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Hi! We’ve not really spoken before but you’ve probably heard a bit about me from Larry. I’m Sarah. Ooops, sorry, #06.085. I keep forgetting I’m only supposed to use my slave number. I’ve been doing secretarial work here in Clegg’s organisation for a while now and though lots of bosses like to think they have their secretaries as a sort of personal office slave, it’s only here that it’s literally true. I’ve been helping out around here for about six months, ever since my current boss had me kidnapped. There’s one other thing you need to know. As part of my training – “preparation” they call it - Clegg’s people put me through their sexualisation programme. It means I respond very quickly to sexual approaches or situations. I can’t help it. It’s just the way the programme makes you. I mean I wouldn’t want you to think I was some sort of sex maniac or anything.
Anyway, this is about one of our customers. Harry (that’s my boss – yeah, I know its confusing - Harry, Larry - but don’t worry about it) was meeting him to discuss his new requirements and he asked me to tag along to take notes. Harry’s great at running the team but his admin isn’t up to much – I guess that’s why he keeps me around.
I was quite surprised when I saw Harry’s guest. I mean, most of our customers are in their forties or fifties, I guess, but this one was much older, in his seventies, I guess. And he was sitting in a wheel chair. I’ve not had much contact with older customers – apart from that Kushtian, Kushnati Koresh, and he was just horrid – but this man looked nice. He was very well turned out; smartly dressed, his white hair cut neatly short, his moustache carefully trimmed. He obviously took care of his appearance, his shoes were polished, the creases in his trousers as sharp as a razor, his jacket immaculate with a carnation in his button hole.
He smiled at me as I came in. “Well,” he said, “that does brighten up the office, I must say.”
I’m used to hearing sexist comments at work (I mean what else would you expect in a business that trades in women, after all?) but at least he seemed to do it with a bit of charm. Actually since the training that they have put me through here, sex is pretty much a component of everything so I don’t really mind. Not, of course, that it matters, whether I mind or not. It’s just something I have to put up with and, since Harry insists that I look the part of the sexy secretary around the office, I put up with it most of the time. In any case, since I was put through what Harry calls the sexualisation programme, the slightest mention of sexual activity has my nipples stiffening and other parts getting distinctly damp.
Harry introduced his guest. “This is Colonel Snell,” he said. “We provided him with some product a while ago.”
“Very good too, very good,” Colonel Snell, interrupted, twisting his moustache in a way that recalled a Victorian villain.
“Thank you,” said Harry. “Well as I was saying. We provided the Colonel with, what was it, 12 girls?” Snell nodded with a self satisfied grin. “And now he has further use of our services. Take a seat Sarah; you’ll need to jot down what the colonel is looking for.”
I pulled up one of the chairs that Harry kept beside his desk and sat down. As I crossed my legs, I thought I caught Colonel Snell sneaking a surreptitious glance but Harry launched into the discussion of the Colonel’s needs and I was soon scribbling notes on my pad, too busy to worry about anything like that.
The discussion took about twenty minutes and at the end of it Harry stood up and reached across to shake Colonel Snell’s hand. “I’m sure we’ll be able to sort something out,” he said.
“Fine, fine,” said Snell. “Well it’s been a pleasure.” He spun his wheel chair around to face towards the office door. I moved across to open it for him. “Thank you young lady,” he said as he drew up alongside me. “It’s a delight to see someone so efficient and considerate.” I smiled in response to the complement. “And, I must say, it is also good to see a young lady turned out so smartly. First rate,” he said looking me up and down as if he was inspecting one of his troops, “Always liked red-heads. First rate.”
“I’ll see you out,” said Harry and followed him out through into the hall.
I got back to my computer, typing up the notes from our meeting. It’s always best to type things up quickly, I find. That way things don’t get forgotten. I’d got most of it done before Harry got back. He always appreciates it when I deal with things straight away. “He seemed nice,” I said as Harry came back into the office. “I don’t know why everyone is so nasty about him. It’s not his fault that he’s old and in a wheel chair.” Harry seemed a little distracted, lost in thought.
