"Some are born to slavery, and others have it thrust upon them. But better to be born to the whips and chains than broken to them."

 

PROLOGUE

 

Suddenly, a shaft of light cut through the darkness of the cell. A light had been switched on in the corridor outside.

Inside, the girl listened nervously. Was it ...? Yes, he was coming: she could hear the footsteps now. She struggled to her feet, her aching naked limbs slow to respond. As she moved, a rattle reminded her of the chain fastened around her ankle and secured to a ring cemented into the wall.

There was a sharp click as the tumblers turned in the lock. The door opened with a groan of unoiled hinges, and he entered. Instinctively, but with little animation, her hands moved to hide her exposed charms, even though she was aware by now he knew every curve of her body almost as well as she did herself; even so, she was vaguely aware of her total nudity and of the fact her hands were not big enough to hide her private parts. Vagueness, indeed, summed up her whole being: she stood, or perhaps cringed is a better word, blinking as her eyes became accustomed to the brighter light after the gloom and semi-darkness in which she had been lying just a minute or two ago, rather as a rabbit stares uncomprehendingly into the headlights of the oncoming truck. She seemed confused, dazed, disoriented, as indeed she was. She did not know what day it was, or what time of day: no natural light reached down to the corridor, cell or the other room a little further along; the whole area was built in a natural cavern below the ground. With no way to mark time, and in any case usually preoccupied with the dreadful things which had been happening to her, the girl had absolutely no idea how long she had been here. At a very approximate guess, it might be two to three weeks. It didn't really matter much: true, she was only supposed to be here for four weeks, but would she be released even then? In her more lucid moments, she was very aware nobody knew where she was, nor indeed was anyone looking for her. In other less lucid times, mostly either during the excruciating torture sessions or in the early period after them when she could still feel the after-effects and lingering pain of the merciless things done to her, it didn't really matter: the only thing she cared about was to stop, or even just reduce, the pain. Life outside this place was unreal, just a fading memory, never to be tasted again. So many things belonged only to the past: warmth of the sun, kindness of friends, freedom, the right of choice, dignity, clothes, her innocence and virginity, and even hope: all gone now. She stood cringing and naked before him, dreading whatever it was he was about to do to her, but no longer capable of any resistance, her hands covering herself only out of a half-remembered sense of modesty.

On this occasion, however, he did not seem interested in looking at her. Instead, he forced her wrists together in front of her and snapped on a pair of handcuffs. His strength belied his age, but she, weakened by pain, hunger and despair, was in no position to resist. He unlocked and removed the chain from her ankle, leaving a red mark on her chafed skin, and pushed her out into the corridor. She limped out mechanically, blinking repeatedly as her eyes adjusted to the light. After another push from her captor, she plodded along the passageway, a far cry from the poised and dignified gait of the same young lady a mere three weeks previously. Exhaustion and pain had peeled away the layers of elegance and humanity, leaving behind the beaten, subservient animal. Even her mind only operated on automatic mode, relaying orders and pain from her captor to her body. She was only vaguely aware of the cool draught caressing her hips and thighs, and the rough cobblestones beneath her bare feet. She could hardly remember how it all began ...

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

The age of nineteen is an age of self-deception. A person of that age can vote, can drive, can get married, can own a house. But in many ways that person is still a child in an adult's body, especially if they have led a sheltered life. Yet both children and adults have pride, and it is pride which so often causes rifts in families and leads to these children in adult bodies leaving home without sufficient plans or money. Sometimes, even after tempers have cooled, pride is too strong for them to admit their mistake and return home.

