“The card reads, ‘Go to Jail. Go directly to Jail, do not pass GO, do not collect
£2,000`. Mr Black,” he nodded to Blue’s minder, who took a firm grip on her arm and
led her outside the main area of the game board to the stone building ahead. They went
inside, out of Yvette’s view. She heard Blue shout a single word, “what?” and then all
went quiet. It was several minutes before the minder reappeared and nodded to Joseph.
Yvette risked a glance at the wealthy players, who were all looking at their screens. Mr
Red had left his seat and was standing next to Mr Blue, but she couldn’t hear what they
were laughing about.
Joseph waited until Mr Red had resumed his seat, then spoke. “Gentlemen, I should
explain this part of the rules. Mr Blue, your playing-piece will remain in Jail until you
have missed three rolls of the dice. There are two options to free the piece earlier if
you wish, which you may do immediately before your next throw. The first is not available
to you at the moment, but later in the game you may find one of the Chance or Community
Chest cards permits freedom from Jail at no cost to yourself. The second way is to buy her
out, which will cost you an amount of money determined by your next dice roll, £100
for each score, so if you were lucky enough to throw a double one it would cost
£200, but it could cost up to £1,200. Is that clear?”
Mr Blue nodded. Yvette wondered what had happened to Blue.
“Play will continue. Mr Green to play.”
So play went on, with nothing else eventful until Yvette’s turn. Another five. She
mentally calculated that it meant she, too, was in Jail. She waited for Joseph to speak.
“The score is five, taking Red to Jail. Please note, gentlemen,” he informed the
players, “that the Red playing-piece is not in Jail, but just visiting. There are no
forfeits, no cost to get out of jail and play continues as normal on the next throw.”
Yvette’s minder nodded curtly and she walked forwards towards the building and in the
door. As her eyes grew accustomed to the relative darkness within, she started. She was
standing in a small area about six feet across and the width of the building, perhaps 20
feet. There was another door at the far end, presumably the way out. What startled her,
though was that the part of the building she was in was divided from the second, much
larger part by heavy vertical steel bars, with a locked door in the middle. Inside that
area was a stout vertical post, similar to those in the other game squares, and against it
stood Blue. Heavy ropes kept her there, round her ankles, knees, waist, chest and neck. A
large red ball forced her mouth open and was strapped in place round her head. Her arms
appeared to be fixed behind the post, presumably by more rope. She looked a parody - the
elegance of her dress, shoes, hairdo and make-up against the severe ropes which held her.
Yvette shivered. If she had landed on the wrong square ... She realised, too, that it
was entirely possible she could end up in here, helpless and as scared as the brunette
appeared to be. Yvette spoke, ready to protest, but was cut short by the minder, who just
barked the single word “silence” and gripped her arm so tight that it hurt. She mouthed to
Blue when she thought he wasn’t watching, “Are you OK?”
Blue shook her head and Yvette watched as a tear ran down the girl’s face. She had
little knowledge of how the game was proceeding outside, nor did she care. Her feelings
were a mixture of defiance and fear, plus a determination to escape. So she had signed a
contract, so what? There was no way the model agency could defend that in court and when
the Press got hold of it, the whole sordid affair would be exposed. Yvette decided she
could end up famous, with work flooding in. She resolved to escape as soon as possible and
call the police or the newspapers. Meanwhile she considered her immediate fate. She could
end up like Blue, but even if she did, so what? She would get tied up for the time it took
for a few dice throws. She could handle that. But she had an uneasy feeling there would be
more surprises in store before the day was through. Blue stared back at her. There was
nothing else to do.
Soon it was Mr Blue’s turn again. He had obviously decided to keep in the game, because
Yvette heard it announced that Blue should be taken from Jail. Her minder unlocked the
door with a key from his pocket and untied her from the post, but leaving the gag in
place. When Blue attempted to remove it, the minder pushed her hand away. Both left the
building. The next thing Yvette heard was Mr Red’s voice saying, “Bring my piece outside,
she should see this,” so her minder took her outside the Jail, where they both stood. Blue
was standing in front of Joseph, facing the four players. Joseph reminded everyone of the
next stage.
“Mr Blue has decided to keep his piece in play. Both dice will be thrown, the fee for
release being determined by the score.”
