Chains in Mind Page 8

  Hubert moved, and she scooted her chair back to give him room to get under her expensive antique desk. There was an extension to her desk top on the right side, giving an extra two feet before the wall under the window; but, underneath, the extension was a two drawer filing cabinet, and so would not have allowed Hubert any extra space; and in any case, the desk itself had solid hardwood panels on each end, right down to the floor. There was only one drawer on either side of the central footwell, giving sufficient height for him to lie down. As Katherine kicked off her court shoes, Hubert lay down on his back, his legs pulled up to fit the space, his knees pressing against the left side panel, his head on the floor right in front of her. She moved her chair forward again, and put one stockinged foot on his face. He turned slightly towards her and began nuzzling both her feet as she brought them within range, not getting them wet with his mouth, but running his cheek along her instep, massaging them with his closed lips, stroking them with his jaw. He was moving his head freely, not lying still, raising his shoulders as necessary, but keeping his hands down at his sides. Her toes curled with delight, and she turned back to her work. It would be alright. She just had to make sure that nothing did slip, that any trouble was nipped in the bud. Hubert continued his attentions, and she rubbed the sole of one foot across the ridge of his nose, while the other rested on the sculpted muscles of his chest.

  As her confidence returned, she gradually became rougher with him, putting more weight on his chest, moving down to his abdomen where the ridges of his six-pack were springy underfoot. With her right foot, she started pushing his head around, pushing with the ball of her foot until he was turned with one cheek on the floor, facing the wall; then hooking her heel under his nose, and dragging him back and pressing down until his other cheek was on the floor, and he was facing the castors of her chair. She even used the ball of her foot to give his cheek and jaw little kicks.

  He took it without fuss. With her stockinged feet, she would have to be much rougher to do him any serious harm. His strength - all at her disposal - reassured her, added to her confidence. Everything was going to be fine.

  ***

  The whole household was ready for Patricia’s visit, so when, at about ten to four, her chauffeur pressed the intercom at the gate, she did not have to wait more than a few seconds for a response. Her long, black, limousine, complete with darkened windows, rolled up to the main entrance of the mansion, and the uniformed driver jumped out to run round and open her car door. Katherine came out to welcome her, and the two ladies kissed cheeks with affection.

  Patricia was about the same age as Katherine. She was tall and slim, and looked like a model, with honey-coloured hair that came in complex coiffured waves down to her shoulders. Today, she was wearing a designer suit: a long oyster-coloured jacket coming down to mid thigh, with big lapels; and matching Capri trousers, with black high-heeled ankle boots in very soft and supple leather. She had a Louis Vuitton bag slung over one shoulder.

  She held Katherine’s hands and looked closely at her face.

  “Katherine, my dear, how are you?”

  Katherine smiled. “All the better for seeing you. You’re looking great, as always.”

  Patricia laughed. “You’re too kind. I got this in Paris, last month.” She looked Katherine up and down. “I like that dress.”

  Katherine knew she probably didn’t mean it. The simple, flared, black dress was comfortable and elegant, but it wasn’t the high fashion that Patricia preferred. Still, she appreciated the compliment.

  “Do come in,” she said, ushering her guest inside, and into the drawing room for tea. Susan was there. She was still wearing her leather skirt and waistcoat, after all. She stood up to meet the visitor, and Patricia greeted her warmly. Thomas served the ladies from two matching silver teapots, to offer a choice of tea blends, with lemon or milk. He waited on the ladies with a silver platter of cucumber sandwiches. Unobtrusive and tactful, he was always at hand when wanted, but did not interfere with the ladies’ conversation.

  “So,” said Katherine, as soon as they were well settled, “I’ve acquired a suitable computer programmer - the one we discussed: James Elgin. He’s downstairs working right now. Susan has been filled in on the general idea of this project, but she asked me this morning what the purpose was; why we were doing it at all, and I’m not sure I gave a very convincing answer, so I thought, Patricia, since you wanted to see James in any case, we might take the opportunity to have a chat.” She waited, and shot a glance at her guest.

  Patricia put her cup back on its saucer, and took a moment to reflect. Both Katherine and Susan were paying close attention, but she addressed herself mostly to the younger woman.

  “Well, Susan, my thirtieth birthday is coming up in November,” she said, and grimaced.

  “Oh, don’t remind me,” said Katherine, “because that means mine is next January.”

  “Anyway,” Patricia continued, a little frown passing fleetingly across her face - she had got out of the habit of being interrupted - “that has made me take stock, a little.” She turned fully to Susan. “I don’t know if Katherine’s told you how I came to have the mind control technology we use, but if not, I’m happy to explain, some other time. The important thing is that I’ve had the system we’re using now for four years, and in that time, what have I done? I’ve brought in my best friend from university,” - Patricia nodded at Katherine - “and a couple of other women. I’ve made dozens of male slaves, and got rich, but really, it’s nothing; nothing at all.” She bit her lip, and frowned:

  “We aren’t invulnerable: if a squad of police came up the drive right now, with a search warrant, then it would probably be all over. And if we carry on like this, then sometime, maybe not for years, but sometime, our existence will get out, or someone will make the same basic discovery independently, or both. You might think it’s easy, that we can just take over anyone who comes against us, but it’s not. People are clever and resourceful. Our only protection right now is that they don’t suspect anything.”

