Thesis

Chapter 15: The Garden Party

Course 8 / Day 6: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: No reason why Fifty should not be involved in today's “open day”. Her basic skills are sufficient for any of the service tasks envisaged for supporting the day, rather than any of the tasks for which we will use the more experienced, second-course trainees. Everyone is set up to let the people from Clegg Enterprises to see what we’re doing with their investment.

Jenny's Recollections

Actually, now that I come to think about it, there seems to be something going on: I'm even more sure about my feelings later, when the shutter to my cell goes up and there is no communal breakfast, either.

Anna comes with a tray that she leaves outside the bars of my cell. I have to kneel down and reach through the bars to get at the food; some fruit, a bread roll and a glass of orange juice. By the time Anna walks by with the next tray for the cell beside mine I've already finished eating. She smiles and picks up the empty tray without saying anything. And, I notice that Anna’s nipples are also pierced – though her rings have obviously been there a while, perhaps since her first visit here - but her arm is dressed like mine.

I wash and shave, It’s become a morning ritual. Nothing happens for quite a while. That's unusual. Usually we are out of our cells and working by now.   

Then, things get very busy indeed. Carrie, Sue and I are collected by Jo. There is no time for niceties.

We’re taken out of our cells. As I go through the door of mine, I hear a short beep and I realise that there is a sensor on the door frame registering the RFID chip in my arm. I can’t get used to the fact that somewhere a computer can record each time I go from one room to another, noting down every time the chip in my arm passes one of their sensors.

“Right, you three,” she says when we arrive in the main hall. “We want twenty chairs put out in rows over there. Then we need five tables each with six chairs, laid up for lunch and another row of tables to hold a buffet out on the terrace. When you've done that Fifty-two and Fifty will be waiting at table for lunch. You, Fifty-three, are to report to Ylena.” I'm confused by what's going on and jealous that Sue has been chosen for Ylena, for whatever it is. Jo must know that Ylena is my Gaspazha.

Jo can see I am hesitating. “What is it Fifty? Was I not clear? Or do you want some demerits?”

“Yes, Mistress, I mean, no Mistress,” I babble and scuttle off with Carrie and Sue to find the things that are needed. With the three of us working, it doesn't take us too long. By the time Jo returns, the room is laid out as she has ordered and we've laid up the tables on the terrace. As she comes into the room, the three of us stand waiting, our hands behind our backs. Ylena is with her. Jo makes a swift inspection of the room and declares herself satisfied.

“Well done, slaves,” she says. “Sorry, Ylena they've earned no more demerits this time.”

Ylena smiles. “Never mind,” she says. “It's Fifty-three that's coming with me isn't it?” She reaches out, grips Sue by her wrist cuff and leads her away.

I want to yell out, “No! No, it's number Fifty, number Fifty is your slooga, it's me,” but I can see it would do no good. Sue just nods and follows Ylena as she leaves the room.

Jo catches me watching them leave. “Is there not enough to interest you here, Fifty?” she asks.

“Sorry, Mistress,” is all I can manage.

“Right. Now listen to me the pair of you.  We have guests for lunch. People that are coming to see how we do things here. You two will be waiting at table as I said. This is what you will be wearing.”

She passes us each a box. I'm excited, I haven't worn anything since I arrived. Even some fetish waitress uniform will be a wonderful change, I think. As I open the box, I realise I shouldn't have got my hopes up. There's a pair of Greek looking sandals, a strappy thing I don’t recognise and a badge with the words, “Hi, I'm Fifty How Can I Serve You?”

“Put on your sandals and I will help you with your muzzles, Jo says. “And hurry up. Our guests will be here soon.”

We do as she tells us. It doesn't take long. Then, Jo goes to work with the straps. First, she pulls a shaped leather piece across my mouth and the lower half of my face. There's a strap around my forehead, two others run up across the top of my head from just in front of my ears, two more straps go up either side of my nose to meet in the middle of my forehead and a single strap from there runs up over the top of my scalp. My head is caged in leather straps that hold the muzzle across my mouth very firmly in place. As Jo tightens the straps, it's clear that I can't even flex my jaw, much less say anything recognisable. It's a curious sensation. My whole head feels closed in, clamped tightly by the leather. This of course is typical of Inward Bound. Breakfast was quite a while ago, our tummies will be reminding us that we should be having some sort of lunch, mean-while we are going to be surrounded by much more interesting food that is given to us and we are going to be kept from temptation and even from conversation by a muzzle. Able to serve others, but kept securely in our places.

