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Collected by Djian

A Girl Called 51 - Part 3






CHAPTER 1

Erica had been dreaming, but the more she tried to remember the dream, the further away it went. She opened her eyes, half expecting to see Grace in the room, but she was alone.
She liked to have the curtains closed, since from her bedroom window she would be able to see the hated Complex in the distance, a constant reminder that if she disobeyed or upset her Mistress in any way she could be sent back there, to suffer the whims of the cruel masters and mistresses who were regular guests in that terrible place. She’d lost count of the number of celebrities she’d recognised in her few years as a slave at the Complex, whose behaviour would shock their fans, their constituents, their patients ... But since the Complex is run by and for just about anyone who has power in Britain and is therefore beyond the reach of any laws, the guests could do anything they liked, from sex, punishments ... right through, it was rumoured, to the power of life and death over the slaves.
Erica, or 51 as she was known in the Complex, was glad Grace had chosen to buy her as her personal slave. She could easily have been sold to someone overseas, someone crueller and less tender than Grace. Not that Grace wasn’t cruel, she was very keen on repeatedly demonstrating to Erica that she was in control and could do precisely what she liked, but Erica knew Grace was also in love with her. Erica wasn’t a lesbian, but her years in the Complex had made a person’s sexuality immaterial. She had no choices and she went along with anything that caused her the least suffering. So she made love with Grace whenever she wanted, she licked and sucked and kissed and caressed in whatever way was required of her, and with her Mistress or whoever her Mistress chose. Sometimes it all left her unmoved. At other times she very nearly enjoyed it.
Her mind turned to her stepfather, Laurence Pettinger, MP. She’d never forgiven him for her imprisonment. She knew that she’d been an embarrassment to his political career and she realised that with her off the scene both her mother and her stepfather would have used the media images of tragic martyrdom to their utmost effect. But to leave her there, at the Complex, to suffer the pain and humiliation dished out to her and her fellow slaves on a daily basis was too much. She could never ever forgive that. And one day she would get even.
Grace had been all too ready to discuss the possibility of helping out with that revenge. Her motives, Erica realised, were to prove her love, when perhaps Erica might think her cruelty proved the opposite. Why someone in Grace’s powerful position felt the need to prove anything eluded Erica, since she was in the supreme position of being able to force Erica to do anything she desired, and Erica was in the position where any resistance was futile, and meek, even eager, compliance made her life a lot easier and a lot less painful.
When Erica was beaten these days it was purely because Grace, her owner, wanted it, and not because she warranted punishment. Her days of rebellion were long gone, systematically beaten out of her over an unknown period of time.
Erica sometimes wondered about time. There were no clocks and calendars in the Complex. She was not allowed to watch television, hear a radio or see a newspaper. She was aware of changes of days only by light and dark, and aware of passing months only by changes of seasonal weather, and she counted neither. She estimated she’d been at the Complex for eight years, but it could have been six. Or ten. Or twelve. What had happened in the world outside? How old was she? Had her friends and family forgotten all about her?
She listened for sounds of movement in the house. Life was much more relaxed here. The fact it was still in the grounds of the Complex didn’t mean it was as cruel as the Complex. She didn’t fear each approaching noise any more.
A distant clatter told her there was someone in the house. She moved up the bed slightly to allow her to pull a few strands of stray hair away from her face. The chains linking the locked leather cuffs to the ring at the left side of her bedhead rattled as she moved. She was restrained in some way each and every night, not to prevent her escape - the electrified fences, traps and dog patrols prevented that - but because Grace decided it. And possibly to constantly remind Erica she was a piece of owned property.
Footsteps approached her door. She recognised the sounds of her mistress easily.
“Good morning my darling,” Grace smiled as she appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mistress,” Erica replied as the woman approached the bed.
“On your belly,” Grace told her.
As Erica moved awkwardly round to lie face down, Grace reached for the zip at the back of her black dress and drew it down. Before she came to the Complex, Erica had little interest in women as sexual partners, but after years of being forced to have sexual contact with other slaves and female guests, she’d got to quite like the idea. And Grace was a very attractive woman. It was no punishment for Erica to watch as Grace slipped the dress off her shoulders and downwards, revealing the shoestring straps of her black bra and the well-filled C cups below. She watched as the dress went lower, until the equally inadequate thong came into view, its gauzy front showing the bush of intimate hair it revealed more than hid.
When the dress had gone, Grace reached into the bedside cabinet and took out a crop. No reason was given for the fact she was about to be beaten. Nothing new there. Grace even smiled as she reached across and pulled the duvet towards Erica’s feet, letting it slide to the floor at the foot of the bed.
“I’ve got an interesting conundrum for you,” Grace told her, running her fingers across the raised skin where her slave number, 51, had been branded into her buttocks by her mother and stepfather soon after she’d been imprisoned at the Complex. “I’ve decided to forbid you to cry out when I beat you.”
Erica waited as Grace paused, wanting the second part of her announcement to have its full effect. “You understand?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“The only problem, for you at least,” the woman added eventually, “is that I intend to beat you until you cry.” Grace paused again to let the message sink in. “Questions?”
“So the only way to not disobey is to not cry out?” Erica asked, uneasily.
“Correct.”
“But you keep going until I do?”
“Right again.”
“May I ask the penalty for disobedience, Mistress?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Let’s be honest here; you won’t cry out until you have to because you’re a proud bitch and you want to show me you can take anything I can dish out. And I’ll keep going because I need to break you. Right?”
Erica didn’t need to reply.
“I will give you one get-out,” Grace offered. “If you can take it till you pass out, I’ll stop. But no pretending.”
“With respect, Mistress, I think you know me better than that.”
Grace smiled down at her slave, excited about the pain and punishment she was about to give. She knew Erica wouldn’t be broken easily, but that was the very thing that attracted her to Erica in the first place.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Does it make a difference?” Erica sighed, bracing herself.
“No.” She raised the crop, ready to strike, before adding, “It’s all set up for your revenge, my love. I have a party at the weekend, at which you will be the centre of attention for a few of my friends and when that’s over, he’s all yours. Does that please you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. Then you can show me how grateful you are by lasting a bit longer before you cry.”
As she spoke her last words, she brought the crop down hard against Erica’s buttocks, before she’d had time to prepare herself. The merest gasp escaped her lips before she managed to control it. She’d become accustomed to being beaten, even to the point where she could switch herself off to the pain and discomfort doled out by the less experienced masters and mistresses who used her at the Complex. One or two had been exhausted from their efforts when they ended up sweating and swearing because she’d taken their cruelty without a murmur. She still didn’t understand why they needed to beat her, but that was an irrelevance. They did it, that’s all that mattered.
But occasionally there’d be one who delighted in her ability to withstand punishment. They’d be determined to crack her cool, to prove there was no way she could win. Grace was one of those people, and Erica knew it. She would cry out, sooner or later.
But for now she could take it. The blows rained down across her rear, warming them, striping them. She’d seen the results of Grace’s work in mirrors many times. Grace was an expert, concentrating on specific areas, keeping the power down until Erica had become accustomed to it, then suddenly choosing a different area or a much more severe stroke. It had almost become a game, where Erica would try and anticipate when and where Grace would try to surprise her and Grace watching every twitch of Erica’s body, waiting for the moment when she could break through her slave’s pain barriers.
Erica could see Grace in the mirrors along the wall to her right, watching the way her Mistress’s eyes looked down at her skin, seeing the delighted concentration and the tensing of her features each time she was ready to strike. It gave Erica an edge in the anticipation game, for now at least.
“You’re waiting, aren’t you?” Grace asked, as if reading her thoughts. “You’re trying to anticipate when I’ll switch strokes?”
“Yes, Mistress.” There was little point in lying. She knew what was next - she’d have to close her eyes or turn away, or she’d be blindfolded.
“Today, that’s OK. I want you to be able to anticipate. That way, it won’t be a sudden surprise that will make you scream, it’ll be pure pain. So watch me, watch how I get harder and harder until I make you cry, my love.”
And with that, Grace stepped up a gear; not suddenly, but gradually increasing the power of her strokes until she was glistening with sweat from her efforts. Erica could see her tense each time she was about to strike, gritting her teeth to focus the power into the crop. Each time it landed, Erica grunted, clenching her own teeth together so that little more than a moan escaped. Slowly but surely the pain was getting through; Grace was finding places between her previous strikes with uncanny accuracy, and the more Erica resisted crying out, the more determined Grace became to make her, and the more venom she put into it. She even started grunting herself, like some tennis players do when putting extra power into a shot.
Erica had suffered something like 30 strokes when her mouth flew open to let a long, strangled gasp escape. It signalled to Grace that she was on the path now, to losing, to disobeying, to being broken. Each successively more vicious stroke repeated the gasping moan, with Erica pulling hard against her bonds, uncaring or perhaps unaware of how they were cutting into her wrists.
Involuntarily she started to twist to the side to try and ease the pain from the blows that Grace was now concentrating in the centre of her back.
“Stay still!” Grace barked, unwilling to take any disobedience now. “Stay still!” she repeated.
Erica’s back arched, trying desperately, hopelessly, to find some relief from the whipping. The moans and gasps flowed freely now and she knew she was lost. Yet still she held it, tensing to meet each stroke.
“Cry out, damn you. You’re bleeding.”
Erica knew that already. She could feel the trickles on her back and could feel where the running sweat stung the wounds.
“Cry out! Cry out!”
“No!” she gasped. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Yet even as she said it she was lost. Grace was giving no quarter. By now she wanted Erica to end it, to give in ... but her unwillingness didn’t provoke sympathy so much as determination. Grace stopped, just long enough to gather her strength. She looked down at Erica, who stared back. Both women knew it was time, time which stretched into slow motion as Grace raised the crop high over her right shoulder, to pause there a moment, waiting for the instant of total capitulation.
Then she struck, hard, with the force of her arm amplified by the timing of the flick of the crop. The pain of the last ten or fifteen minutes was immaterial, simply a preparation for this moment.
The sound of the whip as it lashed into Erica’s flesh was completely drowned out by her scream, and Grace, in her turn, joined in, screaming out the exhaustion of the job she had done. Erica’s screams slowly turned to wracking sobs as Grace threw the crop aside, its job for the day completed. She sat on the bed next to her slave.
“You’re a mess,” she said. “You should have given in earlier.”
“It’s what you wanted,” Erica responded, sniffing away her tears. “It’s what I had to give, or what I had to have taken from me.”
“Are you my property, Erica?” the woman asked.
“Yes, Mistress, yours to use and abuse.” She tried to turn over, but the pain was far too intense and Grace told her to stay where she was.
“You do excite me, Erica,” Grace told her as she smoothed some salving lotion into her back.
“You excite me too, Mistress,” she replied.
“On your knees then, suck me,” Grace instructed, reaching up to unfasten the cuffs.
She sat on the side of Erica’s bed while her slave sank to her knees on the floor, moving her hands to the side of the thong.
“No, leave it on,” she was told as Grace spread her legs wide. “Pull it aside when you need to.”
Erica kissed slowly up the inside of Grace’s left thigh, but Grace grabbed her hair and pulled her upwards, pressing the girl’s mouth against her crotch.
“I don’t need any foreplay,” she groaned. “Just do me.”
Pulling aside the soaking crotch-piece, Erica brought her lips down to kiss and lick Grace’s labia, flicking her tongue between and seeking out the hard bud of her clitoris. Grace had been right about the foreplay; Grace was soaking. Erica lapped eagerly, wanting to give maximum pleasure.
Meanwhile Grace looked down at the bobbing head, wallowing in the sensations and looking beyond to the angry skin on Erica’s back, bearing the marks of her complete domination. She put her hand behind Erica’s neck and pulled her in, hard.
“Suck me, damn you,” she growled. “Make me come.”
Erica knew her Mistress’s body well. She’d had plenty of practice with other women too and had been much in demand as a same-sex partner in the days before Grace had rescued her from the Complex. Her expertise with her tongue soon had Grace gasping on the edge, where Erica kept her teetering for a few minutes. Dipping her right index finger deep into her own pussy, she coated it in the lubrication she wanted and when she speared it deep into Grace’s anus, flicking her tongue across her bud with greater intensity and focus, her Mistress exploded into a crashing, exhausting, exhilarating climax.
Erica hung on as Grace bucked her hips with her spasms and then kissed gently between the woman’s labia as she subsided, stroking her slave’s hair and trying to steady her breathing.
“Just because you do that so well doesn’t mean I regret beating you.”
“I know, Mistress.”
“And it won’t make me any more lenient next time.”
“I know that too, Mistress.”
“You’re a good slave, Erica.”
“Thank you.”
“I like beating you.”
“May I ask a question, Mistress?”
“You can ask.”
Erica had often thought of this, but had never had an answer.
“Why do you like beating me?”
“Because I can, Erica. Because I have all power and you have none. I don’t expect you to understand, merely to endure.”
“Yes, Mistress.” She was right, Erica still didn’t understand.
“Now, go and have a cool shower and I’ll put some lotion on your back. Then I want to tell you about my party.”

CHAPTER 2

By the weekend, Erica’s scars had all but healed. Grace was keen that her guests would be able to see the marks of the punishment on her slave’s back, but equally keen that any discomfort from them had eased, leaving Erica able to be whipped and punished afresh, for their entertainment.
Erica was almost looking forward to the party - after all, she’d been promised that when it was over she’d be able to get her long-awaited revenge on her stepfather.
Grace had no regular men friends, not in the sense of a stable relationship at any rate. She’d told Erica that she preferred women, but had no objection to an occasional dalliance with a man, including, if she was in the mood, lots of wild, abandoned sex. She did have a distinct urge to prove herself in the company of men, though, and showing off her power over her beautiful slave would be a good way.
Erica watched the caterers from the Complex arrive during the day with their platters of food, setting it all out in Grace’s large dining room. The caterers were staff - none of the slaves she used to see each day at the Complex were allowed here, despite the fact that Grace’s house was still firmly inside the Complex’s vast grounds and therefore under the same security regime. Erica would like to see a few of her old, nameless friends again. She only knew them by their numbers and they by hers, the fact that those numbers, in every case, was branded into the slave’s skin reminding them that their previous identities had ceased to exist. At least she had her name back, in private anyway. In public, if the appearance of guests at Grace’s house could be referred to as public, everyone - including her mistress - still referred to her as 51.
She wandered into the plush lounge, aware that there was some activity going on in there. The two men didn’t even bother looking up as she entered, so it was obvious that the sight of a lovely naked girl with her hands and feet loosely chained to a collar around her neck, the thin chains passing through the gold rings that pierced her nipples, wasn’t something that moved them.
Erica didn’t flinch at what the men were engaged in assembling, yet she knew from experience that it was for her. She’d seen similar contraptions in the Complex, though she’d never been in one. They referred to them as frames. The device was completely constructed from strong tubular steel and, when she was strapped onto it, the movable parts could be adjusted and clamped in position so that her head, legs and arms could be fixed in any pose required. The whole frame, into which her body would be fixed, was attached by a universal joint to a heavy stand, in such a way that the whole frame could be rotated, swivelled and tilted. They’d be able to put her into any position, so that she could be whipped or fucked any way they wanted.
Erica stared down at the frame and tried to imagine what she would look like to the party guests. She noticed that a thick rubber sheet had been placed under the stand to protect the carpet, but from what? She didn’t want to think about that at all.
Soon enough the men had finished and left the room. Erica examined the thick leather straps that would hold her wrists, thighs, ankles, waist, head and neck. She didn’t hear Grace come into the room behind her.
“What d’you think?” Grace wanted to know. Her voice made Erica start.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really, but I want to know. Does it excite you? Scare you?”
“It doesn’t excite me, Mistress. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
Grace smiled. “Far from it. I don’t want it to excite you. I want it to torment you. I want you to dislike it. I want you to know you’re suffering because I own you.”
“Yes, Mistress.” It still amazed Erica, even after all her time at the Complex, that anyone could think they owned another human being. Yet she also knew that was the truth. After all, it happened in other countries, where people were owned slaves, and was she that different?
“May I ask ...?” Erica’s voice trailed off, wishing she’d not started.
“What? Speak.”
“It’s nothing, Mistress, sorry.”
“Tell me or get whipped right now.”
“Will I be beaten tonight?”
“Yes.”
“By you?”
“By me and by anyone else who wants to beat you and I have a rather special treat for our guests. Want me to tell you?”
“As you please, Mistress.”
Erica never saw the slap coming, but it hit her with so much force it sent her staggering back so she had to grab the frame for support.
“When I ask you a question, 51, it means I want an answer.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Erica sobbed. “Please, I’d like to know.”
“I want to see you defiled in the most spectacular way. I want them to come all over you until it’s pouring off your face and body, matting your hair and choking your throat. I’ve got 15 men coming, some with their partners and some alone and I’ve told them about what I want. I’ve got some slaves being sent over from the Complex to help out. I reckon each man should be able to come at least twice and every last drop will go on you or in you. Does that disgust you?”
“A little, Mistress.”
“Good.” Grace retrieved a key from the chain about her neck and started to unlock Erica’s cuffs. “Now go shower, everywhere. Clean your teeth, wash your hair and make up faultlessly. Wear the clothes I’ve put out for you. Come down here when you’re ready. You have two hours, so that should be enough. From this moment forward you will not speak unless told to do so. And I warn you, 51, if you fail to please any of my guests I will draw blood when I next whip you. Understand?”
Erica nodded.
“Go on then.”

