The Greenwich Tales

By Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

Introduction & New Readers Start Here…

 

This story sprang out of an exchange of emails between the Phil and Freddie during the posting of the Freddie Clegg story “Market Forces”. The two authors discovered a shared interest in Len Deighton’s “The Ipcress File” and an enthusiasm for exploring what happened to some of the characters outside of the Market Forces narrative. This is the result of that correspondence and a collaboration to create a new tale.

 

If you have read Market Forces then you can skip the rest of this introduction.

 

If not, shame on you (and if you like this then search it out, you’ll like that too), but you might like to know that……

 

Freddie Clegg Enteprises is a UK based organisation specialising in the acquisition, training and sale of female slaves. You’ll meet up with some of the employees of Clegg Enterprises as the tales are told and they’ll introduce themselves as they go along. You will also meet two of Clegg’s customers; Daphne Challis (an American entrepreneur) and Steve Glennis, a man of leisure whose main hobby is the stable of pony girls he keeps on his Caribbean island.

 

It’s Steve’s story that starts us off…

Prologue

 

Now, I’m no fan of medieval literature. In fact after you’ve got past the contents of the average castle’s dungeon, my interest in things medieval wanders off. I had to read The Canterbury Tales when I was at school. I was surprised by how much smut there was in history. Some of it was filthy.

 

Geoffrey Chaucer wrote the Canterbury Tales in around 1400AD. It’s a tale of a group of pilgrims and it starts like this…

 

            “When in April the sweet showers fall

            That pierce March's drought to the root and all

            …..

            Then folk do long to go on pilgrimage,

            And pilgrims to go seeking out strange strands,

            To distant shrines, well known, in distant lands.”

 

These days, it’s not so common for pilgrims to go to distant shrines in distant lands but there are other pilgrimages, other shrines, other grails.

 

My name’s Steve. There’s this woman I know; Daphne. We share some interests. She had some problems. I was concerned about her but somehow I never got around to helping out. I’m not proud of that, it’s just the way things are some times.

 

It turned out not to matter. She solved her own problems. She’s been on a pilgrimage but sometimes you don’t end up where you think you are going and sometimes you do. You might like to hear about it.

 

Like many pilgrims, Daphne’s path was eased by others on the way. There was a Merchant, a seller of souls. He found a Student for Daphne. Then a Clerk sought out someone else to help Daphne on her path. She encountered a Counsellor and …..

 

But that’s putting the cart before the horse – and if you know me then you know that’s something I never, ever, do!

 

It’s probably easier if they all tell their own tales…

The Merchant’s Tale

Part 1 : When Larry Met Daphne

 

I first met Daphne shortly after I’d joined Freddie Clegg Enterprises. I was flying back from a trip to the Caribbean. She was on the same ‘plane. My first impression of her wasn’t great. She looked shabby; overweight, badly dressed, poor complexion and greasy hair.  I guessed that she was about forty but it was hard to say. She could have been older.

 

Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Larry. I look after marketing for Clegg. Well at least I did when all this kicked off. This was one of the last jobs I was involved in before I moved on to run one of his new business ventures.

 

Clegg’s organisation is what you might euphemistically call a recruitment agency; except our recruits usually weren’t planning on a change of role before they met up with us. I suppose slave traders is the real name for what we are. The Caribbean trip had been to meet with a potential customer, a chap called Steve Glennis. No, he wasn’t planning on using his purchases to start a new sugar plantation. I’ll let you guess what he wanted them for but here’s a hint. They were all young. They were all women.

 

Daphne just seemed like another potential client when we spoke on the flight. My first thought was that she seemed pretty greedy as she sat next to me stuffing her face with snacks. But, since it seemed likely that would extend to her tastes in slaves, I just saw that as a potential opportunity for us. She certainly had the money to pay for them according to Clegg.

 

After our discussion on the ‘plane and her suggestion that we might do some business I asked Rick’s team in our research department to do a profile of her “Daphne Challis,” their report said, “was borne in Boston, USA. Her father was in the US diplomatic service, divorced shortly after she was borne but she stayed with him. She’d grown up pretty much everywhere, spending time in most of the countries across Europe. Picked up language skills in French, German and Spanish. Clever at school, but somehow she never got the knack of getting on with people socially. She read economics and accountancy at university, graduating very well. She joined a City bank as a foreign exchange trader, managed to cope with the bullying and sexism by ignoring pretty much everything except making money. Now in her mid thirties (I’d got her age wrong by at least five years – the way that most women wouldn’t ever forgive you for) she was a millionaire several times over and she’s mainly into investing. She used her capital in small entrepreneurial start-ups and her contacts in the city for any funding that she couldn’t cover from her own resources.  In her private life though she seemed to be still a lonely, awkward, socially inept, individual. Her business associates found it hard to square her business acumen and acquisitive drive with her lack of social skills - as one said, she’s like a little girl with a big bag of money.”

 

That much I could recognise in the woman I’d met on the ‘plane.

 

“It’s not clear when she first started keeping slaves.” The report went on. “The first purchase transactions that we are aware of were three years ago. Anecdotal evidence suggests that she had a number of BDSM relationships in her early twenties and that at some point she made the transition from consensual to non-consensual slave ownership. There were at least three male slaves “owned” by her at first. The Clegg organisation became aware of Challis first when she offered these three for sale at an auction run by one of our competitors in the States and acquired three females as replacements. Since then she has replaced these on a fairly regular basis, keeping three or four at any one time, not retaining any of them for more than six or seven months. She always takes trained / conditioned stock under twenty five years, but of no particular racial origin. She’s bought and sold around a dozen slaves that we are aware of. The money doesn’t seem to be a problem because she’s losing money every time she trades them in but it hasn’t affected how she’s been buying. To date none of her purchases have been through the Clegg Organisation, they have all been in US markets. She has been based in the Hamptons until three months ago. It is understood that she may be moving to the UK.”

 

Part 2 : First Client Contact

 

The report told me a bit more than I’d worked out for myself. As it turned out, it was useful background when I got a call from her. She was planning to set up in the UK, she said, and thought we might be able to let her have some pieces for her household over here. I said we could probably help. We agreed to meet. I suggested a restaurant in the West End; she came up with an alternative, “The Rose By The River Hotel.” I hadn’t heard of it but then I’m like a lot of taxi drivers – I hardly ever go south of the river.

 

When I got there, I realised I’d been missing something. It billed itself as a boutique hotel. Not far from Tate Modern and the Globe Theatre, it was a short walk from Borough Market and the City itself.

 

I got to the sixth floor and the restaurant. Daphne was already there. As I walked in she was chewing on a mouthful of food that had her face stuffed as well as the gags that we use in the Prep Centre. She barely paused in her eating and waved me across to join her. The remains of a rump steak, half a pile of chips, a smear of pepper sauce and an untouched portion of vegetables decorated the plate in front of her. A dribble of sauce was running down her chin. She wiped it as she swallowed the mouthful of food. I thought it wasn’t a great menu choice. From what I remembered of her backside, the last thing she needed was more rump.

 

“Larry,” she said holding out a limp hand, “nice to see you again.” She smiled. I could see a piece of steak wedged between her two front teeth.

 

“Ms Challis,” I said. “Good to see you, too.” I wasn’t being entirely sincere but she was a potential customer after all.

 

“Daphne,” she said, “it’s Daphne. Do you want to eat?” She asked. Without waiting for a reply, she called across to a waitress. “Hey,” she called. Can we get a menu here?” The waitress seemed more than a little pained by Daphne’s lack of finesse. She produced an impressively large menu and put on the table in front of me.  Daphne carried on eating. It wasn’t the most entertaining of sights. One forkful followed another into her mouth with barely a pause. There were a couple of sticks of white asparagus on the side of the plate. She picked one up with fingers sticky from pepper sauce that had dribbled down her fork and guided its head to her lips. I found the sight of her sucking at the white, fleshy vegetable slightly disturbing.

 

I hadn’t been very hungry before I arrived and somehow even the vaguest interest in food had disappeared. I didn’t see anything on the menu that I fancied. I passed it back to the waitress and shook my head. Daphne shovelled the last fork full of chips into her mouth. “I’ll never work out why you guys call fries chips and chips crisps,” she said to me. Turning to the waitress she said, “Chocolate cheesecake.”

 

The waitress said, “Cream or ice cream?”

 

Daphne said, “Both.”

 

I said, “How can we help?”

 

“I’ve got a requirement,” she said. “I’m going to be based here for a while. I’ve got a suite here in the hotel for a few weeks but I’m moving into a new place in Greenwich.  I need a house-piece. Someone to keep the place clean and me happy. You seemed to know what you were talking about when we met on Narod Jesper’s plane and Steve Glennis said you did a good job for him.”

 

“Thanks for the compliments.”

 

“I trust Glennis’s call. He was a big help when I first started out owning rather than playing. It’s a big change. He was really useful.”

 

“How about Jesper?”

 

Daphne coughed. The waitress appeared with her desert. The food looked excellent but it was obviously the size of the portions that attracted Daphne. “Too weird for me,” she said. “We’ve done a few private transactions; he’s taken a couple of girls off me. I’ve had one of his. He sold the plane, you know?”

 

I nodded. “Yeah, I came across the stewardesses a while back in Switzerland.”

 

“Oh yes. I heard about that from Steve. Even Clegg’s team screws up occasionally, then?”

 

“We worked things out. Steve was happy in the end. We ended up buying the girls.”

 

“So I hear.” She ran through what she was looking for. It didn’t seem anything special; - just a slave girl that would do for domestic and bedroom duties while Daphne was getting set up. It seemed straight forward. Then she added the rider. “Oh, and she needs to speak Portuguese.”

 

“Portuguese?”

 

“Uh huh. I’m going to be doing quite a lot of work with some Brazilian companies, opportunities with eco-friendly fuels, renewable energy resources, that sort of thing. It’s going to be hot technology. I need a translator.”

 

“Not, I hope, with a degree in bio-tech or engineering?” I was only half joking, we’ve been asked for more specific requirements.

 

“That would be good, but, no, not essential. I just want someone that can I can rely on for some of the more interesting documents.”

 

Portuguese wasn’t so easy – we’d never done much in Spain or Portugal – but I thought Rick would be able to come up with something.

 

Daphne thought she’d want maybe a couple more pieces when she was settled but the place she was moving into only really had secure accommodation for one at the moment. She wasn’t very specific about what she wanted beyond the language thing. I asked her whether she’d be happy with something from stock; I was thinking maybe one of our European associate groups might have something. Maybe the Contessa might have something. She shrugged her shoulders. She just didn’t seem bothered. “Just get me a good one,” she said. She waved to the waitress for the bill. It appeared with a bowl of mints. She picked up her handbag, Louis Vuitton in soft brown leather with a stain that looked like dried mustard just by the catch. Daphne pulled out her purse and flipped her key card onto the bill without reading it.

 

The waitress picked up the card and went in search of her payment terminal. Daphne emptied the dish of mints into her handbag. She paid the bill. “Call me when you’ve got something to view,” she said. “You’ve got my number.” She got her feet and moved towards the door. She didn’t move as if she was comfortable with it. Walking didn’t seem to be something she was big on.

 

The waitress came over to clear the table as I got up to leave. Daphne had made such a good job of clearing her desert that they wouldn’t really have to wash the plate. I was pretty sure the waitress let out a sigh of relief as Daphne waddled away.

 

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Takes all sorts,” I said, and left her.

 

The Student’s Tale

Part 1 : The Albert Hall

 

I am Branca. I used to study here in London. It’s not easy being a student here in London. Not when you come here from abroad. Everyone is so busy; it is hard to make good friends. And it is so expensive. Much more expensive here than in Lisbon or in my home town, Porto.

 

But it is good to study here. The Imperial College is very good. To be studying engineering there is very good. And I thought I would have many friends. In Lisbon there were not so many girls that study engineering. Here it is the same but the boys, well they all work hard. It is not easy to get to know them. I think I am attractive. Perhaps I am a bit tall for the boys here: 1.8 metres but that should not matter? I like my black hair, I’m proud of how it shines. In Porto the boys think I look fine. Sometimes they are a bit too enthusiastic. If I want to study I have to shoo them away. But here the boys do not seem to notice my hair or my body. They think only of their books.

 

And London is so expensive. That is why I had a job as well as I my studies. To help pay for my flat and for my books. But for my job it was good to be Portuguese. There are not so many of us here in London so for translating there is a demand. And I made some good money from translating. From Portuguese into English, from English into Portuguese. I worked for an agency. They have a good system – for all their translators they have a web site it says to their clients what areas of specialising their people have. For me it says for engineering both electrical and mechanical and also bio-tech. Their clients can look for just the right person for what they want.  

 

I wonder if that is how they found me?

 

A man phoned me. He said he had some work that he believed I could help him with. I told him that he must speak to the agent. They get cross if I do freelance work. He said it was more to do with the university, some papers from another student. He just wanted someone to take a look at them and tell him what they were about. He wasn’t sure if they were important and worth translating or not. Perhaps if he bought me coffee? Well it didn’t seem like it could do any harm.

 

He was nice. He said his name was Harry. He showed me the papers. I read them through while we had some coffee. They were about a plant for producing bio-diesel. There are many developments of this kind in Brazil now. I told him I thought they were useful for someone planning to invest in bio-diesel technology. He asked if I could translate them properly for him. If his friend found it useful there would be other work but that he would put through my agent, of course.

 

I thought it would be all right. It was not so much work and if my agent got a big contract he would not mind.

 

I phoned him when I had finished. Could he collect it that evening, he said. He had to be at a concert at the Royal Albert Hall. Perhaps I could bring it by afterwards? I said of course. It is very close to the college. Just around the corner from the library. It will be easy, I said.

 

It is very busy there, just after a concert. Everyone, milling around. A great bustle of people, chatting and laughing. And then it is very quiet. They all go home, of course. After the concert. And the pavements were empty. I saw him hurrying towards me. He waved. He was obviously worried that I would have gone.

 

There were two others with him. Two women. “Eva,” he said and “Doctor Jordan” They looked friendly. It looked like they have all had a good time at the concert. “Come and have some coffee,” he said. ”Please come,” said Eva, “Harry says you are from near Lisbon, I’d love to hear about it.”

 

So I said, “Yes,” and we walked to his car. It was parked not far away. Thurlow Gardens. It was a big car, a people carrier, a Mercedes, almost like a small van. Big and black with blacked out windows. I was telling Eva about Lisbon, about the Alfama, the old town. We all climbed in, Harry driving, Eva and the Doctor and me in the back.

 

The car moved off. I remember we were going towards Marble Arch. Harold said, “We are very pleased with your work Branca.”

 

Eva said, “I told him we need to take you on full time.” I think she is joking. I said, “No, but I am at University.”

 

And then Eva was pointing a gun at me and saying, “Sorry, Branca. You haven’t understood. We are taking you on full time. Just don't argue.” And the car was going quickly, along Park Lane.

 

I was saying no and pulling away but Eva pushed the gun against me. The Doctor leaned across me and makes a cut through my tights with scissors and she says “this will make you feel better Branca”, and she pressed a hypodermic into my thigh. I am struggling now but Eva and the doctor are holding me. There is a warm numb feeling in my leg.

 

I heard Eva, say “So what is that?

 

The Doctor said, “Ketamine. It’s safe, if you know what you’re doing, it doesn’t have to go into a vein and it’s quite quick and the more Branca struggles the quicker it is ” The inside of the van seemed to go dark but I could see bright lights through the windows still.  I wanted cry out but somehow my mouth wouldn’t work any more. I fell back against Eva, seeing Doctor Jordan smiling.

 

And then… 

 

When I woke up I was in a strange room. I was on a bed but I could not get off. Eva was sitting by me. There were wires from pads on my chest going to a monitor.  There was a tube going into my arm from a bag of fluid hanging from a metal pole at the side of the bed. I asked Eva, “What happened? Am I in hospital?”

 

“No, Branca, but you are somewhere safe. You are with us.”

 

Then Doctor Jordan came in and I started to remember what happened in the car. “How are you feeling now, Branca?” Dr Jordan said.

 

I was confused; they seemed so kind but they had taken me away. “I am feeling tired and sick. I want to go home now,” I said.

 

“Don’t worry,” Doctor Jordan says. “You may not remember what has happened to you, just as you may forget a dream. It will take some time before you feel well again. Movement is extremely difficult. It is better for you to stay here. You are home here, Branca.”

 

“No I want to go to my home,” I say. I tried to get up. I couldn’t.

 

Eva said, “Branca you are ours now. Our home is your home. You must stay here.”

 

I felt so weak. Doctor Jordan said for me to rest, “and when you are ready, we will move you to your very own room.”

 

I tried to get up again and then I saw they had strapped me to the bed. I was frightened, I started to cry. Doctor Jordan put her arms round me. She talked softly. She said, “You will be fine, Branca. We will look after you. You will be safe now with us. You'll see.”

 

I don’t know how long it was before I woke up again. I was still in the room, still strapped to the bed. I don’t know if it was the drugs but I didn’t seem to mind. It was quite dark. The walls were bare, the floor just tiles. There was a window but it was covered over with frosted glass.

 

Later on Doctor Jordan took the tube out of my arm. She let me get up from the bed and walk around the room. They had taken all my clothes.  “How are you, Branca?” she asked.

 

I was shaky. It was hard to stand and walk. The Doctor gave me a sweet orange drink and I began to feel stronger. “Now Branca, now you are here there are many thing you have to learn, many things you have to know. You want to learn don’t you? Like at the University?”

 

It seemed strange to me, not like the University at all, but I heard myself saying, “Yes, I want to learn.”

 

“Good,” said Doctor Jordan, “It is time for you to start to learn. We have someone to help you to learn. Connie will help you to learn. Connie is very good.” For a moment everything seemed strange and I thought I would fall over but Doctor Jordan reached out to hold me. “Do you trust me, Branca? Do you?” she asked. I nodded. “We’ll go and see Connie.” 

 

The Doctor put a wide leather belt round my waist and cuffed my hands to it. I suppose it seems strange but it did not occur to me to try to stop her. She put a blindfold on me and gently guided me somewhere else. 

 

There was another girl there, waiting for me: she had a deepish voice and a sweet perfume. I heard her say, “Is this the one?”

 

“Yes,” said Doctor Jordan. “She’s all yours now.”

 

“Kneel down,” the other voice said. “This is Connie speaking, Branca. You must do as I say.”

 

I said, “Oh!” and “Yes.” I was still confused but I got down to my knees. Someone put a bar between my teeth and strapped it behind my head. It felt hard and tasted of rubber. Connie trapped my head between her legs and brought a cane down on my bottom several times.  I squealed with pain and grunted around the gag. I was whimpering. Connie heard my sobbing and crouched down beside me. I felt the side of her face pressed against mine. “Hush, Branca, don’t cry. If you are obedient then all will be well. You can make things better by being obedient. Stop crying and you can see me.” She held me closely. Somehow I wanted to see her. I wanted her to take off the blindfold. “Stop crying Branca.” I sniffed back my tears. “That’s better,” said Connie. “Start crying again and it goes on again. Stop crying and you can see. You will soon learn to do your best for Connie.” Eventually I stopped crying.

 

 

Part 2 : New Learning 

 

Connie took off the blindfold. I shook my head and looked around me. I saw the room was small and cold, just bare walls and a tiled floor. There was a rubber mat on the floor and where the floor dips down was a toilet with a shower head by it over a floor drain. 

