Prologue

Germany

The woman known only as Girl Ten looked out of the window at the silver birches bending in the early spring gales, the whippiness of the branches so accurately mimicking their frequent use on her that she felt a sudden surge of heat in her belly. Despite the weather and fact that the house was old and so very big, the room was warm and she lay almost naked on her bed.

The Masters were meticulous about that. Their women were kept in comfort until they were required not to be comfortable: until they were required to serve their Masters by undergoing whatever pain the men chose to inflict on them.

To distract herself from forbidden pleasures which that thought inevitably led her towards, Ten looked down at the silver chain she wore round her neck, just below her tightly buckled leather collar. It had the numeral that signified her suspended from it. She had no name now, not while she was here, she left her name behind – her name and everything else that marked her out as a thinking, rational human. Here she became what her Master wanted her to be, a beautiful, compliant, unthinking and uncomplaining slave, absolutely subject to his will.

Her entire reward for every humiliation and agony that she underwent here was simply the knowledge that she was serving his pleasure. And for the deep joy that that knowledge gave her, she could never thank him enough – and so she gladly threw herself into everything he decided for her as a way of fulfilling her debt to him.

Just now she was waiting. She was good at that, she was often left to wait for hours and she had grown patient through long practice – her Master said it was good for her and she agreed. She was proud, beautiful, passionate and patient.

But she hadn’t always been. Ten idly ran her fingers through the fleece of the throw on top of the quilt on her bed. She was chained to the bed by a heavy, brutal looking chain that ran from her padlocked anklet to the wall above the low bed head. She sighed quietly, making her pale breasts heave above the quarter cups of the corset she wore. She longed to be ordered to take it off by her Master – she could never be naked enough for him! She wanted to bare her very soul for him every time he looked at her. And every time he beat her or let others use and beat her, it seemed to Ten that that was part payment of a debt she could never fully repay.

She loved her Master with every fibre of her being.

Ten looked at the wall beyond the foot of the bed. There was a riding crop, a dog whip and a flogger hung there. Her Master had said he would come and beat her this afternoon, but there were so many distractions for the Masters – a whole houseful of semi-naked utterly compliant and well trained slaves that she was not surprised he was late – or he might not come at all. It was none of her concern, she would lie and wait like the obedient slave she was.

She let her thoughts wander in case she was tempted to masturbate at the prospect of being whipped by him – an offence that would see her put into solitary confinement for a week, something she could not countenance quite apart from the displeasure on her Master’s face. And that thought reminded her of how, long ago, she had first learned to fear seeing displeasure on his face.

A saying she had heard a long time ago popped into her head, it was to the effect that even the longest journey had to start with a single, first step.

She smiled to herself. Hers had been a long journey but she knew precisely where it had started. She knew the day, the hour, the minute...

The door handle turned and a man entered. It wasn’t her master but that didn’t matter here. Any of the men could do what they pleased with any of the girls. The man had another slave with him, a naked girl on a collar and leash. He smiled at Ten then gave the other slave her orders.

“Strip her, then tie her face down to start with. I’ll begin with the dog whip then turn her over to do her tits with the crop. Her owner says she goes well under tit whipping, unlike you!” He gave the girl a kick to her rump.

The other slave was a black haired oriental beauty with savage welts across her own breasts and stomach. She came over to Ten, who noted that she had the numeral twenty five on her chain. With feelings only of the deepest peace, Ten turned over and lay face down, once her corset had been removed, while she was chained. Her master had sent someone to use her, so even with all the distractions he hadn’t forgotten her. Afterwards she might be allowed to play with Twenty-Five while the stranger looked on.

It had indeed been a long journey.

Chapter 1

Gina stood uncertainly in front of Doctor Rossiter's desk. It was a large, two pedestal antique job in aged mahogany and with a red leather panel inset on its top. A lamp stood on one corner, a holder for pens and pencils and paper clips stood on another. A laptop stood open just beside him and apart from that it was bare, and spotlessly clean, she would bet. The rest of his room was similar - spare, tidy, organised. There were bookcases on most walls and their shelves were packed tight with volumes on Anglo-Saxon, Old English and Middle English literature - some of them written by Doctor Rossiter himself, she knew. She had quoted him in her first paper for her MA. She thought a bit of flattery might help things along, but now she wasn't so sure, he didn't seem to be too impressed with her thoughts on Chaucerian use of metaphor in 'The Pardoner's Tale'.

She tried not to fidget but he had taken the sheaf of papers from her - and why couldn't he just accept an attachment to an e mail for goodness sake? - and left her standing in front of his desk, hadn't even invited her to sit in one of the comfortable old armchairs that faced the desk.

Instead she tried to focus on the trees outside the tall window behind him and the view of the main college building beyond them, set in its rolling lawns.

However, her thoughts were drawn back abruptly by the doctor setting down her paper with a flourish and sitting back, snapping off his reading glasses and glaring at her.