The maid, on a nod from Joseph, threw the dice, scoring seven. Joseph announced that the
fee for Blue’s release was £700 and that Mr Blue could choose to pay or have her
returned to Jail until the next throw. He decided to pay and the Governess noted it down
in the log. Joseph addressed Blue.
“Blue, here is your chance to win that £700. Each of you will be given this
opportunity if you are bought out of Jail. The score is seven. If you choose to have the
money, you will receive seven strokes of the whip and it will be yours. If you decline,
the money reverts to the bank. You have 30 seconds to choose. Acceptance of the whipping
will be signalled by a nod of the head, refusal by a shake of the head. Your time starts
...” he glanced at his wristwatch. “Now.”
Yvette shivered. She could be in this situation and, probably, before the day was
through, would be. How would she decide? A whipping? Did they mean a hard whipping, or
just a play one? She despised the idea, but £700 was a lot of money. Would they let
her decide after one stroke whether to proceed or not? And what would Blue choose? She’d
already lost one amount of money, which had clearly annoyed her. And she was defiant, but
how would that defiance manifest itself? In a refusal to be whipped, or in a show that she
could take anything they could dish out. Yvette watched the girl; grateful she had not
been the first to have to decide.
Joseph glanced away from his watch. “Time up,” he said. “Your decision, girl.”
Blue looked at him and slowly nodded.
At a signal from Joseph, Blue’s minder brought a padded stool into the centre of the
area, just in front of Joseph. It reminded Yvette of the horse they had in her school gym.
The minder took Blue’s hand and led her to it, pushing her down so she was bent double
over it, securing her wrists to the legs with ropes. Kneeling at the other side, he pushed
her skirt up enough to be able to part her legs sufficiently to secure her ankles to the
horse’s legs.
“Mr Blue,” Joseph said. “You have the option to have the punishment administered by
anyone, or to do it yourself.”
Mr Blue stood. “I will do it. She needs to be broken, this one.” He put his drink on the
table next to him and walked round until he was beside the bound girl. “A crop,” he told
the minder, who went back to the Jail, returning moments later with a riding crop. Mr Blue
took the crop and leaned down towards Blue, taking a grip of her hair and pulling her up
to speak to her. “Now listen, bitch,” he spat at her. “I am going to punish you. At any
time you can shake your head and I’ll stop. You lose the money, but I will stop. You act
tough, but it is just an act, isn’t it? I don’t think you’re tough enough to take this.”
He let her head fall and spoke to her minder. “Watch her. If she shakes her head, let me
know.”
Mr Blue reached forward and raised the brunette’s skirt until it was above her waist,
tucking it into her blue suspender belt to leave her blue-stockinged legs and her bottom
exposed. Yvette saw how the thong disappeared between the cheeks of the girl’s pale
bottom. Mr Blue raised the crop, then paused and turned to face Yvette.
“With your permission, Mr Red, I’ll have your piece count,” he said, keeping his eyes on
her. He turned briefly to see Mr Red nod his agreement, then turned back to face Yvette.
“Red, count the strokes. Make it a clear count that everyone can hear, or I’ll have to
repeat.”
He turned to Blue’s exposed bottom again and raised the crop, bringing it down hard
across her right buttock and causing her to squeal in pain. The sound made Yvette feel
sick.
“I don’t hear you, Red,” Mr Blue called, shocking Yvette into action.
“One,” she called out quickly. Her voice didn’t sound like her own; it was cracked and
faltering.
“Not good enough, we have to do that one again.” Blue mumbled loudly from behind the
gag, causing Mr Blue to lean down to her. “Are you shaking your head, slut? Can’t you take
it?” Blue stilled her struggles and braced herself as he raised the crop again and brought
it down in exactly the same place.
“Two,” Yvette called quickly.
Mr Blue turned to face her. “I told you we were starting again. That should have been
one. You keep on like this, Red, and your friend’s bottom is going to be very sore. She
might decide you’re doing it deliberately. Now, start again.”
A third stroke landed with the same sick sound as the last two, and in exactly the same
place, which was already blotched red and white.
“One,” Yvette called. This time there was no problem, her count stood. She felt guilty,
she couldn’t afford to fail Blue again.
The next blow landed on the other cheek.
“Two,” Yvette called clearly. She wanted to cry.
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