 

A black skinned girl stood in front of me. She looked African. Her face was finely boned as if made from some black porcelain. Her black hair was braided and tied back tight. She was wearing riding boots over tight cream trousers and had on a white leather T shirt. A riding whip hung from the belt of her trousers. She wore white leather gloves. She had a gold ring glinting in the septum of her nose. She looked so confident and strong and so very .... desirable. She smiled. White teeth. “Hello, Branca,” she said. “I'm Connie.”

 

I looked up at her.

 

She crouched down beside me, her head close to mine. “Branca, you know you must learn? You work hard and earn your privileges. You understand?”

 

I nodded.

 

“You thirsty?” Connie said. I nodded eagerly. “Uh huh?  That’s good. I'll take out your gag so you can drink.” She unbuckled the strap and the rubber bar came clear of my mouth. “If you want it to keep the gag out of your mouth put your face at my feet, rub your face on my boots.” I whimpered but I didn’t want the gag back, I bent my face to her feet, pressing it against her boots feeling and smelling the leather. She spoke again. “What about hungry? Branca? Uh huh?” I gave an mmm in response. “Well,” Connie said, “ask me to shave your head and then you can eat.”

 

I was puzzled, confused by her response.

 

“Sorry Branca, that was not quick enough,” Connie said pulling her feet away from my face. “You have to learn to say yes quickly. Not only obey but obey quickly.” With that she chained my ankle to the wall and left me locked alone in the room.

 

When Connie came back she asked the same question. This time I managed to say, “Yes. Yes, please shave me.”

 

Connie looked down at me disapproving.  “Not good enough, Branca,” she said. “I think you are not happy about being shaven. It is not enough to do as you are told you must want it. You must be happy with it. We’ll try once more, one more chance today if you want to eat.”

 

So I pleaded with her, begged her to shave me. Told her I hated my hair and that nothing would please me more than to lose it. Connie smiled, pleased with my response. “That’s better Branca, come over here,” she said. She bent my head over the toilet. I heard the soft whirr of clippers and felt the slight pulling sensation as she ran them from the nape of my neck up to the crown, over and over again. I saw all my hair falling away, together with my tears. Connie lifted my shaven head and turned my tear streaked face towards her. “Tears, Branca?” she said, sadly. “I said you must be happy with being obedient. Tears means you cannot be happy. That means just raw vegetables for your food today.”

 

That was how it started, how I learned to obey and be happy obeying. Life was simple. There was just me and Connie. She was my only visitor and as the weeks passed I found myself asking Connie to beat me, rape me, to let me lick her bare feet, do anything she told me to do, to think of things she might want me to do. And to obey and to enjoy obeying. And gradually I earned a warmer room, a blanket at night. She stopped shaving my head. They gave me more to eat than raw vegetables and water. And I began to think that I loved her and finally I would do just anything she asked me to do to her or for her. And then, when she brought her boy friends and girl friends and I would do anything she wanted for them, too.

 

Then one day Doctor Jordan and Connie both came to see me. The Doctor says, “My, Branca, you have done well! I am very pleased with you!” She stroked my hair. It was growing back. As long as I obeyed, Connie let me keep my hair. I’d been very good. It was still very short of course, but you could not see my scalp. That’s how good I’d been. “Just look at your hair now.” She can tell I am puzzled by her arrival. “It’s time to pass you on to your Owner.” She sees my distress at realising I must leave Connie. “You have been chosen specially, Branca. Chosen for your language skills and for what you know about engineering. Now Branca, we expect you to try hard. You have to do your best for Connie,” she says and I knew that I must and I knew that I would.

 

I started to cry again because I did not want to leave. It was safe there with Connie. If I did as she said and I was happy with doing what she said then all was well, I could manage things there. I looked at Doctor Jordan. “Will I ever see you again? Or Connie?”

 

The Doctor looked sympathetically. “Yes, Branca. If you are ill, I will look after you and when your Owner goes away, perhaps you can stay here with us again. So what will you do Branca?”

 

I knew what to say. “I will do my best for Connie,” I said and Connie and the Doctor smiled. I heard that phrase so many times in my training. I know when I hear it that I must do exactly as I am told. 

 

“Well done, Branca! That’s right,” said the Doctor. She placed a metal collar round my neck. I ran my fingers across the cool titanium. I could barely feel where the too halves joined. There was no screw or catch that I could feel. I could think of no way in which I might release it..  Even if I wanted to. She fitted a belt around my waist, a metal plate that runs down across my sex, two heavy chromed chains that run from that behind and around my buttocks up to the belt.  The fit is perfect for it really has been made for me. I explore the belt with my fingers. I could tell that I would be able to use the toilet but I could not console myself at all. My only consolation would be that I will do my best for Connie.

 

Part 3 : Branca’s Owner

 

They brought me here in some kind of van or truck. The first I knew was when they came to my cell with the straps and the gag and the hood. They didn’t say anything. But then they never do. They just started putting the things on me like they were wrapping up a parcel. Wrists strapped, ankles strapped, knees strapped. Then the gag. At least it was a plug gag with a padded strap over my mouth. I hate the ball gags and the ring gags are even worse – but maybe that’s because of what they usually want to do when they put a ring gag on you.

 

Then the hood. I can still remember the smell of the leather and the feel of the thick pads over my eyes and ears, the terrifying sense of blindness, the disorienting muffling of every sound.

 

I felt myself lifted and put down again. On something unsteady. One of the trolleys, I guessed. “Ready for shipment?” I heard a voice say. “Sure,” said another. “Sign here, then,” the first replied. And then I was moving. I didn’t seem to stop moving until I got here and the straps and the hood came off.

 

It was quite a shock when I saw her. I suppose I expected a man. I mean I suppose it’s just prejudice but that’s what you would think, isn’t it?

 

But it wasn’t a man. It was a woman that took off the hood and the straps. A woman that told me that she was my new owner. A woman that said I had to do as she said if I was going to do the best for Connie.

 

What about her? Well, surely a woman slave owner would be glamorous? Desirable, like Connie? I was wrong. She wasn’t. “Mistress,” she makes me call her but “Daphne” is her name. I don’t understand her. She seemed successful. She was obviously wealthy. Her house was very nice. But she was not happy.

 

She seems very – well closed off, I cannot tell what she is thinking, what she is feeling. If she feels at all. She can be kind. She took time to explain just what she wanted done and just how she wanted it done. I knew from my training that I had to do it. It’s what Connie would have wanted. Mistress reminds me about that.

 

Of course she punishes me. She beats me if I do things wrong. She keeps me in chains and locked up but I know that is what a Mistress must do with her slave. I know that is how a slave must live. That is what they taught me; that I must do my best for Connie.

 

For working during the day she keeps me naked apart from hospital scrubs and rubber flip flops. It isn’t very glamorous but it is practical for the cooking and cleaning. Oh, and the chains and the collar and the chastity belt of course. In the evenings she liked to dress me up; corset, high heels. She’d obviously got a thing about my figure. When she touches me she’s as likely to play with my waist as my breasts or my backside. She doesn’t work me too hard. It’s quite a big place but it doesn’t take to long to clean. It’s just the two of us and she’s not unreasonable about things the way that some owners I’ve been told about are. I mean she’s never done the thing with the white glove to see if things have been dusted properly. The worst part is clearing up where she’s been eating.

 

She came in late this evening – I have to wait up until she tells me I can go to bed – what ever time that is.

 

She’d been to some classy event - came in wearing a strapless, long, silk, evening gown and long evening gloves, great dangly earrings and what might have been a diamond choker. The dress was probably a bit tighter than it should have been. You could see the rolls of flesh under her arms spilling out over the top of the tight silk. She flopped down on the couch looking as though she’d had too much wine and not enough good company. A strand of hair had come lose from where she’d had it put up; it was dangling down across her face. She scowled at me, waving me to get some food.

 

I knew what she wanted. It was what she always wanted. My legs were aching from the stilt high heels she made me wear. She looked up from the couch, grinning. Definitely too much wine, I thought. She asked for a beer, cheese burger and fries with extra onion rings.

 

I fetched her the beer first. She crouched forward almost engulfing it, slurping the froth from the top, leaving a foamy line along her upper lip. She fumbled putting the glass down and splashed some on the table. She grabbed a handful of paper towels from her handbag and dabbed ineffectually at the puddle of beer.

 

“Why does she do it?” I thought. “She doesn’t need this.” I took the burger across to Mistress’s table.

 

She’d almost fallen asleep in her beer. “Hey,” she said, waking up with a start. “Don’t creep up on people.”

 

“Sorry, Mistress,” I said quietly as I put the food down. It was the best way. She was sitting elbows on the table. She picked up the burger in both hands, still wearing her silk gloves, and pushed it into her mouth. Grease and melted cheese dripped down her chin and onto her dress. A translucent stain spread from the neck line of her dress, down across her bosom.

 

“I dunno why I go to those things,” she slurred. “They’re always shit and they’re full of shits. And he’s a shit anyway. Why wasn’t he there? They don’t give a shit about me and I don’t give a shit about them and I ….” She seemed to lose track of what she was saying. “Where’s? Where’s my beer?”

 

“You’re holding it Mistress,” I said. It’s nights like that I wished she’d forget to lock the doors so I could go back to Connie but somehow she never did.

 

I don’t have to do too much for her in the bedroom which is good for me.  Well, she’s fat, and sometimes she just smells. It’s not as though she doesn’t bathe but sometimes she just smells. Especially up close. Especially down there. A good thing though, she doesn’t want me to do that for her very often. And another thing, she doesn’t punish me often either.

 

Except last night.

 

It started well. She seemed really pleased when she got back. “That’s the Canadian investment sorted,” she said. “That will clear about three million for two day’s work. Not bad. Start supper then come back and run a bath.”

 

It was pretty much the same all the time. I’d get the table laid, have the food ready to serve and then put on my corset and heels and go up to Mistress Daphne’s bedroom. She waits while I undress her and help her into her bathrobe. She always says to leave her clothes on the floor until she gets into her bath. It’s always a problem – makes more work for me to clean and press them. I follow her through into the bathroom carrying whatever she wants for the bath.

 

Last night I was carrying her bath towels and a tray with a glass of white wine.

 

I helped Daphne undress. She really isn’t anyone’s idea of the body beautiful. I mean sure she was tired after the trip. She looked pale. Sometimes her skin looks almost waxy. I took her robe, the flesh across her belly sags a bit, there are these two rolls of fat and there’s plenty more on her hips too. Her hair looks lank. There’s a shampoo for greasy hair and conditioner on the side of the bath but I can’t remember when I last saw her use it. She’s smoking again. I can smell it on her hair.

 

I’m standing there in my corset and heels. Holding the tray and towels. Then I see she’s looking right past me. She’s looking in the mirror. There’s a big mirror panel on the back of the bathroom door and she’s looking at it. There’s me in corset and heels, I’ve still got the tan from the summer in Porto before I came to London; my hair is neat - I like it to look good. It’s not a look I’d choose but I try to look nice. That’s what Connie taught me and I have to do my best for Connie. I think Connie would like how I look. And then there’s her. I look at her and I think, “You’re what I lost my freedom for? Why couldn’t I stay with Connie?”

 

I guess she saw the look on my face. Any other time it would have earned me a beating but now it was like someone stuck a pin in her and let all the air out. She just slid down to the floor of the bathroom, her back against the bath. She was crying and waving her hands at me. “Look,” she said, “look at you and look at me.”

 

“What do you mean, Mistress?”

 

“Look, look at me, I’m just so, so, disappointing. All that work, all that money, all that effort. For what?”

 

“You’re tired Mistress,” I said.

 

“Yes,” she said. “Tired of all of it. Tired of being like this.” And then she beat me. She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the edge of the bath. She used the back of the bath brush and she just kept bringing it down on my backside, over and over again. Until she slid down beside me sobbing. “Get OUT!” she shouted. “GET OUT!!” I was glad to leave her.

 

Part 4 : Daphne’s Epiphany

 

I left her for a while. I found her sitting in the lounge and took her a tray with her meal and some more wine.

 

“Thank you, slave,” she said. I think she was feeling a bit remorseful about how she’d treated me but of course she didn’t apologise. “Stay here,” she waved for me to kneel beside her. She didn’t seem interested in food for once but she gulped down the wine. She turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. Too much choice. 50 channels of nothing. Well, even I can’t find anything to watch on it when she’s out and the alternative is working my butt off.

 

The channel changing stopped. It was just another lot of adverts. How many personal loans does anyone need? The screen changed. “International Athletics – Live From Melbourne - The 2006 Commonwealth Games,” the caption said. Daphne reached for the control but it fell from the arm of the couch. I went to get it for her. When I turned back she was staring at the screen, captivated. There was a girl standing, hands on hips, behind the starting blocks of the track. Now, I’m not into girls. I do what I’m told in that direction of course but it’s not my thing. I could see though that you could think this girl was hot. She was beautiful, strong, fit and sexy all at once. She drew her hair back, fastening it in a pony tail behind her in a final ritual before taking her place on the blocks.  The camera drew back, five others were crouched in the blocks. A horn blew. Six bums pushed up tense as the girls waited for the gun. The crack of the pistol launched them down the track. 100 metres of intense effort. The look of self assurance and power. The grace in the way she stretched as she breasted the line barely millimetres in front of the other competitors. And then the smile of triumph, the combination of extreme pleasure and exhaustion, her body’s entire resources exhausted in just a few seconds.

 

“Should I change the channel, Mistress,” I said. “There will be financial news on Bloomberg.”

 

“No,” said Daphne, studying the screen with an intensity I had never seen before, “leave it.”

 

She watched another race and another. The programme switched to the high jump and then the javelin. Daphne sat fascinated. The commentator said, “And now the leaders in the marathon are approaching the stadium. Kerryn McCann of Australia and Helen Cherono Koskei of Kenya ” The camera cut to a view of the road outside. There were just two runners, one white and the other black, still virtually neck and neck after almost 26 miles. Other runners could be seen some distance behind them, pressing on, trying to close with the leaders in the last quarter mile as they came closer to the gates of the Melbourne Cricket Ground.

 

The leading girl glanced back over her shoulder and responded, kicking out and pulling away with a smile on her face that said, “Maybe I’ve done 26 miles but so have you and I’ve still got something left.”  As they entered the stadium there was an enormous roar from the crowd and the white runner, a short rangy girl in a yellow vest and sunglasses, began to edge ahead. The caption on the TV screen read “Kerryn McCann, Australia” The big display screen at the far end of the stadium was ticking away the seconds as she approached the line. 2:30.52, 2:30.53, 2:30.54. She crossed the line and slowed, waving to the crowd. Well outside a world record time but pretty good nonetheless. McCann had finished only two seconds in front of Helen Cherono Koskei but two seconds was enough even after two and a half hours. The others from the leading group followed her across the line minutes later, their pace broken by the drive of the first two. “Impressive performance,” said the commentator, “from the thirty eight year old mother of two and a great repeat of her 2002 performance in Manchester.”

 

Daphne sat watching intently, her mouth half open, apparently stunned by what she had just seen. She became aware that I was watching her. She looked at me and scowled. “Get out,” she said. “I shan’t need you tonight.” I went to bed, feeling as lonely as Daphne seemed to. I took off my corset and heels but of course my collar and chastity belt stayed on. I fell asleep and dreamed of Connie.

 

Two days later the equipment arrived. The running machine, the exercise cycle, the weights.

 

“This,” Daphne announced to me, “is going to do it. I’m going to be fitter. I’m going to loose weight. Just watch.”

 

It all looked like top-of-the range equipment to me. I guess she started out with the best of intentions. It didn’t seem to work out too well though. Two days after it was all installed she had a TV put up in the room. She didn’t seem to get on with the running machine, she spent a lot of time sitting on the cycle watching TV but it looked to me like she was just going through the motions. Yesterday I saw her there, pedalling slowly, with a cigarette in one hand and a doughnut in the other. I don’t know much about fitness programmes but I’d be surprised if any of them involve that.

 

She was in a bad mood when she weighed herself that evening. “What a waste of money,” she snarled. “Two and half grand and I haven’t lost a pound!”

 

She took it out on me of course. With a riding crop this time. I’m getting used to that. The crop, the belt, the brush. The wheals, the cuts the bruises. It’s hard to bear but I know I must do my best for Connie. It didn’t help when I said that maybe she needed to talk to someone who knew about the exercise business.

 

The Clerk’s Tale

Part 1 : Lunch on the Town

 

It’s not often we feel the need to turn down a commission. I take a pride in the research we do and I get involved in almost every operation one way or another. I can’t remember the last one we turned down. I’m Rick, by the way. I look after the Research Division for Clegg Enterprises. We trade women, but I guess you knew that already.

 

I was with Larry, our marketing man, in a restaurant at the top of a hotel overlooking Hyde Park. He’d asked me to go along with him for a meeting with a client. “It’s a woman, Daphne Challis,” he said. I must have looked interested. Actually, I just recognised the name. Larry had us do a report on her a while back. “Don’t get our hopes up,” he said. “If there was her and a horse in the bar, you’d be looking at the horse!

 

“That rough?” I said.

 

Larry nodded.

 

It was a pleasant day in mid march. Our table overlooked the hotel roof garden and the park beyond, where the plane trees were just starting to push out leaves in anticipation of summer.

 

I saw what Larry meant about Daphne when she joined us. She sort of waddled in, wearing a skirt that stretched across her belly, a sweater that looked two sizes too small and pair of shoes that looked as if they cost more than some cars.

 

The restaurant was a better venue than most of the places I lunch in.  Green Stuff was a new place, built to cash in on enthusiasms for better food and healthier eating. Both the prices and portions were calculated to slim you down!

 

“Larry,” Daphne said, when he broke the news that we didn’t want the job, “what’s so difficult about it?”

 

Larry shrugged.

 

Daphne persisted. “I need a personal trainer. Someone who can help me with getting fit. You must have someone like that on the database.”

 

I pushed the leaves around my plate. What had been billed as “Country Life” on the menu had turned out to be a mixed green salad. I was missing some carbohydrates, the one thing I’d expected from lunch with Daphne, after what Larry had said, was that it would involve chips. Daphne reached over and poured some more carrot juice into my glass. Larry looked impressed. I guessed it was the first time he had ever seen her help someone else to some food.

 

“I can check but I’m just not sure it’s a smart idea,” Larry said. “Look – its going to be a challenge to find someone that will be right but of course we can do that with a bit of effort. Rick here can find something, I ‘m sure.” I nodded. “The problem will be prep.”

 

“Hungfg?” she said through a mouthful of salad. I took it to be a request for explanation. You pick up useful life-skills working a lot with gagged women.

 

“First it’s going to be a really difficult pick up. She’ll be fit – that’s a sort of requirement – works a lot with a lot of people, so not often on her own. Then there’s getting her controlled – athletes are really good with pain and stress so we’ll need to come up with a whole new approach. And, well, it’s like any creative type skill. If you discipline them enough to be a slave you lose the abilities you were after. If you don’t discipline them well enough they’re over the wall at the first opportunity. Plus, with a trainer, they will have to take you out to Gyms, Tracks, Parks. It’s not like you could keep them in a cage. They will be over the wall already! Trust me, I’ve just been through something like this with a writer and even with all Freddie’s resources first she was difficult to hang on to and second she was difficult to get working properly. Then your project is going to take what – twelve months, tops? At the end of that you’ll want to sell on and I’m telling you there has been zero requirement for anything like this in the past so resale value is going to be nothing like what you’ll spend in Prep costs, even. It’s a money pit project and much though I’d like to take your cash, I need to warn you.”

