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Back in her old room, Jen lay on the bed in the dark feeling sick; it was as if there was a huge gap where her stomach used to be, an aching void. It wasn’t the locked door, the pitch darkness or the lack of control that bothered her, it was the powerful emotions that churned within her; she felt nauseous, she felt dizzy, she felt as if she were falling into a pit, a pit from which there was no escape.
Right up front there was the anger, anger at being rejected, anger at being betrayed: how could Wendy have been so cruel? How could she have pushed her aside and flirted so openly with that slag, that dirt, that nothing? How could Wendy have looked on and laughed as Jen was forced to humiliate herself time after time? And then why did she have to top it all by showing the film of the party, letting that pathetic little whore see her like that, turning a special occasion into something cheap and tawdry? Jen pounded her pillow and screamed out loud, anything to vent this emotion.
Not far behind the anger there was the jealousy, the evil green-eyed goddess, that wanted to spit venom at the knowledge that upstairs, in Wendy’s bed, in her bed, in her place was that whore, that hussy, that slapper, that nasty little chav from god knows where! To have been cast aside was bad enough, but cast aside for that! She would never, could never, forget the look in Sharon’s eyes, that disdain, that look of victory that made it clear that, as far as Sharon was concerned, she was the dirt, she was the filth that was being thrown out.
And, as the anger and the jealousy receded for a while, then there was the frustration, the bitter sense of hopelessness. Never since her capture had it been so starkly brought home to her just how little control she had over her life. How she wished she could have stormed out, made it clear just where she stood, told Wendy and that little bitch just where to get off, but all she could do was take it, take the abuse, take the humiliation and furthermore, she would have to keep on taking it. There was the bitter knowledge that in a few short hours she was going to have to work with Wendy, to look her in the eye, to pretend that nothing had happened.
Finally, physically and emotionally exhausted, she was left with an aching sense of loss. She had been so foolish; she had dared to think, dared to dream that Wendy might, in her own way, care a little. That somehow there was a growing bond of respect, of understanding, of, dare she say it, love… but that flickering flame had been brutally extinguished; surely anyone who cared for her could not have done that, could not have sat by and laughed whilst she was being so badly hurt. Burying her head in her pillow Jen sobbed, howling in pain at her broken dreams. How could she have been so stupid to believe that she was anything to Wendy? Now it was all too obvious that Wendy didn’t care a fig.
In the pitch black dark of the room there was no sense of time, only an endless living nightmare. Jen tossed and turned, crying the night away, waiting on dawn and the further nightmares that it would bring.
PARP! PARP! PARP! Jen had forgotten the brutality of the hooter used as an alarm clock in the cell. She would give anything just to stay under the covers, hiding until the day had gone away but she knew she couldn’t. She dragged herself out of bed and over to the washbasin. The mirror on the wall told its own story. Jen had no idea if she’d slept five hours or five minutes but, from the look of her red-ringed eyes it was more like the latter. Vaguely she heard the click of the automatic lock on the door, \implying she was free to go for breakfast but she really couldn’t bear the thought. She just stood, staring into the mirror, trying to find the energy to move. Eventually the door opened and Sally poked her head round.
“Come on, slowcoach. You’re late enough as it is. I don’t want a beating because you can’t get up of a morning.”
“Sorry, I….” Jen started, haltingly.
“Oh, god, you got it bad, didn’t you?” Sally saw the state of Jen and was suddenly concerned for her friend.
“Oh, Sal, Sal,” Jen sobbed. “Why does she do it? Why does she make me think she cares and then treat me like this?”
“Because that’s what she does,” returned Sally. “She did it to me and now she’s doing it to you.”
“She did it to you?” Jen questioned, her surprise breaking her out of her self absorption.
“Do you think you’re the first? Don’t you remember how I used to be when you first arrived? That trick I played when I marked your blouse? How do you think it felt watching her fawn all over you, knowing you had taken my place?” There was still some resentment showing in Sally’s voice.
“So how did you cope? Why didn’t you leave? You’re not a prisoner, you could just walk away,” Jen asked.
“Huh, well, casino siteleri I nearly did but, the money’s good and she’s a reasonable boss to work for and, at the end of the day, I always knew that I was never anything more than her plaything, I was fun in bed, that’s all; there was never any real attachment. Mind you, I’m surprised that she’s ditched you so fast; I thought you were different; I really thought she was getting fond of you.” Sally seemed to pull herself together. “Come on now, have some breakfast, you’ll feel better.”
The two women went off to the kitchen where Juanita greeted them and fussed over Jen. Even with their support and comfort, Jen had little appetite. She drank some coffee and had a couple of slices of toast just to keep Juanita quiet. She was still sitting there staring into space when Sally tapped her on the shoulder and told her that it was time to leave. She went to get dressed and then met up with Sally on the way to the garage. After all the times she had left with Wendy it seemed strange being back with Sally; it was as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened. They drove out and parked in front of the house waiting.
When Wendy appeared at the front door, Jen felt her stomach lurch again. There beside her, still wearing the clothes from last night was Sharon, tottering along in her platform boots. There was plenty of room in the back of the car but Jen was hoping that she would never have to see the bitch again. Once they were in the car Wendy told Sally to drive to the office and then take Sharon back home to Romford.
