The Education of Rachel

The Education of Rachel

After a long drive through pastoral farm lands, John turned the car slowly onto a narrow gravel road. The day was warm, this being the first day of June, and many shafts of glimmering sun- light cut through the newly foliated trees of the forest the road wound through. The shades of green, brown, and glistening yellow gave the little path a mystical quality, and Rachel stared almost transfixed at the changing colours ahead of the car.

They had not spoken a word to each other on the long journey -- that had been decided previously. John left Rachel to ponder her future and the changes she had decided to implement in their relationship. For her part, Rachel's mind seemed utterly blank. She wanted desperately to face the day's challenges with a clear, open mind, and not be enslaved by her fears. Still, occasional shafts of doubt pierced her serenity, like the light through the leaves; she could not yet be free of her apprehensions.

The miles down the tiny road seemed to require an hour to tra- verse, the path twisted and raised and lowered so dramatically. When they arrived at the large gate, neither of them had any sense of which direction they were now facing. On either side of the road, an ominous fence was born and sliced through the thick forest for as far as their eyes could see. The fences looked formidable, 12 feet high and topped with an additional 2 feet of barbed wire. The gate that bridged the gap between the two fences, blocking the road, was no less impressive. It appeared to be nothing more than a twelve by twelve foot slab of steel. On a metal pole next to the road, John noticed a small intercom box. Rachel's face betrayed no emotions; her eyes traced the length of the pole and saw that it was crowned with several video cameras.

A light on the intercom box caught John's attention as it lit brightly. Presently, the speaker crackled to life and a man's voice issued forth.

"Good day to you both, and welcome. Mr. Heath, if you would be so kind as to help the young lady out of your car?" The voice was calm and cultured; even through the metallic transmogrifica- tions of the intercom, Rachel thought she detected a distant hint of an accent. John opened his car door and stepped out onto the road, which was purely dirt at the gate, walked around the front of the car and opened his passenger's door. Rachel barely no- ticed him, and continued staring ahead of the car even though her view was now totally obscured by the metal gate.

"Rachel?" John whispered. It would be for the last time. Slowly she turned her head to gaze up at him. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, then she took his outstretched hand and got up out of the car.

"Very good." The calm, metallic voice responded. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Heath. We need not take up any more of your time." At this Rachel started, and stared suddenly at John. Was he leaving her here? Now? Her silent questions were answered as John sat down in the driver's seat and closed both doors. With barely a glance in her direction he turned the car around and headed back down the road.

For the first time in her life she felt totally alone. A chill- ing breeze breathed life into the forest trees; they rustled noisily for some moments before coming once again to rest. The silence following was complete. Rachel hugged her arms to her breast to fight the chill. Wasn't it warm just a few minutes earlier? After some few long minutes she heard a sound from below her feet --- the gate was moving, lowering itself into an open crack in the ground. Staring, frozen in uncertain emotion, Rachel watched the huge door slide completely out of sight, revealing only a narrow foot path onward through the trees.

"Miss Stansbury," the cultured voice intoned, "We are a mere few hundred paces ahead of you. Do come and join us, but please be careful to remain on the path at all times."

For a long moment she pondered. The gate that efficiently kept out trespassers would just as easily keep a guest from leaving. She knew that the dark line of the crack across the road was a line that, once crossed, would demarcate the boundaries of her life forever. Still, it was a long walk back to the road; and from there? She had given herself no alternatives; proudly she stepped over the line and proceeded down the path, further into the forest.

As Rachel walked through the high trees along the path, the hum of electric machinery she heard over her shoulder confirmed her belief that the gate was closing. Continuing forward, she did not look back to the gate or the fence; they were nothing to her now. With a quickening pace she mounted a steep hill in the forest, the path twisted several times and then entered a large clearing.

Upon gaining the clearing, Rachel saw her final destination. Ahead of her was a small complex of concrete and glass struc- tures, all surrounding a large central pool cut out of natural rock. The bright June sun cast its full light on the hilltop, giving the whole scene a blinding, whiter-than-white appearance. On the roof of one building sat a helicopter. No people were to be seen, but the path Rachel walked ended at a glass door in the glass wall of an odd, triangular building. She paused, taking in the scene for a moment, or was it something else? And then stepped up to the door.

Before she could knock or find the button for a doorbell, the door opened on its own volition. Beyond it could be seen a huge atrium, roughly pyramidal in shape, filled from floor to 30 foot ceiling with green plants of every description. Awed by the sight of so much greenery and so much sunlight, Rachel entered the atrium, barely noticing the door as it closed behind her. The air inside was warm and moist, causing Rachel to wonder if she should remove the denim jacket she was wearing. Eventually, she decided against it, but she did not have long to sweat before she was joined by another.

>From a door in the far wall of the room entered a man who was quite different than anyone that Rachel had imagined she would meet here. He was tall and slender with almost an air of slight- ness about him as he walked towards her. From the early gray of his thinning hair, and the lines of many cares written across his face, Rachel decided that he must be a man in his late forties, or possibly older. It was his clothes which most surprised her; since she had mentally prepared herself long ago for anything, his was the only disguise on which she had not counted. He wore an elegant double-breasted suit of the finest, powder-blue cloth. Around the neck of his perfectly white starched shirt was tied a beautiful gold silk tie. On his feet were the finest Italian leathers, and a large gold ring encircled one finger of his left hand.

He walked to Rachel in a calm and assured manner and extended his hand.

"My dear Miss Stansbury," he smiled as he spoke, "we are so pleased to have you with us." Barely over her surprise, Rachel raised her limp hand towards him, and looked up at his face. His smile was warm and sincere, and it made all of the softness of his face tighten into a gesture of understanding. He grasped her hand gently, causing a strange little tremor within her. Was it fear? She could not tell for certain. The one question that she could resolve now was his accent; smooth and cultured, with perfect enunciation, it still betrayed the fact that he was an Englishman.

"Shall we pass through to my office?" he asked sweetly, releasing her hand, "It is most beautiful here but the heat of the after- noon does become a trifle annoying, wouldn't you say?"

