Chapter Ten

Of course morning came, as every morning must for the living and the struggling to live. In the early hours, Master Jason came back down to free Sophie from her restraints and to show her where the small bathroom was, with its toilet, tiny bathtub and corner hand-sink. She was grateful to be allowed to bathe and sank back in the warm, rose-scented water and listened to the sounds of Jason busying about first in the bedroom and then downstairs. It was an almost homey, domestic atmosphere, pleasant and contenting, and she could almost imagine ... No. She mustn’t go there. Her heart and spirit both were broken enough already. She had lost Natasha, lost her freedom, her dignity, and now... But you can’t lose something you never had.

“Breakfast,” declared that sensual voice as Jason appeared with a plate of hot buttered toast and jam and a mug of coffee.

“Oh! Thanks.” Sophie was shocked by the gesture. Did Masters make breakfast for their whores? She couldn’t imagine Vic or Joel doing that. But Jason wasn’t anything like them at all. He was a different breed altogether. He may enjoy hurting her, using her, but he’d never go too far, never cause her real harm. Never go further than she wanted, at least not far beyond her limits. How could she possibly know that? He was a stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. She sighed. He ruffled her hair.

“You were a good girl,” he told her and she beamed at him with pride and pleasure. He left her. She ate the toast, drank the coffee and got out of the bath. She found a man’s robe to put on and went downstairs. She saw the suitcase stood by the door and her heart sank. Tears threatened to spill. How stupid! He was a stranger and probably no different in reality than all the other sadistic bastards who had used her lately. But oh she was aching, yearning and grieving ...

“Will I see you again?” she suddenly blurted out when he said a simple goodbye and picked up the case.

“I told you I live in London. I came here only on business, to sign some papers and my business is done now. I will not come here again.”

“But you might. To one of Joel’s parties, or as his houseguest some time.”

“The truth is I do not very much like your Mr Edwards or his friends. They are not my type. I have been courteous for the sake of business and propriety and I have very much enjoyed your company. But no, I will not return here.”

“Do you have a wife? A girlfriend?” God! What a stupid, pointless question. What was she thinking of? What was wrong with her?

“Why do you ask me such questions, Sophie? No. I have not been in London for very long and may very well be returning to Greece in just a few months so it does not seem right to begin a serious relationship. Now I really must be going. I have a long drive home. Goodbye.”

She followed him outside and watched as he got into his car and drove away. Once the car was out of sight she fled back into the cottage, threw herself down onto the rug and wept bitter tears. She cried and cried until there were no tears left. When much later in the morning Joel came to fetch her he found her silent, pale, ghostlike. Back at the main house, he sent her straight to bed and ordered hot soup, painkillers and an extra blanket to be sent up to her, certain she was sickening for something.

For three days Sophie had stayed in bed, barely eating, not speaking, sleeping in fits and starts that were far from restive. On the fourth day Alan came to see her.

“Joel asked Rabanne to send me,” he explained to her. “He knows we’re friends, thought I could help. Is it Natasha?” Sophie gazed at him in silence for a few moments then put her arms around him and snuggled close against him.

“I know you’ve been through a living nightmare, but you’ve got to be a survivor. You can’t just give up. Things aren’t really that bad here, are they? And I’ve a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” she whispered, looking puzzled.

“Joel emailed Akbar Malraji and got him to send some photos of Natasha over the ‘net so you can see she’s ok. He printed them up, I’ve got them here for you.” He handed the sheaf of 10 x 8’s to Sophie who took them and looked at them. She recognised the thirty year old, statuesque brunette at once. She was dressed in brightly coloured native clothes - and she was smiling, even laughing in two of the pictures. One showed her playing with three small children, olive skinned and dark eyed and adorable. Another showed her at a banqueting table, seated beside a young native girl who had her arm about her and was gazing at her with a look close to adoration. In a third photograph Natasha was sitting on a low wall and the same native girl was knelt washing her feet. In the last photograph she was laughing gaily, standing hand in hand with a tall handsome native outside some sort of temple building.

