Capturing Cressida

Chapter Two-1

CHAPTER TWO

Tina led Cressida upstairs, the chains between the two girls’ legs clanking as they walked. In the bathroom Tina turned on the taps.

“What the hell is all this about?” Cressida demanded. “Just what the f**k are they playing at?” She surprised herself with her vehemence.

Tina put her finger to her lips. “They won’t like me speaking to you,” she whispered.

“Are they really going to sell me?” Cressida demanded.

Tina nodded. “They’re well organised, though they may not look like it. They’ve been doing this for months.”

“There have been others?”

“Shh.” Tina glanced nervously at the door. “They’ll make a video of you, put it out over the internet, and then have an auction. Whoever pays the most will get you. You’ll be shipped off somewhere.”

“Shipped off?” Cressida hissed. “How can they do that? They can’t just put me on a plane.”

“I don’t know how, I just know there have been a dozen girls through here.”

The bath was full and Tina indicated Cressida should step in. The warm, soapy water might have soothed and caressed her, if Cressida had been in a mood to notice. Tina began to wash her back.

“Why haven’t they sold you, then?” Cressida asked.

Tina gave a mirthless laugh. “They said I was too skinny. They couldn’t get a good price. And they needed someone to skivvy for them.”

“Did he beat you?” Cressida asked. “That man?”

“Mr. Roberts? No, it was Billy.”

“Why?”

Tina shrugged. “I annoyed him. I knocked something over.”

Cressida was appalled. “He beat you just for that?”

“They are bad men,” Tina said, despairingly. “Do what they say or they will hurt you. They like doing that.”

Cressida felt cold inside despite the heat of the water.

“They use me, too,” Tina said. “It’s pointless to resist.”

“They use you sexually?”

“When they feel like it,” said Tina.

She told Cressida to sit on the edge of the bath. Tina brought a safety razor.

“I’ve got to shave you,” she said.

“Shave me?” Cressida said.

“Your p***y. They always do that.”

“Why?”

“So the bidders can see you, I suppose,” Tina answered.

Cressida blushed as Tina squirted foam between her legs and began to strip the blonde curls from her pubis. She’d never done this before, not even to herself. She tried not to wriggle or flinch as Tina parted her lips to ensure that she had completed her task with the thoroughness that Mr. Roberts demanded. When Tina had finished, Cressida caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she blushed again to see her v****a so baldly revealed, the plump pink lips unaccustomedly prominent.

Tina made her sit on a chair while she applied make–up. It was much more accentuated than Cressida had ever worn before, the eyes thickly adorned with shadow, liner and mascara, the lips bright red. Tina knelt and put scarlet nail polish on her toes and fingers.

“That’s a nice ring,” Tina said, looking at a silver band with a turquoise stone Cressida wore on her right hand. “Did someone give it to you?”

Cressida permitted herself a smile. “No, I bought it myself.”

Tina brushed Cressida’s hair, then took her into a room next door and pulled some clothes from a cupboard. There was a plaid skirt, pleated, the sort schoolgirls wore. When Cressida put it on, it seemed indecently short; she had never worn anything so revealing.

“You’re lucky, you have great legs,” Tina said.

“Is there really no way of escape?” Cressida asked.

“How? We wouldn’t get far in these chains. And no one ever comes here. We’re deep in the woods. Once I ran away, but they soon caught me and beat me so badly I couldn’t sit down for days.”

Cressida could see from Tina’s demeanour that she was cowed, terrified of her captors. She would be too frightened to offer Cressida any help. Tina gave her a blouse, of white silk, semi–transparent.

“Isn’t there any underwear?” Cressida asked.

Tina shrugged. “You’ll be naked most of the time.”

Cressida put the blouse on. Her n*****s were clearly visible through the thin material. They went back to the kitchen and Tina brought Cressida some soup. Then Billy came in.

“My,” he said, staring right through Cressida’s blouse. “You look good enough to eat.”

Cressida ignored him. Tina brought Billy some soup too and when he had finished he told Cressida to follow him. They went down the hall, back to the room at the front of the house. Mr. Roberts was sitting in an armchair, reading some documents.

“Here she is, boss,” said Billy. “Ready to go.”

Mr. Roberts looked Cressida up and down. “Get her shackles off,” he said to Billy.

While Billy unlocked the iron rings round Cressida’s ankles Mr. Roberts went to a cupboard in the corner of the room and came back with a video camera.

“Okay,” he said. “Now you must look your best for the wealthy gentlemen. I’m going to shoot you getting your kit off. Try and make it look inviting. Then I’m going to beat you, like I said. You need to be broken in and shown who has the upper hand here. I shall do that no matter how you behave, though if you resist it will be worse. I think I can promise that after the beating I shall have your fullest co–operation.”

He smiled his sinister little smile, then put the camera to his eye.

“Okay,” he said, “start to undo your blouse, not too fast.”

Cressida stood there without moving. Did they seriously think she was going to do some sort of striptease designed to entice men into making a slave of her?

“Well,” said Mr. Roberts. “I’m waiting.”

“f**k off,” said Cressida. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever actually said that to a man before. Somehow, she felt, it was about time.

Mr. Roberts came up close. “I told you,” he hissed, “You can do it the hard way or the easy way.”

Cressida turned away.

“Billy,” said Mr. Roberts, “hurt her.”

