2k/hr

Warning: This goes pretty heavy on the masochism in places, not for the faint of heart.

*****

Ellen had heard about the place from a friend of a friend. Drunk at a party, she had spilled her guts about her money troubles. Being a student wasn't easy. She was behind on rent, she was behind on bills, and with the start of the new semester she was about to take a £200 hit on textbooks.

The girl had given her a pitying smile, before taking out her phone and showing Ellen a bank transfer for £2,000, three months old. The girl had told Ellen about a place where people paid good money to good looking girls. "One hour," The girl had said. "They paid me this for one hour. I wouldn't mention it unless you were desperate, because its not easy. 2,000 for one hour of whatever they want to do with you. The only rule there is that they can't do you any lasting harm. I can give you their number, if you'd like."

Drunk as she was, Ellen had accepted. The next day, she threw the number away. The day after that, she fished it out of the bin. Pride was a luxury that she couldn't afford. When she called, the phone had been answered by a professional sounding secretary.

"Well Ellen," the woman had said. "From what you've told us you seem to fit our criteria. Why don't you come to us tomorrow for a screening, and then we can call you if any of our clients have selected you. Of course, it goes without saying that the upmost discression is required here."

So Ellen had gone. The building had looked run down and empty from the from, but once inside it opened up into a modern reception. From there, she was taken to a side room. They took three photographs of her. One from the front, one from the back, one from the side. All in her underwear. They told her not to smile. Just for the screening, they gave her £100. She could hardly believe it as the two crisp 50's were slid into her palm. "Our clients can be quite single minded. We strongly hope that if one selects you, you will be available." Ellen assured them that she would be.

That had been three weeks ago. Since then, she had grown ever more desperate. That £100 had only gone so far, and now she was deeper in the hole than ever. It was a while before she was called, and that time had made her strangely insecure. She had always been a pretty girl, but she knew her body might not be to everyone's tastes. She was of middling height, though very thin. Her arse was round and looked a decent size compared to her scant frame, but her tits were scarcely A's. Her skin was milky pale and her hair was a big bush of thick brown ringlets. When she had received the call, she had been happy, and not just about the money.

A date was quickly ironed out, and Ellen was given her instructions; No hair below the eyebrows. Skirt, t-shirt, underwear. Hair in two plaits.

The instructions were fairly minimal, and Ellen decided that meant it didn't matter too much. Still, she wore a sexy matching thong and bra under a plain white t-shirt and black skirt. She considered a padded bra, but thought better of it. If he had chosen her, clearly he liked small tits. That, and she doubted he would have her keep the bra on long. She had done the shaving though, and wore plain, sensible shoes. Her hair was plaited as she had been told, in two ropes that fell to her mid back.

All this brought her to the day. She came to that same building, still a little shocked when she saw how nice the inside was. The receptionist greeted her with a warm smile.

"Ellen," she greeted. "Good to see you. Come over here. We've got some admin to sort, then you can go on through. You will be in room 4 today." Obediently, Ellen went over to the main desk. She felt strangely out of place; the woman at the desk was in formal business desk, and in her comparatively casual wear she felt like she was somewhere she shouldn't be. "Here's a waiver. Sign on the back page, if you would be so good."

Ellen gave the paper a cursory glance. It was full of long and confusing words. As far as she could tell, it all amounted to total and irrevocable consent to what was to happen in the subsequent hour. There was certainly something foreboding in that. But £2,000, for one hour? She couldn't think of anything that she wouldn't do for £2,000 an hour. She felt nervous as she signed, but then thought of how long she would have to work at minimum wage to earn that much, and that made her feel better.

"Excellent," said the woman, glancing at the signature and then tucking the file away in a desk. "Now for your bank details. We find it easier to get this stuff out the way first, that way we can transfer you your money straight away as you come out." The thought made Ellen smile as she told the woman her bank details. Right as she came out... in just one hour, her money problems would be over. It almost seemed to good to be true. But the girl at the party had showed her the invoice.

"Ok, that's all I need form you. Tony will show you to the room and tell you what you need to know. Tony, we're ready over here, room 4." A tall, lean man in a black suit who could only have been Tony strode over from a desk behind the main secretary. "Ellen is it? with me."

