FOREWORD

 

In the year 2020, after years of stop-go economy and recession, the British people, like their French counterparts over two hundred years before, came out onto the streets. In the short and bloody conflict that followed, the people became the victors. However, the New Order did not chop off any heads. In fact they sentenced none of the old order to death. Many an arrested Aristo wished that they had done so!

At one or other Rehabilitation Centre set up around the land, they were systematically trained to serve and obey their New Order masters.

In the same way as the French revolutionaries had to keep the blood lust going to hold power, so did the leaders of the New Order. Once every Aristo had either escaped or been captured, their attention was turned on those who had aided their enemies in the past. Those in power hung onto it by denouncing anyone that became a threat, even going so far as to protect gangs of criminals that could be made use of. Among the rulers, blackmail and corruption was a hundred times more prevalent than in the old days - the New Order survived by continually finding victims for the public's sadistic lust...

 

CHAPTER ONE

SHARA HALEWOOD, AGED EIGHTEEN

 

Shara had been committed to Unit 36 after it had been found that she had spent all her previous life travelling the world at her parents' expense. She had been arrested along with her parents some three months before. Her father died after a few weeks from heart failure but her mother, who was much younger, survived and from time to time would work alongside her daughter scrubbing floors or waiting on table.

Shara stood before her Overseer as she must - bolt upright with legs together and hands behind her back. She wore a grey cotton dress and black canvas shoes, knickers and bra, these being her only possessions in the world.

The Overseer took delight in keeping her waiting. She sifted through the papers on her desk, glancing up from time to time to enjoy Shara's growing nervousness.

'Well, Shara,' she said at last, sitting back in her chair, 'I have some good news for you. You have been selected to help entertain some very important gentlemen this evening.' She stood up and walked round the desk. 'You will have fine clothes to wear, a nice hair-do and make-up. What do you say?'

Shara knew what she wished to say, but in these last three months she had learnt to say what one was expected to say.

'Thank you, M-Miss...' She bit her lower lip as she wondered what new horrors were to be piled upon all the others she had endured.

'Remove your clothes - they will remain here. And be warned - if I receive a bad report I will not only confiscate them for a week, but also thrash that fine bottom of your each day. I hope you understand me, young lady?'

The Overseer loved her job. Not only could she give orders to these upper class bitches, she could also do the same to their men folk. As Shara removed her clothes she walked round, inspecting the naked body, making the girl blush.

'Off you go then, girl. Report to Reception - they will make sure you are presentable.' She was about to give the round bottom a parting slap, but thought better of it. No need to take chances when girls were about to entertain and needed to be unmarked.

Naked, Shara made her way to Reception, stepping between fellow inmates on hands and knees, scrubbing. She recognised one of the women as an old family friend who had once been noted for the parties she gave - now she scrubbed floors under the supervision of a girl she wouldn't have accepted as a parlour maid.

'Come on you lazy cows, put your backs into it!' Shara heard the Overseer shouting as she went round the corner and towards the door marked 'RECEPTION'.

A woman in her mid-thirties stood facing the wall outside the door, her skirt hitched up at the back, her knickers round her ankles, six red stripes across her plump white bottom. Shara glanced at the tearstained face as she knocked on the solid door.

'Come in!' A male voice! Shara opened the door but before she had time to go in the voice called out again: You out there, come back in!' Shara was pushed aside as the woman standing outside dashed into the room.

A youth about the same age as Shara sat on the edge of a table. 'What do you want?' he asked, ignoring the woman who had just rushed in.

'I-I was sent to be pre-prepared to entertain some gentlemen, Sir.' Shara felt her cheeks flush. She still found it shameful that these people took her nakedness as a matter of course, especially when the person was the same age as her, or even younger.

'Mary,' the young man called out, 'there's a girl here for upstairs.'

'Be right there,' a second voice replied from the back room.

Now he turned his attention to the waiting woman. 'Arse sore, is it?' he said, taking a cigarette from a box on the table.

'Yes ... Yes S-Sir...' The woman had a typical upper middle-class accent.

'Then I hope it has taught you that when you clean my boots you also polish the soles and instep.' He blew cigarette smoke into the woman's face, making her cough.

'Yes, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir!' Although she had her arms folded behind her back, she bobbed up and down and gave little curtsies as she replied.

'Take your knickers right off, leave your skirt tucked up at the back and get on with your work, slag. Away, you snivelling cow, before I decide to give you a few more across your fat arse! And stay like that all day, mind!'

One quick curtsey and she was gone, skirt tucked well up at the back and knickers in hand.

