Emma's Endurance Ch. 20

In the Castle of the Hawks, some days later, Emma, clad in her 'Story of O' outfit, was polishing the large walnut dining table, when she noticed a small door in the corner of the room.

She quietly crossed over to the door and to her surprise, it opened and there was a staircase leading down -- but to where?

Later, when she was in her room -- her cell. She lay back on her bed and visualised her escape. Where would she go? What could she do? Could she manage it?

There was a quiet tap on the door and Adrian sidled in. He sat on the bed and smiled shyly. 'Hey, Emma. Long time, no see eh?'

Emma remembered his firm, yet gentle training. How he never bullied her, had led her around on her leash gently, without tugging in order to push her off balance, how he fucked her gently during anal preparation and how he'd confided in her, after being taken by 'The Monster'.

'I'm tired Adrian. My marriage was a disaster; I've been abandoned here by my husband, who used me as a lab rat.

They used me to help sell this horrible and addictive implant that turns me into a sexual android. I hate it. I want to leave or die. My whole life has been a sham. My parents never loved me or spent time with me. No one knows who I am - not even me!'

Adrian put his arms around Emma and whispered in her ear. 'Ssh, I know. I've spent more hours comforting girls like you than I've had hot men.'

Emma stopped sobbing and whispered back to Adrian. 'What? This has happened before?'

Adrian put his hands on her shoulders and solemnly nodded. He carried on whispering, telling Emma that the Order of Saint Ishmael was nothing more than a very, very exclusive and expensive brothel.

'Your husband, Sir James married you on the recommendation of the board. He suckered you into falling in love with him, but it was never going to work, as deep down, I think he hates women. I suspect that his parents were members as well. This organisation goes way up to royalty.

The schools, the money, the houses and the fake Order of St Ishmael set up is a shallow mind fuck for the very rich.

We are pawns for pornographers and I want to get out. Do you?'

Emma nodded. 'How?' she whispered. 'How do we escape?'

Adrian told Emma that there was another way in and out of the castle. It would be dangerous, but as long as they held their nerve, they could leave.

'Give me a few days to work on it, but you look for secret staircases and doors that no one seems to use. I know that there is another way in and out, but I've never had the courage to try it.'

Emma hugged Adrian tight and whispered 'I'm in. I'll do anything to get out.'

The Fates were not working for them. The next few days were a blur of demonstrations of the electrical subcutaneous implants the 'SubStim' and Emma was exhausted.

The implants were instruments of torture. Once activated, the reaction was instant and Emma was transformed from a self-possessed, cool young woman, into a moaning, begging sex addict. Emma was used, just as though she was a prostitute being pimped out to all-comers.

'I swear, that when I escape, I'll become a nun -- a Buddhist nun, with a shaven head and live in Thailand and never have or think about sex ever again!' Emma was in the shower, having sobbed for an hour on Adrian's shoulder.

'No, you won't. You'll be strong and just like this damn castle, impregnable. No one will enter and no one will ever use you again. Hold on to that thought, as we have a week's rest starting tomorrow.'

Emma slept well, despite her sore and bruised body. She was up early the next morning and using her house-keeping duties as a cover, she investigated the small door that she'd spotted in the grand dining room.

The stairs led down to a terrace, but one that wasn't used much by the look of it. The stone flags were dirty and had grass growing in the cracks. Emma carefully peered up, to see if any windows overlooked her, but there was none.

She looked over the parapet and closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks -- surely this couldn't be true?

Emma looked again, hardly daring to check, but she was correct.

There was a pathway leading down the mountain and at that moment, Emma believed in miracles. The path was overgrown and neglected. Oh, thank goodness, thought Emma, now, all I need are clothes and shoes and I'm out.

Adrian was less excited. 'We need to find our passports -- don't' worry, I can get them and we also need a large amount of cash. We either do this quickly or leave as soon as I've collected everything, or we do it slowly and just slip away, with no one to raise the alarm. I'd go for the second option, as there'll be fog later this week.'

Emma agreed and asked if she could help, but Adrian had it all worked out. 'We'll go over the wall on Thursday, at first light and that'll give us, I hope, two days to get right away.'

The next three days were extremely difficult. Emma was sure that someone would see her excitement, but there were only a few people at the Castle, all of whom were professional staff and all were engaged on a spring-cleaning exercise.

On Thursday, Adrian tapped at Emma's door -- released her from her restraints and handed her some chef's whites. 'All I could find, I'm afraid' he shrugged.

Emma put the clothes on and some slip-on rubber soled shoes and as the grey light grew brighter, they slipped out over the parapet and started down the crag.

One day, some ten years later, Emma looked up at the Castle and remembered the adrenaline-fed descent.

'I swear God kept me from falling' she'd later claim.

The old path was partly covered by brambles, which ripped through Emma's trousers. There was a handrail at one point, but it didn't look safe and Emma didn't want to risk falling.

There was a stone stair of sorts, which wound down the cliff face and as they reached the bottom, became less stable. Adrian almost slid off the footpath, with a terrifying gasp of fear.

Emma grabbed his arm and leaned back, pulling Adrian upright and they both took five minutes to rest and catch their breath.

