Fiat Lux
by Jennifer Harrison

Part 1

Angela Barnes was not having a good day. She searched around her desk again, but couldn't find the document she was looking for. Exasperated, she reached for the intercom button.

"Lucy, did you bring in the McKenzie brief?" she asked in an irritated tone.

"Yes, Miss Barnes," came the tinny reply from the speaker.

"Well, I can't find it," Angela said, quietly fuming, "maybe you could come in here and point it out to me."

"Yes, Miss Barnes."

The office door opened, and the slight figure of Angela's personal assistant, Lucy Harker, walked into the room. She went to the desk, reached out and, lifting a couple of manila folders, pulled out a third, and handed it to her boss with a slight smile.

"Thank you, Lucy," Angela said with a rueful smile, "sorry for shouting. What would I do without you?"

"You're welcome, Miss Barnes." The younger woman smiled sweetly, turned, and went back to her own desk. She knew her boss well enough not to take offense at a little show of temper. She understood the pressure she was under, and the pressure she placed upon herself.

Angela turned to the brief, focusing all her attention on it for the next two hours, making copious notes as she went through it. It was Friday night, and she could have taken it home to work on, but she was very strict about not taking work home; she guarded her personal time jealously, and was prepared to work late into the evening if it meant she could keep her weekend clear.

Angela Barnes was one of the most promising young lawyers working in the London law courts and, at the age of 29, was well on course to reaching the position of Queen's Counsel before her thirty fifth birthday, and so becoming the youngest QC ever. That meant a lot of hard work, but it was work she enjoyed, and work she felt compelled to do – Angela was a very driven individual. She took a lot of legal aid cases, generally involving women in domestic abuse situations, and paid for this with lucrative corporate work.

The door opened, and she looked up to see Richard Benton, head of chambers, looking in. Richard was in his late fifties, but was still a very active and attractive man, which showed in his steel grey hair and handsome face, as well as his well-toned body. Of much greater interest to Angela, though, was his sharp legal brain, which had steered her in the right direction for the previous five years of her career.

"Oh, Angela," he said from the doorway, "sorry to interrupt you, but I just wanted to make sure you would be able to look over those budget figures before you go tonight."

"Certainly, no problem," she replied with a forced smile, watching forlornly as her evening disappeared under the weight of work. Richard smiled apologetically, knowing he had been the bearer of bad news, but then he also knew how much his young protégée wanted to become a key player in the business. He closed the door quietly and left her to it.

"Have a nice weekend, Mr Benton," Lucy said as she got up to leave.

"Goodnight, Lucy," Richard called back.

'Oh I will', she thought to herself, as she left the office at 5pm precisely. She was happy to put in a hard day's work from nine to five, but she didn't live to work, like her boss – the weekend starts right here!

She took the bus back to her apartment, changed out of her work clothes into her running gear, and went out along the towpath. She enjoyed the mindless activity of jogging, she found it relaxing, as she ran down the side of the river, admiring the mixture of industrial, business and residential scenery, as well as the traffic on the river.

A mile out and back was enough, then a long, hot shower to get the sweat and grime of the city off. She settled down on the sofa, just wrapped in a towel, with a glass of wine, to watch some TV, before getting ready for the evening.

- o O o –

Angela locked her desk and stood up, stretching the tiredness from her back as she did so. She glanced at her watch – 8pm – and decided it would be too late to cook when she got home. She speed-dialled the local Chinese takeaway as she walked down the stairs to the car park and ordered her standard, Friday night late-home-from-work meal.

She hated bringing her Mercedes SLK into the city, but she had had to go out to the Youth Offenders' Institute in Reading, to visit a client – a young woman from the Ukraine, who was being prosecuted for prostitution and drug offences, while the men who had trafficked her melted away into the shadows. She knew she could turn this one around, but it was frustrating that she had to, that the system worked so much against these victims.

There wasn't too much traffic around this late in the evening, but Angela took it very easy anyway. It was true she couldn't afford to get a ticket in her position, but that wasn't the reason for her caution. She used the time to get home as decompression time, when she could gradually let the concerns of the day seep away, and leave her mind clear for the evening to come.

She picked up the takeaway and made her way back to her apartment, smiling at the prospect of a whole two days with no legal briefs to read.

- o O o –

Lucy was still sitting with her towel wrapped around her when she heard the outer door open and close. Mischievously, she pulled off the towel and sat naked, her legs invitingly open, ready for her lover.

"Hello, darling," she murmured breathily.

"Hello, Mistress," Angela replied, sinking to her knees before the younger woman, placing her hands behind her back, presenting her naked body. As well as shedding her clothes at the door, she had locked on her leather collar and cuffs, so that she was now able to present herself to her Mistress as the perfect slave.

Angela had suffered some terrible abuse as a child, an experience which had two major effects on her life. The first was that she could not trust any man and, in looking to satisfy her desire for human warmth and love, she had turned to her own sex to fill that void. She had engaged in a few, fumbling encounters through her teens and early twenties, but it had not been until she met Lucy three years ago that she had had a full-blown lesbian relationship.

The other effect of that early trauma was that it had fired an ambition to get herself into a position where she could prevent such horrendous acts happening to other young girls and women, or at least allow her to bring the perpetrators to justice. It had driven her through law school to graduate top of her class, got her a position in St Stevens Barrister's Chambers, and was quickly pushing her to the top of her profession.

At work, she had to be in complete control, of herself, of the courtroom when she was acting, and of her client. But it wasn't who she was – she found it incredibly stressful to be in charge all the time. She was submissive by nature, and longed to be able to let go, to not be in control, either of events, decisions, or herself. Lucy had recognised that very early on, and had become her Mistress almost as soon as they had first started seeing each other outside of the office. They had moved into Angela's riverside apartment together, and had enjoyed three blissful years as Mistress and slave, while continuing to work together very successfully as barrister and PA.

Her Mistress held out her hand, and Angela leaned forward and nuzzled it, enjoying the feeling of the soft fingers against her cheek. She leaned forward a little further so that she could rest her head against Mistress' leg, then began kissing her naked inner thigh.

"Mmm, hold that thought," Lucy murmured, "but go and get the food first."

Angela scooted to the kitchen, where she'd left the Chinese takeaway, and transferred the food from the silver containers to an array of bowls. She then loaded up a tray, adding the half-full bottle of wine, and went back into the living room. Mistress had moved to the sofa, where she stretched out languorously, making Angela catch her breath – she looked so, so sexy! She moved the small side table next to the sofa, and placed the tray on it, before kneeling down meekly, ready to serve in any way.

Lucy picked up the chopsticks and began to eat, looking down into the adoring face of her slave. She had been surprised, when they first met, by just how submissive Angela was, and she had assumed the role of her Mistress almost by default, because it was the relationship for which the older woman clearly yearned. Not that she was complaining – she was a natural top, always taking the lead in her relationships. She was also a very natural lesbian – she had always preferred girls to boys, and loved nothing better than to seduce a young, previously straight, woman into the wonders of Sapphic sex.

Having Angela as her natural and willing slave was a dream come true, but she was amazed by just how much she had to do as a Mistress. For example, right now Angela was sitting placidly before her, and would not eat or drink anything unless Lucy gave her, not only permission, but a direct order. She picked out a nice, juicy prawn, and held it out, saying 'eat' to get her slave to lean forward and take the food from her. As she held out her wine glass for Angela to sip from, she knew that her slave would do nothing on her own initiative, not even go to the toilet, but would do absolutely anything she asked. It gave Lucy an incredible rush to know she had that power and control, all given most willingly.

The meal progressed, with Lucy eating what she wanted, and Angela eating what she was given. Eventually, Lucy couldn't take it anymore, grabbing the D ring on the front of her slave's collar and pulling her up onto the sofa, on top of her. Their lips met and devoured each other, assuaging a hunger not satisfied by the food they had eaten. Lucy gently pressed down on the other woman's shoulders, until her head was between her thighs, and she let out an excited moan as Angela applied her tongue enthusiastically to just the place, and in just the way, which would drive her Mistress wild. She loved nothing better than to satisfy her Mistress – she sometimes thought she preferred it to achieving orgasm herself – and she strived to bring her to that ecstatic state as quickly as she could.

As Lucy lay on the sofa afterwards, trying to get control of her heart rate and breathing, she looked down at Angela, already back on the floor, eyes cast down, waiting for her next order. She hadn't wiped Lucy's juices from her face, but wore them proudly, like a badge of honour. Lucy felt a surge of pure lust for her slave right then, but controlled herself – she wanted to keep herself in this highly aroused state for her evening out, and anyway, she loved to frustrate and tease her boss, just to show her who was in charge around here!

"Thank you, Anna," she said, using the pet name she had given Angela for when they were in Domme-sub mode, "you tidy up while I get ready."

Angela cleared away the meal and washed the dishes quite contentedly. She knew her Mistress would be going out clubbing tonight, and would almost certainly hook up with some young woman for the night. As a slave, it was not her place to be disapproving or jealous, but she actively revelled in the thought that her Mistress might bring someone back to the apartment, and order Angela to service her, or allow her to watch as they made love. If she was really lucky, all three would get to play together!

Angela had cleared up the kitchen and swept up the few bits of food which had dropped on the floor while she was being fed, when Lucy came back into the room.

"How do I look?" she asked, giving her naked slave a twirl.

"Sensational, Mistress," Angela breathed, overcome with desire for her beautiful young companion.

She was wearing an almost impossibly small leather skirt, with fishnet stockings and low-heeled pixie boots. The outline of her bra could be seen through the sheer material of her white, sleeveless blouse, and her neck and wrists were adorned with a gold chain necklace and bangles. With her short blonde hair, sparse make-up and slender frame, she looked like the principal boy in a production of Peter Pan, and Angela had a brief vision of herself as Tiger Lily, tied to a stake, being rescued by her hero / heroine.

"Thank you, darling," Lucy smiled, "let's get you ready for bed."

The two women went into the bathroom and, on command, Angela sat down and relieved herself, before standing and allowing her Mistress to wipe her dry. "Teeth, hands and face," Lucy ordered, as if talking to a child, and she watched as her slave dutifully went through her night routine. Angela was always very self-conscious about her body, feeling herself to be fat by comparison to her Mistress, but Lucy loved her wonderful, curvy figure, her plump bottom and large breasts – she was all woman, and Lucy was always aroused by watching her, even while performing the most mundane of activities. It was all she could do to keep her hands off her!

They went into the bedroom, and Angela crawled into her cage at the foot of the bed, curling up on the futon-style mattress, and snuggling into her soft pillow, looking up lovingly at her Mistress.

"Goodnight, Anna," Lucy said, as she locked the cage door.

"Goodnight, Mistress, and good hunting!" Angela replied.

Lucy gave her a smile, and pulled the cover over the cage. It was a bit like covering a canary's cage – once covered, she did not expect to hear anything from her slave until she was uncovered – but also, if she did bring some innocent girl back here tonight, she didn't want her spooked by the sight of a woman in a cage! Not unless she decided it was appropriate, anyway…

Lucy picked up her bag and set off into the night, on the hunt for fresh meat! Meanwhile, Angela settled down to sleep as best she could – she had been very aroused by the evening, but she wouldn't even countenance the idea of touching herself to relieve her frustration. Her orgasm was in the gift of her Mistress, as and when she decided her slave had earned it, or if it amused her to grant it. Angela drifted off into a contented sleep, dreaming of pirates, pretty dresses, and the hands of her Mistress roaming her bound body…

Part 2

Lucy sipped her drink and looked at the woman at the bar. She had been sitting there, nursing her drink, for the last twenty minutes. She had been keeping a close watch on the door, while taking the occasional longing look out at the dance floor. The attractive Domme thought she had waited long enough, and decided to move in.

"Hi, would you like to dance?" The woman looked up into Lucy's smiling face with a startled expression.

"I… er… I'm just waiting for my boyfriend," she replied nervously, and a little nonplussed.

"Well, we could have a little fun while you're waiting. Come on," Lucy responded confidently, holding out her hand to the other woman, who stared at it for a moment, then took it briefly to help herself down from her bar stool.

"I haven't danced with another girl since the school disco!" she said uncertainly as Lucy led her towards the dance floor.

"We'll put our handbags down and dance around them to make you feel at home," Lucy joked.

Lucy was a really good dancer, and the other girl gradually loosened up as the oddness of the situation wore off. To Lucy's experienced eye, however, she was exhibiting the classic signs of a submissive – she was wearing a very attractive sparkly top and skin-tight leggings, but she seemed to be embarrassed by her clothes, and it was as if she was trying to hide behind herself, if that were possible. She displayed no confidence that she had as much right to be there as everyone else. There was also the fact that she had just spent twenty minutes waiting for a boyfriend who had clearly stood her up, reluctant or unable to make a decision about whether to leave or not. This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel, the young Domme thought.

They danced for at least half an hour, Lucy taking every opportunity to get up close to her 'target', even getting to feel her up a couple of times, as they twirled and gyrated around the dance floor. At last, a little out of breath, they took a break.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Lucy asked, leading the way to the bar. "My name's Lux by the way, what's yours?"

"Er, Sophie," her target replied, mentally off-balance again, "Lux? That's unusual, what's it short for?"

"It's short for Mistress Lux, actually. What are you drinking?"

Lucy bought them drinks, and they found a vacant table away from the dance floor.

"It was my dad's nickname for me when I was a kid," Lucy explained conversationally, "he said 'Lux' is Latin for 'Light', and that I was the light of his life. It sounds less wimpish than 'Lucy'."

"I like 'Lucy'," Sophie said shyly.

"I'm sure," Lucy smiled, "but you can call me Lux. Or Mistress, if you prefer."

Sophie looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but Lucy detected a slight licking of the lips, done unconsciously, but she knew what it meant – Sophie was excited. Lucy chatted away confidently, registering the other girl's monosyllabic answers, symptomatic of her distraction and inner torment. Things were going very nicely indeed.

"Excuse me."

Lucy looked up to see a woman standing by the table, looking down at her. She was wearing knee-high boots with spike heels, a black leather skirt just above the knee, and a white blouse. Her mouth was arranged in the shape of a smile, but the eyes told the true story – this was not a happy camper, Lucy thought.

"Can I help you?" she asked the newcomer.

"Could I just have a word with you outside for a second?" the woman replied in a calm, but steely, tone.