  Patricia took a moment to help herself to the handmade biscuits that Thomas was offering.

  “So the point is, I’ve been thinking about two questions: first, what do we need to do to protect ourselves? Two main things: first, we need to keep a watch on what all neuroscience and nanotech researchers are up to, and have a plan ready, to suppress the wrong kind of research when it crops up: secondly, we need to take over the police and other official investigators. I’ve made a start locally - you know that the deputy chief constable round here, Amanda Patterson, is one of us?

  “And the other question is: what do we actually want to achieve with the power we have? I’ve been thinking it over all this year, and I’ve decided what I want. I’ve always felt that men should know their place. I mean, really, it’s disgusting the way they swagger around, as if their own desires were all that mattered, demanding to get their own way. I won’t have it.

  “I want to change society, to put women in charge, where they belong. Within thirty years, I want males to be, legally, minors - which means they’ll lose the vote, they’ll need a female guardian, they won’t own property, or drive, or have a bank account, or anything like that. And within fifty years, I want to be able to drive a pony-boy down the Mall outside Buckingham Palace, and use a whip liberally, without raising an eyebrow amongst the passers-by.”

  Patricia looked carefully at the other two women. A moment ago, these aims had been nowhere in their thoughts, but now they were enthusiastically committed to them. Katherine and Susan - and all the other ladies that Patricia had recruited - never thought about, or were bothered by, the modifications to their own minds - and that was part of the modification - but if Patricia stated a goal, they could not help but adopt it as their own.

  “Do you see the point, now? Not every woman can live like us - there aren’t enough males to go round, for a start, and
not every woman is suitable for treatment. To move a whole society, we need to be more subtle. Sallis and Company is a pilot project. If we can change it successfully, then we can move on to the key pressure points in society: the courts and the justice system; the police; the press; TV and advertising; education; politics; the armed forces.”

  Patricia counted off these areas on her manicured fingers as she remembered them; clearly, she had given her strategy some thought.

  “Most people are quite willing to go with the mood of the times. We want anyone who doesn’t like the way we make society go to feel that he’s alone - that all the newspapers are against him, except for the odd letter from someone who is clearly crazy and incoherent, that the policies are apparently very popular with voters: that the police won’t tolerate him making a nuisance of himself, that even the TV soaps show things our way.”

  Katherine and Susan nodded keenly. There was a pause. Apparently Patricia had said all she wanted to say.

  “Shall we get James up here?” Katherine suggested. “You wanted to see him.”

  Patricia concurred, and Thomas went to get him.

  As James came into the room, he faltered to find himself suddenly the centre of attention of three ladies. Two days ago, of course, he would have barely noticed, but so much had changed for him since then. Unbidden, he fell to his knees, and bowed his head. He knew that he was still raw and untrained - ‘fresh meat’ Ms. Denton had called him - and therefore liable to make a mistake and anger his mistress or one of her friends unintentionally, and that was reason enough for the slight tremble in his hands, as they hung at his sides.

  “You are James Elgin, boy?” Patricia asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you are Ms. Watson’s slave?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmm.” Patricia just studied him for a while. He kept his eyes on the carpet in front of him.

  “You are crucial to this project at Sallis and Company. Did you know that, boy?”

  He stuttered. “Uh, I know it’s an important job, ma’am.”

  “And this is a pilot project: central to my plans for the future.”

  “I .... I didn’t know that, ma’am.”

  “So I have to be very sure of you. You see that, don’t you boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Having made that point, Patricia paused for a moment.

  “You do adore Ms. Watson, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So you’d be happy to be whipped, if that was what she wanted?”

  James swallowed. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

  “Good. Katherine, if you don’t mind?”

  “No, of course, that’s fine.” Katherine was relaxed. “James, do as you’re told.” She wasn’t sure this was necessary: in fact she strongly suspected that it was mostly for Patricia’s enjoyment. Still, it wouldn’t do James any permanent harm, and she wouldn’t be a good hostess if she refused such a small thing: James was only a slave, after all.

  “Take off your shirt, boy,” Patricia ordered, “and kneel over this table.”

  Thomas, anticipating the ladies’ wishes as usual, was instantly ready to move the tray and cups off the low coffee table in front of them. James, now bare from the waist up, knelt at one end and leaned forward to rest his front on the top. His head overhung the far end, and he stared fixedly at the carpet, gripping the table legs with his hands.

  “Good.” Patricia stood up. “Susan, may I borrow that cart whip you have there?”

  She held the stock in one hand, and ran the cord through her fingers, getting the feel of the implement. She smiled faintly to herself. She took a position behind James and set her feet apart.