Before she thought to answer, he turned and motioned her towards the door he had entered from, centered in the only solid concrete wall of the atrium. Once again, Rachel thought about crossing another threshold, this time into an area she could see nothing of. None-the-less, she moved forward and entered the office as her host held the door open for her.

A cool breeze hit her face as she passed into the room, and the sudden change in temperature had an affect on her body. The room itself was yet another surprise, although it matched perfectly its owner. Surrounded on all sides by walls of bookshelves, the office contained a large mahogany desk of the seventeenth cen- tury, faced by several high-backed leather chairs in a small semi-circle. Behind the desk were some wood cabinets containing books and file drawers, one of which was partially open, as well as an ornately carved mahogany swivel chair.

"Do sit down, please." her host intoned, turning to close the door behind them and indicating one of the leather chairs with a graceful sweep of his hand. As Rachel sat, facing the desk, her mind conjured images of all the places she had been of which this room reminded. She felt as if she had arranged an appointment with a lawyer, or her doctor, or perhaps this was the office of the elderly Dean of a local college. She wondered if perhaps all professionals had similar tastes? The large leather chair nearly engulfed her; although she was not small, the chair and the room made her feel quite small indeed.

"Now then" he said, settling into the ornate swivel chair, "let's see what we are about here." He turned slightly and reached into the open file drawer, producing a slim folder. He then tidily closed the drawer and gently placed the folder on the dark wood in front of him. After opening it, he produced a pair of gold- rimmed spectacles from a breast pocket and mounted them on his nose, turning his attention to the first loose page in the fold- er.

"This is the report from your doctor, Miss Stansbury. He indi- cates that you are in very good health indeed." He removed his eyes from the printed page and looked up at Rachel, seated across the desk. "Of course," he continued, examining her image from head to toe, "we could see that immediately. But you must real- ize that we may take no risk of infection here." His words were slow and deliberate, not unlike an aged philosopher patiently explaining some great truth to a tiny child. Rachel wondered how many times he had recited those same words to the others who came before her.

Turning his attention once more to the folder, he turned the page and examined the next leaf at some length. The utter silence of the room uneased Rachel greatly; in the long interval her heart raced involuntarily, and she began to taste the acid tin of fear on her tongue. Silly, she thought, this is silly --- she had made her decision rationally hundreds of times before. Only her body betrayed her confidence.

"I don't mind telling you" he finally said, removing his glasses and looking directly into her large brown eyes, "that I'm more than a little concerned here." The smile had left his face, to be replaced by a firmer visage. "Most of our clients are, quite frankly, older and more experienced than yourself. This is not a career to be undertaken lightly, and so we must both be assured that you are in a position to understand the commitment you are making. The consequences of an incorrect decision could be irrevocable. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes" her voice cracked from the chair; she cleared her throat. "Yes, Sir, I do." Sir? It seemed to Rachel to be the proper form of address, given the situation.

"This document" he continued, taking a paper from the folder and holding it lightly over the desk with his right hand, "is already known to you, is it not?" He turned the page around so that it faced her and sat it down noiselessly on the desk in front of her. Rachel glanced at it only briefly, knowing full well what was written on it.

"It is" she replied, more assuredly now.

"And it bears your signature, which you gave freely. Is that not also correct?"

"Yes, Sir. I have signed freely."

"Would you be so kind as to read it? Aloud, please." He picked up the paper and leaned far over the desk to hand it to her. Rachel was unsure of how to react. Had she not signed already? Had she not agreed over and over again to its terms? Why was he testing her resolve yet again? In a swift and almost defiant gesture, she took the document from his hand and began to read aloud.

"I, Rachel Stansbury, sound of mind and body, do freely state on this second day of May, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Nine, that henceforth and upon signing this document I shall be the sole property of Mr. John Heath. By my assent he shall be granted total and absolute control over my life, body, and destiny, and I shall serve him in any way he may require for the remainder of my life. What property, rights, and privileges I now possess, will be his alone to control. I make this statement freely, without any coercion whatsoever, and hereby absolve and hold blameless Mr. Heath and any of his assigns of any harm or loss which may occur to me as a result of this agreement."

There was a short silence, during which Rachel returned the document to the desk. Her host then stood up from his chair and walked towards where she was sitting. Rachel stared ahead of herself, impassively, as if to prove that the words she had recited could have no impact upon her. Upon reaching her chair, he let his hand rest gently on the top of the leather upholstery and gazed at her face.

"Strong words." he stated. "Very strong indeed for one so young. How old are you now Miss Stansbury?"

"Twenty." She kept her eyes fixed ahead at the now empty chair behind the desk. Strangely, she felt that if she looked into his eyes that then she would be doomed. Rachel wanted nothing to erode her resolve, not at this stage.

"Ah, to be twenty again!" he gushed, "You have quite a long and full life ahead of you, if the doctor's report is creditable. Plenty of time there to explore other possibilities, experience more of life. Plenty of time to make commitments later."

"No." she replied firmly. Why was he torturing her so? His very words, the mere sound of his voice made her feet want to fly in terror. Only a supreme victory of will over instinct kept her seated in that chair, kept her gaze fixed stolidly ahead.

"You are willing, then, to give up everything? Your possessions, your will, your future, your goals?"

"I have only one goal." Speaking the words proudly enhanced her self-confidence. "I wish only to serve him."

"And if he decides otherwise? If he decides, perhaps, to shun you, to ignore you, to give you away?" A quick but subtle jerk of Rachel's head betrayed her. He had struck a nerve, though perhaps only a distant one. Almost instantly she regained her composure.

"That is his decision, Sir, not mine."

"Indeed, all would be his decision. And suppose he grew tired of you? He may even decide to terminate your life. You would allow this?" This was a question Rachel had asked of herself many times. Was she so certain that John would never do this? How would she react if he tried? How could she defend herself if she wanted to? No, she had resigned herself to spend her entire life in his service; the exact length of that service meant nothing to her. The sobering thought of her dear lover ending her life caused a growing knot in her chest, which she fought with a long, deep breath.

"Of course." she finally replied. "My life is all I have to give to him."