"What's the problem?" Lucy asked, wondering what was going on – the woman was acting like she owned the club and, as far as Lucy knew, maybe she did.

"Could we talk in private? It'll only take a minute," the woman replied, inclining her head towards the door to the toilets. Lucy looked at Sophie, raised her eyebrows, and gave her a smile.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she smiled, "see you in a sec, hon – don't go kissing no strangers, y'hear?"

She followed the woman with a slightly uneasy feeling – she reckoned the woman was either an over-officious manager, or… another Domme? No, she must be imagining that, she thought. They went through the door into the quieter corridor leading to the toilets, and the woman turned to face Lucy.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Lucy wasn't intimidated by her aggressive attitude, but it put her on her guard.

"Maybe you'd like to elaborate?" she said, trying to keep her voice as level and calm as possible.

"This is my territory!" she spat, "I don't look kindly on some skinny cunt trying to muscle in on my action!"

"Hmm, are you trying to say I'm not allowed to chat someone up?"

"Don't try to be fucking clever with me, bitch!" The woman took a step towards Lucy, until they were only inches apart. Lucy stood her ground, remaining relaxed, but ready to defend herself if the woman got physical.

"You're trying to groom that girl as a sub. Well, not in my club! Fuck off, or you'll regret it!"

"Maybe you should show me the exclusive clause on your Domme licence, darling," Lucy joked, "last time I checked, unaccompanied women were fair game."

"I warned you," the woman said, stepping back slightly. Suddenly, Lucy felt a thick, beefy arm around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her feet off the ground. She swung her foot back, feeling it connect with a shin, eliciting a grunt of pain, but at the same time, a hand clamped over her mouth, forcing a cloth against her lips and nostrils. She smelled something sickly sweet, the world around her started to fade, and she lost consciousness.

Part 3

Slave Anna woke early the next morning, as she usually did in her cage, ready in case her Mistress called on her to make breakfast, or start her chores around the apartment, or if she was really lucky, to join her Mistress in the bed!

But she knew her Mistress had not returned during the night, she could hear that there was no-one in the bedroom now, and she could feel that the flat was empty. She was a little disappointed, but it was not unusual – it generally meant Mistress had scored, and had gone back to her new lover's place for the night. Lucky woman, Anna thought ruefully.

She snuggled back down to wait for her release. As a contingency for these occasions, the key to the lock on the cage door was currently held by an electromagnet located on the ceiling directly above the cage. When her Mistress left for the evening, she had set the timer to run for twelve hours before it released the key to fall onto the cage. The key was on a string so that, even if it bounced, Anna could reach it from inside and pull it through. The secondary release, if the key failed, was much less appealing – a mobile phone on the end of a piece of string, and the only stored number was that of her boss. The thought of having to ask Richard Benton to release her from the cage was too embarrassing to contemplate!

Anna stuck her fingers through the cage mesh and tugged the cover away, revealing a bright Saturday morning. About an hour later, the key dropped, and she let herself out, stretching from her cramped position to get the kinks out of her back.

She went about her normal Saturday jobs of cleaning, dusting, changing the bed, washing, and ironing her Mistress' and her own clothes for the next week. She didn't eat, even though she was very hungry, because her Mistress was not there to command it. She only drank some water because she had put out a bowl for herself on the kitchen floor the previous night.

As the day wore on, she became more concerned by the absence of her Mistress. As always, they had a contingency plan – if her Mistress had not returned or called by 3 pm, Anna would come out of her slave persona and resume control of her life as Angela. She hated this plan, as it ruined her whole weekend but, when the time arrived, she had little choice. At 3 pm precisely, she took off her collar and cuffs, and became an 'ordinary woman' again. She took a quick shower, threw on jeans and a top, and ate some salad.

Now she was very concerned about where Lucy was. It was not like her not to call so, after trying her mobile in vain, Angela started by ringing all the local hospitals to check on admissions. After drawing a blank there, she went down to the local police station, where they knew her, and asked them to check if anyone answering Lucy's description had been taken into custody overnight, anywhere across the city. Another blank. Finally, she rang every nightclub she could get the number for to ask if there had been any trouble the previous night. Nothing.

Angela was getting scared now. She reported Lucy missing to the police, but knew they wouldn't do anything about it at such an early stage – which was entirely as expected; as far as they were concerned, there could be a myriad of reasons she had not shown up less than 24 hours after last being seen. But Angela knew something was wrong, and had to do something about it.

- o O o –

As Lucy's head slowly cleared, she knew something was wrong too. She could feel that she was lying on her side on a cold, hard surface, and she could feel that she was naked. Also, her wrists hurt, and were held behind her back. When she opened her eyes, she was rather startled to see a pair of thighs and a hairy pussy right in front of her. She managed to raise her head, and saw Sophie sitting there in front of her, naked.

"Oh my God, Lucy, are you alright?!" she exclaimed, in obvious distress, "I thought you'd never wake up!"

She helped the groggy woman sit up, at which point Lucy was able to take in her surroundings a little better. Sophie was wearing a leather collar and cuffs, much like those Anna wore at home, and a chain ran from the collar to a ring on the wall. Lucy realised she was also chained by the neck to the wall, but it felt like the chain was wrapped around her neck, rather than attached to a collar. It also felt like she was wearing metal handcuffs, and this was confirmed by Sophie.

They were sitting in an empty room with a concrete floor and plain, plastered walls. There was no window, and only a bare light bulb overhead to illuminate the space. Lucy went towards the rather solid looking door, but found that the chain around her neck was too short to allow her to reach it. She went to the ring on the wall to which they were restrained and tested its strength, disappointed but not surprised to find it completely secure. Defeated and out of options, she leaned against the wall and looked down at her fellow captive.

She realised her suspicions at the nightclub had been correct – the naked young woman was gorgeous, looking like a smaller, more petite version of her own slave, with her smooth curves and milky white skin. She had long, shiny black hair, which flowed seductively down her back, and her brown eyes seemed large and doe-like in her round face. Lucy looked at her luscious plump lips, slightly parted, and despite their current, desperate situation, felt a rush of arousal as she stared at the cold steel links of chain hanging between the pert, full breasts.

"So how did they capture you?" she asked the kneeling sub.

"Well…" Sophie flushed in embarrassment and looked down at the floor.

"Don't tell me," Lucy said, "that woman ordered you to come, and you did as you were told."

"It wasn't like that!" Sophie protested, reddening further, "she bought me drinks and chatted me up, just like you'd been doing!" She suddenly burst into tears.

"How did I ever get mixed up with all this?" she sobbed. "I was supposed to be out dancing with my boyfriend, and I end up being hit on by a couple of dykes! I'm not gay, or even bi!"

At that moment, they heard bolts being drawn back, a key turning in the lock, and the door opened. The woman who had approached them at the bar walked in – more like strutted in, Lucy thought – and Sophie gasped in surprise and fear. She was dressed in a black leather catsuit, with spike-heeled boots and, Lucy admitted, she was fit, firm and slender enough to pull it off, despite being in her mid-thirties. She was carrying a riding crop, which was what had frightened Sophie. Lucy could see she was dressed to intimidate, but despite her own, less-than-ideal situation, she stood defiantly.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" she asked aggressively. "This is ridiculous, you can't keep us here!"

The leather-clad dominatrix didn't reply, but brought her arm up, and then quickly back down, slashing the crop hard across Lucy's exposed breasts. The defenceless woman screamed in pain and turned away, but received lightening quick blows to her buttocks and then across the front of her thighs. Her legs collapsed underneath her, and she sank to her knees, caught by Sophie, who threw her arms around her in a protective gesture, looking up into the twisted expression of anger on the woman's face.

"That's more than enough from you!" she spat at Lucy. "I will not tolerate that kind of insolence from my slaves!"

"Slaves?!" Sophie gasped, a look of horror on her face.

"Yes, my dear," she replied in a much more emollient tone of voice, "I am your new Mistress, you may call me Madame Cyn."

"Please!" Sophie begged, tears starting to run down her cheeks, "I'm not gay, I'm not a slave, and I'm not into all this stuff! Please let me go! My boyfriend… he'll be expecting me…"

Madame Cyn put the sole of her boot against Lucy's shoulder and thrust her leg out, sending the handcuffed woman sprawling on the floor. She took Sophie's chin in her gloved hand, and guided her to her feet. She stood several inches taller than the naked girl, and looked down on her with a patronising smile.

"No, dear," she replied, "you're not a trained slave yet, but you will be, and you'll make some Master or Mistress very happy. Gay or straight is not really for you to decide anymore." Sophie's jaw dropped open as she took in the enormity of what she was being told. The dominatrix turned to Lucy, still sprawled on the floor.

"As for you," she said, with unconcealed contempt in her voice, "I don't think you are suitable for the slave training programme. It would take too much time and effort to beat the Domme out of you."

Lucy struggled up into a sitting position, and wondered what the implications of that last statement might be – she could certainly see this woman dropping her in the river with concrete diving boots!

"Luckily, I have just the place," she continued, with an evil smirk on her lips, "There's a 'members only' men's club in the City, full of rich bankers and hedge fund managers, where they like their women to fulfil their fantasies, and they're willing to pay big money to get the right girl to do the right things. You'll fit in well there – they like them feisty. Derek!"

Moments later, a man-mountain walked through the door dragging a packing case behind him. He moved it to the middle of the room and took out a tangle of webbing straps. Madame Cyn grabbed Lucy and dragged her to her feet, holding her struggling form as Derek removed the chain around her neck, and then wrapped the straps one by one around her, pinning her arms against her body, then fusing her legs together. She was placed on the floor again, and more straps held her thighs up against her chest, then her calves against her thighs, leaving her hardly able to breathe, let alone break free. Derek reached into the box and pulled out what Lucy recognised as a panel gag.

"You're never going to get away with this!" she shouted desperately, "People will be looking for me! They'll–"

Any further threats or entreaties were cut off as Derek placed the gag over her face and forced the protrusion on the inside of the panel into her mouth. He fastened the three straps behind her head, then squeezed the pump hanging from the front of the panel until the bladder in her mouth expanded to fill the available space, reducing her cries and screams to virtual silence. He picked her up easily, and placed her into the packing case. As he stepped out of the room, Madame Cyn came over and looked down triumphantly at the still-struggling woman.

"On the contrary, you stupid cunt, I am going to get away with it," she said, her words dripping venom, "People may be looking for you, but they won't find you, there's no link here, or to me, or to where you're going." She reached down into the case, her hand stroking Lucy's short blonde hair, then digging her fingernails into it and gripping it tightly.

"Once they've fucked and whipped you to their hearts' content, and they get bored with you, those City boys will sell you on to less discerning clients, and you'll end your days in some stinking brothel in Rio, Bangkok or Shanghai. When you're sucking some ancient Chinese businessman's dick, please remember that it was Madame Cyn who put you there!"

She laughed as Derek placed the wooden lid on the crate, and banged in the nails to seal it. He loaded it onto a hand truck, and wheeled it out of the building and into the back of his van. As she was being taken away, Lucy felt a sense of dread apprehension creep over her. She wondered where she was going, and how the hell she was going to escape.

Part 4

"Thank you for coming at such short notice, Mr Moffat," Angela said as she indicated a chair in her dining room. The man smiled as he sat down.

"No problem, Miss Barnes," he replied, "you're paying."

"Yes," the young barrister went on, "I'd like you to bill me personally, rather than through the office this time."

"Okay, whatever you say." Moffat raised an eyebrow of surprise – he had done quite a few pieces of work for the woman opposite him, but always official business in his capacity as a private investigator. This sounded like it might be more interesting.

"How can I help?"

Angela passed across a recent photograph of her Mistress – no, Lucy, she corrected herself – along with her personal details. Moffat looked at the picture, then the address, and then up at Angela questioningly.

"She lives here," Angela explained, correctly interpreting the quizzical look, "she's my companion."

A mental image of the gorgeous lawyer and the woman in the picture writhing naked on the carpet in front of him flitted through Moffat's brain, scrambling his concentration briefly, before he focused on what Angela was saying.

"She went out last night and didn't come back," she was saying, "and I believe something has happened to her. It is crucial we move quickly – the first 48 hours are often vital in missing persons cases."

"Are you sure there couldn't be some … other explanation?"

"We have a very close relationship, Mr Moffat," Angela explained, a little annoyed at having to explain such things, but understanding why. "Even if she had decided to leave me, she would have told me. She went out to a nightclub last night, unfortunately I don't know which one. I believe something happened to her, and I need you to find out what and where."

"Can I ask what she might have been doing in the nightclub?" Moffat asked delicately.

"She was probably trying to pick up a girl for a one-night stand. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Er…" the private detective was a little surprised by Angela's directness, as well as the apparent openness of her relationship with the missing woman, but then remembered that she was always very comprehensive in her briefings.

"What was Ms Harker wearing last night?"

- o O o –

The journey in the van didn't take very long, and Lucy guessed that she hadn't been taken out of London when she had been drugged, assuming they were now somewhere in the heart of the city. But it was the most uncomfortable journey she had ever taken – thirty minutes of shaking and banging against the sides of the wooden crate, unable to stop herself moving due to the tight binding straps around her body, and struggling for breath due to the compression of her chest and the strictness of the gag in her mouth.

When the van stopped, the journey didn't get any more comfortable as, in her estimation, she was wheeled across a car park or courtyard, bumped up some steps, taken down some corridors, then bumped down a lot more steps, leaving her, at a guess, in a basement or cellar – or dungeon, she thought grimly.

At last the lid was prised off the case, and she was lifted out. As the straps were removed and she could move again, Lucy took the opportunity to look around. She was in what looked like an old, dimly-lit wine cellar – she could see racks of wine bottles disappearing back into the shadows, as well as a large number of beer barrels. It looked dusty, and dark, and was not too warm. Then she looked the other way, and was astonished by what she saw.

By the wall, on the floor, were a row of mattresses, twelve in all. On five of them were women, sitting or lying down – each was naked except for collar and cuffs, and they were attached to rings in the wall by a chain from the collar. Lucy noticed that some had clearly been crying, some had the marks of recent whippings, and all five looked frightened and unhappy. They were all watching her being unpacked.

The two men who were releasing the straps around her body were wearing T-shirts and jeans, under which their fit, muscled torsos were clearly visible. They looked like heavies from central casting.