Such was the case with Susan Rees-Davis. Privately educated, she had stayed on at school at considerable expense to her parents (as they so often pointed out) to do 'A' levels. They wanted her to be a doctor, but the grades in her final exams were nothing like what was required: after all that money they felt quite justified in voicing their criticisms of the way she had studied. It wasn't really fair: she had put in plenty of hours, since she had little social life and few close female friends; moreover, her school being for girls only, she had virtually no contact with boys. This was a waste: she was extremely pretty, beautiful even, with curly black hair and a tall, slim and well-curved body detectable even through the unexciting and unrevealing clothes she usually wore. Boys were a mystery she had never had the courage to investigate. Oh, she knew that she was attractive to them, but never having had any real experience with them, not even a brother, she wouldn't have known what to do if a boy had approached her. Fearful of the embarrassment which might ensue, she dressed to hide and obscure her body and figure rather than display it to its best advantage. This helped to build resentment on the part of some of her classmates, who were much keener on attracting the boys but were nowhere near as lovely as she, and saw her wasting a body and face they would have given so much for. Thus distanced from both male and female companionship, Susan was something of a loner, with an aloof air. From time to time she told herself that she must get around to beginning relationships with boys, but always put it off; in any case, even without taking her uncertainty into account, she frankly wasn't that bothered. Certainly she felt no urges, no desires. Not that she was lesbian: despite being very sheltered, she knew what lesbianism was, and the idea did not find favour with her. But so far no boy that she had met or seen, nor any film or t.v. star, had stirred anything within her.

So, with not much else to do, apart from a few prosaic hobbies such as listening to music and reading, she had spent plenty of time on her school work. However, although quite intelligent, she lacked true academic flair; also, being a doctor was her parents' ambition, not her own. Not that she had any better ideas. She was content with life without being excited by its possibilities. Her parents had chosen both her school and her 'A' level subjects.

But she resented being blamed for not doing well, and years of subconscious irritation at having her life dictated to her welled up in a rapid series of escalating rows with her family. Two weeks after the results arrived, with the thought of another year at home suffering daily recriminations, especially being compared with her elder and more successful sister, things came to a head. Clutching a single suitcase of belongings in one hand, and a bank passbook for access to her meagre savings of a few hundred pounds in the other, she walked out.

"You'll be back!" her father shouted as she stormed down the drive, "and you'll apologise before we let you in!" No way, she said to herself: if she couldn't make it on her own, she would die before going back. To us that might sound melodramatic; to a youngster standing up for herself for the first time in her life, it was deadly serious. If not excited by what she was doing, she was at least sufficiently fired up to be determined. That in itself was a new feeling, and one to which she gave full rein.

Cheap temporary lodgings far enough away from home so she couldn't be found were easy to get, and looking after both them and herself was an interesting novelty, but a job was more difficult to find. Her qualifications were neither good enough nor practical enough for a skilled job, and there were far too many people after the few unskilled jobs on the market. She managed to get a couple of interviews, but she had never really learned how to put herself over verbally. Her school, a rather traditional one, had offered classes in deportment, but not communication. She came across, not inaccurately if truth be told, as pleasant and polite but lacking drive or ambition. Whilst not particularly wishing to scrounge off the state, she had no career that she wanted to pursue, and only wanted a job to get money on which to live. Never having worked, she was only eligible for minor benefits, and she was watching her savings dwindle with growing concern.

Then fortune smiled, or perhaps frowned, on her. At the Job Centre she bumped into an old school friend, well, associate really, called Gillian, who had left school after GCSE exams and, rather more worldly wise than Susan, had since then been making a living in sundry diverse ways about which Susan only had a vague idea. Gillian mentioned that she had once or twice earned money working as a sort of servant - she was rather unspecific about her precise duties or title - for a rich old man who lived in an isolated manor house out in the country. The house and grounds were somewhat unkempt and from time to time needed a good sorting out, and apparently he was quite generous with his payments if the person fitted the bill. Exactly what that meant, Gillian didn't say. Still, almost instinctively Susan made a casual enquiry and ascertained his name, a Mr. Joe Todd, and the address.

Lying in bed that night, she began thinking about what she had heard from Gillian. At first she was inclined to dismiss it as the sort of thing Gillian would do; naive she might be, but she wasn't totally stupid, and she realised that Gillian wouldn't have got the job if she had been male. Of course, it wasn't quite her sort of scene. But slowly a little voice said, why not? She knew, without being immodest, that she was a good deal prettier than Gillian. If he had been prepared to employ her former classmate, then there was every chance that he would be prepared to employ Susan if she was prepared to do the same things, whatever they were. But was she prepared to?

