"I'm sorry, but I simply don't believe you. I think you're quite mad."
Leslie clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward.
"Isn't it mad of you to be sitting there naked?"
Sharon stared down at her unclothed form. "This wasn't my idea. When I woke up, my clothes were gone."
"It is time for a demonstration of your new status."
Leslie turned around. "Martha!"
The woman stepped over to Sharon and grabbed her arm. She pulled her roughly out of her chair.
"Where are you taking me?" Sharon cried angrily.
Leslie answered her with a smile.
They walked down a long corridor. Martha shoved Sharon into a room that was empty except for a sawhorse standing in the center of its cold, stone floor.
Martha pulled Sharon quickly over to the sawhorse. She clutched the back of Sharon's neck and bent her double.
The smooth wood of the crossbar bit into Sharon's bare stomach.
Leslie stepped forward, brandishing a long, thin bamboo cane. She held it in front of Sharon's face.
Sharon gasped in horror."
"You're not going to hit me with that!"
"Pain is the only way we can teach you to obey."
Leslie stepped behind her and raised the cane.
"No!" cried Sharon. Her protest became a scream of pain....
CHAPTER ONE
Sharon decided that she hated her coat. She grimaced as she glanced up at the garment, a grey, folded lump in the baggage rack above her head.
It symbolized the dismal boredom of the third day of the bus trip. The towns and farms she'd seen through her window had long since become as uniform and featureless as the coat itself. And the bus was more than half-empty, adding a note of loneliness to its already gloomy interior.
She leaned back against the grainy leather of the bus seat, grateful for the small comfort of the touch of her new dress. The pale-orange garment was quite chic and quite new. She knew she looked several years older than her sixteen in it.
She tried to read a paperback novel, but replaced the book in her handbag after fifteen minutes of flipping through its pages. She planted her elbow firmly on the armrest, leaned her head into the palm of her hand and began to lull herself to sleep.
She was half-asleep when she felt the bus slow down. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, just as the bus driver stepped out of his seat and into the center aisle.
The sight startled her for a moment, until she realized that the bus had stopped.
"All right, this is a rest stop."
The driver was a small, thin man with a sharply angular face. He delivered his oration with a distinct New England twang.
"We're going to be here one hour. No more, no less. Remember what I said before. I won't wait for you, and I won't look for you. The next bus arrives here at eight tomorrow morning. If you miss this bus, you'll just have to wait. You have one hour."
The speech was a minor variation of the one he gave each time the bus made a stop. He scowled as he spoke. She thought that he blended with the bus so well, he could have been one of its parts.
She stood up and stretched out her arms. Taking a deep breath, she thrust her shoulders back, glancing down with satisfaction at the way her pert, young breasts jutted forward. Seeing the mature curves outlined against the fabric made her feel quite adult.
The passengers had formed a single line as they began to file out of the bus. Sharon stepped into the line. When she approached the door, she felt a blast of chill night air. She thought to go back for the coat, but decided she'd rather feel cold than have to wear it.
She stepped but of the bus gingerly, careful not to mar her shoes on the rough asphalt covering the parking lot. A breath of night air refreshed her, lifting her spirits.
Her spirits dropped abruptly when she saw the building the other passengers were approaching. It was a truck stop compound, identical to the ones the bus had stopped at all along the route. A shiver of disgust coursed through her as she remembered the poor food and shabby service of the other cafeterias. Angrily, she turned and headed for the bus, determined not to eat until the end of the journey.
Across the highway from where the bus was parked was a stretch of one-story buildings. Sharon's eye was caught by a display of flashing colored lights.
She walked curiously towards them, and saw that they formed a sign for a restaurant. She suddenly felt hungry, and decided to investigate. She thought she might be able to get a half-way decent meal there.
She smiled with satisfaction as she crossed the highway. The restaurant looked quite good. And quite expensive.
She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out her wallet. Cursing the little extravagances she had indulged in, she counted her money.
She doubted that she had the price of a full meal. But even a cup of coffee and a piece of cake there would be better than the fare offered at the bus stop. Throwing her shoulders back, she strode across the parking lot, straight towards the restaurant.
A car was parked outside. She stood stock still in front of it, marvelling at its huge, shiny black frame. It was easily the most luxurious car she had ever seen.
She walked around it, peering through tinted windows. She was unable to see the interior. Bits of light from the restaurant sign were scattered on the hood. She thought they looked like red and gold jewels.
She allowed herself a few minutes to savor the car, then went into the restaurant. She was immediately impressed by the decor of the place. But she was disappointed to find that all the tables were taken. She glanced at her watch, and saw she had only forty-five minutes before the bus was due to leave.
"Hello! Would you like to sit and eat with us?"
She turned around slowly, searching the seated faces for the speaker.
"Right here, darling," the somewhat British voice called out.
Sharon smiled. The caller seemed quite pleasant. She was a tall, square-shouldered woman in her early thirties.
Her face was very pretty. Sharon stared at her for a moment before she realized that the woman wore no makeup ., of any kind. She suddenly felt absurd about the bright-red coloring she'd smeared on her lips.
Seated next to her host was a girl who appeared to be Sharon's age. She, too, wore no makeup. Her face was also pretty, and round. Sharon thought she looked like a pixie.
The girl raised a slender arm and waved to her. The older woman nodded and smiled. Sharon stepped quickly over to the table.
"It's really sweet of you to let me share your table," said Sharon, as she pulled out a chair. The two women were seated on an upholstered bench running the length of the restaurant's back wall. Sharon sat across the table from them.
"Oh, don't mention it," the older woman smiled. "We always enjoy a bit of company with dinner. And you look like such a lovely person."
"That's awfully nice of you to say." Sharon suppressed a blush. "My name is Sharon."
"Sharon. My name is Leslie. Her name is Greta." She gestured to the younger girl as she spoke.
A waiter walked over and gingerly placed three menus on the table. He stepped away. Leslie ignored him. With a slight frown, she picked up the menu and began to scan its contents.
Sharon picked up her menu. As she had expected, the prices were more than she could afford. A shiver of angry disappointment ran through her. She looked up at the smiling faces of Leslie and Greta, and decided that their company made up for her skimpy meal.
Leslie continued to study the menu.
"So far, I haven't found anything for you, dear," she said to Greta.
Sharon noticed that Greta hadn't touched her menu. She sat with her hands in her lap, her smile fixed on her face.
"Oh, here," said Leslie.
Then she turned to Sharon. "I do hope you weren't offended by our ignoring you while we assembled our dinner."
Sharon shook her head and smiled.
"Did you drive here?" Leslie asked.
"No," Sharon smiled, "I'm on a bus trip."
Leslie smiled sympathetically. "Oh, you weren't riding on that horrible old thing!"
"Oh, I've been on a number of busses. This one is absolutely the worst!"
"Well, I do all my traveling by car. But I know what those busses are like!"
A waiter stepped up and stood silently by the table. Leslie gestured to Sharon, and he turned to take her order.
"I, I'll have a piece of your apple pie. And a cup of coffee."
Leslie looked up at the waiter.
"Could you wait a moment, please?" She turned back to Sharon.
"I hope you don't mind me meddling, but I don't think that that's a proper meal for you."
Sharon blushed slightly. She looked down at the table.
"I'm afraid it's all I can afford."
Leslie smiled tenderly. "You must let me buy you a meal."
Sharon blushed deeper. "I, I couldn't accept."
"But I insist," said Leslie firmly.
Greta spoke for the first time since Sharon had met them.
"It would be a discourtesy for you to refuse." Her voice had a soft, velvety quality to it that Sharon liked.
"Well, all right then," said Sharon quietly. She reached for the menu.
"I know just the dish for you," Leslie said. She uttered a string of French-sounding words to the waiter.
"This is really wonderful of you," said Sharon.
Leslie questioned Sharon about her schooling. She smiled when Sharon told her that she had spent three years in England.
"That's wonderful! That's where we're from, you know."
"Yes, I recognized the accents immediately. You sound like you've traveled a great deal."
"Oh, heavens, yes! It's taken quite a bit of the British out of our voices, I must say."
The waiter brought them their food. Sharon recognized the dish. She'd had it often in those times before her family life had been torn apart.
"This is my favorite, really," she said, scooping a huge forkful.
"I'm so pleased you're happy with it," murmured Leslie. She glanced at Greta's dish, then turned to her own food.
Sharon realized with a start that she had forgotten about the time. She glanced quickly at her watch.
"Oh, no! I think I've missed my bus! Please excuse me."
She jumped up and dashed over to a window. She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she gazed out over the empty parking lot. The bus was nowhere to be seen. She remembered the driver's warning. Her cheerful mood vanished. She would have to wait almost ten hours in the truck stop.
"I'm afraid I've really done it," she said as she returned to the table.
"Missed your bus?" Leslie's eyes sparkled with bemused sympathy.
Sharon forced herself to chuckle.
"Uh-huh," she said, as brightly as she could. "As they say in England, I'm for it, now."
"It sounds beastly," said Leslie, "spending the night in that bus stop."
"Yes, and the characters that inhabit it at night." Sharon stared down at her plate to hide a grimace.
"It's all our fault,'" said Leslie.
Sharon looked up quickly. "Oh, no! I should have been more careful about the time. It's my fault, really."
"No," Leslie continued. "We caught your attention, so it's our fault. You couldn't watch the time."
Leslie fell silent. She stared at Sharon, then smiled kindly.
"Sharon, would you like to spend the night with us? We have plenty of room, and we'd love to have you."
"Oh, I couldn't," said Sharon, taken aback by the offer. "You've already done too much
"Oh, nonsense! It's no trouble for us at all. And we're not too far."
Sharon felt an overwhelming urge to accept the offer. The two women had given her no reason to be suspicious of them. And she knew she was no longer worth kidnapping.
"I would be most glad," she said demurely.
Leslie and Greta smiled brightly. Sharon felt suddenly very glad to be going with them.
"Our car's parked right outside," said Leslie.
The waiter brought the check. Leslie left a large bill" on it, and walked out of the restaurant. Great and Sharon trailed behind her.
Sharon gasped. "This, this is your car?"
"Yes. Do you like it?"
"I, I love it! I was standing here admiring it before I came in. It's absolutely gorgeous!" Sharon sounded very much her sixteen years.
Leslie slid into the front seat. Greta opened the rear door, and she and Sharon slid into the back. Sharon started slightly as she saw a tall figure sitting motionless in the driver's seat.
He was obviously the chauffeur. Sharon thought about the size of the bill Leslie had left on the table. She thought that her hosts must be very rich. She leaned back against the soft leather back rest of the car seat. It seemed like the utmost luxury to her after the cold material of the bus seat.
"Are you comfortable back there?"
"Oh, yes!" Sharon almost giggled. "You're so very kind."
Greta stared straight ahead of her. Sharon studied her. There was something exotic, weird even, about the girl.
"Are you watching the road?"
"Yes," Greta replied. The alertness of her tone startled Sharon. She had appeared to be in some sort of trance.
"I think it's beautiful the way the highway zooms under the hood," Greta continued. "Look."
Sharon slid closer to her. She leaned forward, and was able to see the white line of the highway disappear beneath the car's hood.
"That is interesting," she said.
Greta sank back into the seat and closed her eyes.
Sharon felt suddenly very tired. She felt a graceful sleepiness overtake her, and leaned her head to the backrest. She drifted slowly into a deep sleep.
She awoke with a start when Greta gently pressed her hand on her shoulder. She shook her head vigorously.
"Yes?" Then she noticed that the car had stopped.
"We're here," smiled Greta.
Greta threw the door open and stepped out. Sharon slid across the seat and quickly followed her.
She found herself standing in front of the dim outline of a stately-looking structure. She couldn't make out much of its details in the dark, moonless night. She guessed that it was styled after a gothic mansion.
"Is this a mansion of some sort?"
Leslie stepped up beside her. "Oh, it's many things, dear."
She started walking towards the building. Sharon followed behind her, smiling at the thought of the coat she'd left behind in the baggage rack of the bus. She shivered at the chill of the night air, but smiled to think she wouldn't have to see it until the next morning.
She found herself walking on a hard surface. She looked down and saw that she was walking over stone slabs. These led to a massive front door, grim and somewhat terrible-looking in the darkness.
She mounted the flight of steps. She glanced at the figures of Leslie and Greta, walking on either side of her. They were dimly outlined against the night.
Leslie stepped ahead and pressed a button in a panel to the right of the door.
A small yellow light appeared in the center of the door. Leslie spoke softly into the panel. She dropped her hand and clutched at a gorgon's head doorknob, which made Sharon smile. The door swung open slowly.
"Hope the security doesn't bother you," chuckled Leslie. "We do like our privacy, you know."
"I think it's a good idea," replied Sharon.
A warm glow came from the doorway. She stepped inside eagerly. The room she found herself in was exquisitely furnished. But she couldn't make out any single distinguishing feature. She decided that she was too tired to take in her surroundings properly.
Leslie led her over to a fireplace in which a big, bright fire was burning. Sharon sat herself down on a couch and let the fire's warmth creep over her like a blanket.
"Well, what do you think of the place?"
Leslie's bright, cheery voice jerked her out of her warm reverie.
"Oh, I think it's wonderful! So comfortable. It's, well, home-like. And this couch!"
She ran her hand over the fur covering of the couch.
"I just can't thank you enough for letting me stay here," she said softly.
She beamed at Leslie, and then at Greta sitting at the opposite end of the couch. They stared into the fire.
"Would you like some tea before bedtime?"
Sharon forced herself not to grin at this very British suggestion.
"Oh, yes, I'd love some."
Leslie reached into the pocket of a plain jacket she wore over a rather severe grey skirt. She pulled out what looked like a flat metal disc.
"Debbie. Living room." She looked directly at the disc as she spoke.
There was a cold, decisive note in her voice which Sharon found puzzling. It was completely different from the bright, cheery tone she had maintained since Sharon had met her.
A girl wearing a maid's uniform appeared an instant later. Sharon was a bit puzzled by her appearance.
She wore the ordinary black dress and white lace apron that constituted a maid's uniform. But she was barefoot, and wore no stockings.
"Tea, Debbie darling." Leslie smiled. Sharon was puzzled again. Her tone had returned to its original brightness.
The maid disappeared quickly. Leslie beamed at Sharon.
"House blend, dear. I'm sure you'll like it."
"I'm sure it will be the best tea I've ever had."
Debbie came back about ten minutes later. She was carrying a large silver tray. Sharon eyed the large brass teapot in the center. She guessed it had been imported from Asia.
"Afghanistan," smiled Leslie.
"Why, that's just what I was about to ask!"
The maid dropped a napkin. It fluttered to the floor, just in front of the fireplace. She swiftly bent down to pick it up.
Sharon watched as the waist of her skirt rode up. The woman was naked underneath. Sharon got a .good look at her buttocks. She fought to suppress a gasp as she saw that they were covered with bright red weals.
The maid turned around quickly and handed Sharon a cup filled-with a cloudy liquid. She sipped, and a spicy taste filled her mouth.
"Oh! This is good."
They talked for a while about little things. Leslie kept asking her questions, while Greta sat silently and stared into the fireplace.
Sharon discussed her family and her past life. After a while, Leslie fell silent and leaned back against the couch.
Great stretched out her arms and yawned. Leslie looked at her watch.
"You must be awfully tired from that trip. Greta will show you to your room, and I'll be expecting you at breakfast."
"
"That will be fine," said Sharon. "I am tired And, oh, I don't have to sleep on that bus tonight!"
"Goodnight, now," said Leslie as she got up. She walked quickly away.
Greta got up slowly. Sharon followed her through the large, darkened room.
"We can use the elevator. I like it-it's fun."
Greta stepped up to a small metal gate. She gripped a brass handle, and pulled the gate open.
"Right in here."
Sharon stepped through the opening and found herself in a small cubicle. Greta shut the door behind her and pressed a button.
Sharon laughed as the cubicle shot upwards.
"That was fun," she said, stepping out into a carpeted corridor.
"This way," said Greta, pointing to her right. She started walking quickly down the hall.
She stopped in front of a large wooden door. Sharon stepped up beside her, and tried to make out the carvings with which the door was covered.
"What are these?"
"Oh, I don't know. They've been there for ages."
Greta put her hand on the doorknob, and pushed the door open.
Sharon stepped inside the room. Greta stepped in behind her, and flicked on a light switch.
"Oh, this is a marvelous room!" Sharon stared at the large, four-poster bed stretching out into the center of the room.
"You can put your things in there." Greta pointed to a long closet that ran the entire length of the wall opposite the bed. "We'll take care of your luggage later."
"Oh, I'm sure it will just sit on the bus," said Sharon with a laugh.
A strange look crossed Greta's face for an instant.
"Oh, I meant so that no one will steal it." She spoke quickly.
"Oh, there's just one thing," she continued. "We just don't have a nightgown for you. Would you mind sleeping in the buff? If it's any problem-"
"Oh, not at all. The room is quite warm. And those blankets look delicious."
"Good! We'll call you for breakfast." She started to walk to the door.
"This is all too wonderful of you. You're much too kind."
"Oh, think nothing of it," replied Greta, as she opened the door.
"Goodnight," called Sharon, as Greta left.
She sat down at the edge of the bed and leaned back. She lay against the softness of the mattress for a moment, then quickly stood up afraid she had wrinkled her dress.
She ran her fingers carefully over the garment, and smiled as she saw that there were no wrinkles on it.
She walked over to the closet, and slid open one of its polished doors. She reached behind her and unzipped her dress, then drew her arms out of its sleeves. She pulled the dress carefully up over her head and hung it in the closet.
She 'smoothed down the front of her slip, then pulled it slowly off her shapely frame. She hung it up, next to the dress. She reached behind her back again and unclasped her bra. She pulled the bra off, feeling proud of the size of her round breasts.
She folded the bra, and laid it on top of her shoes which she had laid in the bottom of the closet.
She paused for a moment to cup her hands under her breasts. She smiled as she felt how heavy the firm, white masses of flesh were to her touch.
She drew off her panties, and folded them on top of her bra and shoes.
She walked over to the bed, delighting at the feel of the carpet on her bare feet. She slid under the thick blankets, and pressed her head into the softest pillow she'd had in quite a long time. She fell asleep in minutes.
She awoke to a bright beam of sunlight streaming down on her face. She raised her head, then sat straight up with a start.
The blankets were gone. The room was quite warm, and she guessed she had slept right through their being taken off her. She stepped 'off the bed.
"Good morning."
She jumped and looked around the room. She was completely alone.
"Look on the night table. To the right of the bed."
Sharon walked over to the table. She saw a small metal plate in the center of its top. The mouthpiece of some sort of microphone rose slightly above the plate.
"Leslie?" she said, puzzled.
"Yes, it's me. Good morning again."
"Well, good morning! I had the most wonderful sleep! Really! The room is great!"
"I'm so glad you're happy with it. Would you come down to breakfast now?"
"Sure," smiled Sharon. "I'll be there right away."
She dashed over to the closet, and slid open the door. She stepped back with a gasp. Her clothes were gone.
She peered into the closet, looking up and down its interior. Her clothes were nowhere to be found.
She darted back to the microphone.
"Hello, Leslie?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I know this will sound absurd, but I just can't find my clothes!"
"Oh, that's not absurd. We took them away last night. The blankets, too. You won't be needing either."
"But how am I going to breakfast?"
"The way you are, my dear." Leslie seemed to laugh as she spoke. "We're quite informal around here."
"But, but," said Sharon, confused. She began to believe that her hosts were quite eccentric.
"Oh, no buts, please. Your breakfast is on the fire right now."
"Well, all right then," chuckled Sharon.
She decided that they must be nudists. Leslie had said that she "wouldn't be needing her clothes. She shrugged off a feeling of uneasiness as she opened the door. The house was warm. And she was sure that Leslie wouldn't have any men about if she knew that Sharon was going to be walking through the corridors stark naked.
She turned to see Greta walking down the hall. Like Sharon, she was naked. Her long, blond hair hung down her torso, covering her small breasts.
"Bet you don't know where you're going," she smiled.
