Pt. 04: Restitution

Being taken back to the main house brought some small comfort; the stable block conveyed a far more sinister impression as darkness fell. With the short chains restricting their movement the four women struggled to keep pace with the staff, resulting in frequent pushing and prodding.

The main house looked far busier than when Kate had arrived. In the long corridor, two young girls wearing aprons stood to one side. As the four passed, the girls whispered and nodded their heads. An elderly gentleman showed no hint of astonishment as four soaking wet, naked women passed him, their chains rattling as they went. Ushered into the same office as before the women stood before the manager, or was he a warden?

Sitting at his desk, elbows resting on the surface, fingers interlocked and thumbs under his chin the man silently looked along the line. After a few minutes he rose and spoke.

"You four are here for intensive training, sent here for varying reasons, but to achieve the same outcome. That is, to teach you a lesson you will remember for a very long time. People have a wide variety of needs, and here at the Manor we endeavour to satisfy those needs. Some of our guests are weekender's who want to experience different aspects of the lifestyle, some are sent here by partners to learn obedience or to be taught certain sexual skills. Some are even single and come of their own free will to be humiliated and punished before returning-satisfied-to their lives and jobs. But not you four, you're here until we decide that you can leave."

The man walked along the back of the line as he spoke, unnerving Kate.

"The treatment you'll experience is based on the methods used in Victorian prisons. People like you, guilty of a crime, needed two things. The first was punishment; society wanted revenge and the guilty needed to suffer. Secondly, to make sure that the crime was not repeated, they needed rehabilitation--made to see the error of their ways."

Moving round to the front of the line he handled the women, cupping breasts and groping between their legs. The younger girl pulled away as her nipple was twisted, earning her a slap across her face before the twisting was repeated with no resistance.

"Spread your legs and bend forward."

The older woman hesitated, looking down the line, to see if the others would obey. The vicious slap across her backside encouraged her to conform. The man worked his way down the line spreading buttocks, forcing fingers into openings, peering closely at their private parts. All intended, Kate assumed, to add to their humiliation. It worked.

"You'll be here for as long as it takes us to teach you that lesson or to send you away if we consider you to be unsuitable for a future with the group. Now you're here you have no option but to endure and suffer," he lifted the chin of the older woman, looking her in the eye, "and I promise you that you will."

He circled the line once more before continuing his dialogue.

"Your experience will most likely follow the usual pattern. To start with you'll need to be forced to obey orders." Picking on the young girl he pulled and twisted both nipples, whilst staring into her eyes. "Defiance will bring you pain. You will learn to do as you're told. Now, you may think that you'll put up with it, but when the time comes you'll wish you hadn't agreed to come here. When you know what real pain feels like, you'll obey just to avoid any more of it. You'll do anything we say to avoid it; things you thought you'd never do, you will."

He moved in front of Kate and placed his hand between her legs before pulling and twisting her lips until tears filled her eyes. She fought to remain still.

"After that stage, you'll want to obey. Not out of fear of more pain, but because you want to. You need to satisfy your desire to submit, you'll even be pleased to debase yourselves at the whim of others. You'll humiliate yourselves in ways that you swore you would never do."

He moved back to stand in front of the older woman and spoke to her directly. "Women like you think that you won't obey, that you're too proud to do these things, let me tell you--you will. You'll beg to be allowed to carry out orders. Women like you-the proud ones-just suffer more along the way, but we can wait until you're ready, it may take more time but the result will be the same."

He moved away from her to address the line in general.

"Agony and success or agony and rejection, the treatment's the same, so take your pick."

It was Kate's dread, being sent away. How would she know if she was about to be sent away. She didn't know what they wanted or what the criteria were. How did they know when they had a no hoper? What were the rules? Nobody had told them.

"During your stay you'll see a lot of these people," he gestured toward the staff in black, "to them, and indeed everybody else you come across, you're the lowest of the low. As such you will do whatever anybody tells you to do. The caterers, gardeners, anybody, you'll obey them all. There are other guests staying here, for various reasons, do as they say. They'll use you and punish you, obey them."

