Chapter One
Angela recovered consciousness to find herself stretched out full length
upon a narrow bunk. The room was a
windowless, white walled room, alarmingly like a prison cell. For a few moments she lay looking
uncomprehendingly about her. The walls
were of white-painted brick; the light fitting in the ceiling heavily defended
with mesh; the only door looked to be of painted steel without a handle but
with a round peephole.
Yes, a cell! Surely it could be
nothing else! She registered the fact
but failed to come up with any explanation of how she came to be imprisoned. She sat up with a groan and found that she
was naked under the single blanket and, pulling it automatically about her,
looked around without success for her clothes.
Raising a hand instinctively to her hair she found it gathered into an
unaccustomed ponytail. She glanced at
her wrist with a reflex equally born of habit, to find only a pale band showing
where the wristwatch had been.
The room was perfectly empty apart from the bed, the blanket and
herself. The cell was quite large and
the air was warm. Nervous of being seen
through the peephole, Angela kept the blanket firmly about her as she stood
up. The soles of her feet felt strange
against the composition floor. On closer
examination, she saw that the surface was dark in colour and felt hard and
leathery to the touch, as if it had been coated with something. Her mind ran through a series of increasingly
wild explanations for her situation, until she had the sense to concentrate
upon what she remembered last.
Had she been kidnapped? A sick,
sinking feeling echoed the thought as memory flooded back.
She remembered walking uncertainly down a dismal alley leading to an
abandoned wharf lined with derelict buildings and littered with burned-out car
shells and broken masonry; dismally sure that she must have muddled the
instructions she had been given. Then as
she'd turned to retrace her steps, a car had suddenly appeared from behind and
overtaken her.
The car itself had aroused no alarm; large, opulent and quiet, with a
black chauffeur in a uniform cap at the wheel.
The darkened rear window had slid downwards with a remote controlled
hiss and a woman had beckoned, smiling.
Hopefully Angela had stepped to the door as it opened. She'd had an impression of expensive clothes
and perfect grooming, the sparkle of jewellery and a whiff of expensive
perfume.
This had been her kidnapper?
The moment she'd bent to speak to the woman, two unexpectedly powerful
hands had hauled her headlong into the car and across the woman's lap. Someone else was in the rear seat too since a
masculine hand had stopped Angela's first instinctive cry and another gripped
her wrists. The car door had slammed
shut and the interior darkened as the window slid up. By that time Angela was pinned face down and
could only see dark upholstery and two pairs of legs. She struggled with renewed energy as the car
accelerated, finding that her rear had been suddenly bared, her skirt thrown up
about her waist and her tights and panties yanked rudely down about her thighs.
There had been a sharp slap delivered by a feminine hand to one of her
bared bottom cheeks, and then a sharp needle-like stab to her right buttock
cheek. Reaching back, her fingers found
the spot, still slightly numb.
The sudden grating of a key in the lock halted her speculations. Instinctively clutching the gaudily patterned
blanket to her, she turned to face the door.
It was a woman who entered; tall, smartly dressed in white silk shirt,
tight riding breeches and gleaming boots, exuding an aura of wealth and
style. A lingering trace of expensive
perfume identified her to Angela as the woman from the car. Her intense scrutiny disconcerted the English
girl.
A second woman followed the first, shutting the cell door firmly behind
them. This was a black woman, in stature
no taller than Angela herself, but far more powerfully built. She too was attired as if for the stable, her
clothing no less expensive than the other's and an
equal chestnut gloss on her boots. Under
one arm she carried a bundle of leather straps.
At a loss for words, Angela goggled from one to the other. She sought for signs of human sympathy in
their faces but their harsh features only increased her fright. The black woman's face had a battered,
punch-bag look; the other's was weather beaten, fiercely angular and eagle
beaked. Angela dropped her eyes,
quailing before their joint ferocity, only to stare in horrified conjecture at
the wicked-looking riding whips each of them carried; the one tucked under the
black woman's arm, the other held in a gloved hand, tapping it impatiently
against a tightly booted calf.
It was the white woman who spoke with an air of sinister enjoyment of
Angela's consternation. "Allow me to
introduce myself. I am Ms. Stern, your
new owner. I have acquired you to serve
my pleasure, so it will be best for you to prepare yourself for a new role in
life." The tapping crop lifted and
pointed at her. "You have been brought
here to my stables to be trained as a girl-pony to be employed for my personal
service. I shall strip away your old
self as a human and remould you as an animal, a two legged pony, mute, obedient
and responding to whip and rein!"
Angela was suddenly outraged, her fury temporarily dissipating her
fright. Was this a joke? She looked wildly to the black woman as if
she might provide a more rational explanation.
But the woman merely grinned at her, showing red mouth and then sharp
white teeth like a hungry Black Panther.
Her eyes displayed bright intelligence, as if cruelly amused by the
English girl's rage and bewilderment.
"W-where are my clothes?" Angela demanded weakly, her rage disappearing
almost as quickly as it had arrived.
The Stern woman frowned, her black brows knitting into a solid bar, lips
forming a thin line expressive of anger.
With no warning, she brought the crop slashing down across Angela's
knuckles, simultaneously ripping the blanket abruptly away from the naked
girl's failing grasp.
With a cry of pain and indignation, Angela made to snatch back her only
protection; merely to have the other hand treated in the same way. With a scream of pain, she staggered back out
of reach, clutching her wounded hands to her breast. The pain was atrocious, almost as if her
fingers had been severed. She heard the
black woman laugh callously while Ms Stern, casting away the blanket, swung the
crop again and again, her lean face as hard and pitiless as an Indian brave.
Angela shrieked and stumbled forward, twisting and writhing as the cruel
thong came down across her naked and unprotected flesh. Twice the curling leather cut into the
intimate crevice between her legs, depriving her even of the breath to howl in
protest. She tried to back away from her
tormentor, keeping her legs together and fluttering her wounded hands in the
direction of attack; a futile effort to block it, which horribly the she-fiend
seemed only to enjoy countering.
A stroke that was meant for Angela's bottom, but which almost removed a
finger that got in the way, cured its hysterical owner of any further attempt
at interception. Clutching her crippled
fingers to her bosom she collided suddenly with the wall and found herself
pinned into one corner of the room.
Another powerful crack across her behind forced Angela round to face her
tormentors. Through her tears she recognised the fiendish pleasure they took in
her distress and she squealed pitifully as the crop threatened once more,
folding herself into as small a compass as she could and sobbing abjectly in
defeat. For the moment, she was
completely broken, suddenly realising how much these two harpies actually
enjoyed inflicting pain upon her.
"This one shapes well, Ms. Stern."
"Yes, quite promising, I think, Juanita."
Reaching out, Ms Stern seized Angela by the hair to drag her from the
corner and hold her helpless. Pain and
terror drove Angela into instant submission.
The cruel riding crop was thrust very visibly under her nose. The throbbing weals it had left across her
behind combined with her enforced, doubled over posture made her feel terribly
exposed to more of the same.
"The belt first please, Juanita!"