Part 3
by Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

© Copyright Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane 2008 All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. E-mail: Web Group:

Chapter 16: Getting What She Came For

FCE Internal Memo:

Confidential: Elly to Larry

Freddie and I have just discussed the team’s views after the Inward Bound event.

We are all very impressed with what has been achieved. The infrastructure and investment are both very much in order, but the crucial issue is the quality and (in this case) the originality of the staff and that’s excellent. All in all, our visit confirms the feelings expressed at the Board Meeting: this is a very important initiative and we are happy to do what is necessary to protect and nurture this project.

Course 8 / Day 12: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

J: She has handled the cleaning and domestic duties reasonably, It should be time for her to move her experience up a level. Further session planned with Ylena for today.

Jenny's Recollections

I'm told that I have to go again to see Ylena, my Gaspazha. I imagine it will involve another beating. But, somehow, I long to see her again; to hear her soft, insistent voice. One of the escorts comes to take me from my cell. He tells me to face the wall and draws a broad belt around my waist. He buckles it tightly. He takes my wrists and cuffs them behind my back. He slips the hasp of a padlock through the staple on the buckle and clicks it shut.

“Turn around, Fifty,” he says flatly.

I see he's holding a leather dog's leash. He clips it to my nose ring. “Are you enjoying this, Fifty?” he says.

I blush. The truth is that I am. He knows. I don't have to say. He's holding the leash in one hand, gripping my arm with the other. I can't help comparing his decisive grip with how Joe touches me. Where Joe is tender and gentle, this man's grip is firm: not rough, not violent just very controlled, very measured, and very determined that I should do as he wants. Why do I find it so hard to be really aroused by Joe's loving touch when this man's grip makes me so wet?

He steps away from me, turns his back and says, “Come along, Fifty,” over his shoulder. I don't have any choice but to follow him as he leads me out of my cell and along the corridor back to the centre, the leash looping down from my nose ring to his hand.

He stops outside Ylena’s room and hangs the loop of my leash on a hook beside the door. Before he goes he takes my arms and sets me back, firmly, against the wall and then he leaves me. Why doesn't Joe treat me like this? Why can’t I ask Joe to treat me like this?

I stand there for several minutes, not knowing what to do. Eventually, I decide to try to attract some attention from within. I lean across and tap the door gently with my forehead.

The door opens. It's Ylena. “Fifty! Excellent. Come in.” She reaches up and unhooks my leash. Once inside the room, she unclips the leash from my nose ring. “Now let me see you!” I'm standing with my head bowed; partly because that is how I have been told to behave, partly because I'm afraid she will see a brightness in my eyes as a result of my encounter with the guard and my anticipation at this encounter.

She puts her hand beneath my chin and lifts my face. “Ah, you seem much more confident today. I expect you are getting used to your position here?” I don't think she wants me to answer. “Do you remember our last meeting?”

I nod, “Da, Gaspazha,” I say remembering to use the Russian.

“And do you remember what you are?”

“Da, Gaspazha. Vash slooga.” I drop my eyes. It seems the only thing to do, acknowledging that I am her slave.

Ylena smiles. “Bravo, little one, bravo. Do you remember what I promised you the last time?”

I bite my lip and nod. “Da, Gaspazha.”

“Good. Today I begin to teach you how to take a good caning. Today. Now. How do you feel about that?”

“Nervous, Gaspazha.” I'm almost disappointed that I don't know the Russian word for how I feel.

“Nervous? Good, that’s excellent. It will heighten your experience. Now, I think you know where to go.”

I make my way through to the red and blue room and over to the spanking horse. I lay myself down across it. Obediently. Without protest. Without even the need for further urging. I know that there will be pain. That this will leave me sore. Even so, I bend across the horse, trusting Gaspazha to take care of me.

She unlocks the padlock that holds my wrists to my belt, takes it off and methodically straps me on to the spanking horse. And, I lay there, my belly against the cool leather of the horse, and allow her to do it. Without protest. Am I just becoming chronically obedient or trusting or secretly looking forward to my ordeal? If I am honest the answer is all of them. I am greedy for sensation! Like having the largest box of chocolates, but knowing someone else has to choose them and pass them to me.

Ylena strokes the nape of my neck. That touch alone is almost enough to make me whimper. I sense that she realises that too. “So, moi slooga. First, I shall warm your bottom because the cane on a cold unprepared bottom is very bad news indeed. Like when you exercise you must warm up your muscles, so it is with beating. Understand, moi slooga.”

She begins. First a hand spanking, short firm slaps then heavier blows, slow pats and rapid swats. Then comes a strap, then a tawse. Never hard blows, just rapid slaps, they hurt but not badly.

Then, comes a small whip. “Look at this moi slooga, see how small this is.” And it is, the grip no bigger than her hand, the tail no longer than her forearm. “But, small things can be very effective can they not, moi slooga.” The blows come quickly, back and forth, hard then soft then hard again, left buttock then right, working up from the base working down from the top. Every one of my senses is tuned to what Ylena is doing to me.

After this preparation, I am gasping, squirming and enjoying it. I can feel sweat trickle down from my back around my belly and down onto the leather of the horse. I'm not just enjoying this – that’s not a strong enough word. I try to stand aside psychologically – to revisit my analytical self – and watch my reactions objectively – but I can’t be objective. I'm not just enjoying it. I'm lost in it. Abandoned to it. Unaware of anything beyond, Ylena, me, the spanking horse and Ylena's toys. The sensation is extraordinary and I know that this is why I came. I would not be anywhere else for anything.

“Ah ha! What a nice hot red bottom!” I feel Ylena's hand on my buttocks.

I can feel the results of her work and a large floor-to-ceiling mirror lets me see what is happening to me. I see Ylena wearing the same leather skirt and bustier that she wore before. I can feel what she has done, but I cannot see the results of Gaspazha’s efforts yet. And besides, she hasn't finished.

I watch with trepidation and anticipation as she picks a cane from the rack on the wall. She swishes it through the air.

“Well, Fifty, the cane! Have you been caned before? I think not?”

“No, Gaspazha.”

“Pardon?” Ylena's tone is indignant.

“Nyet spaseeba Gaspazha.”

“Better. This is not a good time to forget what I have taught you, is it?”

“Nyet, Gaspazha.”

“Nyet! So, I think I shall start with six of this light cane.”

She takes up a position behind me.

“Are you ready moi slooga?”

“Da, Gaspazha, I think.”

“Time to learn a new word, moi slooga. You know the word for 'please'? It's 'pazh’alsta'.”


Before the word is out of my mouth, I hear the swish. I look up at the mirror as the cane connects with my bottom. It feels hot and bright, stinging and burning. But nice. I can't believe I think that. It feels nice. It's not nearly as bad as I feared it might be. I feel curiously light-headed, almost drunk.

A second, third and fourth stroke connects, each separated by perhaps thirty seconds of rest. I am breathing in shallow gasps now. It may be pleasurable, but there is still pain and the pain is building into a wave crashing onto me. It's not unbearable, but I hope she will let the wave crash and recede – and she does.

Ylena walks around to my head and crouches down so she can look me straight in the eyes. “ Just two more, Fifty,” she says.

She walks back to stand behind me. The first of two! AHHHHH! I bite my lip. That hurt. She waits and saws the cane slowly back and forth across my bottom like a violinist drawing their bow across their instrument. It feels good and the respite feels better.

The second blow comes without warning. AHHHH HHHHHA! I squeeze my buttocks together in response as the final stroke of the six burns its way into my bum. I realise there is no more to come. I relax onto the horse, breathing heavily, like an athlete after a hard run is over.

“Well. moi slooga? Did you enjoy that, little one?”

She has finished, but she doesn't unstrap me from the horse.

“Da, Gaspazha, spaseeba! It was much better for vash slooga than I thought it would be.”

“Hmmm. Better is not necessarily the sensation I was trying for. Still different canes feel different and after you have had a short rest you can try another.”

Another one? She leaves me strapped to the spanking horse, the leather padding sticky against my sweaty belly. The prospect of more caning should be really frightening, but I am amazed to find myself completely calm, as I think about what is to happen next. I shiver, my sweat evaporating has chilled my skin, but here is Ylena to warm it again.

I watch her in the mirror as she chooses from the rack, picking canes, one after another, weighing them in her hand bending them and testing their springiness. Replacing one and selecting another. Trying that and returning to the first. Trying another and deciding on that. I’m sure she is doing this to torment me, but as I watch in the mirror it's almost as if Ylena is in a different room and I'm looking through a window into another room not into a mirror into this one. I feel her choices have nothing to do with me; that what is happening now and what will happen soon have no connection.

Then she is standing beside my head, her skirt inches from my face, the smell of the leather filling my nostrils. She strokes my scalp. “This cane is heavier, moi slooga – see how the noise it makes is different as I swish it through the air. This is more, more thuddy. It will bruise you deeper, and it will make your bottom sore for longer – tomorrow and the next day.”

She says nothing more. Before I know it, the second cane has licked across my bum, and the sensation really is different. The difference makes it easier to bear. It burns too, but there is a deeper, broader, quality to the pain. Almost like a deep massage. Two, three, then four strokes each delivered slowly, deliberately. In my mind is the picture of waves gathering, ready to rush to shore and crash onto the beach.

Gaspazha waits.

The sea calms. It draws back from the beach.

A fifth stroke!

I am breathing deeply and heavily.

A sixth stroke!

The wave of pain crashes over me. I am clenching , unclenching , clenching my buttocks and squealing, whimpering, sobbing with the pain.

There's a hand on my neck and my back, rubbing soothing, calming ………..

“Well done, moi slooga. Well done, Fifty. Twelve strokes of the cane and moments ago you were a cane virgin.”

She wipes my eyes. Tears or perspiration? I cannot tell.

“Spaseeba, Gazpazha.” A sob escapes my lips.

“Pazh’alsta!” Ylena says, “It also means, 'you’re welcome'. Pazh’alsta. You took your cane very well. Fifty, I am proud of you! Now for pleasing vash Gaspazha, moi slooga has a reward.”

I feel Gaspazha loosen the strap across my back that holds me to the horse. She slides something between my legs. It feels like a sort of shield covering my pussy. It's firm, but not cold. Leather perhaps, or plastic. She fastens elastic straps to my belt to hold it in place. Then I feel her finger pushing the shield to one side, slipping her finger beneath it. Her finger - moist and slippery – spreads my lips out under the shield. I've never been touched there by a woman but even so, throughout this, I lay there, calm and passive. Accepting. Her slave.”

A moment later there is something cool on my anus and I feel as a rubber gloved finger circles my bud and presses inwards. Whether because of my caning or some animal arousal, my sphincter relaxes and I let her finger glide inside. She works her finger gently inside me around and around, side to side. This is very new ground and it feels so surprisingly good. Why did Joe never do this to me? Why did he never cane me? Did I ask? Would I have allowed him? Perhaps we were just too shy of each other?

Now, something else is gently probing my anus. Something harder. There's the sensation of a bump as something slips through. Then, another and another.

“Fifty, have you ever tried playing with electrics?”

“No, I’m sorry, Nyet, Gaspazha!” Her words pull me back from my reverie. It's as if I have suddenly woken up. I'm afraid, but somehow I feel that Ylena won't let her slave come to harm. “Er, what are you going to do?” I start to say, but coherent speech is abruptly cut off…..

“AaaAAAAHHHHH!” There's a delicious tingling, pulsing sucking feeling that runs across my vagina. I start giggling and laughing. The sensation runs through me again and again; gradually more and more intense.

Then, “AAAAAAHHHHH,” deep inside my bum another wiggling pricking pulsing exquisite sensation begins.

Ylena's voice is quiet and close to my ear. “Do you like that, moi slooga?”

“AAAAHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH.” I can hardly speak, it's like a fountain gushing across my vagina and inside my rectum. “YES,YES, Yes,” I gasp, in time with the sensations.

Gaspazha chuckles, obviously pleased with my reactions. “A little more, I think.”

“Yes, please, please,” I beg. “AAAAAHHHH. Gaspazha?”

“Yes, Fifty.”

“Gaspazha, will you cane me again – AAAAAAHHHH – vash slooga begs you.”


“Will you cane me again? Please. Pazh’alsta. ”

“Of course, perhaps next week?”

“No, please,” the sensations in my pussy and my arse continue. “AAAAAHHHHH, please. Pazh’alsta, Gaspazha, cane me now!” I can hardly believe I am saying this: the afterglow from Gaspazha’s previous attentions plus the astonishing sensations created by the electrical stimulation blend together and and and AAAAHHH, I just want to feel the stinging burning cane again!.

