by Ian Smith
One of the two henchmen moved forwards, gripped Sarah’s bare thighs in his powerful arms and forced them wide. His hand dived into Sarah’s defenceless crotch. A moment later, he announced, “virgin.” Then he moved on to the shaking Hannah. After a brief inspection, he announced, “slut.” Rosie was surprised by Hannah, who was always so shy and lacking in confidence, but as Hassan moved onto the next girl, Rosie’s attention was taken up by the second man, who was fixing some sort of metal belt to Sarah. Rosie realised it was a chastity belt.
Hassan checked each girl in turn, but when he got to Caris, he announced, “virgin.” The room seemed to go very quiet.
Amir turned to the shaking Caris. “Really? And yet you didn’t announce this when asked.”
“It’s ... it’s none of your business,” Caris stammered, fear overcoming her determination. Now Rosie would not have thought Caris a virgin: certainly the elegant and vivacious dark-haired girl had told a few tall stories on the coach. But right now she was more concerned about the way the three men were closing on Caris.
“Sometimes,” Amir said, “we leave a girl untrained, because some owners enjoy breaking a girl in themselves. Perhaps we should do that with you. However, you were given an order and you failed to obey it.”
Caris stared at him, trying to regain her composure, then screamed in pain. Hassan had lashed her bare bottom with a whippy cane. Five more times the cane bit into her tender flesh, leaving her hanging in her bonds, sobbing uncontrollably. Amir made her say, amidst her sobs, “please teacher, number twelve is a virgin, nobody wanted me,” before moving on, whilst the third man put a chastity belt on her.
After Scarlet, Hassan came to an ever more frightened Rosie. She immediately held her legs apart and felt hot flushes as his thick fingers intruded briefly within her. “Virgin,” he confirmed. As he moved onto the next girl, the other henchman produced a metal girdle. Rosie felt the cold steel wrap around her waist, then a metallic strip passing from the back of it between her legs and a plate coming into contact with her pussy. The top of this hinged plate was then clipped to the metal waistband and secured with a little golden padlock. Rosie realised that she could still perform her toilet functions, but any interference with her sex was now quite impossible - rather a blessing, surely?
But Amir’s words dashed that slightest of hopes. “Those of you who are unsullied will be pleased to know that it will improve your slave price quite substantially,” he said. “The belts will ensure that your first owner will be the first man to enjoy you.” He smiled evilly. “That’s what you’ve been saving yourselves for!”
Chapter Five
Rosie was present when Police Chief Williams came to see Tyler Mason.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to take your slaves away for interrogation this afternoon,” the police officer informed the tycoon.
Mason frowned. “Can’t you interview them here?”
Williams shook his head. “They’ll be too frightened of contradicting a free person. I have to take them somewhere where they’ll be more frightened of me.” Rosie did not like the sound of that!
“Well, I must say that it will be hugely inconvenient,” Mason said irritably.
“This is a murder investigation, Sir,” Williams countered. “Can’t you hire some slaves from Sluts-R-Us for the afternoon and evening?”
“We only ever deal with The Slave Shop,” Mason replied haughtily. The Slave Shop was the more expensive, higher quality supplier; Rosie had been sold to the Masons through there, as presumably had Charlotte and Cassandra.
There was a slight piece of amusement for Rosie, in that she was ordered to summon Ashley and harness him to the single seater pony cart. He having stripped down to a bulging posing pouch, she put the straps on him, trying to prick-tease him a little as she did and noting the increase in the already substantial bulge in his pouch. She was tempted to put the straps on painfully tight, but she knew that sooner or later he would be harnessing her once again, so it didn’t seem a wise idea.
A few minutes later Bassett arrived with the other slave girls, including Cora. All three females were naked and Rosie was required to doff her own uniform as well. She noted, something she wasn’t previously aware of, that Cora’s snatch was also shaved into the letter M. The elder slave looked decidedly unhappy about being nude; it was bad enough for the teenage girls, but to have to do it in your mid-to-late forties, showing every slightest indication of age, sag and fat, must be even worse.
