"Tea with that?" asked the fat man behind the counter. Hell Raiser nodded and picked up a half pint china mug with a rim that had more chips than a Monte Carlo casino. The fat man took his money and motioned to a formica topped table that for some reason had the word 'bollocks' scratched on it.
"I'll bring the sandwich over," he said.
H sat down and looked around the cafe. There were two other truckers sitting near the window, a down and out buying some shelter from the cold with an age old cup of tea, and a small group of bikers over by the pinball machine. He made eye contact with one leather clad grease nipple and they exchanged grins, H winning comfortably in the gleaming teeth department. The sandwich eventually arrived on a willow pattern plate smeared with yesterday's grease and egg yolk.
"Is the special still on?" H asked the fat man.
As the fat man said yes a door opened behind the counter and out came some guy pulling up his zip to match the smile on his face. There was a small cheer from the two truckers as they stood to join him before leaving. H caught the man's words as the door opened.
"What a great fuck," he beamed happily, slapping the other two on the back. "Best tenner I ever spent." As the men were leaving one of the bikers got up and went through to the back room.
"You want the special next?" asked the fat man as he brought over H's order.
H nodded.
"It's a tenner." The fat man gathered up his apron and wiped his hands on the multi stained cotton. "Up front."
The biker reappeared to see H handing over the money for the back room special.
"If he's looking to bury his pork you better get out here and scrub her down," he called over. "There's been quite a few in there today."
"Enjoy your meal," said the fat man. "She'll be ready soon."
When he had rejoined his friends he nudged the man next to him before calling across to the trucker.
"Hey smiler, like a bit of white do you?"
H grinned and nodded as the biker added, in a forced Jamaican accent:
"Well your money's as good as a white man's. You go in and give her a bit. It's not the hole with shit on it mind."
His mates burst out laughing and H continued to smile, his face hiding the anger and disgust he felt for the dirty, oil soaked group. It was they who owned the girl in the back room. The one truckers were travelling from miles around to get their prick up. The one thick Bingo had dumped at the first sign of trouble. If The Drivers left her here, word might get out about their activities.
That could not be allowed.
"In a fucking mess again?" snarled the fat man, reaching into a cupboard for a galvanised metal bucket. He dropped the pail into the large vitreous china sink with a loud clatter and began filling it up. When it was half full he added some detergent and a sponge, then he carried it over to Susan Warburton, who was naked and chained in the centre of the room.
"Over the block," he ordered her, removing the blindfold and pulling out the ear plugs before slashing the heavy belt that lay handily beside her hard down on buttocks that had clenched in anticipation of the routine. "And open up."
Susan rose slowly to her feet from her bent over position on the floor, the one she had to maintain until told otherwise. Manacles connected her to a large butchers block. She paused for a while, contemplating some token resistance, then thought better of it. The wide red mark from the fat man's belt, overlaying many others that had faded, prompted obedience, in the same way beatings had done since he had bought her from Bingo.
"Well?" said the fat man impatiently. "Or shall we do it the hard way?"
Without resistance Susan bent over the top of the hardwood block, resting on her elbows, her legs slightly parted as her bottom jutted out. The fat man pulled the soaking sponge from the bucket and began washing the spunk that stained the inside of her thighs. Several times he plunged his hands into the water before shoving the soapy sponge along the vee of her bum.
Susan grimaced throughout the ordeal but suffered it in silence, even when he pulled apart her thick sex lips to clean up inside her. Satisfied with his work, the fat man leant across and used his apron to wipe away the water, paying special attention to her already sore twat.
When she was blindfolded again and the ear plugs back in place, he gave her the usual final belting – the two or three he allowed himself for his personal pleasure – and left.
"She's ready," he shouted to H, throwing a handful of sausages into a frying pan. "And try and get your spunk inside her, not up her back. I get pissed off washing the muck from her."
H paid no attention, leaving the fat man up to his arse in lard and brown sauce.
