A Girl Called 51	Back to M	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
Feb 15 - 2009

This story is redistributed with permission from a1adultebooks
Find other stories from Rob Newman at www.a1adultebooks.com

Part 2 and 3 can be found http://www.a1adultebooks.com/

A Girl Called 51


CHAPTER 1

Erica Pettinger loved to dance. She was good at it and she knew it. She could pick up a rhythm and hold onto it, swaying her body sinuously, at one with the pounding beat of the disco music. She wasn't bothered about the small crowd of young men who had gathered near JoJo's bar, swigging from their bottles of Becks and making ribald comments about her long legs or unfettered breasts.

She knew she looked good tonight. Her long, dark brown shampoo-ad hair, freshly washed and dried before she came out, only served to amplify the movements of her body. The shimmering dress, clinging like a second skin, promised much, and revealed what each flick of the skirt as she twirled was meant to. The UV lights picked up a brighter triangle front and back through the shimmer of the dress, where the shape of her tiny white thong showed through. Hers was a deliberate ploy, to entrance, to make people want her and to not let them have her. She wanted to be untouched tonight. The last couple of times she'd been to this club she'd allowed herself to be picked up by men who, under the light and quiet of the night, had not lived up to the promises made on the dance floor. They bored her. Tonight she had arrived with her friends from work and tonight she would leave with them.

Tony, the club's resident deejay, had noticed her too. But then he always had a few words for her. Tonight he singled her out during a particularly energetic techno number, encouraging her to gyrate to the beat so energetically and fluently that the crowd on the floor seemed to part to give her space, with several dancers giving up their own attempts to watch. That just made Erica worse. She loved being in the limelight, or any other light for that matter. She'd have been happier as a television star and fully intended to get there some day, somehow. Her father would help.

Erica wasn't very keen on her father. Laurence Pettinger, MP. She didn't like any politicians and being the daughter of a Member of Parliament caused people to make certain assumptions about her that she didn't like. She wanted to be known as herself, not merely as his daughter. He'd never been much of a father anyway, shipping her off to boarding schools and finishing schools and anywhere else he could dump her. As for Betty, her mother..., well, they say behind every powerful man stands a powerful woman, except in their case it was difficult to see the join.

Betty was the ambitious one. Without doubt she wanted to be the first lady, the Prime Minister's wife, but any hopes she had there had been dashed years previously, when, in a vote for a new Party Leader, Laurence had been eliminated at the first round. It dented, rather than halted, her mother's ambitions.

Meanwhile, Erica decided it was her duty to rebel. They wanted her out of the way, so she didn't interfere with their glory, which made her feel obliged to seek her own fame, rapidly becoming notoriety. The tabloid press adored her. She was seen out with footballers and music and film stars, pictured swinging her endless legs out of limousines as the cameras flashed. Her denials of involvement with any of these men always carried a sparkle from somewhere behind her eyes, so that the interviewer was never quite sure whether she was serious or not. Most of all, any requests for "a little more leg, Erica" were met with at least twice as much as she was asked for.

When her parents realised she could not ... would not ... be tamed, they sought to keep her profile as low as possible, which meant keeping her in petty cash. She wasn't above kicking up a storm if they denied her anything. Expense accounts with the best stores and membership of the trendiest clubs and casinos were all hers for the asking. And Erica asked ... and asked ... and asked again.

JoJo's was her current favourite. For now. They indulged her too, knowing that sooner or later the press would latch on to her and along would roll some free publicity.

Occasionally she would hear her name spoken in hushed tones. "Isn't that ...?" voices would ask each other, never finding it necessary to complete the sentence. She intimidated some men; others saw her as a challenge. Erica didn't care. She could pick and choose - and she did.

After the dance, she joined her friends at a table on the low gallery. The surface was littered with bottles and glasses, some empty, some not even started. It wasn't unusual for men to send drinks over. They imagined it would buy them a piece of her, but she didn't come so cheaply. She needed a long drink after all the dancing, but the array of drinks at her seat were all her "usual" - vodka and slimline tonic. She downed two glasses quickly, enjoying the cool liquid and prepared to wait for the kick of the alcohol.

Over the deafening noise she told Lisa, a blowsy blonde who she worked with and who trailed along with her occasionally, that she needed the toilet. Lisa was a secretary at the Advertising Agency owned by Nigel Hopcroft, a friend of Laurence who, no doubt, had talked him into giving Erica the job in the first place, where he could keep an eye on her. She didn't care about the job - it was a means to an end and nothing more. This was when she came alive. At night. Days were for ordinary people.

The two girls worked their way through the crowds, all too aware of the straying hands of so many men as they passed. Some she didn't mind, some she found offensive and said so. She could cut a man dead with one glacial glance. There was only one other girl in the toilets, repairing her hair in the mirrors. Erica and Lisa chose adjacent cubicles, chatting between them. They heard the door go as the other girl left, but they didn't realise someone else had entered. Lisa, leaving her cubicle first, chatted brightly while Erica flushed the toilet. Then she stopped.
"Lisa?" she said.
Silence.

She made sure her dress was as decent as could be and unlocked the door. The surprise stopped her calling out and, by the time she could react, a strong, leather-gloved hand was across her mouth and her arms were held from behind. She tried to kick out at a swarthy grey-faced man in front of her, but the one holding her sensed the attempt and lifted her clear of the ground. A third man had a similar grip on the struggling Lisa.

In the next few minutes a ball of cloth was pushed into Lisa's terrified mouth and held there with a band of surgical adhesive tape. While the man continued to hold Erica, the other two quickly bound Lisa's wrists behind her and her feet together, pushing her back in the cubicle and taping her arms and legs to the toilet and cistern as Erica watched. Climbing up and leaning over the divider from the cubicle Erica had used, one man pushed the door to and bolted it. Then all three turned their attentions on Erica, one producing a bottle and a cloth pad from his pocket. She guessed that the sickly smell was chloroform, making her renew her futile struggles. As the cloth pad approached her mouth, the leather glove was lifted, but Erica didn't have enough time to scream before the noise cut off. A few seconds later the world before her eyes started to melt into blackness.


CHAPTER 2

Erica's head pounded her awake. She knew it would hurt to open her eyes. She couldn't remember anything at first and thought she'd had a deep sleep, until the memories faded in. Still she thought she'd dreamt it all. Trying to move brought her to reality. Her legs were spread wide, as were her arms, each firmly secured to the four corners of a huge bed with buckled leather cuffs attached to stout chains. She flicked her eyes open quickly, the pain from the glare sending sharp spikes into her mind. A heavy metal collar around her neck rattled chains as she moved, chains she could see were attached to the bed head too, keeping her from rising more than a few inches from the bed.

And she was stark naked.

Erica didn't recognise the room at all. Light orange walls gave way to a pale cream ceiling. The furniture, or what she could see from her restricted position, looked expensive and classy. Dimmed wall lights provided all the illumination in the room - looking round she could see no sign of a window, just two heavy-looking doors leading to god-knows-where. On her left, beside the bed, stood a cabinet. Next to that was an upright chair. The right wall was made up mostly of mirrored wardrobe doors, with a circular table and three chairs in front of it. Between the doors stood a drawer unit. And directly above her watched the staring eye of a video camera.

"Help, let me out!" she called, struggling uselessly to pull her arms free. "What d'you want with me?"

The camera stared dispassionately back.

She tried calling a few more times, with similar lack of effect.

"What d'you want?" was a stupid question, she realised that. She was being held because of who she was. Or rather, as usual, who her father was. She had no idea of how long she'd been there, nor even if it was day or night. The search would have started by now, she was sure of that. Even if they hadn't missed her, Lisa would have been found and would have raised the alarm. She thought about her parents making phone calls and mobilising the best police forces to find her; probably Special Branch for a politician's daughter, or at least a few detectives. Perhaps they were even raising the ransom to secure her release, ready for a dramatic exchange and the subsequent media circus that her mother would milk for all she could.

Her thoughts turned cold and clammy. How many times had her mother called her an embarrassment to Laurence's political aims? What if their daughter were found in a heap in some field somewhere, naked and battered? Or if she were never found? He mother would tearfully appeal to the TV cameras, pleading for her release, but would she really want it? Would her father get higher up the political ladder by harnessing the public's sympathy for his missing, possibly dead, daughter, who would never again embarrass them?
With a sick feeling in her belly, Erica realised her mother would readily sacrifice a pawn to protect the king.
"Help, let me out!" she tried again, looking into the camera's eye.
She pulled and struggled until she had no energy left to pull any more. Then she started to sob, tears running down her face and into the pillow beneath her as she asked "why, why, why?" over and over again.
They left her there for hours. Maybe they were watching, maybe not. She had no way of knowing. Then, for the first time since she'd come to, she heard sounds from beyond one of the doors, distant at first, yet getting ever closer. She looked up as best she could as the door clicked and swung wide, allowing a girl about her own age to enter. The girl was a blonde, her hair falling over her shoulders past the big metal collar attached to her neck, the attached chains going down each of her arms to leather cuffs, each locked in place with a small padlock. From there the chains continued to her similarly padlocked ankles. Unlike Erica, though, she was not naked; she wore a small lace bra, a thong and suspender belt, all in white, setting off black nylon stockings worn above black high-heeled shoes. The girl carried a bottle of Evian water.
The heavy door swung steadily closed and locks clunked mechanically into place.
"Help me," Erica called, but the girl didn't seem to hear her, giving no response nor even looking up at her.
"Where am I?" she tried again.
The girl simply walked to the side of her bed to place the tray on the bedside table before unclipping her collar and unscrewing the water bottle. She tipped the water to Erica's mouth and waited while Erica drank greedily.
"Why won't you speak to me?" Erica asked her, desperately.
For the merest moment the girl's eyes made contact with her own and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. All the time Erica tried to question her and all the time she refused to answer. When Erica got really angry, the girl whispered "no talking."

Suddenly a man's voice boomed out over a loudspeaker set somewhere in the ceiling. "36, I heard that."
Fear overtook the girl's face as Erica watched. She closed her eyes in some terror Erica could only guess at.
"Stand at the end of the bed," boomed the voice. "Wait."
Without hesitation the girl did as she was instructed, waiting there, trembling, her eyes lowered. Less than five minutes later the door swung open again. Standing there was a man in a black shirt and jeans, a mask covering his eyes. He was a big man who almost filled the doorway as he stepped through it.
"Close the door," he said to some unseen listener. His was the voice they'd heard on the speakers.
The door swung mechanically closed and the locks clicked back into place. He ignored the girl at first, though she visibly cowered from his presence. Instead he walked over to Erica, looking her up and down before reaching a hand directly between her legs and pushing two fingers inside her.
"What the fuck ,..?" Erica shouted. "Get off me. Let me go."
The man just smiled. "You'll learn," was all he said, his hands starting a journey over her body, feeling her breasts, hair, legs and back to her pussy, while she cursed and called him names, telling him in no uncertain terms what she'd do to him when she got loose and how her father would have him castrated. All her threats did were to cause him ever more amusement.
"Like I said, you'll learn," he said. "36!"
The girl snapped to attention.
"You did talk, didn't you? You may answer."
"Yes, Master."
"Any excuse?"
"No, Master."
"Good, 36. There really was no use denying it. Now, we'll show 51 what obedience and punishment are all about, won't we?"
"As you command, Master."
"What's all this 36, 51 crap?" Erica spat at him.
"You're new, so I'll explain," he said calmly. "Slaves don't have names here ..."
"Slaves!"
He ignored her question and carried on patiently. "Slaves don't have names here. The first was called one - she's no longer with us, of course - and the next was called two and so on. Easy to grasp, no? You're the fifty-first. Nobody knows your name apart from the board and nobody cares. You've ceased to exist as you were. You're 51 now, available for use by anyone who chooses to use you."
"This must be some kind of joke."
"I can see you need convincing," he smiled at her. "Very well. Prepare to be convinced. 36."
"Yes, Master?"
"Suck her pussy."
"Yes Master."
Without hesitation the girl moved round to the side of the bed, climbing between her legs and pressing her lips to Erica's pussy, dipping her tongue inside with practised skill.
"Get her off me!" Erica screamed, but the girl didn't move away, just kept sucking until he told her to stop.
"Now kiss her."
Erica moved her head to the side, but the man's powerful hand gripped her chin, holding her still while the girl pressed her lips on Erica's, transferring her own taste to Erica with the kiss.
"Cease," the man told her. "Back to the end of the bed."
Again the girl didn't falter in her immediate obedience. The man let go of Erica's chin, walking over to a cabinet by the door. He pulled open a drawer and took something out. When he faced them again, Erica saw it was a vicious-looking whip.
"Oh shit, no!" she cried.
"Lean forward, 36," he said quietly.
Erica caught the girl's terrified eyes as she bent forward across the headboard, placing her hands on the flat of the bed between Erica's legs for support. The man stood a few feet behind her, the whip coiled in his grasp. He let the end fall on the floor, telling her to count aloud, then drew the whip back before lashing out across the girl's buttocks.
36 screamed in pain.
"One." She managed when her sobs had subsided sufficiently.
The cruel man worked at his own pace, only pausing to let 36 recover sufficiently to issue the count. It was so regular that Erica found herself tensing in anticipation and sobbing out with the girl as the blow landed. It was impossibly inhuman and Erica couldn't understand how or why the girl could put up with it.
After the sob-wracked girl had announced "six", Erica could hold back no more. He'd made his point. It was time to stop.
"If you're trying to impress me, you failed," Erica called to the man.
That made him stop. Walking round to the side of the bed again, that evil whip dangling from his grip, his dark eyes looked down on her from the holes in the mask. She was very afraid, worried in case he used the whip on her.
"That was a foolish comment, 51," he growled. He still watched her as he spoke over his shoulder to the sobbing girl. "What will it mean, 36? Speak."
"Six more, Master," she said quietly.
"Louder."
"Six more, Master."
"That's right. I thought this would have taught you a little, 51, but you seem particularly stubborn. You have to realise that in this house you only speak when permitted to do so, or when a Master asks you a question and that any infractions, disobedience or rebellion will be severely punished. Your will has no place here and it will be broken. So your little outburst has earned 36 six more."
"No, please, I'm sorry," she pleaded.
"Unless you want to take her place?" he offered, cocking his head to one side as he stared down at her.
Erica looked past him to the sobbing girl, who slowly, unseen, shook her head. Erica stayed silent.
"I didn't think so," he said at last, turning and resuming his position.
By the time 36 had uttered the word "twelve" she was openly crying. The man walked to Erica again.
"Come here, 36," he said.
As the girl arrived at his side he instructed her to turn. Erica's gaze fell on angry red scars, cut into the girl's back and buttocks, slight trickles of blood oozing out in places, occasionally staining the white satin of her thong and suspender belt.
"This is what disobedience brings, 51," the man continued in a matter-of-fact voice. "The choice is yours. Obey and all will be well. Disobey and ..." He left the sentence hanging in the air for a few moments before adding, "We don't mind either way. We enjoy obedience, but we enjoy punishing you too. So it's your choice. Have you anything to say, 36? Speak."
"Thank you, Master," she said immediately.
"For what, 36?"
"For whipping me, Master."
"Good. Now, you may untie 51 and assist with her shower. For the purpose of instruction the pair of you may talk. It can be anything you want apart from personal details. Remember, we'll be listening. Any names, any background information, anything that could identify either of you will make the punishment you've just witnessed seem tame by comparison. If you want to talk about escaping, go ahead. That always amuses us." He smiled at her before calling, "open the door".
As the door swung silently open he turned and strode out. The girl made no attempt to escape through it, she just waited until it had closed again before breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.
"Can you untie me?" Erica asked her gently. "Come on, please. I can help you."
The girl sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes with her hands, then walked over to Erica to unfasten the chains from the leather wrist cuffs. When they were free she sat up to unfasten her own ankles, then pulled the girl towards her, letting her cry out her pain and misery into her shoulder, feeling the tears run down her skin. She had so many questions, but had to let the girl recover herself first. She made "shhh" noises and told her everything would be OK. It was a ridiculous thing to say, since it was clear that all would not be OK, but gradually the girl's heaving sobs subsided and she was able to talk again.
"OK?" Erica asked.
The girl nodded.
"Who was he?"
"One of the Masters," 36 told her.
"One of ...? You mean there's more like him?"
"Oh, yes. Lots."
"Are they all as cruel?"
"Some aren't. But some are worse."
"Is that possible?"
"Oh yes, believe me, it's possible."
Erica sensed laughter behind the camera's lens.
The girl faced her, speaking seriously. "Please make sure you don't mention any names or where you lived or anything like that. It's forbidden and I can't take another whipping like that."
"I'll try," Erica assured her. "Can you tell me how long I'll be kept here?"
"I don't know. Till they decide they've finished with you I guess."
"How long have you been here?"
"I'm not sure. We never see any newspapers or television or anything. You lose track of time."
"Roughly," Erica suggested.
"About two years I suppose."
Erica was flabbergasted. "Two years!? How can anybody keep someone hostage for two years? Surely people were looking for you?"
"Don't talk about that. We could slip up and mention our pasts."
"What do they want? A ransom?"
"Oh no. There's no ransom. We're not hostages like that. We're here for their use."
"Their use ..?" Erica felt uneasy.
"Yes, they all ..."
A voice from the loudspeaker cut her off. "That will be explained to her later," it said. "Change the subject."
"What about our families?" Erica glanced nervously at the camera before adding, "I mean, they'll have the police looking for us."
"I don't know."
"I read a book once, 'The Story of O'. Have you read it?"
"Yes," the girl replied. "But she went to the chateau cos she loved her man. We're here because they keep us here."
"You're talking white slavery here?"
"Call it what you like."
"I can't believe this," Erica said, shaking her head. "I'll wake up soon."
"Just do what they say and you'll be OK. It's pointless fighting them."
"Just give in? Like that? That's like giving up on life."
"Yes," the girl said blandly.
"What about clothes and food and so on," Erica asked, conscious of her nakedness and continued hunger.
"All provided for us. Most of the time it's stuff like this, but sometimes there are more elaborate costumes. Sometimes they want us in uniforms."
"What kind of uniforms?"
"The usual stuff. Nurses, harem girls, policewomen, teachers ..."
"So we're like prostitutes?" Erica felt her anger rise.
"No, they get paid and get to go home after work."
"What about a bathroom and the toilet?"
"Through there." The girl waved an arm in the direction of the second door. "All our rooms have one."
"We get our own rooms?"
"Yes, this is yours. When they let you out you'll see your name's on the door."
"My name ..? Or my number?"
"They're the same thing now."
"Just how big is this place?"
"Massive. All of us have individual rooms, then there are rooms for the Masters to stay in - much bigger than these, with double baths and Jacuzzis and so on. There's the club and the restaurant and the gym and ..."
"It must be massive."
"It is."
"D'you know where it is?" Erica wanted to know.
"No, they're very careful to make sure we don't find out."
"Has anyone ever escaped?"
"They tell us nobody has," 36 told her, an edge of doubt in her voice.
"If that's the case, there should be 51 girls here."
"No, some have been sold."
Erica did a double take. "Sold?"
"Yes, wealthy men can make offers to buy us."
"This can't be happening."
"It is. There's nothing ..."
The speaker boomed out again. "Enough. Silence now."
The girl Erica only knew as 36 glanced up at the camera and stopped talking.
"I need the toilet," Erica whispered.
"51," the speaker said sternly, "since you are new, we'll make allowances, but not for very much longer. Silence means silence. You've already witnessed the penalty for disobedience."

