The Abduction of Number Seven

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave #1: A Hot-Flashes Novelette by Claire Thompson Renaissance E Books www.renebooks.com...

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave #1: A Hot-Flashes Novelette by Claire Thompson

Renaissance E Books www.renebooks.com

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SIZZLER EDITIONS—HOT FLASHES GOLDEN ANGEL: UNWILLING SEX SLAVE Part One: The Abduction of Number Seven By CLAIRE THOMPSON ISBN 1-58873-954-6 All rights reserved Copyright © 2006 Claire Thompson This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. Sizzler Editions/Hot Fashes B&D www.sizzlereditions.com A Renaissance E Books publication

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Chapter One "Here you go, sir," Laura said, setting a martini down in front of the man who nodded absently, barely noticing her. His eyes were riveted to the woman on the stage. Laura followed his gaze, trying to ignore the tendril of envy that curled around her thoughts like a gripping weed. The dancer gyrated to the techno music pulsating through the speakers, commanding the attention of every man in the room, their expressions eloquent with yearning. Laura wondered what it must be like to have that sort of attention. She knew she would die of embarrassment if men were leering at her like that, but at the same time she couldn't deny a secret fascination. To be the subject of men's sexual fantasies, the object of their desires... Laura watched as the dancer gripped the silver pole with both hands, letting her body hang back as the stage lights shimmered through her platinum blonde hair. The light dripped off the gold silky gown that hugged every curve of her body. Provocatively swiveling her hips and fingering her mouth, her eyes closed as if about to climax. With a long red fingernail she let the strap fall and drape over her shoulder. She moved her leg through the slit of her gown, drawing the eye down to her glossy and very high heels. Each gesture was a tease, an implied invitation. The gown fell from her shoulders, giving her audience a view of her large round breasts barely covered by the red satin of her low-cut bra. Facing the audience, the dancer 4


shimmied so her breasts jiggled toward the front row of tables. A few men clapped, tossing their dollar bills at her feet. The dancers could make more in an hour than Laura would make in a night, but then, Laura only served drinks—she didn't bare her body, or writhe over men's legs in a lap dance, whispering seductive things in their ears, making them flush with pleasure and desire. Not that she was complaining. The money was certainly better than her last job at the diner, but she was pretty sure she didn't make as much in tips as most of the girls. She didn't seem to have the knack the other girls did for flirting with the men, for letting her breasts slide "by accident" over their arm as she set down drinks or removed dirty plates, for making them feel sexy and valued. It wasn't that she didn't want to flirt—she simply didn't know how. She had thought she would feel sexy in the outfit the cocktail waitresses were expected to wear when on shift— a close-fitting black or red spandex camisole with built-in bra and a short skirt or shorts of the same snug-fitting material. But in fact she felt self-conscious—aware her nipples were poking through the fabric in the well air-conditioned club, the globes of her ass hugged by the tight skirt. Laura took another drink order, glancing back at the dancer as she moved toward the bar. She was near the end of her act, her shiny gown now a puddle of gold at her feet. With a kick of one long leg she tossed the dress away from her. Her sheer black stockings were held up by a black garter belt with little red satin bows at the clasps. Slowly she bent her knees, lowering and raising herself against the pole in a 5


kind of erotic callisthenic. Laura felt the sexual tension in the room as the men leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the dancer's pussy, covered with only a few inches of red satin. With a seductive smile the dancer faced the men as she reached behind to unclasp her push-up bra. A collective sigh went through the room as her perfect breasts sprung free, the nipples dark brown and erect. She let her hands glide seductively down her sides. Her fingers drew a line up her firm belly to her breasts, which she cupped and lifted. The glittering body oil she'd rubbed over her body before the show made her skin glow. "Waitress, waitress!" Laura turned with a guilty start as the music faded. She had been so absorbed in the dance she'd quite forgotten to get her drink order filled. The dancer was smiling and blowing kisses to the applauding men as she gathered her tips and slipped from the stage to freshen up and mingle with the men until she was up again for her next set. As another dancer ascended the stage Laura hurried to the bar to place her order with George, the bartender. "Hi Laura, good night, huh? Place is packed. What can I get you?" As Laura gave him the order, she watched George make the drinks. He was a tall heavyset man with a plain but gentle face. He had been nice to Laura since she'd started the job two months ago, sometimes giving her advice on what to expect from the customers and what was expected of her. He'd seemed to sense her vulnerability. He told her she reminded him of his kid sister. "It's a tough gig," he had warned her her first night on the job. "You have to pace yourself. The guys expect you to be 6


perky and friendly. Some of these guys have too much to drink and get the mistaken idea you're on the menu, but Pete and Norm will be watching so don't worry." Pete and Norm were the bouncers, always discreetly moving about the club, their eyes darting over the customers, making sure everyone was behaving. Laura had been leery at first of taking this cocktail waitress job at a strip club, but like George, the manager, Lewis Hampton, had assured her the waitresses were "off limits" to the customers. She was to keep them happy with a steady supply of drinks, and to look pretty in her little outfit, but that was it. So far Laura had to admit, though the hours were long, the club really was a very nice place to work. It was a cut above the typical strip club. Billing itself as "the most exclusive gentlemen's club in Manhattan", its clientele were well-heeled and better behaved than Laura's preconceived notion of guys who hung out at strip joints. The space was elegant, with chandeliers splashing soft light over the plush chairs and mahogany woodwork of the long bar and little tables set about the large room. The carpet was of fine thick wool, the walls paneled in oak, hung with tasteful pictures of nude and nearly nude women painted in oils during the nineteenth century. "You here for the dancer spot?" Lewis Hampton had asked when Laura had come to apply late one afternoon before the club was open for business. He stared pointedly at Laura's body and she flushed. "Oh, no," Laura had answered, somewhat flustered at even being asked the question. It wasn't that Laura didn't have a 7


good body. In fact her body was better than some of the exotic dancers she so admired on the stage, and unlike many of them, hers had not been enhanced by plastic surgery. Laura had round, high breasts, a long narrow waist and gently flaring hips. Her legs were muscular, but the muscles were lean and feminine, rising to a small but shapely ass. Because she was so painfully shy, Laura honestly had no idea of her own beauty or potential erotic appeal. She kept her blond wavy hair pulled back and dressed simply in t-shirts and jeans. At twenty-four she didn't need makeup—her complexion was soft and fresh, her large brown eyes fringed with thick lashes, her lips sensuously full and rosy red even without lipstick. "Well," Hampton had said, his eyes gliding up and down her body as he slowly licked his lips. "You could still try out if you want. I'll need to see your tits of course." Laura had blushed, her cheeks hot as she shook her head. "I'm here about a waitress position. I saw the ad. If it's still open?" She'd gotten the job, her references apparently checking out to Mr. Hampton's satisfaction. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had applied for the dancer spot. Would the men who all but ignored her now be gazing at her with adoration and lust as she moved before them on the stage? Would they be calling out her name, begging her for a lap dance, for a kiss, for a special hour in the VIP lounge? Laura sighed. Of course that was a ridiculous fantasy. She wouldn't have had the nerve to strip for a boyfriend in the 8