 

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. It left a green stain on the cloth but I guess that’s a hazard if you serve this sort of food. “Larry, I’m going to have one. You know what I’m like when I make up my mind.” She waved to the waiter and he came across. She pointed to her plate and said, “Again.” He wandered away. I didn’t think she quite got the hang of healthy eating.

 

“Let me make a radical suggestion.” said Larry. Daphne looked at Larry suspiciously. “Hire one.”

 

“What, hire a slave? How does that help?”

 

“No, not a slave. Hire a personal trainer. That’s what normal people do. You give them money and they work for you. Sorted – and it’s cheaper, believe me.”

 

“Hire one?”

 

“Yes, look in Yellow Pages. Put ‘personal fitness trainers’ into Google. You don’t need our database; you just need a cheque book. It’s how they make their living. You must be hiring people all the time in business.

 

“Hire one? But this is a bit  ……personal.”

 

“Hire one: Getting fit is going to bit a bit public anyway, Daphne.”

 

Her second plate of food arrived. She picked at it with a fork without saying anything. She seemed to be thinking about what Larry had suggested.

 

“You hire one. You’re the experts at selecting people. Find me a trainer.”

 

“Daphne, I’d like to help but, well, Clegg’s operation isn’t an employment agency.”

 

“Come on Larry, do me a favour. I’ve put business your way. I’ll pay a commission – 25% on top of her rates whatever they are. Rick,” she looked at me, “from what I hear you could do this without to much effort. Clegg won’t mind – put this down to account management – keeping the customer satisfied.

 

“Yeah,” I thought to myself “one step ahead of the shoeshine, two steps away from the county line.” What Larry said was, “OK, Daphne, we’ll think about it.”

 

When I sat down with Larry after she’d gone I must have sounded unimpressed. “You want us to research a girl but you’re not going to pick her up?” Larry nodded. “So overheads on collection down, operational risks down but do we make any money?”

 

“You heard her. Maybe some. Sort of. Not much. Rick give me a hand, can you? Look at it like this. The worst that can happen is you’ll have to spend some time looking at really fit women.”

 

“Well,” I said with heavy irony, “in that case, I suppose I could do a bit of work for you.”

 

I got back to him three days later with a portfolio of half a dozen possibles. “Well that wasn’t the worst assignment I’ve had,” I smirked. “I wouldn’t mind laying on a beach while this lot came and kicked sand in my face.”

 

“Thank you Arnold Schwarzenegger,” Larry said taking the portfolio and thumbing through it. “They all look OK to me but what do I know about it?”

 

“Ah, there’s a science to this you know. We’ve been very selective. One of the girls in research had done a bit of training a while back. She used to do a bit of amateur running - middle distance stuff. She’s worked with people like this. These are all people that will work with beginners – some of the top trainers won’t. We’ve gone for folk that use fairly conventional training methods and we’ve gone for those that are easy on the eye too. Your client seems to like that.”

 

“You have a deep understanding of customer needs, Rick, as always.” Larry had said.    

 

Part 2 : A Bicycle Ride

 

It took us a while but finally, we thought, we’d identified one.

 

My research team are pretty good when it comes to finding the right girl. When I saw the file I was sorry we weren’t actually going to pick her up. But then, as Larry had said, this one was legit.

 

She looked fit, which wasn’t surprising. Some of these athletes can look a bit muscle bound can’t they? Or out of proportion. Anyway, this one looked normal. In fact if I’d been looking for fit blonde for our normal channels, she’d have been on the list.

 

The research report had a lot of detail on her personal background – my team do a good job on that stuff. Katya Izotova was our recommendation.

 

Katya was born and brought up in Moscow. She was very much a product of what remained of the Russian State Athletics Training Programme - it still worked in some of the schools in spite of the disappearance of state funding. She’d been in England about four years. She had come here, following her lover, Nicky after they’d met in Moscow.

 

He was the son of a show biz celebrity of the 1970’s, a promising athlete but not quite good enough for the national teams. Armed with a degree is Sports Science he’d gone to study training methods at the Moscow State Institute of Physical Education. There he met Katya, who was also a student at the Institute.

 

The two of them came back to the UK as an item. Nicky had contacts in the entertainment and film world through his father. He set up in business getting actors fit for action movies. That led to personal training commissions. Actor clients attracted other celebrity clients. The business grew. Katya had turned out to be a real asset for his business, He did the promotion work and ran the business; she did most of the training. He provided the professional credibility and the contacts, she provided the glamour.

 

They were doing very nicely thank you; premium rates for their training business, more consultancy and adviser roles lined up. There had even been suggestions from some quarters of a cushy consultancy roll with the Olympic Games 2012 planning team.

 

Then the roof had fallen in.

 

The first Katya had known about it was when a journalist turned up at their house asking if she’d like to comment on rumours that the US FDA were seeking to extradite Nicky on charges of supplying anabolic steroids to US athletes. Word was that Nicky had been operating a sideline to help his actor clients to beef up, he’d extended that into on-line merchandising over the Internet and some US athletes had thought that buying off-shore would avoid the US authorities. Trouble was Nicky had overlooked the UK–US Extradition Treaty that meant he could be shipped off for US  trial on the basis of US Government allegations. 

 

With the press coverage the clients started to vanish. Nicky felt the urge to join friends in Argentina and Katya was left with her share in the business, financial overheads, no clients, few friends and lots of tabloid attention. The paparazzi were three deep every time Katya even tried to go to the shops.

 

The press attention wore off when Katya developed the best strategy for dealing with them; don’t say anything at all. In time they got bored but she was pretty hard pressed. She still had the share in the gym that they used - they’d put it in her name for tax purposes but that just meant financial commitments with no income. She had no clients. They had all run a mile and quicker than any of them had ever achieved in training.

 

That’s when I met up with her.

 

She was on a run. I was on a bicycle. We’d thought it would be less likely to spook her than puling up alongside her in a car. I was finding it difficult keeping up with her. “Ms Izotova,” I called as I went to overtake her. It wasn’t very easy. We were on an uphill slope. At least that’s my excuse.

 

She didn’t break her stride. “I’m not talking to the press,” she said, continuing to stare straight ahead as she pushed her feet forward one after another in a relentless rhythm that had me struggling not to fall behind.

 

“I’m not the press,” I puffed. “But I do have a business proposition for you. I’m looking for a trainer.” I missed a gear change on the bike, practically fell off the pedals and slipped behind her.

 

She slowed her pace and then stopped beside the road. She stood, one hand on her hip, the other pushing a strand of blonde hair back from her face as she waited for me to catch up again. As I stopped beside her she said,” You look like you need one!”

 

I caught my breath. “It’s not for me,” she looked like she didn’t believe me. “It’s a friend of mine.”

 

Katya looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head. “I’m committed at the moment. Many clients. Too much work.”

 

“That’s not what I’d heard,” I said, smiling. “You wouldn’t be doing road work on your own if you had clients to run with. I’ve heard that, since the boyfriend took his trip to South America, the business isn’t doing too well. That most of the clients came because of him and left when he did and those that didn’t weren’t too keen on training while trying to run with you through a crowd of paparazzi.”

 

“The photographers have gone now.”

 

“But the clients haven’t come back. Have they? Why don’t you see my friend? Talk. Maybe you’ll hit it off. Besides you need something to do, you can’t just go on pounding the streets until the money runs out or the Home Office remember that you came in on the back of boyfriend persuading UK Athletics to sponsor your immigration visa.”

 

Katya looked uncomfortable. I could tell I’d scored a point. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “I could meet. No promises though.”

 

I gave her a card from Green Stuff. “Can you do lunch?” I said. “Tomorrow?”

 

Katya nodded. I hadn’t thought that she would be busy.

 

Part 3 : Smart Objective

 

Daphne turned up at Green Stuff looking pretty much as she had when we had first met there. Katya was already there when she arrived. She did a good job of concealing a “you cannot be serious” as she saw Daphne at the entrance. I introduced them. I’d told Daphne that she needed to be nice, that Katya needed persuading. It wasn’t her default style but she managed it.

 

“So,” Katya looked at her prospective trainee, “you want to be fit? To feel better?”

 

Daphne, unused to being addressed so bluntly, nodded.

 

“Is not enough. Anyone can want things. Getting them is harder. You need a goal. Do you have a goal? Something concrete, something measurable?”

 

“I’ve thought about that.” Daphne appeared to be warming to the Russian girl. “I like goals and targets. I use them in my business. SMART – specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, timed - without them you get nowhere. I have a goal. To run a marathon. The London Marathon. Next year.”

 

It was my turn to conceal a look of disbelief but something about Daphne’s tone obviously encouraged Katya. “Hmm,” she grunted. “It’s a good goal. SMART as you say. Specific certainly. Acheivable? I don’t know. I could be unkind Ms Challis but - looking at you now - let’s just say it’s ambitious.”

 

“You are candid, Miss Izotova. We can agree on that.” The two women smiled. “But let me be candid too. From what I hear from my friend here, you need a demonstration of your own abilities if you are to restart your business career. This could be what you need. Besides, I will be able to cover your fees to allow you to focus exclusively on my challenge. And I am very committed when I decide on something I want.”

 

Daphne’s determined tone was something that was new to me. For the first time I got some sort of sight of how she had made a success of her business ventures. Maybe she could do this after all.

 

Katya frowned again. “So,” she said. “I train you. This is not easy for you. There will be changes. Food. You need to change what you eat and how much you eat to change how you feel. Exercise. Rest. Work, Cigarettes! All these need changes.” Katya folded her hands on the table looking straight at Daphne. “But there is more. Something which people do not consider often enough, perhaps. The psychological aspect.” Katya tapped at the side of her forehead with her finger. “The mind. Marathon running is the most demanding of athletic events, even for professionals. There can be unexpected psychological burdens and changes, particularly if they have far to go.”

 

“I expected your comments about the physical preparations. The others? Well, I can see they make sense.  I am sure I am mentally resilient enough to deal with the stresses of training,” said Daphne, returning the Russian’s look with determination. “I am quite prepared to do whatever we need to do in order to make this happen. You will need to see my house. I have a room we can use as a gym but you will want changes I am sure.”

 

“Certainly,” Katya was content to let Daphne continue.

 

“You will need to make arrangements regarding your current clients. My friend here,” Daphne gestured towards me, “can help if there any difficulties.” I wasn’t sure what that meant but since I was pretty sure that Katya’s diary was virtually empty, I didn’t think it would be a problem. I nodded. Katya shrugged.

 

“So,” Katya said. “We start soon. Tomorrow is Thursday. Monday I come to your house and see what we must do to start.”

 

Daphne got to her feet. “That’s fine, Miss Izotova,” she said.

 

“Please,” said Katya, we will be working together. I prefer Katya.”

 

“Of course, Katya. And please call me Daphne.”

 

“OK, Daphne,” Katya said. “On Monday then.”

 

“On Monday.”

 

The two of them got up and shook hands and headed out of the restaurant. I realised that they had left me with the bill. It took me ages to get the money back from Larry.

 

The Owner’s Tale

Part 1 : Daphne gets ready

 

This is me, Daphne. I’m going to run in the next London Marathon. Run in it and finish it. I tell everyone that. I’m beginning to believe it.

 

I was pretty pleased with what Larry had set up. Steve Glennis had been right, Clegg’s operation seemed to know how to handle things. The Izotova woman looked as if she could do the job. She was due to come to the house on Monday. I cleared my business diary for the day and told Branca she was to stay out of the way while Katya was around. That wasn’t so hard, she’d earned some time in ropes. She’s a bit of a bondage slut anyway. Her original trainer – Connie, I guess – must have used it quite a bit in her training.

 

I’d got Branca settled down in the bottom of my closet just before Katya arrived; sleeve arm binder, straps for her thighs and ankles, the lether hood and a rubber plug gag. She whimpered a bit when I locked her in but I really didn’t want to be disturbed. Katya and I sat in the lounge. I got her some coffee. She ignored the biscuits and looked pretty disapproving when I had a couple but she didn’t say anything at first.

 

I took her around the house and explained about Branca’s room. A friend of mine, I said. I thought Katya raised an eyebrow but then I guessed she wouldn’t be very interested in my personal life. Branca knew enough to keep quiet in the closet while we were in the bedroom. I know the conditioning means that they won’t ever try to do anything to escape but it’s really hard to remember that sometimes. I showed Katya the room, down in the basement that I though we could use for the gym. It’s actually next to a cell I can use for Branca, but I had carefully locked the door to that room! She looked at the kit I’d bought. She didn’t look very impressed.

 

We went back to the lounge.

 

“This is going to be difficult,” Katya said with a thoughtful look. “We have a lot to do. Your height is – what? – one metre 70?”

 

“What’s that in feet and inches, five feet six?” I said. I never could get this metric stuff you Europeans use. I can do weight though 20 kilos airline baggage – 44 pounds.

 

“Weight?”

 

“178 pounds say, 80 kilos.”

 

Katya looked sceptical. “Are you sure?” she said. “You have scales in the bathroom we could check.”

 

I felt a bit sheepish. “OK well maybe it’s a bit more. Last week it was maybe 182 pounds.”

 

“Hmm,” Katya grunted. She pulled a clip board from her grip and turned over a few sheets, looking at a series of tables. “BMI 28.5 Let me check that.” She pulled a pair of callipers from her bag and asked me to let her measure a fold of flesh on my belly. She looked at the reading and checked her tables again. “Uhhuh – border line obese.”

 

“Hey,” I said, trying to defend myself, “I’ve got big bones.”

 

Katya looked at me, scornfully. “You’ve got a big mouth and you spend too much time with it full of food. That’s not the real problem though. Sure you have too much weight but it’s not just food.” She was looking at my bare arms. “There’s no muscle tone. You don’t take care of your body. Cigarettes?”

 

“Err, maybe ten a day,” I said.

 

Katya obviously didn’t believe me. “Your aerobic capacity is poor, I am sure. There is a lot to do diet, aerobic work, weights, and grooming.”

 

“Katya, I’m paying you to make me fit, not to make me beautiful.”

 

Katya looked back at me as if such a task would be impossible. I must have looked crushed because then Katya looked more sympathetic. “It’s not about beauty. It’s about you liking yourself. You can’t be fit if you don’t like what you are.”

 

“I like me fine,” I said, folding my arms.

 

Katya looked squarely back at me. “So why do you do to yourself what you do?” she said. “If you keep on doing what you do, you keep on getting what you get. We do something new. We do new things, you will like yourself better. Diet, aerobics, weights, grooming. Four things. Not difficult. Now let’s look at food. Where’s the kitchen?”   

 

I showed Katya the kitchen, explained that Branca does most of the cooking – she lives rent free, I said in exchange for keeping the place clean and looking after things around the flat. I could see that Katya was making her own decisions about my relationship with Branca.

 

Katya was soon rummaging in the pantry and cupboards in the kitchen, in the fridge and the freezer. She was shaking her head. “Too much wrong food. Much has to go. I need a bag,” she said. “Much has to go.”

 

She started to pile food up on the breakfast bar. “Hey,” I said, “is this really necessary?”

 

Katya looked back at me with determination. “Daphne,” she said, “the kitchen is the hardest gym of all. Here it is too easy to go wrong. Too easy to slip back. Too much junk here.” She picked out a pack of burgers from the freezer and tossed it onto the pile. “You cannot run on junk. Cannot train with rubbish in your body.”

 

I found her a plastic bin liner. She carried on scooping things out of the cupboard and into the bag. I hadn’t thought I had that much food in the house anyway. At the end there didn’t seem left apart from a few vegetables – I’ve never had much to do with them, I guess – and some pasta.

 

Katya was standing hands on hips contemplating the pile of food she intended to discard. “Ha!” she said. “Is better without all these.” I was just pleased she didn’t seem to have found the chocolate. Next up was the wine cupboard. “You don’t need this Daphne,” Katya said, peering at the array of bottles inside. “Water, fruit juice, vegetable juice, green tea, that’s what athletes drink. I’ll take these for Larry – he deserves something for introducing us and if he has them you can’t nag me for them and I won’t be tempted to hand them over.”

 

It was odd watching her pack up the wine bottles into a couple of boxes. If you’d said to me a few days ago I‘d be content to watch as someone took my Burgundies, my Barolo, my Californian chardonnays, I’d have said you were mad. Somehow with Katya it just seemed sensible. In fact, I was beginning to feel that the relationship an athlete has with their trainer must be a bit like Branca’s relationship with me.

 

“Cigarettes?”

 

Reluctantly I handed over a pack of two hundred Camels that I’d been working my way through. Living without those was going to be difficult.

 

“Now, we’re going to start a diet. You say Branca does the cooking? I need to talk to her. Can she be here tomorrow?”

 

I was a bit worried about Katya meeting Branca and I guess it showed. Katya jumped to the wrong conclusion however.

 

“Daphne, I’m not worried how you run your love life if it doesn’t interfere with your training but we have to get your diet under control. Look, here is a diet sheet,” she passed me a printed sheet with a list of meals and foods. “Get Branca to look at this. You have to get Branca to help. This is going to be difficult Daphne. Maybe more difficult than anything you have done. You need all the help you can get. If Branca can, she should help.”

 

I nodded. I said that Branca was quite good at doing as she was told. If I told her to use the diet sheet, she would. Katya gave me a look that said she was drawing more conclusions about our relationship.

 

“Now we start with something very easy. We’ll go for a walk.”

 

“A walk?” I said.

 

“Yes. A walk. It’s not so difficult and you have to start easily. You have to get fit to be able to get fit. You aren’t in any shape to do anything strenuous so we start with a simple walk.”

 

“OK,” I said getting to my feet and turning towards the door. I looked back to see Katya had her head in her hands.

 

“Daphne, not like that. Go put on something loose, something comfortable. And some flat heeled shoes – you can’t walk far in those.”

 

I went and looked in the closet and checked on Branca at the same time. She looked up at me from the floor of the closet where she sat helplessly bound. Her eyes were blinded by her hood but she didn’t appear to be in distress. I checked her gag she was breathing easily enough. I left her. I couldn’t find much that qualified as comfortable but I found an old pair of jeans, a sweater and a pair of flat shoes. When I went back to the lounge I could see that Katya didn’t approve.

 

“You’ll need something better than that,” she said, “but we can fix that soon. That will be OK for now, I guess. Come on.”

 

She led the way out of the building and set a slow but steady pace as we walked out along the street and down to the riverside. After five minutes I was breathing heavily, after ten, I was running with sweat, after fifteen I was coughing and glad when we turned the corner back to the front of the building again. I let us in and collapsed, sweating, on the couch. I was wondering if the marathon was a realistic objective at all.

 

Katya was showing no more signs of effort than if she had just walked across the room and although we hadn’t walked far or quickly, we had walked steadily and without stopping. I was exhausted. “Don’t worry,” Katya said. “It’s going to feel hard at first but it gets easier.” I went to wipe the sweat from my forehead, pushing matted hair back from my face. Katya was shaking her head. She started to rummage in her bag. “I thought we’d need these,” she said. She pulled out a pair of scissors, a comb and a set of hairdresser’s clippers. “Sit there, I’m going to clip your hair back to a manageable length. If you try to work out with your hair like that it will be plastered to your scalp and face with sweat and that’s no good for your skin. When you’re a bit fitter we might let it grow back again.”

 

I looked in disbelief as she plugged in the clippers. “But…” I began.