“I thought this Akbar was elderly?” Sophie queried.

“He is. That’s his son Ranja. Apparently he’s quite taken with your Natasha. And it’s reciprocated, I’m told. Her only concern is you. Missing you, worrying about you missing her. She doesn’t know what’s happened to you. That very first day she didn’t come home, Rabanne forced her to write a letter to you saying that she was sorry but she had met someone else and was leaving you. I don’t know why his plans changed, why he didn’t send the letter - because he wanted you, I suspect. Anyway, she thinks you got the letter, believed it and are getting on with a new life without her. As long as she thinks you’re safe and happy, she’s content enough. Her life is a very different one now but a good one. Now you know that for certain, can see the proof, doesn’t that help you? You can stop fretting over her safety.” Sophie suddenly burst into tears again.

“I hope those are tears of relief this time,” Alan said.

“No. Yes ... but guilt, too. I feel so ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what? I don’t understand.”

“I have been frightened for Natasha, desperate to know she’s all right, but ... but these last few days it’s been Jason I’ve been thinking of.”

“Jason?”

“An associate of Joel’s who came here from London on business the other day. I spent the night with him at that little cottage. Alan ... I liked what he did to me, I actually wanted it. I wanted that night to last forever. And when he left next day I just ... I can’t let anyone else touch me now. I’d rather die than have another Master use me. I’m Jason’s, even though he’s not coming back ever. I can’t explain that, I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, I’m so mixed up and confused. All I can think about is his car driving away ... What’s wrong with me?”

Alan reached forward, kissed her head as though she were a little girl, and smiled a sad sweet smile at her.

“Sweet, innocent little Sophie! Do you, at your age and experience, really need me to tell you? You’re in love.”

Sophie stared back at him open-mouthed. In love? How wrong he was!

“Of course I’m not in love. How could I be?”

“You’re not immune. No one is, no matter what they think or plan.”

“But I was only with him for a few short hours. I don’t really know him.”

“My big sister Brenda met her husband at a party on a Friday night. They got engaged that night, she moved in with him the next day and they were married four weeks later - and they only waited that long because the registry office couldn’t do it any sooner. Love at first sight, sweetheart. Can’t tell me you’ve never heard of it.”

“I’ve never believed in that sort of romantic nonsense, to be honest.”

“It wasn’t like that with you and Natasha?”

“No. We were friends long before we were lovers. She was in the care home I went to and sort of took me under her wing, mothered me really. We sort of grew together somehow. I was devastated when she left, but she came to visit often and they let me go stay weekends with her. Soon as I was old enough I moved in with her. I love her dearly but I suppose we never really fell in love, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s easy to confuse the two, especially when you’re so emotionally dependent on someone who has helped you through difficult times. But you’re properly in love now, with this Jason fellow, no question.”

“No. I’m really vulnerable after all that’s happened, screwed up in my head, and I’ve fallen for the first person who seems half decent.”

“If that were true, you’d have thought you were in love with me, wouldn’t you? We’re friends. We’ve made love. I haven’t hurt you, could never hurt you. But you haven’t fallen for me. You’re stronger than you think, Sophie. Think about it. Anyhow, I’ll tell Joel you’ve just had a bout of ‘flu or something and you’ll be right as rain in a day or so. Buck up because his patience won’t last forever.”

Sophie was much cheered by Alan’s visit, it was salutary to see a friendly face and chatter casually knowing that this person would expect nothing from her. But it also caused her to question and analyse her emotions even more deeply. Was it really possible to fall in love with someone so quickly, even in such bizarre circumstances? Is that why she couldn’t bear the thought of submitting to anyone but Jason now? Is that why she could think of nothing at all but the sight of his car disappearing down that long sweep of driveway and his disturbingly final declaration of ‘I will not return here’? Was that why every sleeping moment - few though they were - was filled with images of an angular face in candlelight and a warm sensual Mediterranean voice threatening heaven and hell combined? It couldn’t be true ...

