Chapter Three

Another white-coated orderly came to fetch Sophie some time later. He hauled her to her feet and, leaving the abandoned pile of fetish clothing where it was, led her from the room. She was taken to what looked like a small operating theatre, where Omar, Liz and another man she had not seen before were waiting. Trembling, fearful and confused, she dumbly obeyed Omar’s order to climb up onto the metal operating table; quite simply, she had neither the physical or emotional strength to protest or question. She lay down on the cold surface and closed her eyes, dazzled by the bright light that hung low overhead.

“Doctor Fitzallan here is my anaesthetist,” Omar told her. “He’s going to put you under for a while so that I can carry out a few ... necessities.”

Sophie remained still and silent and did not resist even when she felt Dr Fitzallan placing a plastic mask over her mouth and nose and then administering an injection in her upper arm as well. She soon felt dizzy and light-headed; she did not fight the sensation of slipping away into deep sleep. She was afraid of what would be done to her whilst she was unconscious but at least she was being granted the mercy of ignorance of the pain and humiliation it would certainly cause her otherwise. Would Omar take her again, this time whilst she was unconscious and totally unaware of the violation? Based on what he had told her earlier, he most certainly would. She wanted to sleep, wanted to be blissfully unaware of the desecration of her body and soul, longed to be able to dream of waking from this nightmare ...

Sophie stirred and moaned. She struggled to sit up but realised that she was restrained. She was lying naked on a metal-frame hospital bed and held down by leather straps attached to her ankles, her wrists and across her midriff. There were bed guards in place as though she were a small child or a lunatic. The room was clinically white and smelled of chemicals. There was a drip in place on the back of her hand, attached to a bag of clear fluid hung on a bedside frame. But what was definitely out of place for a hospital room was the ceiling mirror directly above the bed that showed Sophie the full ignominy she had been unwittingly subjected to. She gazed transfixed up at the reflection with tears flowing freely and her heart silently screaming.

Her breasts were huge, obviously artificially enlarged and yet there were no obvious wounds from any operative process. Her nipples were ringed, huge silver loops adorning the brown nubs. Her intimacy was naked and smooth, all the hair removed and a small silver ring ornamented her clitoris. Three discarded condoms filled with sticky whiteness lay on her belly. Why had they bothered with condoms, she wondered - probably merely to prove without doubt what else had been done to her whilst she had been anaesthetised. Had Omar taken her three times or had others, perhaps Dr Fitzallan, also enjoyed her inert body? With a choked sob she closed her eyes tightly again, unable to bear the horrific image any longer. She felt sick and wretched and her head was aching. Just how far did Omar intend to go with his abuse of her? If he meant to kill her, she wished he would simply do so, and soon, rather than forcing her to endure this living hell. Had Natasha suffered this way, too? And had her suffering ended yet?

The door of the room suddenly opened, interrupting her morose and terrifying line of thought. It was Dr Omar Rabanne. He lowered the bed guards and began to roughly fondle Sophie’s unnaturally massive breasts. She grimaced at the pain.

“More than satisfactory results,” he smiled smoothly. “You’ll notice that the effect has been achieved without any invasive surgery. It’s a new technique I developed myself and it’s still experimental. I simply inject a special liquid into the mammary glands that then slowly gels into artificial tissue. The appearance and texture are perfectly convincing - if I didn’t know better I would swear I was handling completely natural unaltered breasts. Let’s get rid of these sheaths, shall we?” He picked up the condoms and dropped them into a white plastic waste bin in the room.

“You’re probably wondering if I screwed into you before or after the breast enlargement. Well, actually I was inside you, shafting you, whilst Fitzallan was administering the injections for me. I watched your tits swelling and growing as I was pumping in and out of you. Afterwards, Fitzallan had you. He suckled on your new big tits whilst he rode you. Kyle, the orderly who brought you to the operating theatre, used the third condom. He screwed you before bringing you in here. Now, you’ll find that with such abnormally large breasts you are likely to suffer from back pain and poor posture. But I can sort that little problem out by putting a neck collar and back brace in place. I rather like the idea of keeping you in one of those little contraptions anyway. Now I’m going to release you from these restraints and you’re going to be a smart girl and be good for me, aren’t you?” He unfastened the leather straps and then altered the adjustable bedstead before easing her into a more upright position.

“Someone will be along with your supper very soon - only a very light meal after an anaesthetic, of course. One of the nurses will keep looking in on you through the night and then first thing tomorrow morning you will ... well, I’ll leave you to find out tomorrow rather than spoil the surprise by telling you now.”