Bassett chained all four girls to the back of the cart then Ashley moved out steadily and brought the cart around to the front of the house. For the third time that day, Rosie had to expose herself on the public highway. They waited in the hot sun for a while then Police Chief Williams emerged from the house. The directions he gave to Ashley chilled Rosie to the bone despite the heat.
“Slave Training Centre, at the double.”
Spurred on by a harsh lash across his muscular back, Ashley pulled the cart into the road and set off at a fast pace, the four girls forced to run along behind the cart. Rosie was seriously alarmed at the prospect of returning to the Slave Training Centre, where she had such burning, shameful memories of her ‘processing’ and training as a slave.
Rosie had pretty much recovered from her earlier labours when she was pulling the cart and was able to keep pace without difficulty. Not for the first time, she was grateful for her sporting background and the fitness it had given her. She was quite impressed, despite herself, with Ashley: he was keeping up a good pace. She knew from bitter experience that it was hard work pulling a cart with a passenger in it and although as a male he was naturally stronger than her, nevertheless he was still setting a fast trot. Of course, as she also knew only too well, the whip kept you going and the police chief had already shown that he would tolerate nothing less than the speed he wanted.
Rosie was sweating by the time they reached the Slave Training Centre, not just from her exertions but also from fear. She had never wanted to see that terrible place again; indeed, so desperate had she been to get out of there before that she had willingly, even fervently, co-operated in their training of her, leading to many ghastly things she had done and accepted which were now indelibly burned into her memory. When she had been discharged from the centre, it was to be sold as a slave and even so she was still glad to get out. Now she was back again and she wanted to cry.
Police Chief Williams pulled on the reins and Ashley’s muscles rippled as the young man brought the cart to a standstill. Rosie and the three other naked females chained to the rear of the cart also came to a halt. Cora, so much older than the others, was more out of breath, but all four were perspiring. Moments later five henchmen emerged from the building and began to unchain the girls and un-harness Ashley.
“Take this one to room seventeen,” Williams instructed the man who was disconnecting Rosie from the cart. “I’ll interrogate her first. She was around for most of the significant events.” This was probably a fair assessment, but it was not what the nude teenager wanted to hear. On trembling bare legs Rosie was walked into the centre by the beefy man, how different things were now from the first time she had entered this place! She was a very different young woman now: she was a slave. The man, keeping a tight hold on the wrist chains which still secured her, led her into the bowels of the centre, most of which was below ground. It was much cooler here and yet Rosie was sweating. There were several dozen ‘treatment’ rooms in the centre, some generally equipped and some with specialist apparatus. Rosie had experienced the horrors of many of these rooms firsthand during her traumatic training, but she couldn’t remember having been in room seventeen.
They came to the room. On the walls were hung an assortment of whips, canes, martinets and so on but they decorated the walls of every room here. The thing that made this room different was the central feature, a horizontal, circular metal wheel frame moun
ted on an axis. It was between five and six feet in diameter and had four evenly spaced leather manacles attached to the circumference. Rosie was bodily lifted from the floor by the strong, silent man and placed on the frame. She felt him grasp one of her ankles in his thick paw of a hand and he began to secure her ankle to on of the manacles.
She could no longer remain silent. “Please, Master,” she wailed, “I’ve done nothing wrong! Please, there must be some mistake!”
He ignored her totally. Having secured her one ankle, he took hold of the other and pulled it across to the next manacle, spreading Rosie’s legs wide and reminding her of her nude vulnerability. Then he unlocked her wrists from the chains and buckled each of them into the other cuffs, leaving her spread-eagled on the frame.