Next morning one of the kitchen staff, a girl named Helen, came with a well-laden breakfast tray and instructions for her to be up and ready for work within the hour. She selected an outfit from the drawer for her and laid it ready on the bed - a prim grey skirt, a grey shirt, a short jacket, tights rather than stockings and low-heeled court shoes, a neat rather prudish outfit that might be worn by a secretary or office clerk. After eating the scrambled eggs on toast and croissant, Sophie reluctantly raised herself and slowly dressed. She went to the bathroom to wash, scrub her teeth and tidy her hair and then went down to Matron’s office to report for duty. She prayed that today’s ‘players’ would be easy to please. She did not feel ill now exactly, but listless and apathetic.

“You’re to go to room number 999 in the basement,” Matron told her. Sophie nodded and left to make her way down to the basement level. How odd they should number the rooms, she thought to herself, and there certainly were not nearly that many rooms here even though the house was a large one - thirty odd rooms at most, she guessed. She found the room, knocked on the door, and waited until a curt voice called out ‘come’. The room was small, the walls whitewashed, the one small window very high up barred and letting in little light. There was no furniture in the room at all save a wooden table in the centre. Next to this table stood a tall blonde-haired man in a police uniform. He wore dark shades and held a long thin rattan cane in his left hand.

“Come here,” he ordered in his deep, curt voice. Sophie went and stood before him. Even though she could not see his eyes she could feel them boring into her like lasers. “The prim and proper outfit doesn’t fool me,” he said at last. “A very tight leather mini-skirt, a fishnet crop-top, six inch heels and too much make-up would suit you better. That’s what other prostitutes wear, isn’t it?”

“I’m not ...” Sophie foolishly began to protest. The cane came swishing down onto the table with a loud crack that made her jump violently and the man bellowed ‘silence!’

“Lean forward with your hands on the table and your legs spread apart,” he ordered. She took up the position ordered; he put the cane down on the table in front of her and then frisked her. As he carried out the meticulous body search, he continued, “Gary and Cliff each paid Rabanne one hundred pounds to screw into you. Tony Scullie paid two hundred to have his little fantasy fulfilled and dear ‘daddy’ paid fifty. Master Hood paid for you in kind - with cocaine. Margaret and Jeffrey each paid fifty for your use. Only Gordon the doc had a freebie, an initiation for him. That, my dear, makes you a whore. A harlot. A prostitute. And I deal with prostitutes very harshly indeed.”

Sophie let out a suppressed sob. She was feeling sick almost to the point of retching. She knew very well that her abusers had paid Rabanne and Joel, women were business to the likes of them, but to have it spelled out for her so cruelly like that hurt more than the cat had done! The man pushed her down flat on the table and lifted the grey skirt. He spanked her hard, the sheer nylon tights with no panties beneath offering no protection whatsoever and she cried. Then he took up the cane and used that. It was agony. Swipe after swipe, carefully aimed at the very roundness of her bottom, blow on blow until she was ruby red and screaming. When he had finished she rubbed her bottom and wailed.

“You may go,” he told her abruptly. Still rubbing her stinging globes she went to the door. She hesitated for a moment then turned and asked in a quiet voice,

“Did Master Jason pay?”

“No, he did not and I told you to go.” She hesitated a moment longer then with some hitherto buried boldness asked in an almost mocking tone, “How much did you pay?”

In a nano-second he was at the door. He grasped her brutally by the hair, dragged her back to the table, and pinned her down face-up. He tore open the shirt, snatched up the cane, and brought it down hard across her breasts several times as she screamed wildly and struggled in vain. Then he dragged her to the door, shoved her roughly into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind her. Clutching her arms across her burning breasts and tears falling fast and free she stumbled back up to her room.

She at once took a cool shower, massaging her breasts and bottom cheeks with creamy lather in an attempt to soothe the pain.

Sophie was surprised to be left alone for so long. She had expected Joel to send for her, or come to her room, angry and indignant and threatening punishment for her insolence. But no one came, except for Helen with a lunch tray a little after midday. She picked disinterestedly at the vegetable curry and rice before eventually pushing it away half-eaten. She went to gaze out of the window down at the little courtyard far below, and watched Helen putting scraps into the dustbin and another girl tending the little herb garden. She wondered if they too had to submit to Joel and his friends and patrons. She started and turned when the door opened - retribution time? No, it was the valet, Charles, with a large box.

