Pt. 04: Restitution

Those with more experience and confidence often taught the younger staff and visitors how to make her suffer. "Look at this" or "they hate it when you do this" they would say before showing them how to proceed. One young girl became fascinated with Kate's lips. She looked into Kate's eyes while pulling and twisting them so severely that she cried out in pain. Kate worried that the girl had done some damage, pain like that must have consequences. Unable to move her head she had no way of checking to find out. "Come on, we'd better get back to work," her friend said, and they left giggling. To them it was just a game; Kate was there for no other purpose than for their entertainment.

The manager came by often, checking with the receptionist and making sure that Kate was being used enough.

"I'll get your total submission, however long it takes," he whispered in her ear." There's still an element or resistance there but, sooner or later you'll surrender yourself to me--totally. I can wait. You only need to think about pleasing others, not what it means for you or your own pleasure."

He gripped her sore lips and pulled hard.

"See, you only thought of the pain you were suffering-what it meant to you. I'll make you glad to suffer because it pleases me to do it, that's the submission we're after."

Kate denied it to herself, she could put up with it all, whatever they did to her.

As he left he spoke to the receptionist. She took over a whip and placed it on the floor in front of Kate. For the next two hours she writhed and moaned as passers-by used it at will. Her tied hair caused her scalp as much pain as the whip itself.

Most cruel was the practice of making other slaves punish her. Often brought in on leashes, given the whip or a cane and told to beat her buttocks or breasts. All too often the slave would be timid with the whip, unsure or reluctant to use it to full effect. Once threatened with having to take Kate's place they approached the task with greater urgency, swiftly producing red flesh and raised welts. Taking such treatment on her breasts produced the worst pain, her screaming and crying usually caused immense distress to the unfortunate slave.

The beatings were devoid of sexual pleasure-of any pleasure at all. Pain for pains sake, that's all it was, just to make the point that she would have no say in it, no control of the situation. She knew that the level of her suffering would have no bearing on its length. It would continue until they decided otherwise. She hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

Late one afternoon, on display in the reception area as usual, Kate heard voices approaching from behind. Unable to move her head she could only imagine the people to whom they belonged. One she recognised, the manager.

"Some fantasies concern rape or abduction, we can arrange that if it suits both your needs," he was telling them.

The couple came into view. He, a late middle aged, distinguished looking gentleman, her a little younger and a stunning looking woman. Subtle hints of her expensive perfume drifted on the air. With her hair held up, clear of her long thin neck and her tall figure clad in designer clothing she looked the essence of sophistication.

"Not knowing what will happen to me," the woman said, "will be part of the thrill. If I were to be abducted then I wouldn't want to know when or where, and I could be raped of course, but it would be for the humiliation of it as much for the act itself."

Her refined voice made the statement in a most matter of fact manner, her obvious wealth and refinement at odds with what she spoke of.

"I think she'd prefer a longer, more in depth experience. Perhaps being held and made to suffer," the gentleman added.

"Would you be happy to go along with that, does it fit in with what you want, Mrs. Jameson?" the manager asked.

"Oh yes, I'd be happy with that, I'd go along with the non-consensual aspect, of course I would"

They stopped and waited as the lady studied Kate, hanging there marked and sobbing, fascinated by her sore nipples and lips. Reaching out the woman gently stroked Kate's welted breast. With her flesh so sensitive the pain made her twitch. The woman repeated the action, testing Kate's response.

"This is one of our own slaves, here to learn how to behave, she's not free to leave but will stay here and suffer until we decide otherwise."

"Do you get many outsiders here wanting to suffer in the same way?" she asked. They resumed their walk through the reception area, talking as they went.

"It's not common but it can be arranged of course."

Kate watched them go, hearing the woman's stockings swishing as she walked. She's fascinated, Kate thought, I bet she can't resist turning for one last look. She did turn, trying to make it look like a casual glance around the area in general. I knew it. Will she be here again, perhaps held like this, taken by anybody at all, dripping with the sperm of strangers? Probably.