"No, I don't," chuckled Sharon. She followed Greta down the hall.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?"
Greta pushed open a door that led to a flight of carpeted stairs. "Go ahead," she smiled.
"Why are we walking around naked?"
"Oh, just a custom of the house," Greta replied.
Greta stopped at the foot of the stairs. She motioned Sharon through a small door.
"I won't be eating with you," she said. She vanished quickly up the stairs.
Sharon pushed open the door. She found herself in a small, brick-walled room. In the center of the room was a wooden table.
"Hello," smiled Leslie. She was sitting at the table, her hands clasped in front of her.
CHAPTER TWO
Leslie was fully dressed. Sharon was puzzled.
"I'm sure you have questions, my dear." Leslie smiled brightly. "But please wait until after breakfast. I am absolutely famished, and I'm sure you must be, too."
"Well, famished I am," said Sharon. Leslie's cheerful tone made her feel less awkward. She felt sure that there was some solid reason for her sitting there naked.
A few minutes later, an oldish woman walked into the kitchen. She carried a large, heavy-looking tray effortlessly. She placed dishes before them piled high with eggs, bacon and. pancakes. She poured large mugs full of delicious smelling coffee.
Sharon enjoyed the meal. The cooking was excellent. She sat back, and patted her bare stomach. The food left a warm feeling inside her that made her feel relaxed and casual about her nudity.
"Oh, that was a wonderful breakfast!"
"Good!" Leslie replied. "I'm so glad you like our cooking. I just adore your American breakfasts."
The oldish woman had disappeared when they started to eat. She came back so silently that Sharon was unaware of her presence until the woman reached over to take her plate.
"Oh!" She said, jumping back.
Leslie smiled, amused.
"Don't let Martha startle you. She's like a cat, almost."
"She certainly is," chuckled Sharon.
Martha scooped up the dishes quickly and loaded them back on the tray. She vanished again.
"Now, let's hear your questions," said Leslie.
"You know what my first question is," grinned Sharon.
"Why are we walking around naked? I mean, why am I, and why is Greta?"
"You must be naked almost all the time. It is doubtful that you'll be needing any sort of clothing for some time."
"I'm sorry, but I simply don't understand." Sharon's grin had faded. She began to feel uneasy. Her voice was cool.
"It's quite simple. Really." Leslie continued to smile. "Slaves don't wear clothes."
Sharon stared at her for a moment. A skeptical frown crossed her face.
"But I'm not a slave," she said. There was a slight tremor in her voice which she couldn't control. She gripped the edge of the table tightly.
"Wrong. As of now, as of last night when you entered this house, you are a slave."
Leslie clasped her hands in front of her on the table and leaned back.
Sharon began to think that Leslie was somewhat insane. She leaned forward, and stared at Leslie's face.
"How? I don't understand. Are you saying that you intend to enslave me?"
"Not going to, my dear. We already have."
Sharon sat straight up and planted her bare feet firmly on the floor. She spoke in a quiet, even tone.
"It's simply not possible, you know. Assuming that you could force me to do things against my will, you would be committing a serious crime. You'd all be arrested."
Leslie leaned forward. Her eyes flashed as she smiled.
"You made two statements. The first we shall discuss shortly. The second is hardly possible, considering the support of this establishment."
"Establishment?"
"We are actually a business. We rent pleasure slaves to wealthy people of all kinds. We have training centers in a number of countries. You are in the center that we operate inside the United States."
"I find this impossible to believe," said Sharon firmly. "Even if you could hold me here, there are people who would be looking for me."
Sharon recalled the tight security. The uncomfortable feeling occurred to her that she could indeed be held there.
"Who would?" Leslie sounded bemused.
Sharon attempted a weak ploy.
"My parents," she said.
"That's hardly possible; according to what you told us last night. You mentioned a fatal plane crash."
"I, I lied," said Sharon, her voice unsteady.
I was trying to, for sympathy."
"Nonsense! You're just not that kind of person. And you will not attempt to lie to me again."
A firm, decisive note crept into Leslie's voice. Sharon felt a chill run up her spine.
The woman who had served breakfast, Martha, walked back in as silently as before. She held something shiny in her large, weathered fist.
"Turn around and face her," said Leslie.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to do a thing that you say. You can't make anyone a slave who doesn't want to be made one."
Leslie turned to the woman. "Martha."
She stepped behind Sharon and grasped the back of her chair. Without the slightest sign of strain, she turned the chair completely around. Sharon inhaled sharply, amazed at the woman's strength.
"Stick out your legs," said Leslie.
"I absolutely refuse," said Sharon sharply.
Her initial shock had gone. She thought she was in the hands of madwomen. She wanted to be dressed and on her way as quickly as possible.
She expected an angry, emotional outburst from Leslie. But Leslie just smiled.
"Good! You have spirit! That's exactly what we need! You're so much better than I thought. And I thought a great deal of you, right from the first." She turned to Martha.
"Three, I think, will be sufficient. For now."
"Yes, ma'm," Martha replied tonelessly.
Sharon kept her legs wrapped tightly around the legs of her chair.
Martha knelt down and seized her ankles.
"Hey, you can't-" Sharon began.
She gasped as Martha jerked her bare legs straight out without effort. She instinctively clamped her ankles tightly together.
Martha uncoiled the gold chain she held in her fist. On either end of the chain was a gold-colored cuff. She clasped each of the cuffs to Sharon's ankles. She stood up, and stepped back.
"Stand up," said Leslie.
Sharon stood up, telling herself that it was not because Leslie had told her to do so.
She stepped forward, and stumbled.
"How do you expect me to walk with these on?" .
She walked cautiously back to her chair and began to sit down.
"I haven't told you to sit down. Remain standing."
Sharon gripped the edge of her chair. She glared at Leslie, then defiantly plunked her bare buttocks down on the seat.
"Look." She forced herself to speak quietly. "This has gone far enough. Undo these things immediately."
Leslie leaned back.
"So you still don't think that you're now a slave. You have already disobeyed me twice. You interrupted me, once, also. But I shall overlook that. We will talk a bit more, and then Martha and I will take you to one of those special places we have for people who disobey. Now why is it that you can't believe that you are a slave?"
"Because things like this don't happen anymore," replied Sharon.
She jerked her legs apart. The cuffs dug into the soft skin of her ankles, sending a small stab of pain, up her legs. She began to wonder if Leslie might be right; she brushed the thought quickly out of her mind.
"These things do happen. And it has happened, to you. You won't fully accept your condition, at first. But you will see that it is real, and quite permanent."
"Very well," sighed Sharon. "I'll play your game. But sooner or later-"
"Sooner or later, you will accept. And you will be glad."
"You know that this whole thing is repulsive," said Sharon, unable to control the tone of her voice. "Why?"
"My god! A slave! How anything could be so, so degrading!"
"How degrading?"
"A slave! It's always, I mean it, well, it simply is!"
Leslie smiled brightly. She gripped the edge of the table as she leaned forward and stared fixedly at Sharon's face.
"Let's face some basic facts. The main objection to slavery lies in being a slave, not owning one. Every human being on earth can be either a slave or a master. No act of nature brands one or the other. Only the power of one individual over another determines who is to be the slave, and who the master. Do remember this."
"But I still don't see how that makes me a slave!"
"We have the power over you. Through the medium of pain, we will bring you to accept and even revel in your condition. But enough of abstraction."
Martha walked quickly across the room.
Leslie stood up and stepped away from the table.
"Now," she said to Martha. "Three-B." She turned and began to walk towards the door. Martha spoke for the first time.
"Come along now, miss." Her voice was surprisingly clear, and didn't seem to match at all her rough, reddened hands. She clasped Sharon's arm and pulled her forward.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
Leslie turned around sharply. "You must come along."
Sharon felt the awful strength of Martha's hands as she gripped her arm.
"Oh, all right. What nonsense!"
She walked between Leslie and Martha as they left the kitchen. They walked back up the flight of stairs that Sharon had entered the kitchen from.
They proceeded swiftly down a maze of winding corridors. Sharon found to her surprise that she could walk quite easily with the chains on her ankles. The corridors were carpeted and quite warm. The carpet felt soft against the soles of her bare feet.
They stopped in front of an oaken, grim-looking door. Martha pulled a key out of an invisible pocket, and shoved it into the door's huge brass lock. She pushed the door open, and stepped to one side.
"In you go," said Leslie. Sharon peered cautiously into the room. It was quite empty, except for a sawhorse standing in the center of the room.
A blast of chilly air hit her as she entered.
Martha shut the door tightly behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself, and began to shiver.
"God, it's cold in here," she said.
"Step over there," said Leslie, pointing to the sawhorse. It suddenly began to look very ominous to Sharon.
"I, I don't want to go near that thing."
Leslie turned to Martha.
"Two more."
Martha nodded silently. , She grabbed Sharon's arm again. She pulled her roughly over to the sawhorse.
"Bend over, miss, and stretch out your arms."
"No."
Martha clamped her hand firmly over Sharon's neck and pushed her down. Sharon shot her arms out as she bent over. The smooth, wooden edge of the sawhorse's crossbar pressed into her bare stomach.
Martha darted quickly around as Sharon gasped in surprise. She pulled out a pair of handcuffs from somewhere in the folds of her black skirt. She clasped the cuffs over Sharon's wrists neatly, her hands a blur of motion.
"There. Now we're ready," said Leslie.
"What are you going to do to me," said Sharon. She found it difficult to fight the fear creeping up on her.
She watched as Leslie walked across the room and bent over a small wooden rack she hadn't noticed before. Leslie pulled out a long, thin bamboo cane. She struck at the air over her head, and the cane hummed evilly.
She stepped up to Sharon and held the cane in front of her face. Sharon jerked, attempting to straighten her back. But Martha's incredibly powerful hand kept her pinned to the bar.
"This is the instrument by which we will teach you to obey. The first of many you shall see."
Leslie's tone became serious as she spoke.
"You, you're not going to hit me with that," said Sharon-. Her voice was filled with fear. She began to tremble and gazed at Leslie with frightened eyes.
"You ... you're getting violent...." she stammered. "I thought you were the harmless sort of ... nut."
Leslie handed the cane to Martha.
"Wait a minute, won't you please?"
She placed herself directly in front of Sharon.
"Please raise your head. And look at me."
Sharon jerked her head up and stared into Leslie's eyes. She saw in them a look of genuine concern. This confused her, and displaced her fear.
"You still don't understand," said Leslie softly. "This is quite correct, for you. You are too intelligent to accept what you consider an irrational situation for what it is. The occurrence, your enslavement, is unusual. And it really has happened."
"It, it couldn't be," Sharon began.
Leslie stepped over to her and placed her hand gently on Sharon's shoulder. Sharon found a surprising comfort in the touch.
Leslie crouched down and tilted back her head. She leaned forward, and planted a hard kiss on Sharon's lips. Sharon kissed back immediately, surprised at herself.
"Maybe now you'll see," said Leslie. "Really, we aren't in the least daft."
Sharon had the chill feeling that Leslie might be right.
"All right, now," said Leslie, her tone slightly sharper. "Pain. You have disobeyed twice, and must be punished. This is a basic fact of life for a slave."
Leslie stepped over and grabbed Sharon's bound wrists firmly. She surprised Sharon with the strength of her grip.
Sharon heard Martha step up behind her.
"No-"
Her protest became a scream of pain. A fiery flash of the most intense pain she could remember exploded in her buttocks and shot straight up through her spine. At the same time, she heard an awful, cracking noise. "One," Leslie intoned.
Sharon panicked. She twisted around, and tried to pull her arms free of Leslie's grasp. But Leslie's strength was overwhelming. She ceased her struggling, and went limp.
Martha stepped towards her again. Sharon heard her tread clearly and wailed.
"No, not again!" There was a pleading note in her voice.
Leslie maintained her tight grip. Martha raised her cane-wielding arm high. The cane hummed as it flew through the air. She landed the thin, striated shaft squarely on the smooth cheeks of Sharon's buttocks, just below and parallel to the thin, red weal left by the first blow.
Sharon's scream filled the room. She thought the pain of the first blow unbearable. But the storm of torment unleashed by the second hurt ten times worse.
Martha stepped back. Sharon felt the horrible, stinging pain subside, and a flash of anger coursed through her.
"How dare you do this to me! How! How can a person as supposedly civilized as yourself do such a thing? To lure me here, and then brutalize me? How?"
"Pain is the medium through which you will be trained, darling. Believe me, it is necessary."
Sharon opened her mouth to retort angrily. But instead of words, a horrible yowl of pain shot out from between her lips.
Martha had struck again with the cane. Sharon saw brightly-colored spots before her eyes. The stroke seemed to set her buttocks on fire, sending a lightning flash of pure anguish up her spine. The pain spread until it seemed it fill every part of her body.
She dropped her head, and began to sob. The pain receded, leaving a feeling of despair in its wake.
"Three," Leslie intoned.
Martha raised her arm and swung. Sharon exploded as the cruel shaft of the cane was laid hard across the three red weals crossing her cheeks. She roared with anguish, then whimpered.
She looked up at Leslie. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes.
"Please, please, no more! I, I can't stand it. I ... I'm going to pass out. I, I'll do what you say. I'll be-"
She cut her words short, using the last of her resistance to keep herself from saying the word slave.
"Four," Leslie intoned.
Sharon heard Martha step up behind her again. She heard a slight whistling noise as the woman raised the cane sharply.
"Hey, no!" Sharon cried out. "I told you-no, stop!"
The cane hummed, then landed on her buttocks. She screamed loudly, her cry trailing off into a despairing wail. She felt her buttocks catch fire again. She felt her resistance begin to melt.
"I, I give up," she said weakly. "Please, no more."
Martha raised her arm again. Sharon trembled and cried as she heard the woman's tread.
Martha struck.
"No, no, oh god, OWWWWW!" Her piercing shriek bounced off the room's stone walls.
"Six, and all," Leslie intoned.
Sharon slumped down. Her bare stomach rode over the smooth edge of the sawhorse as her knees struck-the stone floor. Her breasts bounced up as they went with her over the bar, then flopped back against her torso. Her handcuffed wrists remained on the edge of the crossbar. Her head hung down between her arms.
Martha padded silently out of the room. Leslie stepped over to Sharon and unlocked the handcuffs. She pulled them off gently, then helped Sharon to her feet.
"Why, oh why did you do this?" Sharon was crying.
Leslie wrapped her arms tightly around her.
"We must, you know. The rest of your training would not be possible."
"But, but I don't want to be trained," whimpered Sharon.
"My dear, you have no choice." A firm note crept into the gentle tone of Leslie's voice.
"What are you going to do to me now?"
"First a visit to the doctor," Leslie smiled. "We'll take care of those awful marks."
Sharon nodded numbly and followed Leslie out of the room.
She was grateful for the warmth of the corridor after the cold chill of the room. Her buttocks ached painfully as she walked. She pressed her palms to her injured cheeks, and gasped.
"Better not touch them," said Leslie.
Leslie opened a door and ushered Sharon into a comfortable looking room. It was thickly carpeted, like the corridor, and was furnished with several easy chairs. A large, modern couch was stretched along one white wall.
A door on the opposite end of the room opened slowly. Sharon gasped, and tried to cover the more intimate parts of her nudity. A young man had stuck his head out of the doorway.
Leslie got up and started walking towards him. Sharon shrank back.
"Come on, now," said Leslie firmly.
"There's a man in there," said Sharon, vainly trying to cover nipples and hair with her arms.
"Are you disobeying?"
A shiver of fear ran through her. Her buttocks still stung painfully. She stepped slowly through the doorway.
"My name is Wilson," said the young man. He extended his hand.
Sharon shrank back, her arms clasped tightly over her breasts.
"Take the man's hand, dear. We can't tolerate rudeness."
Sharon slowly uncurled her arms and grasped the young man's outstretched hand.
"I'm the doctor here. I know I look rather young, but I'm what you'd call one of those early developers."
Sharon felt more relaxed. Doctors were supposed to see people naked. She managed to smile.
"Well then," said Wilson, as he shook her hand. "Let's have a look at the tush."
Sharon turned around, she bent over, clasping her hands firmly against the metal edge of the examination table.
Wilson peered at the marks left by the caning.
"Bit of a rough go. Well, we'll fix that right now."
He stepped over to a cabinet and brought out a small jar. She winced as he stepped up to her, expecting to feel a flash of pain when he touched her battered buttocks. But she felt a mild sting, then a numbness creeping over her cheeks.
The pain vanished. The doctor stepped back, replacing the jar carefully back in the cabinet.
"All right then," he smiled. "Up we go."
Sharon lifted herself up on the table gingerly. She felt no pain as she pressed her buttocks to the clean white linen covering its. metal surface.
"Lie back, please."
She stretched herself out on the table. Leslie stepped over, and ran the tips of her fingers along the firm white plane of Sharon's torso.
Sharon felt like she was on display. She looked at Leslie with a puzzled expression.
"Just checking you over, dear. You have the most beautiful body. You will bring our clients a great deal of pleasure."
"I'm not going to do anything filthy," said Sharon weakly.
"That is a matter of opinion," chuckled Leslie.
Wilson stepped over to the table. "Raise your legs, please. And spread."
Sharon looked at him suspiciously. She raised her knees, and spread her legs apart.
Wilson and Leslie peered into Sharon's crotch.
"I take it you've never had a sexual experience?"
"No," replied Sharon icily.
Wilson put his fingers to the lips of her vagina. She gasped angrily.
"Is that quite necessary?" Her voice was cold. The doctor's touch had produced in her a feeling she didn't think she liked.
"Afraid so," said Wilson softly. He walked back over to the cabinet and returned with a brown bottle. A spray attachment was affixed to the bottle's neck.
"Steady now," he said.
He thrust the bottle into her crotch. She felt a cold chill come over her privates, then felt herself become numb.
The doctor produced a small, shiny object that Sharon couldn't identify. He thrust it between her legs. She shivered, but felt nothing as he passed it into her vagina. "Good," he said, withdrawing his hand. He quickly tossed the instrument into a steaming sterilizer.
"What was that?" asked Sharon fearfully.
"Just preparing you for your training," smiled Leslie. She stroked Sharon's forehead as she spoke. "We've saved you an awful lot of pain. You'll see later."
The numbing sensation vanished from her crotch. She felt no pain, and decided not to question Leslie about it until later.
She slowly slid off the table. She stood up, feeling the numbness vanish from her crotch.
She turned to Leslie and stared at her, a chill suspicion creeping over her.
"You're not going to make me have sex! That would be rape!"
"Slaves cannot be raped. They can only be engaged by someone they were not ordered to engage with. This is not always an offense. But when it is, the punishment will be very severe."
Leslie smiled at Wilson. "Thank you," she said, and turned to leave the room. Sharon trailed behind her, grimly determined not to let them abuse her in any way.
"We're going to look at a film," said Leslie. "Then we're going to have lunch."
Sharon walked silently behind her. The chains on her ankles made a pleasant, tinkling sound as her bare feet padded along the thick carpeting.
Leslie ushered her into a small room. She turned off the main light, and stepped over to a projector mounted on a small table in the center of the room.
"You must watch carefully. Things here are things you yourself will be doing." Leslie spoke absently, absorbed in turning on the projector.
Sharon gasped in horror as the film went on. A man stood naked, fully erect. A naked woman walked up to him and performed on his erection with her mouth and hands.
She tried to turn her head to one side. But Leslie sharply ordered her to watch. She found herself strangely fascinated by the acts being shown, but disgusted at the same time. The film ended with her blushing furiously.
"What was the point of that?" she barked at Leslie.
"One stroke for each time you snap at me. Did you see what the woman was doing?"
"Yes."
"Would you remember?"
"Certainly."
"Good! Now to lunch, and then your first lesson."
CHAPTER THREE
Sharon followed Leslie back into the kitchen. She found herself afraid to ask why she was shown the films. She relaxed herself as much as she could, and waited for Leslie's explanation.
The lunch meal was excellent. Sharon leaned back, dabbing at her lips with a cloth napkin.