Inside, Susan felt the presence of another man with apprehension. Did this one want to beat her or fuck her? Or both! She'd lost count of the men who had visited her already that morning. Getting to her feet she assumed the usual required position over the block, bottom in the air. She felt him move behind her, between her legs, the place nearly all the men took her from.
He began undoing his overalls and she steadied herself, ready for his first fumblings and the initial prod of hard muscle or slap of the belt.
She felt his hand at her head, and off came the blindfold.
She screamed as she saw the huge black man there, with a pair of heavy bolt cutters in his hands!
She span around, terrified. As she began to shout his hand clasped tight across her mouth, forcing her back over and down onto the block.
"Shh!" he whispered. "I'm not going to harm you."
In the cafe, the bikers had heard the scream. Not unusual, but this was particularly loud.
"Looks like smiler boy's giving her a good grinding," sneered the leader. The whole group laughed as the sound of Susan's chains rattled from the back room.
"This way!" urged H, holding open a window. He saw the plugs in her ears and pulled them out. "Come on, run, the truck's over there."
Susan was paralysed with fear. For so long she'd thought of nothing but escape, but now the time had come she was too scared and bemused to run. What if they caught her, brought her back? What would they do to her then?
"Hurry!" called H. He wouldn't be able to handle all four bikers and the fat man, and time was running out.
What else could they possibly do that they hadn't done to her already? Susan ran to the window.
The black man's hands gripped her waist and helped her up to the window ledge, where she jumped down bare footed onto gravel and Tarmac. By the time H had squeezed his massive bulk through the window her wobbling naked backside was fleeing across the car park, her feet streaked with blood from the broken glass and tin cans that littered the area.
As H raced after her, he never noticed the man pulling into the cafe astride a Triumph Bonneville. He was one of the bikers with a part share in Susan, and he clocked the situation straight away. Leaving his bike on the stand he removed a heavy chain he kept wrapped around the handle bars and rushed across the car park.
H had just pushed Susan into the cab when she spotted the charging biker and screamed again. H turned around to face the man less than ten yards away.
"Don't even think about it, shithead!"
In that split second the biker calculated his chances of winning, the humiliation of not fighting, and the subsequent loss of shagging revenue. With a venomous whip of his arm he swung the chain at the black man's head. H knew it was the only thing he could do with a chain and had his arm already raised in defence. Despite his awareness the metal still cut his face as it spun tightly around his forearm.
In an instant H grabbed the flailing iron and pulled it free from the biker, then brought his head down in a vicious thud against the man's top lip.
H gripped the sides of his head, twisted it and bit off the man's left ear, before releasing him to squirm in agony. As the wagon pulled away Susan felt the smallest of bumps as the wheels ran across writhing legs.
Five miles down the road and away from danger H told Susan she could find some clothes on the bunk at the back of the cab.
It was the first pair of knickers Susan had put on in weeks, not to mention a skirt and top. Both items were quite small, as if they belonged to a young woman, or a teenager perhaps. She didn't query why a lorry driver would have such clothes in his cab, she was just incredibly grateful to be alive and away from 'Smelly Joes,' and the constant thump of a man's cock between her legs or the crack of heavy belt on her arse. Dressed now in a small denim mini skirt and tight jumper that left most of her midriff on view she climbed back to sit in the passenger seat.
"I haven't said thank you," she said, reaching across to look at herself in the mirror. "Christ, don't I look a mess?" She fumbled with her hair, vainly trying to give it some shape. "Can you take me to a phone booth? I have to telephone my husband, tell him I'm alright. Then I'm going to ring the police. You wouldn't believe what I've been through."
Her voice was amazingly calm and collected. Enduring one trial after another had made her impervious to almost anything.
"Don't you fancy a bath and tidying yourself up first?" asked H. "My place is only twenty miles or so. Better you phone from there."
Susan rested her feet on the dashboard and stretched. "Why not?" she smiled. "I could do with a rest and a stiff drink before all the questions start."