She took her time in the shower, closing her eyes and letting the hot jets pummel her skin, easing whatever tensions she could let go of. She washed meticulously, making sure she was clean everywhere, even pushing fingers inside her pussy and rectum so both would be fresh for whoever pushed into them. She shampooed twice then applied conditioner, feeling her long hair turn silken under the water.
Some twenty five minutes later found Erica stepping out of the shower, her skin tingling from the effects of the water. She wrapped herself in a huge bath towel while she set about drying her hair and brushing it until it bounced with its own natural waves, shining in the dressing table lights. When she’d finished her hair she let the towel slip to the floor while she applied her makeup and renewed the red varnish on her finger nails and toe nails, using the hot air hand dryer to quicken the process. Finally she used her hairbrush to fluff up her pubic bush.
Only when she was happy with her appearance did she turn her attention to the clothes on her bed. No surprises there: a long black dress, the skirt slashed up the centre almost to her waist so as to reveal her legs as she walked. The top was nothing more than a halter strap emerging from the waistband, ready to be fastened behind her neck and ready to reveal most of her breasts - all that would be covered would be a two inch area that included her nipples and the gold rings fitted permanently to the pierced holes there.
Unsurprisingly, no bra had been placed on the bed - that dress allowed no such support, so that Erica was glad her breasts stayed proud and pert and didn’t sag. She reached forward and picked up the wispy black suspender belt, fitting it round her waist and fastening the two hooks and eyes at the back. She unpacked the black seamed stockings carefully, making sure she didn’t snag them with her nails. She’d done that once deliberately (though she had maintained it was an accident) and had been soundly beaten for her error. She sat on her bed to roll on first the right, then the left, stocking and fasten the suspenders at the tops, then stood to step into the impossibly small matching thong.
Erica caught sight of herself in the mirror. If anything, the years at the Complex had made her even more attractive, enforced fitness and healthy diet taking away all traces of the slight puppy-fat she’d had when she was first kidnapped. She knew she looked good, but the sight didn’t please her. She should be using her attractiveness on men whom she could pick and choose, not on any man who was wealthy or powerful enough to have her regardless of her own wishes. Sometimes she wished she was ugly or deformed, so that they wouldn’t want her any more.
But she was suddenly scared by that thought. There had been women she’d befriended when she was one of the slaves in the main part of the Complex, whose age had gone against them or who were showing the signs of the stress of repeated beatings and other punishments, given not for any transgressions they had made, merely because the masters wanted it. The women were there one day, gone the next. Rumours abounded as to what happened to them. Some suggested they’d been sold, not to the super-rich, who could afford to buy any girl he fancied, but to the less wealthy, who would take on a slave for less outlay, to use for as long as he wanted and then pass on to another, like a used car being passed steadily down the line until... Until what? Erica shuddered at the thought, and was grateful Grace had decided to remove her from that particular food chain.
Other rumours suggested that slaves who had outgrown their usefulness or attractiveness were killed. After all, who would know? The girls, when they were originally captured, had disappeared from society, added to a list of people who vanished without trace, some no doubt causing a flurry of activities in the press until the public’s interest moved on to something else and all that was left was the forlorn hope of grieving relatives. Erica had no doubt that the people who ran the Complex used their positions of authority in the Police, Judiciary and the medical world without conscience, and could easily handle and dispose of an unwanted slave now and again. There was even a suggestion that the girls were killed in a ritualised way, or that the masters who visited the Complex could snuff the girls themselves... For a fee, of course. Always for a fee. An organisation like the Complex was not cheap to run. After the episode where she herself was nearly hanged for the amusement of the guests, she could believe anything.
With a sigh, Erica stepped into the black, strappy high-heeled shoes, reached for the dress and stepped into the skirt before fastening the halter behind her. Watching her reflection in the mirror, she adjusted the halter straps across her breasts, noticing how the rings in her nipples - and for that matter the nipples too - pushed out against the black satin. She sat on the bed for a few minutes collecting herself getting her mind ready for whatever awaited her. She’d been just over 90 minutes and had been given 2 hours, so she was not late.
She got off the bed and walked to her door. Sometimes she was locked in, the door, as with all the doors at the Complex, controlled electronically from somewhere else. This time her door was open, so she walked out onto the plush burgundy carpet of the landing and descended the stairs noiselessly, moving to the open lounge door and through.
Grace turned to face Erica as she entered. Behind her stood two men in dinner suits, accompanied by attractive blondes in identically-styled dresses, one in light blue and the other deep red, each cut low across the neckline to reveal the tops of tanned breasts, their hemlines only reaching half way down equally tanned thighs. Erica realised they were twins before she took in the appearance of the men. Each stood tall and athletic, with dark brown hair greying slightly at the temples. With some surprise, Erica noticed they, too, were twins. She also noticed that all five faces were now turned her way, registering her surprise.
“Is this the one?” one of the men asked Grace, his eyes not averting from his appraisal of Erica.
“Yes, my slave, known only as 51,” Grace responded. “She’s available for anything you require of her.”
“Anything?” the man asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Anything,” Grace confidently assured him.
“On your knees, then, slave,” he said to her, his voice quiet yet commanding.
Erica didn’t hesitate, she knew better. She sank to her knees on the carpet and waited as the man left his companions and walked over to her. Grabbing her hair behind her neck, he roughly yanked her head back to push his fingers between her lips and examine her teeth. This was a new one on Erica.
“Perhaps he’s a dentist,” she thought to herself.
His hands moved on, downwards, across her chest, taking the halter straps as he went, drawing them aside so her breasts flopped out, ready to be taken into his warm hands.
“Nice,” he breathed. “I like the rings. You could lead her round on a leash with them.”
“Be my guest,” Grace told him, already moving to the ubiquitous cabinet full of instruments of her subjugation. She took out two dog leads, moving quickly across to the man and holding them out.
“Later,” he smiled. “Maybe later.”
Meanwhile Erica noticed one of the girls move to the cabinet, examining the contents.
“Kinky,” she laughed, removing a pair of silver handcuffs, then a second. She joined her boyfriend with Erica, reaching behind to fasten Erica’s hands behind her back with one pair of cuffs. She leaned forward and kissed Erica full on the lips, her tongue pushing between her lips and exploring the slave’s mouth.
“Definitely kinky,” she repeated, moving back to her twin.
As soon as she was at the other girl’s side, she snapped the second pair of cuffs on to her own right wrist and her twin’s left.
“Mmm, kinky,” her twin agreed.
The first man soon lost interest in Erica’s breasts, though, as she was to find out later, that was only temporary. She decided in her mind to call him ‘A’ and the other man ‘B’. There would be another 13 men coming, so she’d allocate a letter for each, though she knew deep down she’d not remember who was called what. She carefully avoided, in her mind only of course, calling them “Mr A” and “Mr B”, since that would have implied she respected them in some way. She’d never respected any of her abusers, save possibly Grace.
‘A’ stood, leaving her kneeling. He turned slightly away and then thought better of it, faced her again.
“May I?” he asked Grace, his fingers stopping at the top of his zip.
“Be my guest,” Grace told him. “Just remember what I asked you and save plenty for later, OK?”
“OK.”
He was already pulling down the zip and reaching inside. His cock wasn’t fully erect, but he pulled Erica’s face to it anyway. She obediently opened her mouth to accept. At least he smelled - and tasted - fresh and clean. She didn’t suck at first, just existing there as he held her face still and moved his cock slowly in and out across her tongue. As he moved, it grew steadily inside Erica’s mouth. He didn’t pull away at all as it grew and the extra length had to go somewhere. Her throat was the only place left. If he intended to make her gag, he reckoned without the years of practice the Complex had given her. It was never a case of would she deep throat, it was a case of she would. If she gagged, they never backed off; if anything it increased their pleasure.
“She’s good, Grace. Very good.”
“I know,” Grace smiled. “That’s why I bought her.”
“How much to sell her again?” ‘B’ butted in.
Erica tensed involuntarily. With Grace she was reasonably contented. The cruelty was manageable. Better the devil she knew.
“That scared her,” ‘A’ laughed, his cock vibrating in her throat.
“She’s not for sale,” Grace said, a clear determination in her voice.
“Not at any price?” ‘B’ continued.
“Not at any price,” Grace affirmed. “Be grateful you get to use her tonight.”
“And abuse her?” ‘B’ asked.
“That too,” Grace told him.
‘A’ was thrusting faster now and breathing heavily. Erica knew Grace didn’t want him to come yet, but who was she to stop him? She flicked her eyes left to where her mistress watched and received a slow nod in return, though she had no idea what that meant. “I know.” Was that it? “Make him come anyway?” Could that be what she wanted him to do. Erica tried to ask the questions with her eyes.
“Remember my favour,” Grace cut in.
He stopped slowly. “Er, yes,” he sighed. “I remember. Later perhaps.” Erica realised the last comment was to her. “You really should try her, brother,” ‘A’ said to the other man as he pulled from her mouth and zipped up.
“OK,” ‘B’ said, stepping forward.
Within moments Erica received what felt like an identical cock into her mouth, pushed much harder into the back of her throat, causing her to gag slightly.
“Seems like I’m bigger than you,” ‘B’ laughed to his brother.
“No, just more of an inconsiderate pig,” Erica thought to herself.
He was holding the back of her neck now, pushing in until her lips were being brushed by his pubic hair and growling with sadistic delight.
“That’s enough, Chris,” Grace told him after a few minutes. “Save it for later, remember?”
“I’ll enjoy drowning you, bitch!” he snarled at Erica as he pulled her off his cock by her hair, so roughly it sent her sprawling on the floor, where she stayed, knowing better than to get up without being told.
Meanwhile the two men had turned their attentions to their partners, enjoying the fact they were now cuffed together at the wrist. Grace came across to Erica and crouched down.
“You don’t like my friends, do you, 51?” she asked, then added, “Honest answer, remember.”
“No, Mistress.” Erica knew the men would hear, but surely that was Grace’s intention anyway.
Noises from the hallway signalled the arrival of more guests. Grace went off to greet them and they gradually filtered into the room. Erica noticed that two of the slaves from the Complex had arrived too, dressed in the loose chains they were often required to don when acting as waitresses and wearing nothing except minuscule black underwear, heels and stockings. They served drinks and tried not to look at Erica. She, meanwhile, watched for the numbers branded into their cheeks, surprised to see that one girl was called 102. Her scars looked recent. That meant they’d enslaved over 50 girls since she’d been taken. She didn’t recognise either of the girls, even though the older one’s number was only two above her own, meaning she was probably present at the girl’s induction, and therefore would have been required to administer the ritual whipping. All new girls were whipped by the older ones to demonstrate that friendship between slaves was completely pointless.
The guests, too, didn’t take more than a passing interest in Erica, milling round chatting, holding drinks and canapés. Occasionally one or two would gather round her, commenting on her manner of dress or her body. One man told his companion to raise her skirt, leaving her displaying the tops of her stockings and her thong to all. From her vantage point she could see the legs of the guests, idly noticing that several women were wearing stockings, most had bare legs and only about half wore anything beneath their skirts. Grace, as always keeping an eye on her, came over and stood astride her face, indicating that she, too, was bared. To emphasise the point she knelt down, draping her skirt over Erica’s face as she pressed her wet arousal down hard.
When people had eaten and had some drinks, Grace decided to leave her position astride Erica’s sucking mouth, leaving her face slick with evidence of arousal. She stood and called the room to order.
Gradually the conversation died down so she could be heard.
“My friends,” she started. “You all know why I’ve asked you here. I want to indulge myself by seeing my slave 51 soaked in your fluids - mainly the men, but I urge the ladies to join in as well in any way you desire.”
“Is she that way inclined?” asked a cultured female voice from Erica’s left.
“Does it matter?” Grace laughed.
“Don’t be stupid,” a male voice joined in merrily. “Grace likes the girlies.”
“It matters,” said the cultured voice again. “I want to have her against her will.”
“She has no will,” Grace insisted. “She does what I tell her to. Isn’t that true, 51?”
Erica was surprised she was to be included in such a conversation, even though there was only one possible answer. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Prove it!” laughed a couple of men’s voices, and others joined in with the jibe.
Grace stood proud in front of her guests. “Any suggestions as to how?”
There were mutters, but no suggestions at first.
“Tell her to suck every cock in the room,” a quiet female voice eventually suggested. Erica knew she wouldn’t like that woman.
“Then every pussy,” a laughing man added.
“Very well,” Grace smiled, unfazed. “51, you heard.”
Erica got to her knees uneasily, the cuffs biting into her hands as she strained to rise.
“Undo the poor girl’s hands,” a man suggested. “She can’t undo zips like that.”
Grace produced the keys from the chain around her neck and unfastened the cuffs as Erica waited. When she was free she stood and walked to the nearest man, where she knelt down and reached for his zip. Over the next few minutes she crawled from one to the next, unzipping and sucking until Grace told her to move on to the next. Some were already erect when she unzipped them and some grew in her mouth. Two didn’t get erect at all, causing much amusement among the other guests and embarrassed excuses from the men themselves, and one, a fair-haired man in his early twenties, exploded into her mouth after three sucks.
Then it was the turn of the women. Some accepted her readily, others with reluctance, others refused. Erica kept on until her jaw ached from the effort and when she’d sucked all the people there, except, sadly, Grace, she resumed her position on the carpet, swallowing repeatedly to come to terms with the taste, the saliva and the running juices from the women.
“Well?” Grace asked at last.
“OK, Grace, you won your bet,” said a man.
“I think it’s only fair,” Grace continued, “that since 51 made David come so quickly, he should give her a whipping to warm her up for the main event. Agreed?”
The general consensus was of agreement, though a few quite obviously fancied the job themselves.
Grace moved to Erica and pulled her to her feet, taking her to the right hand wall of the lounge. Erica had been whipped there before, so she knew what to expect. Two marble pillars were set a few feet away from the wall, and to innocent eyes they would look like ostentatious decoration. As Grace looped a rope several times round Erica’s right wrist, it was obvious to all concerned that the pillars had a much more erotic significance than mere decoration. When Grace had finished knotting the rope - she always preferred the bite of ropes to cuffs and chains - she stood on a stool to attach its other end high up the pillar, where the profile of the carving made sure it would not slide down. Erica had been left secured to these pillars many times, often when Grace had a meal or watched television, though she always made sure that there were no news items on that could give Erica any kind of view of the outside world.
Today, Erica was aware that her mistress had pulled the rope tighter than she usually did. When the second rope was attached, pulling her left arm high up the second pillar, she had to stand on tiptoe to ease the pull. Grace unfastened the halter, so that the dress seemed to float slowly down Erica’s body, catching briefly on the suspender belt then slipping noiselessly to a heap on the floor. Someone, male by the feel of it, tapped her ankles to indicate she should step out of it. Next, Erica realised more ropes were being fastened to her ankles. She tried to look down to see what was happening but couldn’t get the angle to see, but from what she could feel, the ankle ropes had been passed loosely round the bases of each pillar.
“David, would you care to select a whip?” Grace’s voice asked from nearby.
Erica heard the drawers of the cabinet being opened on the other side of the room. The general chat was gradually being replaced by a tense air of anticipation.
More movement nearby. Erica felt the ropes at her ankles being pulled towards each pillar, toppling her from her tiptoe position. She moaned as her feet were pulled wide, meaning they couldn’t support her weight any longer and her bound wrists had to take the strain. Her breath left her as she was held up by the ropes on her arms, her feet now dangling uselessly a couple of inches from the floor.
“Ready,” Grace announced.
Erica tensed. She could sense David behind her, watching her body struggle, choosing his moment to lash out. When it came it wasn’t half as bad as she expected, but it still made her cry out. She didn’t want to, she wanted to show these people she was every bit as good as they were, that she wasn’t some piece of meat they could use and discard.
After three strokes she realised David was a novice with the whip. His aim was bad and the usual flicking of the end - the action that caused most pain and damage - was absent.
Suddenly a girl appeared in front of her - David’s girlfriend, from what Erica could remember. The white dress she wore - with nothing under it, as Erica had found out a few minutes before - emphasised her tan and the profiles of her very erect nipples. She sipped her champagne as she watched Erica’s face when each stroke landed. She reached slowly forward and pushed her fingers inside Erica’s thong, hooking them up and inside the wet cavity she found there.
“She’s enjoying it,” the girl announced. “She’s soaked. Are you enjoying this, 51?”
“No, Mistress,” Erica replied honestly.
“I don’t believe you, slave. It’s time you had a proper whipping.”
And on that comment she left, moving from Erica’s vision. The strokes from David ceased for a few moments as he handed the whip to his girlfriend. The next stroke make Erica scream out afresh, lashing vertically down her spine, the flick of the end doing its job perfectly. Then the girl’s face appeared again.
“D’you know what I used to do as a job, 51?” she asked.
“No, Mistress.”
“I used to be in the circus, doing tricks with a bullwhip just like this one. I could whip a cigarette from between your lips without touching you. And now I’m going to take that thong off you. Enjoy.”
Erica was afraid now. She’d suffered the whip from so many men and women she couldn’t even begin to count. They’d done it for their own sick pleasure, but behind her now was a professional. The pain, the crack and Erica’s scream almost coincided as the very end of the whip flicked at the top of her right cheek where the string of her thong crossed. Erica prayed it had given, but it hadn’t. She could still feel the strap tight around her. She knew more was to come. It took three strokes to cut through the strap and the cheer was all that was needed to signal it had given. Erica hadn’t felt such agony since her mother and stepfather had branded her numbers into her skin.
“And now the other side,” she heard the hated woman’s voice say.
Erica tried to brace herself again. She could already feel a trickle of blood on her right side where the whip’s tail had cut into her skin. The pain felt worse on her left side and the sadistic girlfriend took her time between strokes. Erica got the impression she was aiming deliberately to make it last and was not surprised when she appeared in view again.
“Thank me, slave,” she leered.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Do you know what else I did in my act?” she wanted to know. She didn’t wait for Erica’s response. “I threw knives. Would you like me to use you as a target, 51?”
Grace’s reaction was immediate. “Enough!” she called. “She’s mine, not yours. Finish what you started, there’ll be no knives.”
The girl looked to Erica’s right, staring daggers at Grace. “Very well,” she said at last then turned to Erica once again. “Another time, darling,” she cooed, stroking Erica’s face.
“Do it quickly, you have one more stroke,” Grace told her as she took her position again.
The ropes were cutting off Erica’s circulation. She waited. The final stroke, when it came, surpassed all the others. As she screamed, Erica felt the tattered thong flop between her legs, pausing for a moment, held by her sweat, then flutter to the carpet.
“Wow,” she heard a man say.
The conversations started up again behind her as Grace approached.
“Are you OK?” she whispered.
“Yes, Mistress,” Erica told her, sniffing the tears away.
She sensed someone else approach, and recognised the girlfriend’s voice again.
“She hates me now.”
“Probably,” Grace agreed. “But you’ll never get her to admit it. I could, but you wouldn’t.”
“Ask her then.”
“OK,” Grace said after a moment’s pause. “51, do you hate Michelle? Be honest, there’ll be no punishment.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Far from being annoyed, Michelle squealed with girlish delight.
“Will you let me?” she started.
“I said no more,” Grace cut in.
“I was going to ask if I could suck her off. She won’t like it, not from me, but it can hardly be considered punishment. I’ll give you a floor show before your main event.”
Grace thought for a few seconds, torn between the pride of showing off her slave and a twinge of jealousy she didn’t want to admit to. It was her refusal to accept that her love for Erica made her feelings tender that prompted her to answer, “Yes, OK.”
Michelle appeared in front of Erica’s face again. “You want me to, 51? Answer honestly.”
Erica looked to Grace, who nodded.
“No, Mistress. I despise you.”
“So no way you’ll come, 51?”
“No, Mistress.” Not with this one, she’d not forget that stinging agony.
“We’ll see,” the girl said confidently, reaching for the zip behind her dress.
Grace announced the floorshow and people started to gather round to watch. Michelle, a natural showgirl and exhibitionist, swayed sinuously to some music playing inside her head as she slowly lowered the straps of the dress, holding it against herself so her breasts wouldn’t be revealed too soon. She turned, letting them all see the expanse of her tanned back, uncrossed by any sign of a bikini strap.
Suddenly she pushed the dress to her waist, her ample breasts bobbing up as if grateful to be free of their confinement. She moved close to Erica, still swaying to the imaginary music, brushing her nipples against Erica’s tense belly, staring directly into her eyes. Erica refused to be fazed and stared right back. The girl recognised the challenge immediately, bringing her hand up hard, pushing four fingers right inside the bound woman and pulling her forward, making her cry out.
“Pride only makes me worse, 51,” she snarled, pulling and pushing until Erica thought the ropes would surely cut through her wrists.
Michelle sank lower, her mouth devouring Erica’s breasts, tugging at the gold rings and hurting her nipples. She knelt down, her lips trailing down Erica’s belly as she went, until her mouth was pulling at Erica’s hairs. She pulled her fingers out long enough to curl her thumb between them, then push upwards again. Erica felt the immediate pressure as her muscles involuntarily rejected the intrusive hand, but gradually she relaxed and felt the whole hand slide inside her. Michelle, once she’d achieved her aim, allowed her hand to open inside, feeling the oily slickness there. She clenched again, making a fist, causing Erica to moan aloud at the pressure.
Michelle dipped her head and slid her tongue between the open folds of Erica’s labia, collecting the fluids that leaked from her, pushing her hand in and out and seeking out Erica’s most sensitive parts. She held her hand still, using it to pull Erica towards her as she licked hard.
Despite herself and her loathing of this woman, Erica’s body convulsed into a rapid climax, bucking as best she could against her captivity. Spasms shook her as she screamed and she became so sensitive on her clitoris she couldn’t bear to be touched. Not that it stopped Michelle. She knew exactly how sensitive Erica was and chose the worst possible moments to open and close her hand and to flick with her tongue. The orgasm had sapped all Erica’s energy so that she sagged against her bonds. She could hardly feel her fingers at all now as the circulation ceased.
“Enough!” she heard Grace say again from somewhere beyond the haze that was engulfing her. “David, help me get her down.”
Erica was only vaguely aware of the hands that untied her and supported her from between the pillars to a sofa across the room, near where the frame stood. She was allowed to rest for a while as the party guests had more to eat and drink. In her vision stood the cold metal frame, waiting for her.

