Painful Pathway, page 7
Vic was putting his trousers back on when the door swung open and an angry voice growled at him.
“What the fuck’s going on here, Vic?” Rabanne demanded. “I sent you to fetch her, not to screw her. Is this a demonstration of your loyalty and obedience to me?”
Sophie eyed the doctor terrified his evident anger might extend to her. His eyes were gleaming with rage.
“I was about to bring her now,” Vic told him in an agitated voice.
“Sure - after shafting her. I’m going to have to put a cock harness on you, I suppose. Now bring the slut and follow me.”
Rabanne stormed from the room and Vic half led, half dragged Sophie after him. She wondered where she was being taken to now, what was to happen next. Was she really being sold, or had Vic merely wanted to frighten her? If that was his aim, it had worked.
The room that she was taken to was large and grand, with dado panelling, a polished pine floor, stained glass in the two large bay windows, dentil cornicing and ornate ceiling trusses. There was a billiards table in the centre of the room; leaning casually against it with cue in hand waiting for Rabanne was a forty-something man with a rugged scarred face and piercing eyes that at once settled on Sophie.
“What do you think?” Rabanne asked him, pushing Sophie towards him and dismissing Vic from the room with a silent gesture. The man’s gaze roamed over her, noting every curve, every mark, every blemish, in an intimate and detailed visual inspection. Then he simply nodded. Rabanne pushed her away into a corner of the room where she sank down to the floor and sat in huddled silence. With very few almost whispered words passing between them they proceeded with a game of billiards, which they appeared to be taking very seriously indeed. Sophie had no idea at all about the rules of the game and no notion at all of who was winning or losing, nor did she care. She just knew that their attentiveness to the game gave her a short but vital reprieve.
All too soon it seemed Rabanne’s opponent hit the black ball down and the game was ended, the two men shook hands and Rabanne called Sophie over. Trembling, stumbling slightly, she reluctantly obeyed.
“As promised, your prize,” Rabanne said, pushing Sophie towards the other man, presumably the victor, and with that he left the room.
Sophie gazed in open-mouthed horror at the man replacing his cue stick and finishing his whiskey. She hadn’t been sold - she had been won! How could such a thing really happen? He put down his empty glass and turned his attention to the stunned Sophie.
“My name is Joel Edwards, you of course will call me Master. Stand properly with your legs apart and your hands on your head - I want to take a proper look at you.” He opened Sophie’s mouth to look at her teeth, studied her scalp, her hands and her face with scrutiny. Sophie, trembling violently now, kept her eyes tightly closed. Joel ran a hand down her back, badly scratched and bruised. He studied the small burn on her shoulder and red ridges across her bottom and thighs. Sophie felt too sick and frightened to feel humiliated or degraded by this examination.
“On the table, on your back,” he ordered and she obeyed, scrambling up onto the billiards table and laying on her back. Joel ran his hands very slowly up her legs to her hips then grasped her firmly and moved her forwards a little. He parted her legs, spreading them uncomfortably wide apart and then began to play with her intimacy. He tugged at the small clitoral ring and she squealed and squirmed in response. Then he slipped his thumb between her lips and into her wet passage, at the same time easing his index finger into her rear hole. He worked her steadily, stimulating both orifices until she was writhing and moaning in agony and ecstasy, unable to fight against the unwanted tide of arousal and passion surging through her; she orgasmed several times before he eventually stopped.
But he certainly had not finished with her yet. He fetched one of the cue sticks, thrust it savagely into her anus and then stirred it around and around, laughing at her cries of pain and anguish. At last the cue stick was snatched from her but the neck of a glass bottle taken from the bar immediately replaced it. Sophie was terrified at the thought of what might happen to her should the glass be broken. Joel thrust the bottle in and out of her for a time before abandoning it; then he parted her lips and eased his whole hand into her lust tunnel. Watching the agonised distortion of her face with glee, he rammed his forearm up and down inside of her like a piston, fist fucking her savagely. He went on and on, faster and harder, until Sophie was screaming in agony, thrashing about and begging for mercy.
