Double Life

Helen had no means of judging how long she spent in the clinic. The time was used by her controllers to enforce her total dependency on them. They controlled when she ate or drank and when she slept. Part of keeping her off balance was to keep moving her between the Rubber Room, the dungeon and a small bare cell. Her freedom of movement was constantly limited either by a strait jacket, manacles or broad leather straps buckled about her body. Of course there was never any modesty and, even when she was in the Rubber Room or her cell sometimes a face would appear at the tiny window staring in at her.

This was how she first encountered The Man. She was on the floor of the Rubber Room strapped painfully inside the horrible strait jacket when she heard a cough and, looking up at the window, she saw a nightmare vision. His face was very red and the huge nose was lined with ugly blue veins. He was bald but had unkempt wisps of grey hair clinging to his temples. The very worst thing about him was his grin; the mouth was a leering slit framed by nicotine stained white whiskers and showing uneven yellow teeth. For what seemed an age their eyes locked; Helen was unable to break away and somehow just by his leer the man was able to convey whole volumes of the total degradation which he intended to bring upon her.

After this first time The Man always seemed to be watching her from the sidelines. When she was suspended in the dungeon with three guards jeering at her and abusing her body he was leaning against a wall staring silently at her. When she was strapped down to a bench with those horrible electrical devices buzzing away inside her and making her body buck in unwelcome orgasms he would be standing over her looking down with total contempt written on his horrible face. When he was this close she could smell the whisky which was on his breathe and seemed to leak out of his pores mixed with the odours of tobacco, urine and sweat.

And when she was on the large bed being made to service men or women who constantly pulled her from one degrading position to another The Man would come into the room and simply stand watching. He never once spoke and Helen had genuine doubts about whether he was human or even whether anyone but herself could see him.

Helen felt that she was spinning into nothingness and had no clear idea of what was real or even who she was. It seemed that a hundred years ago she had been wife, mother and Guide leader in the church but, one by one, those three pillars had been undermined and stripped away from her. Once The Scene had destroyed the superficial veneer which had been the old Helen they could remake her as they wanted her to be and make her believe that this was what she had always been.

She had become little more than an animal whose primitive urges fuelled by constant stimulation of those treacherous nerves in her nipples and between her legs now drove her. When she was drowning in endorphins as they stimulated her she cried out for punishment to ease her conscience at her unbridled lust and when she was chained to the whipping post with the lash marking her white back somehow the pain became mixed with pleasure and she felt so wet between her legs.

When they had reduced their toy to guaranteed obedience they felt sufficiently confident to take her out to the local town (wherever that was). She was made to dye her hair flame red and wear a tight cotton top which left her belly bare and stretched over her breasts so that her nipples were clearly visible pressing against the thin fabric. Her shoes were red high heels and her skirt was the ridiculously short miniskirt of a cheap whore. She walked beside Maxie through the seediest part of town with her wrists handcuffed in front of her attracting whistles and crude remarks from the open windows of passing cars. When something caused the frightened and humiliated woman to look over her shoulder she was terrified to see The Man lurching along behind her resting on a black walking stick with a silver ball on the top. It was as if the devil himself were dogging her steps.

Sometimes on these horrifying and deliciously wicked excursions Maxie would order her pet to unbutton her top to expose her breasts or even lift the skirt to display her bare pussylips. Of course refusal was never an option and Helen felt condemned, degraded and aroused all at the same time.

The final stage in the remaking of Helen was to prepare her to go back home. She was allowed to shower under supervision and with The Man leering at her from the doorway and she was dressed in more conventional clothing but with no underwear. Her sleeping accommodation became a small bedroom with bare floorboards and bars on the window but there was at least a narrow bed which even had blankets. She was reintroduced to regular meals and was taken out to a shopping mall in her "normal" clothing having washed the red dye from her hair. It was made clear to her that she would soon be going home but that Maxie and her cohorts would never be far away.

It was a Saturday morning when Maxie drove Helen home having left time for any wheals and bruises to heal. As Maxie pulled into Helen's drive Helen caught a glimpse of a face in a car parked near to the house. It was The Man leering at her.

Of course, once inside the house, there was an outbreak of hugs, smiles and tears. Max did not stay long; she left the family alone to become reacquainted. Helen could not help thinking back to her fears about Maxie and her husband but she did not ask any questions indeed she was unsure if the things she remembered about Max making up to her husband were true or just her imagination. That night her husband hugged her, although they did not actually make love. Helen hugged him back but she knew that something had changed. There was a part of Helen which was deep inside and which she could choose to hide. Without realising it in direct terms, Helen had learned the art of compartmentalisation. A beast now lived inside her which could be temporarily shackled when she was with her husband and the girls but it would need times off its leash to play at the wicked games which were now an essential part of her life.

For many days there was no contact from Maxie and Helen felt deserted. Each day Helen was sure that Max must make contact today and when that contact failed to materialise she felt let down and frustrated. The beast NEEDED to be allowed time to play. Some days after her return home Helen was walking from the car to the school gate with a girl on either side of her when something caused her to look across the road and there was The Man leering at her. He was looking at Helen AND HER GIRLS. She pulled the girls closer to her and she shivered. When she looked again he was nowhere to be seen.