When things quietened down Kate would be released and taken to the lounge to join the other three slaves. The lounge was large, very large, perhaps the Grand Hall of the original, Jacobean house. The white walls, dark oak panelling and natural stone fireplaces contrasted most attractively with the burgundy red carpet. A square in the centre of the room remained free of carpet, the original elm floorboards left bare and polished.

In each corner of the square stood a set of heavy wooden stocks. The four slaves had their feet fixed to rings in the floor before leaning forward to place their necks and wrists into the semi-circular cut-outs. As the iron hinge creaked the top section would be lowered into place, securing the victim, allowing only forward vision. Once trapped in place the slaves were freely available--all holes open and vulnerable, breasts hanging beneath their naked bodies. With their heads facing toward the centre of the square each slave could observe the suffering and use of the others.

Kate looked across to Grace. As usual she looked dignified, obedient and accepting. The reality of their situation struck Kate, here were two middle class, respectable women, the gallery owner and the personal assistant, on display, humiliated and about to be used.

The room filled with cries and screams drawn out of the slaves as their abusers made use of the array of instruments available for their torture. Heads twisted and hands strained at the wood in a desperate but futile attempt to avoid the barrage. The terror and begging seemed to drive the tormentors on, eager to advance to higher levels of cruelty. Kate attempted to emulate Grace who took her punishment with stoicism, rarely screaming and never begging, always showing great restraint.

Guests at the Manor were seldom able to resist making use of the available bodies. Bent over and held in position all three holes took a share of the abuse. With her users unknown, and often unseen, Kate finally stopped caring who they were. It was just another person making use of an available opening.

She was left with no doubt that the guests using the slaves enjoyed seeing them suffer. It was real punishment, not just physical but mental. Being used by people who didn't care for you as a person was hard to take. At the Boardroom, members could request the use of a particular slave. At the Manor they were used just because they were there and available, an object for sex. The reality left Kate close to tears. The feeling of pride in her slavery disappeared; there was no pride in being forced to obey. Pride came from the conscious decision to obey. No choice, no pride. Before, the choice existed to quit, to say no, that too had now been taken away.

However, as the days passed, and being used like that became routine, she began to see events from another perspective. Seeing the pleasure the male and female guests gained from using the four slaves changed how she viewed the evening activities.

From her position she saw the others being beaten, used for sex and generally humiliated, but she also saw the pleasure their suffering gave to their abusers. As the slaves bodies struggled under the whip and their flesh flattened from the impact, even she waited for the howl of pain. Seeing breasts distorted from pulling, being twisted and squeezed until the tears flowed thrilled her as much as those causing the torment. She enjoyed seeing the other slaves sweating from their ordeal, sperm dripping down their chins and bodily fluids running from between their legs.

That, she realised, was the thrill her abusers got--though no doubt theirs would be to a far greater degree--from using and abusing her in the same way. With regained pride she realised that by giving her body to them, she was enabling them to enjoy doing what she was enjoying seeing.

She slept peacefully that night, comfortable and at ease with her role at the Manor.

58

As Kate and the others worked on the new road, she continued to reflect on her role, and her future. The monotonous task gave her time to develop a clearer view of things.

To reach her goal she had to come to terms with the feelings that had always been there but proved so hard to define. That was all they'd ever been, impressions of how she wanted to be and to feel, with no definitive handle to grasp. She had to change her way of thinking and take a fresh look at her reasons for wanting to be a submissive. When she could sort out the confusion of emotions, mental dilemmas and physical needs she was sure she'd reach the thing that had always been there, wanting to surface but so difficult to identify and embrace.

Looking back she couldn't understand why she'd been acting and thinking as she had. Why did she think those businessmen at the service station were dirty old men? Was she not the guilty party, the dirty one, and them the innocent bystanders dragged into the game? She was the one exposing herself, who wouldn't look if given the chance?