“Pazh’alsta, moi slooga, pazh’alsta.” She picks up one of the canes and stands behind me. The waves of stimulation continue to pulse through me. I can't believe that I have begged her to beat me more, but the sensations she has provoked have made me throw any caution I had to the winds.

The cane smacks hard across my bum – and I love it!


Another stroke; “OH!”

Another stroke; “OHH!”

And another and another and another!

I am pressing my bum against the straps which hold me, lifting it towards the fiery kisses of Gaspazha’s beautiful cane.

“There, Fifty! Another six. Would you like more?”

It seems impossible for me to say anything else. “Oh, yes please! Pazh’alsta Gaspazha.”


“Plea AAAAHHH. Pazh’alsta!”

“So, the heavier cane this time……”

From somewhere far away or so it seems comes the sensation of another, six, slow, firm, burning cuts across by bum and once more, like a runner finishing a race, there is complete exhausting satisfaction!

Finally, Gaspazha completes my caning and powers down the electrical stimulation unit. I hang tired, throbbing, burning across the horse. I am wet with sweat and even though the room is warm, I start to shiver again.

Gaspazha unstraps me, then helps me down from the horse. My legs have turned to jelly and I sink to my knees. She wraps a warm towel around me, crouching beside me, holding me close to her and whispering, “moi slooga,”

I have had, quite simply, the most erotic exhausting time I can remember. I know that I will do absolutely anything this woman asks me to do: lick her feet, wear her brand or tattoo, make love to another girl, be her slave for ever, just anything!

“I think moi slooga enjoyed herself?”

“Oh, Da, Gaspazha. Spaseeba!”

“Excellent, I think you are beginning to get what you came for. But, I think you can do more. We will have to see how far you can go, won't we moi slooga? You know you will be beaten for your de-merits, don’t you?” I nod, remembering that I had 130 points before today’s session started. Gaspazha hasn’t said that my beatings today have reduced the total at all. “Now, we know how you respond to beating we can punish you appropriately. Who knows where it will all end?”

Who indeed, I think. One thing I am sure of; I’m finding it increasingly difficult to spend time thinking about the research project. I’m swallowed up by everything that’s going on here in my life as a slave.

Chapter 17: The Tattooing Incident

Course 8 / Day 15: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: At yesterday’s review we agreed that Fifty was ready for her next experience. Charlotte has agreed to mentor her through this with Jonathan providing the technical input. We have scheduled Fifty’s tattooing for today, assuming she consents as we anticipate. It worked well for those on the last course, and like them, we expect this will help Fifty to confront issues of trust and the need to surrender to her new slave identity. She has given outline consent and Charlotte will begin by asking Fifty to provide a confirmation.

Jenny’s Recollections:

I am in my cell. The shutter is up so it’s open to the corridor through the bars. Charlotte comes.

She looks cool, calm; the epitome of Scandinavian elegance. She is dressed in a polo shirt, cut-off cargo pants and polished black thick soled leather loafers. There’s the heavy, sweet, fine, aura of Santa Maria Novella; the same scent she was wearing when we first met.

She unlocks the door with a swipe card, comes in and sits on my bed. She motions me to sit and I kneel at her feet.

She slips her feet out of her shoes, to draw them up onto the mattress, but instinctively (now) I lean forward and begin to kiss her feet.

They are beautiful feet; lightly tanned, no calluses, nails carefully trimmed, a toe ring on one foot and an ankle bracelet on the opposite ankle. They smell warm with the scent of leather, from her shoes.

Suddenly, I raise my head and smile broadly. I am rushing back to the normal in control, analytical, me. “You know, Charlotte, I never dreamed …”

She cuts me off. “SHHHH, little one.” She lays one hand on my head. “Shhhh. Stay where you were. Where you were …”

And I’m back as a slave once again, but with tears in my eyes now. Charlotte pushes my head gently down and I resume: kissing licking, rubbing my lips against her feet.

“Now, that’s good Fifty. Doesn’t that seem good to you?”

And it does seem good. Appropriate. Safe. Correct. I'm always happy here, caring for my Mistresses. It's funny. I have no problem with this; crouching at the feet of Charlotte, or Jo. Some of the other girls find this aspect of their slavery the hardest. They can cope with the bondage or the beatings, but they find it had to submit at this intensely personal level. Sue collected ten demerits yesterday for being slow to massage Charlotte's feet when ordered. Anna earned punishment for defying Ylena over something similar. For me, though, these services are the fulfilment of everything else:, the reason for the bondage and the beatings, the reward for the household duties, the honour of slavery. And then, I think, “Why can't I do this for Joe?”

Charlotte interrupts my thoughts. “Well done, little one. Well done. Now …”

It takes a moment to realise that she is trying to attract my attention. “Yes, Mistress?”

“Fifty: we would like you to take a souvenir home with you.”

“But, surely it’s not time for me to go home?”

“No, but some souvenirs need time and occasionally some need special consent.”

“From me?”

“Mmmmm, even from you. You know we do nothing that you have not consented to.”

She's right, of course.

“For your souvenir, we would like you to be tattooed. Would you like that?”

My first reaction is, I'm not sure. Actually, it's something I had never thought of. Of course, I had noticed other girls with various tattoos, some very attractive, some a bit tacky, and there are the tattoos that Judith and Anna have, but I never thought of having one myself ……….

“Er, I well, well I mean I never thought of it ……..I mean it might depend on what, on where .... erm what did you have in mind?”

“Of course, Fifty, we come back to the 'trust' question now. Would you trust us to do the best by you?”

I think about it for a moment. Actually, I do trust them. Even so, it’s a big step. I think back to the tattoos that I saw on Judith and Anna. “Yes, Mistress. I do,” I say but I need some reassurance. “Would it be something like the ones that Judith and Anna wear?”

Charlotte understands my worries. “Fifty, we know that your consent has to be informed. I will tell you this. Whatever we do would be hidden under your normal clothes. Nothing in the design would be obscene or offensive in any way. It will be done by a professional tattoo artist who would be proud to point to his work afterwards.”

What she says reassures me. I can see that she’s waiting for my answer, The look on her face is at once understanding of my dilemma, accepting of the sense of my concerns and disappointment that I am not more ready to demonstrate my trust.

“I’m sorry, it’s just not something I ever really thought of.”

“No, but we have thought of it for you. Will you trust us?”

“Yes Charlotte – sorry - Mistress.”

Charlotte leans forward and strokes my scalp. “Good,” she says. “Don’t worry it will be all right. I’ll send Jonathan to see you. Now you were …?”

I smile and lean forward again to kiss lick and rub my lips against her feet. In spite of the uncertainty, the tingle of apprehension, here I feel safe and right.

After Charlotte has gone, I have another visitor. Jonathan. I saw him on my last visit to see Celia.

He smiles broadly. “Hi, Fifty. I have come to talk about your tattoo. Stand up.”

I stand.

“Turn around ….. and again ….slowly. No stand up straight. Raise your arms. Now bend over. Hmmmmm. OK, let's do that again, and I’ll photograph you.”

I repeat the routine accompanied by clicks from Jonathan's digi-cam.

“OK, thank you, Fifty. I will work up a design on these and I will come for you later.”

“Sir,” I ask, “what will it look like and where will it be?”

Jonathan smiles. “To be absolutely honest, I haven’t decided yet. The very best and most artistic tattoos tend to be bold and simple. They're often quite a bit larger than their owners originally had in mind.” His eyes twinkle as he sees me bite my lip at this suggestion. “Although you have given your consent and you have agreed to leave the design up to us,. of course, I do remember you are a girl. Don't worry, Heavy Metal Biker or old fashioned Sailor imagery would not look right for you and cartoon characters are not appropriate for your personality either …”

Relief must have shown in my face, because he flashes a broad smile at me. “So I have to go and review possibilities. Positions and of course,” he pauses, “size. Then, I will know just what to create that will be right for a slave like you.”

I’m beginning to feel a knot of anxiety and anticipation somewhere between my tummy and my clit!

“I thought you used transfers from books and just tattooed over them?”

“That’s the way it always used to be. It is still used a lot. It's called Flash. Sometimes Flash can look really good. But, that's not what we're going to do for you, Fifty. I like to develop individual designs for my clients - you can be a client on this occasion.” He smiles again.

“How long will it take? Will it hurt? ”

“Not compared to a session with Ylena!” he laughs and sees me blush. “Well, it will be uncomfortable in places. If I'm tattooing where the skin is thin, over bone, it can be worse and of course it can go on for a long time. Relatively small designs can be done in one session, but yours will probably take several sessions.” He must see how nervous that makes me feel, is he planning to cover my entire body? He ignores my anxiety and carries on. “I might decide to see you at my studio after you are released, depending on the final design.”

After my release … I have had so much to think about that “release” and return to normal life seems a completely alien idea. But now there is this new idea that my ‘experience” won't end with release … that my time here will cast a shadow into the future. My hair will grow back, the pale marks from my cuffs and collar will fade, the scar from my implant will disappear, even my piercings could heal over but this will be visible always. Just how long will the shadow of Inward Bound actually be, I wonder? I am more than a bit concerned. I am actually feeling quite scared. When I started this I thought that the big problem was going to be coping with what ever they threw at me as part of the “experience”. Then I thought that trying to be objective enough to come up with something that would relate to a research agenda would be a problem. (All right – that has been a problem, I know). And I thought about the problems that I was going to have with Angela when I got back. And Joe. What I haven’t thought about, until now, was me and how all this was going to affect me And now that I do, I am scared.

The rest of the day and the day after follows the usual pattern here. Housework, kitchen duties, serving the Mistresses and gardening. The beeps from my RFID chip every time I go through a door. I do seem to be getting an overall tan. What will Joe think of it? Actually, how am I going to explain any of this to Joe?

Three days later, after breakfast, Jo tells me I have an appointment with Jonathan and the knot in my stomach returns in an instant. She cuffs my wrists together, clips a leash to my nose ring and takes me to Celia’s room. She hangs the leash on the coat hook outside the door – as Jo did when I last went to see Ylena – and I just have to wait until Jonathan himself shows up. He smiles his broad smile and goes in to the room leaving me outside for a while longer. After a few minutes he comes out again, unclips my leash and takes me inside.

“Now, Fifty, I need absolute cooperation. I can’t work properly with you strapped down, if you are to be decorated to the highest standards. I think you will understand that. Are you prepared to lay still for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Lay on the plinth.” He indicates a medical styled, lightly padded, adjustable ‘bed’, well to the side of Celia’s dental chair. The medical room is really rather bigger than I had remembered. The ‘plinth’ is exactly what a physiotherapist might use – I suppose that was where they got the idea of it. It’s upholstered in a darker leather like material (as I learned later because the tattooing inks can be hard to remove from lighter coloured material.)

After I am flat on the plinth, Jonathan sponges my skin with warmish water to dampen it and lays a sheet of what looks like tracing paper on top and another adjoining and another and another. I can feel my panic rising as he covers more and more of my back, then my hip and finally the top of my leg, with the paper.

“These are stencils Fifty, made from the overall design which I then printed up to life size. Today I shall tattoo the outline and on later visits I can do the filling in. That’s the part which will take time and it’s probably best done at intervals over the next few months.”

“That’s a long time!” I’m feeling that I’ve been stupid to agree to this and that maybe I should back out now.

“Yes, but your skin needs time to recover between sessions. It’s not like spreading paint on a canvas. And I would actually like you to enjoy the experience as well as the end result.”

Jonathan’s remarks make perfect sense and they are reassuring too. My irrational rational self reasserts itself. “There,” I hear my stupid, rational, self say to my more cautious, irrational but sensible self, “he says it’s all right so it will be and you can see he’s concerned for your well being so what problem could there possibly be?”

As so often, my stupid rational self wins out.

“So,” I say, “let’s get started …….”

Jonathan peels each stencil carefully from me and begins by spreading Vaseline across the area of skin he intends to work on. His design – whatever it is – is frighteningly extensive. He starts at my shoulder and moves sinuously over my back, down to my buttocks and off down one leg. Gee, this is going to be so big, I’ll never be able to get this lasered off if I take against it. The sensation of being tattooed seems to depend on where he is working. Sometimes it's prickly, sometimes sharp, sometimes just a buzzing sensation and sometimes really not nice at all. He gives me regular breaks and from time to time, rubs the target area with more Vaseline. The rubbing is a great relief and feels very comforting. We even stop for tea on a couple of occasions, as well as taking short breaks. It feels like being in the real world once again.

