Chapter 12

 

Beth soon learned not to hate the others. There was no point. Erica explained it all to her. But she still clung on to hope – hope that this was all some awful dream from which she would awake safe at home, or perhaps some cruel practical joke played on her by Ray and that he would appear at any moment, laughing, and take her away again.

But she never awoke from a dream, and Ray never came back for her. She saw him often, but he never spoke to her or showed her any tenderness. He would go out of his way to humiliate her at first, making her perform sexual acts with other men or women, always choosing her as his personal waitress while he fucked other slaves, making her watch in silence.

But after a while that stopped too. He did not even care about her enough to humiliate her any longer.

The friendship between Beth and Erica grew. They would even silently mouth each other’s names when they were sure no video camera could see them, a shared secret that cemented the sisterhood. When required to have sex with each other they would get some pleasure from giving to each other, and even when they had to punish each other they resolved not to let it affect them.

It was always going to be noticed, of course. They knew it would be sooner or later. Maybe they were careless, or complacent, or maybe a video camera was hidden where they had not noticed, but their time had come. The controllers could not allow friendships between slaves.

Erica was locked in her room, recovering from a long session with a retired jockey who, dressed in his full riding gear, had her on her hands and knees while he sat astride her back and beat her bottom with a crop. He had not wanted anything else; no sex, nothing, just to have her be his mount while he flogged her, pulling on the bit between her teeth to steer which way she crawled.

He was only small but she was exhausted by the end of it. He even paid her a compliment of sorts, saying she had been the best horse he’d had and that he would ride her around the grounds very soon.

The clicking of the door awakened her, but she was too tired to move. She opened her eyes lazily as the two men approached the bed and fitted shackles to her wrists, pulling her to her feet as soon as they were locked.

One man fitted a leash to the ring in her collar as the other crouched to fasten the leg shackles to her ankles. The chain between them would allow her to walk with small, shuffling steps. He fitted another chain to join her wrists to her ankles, and then pushed a rubber ball-gag into her mouth. Erica adjusted her lips as best she could to accommodate it as he buckled the strap at the back of her head, and once completed they led her, naked, from the room.

Outside in the corridor stood two more men, one of them holding a leash attached to Beth’s collar, who stood identically shackled and similarly naked.

Erica’s leash was handed to the man who held Beth’s, and he led them forward as the other three men walked off in the other direction. The chains jangled as the two females moved side by side, glancing at each other to see if they had any clues as to what was going on.

They stopped outside a room Erica had never been to before, the man knocking on the door and waiting until a small individual in a white coat answered it. He stood back, bowing his balding head slightly as he let them enter. The man holding the leashes jerked them forward, Beth staggering slightly as she lost her footing.

The whole atmosphere of the room made them feel uneasy. The three hospital beds arranged in a neat row along one wall each had a crisp white sheet covering most of the sterile black covers. Beside each stood an ordered table containing stainless steel dishes and surgical equipment in sealed plastic wrappers. A nurse in full uniform stood to their right.

Beth took one look and started to complain from behind the gag, vainly pulling away and trying to get to the door. The man holding the leashes separated them and pulled her forward. Erica knew the futility of trying to escape. She knew that whatever was about to happen was inevitable, so she stood still as the man dragged Beth back and forced her down onto the nearest of the beds and strapped her down.

When Beth was secure he turned to Erica and nodded his head towards the centre bed. Erica’s chains chinked quietly as she walked the few paces forward and waited while he unfastened her shackles. She sat on the bed and settled back, watching as he strapped her arms and legs to the metal frame, finishing with a strap across her waist and another across her throat. Satisfied with his work, the man checked Beth’s straps again and left the room.

Erica assumed the balding man was some kind of a doctor. He called the nurse to Beth first and she clicked forward on high heels – impractical for a nurse, but nothing here was ever normal or sensible – carrying a kidney-shaped dish of instruments. Erica twisted her head towards the struggling Beth to see what their fate would be.

The doctor did not hesitate, swabbing Beth’s breasts and nipples with surgical spirit before taking a long needle from the tray to push through Beth’s right nipple. Erica felt nauseous as Beth cried out helplessly. He left the needle in place while he quickly repeated the operation with the other breast, then took it in turns twisting both round and through before replacing each of them with a gold sleeper ring.

