by Ian Smith
Elizabeth hesitated then decided to go along with her boyfriend’s bizarre idea. “Well, you like blondes, or at least I hope you do,” she said coquettishly, running her fingers through her own lovely blonde hair.
“I most certainly do,” Steven Chase agreed. He led Elizabeth out of the room, beckoning for Cassandra and Ashley to follow them, nodding his thanks to Tyler Mason as he passed his host. Rosie and Charlotte remained standing in line, still stark naked. Tyler Mason was now the only free person remaining and he seemed content to read the evening newspaper. Rosie and Charlotte remained naked for the simple reason that Tyler could not be bothered to order them to re-don their uniforms.
Suddenly there was a commotion outside and Freddie Mason and Phillip Saunders entered. Rosie glanced at the clock on the wall: they had been gone less than an hour, having departed about twenty minutes before Edward Harris began his solitary stint in the supposedly haunted room. Freddie and Phillip were arguing fiercely and aggressively, and Tyler had to shout loudly for quiet.
“Surely the play hasn’t finished already?” Tyler Mason asked.
“Nah, but I’m not sitting it out next to this poof,” Freddie replied. “It was a boring play anyway.”
“I object strongly to your insinuations!” Phillip Saunders protested. “I find them most insulting!”
Tyler Mason cocked an eyebrow enquiringly towards his younger brother. Freddie shrugged and said nothing. “I am sure that it was just a misunderstanding,” Tyler said soothingly to Phillip.
“He was quite explicit and very loud,” said Phillip, his eyes on Freddie. “There was no room for any misunderstanding.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Freddie snapped. “All these hot chicks” - he waved his paw in the direction of the nude Rosie and Charlotte - “available, but when do we ever see you use one?”
“Just because I prefer to enjoy my recreations in private, rather than make a public spectacle of myself as you do ...”
“Yeah? Then let’s ask the slaves when you last had one of them! I’ll bet Ashley will be the one!”
“How dare you ...” Phillip began.
Rosie was getting very nervous. If she was asked and admitted the truth, which was that Phillip Saunders spanked her daily but had never gone further, then she would be in trouble with him later, whilst if she lied and Freddie even suspected it, she would be in very hot water with him. She sensed Charlotte also being very nervous beside her.
“Gentlemen, please,” Tyler began.
“I’ll tell you what,” Freddie interrupted. “You take one of these two now, in front of us as witnesses and I’ll take it all back; but if you can’t get it up, we’ll all know the truth.”
Rosie stood nervously. Her body had just been offered without the least thought for her sensibilities or her own wishes and if Phillip Saunders took up the challenge, it was fifty-fifty between her and Charlotte as to who would be chosen.
Phillip Saunders glared for a long moment at Freddie Mason. Then he pointed sharply at Rosie. “You, girl! Lie on your back in the middle of the room, with your legs spread!”
Oh God! Rosie laid herself down on the plush carpet and opened her legs obediently. She tried not to think how she looked, or what was about to happen. She could see Phillip Saunders beginning to undress.
“No helping him, Rosie,” Freddie told her. “He has to show he can do it on his own.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered in shame.
“I don’t need any help,” Phillip Saunders snapped as he knelt down between Rosie’s elegant bare legs. She felt his manhood brush against her inner thighs and then, without any foreplay, he was inside her. He was swift and brutal. Rosie arched her back involuntarily as he went deep, then he began to thrust hard and angrily into her. She tried to secretly help him by tensing her vaginal muscles - it might make him a bit better disposed towards her in future - but he didn’t need it. Already she could feel him swelling. Freddie’s accusation had been well wide of the mark. Phillip pushed harder and harder until in a very brief time he exploded into her. Rosie gasped her final humiliation as she felt his hot come squirting deep inside her. Then he extracted himself, so that the still jetting fountain of his lust splashed all over her abdomen, clearly showing the other two men had he had orgasmed.
“I believe, Freddie, that you owe my friend an apology and a retraction,” Tyler said to his brother.
“I haven’t finished yet,” said a coldly furious Phillip Saunders. “Come here, Charlotte.”
As the redhead stepped forwards, Rosie got up. Receiving a nod from Tyler, she hurried from the room to clean herself up. In the slaves’ quarters she quickly took a wet sponge and wiped away the drying cum from her tummy, then squatted over the bath and used the shower nozzle to send warm jets of water into her vagina. She towelled herself down and hurried back, knowing that Tyler only permitted a mere five minutes for his girls to clean themselves after use. It was hard to enter the lounge once more after what had just happened to her, but she had no choice.
Phillip Saunders had clearly and understandably needed a little more time to reach his second erection, but he was just concluding his rape of Charlotte as Rosie came in. The cum-splattered redhead was dismissed and hurried from the room as Freddie rather reluctantly offered his retraction. Rosie looked longingly at her uniform, which was still on the floor and at a nod from Tyler was able to put it on once more. Of course, her boobs still came out of the front of it and her bottom remained bare, but it was much better than nothing.
Steven Chase also returned to the room, but stopped dead as he saw Phillip and Freddie. “I thought ...” he began.