The following Sunday he was across the road from the church watching as the family came out of morning service. He was standing clear as day beside a lamp post smoking a cigarette. Helen blinked, looked again, and he was still there. They walked a little further, she looked back over her shoulder and he was gone.

On the Monday morning she pulled her car up onto her drive after the school run and there was Max sitting in her silver hatch back with its smoked windows in the road in front of the house. Helen went to the car and Max told her to get in. A black hood lay on the top of the dashboard and Max told her to put it on.

Helen knew better than to ask questions so she pulled on the hood cutting out all light and sat self consciously upright as the car pulled away. When Maxie parked she told Helen to remove the hood and she saw that they were at the kerb in a run down part of town outside a tall narrow building with peeling paintwork. Max told her to walk up the steps and press the button beside the number five.

Helen was undeniably excited. She was once again in play and she felt like a schoolgirl on a dare. What awaited her inside the building?

Max remained parked at the kerb watching as Helen, leaving her bag in the car, climbed the steps and pressed the buzzer. The intercom system delivered a lot of crackling and a distorted male voice telling her to climb to the top floor. The stairs were narrow and bare boards, the stairwell smelt musty and the door at the head of the stairs had the paint stripped although the traces left showed that it had been red. The door opened and it was him. It was The Man, still leering at her and still stinking. She felt herself blushing as she silently went into the flat and he closed the door so that he was now between her and the door. Helen felt overwhelmed by waves of terror and revulsion. This disgusting being had been haunting her and now she was alone in his clutches.

His voice was like gravel running down a chute and he told her to sit on the threadbare sofa which she did making sure her knees were close together and her skirt was as far down as it could be. He came and sat beside her and his veined hand rested on her knee and slowly began to travel upwards while he nibbled her ear. Her whole body had tensed up.

He was muttering meaningless endearments about what a lovely little thing she was, "no need to be so tense, we can relax together, you like this don't you."

His hands were now everywhere exploring inside her blouse and up her skirt where, as per her standing instructions, she was wearing no knickers. His breath was almost suffocating as he slobbered all over her face covering her with his saliva. A hand had reached her pussylips now and was beginning to work on her most tender area causing her bottom to slightly move against the seat. As his weight moved against her she slipped downwards so that he was both beside her and above her. Her hand had to go somewhere and it rested on his arm which was in an unwashed grey shirt. He had found the back of her skirt now and his hand, between her buttocks and the sofa was unzipping her and sliding the garment down to her ankles. The blouse had ridden up and most of the buttons were undone. He pushed her bra upwards so that it was around her neck and he was groping her exposed breasts. Her heart was pounding and she felt nauseous. She was consumed by disgust for herself that she was not fighting him and yet somehow she felt her only option was submission.

He ordered her to tell him how much she liked it and how much she wanted him and his command was enforced by a painful twist of her nipple which wrung from her the response he required. He told her to unzip him and pull his clothing down which she did exposing his red, flaccid penis with its heavy, bloated ball sack.

They had shifted their position now so that he was on top of her and his hand and his penis were at her groin. His member was hardening but he did not seem able to achieve a full erection so he told her to get on her knees and work on him. She could not resist and she used first her hands then her mouth gagging at the sweaty, salty taste of him. He emitted animal groans as she, like an experienced whore, managed to bring him to some sort of erection whereupon he leapt forward and, pressing her to the floor, he came down on top of her and entered her. The whole world seemed to be filled with his scarlet decrepit face bouncing up and down above her with white saliva raining down onto her face.

Of course he could not keep this up for very long so his organ soon deflated but he remained on top of her with his hands painfully roaming and groping her body. In the course of this all her clothes deserted her and were distributed around the room as they rolled around the room knocking a coffee table out of the way and bruising Helen's thigh.

When they finished they were both panting and there was not an inch of Helen which was not shiny with his juices. Even her hair was matted and greasy as she lay on her back with him on his side beside her. He was coughing and gasping for air and she genuinely thought that he would expire there and then which, she felt, would be no bad thing.

In a very short time he recovered and then he was on her again. This nightmare process repeated three or four times and after about the fourth time as she lay on her back with her legs lewdly spread he raised himself to his knees then gripped the arm of a chair and pulled himself to his feet. He was naked now like some stooped, over sized pink chimpanzee. He grabbed her hair and pulled so that, squealing, she had to get to her feet. Still holding her hair he dragged her to the door and threw her out onto the landing and slammed the door leaving her naked and standing in confusion and panic on the bare boards. Then the door opened again and her skirt and blouse were thrown at her landing at her feet. She heard the door locked.

Helen pulled her skirt on and found that her blouse was torn but she put it on holding one hand over the place where the torn fabric exposed her left breast. She had no shoes and no reason to believe that her shoes would be coming out to her. She was sniffing back the tears as she made her way down the stairs desperately hoping that Maxie would be waiting for her. She had no money and no real idea of where she was so, if Max had deserted her, she would just have to walk barefoot and hope that she discovered a part of town which she recognised. Perhaps she could find a cab and pay him when she arrived home.