Once the muzzle is on, a belt goes around my waist and then she clips my wrists cuffs to it behind my back. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to wait at table, if I can't use my hands. But, with the muzzle across my mouth I can't ask, either. She follows this up with a strap around my elbows. Ouch! It's painful as she pulls it tight. It's good for my posture though, I guess, as it pulls my shoulders back.

Jo looks at me and nods with satisfaction before doing the same to Carrie. She has the two of us stand side by side and looks us over. I see her look down at the boxes. She realises that we aren't wearing our name badges and picks them up.  She clips Carrie's badge to her collar and then turns to me. She's about to do the same but then she gets a worrying twinkle in her eye and she grins. She reaches up and clips it to my nose ring instead; the badge is just dangling in front of my muzzle. I don't know why I should feel this looks any more ridiculous than the rest of my outfit looks anyway, but I do. I manage a grunt of protest which Jo, of course, ignores.

“Good,” says Jo. “Now we'd better get your trays.” She leaves us for a moment and comes back carrying two trays and a series of lengths of chain. She starts off by fitting a tray onto me. The arrangement is quite ingenious. Two clips on the back edge of the tray fasten to rings on my belt, chains from the front two corners of the tray run up and clip to my collar. Jo fits a tray on to Carrie as well. “Now,” she says. “Your job is simple. Just go to the servery over there. They will load your tray. You then walk out to the terrace and go around the tables, pausing at each to allow them to take anything that they want. I'm sure I don't need to tell you the consequence of dropping things, spilling things or upsetting our guests. I know you saw how disappointed Ylena was that none of you had earned any demerits yet.” There's the sound of people chatting from outside the hall. “Right. Out of here. Go into the servery. You're waitresses, go and wait.”

The two of us shuffle out as best we can, the trays swinging awkwardly from the waist clips and chains. I'm sure we'll not be able to carry anything to the tables. In the servery food is being organised, bottles of wine are being opened. The two cooks look up with an approving grin as we enter. I watch Carrie walk up and down, trying to get the hang of keeping her balance and keeping the tray steady. I decide that's a smart move and do the same thing myself.

Through the door from the servery, I can hear a presentation going on. Jo and Gerry are talking, describing the regime that we have here and how they expect their charges to behave. There is another young woman that I have not met, although I have seen her in the house. She seems to be in overall charge. I try to get a bit closer to hear more of what’s going on. As I reach the door there’s a beep – another sensor, detecting my chip, I realise. Moments later, one of the “keepers” is at my side.

“I don’t think you’re needed here, are you, Fifty,” he says. “Why don’t you get back to what you’re supposed to be doing?” I realise he’s been alerted by the RFID monitoring system. They really do know where I am and where I should, or shouldn’t be. He takes me firmly be the arm and leads me away from the presentation room.

Eventually, the presentation finishes. There's a round of applause. Charlotte appears at the door of the servery and gives a thumbs up sign to the cooks. One of them nods and beckons Carrie and me across. “Right, you two,” he says. “Time to go to work. I hope you've got the hang of those outfits.” He starts to load food onto my tray, bowls of tasty looking nibbles. It's all I can do to stop myself drooling, but my muzzle at least makes sure I don't. So much of the food we've had has been rather Spartan, still, I’m loosing my puppy fat and that can’t be a bad thing.

“Off you go,” he says, giving my naked backside a pat. “Come back when they've finished that lot.”

I start towards the door. It's difficult moving quickly and coping with the tray, but I manage it.  A door from the servery leads into the hall. The door has been wedged open and a screen now stands in front to defend the servery from full public view. I snake my way through, managing to keep the tray steady and glad I do not have to push the door  open with my shoulder.

In the main hall some groups are still chatting, but most of the audience has moved out onto the terrace. I can sense that our visitors are watching me, as I make my way towards the French doors that lead out to the terrace. Groups are sitting around the tables, chatting away. The sun is shining. I feel it warm on my naked skin and I'm suddenly aware that I'm out in the open air, in full view, naked, bound, and gagged. I stop, startled for a moment by my situation. I look around. The terrace looks out across parkland. There's not another house in sight, just the shrubs and trees of the garden. It is,of course, just as I remember it from yesterday. I recover myself and focus once more on my task. It looks like there's two or three of the faculty on each table, two or three guests. I make my way to the nearest.

Jo and Gerry are holding forth whilst a blonde rather cool woman, is questioning them. “So, do you find there is much of a drop out rate?” the woman asks and then says, “Ah, good, food,” as I arrive alongside her. She picks a selection of snacks from my tray and puts them on her plate. She turns back to Gerry, ignoring me. “I'd have thought that might be a problem.”