“Hello, it’s piglet!” Sharon exclaimed. “A bit hard to recognize you with your clothes on.”
“Oh, she’s still ready and available,” \commented Wendy. “Go on, piglet; show Sharon how available you are.”
Jen was about to protest but one look at Wendy’s face told her this would be a bad move so she gritted her teeth and lifted the front of her skirt. Wendy reached across and undid the buttons of her blouse, pulling it open, exposing her breasts.
“There, very pretty. Why don’t you sit like that until we get there? Now, Sharon, where were we?” Wendy pulled Sharon into a clinch and Jen watched as her hand slid up under Sharon’s mini-skirt. She sat there seething, her humiliation complete. It seemed to take forever before they pulled up at the office and, hurriedly buttoning up her blouse, she followed Wendy into the lobby.
The morning seemed to drag by. Sure, Jen had plenty to do but she couldn’t concentrate and she spent most of her time just staring at her PC screen. At lunch time Wendy called her over to her desk.
“I don’t see much work happening,” she said, reaching for her desk drawer. “Maybe a few strokes of the paddle might liven you up.”
Jen just stared. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t dare say what she wanted to say.
“Well, has the cat got your tongue? I asked if a few strokes of the paddle were required.” Wendy sounded quite cross.
“That’s up to you, Mistress,” Jen replied curtly.
“Yes, it is and you seem to be forgetting that. I’m less than impressed with your attitude. You had better shape up or you’ll regret it. Now, bend over.” Jen complied but she couldn’t change her mood and the punishment was joyless, a meaningless ritual. When it was over Jen was dismissed back to her desk without any of the usual post punishment games.
That afternoon Wendy was called away to a board meeting and Jen was left on her own. Again she pondered her fate, trying to decide how to break out of this mess. She couldn’t leave, she was, after all, still a prisoner. She couldn’t really affect her life in any significant way except to make it worse. That was what made the whole situation with Wendy so intolerable; she was totally dependant on the good will of a woman who seemed to want to go out of her way to hurt her. Why was it like this? What had she done? Why did Wendy want to be so cruel? Sure, the imprisonment, the bondage, the punishments, the games, those she could understand. As the days had turned to weeks had turned to months she had become an increasingly willing participant; but what satisfaction could Wendy derive from crushing her spirit like this? What possible motive could she have?
It was seven thirty when Wendy returned from her meeting. In the car on the way home she tried to make conversation but Jen, whilst retaining her subservient role, gave only monosyllabic answers and after a while Wendy gave up. By the time they got to the house both women were in a bad mood and it was a sullen Jen that followed an angry Wendy as she stomped into the house.
“Take this… this… this thing and lock her in her room,” Wendy ordered Juanita. “Maybe some time to think will improve her attitude.”
Something inside Jen snapped.
“THING! THING! Yeah, that’s slot oyna all I am to you, a thing. Not just me but all of us, Sharon, Sally, even Fran and Juanita; we’re all just things to you. Your toys, your pawns, your playthings. Who the fuck do you think you are, Miss High-And-Mighty, ordering us around, telling us how to live our lives? You think we’re just things; well, we’re not; we’re people, real people, people with feelings!”
“I do hope you’re not telling me how I should treat my staff?” Wendy asked, her anger clear.
“Staff, you don’t have staff, you have possessions. We’re your grown up Barbie dolls, you bend us, you shape us, you make us jump through hoops and when you’re finished with us you throw us away. Staff are people, people with rights, and you haven’t got the humanity to deal with people.” A sudden inspiration came to Jen. All afternoon she’d been trying to work it out and now she had it. “You’re scared, that’s what it is, you’re too scared to have a proper relationship with a real person.”
“Scared?” Wendy sneered with derision. “I’ve never been scared of anyone in my life.”
“Oh yes you have. You’ve been scared all your life, scared of commitment, scared of love, scared that someone, anyone might break down those walls you’ve built, might find the little girl inside, the little girl that’s so scared of being hurt she’ll do anything to keep people away. You live all alone in your ivory tower, no one comes near; you simply wont let them. That’s why you do it, that’s why you hurt people so much; you’re too scared to let them come close, let them see the real you.”
“How dare you…” Wendy snarled.
“How dare I? How dare I not! You’ve put me in a position where I’ve nothing to lose.” Jen cut across her. “Oh, sure, you won’t believe me, you’ll dismiss me like a stupid little girl and now you’ll make my life a living hell, but you’ve done that anyway. You did that the moment you stopped treating me like a person, the moment you started treating me like a THING!”
“I think you’ve said quite enough, indeed more than enough. Juanita, take her away. I never want to see her again, ever! I’ll send Fran to deal with her later.” Wendy stormed off.
“Bravo, Chiquita,” Juanita whispered as she gave the sobbing Jen a hug. “You are very brave, Chiquita, foolish, perhaps, but very brave. Now come, we must do as she said.”