privacy of their bedroom, much less a room full of jaded men. If she had had a boyfriend. When asked, Laura would tell people she was "between boyfriends" but in fact she hadn't dated in months. Not that men didn't ask her out—they did. But she rarely accepted, not willing to sit through hours of boring conversation with guys who usually focused on their favorite topic—themselves. After a meal they would take her back to her place, asking to be invited in, usually expecting a little sex in exchange for the dinner. If she liked the fellow she might even go along, but invariably the sex was dull, no fireworks, no passion. She told friends she was tired of kissing toads while waiting for her prince, and that she'd rather curl up with a good book. While she liked sex well enough, her heart never raced at the thought of any particular man, her pussy moistening with desire, her nipples tingling with need, like in the romance novels she liked to buy from the supermarket. Maybe she just lacked the capacity for romance? Maybe romance was just a fairytale. Maybe she should settle for Tom or Joe or Frank— select someone to start a family with and get over her silly notions of true love. Laura was pulled from her reverie by a waitress named Janet. "Laura, you gotta take my station. Lewis said you could handle both stations. I'm really sick." "Gosh, Janet. What's wrong? You look awful." "Gee thanks for the compliment," Janet said, trying to smile but failing. "I think it was the oysters I had at dinner. I think I'm gonna puke. Sorry to dump this on you but..." Janet 9


thrust a handful of tabs toward Laura, one for each table at her station. Laura took them, adding them to her own stack in her pocket. "No, that's okay. Go on, really. I could use the extra tips anyway." As Janet hurried toward the bathroom Laura surveyed Janet's tables. She walked toward them, introducing herself and checking at each table to see what the gentlemen might need. At a back table a tall man with dark hair brushed straight back from his forehead sat alone. As Laura came up to him he reached out and touched her arm lightly. "Excuse me, miss. Another glass of Cognac when you have a moment." Laura nodded, sifting through the tabs Janet had given her till she found his table. She saw he'd had two glasses of a very expensive Cognac already, plus an order of fine caviar and some cheese and crackers. Should be a good tip in this one, she thought. As she placed the snifter on the table in front of the man, Laura observed that he was dressed in a pearl gray suit with matching tie. At his very white cuffs were real cufflinks, emerald stones set in white gold. His face was lean-boned with a high-bridged, broad nose and rather piercing gray eyes. As she put a fresh napkin down for him the man's hand came over hers. "What's your name? Mine is Kramer. Gordon Kramer." "Oh, I'm Laura," she said, gently extracting her hand from his. "I'll be your waitress for the rest of the even—" "Laura," the man cut her off. "That's a lovely name. To go with your lovely face." 10


Laura smiled a little. The man was probably drunk, probably thought he was terribly charming. "Thank you, sir," she said. Kramer nodded, as if used to being called sir. "Please, won't you sit down a moment?" "I'm sorry. I can't. I have to wait on two stations now. Janet's sick." Not that she would have anyway! What did he think she was, a dancer eager to wiggle on his lap for twenty bucks? Still, she couldn't help but notice what a good looking man he was, in a dangerous kind of way. His face was one of intelligence, even sensitivity. He seemed to exude a kind of magnetism, as if he had power and was used to exerting it. "Of course, excuse my presumption. Perhaps on your break?" Was the man trying to pick her up? He looked old enough to be her father! Laura started to refuse as a matter of course when the man interrupted her. "Please don't think I'm trying to hit on you. Far from it. I'll be frank. You've got something I want." "I'm sorry, I—" "I own a string of modeling agencies with locations all over the world. I'm always looking for new models, you see. I have something of an eye for what the public wants. You've got it." Laura paused, trying to absorb what he was saying. "I have what?" "It. The look. You're quite beautiful you know, in an understated sort of way. I often frequent gentlemen's club, looking for undiscovered beauty. Usually I find it on the dance stage, but you—there's a softness, a vulnerability I would love to exploit." 11


Laura felt her cheeks suffuse with heat and she turned away, embarrassed to be blushing in front of her customer. "Please," he said softly, "I'll be here. I'll wait. You do have a break, don't you?" "Well, yes," Laura said, glancing at her watch. "In about twenty-five minutes I have a break. Or, well, I would have but I'm covering for Janet so I don't know." "I'm sure someone can watch your tables for a few minutes. This could be the offer of a lifetime, Laura. I'll be waiting." **** Laura awoke to the persistent beep of her alarm clock, taking a moment to recognize what it was. She glanced blearily at her clock radio—eleven o'clock. With her shift at the club not ending until four a.m. she could have used another few hours. Then she remembered why she'd set the clock in the first place. Gordon Kramer wanted her to do a photo shoot! She sat up, pulling her long hair up into a ponytail before letting it fall back around her shoulders. She had "the look"! Laura had been quite flattered when Mr. Kramer had made his proposal to her. He gave her his card, removing it from a slim leather card case and placing it on the table in front of her. Gordon Kramer—Chairman & CEO, Kramer Modeling Agencies. The address was on Park Avenue in Manhattan, impressive in itself. He was a very persuasive speaker and she found herself agreeing to come to his studios the next day at two o'clock for a shoot with his top photographer. 12


After he'd left she'd come to her senses a little, finding a moment to ask George what he knew about the guy. "He comes here from time to time," George said. "He's one of the big boys. A high-roller—millionaire type, you know. I don't know much about him, except that he shows up here in a limousine and lures away some of our best girls." "Lures away?" "Recruits, I guess you'd say. Offers them modeling contracts and they tend to hightail it out of here. Last girl didn't even show up for her last paycheck!" "Wow," Laura said, impressed and somewhat stunned the man had turned his attentions to her. She remembered how nice he had been, asking her questions about her life in such a way she found herself confiding in him, admitting she was alone in the city, and that she didn't have a steady boyfriend. "And your parents, sisters, brothers? It must be lonely for you on holidays," he'd said gently. "Well, yes, actually," she admitted in a moment of candor. "I have a brother, but I haven't seen him in ages. He lives in Canada with his wife and children. My parents, well, we don't have much contact. They live in Connecticut, which is where I'm from originally." She didn't mention that her father was an active alcoholic who used to beat her up during his drunken rages, and still beat on her mother, as far as Laura knew. Her mother, to Laura's bafflement, not only tolerated but protected and lied for her husband, even to the point of accusing Laura of trying to sabotage her marriage when she'd begged her mother to get help. Laura didn't say any of this to Mr. Kramer of course, 13


instead emphasizing how she'd been able to make it on her own in the city, though her short-lived dream of becoming a stage actress had died when she'd failed to get into a drama school she'd applied to. Now she had another chance! Modeling was a common segue way into acting, was it not? Laura stood up, stretching her long, lean body, feeling the promise of something wonderful well up in her. A hot shower and strong cup of coffee fortified her to focus on the task of choosing the right outfit for her photo shoot. She selected a pink silk sleeveless top and a floral print skirt that flowed prettily to just below the knee. Pink leather sandals completed the look. A cab ride later found her standing in front of a gray granite office building on Park Avenue. Once inside she found the placard by the elevator and read the words, Kramer Studios, second floor. Laura felt a sudden tug of trepidation pull at her innards. What did she really know about this man and his operation, other than what he'd told her? Fingering the business card in her hand, she ignored her apprehension, determined for once in her life to seize an opportunity. Nervously she knocked on the door of the studio. It was opened at once by a short man with dark hair and olive skin. His face was long and narrow, one dark eye slightly drooping. "You must be Laura Sidel. I am expecting you." The man's voice was accented, something Middle Eastern perhaps. "I am Samir Baruk, professional photographer." "Oh," Laura said, taken aback. "I was expecting Mr. Kramer?" 14