Rather embarrassed explanations came from the two men at the waste of the tickets the doctor had bought them. Phillip Saunders, his anger a little eased by his self-satisfaction at his public performance on Rosie and Charlotte, was a model of apology, whilst Freddie Mason retreated into truculent moodiness. Steven Chase was clearly not best pleased, but hid it as best he could.
“Elizabeth has gone to take a shower,” he said, “and the two slaves are cleaning themselves up.” He looked a little pointedly at Phillip Saunders, who had dressed once more.
“Yes, I should do the same,” the dentist said.
“In just a minute or two,” Tyler Mason said, retaking control of the situation. “It’s time to let our guest out first.” Steven Chase looked about to object for some reason, then seemed to think better of it. Tyler went and unlocked the door to the darkened room and opened it. “All right, Edward, you can come out now.”
“Come and rejoin the party,” Freddie called, recovering a little of his normal mood. “There’s a nice slave here waiting for you.” Rosie suppressed a shiver; she had not forgotten that she was booked to spend the night with the bookwormish Edward.
“I hope that there’s no hard feelings over my brother’s stupidity,” said Tyler Mason to Phillip Saunders.
Reluctantly, under his brother’s glare, Freddie offered a hand, and equally slowly, Phillip shook it. After all, he was a guest here.
“Come on Edward,” called Freddie, disengaging himself from Phillip and reaching out to cup one of Rosie’s exposed breasts. “There’s a juicy pair of tits waiting for you.” Rosie made herself stand still and allow his groping.
“Why isn’t he coming out?” Phillip asked quietly.
Suddenly all eyes turned to the darkened doorway. For a moment everybody stood silent and still and then they all started to move towards the ‘haunted’ room. Despite his bulk, Steven Chase was through the doorway first, even as Tyler Mason fumbled for the light switch on the outside of the room.
Freddie Mason and Phillip Saunders almost jammed each other in the doorway as Steven Chase knelt over Edward Harris, whose legs could be partially seen behind the doctor’s bulky figure, lying motionless on the floor. Even Rosie forgot her place
and peered in from behind them. Chase turned and gestured them back. “Stay out, all of you,” he said firmly. “This man is dead - and I think he has been poisoned.”
Flashback Two
Rosie never knew how long they were left standing in that circle. It was probably less than an hour, but it seemed far longer. Her arms ached intolerably from being held high and her jaw throbbed from the ball gag that forced it open. Around her she could hear the occasional moans of her friends, her own moans included. All they could do was stare at each other, or at the horrible instruments of torture on the walls behind their friends. Surely, surely, in this modern day such instruments could not actually be used? But equally, surely, surely none of this was actually happening.
Without warning, the heavy wooden door to the large cell in which they were held groaned open. A muscular, frightening looking Arab walked in, flanked by two more men, one Caucasian and one black. All wore black vests and shorts. The Arab moved into the centre of the circle, so that all the girls faced him. Muffled moans of protest and pleas came from the girls.
“There will be silence,” he said quietly.
Unsurprisingly, he was ignored, if anything, the demands for freedom from behind the gags became more strident. The man waited until they had died down, which took some time, then spoke with quiet menace that Rosie could still recall vividly now.
“Your first lesson will be in the suffering that disobedience brings. You will observe my two assistants.” One of the two men was stood behind Sarah the other was on the other side of the circle behind Katherine, who had the number nine sprayed on her shirt. Each man carried a riding crop. Rosie recalled wondering where on earth the horses were.
“Your failure to be silent when ordered will cost each of you her first stroke of the crop,” said the man.
Sixteen pairs of female eyes bulged in their sockets. Surely, thought Rosie, he was bluffing. He couldn’t be serious ...
Thwack!
Sarah’s scream from behind her gag echoed around the stone chamber; almost simultaneously, Katherine also yelped. Rosie felt her world implode around her. This just could not be happening! Moments later, she heard Hannah (number two), and Simone (number ten) also scream in pain, but only when the third pair, Hayley and Becky, marked three and eleven, got their strokes, did it occur to her that she, at number fourteen, was also going to get it. As a lot of the other girls were doing, she struggled frantically to free herself, but it was just impossible. Amy, number twelve, screamed as the evil man behind them moved remorselessly round, then Laura got hers. Rosie froze. She was next; and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She screamed a plea for mercy, which the gag reduced to an unintelligible wail.
Thwack!
For just a brief moment, it wasn’t too bad and then pain seemed to erupt in her outraged rear, throbbing, stinging awful pain. Everything else became secondary to the pain. Dimly, Rosie was aware of two more twin squeals as the remaining four girls were struck; and then, even more dimly, the fact that their captors had melted away and they were alone once more.
It might have been an hour before they returned, although it was hard to tell. Rosie still had her watch on, but she couldn’t see it because of the manacles on her raised wrists. The time certainly seemed to drag. Her arms ached intolerably now from her bondage and her bottom throbbed too from that wicked crop stroke.
And then the men came again and once again the two with the crops positioned themselves menacingly behind Sarah and Katherine. This time, there was no chorus of muffled cries from the girls. Sixteen pairs of frightened female eyes stared timorously at the leader of the three men.