He turned toward the desk and gently lifted the document from the desk. He then bent very low towards her, positioning the paper not three inches in front of her eyes, and spoke softly and caressingly into her ear.

"Miss Stansbury, I implore you. Simply nod your head or utter a single word, and I will most gladly burn this document and send you home."

He waited a little, with his lips so close to her ear that Rachel could feel the strength of his warm breath on her neck and cheek. Overloaded with conflicting emotions, Rachel kept her gaze fixed forward and did not respond. Her will was being stretched to its breaking point, but she held on. Her doubts washed over her, scourging her consciousness, but the pain and the confusion merely intensified her growing detachment. What had been done, was done, she told herself; this is not the time for doubt.

After a pause long enough for her to recall her entire life, he straightened and walked back to his desk chair.

"Very well, Miss Stansbury. Your mind is set, I can see that." He placed the document back into the folder, and then examined the next sheet briefly. "I am, however, not convinced that your resolve will stand up to the rigorous training you will receive here. I must therefore, accept you only conditionally. If, at any time, I feel that your commitment to your future duties is waning, or that you are unable to undertake the career you have chosen for yourself, then I will be forced to expel you from our program, and return you to your owner. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir." Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. He would accept her, she knew that now. It was over, she had pushed herself and had conquered her fear. The rest would be easy.

"As you can easily imagine," he continued, "the rules here are very simple indeed. From this moment on you will do what you are told, instantly and without question. You will go only to those places where you are specifically told to go. In the beginning, you will take no action of your own volition, no matter how inconsequential it may seem; you will act only upon specific orders. The orders themselves may come from myself or any mem- bers of our staff here. Any failure to perform will be punished immediately. Likewise, any breech of respect or misconduct will be punished. Is this understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"If your performance proves to be satisfactory, you may be given daily responsibilities for which you may act without specific orders. If this occurs, you will consider it as the privilege it is, nothing more. Until then, the only act of free will you are to perform is the simple act of breathing. Any other action or indication of free will must be punished."

Turning his attention back to the open folder, he briefly scanned the next page. "I have here a list of those duties which your owner has requested us to train you for, in addition, of course, to those skills which all of our graduates are required to mas- ter. And I might assure you that, from examining this list, you will be very fortunate indeed if you are allowed to serve such a thorough owner."

That comment caused Rachel's mind to spin. Was it yet another attempt to make her relent? She wanted to know. Her desire to see the list was almost overwhelming. What did John really want her to do for him? He had never shown any reluctance to demand pleasure from her in the past; what new *duties* could he have in mind? With a small, inward sigh, Rachel realized that she would most likely never know the actual contents of that list.

In the next few moments, Rachel's host produced a gold fountain pen from the top drawer of his desk and began to scratch out some notes on the page he was looking at. Rachel tried surreptitious- ly to observe what he was writing, but her chair was too far away from the desk for her to make any of it out. Upon finishing his notes, the man closed the folder with a gesture of finality, paused for a moment, as if in thought, then replaced the folder in the filing drawer and closed the drawer. It shut with a hollow thud --- to Rachel it sounded like someone had closed the door on her life once and for all.

"Stand up." he commanded in a casual tone, and he also rose from his chair. Rachel obeyed, standing in place in front of her chair. "The first thing I must take from you is your name. You are no longer Rachel Stansbury; in fact, Rachel Stansbury does not exist --- has never existed. When you are returned to your lawful owner, he may decide to give you a name, but here we may not afford you that luxury. We need, however, to have a means of identification for our trainees. You will therefore be referred to henceforth as number 216. Since orders will be presented to you using that number, I would highly suggest that you remember it."

Rachel felt a distant pang of loss, but she did not allow it to register on her face. She had always been fond of her name, and so, she had thought, had John. He would never call her *216* or anything that ridiculous --- why couldn't they just use "Rachel?" Her ponderings were interrupted by an electric buzz, emanating from behind the desk. While she had not been paying attention, her host had reached below the desk and pushed a small button.

Presently a section of the bookcase on the wall behind the desk swung open, revealing an open elevator. Since Rachel had seen the outside of the building, and knew it did not contain any upper floors, she reasoned that the elevator must be going down.

"Enter the elevator, 216." He gestured firmly towards the open door. Another door, she thought; another threshold. What would he do now, if she panicked? If she begged him, would he still be willing to send her home? Rachel wasn't sure anymore, despite his statements. And down there, under the ground, what awaited her? When would the real test begin? She thought this, but she did not pause. Immediately upon hearing her first order, she smiled a most delightful smile and walked into the elevator.

She was soon followed by her host, who pressed a button inside the elevator. The door swung shut and the compartment began its descent. Rachel wondered just how far below ground they were going, but it was impossible to tell. The car moved slowly, and it was several long moments before the elevator came to rest and the door opened in front of her.

"Step out." he said briskly. Rachel took two steps out of the elevator, then stopped. She was facing the concrete wall of a long hallway, extending both to her left and right. He followed her and, pressing a button on the wall, sent the elevator away. "We are going to the right. Turn, and walk with me." He turned to his right and walked swiftly down the long hallway. Rachel followed, not two steps behind him, examining his every step closely in order to anticipate his stopping. Along the walls were several doors, all closed, all painted in a bland ivory colour, as were the walls, giving the scene an institutional feel.

Together they eventually came to where the hall they were follow- ing turned to the left. At the end of the hall, at the corner, was a door unlike all of the others Rachel had seen. It was closed, like the others, but while the others were painted metal, this one was a beautifully carved door of solid oak. Beside the door sat a single wooden chair. The man halted abruptly in front of the door; Rachel stopped herself just one step behind him.

"Sit here," he said, indicating the chair, "and stay until you are fetched." As she sat, her back to the concrete wall, he turned and walked back in the direction from whence they came and disappeared through one of the doors.

