Chapter 1

 

Most civilised people imagine that slavery has long been dead and buried except perhaps for some isolated pockets buried deep in darkest Africa or in semi-secret harems in parts of the Arabian Peninsula. But certainly not in modern Europe and especially the United Kingdom. Heavens no! We are civilised and we led the world in the anti-slavery movement in the Nineteenth Century. We certainly wouldn't be a party to such a horrible practice nowadays...

How little people really know. I know, because I am a police officer, or rather was a police officer. I was in a special projects squad that was on a particular assignment to root out suspicious disappearances of women in a part of Wales. We weren't aware of the full scale of the operation or who was perpetrating it. We weren't even aware of the precise location of its base of operations. We had little information at all, really. But the Powers That Be had decided the number of disappearances and the characteristics of the abductees pointed to something that was both very suspicious and extremely worrying.

It had been decided to plant a bait and I volunteered to be that bait. It happens that I filled the bill well enough. The girls who had disappeared were all in the age bracket eighteen to mid twenties and all were attractive, to say the least. I was just twenty-two and hope I am not being immodest when I say I had inherited good looks from my parents and since I was sports-mad, also had a good figure.

I wasn't really worried about the risks since Joe, my partner who was to be my tail for the op, was a very competent officer. He was to be in constant contact with a covert van that would be following some way behind his nondescript car that would in turn be trailing my quite flamboyant little Ford.

The girls who had disappeared had all been alone and had been driving the lonely roads of Wales when they-and their vehicle - had just disappeared off the face of the earth.

Alas, what we didn't know was that they had been watching us-all three vehicles, from the moment we entered the Principality. They had a mole in Scotland Yard and he was senior enough to be aware of our operations. But when I noted that Joe's car was no longer behind me, I still didn't worry. I thought he would catch up in a moment or two ...

He didn't. In fact, it was only a couple of minutes after I noticed his car was no longer behind me that I was pulled up by a barricade across the road. They were efficient. I have to give them that. A man in worker's clothes approached my side of the car, all smiles and apologies but when he reached me, a gun poked into my window and I was ordered out. Another 'worker' hopped into my car while a third gathered up the barricades and put them into the back of the 'council truck' into which I was pushed. I was placed in the seat behind the driver between two of the spurious workers and one of them jabbed my arm with a syringe.

When I woke up it was to find myself on the floor of a very well-appointed library. The walls were panelled in oak and the books on the shelves all looked like first editions. The paintings on the other walls were all originals and even to my un-practised eye, were obviously all masters.

Seated in a chair above me was a very distinguished looking gentleman and standing either side of his chair were two very big and very muscular men. "Ah, so the would-be mole awakes," the seated man said. As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew he was an aristocrat. He introduced himself as Sir Bertrand Llewellyn. It seemed he was Welsh but had been educated at Eton and Oxford.

I said nothing. They had tied my hands behind my back and then to my feet which they had brought up behind my back so I was trussed like a pig for slaughter. I was lying on my side, the only comfortable way I could. I still wasn't worried. I thought Joe or at least the men from the van would be here any minute and we would have our man-men ...

He smiled thinly. "Ah, she obviously believes she will soon be rescued. Alas, my policewoman slut, there will be no rescue. In fact, we have your Constable Joseph Brown and the two men from the van at this very moment. Your little Ford, Constable Brown's Mazda and the pale green Toyota Econo-van are even now being dismantled and the components will be sold in various widely separated parts of the country. You have, all four of you, simply disappeared, just as so many other people have vanished over the last little while."

I now stared at him. I didn't doubt his words. He knew Joe's name and who he was and he had even described the van accurately. "We will get you though," I said bravely. "I don't know how you knew about us, but we will get you in the end."

He grinned but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "Oh, so you think so, do you? Believe me, girl, this operation runs like clockwork. Your kind will never beat me."

He sat staring down at me for a few more moments then ordered his men to untie-and strip me. Yes, strip me! And that's precisely what they did. One of the two huge muscle-men went round behind me, cut the ropes around my wrists and ankles and then hoisted me unceremoniously to my feet. He did it one-handed too, grabbing me by my left arm and lifting me straight up. He was obviously very, very strong.

I stood there facing the baronet as he now stared up and down my body. I wasn't going to beg. Anyway, what was the use? I was in a fine pickle now, it seemed and there was no other back-up. Not down here in Wales and in fact I had put two and two together-and come up with four. There had to be someone on the inside back at the Yard. This operation had been secret. Our squad operated behind closed doors at all times. And yet Llewellyn had known of our arrival, down to the last detail.

Then he nodded to the man who had untied me and hoisted me to my feet and who now stood beside me. He turned towards me and with a very salacious leer, began to tear the clothes from my body. I had worn a denim skirt and jacket over a blouse as my outer clothing and these were quickly ripped off. I say 'tear' and 'rip' for that's precisely what he did. I tried to fight him off, of course. But I was no match for him. The second muscle-man didn't even bother to come and help, that how contemptuous they were of my efforts and I am no weakling.

I am 173 cm tall (that's 5'9" in old measurements) and since I have kept up my interest in athletics, I am pretty strong. Alas, I was no match for this man. He towered over me and was probably nearly twice my weight-and it was all muscle. He could keep me at arm's length quite easily and at the same time, rip my jacket off, followed by the skirt and then the blouse.

Of course I screamed abuse at them, tried to kick the man and otherwise resist what he was doing to me, but he just laughed at me and went on tearing each garment off my body.