CHAPTER 3

Erica found the party guests still talking and laughing. She wondered where she was for those few moments where sleep refuses to allow reality to rule, and as her eyes focused on the frame she remembered all too well. Not wishing to draw any attention to the fact she was awake, she closed her eyes again, listening to conversations, trying to catch any hints as to what might be happening outside, in the real world. One conversation was about golf and was probably current, but since she knew nothing about it, she couldn’t glean any information. Another conversation was discussing an upcoming election. She paid more attention to that as it could possibly provide her with a date.
She sensed Grace’s presence from her perfume, moments before she felt the hand on her shoulder.
“Time to wake up, 51,” her voice said.
Erica opened her eyes slowly, feigning a return from sleep.
“Sorry, Mistress, I fell asleep.”
“It’s time for the floor show,” Grace told her. “Stand up now.”
Erica stood and was led to the frame, which had been moved to the vertical position so she could be strapped in. Grace pushed her so that her back was against the central bar. She flinched as the cold steel touched her hot skin and Grace tightened the strap around her waist. With David’s help, Grace fastened Erica’s wrists and arms to the straps on the metal arms of the unit, and then they strapped her ankles and knees in place. A strap just under her breasts held her firm against the frame and the final straps round her neck and forehead stopped any movement other than that permitted by the lockable joints of the frame itself.
Grace carefully arranged the joints so Erica’s legs were apart by about two feet then locked her arms in position at a similar angle. Once fixed, they rotated the frame to a horizontal position so that all Erica could see was the ceiling and anyone who cared to wander into her field of vision. From her pocket, Grace took a rubber dental clamp and pushed it between Erica’s teeth, fixing her mouth wide open.
Grace called for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, we come to the point I invited you all here for. I would like to see my slave completely defiled, covered from head to toe in your emissions. There’s no part of her, no orifice that’s off limits. Squirt in her and on her, as many times as you can. She is my object, my complete property and I want her debased to the lowest level. Take your time my friends and use her as you wish, one at a time or in groups. For the moment, at least, I give you my slave, 51.”
There was no great rush to accede to Grace’s wishes, as if nobody wanted to be the first to move. It came as no great surprise to Erica that Michelle started the action, appearing, still naked, above Erica’s head, staring down at her.
“I’m going to have you one day,” she whispered, so the rest of the room wouldn’t hear. “And I’ll be much more cruel than Grace is.” She raised her voice to address the crowd. “Well, any takers? I’ve got a couple of very talented hands here. I need a couple of men to help me prove it and bathe this slut in come.”
Erica couldn’t see what happened next, but gathered from what she could hear that some men were urging others forwards. She didn’t notice their faces when they arrived each side of her; she didn’t want to see faces. They could use and abuse her, but they’d never own her. Not really. Not ever.
Michelle reached down to the man at her right and drew down the zip of his grey suit, plucking his half-hard cock out. It dangled there, pointing at Erica’s face, as Michelle turned her attention to the second man, unzipping his black slacks with red boxer shorts beneath. He was a little more erect than the first man, but Michelle soon had both men rising as she caressed and rubbed their cocks with one hand on each. Watching Erica’s eyes, she dipped her head low to suck in the first man, then sucked in the second, alternating between them and leaving them glistening with her saliva.
“Now, pretty one,” she growled quietly, “let’s see if I can drown you.”
She started to pump both men in unison as Erica could do nothing but watch from beneath. She thought the men, both standing there in unzipped trousers with their erections poking out, looked slightly ridiculous. Michelle’s talent was without doubt, as Erica had recently experienced. The men were groaning and swearing, thrusting into her hands as she pumped them. Erica was startled when a third man appeared on the scene, stepping between her legs and rubbing his cock between her labia.
The man to her left suddenly shouted aloud, turning Erica’s attention back to him as a copious spurt of come splattered out of the end of his cock. Michelle aimed carefully so that the first spurt went into Erica’s mouth, then moved it about so the slave’s face got covered. When the man had almost stopped pumping, Michelle pulled his cock forward into Erica’s mouth, where it dribbled out its last few drops onto her tongue. With the rubber wedge between her teeth and her head held fast, Erica had no choice but to swallow.
Perhaps spurred on by the sight of her taking the first man’s emission, the second was not far behind. As he drew close, Michelle released her grip just long enough to take hold of some of her hair, wrapping it round the man’s erection. Erica felt the pulling of her hair as Michelle continued her pumping, to be rewarded seconds later by several gushes of come directly into Erica’s hair. Letting the two men go, Michelle leaned forward to lick off a dab of come that had missed Erica’s mouth, transferring it to Erica in a one-sided kiss.
“I need a drink,” Michelle said finally, and disappeared from Erica’s view.
The man between her legs was pushing slightly into her, just far enough to get his thrills and watch her discomfort. Another man appeared at her side, naked, his erection in his right hand while he had his left arm draped round the shoulders of his topless girlfriend, his hand dropping far enough to cup her breast. Looking down at Erica, he wanked furiously, soon showering her breasts and belly with gouts of warm come. The man between her legs pumped into her, eventually pulling out to leave his emission on her belly. When it cooled, it trickled down her skin, itching, but since she couldn’t move, there was little she could do.
A strikingly attractive blonde girl pulled her man into position, leaning across Erica and sucking him within inches of her face, taking him deep until he started to lose control. As he came, she pulled away and directed the stream onto Erica’s face. One spurt went in her eye, stinging her. Erica notice Grace in the corner of her vision, watching excitedly.
Her mistress had apparently selected her guests carefully. Two men were seriously into feet, rubbing their erections against hers until they spurted over them. Some were after her breasts, until they, too, were dripping with come. Two came inside her pussy, jerking and swearing. One insisted she should be turned over so he could push into her rectum, where he fucked vigorously until he’d finished. When she was turned back up again, she could feel his emission dripping from her.
But by far the most popular target was her mouth and face. They came and came again, until she was completely covered and must have swallowed half a pint. She could no longer see, apart from through a misty veil that had covered her eyes, stinging and itching. At one point an erect cock was placed in each of her hands and she automatically pumped them until she felt the seed dribble into them. A few times the women would join in, either by coaxing their men to a climax, aiming at Erica’s face or body or hair, or by taking their own pleasure from her fingers. Each time she’d use her trained hands to squeeze and pinch and bring them off if she could. One woman wanted to mount her face, but Grace declined, wanting to leave her face as messy as could be.
She lost track of how long she was there, only that she felt disgustingly filthy. The final act was down to Michelle again. She was turned face down, so that semen dripped from her and onto the floor. She half expected the whip that followed - Michelle was obviously going to do it again if she could - and she yelled out at the force of it. A second blow on the other cheek lashed out a few seconds later.
“I’ve opened up the wounds,” Michelle told her, “the ones I made when I broke your thong. Can you feel the blood oozing, 51?”
Erica could feel it all right. That and the burning sting that had accompanied it. Michelle called two men forward again, though Erica had no idea whether they were the original ones. Erica couldn’t see what was happening, but she guessed from the noises that she was using her hands on the two men.
When they came, almost at the same time, Michelle aimed carefully, watching as the grey white mixed with the dark red trickles of blood, pulling the men forward to stir the mixture with their cocks.
Erica was left on her own for some time while more food was served and more champagne consumed. Occasionally someone would glance her way, perhaps for some lewd comment or to get some thrill from her predicament, but mostly they left her to drip on the rubber sheet. Her hair felt worst of all, matted and sticky with male ejaculate. Her fingers felt as if they had dried glue on them, the drying fluids from men and women alike turning powdery and flaking off.
When they’d all eaten and had more drinks, one or two returned for another go at her, renewing the discomfort and feelings of complete degradation.
And finally she was released, her straps being unfastened by David and Grace as the others sat round chatting and drinking. She wanted to shower more than anything, to rid herself of their filthy excesses, but that wasn’t permitted. Instead she was made to serve drinks with the other slaves, and frequently told to turn this way or that so that the guests could see what they’d done to her.
And she accepted it all without a murmur, because now nothing stood in the way of her date with her stepfather and his with destiny.

CHAPTER 4

The party ended at half past midnight. As a few guests Started to go, the rest got the idea, and within 15 minutes all that were left were Grace, Erica and the two slaves. Grace had taken great delight in watching her discomfort and wanted one last tour before the shower. She had Erica stand still in the centre of the room while she walked slowly round, touching here and there, asking if scars hurt.
“What’s it like, 51, being treated like that? Be honest.”
“Horrible, Mistress.”
“Thank you for an honest answer. If you’d said it wasn’t so bad I’d have had it all again tomorrow. I still might.”
Erica hung her head. She couldn’t win any arguments here.
“You two,” she called across to the two waiting slaves. “Take her in the shower, wash her completely. Pamper her. No sex though, she’s mine.”
One of the two sank to her knees on the carpet, bowing her head as was the custom when a slave wanted to speak, as Erica remembered all too vividly.
“Speak,” Grace told her.
“Should we undress, Mistress?”
“Did I tell you to?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then don’t.”
Erica, still unsteady on her feet, was helped by the two girls to her room. 53 sat with her on the bed while the other, 102, switched on the shower and prepared towels.
“We can talk here,” she said at last, “there’s no cameras.”
The girl looked at her nervously. Erica nodded. “What’s your name?” she asked as 102 joined them.
“Joanne.”
“I’m Chris,” 102 added.
“Erica. Have you any idea what year it is?”
“2003. July I think.”
“Oh my God!” Erica exclaimed as the full force of the date hit her. “I’ve been here for eight years. Oh God!”
“Me too,” Joanne said sadly.
“Has anyone ever escaped?” Chris wanted to know.
“Not that I know of,” Erica told her.
“There was a rumour ...” Joanne trailed off.
“What?”
Erica completed the story. “There was a rumour that one girl made it to the fence and was nearly free when they got her. They hanged her as an example to the rest.”
“What?” the worried girl asked. “Is that true?”
“No idea,” Erica replied. “It was before my time. But they’re capable of it. They’re capable of anything.”
“How do they get away with it? Why doesn’t someone stop them?” There was a tear of desperation in the new girl’s eyes.
“Like who? All the top figures of authority are members here, or they run the place. There’s nobody to stop them. Nobody who wants to. Not even the clergy. Some of them are members here. My stepfather’s an MP, and he’s the reason I got brought here.
The girl looked at her curiously, recognition creeping across her face. “Erica Pettinger? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“I remember when you disappeared. It was all over the TV and papers.”
“What happened to me?”
“You were found in the New Forest. You’d been raped and killed and all the pictures ...” The girl trailed off. “My God, they can do all that?”
So that was it. As far as the world was concerned, Erica was dead. She wasn’t surprised. She was certainly long forgotten. Maybe that would help as nobody could possibly suspect that Laurence had been murdered by his dead stepdaughter.
“We’d better have that shower,” Joanne told her as she stood. “Can I ask you?”
“What?”
“How did you end up here? And is it better than over there?”
“She just chose me one day. I wasn’t given a choice. But yes, it’s better. In most ways.”
The two girls walked to the shower with her and stepped inside. There was plenty of room in there. Their chains rattled as they started to gently soap Erica’s scarred body. They took no notice of the fact they still wore their underwear, stockings and shoes. It never took long for the slaves to realise that questioning decisions was pointless - doing as ordered without hesitation was the path of least resistance.
The water stung Erica when it caressed her scars, so Joanne let Chris do the work while she stroked Erica’s head and face and tried to comfort her, pulling her face down so Erica found herself cradled against the girl’s ample breasts, still encased in the soaked bra. Feeling immense gratitude towards anyone who showed her any tenderness in this awful place, Erica used her teeth to gently ease down the top of the left bra cup until she could suckle the girl’s nipple. Too late she noticed Grace has come into the room unheard and was watching.
“I thought I said no sex?”
Joanne leapt up like a scared rabbit, pulling away from Erica.
“You know I could have you flogged for that?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Joanne quavered.
“It was my fault, Mistress,” Erica started. After all, it was.
“Showing loyalty, 51?” Grace asked, one eyebrow raised.
Erica realised she’d made a wrong move. “No, Mistress, my loyalty is only to you. I was being honest, Mistress. I sucked her, she didn’t ask me or anything.”
“It doesn’t do to have friends here, 51. I’ll deal with you later. And as for you ...” Grace stared hard at Joanne as she spoke. “Get out of the shower, stand in the centre of the room.”
As Joanne left the shower, her clothes and wet hair dripping on the carpet, Grace left the room, returning moments later with a leather crop.
“51, beat her. Beat your new friend until I say stop. And if I think you’re not doing it hard enough, it’ll be you who’s beaten. And looking at the state of you at this moment, you don’t need any more beating.”
Erica had been in such situations before. Most of the slaves knew there was no malice when another slave had to beat them. They did as told, or they got a beating too. She took hold of the crop being offered by Grace and struck hard across Joanne’s bottom, making the girl yelp in pain. She did it hard, too, and fast, striking the girl’s back and bottom again and again until she was crying.
“Stop!” Grace told Erica after 5 minutes. “Since you seemed so fascinated with her tits you can do them too.”
Erica had never hurt another girl’s breasts before. She knew all too well how painful it would be. Grace had Joanne turn round, then ripped off the bra.
“Do it!”
Erica didn’t go any softer. She couldn’t afford to. Angry red marks appeared immediately on the girl’s white skin - across, above and below her shaking breasts. Tears fell freely from her eyes as she sobbed and screamed. Erica heard a gasp from Chris, still standing in the shower behind her.
Grace spoke quietly. “Stop now, 51. Go and run a bath, cold water only.”
Erica was glad to hand back the crop. She may have accepted the inevitability of beating other slaves, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She moved over to the bath and put the plug it before turning on the cold tap.
“You,” Grace barked at Chris. “Go downstairs to the cellar. There’s an ice machine there. And you’ll find some buckets. Fill two with ice and bring them back.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl answered, her chains jangling as she stepped out of the shower and left the room.
“You,” Grace continued, addressing Joanne, “back under the shower.”
Joanne stepped back in again, wincing as the water hit her newly-lashed skin. Grace stepped over to the temperature control and turned it to its hottest setting.
“Are you sorry, 51?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Were you trying to make me jealous, slave?”
“No, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress.”
Grace looked at her seriously. “Do you feel any affection for her?”
“No, Mistress,” Erica answered honestly. Feelings for other slaves were pointless, destined to hurt everyone.
“Would you like to take her place?”
“No, Mistress.”
“What if I ordered you to?”
“Then I would.”
“You would do it, or you would want to do it? Think carefully.”
Erica didn’t have to think at all. She knew the answer. “I’d do it because you told me to, Mistress. I don’t want to be hurt. I never want to be hurt.”
“Good answer. This slave is suffering because of you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Yet you show no remorse?”
“I wish I’d not done it, Mistress, but I did, and I can’t undo it now.”
Clattering from Erica’s bedroom heralded Chris’s return with the buckets of ice.
“Put them in the bath,” Grace told her.
They all knew what was going to happen, though none of them was certain of the consequences. For all they knew, the shock could kill Joanne. And it would all be Erica’s doing. When the bath was half full of cold water, with a layer of ice cubes floating on top, Grace told Joanne to leave the shower and get in the bath. The girl’s body steamed with the hot water as she made the few steps and paused at the edge of the bath.
“In!” Grace growled.
Joanne stepped in the freezing water. She screamed as she entered and had to force herself to obey Grace’s orders to lay full length in the water. Erica never realised skin actually can go blue with cold.
“Would you like me to let her out, 51?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Why? You say you have no feelings for her.”
“Only the feelings I have for any human being, Mistress.” She meant that too. This was cruelty beyond cruelty, and could turn fatal.
“Beg me then. Beg me to let her out.”
So Erica begged, on her knees, pleading with Grace to end Joanne’s suffering, to show mercy.
“What if I tell you I’ll let her out if you ask for another beating?”
“Then please beat me again Mistress. Don’t let her die.”
Grace paused, watching Joanne quake in the cold bath.
“Very well,” she said at last. “But first, go and push her head under the water. Hold it there.”
Joanne’s terrified face looked up as Erica approached. Erica, meanwhile, put the image to the back of her mind, placed her hand on Joanne’s forehead and pushed. With her wrists chained together, albeit loosely, all Joanne could do to try to protect herself was to thrash around wildly for something to help her stay above the water. She failed. Erica could feel the cold water making her hand ache as she held the tragic girl under, and she winced again and again as the water from Joanne’s flailing arms and legs splashed the icy liquid onto her skin.
“Please, Mistress, please let me stop,” Erica implored Grace.
“OK. Stop then. Let her up.” She turned to an equally tense Chris. “Don’t worry, you’re not next. Get her out. Dry her and make her warm, any way you can.” She addressed Erica. “You, follow me.”
Grace led the way out of the bathroom, not waiting to see whether Joanne was safe or not. Erica watched as Chris helped the woman from the bath and towards the shower, Joanne quaking from the cold, then followed her Mistress from the bathroom. When she was outside the door, Grace locked the two slaves inside. She led the way to her own bedroom and sat on the huge bed, indicating Erica should join her.
“Did you think I’d let her drown?”
“It crossed my mind, Mistress,” Erica said weakly.
“No, I wanted to be sure you’d obey me through anything. Would you have held her under if I’d said?”
Erica thought a few moments. Had she lost all sense of good and evil in the last 8 years?
“Yes, I believe I would. I’m not proud of that, though.”
“I don’t want your pride, I want your complete obedience.”
“You have it, my Mistress.”
“Good,” Grace smiled. “Now, I think you earned your treat. On Saturday you will get even with your stepfather.”

