CHAPTER ONE - ALL IN A DAY'S WORK

 

I put my hand gently on the bare female behind. My fingers sought the deep groove of the biggest weal; as they found it, I felt the lovely twenty-two year-old young woman flinch sharply. The sound of her whimper mixed with the noise of her body moving on the examination table. It was a hollow table, so each movement echoed loudly. The girl's hands, down by her svelte sides, clenched into small fists and then unclenched again. There was pain, fear, anger and frustration in those tiny reactions. The anger was not directed against me, but against the sadist who had inflicted those agonising welts on her youthful body. The welts were fresh, delivered less than ten minutes ago and her firm, curvaceous flesh was hot.

There was little that I would be able to do to diminish the pain she was suffering. Besides, doctor or not, that was not really my job. The girl's captors had decreed that she should be punished and it was certainly not my place to do anything to alleviate that punishment; and that was that. They had merely asked me to check her over afterwards, knowing that she was new to this nightmare (for her) existence and not wanting to lose a good asset through a seizure or anything like that. She was young, true, but even teenagers can suffer heart attacks or other debilitations and they had worked her over fairly thoroughly even for them.

Still, I might be able to help in another way, as a counsellor. After well over a decade as a doctor looking after slaves, I have a great deal of experience. Those four emotions that I spoke of, for instance, can be split into two pairs: on the one hand, anger at what was being done to her and frustration at her own helplessness; on the other hand, the more submissive reactions of fear and pain. It was important that fear and pain win the battle within her. They would do so sooner or later, inevitably, but the sooner it was, the less the girl would suffer. Of course, that would not stop her suffering altogether.

I moved around to the top of the table above her head and pulled up a chair. She raised her head to look at me, sniffling a little. As she lifted her head, I could see the deep, inviting gorge down her cleavage between two plump young breasts. She was, of course, totally naked. Don't, please, tell me that as a doctor I ought not to be affected by such things: any man would, at least one with any libido still in him, and I'm only in my mid-forties after all. Besides, in this wonderful world, I don't even have to disguise it.

"You'll live," I said brightly. "I'll leave you some cream to rub into your bottom. It'll soon heal the weals."

"I could use some painkillers," she said without much hope.

I shook my head. "You were punished for a reason. To take the pain away, even if I could, would defeat the object."

"Thanks a lot," she said bitterly. "I thought you were a doctor."

"I am," I said with a slight smile. "Don't you believe me?" The other girls in the compound would undoubtedly have told her that I was indeed a practising GP; some of them had known me, albeit only since their enslavement, for some years.

"Then how can you let such things go on? Why don't you report all this to the police?"

"Don't let's go into all that again. I'm not going to and that's that. You know what will happen if I report that you tried to get me to blow the whistle."

A look of terror flashed across those beautiful blue eyes. "No, please, don't do that. I didn't mean ..."

"Shh, I know you did, but I won't. However, you do take my meaning. Your masters wouldn't like it."

The azure eyes hardened a little. "My masters," she said bitterly, almost snorting the word. If her bottom hadn't been throbbing so much, she would have snarled it.

"Yes, your masters. Face facts, Celia, that's just what they are. They're in total control of you. You can't escape from here and you can't fight them. The sooner you come to accept that, the better for you."

She looked pained. "I can't!" she almost wailed. "I've got a life, a flat, a boyfriend, a future ..."

"You had each of those things, but no more. Or rather, you have new versions of each. You still have a life, just a very different one. You had your own flat, now you have a slave cell. At least there's no mortgage on it. Instead of one boyfriend, now you have lots of male ... well, perhaps not quite admirers. Let's say that you have lots of men to serve. You'll certainly not be short of physical male attention, as you've already found out." She shuddered. "And you still have a future: you have a great body and you'll make a fine slave."

"Thanks a lot," she said dejectedly, colouring a little as she remembered her nudity.

"Do you know how many beautiful young girls like you disappear each year, abducted into slavery? The number's quite fantastic. With the right friends in the right places, most of the cases never hit the national press; in many cases, some skilful work ensures that nobody even realises the girl is missing. Once here, none of them ever escape or are found and this has been going on for decades. What makes you think you'll be the first to buck the system?"

She absorbed all this. She was a bright girl: I liked her. She brought her arms up, placing her hands underneath her cute chin. It raised her torso slightly higher, bringing a little more of those lovely breasts into view. She saw where my eyes were focused, but after a momentary uncertainty she didn't alter her position: poor Celia had been fully naked for three weeks now, since her arrival here and there were plenty of men around, so she was growing just a little accustomed to it. It was one early step on the road to slavery.

She spoke again. "So what are you suggesting I should do? Give in to them?"

"Yes." There was a long silence whilst I let this sink in, then I went on. "They'll keep on thrashing you until you do give in. Tell me, is your resistance effective?"

She shrugged. I saw her creamy round breasts lift and fall in time with her shoulders. For a brief moment, the dark nipples came into view, vividly contrasting against her otherwise naturally pale skin.

"For example," I pressed, "how many times have you had penetrative sex this week?" She flushed hotly, and said nothing. I gave her a gentle, almost conspiratorial smile. "I am a doctor, you know."

The smile was lost on her, but after reflecting for a few moments she said, "all right: six times. I suppose those bastards upstairs will tell you themselves if you ask them. What's your point?"

"Don't call them bastards, it's not a good habit," I advised gently. "Now then, did you consent on any of those six occasions, co-operate even?"

"Of course not," she said frostily.

"Of course not," I repeated mildly. "So what did they do? Hold you down, tie you to a bed, maybe a spreader bar?"

"Sometimes each," she said shortly and very quietly. "Your point?" she repeated.

"My point is that you defended your honour as hard as you could, with zero effect. You got fucked, if you'll pardon the term, whether you resisted or not. When has your resistance actually spared you anything? Isn't the only result of your resistance thrashings like the one you've just had?"

"What do expect me to do, throw my arms around them and invite them in?"

"You might just as well do, they're going in anyway. How many times are you going to be having sex next week?"

"I don't know. As many times as they want to do it. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"It's a small start, yes. But the big breakthrough is when you can let it happen without having to be tied down. Eventually, yes, you'll put your arms around them and make every effort to give them pleasure, because it's less painful than the beatings; and then one day it will just be second nature."

"Like a prostitute, you mean?"