An hour later, they reached a road, one which led up to the helipad, so Emma and Adrian kept a watch, hiding if they heard a car approaching.

At ten o clock -- 'exactly ten -- a sign if there ever was one!' said Adrian, they reached a small town. Far above them, the Castle was partly in the clouds and a thousand miles away.

Emma and Adrian walked into an outdoor clothing store and bought some hiking clothes, putting them on in the rest room of a nearby petrol station and they walked out looking exactly like all the other visitors, with waterproof jackets and hats and they bought rail tickets to the nearest city, which turned out to be Vienna.

At a universal hotel in the city, they sat and talked about what to do next.

'I'm going home,' said Adrian. 'I walked away from my life nearly five year ago and I haven't seen my parents in all that time. I'd been studying at Leeds University when Master Peter picked me up at a nightclub. He offered me a lot of money to come and explore my sexuality and I think I've gone about as far as I want to. I don't belong to anyone, not like you. I'm free to either stay hidden or go back. I think I'll keep quiet though. The Order has too many members in too many levels of society. I won't see you again, but I'll never forget you.'

Emma was tearful and full of fear. She'd never had a free and easy life, being at boarding school for so many years and under the strict discipline of the nuns. She thought for a while and decided to stay away from humanity for a while.

'I'm going to walk. I'll travel by rail and get back to the UK that way and then, I'm going to disappear. I'll buy a tent and a great rucksack and sleeping bag and I'll be off. I think it'll be safe. There are footpaths all over the UK and I'll keep walking until I feel safe. We have UK currency don't we?'

Adrian smiled and pulled Emma's head onto his shoulder.

'We do, Emma. I have £8000 in £10 notes and half is yours. It's new, so easier to hide and I wish you all the luck in the world.'

Emma and Adrian got back into the United Kingdom, passing through passport control without problems and she got on a bus, which took her to Liverpool and then on to Carlisle.

Emma stayed in a small travel hotel, buying a few clothes and having her long, glossy dark red haircut into a short, boyish style. She didn't look like herself and she liked that. The SubStims would have to stay for a while, but she knew that she'd have them removed as soon as possible.

Emma walked far, fear keeping her moving on. The isolation and peace was a little overwhelming. She had a strong fear reflex and found conversation difficult and pubs impossible.

She liked solitude, but missed music, so she bought an MP3 player and downloaded a lot of Bach. The logic and beauty of the music was a great comfort.

She discovered a Buddhist Convent, but she stayed for just a few weeks, not liking any discipline after all those years of school and finally found a New-Age commune in North Wales. She'd had enough of uniforms and rules.

She looked at herself in a full-length mirror one day, with a baggy cotton shirt on and cotton trousers, her hair woven into dreadlocks, face painted with Maori designs and felt good. She looked mucky and as though she slept in mud, but she was finally happy and practically invisible. Who'd look twice at a girl covered with mud?

One day, she went to find her best friend, Nina, a middle-aged earth mother and told her the story of her time with Sir James and how her parents had betrayed her.

Nina was horrified and wanted to take Emma to the police. 'You were trafficked, girl. This was white slavery.'

'Nina, if I go to the police, they'll find me -- the Saint Ishmael people. They are everywhere -- politicians, aristocracy, even the police and I can't ever come out of the shadows. I do want these implants removed.'

'What implants? Breasts?'

Emma explained the SubStim and what it did. Nina was intrigued, but once Emma demonstrated the effects, she knew what to do.

'No worries. I have a brother who is a GP and he'll do this. They are only subcutaneous and will be dead easy to remove.'

Emma wasn't happy at being handled by a man, but the thought that this would be the final step towards freedom was powerful and so one night, Nina took her to her brother's house in Bristol.

Nina's brother, David was horrified. 'This was done without your consent?'

Emma, who had insisted on a local anaesthetic, nodded, wincing slightly. 'My whole life has been without consent. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it. I reckon someone owes me a lot, but it's too risky to start talking about it.

I was going to study Politics, Philosophy and Economics at university. I have four A levels with A* results but they're in my old name, Emma de Courcy. I'd have to change my name and do them again. No. That's enough institutionalised life for me. I could have spent my whole life in care and prison and in a way, I did.'

David nodded.

He put a couple of dissolving stitches where he'd excised each implant and he put them away for further study.

'Be careful,' warned Emma. 'These people are wealthy and don't care about anyone. They are very powerful and will do anything they can to keep their private lives secret.'

Six months later, David rang Nina and offered to get Emma a job in his practice. 'If she wants to work, we can give her a bit of security and a free place to live. I need someone to stay over the surgery and there's an excellent burglar alarm.'

Emma thought about it and decided to give normal life a try.

She kept her hair short, had removed her nipple rings when she was in the petrol station after her incredible descent from the Castle. She decided to try normal life.

David had provided Emma with a lap top computer and she spent many nights researching her parents and husband and the Order of Saint Ishmael -- using Internet proxies to cover her tracks.

One day, she saw Adrian's photo on a news item. He'd been murdered and mutilated. Emma knew exactly who was responsible. Instead of terror, she felt so much rage that she had to sit down to write out her account of all that had happened to her.

