A Girl Called 51

by Roger Clarke

  Erica looked down at her hands for a few moments, then back up at Grace, decision made. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she announced, ‘I choose to be yours forever.’

  Chapter 15

  Erica had been dreaming, but the more she tried to remember the dream the more distant it became. She opened her eyes, half expecting to see Grace in the room, but she was alone.

  She liked to have the curtains closed, since from her bedroom window she could see the hated Complex in the distance, a constant reminder that she could be sent back there if she transgressed, to the cruel masters and mistresses.

  Erica was glad Grace had chosen to buy her. She could easily have been sold to someone overseas, someone far crueller than Grace. Not that Grace wasn’t cruel; she was very keen on repeatedly demonstrating that she was in control and could do precisely what she liked. Erica had no choices, so she made love with her Mistress whenever commanded, or with whomever her Mistress chose for her.

  A distant clatter told her there was someone in the house. She adjusted her position on the bed slightly, and the chains linking the locked leather cuffs to the ring at the left side of the bed-head rattled as she moved. She was restrained in some way every night, not to prevent her escape, but because Grace decided it – and to remind Erica that she was a piece of owned property.

  Footsteps approached her door, and she recognised the sounds of her mistress easily.

  ‘Good morning, my darling,’ Grace smiled as she appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Good morning, Mistress,’ Erica replied as the woman approached the bed.

  ‘On your front,’ Grace told her, and as Erica moved awkwardly to lie face down Grace reached for the zip at the back of her black dress and drew it down. She then slipped the dress off her shoulders, revealing the narrow straps of her black bra and the well filled C-cups. She watched as the dress fell lower, until the equally inadequate thong came into view.

  When the dress had gone Grace reached into the bedside cabinet and took out a crop. No reason was given to Erica for the fact she was about to be beaten, but nothing new there. Grace even smiled as she reached across and pulled the duvet towards Erica’s feet, letting it slide to the floor at the foot of the bed.

  ‘I’ve got an interesting conundrum for you,’ Grace told her, running her fingertips across her slave number, 51, tattooed into her buttock. ‘I’ve decided to forbid you to cry out when I beat you.’

  Erica waited as Grace paused, wanting the second part of her announcement to have its full effect. ‘You understand?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes… Mistress,’ Erica said tentatively.

  ‘The only problem, for you at least,’ the woman added, ‘is that I intend to beat you until you cry.’ Grace paused again to let the message sink in. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  ‘So the only way to obey is to be silent?’ Erica asked, uneasily.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘But you keep going until I make a sound?’

  ‘Right again.’

  ‘May I ask the penalty for disobedience, Mistress?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet. Let’s be honest here; you won’t cry out until you have to because you’re a proud bitch and you want to show me you can take anything I can dish out. And I’ll keep going because I need to break you. Right?’

  Erica did not need to reply.

  ‘But I will give you one get-out,’ Grace offered. ‘If you can take it until you pass out, I’ll stop. But no pretending.’

  ‘With respect, Mistress, I think you know me better than that.’

  Grace smiled down at her slave, excited about the pain and punishment she was about to give. She knew Erica would not be broken easily, but that was the very thing that attracted her to the girl in the first place. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

  ‘Does it make a difference?’ Erica sighed, bracing herself.

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’ Grace raised the crop ready to strike, before adding enigmatically, ‘It’s all set up. I have a party at the weekend, at which you will be the centre of attention, and when that’s over, he’s all yours. Does that please you?’

  Erica’s stomach tightened with a mixture of excitement and dread. ‘Y-yes, Mistress… it does.’

  ‘Good. So now you can show me how grateful you are…’

  Grace swept the crop down hard against Erica’s buttocks, before she had time to prepare herself. The merest gasp escaped her lips before she managed to control it. She had become accustomed to being beaten, even to the point where she could switch herself off to the pain doled out by the less experienced Masters and Mistresses who used her. One or two had been exhausted from their efforts because she had taken their cruelty without a murmur. She still did not understand why they needed to beat her, but that was irrelevant. They did it, and that’s all that mattered.

  But occasionally there would be one who delighted in her ability to withstand punishment. They would be determined to crack her, to prove there was no way she could win. Grace was one of those, and Erica knew it. She would cry out, sooner or later. But for now she could take it.

  The blows rained down across her rear, scorching her buttocks, striping them. Grace was an expert, concentrating on specific areas, keeping the power down until Erica had become accustomed to it, then suddenly choosing a different area or a much more severe stroke.

  It had become a game, where Erica would try and anticipate when and where Grace would strike and Grace watching every twitch of Erica’s body, waiting for the moment when she could break through her pain barriers.

  Erica could see Grace in the mirrors along the wall to her right, watching the way her eyes looked down at her, seeing the delighted concentration and the tensing of her features each time she was ready to strike. It gave Erica an edge in the anticipation game, for now at least.

  ‘You’re waiting, aren’t you?’ Grace asked, as if reading her thoughts. ‘You’re trying to anticipate when I’ll switch strokes.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress, I am.’ There was little point in lying, but she knew what was next; she would have to close her eyes or turn away, or she would be blindfolded.