36 put her finger to Erica's lips, stopping any protest. She stood, beckoning with her hand to the second door. She pressed a small pushbutton that was set in the wall by its side, causing the door to swing open with the same mechanical precision as the main door. Inside, under the glare of bright white lighting, was a sumptuous bathroom, fitted in white and including a huge bath, toilet, bidet, washbasin and separate shower cubicle. 36 beckoned her through.

"36, return to your quarters," the speaker instructed. "51, enter the bathroom."

Erica watched as the girl moved to the main door and waited for it to open. Nothing happened.

"51, enter the bathroom," the voice repeated. "Enter the bathroom now!"

Erica sighed. There was no point in being too defiant yet. Her time would come. She took two steps forward into the bathroom. A few moments later she heard a click behind her. When she turned the door had shut. There was no handle to open it again.

"How do I get out again?" she called to the voice she was sure would be listening.

"No questions."

She sighed heavily and lifted the toilet lid, watching herself in the mirror as she sat. She looked a mess, her hair limp and ragged, her makeup streaked and cracked. On the shelf under the mirror was a large array of cosmetics, a hair drier, electric toothbrush ... everything she could need. Several brands were ones she used. Over the bath and in the shower cubicle stood a few bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bath oils and body gels. As her eyes continued to wander she looked up. Another camera lens looked coldly down on her.

"God, isn't there any privacy here?"
"You were warned, 51. Now you have earned a punishment."
"Fuck you," she muttered back.

She decided to take a shower. After all, there was nothing else to do. She tugged at the leather cuffs and their locks, but since they wouldn't move, she carried on into the shower wearing them. The water was warm and luxurious and after she'd washed her hair and cleaned off the remains of her make-up she started to feel human again. Two enormous fluffy bath towels completed the job, one to dry her and the other to wrap round her body while she sat to dry her hair. The temperature in the room was just right, but she decided to wear the towel to annoy the eyes behind the camera. It all reminded Erica of the times she'd stayed in the best hotels. Except hotels didn't have locked doors. And they didn't have cameras everywhere. At least, she didn't imagine they did.

When she was dry, she stood and faced the door. It opened inwards, so there was no point in pushing and there was nothing to get a grip on to pull. She stared up at the camera, an annoyed, impatient look on her face. She wanted to give them a mouthful of abuse again, but memories of the other girl's whipping decided her not to push too hard. So she waited. And waited. When nothing happened, she sat on the stool again.

"Take off the towel," a woman's voice said eventually.

Erica didn't move. She didn't even look up at the camera, deciding instead to remove an imaginary piece of something from the corner of her eye.
"We can wait longer than you can," said the voice.
Erica sighed heavily. She wasn't going to win this particular fight. She stood and dropped the towel on the floor in an untidy heap. Immediately the door clicked and swung open. When she arrived back in her room again, she was surprised to see two people there. One was the girl known as 36, who sat on the furthest away of the three matching chairs that surrounded the small light-coloured wooden table to the far side of the room. She didn't look up as Erica walked in. The other occupant was a stern looking heavyset man dressed in light slacks, a sweatshirt and the inevitable black mask, which did nothing to conceal the fact he'd lost most of his hair.

As Erica entered he beckoned her over to sit at the table opposite 36. The table in front of them was set for two, with bread rolls, a tureen of soup, cold meats and salad. A bottle of white wine rested in a pedestal-mounted ice bucket to the table's left.
"Eat," the man's gruff voice told her. "You may talk. Same rules, no personal details."
This time the girls had no chance to do anything other than eat and make idle conversation while the man stood nearby to watch. Despite his presence, the two girls talked about things that interested them, punctuated only by an occasional nervous glance at the man to make sure they weren't straying into forbidden topics. Erica told 36 that she liked to dance and was keen on tennis and badminton. 36 said she too liked badminton and perhaps they could play a match in the gym when she was settled in. Erica also learned the other girl was learning to speak French in the language room, responding to Erica's questions by telling her that they were encouraged to develop languages and social skills, and that all facilities were available within the complex.
By the end of the meal, lubricated by the wine, both girls were starting to get along well, chatting freely and even sharing a few jokes while the stern man stood expressionless, his arms folded across his chest.
They finished eating and took their time sipping the last of the wine. Suddenly the man interrupted.
"Silence now. 51," he barked.
"Me?" Erica asked.
"Stand," he said. "Move over to the end of the bed. 36, follow."
Erica started to feel uneasy as he grasped her hand and roughly pulled her until she faced her bed. Still she struggled, expecting the worst.
"36, hold her other arm," he growled.
Despite the fact the two women had been so friendly moments before, 36 did as she was told immediately, holding Erica's left wrist with both her hands, giving the man the freedom to fix one of the chains to the wrist cuff, pulling it tight enough that her knees touched the bed as she stood. Moving across her, he pulled the other arm into position at the other side of the bed. Taking new chains from the drawer unit, he knelt down by her right foot, which she tried to keep from his grasp, but he was far too strong. Fitting the chain to the clip on the cuff, he pulled until she had to move it towards the leg of the bed. Finally, he treated the left ankle in a similar way, leaving Erica standing, legs parted, helpless.
"Please, no," she begged the man.
"You were told to be silent, 51. You were told that defiance would be punished. Normally when you are whipped you'll be gagged, but today I want to hear you scream."
Erica looked anxiously over her shoulder as he selected a whip from the drawer. It could have been the same one that had been used on the other girl; she had no idea.
"Do you like 36?" he asked her. "Speak."
"Yes, I do."
"36, do you like 51?"
"Yes, Master."
He offered the handle of the whip to the other girl. "Whip her then. Hard."
"Yes, Master."
"I'll tell you when to stop. If I consider it's not hard enough, I will take over and when I've finished, you will take her place. Understand?"
"Yes, Master."
Erica turned to look at her new friend, who carefully avoided eye contact as she raised the whip, her wrist chains jangling as she brought it swiftly down. The first cut was the worst pain Erica had ever experienced. She screamed out, begging for it to stop. 36 took no notice, raising the whip again and crashing its tail across Erica's rump. After four strokes Erica was sobbing. Nothing changed. No mercy was shown. After two more she sagged forwards onto the bed, but the target was still there and 36 still whipped it.
Tears flowed down Erica's cheeks now, dripping onto the bed sheets below.
"Cease," she heard the man say at last.
But it was only a temporary halt. Erica heard the drawer open again and a few moments later he was kneeling on the bed, attaching ropes to the rings in her collar. Pulling tight, he attached one, then the other, to something under the sides of the bed, so her face was trapped, forced down against the mattress.
"Continue," he told 36.
Almost immediately the whip cut across her again, hitting the upper parts of the backs of her thighs as she screamed into the bed. After two more strokes he called for a halt again, moving so she could see his eyes as he bent to talk.
"Do you still like 36?" he asked.
"Yes. She's not doing this. You are."
"Still defiant, are we?" he smiled. "It's going to be fun breaking you."
"No, please, I wasn't being defiant ..."
"Silence!" he paused for a few moments. "Make no mistake, 51, it is 36 whipping you. I admit she's following orders, as you will before you know it. But there is a difference. I'll prove it to you."
Then he was gone. A few seconds later the whip lashed out again, snaking up the length of her back, worse than any before. His face appeared in her blurred vision once more.
"Can you tell the difference?" he grinned.
Erica nodded.
"Would you like to get your own back?" he asked. "Wouldn't you like to whip 36?"
Erica shook her head. She couldn't do that. She just couldn't.
"Another day. We'll save it. But you will do it." He rose and faced the other girl. "36, come here. Unzip me."
"Yes Master."
He moved close to Erica's face, filling her vision with his torso as the other girl's hand pulled open his zip and withdrew a massive erection.
"Make me come. On her face," he said.
Erica wished she could have turned away, but the one time she tried it he reached forward to twist her back to face him, telling her that if she closed her eyes she would be whipped again. She had no choice but to watch as 36's hand pumped ever faster up and down his shaft until after very few minutes he pushed his pelvis forward to send a stream of white warmth all over her face and hair, roughly forcing her mouth open to take the last few spurts in there.
When he was finished he calmly zipped up.
One last thing," he said to her. "What's your name? Think very carefully how you answer."
"51," she said slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks to mix with the wetness he'd spurted there.
"Good. We knew you'd learn."
Without another word he turned and walked to the door, calling for it to be opened, then calling for 36 to follow him, leaving Erica helplessly fixed to the bed, the skin of her back, bottom and legs feeling hot and raw and his semen running cold down her face.