"Well," said Leslie. "Did you enjoy your food?"
"Very much, thank you," replied Sharon.
The caning taught her that her captors had to be dealt with gently. She was used to getting her way through assertiveness; she realized that this would not help her extricate herself from her situation.
"What did you think of the films? Do you remember what you saw?"
"Yes, I do," Sharon replied, forcing herself to sound calm and unconcerned. "And I think they were disgusting."
Leslie smiled. "Why?"
"Because one simply does not do such things."
"But my dear, these things are done by most couples. Are you trying to say you've never fondled a man?"
"No, I haven't," lied Sharon. She found her little episodes in the back rooms of social affairs embarrassing, and would never admit to having been involved in them.
"It isn't all that bad, really. Come along, it's time for your first lesson."
"Lesson in what?" Sharon asked, as she pushed herself away from the table and stood up.
"Your training. In giving pleasure to a man."
Leslie started to walk out of the room. Sharon trailed behind her. She followed her down another carpeted corridor. Leslie stopped at a thick, ornate-looking door and pushed it open.
Sharon peered into the room. It was decorated like an old-fashioned sitting room. Several wooden-armed, overstuffed chairs were placed at odd angles against the room's paneled walls. A large, comfortable old couch stretched along one wall.
"Stay right here," said Leslie, gesturing towards the center of the room.
Sharon walked over to where Leslie had indicated. She tensed herself, trying to control her trembling fingers.
She heard the door open and turned her head sharply around. She gasped with shock and jerked her head away from the doorway.
Wilson had entered, completely naked.
"Hello," he said.
Sharon stood with her back to him, quivering with rage.
"Wilson greeted you," said Leslie quietly. "We don't tolerate rudeness."
"Hello," said Sharon tonelessly. She kept her gaze to the wall in front of her.
"Turn around," said Leslie firmly.
"That man is not dressed," said Sharon icily.
"Well," said Wilson.
He stepped forward, then positioned himself in front of Sharon. She quickly turned her gaze to one side.
"You do remember me, don't you?" said Wilson.
"Yes," replied Sharon. "But you. weren't exposing yourself in front of me then."
"It appears that you are also exposing yourself in front of me," he chuckled.
"That is not my choice," she replied coolly.
Wilson darted his hand out and pressed a fingertip gently against the point of her chin. He slowly turned her head around.
She found herself forced to smile. She kept her gaze fixed upwards, at his face.
"What is the meaning of this, anyhow?" she asked.
"This is your first lesson," said Leslie. "I've already told you-"
"Yes," Sharon interrupted, as calmly as she could. "And I told you that I had no intention of doing anything filthy."
"Oh, there's that word again!" Leslie sounded a bit aggravated.
"The word fits," said Sharon haughtily.
She began to feel quite righteous and moral. A grim sense of pride in her own upbringing rose up in her as she surveyed the degenerate manners of her hosts.
"Nonsense!" said Leslie. "We're going to show you that right now."
"Look down, Sharon," said Wilson softly.
Sharon dropped her gaze, then shot her head up again at the sight of his member.
"Look," said Wilson, his tone firm but gentle.
Sharon shrugged. She frowned with disgust, then forced herself to keep her gaze on Wilson's naked genitalia.
"Oh, very well. I do hope this pleases you," she said. There was a note of condescension in her voice.
"Mind the way you speak," said Leslie sharply. "You are a slave, and have no right to use that tone of voice."
Sharon turned her head sharply around to retort. But Wilson forced her attention back on him.
"No, look this way."
Sharon returned her gaze to his groin.
"Touch my penis."
"What?" Sharon barked, shocked at the command.
"Put your fingertips on the shaft," said Wilson patiently.
Sharon took a deep breath. A thousand nasty replies flashed through her mind in less than a second. With all the control she could muster, she clasped her arms over her breasts and spoke calmly.
"Absolutely not. You can never make me do such a filthy thing."
She turned to Leslie. "And I no longer wish to be subjected to such an obscene display."
"My dear. You can't wish. You can't say no. You are a slave, and must obey when ordered. Now do as Wilson says."
"Never."
Martha entered the room. Sharon felt a bit of fear creeping up on her, but fought to keep her resolve. The prospect of touching Wilson's private parts filled her with revulsion. She felt a quiet pride at her own strength.
Martha immediately stepped over to her and clasped her hand firmly over Sharon's arm. She started to drag her out of the room.
Leslie followed behind them.
"Where, where are you taking me?" asked Sharon. She couldn't quite make her voice sound as angry as she wanted it to.
"We have to teach you to submit," said Leslie. "You must be made to understand that your will is ours now, and no longer your own. Again, you are a slave."
"Yes, oh, master," intoned Sharon. There was a note of acid sarcasm in her voice.
Leslie turned around sharply.
"I warned you about the way you speak. That will earn you additional punishment."
The word punishment sent adrenaline flooding through Sharon's system. She felt a cold fear crawling up her limbs, and tried to jerk her arm free of Martha's grasp. She couldn't break the woman's hold.
"You're not to struggle, miss," said Martha tonelessly.
Sharon forced herself to relax. Martha led her down a flight of stairs. She pushed open a door at the bottom of the stairs, and held it open for Leslie.
"Why am I being taken here?" asked Sharon.
"For your punishment," said Leslie. "Wilson will be along in a moment. He likes to be dressed for this sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" There was a tremor in Sharon's voice.
Martha led them down a stone-walled corridor. The air in the corridor was cooler than in the upper part of the house. Sharon began to shiver.
"Hello," came a voice from behind.
Wilson stepped up behind them, dressed in a pair of slacks and a casual shirt.
"Well, at least you're decent now," said Sharon.
Leslie pushed open a small wooden door and ushered her and Martha into a small room.
Sharon looked around the room with distaste. It was empty except for a wooden chest under a bench that ran the length of the back wall of the room.
Martha dragged Sharon over to the bench.
"Sit down, miss," she said.
Sharon plunked herself down on the rough surface of the bench, looking fearfully up at Leslie and Wilson.
"Just what are you going to do to me?"
"Raise your arms, dear," said Leslie.
Sharon cautiously lifted her arms. She raised her head at the same time, and saw two metal rings implanted side by side in the room's rough stone ceiling.
She dropped her arms again with a gasp.
Martha stepped over and grasped her wrists. She lifted Sharon's arms up effortlessly.
"Cross her wrists," said Wilson.
Martha pressed Sharon's wrists together. Wilson bent down and pulled out the trunk. He threw the lid open, and pulled out a short length of rope.
"Just hold her," he said.
He stepped over and tightly bound her wrists together. The coarse fabric of the rope grazed her skin painfully.
"Not so tight!" wailed Sharon. There was a hint of a whine in her voice. .
"We do want it to be secure," said Wilson. He grunted as he pulled the ends of the rope tight, then tied a hard knot.
Martha released her grip and stepped back. Sharon remained with her arms bound at the wrists and held high over her head.
Wilson pulled out a longer piece of rope and looped one end over the coils of rope binding her hands. He tied the end tightly to the coils. He stood up on the bench and looped the free end of the rope through one of the metal rings in the ceiling.
"Oh, don't tie me to that!" Sharon cried.
She began to twist herself around, but found that her movements only succeeded in sending wicked shocks of pain through her wrists.
"Swing her legs around," said Wilson. "Put her feet on the bench."
Martha dropped down to a low crouch and seized Sharon's ankles.
"No! Not my feet, too! Oh, please! I, I'll do what you say!"
Leslie stepped over to the bench. She stared down at Sharon's face as Martha swung her legs up onto the bench.
"Now, you know as well as we do that the minute you're back upstairs, you'll just refuse. You can't learn if we don't teach you, you know."
She stepped away from the bench. Wilson quickly tied Sharon's ankles together.
"No!" She screamed out.
He looped the end of a long rope under and around the coils of rope binding her ankles. He stretched the rope through the other metal ring, and pulled, raising Sharon's legs off the bench.
"Oh, no, please!" She screamed out. "I can't stand lying like this! I can't!"
Her legs and arms were raised straight up in the air. Her back was pressed firmly against the narrow wooden surface of the bench.
"Take me out of this! Please!" She screamed.
Wilson knelt down by the trunk again. She turned her head to one side, and watched him with horrified eyes.
"You're going to do something else! No!"
"This will show you how to use your mouth," said Leslie.
Wilson produced something that was shaped like a huge penis. It was made of hard rubber. At its base were two sets of leather straps and buckles.
"Open your mouth," said Wilson, advancing towards her with the device.
"Oh, no!" shrieked Sharon, and clamped her mouth tightly shut.
Wilson nodded to Martha. She swooped down, planting her powerful fingers against the hinges of Sharon's jaw. She squeezed hard, and pried open her mouth.
Sharon tried to twist her head to one side. But Martha held her steady.
"In we go," said Wilson brightly.
He slowly shoved the penis shape into her mouth.
Sharon felt a terrible nausea welling up in hef stomach as the hard rubber pushed its way between her lips. The slimy surface grazed against her teeth, and she was forced to open her mouth wide.
Wilson pressed hard on the base of the rubber penis. Sharon felt herself begin to choke as the tip of it shoved itself against the back of her tongue. But the choking sensation passed quickly.
The corners of her mouth ached, and she felt her cheeks straining against the rubbery horror in her mouth.
Martha picked her head up roughly. Wilson passed one of the sets of straps under the back of Sharon's neck, and buckled it tight. He quickly did the same with the other. He stood up, and stepped away from the bench.
Sharon felt a wave of panic rush over her bound, naked form.
She twisted her head to one side. The rubber bit into her teeth, sending a fiery shot of pain through her mouth. She quickly righted her head again.
She wondered how she was able to breathe. She took long gulps of air through her nostrils, then found she could breathe easily through her nose.
She was completely unable to move her arms and legs. The hard, coarse, wooden surface of the bench grazed painfully against the tender skin of her back.
The muscles in her arms and legs began to ache. A stinging pain erupted in her shoulders, spreading hot needles of agony up her arms.
Wilson wasn't finished.
Sharon's eyes opened wide with horror as she saw him approaching the bench with a smaller version of the instrument in her mouth.
She began to tremble as Wilson peered at what he could see of her private flesh between her bound thighs.
"No, not there!" She panicked, and stared down between her bare nipples in horror.
Wilson slowly inserted the smaller rubber penis into her orifice. She felt a strange, new sensation as the hard rubber passed between the tight walls of her womb. There was a slimy substance coating the penis. Sharon was afraid she was going to throw up and choke herself on her vomit.
But her stomach settled with an acidy rumble. She felt a hot pain in her right thigh, and saw that Wilson was buckling one of the sets of straps around the smooth white flesh.
He quickly buckled the other strap, then stood up with a smile.
"There now. That ought to make you think a bit," he said.
"Now remember," said Leslie. "If you had obeyed, this wouldn't have happened to you."
She bent over and pressed her lips to Sharon's forehead.
"You'll come around, dear," she said softly.
She stepped away from the bench and turned to walk out of the room.
Wilson followed behind her. Sharon watched them disappear through the doorway with a rising feeling of desperation.
Her fear shot up to the point where she was trembling violently as she heard the door slam shut.
She tried to take a deep breath, to relax herself as much as possible. She remembered her parents telling her to negate pain by ignoring it.
But each time she forced her thoughts away from one misery, another would fill her mind.
The walls of her vagina began to grow wet, making the rubber penis move slightly. The feeling made her shiver with disgust.
Her arms began to ache painfully. Her buttocks began to feel as if they were on fire. She began to wonder if she would be damaged by the terrible thing in her privates. But they couldn't damage her, if they were to use her for pleasure. A feeling that Leslie was totally right crept over her. She found this feeling as uncomfortable as her torments.
Except for the plug. It, too, became wet from resting in her mouth. Her cheeks screamed, and she felt as if the tender flesh of them was being torn in half.
Gradually, her various pains melded together into one sensation of total, terrible, agony. Her spine ached from the pressure of the bench. And her arms felt like they were slowly being pulled out of their sockets. A feeling of numb hopelessness overtook her.
Her vision was becoming a grey haze when she heard the door to the room open.
She turned her head, heedless of the added pain the movement caused in her mouth. Leslie and Wilson were standing over her.
"Well, I do hope you see things differently, now," said Leslie.
Sharon attempted a nod, but only succeeded in wriggling the back of her neck.
"I believe that means yes," said Wilson.
"Good!" said Leslie. "Undo her now, will you?"
Wilson dropped down beside Sharon's head and quickly unbuckled the straps behind her neck. Sharon gasped audibly with relief as he pulled the plug out of her mouth. She closed her lips slowly, feeling the aching pain in her cheeks receed.
Wilson quickly unbuckled the straps of the rubber penis buried in her womb. He pulled the hard rubber out slowly, and Sharon felt a weird sensation run through her that had nothing to do with the pain the object caused.
She sighed deeply, looking up at her bound arms and legs.
"Those, too," smiled Wilson.
He quickly untied the knot binding her hands to the ceiling ring. He did the same with the rope attached to her ankles.
Sharon slowly let her legs sink to the bench, trying to ignore the shooting pains in her muscles. Her arms ached.
Wilson smiled kindly as he saw the pain on her face.
"It'll be all right in a minute," he said softly.
He untied her hands, then her ankles. She swung herself around so that she was seated on the bench. She spread her arms out wide, and stretched out her legs.
"I think you'll be able to walk now," said Leslie.
Sharon slowly stood up. She took a small step, staggered, then waved her arms around to regain her balance. She took another step, and found that she could walk without difficulty.
She looked at Leslie.
"Why, why did you do this to me?" she asked, her voice a soft whimper.
"To teach you to obey," was the reply.
"Wouldn't you agree you would have been better off if you had just fondled Wilson? Even though it is impossible to avoid punishment forever."
Leslie curled her arm around Sharon's shoulders and led her out of the room.
Sharon began to sob softly, and leaned against Leslie.
"What are you going to do to me now?"
"A bath, and then dinner. You'll bathe with Greta. Won't you like that?"
"I, I guess so," replied Sharon.
Leslie led her back up the stairs and through a series of passageways.
Sharon found herself in an enormous bathroom. It's huge, tiled floor seemed to be as large in area as an American football field.
A huge sunken tub occupied about a third of the room.
"Hello', Leslie! Hello, Sharon!" a cheerful, familiar voice called out.
Sharon looked over to see Greta's blond head sticking up out of the tub. She waved joyously to Sharon as she approached.
Sharon stepped to the edge of the tub and slowly lowered herself into the waist-deep water. Greta leaned her shoulders against the wet, tiled edge of the tub and patted the water next to her.
"Sit down with me," she said.
Sharon slowly sank into the water, feeling the aches in her muscles melting away.
"Oh, this feels wonderful!"
"Martha will fetch you two for dinner," said Leslie. "Do enjoy your bath now."
She and Wilson turned and left the room, Martha trailing behind them. , Sharon leaned her head down and began to sob.
"Oh, it's awful," she said. "Why? Why?"
"We are slaves," said Greta quietly.
She curled her arm around Sharon's shoulders. Sharon would ordinarily have been horrified at being so close, naked, to another naked woman. But she was so shocked at her experience that she felt grateful for the comfort of Greta's warm, wet flesh.
"I don't understand any of this," said Sharon.
"You have no choice," said Greta. "Neither do I."
Sharon fell silent, not knowing what to say. All she could concentrate on was the way the warm, scented water was easing her hurts. Greta stood up to reach for a bottle of liquid soap. Sharon turned her head, and gasped loudly.
"What are those marks on your back!" Greta twisted her head around and gazed at as much as she could see of her naked back. A series of red stripes ran in a spiral from her shoulder blades to just above her buttocks.
"Oh, these are whip marks," she smiled.
Sharon shrank back in horror.
"Whip marks!"
She shook with surprise and horror.
"Yes, I was whipped. While you were being punished," said Greta.
"But, but, but," Sharon stammered.
"I did wrong, last night," said Greta casually.
"I asked to be whipped," she continued. "Because I did such a good job otherwise, Leslie agreed to let me choose my punishment."
"You, you wanted to be whipped?" asked Sharon.
"Well, yes," replied Greta. "I said something to you I shouldn't have. You know, about your luggage. That could have made you suspicious, and made Leslie's work a lot harder."
"What work?" There were a thousand questions in Sharon's mind, but this was the only thing she could say.
"Of training you to be a slave," said Greta. "She trained me, also. And, you know something?"
"I, I don't think I understand anything right now," said Sharon, completely confused by Greta's attitude.
"Oh, it's not at all bad. No, not at all."
"I'm not a slave," said Sharon dully.
Greta pointed to Sharon's feet. Sharon looked between her legs, and her ankles submerged beneath the perfumed, soapy water.
"See that chain?"
Sharon looked down at the chain binding her ankles. She glanced over and saw that Greta was wearing a chain identical to hers.
"What about it?"
"That's the mark of the slave," said Greta. "You are a slave now. You won't see that for a while, of course, but you are."
"You helped capture me, didn't you?"
"Well, all I really did was to go along," said Greta.
"I should hate you very much for that," said Sharon. There was a tired note in her voice. "But I don't. I'm actually glad you're here."
"Want me to wash your back?" asked Greta. "Please," murmured Sharon, grateful for the offer.
She turned her back to Greta, and lifted herself up out of the bathwater. Greta stood up behind her, the water dripping off her nipples. She squeezed some of the soap into her hands, then gently pressed her fingers to Sharon's back.
Sharon sighed as Greta ran her fingers down the smooth, stiff curves of her bare, wet back.
"Your hands ... feel good," she said, half to herself.
Greta moved her hands down to Sharon's buttocks.
"No! Please!" said Sharon sharply. Greta had slipped her hand between her cheeks.
"Sorry!" giggled Greta. "Turn around now."
Sharon slowly turned around. Greta rubbed a bit more soap into her palms, then pressed her fingers firmly against the smooth plane of Sharon's stomach. She moved her hands slowly upwards, then gently ran her fingers around the base of Sharon's right breast.
"I, I don't think I want you to wash me there," said Sharon.
She felt too tired to be upset by Greta's movements.
"Oh, you have such nice breasts," said Greta.
"Well, all right."
Sharon forced herself to smile. She couldn't help liking Greta. And she saw her as an equal, a sister captive. Her odd attitudes gave her a mysterious charm.
Greta pushed her hands against the tip of Sharon's breasts and giggled at the way the soft, supple flesh yielded to her fingers.
She slowly drew her thumbs and forefingers over Sharon's nipples. Her eyes grew soft.
Sharon stepped away.
"Just a little more," murmured Greta.
She shoved her soapy hand between Sharon's thighs, then ran her fingers over the lips of Sharon's vagina. Sharon was repulsed, not so much by Greta's finger, but by the sensation the touch produced in her.
"Please don't do that," she said, as calmly as she could.
"Sorry," Greta murmured softly.
Greta turned around, and Sharon did a quick but efficient job of washing her.
"I'm glad you don't hate me," said Greta.
"I can't, really," replied Sharon. "I can understand, I mean, I know what you'd been faced with-"
"That is true," Greta interrupted. "But I don't think it was really, well, evil or something."
"That I don't understand," chuckled Sharon. She found a note of grim humor in Greta's statement.
"Who punished you?" asked Greta.
"Wilson," said Sharon with a scowl.
"Oh, good!" replied Greta. "I love him! I'd rather be punished by him than by Martha, any day!"
"I thought Leslie said he was a doctor." Sharon was puzzled.
"Oh, he is," explained Greta. "That's why Leslie likes to have him administer the more unusual punishments. He knows how not to damage us. We always have to look our best, you know. But that is certainly quite easy for you."
"Thank you," murmured Sharon. She was surprised that she still could be pleased by a compliment.
Martha walked in and approached the edge of the bath.
"You're to come to dinner now." ' Greta quickly stepped out, followed by Sharon. Martha handed each of them a towel. Sharon wrapped the towel around herself, hoping she would be able to wear it. It bothered her that she felt less and less uncomfortable about walking around naked.
But Martha quickly snatched it away. Greta handed her her towel, and Martha waved them out of the room. She followed silently behind them as they left.
