The Lebanese Barbie doll

A story of blackmail told by a young maths teacher with two children who slowly finds her life taken over and controlled by two 18 year old boys.

How I came to be in the position I’m in today is complicated. My over protective and controlling parents possibly started the chain of events. My rebellious teenager years that led me into early motherhood and a rushed marriage were a big factor. But like most of life it was mainly just bad luck.

I’d created a new, good, life for myself and my two children. Then a pair of, very bright, 18 year old boys got a crush on me and my new world crashed.

It was Friday afternoon, last period, October 2010 when Richard Taylor and Paul Bath, two of my new 'A' level maths students, asked me, very politely, to review the statistics they had used in their business report. I deliberately kept myself to myself and had always kept all students, especially boys, at arm’s length. I don’t want to sound boastful or egotistical it’s just that my looks have always caused me problems. Even after two children my gangster husband liked to flaunt me in his soft top Ferrari or have me on his arm as a fashion accessory. I was just another possession to him to be taken out of the box and shown off when the occasion suited him. Therefore as a teacher to adolescent boys I always cover up my figure and kept my hair back in an austere pony tail. I also did not normally do them favours. It was just that I had a soft spot for the sporty, good looking, Richard. He had a self-confident, cheeky, charm and in some ways reminded me of an older version of my own son. Paul was the opposite, a typical English middle class looking nerd. He was also the brightest maths pupil I had ever had in my class and I was already concerned that my own mathematical knowledge would be pushed to their limits by him.

The report they passed to me had the unusual title of “The Probability of 100 Percent”. I turned the front cover expecting to see a contents list. Instead I found a copy of the death certificate for Debra Dagher. Debra was someone I’d known vaguely from my six months at the American University in Beirut. Five years later, after her accident, it was her identity I used to get a UK passport as her mother had been English. It was also her qualifications I used to get my teaching job.

I just sat dumbstruck looking at the certificate for a full 30 seconds. With a numb mind I vacantly followed this by flicking through the remaining pages. There weren’t many but they fully encapsulated my whole life’s history.

The freshman’s group photo from my University with my face and that of the real Debra Dagher ringed in red. Copies of my actual birth certificate, marriage certificate and the birth certificates of my two children, without the changes I had added before I fled Lebanon. The last few pages were press cuttings about my husband. These pages were mainly linked to his trial and conviction. Even in my shocked, stupefied, state I was impressed by the boys’ thorough research, especially as it was all in French.

Richard seemed to read my mind as I put the report down and looked up at them.

‘It took us six months to put that together. We started just after the college’s open day back in May. You made a bit of an impression on us. To start with it was very difficult but when we found out that the real Debra Dagher was dead the project became very interesting. I hope you don’t mind Mrs. Monique Skory if we continue to call you Debs. It’s just easier and less confusing?’

I ignored the question. The use of the diminutive name Debs was not lost on me. The teacher pupil relationship was already gone.

Before I replied I tried to think about all my options, none were good. The fact that they had shown me their report made it clear that they were planning to blackmail me which I thought was probably better than the alternative.

‘What’s your plan for this report?’ was my opening gambit delivered in the most unemotional way I could at the time.

‘It’s a choice between the police or the college Principle.’ Paul replied, ‘unless you want to suggest a financial alternative?’

A financial alternative was about the best solution from my point of view and it was a lot better than what I thought they would be asking for.

I didn’t want to appear too keen despite the fact that this was a lifeboat that I was eager to embrace as it could literally save my life.

‘I have two children and only work 25 hours a week so I have very little money. How much are you thinking about?’

Paul didn’t hesitate. He clearly had this answer planned.

‘25 percent of your disposal income for the next five years. Our spending money for college and University. After that the report disappears, never to be found.’

The deal was too good to be true and as it turned out that was precisely what is was. However, at the time it did what it was meant to do. I was being conned and just too eager to see it coming.

I agreed that we should sort out the financial details that evening at my house. It didn’t come as a big surprise to find out that they already knew where I lived.

An hour and a half before the agreed time Paul and Richard knocked on my door. My kids were just finishing dinner as I begrudgingly let them in. They again duped me by being so polite and useful. Paul played chess with my 7 year old Pascal and let him win whilst also helping him with the strategy needed for chess. Richard read Mr. Men books to 5 year old Lisa and soon had her laughing and reading some of the words herself.

As I started to get Pascal and Lisa moving to go upstairs to bed Paul asked to see my bank account details. I naively believed I had nothing to hide so, without thinking, logged onto my on-line banking using his computer.

Half an hour later, once Pascal and Lisa were settled in bed, I came down to see Richard and Paul looking very pleased with themselves. Paul coolly listed all the information and documentation he wanted. It was everything I had. Getting concerned I replied.