CHAPTER 3

The next morning - at least Erica assumed it was morning, since she had been released and fed after what seemed like hours strapped to the bed, then had been told to get some sleep - she had a visit from a woman.
Whoever she was, Erica felt she'd seen her before somewhere. She quickly introduced herself as Emily. Her manner of dress - a smart, tailored skirt suit and crisp white blouse - made it obvious she wasn't one of the numbered girls. She was older than Erica's 24, probably by ten or twelve years. Her manner was very ordinary, almost pleasant, such that Erica had to remind herself that she was still naked and being held against her will.
Emily invited Erica to sit in the same chair she'd occupied while having the meal with 36 the day before, putting some papers and a clipboard on the table before taking the seat opposite.
"Now," she said, smiling. "I'm here to answer questions. I can't answer everything, but I'll tell you what I can. Ask away."
Erica started with, "Where am I?"
"This building is known as The Complex. It is run to the standards of the best hotels in the world and has all the facilities you'll need. If there's anything you want that we don't have, you can ask at the proper time and the management committee will consider it. We meet every Friday. Next?"
"You still didn't say where we are."
"No, I didn't, did I? Let's just say we're in England and not near any towns or cities."
"Why was I brought here?"
"As a slave."
"A slave? Are you serious?"
"Absolutely serious," Emily told her, making a note on her pad. "You are here to satisfy the wants and desires of some very important people. You'll recognise some of them, I'm sure. Hence the need for absolute secrecy."
"Why me?"
"Why not?" The woman looked her over casually. "You're young, attractive, intelligent. You also have a fire which the Masters and Mistresses will enjoy taming."
"How long will I be kept here?"
"Next question."
"You didn't answer that one."
"Next question."
"Am I allowed out at all?"
"Oh yes. The grounds are vast. When you've been properly inducted you'll have daily exercise, including outside. And we have a full gym, a swimming pool, sauna, massage, Jacuzzi ... We also have some of the best chefs. If you have the right attitude you'll live a good life here."
"Can I get a message to my friends and family?"
"No, unfortunately not."
"Not even that I'm safe?"
"No."
"What will I be expected to do here, for these so-called Masters?"
"Obey."
"That's it? Nothing more specific?"
Emily smiled and put down her pen. "Some of them have vivid imaginations. All you need to do is obey. If you do that you'll get along fine. If you disobey you'll be whipped." She consulted a chart on her clipboard. "I see you've had one whipping already."
"Yes."
"That was fast."
"What if I escape?"
"You won't escape."
"What if I try?"
"You won't escape. If you do try, you'll be whipped."
"I bet you don't answer this one. Has anyone ever escaped?"
"Once, when we first opened."
"What happened?"
"She got half way to the perimeter before the dogs caught up with her. They hanged her the following week."
"You have to be kidding me." Erica felt cold.
"I can assure you I'm not."
"You can't just kill people. Not in Britain."
Emily leaned forward and put a comforting hand on Erica's knee. "The sooner you realise this, the better, 51. We can do what we like here. We are our own law. You and your fellow slaves have ceased to exist in the world."
"My father will find me. He's an MP. He'll have the police find me."
"We know who your father is."
"Then you'll know he's a powerful man. He won't stop till he finds me."
"He'll stop."
Erica fell into an uneasy, disbelieving silence.
"Now," Emily said after a few moments. "You'll be comforted to know that all girls and all clients have compulsory medical checks - you had a thorough examination before you regained consciousness - so there's almost no risk of any unpleasant illnesses. Should you feel ill, we have a doctor or nurse in residence 24 hours a day. Both are very experienced, so don't think trying to feign illness will get you anywhere. During your period you'll obviously not be as available as between, apart from those for Masters who want you during that time. Speaking is forbidden without permission. If you need to ask a question of a Master, simply approach him, kneel on the floor with your head bowed and wait for him or her to give you permission to speak."
"Are you serious?"
"You keep asking that, 51. And I keep telling you that I am completely serious. We'll try now. Stand."
Erica stared across at her.
"Don't be difficult, 51."
Erica stood, following Emily's direction of how to kneel, sitting back on her haunches with her upturned hands resting on her thighs, her head lowered. She was told that she had to remain like that until given permission to speak. If such permission was denied, she had to respond to whatever alternative instructions were given.
"How do I know who I have to obey?"
"Basically, all slaves wear chains and collars, or are otherwise secured. Dress varies depending on the occasion or the wishes of a Master, but usually you'll recognise fellow slaves. Just about anyone else must be obeyed."
"Including you?"
"Including me."
"I assume I have to have sex with these men."
"And the women, if they want you."
"But I'm straight," she protested.
"That ceases to have any meaning here. You are what the Masters say you are."
"I've no experience with other women."
"You'll be trained."
"Oh God, this can't be happening," she sobbed.
Emily stood and moved next to her, a comforting arm round her shoulder. "You'll soon get used to it, 51. It's not that bad a life if you obey."
"I'm not 51. I'm Erica Pettinger," she sobbed, but all the fight had drained from her.
Emily stiffened. "Don't use that name. It's a punishable offence to use any name of any sort. You don't use your own name and you don't use a Master's name, even if you recognise him. Masters are referred to as Sir or Master, or in the case of women they are to be addressed as "Ma'am or Mistress. Understand?"
"Yes," she sniffed.
"Yes what? You may as well get used to it."
"Yes Mistress."
"See? That wasn't so difficult, was it? Anyway, to move on, you'll be awakened each day by the loudspeaker in your room. You will use the toilet, shower and wash your hair. You will coiffure and make up immaculately, all you need will be provided. Make-up courses are available if you need them, as are courses in deportment and social skills. All your clothes are also provided and will be laundered for you daily. The clothes for any particular day will be left on the end of the bed while you are showering. No variations in chosen clothing are permitted. You will remain in your room until called for. When you know your way about the place, you may be instructed to go somewhere on your own. Is all that clear?"
"Yes ... Mistress."
"Good. I think you'll do just fine. Anything else you want to ask?"
"Am I allowed to refuse anything at all?"
"No."
"When do I have to start?"
"You've already started, 51. You're available for use right now. And I'll be the first."
"Oh God."
Emily stood and pulled Erica to her feet. "No words from now on. Come here," she said gently.
Erica walked to her, standing there while Emily reached forward to cup her cheeks and move her lips to Erica's own, giving her a deep, sensuous kiss which, despite her professed lack of experience, Erica found herself responding to.
"That's it. You can do it," Emily said between kisses. "Kiss me back."
So Erica obeyed, kissing Emily full on the lips and responding to the invasion of the woman's tongue with gusto. Emily's hands started to roam down her back to her buttocks, causing Erica a sharp intake of breath as the hands brushed the weals from her whipping. The hands moved on, seeking out her breasts, cupping them, the thumbs teasing her nipples erect. Emily dipped her head and sucked each nipple in turn, drawing them inside her mouth to flick them with her tongue.
Erica felt awkward. Her hands wanted to push away and at the same time pull this woman closer, but she wasn't sure what was allowed.
"Undress me," Emily breathed, then in a louder voice, called out, "camera off."
Erica reached for the buttons on Emily's jacket, unfastening from the top, one, two, three, before pushing the jacket off her shoulders and off, laying it gently on the table. Emily renewed the hungry kiss while Erica unfastened her blouse buttons, fiddling with the cuffs until it, too lay atop the table. The black bra was impressively filled, pushing upwards to give a tanned, succulent cleavage. Emily unfastened it herself, letting it fall to the floor before pulling Erica's mouth down to her breasts. To Erica's surprise, she took to suckling the woman's nipples easily and in different circumstances would have enjoyed it.
Emily was definitely enjoying it, moaning each time Erica flicked her tongue or kissed a particular way.
"Keep going," she breathed.
Despite her situation, Erica realised that if she kept in with this woman, gained her trust perhaps, it could give her an edge and with that motive she added a determination to her actions, kissing her breasts and nipples while moving her hands to the fastening of the skirt, pushing it over her bottom, past the inevitable suspender belt and letting it fall to the floor.
Emily pushed her head away for a moment. "Go to that drawer," she said, her voice cracked and breathless. "There'll be a dog leash there. Bring it to me."
"Yes, Mistress," Erica said, pleased she was having an effect and determined to capitalise on it. She walked to the drawer and opened it, sorting through the array of harnesses, whips and restraints until she found the leash, carrying it back to Emily. The woman took it, expertly fixing the clip to Erica's collar, wrapping the loop round her hand and pulling Erica to her knees. Once there, she wrapped the leash several times round her right hand and pulled Erica's face to her crotch. Erica could feel her warmth even through the silk French knickers she wore.
"Ever sucked a woman, 51?"
"No, Mistress."
"Take off my knickers."
Erica reached up to Emily's waist, pulling down, watching as the suspender belt and then the dark brown springy patch of hair came into view, then continuing to lower them past her dark stockings. Emily lifted her feet to step out of them, kicking her skirt aside in the same movement.
Emily gripped the leash and pulled her in, reinforcing the movement with a hand on the back of Erica's head as she parted her thighs and tilted her pelvis forwards. Erica accepted the inevitable in as detached a way as she could, at first kissing the hair, then around Emily's mons and finally, as the older woman pushed forward, directly between her labia, which opened up from the movement, coating Erica's lips with warm, tangy honey. Emily bucked and trembled.
"Oh, that's good. Lick now, put your tongue in."
Erica had tasted herself in the past, experimenting at home in her teens and sometimes on the cocks of men friends who thought she should like them pulling out of her just before they came, to push into her mouth and ejaculate there. Most never even asked permission. Emily's taste was similar. No big shocks. She reached behind to grip Emily's buttocks as she pressed her mouth in.
"Oh yes, you're good. You're really good," Emily was saying from somewhere way above her.
With some effort, Emily broke the connection and walked towards the bed, yanking on the leash to pull Erica, half crawling and half walking, towards a kneeling position beside the bed.
"Stay there," she ordered, going back over to the chest to open the second drawer. After a few moments sorting through, she returned, armed with a handful of vibrators, which she tossed onto the bed. Reaching for a thin one, she moved it to Erica's mouth, telling her to lick it well before moving behind. Erica felt its coldness hit her buttocks and then slide between. Emily moved it downwards, not to her pussy but to the rosebud of her anus, pressing steadily forward. Erica gasped and winced as it opened her up, meeting some resistance. A sudden, vicious slap across her buttocks made her yelp and must have caused her to relax, because before she realised what had happened, Emily had pushed the slim plastic phallus all the way home.
"Comfy?"
Erica shook her head. "As if you care," she thought.
"You'll soon get used to it. You're tight there, that's all. You'll have to learn to relax. Most of the Masters will want to fuck you there."
"I'll try, Mistress," she offered.
Emily reached for a bigger vibrator and slid it effortlessly into Erica's pussy, meeting no resistance. Erica was surprised how wet she was. Then the older woman pulled her upright, to a kneeling position so she could mount the bed, her legs wide. She grabbed the leash and pulled Erica's face back in.
"Suck" she gasped. "Suck me."
It took only a few moments before Emily exploded, pulling Erica's face into her cruelly, uncaring whether she was able to breathe or not, bucking and rubbing and riding out her orgasm. Erica, meanwhile, just allowed her head to be pulled where Emily wanted, feeling the intrusion of the two objects inside herself as she was twisted this way and that.
Eventually Emily settled back, gasping, smiling and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
"Good, 51. You did well. I can see you'll be popular. Don't stop, just be gentle for a while." She settled back while Erica licked and kissed lazily.
Erica wanted some for herself now. "I'm only human," she thought to herself, realising she was incredibly turned on regardless of the fact she was with another woman. She suspected asking for her own satisfaction was a bad idea and wondered if solo masturbation after Emily had left would be permitted. After all, there was nowhere in the room she could avoid the gaze of the cameras.
Emily gradually started to come back to life, responding with jerks and moans as Erica's tongue and lips roused her once more.
"Stand up," Emily told her. "Turn your back."
When Erica had done so, the other woman pulled her hands behind her and fastened her wrist cuffs together with the spring clips.
"Now, do it again," she said. "Make me come again."
She'd didn't hold the leash this time, leaving Erica to dictate the pace and the pressure. Some kind of experiment, Erica imagined. Well, she wasn't about to fail such a simple and transparent test. She licked and kissed keenly, twirling her tongue round Emily's clitoris, gradually working closer and closer until she was sucking the bud itself, drawing it into her mouth and taking the older woman closer and closer to her second climax.
"Oh God, yes, lick, suck! Oh God!" Emily certainly wasn't quiet when she came.
After one final convulsion she pulled Erica's head clear roughly, pushing her back hard enough that she fell on the floor, then lay back, gasping heavily.
"God, I needed that."
"What about my needs?" Erica thought. If she'd been able, she'd have taken up the position Emily had told her to use when she wanted to ask questions, but with her hands locked behind her there was no way. She didn't want to meekly obey, but her lust and her needs were powerful after her exertions. She decided to emulate the position as best she could, struggling to her knees and sitting back on her haunches, head lowered, her hair falling down and covering her half-closed eyes. She waited.
Emily, still recovering from her second orgasm, noticed the change of mood and Erica's sudden stillness.
"You want to ask something?" she said, leaning up on her elbows to watch what happened. "Speak."
"I need to come." She hated herself for giving in so easily to her lust. "Mistress," she added, hating herself even more. "Please." The two vibrators, sitting lifelessly within her, teased without satisfying.
"Very well," Emily smiled. "Kneel by the side of the bed."
Erica quickly took up the position while Emily stood and moved to the drawer unit once more. When she turned back, she was carrying some kind of harness, unfastening buckles and straps as she walked. Erica had heard of strap-on dildoes before, but had never actually seen one. As Emily stepped into it and started to fasten the straps, Erica saw, to her surprise, not one but three black plastic penises bobbing around. Fascinated, she watched as Emily pushed one deep inside herself, her eyes closing as she enjoyed the penetration. That left two bobbing up in front of her when the harness was finally strapped in place. She didn't need it spelling out where those were going.
Despite the fact she'd never had anal sex, the vibrator lodged inside her rectum had made her want it, so she didn't have the same dread she perhaps would have had if the strap-on were her first introduction. Men had wanted it from her before, but she'd always adamantly refused, even throwing a couple out of her apartment for trying.
Emily pulled her face to the dildoes, telling her to suck, explaining that it would ease their passage into her body. She did her utmost to coat them, especially the top one, with saliva. Emily pushed her forward so the upper part of her body was flat on the bed, her bound arms held uselessly behind her, before easing both vibrators from her and dropping them to the floor. The older woman knelt between Erica's legs and eased forward, positioning the phalluses at both of her entrances before pushing slowly, steadily, painfully, within her.
Erica held her breath, not knowing whether she wanted to push back towards Emily, thereby forcing the dildoes further inside herself, or to pull away, to resist. It was a battle of comfort versus lust. Lust won easily. Erica pushed, Erica wanted, Erica got.
Finally Emily was as far inside her as it was possible to get, staying still so both of them could feel this deepest of penetration. She started to move, slowly, then gradually faster, taking hold of Erica's hair, pulling herself in, powering forward and back, enacting that most basic male action, the involuntary pelvic thrust. Erica gasped and screamed.
"Silence!" Emily shouted.
"Oh God!"
Without stopping her thrusting, Emily picked up one of the vibrators, pulling Erica's head back so she could push it in her mouth.
"I said silence," she growled. "Suck on that, slave!"
Erica had no idea which of the vibrators she was sucking on and cared even less. She'd have sucked on anything right then. She'd have done anything. She was more excited than at any time she could remember and she was being taken rapidly, urgently, screamingly to orgasm. No choices, no decisions. And right along with her, riding the other end of the dildo, Emily had her third.
Her aim had been to ingratiate herself with Emily, but she had to admit - to herself, nobody else - that she'd enjoyed sex with this woman. And she knew she'd won her over too. Until both women had recovered.
"One last thing, 51," Emily said as she finished dressing. "Do you think I'm stupid? Speak."
"Er ... No, Mistress."
Emily moved across and roughly twisted her face towards her. "You thought you could manipulate me, didn't you? Thought you could get my trust by playing along?"
"No, I ..."
"Silence! You're an object, 51, a slave to be used and cast aside. Trash! Get used to it." She stood and collected her papers. "Camera on!"
"My name's Erica," she said softly.
"What?"
"Erica. It's my name."
Emily walked swiftly across, slapping her across the face.
"You are 51. You have no name!"
"Fuck you," Erica spat.
Emily put her papers on the bed and pushed Erica's head down on the bed, pulling the leash down to an eyelet on the side and tying it there.
"OK," she said sourly. "Have it your way." She looked towards the camera.
"Set up our special initiation for 51," she called. "Tonight. 6pm." She pulled Erica's face towards her once more. "You will learn, 51, no matter how long it takes."
Emily walked quickly to the door, which clicked and swung open as she approached, then swished closed after she'd departed.
Erica tried to get relatively comfortable.