Eventually he stopped and ordered her to turn over so that she was laying on her front, her huge and tender breasts pressed firmly and painfully against the green of the table. She heard the zipper of his trousers and seconds later he mounted her, thrust his erection into her from behind and rode her fast and furiously, pulling her hair and clawing maliciously at her back and shoulders as he did so. He withdrew seconds before climaxing and spurted his cream over her backside. Then he dressed and ordered her to follow him.
Sophie followed Joel out into the circular courtyard in front of the house, where they got into a green Volvo estate. She sank low in the seat, frightened and embarrassed at her nudity as they drove along country lanes and winding tree-lined avenues. What if they were to be stopped by the police? Though then they would surely see that she was an innocent victim and rescue her? It was a long drive to their destination, which proved to be another large country house right out in the sticks. They passed through double wrought iron gates and Sophie noted a large sign that read, ‘Avalon House -Spiritual Retreat’. The house was Edwardian, a rambling near-mansion far larger than Rabanne’s country home and set in beautiful park-like grounds. There were rhododendrons and azaleas everywhere, and dozens of pretty hanging baskets in the porch area above the front door, and the evening air was filled with their sweet perfume.
They went indoors into a warm and inviting hallway. The carpet was russet, the walls terracotta. Beautiful neo-classical paintings hung on the walls and a cut glass chandelier sent little prisms of light dancing about the brilliant white coved ceiling. Joel led Sophie down the hall to a door, which opened onto a flight of steps leading down to the basement level of the house. The basement was cool and dank and the ceiling covered in webs that made Sophie shiver with fear. Hanging against one wall was a pair of iron shackles; Joel told her to stand against this wall and swiftly manacled her wrists, stretching her arms high above her head. Then he simply left her there, naked, sore, manacled, sobbing with fear in the dark.
Utterly exhausted, Sophie drifted in and out of sleep, her body racked with pain, her mind a turmoil of fear and dread, depleted, thirsty, and almost wishing that Rabanne had simply killed her instead of subjecting her to this prolonged suffering. She wet herself, the golden liquid drenching her thighs and the scent of her own urine assailed her senses. Once she felt something tickling her scalp; she screamed wildly, shaking her head frantically, terrified that it was a spider, which it probably was.
The terrified girl was alerted to a sudden sound. Was it the door opening? Yes, there was a light playing on the stairs, a moving light like a torch. There were voices, too, low whispers and then a girlish giggle. It was certainly not Joel - who then? She tensed, strained her ears and tried to catch a sound or glimpse of whoever it was in the flickering torchlight. There were two or maybe three shadowy figures making their way cautiously down the worn stone steps. Suddenly the torch was flashed straight into Sophie’s face and she flinched at the sudden brightness, screwing up her eyes and turning her face away.
“Who is it? Who’s there?” Sophie asked in a frightened voice but her question was ignored.
“Who’s got the key? Nina?” a young female voice rang out in the darkness.
“Yeah, here,” Nina replied, presumably passing the key to the iron shackles to her cohort.
“Arlene, lift me up a bit, will you? I can’t quite reach.”
“Okay, Lee.” Arlene lifted Lee just a little off the ground so she could reach the iron shackles. She fiddled awkwardly with them for a few moments before they fell open and Sophie was liberated. She leant back heavily against the wall for a few seconds. Then she found herself grasped firmly by each arm and half dragged from the basement by Nina and Arlene, Lee leading the way with the torch. She was taken down the entrance hall and then up a flight of stairs. Everywhere was in darkness so she could not see her captors clearly. They came to one door where a trickle of light crawled out from underneath and there were vague muffled noises from the room beyond. Lee switched off the torch and they went in.
