Patricia stood stiffly to attention, unmoving, silent as still as ordered. She had many longings at that moment, to sit down, quench her thirst, eat, have a wee, but she knew that she simply daren't move or ask - she was too frightened for that. Craig had tried speaking an hour earlier and she still winced, recalling a guard's rifle butt doubling him up and strong hands preventing her going to him whilst he was jerked back to position. This was worse than in the warning of her dream.

They were all tired after their journey to the internment camp in which by mid-afternoon they had found themselves. All elements of their journey had been bad.

The first part of it had been in the back of a covered lorry taking them away from the airport. They had bumped along for three hours, watched in initial silence by armed guards dressed in drab green uniforms who had replaced the policemen. The guards shouted at them and forbade them to speak; it had been awful. With no idea of where they were being taken or why, fear of the unknown gnawed away at them. Patricia could only squeeze her daughter's hand now and again to give the frightened youngster reassurance, warily eyeing their thin, cruel-faced captors. The guards were later talking and shouting amongst themselves as soldiers do, their rifles aimed loosely at them. She could understand some of the words they used and their crude, international gestures as they eyed their prisoners with lust and amusement. Her mouth was dry with her vulnerable fear.

For once Patricia wished her figure wasn't so inviting. Her supple curves were only too apparent beneath the tight jumper and jeans and she knew that Sarah presented probably an even more enticing figure - still in the bloom of teenage youth. Fearing rape she pressed her knees protectively together, looking down, avoiding eye contact with her captors, and just wanting the journey to be over.

The next stage of their descent into captivity came when they were herded off the lorry into nondescript bleak countryside. Then she soon regretted being out of the almost protective and cosy environment of the lorry. Initially she steeled herself against being pushed to the ground and assaulted - deciding not to resist and thus increase the risk of them being hurt or killed. Yet thankfully rape didn't seem to be their intention.

The ground was rough. It was quite warm and it was soon an effort to maintain the brisk walk demanded by the guards in her high heeled boots whilst struggling with their suitcases and bags.

"OK, none of this lot are gentlemen, we'll just have to leave the bloody things," Craig had decided after lugging two suitcases a few hundred yards.

"No, I insist Westerners carry them, no leave behind, no Chinese skivvies to carry for you now," the soldier in charge snapped. "You choose to have so many useless Western decadent things - you no leave them now to pollute Chinese countryside. If you no carry - you stay here with your rubbish!" Ominously the soldier pointed his gun at them, his finger hovering over the trigger.

Bang!

"No, haaah," all three had yelped, only relaxing slightly when the bullet whistled harmlessly over their heads; but the message was clear, the wicked-looking barrel traversing lower to now cover all three of them.

"Craig, it's OK! We'll manage," Patricia gasped when her husband looked dumfounded, speechless. His occasional pompous pride had been deflated and replaced by white-faced fear. She picked up her own case to ease his burden and set an example. "J-just do as they say - wait till we get wherever we are going then we can sort things out." She hefted her case, tugging it along, not caring about scratching it - only anxious to avoid further antagonising their trigger-happy guards. She instinctively knew that they just had to somehow endure this ordeal.

After an hour of struggling with their burdens, the bleak countryside had improved. But her body was a sweating mass of aches by the time they reached the high, imposing wooden gates of a large compound covering several acres, much of which of quarry-like terrain. Her belly felt hot with dread as the gates were opened to allow them access. They were emblazoned in large black letters 'Internment Camp 7 - Inn of Physical Happiness.'

Like a prison camp, high watchtowers manned by armed guards bounded the compound. Within the high bamboo fence were many rows of wooden huts and to her horror, under the watchful eyes of baton-carrying Chinese guards, numerous figures were busy toiling feverishly, the occasional swish of a cane encouraging their efforts.

She tried to smile encouragingly at her daughter who was gazing almost with awe at the pretty, rolling countryside they had just left. The camp was surrounded by hills, the highest topped with a pure white tower like a lighthouse. The stark detention centre looked out of place in such a tranquil setting.

Looking around with fearful eyes, Patricia staggered through the entrance with her burden, hearing the deep crunching rattle of the gates ominously shutting after them. She saw that some of the busy, hapless prisoners were tending crops on strips of earth clinging to the rocks. More sweating figures were breaking rocks with heavy hammers in a quarry, to allow others to carry or push them on mine wagons. There were yet more straining figures dragging heavy rollers, crushing the rocks into paths. The air was loud with their efforts, their cries and groans, the smashing of rocks and the shouted orders and curses from the guards. All the prisoners were being treated like slaves and yet they seemingly had no choice, for whenever any of the toiling figures unbent, their brief respite was met with curses, shouts or the crack of bamboo across their limbs.