CHAPTER 4

By the time they came for her, she ached. Her hands, still clamped behind her, needed exercise, and the fact her head was pulled hard down to the bed meant she had to stay kneeling. She tried straightening her legs a few times, but the collar nearly strangled her as her body dropped. She even tried getting up on the bed, but the leash was too tight to allow it.
Time went very slowly that day. She was not fed, although another girl, one she'd not seen before, came in a few times and gave her water from a feeder bottle. Thinking she had little to lose now, she tried talking to the girl, but didn't get a single word in return.
They arrived noisily, entering the room and moving behind her. Emily was there, barking orders and there were two men wearing the masks she'd already seen. Three girls followed them in, each wearing similar black lacy underwear, stockings and heels, each shackled with the same loose chain arrangement fastening their necks to their wrists to their ankles, just as 36 had worn the day before.
Erica was frightened, wishing she'd not pushed her luck with Emily.
"Mistress, I'm sorry," she started, but from behind her a swish coincided with sudden pain in her buttocks. She had no idea who had hit her, nor with what - all she knew was that it hurt.
"Too late, 51. It's easy to obey when you're scared, isn't it? But you have to learn to obey all the time, without question."
"I will, Mistress."
"Silence!"
Erica screamed as she was hit again. Male hands unfastened the leash and her cuffs, pulling her roughly to her feet. The same hands quickly unlocked the leather cuffs, replacing them with heavy metal ones, clipping her wrists to her collar by a few short inches of chain. Her ankles were shackled together, so the only steps she would be able to take would be short ones.
Emily led the party through the open door. The two men, who stayed in close attendance behind her, pushed Erica along immediately behind the woman she'd had such pleasure with a few hours earlier. She could feel their eyes on her naked buttocks as she walked. The three silent attendants followed them, the clinks of their chains drowned by the clatter of the heavier ones on Erica's ankles.
The corridor outside could have been in a plush hotel, the Hessian above the dado rail punctuated by ornately-framed paintings every few feet. The heavy wooden doors at each side carried plaques inscribed with numbers, so she guessed each room was much like hers, home to another prisoner of the regime who had taken her basic liberty. All had names. Erica resolved to be strong, to hang on to hers, to be the one who liberated the slaves. They would not break her.
At its midpoint, the corridor branched off to the right. This passageway looked similar to the one she'd been awkwardly shuffling along, but it was much busier. In the distance she could hear the general murmur of conversation and now and again someone would move quickly from one door, or into another, most activity coming from double doors at the end of the passage. Erica smelled food in the air, tugging at her hunger. As they neared the double doors, one of the slave girls came from a door to their left, stopping immediately as she saw the entourage, standing with her head bowed until they passed.
The doors swung open automatically onto the restaurant. Inside were perhaps 30 tables, almost all occupied by diners. By far the majority were men, but a few elegantly-dressed women were sprinkled around. One table was all-female, with three attractive women sipping white wine and chatting. Their entry into the hall produced a noticeable lull in the conversation, most heads turning to watch their progress towards a raised, curved platform at the far end of the hall. Erica heard a male voice say, "Here's the floor show," as she passed.
The two men beside her took an arm each to march her to the stage, stopping before a circular plinth that had two stout vertical posts set into it. She was quickly unshackled before her arms were roped to the tops of the two posts and her legs drawn apart to be tied by ropes at the bases, such that she formed an X shape. Once she was secured, the men left her there, alone, under the gaze of probably 100 or so diners and under the unforgiving glare of coloured spotlights.
As her eyes became accustomed to the lighting, she was able to look out over the room. The girls were dressed in the same kind of underwear she had become used to seeing, yet without the chain arrangement, which she assumed would impede their waitress duties. Apparently each table had its own exclusive girl, who served the food and wine, attendant to the diners' every need. Erica noticed that it was quite common for the diners to touch the girls, caressing buttocks, legs, breasts. Occasionally someone would remove an item of clothing, so that the girl had to continue topless or without the thong. A commotion over to Erica's right - where a girl dropped and smashed a dish - saw the poor girl bent across the lap of one of the male diners and spanked to the enthusiastic cheers of the surrounding guests.
Erica couldn't even begin to guess what this place was. During the next hour or so, as she stood naked and helpless on her podium, she watched the scene before her, the busy waitresses entering and leaving from the swing doors almost directly opposite to her; the noisy diners with their clinking glasses and ribald laughter; the ever-present masked men keeping a supervisory eye on everything that happened. For the first time since she got here she could see fading daylight beyond sliding full-length windows to the right of kitchen doors on the far wall. A paved patio gave way to a grassy slope that disappeared into the diminishing light.
Her eyes snapped back to the doors at the far end as they opened again for another party of diners. Erica recognised the heavy-set man immediately, though she couldn't remember why at first. She searched her memory for clues and finally it came to her. His name was James and she didn't like him. She'd seen him not six weeks beforehand, at her father's house in Surrey. She'd recognised him then, too, from his frequent appearances on the television, interviewing politicians who squirmed under the onslaught of unwanted questions. She remembered that several times during his visit she'd caught him looking at her, but when she met his eyes he'd not looked away as most men did. He'd kept on looking deliberately at her body, giving her the uneasy feeling he wanted her. But apart from that, he'd been pleasant enough and she'd been pleasant back. She kept her eyes on him, waiting for a chance to make contact. He could get word to her father, if only she could get word to him.
Another half hour passed. Erica started to feel tired, the ropes stretching her limbs. She was almost grateful when a tall, silver-haired man took the stage and flicked on a microphone, taking it from its stand and calling for attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as most of you know, we have a special item this evening. An initiation." He walked across to Erica and looked her in the face. "What's your name, slave?" He held the microphone out towards Erica.
The diners watched, all perfectly silent. Someone coughed at the rear of the hall. This was her chance and she had to take it. If she could make James realise who she was, that would start the ball rolling towards her freedom.
"I am Erica Pettinger, daughter of the MP Laurence Pettinger. I'm being held here against my will. Can somebody get word to my father?"
The silence remained for a few seconds, to be replaced by mounting laughter.
"I'm Erica Pettinger. Please ... Can somebody get word to my father?"
The man took the microphone away and spoke. "You see, ladies and gentlemen, we have another fighter. You'll excuse me if you have to do without your slaves for a few minutes? Slaves, to your positions."
Erica watched as the girls put down whatever they were carrying and moved towards the platform, kneeling on the carpeted floor just beyond the curved front with an ordered efficiency that told Erica it was not the first time they'd done this. When all thirty-two girls were kneeling, heads bowed, the man spoke again.
"What's your name again?" he asked her, offering the microphone for her reply.
"Erica Pettinger."
He moved to one of the kneeling girls.
"What's your name, slave? Speak."
The girl didn't hesitate. "27, Master," she said quietly.
"No, I mean your real name."
"I have no other name, Master."
"Good."
He repeated the exercise with three other girls, including 36, the girl Erica had first met, then returned to face her.
"You see, 51? You're the odd one out here. You insist you have another name. You think you can rebel. You think that you can beat us. What you don't realise is that the Masters and Mistresses here are quite happy for you to be defiant. They will enjoy seeing you broken. Keep us informed of your name, won't you?"
"I'm Erica Pettinger," she hissed, staring him in the face.
He smiled and picked up a remote control from a holder on the wall. The circular plinth clicked into motorised life, rotating until Erica was facing the rear wall, her back to the diners. The murmur of expectant conversation had started again.
"27," the man called. "Fetch the whip."
Erica watched over her shoulder as the girl stood and moved to a cupboard along the same wall she faced, opening it and taking out a single-tailed whip that rested on a blue velvet cushion, reinforcing the ceremonial feel about what was happening. She quickly returned, bowing her head and offering the whip to the man.
He put down the microphone and moved to a point behind her and to her left. Erica waited, tensing herself for the inevitable. The man waited, choosing his moment. Erica could only tense for so long before she needed to take a breath. As she did so he crashed the whip across her back. She screamed aloud, arching her back against the blow.
The man didn't strike again. He picked up the microphone.
"Your name?" he asked her.
"Erica," she spat.
He smiled. "You are splendid sport," he said. "We're taking bets," he announced to the diners."
During the excited hubbub that followed, he approached Erica and spoke quietly, the microphone switched off. "D'you know what the betting is for?" he asked. "It's for how many you take before you break, 51."
"Go to hell," she hissed.
The sting of the first lash still hurt her back as she waited for more. Emily went to each table in turn, making notes. When the betting was concluded, the silver-haired man called for quiet again.
"Right, ladies and gents, I think we're ready." He walked across the front of the stage, looking down on the pretty, lowered heads. "We'll start this end. Number two, step forward."
Erica watched as the girl on the far right stood, taking hold of the offered whip. Her naked breasts bobbed as she stepped up on the podium. With mechanical efficiency, she raised the whip and brought it down hard across Erica's back. While Erica screamed and pulled at the ropes, the girl handed the whip back to the man and approached Erica, saying in a clear voice, "What is your name?" The man held the microphone close by to hear her answer.
"Erica," she sobbed. The girl resumed her place below the stage.
"Next!" barked the man.
The pattern was the same for each girl. She'd take the whip, lash out, hand back the whip and ask the question, while the man held the microphone to capture every question, every answer, every cry and every scream. There was no suggestion of regret, remorse or sympathy from any girl. Each time Erica screamed out and each time she replied to the question with her own name. By the eighth girl she was crying hard.
"Erica, Erica, Erica, Erica," she babbled incoherently, the ropes taking most of her weight now. The next girl stepped forward.
"Please, no more, please, I'll say it!" she called out, but nobody took any notice. The next girl struck just as savagely as the others had, but when she asked the emotionless question she got a different answer.
"51," sobbed Erica. "My name is 51."
The sounds echoed round the room, picked up and amplified by the sound system. A ripple of applause grew. Someone whistled.
"Again," said the man, bringing the microphone close.
"51. My name is 51."
"Good," he smiled. That wasn't so difficult, was it? The score is nine, ladies and gentlemen." He looked across at the next girl, standing ready to take her turn. "Continue," he said, handing her the whip.
"No, please no! I said what you wanted, Please stop, I beg you. I'll do anything."
"That's right, 51, you will do anything. And you'll start by enduring this punishment. You must realise we punish when we want to, because we have a reason or because we don't. It's not yours to question, only to endure. Continue!"
So Erica was whipped by all the girls, sobbing and screaming until she hung loosely from her bonds, sweat pouring off her body. When her ordeal was over the girls were instructed to return to their duties, but Erica was not released. She had become a showpiece, a symbol of the futility of resisting against impossible odds. As people finished their meals, some came up on the podium and looked at her back, or her nakedness. Some touched, invaded her deepest recesses. A harsh-looking woman in black went behind her and drew her tongue up her spine, moving round the front so Erica could see the blood she'd licked. A man brought a salt-pot to sprinkle on her wounds, laughing cruelly as her screams started again.
Gradually less and less people remained. As the diners left, their girls went with them, though Erica couldn't guess where. She'd been looking for her father's friend, James, hoping against hope that he could be her salvation. He was still in the room, drinking brandies with his three friends. Erica watched over her shoulder as they finally stood, his friends leaving the room as he approached Emily and spoke words she couldn't hear. Both walked towards the platform.
"Not so haughty now, are you, 51?" he smiled. "I remember you, in case you wondered. I remember how you looked at me, too. A sort of, 'I know I'm attractive but you'll never have me' look. How wrong can you be? Turn her round."
Emily pressed the button on the remote until Erica was facing the man.
He was already taking off his jacket. As the plinth shuddered to a halt, he started to unbutton his shirt.
"No, please, no," Erica cried, weakness preventing her from putting any fight into her tone.
"No talking," he said gently. "Just accept your fate. If you say a word I will have you whipped again." He paused to let the threat sink in; he knew she could take no more. "I know you saw me earlier and I know you hoped I'd somehow rescue you. I could see it in your eyes, even from there. But I don't want to rescue you. I want to use you. I want to pay you back for that teasing at your father's house. It's more fun that I know you."
He didn't stop until he was naked, Emily's eyes flicking between his erection and Erica's face.
"Take her down, please," he asked Emily.
They untied her feet first. As her arms were freed she sagged, all strength evading her, so that Emily had to support her. Within moments James had stepped forward to help lower her to the floor, onto her hands and knees. She guessed what was coming, but she'd no strength left to resist. James looked down on her scarred back as he kicked her legs apart to kneel between them. Even through her exhaustion and discomfort she was surprised how easily he slid into her.
"No words, slave?" he taunted as he started to pump.
Erica was too exhausted to answer. James showed no concern about her whatsoever, holding her hips to stop her collapsing altogether as he worked himself to a noisy, thrusting climax deep within her body with Emily looking on. When he was spent he let her go, so that she fell forwards onto her face.
Emily crossed to a phone on the wall.
"Right, you can clear away now," she said quietly, placing the phone back on its hook before kneeling to pull Erica's head up by her matted hair. "What's your name, slave?" she asked.
"51, Mistress," Erica gasped out.
"Do you have any message for your father?" James asked.
Even through her exhaustion Erica wasn't going to fall for that one. They'd had their victory. Erica had nothing left to fight with.
"I have no father, Master," she managed to say.
Two men in black masks appeared on the stage, picking her up as if she weighed nothing. One threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, quickly carrying her through the restaurant as other girls cleared away dishes and set the tables anew. All of them completely ignored her. Why not? She'd become a number, just like them. People were still milling about in the corridors on the way back to her room. Some stopped the man who carried her, wanting to examine the scars or her hopeless exposure. Eventually they arrived back at her room, where the man lowered her onto her bed, not saying a word as he retraced his steps and left.
The door swung silently closed as the camera stared coldly down on a broken woman.


CHAPTER 5

During the night that followed, Erica was given unexpected medical attention, bathing and dressing her wounds with uncharacteristic gentleness. The male doctor and the female nurse who attended her made comments about her condition, told her what to do, tended her carefully. The one thing they didn't do was to ask her opinion about anything.
Erica assumed, for safety's sake, that she wasn't allowed to speak to them either. She wished they'd gag her or something, because it was natural to want to speak and required a great self-discipline to stay silent.
In the morning the doctor's visit was accompanied by another silent girl, a pretty blonde who could not have been more than 18 and who was dressed, as expected, in her uniform of just underwear and stockings. She pushed a trolley containing coffee, croissants, cereals, a full cooked breakfast, with toast and marmalade to follow.
"I'm permitted to ask you if you prefer tea," the girl said, before adding, "You're permitted to answer."
"No, coffee's fine," she told the girl, who quickly turned on her heels to leave.
Erica's natural instinct was to ask who she was, but she swallowed the urge quickly. She watched the girl retreat, her eyes drawn to where the thong disappeared between her buttocks. She needed to know whether the other girls received beatings on a regular basis and how severe they were, but there were no recent marks on this pert derriere. To her surprise, then to her mounting horror, she noticed something else. On the lower part of the receding girl's right cheek she could clearly see the number 42 etched into the skin. The girl had been branded.
Erica felt nauseous. Surely they couldn't have. Would that be her fate too, or had this just been to punish another rebellious inmate? She wanted to bury the thought, to run, to escape, to pretend this couldn't be happening. But she knew this was no dream, the imprints of last night's pain saw to that. So she had to know, had to ask.
Erica struggled from the bed, wincing as the movements stretched her tortured skin. The nurse looked up, glancing at the still-open door, ready to move if she made an attempt to escape. But Erica was too exhausted to even think of that. She got off the bed and moved to its end, sinking to her knees, lowering her head and placing her upturned palms on her legs.
The doctor faced her. "You want to ask something? Speak."
"That girl, the one who left, had she been branded?"
"Yes," he said, totally matter-of-fact.
Erica swallowed hard. "Will I be branded?"
"Of course. All the girls are."
Erica felt the nausea overtake her. From somewhere deep inside her, the contents of her stomach rose. She went dizzy, her body convulsing.
"Quick, get her to the bathroom," he told the nurse. "Hold onto it, put your hand over your mouth."
Erica knew his concern was more for the carpet than for her. But she held on until she made the bathroom, sinking to her knees and heaving into the toilet while the nurse held her shoulders sympathetically. She felt cold, her skin wet with a slick of fresh perspiration.
"It's not so bad," the nurse was saying to her.
"Have you had it done?" Erica had to ask.
"Camera off," she called out, waiting for a few minutes before speaking again. "No, but I've been there when it's been done."
"Why are you all so cruel?" Erica cried.
"Money and power, that's what it's all about."
"What is this place?" Erica asked.
"It's better that you don't ask questions like that."
Erica sat back on the floor as the nurse handed her a towel.
"When will I get done?"
"When they decide."
"You're not one of them, are you?" she asked.
"I'm an employee here," the nurse told her. "So no, I suppose I'm not one of them."
"How do you put up with it?"
"It pays five times what I could earn anywhere else, that's why."
"What do your friends and family say?"
The nurse looked nervously around. "I don't tell them. I'm sworn to secrecy. Even my husband doesn't know what I do; he just thinks it's some secret government job. If I told anyone ... well ... I won't. Quiet now," she said, feeling she'd already said too much.
"Please tell me, who are they?"
"Politicians, judges, doctors, film and TV people ... Anyone with enough money to keep the place going. Now quiet. Camera on!"
The nurse set about mopping Erica's face and body before helping her to her feet and back out into the room, where the doctor waited on the bed. He stood to make way for her as they emerged. The nurse helped Erica into bed, clipping a chain between her collar and the bed head.
Erica lay back and tried to sleep as the nurse and doctor left the room. Whoever was watching cared enough to dim the lights.