Shara stood before the youth and his assistant as they checked her make-up and dress.

She wore a traditional main uniform but in a very abbreviated form. Her breasts, held in a half cup bra, thrust vigorously through the thin black bodice of her dress, the nipples very prominent; the skirt was so short that the white tops of her thighs and the black suspender belt that held her stockings up were fully displayed, perhaps even the scant black lace briefs could be glimpsed; teetering high heels on black patent leather shoes added to the sexiness of the outfit ... Shara was well aware that it was deliberately provocative.

She was given a pass to leave the main block and told to report to a certain Mr. West. She made her way in that direction, cheeks burning with shame at the comments she received as she tried to master the high heels and forget the shortness of the skirt. The breeze helped to amuse the passers-by!

When at last she arrived at the correct bungalow she gritted her teeth and pulled at the iron bell-pull by the side of the front door.

Silence.

She gazed at the solid front door. There was a nameplate on it, 'Elm Grove', such an ordinary name. As the seconds ticked away hope began to burgeon in Shara's heart. Perhaps the party had been put off...

Then the door opened.

A young woman stood there, dressed like Shara and exceedingly pretty with rich auburn-red hair and green eyes which had been heavily mascara'd. She was breathing fast and her lips were trembling a little.

'Is this Mr West's house?' asked Shara softly.

The girl nodded. 'Are you Shara?'

'Yes.'

'I'm Tina,' said the redhead, giving Shara's hand a sudden squeeze. 'Come along ... it's your first time, isn't it - you must try to be brave - it won't last forever - I'm to make sure you please them as much as I do so please try hard...'

Tina knocked on a door and opened it. Shara was at once aware of a babble of conversation ... of smoke-filled air ... and six pairs of male eyes upon her. Following Tina's example she curtsied, wishing her breasts would not bounce quite so much,

'Ah...' A figure detached itself from the group, obviously Mr West. 'This must be the stuck up young thing I've heard so much about.'

'Good evening, Sir,' whispered Shara, conscious of the ageing blue eyes devouring her.

'You'll help Tina,' he said. 'Pour drinks, serve food and so on.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'And look pretty, of course!' Desmond West gave Shara's bottom a proprietary slap. He remembered the girl from her photos in the gossip columns. She had been a right little madam, letting fly with her fists at photographers outside the best night spots, causing near riots in restaurants if her meal was not just so, treating sales staff in the top department stores as if they were the world's greatest morons. He was well pleased with her in this outfit and so, it seemed, were his friends, for conversation had died and all attention was upon the new arrival. It was almost as if Shara were in some delicious hors d'oeuvre ready to be consumed.

'What a little cracker!' commented a Pickwickian looking man. 'Well done, Des.'

'My pleasure,' smiled the host. He patted Shara's bottom again. 'Go round and find out which of my friends need another drink.'

Nervously, cheeks flushed, Shara teetered towards the group.

'Anything for you, Sir?' she asked the first man she came to.

'Just a squeeze of these,' he said, with a lecherous leer. When a podgy hand came up and wandered over her right breast, Shara recoiled. 'Please ... no!'

His other hand lifted her short skirt and caressed her bottom, scarcely hindered at all by the small black lace briefs. 'Go and get me a large Scotch,' he said, 'and be quick about it!'

Shara turned and stumbled away in confusion. Tina guided her to the drinks table. 'Just do as they say,' she said as Shara poured the drink with a shaking hand. 'Don't resist or it will be worse, much worse.'

'But...'

'Don't be stupid, for God's sake! Do you want to get us both a thrashing?'

Sick to the pit of her stomach, Shara made her way back to the group with the whisky. Her worst suspicions had been confirmed by Tina's panic. She was here to be degraded and, most likely, ravaged by this set of middle aged pigs. She blinked back her tears and bit her lower lip as she handed over the drink.

The man at once raised the glass to his fleshy lips.

'How old are you, Shara?' he enquired in a fatherly way.

'Eighteen, Sir.'

The man grinned. 'With those big tits you look older,' he said, in a far less fatherly fashion.

Shara flushed and at that moment a hand glided up the back of one of her thighs. 'Get me the same, gorgeous,' said another male voice. For a brief moment the hand rose as far as it could and then Shara stumbled away, gasping. My God, she thought, if they're like this now, what will they do by the end of the evening!

As she went to the drinks table she saw Tina pressed back against the wail as one of the men kissed her with animal lust.

Oh dear God, give me strength!

Give me strength to endure...

To survive...

To submit...