After the second tea break, Jonathan gives me a progress report, “That’s the outline of the principle design done!”

“There is more?”

“Ah ha!”

“Oh …”

“Don’t worry, you will love it when it’s finally done. So will your Owner.”

Owner! I get the now familiar sexual stab of pleasure at the word: “Owner”! The only question is who is my owner? Is it Joe, or is it Inward Bound?

“The last thing I’m going to do today is to complete one section at the bottom of your back. It's your barcode. It matches the number on your chip.”

“Oh …”

“Don't worry, it's well integrated into the design and will not look at all out of place. In fact, it will look just like a part of the second level decoration unless you know what to look for. Now, let me just check.”

He takes a small pistol like device and points it at the scar on my arm where the RFID chip is buried. There’s a beep and Jonathan looks at the device.

“Fine,” he says. “At least I’ve got the right number. It wouldn’t do for your chip to say one thing and your barcode to say another. That way lies schizophrenia!” he laughs.

Well, I suppose it’s a relief that he thought of that but, even so, the barcode does not feel inconspicuously small to me, as Jonathan works on it. First he lays down another transfer stencil and then performs a check scan. The actual tattooing takes a long time. I suppose it’s got to be pin-point (Ha!) accurate if it’s going to scan properly, but I’m really glad when it’s done.

Jonathan sprays my skin with water again and places cling-film dressings over the areas he has worked on. The session is over and I’m very glad. Excruciating? No, but enough is enough! I’m sent off to my cell to rest up for the remainder of the day and towards the end of the afternoon, Jonathan reappears. He has me shower, and the cling film dressings peel away. He very gently soaps my skin (which feels rather rough and very tender now) and pats me dry with a soft towel before spraying on a final layer of skin dressing.

It is later on that I get the first reaction to Jonathan’s work.

“Jenny! …… bloody hell! Have you seen yourself?”

I’m having my evening meal with the rest of the girls and they are evidently impressed by Jonathan’s efforts. Even Judith and Anna applaud, which is worrying.

“No, actually I haven’t. What’s it like?”

“It’s absolutely fantastic. You lucky sod!”

I finally get to see it later when I sneak a few moments to look in a mirror while I’m doing duties cleaning out Charlotte’s bathroom. It is impressive; a great abstract dragon design as though something from the Book of Kells has been lifted out and laid down on my back. I’m actually quite proud of it – which is just as well. Jonathan was right about the barcode, I guess. It is hidden away in the design but, even so, I know what it is and that it is there. I feel like a piece of meat in a supermarket. But then, I suppose that’s the idea. I find the idea arousing. I suddenly have this mental image of myself sitting in a wire trolley, being wheeled out of a girl supermarket by Joe, the check-out bleeping as it rings up my price and Joe hands over the cash willingly.

Let’s hope Joe agrees with the other girls about the tattoo. I guess I could remove my piercing jewellery (though I don’t want to) and my psychological state might even return to normal one day, (outside chance) but this tattoo really is forever ………………

Chapter 18: Elementary String Theory

Course 8 / Day 22: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Ylena: Fifty's last session with me seemed to make a deep impression. Of all those on this intake, she seems to lose herself more completely in beatings than any of the others. She continues to show a willingness to follow her chosen path and to gain as many experiences as she can during her stay.

Jenny's Recollections.

I suppose I should have expected it. Thinking back it’s surprising that there hasn’t been any of it up until now.

Ylena and Jo appear outside the cells. We’re all waiting there for the assignment of the day’s duties. Ylena and Jo are talking quietly, pointing first to the cell next door to mine and then to one of the others further down the line. I can’t hear them. Then Ylena takes out a single dice and tosses it up. Jo laughs and nods. Ylena throws the dice across the table and the two of them peer at it.

At once Jo turns to my cell and says, “You are the lucky one, Fifty. Come with us.”

She opens my cell door, clips a leash to my nose ring and I follow her and Ylena up to the gym.

“Tell me, Fifty,” Ylena begins. “Have you had experience of bondage?”

“Da, Gaspazha,” I reply. “A few times.”

“Not simple tying, just a knot or two. I mean real bondage? So you are quite immobile? Locked in the grip of ropes?”

I can see that what Gaspazha has in mind is more stringent than anything I’ve experienced before. I shake my head. “Nyet, Gaspazha. Not like that.”

Ylena smiles. “Good,” she says. “So, this is a new experience for you and some learning for Jo. She wishes to see what can be done and I, I am an expert, a nawashi.” Ylena evidently isn’t waiting for me to agree or accept her suggestion. She probably won’t be concerned that I haven’t the faintest idea what a ‘nawashi’ is either. “Now, moi slooga,” she goes on. “Over there you see those ropes. Bring them here, the brown ones. Lay them out neatly on the table.”

The ropes are in hanks on a series of hooks on one wall of the gym. They have been coiled neatly and arranged by diameter and length. They are in several colours; white, red, blue and a natural brown colour.

There are four hanks of brown rope. They are quite thin, perhaps only half an inch or so in diameter. I lay them out on the table.

“No, slooga, not like that. Lay them two on each side of the table the short ones nearer me, The long ones beneath them. In two lines.”

I do as she says, putting them in place as neatly as I can. Precision seems to be important.

Ylena smiles. “Good, slooga. I am pleased the dice chose you. You take care with things.” I feel proud; pleased that such a small act has attracted my Gaspazha’s praise. “Now lay down between the two lines of rope. On your face. Hands by your sides.”

I climb up onto the table. It is the last instruction she gives me, for the rest of the time her remarks are addressed to Jo.

“Shibari is not only concerned with immobilising the subject but also with the aesthetic result of the rope applied. We do not only bind but we aim to make the binding look pleasing and the form adopted by the subject as a result of the binding should be pleasing too. For me I also believe that we should seek to deliver the subject up to a state of detachment from the self; to a point where they are absorbed in the sensation of being bound at the expense of all else. This we do by intricate and exquisitely tight rope work. It is tradition to use the natural rope and that is what I will use now. I like the colours though.” She nods across to the other hanks of rope.

“I see,” says Jo.

“Yes, Three good colours. Like the Russian flag,” Ylena says with a smile. “It makes a good look but for now we will follow tradition. See, we will start with the ankles and feet.”

Ylena goes to work. I feel her draw a length of rope around one of my ankles. She winds it around the other; taking a number of turns and drawing both together immovably. She is taking great care to lay the rope precisely, so that each turn fits snugly against its neighbour. Although I cannot see what she is doing I can sense the neatness of her efforts. She takes more turns of the rope under the arches of my feet. Then I feel her pull my big toes together. A single loop of rope is sufficient to lock them in place. It is a curious sensation; my ankles and feet completely fixed but the rest of me still free and able to move, though without a word from my Gaspazha, I don’t.

“So now, the wrists,” I hear Ylena say. She binds my wrists with my palms back to back, she threads a strand around the base of each of my fingers finishing off with a knot that holds my thumbs together. With my wrists tied so, my forearms are tensed and begin to ache almost at once.

“Please help,” Ylena says to Jo, Together the two of them bring me to a sitting position. “Now we make a karada, a rope dress.” Ylena begins weaving rope around my body, across around and between my tits, fixing my arms to my sides. She positions the knots exactly, ensuring they sit symmetrically and the each length of rope is tensioned so that it pulls equally on the others. She works her way down my body until finally she pulls the rope between my legs. She looks at it carefully and then withdraws it and ties three lumpy knots, close to one another, in the rope. She puts it back and then pulls it taut. As she ties it off to the rope around my wrists, I feel the knots slip between my moistening labial lips and know that for every movement of my arms I will be rewarded with the sensation of the knots sliding across my sex.

“There are many traditional designs,” says Ylena. “You can try them. Like a recipe book. I like to do this, too.” She takes another length of rope and ties a large knot in its centre. She eases the knot into my mouth as a gag and then fastens the rope behind my head before joining it to the rope around my wrists in such a way that my head is pulled back and I am looking at the ceiling.

“Ah,” says Jo, “and now you can see the karada better. I think I begin to understand.”

“Exactly. This is the difference between simple shibari and kinbaku-bi, the aesthetic and erotic result. See how the rope remains tight across the body. The skill is in getting the tension just right. Now we try gyaku-ebi.” Ylena moves me carefully and firmly so that I am laying on my tummy again.


“I think when you see it you will say it is a hog-tie, but this is a very traditional kinbaku tie.” Ylena continues with more rope. To me it certainly feels like a hog-tie as my ankles are drawn back towards my wrists. “With careful design of the harness, you can suspend the slave, tsuri.” I give a groan from behind my gag. The idea of hanging naked cocooned in ropes does not appeal at all. “But I think this is too much for my little m-jo on her first time.”

I agree with her. Ylena and Jo leave me on the table while they go over to the other side of the gym. I can see that Jo and Ylena are discussing the various lengths of rope and their colours and the challenge of working only with the traditional 7 metre lengths of rope, the importance of using only those knots that were traditionally used with hemp or linen ropes. They are, of course, completely unconcerned about my comfort. Locked in the harness of rope, each of my muscles begins to call out in discomfort. The only way that I can achieve any relief is to focus on each in turn trying to ease the tension from the rope by tensing one or other muscle.

The gymnasium disappears for me. I don’t even feel the table really. It’s as if I am suspended, but suspended in some formless void where I can only feel the touch of the rope and the pain in my muscles and joints. Nothing else is significant, except the rub of the rope across my crotch.

I am suddenly aware that Ylena and Jo are watching me and I have no idea of how long I have been like this and how long they have been watching as I twist and strain within my, what did Ylena call it? Oh, yes, my karada. Somehow I find that even more arousing.

Ylena looks across at me as I wriggle in the rope harness. “You see how she reacts to the ropes?”

Jo replies. “It’s very effective.”

“Let me show you some others,” Ylean says. “I have a book over here.”

I give a gagged squeal of concern as the two of them leave me again. I’m perched helplessly on the table while they go off to the other side of the room, standing with their backs to me and peering at Ylena’s book. I’m worried about falling off, trying not to move more than I have to. Somehow the more I try to stay still the more I feel aware of the rope across my crotch. The slightest twitch of my body seems to pull on the rope and drag the knots across my labia. I’m getting wetter as I get more aroused and the combination of the effects of the rope and my situation soon have me panting into my gag and twitching more to pull the crotch rope against myself. Suddenly I know that I can’t stop myself. My body falls into a crashing orgasm, my thighs and belly flex against the table in response and I try to keep myself from falling off. I give a whimpering cry, distorted by the rope gag as the waves of sensation crash over me.

The sound attracts Ylena’s attention. She and Jo turn towards me. Ylena is smiling. I feel humiliated, strung up like this and laying on the table like some scientific specimen. And Ylena’s technique worked of course. She must be feeling very pleased with herself. Suddenly I’m angry with myself and angry with her.

Ylena lays a hand gently on my head. I try to shake it free. “Hush, little m-jo,” she says. “Enjoy yourself. It’s not your fault. This is the power of the rope. Now let me free you.”

She begins to unfasten the ropes. It seems to take even longer than when she was tying me. As each length of rope is removed she coils it carefully and hangs it back in place on its hook on the wall. Eventually I am freed. The gentleness with which she has treated me as she untied me has taken away my anger. Or maybe it’s just the relaxed feeling I always have after an orgasm. “You wear the karada well, m-jo,” she says.

“Perhaps I’ll practice on her,” Jo says.

“It is the best way,” Ylena says. “Only through practice can you know how the ropes will follow the body and how the body will follow the ropes.”

Jo nods. I can see she thinks it is a good idea. I don’t think I’ll have much opportunity to disagree.

Chapter 19: Sex And The Single Girl

Course 8 / Day 26: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: The shibari demonstration that Ylena provided gave us the chance to explore Fifty’s response to bondage. In common with her other reactions she was quick to sink herself in the experience and further shibari sessions could be beneficial. Overnight surveillance has also shown Jenny helps herself off to sleep by masturbation. It is probably time to start helping her to explore her sexual boundaries and the idea of being the sexual property of her Master or Mistress,

Jenny's Recollections.

It is after breakfast that Jo takes me to one side. She takes me up to where I can make my weekly exchange of e-mails. I’d almost forgotten that it was time to do this again. This time, I decide to drop a note to Angela - it’s inconsequential stuff, but I feel obliged to say something. There are a couple of chatty mails from Joe. His trip seems to be having all the usual problems that he tells me about, but he seems happy enough. I send him an e-mail in reply. I finish well within my time limit and look up towards Jo.

