Chapter Five

After five minutes or so the youthful waiter appeared. He was a rather feminine-featured young man in his late teens or early twenties with sultry cerulean eyes and full pouting lips. He was no longer wearing the rubber waiter’s garb; he wore only a tight pair of PVC shorts that accentuated his generous bulge - his slim upper body was naked and his nipples ringed. He took Sophie gently by the forearm, helped her to her feet and led her from the room.

“I’m Alan - or Ellen, if you like, I answer to either,” the striking youth told her rather oddly. He took her to a bathroom where he undressed her, bathed her wounds in cool water and then he tended them with antiseptic ointment before taking her, naked, back to the small bedroom with the barred window, promising to bring her a meal soon.

As soon as Alan left, Sophie tried the bedroom door but of course it was locked. She went to the small window - that was certainly no escape route for the bars were solidly secure, and anyway it was a long drop down to the ground below. She gazed across the acres of landscaped gardens to the deer park beyond and wondered if she would ever leave this place. Was the rest of her life to be spent here, being abused and violated by strangers or perhaps forced into pregnancy and placed in the dairy with those other maltreated wretches?

A short while later Alan came with some late lunch for her. No, not Alan, she realised - Ellen. She understood now why he had given both names for he was definitely Ellen right now - the young man was carefully and subtly made-up and wore a flattering creamy silk frock with padding at the hips and breasts to create a convincing female figure and low-healed creamy court shoes. He placed the tray he was carrying down on the chest of drawers. There was a generous portion of macaroni cheese with tomatoes and salad and an apple pie for dessert. Sophie picked at the meal half-heartedly for a few moments before suddenly bursting into tears.

“Hey now, don’t take on like that!” he told her, stroking her hair tenderly. She gazed up at Ellen with frightened questioning eyes.

“You seem too nice to be a part of all this,” she ventured. “Please won’t you help me? I need to escape.”

“Escape to where?” he asked her in a gentle voice. “If you’re like the rest of us, you’ve been sanctioned, certified and placed in Rabanne’s care. If you were to escape, which is impossible anyway, then he would simply inform the police and they would return you to his clinic. They wouldn’t believe anything you say - you have no voice, no rights ...”

“But the wounds, the marks...”

“Self-inflicted injuries, he’d claim convincingly. Self-harm is very common in those who are mentally unstable. Believe me, I’ve been there. I’m as much a prisoner as you are, as anyone else is here. I tow the line, play the part of the obedient servant, and so I get privileges and my life’s not too bad. But it is the life of a slave.”

“How come?”

“My father saw my bi-sexuality and cross-dressing as a sickness, a ‘filthy immoral perversion’ he called it, and he had me admitted to Rabanne’s clinic to be ‘cured’,” Ellen told the shocked Sophie. “Dad hates me, I’m a disappointment and an embarrassment he’d rather forget so he didn’t intervene and asked no questions at all when Rabanne told him that I was certifiable. He’s just glad I’m out of his life.”

“God, I’m so sorry. That’s so bloody awful,” Sophie commiserated sincerely; she could not imagine such betrayal. Ellen smiled at her.

“Don’t waste your pity on me, I get by. Now, if you’re not going to eat any of that lunch then lay down on the bed and I’ll give you a massage, it will calm you down a lot.” Sophie obediently lay down on her front on the fleecy covered inflatable bondage bed. Ellen meanwhile took a bottle of aromatherapy massage oil from the drawer of the dressing table and ran it under the hot tap at the small corner sink for a few seconds to warm it before then rubbing a copious amount of the heavenly-scented oil over his hands. Thus prepared, he proceeded to rub down Sophie’s back in a firm, skilled and sensual way. She began to feel calm and relaxed beneath his practised and sensitive hands and let out a long low contented sigh that made Ellen smile.

The heady almost spicy aroma of the oil assailing her senses and the semi-erotic caressing of her highly sensitised skin caused her head to swim, all cares, thoughts and fears swept away and replaced by a tranquil emptiness. She smiled faintly as she allowed herself to float away on a cloud of serenity. She was so relaxed, so meditative, that she was barely aware of the silkiness of Ellen’s stockings brushing against her inner thighs or the warm breath of him against her neck. Even when she felt his erection probing gently against her cheeks she said nothing, made no response either positive or negative.

“Is this all right with you?” he checked in a husky half-whisper as he pressed the knob end of his member against her rosebud.

“Mmmm ... heavenly,” she murmured in response. Ellen eased his organ into her smoothly and effortlessly with no resistance because she was so relaxed. Sophie could feel that he was naked apart from the stockings and suspenders - when had he undressed? She had not been aware of it. He began to glide in and out of her very slowly, rhythmically and almost instinctively Sophie began to raise her hips slightly to meet each push. He eventually pulled out without climaxing and whispered for her to turn over onto her back.