The room was like a boarding school dormitory - a long, prettily decorated room with two rows of beds, one either side of the room. Half a dozen young women - all aged roughly between seventeen and mid-twenties - were there, awaiting the return of their fellows with Sophie. They wore girlie nightdresses, fluffy slippers and had their hair in bunches or pigtails. With excited squeals of delight they leapt on Sophie, dragging her right into the room and then getting her down onto the floor. In moments she was completely immobilised - her wrists were bound tightly to the tubular metal leg of a bed with a striped school tie and her legs spread apart with her ankles tied to a hockey stick. She screamed and thrashed about but was no match for more than half a dozen young women, especially as she was in a weakened state anyway. She wondered who the hell they were - certainly not schoolgirls, despite appearances. Perhaps, like Tony Scullie, they were individuals who had paid to have a fantasy realised? And she was a part of that fantasy?
“Midnight feast time!” one girl, a lanky brunette with freckles, announced cheerily as she produced an open tin of condensed milk and poured the thick sweet contents over Sophie’s breasts. She and another girl at once lunged onto her, sucking and licking one engorged tit apiece. Arlene produced a large jar of chocolate spread and smeared it over Sophie’s belly whilst Nina daubed her intimacy with jam. Someone rubbed something sticky over her feet. Suddenly there were mouths all over her, gorging hungrily on her flesh, lapping, slavering, sucking, nipping and licking. When her body had been licked clean they found a new entertainment - taking turns to spank her breasts until they were reddened with the slapping and she was crying piteously. One girl fetched a hairbrush and thrust it into her love-passage, the bristles agonisingly painful against her tender flesh. Another girl used her hairbrush to thrash the soles of her feet. Then Lee told them all to move back whilst she turned Sophie over onto her front, lifting the hockey stick and flipping her over. Then they took turns in pairs to use hairbrushes and slippers on her bottom and upper thighs. It was agony.
Sophie cried and wailed whilst her nine tormentors laughed and hallooed. Then she felt something stiff being pressed firmly against her tight rear entrance; she strained her head around to look and was shocked to see Lee, wearing a huge rubber strap-on dildo, probing its end against her anus. She shrieked as the teenager thrust home the giant phallus and began to pump it in and out with a savagery that belied her girlishness. She grasped Sophie’s hair and pulled at it harshly as she rode her. She seemed to go on and on for an eternity, the other girls watching on in awe and pleasure - this Amazon redhead was clearly their idol. A couple of them began to masturbate as they watched their cohort riding their victim to orgasm. Sophie did not want to climax, was struggling desperately to fight back the rising tide of arousal, but she could not resist hormones and nature for long and was soon thrown into a massive orgasm. The girls hallooed, cheered and laughed as they watched her throw back her head and cry out, soaking her thighs with her sex-milk. Having achieved her aim, Lee withdrew and removed the strap-on.
She released Sophie and hauled her to her feet then led her to the adjoining communal bathroom. There was a row of toilets one side of the room, a row of showers the other side, and a row of sinks down the centre. One of the girls pushed open the door of a cubicle for Lee and she shoved Sophie in, forced her down onto her hands and knees, thrusting her head down the toilet pan. Then she sat on the loo with Sophie’s head between her legs and peed, soaking her hair with the warm yellow liquid. Every girl took a turn to do the same until Sophie was drenched with the foul fluid. Just as the last girl had drained herself, an angry voice bellowed out.
“GIRLS! It is almost three in the morning. Just what are you doing out of your beds?” The huddle broke up and Sophie struggled to her feet. She saw a stout fifty-something woman in a matron’s uniform glowering at the cowed girls. She saw Sophie and gave a grim unpleasant smile. “I see. Well, fun time is over - back to your beds at once. Tomorrow you shall each receive twelve strokes of the cane at assembly. As for you, you little slut, you will come with me.” Trembling with both shock and cold, her arms wrapped tightly about her body, and weeping bitterly, Sophie trudged after the matronly figure. She took her down the hall where she simply locked her in a linen closet. Sophie was relieved at the respite, finding a bath towel on one of the shelves to use as a blanket and snuggling down on the floor, praying that morning would not come too soon.
