Abducted

Chapter 7 – Recovery

{AUTHOR'S NOTE: - Apologies to my few ardent fans about the delay in publishing Chapter 7 of Emma's Saga. Blame holidays, pressure of work, lack of time for research, and writer's block – in no particular order. Emma doesn't get fucked a lot in the next few chapters, but I'm still developing some important characters. Chapters 8 to 11 follow almost immediately. There may be more, but only if you want it. Please take the time to give me your reactions – for good or ill. Please vote! Thanks for your interest}

Emma barely remembered the next several hours. The nurse brought her a pill and a glass of water. "My name is Kathleen," she started. "I'll just get you cleaned up a bit, and then the doctor will see you. This is a pain-killer, and a mild sedative. It will help you relax."

Dimly, Emma recalled being washed and bathed. Her sore, tortured body was rubbed with healing ointments. A female doctor examined her from top to toe, making copious notes. She was X-rayed, and a digital camera recorded the marks on her skin. Finally, she was laid in a comfortable bed and given a sleeping pill. Within minutes, she had drifted off into a welcome slumber.

The following morning, she awoke, feeling a little refreshed, but with a sore head and a body which seemed to ache all over, and in every joint. Gingerly, she lifted the silk bed cover and looked down at her naked flesh, covered in red welts and blue-black bruises. Another nurse, younger than Kathleen, but also smartly attired in a white uniform, came in with a trolley.

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked brightly in an Italian accent. "A little better?"

"Yes, I think so," agreed Emma, "but I need a toilet."

"OK. Through that door there," said the nurse, pointing to a door on the far wall. "Can you manage?"

"I think so." Emma swung her legs out of bed, and painfully staggered across the room, through the door and into a well-appointed bathroom. Refreshed, she returned to the bedroom. The nurse had laid plates on a small table.

"Hi. You're managing fine. I'm Paola, by the way. I believe you had a rough time yesterday."

"Yes," agreed Emma, "pretty rough. But I'll survive."

"The doctor thought a light breakfast would be best – just fruit juice, cereals, yoghurt and bread," explained the nurse. "I've laid it out on the table here. Slip into that robe and sit here."

Emma did as she was told.

"First some pills," continued Paola, smiling. "A mild pain-killer, your normal contraceptive, and a special 'morning-after' one – we normally use this if a patient has had several men ejaculating inside her."

Emma swallowed them obediently.

"Now, eat some breakfast, and then I'll be back to wash you and dress your wounds. After that the doctor will see you again. I'm pleased to say that there are no broken bones, and no signs of serious damage."

Emma felt suddenly hungry, realising that she hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day. As she ate, she realised that her room had a window. She hadn't seen a window since she arrived here. Quickly, but painfully, she rushed to the window and looked out. The morning sun blazed down from a clear sky. She looked out into a large courtyard, about thirty metres square, with four fountains symmetrically arranged, surrounded by shady arbours and numerous trees, under which a paved path wound. The fountains looked inviting; she heard nothing through the double-glazing, but imagined the water tinkling gently in the shade. A black and white bird, about the size of a robin, but of a species she did not recognise, flew from a tree and drank from one of the fountains. She watched it open its bill as if to sing, but heard nothing.

The door opened behind her, startling Emma. "Enjoying the view?" asked Paola.

"Yes – it looks very beautiful, and cool."

"It's OK early morning and late evening, but in the middle of the day it's far too hot to venture out, even in the shade. It makes my home town in Italy seem quite chilly," laughed the nurse. "Are you ready for your bath now?"

Paola carefully and tenderly anointed Emma's injuries with a soothing balm, and helped her lower herself into a bath of warm perfumed water. Emma lay back, relaxed, enjoying the scent. Paola massaged a delicate shampoo into Emma's scalp, and rinsed it off. She helped Emma out of the bath and wrapped her in a huge soft towel, gently patting her dry. She laid a waterproof sheet across the bed, and beckoned Emma to lie down. Paola applied more of the cool balmy ointment to Emma's body, and expertly massaged it in. Emma lay still, enjoying the soothing effect of the nurse's hands on her tender skin, feeling her aches vanishing, wondering if perhaps Paola was paying a little too much attention to her breasts and her pussy, and almost wishing for more.

