Chapter Eight

Sophie knew she was expected to go back to the ‘matron’ now and supposed she would be severely punished for failing to do so, but somehow she seemed quite unable to do anything at all but sit and cry. She was tired, sore, scared and lonely. She wanted Natasha. She wanted to go home. She wanted this nightmare to end. She was vaguely aware of the door opening and of a hand on her shoulder but she did not respond at once.

“Sophie, it’s me,” came a familiar voice. “It’s Alan.”

“Alan?” Sophie queried, staring up through tear filled eyes. “How ...?”

“Rabanne often comes to see Joel, he brought me with him. I asked for permission to see you. Come on, let’s get you to your room and then I’ll fetch your lunch for you.”

“I don’t want anything to eat, I just want to die!” Sophie wailed, throwing her arms around him. Alan laughed but it was a kind laugh.

“Up you get, little miss melodrama. I know what you’re going through, but you can’t give up like this. You’ve got to accept what your life is now and make the best of it, as I do. Joel seems pretty impressed with you - play it cool and you could earn yourself privileges like me. Play along and you’ll do OK, play up and you’ll be sent back to that hellhole of a clinic. You’re safer here, you’ve taken about as bad as it comes, I promise.”

Alan sat her down on the edge of the bed and Sophie realised they were in her attic room and wondered how Alan had led her there without her noticing. She put on a dressing gown then lay down to rest whilst he went to fetch her lunch tray from the kitchens. He returned with tomato and lentil soup and a cheese roll, which despite her earlier exclamation she tucked into hungrily. He also gave her a couple of paracetamol tablets for which she was immensely grateful, though they barely tackled the pounding in her temples. Alan lay on the bed, hands behind his head and legs crossed in a relaxed attitude, whilst Sophie ate.

“I asked Joel about Natasha,” she told him. “He said she was sold to some foreigner. Can you tell me anything more?”

“She was sold to Akbar Malraji, a Hindu who lives in a place called Zarin in the Himalayas ...”

“God no!” Sophie interrupted him with the shocked exclamation.

“Don’t fret, she’s better off than you, believe me,” Alan reassured her. “Malraji isn’t a master in the way you and I understand it. His culture and beliefs mean that he sees women as subservient, regards them as chattels and, under the laws of Zarin, there are severe physical punishments - even death for women who are insubordinate. But he does not punish for pleasure, like a mock western master. He’s not like Rabanne and the others at all. If a woman is meek and compliant, then she will be treated with kindness, respect, even affection and will not go without any comfort. Yes, she will lack freedom and yes she will have to capitulate to his demands sexually, but in many ways her life will be one of luxury and ease. And he is a very old man whose demands, I believe, are not great nor frequent.”

“I ... I’ll never see her again, will I?”

“No, I don’t think so. But at least you can be pretty sure she’s safe and well and far out of Rabanne’s reach - unlike us. And talk of the devil!” They heard Rabanne calling Alan’s name and reluctantly he got up and stretched lazily. “Keep your chin up and I’ll try to see you again.”

Sophie wondered if she should go to either Joel or Matron now or wait in her room to be summoned. She wondered, too, if she should return to the classroom to retrieve her discarded school uniform or return her empty lunch tray to the kitchen. As she was considering what to do, Matron appeared.

“You’re to put on a nightdress and come with me to the sanatorium,” she told Sophie, who obediently slipped on a short frilly nightie from the chest of drawers and then followed Matron as she led her downstairs to one of the second floor rooms, with the word ‘sanatorium’ painted boldly on the door.

“This is the sick bay where the girls come to be examined by the doctor of they are feeling unwell,” matron explained. Sophie tensed at once. She stood rigid, her stomach churning, her head spinning. Matron opened the door and pushed Sophie into the room.

“Doctor, this is Sophie, the young lady who is poorly.” Sophie gave an audible sigh of relief when she saw the young gangly youth in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck gazing at her with open appraisal; she had been dreading that it would be Dr Rabanne and that thought had horrified her. “I will leave her in your good care. When the doctor is done, return to your room until dinner.”