“All done?” she asks. I nod. “I hope you find this helpful. We think it helps to have some link back to the rest of the world. We know it can be a bit of a pressure-cooker in here. You need a little time to de-stress.”

I don’t say anything, but it doesn’t really feel like de-stressing to me. Whenever I think about the world back at the university and home, I’m just confronted by the extraordinary difference between my life there and my life here and that feels pretty stressful to me. Mind you, I’m supposed to be thinking about stress, aren’t I?

Jo begins again, “Fifty, before you start today's work, we need to talk,” she says. I'm puzzled. Normally, Jo waits until the end of the day before we have a discussion on what has gone on and how I'm feeling. Why didn't she talk about whatever it is last night?

Jo tells me to stand and then sits herself down. She logs in with a different ID and starts up a new programme on the computer.

“I want to show you something,” Jo presses a key on the laptop. A media player window opens and a video starts to play. It looks like it’s been shot in one of the cells, shot from high up, near the .... Oh, goodness! I realise that it's my cell; that it's me in the bed in the middle of the picture. I think of the little red light that blinks in the ceiling of my cell when they put the lights out. “I'm sure you remember my telling you that we keep participants under observation from time to time,” Jo says, “just to ensure your well-being.”

I bite my lip and shake my head. I know what's coming next.

The girl in the video pushes back the blanket from her bed. It's clear that she has her hands between her legs. She's naked; how could it not be? I know that it's me, but it's like watching someone else. The girl arches her back, pushing her crotch forward against her hands. It's worse, the camera zooms in, the girl's hands and her crotch fill the screen. Jo moves the mouse and the sound comes on, too. “Ylena, Ylena, Ylena,” I am repeating over and over again. And then, “Joe, Joe, Joe.” The girl in the picture gives a whimper. She, I mean I, obviously comes and then lays back exhausted.

“It's not like you think,” I start. I'm embarrassed, but I'm also angry that they've been filming me surreptitiously.

“Isn't it? Why not?”

“Because 'Jo', isn't you. It's my husband. It's 'Joe' I'm saying, not 'Jo'. Look in my file, you'll see.”

“And what was I thinking? You said, 'It's not what you think.' I wondered what it was that you thought that I thought.”

“I, I, I,” and suddenly I realise that I don't have the slightest idea. I suppose I expected Jo to disapprove in some way. To feel that I shouldn't be doing what I was doing. And, I've felt exactly the same way about Joe too; assuming that he was making judgements about me, guessing what he feels, when actually I don't really know, because I've never really asked him.

“Look,” said Jo with concern, “we are very anxious to make sure that nothing prevents you from achieving the goals you set yourself when you came here. We know that it’s possible for sexual urges to be heightened by the situation here and we want to be sure that you have every opportunity to act out any fantasies that you have as part of the programme. There really shouldn't be a need for secretive sexual activity.”

“Oh,” I say. “I see.” I'm anxious for the conversation to end as quickly as possible.

“And if you must, Fifty, remember it's 'Mistress Ylena' and 'Mistress Josephine' just to be on the safe side.” Jo is smiling in a friendly way.

“I said it wasn't you, it was my husband.”

“OK, that's fine, Fifty.” I'm not sure if she believes me, or not. I'm not sure if I believe me, or not. “But, we still need to talk about this. In your application form, when you were asked if you were prepared to be involved in sexual contact with your fellow participants, you said 'possibly'. I just wanted to check whether your views had changed since you got here?”


“Yes. Whether you had come to the conclusion that you definitely were prepared for such interactions, or whether you had decided that you weren't, or whether you still wanted to keep an open mind? We won't do anything that conflicts with your responses on the application form, you know that. But equally, we wouldn't want you to miss out on experiences, because of a decision that you made earlier that needs to be updated in the light of experience.”

“I don't know, Mistress,” I say, biting my lip. That's certainly true. I'd forgotten about the application form. I filled it in so long ago, or so it seems now. I guess I owe it to the research to experience this, though. It's true that I have been fantasising about sex with the other participants and the staff - and Joe, of course. I haven't been with a woman since I married Joe, well since I broke up with Angela, but it's hard not to look at Ylena or Carrie or Charlotte without going weak at the knees. But, I want to do these things with Joe, I've always wanted to do these things with Joe. It's just that somehow I couldn't ask, or he wouldn't listen or, well, I don't really know. And, there's something about Gerry too, I could just imagine myself.....

“Fifty?” Jo interrupts my daydreaming. I jerk my attention back to her questions.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Your mind seemed to have wandered off. I don't need an answer now, but I did want to give you the chance to reconsider your choice. All right?”

“Yes, Mistress.” I make my decision. I have to say 'yes' for the sake of the research, I tell myself, and for Joe and me. Maybe, if I work this out of my system we can find a way back? Or, maybe I can work out how to get us both to where we're both happy. “I've thought about it and I think you should change that answer to 'yes'. Definitely.”

“If you are sure, Fifty,” Jo says, caringly.

I nod. “Yes,” I say, “quite sure.”

“In which case, there needs to be a change of behaviour. No more masturbating!”

I'm surprised by this, but I know I have to accept what Jo says. “No, Mistress.”

“Unless of course, you are specifically directed to by one of the staff. You will carry out any such sexual acts with the other slaves as you are directed. You will make your mouth, vagina and arse available, as required. You are the sexual property of your owners and you will behave as such. Do you understand?”

Jo says this so gently, smiling as she carefully enunciates the words. It sounds so reasonable and so natural. I am almost ashamed I held back when I made my original application. But, sexual property? Well, yes I, suppose that makes sense, a slave is property after all. My arse? I hadn't thought about that? I've never... Well no, never. Apart from when Ylena did that with the electrical probe. Oh! I hadn't even thought about that before.

“I said, did you understand, Fifty?”

“Yes. Yes, Mistress.”

Jo turns back to her computer. “All right, Fifty. I've updated your file on the system. The staff will be aware of the change in your profile.”

“Thank you, Mistress Josephine,” I hear myself saying.

“That's all right, Fifty. We want to make sure that you get everything you can out of your stay with us. Now, what is planned for you today?”

“I have to see Gerry, Mistress. He wants to check that I am shaving my head correctly. And then, there's domestic duties and... “

“All right, Fifty. Off you go.”

I make my way up to Gerry's room. He's not there when I arrive, so I sit myself down in the chair to wait. Minutes later, I hear his laughing voice in the corridor and jump up out of my seat. It would never do to be sitting down when he came in.

“Hey, honey!” He exclaims when he comes through the door. “If it ain't my white Diallo! I may have two of you ladies to shave, but you sure have the cutest scalp.”

I smile, pleased to be complimented.

“Here to have your daily smooth 'n shine?”

“Yes, Gerry,” I say.

“You getting used to it now??? That tan stuff working out?”

I nod. Gerry turns to his lap top. I know that the staff always check the files before they start a session, but this time I know what he's going to see. He doesn't say anything about that though, he just says, “Hop up on the chair honey. Let's get this done.”

I get back onto the chair. He swings me around and tips me back. He picks up his electric razor and there's a whirring sound behind me. There's hardly any stubble on my head, but Gerry insists I get the once over every day. Heaven knows how I'll explain it when I get home. “So, how are you settling in? Did you enjoy the garden party? Didn't you look cute with the straps across your scalp.”

I hardly get the chance to answer. Gerry's chatter is as effective at keeping me quiet as the muzzle was. I'm barely paying attention.

“... and you've owned up to feeling just a bit sexy, I see.”

Now I'm paying attention.

“Well, that's pretty honest by my book. The way you move, you're every bit as sensual as Miss Ramatoulaye, believe me! So you should get the fun of it. Sex is the greatest game. You're not too bad looking, you know. For a whitey.” I feel him reach down and brush the ring in my right nipple. “You'll have a lot of fun, believe me.” He continues to stroke my ring gently. The teasing sensation convinces me that he is right. I give a quiet whimper.

He leaves the ring be and turns his attention to my head again. “Now, I ain't got no time to play with you - more's the pity – but, we'd better make sure your scalp doesn't dry out.” He's rubbing some moisturiser in – it feels as sexy as when he was playing with my nipple ring.

“They got you working out yet?”

At first I think this is some sexual innuendo, but then I realise he's talking about body building again. I nod my head.

“I think that’s a really good idea. You'll be surprised how much you can achieve with just an hour or so a day. I'll have a word with Jo and talk about how you are getting on. When your muscles start to stand out, you’re going to look even better than you do now. And, they’ll help your stamina. Gonna need that now you've put yourself on the sexual carousel.”

I hadn't thought I was putting myself on any ’carousel’ - surely he is teasing me, anyway? But, maybe I’ve misjudged things again. Gerry tells me I can go. I have housekeeping to do.

I get as far as the corridor outside some of the staff offices. I see George's back as I pass the door of one. I've only just gone by his office when I hear him call me to a halt. “Fifty!”

I stop and turn back to his room. “Yes sir,” I respond, wondering how he knew I was there.

He gets up from his desk and walks over towards me. “I see that you've changed your status on sexual behaviours.” I see that he's got the RFID Tracker window open on the screen of his PC, explaining how he knew I was passing by.

He's not really asking a question, but I reply anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says. “You can help out with one of your colleagues. Follow me.” He sets off down the corridor. I have to scurry to keep up with him. He leads the way into a room where Carrie is standing waiting submissively with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.

“Right, Fifty-two,” George says to Carrie. “We'll try again now, but with Fifty here. Do you think you can do any better?”

“I'll try, Sir,” Carrie responds. She doesn't sound very convinced.

“Well, then,” says George, “you'd better start.”

Carrie looks across at me shyly. “I'm sorry about this,” she says in an embarrassed tone. I'm puzzled by her words. She takes me by the hand and leads me to one wall. There's a ring set up above head height. Carrie points to it and lifts my arm. I understand that she wants me to reach up for the ring and I do as she indicates. She takes my wrists and fastens the clips on my wrist, cuffs together, so that they are linked to the ring.

George is standing watching carefully. “Good,” he says, “go on.”

Carrie responds. “You know how difficult this is.”

“Of course. That's not important. The only important thing is that you do as you are told. You are owned. You are property. You do as you are told. In this, as in everything else.”

“But, I've never..”

“I know. That's why I'm asking you to do it. If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing. Would it?”

Carrie shakes her head disconsolately. I'm standing there feeling a little foolish. My hands are up over my head and my arms are aching already. I watch as Carrie walks across towards me. She's wearing the grey sweat top and short skirt that all the slaves that weren't dumb enough to get their clothing instructions wrong are required to wear. I take some comfort from the fact that her auburn curls were shaved the same day that my hair was taken off. She's still as bald as I am. As she gets to my side, she drops to her knees and turns to look at George.

He folds his arms. Waiting.

Carrie reaches out with one hand, stroking my ankle and I realise what it is that George has told her to do. As she runs her hand up my leg and on to the soft skin on the inside of my thigh, I wriggle a little. “Hey! What is this?” I call out redundantly.

Neither George nor Carrie show any signs of being interested in what I have to say.

Carrie uses her hands to part my thighs. Angela did something similar to me once. She tied my wrists to the head rail and kept me there for hours playing with me. Now Carrie's fingers are playing with my crotch. Running her hands across my belly, probing with her fingers between my moistening lips as I respond to her touch, aroused by the combination of her touch, my helplessness and George's dispassionate, appraising stare.

“Is she getting wet?” George asks without concern for my sensibilities.

“Yes, Sir,” Carrie replies. Her fingers probe deeper and bring a soft “Oh!” from me.

“Good,” says George. “You're doing better than this morning. Continue.”

I look down. Carrie is pushing my legs apart with her hands. She moves her head towards my crotch. I see only her smooth, hairless scalp but I feel her tongue beginning to probe at my sex. As she licks and probes with her tongue, I feel myself react, pushing my hips forward to press my crotch against her face arching my legs to lift myself up towards the ring that holds my wrists above my head.

George is looking on in approval as Carrie’s efforts bear fruit. I whimper as her tongue pushes deep inside me and then flicks back to skip across my clit. Carrie reaches up and grasps my buttocks, one in each hand, pulling me to her as you might press a peeled fig to your mouth. Each touch of Carries tongue, the prick of her finger nails against my buttocks, the heat of her head between my thighs, all serve to lift me towards an orgasm.

I'm standing on tiptoe now, my upper body writhing as Carrie busies herself between my legs., My breathing is catching as the sensations well up from my crotch.