"Jesus, this one's a bit skinny," one of them, the one with a beard, said, grabbing at Lucy's breasts, squeezing and pulling them roughly, much to her displeasure.

"It takes all sorts," the other one opined, "they all fuck the same." He must be the intellectual of the crew, Lucy decided, to have such an all-encompassing philosophy of the female of the species.

Having removed all the straps, they picked up a collar and cuffs, affixing them to the new arrival and padlocking them in place, before unlocking the handcuffs and, mercifully, removing the gag.

"What the fuck is going on?" Lucy demanded, rubbing her sore wrists and feeling the collar, which seemed to have studs on the inside, like they put it on inside out. Suddenly, Beardie swung his arm and hit Lucy so hard across the face that she was knocked to the floor. Her cheek and jaw stung, and she could taste blood in her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, cunt!" he screamed and, as the stunned young woman started to pick herself up off the floor, moved his hand to a device at his belt and pressed a button. Instantly, Lucy screamed in agony as the collar seemed to burn her neck, and fell back to the floor, writhing and jerking as electricity coursed through her body. It seemed to go on forever, but when it did stop, she lay there, twitching, her breaths rapid and shallow.

"Okay, now you know what happens if you give us any backchat," Brains said, reaching down to her still pain-racked body and dragging her to her knees. Picking up one of the discarded webbing straps, he looped it around her arms, and pulled it sharply, bringing her elbows close together behind her back. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up so that she could see her assailant approaching her, looking as if he was going to hit her again.

"Now I think you should make it up to my friend here, and suck his cock." As he said this, Beardie unbuckled his trousers, unzipped, and produced an impressive shaft. Lucy looked at it with distaste, and thought about refusing, but she was bright enough to realise that, with two beefy guys standing over her, armed with the technology to give her more pain than she'd ever experienced before, now was not the time to pick a fight. As her head was thrust forward to meet the erection coming the other way, she reluctantly opened her mouth to receive it.

The lesbian Dominatrix had never given head before, and she didn't find it a pleasant experience. The big man forced his cock deep into her mouth, making her choke as her gag reflex kicked in. His thrusts were short and violent, as he fucked her face, with no interest in her comfort or otherwise. It didn't take long before she could feel him twitching in her throat, and then her mouth was suddenly full to overflowing with his hot and foul-tasting ejaculate. He pulled back and made sure he sprayed her across the face with it, humiliating her even further.

Having seen his colleague reach satisfaction, Brains now wanted a piece of this action. He moved over to the line of mattresses, dragging Lucy behind him by the hair.

"What the fuck are you staring at, cunts?" he growled at the other women as he chained his intended victim to the wall, and forced her face into the stinking material, while her haunches remained high. The naked women turned away, fearful that they would become embroiled in the assault about to take place.

The rape was quick and brutal. Lucy was not prepared, either physically or mentally, for what was happening to her, and she screamed into the mattress as she felt her vagina, unlubricated and unused to such treatment, penetrated by his erect member. She tried to fight, tried to break free, but with her arms pinned behind her and her hips in a vice-like grip, she had no chance. She tried to shut out the pain and humiliation of the attack, but it was impossible.

When he came, it was almost a relief to Lucy, as it signalled the end of the bout of abuse. She felt his semen splash over her back, thankful that he hadn't cum inside her – somehow it seemed a lesser violation – and sprawled on the filthy bedding as he pushed her away.

"Welcome to Hell, bitch," he spat at her, before he and his colleague left the cellar, laughing as they went.

Part 5

Angela sipped her iced mineral water and looked nervously around the club once more. Maybe this had been a bad idea, she thought, but she couldn't think of anything else to do. Moffat had phoned her and told her he had identified this club as one in which a woman answering Lucy's description had been seen, chatting to two women. She had then left, and the trail went cold.

Angela knew there was still nothing for the police to go on, but she couldn't just sit around at home. So she'd come here, asked the bar staff what they knew, and had a vague picture of the events of the previous night. Lucy had chatted up a woman at the bar, danced with her, been approached by a second woman, and then just disappeared.

The young lawyer hoped that, somehow, she might meet one of the women and learn more. It was a fairly slim chance, but she had to do something. And she had Moffat as backup, keeping an eye on her from somewhere in the bar – if she needed help, she could just signal, and he'd move in.

In fact, she was being observed at that very moment by Cynthia Mathews, the self-styled 'Madame Cyn'.

Cynthia had never seen herself as a dominant person before she had started an intense relationship with Derek, her future husband. It turned out that Derek, a seemingly mild-mannered businessman, was heavily into BDSM, and took every opportunity to tie Cynthia up and torture her in any and every way imaginable. She was highly sexed and not averse to sex in bondage either, but she did not appreciate being whipped and caned on a regular basis. When she had expressed her disinclination to be his pain slut, Derek had simply taken to using prostitutes, usually young homeless girls from the street, often drug addicts, whom he could mistreat abominably and dump back where they came from, without suffering any serious repercussions himself.

When Cynthia discovered these activities, far from being horrified or disgusted, she had encouraged him, feeling relieved that someone else was suffering rather than her, while at the same time, she was getting all the sex she wanted. One day, he had brought a girl home, and his wife had found that she was very turned on by watching her husband abusing the poor girl. Then, in a life-changing moment, she had tried it for herself, and found it was even better to be delivering the punishment than just watching.

They became a partnership, abducting and abusing these women until they grew bored of them, then releasing them. Cynthia quickly realised that putting them back on the streets could lead at some point to a police investigation to follow up complaints, and they had to find a safer way of 'disposing' of their victims. That's when they'd made contact with traffickers, and discovered a lucrative black market in abducted young women.

Cynthia had been the one to identify that they could earn vastly greater sums if, instead of drug addicts and prostitutes, they targeted middle-class, attractive young women and, rather than abusing them and selling them on, they added value through training. And so, their current business was born. They moved out of their provincial city into London, where thousands of young women went missing every year, so a few more wouldn't be noticed. With their earnings, they were soon able to buy a large property in the suburbs as their training base, and gradually extended their outlets from slave traders and human traffickers to private citizens and underground clubs.

It was a strict rule that, after an abduction, they would keep a low profile for a few weeks while any investigation died down. Cynthia knew the rule – she was the one who had defined it – and she knew that, on this occasion, she was breaking it, but she had her reasons for believing the risks were minimal. The girl the previous night had been waiting for her boyfriend, so he would assume she was giving him the cold shoulder for standing her up, while everyone else would think she was with him. As for that bitch who was trying to muscle in, well no-one would miss her – she didn't look like the sort who had to check in with anyone.

And just look what her boldness had brought her, she thought. While the woman was older than Cynthia would usually take, she was very attractive, and she looked rich, intelligent, sophisticated – she would fetch a fortune to the right buyer once she was trained up. The dominatrix couldn't resist her and, sliding out of her seat, went over to the bar.

"Let me refresh that for you," she smiled, as she saw the startled look on the face of her intended victim. "Bartender, a Cosmopolitan for the young lady, please. Why don't you join me?"

Cynthia picked up the drink and walked back to her table, stopping half-way and looking back expectantly, challenging the woman to resist. She was gratified to see her look nervously about, then pick up her purse and scurry after her.

"So, what brings you out on a night like this?" Cynthia asked in a friendly tone. Angela took a slug of the cocktail before answering, and immediately regretted it – it was pretty strong.

"I-I'm waiting to meet up with a girlfriend," Angela replied hesitantly, then blushed as she, seemingly, realised the double entendre. "I mean, a friend who's a girl, not… she should have been here by now…" She trailed off, looking around the club once more. She wondered if the woman, who looked like she might be one of those that Lucy had been seen with the previous night, would take the bait.

"Maybe we could have some fun while you're waiting," Cynthia smiled, "What's your name, dear?" She loved the obviously submissive nature of the woman, and was struggling to stop herself imagining her naked and chained, begging for mercy…

"It's… Anna," Angela murmured, realising that she had not only used her submissive name, but she had also fallen a little into that mindset, where to obey, to submit herself, seemed to be the most important thing in the world. Suddenly, she was struggling to hold on to 'Angela', and her mission to find her Mistress.

"Well, Anna," Cynthia responded, putting her hand on that of the submissive, "my name is Madame Cyn – but you can call me 'Madame' or 'Mistress'. Okay?"

"Thank you… Madame," Angela managed to say, her head already bowed.

"I think it's time to leave," Cynthia announced, standing up, "come on, Anna, let's go and find somewhere more private to get to know one another a little more… intimately."

Angela was sure she had found out what she needed to know, it was too much of a coincidence that this woman was operating in this particular club, picking up women. Now was the time to call in Moffat, get out of there, and tell the police what she had discovered. But then, what could she actually prove? She had no actual evidence that this woman had been involved in her Mistress' disappearance, and she had no idea where she might be holding her. Maybe she should just go along with this a little bit further, until she was sure. She looked around to see if she could spot the private detective but, drawing a blank, got up and followed the woman out of the club. In a dark corner, one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and followed.

Outside on the pavement, Cynthia linked arms with her younger charge, and led her away, into a quiet side street, where they approached a dark sedan, with its engine quietly running.

"Okay, in you get," Cynthia ordered as she held open the door.

"I-I really shouldn't…" Angela stuttered, suddenly frightened at how fast things were moving.

"You're not going to disobey me, are you now, Anna?" the Domme asked sternly.

"No, Madame," Angela replied in a low, frightened whisper, losing the battle with her submissive side. She felt a sudden rush of adrenalin as she bent down, and her new Mistress – she felt a pang of guilt as that thought sprung into her mind – pushed her into the car, before moving in alongside her. The car moved smoothly away.

"Fuck!" Moffat let out the expletive as he came around the corner and saw the car exiting the other end of the street, into London's warren of back-roads. He realised now that he had underestimated the operation they had discovered – quick getaway cars and high-speed pursuits were not quite in his usual line of work. He headed for Angela's local police station, to report their second missing person in twenty-four hours.

"Put this on," Cynthia ordered, passing her a black velvet bag, "I don't want you worrying about unimportant things outside the window."

Angela looked at the bag, then at the back of the driver's head, noticing the salt-and-pepper grey hair, thick neck, and broad shoulders, knowing she had made a potentially fatal mistake – there was no way Moffat was going to be able to follow her now, she was on her own. Despite her desperate position – or maybe because of it – she felt her excitement level rising and, with her hands shaking, she slipped the bag over her head, plunging herself into total darkness.

She sat there, feeling her shallow, rapid breaths coming back off the surface of the bag, as the car made its way through the city, taking her to – well, she had no idea. As the submissive, she thought, it was not important for her to know. But as the lawyer who's trying to find her colleague, friend, lover, it was vital she knew, some small, sane, rational part of her brain told her. But rational was now losing out to arousal…

She almost jumped out of her seat when she felt a hand feeling her breast through the material of her dress. She resisted the urge to push it away, keeping her arms passively by her sides, allowing her Mistress access to her body, as was her right. The hand roamed over both breasts, gently squeezing and probing. Angela's breathing became even more ragged, and she could feel the bag moving to her face as she sucked in air.

The hand moved down and touched the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. Slowly, inexorably, it moved up her thigh, pushing the hem of her dress up with it, and Angela reflexively opened her legs a little wider to provide free access. She realised what she had done, but didn't close them again – she was too well conditioned to deny her Mistress anything, even if it was a Mistress she had only just met.

"My, my, you're very wet down here," Cynthia remarked with some surprise and excitement as she ran her fingers over Angela's panties. She was amazed at how submissive the woman was – she had never met so little resistance on a first encounter, and her own level of arousal increased.

"Take off your knickers… and put them in your mouth," Cynthia ordered, wondering just how far the other woman would go. She watched in fascination as the young lawyer immediately shuffled and squirmed in her seat, before slipping the damp garment down her legs and over her shoes. Without hesitating, she balled them up and, lifting the bag only to nose level, pushed them into her open mouth. Tasting her own juices was not a new experience for Angela and, far from experiencing revulsion, fear or apprehension, she became even more excited.

"Masturbate for me, Anna," the Domme said quietly, hardly bothering to make it an order – it seemed like the woman would do anything she asked. Sure enough, she slid a little further down in her seat, spread her thighs wide, hitched her skirt up to her waist, providing an unobstructed view of her bald pussy, and began to play with herself.

"P'eash Madame, may I cum?" Cynthia almost laughed out loud at the muffled, but perfectly intelligible query. My God, she thought, I've found a woman who's already a fully trained slave! She was so turned on by the thought, that she started to rub her own crotch through the heavy material of her leather trousers.

"No, you may not, Anna, bring yourself to the edge and keep yourself there for the rest of the journey."

"Yesh Madame, fank oo, Madame." Angela had anticipated this rejection – she was used to orgasm denial as a method of reinforcing her submission, her 'old' Mistress had frequently employed it. She felt a stab of alarm and guilt as she had unconsciously consigned Mistress Lux to the past.

By the time the car finally drew to a halt, Angela was making small, whimpering noises, as she hovered on the verge of orgasm. She was helped out of the car and led up some stairs into a building. Her heels rang out on a bare concrete floor.

"Take off the bag, and the rest of your clothes," she heard Madame order. When she could see, she took in her surroundings. They were standing in what appeared to be a derelict office block – the space was empty, the floor was dirty, and the windows were whitewashed. She could also now see the driver properly, and what she saw scared her. He was well over six feet tall, and the broadness of his shoulders she had noted earlier was complemented by the muscular chest, arms, and thighs – he looked like a retired bodybuilder, fit, bulky, and fast.

But that wasn't what scared her, it was the look on his face, a look that managed to convey hatred, contempt, and sexual hunger, all directed at her. She had a flashback to a time when her stepfather had looked at her in just that way, right before he had raped her. She had felt utterly worthless under the gaze of the man, and the 'business associates' he liked to bring round to join in her degradation. Now, all those feelings of self-hatred and humiliation came flooding back as he ogled her naked body.

"Why don't you go and see to our other trainee, darling?" Cynthia suggested with a smile. "I want to see just how well-trained our friend here is." She had seen the captive woman's response to her husband, and thought she might get even more from the putative slave if she saved her from him – at least for now. Derek gave a grunt, and strode off towards the 'cells', Angela watching him all the way.

