Busty Babes 1/Busty Babes - Vol 1.iso/stories/rachael.txt

Text File | 1993-07-12 | 75KB | 1,300 lines

   The Education of Rachel
   -----------------------
        By Danton

    Part 1.

After a long drive through pastoral farm lands, John turned the car slowly
onto a narrow gravel road.  The day was warm, this being the first day of
June, and many shafts of glimmering sunlight cut through the newly foliated
trees of the forest the road wound through.  The shades of green, brown, and
glistening yellow gave the little path a mystical quality, and Rachel
stared almost transfixed at the changing colors ahead of the car.

They had not spoken a word to each other on the long journey -- that had
been decided previously.  John left Rachel to ponder her future and the
changes she had decided to implement in their relationship.  For her part,
Rachel's mind seemed utterly blank.  She wanted desperately to face the day's
challenges with a clear, open mind, and not be enslaved by her fears.  Still,
occasional shafts of doubt pierced her serenity, like the light through the
leaves; she could not yet be free of her apprehensions.

The miles down the tiny road seemed to require an hour to traverse, the path
twisted and raised and lowered so dramatically.  When they arrived at the
large gate, neither of them had any sense of which direction they were now
facing.  On either side of the road, an ominous fence was born and sliced
through the thick forest for as far as their eyes could see.  The fences
looked formidable, 12 feet high and topped with an additional 2 feet of
barbed wire.  The gate that bridged the gap between the two fences,
blocking the road,  was no less impressive.  It appeared to be nothing
more than a twelve by twelve foot slab of steel.  On a metal pole next to
the road, John noticed a small intercom box.  Rachel's face betrayed no
emotions; her eyes traced the length of the pole and saw that it was
crowned with several video cameras.

A light on the intercom box caught John's attention as it lit brightly.
Presently, the speaker crackled to life and a man's voice issued forth.

"Good day to you both, and welcome.  Mr. Heath, if you would be so kind as
to help the young lady out of your car?"  The voice was calm and cultured;
even through the metallic transmogrifications of the intercom, Rachel thought
she detected a distant hint of an accent.  John opened his car door and
stepped out onto the road, which was purely dirt at the gate, walked around
the front of the car and opened his passenger's door.  Rachel barely noticed
him, and continued staring ahead of the car even though her view was now
totally obscured by the metal gate.

"Rachel?" John wispered.  It would be for the last time.  Slowly she turned
her head to gaze up at him.  Their eyes locked for a brief moment, then she
took his outstretched hand and got up out of the car.

"Very good."  The calm, metallic voice responded.  "Thank you for coming,
Mr. Heath.  We need not take up any more of your time."  At this Rachel
started, and stared suddenly at John.  Was he leaving her here?  Now?
Her silent questions were answered as John sat down in the driver's seat
and closed both doors.  With barely a glance in her direction he turned
the car around and headed back down the road.

For the first time in her life she felt totally alone.  A chilling breeze
breathed life into the forest trees; they rustled noisily for some moments
before coming once again to rest.  The silence following was complete.
Rachel hugged her arms to her breast to fight the chill.  Wasn't it warm
just a few minutes earlier?  After some few long minutes she heard a sound
from below her feet -- the gate was moving, lowering itself into an open
crack in the ground.  Staring, frozen in uncertain emotion, Rachel watched
the huge door slide completely out of sight, revealing only a narrow
foot path onward through the trees.

"Miss Stansbury," the cultured voice intoned, "We are a mere few hundred paces
ahead of you.  Do come and join us, but please be careful to remain on the
path at all times."

For a long moment she pondered.  The gate that efficiently kept out
trespassers would just as easily keep a guest from leaving.  She knew that
the dark line of the crack across the road was a line that, once crossed,
would demarcate the boundaries of her life forever.  Still, it was a long
walk back to the road; and from there?  She had given herself no alternatives;
proudly she stepped over the line and proceeded down the path, further into
the forest.

   The Education of Rachel
   -----------------------
        By Danton

    Part 2.

As Rachel walked through the high trees along the path, the hum of electric
machinery she heard over her shoulder confirmed her belief that the gate
was closing.  Continuing forward, she did not look back to the gate or the
fence; they were nothing to her now.  With a quickening pace she mounted
a steep hill in the forest, the path twisted several times and then entered
a large clearing.

Upon gaining the clearing, Rachel saw her final destination.  Ahead of her
was a small complex of concrete and glass structures, all surrounding a
large central pool cut out of natural rock.  The bright June sun cast its
full light on the hilltop, giving the whole scene a blinding, whiter-than-
white appearance.  On the roof of one building sat a helicopter.  No people
were to be seen, but the path Rachel walked ended at a glass door in the
glass wall of an odd, triangular building.  She paused, taking in the scene
for a moment, or was it something else?  And then stepped up to the door.

Before she could knock or find the button for a doorbell, the door opened
on its own volition.  Beyond it could be seen a huge atrium, roughly
pyramidal in shape, filled from floor to 30 foot ceiling with green plants
of every description.  Awed by the sight of so much greenery and so much
sunlight, Rachel entered the atrium, barely noticing the door as it closed
behind her.  The air inside was warm and moist, causing Rachel to wonder if
she should remove the denim jacket she was wearing.  Eventually, she decided
against it, but she did not have long to sweat before she was joined by
another.

>From a door in the far wall of the room entered a man who was quite different
than anyone that Rachel had imagined she would meet here.  He was tall and
slender with almost an air of slightness about him as he walked towards her.
>From the early gray of his thinning hair, and the lines of many cares
written across his face, Rachel decided that he must be a man in his late
forties, or possibly older.  It was his clothes which most surprised her;
since she had mentally prepared herself long ago for anything, his was the
only disguise on which she had not counted.  He wore an elegant double-breasted
suit of the finest, powder-blue cloth.  Around the neck of his perfectly
white starched shirt was tied a beautiful gold silk tie.  On his feet were
the finest Italian leathers, and a large gold ring encircled one finger of
his left hand.

He walked to Rachel in a calm and assured manner and extended his hand.

"My dear Miss Stansbury," he smiled as he spoke, "we are so pleased to have
you with us."  Barely over her surprise, Rachel raised her limp hand towards
him, and looked up at his face.  His smile was warm and sincere, and it made
all of the softness of his face tighten into a gesture of understanding.
He grasped her hand gently, causing a strange little tremor within her.
Was it fear?  She could not tell for certain.  The one question that she
could resolve now was his accent; smooth and cultured, with perfect
enunciation, it still betrayed the fact that he was an Englishman.

"Shall we pass through to my office?" he asked sweetly, releasing her hand,
"It is most beautiful here but the heat of the afternoon does become a
trifle annoying, wouldn't you say?"

Before she thought to answer, he turned and motioned her towards the door
he had entered from, centered in the only solid concrete wall of the atrium.
Once again, Rachel thought about crossing another threshold, this time
into an area she could see nothing of.  Nonetheless, she moved forward
and entered the office as her host held the door open for her.

A cool breeze hit her face as she passed into the room, and the sudden change
in temperature had an affect on her body.  The room itself was yet another
surprise, although it matched perfectly its owner.  Surrounded on all sides
by walls of bookshelves, the office contained a large mahogany desk of the
seventeenth century, faced by several high-backed leather chairs in a small
semi-circle.  Behind the desk were some wood cabinets containing books and
file drawers, one of which was partially open, as well as an ornately
carved mahogany swivel chair.

"Do sit down, please."  her host intoned, turning to close the door behind
them and indicating one of the leather chairs with a graceful sweep of his
hand.  As Rachel sat, facing the desk, her mind conjured images of all the
places she had been of which this room reminded.  She felt as if she had
arranged an appointment with a lawyer, or her doctor, or perhaps this was the
office of the elderly Dean of a local college.  She wondered if perhaps
all professionals had similar tastes?  The large leather chair nearly
engulfed her; although she was not small, the chair and the room made her
feel quite small indeed.

