that was what Grace had meant – her stepfather was taking cruel revenge for the times she apparently kept him and her mother awake when she was enjoying yet another night out.
Sometime later Beth arrived with her food and, watched by Grace, she stood and fed her friend with a spoon. Neither was permitted to talk. Once Erica had been fed she was left alone again, getting more and more tired. She closed her eyes a few times and saw herself as a child, running free through the meadows in Wales where she used to go to visit her grandmother.
Her imagination looked down at her feet, where her favourite white sandals skipped over the lush green grass, and she saw her lovely white dress with the bright red and yellow flowers decorating it. The sense of freedom was blissful, but all too short as sudden pain reminded her that she had started to droop.
Erica snapped her eyes open again, looking around the darkening room, the lights having been dimmed. From her first day at The Complex the light in the room had been kept constant, with one level when she was awake and a dim level when she was sleeping. The light and dark did not follow the patterns of day or night at first, because they wanted to destroy her sense of time. But this was different. The lights were being dimmed almost until she could not see the door. They wanted her to feel sleepy. They wanted to test her, to see what she could endure.
Then, unexpectedly, Grace’s voice purred hypnotically from the speakers.
‘You could try begging, 51. It might work.’
‘Please let me go, I’ll do anything,’ Erica whispered, her mouth dry. She had little pride left, so she could beg. She would beg.
‘That’s no good, 51. We can make you do anything anyway. Try again.’
‘Please, tell me what you want.’
She recognised the voice of her stepfather as he took over.
‘Tell me you love me, Erica.’
That snapped her awake. He used her name. Was this to be an end to he
r ordeal, or even her time at The Complex? Was it possible he had punished her enough and was prepared to accept her again, to set her free?
‘I… I love you,’ her survival instincts forced her to say.
‘What would you do to be set free, Erica?’ he asked. ‘Would you promise to behave yourself?’
‘Yes, yes, anything.’ Her pulse raced with the possibility that she could be on the verge of being freed.
‘Would you promise never to tell anyone about this place?’
‘Yes, I promise! Please take me away from here!’ She was sobbing now with cautious euphoria.
‘Prove it to me, Erica. Ask me to beat you now.’
‘Please beat me, I want you to,’ she pleaded. ‘Now, please…’
His voice had become all there was in the world. If it meant freedom he could beat her. She knew she could take it.
‘Very well,’ he mused. ‘Very well, I will.’
Erica stood upright, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She would take her beating. She wanted it. She needed it. All pride, all hatred, were gone. If he set her free he would become her hero. She would forgive all he’d had done to her. She would be his slave forever.
After a few minutes he strode through the opening door, a single-tailed whip in his right hand. ‘You do want this, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Yes, please… I need it,’ she answered him, turning her back, presenting her flesh for his pleasure. Without hesitating he drew back and hit her hard, stinging her flank with the lash.
‘Do you want more, Erica?’ he asked.
‘Yes, more, as much as you want,’ she panted, so he struck her again and again.
‘You’re not crying, Erica.’
‘I am,’ she sobbed. ‘Look.’ She turned her face and showed him her tears.
‘I want to hear you scream, Erica.’
She turned her back again and he resumed, swiping the whip down with such force it propelled her forward, forcing her to repeatedly shuffle back to stop the chains pulling her nipples with excessive pain.
Then suddenly the excruciating assault stopped, leaving her bathed in perspiration, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she breathed deeply and absorbed the hurt.
‘If I unchain you will you want more punishment?’ he asked.
Erica nodded. ‘Yes…’ she whispered wearily.
Laurence Pettinger quickly unfastened the handcuffs and unclipped the chain from the winch. ‘Bend over, Erica,’ he growled, ‘and present your bottom to me.’
Erica did as he ordered, gripping her ankles as she bent down to accept his gifts of pain. During the ongoing whipping she cried out, all attempts to keep it inside, to not be broken, gone. When the onslaught ceased for a moment she straightened up stiffly and turned to face him, begging him to whip her belly, thighs and breasts. When he stopped again, tired from his exertions, and sat in the chair to rest, she sank to her knees and dropped her head to his feet.
‘Will you suck me willingly, Erica?’ he asked, his voice a little strained.
She did not answer, for no answer was needed. She reached for the zip of his trousers and unfastened them, drawing him out and sinking her mouth over his throbbing erection. She closed her eyes and sucked the cock of her saviour. He was about to set her free, so at that moment she was willing to do anything to please him.
‘And will you fuck me willingly?’ he asked, after watching her working deliciously on his cock for some minutes.
Again she did not answer, but stood and straddled his thighs. As she lowered her pussy over his cock she felt she had forgiven him completely. The fact that he was the very reason she was here was suddenly unimportant, and all that was left was the fact he was going to take her away again. She kissed him deeply, using all her skills to give him a fuck to savour.
She rose and fell, she used her pelvic muscles to squeeze him, drawing him inexorably towards his climax, and when she felt him jerk and start to pump into her it triggered her orgasm too.