She realised to her horror that they were to be confined with these prisoners. She shivered at the prospect. Suppose some of those fierce hard-labouring criminals rioted? She and her family would be placed in danger! This was outrageous treatment. No doubt Craig would protest at the first opportunity - they were diplomatic staff, no matter how tenuous that diplomatic thread now was.

However, on closer inspection, her anxiety deepened further still. Although initially misled by the short brown striped pyjamas type 'uniforms' which all of the 'prisoners' wore, she gradually realised that rather than a brutish Chinese chain gang, many of those working were Westerners, men, women and youngsters - all gasping and shining with effort. Her attention was drawn to one guard berating a middle-aged woman.

"You think you Yankee cows too good to work for Chinese people?" he screamed as the woman, who looked pretty despite her age and clothing, stood with obvious servility before him.

"Sorry, I'm truly sorry, Sir it's the sun and..." Her humble response petered out.

"You shut up, Yankee cow!" he interrupted. "If you hot you work naked - strip!" he shouted.

Patricia could scarcely believe her eyes as the woman, after just a moment's hesitation, pulled off her uniform to reveal a beautiful body. She looked so out of place. Then she continued to stoop and pick up rocks, staggering with them, setting her nudity bouncing. The sun beat down on her shining curves as the guard gloated at her discomfort.

Thankfully Patricia and her family were allowed to deposit their cases before a large wooden hut and she could no longer see the American woman's shame - and stoke her fears for the future.

"Drop coats, prisoners stand to attention, no move, no speak!" the guard instructed as he threw her confiscated handbag onto the pile of cases.

"This is absolutely preposterous; we are not prisoners, we are diplomatic staff, and we demand diplomatic stat... arghhhhh!"

"Leave him, you ... hah!" Now Patricia too gasped in pain when a cane lashed her back as she tried to go to her husband who was moaning on the floor under vicious blows from a baton.

"Western scum learn at Inn of Happiness they obey all orders instantly - if not - it painful! Up! Get up!" a guard barked.

She couldn't believe the guard had the audacity to use his cane on her, yet it was true. A stinging pain throbbed down her back as she obediently shrugged off her thin jacket, thankful to do so in the heat, to stand to attention between Craig and Sarah, trying to smile bravely at them both through her pain and fear.

"Stand straighter, no slouch! Western scum learn discipline!" a guard barked, swishing his cane until they all stood stiffly to attention again. Poor Sarah looked terrified and so vulnerable. The outline of her young body clearly thrust through her low-cut smart designer tee-shirt and jeans as she stood before these beasts whose glinting eyes devoured her. Patricia felt awkward enough in her somewhat enticing clothes. Yet Sarah's were even more seductive, made for clubbing, to provoke rather than to wear on parade in prison. It made Patricia long to comfort her daughter but instead just had to stare miserably ahead, silent and unmoving.

More time passed. She pondered, how could this be happening to them? They were officials from the British diplomatic staff. She had travelled to several exciting locations around the world with her family, never dreaming, apart from her dream, that anyone would ever treat her like this. The fear continued to crawl like a worm in her belly, especially when her gaze drifted casually sideways to the other Westerners toiling at the behest of the brutish guards.

The American woman, probably someone more suited to hosting parties or meetings, continued to toil at the heavy rocks. The sweat of effort covered her curves as she struggled before her amused guards. This simply couldn't be; maybe she was dreaming again, Patricia decided as her brain uselessly tried to find normal and rational patterns of behaviour. Yet when two guards strode up to them, menacing, she knew that it was happening and for real.

"Mr Errins-Smith you come with me. Commandant see you now."

"About bloody time! I'll get this sorted ... gaahhh," he gasped as one guard jabbed him in the belly with his cane.

"Prisoner no talk, no permission to talk, you be respectful to superiors at all times. Now come!" He grabbed Craig's arm, pulling him away.

A sob welled silently in Patricia's throat as Craig briefly looked back at her over his shoulder with frightened pain-filled eyes before being hustled into the large hut before them.

More time passed. She longed to relax from her stiff position but an occasional shout from the watching guards prohibited any movement, making her indeed feel more like a prisoner with every passing moment. It became obvious to her that Craig would have no success with whoever was in charge and that they were doomed to become skivvies like those toiling in the background. Her mind quaked, how long would they be held here?