She watched as the nurse and doctor moved to her side, fighting back the nausea, ignoring Beth’s sobbing to her right. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain. Why did it always have to be pain? She tensed as the coldness of the spirit swab was wiped across her skin, and then gritted her teeth to await the needles. To her surprise it was not all that painful.

The doctor worked with practiced efficiency, completing the job in a matter of seconds, then once done the pair left the room, closing the door behind them.

‘May we talk, Master?’ Erica called to the inevitable cameras.

‘You may, 51. Usual rules.’

‘Are you OK?’ Erica whispered to Beth.

‘Why are they so cruel to us?’ Beth asked plaintively.

‘That’s what gets them off, I suppose,’ she replied. ‘You can’t fight it, it just makes them worse.’

‘W-what else are they going to do to me?’ Beth was still shaking and sobbing.

‘Anything they want. Just don’t fight them; they get more pleasure if you do, and it only works out worse for you in the end.’ Erica paused, wanting to get off the subject before the listeners decided to punish her for her views. Ironically she knew she was being more rebellious by not fighting them. They wanted the slaves to fight, wanted to break them again and again, and her resigned acceptance annoyed and frustrated them. ‘That didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Beth agreed weakly. ‘But I feel so used. What happens now?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Erica told her frankly. ‘We wait, I suppose.’

‘For how long?’

‘Until they decide we stop waiting. Just don’t fight them.’

‘Will we ever get out of this place?’ Beth’s tone sounded desperate, broken.

‘Don’t even think about it. Don’t dream, don’t hope. Just do what they tell you. It’s the only way to survive in here.’

‘I’m not sure I want to survive if this is all I’ve got to look forward to.’

Erica’s reply was stern. ‘Don’t talk like that. If they hear you they’ll really make your life hell. Believe me, it can get much worse than this.’

Erica stopped talking as the door opened, and framed in the light from the corridor was a silhouette she recognised immediately – her stepfather, and right behind him stood Ray. Erica felt her fury mounting and fought to keep control. It was another of his sadistic games and it was one, for the moment, she could not win. Her stepfather walked to the side of her bed while Ray moved to the side of Beth’s.

‘Are you all right?’ he had the nerve to ask.

Erica fought down her anger. ‘As if you care.’

Laurence Pettinger smiled down at her. ‘Still the rebellious little brat, aren’t you?’ he smirked.

‘Go to hell!’ Erica snarled back at him through gritted teeth.

‘I can have you whipped for that.’

‘I know,’ she said flatly. ‘You have many times already.’ She refused to let him defeat her, no matter what the consequences, and he sensed her defiance.

‘You can’t win this, 51.’ He had tried that one before, not even using her real name.

‘Nor can you, Laurence Pettinger, MP,’ she countered. ‘What’s the worst you can do to me? Kill me? I don’t much care either way.’

She could see she was getting to him, his neck tensing as he fought to contain his anger. Then he seemed to come to a decision, reaching for his tie and slipping it off. Ray, meanwhile, had taken his place in an armchair, a thin smile on his face as he watched the proceedings unfolding. Pettinger did not stop until he was naked, and Erica felt the nausea rising again. Surely he wouldn’t? Not her own stepfather. She trembled as he moved into the space between the beds.

‘What about your friend here?’ he goaded. ‘Do you care about her particularly?’

‘She’s not my friend,’ Erica said. ‘She’s just another slave, like me.’ She knew this was dangerous ground. If her stepfather had been briefed by the control room he would know she was lying.

With cold, unflickering eyes on Erica, Pettinger deliberately cupped three fingers and pushed them roughly into Beth’s pussy, making her gasp with the suddenness of it. His challenging stare never left his bound stepdaughter.

‘Are you sure?’ he growled. ‘Perhaps if you stop lying to me I’ll leave her alone. But then again, if you don’t…’

As his voice tailed off he clenched his fingers, making Beth whimper and jerk on the bed. Erica dared not show any concern; it would just be worse for both of them.

‘Do what you want to her,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘At least it gives me some peace.’

‘OK,’ he sniggered, ‘I will.’

Quickly he mounted the bed and fed his erection into Beth. Her body jerked as he rutted in and out and her breath came in gasping bursts as if being forced from her lungs.