Erica's sleep didn't come easily. Every time she moved she felt a stab of pain and even when she did doze she would have terrifying nightmares of men and women with red hot irons - two numbers that, when held together, made her number, 51. Other people attacked her with whips and lashes. Every so often she'd see her mother or her father in the background, trying to get through the lines of people, but never able to make it. In her dreams she called out to them, but every time they got close she was pulled further away. She awoke with a scream, trying to sit upright, but immediately pulled back by the chain.
She had no idea how long she'd slept or what time it was. Within a few minutes her door had opened and the nurse was back, accompanied by a blonde woman pushing another trolley of food. This one was dressed the same as all the others, but was older, at least in her mid thirties. Erica's eyes darted to her bottom as she turned, Just below a line of fading purple stripes she could make out the number 6. She waited silently as the nurse checked Erica over and left.
"We're allowed to talk," she said quietly. "I'm 6."
"I'm 51," Erica said, cursing herself for not being stronger.
"You should eat, you need strength. There's enough for both of us. I'll set it on the table."
Erica started to rise, forgetting again the chain around her neck. "I can't, unless you have a key."
"Er ... no," the woman smiled. She looked up at the camera and sank to her knees in the required position.
Nothing happened. The woman waited. Several minutes passed in silence. Eventually the loudspeaker's cold voice rang out.
"You want to ask something, 6?"
"May 51 be unlocked, Master?" she said. "So we may eat at the table?"
"Yes. Set the table. Someone will come along with a key."
The blonde got to her feet and smiled. "See, it's easy if you know what to do."
"You're the sixth one here?" Erica asked.
"That's me. There's only one girl who's been here longer, number four."
"What happened to the others?"
"Sold, I imagine," she replied. "Obviously I'm not attractive enough."
"I don't believe that," Erica told her. "You're really attractive."
"Thank you. But for whatever reason, I'm still here."
"How long have you been here?"
"I wish I knew. With no newspapers, TV, or even clocks, it's difficult to tell. I'd guess between six and ten years."
"What?"
"It's not so bad. I didn't have that much of a life before and here I get all my meals, all my clothes, a roof over my head, sports facilities, the best medical attention ... pretty much anything I want really."
"Except your freedom."
"I'm not unhappy," she said simply.
"Don't you miss your family?"
The loudspeaker's voice immediately came on. "Don't answer that, 6. You have no family. You have no past."
6 shrugged and smiled.
"What about the sadism?" Erica asked.
"I do as I'm told. The only beatings I get are when people get off on beating me. Some of the Masters are very generous. Some are quite gentle too."
Erica had a feeling this woman had been planted on her to sell the place. If she was for real, she'd given up on freedom, on liberty, on life itself. If she was mid to late thirties and she had been here for the time she suggested, then she could have had a husband, even children. Yet Erica knew she'd get no answers that would be permitted. And she had no desire to inflict more pain on the woman. She ran the idea through in her mind. What if she did have children and one day she was just taken away and told to pretend they didn't exist, on the threat of a beating if she didn't? And what about the kids themselves? Were they still out there, searching for their mother, without even the evidence of a dead body to give closure?
"Do we ever get to see daylight?" Erica asked.
"Yes, if you want to. We have exercise in the grounds, picnics sometimes.
"Why don't you escape?"
The woman cast an uneasy glance at the camera above the bed, which had moved across to point right at them. She waited, expecting to be forbidden to answer, but no sound came from the speakers.
"There are fences. And dogs. Nobody escapes."
"Did you know the one who was hanged?"
"Who told you about that?"
"That woman. Emily."
"No, I didn't know her."
"Change the subject," boomed the loudspeaker.
"Yes, Master," 6 said quickly.
Both women stayed silent for several minutes before 6 spoke again.
"More tea?"
Erica almost laughed. "More tea" sounded like something from a village garden party instead of a sadistic prison.
The loudspeaker boomed out again, its deep male voice resounding into the room. Whoever was monitoring the conversation was clearly getting bored.
"Both of you stand in the centre of the room. Face each other."
6 was quickly out of her seat and in position. Erica took longer, still finding movement an effort, especially when she'd been still for a while. She moved to stand facing the older woman.
"51, slap her. Across the face."
Erica couldn't help herself. "What?" she exclaimed.
"You heard. Slap her."
Erica hesitated. The other woman looked blandly back at her, devoid of any emotion.
"You're taking too long, 51."
Erica raised her hand, unsure of what to do.
"Stop, 51," said the loudspeaker. Whatever games they were playing, Erica was grateful not to have had to carry it through.
"6, show her. Slap her," said the voice from above.
Erica hardly had time to take in what had been said before the other woman's hand struck her hard on her left cheek. Her hand shot up to cover it, as she cried out in pain.
"Again."
6 pulled Erica's hand away from her face and slapped again, then returned her arms to her side as if nothing had happened.
"See how it's done, 51? Now slap her, unless you want more yourself?"
Erica didn't want more. She wanted to scream out, "haven't you hurt me enough?" but she knew her words would be wasted.
The other woman stood waiting, looking into Erica's eyes. Almost imperceptibly she nodded. "Do it," she was saying silently. "Do it, there's no way you can't do it."
So Erica slapped her, the noise echoing round the room. 6's head jerked to the side and she yelped, making the blow appear harder than it had been.
"That fools no-one, 6," said the man's voice. "You'll be punished for that later."
"Sorry, Master," she said.
"Silence, 6. Stay still. 51, slap her again. And make it hard unless you want another public flogging."
Erica did her best to turn off her emotions. She reached out and slapped, hard, turning the other woman's cheek white, then red.
"Again."
Erica slapped again.
"The other cheek. Back-hand."
When she'd struck she knew that one had hurt, bringing a tear to the other woman's eye.
"Again."
Erica slapped again.
"6, slap 51."
Again the older woman's movement was fast and accurate. Erica was well aware what the mystery man was after - getting them angry so they would strike out in revenge. She wondered how many times her opposite number had been through this and how many times in her uncertain future she would have to.
"Again."
Erica kept her arms by her side as 6 struck. She resolved not to cry.
"Backhand."
The blow sent her spinning, almost knocking her over. She felt a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She turned her face again to await whatever was next.
"Sit, now, finish your meal. Discuss this." The speaker went silent.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," 6 told her, reaching up to wipe a spot of blood from the corner of Erica's mouth.
"Me too," Erica replied. "Was that to make us angry, so we'd fight?"
"Possibly. Possibly just to show us how to obey. I've learned to do that. There's no way you can win. Fighting them just gets you more pain and humiliation. Obedience is better."
"Just how far would you go to obey them?" Erica wanted to know as she sipped from a glass of orange juice.
"As far as they told me to," came the simple reply.
"What if they'd told you to really harm me, or kill me?"
"You'd be dead." She paused. "I've nothing against you, 51. It's just survival, that's all that matters."
"And if they said to stay still while I killed you?" Erica asked quietly.
"I'd fight. Like I said, it's survival."
"I just want to cry."
The blonde took up the kneeling position quickly.
"What is it, 6?" came the man's voice.
"May I comfort her, Sir?"
"You may."
She rose and put her arm around Erica's shoulder, encouraging her to lean into her chest and cry. Erica allowed all the emotion to flow from her until her tears ran onto the other's breasts to be soaked up by the bra she wore. The blonde made comforting noises as if she were comforting a child. Maybe she was thinking that, Erica wondered.
"All right?" 6 said at last.
Erica nodded and sniffed. She even managed a smile.
"I'll get you some tissues."
Erica watched the blonde go to the bathroom and press the button. The door swung open for her to enter. Moments later she brought tissues back to hand to Erica.
"51, stand," the voice said again.
Erica wanted to shout back, to fight, to say, "leave us alone," but she knew it would be futile. She was too weak and too hurt to resist. She stood.
"6, kneel."
The blonde dropped to her knees in front of Erica.
"Instruct her, 6," the voice said. "Tell her she must obey, no matter what."
"Yes, Master," the kneeling woman said, dutifully. She looked up at Erica, softness in her eyes. "Just obey them, 51. It's stupid to fight. You're too weak. Just do what they say."
Erica nodded.
"Well, 51?" questioned the speakers.
"Yes, Master," she conceded.
"Are you going to do as instructed?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good, 51. Now, without hesitation, slap 6 as you were told before."
Erica didn't dare think. Erica slapped.
"Again."
She slapped again.
"Harder."
She slapped harder.
"Again, harder."
The blonde looked up and nodded. Erica slapped her again. She fell sideways from the force of the blow, sprawling on the carpet.
"Stand, 6," the voice commanded. "51, take off her bra and knickers. Do it now."
Erica moved to the blonde, avoiding her eyes as she unhooked the bra and pulled it from her arms, throwing it on the bed before sliding the thong down her legs and off.
"Lean over the end of the bed, 6," the voice told her. "51, go to the second drawer, you'll find a number of riding crops. Select one."
As the blonde moved to the edge of the bed, Erica chose a crop from the drawer. She had no knowledge of what was severe and what was gentle, so she picked at random.
"Stand behind her, 51."
"Yes, Master." Erica knew this scenario. She'd already been on the receiving end.
"Six on each buttock, 51. If I even suspect you are being lenient, you'll keep going until I'm satisfied. However many over and above six I have to allocate, 6 will do back to you. And I can assure you 6 won't be in the least lenient."
Erica heard other male voices laughing before the microphone was clicked off.
"Just do it," the woman said. "You can't afford to be soft, believe me."
"Silence 6!"
"Sorry, Master."
"Proceed, 51."
Erica knew she had no choice. And her conscience had been beaten out of her. If she didn't whip 6 hard enough, the treatment would go on longer and she would get more herself. She couldn't even think of getting more herself. It was that selfishness borne of self-preservation that made her lash the crop across the other woman's buttocks until she screamed and cried. To her subsequent shame, Erica realised she'd not even kept count.
"Stop now, 51," the speaker called. "We said 12 and you've done 15 already."
Erica threw down the crop in disgust and went to check on her sobbing friend, who turned to face her, their arms going round each other in comfort. Erica's thoughts were no longer her own. She'd inflicted terrible punishment on this woman without any regret at all and now, driven on by some kind of warm passion she couldn't even begin to understand, their bodies were pressed together, undulating, wanting contact. Erica turned her face towards 6 as, by some mutual sixth sense, the two melded into an open-mouthed kiss, with Erica giving just as good as she got.
The other woman's arms were round her neck, pulling her in, uncaring about the stinging on her bottom as she sat on the bed, pulling Erica on top of her, their lust for each other overtaking all external sensations, yet each knowing their surrender to their own debauchery was being watched by the observers on the camera. Uncaring, Erica slid willingly downwards, repeating what she'd learned with Emily, wanting to give this woman pleasure after the pain and unsure whether there was a difference. The men had driven her to this and she bitterly hoped they enjoyed the spectacle.
But even that was to be denied her.
"Stand, both of you."
Erica sighed. So did 6. They stood, breathing hard, coated in slick perspiration.
"Time to leave, 6. 51 needs her rest, needs her strength back. She's to be branded on Friday."
"Oh God," Erica cried.
"Yes, Master," the blonde said, picking up her bra from the bed and moving to get her thong.
"Leave those. Leave everything. Just go."
The door swung open. 6 dropped the clothes where she stood and walked out of the door without a glance back. The door closed behind her, shutting the world away once more.
"You did well, 51," said the same gruff voice. "Rest now."
Erica was too weary to argue. She climbed on the bed and sobbed herself to sleep.


CHAPTER 6

They left Erica alone for the rest of the day, apart from regular attention from the doctor and the nurse and more visits by the first girl she'd met, 36, to bring her food and refreshments. Despite the nagging terror of the branding, she ate hungrily, as if she'd not been fed for days. 36 surprised her by pressing a small switch on the wall, opening a small panel to reveal a television set. She was allowed to explain the controls, giving Erica a choice of piped video programmes and films. There were no programmes broadcasting dates, times or news, reinforcing the girls' removal from normal society. Erica half-heartedly watched "Titanic", which she'd seen before and "The Matrix," which she hadn't.

The doctor gave her a sedative injection before she was settled down for the night.

The next morning brought more of the same attention and a long soak in the bath helped relieve some of her discomfort.

The loudspeakers stayed silent throughout.

After she'd had breakfast, a man she'd not seen before came to the room. He was in his 40's, she guessed - small in height, yet very muscular and self-assured. His ginger hair was well-groomed and that, combined with a black suit, white shirt and blue necktie, made him look more like a respectable businessman than a cruel gaoler. He placed the small case he was carrying on the bed before flicking open the catch.

"I'm Don," he started. "We thought it's about time we saw you dressed. Put these on," he said, handing her the expected thong, bra and suspender belt, all in white.

He sat on the bed to watch as Erica fitted the suspender belt round her waist and fastened the two hooks and eyes behind her. The label was still attached by its plastic tag. She tried to break it, but could not, so that he beckoned her across, the smell of his cologne drifting up to her nostrils as he pulled the thong to one side and broke the tab. While she was close he pushed two fingers between her legs and up inside her, moving them in and out for a few seconds before leaving her again. He waved his hand for her to continue dressing, telling her to hand him the other clothes to remove the tags. She held the thong as she stepped into it, pulling it to her waist and arranging the suspenders inside the legs. As she fitted the tiny bra, the man opened the pack of stockings. All the items fitted her perfectly. Whoever these people were knew all there was to know about her. Maybe they measured her when she was first kidnapped, or maybe they got her sizes from her old clothes, wherever they were now. Destroyed, probably, like the rest of her past.

He watched avidly as she rolled the stockings up her legs. She'd only ever worn stockings a few times, always in an outrageous, provocative way, to shock the viewer. She'd never worn anything like these non-stretch nylon ones and wasn't at all sure how to handle the seams. Don twirled a finger, ordering her to turn her back, commenting until both seams were straight and the suspenders tautly fastened. He opened a shoebox and passed her the high-heeled stilettos, another new experience for her. Once she'd put them on, he had her walk up and down while he coached her how to walk elegantly in them. Erica felt about a foot too tall.

When he was happy with her deportment, he surprised her by taking a dress out of the case, telling her to put it on. She moved across to him to take the dress and was immediately impressed by the feel of it. Jet-black velvet encrusted with gems at the neck and around a diamond-shaped hole above the bust. She unzipped it and stepped in, pulling it up over her hips and sliding her arms into the short sleeves. Don stood and zipped it up. It fitted like a second skin, hugging her figure and moulding round her breasts and bottom. The hem came down to her ankles, but a split up the centre of the front, again lined with the jewels, reached to crotch level.
"Walk up and down," he told her.

As she paced the room, the split parted, showing the whole of each leg up to the tops of her stockings - she had little doubt it would show even more when she squatted or sat down.
"Very elegant," he told her. "You may thank me."
Erica turned to face him. "Thank you, Master," she said.
He laughed. "You are new, aren't you? That wasn't quite what I meant. Come here."

Erica walked over to stand in front of him. He reached up slowly, taking his time, running his hands over her body, assessing her curves through the dress. She wanted to react, to push his hands away, to be her own self. Yet she knew it was impossible - he had the power to let her be safe or to endure terrible punishment and she'd had enough punishment. At least his hands were gentle, non-threatening. He reached for the split in the skirt, exploring her again, travelling upwards, onto the front of her knickers and then down, between, making her squirm in a mixture of wanting it to stop and wanting more.

"Stand still," he told her as he rose from the bed. He quickly and tidily undressed, folding his clothes over the back of the bedside chair, not casting a glance her way until he turned, naked, to face her again. She'd been right about his physique, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, so it was clear he kept himself fit. She couldn't help noticing he was half erect and wasn't sure whether to be insulted that he wasn't more so after his attentions to her body. He sat on the bed again, swinging his legs up and settling back until he was leaning against the headboard.

"Come here," he beckoned, patting the bed beside him.

Once again, Erica knew this was no time to fight. It was rape whichever way you looked at it and she fully intended to tell the courts about it when she eventually escaped, along with all the other abuses she was keeping careful mental notes of. They'd regret this, all of them, when she got to tell her story. But for now she'd have to go along with it. No point in more beatings. She joined him on the bed, the split in her skirt opening wide as she did so.

"Suck me erect," he told her.

She tried not to inhale too deeply as she bent her head to him, but when she did breathe in she needn't have worried. He was freshly washed, smelling how a man should for a woman. She opened her mouth wide to take him inside, while he lifted her hair to the side so he could watch. In his semi-erect state she could take most of him in, but gradually he swelled until she had to back off, moving her head slowly up and down his shaft, feeling him spasm every now and again as she sucked extra deep.

"Good, good," he encouraged.

She set about a steady, deep rhythm. She assumed he wanted to come in her mouth and decided she may as well do her utmost to get it over with as soon as possible. As her head bobbed faster and faster, the links in her collar provided the percussion, clinking each time she bobbed.

But Don had no intention of coming in her mouth.

"Stop now," he told her. "Climb over me. Kneel."

Erica sighed and raised herself above him, the spilt opening wide enough now for her to straddle his legs, showing all of her stockings and suspenders and most of the thong.

"Pull it aside, slide down over my cock," he said, his voice deeper than before.

Erica reached down and pulled the thin strap of material covering her pussy to one side, then raised herself up over him, steadying his cock with her hand until she felt it at her entrance, then sinking slowly, deliciously downwards. She'd always enjoyed the very first penetration whenever she'd had sex and her body didn't let her get away with it this time, making her moan out with the beautiful, searing feeling of surrender it brought. She desperately wanted to dislike it, but despite herself it felt good to be filled, partly because this felt normal. There were no bonds, no whips, no pain, no other woman, just raw sex between a man and a woman. Granted she didn't know Don, just his name, but that had happened before a couple of times in her life. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was on a beach somewhere, under the warm sun, screwing with a faceless lover, with no walls to stop the daylight and the breeze and the sounds of a normal world reaching her.

She rose and pressed down slowly, feeling him slide deep within her, feeling his hands on her hips, pulling her back onto him before she went too far away. She felt him push his hips off the bed to stay within her and she felt the liquid warmth that joined them. Cutting through it all, insistently taking her created images of freedom from her, the metal collar around her neck, its weight and its annoying jangling forcing her back to her reality. She opened her eyes.
He'd stopped moving now, content to lie back and let her do the work, watching her rise and fall over him, a prisoner to her own lust.