CHAPTER 5

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough for Erica. Grace outlined the plan again and again. There was no way the management of The Complex would permit it, so Grace had selected two men who were good friends and would assist without any recriminations. After dark on Saturday they would bring one of The Complex’s limousines to Grace’s house and they would get in, with Erica in the boot for two reasons: firstly, nobody apart from the two of them and the two men must know they ever left the Complex, and secondly that Erica must have no clue to where the Complex was.
Grace wanted to know everything Erica could remember about her parents’ house, including detailed descriptions of all the rooms and the grounds, plus any knowledge of alarms, neighbours, pets, locks, habits and so on. She made copious notes as Erica spoke, altering her plans at each relevant piece of information. When it was all finished, Grace told Erica what she proposed, including the way she would kill her father.
Erica slept very well each night. Until it was Friday. She hardly slept at all on Friday night. Grace probably realised she’d be tense, so she strapped Erica to her bed and spent a long time sucking her pussy, as much for her own excitement as Erica’s.
On the Saturday itself, both women did all they could to help time to pass quickly, even to the point of playing Trivial Pursuit. Grace threatened Erica in case she should try to gain favour by letting her win then whipped her when she did.
It was already dark when the two men arrived, dressed all in black as if they were on some secret SAS mission. It almost made Erica smile at the theatrical way this was unfolding, until she realised that it was quite possible these men were SAS, or ex-SAS. They certainly moved with stealth as if they knew exactly what they were doing.
Grace was also dressed fully in black. It was the first time Erica had ever seen her dressed in trousers. She was not allowed the same freedom. Grace had selected a very seductive outfit - black underwear - thong, suspenders, seamed stockings - and a tiny black dress split to the thigh on both sides, its bustier top holding Erica’s breasts firmly in place while making them look as if they’d spill out with the slightest encouragement. Erica didn’t want to ask why the others were dressed appropriately while she looked as if she was attending a sexy cocktail party. She didn’t need to. Grace had decided to explain.
“From what you told me, your stepfather has an eye for the women, yes?” she’d asked.
Erica nodded.
“Well, you could just go in and shoot him, just like that. But wouldn’t you like to show him, one last time, what he’s about to lose? Don’t you want to show him that he thought he could have you, sexy, slinky, feisty Erica, but you’ve got the final victory?”
“Yes, oh yes,” Erica had said. She loved the idea. She would taunt him and make him squirm. Then she would kill him.
Erica’s heels clicked on the paving as they led her out to the car. The large boot was already open, waiting for her, a feather duvet across the width of it. One of the men picked her up as if she weighed nothing and lowered her onto it. Grace appeared with ropes, wrapping one several times round her wrists in front of her and securing them to the framework at the left side of the car boot. Another rope tied her feet together and to the framework at the right side. A third rope, as if it was necessary, tied her knees together. Grace pushed a ball gag between her lips and fastened the straps.
“See you later, slave,” she smiled down as the man closed the boot lid.
Erica watched as darkness enfolded her, the only illumination coming from the interior light of the car’s boot. When it was almost shut, that went out too. She tried to imagine the journey as the car started and moved smoothly off. She could tell when it moved left and right. She heard gravel under the wheels for a few hundred yards. If she could remember the route and recognise where they emerged, maybe, just maybe, she could lead the authorities back here one day. If she could find any authorities who weren’t a part of all this. She had to believe she could, just as she had to believe that some day, somehow, she would escape.
Erica estimated they travelled for 15 minutes before they stopped. She waited, since she could do nothing else, for them to come and free her from the boot, trying to make out words from the muffled voices within the car. But the soundproofing was too effective to hear that clearly.
After a few minutes she heard the doors opening and footsteps making their way round. For some reason, she expected to be blinded by lights when the boot lid opened, but outside was very dark. Until, that is, one of the men shone an enormous torch straight into her face. She was almost grateful when Grace fitted a blindfold. She felt her wrists being untied from the car and her legs being released, then she was being lifted clear of the boot. She was unsteady on her feet at first and had to be supported, but when she could stand there was a tug on the rope and she was being pulled forward across solid ground, half walking, half running, her heels clicking on what felt like a concrete surface. Then she was being lifted into another vehicle, one that echoed and was big enough so that she could stand up in it without banging her head.
Her wrists were untied for a moment, but only long enough to have leather straps fitted round them. She heard locks snap in place before her arms were being pulled upwards and outwards, fastened to anchors above and to each side, stretching her out and holding her upright. When her arms were fastened, they put straps round her ankles too, eventually pulling them wide apart, holding her in a vertical X shape. When the man suddenly removed the blindfold, Erica saw that she was inside a van. The rear doors were open behind her, but when she turn round to try to see any signs of where she was, the torch shone right in her face again. Ahead of her was the front of the compartment, with no view through to the cab to give her any clues.
Then Grace was by her side again. “Ready for this? Still want to go through with it?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“One of my friends thinks you’ll benefit from a reminder of what your stepfather committed you to,” Grace told her, already rucking the dress up behind her and tucking it into her suspender belt.
Grace stepped away and Erica noticed the van shift as she left it. A moment later the whip cracked across her backside, making her scream out aloud and arch her back away from the pain.
One of the men was almost immediately beside her again, strapping some kind of leather belt around her waist and attaching straps to the van’s sides. Erica found she could not move her hips at all once the straps were fastened. This time, when the whip lashed out, there was no way to arch away from it. Five more times if fell on her and each time she yelped out in pain. If their idea was to get her adrenalin going for the task ahead, it was certainly effective. She could feel once more the driving need to get even with the man who had her sent to a life of abject slavery. And as for her mother, how could she commit her own daughter to this?
The doors slammed, leaving Erica alone. She heard both of the cabin doors shut before the engine started, and they were off, driving fast and smoothly down meandering roads. Erica had no choice other than to hang on to her bonds, adjusting her weight as best she could as the van twisted its way down the lanes.
In a desperate effort to guess the approximate whereabouts of The Complex, as the van came to a halt, Erica estimated their travelling time at about 55 minutes, though she had no real idea how fast the van had been moving. She felt as if she was in familiar surroundings, more of an incomprehensible sixth sense than any clue she could define. Then she heard the faint squeak - the automatic gates of the house she grew up in. At last she had arrived back home. A quick mental calculation told her The Complex was probably between 50 and 70 miles from her home, though she had no idea in which direction.
The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath the van’s wheels as it slowly made its way towards the house and slowed to a halt. Erica listened intently as the van’s doors opened and closed quietly, so as to conceal their arrival for as long as possible. Two sets of footsteps receded stealthily towards the house. Erica was fairly sure Grace was still in the van, but she could do little except wait.
About ten minutes later, she heard footsteps again, except this time they were heavier, as if stealth were no longer required. A few moments later the rear doors of the van opened, and Grace climbed in to reach up to untie her.
“A reminder, I think,” said a man’s voice.
Grace sighed. “Very well. Just one. Make it good.”
The whip cracked out again and made a vertical strike down Erica’s spine. She screamed out again, wondering why they had to keep doing this. Then Grace was untying her, first her feet, then her waist, finally her wrists. She snapped a leash into the ring on Erica’s collar and turned to leave the van. Through the open doors Erica saw once again the features of the gardens of her home, illuminated by the floodlights set in the lawns. The trees and shrubs had matured over the years, but it was still the same place. Grace jumped down from the van, assisted by the man, pulling Erica behind her. It was then that Erica noticed the gun tucked in the man’s waistband. The second man was nowhere to be seen.
Grace led her to the open front door of her old house. Erica felt cold and emotionless - she’d often imagined coming back here, either as a freed person or for revenge, as now. It felt strange revisiting this house that she’d once known so well. It was familiar, yet at the same time dreamlike. Erica climbed the three stone steps to the front door and went in, pulling the leash behind her. Inside the hall lights sent eerie shadows across the walls - her parents never did like strong lights. Then it was left, to the library door. As Grace pushed it open Erica saw her stepfather sitting there in the leather chair in front of his desk and her pulse started to quicken. He didn’t look up as she entered instead he stared at the pistol that the second man was pointing lazily at his chest. They moved forward, towards him.
“Erica!”
The voice came from their right. In the shadows, sitting in a high-backed dining chair, was her mother, looking terrified. Her arms had been tied behind her and to the chair, and her feet were secured to the legs of the chair. Whichever of the men had tied her had pulled her skirt up - presumably so she could part her legs far enough to be tied - so that her stockings and the vee of her white knickers showed.
“Mother,” Erica said coldly.
“If this is some kind of joke, Erica,” Laurence started to say.
Grace stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face with the back of her hand.
“Silence!”
He looked up at her slowly. “I know you,” he said. “You’re er ...”
“I said silence!” Grace growled, striking him hard again.
“Erica, no!” her mother cried.
Grace walked back to Erica and unfastened the leash. “We have some rules tonight,” she explained. “My associates both have guns. If you make any attempt to escape they will shoot you dead, understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Erica wasn’t going anywhere, not yet. This moment was far too important.
“Good. Apart from that you can do pretty much as you want. He tortured you, now here’s your chance to get your own back. I’ll provide anything you want.” She stepped back, allowing Erica to move in front of Laurence.
“Undress,” she told him.
Laurence looked at her, but didn’t move. Erica glanced towards Grace, who nodded to the nearest man. He stood, moving towards Laurence and pressing the gun to his head.
“I’d advise you to do exactly what your daughter says,” he snarled.
“I’m not his daughter!” Erica affirmed, with rather more venom than she intended.
The man turned to look at her. “Just because you’re at home doesn’t mean you have any rights, slave.”
Erica flinched. Nothing must ruin her vengeance.
“Sorry, Master.”
“You, do as she says,” the man growled, turning his attention back to Laurence and pushing the gun further into his face.
Erica’s stepfather looked terrified now and gingerly stood up to start to undress, keeping a wary eye on the man with the gun, who had now retreated to sit on the edge of the desk. Erica watched, thinking how pathetic her stepfather looked, and remembering the last time he was in The Complex, when he was about to have her, before she found out he wasn’t her real father at all. All that arrogance, yet now he was a quivering coward. She still couldn’t bring herself to feel any sympathy for him.
When he was naked, Erica had him sit in the leather chair again. She intended to show him what he would be missing. Swaying slowly to imaginary music, the way she imagined a lap-dancer would, Erica leaned towards him and ran her right hand sexily through her hair.
“Do you want me, Daddy?” she cooed.
Laurence said nothing. She watched a bead of sweat gather on his forehead and run down his cheek before she reached behind her to the zip of her dress. She’d had plenty of practice stripping at the Complex and all because he put her there. It was justice, she thought, that she would be the last girl he ever saw naked. The design of the dress made it stay in place even after she’d pulled the zip to its lowest point midway down her bottom. She shimmied forward and the top fell away, spilling her breasts out before her stepfather’s eyes. She moved so they were inches from his face, swaying slowly, her nipples painfully erect.
Suddenly she stood again, pulling at the dress until it slipped past her waist, lowering it down her thighs until she could step from it. She was putting on a show for the only other person who existed in her world at that moment. And despite his fear, Laurence looked, sliding his eyes down her sexy, slim body until his gaze was piercing the crotch of the tiny thong. And slowly, gradually, his flaccid cock started to rise.
“Looks like you do want me, Daddy,” she pouted sarcastically.
“Erica, I ...”
She slapped him hard across the face. “Nobody said you could speak, slave!” she spat. Then immediately she was softer again, renewing her swaying, cupping her breasts and pulling them up using the gold rings that were permanently attached through the piercings. She sank to her knees, letting her hair fall over his erection, pursing her lips and bringing them so close, putting out her tongue as if to lick him, yet never quite reaching. At one point he jerked forward and upward, trying to be inside her mouth, but she was far too quick for him.
“Naughty slave,” she chided. “You’ll have to be punished for that.”
Then she was on her feet again, turning her back so he could see the shape of her bottom and the two numbers he and her mother had burned into her skin. He could see her long, sexy legs encased in the sheer stockings. And he wanted her there was no denying it. Nothing else mattered. He had to have her.
Erica slipped down her thong.
As she bent forward, showing him all she had to show between her legs, glistening with misunderstood desire, Laurence grabbed. It put Erica off balance and she fell onto him, feeling him move until he was inside her. The man was there in an instant, his fist smashing into Laurence’s face, knocking him sideways and allowing Erica to recover. But the man wasn’t finished.
“Try that again and I’ll kill you,” he spat. “She’s not yours to use any more. Anyone else’s, but not yours. Watch.”
The man was already unzipping, withdrawing an erection that put her stepfather’s to shame. He pushed Erica’s head until she bent forward slightly then bent his legs to allowing him to slam into her.
“Can I have you, 51? Can I use you any way I want?” he growled.
“Yes, Master, anything,” she panted back.
“And can he have you, 51?”
“No Master.”
“Any man in the world can have you except your stepfather?”
“Yes, Master.”
The man twisted his hand in her hair, pulling her back as he pounded her, then suddenly was gone, pushing her to her knees and ramming his cock into her mouth.
“Anyone but you, Laurence Pettinger, MP.”
“What have I ever done to you?” Laurence whimpered. “What?”
The man ignored him, allowing Erica to her feet to continue and resuming his seat on the desk.
Erica took a few moments to compose herself then she sank to her knees again, reaching forward to encircle her stepfather’s erection in her left hand, bringing it back to full solidity. Her hand caressed, moving up and down with practised expertise. Laurence couldn’t fail to be excited by her, but then again he always was, even when she was a precocious 18 year old living at home. She was moving faster now, so that his body left him little choice other than to meet her actions with thrusts of his own. Steadily, surely, despite the situation, she was bringing him to a climax.
She’d wanked sufficient men to know their reactions and when they were about to come, and as he drew close she suddenly squeezed, violently hard, twisting and digging her nails into his skin. Laurence screamed, his hands flying to hers to pull them away. When she’d moved, his hands grabbed his cock trying to relieve the agony she’d given him.
Grace’s voice cut in from the shadows at the corner of the room. “Ready, Erica?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Grace spoke to the second man, who stood and advanced on Laurence. From his pocket he pulled a pair of handcuffs and, after pulling Laurence roughly to his feet, he snapped them onto Laurence’s wrists so his hands were locked behind him. From somewhere the other man had taken a heavy-looking rope, coiled as if prepared beforehand. As he tossed it to the other man it uncoiled slightly. That was when Laurence noticed it was a noose.
“Oh God, no,” he stammered. “Erica, please, you can’t ...”
“You took my life away, Daddy,” she snarled. “I’ll never be free, I’ve accepted that. God knows what happens to me when I lose my looks, I don’t even want to think about it. But my life doesn’t belong to me any more. Now I’m going to take yours.”
“Erica, no ...” Her mother’s voice behind her, quickly silenced by a slap.
Erica turned in time to see the man pull a length from a roll of tape and fix it across her mother’s lips.
Laurence sank to his knees. “You want me to say I’m sorry, I’ll say it. I’m sorry, really I am.”
“Too late,” was Erica’s answer. “Plus the fact I don’t believe you.”
“I can get you freed. I have influence.” His voice was desperate now.
“Will I ever be freed, Mistress? Can he promise that?”
“No, Erica,” Grace replied gently. “There’s nothing he can do for you.”
“Please, I’m begging.” He leaned forward, toppling onto the floor with no arms to support him, grovelling at Erica’s feet, trying to kiss them in some attempt at begging for mercy.
“Please, please Erica.”
Erica lifted her foot, pressing the point of her stiletto heel down into his cheek, standing down hard until he was gasping in agony. When she lifted her foot she could see the wound where she’d drawn blood. She should have felt remorse. She was glad she felt none.
The man moved to Laurence and slipped the noose around his neck while he gurgled more requests for mercy. He helped him stand up, waiting while the second man pulled another of the dining chairs directly into the centre of the room, under the huge wooden beam. The two men lifted Laurence onto the chair and one held him steady while the other stood on the desk and threw the loose end of the rope over the beam, pulling it tight and tying it to itself in a series of knots.
Erica moved across and looked up at her terrified stepfather, his head titled slightly to one side by the tautness of the rope.
“OK, Erica, you’ve had your revenge. Now let me down, there’s a good girl. I’ll come to The Complex tomorrow and bring you home.”
Erica pouted at him. “Can’t I stay home now? Do I have to go back?”
Laurence faltered. “Yes, yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Will we have fun together, Daddy, when I’m back home? Can we have sex?”
He was unsure how to answer. “Anything you want.”
Her hand moved to his wilted cock again. “Show me, Daddy, show me how much I excite you.” Her hand started its persistent caresses again, rolling his foreskin back and forward until, slightly to her surprise, she felt him start to erect again. “That’s it, Daddy, get hard for Erica. Get hard for 51.”
Whether he thought she was actually going to release him or not, she couldn’t tell. Maybe fear had convinced him that this was all a vengeful joke, that it was inconceivable that she would kill him. Whatever it was, his erection attained its full hardness and he looked down at her as she wanked him steadily, using her right hand this time, pumping him, feeling the way he moved and adjusting her technique with what she learned from each jerk and twist. Within a few minutes she had him breathing hard, jerking on the plateau a man can exist on before he climbs towards the peak of his orgasm.
Erica was enjoying herself.
Erica was making the moment last.
After a few more minutes she increased her speed and tightened her grip, pumping him up and down and starting his ascent. His eyes rolled back as he felt the exquisite pleasure she could give and in those moments he regretted the fact he’d had her committed to the Complex. He should have kept this one for his own private use. He could even get off on the role reversal, for a time anyway. It was quite kinky. And her touch was fantastic. He felt the tingles start in his head. She had him on the edge and she knew it. He looked down at her hand pumping him, his cock aiming directly at her face, and he knew when he came she wouldn’t turn away, that he’d spurt all over her and it would run down her face and into her mouth. Laurence was going to come ... now!
Erica’s timing was perfect. As she felt his climax start she put a foot on the chair seat and pushed. Laurence, in his delirium, didn’t realise before it was too late. He found himself dangling by his neck at the very moment his eyes saw his eruption cascade out over her face. He had no breath - it was all gone, though at the moment of his climax he wasn’t sure whether it was the orgasm or something else depriving him. He saw more spurts and he saw that Erica stayed there, accepting him over her as he struggled. He hadn’t fallen, so it wasn’t a broken neck that would kill him as in a hanging. He knew he would die because he would be asphyxiated. Nobody in that room was going to help him. He was already dead.
Erica heard a muffled scream from behind her. Her mother.
She looked up at Laurence, who was still staring down at her through bulging eyes. His emission coated her face, as she’d wanted it to. They were as one now and her revenge was complete. His erection was still massive in her hand, probably, she thought, because of the pressure of his blood. She reached up with her left hand and smeared the sticky liquid across her face, wiping it on herself, on her breasts and her body, even reaching down to press her wet fingers into herself. She found pleasure there and she let her fingers stay, rubbing slowly at first, then faster in an effort to have a climax while he was still alive. It didn’t take long. Laurence’s body jerked, but she had no idea whether he was still alive or not. When she finally let go of his cock, he started to turn, twisting on the rope that held him.
Reality came back gradually. Noises from in the room. Breathing. People.
Erica turned to face them. The men were silent. Her mother shook her head slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobbed, and Grace, still in the shadows, hardly visible apart from the tiny red light where her head should be. It was then Erica realised the entire scene had been captured on a video camera.
“What..?” she started.
“Insurance,” Grace told her, still holding the camera. “Now you’re mine forever, Erica. No escape now. You’re a murderess.”
So that was why Grace hadn’t joined in. The red light went out and Grace moved forward.
“Right, time to go,” she said. “Tie her.”
Erica stood still as the men roped her arms, legs and hands together until she couldn’t move. They didn’t bother to redress her.
“What about..?” Erica looked towards her mother, just before the man fitted another length of tape across her mouth.
“No loose ends,” the taller man said.
Erica screamed from behind the gag. She’d had her revenge on her stepfather, and by doing so had tortured her mother. She had no doubt her mother loved Laurence, and robbing her of that was enough. No more. Please, no more.
The shorter man moved as if in slow motion, or that was how it looked to Erica. Her mother’s terrified eyes watched as he pulled her roughly forward on the chair, unzipped himself and fucked her until he came noisily inside her, a matter of no more than a minute. Without withdrawing, he reached forward, held one hand each side of her head and suddenly twisted. Erica heard her mother’s neck snap in the instant before she fainted.