  ‘Today that’s OK,’ Grace announced, surprising her. ‘I want you to be able to anticipate. That way it won’t be a sudden surprise that will make you scream, it’ll be pure pain. So watch me, watch how I strike harder and harder until I make you cry, my love.’

  And with that Grace stepped up a gear; not suddenly, but gradually increasing the power of her strokes until she was glistening with sweat from her efforts. Erica could see her tense each time she was about to strike, gritting her teeth to focus the power into the crop.

  Each time it landed Erica clenched her teeth, but slowly and surely the pain was getting through; Grace was finding new sources of angst with uncanny accuracy, and the more Erica resisted crying out the more determined Grace became, and the more venom she put into it.

  Erica had suffered something like thirty strokes when her mouth fell open to let a long, strangled gasp escape. It signalled to Grace that she was on the path now, to losing, to disobeying, to being broken. Each successively more vicious stroke repeated the gasping moan, with Erica pulling hard against her bonds, uncaring of how they cut into her wrists. She twisted to each side to try and ease the pain from the blows that Grace was now concentrating in the centre of her back.

  ‘Stay still!’ Grace barked, unwilling to take any disobedience now. Erica’s back arched, trying desperately, hopelessly, to find some relief from the whipping. The moans and gasps flowed freely now and she knew she was lost. Yet still she held it, tensing to meet each stroke.

  ‘Cry out,’ Grace urged. ‘Beg me to stop. You know you want to.’

  ‘No!’ Erica gasped defiantly, yet even as she refused she knew she was lost. Grace was giving no quarter.

  Grace paused for a moment, just long enough t
o gather her strength for the final onslaught. She looked down at Erica, who stared back up at her. Both knew it was time; time which stretched into slow motion as Grace raised the crop high over her right shoulder, to hover there a moment, waiting for the instant of total capitulation.

  Then she struck, hard, with the force of her arm amplified by the timing of the flick of the crop. The pain of the last ten or fifteen minutes was immaterial, simply a preparation for this moment.

  The sound of the whip as it lashed into Erica’s flesh was completely drowned out by her scream, and Grace, in her turn, joined in, celebrating the exhaustion of the job she had done. Erica’s wails slowly turned to wracking sobs as Grace threw the crop aside, its job for the day completed. She sat on the bed next to her slave.

  ‘You’re a mess,’ she eventually said. ‘You should have given in earlier.’

  ‘It-it’s what you w-wanted,’ Erica whimpered, sniffing away her tears. ‘It’s what I had to give, or what I had to have taken from me.’

  ‘Are you my property, Erica?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Yes, Mistress, yours to use and abuse.’ She tried to turn over, but the pain was far too intense and Grace told her to stay as she was.

  ‘You do excite me, Erica,’ Grace told her as she smoothed some salving lotion into her back.

  ‘You excite me too, Mistress,’ she replied openly.

  ‘On your knees then, and suck me,’ Grace instructed, reaching to unfasten the cuffs, then she sat on the side of Erica’s bed while her slave sank stiffly to her knees on the floor, moving her hands to the thong.

  ‘No, leave it on,’ she was told as Grace spread her legs wide. ‘Just pull it aside when you need to.’

  Erica kissed slowly up the inside of Grace’s left thigh, but Grace grabbed her hair and pulled her upwards. ‘I don’t need any foreplay,’ she groaned impatiently. ‘Just do me.’

  Pulling aside the soaking material, Erica kissed and licked Grace’s labia, flicking her tongue between and seeking out the hard bud of her clitoris. Grace had been right about not needing any foreplay; she was soaking. Erica lapped her eagerly.

  Meanwhile Grace looked down at the bobbing head, wallowing in the sensations and looking beyond to the angry skin on Erica’s back, bearing the marks of her complete domination. She put her hand behind Erica’s neck and pulled her in, hard.

  ‘Suck me, damn you,’ she growled. ‘Make me come.’

  Erica knew her Mistress well, and her tongue soon had Grace gasping on the edge, where she kept her teetering for a few minutes. Dipping a straightened finger deep into her own pussy she coated it in the lubrication she wanted, and when she speared it deep into Grace’s anus, flicking her tongue across her bud with greater intensity and focus, Grace exploded into a crashing, exhausting, exhilarating climax.

  Erica hung on as Grace bucked her hips, and then kissed gently between the woman’s pussy lips as she subsided, stroking her slave’s hair and trying to steady her breathing.

  ‘Just because… just because you do that so well doesn’t mean I regret beating you,’ Grace purred languidly.

  ‘I know, Mistress.’

  ‘And it won’t make me any more lenient next time.’

  ‘I know that too, Mistress.’

  ‘You’re a good slave, Erica. I love beating you.’

  ‘May I ask a question, Mistress?’

  ‘You can ask.’

  Erica had often thought about this, but had never found an answer. ‘Why do you love beating me?’