"Now then" he said, settling into the ornate swivel chair, "let's see
what we are about here."  He turned slightly and reached into the open file
drawer, producing a slim folder.  He then tidily closed the drawer and
gently placed the folder on the dark wood in front of him.  After opening it,
he produced a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from a breast pocket and
mounted them on his nose, turning his attention to the first loose page
in the folder.

"This is the report from your doctor, Miss Stansbury.  He indicates that you
are in very good health indeed."  He removed his eyes from the printed page
and looked up at Rachel, seated across the desk.  "Of course," he continued,
examining her image from head to toe, "we could see that immediately.  But
you must realize that we may take no risk of infection here."  His words were
slow and deliberate, not unlike an aged philosopher patiently explaining some
great truth to a tiny child.  Rachel wondered how many times he had recited
those same words to the others who came before her.

Turning his attention once more to the folder, he turned the page and examined
the next leaf at some length.  The utter silence of the room uneased Rachel
greatly;  in the long interval her heart raced involuntarily, and she began
to taste the acid tin of fear on her tongue.  Silly, she thought, this is
silly -- she had made her decision rationally hundreds of times before.
Only her body betrayed her confidence.

"I don't mind telling you" he finally said, removing his glasses and looking
directly into her large brown eyes, "that I'm more than a little concerned
here."  The smile had left his face, to be replaced by a firmer visage.
"Most of our clients are, quite frankly, older and more experienced
than yourself.  This is not a career to be undertaken lightly, and so we
must both be assured that you are in a position to understand the commitment
you are making.  The consequences of an incorrect decision could be
irrevocable.  Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes" her voice cracked from the chair; she cleared her throat.  "Yes,
Sir, I do."  Sir?  It seemed to Rachel to be the proper form of address,
given the situation.

"This document" he continued, taking a paper from the folder and holding it
lightly over the desk with his right hand, "is already known to you, is
it not?"  He turned the page around so that it faced her and sat it down
noiselessly on the desk in front of her.  Rachel glanced at it only briefly,
knowing full well what was written on it.

"It is" she replied, more assuredly now.

"And it bears your signature, which you gave freely.  Is that not also
correct?"

"Yes, Sir.  I have signed freely."

"Would you be so kind as to read it?  Aloud, please."  He picked up the paper
and leaned far over the desk to hand it to her.  Rachel was unsure of how to
react.  Had she not signed already?  Had she not agreed over and over again
to its terms?  Why was he testing her resolve yet again?  In a swift and
almost defiant gesture, she took the document from his hand and began to
read aloud.

"I, Rachel Stansbury, sound of mind and body, do freely state on this
second day of May, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Nine, that henceforth and
upon signing this document I shall be the sole property of Mr. John Heath.
By my assent he shall be granted total and absolute control over my
life, body, and destiny, and I shall serve him in any way he may
require for the remainder of my life.  What property, rights, and privileges
I now possess, will be his alone to control.  I make this statement freely,
without any coercion whatsoever, and hereby absolve and hold blameless
Mr. Heath and any of his assigns of any harm or loss which may occur to me
as a result of this agreement."

There was a short silence, during which Rachel returned the document to the
desk.  Her host then stood up from his chair and walked towards where she
was sitting.  Rachel stared ahead of herself, impassively, as if to prove
that the words she had recited could have no impact upon her.  Upon reaching
her chair, he let his hand rest gently on the top of the leather upholstery
and gazed at her face.

"Strong words."  he stated.  "Very strong indeed for one so young.  How
old are you now Miss Stansbury?"

"Twenty."  She kept her eyes fixed ahead at the now empty chair behind the
desk.  Strangely, she felt that if she looked into his eyes that then she
would be doomed.  Rachel wanted nothing to erode her resolve, not at this
stage.

"Ah, to be twenty again!" he gushed, "You have quite a long and full life
ahead of you, if the doctor's report is creditable.  Plenty of time there
to explore other possibilities, experience more of life.  Plenty of time
to make commitments later."

"No." she replied firmly.  Why was he torturing her so?  His very words,
the mere sound of his voice made her feet want to fly in terror.  Only
a supreme victory of will over instinct kept her seated in that chair,
kept her gaze fixed stolidly ahead.

"You are willing, then, to give up everything?  Your possessions, your will,
your future, your goals?"

"I have only one goal."  Speaking the words proudly enhanced her self-
confidence.  "I wish only to serve him."

"And if he decides otherwise?  If he decides, perhaps, to shun you, to
ignore you, to give you away?"  A quick but subtle jerk of Rachel's head
betrayed her.  He had struck a nerve, though perhaps only a distant one.
Almost instantly she regained her composure.

"That is his decision, Sir, not mine."

"Indeed, all would be his decision.  And suppose he grew tired of you?  He
may even decide to terminate your life.  You would allow this?"  This was a
question Rachel had asked of herself many times.  Was she so certain that
John would never do this?  How would she react if he tried?  How could she
defend herself if she wanted to?  No, she had resigned herself to spend her
entire life in his service; the exact length of that service meant nothing
to her.  The sobering thought of her dear lover ending her life caused a
growing knot in her chest, which she fought with a long, deep breath.

"Of course."  she finally replied.  "My life is all I have to give to him."

He turned toward the desk and gently lifted the document from the desk.
He then bent very low towards her, positioning the paper not three inches
in front of her eyes, and spoke softly and caressingly into her ear.

"Miss Stansbury, I implore you.  Simply nod your head or utter a single word,
and I will most gladly burn this document and send you home."

He waited a little, with his lips so close to her ear that Rachel could feel
the strength of his warm breath on her neck and cheek.  Overloaded with
conflicting emotions, Rachel kept her gaze fixed forward and did not respond.
Her will was being stretched to its breaking point, but she held on.  Her
doubts washed over her, scourging her conscienceness, but the pain and the
confusion merely intensified her growing detachment.  What had been done, was
done, she told herself; this is not the time for doubt.

After a pause long enough for her to recall her entire life, he straightened
and walked back to his desk chair.

"Very well, Miss Stansbury.  Your mind is set, I can see that."  He placed
the document back into the folder, and then examined the next sheet briefly.
"I am, however, not convinced that your resolve will stand up to the rigorous
training you will receive here.  I must therefore, accept you only
conditionally.  If, at any time, I feel that your commitment to your future
duties is waning, or that you are unable to undertake the career you
have chosen for yourself, then I will be forced to expel you from our
program, and return you to your owner.  Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir."  Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief.  He would accept her,
she knew that now.  It was over, she had pushed herself and had conquered
her fear.  The rest would be easy.

   The Education of Rachel
   -----------------------
        by Danton

    Part 3.

"As you can easily imagine," he continued, "the rules here are very simple
indeed.  From this moment on you will do what you are told, instantly and
without question.  You will go only to those places where you are specifically
told to go.  In the beginning, you will take no action of your own volition,
no matter how inconsequential it may seem; you will act only upon specific
orders.  The orders themselves may come from myself or any members of our
staff here.  Any failure to perform will be punished immediately.  Likewise,
any breech of respect or misconduct will be punished.  Is this understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"If your performance proves to be satisfactory, you may be given daily
responsibilities for which you may act without specific orders.  If this
occurs, you will consider it as the privilege it is, nothing more.  Until
then, the only act of free will you are to perform is the simple act of
breathing.  Any other action or indication of free will must be punished."

Turning his attention back to the open folder, he briefly scanned the next
page.  "I have here a list of those duties which your owner has requested us
to train you for, in addition, of course, to those skills which all of our
graduates are required to master.  And I might assure you that, from examining
this list, you will be very fortunate indeed if you are allowed to serve
such a thorough owner."

