"Hello Elizabeth."
God. Him again. The CEO.
The man who had made me his whore.
The man who had taken me – raped me – and had me dance topless for him in his office to thank him for it.
The man who had delivered me here: 'The Scrava' club, London.
The man who had stroked my bottom with his cane while they tattooed my number onto my left buttock.
Whore ninety-four.
He had done that to me.
Him.
Why had I let him do all that?
How did I end up on my elbows and knees before him – as I was now – head bowed, bottom raised up high at his behest, naked but for a pair of whore-heels, neck cruelly collared and cuffed to a metal ring in the floor, ball-gagged, able only to stare at the tips of his shiny black shoes, standing inches from my chin?
How did I let that happen?
Why the need to restrain me at all?
I had been cooperative, hadn't I?
I had been well behaved – I had been a good whore ninety-four for them, hadn't I?
A pair of delicately strapped white high-heels clicked self-importantly around to my rear, paused briefly (to admire my bottom?), then paraded around the other side, circling me, eventually rejoining the CEO's patent black leather shoes at my chin.
It was her: Nicola - one of the CEO's many bleached-blonde assistants.
Why was she here?
Why did she have to be here?
Why wasn't she the whore?
She was so much younger than me - barely an adult.
Did they have to demean me like this in front of her – in front of someone so... junior?
Why wasn't I the one strutting imperiously around her, looking down smugly at her naked, trembling, body. Why wasn't I the one encircling her - enjoying her predicament, knowing that I was her superior, knowing that she was the worthless whore?
Why was I the whore?
Why couldn't it be her neck-cuffed to the floor, bottom-raised and numbered?
The CTO – my ex-boss - was present too. He sat somewhere behind me – no doubt ogling my naked bottom and exposed pussy as I stuck them up for him.
God. I used to run errands for him. Now I displayed and offered my sex to him!
How had I let it come to that?
What did they want?
Why were they here?
"Spread your knees, girl," Nicola demanded bossily, having minced around to my rear again. She prodded my bottom disdainfully with her foot.
Girl? She was calling me a 'girl'? I was at least six years older than her! What right did she have to call me a girl!?
Why did they let her speak to me like that?
And what right did she have to prod me with her feet?
"NOW," she insisted and gave me another two kicks – one landing on each of my inner thighs.
Did I have to obey her?
Why weren't the orders coming from the CEO?
I was his whore, wasn't I? – I worked for him, didn't I?
Not for her.
No way.
Due to the restraint around my neck, I could hardly move – certainly not gainfully. I could have thrashed my legs against the floor, I suppose. But what good would that have done?
God.
Why?
Why had I allowed myself to be chained down like that, exactly?
I had known precisely what I had been doing, hadn't I?
The CEO had simply pointed at his feet; I had curtsied, fallen to my knees obediently, and bowed my head before him. I had remained impeccably still and silent while they had secured the collar around my neck and attached me to the floor.
I hadn't had a choice, had I?
I had to obey and honour him, didn't I?
That's what I did, wasn't it?
That was what was expected of me.
That was what was expected of a well-behaved whore.
"RIGHT NOW, girl" Nicola snapped, kicking me once again on each of my inner-thighs.
Why didn't the CEO – or even the CTO for that matter – over-rule her and tell her to keep quiet?
Reluctantly, I parted my knees a little for her.
"MORE," she demanded, giving me another prod with her foot.
...Stop kicking me...
...How dare you...
I whimpered a small protest into my gag, but to no avail: She prodded me again.
"COME ON girl," she barked. "We don't have all day."
Grudgingly, I spread my knees apart as far as I could, until they could spread no further.
My bottom was high; my knees apart, my pussy available. If I hadn't been on display before, I certainly was now.
"Good girl," she giggled obnoxiously.
Why were they doing this to me?
I didn't need to be neck-cuffed to the floor – I would have gone down on all fours and stuck my bottom in the air for them at the slightest command.
I would have licked the floor at the CEO's feet if he had instructed me to.
God. Would I really have done that?
Was that what I had become?
"Your training is over, Elizabeth," the CEO announced suddenly.
...He called me 'Elizabeth'... No-one ever called me that any more...
Why did he let Nicola call me her 'girl'?
My training was over?
"You are ready to progress," he went on, his voice easy, confident, smooth. "This is your audition."
My audition?
What was he saying?
That I was almost ready to be their whore for real now? That it could be my job - that I would be paid?
Was that why they were here today – to tell me that?
"Allow me to explain the format to you, Elizabeth," he continued calmly. "I want you to listen carefully and I want you to understand each and every word that I say to you. If at any time you do not understand me, or if you feel something is not clear, then I want you to do something for me: I want you to push a finger into your pussy and play with yourself. I will interpret that as a sign that you require further explanation. You will continue playing with yourself until you have understood. If or when you remove your finger, I will assume you have removed it because you have understood me, and I will proceed to the next item."
What?
He wanted me to do what?
What the...?
What kind of audition was that?
Surely they should have me dance for them? - Perform for them, entertain them, pleasure them...?
Wasn't that what an audition should be about?
How could being chained to the floor by my neck be part of an audition?
"Right," he started, "Let the audition begin."
I stared at his shoes and saw a smudge of myself in their reflection.
I disgusted myself.
I clamped my eyes shut.
"You are almost ready to work for us," he started. "You have demonstrated sufficient understanding of your role. In particular you have demonstrated that you understand that you are a whore - our whore - and that as a whore you are expected to obey your superiors at all times. You understand that you are reprimanded only when you fail to comply with our requests in a satisfactory and timely manner."
He paused.
I didn't move a muscle.
They were going to pay me, weren't they?
"You have been registered, numbered, and trained. You accept your number, you accept your role and you accept the authority of your superiors."
Again, I didn't move.
I had accepted all of it, hadn't I? They must have already known that, surely?
"You have come a long way, Elizabeth," the CEO went on, taking the time to mouth the words carefully, deliberately. "Yes - a very long way. Not many girls would have had the courage to come as far as you have."
Was that intended as a complement?
Did that make me special?
"It is my duty to inform you that you will continue to serve as our whore," he said, "but that you will not be paid. Not now, not ever."
Oh God.
That was why they were here.
To tell me that.
That!
Oh God. Please not that.
What was I supposed to do about that?
How could I do anything with my neck bound to the floor at their feet?
...Don't accept it...
...Don't let them think they can get away with that...
I mean, they had to pay me, didn't they?
Weren't there laws against that kind of thing?
Jesus.
I moaned into my gag, to no avail.
"You will work for us because we own you," he went on. "You accept our ownership of you. We own your face and you accept it. We own your tits and you accept that too. We own your pussy, your arse. All of it owned by us."