Emma sighed contentedly and seemed just about to drift off to sleep when the door flew open. Flustered, Paola looked up. "G... g… good morning, Doctor," she stammered. "The patient is ready for you now."

"Thank you, Paola. You may go."

Paola left the room hurriedly, blushing slightly. Emma recognised the doctor as the one who had examined her the previous night, a small, slight woman, in her fifties, with straight hair and a prim expression. She looked down at Emma's naked body with apparent disinterest.

"How are you feeling to-day?" she began.

"Much better, thank you. A bit sore, but improving."

"Fortunately, you have no broken bones, and no serious injury. There is a little superficial damage to your vagina – probably caused by a particularly large penis. I'll examine it again shortly, just to be sure, but I think it will heal in a couple of days. The rest of your injuries will improve quickly, given the right treatment. I have made a full medical report, and will pass it to the appropriate authorities; they will probably want to interview you to ascertain what actually happened, but in the mean time, I want you to stay here for recuperation. Now, open your legs and let me look at your vagina."

Emma felt a tube being inserted, and the doctor moved in closely to examine Emma. "Yes," she asserted, "it's clearing up quite well, as I thought – but you should keep off penetrative sex for a few more days. I'll make a report to your trainer. Now, put on that nightdress, get back into bed and rest until lunchtime. I'll give you another mild sedative."

The rest of the day passed in something of a blur. Emma was cosseted, pampered, and regularly anointed. The physiotherapist visited, massaged Emma thoroughly, and encouraged exercises to alleviate the pains in her joints and muscles. Emma began to feel much better. She reflected on the events of the past twenty-four hours. It seemed that escape would be nearly impossible, in the short term at least. She resolved to co-operate with her captors for the present. She felt that by co-operating she would not only minimise the amount of pain and torture which she would have to endure, but in time they might allow her more freedom which she could use to advantage.

Later in the afternoon, towards five o'clock, a tall blonde lady entered Emma's room, wearing an immaculately cut plain navy shift dress, which showed off her slim body to perfection. "Good afternoon," she began, "my name is Amira, but you will call me 'Madam'."

"Yes, Madam," replied Emma.

"You should really be naked and on your knees in front of me," continued the stranger, flashing her bright blue eyes, "but we'll let that pass for now." Her English was perfect, with the merest trace of a foreign accent. Emma was strangely reminded of Ingrid Bergmann, from old films on television.

"I'm sorry, Madam; I didn't realise," apologised Emma, making as if to get out of bed.

"No – stay in bed," replied the woman in a stern voice, taking a notebook out of her capacious Louis Vuitton handbag. "I need to ask you some questions. I have been appointed by the Inquest, and need to report to them."

"Inquest, Madam? Inquest into what?" asked Emma, puzzled.

"Into the events of yesterday evening, of course, after your failed escape attempt. It seems that some people may have behaved inappropriately."

"Oh!" remarked Emma, in surprise. "Inappropriately? Who, Madam?"

"That is not your concern," frowned the woman, suddenly showing wrinkles that revealed her age as approaching sixty. "Your business now is to answer my questions, and tell me what happened. You must tell me the truth; I have full judicial authority. If you lie to me, it will be treated as perjury, and the penalty for perjury is to have your tongue cut out. Very unpleasant!"

For the next two hours, Emma answered questions, and related the events of the previous evening. Amira made notes, dispassionately cajoling Emma into remembering how many times she had been beaten, and by whom, and with what. She exhibited no obvious sympathy for Emma's experience, but asked detailed questions about how she had been penetrated, and by whom (or what) and whether she had succumbed to orgasms. Finally, she closed her notebook and stood up. "OK, that will do for now, Leila. I'll get these notes typed up, and then you can go through them. If you think of anything else that might be important, let me know in the morning. Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye, Madam," replied Emma demurely.

'Strange!' thought Emma. 'I dreaded going through yesterday's events, but now that I've done it, I feel much more comfortable, and at ease.'

Shortly afterwards, the nurse called Kathleen arrived with a light dinner for Emma. This was followed by a final massage and a further anointment of soothing balm, before Emma was given a sedative and a pain-killer, and put to bed with instructions to 'sleep well'.