That comment caused Rachel's mind to spin.  Was it yet another attempt to
make her relent?  She wanted to know.  Her desire to see the list was almost
overwhelming.  What did John really want her to do for him?  He had never
shown any reluctance to demand pleasure from her in the past; what new
"duties" could he have in mind?  With a small, inward sigh, Rachel realized
that she would most likely never know the actual contents of that list.

In the next few moments, Rachel's host produced a gold fountain pen from
the top drawer of his desk and began to scratch out some notes on the page
he was looking at.  Rachel tried surreptitiously to observe what he was
writing, but her chair was too far away from the desk for her to make any
of it out.  Upon finishing his notes, the man closed the folder with a
gesture of finality, paused for a moment, as if in thought, then
replaced the folder in the filing drawer and closed the drawer.  It shut
with a hollow thud -- to Rachel it sounded like someone had closed the
door on her life once and for all.

"Stand up." he commanded in a casual tone, and he also rose from his chair.
Rachel obeyed, standing in place in front of her chair.  "The first thing
I must take from you is your name.  You are no longer Rachel Stansbury;
in fact, Rachel Stansbury does not exist -- has never existed.  When you
are returned to your lawful owner, he may decide to give you a name, but
here we may not afford you that luxury.  We need, however, to have a
means of identification for our trainees.  You will therefore be referred
to henceforth as number 216.  Since orders will be presented to you
using that number, I would highly suggest that you remember it."

Rachel felt a distant pang of loss, but she did not allow it to register
on her face.  She had always been fond of her name, and so, she had
thought, had John.  He would never call her "216" or anything that
ridiculous -- why couldn't they just use "Rachel?"  Her ponderings were
interrupted by an electric buzz, emanating from behind the desk.  While
she had not been paying attention, her host had reached below the desk
and pushed a small button.

Presently a section of the bookcase on the wall behind the desk swung open,
revealing an open elevator.  Since Rachel had seen the outside of the
building, and knew it did not contain any upper floors, she reasoned that
the elevator must be going down.

"Enter the elevator, 216."  He gestured firmly towards the open door.
Another door, she thought; another threshold.  What would he do now, if
she panicked?  If she begged him, would he still be willing to send her
home?  Rachel wasn't sure anymore, despite his statements.  And down there,
under the ground, what awaited her?  When would the real test begin?
She thought this, but she did not pause.  Immediately upon hearing her
first order, she smiled a most delightful smile and walked into the elevator.

She was soon followed by her host, who pressed a button inside the elevator.
The door swung shut and the compartment began its descent.  Rachel wondered
just how far below ground they were going, but it was impossible to tell.
The car moved slowly, and it was several long moments before the elevator
came to rest and the door opened in front of her.

"Step out." he said briskly.  Rachel took two steps out of the elevator,
then stopped.  She was facing the concrete wall of a long hallway, extending
both to her left and right.  He followed her and, pressing a button on the
wall, sent the elevator away.  "We are going to the right.  Turn, and walk
with me."  He turned to his right and walked swiftly down the long hallway.
Rachel followed, not two steps behind him, examining his every step
closely in order to anticipate his stopping.  Along the walls were several
doors, all closed, all painted in a bland ivory color, as were
the walls, giving the scene an institutional feel.

Together they eventually came to where the hall they were following turned
to the left.  At the end of the hall, at the corner, was a door unlike all
of the others Rachel had seen.  It was closed, like the others, but while the
others were painted metal, this one was a beautifully carved door of solid
oak.  Beside the door sat a single wooden chair.  The man halted abruptly
in front of the door; Rachel stopped herself just one step behind him.

"Sit here," he said, indicating the chair, "and stay until you are fetched."
As she sat, her back to the concrete wall, he turned and walked back in the
direction from whence they came and disappeared through one of the doors.

During the long period following his departure, Rachel became at first bored,
then annoyed.  She was alone -- no-one entered either of the hallways
in her view.  Losing all account of time, she began to study her surroundings
in minute detail.  The most obvious fact that thrust itself to her
attention was that each hallway was viewed by video cameras.  Every
30 feet or so, another pair of them was mounted on small platforms near
the ceiling.  There was one, in fact, on the wall to her left, pointing
directly at her.  Was he watching her?  If not, then who was?  The floor
was covered in a linoleum tile of dark magenta, and Rachel had just started to
count the tiles in her section of the hallway when the first man arrived.

>From down the hall to her right she heard a door open; cautiously she glanced
sideways to see a young man, probably in his mid twenties, walk up the
hallway towards her.  As he neared, Rachel feared that her glance might
displease the man, so she gazed intently down the hall in front of her,
ignoring him.  Her curiosity was sated somewhat, when he stopped at the chair
and looked at her.  Somewhat incongruously, he was dressed in a grey business
suit, complete with white shirt and blue tie.

His prolonged gaze made her uneasy; she had seen men look at her in that
manner before.  He was quite obviously trying to take her all in, to
observe every facet of her body.  His face remained blank, but Rachel felt
as if she knew what he must be thinking.  Involuntarily, blood rushed to
her cheeks and she blushed brightly.  In a revelation of sorts, Rachel
realized that never before had she been in this situation -- this strange
man could rudely stare at her body, completely at his own will, and she
was powerless to prevent him.  Even more strange was how her body was
reacting.  Rachel could feel the blood rush through her veins, hardening
her nipples, totally contrary to her inner desire to retain control.

At last the man ended his inspection of her, and he opened the large oak
door and passed through it.  During the next few minutes, several other
men, of varying ages and statures, appeared from random doors or halls
and walked towards her.  Some paused and stared at her, as the first man
had done, but all eventually entered through the oak door, leaving Rachel
alone.  The last person to arrive was the man who had welcomed her, and
who had ordered her to sit.  He strode past her without so much as a glance
in her direction, passed through the oak door and closed it behind him.

Once again Rachel was left alone.  How much time passed, she could not
determine.  With the flood of conflicting emotions and thoughts in her
head, ten minutes could be ten hours.  She was getting hungry, that much
registered in her conscienceness.  John had stopped at a small country
diner before dropping her off, and they had shared a final lunch together.
That would have been, just a few hours ago?  Yes, Rachel thought, it's still
the same day.  Somehow, the events of the morning seemed many years distant
to her now.  This reverie of thought was interrupted by the sound of
the oak door opening behind her.

"Come into the room, 216."  It was her host again, holding the door open
for her as she stood and entered.  The men in the room paid no attention
to her, but continued the lively discussion they had apparently begun
before her entrance.  Once inside, Rachel stopped just past the threshold
and waited for further instructions.  Swiftly, her host closed the door
behind her and took the only empty chair, sitting at the head of the long
table, and rejoined the conversations there.

The gentlemen were talking business, and Rachel understood very little
of what she heard them say.  She concentrated instead on viewing the room
itself.  All in all, a dozen men, and her host, were seated at a large
conference table, perhaps 14 feet long and at least 5 feet wide.  They sat
in rich black leather swivel chairs, and were arranged six to a side, with
the man in the powder blue suit sitting at the head of the table, directly
in front of her.  The walls were paneled in ancient oak; several painted
portraits hung also and on the floor was a deep magenta carpeting, so thick
that Rachel's feet seemed to sink into it.

The conversations of the men seemed to increase in intensity; though the
tone was cordial they were definitely in disagreement over some point.
Ignoring the business meeting temporarily, her host turned his chair around
towards her and spoke quietly.

"Stand to the right of my chair here," he motioned.  And as Rachel moved
to take her new position he added "and remove your clothing."  Slightly
jarred by the sudden request, Rachel complied nonetheless as her host
returned his attention nonchalantly to the meeting.  So!, she thought
to herself, he wants to show off the new plaything to his rich friends.
I'll just make it worth their while then; at least I should be able to get
them all to shut up!