Erica did not want to watch, but she could not tear her eyes away either. She thought he would surely come inside her friend, but with some apparent effort he stopped and rested.

‘Ray, my dear fellow,’ he said breathlessly, ‘would you do me the honour of fucking my daughter?’

Erica had not really been aware of Ray undressing, yet when he appeared at her side he was as naked as her stepfather was. There was no foreplay, no consideration for her comfort, he just climbed between her legs and pushed his cock into her.

The two men watched each other as they picked up a similar rhythm. Erica felt cold and emotionless. She turned her head to look at Beth, noticing the tracks of glistening tears down her cheeks. Erica wished she could cry too, but she had forgotten how to.

As both men neared their climaxes Laurence Pettinger pulled out of Beth and stood between the beds, taking his erection, glistening from Beth’s juices, in his left fist while he plucked a black rubber ring from one of the metal dishes. Then pumping his cock determinedly he forced the ring between Erica’s lips, parting them wide, pushed his cock into the round opening and emptied his balls into her throat. And then as the loathing overtook her she was vaguely aware of Ray’s grunts as he pumped his seed deep into her pussy, moments before she passed out.

 

For some time the same nurse attended Erica, bathing her nipples and twisting the sleepers to keep the piercings from healing. She never spoke to Erica at all, not a single word in the conversational sense. Erica was told to ‘sit’ or ‘keep still’, and that was it. She assumed the nurse was trained, yet how could she care for people and still witness the cruelty of The Complex?

Soon there was little discomfort and at least it meant the Masters and Mistresses left her breasts alone until they healed. Thankfully, for a while there were no sex and no punishments, though she worked long hours in the restaurant and serving drinks in the gardens.

Most of the time she had to wear the familiar shackles joining her ankles to her wrists, and her clothing varied between elegant evening dresses and flimsy underwear, from tiny thongs to panties with bras, suspenders, corsets, and slips. Each day she wore a special band around her upper left arm to inform the guests that she had been recently pierced, though whether that was to give them the opportunity to examine the sleepers or to warn them away from causing her damage, she never found out.

One day the nurse did not arrive at the expected time. Instead Grace, the housemistress, opened the door and walked into Erica’s room.

‘Stand, 51,’ she said as the door slid silently shut behind her. ‘Have you wondered why you had your nipples pierced? You may speak.’

‘No, Mistress,’ Erica said honestly. ‘Just because someone decided it, I imagine.’

‘Not quite,’ the woman told her, craning her head forward slightly to look at the sleepers. ‘There’s another reason. But you’re to have new rings fitted first.’

As always, right on cue, the door clicked open again and a man she had never seen before entered. He wore a white coat just as the doctor had, and Erica shrank back at the sight of him. He was small and timid, moving to the bedside table with shuffling feet and opening a case on its polished surface.

‘Over here, on the bed,’ he muttered, though Erica could not be sure whether he was giving her an order or telling Grace where she should go. She glanced at Grace.

‘You heard him,’ the woman said. ‘On the bed. Sit.’

When seated, the man unfastened the sleeper in her left breast and took it out, placing it in his case. Erica had always been proud of her breasts, yet the little man did not seem at all moved by them, or even aware they were beautifully ripe breasts he was handling at all. He quickly removed the other sleeper and placed it with the first, before opening a small box to remove a pair of gold rings about an inch in diameter. He threaded them through her nipples in turn, pushing the joints together loosely. Once in place, he took from his bag a tiny butane torch and what looked like two grey flannels with a small slit in the centre of each. Erica gasped at the sight of the torch, wondering what torture this was.

‘Heat-proof,’ the nervous man explained, indicating the two squares of material. ‘So you don’t get burned.’

He pushed a cloth over each ring so it rested on her breast, and then screwed clamps in place on either side of the joins to shunt the heat away from her nipples. Lighting the blowtorch he adjusted the flame until it was a narrow blue spear, and then applied it quickly to the joint of the ring piercing her left nipple.

‘Can you get me a wet cloth please, Grace?’ he asked as he worked. ‘Use cold water.’

Erica watched Grace go to the bathroom and return moments later with the wet flannel. He took it from her and moved the blowtorch away from the ring, pressing the cloth in place where he had worked. It hissed slightly as it cooled the hot metal, and water dripped onto her thighs.