Emma lay in her comfortable bed, drowsily contemplating the whirlwind of events. Automatically, her fingers found their way to her shaved and pouting pussy, and stroked her clitoris, encouraging it to bloom. She snuggled into the soft mattress, feeling the juices begin to flow from her vagina. 'Mmm,' she murmured to herself, 'that feels good.' Her cunt still felt sore, but less so than before. She wished she had access to her favourite vibrator; she would have been so gentle with herself. Her finger moved faster on her clit, and her other hand grasped her bruised left breast, squeezing it hard. A streak of severe pain emanated from her tortured nipple, and radiated through her body. She cried out aloud as the pain metamorphosed into an intense orgasm, and fell into a deep sleep, her fingers still on her damp pussy.

The next day followed a similar course, with frequent massage and application of soothing ointments. At about eleven o'clock, Emma heard the clack of high heels outside her door, and Amira entered, dressed in a cream linen suit, with a short skirt, showing legs well proportioned for a woman of her age. She was carrying a lap-top computer. Quickly, Emma slipped off her robe and fell to her knees in the submissive pose which Yasmin had taught her.

"Good girl," smiled Amira. "You learn quickly."

Amira studied the kneeling girl with a practised eye. "Oh yes," she finally announced, "You are indeed very lovely, and have beautiful white skin. The marks are beginning to fade already. You show real promise. I would have liked the opportunity to train you myself, but His Highness prefers male trainers for his female slaves. His grandfather was more flexible; I myself was trained by a woman. Hans is a lucky man!"

"You too were a slave, Madam?"

"Oh, yes, many years ago," replied Amira, smiling, "but I was freed when His Highness' grandfather died. Since then, I have had several important positions in the royal household."

Amira sat down, placed the computer on her lap and opened it. "The Inquest has been scheduled for Tuesday," she continued. "I have typed up my notes and need you to go through and check the accuracy. You are familiar with Microsoft Word, I assume?"

"Oh, yes, Madam," replied Emma, "I have used it a lot." She thought for a moment, and spoke again. "Excuse me, Madam, but I think I am a little confused about the days. To-day is Sunday, I think. Is that right?"

"Yes, and the Inquest will be on Tuesday, in two day's time. You'll find the notes on this disk, in a file called 'Leila notes.doc'. Go through them carefully, and amend anything that is not quite correct. Remember that any untruths will be classified as perjury, and you know the penalty for that!"

"Yes, Madam," agreed Emma, shuddering inwardly.

"If there are points in the notes on which you are not absolutely certain, you must say so. If, for example, you can no longer be quite sure which man did something to you at a certain point, you must make that clear. This is most important. Use a phrase such as 'I cannot be quite sure, but I think it was X'. The Inquisitors will understand, and make suitable allowance. They will receive written testimonies from all the parties involved, and will be particularly keen to explore any discrepancies."

"Will I have to attend the Inquest, Madam?" asked Emma.

"Of course. You are one of the principals. Your testimony will be crucial. It is very important for you that the Inquisitors believe your account, otherwise they may accuse you of perjury."

Emma's brain was in turmoil. It sounded as if she was going to be on trial herself. She was close to panic.

"But Madam," she began, cautiously, "am I allowed a lawyer?"

"Of course not," replied the older woman in an exasperated tone. "Why on earth would you need a lawyer? All you have to do is tell the truth; the Inquest will then decide. However, your Master will be at the Inquest, and because you are new here, he has been given permission to advise you. I must leave now. Go through the notes this afternoon; I will collect your amended version at six o'clock."

"Yes, Madam. When will I see Hans?"

"HANS???" Amira exploded. "You must NEVER refer to him as 'Hans'. He is your Master!" she insisted.

"I am sorry, Madam. When will I see my Master?" Emma replied, in a soft, quavering voice.

"That's better! I don't know for sure. Probably to-morrow afternoon, after he has had time to study your testimony, and that of the other principals."

After lunch, and between further sessions with the physiotherapist and attention from her nurse, Emma carefully went through Amira's notes, amending a few points. As promised, Amira returned shortly after six o'clock. Emma again removed her robe and adopted her submissive posture.

"Very good, Leila," remarked Amira, approvingly. "You have been through the notes?"

"Yes, Madam, and made a few changes. I believe they are quite accurate now."

"I hope so. Your Master has confirmed that he will see you to-morrow afternoon, at about two o'clock. I will arrange for you to see the hairdresser and beautician in the morning; you will want to look your best for your first proper session with your Master."

