Chapter 1

 

The eyes were red-rimmed and held a dull, defeated look. If she hadn't been strung tight in the frame, she'd have sagged, he was sure. But as he approached, she seemed to gather herself and inject fire into the eyes.

"I hate you!" she hissed as he stopped in front of her. "I hate your whips and tortures devices," she tugged at her hands. I hate you smart mouth and your tiny, sadistic soul! I... hate... you!"

He clapped three times, slowly.

"Well done, Pet. "I know what an effort that took. It was as good a farewell to freedom as I've heard."

"I ... won't... give... in..." she croaked, apparently drained. She'd put everything into that outburst; all the nervous energy that she had left after crying most of the night, from the moment she'd realised that if things went on like this, she'd be beaten in a two or three days. If things went on like this, she'd be on her knees like those other stupid cows with their wild tales; he'd probably promised them a bloody good thrashing if they didn't come up with something good. But the one thing she'd vowed to herself in the small hours of the night while the tears were still drying was that she wasn't going to end up like them. Whatever it took, she was going to take it and come back fighting, somehow.

"Shall we see about that? Just so that you aren't startled, I'm going to rotate the frame."

It was the same frame as yesterday, the only difference being that the bottom bar of the frame had been re-fitted to give it that bit more rigidity. He fitted the same small-diameter roller that he'd used yesterday across her back, then unlocked and swung the frame back until it was horizontal, Her only real support was that bar across her back, with some strain on her wrists and ankles; uncomfortable, but she didn't think she'd be in that position long. If she was, he'd seriously misjudged things.

Now for the bit that he hadn't used much and been forced to ask the Alexes about; unlike him, they used it nearly every time they set her up. It was the hydraulic lift, which raised and lowered the sub-frame that she was secured to the entire assembly. He got it right, thank goodness, because there's nothing worse that screwing up in front or your subject; it can set things back days.

Now she was nearly at floor level. A bit low, he judged, so inched the thing up until he judged it to be just right. A short trip to his instruments and he chose what he called a martinet. It could have been - and probably was - called many things over the =centuries, because there's no real classification system for whips; they tend to be called what people imagine them to be, sometimes some entirely new name. This one was a short whip with a hard handle about as long as the leather thongs. He'd seem pictures of then with many tails, presumable used as general punishment devices, mainly for use on the back and legs. This one, though, had only two thongs, each about one-eighth of an inch - about one and a half millimetres - thick and he used it for one thing only.

Her eyes followed him as he approached her head, straddling it. She was clearly regretting her outburst; her tongue ran over her lips nervously and she seemed on the point of speaking.

"Don't bother, Pet. Save your breath."

Her eyes closed and tears began leaking. She knew this was going to be bad.

It was worse. He lashed from above directly into the soft flesh of the armpit.

It seemed that, for the briefest instant, she couldn't comprehend the magnitude of the pain. Her eyes shot open, staring and then the screech came as she bucked and writhed frantically.

"Yiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Naaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" Breath panted as she dragged in air, the howl subsiding to an intense whine of inexpressible agony until it burst again. "Gaaaaaaaah! No! God, no! No! No! No!"

He moved, just slightly. Then hit her again, this time on the other side. As the noise became near-inhuman, he stepped back, The whip tucked under his arm, If he was any judge, that was the last stroke he would administer for this stage of her training. The howling went on and one until her voice gave out and even then she groaned and sobbed while he lifted the frame and swung it upright.

At last the sobs subsided and she lifted an agonised, puffy, streaked... and defeated face to him. "No more," she croaked. "I... really can't ... take any... more, Master."

"You submit?"

The head went down. The sobbing increased, a hopeless noise. "Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Head up. Look at me and say that again."

It came up slowly, the tears flowing freely. Yes, Master," she managed, still with a cracked voice.

"Yes, what?"

The merest flash in the eyes, but it vanished. "I... I submit, Master,"

"To being a slave. Say it."

"Oh!... I..." 'Dear God, her mind screamed, I can't take any more like that! Give in! Go with it! Just hold on by your fingernails, but bend, don't break!'

All he had to do was take the whip from his armpit and hold it where she could see it clearly. She gasped and flinched away from it.

"I... submit... to... to b.... being a...s...s......slave, Master. Waaaaaaah!"

"Alexander and Alexis, in here, please," he said.

The two appeared in seconds.

"Get her down, please. And decide which of you is first."

It was a mixed beneficence and they knew it. "Me," said Alexander. "I lost the toss."

Algar gave a brief grin and moved over to his instruments as they released her. When he returned, she was a crumpled heap on the floor, her hands tucked into her armpits. It was a traditional sort of pose, but for reasons quite the opposite of that of any chastised school-girl or boy.

He tapped her with the cane. "On your knees," he ordered.

"I huuuuurt so!"

He tapped a good deal harder. "On... your... knees!"

She did it, being forced to use her hands, which went back where they been as soon as she was kneeling. The posture was terrible, but that would come later. "Crawl to the gentleman on you left."