‘No chance, you’re not getting all that. I’d prefer to take my family back to Beirut.’

‘Your choice,’ Richard replied, ‘but that surprises us as we believe you leaked your husband’s financial records to the police. It was those records that got him and his brother locked up for five years. We also think you stole the rest of his money to make a new life for yourself here. Buying this nice little house for cash along with your sporty red hatchback. Now we don’t know for sure but your husband appears to be a dangerous man. We reckon that he would be very pleased to be reunited with you again; we’re just not convinced it’s mutual. Not after you betrayed him and his brother and then stole his money.’

Of course the two smug boys were right. It’s just my husband is not just dangerous he is a psychopath who enjoys killing with a knife. A skill he learnt in the civil war as a teenager. The police hauling him into custardy was my one and only chance to escape his control. He has no understanding of forgiveness or mercy. Going back was just not an option.

As a result the boys left my home with everything they wanted; my laptop, mobile phone, house phone, all my bank details and passwords, passport and purse. They had the lot.

I didn’t have a penny to my name. No formal proof of identity. Even the deeds to the house and car documents were gone. As well as any means to communicate with the outside world. It’s hard to explain how vulnerable, powerless, and alone that makes you feel.

On the Saturday afternoon I was forced to borrow the money from Pascal’s money box just to buy some bread.

Eventually late on Sunday evening the two boys who now controlled my life reappeared. They just walked into by house using a spare key they had taken.

I was nervous of them now and said nothing as they cheerfully said hello and gave me back my laptop, my empty purse and a new cheap mobile phone. They then just turned to go.

I panicked.

‘Hey you can’t just go. I need money to feed my children and money for petrol to get to work. Where is all my money?’

The boys feigned surprise.

‘Are you talking to us Debs?’

I replied with a confused “yes”. There was no one else in the room I could have been talking to.

‘Except in the class room we are Mr Taylor and Mr. Bath or just Sir if that’s easier. You clear on that?’

‘Yes, - Mr. Taylor.’ The Mr Taylor was hard to get out. They were just flaunting their new found power and I had to just stand there and obediently take it.

‘If you want some pocket money all you have to do is ask for it, nicely, and tells want you want to buy.’

I knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left my mouth. It was just a reflex response.

‘It’s my money!’

Paul and Richard didn’t even bother to reply they just left me staring at the front door as it closed behind them.

By the time I got to work the next morning I had discovered the new phone did not work. All the number keys and the back cover were glue solid. I could only receive incoming calls and texts. My laptop was working but I didn’t have the administration rights and all my passwords to my financial accounts no longer worked.

On Monday’s I would see Richard and Paul in the last double period before lunch. I had my little speech all planned for end of the class. I wrongly assumed that they would wait around to talk to me after the lesson. They didn’t. They were the first to leave, leaving me with basically no food in the house, no money and a car running on empty.

My next chance to catch them was the first lesson on Wednesday morning. By then I was very hungry. On Tuesday I had only managed to steal a few biscuits from the staffroom and no breakfast that morning. The kids had shared the last tin of canned fruit for breakfast but they were also hungry and not happy. Plus the fuel light had been on in the car for over a day. The bottom line was I was desperate. I needed money. I just had to have some money.

The lesson I gave was poor. I knew that. I could also see it in the faces of my pupils. I did, however, make it clear that I needed to talk to Paul and Richard regarding their report at break-time.

Determined to do everything right this time I started very submissively and quietly.

‘Good morning Mr Taylor and Mr. Bath. Can you please give me some money to feed my children and to put petrol in the car?’

‘We could Debs, but you were very rude to us on Sunday evening. Not the behaviour we expect or want from you.’ Was Richard’s response.

Evidently asking for my own money back was rude. I had no option other than to let the comment pass and continue.

‘I’m sorry, I was caught by surprise on Sunday.’

‘We’re sorry too because every action has consequences. Good behaviour good consequences, bad behaviour bad consequences. So what can you give us to make an amends?’

Richard was making me lose my composure. My reply was louder, faster and high pitched.

‘You two really have everything. What else do you want from me?’

Even as I was saying it I realised its stupidity. Even I could think of lots of other things these two 18 year olds could want from me and I was sure they could think of a lot more.

Richard gave me a disappointed shake of his head.

‘That’s not very imaginative of you Debs. What would you like Debs to give you Paul?’

‘Her bra’ Paul answered.

I nearly smiled. Wanting to hold a woman’s warm bra was such an immature boyhood fantasy. It was okay with me if it would put food on my table for Pascal and Lisa.

‘Okay you can have my bra.’ I said as I turned to leave.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Richard barked.

‘To the ladies to change’ I replied a bit confused at his attitude.