He went over and spoke quietly to one of the staff, confirming something, judging by the agreement they reached.

With a clinking of chains they were led out, back through the reception area, and into the scullery. From there the cold stone steps descended to a damp, musty smelling cellar, the only contents of which seemed to be six metal framed beds. Each bed had a thin, hard looking mattress and a single, coarse blanket. With no toilet break their neck collars were padlocked to the bed-head by a short length of chain. It was going to be a cold and miserable night.

When the staff left and the door at the top of the stairs closed, Kate turned to Grace, desperate to hear why she was there.

"Grace, what on earth are you doing here?"

"I was sent, like you."

"But I thought...well, I don't know what I thought really."

"Mr. Weston had already booked me in for this and then when Richard got him to give you another chance he thought it would be humiliating for both of us to be sent at the same time."

"But why has he sent you at all, I thought you were his assistant."

"I am now, but I wasn't always; I was a slave just like you. Well not quite like you, I had a master, more like Elizabeth, but we weren't married. I had a variety of relationships, some worked out and others didn't."

"You were a slave? Incredible."

"I still am I suppose. The master I'd been with for about two years had to move abroad for professional reasons, to the Middle East in fact, and couldn't take me with him. I didn't want to go anyway; I had my flat and money from my contract with him..."

"You'd sold yourself?"

"Yes, and at a good price I'll have you know--for an old bird," she laughed at herself. "Anyway, he decided to put me into one of Oakham's auctions, pass me on to a new owner, which was fine with me."

"My god, you're so brave, it could have been anybody."

"I know, but it was exciting. Before the auction came up Mr. Weston called me in to see him. From the sheets he'd seen that I had experience in office work, his assistant was leaving and he offered me the position."

"I see, but why are you here, now?"

"He sends me two or three times a year for some sort of 'refresher course' as he calls it. If I'm honest, I was getting a bit too old for the full time stuff anyway, and I didn't want to finish completely, I wouldn't ever want to do that."

"And you're OK with this then?"

"Oh yes, he says it's good for me to remember my background, and that it keeps me in line. I enjoy it."

"Enjoy this?"

"Well not this particular thing, I've never done this before, heard about it though."

Grace said no more and changed the subject, perhaps she had no more details to share or perhaps she didn't want to alarm Kate. At a late hour Kate eventually drifted off to sleep, still full of admiration and respect for Grace and her slavery.

56

With no natural light entering the cellar, Kate had no idea if it was morning or whether the cellar's natural chill and the aching throughout her body had woken her early.

Having her hands chained to the collar and the collar secured to the bed made moving into a comfortable position almost impossible. As the others stirred their moans and groans indicated similar problems. She knew her lack of sleep would do her no favours later in the day-she needed her sleep. A more pressing problem was the need-the desperate need-to go to the toilet. They probably wanted them to wet themselves, adding to their humiliation, but so far all had held out.

Moments before the door opened, the bare, single light bulb unexpectedly illuminated the cellar. Footsteps descended the stairs, echoing around the cold stone walls. The releasing of the padlocks freed their hands, allowing the women to sit upright and stretch their stiff limbs.

"Up the stairs, first door to the right, back here in fifteen minutes."

The four looked at each other, unsure of how to react to the brusque order. Grace made the first move toward the stairs, closely followed by the others. Through the door they found a bathroom. The room may have been sparse but it was a bathroom-heaven to the women. The two open toilets were put to immediate use; the two left waiting became desperate for their turn. Toothpaste and toothbrushes; soap and hair brushes were all supplied. Even the single cold tap above each sink seemed like a luxury. Conscious of the passing time Kate rushed to prepare herself. As quickly as possible she returned to stand by her bed.

The young girl, the last to return, missed the deadline. As she approached her bed one of the men took hold of her long dark hair and pulled her down. Bent her over and held her in position she received a dozen cruel cuts from his leather crop. Kate and the others stood and watched as she cried, screamed and kicked. Watching another being punished felt quite alien to Kate.