Tony lead her along a red carpeted hallway; the type one might find in a high-end hotel. As they walked, Tony talked at her. "This client has asked that you not speak unless spoken to, and comply with what he says quickly and quietly. He also says you will need to take non-verbal queue's well. This is one of the reasons we put you forward in his shortlist; we tend to find students from the university a better fit for clients what want them to be able to think. You're in your third year, aren't you?"

"Yes," replied Emily, still awed by the grandeur of the place.

"Good. well, here we are." The door Infront of them was polished wood, with a bronze plaque on it. it read 'Room 4: staff entrance.' "Now," said Tony. 'This is your first time with us, so if you would ever want to come back your performance matters. Its also important that you know that you are free to leave whenever you want, but if you leave before the hour is up then you will not be paid, and you will be blacklisted. Is that clear?

"Yes," Replied Ellen. "Clear as day."

"Good. I have no idea what's going to happen in there. It might not even be sexual, who knows. Just try to have fun. Obviously, only if you can have fun while adhering strictly to the clients wishes." Tony chuckled with that. "Well, that's everything from me. Time to go in." Ellen took a deep breath, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The room she found herself in was dimly lit. The walls were a dark and sophisticated grey, while the floor was hardwood. It was a large room, with no windows. On the ceiling, there were a series of thick metal hooks, with an array of chains and ropes dangling from them. At the far end of the room there was another door, flanked by two large wardrobes. Ellen was alone in the room.

There must have been something that made Ellen's presence known, because she had only been in the room around half a minute when a man walked in through the other door.

The man looked exceptionally ordinary. He wore a plain t-shirt and gym shorts. He was middling height, 5'10 perhaps, with a fairly normal build. He looked neither fat nor thin, strong nor weak. His hair and eyes were brown. Ellen looked nervously as him. Wordlessly, he walked to the centre of the room. With a single finger, he pointed firmly down. Remembering what Tony had said about non-verbal cues, she walking briskly over to him. She stood awkwardly Infront of him, eyes to the floor.

A finger under Ellen's chin lifted her gaze to meet his. Still silent, he took a pair of fabric scissors out of his pocket. He lifted her arms out straight to her sides, and she held them there obediently. Just one hour.

The man made a cut at the bottom of the shirt, over her hip. Then, he ripped. The sound of tearing seemed impossibly loud in the empty quiet room, and the shirt tore from hip to sleeve. He did the same to the other side; small cut, rip, tear. Her shirt was in two pieces. Both fell away from her, rags. Underneath, her bra was pale, two triangles of fabric stretched over her small breasts. Two cuts, and it was on the floor, her pale pink nipples pricking against the open air. Ellen still looked dutifully forwards, but there was something in the tearing that frightened her. He could easily have asked her to take them off. But he didn't. He wanted to tear them. To ruin them. That didn't bode well for what he wanted from her.

Mercifully, the skirt wasn't torn. It was yanked down to her ankles, and a quick tap told her to lift each foot in turn as the garment was taken off her. Two more cuts, and her pale blue panties were torn away from her pale and slender frame. Her arms were still straight out to her sides, and her head was forward. Her shoulders were beginning to ache, but she didn't dare to drop them. Would simply displeasing him once be enough to lose her that £2,000? She wasn't sure. Damn. Should've read the contact properly.

The man walked a single lap around her, inspecting her, drinking her in. She felt so exposed, but that was only to be expected. The cool air worked its fingers over her, and she shivered. With no readable expression on his face, the man turned and walked away. Ellen was confused, but confusion turned to realisation when he went to one of the large wooden wardrobes and opened it up.

From her position in the middle of the room, Ellen couldn't see inside. She decided she preferred it that way, as she watched the mans legs protruding from the bottom of the door. When he emerged, he had a small black bag in one hand, no bigger than a coin purse, and 3 feet of bamboo gardening cain in the other.

Ellen stood still as he approached. She found herself unsure of what to do with her face. Something told her a smile would not be appropriate. She settled on a blank look. Passive. The man came to her and laid the cain on the ground, then he pulled at the drawstrings of the little black bag and reached inside. Ellen couldn't see what he had in his hand when it emerged, but whatever it was, it was small: his hand was closed entirely around it.