Sophie left the supper tray untouched. She lay awake for a long while, both body and soul too tortured to allow the mercy of sleep. A pretty young Asian nurse whose nametag read Sister Sharina looked in on her now and then, removing the tray, checking on the saline drip, covering her with a blanket and generally attempting to make her more comfortable. Eventually, well into the night, she gave Sophie two sleeping pills.

“If you don’t eat, then you’ll have to be tube fed,” Sister Sharina warned her in a not unfriendly way when Sophie left her breakfast tray untouched the next morning. Grudgingly she relented and ate some of the cereal and half a slice of toast. She was more enthusiastic about the juice, feeling desperately thirsty. But why was Omar seeing that she was fed, she wondered. Certainly he would not, could not, ever release her and that fact predicted one ultimate fate ... Did it really matter to him at all then if she were weak with hunger or dehydrated? Probably he wanted to prolong her agonies, she thought morosely.

Sharina had just taken away the tray and removed the saline drip, putting a small round plaster where the needle had been, when Omar arrived on the scene. He dismissed Sharina and then pulled down the coverlet to examine Sophie’s engorged breasts. He pulled harshly at the metal loops adorning her dark nipples, causing her to cry out, and responded with a smug smile of satisfaction.

“I am going to administer an enema,” he told her. “Roll onto your right side.” Sophie moved slowly and awkwardly onto her side, movement hindered by the massive breasts - her own body felt alien to her. “Now draw your left leg up - that’s right. Stay in that position.” Sophie lay perfectly still, eyes shut, heart racing. She heard Omar unzipping his flies and the rustle of cloth as he removed his trousers. What was he about to do? He had said he was going to give her an enema, so why on earth did he need to undress? She felt him mounting the bed and then felt his flesh against hers as he positioned himself; he pushed his erect penis against her rosebud and thrust into her. She felt warm liquid rushing into her body and realised with disgust and horror that he was urinating into her. His bladder drained, he dismounted and dressed again. He fetched a metal bedpan, placed it beneath her rear and captured the foul liquid that spurted from her.

Sophie struggled to fight back the tears that brimmed in response to the humiliation and degradation she felt. Omar removed the bedpan and was just wiping her when Liz Tyrell arrived with a wheelchair. Together they manhandled her into the chair, fastened leather straps about her ankles and wrists so she could not stand, and then Liz pushed her from the room.

“Where are you taking me?” Sophie asked in a small voice but the question was ignored.

Liz pushed the chair through the stark white corridors to a back entrance where a private ambulance was waiting with open doors. A man in a paramedic outfit took over now and soon had Sophie and the chair securely positioned in the back of the vehicle. He slammed shut the doors and moments later the engine hummed to life and they drove away.

Almost an hour later the vehicle parked up and the doors were opened. The medic unloaded Sophie and chair and she was surprised to see that they were outside what appeared to be a private house. Having passed through an imposing gated entrance they had then driven up an impressive lime avenue and were now on the sweeping tarmac circle in front of the gabled porch with its double wooden doors and stained glass windows. A gangly thirty-something man, in jeans and t-shirt, was waiting there.

“Hi, Sam. Dairy or stables?” he greeted the driver with obvious familiarity as he ogled the heavily breasted naked young woman restrained in the wheelchair with hungry devouring eyes.

“Hiya, Vic. The doc said this one’s for the pool party but to show her round the place before you cage her,” Sam relayed Rabanne’s instructions and Vic nodded. “Will do. See you tomorrow.”

Without a word to Sophie, Vic strode towards the chair and proceeded to push her around the back of the substantial early Victorian house to a farm complex with various barns and outbuildings. Beyond this was a stable yard with a ménage and paddocks. There was suddenly an ear-splitting scream from a little way off.

“That’s one of the cows calving,” Vic said in a casual tone. “You’ve arrived just in time to watch our vet at work.”

Vic took Sophie to a large modern farm building. Grunts, moans and wails filled the air. A woman was cradled in a leather bondage swing, her legs spread wide apart, her naked body perspiring and bucking and writhing vainly against the restraints. The ‘vet’ was knelt on the straw down between her legs, tending to the delivery of the offspring. A woman in a nurse’s uniform stood by with a blanket, waiting to hurry the newborn to the house. Sophie paled visibly at the sight of the restrained woman in labour.