They reached Kirkholm by late afternoon. H owned a large Yorkshire stone house and garage with views over some wonderful North Riding countryside. Built into the hillside, the door from the drive entered into the first floor, while around the other side, facing out across the valley, ran a dark pine verandah. Susan dropped down onto the fine pebbled driveway, registering the pain in her feet for the first time.
"Jump up," said H. He carried her inside, putting her down in front of a huge picture window that stretched almost the full length of one wall. It looked out across miles of countryside without another building in sight.
"It's a lovely house," said Susan, appreciating the exposed beams and bare stone walls. "Driving must pay well."
"I put in the hours," said H. "And there's only me." He handed her a cut glass tumbler half full of scotch which she drank in two mouthfuls.
"Where's your phone?"
H refilled her glass and pointed to the hall.
"But it isn't all that urgent, is it? Maybe you better settle down a bit first. After all, you've been away – how long?"
"I don't know. Weeks. Seems like years."
"There you are then. Another few minutes won't matter. You'll cope better after a bath."
The luxurious bathroom complemented the rest of the house. Another large picture window allowed her to gaze serenely out from her bath in the centre of the room. With the house being so isolated there was no need for the usual frosted glass. It was like bathing in the open air, in some miraculously hot woodland spring, with the swirling steam cleansing and refreshing.
She felt totally relaxed, enveloped in warmth and peace and the sweet smelling bath salts. She even smiled when the door opened and the truck driver entered with another drink. He came across and stood by the side of the tub, making no attempt to hide his admiring gaze, but she didn't mind a bit, her troubles were over.
He took a sip of his own drink and sat on the edge of the bath, which was built up with steps and cushioned.
"How's the water?"
"Wonderful!" She arched her back to emphasise the relief it was giving. Her breasts wobbled through the water, lifting tiny bubbles that exploded on her nipples. The black man reached across to a cobalt blue high necked bottle which contained ylang ylang. He poured some into the bath then dipped in his hand to stir the fluid into the water. As he did so his hand brushed her light pubic hair. Susan said nothing, until his hand crept lower and his fingers touched her sex lips.
"Please," she said, her body stiffening. "I can't begin to thank you. But not like that… Peter wouldn't like it…"
He smiled to himself and left her to soak.
Almost an hour passed before Susan appeared from the bathroom. She looked remarkably fresh and quite young in her denim mini and half cropped top, no shoes or socks.
"Here you are," said H, handing her another drink. "And there's some sandwiches on the table. Just cold meat, a bit of salad."
She made short work of the food and after finishing another whisky felt quite drunk.
"I must phone…"
But everything was going all woosy…
When Susan came too, the house was in darkness.
"Hello?" she whispered.
Silence.
"Is anyone there?"
Nothing.
She made to get up but was met by a very bright light that hurt her eyes, forcing her back down on the seat, her hand raised in front of her face.
"Who's there?"
"It's me!"
She recognised the black man's voice and screwed up her eyes to peer into the light. Beneath the glare she made out a pair of very shiny, very pointy, black leather boots.
"Stand up," said H, his voice quiet but demanding.
The order struck terror into Susan's mind. The words, the way he spoke them. Instinctively she found herself doing as he said.
"Lift up the skirt. Just a few inches, until I can see your knickers."
She raised the hem, revealing a glimpse of the clean panties he had given her earlier. The white cotton glowed bright under the glare of the lamp. Behind it, hidden in the darkness, sitting, watching, his presence betrayed by his staccato breath, was the man who had rescued her, the man she had thought she could trust.
"Why?" she asked. "Why risk what you did, for this? If you wanted to fuck me, why not at the cafe?"
"We couldn't let you stay there. Not with those animals. Besides, you may have escaped, and we couldn't allow that."
She knew instantly who 'we' were. The realisation hit her like the slap of a thousand hauliers straps.
"You're one of THOSE Drivers!"
The black man allowed himself a low, sneering laugh. "Precisely. And now you belong to me, so take down your panties and fold them on the floor."
Susan was devastated! No rescue after all! Out of the frying pan into the fire!
She shuffled the knickers down her legs and stepped out of them, then folded them neatly and placed them at her feet.