 

“No buts. If things are wrong we change them. That’s how we make a difference,” said Katya and without waiting to hear anymore she spread some papers on the floor and started. The scissors took off great chunks of hair and then the clippers whirred as she pushed them through what was left. The sensation of cool air on my scalp was odd, to say the least and when Katya had finished I ran my hands through the short hairs feeling them spiky beneath my fingers. “Tomorrow we find some better clothes for you to exercise in,” she said. “Tonight, make sure Branca gives you something from the diet sheet. There was pasta – have that with tomato sauce. Make sure she measures quantities. Best to start right away. There is much to do. Back tomorrow, ten o’clock. We’ll work more then.” 

 

I watched as she packed up her bag. “Bye, Daphne,” she said. “Don’t worry, you can do it.”

 

I felt really odd once she’d gone. I spent ages staring in the mirror looking at the short bristle of hair that Katya had left me with. When I went to get Branca from where she was in the cupboard, the look on her face was one of shocked disbelief.

 

I told her what would be happening. Told her that she needed to follow the diet sheet. Told her that she needed to meet with Katya. I told her that it was all so she could do her best for Connie. That would make sure she behaved as she should.

 

Part 2 : Diet Plan

 

Katya came back this morning. Branca behaved herself, which was just as well. I had her wear some jeans and a roll neck top to cover up her collar and the chastity belt. I guess Katya thought she was my live-in lover, which was OK. I didn’t want to have to explain Branca’s collar and belt, though. I just wanted to keep things simple.

 

Katya went through the diet sheet with Branca and gave her a shopping list. The delivery company must have had a surprise with the change from beef and pork to chicken, whole grain foods and pulses. At least Branca is an OK cook, so I knew she’d make it as interesting as she could.

 

Mind you it was all a bit of a shock when Katya started to talk me through it.

 

“Right Daphne, here’s how this works. This is no crash diet, they don’t work or if they do they leave you weak and that’s no good to me because you need to be strong to exercise. So, we loose weight slowly; maybe one to two pounds a week. That way is practical. If you try to starve yourself thin, the body guesses that it’s being starved and cuts down the resting metabolic rate. So you burn food slower and lose less weight.” I nodded. I could see that made sense. “You have too much fat in your diet, we have to reduce that, so we use lean protein, carbohydrates, high fibre slow digesting foods like porridge, whole grain cereals, whole meal bread and pasta, brown rice, beans and lentils, fresh fruit, veg. You eat little and often. That way you don’t feel hungry and you have the energy to work out. We keep your metabolic rate high and you burn much more of what you have eaten with less left over to go into the fat stores.”

 

“Hey,” I said, “do I get time to do anything else but worry about food?”

 

Katya gave me a look. A raised eyebrow suggested to me that I’d better start taking this seriously. Katya went on. “So, little and often, that way there’s no craving between meals. No temptations to eat biscuits, crisps, chocolate éclairs,” Katya gave me another look that said she knew just what I’d be off stuffing given half a chance. “In other words no going for the sugar/fat combo. That’s what really destroys diets. Then no big meals after 6 or 7pm unless I OK it personally. The occasional evening do isn't the problem but I don’t want you out having big meals every night. Change your business dinners - get the work done during the day.” I felt like I was being pummelled. “And finally you need much more water. What colour is your pee?”

 

“What?” I was shocked. It wasn’t a question I was used to being asked. Or even something I was used to thinking about.

 

“Your pee. When you go to the toilet. What colour is it?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t really look. Sort of yellowy brown, I guess. Why?”

 

“You can’t be fit unless your kidneys are flushing the body out properly and they can’t do that without enough water. Your pee should be almost colourless. Maybe a very pale straw colour. I’ll want to check. Take a glass next time you go and bring me a sample. You’ll need to take a couple of glasses of water as soon as you wake up and then a couple before a meal. You need about five litres a day and,” she said guessing what I was about to claim, “wine doesn’t count!”

 

I guess I looked disappointed and embarrassed and I was. Katya ignored my concern and pressed on. “Then we change the lifestyle things. It’s not your food that make you fat, it’s your life that makes you fat. To change your weight you have to change your life. We need organised meal times, cut out eating to cure boredom – well, you’ll have plenty to do so there’s not much risk of that – no more eating at the TV and we’ll take time eating too. You eat too fast.”

 

“And you talk too fast,” I cut in. I felt overwhelmed by the detail and all the do’s and don’ts.

 

Katya stopped for a moment and then grinned. “Sorry,” she said. “It‘s just that I know this works and I know you can do it. You’ve already made the commitment to yourself we just have to set the goals, establish priorities so you can do it and get on with it. It’s not as hard as it sounds and it’s actually quite addictive once you get started.”

 

I took a glass to the toilet and brought a sample back for Katya. It was probably the most humiliating thing I have ever done and I stood watching as she peered at the amber liquid disapprovingly. She sighed and gave it back to me. “Lots of water, lots of water,” was all she said.

 

We left Branca to finish off in the house and Katya took me to buy some training clothes. It was funny, I’m used to turning up at restaurants or shops and having the staff recognise me. This way it was the other way around. Katya was obviously known to the people in the first shop we went to, the guy that came to serve us said he was sorry about what happened to her boyfriend and how he was glad that her clients were standing by her – he nodded at me.

 

Katya said thanks and asked him to get a selection of track suits, exercise tops and shorts. I tried some on, surprised at how comfortable it felt and how it made me feel – well – serious about it all. We picked out some underwear that Katya said would work better when we were exercising and a pair of trainers that cost more than the last pair of evening shoes I bought. Katya had me try them on and then walk up and down so she could see they would be all right when I was working out. She then had me go outside the shop to try and run in the shoes. I had to go through this with several different kinds before she was satisfied. I felt a bit odd parading for her. I guess Branca must have felt the same when I first insisted on seeing her in corset and heels.

 

I kept the training gear on. Katya bundled up my other clothes and asked the shop to send them on with the rest of the things. Then Katya took me over to the gym, showed me the equipment and introduced me to some of the folk there. It was odd, everyone was really friendly. Nobody said they thought that what I was trying to do was ridiculous. Nobody even seemed that bothered that I looked pretty unfit and overweight. They just seemed happy to let Katya and me get on with things as we wanted to.

 

 

Part 3 : Breaking Training

 

I was sitting in the bedroom, getting my breath back after another brisk walk – longer this time and quicker. I pulled out a chocolate bar from the box I had hidden under the bed and I’d just managed to gulp down a bite when I heard Katya coming in.

 

“Daphne, there’s some green tea in the kitchen and… Hey? What’s going on?” she said.

 

“Going on?”

 

“Daphne, don’t try to fool with me. You weren’t performing well today and you’ve got chocolate around your mouth. I don’t think that’s on today’s diet sheet is it?”

 

I looked embarrassed and tried to bluster about needing an energy boost or something.

 

“Not good enough, Daphne,” Katya chided and before I could stop her she bent down and pulled the box from beneath the bed. The only problem was that it didn’t just have chocolate in it. “Disappointing,” said Katya as she pulled the bag of chocolate bars from the box. As she did so a couple of packs of cigarettes fell out too. The fact they were Camel Nummber 9’s didn’t cut any ice with Katya. She was about to tear me off a strip when the pair of handcuffs fell out as well. Giving me a quizzical look she rummaged in the box some more, finding a vibrator, a leather hood, some wrist and ankle straps and a ball gag. “I see,” Katya started, “this explains some things. You are tired to death. I can tell; you have bags under your eyes. You aren’t making the progress you should.”

 

“What do you expect with all this exercise and no food?”

 

“That’s not the problem. You don’t have balance in your life yet. You need a better balance. You have to do your work. You have to do your training. You have to stay off cigarettes and alcohol and you need at least ten hours sleep every night. And sleep is not reading in bed or watching TV or playing with Branca. I guess she wears these?”

 

I nodded. Things were getting complicated.

 

“Well, if Branca is used to doing as she is told, she can help me to help you. All right?”

 

I wasn’t sure I liked the direction things were going but, embarrassed at being caught with the chocolate and cigarettes and at Katya’s other discoveries, I nodded. Katya called Branca in. She looked worried when she saw the toys from under my bed, concerned that perhaps she was about to be admonished for some mistake in tidying up. Katya reassured her. “Branca, don’t worry. I don’t mind what you and Daphne get up to. My boyfriend and I used to do some kinky stuff too. These things can help us to help Daphne though. What I want you to do is to put this hood on Daphne at ten o’clock each night and put her to bed. To make sure she stays there you strap her wrists and ankles to the bed frame. I am guessing you know how to do that.” I was a bit concerned by the enthusiastic way in which Branca nodded. I tried protesting but Katya and Branca ignored me. “If she needs to get up in the night for the toilet you can take her.  But the hood stays on with the eye pieces closed. And it stays on until I call in the morning to pick her up for training. All right?” Branca nodded. Katya turned towards me. “And,” she added, “if you can’t stay off the chocolates and cigarettes we’ll start using the ball-gag too.”

 

I felt really uncomfortable with this for two reasons. Firstly I’m a top. I’ve always been a top. Even before I owned slaves I was a top. When I played cowboys and Indians as a kid, somehow it was the cowboys that ended up tied to the tree not the little Indian squaw that was me. Secondly I wasn’t sure how Branca’s conditioning would cope with something like that. But I didn’t want to have either of those conversations with Katya, so I said, “All right,” when she asked if I was prepared to go along with her ideas.

 

I managed to call Larry to check on the conditioning after Katya left. I missed out the detail about the discipline hood but once he’d stopped laughing he said he thought it would all be OK provided I reminded Branca that this was all part of her doing her best for Connie.

 

So when, at ten o’clock, Branca arrived in the lounge holding the straps and the hood and I knew I had to get to bed. “It is time, Mistress,” she said. “I expect you want me to get you ready now.”

 

I tried to put as firm a face on it as I could, feeling that I wanted Branca to know she was being ordered to do this by me, but I still had my reservations. “Yes. Yes, you are quite right,” I said. “You know you need to do this if you are to do your best for Connie.”

 

Branca looked a little blank for a moment as she always did when I used those words but then she went on, “I should fit the hood now, Mistress,” Branca said. I looked puzzled. “Miss Katya said there would be less distraction if I put your hood on straight away and then helped you to the bedroom and undressed you. So you get to prepare for sleep from now.”

 

My biggest concern was that Branca went on doing as she was told, so I didn’t like to contradict Katya. “Very well, Branca, you had better do just that,” I said. I let her fit the hood. It was a peculiar sensation because, although I had worn hoods and masks before my hair had always been quite long previously and now I could feel the tightness of the leather across my entire scalp as Branca pulled the straps and laces tight.

 

“This way please, Mistress,” Branca said, taking me by the hand and leading me through to the bedroom. I stood passively while she took my clothes from me, a very curious sensation at once submissive, because of the hood, and dominant, because of the way in which Branca was serving me. Once I was naked, Branca helped me into bed and fastened first my wrists and then my ankles, spread out to the corners of the bed frame. There was plenty of slack in the chains but there was little doubt that I would be unable to leave the bed. I felt the soft cotton of my duvet as Branca pulled it over me. “Good night, Mistress,” she said. “There is a bell by your right hand if you need me. Now you must sleep.”

 

A moment later I heard the click of a light switch and the clunk of my bedroom door closing. I was alone.

 

In the dark, without sensation other than the duvet against my body, the tightness of the hood and the pull of the straps at my wrist and ankles, it took what seemed like forever until I fell asleep. But then that was it. The next thing I was aware of was the sound of Branca and Katya talking. “So she was no trouble,” I heard Katya say.

 

“No, not at all.” It was Branca’s voice this time. “I came back at about quarter past ten and she was asleep already by then.”

 

“That’s good. Well it is time for her to exercise now. You’d best get her up and get her into her track suit and trainers.”

 

I felt my ankle straps being unfastened. “Come along, Mistress,” said Branca’s voice. “It is time to get up.“

 

Once she had freed my wrists, I peeled the sweat soaked hood off. The skin on my face and scalp felt sensitive as though the light of the day was pressing onto it. I watched as Branca busied herself, tidying away the restraints. There was no sense that she had thought anything of the proceedings other than that she was doing as she had been asked. Doing her best for Connie.

 

Katya said we’d start the day with a walk. She had Branca fix me a green tea while I dressed. I sat sipping it while Katya explained what we’d be doing.

 

“So, Daphne, today we start in earnest. I know you have your business to do and bills to pay but our work has to follow a regular regime. If you establish a pattern then it is easier to keep things up. So here is what we do. Morning we start with walk then build up to runs. This will increase your metabolism so you will burn food more lose weight and grow strength in your legs. Then you have breakfast and work. Noon we do weights work and upper body strength. Branca will do lunch for you here – no more restaurant food for the time being. More time to work after lunch. Five o’clock gym for more aerobic work. Then back here for dinner and bed.”

 

“Hey when do I get to have some fun?”

 

“The training is fun. You will enjoy that. When we see how you progress then we may change things. OK?”

 

“Yes, sure,” I responded. I liked Katya’s no-nonsense approach, her breezy, confident manner. It was just the sort of style I liked in the people I worked with. Let’s get on with things, it said, get things done! My only reservation was that maybe she was taking charge a bit too much. I needed to make sure Branca remembered who was her Mistress and I needed to make sure Katya knew who was the employee and who was the boss. But there would be time for that later.

 

Part 4 : Progress

 

That was how it started. I think Katya and I got on really well. It was almost like the first – well – friend that I’d had. Of course she’s a bit bossy and while the business with the night time hood and straps seemed like a bit of a joke at first, it has become a part of the regime. Branca got all too amused by it in the early stages and I’ve had to give her a few thrashings just to remind her of what’s what but now we’ve got things running (if you’ll excuse the expression) nicely.

 

So after the first day my diet was carefully controlled, the booze was completely replaced by water and green tea, and the exercise programme was the only thing I had time to think about in between work and keeping Branca in order.

 

Katya introduced a proper plan of weight training.   It helps to be ‘cross training’, she says. If we just run I only get to work my legs and lungs the weights mean I work my body.  It gives us a change in the routine and I find it quite "intoxicating" once we really get into it. I mean we aren’t talking a good claret here but it’s got its own high. Katya said the work with the weights helps build up strength and stability in the core muscles of the stomach and back and chest. Katya said that helps my ‘running economy’ plus shoulders, neck and arms are all in motion when running and get tired if they are out of condition.

 

The more we did of the weight training the more weight I lost. If anything that seemed to get the fat off quicker than the running. Katya said it was because I was upping my metabolic rate, burning calories faster than I’m taking them in.

 

The other thing that happened was that Branca became a whole lot friendlier. It used to be a real fight to get her to go down on me, a real battle of wills even though she was well schooled in that as part of her prep. Then it was different. She seemed much more affectionate and much keener to play with my body. I didn’t blame her; even to me it looked better. It was nice.

 

Katya wanted me to get more active generally so, in addition to the training, I was supposed to take the stairs instead of the lift, get off the tube one stop early and walk the rest of the way. Walk up a floor or two to speak to a colleague rather than sending an e-mail. That made things a bit strange at work they thought I’d turned into some kind of health freak but I didn’t care, it was better than some of the other kinds of freak they used to think I was.  I even had one of the guys at work complement me on how my exercise routine was obviously having a beneficial effect and would I like a drink sometime?  I turned him down, mind. That was a complication I could do without.

 

Katya got really bossy in the gym where weights are concerned. “First we worry about getting muscles in shape,” she said. “Worry about technique, don’t worry about the weight. Your muscles, tendons, ligaments, joints all need to get accustomed to the new work load. We build overall strength, but keep development in balance, better endurance, better cardio-vascular fitness.” Ha! The first time we did anything we stopped after half an hour. I could hardly lift my arms past horizontal - and we hadn't really done that much! 

 

But after a while you get into it. Soon I knew all the equipment and how it works your muscles. Katya’s exercises alternate between the major muscle groups, it’s all very ordered and structured. I have to try for full range of movement and keep worrying about the technique. If I can't achieve that, the weight is too heavy.

 

So that’s what we did. Gym three times a week. Work-out time 45 minutes plus the warm up and cool down and stretches. She insisted I rest for 45 - 60 seconds between each set. We went around the circuit of exercises twice. Rest for 2 minutes between each circuit. Keep the tempo; lift to a count of two - lower to a count of three. It got to be like a mantra. I can do it in my sleep. I dream it in my sleep.

 

Then she started on the road work. Walking slow became walking briskly. That first sweating and wheezing mile walk became easier, then three miles, then six, then eight, then ten. I didn’t really notice when we started running. ”Hey Daphne,” Katya said, “lets just jog for a minute and walk another five to recover.” and this was repeated and repeated. The walking bits got shorter, the jogging bits got longer. We got back one day and Katya said, “You know that last run, Daphne? That was 5 kilometres – three miles.” And I really hadn’t realised.

 

Three miles became five; five became eight; eight became ten. Passing each milestone gave me a real high and Katya was really supportive. “Another mile,” she’d say. “Well done!”   

 

As I became more used to running, Katya began to modify my running training. We always take one long run each week, but during the week she varied my other running quite a bit. One day we would keep changing pace; then another day we would run off-road in one of the London parks; another day  we would do slow/faster/fast intervals.

On another day we’d do hills. You probably think London is flat. Well in parts it is and in parts it certainly isn’t. Katya seemed to know all the hills personally. They probably sent Christmas cards to each other. Sometimes we would tackle small hills several times. Then we would tackle large steep hills once and then maybe once more.

 

Gradually, my “form” and my stamina improved out of all recognition and with increasing strength, the long runs became longer. I found they were becoming more enjoyable, too.

 

I was amazed. My weight fell steadily; my BMI slowly approached what it should have been, and it was all down to Katya. Well and me, a bit, I suppose.

 

Katya was just as bossy about food; even though I was losing weight steadily, dropping it off at a couple of pounds every week. She had me keep a food diary (well, actually it got to be one of Branca’s tasks). “Eat when you are hungry, not when the clock says so. Eat a little, often rather than a lot with big gaps between,” she said. “Don’t eat out of boredom, find something else to do instead. Don’t bury your emotions in food, deal with problems some other way.” She could go on for ever about it. In the end it was easier to control the eating than it was to turn off Katya’s nagging. “Don’t wait for meal times. Don’t put off eating if you really are hungry but know the difference between hunger and desire.” (food isn’t the only place I have trouble with that one.)

 

But when it comes to desire there was a whole other problem. Mainly, I felt really horny. And I mean all the time. Poor Branca was getting the worst of it. She was being called to perform most evenings and given the fact that Katya has got practically every minute of the day divided up between work and exercise, I was having to sneak Branca off for a quickie whenever I could grab a moment. The poor girl’s tongue was getting worn out. I can’t remember when I’ve wanted sex so much.  But then as Katya had said, “don’t eat out of boredom, find something else to do instead”!

 

And, as if that wasn’t enough of a problem, I began thinking that Katya’s kinkiness was a bit more extensive than she had let on or maybe she’d just always sublimated that in training and coaching. I mean the thing with the hood and the straps was one thing and her general bossiness is another but now she’s started wanting to take photographs of me. And not just snaps. After each of our weight sessions in the gym she has me stand naked and then takes a series of photographs. One from the front, one from the back and one from either side. I asked her why. She said it was so she could see my progress. Each week she put the latest one up on the door of my fridge, alongside pictures of female bodybuilders, telling me that was what I was aiming for. In the gym room at home she pinned them up one after another along the wall. Goodness knows what Branca thinks about it all.