Why did she hate Marshall Ralston for using her cruelly in the gym? Wasn't that what was being offered to him? Shouldn't she feel pleased, honoured even, to be made available for his pleasure? Wasn't she just passing the guilt over to him, blaming him for the situation? He should be viewed as an innocent pawn in the game, just taking up a golden opportunity denied to most.

Being made to exhibit herself to strangers had turned her on, she couldn't deny it. Having to wear the tiny dress at the Boardroom and having to cross London in only her short coat had thrilled her. What woman wouldn't want men to notice her and appreciate her body. She wanted to be the centre of attention-it aroused her.

She'd mistakenly thought that being exhibited like that was being done for her benefit, and for her pleasure. She should have considered the excitement other people felt during her ordeals, Richard, The Colonel and even Helen, they had all enjoyed her humiliation and they all got a thrill from her submission. It wasn't all about her.

During her training she'd been the centre of attention, the focus of all the activity. At the boardroom she was wanted, lusted after and given orgasms all of which fed her sexual needs.

The make believe fantasy world she'd been experiencing broke down as soon as she was used in the way that she always said she wanted to be used--like a true submissive. That night she'd panicked, lost her bottle--frozen when the going got tough.

During that fateful evening, there had been no concern for her pleasure and no sexual planning. She hadn't undressed; even the exhibitionist in her had been denied. No consideration had been given to her lust or excitement: she'd even been denied the pleasure of somebody using the openings between her legs. She became an object of derision for personal reasons.

And why hadn't she just sucked the tramp? She'd had headaches before and the problem with the laddered stocking was laughable. If she'd done as she was told she would have been repulsed, yes-but that was the whole point. Lloyd wanted her to be repulsed and it was her duty to obey. To give that pleasure to the tramp would have stopped Lloyd dead--she'd have beaten him. He'd hoped that she wouldn't be able to do it: his intension was to break her, hers should have been to obey.

Being sent to the Manor had shown her what a true slave really was and how others viewed and treated them. She had watched slaves giving themselves, but importantly, she had seen great pleasure derived from their suffering. Did she want to accept that deeper state of submission? Was she happy to be an object of pleasure and discard the trivial thrills of her own? Yes she did, definitely.

Her epiphany moment came as she toiled in the afternoon heat. Was that what people experienced when they said they had 'seen the light', or they'd 'found God'? Did he just suddenly appear to them; was it really an instant thing, or an overnight thing? If so then her god had come to her, she too could see the way forward.

She would be used for the pleasure of others; but to satisfy her deep submissive desire, not to satisfy her shallow sexual desires. She had her body to offer for their pleasure, however and whenever they wished to use it. She'd put her basic needs to one side and aim for more meaningful rewards.

59

As Friday morning dawned, the routine continued, just as it had for almost two weeks, an uncomfortable night spent on the thin, hard mattress, followed by the horrible ritual with the freezing water and scrubbing brushes. Kate took it in her stride. Heartened by her deliberations she faced the day with a renewed determination to succeed. She had the motivation and attitude she needed to see it through to the end; she only hoped that the end would be in her favour.

The day's labour took the same form as all of the previous days, except that Kate relished being given her tasks, accepted the cruelty and suffered the pain. If that was what they wanted from her, then she was happy to endure the treatment.

As afternoon turned to evening the four slaves returned to the stables. Without being told, all four obediently knelt in a row on the cold cobbles, waiting for the inescapable blast of freezing water, followed by the harsh scrubbing. As the final traces of soap were being rinsed away the manager entered and spoke to the staff member. Assuming one of them would be selected for an unpleasant task, all eyes quickly lowered, careful to do nothing which would draw attention to themselves. However hard she tried, Kate found it impossible to pick up any of the conversation. Their glances toward the line of kneeling women indicated that one or all of them were the subject of the discussion. As the talk ended the questions were answered.

"You, come with me."

It was Kate; she could almost hear the others exhale with relief. He walked her back through the house and into the reception area.