"Now the skirt, up with it."
She lifted up the heavy denim to reveal just an inch of blonde, down covered mons.
"Far enough. Now, close your legs. Keep them shut until I tell you otherwise."
She remained like that for ten minutes, bathed in the glare of the bright spot light, never moving, eyes front, her skirt lifted for the black man's gaze.
"Turn around," he said, breaking the silence. She did as he said without questioning. This time his eyes rested on the plump curve of her bottom and the gentle swell of her calves. He was in no hurry. There would be no rush to strip her, no uncontrollable urge to split her legs and mount her. He was in control, in command of everything.
She waited. She was full of dread, overflowing with it. In the plate glass picture window she saw a reflection of her silhouette. It was surrounded by the dazzling light that here and there broke into her shadow. She was a moth fluttering around a candle, being drawn ever closer until finally her wings would touch the flames and she would be consumed in a moment of awe inspiring glory.
"Lean forward!
She did as he said.
"Lift the skirt off your bottom. Higher."
He enjoyed this for a few minutes. Maybe he even went away and had a drink. Then he was back, for he spoke again.
"Bend over and grip your ankles."
In this position Susan was bent double, her nose resting in the space between her two knees, her skirt high over her back, showing everything. The black man kept her like that, enjoying the sight of her thick sex lips that protruded rudely out between tightly closed thighs. The image disturbed H. It filled him with lust and chipped away at his control, his will power draining into his thickening cock.
Fighting to regain himself he ordered Susan to stand up straight, at attention. She did so immediately, recognising the urgency in his voice. To upset him now would be dangerous. Very dangerous. She had already learned to read the signs, learned never to upset her master, and she had learned it the hard way. On the end of a strap, the palm of a hand, the tip of a gearstick.
Suddenly the light went out and Susan was plunged into darkness, into silence.
She was disorientated. Was she alone?
She thought for a moment, remaining perfectly still. It was impossible to know what would happen next. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, nervous, irregular. Desperate for the relief of sensation she held her breath, hoping to hear him, with straining eyes she tried to glimpse him.
There was nothing.
The minutes ticked by, but she did not move.
Flash!
Once more she was struck by the incredibly bright light, this time from the front. The black man must be between her and the window and she was illuminated for all to see. Except there was nobody, there would be no knight in shining armour to charge to her rescue.
Time passed.
Nothing. Blazing white light. Standing at attention, frozen in time. Silence.
Susan dared move only her eyes. She squinted past the light but saw nothing until she noticed a figure at the corner of the window. He was outside, on the verandah, watching through the window.
"Off with your skirt."
His voice was loud and clear. He must have rigged up a microphone outside. Susan released the button and the denim fell to her ankles.
"Fold it neatly."
She folded it carefully, following his instructions to the letter, returning to stand at attention in nothing but the half cropped jumper.
There was a long pause while she waited, tense as a coiled spring.
"Jumper off!"
She obeyed and took up her position again.
Time passed.
A voice from out of the glare.
"Bend! Stretch! This way! That way!"
He was judging how supple she was. Her body and condition were excellent. He was becoming more and more pleased with his captive.
When he told her to clasp her fingers together behind her head and push her tits towards the window he could tell that she was eager to please. Oh yes, very eager. She must have been truly well taught. She could take a lot of punishment, he judged. A real lot. Obviously her early owners had been stern masters. Fair? Perhaps. Kind? Doubtful. But stern? Definitely!
That was good, but it would not save her. No way!
"Inspect yourself."
Susan raised one leg on the arm of a chair and looked intently at her vagina, studying it like a concerned medic, probing with a finger, inside, deep inside, as deep as she could go.
"Crucifix!"
Susan knew the term.
She returned to the centre of the light to stand, feet together, chin up, arms outstretched at shoulder height. Darkness descended in an instant, enveloping, all encompassing, silent. She dared not move, no matter how her limbs ached. If her hands dropped just an inch he would make her pay, like Bingo had made her pay.