CHAPTER 6

Erica was back in the van, travelling at speed over bumpy terrain, each twist and turn rolling her helplessly from side to side. She was still bound as she had been before, and as she realised where she was, her mind went back to that dreadful sound of her mother’s death. She never wanted that. Never. But it couldn’t be undone now, regardless of how she felt.
She expected to feel more elated than she did about getting even with Laurence. After all, little else had occupied her thoughts and dreams for the past eight years. Maybe it would sink in when she had time to think more. It had been her driving ambition, the very thing that helped her survive at the Complex, that helped her overcome the torture and abuse she underwent daily.
But what would help her now? She realised she had no ambition and with that thought she was overcome by a feeling of total hopelessness. She would never be allowed to escape she knew that. She also knew that the men and women who owned or attended the Complex only wanted younger girls who kept themselves in peak condition and that as her body aged they wouldn’t want her any more. So what future had she? Five years maybe? Ten at a pinch? And then what? What did they do with slaves who were no longer wanted? All Erica knew is that they disappeared suddenly, never to be heard of again. After witnessing the cold reality of the way they despatched her mother, she knew they were quite capable of ending her life without a second thought. So what hope was left?
She clung onto the belief that Grace really did love her, as she often stated. That love made Grace no less cruel - if anything it made her go to greater extremes in some strange desire to test that love - but Erica believed it was sincere. And even though she was not lesbian by nature, she was more than happy to go along with it for as long as her survival depended on it.
Erica gasped as something hard dug into her thigh when she rolled over as they rounded a bend especially fast. She wondered why they were speeding, and hoped for a moment that they were being pursued. Maybe someone had raised the alarm and the Police were after them. If they found Erica tied up in the back of the van, she could explain that she was forced to kill her stepfather, despite the video evidence. Surely they’d believe her. And even if they didn’t, surely prison had to be better than The Complex.
Except she knew inside there were no pursuers. The Police would have wailing sirens, wouldn’t they? A hopeless tear ran down her cheek in the darkness.
Suddenly they drew to a halt. Voices. Doors banging. The back doors opening and that powerful torch in her face. The two men picked her up by her feet and shoulders and carried her to the boot of the waiting car, where they tossed her in.
“Careful,” she heard Grace say. “Don’t damage my property.”
Then the boot slammed and they made their way back to The Complex. There was muffled conversation when they stopped at gates Erica had only ever seen from a distance, since the slaves were not allowed within several hundred metres of the fences. The ride was smoother once they moved off, sweeping up the driveways between the vast lawns of the grounds, finally drawing to a stop in the small, secluded courtyard of Grace’s house.
The men carried Erica inside and put her on the hearth rug in the lounge. She watched them get drinks and chat while Grace busied herself connecting the video camera to the TV set a few metres away. One of the men handed her a drink as they returned to watch. Erica watched too, seeing how the video had been very carefully angled to show just her, her mother and Laurence. No doubt the odd fleeting glimpse of the gun and the hand holding it would be edited out later. Anyone seeing the video might question who the mystery person holding the camera was, but there was no mistaking Erica kicking away the chair that sent Laurence Pettinger, MP to his death, no mistaking the dispassionate face being covered in his emission as he struggled to take his last breaths.
Erica Pettinger. Murderess.
They watched again, pointing out things of interest and things they’d missed. Erica didn’t want to see any more. Her arms and legs were aching from the ropes, but she knew any plea to be freed was just as likely to have them tighten her bonds as release her, so she kept quiet, closing her eyes and trying to imagine happiness.
Finally, after more drinks and some sandwiches Grace produced from the kitchen, they’d had enough of the video. Grace was politely drawing the evening to a close, with veiled hints that it was time for the men to go.
“I’m very grateful, you know,” she told them.
“How grateful?” one of them asked, a wicked smile playing on his face.
“Don’t even think about it,” Grace warned. Erica thought she detected a slight falter in her voice, like she was uneasy.
“You need our silence, Grace.”
“And you promised it, Chris.” The determination was back.
“I’ve always fancied you.” The man’s voice had become husky.
Grace sighed. She hated being manipulated, but the men held too many cards. “What d’you want?”
“Suck me off and we’ll call it quits,” he offered.
“One time? You’re not going to keep coming back for more?”
“One time. You have my word.”
“Mine too, added the other man.”
So Erica watched as her Mistress reluctantly fellated the first one. She showed no enthusiasm for the task, kneeling on the rug as the men sat on the sofa watching. One put his hands either side of her head to control her movements, pushing her up and down and gasping out his excitement. Erica had no doubt that Grace’s reluctance to submit to any man’s desires merely added to the pleasure the two were getting, but when the second man, eager to join in, moved behind her, lifting her skirt as he unzipped himself.
Grace stopped sucking immediately. “No! I said I’d suck you off. Don’t push your luck. If you want to fuck, use her!” Grace nodded in Erica’s direction.
“Bitch!” muttered the second man, but he let the skirt fall and moved towards Erica as Grace renewed her attentions to the man on the sofa.
The second man lay on the carpet behind Erica, twisting her round and prodding his cock between her legs, getting annoyed that her position and her bondage prevented him from penetrating. He put his hand between them and prised her lips apart, then thrust forward until he was inside. He alternated between thrusting hard and fast, then staying still deep inside her, watching Grace’s attentions to his colleague.
“Don’t worry, Grace,” he said at one point. “I’m saving it all up for you.”
“Fuck you,” she called back, moving off his cock just long enough to spit out the words.
The man’s urgent hand went to the back of her head and pushed her back down, his hips leaving the sofa to meet her, pushing in hard enough to make her gag. He held her head still as he thrust, getting faster and faster until he went rigid. Grace puffed her cheeks out and accepted his come into her mouth. Erica saw some dribble down the side of his cock; she knew Grace wouldn’t want to swallow. But the man kept her there, holding her lips to him until she had no choice.
“God, that was good.”
The second man pulled out of Erica immediately, standing and moving to Grace. He flipped her over so she was sitting on the floor with her back to the sofa, her head lolling back onto the seat. The man bent his legs and guided his cock to her lips. Grace, accepting the inevitability of it, opened her mouth to let him in. Maybe the taste of her slave on his cock would help. Maybe the taste of Erica’s mother still lingered there.
The man took about a minute to come, just as he had with her mother. Erica looked anxiously at him, just in case he should decide Grace should suffer the same fate her mother had. But no, he pulled out and zipped up. The two men tidied themselves and left, leaving Grace looking dishevelled, with come drooling from the corners of her mouth. As soon as they’d gone she was up, running to the toilet. Erica heard the noises of her vomiting from where she lay. Afterwards she went to the kitchen and came back carrying a half-empty glass of water.
“I hate doing that,” she told Erica. “But I was damned if I’d let them think they got to me.”
She knelt by Erica’s side and unfastened the ropes, rubbing the circulation back into her arms and legs.
“I need some TLC, Erica,” she simpered.
“Gladly, Mistress.” Erica would be grateful of anything to take her mind off her own sullen mood.
What followed was tender and loving, to the point where Erica almost forgot she was straight, that she was an owned slave. The two women kissed and caressed on the rug, gradually removing Grace’s clothes and what remained of Erica’s. After a while they climbed the stairs, each hungry for the other, heading for Grace’s massive room, then through it to the shower, where they soothed the tension and stress from each other’s bodies before drying each other on big, white, fluffy bath towels. Then to bed, to spend an hour or so exploring each other, uncaring who was on top nor who was making the running.
That was the last time Grace and Erica ever made love.