"Present yourself, slave." Angela swiftly sank to her knees, sitting on her heels, spreading her thighs, arms behind her back, her chest thrust out, casting her eyes down to the Mistress' leather boots. After a few seconds, she heard the click-clack of Madame's heels walking away. She did not look up, or move a muscle – it wasn't necessary for her to know what was happening, to see where the other woman had gone, she would wait there until she returned, however long that might be.

It was a couple of minutes before the sound of the heels returned, and Angela saw the boots reappear before her.

"Stand, slave, and put these on." She was handed leather cuffs which were very similar to those she wore at home, and Angela took a strange comfort from the feel of them, as she buckled them around her wrists and ankles. Madame Cyn held a leather collar, which she placed around the slave's neck, before padlocking it and all the cuffs in place. She clipped a leash to the collar and led her new charge away.

Angela padded along behind the clatter of the boots, simultaneously frightened and excited at the prospect of what she was about to experience. It had been a long time since she had first been collared and cuffed by her Mistress, and familiarity had bred, not contempt, but perhaps a comfortable complacency. The thrill of a first encounter was something she had not expected to feel ever again, and she suddenly understood why her Mistress went out to find new challenges to conquer, new women to taste, touch, and control.

The two women walked down a corridor of closed doors, and Angela suddenly thought she heard the sounds of a woman behind one of them – it sounded as though she was gagged, as muffled, inarticulate noises of a struggle, of protest, of pain, seeped through the door and into the cold, featureless corridor. She slowed as they passed, wondering if it might be her Mistress, suffering at the hands of that terrifying man, but she felt a tug on the leash and hurried after Madame.

Cynthia came to a halt, unlocked the door in front of her, and went into the room beyond. Angela followed, noting the bare, white-painted walls, now dirty and yellowing. There was no window, and the only items in the room were an electric hoist on the ceiling, and a small cabinet in one corner. Cynthia locked the door, then positioned Angela beneath the chain in the centre of the room, placing the hook at the end through the D rings on her cuffs, as the naked woman stood there passively, watching meekly, putting up not the slightest resistance. She picked up the hoist control box, dangling from the ceiling-mounted unit and, with a whirr, Angela's arms were pulled up above her head, until she was barely able to support her weight on her toes.

"You are a remarkably well-trained slave, Anna, I complement you and your former Mistress," Cynthia said, as she went to the cabinet and took something out.

"Thank you, Madame," Angela replied, trying to see what the other woman was now holding.

"Tell me, did she train you to accept, and to welcome, pain?" As she said this, she turned back to the slave, and revealed the bullwhip she held, curled up in her hand. The look of shock on the suddenly terrified woman's face told her everything she needed to know.

"N-no, Madame!" Angela, stuttered. "My Mistress is kind and…" her voice trailed off as she watched the whip uncoil like a snake onto the floor.

"'Spare the rod and spoil the slave', that's what I always say," Madame Cyn said, planting her feet and casually flicking the whip, causing it to rear up and crack in the air beside her. The slave flinched, and looked as if she was about to cry.

"But no matter," she continued, with a sly grin, "I'll teach you to endure. Turn around!"

Hardly able to breathe, and suddenly covered in a cold sweat, Angela gradually turned her back on the dominatrix, whilst trying to keep the whip in view, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of its impending demise.

"Now, slave, beg me for your punishment!"

Cynthia heard a sob come from the slave before she finally managed to speak.

"Please, Madame… this slave begs… begs you to… p-punish her," Angela forced herself to say. Cynthia smiled broadly at this, and raised her arm to strike.

Angela thought, for a split second, that the whip had cracked in the air next to her, before her back suddenly seemed to explode in the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life. She let out a full-throated scream, pulling frantically at the chain holding her, trying desperately to deal with the agony. She  could feel the dampness on her flushed cheeks, as tears poured from her eyes, tightly shut against the torture. She so wanted to beg Madame to stop, to release her, to comfort her, but she knew she mustn't. A feeling of dread crept over her, as she realised what she must do.

"Thank you, Madame… this slave begs… for another."

"Good girl," Cynthia, responded a little breathlessly, her own level of arousal quickly rising in response to the suffering she was inflicting, and the sense of total power flooding through her. She struck out, again and again, savouring the other woman's screams, until the slave's body suddenly went limp, and the screaming and crying stopped.

She stepped forward, knowing that she had caused the other to faint, and checked the damage to her back. The whip's 'bark' was worse than its bite, and despite the dramatic sound effects and very real pain delivered, the skin had been bruised and reddened, but not broken. She felt quietly proud that she could reduce the woman to unconsciousness without causing permanent injury, which would waste training time while waiting for it to heal, and might leave scars, reducing her market value.

Angela had no idea how long she was 'out', but when she regained consciousness, things had changed. She was now hanging by her wrists, because her ankles had been pulled out behind her and chained to the wall, so that she was hanging, face down, arms together but legs wide apart.

Madame had changed as well. The leather trousers and blouse had gone, and she was naked, except for the boots,  and a strap-on dildo. Angela had seen strap-ons before – her Mistress liked to use one on her occasionally – but nothing like this. It seemed longer and thicker than was natural, and it was ribbed along its length, with alarming nodules studding the surface. It was also a deep red, making it look like a fire poker. Angela felt very intimidated by it.

"Hmm, you do have a low pain tolerance, Anna," Cynthia remarked as she brushed tears away from the slave's smooth, soft cheek.

"We'll have to work hard on that. But don't worry," she added as she saw the look of alarm in the eyes staring at her, "not today. We'll have some fun now. After all, all work and no play makes Jill a dull girl."

She lifted Angela's head, cupping her face in her hands, and their lips met in a passionate kiss. As their tongues entwined, and Angela felt her breasts being roughly massaged, she realised just how aroused she was, and she wondered how that could be, with her back still agonisingly sore from the beating. She didn't analyse it further, just accepted it for what it was, and returned the kiss as strongly and passionately as she could manage.

Cynthia broke the contact and walked around behind Angela, positioning herself between the suspended woman's spread legs.

"Oh, good girl!" she exclaimed as she explored her slave's sex with her fingers, drawing a gasp and a stifled moan from her. "You've got yourself nice and wet for me! I wonder if you enjoyed the whip rather more than you are letting on." Angela didn't care at this point, she just wanted to be satisfied.

Angela gasped as the monstrous thickness of the strap-on phallus pushed into her, opening her pussy and spreading her labia wide apart. She felt every ridge, every small protrusion, as it glided up inside her, filling her to the point of discomfort, and a little beyond. She could feel the tip of it pressing against her cervix, and even her bladder seemed to be placed under additional pressure as the intruder muscled its way in.

At the point of full penetration, Angela felt something pressing against the outside of her vagina, forcing its way between her lips, moving inexorably towards her clitoris. It seemed to attack her soft, moist flesh, like a stiff-bristled brush, and she let out a little cry of pain. But as it crushed her engorged sex organ against its harsh surface, the pain was transformed to pleasure, and she recognised the telltale signs of an impending, and unstoppable orgasm.

"Please, Madame!" she wailed, "This slut is going to cum, she can't help it!"

"Hold it until I say!" Cynthia ordered in a commanding tone. She reached underneath her slave with both hands and grabbed a nipple in each, squeezing and driving her nails into the soft flesh until Angela was screaming. She quickly withdrew the dildo, and then thrust it in to the hilt, dragging another howl of pain from the woman. The chains of her bondage jangled as her Mistress thrust into her, again and again, until her cries and screams were ringing off the bare walls.

"Now, slave! Cum for me! Cum for Madame Cyn!"

The pitch of Angela's cries suddenly rose, as the dam caused by the pain inflicted on her body suddenly burst, and the climax she had been trying to hold back flooded her body. She literally saw stars before her eyes, and seemed about to pass out again, but she managed to hang on to her consciousness this time. As the incredible sensation faded, she hung limply from the chains, a spent force.

Satisfied that she had driven her new acquisition sufficiently hard, Cynthia released her from the chains, and let her slump, exhausted, to the floor. Flipping her onto her back with her boot, she stood above her, then lowered herself to her knees, astride her face.

"I hope you feel privileged, Anna," she said, "normally I wouldn't allow my slave to cum before me, but I like you! Now you can return the favour."

"Yes, Madame!" Angela consented enthusiastically, as her face disappeared under the descending thighs, and she tasted the distinctive flavour of her Mistress' arousal. She had been well schooled in the art of satisfying her partner, and Cynthia expressed her appreciation with a series of sighs and moans, as she ground her hips on Angela's face.

Angela was grateful that her hands were now free, as she reached up and massaged the Domme's large, fleshy breasts, rubbing the already pert nipples between thumb and forefinger. As Cynthia's vocalisations became more strident, more urgent, Angela brought her hands down, using one to gently tease her clitoris, while the other began toying with her anus. She smiled to herself – a difficult task with your tongue deep in someone's pussy – as her Mistress let out a strangulated cry in response to the insertion of a finger through her sphincter. She felt hands gripping her hair, pulling her head up off the floor, urging her to even greater efforts, which she eagerly made, sliding her mouth up over Cynthia's clitoris and replacing her tongue with her fingers, delving ever deeper for the woman's G-spot.

The sudden flood of juices over her face and into her mouth heralded the arrival of Mistress' orgasm, accompanied by a violent shuddering, and a high-pitched scream.

"Good… girl… well… done!" Cynthia gasped, putting out her arms to prevent herself collapsing onto the floor. Angela lay beneath her, content in the service she had provided. It felt strangely comforting to be referred to as a girl, somehow it made her feel much younger than her 29 years, and even more subservient.

Cynthia donned her clothes a few minutes later, reasserting her position of authority over her naked slave, and led her back down the corridor to another room. This one was as bare as the last, except for the naked young woman sitting on the floor, chained to the wall.

Angela saw immediately how attractive she was – lustrous black hair, milky white skin, pert breasts – but she seemed so young, late teens or early twenties at the most. She looked as though she had been having an awful time – there were bruises and stripes of the cane on her body, as well as fresh semen splashed over her breasts and body. She looked very frightened.

"You! Slut!" Madame Cyn barked at her, and Angela saw her flinch. "Use this cream on my slave's wounds, and do a good job!" Then she turned to Angela, her face softening markedly as she did so.

"I'll see you later, Anna, get some rest – you'll need it, training starts tomorrow!" With that she swept out of the room, and they heard the key turn in the lock.

Sophie looked nervously at Angela, noticing the ugly red welts across her back in horror, but wondering at the gentle tone with which the horrible woman had addressed her, and at the reassuring smile she was now giving.

"Hi, I'm Anna, what's your name?"

"Er, Sophie. Were you kidnapped too?"

"Well, sort of," Angela replied, wondering if she could trust this stranger, and deciding that, as they were both in the same situation, they should try and be honest with each other.

"The fact is… I'm already a… submissive."

"On my God, really?" Sophie was shocked. "You mean you're into all this sick, perverted crap? How can you stand to be whipped by these fucking nutters?"

"My Mistress isn't like Madame Cyn," Angela replied quietly, "She's kind, and gentle, and she looks after me in all kinds of ways. I love her."

"So what are you doing with these two sadistic freaks?" Sophie asked bitterly. "Why aren't you tucked up with your precious Mistress?"

"I don't know where she is," Angela sobbed, fighting back the tears, "I was trying to find her when Madame Cyn took me."

"Hang on," Sophie said, realisation growing, "what is your Mistress' name?"

"Lucy," Angela replied sadly, "but she goes by the name of– "

"–Mistress Lux!" Sophie exclaimed.

"Yes!" Angela said, feeling confused, "how did you know?"

"Oh God, Anna, I'm so sorry!" Sophie replied, fearing how the other was going to take her news. "Lucy was taken with me!"

"Really? Is she here? Where is she?" Angela looked around, as if her Mistress might somehow be hiding in the empty room.

"She was… they put her in a crate and shipped her off to some Men's Club in the City. I'm sorry, Anna."

Angela suddenly felt very lost. Her friend, her love, her Mistress – what were they doing to her? It was some kind of sick irony that, despite her attempts to stamp out human trafficking and modern-day slavery, she had become a victim of it herself. How were they ever going to get out of this ?

Part 6

Lucy was also wondering about how she was going to escape, as she struggled for breath. She was in the strictest of hogties, her arms and legs tied to a thick iron ring behind and above her. A harness had been strapped around her head, with a rope tied to the same ring pulling her head sharply back, and it was the strain on her chest and her throat which was causing her breathing difficulties. Her arms were tied at wrist and elbow, with her wrists bound close to the small of her back while her elbows were strung to the ring. Her ankles were tied crosswise, so that her knees were forced wide apart. Her back was in such an arch that she felt like her spine must snap, despite the natural litheness of her young body.

Her discomfort was intensified by the clamps which had been applied to her nipples, and to her bare labia, freshly shaved only an hour previously, as part of her preparation for this, her inaugural presentation to the club members. A length of chain hung from each clamp, and the four chains joined together below her, the resulting single chain then descending to the floor. The weight of the chain added an additional degree of pressure on her sensitive flesh, causing the serrated metal teeth to bite deeper into her most tender parts.

The ring above her was attached by a long chain to a hoist, which had small steel wheels on its underside, holding it to a metal track, running across the ancient panel work of the ceiling. Using this she could be easily moved to different points in the room, and she could clearly see what the implications of that were. The track would take her on a tour of the large dining table before her, at which sat the twenty or so members of the club dining there that night.

The table had earlier been set with fine china and silver plate for the sumptuous meal that had been delivered by the five women Lucy had met earlier. They had all entered, dressed in white, toga-style dresses – cut low at the front, backless, and with a hemline well above mid-thigh, held together around the waist with a length of gold rope. With their feet bare, they wore no other adornment other than the wrist and ankle cuffs, and punishment collars identical to the one which had tortured Lucy earlier, the one she still wore.

As they had served the food, the women had had to endure constant groping, both under and through the dresses, as well as lewd and disgusting remarks from the members, quaffing copious amounts of alcohol and stuffing their faces. On several occasions, a server had been forced to her knees to satisfy a member in urgent need of oral relief. Lucy, watching all this happening below her suspended body, was shocked at the contemptuous, callous way these wealthy, apparently intelligent, men treated the beautiful women struggling to fulfil the tasks assigned to them.

Now that the meal was over, the debauchery had reached new heights, and Lucy was looking down on a scene of Bacchanalian excess.