Standing to the right of her host, a position which afforded every man in
the room with an excellent view, she began to remove her clothes.  Bending
over, she quickly untied and removed her white tennis shoes, then straightened
and withdrew from her denim jacket, which she let fall gently onto the
carpet.  This left her in the matching denim jeans, contoured beautifully
to the shape of her legs and hips, and her sweater, a large cotton chain-stitch
pattern of deep purple and black.  This hugged her shapely breasts well
but was fuller and longer at the bottom -- so long that its hem sat just below
the zipper of her pants.  Why not give them a little mystery?  She reached
briefly under the bottom of her sweater, unfastened her jeans, and pulled
them quickly down, adding them to the now growing pile of clothing on the
floor.

Standing before them with legs bared, the hem of the sweater just barely
covering the crotch of her panties,  Rachel took a quick glance up from her
work to observe the effect her performance was having on the businessmen.
Incredulously, she realized that they were not even looking at her.  These
guys must be made of wood, she thought.  Rachel knew she had an attractive
physique -- this same performance had certainly inflamed her past lovers.
Determined to make an impact upon them, she grabbed the hem of her sweater,
crossing her arms, and slowly raised it towards her head.  Revealing
first her black lace panties, the sweater's ascension continued on, over
her hourglass form, until she pulled it free of her long hair and dropped
it coyly, with a little smile, onto the pile of clothing.

Wearing no bra, the cooler air of the room engulfed the nipples of her bare
breasts, hardening them instantly.  Although Rachel's amazement at the
men's continued indifference to her was beginning to become an annoyance,
her heart began to speed and she felt her face flush, just as it had in
the hallway.  Reaching down to remove her purple socks, she felt the
unmistakable pulsation of the circulation through her breasts.  Still, no-one
paid her the slightest attention.  Her eyes darted from man to man,
straining to catch one of them examining her body, but none were.  With her
socks gone, only the gauzy material of her lace separated Rachel from total
nudity.  With a determined tug of her thumbs, she brought the panties down
to her ankles, and then stepped out of them.

Well?  Now what do I do?  Rachel's mind raced.  She stood strait, feet
almost together and arms at her sides, watching the men in their blue and
grey suits, watching them argue and discuss, ponder reports, make little
jokes which she did not understand, watching them doing everything but
looking at her.  It is hard enough, she thought, to stand nonchalantly
in a room where everyone else is seated.  How does one do this when naked
as well?

Time passed, things did not change.  Rachel's feet started to ache, despite the
plush nap of the carpet.  The meeting seemed to have no end.  Bored, annoyed,
somewhat dejected, Rachel reflected that this was not what she had expected
of her training.  When was she going to learn more about pleasing John?
She wondered what he was doing now, as she stood here, a mere display for a
dissinterested audience.  If he were here, her striptease would have made
him hot -- Rachel was certain of it.  Indeed, just the thought of performing
for John sent a rush of blood to her loins.  Did they have no real men in this
organization?

Eventually, the meeting did wear down, and the men quieted and then ended their
various discussions.  Only when everyone was silent did her host finally
turn and regard her body.  As he did, so did the others -- all eyes in the room
suddenly fixed on Rachel.  Their faces were, for the most part, expressionless,
but Rachel could feel their thoughts on her body.  She stood with her back
strait, staring ahead -- directly into the curious gazes of the businessmen.
In the next short moments, Rachel felt more naked than she had ever before.
These people, she thought, were merely studying her; they did not care who
she was, where she had come from; they were not interested in her feelings,
or fears; they were not even interested in her sexuality, she felt.  No, their
staring was a violation -- their eyes wanted to probe every secret place,
every hidden feeling, every unknown fear.

"Number 216," the host's voice startled her, "get up on the table."  He stood
up from his chair and moved it away, opening the end of the long table for
her access.  The 12 other men kept their gaze fixed on Rachel, as she
slowly put one knee onto the cool wooden surface and pushed herself into a
seated position on the table.  Now her annoyance was replaced by real fear.
Do they intend to take me here?  All of them?  In an only semi-voluntary
display of the helplessness and exposure she felt, Rachel sat up on the table,
with her legs locked tightly together, and hugged her knees up to her breast.
She would not retain this posture for very long.

"Move to the center of the table,"  he continued his command.  The center
of the table was five feet from where she had sat.  Placing her hands palms
down on the table top, Rachel tried to slide backwards down the table in
her current sitting position.  She was frustrated in this, however, since
the cool wood held her warm, moist flesh firmly -- to slide her bottom
along the table would have caused great pain.  A terrible decision was
required; Rachel either had to raise her rear off of the table and walk
backwards, looking exactly as if she were about to be entered from the
front, or she had to turn around and crawl on all fours, appearing to all
as if she were waiting to be entered from the rear.  Deciding that the latter
of the two would expose less of her body, Rachel raised slightly and
turned, trying to maintain what dignity she could, and crawled down the table
on all fours, her breasts hanging beneath her and swaying gently with each
step.

"Lie down on your back."  she heard upon her arrival.  This is it, Rachel
thought, they are going to rape me.  She took a quick beat to resign
herself to her fate.  It's nothing I haven't done before, she thought,
I just hope they won't be too brutal.  Carefully and deliberately, as if
these actions were to be her last, she laid her soft, warm body onto the
cool wood surface of the massive table.  In the absence of any orders to
the contrary, she lay with her hands at her sides and her legs together.
Staring up at the blank white ceiling, Rachel could almost feel the hands
of the 12 men, rudely contorting her flesh, kneading her breasts, fingering
her most private openings.

   The Education of Rachel
   -----------------------
        by Danton

    Part 4.

She was prepared for mass rape, but she was not prepared for her next command.
Although the hands of the men remained away from her body, Rachel was keenly
aware of their intense gazes, emanating in some cases just a few inches from
her flesh.  Indeed, the men closest to her at the table's center could look
down and examine her skin in great detail, and were doing so.  As her breathing
became more pronounced, her breasts rose and fell gently from the table,
following the complementary motions of the rise of her stomach.  As her host
returned to his seat at the head of the table, his line of sight fixed
directly between her legs, he issued a command which quite literally made
her flinch.

"Masturbate" he ordered.

He knew!  The terror in Rachel's veins increased a hundred-fold -- she realized
that her worst shame had been betrayed.  Never in her life had Rachel allowed
anyone to see her masturbate.  No-one, that is, except her mother.  In her
fifteenth year Rachel had learned to pleasure herself, and during that long
summer she would hide herself in her room, far away from prying eyes, and
lay for hours, naked on her bed.  Gently and teasingly touching her breasts,
her anus, and her clitoris, dreaming sweetly of distant lovers and the
wonderful feel of their caresses, she would ever so gradually build
herself up to an exquisite plateau, tightening all of the muscles in her
legs and stomach, forcing her blood to boil between her legs, until she could
wait no longer.  Releasing her passion with a scream muffled only by her own
fist,  Rachel would feel her vagina clench and re-open, over and over, and
hear the sounds it created as her body expelled the air from her feminine
cavity.

Once, at the height of her passion, her back arched widely, her legs open fully,
knees in the air,  her vaginal lips began to sing just as her mother entered
the room.  Her frenzy at its zenith, Rachel refused to end the long voyage
which had occupied her afternoon and continued on, despite her mother's
presence.  The squeal that accompanied her orgasm was almost totally drowned
in the hateful barrage of her mother's disgust.  Collapsing, breathless,
in a heap on her bed, Rachel was immediately and abruptly awakened from her
reverie by the sudden slap of her mother's hand across her face.