During the long period following his departure, Rachel became at first bored, then annoyed. She was alone --- no-one entered either of the hallways in her view. Losing all account of time, she began to study her surroundings in minute detail. The most obvious fact that thrust itself to her attention was that each hallway was viewed by video cameras. Every 30 feet or so, anoth- er pair of them was mounted on small platforms near the ceiling. There was one, in fact, on the wall to her left, pointing direct- ly at her. Was he watching her? If not, then who was? The floor was covered in a linoleum tile of dark magenta, and Rachel had just started to count the tiles in her section of the hallway when the first man arrived.

>From down the hall to her right she heard a door open; cautiously she glanced sideways to see a young man, probably in his mid twenties, walk up the hallway towards her. As he neared, Rachel feared that her glance might displease the man, so she gazed intently down the hall in front of her, ignoring him. Her curi- osity was sated somewhat, when he stopped at the chair and looked at her. Somewhat incongruously, he was dressed in a grey busi- ness suit, complete with white shirt and blue tie.

His prolonged gaze made her uneasy; she had seen men look at her in that manner before. He was quite obviously trying to take her all in, to observe every facet of her body. His face remained blank, but Rachel felt as if she knew what he must be thinking. Involuntarily, blood rushed to her cheeks and she blushed bright- ly. In a revelation of sorts, Rachel realized that never before had she been in this situation --- this strange man could rudely stare at her body, completely at his own will, and she was power- less to prevent him. Even more strange was how her body was reacting. Rachel could feel the blood rush through her veins, hardening her nipples, totally contrary to her inner desire to retain control.

At last the man ended his inspection of her, and he opened the large oak door and passed through it. During the next few minutes, several other men, of varying ages and statures, ap- peared from random doors or halls and walked towards her. Some paused and stared at her, as the first man had done, but all eventually entered through the oak door, leaving Rachel alone. The last person to arrive was the man who had welcomed her, and who had ordered her to sit. He strode past her without so much as a glance in her direction, passed through the oak door and closed it behind him.

Once again Rachel was left alone. How much time passed, she could not determine. With the flood of conflicting emotions and thoughts in her head, ten minutes could be ten hours. She was getting hungry, that much registered in her consciousness. John had stopped at a small country diner before dropping her off, and they had shared a final lunch together. That would have been, just a few hours ago? Yes, Rachel thought, it's still the same day. Somehow, the events of the morning seemed many years dis- tant to her now. This reverie of thought was interrupted by the sound of the oak door opening behind her.

"Come into the room, 216." It was her host again, holding the door open for her as she stood and entered. The men in the room paid no attention to her, but continued the lively discussion they had apparently begun before her entrance. Once inside, Rachel stopped just past the threshold and waited for further instructions. Swiftly, her host closed the door behind her and took the only empty chair, sitting at the head of the long table, and rejoined the conversations there.

The gentlemen were talking business, and Rachel understood very little of what she heard them say. She concentrated instead on viewing the room itself. All in all, a dozen men, and her host, were seated at a large conference table, perhaps 14 feet long and at least 5 feet wide. They sat in rich black leather swivel chairs, and were arranged six to a side, with the man in the powder blue suit sitting at the head of the table, directly in front of her. The walls were paneled in ancient oak; several painted portraits hung also and on the floor was a deep magenta carpeting, so thick that Rachel's feet seemed to sink into it.

The conversations of the men seemed to increase in intensity; though the tone was cordial they were definitely in disagreement over some point. Ignoring the business meeting temporarily, her host turned his chair around towards her and spoke quietly.

"Stand to the right of my chair here," he motioned. And as Rachel moved to take her new position he added "and remove your clothing." Slightly jarred by the sudden request, Rachel com- plied none-the-less as her host returned his attention noncha- lantly to the meeting. So!, she thought to herself, he wants to show off the new plaything to his rich friends. I'll just make it worth their while then; at least I should be able to get them all to shut up!

Standing to the right of her host, a position which afforded every man in the room with an excellent view, she began to remove her clothes. Bending over, she quickly untied and removed her white tennis shoes, then straightened and withdrew from her denim jacket, which she let fall gently onto the carpet. This left her in the matching denim jeans, contoured beautifully to the shape of her legs and hips, and her sweater, a large cotton chain- stitch pattern of deep purple and black. This hugged her shapely breasts well but was fuller and longer at the bottom --- so long that its hem sat just below the zipper of her pants. Why not give them a little mystery? She reached briefly under the bottom of her sweater, unfastened her jeans, and pulled them quickly down, adding them to the now growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Standing before them with legs bared, the hem of the sweater just barely covering the crotch of her panties, Rachel took a quick glance up from her work to observe the effect her performance was having on the businessmen. Incredulously, she realized that they were not even looking at her. These guys must be made of wood, she thought. Rachel knew she had an attractive physique --- this same performance had certainly inflamed her past lovers. Deter- mined to make an impact upon them, she grabbed the hem of her sweater, crossing her arms, and slowly raised it towards her head. Revealing first her black lace panties, the sweater's ascension continued on, over her hour-glass form, until she pulled it free of her long hair and dropped it coyly, with a little smile, onto the pile of clothing.

Wearing no bra, the cooler air of the room engulfed the nipples of her bare breasts, hardening them instantly. Although Rachel's amazement at the men's continued indifference to her was begin- ning to become an annoyance, her heart began to speed and she felt her face flush, just as it had in the hallway. Reaching down to remove her purple socks, she felt the unmistakable pulsa- tion of the circulation through her breasts. Still, no one paid her the slightest attention. Her eyes darted from man to man, straining to catch one of them examining her body, but none were. With her socks gone, only the gauzy material of her lace separat- ed Rachel from total nudity. With a determined tug of her thumbs, she brought the panties down to her ankles, and then stepped out of them.

Well? Now what do I do? Rachel's mind raced. She stood strait, feet almost together and arms at her sides, watching the men in their blue and grey suits, watching them argue and discuss, ponder reports, make little jokes which she did not understand, watching them doing everything but looking at her. It is hard enough, she thought, to stand nonchalantly in a room where every- one else is seated. How does one do this when naked as well?