"Do you like the dress?" he smiled up at her.
She nodded.

"Speak."

"Yes Master," she breathed, unable to stop her rhythmic rise and fall and the contractions of her inner muscles around his shaft.

"It suits you," he continued. "Have you any idea how much it cost?"

"No, Master."

"Just over £5,000, plus a few hundred to have it altered to fit you so superbly."

Five thousand pounds! She'd never pay anything like that for a dress; the most she'd ever paid was £300, and that was for her best friend's wedding. And here she was being screwed in a £5,000 dress.

"What if it gets ruined?" she had to ask. It seemed such a waste. What could be the point?

"That's not for you to worry about. Silence now."

He thrust hard up inside her to emphasise his control, gripping her hips harder, forcing her up and down, faster and faster until he went suddenly rigid and gushed inside her. She'd wanted to remain detached and dispassionate, but feeling him erupt took her the last few steps over the precipice that was her orgasm.

With it came feelings of cheapness. Erica hated herself. She needed warmth and human comfort at a time like this. She sat back on him, feeling the last of his convulsions inside her. She placed her hands palm upwards on her legs and waited.

"Speak," he breathed at last.

"May I kiss you, Master?" She hated herself for asking, but she needed some humanity.

He smiled up at her. "Yes, you may."

So she leaned forwards, resting down on his chest as her lips sought his, kissing gently at first and then with more ferocity, using her tongue and lips and teeth, closing her eyes and trying to imagine herself free again. She was the one doing the kissing, not him. She was controlling the pace. And he, still within her, was growing again because of what she was doing, because she was turning him on. He was moving again, fully erect down, thrusting into her, the wet sounds serving to amplify his lust for her. She ceased to care about the dress, let him worry. If it got stained with his fluids - or hers - so what?
Suddenly he moved, rolling her off him, pushing her to her hands and knees in the centre of the bed, parting her legs and kneeling between them as he rucked up the skirt above her waist. She rested on her elbows, waiting for him to be inside her again, impatient for her warm, wet emptiness to be refilled. She felt his cock nudge against her buttocks as he gripped her, taking himself in hand to steady his aim.

His first thrust back inside her was hard and deep and was just as quickly gone. He'd used it to lubricate himself. Next time his aim was higher, between the cheeks of her bottom.

"No, please!" she cried.

"Silence!"

And he pushed, slowly, steadily and firmly, until he was buried deep inside her anus. It immediately reminded her of Emily and the dreadful implements she'd used there, yet it was different, more natural, more human. He was gentle at first, sliding nearly all the way out and then all the way back inside her again, getting off on how his erection could possibly all fit inside such a slim, perfect body. Yet a part of him wanted to take, to demonstrate his ownership, to have her regardless of her wishes. He thrust harder, faster, delighting in her animal moans.

Erica hated herself. She liked it. She didn't want to, but her hips had their own agenda. They thrust back at him despite her mind telling them not to. She wanted him deeper inside her than he could physically get. She started to have powerful spaced out images of how he'd be so deep inside her she could feel him in her throat and had a sudden vision of him coming in her mouth from within and his semen dripping down her chin as it escaped her. In this crazed out state, overcome by lust, she didn't care where his cock was now, she wanted it all, everywhere at once, filling her with its power, drowning her with its issue.

She put her hands down on the bed, wanting to ask the question, hoping he'd notice.

"What?" he gasped. "Speak."
"Please, Master ..." her voice jerked from his thrusts. "Please come in my mouth."
"That's my decision, bitch," he growled. "Silence."

Her comments made him more urgent, more desperate to abuse her, to take all of her. But she'd sown the seeds of a very erotic idea. She was the rebel he'd seen flogged in the restaurant, the fighter Emily had told her of, the strong one he'd watched on the video monitors. And here she was a victim to her own animal lust. Maybe letting her have her own way this once would make her more compliant. Maybe he would do it.

As he imagined pulling out of her rectum and shoving his cock in her mouth, he felt his climax getting close, the point where his leg muscles tensed and his eyes started to tingle. He was seconds away. As he felt his come start to rise up his shaft he pulled free of her, pushing her roughly on her side. Taking a handful of hair he pulled her head down.

Erica opened her mouth wide to receive him, almost gratefully accepting him inside. Immediately she felt him convulse. She concentrated hard, wanting to feel the moment his come sprayed into her mouth. The first spurt hit the back of her throat, welling there until she swallowed. She backed her head off slightly until the head of his cock rested on her tongue and she could feel how the next few sprays landed in lines. There was no taste, no smell. Somewhere far above her he grunted and watched. She didn't want to swallow, not yet. She wanted him to see what he'd done. What she'd done.

She waited until he'd finished filling her and pulled out, sinking back onto the bed beside her. She quickly adopted the position again.

"You want to say something?"

Erica shook her head. He looked puzzled until she settled down on the bed next to him and pointed to her mouth. As he looked, she opened it slowly, letting him see the sticky whiteness on her tongue. A trickle escaped her, running down her chin. She put a finger up to retrieve it, pushing it back in her mouth with the rest.
She couldn't speak very well without dribbling, but she made herself understood. "May I swallow your come, Master?" she asked.

The question almost had him erect again. But she'd drained him. He was about to say she could when another idea came to him. "No, not yet. Keep it there until I say. Send in 21," he called up to the camera.

"21 is rather tied up at the moment," a female voice laughed over the speakers.

"How about 29?"

"She'll be there. Any requests?"

"Naked," he told the speakers. "Hands tied behind her." He turned to Erica. "Don't swallow now. Not yet."

His words to the camera served to remind Erica that others had almost certainly observed her actions and her capitulation. The possibility that all this could be recorded had crossed her mind before. If it ever got out, it could ruin her father's political ambitions forever. But there wasn't much she could do about that now.
Don left the bed, going to the table to pour himself a glass of water. He told her to stand by the side of the bed and wait.
A buzzer sounded at her door.
"Open," Don said.

Erica had noticed the girl who entered from the restaurant. She was the one who'd dropped a dish and been publicly spanked for it. Her black hair was unusual in that it was cut fairly short, whereas the vast majority of girls she'd seen had long hair. Perhaps she was kept that way for the few men who preferred short hair. Apart from her collar, she was naked, even to the point that all her pubic area was shaved, giving her the appearance of a young girl.
"Come in, 29," he said.
The door swung closed behind her.
"Turn," he told her.
29 slowly turned, so that he could see her arms and hands, securely bound together with several turns of white rope, one length holding her wrists and the other above her elbows, pulling them tight together, causing her shoulders to arch and her breasts to be thrust forwards.

"This is 29," he told Erica. "29, you've already met 51."

The two girls made eye contact, but there was no communication, merely acknowledgement.
"I've just come in her mouth," he told the new girl before he spoke to Erica over his shoulder. "Show her."
He held her elbow to pull her forward to face the newcomer. "Open your mouth, 51."
The girl looked casually at her mouth as she opened it, then back to her eyes. This time the faintest hint of "I know what's next" flicked across her eyes.

"Kiss her," he told 29. "Share it. When you have, I want to see. Only then may you swallow."

The girl closed the space between them, offering her mouth to Erica. She was slightly smaller, so that Erica had to lean down to kiss her. The girl's tongue immediately sought her own, with some enthusiasm.

"Did I tell you, 51?" Don asked, "that 29 is a lesbian? This is a treat for her. She doesn't like men at all." He laughed as he watched them.

This girl seemed to know what to do, possibly because she'd done it before. After all, a girl numbered 29 had to have been here for some time. She kissed well, her lips far more gentle than a man's, as she sought out and withdrew the semen on Erica's tongue. When she was satisfied, she broke the contact, leaving Erica rather breathless.

"Open," said Don, coming close to them.

Each girl opened her mouth to show him what remained. When he was satisfied, he told them to swallow.
"OK, 29, you can go now," he said. "But stay tied like that until morning."
"Yes, Master," the short-haired girl said as she turned to leave.

The familiar dull whirr of the door motors signalled its opening. This time it didn't close. Erica watched as the naked girl padded away down the passage, passing several other girls, some men and the occasional woman before entering a door in the distance.

"Right," he told her. "Time for a tour."

Erica waited while he dressed, still aware of his residue in her mouth, and even more aware of the feel of 29's lips and tongue. Once he was fully clothed again, he removed a leash from the drawer and attached it to her collar, more for its symbolism than to hold her with, since he applied no other restraints. His manner was one of a complete gentleman, yet he didn't stand back to allow her through the door first, rather he led her through. She felt both a cherished lady and a worthless possession.

This time they didn't turn right into the restaurant, keeping straight on instead until they reached the far end. Through the glass panels in double doors facing them she could make out the waters of a large swimming pool, on the far side of which were floor-to-ceiling windows. As the automatic doors slid open, the smell of chlorine took her back to her schooldays, to the swimming lessons she used to love. Four girls and one man were in the pool, two girls swimming for exercise and the other two involved with the man. As far as Erica could see, all were naked, the girls, for the moment at least, free of their usual collars. While the man fondled the breasts of one of the girls, the other kept coming up for air before disappearing below the surface again, presumably to fellate him.

To the right of the pool another man was sitting in a Jacuzzi, being served Champagne by a costumed waitress while he watched two other girls performing an energetic soixante-neuf on the tiles in front of him.

Behind that, through full-height windows, was a large gymnasium, with a few girls on various keep fit machines, each in uncharacteristic leotards and trainers. Her escort explained that this was purely to act as support, to stop pulled muscles and so on. At all other times the girls had to wear the outfits given to them or wear nothing at all. Even in the gym, should a Master want it, any of the girls would have to remove the leotard without question.

Everything about her looked so strange and artificial, yet everyone there treated it as normal. Nobody paid undue attention to the fact she was so elegantly dressed yet was being led along by a leash.
"In any part of the complex, if a Master or a Mistress wants you, he will have you. Any complaint or resistance on your part will be severely punished, either immediately or in public at some future time - you've already experienced public punishment and I don't imagine you want to again, do you?"

"No, Master."
"You could well find someone will want more than one of you at once, or that several Masters will want to use you at the same time. Understand?"
"Yes, Master."

He pulled her towards the Jacuzzi, exchanging a good morning with the man there.

"Like these two, for example," he continued, indicating the two girls still occupied giving each other oral pleasure.

Erica could easily make out the number 31 burned into the buttocks of the top girl.

"They're here because this Master wants some visual amusement."
"What's this one called?" the second man asked, a hint of Scots accent in his voice.
"51," Don told him.
"Welcome to the complex, 51," he smiled.

Erica glanced at her escort, unsure whether this counted as permission to speak. He nodded slightly.

"Thank you, Master," she smiled back.
"Polite, too," the Scot commented.
"She is now," Don laughed. "She was trouble at first, but, as always, she succumbed to the initiation."
"51, will you do something for me?" the Scot wanted to know.
"Yes, Master."
"Go and push your fingers inside ... what's the top one called?"
"31," Don told him.
"Push your fingers in her."

Don tugged the leash slightly in case she delayed. She squatted down next to the two girls, the one underneath apparently glad of the break, resting her head on the tiles to allow Erica access to her partner. The upper girl's labia were soaked, so two fingers of Erica's right hand slid in easily.

"Put your whole hand in," the Scot told her. "Fist her."

Erica blushed. She'd heard of women doing this, but didn't imagine it was possible. She'd even tried to do it to herself once, using copious amounts of KY to ease the passage, but the angle had been wrong or something and she'd failed. Now, with the Scot's guidance, she pushed her fingers together, making them as small as possible and tucking her thumb inside them before moving to the waiting girl's pussy again.

"Have you ever done this before, 51?" the Scot wanted to know.

"No, Master."

"Go steadily but firmly, you'll manage. You have quite delicate hands."

So Erica pushed, sliding in easily up to the knuckle as the girl tensed and moaned.

"Push now, steady," the man said.

The girl helped her, pushing back against her hand until it slid in, past the knuckle until Erica's whole hand was inside.

"Now make a fist, feel her insides, explore her."

To Erica it looked as though her hand was growing out of the girl, whose pussy clamped her tight in its warm wetness. The girl moaned, her head arching back as Erica's hand twisted inside her. She tried opening and closing her fingers slightly, taking care her nails didn't scratch.
"How does that feel, 31?" the Scot asked, moving to the near side of the pool to get a better view.
"Good, Master," the girl breathed.
"D'you want her to make you come, 31?"
"As you please, Master."
"Yes, as I please. No, I don't please. You can wait. Take your hand away, 51."

The girl's muscles seemed reluctant to release Erica's hand, but eventually it slid free, slick and slippery from the girl's juices.

"Put it to her mouth, 51."

Erica did as instructed and waited patiently while the girl licked her own fluids from her hand.

"Well done, 51," the Scot smiled. "I'll look forward to using you when you're ready. You two, carry on sixty-nining," he ordered as he settled back to his Champagne.
"Fancy a round later, Doug?" Don asked him.
"Can't. Have to be back in London, old man," the Scot replied. "Next week?"
"OK. Bring your wallet."

Don pulled the leash again, leading her along the side of the pool to a small hallway fronted by glass doors. He didn't stop, pushing the doors open to take her outside, the first genuine fresh air and daylight she'd experienced since she'd been here. A grassy slope led upwards, with paved steps set into it. As they neared the top, Erica got her first glimpse of how vast the grounds were. The land sloped very gradually away in front of them, to trees and shrubbery in the distance. Over to the right stood wire netting fences enclosing five tennis courts, only two of which were being used, but people in regular tennis kit, so probably not slaves. As she watched, one of the girls, dressed as usual in heels, stockings, bra, thong and suspenders, came from a door near the restaurant with a tray of drinks and sandwiches, taking them to a table beside one of the courts.

"If you want to run," Don interrupted, "it's that way." He pointed directly ahead, into the distance. "But I warn you, there are video cameras, trip fences, a very high wall with razor-barbed wire on top, some very nasty guards and some very hungry dogs. If you want to try, though, it does amuse some of the masters. Any comments?"

"May I ask a question?"
"Ask away. I may even answer."
"Has nobody ever suspected this place exists?"

That amused him. "Suspected? Anyone who's anyone knows it exists. That's what keeps it running. No matter what happens there's always someone who can sort it out, keep it out of the papers and so on. We can do anything here, anything at all."

"Has anyone ever died here?" Erica was hoping he'd mention the girl who, according to rumour, was hanged.

She had to know if it was true.

"Yes, a few," Don confessed. "But we do have some very aged members. It's a good place to spend your last moments. If you checked the obituaries, though, you'd find they died peacefully, at home, or in a private hospital."

"None of the girls?"
"The slaves, you mean?"
"Yes."
"There was one, yes."
"Was she hanged?"
"Yes. Unfortunate."
"For trying to escape?"
"Yes. She got too close. The ones who caught her felt an example needed to be made. Regretful."

Erica seethed inside. A girl had tried to exercise her basic rights of freedom and was killed? And it was "unfortunate"? "Regretful"? But now wasn't the time. Not yet. She stored the facts in her mind and said nothing as Don led her onwards.

Round the side of the complex was a large ornamental garden, where twenty or so of the guests sat sipping drinks, talking, reading papers or just taking the air. Again they were being served by the scantily-uniformed girls, one of whom, for reasons not explained to Erica, was hanging by her tied arms from a stout pergola, her feet inches from the ground and her face a mixture of tension and tears. Erica assumed she'd done something wrong and been punished, or maybe they just wanted her that way for decoration. Whichever it was, nobody was even looking at her.

Quite a few watched Erica approach, though, possibly because her elegant gown stood out from what everyone else wore. In the centre of the garden a man stopped her and reached into the split, roughly investigating her pussy with his fingers without saying a word, while Don used the opportunity to chat to two women at one of the tables, still holding her leash loosely in his hand. A few minutes later, either bored or finished, the man moved back into the building and their tour continued.
The car park at the front of the complex looked like a luxury car show. Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Mercedes and a whole host of cars Erica couldn't name glistened in the sunlight. As they watched, a blue Aston Martin appeared in the distance, making fast headway up the sweeping driveway before stopping at the main doors, where its occupants - a man and a very striking blonde woman - got out, leaving one of the masked men to park the car. Erica's mind was working fast. If she could get the keys of one of these, that could be a way out.