There was Marcia, the woman who had been next to her in the cellar, and who had released her bound arms and helped her clean herself up after the rape. Twenty-two and an attractive brunette, she had been at the club for the last two months, having been taken from the streets of London and sold at a private auction. She had commented wryly that at least she had been weaned off crack, and Lucy liked her casual underplaying of what must have been a frighteningly tough period of cold turkey.

Now, she was bent over the dining table, forced down onto the dirty plates and crockery, whilst she was being taken vigorously from behind by some city boy, still in his stupid red braces, although his pants were down around his ankles. Marcia's face showed a grimace of discomfort as she was repeatedly pumped, but also a look of resignation – she was used to this kind of treatment, and would endure it without either protest or pleasure. That was something she had advised Lucy to do – to develop a thick skin, a protective shell, to allow her to compartmentalise her treatment here from who she really was.

Next to her was Kim, a pretty redhead from Manchester, kidnapped only a few days earlier, just nineteen, and clearly scared out of her mind at the situation in which she now found herself. She was a little further along, her dress ripped away and the rope used to bind her arms behind her back. A napkin had been stuffed into her mouth, and she was sandwiched between two men, each forcing themselves into her, one into her tight pussy, the other into her equally tight anus. The napkin was only slightly muffling her desperate screams and cries.

Indhira was a student from India, her light brown skin, jet black hair and dark eyes accentuating her stunning beauty. She was currently on her knees, her mouth filled by the cock of one man, while she pleasured two others with her delicate, slender fingers. The results of her earlier efforts could be seen in the cum glistening on her long, straight hair. She had come to London full of hope and excitement, her parents so proud that she should be studying at the world-renowned LSE, and now, a year later, she had been forced into this nightmarish situation, a never-ending procession of unthinkable abuse. The tears on her face were clear, even at this distance.

Sasha was the oldest of the women there, both in overall age – twenty-five – and the length of time she had been there. She had been the first woman enslaved by the club, six months' earlier, and was a classic victim of the sex trade, having been trafficked from Belarus in Eastern Europe with the promise of a better life in the West. The ravages of her treatment had taken their toll on her – her brown hair, once her pride and joy, now hung dull and lifeless, hacked off at shoulder length at some point; her face was drawn and haggard, dark rings below her eyes and her cheeks sunken; her body was thin to the point of emaciation, her breasts shrunken and displaying the marks of their mistreatment, along with dull red marks on almost every part of her body, proof of the long-term abuse she had suffered.

Few of the men were now interested in fucking her, she was 'old news'. Now, as was increasingly common, she was the subject of violent assault. Her wrists were tied together and held above her head, while three men circled her, each holding a multi-fronded flogger, which they were using on every available part of her body – across her back, buttocks, breasts, stomach and thighs. Her sobs were heart-rending, as she danced on the end of the rope to the tune they were beating out on her flesh, trying desperately to turn away from the next strike, but finding no safe haven and no respite. Lucy gazed in astonishment and disgust at the faces of the men, flushed with effort and arousal, laughing at the poor woman's cries for them to spare her, showing no mercy. It was a sickening sight.

And finally, there was Marie. The product of an abusive orphanage in northern France, she had finally escaped the attentions of the nuns there, only to be pitched into this hellhole. Barely eighteen, she was the youngest of them, a gorgeous blonde with sexy curves and large, natural breasts. Those assets were currently being deployed to provide 'tit-fucks' for a series of club members eager to sample her fresh young body. She had only been there for a few weeks, but bitter experience had taught her not to resist those in power over her, it only led to further punishment and abuse – she was the most submissive of the women there.

A sharp tug on the chain from the clamps brought Lucy's attention back from the plight of her fellow victims to her own situation. She found herself being dragged along the track by the chain, causing a sudden, excruciating pain to shoot through her pinched flesh. After travelling about ten feet forward, she was relieved to come to a halt, then felt herself descending from her position high up, safely out of the reach of the revellers – or misogynistic, psychopathic rapists, as Lucy thought of them.

"Well, let's see what the latest acquisition's got to offer," the man in front of whom Lucy was now hanging said. He reached out and grabbed her breasts, squeezing hard, making the pain from the nipple clamps even more intense. Lucy desperately wanted to keep quiet, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her, but he just kept on pressing, harder and harder, until she let out a howl of anguish. She felt someone behind grab her buttock, fingers roughly thrust up into her pussy.

"She feels good and tight down here," she heard him say, "let's see what she's like to fuck."

After some fumbling, she felt his body between her splayed thighs and then, without any attempt at foreplay, he thrust into her. This time seemed even worse than her first experience, earlier on in the day, hurting her so much she thought she was being split open. The man who had mangled her breasts now moved in, his erection ready to slide through the ring gag and into Lucy's defenceless mouth. Having never sampled a man's cock before today, she now found herself being taken at both ends at once, and it was definitely not some Damascene conversion – she hated it just as much as she had earlier. She wondered how anyone could think this was better than the exquisite touch of a woman, but then conceded that she might not be getting the best view of heterosexual pleasure in this situation.

It was soon over, and she found herself with foul-tasting cum pooling in her mouth and dribbling down her chin. Not long after that, the crude thrusting into her sore cunt brought it's inevitable release, and she was left hanging, with hot spunk leaking from both ends. With another vicious tug on her nipples, she was moved along the table, to be violated afresh.

Everyone wanted to try out the new 'piece of tail', and it seemed like hours before Lucy was finally untied and allowed to collapse on the floor. After lying there in exhaustion for an eternity, she felt herself being helped to her feet by a couple of the other women, and together they staggered back down to the cellar, where they were chained to the wall again.

"Thank God that's over!" Lucy moaned, trying to stretch the ache out of her limbs and back.

"Don't speak too soon," Marcia cautioned, "there's still the night shift to come."

"What?!" the erstwhile Domme exclaimed, looking around in disbelief at her new friend. "No-one could want more sex after that, surely!"

"Think yourself lucky if that's all they want," the brunette replied darkly, before lying down on her mattress and closing her eyes, "try to get some rest while you can, Lucy. It only gets worse from here."

Part 7

“Huh? Wha?” Angela was jolted from a deep sleep by the sensation of her arms being pulled together behind her back. She had a brief moment where she forgot where she was, and she imagined she must be in her cage at home, with Mistress wanting her to take part in some late night activity. But, all too quickly, reality came flooding back, and fear suddenly struck her at what new terror might be about to strike.

Sophie had rubbed the soothing cream into her welts, as they pooled their knowledge of where they were, and what they could do to escape – the answers to both questions seeming to be ‘precious little’. Madame Cyn had returned with food for them, bowls of an unappetising and lukewarm stew, which they had been forced to eat with their fingers, as no cutlery was proffered. After this unsatisfactory meal, they were locked away in total darkness, and they had huddled together on the hard, bare floor, attempting to share body warmth in the chilling atmosphere. Angela remembered finally dozing off, her body nuzzling up against Sophie’s back, her arm draped across her.

Now, the light was blinding, and the naked slave heard the click of a padlock joining her wrist cuffs behind her, before a fist clamped in her hair dragged her to her knees.

“My wife tells me you’re a perfect, submissive little slave,” a male voice said above her, and Angela knew it must be Derek, the big brute of a man who had scared her earlier.

“Well, you can submit to me, right now, you stupid cunt!” Her head was suddenly pulled forward, and her mouth was filled by his thrusting erection.

In her still-drowsy state, the fear at her current situation, the taste of stale cum in her mouth, and the reek of whisky in the air combined to cause a vivid flashback to her abuse as a girl, and may explain what she did next.

She bit down.


Angela’s world suddenly exploded in a cacophony of screams and stars before her eyes, caused by a blow to the side of the head, so hard that she was thrown across the room, banging her head against the wall. Derek bent double, clutching at his groin in agony.

“You mad bitch!” he shouted, searching to see if she’d drawn blood. “I’m going to beat your fucking brains out for that!”

He took a step towards the dazed woman, murder written across his face, when he was hit by the small frame of Sophie, screaming as if she had been assaulted herself. Knocked off balance, the bull of a man fell to the floor, the naked madwoman beating at his chest with her tiny, balled fists. Recovering a little, he threw her across the room, sending her skidding across the floor until the chain to her collar yanked her to a stop. He advanced on Angela and grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her to her knees, and pulling back his arm, ready to punch her square in the face.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Cynthia shouted, surveying the scene before her. Derek hesitated – he really did intend to kill this bitch with his bare hands but, despite his usual tendency to ignore what women had to say when he was more concerned about how he could mistreat them, he deferred to his wife in matters of training slaves for profit and pleasure – and turned towards her.

“This fucking bitch bit me!” he complained, the fury obvious in his voice. “And I’m gonna fucking kill her!”

“Stop!” Cynthia commanded. “She’s worth a hell of a lot to us alive, and undamaged.” She could see the economic argument was having the desired effect of her angry husband.

“She’s clearly got a problem with men, but if we can find the right Mistress for her, she’ll fetch an absolute fortune. Let me punish her for what she did – you know I can make her suffer without marking her. I promise you, Derek, she won’t get away lightly for what she did to you.”

Derek could see the sense in what his wife was saying, and he knew just how effective her punishments could be. He’d have to satisfy himself with listening to this vicious cunt’s screams, and by taking his own frustrations out on the other one. Reluctantly, he threw Angela across the room towards the Domme, and made his way over to where Sophie was cowering in the corner. Man, she was going to suffer for the both of them…

Meanwhile, Cynthia quickly dragged Angela out of the cell and down the corridor to another room, before her rather unstable husband changed his mind.

“My, you’re quite a feisty one, aren’t you?” she said as she looked at the slave, now perfectly submissive as she knelt before her, head bowed.

“Much as I admire your resistance, though, I’m going to have to punish you quite severely for that.” Angela looked up at these apparently regretful words, but saw the excitement in the Domme’s eyes, and started to quail.

A few minutes later, Angela was certainly screaming loud enough to satisfy Derek’s thirst for revenge, and she was starting to wonder if she would have been better off with the obvious psychopath in this couple. She was bent backwards over a padded frame about four feet high, her ankles cuffed to the legs on one side of the frame, her wrists to the legs on the other. Her head hung down towards the floor, her mouth stretched around a ring gag and a leather blindfold covering her eyes, while her toes were dangling several inches above the floor. Her back ached from the high-stress position she was forced into, but that was the least of her worries.

The blindfold prevented her from seeing where Madame Cyn was, and she had to guess at her current position by the click of her heels on the floor as she walked around the prostrate slave.

“You know that you mustn't resist when I or my husband, or any future owner, wants your body,” Cynthia explained calmly as she ran her hand over the taut stomach before her, enjoying the warmth to her touch, as well as the nervous twitches it induced in Angela. “Resistance only brings pain and suffering.”

Angela screamed at the top of her voice as she felt the fronds of the flogger strike down hard on the shaved lips of her pussy. There was a short sequence of three delivered with a speed and rhythm which meant that she had to recover her composure before the next struck her. The chains holding her rattled as she struggled vainly for some kind of relief, but she could not move her body at all, it was perfectly presented to the Domme.

She listened nervously to the click-click of the heels moving around her, and then she was screaming again as the flogger came down across her breasts, the volley of blows delivered expertly, backhand followed by forehand, striking each exposed globe in turn. Another brief hiatus was followed by an attack to her stomach, making her clench her abdominal muscles until they screamed in protest, but it provided no relief. The cries and sobs were almost constant now, and tears streamed from her eyes as the pain coursed through her body.

The abuse continued for what felt like hours, until Angela was bathed in sweat, her skin glowing red from her neck to her knees , and her mind almost unhinged by the pain. But Cynthia had judged the beating perfectly and knew that, although her body looked hideously damaged now, in a few days the marks would have faded and the resilient young woman would have recovered, at least physically - she hoped and expected that this treatment would have changed her mental approach, pushing her to see Cynthia as her rightful Mistress. Now it was time to provide a little tenderness, to reinforce the message that there were rewards on offer for obedience.

“Sush there, my pet,” she soothed as she gently rubbed lotion into the burning flesh, “this will make the pain go away. You have been a good slave, and taken your punishment well. I think you and I will enjoy our time together. I have decided not to sell you on - not just yet, at any rate - you are just too perfect. You will become my personal slave, and I will train you to become even better then you already are. I'll square it with my husband, I'll tell him that you can help us around the house and in training other slaves, and that we can recoup our investment a little later, when I get bored with you. I think you will learn to appreciate me as your Mistress, maybe even come to love me. I will be a harsh Mistress, but it need not all be pain, I can also give you great pleasure, as you do me.”

Angela reacted as she felt the touch on her labia, but then realised that she wasn't being punished again, this was a gentle touch, the gentle touch of her new Mistress’s lips against her tortured, yet highly aroused, clitoris. She moaned as she felt the tongue probing her damp flesh, and the muscles in her thighs twitched, still unsure whether the sensations being transmitted were ones of pain or pleasure. Somewhere in her addled brain, she knew that Madame Cyn was giving her something she had never experienced with Mistress Lux, who had always been so gentle and loving, even when disciplining her. But this was something else, something more, something that drove her deeper into her submissive space. She felt like she was falling, and she didn't know whether she wanted to stop…

- o O o –

“We gotta get outta this place,” Lucy sighed wearily.

“If it’s the last thing we ever do,” Marcia sang out in response. Lucy looked around at her smiling friend and wondered, yet again, how she managed to keep her spirits up through all the abuse that they received. Somehow, she felt herself smiling back.

She had been there a week now, and had become familiar with the terrible routine that was imposed on them in the club. They were woken before dawn and taken upstairs to clean up after the previous night's activities. There were not usually many members around at this time, but the staff saw this as their opportunity to take advantage of the women in whatever way they wanted. This usually involved one of the slaves being dragged off into a corner and being forced to deliver a quick blow job, or possibly being pushed up against the wall and taken roughly, before being dismissed to return to their normal chores.

Lunchtime involved the preparation, serving, and clearing up of the meal to whichever members had arrived from their high-powered city jobs. Despite the recession, there seemed to be no lack of money, and two hour lunch breaks still seemed to be the order of the day. Very often they brought clients, and liked to show off the naked serving wenches, having them provide sexual services in between courses.