The pain came, as she knew it would, a gentle warming of the limbs turning into a burning heat that begged her to move her arms. She strained her senses trying to detect his whereabouts. When she felt it was safe enough she slowly lowered her hands…
Almost before they moved, her head was encased in a black satin hood. There was no sound and hardly any touch. Her wrists were taken and cuffed and she was made to hold her hands in the air. Although she couldn't see it, a hook was placed below the chain connecting the cuffs.
Suddenly she was standing on nothing!
Nothing!
Like a free falling parachutist she dropped through the air. Plummeting, straight down through a trap door cut into the stripped maple floor. In total blacked out isolation she plunged into the darkness below. This must be the end. She prepared herself for a crash against concrete or earth but her entire body was jolted upwards by the hook in the cuffs. It was attached to a heavy rope, tied to one of the exposed beams.
For a split second she was stretched so far her wrist, elbow and shoulder joints almost popped out of place. But she knew she was alright, the sudden pain of the drop gave way to throbbing, aching muscles and she dangled, suspended and helpless, awaiting his attention, not knowing what dreadful thing he would do to her.
Whatever it was, it was slow in coming.
The waiting and the uncertainty were almost as unbearable as the heat in her tortured limbs. With each passing second her anxieties grew, sapping her energy until finally exhaustion rewarded her with sleep.
She was waking, climbing back into horror.
The click of metal heeled shoes greeted her.
She was still enveloped in the hood. There was no way to know how long she had been unconscious, although the pain in her arms had turned to numbness, suggesting a fair time had passed. The click of shoes circled her as the black man walked slowly round her.
Occasionally his hands would run the length of her flanks, or up the inside of her legs. Sometimes he would cup her breasts and every so often she felt the tip of his nose against her mound as he breathed in her musk.
Then he was gone.
Later he was back.
When she despaired of ever seeing the morning light and relinquished all hope of release, she felt his hand take hold of the black satin hood. Slowly he lifted it from her head, revealing to her the same shiny black boots he had worn before. Sharp and gleaming they were, as was the gold metal protector that enclosed the pointed toe.
The hood came off and Susan gasped at the man in front of her.
Apart from the boots he wore only a pair of extremely tight and very heavy rubber shorts. A hole in them exposed his bulging genitalia. His stretched penis was pulled down and strapped to his leg by a criss crossed leather lace drawn so taut his bell-end bulged almost to bursting.
It looked like an over ripe plum.
"Hello Susan," he said, toying with the gold sleepers that pierced his nipples. "Sleep well?"
She lifted her tired head off her chest to see herself dangling in a wood cladded corridor on the ground floor. In front of her were large patio windows the full width of the passageway.
"Quite a drop, wasn't it?" He gave the underneath of each breast a firm tap with his fingers. "But you are strong. I know that. I never drop them unless I'm sure they're strong enough to take it."
As he spoke he began fiddling with the hook in her wrist cuffs. Behind Susan was a rail attached to the ceiling. Connected to that was a pulley and hook whose steel bearings slipped along a groove in the rail. Susan heard a metal click, but she was too weak to turn around. Suddenly she was moving, being pushed further down the corridor suspended on the runners.
With what energy she had left she managed to lift her head and study the large glass covered photographs that dotted the walls every few feet or so. The black and white prints depicted girls in various states of undress. Some naked, some actually taking their clothes off, while others were clad in tight rubber and leather, faces covered with masks, waists pulled tight.
One extra large frame contained a montage of pictures depicting a young pig-tailed girl being stripped by the black man. In the first, she was fully clothed with denim mini skirt and cropped top which Susan recognised as the clothes she had worn in the cab. She also wore long cotton socks and buckled sandals, which were removed in the next frame. The last picture showed the girl on her knees, her lips pursed around the black man's heavy, engorged prick.
Noticing her eyes darting from picture to picture, H flashed his latest capture a wide, now familiar, toothy grin. He winked. "Trophies," he whispered. "All my lovely trophies."
Susan realised that she too would soon be a trophy and mounted, though not necessarily on the wall. When the corridor opened out into a brightly lit room, she considered that time to be quite close.