“Come and stand over here so I can listen to your chest, Sophie,” the ‘doctor’ told her and Sophie stood where he indicated, close to a black leather-topped couch and a desk. He lifted her nightdress at the back and placed the stethoscope on her upper back for a few moments before moving around to the front. He unbuttoned the nightie to reveal her large full breasts and again used the stethoscope. “Everything sounds fine. Now I will inspect your breasts.” He began to gently fondle them, his hands clumsy and inexperienced, whilst Sophie simply stood still for him, her head lowered and her hands held behind her back. “Your breasts are extremely large, unnaturally so, which makes me suspect a glandular or hormonal problem,” he said at last as he moved away from her and scribbled notes down on a pad on the desk. “Pop up onto the couch, please, so that I can investigate further.”

She scrambled up onto the couch and lay down with her eyes tightly shut, humiliated, embarrassed, a little frightened, but still sincerely relieved that it was not Rabanne; this young man seemed harmless enough compared to most she had met with lately! He fondled her breasts again, briefly this time and then his hands explored further, working their way in a slow odyssey down her sides to her thighs. He parted her legs and she felt his hands tremble slightly as he stroked the inner flesh - he seemed nervous, as though never having before dared to turn a fantasy into reality and learning the potential with her. He moved away again, to fetch a pair of latex rubber gloves and a tube of lubricant and a strange shining metallic object that he smeared with the gel and then eased into her passage. She flinched slightly but then forced herself to relax and endure it. He merely moved it in and out of her a few times before withdrawing it once more and discarding it on the desk.

“Do you masturbate, Sophie? Tell the truth now,” he asked her.

“Yes, doctor, frequently,” she gave the answer she knew would please.

“I think that’s the root of the problem, then. You arouse your body and create an expectation that is never actually met. Your body prepares itself to receive the hormones contained in semen and when those hormones are not detected, an imbalance is created which is why you are unwell. You need a dose of semen to rectify the problem. Now, how would you prefer me to administer that? Orally, vaginally, or anally?” For a moment Sophie was speechless. She actually had to choose how this man should take her! At last she half-whispered her one-word response. The young would-be doctor removed his trousers and boxers and climbed up onto the couch on top of her, crushing her breasts beneath him and eased his erection into her passage. He thrust in and out of her several times before suddenly bursting. As he dressed again, he said to her,

“You do realise, of course, that I must inform both the matron and the headmaster that you’ve been masturbating. It is against the rules, as I’m sure you must be aware. You may go now but I have to see you again next week for a check up.”

Sophie buttoned up her nightdress and left the room, wishing that all here were as easy to satisfy as the ‘doctor’ with his perverse little fantasy. She decided to go and take a shower. She needed that shower, she felt so dirty - inside and out somehow - and so achy and utterly exhausted. She stood and let the warm water flow over her, trickling between her breasts and between her legs and down her thighs, causing her chastised flesh to tingle and smart in a way that was not altogether unpleasant ...

When she returned to her small room next door she found a few additions - a personal CD player with a selection of tracks, some more recent magazines, a coffee percolator with freshly ground coffee on the chest of drawers and a tray with mug, milk jug and sugar bowl. There was even a more colourful throw on the bed and some scatter cushions. She smiled a little to herself; Alan had been right - obedience did have its little rewards.

Perhaps Joel had been impressed when she had asked to start her duties early? Or had Alan dared to request a little munificence on her behalf to add a little cheer and comfort to her new and frightening way of life? Whatever the prompt, she was appreciative of this consideration, such gestures going some way to ease her psychological hardship. She drank down a mug of hot sweet coffee then lay back on the soft colourful cushions to read whilst she waited for her next summons.

Every sleeping moment lately had been filled with hideous images, some blurred, some frighteningly detailed, all horrendously agonisingly real and on waking Sophie had not been comforted by reality, for reality was the root of these terrible nightmares and just as fear-provoking as any dream. There was no waking up for her. But this time it was different. Her eyes flickered, the magazine slipped from her grasp and she fell into a deep slumber.

When she awoke she could not recall any definite images or events in her dreaming, but she knew there had been pain and fear and yet arousal and yearning as well. The coverlet was twisted and knotted from her tossing and turning. Her intimacy was burning, swollen and her thighs drenched in fluid. Her nipples were standing to attention, the areoles slightly darkened. And there was a deep hunger, a blazing desire for ... something. What?