"We're going to the main dining room tonight," said Greta.
Sharon looked down at her unclothed form. "It'll only be you, me and "Leslie tonight," said Greta. "But it will be marvelous. I just love that room, and so will you."
Sharon was quite impressed. The room was to her the last word in elegance. A long table was stretched across the room's shining floor. Leslie was seated at the far end of the table.
She smiled as they walked in. Martha vanished. Leslie nodded to Greta, and pointed to a chair to one side of her. Greta walked over quickly, and sat down.
Sharon was undecided as to whether she should just walk over or wait for Leslie's signal. She trembled as she fought to make up her mind.
"Come over and sit down," said Leslie. She pointed to a chair across from Greta's.
"Good!" said Leslie, as Sharon slid into the chair. "You're learning to wait for a command. You've really come a long way in such a short time."
Sharon stared at her, confused. She glanced at a slit in the curtains over a nearby window, and gasped as she saw the first shadows of evening filtering into the room.
"How long?" she asked. Her eyes opened wide with surprise.
"We kept you-punished for six hours," said Leslie.
Sharon dropped her gaze to the table's mahogany surface.
"I, I still don't know what is happening to me," she said, half-mumbling.
"You'll understand," said Leslie. "Believe me. Soon, you'll see that we're right."
"I did say that it wasn't all that bad," interjected Greta. Her tone was soft and sympathetic.
Sharon heard a soft tread behind her. She turned, gasped, and clasped her arms over her breasts, blushing.
A young man dressed as a waiter had entered. He was holding a tray laden with dishes high over his head. He set the plates down before them.
Sharon watched him carefully. She resignedly uncurled her arms from around her breasts. The young man paid no attention to her nudity, or to Greta's. He served the meal, then quickly darted away.
"I suppose he doesn't see anything strange," said Sharon. The smell of the food had lifted her spirits, and she felt her strength returning.
"Timothy has been with us for a while," said Leslie. "You'll be seeing more of him later."
Sharon realized that she was ravenously hungry. The smell of the fine, well-prepared food all but intoxicated her. She ate rapidly, and cleaned her plate.
She leaned back in her chair, feeling much stronger. She began to think that there was still some way she could extricate herself from the situation. She decided to act as compliant as possible, to trick Leslie into thinking that she had decided to submit.
"Well," she said, tossing down her napkin, "what happens now?"
"We continue your training, dear," said Leslie. "I think we will start where we left off."
Greta stood up. She looked at Leslie.
"You may go to your room now," said Leslie. Greta smiled and left the room without another word.
Leslie pushed herself away from the table and stood up. Sharon did the same.
"Come," said Leslie.
She led Sharon back to the room in which she had her unsuccessful encounter with Wilson.
Wilson was there when they arrived. He nodded to Leslie, and smiled broadly at Sharon.
"Well. Shall we try that again?"
CHAPTER FOUR
"Yes," said Sharon.
Wilson stepped over to the couch and quickly pulled off his shirt. He stepped out of his trousers and walked back over to Sharon, wearing only a pair of briefs.
"Take these down for me, won't you?" he asked.
"I, I," Sharon began, then fell silent. She didn't like the prospect of having to undress Wilson. But the memory of her ordeal was fresh in her mind. She forced herself to smile as she stepped up to him.
"I don't think I know what to do," she said hesitantly.
"Oh, come now," smiled Wilson. "You've pulled off your drawers enough times, haven't you?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said Sharon.
She took a deep breath, fighting off her feelings of disgust. She slipped her fingers bravely under the waist band of the briefs, and brought them down to Wilson's knees with a mighty tug.
"Good;" said Wilson. "A little lower, please."
She crouched down and brought the briefs down until they were a crumpled white heap around Wilson's ankles. He stepped back, and raised his leg.
"Pull them off, won't you?" His statement was phrased like a question, but there was a clear note of command in his voice.
Sharon began to feel a sense of degradation. She swallowed hard, then pinched the briefs off his foot. She let them fall off her fingers and onto the floor.
"Pick them up and hand them to me," said Wilson.
Sharon couldn't fight back the look of disgust that shot across her face. She bent down, and gingerly picked up the underpants. She held them between her thumb and forefinger and extended her arm to Wilson.
"You're not getting fresh, are you?" asked Leslie. "Roll them around in your hands a bit."
Sharon cast her a despairing look. Leslie smiled, and leaned back in her chair.
Sharon shivered with disgust as she rolled the undergarment up into a tight ball.
"Kiss them," said Wilson.
"I, I couldn't," said Sharon, trembling.
"That is a command, dear," said Leslie. Her tone was firm.
Sharon felt that she was being pushed past her limit of tolerance. She felt an angry outburst begin to grow inside her, and desperately fought it back.
She planted her feet firmly to the carpeted floor, then pressed the undergarment to her face. She made a loud kissing noise, then quickly jerked the briefs away.
"Again," said Leslie. "Hold them to your face for a moment."
Sharon gulped and pressed the white linen garment to her face. Her sensation of sickened disgust faded as she smelled only the cloth smell of them.
"That's fine," said Wilson. "Drop them."
Sharon let the undergarment fall from her hand and flutter whitely to the floor. She looked up at Wilson, waiting for what he would say next.
"Look at my groin," said Wilson.
Sharon forced her gaze down to his crotch.
"Touch," said Wilson.
She reached a trembling hand towards his genitalia. She stopped just short of his member, and looked up at him with frightened eyes.
"Go ahead," said Wilson.
She pressed her fingertips to his male flesh, then shot her hand back. Something in the skin of her fingers tingled electrically at the touch.
"Continue," said Wilson.
Sharon looked at him, and then at Leslie. She trembled as she again reached towards his crotch. She pressed her fingertips against his male flesh.
"Take my penis in your hand, wrap your . fingers around it," said Wilson.
Sharon followed his instructions. The penis quivered slightly and felt quite warm as its softened shaft nestled against the soft skin of her palm. She gasped as it became erect, and quickly shot her hand away.
"You can't tell me you didn't expect that," said Wilson.
"It, it was kind of fast," said Sharon. She was struggling to suppress the strange feelings the sight of the erection produced in her.
"Remember the films you were shown," said Leslie. "Fondle Wilson, now."
Sharon conjured up in her mind the scenes she'd witnessed on the screen the day before. She curled her fingers firmly around the shaft, and followed as much as she could recall of the procedures demonstrated.
The member began to jerk rapidly, then sent forth its issue. Sharon jumped back, uttering a cry of disgust as the semen splashed out over her wrists and fingers.
She waved her hand in the air, trying to shake off the wet, sticky substance.
Wilson grinned at her reaction. "Put your hand in your mouth," he said.
"I couldn't," replied Sharon, her voice a hushed, "shocked whisper.
"Sharon." Leslie said firmly.
She closed her eyes tightly and opened her mouth. She jerked her wrist up, and rammed her fingers in between her lips. She closed her mouth tightly, her stomach churning.
"Clean off your fingers," said Leslie.
Sharon shivered with disgust as she felt Wilson's issue slide off onto her tongue. But it had no taste. It almost immediately became indistinguishable from the other fluids in her mouth.
She pulled her hand out of her mouth, her fingers making a soft, smacking noise.
"Good!" said Leslie. "You're coming along quite nicely now."
Sharon saw that Wilson was again erect.
"Kneel," he said.
She dropped to one knee, looking curiously up at him. His crotch was inches away from her face.
"Open wide," said Wilson.
She gasped in horror.
"Oh. Oh, no! You, you're not going to make me do, do that!"
"Open your mouth, dear," said Leslie.
A powerful surge of disgust tore through her, accompanied by a feeling of despair. The despair flashed into a feeling of angry rebellion.
"No civilized person would do such a thing," she said quietly.
"Nonsense, my dear. Fellatio is a common part of the sex life of most couples. Did you like what you had in your mouth before?"
"Oh, no," she replied.
She shivered with disgust. She grimaced, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and tensed herself.
Wilson stepped forward. He gripped her shoulders.
Sharon rolled her eyes downwards. She knotted her hands into tight fists. She followed Wilson's instructions as he guided her through the steps of the procedure.
The initial contact was much less disgusting than she had imagined. There was no perceptible taste. But as events followed their natural course, her mouth filled with his issue.
"Swallow," said Leslie, as Wilson stepped away.
Disgust exploded in her. The slow-burning fury that had steadily been building in her exploded. Fighting back an urge to spit the mess into Leslie's face, she turned her head to one side and spat the mixture of semen and saliva out onto the carpet.
"There are some things I simply won't do," she said angrily.
Leslie sighed. Wilson smiled sympathetically.
"I believe you need another lesson," said Leslie.
Sharon was surprised to find that Martha had been in the room the entire time of her ordeal. She shrank back as Martha stepped towards her.
"No! Not another horror!" she cried.
A terrible bolt of fear shot through her as Martha clamped her fingers firmly over her arm.
"Oh, no! No more!" she shrieked.
"My dear, you simply have to learn to obey," said Leslie. Her tone was that of a schoolteacher admonishing a lazy pupil.
"Don't do anything to me, not anymore!" Sharon wailed. Martha started to lead her out of the room.
"Listen!" There was a clear note of desperation in Sharon's voice. "I, I'll do what you say. Yes. I, I am your slave.".
"If you know you are a slave, you know you have to be punished," replied Leslie.
A sickened sensation welled up in her as she thought of how easily they had shattered her attempt at false compliance. Leslie followed behind as Martha dragged her out of the room. Sharon was led to the elevator this time. From the feel of the descent, she knew she was being taken to the lowest part of the house.
The air was damp and chilly when they stepped out of the elevator's cab. Sharon wrapped her arms tightly around her torso. The cold, stone floor of the basement corridor grazed against the soles of her feet.
The corridor was dimly lit by a series of small yellow bulbs hanging from chains embedded in the stone ceiling. The walls were made of a sort of cobblestone.
Martha stopped in front of a filthy-looking wooden door. A small, barred window was implanted near the top. From somewhere in the folds of her skirt, she produced a huge, antique key. She shoved it into the door's lock, then twisted the key and pushed the door open.
She rammed her hand into the small of Sharon's back and shoved her into the room.
"This, this is a dungeon," whispered Sharon.
The floor of the cell was made of large cobblestones. A pile of filthy straw lay crunched up against a rough stone wall. A small, barred square in the room's back wall provided the only light.
"Sit on the straw," said Leslie.
"But it's filthy!"
Martha dragged her over to the straw. "Sit."
Sharon seated herself on the straw, grimacing at the way the dirty pieces dug into the flesh of her buttocks. She squirmed around, trying to make herself as comfortable as she could.
Martha knelt down in a darkened corner of the cell. She pulled out a long, ugly-looking iron chain. On one end of the chain was an opened metal cuff, made of the same crude iron as the chain.
Martha swiftly clasped the iron bracelet around Sharon's ankle. She stepped back, and glanced at Leslie.
"Her hands," said Leslie.
Martha nodded a silent yes. She produced a pair of handcuffs. Sharon's mind was temporarily distracted by this. For an absurd second, she thought that Martha was a stage magician, always making something appear from somewhere in her garments.
Her thoughts were sharply jerked back to reality when Martha knelt down behind her and seized her arm.
"Hey, no!" cried Sharon, as Martha clapped one of the cuffs around her wrist.
Martha seized Sharon's other arm and crossed it over the first. She clamped on the other cuff, then stepped back.
"You can't leave me helpless like this!" Sharon shouted. She twisted around, but only made the straw scratch against her skin.
She painfully drew her knees up to her chest, keeping the straw away from her private flesh. She looked up at Leslie and Martha with frightened eyes.
"You are being punished, my dear," said Leslie. "We won't have you spend the night like this. Not this time."
She and Martha started to walk out of the cell. Sharon watched in horror as they passed through the grim doorway and closed the door tightly shut behind them.
A cloud of dust blew up as the door slammed shut. Sharon hung her head down and began to cry softly. Her shoulders began to ache.
She started to wish that she had just swallowed Wilson's issue. She realized with a start that she was beginning to think the way they wanted her to. A feeling of despair crept over her. The feeling that Leslie was right in everything she said grew stronger than ever.
She leaned herself back, trying to rest her shoulders against the wall. The rough stone grazed her skin slightly, but she was able to relieve the ache in her shoulders.
She heard a scratching noise. Fear sent adrenaline coursing through her, making her bound wrists tremble in the grip of the handcuffs.
A shadow flickered across the few shafts of moonlight flittering through the barred window. It stopped right in front of her.
Sharon gazed at the dark figure. It squeaked.
She tilted her head back and screamed as loudly as she could.
She sat for several minutes with her face turned towards the ceiling. Her screams had come back on her, mocking her.
She slowly lowered her terrified gaze. The rat was sitting calmly on its haunches, some five feet from the straw mat on which she was helplessly bound.
Her voice was a hoarse, hushed whisper.
"Please, please, don't come near me."
The rat rubbed its tiny forepaw against the side of its pointed face. It slowly brought itself down to all fours, then darted out of sight.
Sharon started to sob violently. The cell became chillier, and the chill heightened her desperation.
Then something touched her arm.
"Oh, no!" she wailed.
She slowly turned her head to one side. She started to tremble as she felt something moving up her arm. She looked down.
Her whole world became one loud, terror-filled, scream.
"Oh, help, please! No! Get it off of me!"
She began to rock violently from side to side, trying to shake the cockroach off her arm. The firm but gentle pressure remained.
The door swung open as she continued to scream. She opened her eyes to see Leslie and Wilson walking rapidly towards her.
"There!" she cried, gesturing with her head, "please, PLEASE!"
Wilson swooped down and brushed the roach away. Sharon sank her head down to her breast and began to sob loudly.
"I can't tolerate, tolerate," she said between sobs. Large tears spilled out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
Wilson crouched down and grasped her sides.
He pulled her gently to her feet.
He turned her around. Leslie unlocked the handcuffs, then dropped down and unlocked the ankle iron.
Wilson kept his arm around her shoulders as he led her out of the cell. Sharon was still sobbing.
"I think you're to go to bed now," said Leslie softly.
"I, I can't take anymore," said Sharon. "I, I'll do whatever you say, I, I-" She let her words trail off into a loud sob.
"We'll talk some more in the morning, dear," said Leslie. "Good night, now."
She led Sharon up to her room, and helped her into bed. She leaned over and kissed Sharon's lips.
"Good night," she said again.
"Good night," Sharon heard herself softly reply, as Leslie left the room.
Sharon awoke the next morning unsteady, and confused. She staggered off the bed. Slowly, her mind cleared and she winced as she recalled what had happened to her. A slow anger, tempered by a newly-found caution, rose up in her.
"Come to breakfast, dear. In the kitchen."
She jumped as Leslie's voice came over the small microphone in her night table.
"Y, yes," she stammered.
She slowly opened the door to her room, then closed it behind her. The hallway was deserted. She struggled to remember where the kitchen was, and was surprised to find that she could remember the way exactly.
"Good morning, dear," smiled Leslie, as Sharon slowly walked in.
She sat down across the table from Leslie and looked at her with uncertain eyes.
"Today we're going to continue your training," said Leslie. "But first, of course, we eat."
Martha walked in a few minutes later and served breakfast. Sharon was puzzled.
"Why is it, that sometimes Martha serves, sometimes, well, does things, and sometimes other people serve?"
"Oh, different people have different things to do around here," replied Leslie. "You'll understand it all, eventually."
Sharon promised herself to question Greta about it.
The breakfast was excellent, wheat cakes served with fried eggs. Sharon smiled at the rustic but delicious cuisine.
"I believe in a hearty breakfast," said Leslie.
"Yes, so do I," replied Sharon.
A strange feeling came over her. She had just spoken to Leslie as if they were in the restaurant in which they had met. She forced her mind back to the current situation.
Martha cleared off the table and carried the dishes out of the room.
Leslie leaned forward. "Today we'll introduce you to intercourse."
Sharon sat up straight in her chair. A grim feeling of dread crept over her.
"I, I'm not ready for that," she said, lowering her gaze.
"Sure you are," said Leslie.
"But," said Sharon, her eyes opened wide with fear. "You, you'd be raping me!"
"It cannot be rape to engage someone you were ordered to engage."
"I, I won't be any good. I'll bleed terribly. It will be ghastly!"
"You won't bleed," said Leslie.
Sharon looked at her with surprise.
"But I'm a virgin. You, you know that!"
Leslie shook her head.
"You're not a virgin. Not medically, at least."
Sharon dropped her gaze to her naked lap, a horrified expression crossing her face. "What do you mean?"
"We removed your hymen," was Leslie's casual reply.
Sharon jerked her head up, her eyes flashing with desperate rage.
"You, you mutilated me! You, you damaged me!"
"Nonsense!" said Leslie sharply.
Sharon-cupped her head in her hands and began to cry softly.
Leslie got up and walked over to her. She draped her arm around Sharon's shoulders.
"Every young socialite is having that operation done," she said softly. "How long would it have been before you had it performed on yourself?"
"I, I don't know," sobbed Sharon. Her initial shock had passed. She realized with a sickening jolt that Leslie was right.
"But, but it wasn't my choice," she stammered, forcing back her tears. She jerked her head up and stared into Leslie's face.
"You haven't any choices," said Leslie. "You are beginning to understand what it means to be a slave. You have no will. All your decisions, your choices, will be made for you. By us."
" "I, I suppose we should get on with it, murmured Sharon.
Leslie .stepped to one side as Sharon pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.
Sharon noticed with a start that Martha was quietly standing in a corner. The woman became more and more mysterious to her. She looked and acted the part of a servant. But she seemed to always be around. The other members of the staff were all but invisible.
She shrugged her thoughts off as she followed Leslie out of the room. She was frightened at the prospect of the experience. She wanted to refuse. But she thought of what had been done to her, and decided that her introduction to sexual contact couldn't be worse.
Leslie led her into a small room. A large double bed stretched out into a corner of the room.
"Who?" asked Sharon weakly.
"Wilson," smiled Leslie.
Sharon could not explain to herself the strange relief this produced in her. She decided it was because her forced lover would be someone she knew.
"Just make yourself comfortable," said Leslie, pointing to the bed.
Sharon walked over, trembling, and sat down at the edge of the bed.
Wilson stepped into the room a few minutes later.
"Good morning," he said to Leslie. He turned to Sharon.
"Sharon! Good morning to you!"
Sharon lifted her gaze, and managed a reply. She watched fearfully as Wilson undressed.
He stepped naked over to the bed, and sat down next to her. He curled his arm around her shoulders. His body was surprisingly warm and comfortable as he pressed her against him.
"What, what do you want me to do?" asked Sharon.
"Just lie out," said Wilson. His voice was soft.
Sharon stretched herself out on the bed.
"Raise your knees," said Wilson softly.
Sharon jerked her knees up.
"Spread your thighs," continued Wilson.
Sharon spread her thighs apart. She felt totally helpless. She cast an imploring glance to Leslie, but Leslie just smiled.
"Please don't hurt me," said Sharon, her eyes filled with fear.
"It won't hurt, really," said Wilson tenderly.
Sharon closed her eyes as he entered her. He worked her breasts with his hands. He did something in her crotch with his fingers that gave her a momentary flash of intense pleasure.
He asked her to open her eyes.
"Look," he said.
She slowly pulled her eyes open. She raised her head, and sighted down between her nipples at the member buried in her private flesh.
When he had finished, he rolled quickly off the bed. Sharon lifted her head and shoulders up, and stared down at her crotch. A few white flecks of semen were affixed to the light brown hairs between the tops of her thighs.
A terrible anger erupted in her.
"I, I have been raped!" she screamed. "You, you abused me terribly! This is awful!"
"Cease your outburst," said Leslie calmly.
Sharon dashed over to her and stood before her with knotted fists.
"You, you, you," she stammered. She searched for a word strong enough to express the horrible anguish she felt. She gasped as she stared at Leslie with flaming eyes.
"It seems you still need more lessons," said Leslie, a tired note in her voice.
Wilson stepped up behind her and curled his arm around her waist.
Sharon darted away with a shriek.