“Hmm?” he said.
“Colonel Snell,” I said, “he seemed like a nice old chap. I hope we can help him out.”
“Yes, yes,” said Harry still obviously distracted. “Well, you won’t mind then.”
“Mind?” I said, “what should I mind?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Harry, “I was trying to work out what I was going to do while you’re off.”
“Off?”
“Yes. Snell wants you to fill in with him for a while. Says he wants some help with using the web system when we start finding some recruits. You know how it is with some of these old folk. They can’t get to grips with the technology like youngsters can. I said you’d help out.”
I must have looked surprised.
“Sarah, I have to keep reminding you that you’re a slave around here.” Suddenly I was very conscious of the solid metal collar that was locked around my neck under my blouse. “Just remember that you are #06.085 and that you do as you are told and go where you are told.”
“Sorry, Sir,” I apologised. “Of course.”
“That’s all right Sarah.” Harry’s a sweetie, really. He finds it hard to keep up the whole stern look thing. “Look, finish typing up those notes and then you can get off for a while. Snell wants you transferred this evening if possible.”
“Oh, do you want me to speak to transport?” I said, trying to be helpful. “They’ll need notice because we hadn’t got anything else scheduled tonight.”
Harry smiled. “That’s all right Sarah, I’ll fix it. Just do the typing and have a couple of hours off.”
I managed to get the typing finished and then got back to my room. I just had time for a shower before two of the transport team turned up.
I was only wearing a towel wrapped around me and another around my hair when the two of them appeared. From the way the taller one was licking his lips I could see that they weren’t worried by the fact that I’d only just finished in the bathroom. But then Harry’s team aren’t always the most subtle. “Hi, Sarah,” the taller one said. “You ready?”
“Does it look like it?” I asked, still trying to rub my hair dry.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “It’s time to go now.”
I gave a short sigh but I knew it wasn’t any good arguing. I held out my wrists ready for the handcuffs. He looked at them and shook his head, waving with a finger to indicate I should turn around. I did as he directed and felt the cold steel of the cuffs against skin that was still hot and damp from my shower as he fastened my wrists behind my back.
As the taller guy slid the cuffs tightly shut his colleague walked around to face me. He reached up and jerked the towel off, leaving me naked. OK, I know I’m a slave here but I thought they were being a bit unfair. “Hey,” I started to say, “that’s not nuungh….” My objections were cut off as the taller man pushed a standard ball gag into my mouth and pulled the strap tightly around my head. I hate the ball gag most of all. They always make my jaw ache and they make me drool. It’s painful and it’s messy. Give me tape or even a cloth any time. I’d much rather be gagged with one of them.
“Works every time,” the shorter guy said, ignoring my grunted protests. He opened his work bag and pulled out a tape dispenser. He used tape to strap my arms to my side and lock my wrists into the small of my back with strips that went around my belly. He put a few turns around my legs just above the knee for good measure. I could still hobble along but I wasn’t going anywhere quickly.
“You’re in for a treat,” said the taller guy. “We’re not using a crate this time.” That sounded good to me. The transport crates were really uncomfortable even if you had been sedated first. Harry must have put in a good word for me. He rummaged in the work bag and pulled out a neatly folded pile of brown woollen cloth. As soon as he started to unfold it I recognised it for what it was; a chanoosh.
I’d seen them plenty of times before, working with some of Clegg’s Kushtian clients. The chanoosh was the traditional robe worn by Kushtian women; a floor length garment that covered the head and included a veil that hid all of the face except for the wearer’s eyes. They pulled the towel from my head and then put the chanoosh on in its place.
“Seems a shame to cover her up,” the taller guy said. “Aren’t too many titties around here nicer than these.”
“You’re right there,” his colleague said, grabbing a quick feel under the pretext of pulling the chanoosh down over my shoulders. Mostly the guards here are pretty good, Harry doesn’t have too much trouble with them taking liberties that they aren’t entitled to but somehow I’ve seemed to moved out of the “hands off the merchandise unless told” category, especially since the sexualisation programme that means I give out all the wrong signals in response. I gave a grunt of protest into my gag, but it ended up sounding like an “mmm” of encouragement. The guard chortled. “Where’s she going anyway?”