“Master Joel says you’re to change into these,” he told her with a friendly smile as he put the parcel down on the bed. With abounding curiosity, Sophie opened the box and studied the contents.

She stood in the small bathroom gazing into the mirrored door of the shower. The short but full rubber skirt was sky blue and swirled around when she twirled. The rubber top was the same blue and had a halter neck; it stretched tightly over her large breasts, encasing them firmly, straining over her erect nipples, which were provocatively evident. Nylon stockings, a suspender belt, and a pair of cotton knickers, all powder blue, completed the ensemble together with a pair of blue ankle boots with a shiny silver chain and padlock. She brushed her hair and then put on some subtle make-up, choosing eye shadow and liner in a flattering shade that complemented the outfit. She liked the attire, it felt cool and sexy, though its arrival clearly signalled another spell of duty - ‘another punter to drop my knickers for’ she thought resentfully. That thought shattered the all too short spell of pleasure. She went to sit down on the bed and listen to a CD whilst she awaited the coming summons. Surprisingly it was not Joel or Matron who came for her but Charles again. He gave her a blue rubber blindfold and asked - yes, asked, not told - her to put it on. Then he took her hand and led her from the room.

“Careful now, we’re going downstairs. Trust me, I won’t let you fall.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve been told to drive you somewhere. I can’t tell you where, sorry.” Sophie’s heart lurched and she felt suddenly sick. Dear God, no! Was she being sent back to the clinic? Had she annoyed Joel’s fake policeman that much? She heard the door open, felt the cool air on her flesh as they went out to the front courtyard where a car stood waiting - she could hear the engine ticking over. Charles opened the rear door and helped her in.

“Lay down,” he told her and then put a travel rug over her. Didn’t he want anyone to see his blindfolded passenger? Naturally not! Moments later she felt the car moving away.

The drive was a long one. For a while she was terrified, trembling, certain that she was being handed back over to Rabanne, but as time passed she realised that they had gone far further than Hanley. Curiosity bested fear as she wondered where they could possibly be going. But eventually even curiosity could not contend with sleepiness and she dozed off.

The car came to a halt and the driver’s door opened and slammed shut again. That sound roused Sophie, who wondered for a brief second why she could not see, could not even open her eyes and then remembered she was blindfolded. She pushed aside the travel rug and sat up.

“Are we there?” she asked when she heard the passenger door open and felt Charles’s hand on her arm.

“Yes. Steady now - mind the step. Hold onto me.” He helped her from the car and up a short flight of steps. A few moments later they were indoors. She wondered about her surroundings; she knew she was walking on carpet and could faintly smell incense in the air - patchouli? Upstairs, right turn, along a hall, left turn into a room. The door closing. Where was she? Was Charles still there? Was anyone there? Yes, movement, faint but definite; someone was moving about the room. She tensed, stiffened, as a hand brushed against her cheek. The blindfold was removed.

“Jason?” She could not believe her eyes but it was true. It was Jason who had just removed the blindfold, who stood before her now. She suddenly fell to her knees, wrapped her arms about his legs and kissed the leather-clad thighs. “My lord! My Master! I thought I would never see you again!”

“Get up. Sit on the bed. We have to talk,” he told her sternly. She did as he said and sat quietly perched on the edge of the single divan with its pink flowery duvet, her face aglow with pleasure just to be with him.

“I confess that I was curious about you and I tried to find out more about you. What I discovered shocked me more than I can say. I cannot condone or justify what Rabanne does, has done, to you and to others. He is not a master - he is a sick, dangerous, and evil man. Having said that, there is nothing whatsoever that I can do - am willing to do - to expose him. I cannot go to the authorities because it would mean divulging my own part in activities that in this country are not legal. It would also jeopardise a number of lucrative business deals. So whilst I do not approve, I am not willing to become involved. I do not know the man, I do not wish to. How he chooses to live his life is nothing to do with me. I am sure he will get his comeuppance one day, somehow, but it will have nothing to do with me when he does. This is the question then. Can you accept the fact that I am willing to turn a blind eye to what I have discovered about Rabanne? Do you still feel the same way about me knowing that I refuse to expose him?”