CHAPTER 7

Suddenly there was noise and commotion. Four men were in Erica’s room, dressed in black like some kind of assault team. They moved fast and efficiently, with a purpose. Erica turned towards them and saw one clamp a hand over Grace’s mouth before she had time to react. Another took hold of her flailing arms and a third held her feet down under the duvet.
“You! Stay there! Don’t move!” The man’s shouts at Erica terrified her. She nodded quickly.
Grace was struggling and trying to call out, but they were too powerful for her. The man who clamped her mouth pulled a red rubber ball gag from his pocket and moved his hand away from her mouth to fit it.
“What the fuck ..?” Grace started, only to be silenced with a backhand slap. He pushed the ball gag to her mouth but she refused to open, so he raised his hand to strike again.
“No!” Grace said quickly.
She opened her mouth to let the gag in, catching Erica’s eye as he turned her head to fasten the strap. The two women tried to signal to each other with their eyes, asking what on earth was happening, not that either had any answers. When Grace’s gag was fitted they pulled off the duvet and turned her face down, pulling her hands behind her and fastening them together with steel handcuffs. Erica knew all too well the finality of that feeling. When your hands are free you always stand a chance and even ropes can be worked loose. But once handcuffs are snapped in place, you’re helpless, lost. A few moments later and they’d fitted steel ankle cuffs to Grace’s legs.
She was allowed to sit up while they fastened a leather collar around her neck and fitted a leash. She looked very afraid. She’d been a controller of the Complex for many years and never seen anything like this.
As one man kept an eye on Grace, holding her leash wrapped a few times round his fist, the others turned their attentions to Erica, who recoiled under their gaze.
“Stand, slave,” the nearest one said.
One fitted her with thin yet sturdy chains attached to her collar and passed through the gold rings in her nipples while the others locked leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She’d worn this contraption many times before, but not since Grace had taken her from the Complex to live in her house. She still saw them being worn by other slaves from the Complex on the occasions they were required to visit the house. The men passed the chains through the rings in the cuffs and down to her ankles, where they fixed them with small padlocks. She could still move reasonably freely, but the symbolism of her absolute helpless slavery was undoubted.
When they were finished, the fourth man pulled Grace to her feet. The cuffs she wore on her ankles permitted her to walk in small steps, so she shuffled forward as the man pulled her. They told Erica to follow and the three men brought up the rear. Negotiating the stairs was difficult for Grace - she’d never been shackled before - but eventually they reached the hallway and moved to the front door and out into the bright morning sunshine.
The men walked out of the courtyard and onto the vast lawns. Erica looked up to see the place that frightened her so, the dreaded Complex, its two floors of modern architecture looking more like a private hospital rather than a place of hedonistic pleasure for the owners and guests and a place of pain, torture, humiliation and degradation for the girls. And worst of all, they were heading across the lawns directly for it.
As they drew closer Erica could see the breakfast diners on the patio outside the restaurant being served their food and drinks by girls in various states of undress, most of them wearing similar chains to her own. A couple watched their lumbering progress from an upper window. To the right, a naked girl dangled by her wrists from a pergola, unable to prevent herself from swinging slowly round and revealing the angry red stripes of a recent whipping. Erica had no clue as to what she’d done to deserve it. Probably the girl didn’t know herself, or maybe she’d not done anything apart from caught the eye of some sadist who had whipped her and then left her there, an item of decoration for anyone who wandered past.
The grass underfoot felt cool and wet from the early morning dew. As they drew closer, a few of the diners put down their papers to watch them, their eyes more obviously drawn to Grace than anyone else in the party. One or two whispered to one another. Occasionally one of the slaves would glance their way when she thought she could do so unseen. Whatever was happening seemed to have got around, either by announcement or rumour.
They headed for the open glass patio doors to the restaurant, then inside, where it took Erica’s eyes a few moments to get accustomed to the relative darkness. They were taken directly onto the stage where the inductions always took place. Erica trembled when she saw the two vertical posts to which the new slaves were shackled helplessly, to be ritually whipped by each slave in turn, to demonstrate to the newcomer that trying to make friends and expect mercy from fellow slaves was a pointless ambition. She remembered her own induction vividly together with the many other times she’d been shackled here, in public, for punishments. She especially remembered the time when her mother and stepfather had burned the number 5 and 1 into the skin of her backside as she writhed in agony and wondered what she’d ever done to deserve it. Remembering her parents made her numb.
But it was not Erica who was taken to the posts this time; it was Grace. She, too, knew what went on here, since she had orchestrated many of the ceremonies and punishments that had taken place. She tried to pull away when they un-cuffed her hands and moved them to the cuffs atop the posts, but the men were far too strong and hardly struggled at all. When her arms had been fastened high above her they fastened her legs to the bases and she was lost.
They left the stage then, leaving Erica standing there feeling awkward and exposed. Many of the diners were watching, and some were making their way back inside from the patio. There was an atmosphere of expectation in the air, and the place was nearly full, perhaps close on one hundred people, very busy for this time of day.
The guests carried on eating and drinking and soon the general hubbub of conversation had resumed. Erica looked at the floor. She wanted to know what was happening, she wanted to look at Grace, speak to her, even, but she knew any moves would just make things worse.
Some twenty minutes later there was a commotion at the main doors. They opened to admit a man Erica had never seen before, accompanied by a strikingly attractive blonde woman, dressed extremely elegantly in a beige skirt suit. Erica sensed the hushing of the guests, and she was sure she heard the word “Director” muttered. Over the years she’d heard rumours of such a man, the founder of the Complex and still an active member, but she’d never seen him before nor been aware of his presence in the Complex. Something very important was about to happen.
The man walked to the front of the restaurant, escorting his companion to a seat at a table dead centre that had been left unoccupied, then took to the stage. He glanced briefly at Erica before going straight to Grace. He spoke quietly, so the assembled audience would not hear.
“Grace, Grace,” he said calmly, with a hint of disappointment in his voice. “You had it all. I looked after you. But this ... I can’t protect you from this.”
Grace’s eyes looked desperately into his, pleading for something she was unable to voice. The man turned away and picked up a microphone from the stand. The room was already hushed; now it fell silent.
“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announced. “I think most of you know why we’re here, but for anyone who doesn’t know all the details, allow me to elucidate. You all, I think, know Grace. She’s been a controller here for many years. I was her main champion, the very reason she managed to attain such a privileged position. But now she has let me down; and all because of a worthless slave.” He waved his arm vaguely in Erica’s direction.
“Grace took this slave as her own property, at no cost to herself, I might add, and you all know the value of an attractive slave in the marketplace, and I condoned it. Her sexuality is her own affair. This slave was donated to the Complex by her mother and stepfather, known publicly as Laurence Pettinger, MP. What some of you may not know is that Laurence Pettinger is no longer with us. He and his wife, this slave’s mother, were murdered last evening. The identity of the culprit can be proved beyond doubt. Allow me to demonstrate.”
The man placed the microphone back on its stand and stepped off the stage to join his companion. As he sat the lights in the room dimmed, and the various large screen televisions flickered into life. Erica saw herself immediately swaying in front of her father. She watched as she undressed and posed in front of him. She saw her hand caressing his cock, saw the desire for her in his face. There was a flicker and a cut, then immediately her stepfather was on the chair, his hands cuffed and the noose round his neck. She watched herself kick the chair away and how he fell, his feet searching for support to stop the agony round his throat as he ejaculated all over her face and neck. She watched his body jerk and jerk again and finally go motionless, then swing slowly round after she let go of his cock. The final shot was of her soaked face.
But they didn’t switch off the televisions. After a few moments they flickered alive again. This was the same story but from a different angle. There were no cuts this time. Erica saw herself dance again and she saw herself strip. This time she saw the man with the gun threatening Laurence. She saw how he rammed his cock into her throat when she spoke out of turn. She saw him die again and saw the final moments of her mother. And there, throughout, holding a camcorder, stood Grace. There had been a second video camera, placed in the room beforehand, perhaps by one of the mysterious men. It had captured every move. Grace’s attempts to condemn Erica to inescapable slavery had backfired and condemned her too.
As the lights came up, the man took the stage again and spoke into the mike.
“So there you have it. The death of Laurence Pettinger and his wife. A tragic tale of violent crime upon the very man who made a stand against it. People will soon forget about him. He’s no great loss to the Complex either.”
He stopped and walked across to Grace again, pulling her head up by her hair.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if Grace had sought committee approval before this act. We might have allowed it, who knows? But the Complex is bigger than one person’s needs or desires, far bigger. And especially when these desires are those of a slave. What were you thinking of, Grace? There’s an endless supply of slaves; what made this one so special? What, Grace, what?”
The man walked slowly to Erica, grasping her hair and pulling her head back.
“She’s just a slave.”
The man sighed, genuinely sad. He walked to the centre again.
“But we cannot blame this slave. She has no rights here, no ability to make decisions. All the blame, therefore, must rest on Grace. We held an emergency committee meeting this morning to decide what action to take. I think we were too lenient, but I stand by the democratic decision.
“Before I tell you what that is, I should tell you of a few of the other suggestions that were made. First, that Grace should suffer the same fate as Laurence Pettinger, namely to be hanged by this slave until dead. Another suggested she suffer the fate of the slave’s mother, namely a broken neck. Another suggestion was crucifixion until death, again performed by the slave. One of the Committee members offered to take her away as his own personal slave, and in view of Grace’s preference for her own sex that would have been a severe punishment. However...”
The Director paused again, waiting for a few murmurs to die down.
“It has been decided that Grace will become a slave at the Complex.”
Grace let out a wail of despair from behind the gag.
“Her property, all of it, will be forfeited to the Complex, including her slave 51.”
Erica felt physically sick. A few days ago she’d have considered anything was worth enduring to get even with her stepfather. Now she knew that was untrue. Tears welled inside her.
“In view of the special nature of this event, the usual induction will not be performed in quite the same way. In this case there is no need to give Grace, or 108 as she will be known from this day onwards, any messages on the futility of forming loyalties with her fellow slaves, since she has caused them such pain and humiliation in the past I’m sure they’ll all be more than happy to flog her.”
A ripple of laughter ran round the room. It was true, of course. Grace had been in charge of most of the inductions and had taken great delight in adding to the suffering of the girls. She could expect no help or sympathy from any of them.
“Save one, of course,” the Director continued, turning slowly to look at Erica. “That bond must be broken. Come here, 51.”
Erica, afraid now, walked over to the Director, her chains jangling as she moved. From the shadows at the rear of the stage, unseen before, walked the two men who had gone to her parents’ house, those who had cold-bloodedly betrayed Grace. At a nod from the Director, they unlocked Erica’s and took one of her arms each to drag her across to Grace, quickly fastening her arms and legs to the same posts, so the former Mistress and her former slave faced each other. To ensure their bodies were in intimate contact, one of the men fitted a leather strap round their waists and another around their backs.
As the two men backed away, Erica whispered, “I’m sorry, Mistress.” Too late she realised the sound was picked up by some hidden microphone as it was replayed round the room.
The Director approached slowly. “That’s exactly the kind of loyalty I was meaning. You’ll regret that, both of you.”
Erica was about to open her mouth in defiance, but Grace quickly glared at her. She was right, of course. These men and women enjoyed defiance - it gave them something else to conquer.
“You wanted to speak, 51?” the Director asked.
“No Master, sorry.”
“How about you, 108?”
Grace shook her head slowly.
“Very well, let the initiation begin.”
Erica watched over Grace’s shoulder as the slaves, unusually all naked and unbound, marched in and knelt in a line below the front of the stage. Usually, in such ceremonies, only those slaves who were not on duty, for example serving the restaurant guests, would be assembled. Today they were all there, showing just how important this ceremony was to be. When all were kneeling, the Director spoke again.
“We have several firsts today. We have all slaves assembled. We have a full house. We have a controller who is to become a slave. And, for the first time ever, we have a slave who will undergo a second initiation. Each of you slaves will whip 108, then move around and whip 51. Any attempt at leniency will result in severe punishment. Any questions?”
He knew there would be none.
“Proceed.”
The first girl of the seventy or so present stood, mounted the stage and took hold of the whip offered by one of the men. Without any evidence of emotion, she walked to within three paces of Grace and lashed the whip across her back. Never having suffered the whip before, Grace screamed out in pain. When the same girl lashed Erica’s back, all she got was a dull “uh”.
The second girl flicked the whip horizontally across Grace’s back, the tip whipping round to flick Erica’s breast, making her yelp. One by one they mounted the stage and powered the whip across Grace’s body until tears ran down her face and she sobbed uncontrollably. Erica actually felt sorry for her. Sure, she’d doled out the pain and Erica had been the main recipient of it, but somehow she was never as brutal as this. She was babbling now, incoherent, screaming between lashes and screaming louder with each new stroke. Both women thought it was never ending.
But finally it did end. Both were covered in a slick of sweat, panting hard, red and hot with the marks of the lash. For some reason Erica wanted to kiss her.
“Release 51,” the Director said finally.
When she was free he called her forward, holding the microphone so the audience would hear her answers clearly.
“Do you still feel any loyalty towards 108, 51?” he asked, adding, “Be honest, you know the penalties for lies.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Even though she was the reason you’ve just received sixty-nine strokes of the whip?”
“Yes, Master. She showed me some humanity.”
“You think she feels any loyalty to you, slave?”
“I hope so, Master,” Erica answered.
“But if you hadn’t been so hell bent on getting even with your parents, she’d not have broken all our rules. She must know that. So must you.”
“Yes, Master.” It wasn’t Erica’s fault; she had to keep believing that. Not her problem. Self-survival, that’s all that mattered here. She’d learned that. No loyalties, no friendships. Not really.
“Now, 51, you are going to complete 108’s induction. Take this whip.”
He stepped aside to let the man holding the whip through. Erica took hold of its handle.
“Now, you will whip her till she passes out. When she does, you will wait until we have revived her. A doctor is on hand to make sure there’s no acting. When she is with us again you will continue until she passes out again. Once more we will revive her and once more you will continue. Three times you must make her pass out because of the pain you alone are giving her. Your decision - make it slow and it will hurt less but last longer. Make it harder and she will hurt more but pass out sooner. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. As a little incentive, you have twenty minutes. If you haven’t completed your task in that time, you will take her place and we’ll draw lots as to who gets the whip. Nobody here will show you any mercy, 51. You’re nothing to them, just an object, a toy, a plaything. It’s your choice. The timing will start when you make the first strike.”
Erica didn’t want to do it. But she had to. Hard was best, she knew that. She’d been on the receiving end before. She raised the bullwhip ready to strike. She’d been trained long ago in its use and had many times been required to use it on fellow slaves. She aimed for the space between and just below Grace’s shoulder blades, bringing her arm sharply forwards and then snatching back at the last moment to get the best whipping effect. The crack resounded out a moment before Grace’s muffled cry. The angry red welt appeared moments later. Erica hated doing this to another human being. She’d almost prefer to sacrifice herself to it. Almost.
She brought up the whip again and struck hard. After the second muffled scream from Grace there was a call from a man in the audience, such that the Director stopped the clock.
“Take the gag off, let’s hear her scream,” came the suggestion again.
“You take it off,” the Director told Erica.
She tucked the whip under her arm and moved to Grace, unbuckling the straps of the gag and throwing it aside. The Director appeared next to them, microphone in hand.
“Tell her how you feel about this, 51, so we can all hear.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” she said without thinking.
“She’s not your mistress, she’s just a slave now. Her name is 108. Call her that.”
“I’m sorry, 108,” she repeated. “I don’t want to do this to you. But I have to. You do see that, don’t you?”
The Director moved the mike to Grace. “Answer her.”
“No, Erica. If you were truly mine you’d not do it. You’d suffer instead.”
That floored Erica. She’d had conversations like this with other slaves when she’d been ordered to whip them or they her. They all had a tacit understanding that there was no malice and no place for self-sacrifice. But Grace wasn’t a slave. Not before, anyway.
“Shall we let her choose, ladies and gentlemen?” the Director was asking the audience. “Shall we let 51 choose whether she takes the beating on 108’s behalf?”
“Whip them both,” someone muttered.
“Let her choose,” agreed another. Several more voices, male and female, joined in.
“Let me whip them both,” offered a sultry female voice.
The Director held up a hand for quiet. “Well, 51, would you take the punishment on behalf of your former mistress? If we gave you the choice, that is?”
The moralist inside Erica said yes. The broken, frightened slave she’d been made into said, “No, Master.”
“Oh God,” Grace mumbled.
“Continue,” the Director told her. “Restart the clock.”
So Erica, fired with the anger that she’d almost certainly lost the love of Grace, struck out with renewed vigour, bringing Grace to a state where she sagged against her bonds, sobbing and crying out uncontrollably in her inescapable agony. She wasn’t even trying to avoid the blows any more, since nothing she could do helped. Saliva dribbled from her mouth and tears dripped to the floor. The clock showed nine minutes when she passed out.
The Director told Erica (and the timekeeper) to stop while a doctor came forward and checked Grace wasn’t faking. He quickly nodded to the Director and resumed his seat.
“While we’re waiting for her to come round,” he said into the microphone, “this situation has created a vacancy. 108, Grace as she was known, acted as house-mother in the Complex. She enjoyed many privileges, now all denied her, such as all her accommodation and living expenses, a healthy salary, car, house, holidays... and unlimited use of any slaves she chose to use. Her former position and residence are now free. We shall be seeking nominations for someone to fill that vacancy.”
“What’s the qualifications?” came the same sultry female voice.
The Director smiled and addressed the woman and her query. “A good question. No morals, no inhibitions, no guilt, open minded about anything... A cruel streak is a definite advantage.”
“Sounds like the perfect job,” the woman cooed. “How do I apply?”
“You can take your application as accepted,” the Director smiled. “The committee will invite you to an interview shortly.”
“Don’t you want a demonstration or something?” she asked provocatively.
“Do you have something in mind?” the Director responded.
“Yes. Let me take over this punishment.”
The Director paused, looking round the room for other controllers and directors, receiving a few nods in return. “Very well,” he told her after a few minutes. “Over to you.”
Erica heard the scrape of a chair as the woman stood, followed by the click of her heels as she crossed to, and mounted, the stage. The Director handed her the mike and resumed his seat.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “My name is Davina. Some of you know me, some of you may recognise me. I am aware my TV persona is all sweetness and light, but in the next few minutes I’d like to have the chance to prove to you that all that’s an act. After I do, I’d like you to consider me for the vacancy.”
She put down the mike and approached Erica, who kept her eyes lowered but took in the woman’s smart appearance, the dark pinstriped skirt suit giving way to sheer black stockings and black high-heeled shoes. She knew the woman was looking at her and she sensed this woman was very dangerous.
“On your knees, slave,” she spoke softly.
Erica knelt and remained with her head bowed. She could feel her heart thumping.
“What’s your name, slave? Speak.”
“51, Mistress.”
“Good.” She paused. “Crawl over to her,” she said quietly, nodding in the direction of Grace.
Erica leaned forward, putting her hands flat on the floor and crawling towards where Grace was showing signs of reviving. Davina followed, to her right. When she was halfway there, the woman suddenly lifted her foot and kicked her heel hard into Erica’s side at her waist, robbing her of breath and toppling her sideways.
“I said crawl,” Davina snarled, kicking the point of her toe into Erica’s belly. “Crawl ..., crawl ..., crawl!” Each word was accompanied by another kick, making Erica curl up to protect herself.
After three, she stopped kicking and Erica resumed her crawl, aware that at any moment it could happen again. When she was about two metres from Grace, the woman raised her foot again, but this time into the small of Erica’s back, pressing down hard until she collapsed face down on the floor.
“Stay there,” she commanded.
Walking over to Grace, she checked to see that she was conscious.
“Ah, back with us I see. What’s your name, slave?”
Grace was very determined, but perhaps confused from her ordeal. “My ... name ... is ... Grace,” she said slowly.
“Wrong answer. Try again. And I warn you, don’t fool with me. You thought you were cruel. Well I guarantee you that you’re a pussycat compared with me. Now, what’s your name, slave?”
“Gr ...” Grace paused. She knew all too well how futile resistance was. “108.”
“108 what?”
“108, Mistress.”
“Better,” Davina told her. “Now, are you ready to be whipped unconscious again?”
Grace groaned, a sort of defeated, unearthly wail. “Please, no. No more. I’ll do anything. Please.”
Davina was suitably amused. “Of course you’ll do anything. You’re a slave.” She paused. “Though perhaps I should be merciful. Let’s ask.” She turned and addressed the audience. “What d’you think? She’s been a faithful officer for the Complex for years, or so I hear. Shall we let her off now?”
The audience remained silent, so silent that after a few moments there were a few awkward giggles.
“No answer eh?” Davina continued. “In that case I guess I’ll have to decide.” She paused again, moving back to Grace. “And my decision is .... The punishment stands.”
Grace cried out, completely broken. “No, please, I’m begging you. No more. I can’t take any more.”
“Silence!” the woman barked.
She moved over to where Erica still lay prone on the floor, then, whip at the ready, she climbed to stand on Erica’s back. Erica gasped - the woman wasn’t all that heavy, but Erica was exhausted and her back hurt from her whipping, plus the fact those heels dug deep. Davina raised the whip and lashed out at Grace, pulling back almost in the same movement before quickly lashing out again, so there was no gap for Grace to collect herself and withstand the assault. Erica wanted to cry at her own pain and Grace’s. She wanted this to stop she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. But the punishment went on relentlessly, the crack of the whip drowning Grace’s cries, until finally, mercifully, she fainted again.
Davina handed the whip back to one of the waiting men and stepped off Erica’s back.
“Stand up, slave,” she said softly, and when Erica faced her, she spoke again. “Look me in the face, 51.”
Close up, the woman was strikingly beautiful, the kind that could easily be on TV, though in eight years of not seeing any TV, Erica didn’t recognise her. The two women were about the same height and build, but for some reason Erica felt smaller.
“Do you hate me, slave?” Davina asked.
“No, Mistress.”
“You should do. If ... when I get this post, you’ll have every reason to. I won’t be lenient like 108 obviously was, plus ... I think you’re lying to me.” She paused, cutting short Erica’s denial with a waved hand. “What if I were standing between you and freedom? Just me. Wouldn’t you hate me then?”
“No, Mistress. I’d try to get past you, but I don’t hate anyone.”
“Explain,” the woman said.
“I hated my stepfather, Mistress. All my hate was reserved for him. And now he’s gone.”
“Hmm,” Davina muttered, obviously not pleased with her answer. “I’ll tell you what. There are doors over there,” she glanced towards the main entrance to the restaurant. “I guarantee you freedom if you can get through them. What then?”
“I can never be free, Mistress. The video ...”
“Forget the video,” Davina laughed. “That can be kept under wraps here forever.”
“And someone would stop me ...”
“Nobody will stop you. Only me. What d’you say? You want to make a break for it? What is it, 30 metres? You’re fit. Think you could make it?”
“Are you serious, Mistress?” Erica had no idea what game she was playing, but for a chance at freedom she’d try.
“Deadly serious. You make that door and you go free. We keep the video so you won’t tell anyone about the Complex, but apart from that you’ll be free. All that stands in your way is me. Wanna try?”
Despite herself, Erica believed the woman. And yes, she wanted to try. As Davina had said, she was fit, even if a little weak from the beating. But adrenalin would give her strength and speed, and she could already feel that pumping.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Right. Just give me a moment, then. I’m a little constrained in this skirt.”
Davina reached for the zipper on her skirt and drew it down, letting it fall so she could step out of it. Underneath she wore deep purple underwear - French knickers and suspenders to hold up her stockings. When she took off her top and blouse, Erica saw that a matching bra completed the set. There were a few appreciative whistles from the audience. Davina turned to face Erica again.
“May I ask a question, Mistress?”
“Ask.”
“What happens if I fail?”
Davina laughed. “When you fail, you mean. Much the same as would have happened had you decided not to try, so you’ve not lost anything. But, seeing as it’s a special occasion, let’s see.” She paused to think. “I know. When you fail, you will go round to every guest here and request to be punished, in a way he or she chooses. You can do that while I complete 108’s torture.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She was so sure of herself, Erica thought, maybe too confident. Maybe that was her weakness.
“Choose your moment, slave,” Davina taunted.
Erica wasted little time. Tensing like a cat about to strike, she kept her eyes on Davina, who remained disturbingly relaxed. Erica moved to the left, intending to feign and go right, but Davina took a small step that way, clearly reading Erica’s intentions. Erica faked a dart forward then withdrew, but this time Davina tensed too, watching Erica’s eyes. The two moved only slightly, like two wrestlers testing each other’s strengths and weaknesses before joining in battle. Whichever way Erica moved, it seemed as if Davina anticipated it and moved to counter.
Erica resolved to try a different approach - surprise. While they circled each other she would make a sudden dash and even if Davina did anticipate it, her momentum should be enough to carry her through. If Erica could actually knock her to the floor so much the better. That way her run for the exit would be clear. Erica could smell freedom.
Suddenly she darted forward, well to Davina’s right. She’d made speed by the time she’d closed the gap and she had her arms and fists ready to hit out, to fight and to win.
She wasn’t certain what happened next, only that her run had been halted, the world had turned upside down and she was inexplicably on her back on the carpet, with Davina standing tall nearby. But the way she’d fallen put her nearer to the door than Davina, so she was on her feet immediately to press home the advantage. No sooner was she upright than she was floored again, her feet taken from under her, swept away by one of Davina’s legs, which now locked hers. She felt a hand yank her head up by her hair.
“Should I have told you I have a black belt in karate?” Davina smiled down.
She pushed Erica’s head down suddenly, bumping it on the floor and then the tangle was gone.
“Come on, slave, stand up.”
Each time Erica struggled to her feet she was knocked down again. The sole of Davina’s shoe smashed into her jaw, knocking her sideways. She got kicked in the stomach and behind her knees. She was flipped over, landing heavily on her back. She tried to strike back, but by comparison she was clumsy and inept. Finally she was so weak she couldn’t get up. Davina pushed her onto her belly and sat astride her, calling for a rope from the men and very efficiently wrapping it several times round Erica’s wrists. When she’d tied that off, she pulled Erica’s feet up towards them and roped them in too, making a perfect, inescapable hogtie. She stood to admire her trophy.
“I guess there’s no freedom for you then.”
Erica grunted, totally exhausted. Starting slowly and gathering strength, applause grew from the audience.
“I’m quicker than I look,” she told Erica by way of explanation. “Stronger, too. Watch.”
She stepped forward and grasped the rope where Erica’s wrists and ankles were bound together behind her, taking a strong hold and lifting until Erica found herself sagging down, looking at the floor a foot or so beneath her. Davina carried her to the edge of the stage and dropped her on top of the slaves still kneeling in attendance, knocking several over in the process.
“Bring me some iced water, a jug full,” she called to the two men, and while she waited she advanced on the unconscious Grace.
One man returned shortly with a pitcher of water.
“Thank you,” Davina smiled. “Would you be so good as to pick that slave up and put it back on the stage?”
Erica was soon being lifted from the melee of bodies and placed back in position, on her side so she could see what was about to happen to Grace. Davina waited until the men had left the front of the stage again before moving to the front of Grace to throw most of the water over her face. She put the rest down beside her and waited.
“Come on, slave, wake up!” Davina slapped Grace’s face to bring her round, not a hard, violent slap, more of a continual tapping until she showed signs of life. Gradually her efforts paid off and a weary Grace looked up at her.
“Ready for more, slave?” she asked.
“No more, please, no more.”
“You didn’t call me Mistress, slave,” Davina threatened.
“No more, please, Mistress.”
It should have ended there. Grace was defeated, completely broken and there was nothing left to prove. Yet, as Erica had herself experienced so many times, a certain faction of the guests at the Complex gained their pleasure from cruelty afterwards, when the cruelty could be seen to be for itself alone and not as some measure of punishment or acquiescence. They would achieve nothing more by continuing, but that was exactly why they wanted to continue - to show they could. And it always acted as a warning to any girl who planned to make a break.
“Does your skin hurt, 108?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. This will cool it down.”
The scream of agony as Davina picked up the water and poured it slowly down the raw skin of Grace’s back could be heard along the corridors. Davina faced her again.
“Would you like to nominate someone else to take your punishment, 108?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, anything. Please.”
Davina addressed the line of slaves kneeling at the front. “Any volunteers to help her out?”
Silence. Just a line of bowed heads.
“How about you, 51? Want to reconsider and take the punishment instead of your former Mistress?”
Erica remained equally silent. How she hated Davina.
“Sorry, 108,” Davina cooed back to Grace. “No volunteers.” She paused, then, “I know, why not nominate someone? Who would you like to suggest?”
“Anyone. Anyone.”
“Not good enough. I gave you permission to choose. Now I command it.”
Grace groaned. “Erica. 51.”
Erica tensed. No, please.
“Is that it?” Davina mocked. “I gave you the choice of anyone and you chose her? They were right. You are soft.” She paused again, lifting Grace’s chin towards her. “Now, we’ll try again. Nominate someone. Anyone. Anyone at all.”
Grace looked into Davina’s eyes. “You,” she growled. “I want it to be you.”
Davina laughed aloud. “Good answer!” her face went serious as she faced Grace down. “You think I couldn’t take it, slave? You think I’m weak like you? Well, we’ll see shall we?”
She walked away to talk to the men then came back again shortly afterwards, with both following. Davina stood facing Grace and put her arms up high, keeping them there while the men strapped her in the very place Erica had occupied a short time before. One of the attendants pressed the control so the podium on which the two women were tied rotated with its usual mechanical smoothness until Davina’s back was facing the audience.
“Untie the other one, 51,” she told the men.
Within a few minutes Erica was brought forward to stand beside the two women and the whip was placed in her hand.
“Listen to me, slave,” Davina growled. “I want you to apply that whip to my back, as hard as you can. Whether there’ll be any repercussions against you isn’t for you to know, but it’ll make no difference to my decisions whether you go soft or hard, so you might as well make the most of it. Proceed at will.”
Erica found herself watching the women’s faces as she prepared for her task. She had no doubt whatever she did would get her a beating, so for the moment at least she resolved to get whatever revenge she could, mainly on Davina, but on Grace too. Grace was still sagging, weary and sweating. Davina stared into her eyes with a fierce determination.
Erica drew back the whip.
When she struck - hard - she thought she must have missed at first, since she was trying to concentrate on the expressions. But no, when she checked there was an angry red welt just underneath the strap of Davina’s bra. Yet her face hadn’t flinched at all.
“Is that the best you can do, slave?” she taunted.
Erica struck again, hard enough to make her arm hurt. Davina flinched this time, but hardly at all. She just stared back at Grace, emphasising her with her own weakness. Again Erica struck, meaning it. Again Davina hardly moved.
“Have you ever been whipped by the Director, slave?” Davina asked Erica after the third.
“No, Mistress. But I have heard of girls who have.” Erica well remembered the stories of how cruel the Director was, how he had something about his timing and his power that made all others pale into insignificance.
“Go to the Director and ask him to take the stage.”
Erica knew there was no need for her to go anywhere; the Director could hear well enough. But she didn’t argue or comment. She did, as she always did, as she was told. The Director watched her as she approached, a slight smile on his face. He looked more like a kindly uncle than the overlord of something as cruelly sinister as the Complex. As she approached, she adopted the usual method of waiting to be told to speak, namely kneeling with head bowed and palms upright.
“Speak,” he said.
“Mistress told me to ask you to take the stage, Master.”
“Go and tell her I’ll be right there, slave,” he replied.
When Erica had completed her useless task, the Director joined them.
“I’ve heard you are the best with a whip,” Davina said to him as soon as he arrived.
“I like to think so,” he smiled.
“Would you do me the honour of trying out on me, then on 108, as hard as you like.”
“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned.
“Mind over matter, that’s all that’s needed,” Davina countered.
“Very well.” He turned to the two attendant men. “My bullwhip, if you please.”
Erica wanted to be well away from this. It was a contest between Grace and Davina, but she knew things had a habit of involving her when she least wanted it.
“Stand over there, 51,” he told her as he prepared to take aim at Davina’s back.
Erica was only too glad to follow that particular order, walking quickly to the side of the stage where she could see the proceedings.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” Davina confirmed.
The Director turned to the audience and shrugged, as if to say, “Well, what would you do?”
As if to answer, he stepped forward to her again, reaching up and unclipping her bra, pushing it forwards so that her breasts fell free. He took his position and coiled the whip before sending it snaking out, its end landing laterally just where her bra strap had been.
Davina gasped aloud and her features flinched with the pain.
“The rumours were right,” she breathed. “You are good.” She paused, undulating her back slightly as the angry mark spread. “Now, 108’s turn, please, Director.”
Erica held her breath as the podium rotated again, presenting Grace’s back to the Director.
“No, please,” she pleaded, despite herself. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
But Grace could expect no mercy from an audience that delighted in her subjugation after she had been in a position of such power. The slaves lining the stage felt no compassion either, since there was not one girl among them who had not felt the results of Grace’s sadism at some time or other. Grace had no friends here. Yet despite all this, Erica wished she wasn’t about to undergo the Director’s lash.
He coiled the whip again, pausing to get the most drama and tension from the situation.
“Ready, slave?” he asked Grace.
“No, no please...”
Then he struck. Grace’s back buckled under the pain of the stroke, screaming out loud and breaking out into uncontrollable sobs. As far as her bonds allowed, her body writhed, trying in vain to get some relief from the red hot fire all across her back. The Director stood back so the audience could see her convulsions better. The screams stopped and Grace sobbed and sagged against the bonds. A trickle of blood mingled with the sweat on her back.
“Any more?” the Director asked Davina.
“Er, no thank you, Director. I wanted to prove a point but I’m not crazy enough to want another one of those. Can you verify that you showed complete impartiality? That you were as hard on me as on her?”
“I don’t need to verify it,” the Director laughed before nodding to the man with the podium control. “Rotate please.”
As the mechanism slowly rotated the two women, the watchers could easily see that, apart from Grace’s earlier marks, the two women’s backs looked almost identical, with the Director’s marks showing clearly above all the others and in exactly the same spot. In both cases the women had the small blood trickles.
“I should enjoy trying to break you,” the Director mused.
“Then I’ll make sure I never give you reason to,” Davina told him quickly, nervous for a moment that he might just keep her captive like this. “Release me, please.”
The men waited for a moment, looking at the Director, so that Davina realised that his word, not hers, was what mattered here. After considering the situation for a few moments, he nodded at the men and they stepped forward to untie Davina’s bonds.
Erica wondered how many times this had happened before, that a woman in power at the Complex had, for whatever reason, fallen foul of the Director, Controllers or guests and had been absorbed into slavery. She thought, with some satisfaction, that Davina’s rising power was as temporary as Grace’s had turned out to be and that someday soon this woman would feel what it was like to suffer the indignity of losing her identity and her soul.
Yet nothing could mar Davina’s moment of victory. She stepped away from the podium, letting the loose bra slip down her arms and off to show the audience her perfect breasts. The Director held out his hand and led her to the front of the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen ... I think I am right in presenting to you our new Resident Controller.”
He took a step back and let Davina accept her applause. When it had subsided, Davina picked up the whip again.
“Now, 51 ... remember what we said you’d have to do were you to fail to escape?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Erica remembered all too well.
“Go on then, start now.”
Erica left the stage and walked to the right, stopping at the first table, picking a man she’d seen here many times before.
“Please, Master,” she said. “Please will you punish me in any way you choose?”
The man grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her across the table, scattering food and plates onto the floor. Uncaring of the watching guests he unzipped himself and pushed his erection deep into her anus. Erica could see Davina watching from the stage as she was jerked rapidly backwards and forwards by the man’s thrusts. A second man at the table was unzipping himself, pulling Erica’s head down towards him.
“Three times, I think we said,” Davina told the audience.
She stepped towards Grace and struck hard, catching her unawares. Grace screamed aloud and fainted.