Time passed, things did not change. Rachel's feet started to ache, despite the plush nap of the carpet. The meeting seemed to have no end. Bored, annoyed, somewhat dejected, Rachel reflected that this was not what she had expected of her training. When was she going to learn more about pleasing John? She wondered what he was doing now, as she stood here, a mere display for a disinterested audience. If he were here, her striptease would have made him hot --- Rachel was certain of it. Indeed, just the thought of performing for John sent a rush of blood to her loins. Did they have no real men in this organization?

Eventually, the meeting did wear down, and the men quieted and then ended their various discussions. Only when everyone was silent did her host finally turn and regard her body. As he did, so did the others --- all eyes in the room suddenly fixed on Rachel. Their faces were, for the most part, expressionless, but Rachel could feel their thoughts on her body. She stood with her back strait, staring ahead --- directly into the curious gazes of the businessmen. In the next short moments, Rachel felt more naked than she had ever before. These people, she thought, were merely studying her; they did not care who she was, where she had come from; they were not interested in her feelings, or fears; they were not even interested in her sexuality, she felt. No, their staring was a violation --- their eyes wanted to probe every secret place, every hidden feeling, every unknown fear.

"Number 216," the host's voice startled her, "get up on the table." He stood up from his chair and moved it away, opening the end of the long table for her access. The 12 other men kept their gaze fixed on Rachel, as she slowly put one knee onto the cool wooden surface and pushed herself into a seated position on the table. Now her annoyance was replaced by real fear. Do they intend to take me here? All of them? In an only semi-voluntary display of the helplessness and exposure she felt, Rachel sat up on the table, with her legs locked tightly together, and hugged her knees up to her breast. She would not retain this posture for very long.

"Move to the center of the table," he continued his command. The center of the table was five feet from where she had sat. Placing her hands palms down on the table top, Rachel tried to slide backwards down the table in her current sitting position. She was frustrated in this, however, since the cool wood held her warm, moist flesh firmly --- to slide her bottom along the table would have caused great pain. A terrible decision was required; Rachel either had to raise her rear off of the table and walk backwards, looking exactly as if she were about to be entered from the front, or she had to turn around and crawl on all fours, appearing to all as if she were waiting to be entered from the rear. Deciding that the latter of the two would expose less of her body, Rachel raised slightly and turned, trying to maintain what dignity she could, and crawled down the table on all fours, her breasts hanging beneath her and swaying gently with each step.

"Lie down on your back." she heard upon her arrival. This is it, Rachel thought, they are going to rape me. She took a quick beat to resign herself to her fate. It's nothing I haven't done before, she thought, I just hope they won't be too brutal. Carefully and deliberately, as if these actions were to be her last, she laid her soft, warm body onto the cool wood surface of the massive table. In the absence of any orders to the contrary, she lay with her hands at her sides and her legs together. Star- ing up at the blank white ceiling, Rachel could almost feel the hands of the 12 men, rudely contorting her flesh, kneading her breasts, fingering her most private openings.

She was prepared for mass rape, but she was not prepared for her next command. Although the hands of the men remained away from her body, Rachel was keenly aware of their intense gazes, emanat- ing in some cases just a few inches from her flesh. Indeed, the men closest to her at the table's center could look down and examine her skin in great detail, and were doing so. As her breathing became more pronounced, her breasts rose and fell gently from the table, following the complementary motions of the rise of her stomach. As her host returned to his seat at the head of the table, his line of sight fixed directly between her legs, he issued a command which quite literally made her flinch.

"Masturbate" he ordered.

He knew! The terror in Rachel's veins increased a hundred--fold -- she realized that her worst shame had been betrayed. Never in her life had Rachel allowed anyone to see her masturbate. No one, that is, except her mother. In her fifteenth year Rachel had learned to pleasure herself, and during that long summer she would hide herself in her room, far away from prying eyes, and lay for hours, naked on her bed. Gently and teasingly touching her breasts, her anus, and her clitoris, dreaming sweetly of distant lovers and the wonderful feel of their caresses, she would ever so gradually build herself up to an exquisite plateau, tightening all of the muscles in her legs and stomach, forcing her blood to boil between her legs, until she could wait no longer. Releasing her passion with a scream muffled only by her own fist, Rachel would feel her vagina clench and reopen, over and over, and hear the sounds it created as her body expelled the air from her feminine cavity.

Once, at the height of her passion, her back arched widely, her legs open fully, knees in the air, her vaginal lips began to sing just as her mother entered the room. Her frenzy at its zenith, Rachel refused to end the long voyage which had occupied her afternoon and continued on, despite her mother's presence. The squeal that accompanied her orgasm was almost totally drowned in the hateful barrage of her mother's disgust. Collapsing, breathless, in a heap on her bed, Rachel was immediately and abruptly awakened from her reverie by the sudden slap of her mother's hand across her face.

Shrieking and cursing, voice filled with unhidden disgust, Rachel's mother demanded that she lie face down, across the bed. Terrified and shamed, the young girl obeyed, exposing her nude buttocks to her mother's vengeful pounding. After so many lashes with the wooden ruler, Rachel was hardly able to move, let alone walk or sit, and she stayed hidden in her room for the remainder of the evening, crying in pain and shame.

The experience put an end to Rachel's masturbation, at least for as long as she was under her mother's roof. Desperate fears of discovery and pain would simply not allow her to experience the same level of pleasure she had previously enjoyed, and so mastur- bation, and until much later, sexual stimulation of all kinds, became something which Rachel avoided religiously.

When finally she managed to escape her mother's grasp and begin her own life, Rachel did eventually return to her former pleas- ure, and again taught her body to respond to loving touches. But she did so only in private, and always behind a locked door. Still, the sound her body made at its climax invariably brought Rachel's long-repressed shame to the surface. She learned to despise the din of her own orgasms, and hence refused to allow anyone to see and hear her masturbate, lest they judge her ac- tions to be disgusting, as her mother had years before. Not even John, the man to whom she had sworn allegiance forever, had witnessed her most private sexual experience; perhaps, she now thought, he had wanted to.

"216, I have given you an order." In shock, Rachel had not moved; the hard surface of the table coaxed pins and needles from her back and legs. "Need I remind you of our rules here?" Her host's voice was calm but cold, impersonal. Rachel knew that she would be punished if she failed to perform immediately, but had no idea what form such punishment might take. Could it be worse than what she had been ordered to endure here? Rachel decided not to find out.