‘Oh no you don’t. The bra comes off here, right now, with you standing out in the centre of the room.’

I wasn’t smiling now.

‘This is a classroom, anyone could walk in. My next class is only a few minutes away.’ I countered

‘And your point is?’ replied Richard.

‘Look, I’m sorry but I can’t do it here.’

Richard stood up and looked threatening as he corrected my thinking.

‘You’re using those negative words again, “can’t” is just the same as “no” and they are words that you don’t use to us. They have consequences. So it’s your bra and knickers now or you and your kids starve; or go back to Beirut. You have five seconds before we go.’

I didn’t reply. I had no choice.

The knickers were the easiest to remove. I kicked my shoes of, loosened the top of my skirt, untucked my blouse and slipped my hands down to the top of my knickers and tights. The tights would have to go with the knickers. Just before I started to push them down off my hips I glanced up to see Paul holding my original mobile phone ready to take pictures and Paul had a proper camera aimed at me. I couldn’t help myself, I had to say something.

‘Come on boys that’s not fair. Please put the cameras away.’

The reaction from Richard and Paul was not what I expected. They picked up their bags and started to leave. I went from confused to panicked. I needed to feed my children and I needed to do it today. The boys were half way to the door when it eventually dawned on me what I had done so wrong, “boys”.

I blurted out my apology.

‘I’m so sorry sirs. I just wasn’t thinking. Look I’m doing what you asked. Please come back and take as many pictures as you like.’

The irony of my situation was not lost on me. Within a couple of minutes these two teenagers had changed a senior maths teacher at a further educational college into a degraded woman begging to be allowed to continue her perverted striptease for their enjoyment and their cameras.

My frantic outburst had at least stopped them. They both turned to look back at me.

‘We’re back to bad behaviour having bad consequences.’ Richard said with a smile on his face.

I would have loved to have smashed his smug face in with a hammer; instead I just waited to hear what further indignities I was going to injure.

It was Paul who stepped in at this point.

‘I think our Debs is trying hard to be a good girl and I don’t like the idea of her children not eating. It’s not their fault that Debs here is a very naughty girl. How about we let her off this last mistake, as long as she gives a nice sexy performance with a big smile on her face and maybe a little shimmy at the end so we can both see those great big tits of hers dance? Then we can all kiss and makeup and this will all be forgotten.’

Surprise, surprise Richard liked the idea and I couldn’t see how this further humiliation was letting me off. I pushed all my embarrassment, anger and humiliation to the back of my mind and just ‘did’. I’m fairly sure that my very fast performance didn’t look too sexy, more mechanical and rushed. I remembered to turn on the smile at least twice.

I could fairly easily work my knickers and tight down, discreetly hidden by my dress. As for the bra I gave up discreet. I needed to get this done quickly. Even the newspapers in the UK have pictures of topless women and I tried to convince myself that this show was about the same as what’s on display on all French beaches. Well not the three second shimmy but I also tried putting that to the back of my mind.

The boys seemed happy enough with my performance and even gave me a little cheer as my shimmy bounced my breasts from side to side. Even better news was nobody gate-crashed my display. Once I was buttoned up again and the boys had taken my underwear it was time for the kisses. Paul actually had the effrontery to blush as he stood up to kiss me. If he felt awkward about a kiss he should try stripping off in your own class room and jiggering your boobs to two teenage boys. For some reason, I still don’t fully understand, his blushing made me seethe with anger.

Even giving him a simple kiss made me feel that I was thanking him and now thinking about it I assume that was its purpose

Richard was the complete opposite to Paul. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me, tightly, into him. He made sure that I could feel is hard, hot, manhood pressing against my crutch. He held me in that position for a second or two looking in my eyes before pushing my mouth to his with his left hand on the back of my head. This was not a simple kiss. He crushed my lips to his and his tongue tried to gain entry. I resisted that until his right hand moved swiftly from the small of my back to my right breast. He squeezed it hard, digging his fingers into my flesh. I tried to gasp and pull away from him. Neither actual happened. You can’t gasp when you’re locked into a kiss. He pushed me back against my desk so I had nowhere to move to. The only thing I did do was involuntarily open my mouth. Instantly his tongue invaded, moving, exploring. I gave up the unequal task of trying to resist him and as I did his hand on my breast became softer, rubbing and caressing.

When he finally pulled back I was breathless and it was my turn to blush. I could feel the heat radiating from my face. His hand was still cupping my breast whilst his finger and thumb gently pinched and rolled my erect nipple through the thin material of my blouse.

‘See if you’re a good girl it’s so much better.’ He whispered.

After that he completely pulled away. Paul put some notes into my hand and they were gone leaving me still breathless and blushing.