CHAPTER 8

Erica’s nightmares from the days before had been robbing her of much needed sleep. She prayed that when she opened her eyes she’d be back at home, before the Complex, before Grace, before Davina. Even waking up to find she was back in Grace’s house would have been better than the stark reality of the fact she was back in that dreadful room, the very same room she’d found herself in that first day here. Now, as then, she was naked and chained hand and foot to the bed, the heavy metal collar around her neck keeping her from rising at all. Now, as then, the video cameras kept a watchful eye on everything she did, from sleeping, dressing and eating to the most intimate things. The worst was when she had her period; she still couldn’t get used to them watching.
The automatic lock on the heavy door clunked before the motor swung it steadily open. Erica raised her head as best she could to see who was there and was not surprised to find Davina walking towards her. Behind her, a man was wheeling in some contraption on a trolley. He wore a white coat and looked vaguely medical.
Davina sat on the bed and gripped Erica’s hair. “Right, 51,” she snarled. “Today we start getting you back into shape. Life has been far too easy for you living with 108. I intend to rectify that situation personally. You’ll be a case for special attention. I think most of the slaves here had an easy time with her, but that will change. And I guarantee you that by comparison yours ... and hers ... will be worse.”
Davina pushed Erica’s head back down on the bed before she continued.
“I suppose you’re wondering worse than what. Well, I think a demonstration would be in order.” She turned towards the still-open door and called. “Come here, slave.”
One of the Complex girls stepped into Erica’s field of vision. Erica had seen her before and she always seemed very timid and quiet, forever staring at the ground. Maybe that was what they liked her to do. Her extremely thin figure made her almost boyish in appearance, though, as Erica could see from her naked state, her very large nipples and completely shaved pubic mound left no doubt as to her sex, that and her long blonde hair, reaching almost to her waist.
“On your knees, slave,” Davina told her then turned to Erica. “Do you find her attractive, 51?”
Erica wondered why she should be asked that question. Maybe Davina thought she was lesbian, but if she’d done her research right she’d have known Erica only had sex with other women because she was forced to. So there had to be a reason for the question.
“Yes, Mistress, she’s very pretty,” seemed a non-committal answer.
“What would you say was her prettiest feature?” Davina wanted to know.
That one was easy to answer. “Her hair, Mistress.”
“Yes,” Davina said, reaching forward and running her hands through it. “Are you proud of your hair, 72?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl answered quietly.
“And so you should be,” Davina told her, standing and moving out of Erica’s line of sight. “Unfortunately, as you should know, there’s no place for pride among slaves.”
Davina stepped back into vision, grasping hold of the girl’s hair and twisting it round her fist roughly. In her other hand she held some electric hair shears. She wasted no time, pushing the shears forward and into the girl’s hair. Erica watched the beautiful tresses fall to the carpet below and she saw the tears come quickly to the girl’s face, years of careful nurturing such beautiful hair was ruined in seconds. Davina didn’t pause, running the electric clippers in an even pattern close to the scalp leaving the hair she was gripping the girl’s head with until last. Finally, when the rest was gone, she shaved that off too.
Erica had never seen a bald woman before, not outside movies anyway. The message had been reinforced at the girl’s expense, for all to see. And when the other slaves did see her, it would be a constant reminder of the complete lack of choice, ambition or purpose. When Davina had finished, she beckoned to someone by the door, making Erica wonder how many people had come in with her. A man appeared, young, naked and very erect. He grasped the poor girl’s newly shaved head and thrust into her mouth, savagely holding her while he fucked her face. The girl’s hands clenched and twisted as she fought to contain the urge to reach up and stop him penetrating her throat. His thrusts made a wet, slapping noise as he got faster and faster, using her head as a masturbation toy.
Suddenly he gasped out loud, throwing his head back. Quickly refocusing on the girl’s head, he pulled his cock from her mouth and grasped it, moving his fist up and down so as to send jets of his creamy come spattering all over her bald head, where it pooled before running down and coating her face and neck. Davina smiled as the man withdrew from view.
“Proud of your hair now, slave?” she asked.
“No, Mistress,” was the sullen reply.
“Now what about you, 51?” Davina smirked as she turned towards Erica, the clippers still buzzing in her hand.
Erica swallowed. Davina was getting to her and they both knew it. She didn’t want to lose all her hair, but she knew she had little choice.
“What would you do for me to avoid losing those lovely locks?”
“I am your slave, Mistress. I’ll do anything you command me to, regardless of whether you cut my hair or not.”
Davina smiled. “Good answer. I like someone with education. OK, you can keep your hair, for now, at least. However ...”
As she finished speaking she brought the clippers swooping down, not to Erica’s head, as she had feared, but to her pubic bush, working swiftly and efficiently until those private hairs were all gone.
“Pretty,” Davina grinned, before turning to the bald girl. “You, suck her off, now.”
Quite who was the one to be humiliated by this, Erica had no idea. The girl stood quickly and set about her task mechanically, with Davina and the unknown man watching as the girl licked and sucked without enthusiasm and Erica responded equally. There was no point in resistance for either girl, so Erica let herself drift with the feelings until she felt the familiar tingles that heralded her orgasm, letting it wash over her, being careful not to make Davina think she was faking anything.
“Right, stand by the door,” Davina told the girl when Erica had recovered.
The girl hurried away, out of Erica’s sight.
“Want her?” Davina asked the man.
He grunted, climbed on the bed between Erica’s damp legs and powered into her, taking her breath away with the force. As he used Erica’s body, Davina sat on the bed next to her to talk, taking no notice of the man’s efforts or Erica’s jerking body.
“You know I could have you hanged?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Or shot, gassed, stabbed, buried, burned?”
Erica swallowed hard. “Yes, Mistress.”
“The same for the other one, Grace.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Can you tell me why I shouldn’t do that?”
“No, Mistress, I can only plead for mercy.”
“You think your pleas would make any difference?” Davina was amused by the idea. Erica decided silence was a better stance.
The man grunted and reached up to twist her breasts painfully.
“I’ve decided your fate,” Davina continued. “You’ll both be held in a public place for a week. When people walk past you they’ll know you are trash, that you have both transcended the rules of the Complex. They’ll do anything they want to you, in public. Some may choose to feed you. If they do, you’ll survive. If not ....” She left the implied threat unsaid.
“Any word of resistance or complaint will result in the death of you both in a public ceremony. I have no idea if you like, love or hate Grace and, for the moment at least, I don’t care.”
The man, still thrusting in and out of Erica, went faster and faster, shaking her body and pulling at her bonds. He groaned out loud as he went rigid and pumped his seed inside her. He slumped down on her body, taking her breath away. Erica gasped.
“Enough, you can leave now,” Davina told him.
The man cursed under his breath, pulling out of Erica and leaving the bed, out of Erica’s sight.
“You,” Davina called to the still-waiting bald girl. “Lick her again. Clean her up.”
The girl obeyed instantly, unheeding of the sticky mess she had to deal with, descending between Erica’s legs once again as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. Davina pulled her head up after a few minutes to inspect her progress.
“Leave now. Make sure any slaves you talk to know that you lost your hair because I decided it. Make sure they know that you’re all expendable trash as far as I am concerned. There’s plenty more slaves out there and most of them a lot more use than all of you. So if we have to lose a few along the way ... So be it. I will not be disobeyed. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said the terrified girl.
“Good. Make sure all slaves know that. If they don’t, I might be tempted to make an example of a few of you. And be sure, slave, that you will be the very first to go. Now disappear!”
Davina watched the girl scurry off before she spoke to Erica again.
“Now,” she continued, “We were dealing with your punishment, weren’t we? I see no reason to delay. Get me some help in here!” she called to the ever-present microphone.
Within minutes two men had arrived, dressed, as ever, in black. They unfastened Erica’s chains and pulled her to her feet. As they escorted her to the open door, with Davina leading, Erica saw that Grace was waiting in the corridor outside, equally naked and accompanied by another two anonymous, black-clothed men. She didn’t look up as Erica appeared; she just looked broken and sad. A heavy hand pushed Erica by her side and the party set off down the passage at a brisk walk, Davina leading the way. They arrived at the turn for the restaurant and moved that way, on through the double doors and towards the stage. The muttered comments from guests who stopped to watch them pass suggested their fate was well known.
As they advanced to the stage, Erica noticed two identical contraptions she’d never seen before, though they reminded her of the frame she’d been attached to at Grace’s party just before she’d killed her stepfather.
“51 first,” Davina told the guards.
Erica was pushed forward, onto her knees inside the confines of the gleaming stainless steel frame. She found herself facing a plastic penis, fixed to a rotating spindle on the frame and obviously intended for her mouth. Erica opened her mouth to receive it as a hand behind her head pressed her forward until it lodged at the entrance to her throat. The hand held her there as the second man worked behind her, so that she felt the dual invasion of two stainless steel phalluses enter her pussy and her rectum at the same time, the coldness of the metal numbing her to the pain involved. She realised the intrusions at both ends of her body had been pushed together on some kind of sliding mechanism, so she was held between the two ends, unable to escape even though her arms and legs were unsecured.
But even that didn’t last long. Her waist was strapped to some part of the mechanism that had been clicked solidly into place behind her back and her arms - first the right and then the left - were pulled forward under her and secured to straps ahead, so that her waist and knees supported her. She felt a hand on her left foot, pulling it backwards and upwards, holding it while a strap fastened around it. Finally her right leg got the same treatment, until she was fastened hand and foot, 18 inches from the ground and impaled in her three openings like some human kebab on a skewer. She fought back the rising panic of being held there, helpless; she wanted to cry. She had an uncanny feeling she was going to be stuck here for some time, at last until the implements within her took their inevitable toll. Or the hunger - Davina had already scared her about that.
The men left her alone once she was secured, turning their attentions to Grace. They dragged the second frame forwards in front of Erica’s so that she could see its construction properly, having hardly had any time to examine the one to which she was now so firmly attached. She watched as Grace was forced roughly to her knees.
Grace looked up at Davina defiantly. “I’ll get even with you. One day. I can wait.”
All that produced from Davina was a grin. “You saw how I dealt with 51 here. Think you could do better?”
“Just try me,” Grace spat back.
“Let her up,” Davina told the men, and when Grace was on her feet she continued. “Come on, then, slave. Take your best shot.”
Grace moved quickly, not to strike, but to feign a hit. Davina responded to her first move, ducking to the side, only to be caught, as Grace intended, by her second move, a full-fisted blow that caught Davina on the chin and sent her sprawling backwards. She leaned up on the floor, wiping a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth as she looked at Grace and smiled.
“Nice move,” she grinned. “That it?”
Grace moved forward again, aiming to kick, but Davina was ready this time, twisting her body away on the floor and grasping Grace’s foot, sending her off balance and sprawling to the floor. Then Davina was on her, forcing her face into the carpet as she straddled her, the skirt riding up to give a sexy display of her stockings and suspenders to the watching men. She put her arm down, around Grace’s neck, locking it with her other hand and twisting until Grace could hardly breathe.
“You do realise, 108, that one good twist of my arm and your pretty neck will snap?” To emphasise her point she twisted harder. Erica wanted to scream out for mercy.
“Now, any more objections? Still think you can get even?”
“No,” Grace croaked. “No, Mistress.”
Davina pushed Grace’s head forward as she let go, bumping her forehead hard against the floor.
As Davina stood, smoothing down her skirt, she spoke. “Now get up. Follow me.” As she moved off she spoke to the men. “Bring 51. She should see this.”
A few moments later Erica found herself being wheeled along the floor and outside into the grounds. The wheels on the frame had no suspension, so she felt every bump deep inside herself. When they arrived outside, Davina led them to a place near a few trees, where the pine needles formed a carpet beneath their feet, much to Grace’s bare-footed discomfort. A few whispered commands and one of the men left, returning a few minutes later with a spade and a bullwhip.
“Dig,” Davina told Grace. “Dig here.”
It didn’t need a genius to discover what Grace was being forced to dig. Each time she slackened, one of the men would use the bullwhip on her back to urge her on, with Davina directing the shape of the hole and its depth. By the time she’d finished the gathered crowd of guests could not mistake the makeshift grave.
“Kneel!” Davina told her, indicating the side of the newly dug hole. Davina put her arm around Grace’s throat again and tightened.
“No, please ...” Grace croaked.
“You get the message, 108? You see how I have total power over your life?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“No more rebellion?”
“No, Mistress, no more.” Grace had been completely defeated.
“Good,” Davina told her, releasing the grip around her neck. “We’ll leave this hole just like this for now, as a reminder. Any transgressions and you may find yourself in it. Who knows, I may even decide to put you in it alive!”
“I’ll be good, Mistress, I promise.”
“You’d better.” She turned to Erica. “And it’s big enough for you, too, remember, 51. Now, 108, to prove your subservience, you can fit yourself into that frame. As much as possible that is. Move!”
The party retraced its steps back towards the Complex, with some of the guests following to see what this evil woman could come up with next. When they arrived back at the stage, Erica was put back in her position while Grace crawled over to the frame, kneeling between the ends as Erica had been forced to do. Davina and the men watched, amused smiles on their faces as Grace backed herself onto the rectal and vaginal dildos, opening herself up to receive them. She obviously had some prior knowledge of these devices, but had never been on the receiving end before. She reached round awkwardly to fasten the straps on her left leg, then with increased difficulty to fasten her right leg in place. She pulled the strap round her waist and buckled that, glancing at Erica’s device to check the correct ways. Finally, she reached forward and pulled the oral dildo towards her, closing her mouth over it as she pulled, then tightening some kind of thumbwheel to fix it in place. She even managed to strap her own left wrist in place before she had to admit defeat. Davina nodded to one of the men, who quickly completed her enslavement within the frame.
“Good,” Davina said finally. “Now you’ll be left here. How long is up to me, but it won’t be short. Our respected guests will use you as they wish. Now I have work to do.”
She stepped down from the stage, leaving Grace and Erica strapped in their positions under the amused and merciless eyes of the diners.
Erica finally allowed herself to cry.