 

It all seemed a bit odd, but I didn’t think too much about it at the time. I was just caught up in the whole training cycle.

 

Then I got a fright. I was getting dressed after one of the sessions in the gym. As I went to fasten my skirt I felt something hard under my hand, beneath the skin over my navel. I panicked, rushing off to find Katya. “Quick,” I said, “I’ve got a lump. Feel!” I grabbed her hand and pushed it against my belly.

 

She felt carefully across my stomach. I was really scared. Katya looked very serious. “Hmm,” she said gravely, “I think I know what this is.”

 

“What is it? Do I need to see a doctor?”

 

“Well,” said Katya, “it’s not a rare condition but it is unusual to see it like this.”

 

“What is it? Katya, I’m scared.”

 

Katya, seeing my anxiety, relented. “It’s muscle, Daphne. What you can feel beneath the fat is muscle. Don’t worry, it was there all along. It’s just that now that it’s doing some useful work it’s firming up. You’ll find that you’ve got quite a few of them.”

 

She laughed and I did too.   

 

She went on taking photos. With a private client in her private weights room – she said it was too good an opportunity to miss. As time went on I could see I was making progress, clearly visible in the growing portfolio of photographs on the gym wall. My abs made a modest appearance, peeping out from underneath the blanket of tummy fat which had hidden them for so long. My shoulders and arms have got firmer.

 

And something else I’ve noticed. As we’ve worked on my pectorals, my breasts have become more pert. Needless to say, I’m not the only one that’s noticed. More things to worry about at work!

 

 

Part 5 : Getting In & Getting On

 

The other thing I hadn’t realised was how hard it was going to be to actually get on to run in the London Marathon. We had to start that almost as soon as I started training. Katya went through what we’d have to do. Katya could get a place as an elite athlete but that wasn’t the problem. It was me.

 

“But Katya,” I said, “Thousands of people run. How hard can it be to get in?”

 

“Daphne,” she said, “last year about 100,000 applied and about 35,000 got a place. Do you fancy those odds? They reckon if you go for the balloted places you might come up lucky once in five years. No, getting into the race needs a plan just like your exercise plan.”

 

“What do you suggest? Seducing the race organisers or the sponsors?”

 

Katya pulled a face. Somehow I had a vision of her sprawling on a bed, smothering a man with poly-unsaturated spread. I giggled and she gave me one of her puzzled but slightly disapproving looks.

 

There’s four ways we can get in,” said Katya. “One, you can be an elite athlete.” I pulled a face. “Two, you can be a celebrity, someone that the sponsors think will attract attention to the event.”

 

“I don’t think that’s me either,” I said.

 

“Three, you can join the ballot. I think we’ve already agreed that’s too chancy.”

 

“Four, you can get into one of the charity teams. Charities buy places from the organisers and then get runners to apply for them. The runner raises sponsorship for the charity. I don’t suppose you’ve got any involvement with any of the official marathon charities have you?”

 

I must have looked blank. I’ve never been much of a one for giving my money or time away. I’ve always had plenty of use for it myself.

 

“I thought not. Look how about this. Nicky was involved with New Start 2012. They’re promoting sport as a way of helping reduce poverty in the East End, using the London Olympics to give it all some focus.”

 

“Not much poverty in the bits of the east end I see,” I said.

 

“You’re not looking in the right places,” Katya replied bluntly. “Some places look worse to me than back home in Russia.”

 

“All right,” I said, “if I have to be Lady Bountiful to get a run, then fair enough. How much do I need to send them?”

 

“It’s not quite as easy as that. They’ll want to be convinced you’ll be raising good enough sponsorship to make more from your place than if they give it to someone else.”

 

“Well, there’s plenty of folk in my office I can squeeze,” I said, “they made enough in bonuses last year to build a new Olympic stadium. Hey, maybe, I can even get Freddie to pitch in.”

 

“Freddie?” Katya looked puzzled. I remembered she had no idea of who had procured Branca or for that matter, her.

 

“Oh, just a business associate,” I said. “Rick works with him.”

 

“Well, that’s what’s needed. Look why don’t you draw up a sponsorship plan. A bit like the business plans you’re always telling me these companies you get involved with have. Show how you might get the money. I’ll take it to the charity. They know me as a runner. We should be able to swing it. How’s that?”

 

I nodded. I certainly didn’t have any other ideas and I had plenty of experience in drawing up business plans. That bit was a whole lot easier than the rest of the training.

 

Well to cut a long story short. It seemed to work.

 

I can’t tell you how thrilling it was when the two envelopes turned up with the logo of the London Marathon on the front and the confirmation inside that we’d each been accepted. Somehow the whole thing seemed suddenly a lot more real. The furthest I’d run at that point was 10 miles. Now I was going to do more than two and half times that distance.

 

Katya’s kinkiness continues to intrigue me. I guess I’ve been flirting with her, playing up to her bossiness with the occasional fluttering eyelashes and the faux-submissive, “yes ma’am”. Well it’s fun, I don’t think I’ve ever really had the chance to flirt before and we’re spending a lot of time together.

 

This morning’s session, for instance. Katya had me working on the Smith Machine. “Squats,” she said, “today we work on your leg muscles. This time try three sets of ten with 25k on the bar.”

 

By repetition six in the third set, I was definitely struggling but I thought my technique was still quite good. Katya insisted that I should be sticking my bum out more as I come down before pushing back up for the power stroke. It was clearly just too tempting for Katya.

 

“Daphne, let’s help you along there.” Whaap! She had found one of my riding crops from the toy box. Whaap! It landed squarely on the sweet spot of my left buttock. Out of surprise and trying to put distance between my bum and the crop, I moved the bar swiftly back up in the power stroke of the exercise.

 

“Oww!” I yelped. “I didn’t deserve that.”

 

“Better,” said Katya. “Keep working! Keep technique!” She kept up the whacking whenever I looked like flagging. She wasn’t hitting me hard but it felt pretty odd all the same. After all I’m usually on the other end of the crop. Somehow we both got the giggles and the session ended up with both of us laughing. “There,” Katya said, “all you need is the right sort of discipline.”

 

I became aware that Branca was watching us from the door to the gym and grinning. I was guessing that she was amused by the fact that her mistress was being disciplined. I made a mental note to make sure she was reminded of who was the boss as far as she was concerned later.

 

Katya called her over. “Branca,” she said, “take Daphne now and see she showers.”

 

“Hey,” I said, “I can do that myself.”

 

Katya ignored me, carrying on talking to Branca. “Then can you trim her hair, give her a manicure and pedicure and a massage. And then we’ll all have something to eat before its Daphne’s bed time.”

 

Branca just nodded, and took me by the hand to lead me away. Somehow it seemed the right thing to do just to follow. I was all just part of the routine.

 

© 2007 Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

All characters fictitious.

All characters fictitious.

The Greenwich Tales

By Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

The Trainer’s Tale

Part 1 : A Conflict of Interest

 

So this is perhaps the most peculiar client I have had. My name is Katya Izotova and I have been now in England for almost four years. This Daphne has been a real life-saver for me after Nicky ran out but even so, she has been a most peculiar client.

 

First it was strange how she contacted me. Usually people just call but instead she gets this guy Rick to set up a meeting. Then there’s this strange situation with her and her live in lover; this Branca girl. Still we’ve managed to make it work and it’s not like I had any other clients.

 

In fact we’ve done better than make it work. Daphne has made real progress. I hadn’t thought she could do it but she’s proved really determined. And, I must confess that I had a little fun with her too. She did most of her training from home and maybe I took advantage of that a bit. We played around with some sub-dom chat and I’ve given her a few taps with her riding crop when I thought she was slacking but it was all part of the fun. You can’t be a trainer without liking to take the lead in things and that goes for my personal relationships too. Maybe that was some of the problem with Nicky. He liked getting his own way too.

 

We’ve had a lot of fun with it. I enjoyed training Daphne more than any of the others I’ve worked with – she was so determined, so driven – and it made a real difference to her. When we first met she really looked a mess, but the training made a big improvement. And not just to her physical fitness. Before, you couldn’t imagine her getting a date with anyone. By the time we’d got three quarters of the way through she was telling me she was having to fend off guys in the office.

 

It wasn’t surprising. She looked fit, her whole body was toned and she seemed to glow with energy. You could imagine anyone fancying her, although she’s a bit on the short side for me. Of the two of them I fancied Branca more; that dark hair and deep eyes reminded me of a Georgian girl I’d trained with when I first went to the Sports Academy. I’d had a hopeless crush on her and she didn’t know I existed. And since Nicky had gone, I’d certainly missed someone to snuggle up to in bed at night.

 

I didn’t say anything to Branca. Life was complicated enough and I didn’t want to do anything to disrupt Daphne’s training. But, after the Marathon, I thought, maybe she’d like a change of partner.

 

I wasn’t sure of what I was going to do at the end of things. I’d been thinking about what might happen after the marathon. Daphne really was a great example of what could be done. Maybe I could re-start the training business using her as a reference. Maybe I could persuade her to invest in athletics, using her businesses to sponsor some new training facilities for British athletes. She had been happy enough to raise money for New Start 2012, after all.

 

I did what I could to keep her on track. I think the SM play really helped. She obviously had a strong kinky streak and while she’s really a top, she enjoyed the theatricality of it all and she seemed to get off on me being the domme for our training sessions at any rate. For me that was fine, it kept her stepping up to the mark in training. I added in a few little ideas of my own like having her wait with her hands on her head, and thwacking her with her crop if she didn’t keep up with her technique. 

 

We had some other fun too. I’ve always liked piercings but Daphne just had her ears pierced once. I told her she was going to get a new piercing each time she reached a milestone in her running. One more when she did her first five mile run, one more at ten miles, one more at fifteen miles. I liked the way she looked with her hair cropped short and three rings in each ear. I think she found it quite sexy. She had the same thing done to Branca. I liked that. I’d have had few more done to her too.

 

Part 2 : Disappearance:

 

OK, this isn’t funny any more. I’d thought that the whole Daphne / Branca thing was a bit weird although I’m up for a bit of kinky fun anyway, like I said. Sure we’ve been playing around with those toys from under Daphne’s bed. But today I found out that things were stranger than I liked to believe.

 

Daphne had been at the gym for her morning work-out and I‘d agreed to meet up with her for her weekly check up on weight, body fat measurement, heart rate, blood pressure, BMI and the rest. She was deep in her afternoon work session; the usual round of emails, telephone calls, video conference meetings and research work. Branca was clearing up after lunch. She often liked to chat when I got to the house. I was happy to spend a bit of time with her too. She seemed to never go out on her own. Up until then I hadn’t realised why.

 

“You have been very good for her, you know,” Branca said as she scraped the left over food from Daphne’s plate (something I’d never thought I would see!) into the kitchen waste.

 

“She’s doing all the work,” I said. It was true. Daphne had really put her heart into it. All I had done was to provide the framework.

 

“Well maybe, but you’ve kept her at it. And it’s made a big difference to me. You know before when she was so fat and, well so, you know? It’s much easier being with her now that she is happy with herself.”

 

I said I was pleased it had made a difference. All the time I was thinking that I’d be happier if she was with me and not Daphne. It was then that Daphne bounced (yes, bounced! Who would have thought that a few months back?) into the kitchen.

 

“Are you ready for this check up then, coach?” she said, smiling.

 

“Absolutely,” I replied, pulling myself back to the job in hand. “Get yourself off to the gym.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am!” Daphne replied. Ever since we’d started using the hood and wrist cuffs in the early stages of her training, she’d kept up a sado-masochistic banter that was playful but, at the same time, almost serious.

 

“And assume the position!”

 

Daphne grinned and trotted off. “You see,” Branca said. “Happy with herself.”

 

When I got to the room we were using as a gym, Daphne was there, standing on the scales waiting for me, with her hands on her head. Teasing as ever, she had stripped down to her bra and pants. “I thought you’d want to check for muscle tone,” she said, flirtatiously.

 

“All right, Challis,” I said using the rather formal tone that seemed to work well for keeping her motivated. “Let me check your skin fold thickness.” In the early days of training, measuring weight to calculate body mass index OK but as a person becomes fitter they lose fat but build up muscle. The problem is that muscle weighs more than fat, so you can’t rely on weight measurement alone. Skinfold thickness measurement is best – but the client has to be undressed to do that!!

 

Daphne looked down as I checked her skinfold thickness, pinching gently at folds of skin in a number of places. The first time I did this she thought the callipers you use to do this looked pretty scary; now she was used to them. I did her resting heart rate and blood pressure, noting the results on her fitness record.

 

She had made enormous strides and I told her so. “Daphne, I’m so pleased. If you had asked me at the start of this if I thought you would get this far I would never have believed it. But you’ve kept to the diet and the training plan and you are well on track. When it comes to the marathon, I really think you will finish it, if you keep things going as we have said.”

 

“Thank you, Ma’am!” Daphne smiled.

 

“Seriously,” I said. “It must have made an enormous difference to you. It’s changed things for Branca, you know?”

 

A cloud seemed to cross Daphne’s face. “What did she say?”

 

“Only that she was happy at the changes she’d seen. What’s the problem?”

 

“Nothing,” said Daphne. “Nothing at all.”

 

I forgot about it. We went out for a run together. I had chosen to follow a hilly eight mile circuit to give Daphne some periods of quite hard work. She wasn’t fast but she could manage a steady pace. We got back after about ninety minutes  Sure she was tired but when I thought back to the huffing and puffing there had been when on her first walk this was a real achievement.

 

Daphne went off to have her shower and, a little bit later, she left for a late afternoon meeting at her office. Branca was picking up Daphne’s discarded running kit. I thought I’d tackle her about Daphne’s worries. It was not good for Daphne to be fretting over things; not when she was doing so well.  Not with the race coming towards us.  

  

I asked Branca what was the matter with Daphne. “She seems edgy,” I said, “not concentrating.”

 

“I think,” Branca said with her usual candidness, “that she is worrying about you and me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I think she believes you find me desirable. She worries that you might want me.”

 

I decided that honesty was the best approach. I reached out to her. “Branca, we’ve all been very close. I’ve been lonely after Nicky went. You’re an attractive woman. You remind me a lot of a woman I once loved, or thought I loved. Who knows what might happen?” Branca seemed surprised by the expression of affection.

 

“It cannot be like that, you see. I am for Daphne.”

 

“But that’s silly,” I said. “I mean you two are a great team but it’s not like she owns you, anyway.”

 

Branca looked blank.

 

“I said, she doesn’t own you.”

 

“Yes, she does.” Branca’s response was blunt.

 

“Oh, I know you and Daphne play those SM games.”

”Games? It’s no game,” she replied, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not for Daphne, not for me. She bought me, paid for me to be brought here. Paid for me to be trained as hers. You and she, you’re the team. I’m not part of any team. My room – why do you think it has a lock? Why do you think it cannot be unlocked from inside? Look - see my collar. She had this put on me. It cannot be taken off. See.”  She slid it around her neck. I knew she always wore it but I hadn’t realised that there was no way it could be removed. It seemed way too extreme.  She saw my horrified look. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Look it’s all right. I do this because I want to. I have to be like this. I have to do my best for Connie.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do your best for Connie.”

 

Branca looked blank. “Do I say that? I don’t know. Maybe it was my training. You see I did training like Daphne does training. Like you do training. Look, don’t be upset.”

 

It was all too strange for me. I thought back to my grandfather, Dedushka Izotov, who used to say, slowly shaking the stem of his pipe towards me: “those Westerners: there is no limit to their decadence!” Sexual games are one thing but real life, live-in slaves? That’s something else. Perhaps he had been right all along ……..

 

And then Branca said, “Please don’t be upset. You just don’t understand what it’s like. Don’t worry we can help you understand. You can get to see what it’s like.”

 

I didn’t want to see what it was like. There was no way I wanted to be involved in Daphne and Branca’s strange household any more. I thought that Branca meant Daphne planned to take me as some sort of slave. Suddenly I just wanted to put as great a distance between me and Daphne and Branca as I could.

 

I went off to the basement to pick up my stuff from the training room. I was bending over my sports grip when Branca crept up behind me and pulled some sort of leather bag over my head. I was taken completely off guard and as I struggled to get the bag off, Branca grabbed my wrist and snapped a handcuff on, pulling my arm down and locking the other cuff through my belt. I am much stronger and fitter than Branca, but she had taken me by surprise and she seemed to be fighting with strength born of desperation. We both rolled to the ground. Unable to see, I was at serious disadvantage. I tried to cry out but the noise I made was muffled by the bag, Branca cuffed my other hand to my belt in the same way. Finally I felt Branca catch my ankle and fasten it to the weights rack and like it or not I was her prisoner. There was not much I could do about anything. She pulled off the bag and jammed something into my mouth. I guessed it was the red ball gag that I’d seen in the toy box. I couldn’t cry out and the more I tried to struggle, the more I realised that the cuffs were locked immovably about my wrists and I couldn’t free my ankle from whatever was holding me.

 

Branca left me there. Some time later I heard Daphne’s voice saying, “Oh, my. Oh, Branca! Why did you do this?”

 

“She was going to go,” she said. “She found out about me being your slave. She was going to go. I couldn’t let her.”

 

“But why, Branca? We would have sorted things out.”

 

“No. She was going to go. You wouldn’t have your training. Wouldn’t have your run. Maybe you’d go back to being the old Daphne. Maybe you would be mad at me. Maybe you would send me away, sell me to someone else. She didn’t want to be your new slave. She would tell police, I’m sure. That cannot happen you know; not if I do my best for Connie.”

 

I tried to cry out but whatever was filling my mouth cut the sound to a moan.

 

“Oh, Branca,” I heard Daphne say. “I’m sure you did your best. Don’t worry. I’m not going to sell you but the question is still what do we do about Miss Izotova now.”

 

“I can undo the straps,” said Branca. “If I did wrong.”

 

“No,” I heard Daphne say, “that won’t do. Maybe she was going to go. I can’t let that happen. I can’t lose what she’s done for me.”  I felt her crouch down beside me. Her hand was stroking my head. “I’m sorry, Katya, I can’t let you go. You mean too much to me. The running. How I look. How I feel. And everything else. I can’t let you go.”

 

Then there was Branca’s voice again. “I brought the phone, Madam,” she said. “You should call Larry. He will know what to do.”

 

I overheard Daphne’s end of the conversation. “Larry, it’s Daphne. I need some help.”   …. “It’s about the Russian goods that you suggested I hire. I need to convert the rental to a purchase. ….. Yes, I realise what that will involve. …. Yes I know ….. Well, it will have to be done quickly. …. The rest of my training and for the race. … Yes I know you need more time to do a complete preparation job. … It doesn’t need to be too thorough for now … Just so I can finish training and do the run. After that we can do a proper job.  … Larry, please. Get the team to do what they can. …. Yes you can collect from here. … I’ll explain what happened later.”

 

Daphne stayed with me, waiting for her friends to arrive. I felt like a child waiting with their parents to be taken away to hospital, except I am raging, struggling, tired and frightened. Just what does Daphne think she is playing at?  How dare she do this to me? Then I think about Branca. I’m going to be like Branca? Daphne thinks people are just things to be collected and disposed of. I felt terrified. What did they do to you, these friends of Daphne? How did you get to be like Branca? Then there were other voices.  There was a man and a woman.  Eva, she said she was, pushed up my sleeve and held what looked like a fat marker pen against my arm while the man held me steady. There was a sharp prick and a feeling of pressure and then I began not to care anymore what was happening.  I began to feel very tired and heavy. It was so much easier just to do as I was asked. To keep still. To let them help me up. To go with them out of the house. I took a last look at Daphne and Branca: It was like looking at a painting in a gallery: I saw two frightened little girls cuddling each other for protection.