The rest of the day I spent in emotional turmoil for a long list of reasons. Firstly this was no longer blackmail. I wasn’t paying them I had stupidly given them complete control over me and my family. I had to beg just of feed my children. I was their plaything to be abused. I was also acutely aware of my lack of knickers and bra. That exposed, vulnerable, feeling ensured I couldn’t forget the morning’s trauma for even a moment. The worst thing was what I had learnt about myself and even more mortifying Richard also knew. We all have some dark secret fantasies and they rightly should stay secret. How perverted was I to be aroused by a 18 year old boy who as bullying, humiliating and mauling me. Was I really that needy for sex? In my mind I picture Richard and Paul laughing about what they had made me do and Richard boasting that I was turned on by it. Turn on by him.

If it wasn’t for my children I truly believe that I could have considered permanently ending it all. I was that emotional about it all.

Time is a strange thing. Three weeks later the biweekly pleading for my money was becoming routine. The whole thing was more formalised. I had to email them my shopping list with estimated costs. I also had to provide all till receipts. Even our meeting times were sent to me via email or text. That does not mean the meetings were pleasant or easy. Part of the ritual was me having to ask very politely for my cash, followed by the kiss to each of them with the “thank you”. Paul had quickly gained much more confidence. He was soon as demanding in the kissing department as Richard. Both boys now expected and received a deep French kiss complete with an obligatory breast groping or buttock clutching. I’d learnt the hard way that the more compliant I was the more of my shopping I was allowed to buy. So by the third week I was meekly accepting their game without complaint or resistance.

In mid-November the texting started. In the beginning they were stupid little requests, “DON’T WEAR THE GREY CARDIGAN AGAIN IT’S HORRIBLE.” Over the next few weeks they got more and more demanding. I soon wasn’t allowed to wear flat shoes or trousers to college. My makeup had to be perfect and my hair loose. Even on the days when I wasn’t teaching Richard and Paul they had someone checking up on me as I discovered to my cost. One day I wore shoes that they deemed were not high enough. They shouldn’t have seen them but someone had sent a picture to Paul’s mobile.

I turned up to our planned lunchtime meeting in my classroom to find the boys waiting for me. That was unusual in itself and gave me a suspicion that something was wrong. Paul, who was sitting in a chair, gave me some chat about how they were disappoint that I had not done what they had asked just because I thought they would not know. I initially had no idea what he was talking about so he shown me the photo. Holding it out for me to see but low down. Whilst I was bending down looking at the offending shoes on the small screen I sensed movement behind me, instantly followed be a searing pain across my backside and the sound of a loud slap. It was so sudden and unexpected that all I uttered was a high pitched “Ow!”. In one movement I twisted around to see the source of the attack and my hands shot back to protectively cover the hot stinging area of my rear. In front of me was a smiling Richard with a steel 12 inch ruler in his hands. The shock was such that it took me a second or two to fully comprehend that I had just been hit with the ruler. By the time I had I was in more trouble. Paul had grabbed my wrists and wrenched them across each other pushing them out to the sides. Locking my crossed arms behind my back. Also pulling my shoulders back and my chest out.

First sliding the ruler onto my desk Richard slowly moved forward until his face was only a few inches from mine own. They was no question about it I was scared. I could not call for help without my secret past been exposed. I couldn’t fight these two strong lads off, even back then they were bigger than me by a lot. Even if I could it would have only made things worse. I stood there cowering.

Richard broke the silence

‘What are we going to do with you Debs?’

It was exactly the same question I wanted to ask.

His forefinger slowly came up and touched my nose. It then started its journey downwards. It firmly traced down my lips, chin, and throat and onto my chest. He drew it down over the buttons of my blouse, between my breasts, poking it into my belly button along its way to my crutch. Once there his finger gave me a hard thrust upwards. That got my attention. All men, and boys for that matter, will give a girl’s bottom or breast a squeeze give the opportunity but your crutch area is different that’s a private intimate place and Richard was violating it.

‘You’ve been naughty so you deserved your smack didn’t you?’

What I really thought of Richard’s patronizing question wasn’t important. I just wanted to escape as fast as possible.

‘Yes Sir,’

‘And you’ll try and be good in the future and do as you’re told.’

‘Yes Sir,’

‘Good then you can give me a kiss and I won’t say anything more about it.’

Paul didn’t let go of my arms as we kissed. Richard’s upper body crushing my breasts as his tongue did its usual tour of my mouth. What made me squirm and blush again was his right hand. It was rubbing and cupping my crutch area throughout the long kiss causing both arousal and panic in me. Fortunately Paul had to let go of me for his kiss and that was just his normal kiss complete with some breast fondling.

After that Richard dismissed me from my own class room.

‘Off you toddle. Paul and I have something to discuss. You've 15 minutes before your next lesson and you need to tidy yourself up.’