“Over to Colonel Snell’s.”
“Oh right. Is it true he’s called Basher because of, well, you know?”
“Yepp,” nodded the other as he pulled my robe into place. “renowned for it. World class by all accounts. If there was an Olympic event for it, he’d have the gold medal.”
“Oh well,” said the first guard to me, “you should be safe enough then.”
Satisfied that they’d got the robe on properly, the two men hustled me out of the room and into the corridor. I caught sight of myself in a mirror on one wall, the dark brown robe covered me from head to foot, the veil covered my nose and ball-gag filled mouth, all that could be seen of me was my eyes.
I hobbled along as best I could with the tape wound around my thighs. My awkward gait seemed to amuse my escorts but they stopped laughing long enough to help me into the car that was parked beside the Prep Centre’s loading bay. Pushed into the back seat and strapped in, I could only wait until a driver appeared.
Two more of Harry’s team rolled out to drive me across to Colonel Snell’s. As usual one came to baby-sit me in the back of the car. He gave me a friendly smile as he slid in beside me but I still thought that he’d still be planning to spend the journey seeing if he could fumble with me under my robes. Then we were joined by someone else. Doctor Jordan, “The Doc” as she was universally, but unoriginally, known came out of the Prep Centre talking to Harry. She finished her discussions and climbed into the front seat alongside my driver. “Thanks for the ride, boys,” she said. “Handy you going over to the Colonel’s right now.” And with that the car pulled away.
As the car wound its way through London I had to get used to strange looks whenever the car stopped at traffic lights. After some of the fuss last year, a lot of people still find it strange to see a veiled woman out in public. I guess they’d have thought things even more strange of they could see what I had on under my veil and my chanoosh. Us Brits can be really contradictory at times.
We got to Colonel Snell’s house late in the afternoon. It was good to see somewhere I was being taken to for a change. It might have been uncomfortable bound and gagged and strapped into the back seat with my minder sneaking his hands under my robe and running them over my thighs but it was a lot better than riding in the boot or in one of the Centre’s crates.
We were greeted by what I took to be Colonel Snell’s butler, although later, the Colonel explained that batman was the more correct title. He showed the group of us into the lounge where Colonel Snell was sitting in his wheelchair. One of the slaves we had supplied, it was Mylene – I recognised her from some of the tapes that Harry had asked me to catalogue – was kneeling beside him. Dressed in a khaki, short sleeved, blouse and a straight skirt in the same colour, she turned towards me, her mouth distended by a ball gag every bit as mouth filling as my own.
“Doctor Jordan, Miss Sarah, and two gentlemen, Colonel,” Snell’s batman intoned.
“Very good, Forbes,” the Colonel responded. “I imagine you two gentlemen would appreciate a small glass of beer, what? Forbes, why don’t you look after them while I talk to the Doctor and get acquainted with our red headed friend.” Forbes led my driver and custodian away. Snell turned his attention to the Doctor and me.
“Good of you to come, Doctor,” he said. “Must say I appreciate the after sales service. Why have you brought the young lady dressed like that though? Not some vile example of multi-cultural political correctness, is it? Hadn’t got Clegg down for that sort of thing at all.”
Doctor Jordan smiled tolerantly. “Ah, no. I believe it’s just a piece of expedience; simpler to transport low risk pieces like this young lady. Clegg picked the idea up from some of his Kushtian contacts. You know what he’s like for trying new ideas.”
“Hmm. Too fond of it if you ask me. Still never mind. I assume she’s gagged under there.” He reached out and pinched one of my tits. The pained but muffled squeal I gave out answered his question. “Thought so. Still never mind her for the moment, you’ll be wanting to see the patients.”
“Yes, if I could. It’s quite unusual for three of our girls to develop a fault so soon after delivery.”