A few moments later and he had repeated the exercise on the other ring. When it was cold too he removed the cloths and inspected his work.

‘The only way they’ll come off now is with a cutter,’ he smiled at Grace.

Both females waited as he packed his case and left, and when the door was shut again Grace reached in her pocket for a gold chain with clip fasteners at each end and a ring in the centre. She clipped each of the fasteners to Erica’s nipple rings and hooked her finger into the centre ring.

‘Follow me,’ she said, as if Erica had any choice, and moved her to stand beneath the ceiling winch, the chain of which started to lower immediately. Grace went to the drawer unit by the door to select a set of steel handcuffs. She efficiently snapped one on Erica’s left wrist and moved behind her to snap the other to her right. Whatever was to happen, Erica’s hands would play no further part.

‘Your stepfather has ordered all this,’ Grace said. ‘He told us how you used to keep them up all night, wondering when, or even if, you were going to come home from yet another debauched night on the tiles.’

‘They never waited up for me,’ retorted Erica without thinking, only to be stopped short with a stinging slap across her face.

‘Nobody gave you permission to speak, 51!’

Grace snapped the winch hook to the ring at the centre of Erica’s breast chain, calling for it to be raised again, quickly stopping it when it was level with her breasts, so the chain hung loosely in front of her.

‘You’ll be fed later, 51,’ Grace told her as she turned to leave. The door opened for Grace’s exit and slid silently and solidly shut after she had gone. Erica did not understand at first. There was no discomfort, no pain, so what was her torture to be? Boredom?

After a short time standing there she was indeed bored, and Erica discovered what her torture was to be. Her feet ached from standing in one place for so long and her legs started to become restless. She moved around as much as she was able, but that was not much before the winch chain tightened and started to pull at her nipples.

That all meant she could not relax; she had to stand still and wait – but for how long? It also meant she was unable to sleep, and the realisation of that alarmed her. If she did she would fall and if she fell the rings would rip through her poor nipples. So she had to stay awake until they released her. So that was what Grace had meant – her stepfather was taking cruel revenge for the times she apparently kept him and her mother awake when she was enjoying yet another night out.

Sometime later Beth arrived with her food and, watched by Grace, she stood and fed her friend with a spoon. Neither was permitted to talk. Once Erica had been fed she was left alone again, getting more and more tired. She closed her eyes a few times and saw herself as a child, running free through the meadows in Wales where she used to go to visit her grandmother.

Her imagination looked down at her feet, where her favourite white sandals skipped over the lush green grass, and she saw her lovely white dress with the bright red and yellow flowers decorating it. The sense of freedom was blissful, but all too short as sudden pain reminded her that she had started to droop.

Erica snapped her eyes open again, looking around the darkening room, the lights having been dimmed. From her first day at The Complex the light in the room had been kept constant, with one level when she was awake and a dim level when she was sleeping. The light and dark did not follow the patterns of day or night at first, because they wanted to destroy her sense of time. But this was different. The lights were being dimmed almost until she could not see the door. They wanted her to feel sleepy. They wanted to test her, to see what she could endure.

Then, unexpectedly, Grace’s voice purred hypnotically from the speakers.

‘You could try begging, 51. It might work.’

‘Please let me go, I’ll do anything,’ Erica whispered, her mouth dry. She had little pride left, so she could beg. She would beg.

‘That’s no good, 51. We can make you do anything anyway. Try again.’

‘Please, tell me what you want.’

She recognised the voice of her stepfather as he took over.

‘Tell me you love me, Erica.’

That snapped her awake. He used her name. Was this to be an end to her ordeal, or even her time at The Complex? Was it possible he had punished her enough and was prepared to accept her again, to set her free?

‘I… I love you,’ her survival instincts forced her to say.

‘What would you do to be set free, Erica?’ he asked. ‘Would you promise to behave yourself?’

‘Yes, yes, anything.’ Her pulse raced with the possibility that she could be on the verge of being freed.

‘Would you promise never to tell anyone about this place?’

‘Yes, I promise! Please take me away from here!’ She was sobbing now with cautious euphoria.

‘Prove it to me, Erica. Ask me to beat you now.’

‘Please beat me, I want you to,’ she pleaded. ‘Now, please…’

His voice had become all there was in the world. If it meant freedom he could beat her. She knew she could take it.