"Get away from me, you monster," she roared out.
Martha stepped into the room a moment later. She immediately clutched Sharon's arm.
"Now what are you going to do?" howled Sharon.
She was answered by a tug on her arm. She followed numbly at Martha's side as Leslie led them to the elevator. They got into the cab, and Wilson pulled the gate shut.
"You'll find that the experience was rather pleasant," said Wilson.
"Like, like," Sharon searched for an obscenity. She found one. "Like shit!" Her cry echoed off the walls of the elevator shaft.
"Oh! That's nasty I" said Leslie.
The elevator stopped in the basement. Sharon shrank back as Martha pulled her out of the cab.
"Oh, no! Not here again!" she cried. She was really afraid, thinking she was going to be put back into the cell.
But she was led to a room that at first sight looked like a gymnasium.
The ceiling rings and ropes didn't look like any athletic equipment she'd seen before.
"What, what is this?" she asked, her voice quavering.
"This is where we will punish you," said Leslie. "As I said yesterday, pain is the medium through which we will teach you to obey."
Yesterday.
Sharon staggered back, her face a mask of surprise. So it had only been one day since she'd met Leslie. It felt as though a week, or even a month had passed.
Her whole world had been turned upside down. She felt that she was being changed, being led to something she didn't want but couldn't avoid.
She fixed her gaze on a narrow, stainless steel rail running the length of the width of the room. Each of its ends were embedded in striated metal panels affixed to either wall.
Leslie lowered the bar. Martha stopped before it, and pointed at its shiny, steel surface.
"Put your feet on either side, miss," she said, in her clear, toneless voice.
Sharon trembled as she placed her feet where Martha had directed. Martha jerked her left arm up, and reached towards the ceiling. Sharon saw her pull at a length of chain, at the end of which was an iron bracelet, its clasp open.
She quickly clasped the bracelet shut over Sharon's wrist. She swiftly jerked up Sharon's other arm, and did the same.
Sharon's arms were now stretched upwards on either side of her, forming a naked vee with her head as the apex. The bracelets felt cruelly cold against the skin of her wrists.
She heard a clanking noise and looked down to see the bar steadily rising towards her naked crotch.
"No! No! Don't, don't do that!" she screamed.
The bar continued to rise. She screamed again as the cold metal touched the lips of her vagina.
"No, please, no more," she said.
Wilson gave the crank he was clutching another jerk. The bar pressed into her lips, then dug its cold metal into the flesh of her orifice. A slow burning pain began to form in her crotch.
Wilson stepped over to her holding something in his fingers.
Sharon wailed as she saw that he was advancing a small, rubber-pronged clamp towards her breasts.
"No, please, no!" she cried out.
Wilson slid the prongs of one clamp over her left nipple and slowly screwed the clamp shut. Sharon began to whimper.
"Take it off! It's hurting me!"
Wilson gave the clamp's turn-screw another twist. He placed the prongs of the other clamp over Sharon's right nipple, and screwed the prongs viciously shut over the long, red teat.
Sharon's screamed-out protest made the room's small, single window shake.
She turned herself around, and felt a fiery flash of pain tear through her tormented bosom. She quickly straightened herself again.
The bar continued to rise up into her private flesh. She clamped her thighs together. Martha grabbed her ankle and pushed her leg roughly to one side. Sharon's crotch was now on fire from the smooth friction of the bar.
Martha clamped an iron bracelet around her ankle. The bracelet was identical to one on the opposite side of the bar. Martha effortlessly bound Sharon's remaining free limb.
She was now spreadeagled over the bar. The rising motion stopped, but the bar was firmly implanted in her privates.
"You're going to damage me for good," she wailed.
"No chance of that," chuckled Wilson.
Sharon remembered what Greta had told her in the bath. Wilson would certainly not damage her. But the pain spread up into her body, and crawled with vicious, stinging fingers throughout her tortured frame.
Her imprisoned nipples began to throb painfully. Her shoulders ached, and her vagina burned with a steady, agonizing sting.
"Why, why are you doing this?" she cried.
"You still have a ways to go," sighed Leslie. "This will help you learn to obey us."
Sharon hung her head and began to sob softly. She shook as she wept, causing the sensations of pain to dance as they shot through her arms, breasts, and groin.
She turned her head slightly as Wilson, Martha and Leslie left the room.
A feeling of deep despair crept over her, and her body continued to ache. She began to think that she would never be free of this situation, that her life was to become a round of torments and abuses. She continued to sob.
The pain continued. Her vision became a grey haze. She didn't hear Leslie enter the room. Through the haze, she saw her approach. Leslie gently pressed her fingers to Sharon's sides, and pecked her a kiss on her lips.
"I'll take these right off," she said.
She quickly undid the nipple clamps. Sharon felt, as though her torso was sighing with relief. Leslie lowered the bar, and Sharon gasped sharply as she felt the cold steel pass out of her groin.
Leslie undid her arms last. Sharon staggered forward, and almost tripped over the bar. Leslie caught her around her shoulders,. and held her until she was able to steady herself.
Leslie slowly led her out of the room, and kept her arm curled tightly around her shoulders.
Sharon regained her balance as they walked towards the elevator.
"We'll have some lunch," said Leslie, as they rode up. "Then we'll continue your lessons."
CHAPTER FIVE
"I, I do think I need a rest," said Sharon, as she sank into her chair."
"Well, you'll have a little time in the lounge," said Leslie. "But it is better to hurry things along. I believe you've learned something."
Sharon couldn't help expressing what she was feeling.
"I, I'm very confused," she said.
"About what, dear?"
"I should hate you terribly. But, but I don't."
"What do you feel?" asked Leslie softly.
Sharon blushed slightly, and gripped the edge of the table tightly.
"It, it was when you came to me, in, in that thing," she began. "I, I felt that I loved you!"
She shrugged her shoulders and uttered a small sob. Leslie stretched her hand across the table and pressed her fingers gently over Sharon's.
"I love you, too, you know."
Sharon jerked up her head.
"I, I don't understand," she said.
"No. Not now. You've a glimpse of the idea. But you will see."
"What, what more will you want me to do?" asked Sharon.
Martha served the meal, then quietly positioned herself in a corner.
"Well," said Leslie, pushing her emptied plate away from her, "first is to teach you how to please a man. Then a woman. That's really all. Except for the punishments, which are a form of training as well."
"You mean, I'll, I mean, people will do those things to me?"
"People are different, and have different tastes in physical pleasures. You'll never be hurt, not permanently. It will be fun!"
"I, I don't know what to say to that," said Sharon,' lowering her gaze.
Leslie led her into the lounge. Sharon smiled as 'she saw Greta and Debbie sitting together on a long, comfortable-looking couch. They slid apart as she approached. Greta patted a cushion between her and Debbie.
"Sit with us," she smiled.
Sharon sank herself into the couch seat. She leaned back and pressed her shoulder blades firmly against the backrest of the couch. She stretched out her legs, and-sighed as she relaxed.
"Well," said Debbie. "I guess your head must be a whirl by now, no?"
"God, yes," said Sharon in a hushed whisper.
"Oh, it's all right for us to talk," said Greta.
Sharon grinned sheepishly.
"I still don't understand the point. Are we really slaves?"
Debbie raised her legs and rattled the golden chain binding her bare ankles. Greta did the same. Sharon looked down at her own bound legs, and shivered.
"Well, just because we're wearing these," she began, fighting to keep her fear out of her voice.
"That is the mark of the slave," said Greta.
"I'm glad, myself. I just love Leslie. And Wilson. Martha's okay, too."
Debbie smiled. "I was hired as a maid here," she said. "From an orphanage in the next county. I had a rough go of it, at first. But now it's marvelous."
"I still don't see-" Sharon began.
"Oh, you will, you will," said Greta.
She reached over and brushed her fingertips along Sharon's nipples.
Sharon slid away from her, and bumped into Debbie. She jerked herself back, and tried to relax.
"Let her touch you, dear. You must get quite used to being fondled. And she does love you."
Sharon jumped. She was unaware of Leslie's presence in the room. She turned and saw Leslie sitting in a nearby easy chair.
Sharon sighed, and leaned back.
"Oh, me, too," said Debbie.
She and Greta each took one of Sharon's breasts and began to stroke her nipples.
Greta slid her hand into Sharon's bare lap.
"Hey!" cried Sharon.
"Oh, my fingers are better than that old rail, aren't they?" asked Greta, her voice a soft murmur.
"I guess you're right," mumbled Sharon. Leslie stepped over to the couch.
"Well! Shall we all go for a run?"
"Oh, yes," chorused Greta and Debbie. They leapt quickly to their feet.
Leslie led them out to the back of the house and down to a small garden area.
Sharon shivered as she stepped out onto the smooth expanse of lawn enclosed between high stone walls. Several trees dotted the borders of the lawn.
"It's rather chilly out here," said Sharon.
"October's not late enough to be too cold," said Leslie. "You'll warm up quick enough, believe me."
"May we run?" asked Greta.
Leslie nodded with a smile. Sharon watched as Greta and Debbie started sprinting around the circumference of the garden. She grinned, and sprinted after them.
They made several turns around the garden, then dropped down on the lawn for a rest.
Sharon was quite warm now. She leaned back, propping herself up on her forearms. She smiled at Debbie and Greta, stretched out on either side of her.
"Well! That was fun," she said.
The run had exhilarated her, and sent her spirits soaring. She was confident that some new change was about to occur in her situation. She stubbornly refused to be troubled by the thought that she didn't know what the change was to be.
The door opened, and a young man stepped out. Sharon squinted through the bright sunlight and saw that he was Wilson.
Greta and Debbie smiled and waved to him. He waved back, raising his right arm. Three coils of rope were draped over his arm.
"What's going on?" asked Sharon.
"Wilson's going to chase us," Debbie answered.
Wilson stepped over to where the girls were stretched out on the lawn.
"Good day, ladies!" he said cheerfully.
He dropped the coils of rope and started to unbutton his shirt.
"What is he going to do?" asked Sharon.
"Chase us," grinned Greta.
"But why is he taking off his clothes?"
"Why not?" asked Greta, doing an elaborate imitation of a British accent. She and Debbie giggled.
Wilson shrugged himself out of his jeans and laid them carelessly out on the lawn.
"Okay," he said. "Everyone get ready, now."
Greta and Debbie leapt to their feet. Sharon picked herself up slowly, and joined them as they started to sprint around the lawn.
Wilson picked up a coil of rope and clutched one end tightly. The opposite end had been tied into a large loop. He swung the loop around over his head as he chased after them.
Sharon saw the loop fly through the air and land squarely over Debbie. She squealed with delight as she tumbled to the ground.
Sharon and Greta slowed their pace and watched as Wilson dashed over to Debbie. He knelt down, and wrapped the rope around her, pinning her arms' to her sides with the rope's nylon fabric.
"Up, you," said Wilson with a laugh.
Debbie grinned as. she struggled to her feet. Wilson held the rope firmly as he led her across the lawn.
Debbie pressed her back against the trunk of a tree and spread her legs wide apart.
Wilson looped the rope several turns around the trunk of the tree, pinning Debbie to its coarse bark. He tied a tight knot, then stepped back.
"Well, there's one," he said, grinning. He turned to Greta and Sharon. Greta patted Sharon on her shoulder and began a mad dash across the lawn.
Sharon started after her. Her long legs enabled her to quickly catch up with, then overtake, the smaller Greta.
Wilson charged after them, uttering fierce whoops as he swung the rope around his head. The lasso flew, and dropped down over Greta.
She threw herself to the ground. Wilson bound her, as he had Debbie, and led her over to a tree next to the one to which Debbie was tied.
Sharon watched nervously as Greta was tied to the tree.
"And now!" yelled Wilson, turning towards Sharon.
She thought she should have been frightened, but felt a strange sense of amusement as she dashed across the lawn.
She almost expected the feel of the rope's nylon fabric as it came down over her shoulders. She stretched herself out on the ground.
Wilson dashed over and quickly wrapped her in the rope, tying her arms to her sides.
"Up with you," he said cheerily.
Sharon picked herself up quickly. She trailed behind Wilson as he led her over to a tree facing the two to which he had tied Greta and Debbie.
Sharon leaned back against the tree trunk. .Wilson wound the rope around her body, leaving her breasts exposed. Her torso was covered with coils of rope from her breastbone to just above her sexual hair.
"Yes, you are lovely," said Wilson with a grin.
He turned his head around and stared at Greta and Debbie.
"I'll start with her first. I hope you don't mind, but you're the newest."
Sharon watched as he walked naked across the lawn.
"Me," cried Debbie.
"Well, all right," replied Wilson.
Sharon watched in amazement as he stepped up to Debbie and clasped his hands onto her bound sides. Debbie slid her legs apart, and he pushed his member into her.
" "Thank you," gasped Debbie, as he stepped away from her.
He was still erect. He stepped over to Greta and repeated the performance. Sharon wondered if she was next.
But Wilson slowly untied Debbie, and then Greta. He walked over to Sharon, fingered her private flesh, then untied her as well.
Sharon stepped away from the tree, stretching out her arms. Her muscles ached slightly. She could see that Debbie and Greta were stiff as well.
The three girls walked back over to Leslie. Wilson gathered up his clothing, retrieved his ropes, dressed, and left.
Sharon was taken back to her room. She sat down on her bed. Wilson entered.
"It's time for a few more pointers," he grinned.
Sharon allowed him to play with her body without resistance, and followed his instructions. She thought she should be angry or upset, but was feeling too many different emotions to know which one to act on.
Wilson left. Leslie came in a few minutes later. Sharon was surprised to find that she was wearing a robe instead of her usual blouse and skirt.
"I'm going to teach you how to please a woman," said Leslie.
Sharon slid away from her.
"I, I don't think I could do anything like that," she said, her voice trembling.
Leslie sat down at the edge of the bed and curled her arm tightly around Sharon's shoulders.
"This is going to be the gentlest part of your training," she said softly.
She stood up, and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. Sharon gasped with surprise, seeing that she was completely naked underneath.
She jumped away from the bed, shivering with fear.
"No, no, please," she whimpered.
Leslie stretched her arms out wide.
"Look at me," she said. "Don't you like my body?"
"I, I think you're very beautiful." Leslie's body was flawless. Her round breasts were perfectly shaped, and a small, neat triangle of black hair rested between the tops of her thighs.
"Lie down, dear," said Leslie.
Sharon stretched herself out on the bed.
"Now spread and raise, like you did for Wilson."
Sharon spreadeagled herself, still trembling with fear.
Leslie buried her head between her thighs. Sharon looked down at her with horror. A strange feeling began to spread through her as she felt her private flesh being drawn into Leslie's mouth.
She was still gasping for breath when Leslie tapped her on her shoulder.
"Come, now," she said, positioning herself.
Sharon trembled with: disgust as she approached Leslie's crotch. But she was afraid that the punishment for refusing now would be far worse than anything she had ever experienced.
She brought her face close to Leslie's flesh and was surprised by the pleasantness of the scented female odor.
She was able to follow Leslie's instructions. Leslie was panting slightly as Sharon pulled herself out from between her thighs.
"Wonderful," said Leslie. "Really, that was wonderful!"
"Thank you," murmured Sharon.
"The next part will be interesting," said Leslie.
She stepped off the bed and reached for a small bag she'd brought into the room with her.
Sharon gasped at what she pulled out of the bag. It was a hard rubber penis, similar to the one With which she had been punished. But this one was attached to a garment that looked like an athletic supporter.
Leslie pulled it up over her hips.
"No," cried Sharon.
Leslie smiled, then made love to her with the instrument. Leslie's body felt warm as Sharon lay beneath her. As Leslie pulled herself away, Sharon realized that she loved the woman greatly.
She turned on her side and kissed Leslie's ear.
"I, I do love you," she said. She was amazed at how pleasant the contact had been. She expected this to be the worst of all her ordeals, but it had proven the nicest.
Leslie handed her the instrument.
"This, by the way, is called a dildo."
Sharon slid it up over her hips as Leslie stretched herself out on the bed.
There was a small knob on the inside of the supporter that nestled into her vagina.
"Come now," said Leslie. "Many of our clients will want you to do this for them."
Sharon crawled between Leslie's thighs and inserted the dildo. When Leslie wrapped her arms around her, she thought briefly that she was happier than she had been in years.
She fell asleep that night, still confused by her feelings for Leslie and for Wilson. And for her situation. She resigned herself at that point, thinking of the fine food and living conditions. After all, the horrors that had been visited on her were more or less her own fault.
Her complacent mood vanished the next morning.
Leslie walked into her room, accompanied by Martha. Sharon shrank back at the sight of what Martha was holding in her hand.
"That's not for me, is it?" she asked nervously.
"It's quite necessary, dear. It will be quite uncomfortable now. But it will save you endless amounts of pain."
Sharon stared doubtfully at the huge penis shape attached to a rubber strap. The strap was shaped like a supporter, and was almost identical to the dildo that Leslie had used on her the night before.
But the penis shape was on the inside.
"What is that for?"
"To enlarge you, dear."
"But, but, well, everything fits," said Sharon, looking down at her crotch.
"Oh, my dear," said Leslie, a bemused note in her voice. "You must be aware that you have orifices besides your vagina that are desirable."
Sharon clasped her hands over her buttocks and jumped back, a horrified expression spreading across her face.
Martha rolled the supporter up into a tight wad and pulled it open. She lowered it to the floor.
"Put your foot through here, miss," she said.
"Please don't make me do that," said Sharon to Leslie. Leslie just smiled.
Sharon shook as she put her foot through the leg of the supporter. She shoved her other leg through, and Martha quickly rolled the rubber up the backs of Sharon's thighs.
Sharon braced herself as she felt the penis-shape slide between her buttocks. Then her world exploded with pain.
"Oh, oh, God, OWWW!!!" Her cry was a loud, shrill wail that filled the room.
She had never known such total torment. Her anus seemed to be shredding itself into tiny pieces as the cruel hard rubber pushed its way into her rectum.
Martha snapped the waistband of the supporter shut around Sharon's hips.
"Take this off of me!" cried Sharon.
The pain had faded, becoming its equal in anger. Her resolve of the night before was gone completely.
She began to cry and howl with rage. She strutted around the room, alternately waving her arms and grabbing at her tormented buttocks.
"No, my dear. This is not the way for you to act," said Leslie. Martha seized her arm.
"Oh, not more!" cried Sharon. "I, I didn't do anything, I just yelled! Please!"
"We have to correct your attitude," said Leslie. "It's quite the time for what we have planned next."
Martha led Sharon out of the room. She couldn't decide whether to be afraid of what was going to happen, or concentrate on the pain in her buttocks.
Martha led her down to the basement.
"Here again," she said, unable to control the shrill, whining note in her voice.
"Yes, dear," murmured Leslie.
Sharon was pushed into a small, bare room. A board was implanted in one wall, from which protruded two opened, iron clamps.
Martha dragged her over to the board and roughly shoved her wrists into the clamps. She shut them tightly over Sharon's wrists. Sharon shivered at the feel of the cold, crude metal against the tender flesh of her wrists.
Sharon turned her head around as Leslie stepped over to a cabinet.
Her next movement puzzled her. Leslie looked at Martha. Martha nodded expressionlessly, and Leslie smiled. It occurred to Sharon that it should have been Martha that looked, and Leslie that nodded. But she decided that her fear was confusing her perceptions.
Leslie pulled something out of the cabinet and stepped back over to where Sharon was bound.
"Look over here, dear."
Sharon turned her head slowly around.
"Oh, god, no! Not that! No one does that!"
Leslie was clutching the handle of a long, thin whip. Its cruel leather glinted evilly in the room's dim light.
"Don't, just don't," wailed Sharon.
"Greta likes to be whipped," said Leslie. "So does Debbie."
Sharon fell silent, a look of horror crossing her face. Leslie stepped behind her. She heard, a thin, whistling noise as Leslie raised the whip.
The thin, cruel leather of the whip bit into the tender flesh of her back. Her whole body seemed to catch fire as the leather bit and left its red mark.