Shrieking and cursing, voice filled with unhidden disgust, Rachel's
mother demanded that she lie face down, across the bed.  Terrified and
shamed, the young girl obeyed, exposing her nude buttocks to her mother's
vengeful pounding.  After so many lashes with the wooden ruler, Rachel was
hardly able to move, let alone walk or sit, and she stayed hidden in her room
for the remainder of the evening, crying in pain and shame.

The experience put an end to Rachel's masturbation, at least for as long as
she was under her mother's roof.  Desperate fears of discovery and pain would
simply not allow her to experience the same level of pleasure she had
previously enjoyed, and so masturbation, and until much later, sexual
stimulation of all kinds, became something which Rachel avoided religiously.

When finally she managed to escape her mother's grasp and begin her own life,
Rachel did eventually return to her former pleasure, and again taught her
body to respond to loving touches.  But she did so only in private, and
always behind a locked door.  Still, the sound her body made at its climax
invariably brought Rachel's long-repressed shame to the surface.  She learned
to despise the din of her own orgasms, and hence refused to allow anyone to
see and hear her masturbate, lest they judge her actions to be disgusting,
as her mother had years before.  Not even John, the man to whom she had
sworn allegiance forever, had witnessed her most private sexual experience;
perhaps, she now thought, he had wanted to.

"216, I have given you an order."  In shock, Rachel had not moved; the hard
surface of the table coaxed pins and needles from her back and legs.  "Need I
remind you of our rules here?"  Her host's voice was calm but cold, impersonal.
Rachel knew that she would be punished if she failed to perform immediately,
but had no idea what form such punishment might take.  Could it be worse
than what she had been ordered to endure here?  Rachel decided not to find out.

As more rational thought returned to her, a plan took shape.  If they wanted
a show, Rachel could give them a show, but it did not have to be real.  Closing
her eyes, she drew a long, deep breath and opened her legs, exposing her most
sensative flesh to the gazes of the curious onlookers.  I might as well get
this over with quickly, Rachel decided.  Wetting the fingers of her
right hand with her tongue, she began to gently moisten her pubic area.
With long, firm strokes, her hand caressed her labia, avoiding the clitoris,
gently squeezing the fleshy folds between her fingers.  Spittle glistening
in her pubic hair, under the bright light of the room, Rachel began her
performance in earnest.  With her left hand she massaged her breasts, first
the left then the right, while continually increasing the activity of her
right hand.  All the while, she tried to affect a mock panting by breathing
faster and more insistently.  She did not, however, alter her original
posture -- her back remained flat against the hard surface, and she left her
legs likewise limp.

After several minutes of this bizarre pantomime, Rachel finished it in a final
burst of simulated erotic energy.  Arching her back only slightly, she placed
both hands on her moist genitalia and rubbed furiously for a few seconds,
collapsing finally back to a limp position, closing her legs tightly together,
and panting heavily in an attempt to regain control of her breathing.  A
triumph, Rachel thought, I've managed to play their silly game and still retain
dignity, and control.

"216," her host began calmly, "did you enjoy your orgasm?"

Her vision directed once more at the ceiling, Rachel slowed her affected
respiration and answered him simply, "Yes Sir."

"And this," he continuing, as if thinking aloud, "this is your usual method
of personal stimulation?"

"Yes Sir."  What was he playing at?  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind,
a distant fear began to bud.

"Later on, 216, you will be punished for lying to us.  For now, I demand
that you carry out my original order to the very best of your ability."


   The Education of Rachel
   -----------------------
        by Danton

    Part 5.

The word "punished" struck Rachel hard.  She had laid there, on the table,
nude and helpless, an object to be examined and enjoyed by all.  She had
exposed her secret passages to their perusal, had stroked her loins in a
demeaning display of servitude.  All this she did to avoid punishment -- all
was in vain.  That bastard, Rachel thought to herself, wants everything;
he will not be satisfied until I am totally humiliated and demoralized.  For
a quick, inward moment, Rachel rebelled.  She would rise up, she thought,
and leave this place, these insane people.  She would force them to release
her, and return to the safety of John's arms.

Ah, but John!, Rachel remembered; John will be so hurt.  How could I present
myself to him as a failure?  Not even able to withstand a mere twenty-four
hours away from him!  I could never face him again, not after this.  With
an audible groan, Rachel once again resigned herself to her destiny.  She
could never disappoint John, at least not in this way, and so she knew that
there were no alternatives -- she must proceed with her training.

This time Rachel steeled her nerve and resolved to enjoy herself.  With eyes
closed, it was possible to shut out the obscene leers of the businessmen;
with imagination, she could transport herself back to her own room, to her
own bed.  Slowly, teasingly, she brought both hands up to her breasts and
began to trace delicate circles around the nipples.  In her mind, she could
clearly picture the day when first she had allowed John, the only man thus
honored, to touch her naked body.

A single year ago, the event was etched into her memory forever.  Feeling now
fearful and vulnerable, she could almost relive the delicious experience
of his hands tentatively stroking her breasts, his eyes enjoying the
completeness of her beauty.  They had met some weeks earlier, but Rachel
required no small amount of time before she would trust any man to know her
body.  Gradually, over the course of many intimate conversations, many
pleasant hours in John's company, Rachel decided to share her body with him.
Almost ceremonially, she prepared her tiny one-room apartment for his
arrival.

To keep her special gift a secret, Rachel did not discuss her intentions
with John.  When he knocked, and heard her bid him to enter, John expected
nothing more from Rachel than the dinner she had ostensibly invited him to.
Though his longing for her was great, and increased with each new meeting,
he could never be sure their love would ever be consummated -- until that
evening.  Opening the door, John viewed the scene which was to change both
of their lives.  The room was dim, being lit only by several large candles
placed on the floor and on a small table next to Rachel's bed.  Soft, pulsating
music mingled with the scent of apple blossoms in the air, both originating
in some unseen portion of the flat.  Unseen portion?  Rachel had taken
several large sheets and hung them from the ceiling, concealing the more
mundane aspects of her tiny room, and effectively drawing all attention
towards the center of the room, where now sat her bed.

When first his eyes gazed upon the bed, John was overwhelmed by the beauty
and mystery of the tableau.  There was Rachel, lying serenely on her back,
covered from her neck to her toes by a single gauzy sheet of the purest
white.  Her long tresses were magnificently curled, framing her angelic
face and resting finally on the white sheet.  The sheet itself was almost
translucent, and clung to her body in such a way as to conform to every
curve and line.  The peaks and valleys of her flesh beneath the cover cast
sensuous shadows in the yellow candlelight.

Rachel's apprehension, as well as her excitement, grew as John closed the
door and drew nearer to her body.  Savoring each passing moment, he viewed
with intense interest the contours of her form beneath the sheet.  Her eyes
widened and sparkled in the candlelight, catching and holding his gaze.
John opened his mouth to speak, but Rachel gently hushed him, turning her
head instead to view the small night table to her left.  With a quick
glance at the table, John noticed a small handwritten note lying next to
the candle.

The note had been written on fine parchment; when lifted from the table it
filled John's head with an intoxicating aroma, much like a field of wild-
flowers on a sunny spring morning.  The words were few, lovingly stroked
in a most feminine hand in red ink, obviously from a fountain pen.  The
message was clear enough however, and represented the fulfillment of John's
dreams.

"My Darling," Rachel had written, "I love you and will always love you.
I am yours, tonight and forever, take me."

The sepia tones of candlelight made a teardrop on his cheek glisten as John
replaced the letter on the table and slowly brought his face to Rachel's
lips.  Kneeling beside her bed, he kissed her, gently and then firmer,
transmitting the electricity he felt inside to Rachel, intensifying her own
excitement.  Then he began the delicious torture.  Softly, deliberately,
John let his fingertips rest on her shoulders.  Feeling the warm smoothness
of the thin sheet, he slowly moved his fingers downward, encircling her
breasts, tracing the outlines of her sides, caressing the tight muscles of
her inner thighs, tenderly stroking the bottoms of her hidden feet.  Rachel's
chest rose and fell under the coverlet as her breathing increased its pace
and weight.  She did not really know what to expect from John, but she had
decided that he was the one she trusted totally; he was the man she wished to
make love to.