After lunch, they were taken back to the wine cellar and allowed to rest up before the evening's work. However, they might be called upstairs at any time, individually or in twos and threes, at the special request of members wishing to take advantage of a free afternoon and partake in a little sex, bondage and torture.

The dinner shift was next, and they worked hard in the kitchen under the supervision of the head chef, a man in the Gordon Ramsay tradition, in that he swore like a trooper and abused his staff, both verbally and physically, at every opportunity. As they delivered the meal to the assembled members, they had to suffer the ‘games’ Lucy had seen them involved with on that first night. Then it was back down to the cellar, to await the call for ‘special services’, once the brandy and cigars had been consumed.

Lucy's first experience of this post-prandial activity was on her second night. She had been taken upstairs and led into a small room she had not been seen before. Her chains were removed, although the collar remained, and her guard indicated that she should put on the clothes on the chair nearby. The room seemed to be set out as some kind of office, with a large desk, behind which was a plush leather chair. Other hard-backed chairs were dotted around the room.

When she picked up the clothes, Lucy realised that this was some kind of school uniform, and it was clear that she was to be involved in some kind of ‘game’. As she hesitated, the man who had first raped her on her arrival at the club poked her in the buttock with a short stick, and she screamed as a jolt of electricity hit her, making her jump to the side, vigorously rubbing the sore spot.

“Get on with it, cunt,” he growled, “we don't have all night.” Lucy started pulling on the clothes, surprised at the authenticity of the outfit, having expected it to be no more than a ‘sexy schoolgirl’ type of party costume. Instead, she had a proper bra, ‘sensible’ blue serge knickers, a crisp white blouse, dark blue skirt which came down to just above the knees, white knee-length socks, a school tie, and black patent shoes.

“Sit down and wait,” the man ordered, leaving her alone in the room once he had ensured she complied. Lucy sat on the hard chair looking around, wondering what would happen next.

“Stand up when I enter the room, girl!” Lucy jumped to her feet as the door opened and a tall, rather ugly, middle-aged man strode in. He was wearing the black robe and mortar board of a schoolteacher from somewhere in the 1950s - if she hadn't suspected where this was going, Lucy would have laughed out loud at all how corny this all was.

“Now, you're the new girl, Lucy, isn't it?” the man barked as he went behind the desk and sat down, picking up and opening a manila folder.

“Yes,” the young woman replied. The man looked up at her, his face flushed with anger.

“Show some respect, girl!” he shouted. “You address me as ‘Headmaster’! Now, do you know why you have been sent here?”

“No… Headmaster,” Lucy answered, adding the epithet with distinct reluctance.

“Typical!” the ‘headmaster’ responded. “You are here because of the reports I've had of your poor performance and insolent attitude. And, seeing you now, I can see that those reports were entirely accurate. Stand up straight, girl! Shoulders back, chest out! I will not have the standards of this institution brought down by slovenly young ladies such as yourself!”

Lucy couldn't believe how pathetic this all seemed, but she had already had experience of how violent these people could be, so she held her tongue - there was nothing to be gained by antagonising him. She watched as he went to a cupboard and took out something which she couldn't see. As he turned and walked around the desk to stand in front of her, her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the cane in his hand. She stared at it as if mesmerised as he flexed it and then swished it through the air, creating a whistling noise which illustrated eloquently the threat it posed in his hand.

“We do not take kindly to insolence and bad behaviour here, Lucy,” he said grimly, “and, for you, the punishment will be quite severe. Bend over!”

The young woman swallowed hard, but slowly obeyed, bending down until her upper body was parallel to the floor. She watched as the ersatz headmaster walked around behind her, before casually flicking the back of her skirt up with the tip of the cane, exposing her fine rump, clad in the tight material of her ‘school underwear’. She felt the tip of the cane hook into the waistband of her knickers and expertly work them off her cheeks and down her thighs, until they were left by her knees. She felt the cane move up her legs, against the backs of her thighs, until it reached her exposed buttocks once more.

“I could say that this will hurt me more than it will hurt you,” he sneered, “but that would be a lie. This is going to hurt you - a lot.”

She saw his arm draw back, heard the swish of the cane through the air, and then a streak of white hot pain erupted across her buttocks. She let out a squeal and shot upright, her hands immediately going to the injured area and frantically rubbing to try and ease the sting.

“What do you think you're doing, girl? You must take your punishment better than that! Now, get back here and bend down again. Grab your ankles this time, and make sure you don't get up again or I'll add another stroke to your punishment!”

Reluctantly, Lucy resumed her position, now bent double and clutching her ankles. She heard the swish again and cried out as another line of fire burned across her bottom, but she managed to prevent herself from straightening or reaching to protect herself. A third and then a fourth stroke of the cane, delivered with deadly speed and precision, reduced her to tears, which burned hotly on her cheeks, but that did not bring any sign of sympathy or mercy from her assailant. The caning continued, blow after blow striking her tender flesh until her pale skin was disfigured with ugly red welts which not only covered her buttocks but also her thighs almost down to where her panties had been lowered.

Finally, the man found that he could no longer resist the incredibly arousing sight and sound of the ‘schoolgirl’ bent over in front of him, weeping and trembling. He dropped the cane and bundled her over towards the desk. Lucy found herself sprawled across it, face down, being held with one hand whilst the other prepared a further assault. Any thoughts of a school-based discipline scenario now went out of the window as the club member thrust his fully erect penis hard into her anal passage. Lucy ground her teeth and tried not to cry out as he violated her, not wanting to add further to his obvious pleasure at her discomfort. Tears of disgust and shame burned her eyes as he continued to penetrate her, banging her thighs up against the edge of the desk as he slammed into her from behind.

At last he climaxed, shouting out as he came inside her, filling her with his hot semen. Lucy felt the man's full weight resting on her as he got his breath back and quickly recovered. He soon stood up and quickly straightened his clothes, walking out of the room without a word or a backward glance. By the time Lucy had recovered herself and stood up from the desk, the guard who had brought her here was back.

“Take off those clothes,” he ordered gruffly, “playtime’s over.”

Lucy stripped under his steely glare, before he reattached her wrist and ankle cuffs, then led her back down into the cellar to re-join the other slaves.

She was not selected on her third evening, but on the fourth, she was once more led upstairs and into another of the side rooms. On this occasion, the room was relatively empty - a single wooden chair stood below a harsh light in the centre of the room. Her costume for this evening's ‘performance’ was an elegant dark red cocktail dress over black bra and silk french knickers, stockings and suspenders, with 4 inch high heels. Once again, Lucy was less than impressed by the amount of imagination which had gone into the costume, but wondered nervously what tortures awaited her dressed like this.

When the door opened, she was once more tempted to burst out laughing, but the seriousness of her situation filled her with terror rather than mirth. She was confronted by two men dressed in authentic Nazi SS uniforms, and she jumped up from the chair, having decided that she would not take their abuse without at least offering some resistance. She backed away from them, looking for a chance to get past them and escape out of the door, but she saw the evil grins on their faces as they realised that she might offer them some sport.

“Come, French whore,” one of them said, “we just want to ask you a few questions about your friends in the resistance. We won't hurt you if you tell us what we want to know.”

“I'm not playing your stupid fucking games!” Lucy spat back at them, feeling her retreat blocked by the wall behind her.

“Ah, I do like it when they show spirit,” the other one said, “it makes it so much more satisfying when we break you!”

She darted to her left, trying to dash through the gap between the first ‘officer’ and the wall but he was too quick, blocking her way and grabbing her by her shoulders. She brought her knee up hard and fast into his groin, and he folded up with an agonised grunt, releasing his grip on her. Now she was clear, but just as she reached the door, a familiar, blinding agony erupted in her neck, emanating from the collar. She screamed and collapsed on the floor, every muscle jerking in spasm as the electric current ran through her body. The torture seemed to go on forever, although it only actually lasted a few seconds, but by the time it had finished, Lucy was barely conscious. The man she had injured struggled to his feet and staggered over to her prone body.

“Bitch!” he yelled, and kicked her with all his force in the stomach. Lucy grunted in pain, but could not control her body and defend herself as she was dragged from the floor by both of them. She was quickly stripped out of her dress, before being pushed down onto the chair, where she felt her limp arms pulled behind her back. Rope wound around her wrists, pulled tight before being tied off against the lower struts of the chair back. Still groggy from the electrical shock she had received, she could not resist as more rope was used to secure her firmly to the seat, with her legs splayed and her ankles bound to the rear legs of the chair.

“Do you treat all women like this, you misogynist bastards?!” she shouted defiantly as she felt her bra straps being pulled off her shoulders and down her arms, baring her breasts. “You're just sick, pathetic failures, so scared of making a real connection with a real woman, you'd rather pay to rape and torture them!”

Her reward for not playing along with their little game was to find a rag stuffed into her mouth, stretching her jaws wide, preventing her from further comments which might spoil her assailants’ ‘fun’.

“So, Mademoiselle, you think you can resist the Gestapo?” the man she had kneed in the balls said, obviously keen to keep his little fantasy going.

“We shall see. You will, I think, be screaming for our mercy and begging to tell us anything we want to know soon enough.”

Lucy looked on with growing fear as she watched them drag a large, industrial-sized battery over towards her. They also had thick wires ending in evil-looking crocodile clips, which they were waving threateningly before her. She tried to squirm away as she saw them, with considerable effort, squeezing the jaws of the clips open and bringing them towards her, but there was nothing she could do except watch in horror as they placed them not only over her nipples, but ensuring that as much as possible of her soft breast flesh was squeezed between the rows of metal teeth before they released them.

The bound prisoner screamed like she had never screamed before, as the spring-loaded jaws clamped down, not only squeezing her skin but breaking it, piercing her tender orbs and drawing blood. She screwed her eyes tight shut and clenched her jaws, trying to cope with the agony, but it was unbearable. Her two ‘interrogators’ watched with sadistic pleasure as she writhed and fought against her tight bonds, struggling sexily before them as the tears ran down her cheeks. Her performance provided a pleasing hors d'oeuvres for them, but now it was time for the main event.

Lucy gasped in shock as she felt her whole body doused in icy cold water, and opened her eyes to see one of the men holding the empty bucket he had just emptied over her. In growing alarm, she looked down to see the other man, the one she had managed to injure, attaching the free end of one of the wires to a terminal on the battery. He picked up the other wire and, giving her an evil grin, slowly brought it down until it contacted the other terminal.

Lucy's world erupted into the most intense pain she had felt in her life. Somehow, it seemed so much worse than what she had received from the collar, even though that was already hideously painful. Her back arched against the chair, every muscle in her body straining against the ropes holding her down while, with her head thrown back, she screamed in the most pitiful way, gasping for air. After what felt like an impossibly long time, the torture stopped, and she slumped in the chair, only held in place by the ropes wrapped around her. Her head fell against her chest as her breath wheezed in and out. Suddenly, her head was pulled back by the hair and the cloth pulled from her mouth.

“Got anything clever to say now, bitch?!” the man with the aching balls spat, before hitting her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. Lucy screamed again as the power returned, burning through her with the same intensity as before.

“Well, are you ready to talk yet?” the other man asked, lifting her head, as she had lost all her strength in her neck muscles.

“Yes,” she gasped, “why don't you go fuck yourselves?”

She knew it made no difference what she said, they were total sadists, they were going to torture her whatever. And she was right. These two didn't seem that interested in sex, they got there excitement from hearing her screams, watching her writhe in agony. Once they had grown tired of electrocuting her breasts, they cut away the silk of her French knickers and attached the vicious clips to her labia instead. If she had thought she was in pain before, this took it to a whole new, terrifying level. She fainted after the first burst of electricity was fired through her most sensitive flesh, but that didn't stop them. They slapped her around and doused her in water until she recovered consciousness, and then they carried on. Her throat became ragged from her constant screaming, and every muscle in her body screamed in agony even when the power had been switched off.

Eventually, they tried to revive her one more time but it was no use, she had suffered too much, her body shutting down in an attempt to protect her. The two club members finally lost interest and left the room, leaving it to the staff to clear up their mess. When they came in, the two guards assumed the slave girl was dead, but once they had untied her, they realised she was still breathing. They dragged her back down to the cellar and dumped her limp body onto one of the filthy mattresses, leaving her to be attended by the other women.

- o O o –

“Like I said, we've got to get out of this place.”

“Do you think none of us have thought of that?” Marcia said bitterly. “There's nothing we can do while we're wearing these collars.”

“Have you ever seen one being removed?” Lucy asked. Marcia shook her head glumly, and the others looked equally negative.

“I have,” Sasha said, “not long after I got here, a girl that they didn't like. They tied her up, removed the collar, put her in a crate and shipped her out. I had no idea what happened to her.”

“How did they remove the collar?” Lucy asked, looking at the older woman intently.

“One of the guards had some kind of special tool in his pocket,” the Belarus woman replied. Lucy thought hard about the problem for a long time, as the other women looked on, wondering what she was thinking. Eventually, she looked up and smiled.

“Okay, here's the plan…”

- o O o –

It had been a hard week since those words had been uttered, and all six women were bruised, exhausted, and feeling as forlorn as ever as they trudged back towards their subterranean prison, accompanied by their two guards.

“God, I'm dying for a piss!” the bearded one exclaimed. “Take them downstairs and I'll be back in a minute to help you chain the bitches up.” As they continued towards the door to the wine cellar, each of the women fought to control her suddenly rising nervous excitement - this was their opportunity!

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and were making their way across towards the mattresses when Lucy suddenly collapsed to her knees, clutching her stomach and moaning pathetically.

“Get up, cunt!” the guard barked, reaching for the collar control on his belt. He caught a movement at the corner of his eye, and turned just in time to see the bottle of Premier cru as it slammed into the side of his head with all the force that Marcia could muster. His legs crumpled beneath him, and he was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.

Immediately, Lucy was up and feeling in his trouser pockets, desperate to find the release for the slave collars they wore. She cursed under her breath when she came up empty.

“Get this guy chained up, gagged and out of sight,” she ordered, “Kim, Marie, you're with me!”

She grabbed another bottle of top-of-the-range champagne and dashed back up the stairs to the door, followed by the two beautiful young girls. As Lucy hid herself in a dark corner, Kim and Marie knelt down in front of the door.