“Good,” he mused aloud to them; “you are learning. My name is Amir Al-Reza. I am your trainer. You may address me as ‘teacher’. It is my job to train you in your new role in life: as slaves.”
Chapter Three
Doctor Chase ushered them all out of the room. He seemed to want to take charge. “Tyler, stay here and watch the body. Freddie, go and get Bassett. Phillip, get to the phone in the hall and call the police. Slave Rosie, go to the kitchens and make some strong coffee.”
Nobody seemed to move. Tyler asked, in confusion, “has he been dead long?”
“I should estimate at least half an hour,” replied the doctor. “We need to get the police here quickly!”
“I’ll go and phone them,” said Freddie. “We don’t need Bassett.” He lumbered out of the room. Nobody else seemed inclined to move. Rosie became aware only a minute or so later that she had received an order and had not obeyed, but Tyler, her owner, rather understandably did not seem bothered.
“The stories of a poison trap,” the owner of the house muttered. “Was he ... was that what killed him?”
Steven Chase considered this. “I need to have another look at the body, but I don’t want to disturb anything,” he said. He moved back into the room and observed the dead man from a careful distance, then came back into the lounge. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “I can’t be sure, but there is very evident cyanosis of the face. That might suggest ... but I would be guessing. Let’s wait for the police.”
An uneasy ten minutes ensued. Bassett had now been summoned, and it was he who went to make some strong coffee for everybody. Rosie wondered if she would get away with Missing that order; in the confusion, it was possible. Joanne and Elizabeth Mason had returned, shocked, to the lounge, but nobody ventured into the room where Edward Harris lay.
Charlotte showed a tall, balding man into the room. Tyler moved to shake his hand. “Jeff, this is an awful affair,” he said to the man. “Everybody, this is Jefferson Williams, chief of Xanxta police.”
Two uniformed policemen followed Chief Williams into the room, along with another man who went straight into the room where Harris lay. Rosie presumed correctly that he was a medical man, but her attention was much more on the uniformed police, who made her very nervous. Back home in England, the police were a symbol of justice, but she had found that in Xanxta they helped maintain the structure of slavery and she had every reason to fear them greatly.
Williams followed the police surgeon into the room and took a brief look around, being careful not to touch anything. He emerged and viewed his audience. “Let me see if I have this straight,” he said. “The deceased was locked in this room just over an hour ago, as a dare? The room is supposed to be haunted?”
Tyler Mason nodded soberly. “People have died in there, many years ago,” he said. “There is a legend about a poison trap.”
“How many years ago?” Williams cut through the mists of myth.
“I was in my teens when the last one died,” said Tyler, “so it was over thirty years ago; nearer forty, in fact.”
“Any poison would have lost its potency long ago,” the police chief pointed out.
“Unless it was reset,” Phillip Saunders said quietly.
This comment brought a deafening and uneasy silence to the room. Jefferson Williams considered for a moment, looking shrewdly around him. “And why might someone have done that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Phillip somewhat defensively, “but what other explanation is there? There is only the one door into that room and no windows. I wasn’t here, but I gather that several people watched Edward go in there and there have been at least three people outside the only way in ever since.” He looked around for confirmation and there were nods. “How else do you explain it?”
The surgeon appeared at the doorway to the room. “Definitely poisoned,” he confirmed in reply to Williams interrogative stare. “He’s been dead for the best part of an hour. I’ll need to take him away for tests to confirm what the poison was.”
“What do you think it was?” asked Steven Chase quietly.
The police doctor regarded him. “You saw the body,” he prompted.
“Curare?”
&n
bsp; “That’s my suspicion. That means,” the police doctor explained to Jefferson Williams, “that there must be a trap in there somewhere. Curare has to be injected: it must get into the bloodstream. Swallow it and it passes harmlessly through the body’s system. Also, when it does get into the bloodstream, it begins to act almost immediately: creeping paralysis, starting in the region where it enters the body and spreading until it reaches the vital organs within a minute or two. It must have worked remarkably quickly in this case, because normally you would expect a few croaky cries at least. There is no way it could have been administered before he entered the room. He was stabbed or injected whilst in that room and since nobody else could get in or out of there, there must be a poison trap in there somewhere. I suggest you search for it with some caution, though: it could kill again.”
Williams nodded thoughtfully. During the next three hours, whilst he conducted interviews with everybody and took statements, three of his men very carefully searched every inch of the room. The trouble was, they found no poison trap. It just wasn’t there.
Minutes after the shrill alarm had gone off, Rosie had showered and was preparing breakfast as usual. Serving it was not quite as usual. Everybody was there, with the conspicuous absence of the deceased Edward Harris, but the atmosphere was very subdued. For once, she did not have to crawl under the table and perform oral sex on Freddie Mason: even he was quiet.
A uniformed policeman was in discreet attendance. Elsewhere in the house, fresh police were conducting a third search of the haunted room, but privately they had conceded defeat in their attempts to find a poison trap. Jefferson Williams had gone home to bed around two o’clock in the morning; now, seven hours later, he returned and was shown into the dining room by Bassett.