George claps his hands. “Enough!” he calls and immediately Carrie backs away from me. I give an involuntary cry, desperate at being so close to coming and yet deprived of the touch that was driving me. “And you, keep quiet, Fifty.”

Carrie gets to her feet, a quiet smile on her face. I can tell she knows that has done what was required of her - although I have my own concerns!

“Well done, Fifty-Two,” says George. “That was a much better effort. It wasn't so bad was it?”

Carrie, clasps her hands together in front of her. She looks across shyly towards me. “No,” she says. “Not at all.”

“All right,” says George. “You'd better get on. We should have got this far in your earlier session, so don't waste time now.” Carrie nods and leaves while George turns to me. He reaches up and frees my wrists from the ring. As he does so, my knees buckle and I slide down the wall to the floor, still panting slightly from being so close to orgasm. He looks down at me. “And, you'd better bring yourself off, I suppose. You won't be any use to anyone until you do.” He sees me hesitate. “Do it,” he orders. “Your sexual activity is our property, so do as you are told!”

And so, grateful for his permission, embarrassed by my response to Carrie's attentions and humiliated to be masturbating as he watches, I set to work with my own fingers to bring myself release.

George watches with interested amusement until I’ve finished. I know I like to be the centre of attention sometimes, but I don’t enjoy the way he seems to be watching every move, grinning as the waves of orgasms crash over me and leave me catching my breath, propped against the wall of the room. “OK,” he says. “That’s enough fun for now. You’d better get on with … What are you supposed to be doing, Fifty?”

“Domestic duties, Sir,” I pant. “I should be in the kitchens.”

“Well, if you’re fixing some food you’d better get down there. Make sure you wash those fingers though. They look a bit sticky to me.”

I’m shocked by this and humiliated. Somehow, everything builds up inside me, all of the tensions and extraordinary experiences of the last few days boil over. I burst into tears, sobbing at his callous indifference to my embarrassment. “You can’t say that! You just can’t! It’s disgusting. It’s just… just … not … not .. fair!”

“Fifty,” George is crouching down beside me, lifting my chin up with his hand, looking straight into my eyes and speaking quietly and firmly. “I can say that. I know you’re just starting with this, but you’ll listen to it and you’ll learn to take it. If you think that a few crude remarks is the worst that can happen to you here, you’re going to be disappointed. You know that don’t you? All right?”

I’m still upset, but inside I know that he’s right. I’ve put myself here after all. I do what I can to pull myself together. Of course, he’s right. I nod. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” I say.

“Very well. Now, off you go.”

Work in the kitchen takes up an hour, or so, and then there’s cleaning and laundry to do. We’re all kept pretty busy and there’s not much chance to talk to one another as we scurry around at our various tasks.

It was as we were finishing our evening meal that Jo came across to our table. “Fifty, Fifty-two,” Carrie and I looked up. “For Useful Time this evening, you’ll both report to George, please.”

Useful Time! We’ve spent all day working. I’d been hoping we might have the evening off, but it seems like it isn’t to be.

Carrie and I get to out feet, exchanging glances that share our concern about what awaits us. Jo tells us to turn around and put our hands behind our backs. She fastens my wrist cuffs together and goes to do the same for Carrie. As she grips her wrists, Carrie tries to struggle free, yelling, “No, please, I’ve had enough.” She almost breaks away from Jo. I’m astonished, it’s the first time that I’ve seen anyone do anything other than accept the treatment handed out to them. It never occurred to me that I could do otherwise.

Jo spins Carrie around. “Be quiet Fifty-two!” she is very firm.

“No!” Carrie calls, defiantly, “No! It’s too much, I can’t cope. I can’t! I can’t”

I watch as Jo nods to Celia, who’s sitting at the other end of the room. Carrie is becoming hysterical. Jo grabs her by the arms as she goes on calling, “No!” Jo puts her hand to either side of Carrie’s head holding it tightly. “Hush,” she says, insistently, “hush!”

I see Celia come up behind her, she pulls a bit gag across Carrie’s mouth and buckles it tightly. It only upsets Carrie further, inevitably. She’s shaking her head to try to dislodge the gag without any success.

Celia grabs me and pulls me away. Jo puts her arms around Carrie and pulls her close. “Shh,” she says calmly. “It’s all right. Don’t worry. Relax. Take a breath. Sometimes, it gets too much. We know. Just relax. It’s all right. We’ll take care of you.” Her voice has an almost hypnotic quality. I can see Carrie calming. Jo is holding her close, stroking her neck and scalp and saying, “There. There. It’s all right.”

“Gnngh,” Carrie whimpers quietly over the rubber bar across her mouth. “Hhngh.” I can see the tenseness, flowing from her as Jo’s calming manner takes effect.

“Come, now,” Jo says firmly. “It’s all right, but you must come now.” Celia hands Jo a pair of leashes. Jo clips one to Carrie’s collar and one to mine. “Come now. Come,” she says to Carrie pulling gently on her leash. She tightens the slack on mine. We both follow her.

“Hhng,” Carrie whimpers again as Jo leads us from the dining room. Carrie and I exchange glances. Her eyes are filled with tears, but whether they are in regret at her current circumstance, her rebellion or her submission, I cannot tell.

We follow Jo along the corridor. She’s not taking us to George’s office, but to the accommodation block. I’ve been up here a few times on domestic duties. Each of the staff has one of the small suites; a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room cum study. Inward Bound must use them for the people on their management training courses. She takes us into George’s. It’s the same as any of the others I’ve been to. Maybe not quite as tidy. Perhaps, that’s what we’re here for; as far as I can tell “Useful Time” mostly means “Slaving For The Faculty Time.”

Jo has a few quiet words with George as we wait by the door, but then she leaves. I can see Carrie is distressed by Jo’s departure, but she still doesn’t say anything. George sits on his couch, looking up at us. He’s obviously considering what to do in the light of Carrie’s concern. He beckons to her and signals for her to kneel beside him.

“Are you all right now, Fifty-two?” he asks. “You know we want you to be happy here, don’t you?”

“Hhng,” Carrie nods. From the way she looks at George, I can tell she is happier now and I suddenly realise it isn’t that she was told she was coming here that was the trouble. It was that she was coming here with me.

“Well,” George goes on, “you have to know that you must do as you are told. And, you know that you have to stretch yourself, don’t you? Are you ready to stretch yourself for me?”

“Hngh,” Carrie nods again; slowly this time.

“Good,” says George. Suddenly, I’m thinking, hey, does this ‘stretching’ involve me? And, if so, why isn’t anyone asking me how I feel about it. Then George gets up and starts to lead Carrie towards his bedroom. Her eyes have widened considerably. “Wait there,” he says to me.

Surely, I’m not expected to stand here and listen while he has his way with her. Anyway, I didn’t think that the staff were supposed to have sexual contact with the slaves. But, it’s only a few minutes before he comes back out of the bedroom.

“Now you, Fifty,” he says taking hold of my leash. He takes me in the same direction as Carrie. When we get into the room I see that she has been laid out on George’s bed. She is still gagged, her wrists are fastened to the bed’s head rail. George turns to me. “You had the benefit of this young lady's attentions earlier,” he says. “Now it’s your chance to return the favour.”

I’m not sure that I want this privilege, but equally, I don’t think I’m being given the choice. George leads me to the foot of the bed and has me kneel there. He sits down on the bed beside Carrie. She has clamped her legs firmly together from thigh to ankle. George shakes his head, putting one hand on her knee and sliding it upwards towards the hem of her skirt. Carrie grunts through her gag, angered by his attentions.

“Come on, Fifty-two, open up, or I'll strap your ankles to a spreader bar,” he says, ignoring her protests and pushing her thighs apart. “You should enjoy it anyway, you'll be getting the attentions of an expert cunnilinguist. She spent a lot of time pleasuring her Mistress before she came here. So, if you're going to have a woman go down on you for the first time, you couldn't get a better.”

As he says that, I'm puzzled for a moment and then I think back to the application form I filled in when I first approached Inward Bound. Maybe I'd gone a bit over the top describing the extent of my relationship with Angela. I mean, yes it was a dom-sub relationship, with me in the sub role, but it wasn't very physical, if you know what I mean. Angela was more into mental domination than anything physical, really, and there hadn't been much sexual contact between us. She'd just be happy to have me sit at her feet, while she read a book and played with my hair. Sometimes, she let me massage her feet. But, if I tried to stroke her while sitting at her feet, she'd tap my hand away, saying “bad slave!”. The first time we went to a munch, she was so quiet that everyone thought I was the top. It was only when she told me not to be so excitable and called me back to her side like some naughty child that the others there realised what the relationship actually was. I did say on my form that I had a lot of experience of oral sex. Thinking about it, that was probably an exaggeration. And, that my Mistress had forced me to pleasure her with my wrists chained, that was certainly an exaggeration. I mean, she did tie me up a few times and once we went to a fetish fair with one of my wrists chained to a ring on her belt. I'd loved it, following her around like a puppy, but she kept forgetting I was attached to her and she'd wander off without warning.

I guess it would be misleading to call it a BDSM relationship, really. In some ways it was almost platonic. Really just a Domme and a sub in a relationship together, rather than anything heavier. Certainly there was nothing like the sort of BDSM involvement that I could imagine now.

But don't think it was any the less a relationship based on dominance and submission for that. Angela very much wanted to have me under her control. It's just that apart from once or twice, it didn't involve much in the way of bondage or beatings, or even sex.

Anyway, now I'm going to have to demonstrate that I am at least competent with my tongue. I can just imagine the consequences for being caught out having lied on my form.

Carrie parts her thighs with a compliant whimper., George takes my leash and pulls me forward, guiding my head between them. In spite of Carrie's protests, she's evidently excited by the situation; her lips are warm and moist and musky smelling. I press my lips against hers, kissing and sucking focussing on doing to her what in my fantasies I would love to have done to me. Only, Joe never does. Maybe he would, if I asked him? Carrie responds with enthusiasm, pushing back as she braces herself against the head rail; her reaction drives my own.

“Very good,” I hear George say. “You two certainly know how to have fun.”

I run my tongue along each of her lips in turn. Carrie feels my tongue stud, hard against her labia. That brings an excited reaction. I respond by running my tongue up towards her clit. Carrie's gagged grunts get louder.

As my stud flicks across her clit, she pushes her hips forward pressing her crotch against my face. I'm delighted to be getting such a reaction. My pleasure drives hers. Carrie squeezes her thighs together trapping my head, stopping me from lifting away from her. Carrie lifts her feet and plants them on my shoulders, she's tugging at the chains that hold her to the bed head and moaning louder as my tongue slides back and forth. I am hardly able to catch my breath with my face jammed up hard against her crotch, unable to move with the weight of her feet on my back and my wrists fixed together. Carrie bucks again thrusting forward with her hips and I give a muffled “oomph!” in return. Carrie's close to orgasm now, when all of a sudden her legs are prised apart and George drags me away. “That will do for now,” he says.

“Uhhhh!” I mutter as I reluctantly climb off the bed, panting and desperately aroused. Carrie's yelping in her gag, pressing her thighs together as she tries to bring herself to climax. George firmly moves her legs apart and cuffs her ankles to the bed rail so that she cannot close her thighs. She's yelping in frustration at the source of her pleasure being removed.

Slowly her gasping eases, her moans quieten and she becomes silent, her violent thrashing around calms and she is laying still. George sits down beside her on the bed and unfastens her gag. The first thing she says, as the rubber bar swings clear of her mouth, is, “Thank you, Sir.” And I'm thinking hey, how about some thanks this way, too!

“You see,” George says to her. “You can trust me to stretch you, Fifty-two, and I think you've still got a lot further to go.”

I want to say that it was a stretch for me, too, but that would mean I'd have to admit I'd been less than honest on my form! Maybe I should have been more honest. Maybe I should have been more honest with Angela about what I wanted. Maybe I need to be more honest with Joe, too.

George unfastens Carrie from the bed and we are both led back to our cells; Carrie with a far away look in her eye, almost bumping into the walls as we follow George along the corridors. Myself, with an aching absence in my crotch and face that feels bright pink, as though it's been locked in a vice.