"Here we are," said H. "My very own beauty parlour. Won't be a minute."
Before he went away he pushed Susan a few more inches until she heard another metallic click, this time quite loud. She tried to twist her body to see behind her and into the room, but it was no good. After so many hours suspended in the cuffs, she was just too weak.
"Curiosity killed the cat," joked H, returning with a plastic box that hung from the ceiling by a thick rubber cable. It was the electronic controller for a hydraulic hoist. "Now… let's get you smooth."
He punched a button on the controller and Susan felt the judder as the hoist began taking her across the room, the black man walking alongside.
"What are you doing?" Susan asked. "There's no need for any pain. I'll do whatever you want. You know that. You know that don't you? I've been with Jack and Lincoln and Bingo. None of them had any complaints. I was a good girl for all of them. You must know, they must have told you."
"A little discomfort," he grinned. "You must expect just a little discomfort. It will improve you, you see."
A loud clank signalled the end of the hoist's journey and Susan found herself suspended above a vat of hot wax.
Oh God, she couldn't stand that!
Not that!
She struggled and pleaded with renewed desperation.
"Whatever you say, I'll do whatever you say, I'll do anything, but don't put me in there!"
He just grinned.
Then he pressed another button and Susan began her descent.
"No!" she screamed again. She could feel the heat rising from the seething liquid. "You'll kill me!"
He stopped the hoist just an inch or two above the deadly brew.
"Fifty four degrees," he said calmly, through his ever present smile. "Hot, but not lethal." The motor started with the crack of an electric arc and Susan was lowered screaming and helpless into the molten wax.
Inch by burning sticky inch she was submerged. Past her toes, her feet, her knees. The wax swirled around her thighs, rushing into her female crevice and up to her navel before her descent was stopped. At the touch of another button, her body was lifted clear of the liquid, her bottom half coated in a rapidly hardening wax.
"Quite the human candle," H teased. "Shall I remove it?"
Susan nodded frantically.
"It might hurt."
She nodded again.
"And you won't have a hair on your body." He pressed another button and took her over to a shelf that held the wax removal strips. "Not one pube."
Susan was incapable of speech.
He pressed one of the small towels against her legs, then tore the strip off her and laughed as she yelled out in agony.
"Just a little discomfort. It's all in a good cause. Only another hundred or so to go!"
His favourite bit was always going to be around Susan's cunt, with her fat, pronounced labia. H paid special attention to her there, ensuring every hair was removed and her denuded cunt was as smooth as a snooker ball.
When he finished removing the wax he finally released her from the hoist. For a moment she was unsteady on her feet and her arms seemed fixed above her head.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much." That was something else she had learned. Always be grateful for the slightest kindness. It was all too easy to find yourself back in the cuffs or over a bench awaiting the strap.
"Into the shower." H led the way. "The hot water will get some life back into those arms."
As she followed him, Susan realised she was in what amounted to an upmarket beauty salon. It was a very bright room, tiled, with leather chairs that faced wash basins and mirrors along the walls. This huge black man with rubber pants and cock strapped to his thigh obviously fancied himself as a hairdresser!
"In you go."
The shower was fixed in the corner of the room and quite open, not that privacy was a consideration any more. As the water streamed down her body, H went to fetch one of the chairs from in front of the mirrors, pulling it across to sit and watch.
"A good soaping all over," he told her. "And I mean all over."
Susan took that as her cue to wash her private parts publicly. Turning to face him she made a big play of lathering her tits and saw the positive delight on his face when her hand dropped down to soap her newly smooth cunt. She could see from his anguished look that his strapped prick was giving him some problems. He had tied it down, while nature decreed it should stand up. It couldn't be a mistake on his part, he must find that the added pressure, the abstaining and the suffering, added to his pleasure.
Susan turned her back towards him and pushed out her bottom. His eyes immediately fell to her rounded cheeks, pounded by the hot water, steam rising from the rosy flesh. Her fingers appeared between her legs, covered in soap, seeking out her rose budded hole to clean away any wax not yet gone. He enjoyed that too, watching her exaggerated movements, the posed body and the willingness to please.