“No, Doctor Jordan,” Gerry is his usual expansive self, “once they're here they seem to like it.  We do try to make sure they know what they are in for before they come and we try to screen out those that we don't think will stay the course. I don't think we've had more than two drop out since we started.”

“Maybe you aren't making things hard enough for them,” the black woman says with a mischievous grin. I edge a little further around the table. Gerry takes some food. Jo joins the conversation.

“Don't forget our participants are all here willingly,” she says. “There's a narrow line between giving them a stretching experience and having them feeling they're being abused.”

“And, ah repeat business?” continues Dr. Jordan.

“Yep, we are now getting a trickle of slaves coming back for what you might call further training – in fact we have a couple of them right now., A second course is more challenging for us, because we have to be ingenious enough to work out some different moves and I guess this is one of the areas where we would place further investment.”

I've got as far as the woman Jerry referred to as Doctor Jordan. She helps herself from my tray. It’s getting lighter and that makes things easier as far as I'm concerned. I'm about to move on when she tells me to stop. She reaches up to the badge hanging from my nose ring and twists it so that she can see what it says. She smiles and lets it go. She turns back to Jo, “So, are all your programmes based on behavioural techniques, or do you ever need to use drugs in any way?”

Jo looks shocked. “No. No, nothing like that. It's all just based on conventional training approaches. It’s much like we use on the corporate side of the business,. with some adjustments, of course, as you've seen.” Gerry takes some food and my tray is more or less empty. I'm still standing by the table. Jo looks at me and waves me away impatiently. I head back to the servery.

Inside, my tray is loaded up again and I return to the hall and  my shoulder and arms are stiff from being strapped as they are and my neck is stiff too from taking the weight of the tray. As I emerge from the servery, I see Ylena look up at me and instinctively stiffen my posture. I will show her what good slave I can be, how well I can do as I am told. I am sure there must have been some mistake that she took Sue this morning. She could not have forgotten that I am her slave. She must know how it makes me feel to see her with another slave. Or, perhaps she does... My rational, analytical, self resurfaces from the depths. I am not the only slave here. Ylena is here doing a job. She's not here as my personal coach. I am paying for this – well actually Angela’s endowment fund is paying for this -  and I am an academic research worker doing under cover field work. There, I feel better for that! But I still feel jealous about Ylena...

Carrie is working her way around a table, much as I had before. I take my tray to another table. Charlotte is talking with some of the guests. There's a youngish looking man, in his mid thirties, I guess, a woman in her late twenties and a very cool looking woman with piercing eyes. “Did you see all you wanted to this morning, Elly?” Jo says.

The cool looking woman responds. “Mm, yes, thanks. You've got an interesting set up here. It just shows that if you get what you offer right, you'll get people to sign up for it.”

“That's what marketing is all about, Elly,” the man chimes in. “I think that Corinne has got her product pretty much right.”

I move around to let Elly select some food. The younger woman, Corinne,  - the one who seemed in charge during the presentation earlier - smiles modestly. “I'd like to pretend that we'd thought it all out before hand,” she says, “but really, it’s grown up bit by bit. One of the things this investment is doing is to let us think properly about the way we do things. And, I have been particularly careful to have the right people with the right sort of special expertise, for example Ylena and Celia.”

“Yes,” replies Elly, “I have been admiring Celia’s work. I do like your slave’s pierced nipples! Very neatly done. And, this one's nose ring, too!” She gestures at me. I blush, but I am almost proud to have been noticed.

“Mmmm,” continued Corrine. “Well it seemed the right thing to do. I asked Celia to make sure they were all done for your coming.” She turns towards the man. “You know Larry, your people are all surprisingly well tuned in to all this. I'd expected them to be a bit shocked, I guess, but they're all taking it in their stride.”

Larry doesn't respond to this, but Charlotte gestures to me to take my tray around to the man. “Have something to eat, Larry,” she says.

The man smiles but shakes his head. “It all looks great, but this sort of stuff is a disaster for me,” he says. “I just have to look at it and I can hear the weight going on. I like the waitress though.” He reaches out and runs a finger down the outside of my thigh. I'm shocked by his casual acceptance of the way I'm standing naked, muzzled and helpless beside him. “How come she's naked while the other one gets to keep her clothes ? ”

Charlotte grins. “Number Fifty here didn't follow instructions when she joined, I'm afraid, and now she's paying the price. We like our guests to see that what happens to them springs at least in part from their own behaviour. That was one of Corinne’s basic ideas when she set this up.” Charlotte catches me listening to their conversation. “You've finished here, Fifty,” she says. “Take what's left back.”

