CHAPTER 1

 

In a dim and forbidding cell a beautiful girl cries inwardly. She longs to cry openly, to sob her heart out but daren't; she is terrified of drawing attention to herself. The only sound she can hear is that of her own laboured breathing. Her bleak terror extends to her doing anything at all which might get her hurt again. She has decided that she must do whatever they say, whatever is necessary to avoid that pain, to stop it happening again. Her absolute obedience to the fiends who are subjecting her to this hell is the only way she knows to try and reduce her suffering.

Where is she? She ponders. Somewhere deep in the country is her best guess, somewhere underground, a cellar or something, maybe? It didn't matter, she knew nobody would ever find her; she is on her own, no one had seen her being taken and the people are too well organised and ruthless to allow her any thoughts of escape. In fact they seemed to be sadists who enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering on her helpless body.

A tear of fear and self-pity wells up but she bravely stifles it. She'd like to wipe it away but she has been forbidden to move; her hands must remain clasped to her head. A shiver of dread and cold ripples down the perfect arch of her spine to the enticing swelling of her hindquarters, making her bare breasts bounce very slightly. How she wished that she could close her long toned legs from their blatant and obscenely wide pose. It was degrading, allowing anyone watching - and she was sure that they were watching - to see all of her exposed femininity.

She was a sophisticated girl used to the trappings of power and having men fawning over her. But now she is alone, stark naked and under observation from creeps who have already shown their absolute contempt and hate for her.

Her belly quakes in dread whenever her terrified thoughts flick to whatever humiliation and pain they may next have in store for her. Only one thing is for sure, she couldn't avoid it and must just try to endure it.

She licks her dry and quivering lips in fear as a trickle of sweat runs down the delectable curve of her breast.

***

The knock on the door startled Damien out of a misery of introspection. He simply couldn't understand why his long-term girlfriend, Liz, hadn't got in touch since leaving London for the West Country a day earlier with a film production assistant - it was so unlike her not to even ring. And she wasn't answering her mobile. He guessed she had become too obsessed with researching to think about others. Typical Liz, he decided with a bitter shrug.

She was a film actress and had been trying to hunt down leads for her next possible role, planned for next year, on a woman-only sect - the Sisterhood of Silk. Yet, he thought with some accepted selfishness on his part, Christmas wasn't that far away. They hadn't spent any festive seasons apart since they had become an item. All of the preparations and present buying would be left to him the way things were going, he decided gloomily.

He knew little and indeed was not sufficiently interested to care much, about this Sisterhood sect that Liz was investigating. What little he had guessed and surmised on the apparent popularity of the secretive order he had put down to a current fad connected with demands for greater opportunities for women by women without the need for men.

No-one really knew much about this order or their origins and goals, hence Liz's research to aid her chances of landing a starring part in any film about them. They seemed to have come to people's attention a few years back with demands for more empowerment for women, pyramid selling for housewives and its anonymous backers were now demanding frozen fertilised eggs for the sole use of females. The outcry about reducing the role of men to mere studs had been enormous and Damien had imagined that it was simply a fad, which would die.

Yet apparently some film producer with an over-active imagination had thought it could be a defining moment and worthy of a film. Liz had been hooked on the project with the lure of her having a starring role.

Some of Liz's attempts to access this 'cult,' as Damien had come to see them, had been unsuccessful and this had lent an embittered slant to her televised interviews on chat shows where she had asked the organisers to at least meet with her. In her frustration at her lack of success so far she had not fallen far short of publicly castigating them. Damien thought that, as usual, Liz was taking things too far and was not aiding her quest for co-operation and information. In his view she should accept that the, no doubt dowdy, women of the Sisterhood had no interest in a glamorous 'star' like Liz portraying them, with a probable sexual slant to assist the box office receipts.

However, Damien knew that Liz needed this possible role. Her career had not exactly been soaring of late and something like this, which fuelled controversy, would help her. He guessed too that it would help prove to herself that at twenty five she wasn't over the acting 'hill' for the young glamorous parts in which had made her name.

"I've the clothing that the lady living here - your wife or girlfriend? - ordered from her catalogue, probably for Christmas? There's not that many shopping days left now, you know," announced the pretty yet severe blonde woman to whom he answered the door.

"Look, I'm afraid that she's ..."

"If she's out she said for her partner to sign for it," the woman breezed in before Damien's befuddled brain could react. Automatically he closed the door behind her.

"You recognise these?" In the privacy of the house the woman produced a tiny red bra and pants set from her bag. It was of the style Liz often wore and it only served to remind Damien to worry anew about his absent girlfriend.

