UNDERHILL VENGEANCE
PART 2
Introduction
Readers of `Master of Underhill` and/or `Underhill Vengeance Part 1` will know that
Peter Ransome abducted Roberta Richards with the intention of transforming her from a
self-contained, bad-tempered and domineering woman to a sex-slave. Only after the
abduction did he and his associates find the real reason for her aggressive and abrasive
manner: she had been systematically tortured by her sisters, who took revenge on her for
having bigger breasts then theirs by burning them with lighted cigarettes over a period of
months. Knowing that her breasts were to all intents and purposes ruined, the otherwise
very attractive girl-then-woman withdrew into herself, her future behaviour driven by
shame and bitterness.
Ransome, an established and prominent - as far as anyone in his chosen profession
CAN be prominent - slave trainer and trader, arranged to have her treated by an eminent
plastic surgeon, who restored her breasts to something very close to her former glory. He
also channelled all those negative emotions into a new and far more productive and
satisfactory pursuit for them both: Roberta became first his assistant and later his
partner in slave training. She proved to be very good at it.
One thing remained to complete her rehabilitation: revenge. The sisters who had
caused her so much torment and shame and who had been responsible for wreaking such havoc
with her life have been kidnapped and brought to Underhill, Ransome`s headquarters,
located under an innocuous looking south-east London public park, where it had been since
the eighteenth century.
As this episode of the story opens, they have been in captivity for three weeks.
They`ve felt enough of Roberta`s wrath to wish, fervently, that their sibling had never
been born, though they are fast coming to the point that they are beginning to regret that
that had ever happened to them.
Chapter 1
So what if we had played a few games with her when we were young? Yes, maybe we had
gone a bit for sometimes, but is that an excuse for the terrible way she`s treating us
now? She and that smiling bastard of a man of hers; and that black-haired dolly-mop that
follows them ready to stick her tongue up their arses: they should be taken out somewhere
and shot! No! They should be tied up and given to us! With a couple of those fiendish
canes they use to hand, we`d show them whose boss!
Oh! What glory that would be! To hear her screaming as if her lungs would burst:
oh, yes! Screaming as she did years ago when we ground out the odd cigarette on her tits!
No, it wasn`t that bad, honestly! It was just a bit of fun, truly! And now she`s got us
locked in this hellish place and she`s torturing us and torturing us! Dear God, the agony!
All for a something that happened twelve years ago! She`s beaten us two or three times a
day; and not just six-of-the-best sort of beatings: these have been horrible, diabolical
tortures of twelve or more strokes on the backside or thighs, front and back. I have
screamed myself hoarse as the agony has coursed through, howling for a mercy that doesn`t
come, because she possesses none!
She is relentless in the suffering she inflicts on us: it is mental as well as
physical: one the first or second day - I forget which - she forced me to cut and shave
off all my dear sister`s hair and paint the word `Bitch` on the shining skull. Then -
horror on horror! - she made her do the same to me! Can you imagine how we felt: women,
shorn of their hair! And she makes go around naked all the time, forcing us to do menial
work while she stands over us with a cane or crop, lashing us for no reason when the mood
takes her. She forces us to display ourselves before her male and female visitors, naked,
our arms behind our necks and our knees spread wide. Can you imagine the humiliation that
inflicts on a woman, especially on who has had her head shaved and is naked and
vulnerable?
But of all the torments and humiliations she has inflicted on us, perhaps the worst
is that she has taken every opportunity to drive Angie and me apart. It must give her
satisfaction to destroy the close bond we`ve always had. Possibly even worse: she has kept
us naked, chained, in constant pain and terror and on display for her perverted friends to
examine and sneer at. She has made us serve them as waitresses, still naked, while they
indulge themselves in all forms of sexual perversion; yet not once in all the time that we
have been held captive in this place have we been offered any form of sexual release for
ourselves. She must know that we are vital, warm women, but she has denied us even this,
except on the occasion that she had us raped and sodomised by six roughnecks that she’d
hired for the purpose. The pain and indignity! She and her crony have ripped us from the
arms of our beloved and loving husbands to suffer in this sterile, pain-ridden hell of a
place! Oh, give me just her and a cane and I will repay some of what she has done to us!
And, believe or not, she is our sister! How could one we had cared for after our parents
died so tragically repay us in this vile way?
But we have a plan, Angie and I. That black-haired whore they keep became careless
last night: she left her key ring lying on the bunk and I managed to take off one of them.
It is for one of the steel doors in one of the passages, I know; I`ve seen them use this
very one: it is a peculiar shape. When she puts us to work scrubbing the passageways
tomorrow, even if it`s in one of the other passages - this place is full of them - we`ll
make a break for it. We have to, because I can`t take any more of the pain; besides, I`m
sure that when she`s finished taking what her warped mind sees as revenge, she`ll dispose
of us. I only hope that I have the strength to do it.
Ransome stretched an arm, took a peach from the bowl and examined it. "Have
you decided what you’re going to do with them?" he asked Roberta. She was sprawled in
an armchair next to his, a glass of champagne in on hand, the other toying with the black
hair of Bubbles kneeling between them, holding the fruit bowl.