As I turned to go me gave me another smack on my rump, his time with his hand.

‘Go on move that plump ass of yours.’ Was his final parting words.

I darted straight to the staff ladies toilet to pull myself together, inspect the damage to my rear in the mirror and think if I and the kids would manage without money for the next few days.

I knew I could not go on like this. I needed to find a way to get at least some of my life back. I needed leverage, some hold over Richard and Paul. The next two texts underlined my problem. The first one was all dresses and skirts had to be at least 4 inches above the knee. The second was the show stopper. For their and my last lesson on Friday I was not to wear a bra only a thin tight blouse. If my nipples were not obvious they would be very disappointed!

I decided that Friday would be the day I got control back. I prepared for it carefully and went to the college that Friday with a small bag of clothes and makeup. I tried to look as normal as possible until the break before the last double period. As soon as the break started I rushed to the toilets and put the show together.

I was nervous but also excited as I walked back down the empty corridors towards the classroom. As planned the corridors were empty as it was five minutes after all the classes should have started. My high stiletto heels sounding very loud as they clicked along the hard vinyl floors. My husband once said that you could get away with anything as long as you exuded enough confidence and arrogance. I had hiked myself up, I was ready to perform.

I had dressed well for the part. My highest stiletto, dark stocking complete with suspenders, a royal blue pencil skirt that I had bought by accidence about two years before. The tight pencil skirt had looked good on the manikin so I just took it without trying it on. At home I discovered the dress was two sizes smaller than the size shown on the hanger. It was a young teenager’s dress that I never got around to taking back. It waist band was uncomfortably tight cutting into my 24 inch waist. Its stretch material was pulled to its limit to fit over my 36 inch hips, shrinking its length. It did what I wanted it to, emphasize my hour glass figure. The normal definition of an hourglass figure is hips and busts the sane measurement and your waist 10 inches smaller. My difference was normally 12 inches but with the skirt’s waist band help it was probably another 2 inches smaller. I looked abnormal but in the right way to catch the attention of adolescent boys. The fact that the suspenders clips were clearly outlined against my thighs was an added bonus. The blouse was one of the few things I brought with me from Lebanon, fitted but loose on the top, cream silk. The cool thin material followed the body’s curves like a wet tee shirt and as order there was no bra. That was the package designed to draw attention. To capture a man’s soul, my mother had once told me, can only be done with the eyes. I had spent most of the break doing my makeup, mainly my eyes. I have dark Mediterranean eyes that match my dark complexion. The makeup was the best I had done for years; even I thought they look huge, dark and suggestive. I was dress with my mask in place. I was ready to make my entrance.

Remembering do the models walk, pretend to be walking a tightrope so you nearly cross your legs with each step and just let her hip sway more than normal with each step. I entered the noisy classroom and promenaded to the side of my desk. Initially the classroom went completely silent and then there were whistles and calls. With my husband’s words running through my head like a mantra I held up my hands in mock surrender until the noise stopped.

‘Okay, yes I know but I have a Christmas party to go to straight after this lesson and no time to change. So if we all concentrate on maths for the next hour we may all be able to skive off 10 minutes early.’ I said with a shy smile.

My little speech had me back in control but none of the boys and most of the girls weren’t going to be thinking about maths for the next hour. That was fine with me.

I had turned all the heating off at lunchtime and the window nearest my desk was open a crack. I could feel the classroom was already cool and getting colder.

I didn’t sit down once for the whole hour, my skirt and stomach wouldn’t have survived the extra strain. So I spent most of the lesson writing on the black board with one hand on my hip. Within 20 minutes I noticed the goose pimples on my arms and the class were all focused on my chest each time I turn to face them. Even I was conscious of my cold hard nipples moving against the cool smooth silk of my blouse.

Towards the end of the lesson I was really getting into my role and set myself the goal of making all the boys uncomfortable. Holding the board rubber against my top as I step back from the board was one trick. I then very diligently brushed the chalk dust off my breast whilst facing the class. Making my breast bounce and my hard nipple more erect as it also got flicked. Finally I took a look at the results my students had come up with for the questions I had put on the board. I came to each desk individually to look at their answers. The results were very poor which meant I had to softly chastise most of the boys for their lack of thought and effort. This was all done whilst I bent over their desks, sticking my bottom out and ensuring than any boy who was already uncomfortable got a view down my top.

I let the class go early but the majority of the boys were slow getting up. A lot left with their bags in front of them or at least one hand in a pocket.

I had never done anything like that before; it was totally foreign to my nature and upbringing. I had shocked myself. I could now understand why some women enjoy pole dancing or stripping. There’s a strange pleasure in the power to tease.

