CHAPTER 1 - THE ADVERT

 

Anybody watching very closely would have observed a furtive and guilty air about Barbara Stein.

Not that it was the first thing one would notice about her. She was, after all, a strikingly beautiful eighteen year-old brunette. She was tall, with a well proportioned body shown off by her figure-hugging jeans and t-shirt without exposing anything untoward: her clothes, like her manner and indeed her whole life, were outwardly rather conservative. Her shoulder length, curly hair was kept back by a hair band, and framed a lovely face with a small, upturned nose, classical cheek bones, small but capable mouth and big eyes that nearly always looked down towards her feet through some inner embarrassment rather than face people. Her complexion was perfect, adding to her air of innocence.

So why the worried glances as she made her way down the quiet street early on a summer's morning?

The reason was quite simple, but highly surprising to anybody who knew the apparently guile-less young lady. Hidden from view as much as she could was a brown paper bag, inside which was a magazine she had just bought. A sex magazine.

Hurrying home, Barbara managed to enter the house and get to her room without encountering the aged aunt and uncle with whom she lived. She tore open the bag, extracted the magazine and then, putting it inside another, bigger ordinary magazine in case anybody came into her room without warning, began to eagerly flip the pages. It was a soft-porn magazine, with plenty of pictures of naked or near-naked young women in the arms (and more) of muscular, dominating men. She devoured each picture hungrily.

It was the third such publication that she had bought, all from the same newsagents well across town. She had been very nervous each time, fearful of discovery and yet feeling a thrill from that same danger of discovery. The first time, she had seen the magazine on the top shelf and immediately felt an overwhelming desire to buy it. It was the culmination of a growing interest in such things: for some time now, she had found on entering any newsagents that her eyes were drawn to such publications, and she had noted when looking at the t.v. papers which films and programmes looked more juicy, but had been unable to watch them because of the presence of her rather straight-laced guardians. Slowly she had found herself wanting to become involved in what was to her the new and exciting but totally alien world of sex.

The sudden desire to buy that magazine had then battled long and hard with both caution and inhibition, and she had been in and out of the newsagents half a dozen times over a couple of days before she finally took the plunge. The middle-aged woman on the counter had barely noticed when she paid for it, buying a quite unwanted newspaper at the same time to cover it. Now Barbara timed her visits to when the woman was on duty: she seemed to take so little interest in anything that Barbara felt able, just about, to take her illicit purchases to the counter, always covered by some more respectable publication which she didn't really want.

Lying on her bed now, Barbara pored over both the pictures and text. She gazed enviously at women flaunting themselves in a way she didn't think she could ever work up the courage to do: she'd never even had a boyfriend! She stared in wonder at the men, feeling her juices flow as she admired the male members she had never seen in real life. She hoped that the toilet tissues she had put inside her panties absorbed her wetness, because she would not be able to explain soiled undies to her aunt.

Barbara was the product of a strict upbringing by very prim and proper parents, a convent education and a rigid social life which had combined to preclude almost all contact with the opposite sex. Her parents having died a year ago in a car accident, she had gone to live with her aunt and uncle whilst completing her schooling. Childless themselves and considerably advanced in their years, they had no real idea of what to do with her, and she too was at a loss as to where to go now. Her parents had planned for her to become a doctor, ignoring all the evidence which pointed out that she had neither the academic ability nor the drive and determination (or even interest) to achieve that aim. By pulling strings, they had got her offers to universities based on grades she knew she could never hope to achieve. Now, although the results of her final exams were not yet out, she was quite certain that she was not going to get onto any of the courses she had applied for, or rather been made to apply for.

So what now? Although her aunt and uncle were kind and supportive, they didn't really want her living with them in perpetuity. Nor did she really want to stay in this stuffy, claustrophobic place forever, and it wasn't fair on her hosts anyway. But where else? Her only other near relative was her sister, three years older and well into a career in journalistic research. Barbara had a fair sum of money from her share of the inheritance, but hardly enough to live on. She needed a job, and yet nothing appealed to her. In recent months she had begun to fantasize about all sorts of exotic employment: first an air hostess, then (one of the first real signs of her deviations) a barmaid, then a model, a stripper and finally a prostitute. Of course, it was only fantasy, but it had grown progressively more extreme, surprising herself and culminating in the purchase of the magazines. Make-believe was increasingly preferable to reality.