After several minutes of slow, deliberate touching and watching, John walked
to the foot of her bed and grasped the end of her thin covering.  Giving it
a small tug, John let the edge of the cover slowly trace a path across Rachel's
chest, exposing her breasts.  The cool friction of the material ignited
her nipples, causing electric sparks to travel the length of her spine.
Rachel's feelings were intense; her wonderment at the pleasure her body
felt mixed with the apprehension of exposing herself to John heightened
her growing sense of arousal.  John did not cease the unveiling, but soon
continued his pull, causing the cover to slide sensuously over her stomach,
exposing her pubic mound, and finally gliding over her long legs, revealing
her feet.  Noiselessly, the sheet collapsed in a silky heap on the floor.

John then proceeded to give Rachel a pleasure she had never experienced and
had seldom even imagined.  Carefully, ceremoniously even, he walked to the
side of the bed and gently lifted her legs, first one and then the other,
returning them to the bed.  In this way, John spread her legs, exposing the
delicate folds which no man had touched.  Rachel's heart pounded furiously,
sending a rush of warm blood to her pale skin, flushing her face and breasts
brightly.  Involuntarily, blood engorged her labia, giving Rachel that
familiar swollen feeling in the loins, causing her glands to moisten the area.

Her uncertainty and expectation at its maximum, Rachel let out a breathy gasp
as John knelt between her legs and applied his lips to her rosy folds.  As
he moistened her with his saliva, John's nose was treated to a sweet scent
of jasmine, and he buried his entire face into her, as if to consume all of
her in one great breath.  This was a feeling superior to any Rachel had
experienced.  Smoothly, gently, John's tongue and lips explored her center,
kissing and squeezing, gliding in and out of her delicate entrance, first
lightly then with increased pressure, upwards and downwards, more and more
rapidly, circling her clitoris round and round, as if narrowing in on it,
getting closer and closer.

Rachel's back arched greatly, straining the muscles of her stomach and
thighs; in the yellowy light her body took on a statuesque appearance, a
sensuous figure of strength and Eros.  Feet planted flat and firmly
upon the bed, Rachel raised her hips high into the air, tightening still more
muscles, making her heart pound all the more furiously.  John's tongue
continued its loving attacks, faster now, ever faster, circling and gliding,
back and forth, and, yes!, plunging onto her clitoris, sending a shock wave
through her stomach, her sides, up to her breasts.

A rising tide of passion pressed heavily upon Rachel's vaginal lips, pushing
and constricting, building to an unbearable plateau.  She could feel her
body twisting and contorting inside, beating a rhythm, as if her heart
pounded only between her legs.  Throwing all reservation to the four winds,
exposing herself to the scrutiny of the universe, Rachel held in her breath
with great effort and prepared to explode.  John's tongue darting at
a fevered pace, Rachel frantically bucked her hips up and down, smearing her
lips over John's face, and began a small moan, just a hiss, then a moan,
loader and loader, bucking more and more wildly, impelling herself closer
and closer to ecstasy until...

"Stop!"

------------------------------

The Education of Rachel
-----------------------

by Danton

Part 6.

The word cut through Rachel's imaginings and brought her immediately
back to the bizarre present.  Her eyes flashed open, staring upwards,
blinding her in the white light of the room.  This time, the struggle
to control her respiration was not mere pantomime; her heart skipped
several beats as she exhaled violently, then gasped for air as all the
tightened muscles of her body snapped loose, leaving her limp on the
hard wooden table.  Sweating profusely, Rachel once again felt the
shame of her situation wash over her -- she had gone over the top,
abandoned composure, allowed them to control the most basic of her
physical and emotional functions.

Instinctively, she cupped both hands tightly over her pubic area, as
if to shield it from the piercing glances of the uncaring spectators,
and she closed her legs tightly around them, sealing her sex from the
world.  Unfulfilled, her labia ached and burned with the blood rushing
through them, causing Rachel to squeeze her hands and legs even more
tightly together.  Panting heavily, her back flexed up and down off of
the table, and through the hoarse noise of her own breathing Rachel
heard her host's voice once again.

"In your newly chosen career, 216, privacy is a luxury which is rarely
granted.  Your body, and its functions, exist now only to serve and
please others.  It is very important that you learn to release all
fears and inhibitions concerning your body.  Otherwise, you will not
be able to perform the functions required of you in the future, and
will therefore be of little value to your owner."

Rachel heard, but did not hear, his words; the sounds went through her
head and mingled with so many other confusing thoughts that Rachel was
not able to sort them.  The message, however, was clear.  Her body was
not her own, it was John's, but more immediately it was her host's.

"`That which does not kill me,'" the man continued, "`makes me
stronger,' as Nitzche once said.  By the time you leave our
establishment, you will be stronger still."

Her host rose from his chair at the head of the conference table, and
all around her the twelve businessmen also rose from their seats.
Impassively, the men looked down at her nude body, or perhaps they
stared through it, ignoring the person reclining below.  Still hiding
her genitals and her shame, fighting to control her breathing, Rachel
closed her eyes tightly to escape the scene, blot out these monsters.
Tears moistened her cheeks.  Even in her private darkness, Rachel
could still hear the cultured voice which she was quickly learning to
fear.

"This evening you will serve one of these gentlemen.  When in his
presence, you will perform any service which he may require of you, as
if he was your rightful owner.  This is, of course, a function you may
be required to perform for your owner after your release, and so you
will be given many opportunities here to acclimate yourself to this
type of service.  Certainly, we could not feel we had trained you well
if your owner was not sure that he could present you to others, as a
gift, with confidence."

Quickly, Rachel's shame and guilt were eclipsed by renewed fear.
Clamping her eyes even tighter together, her face winced in a terrible
expression of pain.  This was not at all what she had expected; more
and more she began to see everything, her decision, her training, even
her love for John, as a big mistake.  What had she lured herself into?
Where had her arrogance and ego taken her?  Involuntarily, Rachel's
mind conjured images for her, pictures of being abused.  Clearly, she
saw herself at the mercy of an unknown man, raped, beaten,
dismembered; her imagination saw no bounds in its fear.

"But first, of course," her host continued nonchalantly, "you must be
punished for lying to me and these good gentlemen."  At this reminder,
Rachel's mind went blank with fear, she could see and hear but not
comprehend.

"Return to this end of the table, and step down."

Slowly, Rachel reopened her eyes and gazed up at the staring faces.
Her breathing was normal, but the arousal she had felt was now totally
replaced by the fear which gripped her heart and twisted it within her
breast.  With little thought for what the businessmen would see (for
what had they not seen already?), Rachel once again crawled on hands
and knees, through the forest of men, her long mane dangling, hiding
her face, towards the one who had caused her such humiliation.  Upon
reaching the end of the table, she turned, extended her feet to the
ground, and stood somewhat unsteadily on the carpet.  Turning to face
her host, Rachel stood slumped over with her head cast down, hugging
her arms tightly to her breasts.  In this posture, she looked a
pathetic child, lost and alone, praying for someone to take her home.

Clearly, this was not pleasing to her host, who gave Rachel an icy
stare as he spoke.

"216!  I do not recall" he stated firmly, "giving any orders for you
to cover your body."  The volume and tone of his voice surprised
Rachel; he had not yet been so hard with her.  Slowly she raised her
head to return his gaze, and let her arms fall once again to her
sides.