“Feel the same way? I don’t know what you mean. I ...”

“This is no time for coyness or false modesty or reticence. You must be blunt. I know that you are attracted to me, fancy yourself in love with me even. If I had not known it myself, I had a phone call from a friend of yours called Alan ...”

“Oh God, I’m sorry! I never thought he would ...”

“It doesn’t matter. As I said, I was curious and looking into you anyway. Do you think I would have been doing that if I wasn’t interested myself? But you must answer my question.”

“I love you,” she told him and for the first time was certain of that herself. “I loved you the very first moment I set eyes on you, standing on the patio in the candlelight like a god. I don’t care about Rabanne or Joel or any of them. I just want to be with you, belong to you. I want you to be my Master. But it doesn’t matter anyway because it isn’t possible. You know how it is. Rabanne will never let me go. He has too much at stake to let me too far out of his reach.”

“Perhaps. What I need to know now is this - if there was a way, would you stay with me willingly or would you try running off to the police or to some women’s shelter and seeking help? Would you tell the truth about Rabanne and the others, try to expose them? It’s important you’re totally honest with yourself and with me right now.” Sophie was silent, contemplative for a few long moments before answering.

“If I went to the police or anyone else, I would simply be handed straight back to Rabanne because officially I’m a raving nutcase whose wild stories can’t be believed! But if there was a way, I still wouldn’t. You said that exposing Rabanne would be exposing you, put you in the frame, and I wouldn’t do that. I know that Natasha is safe and happy now, as happy as possible under the weird circumstances anyway. Exposing him wouldn’t benefit her in any real way, she wouldn’t want to come back - she’s happy in her new life with a handsome Hindu lover. If freedom was possible all I would want is to put it all behind me and get on with my life - ideally, a life with you as yours but I know that’s just a stupid dream, as much as escape from Rabanne is a dream.”

“I would hurt you, you know that.”

“I want you to. I loved what you did to me, the way you made me feel, you must know that. I asked for more.”

“We would have to be married so I could take you back to Greece with me. That would be a lifetime commitment, an eternal binding.”

“You think that would deter me? I could want nothing more than to belong to you forever! I love you.”#

“I would not be faithful. Many nights you would cry yourself to sleep listening to the sounds of my making love with another woman.”

“I know it sounds perverted, kinky, strange, but that idea arouses me. The idea of lying alone in my bed, yearning for you, aching to feel you inside me and hearing you grunting and groaning with arousal in the next room, hearing her cries as you thrust in and out of her, making love to her in a way you never do to me ...”

“You would have no free will of your own. I would tell you what to wear, what to eat, when to sleep. I would rule every sphere of your life. Your whole world would be cupped in my hands.”

“I would take anything, accept anything, do anything just to be near you, to be allowed to curl at your feet in the evening or lay at the foot of your bed at night.” Sophie suddenly let out a choked sob and buried her face in her hands. “Please, I don’t want to talk any more. It’s all fantasy and it hurts so much. Just do with me what you want and send me back.”

“You’re not going back.”

Sophie gazed up at him through bleary eyes. Was he taunting her, cruelly tormenting her, dominating her with words instead of the whip? He took a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and handed them to her. She unfolded them, studied them, struggled with the jargon.

“It’s a discharge notice from the clinic. And a certificate to say you are ‘cured’ - perfectly sane following treatment.”

“How ...?”

“It cost me a great deal of money - more than you could possible begin to imagine - and the promise of a number of certain business deals being sent his way. You’re free, from Rabanne anyway, but not from me. You’re mine, for now and for always, like it or not, love me or hate me. Now stop snivelling and get down on all fours so I can cane and bugger your pretty arse.”