 

© 2007 Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

All characters fictitious.

Download PDF copies of other Freddie Clegg stories at :

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

 

The Greenwich Tales

By Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

The Runners’ Tale

Part 1: Final Countdown

 

Daphne: It’s only two days to the race. I really didn’t think I would get this far. Especially when Katya went. The day after she was taken away, I already knew I couldn’t cope with the training on my own. I was on the phone to Larry, desperate, begging him to come up with something. He had called back later.  Rick had one of his team who had done some running. Rick was ready to let her come and help out. She knew about Branca and the Katya problem. “Would that be OK?” he’d asked. I practically bit his hand off.

 

This young, upper class, English girl turned up at the house and introduced herself as Beth. She was pleasant enough and had a determined smile, but I’m not sure whether she saw me as a client or as some sort of sub to be kept on my toes. Something about the way she said things. Maybe that’s unfair: probably it was just the way I was hearing things then.

 

We went through the planner in Katya’s training diary. I found myself worrying about her, hoping she was ok, worrying about what they were doing to her, asking myself if I’d really had to make her go through it. 

 

Beth was riffling through the pages and umm-ing and ah-ing and I was feeling irritated at the way she was picking over Katya’s things. In the end, we agreed on three things, shorter runs during the week, Beth was to be my companion there; longer endurance runs as Katya and I have got to the fifteen mile point now, Beth suggested she would cycle round and meet me at pre-arranged points on the run to let me practice taking fluids and also the sports energy drinks to make the most of my carbohydrate stores; third there’s the gym. Beth suggested going to the Gym with me and explaining to anyone who asks, that Katya is not too well at the moment and is having a few weeks off. It’s also what Beth said we would have to tell Katya when she gets back.

 

I started to feel sick and anxious in my stomach. “Not-too-well”; “Having-a-few-weeks-off”; each word hurt. I felt so…? What? Well weepy, I guess. And then Branca turned up with some of Katya’s things she’d found while tidying up in the gym. I just looked at one of her training shoes and burst into tears

 

But as Katya said, you have to focus on the training. So that’s what we did. Out in the late winter. Sometimes we followed parts of the real marathon course; sometimes we went out to the London Parks. One day we took a trip out to Epping Forest to do some trail running. I had been getting on quite well with Beth and it was a really lovely day. As we ran, my mind started to wander. Katya had told me about when she trained running in the Russian forests and then ahead, there was this other runner coming towards us. She was coming fast. She was blond and her pony tail was bobbing behind her, like Katya’s. I thought, “It’s Katya! They have let her go! We can be together again! She is OK now!”  But the girl – she just rushed past without a second glance and it wasn’t Katya and my tears just ran and ran. Beth put her hand on my shoulder and that was it. The end of the run. A beautiful day ended with me feeling really low and sick with anxiety. We headed back. All I wanted to do was to go home.

 

It was a real relief when they sent Katya back with six weeks to go. I’m sure I couldn’t have got this far otherwise.

 

Katya: It’s Friday 20^th. April. The house is waking up. The door to my room has automatically unlocked as the alarm goes off. I get up to find Branca has already started to make breakfast. I briefly check our PC. It has internet access but quite restricted. I keep meaning to ask Daphne why but I can never find the words to use …. Anyway, I go to the London Marathon site to check for late news items. On the home page, there is a countdown timer. 2 days, 3 hours, 30 minutes, 28 seconds, 27, 26, 25, ……. I  go through a stretching routine and then make my way to Daphne’s room Outside I kneel down to perform a quadriceps stretch, but strangely always feel the need to do this after I have knocked on her door. As she opens, I lean forwards to stretch my para-spinal muscles and kiss her feet. I cannot understand why I always seem to do this, but Daphne does not mind, in fact she accepts it. She smiles down at me. “We go to the Marathon Expo for final registration today, Mistress,” I tell her. She looks excited; a little scared maybe. “I know, Katya,” she says. “I guess it really is happening isn’t it?”

 

Daphne: I open my door and find Katya on her knees. The door to her room unlocks automatically. I keep a time lock on her door at night. I feel I have to. Although Clegg’s people say her preparation has been thorough they are still concerned that it’s been hurried. I haven’t needed to bother for Branca but, with Katya, I guess it’s better safe than sorry. She leans forward to kiss my feet. I look down at my beautiful, useful, new slave. Clegg’s people have worked their magic very well. Larry said Katya's Prep would stay intact even when we go out together - which is kinda crucial because we are out most of the time and so far, she has not given me a moments worry. When Harry turned up after Branca had chained her up he wasn’t confident that he could make things work. They took her but he said he wasn’t sure he could get her ready in time or even at all. I’d been distraught; desperate for her to be back as soon as possible to help me finish my training but desperate too to make sure she would stay with me. Larry did what he could. Beth was sweet and a real help but it wasn’t the same. Of course. But why did it have to happen? Why did we have to do this Katya? I didn’t want to do this to Katya but I couldn’t let her go. But somehow I feel guilty about how I’ve treated her. It’s never bothered me with any of the other slaves I’ve had. Why couldn’t things have gone on just as they were?  Still, whatever Clegg’s people have done it seems to have worked. Katya’s every bit as attentive as Branca. She reminds me about Sunday. Sunday! Will my beautiful, useful, new slave get me through all those miles? Larry said I would sell her on after the Marathon, but I don’t think I can. I can’t imagine Katya not being around.

 

Katya: We reach the Marathon Expo at ExCel, in the old London Docks. There is no difficulty finding it. The place is alive with other runners. They are unmistakeable; determined, eager, pent-up, maybe a little apprehensive. Perhaps this is what its like for soldiers before they launch an attack? Over the entrance is a large plasma screen showing highlights of last year’s race and in the background inspirational music plays, it’s a motivation in its own right. First we go to the Registration Desk and hand our registration forms to the clerk. We sign them and she checks the signatures on our original entry forms. She gives us our kitbags and a sealed envelope I carefully check the contents. Do the running numbers correspond to the numbers on our registration forms? Are the numbers on the electronic timing chip correct? Have we got the official label for our kit bags? Have we got the final instructions? It’s all OK. I make sure that Daphne carefully stows all away in her bag: we are both now committed! I breathe a sigh of relief to have the bureaucracy over and we move on to enjoy the Expo. Daphne seems almost dazed by it all but this must be all quite out of her experience. Up to now we have run together, just the two of us. We sometimes met other runners but never several hundred, all in the same place, all the same time, all sharply focused on the same goal. I know I can get her through it. And this is something to enjoy; the fellowship of the other runners; the feeling of a single shared purpose. And the marathon?  Ah, I’m sure I can get her through After all I must do my best for Connie…

 

Daphne: The Marathon Expo is just astonishing. First, there’s the size of the hall and it’s all dedicated just to this one event. Second, the amazing number of people here, there are thousands of them. Third, just looking at the other runners…. If I was complacent before, I’m not now – in fact I’m aware of a tight knot of anxiety in my stomach (it’s a lot smaller than it was, so a small knot feels bigger!) Katya is trying to encourage me, telling me I look fitter than quite a lot of the others here, saying I’ve done my training and I’ve nothing to fear. Katya and I tour the stalls with everything you could possibly imagine you needed for running and quite a few you couldn’t. There’s this thing on a physiotherapy stand which is supposed to vibrate against tired muscles and relieve pain. Seems more like something Larry’s people would be interested in. I find myself daydreaming about the timing chips we all have to wear. Electronically tagged.  I can see mileage for Branca and Katya wearing tags, but me?? We spend a bit of time on the Garmin Stand. They have a GPS which tells you how far you have been running, how fast you went and what your heart rate was. Katya suggest we should have them and that’s fine by me. We spend some time listening to one of the (many) presentations and after a couple of hours we head for home but not before Katya has fussed over our kit bags and contents once again. Well, I employed her to be thorough. Having her taking charge of things as my Trainer was natural I guess, but its strange now. Here she is taking charge again even though she’s now my slave - officially.

 

 

Part 2: To Rise From Earth

 

Katya: It’s 6 o’clock on Sunday morning, the 22nd of April. It’s just 4 hours to the marathon. I’m laying awake thinking about Daphne’s progress over the past months. She has surprised me and the major surprise is that we have reached this point together. But I still worry. I am anxious that she completes the run and enjoys herself. I have dreams now which always link us together. And another thing, I’ve been going over the training programme. I just have no pictures in my mind of the training we did from about ten weeks ago to six weeks ago. It’s odd – because that’s a really important time, we must have been doing some long runs and some fairly hard work in the gym but I really don’t remember it.  I looked through the training diary. Daphne had filled it in carefully, just has she has done all along, but I can’t recall any of it. I mentioned it on Friday as we were coming home from Registration and Daphne said “of course I completed all the assignments” and then she said to remember that I had not been too well for a week or two. But I don’t really remember that either. It’s only what Branca and Daphne told me. And I thought it was odd that she said she’d completed the assignments, she usually says “Oh, we did that together.” So I still worry. It’s as though I can never move on to anything else, always being brought back to Daphne by other people whose faces I can never quite remember. Except for one. And her name is Connie. Presently I rise and go through my stretching routine, finishing outside Daphne’s door on my knees kissing her feet. I just cannot understand why I behave like this and more to the point why Daphne never says anything. It’s almost as if she expects me to behave like this. I go in to her bedroom to go through our checklist:

 

Daphne: I only slept rather fitfully last night and I’m glad when Katya came. Seeing her was a real encouragement This is the day! Closing the deal. Worse: closing the deal in front of all my sceptical colleagues who don’t believe that I will be coming to collect their sponsorship. So there is a lot riding on today. Katya is a real professional. Gee, I almost said a real domme. For a slave she has a lot of the domme about her. It’s been fun for the training but I prefer it with me in charge.  So it’s check-list time. Katya makes me feel like Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins setting off for the Moon:-

 

Vest - check

Pants - check

Socks - check

Shoes - check

Timing chip - check

Running number pinned to vest - check

Bum belt- check

Spare caps for sports drinks (Katya has found out they give them out cap off) -check

Powder for toes -check

Sunblock - check

Change of clothes for after the run .Gee: there is an “after the run” – sorry, check

Kitbag - check

Sweat shirt to keep warm on the way to the park - check

Trash bag to wear after kit bag handed in but before start of race – check

 

Breakfast – check.

 

Food used to be the major recreation but now it’s all part of the routine. Now it’s fuelling- up time Katya had insisted Branca repeat making our marathon breakfast for weeks. “Never do anything on race day that you haven’t done before and gotten away with,” she says. So it’s downstairs for porridge and milk, scrambled eggs, toast and water. Oh boy - plenty of water.

 

Katya: Daphne’s house is close to Greenwich Park and the Red Start. There are three start points for the London Marathon and they converge at two points along the course. We are at the Red Start, in Greenwich Park itself.  Time is now 9.00.One hour to the mass start, when we go. Wheelchair athletes go at 9.15 and elite women at 9.30. I am happier once inside the park. We go to the baggage lorries and find the one for runners with numbers in the 30,000 to 35,000 range. We struggle into our trash bags to keep warm, just sticking our heads out through holes in the top. I tell Daphne we have to go to pee. There are lots of toilets and lots of runners peeing. You don’t want to stop half way round. Ask Paula Radcliffe! After 15 minutes in the queue we are done. I insist that we go right back to the end of the queue and wait our turn again – and yes, there is more the next time! It’s now 9.40. Time to find our places in the “pen”. I estimated we would finish in about 5 hours so we had been given places in “Pen 5” at the back of the field.  Once the Race begins, runners can move through the others depending on how well they are running.  After all, this is a Race! But, for the start, the challenge is just to get the massive throng of people under way. Now we wait for the official start. It’s 9.55. Five minutes to go, five minutes to the start of Daphne’s ordeal ….

 

Daphne: So, we eventually get to the start. Katya’s calm and I’m really nervous and talkative. I’m usually a bit reserved but tension and the big event atmosphere have made me talkative. But so is every one else and that’s really nice. But there are yet more instructions from Katya. She’s being bossy and I’m really grateful. She runs through the race plan again. Then there’s more to check off:-

 

Five hour pen – check   

Find a pacer – check (there are guys and girls with Runners World magazine who guarantee to run at a set speed. So if you want to finish in 5 hours you stick with the five hour group. Easy. Easy? Maybe! At least that’s the idea.

Shoelaces – check

Timing chip secure - check

Final drink from small water bottle – check

Discard bottle (Yes, Katya, safely) – check

Intervals set on watch – check: 11 minutes to run and 1 minute to walk - check

 

When we are through this and I’m recovering I’m having Katya hooded and rested up in the cell for this. Finally I’ll have some peace. Gee, wasn’t that a bit harsh, Daphne? The girl’s only doing the job you paid her for.

 

Suddenly, there’s a bang and a cheer from somewhere way ahead of us. We all start to walk slowly forward. This is really it! Really it is! We are actually doing this thing. I’ve got a stab of fear and excitement both at once, but mainly excitement. I want to laugh and giggle. Fat Daphne is actually going to run a Marathon!!

 

Katya: Out of the park and the course turns left and we pass through the first timing gate and that’s it: we are now on the course. Our timing chips will have been recognised and we are into the race at last. I have this odd feeling of trying to scramble up out of a slippery cup. If I can only pull myself up over the rim I shall be free, but I always just loose my grip and slip back ……. But, no time for daydreaming! Marathons are run with your head as much as your legs. The course soon leads us into Blackheath Village and the cheering crows begin. To our right, one family have decorated their house with streams of British flags.  They are wearing flag hats and waving flags! A little further on, a Priest scatters Holy Water on the runners and a few metres beyond him a second Priest does the same. Further on again, small children hold out their hands for us to touch them. It’s like some bizarre religious ritual. We are anointed and we anoint others.

 

Daphne: We have been going a half hour through cheering crowds.  Gee, this is really emotional. I never thought it would be like this. I feel as though I’m airborne. I’m running really well and it’s the crowds. All these people cheering and shouting, waving at us all – at me!. The course is now running down hill. Got to be careful not to speed up. Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan. No matter how good you feel don’t run faster than the plan. The runners from the other start points are converging. In the distance I can see the Canary Wharf Towers – they look a really long way away. Patience, girl, patience. More instructions come from Katya: maybe I’ll have her gagged as well as hooded?

 

Katya: Do you see the blue line, Daphne? Yes? Well run on it! That’s the optimum line, and it’s exactly the marathon distance.  All the elite runners run on or as close to the blue line as they can. Run there and you have run in the footsteps of champions …….

 

Daphne: Run in the footsteps of champions? That’s good! That was worth hearing! OK: cancel the gag. But the hood stays.

 

Katya: Start + 1 hour on my watch. We have passed two water stations and taken on one sports drink at the Lucozade station. We have reached the Cutty Sark sailing ship. 6 miles. About one quarter of the race. Daphne has settled into her routine and we are cruising well. On time. No issues at the moment. She’s sticking to the plan. Good. That’s the main thing.

 

Daphne: Before I know it, we are at the Cutty Sark. The world’s fastest clipper ship. Well this won’t be the world’s fastest marathon but just to finish will be great. This part of London is real picturesque. That’s why I got my house near here. It’s just how people Stateside think London is. There are even TV cameras here and still more crowds. I’m still feeling goodl. I could get used to this!

 

Katya: Now it’s quite a long haul to get to the next psychologically important point which is crossing the river at Tower Bridge. The danger is to really start to pick up speed here to get on with the race and the key is to keep your mind on the job. But Daphne’s sticking to the plan, following orders. To my relief we have reached the Norwegian Church which means we will cross the river before too long in about 15 minutes.  On schedule we cross Tower Bridge. More cheering crowds. We have to steer clear of someone dressed up as a rhinoceros as they are being interviewed  for TV. I have never been tempted to run dressed up as anything but me.

 

Daphne: The route to Tower Bridge is rather dull and my mind keeps wandering. I look at Katya and the easy relaxed way she moves is a joy to watch. It’s not the joy of possession you understand, just the kick you get to see something being done really well. Eventually we get close to tower Bridge and someone shouts my name. I glance over my shoulder and there’s Phil. He is one of the accountants I work with. I give him a big smile and he waves back and now I feel warm inside and somehow going on is easier. As we cross the bridge, TV people are interviewing a runner in costume ahead of us. Rather them than me!

 

Katya: We’re making steady progress. It is getting mentally tougher now. The euphoria of the beginning of the race has slipped away behind us, and we are actually running geographically away from the Finish Line. Along Highway, from The Tower to Limehouse. Through the fourteenth mile of the course. We’re more than half way now but the route heading east lies next to the twenty first mile of the course heading west, so we get a very good view of the faster runners coming towards us. Faster and rather tired by now!  Its good to see them running so smoothly but its sort of discouraging to know it will be more than an hour before we are running back this way again. I try to take some of my own advice; - take a firm grip and keep myself under careful control.

 

Now we’re following the west side of the Isle of Dogs peninsula; sixteen miles safely over. In about twenty minutes we will be at eighteen mile point and this is dangerous country: the human body runs on muscle glycogen and has enough for  - eighteen miles. After that it has to use fat and that’s not as easy. All of our training has been directed to getting Daphne’s body (and mine too) able to burn glycogen more efficiently and to use fat when the time comes, but here is where technique will tell: running, drinking, breathing. But Daphne is not paying attention!

 

Daphne: As we run towards the financial district my mind starts to wander . I’m starting to feel tired and introspective. This morning it’s been like being a hero, but I know I’m no hero. Beside me Katya glides along and I’m now feeling guilty about what I’ve done to her and not only her. What if all these people who cheer me on and call my name knew what I was really like and knew some of the thing I’ve done. I can feel tears starting to form in my eyes when there’s a stinging slap on my left ass and as I look round I get another on my right ass cheek.

 

 “Daphne, what are you doing?”

 

“I’m running what do you think?” And quick as a flash Katya darts to my other side and slaps my ass again.

 

“You’re not doing what I told you, are you? Look at your fists. You have clenched them and you are loosing your economy! Do I have to spank you again?”

 

Actually the idea of being spanked by Katya seems quite a good one but maybe here’s a bit public.  Sorry Katya. Thanks for that. Kind of.

 

Part 3: Houston, we have a problem  ………………….

 

Katya: We are now at the tip of the Isle of Dogs and I can see the domes of the Greenwich Observatory where we began, just a mile or two across the river, but seventeen miles behind us along the course.  I glance round at Daphne. She seems to have got through that low spot. She is waving at two men outside public house. At first I think they must be work colleagues but one of them catches my eye and suddenly there is a tight knot in my stomach. Where have I seen him before? Why does he make me feel uneasy? More than uneasy. Why does he make me feel afraid? As we run by he tries to break eye contact, talking to his companion. He smiles and waves back at Daphne – and then his eye comes back to me. We’ve passed them now and we’re turning north to the Canary Wharf Towers. I take one last long look before they are out of sight: he is speaking into his mobile phone……………

 

Daphne: We’re not far from the 17 mile water station, there’s the entrance to the foot tunnel that leads under the Thames to Greenwich. Five minutes walk and I’d be back at the start! I catch sight of Larry and Harry. And there is Beth too. They all smile and wave, especially Harry. Funny to think of them off-duty. Well, maybe they’re not off duty. I guess they’ll have wanted to see how things worked out with Katya after what they said about the problems they expected in training. They are both enjoying the hospitality of the local Public House. It’s the Lord Nelson. We always get a real good cheer when we pass a pub, but I’m beginning to think that a drink would be nice and I’m not thinking about water! Katya is on my right and keeps looking back down the road. She seems edgy all of a sudden and all of a sudden I realise that maybe she has seen the boys too.  Seen and recognised? Oh, gee ……… what if Eva’s around or Connie too? Katya made me memorise the course to pace myself better and I know we are now going up East Ferry Road towards Limeharbour and Canary Wharf. Katya is very quiet. And I’m very anxious. “You OK Katya?” She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s just focussing on her running but it seems like something more than that.