Four wires led from a wall socket. He took two of these and as he approached her Rosie saw that they ended in alligator clips. She gritted her teeth as the clips were attached to her fear-stiffened nipples, the tiny teeth digging into the sensitive flesh. Then he brought the other two over. Rosie was experienced enough to know where they were going and steeled herself as they were attached to her sex lips. Then the man wordlessly left her. Rosie felt her tender flesh throb where the four clips dug in, but knew that worse was to come. The other ends of the wires were attached to a wall socket that looked electrical. Freeing herself or getting the clips off, was impossible. All she could do was to wait, staring at the door with dread.
It might have been ten minutes later when Williams came in. The moment he opened the door, Rosie spoke, a risky faux pas for a slave to address a Master without permission, but she had to try it. “Please Master, you don’t have to torture me,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll do whatever you want, anything!”
He sat down on a chair and picked up a remote control. “Of course you will,” he said. “And you’ll do anything to stay out of trouble, to keep your pretty little butt free of whip marks.” He spoke as if this was somehow an unreasonable course of action. “You’ll avoid saying anything which might get your owner or one of his mates into any trouble, in case they take it out on you afterwards.” Rosie hung her head: he was quite right. “Well,” he continued, “I think I can persuade you that your first concern should be to tell me the truth, the whole truth and, as they say, nothing but the truth.” He pressed a button on the remote. The wheel began to rise as the axis extended. When it reached a height of some four feet, he pressed another button and it stopped rising, but began turning until the wheel was almost vertical. Rosie now faced him, her bare chest rising and falling with her tense breathing. He touched another button.
“Nyyyarghh!” Rosie screamed as electricity coursed through her breasts and crotch. It was like red fire in her innards. For two or three seconds - though it seemed much longer to her - she writhed in her tight bonds as the current surged through her. At the end of it, the current thankfully switched itself off. She stared pleadingly at Williams, hoping that her bare charms might sway him towards mercy, but of course she was just another naked slave girl to him. As if to confirm this, he touched the remote again.
“Aaiiieeaghh!” The cry came from Rosie’s lips as fresh agony arced through her youthful body. “Please, Master! Please, Master!” she cried as it cut off.
He ignored her and switched on a tape recorder. “Interrogation number one, Edward Harris murder investigation,” he spoke into the microphone near him - Rosie noticed another attached to the wheel near her head - and he added the date and a reference number. The he spoke to Rosie. “What is your name, girl?”
“S-slave Rosie 3125,” she replied immediately. “Formerly V419.” The latter number, which she was always required to add, indicated that she had arrived at Xanxta as a virgin. Rosie Cameron no longer existed, except in memory and dream.
“Who is your owner?”
“Tyler Mason.” Her pubic hair, shaven in the letter M, offered mute confirmation of that.
“Do you enjoy your slavery, Slave Rosie?”
The question was unexpected. “I ... am honoured to serve,” Rosie fished out one of the stock phrases she had been trained in. Too late, she saw him touch the remote. “Eyyarhhhhh!”
He let the current subside then continued mildly. “You are required to tell the truth,” he reminded her.
“Please Master,” Rosie said in terror, “my owner will thrash me terribly if I say the wrong thing!”
He touched the remote.
“Nnyyyargghhh!”
“I repeat that you must tell the truth,” he said. “However, I will tell you that this conversation will not be heard by your owner. If this case comes to court, slave evidence is not directly admissible. So, do you want to be honest, or do you want some more juice?” His hand hovered over the remote.
“No! Please, Master,” Rosie said hurriedly. “I’ll tell the truth, everything you ask!”
He let his hand drift away from the remote, though not too far away. “Good. So, again, do you enjoy slavery?”
“No, of course not,” she said, defeated.
“But you accept it. Do you hate your owner?”
Rosie’s lower lip quivered. “No,” she said quietly, and then: “Nyarrrgh!” as he touched the remote. The shock subsided, and he said nothing, waiting. “Please, Master! I swear I’m telling the truth! I should hate him, he’s terrible and horrible and he took my virginity and it was a dreadful way to have my first time, but I don’t hate him! I hate what he does to me, but I don’t hate him! I don’t know why, it just is! What’s that syndrome, where kidnapped girls fall for their kidnappers?”