With his empty hand, the man reached up. Coarse, cold fingers found her nipple, and rolled it tenderly. It became hard almost at once, and the sensation gave her chills. She had always had sensitive nipples, a side effect of having such small breasts, she assumed. He did this for no more than half a minute before moving to her other nipple and doing the same. When he was done, Ellen had two erect nipples, and there was a hot red flush to her face. It had been too long for her, she realised, almost excited.

It was then, however, that the man's other hand reached up. Ellen couldn't see what he was doing as she was still looking straight ahead. Suddenly, pain. Her right nipple was aflame. She sucked air through her teeth and grimaced as the burning pinch throbbed across her chest.

Then the left. The same instant, sharp pain. This time she couldn't hold in her whimper of pain. The pain was intense and unyielding. It felt like her nipples might be torn off, and the ache radiated through her whole bust. She couldn't help but glance down, just for a second.

Two file clips; Big, black, and metal, Biting at the tips of her small pink nipples.

A slap to the face. Hard. Ellen cried out with that as well, but took the cue and looked forward, her arms still out wide. Ok, she thought, face stinging and nipples aflame. I'm going to have to earn this money. No surprise there. Dutifully, she held her pose, trying her best to ignore the pain, which seemed to be building with every passing second.

"Hands on the clips."

The voice came so unexpectedly that it took Ellen a moment to realise it was the man that had spoken. She moved her hands to the cold hard metal at her chest, somewhat relieved at the relief for her shoulders. The man was right in front of her now, looking her dead in the eye from point blank range.

"Twist."

Ellen hesitated, and received another slap for it. She whimpered again. £2,000. It's this or drop out. She gripped the clips firmly, and twisted. If it had been painful before, that has been nothing. Before, it had been a fire. Now it was an explosion. She sucked air in through her teeth, which were clenched together to keep from crying out. Despite herself, she felt tears pooling in her eyes. She sucked them back. This man was seeing Ellen naked, but somehow him seeing her crying seemed almost too intimate.

"Further"

Ellen obeyed, twisting further.

"More. As much as you can."

She twisted until her arms and wrists were coiled all the way around. It was slow, torturous, the way she had to struggle for each new degree of rotation. Each moment, the pain reached a new peak, and each next moment that peak was exceeded. Ellen had been in pain before, but couldn't remember anything like this. All the while, eye contact. It was like he was looking into her, probing her. She couldn't keep a sob from bubbling to the surface, nor a tear from rolling down her cheek. Once that had happened, there was no holding it in any longer. She was sobbing, and each sob heaved her chest and made the pain all the worse. All the while, she did not release her grip.

"Let go"

Ellen released. Blood rushed painfully back into her aching nipples and her whole chest throbbed. Her hands dropped to her side, and the man seemed content for her to leave them there. Her breathing was heavy, and she and the man were still holding that close eye contact. He picked up the cain.

Holding it up in both hands in front of her face, he issued a command, calm and cool as anything.

"Open."

Ellen opened her mouth, her sobbing concluded but her eyes and cheeks still wet and red. The cain was placed tenderly in her mouth, such that a foot and a half of it extended either side of her face.

"Close."

She obeyed.

And so, she stood there, bleary red eyes watching the man as he went back to the wardrobe for more. The pain in her nipples was at least what it was when he had first put those hard unyielding clamps on them. She bit down on the cain to give herself something else to focus on, but lightened up a touch when she heard the sound of the bamboo creaking in strain. It was only thin, perhaps 2cm across, and she daren't think what might happen if she broke it.

She didn't have long to mull that over however, because the man had gone to another area of the room, ominously positioned beneath a dangling chain. An impatient point downwards told Ellen all she needed to know, and she walked obediently over to him, cain in mouth. Despite her small breast size, even walking gave them enough motion that the clip jiggled with each footfall, sending a lance of pain through her chest.

She thought that she must've looked very small to him then. So pale and skinny. Her arse was the only part of her with any real muscle on it. Maybe when I get my £2,000, I'll buy a gym membership.