“I’m sure,” he said, “same problem too.”
“Well, if I could see the girls concerned.” Doctor Jordan said.
“If you would like to follow me, Doctor.” Forbes had reappeared at the back of the room.
With the Doctor joining Forbes to see to her patients, the Colonel turned his attention back towards me. “Now, don’t you worry my dear, we’ll have you out of those robes shortly. I recall that you were very neatly turned out at Mr Clegg’s offices and I am sure you will want to present the same show of efficiency here. Forbes will have your bags taken through to your room and then you’ll be able to shower and dress properly. That robe may be all very well for transport but I have to say I got over the allure of veiled women in a three year stint in Aden. What?”
With the ball gag still strapped into my mouth I could do no more than grunt in an agreeing tone. It didn’t stop the Colonel however.
“Appalling place!” he went on. “Hot as hell with dust to match and flies everywhere. And the food! Yee gods, drove me back to the NAAFI canteen. Can’t imagine why we spent so long trying to hold onto it after the whole Suez debacle. Madness. That lunatic Eden. Could have done without him. Mind you Macmillan was no better. Politicians! None of them have the first idea. Ought to leave foreign policy to the military. Then you’d see what Britain can do in the world. Least this Blair chap has let us get on with things. Never thought I’d hear myself approving of one of his sort. But, there you are……”
The Colonel’s rant continued. He didn’t seem to mind if I grunted in agreement or not so, for the most part, I stood, listening and appearing, in as much as you can in an all enclosing robe, to show interest.
Eventually the Doctor returned, accompanied by three of the Colonel’s women. All three wore the same uniform clothing that Mylene was dressed in. Each had her right hand in a collar and cuff sling.
The Colonel interrupted his flow. “Ah,” he said, “the witch doctor has returned. What’s the verdict, Doc? Nasty attack of acute idleness if you ask me!”
Doctor Jordan smiled. “No, no, Colonel. It’s a real complaint, I’m afraid. RSI is my diagnosis.”
“Damned initials are no use to me. What’s wrong with them?”
“I’m sorry,” said the Doc. “RSI stands for Repetitive Strain Injury. You get it by repeating the same action over and over again. You tend to see it in offices – too much typing that sort of thing – or in some factory jobs. It just means the wrist has been asked to carry out more work than it’s used to. Can I ask what sort of thing you’ve been using the girls for? They didn’t seem keen to talk about it.”
“Ha,” barked Snell, “wouldn’t have thought any of them were shrinking violets. The only hard work they’ve had to do is bringing me a bit of relief.”
“They’ve been masturbating you?”
“Yes, of course. Not called Basher Snell for nothing, you know! Started at school, kept it up in the army. Can’t get any of those disagreeable diseases as long as you wash your hands! Should have seen some of the whore houses some of the chaps used to go to, excusing your sensibilities, doctor.” The doctor didn’t seem to have been unduly offended but Snell took no notice in any event. “Still I can’t see what the problem is. Haven’t asked any of them to do anything I couldn’t do. Secret of good leadership, don’t you know? None of them has had to do it for more than, oh, three or four hours at a stretch.”
The Doctor looked on resignedly. “I see,” she said. “Well, I’m afraid that sort of activity could certainly cause this if the individual hasn’t had sufficient practice previously or if they don’t warm up properly beforehand. You must remember, Colonel, that these girls don’t have your experience. I’m afraid the only cure is complete rest for the limbs concerned for at least two weeks and then only a very gradual return to use with plenty of exercise to increase the range of movement. They will need orthopaedic wrist braces but those slings will have to do until you can get them. They’ll need some pain relief. Regular ibuprofen should do it. They may find massage helps. Rest is the main thing though. Otherwise their wrists may lock up completely.”
“That might not be a problem,” Snell smirked, “but I’ll see what I can do. I suppose they’ve got two hands after all.”
“Well, be careful,” the Doctor advised, “for the right handers, their left hands will be even more susceptible to this. I also have to say that our warranty doesn’t really cover this. It’s what we would term fair wear and tear. I’m happy to have called today but if you needed any further help, I’d have to ask Mr Clegg if he wanted to levy a charge.”