The man smiled a little, revealing crooked teeth. "Mr. Kramer runs a worldwide operation. He doesn't have time for photo auditions of would-be models." His tone was faintly condescending. "He said he was going to be here," Laura said uncertainly. The man did not respond, making her innards tug. She glanced around the brightly lit studio. Lights were set up on moveable stands all around the room, illuminating backdrops of different colors and textures. A large camera was mounted on a stand and several smaller cameras sat on a long narrow table against one wall. At least it really was a photographer's studio. At that moment another man entered the room without knocking. He locked the door behind him and turned to face them. Laura half-expected the man to be Mr. Kramer. Hadn't he said he'd be here too? But the man was not Gordon Kramer. He was a tall, strongly muscled man with a shaven head and a neck as thick as an ox's. "This her?" he said, jerking his thumb toward Laura. Laura was insulted by his rude display and suddenly no longer at all sure she wanted to be there. Something definitely did not feel right. Why had he locked the door? Who was he? "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I—" Laura began but her words died in her throat as the man reached into his denim jacket and pointed a long switchblade, its blade gleaming directly at her. "You're gonna be very sorry and very afraid when we're done with you, cunt," the man said in a gruff voice. 15


Laura tried to speak but only managed to hiccup with fear. Blood was roaring in her ears and the room seemed to take on a surreal cast, as if she were in a movie, and a very bad one at that. As the big man kept his knife pointed at her, the small man approached with a syringe in his hand. Laura screamed as the needle pricked the flesh of her bare upper arm. "Let's see what's she got," the big man said. The man called Samir moved behind Laura, who was beginning to feel dizzy. He pinned her arms painfully behind her as the big man moved closer. Grabbing her blouse, he pulled the fabric and drew his blade down it, ripping it as he went. Pulling it open, he slipped the tip of the sharp blade beneath the bra between Laura's breasts and pulled forward, cutting the lacy garment from her body. Big hands mauled her breasts and Laura began to cry, not daring to pull away or scream, the knife still inches from her throat. Whatever drug they'd injected her with began to take full effect. Unwilling to contemplate what was surely her last few minutes on earth, Laura found herself thinking, George will think I took a modeling contract and couldn't be bothered to say goodbye. Then all thought seeped from her drugged mind. Laura felt her head fall forward as the world swirled away.

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Chapter Two When Laura awoke she was in the dark, her arms cuffed behind her back. She could feel the lumpy damp mattress beneath her, set directly on the ground. The room was cool and dank and smelled of mildew with a strong overlay of chlorine bleach. Laura lay still as it dawned on her with some surprise she must not be dead. But where was she? And why? Clearly that Kramer bastard had set her up. She tested her cuffs. They were tight against her wrists and made of metal. She pulled against them, trying to slip her hands through the holes. The cuffs only tightened, cutting into her skin. Laura moaned and tried to keep the terror threatening to engulf her at bay. Slowly she struggled to sit up, not easy with her hands bound painfully behind her. She realized she was naked, save for the metal cutting into her wrists. She felt around on the mattress and the floor nearby, hoping against hope her clothing was there, but to no avail. Don't panic. Think. Think. There must be a way out of this. Where was she? Somewhere underground—perhaps someone's basement. She lay back down, dizzy from the after-effects of the drug. She had no way to gauge how much time had passed. She needed to pee and was thirsty, that much she knew. Suddenly she heard a skittering sound—the sound of tiny claws against stone and she stiffened. Rats! Revulsion washed over her and she tried not to groan aloud. Maybe it was just a 17


field mouse, harmless and already disappeared into its nest somewhere in the walls. The little animal was probably far more terrified of her than she of it. Forcing herself to calm down, Laura sat up, consciously slowing her rapid breathing. As she leaned against the wall she felt it with her fingers. It was stone, dry and a little crumbly in parts. Someone's basement, unfinished, unoccupied unless one counted rodents. "Hello?" Laura ventured, her voice cracking hoarsely. Nothing. No response, not a sound. She lay back down, wondering what was going to happen to her. George would assume she'd taken the modeling contract. He'd probably tell Mr. Hampton she'd quit without notice and they would write her off with a shrug. She had a few friends she saw from time to time, but they were used to her working nights now, while they worked days. It could be weeks before anyone even realized she was missing. Laura recalled how she'd assumed that bastard Kramer was taking a fatherly interest in her background, pretending to be sympathetic to her being alone in the city. In fact he'd just been feeling her out! If only she'd said she had a roommate and parents down the hall! Maybe he'd have passed—found another girl suitable for whatever horrible plans he'd had in store for her. How many other girls had succumbed to his ruse, showing up at that studio on Park Avenue just like she had, hopeful for the chance at a bright new future, only to be drugged and kidnapped? Panic overwhelmed the girl as she lay in the dark, naked and bound. It rolled over her in waves as she squeezed 18


her eyes tight and curled herself into a ball. Oh, someone help me, help me, help me. But no one came. Not even the mouse. **** There was a bright light shining in Laura's face, pulling her from troubled dreams. Her body was stiff and cold and she shivered convulsively as she squinted her eyes open a crack. Someone was holding a flashlight on her—she couldn't see the person in the shadows behind the light. "Sit up," a man's voice issued from the darkness. Laura wanted to curl into a tighter ball, terrified and also humiliated to be naked in front of this stranger and unable to cover herself. The man prodded her leg none too gently with a booted toe. "I said sit up. When I give you a command, you obey." It wasn't the voice of either of the men who had drugged and kidnapped her. This voice was British, its tone clipped, almost military. Laura struggled to obey, succeeding in getting herself upright, still squinting against the light shining relentlessly in her face. Her hair was in her eyes and tickling her nose. She shook her head to move the hair as she drew her legs up protectively. "I am to be called Sir. You are presently called Number Seven. As you progress in your training you will be assigned a lower number. With each new number comes advantages and privileges previously denied to you. When you reach number one, you are ready for placement. Do you understand?" 19


Laura tried to see the man but the light blinded her. "Please," she begged. "I'm very thirsty. I have to use the bathroom. I'm cold." Laura gasped with surprise and pain as the man struck her face with the back of his hand. Tears sprang to her eyes and she choked back a terrified sob. "No!" the man barked. "You don't speak out of turn! You answer questions put to you. You ask nothing." He paused and set the flashlight down between them, its light pointing up toward the ceiling, which was quite low, only a little higher than the man's head. He was still in shadow but now she could see he had a full head of dark hair and a prominent hawked nose. He was dressed in dark clothing and he looked massive and strong. "Now listen carefully. You are my property. You are less than a slave—you are worthless to me as you are now, completely untrained, spoiled, stupid and graceless. You will be become an object of value, with time and patience. If you survive, that is. That will be entirely up to you. Obey and learn, and move up in the ranks. Disobey and behave with willful stupidity, and you remain here, naked and bound. Now I will repeat my earlier question." He paused and then said, "Do you understand?" "Yes," Laura managed to whisper, compelled by fear to lie. For she did not understand. The man was talking gibberish as far as she was concerned. She only knew this cruel frightening man had no intention of letting her go. The haze of fear around her mind was too thick for her to process the meaning and intent of his words. 20