I stood up in just my bra, panties and shoes and now Sir Bertrand got up and strolled nonchalantly over to me, walking around, chin in hand, looking me up and down carefully. He even reached out and poked my belly, admiring the firmness of my abdominal muscles. I brushed his hand away angrily but he just laughed-then spun round and gave me an almighty slap across my face, his own face now registering anger.

"Do not ever touch me, slut. Not unless you want a severe dose of the cane to your butt ..."

I blanched at his anger. It was so fierce and so obviously real. His face was red and his body rigid. I wondered if he was mad but then I knew that wasn't it. He was of the old school of aristocrats, believing he really was superior to me as a commoner and that my actual touching of his body, even the simple act of my brushing his hand away from my belly, was an affront to his dignity and status.

"Strip the rest of her clothes, Jones," he ordered now and the huge man beside me did just that, not bothering to undo the clips of my bra but simply pulled at the left cup until the strap broke and threw the now useless garment aside as he had done with the rest of my clothes.

They all stared at me then, drinking in the beauty of my breasts. I know it sounds immodest of me but all the hard work I put into athletics had kept my chest muscles firm and my breasts, while not too big, were perfect half orbs whose skin, like that on the rest of my body, was soft and smooth. Jones waited a few moments while the three of them stared at my bosom but then the baronet nodded to him and he put out his free hand, the one not holding me by my left arm, and cupped my left breast in his great paw, mauling it painfully while the others grinned at my pain and humiliation.

My panties were next and were disposed of just as brutally as my bra had been. He just put his hand into the waistband and ripped them off, leaving me now in nothing but my shoes. I really cowered now. I am no coward but I am modest, or rather, I was modest. Now, modesty is a luxury not available to me ...

I crossed my knees and tried to cover my breasts and my now fully exposed sex from their gaze. And now I begged: "Please ...?" I said mournfully.

Sir Bertrand smiled. "Not the vixen now, are we, slut?"

"Please sir. Let me go ...?"

"Oh no, my fine little policewoman slut. You are a prize indeed. You are going to be turned into a very obedient slave and then I will sell you for a fine price."

So that was it. All those girls had been kidnapped and then enslaved. And it seemed that was to be my fate, too. I looked up at him. "And what about Joe and the other two?" I asked, hoping against hope that perhaps one of them might get free and raise the alarm.

He grinned again. "Ah. Yes. The two erstwhile police constables and the sergeant ..." I stared at him. He even knew the ranks of the members of my team. "Yes, well I don't normally go in for male slaves, but they can still realise a good price, once they have been neutered ..."

Neutered? Did that mean what I thought it did?

He grinned at the horror on my face. "Perhaps you might like to see them being prepared?" I shook my head violently and cried out at the implication of his words but he wasn't having any of that. "Bring her along," he ordered and Jones grabbed me again while the other man took up position on my other side.

We moved out of the library and I stared up at the grandeur of the hall into which we now emerged. It took up both storeys of the obviously palatial house and was decorated with the usual suits of armour, huge painting and coats of arms. In the centre was a really grand staircase made of stone; the floors were marble as were the columns that supported the roof high above us. We didn't ascend this staircase, however. We moved to a narrow door at its side and entered another, much smaller staircase that led down to the cellars. This was the servants' level but it wasn't the bottom of the building. We went down another level to an area that had once been used for storage but was now employed as a holding area for Sir Bertrand's slave girls.

We passed into a wing of this cellar and then along a passage on both sides of which were cells, rooms with stone walls at the back and sides but were fronted by a wall of iron bars. They were all empty. At the end was a door and behind it I could hear screams of pain. I shrank back against the iron-fists of my two captors but they just kept walking, dragging me along behind them.

Llewellyn opened this door and went inside. We followed him, Jones going first, dragging me behind him followed by the other man. I nearly fainted as I saw what was happening in this room, now got up as a sort of simple clinic. There was a table in the middle and Joe was strapped down onto it-naked. The other constable and the sergeant were also naked and were tied with their hands up above their heads and behind two posts set from floor to ceiling a few feet out from one wall. Their eyes registered the same horror I felt as I stared down at poor Joe.

There was a surgeon and a nurse, both appropriately gowned on either side of the table and Joe's operation was almost complete. They obviously hadn't wasted any time, although I had no idea how long I had been unconscious of course.

My horror was provoked by what they had done to Joe. Yes, you guessed right, he had been castrated. But not just his testicles. No, they had also removed his penis. He really was now a eunuch in the total sense of that word. They had not anaesthetised him but had obviously deadened the area of operation. It was he who had been screaming when I entered but the screams were not so much of pain as of outrage at what they were doing to him. They were just closing his wound now while I was taken to a third pole and secured in the same manner as my colleagues.

I stared at them with a mixture of emotions: fear of our future and resignation that there was nothing I could do about it; but, I am ashamed to say, I also looked at their bodies with some interest. I have to admit I am an intensely sexual person. I love sex. I am not promiscuous in that I don't go to bed with any and all men but I have had my share of boyfriends and unless they were as fit as me and competent in love-making, I didn't keep them long. And so now I stared at the sergeant's and Tom's naked bodies, wondering about those long thick cocks and the heavy balls that dangled behind them.

But I was also wondering at their nakedness. By that I mean of hair. Their pubic hair was gone. Apparently shaved, I supposed; probably because of the operations. I grinned as I noted the same expressions on their faces as I supposed was on mine. They were clearly as interested in my body as I was in theirs.