As more rational thought returned to her, a plan took shape. If they wanted a show, Rachel could give them a show, but it did not have to be real. Closing her eyes, she drew a long, deep breath and opened her legs, exposing her most sensitive flesh to the gazes of the curious onlookers. I might as well get this over with quickly, Rachel decided. Wetting the fingers of her right hand with her tongue, she began to gently moisten her pubic area. With long, firm strokes, her hand caressed her labia, avoiding the clitoris, gently squeezing the fleshy folds between her fingers. Spittle glistening in her pubic hair, under the bright light of the room, Rachel began her performance in earnest. With her left hand she massaged her breasts, first the left then the right, while continually increasing the activity of her right hand. All the while, she tried to affect a mock panting by breathing faster and more insistently. She did not, however, alter her original posture --- her back remained flat against the hard surface, and she left her legs likewise limp.

After several minutes of this bizarre pantomime, Rachel finished it in a final burst of simulated erotic energy. Arching her back only slightly, she placed both hands on her moist genitalia and rubbed furiously for a few seconds, collapsing finally back to a limp position, closing her legs tightly together, and panting heavily in an attempt to regain control of her breathing. A triumph, Rachel thought, I've managed to play their silly game and still retain dignity, and control.

"216," her host began calmly, "did you enjoy your orgasm?"

Her vision directed once more at the ceiling, Rachel slowed her affected respiration and answered him simply, "Yes Sir."

"And this," he continuing, as if thinking aloud, "this is your usual method of personal stimulation?"

"Yes Sir." What was he playing at? Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a distant fear began to bud.

"Later on, 216, you will be punished for lying to us. For now, I demand that you carry out my original order to the very best of your ability."

The word "punished" struck Rachel hard. She had laid there, on the table, nude and helpless, an object to be examined and en- joyed by all. She had exposed her secret passages to their perusal, had stroked her loins in a demeaning display of servi- tude. All this she did to avoid punishment -- all was in vain. That bastard, Rachel thought to herself, wants everything; he will not be satisfied until I am totally humiliated and demoral- ized. For a quick, inward moment, Rachel rebelled. She would rise up, she thought, and leave this place, these insane people. She would force them to release her, and return to the safety of John's arms.

Ah, but John!, Rachel remembered; John will be so hurt. How could I present myself to him as a failure? Not even able to withstand a mere twenty-four hours away from him! I could never face him again, not after this. With an audible groan, Rachel once again resigned herself to her destiny. She could never disappoint John, at least not in this way, and so she knew that there were no alternatives --- she must proceed with her train- ing.

This time Rachel steeled her nerve and resolved to enjoy herself. With eyes closed, it was possible to shut out the obscene leers of the businessmen; with imagination, she could transport herself back to her own room, to her own bed. Slowly, teasingly, she brought both hands up to her breasts and began to trace delicate circles around the nipples. In her mind, she could clearly picture the day when first she had allowed John, the only man thus honoured, to touch her naked body.

A single year ago, the event was etched into her memory forever. Feeling now fearful and vulnerable, she could almost relive the delicious experience of his hands tentatively stroking her breasts, his eyes enjoying the completeness of her beauty. They had met some weeks earlier, but Rachel required no small amount of time before she would trust any man to know her body. Gradu- ally, over the course of many intimate conversations, many pleas- ant hours in John's company, Rachel decided to share her body with him. Almost ceremonially, she prepared her tiny one-room apartment for his arrival.

To keep her special gift a secret, Rachel did not discuss her intentions with John. When he knocked, and heard her bid him to enter, John expected nothing more from Rachel than the dinner she had ostensibly invited him to. Though his longing for her was great, and increased with each new meeting, he could never be sure their love would ever be consummated -- until that evening. Opening the door, John viewed the scene which was to change both of their lives. The room was dim, being lit only by several large candles placed on the floor and on a small table next to Rachel's bed. Soft, pulsating music mingled with the scent of apple blossoms in the air, both originating in some unseen por- tion of the flat. Unseen portion? Rachel had taken several large sheets and hung them from the ceiling, concealing the more mundane aspects of her tiny room, and effectively drawing all attention towards the center of the room, where now sat her bed.

When first his eyes gazed upon the bed, John was overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of the tableau. There was Rachel, lying serenely on her back, covered from her neck to her toes by a single gauzy sheet of the purest white. Her long tresses were magnificently curled, framing her angelic face and resting final- ly on the white sheet. The sheet itself was almost translucent, and clung to her body in such a way as to conform to every curve and line. The peaks and valleys of her flesh beneath the cover cast sensuous shadows in the yellow candlelight.

Rachel's apprehension, as well as her excitement, grew as John closed the door and drew nearer to her body. Savouring each passing moment, he viewed with intense interest the contours of her form beneath the sheet. Her eyes widened and sparkled in the candlelight, catching and holding his gaze. John opened his mouth to speak, but Rachel gently hushed him, turning her head instead to view the small night table to her left. With a quick glance at the table, John noticed a small handwritten note lying next to the candle.

The note had been written on fine parchment; when lifted from the table it filled John's head with an intoxicating aroma, much like a field of wildflowers on a sunny spring morning. The words were few, lovingly stroked in a most feminine hand in red ink, obvi- ously from a fountain pen. The message was clear enough however, and represented the fulfillment of John's dreams.

"My Darling," Rachel had written, "I love you and will always love you. I am yours, tonight and forever, take me."

The sepia tones of candlelight made a teardrop on his cheek glisten as John replaced the letter on the table and slowly brought his face to Rachel's lips. Kneeling beside her bed, he kissed her, gently and then firmer, transmitting the electricity he felt inside to Rachel, intensifying her own excitement. Then he began the delicious torture. Softly, deliberately, John let his fingertips rest on her shoulders. Feeling the warm smooth- ness of the thin sheet, he slowly moved his fingers downward, encircling her breasts, tracing the outlines of her sides, ca- ressing the tight muscles of her inner thighs, tenderly stroking the bottoms of her hidden feet. Rachel's chest rose and fell under the coverlet as her breathing increased its pace and weight. She did not really know what to expect from John, but she had decided that he was the one she trusted totally; he was the man she wished to make love to.

