Monday 21st December.

 

Oh journal, only two weeks since my Scotland break and already life is a mass of confusion. Dinner with Rock was good, but still he ignores my need to be his. I grow ever more confident, though, that one day ....

Enough dreaming, he’ll decide when the time’s right. I’ll try to be patient, but it’s hard - so very hard. Madam - she excites so - wants me to go to London in a couple of weeks. The first Sunday of the New Year. What will the year bring? To be a model, that’s what she says but I know it will involve more than that. My bottom still clenches when I remember being a sales assistant for the day. You know, when I couldn’t walk or sit straight for a week afterwards. What to model? Goodness knows, but it will hurt. I’m sure of that.

Lisa continues to impress, even though I view her more suspiciously now,  hang on every word for the slightest hint that she is in cahoots with Madam in some way. Must watch her carefully, be prepared for her plans. Does she really have plans?  She came to see me today, brought along Charles from accounts and Monica from personnel.

Lisa, Charles and Monica, three wise monkeys. Their hostile air made it obvious something was wrong and I needed all my arrogance and experience to confront them eye to eye. It’s my company and I will NOT be bullied.

“Yes, what is it?” Voice was calm, but it took all my effort.

“Mr Hudson. He’s working some kind of fiddle. Charles has the figures.”

“Thank you, Monica.  I hope you can substantiate the accusation, Charles?” My heart felt leaden. Surely Rock wouldn’t let me down this way. Risk everything. His job. Me?

“It’s all here, Frankie. There’s no doubt, I’m afraid.” The office suddenly felt cold. ‘It can’t be’ shrieked a voice inside and I needed time to think.

“Leave it with me.  We can deal with it after Christmas, I think. That’s all for now. Lisa, - wait please.”

“Yes, Frankie?”

“I’m surprised. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Rock’s good but Charles has the evidence. It is all there, I’m afraid.”

“You know, better than most, neither of them like him. Do you think he’s dishonest?”

“I didn’t, but ...”

“But what?” I couldn’t help the hasty interruption. She did believe it, was backing Charles and wanted rid of Rock. Flashback to Scotland, Madam and Lisa froze in my mind.

“You’ll see. Monica’s all for calling in the police.” Examined her face, her eyes, but could find no give away look.

I stared at the report in front of me. All the receipts were there, including one in his own bloody writing. Proof I didn’t want. He can’t be this stupid. Can he? The evidence seems irrefutable but I can’t lose him over this. Enough worries to spoil Christmas without this as well.

Christmas - three whole days with Mum and Dad. A chance to unwind - again! No Madam, Rock or business conspiracies, just merriment, gluttony and the serious business of dieting before - a new year and what will that bring? Rock? Alone, or with family, a card? Best not, probably scare him off. Oh, what has he done?

Time for bed, journal. Must remember the train timetable tomorrow. Still remember the drive from The Tannery. Yes, train will be best.

 

****     ****    ****

 

January 4th 1999

 

A New Year, journal and my first visit to your pages, my first assignment completed. Enjoyed Christmas, sort of, even if there is six whole pounds more of me than before. Must renew gym membership. Too much food and lazing about, lots of thinking though, especially about Rock. Why has he let me down so badly? You know how I built him up, now he’s shattered my dreams. The evidence is irrefutable, no matter which way I look at it and I have looked all ways trying to prove his innocence but there really can be no doubt.

 

Sunday morning. Bribed the ticket machine and, as always, doubted it would give up its precious ticket. Station platform was bleak, grey like the sky and my mind. Pussy the only bright spot.  Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Green fields and bare frosty hedgerow flashed by rattling windows and headlines stared blankly from the Sunday Times. Confusion reigned; today, excited trepidation - Madam, lustful loathing, - Rock.... Oh, Rock, desire, love? Stronger somehow now it looks like he may be lost. Why has he thrown it all away?

Suburbia replaced the country. All those normal everyday houses and lives. Model? What? Who for? Palms damp, heart and breathing grew excited making pussy simmer. Station was quiet, checked clock then map before turning right into the street. People, all too busy to notice me but what would they see if they did? The calm exterior I hoped for or the rampaging excitement within?

Drakes Close, a quiet little cul-de-sac of nice houses with carefully tended gardens and curtains still drawn. Well off, not affluent and my heels clicked deafeningly in early morning peace. Checked the time. Good, Madam hates lateness. Number 14, in the corner on the left, heart pounding the gate creaked and the bell chimed. Waiting was intolerable, my palms sweaty despite frosty air as I shuffled while nervously glancing around expecting to see curtains twitch and faces peer from windows. Would they know?