"I-I well ... they ... er ... look like the sort of thing she wears, I'm sure she'll be happy with them. Do you want me to sign?" he stuttered, trying to appear interested. However, he had to concede that the thought of his lovely Liz wearing such things did stir his loins a little.

"Oh yes indeed," the woman beamed. "They are not 'just the sort of style' but they are in fact the actual style. In fact these are the same pretty bra and knickers she was wearing the other day. They still have the rather nice scent of her on them, you'll find." The woman beamed again into Damien's confusion. "Yes, she took them off and now she's wearing ... well, right now she's not wearing anything, actually, and I think she'd rather be covering her rather delightful charms but well ... she's not allowed to at present." The woman's smile was now sadistic, her eyes holding and penetrating his.

"What! I'm afraid I don't understand! You're saying you've seen Liz?" Damien just couldn't take in why this woman would claim to have his girlfriend's underwear - unless she had an accident? "Is she...? Where is she? Is she OK?" Now he was beginning to panic.

"She's fine ... the Sisterhood in which she was so interested in finding is now looking after her ... at the moment. But how well she continues to be looked after, or suffers, and indeed her whole fate depends rather a lot on you." The woman's smile was positively wicked. "Take a look at these." She took out some coloured photos.

Damien's belly flipped.

In the first picture Liz was sat bound facing backwards into a large and sturdy old-fashioned wooden dining chair facing its uncompromising backrest. Her elegant legs were necessarily splayed wide either side of the chair's back and thick twine bound her knees to its upright pillars. More twine similarly bound the top of her toned thighs and tied equally tightly fastened them to the chair seat. Her slim ankles were bound to the back legs. Further, her wrists were twisted up behind her back and secured with more of the same black twine between her shoulder blades. Her face, half turned towards the camera, showed her large pretty green eyes distended wide with fear above a large cloth gag. The beads of sweat and the lines creasing her lovely features were indicative of the tight pain of her binding. There were angry red marks flushing her white skin where the twine bit deep into her softness. It obviously held her quite helpless and immobile.

Worst of all though perhaps was the fact that she was stark naked apart from a slim steel collar around her slim throat. The camera caught the gorgeous swelling of her hindquarters, which had a few thin red lines of torment across them. Her lush curves covered in an enticing sheen of fear also seemed to attract the lurid gaze of the masked fat man standing beside her. The photo showed his hand casually resting, with complete possession, on one of her elegant, bare shoulders.

The pose, the revealing photograph as a whole, said it all. The man did indeed have possession of his girlfriend. She looked so completely helpless and vulnerable before him.

"What the hell! Is it s still from some weird film? If it is I don't think much of ...What have you done to her? Where - where is she?"

Half formed thoughts and questions crashed across Damien's befuddled brain. He only knew that he wanted to be with his girlfriend, help and comfort her. He somehow knew that this wasn't from some film. He didn't think she'd ever been in any really perverted films such as this. And if he was honest, he doubted whether she was a sufficiently good enough actress to show such fear. She looked so utterly lost and frightened that he could indeed imagine her fear. It made him sick with apprehension, as if a deep pit had suddenly opened in his belly. He was not a naturally brave person but it made him want to ride in on a white charger and rescue her from her captors.

"Keep looking - there's lots more." The woman smiled brightly as if showing off a catalogue.

If indeed it was a catalogue it was a catalogue of fear and pain. In the second picture Liz she was still in the chair but this time instead of the gag bulging her cheeks she was wearing a kind of clear glass helmet resting on her bare shoulders above a tight black rubber collar around her neck. It was a bit like a heavy old-fashioned diver's helmet. But instead of it being sealed to keep out the water there was instead a funnel in the top of the helmet into which the masked man was pouring water. A thick black belt around Liz's neck, together with the collar, pulled her upper body forwards to the chair back whist keeping her head upright to throw out her back in an enticing curve emphasising the curve of her perfect bottom. The bondage also thrust into stark relief each delicate nodule of her spine, also ensuring that she couldn't tilt her head to any great extent and dislodge the helmet.

The fourth shot showed the hideous helmet full of water. Liz's eyes were desperately wide within it, bubbles coming from her gaping mouth as she fought to breathe whilst the masked man's hands held her smooth shoulders. Damien went cold at the thought that she had been killed, his fists clenched into hams. Then, relief, of sorts, flooded him as the next shot showed the helmet removed and her delicious body shining with water. The masked man's fist was bunched in her drenched hair so that her pain-dulled eyes faced the camera. His other hand obscenely cupped one of her glistening breasts, his dirty fingers cruelly pinching its red peak.