At first, she told herself 'absolutely not'. Gradually, however, she began to retreat on that ultimatum a little. Suppose he just wanted somebody 'decorative' around the place. What harm would that do? She could even do herself up a bit, make herself look really gorgeous: it wouldn't be difficult. Maybe even short skirts and a blouse showing a little of the cleavage she had always hidden. Nothing wrong with that: it might even be fun to take a bit of pride in her looks without worrying about encouraging approaches from boys. Well, why not indeed? She had no religious hang-ups, or moral ones: as far as she was concerned, she could do what she liked with her own body. Just because she never had done anything with it didn't mean that she disapproved. Anyway, what was it that she would have to do? So a lonely old man was prepared to pay for a pretty young girl to brighten his life up a bit, maybe show her legs off, or even other things; perhaps even a kiss and a cuddle from time to time, or even frequently. It was almost like being charitable, and if he was a nice man - and Gillian hadn't spoken badly about him - it wouldn't be too bad. She used to give her grandfather a kiss when he visited; no great difference really.

But what if he wanted more? Some men liked to see pretty girls with very few clothes on. That would take a lot of nerve. Maybe a very short skirt; maybe a blouse with quite a few buttons undone so that he could get the occasional glimpse down it. That would take a lot of nerve. Her parents would not have approved; but damn it, it was her body, and her life now, so she could do whatever she liked. What would it be like, she wondered, appearing semi-dressed in front of a man? A scary thought, not too pleasant perhaps, but not entirely out of the question. Susan acknowledged honestly to herself that she was slowly coming to terms with this idea; of course, always in the background was the fact that she had to do something before her money ran out and she was forced to ... well, what could she do? Being perfectly frank, she had little choice but to come to terms with this idea. Just as long as it did not go too far. Her impression was that Gillian had not been a prostitute for him. Doubtless that young hussy would probably have consented if the price was right - Susan sniffed imperiously - but it would be clear to him as soon as he saw Susan that she was not that sort of a girl. And if he wanted just a bit of horseplay, or whatever one might call it? Well, let's leave that decision till later, but Susan didn't rule it out of consideration.

In the cold light of morning she decided that she had been letting her imagination run away a bit. What this man was really looking for, by the sound of it, was an attractive young housekeeper who didn't mind a couple of slight liberties being taken. There were plenty of stages between that and ... well, going too far, and Susan could draw the line somewhere. If he wanted more than she was prepared to allow, and wouldn't compromise, she could always leave. Having stood up to her parents, she was confident that she could stand up for herself now if need be. It was worth a try; she was very aware of the dwindling state of her finances, and her lack of options. She wrote him a letter, saying that she had heard that he might be interested in employing a housekeeper, and could she call on him to discuss the possibility? She explained her situation a little, enough to let him know her age: after all, she didn't want him thinking she was an elderly matronly type! She also tried to get across the point that she was desperately in need of a job, trying to emphasise ... well, to be truthful, she wasn't quite sure herself of exactly what she was trying to say. It took quite a few drafts to get the text right, and when she posted it she didn't really expect a reply. Perhaps the passport photograph she had taken and included, with her trying to look polite but a little less prim than usual, did the trick, because she got one, giving a date and time for her to call.

Now she was beginning to have real misgivings, but felt sufficiently committed to keep the appointment. She told nobody where she was going, partly because she was not too proud of herself for trying this, but also because there wasn't really anyone to tell: she was very much alone in the world. She would have liked to talk it over with someone, get them either to confirm that she was doing the right thing, or talk her out of it if she was doing something stupid, but there was nobody that close to her that she could confide in. To be truthful, there never had been.