“We know from the scans that the whelp is a boy, which is good news for Rabanne. A white boy fetches around £25,000, a girl around £20,000. Blacks only fetch about £15,000 so he keeps the herd mostly white. There’s no shortage of wealthy childless couples and the calves are sold even before they’re born. This one’s new parents are waiting up at the house. They’ll take the baby home this afternoon if everything goes smoothly. No adoption is necessary. Every client registers with a doctor Rabanne recommends who then alters her medical records to show that she has given birth. The child is then simply registered as their own. The good doctor has got everything very well organised. The ‘vet’, Dr. Simpson, lives on the premises so he’s on call at all times night and day. We’ve excellent medical facilities here, even an operating theatre and full medical staff, so there’s never any need for outside intervention. I’m just wondering whether to let you see the actual birth or to take you straight to see the cows in the dairy.”

Vic glanced casually at his watch and seemed to pause for thought. Then he said, “These things can sometimes take hours, can’t they? And it’s almost lunchtime. We’d better go and see the dairy herd.”

The dairy was modern and clean and like any other dairy. Except, of course, that the ‘cows’ were twenty-five young women in various stages of pregnancy. They were naked and had each been branded with the letters ‘RD’ on their engorged breasts, one letter on each tit, for Rabanne’s Dairy; and like the woman in the birthing room, they were totally bald, their heads shaven, and a number branded on their scalps. A complex pumping apparatus was set up, with each cow attached so that milk could be pumped from her.

“The machinery operates automatically on a regulator and takes nine fluid ounces from each udder every three hours. The Dairy Master, Jacobson, oversees everything. There are a great many men who are willing to pay handsomely for the pleasure of drinking breast-milk and for the gratification of fucking a heavily pregnant cow. Those huge rounded bellies and engorged breasts are such a turn on. I wonder if that is what Rabanne has planned for you after the pool party? Well, better get you caged.”

Vic pushed the chair back towards the house and entered through a back way. Sophie was scared about whatever was about to happen to her but very relieved to be away from the dairy, away from sights she found extremely distressing. It was all so utterly repugnant and she felt sick to the stomach to be in this unholy place. Omar Rabanne was far more evil than she had even imagined.

Vic took her along a corridor that led to a magnificent indoor swimming pool, housed under a glass roof, with mosaic tiling and steps, changing rooms, a lounging area with bar, a galleried viewing area - and at the far end six metal cages! Five of the cages held a naked woman, bound and gagged, but the sixth was empty, its door open; a reel of bondage tape, a gag and a blindfold lay in a discarded heap beside it. He freed Sophie from the straps that held her fast in the wheelchair only to immediately bind her securely with the black tape. He bound her wrists behind her back and then her ankles to her wrists so that she was double backwards in the most uncomfortable of positions, then gagged her with the rubber ball gag and put the leather mask over her eyes, shutting out all light. She lay on the cool tiled floor, cruelly immobilised, totally unresponsive, whilst Vic began to fondle her unnatural breasts.

“Gorgeous,” he sighed as he kneaded and squeezed. “I never saw jugs so big. The doctor’s work, I assume? I hope I get the chance to fuck them once the party guests are finished with you.” At last he ceased his groping, lifted her with ease and almost threw her into the small metal cage; he slammed shut the door, locked it and left. Only then did Sophie give way to tears.

It was a long time before anyone returned to the pool area. The sky above the glass ceiling was pitch dark with twinkling stars. Sophie was aching dreadfully, her limbs throbbing and she had shamefully wet herself. But at last she heard some activity - voices, coming and going, the scrape of metal on the floor and a cacophony of indistinguishable sounds. It was in fact Vic and another man and two naked women carrying various sorts of equipment. They came back and forth with leather-topped stools, metal benches, sex aids, crops, paddles, canes ... all sorts of paraphernalia that they placed around the pool area.

A bartender in a tux arrived to set up the bar and a waitress in a bunny-girl outfit lay out a buffet of various cold dishes and nibbles. Soft music began to play over a hidden sound system and candles were lit. Soon guests began to arrive, men and women, all of them naked. Some of the women wore collars about their necks but nothing else. Friends greeted one another, the room filled with chatter and drinks were handed around. Things were very soon well under way - with whippings, fucking and perverse sex acts galore, both in and out of the water.

The so-called ‘pool party’ was a glorified orgy. And soon the host of this depraved event arrived. Doctor Rabanne appeared, naked as everyone else and began to mingle. Vic and the other man came over to unlock the cages and hand the women over to those who had not brought slave-girls of their own.