"Move to the left of the doorway."  Rachel took three steps backwards,
arms still at her sides, placing her in the desired position.
Following her with his eyes, the man continued to command.  "During
your training, 216, you will often be directed to kneel and await
further instructions.  I shall now teach you the proper position."

"Kneel on the floor, with your feet together and your toes flexed."
Still hardly able to think or reason, Rachel complied immediately.
She knelt with both her knees and ankles pressed tightly together; her
arms she left at her sides.  "That is very good" her host continued,
"but it hardly gives one a pleasing view of your form.  We must
therefore make two alterations to your posture.  Firstly, your knees
-- separate them."

Reluctantly, Rachel moved her knees a few inches apart, allowing the
cool air of the room to kiss her labia, and forcing her back to
straighten somewhat.  Faintly, she could detect her pubic scent
wafting through the room.

"216, do not waste our time here.  Separate your knees as far as they
will go."  He recited the command slowly and deliberately; Rachel knew
that any further hesitation from her would be punished, even though
she had no conception of the punishment which already awaited.
Quickly this time, she spread her knees out wide, straining the
muscles of her inner thighs, displaying well her excellent muscle
tone.  Involuntarily, the posture lifted her bottom slightly off of
her ankles, and gave the viewers the best possible glimpse of her
pubic folds.

Still, the man was not satisfied.  "Now lace your fingers together and
place your palms behind your head."  After complying with this
instruction, Rachel's body became a work of art.  With her arms
outstretched, behind her head, Rachel's back arched, flexing the
muscles of her chest, her abdomen, and her arms, clearly displaying
the shapeliness and health of her form.

Now, as before, Rachel felt totally exposed and vulnerable.  On the
table her body was there for all to see; now, that was not even good
enough.  Now she had to present it correctly, display its mystery in
the best light.  Furthermore, the position was taxing, especially for
her arms.  Rachel was not at all sure that she could sustain the
posture for very long.

"Remember this position, 216, and assume it immediately when commanded
to do so.  Now, gentlemen," he turned back to the twelve businessmen,
still standing around the table, "I believe we may adjourn."  That
said, the man opened the door to Rachel's left and gestured to the
suited gentlemen.  Casually, they filed out of the room, talking
amongst themselves, strolling past Rachel's display of obedience and
continuing on down the hall.  One or two paused momentarily to examine
Rachel, as if sizing her up, evaluating her posture or musculature.
Inside, Rachel hated them, these violators.  Without conscious will,
her mind created marvelous images of revenge.  Each one, she thought,
she would torture someday; clearly, distinctly, Rachel saw what each
one feared and dreaded, and heard their screams as she fulfilled their
horrible nightmares.

With the passing of the last businessman, Rachel was once again alone
with her host.  An idea, or a remembering, came to him, she could see
it in his face, and he returned to his seat at the grand table.  There
he sat for several moments, his brow furrowed in concentration, until
finally he pulled a small notebook out of a coat pocket and begin to
write.  Rising, he replaced his pen and notebook in his pocket, after
tearing a page from the book.  Seemingly aware, again, of Rachel's
presence, her host stood before her nude body and continued his
commands.

"Stand up."  Rachel stood instantly, glad to remove the strain from
her feet and thighs.  Unsure of her host's intentions, she left her
hands clasped behind her head; this gave her the appearance of a
prisoner of war, helplessly awaiting execution, which mirrored exactly
Rachel's frame of mind.

"You may lower your arms."  Relieved, she allowed her arms to float
down to her sides.  She had not held the position for ten minutes; it
had nonetheless caused her arms and legs much pain.  In front of her,
Rachel's host held out the small piece of paper.

"Take this, and be sure to give it to the staff member in the
punishment room.  Do not read it."  Trembling at the word punishment,
Rachel took the note from him.  "Now follow me."  With a quick turn he
left through the doorway and started down the hall.  Glancing
momentarily at the pile of her clothing still laying on the carpet,
Rachel followed him as closely as possible, again watching his steps
closely to detect any hint of stops or turns.  The hard linoleum was
cold on her bare feet as they walked together down many corridors,
turning often.  After a very short time, Rachel felt totally lost.
But what does it matter, she thought, I don't really know where I am
anyway.  In many corridors they passed other people, some men, some
women, and each encounter caused Rachel some small amount of
embarrassment because of her nudity.  With each glance at her body,
however, Rachel felt less intrusion; she was learning how to be nude.

At length the man stopped her in front of a set of metallic double
doors, nondescript in their institutional coloring.  He knocked twice
-- in Rachel's mind the firm knocks were virtual explosions, each
causing her body to recoil.  Heart racing, she felt her body cool and
sweat simultaneously, her chest became extraordinarily heavy, making
breathing difficult; she tasted acid on her tongue.  Up and down her
spine Rachel fought the shivers that threatened to destroy her
composure.  Did she think of John at that moment?

"Kneel here, and wait.  The staff will attend to you directly."  He
pointed to a spot on the floor where Rachel resumed the kneeling
posture as she had been taught -- the floor was cold and hard on the
knobs of her knees.  "I will not see you further this evening, the
staff will direct you.  They must be obeyed without question at all
times.  Is this understood, 216?"

"Yes, Sir" Rachel replied meekly.

"Very well, good evening 216."  Turning, her host strolled off down
the corridor, and out of sight.




Part 7.

Rachel heard the taps of his footsteps grow weaker as he strode away,
leaving her alone, affording some time for reflection.  Although she
maintained the kneeling posture, Rachel's eyes were free to dart
around the hallway, and she noted that it was no different than all of
the halls she had so far encountered.  The linoleum was magenta, the
walls whitish, the doors metal, and just as she had been "alone"
before the meeting, Rachel noticed that here too, she was being
watched by the numerous video cameras mounted on the walls near the
ceiling.  Who was watching?

This portion of the underground maze seemed less used, somehow;
perhaps only because no-one passed during the fifteen minutes which
Rachel had to wait before anyone appeared.  Long before then, however,
the strain of maintaining her position took its toll on Rachel's body.
After several minutes, her arms became leaden, attempting to pull her
elbows down from their alignment with her ears.  With conscious
effort, Rachel clutched the back of her head even more tightly,
straining to keep her head and arms high, crumpling somewhat the note
she was to give to her torturer.

The effort to retain perfect posture distracted Rachel enough that her
mind began to clear -- the cloud of fear and despair which had
overcome her thoughts just moments ago was receding.  Returning to
more mundane thought, Rachel realized that her hunger was still
unsated; she had no concept of what time it was, or how much time had
passed since John had left, or even the day of the week.  The strange
events of the preceding hours were but a blur of memories.  Will they
feed me here, she wondered, or is starvation to be part of my
punishment?  Seeking further escape, Rachel thought of John; what
would he be eating?  Is he at home now, after the long return drive?
Or is he still in this area, at a hotel perhaps?  Maybe he's here, in
the complex; maybe he turned back, didn't go home.  Could John be on
the other end of that camera?

Regarding the camera once again with that thought, Rachel flexed her
back ever so slightly and seductively, thrust her hips out a little
further while spreading her knees even farther, and smiled.  She
wanted so much to be pleasing to her lover -- if John were watching,
Rachel would make him proud.  In the cool air of the hallway, Rachel's
blood began to flush her body, warming her flesh with hot breathy
kisses.  Am I making you lust for me, my love?  Are you there?  Come
and rescue your loving slave!  Rachel's eyes closed slowly and inside
she could see John glaring at a video screen, his breathing slow and
deliberate as he gazed upon his captive beauty.  The blood reached her
loins, giving Rachel the merest hint of a pleasurable sensation.
Leaning back even further, she tightened the muscles of her thighs and
buttocks, causing her labia to ripple almost imperceptibly,
heightening that tiny spark of pleasure the way one might fan such a
spark into a great fire.