As he shone the flashlight over her, Laura realized to her horror she'd peed on herself. She felt the warm wetness spreading beneath her bare bottom. He saw it too, for he spat, "Disgusting girl. Sitting in your own piss—worse than an animal. Get up. I said get up!" Grabbing her by the hair, the man jerked and hauled the now crying girl to her feet. He pulled her forward so she stumbled onto the damp concrete floor. "Don't move," he ordered, as he flipped the mattress over. Bits of stone and debris clung to the new side. He pushed her back toward the mattress and Laura sank down upon it, wishing fervently she could will herself to death before anything else happened. "Are you thirsty, Number Seven?" As he asked, thirst flared up like a rocket inside of her, parching her insides, cleaving her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Mutely she nodded. "Good," he said. "Perhaps when I see you next you will be more inclined to pay attention." She heard the click of his boots as he walked away, the slam of the door and a bolt sliding home. ??? * * * * ??? Laura burst out of troubled sleep with a cry. Instinctively she tried to cover her face but only succeeded in pulling her cuffs still tighter against bruised flesh. There was a scraping sound at the door—the bolt being drawn back, the handle turning. Laura huddled against the back wall, her heart hammering in her chest. 21


Suddenly a harsh light illuminated the room. Laura saw the long thin fluorescent bulbs set in a white plastic fixture crudely hung from chains in the ceiling. She was able to see the crumbling concrete walls of a room about ten by twelve feet with no windows and one large heavy metal door which now stood slightly ajar. In the doorway stood not the tall, cruel man who was to be addressed as Sir, but a young woman with long dark hair hanging in shiny waves well past her shoulders. She was wearing a silky flowing gown that hugged the naked body beneath it, outlining small high breasts sporting nipple rings beneath the clinging fabric. Laura barely noticed these details, her eyes fixated on the tray in the woman's hands. On it was a bottle of water and a sandwich of some kind. Laura began to salivate and she had to swallow to keep from choking. "Number Seven?" The woman's voice was low and pure, pleasing to the ear, its accent British like the man called Sir. She entered the room, pushing the door shut behind her with a slipper-shod foot. "Sir said you were to have this." Gracefully she bent forward, placing the tray on the ground beside Laura's mattress. "Please," Laura whispered, "my hands." The woman saw Laura's hands were bound behind her. Obviously she could see Laura was naked as well, but she didn't seem to notice or care. "Oh, Sir didn't mention your hands." "Please, please take them off. They're cutting into my wrists. Please. I can't eat without my hands." Laura's voice was pleading, almost a whine. She couldn't help it. She could 22


smell the bread. She had no idea when she'd last eaten, but her stomach knotted and groaned with emptiness. She had to taste that bread, drink that sweet cool water! The woman stood staring down at her, her delicately arched eyebrows puckered in consternation. "Sir didn't tell me anything about your cuffs. I'm sorry, Number Seven. Even if I wanted to, I haven't got the keys. Only Sir and Madam have keys." Laura blinked back the tears in her eyes. She was desperate for the sustenance placed by her bed. The woman crouched next to her and said, "Don't cry, Number Seven. Sir knows what is best for you. He is very wise. I shall feed you." She unscrewed the cap of the bottle and held it out toward Laura. Seeing no other choice, Laura scooted forward, parting her lips as the woman held the bottle to them. As the water filled her mouth and slid down her throat Laura swallowed greedily. Patiently the young woman held the bottle, tilting it carefully so Laura could drink without choking. When it was empty, the woman set it down and broke off a small piece of the sandwich. "Peanut butter," she said, smiling brightly as if it were perfectly normal to be feeding a handcuffed naked woman held prisoner in a dank basement. Laura chewed the food, the doughy bread and creamy peanut butter exploding with delicious sensation in her mouth—nothing had ever tasted so good. She tried to chew slowly but found herself wolfing down each bite, fearful it would be her last. The woman fed her every bit of the sandwich, even pressing the crumbs on the paper plate with a 23


thumb and holding it up to Laura's lips. Shamelessly Laura licked the girl's thumb. She was still hungry, still thirsty, but at least the dull ache in her belly was eased. The woman stood up, turning to go. "No!" Laura cried, desperate not to be left alone again in her dungeon. "Don't go! Please, you can't go!" The woman stopped and turned back. "I can't stay, Number Seven. Sir didn't say to stay. He just said to give you this meal." "Please! You can't leave me here! I don't know your name! What are they going to do with me? Why am I here? Please, I'm begging you! I'll do anything. Don't leave me!" "Poor darling," the woman said softly. "Don't worry, dear. It will get better. They just do this at first to break you down. It's for your own good, really it is. You can't be molded into a lovely obedient slave girl if you haven't first been broken down. You come here with your own ego, your own foolish ideas of freedom and self-determination. These silly notions have to be thrashed from your psyche, beaten from your body, starved from your mind. It's easier for some than for others. I barely remember my own training—I was just sixteen when they took me into the fold." She glanced at the door and then back at Laura, seeming to take pity on the woebegone girl. "Maybe I can stay a few minutes. No more. I belong to Sir, you see. I am his personal pet and he doesn't like me gone too long." She beamed for a moment, her smile flashing with pride. Laura didn't dare show her shock, as the woman might take offense and leave. "What's your name?" Laura asked, hoping to engage her. 24


"Ruby. Sir named me Ruby because I'm his precious jewel." Again the quiet pride was evident in her voice. "You'll get a name someday, if you earn it." "I have a name!" Laura cried. "Laura! Not Number Seven. Laura Sidel!" "No, no," Ruby said, smiling gently. "That was your otherworld name. You have no need of that name any longer. The sooner you can forget it and the world that went with it, the happier you'll be, I promise you." Laura stared at Ruby, horror fighting with incredulity. Surely this girl, if given half a chance, would want to be free! "Ruby, help me escape! Together maybe we could get out of here! You can't want to stay here as someone's pet! You're a grown woman! Don't you want to have your own life?" Ruby smiled though her eyes flashed. Her voice was condescending and tinged with annoyance as she answered, "You know nothing of my life, you foolish girl. You think it's better to scrabble and fight in that other world, that nasty, dangerous world? I know what it's like out there. Filthy clumsy men pawing at you, with no appreciation of your grace, of your ability to take a whipping, to service a man like Sir, to please a woman like Madam. They take care of me, they love me and I—I worship them! You have no idea how lucky you are to be given this chance. You've been selected as one of the few elite girls chosen for training. Sir must see something in you." Ruby stared at the naked woman slumped dispiritedly on the mattress, her face smeared with dirt, her hair tangled and matted as it fell into her face, "Though 25


frankly I can't see what. But instead of being grateful, you seek to escape!" "Oh, Ruby, please. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Desperately Laura tried to backtrack. How stupid she was to try to engage this obviously brainwashed woman. Ruby looked slightly mollified. "Well. You're new. New and stupid without a lick of training yet. So I shan't tell Sir what you said. But mind yourself!" There was a sound outside the door and Ruby whipped her head toward it, her face suddenly a mask of fear. "Oh! I've stayed too long." Bending down like a dancer, she swooped up the tray with its empty bottle and paper plate. Without another glance at Laura she slipped through the door. A moment later the room was plunged back into darkness. A few hours later Ruby returned, bringing with her a bucket she carried carefully so as not to spill its contents. During Ruby's absence Laura had been forced to urinate in a corner, though because her bowels were in knots, at least she was spared that humiliation so far. Ruby wrinkled her nose with distaste as she entered the room. Laura sat up expectantly, hungry again. Ruby walked toward her and said, "Stand up, Number Seven." "Laura," Laura said softly. "No. Number Seven." "Ruby, please. I—" "Shut up!" Ruby's low smooth voice rose in sudden anger. "You've upset Sir! I stayed down too long before. I was punished, as was proper." Unconsciously she touched her ass 26