  As it happened, Katherine was in the chair that James was facing. She moved back a little way to make sure she was clear of any mistimed blows, but James could probably still see her ankles at least. That would help him marginally in his ordeal: to have the object of his devotion in sight. It was an accident, but she was glad of it. James’s back looked white and tender, unmarked, so far, unlike his abdomen or his thigh.

  Patricia’s arm went back, and she swung. The lash cracked on his back, and his whole body quivered. He moaned in pain, but he stayed in position. Patricia was just getting her eye in. The next stroke was harder. And the next. James was making a high-pitched sound now, like a long drawn-out sob. His body jerked with each impact, and his hands showed white with the intensity of his grip on the table legs. Patricia gave him six lashes. When she stopped, she was breathing hard with the exercise. With her eyes still on James, she took the whip and wrapped the cord around the stock neatly; then she turned to Susan and handed it back.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said. Her eyes were bright and the colour had risen in her cheeks; she sat down, still watching James carefully. His body was trembling with reaction, his chest quaking as he tried to remain silent.

  “Hmm,” she said, attempting a casual tone. “Yes, I think he will do. A whipping is a good way to make a boy’s true character show itself. Notice that he’s obviously sensitive,” - tears were silently flowing down James’s face - “but he didn’t try to pull away, or beg me to stop. That shows obedience and determination. Good. You can get up, now, boy.”

  James stood, his mouth open, panting.

  “So, James, can you write the computer system that’s required?” Patricia asked.

  James tried to speak, but only managed a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Yes, ma’am, I think so.”

  Patricia looked at Katherine.

  “That’s a good boy, James,” said Katherine, gently. She didn’t think of herself as a cruel woman. “You can go back to work, now.”

  “Yes, mistress,” said James, and headed for the door.

  “Take your shirt with you.”

  “Oh.” The beaten slave turned back and picked up his shirt from the carpet, before scuttling through the door.

  Thomas offered the ladies more tea.

  Chapter Ten

  Sixth floor/East of the Sallis and Company building specialised in accounting services for service contractors: plumbing and electrical companies, gas-heating engineers, and so forth. Joe was the boss, an affable man, perhaps not quite as sharp as he used to be, coasting gently towards retirement. He had a corner office, of course, and the other two offices along the same side were kept as meeting and project rooms. The eight qualified accountants under him, five guys and three women, had desks in the open-plan area. Opposite the offices was a small kitchenette for the staff, and, beside that, the main entrance from the foyer. The lift, the stairs and the toilets, opened off the foyer and were shared with Sixth floor/West, on the far side. And that was it: the building had quite a small floor plan: it gave a cosy, almost family, atmosphere which was generally liked. People popped up and down from other floors, of course - IT support, for example, when there was a computer problem - but mostly, it was just the nine of them.

  The women, Chrissie and Sophie, who were in their twenties, and Margaret, who was rather older, had been a bit nonplussed by the vague allegations of sexism in work allocation. It was true that Joe was old-fashioned: sometimes he talked about ‘you girls’, but then he would correct himself with a sheepish smile and say: ‘Sorry, “women”’. They had always thought he was fair, though. Maybe the problem was on another floor; still, if things were going to improve for them, then they were hardly going to complain.

  Simon arrived at work and immediately headed for the coffee. Sallis and Company provided a filter machine in the kitchenette, and the coffee was free; cleaning out the machine, though, and putting more on when the pot was empty, was a communal responsibility; which meant, of course, that it often didn’t happen.

  But there was no problem first thing in the morning.
Simon had never thought to wonder why it was always spotless, first thing. Today, as usual, Chrissie was standing against the worktop, watching the first batch of the day slowly drip through the filter. Her skirt was well below the knee again, he noticed with disapproval: he knew she had great legs, and wished she would show them off more, but she persisted in these loose skirts and jackets: they had a smart business pinstripe, but they were usually at least a foot longer than they needed to be.

  He liked her. He thought he could almost certainly have her, if he exerted himself, but after he’d had her and dumped her, it might make for a bit of an unpleasant atmosphere round the office, and there were plenty of other girls out there. Besides, she was a bit too innocent and meek for his taste: a good little girl who had grown up to be ... a good little girl with a degree in accountancy. Still, she definitely made the office prettier.

  “Hi there, sunshine,” Simon said, cheerily. Chrissie usually got in early; she was a bit of a worrier, and liked to think over her work from the day before one extra time, before everyone else arrived.

  She was twisting a tress of her long, dark-golden hair, round her fingers. Her anxious expression cleared as she looked up, and she gave him a smile.

  “Good morning, Simon.” She looked concerned again. “Simon, what do you think I should do about the Bleasdale contract? Joe says I have to get the year-ends done first, but Mr. Cartwright wants the production forecasts by the end of next week.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to a thing Joe says,” Simon advised, breezily. “He doesn’t know anything about it. And now we have this new allocation system, he can’t fob you off with all the rubbish jobs.”

  That was quite a cavalier attitude to take to your line manager, and Chrissie didn’t look convinced.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said. The coffee came ready, and she disposed of the used filter, and poured them each a mug. She knew how he liked it, and added milk and sugar for him without asking.