Ellen took the bottle of massage oil from beside the bed and simply tipped the remainder of its contents over her breasts and belly before continuing with his lovemaking. He pressed his hard chest against her breasts, crushing them against him, causing the nipple rings to dig into her flesh, as he slipped into her love-tunnel, finding it warm and soaking and ready for him. He rode her almost tenderly, their bodies slippery with the spiced oils that warmed with the friction of their fucking. Sophie found that a unique and highly erotic sensation. At last Ellen climaxed and almost simultaneously so did Sophie, not an earth-shattering, fireworks and screaming orgasm such as she had experienced at the poolside orgy but nevertheless a more than pleasant and somehow comforting rippling of sexual enjoyment, similar to that which she always experienced with Natasha. She smiled happily at Ellen as he wiped her breasts and belly with a wad of tissues to mop up the oil.

“That was nice,” she told him.

“Only nice?” he emphasised the word. Sophie thought she had offended him and wondered frantically for a moment what to say to pacify his feelings - perhaps she should have said ‘wonderful’ or told him that the earth had moved, but it hadn’t. But then he laughed brightly and tweaked her nipples playfully. “It was only nice because I didn’t hurt you! If I’d bound you and beaten you instead of caressing you then you’d have exploded like you did last night. But I can’t do that. Nice is all you get from me. Finish wiping off that gunk.”

Sophie wondered at this startling declaration. Of course it wasn’t true. It didn’t take pain and domination to raise passion in her. She just wasn’t highly sexed, that was all. She had never needed fireworks and earthquakes, had always been perfectly content with the gentle and comforting rippling of sexual pleasure she had always experienced with Natasha and had just experienced with Ellen. And yet last night, when she had been taken again and again by unseen strangers, her body had reached such a pinnacle of ... NO! She was not responsible for her hormones, for the betrayal of her body and psychologically had gained no pleasure at all it the enforced carnalities...

“I was told to take you to the jungle room once you’ve eaten.” Ellen interrupted her worried thoughts, handing her a skimpy garment he had taken from the chest of drawers. It was a fake leopard skin bikini. Sophie puzzled over what on earth the jungle room could be.

The jungle room turned out to be a living room with fake trees, recorded birdsong, and even an antiquated stuffed tiger lurking in a corner. Rabanne lounged against a tree in his usual indolent fashion, waiting for her imminent arrival and smiled threateningly at her when Ellen showed her in then left. She stood in the centre of the room, her arms wrapped about her, shivering slightly, and gazed at him expectantly.

“If you’re expecting some ludicrously passé ‘me Tarzan, you Jane,’ games then I will not play along,” she declared with a bravado that was belied by her paleness. Rabanne laughed and it was not a pleasant laugh; it sent shivers down her spine. He produced a long length of strong, plaited grass rope and prowled towards her with it like a jungle cat himself. He swiftly had her tightly bound hand and foot and lying on the ground. There were metal rings in the floor and he securely fastened the rope to these to prevent her from struggling too much. He gagged her with a wad of cloth from his pocket and then left the room.

She lay still and silent, anticipating her fate - what on earth was he planning? She heard the doctor return and strained to look around at him. Her eyes grew wide with surprise and terror; Rabanne was carrying - no, caressing - a large red-backed tarantula, cooing to it as though it were a baby. He kissed it on the back and then gently placed it down - on Sophie’s belly. She screamed out wildly against the cloth gag and tried to struggle.

“I happen to know that you are not particularly fond of arachnids,” Rabanne smiled that dangerous smile. “That is a shame, because little Ariadne really is very tame. I am going to leave the two of you to become friends.” With that, he left again.

Sophie was perspiring now and she closed her eyes tightly. She could feel the spider moving now, slowly, cautiously, the feet tickling her skin. Her stomach was churning, her mouth watering, her head swimming wildly. She thought she might faint. More than that, she was afraid that she would vomit and choke because of the gag; she tried to force it out with her tongue but failed. The creature was crawling down between her legs now; the sensation was horrifying - though it might actually have been arousing if it had been from a different source. ‘Imagine it’s a feather’ she thought to herself in an effort to calm down - ‘you’re being tickled with a feather, that’s all it is’. She tried to control her breathing, to relax, to cope, but it was the greatest effort. She could feel the spider moving against her upper thigh now - it was scuttling down her right leg. Thank God it was crawling down and not up towards her face, she thought with repulsion.

She was concentrating so much on remaining as calm as possible that she did not hear the door open and close once more and two people enter - it was Rabanne and Alan; she was unaware of their presence until Rabanne bent to pick up Ariadne, cooing affectionately to it as he placed it on his shoulder. Having retrieved the spider, he went again, leaving Alan to release the trembling and sweating Sophie.

“I want a bath, damn it!” she almost screamed at him as she leaned against him for support.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. You can take a shower if you like, there’s plenty of time until you’re needed again,” he reassured her, leading her from the room.

“And a cup of tea, hot and sweet with lots of sugar. Please.”