The pain spread up to the back of her neck.
"No, no more!" wailed Sharon loudly. "I'll obey. I, I'll change my attitude! PLEASE, I LOVE YOU!"
Leslie swung again, landing the leather across Sharon's shoulder blades.
She screamed at the fiery, stinging agony it produced. She was sure that someone had set her afire. Her skin burned, and a sickening warmth spread through her back.
Leslie raised her arm, then swung sideways. The whip's leather curled around the small of Sharon's back. The tip swung wickedly around, and stung at her bare stomach.
Sharon screamed again.
She turned her head around and looked down at as much as she could see of her back. She saw the beginning of a thick, red stripe, and felt something wet and warm trickling down the back of her thighs. She saw that it was blood, and began to tremble.
"I'm bleeding! You're going to kill me!"
"You must learn to accept and obey," shouted Leslie. Her voice was hoarse as she raised the whip again. Sharon trembled, then howled.
'Oh, God, not more! she shrieked. Her cry of agony echoed off the walls of the room.
The whip's end bit into her tormented flesh again, leaving an ugly red stripe that cut across the other marks.
Sharon shook. Her knees grew weak, and she slowly sank down.
"Straighten up," said Leslie softly. "It will hurt a great deal less that way."
She raised her whip arm again and again laid the leather across Sharon's shoulders.
Sharon felt as if her spine had been broken in half. She howled loudly again, the clamps clanking as she jerked her bound wrists.
The motion sent fiery fingers of pain shooting up her arms. Leslie swung rapidly again. She crouched as she swung, aiming the whip at Sharon's buttocks.
The cruel leather landed flat across her tender cheeks. Sharon's cry was animal-like as she rattled the clamps. She let her head hang down to her breast, exhausted by the terrible, stinging agony Leslie was subjecting her to.
"Turn her around," said Leslie.
Martha stepped over to Sharon and quickly freed her hands. She seized Sharon's waist, and spun her around.
"Raise your arms, miss."
Sharon numbly raised her arms over her head. Her vision was cloudy, and her world seemed to consist only of the awful, stinging pain in her back. She watched, almost without knowing What she was looking at, as Martha clamped her wrists back into the clamps.
She faced Leslie with terrified eyes. Her arms were bound over her head and behind her. The clamps gripped her wrists cruelly.
Leslie stepped towards her, and held the handle of the whip in front of her face.
"Kiss it," she said, a sharp note of command in her voice.
Sharon shrank back, staring at the grim, black handle. Leslie held it in front of her lips. Shaking, she bent her head forward and pressed her lips tightly against the handle.
As she moved, her body exploded with stinging pain. She shivered, and cried with pain.
"Why, why are you doing this?" she wailed.
"Kiss it," Leslie replied.
Sharon pressed her lips to the handle and gave the-hard wood a loud kiss. Leslie pulled the handle away' from her face and stepped back.
Sharon groaned softly as Leslie raised her whip arm again.
"No, please, not my breasts," she said, her voice hoarse.
Leslie swung, down and sideways. The harsh whip cut a straight line across Sharon's bosom, just under her breasts. She cried out from the horrible agony the blow caused.
Leslie stepped back. Sharon dropped her head to her breast. She immediately jerked her head back up again, uttering a gasp of horror.
"You, you've scarred me," she said, her voice a mixture of shock and disbelief.
She-kept her eyes fixed on the thin, blood-red stripe running across her torso.
Leslie raised her arm again. Sharon stared at her, then quickly jerked her head to one side.
The whip flew through the air with a shrill, evil hum. It landed across the center of her round breasts, and she screamed. She shook herself from side to side.
"Oh, OWWWW! My breasts!"
A thin red stripe had been laid across the round, white masses of flesh.
Leslie swung again, this time cutting a vicious stripe across the smooth, white plane of Sharon's stomach. Sharon's pained howl filled the room. Leslie brought the tip of the whip fiercely into Sharon's crotch. The cruel leather snapped into the lips of her vagina, sending an immeasurable bolt of agony through her groin.
"Stop, stop, oh, please, STOP!" she cried out.
The whip seared its painful way across her thighs. She kicked her legs, and felt the screaming, stinging torment increase sharply.
She hung limp in the wrist irons.
"No, no, no," she muttered.
The whip cut across her lower legs, making her limbs shriek with agony. The blow sent hot, sharp needles of pure anguish tearing up her hips.
Sharon's cry of pain was a thin, despairing wail.
Leslie lowered her arm, and stood silently. The end of the whip trailed onto the floor.
"I think that should be enough," she said softly.
Sharon was very quiet and still as Martha unlocked her wrist irons. She stepped humbly away from the board.
"I think we'll go see Wilson, now," said Leslie.
Sharon nodded a silent yes. She followed slowly behind Leslie and Martha as they left the punishment room.
She remained silent as Wilson tended her injuries. She noticed dimly that the stinging pain was fading rapidly.
Somehow, it didn't seem to matter.
"Do you think you'll be all right?" asked Wilson. He swabbed down the stripes crossing her skin with a piece of cotton.
"Yes, I'll be fine, thank you," said Sharon.
"I'm sure you will be," said Leslie.
CHAPTER SIX
The following days passed like a blur. Morning became noon, and then night, with Sharon only vaguely aware of the change in time of day.
There were lessons in every aspect of sexuality. And practice. And more lessons. Sharon tried to keep her mind alert by counting the number of times she had had intercourse with Wilson.
She rebelled several more times, and was punished until the thought of rebellion no longer occurred to her.
She was punished for what would be considered trifling offenses.
Leslie had her acting the part of a servant. Sharon at first rebelled at the idea. The thought of acting as one of those people she'd been waited on all her life by repulsed her more than any of the sexual practices to which she had been introduced.
Several hours of whipping while she was tied to the rail had her wearing a parody of a maid's costume, and carrying a silver tray.
She continued to wear the costume over the course of the next few days. She realized that she liked herself better naked. She was frightened by the thought that her personal preferences now seemed very distant, as if they really had nothing to do with her at all.
One evening, she dropped a teacup. It shattered as it hit the floor.
Leslie leapt angrily to her feet. Her eyes flashed angrily, but she kept her voice tone calm.
"That is inexcusable," she said. "Am I to be punished?" asked Sharon. "Do you think you should be?"
"Yes," replied Sharon.
She waited calmly for Martha. The woman entered the room, and Sharon held her arm out to her. Martha clamped her hand firmly over Sharon's wrist.
She led Sharon out of the room. Leslie followed silently behind.
Sharon was surprised to find that they weren't going down to the basement.
Leslie stopped in front of a room in a part of the house Sharon had never before seen. Martha knocked on the door.
"Now," said Leslie. "You're to do whatever this young man wants you to."
She and Martha left, closing the door tightly shut behind them.
Sharon turned and faced the young man. She searched her memory as she scanned his features and lean, wiry frame. She recalled that she had seen him serving dinner a number of times.
"Well, well," he .said, a cruel note in his voice. "I was right due for a bonus, and here it is. Or, rather, here you are."
"Whatever you wish," said Sharon.
"Hmm, let me see," mused the young man. "Sex, of course."
Sharon followed her routine. She smiled temptingly, and thrust her breasts forward as she spoke.
"I can make you very happy," she said softly, her voice at just the right level of sensuality.
She began to undress him, and performed all she had been taught.
Leslie and Martha reentered the room.
"That was marvelous," said Leslie, smiling brightly.
Sharon felt suddenly very gratified that Leslie was no longer angry with her.
"Thank you," she said demurely.
"For your performance, you will be released from further punishments," said Leslie.
That night, Greta stole softly into Sharon's room. She slipped slowly under the blankets, and Sharon moved away from her. Then Sharon felt an overwhelming desire she gave into without question.
They fell asleep in each other's arms.
Sharon awoke quickly the next morning. Greta smiled, stirred, and slowly awakened.
She wrapped her arms around Sharon's waist.
"Good morning, darling," she cooed.
Sharon felt a flood of love pass over her. She leaned over and planted a hard kiss on Greta's cheeks.
Then she jerked her head up sharply again.
"Won't, won't we be punished?" she asked.
"No, I asked Leslie for permission last night. We're allowed to, here. But not always in England."
"England?"
"Oh, I shouldn't tell you," said Greta. "Leslie will explain the whole thing after breakfast."
Sharon followed Greta out to the kitchen, her mind jumping with a thousand questions. It did not occur to her to ask before the meal was over.
"Well," said Leslie, as Martha cleared off the table.
"I have some news for you. Both of you. You'll be going to our establishment in England."
Sharon inhaled sharply.
"You will be returning here," smiled Leslie. "But you've a couple of missions it would be easier to send you on from there."
Greta looked downcast.
"I, I don't want to leave you," she said. Her voice was hushed.
"Oh, I'll be there," said Leslie. "I won't be going with you, but I'll meet you there later. The three of us are going on a special trip. It's a mission."
"May I ask-" Sharon began.
"Not now," replied Leslie. "You'll be given the details later. Tonight we're going on a practice run."
They spent the afternoon in the lounge. Leslie would pronounce a word in a strange language and Sharon and Greta would have to repeat it.
"What language is this, please?" asked Sharon.
"Amharic," said Leslie. "The words I've taught you will come in handy where we're going."
Sharon smiled. She liked the sounds of the words she had been taught.
That evening, Sharon and Greta were dressed in blue silk gowns. Leslie took them out to the car. Sharon was startled by the sight of the car.
"How, how long has it been?" she asked nervously.
"Five weeks," replied Leslie.
Greta and Sharon had been given fur coats. Sharon thought that she would have been enraptured by the garment only a short time ago. Now the sleek, shiny material felt only pleasant to her touch.
A private dinner party was being given by a group of young executives for one of their number.
Sharon and Greta were ushered into a small room. They undressed, and walked into the dining area carrying trays laden with wine.
Sharon maintained her hold on the tray. The moment she entered, she felt herself being pinched at and grabbed at from all sides. She smiled seductively at the men.
Greta sat herself in the lap of a stout, older man. She began toying with him. She soon had him sweating and grunting heavily.
Sharon felt a pair of powerful hands curl around her waist.
She smiled as she turned her head to see a tall, heavy-set young man standing over her, leering.
"Come in here with me," he said.
He took her into a small room that was empty except for an unmade bed. Sharon stretched herself out on the rough mattress.
The man was very drunk, and ejaculated just as his member touched her private flesh.
She smiled as he sheepishly pulled himself away from her, and hurriedly adjusted his trousers.
The evening proceeded. Greta and Sharon had intercourse with all present, except for two young men who were too drunk to be aware of anything.
Leslie beamed as she slid into the back seat of the car next to them.
"That was wonderful!" she said. "You two have done just marvelously!"
Sharon awoke the next morning to a loud knock on the door to her room. "Yes, please," she said softly. Leslie walked in.
"Good! I'm glad you're awake. We're off to England, you and Greta that is."
Sharon followed her out of the room.
"You mean we're going now?" she asked.
"Well, bathe and have breakfast first," said Leslie.
Sharon found herself filled with excitement as she slid into the bath next to Greta.
She slipped her hand between Greta's thighs.
"I don't know if-" Greta began with a whisper.
"Don't waste time."
Martha's clear, toneless voice sounded hollow against the tiled walls of the bathroom.
Sharon grinned sheepishly and slid far away from Greta.
Breakfast was eaten quickly. Sharon began to wonder how she and Greta would be taken to the airport and put on a plane stark naked.
"Don't worry," laughed Leslie. "We have our own plane."
Sharon and Greta were led to the back of the house. Sharon found herself staring into a horizon that stretched further than she could see.
"This is all your land?" she asked. "Yes," smiled Leslie.
"There's the plane," said Greta.
A small, sleek-looking aircraft was parked a short distance from where they stood. They walked quickly over to the plane. A young woman stuck her head out of the door and reached down her arm to Greta. Leslie stepped up and kissed Greta's lips. Greta climbed into the plane, smiling.
Sharon gave Leslie a quick kiss and scrambled into the plane.
"Take care of yourselves," said Leslie. "I'll be seeing you shortly."
The plane took off with a gentle lurch. Sharon was surprised, remembering the jolting movements of the private planes she had flown in earlier years.
She settled herself comfortably in the leather covered rear seat and looked out the small, round window to her right.
She found that there was nothing to see but sky and clouds. She glanced over at Greta. Greta was peering intently at the empty sky, seeming to be in some sort of a trance.
Sharon felt a slight touch of boredom and uttered a small yawn.
She looked to the front of the plane. The woman who had helped them into the plane was seated next to another young woman, the plane's pilot.
She turned her head around and smiled at Sharon.
"Enjoying the ride?"
"Oh, yes," Sharon replied.
The woman turned her head to the pilot and muttered something. The pilot shook her head in reply. As Sharon watched, she climbed out of her seat and walked to the rear of the plane.
Greta's gaze was still fixed on the window.
"Why don't you go back there?" asked the woman, pointing to an empty space behind Sharon's seat. There was a faded old mattress stretched out over the iron plating of the floor.
Sharon walked over to the mattress. The woman stepped towards her.
"The sunlight looks very beautiful on your hair," murmured Sharon.
She smiled at the way the golden shafts of sunlight glinted off the woman's long, auburn hair.
"Thank you," murmured the woman.
She unzipped the front of her jumpsuit and shrugged herself out of it. As Sharon had thought, she was naked underneath:
"I guess you know what to do," she said hoarsely.
"Certainly," murmured Sharon.
She sat down at the edge of the mattress. The woman positioned herself, and Sharon performed all she'd been taught on her.
When she was finished, the woman quickly dressed and darted to the front of the plane. She spoke excitedly to the pilot, and the pilot climbed, quickly to the rear.
Sharon performed on her. She returned to her seat.
"May I, too?" asked Greta.
The same scene was repeated.
Sharon was puzzled. She leaned over and whispered into Greta's ear.
"I thought you didn't know what was going on!"
"Oh, I always do," said Greta. "That's why I keep my eyes away. It makes it easier for my ears to work."
She saw land below her a few hours later, as early evening was creeping over the horizon. The plane made a slow landing in a lonely moor. The pilots got out and led them to a large house, looking very much a Gothic mansion in the dim twilight.
A tall, matronly woman greeted them with a small smile.
"You'll go right to your rooms, now," she said. "You've work for tomorrow."
Greta's and Sharon's rooms were side by side.
"One thing more," said the woman, as they approached their separate rooms. "There'll be no monkey business between the two of you tonight, you hear? There'll be the devil to pay, I can promise you that."
"No, ma'm," they chorused.
The woman smiled grimly and walked away.
"Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning," said Sharon.
"Guess so," said Greta sadly.
Sharon slid under the covers and tried to lull herself to sleep.
She began to feel a terrible,, overwhelming desire for Greta. She felt alone, and a bit frightened. She had gotten used to the house. But here she was, not only in a strange bed, but in a foreign country as well.
She almost expected it as the door swung open slowly.
Greta closed the door swiftly behind her and dashed over to Sharon's bed.
"Can't sleep, huh?" asked Sharon. "I can't."
Greta slid up onto her bed and grinned.
"We might get in trouble for this," said Sharon, as she allowed Greta to slip between her thighs.
Greta lifted her head, a huge grin spreading across her face.
"I know we will-there's no might about it!"
Sharon laughed for the first time in the five weeks since her capture.
She rose slowly out of the dreamy intoxication between Greta's thighs to see the woman who had brought them to the house standing in the doorway.
"Well, well," she said nastily. "And what do you call this?"
They stared at her with blank faces.
"I know what to call it," she continued. "I call it disobedience. And you know what that means, don't you?"
"Oh, don't punish us," wailed Greta.
"No, please, no!" cried Sharon.
The woman folded her arms over her chest. "Off that bed and come with me right now. You both need a good lesson, and, by George, I'm going to give you one!"
Greta and Sharon slid slowly off the bed. The woman turned sharply around. They followed her out of the room and dropped their gazes to the floor.
The woman led them down several flights of winding stairs. She pushed open a small door, and held it open as she ushered them inside.
They found themselves in a dank, cold basement room". A small bulb provided the only illumination. It hung from a chain embedded in the ceiling, casting its feeble yellow light on the room's cinderblock walls.
"What are you going to do to us?" asked Sharon.
"Only what you rightly deserve," she replied with a disgusted snort. "You two are quite a problem, I must say. You're to be off tomorrow, and there isn't time to give you a really good lesson."
She stepped over to a nearby wall and flicked a switch. Sharon gasped as the room was flooded with light. Blinking against the brightness, she saw a mercury bulb in its metal casing affixed to the top of the wall adjacent to where she stood.
She saw the chains embedded in the cinder block walls. Each chain was tipped with an iron wristlet, the sort she had become all too familiar with during the past weeks.
The woman chained Greta to one wall.
"Oh, don't do this!" cried Greta. "Please, please. Whip us, yes, whipping is what we deserve!"
"And send you out, all striped up like a bloody Zebra? Not very likely, miss, not very likely at all."
Sharon trembled with fear. If Greta was nervous, the punishment must be a terrible one indeed.
But the woman simply chained her to the wall across from Greta. The light shined brightly on both their bodies, and they could see each other clearly.
The woman knelt down in front of Greta, something shiny in her hand.
"Oh, not that, too!" cried Greta, a clear note of exasperation in her voice.
Sharon had never heard her complain so clearly before.
The woman made a motion with her hands and stepped away. Sharon saw that she had positioned a mirror between Greta's legs. The mirror was resting diagonally on a clock of wood.
The mirror seemed to occupy a good deal of Sharon's sight. She could see the flesh of Greta's vagina clearly.
The woman placed an identical mirror between Sharon's feet.
"There," she said as she walked towards the door, "That ought to teach the both of you a thing or two."
She left and slammed the door loudly behind her.
"I don't quite get the point," said Sharon.
"Oh, you will," said Greta. There was a hint of a groan in her voice.
Sharon felt herself becoming lustful for Greta. It slowly became harder and harder for her to keep her eyes off the mirror.
Greta started to groan.
"I, I want you so bad!" she cried out, her voice hoarse.
Her cry sent Sharon's lusts soaring. She felt an overwhelming desire for Greta's intimate touch.
The minutes dragged by as her lusts continued to rise. Greta was sweating heavily, and panting. She rattled the chains binding her to the wall and moaned.
"Maybe I can kick the mirror over," said Sharon.
She nudged it with her foot, spreading her legs as far apart as the chain binding her ankles would allow. But the mirror's base was weighted. She groaned as she realized she couldn't move it by so much as an inch.
"It's no good," she cried, "it's just no good. It won't move, and that's that!"
Greta tried the same experiment, with the same result.
The time continued to drag by. Sharon's arms began to ache, and the cold, crude metal of the wristlets grazed her skin.
But all' she could think about was the fiery mass of lust continuing to expand in her.
She couldn't remember ever wanting anything more than the feel of Greta's flesh against her hands.
The woman returned about a century after she had left them.
When she unlocked their chains, they ran weakly towards each other. They clasped their arms around each other, then slowly parted.
Sharon was confused as the woman led them out of the room. Greta was grinning.
"Now all you want to do is sleep, right?"
"Yes," said Sharon.
The first touch of Greta's hand had made her passions dissipate completely.
She grinned to herself as she climbed into her bed. She quickly fell asleep.
A sharp knock on her door woke her the next morning.
"Time for your mission," the woman called out.
She opened her door to see Greta standing in the hall.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
Greta answered with a shrug.
They ate a quick delicious breakfast. The woman led them back to their rooms, where they found simple cotton dresses waiting for them. They put these on quickly, then followed the woman out of the house.
They climbed into a waiting car. Sharon watched the British countryside as the car whizzed down the almost-empty stretch of road. The land around her became more and more deserted, until she could see nothing but the twisted trunks of trees sticking up from bare, brown ground.
"Look," said Greta, tapping Sharon's arm.
Sharon leaned over and peered out of Greta's window. She saw a stately-looking house off in the distance.
The car climbed slowly up a steep, winding hill and parked in front of the house. Sharon gazed at its porch and clean, white front. The house seemed to resemble pictures she'd seen of American plantation houses of the last century.
