Chapter 4 – More Questions
Back in her room, Emma looked at the clock. 12 noon. She had been in the 'interview room' for less than two hours! It was hard to believe. So much had happened.
She went to the bathroom, started to run the water for a bath, and slipped off her robe. She stared in the mirror at her soft, white body, the whiteness of her skin marred by angry red marks on her breasts, torso, thighs and buttocks. She found the jar marked 'Bath Balm' and applied the ointment liberally to her wounds as instructed. Immediately, she felt the stinging pain lessen as the balm worked its way into her sore skin. Gratefully, she stepped into the bath and immersed herself.
As she lay soaking, Emma tried to take stock. She didn't know where she was, but it was obviously a long way from home. There seemed little prospect of escape, but they seemed careful not to allow her out of the room without a blindfold. Did that mean they were worried about her seeing something or someone who might help her? She stored the thought.
Emma pondered her situation. This was no initiative test, she thought bitterly. She couldn't get used to the idea that this could be happening to her, and at the end of the twentieth century. Surely she would have been missed by now, at least at work. How long before they raised the alarm and started looking for her? Would they find any clues?
She was promised another session this afternoon. There was much she needed to know, and she needed to concentrate and get her mind in order. How long before they started her 'training'? She had no real indication as to what the 'training' would consist of, but she felt that it was certain to be unpleasant, and that her freedom would be curtailed still further.
The bath and the balm eased her pain considerably. As she dried herself, she noticed the weals appeared less angry. She patted them gently with the towel. When dry, she dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, and sat in a comfortable armchair to contemplate.
Shortly after one o'clock, the two oriental maids appeared with her lunch trolley. Remembering Yasmin's instructions, Emma didn't try to get any information from them. Gratefully, she noticed that a half-bottle of Sancerre 1993 had been supplied. Emma would have liked something stronger; a large gin and tonic might have settled her shattered nerves, but it was probably better, she reflected, to keep a clear head. She poured a glass of wine – an excellent vintage, and served at just the right temperature, cool but not chilled – and picked at her lunch without much enthusiasm. A plan was beginning to form in her mind. She secreted another bottle of water inside a small cupboard, together with a couple of bread rolls, and some fruit. She ordered steak (rare) for her evening meal.
Yasmin watched, unseen behind the two-way mirror.
After the meal had been cleared away, Emma started looking through the books installed in a bookcase along one wall. She noticed several which seemed to relate to slavery and submission, sadism and masochism. She had heard of one, 'The Story of O', and started reading. As she read, her worries increased. Was this the sort of regime to which she would be subjected?
Suddenly, at precisely 2.30, the door opened and Yasmin entered. Emma, surprised, looked up from her book. "On your knees, Slut!" barked the older woman. "When I enter a room, you will get down on your knees, and stay there until given permission to rise!"
Emma obeyed immediately. "I am sorry, Madam. I didn't realise."
"That's it, and spread your legs. Lower your gaze; look at the floor, not at me. Place your hands behind your back, to accentuate your breasts. No keep your back straight, and your head up, but lower your gaze. Yes, like that. That is the posture you will adopt in future when I, or anyone else in authority, enters your room."
"Yes, Madam."
She picked up the book Emma had been reading. "Yes," she said, "you'll find this useful, Slut. I would also recommend these." Yasmin selected another three books from the shelf, and laid them on the table. "Try these when you have finished 'The Story of O'. They will give you a greater understanding of the journey you are about to make."
Emma thought to herself that she would do anything possible to avoid making that journey, but for the moment, it was important to obey Yasmin and to try to gain her trust.
Yasmin seated herself in an armchair. "Very well, Leila," she began, "you may rise now and be seated. You have some more questions?"
Emma got up from her knees, and sat opposite Yasmin. "Thank you, Madam," she said, careful to keep her eyes lowered, in what she hoped was a sufficiently submissive pose. "If it would please you, Madam, could you tell me about my training? When will it start?"
"As soon as we have the results of your tests."
"Tests, Madam? What tests?"
"Everyone in the palace who is sexually active is tested each month for sexually-transmitted diseases, including HIV. Anyone new is considered 'unclean' until they have been tested. It is a serious offence to have sex with an unclean person. Samples were taken while you were under sedation, and we should have the results in a day or two. You will then be assigned a trainer, and your lessons will start."
"I see, Madam; I wondered why you told the guards that I was unclean. Now I understand."
"We need to be careful with new arrivals," continued Yasmin, "especially in your case, because of your partners."
"But I have only two, Madam."
"Yes, but one – Max I believe – is married. He has sex with his wife, and you were not his only mistress."
"What?"
"Oh yes. Only last week he took his secretary to Amsterdam on business. They booked separate rooms, but only used one bed."
"Bastard!" exclaimed Emma under her breath.
"We believe," Yasmin went on, "that she has another regular partner as well. And your other lover – Peter – spends every week in London, where he also has a regular girlfriend. We didn't have time to establish what she does at weekends when Peter returns to Edinburgh."