 

Katya: As we run on I try to remember why I know the two men. When did I first know them? Are they friends of Nicky? Did I see them at Daphne’s? I am sure I met one of them before I worked for Daphne and the man with the phone has something to do with Branca. Suddenly I realise I have been weaving from side to side. I almost crack my ankle against the curb of the pavement. Concentrate, I tell myself, I must concentrate. Get back on the blue line and stop thinking about Harry. Harry? That’s his name, the taller man. But where do I know him from? Concentrate on the running. Forget about them. Got to keep running. Got to do my best for Connie. Connie? Who the hell is Connie? I’m running for me. Why I am worried about Connie? Concentrate on the running. Seventeen and a half miles, now. Think about Daphne. Got to look after Daphne. Harry says… Connie says… What is this? Concentrate. I’ve got to concentrate. I’m losing my rhythm. Go to concentrate. Forget about Harry and Connie. Forget about the training. Training? What training? I ran the training. No, not Daphne’s training; my training. It was Harry and Connie and it wasn’t about running. It was …. ?

 

Daphne: “Katya, are you OK?” I say, “You’ve lost your rhythm. You’re not doing like you told me to. Keep on the line.” She looks at me as if she doesn’t know me. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m trying to keep running steadily.

 

Katya: Eighteen and a half miles. We start the zigzag passing the Canary Wharf Towers. I am glancing at the spectators  when I see them. Two women. Searching the field of runners with their eyes, one short, athletic looking she could be a runner, the other tall, black, elegant. They’re looking for someone. The tall black girl is talking into her mobile phone. There is a movement from Daphne: she was about to wave and as soon as I turn to her, she drops her arm. I gaze at the women and feel a shower of adrenalin make its way through my body.  For the past several weeks, I’ve had the same nightmare, over and over again. About being taken away. Helpless. Struggling. The men and women Daphne waved to are the people in my dream! I meet Daphne’s eyes and I can see she knows who they are too. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. That’s where those four weeks went! And now they are here for me again. I kick hard and accelerate away as quickly as I can. I am sure they will try to make their way through the buildings and trap me further down the course. I take up a position in the centre of the field and run as hard as I can.  Forget Daphne’s race plan, now I have to have a plan of my own. All care about now is to put as much distance as possible between these people and Daphne and me as I possibly can. I’m safe here on the route. Policemen everywhere. Officials everywhere. It will be safe at the finish too. Get to the finish. Seven miles to go. Think about the timing. Think of a new plan. . Can I risk trying for 7 minute miles at this stage? If I can hold that pace the race could be over for me in about fifty minutes. I am running at that speed now and weaving through the pack of slower runners ahead. At least this will make me harder to see, harder to catch, but can I keep it going?

 

Just before twenty miles, the course swings westwards and at last I am now running directly towards the end. I let my pace slacken, but only a little. There are more spectators again and I am beginning to recover my calm. 

 

Daphne: She’s going. She saw Eva and Connie and just took off. I’ve almost lost sight of her in the crowd of runners. She’s running much faster. I can’t hope to catch her and I start to feel sick and tired and cold. Connie’s talking into her mobile phone as I pass them. She’s gesticulating. Eva is trying to look down the route to see where Katya has got to. They both understand what has happened and I thought for a stupid moment that there was something they could do but of course they can’t do anything about this. I am absolutely on my own now and I am suddenly very lonely, just like before, before Katya. All I can do is keep running.

 

Part 4: Un-natural Acts

 

Katya: As I run I can almost feel the sticky threads of control breaking. I’ve been coasting round the course to keep Daphne company but now I’m running fast and free for the first time; perhaps truly free for the first time in months!  In my mind I keep seeing images of struggle and victory, things I remember from school: Zhukov driving the Germans from St Petersburg in the Great Patriotic War! Gagarin soaring into orbit in Vostok! Before I knew it I was speeding (or so it seemed) along Highway towards the Tower of London and well into the last 6 miles of the race. I had a new energy. It was quite simply the best run I could remember!

 

Daphne: I’m still running but even in the crowd I feel alone. All along the course, I’ve enjoyed the cheers of the crowd, but now I‘m stalked by feelings of guilt. Sure, Katya made me work hard to get here but without her I would still be that lonely, fat ,unpleasant, sad girl and in my desire to be different I’ve been prepared to do anything – to hurt anyone  - I had to. And now, I’m discovered.  It’s made the pleasure of today turn sour!  My body is really starting to hurt and the very person who I need, I really need, has fled from me. I’m crying: tears of exhaustion, tears of regret …………………

 

Katya: I’m running. Running again. My mind is back on my running. I’m on the blue line. Checking my time. Running. My mind  begins to fill with other images. I remember training runs in Moscow, by the Moskva, around the gardens and towers of the Lomonosov University and through the woods and open spaces of Sokolniki in the quiet of early morning after the cold white winter had melted into the green of spring. But I have to concentrate. Run, Katya. Think of the running. Run.

 

Daphne: And there’s this hand on my shoulder. For a moment I think Katya is there again but of course it isn’t, it’s another runner. “First time?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” I sob.

 

 “OK now just keep going: it’s not far to the finish. Do you know how far you have gone?”

 

 “No,” I reply.

 

“Well, you are in the last 10K. How long do you take over a 10K?”

 

“Me?” It’s hard to run and think and talk at the same time.

 

“Yes.” This other runner seems determined to help me.

 

“Eh, well I dunno, maybe an hour. Yes, well on a good day.”

 

“OK so you might only have an hour to go! Just keep calm.  You’re in front of the 5 hour pacer group, so just hang in there girl. Have you tried to run five minutes and walk one minute?”

 

“Yeah: that’s what I’ve been trying to do but I’ve lost my friend.” I start crying again, it’s hard to see through the sweat and the tears.”

 

“ OK. Look, I’m Jill.

 

“OK Jill, I’m Daphne. You’ve done this before.?

 

“Ah Huh. Twice and I must be crazy because this is my third time round.”

 

“Look, it’s very kind of you to stick with me, but don’t you want to get ahead?

 

“Well let’s just see how you get on. Look someone helped me on my first marathon. It’s what people do. We all want everyone to finish.  I can’t leave a sister to drop out at this stage! Come on five minutes run, one minute walk.”

 

And so I’m gently and unexpectedly pushed along by a kind stranger ………….

 

Katya: Keep running. Keep the rhythm. I am back in control of my self. I am calm again, running smoothly. Keeping my rhythm, following the blue line, checking my watch and thinking about my pace. I am calm again, running smoothly. Tired of course but at least I can think straight again. First: What happened at Daphne’s? I can remember having a row with Branca. Branca had said something and I was going to leave. And Branca trapped me in the house …. Whoa, don’t lose track of the running, you’re speeding up, Katya, keep the rhythm. And then the man came with one of the women I had passed back there. Who were they? Associates of Daphne’s of some sort?  What is it with Daphne and Branca? Lovers? No: Branca was some sort of servant, almost a slave. Her slave? People trafficked? No: she had been at University. Kidnapped? Enslaved somehow? Does that happen? Daphne might have wanted that sort of relationship, the way she was. Not just paying for companionship but taking a companion who could not get away. So Branca must have wanted to make sure I stayed training Daphne and Daphne obviously was not about to let me go and so the slavers came …….. And they must still be out there, looking for me …………. They can’t pull me off the course - there are too many other people. I need to think about what happens at the end of this. Could they try to get me at the end? In the finisher’s enclosure, I’ll be safe. There’s policemen all around they won’t try anything there. Maybe I can get from there to the Russian Embassy. That would be the safest place, I guess. But would they take me seriously? I imagine some aparatchick telling me to go away till Monday morning.  How am I going to get there? Daphne’s people will be waiting for me and they haven’t run 26 miles.”

 

Daphne: So I am now still going along, a bit unsteady – a lot unsteady. The further I go, the more I hurt and the worse I feel. And kind, patient, thoughtful, encouraging, Jill beside me makes me feel a whole lot worse. Where is Katya? What is she gong to do? Will she tell the Police? What will Clegg do to protect his people? Kill Katya? Kill me? Kill us all? Does Katya know anyone in the Russian Secret Police? Will they kill us?

 

Katya: At last, I’m getting close to the finish. I am just passing London Bridge. Twenty three miles gone; three to go. I’m thinking about Daphne. Should I be so angry? I am glad I am here and if I hadn’t been training her I would not have had the opportunity to run.  Worse: I would still have all those debts; all the problems from Nicky. What should I do now? Revenge is a temptation. Stalin said “ there is nothing more satisfactory than a well planned revenge”, and revenge is a temptation. Should I report her to the Police? Enjoy her downfall? Is that right? Would Branca want that? Do I want that? I have loved seeing Daphne change. Seeing the physical changes. Seeing her becoming stronger in herself. Is it good to tear that down?

 

Then all of a sudden it’s over. I hardly realised it, my mind was everywhere but where it should have been. I’ve crossed the line. I’ve finished. I stop, looking left and right, I didn’t even see what time I did. Someone hung a finisher’s medal around me and I didn’t even notice that. My legs feel as if they are still running. My shoulders ache. All of me aches. I see one of the officials coming towards me with a foil blanket. For a moment I think it is one of Daphne’s friends and I shy away but he smiles and holds the blanket out towards me.  I shrug apologetically, smile and take it from him, clutching it around myself. I walk on slowly. Other runners are finishing, we are all pushing and jostling in the throng as we make our way into the Finisher’s Area. I sink down on the ground beside a tree are using. My back is against the tree. I feel safe here. I watch as the other runners are finishing, hugging the foil blanket around me, and I think about what must happen next. There’s Branca. I have to make things right for Branca. And there’s Daphne – she can’t want things to go on as they were. She changed as she did this but has she changed enough to want something different? And why do I want her to want something different?

 

Daphne: Oh I am moving so, so slowly. The whole of my body hurts now. My shoulders hurt, my legs hurt, my chest hurts.  When I started, I thought I was well prepared. Well I was but all the preparation is only that – preparation. You still have to do it and it hurts! Maybe I was complacent. Well, I’m not complacent now. Jill has gone now. She ran on when she saw I was OK. Where was that? Oh, yes, near the Tower. But there have been others. On the Embankment, by Westminster and Big Ben.  I’ve been amazed by the generosity of other runners and that really hurts too because I have been the exact opposite of generous. I got used to rejection. If you buy things there’s no rejection. Just the money and the goods. Or the people. ………..Big Ben? That means it’s less than a mile to go. I’m close to the end now. In every sense. But I can do another mile. It’s less than that first walk I did with Katya. Oh, what’s going to happen about Katya? The Park is on my right and we are heading up towards Buckingham Palace. I’m just about all in and as the course carries us round in front of the big fountain – there is the finish! I am taken completely by surprise. Two hundred yards and that’s it! And I start to run. I start to run.  I have no idea where the energy is coming from but I am running under the arch. I’m through! I’m here! All at once I burst into tears. Done. Completed.  Daphne has run a marathon! Twenty six miles, three hundred and eightyfive yards! I walk unsteadily forward and one of the stewards steps in front of me and puts a Finisher’s Medal around my neck. Immediately after, a photographer is there, taking my picture. Next I’m ushered to where another helper removes the timing chip from my shoe and then yet another helper hands me a large carrier bag with my prizes inside. I am really getting stiff now. By now I am by the line of baggage lorries. I look for the one with kit bags 30,000 – 35,000 and get my own bag back. I thank the helper and turn round to see – Katya.

 

She holds out her hand and says “Oh Daphne! I am so proud of you. Well done! You ought to have known: when I take on a client, I do not like to let them go until I, I have finished with them.” Katya takes my hand and pulls me towards her and hugs me. And of course I completely dissolve into tears again and sob and say how sorry I am and how I wished I had not been so selfish and how I wished I was not the person I was and so and so and so. And Katya keeps on hugging me  ……………….

 

Katya: I knew she could do it. I just wasn’t sure if she knew she could do it. I just knew that she could if she wanted it enough. And now I knew what I wanted too. I said to her, “Daphne, we are going home together.” She looked back astonished. “But there are going to be changes. Changes in our relationship and changes in your household.” Daphne said nothing but nodded. “Get changed and then we will make a start. That’s if your friends aren’t here to pick you up. Or to pick me up?”

 

Daphne: Katya’s accusation brings me to tears. Of course she’s right. Eva and Connie must be here somewhere. And Harry and Larry. We’re safe right here, in the Finisher’s Area, with event security and police around. But there are so many runners spilling around in the Repatriation Area, all looking identical in T shirts which say on the back …. “26.2 miles: That’s the Difference Between Us” Maybe they are planning to snatch her back. Maybe they are planning to snatch both of us. I know Clegg wouldn’t risk one of his operations coming unstuck. Even if it involved compromising one of his customers. I look around us, terrified that I’m going to see one of them in the crowd. But then I think Katya hasn’t run away from me. And I can’t run away from her.”

 

Katya: It’s as if Daphne’s friends are standing there with a spotlight on them. The man from the pub and one of the girls from Canary Wharf. I immediately look round. I feel sure the others must be behind me, but that’s not possible because we are just leaving the secure Finisher’s Area. No there he is. And the tall coloured girl.

 

Daphne: I am holding Katya’s hand as we walk out off the course at last. There is a real sense of regret that the race is all over. But now there’s the next challenge and we haven’t trained for this one. I walk up to the barrier where Harry and Larry, Eva and Connie are standing. I throw my arms around Larry’s neck and kiss him. He wasn’t expecting that. “Are you OK?” he says. “We thought there was a problem?” Connie is watching Katya very closely. She smiles a tight lipped smile at her. I know that she knows that Katya’s control has gone. “No,” I say, “no problem. We’ve got some things to talk about but no problem.”

 

Katya: I’m standing beside Daphne as she greets her friends. I’m determined that these people should not make things hard for her. To be straightforward is best, I feel. “I think you people need to know that there has been a revolution at the Winter Palace,” I say. “We will not be needing you. Not anymore. Thank you for leaving us alone. Please leave us alone.”

 

Daphne: Katya is REALLY positive. I really like it when she is like that! For someone who has just run 26 miles, Katya is a revelation. No wonder she got me through! And there is absolutely no trace of her prepping left. Connie will have to do some more thinking!. Katya marches us past the guys with hardly a second glance. Harry makes to takes a step forward but I don’t want him interfering. “Thanks for coming to see us, guys, but you had better just listen to Katya. She’s right. Bye. See you soon.”  I am holding Kat’s hand tight. I say to her. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.” I turn back to Larry. “Let’s meet next week some time and lunch, OK?  Just now, Katya and me, we need some quality time together.” He looks at me closely but I think he sees how determined I am. He shrugs and takes Harry’s arm, leading him away from the barrier.

 

 

© 2007 Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

All characters fictitious.

Download PDF copies of other Freddie Clegg stories at :

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

The Greenwich Tales

By Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

The Mistress of Greenwich’s Tale

Part 1: Resolution

 

I left the Mall with an enormous sense of relief. For me, Katya, it was extraordinary. Maybe more extraordinary than any other marathon I have run. We just walked away, Daphne holding on to me, her head on my shoulder as we edged through the crowd of runners, both of us oblivious to anything except the relief of finishing and the turn our relationship had taken.

 

We reached Daphne’s home and both went for a shower.  There is nothing like warm water washing away the residue of several hours’ intense physical effort. To feel the grittiness of dried salty washed from your skin, leaving it clean and smooth, almost makes the effort of running worthwhile. I finished my shower and wrapped myself in a towel and went looking for Daphne.

 

She was sitting on a stool in her bathroom, drying herself off, rubbing the towel over her spiky short hair. I knelt down in front of her. As I looked up I caught her look of confusion and concern and realised the cause. “Don’t worry Daphne, I want to look at your feet, not kiss them.”

 

The look of relief was instant. “Oh, good, yes, why?” Daphne stuttered.

 

“Blisters. Toenail bruising. If we don’t check and there are any problems you can end up with very sore feet.” I took each foot in turn, checking it thoroughly. “They’re fine, Daphne,” I said. She looked pleased. “And now we have to talk.”

 

I sat down beside her. Daphne nodded. “I know,” she said.

 

“Daphne,” I began, I guessed she knew what I was about to say. “I cannot be your slave. I think we have seen that. I will not be involved in forced enslavement with you. I saw too much of what that means at home in Russia. People who were in the Gulag, in the camps. I can’t be part of anything that feels like that. I don’t want to live looking over my shoulder for the immigration people, either. Actually, neither do you, you are a guest in this country, too.”

 

Daphne responded quickly, almost too quickly, the words tumbling out. “Yes, Katya, I understand. You’re right. Of course you’re right but….”. Daphne had looked glum. “But Katya, what about us. You’ve changed me, I’ve spent the last months doing everything you say. It almost seemed like I was your slave.”

 

“And how did that feel, Daphne?”

 

She blushed, embarrassed. “Good,” she said. “I know it’s silly but it felt good. Just to feel I could let myself do anything you said; whatever you wanted.”

 

“But that didn’t need chains or ropes or gags or any of Connie’s prepping, did it? You did it because you wanted to, didn’t you?”

 

Daphne nodded. 

 

I interrupted her. “However, I know what I want for us. There are things I have thought about in my own life. I know I want my life to include Branca and Daphne from here on out. I love the idea of you as my slave, Daphne.“ Her face lit up with child-like delight. “But it must be because it is what you want. Long term, consensual enslavement. Not brainwashed, not a robot, not on automatic pilot, like Branca, but because you give your active consent and keep on giving it. That’s the only way that it can work for me. And I think that will be good for you too, Daphne. I only want what’s right for you.”

 

I can see that Daphne is watching me closely. Listening to every word. I see her mouthing the words to herself; ‘long-term-consensual-enslavement.’

 

“You’re not going to leave me.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

 

“No, Daphne,” I said. “Even if you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t leave you. I’ll always be your friend. I respect what you did. To train as you did. To run as you did. To get to where you are from where you were. That was an achievement. But if you want more, then I can give you more. But it has to be as I say.”

 

“Long term, consensual enslavement?”

 

I nodded.

 

“I give myself to you and go on giving myself to you?”

 

I nodded again.

 

“That’s not an easy thing to do.”

 

“No, but neither was running a marathon. And of course you didn’t,” Daphne looked puzzled for a moment, “any more than any of us do. You ran one mile, and then you ran another mile and then another mile. You just kept on running miles. That’s what this will be too.”

 

She kept on looking at me. Taking in what I had set. Turning it over in her mind. I went on. “Here’s what we do. You run your business and I run the gym and my training business. You call me Katya and I call you Daphne. But here, everywhere, all the time, I am your Mistress and you are my slave. Understand?”

 

“Yes Katya. I understand.” Daphne looked back at me with a steady gaze.