The sight which greeted the bearded guard as the entered the cellar was not one he had been expecting. On the stone floor in front of him, two beautiful, naked young women were kissing and fondling each other with gay abandon, the redhead with her fingers in the pussy of the gorgeous blonde, who was writhing and moaning beneath her.

“What the fuck?” he said, taking a step forward. That was as far as he got before the thick glass bottle smacked into the back of his head, and he toppled over, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Lucy, breathing hard as the adrenaline surged through her small frame, bent down and riffled through his pockets. Meanwhile, Sasha and Marcia had joined them with ropes and chains, with which they quickly restrained the unconscious guard.

“Got it!” Lucy cried, holding up the key to their release. She called over her friend and, after several abortive attempts, finally released the collar from around her neck. Marcia put her hands on Lucy's cheeks and kissed her full on the lips, overjoyed to be free at last.

“Put the collar on this bastard and get the controller off him,” Lucy directed, before turning to Sasha to free her.

“That feels so good!” the Belarusian said, stroking her neck, bare for the first time in six months. She quickly ran down the stairs and placed her collar around the neck of the other guard, who was just regaining consciousness. As his vision cleared, he saw the dirty face of the emaciated slave above him, a broad, maniacal grin spreading across it as she held up the collar controller in front of him.

“Let's see if you like it, you bastard!” Sasha hissed as she pressed the button, watching gleefully as the man who had caused her so much pain over the past months cried out into the cloth stuffing his mouth. She kept her finger pressed down hard, and would have kept electrocuting him until he either died or fainted, but Lucy managed to prise the device from her hands.

“It's okay, Sasha, he can't hurt you now,” Lucy soothed, “but we need to get out of here before any more of them come down.”

The six naked women, finally freed from the controlling slave collars, armed themselves with whatever they could find - sticks, bottles, even a metal crowbar - and crept out of the cellar door, cautiously making their way through the corridors, listening out for the slightest sound.

As they had planned, the club was at its quietest in the morning, and they didn't encounter anyone before they reached the back door of the club. It was locked. Undeterred, having expected exactly this, Lucy took the crowbar and eased it into the gap between the two heavy wooden doors. Using all her strength, and with help from Marcia, she finally managed to break the lock. Immediately, loud alarm bells started to ring through the club. The women burst through the broken door, and out into the sunlight, the first some of them had seen the outside world for months. It was cold, it was raining, and they were naked, but they didn't care. They ran as fast and as far away from that place as they could.

Eventually, several streets away, they came to a halt, all gasping for breath.

“Excuse me, ladies, do you mind telling me what's going on?”

Lucy looked up from the crouch she had adopted to try and ease the stitch in her side, and saw the most beautiful sight she could remember. Standing in front of her were two uniformed police officers, the man who had just spoken and his colleague, a young policewoman.

“I'd like to report a crime, officers,” she said, “kidnapping, false imprisonment, rape, grievous bodily harm, actual bodily harm, human trafficking - I think that will do for starters. Now, do you think you could take us somewhere where we can get some clothes and a really good cup of coffee?”

Part 8

“What do you mean, you've got no leads?” Lucy fumed. “We've given you a name, we've given you a place, we've given you a time. How can you say you have no leads?”

Detective Constable David Jones looked uncomfortably at the clearly outraged young woman across the desk, wondering just what he was going to tell her. It had been three weeks since she had turned up, naked, bruised and filthy at his police station, and everything had gone crazy. An immediate raid on the club had caught staff and patrons alike before they had even become aware of the escape. But forensic examination of their records had failed to reveal the names or locations of any of their slave suppliers.

“I'm sorry, Ms Harker,” he said, visibly squirming in his seat, “we've questioned everyone who was working or who was a customer at that bar on that night. We have a full description of this ‘Madame Cyn’ and her accomplice, and we've gone house-to-house, using your approximate times for your transfer from their ‘facility’ to the gentleman's club as the basis for a search area. But we've come up with nothing - they seem to have vanished off the face of the earth.”

He could see by the look on her face that this was not convincing the solicitor’s clerk. He had come under enormous pressure from his superiors once the story had hit the headlines - ‘Sex Slaves In The City!’ - as well as from the head of the firm of barristers for which Angela worked. Lucy was in the papers and on the TV every other day - she was photogenic, sexy and talking about sex, the papers couldn’t get enough of her – but unfortunately that didn’t change the facts – the trail had gone cold, and the police couldn’t afford to keep funding the equivalent of randomly turning over rocks.

- o O o –

Lucy knew they had done their best, but that didn’t make it any easier. As she sat in the taxi back to the chambers, she stared out of the window at the thousands of Londoners, going about their daily lives, the tourists, happily enjoying the sights of the great city, all unaware of her pain and of the city’s seedy underbelly. Her head gradually sank into her hands, and the tears flowed.

She cursed herself – she was the Domme, the strong one, Mistress Lux! How could she give in to despair? And yet, and yet… she realised she couldn’t remember if she’d ever told Anna how much she loved her, how Anna’s loving devotion to her young colleague and friend meant so much. Without her, Lucy felt desolate, unable to cope. She knew that her confidence stemmed from knowing that she had the most wonderful sub any Domme could wish for waiting for her back at home.

“You okay, Miss?” the cab driver asked with concern as he watched the sobbing young woman in the rear-view mirror. Lucy pulled herself together, sniffing back the tears and nodding. She would not give up, she told herself, never give up until her love was safe in her arms again.

- o O o –

“Any news, Lucy?” Richard Benton asked as the young clerk walked through the door.

“No, sir, nothing new,” Lucy replied, bravely giving a wan smile.

“Well, you have a visitor,” the head of chambers continued, “young lady, wouldn’t give her name, will only speak to ‘Miz’ Harker.” He indicated Angela’s office, and Lucy went to the door, wondering what this might be about.

The woman was sitting across the desk, and Lucy noticed how beautiful she was, despite her sallow complexion and thin, unsmiling face, framed by long, straight black hair.

“Miz Harker?” she asked, betraying her east European origins by her accent. “You are lady who frees sex slaves?” Lucy nodded, sitting down in Angela’s chair.

“Miz Barnes, she good woman, she save me from being slave. I help you find her?” The young Domme jumped out of her seat with a look of hope spreading across her face.

“You know where she is?” she asked, trying and failing to control her excitement.

“No,” the woman replied, but seeing the other’s crestfallen look, hurried on, “but maybe I have information to help. Slave auction, only one in south of England, happen here, maybe you find her there?” She thrust a torn piece of paper with a place and a date on it into Lucy’s hand.

“Thank you, Miss…?” she asked, but got no name in return.

“Do not tell police!” the woman urged, a look of fright in her eyes. “They find out, no auction, you never find.” Lucy nodded, understanding the gravity of the warning.

“Good luck,” the woman said, rising from the chair, “you find your friend, I hope.” She quickly left the office, and Lucy sank back into the chair, wondering nervously, excitedly, if this was the breakthrough she had been waiting for.

- o O o –

Meanwhile, Angela lay on her thin mattress, her body exhausted and racked by pain. Ever since she had been moved from the training centre to Madame Cyn’s house, she had been the target of the Dominatrix’s sadistic attentions, and it was taking its toll.

It seemed that, at some point, Cynthia had trained in the arts of designing and applying tattoos and piercings, and her new personal slave had become the canvas for her artistic pretensions. Her eyebrows had become a line of shiny silver studs, her ears ringed from top to bottom, with large heavy pendants dangling from the lobes. Another hoop hung from her pierced septum, while each lip  bore two horseshoe-shaped piercings. A large stud through her tongue had marred her speech with a pronounced lisp, a constant, mocking reminder of the modifications forced upon her.

Her nipples had, of course, been pierced, with golden rings providing anchor points for all manner of tortures. Another hoop through her belly button led down to her labia, each pierced and ringed three times, allowing her Mistress to either lock her sex away or spread it open wide for her amusement.

And then there were the tattoos. Angela had always hated the idea of tattoos, imagining how they would look in her fifties, sixties, even seventies. But here she was, now covered in the damn things. On her right bicep, an image of a kneeling slave, thighs spread, head bowed; on her left, a winged faerie, nailed to a St. Andrews cross. On her breastbone was a design of slave manacles joined by heavy chain, while between her breasts and down over her ribcage hung an inverted cross. In the small of her back, just above her buttocks, Cynthia had engraved the image of a naked female body bound in barbed wire, while above her pubis, along her bikini line, the word ‘Slave’ had been carved in extravagant gothic script.

Cynthia was an artist, above all, when it came to her predilection for delivering pain to her slave. That afternoon, she had painstakingly hung Angela from the ceiling, needle-sharp hooks through the flesh of her back at her shoulders, her waist and thighs. With her arms shackled wrist to elbow behind her back and legs chained ankle to thigh, Angela could do nothing but scream and howl as she was raised up until her tormentor could walk beneath her, fondling the tense, sweat-soaked skin above. She pulled the slave’s head back with wires attached to her ears, then hung increasingly heavy weights from the rings in her nose, breasts, stomach and cunt, dragging the tortured flesh down and increasing the pull on the hooks holding her up.

Cynthia sat and watched for hours as her muse suffered before her, occasionally wandering around to observe her form from all angles, before applying her electrified prod to strategic points – tongue, neck, nipples, clitoris, and deep into the moist flesh of her vagina – relishing the broken, desperate screams and reflexive twitching of the thing hanging above her, no longer a woman, not even a slave, just a hunk of meat sculpted by her own cruel hand under the direction of her twisted mind. Her orgasm, brought about by those same hands, was loud and intense.

Angela’s tortured body continued to protest as she recalled these torments, just another in a long and unbroken string of waking nightmares she has suffered, and would continue to suffer, so it seemed, until her Mistress grew bored with her, or her body and soul gave up the fight to endure, to stay alive.

- o O o –

Lucy looked down the line of slaves, and her heart skipped a beat. It had taken two weeks of frantic investigation of all the underworld contacts that the solicitor’s firm had made over the years, followed by careful negotiation, to get her an invite to this very exclusive get-together.

She had been nervous enough choosing her outfit - a not-so-subtle combination of leather, Lycra and latex which very firmly gave the message that she was here as a Domme - never mind walking around amongst all these shady characters. But now she was viewing the ‘merchandise’ on offer tonight, and she had just spotted what she'd hoped to see. It wasn't Angela, that would have been almost too good to hope for, but it was the next best thing - Sophie, the girl who had been kidnapped by Madame Cyn at the same time as Lucy.

As she walked down the line of naked women, each manacled with their arms above their heads and legs spread, defenceless against the probing examination of prospective buyers, her excitement grew until she finally reached the small, raven-haired beauty she had first chatted up in the bar, what seemed like half a lifetime ago. She could see the marks where the girl had been whipped and caned, and a strong pang of guilt hit her - if she hadn't targeted her as a potential submissive conquest on her evening out, maybe this would never have happened.

As she stood before the naked, chained girl, she was alarmed to see Sophie raise her head and look her in the eye. As recognition dawned, Sophie's eyes widened and Lucy could see a spark of hope there as she opened her mouth to speak. She knew she had to do something quickly, otherwise Sophie might give them both away.

"Don't you dare look at me, you fucking bitch!" Lucy shouted, raising her hand and slapping the other girl hard across the face.

"I don't know how you can be selling this cunt as a fully trained slave!" This remark was addressed at the guard standing at the end of the line of slaves, who shrugged as if it was nothing to do with him. As Sophie raised her head once again, Lucy saw the hope had been replaced by tears and a look of betrayal. She felt terrible at having to treat the girl in this way, but it was the only thing she could do, hopefully Sophie would understand that soon.

Richard Benton had given Lucy access to significant funds from the firm’s coffers, and she used a considerable portion of them to secure ownership of Sophie, against considerable competition in the auction. As she went backstage to oversee the handling of her new slave, she knew that they were not safe yet - if there was even the slightest hint that she was not a genuine buyer, both of them could find themselves sliced up and at the bottom of the river.

"Gag it for me, will you? I don't want to listen to it whining all the way home," she ordered as her property was dragged in. As they stuffed a filthy rag into the girl's mouth and tied it in place with thin twine, the same twine which they had used to replace the slave chains in which she had been displayed earlier, Lucy felt terribly guilty at the rough treatment Sophie was receiving, but knew there was no other option.

"Put it in the trunk of my car," she said, trying to sound as uncaring and offhand as she imagined someone in her position should. She accompanied the two heavies who were carrying Sophie and opened the boot of Angela’s SLK, watching as they dumped her in, and then tied her arms and legs into a strict, and very painful-looking, hogtie, before slamming the lid shut. Lucy casually gave them a tip before unhurriedly getting into the car and driving away.

Her heart was still pounding because she knew that they were still not out of danger. She had been told that it was quite common for new owners to be ambushed as they left an auction, to have their new slaves taken from them to be sold again. It was also possible that they might follow her, in case she turned out to be a police informant.

She drove for twenty minutes before she was satisfied that she was not being tailed, at which point she pulled over in a secluded spot and switched off the engine. She raced to the back of the car and opened the boot, fearing the worst but finding that Sophie was still very much alive.

She pulled out her penknife and quickly cut through the cruel twine holding the naked woman, pulled the rag from her mouth, and helped her into a sitting position.

"Oh God, Sophie, I'm so sorry for everything!" Lucy said as she hugged the trembling girl against her body. "It's okay, you're safe now, it's over."

She wrapped a blanket around the sobbing girl and helped her into the passenger seat of the Mercedes, before driving her back to the apartment and helping her inside.

"Thank God you rescued me!" Sophie said as she sipped at the hot chocolate which Lucy had pressed into her hand. "It's been a complete nightmare, and the idea of being sold to some… pervert…" She screwed up her face in a look of disgust and horror.

"I'm just so sorry for my part in you getting mixed up in all this," Lucy responded. "If I hadn't approached you at the bar that night…"

"I'd still have been taken by that cruel bitch Cynthia," Sophie replied with a grim tone. Lucy was glad that she understood the true nature of the situation she had been caught up in, it felt like a great weight off her shoulders knowing that the girl didn't blame her.

"So, can you tell me what happened to Angela? Did they sell her?" She tried, but failed, to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"Oh, you mean Anna. No, they didn't sell her, that bitch took her as her personal slave."

"Do you have any idea where they were holding you? Or were they took Anna?"