‘Very well,’ he mused. ‘Very well, I will.’

Erica stood upright, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She would take her beating. She wanted it. She needed it. All pride, all hatred, were gone. If he set her free he would become her hero. She would forgive all he’d had done to her. She would be his slave forever.

After a few minutes he strode through the opening door, a single-tailed whip in his right hand. ‘You do want this, don’t you?’ he said.

‘Yes, please… I need it,’ she answered him, turning her back, presenting her flesh for his pleasure. Without hesitating he drew back and hit her hard, stinging her flank with the lash.

‘Do you want more, Erica?’ he asked.

‘Yes, more, as much as you want,’ she panted, so he struck her again and again.

‘You’re not crying, Erica.’

‘I am,’ she sobbed. ‘Look.’ She turned her face and showed him her tears.

‘I want to hear you scream, Erica.’

She turned her back again and he resumed, swiping the whip down with such force it propelled her forward, forcing her to repeatedly shuffle back to stop the chains pulling her nipples with excessive pain.

Then suddenly the excruciating assault stopped, leaving her bathed in perspiration, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she breathed deeply and absorbed the hurt.

‘If I unchain you will you want more punishment?’ he asked.

Erica nodded. ‘Yes…’ she whispered wearily.

Laurence Pettinger quickly unfastened the handcuffs and unclipped the chain from the winch. ‘Bend over, Erica,’ he growled, ‘and present your bottom to me.’

Erica did as he ordered, gripping her ankles as she bent down to accept his gifts of pain. During the ongoing whipping she cried out, all attempts to keep it inside, to not be broken, gone. When the onslaught ceased for a moment she straightened up stiffly and turned to face him, begging him to whip her belly, thighs and breasts. When he stopped again, tired from his exertions, and sat in the chair to rest, she sank to her knees and dropped her head to his feet.

‘Will you suck me willingly, Erica?’ he asked, his voice a little strained.

She did not answer, for no answer was needed. She reached for the zip of his trousers and unfastened them, drawing him out and sinking her mouth over his throbbing erection. She closed her eyes and sucked the cock of her saviour. He was about to set her free, so at that moment she was willing to do anything to please him.

‘And will you fuck me willingly?’ he asked, after watching her working deliciously on his cock for some minutes.

Again she did not answer, but stood and straddled his thighs. As she lowered her pussy over his cock she felt she had forgiven him completely. The fact that he was the very reason she was here was suddenly unimportant, and all that was left was the fact he was going to take her away again. She kissed him deeply, using all her skills to give him a fuck to savour.

She rose and fell, she used her pelvic muscles to squeeze him, drawing him inexorably towards his climax, and when she felt him jerk and start to pump into her it triggered her orgasm too.

‘Ohhhh,’ she sighed blissfully, ‘I love you.’ Nothing mattered at that moment, not who he was nor who he had been. She sank over him, calm and peaceful for the first time in years, perspiration running between her breasts and coating her toned thighs with a healthy sheen. His hand stroked her hair as she rested.

‘Let me up,’ he said at last. She stood, and he did too, zipping himself up and dabbing sweat from his brow with a crisp white handkerchief.

‘Come with me,’ he told her as he moved towards the door. It opened and she followed as he started down the corridor. A group of men stood near the control room further along, with Grace to their left. Erica prayed she would never see any of them again. She wondered if her stepfather would give her something to wear for the journey home, but she did not care that much. If he wanted her naked she would be naked. She would walk all the way behind the car if he told her to.

Laurence Pettinger stopped in front of the group of controllers. ‘Blindfold her, please,’ he told Grace.

That made sense, Erica thought. They would not want her able to see her journey home. Home, the very word thrilled her. She stood still as Grace fitted the blindfold.

‘Right,’ her stepfather said when it was done, ‘I have no more use for her. Do what you want. Sell her if you like. Goodbye, 51, we’ll not meet again.’

Hands grasped her wrists as his words sank home.

‘No!’ she screamed, realisation plummeting in her stomach and making her feel horribly nauseous. ‘No! You promised! I’ll do anything for you, remember?’ Erica felt ropes being bound tightly around her wrists as she heard her stepfather’s parting words.

‘We have a new daughter now, 51.’

At that moment he lost her, forever.