When she heard a door open around the other side of the hut, accompanied by shouted commands, Patricia quaked. Two guards emerged from the front door of the hut. She nervously licked her dry lips as they advanced on her.

"Please, where's my hus..."

"Silence!" One of them raised his baton threateningly at her. "You come, bring handbag," he shouted at Patricia.

Now it was her turn to look back in trepidation at her daughter as she was taken to the hut. Poor Sarah looked absolutely petrified, standing to attention in the compound all by herself, apart from two baton-swinging guards who all too obviously drank in the swelling of her boobs and bottom thrusting beneath her tight fitting clothing. If only her daughter was wearing something less provocative, Patricia thought despairingly before she soon had other things on her mind.

She stumbled to an undignified halt, recovering from the guard's hefty push before he closed the door behind her. Her belly ached in sick dread as she glanced fearfully around the occupants of the room. Seated centrally behind a desk was a huge oily-looking Chinese man, probably in his late fifties, with gold braid adorning his drab green uniform. His small dark eyes behind wire-framed pebble glasses glittered like sunlight reflecting off a stagnant pond. He smoothed down a pencil-thin moustache to set his greasy jowls wobbling. Then he rearranged a lank of long thin hair over the gleaming dome of his partially bald scalp. She shuddered; he looked so much like the obnoxious policeman in her dreams.

On one side of him was a short but stout muscled sergeant with cropped hair; he looked tough and vicious. Behind him, to her relief and in contrast was a petite young Chinese girl in officer's uniform. To the other side of the desk stood a tall thin Chinese wearing a white gown and a stethoscope. On a blanket in a corner of the room lay a large Doberman, a vicious looking brute who stared at her with intense, almost evil eyes. Patricia hated dogs.

The large seated figure nodded at her, making his chins wobble.

"Good afternoon ... Mrs Errins-Smith," he confirmed looking briefly down at the papers on his desk. "Welcome to the Prison and Internment Camp 7, the Inn of Physical happiness. I am Commandant Santena; I am in charge of this prison camp for political detainees, which is your new home now and into the foreseeable future. First the formalities." He wiped fleshy lips. "I regret that doctor here," he indicated the white-coated man, "he speak very little English so I translate for him. Please remove all clothing for superficial examination."

"What! You cannot expect...!"

Slap!

"Haaah," Patricia reeled back, clutching her face, stinging from a harsh teeth-rattling slap delivered by the muscled sergeant who had leapt forward with a snarl on his enraged face. She blinked back a tear, not having been slapped since schoolgirl fights in the playground twenty years ago. Now she was a grown woman quite unaccustomed to such treatment. Although she was momentarily stunned into immovability the muscled brute who had hit her soon broke the silence.

"Western cow, strip now - or else!" the muscled man screamed, spraying her with spittle, making her flinch back in fear, blinking with shock. "You no need to think you anything special - you shit Western scum!"

"Please..." she looked imploringly first at the impassive doctor and then the elfin like Chinese girl officer, trying to convey to her the all too obvious horror of being told to undress before the men. The dog was stirring; its ears and hackles were raised with the increased tension in the room. She dreaded the thought of it maybe leaping at her, which added to her fear and loathing.

"Mrs Errins-Smith," the slug-like Commandant spoke again, "I suggest that from now on you do exactly as told. My sergeant, Chunka," the casually seated man pointed to the stocky soldier who had slapped and shouted at her, "he try to tell you in his own way that we well equipped here to ensure you do obey. You soon learn, as husband just has, that you now have no rights, no choices. You do as told immediately; follow all orders given here instantly. You now prisoners of Chinese Republic. Your country now hostile to ours, you no leave when you could, you may be regarded as spies and subject to ultimate penalty of spies."

"But ... please we're not spies; we stayed on to help..."

"Silence!" the Commandant's voice now had an edge. "All that now immaterial. All that matter is your country aggressive to ours and you and your family fall into our hands; maybe it fate that we have opportunity to re-educate stupid foreigners like you? No," he held up a large slimy hand, as she made to open her mouth. "You never speak here without permission and you always address Oriental superiors as 'Sir' or 'Miss.' Is that quite clear, Mrs Errins-Smith?"

"I-I, ..." Patricia was frightened and shaken, her face still stinging. She was in unknown territory, her thought process in turmoil, but it quickly condensed into stark fear and clarity when the brute sergeant again raised his hand towards her. She shrank away, fumbling for words to prevent more pain. "Y-yes, yes Sir," she managed to whisper bitterly.