I make my way back towards the servery winding my way between the tables, catching snippets of conversation as I go.  “Well, yes, the cells are pretty basic, but we think that's the best way to get them used to the idea of slavery early on.” ...  “Yes, the extra investment will let us build another 5 cells, so we can double the number of participants on a course. We’ll start the construction at the end of this course.” … “We try to make sure that they are kept busy. Of course, we get the benefit of their efforts for the other business, but that's not really the purpose of it.” … “And, you're finding that there are enough coming forward to fill the places you've got?” ... “Yes, we’ve got enough enquiries, so that we can fill ten places on the next three courses and we’re finding that quite a few of our ‘guests’ want to come back for a second course; it’s addictive!” … “Tell me about the RFID implants you have been placing. Have you always done that or is that new?” The two groups, the faculty and the visitors, seem to be getting on famously. As far as I can tell the event has been a success.

It’s evening now and I’m back in my cell, “officially” running through the day’s events in my mind in preparation for my research report, but actually looking critically at more personal feelings.

I really enjoyed today: being naked and noticed by the guests, being tempted by food but restrained from satisfying myself. Enjoying doing a simple job really well. Enjoying being obedient and being seen to be obedient. I could really be at home in this environment. But then, this could not last for ever, could it? It’s odds-on that sooner or later being a humble domestic would pall and I would pine for something more challenging. And then, there’s Joe. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if somehow I were doing it to please him? Or, he had sent me here and what I did for Inward Bound, I were really doing for Joe.

  

Chapter 16: Getting What She Came For

FCE Internal Memo:

Confidential:  Elly to Larry

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

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

Course 8 / Day 12: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

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

Jenny's Recollections

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

“Turn around, Fifty,” he says flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And do you remember what you are?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Gaspazha.”

“Pardon?” Ylena's tone is indignant.

“Nyet spaseeba Gaspazha.”

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

“Nyet, Gaspazha.”

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

She takes up a position behind me.

“Are you ready moi slooga?”

“Da, Gaspazha, I think.”

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

“Pazh’alsta?” 

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

A second, third and fourth stroke connects, each separated by perhaps thirty seconds of rest.

I am breathing in shallow gasps now. It may be pleasurable, but there is still pain and the pain is building into a wave crashing onto me. It's not unbearable, but I hope she will let the wave crash and recede –  and she does.

Ylena walks around to my head and crouches down so she can look me straight in the eyes. “

Just two more, Fifty,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gaspazha waits.

The sea calms. It draws back from the beach.

A fifth stroke!

I am breathing deeply and heavily.

A sixth stroke!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Fifty.”

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

“Pardon?”

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

“Of course, perhaps next week?”

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

“Pazh’alsta, moi slooga, pazh’alsta.” She picks up one of the canes and stands behind me.

The waves of stimulation continue to pulse through me. I can't believe that I have begged her to beat me more, but the sensations she has provoked have made me throw any caution I had to the winds.

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

“Oh!”

Another stroke; “OH!”

Another stroke; “OHH!”

And another and another and another!

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

 

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

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

“Six?”

“Plea AAAAHHH. Pazh’alsta!”

“So, the heavier cane this time……”

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

Finally, Gaspazha completes my caning and powers down the electrical stimulation unit.

I hang tired, throbbing, burning across the horse. I am wet with sweat and even though the room is warm, I start to shiver again.

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

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

“I think moi slooga enjoyed herself?”

“Oh, Da, Gaspazha. Spaseeba!”

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

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

Chapter 17: The Tattooing Incident

Course 8 / Day 15: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

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

Jenny’s Recollections:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From me?”

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

She's right, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes Charlotte – sorry - Mistress.”

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

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

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

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

I stand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

As so often, my stupid rational self wins out.

“So,” I say, “let’s get started …….”

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

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

“There is more?”

“Ah ha!”

“Oh …”

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

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

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

“Oh …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Copyright Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane 2008

All rights reserved.  Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.

E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com  

Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/

All characters  & organisations fictitious

Acknowledgements

Phil & Freddie would like to acknowledge the help given by the editors in creating the final version of this tale. Many thanks to Dennis, Peter, Red & Rohanna for their input, corrections and suggestions. If there are any typos, punctuation mistakes, inconsistencies or continuity errors left in Thesis then they are Phil’s and Freddie’s fault!