She looked at him, Then Alexander. "What...?" she began.

"Move!" he cracked.

She moved, stopping too far away. "Closer!"

A hesitation, but she did it."

"If you ever, ever, question my orders again, slut, I will take the skin off your arse! Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Now, address this gentleman as 'sir' and ask if you may kiss his cock."

Her head shot round to him, the eyes wide, aghast. The mouth opened then snapped closed. The head began to shake.

He'd seen slaves lashed into a red-streaked, sobbing heap at this point, but he used a different approach. "Stop and think," he said in a gentle, almost coaxing, voice. "Remember the last words you spoke on that frame and why you're being told to do this now. This is reality, Pet. Think. Think hard about what will happen if you don't live up to your word. Think about your armpits and how they feel. Think of what it'll be like if I have to put you back and give you the rest."

Her face crumpled as he knew it would. She couldn't face any more if those and he'd deliberately left out any mention of numbers. Even so, the thing she had to do to avoid it was abhorrent beyond anything... anything but going back on that frame, that was.

She'd spent the last few years of her life making decisions , often in circumstances where a mistake could lead to disaster. This was one of those, but it wasn't a steel hull and other peoples' money at risk now: it was her pride against limitless, horrible pain. Pain that had driven her here, to her knees and ... this.

They watched her, patient. This was a decisive moment frequently accompanied by near-hysterics, but eventual compliance. Only Algar among them had seen rejection at this point and he wasn't at all sure he wasn't going to see it again. Then he saw her shoulders shift and square slightly: she reached a decision.

"P..." she swallowed, "Please may I kiss your cock, sir," she asked in a voice only slightly hoarse,

"You may," rumbled Alexander.

The two big men were wearing the normal work attire of tan slacks and light-blue shirts that looked deceptively casual. But both were made of some material that had a very high resistance to tearing. Plus one very significant change: the trousers were all buttons; there'd been incidents with zips... like pubic hair being trapped. Like nearly all men, they didn't mind handing it out, but they were averse to pain in that area.

She hesitated, saw that he wasn't going to help, hovered agonisingly or long moments then sighed and raised her hands, wincing as pain flashed from her armpits. She'd be hurting in many places with more or less intensity, but this was fresh; and it was in a horrid place that would keep on reminder her for quite a while.

The buttons threw her, as they'd expected. But she was smart and had them worked out; soon, the fly was gaping.

There were two points at which trouble might flare coming up: taking the cock out and actually kissing it. The one of most concern - especially to Alexander - was the latter, with the possibility that she might decide to bite a chunk out of it. That had never happened, but this was a strong-willed woman who might have been faking it.

Strong-willed she might be, but realist she most certainly was: she reached in - no underpants in the way - and brought it out, pressed her lips to it and then knelt back. It was all done so quickly, efficiently and with such lack of fuss that all three were left wondering.

Algar recovered first. "Well done, Pet. I think you can go back to your cell... and have tomorrow off as a reward. We'll continue your training in a couple of days."

The Alexes escorted her, returning to the entrance where he had waited for them. "What did you think of that?" Algar asked.

"I'm confused," replied Alexis.

"Me, too," agreed Alexander. "I'd swear she was faking it, but I saw what you did on the frame. I'm sure she was broken then. Unless she's a very good actress."

"After those two to the armpits?" retorted his companion. "She wasn't faking that. No woman could. I couldn't! And with the threat of more of them to come? No, I'm sure it was genuine. But..."

"She wasn't faking," said Algar, who'd just seen his suspicions confirmed. "Not immediately after those armpit shots, I think. But she recovered quickly."

The pair looked at each other. "So she's due a thrashing, then?" asked Alexander.

Algar grinned. "Not quite yet. No. I've got a little test for her that'll show us all, including her, just what a truly broken slave-girl has to do."

 

"Peter! Lovely to see you!"

She looked an entirely different women to the angst-ridden, anxious wreck he'd seen a few nights ago. Her welcoming smile was genuine, once more transforming her ugliness. He looked closer... so did the artfully applied make up, which he'd never seen her wear before. The near permanent scowl was gone and she looked ten years younger.

"You look... radiant!" he said.

"I feel wonderful! And it's thanks to you, you wonderful man!"

"Hardly. If anything, I was a... a catalyst."

"Then you are the most effective catalyst ever, Now, I have several pieces of news for you. And a question... two questions."

"Questions first, please."

"Is she broken? When you laid in those strokes - which I do not want to try, thank you - and which made me wince, I was sure she'd gone. But after your little speech, she seemed... almost willing. I'm confused."

He laughed. "We'll have to form a club! The Alexes are, too. So am I. She's thrown a puzzler my way."

"You think she's faking?"

"Oh, she faking all right. The armpit strokes had her for a little while, but she's got remarkable powers of recovery... and endurance, because they must have been hurting like hell. But the rest was a performance; she was doing what she thought we'd expect, except I've never seen a slave who didn't need a few reminders at that stage. She's clever, but she's flying blind, hoping to find an opportunity; playing for time to sort things out, maybe.""