They filed out of the car. The woman, who had been sitting next to the silent driver, turned a sharp gaze to them.
"We'll be picking you up when you're done, of course. Mind your training, now."
They approached the front door of the house as the car sped away. Sharon raised her fist to knock, but the door swung open.
A butler appeared in the doorway. He looked down at them, his plain, round face an expressionless mask.
"Ma'm is waiting for you," he said. His voice was deep and grave.
They followed him through a lavishly decorated living room.
"I say," whispered Greta. "Sort of reminds you of a hotel, doesn't it?"
Sharon strained to keep herself from giggling at the comment. She pressed her finger against her lips, and nodded a silent yes.
The butler stopped before a closed set of double doors.
"Ma'm requests that you be undressed," he intoned.
Sharon reached behind her back. She turned to Greta.
"Unzip me, won't you," she asked.
Greta unzipped the back of her dress, then turned around. The butler vanished silently as Sharon unzipped Greta's dress.
Sharon pulled her arms out of the dress sleeves and pulled the garment over her head. She looked around for somewhere to put it, then draped it over her arm.
Greta did the same. She looked at Sharon. Sharon looked at her. Sharon shrugged, and pushed open the doors.
"Come in," a pleasant, mature-woman's voice called out.
They stepped through the doorway and found themselves in a sort of study. Bookshelves lined the walls. A huge desk was placed against the rear wall.
A tall, handsomely-dressed woman stood up from behind the desk as they walked in.
"Hello," she said pleasantly. "My name is Lady-well, just call me Dorothy."
They smiled.
"I'm Sharon."
"That's a lovely name."
"I'm Greta."
"And another lovely name."
The woman stared silently at their naked bodies for a few minutes.
"Come with me," she said. "We're all going to have so much fun!"
She led them out of the study, and down a flight of stairs. Sharon expected a basement, but found herself in a carpeted, paneled room.
She smiled at the board implanted in one paneled wall. Chains affixed to a metal plate in the board dangled down. Each chain had at its end.
Dorothy paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then her pretty face brightened considerably.
She darted across the room, and over to an enormous oak cabinet. She quickly pulled out a long, thin, evil-looking whip.
"Sharon," she said, a hoarse note in her voice, "Yes, ma'm," Sharon replied. "Step over to the board, rear to me. Wrists up, understand?"
"Yes," replied Sharon.
She placed her wrists in the opened wrist irons and thrust her buttocks out behind her.
The woman quickly clamped her wrists into the irons.
"Are you going to whip me?" asked Sharon. "No," replied Dorothy. She thrust the handle of the whip at Greta. "Whip her."
"Don't hurt me," Sharon wailed.
Greta grasped the whip handle firmly and stepped towards Sharon's bound form.
"I love you," Sharon cried out.
"Yes, and I love you, very much," replied Greta.
She raised her whip arm up and swung. Sharon wailed as she heard the evil, humming noise the whip made as it flew through the air.
There was a loud, smacking noise as the whip found its target. Sharon felt a sharp, hot pain explode in her lower back and shoot like lightning through her body.
She leaned back her head.
"OWWWWWW!" she screamed.
Sharon glanced at Dorothy. Dorothy's eyes were glazed with a sort of lust, and she was breathing heavily.
Greta swung sideways with the whip. She snapped her wrist in a manner that she and Sharon had been taught.
The whip flew home, the cruel leather slamming down into its bed of naked female flesh. Sharon screamed again. She bent her head back, as the pain tore through her.
There was a crazy sensation mixed with the awful, burning pain of the whip bites. Sharon was confused, more so when she realized that it was because it was Greta holding the whip.
"Again," rasped Dorothy.
Greta swung again. The whip's end struck Sharon's side, and moved in a blur of motion to her torso. The sound of the leather on her stomach blended with Sharon's high-pitched wail of torment.
"Once more."
Greta stepped back, gripping the handle of the whip so tightly her knuckles began to turn white.
She swung, and landed the flat of the whip squarely across Sharon's shoulder blades. Sharon jumped and wriggled about, rattling her chains.
"Stop!" shouted Dorothy.
She strutted over and quickly undid Sharon's wrists. Sharon stepped away, trembling. She was very confused. Her back stung painfully, but something made her feel that she was almost at the point of orgasm.
"Greta!" shouted Dorothy.
Sharon glanced at Dorothy again. Her face was a deep pink, her breath coming in short gasps. She was sweating-Sharon could see that by the beads of sweat that had broken out all over her forehead.
Greta smiled brightly and minced over to the board.
"Shackle me tight, please," she smiled.
"Don't worry," murmured Dorothy.
She pressed Greta's wrists to the clamps, and slammed them shut.
She walked over to Sharon, and handed her the whip. She nodded with a smile, and walked back to her chair.
The handle of the whip felt strange as Sharon curled it around in her hand. She waved it, and felt its rough leather jerk.
Now she understood the strange sessions she'd had, aiming a similar whip at a wooden post. Leslie had answered her questions by telling her she'd have a use for everything she was taught.
And Sharon was quite good at casting and aiming the whip.
And she didn't want to lash Greta. She felt a sob welling up inside her, and quickly choked it down. She was afraid of the horrible punishment that would ensue if she spoiled the mission. But beyond that, she found herself incapable of following the dictates of her own will.
She sighed to herself and stepped forward. She clutched the whip handle tightly, and slowly raised her arm.
Dorothy leaned forward, gripping the edges of her chair. Sharon swung hard. The whip flew, and she gasped as it landed straight across Greta's back.
Greta uttered a sharp cry.
"Sharon, I love you," she called out.
Sharon glanced at Dorothy, wondering if Greta's reaction would interfere in whatever she was feeling. But the woman's gaze was fixed on the thin red stripe running the width of Greta's back. She appeared not to have heard Greta's cry at all.
"And I love you, dearest," said Sharon.
She took a step forward, advancing her right foot as if she was a fencer. She swung downwards, the whip's end landing on Greta's shoulder and snaking its lightning fast, painful, way down her back.
Greta leaned back her head and let out an exquisite howl. She shook, making her chains clank.
"Once more," breathed Dorothy.
Sharon swung again, and brought the whip sideways across the small of Greta's back. There was a sharp, stinging noise as the leather cracked across the girl's spine. Greta screamed, and let herself go limp in the irons.
Dorothy got up quickly and freed Greta's hands. She motioned to them to sit on the floor in front of her.
"That was so lovely!" she said. "Would you like a glass of wine?"
They had been carefully instructed never to refuse an offer made by a client. They smiled, and nodded eagerly.
The wine was excellent. An older-looking man, a butler, brought the wine in on a silver tray. He paid no attention whatever to either of them.
"You two are quite good friends, aren't you?" asked Dorothy, as she sipped at her wine.
"Oh, yes," said Greta, and wrapped her arm tightly around Sharon's shoulders.
Dorothy finished her glass quickly. Greta and Sharon did the same. A warm, sleepy feeling crept up on Sharon, and she leaned back against Greta.
"I'll bet you two have all sorts of fun together," said Dorothy with a sly wink.
"Oh, we sure do," chortled Greta.
She hugged Sharon tightly as she spoke.
"Why don't you come upstairs and show me what you do?"
"Oh, could we?" asked Sharon, her eyes shining.
Dorothy got up and led them to the second floor of the house. She pushed open the door to her bedroom, and ushered them inside.
Sharon smiled at the lavish elegance of the room. A huge four-poster bed stretched out to the center of the thickly carpeted floor. The windows were blocked by heavy curtains. An elaborate, definitely antique dresser stretched out along one wall.
Greta looked at the bed and then at Dorothy.
"Go ahead," said Dorothy.
Greta leapt up onto the bed and stretched herself out on the smooth, satin sheets. Sharon slid up next to her, and wrapped her arms tightly around Greta's naked form.
Greta lifted her feet up off the surface of the bed. She bent her legs over her head. She spread her thighs apart. Dorothy stepped over to the side of the bed and crouched down. She gasped loudly as Sharon shoved her face into Greta's private flesh.
Sharon and Greta changed places.
They lay quietly side by side afterwards, panting from their exertions. Dorothy was breathing heavily. She reached behind her and unzipped the back of her top. She pulled it up over her head.
"You're beautiful!" Greta gasped. She swiftly sat up.
"Oh, I'm so glad you think so!" replied Dorothy, her voice a hushed whisper.
Sharon sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
"Let me help you," she said.
Dorothy stepped back, raising her arms. Sharon swiftly undid the top of her lower garment and pulled it down. Dorothy sat down in a chair near the bed and stretched out her legs.
"Off we go," chirped Sharon.
She jerked the garment off Dorothy's legs with a snap of her wrist.
Dorothy stretched herself out naked on the bed.
"Well," she said, after they had done with her.
She slowly climbed off the bed, and quickly pulled on her clothes.
"I'm afraid it's time for your little visit to end," she said. "My husband will be home soon. He does wish me to finish up before he arrives here. A quirk of his."
There was something very funny about that to Sharon. The terms 'quirk' and 'perversion' had long since lost their meaning for her.
They smiled as they left the house. Dorothy kissed them both.
The car that had brought them pulled up in front of the house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Ethiopia!"
Sharon's voice was filled with excitement. The woman frowned at her. "Yes. Leslie-"
"Oh, good!" interjected Greta. The woman scowled at her. "Mind you don't interrupt again, miss!" Greta grinned sheepishly. "Now. As I am trying to say, Leslie will be here shortly."
Sharon and Greta trembled with excitement.
"But Ethiopia!" said Sharon.
"And why not Ethiopia? Where there's a mission, there's a mission. Ethiopia, China, Afghanistan. It's none of your affair, really."
She turned and left the room. Sharon leaned back against the couch.
"Have you ever been to such a place before?" she asked.
"No, not to Africa," replied Greta. "Oh, those black men! They have the most-well, never mind about that. Anyway, I went to Syria once. Some rich arab had me tied up all night. Every once in a while, one of his sons would come over and diddle my tush."
"Sounds like a bit of a bore, really," said Sharon wryly.
"Oh, that it was," replied Greta. "I yawned once. The number one arab-I don't know what they called him, a sheik of something-walked right over."
"That must have been frightening," said Sharon with a shiver.
"Oh, yes!" said Greta. "I thought he was going to do something terrible to me, really. But he just smiled, and yelled something in that language of his. A man came over with just the largest hookah, and filled me full of hashish."
"Hashish!"
"Sure. I guess you've never smoked, huh?"
"No, I can't say that I have," replied Sharon.
The few cigarettes she'd had at parties had produced no effect in her whatsoever.
"Well. Maybe we'll have some in Ethiopia. Oh! I'm glad that Leslie will be going along, aren't you?"
"God, yes," whispered Sharon. "It sounds so, so scary, going to a remote place like that!"
"And all this war business," said Greta. She shivered with fearful delight. Sharon giggled.
"Maybe we'll be dragged into the Ethiopian army," she said.
"Yes, yes! We'll have guns, and we'll have to fight the Somalis! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
"I wonder who we're going to see there," mused Sharon.
"An army officer-a general," a familiar voice said behind them.
They jumped up, turned around, and uttered loud cries of joy.
"Leslie!" they chorused.
She wrapped her arms around them and hugged them tightly.
"Well! Such a greeting!" she murmured.
"Oh, it's so good to see you," cried Sharon.
"Yes, yes" gasped Greta.
Leslie tore herself away from them and sat down between them on the couch.
"Well," she said, glancing at her watch, "we'll be going quite soon, now."
"Are we really going to Ethiopia?" asked Sharon.
"Yes, we are, you curious cat," smiled Leslie. "Mister Mjahara will be our host. He has an estate near the Somali border, just inside the Ogaden region."
"Sounds exotic," murmured Sharon.
"Oh, I'm sure we'll have an interesting time of it," said Leslie with a smile.
They dressed in the same garments they were given the night before.
"We're going to travel by regular, commercial airlines," Leslie explained. "With whom we're seeing and all a private plane wouldn't do. We have to cross Ethiopian air space. And there is a war on there, you know."
Sharon was nervous at the thought of being in public after the seemingly centuries-long time since she'd been taken.
Leslie decided that they should wear different clothes. She sent them to their rooms.
Sharon gasped as she pushed open her door.
An expensive-looking outfit was laid out on her bed. The dress was elegant, as was the slip and other undergarments.
She dressed herself quickly, delighting in the feel of being fully clothed after spending so many days naked. But it puzzled her that the clothing didn't matter as much as it should have.
She went back down to the lounge. Greta was already there when she arrived.
"Oh! You look lovely!" said Greta.
"And you look absolutely marvelous," said Sharon.
Sharon glanced at herself in a mirror as they walked out. They appeared to be three rich young women out on a holiday. A strange feeling began to creep over her. She looked as she had in the days before her capture and training. But everything inside her was so totally different.
She began to feel afraid to be out in public again.
Greta sensed her fear as they slid into the back of a car.
"Don't worry," she said. "No one will know what it is we do. And they wouldn't believe you if you told them."
"They'd think I was mad," chuckled Sharon.
Greta's simple statement had lifted her spirits greatly.
Sharon noticed that several things were different when they reached the airport. When she flew with her family she always had to wait in a long line.
Leslie stepped-up to the front of the ticket counter. The clerk mumbled something to her about the back of the line.
Leslie stood silently in front of the desk.
"Miss, there is a line," said the clerk, scowling.
Leslie reached into her handbag and pulled out a small card. The clerk glanced at it, then opened his eyes wide with surprise.
"I, I'm sorry," he said. There was a slight tremor in his voice. "I hadn't been informed. If I had known-"
"That's perfectly all right," said Leslie shortly. "May we please have our reservations?"
Sharon leaned over and whispered into Greta's ear as they walked away from the ticket counter. ' "He sounds like a slave, too," she giggled.
"He is," replied Greta.
Sharon looked amazed.
"You mean he works for, for-"
"No, that's silly," laughed Greta. "He is a slave, because he has to work for a living. For him, disobedience means not being able to pay his rent, support his family, and so forth.
These are terrible punishments-I'd rather be whipped."
"I can see what you mean," said Sharon.
She looked around her at the crowded airport. Uniformed porters were pushing carts piled high with black baggage. They looked up at the lights on the ceiling as they passed. It seemed to Sharon that they were looking for an escape out of their lives as they did so.
A couple of stewardesses passed, talking and laughing. A cab driver angrily scanned the milling faces for his customer.
"Yes," said Greta, reading Sharon's thoughts. "They're all slaves. The cab man. The truck man. The writer, chained to his typewriter. The boss, to his employees and his business. Everyone in the world is wearing some sort of chain."
Sharon fell silent at that.
They filed past the crowd milling around in front of the ramp leading to the plane. Leslie showed her card to a stewardess, and she immediately ushered them on board.
They slid into three adjoining seats, Leslie in the center. Sharon sat on the aisle, and Greta took her favored place near the window.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" said Sharon, whispering to Leslie.
"What?" smiled Leslie.
"We had such an easy time of it. You showed a card, and-"
"And we got what you Americans would call the red carpet treatment." Leslie interrupted.
"I really don't understand," said Sharon.
"The card identifies me as being involved with the British Secret Service. It's quite genuine, you know."
Sharon was amazed.
"What! I mean, the influence you must have. Wow-"
"Well. We do have to keep things a bit quiet, and we certainly don't run the country. But don't think we're going to darkest Africa alone and unprotected. After all, who do you think can afford what we charge for your services?"
"You mean like that nice woman Dorothy?"
"Dorothy?" Leslie looked puzzled. Then she smiled brightly.
"Oh, yes! Lady A-You must have heard of her husband, Lord A-"
"I, I've heard the name," said Sharon weakly.
Leslie buried her face in the pages of a magazine. Greta focused her entire attention on the window. Sharon excused herself, and slid out onto the aisle.
She glanced at the seated faces as she walked to the bathroom. The faces seemed strange to her now, as if they had all come down from some far distant planet.
She looked down at herself, and was surprised to find that she was dressed like they were. She filed down to the bathroom, smiling at the smell of marijuana that emerged when she opened the door.
She walked back to her seat and rested herself against the soft fabric of the backrest.
She fell asleep, and dreamed she was back on the bus. She felt quite upset, wondering how she could have strayed from the plane. The bus, in her dream, was filled with people who looked at her without seeing her.
She awoke with a start, and felt a tremendous sense of relief at finding herself in the plane, Leslie and Greta seated beside her.
"We should be landing quite soon," said Leslie, glancing at her watch.
"Where are we going to land?" asked Greta.
"Harrar," said Leslie. "We'll be taken by private car to the general's estate."
Sharon had only a moment to look around her at the foreign landscape when they stepped off the plane. Leslie led them over to a parked limousine. Two tall young black men, dressed in military uniforms, stood by the doors of the car. Sharon saw that they were nervous. Their fingers never strayed far from the handles of their automatics.
They opened the doors. Sharon, Greta, and Leslie slid into the back seat. Leslie said something in the Amharic that Sharon had briefly been taught, and the car sped off.
Sharon was as absorbed in the scenery as Greta. North African landscape stretched out for miles on either side of the car.
The countryside became more and more remote. Sharon saw trees she'd never before seen. Off in the distance, she could see the dim outline of a wild animal grazing on the sparse vegetation.
The car pulled up to a smooth stop. The door opened, and Sharon quickly stepped out. Greta and Leslie stepped out through the opposite door.
Sharon shivered at the barrenness of the landscape. The ground was almost white, and the hot afternoon sun burned mercilessly down on her.
They stepped up to the front porch of the house. The structure was quite modern. Sharon stared at it for several minutes before she realized that it was styled after an American suburban ranch-style house.
She could see by Greta's grin that she also felt that way about the house.
A young man dressed as a valet met them at the foot of the stairs leading up to the porch.
"Come right in," he smiled.
Leslie nodded to him and mounted the stairs without saying a word. Two soldiers, rifles leaned against their shoulders, stood on either side of the door. They stepped aside as the valet opened the door for them.
Sharon and Greta found themselves in a badly-furnished living room.
"Hello, Leslie!" A deep voice called out.
"General, it is a pleasure as always," said Leslie, extending her hand.
The fattest man that Sharon had ever seen rose slowly out of an easy chair. He was dressed in full uniform, except for his gold-braided cap. This was resting on a table next to his chair.
Leslie allowed him to wrap his jet-black fingers around her hand.
"You look well, Mjahara," she said.
The general looked hungrily at Greta and . Sharon.
"Your friends are lovely," he said hoarsely. "I'm so glad that they could come along with you."
"Oh, I'm sure you will be happy with them," smiled Leslie.
"I guess you will want to change," smiled the general. He gestured with his thumb. From seemingly out of nowhere a young, Oriental-looking woman appeared. The general rubbed the tip of his tongue over his lips as he gazed at her. She was dressed in a simple white dress made of some gauzy material that did little to hide her olive-colored skin.
"Take these ladies to their rooms," said the general.
"What are we going to change into?" asked Sharon in a whisper.
Sharon's room was small, but comfortably furnished. A neat, cot-type bed was stretched across one papered wall.
Sharon quickly undressed, and hung her clothes up in a closet.
Leslie entered a few minutes later, carrying Sharon's ankle chains.
Sharon sat down at the edge of the bed and stretched out her legs. Leslie quickly snapped shut the clasp of the chain. Sharon stood up, rattling the chain and smiling at the pleasant, tinkling sound it made.
She followed Leslie out of the room.
"What are we going to have to do?"
Leslie grinned. "I know this general, believe me. It will certainly be interesting."
Greta's chains were put on. Leslie led them down to the living room.
The general shot up out of his chair, his eyes shining like two black diamonds as he gazed at their flesh.
Sharon was amazed that a man as fat as he was could move that fast.
"Good, good, very good," he murmured. He glanced at Sharon. "Come over here, won't you?"
He purred as he spoke.
Sharon stepped demurely over to his chair. He shot forth a jet-black hand and shoved it between the soft whiteness of Sharon's thighs.
She inhaled sharply as he roughly shoved two fingers into her womb.