"Don't even think it, 51." Don was ahead of her thoughts. "The drive to and from the car park has spikes that have to be lowered to get a car in or out. The main gates, double, in case anyone tried to ram them, are protected by armed guards and there's a pit that has to be raised to get a car in or out."

"Just because one of us could steal a car?" she asked.
"Did I say you could speak?"
"No, Master. Sorry."

"In answer to your question, no, it's not because of that. We have politicians and foreign heads of state here. If anyone should attempt an assassination, or perhaps the gutter press tried to get in ...?" he left the comment incomplete.

Erica sighed and sank to her knees on the grass, her hands upwards. Don pulled her upright with the leash.

"Speak."
"So people do know about this place?"
"Don't get your hopes up, 51. The only people who know about it will not be talking about it. If the press find it, it'll be because they manage to follow someone." He held the leash in his left hand whilst he reached into his right pocket. "Enough questions now. Open your mouth."
The ball tasted of rubber and forced her mouth wider than was comfortable. The straps behind her neck held it fast. When he'd fastened the gag in place he used a cord to tie her hands behind her for the rest of the tour. She was shown the medical facilities, a guest room, a small cinema, a full office suite where the guests could use secretarial services, photocopiers, faxes and phones. Don went overboard in showing her how secure everything was, especially anywhere that could be used to communicate with the outside world. It wasn't ever a case of hiding the facilities so much as showing her how futile any attempts to use them would be. Erica made mental notes. They couldn't be faultless. There had to be a way.

The tour, took in all three floors above ground and ended in the basement, which Don referred to as the dungeon. It was fitted out with some extensive evil-looking equipment, upon which two girls were being tortured. One was on some kind of rack, her hands and legs being stretched by a woman using a remote control. The second was strapped to a cross, being whipped by the silver haired man who'd been in charge of her initiation. Erica was glad she was unable to speak, lest she fall foul of some rule and end up on one of these contraptions.

Finally she was taken to the restaurant where she was ungagged and untied so she could join Don in coffee and sandwiches, served by another girl whom she recognised from her initiation.

"D'you remember her?" Don asked.
"Yes, Master, from the other night."
"She whipped you."
Erica stayed silent.
"Would you like to get revenge?"
"No, Master, she was only doing what she was told."
"You'll whip her anyway. Come here," he called to the girl. "Bring a crop."
The girl hurried to a cupboard, bringing a riding crop and offering it to Don.
"Bend over that chair," he told her.
She obeyed immediately.
"A question, 51?"
"Yes, Master. Why must I hit her? I don't blame her."
"You'll do it for no other reason than I tell you. I'm not concerned with your anger or blame. You could be desperate to whip her, but if I don't want you to, it doesn't happen. But I do want it. So do it!"
Erica stood, taken aback by his sudden anger. She mechanically brought the crop down on the girl's bottom, not knowing whether she was doing it hard or soft, nor whether the girl's yelps and tears were real or for effect.
"Wait," he called after she'd done about a dozen. He twisted his chair round, free of the table, unfastening his trousers and freeing his cock. "Here," he told the tearful girl. "On your knees. Suck."
When the girl was in position, bobbing her head up and down on Don's cock, he told Erica to continue, warning the girl that she'd regret it if she bit. Erica could see the message from her position and hoped it was obvious to the girl, too. Her beating would continue until she made him come. Little did the girl know that he'd already come twice less than two hours previously. She tried every trick she knew, but to no avail. By the time he let her rise her bottom was lobster-red. Erica felt no guilt at all. She had no control. And she knew that in the reverse situation the other girl would have shown no mercy either. She was being turned into a heartless machine.
"Did you enjoy whipping her?" Don asked as he zipped up.
"No, Master," she told him honestly.
"Did you enjoy being whipped?" he asked the other, tearful girl. "Speak honestly."
"No, Master," she replied.
"Good," he smiled. "If you liked it, it wouldn't be as exciting."
Erica stored this information, thinking about it later, after they'd finished the coffee and she'd been retied and led back to her room, where she now sat, helpless to do anything except watch the screen on her wall, showing a camera overlooking the garden terraces she'd been on earlier. The girl was still suspended from the pergola, still being ignored by the guests. She watched as another undressed in front of two couples before she carried on serving them their refreshments. In one corner she could make out a young man she recognised, a footballer who she'd seen when she had a fling with a Premiership striker. Maybe he'd recognise her if he saw her, maybe not. Maybe he'd get word to her ex-boyfriend, probably not. It was all academic anyway since she was shut in her room.
She knelt on the floor for attention.
"Yes, 51?" a female voice asked.
"Please, I need to use the toilet."
Immediately the toilet door clicked and swung open.
"With my hands tied?" she asked.
"Wait," the voice told her.
A few minutes later, 36, the first one she'd met, arrived in the room.
"She needs the toilet, 36. Help her."
Erica turned her back, offering her hands to be untied.
"Leave her tied," the woman's voice said.
36 stood aside to let Erica enter the bathroom, blushing at the thought of what was to happen, sure in the knowledge this was yet another attempt to humiliate and thereby subjugate. She turned as she reached the toilet, waiting while 36 pulled up the skirt and pulled down the thong before she sat down. The girl waited, even managing a reassuring smile, perhaps aware the camera wouldn't be watching her face. When Erica had finished, the girl unrolled some toilet paper and wiped her dry.
"Bring her off, 36," the woman's voice interrupted. "Make her come."
Maybe 36 had been here long enough to just accept such orders. Certainly she showed no signs of embarrassment as she pulled the thong off and pressed her fingers to Erica's pussy, seeking out her clitoris and circling it gently, making Erica squirm from the sensations. She'd done this before, that was obvious - she knew exactly what to do, what speed, what rhythm and where to touch, making Erica gasp and moan within a few minutes. The fingers kept going, more insistent now, until Erica's legs trembled and her mouth opened in a searing gasp, her hips responding, trying to make her own rhythm, trying to maintain that glorious contact.
Within moments she was there, reaching her peak, thrashing her head from side to side, calling out "No, no, no" regardless of the possible consequences of speaking. When she'd recovered, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her hair a mess, her face a betrayal of the fact that once more her body had succumbed to a place her mind didn't want to go. Post-orgasm, she resented the other girl's fingers still within her, wanted to shout out and fight. But nobody had told 36 to stop. Nobody had told Erica to stop. As she stared at her reflection she saw herself jerk, she watched her eyes glaze over again as the kneeling girl's practised fingers took her back up the slope to the inevitable conclusion, with who-knows how many unseen eyes witnessing her degradation.
This time they waited until the perfect moment, when Erica was about to crash over into orgasmic oblivion once more.
"Stop," said a male voice.

36 stopped and removed her hand. Erica couldn't. Jerking her hips forward, trying to reach for something that was no longer there, she orgasmed, taken there by her mind alone, dizzily sliding from the toilet onto the long-pile beige carpet below. She convulsed, five, six, seven times as 36 looked down, quite surprised herself as to what had happened. Erica wanted to stay there, to sleep, to close her eyes and dream she was free.

"Leave now, 36," said the voice.

In the control room near the front door, a place none of the girls had ever seen, those who witnessed Erica's spontaneous orgasm watched her on the big monitor screen, listening to her sobs, excited by the display of stockings and legs and bound hands. Don was already formulating an idea as Erica drifted off to sleep. By the time her breathing had slowed and regulated, he'd started discussing the details with the others.


CHAPTER 7

Erica awoke because of her arms. She had no feeling in the left one at all, so it was a struggle to sit up. Rolling to a kneeling position, she managed to get to her feet, sitting on the toilet while she flexed her hands until the feeling returned. She glanced up at the camera, expecting some orders or comments, but all remained quiet. Maybe they had got bored and weren't even watching. She decided to sit a while longer and have some peace.

Her face looked a mess, streaked with perspiration, her hair awry and sticking to her. The split in the skirt had fallen open, revealing the whole of her legs, her stocking and her nakedness, but she didn't bother to attempt to cover herself. It would probably amuse them and they'd seen all there was to see anyway.

She stood and looked at everything in the bathroom - all the bottles of shampoos and cosmetics, the hairdryer, the electric toothbrush, the mirror, the shower ... not because she was curious, but it was something to do. She gave a few half-hearted tugs at her bonds, but they stayed fast. Erica was bored. She had no choices as such, nothing to occupy her, but found herself wondering whether this was some additional torture. Maybe they were trying to subdue her by showing her that even their mistreatment of her mind and body was better than solitary confinement. Maybe it was. All Erica's edges were fraying.

Would staying there show defiance and strength, or were they just not watching? Was she so insignificant in their eyes that they didn't even bother to watch? Would asking to be let out be a further sign of submission? She sighed aloud. She had no answers, but she couldn't take much more of being shut here. She sank to her knees, lowered her head and waited.

"Stay like that, 51, we're busy at the moment," said a woman's voice.

So they were watching.

A few minutes later the door clicked open to admit 36 again.
"We can talk," she said. "We have to shower."
"Together?" Erica asked.
"Yes."
36 went behind her to untie the ropes, then helped her off with the dress, going back into the bedroom to place it carefully on the bed.

"D'you believe that dress was over £5,000?" Erica asked her when she returned.
"It doesn't surprise me," the girl answered. "They want to show you that money is no object."

Erica unfastened her bra and removed the shoes, stockings and suspenders while the blonde undressed quickly and turned on the shower. When the temperature was right, she stepped in, calling for Erica to follow. The shower was easily big enough for two. Because of the angle of the camera and the shower screens, parts of their bodies weren't totally visible from the camera, so she wondered why they had to shower together. But the other girl's touch as she soaped and washed Erica's back was pleasant enough. She didn't even mind when 36 turned her round and washed the front, paying as much, or as little, attention to her breasts and pubis as anywhere else. If their aim was to make the girls more sexually alert or embarrassed, they failed, since their sexuality had become matter-of-fact. The girls had become objects. Maybe that was their aim.
"Whatever," thought Erica.
"Can I see your number?" she asked above the water's noise.
"Yes, if you want. When we get out?"
"OK."
"Will you do me now?" 36 asked, handing Erica the soap.

With curious, gentle hands, Erica smoothed her hands over the other girl's skin, avoiding contact with anywhere that might be considered sexual at first. The blonde's reaction was to close her eyes and enjoy and was so delightfully innocent that Erica forgot her shyness and just touched everywhere, including her breasts and her pussy, enjoying the feeling of actually connecting with another person without the violence and cruelty of this dreadful place.

"You like this?" she asked.
"Mmmm," came the other's agreement. "Sometimes it's nice to be treated gently."

That gave Erica the encouragement to show how gentle she could be, smoothing her hands over the wet skin and washing some of the pain and horror away. She didn't pull back when 36 kissed her, finding it a welcome difference from the previous time and soon she was kissing back, the soap falling to the shower base forgotten as the two women crushed together in a passionate embrace, the water cascading over their heads and bodies as they kissed, their arms around each other as much for sympathetic comfort as for anything sexual.
"Are you lesbian?" Erica asked her.
"No. You?"
"No."
The two non-lesbians looked at each other and smiled. Then their mouths crushed back together again.
"Are we allowed to do this?" Erica asked in a break.
"They'll soon let us know if we're not," the other smiled.
Erica kissed her way down to the other girl's breasts, wanting her, uncaring about the gender, the need to make her own decisions driving her on. After sucking and licking her nipples, Erica kept going until she was kneeling, willingly searching out the cleft between her friend's legs, snaking her hand back up the wet body to hold her breasts as she sucked. 36's hands were busy too, seeking out Erica's breasts to hold and caress while she trembled under Erica's inexperienced oral technique.

Erica didn't want anything for herself. She'd been selfish most of her life, a taker, ruthlessly treading on anyone to get what she wanted. This was different, an overwhelming need to give, to make another human being feel good. She extended her tongue to flick around 36's clitoris, lashing it backwards and forwards until she felt the girl's legs start to give, then holding her up by putting one leg over her shoulder, dipping her head down until she could spear her tongue inside, rapidly bringing her friend to a shattering orgasm, freed as she was to shout "Oh my God, oh my God!" at the top of her voice.

Afterwards Erica let her slide down the shower wall until both sat on the base, the warm water still cascading over them as they sat and enjoyed the afterglow.

"Can I do you now?" 36 asked.
"D'you want to?"
"Oh yes."

Later on they dried each other and went through to the bedroom. Erica knelt to examine the numbers branded into 36's buttocks while the girl stood still. The skin was bumpy from the scarring, yet felt surprisingly soft.

"Did it hurt?"
"Yes," the girl said matter-of-factly.

Erica felt stupid for asking the question. What she needed to ask, yet was afraid to, was how much it hurt, whether she'd screamed and cried, whether she'd lost control completely. Erica wanted to not have it done, but knew the inevitability, so she wanted to think she would be stoic, would bravely withstand the searing of her skin and stand tall and proud. Instead she asked a different question.

"What about afterwards? How long does it take to heal?"
"About a week. They have a doctor standing by."
"I'm scared."

The other girl turned and pulled her up, putting her arms round her while she sobbed.
"I don't want them to see me weak," she said, glancing at the camera.
"It makes no difference, 51," the blonde said. "They want you broken and obedient, but they also like breaking you. They like it if you obey, but they also like it if you don't. Obeying is considerably less painful."
"I guess," she sobbed.
"Time to get dressed," the speaker told them. "Not you, 36. You stay naked. 51 put the dress and some clean underwear on. 51, show her where everything is. She's to be dressed as before, but no bra this time."
36 gave Erica the guided tour of the wardrobes. Erica had tried to open them before, but they'd been locked. Now they slid open with expensive efficiency. Inside was lined with clothes, from the elegant to the tartily sexual and including various uniforms.
"We have to wear these?" Erica asked.
"If someone wants it, yes. Just pray one of the Masters didn't get a parking ticket - one had me as a traffic warden one day. He beat the crap out of me for giving him a ticket, like it was my fault."

They both laughed. Other uniforms included a policewoman, nurse and teacher, all decidedly more revealing than their real life counterparts, a harem girl, even Wonderwoman and Supergirl. Behind the leftmost doors stood a multi-drawer unit, full of enticing lacy underwear at the top. A drawer of thongs and knickers, one of bras, one of suspenders and stockings and one of slips. The lower drawers were dedicated to rubber and leather. To the right, a tall cabinet contained dozens of shoes and boots.

As they looked, 36 took out what she needed - a complete black underwear set and a new pair of seamed stockings. Erica dressed herself this time, checking with 36 that her seams were straight and finally asking her friend to zip her into the dress, feeling the way it still held her breasts firm despite the lack of a bra's support.

"36, fit her with the chains."

The girl obeyed instantly each time the voice on the speaker spoke. From the bottom drawer of the unit by the door she took out one of the chain contraptions Erica had seen various girls wearing, clipping the chains to her collar before fastening the cuffs round her wrists and ankles. When fitted, it hardly restricted her movements at all.

"What's the idea of these?" she asked her friend. "They don't exactly impede you."

"They're more symbolic really, like part of the uniform, but the masters can clip them together if they want, or attach us to something with them. All ready?"

Erica looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a woman she hardly recognised, tall in her heels, elegant and feminine in that superb dress, sexy in the slinky underwear.

"What are they going to do to me tonight?" she asked.
"No idea," the blonde replied. "And even if I had they'd probably stop me telling you." She paused a few seconds, watching Erica look at her reflection. "51?"
"Yes?"
"I just want to tell you, when I have to whip you and stuff ... There's no hard feelings."
"I know," Erica assured her. "Same here."
"We have to do it hard or we just get more, OK?"
"OK."
"Silence now," boomed the speaker.

The two sat on the bed, waiting anxiously for the door to open. When it did, Emily was there accompanied by two of the masked men. She looked so different this time. Gone was the severe suit, replaced instead by a short flared dress in a deep blue satin.

Emily looked at the blonde briefly. "36, go to the restaurant."
"Naked, Mistress?" the girl asked.
"Did I tell you to dress?" Emily asked, one eyebrow raised.
"No, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress." She glanced quickly back to Erica and was gone.
"You look good, 51," Emily told her.
"Thank you, Mistress," she replied, cautious not to incur any wrath, anxious as to what was planned for her. She prayed it would not be another ritual beating like the last time.