She wrote a blog. She called herself 'AhnOnymous' and she changed all the locations and ages and even the name of her old school. The blog grew in popularity, with a fairly large number of hits and a lot of requests for more information. Emma ignored them all.

One day, Emma saw a reply from James. He wrote; 'If you are the person I married, then please read on...'

He was apologetic and admitted that he had married her for the money and entry into the higher layers of the Order. He apologised again and asked if he could meet her.

Emma ignored this request. Her memories of James were too painful to dwell on at that time. She'd fallen in love with him and she thought he'd loved her in return. She'd felt sure that he was in love and she thought that she knew. Emma wondered if perhaps, just for a little while, he'd loved her, so one day, she replied, giving him a Gmail address that she'd set up especially for this.

He sent her a long email, full of regret and genuine remorse. Well, he wrote the word 'genuine' but Emma didn't believe this.

She discussed this with David and his wife.

'I'm not comfortable with the idea of meeting James again. I don't trust anyone from my old life and I'd run from any threat of discovery. To be honest, I want to run anyway. It's sad, isn't it? Here we are in the 21st century and I have to live in dread of my own parents and husband.'

David's wife, Molly spoke. 'I know a counsellor. She's not Catholic or wealthy and I know she was sexually exploited and has since recovered. Would you like to meet her?'

Emma took a few days to think about this and finally agreed.

She ignored James's email and sat and meditated each night, looking for the inner strength to decide what to do next.

The counselling was a painful and difficult experience. Reliving trauma and pain, mixed with pleasure was a double-edged sword. It was a long, slow process to untangle the fear, pleasure, pain and dissonance of the BDSM ethos.

Emma's counsellor was horrified at first and wanted to talk to the police, but agreed to wait until they could find a person that they could trust.

One day, they had a breakthrough. Molly found a small charity that helped both men and women to recover from life in The Order of Saint Ishmael.

Emma didn't contact the charity immediately, she waited until she felt stronger and then she wrote to James, asking him to prove his repentance by making a large donation to the charity and she sat back and waited.

Nothing happened for some weeks, which made Emma very short-tempered, but one day a headline in a national broadsheet newspaper popped up. Someone had made a donation of £500,000 to the charity and Emma knew that it was James.

Some time later, Emma sat in the same room as her husband and locked eyes with him. He was thin and pale. The arrogance and air of authority had dissipated.

'I know that words can't ever repair the damage and betrayal done to you. My testimony will though. If you want to expose the Order, then I'll help. If you don't or can't risk the consequences, then I'll pay for you to go to university.'

Emma was stunned. 'You'll pay for everything? You know I'll have to have a new identify don't you? The Order found Adrian and killed him. I will not die the same way. Can you help?

Can you stop my parents from looking for me?'

James nodded. 'I'll deal with it. You have my word. No one will come after you.'

Emma thought for a moment and to her surprise heard herself saying, 'I'll take it. You owe me this at the very least and you must promise to stay away from me until I contact you again.'

She was thinking on her feet now, '£30,000 per year until I get in touch?'

James agreed. Relief written on his face, he let out a long sigh and offered Emma a divorce. She refused. 'We'll talk again when I get in touch. We need to get to know each other as equals, so you'll have to wait until I'm ready.'

After some legal negotiations, Emma took her place at Cambridge University. James had kept his word and she had a new identity. No one ever contacted her from the old life and gradually, she felt free and began to relax around others. She graduated with a first-class degree and finally enjoying the mental discipline, carried on studying.

One day, some five years later, James received a letter from Emma. She explained that she felt able to see him again and asked if they could meet in the bar of a small hotel in Yorkshire.

Emma had let her hair grow again and with her pale skin and dark hair, she looked as lovely as she had when she was eighteen.

She shook his hand, her gaze meeting his, without fear and greeted him with, 'Hello James.' She smiled. 'How are you?'

James shrugged his shoulders, 'I'm still living in limbo. I don't go out, or go to anything to do with the Order. I just stay at home in Scotland and do some farming. I keep sheep and I've thrown myself into their world.'

He looked fit and lean, with a slightly wind-burnt complexion and also very unhappy. Emma believed him. She could feel that he was in some emotional pain.

'I'm glad that you have something to do. I liked the academic rigour and kept on studying -- for which I'm grateful. I think it's paid off, because I'm a doctor -- a PhD doctor of Psychology, not a clinical doctor. I specialise in Psycho-sexual issues. I help people to feel better about themselves.

I've finally sorted out my issues with BDSM. It's a choice, a game, not a way of life. If you keep it in the bedroom then no one else gets hurt, or kidnapped, or exploited or murdered. I haven't had sex since I escaped and I still regard myself as married. I chose to marry you. I didn't choose to be whipped or mutilated and I'll never forget that.'

She let out a long breath. 'Well, that's better.' She smiled and held out her hand 'I'm Dr Emma Stornoway. I'm very pleased to meet you.'

James raised his eyebrows and suddenly found that his eyes were filling with tears. 'Thank you Emma.' He said and after a long pause, with a slightly awkward wiping of his eyes and a long swallow of beer, he said 'Could we start again?'

The End.