Now came the really important performance. I leant back onto my desk my hands gripping the top and my legs pushed forward looking at the two boys still in my classroom.

‘Well could you see my nipples clearly enough?’ I defiantly challenged them. 

‘They look like large bullets that you’ve super-glued to your tits. Debs, we’re impressed that was some show.’ Richard replied.

I did not hesitate I wanted to get this done before my alter ego abandoned me.

‘I’ve had enough. I know what you really want, it’s the same all men want. I’m prepared to give it to you both, weekly, willingly and with all the skills and experience I have but I want my life back in return. I want by money back. I want control of my bank account back. Do we have a deal?’

I said all this is a strong confident voice but I knew my sales pitch was on shaky ground. Firstly I had very little experience of sex and love making. I got pregnant the same night I lost my virginity and it was not pleasant. My then boyfriend, who was 9 years older than me, got me very drunk and then forced himself on me in the back of his car. I was the right social status for him so he took me, his future son and a chunk of money from my father in one inclusive marriage deal. In my three years of marriage we never made love, he just occasionally fucked me when he had nothing better to do. He was the only man I knew sexually up to that time. The other point was Richard and Paul already had the power to make me do anything they wanted they had just not gone that far yet.

Paul was the first to respond to my deal.

‘Let’s get this absolutely clear you’re offering sex for money.’

I wasn’t pleased with the way the conversation was going but decided to remain clear and straight forward.

‘If you want to put it like that, yes.’

The boys looked very pleased.  ‘That’s great.’

It was all too easy. I knew something was going very wrong.

It was Paul who did the talking again.

‘We reckoned that you could earn us 40 thousand pounds a year, each, on the game. 6 to 7 punters a night, six nights a week; you shouldn’t work Sundays that’s wrong when you have kids. That’s over 100 thousand a year. But we were fools you’re great you have a real natural talent plus the assets to back it up. We can double that with you working the London hotels. You look great, you’re exotic and your French Arabic accent makes man go weak at the knees.’

Initially I was too stunned to talk. My great plan was blowing up in my face.’

‘Please, you can’t do this to me. I won’t do it. My offer was just to you two.’

‘That’s sweet of you Debs, just wanting to save yourself for us but we would prefer the money. We already have enough money to go whore fucking. And yes we can and will turn you into our cash machine. You have been sending us, inappropriate, texts and photos for weeks.’ Paul said whilst waving my own original phone to me. ‘We will get you fired next week so you can start your new job before Christmas. The alternatives are starving or go back to your husband. I hope he doesn’t cut up your face because it is beautiful. Is he more the gothic horror type? What do you think? Your face or will he be slicing off your tits and carving out your cunt. Whatever it is I’m fairly sure he’ll kill you. They is of course the coward's solution, topping yourself. I think Pascal will be okay with his dad but Lisa would concern me. Debs you don’t have a choice.’

My alter ego vanished. I just completely cracked. Within seconds I was on my knees begging and crying, mascara running down my face. Somehow I managed to grab a hand from each of them and started madly kissing them and hugging them to my breasts.

‘Please, just because you can don’t do this. Have mercy, I don’t deserve this.’ Was one of my many pleas but this one got a reaction from Paul.

‘We think you do Debs. Richard and I are very old fashioned we believe in an eye for an eye and family values. A father deserves respect especially from his daughter and a husband should be loved, honoured and obeyed. Getting knock up at 18 must have destroyed your father. Your husband married you although he didn’t need to and you repaid him with betrayal that sent him and his brother to prison. Then we can add that long list of frauds and deceptions you’ve done. You need to be punished and controlled and pimping you out for 10 years, making us each a small fortune, seems a very fair and just punishment.’

I gave up any hope of not been punished by these two and tried a new option.

‘You can punish me, hurt me beat me but don’t make me a public whore that will punish and hurt by children. They’re totally innocent and shouldn’t have a whore for a mother.’

At long last Richard joined the conversation whilst stroking my head.

‘I do worry about the impact on Debs kids. I think she could be made into a good girl with the right instruction and a firm hand.’

The comment was aimed at Paul who did not look convinced.

‘We are talking about a lot of money Richard. Are you sure you want to think about alternatives?’

Richard took a clean tissue from his pocket and started to wipe away my tears before replying.

‘I think Debs could be very obedient and attentive. If she lets us down we go back to your first plan. You will be good and do as your told won’t you Debs?’

It’s amazing how pathetic they had already made me. I was kneeling in front of them eagerly nodding my agreement with relief flooding through me. All because, for the time been, they weren’t going to whore me out.

I was sent home so they could talk.

I picked the kids up from primary school, put the telly on for them and just collapse onto my bed, totally drained, depressed and very scared for the future.