"Oh, yes, very nice," he mumbled.
An aide burst into the room, and stopped short in the doorway. The general scowled deeply at him. The man clutched a dispatch in his hand, a look of fear on his face.
"It had better be important," rumbled the general.
"I, I was told to hand you this immediately," the man replied haltingly.
The general turned a sickly-sweet smile to Sharon.
"Excuse me, won't you dear?"
He snatched the dispatch out of the man's hand and angrily tore it open. He pulled out a dispatch and opened it with a snap.
His face grew very ugly as he read its contents. He snarled. He growled. He jumped up, tore the dispatch into four pieces, and threw the pieces roughly to the floor.
"Damn those Russians!" he shouted out.
He glanced at Sharon, then burst out with a stream of words that could either have been arabic or Amharic.
He strained a smile across his face again.
"I'm afraid I haven't as much time as I thought," he said slowly.
"Are you having difficulties?" asked Leslie.
"Somalia. Cursed plague! Fifteen miles away. A whole regiment."
"Do you think they will-"
"Not if what is left of my command can hold them off," he replied. "The Russians-but never mind about that."
He stood up quickly.
"Come," he grunted, waving his beefy, black hand.
Sharon and Greta followed him down a rickety flight of stairs leading down to the basement.
The basement was filthy. It's cinder-block walls were covered with grime. A thick layer of whitish dust covered its dirt floor.
Two wooden posts stood upright in the center of the room.
"There," said the general, pointing to the posts.
Sharon and Greta stepped immediately over to the posts.
"Lean your backs," grunted the general.
He started to pant heavily. Beads of sweat broke out over the narrow, black plain of his forehead.
Sharon pressed her shoulders against the rough wood of the post. The general stepped forward, clutching a length of rope. He wrapped the coarse fiber around her stomach, leaving her breasts and vagina exposed.
"Oh! It's so tight," said Sharon.
The general grunted as he tied a hard knot. He picked up another length of rope, and shook it. A small cloud of dust arose.
He tied Greta in the same fashion as he had Sharon. Then he stepped back, and quickly undid his uniform trousers.
"All you white women are good for," he grunted, stepping up to Sharon, "is this."
He shoved his hand into her crotch as he spoke.
He snarled as he clamped his hands firmly over her hips. He bent his knees, then thrust the shaft of his member into her groin.
"It's wonderful," Sharon gasped.
His member began its movements almost as soon as it had entered. She felt herself fill with his issue.
He stepped back, panting hard. His member resumed its ready position. He quickly pushed himself into Greta.
He stepped back and pulled up his trousers. He walked slowly back over to them.
He reached out a beefy hand and clamped his fingers firmly over Greta's bare breast.
"Oh, ow!" Greta cried out.
"White women," snorted the general. "The finest pleasure the world has to offer. And so " hard to obtain. So very, very hard."
He sounded almost as if he was talking to himself. Sharon watched silently as he tweaked Greta's nipple between two brutal fingers.
He stepped back, staring at them silently.
"My men are very brave," he said.
He looked at them, waiting for a reply.
"Yes, yes they are," said Sharon quickly. "Very brave. And they must be such good soldiers."
"They give their lives for me," he rumbled. "Each of them."
"They are very brave," Greta intoned.
The general continued as if he hadn't heard them. He spoke in the same, abstracted tone.
"They will be with me," he mused, "When it's time-"
He jerked his head up sharply. He turned a murderous glance to the two bound girls.
"You didn't hear me say that, did you?" he asked.
"Say what?" smiled Sharon. He smiled back, grimly.
"Good! My men need a reward. Just a few, my body guards. I'm sure you'll be happy to serve them."
"Oh, could we please?" said Greta excitedly.
The general walked to the door and shouted out a stream of Amharic words.
Four soldiers came quickly down the stairs, their rifles bouncing on their shoulders.
They formed a silent, single file line in front of the general.
He gestured to the two girls as he spoke to the soldiers.
They smiled, and leaned their rifles carefully against a cinder-block wall.
They formed a single file line in front of Greta. Sharon watched as they quickly pulled down their trousers.
Each in turn inserted his member into Greta. They took longer about it than the general had.
By the time the last was finished, the first was fully ready for another go. He immediately stepped over to Sharon, did the usual pinching of her nipples and vaginal lips. He shoved in his member.
Sharon was amazed by the way he filled her. The head pressed against her rear wall. He filled her with issue, then pulled himself out.
Each of the other three soldiers took their turns. The general quickly untied Greta and Sharon as the soldiers filed out of the basement.
"We'll take a rest. I have something very interesting for you for later."
He led them back into the living room.
They were served lunch in the living room. The valet silently served them their food, then waited for them to finish.
"I think something nice should be done for him," said the general.
Sharon immediately got up and knelt down before the young man. She started to open the tops of his slacks. He looked nervously at the general. The general smiled.
Sharon almost choked as she attempted to take the entire length of the man's penis into her mouth. She performed a quick but efficient fellatio, then stepped back, swallowing down his issue.
"Good," murmured Leslie.
"Did you like that?" asked the general.
"Oh, yes, very good, general sir," the man replied, in halting, broken English.
He collected their empty plates and dashed quickly out of the room.
"I believe in being nice to my men," smiled the general.
A loud report came from somewhere outside the house. The general leapt to his feet, a look of terrible fear crossing his usually expressionless face.
"Fireworks?" asked Greta innocently.
"No, damn you!" roared the general.
He began to dash madly around the room.
"What you heard," he called out, "was the sound of-"
He was interrupted by a series of reports coming in rapid succession.
"That," he continued, his voice dripping acid, "is the sound of gunfire!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sounds of gunfire grew louder. The general dashed about, spitting out a stream of Amharic words. Soldiers ran in and out of the room. Sharon thought the scene was one taken right out of-bedlam.
"Get down, get down on the floor," roared the general.
Greta and Sharon immediately dove down to the carpeted floor. Leslie laid down next to them, and clasped her hands over her ears.
An ear-shattering roar rocked the house a minute later. The windows rattled, and Sharon could hear an ominous, tinkling sound as the panes shattered.
The sounds of the gunfire continued. The general vanished, along with the soldiers that had poured into the living room.
Leslie, Sharon, and Greta lay side by side.
"Don't move, don't lift your head," breathed Leslie. "It seems there has been an error of some sort. I was assured that we would be nowhere near a military zone. But in a war like this, all zones seem to be military."
"So what is going to happen to us?" said Sharon, her voice filled with fear.
"That will more or less depend on who wins," said Greta quietly.
She slowly reached up and curled her arms over Sharon's shoulders. She kissed her gently on her cheek.
"Don't worry, darling," she murmured.
The sounds of the gunfire diminished, then stopped. The door burst open.
"Up!" roared a deep, hoarse voice.
They picked themselves slowly up off the floor and found themselves confronted by three soldiers. They were wearing the tan khaki typical of American uniforms. Their faces were jet black, and shiny with sweat.
Sharon noticed that Leslie was carefully studying their weapons.
"So who in hell are you?" asked one, his English surprisingly good.
He turned and shouted something in a Semitic language to the other two soldiers.
"We're on holiday," said Leslie, making herself sound as British as she could.
Her manner was completely calm.
"All naked like you are?"
Sharon thought that there was a touch of the West Indies in his voice.
"All naked like you are?" he repeated.
"It's hot," said Greta brightly.
Leslie cast her a dirty look. The soldier scowled.
"I don't like the look of this. I think you are all spies!"
He mused for a moment. Sharon glanced at the crotch of his uniform pants. She saw that he was becoming erect.
"I have to talk to my commander," he said, and dashed out of the room.
Sharon peeked out a nearby window and saw soldiers walking back and forth in front of the house.
A soldier strode in, wearing a cap. His shoulders were covered with gold braids. "Where are the spies!" he roared. He saw-them. An ugly scowl crossed his face.
"Spies! All-spies!"
"We are not spies," said Leslie calmly. "We're here to perform certain services for the general."
"What services?"
"Pleasure," replied Leslie calmly.
"Infidel pigs!" he roared. "You're spies, you're all spies, and that is that!"
He looked at them silently for a moment.
"Come outside and have a look at your men," he said with a cruel smile.
They followed him slowly out of the house. Sharon gasped at the grim picture before her.
The front yard was completely destroyed. Huge potholes marred the brown, bare ground. At least two dozen bloodied corpses were scattered about.
Two soldiers walked from corpse to corpse, quickly picking up weapons and personal property.
"This way," grunted the commander, gesturing to a clump of trees some fifteen years away.
They slowly approached a grove of trees.
"There's your general," chortled the Somali.
The general waved to them and smiled as he was led to a waiting jeep. Sharon thought he should have been much more upset than he appeared to be.
"What are they going to do to him?" she asked Leslie, with a whisper.
"Give him a cigar and a comfortable room," she answered.
The Somali commander pointed to them and shouted out a stream of arabic words. Four soldiers charged over and pinned their arms to their sides. The fourth immediately began to strip off Leslie's clothes.
"No, no," wailed Sharon and Greta in chorus.
"Don't protest," said Leslie sharply.
She was led naked over to a tree, and securely tied to its trunk.
The commander stared speculatively at Sharon and Greta. Then he smiled in a way that sent shivers of terror running down their spines.
Four stakes were planted firmly in the ground.
"Lie down!" barked the commander, pointing to Sharon.
Sharon trembled with fear as she lay down between the stakes. A soldier dashed up and tied a rope tightly around her right wrist. He pulled viciously on the free end of the rope, sending a burning agony shooting up Sharon's arm. He quickly tied the end of the rope to one of the stakes.
He bound her other wrist in the same brutal manner, then tied her ankles to the two stakes by her feet.
She was completely helpless, stretched out fully in the hot afternoon sun.
One by one the Somalis stepped up and engaged her. Most were rough, pinching her nipples until they were satisfied with her screams.
Sharon was able to turn her head to one side. She did so, and saw that Greta had been bound in exactly the same manner.
And Leslie was slowly being raped.
"What do you have to tell us?" said the commander, standing over Sharon.
"Nothing, really. I, I, I'm for pleasure," she said. Her voice quavered.
"No. I still think you are a spy," grunted the general.
"I'm not a spy of any sort," replied Sharon weakly.
"Bah! Spy!" snorted the general. "Maybe your friend can tell us something."
He quickly untied her hands and ankles, and barked at her to stand up.
Sharon staggered somewhat as she pulled herself to her feet, feeling her muscles ache from the cramped position she'd been tied in.
He produced a long, thin branch. Sharon was reminded of the cane that Leslie used to beat her with.
"Over there," barked the commander.
Sharon walked numbly over to where Leslie was bound to two trees.
He handed her the switch. She took it from him with trembling fingers. She turned a questioning gaze to his face.
"Beat her," he said. "Until you can think of something to tell me."
"No," said Sharon weakly.
The general pulled out his automatic and waved the barrel at Leslie.
"Perhaps you would prefer-""he began.
"No! Please, no!" wailed Sharon.
She walked over to Leslie. Leslie turned and whispered to her.
"Hard as you can, dear. They'll know."
Sharon raised her switch arm, shaking with fear. She swung, and landed the end of the switch softly on the cheeks of Leslie's buttocks. The general roared and dashed over. He slapped her hard across her face, sending her sprawling to the blood and dust covered ground.
Sharon picked herself up. The general fingered the handle of his automatic again. She stepped forward, and brought the cruel wood of the switch as hard as she could onto Leslie's soft, supple flesh.
Leslie's scream tore across the African sky.
"Again," grunted the general.
Sharon swung again. The switch bit into Leslie's flesh. She raised her switch arm, and landed several more blows on Leslie's back and buttocks.
"Are you ready to tell us-" the general began, stepping over to the bound, beaten form of Leslie.
He was interrupted by the sound of an aircraft engine overhead. He looked up nervously to see a small aircraft making a swift landing on the empty ground.
Three men jumped out. As they approached, Sharon could see that they wore small red stars on their shoulders.
They spoke a few, sharp words to the man. Sharon recognized their language as Russian.
The general untied Leslie and Greta with lightning swiftness. He was sweating heavily, and looked afraid.
"There has been a terrible mistake," he said, his voice trembling. "These men will take you away from here now. I must extend my sincerest apologies."
He looked hopefully at the Russians as he spoke.
Sharon and Greta climbed into the cabin of the plane.
Leslie followed them in. She was naked, her garments lying in useless shreds on the African ground.
Two other Russians were in the cabin when she climbed in.
"Can any of you speak English?" she asked sharply.
"Yes, ma'm," a man with a thick accent replied.
"Then you can tell me where you are taking us," she said.
"Back to your people. We will meet a British service plane in Cairo. But we have to get there first. And we were given no orders on how to treat your friends. Please have them spread themselves on the floor."
Sharon and Greta walked immediately back to the rear of the plane and stretched themselves out on a pile of rags.
They engaged each of the Russians during the plane's short flight.
The plane landed in a patch of desert just outside of Cairo. The Russians got out, then helped Leslie, Sharon and Greta out of the plane. They immediately started for the plane.
"What is going to happen to us?" asked Leslie calmly.
"You will be picked up by another plane, which will take you to England," safd the man.
Sharon watched the plane become a small speck on the horizon. It vanished out of sight.
"Russians?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.
"My dear, we offer services the wealthier communists simply can't get at home."
"God," said Sharon, her voice filled with wonder.
The sun was all but unbearable when they heard the sound of the engines of a small plane.
They dashed over to the aircraft. Sharon and Greta were about to scramble into the cabin, but Leslie stopped them with a wave of her hand.
She walked up to the man who had emerged from the plane. She was still naked but acted as if she were formally dressed.
"Credentials, please," she said calmly.
"Here you go," said the man with a grin. His voice was pure Eaton.
Leslie scanned the papers he handed her, then handed them back.
"Very well, we'll go along with you," she said sharply. She used the same tone of voice she used when at the airport ticket counter.
They filed into the rear of the plane.
Leslie wrapped herself in a blanket. The plane took off with a lurch.
The man who had met them stepped to the rear of the plane.
"I guess I should introduce myself," he said with a smile.
"I know who you are," he continued. "But I'm sure you don't know me. My name is Roberts-Lieutenant Roberts, British Secret Service."
"How do you do," said Sharon demurely.
"You're Sharon, aren't you? And you must be Greta."
"How, how did you know our names?"
"My wife was quite pleased with you both, and-"
"Is her name Dorothy?" Greta interrupted. He smiled brightly. "Yes, she is." They both beamed.
"She's so wonderful," said Sharon. "We do , hope we can see her again."
"She said the same about the two of you," chuckled Roberts.
"Hooray!" cried Greta, seeing the sea beneath the plane turning to land. "We're almost there!"
The plane landed in back of the house they were taken to when they first arrived in Britain.
They stepped out quickly and started walking rapidly towards the house.
"Would the two of you mind if I bathed with you?" smiled Leslie.
"Please, please," was the eager, chorused reply.
They stepped out of the tub. They were dried off by servants.
"You must be with me when I make my report," said Leslie.
She left them in the bathroom. When Sharon and Greta met her in the lounge, she was fully dressed.
"Come," she said, "I'm going to make my report now."
They followed her down the carpeted corridor. She pushed open a pair of double doors, and ushered them into a sort of study.
Martha was sitting behind a huge desk when they walked in. Sharon nodded to her. She assumed that Martha was doing some sort of work that required her presence behind the desk.
Martha spoke, and Sharon jerked with surprise.
"Your report, Leslie," she said, in her clear, toneless voice.
Leslie slowly related the tale of their adventures. Martha leaned back, a small smile crossing her thin lips.
Sharon was totally amazed.
Leslie finished her report.
"You have performed flawlessly, as always," said Martha. She stood up, extending her hand.
"Thank you," said Leslie, lowering her gaze as she gripped the woman's powerful fingers.
She turned and walked out of the room.
Sharon and Greta followed behind her.
"I am flabbergasted," said Sharon.
"Martha is our commander and chief," smiled Leslie.
Leslie answered Sharon's next question before it was asked.
"And yes. I am her slave."
"I didn't want to say anything before," said Greta. "I didn't think you'd believe me."
"I wouldn't have," said Sharon.
Leslie looked at Sharon with a sad smile.
"I believe we have some unfinished business," she said slowly.
Sharon looked puzzled for a minute, then a broad grin spread across her face.
"Yes, yes we do," she said.
She went down to the basement. Leslie shackled her wrists to a stone wall, then picked up a whip.
"Please, please, as hard as you can," said Sharon.
The whip hummed as it flew through the air. It bit into Sharon's flesh, sending a flash of fiery agony tearing through her body.
"I love you," she screamed out, as Leslie swung again.
When Leslie unshackled her, she sank to the floor. Her body was one big, red stripe.
Sharon had never been happier in her entire life.
EPILOGUE
"I'll miss Greta," said Sharon softly. "That is silly," chuckled Leslie. "She'll only be gone a week. Then the two of you can be together again."
"Yes, I guess that's true," Sharon replied. She leaned back against the couch, enjoying the feel of the fire's warmth. She lazily stretched her legs apart. The clasps of her chains pressed gently against the supple flesh of her legs.
Leslie stood up and yawned loudly.
"I am going to take a bath, and go to bed. Would you like to bathe with me?"
"Please," murmured Sharon.
She followed Leslie down to the bathroom, She stepped across the wet, tiled floor, beaming as she watched Leslie undress.
Leslie stepped naked into the tub. Sharon ran a washcloth over her submerged flesh, then poked a cautious hand between Leslie's thighs. Leslie murmured passionately.
Sharon looked up at her with questioning eyes.
"It's all right, dear," Leslie murmured.
She c limbed out of the tub a half-hour later, gasping for breath.
"Now to bed," murmured Leslie.
Sharon walked back to her room and purred as she slid into her bed. She wished for a moment that Greta was with her. With a sigh, she turned over and fell asleep.
She joined Leslie for breakfast in the kitchen the next morning. Martha walked in behind her. Sharon was surprised to see her in. the room.
She was even more surprised when Martha turned a thin smile to her.
Breakfast was served by a young man wearing a white waiter's outfit. Martha ate with them. The dishes were cleared off, and Martha leaned forward.
She spoke to Leslie as if Sharon was not in the room.
"The girl is leaving on the eight o' clock bus. You should be ready for her at around eight-thirty. Take Sharon with you."
"Very well," said Leslie. "I have her picture and everything necessary."
"This will be a clean pick-up," said Martha. "You shouldn't have any difficulties, and neither will we."
She pushed herself away from the table and stood up. She turned, and left the room without another word.
Leslie leaned forward and smiled at Sharon.
"You're going to go for a ride with me tonight," she said.
"Where?"
"Oh, just a bus terminal. We're going to meet someone I think you and Greta will like very much."
"That will be nice," murmured Sharon.
Leslie collected her after dinner. They walked out. Sharon was given a plain cotton dress to wear over a bra and panties. The chain was removed from around her ankles.
"We don't want any strange stares now, do we?" murmured Leslie.
Sharon giggled at that. She slid into the back seat of the car. Leslie sat up front with the driver and peered intently at the country night.
The car pulled up to a bus terminal. Leslie got out, and looked around. She slid back into the car.
"Take us over to the restaurant. Park right outside," she said.
The driver started the car and pulled up in front of a row of low-story buildings.
Sharon recalled that she had seen them somewhere before. But she couldn't quite remember where. She followed behind Leslie as she approached the restaurant.
Leslie sat down at a small table near the rear. There was an empty chair on the outermost side of the table.
"Are we to meet someone?" Sharon asked.
"Yes. She should be here-" Leslie looked at her watch. "In fifteen minutes."
Sharon grinned at that. A waiter brought two menus over to the table.
"We're not ready to order yet," said Leslie.
"Very well, ma'm," replied the waiter, and darted away.
Sharon smiled as she recalled her revelation at the airport. The waiter sounded just as much the slave as the man at the ticket counter.
The restaurant was filled to capacity, except for the empty chair at their table, Leslie jerked her head up sharply as the restaurant door opened. A young girl walked in, looking a bit worn out. She scanned the tables with a sad expression.