"Oh, yes, Madam," agreed Emma. "Thank you, Madam."

"I will collect you at nine o'clock, and will bring suitable clothing for you. Make sure you have bathed and had your bruises dressed before then."

"Yes, Madam."

In bed that night, Emma pondered her day. It was odd, but for the first time since her abduction, she couldn't recall having thought about Max, Peter, her family, her work, or even the possibility of escape. Was she getting used to her new life already? Hazily, she wondered if she was being surreptitiously drugged, and brainwashed.

True, she had had a busy day. The process of going through in detail the events of her punishment, torture and rape had left her strangely disconcerted and aroused. Several times, as she read the report on screen, she had felt uncomfortably damp between her thighs, and only with some difficulty had resisted the urge to let her hand wander under her robe to stroke her pussy. She had difficulty understanding what was happening to her. The index finger of her right hand brushed casually over her clitoris, feeling the juices seeping from her empty vagina. Was she actually missing the pain, wanting it? She raised her left hand to her left breast, grasped her tortured nipple and squeezed hard. Pain shot through her body. She gasped aloud, and pressed her finger against her swollen clit. Taking it between her thumb and forefinger, she squeezed hard. She rolled it between her finger tips, and did the same with her nipple. Oh yes, that was so sore, but it felt so good. How she wished she had a vibrator for her cunt - or a spare finger for her arsehole. Oh yes, yes – she needed that so much.

Reluctantly, she released her nipple, pushed her free hand under her buttocks, and tested the tight bud of her anal hole. It felt damp, wet with the juices flowing down from her pussy. Her legs opened wider, giving her hands better access to play. Her lips moistened even more, as she slipped a finger into her cunt. The still-tender walls seemed to grasp her finger and contract around it. She gave a low moan of sheer pleasure, pushing a second finger, and then a third, inside herself, the soft warmth of her pussy seeming to suck them in. She took a deep breath, and forced her legs back over her head, opening herself still further.

A vision of Clyde's massive penis swept unbidden before her closed eyes. Oh no! She couldn't take that monster again! Desperately, she tried to force her fingers further inside herself, opening her fist to stretch her cunt wider, remembering the feeling of being filled so completely by Clyde's Roger.

Oh yes! Her fingers worked faster, building her arousal, slipping inside her, stretching her, filling her, feeling how wet, hot and slippery she was. Perspiration flowed from every pore in her body. Her left index finger pressed harder against the rosebud of her anus, seeking entry, gaining entry, sliding into her passage. She began moving her finger in and out of her anus, in time with the fingers in her cunt. Her clitoris needed attention! She didn't have enough hands. Desperately, she tried to stimulate her clit with the thumb of her right hand, but she couldn't get the angle right. In exasperation, she withdrew the finger from her anus and brought it round the front to attack her clit. Furiously she rubbed, and then squeezed it tight. She was aware of a loud whimpering, building to a scream, and a long low howl as she climaxed. Still her hands and fingers moved frantically, building her orgasm to greater heights. "Oh fuck, yes, Clyde! Fuck me harder. I need Roger. Yes!!! Right up me. All the way!!! Yes!!!"

Still her fingers moved inside her. The sound, feel and smell of her wet pussy pushed her on. Her other hand continued to work on her clit, circling it, rolling it, pinching it, moving faster and faster as the intensity built. Her whole body tensed as she found release, moaning further obscenities as she shuddered and felt her sopping cunt grip the fingers inside it.

Finally, she relaxed, withdrawing her hand from her pussy, and bringing it to her face to savour the potent scent of her arousal. She continued to stroke her clitoris, but gently now. Sweat pooled on her body, and dripped onto the crisp sheets. Dreamily, she turned onto her right side, pulled the sheet around her body and settled into a foetal position, her finger still on her clit. She sighed contentedly, snuggled into her pillow, and drifted into a contented slumber.

The next morning, after Emma had bathed and breakfasted, the door to her room opened and a strange figure entered, completely enveloped in pale grey cloth, and carrying a package.

"Madam?" queried Emma, dropping to her knees in submission.

"Yes, Leila; it is I!" The voice came from behind a veil.

As she looked more closely, Emma noticed a slit in the veil, behind which shone Amira's piercing blue eyes.

"Why are you looking at me?" shouted Amira, crossly. "Lower your gaze to the floor as you were told!"