He didn`t have to explain who `them` was: it was her sisters, who had been, in his
words: `Underhill, under-sexed and under you` for three weeks now. They had clearly not
enjoyed that drastic change to their lives: when she hadn`t got them tied down over a
black for a thrashing, they were sweating on a treadmill or running machine, doing endless
repetitions with weights or on their hands and knees scrubbing the equally endless
corridors in Ransome`s slave trading headquarters. And although they`d been present at
more than one of the minor orgies that had taken place, the only time that they’d had any
sexual contact was when Roberta had arranged for them to be raped and buggered by six men,
something that couldn’t really be considered sexual release, particularly since they’d
been strapped down with their very tender backsides high in the air.
She glanced over to him. "Not yet," she said. "Though I have to
admit, somewhat to my surprise, that beating the stuffing out of the cows is becoming a
tiny bit boring. I thought, originally, that I`d never tire of it, but much as I hate the
bitches, it`s beginning to lose its attraction. Does that make me an ungrateful cow, after
all the trouble you took to get them here?"
He bit the peach, chewed and swallowed. "Not really. In fact I`m rather
surprised that you`ve lasted this long. You`re entirely unlike them, you see: they took
pleasure in torturing a helpless victim just because they could do it. You`re not like
that: you need a goal to aim for, a target; hence the question. Of course, you could keep
them here just to scrub the corridors; they`ve never been so clean."
Between them Bubbles gave a violent twitch, almost dropping the bowl she carried.
Roberta and Ransome exchanged glances. He looked down.
"Why did the mention of the corridors have you jumping a foot in the air,
Bubbles?"
Her face turn up, anguished, eyes full of tears. "Master," she said,
hesitantly. "I ..."
A tiny muscle tightened at the corner of his jaw. "Go on, Bubbles," he
said quietly. "What have you done?"
Their shared personal slave quailed. "Master, please ... I`m sorry, Master! I
thought I`d find it!" Tears began falling. "But ... but I can`t!" she
wailed. "I ... I ... know I should have told you, but I thought I could find it,
Master! I`m sorry, Master!" She was sobbing now.
Once more Roberta and Ransome looked at each other. Then he looked down again.
"Give me that bowl before you drop it, Bubbles." He took it and put it on the
table before turning back to the sobbing girl. Roberta didn`t interfere; Bubbles had been
his slave long before she arrived on the scene. "Now," he said. "You`ve
lost something. A key?"
The girl wailed, confirming his diagnosis. She had been allowed to carry keys for a
long time, but only those for the cells of the other, transient slaves; not the two
sisters. That puzzled him: if she`d lost one of them it meant that a slave might get out
of her cell, but that simply meant that she`d be loose in the warren of tunnels and
corridors that had been created over centuries.
"I think you`d better tell me what happened, Bubbles," he said, a
distinct edge to his voice.
The girl sniffled. "Master, I ... I went to give them break ... breakfast this
morning, b ... but the ... my keys weren`t there."
"No," said Roberta suddenly realising. "I took them to give Topsy
her early morning run on the machine. She`s up to ten miles now, so I had to start her
early."
Ransome flashed her a look. "And so you took the other ring, Bubbles?"
"Yes, Master," came the anguished response.
He frowned. That ring had all the keys on it. "And how many are missing,
Bubbles?"
"Just ... just one, Master. I`m sorry. Master! I should have said!"
"Indeed you should, Bubbles," he said, ice in his voice. "Which
one?"
"I ... I don`t know, Master! I ... I`ve been looking and looking, but I can`t
find it! Punish me, Master!"
"Oh, you`ll be punished, Bubbles, never fear." He looked at Roberta.
"But first of all let`s find out just what key has gone and where you lost it. Go and
bring the ring, please."
The beautiful dark-haired girl scrambled to her feet and fled, weeping.
"It`s my fault," said Roberta. "I took the wrong ring."
"That`s why you`ll be the one to give her the punishment, my dear." He
saw her look. "We`ve talked about this," he said gently. "Remember?"
"Oh." Roberta hated hitting Bubbles. She had done even before the devoted
slave had volunteered herself for twenty-four strokes in front of Bitch and Witch; now it
felt even worse. She bit her lip. "All right. I`m sorry."
"Don`t be. She`s broken half a dozen rules, not least by not telling us until
now. I think we`re going to have to re-think security. In the meantime, would you care to
check the monitors?"
"I would," she said, getting up as Bubbles came back, still weeping.
Roberta knew that that wasn`t because Bubbles feared the punishment, but that their slave
knew she`d let her master and mistress down. Roberta wanted to hug her, but resisted the
impulse. She left the room as Bubbles knelt in front of Ransome and offered him the keys.
Roberta settled into the chair in the control room and scanned the monitors. All
four current residents were in their cells. Topsy, the fake blonde, now with a good inch
of her natural hair colour showing at the roots of the blonde hair, was fast asleep. Not
surprising, since she`d spent a large part of the day in the gym on the running machine
and lifting light weights. The work was having its effect on her: the body that had begun
to sag and which had had the beginnings of flab at the waist and buttocks was firming up
nicely; her husband would be pleased when he got her back in that shape. And with a new
outlook on life and new skills to give him pleasure, which would from then on be her
principal aim.