‘Ohhhh,’ she sighed blissfully, ‘I love you.’ Nothing mattered at that moment, not who he was nor who he had been. She sank over him, calm and peaceful for the first time in years, perspiration running between her breasts and coating her toned thighs with a healthy sheen. His hand stroked her hair as she rested.
‘Let me up,’ he said at last. She stood, and he did too, zipping himself up and dabbing sweat from his brow with a crisp white handkerchief.
‘Come with me,’ he told her as he moved towards the door. It opened and she followed as he started down the corridor. A group of men stood near the control room further along, with Grace to their left. Erica prayed she would never see any of them again. She wondered if her stepfather would give her something to wear for the journey home, but she did not care that much. If he wanted her naked she would be naked. She would walk all the way behind the car if he told her to.
Laurence Pettinger stopped in front of the group of controllers. ‘Blindfold her, please,’ he told Grace.
That made sense, Erica thought. They would not want her able to see her journey home. Home, the very word thrilled her. She stood still as Grace fitted the blindfold.
‘Right,’ her stepfather said when it was done, ‘I have no more use for her. Do what you want. Sell her if you like. Goodbye, 51, we’ll not meet again.’
Hands grasped her wrists as his words sank home.
‘No!’ she screamed, realisation plummeting in her stomach and making her feel horribly nauseous. ‘No! You promised! I’ll do anything for you, remember?’ Erica felt ropes being bound tightly around her wrists as she heard her stepfather’s parting words.
‘We have a new daughter now, 51.’
At that moment he lost her, forever.
Chapter 13
Erica was left on her bed, crying inconsolably. The blindfold soon slipped, leaving her to see the merciful darkness of her room. She lay on her side, arms bound tightly behind her back at the wrists and elbows, and legs bound together at the knees and ankles. She felt no discomfort and made no attempt to struggle. All the pain was inside. He had abandoned her again, but this time he had gone out of his way to give her some hope first. He deliberately set her up and she went along with it like a dumb fish caught on a line.
She did not care about the listening microphones or the watching cameras; they could give her no greater punishment than this. She spoke aloud, telling her room how sad she was, how she hated him, how she would be avenged.
The listeners let her ramble. Maybe, just maybe, they had some compassion for her. Or maybe they were enjoying her suffering. Erica did not care either way. Eventually she fell asleep.
She awoke slowly, her arms numb from the bonds. Someone was speaking to her, a gentle female voice, and a hand was stroking her hair. She opened her eyes to see Grace sitting on the edge of the bed smiling down at her. The short black dress she wore had ridden up her thighs, and her position revealed she wore nothing beneath.
‘How are you feeling?’ the woman asked.
‘Numb, defeated,’ Erica replied. ‘Bitter and full of hate.’
‘The microphones are off, you can talk freely,’ Grace informed her. ‘And you can trust me – this is off the record.’
Erica had learned the hard way to trust no one. ‘Oh yeah, I’ve heard that one before,’ she sneered.
‘I didn’t like what he did. Your stepfather. He went too far.’
‘Why should you care?’ Erica felt like crying at the reminder.
‘How much do you know about me?’ Grace asked her.
‘Nothing,’ Erica admitted frankly. ‘Only what I’ve seen here.’
‘I live in my own house, in the grounds,’ Grace disclosed. ‘I’m employed by The Complex to run things. And I’m very well paid, too.’
Erica wondered why she was bein
g entrusted with such information. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You’ve been as cruel to me as any of the Masters or Mistresses, so why the friendly act now?’
‘I won’t deny I get a huge buzz from domination, much more than I’m able to experience here,’ Grace went on. ‘Yes, I’m a cruel bitch, and I love using the whip and all the other equipment at our disposal here. That’s why I jumped when they offered me the opportunity, when the place was originally set up. But being the senior housemistress here has its downside, too. I never seem able to relax and really indulge myself, not properly.’
‘Is this leading somewhere?’ Erica asked indifferently.
‘Yes, it is,’ Grace said decisively. ‘I’ve a mind to have you as my personal slave.’
Erica was dumbstruck. ‘And you’re seeking my agreement?’
‘I don’t need your agreement. Officially you have no say in the deal. But I do want your oath of loyalty.’
‘And you’d trust any oath I made to you?’ Erica said, somewhat shocked and bemused by the disclosure. ‘Why would you?’ She tried to shift to a more comfortable position, her arms tingling.
‘Here, let me untie you,’ Grace offered, reaching for the ropes at her wrists and pulling at the knots until Erica’s arms were free. ‘You can do your own legs.’
Erica took some time rubbing the circulation back into her wrists and biceps before she unfastened her legs and feet, while Grace continued talking.
‘Something about you has always fascinated me,’ she went on. ‘I don’t know what it is, but there’s something there; a spark that excites me. I think about you all the time; during the day when I’m working, and during the night when I’m… I want you, 51, all for myself.’
‘You’re a lesbian?’ Erica asked.
‘A bit of everything is what I am,’ Grace answered openly. ‘I’ve had relationships with men and women, but none of them came close to what I feel for you.’