"Stand on there," he said, gesturing toward the now familiar raised platform, "spread your legs and put your hands behind your head."

He called over the receptionist and spoke to her as he looked into Kate's eyes.

"It seems that this one may have changed. I've heard she worked harder this morning, got a bit of a spring in her step."

Kate tried to confirm his suppositions, tried to use her eyes to tell him he was correct.

"Perhaps you're ready, maybe you've reached that third stage I told you about, the one where you want to obey orders because it satisfies your desire to submit. Let's find out shall we."

He turned to the receptionist, "she's to be used as normal, but she's not to be bound." He placed the whip on the stand in front of her. "She's to take her treatment without being restrained, call me if there are any problems."

Kate tried not to let her joy show. It was a chance to prove herself, to show them that she was worthy of keeping rather than sending back to her previous life: an opportunity to make up for her mistake.

For the rest of the afternoon she remained on the platform withstanding whatever indignities and punishments they chose to impose on her. The manager came through far more frequently than he had on previous occasions, obviously monitoring the situation. Word must have spread amongst the staff as some returned time after time to see if they could be the one to cause her capitulation. Determined to withstand the ruthless treatment she remained on the platform--she would not fail again. If her body bent from the pain of having her lips twisted, she stood back straight, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks. If she lost her footing from the force of the whip she would return immediately, enduring all they had to offer.

When the time came for the slaves to be used in the lounge Kate followed the manager to the wash-room where she cleaned and prepared herself for the evening's activities. The other three were in position in the stocks when the manager took Kate into the lounge. The fourth set of stocks had been removed and in its place stood a trestle similar to the bar used at Colonel Mason's.

"Get in position and don't move until told otherwise, understand?"

"Yes Sir."

After she positioned herself, he left, leaving her at the mercy of the guests and staff who made continual use of the offering. Her complicity appeared to spur them on; determined to make her move, object or refuse. To Kate, the sore and burning holes between her legs became her salvation, the vehicle she used to demonstrate her submission. She placed no value on the physical feelings which were impossible to ignore, feeling none of the titillation of the past. Being used like that pleased all involved, their physical needs were met and her need for submission rewarded. Being continually used in such a distasteful manner pleased her. She hoped that pleasure failed to show on her face lest it be misinterpreted as the result of the physical sensations.

The evening came to a close as the guests drifted away leaving only the slaves and staff in the lounge. The manager returned and, after speaking with the staff, took out his telephone. Once again-straining-Kate attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation, convinced that she would be the subject. It proved possible to catch only small snippets of speech as he walked back and forth.

"... yes, that's right... only three... could you? so there's nothing more to be done... yes tomorrow... OK... fine..."

He then nodded to the staff and left the room. While being escorted back to the bedroom below the scullery, Kate's mind whirled in turmoil. Pleased with her performance in the lounge, she felt her soreness to be a price worth paying. Holding her position during the ordeal and refusing to give in to their mistreatment filled her with pride. However, once secured to the bed and as the other three slept, her mind analysed the few words she managed to pick out from the phone call. It must have been about her she thought, he kept glancing toward her. Tomorrow, whatever it was about, it would be tomorrow. Then there was the most worrying part, 'so there's nothing more to be done'. What did that mean? They'd run out of options? They could do nothing else for her? They'd tried their best, but they've failed? Had she failed to show that magical 'thing' they spoke of? They did say that she may be able to tolerate the treatment but still not show the unknown quality they were looking for, making her unsuitable for a future with the group. Was that what had happened? Was she to be expelled tomorrow? Could all of her hope and suffering have been for nothing?

60

The four slaves looked at each other, overwhelmed by the confusion. The days routine had been identical to that of any other, the washing, the scrubbing and breakfast. But then something had changed; they hadn't been taken out to the yard or told to put on the working shoes. Instead they waited; watched over by two members of the staff who sat on a table chatting. They welcomed the diversity, anything to break the routine-however distasteful-would be welcome.