and winced a little. Dropping her hand and taking a deep breath she added, "I shan't make that mistake again. Sir says not a word from you. You contaminate my pure mind, he says. You are not to speak. Not a word!" As Laura stared at her with wide eyes Ruby added more gently. "I'm here to help you clean up a little before I take you to Madam. She wants to meet you." Laura felt a tiny flicker of hope. She was going to get out of that horrible dank, dark room! Obediently she stood up, stepping off the mattress per Ruby's direction. Ruby brought over the bucket, which Laura realized contained warm soapy water. Reaching into it Ruby brought out a washcloth, wrung it into the bucket and began to wash Laura's face and neck. She dipped the cloth again and began to soap up Laura's breasts and belly. Laura's wet nipples rose hard in the cool room and Ruby stared at her lush, full breasts a moment, pursing her lips with displeasure. "Sir doesn't like big tits, Number Seven. Too bad for you. He is very severe with imperfect girls like you." Laura shuddered, her gut churning with fear at this comment, though her mind hadn't truly come to grips with whatever this hideous nightmare still held in store for her. Ruby continued to wash the girl, curtly ordering her to spread her legs. Roughly she rubbed the wet cloth over Laura's pussy, drawing it back up between her ass cheeks before rinsing it and moving on to Laura's legs. Laura felt a fierce blush suffusing her face and neck at this intimate, violating sponge bath, but she didn't dare protest. 27


As Ruby moved behind her Laura said hopefully, "My wrists?" She fervently hoped Ruby would have to unlock the cuffs to finish her bath. Her arms were completely numb from being locked behind her back for so many hours and her wrists felt bruised and tender beneath the tight metal. Her shoulders and back were aching from their forced position. She caught her breath with surprise and pain as Ruby moved quickly in front of her and smacked her hard across the face. "I said no talking! I won't be beaten again for you!" Laura was stunned into silence. She was cold, goose bumps dotting her bare flesh as she stood shivering and wet. Roughly Ruby jabbed the washcloth under her arms, attempting to clean her armpits without much success. "That'll have to do," she said, dropping the washcloth into the bucket. "Stay there. Don't move." Ruby left the room with the bucket but soon returned carrying a thick terrycloth bathrobe. She placed it over Laura's shoulders and tied it awkwardly around Laura's waist. "It's the best I can do," Ruby said more to herself than to Laura. "Let's go. Madam doesn't like to be kept waiting."

28


Chapter Three Ruby led Laura up two flights of stairs, the first narrow and steep, made from crumbling concrete, cold and damp beneath Laura's bare feet. When Ruby reached the small door at the top she looked back at Laura with an impatient, "Hurry up! You'll make us late!" Laura, without the use of her hands to support her climb, went much more slowly than Ruby, who moved silently ahead of her in her little satin slippers. The second set of stairs was wider and made of polished wood. They came out into a large kitchen filled with shiny stainless steel appliances and bright copper pots and pans hung over a wooden island in the center. Laura saw there was a back door. Her thoughts turned instantly to escape, but how far would she get, with her hands bound behind her, naked beneath the awkwardly tied robe? From the angle of the light shining through the windows Laura saw it was late afternoon. Her legs were trembling from the exertion of climbing the steps, after lying on a mattress for who knew how long with only a peanut butter sandwich and some water to sustain her. Her stomach growled as she saw red and green apples sitting in a brass bowl on the counter. She could smell them as Ruby pulled her along, admonishing her to hurry. They were in a large house—a country estate, Laura guessed, somewhere outside of the city. She realized she had been expecting something more like a prison, filled with cells 29


like her own, hapless girls peering between bars, their eyes pleading... "Pay attention, Number Seven! I'm not going to say it again. Madam is very demanding. She doesn't like clumsy girls. When you enter her presence, be sure to curtsy! She's a lady. And hurry! You're walking slowly on purpose! You want to get me in trouble!" "Ruby, darling. Is that you, my pet?" The voice was low, the diction precise, the accent American. "Oh!" Ruby gasped, rushing through a large room overcrowded with antique furniture, pulling Laura along with her. "Yes, Madam," she called out. "I have the girl. I have Number Seven." They entered what appeared to be a bedroom, its primary piece of furniture a huge bed covered in dark pink satin, pale pink satin sashes tied to the corners of its four posters. Lying in the bed in a black satin gown was a slender elegant woman with chestnut brown hair cut short against a long, thin face. She had dark almond-shaped eyes and a too-large mouth that was at present pressed in an expression of displeasure. Ruby at once bent into a deep curtsy, her flowing robe billowing out, her head nearly touching the floor. Madam smiled very slightly at the prostrate girl and then glared at Laura. Her face was not beautiful, but it was striking, her cheekbones prominent, her wide lips mobile and hinting of sensuality. Laura felt the woman's power and almost against her will she bent her knees, trying to copy Ruby's graceful bow. Fear, exhaustion, hunger and her arms still bound 30


behind her all colluded to cause Laura to lose her footing and instead of executing anything resembling a curtsy, she found herself falling forward with no way to break the fall. Instinctively she rolled to the side as she fell, landing with a painful thud on her shoulder and hip on the Oriental carpet. The robe fell away from her as she landed and she lay naked and in pain, feeling like a defeated animal without the strength to even try to sit up. "Ruby," Madam said calmly, her eyes flashing though she bestowed a small smile on the girl. "You took longer than I told you to bring Number Seven." "She was filthy, Madam. I'm sorry. I was trying to clean her up a bit before she was brought before you. And she walked slowly on purpose. I tried to hurry her." "Are you offering an excuse, Ruby?" The voice was steel though Madam continued to affect a smile. "No ma'am," Ruby whispered. "Hand." Laura, for the moment ignored, watched Ruby advance toward Madam, who was now sitting up on the edge of the bed. Laura saw she was holding a long thin cane like something out of a Catholic school boy's nightmare. She was tapping it lightly against her palm. Ruby paled but stood obediently in front of Madam, holding out a small hand, palm up. Madam brought the cane down across her palm with a whoosh. Ruby gave a gasp of pain, her fingers curling over the welt raised by the rattan. "Thank you, Madam," she managed to whisper. 31


"You're most welcome, my pet. Go to Sir now. He's ready for his afternoon massage." "Yes Madam," Ruby said in a small voice. As she passed Laura she prodded her ribs sharply with her slippered toe, glaring down at her as if Laura were to blame for her punishment. "Get up, Number Seven." Madam's voice was cold, lacking the affection she seemed to hold for Ruby, though obviously that supposed affection didn't stop her from caning the poor girl's tender palm. Laura, her mouth dry, shivering with fear, struggled to get herself upright. Madam stood, taking a ribbon from around her neck, on which several small keys hung. Selecting one, she walked behind Laura and unlocked the cuffs. Laura's arms fell limply to her sides. She tried to raise them, to clasp her hands, to touch her wrists, the skin bruised red and purple, but she couldn't. For a moment she panicked—she was paralyzed! Even as this thought tumbled through her head, the blood began to flow again in her arms, needles tingling through her muscles as they came painfully to life again. "Oh," she moaned. "My arms." "Silence, willful girl! You should be on your knees kissing my feet in thanks instead of moaning like some pathetic little brat." For some reason this remark pushed Laura over the brink. Anger overrode terror for an instant as she blurted, "How dare you! You people have drugged me, kidnapped me, starved me, kept me in a dark disgusting basement for god 32