“All right. You’re really freaked, aren’t you?” He put his arm around her and hugged her to him.

“I hate spiders. I really do. How the hell did he know that? It’s the worst thing he could have done.” Alan laughed.

“No, sweetheart, it’s certainly not the very worst he could have done, as I’m sure you realise! Come on, through here. You take that shower you’re so fussed about while I fetch you a cuppa then I’ll take you back to your room. You’ve half an hour at least until Master Hood is ready for you.”

Sophie had still been so shaken that she had not really registered Alan’s last words and it was only once she was showering that she recalled what he had said. Who the hell was Master Hood? Yet another stranger come to violate her!

Alan arrived bearing a pot of Earl Grey on a tray with some digestives as well, and she followed him back to her now familiar room. Sophie drank down a cup of tea gratefully whilst Alan rummaged in the wardrobe and brought out an outfit. It comprised black PVC stockings, a cup-hoist bra, and a studded leather collar with two long fine silver chains attached.

“Get dressed in this soon. There’s some talc in the drawer there - it helps a lot if you’re liberal with it when putting on these rubbery stockings. The chains attach to your nipple rings. I’ll fetch you in about twenty minutes.”

Half an hour later Sophie, decked out in the fetish ware, was standing in the centre of the playroom before the ominous Master Hood. He was tall and muscular, hirsute too, and decked out in black leather trousers and waistcoat, carrying a riding crop, and wearing a full leather hood with holes for the mouth and eyes obscured by a fine black mesh. The fact that she could not see the man’s face made him seem all the more intimidating and dangerous. Anticipation filled the air like a living thing - anticipation spiced with fear and arousal. Like an executioner he stood before her silent, dark and threatening and she felt her stomach churning and her heart racing. What was he going to do with her?

Master Hood circled Sophie like a hawk. She could feel his eyes boring into her, hot and searing. He reached out a leather-clad hand to stroke her belly, a hand that then meandered down to her intimacy. He flicked at her clitoris, the tiny pink bud standing erect and aroused, then pulled at her lips. He moved to stand behind her and caressed her globes, stroking the small burns from the hot molten beeswax and the soft spattering of bruises from the thrashings she had endured so far. He ran his fingers down her back, gently tracing the cruel scratch marks displayed there.

Then he moved across the room to fetch a tall three-legged wooden stool and placed it in front of her; gently pushing her forward. Obediently she leaned on it, grasping the edge of the seat with both hands. He rubbed the stiff length of the crop up and down the crack between her cheeks a few times, sending strange tendrils rippling through her aching body. And then he raised the crop and brought it slashing down across her bottom. She cried out in agony but remained in position to receive the ensuing blows.

Swipe after swipe raised red ridges. Sophie sobbed and yelped but stood her ground, knowing too well now that disobedience would only increase the punishment. She gripped onto the stool for dear life, kept her eyes tightly shut and tried not to cry out too loudly as whack followed whack for what seemed like an eternity. At long last the riding crop was abandoned - in favour of a ‘cat o’ nine tails’. Sophie was horrified at the sight of it as she covertly glanced up to see what weapon Master Hood was selecting.

She grimaced as she prepared herself for the onslaught. At first he teased her with the tantalising fronds, brushing them gently and seductively over her back and bottom and against her upper thighs. Sophie began to moan softly with arousal as, to her horror, her body threatened to betray her once again. And then those caressing strands were slamming down across her back. They were severe strokes but there were only six to be endured before Master Hood stepped away again to select yet another new toy. She remained leaning forward over the stool and watched him covertly as he undressed, releasing a huge erect manhood from its leather encasing. She winced when he turned her onto her back. He lifted her legs by the ankles, raised them to above his head then manoeuvred himself into position and thrust into her warm wet tunnel. He filled and stretched her and she groaned with a mixture of arousal and pain - he was almost too big for her!

He rode her slowly at first, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm and deliberation. He gradually increased the speed until at last he was riding her fast and hard, ramming savagely into her, as she bucked and moaned until finally she orgasmed at the same time as he spurted into her. He withdrew immediately, wiped his glistening member clean on her hair, and told her to stand. She stood obediently as he removed her stockings and bra and once she was naked fastened small weights and bells to the nipple rings.

“Now stand with your feet together and your arms by your side,” he instructed and she obeyed the command. He fetched a long roll of cling-film and, beginning at her ankles, started to wind the clear hugging sheet around and around her body, enveloping her tightly in a plastic cocoon. A ripple of panic undulated through her senses as the plastic encased her helplessly immobilised form; when he was finished, only her nose had not been covered in cellophane so that she could breathe. Hood then lifted her easily, lay her down on her back on a leather-topped bench, and left her alone there.

Sophie lay still and silent for a long while, gazing up at the midnight blue ceiling adorned with hooks and pulleys and rings, wondering about Natasha, and if she too had endured these horrors, and where she might be now.