I'm put back in my cell and the bars close and the shutters come down. The lights go out. I'm so aroused by the evening's events that my hands slide towards my crotch under the blanket. Then, I open my eyes and I'm looking at the little red light blinking in the ceiling of my cell. I'm not going to do that with them watching, even though I am burning with frustration. Sleep? It’s a long time coming…

Chapter 20: The Problem With Research

Course 8 / Day 27: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: I conducted an informal progress review with Fifty this pm. I'm pleased overall with her progress. After worries early on as to how well she would respond to obedience training (given her initial presentation when she started the course), I consider that those issues need no longer give concern. Fifty appears comfortable (or at least acquiesces) with the regime and her expectations from the course seem to be being met. HOWEVER: I wish to raise the question of her motivation for joining the course, which may not have been entirely recreational. See attached transcript from an extract of the review meeting.

Jenny's Recollections:

It's Usefulness Time, the day's training sessions are completed. Earlier, Jo decided that she would practice some of the lessons she learned about shibari from Ylena. My arms still carry the pressure marks from the rope. Ylena stopped by as Jo was finishing and nodded her approval. “Soon I think you will wear the colours of the Russian flag for me, slooga,” she says to me.

Now I am kneeling beside Mistress Jo's chair holding a tray with a jug of water and a glass.

“How was your training today, Fifty?” Jo asks.

“I did my best, Mistress,” I respond, trying, and not quite succeeding, to suppress a smile, because things did not go too well; I have quite a lot to learn about which plants in the flower beds are actually weeds and which are not. Jo must have heard about this faux pas, because she narrows one eye slightly as she takes the glass from the tray and sips from it before returning it to its position. Flippant comments are clearly out of place tonight

“I wanted to talk with you about how you feel you are progressing; how you feel about your stay here.”

“I'm very happy, Mistress,” I reply.

“You can call me Jo, for now.”

“I'm very happy – Jo – really I am.” It is beginning to feel quite strange to use someone's proper name. A bit like being back at school and being asked by one of the teachers to call them by their first name. I am almost more used to being called “Fifty” or “slave” than I am to being Jenny. Funny – how strange that sounds ......

“In your application you said that you wanted to 'find out if this type of sexual trip is as exciting in reality as it is in my head'. Is that working out for you?”

I nod. “Yes, Jo,” I say. “More than I expected. Some of it is hard. Well, a lot of it, really. Even my fantasies hadn't got into some of the things that I have been doing here and...” I notice that Jo is peering at me from beneath arched eyebrows and realise that I have let my self sit back on my haunches. She grins as she sees that I have recognised my mistake and kneel up again.

“This doesn't come easy to you, does it?”

“No, Jo. In my real life, I'm very used to thinking for myself. I have to be very independent and self sufficient.”

“That's not something we encourage here. You will have had quite a culture shock. Here you have to try to think what is that we want of you.”

“I know. Well, the, er, how should I put it? The change of lifestyle? That’s what I wanted to explore..”

“So remind me what you did, what you do? In real life?”

“In real life? It’s funny: in many ways what I am doing now seems more like real life. Officially, I’m described as a Research Student. I work in a university. My post has me lecturing, giving tutorials to the students and researching. And, being run ragged. The popular idea of university life is people drifting along rivers in punts past wonderful medieval colleges and occasionally doing a bit of work. In fact, it often feels more like being a slave chasing all these different goals. Priorities always shifting. Everything needed at once. And, I’m married and with my husband away quite a bit, that can be difficult, too. So, being here with one thing to do at once and being told exactly what to do – is really wonderful, for a change at least!"

“Well, that’s definitely not the reply I was expecting! So what’s your research area?”

“You'd find it interesting,” I say. I'm always pleased to talk about my work. Most of the time people just glaze over and while I've been here the only intellectual stimulus has been trying to keep track of everything for the paper I'm going to write when I get back.

Pleased to be asked about my work, I spill out more than I should say, really. “It's psychology. Mainly looking at people's reactions under stress. How increased stress affects judgement; whether the complexity of the stresses alters their combined impact on the individual; whether interpersonal relationships add to or reduce stress; what the impact of stress on sexual desire is; how much the environment contributes to psychological stress; that sort of thing.”

“Well, you'll see plenty of that here. This would be an ideal laboratory for that sort of …investigation.” Jo is looking at me with a quizzical expression.

Blast! What have I said? It's best practice in psychological research to be discreet with your subjects about the questions you are really interested in. It's supposed to help them give honest answers. The Inward Bound people are my “sample” and I have let the cat out of the bag. Blast! Blast! I try to recover the situation:

“No, No. This is very different. Nothing like everyday life. You couldn't compare this with people's normal stresses. Even if you thought that there were similarities.” Oh no, that's even worse. It sounds like I've been thinking about it. She looks like she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. I'm not sure what to do next. Perhaps diversionary tactics; “Would you like some more water, Mistress?” It’s feeble, but it’s the best I can do.

“No, thank you, Fifty,” she says. I notice she doesn't ask me to call her 'Jo' again and she brings the discussion to a rather abrupt close. “We always ask at these review sessions, if you wish to end your participation, but I'm guessing that you don't?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Well that will do for now. This is still your Usefulness Time, isn't it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say.

“Well go, and tidy my room, Fifty. And, when you've finished return to your cell for lock in.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I say again getting to my feet and bowing my head as I have been taught.

It doesn't take long to tidy Jo's room, but I know that I have to have everything placed perfectly. She treats me fairly, but she won't overlook any mistakes and I don't want the demerits. With luck, she'll forget about our conversation. I hope.

As I put the last of Jo’s things away in her room, George appears. “Have you finished, Fifty?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” I say respectfully. George seems preoccupied.

“Hmm. Good. Well I have a further task for you. Come with me.”

I follow him down to a small room. He opens the door. Inside, Judy is standing, waiting.

“Here, you are, Nineteen,” he announces to Judy. “Here is the treat I promised you.”

Judy smiles, evidently in anticipation.

“Can I have her with her wrists cuffed behind her, please Sir?” Judy asks. I’m disconcerted. I’m used to being discussed this way by the staff at Inward Bound, but not by the other slaves.

“Of course,” says George, gripping my wrists gently but firmly and fastening my cuffs together. I don’t struggle, naturally, but I do give him a puzzled look. “You’ve already shown your skills, Fifty,” he says. “Nineteen here has earned a treat. You are to serve her for an hour, or so. Do just as she says. As if I, or one of the other staff, were telling you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir, but…” I begin.

“No, Fifty, no buts. Do as Nineteen orders. I’ll return to collect you in due course.”

As he is about to leave, Judy lays back on the couch that stretches along one wall of the room. “Come here, slave,” she says, beckoning me.

I really don’t feel that this is right. She is a slave, just like me. She shouldn’t be giving me orders.

“Come here,” she says, more insistently, “come here and kneel.”

“Do as you are told, Fifty,” George says. He watches as I reluctantly approach the couch and kneel beside it. He nods with approval, as I stay still allowing Judy to play gently with my nipple rings. “Good,” he says, “keep that up.” And he leaves the two of us.

“What’s going on?” I say as soon as he has gone.

“Silence, slave,” Judy orders, placing a finger on my lips to reinforce her point. She is evidently enjoying her newly given powers. “You heard what was said. You are my reward. You are to serve me. I asked for you especially.” After they way that she groped me the first time that I was take to see Ylena, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. “Now, use your mouth on my feet. Kiss them!”

She waves me away towards the end of the couch with a gesture of disdain. It seems very unfair, but I suppose that I must do as I am told and besides with my wrists cuffed behind me, I don’t feel that I have much choice. I set to work following Judy’s orders kissing her feet and ankles, licking with my tongue between her toes. Judy certainly seems to find it arousing and her arousal contributes to mine. She leans forward to hold me by the back of the neck and guides my head up her calves, to her knees and the inside of her thighs, all the time insisting that I continue to kiss her legs.

Finally, she draws my head between her legs. “Use your tongue, slave,” she commands. “Use your tongue.” I do as she tells me, aroused by her smell and taste and my sense of powerlessness - captive and obedient, the slave of a slave. Judy grips my head tightly between her thighs as my tongue licks and probes at her sex, her responses telling me that my every move is having its effect. Each time my tongue slips across the moist folds of flesh her hips press upwards, pushing back into my face. With her thighs pressing together I find it harder to catch my breath but I can’t do other than go on. As her excitement builds, my own mounts. As her hip thrusts grow in intensity the flicks of my tongue become more fevered. What else should a slave be doing?

Delighted by my efforts, Judy decides to return the compliment. Ordering me onto my back on the couch and laying alongside me, she starts to fondle my breasts with one hand, while the other buries itself between my thighs. With my wrists cuffed, I can’t prevent her doing as she will and she is obviously delighting in teasing me. She traces a finger nail around my right nipple, not touching any other part of me for a while. She takes her hand away. She starts to kiss my neck again not touching me anywhere else. My eyes are shut. I’m not really sure about time any more. All I know is the feel of her touch on my body and now her fingers are burrowing between my thighs, parting my cunt and slipping over my clit. Every move drives my arousal up so that when she moves her hands away, I quake as much when she ceases her touching as I do when she starts.

As I almost reach orgasm, she interrupts me again to move my tongue down to her sex, giggling at my groan of frustration, and then giving a mewing cry as my actions push her over the edge.

It is, as she lays back, panting, that George returns.

“You seem to have enjoyed your treat, Nineteen,” he says.

Judy laying back on the couch with a dreamy look on her face gives a simple, “Mmmm.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have to bring play time to an end,” he says as he unfastens my wrist cuffs, “but it’s time for you to go back to your cells – in a way. Come with me, both of you.”

We are both taken back to Judy’s cell.

“Right Nineteen: lay down please, legs apart,” George instructs.

Judy complies but with a quizzical frown forming on her face.

“And you Fifty: climb on top of Nineteen facing the other way.”

I kneel over Judy, looking down at her crotch as she lays beneath me looking up at mine. George connects my wrists to Judy’s ankles and Judy’s wrists to my ankles, using short leather straps run between the rings on our wrist and ankle cuffs. He smiles. “As a special treat, you two may now have as many orgasms and you wish – but you will have to work carefully together!”

The straps are quite short. Long enough for mouths to connect to pussies but not long enough to permit much freedom of movement.

It’s clear that this development is not entirely welcome to Judy! She obviously doesn’t welcome this return to being as much of a slave as I am. I can almost sense that she is scowling at George but she doesn’t say anything.

“We shall be watching you both and expect to see you both work hard for each other. Clear, Nineteen?”

“Yes, … Sir,” Judy replies to George a little reluctantly. The pause between the “yes” and the Sir” tells me that she still has the sulky look on her face.

“Off you go then!”

George stays until I begin to feel Judy’s tongue on my lips and of course I repay the compliment to Judy. Satisfied we are both working as directed George leaves, locking the cell behind him, closing the shutter and switching off the light.

We both know that if we pause there will be demerits and canings. We have to go on as we were told. It feels like it’s going to be a long night …

We keep at one another for what seems like several hours, both enjoying several orgasms. As we are in one another’s hands, so to speak, we each push the other along much harder than we might in normal circumstances (whatever that might be).

Suddenly the lights go up and Charlotte pads into our cell:

“I’m sorry to ruin your nights entertainment both of you , but Fifty has another engagement, and Nineteen – you look as if you can use some sleep at last”

We stop. I’m disappointed but perhaps relieved that our exertions are over – but what’s this about another engagement for me?

Charlotte undoes the straps and I climb down a little awkwardly from Judy’s bed. Judy smiles back at me in a predatory way, as if to say 'and I’m not half finished with you'. I hope she’s not given the chance.

Charlotte clips a lead to my collar, locks Judy in again and guides me back to my own cell. By my bed stands a large wedge of foam, shaped to fit someone who might lay over it. It’s covered with some sort of black cloth but has anchoring rings at each corner.

First Charlotte coats a gold coloured very phallic looking dildo with a lubricating jelly and silently hands it to me. There’s no doubt about what I’m expected to do with it. Thanks to Judy’s past efforts, it slides right inside me oh so easily, leaving me feeling pleasantly filled.

Charlotte motions me to lay down on my front.

I am left with my legs spread and my bum up in the air, very exposed.

More straps! She gently but firmly secures me. I feel her lubricating my bud. She probes me with a gloved finger. I open. She replaces the finger with something which feels just like the anal electrode Ylena used on me.

“Fifty: lift yourself,” she orders.

I obey.

She passes a rubber strap around my waist and another over my pussy and my bud. Both straps get tightened. There is no hope of expelling either of the intruders filling me. She peels off her gloves and starts to connect wires to the butt plug and the dildo. Then she crouches beside me.

“You will enjoy this, Fifty. These plugs are connected to the power unit – the one Ylena used on you. The power unit is controlled by this laptop – see? Here?”