"Good, I glad we understand that. Now I ask again, for last time, please undress for doctor to examine you - or we will have to do it for you, my dear," his voice oozed. His smile was the lewd tip of an iceberg of unspoken obscenity. Desperately she looked round for a cubicle to undress in. "You no need be shy, we see it all before and I sure you Western ladies used to showing everything in public when sunbathe. Take all off just where you are, everything. Hand them to Lieutenant Hasaka for examination," he pointed to the thin Chinese girl. "Your handbag too."

Patricia knew she was beaten. She was being held in a prison camp surrounded by hostile soldiers who cared nothing for her or her safety - they could do unspeakable things to her - even kill her - and none would ever know. Additionally, her daughter stood helpless outside, alone and frightened. She knew she must play along, do whatever they wanted, just survive for Sarah's sake. This was so much worse than her nightmare.

Feeling as if she were drunk, as if she was an automation responding to external commands, Patricia slipped her handbag from her shoulder and passed it to the girl who, with an expressionless face, tipped its entire contents onto the desk. Out spilled her passport, purse, keys, a few photos of her family, make-up, spare knickers, diary and credit cards. Everything she needed to exist as a modern woman; every private thing which gave her, or any woman, a sense of identity was no longer hers - instead it was all on total view to her captors. The girl, ignoring her anxiety and feelings, began to thoroughly go through her things but Patricia couldn't worry too much about that.

Crack!

"Heeeh," she shrieked in dread as the sergeant crashed his bamboo cane across the desk.

"No time you worry about those things, you strip pretty damn quick - now - or it go bad for you and family," the squat brute snarled. "Put clothes on desk for examination."

Clumsily, as if her hands were encased in thick rubber gloves, Patricia turned to the door away from them and peeled off her jumper. It felt so horrible, unnatural to take off the garment in that dirty hut before the leering Chinese. The lovely clothes she had put on that morning in the diplomatic residence, thinking that by now she would be home again in England, had to be meekly handed over to these brutes. Worse was that she had to meekly deposit every article on the desk for them to look at and handle.

After tugging off her jeans and instinctively folding them, she stood awkwardly, clad only in her white bra and panties, anxiously eyeing the dog. Her hands automatically covered her boobs thrusting through a small half-cup bra. Her orbs normally made her feel good about herself and were intended only for Craig's eyes, but now had to be publicly displayed. Her face grew hotter as she blushed prettily, hoping that would be enough. It wasn't.

"The rest please, Mrs Errins-Smith," the Commandant's silky voice oozed perverted excitement at her unwilling display. She felt sick as he stood up and approached her. Then, worse, his podgy, moist hands were stroking her hair, then her neck and shoulders making her shiver and jump before they fumbled at the clasp of her bra.

"Let me help you dear lady," his voice gurgled lust.

"Aahh, no please, no, get off," she twirled, enraged, pushing his hands away. It was a woman's natural, instinctive reaction to an obnoxious perverted creep trying to undress her.

"You now suffer for insolence!" The treacle of his voice was flecked with harsh granite. "Sergeant!" he barked.

"Haah, no please aaaarghhhh," she screamed, squirming helplessly, uselessly in the gorilla-like Chunka's strong hands. They pulled her backwards in a taut arc against him. Her arms twisted painfully behind her brought tears to her eyes and thrust her scantily clad breasts directly at the gross figure of the Commandant. In disgust she felt Chunka's disgusting male bulge pushing against her bottom through the thin material of her knickers.

Slowly, deliberately the Commandant reached for her. She shrank back the little allowed by Chunka's tight grip, only to feel his bulge press harder into her bottom. It was disgusting, making her feel sick.

"Hmm, nice material," the Commandant breathed as his podgy fingers crawled like slugs over her bra, undoing it to gently release the two magnificent globes of her breasts, allowing them to spill out towards him. He licked fleshy lips as he held the garment under his nose before passing it to the girl. "And nice breasts." Patricia felt the sick disgust rise in her throat as he held her boobs, his thumbs circling her nipples till they grudgingly erected into two pink cones of fear and shame. She bit her lip as he bounced them disgustingly as if they were two jellies he was playing with, making her want to tear his hands away. How she hated him! But then he stopped playing with them.

Slap!

"Ooow, haaaa, pleeease," she gasped as he methodically slapped each sensitive globe to make it erupt in agonising pain, left and right. It was a cruel, intimate pain eating right into her femininity.

"Now woman prisoner learn to obey superiors. I teach proper lesson in respect after examination, eh," he smirked, reaching down.