knows how long, naked with my arms cuffed behind my back! Let me go! Let me go, you crazy, sick fucks! You can't just kidnap someone! You can't just steal someone's life! I'm not Number Seven! I'm Laura! Laura Sidel! I have family! I have friends! They'll find you! You'll go to jail. You better let me go! You have to let me go! Please—" her voice broke in a sob, "please let me go." She began to cry in earnest, sinking to her knees. Madam crouched next to her, pulling her up into her arms. She caressed Laura's tangled, matted hair, smoothing it back from her tear-streaked face as Laura sobbed. "There, there, Number Seven." Laura, exhausted, frightened and confused, allowed the older woman to hold her in a tender embrace. Absurdly she found some small comfort for a moment in those almost maternal arms. In a gentle voice Madam said, "Poor girl. You've been through so much." She stroked Laura's shoulder, drawing her fingers down to Laura's breast. Suddenly she pinched the nipple with long sharp nails and Laura gasped through her tears, pulling away. Madam stood abruptly, causing Laura to tumble from her lap. She knelt again, pulling Laura's head back sharply by the hair. Her voice was cold and hard, nothing like the sweet cooing of a moment before. "Now you listen to me," she hissed, her face close to Laura's. "You are not Laura Sidel. You are Number Seven. You are a piece of property, right now a worthless piece of untrained ass. You can make it easy on yourself or you can make it hard. Either way, Sir and I will train you. You will submit. Consider this phase one. The 33


sooner you cooperate and do as we instruct, the sooner you move to phase two." Letting go of Laura's hair, she moved again to perch on the edge of the bed, looking down at the naked miserable girl. "Laura Sidel is dead. In fact, her body was found this morning at dawn, fished up out of the Hudson and identified as you by someone paid handsomely to do so, using your dental records. Your family will be notified shortly." "No!" Laura began to scream, hurtling herself toward Madam with her last bit of strength. She began to pummel Madam's body with her fists, the word "no" one long, horrible keen of vowel that she couldn't control. Madam stood up, knocking Laura to ground. Laura was barely aware of what was happening as she continued hysterically thrashing the air with her hands, crying wildly, refusing to accept what Madam had said. No, no, no, no... Rough hands hauled her to her feet. She felt herself thrown over a man's broad shoulder, his forearms crushing the backs of her bare thighs as her forehead bumped against his back. She was set down again in a different place, only to have hands again pawing her, pulling her arms up high, locking cuffs again on her bruised, aching wrists. "No, no! Please, not my wrists," she begged, coming slightly out of her hysteria as the cuffs snapped shut. Sir kicked at her ankles, forcing her to spread her legs and Ruby knelt between them, securing a thick metal spreader bar by its cuffs to each of Laura's ankles. "No, no, no! Please! Let me down!" 34


"You had a choice, Number Seven. Easy or hard. You took hard. Now, what's your name?" Madam demanded. "Laura!" she cried. Suddenly a blinding stripe of pain welted itself across her bare back. The same rattan cane employed on Ruby's palm had made itself felt with a vengeance on Laura's taut, exposed body. Madam said again, "What's your name?" Laura stood gasping from the sting of the welt, her heart thudding so loudly she could barely hear the horrid woman's voice over it. Again the cane cut her, this time catching her square across the ass, its tip wrapping painfully around her hip. "Laura," she whispered, knowing it was a perverse, stupid thing to do. But she was not a number! She would not succumb to these crazed lunatics! She was Laura! Laura Sidel! She was alive, not a corpse in the Hudson River! She would escape somehow and turn these maniacs in! Laura screamed as the cane found its mark again, striking her back, her ass, her thighs. She leaned hard against her wrists cuffs, unable to move her legs, unable to escape the rain of fire covering her body. Oh, stop, stop, stop, stop! She would do anything to make it stop. Anything, anything! "What's your name?" Laura opened her eyes, her hair a wild mess in front of her face. She hadn't even the strength to shake it away. Dimly she realized that though her skin felt as if she'd been flayed alive, at least the caning had stopped. Sir was standing in front of her, balancing the cane on his palms. The thought of that wicked rod again cutting her flesh made her moan as she sagged against her restraints yet still 35


she didn't respond. She heard the whistle of the cane the spilt second before it struck her left breast. "Number seven," she finally mumbled as her head fell forward, the blessed swirling blackness of unconsciousness coming at last to claim her. **** Laura opened one eye. Her body was stiff, the skin of her back and ass tender, the sting of the lingering welts burning through her nerve endings as she became fully conscious. Mercifully she wasn't still tethered and chained, but lying down. And it seemed there was a sheet beneath her body instead of just the coarse, filthy mattress where she'd passed her first hours or days or whatever it had been. There were no windows in the room, but at least it was lit by a fixture in the ceiling, and it wasn't underground. "That was pretty stupid of you, Number Seven." Laura opened her second eye, focusing now on Ruby, who was sitting with her knees tucked up under her chin, on the floor of the little room in which they had placed Laura after she'd passed out. Laura didn't answer the girl. She knew whatever she said could and would be used against her. She couldn't really blame Ruby. Imagine being under those people's diabolical control since the age of sixteen! Ruby looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was tilting her head now at Laura, her shiny dark hair streaming to the floor like black glass. She was dressed in a different outfit, a dark red corset that barely covered her small breasts, pushing them up and forward to 36


create a cleavage where none would have been naturally. On her legs were sheer red stockings held in place with garters hanging from the corset. She wore no shoes. When she saw Laura wasn't going to ask what had been stupid of her, she answered herself. "It was stupid to refuse to admit you are Number Seven. Not that you're the first one. Most girls don't want to admit they've disappeared from that nasty old world. They want to cling to the idea some knight in shining armor is going to rush in and save them. But they never do. No one ever gets out, until we let them out." Laura couldn't resist following up on that. "You let them out?" "Sure we do. We don't want you around, taking all of Madam and Sir's time and attention. I'm their pet. I always stay. My name is Ruby, not any old number. They love me. But you ... " She said the last word as if it were bitter on her tongue. "You are nothing more than raw material. This is the first stage of your training, but once you've been properly trained and proved yourself worthy of moving on, they'll hand you up to the next level." Laura thought about this. Perhaps the next place, wherever it might be, she would be able to find someone to help her escape. Ruby was obviously a lost cause. And she would get away from "Sir" with his hawk-like face and cruel little eyes, and "Madam" with her terrifying habit of pretending to be so kind one moment, and such a cruel bitch the next. God only knew what it would take to be "properly trained". Laura shuddered at the thought. She glanced again at Ruby, 37


who was watching her, her chin resting on her knees. What must Ruby's life be like? Laura didn't dare ask. Better to keep quiet. Though she knew it must still be summer outside, she shivered as a draft of air moved over her. She was still naked with no covers. "Ruby," she whispered. "I'm cold. And I'm thirsty. I'm so thirsty and hungry. Are they going to let me starve?" "No, Number Seven. They would never do that. Sir and Madam aren't criminals!" So what the fuck are they? Laura didn't voice her thought, of course, but waited. Ruby continued. "You will be given regular meals now that you've been brought up from downstairs. I'll tell you a secret though." Laura held her breath, but Ruby only said, "If you misbehave again, they'll send you back down. Some girls go down ten times before they learn to behave. When you're down there, it's one meal a day. If you're lucky." "Oh, Ruby," Laura tried to sound contrite and sincere. "I won't misbehave any more, I promise you." "It's not me you need to promise. It's Sir and Madam. They're the ones you've let down," Ruby said smugly. Laura resisted an impulse to smack the young woman, reminding herself she was a brainwashed slave, barely human in some regards. "Yes, thank you, Ruby. I will. Meanwhile, do you think, since I am permitted meals now, that I might have something to eat and drink? Please?" "Well, I could let Madam know you're awake. She'll decide when you're to eat." 38