  ‘Because I can, Erica,’ Grace answered. ‘Because I have all the power, all the control, and you have none. I don’t expect you to understand, merely to endure.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’ She was right; Erica still did not understand.

  ‘Now, go and have a cool shower and I’ll put some lotion on your back. Then I want to tell you about my party.’

  Chapter 16

  By the weekend Erica’s marks had all but faded. Grace was keen that her guests would be able to see the evidence of the punishment on her slave’s back, but equally keen that any discomfort from them had eased, leaving Erica able to be whipped and punished afresh, for their entertainment.

  Erica was almost looking forward to the party; after all, she had been promised that when it was over she would be able to get her long-awaited revenge.

  Grace had no regular men friends, not in the sense of a stable relationship, at any rate. She had told Erica that she preferred women, but had no objection to an occasional dalliance with a man, including, if she was in the mood, lots of wild, abandoned sex. She did have a distinct urge to prove herself in the company of men though, and showing off her power over her beautiful slave would be a good way of doing so.

  Erica watched the caterers from The Complex arrive during the day with their platters of food, setting it all out in Grace’s large dining room. Erica did not flinch at what two men were assembling. She had seen similar contraptions in The Complex, though she had never been in one. They referred to them as frames. Completely constructed from strong tubular steel, the movable parts could be adjusted and clamped in position so that her head, legs and arms could be fixed in any pose required. The whole frame was attached by a universal joint to a heavy stand, in such a way that the whole could be rotated, swivelled and tilted. They would be able to put her into any position. She tried to imagine what she would look like to the party guests. A thick rubber sheet had been placed under the stand to protect the carpet, but from what? She did not want to think about that at all.

  When they left the room Erica examined the thick leather straps that would hold her in the contraption, and she didn’t hear Grace come into the room behind her. ‘What do you think of it?’ The sound of her voice made Erica start.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Not really, but I want to know. Does it excite you? Does it scare you?’

  ‘It doesn’t excite me, Mistress,’ Erica admitted. ‘I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.’

  ‘Far from it. I don’t want it to excite you. I want you to dislike it. I want you to know you’re suffering because I own you.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’ It still amazed Erica, even after all her time at The Complex, that anyone could think they owned another human being. Yet she knew it was the truth.

  ‘May I ask…?’ Erica’s voice trailed off, wishing she had not started.

  ‘What? Speak.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Mistress, sorry.’

  ‘Tell me or get whipped right now.’

  ‘Will I be beaten tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By you?’

  ‘By me and by anyone else who wants to beat you. I have a rather special treat for our guests. Do you want me to tell you what it is?’

  ‘As you please, Mistress—’ Erica never saw the slap coming, but it hit her with so much force it sent her staggering back so she had to grab the frame for support.

  ‘When I ask you a question, 51, it means I want a definite answer.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Erica sobbed meekly. ‘Please, I’d like to know.’

  ‘I want to see you defiled in the most spectacular way. I want them to come all over you until it’s pouring off your face and body, matting your hair and choking your throat. I’ve got fifteen men coming, some with their partners and some alone, and I’ve told them what I want. I’ve got some slaves being sent over from The Complex to help out. I anticipate each man should be able to come at least twice and every last drop will be spent on you or in you. Does that disgust you?’

  Erica nodded honestly. ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  ‘Good.’ Grace retrieved a key from the chain about her neck and started to unlock Erica’s cuffs. ‘Now go and shower. Clean your teeth, wash your hair and make up faultlessly. Wear the clothes I’ve put out for you. Come down he
re when you’re ready. You have two hours, so that should be enough. From this moment forward you will not speak unless told to do so. And I warn you, 51, if you fail to please any of my guests I will make you pass out when I next whip you. Understand?’

  Erica nodded.

  ‘Go on then.’

  Erica stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a large bath towel while she dried and brushed her hair until it bounced with its own natural waves, shining in the dressing-table lights. She let the towel slip to the floor while she applied her makeup and renewed the red varnish on her finger and toenails.

  Only when she was happy with her appearance did she turn her attention to the clothes on her bed. No surprises there: a long black dress, the skirt slashed up the centre almost to her waist so as to reveal her legs as she walked. The top was nothing more than a halter strap emerging from the waistband, ready to be fastened behind her neck and ready to reveal most of her breasts – all that would be covered were two-inch wide strips over her nipples and the gold rings fitted permanently to the pierced holes therein.

  Unsurprisingly no bra had been placed on the bed, and as the dress offered no support Erica was glad her breasts were pert and firm. She fastened the wispy black suspender belt around her waist and unfolded the black seamed stockings, making sure she didn’t snag them with her nails. She sat on her bed to roll on her stockings and fasten the suspenders, and then stood to step into the impossibly small thong.

  Erica caught sight of herself in the mirror. If anything the years at The Complex had made her even more attractive, enforced fitness and healthy diet taking away all traces of the slight puppy-fat she’d had when she was first abducted. She knew she looked good, but the sight did not please her. She should be using her attractiveness on men whom she could pick and choose, not on any person wealthy or powerful enough to have her regardless of her wishes.