The place certainly was isolated. The nearest bus still left her with about a mile to walk, but she couldn't afford a taxi. When she got there, she found it to be an old building, possibly a farmhouse at one time or something like that; history had never been her strong point, her 'A' levels had been in sciences. It was well set back from the road, up a winding dirt track, with a large but uncultivated garden. She saw at once that it was rather run down, although the reason seemed to be neglect rather than financial lack, since the car in the drive was an expensive type. She looked long and hard at that car, sporty and ostentatious. A man who owned a car like that would quite likely want to own a pretty girl to go with it. Did she really want to be that sort of girl? Very nervous now, she knocked on the door.

He opened the door. She rather timidly introduced herself and politely but without saying much he led her inside. The place was well furnished but dusty and untidy. She followed him in to a lounge where they both sat, each sizing up the other. If he was retired, she decided, he must have done so early: he couldn't be more than mid to late fifties, and in fairly good condition; a receding hairline and slightly craggy skin were the only things which really showed his age. He was a big man, muscular and almost burly without seeming rough, but with just a slight undertone of menace, although that might be down to her imagination and nerves, she decided. His temperament, after all, seemed very congenial, and he smiled politely and encouragingly to put her at her ease, but beyond that he gave nothing away. The comparison she had been making with her aged, feeble and kindly grandfather, she realised, was quite invalid. She looked at him and wondered what he would want of her - evidently he was interested, or he would not have invited her here - and whether she would be able to agree to give it. A hundred times over the last few days she had decided to agree to almost anything, and a hundred other times she had resolved to refuse even the slightest of liberties, and to demand a straightforward job or nothing. Now at last, in a few minutes time, she would know what he wanted and would have to make up her mind what to do.

Meanwhile, whilst she was partly studying him and partly trying to steady her nerves and sort out the turmoil in her head, he was calmly studying her. In spite of her misgivings, she had dressed the part: split skirt and collar well open. She hadn't owned either a short or split skirt, and so had gone out and bought a cheap one, feeling very self-conscious as she had walked from her lodgings to the bus stop wearing it. The blouse had been an ordinary one, and at first on her journey she had just the top button undone as usual; just before entering his drive she had undone the second button and, after a moment's hesitation, the third as well. Now, as she sat facing him, she realised that he could see more than a little of her upper leg; automatically she began to re-position herself, then stopped as she remembered the impression she had to give, but not without a new feeling somewhere between embarrassment and distaste. Time seemed to stand still, until at last he spoke. He asked questions about her situation, and she was open about her problems. Before coming out she had checked her bank account, partly to convince herself to keep the appointment. Within another couple of weeks she would have to give up the tiny flat she was renting on a week to week basis. She had nowhere to go after that but the street. At every difficult moment, she reminded herself of that fact.

"The problem is that I don't really need a housekeeper, my dear," he said. "I only use a small section of the house, and the garden doesn't matter to me. However, from your letter you seemed a nice girl, and meeting you has confirmed that, and I would like to help if I can, so I do have a proposal if you are interested." This was the sort of thing she had half expected, so despite the butterflies in her tummy she nodded. At least he was prepared to be direct, rather than employ her and then take advantage of her. "I don't really want a servant," he continued, "but it might be amusing to have a slave."

That wasn't quite the line she had expected, and took her a bit by surprise, but on reflection it seemed sort of in the same direction. He stopped, waiting for a reaction from her before continuing. She nodded, but that wasn't enough for him, so she said in a small voice, "go on".

"I propose, what shall we say, a four week period. You will live in, and I will pay you, let's say, three thousand pounds plus board and lodging, but you will do exactly what I tell you, and be warned that sometimes it will hurt."

What did he mean by that? But three thousand pounds! Living carefully and with the help of her benefit money, that would keep her going for ages, a year at least, surely long enough to find a job. Still, what exactly did he mean? No, on second thoughts it didn't matter what he meant; she had no choice, not really. It was accept him, go back to her parents or end up living on the street. Of the last two choices, she would rather end up begging in the gutter than return to her family. His offer, whatever it entailed, was her only hope of salvation. Whatever she would have to do, she would accept. On the spur of the moment, she made her decision. With that settled in her mind, she began to ask questions more out of curiosity than anything else.