CHAINED TO CHLOE
based on conversations with Carol and Chlöe Waterman
Michael O’Hara pulled the car into the side of the road. “Just got to drop in here for a
few minutes” he said. “Bit of business; it’s a crammer’s…”
“What on earth’s a crammer’s?” Caroline peered out at the flat-fronted building which
looked like some big Victorian town-house. Michael had been offering her a lift home from
work almost every day for a month now; today he’d been late at the corner where he
regularly picked her up and it was already well past the time she liked to be home…
“Sort of college-thing. Specialises in ‘cramming’ into you the sort of things you need
to know but don’t – to pass an exam or something. There’re lots of them in London but this
one’s a bit posh. Why not come in for a minute – this one’s an IT crammer, you’re a
computer-freak…”
“Long as it’s only a minute,” she said, actually quite interested; “I am not a freak…”
There was a door-phone which unlocked the big front-door with a heavy clunk when Michael
said his name and another locked door inside at which they waited some moments. Typically
useless London ‘security’ she thought as the decidedly non-electronic deadlock was
released by someone turning a key. Inside, a biggish hallway with a tiled floor, a
smart-looking middle-aged woman in black stepping aside to let them in. Inside, suddenly,
a black-clad woman on each side of her was gripping her upper arms painfully and another
behind her clamped a hand very fiercely on the back of her neck, forcing her head down.
She heard Michael’s voice say ‘Bye, Caroline’ and the bang of the inner door before they
ran her yelling and struggling down the hallway and into a Victorian-looking room, slammed
her face down on a big, cloth-draped table, held her there with her head forced down over
the edge while she choked and struggled and screamed…
Something went wuuuhhh! in the air somewhere above her and thwackkk! across the seat of
her summer dress, making an agonising line of white fire on and in her bottom so that she
went instantly rigid with shock and pain before she shrieked and fought…
Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk!
Hysterical with pain and shock and terror Caroline Cheshunt shrieked and shrieked, tried
desperately to roll from the hard, imprisoning hands… Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh –
thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! It went on relentlessly,
agonisingly, every searing, flaring blow the precursor of the next and the next and the
next until she lay there shaking and mewing, mewing like some desperate seabird… Whuuuhhh
– thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Whuuuhhh – thwackkk!
“Strap her up!” said a man’s voice, breaking into her terror of the next flaring pain.
She leapt in the hard hands holding her as the voice, suddenly close to her ear said
“You do as you’re told, my pretty, or we’ll cane you arse bare, right?” As he said it
the hands on her arms went away, came back, doubled her arms behind her and what could
only be broad, hard straps bound them there, pulled tight, hurting.
The pain in her bottom made it difficult to think, to understand anything; ‘please don’t
tie me up’ came into her mind unvoiced, then
“P-please don’t t-tie m-me…” Whuuuhhh – thwackkk! Shriek…
A cane. It was a cane. They’d caned me. Caned me… Tied me up. Caned me… It hurts, hurts,
hurts…
“Kit off!” said a man’s voice…
“Hold her legs then…”
They held her down again and delivered three more cuts with the cane before she yielded
into a trembling, rigid, weeping, bound girl lying on a table; lay there trembling and
mewing, agony spreading from her bottom, burning in her arms while hands took her shoes,
something cold and hard slid up under her dress – to her waist to her shoulders and slit
it expertly with a quick hiss of parting cloth.
“Oh, p-please d-don….” Whuuuhhh – thwackkk!
“Shut your mouth or we’ll shut it for you!” said the voice as horrible, horrible warm
hands reached inside the waistband of her tights and her briefs and dragged them off, like
that, hurting, burning her, exposing her wealed, discoloured backside to cool room-air.
Snick at her back and her bra was dragged painfully from her breasts beneath her. For a
moment there was no movement, no sound but her panicky weeping, the sound of her catching
her breath, the screaming in her mind; she didn’t dare move because of the cane…
“Nice. Turn her over, get her legs again…” A door opened, closed very close and a new
voice, male, educated, said, very close, “Very nice” as they rolled her over hard, pushed
her flat, gripped her ankles and hauled her legs wide until her hip-joints added more
pain. Just for a moment Caroline saw a dazzlingly bright light above her partly obscured
by a dark, silhouetted head and shoulders… Felt hard hands holding down her upper arms
again…
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