"You'll be on time tomorrow, I guarantee it," he told her. Then he turned to face the others. "You eat in the scullery, up you go."

The women climbed the stairs as fast as their chains would allow. Sitting on benches at the long, scrubbed oak table they ate breakfast; fresh fruit and as much porridge as they could eat, very good porridge too, Kate thought. Before they had finished, one of the men barked out the next order.

"Stand." The speed of response from the attractive young girl made him smile. Having learnt the price of being slow to obey, she wasn't going to be caught out again.

"Into the yard--quickly."

Even at such an early hour, the yard was in full sunshine. They welcomed the warmth which helped to restore their body heat back to normal. Standing in line, Kate took the opportunity to study her surroundings. A variety of people passed through the yard; some in aprons or overalls, some with tool belts, all going about their daily tasks. Others, in suits or dresses, stopped and watched. To her left she heard the clanking of pans and saw steam drifting from an extractor fan. Must be the kitchen area she thought, her conclusion was confirmed on seeing the young man outside-dressed in the white top and checked trousers-smoking a cigarette. He sat and watched the four ladies standing in a semi-circle, naked and chained. A staff member, dressed in black, walked in front of them. He dropped a pair of slip on shoes at their feet.

"Put them on, quickly."

Kate held herself more upright and rigid as she saw the manager enter the yard. He began to talk as he walked toward them.

"I hope you slept well, ladies." His sarcastic comment fell on deaf ears. "We do try to look after our guests."

When he reached a spot in front of the group he addressed them.

"Other slaves at Oakham work in the kitchens, as cleaners, chambermaids or in any other role we need them for. You ladies however are special. Just like your Victorian counterparts you've been allocated a regime of hard labour. To the rear of the house we're building a new access road. The work could of course be completed in a day with the use of a mechanical digger, or in as long as it takes with free labour from people like yourselves. We've chosen the latter option. You'll work, and you'll work hard. The staff supervising you will make sure that you do."

As he moved behind the line he paused, stroking the buttocks of the young girl.

"I see you've already had a lesson today young lady. I wouldn't think you'll want too many more."

He continued.

"Any slacking or talking and the staff will punish you severely."

He watched the look of fear cross the young girls face.

"The chains will restrict your movements but not diminish your efforts."

As they walked from the yard, the chains dragged and the uncomfortable bands chaffed their skin. What would they be like at the end of the day? The short walk to the work place brought wheelbarrows, shovels and pickaxes into view. The staff allocated tasks and the ladies set to, digging, pushing heavy wheelbarrows and moving piles of gravel.

The mindless labour needed to be attacked with seeming enthusiasm, any slacking was met with hard slashes from the single strand whips carried by the staff. Towards the middle of the morning Kate whispered to Grace.

"Phew, it's getting hot."

The slash of the whip across her back and the command to remain silent taught her, and the others, that the staff meant what they said.

The only break in the routine came at lunchtime when they were taken back to the scullery to enjoy a bowl of what looked like stew. Kate assumed the look of the dish-lumps in liquid-was intended to be in keeping with the Victorian theme, it actually tasted good and there was enough of it.

Back out at the work site the afternoon passed with the same boredom and toil. There was no shortage of exposed skin for the hot sun to burn. By the time the day's work ended. Kate felt red, tired and miserable, her body covered in a layer of dirt and dust which stuck to her sweating skin. After lining up to be walked back to the stable block she noted that the others appeared to be in a similar condition. Exhaustion made the walk back far more of a trial than the walk out earlier in the day, constant prodding and whipping being used to keep up the pace. Walking behind Grace, Kate admired the way she coped with the ordeal: she took it all in her stride. Kate was there to pay for her mistake; Grace was there for no reason of her own making. Despite the facts, she made no mention of unfairness or complained of her unwarranted treatment-she just accepted.