"To do what?"

"She's an expert ship-handler, remember? And she's a well-built piece who could have some martial arts training, If she got on the bridge late at night..."

"Now that's a thought, isn't it! A one-girl hijack! A bit Hollywood, but it's the last thing we expect. That's good thinking, Peter. What are you going to do about it?"

"It's already done, in part. That collar she's wearing has an electronic tag in it. All we have to do it set up a tracking system that will sound bells and whistles if she gets loose. Though I don't think it'll get that far."

"Oh?"

"Should I surprise you?"

"Oh, yes, please!" she sobered, which makes it all the more difficult for me to admonish you, ungrateful wretch that I am."

"I have erred?"

"Minimally. You have not been to the last few evening gatherings."

"Ah. No excuse. I apologise."

"There are several very good excuses, you stiff-necked Englishman! I will forgive you anything, but please try to appear at least one in three. I like you there as my moderation influence." She added, seeking to mollify any hurt feelings.

"I will be there as often as I may, promise."

"Good. And thank you. Now, there are a couple of other things that have come up. You know that there's an auction tomorrow?"

"Should I?"

"I know Karatides told you, but full marks for diplomacy. Of course you should know, as should the doctor. Especially this one. My intention was to replace Babs and those two wretches, plus an extra one or two. I understand that the Senor is cutting a swathe through them?"

"He was a good eye." He grinned.

"It's not the only good thing he possesses, if the reports are correct. There's plenty of space, so an extra couple won't hurt. Now, not only would I value your advice on the ones I intend to buy, but I have been given a snippet of information that might be of interest to you."

His ears pricked. "Go on."

"One of the smaller outfits was having some sort of transport problem, so they brought a couple of recent captures along. They're apparently untrained, but they asked if the organisers could store them with the rest while they sorted out their logistics. They'll be in the cells behind the scenes. Interested?"

"Naturally," his thoughts raced. He'd planned to help Juan with organising the Project. New slaves to be trained would complicate that and his work-load would increase, but he wasn't exactly overworked. "Yes, he said. That could be interesting."

"Then we'll take a look. If they're any good, we'll have them."

'Whether or not the current owners wanted to sell them,' he thought. Madame could be very persuasive, especially when she was spending petty cash.

"Bring Alvarez if you wish."

"That might be a bad idea in terms of security. We're working to avoid any link between us."

"Ah. Then that's out."

"'Fraid so."

"There'll be enough of us, anyway. I know you've been to them before, because that's where you were brought to my attention; highly recommended."

"That's nice. Do I know him?"

"Her. Yes, you do. Carol?"

"Yes, I know her very well. Good friend."

"You have quite a fan-following. Your latest conquest was in here earlier."

"I'm not sure I should ask."

"No secret. Bettina. She's quite taken with you. She wants to sell me two bottles of Champagne and give the proceeds to charity. Says that she has had the privilege of tasting it and wants someone else to experience it. She also told me who used those very words to her."

"Mmm. Will you? Buy them, I mean."

"Of course. The money will go into her bank account and an equal amount to a charity of her choice. And... I'm thinking of following your example, Peter. I'm considering freeing her."

That shook him. "You are?"

She gave him an amused look. "Yes, I am. She's been with me for nearly twenty years, you know. She's was one of my favourites before becoming an assistant; very loyal and loving."

He thought of the problems he'd had with Babs, Bettina was a different proposition in many ways: far more experienced and stable... but after twenty years? "That could be... difficult," he said carefully.

"I know. That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"She really likes you Peter. Really likes you. If you and Babs are there, it'll make things far easier for her. She could move in with you, up to the promenade deck."

"Eh?"

She smiled sweetly. Oh. Didn't I tell you? I've had you moved, Babs, bags and baggage." She cocked her head and laughed. "I rather like that, but I don't think I can say it again."

"But... that's where your..."

"Yes, Peter, I know. It's where the owners stay. Well, you're worth more to me than they are. Anyway, there's plenty of space down there."

'Down' because her own suite was on the deck above. Algar was stunned; he'd be moving from his present deluxe plus to super-deluxe extra plus. I...I don't know what to say," he said.

"Then shut your gob and listen... "

He blinked. She smiled sweetly and he wondered where she'd picked that one up. Deck crew, probably.

"If you live together, which I do not think will be too much of a trial for you, you might nudge her in the direction of becoming your assistant, or henchwoman, whatever you want to call it. She's enormously experienced and a neat hand with a cane. I think she has the aptitude for it. And she'd look fantastic in tight leather. Of course, she might elect to leave, which she will be entirely free to do. I rather think she'd prefer to stay, though."

"It sounds as if you've made up your mind."

"You did it for me. I was watching your face and you clearly like the idea."

"You," he said, "are a smart cookie."

She gurgled a laugh. "I've never been called that before. Now, go and lurk in Martin's office for a few minutes. I'll get her up here and when I buzz, hang about the door to pick her up as she leaves. Don't forget that you're in P1, now, will you?"