Then, as she turned the pages of her magazine, she saw the advert.

"Wanted: slave girls for three year contracts. Must be beautiful, obedient and promiscuous, also willing to accept very strict discipline. Demanding job, but well paid. Full training offered for novices." A box number for applications followed.

Barbara read the advert over and over, fascinated. Her initial response was to use the advert as the basis for a daydream. She imagined herself grovelling, scantily clad, at the feet of some ruthless man, attending his every whim. This was one of her best and most lurid fantasies to date and she spent some considerable time luxuriating in it. Then, focusing on the word "promiscuous", she imagined herself serving him in bed, pleasuring him like the expert in love she knew she was not. Her dreams were vivid and intense, and it was a good job she was on holiday, because they occupied much of the morning.

But then, gradually, she began to think about actually, really, sending in an application. This was a new fantasy, not such an obviously implausible one, but something that could, just conceivably, happen. That made it even more enjoyable. She could actually do it. In fact, why not? A hard knot of excitement seemed to form in her tummy. Of course it would come to nothing, but even so it would be worth doing, just to add fuel to her dreams. But supposing, just supposing, she was offered a position? Would she take it? She found that she wanted to, but could she go through with it?

By the end of the morning, she was determined to apply. The advert had given no indications as to what information was needed apart from a passport photograph, so she wrote a very brief letter, giving only her name and age, vaguely expressing an interest in the advert without mentioning any details and enclosing, not without qualms, a tiny passport picture. Would some lecherous old man end up drooling over that photograph? She felt herself go flushed at the thought, and yet somehow, although this was no longer just a fictitious scene in her imagination, it still wasn't quite as unpleasant a thought as it should have been. She had never had a man take such a close interest in her before, although she was occasionally aware of the odd admiring glance as she walked down the street. Forcing down her nerves, Barbara posted the letter.

For the next few days, she was awake early every morning, listening for the postman and racing down to the letterbox as soon as she heard him. Apart from her aching desperation to get a reply to her letter, it was important that she get the envelope before her aunt or uncle saw it and began asking questions. She rarely, if ever, got any mail.

And then, one morning, inbetween two bills for her uncle, she saw it. A plain brown envelope, first class stamp, addressed to her in neat typing. London postmark. She raced back to her room and tore it open.

"Dear Miss Stein," it read: "thank you for your application. If it is convenient to you, please come to the above address for interview on Thursday August 11th at 11 a.m. prompt. Please telephone to confirm. Yours sincerely, Ivan Redwood."

Barbara read the brief note over and over again, excitement mounting. What had started out as merely an extension to her fantasies was now a real possibility. Did she really have a chance of getting this? She looked again at the advert, which she had carefully preserved. She wasn't really beautiful, at least not in her own (totally incorrect) opinion, but she was quite pretty. Obedience? She could manage that. As for being promiscuous, well, the enthusiasm was certainly there!

She did not dare telephone from the house, so she went out to a call box. Nervously, she dialled the number on the letter and waited. She jumped when it was answered, a cultured woman's voice who introduced herself as Mr. Redwood's secretary, and she had to fight down the impulse just to put the phone down and run away.

"Oh, er, hello," she stammered. "This is Barbara Stein. I, er, got your letter this morning. The interview date is, um, fine." Right up to that moment, she had been undecided between confirming and cancelling the whole thing.

"Good; Mr. Redwood will be looking forward to meeting you."

"Is there, um, anything I need to bring?"

"No, just yourself. See you on Thursday. Goodbye."

Barbara heard the click of the receiver being put down at the other end and realised that she had been holding her breath. She had never been so nervous in her life - not surprisingly, really. But Thursday would be far worse!