“Stockhausen’s Syndrome? No, I don’t think so. Actually, what you say is more common than you might think. Do you feel vulnerable as a slave?”
“Oh God, yes, all the time!”
“All slaves do. Your owner is a security, almost a father figure or a headmaster. He is your protector.”
“He doesn’t protect me very much,” Rosie said bitterly, “but yes, I suppose that’s it.”
“What about the other people in the house? Do you hate any of them?”
“I ... try not to. It was emphasised in my training and another of the slaves has advised me as well. If I hate them, it’ll show at some point and then I’ll be really for it.”
“But is there anybody you really hate, deep down?”
“Master Freddie,” Rosie said immediately. “The revolting things he makes me do ...” she shuddered. Remembering the microphone, she wondered if she had been wise to say this.
“I noticed yesterday evening that your bottom was red. Was that Master Freddie?”
“No; it was Master Phillip, the dentist. He does it to me every day.”
“For fun, or failings on your part?”
“For fun,” she said bitterly. “His excuse is that he’s teaching me to count.”
Williams smiled. “What about Edward Harris? Did you hate him?”
Rosie shook her head. “I barely knew him.” Then, fearfully: “please Master, I didn’t kill him!” If the police tried to pin the murder on her, she had no chance of defending herself, and the retribution would be unthinkable.
“I didn’t say you did,” Williams said mildly. “Do you have any ideas who did, or how?”
Rosie shook her head. “It’s doing my head in,” she admitted. “I had that door in my sight all the time. I swear nobody else went in or out.”
“But he couldn’t have killed himself and then hidden the hypodermic. Was he the suicidal type?”
“No, not at all.”
“Was he popular with the other slaves?”
Rosie recalled Cassandra’s grimace of disgust at having to service Harris. “Not particularly, Master.”
“And with the other free people in the house?”
Masters are often unguarded in their conversation to other free persons in front of slaves, secu
re in the knowledge that a slave will not dare pass things on, even to another Master. Rosie hesitated a few seconds too long.
“Nyaaahh!”
The throbbing, pulsing pain coursed through her young body. Williams at last switched the current off and then also switched the tape recorder off. As Rosie hung in her bonds, he went to the door, opened it and whistled. Two of the burly, low intelligence thugs lumbered into the room. He gestured and they released Rosie from the wheel. Their hands grasped her wherever they chose, giving no slightest consideration for her privacy or sensibility. Rosie was nowadays used to such treatment, if not immune to it, but right now it was not important. Any slight hopes she might have had that the interview was over were dashed as they put her slim wrists back in chains and winched them up until she was scrambling to keep her toes on the floor, to avoid all of her weight being painfully taken by her arms. The two Neanderthals departed.
Williams selected a long, snaking whip from the wall. “I don’t much care for working with electric shocks,” he said conversationally. “They’re effective, but not involving. What’s the fun in operating a switch? Now this,” he added as he flicked the whip on the floor, making Rosie twitch, “is more like it.” He switched the tape recorder back on and repeated his last question.
Rosie hurriedly stated that most of the household and guests had hardly taken any notice of Edward Harris, apart from Elizabeth, who had arranged for him to stay there and even she hadn’t spent much time with him. “Master Freddie was a bit concerned about him monopolising Slave Cassandra,” she added.
“Scarcely a motive for murder, is it?” Williams asked. “Hmm. Which of the slave girls had bedded him?”
“Charlotte on his first night and Cassie on the next two, he was due to ... have me on the next night, the night he died.”
“Lucky escape for you, eh?”
Rosie didn’t answer for a moment. Too late, she saw him swing the whip. It landed on her right hip, but then wrapped around her lower back and the tip embedded itself in her tummy. Wherever it touched her, it stung, most of all at the tip, where the velocity had been greatest. She screamed. As the whip fell away, she looked down to see a long line of red across her stomach.