"I am unable to even consider Geoffrey Chaucer's use of metaphor in 'The Pardoner's Tale' when I am constantly distracted by Gina Worthington's inability to use the apostrophe in her submissions," he said pushing the papers towards her.

"Go away young lady and do not waste my time again with half-baked drivel masquerading as academic theories!" He turned to one of the drawers on his side of the desk and pulled it open, took out a folder, placed it in front of himself and became immediately absorbed.

Gina just stood and stared; rooted to the spot for the moment. When her proposal for a study of figurative language in 'The Canterbury Tales' and 'Piers Ploughman' had been accepted and she had obtained the bursary for the MA. after her First Class Honours BA. in English Literature from one of the foremost universities in the country, she had been overjoyed. It gave her time to do what she loved doing while she figured out how she was going to make a career for herself.

And when she had attended for interview and found that she was to be taken under the wing of none other than Doctor Hubert Parsifal Rossiter himself, it had all seemed perfect.

She had turned up that day wearing a dark blue skirt that was a prudent but attractive two inches above the knee over tights and an actual set of matching bra and knickers in ivory lace. They had had to be rummaged for in her underwear drawer but she felt she was looking good and that helped her in interviews she found. She had put a simple pale yellow sweater over the bra and wrapped a light grey scarf around her neck. The neckline of the sweater was not too plunging and the hem on the skirt wasn't too short, she felt. And with a pale lipstick and not too much foundation or blusher and her blonde hair left to lie on her shoulders, she felt she presented herself as the very image of a smart and self-confident young woman.

Then she had found the office she was directed to, knocked on the door and entered to find Dr Rossiter was actually going to interview her himself and was sitting behind his large desk with his hands steepled under his chin and his piercing blue eyes focussed directly on her. She recognised him instantly of course from photographs on book covers and from his many TV appearances. He was in his mid-fifties and had thick, dark hair brushed back from his broad forehead. His nose was prominent but not beaky and his chin jutted almost fiercely. But it was his blue eyes that struck her. They seemed to bore straight into her as she walked across the office to put out her hand to shake his, but he remained seated and made no reciprocal gesture. His steady, considering gaze made her feel as though she was a butterfly and he was a collector. His piercing eyes were about to pin her down so that she would join his collection.

Rather desperately she had continued to hold out her hand and tried to maintain her winning smile.

"I'm...er...Gina...er...Gina...Worthington?" she had said with rather pathetic hesitancy instead of the forthright and confident manner she tried to maintain at interviews.

"I know," he said simply, his voice deep and resonant. "Sit down."

She withdrew her hand and sat in the armchair on her left, taking care to smooth her skirt demurely down the backs of her thighs as she did so.

"Not that one. That one!" His voice was cold and calm and his hand pointed imperiously at the other chair. Awkwardly she rose, walked across in front of him and sat in the other chair, now thoroughly off balance and flustered.

That set the pattern for the rest of the interview. Dr Rossiter barked questions at her, interrupting her replies on some occasions and on others seeming to dismiss her answers as being simply stupid. By the end of it Gina had been certain that she had failed miserably and was resigning herself to finding a job while she tried to do her MA. elsewhere when he announced; "That is satisfactory. I shall see you on the first day of the term when we shall discuss how best you can approach your proposed thesis."

She had been astonished and once again completely off balance so when he had produced a piece of paper and told her he needed her to sign it. She had gone to his desk gladly and leaned over it to sign...well she wasn't sure what it was, it didn't seem to be anything more than something about him being her personal tutor. It hadn't struck her until some days later that he had laid the paper on his desk so that she had had to come and stand alongside him and lean down close beside him to sign it.

And when it had occurred to her, she put it down to the fact that she was an attractive woman and he was probably a lonely old man trapped in a world of academics and starved of good looking female company. She had been in the gym when that thought struck her and she had grinned at her reflection as she pounded out the miles on the treadmill and then worked on her abs and pecs. She was fairly tall, over five feet five, and her efforts in the gym had given her a trim waist and a flat stomach which made her 36D breasts stand out quite noticeably, her hips were wide and smoothly rounded above her long legs. Before she went to change she had a quick look at her reflection from the side and admired the fact that her bottom stood out high, rounded and firm. No wonder Dr Rossiter had been a bit smitten, she thought smugly.

Now a fortnight after starting she was faced with a Dr Rossiter who had trashed her first paper and had seemingly dismissed her out of hand.

She gathered her wits and went forward to claim her papers.

“I will expect a completely re-worked essay on my desk immediately after lunch tomorrow. Without fail.” He spoke without taking his eyes off the folder in front of him.

“But if it was just some errors of punctuation Doctor-” she began, her voice quavering.

“With-out. Fail.” He interrupted her and pronounced each word as if passing sentence.

“Yes, Doctor.” The words were out before she realised she had spoken. And as she closed the office door it dawned on her that she had to re-read, guess how much he had read and would therefore remember tomorrow, re-write and had better check up on the correct uses of the apostrophe. And all by tomorrow.

She wandered morosely back to her room and then made herself a coffee in the communal kitchen of the corridor in her hall of residence.