After several minutes of slow, deliberate touching and watching, John walked to the foot of her bed and grasped the end of her thin covering. Giving it a small tug, John let the edge of the cover slowly trace a path across Rachel's chest, exposing her breasts. The cool friction of the material ignited her nipples, causing electric sparks to travel the length of her spine. Rachel's feelings were intense; her wonderment at the pleasure her body felt mixed with the apprehension of exposing herself to John heightened her growing sense of arousal. John did not cease the unveiling, but soon continued his pull, causing the cover to slide sensuously over her stomach, exposing her pubic mound, and finally gliding over her long legs, revealing her feet. Noise- lessly, the sheet collapsed in a silky heap on the floor.

John then proceeded to give Rachel a pleasure she had never experienced and had seldom even imagined. Carefully, ceremoni- ously even, he walked to the side of the bed and gently lifted her legs, first one and then the other, returning them to the bed. In this way, John spread her legs, exposing the delicate folds which no man had touched. Rachel's heart pounded furious- ly, sending a rush of warm blood to her pale skin, flushing her face and breasts brightly. Involuntarily, blood engorged her labia, giving Rachel that familiar swollen feeling in the loins, causing her glands to moisten the area.

Her uncertainty and expectation at its maximum, Rachel let out a breathy gasp as John knelt between her legs and applied his lips to her rosy folds. As he moistened her with his saliva, John's nose was treated to a sweet scent of jasmine, and he buried his entire face into her, as if to consume all of her in one great breath. This was a feeling superior to any Rachel had experi- enced. Smoothly, gently, John's tongue and lips explored her center, kissing and squeezing, gliding in and out of her delicate entrance, first lightly then with increased pressure, upwards and downwards, more and more rapidly, circling her clitoris round and round, as if narrowing in on it, getting closer and closer.

Rachel's back arched greatly, straining the muscles of her stom- ach and thighs; in the yellowy light her body took on a stat- uesque appearance, a sensuous figure of strength and Eros. Feet planted flat and firmly upon the bed, Rachel raised her hips high into the air, tightening still more muscles, making her heart pound all the more furiously. John's tongue continued its loving attacks, faster now, ever faster, circling and gliding, back and forth, and, yes!, plunging onto her clitoris, sending a shock wave through her stomach, her sides, up to her breasts.

A rising tide of passion pressed heavily upon Rachel's vaginal lips, pushing and constricting, building to an unbearable pla- teau. She could feel her body twisting and contorting inside, beating a rhythm, as if her heart pounded only between her legs. Throwing all reservation to the four winds, exposing herself to the scrutiny of the universe, Rachel held in her breath with great effort and prepared to explode. John's tongue darting at a fevered pace, Rachel frantically bucked her hips up and down, smearing her lips over John's face, and began a small moan, just a hiss, then a moan, loader and loader, bucking more and more wildly, impelling herself closer and closer to ecstasy until...

"Stop!"

The word cut through Rachel's imaginings and brought her immedi- ately back to the bizarre present. Her eyes flashed open, star- ing upwards, blinding her in the white light of the room. This time, the struggle to control her respiration was not mere panto- mime; her heart skipped several beats as she exhaled violently, then gasped for air as all the tightened muscles of her body snapped loose, leaving her limp on the hard wooden table. Sweat- ing profusely, Rachel once again felt the shame of her situation wash over her --- she had gone over the top, abandoned composure, allowed them to control the most basic of her physical and emo- tional functions.

Instinctively, she cupped both hands tightly over her pubic area, as if to shield it from the piercing glances of the uncaring spectators, and she closed her legs tightly around them, sealing her sex from the world. Unfulfilled, her labia ached and burned with the blood rushing through them, causing Rachel to squeeze her hands and legs even more tightly together. Panting heavily, her back flexed up and down off of the table, and through the hoarse noise of her own breathing Rachel heard her host's voice once again.

"In your newly chosen career, 216, privacy is a luxury which is rarely granted. Your body, and its functions, exist now only to serve and please others. It is very important that you learn to release all fears and inhibitions concerning your body. Other- wise, you will not be able to perform the functions required of you in the future, and will therefore be of little value to your owner."

Rachel heard, but did not hear, his words; the sounds went through her head and mingled with so many other confusing thoughts that Rachel was not able to sort them. The message, however, was clear. Her body was not her own, it was John's, but more immediately it was her host's.

"`That which does not kill me,'" the man continued, "`makes me stronger,' as Nitzche once said. By the time you leave our establishment, you will be stronger still."

Her host rose from his chair at the head of the conference table, and all around her the twelve businessmen also rose from their seats. Impassively, the men looked down at her nude body, or perhaps they stared through it, ignoring the person reclining below. Still hiding her genitals and her shame, fighting to control her breathing, Rachel closed her eyes tightly to escape the scene, blot out these monsters. Tears moistened her cheeks. Even in her private darkness, Rachel could still hear the cul- tured voice which she was quickly learning to fear.

"This evening you will serve one of these gentlemen. When in his presence, you will perform any service which he may require of you, as if he was your rightful owner. This is, of course, a function you may be required to perform for your owner after your release, and so you will be given many opportunities here to acclimate yourself to this type of service. Certainly, we could not feel we had trained you well if your owner was not sure that he could present you to others, as a gift, with confidence."

Quickly, Rachel's shame and guilt were eclipsed by renewed fear. Clamping her eyes even tighter together, her face winced in a terrible expression of pain. This was not at all what she had expected; more and more she began to see everything, her deci- sion, her training, even her love for John, as a big mistake. What had she lured herself into? Where had her arrogance and ego taken her? Involuntarily, Rachel's mind conjured images for her, pictures of being abused. Clearly, she saw herself at the mercy of an unknown man, raped, beaten, dismembered; her imagination saw no bounds in its fear.

"But first, of course," her host continued nonchalantly, "you must be punished for lying to me and these good gentlemen." At this reminder, Rachel's mind went blank with fear, she could see and hear but not comprehend.