The future arrived an hour later using they own key to just walk in. I heard the front door and stumbled down the stairs in the same clothes I had worn to the college. I was promptly sent back up-stair to put on my high heels, the one item I had the energy to remove once I had got home.

When I got back down stairs wearing my heels the TV was off and my two abusers were talking to Pascal and Lisa about what I did to them if they did something wrong. I again was sent off to fetch a wooden chair from the kitchen. As I re-entered the front room with the chair I heard Pascal’s voice loudly claiming I hit him as though I did it all the time. To the best of my memory I had only smacked him three times and always for the same thing, hurting Lisa. It didn’t matter I knew Richard and Paul where going to use it as an excuse for hurting me.

I was made to stand in front of the television and explain what I did to their father how I got into the UK and how I got my job. I was not allowed to explain any of it, “no excuses just the facts”.

Richard then told the kids some junk about not wanting to put me in prison because I was “a good mummy” and they were going to help me be good from now on.

I knew what this was all building up to and part of me just wanted them to shut-up and get on with it and the other half wanted them to just talk forever. Eventually they got to the point and told the children that they were going to smack mummy but this was a good thing because it was proof that mummy wanted to be good from now on. I again was sent out to the kitchen to find a bag with something in it that I should bring back to them. The bag was beside my fridge and it only had one thing in it. It was an 18 inch long, very heavy, leather strap, 2 inches wide with a handle. It was clearly professionally made for just one purpose and it looked and felt as if it would hurt a lot. It was Richard who took it from me when I returned to the front room and Paul led me to the chair that was turned the wrong way around , its back face into the room.

‘Take off you skirt Debs’ was all Paul said

I so desperately wanted to argue over this mainly because my two children were in the room. I hesitated and then complied, wriggling out of the very tight skirt. I was made to pick it up and fold it up and put it on the chair. To say I was distressed to be standing there with only knickers, suspenders and stocking on my bottom half was an enormous understatement, but it got a lot worst.

‘And now the knickers.’ Paul said so casually.

Just couldn’t do this.

‘Please not in front of the children; they don’t need to see this.’

‘Punishing you in front of your children is the whole point. They, do, need to see you received your corrective treatment. You accepting your punishment and your public humiliation are all part of your penance, an act of contrition, to gain forgiveness from Pascal and Lisa. They are the most important people in this whole thing. Now do as you’re told or either go back to your children’s father or get ready to start work as a prostitute for us next week. It’s your choice but we don’t have all day.

I reluctantly accepted that I had no way out and eased my knickers down 6 inches, just to uncover my buttocks. This was not good enough. They were determined to make a spectacle of both my body and my punishment. My knickers had to come completely off and be picked up and put on top of my folded dress.

As I was told to bend over the back of the chair and grip the front edge of the wooden seat I had to firmly close my eyes to stop the tears of shame. The thought of what parts of my body I was presenting to Pascal was emotional torture.

Richard now took over from Paul. I could feel his thigh against my bare hip on one side and his left hand resting on my hip bone on the other side of me as he addressed is audience.

‘Now that’s what I call a great big round bottom. A woman’s bottom has been designed by god to be spanked. It’s like a big soft cushion, design to absorb the impact, and you can’t do any enduring damage.’

Just to underline his point he grabbed a handful of my buttocks and gave it a firm squeeze and then a shake, making my whole bottom wobble.

‘That’s just perfect.’

With that he suddenly stepped away from me and I heard his intake of breath. I’m not sure whether I could hear the strap coming or feel the air moving, either way I knew it was coming just a split second before the blow landed. Nevertheless the shock and pain still overpowered me, overriding my good intensions not to react or show weakness. My whole body jerked and I let out high pitched squeak.

‘Look at that, it’s the best practical physics experiment I’ve ever seen.’ The excitement in Richard’s voice was clear.

The next stroke landed and I squealed louder.

‘You can see the shock wave ripple out from the point of impact.’

The third started me whimpering and I just couldn’t stop myself bobbing my bottom up and down.

‘It’s like a ripple moving across a pond.’

The strap hit home for the fourth time.

‘It’s also a beautiful example of kinetic energy being absolved and changed.’

The fifth landed.

‘Changed to a small amount of sound energy but mainly heat.’

Just to check his theory he ran his hand over my punished area. It felt like it was on fire to me.

‘You can really feel the heat, it’s hot to touch.’ He boasted to all in the room.

The switch of chastiser was clearly planned at five.

Fortunately Paul didn’t give a running commentary on his handy work but his five strokes hurt even more. His aim oscillated from my already glowing, damaged, bottom to the back of my thighs. The pain was excruciating. After his third stroke I found myself shaking my body from side to side. I think my body was trying to shake off the fire on my rear and thighs.