"Bring her," Emily barked at the two men, who each took an arm and marched her forwards, following the swaying bottom and sexy legs of the woman in front.

They followed the same route as before, along the corridor and turning right to the busy restaurant, straight through the doors and towards the dreadful platform topped by the binding posts. Erica wanted to pull back and run, fearful of the same treatment, but the two men held her firm. A few heads turned to watch her as she passed, anticipating some treat she was unaware of.

They led her right onto the stage again, quickly unfastening her chains so they could rope her hands to the tops of the posts before dragging her legs wide and tying her ankles to the bottom. Once again she stared helplessly out over the assembled diners. She saw her father's friend James again, sitting talking to a man she recognised as a TV chat show host, whose public whiter-than-white image would be destroyed if people knew he was part of this place. Over to the right she recognised some raucous football players. All around the slaves served food and drinks, never giving Erica a second glance. Emily walked towards her and clicked on the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced. "Tonight we have something rather special for your entertainment. We're not going to rush it, though, so enjoy your meal."

"Is she still a disobedient bitch?" a man's voice shouted from the left.

Emily smiled and walked next to Erica.

"What's your name, slave?" she said, pushing the microphone towards Erica.

"51, Mistress," Erica's voice reverberated round the hall.

"Are you a disobedient bitch, 51?"

"No, Mistress."

Emily addressed the audience again. "Notice 51's elegant gown, ladies and gentlemen," she said. "Do you know how much it cost, 51?"

"£5,000, Mistress."

"Over £5,000," she corrected. "You have been careful with such an expensive item, haven't you, 51?"

"I tried, Mistress."

"Good," the woman said. "Good." She walked round behind Erica as she talked.
When she appeared again she was holding a frightening-looking knife. She put the microphone down and stood in front of Erica, staring into her eyes. Lowering the knife, she placed it inside the skirt, where the split ended. Erica heard the rip as she moved, feeling the air hit her stomach as the dress parted. A few more cuts with the knife and the front of the dress was split completely, leaving Erica's breasts bare and the almost see-through thong showing her pubic hair to the assembled diners. Emily walked behind her again, using one movement to shred the back of the dress, finally moving to her sides to slit the shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at her feet.
Erica was stunned. They'd gone to great lengths to impose the value of the dress on her mind. She'd thought it was to make sure she took great care of it and the message was that they would clothe her in the finest things if she behaved. Now she realised she'd had the message all wrong. The valuable dress was to show her just how rich and powerful these people were, so that ruining a £5,000 dress for amusement meant nothing to them. Just as she meant nothing to them. They'd destroy her just as easily and with as little conscience as they'd destroyed the dress.

And worst of all, Emily could see the realisation on her face. Erica knew it. She could see it in the eyes of the smug woman.

"What's your name, slave?" she said into the microphone.
"51 Mistress," Erica sobbed.
"And what value are you, 51?"
"Nothing, Mistress. Nothing at all."

A ripple of spontaneous applause broke out in the room. They'd beaten her. They'd won. Erica sagged against her bonds, ready to crawl, ready to suck and fuck and do anything.

But nobody untied her. This had been an appetiser, nothing more. There were other things in store before the night was through. A short while later 36 was told to bring her water and talk to her quietly.

"They'll get a new girl soon," she whispered. "Then you won't be the new slave anymore. Things'll settle down, you see. Come on, don't cry."

A few of the diners would occasionally mount the stage and look at her, or touch her, or spank her, or feel her breasts or bottom or pussy. The women were more catty than the men - they wanted her to be a worthless slut, as if her total degradation made them somehow better. One twisted her nipples painfully, then pulled her pubic hair until she cried out. She slapped Erica's face and called for clamps, fitting them tightly on Erica's nipples before returning to her seat.

When the meals were finished and coffee served, nobody left their seats. Those not facing the stage turned their chairs to see the floor show, whatever it was going to be. Erica noticed a tripod being set up on the floor in front of the platform, not obscuring anyone's direct view, but allowing a large video camera to be mounted on it. As it was connected up, Erica noticed the large TV sets mounted on brackets high on the walls flicker into life. As she watched, her whole pubic area came into clear, obscene close-up. Emily mounted the stage and spoke into the microphone.

"36, come here."

Within seconds the blonde was next to her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the main event of the evening. We were watching the new slave 51 in her room earlier. We arranged for 36 to masturbate this slave, timing it carefully so she would stop before her orgasm. We were amazed to see that despite stopping, the slut orgasmed anyway. As far as we could make out she was trying to fuck thin air. We thought you'd like to see it."
Again the applause rang out, but this time accompanied by a few ribald shouts and whistles. Emily walked next to Erica.
"51, do you like being whipped?"
"No, Mistress." That was an easy answer, though Erica dreaded having been asked.
"No, of course you don't. Well, you have a chance to avoid being whipped this evening. All you have to do is not come. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good. So that's the challenge, ladies and gentlemen. If she doesn't come, she doesn't get whipped."
That was easy, Erica thought. She'd focus on something else. Her home, her parents, her friends. Easy. Emily reached out and took hold of the thong. Erica yelped as she gave a quick tug, ripping it from her. As she unscrewed the clamps the blood rushed back into Erica's nipples and with it came the pain of feeling again. Erica cried out aloud.
Emily spoke again. "36, do you like being whipped?"
"No, Mistress."
"Well, if you don't make 51 come, you will be. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress." She lowered her head, dreading this.
"Your job won't be an easy one, 36," Emily continued. "But you did it once, earlier today, so you have to do it again now. When and if you make her come, you must not be touching her pussy in any way when she does. And make sure you're not in the way of the cameras, so the Masters and Mistresses will be able to see."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Any questions?"
"Is there a time limit?"
"As long as it's tonight. Shall we say two hours. In two hours' time, one of you gets whipped. You may start now, 36. "
"Yes, Mistress."

Emily announced that bets could be placed on who succeeded and how long it would take. 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.

36 moved round her, gyrating her body very 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'd 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 liquid 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 finger 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 ocean of 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'd never seen before.

As the eyes burrowed into her soul, Erica already knew she'd 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'd not be able to stop her orgasm. They knew. She knew. And they knew she knew. End.
36 was on her knees now, her tongue starting Erica on her journey. She knew that an orgasm meant a whipping. But she'd have to be whipped. Nothing she could do. She could hear a woman moaning, whimpering, gasping. She could hear herself. She could see her hips bucking in front of the hungry blonde head on at least six video 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'd 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 bucked forwards. 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 voice was heard from the diners as they watched Erica's pussy contract and pulse as she came, screaming out her defeat to the entire listening audience. Five, six times she tried to reach her non-existent lover, screaming 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 pouring down her body, leaving trails from her thighs and under her breasts and soaking into the suspender belt and stockings. Let the ropes do it. 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 to her own body. The girls who had taken the bets were moving round 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 betted 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 the skin of 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'd 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'd use on her, in the order of their estimates as to when she would climax.

Someone had turned up the sounds on the screens so she could hear her own orgasmic cries echoing round the hall again and again. She heard someone suggest they video her punishment as well.
She sagged against 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 a few days 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 dressing were placed on her back, bottom and thighs. She wasn't 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 in 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 freedom. She could almost believe they realised they'd 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 couldn't 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 scars 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 worse 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 didn't 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 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 refocus on time.

One day there was a change of mood. She couldn't 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 a couple of days previously, so she knew she was OK. The people who came acted much as they 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, just a small scrap of material joined by the thinnest of shoelace straps. That was it. No bra, no shoes, no stockings. The men fitted the same thick leather cuffs she'd 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 quietly. "Today you will be branded."
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 across 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'd known this moment would come and she'd 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 the door. 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 bounded forwards towards the daylight the doors in front slid quickly closed. She crashed into them, but they didn't budge. She could see two men running towards them through the small toughened-glass windows, so she turned, facing the way she'd come, seeing the two masked men approaching. They'd 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 and containing a massive 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 entered - the two girls didn't flinch.
"What are you doing here, girl?" he shouted at her, but Erica was too busy looking towards the full-height patio windows, already wide open to admit the fresh summer air.

The door opened behind her as she dashed for the light. She almost made it to the window. Before she reached it 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'd quite enjoyed some action for a change.
Emily faced Erica. "Apologise to the Master," she growled
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!"
"Sorry, Master," Erica gasped.
"D'you want to punish her, Colin?" Emily asked him.
"Yes, but not now. Is she the one to be branded 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 once more. Still the two girls remained faithful to their allotted tasks, as if none of this was happening at all.
"Where did you think you could go?" Emily asked her again. "Speak."
"Anywhere. Away."
"But there's nothing out there, not for you. Nothing exists outside the complex. Nothing. 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 at Emily.
"Go on, run!" she shouted. "There's the window, it's not locked."

Erica didn't move at first, certain that if she did so she'd be pulled down again. Slowly circling around Emily, watching her all the time, she backed to the window, feeling behind her for the edge. 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 and onto the lawn, sprinting away from the building as fast as she could.

A siren sounded loudly behind her as she raced across the soft grass. Shouts joined the noise of the sirens behind her and over to her left a four-wheel drive raced up the driveway, drawing to a halt to let three uniformed guards out. Erica veered left towards the trees, perhaps 50 yards away now, her blood pounding through her and her breathing laboured from her efforts.

She heard dogs barking just as she reached the shrubbery and the trees, but she was too fired up to worry now. Onwards she ran, jumping over branches, feeling the twigs hurting her feet. She ran forwards, sure in her step, until suddenly her world turned upside down. Something had snared her foot and whatever it was had tightened and whipped upwards, taking her with it. It was so fast she had no time to react and when she refocused the ground was above her. 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 up at her, two fierce-looking dogs barked and jumped up. Into the middle of the crowd strode Emily.

"You're lucky," she called up. "There are other traps out here. You found a mild one. Have you ever seen a gin trap?"

Erica didn't answer, she just stared all the hatred she could muster back at her tormentor.

"Well, have you!?" Emily snarled back.

"No," Erica spat.

"Cut her down. 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 unaided, feeling a sharp pain in her left shoulder as something bit into her skin. 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 had so devastatingly halted her escape. 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 forwards 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. With a sudden spring, the circle folded 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 by now. How many of the masters would want you if you lost a foot, 51?"

A tear rolled down Erica's cheek.

"Let her go," Emily told the guards. "Now, 51, d'you want to continue your attempt or come back inside? There's about half a mile to go before you reach the fence and the nearer you get, the nastier our little surprises will be." She paused. "So which is it to be? Speak now."

"I'll come back, Mistress."

"A wise choice, 51," the woman said. "Very wise. But just to make sure you remember, 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 a tamer.

"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 branded today and there's no way to avoid that. You do realise that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"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 co-operate. I want you to co-operate. Will you?"

"Yes, Mistress. May I ask a question?"

"Ask."

"Will it be you who does it?"

"The branding? No, not me. The right to brand 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 rebellion. They like that."
Erica stayed silent. Emily was right. It wasn't avoidable. She had no choices, no freedom, no ability to resist. Emily had given her a chance to retain her dignity, so she'd take it.

"I'll obey, Mistress," she said proudly.
"Good, well done. I get really turned on seeing you proud like this." She stood in front of Erica and touched her breasts gently. "I can make life better for you if you make life good for me, Erica."
That completely floored her. Emily had used her name.
"That is your name, isn't it? Erica?" Emily asked.
Erica was within a moment of falling into her trap.
"My name's 51, Mistress, unless you choose to call me something else."
Emily smiled. "Well done, 51. I knew you'd learn. This way."
She stood aside to let Erica walk inside, along the hallway and left towards the restaurant. Most tables were occupied with people drinking alcohol or tea, with plates of sandwiches and cakes, giving Erica the impression that it was late afternoon. All eyes turned her way as she emerged through the swing doors. Using as much elegance as she could muster, Erica walked down the aisle towards the stage, stepping up to where the silver-haired man who'd presided over her first public whipping stood waiting. He smiled as she approached, moving aside so she could see the frame in the centre of the stage.

The centre part was a padded bench, but to the sides and the back were stout tubular metal bars, clearly designed to hold arms and legs still.

Erica stood in front of the device, aware of the dozens of eyes watching her every move. She stood, motionless, staring down at the frame, until her eyes caught something at the rear - a small gas-fired oven stood on a table. From the small door at the front poked two rods with wooden handles at the end. Erica guessed the other ends, deep in the glowing interior, carried the numbers 1 and 5. Beside it stood a surgical trolley, ready to salve the wounds.

"Ready, 51?" Emily asked her.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then go ahead."

Erica looked back at her, hearing the silence of the expectant crowd. She stepped forward, sinking to her knees and laying her torso along the padded bench, aligning her arms and legs with the cold metal bars, waiting to be strapped in. Emily attended to her legs, fitting links to her ankle cuffs and wrapping leather straps round her thighs. The silver-haired man fixed her wrists out in front of her before fitting more straps just above her elbow. Finally he pulled the two ends of a strap from each side of the bench, fastening it behind her and keeping her waist firmly anchored to the cool surface.

They wheeled a trolley in front of her, on top of which stood a television. Within minutes it displayed her own buttocks in sharp detail, as, she assumed, the various other monitors around the room did. The tiny black strap of the thong hid almost nothing. Her buttocks, white and soft, awaited the terrible red heat of the branding irons.

"Be brave, 51," Emily told her. "Anything to ask?"

"No Mistress."

"Open your mouth," Emily told her, pushing a hard rubber bit-gag between her teeth before strapping it tightly in place behind her neck. "Bite on that. It'll help."

Erica felt some comfort from being strapped so tightly. There was no chance now, no freedom to move or even speak. The inevitable had arrived and she just wanted it to be over with, so she could heal and get on with whatever life she was allowed to have. She let herself drift, not listening to the announcements being made in the hall. She didn't care who had bid for her. Whoever it was didn't deserve her attention. Nor her respect. Hatred would be wasted - she was sure they'd find a way of turning it against her, so she decided that simple compliance was the only way to handle this ordeal.

A motor clicked in and the podium started to turn, relieving her of the sight of her buttocks, yet facing her with the sea of eyes watching and waiting. They were in no hurry, for the climax - her agony - was also the end. They wanted to enjoy the spectacle for a while first, and Erica hoped her bland acceptance would take away some of their enjoyment. The podium turned slowly, not enough to make her dizzy, just enough to let the audience watch her bound body and gagged face. The tension in the hall was electric; she could feel its power. Her moment was approaching.

A small commotion in the hall captured her attention, but she was not in the right position to see. Someone had arrived who had drawn the eyes of the audience. Erica waited to see who or what it was.

As she rotated slowly the scene came into view. She could have wept with joy when she saw it. At the entrance doors, accompanied by men in uniforms, stood her parents. She wanted to call out, to accuse, to exact revenge on her torturers, but the gag stopped her. Her parents' eyes looked across the hall to see her and they broke from the crowd to stride forwards to the stage as the rotation of the podium once again hid the view.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Emily's voice called from the speakers. "The highest bidder, the one who gets to brand our newest slave, is our esteemed member Laurence Pettinger MP, who, as most of you know, is the slave's own father."

"No," Erica screamed through her gag, shaking her head from side to side. "No, no, no, no!"

"Don't be so shocked, 51," Emily told her. "Who do you think arranged for you to be brought here in the first place?"

The podium stopped with a jerk. From her viewpoint Erica saw the silver-haired man take the glowing numbers from the furnace.

"Master Laurence has elected to apply the second number. The slave's mother will apply the first," Emily explained to the buzzing crowd.

Erica could feel the heat from the irons as her parents took their place behind her. Through her tears and screams she bit hard into the rubber gag and waited.

>> more to read in part 2 and part 3

Parts 2 and 3 of “A Girl Called 51” can be obtained from http://www.a1adultebooks.com/site.php?cat=&pr=141 (Part 2) and http://www.a1adultebooks.com/site.php?cat=&pr=143 (Part 3), or the whole book can be obtained from http://www.a1adultebooks.com/site.php?cat=&pr=204

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