What had prompted the erotic dream and why, oh why could she not remember it? She wanted to desperately, needed to know what had awoken her body in this way. She recalled Alan’s words after they had made love - “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.” Had she been dreaming of such things? No. Nothing that had happened here at Avalon House had excited her in any way - the schoolgirl act, the doctor, the canings, none of it had truly aroused her mind and body, the games these people played did not appeal to her in any way. But what about at Rabanne’s house - the pool party and Master Hood! Despite her predicament, despite the genuine terror and guilt, she had definitely been more physically aroused then than ever before in her life... They hadn’t been playing games. There had been no scenarios, no role-play, no dressing up, just pure abuse and domination, absolute control and maltreatment of her body for their pleasure. And she, to her utter shame, had responded. What had they awoken within her? What did that say about her? It meant nothing, said nothing, of course. Naturally her emotions were confused right now, her thoughts in turmoil, as she struggled to come to terms with all that had happened and what her life had so suddenly and cruelly become. Yet still that flaming desire for ... something ... nothing that was on offer here, anyway.

A woman in a maid’s uniform stuck her head around the door.

“Master Joel says you may have your dinner in the kitchen with the staff,” she told her. Dinnertime already, Sophie thought to herself - how long had she slept for? But she had been feeling totally shattered.

The kitchen was modern and bright but still warm and friendly. The aroma that filled the room was mouth-watering and the atmosphere more than congenial. The middle-aged cook, two maids, and one young man (a valet perhaps?) were smiling and cheerful. Sophie was offered generous portions of everything on the table - cold ham, cold beef, salad, new boiled potatoes, minted peas and rhubarb crumble with custard for dessert. It was pleasant to be in such a normal and homey environment and very therapeutic emotionally. The cook, Fiona, was up and down from the table preparing other foodstuffs - a buffet by the looks of it, Sophie thought, for there were party-sized nibbles such as mini sausage rolls, vol-u-vents, and canapés. Was Joel entertaining this evening?

“Aye, he’s a good few guests around tonight,” Fiona told Sophie when she asked. She wondered if this meant any further ‘duties’ for her this evening and discovered the answer when, towards the end of the meal, ‘Matron’ stuck her head around the kitchen door to say that Joel wanted to see her in the living room.

Following Fiona’s directions, Sophie went to the living room as ordered. She hesitated outside the door; there was a disharmony of sound from the room - chatter, flurry, music, laughter, cries, chink of china or glass, a whole host of indistinguishable noises that indicated activity.

How long Sophie would have stood there is uncertain but at that moment one of the maids arrived bearing a tray of cocktail snacks and asked her to open the door.

The room was filled with noise and smoke, sweat and laughter. Joel saw her at once and beckoned to her. She made her way through the chattering bodies to where he stood with a small group of other men near the open French windows looking out onto the lit patio. When she recognised Cliff - Rabanne’s lunch guest - she visibly shied away from him; they laughed and she blushed.

“Don’t you like me, Sophie?” Cliff asked in an amused tone.

“I’m afraid of you,” she replied meekly, avoiding a direct yes or no response.

“More afraid of me than of anyone else here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, remembering with a chill the taste of her own blood in her mouth, the agony of the cruel scratches down her back, her anguish as the hot molten wax dripped onto her tender flesh ... The only person more frightening than Cliff was Omar Rabanne himself and he did not appear to be present.

“Good!” he laughed loudly. “I like women to be afraid of me. But don’t worry - I can’t be bothered with you tonight. Master Edwards has offered me a pretty teenage virgin to break.” Sophie suddenly experienced the strangest of emotions under the circumstances - a sudden pang of jealousy! How the hell could that be possible? But even though she was terrified of Cliff, even though she hated what he did to her and had no yearning or desire to be hurt by him again, it stung that he had chosen this unknown girl over her. God, my emotions really are screwed up, she thought to herself as salty tears brimmed. She glanced at Joel and saw him watching her with a frown, an expression of ... doubt? Conjecture? Puzzlement? She wondered what it was he saw in her that moment that made him look at her that way. She quickly lowered her gaze once more and simply stood and waited to be told by him what to do and where to go.