“Hmm,” said the Colonel. “Well thanks for your efforts Doctor. I appreciate what you’ve done.”
With that the Doctor left us, Snell waved the three invalid girls away and told Forbes to take me up to my room and help me to settle in.
Forbes had a rather brisk manner, I thought, as he showed me up to a room near the top of the house. I was quite pleased by the accommodation because I’d half expected a cell in the basement or a cage outside.
“I run this place like clockwork, young lady. I hope you’ll find no trouble in fitting in with our little ways. I know some of you young girls have a rather slap dash approach to things and we don’t go in for that here.” He opened the door to a small room. It was rather sparsely furnished but the bed looked comfortable and there was a small dressing table, stool and a wardrobe. There was a window high up on the gable wall. I suppose I wasn’t surprised to see it had bars.
“This will be your room for tonight. You’ll be in the main barrack room with the others tomorrow,” Forbes said. “I’ll have one of the other girls bring up your bags so you can get changed. I’m sure that sort of thing,” he peered disapprovingly at my chanoosh, “is considered amusing by Mr Clegg’s people but we prefer more conventional attire. I’m assuming you have clothes with you?” I nodded and grunted through my gag. “Right. We’ll see to a uniform issue later. Oh yes, I’ll tell them to take off your restraints as well. You can join the staff briefing at 19:00 hours in the kitchen. It’s at the bottom of the stairs - turn left and follow it through to the back of the house. There is a lavatory and wash room at the end of the corridor. I think that’s about it for now. We’ll sort the other things out later. Welcome to the house, Miss.”
There didn’t seem to be much for me to do except to sit on the bed and wait until my clothes and some help appeared. It wasn’t long in coming. Another girl in khaki appeared carrying the small case that my clothes had been packed into. She said nothing but reached under my robes to free me from the handcuffs and the tape. I was pleased when the last piece came free from my arms and wasted no time in removing the strip that was hobbling my legs and then unbuckling the ball gag that filled my mouth.
“Oh thank you so much,” I said to the girl. “My name’s Sarah. What’s yours?”
The girl looked startled, shook her head, put her finger to her lips and pointed to a sheet of paper pinned to the wall. I peered it. “Regulations” it said in large type at the top. Underneath was a list of rules that were evidently meant to apply to all the household staff The girl pointed to about halfway down the list where it said: “7. Staff should not spend time in idle chatter during working hours.”
“Oh,” I said, “come on. No one’s going to mind us exchanging names, are they?” The girl looked even more worried and nodded her head vigorously. With that she scurried away leaving me to unpack and change.
I thought that a bit odd but was glad to get out of the chanoosh and to peel the strips of tape from my arms and thighs. I wasn’t sure what was best to wear for the staff meeting but thought I ought to try to look efficient so I chose the black skirt and white blouse that I quite often wore around the office. It took me a while to put on some make up and sort my hair out – putting a chanoosh on over wet hair isn’t recommended unless your planning to keep the chanoosh on! - but I was nearly ready when I heard the grandfather clock in the hall striking seven. I pulled on my shoes and walked to the stairs. As I started to come down the stairs, I saw Forbes apparently about to come up but as he saw me he turned on his heel and headed off towards the kitchen too.
When I got there the other girls were already gathered there, all neatly dressed in their uniforms. Forbes was standing at the front of the meeting.
“Ah,” he said. “Miss Anderson. So good of you to join us.”
I recognised the irony and thought it was as well to apologise, even though I’d only been a minute or so late. “I’m sorry I’m late Mr Forbes. I didn’t intend to keep you waiting. It’s just that there’s no clock in my room and….”