CHAPTER 9

Erica and Grace were left on the frames for three days, and they were beaten systematically by some and they were idly whipped or spanked by others at a whim as they passed by. Occasionally someone would remove a plug from their mouths and they had no idea whether they would be fed food, drink or an engorged cock. And if someone was feeling particularly athletic they would remove one of the other plugs to penetrate a pussy or anus.
But every time, after the use and abuse had finished, the plugs were put back in place. Two slaves on spits like pig roasts at a barbeque. Erica was thankful nobody had the idea of lighting a fire underneath.
They felt filthy and exhausted after the first day. They thought sleep would be impossible, but the human body proved to be a resourceful thing.
On the third day the two frames were wheeled outside into the morning sunshine, to be looked at and their occupants used by those outside, in between sipping their cocktails, eating their meals, playing games of tennis and swimming in the outdoor pool. Both girls were covered in dried sweat and dried semen, their hair matted with it.
Mid morning, with some ceremony, the ubiquitous men in black turned the hoses on them. They did Grace first, one holding the hose while the other slowly rotated her on her spit. The powerful jets missed nowhere, the man taking great pleasure in power washing Grace’s most intimate places, while she coughed and spluttered round the dildo deep in her mouth.
Then it was Erica’s turn. The cold jets felt like a hundred small needles on her skin. With no way to protect herself she just had to accept the water and the associated discomfort. The worst was when it hit her face, she felt like she was drowning, with the water jetting all around her mouth and up her nostrils. The man focused the jets around where the plugs penetrated her too and spent some time hosing her hair as the second man slowly turned her over and over. On one of these turns she noticed Davina talking to the Director by the doors to the Complex.
The peace and silence when the hoses were turned off came as a relief, replaced by tingling skin and the sounds of water dripping off their bodies and hair. But at least Erica felt clean.
Then Davina was there, looking them over.
“Release them, please,” she told the men.
Again Grace was first. Her release was an almost exact reversal of her entrapment, except that she had to be held up, her legs didn’t seem able to support her. The men put her in one of the chairs and turned their attentions to Erica. The relief of having the plugs removed was intense, only serving to demonstrate to her just how sore and tender she’d become. The return of feelings to her arms and legs flooded through her, like the worst pins and needles. She, too, found she could not stand without support and was helped to a chair next to Grace.
Davina called to one of the other girls tending the tables, a pretty Oriental girl with black hair, her perfect olive skin marred only by the numbers 7 and 1 branded into the skin under her naked breasts.
“Bring them breakfast. Bring tea, too and fruit juice. I’ll have the same.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl said quickly, her chains jangling as she hurried off to obey, well aware how this woman could react if she felt like it.
Davina dragged a table towards them and pulled up a chair to sit down, almost like three friends meeting at a café for breakfast. Almost like normality. Except one of the women was dressed, a sexy midnight blue suit which plunged far enough at the front to show she could not be wearing a bra and whose wrap-around skirt fell apart to reveal a lighter blue triangle between her legs.
“Now, slaves,” she started. “Anything else I need to prove?”
“No, Mistress,” both girls said as one.
“Good. We’ll get along much better if you remember that. I want you to know that there’s nothing you can do to affect the way you’re treated. If I want you beaten, you’ll be beaten, regardless of how well or how badly you behave. But ...” she paused and leaned forward to emphasise her point. “Any failures on your part, any disobedience, any disrespect will be dealt with severely. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” they chorused.
Their breakfast arrived and all three women ate hungrily.
“I’ve made a decision about you two,” Davina told them as they ate. “51, you were her slave for what, two years?”
“Nearly that, Mistress,” Erica told her.
“During that time, did you ever think of revenge?”
“No, Mistress.” Erica could sense the start of something dangerous, putting her immediately on her guard.
“Oh, come on, Erica,” Davina continued, putting Erica off balance by using her real name. “Surely when she was whipping you, you must have wanted to get your own back occasionally.”
“No, Mistress,” Erica said honestly. “May I explain?”
“Go ahead.”
“When I first came here, I wanted to get back at everyone who beat me, everyone who abused me ... even anyone who kept me here. Apart from thinking about getting back at my stepfather, those thoughts kept me going, plus the conviction that I would escape some day.”
“You still believe that?” Davina asked, then quickly added, “Don’t bother answering. As if you’d tell me. Carry on.”
“After a few months I realised that I couldn’t get back at anyone and all my anger did was make me angry. Some of the masters and mistresses used that anger against me, making me angrier and even more frustrated. So I sat and reasoned with myself. Why get so stressed about something I couldn’t alter? I’d still be beaten and abused anyway, so why not accept it and have a more peaceful existence?”
“Did it work?”
“Most of the time, yes, Mistress.”
“Most of the time?”
“Pain and humiliation are like a drug, Mistress. After so many months you switch off from it, so the pain isn’t as bad. Then occasionally someone will come up with something new and they hurt you badly. Until you get your mind to accept whatever it is, there’s some hatred there.”
Davina looked at her curiously. “You’re an intelligent woman, 51.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Maybe I should take up the challenge of finding you something new each day, some new way to hurt you.”
“I’m sure you’ll do whatever you want, Mistress.”
“Don’t patronise me, 51,” Davina snarled.
“Sorry, Mistress,” Erica cowered. “I didn’t intend to.”
“I’ll think that one over,” Davina continued, pushing her breakfast plate away from her and pouring tea. “Meanwhile, I’ve decided to take both of you back to the house for a week or two. Make no mistake, 51, you’ll be as much of a slave as you always have been, to everyone here save one. Your one-time Mistress will become your slave. You will abuse her as she once abused you. I shall expect you to be at least as cruel to her as she was to you. Remember we have a lot of video evidence to show us the kind of things she did to you. I shall be there too, watching, checking up on you.”
Erica felt confused. Did she want this?
“For the duration of this experiment you could have a relatively easy life, 51. Put simply, the more cruel you are to 108, the more lenient I shall be with you. You can invite guests to parties and you can have use of other slaves if you need them. I’ll even have the controllers help you if you ask properly. We can work out the details as we go along. What do you say? I give you the choice. Remain here as a slave or have a short break from here over at the house. The one proviso being that your total aim in life is the complete humiliation, degradation and subjugation of her.”
Erica didn’t have to think. Just about anything was better than staying here.
“Yes, Mistress, I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Davina smiled. “It’ll take some getting used to, but we can work on that. Start now.”
“I beg your pardon, Mistress?”
“I said start now. She’s your personal slave. So use her.”
Erica swallowed hard. “Yes, Mistress.”
She took a deep breath. She’d imagined she could have got used to this gradually, at the house, away from prying eyes.
“Slave,” she managed, turning to Grace.
Grace paused for the merest of moments. Her aching body reminded her that resistance was a bad idea. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Over my knee, now.” How many times had Erica been ordered to do that, by men and women alike? Maybe that was the way to handle this, to call on her own experience and merely repeat them with herself in control.
Grace stood unsteadily and moved next to Erica’s chair, bending forward until she could place her hands on the ground at the other side, her bottom, still showing the marks of repeated beatings, exposed to all. Erica raised her hand dispassionately and brought it down hard, the resounding slap and Grace’s yelp drawing the attention of some of the other diners. Erica slapped again, on the other cheek this time. Then repeated it. To her surprise, instead of calling on her experiences of the many men and women who’d done this to her in the past, she found herself remembering only one, Grace, the woman who was now totally in her power. And despite her assertions that she didn’t feel vengeful, she was beginning to get a hunger to get her own back. Her hand descended again, harder and faster, remembering the pain Grace had given her, feeling it through surprising pain in her own hand.
Grace moaned uncomfortably under Erica’s punishment. For the first time since she’d been brought unwillingly into the Complex, Erica could make some decisions. How fast. How hard. How many. And when. Grace wasn’t making those decisions. Davina wasn’t making them. It was Erica herself. A small glimmer sparked somewhere inside her. Unfamiliar at first, it grew until it flickered into a tangible emotion. For the first time in years, Erica had some power. Small it may be, but it was hers and she was enjoying it. Instead of her detachment, she found she was choosing her moment to punish her one-time tormentor, she was waiting until Grace wanted it the least and she was dishing it out hard. Despite years of misunderstanding as to why these cruel people wanted to torture and humiliate her, Erica had taken the first step on a road to understanding.
“Stand up, 108,” she said with surprising confidence. “Go and find me a crop.”
Grace stood unsteadily, glancing at her with unconcealed hatred.
“Well?” Erica asked, catching her mood.
“Yes,” Grace offered.
“Yes what?” Erica taunted, a red flush spreading through her body.
“Yes ... Mistress,” Grace said, for no other reason than the fact she had no alternatives.
Erica turned to Davina, noticing how the other woman was looking at her curiously.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Davina asked.
“I ... er ...”
“Speak honestly, 51.”
“I’m not sure how I feel, Mistress. I spent years here wondering why people wanted to be so vile to me and the others, but ...” she trailed off, unsure of her feelings.
“Think about it, it’s not that surprising. Brought up as the daughter of a Member of Parliament, you had pretty much anything you wanted, people did what you said. You were in a position of power and it was all taken from you. But it doesn’t go away. This could be very, very interesting.”
Erica noticed Grace had reappeared, holding a crop out to Erica, a tear running down her cheek.
“Turn round, lean over the table,” Erica’s voice said. At least it sounded to Erica like her own voice. Uncharacteristically controlled and slightly harsh but her voice nonetheless.
Grace shot her a glance and turned her back, leaning forward across the table. Erica stood and lashed out with the crop, backwards and forwards, each crack and each scream taking her forwards, until she was screaming out herself as she made each cut, like tennis players sometimes do when trying to get extra power into a shot. Erica wasn’t counting because it didn’t matter how many. The power mattered. The adrenalin mattered. The freedom mattered.
“Stop now,” Davina’s voice cut in from the mists. “Erica, enough.”
The voice and the use of her real name was enough to bring Erica round to reality. “You have to know when a slave has had enough. You, 108, back to your room. Now.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Grace said through her sobs, quickly working her way between the crowded tables to the doors before anything further could be inflicted on her.
“Right, Erica, you and I need to talk. But first, you need reminding of your position. Bend across the table, like she did. Give me the crop.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Erica, briefly Erica, was 51 again. Except Davina had called her by her real name, twice now, in succession. That didn’t stop the crop’s pain. For a couple of minutes Davina gave her a sound whipping, but this time she shed no tears. She’d gained strength from somewhere and it held her up.
“Sit with me,” Davina said when she’d finished the beating.
Sitting wouldn’t have been Erica’s first choice at that moment, but she didn’t argue.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” Davina asked. “You like the power?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands with you, but maybe I was wrong. You do fascinate me. I have a proposal and I give you the choice whether to accept it or not. I am living, as you know, in the house, where you were slave to 108. I’d like you to come and live with me there. You’ll be my personal slave, but you’ll also be my deputy. Nobody will have the power to punish you or have sex with you except me, unless I say it, the one exception being the Director, who will do with you whatever he wants, whenever he wants. You, meanwhile, will have use of any slaves you wish in whatever way you wish. You can whip and beat them as you wish, but will do so anyway when I require it. You will dress as I say every day and you will be whipped every day. The choice is yours.”
“I accept, Mistress.” An easy choice for Erica, it meant less beatings and abuse and more of this drug called power. “May I ask a question, Mistress?”
“Ask.”
“May I have my name back? Erica, I mean?”
“I’ll consider that one,” Davina smiled. “I still have to run this by the Management Committee, so one step at a time, eh?” Davina called to a girl Erica knew only as 76. “You, come here!”
The girl scurried quickly across, her wrist chains rattling and her naked breasts wobbling as she walked.
“Slap her,” she told Erica. “Hard.”
Erica stood and slapped the girl across the face, knocking her sideways so she had to put her hands down to the table to prevent from falling.
“How do you feel?” Davina asked Erica.
“Funny, Mistress. Strange.”
“Did you like slapping her?”
“Yes, Mistress.” The monster inside her grew.
“Good. Come with me now. It looks like your life has just taken a very interesting turn.”

CHAPTER 10

That night, Erica went to bed when she chose to do so. She was more tired than she could ever remember yet she felt full of something she’d thought was lost forever. She was actually looking forward to the start of the next day. Maybe, just maybe, she could work her way out of slavery and eventually achieve freedom. Maybe.
So she slept very soundly, hardly moving at all.
Until in the middle of the night something dark and quiet disturbed her. There was someone at her doorway, moving fast towards her. The black-clothed men advanced on her, a gloved hand pressing hard over her mouth to prevent her screaming while other strong arms stopped her struggling. A plastic ball was pushed into her moth the moment the hand lifted, and a large piece of adhesive tape held it there. More tape was wrapped round her wrists in front of her, and yet more held her legs together. The two masked men picked her up as if she was weightless, making towards the dim light of the landing. Erica tried to moan through the gag, to wake Davina, to stop this madness.
She needn’t have bothered. Davina stood outside the door, leaning naked against the wall, a tight smile on her face. She held up a hand for the masked men to stop.
“You’re very gullible, 51,” she growled. “Did you really think I was sincere?”
Erica stared up at her, incredulous.
“You’re a slave, 51, and always will be. You have no rights and you have no future.”
Erica felt very sick.
“Take her away,” the other woman snarled.
Erica watched the familiar decor of the house go past her as the men carried her out, not to the Complex as she’d been expecting, but down the steps to the double garage at the back of the house. They lifted her into a standing position and it was at that point she saw the coffin-sized wooden crate on the bench to her right. One man took a knife from his pocket and slit the tape holding her ankles and knees together.
As they picked her up again she fought wildly, trying to kick out at them and make a bid to escape, but they were far too strong. They lowered her into the crate, onto a soft, padded base, holding her legs down as they strapped them to thick leather band attached to the crate’s inner walls. When her ankles and thighs had been fully strapped in, she still fought, even though she knew it was useless. The man slit the tape holding her wrists and they forced her arms to the sides, to more thick straps. Another round her neck made sure she was unable to move, and, as an extra precaution, they fastened a thinner strap round her forehead.
One of the men grinned lasciviously through the hole in his mask, pulling a glove off and pushing two fingers deep into her, uncaring whether it hurt or not.
“She’s wet enough,” he told his partner.
“The bitch probably likes all this,” the other laughed.
“Oh, I hope not,” the first added and they both laughed.
The second man produced a vibrator with wires attached, pushing it into her and fiddling with some kind of strap she couldn’t see, presumably to hold it in place.
“This can be switched on and off from outside the box,” the man explained to her. “We can give you pleasure ...” He pressed a switch and the vibrator started to hum inside her. “... or pain ...” Another switch gave her a violent electric shock deep inside, bucking her bottom off the box as far as the straps would allow.
“Your journey will take a few hours,” the man added, holding up a plastic bottle. “This is an energy drink, it’ll stop you dehydrating. We mustn’t damage the goods.”
He pulled the tape away from her mouth slightly, enough to slide the flexible plastic tube emanating from the bottle into her mouth.
“Bye for now,” he said.
The two men lifted the lid on top of the box and manoeuvred it until it slotted soundly in place, cutting out all light. After a few moments Erica heard deafening banging and realised she was being nailed in. She panicked at the thought she was going to be buried alive, but reasoned if that was the case, why give her the drink?
After the hammering stopped she became aware of being lifted again, and then of a car engine starting. The journey took maybe 15 minutes and when they stopped she could hear muffled male voices outside. She tried, vainly, to cry out. Later still, the box containing Erica was tilted at a steep angle, bumping up and down as if she were being carried up some steps. Then she heard the gradual whine of engines being started - aircraft engines.
She knew then she’d been sold.
Only later was she to find out who now owned her and how her life of torture, bondage and humiliation had hardly begun...


The End
A Girl Called 51 – Part 3





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