Vic dragged Sophie from the cage, released her from her bonds and threw her into the pool. Shocked, she spluttered and struggled before striking out for the edge and clambering out. She lay on the tiles panting. Suddenly someone was grabbing her upper arm and pulling her to her feet. It was Rabanne. He ordered her to position herself over a leather-topped fucking stool that stood beside the pool. Obedient but gasping she leaned over the low rectangular stool and he fastened her down with the attached straps and chains so that she was secured in the doggy-style position and then he blindfolded her. Someone - was it Rabanne, she wondered - began to rub his semi-erect manhood between her cheeks whilst another erection was forced into her mouth. She wondered with a pounding heart just how many men were ogling her, waiting their turn to use her. The man standing behind her now thrust his erection into her tight rosebud and she howled as he forced his way past her resisting sphincter and began to drum against her bottom, shoving and thrusting with fervour.

The man in front of her grasped her hair and forced her mouth around his knob once more. A pair of hands caressed her back almost seductively. She heard the grunts and groans of a highly aroused males close to climax and wondered whether her mouth or her ass would be the first to receive hot creamy spunk; it was neither, for suddenly warm stickiness spurted against her back and was then smeared around - someone had been wanking over her whilst the other two were busy using her mouth and back door hole. Then her mouth filled with stickiness that dribbled down her chin as the face-fucker gave a few sudden jerks that signalled his climax. He withdrew and another immediately took his place, a shorter but fatter penis sliding between her lips and into her mouth. She obediently began to slide her mouth up and down the short thick shaft, flicking at the knob end with her tongue. Once more her mouth filled with warm spunk and once more another penis took the place of the one just drained. And still the man inside her rear was drumming away, his stamina amazing; she began to wonder if he would ever come.

Five pricks emptied themselves into her mouth before the sodomist at last climaxed, bursting into her with savagery and an animalist roar of triumph. As soon as he moved away another ally in their united abuse session took up position and thrust his organ into her soaking love tunnel. He ground himself against her, gyrating his hips and stimulating her clitoris with obvious skill and experience, but held out only for a short while before climaxing; and immediately his place was taken by yet another. Just how many men were going to take her? She was so sore, her labia lips swollen and burning from the over stimulation. After at least half a dozen men had taken her (unless some had taken her twice, she could not really be certain) she was released from her restraints and manhandled into position on the floor lying on her back with a cushion of some sort beneath her hips. She felt a stiff erect member being eased into her wet, open tunnel - and then a second! There were two cocks inside her love channel at once! They began to ease in and out of her together in unison, keeping a slow rhythmic pace, until they climaxed only nano-seconds apart from each other. Just as they withdrew, Sophie experienced her own massive, electrifying orgasm, the greatest she had ever known, far greater than anything she had ever achieved by her own hand or with Natasha; she had never imagined that her body could feel like that, achieve such a sexual high - and she felt agonisingly guilty for experiencing such pleasure under such circumstances. Her own body had betrayed her.

Each now semi-erect penis in turn was pushed into her mouth for cleaning and then wiped on her hair. Firm callused hands then undid the straps and chains and pulled her to her feet. She was moved across the floor made to stand against a brick wall. She stood unsteadily, frightened, aching, wondering what the hell was going to be done to her now. Then she heard Vic’s voice very close by raised above the noise of the music, chattering, sex sounds, and glasses clinking.

“Sir, Tony Scullie will be here in half an hour,” he said, presumably to Rabanne.

“Take this one for him,” Rabanne answered. The next thing Sophie knew she was being half led, half dragged from the room. Once in the corridor the blindfold was removed. In silence Vic took her up a narrow flight of well-worn steps, which might once have been servants’ back stairs, to an upper floor and a large dressing room. Vic indicated she should sit down at a dressing table. She obeyed dumbly. He proceeded to blow-dry and brush her hair and then gave her a quick makeover to hide the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the paleness of her skin. He then produced an outfit for her to change into. She silently put on the ivory silk stockings, suspenders and ivory lace bra and Vic then helped her into a flouncy white lace gown. Finally she slipped on a pair of silver satin shoes.

“This is a wedding dress,” she said in surprise, her voice husky with weariness and pain.

“Of course,” Vic laughed. “Tony has always had this desire to rape a bride on her wedding night - and you, precious, are going to be the bride!”