"Sorry, no," Sophie replied miserably, "I never saw outside the building and I never heard them speak about where they live. Oh God, you were hoping I could lead you to her, but I don't know anything, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry, Lucy."

"It's okay," Lucy smiled bravely, "you've helped a lot, at least I now know that she's still somewhere around here, not in some far-flung country, serving some heartless bastard or working in a brothel. Now, why don't you take a nice hot bath, I'll order us some takeaway, and you can get a good night’s sleep. We’ll go to the police in the morning."

- o O o –

Cynthia scanned the bar, the familiar feeling of excitement at the start of the hunt coursing through her body. It had been over two months since her last ‘expedition’, and she had missed it. Owning her own slave was fantastic, but she really enjoyed the thrill of the chase. She had been monitoring the bar for a couple of weeks now, just to make sure that it wasn't being watched by the police - she had heard all about the raid on the gentlemen's club and the freed sex slaves, including that one she'd sent there, and she and Derek had laid low for a long time. But she knew the police couldn't keep up the expensive task force they had originally assigned and she felt confident that she could resume her ‘activities’ with impunity.

There were a number of bars and clubs at which she sought out fresh slaves, but this one always seem to be the most productive. And so it was proving tonight - there at the bar, a very attractive brunette, probably early twenties, sitting on her own, nursing her drink. Cynthia kept watch for well over half an hour, making sure she didn't contact anyone in the bar, confirming that this wasn't a setup. Finally, she moved in.

"Hi there, pretty, what's your name?" she asked as she approached the bar. The young woman looked startled, then nervous, unsure of how to respond. Cynthia smiled - this was going to be easy.

"My name is Marcia," the girl said, getting up from her stool, "and I think you already met my friend."

Cynthia looked round in alarm to see Lucy standing close behind her. A man approached from a nearby table, leaving the startled woman surrounded.

"Hello, Cynthia," Lucy smiled, "so good to see you again! Let me introduce my friends - Marcia is a friend I made in that hellhole you sold me to. And this is Mr Moffat, a private detective who has been helping us track you down. We have so much to talk about, let's take a walk."

Lucy linked arms with the other Domme, while Marcia led the way out of the bar, with the private detective bringing up the rear. Outside, the three women climbed into the back seat of a black saloon, Moffat sitting up front and driving.

"What do you want from me?" Cynthia asked in a slightly hysterical voice.

“Well," Lucy replied in a calm but steely tone, "we are going to take you to the police, where you can answer some of their questions. But first, you're going to tell us where you're keeping my good friend Anna." Cynthia gave a short, mirthless laugh.

"What makes you think I'm going to cooperate with you?" she sneered. "As soon as my… accomplice realises that I am in police custody, he will get rid of the evidence, including your ‘friend’, and you'll never see her again."

"That's why we're not taking you directly to the police station," Lucy continued, still icily calm, "Sophie told me all about the treatment you handed out to her and to Anna." Cynthia looked alarmed that they had spoken to her other slave.

"So, if you don't tell us what we want to know, I'll have no problem treating you in a similar way, slave cyn. Why don't you save yourself a lot of pain by just telling us what we want to know - right now!"

- o O o –

"Hello there, cunt!"

Angela was almost asleep, but at the sound of that voice, she was immediately fully alert, adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins. She saw Madame Cyn’s appalling husband, Derek, standing over her, and she tried to crawl away from him as fast as she could, until the chain around her neck locked to the wall restrained her.

"I see you remember me," he said with an evil grin, "I certainly remember you. I remember you biting my dick, you fucking bitch, something which I never got the opportunity to punish you for!" He moved forward and grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her towards him until their faces were inches apart, and she could smell the whisky on his breath.

"Well, cunt, my wife is away, and today is Judgement Day!"

He hauled the young solicitor to her feet and slipped a noose around her neck. As she clawed at the tight rope, gasping and struggling for breath, he dragged her into the next room in the cellar complex underneath their Georgian house. A chain with manacles at the end hung in the middle of the room, and he wasted no time in closing them around her wrists. As she worked at the knot holding the rope around her neck, gradually loosening it to the point where she could breathe freely again, he strode across the room and pressed a button on the wall. Angela watched in alarm as her wrists were drawn above her head, the winch pulling her arms higher until her toes swung free of the floor below her. Derek strolled back and stood in front of her struggling body, enjoying her helplessness and her pathetic cries as she fought against the unyielding metal.

"I do hope you're a screamer," he chuckled, reaching out to her breast and pinching her nipple hard, "I really enjoy hearing a woman scream. And I'm going to give you plenty of reasons to scream, bitch, just like I screamed when you bit me. The only thing is, I'm not going to stop. I'm going to whip you until you are bleeding, and then I'm going to fuck you, and then I'm going to kill you."

Angela watched helplessly as he went over to the wall and took down the biggest and most evil-looking bullwhip she had ever seen. As he walked around behind her, she steeled herself against the pain to come - she had been tortured daily for months, she could take this, it was just going to be one more…

As a loud crack rang out around the room, Angela screamed like she had never screamed before. It felt like a hot, sharp knife had been dragged across her back, leaving a line of fire from her left shoulder to her right hip.

"How does it feel, bitch?!" Derek shouted as he raised the whip and lashed her again. He laughed as she screamed once more and another livid red line appeared across her back. Her suffering was turning him on incredibly, and he brought the leather down across her back time and time again, until her skin was crisscrossed by ugly welts and her screams had died down to a broken, keening desperation.

He continued until she hung, seemingly lifeless, from the chain, her head lolling on her chest. As he approached her inert form, he saw the glistening trails of blood seeping from the open wounds across her back and, fascinated, he traced his finger along the lines. He was rewarded with a groan and a writhing attempt to escape his touch from his victim.

As he walked in front of her, Derek saw the tears which had streamed down her face, still twisted in agony. He took hold of a lock of her hair and lifted her head so that he could look her in the eye.

"So, are you enjoying yourself?" he asked with a sneer.

"Go fuck yourself," she replied in a barely audible croak.

"No, I think I'll go fuck you!" Derek laughed. He grabbed her legs around the thighs and lifted her onto his rampant cock, thrusting mercilessly into her, eliciting a pained cry from her ripped throat. Her unresisting body bounced on the chain, her head hanging back and her breasts jiggling on her chest, much to the sadist’s amusement. As he continued to pump her, he lent forward and bit down on one of her nipples, enjoying her screams as he tasted her blood. When he reached orgasm, he shot his load inside her, then dropped her and walked away, leaving her swinging from side to side, barely conscious.

He decided to switch whips now that he was ready to start on her front. It wasn't that he was going easy on her, he just wanted something with a little more accuracy so that he could target her most sensitive areas, causing her the maximum distress.

Angela couldn't believe that she hadn't passed out from the pain, and she wearily raised her head to see what her assailant was going to do next. She was just in time to see the thin tail of the whip shooting towards her before it caught her across the breasts. She reared back, trying desperately to avoid the blow, but failing, and she let out another howl of pain and despair as this new beating began.

Derek took careful aim, targeting her nipples in the first instance, landing two or three strikes to each, which brought up thin red lines across her chest. Licking his lips in lustful appreciation of her anguished cries, he moved on to her stomach, aiming for the ring in her belly button as if this were some kind of fairground attraction, where he would win a prize if he hit the shiny bull's-eye.

Angela tried to turn away from the source of her torment, but her sadistic torturer merely moved around with her, keeping the whip trained on her so far unblemished flesh. He changed his focus to the even more sensitive area of her thighs and her shaved pussy, completely exposed and vulnerable. The young woman's screams and struggles became ever more frantic as the thin tail of the whip caught her on her most tender flesh, bruising and cutting it until she was a bloody mess.

Unable to resist his burgeoning arousal, Derek dropped the whip and moved back towards the girl, grabbing her cruelly marked thighs and pushing his restored erection between her buttocks, unconcerned by her cries of protest as he forced himself into her tight anus and thrust into her rectum.

The anal rape was mercifully quick and, once complete, Angela was left to hang by her wrists once again, as she tried to processed the pain of her assault. It was sometime later that she felt her arms being released and she collapsed onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, unable to support herself as her legs collapsed beneath her. Derek flicked her inert body over onto her back and looked down at her, the only sign of life being the occasional groan which emerged from her. He fetched a set of heavy manacles, joined by thick iron chains, and attached them to her wrists and ankles.

"Come on, cunt, I've got something new to show you," he said as he dragged her to her feet. He led her from the room and into another, one to which she had never been before, and her sense of dread anticipation increased. He pushed her inside, and she saw the fate which awaited her, the shock and horror of it making her struggle and cry out once again, but she was too weak from the beating to put up any meaningful resistance.

Before her stood a glass cabinet, maybe 8 feet tall and about 2' x 2' square, with pipes attached at both the top and the bottom. As she fought like a maniac to break free, Derek opened the front of the cabinet and thrust her inside, forcing the door shut and locking it with a series of screw fixings. Angela, now trapped inside, pounded on the class with her fists and screamed for help, finally begging for mercy from her attacker, even though she knew it was pointless - the look on Derek's face told her that he was in the grip of some form of madness, one that could only be satisfied by her torture and death.

As she watched in growing horror, Angela saw him casually stroll across to the wall, where the hoses to the top of the cabinet were attached to taps, which he proceeded to turn. Immediately, cold water began to cascade down on her, making her gasp for breath. She resumed her pummelling on the glass in front of her, but it only seemed to amuse and further arouse the man who now wanted to see her die. His hand moved to his crotch and, as he stared at the chained and naked girl, her skin covered in ugly stripes and welts, struggling uselessly as the water rose over her knees, he stroked his cock as it quickly regained its stiffness.

As the water gushed in, the level quickly rose, and Angela soon found that she was submerged up to her chest. She reached up, desperately trying to get her hand over the top of the cabinet, but it was too high. When the water reached her neck, she tried to tread water, but the chains on her wrists and ankles restricted her movements, as well as dragging her down with their weight. Soon the water was rising around her face, and she caught her last breath as it closed over her head, and she began frantically trying to get back to the surface.

It took a huge effort, and she was only able to gulp down a little air before she was pulled under again, sinking down until her feet touched the floor. She looked through the glass, hoping for some sign of mercy, but all she saw was Derek's leering face as he pumped his erection. Knowing that no help was coming from that quarter, Angela resumed her desperate efforts to rise up to the fresh air again.

She didn't hear the sound of the doorbell, or see Derek's look of annoyance and frustration as he pulled on a pair of trousers and headed for the door.

"Try not to drown before I get back," he called over his shoulder, "I wouldn't want to miss that!" He hurried up the stairs, wondering who was so desperate to see him that they were continuously ringing the bell and knocking with increasing urgency.

He had just got into the hall when the front door in front of him crashed open and several police officers in helmets and protective clothing burst into the house.

"What's the meaning of this?" Derek managed to say before he was pinned against the wall by two burly officers. Behind the uniforms, a plainclothes officer walked in and stood before him.

"Derek Mathews," DC Jones stated formally, "you are under arrest for kidnapping and unlawful detention, we have a warrant…"

At that moment, Lucy burst through the gaggle of police officers and pushed the detective to one side, grabbing Mathews by the throat.

"Where is she?!" Lucy screamed in his face. Derek didn't reply, but the girl saw the momentary flicker of his eyes towards the door at the end of the hall, and immediately ran in that direction.

"Ms Harker, wait!" Janes shouted after her, but she was already through the door. Lucy went down the steps three at a time, listening for any sound. At the bottom of the stairs, she saw three doors, and quickly opened each in turn.

Behind the first door, she saw the thin mattress on the floor with the chain attached to the wall, and guessed this was where Angela was normally imprisoned. She quickly moved to the second door, finding the torture chamber, with the chain hanging in the middle of the room, the whip lying on the floor, and spots of blood spread around.

With growing alarm and greater urgency, she threw open the third door and finally found Angela. The scene was difficult to take in - the glass cabinet filled with murky water which was now overflowing the top and spilling out around the room, and in that water, the inert form of Lucy's boss, friend and lover.

She tried to control the rising panic she was feeling when she saw no movement from inside the cabinet, and looked for some way to empty out the water and rescue Angela. She saw the pipes at the bottom of the glass case and moved towards them to open the valves, but she could see by the small bore of the hoses leading out of the case that it would take some considerable time to empty, and she would also have to go across to the other side of the room to turn off the taps pouring water in at the top. Too much time! She had to get Angela out of there now!

As she looked around frantically for some other solution, she saw a large monkey wrench over by the wall. She dashed over to it and picked it up then, approaching at a run and using her best baseball swing, she smashed it into the front of the cabinet. The sound of breaking glass was accompanied by the sudden rush of water over her ankles. She immediately dropped the wrench and grabbed Angela's falling body, sinking down onto the wet floor, ignoring the broken glass underneath her.

There was a heart-stopping pause, which seemed to drag on for an eternity but couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, and then the naked woman coughed and spluttered back into life. Lucy helped her sit up and spit out the water which had got into her throat, but not her lungs. Once the initial burst of fitful coughing had passed, Lucy pulled her wet body close, holding her in a vice-like hug as both women broke down in tears.

- o O o –

Lucy sipped her wine and looked down at her slave. The marks on her body had started to fade, her hair was growing out, and the jewellery had been removed from her face. The tattoos still remained, they were waiting until her skin had fully healed before booking her in for laser treatment, but she looked an awful lot more healthy than when she had been rescued.

Lucy had decided that the rings in her nipples and pussy lips could stay, as they provided great opportunities for interesting and innovative play sessions. Her fingers trailed idly through the kneeling slave's hair - she had found it difficult not to maintain some kind of body contact at all times since Anna’s return.

"You look very cute, darling, with that pixie cut," Lucy smiled, "I think we might keep it that way."

"If it pleases you, Mistress," Angela responded dutifully. Lucy's smile broadened at the classic submissive response and, leaning forward, she hooked her finger through the ring on the front of Anna’s collar and gently pulled her up until their faces met in a long, passionate kiss.

"Will you be going out tonight, Mistress?" the naked slave asked, keeping her tone level, not wishing to express any feeling she might have about the answer. Lucy laughed, knowing exactly what the question meant.

“No, I don't think I'll be going out ever again," she replied, cupping her slave's face in her hands them staring deep into her eyes.

"I finally realised, I have everything I could ever want right here."

The End

Copyright© 2013 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.