Tipsy, too, was asleep; she was fast becoming a favourite, particularly of Ransome.
She had long, dark red-brown hair and a superb figure that needed very little exercise to
keep in shape. But where Topsy had collapsed relatively quickly, Tipsy was still fighting
them, even after three weeks. She serviced them, of course, but she did it reluctantly.
That in itself had its attractions, but the purpose of her incarceration here was to teach
her obedience and willingness to serve. Which is why she slept on her side: the front and
backs of her thighs bore the marks of six strokes each, delivered that afternoon because
she`d refused to perform lesbian sex with Bubbles. She`d done it afterwards, of course,
but she hadn`t liked it and it had showed.
Bitch and Witch, Roberta`s sisters, weren`t asleep. Even now, over the electronic
impersonality of the monitors, she felt a shiver pass through her as she saw them. That
first sight always brought back memories she wished she could erase; memories of searing
agony as a cigarette was ground out on the flesh of her breasts; memories of the sounds of
her screams and her voice begging them to allow her to do anything if they`d just stop
piling more pain on top of the pain that already screamed through her. She remembered the
men and boys they`d brought and what she`d let them do to stop the pain. He mouth
tightened and for a moment any idea of losing interest in punishing them fled.
No, Bitch and Witch weren`t asleep: they both twisted and turned on their narrow
beds, the skin of their shaven skulls gleaming in the light that always shone. They`d
shaved each other again today, their heads and hands poking up through the horizontal
pillory. Tears had streamed as they always did when they had to do that job; more tears
than for almost anything else they had to suffer. When they`d removed every last trace of
hair she`d made them renew the words painted on their heads: `Bitch` and `Witch` in
permanent black ink.
Ransome was worried about just how far she`d go with them, she knew: they had
already taken far more punishment than any other slave who`d passed through here. But then
they weren`t here to be trained, they were here for her revenge. And that, though not by
any means sated had, as she`d admitted to Ransome, begun to lose some of its edge. Perhaps
it was time to move on to something else, Roberta thought. For the moment, though, the
important thing was that everything appeared to be safe and secure. She looked over to
check that the door alarms were all set and working then got up and left the room.
Bubbles was still on her knees, still crying, with a stern-looking Ransome still
sitting with the ring of keys in his hand. As Roberta entered, he looked up. "There`s
one missing, all right," he said. "The outer door at the end of Oxford
Street."
Roberta nodded. All the tunnels had been given the names of prominent London
thoroughfares to make it easier to navigate. "They`re all in their cells," she
said.
"Good." He glanced down at the sobbing Bubbles. "Bubbles tells me
that she put the keys down on the bed in Bitch`s cell when she went in to put a dressing
on that scrape."
"Ah!" Bitch had slipped on the soapy floor she`d just scrubbed and cut
herself. "She`s a crafty one."
It was his turn to nod. "The point is: where is it and if she`s got it, what
does she think she`s going to do with it?"
"I had them in Oxford Street a couple of days ago, if I remember. That`s when
you came down because you were looking for something in the store-room."
"That`s right: I should have known the place was empty. And that inner door is
the last of the old ones with the distinctive key: I spotted it was missing straight
away."
"I`ll lay bets that Bitch spotted it, too." She grinned. "I`ll give
you one guess where she`s hidden it?"
"Painful!" he responded, smiling. "Are we going to let them
try?"
"They can`t get far, can they? If I remember right, there`s nothing on the
other side but an old storeroom and another door: the one that leads out to an old
bricked-up entrance." She`d spent days studying maps and going round the tunnels and
corridors until she could navigate them blindfold. "All right, why not? Let`s teach
them a lesson."
He looked discomfited. "Err, I hesitate to bring up the point, my love, but
..."
"I know," she said. "They`re badly marked now and any more on top of
what they`ve already got will probably damage them. I`ve thought about that, of course;
it`d be stupid to ruin what value they`ve got. So I thought I`d put them to work cleaning
up the other slaves and perhaps performing together."
"That`s a good idea. Do you want me to have a go at them?"
"Do you want to?"
"Not particularly." He smiled but if it helps ...?"
She returned the smile. "Thanks. No, not yet. But I did think that we might
dig out those cattle prods. If they`re going to make a break for it we can`t let them just
get away with it, can we?"
"You`re a wicked woman, Roberta and clever with it. All right, I think that it
would be a good idea to have them scrubbing Oxford Street tomorrow, don`t you? Then we can
have some fun with them tomorrow night. Which brings us back to Bubbles, here." He
looked down. "What are we going to do with you, Bubbles?"
The girl`s head was down. She still wept. "I`m so ashamed, Master! I`ve let
you and my lovely mistress down. Please beat me!"
He looked at Roberta then back down. "How many, Bubbles?"
"Twelve, Master. Hard ones."
"So be it. Your Mistress will give them to you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Master," said the kneeling girl. She sounded relieved.
"But tonight we`ll have some fun with you and Tipsy and Topsy. How`s
that?"
"That will be lovely, Master!"
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