At Work Ch. 09

Anne disembarked, a little nervously after seeing the prod in use. Francesca retrieved her, took her leash and led her through the town toward home. Casey was locking her shop for the night and called to them; with a broad smile she invited them in "to see my latest work".

Putting a finger to her lips for silence she took them to the back room of the store, where Florence hung by her wrists from a hook in the ceiling. She was asleep, her eyes closed and her head to one side, smiling like a baby.

Her body was covered with an arabesque of fine lines incised into her from shoulders to knees; she had just been scourged. Never had Anne seen such detailed work; not at the academy, or when the trainer at the brothel did her, or at Mme. Messier's. She marveled at the patterns of swirls, circles, and waves.

Francesca inspected Florence closely for a minute before speaking to Casey in low tones so as not to wake the girl.

They returned to the front room. Casey invited Francesca to bring Anne over tomorrow evening to be scourged before an audience; she already had two girls and needed a third.

Francesca thought for a moment while Anne held her breath; the experience was terrible, but the beauty of the results that proclaimed her condition to the world...

Casey reminded her owner of Anne's need to be driven out of her mind now and then, and Francesca agreed. She would bring her girl here tomorrow at six.

"And don't feed her after three; she can have water but nothing solid." Francesca understood.

She led Anne home, chained her in her cell, and left her for the night. The feed bowl was full and Anne enjoyed the luxury of dipping into it more than once before sleep overcame her.

She awoke mid-morning when her owner roused her and led her into the kitchen. A special treat awaited her there: a bowl of kitchen scraps from Francesca's breakfast. Apple peelings, eggshells, tea leaves, flavors she had nearly forgotten. In the morning she cleaned the house and prepared lunch, and was rewarded with a piece of bread.

Francesca led her out to the frame and spread her on it. She went inside and returned with a bucket and sponge. Dipping the sponge in warm soapy water she washed and groomed Anne like a prize heifer. She rinsed Anne off with the garden hose and toweled her dry.

Anne remained suspended on the frame for the rest of the afternoon; to lie in the dirt of her cell would undo all her owner's work.

A little before six, Francesca gave her a water bottle to drink from and let her squat before taking her in the house. From the kitchen Anne watched her retire to her bedroom and change into a casual outfit, a pastel blouse and dark wool skirt to attend the event.

As they walked into town, Anne's apprehension grew. The memory of her scourging at the brothel came back to her; she wanted this, yes, but she was not sure she could bear it. Well, Casey would know how to handle her.

Casey greeted them beside a group of young women bent over chairs for spanking, and the three went to the back room. They were the last couple to arrive; two girls were already suspended by their wrists from the ceiling.

Francesca held Anne's leash while Casey strung her up. Flo, now broken for use by her owner, put a ball in Anne's mouth and tied it in place with a strip of white linen. This was better than the wadded up cloth which sometimes unraveled and stuck in her throat.

She looked over at the other two girls. The far one was a tall brunette, her long hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head. In the middle between them was a short stocky girl with bleached hair in a crew cut, covered with tattoos.

An audience gathered and took their seats. Anne saw Maria and Celeste among them, and director Teri sitting a little apart. Casey explained that the first two girls would be scourged by their owners; she would do Anne herself with "a little invention of my own". Anne wondered what it would be and her fear increased.

The first owner was a woman in her forties, as tall as her girl, with streaks of gray in her hair. She took up a small steel rake with sharpened teeth and set to work. Gabrielle rolled her head from side to side as Harriet drew patterns on her, stood back to inspect her work, and finished with a few more flourishes.

The stocky blonde for all her tough appearance caved in at once. She tried to scream through the gag, cringed at the approach of the rake, and wriggled when it was applied to her. Casey told Flo to hold her down. By the end she was crying like a little child; her owner ignored her and bowed to the audience.

Now it was Anne's turn. Casey set the rake down on a small table next to an implement Anne did not recognize. She examined Anne closely before taking it up again.

Anne was in an agony of terrified anticipation, perhaps the intention of this leisurely prelude.

She began with Anne's front side, drawing swirls and curves down to her knees while Anne screamed soundlessly through her gag. After a few minutes of this she took Anne by the shoulders and turned her around to work her back and thighs.

When she was satisfied with this phase of her work she picked up the other tool. Anne saw it was a sort of steel comb with razor-sharp teeth set close together; she screamed again as Casey drew it across the areas outlined by the rake. Finally she carved her initials into the side of Anne's right breast.

Anne must have been turned around again to face the audience and have her belly and thighs finished with the comb, but she remembered none of it. She felt rather than heard the applause of the audience and did not see Teri and Maria admiring Casey's work. She was grateful for the honor of bearing the woman's monogram.

She heard Francesca speak and opened her eyes. Teri with a glass of wine in her hand was chatting with Maria while Celeste stared at her. It was like opening night at an art gallery exhibition.

She had attended many of those in her previous life, a wineglass in her own hand, meeting men she might spend the night with, except that now she was the artwork.

No, that was wrong; she was no more than the medium, her flesh the material on which the work was created.

Francesca was shaking Casey's hand. She wanted to abase herself before all of them, even Florence. But she could not; the three must remain here overnight to dry.

Eventually the audience dispersed. Casey removed the girls' gags, turned the lights out and left them alone for the night. Able to speak once more, they began to talk. Even the short stocky girl ceased to cry after a while and joined the conversation.

She told them her name was Butch; she belonged to a girls' outlaw motorcycle club where she bet herself in a poker game and lost.