The shadowy movement in the door’s bubble glass revealed himself. Unkempt wisps of greying hair brushed his shoulders while his pate reflected and gold wire rim spectacles balanced precariously. A round face accentuated by chubby, ruddy cheeks. Don’t laugh, Frankie, think of your report. The white decorator’s apron with large kangaroo pockets and a thick green fisherman’s sweater added to his corpulence. Drying white plaster mottled his stubby fingers and well worn trainers barely clung to his feet. What must the neighbours think? Mad scientist or embarrassing eccentric? Ignore him, most likely.

“Miss Mildmay, come in.” No welcoming smile accompanied the vacant comment.

“Thank you.” Already he was leading me along a nose wrinkling narrow passage with faded, peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. How do people live in such squalor?

“I like Madam’s inexperienced lasses. Come cheaper. I do well enough but cheap tits and quim help keep costs down.” Thinking aloud really, like I wasn’t there, only utterly degraded.

“Undress. Let’s look at you.”

A shiver ran down my spine as the door closed with a solid clunk. Trembled and face my burned as his beady eyes watched. A workshop with bright lights, white walls and a long wooden workbench with tools, moulds and packets of who knows what.

Dentist’s chair? Plastic covered, leather straps, bars with more straps extending from sides. But still a dentist’s chair, floodlit.

Fingers probed my breasts, squeezed, moulded, stretched. Pussy also and a strong will was needed to resist fleeing his probing, intense eyes.

“Stretch those tits.” Vacant words. Like his mind was elsewhere.  Gripped nipples and pulled.

“More.”

Breasts ached, cone shaped with nipples alight with fire. My arms trembled as his beady eyes devoured from all angles.

“Onto the chair.”

Sat upright, legs outstretched just like at the dentist - quivering hands with rough touch guided my arms along the cold metal bars. Three leather bands. Wrists, elbows, shoulders buckled tight. I watched as more bands were buckled across my waist, thighs and ankles until movement was impossible. OOOHHH!

A muslin wad filled my mouth until my cheeks bulged hamster-like before wide tape, which I was sure would hurt when it was pulled off, secured. Sweat formed little globules, which dribbled from my forehead to sting eyes. Excitement and fear raced hand in hand.

Spotlight highlighted my breasts and pride joined the excitement and fear. Flawless, milky skin a backdrop for delicate rosebud nipples.

“Nipple first.”

My eyes widened and heart pumped the adrenaline faster as the mad scientist approached with a glass tube attached to the chair’s control box by a rubber pipe.

Glass felt cold against my breast as it circled and enclosed my left nipple. His hand moved to a switch marked pump. Buzzing sucked air from the tube, pulling my nipple into the vacuum making eyes roll before being drawn hypnotically to throbbing bud. Disbelief, it couldn’t be! An inch long and still growing, surely it would be torn off. Body stiff, my lungs screamed silently into the wad and I felt seasick as the room swayed and greyness invaded. A sprung ring replaced the tube and circled my throbbing nipple, now a full two inches and unable to relax.

Mad scientist leaning over his bench. Concentrate, I had to read the label on jar. Needed to distract my mind from the pain. Releasing Gel. What’s that? Cold - icy cold, that’s what. Rubbed into nipple, so cold it burned.

White paste, smooth, applied by spatula. Then a gun pointed at my nipple. What next? Eyebrows knitted together as I watched his finger on the switch, U.V. said the label and a light glowed, like the dentist with fillings. Don’t like the dentist either. Mould was heavy before stubby fingers surprisingly delicately twisted and removed it for his intense eyes to inspect.

Shards of agony ripped into my bud as the ring was removed and straining muscles fought the leather bands, but it was no contest.

Right breast now. Adjustable ring slipped over and tightened. Swollen, milky perfection turned to blue cheese. The chair reclined, left breast subsided but right stood upright, pointing and throbbing. Grotesque crazed blue veins on a vivid pink canvas. Fingers prodded, caressed and further aroused.

Icy cold releasing gel again, nipple wanted to shrivel and hide but it couldn’t. More paste, more U.V., more pain. Always with Madam it’s pain, causing my eyes to stream and the gag to dry my mouth. Everything ached. Even Rock, heartache. Another mould removed to encourage more pain. Screams, thankfully absorbed by the muslin making my voice and jaws hurt as the nipple ring was removed. How many different hurts are there? And my breast exploded into excruciating bittersweet passage from numbness to life.

“Time for lunch. Give the tits time to rest.”