Kate thought of Richard, Helen and the gallery. It all seemed a million miles away, part of another world. Should she be there with them or relaxing with a Gin and Tonic? No, she should be there paying for her mistake, she too felt no injustice.

Kneeling in line on the stable floor, hands cuffed behind their backs the women waited. Kate expected and dreaded what was to come.

"You're all filthy and a disgrace," the woman said, "so unladylike, covered in dirt and sweat. Perhaps you'd like a shower."

She braced herself as the whoosh announced the imminent arrival of the blast of freezing water. With their skin hot and tender from the sun the force of the water seemed more intense, sharper and stinging. The same routine followed; the cruel aiming of the jets on the intimate body parts, the bucket of soapy water followed by the scrubbing, and finally the ice cold water to rinse away the soap. Each part of the ritual was accompanied by the same screaming, writhing around on the hard cobbles and difficulty of breathing. The sobbing continued long after the water stopped.

"That's better," the woman announced, "we can't have you looking a disgraceful mess in front of the guests can we."

57

At the Manor ritual was everything; anticipation of it equated to punishment itself. The morning routine never varied, except the choice of who was to be beaten for an infraction of the rules, or for none at all, who knew. The daily work schedule continued. The digging, lifting and moving only interrupted by the staff enforcing their discipline.

Although it remained warm most days tended to be cloudy, removing the worry of sunburn. Surprisingly Kate felt good from the work, fitter, slimmer and more toned. People who paid to go to a gym should go there she thought, it was guaranteed to work and it was free.

The rehabilitation they'd spoken of, and which she expected to experience, still eluded her. She had formed the impression that she'd gone there to be used, or perhaps taught, by an authority figure, somebody to look up to. Somebody similar to Colonel Mason, she thought, but no figure had appeared.

Following the hateful cleaning ritual, late afternoons at the Manor were filled with the use and punishment of slaves. Mostly they were not subjected to the same plan, often being taken to different locations within the Manor.

Kate often ended up on public display: made to stand on a small raised platform in the centre of the reception area. Her hands were bound together and pulled high above her head, restricted only by the pull on her ankles, secured to rings spaced widely on the base. The same form of restraint had been used to hold her before, during her training with Colonel Mason. A new variation involved the tying of her hair to hold her head as high as possible; the painful strain on her scalp made any movement impossible. While on display-the manager told her-she was for the use of anybody who passed through. Staff, guests and even other slaves had free use of her body. She meant nothing to any of them.

Left hanging there day after day, freshly beaten following the morning's work, she attracted a lot of attention. People came to see her abused body and to admire the fresh welts. They pinched her nipples and opened her sex. Some forced their fingers into the smaller opening.

Being there worried her, the people using her were inexperienced and through their ignorance could do her real harm. The fact could have eluded those in charge or they were aware of it but chose not to act on it. Either way, the outcome for her was the same; she would remain there suffering until they chose to release her.

The humiliation taught her a valuable lesson. She was not the sex toy she had previously considered herself to be, but rather she was nothing more than an object, there for the amusement of those people.

The beatings she could take, she had been well trained. But being on display in the foyer she found far more demeaning. She was nothing to those unknown people. They carried out their tasks and continued with their daily lives, while she remained there, the object of their derision.

Richard, Colonel Mason and Graham Weston all knew her as a person, they had trained her and had a vested interest in her. Her new tormentors were everyday people, the sort of people she saw in cafes, shops and offices. People she had paid little attention to or given much consideration to, they were just doing their job. However, those people had now been given total control of her suffering and humiliation, with no regard for who she was or for what she felt. How things had turned around.

The busy reception area produced a constant stream of potential tormentors, all keen to increase her suffering. Only the constantly present receptionist could appreciate the extent of her anguish. Passers-by, male and female stopped to make her suffer. Her nipples were a popular target, and most continued the twisting and pinching until tears formed in her eyes. The lips between her legs received equally cruel treatment. Being pulled and stretched hurt badly enough but it was the constant probing of her holes and the lack of any lubricant that made her particularly sore.