Laura's curiosity got the better of her. "Does she decide when you eat, Ruby?" "Oh yes, of course. Sir and Madam decide everything for me. I'm not burdened with having to think for myself, like girls on the outside. I exist solely to serve them, and in turn, they take care of me. They love me." "They love you? Like a child?" You're a grown woman, for god's sake! Ruby smiled beatifically. "Yes, like a child, and like a lover too. Sir loves my breasts. He can't get enough of them. And Madam says I have the most skilled tongue this side of New Guinea. When Sir tires of Madam, he'll fuck me, though only in the ass of course. He says slave girls' pussies aren't worthy of his cock. But Madam likes my pussy. She keeps me shaved bare so she can examine it when she feels like it. Oh, and you can a feel a whipping much better on bare flesh." Ruby shivered and hugged herself. Laura turned her face toward the wall, certain her expression would give her away. The girl spoke as if her bizarre, sexualized existence was perfectly natural. Was this what was in store for her as well? To become the mindless sex slave of a couple of dangerous perverts? Laura tried to still her thoughts, to focus on the moment. And at this moment she needed food and water. It was hard to think clearly when she was so very hungry. Forcing herself to say the words with as much sincerity as she could muster, Laura said, "You must be very proud to be their pet, Ruby. Any girl would be." 39


"Yes, I am." Ruby rose gracefully and Laura saw she was wearing no panties, her little shaved pussy pouting beneath the red satin of her corset. "With Madam's permission I'll get you some food and water." She moved to the door but then turned around, facing Laura again. "Don't think I don't know you're full of shit, Number Seven. You're horrified by me and my lifestyle. You don't understand yet, because you're still tied to the outside world. But you will. One day you'll be just like me." Over my dead body. Laura shuddered, hoping the words weren't a premonition.

40


Chapter Four "It's a pity we can't mark her. Can't damage the merchandise, at least not permanently." Sir was staring down at Laura, whom they had forced onto a medical exam table, cuffing her ankles to the stirrups. They had slipped a sleep mask over her eyes after binding her with thick leather bands at her waist and throat, holding her fast to the table. Her wrists were loosely bound beneath the table, clipped by cuffs to hooks set there for the purpose. They were conducting an examination, noting her measurements and reactions on a pad attached to a clipboard. Laura, unable to see, anticipated each touch, every prod, with a flinch and a gasp. "She's like a frightened little mouse," Madam observed. "We'll need to work that out of her before she's worth anything. Teach her some grace. Some manners. Like our Ruby here," Madam smiled over at Ruby, who was kneeling nearby, dressed today in a little pink nightie, its sheer fabric revealing the small high breasts beneath, their tips glittering with gold rings. Ruby beamed back at her. "We'll beat it out of her. Teach her grace through suffering," Sir intoned. He slapped Laura's breast, making her gasp. Gripping a nipple he pulled it taut before releasing it. "Disgusting big floppy tits," he sneered, slapping the other breast. "Now, now, darling," Madam admonished, though she smiled, being similarly endowed as Ruby, with small, pert 41


mounds on her narrow thin chest. "Most men like them like that. Something to grab, something to twist and squeeze." As she spoke, Madam did both these things and Laura screamed. "Sensitive little bitch, isn't she?" Sir remarked, again drawing a cry as he savagely twisted Laura's nipple. She jerked, pulling against her restraints. "Stay still, cunt!" Sir roared, slapping Laura's cheek with a hard palm. A moment later the heat from his blow was soothed by Madam's cool, soft hand. "There, there. Your heart is beating so hard I'm afraid you're going to have a heart attack. The first step, Number Seven, is to let go. Let go of all this fear, all this railing against the inevitable. The sooner you accept your position, the better things will go for you, I promise you." Laura felt Madam smoothing her hair away from her forehead. How she wanted to smack that hand away! "You belong to us, for now," Madam continued. "We want to make you as valuable as possible before we pass you along, but we have no intention of compromising our reputation. We won't sell anything less than perfection. You can work with us, or you can spend the rest of your miserable little life down in the basement. Your withered corpse will be disposed of, rest assured. No one will miss you. It's your choice, Number Seven." Again the cool fingers stroked the heated flesh where Sir had struck Laura. She was chilled to bone by Madam's words. She believed them. Apparently they accepted her lack of response as compliance. "Good girl," Madam said, patting Laura's head as if she were a dog. "Now lie still while Sir and I catalog the 42


merchandise." Again fingers prodded and poked. A measuring tape was wrapped around her waist, her thighs, her ankles, her chest, her wrists. Laura felt fingers at her sex and she jumped in her bonds. In all the days they'd held her captive, no one had used her sexually or even touched her pussy. Now fingers were pushed inside of her, pumping in and out. "Ow!" she cried, but was silenced by another slap to her face. She was unable to close her legs, with no choice but to submit. "Tight cunt," Sir said, no emotion in his voice. As he pressed a hard thick finger into her anus Laura screamed again. "Virgin there, I expect. We'll leave that to Melinda." "You're optimistic. I'm not sure we'll be able to sell this one to Melinda. She's so resistant." "I'll beat that out of her," Sir replied ominously. "Is she frigid?" Madam asked, as Laura felt the invading finger withdraw abruptly from her ass. Madam's soft cool fingers were at her pussy, her touch more gentle than Sir's crude violation. The fingers danced over her labia, swirling toward her clit and away as delicate as butterfly wings. Slowly she eased a slender finger into Laura's entrance, gently massaging the tight wall of muscle within, drawing moisture despite Laura's fear and distress at being tied down. After a few moments Madam withdrew the finger and slid it back over Laura's sensitive labia, rubbing gently. It was the first tender touch, the first pleasant sensation Laura had experienced since the whole nightmare had begun. Despite her fear and tension, she felt her body respond to the sweet, 43


insistent caress of Madam's skilled fingers. A small sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. At once the hand was withdrawn, replaced by the stinging slap of a hard palm. Laura jerked in her bonds and cried out. "She's not frigid," Madam announced. "In fact, she's easy. I could have made her come in about three minutes." "Disgusting slut," Sir hissed, while Laura blushed furiously, silently outraged by everything happening to her. "Our Ruby didn't even like sex until you taught her to obey," he added. Well, she was sixteen, you creepy fuck. Laura wanted to scream, to rise up off the table and strangle them both. Instead she lay still, praying this hideous "examination" would soon be at an end. Perhaps she would be rewarded with food and drink, her only reward during these dark and strange days. Laura was hauled up suddenly, pulled out of a deep sleep. She was loosely chained each night to her bed by the ankles, but Sir must have released the cuffs as she slept. The light had been flicked on overhead. Laura stumbled as he pulled her from the bed and pushed her toward the wall. The only adornment in Laura's room, other than the small narrow bed upon which she slept, was a set of manacles dangling from thick chains secured with stout hooks embedded firmly in the wall. Without a word Sir forced Laura against the wall, grabbing her wrists and clicking the manacles closed over them, forcing her arms high. He had with him a riding crop of braided black leather, a rectangle of smooth leather looped at the end. Without warning he began to crop Laura's ass, making her jump with 44


each hard smack. He hit her hard, striking the same spot over and over until she was crying and begging him to stop. Sir didn't respond, ignoring her pleas as he methodically covered her back, ass and thighs with the stinging leather. She was whimpering steadily, dancing in a futile effort to escape the crop. When at last he was done, Laura slumped with relief, waiting for him to release her from the manacles and let her down. Instead she felt his hands forcing her thighs apart. She felt his fingers invading her pussy, reaching from behind to grab her pubic hair. He pulled it hard. "This will have to go. Melinda likes her girls smooth." Melinda. She'd heard them use the name before. Who was Melinda? Laura wanted to ask but was afraid her question might make him beat her again and so she kept silent, hoping he would stop touching her and let her down. She just wanted to climb back into her little bed and be left alone. His hand was withdrawn, but he didn't let her down. "I'll be back in an hour to beat you again. I'm going to beat your resistance out of you, Number Seven. You think on that while I'm gone." When he came back Laura had actually fallen half asleep in her shackles, leaning against the wall for support. She came wide awake however, as she heard him enter the room. This time he used a small rubber whip that stung like a myriad of bee stings with each blow. It was much worse than the crop and Laura began to yelp as he relentlessly struck her back and ass. 45