“No matter, Miss,” he said. “We must get on with the agenda.” I was relieved that it didn’t sound as though he intended to chastise me any further. “Item 1,” he said. “Today’s Performance. You’ll be pleased to know that all has been completed satisfactorily today. The Colonel has been pleased with standards generally, apart from the medical problems of course. Item 2, Tomorrow’s Events. Nothing special. The Colonel is out for lunch tomorrow but breakfast and dinner will be taken as normal. We will take advantage of the Colonel being out in the middle of the day to have a kit inspection. Item 3, Tomorrow’s Duty Roster. Three of you are on sick parade. You two, Catering Corps, You three Colonel’s Special Needs. You two, Household. You two, Dogs. All clear? Good. Any questions? No? Good. I understand that we are a bit stretched at the moment but this young lady,” he pointed at me, “is joining the Colonel’s staff to help find additional recruits. I’m sure we will all be pleased that she’s here. You,” he pointed to a dark haired girl, “make sure our new arrival gets a uniform issued and see she knows what’s required for inspection tomorrow.”
I smiled at the dark haired girl. She looked back, nervously, apparently unhappy at being given the task.
“Right then,” Forbes said. “That’s more or less it apart from Item 4. Punishment Parade.” I wasn’t surprised by that. It seemed almost inevitable that Forbes would be a strict disciplinarian. “Well, quite a good show today,” he said. The girls all looked relieved. “There’s just the one.”
He turned towards me. “Miss,” he said, “if you would just like to come up here.”
I was startled but got to my feet. “Surely you don’t mean me?” I said. “I mean I’ve only just got here. What can I possibly have done?”
“I am afraid we take timeliness very seriously here, Miss. You were late for the meeting and that wastes everybody’s time.” He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bamboo cane. “The standard is one stroke for each minute,” Forbes said. “So come here please.”
I was glad I was only one minute late, I thought. The cane looked as though it would deal a painful blow but I could take a single stroke.
“Bend over the end of this table, please Miss,” Forbes pointed to where he wanted me. “And you, Dobbs, take her skirt down, please.” As I stood by the desk, Mylene came forward and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall around my ankles. “And the knickers please,” Forbes was insistent, Mylene complied. “Right,” said Forbes, gripping me by the back of the neck and pushing my face down against the desk. “Fourteen strokes!”
“Fourteen!” I gasped. “I thought you said one.”
“Yes, that’s right. One for each minute wasted. Your were one minute late, there are thirteen of us and you, that’s fourteen minutes wasted, unless my mathematics is severely at fault. Is it?”
“No, Mr Forbes,” I said fearfully, dreading the punishment that I now knew was to come.
“That’s, ‘No Sergeant’, young lady,” he said. “And the drill here is to count these off and say ‘Thank you, Sergeant’ at the end of it. Clear?”
“Yes, err, Sergeant,” I said and the punishment began.
The cane cracked down. The first blow caught me right across the buttocks. The force and the shock cracked the front of my thighs against the edge of the table. I gasped with the pain and counted “One”. The other blows followed quickly. I’d had harder beatings but each stroke was laid down precisely on the place of the preceding stroke building up a crescendo of pain. By the tenth stroke I was gasping my responses, by the thirteenth I was sobbing. The last stroke and my final, “Fourteen. Thank you, Sergeant” was barely audible.
Forbes let go the nape of my neck and I straightened up slowly. “You can get dressed, now,” he said. I pulled my knickers up, regretting how tight they were as they stretched over my sore backside. When I bent forward to grip the waistband of my skirt the pain was even worse. I straightened up slowly, fastened my skirt and walked slowly back to my place. I didn’t feel like trying to sit down.
Forbes called the group to order. “That finishes our agenda for today,” he said. “Splendid display of discipline, Anderson. Some of you other girls could take her example for punishment parade. Now, don’t forget, lights out, nine o’clock tonight. That’s all. Parade! Parade, atten - shun!” The girls leapt to their feet, standing as stiff as boards under Forbes’s gaze. “Parade dismiss.” Forbes picked up his cane, turned on his heel and left.
© 2007 Freddie Clegg
All characters fictitious.
All characters fictitious.
Sarah and Basher feature in
Freddie’s story “Market Forces” available here.
Download PDF copies of other Freddie
Clegg stories at :
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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