She was overcome with gratitude when she opened the street door and saw Max parked where she had left her. Helen hurried into the car and Max pulled away without a word. On the drive home Helen more or less recovered her composure. When they stopped outside Helen's home Maxie leaned over and kissed her and told her she had done well. Then Helen had to make a mad dash up her drive hoping that no-one noticed her poor state of dress. She slammed her front door behind her and leaned against it panting in relief. But now the terror had subsided all that remained was self hate. She had willingly gone into the monster's domain and willingly brought him to erection so that he could violate her. And yet it had been Maxie's command and she could no more resist such a command than she could spread her arms and take to the air. Helen sank to the floor with her back still against the door and wept as she hugged herself still smelling her own body reeking of the pungent odour from the man who had used her. Eventually she pulled herself upstairs and had a long shower.

In the days that followed Helen's mind slowly dealt with what had happened to her. The human mind is pre programmed with all sorts of survival mechanisms and one of these is its ability to tone down painful memories. Without that ability no woman would ever have more than one child.

It should also be remembered that Helen's world had been subtly changed to revolve around endorphin generating thrills so her ordeal in the top flat had certainly been humiliating, debasing and painful but it had also, in a dark and mysterious way, fulfilled a need in Helen.

As Helen waited with increasing impatience for Maxie to contact her again she could not push The Man out of her mind. He was the most disgusting creature whom she had ever encountered; the thought of him repulsed her and yet at the same time......at the same time Helen could not understand or even put into words her own thinking but he had a deep, dark fascination. It was as if he had sunk a hook deep into her psyche and he could use it to draw her thoughts to him at any time of his choosing.

Each day Helen was certain that she would hear from Max or one of her cohorts and yet still there was no word. She was still sending her daily reports but she did not dare to ask when she would be contacted again as she knew that such an enquiry was absolutely forbidden. Her thoughts kept coming back to the irrationality of the hold which The Man seemed to have gained over her mind and she feared that she was genuinely losing her sanity. What was it about him? What power did he have and how had he been able on so many occasions to appear and disappear at will?

These thoughts tormented her. He had certainly seemed real when his disgusting member had been moving inside her in that top floor flat and she had not been hooded for the journey from the flat back to her home so, despite the state she had been in during that drive, she had a fairly good idea of how to get back there.

She did not know what she hoped to achieve by going to that sleazy run down area again and part of her feared that The Man would be there waiting to abuse her all over again but something drove her so, at the first opportunity, when the girls were safely at school she got into her car and tried to retrace the journey.

She made several wrong turnings and was coming to believe that the flat had only existed in some dreamworld inside her own head but eventually she found herself driving down a litter infested, graffiti scarred road which she knew was the right one. She drove very slowly scanning the buildings which she passed and fearing that, at any moment, her car would be attacked by thugs and there was the building. It was unmistakably the right one. So it did exist. But it was wrong.

All the windows and the front door were boarded up and obscene but unimaginative graffiti had been scrawled across the boards. Helen parked a little way down the road and walked back to the scene of her ordeal at the hands of the monster. She just stood outside taking in the completely derelict state of the place.

A young woman was coming down the pavement pushing a dribbly toddler in a buggy and Helen asked her if she knew how long the building had been boarded up.

"You 'aving a laugh love?"

Helen hesitatingly assured the woman that her question was genuine.

"This is 31 Crimea Terrace. It's been like this since it 'appened."

The young mother hurried on anxious to be away from the mad woman. Helen looked at the faded number 31 painter beside the door. 31 Crimea Terrace. Of course she knew the address; the media had enjoyed a feeding frenzy when the story broke. The top floor flat had been occupied by a monster who preyed on young women to a prodigious extent. No-one knew how many victims he had destroyed but one night a mob had broken into the flat and beaten him to death. It had been said that he sat at the centre of a web of accomplices who would do his bidding in spreading his evil. He would burrow into a person's soul to uncover their deepest, darkest lusts and fantasies and then he would use those things to bend them to his will so that they became his puppets.

Helen was in a dream as she walked back to her car and then sat behind the wheel. The Monster of Crimea Terrace had met his bloody end approximately a week before Maxie brought The Inquisitor to her door. But Helen's own torment in that flat had been real and the place had not been boarded up at that time. She found herself sobbing as the long suppressed memory came flooding back. Somehow her mind had put together scraps of disjointed memory and created something which was in the wrong order. It had not been Maxie who had taken her to the flat, he had lured her there on a pretext which was no longer important and which was still locked away in her subconscious mind. Helen had been one of his unnamed and unnumbered victims. He had discovered the dark side of Helen's mind and everything which had happened to her since had flowed from that nightmare visit to 31 Crimea Terrace.

She had no memory of driving home that day but when, still sobbing bitterly, she pulled into her drive he was there leaning against a lamp post with his silver topped cane in one hand and one of his filthy cigarettes in the other. He was coughing and she felt his eyes undressing her.