 

“But do you want it?”

 

“Yes Katya, I do want it.” Daphne nodded her head emphatically. She was grinning widely. I felt her trying to stop giggling. “Oh, Katya, I feel like I have champagne bubbling up inside me.” I look at her. I know what she’s feeling. It’s a mixture of happiness, fulfilment, fear and a reckless desire to drive with the brakes off. Completely. “You know I should be calling for a cooling off period, like they do when you buy pensions or insurance. But I can’t. I am falling over myself to say Yes, Yes, Yes, before you change your mind.”

 

“Absolutely sure?”

 

“I’m absolutely sure, Katya, even if I don’t really know what I am getting myself into.”

 

I smiled. After all her experiences that sounded strange. “Daphne,” I said, ”you of all people must know what you are getting yourself into. Are you still sure? Do you still want to go ahead?”

 

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I mean I’m not sure. It’s different, isn’t it, like this? But I still want to go ahead. I know that. Every bit as much as I knew that I had to run the marathon.”

 

I was touched by her trust in me, touched by her courage. I leant forward and kissed her on the forehead. She reached out and clutched my legs. I could see she was almost overcome with emotion, weak and tired after the race. She started to shake, I stroked her head anxious to calm her but there was one more thing that had to be settled. “Now Daphne,” I said quietly,”what are we going to do about Branca?”

 

“Can’t  Branca just stay?”

 

“Sure. If she wants to.”

 

“If she wants to?”

 

“That’s the deal, Daphne, no slaves unless they consent, remember? You don’t need to buy companionship these days. You can stand on your own feet now.  You don’t need props like bought, programmed, captive slaves, do you?”

 

“No, Katya, I guess not.  No, I know I don’t. Gee, I absolutely don’t. But I’ll miss her, if she goes. I mean it wasn’t just the housework. She’s good to have around and there was the work she was doing.”

 

“What work?” I’d seen Branca busy with some papers for Daphne but I’d never asked her what they were about. It hadn’t seemed like it was my business.

 

“Well, I have this investment in Brazil and I needed someone to translate some technical engineering papers, so Larry’s people found Branca and brought her to me.”

 

“Via Connie?”

 

“Huh? Oh, sure, via Connie.”

 

“And before?”

 

“Well, Branca was studying engineering at Imperial College. That’s …. “

 

“Yes, I know about Imperial College. Well, Daphne: there is something more to resolve here.  If she’s bright enough to be studying at Imperial she should not spend her life cleaning house and entertaining you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You are going to get Branca re-instated at college after the summer.”

 

“But I don’t want her to go. Any more than I want you to go.”

 

“Well she might want to stay but the least you can do is to give her back her life and then offer her a job and somewhere to live. Agreed? Well, actually, those are my instructions, slave. So that’s what is going to happen. Because I say so. Get used to it!”

 

Daphne smiled up at me with relief, I guess feeling that another weight had fallen from her. Suddenly I realised that during our conversation she had slid down from her seat. Now she was on the floor, kneeling. She looked at me with that same determined expression I had seen at the start of the marathon. “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “Absolutely.” Then, “Mistress?”

 

“Yes, slave?” I said.

 

“What happens now?”

 

That was a pretty big question. And I’d only thought about the answer to the first part of it. I stoked the back of Daphne’s neck. “Some coaches say you should take one day’s rest for every mile you have run. I guess that means you’ve earned a month off athletics training. Then, when you have fully recovered, we will start you running again with a view to some half marathons later in the year and I think your physique could use some further work in the weights gym. Would you like that Daphne?” She nodded. I knew she would. Running marathons is a drug. Even while you’re aching from the last one you’re longing for the next. “

In the short term, Branca and I are going on holiday.  We deserve it. Somewhere warm, I think. We both deserve it and you can afford to pay for it. A little present from you perhaps as an apology, maybe?”

 

“Oh.” Daphne looked sheepish and then apologetic. “Yes that’s only fair, I guess.” She paused for a moment and looked concerned. “But what about me?”

 

“Well, I said you were having a month off athletics training. But there is some other training I want you to do, some very special training of your own. While we are away.”

 

“Special training, Mistress?” She was getting into the swing of things quite well, I thought.

 

“Yes Daphne, you see, Branca and I have learned a lot from Connie. I don’t want you conditioned like we were but I do want you to learn the discipline and obedience skills she can give you. It just would not be fair for you to miss out! Would it?” Daphne looked a little doubtful. “It’s not easy being a slave. You’ll have a lot to learn and Connie is an excellent teacher Can I rely on you to fix that with Larry?”

 

And Daphne just said (a bit weakly but she still managed to say it), “OK Mistress. I’ll go do it now.”

 

I listened while she spoke to Larry. I could only hear her side of it but I could tell he was confused.

 

“Larry, I need another favour.” ….. “No, everything is fine, Larry, everything is better than fine. But I need a favour. I have a slave that needs to be trained. Not prepped, you understand, not conditioned, just trained. Basics of obedience and discipline, the usual stuff.” …… “ Well, I thought it would be OK. I guessed you’d be happy to take on paid training commissions.” ……”Who’s it for? No, not for Katya.” Daphne laughed. “It’s for me, Larry.”  ….. “Larry, are you still there. Oh. Right. Look, I know it’s strange. That’s why I said it was a favour. I promised Katya I would go through what she did, what Branca did. No not the prep stuff, just the obedience and discipline training.” ….. “You can? Great. You’re an angel. Get back to me on when you can take me. Mmm, soon as. Thanks.”

 

Part 2: Asset Management

 

Daphne left for her Training a couple of days later. I will admit to teasing her a bit over the training but I thought she’d like it anyway. Just before Larry’s people were due to arrive I had her report in front of Branca and me in the living room. She looked a little distressed when she saw Branca curled up at my feet but she choked back any concerns and stood waiting for me to speak.

 

“Are you ready Daphne?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, Mistress, if this is what you want me to do.”

 

“It is, Daphne. Now let Branca cuff and gag you ready for collection.”

 

Daphne face gave an expression of alarm. “Shouldn’t you do that Mistress?” she said.

 

“It is my wish that Branca should do it,” I replied. And that should be good enough for you.”

 

Daphne looked bashful. “Of course,” she said. “Of course.” She held out her arms in front of her, wrists together. Branca got to her feet holding the handcuffs and shook her head, indicating with her finger that Daphne should turn around. Soon the cuffs were locked in place, the ball gag pushed into her mouth and strapped tight. A ring at the door announced the arrival of Larry’s people and one of their transport crates. Daphne was calm as Branca helped the two men fasten her securely inside it. Moments later they, and she, were gone.  

 

It felt strange. Suddenly Daphne wasn’t there and I was wondering if she was all right. I knew she would be, intellectually, of course. Larry’s people were careful, I knew that but even so I worried. Branca tried to reassure me. That helped but even so I was already looking forward to the time when we could all be together again. 

 

It was a couple of days later; the morning before Branca and I were to leave for our break. I phoned the contact number that Daphne had left for me.

 

“Ms Mbazu’s office,” a coolly efficient voice says, “can I ask who is calling?”

 

“Katya Izotova,” I reply. The line goes silent for a second.

 

“Yes, Ms Izotova. One moment, please.”

 

And then Connie is on the line. Her voice is deep, soft, gentle and reassuring. Just as I remember. “Katya! How’s things? I have been really missing you! We had such fun. Why don’t you and Branca just come round – before you go? To see me again? It would be great to see you again. You know how much I’d like to see you again. How much you’d like to see me again. Just come as you are. Just come ….now.”

 

My head feels lighter, as though I’m being lifted up, as though…  My hand goes up to my ear lobe and I pinch it very hard. Ouch that hurt! That’s better. My head clears.  “Connie,” I say, “lovely to speak to you. Nice try if I may say. You do not like to let your girls go, do you?”

 

The soft voice laughs quietly, “No, nor the boys either.”

 

I keep squeezing my ear. The pain keeps me focused, keeps me in my right mind. “Anyway, Connnie; Branca and I have been thinking about Daphne.”

 

“She’s very well. She’s made a good start. Of course it’s not easy for her. It’s a big change but she is learning. She does seem keen to learn.”

 

”That’s good but there is something I would like – I would like her to come home one or two souvenirs.”

 

“To remember her time here? I don’t think she’ll forget!” I could here the laugh in Connie’s voice. “What did you have in mind?”

 

“The first is she has a tendency to get a little dry skin on her scalp. It’s very difficult to moisturise her scalp properly. I expect you’ll be keeping her hooded for some of the time,” Connie gave an affirmatory hmmm, “and that will only make it worse. So the first thing is to give her a shaven head for the duration.”

 

“That’s fine Katya. A good idea. It really suits her. I was thinking about keeping her completely shaven anyway. What else?”

 

“Well in training Daphne rather enjoyed the extra ear piercings she got as rewards for hard work. There was no time to give her something special after her Marathon efforts and so..” 

 

Branca leant across me and called into the phone, “so we thought she could have her tongue and nipples done.”

 

“Ah, Branca!” Connie said. “Nice to hear from you too. Isn’t that something you could do with as well? But of course we can let Daphne have that and we’ll be happy to do it for you too, Branca. For old times sake!”

 

“One last thing,” I said.

 

“Last thing, Katya? That’s a shame. I thought you were both coming round to see me. I thought that was supposed to be the last thing.” Connie’s soft voice was a persuasive as ever.

 

“Thank you Connie, but, no. Just look after Daphne. Maybe we’ll see you some time but not too soon. You’ll forgive us if we think that it not be safe for us for a while.”

 

Connie gave a resigned sigh.

“One last thing. I told you there has been a revolution. Well, this Mistress likes her slaves to be marked. Please have Daphne tattooed. Make sure she knows all this is because I’ve asked for it. I want a large Tsarist Eagle outlined in black on her right shoulder. Make sure its placed to be seen whenever she wears an evening dress. It should be quite large, about as big as her shoulder blade. I want another just above her left ankle. The same Tsarist Eagle again but this time black as though stencilled on a red background – so she can show it off during the day! I will send the art work across. Can you do that?”

 

”Of course, Katya. You know, I’m thinking you really have changed since you were here.”

 

“I have not changed as much as you might think Connie but I have just found a second vocation!” I knew that whatever else happened I would always want Daphne in my life – just as long as that was where she wanted to be.

Epilogue

 

It’s Steve back again.

 

So, it all turned out rather differently than how Daphne thought when she started. And now she’s got this seriously strange thing going on at home. And if I think it’s strange, then you can be sure it is.

 

I called Daphne the night after the marathon to see how she had got on. I knew she was running and all and I knew she’d had some troubles with her trainer. Her house slave answered the phone but when I asked to speak to Daphne she said. “Hold on, I’ll see if she can come to the phone.” I had a vision of her stretched out exhausted, I guess, but, instead she sounded really up.

 

“Steve,” she beamed. “Hi! Thanks for calling. It was great. I finished. It was wonderful and Katya was wonderful and – oh - everything’s terrific.”   

 

I got to hear of how terrific a bit later when I met Katya. She’s quite a forceful, young lady.

 

Mind you, I’m not sure that they have all got the whole picture. Take Katya and Branca’s prepping for example. I mean it not like you can just uninstall it, you can’t take that conditioning away. It’s laying there in each of them. Sure Katya seemed to break free of it but there will be something remaining. And Branca? Well, of course the conditioning doesn’t function if it isn’t used, so as long as she’s not reminded of her control phrase she’s as free as any of us. I guess Daphne is a consensual slave in more ways than one. If she ever gave the word Freddie’s team would have those two back in the centre for a top-up from Connie faster than you could say “Do Your Best”.

 

Freddie of course, doesn’t like unexpected outcomes. I was speaking to him when I was in London recently. He wanted to re-prep Katya and Branca and tell Daphne that it was to do with quality assurance of his services, but I said, “Look Freddie: If Daphne asks, that’s one thing but you are in business and in business you have to accept the unexpected. You have been paid over the odds and you have a satisfied client. In fact your client’s client is satisfied. What more do you want!” Freddie had looked sceptical but I guess he’s agreed with me so far. Anyway, I think Freddie would be well advised to leave Katya alone. It wouldn’t surprise me if she turned out to be “well connected” and the very last thing Freddie needs to be chased all over the country by a bunch of Speznatz on Katya’s account! He’s had enough trouble with Russians lately. And as Larry pointed out, customers are usually right. But I’m also thinking that this new project Larry is working on for Freddie means that he’s probably interested in how the whole long term consensual slave thing shapes up.

 

I’m not worried about any of that though. I’m just glad things turned out right for Daphne.

 

Anyway, instead of spending his money in prep costs, Freddie threw a dinner party in London last week, and I met up with Katya and Daphne. Daphne looked stunning; glowing almost. She had on this strapless evening dress and the most astonishing eagle tattooed on her back right across her right shoulder blade. Katya obviously loved the way it looked, I caught her stroking the eagle’s neck a couple of times. And Daphne dotes on her. She hardly took her eyes off her all evening.

 

So Daphne, the bashful, shy girl had gone. She’d set out to look for someone to help her through a marathon. While what she’s found with Katya mightn’t be what she planned for, that’s what she’s got. I guess you have to be careful with the wording when you wish. Or maybe not. It looks like things have turned out all right for all of them.

 

<<<<The End>>>

 

Further Reading

Suggestions From Freddie & Phil

 

We thought some of you might want to follow some of the other adventures of our characters or find out a bit more about the background to The Greenwich Tales, so here’s where to look.

 

We have got together a set of references for you and grouped them into Literary, Location, Educational, Practical and Whimsical.

 

Please note neither Freddie nor Phil have any connection with the firms and web sites mentioned. (Except Freddie’s Yahoo Group, of course)

 

Enjoy!

 

Literary

 

You can read about the adventures of Larry, Harry, Rick and Steve in Freddie’s tale “Market Forces”. You can find this Freddie’s Yahoo Group, together with some of his other work:

 

http://www.yahoo.com/groups/freddies_tales.

 

 

The format for The Greenwich Tales was based (very) loosely on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. It’s available on line at: www.librarius.com/cantales.htm or for those who like their books on paper in paperback as a Penguin Classic.

 

 

There are references in The Greenwich Tales to one of our favourite films: The Ipcress File, a Len Deighton thriller set in 1960’s London, starring Michael Caine, Nigel Green, Guy Doleman and Sue Lloyd. It’s available as a DVD from: www.amazon.com. It’s a great book too.

 

Location

 

We thought Larry’s lunch date with Daphne might have taken place at somewhere very like The Southwark Rose Hotel - www.southwarkrosehotel.co.uk. (But not the same place, of course.) No waitresses were accosted in the production of this story. 

 

The Green Stuff Restaurant was a complete invention of Freddie’s but we are sure you could find something like it without too much trouble! And the location is a lot like the Dorchester or the Grosvenor House Hotel.

 

There really is a pub near Island Gardens DLR Station, where Katya catches sight of Harry. Phil knows this for a fact because he has run past it in three London Marathons. He didn’t remember the name but it is The Lord Nelson (any sufficient amount of Googling is indistinguishable from real knowledge.)

 

Our tale reaches its climax on the course of the London Marathon and we have described the route used in the London Marathon 2007.

 

Educational.

 

Have you been inspired by Daphne’s example to run a marathon?

 

Well, you should be. It is quite simply wonderful and everyone should take part at least once! (So says Phil as he’s the one who knows when it comes to this stuff! What Freddie says is hey, if you can write a Booker prize winner without going to Canada why can’t he write about marathon running?) But running marathons takes time and planning – as well as quite a bit of hard work. Here are some books and sites which will help you on your way:

 

• Marathon Running for Mortals:John Bingham  & Jenny Hadfield (Quite simply excellent: beginners start here!)
• Marathon from Start to Finish: Sam Murphy
• The Complete Guide to Strength Training: Anita Bean
• Weight Training for Dummies:Liz Neporent, Suzanne Schlosberg and Shirley Archer
• Food for Fitness: Anita Bean
• Runners World Magazine
• 26.2 Marathon Stories:Katherine Switzer and Roger Robinson

 

and a few helpful websites: -

 

www.burnthefat.com : this requires a small subscription but it’s excellent: very down to earth, no gimmicks and full of good advice. If you need to loose weight, definitely go here.

 

www.jeffgalloway.com : a great exponent of the run/walk method in marathon running. He also provides on-line coaching)

 

www.waddleon.com : the site of John “The Penguin” Bingham. Phil used one of his programmes  - “The Penguin Get You Round Plan” - to train for his first marathon!

 

www.runnersworld.co.uk : the sister site for the magazine, although you have to subscribe to the magazine to have the full benefit.

 

www.london-marathon.co.uk : tells you what you need to know about the London Marathon and much more, including a map of the route at : -

http://www.london-marathon.co.uk/site/images/course_map.pdf

 

The BBC have a virtual tour of the London Marathon route. (We’re not sure how long this will be up after the Marathon finishes this year) Click the ”Red Start” to see the route as Katya and Daphne did:-

http://www.bbc.co.uk/london/sport/marathon/marathon_virtual_tour_feature.shtml

 

 

Practical

 

You will find plenty of advice on practicalities in the books and at the websites we have mentioned. However, if you have set your heart of running, do not be afraid to join a running club and a gym to help with your training. There will be plenty of other people just like you starting out and the camaraderie and fellowship you will have is invaluable.

 

Thinking about clothes to wear, get some proper running kit, just like Daphne did. It’s so much more comfortable that just wearing an old cotton T shirt and any old pair of shorts. Going to a specialist running shop is best: the people who will look after you will know what they are talking about. You should be able to find one near you from the adverts inside Runners World, and THIS IS ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL when it comes to buying running shoes.

Meanwhile, here are some interesting websites:

 

www.viga.co.uk : athletic clothing

 

www.ronhill.co.uk : athletic clothing

 

www.profeet.co.uk : a Rolls Royce of a place to buy running shoes, in Phil’s opinion

 

If you are into gadgets, you will not go far wrong by investing in a heart rate monitor and perhaps a GPS to tell you how far you have gone.

 

Check out;

 

www.polar.fi : the market leader for heart rate monitors and their UK distributor (www.heartratemonitor.co.uk) with a really good FAQ on the whole subject.

 

www.garmin.com : makers of a GPS which records distance run – when it can see the satellites – which is most of the time unless you live in the jungle, or perhaps right in the centre of the city. Follow the links to Garmin Forerunner 205 and Garmin Forerunner 305. A recent test of the Garmin 305 showed it performed accurately even when used under cover in a pine forest!

 

 

Whimsical

 

We spent a while thinking about which chastity belt and slave collar Daphne might have bought for Branca. (I spend a lot of time thinking about things like that, says Freddie.) Neither Freddie or Phil has any personal experience as a basis for advice, but these are the ones that appealed to us:

 

www.tollyboy.com : chastity belts. Daphne chose the FGA/200 with drop down waistband for Branca.

 

www.axsmar.com : slave collars etc. We thought Daphne would have bought Branca the Talena collar in titanium! Does Katya buy one for Daphne? You decide!

 

One Other Thought

 

Reading about slaves and slavers in erotic fiction is one thing but the reality is very different. 2007 is the bicentenary of Britain's abolition of the Transatlantic Slave Trade but some of the practices by today’s real slave traders are every bit as horrific as anything that was done then. If you wish to support the work of the Anti-Slavery Society, visit them at www.antislavery.org

 

 

© 2007 Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

All characters fictitious.

Download PDF copies of other Freddie Clegg stories at :

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