If John isn't watching now, she mused, then when I return to him I
will give him quite a treat!  I shall kneel like this beneath him,
offering my body, and I will make his blood boil.  I shall not move a
single taut muscle as he takes me, I shall be the perfect slave, and
John will not be able to resist me!  Now the effort Rachel expended
was not directed towards keeping her arms high; it required all of her
great will to keep her hands from caressing her body.  The fire was
growing slowly, and she so wanted to build it higher.

Click.  Rachel heard the sound from behind the metal doors and
immediately knew what it was.  Someone inside had turned the bolt.  As
she opened her eyes her heart raced involuntarily, wrenching all
thoughts back to the present.  The hallway was empty, neither John nor
any other victorious knight had come to rescue Rachel.  Her wait was
over, punishment was imminent.

I must stop this!  Rachel's mind flew in panic, even if her body did
not move.  I can stop it, I'll run, I can find my way out of here!
They'll throw me out; I won't let them hurt me!  Seeing the camera
again however, Rachel remembered John and could not move.  Every
molecule of her being screamed for her to flee and flee now -- only
Rachel's body did not obey.  Paralyzed like a rabbit frozen in the
headlights of a speeding automobile, she could simply not decide.
Instinctively, unknowingly, she still trusted John and knew somehow
that he was aware of her situation.  Wide-eyed and breathless, Rachel
did not move as the door opened.

"Hmmm..."  Seated as she was, her left side towards the doorway,
Rachel could see only the bare outlines of a person without turning
her head.  The voice was unmistakable however; Rachel was somewhat
surprised to hear a woman's voice.

"OK, we're ready for you honey.  Stand up now."  The voice was
cheerful and had a distinctive accent about it; a Texan perhaps?  It
shook Rachel out of her paralysis long enough to allow her to stand in
front of the woman, but it created more confusion in her mind.  Dimly,
she thought then of her mother.

"Come on in."  The woman made a wide sweeping gesture through the
doorway, beckoning Rachel to enter.  For a quick moment, Rachel
scanned the woman from head to toe.  To her surprise, the woman was
totally ordinary.  What had she expected?  Not much taller than
Rachel, not particularly large, the woman appeared to be in her
thirties, lean but not skinny; she had an air of vitality about her,
like she had recently completed some simple exercises.  Her clothes
were simple and ordinary, a dark red short-sleeved blouse over white
cotton pants, tennis shoes on her feet; the strawberry-blond hair tied
behind her head gave her a home-town atmosphere.

Beyond the woman, Rachel could see into the room itself.  Without
really looking or seeing, she took three steps forward and stopped,
her bare feet making bizarre squeaking noises on the floor.  Having
crossed another threshold, Rachel let her eyes take in her new
surroundings.  The room resembled nothing so much as a small
gymnasium, complete with a floor padded with sectional mats.  On the
walls were attached many different apparatuses, some of wood, others
metal, whose functions Rachel could only guess at, as well as some
tall wooden cabinets, which were closed.  In the four corners of the
room were mounted the ever-watchful video cameras.  Two walls of the
square room contained other doors, which were closed, and the room
contained no other occupants -- when she heard the door close behind
her, Rachel was alone with the staff member.

"I believe you have something for me?"  The woman walked around to
face Rachel and held out her hand.  Rachel instantly supplied the note
from her host.  Smoothing the crumpled paper out somewhat, the woman
began to read it, but quickly interrupted herself.  "You can kneel
right there where you are," she commanded, "I won't be but a minute."
Once again Rachel resumed her kneeling posture, spreading her knees
and folding her hands behind her head.  At least this time, she
thought, the floor is soft.

The staff member returned to the note while casually strolling across
the room, towards one of the closed cabinets.  Opening the tall doors
of the cabinet, she took a moment to regard its contents.  In the
distance behind her, Rachel could see somewhat past the woman and into
the cabinet; what she saw there affected her greatly, for the cabinet
was filled with paddles, canes, whips, bats, and prods of every
conceivable size and description, all hanging in neat rows, apparently
arranged by size.  Though her heart once again threatened to pound its
way out of her chest, Rachel remained in position and tried to
disguise her fear; she was still waiting for John to appear.

After some long moments, the woman reached into the cabinet and
removed a long, thin paddle; it was easily as long as a baseball bat,
but was much wider and flatter, more like a cricket bat.  Its round
handle appeared to be made of wood while its other, flatter end was
covered in some sort of material.  Rachel hoped the material indicated
padding, but she was soon to discover her error.  Eventually, the
staff member turned and walked back to where Rachel knelt, the paddle
dangling nonchalantly from her right hand.

"In our program," she said, if as beginning a recitation, "we think
that it's a good idea to make punishment instructive.  It's my job
here not only to make sure you obey, one hundred percent, in the
future, but also to instruct you in some of the skills which a person
of your profession will need to know.  Now today, we're gonna do two
things."  The woman placed the end of the paddle down on the mat,
leaned on it, and looked up at the ceiling as if collecting her
thoughts.  "First we're gonna play a little game we play here to
acquaint newcomers such as yourself to the experience of pain."  Pain.
The word rung in Rachel's head, jarring her thoughts.  Pain.  Rachel
glanced at the paddle, at the cabinet, at the taut muscles of the
woman's forearm.  "After that," the woman continued, "you will receive
your real punishment."

Confused, terrified, Rachel shivered and began to sweat.  After pain,
then punishment?  What could she mean?  The staff member gave Rachel
no time to ponder it, the "game" commenced almost immediately.

"Ok, let's get going" the woman continued.  "The name of this game is
Control, because that's what it's meant to teach you.  The rules are
real easy; I tell you what position to get into, and you stay in that
position until you're told to move.  Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, ma'am" Rachel whispered, barely able to fight the lump in her
throat.

"Alright then.  Put your knees together and bend over as far as you
can."  Glad to remove some of the strain her kneeling posture was
causing her thighs, Rachel clamped her legs together and doubled over,
placing her chin on the floor mat.  Her hands she kept tightly clasped
behind her head, and her hair fell to either side of her face, totally
obscuring her vision.

"Let's make it a little easier for the beginning," the woman mused,
thinking aloud, "let's have you place you arms out on the mat in front
of your head."  Rachel instantly obeyed, stretching her aching arms
out on the cool mat.  This shifted her center of balance somewhat,
making her nude buttocks rise further off of the floor.  Though Rachel
could no longer see the staff member, she heard the crumpling
footsteps on the mat as she approached.  When the footsteps ended,
Rachel could clearly feel the woman's presence behind her; the staff
member knelt low on the mat to regard Rachel's posture.  Suddenly,
Rachel's entire body flinched as if jolted by several thousand volts
of electricity.

The woman had merely touched her.  Rachel felt two coarse hands
gripping her ankles firmly, urging them apart.  Leaning slightly more
forward, she obeyed the implied command by separating her ankles.  In
doing so, Rachel discovered that the further she moved her feet apart,
keeping knees together, the more her center of gravity impelled her
forward, and the more her buttocks raised and separated.  When her
head and shoulders were as low as they could possible become, and her
hips and buttocks raised to an equal extreme, the staff member
released her grip and stood up.

"Very good, 216, this is the first position.  Remember, you are not to
move."  For a moment that seemed to Rachel to be an hour, nothing
happened; no-one moved nor spoke.  In the interrum, Rachel closed her
eyes and wondered just exactly who she was.  Not twenty-four hours
ago, she was John's lover; the memories of their exquisite final
love-making still possessed her, even as more recent events threatened
to block out all such pleasant thoughts.  But now, she thought, I am
not that same person; I can't be.  The Rachel that I was would not be
crouched here on the floor, would not let these things happen, would
not willingly submit herself to torment.  Perhaps, she wondered,
Rachel is not even my name?

--