She reached the man and stood obediently. In his hands he had a pair of handcuffs, and something that Ellen didn't recognise. It was a black bar, about a meter long, with what looked like padded cuffs at either end.

The man put his items down and took Ellen by the shoulders, positioning her carefully so she was directly under the chain, which she could now see was attached to a pulley on the ceiling. As she was moved, the cain wobbled, and the length of it made it hard to keep level. A runnel of saliva fell past the can and dribbled down her chin.

Just as before, the man spoke little as he situated his toy. He tapped her under the arms, and the took the cue to lift them up above her head. There, they were handcuffed, and from the rattling and clinking sounds she could hear she could only imagine they were affixed to the chain. This suspicion was confirmed when the man took the chain the other side of the pulley and pulled. Ellen felt her whole body pulled taught, such that he had to go to her toes to keep contact with the ground.

The man hooked a link of the chain under a peg on the wall to secure it. As he was doing so, Ellen couldn't help but to rotate slowly. This high on her toes, she didn't have a solid enough footing to keep herself still, so her slight little body turned slowly like a pig on a spit. A hand from the man stopped her spinning. He took a moment to run a hand almost tenderly across her twin braids before dropping to his haunches.

The cuffs on the ends of the black bar turned out to be for her ankles. The man tapped the inside of her knees, and Ellen obediently parted her legs, bringing them off the floor so she was dangling. "£2,000," she thought. over £33 per minute. For every second that goes by, I'm earning over 50 pence.

Once the man had fixed the cuffs to her ankles, she was locked in place. Her feet were held a firm metre apart, and her toes bare centimetres from the ground. Her whole weight was dangling from her chained wrists, where the metal was starting to bite painfully into her skin. There was little she could do to move, and her jaw was getting tired from clenching around the cain.

The man stood and admired her a moment. Ellen got a brief look at that neutral, passive face before the chain began to twist again, rotating her slowly and lazily. She was completely on display. No secrets. No turning back. That scared her. This pays my rent once every 3 minutes. This hour is 20 weeks rent. She steeled her resolve.

The man took her from behind by the hip and span her back around to face him. He put a hand on the cain, and she obediently dropped it. As he pulled it away, a trail of saliva followed it, before falling away onto her chin and chest. Taking a step back, he held out the cain end on.

With the end of it, he gently prodded a file clip. Just that little movement was enough to set the fire off again. Ellen whimpered, a soft little sound as the throbbing in her meagre bust found a new and terrible life. The made little circles with the tip of the cain, letting the clip rise and fall with it. Ellen tried to be quiet, tried to do what she knew she had to do to earn her money, but she couldn't stop the air sucking through her teeth, nor the involuntary little clenches of her stomach muscles that set her feet to swinging.

Then, the man stopped. The cain withdrew, and Ellen had a moment to catch her breath.

Then the cain whistled through the air. It cracked sharply into her stomach. The man put his full force into the lightening blow, and Ellen screamed out in shock and pain. Pain exploded across her stomach. The sting made her flail and squirm out of instinct, but all that did was spin her round as she dangled helplessly. The line of the cain felt as though it has been seared into her pale flesh with a hot poker.

Her back was to the man when she felt the next hit, this time to the back of the thighs. The hit was just as hard, and the back of the thigh is far more tender than the stomach. Again, Ellen cried out, loud and high and savage. Her convulsions sent her chest to shaking, which poured petrol on the flames in her nipples. For a moment, just a moment, she remembered Tony. It's important you know you can leave at any time, but you won't get your money and you will be blacklisted. No. She needed this.

Ellen grit her teeth and tensed up in anticipation of the next strike. But it didn't come. Instead, the man spun her round to face him, and knelt to affix the bar between her feet to a carabiner in the floor. At least that will stop the spinning.

The man didn't stand up straight away however. From his knees, he ran his hands slowly up the back of her thighs. The flesh grew tender as he reached where he had hit, and Ellen bit her lip. His fingers grazed so lightly over the long, raised welt, but even so it felt like her skin was being cut, like salt was being poured into an open would. As the man retook his feet, his touch snaked up around her hips to the welts twin on her stomach.