Billy grabbed Cressida by the arm; then he reached out and took hold of her right n****e, pinching it hard through the thin silk blouse. He twisted it and pulled it upwards so viciously that she screamed. Then, still holding her by the arm with one hand, he slapped her hard across the face. Mr. Roberts made a gesture and Billy let her go.

“Undo your blouse,” Mr. Roberts said quietly.

Tears of rage and pain fell down Cressida’s cheeks. She hated to let them see her this way. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, then began to undo the buttons. Mr. Roberts pointed the camera at her as she took the blouse off to reveal her breasts. She was disturbed to see that not only was the n****e Billy had twisted now swollen, an angry red colour. The other one was hard too. Was her own body going to betray her?

With a look intended to convey total indifference Cressida next undid the zip of her skirt, and let it fall to the ground. She stepped out of it, feeling doubly naked now that her pubis was shaved. Mr. Roberts moved the camera in close, up and down her body, then went behind her for a rear view.

“Now we’ll have some action,” said Mr. Roberts, putting the camera down. He went back to the cupboard in the corner and returned carrying a steel bar with leather straps at each end.

“Put this on her, Billy,” he said.

Cressida stood passively while Billy strapped the bar to her ankles. She couldn’t quite see what the contraption was for; if they wanted her feet restricted, why had they taken off her shackles?

“Lie down on the floor,” Billy said. He seemed excited by what he was doing. She could see beads of sweat on his thin, mean little face. She hated him.

Billy fetched a length of rope from the cupboard and he tied one end of the rope to the centre of the steel bar, then threw it upwards. For the first time Cressida noticed a metal hook set into a wooden beam across the centre of the room. The rope caught in the hook and Billy began to pull, lifting Cressida’s feet off the ground. Billy kept pulling until she had been pulled right up and was suspended upside down from the ceiling.

“Cuff her,” said Mr. Roberts.

Billy put handcuffs on her wrists, fastening them behind her back. She had never felt so vulnerable, her legs forced open, her s*x shaved bare, her hands locked behind her back. Mr. Roberts opened the drawer he had shown her earlier and drew out a quirt, a short leather whip of braided rawhide.

“I’m going to beat you where you won’t be marked,” he said. “The customers will enjoy seeing you in pain, but they won’t want bruises.”

The full enormity of what he intended now dawned on Cressida. Futilely she struggled against her bonds. She wanted to shout and scream insults, but she knew that would be useless.

“Please,” she said. Pleading was all she could do now. “Please, not that. I’ll behave. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Of course you will, my dear,” said Mr. Roberts. “But you’ll do it with so much more conviction after you’ve tasted the whip.”

Billy was standing by with the camera. This will be ordeal enough without that little worm watching too, she thought. She hated that he would see her writhe in pain, hear her cry for mercy.

Mr. Roberts stood back and carefully measured the distance. Then he brought the quirt down hard, right between Cressida’s legs. Her resolution to bite her lip and maintain composure was cut to shreds in the fraction of a second. The most excruciating pain surged like a flash of white–hot lightning through the very core of her suspended body, right into her brain. Cressida heard herself howl through the red haze of agony that enveloped her. She had barely registered, processed and recovered from the shock of this first stroke when Mr. Roberts addressed her:

“That’s good,” he said, smiling sardonically. “Precisely the reaction I was aiming for. You show great promise, my dear. Be a good girl now and say thank you.”

Damn you! Why don’t you just drop dead? Cressida thought, her teeth gritted.

Realising that no reply was forthcoming and indeed expecting none, Mr. Roberts flicked the quirt smartly down once more, bisecting Cressida’s engorged labia. She had closed her eyes against the onslaught and was caught unaware; she screamed again, struggling against her bonds in a desperate but unavailing attempt to evade the whip. She thought she had never known such agony. Please, God, she pleaded, if I get through this, everything that follows shall surely pale in comparison.

With an air of increasing satisfaction, Mr. Roberts put the quirt down on the table, taking a couple of steps back to properly admire his work. Cressida’s whole body shuddered.

“There is nothing quite as pleasing to the eye as a fragile, glistening, well–whipped cunt,” he enthused, approaching her to run his index finger delicately over the burning flesh of her newly denuded labia. Cressida flinched and recoiled, her mind in overdrive, an involuntary shiver running down her spine.

“This is a lesson that you will doubtlessly be taught over and over during your further training,” he continued. “I subscribe to the school of thought that a well–executed thrashing must never be rushed. It should be delivered in a thorough, deliberate, dispassionate manner, allowing for the effect of each stroke to be fully absorbed by the subject before the next one is administered. Like this.”

He picked up the quirt. With measured force, he lashed it down between her legs again, the blow falling slightly to the right this time, the tips of the thongs cutting viciously into the narrow space between the labia and her thigh. Cressida emitted a high–pitched scream. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the next stroke fell with equal precision to the left, leaving her wailing and sobbing piteously, as if her cunt was aflame and being cut to ribbons.

Mr. Roberts heightened her torment by next aiming the quirt directly at her c**t, and, as the tongues flicked sharply over her swollen bud, Cressida cried out once more before dissolving into a fresh flood of tears, long beyond caring what impression she was making, whether Billy was capturing her plight on camera or whether anyone else could see her in the state she was in. She was in despair, yet a different, more welcome heat was slowly beginning to suffuse her buttocks and belly, a sensation that seemed at the same time familiar yet strangely new.

Before she could get a grip on her thoughts, the agony erupted afresh and she screamed with pain once more as Mr. Roberts directed his attention towards the puckered pink bud of her anus, briskly laying two thin stripes on it in the form of a cross.