"Return to this end of the table, and step down."

Slowly, Rachel reopened her eyes and gazed up at the staring faces. Her breathing was normal, but the arousal she had felt was now totally replaced by the fear which gripped her heart and twisted it within her breast. With little thought for what the businessmen would see (for what had they not seen already?), Rachel once again crawled on hands and knees, through the forest of men, her long mane dangling, hiding her face, towards the one who had caused her such humiliation. Upon reaching the end of the table, she turned, extended her feet to the ground, and stood somewhat unsteadily on the carpet. Turning to face her host, Rachel stood slumped over with her head cast down, hugging her arms tightly to her breasts. In this posture, she looked a pathetic child, lost and alone, praying for someone to take her home.

Clearly, this was not pleasing to her host, who gave Rachel an icy stare as he spoke.

"216! I do not recall" he stated firmly, "giving any orders for you to cover your body." The volume and tone of his voice sur- prised Rachel; he had not yet been so hard with her. Slowly she raised her head to return his gaze, and let her arms fall once again to her sides.

"Move to the left of the doorway." Rachel took three steps backwards, arms still at her sides, placing her in the desired position. Following her with his eyes, the man continued to command. "During your training, 216, you will often be directed to kneel and await further instructions. I shall now teach you the proper position."

"Kneel on the floor, with your feet together and your toes flex- ed." Still hardly able to think or reason, Rachel complied immediately. She knelt with both her knees and ankles pressed tightly together; her arms she left at her sides. "That is very good" her host continued, "but it hardly gives one a pleasing view of your form. We must therefore make two alterations to your posture. Firstly, your knees --- separate them."

Reluctantly, Rachel moved her knees a few inches apart, allowing the cool air of the room to kiss her labia, and forcing her back to straighten somewhat. Faintly, she could detect her pubic scent wafting through the room.

"216, do not waste our time here. Separate your knees as far as they will go." He recited the command slowly and deliberately; Rachel knew that any further hesitation from her would be pun- ished, even though she had no conception of the punishment which already awaited. Quickly this time, she spread her knees out wide, straining the muscles of her inner thighs, displaying well her excellent muscle tone. Involuntarily, the posture lifted her bottom slightly off of her ankles, and gave the viewers the best possible glimpse of her pubic folds.

Still, the man was not satisfied. "Now lace your fingers togeth- er and place your palms behind your head." After complying with this instruction, Rachel's body became a work of art. With her arms outstretched, behind her head, Rachel's back arched, flexing the muscles of her chest, her abdomen, and her arms, clearly displaying the shapeliness and health of her form.

Now, as before, Rachel felt totally exposed and vulnerable. On the table her body was there for all to see; now, that was not even good enough. Now she had to present it correctly, display its mystery in the best light. Furthermore, the position was taxing, especially for her arms. Rachel was not at all sure that she could sustain the posture for very long.

"Remember this position, 216, and assume it immediately when commanded to do so. Now, gentlemen," he turned back to the twelve businessmen, still standing around the table, "I believe we may adjourn." That said, the man opened the door to Rachel's left and gestured to the suited gentlemen. Casually, they filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves, strolling past Rachel's display of obedience and continuing on down the hall. One or two paused momentarily to examine Rachel, as if sizing her up, evaluating her posture or musculature. Inside, Rachel hated them, these violators. Without conscious will, her mind created marvelous images of revenge. Each one, she thought, she would torture someday; clearly, distinctly, Rachel saw what each one feared and dreaded, and heard their screams as she fulfilled their horrible nightmares.

With the passing of the last businessman, Rachel was once again alone with her host. An idea, or a remembering, came to him, she could see it in his face, and he returned to his seat at the grand table. There he sat for several moments, his brow furrowed in concentration, until finally he pulled a small notebook out of a coat pocket and begin to write. Rising, he replaced his pen and notebook in his pocket, after tearing a page from the book. Seemingly aware, again, of Rachel's presence, her host stood before her nude body and continued his commands.

"Stand up." Rachel stood instantly, glad to remove the strain from her feet and thighs. Unsure of her host's intentions, she left her hands clasped behind her head; this gave her the appear- ance of a prisoner of war, helplessly awaiting execution, which mirrored exactly Rachel's frame of mind.

"You may lower your arms." Relieved, she allowed her arms to float down to her sides. She had not held the position for ten minutes; it had none-the-less caused her arms and legs much pain. In front of her, Rachel's host held out the small piece of paper.

"Take this, and be sure to give it to the staff member in the punishment room. Do not read it." Trembling at the word punish- ment, Rachel took the note from him. "Now follow me." With a quick turn he left through the doorway and started down the hall. Glancing momentarily at the pile of her clothing still laying on the carpet, Rachel followed him as closely as possible, again watching his steps closely to detect any hint of stops or turns. The hard linoleum was cold on her bare feet as they walked to- gether down many corridors, turning often. After a very short time, Rachel felt totally lost. But what does it matter, she thought, I don't really know where I am anyway. In many corri- dors they passed other people, some men, some women, and each encounter caused Rachel some small amount of embarrassment be- cause of her nudity. With each glance at her body, however, Rachel felt less intrusion; she was learning how to be nude.

At length the man stopped her in front of a set of metallic double doors, nondescript in their institutional colouring. He knocked twice --- in Rachel's mind the firm knocks were virtual explosions, each causing her body to recoil. Heart racing, she felt her body cool and sweat simultaneously, her chest became extraordinarily heavy, making breathing difficult; she tasted acid on her tongue. Up and down her spine Rachel fought the shivers that threatened to destroy her composure. Did she think of John at that moment?

"Kneel here, and wait. The staff will attend to you directly." He pointed to a spot on the floor where Rachel resumed the kneel- ing posture as she had been taught --- the floor was cold and hard on the knobs of her knees. "I will not see you further this evening, the staff will direct you. They must be obeyed without question at all times. Is this understood, 216?"

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied meekly.

"Very well, good evening 216." Turning, her host strolled off down the corridor, and out of sight.