Chapter Seven
Sophie was roused by a cacophony of sound - the chatter of female voices, people hurrying up and down the corridor, a bell ringing somewhere. After ten minutes or so the noise died down and everything was soon quiet once more. Then the door of the linen closet was unlocked and swung open and Sophie was hauled to her feet and half dragged down the hall by the same ‘matron’ she had encountered in the night. She was taken to an office where Joel Edwards was seated behind a leather-topped desk, casually lounging in a black leather chair drinking coffee. He gazed long and hard at the silent trembling Sophie with a wry half-smile playing on his lips.
“So, how are you this morning ... Sophie, isn’t it? You look cold. Probably hungry, too, I expect. And I know you are scared, I can see the open fear in your face. Don’t be. If you are compliant, obedient and willing to please then I shall allow you to bathe, eat and dress. I will give you a warm bed to sleep in, in a room of your own. There’s an attic bedroom free. And I will allow you one day’s hiatus - you need not start your duties until tomorrow. What do you say?”
“What ... what duties?” Sophie inquired in a quiet and timid voice.
“What duties, Master,” he corrected her. “As you will undoubtedly have gathered from your little ... adventure last night, I run a very special sort of ‘school’ here, under the guise of a retreat. A school for adults - for women who wish to play at being naughty schoolgirls, for the mature dominatrix who wishes to play at matron, nurse or headmistress and men who wish to play at headmaster so they can enjoy the thrill of spanking, caning and fucking wannabe ‘schoolgirls’. It’s a very successful enterprise - I charge very high fees for the services and facilities on offer here at Avalon House. You’re probably wondering where you come into all this. Well, a few of the male clients often wish to go much further than those women who are here willingly would wish or allow. They are after all paying guests here to fulfil their own fantasies. Most want little more than a kinky spanking over a man’s knee or perhaps a touch of the cane or ruler in front of their ‘classmates’. I need to be able to provide a pretty submissive ‘schoolgirl’ slave for those masters who wish to truly torture and abuse. And that, little Sophie, is why I have acquired you. Now, as I have said, if you submit willingly and obediently to your fate then you will be allowed certain privileges and kindnesses - a room of your own, albeit a sparse and simple one, regular meals in the kitchen and use of a bathroom. Otherwise, you will be soundly beaten to within an inch of your life and returned to Rabanne’s clinic. What is your decision?”
He gazed at Sophie with a granite expression, flexing a thin bamboo cane and clearly demanding an immediate answer to which there would be an immediate response.
Sophie stared back at him with wide frightened eyes that brimmed with tears. What choice did she really have? Rabanne had taken her freedom, her rights, her dignity, and all quite legally it seemed. What option was left to her now other than obedience? At least here there was the promise, the hope, of some residue of consideration. Joel, she was certain, for all his faults, would be a far safer master than Rabanne, Avalon House a far safer prison than Hanley Clinic or Rabanne’s horrendous ‘dairy’. With resignation she signalled her compliance with a single nod.
“A wise decision,” Joel smiled, putting aside the ominous cane. “I’ll show you to your room. Come, follow.”
“Please, do you know anything about my friend Natasha?” she enquired hesitantly as she followed Joel along a maze of corridors and flights of narrow back stairs to the attics at the very top of the old house. “Dr Rabanne won’t tell me ...”
“Natasha?” Joel mused. “Oh yes, one of the nurses - rather masculine, brunette, about thirty? I can tell you that she protested so much it took both Vic and Gary to hold her down when I buggered her tight dyke ass. And that she screamed like a banshee when Omar branded her with a red-hot poker across her bum cheeks. She was sold to some foreigner, I think. This is your room, and there’s a bathroom next door.”
The room had a sloping ceiling and one small barred window. The floorboards were bare of carpet, but there was a rug beside the single divan bed, which was made up with clean sheets and warm blankets. There was a small chest of drawers against one wall but nothing else - the room was indeed Spartan. Next-door was another small attic room with sloping ceiling and barred window just the same, with a toilet, a sink, and a shower.