"She survived her ordeal by water, you see, but that kind of thing could happen to your lovely girlfriend over and again. Look at this." The woman produced a digital viewer.

In the tiny moving coloured clip, Liz was still bound to the chair, naked, her long dark hair still drenched; she coughed but was then speaking.

"D-Damien, please, I've been taken by the Sisterhood. Please-please oh heavens please do whatever they want or they say they'll do - do horrible things to me and you'll n - never see me again. Please, I'm begging you do something ...whatever they want ... help me!" The clip ended on Liz's desperate plea.

In a final still photograph she was still naked and bound, gagged again and now lying on her belly on the floor, her ankles pulled back and fastened to her bound wrists. Again her bonds were tight, the twine eating into her limbs. In this shot a masked woman in a leather cat-suit viewed his girlfriend's naked body. The woman's high-heeled boot rested on Liz's bare bottom. The pose emphasised the several red lines running across the delightfully curvaceous cheeks of her bottom as if she had been caned. Liz's eyes were wide with fear. The smirking woman's foot rested on his girlfriend's helpless nudity like a white hunter with a trophy, making bitterness and panic froth desperately in his heart.

Yet the sight of his lovely Liz in the hands of those terrible people, their hands on her body simply served to remind him of him being with her. She was a wonderful girl making such a beautiful and enthusiastic fuck. He recalled his hand sliding down the curve of her spine to hold her gorgeous bottom, squeezing and stroking as the liquid heat of her sex slid just as enthusiastically slid deeply over his straining erection whilst her mouth and tongue darted with his.

"That just about sums up the predicament in which your lovely girlfriend has found herself, Damien." The blond girl spoke in a matter-of-fact tone as if discussing a medical prognosis or a business deal. "She belongs to the ladies of the sect and will remain ours until we say otherwise, even if she doesn't enjoy all of the ... er ... attention' which I thought actresses always craved. There's no way that anyone, least of all you, could ever find where she is being held. But be assured that if by chance anyone did stumble across her - her fate would be very - er - precarious, in fact probably fatal." The girl looked him squarely in the eye for emphasis.

Damien knew that Liz was totally heterosexual and yet now she was in the hands of the lesbian dykes in the sect and he couldn't get her away. She would have to do as they told her while they played until they chose to release her. He knew that he was helpless to intervene. His only thoughts were what he could later say to the police.

He was too shocked to react when the girl opened the door to a helmeted lad dressed in motorbike gear.

"The sect uses men and we are planting surveillance devices around your house," she explained. "You may be thinking of telling the authorities. But let me assure you," she placed her hands on his shoulders, "if you tell anyone, anyone at all about what has happened to Liz, we'll know about it. I'm afraid then that will seal Liz's fate. You would never see her again and would always have the, painful, manner of her passing on your conscience," She finally released his shaking shoulders. "You will be followed, your phone will be tapped and we have friends in high places." She lied convincingly to the worried man. "If anyone asks you will say that Liz has gone away to do some research for a film; the film company have been told that too. If you say anything different she will suffer the torment of the damned for days before we finally grant her the peace of oblivion." Her tone was totally convincing.

"But why...?"

"Well I'm afraid your little prissy girlfriend became too nosey and rude about us too. Despite her being, as she would see herself, as a 'famous' actress, she now needs to be taught the meaning of respect and female bonding - and she will be - you can be assured of that," the girl added harshly.

"Please don't-don't h-hurt her," he practically sobbed. "I'll do whatever you say if you'll let her go but how? When ...?

"Have no fear, she will be allowed to go when she is ready. It may be a week, two weeks, two years whatever it takes before we are satisfied with her educational progress and contrition. The important thing is for you to act totally normally, get on with your life, obey the instructions we give you, just as Liz must obey us to avoid unnecessary suffering. She may be out before you know it." The girl and the leather-clad boy prepared to leave.

"But... but can I speak to her, see her just so I know ..."

"We will keep in touch and we will in fact require a small initial financial donation tomorrow to pay for her ... er ... 'training' by the Sisterhood, fifty thousand. We know you can easily afford it by cashing in one of your bonds. Liz has given us details of such holdings. Then maybe we can let you know more of her progress towards sisterhood. Until then, her fate depends on your silence." The girl smiled coldly before closing the door on him.

Damien experienced a few minutes of silent shock whilst he absorbed the enormous and life-changing impact of the girl's visit. The money meant nothing. It was true he could afford it - and so could Liz - what mattered was his girlfriend's safety. He mixed himself a stiff drink then buried his face in his hands. He tried to imagine what she must be going through.