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It didn't take Tricia and I long to get our lives back on track. She didn't seem to be bothered by Clegg's attitude. "It's the game" she said. "At the end of the day it's dog eat dog. You have to accept that. Loyalty is only as good as the use you are. They came to get me because it suited them." I was surprised by her casual acceptance of the risks not only of something going wrong but of being left to swing if it didn't suit the organisation.
In the end she decided to leave Brian's "orientation" to Rick's team, Harry was keen to get her back on operations and she wanted to forget about being snatched herself. She also wanted to show she could take the lead role on a pick up, she was fed up with playing second fiddle to some of the others on Harry's team but she knew she'd have to up her game after the business with Brian.
I'd finished up for the day in the Whitechapel office. Tricia and I had arranged to meet up in the bar where Harry and I had had our drink before the Kushtian trip. I was there first. The bar was almost empty.
I was sat there listening to my i-Pod. Rick had let me have a down-load of Rachel's distraction mantra. It made eerie listening.
As Rick had said, she was counting off each of the rapes in her own head; distracting herself from the conditioning tapes by concentrating on the pain and humiliations she had suffered since her abduction. "27," I heard her voice say. "It's the tall blonde guard with the very short hair. He wants me to suck him off. He tells me he'll beat me if I don't 'do it nice'. I believe him. He's big, muscular, tall. No fat anywhere on him. No sign of any humanity either. He tells me to unzip his fly. I'm too slow. He slaps my face. He's wearing a ring; gold, a jaguar head with rubies for eyes. The ring catches the side of my mouth. There's a sharp pain. It's bleeding. He grabs my hair. I'm scared that he'll break my neck. I'm on my knees. I fumble with the zip of his fly. I can see the stitching on the denim, the yellow metal of the zip tag. I'm still too slow, another slap. My ears are ringing. I pull his cock from his trousers. He tells me that's good. It's swollen, purple, he's obviously already excited. It smells musty, somehow, as if it's come from some damp, dark cave. He says to use my mouth; like I've done for the others. They've all told him that I can do it all right but he might have to force me. I say he doesn't have to hurt me. He says maybe he'd like to anyway and laughs. I'm more scared than before. I do as he says. My mouth is full of his cock. He pushes back against me, I'm choking. It seems like his whole weight is behind his cock, threatening to push it through my throat. He doesn't take long. I feel him come, his cock pulsing with a rhythmic judder. I taste his salty, slimy cum. He keeps my head pressed against his groin. Not bad, he says. That's what he thinks. For me, it's vile. I'm choking with the taste and the smell and the feel of his slime in my mouth. He pushes me away, I fall back against the wall, my bound arms hit the wall first and then the weight of my body crashes against them. I can feel the skin on my elbows scraping away as I slide down the wall. The guard walks towards me and crouches down. I think he's going to help me up but he doesn't. He reaches down and pulls at my skirt, he uses it to wipe off his cock. Not bad at all, he says. Perhaps, I'll be back, he says. I hope he isn't. But I know there will just be more. I curl up on the floor, trying to get inside myself. It's only there I can get away from all of them."
I could hear the voice of the preparation tape in the background. "Listen to me," it said, in an insistent, flat monotone, "Listen to me. You know what you must do to be happy. You know that you only have to obey. Listen to me. Listen to me..."