“Yes Mistress,” I reply nervously.

“Ummm. Well, let’s just say its going to hold your attention for the rest of the night. Oh and there’s a surprise feature you will find out about soon. Night night!”

With that, Charlotte plants a kiss on my shoulder and leaves, locking me alone in my cell to await developments. I do not have to wait long. Current begins to flow through me, across my already sexually excited tissues.

First the dildo tickling, peppery, stinging.

Then the butt plug throbbing, pulsing.

Then the two of them together.

Then one at a time.

Slowly building. Slowly fading. Building quickly. Fading slowly.

I cannot help myself: I begin to moan: first softly then louder. I try to pull away from the wedge, but I am held fast. And then both intruders pulse, throb and sting together: I cry out in surprise. They repeat stronger. I cry louder. They reply stronger still! That’s the surprise! They must in part be triggered by the noises I am making and the laptop’s programme has been written to make sure I make as much noise as possible! I try my hardest to breath quietly through the sensory barrage. Gradually, excruciatingly slowly I manage to bring the situation under control. The stimulation begins to decay ….. Sleep begins steal into my brain … I relax … then both intruders burst into life once more. I gasp. The microphone hears me and feeds more power through me. I moan, cry, gasp, and cry again. The system responds implacably. I am now riding a wild horse! Tossing on rough sea! With the greatest of efforts I regain control. Sleep is once more casting its cloak over me when the anal electrode starts to pulse and my sphincter responds: I feel I am obscenely fucking myself with the electric butt plug as the dildo starts again to tease and tickle. I cry out again against the exquisite torment of fatigue and frustration – and I instantly begin to pay the price for my insolence! The night wears on but oh so slowly …….

Chapter 21: Private Investigations

Corinne and Jo are watching Jenny’s sexual torment on the monitor fed by the camera in her cell. “What do you think we should do, Corrine?” Jo says. “Do you think she is actually researching us? It could equally be some sort of put up job by some of the tabloid press.”

“Hmmm, well, Fifty will not be the last person to try to capitalise on her experiences, I’m sure,” Corinne responds. “On the other hand again, if she has organised her visit solely as part of a research project and did not tell us – that’s a bit rude to say the least.”

Jo points to the monitor. It is obvious that the electrical impulses and the feedback from the laptop’s microphone are having the expected effect. “Well, whatever she is up to, I think this little piece of erotic punishment is richly deserved.”

Corinne smiles slowly, “You’re right. I think we should keep the situation under review and see what happens.”

Gerry appears and joins in. “What are we doing with Fifty now?”

“George served her up to Nineteen as a treat and then switched things around so that Nineteen was having to both give and take. After that we’ve put Fifty on a feed-back routine.”

“Nineteen? Oh yes, she’d been getting a bit full of herself. That will have helped.” Gerry looks at the monitor. “And now Miss Fifty seems to have something to take her mind off whatever else she might have been up to.”

While Jenny is paying for her careless remarks well into the early morning, Professor Angela Dawney has also makes an early start to the day and, back in the university, she is sitting at her desk.

She is working on a research grant application for a longitudinal project into the differences in play behaviours in young and mature adults. One of the down sides of the academic world is that it seems that the process of gaining the funding for research consumes almost as much effort as the research itself. One of the other downsides is trying to find quality time to do it.

She brews herself a strong black coffee and savours the warm, strong, black, liquid. Taking a few moments out from important business, she finds her mind wandering to one of her post graduate students. The Prof smiles as she thinks about Jenny McEwan; reflecting on how she managed to get Jenny herself to come up with the idea of going on a two month consensual slavery course as part of the research for her PhD thesis.

What a brilliant idea! Useful for Jenny’s project? Well, perhaps. Useful to get Jenny back into the arms of Angela? Almost certainly. Angela ponders how, with any luck, this exercise will drive a wedge between Jenny and her husband, Joe. When Jenny broke up with Angela, she gave the impression that he wasn’t comfortable with BDSM play. Since Angela happens to know that Jenny is rather keen on BDSM play, it seems unlikely she’ll be happy to go back to good old vanilla Joe after this episode. Angela smiles, wondering how pliable Jenny will be when she gets back. According to Angela’s analysis, Jenny should be anxious to prolong the sensations and experiences that she has undergone at Inward Bound and she should be more than willing to follow advice on the best way to do that. Angela’s advice, Angela’s carefully considered advice. Which will be that, by and large, Jenny should go on doing just as she is told.

Angela’s mind begins to drift to what Jenny might have had to endure on her course. Spankings? Canings? Bondage? Nudity? Mmmmmm. …

Suddenly her reverie is broken by the ‘phone. She jerks back irritably into the real world, almost spilling her coffee. She has come into the office early precisely to avoid interruptions!

“Professor Dawney speaking.”

“Oh, hullo Angela, it’s Roy. I thought I saw you in the building and I’m glad I caught you.” It was fairly unusual for the Dean of Faculty to call. Mostly he preferred to drop by. It probably meant this was something urgent, and that, in Angela’s experience was rarely good news.

“Yes, Roy. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I have been in a meeting yesterday with the other Deans and the Vice-Chancellor about the Research Assessment Exercise.” Angela’s spirits dropped at the mention of the RAE process. “We’ve now had a date from the Department of Education for their visitation. Ministry Aparatchiks in the guise of colleagues from other institutions and their repulsive hangers on, as we all know, but a necessary evil of course. You will not be surprised to learn just how important the Vice Chancellor regards our preparations? Arnold is particularly keen that we put up a good show”

“No, of course not.” Angela is hardly surprised. Quite apart from Arnold’s need to maintain the academic reputation of the University and the funding that brings with it, the Vice Chancellor has his eye on the next steps up the rungs of life’s ladder and a consistently high score in the RAE always helps.

“Well, at the risk of being tedious, I have been asked to take the message back to all the Professorial Heads. The University is determined to maintain its last grading and intends to increase its Star Rating this time.” Angela rolled her eyes: star ratings, gradings, assessments, approvals, why couldn’t they let them get on with the research and let the results speak for themselves?

“There is nothing more important in the forthcoming year. All other considerations are secondary. You will do all in your power to see to it that all post grads get their degrees and write theses to the highest standard. We will expect you to take every opportunity to have work published: papers, lectures at conferences, poster demonstrations at meetings, you know the sort of thing.”

“Yes, Roy. Of course.” Angela feels exasperation rising, what does he think the department spends its time doing, anyway?

“Erm, well now we know the dates for the assessment, we can all plan accordingly. Anyway, Arnold is also intending to meet with professors personally. Ginger things along, you know the sort of thing.”

Angela knows well enough. A complete waste of time in her view.

“Oh, and you should expect the Research Assessment Team to take a close interest in the thoroughness of PhD supervision. And, they’ll be taking particular interest in Research Ethics. So, for goodness sake, make sure that any of your students who might need Ethics Committee approval have got it before they do any experimental or field work."

Angela manages to produce a confident chuckle as she replies, “Yes, of course Roy. I will look forward to seeing Arnold. When does he to want to see me?”

“No idea at the moment. This is just a distant early warning, as it were. I’m speaking to everyone as soon as I can. Just so we can all have our house in order, get all the ducks in a row. You know.”

Angela does now. “Thanks Roy. Leave it with me,” she says.

“Good. Good. So please, can you make a preliminary sketch, so to speak, of what your final submission will look like? At your earliest?"

“Yes, Roy. Of course. Just leave it with me.”

Roy rings off and as she puts the phone down Angela’s mood has darkened. Considerably. She’s thinking again about Jenny and a worm of doubt starts to wiggle in Angela’s brain. Angela hadn’t actually got quite as far as gaining Ethics Committee approval for Jenny’s jaunt. Without any doubt it should have been. This was after all research with human subjects (Jenny) and research involving a student as subject (Jenny). Damn! Damn! What to do?

Since Jenny broke with Angela, their relationship had been – strained. And, Angela’s eye had not been quite on the ball. She’d certainly slipped up with that.

Then again, how was her research actually going? And, was it really research at all at this stage? Thinking about it really, what Jenny is doing doesn’t really qualify as proper research, yet. It’s more a sort of experiential immersion, getting to grips with the subject matter rather than research per se. Angela could always claim that she’d considered ethics approval would only be needed when they moved to a more detailed exploration of the subject.

What is needed is something that made this look sufficiently interesting to justify the work done so far, but sufficiently tentative as to leave aside the question of why she hadn’t gone for ethics approval. Was there anything which she could put in her Research Assessment Exercise submission which was worth writing and which Jenny would also put her name to? The RAE is a pain but the University takes it seriously. There has to be a way to get something into that. What else? What about an early publication? Angela shook her head. It was far too soon for a paper and that made it look like the whole thing was further on than she wanted it to appear, but what about something for the next British Association meeting? Some sort of short presentation maybe. Perhaps a flyer for the attendees outlining the areas that she is working on? That might be a possibility …

So, thinks Angela, what are we going to do? The first challenge is to get the little bitch back at her desk here and start to prepare the poster, that’s what! Her Inward Bound expedition was supposed to be a pilot project anyway. No, more like an exploratory observational exercise. Something to see if this was a line of research which could be followed. Now that sounds better, there wouldn’t be any issue over her judgment that the Ethics Committee would not be interested in it at this rudimentary stage. Rudimentary. Yes! That’s the right word. Rudimentary. Provisional. Yes… That’s more like it! Angela starts to feel more comfortable.

But, what to do in practice? How to get her back? And, not raise Jenny’s suspicions?

Angela slowly assesses the problem. The line of attack seemed to be sound enough, but the issue is what to do next? How to find some reason for Inward Bound to end the sessions and send her back. But, thinks Angela, they’ll be happy just as long as they get their money.

Of course, Angela realises, money is the answer! Inward Bound is being paid from Angela’s endowment fund. What about a convenient cash flow problem? Inward Bound is a commercial outfit, after all. If the money dries up, they’ll want to terminate Jenny’s little adventure. Pity it could not have run a little longer, thinks Angela, regretfully. Still, this is now a survival exercise. Angela’s survival. She considers one final time. She decides. Finally.

Angela opens “Contacts” on her cell phone and dials the Inward Bound number. Corrine answers the phone. At the end of the conversation Angela feels much happier, but Corinne doesn’t.

“Larry, can I have a word?” Corinne says, putting her head around the door of the room that Larry is currently using as his office.

“Sure,” he replies, “come on in.” Larry is enjoying his trip out to Suffolk. He hasn't seen much of the Inward Bound facilities in action so far and it has been useful to see how Corinne has spent some of Clegg's investment. “How can I help?”

“I'm not sure. It may not be a problem, I guess. It's one of the participants in the current programme. Here, have a look at this, first of all,” Corinne tosses a folder across Larry's desk. “See what you think.”

Larry opens the folder. It's the transcript of the discussion between “Fifty” and Jo and a collection of print outs of the e-mails between “Fifty” and Angela. Larry reads them through, with a furrowing brow.

“And on top of this,” Corinne says, “there is supposed to be a problem with her payments, too. Together it all makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“OK,” says Larry. “Lets deal with this ‘research’ question first.”

“I guess the main worry,” Corinne says, “is what happens at the end of her course. If she is using her time here as some sort of research opportunity, I mean. I'm not concerned by the academic analysis – I suppose I'll be interested to see what conclusions she comes to. And I don’t think she’d go shooting her mouth off to the media herself.”

“I thought you'd got the participants tied down with a sort of non-disclosure agreement?”

Corinne nods. “Yes, that’s why I don’t think she’d blow any whistles. I suppose I'm more concerned about what happens when she writes up her research. You can imagine the sort of grief we'd get if one of the tabloids found out about her research, can’t you? Those trolls have a way of turning even the most academic papers into something sensational. Now, while some of our clients are pretty up-front about their interests most of them would rather what goes on here weren’t spread across the front pages of the papers. I think it's manageable, but I thought you'd want to know.”

“And the payment problem?”

“Well yes, that’s odd too. I just took a call from Fifty’s ‘safe contact’ – you know the person they have for their bail out.” Larry nods. “It’s a Professor Angela Dawney at Fifty’s university. She’s saying there may be some problem with the final payment for Fifty’s last four weeks.”

“I thought you took the payments as a direct transfer from the participant’s account. If Fifty is here with us she’s hardly in a position to stop the payment.”

“We do, but it seems that the bank account that Fifty gave us is actually some university account. There hasn't been a problem until now but Dawney says that she thinks there might not be enough to cover the final payment. She tried to sound like she being helpful.”