The tall brunette was Gabrielle. A teacher, she had been "led astray" by the parents of a pupil and belonged to them. She hoped to be sent to Asia and sold to a wealthy mandarin there for his harem.

Anne's mind was still dizzy and confused; she tried to tell her story but kept repeating parts of it.

She woke the next morning to find her owner holding a water bottle to her lips.

A young man - probably Harriet's husband - was doing the same for Gabrielle, and Butch's leather-clad owner for her. In the morning light Anne saw that the girl's tattoos were tire tracks crossing her body, the scourge marks following the tread pattern. Clever.

Francesca fed Anne from a bowl of paste but did not allow her to lick it; they were in company and such informality was not acceptable here.

Their owners led them out to the front room to a large table from which a set of cast-iron cylinders with rounded ends protruded. The other two looked at it in confusion, but Anne knew at once: they were to be impaled for display.

Butch cried out and started to writhe as she was lowered onto hers, but she was firmly set on it. Gabrielle was more gracious and eased herself into position. Anne was third again; the impaler was cold inside her at first but it warmed from her body and she made a home for it.

Gabrielle and Butch took a little longer, but soon they were smiling at the new experience. With their hands bound behind them and their bare legs extended in front they could not rise, but Anne showed them how to rock a little from side to side for stimulation. Shoppers laughed to see them swaying with eyes closed and minds reduced to a mere appendage of their wombs. "Like three bitches in heat," said Casey to a middle-aged customer with a riding crop.

They remained there until the afternoon when they were lifted off the table. At a nod of approval from her owner, Anne knelt and kissed Casey's shoes and Florence's bare feet before leaving. She preceded Francesca on her leash through the town, conscious of the stares from everyone they passed. She walked a little straighter for them, proud of her new markings.

She made dinner for her owner and was rewarded with the scraps: potato peels, onion skins, and coffee grounds. Francesca hung her by her wrists in her cell for the night and she knew nothing until the next morning when her owner took her outside and inspected her.

Thomas came over in the afternoon to go walking with Francesca and viewed Anne but said nothing; she could not read his thoughts.

Her mind turned to her owner's finances. Francesca had large debts from college and graduate school; she was keeping her head above water with her present job and free housing. Georges seemed pleased with her so far, that was good.

Otherwise - Anne hated to think of the alternative - she would bring a good price. Already he wanted her, some men's club had offered to buy her, and a broker on the coast called on behalf of an anonymous client. Sir Nigel? Was it possible he was still alive? He was surely lost at sea. Renee was just making it up about his return, undoubtedly.

Francesca returned arm in arm with Thomas. That affair was going nicely. He made dinner for the two of them and her owner let her eat in the kitchen. He left shortly after, and Francesca yawned.

"I think it's time to put you out for the night."

"Yes, ma'am."

Francesca led Anne out, checked her water bowl - it was full - and locked her in. Anne knelt to drink; as she lapped up the water she noticed it had an odd, almost medicinal taste. Maybe the pipes had rusted; she would ask Francesca about it tomorrow. Best not to drink any more, it might be bad.

Sometime in the early morning hours she was awakened by a sound, as of some animal scratching on the wall. She tried to think what it was, but her head seemed full of cotton. The noise was louder now, and coming from the door to her enclosure. Dimly she worked out that someone was trying to force the lock, but why would Francesca do that? She had a key. Then she heard a splintering noise and screamed.

Francesca was up in a second. Stopping to grab a shirt, she ran to the back door and unlocked it; but her pause had given the would-be assailant time to run away. She went inside, took a flashlight and unlocked the enclosure.

Anne sat crouched in a far corner. She stood up woozily on command and Francesca helped her inside to the kitchen. While she sat on the floor, Francesca inspected the damage and returned.

"That wasn't a very good lock; my mistake, but it was enough this time. Whoever tried to break it either didn't know how to or didn't have the time. I'm going to take a look outside; if you see anything, scream again."

"Yes, ma'am; is it safe to go out?"

"I'm not going far and this flashlight will do for a club." She went into the yard and came back looking thoughtful.

"I can't be sure, but it looks like two sets of footprints on the grass. One of them waited at a distance while the other came up to the house and tried to break in your door. They ran away together, but it's too dark to follow them and see what direction. Could you tell anything?"

Anne looked stupidly at her mistress. Francesca shined the light in her eyes. "Ah. They tried to drug you. How much water did you drink?"

"Not very much, ma'am, it tasted bad. I was going to tell you tomorrow, I mean today."

Francesca retrieved the bowl and sniffed it. "They aren't subtle; there's enough here to stop a charging rhino. If you drank any more you'd be sleeping on somebody's shoulder while they carried you away." She poured water from the tap into a small squeeze bottle, tasted it herself, and placed it in Anne's mouth. After the second bottle her head began to clear.

"I need to hide you somewhere. We talked about sending you to St. Agnes." Anne looked worried. "No that's out. We already went over it and besides we don't have time. All right." She went out of the room. Anne heard her talking on the phone with someone and return.

"Stand up, little one. We have to go on a short trip."

She tried, and walked around the room on command. It spun a little but she managed. "Where are we going?"

"Not far; you'll see. Keep your head down and follow me." She opened the front door and went out with Anne untethered but on an invisible leash of fear. Francesca said "Heel" and she walked closely behind her owner. They walked silently up the street to another house, whose lights were out but whose door opened as they approached. Thomas locked it quickly once they were inside.