I thought number 10 was the end of my ordeal and even tried easing myself back to upright. I was wrong. With the threat of an additional 10 if I moved out of position again without permission I had to bend forward again. They had decided my punishment was to be 20 and at the half way point I was not sure I could cope with that many.

Just as Richard was lining himself up to deliver number 11 the door bell rung. They still didn’t let me move or let me know what was going on. I was close to utter despair as I thought they were going to turn my punishment into a truly public affair. It wasn’t that. They had ordered pizza, chicken wings and garlic bread for the children and themselves for afterward and it had just arrived early. They also told the kids that there was strawberries and ice-cream in the refrigerator for afterwards plus Disney films for them to watch. This was because we were all celebrating me turning over a new leaf. Starting my new life as a, good, woman.

This whole 10 minute pantomime was going on with me still bent over the chair with my bare and now bright red bottom sticking out. By the time they were ready to continue they had settled Pascal and Lisa down with pizza and cokes like this was some sort of bizarre, perverted, cabaret act put on for Pascal’s’ and Lisa’s entertainment.

The last 10 strokes were terrible the initial welts had time to swell and bruise. Hitting the same areas again and again reduced me to a sobbing crying wreck. My body was shaking and the perspiration made my blouse stick to me.

After the final strike I was told to stand up and put my hands on my head whilst I pulled myself together. The boys put a film on for the kids and joined my children eating pizza.

It was a full 20 minutes before any one took any notice of me. By that time Pascal and Lisa were just starting on the ice-cream with fresh strawberries. My bottom and thighs were still burning, however, I was getting over the physical pain the emotional anguish was much deeper.

I was in a trance, lost in my own dark thoughts, when I found Richard standing right in front of me. Fear of him and my own defencelessness against him brought me back to reality with a start.

He just looked into my eyes for a few moments. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I had to look down.

‘Is the new Debs going to be good and do absolutely everything she’s told to the best of her ability?’

I knew the only acceptable answer was “yes” but he continue to look at me with patient anticipation like I had forgotten something important. I’d forgotten to say something he wanted to hear and I was immediately scared. My cold body started to tremble as I felt the anxiety build inside me. I was frantic to please him.

‘Yes Sir, I will.’

In return he gave me a congratulatory nod and smiled. I could feel the relief flooding through me, pleased than I had pleased him.

‘Paul and I are going to make you such a good girl. We’re going to control and monitor every single thing to do, day and night. What you eat, wear, look like, how and when you exercise we are even going to control all your body functions. You’re are Barbie doll and we are going to have such fun playing with you.’

With that he kissed me and I already knew that to keep him happy I couldn’t hold back. I tried suppressed all thoughts of what message I was giving to my children as I passionately kissed my young abuser.

Richard was replaced my Paul. Initial he said nothing he just started to slowly unbutton my blouse.

‘Richard is pleased with you but I’ll not. You argued, pleaded, hesitated and then tried to get away with a very half-hearted effort all because you were shy about having your pussy shown off to Pascal and Lisa. Lisa has one of her own and it’s important for Pascal to know all the differences between men and women. He enjoyed seeing your pussy peeping out between your thighs, he like that as much as seeing your ass quiver each time it was hit. You should have seen the shine in his eyes. But we’re off the point.’

By now all the buttons were undone and Paul pulled my blouse wide open.

‘The point is you hesitated and argued.’

He was now studying at my left breast as he lovingly stroked and caressed it whilst continuing to talk softly and gently to me.

‘You shouldn’t do that. You just do. You don’t think about it or hesitant you just do.’

Before I had time to reply he move so fast it was just a blur of movement. He landed a tremendously hard backhand slap to my right breast. The sudden explosion of pain. Not only the string on the surface but a deep hurt right to the core of my breast, caused me to double over, both of my hands instantly clutch the damage gland. I was not allowed to stay in that position for long. Paul gripped and handful of my hair and pulled me upright again.

‘I don’t remember saying you could take your hands off your head.’ He said in his soft voice that just increased my fear. He was so calm and calculating.

I was sure he intended to hit me again and I was terrified. I was even more terrified of what he would do to me if I didn’t obey so I slowly put my hands back on my head presenting my breasts for more punishment. He didn’t. He instead smiled at me.

‘Good girl. Now you can take your hands off your head, pick up your skirt and knickers and run up stairs to your bedroom. We’ll be up later so we can all get better acquainted. Now off you run and I do mean run.’

I did not even contemplate trying to re-button my blouse as I grabbed my stuff off the chair and run. It was actually more like a rapid toddle. I was still unsteady on my legs, my high stilettos didn’t help or the fact that I tried to cover myself a bit with my skirt and knickers. The boys let me go to wait for their arrival and the inevitable consummation of our new relationship.

That was how it all started.