He took her arm firmly and led her out onto the patio, where the warm evening breeze rustled through creepers and climbers and candles in lanterns glittered and glimmered and the perfumes of the garden filled the air. He led her to a bench and told her to sit down. She perched there on the edge of the wooden seat, apprehensive, confused, wondering what was to happen to her now. Joel sat beside her in silence for a long while and her tension grew. At last he spoke, a cold harsh voice.

“You wanted Clifford to use you,” he said - a statement, not a question. “I saw the disappointment in your eyes.”

Somehow, from somewhere, Sophie managed to muster a small submissive voice.

“I don’t like him. I didn’t want him to hurt me again. And yet I felt jealous when he told me about the virgin you have given him. I wondered, why her instead of me?”

“Of course any man would choose a virgin over a well-used slut like you. But you weren’t an option. I’m saving you for someone tonight.”

“Whom?” She dared to venture the monosyllabic question.

“You have no right to ask,” he replied curtly.

“I know.”

“A friend of a friend. Master Jason. I haven’t met him - a business associate of mine has invited him. He’s Greek, apparently, but living in London. I’m hoping to do business with him and want to sweeten him up so I’m giving him you for the night.”

“Does he play games?” Sophie asked. Once more Joel gave her that questioning look - what was he thinking?

“Uniforms, school-girl scenarios, role-play? The sort of thing you have to do here for my paying friends? No. He simply wants a pretty submissive he can use and abuse, treat like dirt and rape when he’s horny.”

“Oh,” was the simple, quiet response from Sophie, who was wondering why her thighs were trembling, why there was a wobbly feeling low in her abdomen and a slow rising fire somewhere deep inside threatening to flare up.

“You know, I was at Rabanne’s pool party, I got to fuck your cunt with the others. You were very responsive. You writhed and moaned and orgasmed again and again and again. It was beautiful to watch. Master Hood told me you were the same with him, a real nymph. But I’ve spoken to Margaret, Jeffrey, and Gordon - the wannabe doc - and they say you were unresponsive, cold and very automatic in your reaction to them and what they did to you. You weren’t aroused at all.”

“I did exactly what I was told!” Sophie exclaimed, horrified at the thought that Joel was angry with her and might really punish her beyond what she could take, beyond what she had taken already.

“Calm down, you’re not in trouble. You were obedient and compliant. You cannot force yourself to be turned on. In a way, they were pleased you weren’t aroused. It made it more real for them - the pleasure was purely for them, not for you. But it does rather beg the question why. I think I know the answer though it has surprised me.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Sophie admitted, confused by this talk.

“I spoke to Alan about you today as well,” Joel continued. “He told me about the time he screwed you and what was said between you afterwards.”

Sophie was scarlet now. This discussion was embarrassing, humiliating and she had no idea where it was leading. “Tell me, Sophie, have you never had any feelings of submissiveness before? What was the relationship like between you and Natasha?”

“We are ... were lovers, best friends, soul mates. She was definitely always the stronger one, always the one who initiated things. We never did anything like ... that is, nothing beyond playful spanking with hand or hairbrush, just kinky harmless fun.”

“And you never felt the need for more than that?”

“Well, I suppose sometimes I would wish ... I don’t know really. Yes, I suppose I sometimes wished she would go further, actually spank me hard enough to hurt. But I never said so.” Sophie was struggling to be honest with herself as well as with Joel now, struggling to analyse her feelings and memories.

“And how would you describe your sexuality? I mean, do you consider yourself to be a lesbian or bi-sexual?”

“I’d never been with a man before ... before,” Sophie became flustered, tears threatening at the too recent memory of what Rabanne had done to her. “I’ve fancied men occasionally but not the way I’m meant to - not how it’s written about in magazines and things, not in the romantic sense. I mean, I’d meet an attractive man and feel something like arousal but the thought of making love with him would instantly douse that. The idea of him kissing me, showing me affection, or sending me flowers with little love notes would turn me off completely. Yet I’m supposed to like that, aren’t I? Other women do. I’d feel something so strong, want something so desperately, but I’d have no idea what it was I wanted...so it would come to nothing.”

“What you were wanting was a good beating and a good fucking,” Joel told her. “You, Sophie, are a genuinely submissive little bitch and always have been but didn’t recognise it. And you don’t want games and make-believe and dressing-up - you want a master, a true dominant who will possess you utterly and completely forever, who will rule your every waking hour and every sleeping one as well.”