“Hey! How’s it going?” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

Gina turned to find Carol standing behind her. Carol was the enigma of the hall. If Gina was regarded with some awe, having graduated with such a spectacular degree, Carol was regarded with disbelief by a lot of the other girls. How she could have arrived at university at all was what puzzled everyone.

She dressed like a tart and behaved like one, she had quite a few tattoos as well. But Gina had soon discovered that Carol didn’t conform to anyone’s stereotype and there was a sharp intelligence beneath the outer layer of sleaze. But just at that moment, the sleaze was very much on show – as was a lot else.

She was in her baby doll nightdress, which she often wore in the lounge and kitchen in the evenings. It was more or less entirely transparent and came down only to her crotch. Over her more than ample breasts there was a panel of lace which just about hid her nipples but the neckline left the wide upper swells of her breasts completely bare and they swung and jiggled as she moved in a way that even Gina found distracting. It didn’t help that what she wore in the way of knickers was no better. They were filmy confections of lace and satin that barely contained the ripe pouch of her vulva. One could almost see how the thick outer lips were pushing against the fragile fabric. And occasionally they had been so transparent as to allow anyone who cared to look a glimpse of them as she appeared to shave her pubes completely. What made matters worse was that she wasn’t running to fat, she was quite trim below her large breasts and her thighs – though not as long as Gina’s - were smooth and quite firm.

Gina had never even had a teenage crush on a female teacher or a sixth former. Other women had never interested her but there was something so openly available about Carol – Gina felt that if anyone made her the most blatant invitation she would just nod and say; ‘Sure, why not,’ - that even Gina found her unsettling.

“Hi, Carol. Coffee?” she said. Carol was leaning against the side of the doorway, looking tousled and sleepy, her dark hair loosely piled on her head.

“Yeah, thanks hun.”

She came forward and patted Gina’s bottom as she did so.

“Y’know that’s a really bad habit you’ve got there. And anyway why aren’t you in lectures, it’s half past eleven!” Gina said.

“It’s just my way of appreciating the finer points of the female form. And it’s Prussian aggression in the mid-nineteenth century and I did that at school. Yawn, yawn.” She yawned theatrically and put her hand over her mouth then grinned at Gina. “Anyway weren’t you supposed to be closeted with Herr Doktor this morning?”

Damn her. She really didn’t miss a thing, despite how she made you think she was just a dumb bunny.

“Yeah, I was supposed to be. But he says I’ve made some basic punctuation errors and wants me to re-write the whole thing.”

Carol grimaced. “Well he does have a reputation for being a stickler for correctness in all things.” She sipped her coffee and then grinned at Gina. “Bit of a looker in the Daddy-type department though.”

“How do you mean?”

“You know! The sort of Daddy most girls would have liked. Handsome, authoritative and stern. A firm hand to guide a girl through the storms of life.”

Gina laughed out loud but saw that Carol wasn’t joking. She thought back to the first time she had seen Doctor Rossiter. Yes, he was good looking and he was rather intimidating but in a way that made her want to do what pleased him so that he wouldn’t be. She realised that she was going to sweat blood on this paper over the next day because she wanted him to look up and say; ‘Well done, Miss Worthington.’

She realised that Carol was looking at her closely, a shrewd smile on her face. “Yes, you do see what I mean don’t you?”

“Well! Yes, he is quite good looking in a mature sort of way I suppose.”

“Yeah. A man not a boy. Not like those guys on the Geography course I was out with last night. It was like being with pissed up octopuses! Hands everywhere.”

Both girls laughed but Gina was aware that Carol had hit the nail on the head. Undergraduate boys had never really lit her fires. She had had a few flings and was certainly no virgin but even despite the orgasms she had never felt entirely as fulfilled and ‘womanly’ as all the magazines she read had told her she would in the wake of a good night between the sheets.

“Well, whatever. But I’d better get down to work,” Gina said before she could get too bogged down in examining her sexuality on a Monday morning. She had more pressing problems, like where to put these blessed apostrophes.

“I’ve got to shower and then go into town to meet this guy I met on Friday,” Carol said, stretching languidly so that the baby doll rode up to her stomach and her breasts lifted beneath the thin veil of lace. And Gina couldn’t help noticing that her knickers were especially filmy and she could almost see the cleft of her sex lips.

She grabbed her cup and made for her room feeling almost as flustered and unsettled as she had when she left the doctor’s office.

Once back in front of her computer she had to really cudgel her brain back onto the right rails of thought to tackle the fourteenth century once more.

She googled all she could find and realised where she had gone wrong regarding the punctuation. But then she had to make sure that the actual content was up to the doctor’s standards. He hadn’t been entirely complimentary about that either.

In the end it was the mental image she had of Doctor Rossiter’s strong face breaking into a smile as he looked up from her work and told her that he was pleased with what he had read which spurred her away from thoughts about men sexually. Carol’s lush figure and talk of what mature, self-confident men could provide for a girl receded eventually.