"Don't forget your hair."
When she was fully washed and her skin positively glowing from her waxing and hot shower, H handed her some warm towels. White and fluffy, they felt wonderful against her tingling skin, especially when she rubbed herself down below.
"In the chair."
She did as he said and he pushed her across in front of a mirror, where she was surprised at her own reflection. Her body looked really good, healthy and bright. She looked like fitness itself. While she admired herself, the black man began running his fingers through her blonde shoulder length hair. In the mirror she could see his large cock twitching just near her shoulder.
"I thought spikes," he said. "What about that? Do you fancy spikes?"
"Whatever you say," answered Susan. "I'm in your hands."
H massaged a great quantity of setting gel into her hair.
"Quite so. In my hands." He chuckled, a slightly shrill edge to it. "Oh yes, quite definitely so."
He began shaping and teasing her hair into sharp spikes, drying it stiff and spraying it hard with lots of heavy hair spray.
"How's that?" he said with a flourish.
"Lovely," Susan replied, not entirely lying. She had never seen her hair so outrageous, her normal style was so demure.
"I call it the 'porcupine bob'. Now, make up." He leant forward and pulled out a drawer. "Black I think. I always like black on blonde." He paused for a while considering his words, then added. "As you'll find out."
She had no reason to doubt him. In fact she was bemused that it hadn't already happened.
"Don't move," he warned, looming close with the eye shadow brush. "I'm not too good at this." She closed each eye as he applied the powder, then gripped the arms of the chair as he reached for the eye liner.
"Wide eyes," he grinned.
Her fears were unfounded, even when the mascara was added. To finish the effect he used black lip liner and lipstick, then told Susan to go through to her living quarters.
"When you're not in the wagon with me," he told her, "you will live down here. If I want you, I will come and get you."
Still naked, he marched her along an adjoining corridor to a room she expected to be nothing more than a cell. She was to be pleasantly surprised. Like the beauty salon, it was bright with large ceiling to floor mirrors and wide patio windows that, like the others, looked out over rolling countryside. On the one side of the room stood a shower and toilet. It was not in a separate room, but open and totally non-private.
The main surprise was the quality of the furnishings, black leather chairs and a huge television which, he told her, were for her use, when he was away. If it wasn't for the metal hoop in the centre of the room and the long chain attached to a belt, it would have been a veritable home from home.
"Let's try it on," he said, pointing to the belt. It had a link at the back to connect it to the chain, while at the front the ends were terminated in metal clasps that slipped one inside the other and could only be undone with the key. H slipped the contraption around her waist and fastened the clasps.
Not too tight, if she wanted to move it around or up her waist a bit she could. The only thing she couldn't do was remove it. Once it was fitted he left her alone to walk around her apartment while he fetched some underwear. She went straight towards the windows, although the chain stopped her about three feet away from them.
It all looked so beautiful. Just three feet in front of her were fields and grass, yet she remained naked and chained inside the house. She didn't know which was worse, a windowless cell, or the constant reminder of freedom.
"Put these on," said H, bringing in a tiny leather thong and black strapless bra. "You can take them off when I'm not here, but I want them back on when I arrive."
Susan acknowledged his demand and stepped into the panties.
"There's some depilatory creams in the shower cabinet,so don't let me catch you with any stubble on your cunt."
He threw her the remote control for the television and made to leave, stopping near the doorway that led into the corridor and then to the salon.
"I've got a job from a defence base," he told her. "So I can't take you. They check inside all the lorries. Food is in the fridge and I'll be back later, so be ready."
She had a good idea what he meant by that, but there was no point worrying about it. As she watched him leave she went across to the settee and flopped down in the cool leather, picking up the remote control handset. She hit the on button and the screen flickered, but no picture appeared. The other channels were all the same, none of them were tuned in, and when she tried to tune them herself, she discovered the facility had been taken off the set.