"28," she went on, insistently. "It's one of the trainers. He's short and thin with long dark hair. He wears a mask, a white face; expressionless, no feeling. He's holding the cane they use to beat me. He spreads my thighs with the tip of the cane, looks at the cuts and the bruises. He seems pleased but I can't tell from the featureless mask that covers his face. My cunt is naked, exposed, but he's not looking at that; he's enjoying the bruising that they've done to my thighs. It's horrible how he's staring at me, more interested in my pain than my sex. He changes how I'm tied, straps my wrists up to the top of my arms, my ankles up to the tops of my thighs. I can't protect myself at all but then I never could. He watches as I wriggle on the floor. At least I think he watches, I can only see his eyes flickering back and forth behind the mask. His skin seems soft when he touches me but what he does to me is hard. My limbs are bent and aching already. He is still watching me wriggle. I don't want to do this for his amusement, but it's so uncomfortable. He tells me I must learn to accept restraint. I spit at him. He's not pleased. He gets a wire frame and wedges it in my mouth. I try to shake my head. He moves a catch at the side, the frame spreads my mouth wider. I can't stop it. He laughs behind the blank white mask as I groan. I shake my head in protest. He shakes his head, more slowly. He's got some sort of short wide belt. It's a collar as deep as my neck is long. He fastens it in place. It holds my head rigid. He tells me I must learn acceptance. I don't believe him. I won't believe him. He takes off his trousers, hangs them neatly over the back of the chair. He's going to rape me but he wants to make sure his trousers don't get creased. He takes me on the floor. He pushes his hand against my crotch. I try to pull away and he laughs. He tears at my knickers, they are sodden with my own fluid and the cum of those that have been before. I feel him push his soft fingers into my cunt. He pulls at the hair that is there. One more rape. No different to the others apart from in the trivial, miniscule details of who and what and how. His cock seems no different to the others. His hands no different. His breath carries the sweet and pungent smell of garlic. I can smell tobacco on his clothes. His white, rigid mask presses against my face. I smell its plastic artificiality. Expressionless I can see nothing of his feeling from the mask while within me I sense every rise and fall in his lust in the stiffening and ebbing of his cock. He pulls away. He moves behind me. What's he doing now? I can't see what he's up to. I feel him pull at my hair, feel his cock against my head. He's wound my hair around his cock, he pulls back and presses forward. I feel his cock against my scalp, the tug on my hair as he pulls back. With a short spasm he comes, pinching at my tits with his soft fingers as he does so. He leaves me on the floor; his cum dripping from my hair. My clothes more torn than ever. He says nothing; just looks at me through his expressionless mask and leaves."
"29," she continued. "The last one's only just gone. It's the receptionist. She can't be any older than me. Why is she doing this? Why is she doing this to me? She's got mousey hair with blonde highlights. What's she wearing. I can't remember. Oh yes, just a t-shirt and a skirt. She's saying why should the boys have all the fun. She's had a boring morning, what can I do to amuse her? I can't say anything, the gag has my mouth spread wide. My tongue is dry as much from fear as anything. A cough and groan. She laughs and says that's a start. She's got something in her hands. What is it? A dildo and a harness. And tit clamps. I don't need to guess what she'll do with them. She pushes me down on my back. The last one strapped my wrists to the tops of my arms. She slaps at my tits. To perk them up she says. I cry through the gag. They still hurt from the last one and now she's doing this. She fits the clamps to me, they cut in with a sharp pain. I gasp. She smiles. I know it will be worse when they come off. She's taking off her skirt. Plain white panties. So normal. So ordinary. She squats across me, tracing a finger nail around my lips, spread wide by the gag. My clothes are in tatters. She says how bruised my body looks. I keep thinking of something else. Taking myself somewhere else. Not there. Not in that room any more. Far away. She pulls on the chain linking the nipple clamps. The sharp pain brings me back. She smiles again at my groans. She gets up and straps on the dildo. There, she says, this will be better than all those boys you've had to put up with. I try to beg her not to. Even with the gag she knows what I'm saying. She laughs and tells me that she'll do just as she likes, that I'm here to be used, that I'm fuck meat. I don't believe her. I go on not believing her. She sees me shake my head. It makes her angry. She grabs me by the hair and hits my head back against the floor. You'll be fucked until you give in, she tells me, pushing the dildo into my cunt. It's hard and rigid, and cold. She tells me I am going to cum. I shake my head again, she can't make me. She carries on thrusting the dildo into me. Again and again. I loose count of the number of times. I'm no longer there. My body is there, but I am elsewhere. My body is being fucked but I am not. She bangs my head against the floor again. I am back in the room with the pain and the shame. She can tell and pushes harder. I give a whimpering cry. She gives a guttural snarl and a grunt. I can tell she has finished. She climbs off and gets to her feet. She un-straps the dildo and puts on her skirt. She turns to go and then turns again. She kicks me. The toe of her shoe hits against my side. Pink leather, pointed toe, four inch heel, strap around her ankle. I look down as the heel slides across my naked belly leaving a red scrape behind it. I try to curl up into a ball as she leaves me. The clamps are still on my tits. I focus on the pain."
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