“Do you think she was?”

Corrine shakes her head. “Not a chance. I had the definite feeling that she was in ‘spanner in the works’ mode. What I’m not sure is whether she’s trying to throw a spanner in our works, or in Fifty’s. In any case there can’t be a real problem because I checked the bank statements and Fifty paid up front in full. Maybe, Dawney is worried in case we’ve discovered what Fifty is up to and she thinks that stopping the payment is a way to get her out. Maybe, she just wants her girlfriend back.”

“I thought Fifty was married.”

“Yes, but – well - there’s definitely something going on there.”

“Mmm, yes,” Larry seems abstracted. “Well, yes. Errm. I need to think about this. We don't need to do anything right now, do we?”

“If you're worried, I can pull her out of the course and send her home. It will mean a refund, but we can stand that.”

“No. No need for that. Like I said, let me think about it. If you're going to do anything at all, I'd just make sure that Fifty has plenty to keep her busy and not too much time for thinking.”

Corinne thinks about it for a moment. “OK. Well, Jo has already set up some more sessions for Fifty. It's about time she had another visit from Ylena, too.”

“I'll leave it to you, you're the expert.” Larry nods to Corinne. “But, I do want to talk to Whitechapel about this. They might be a bit sensitive about it, but I'm sure I can square things. Like you say, the results of any research might be useful, anyway. I’ll get this young lady’s background looked into and – what did you say her name was? – Angela Dawney - we will have a look at her too. The two of them seem to be at the middle of a rather sticky web and I can’t pretend that I’m happy with it. Let’s see what I can find out.”

Corinne leaves Larry to it and as soon as she leaves the office, he picks up the phone to contact Clegg.

“Hi, Larry, what's up?” Clegg sounds affable, Larry assumes that business at the old firm is going well. “I've got some of the team here. Hang on, I'll put you on hands free.”

'Great', thinks Larry. What he says is, “Hi, everybody.”

“Hey Larry, how's Suffolk,” says Dr Jordan.

“Hi, Larry,” it's Elly's voice.

“Larry,” Connie chimes in.

“Well Freddie, I'm sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I just wanted to run something past you.” Larry describes Jo's interview with Jenny.

“And, Corinne doesn't think it’s a problem?”

“No, but then, she's taking it at face value. I guess my concern is that some of the competition could be trying to check out what Inward Bound is up to. There are a couple of businesses like Inward Bound and I wouldn't put it past any of them to sneak in their own little ferret. If I were facing a competitor like Inward Bound, I'd probably do the same and I'd use someone like this girl – although hopefully one that had a bit more control over her mouth.”

“Why don't you just ship her down here?” It's Connie's voice. “I'm sure I can divert her interest; take her mind off her studies.” Larry can almost see the glint of Connie's sharp little teeth.

“I'd like to keep this contained up here if I can, Connie,” Larry says.

“There is another possibility.” This time it’s Freddie speaking. “Maybe, she's nothing to do with your competitors. Maybe, it's one of my competitors. There's always someone sniffing around. We put a lot of people's noses out of joint with the Kushtian contract and there are Eastern European start-ups who would be keen to put a spanner in our works, too.”

“I really don't think it's anyone taking an interest in your side of things, Freddie.” Larry is concerned in case Clegg wants to get too involved.

“Not sure I can take the risk, old man,” Freddie says.

Larry has learned that when Freddie says “old man” you'd better watch your back. “Freddie, I really don't want any of your team trampling over the Suffolk operation.”

“I don't think we need to do that, Larry,” Elly's voice offers sweet reason as ever, Larry thinks. “Why don't we do a little research of our own? Check out some more of your problem's background. Harry's boys and girls haven't got a lot on at the moment. If it looks like a problem that affects us, we'll fix it. If it’s anything to do with your side of things – competitor or not – we'll leave it to you.”

Larry thinks for a moment. “Sounds OK to me,” he says. “Just tell Harry to be discreet. I don't want to hear that half the women at the university have suddenly disappeared.”

“Larry!” it’s Connie sounding offended. “As if, we would!”

“Are we agreed, then?” Freddie interrupted.

“Sounds fine to me,” says Larry.

“One other thing,” says Doctor Jordan. “You might like to turn the wick up on your problem's training programme. Maybe, one possibility is that with a little extra encouragement, she decides to sign up for a long-term commitment at the end of this.”

“Hang on, Doc. That's leaping ahead,” Larry says. “But, you're right about intensifying her training. I've already got Corinne doing that.”

“Let me know if she needs a hand,” says Connie.

“Thanks, Connie, but I'm sure Corinne's team will do OK,” says Larry.

Freddie brings things to a conclusion and Larry hangs up. Larry feels he’s got off lightly. Later that afternoon, Larry catches up with Corinne. “I've given things a bit more thought,” he says. “There's probably nothing to worry about, as we said. I'm just concerned, in case some of our competition is trying to pull a fast one.”

“Does that sort of thing really go on? Industrial espionage in this sort of business?”

“You'd be surprised. Anyway, I'm going to get McEwan’s background looked into. Just so we're sure there's nothing odd going on, but for the time being, I think we've got the right approach. Let's just keep her as busy as can be and make sure she gets the ride that she's paying for. Or, Dawney’s paying for, or whoever!”

It takes Harry’s team about a week before they feel that they have a picture of what’s going on with Jenny. Even then, it’s pretty inconclusive as Harry explains over a beer. “I can't say that I see anything very sinister going on, Larry,” he says. “Leastways, as far as your inmate is concerned. We've done a whole lot of profile checks on her and as far as we can tell, she's exactly what she claims to be. The only thing that is different from her application form is that she is involved in a research programme, as you suspected.”

“OK, so what's the background on that?”

“Well, we managed to get into her office at the college and we've got copies of her research proposals – she's looking at stress and its impact on sexual responses, much as you thought. There are a couple of odd things though. Firstly, her supervisor on the project is...”

“Don't tell me. Professor Dawney.”

“Yep. Who was also your girl's main squeeze for some time. If some of the e-mails on young Jennifer's laptop are anything to go by, the Prof wasn't entirely happy that the relationship came to an end.”

“And, she's McEwan’s phone-a-friend on this course, too.”

“Which means that young McEwan could be a bit out on a limb. Especially, given that the university may not know the full details of the research she is doing just at the moment.”

“How come? I mean, how come we know?”

“Checked the files in her office. There was no record of an approval from the Research Ethics Committee for her stint at Inward Bound. Research on human subjects and especially on students (your young lass qualifies twice there) should be approved before it gets off the ground. McEwan is registered as a PhD student, but there was no record of the Ethics Committee’s approval for the Inward Bound expedition. That’s supposed to be important."

“Which leads us to suspect that Mrs. Jennifer McEwan is probably on the straight and level, but that Professor Dawney isn't.?”

“Well, yes, but I don't think there's anything to get paranoid about. Except maybe this....” Harry plays an ace as he pulls out a photograph and passes it across to Larry. It's a photograph of Angela's desk. Harry points to one of the pictures standing on it.

“I'm not sure what I'm looking at,” says Larry. “This looks like some gathering of the great and the good. Some conference or other, I suppose.”

“Exactly. It's the 14th annual conference of the Foundation for Behavioural Psychological Research, chaired by one Professor Angela Dawney, last year in St Petersburg. That's her in the middle.”

“I'm still not sure what I'm looking at.”

“I thought you might recognise the gentleman standing behind her right shoulder.”

Larry peers at the photograph again and says quietly, “Oh, shit.”

“Exactly. Or, possibly. That's Anatoly Kustensky, isn't it?”

Larry nods. “I didn't have him down for in interest in psychological matters.”

“Why not? We are. He saw what we can do when we tried to ship him your ex-girlfriend. He'll have been keen to get at some of the same expertise that Connie's folk are using.”

“I thought Freddie was collaborating with Anatoly's people these days."

“Well, yes and no. You know how it is – partners on this, competitors on that. The lines get a bit blurry.”

“And, you think Anatoly may be using Dawney to find out more about what we're up to?”

“If I'm honest, Larry, no,” Harry says bluntly. “The problem is that Freddie does. And, you know how Freddie is, when he develops an interest in things. He’s made up his mind that Dawney and Anatoly are bed mates and deeply embroiled in some sort of conspiracy.”

Larry nods disconsolately, “Yes. Freddie does look for the dramatic. I mean we’ve nothing to suggest that Dawney even favours male partners, have we?”

“Well, no, not really. I found some conference papers in Dawney’s office. Kustensky did write a big cheque for the Foundation and they did co-host the end of conference dinner and she did get the use of a dacha provided by said Kustensky during the conference and for a fortnight afterwards.”

“And, did the dacha come with hot and cold running Kustensky?”

“Ha! Well that’s the question! There is a limit to what you can find out from one burglary but I found some snaps. You know the sort of thing: Some of the other delegates by the swimming pool, Anatoly being very chummy, making sure everyone had a good time.”

“Well, it all sounds a bit strange. What is Freddie’s take on this?”

“He wants to pull your McEwan girl out of Inward Bound. Thinks it will be safer all round if your business isn't exposed to risks from Anatoly.”

Larry nods. So far, it makes sense. Ex-KGB hoods stomping over the Suffolk site would hardly be good for business. If Anatoly were involved in any of this, then Jennifer would be much better out of there for a while.

“He wants to give her to Connie to see what she can get out of her. I don't think there's anything to be found out, but you never know.”

Larry nods again. “But, assuming she doesn't know anything about it, where does that get us?”

“Freddie is due to see Anatoly in a week in any case. We're going to do some more research into the Professor's activities and Freddie is going to talk to him about it, if needs be. Face to face. He'll decide then what's to be done, but he'd like to have his hands on all the pieces before the start of the game.”

“Does that include Dawney?”

Harry looks uncomfortable. “Maybe, but not if I can avoid it. I'll want something to come out of our research that is bit more than the circumstantial stuff we've got so far before we go round to her place with our collecting bag.”

“OK,” says Larry, “but you'll need to let me get things squared off with the Inward Bound folk and I don't want Mrs McEwan appearing in Freddie's 'for sale' catalogue, unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. Can we try to make this look like it’s all part of her 'experience' if at all possible?”

“I'll do what I can, Larry,” Harry says. “But, you know I can't make any promises.”

Larry heads back to Suffolk rehearsing in his mind what to say to Corinne. It could be a very difficult conversation. It’s not as if he has ever explained just how Clegg Enterprises makes their money or exactly why Anatoly is a problem. He can’t really tell her everything can he? But can he tell her nothing? That’s the question! He runs through his options once more … and then decides.

In the dead of night Larry is woken from sleep by his mobile: it rings louder and louder and louder until he shakes himself awake and answers.


“Yes.” He’s still dozy. He’s not one of those people that wakes instantly ready for action. “ … Is that Corinne?”

“Yes, Larry,” Corinne sounds impatient, worried and angry all at once. “There’s been a serious incident at the Centre. Can you come over right away?”

“Yes, of course, but what on earth is the matter? You sound pretty chewed up.”

“It’s Fifty. A group of men turned up at the Centre and arrested her. They’ve taken her away. I’ve no idea where.”

“Arrested her?”

“They said they were from the United States Department of Justice. They had ID and everything else you would expect.”

“Well who were they? Why did they want her? Do we have anyway of contacting them?”

“How the hell would I know who they are? They bowled in, waved their warrant cards, or whatever it is they have, around, and took her. They left us a card with a number to call if we were worried. Like we wouldn’t be!”

“So have you tried the number?”

“Yes. It’s a US number, Washington somewhere. There’s just an answer phone message asking us to ‘call in the morning’. So that will be what? Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon our time?”

“OK Corinne, I’ll be right with you.” Larry knows he won’t get any more sleep tonight. “But don’t worry. Our firm has had quite a bit of support from the Foreign Office in the past and I’m sure I could access our contact there. Sounds as if this is really going to be a Home Office or Ministry of Justice issue but I’m sure I can find out where we go next or who we need to speak to. Have you be in touch with your solicitor or Fifty’s Safe Contact yet?”

“No, no, we haven’t. I mean it’s the middle of the night and to be honest I’m completely out of my depth ….”

“It’s OK Corinne. Sometimes it’s best to try to sort these things out quietly, if you understand me. Don’t do anything until I get there. I’ll come over straight away.”

After he hangs up, Larry smiles. He yawns, showers, shaves and cleans his teeth. After all, a white knight has to arrive looking the part.

End of part 3.