"Another sound and I gag you," Sir warned. He struck her hard and Laura screamed. A moment later she felt him forcing her lips apart, and a large rubber ball was shoved between her teeth, pressing her tongue back. She felt a buckle pulled tight behind her head, catching her hair in it in the process. Again he struck her with the rubber tresses and Laura screamed, but only a muffled grunt issued from her, barely audible. As he continued to beat the hapless girl something strange began to happen. Though her body continued to writhe and jerk, a part of her mind simply left the scene. Her brain, so overwhelmed from days, perhaps weeks, of endless deprivation and torture, apparently decided it had had all it could take. A piece of Laura simply—vanished. **** Sweat trickled down Number Seven's sides and between her breasts. Her head had fallen back, her long golden blonde hair streaming behind her in a shimmering cascade. That was the only hair that remained, as they kept her sex shaven bare, a ritual performed after each bath by Ruby. Sir had been the one to shave her first. "Filthy hairy cunt," he'd commented as he'd grabbed her dark blonde pubic curls roughly between thumb and forefinger, using scissors to snip them away. Number Seven had been ordered to sit on the counter of the master bathroom. Ruby and Madam had each held a leg as Sir had used an old fashioned straight-edge razor to scrape her smooth as a baby. 46


Now she stood utterly naked, save for clamps painfully compressing her nipples, connected by a long chain between them held in Number Seven's teeth. "Take it," Sir said, as he thrashed her with a heavy flogger, its many tresses a stinging whisper over her flesh. "That's right. Feel the pain. Flow with it. Become the pain. Let it cleanse you, clear your mind, purify your body." Number Seven strove to obey, aware Sir would not stop until she'd reached that place he liked her to go, indeed that she herself had come to crave. She called it her secret oasis in her head. She didn't say this aloud. Number Seven rarely spoke anymore. She'd spent the first several weeks of her captivity railing against them all, plotting in her head how to escape, trying to feel Ruby out about what was in store for her. She'd been sent down once more to the basement, for refusing to obey some demeaning command. No one had been to see her, not even Ruby, for so long she had been too weak to raise her head when at last she was granted a reprieve. Number seven was much wiser now. She was rarely punished for misbehaving and rarely went without food or water. She had learned to avoid negative stimulus, at least as far as possible. This whipping now, she didn't regard it as negative. It was simply a part of her daily routine. It was necessary. Dimly she realized the old her, the one called ... she had to pause a moment to recall ... ah yes, the one called Laura would have been flinching and dancing in pain, jerking away 47


from the steady rain of leather against her back and ass. She would have been outraged, horrified, defiant. How much easier to submit with grace, to give in to the inevitable. Number Seven actually looked forward to her daily whipping in a way. She understood it wasn't about the pain, or not only about the pain. It was, as Sir said, about cleansing the spirit, releasing the demons inside of her that made her rebel against Sir and Madam. As the whipping progressed, ratcheting in intensity, Number Seven was able to rise above it. No, that wasn't quite it. She didn't rise above it—she became a part of it. The whip became an extension of her body, connecting her to Sir in such a way she almost came to love him. As the whip continued to abrade her tender flesh, invariably the change would come. Her head would fall back, her lips parting, her muscles easing as they absorbed the thuddy blows of the flogger. The pain would transmute into something loftier, something bright and strong that made her feel powerful, even as she was bound and helpless at the mercy of her captors. She didn't understand this transformation, or how Sir knew it was happening, but he always knew. As she felt the sweet euphoria falling gently over her like a blanket of soft warm snow, he would say in that lovely British accent, "Yes. Yes, that's it. Let it go. Let it take you, make you soar. This is when you become what you were born to be." Once she was flying, as she'd heard him call it, he would intensify the torture sessions, moving from flogger to a single tail or cane, ruthlessly welting her flesh until he pulled her 48


back from her secret oasis, hurling her into a tumult of fear and avoidance, the pain bursting into her peaceful place. Sir would get angry then. "No! Don't come out of it! You stay there! It doesn't matter what I do to you, you stay in that place." She would try, oh she would try! But the fiery lash of the single tail or the cruel cut of the cane would finally rip her from her submissive state, making her jump and cry with pain. But Sir was patient. Eventually she could withstand greater and greater torture while still managing to stay safely cocooned within the warmth and ease of her secret space, her little oasis of pleasure in the storm of pain and fear surrounding her. At last, it seemed, he was satisfied, and the beatings stopped. "What are you called?" "Number Seven, Madam." "Curtsy for me." Number Seven dropped into a slow deep curtsy, dipping her head forward, eyes to the ground, one hand extended gracefully before her. She was excited, as she had been permitted clothing for the first time since her captivity. She was dressed in a satin flowing robe of dark blue satin, though she was permitted nothing underneath. Her hair, freshly washed, waved softly past her shoulders like a golden halo. Ruby had applied her makeup, a subtle but expert application that enhanced her creamy, soft skin, large clear brown eyes and sensuous full lips. "Very nice, Number Seven. I think you'll fetch a very good price. Melinda should be pleased." 49


Melinda. Number Seven liked the way the syllables rolled on her tongue. Melinda ... me linda, my beauty ... would buy her, would set her free. She must have done what they wanted at last. She had been sufficiently trained to move on to the next level. What was in store for Number Seven? She knew she shouldn't question, shouldn't even wonder. She knew Ruby would have simply bowed her head and accepted whatever was decreed with subservient grace. But you are not Ruby. You are Laura. Laura Sidel. Number Seven started as this thought slipped unbidden into her mind. It was as if a piece of her consciousness, a part that had been switched off while she was held captive in this horrible place, had suddenly whirred back into life with the mention of getting away. It was all she could do not to gasp aloud as her past life came tumbling and hurtling back into her consciousness. She bowed her head, still holding her curtsy in front of Madam, her mind whirling in confusion. I'm Number Seven, she tried to tell that strange voice in her head, but it was too late. She remembered. Laura remembered who she was. And she was damned if they'd turn her into a zombie again. Somehow, by hook or by crook, she would get away. For now she merely looked up at Madam, her face a mask of innocent obedience. "Thank you, Madam," was all she said. The End [In installment Two, Laura is subjected to constant sexual torture and stimulation at the hands of Mistress Melinda and 50


her gorgeous, utterly obedient slave boy, Jared. Bound, punished, teased and used, Laura is completely at the mercy of her "Mistress of Pleasure, Mistress of Pain."]

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