Juanita led Jen down to her room and closed the door. Still shaking Jen sat on the end of her bed and wondered what was going to happen next. Had she gone too far? Heaven knows she’d pushed her luck to the limit and it wasn’t beyond Wendy’s capabilities to turn her over to Fran; that she would just ‘disappear’. Wendy’s ‘I never want to see her again’ had a huge element of threat and Jen had surely overstepped the mark. Still, there was no going back now, she couldn’t unsay what had been said; all she could do was wait.
It was the next morning that Fran came for her. Jen knew better that to fight, it would only have made things worse. She sat still while she was blindfolded and her wrists bound before being led out, she guessed to the garage. Here she was bundled into the boot of a car; at least she supposed so, she couldn’t really tell but that’s what it felt like. Doors opened and closed, an engine started and they were off.
Jen knew she should be scared; she had no illusions about just how far Fran would go as Wendy’s enforcer; she still remembered how Fran had raped her on that first night oh so long ago. However she was more resigned than scared. As soon as she had taken her stand against Wendy, she had known that this would be the consequence, and it was too late now to do anything about it. She relaxed as far as she could, letting the drone of the car tires lull her to sleep.
After some considerable time she felt the car turn off the main road onto what felt like a rough track. There was a short period of bumping around and then the car pulled up and the engine stopped. She heard Fran get out and come round to the back. The boot was opened and she felt the cool air on her skin. What she wasn’t expecting was to have her blindfold and handcuffs removed. Blinking she looked up to see Fran standing over her.
“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Fran said gruffly.
Jen climbed out of the boot of the car and, shivering in the cold air, picked her way across the yard following Fran to what looked like a farmhouse. A quick look around confirmed that they were in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbours must have been at least half a mile away. The rolling countryside was very pretty; from the honey-coloured stone of the buildings Jen guessed that they were in the Cotswolds or somewhere like that.
“Here, put this on.” Once inside the house Fran had handed Jen a track suit.
“Why… Fran, what’s going canlı casino siteleri on?” Jen was confused beyond belief.
“Look, my instructions are to deal with you, to make you suffer and then to disappear but, just this once…. Well, maybe the boss isn’t always right. Look, I’m putting my job on the line here and no mistake. Let’s just say I have a feeling about this one and, for the moment, you’ve got a reprieve.”
“Where am I? What am I supposed to do?” Jen asked.
“You ask far too many questions. You’re here and you wait here. Don’t leave the house; don’t even think of running away. If you fuck this one up I’ll make you wish you’d never been born and I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Now, there’s food in the fridge for a couple of days, after that…. Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” Without another word Fran tuned and left. As the car disappeared down the track Jen watched it go, wondering what on earth was going on.
For almost a week Jen rattled around in the empty house, waiting, waiting to see what was going to happen. One or twice she wondered if she should run but Fran’s threat kept her back. Furthermore, now that she was not being mistreated she didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe…. Maybe it was better not to think about it. There was enough food in the fridge to keep her going for several days and in between times she found a shelf full of Catherine Cookson books, not her first choice but they helped to pass the time.
On the sixth day a storm blew in, a real autumn special; the rain never stopped and as night drew in it got, if anything, worse. Endless torrents driven by gusts of gale force winds lashed against the house and Jen, glad that she was safely indoors, lit a fire and curled up on the sofa. She was too tired to read so she just stared into the flames, wondering what was happening, where her life was going, how long she had to stay hidden away, waiting.
The only light in the room was coming from the fire and she hadn’t bothered to close the curtains so the approaching light threw stark shadows across the room. Jen got up and looked out of the window; there, picking its way up the track was a car, its full beam headlights cutting through the storm. As it drew up in the farmyard someone, it was too dark to see who, got out, fighting against the wind and the rain as they crossed the yard. Jen went to the door and opened it.
“Jen, I’ve been a real bitch, haven’t I?” Wendy stood in the porch, drenched by rain. “May I come in?”
“Why not? It’s almost certainly your house, Jen replied tartly. Wendy came in and sat on the sofa. Jen went and fetched her a towel and, having handed it to her, remained standing with her arms folded.
“Jen, I miss you. My bed’s too big without you,” Wendy started, once she had towelled her hair.
“You drove all the way out here to tell me that, to tell me that your bed’s too big without me. Is that all I am, someone to fill your bed? Why don’t you get Fran to find you someone, some little tart like Sharon? She’ll fill it for you.” Jen couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Yeah, OK, I deserved that. Please, Jen, it’s not Sharon I want, it’s you.” Jen looked at the bedraggled figure perched on the sofa. Was that rain or tears that ran down her cheeks? Even in the half light she could see that Wendy looked haggard and her body language spoke volumes, far more than her words ever could. Jen sat down next to her.
“It’s all very well wanting. You hurt me, you really hurt me,” Jen said softly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry,” Wendy replied, “please, Jen, please forgive me.”
“What, until the next time you decide to play God, decide to treat me like dirt, decide to put another little tramp in my place?” Jen wasn’t going to be won over quite that easily.
“Jen, I promise, never again, I was stupid, I was… I was… I was wrong.” Wendy hung her head.
Something in Jen gave way and a wave of emotion she had been holding back washed through her. She reached forward and kissed away the tears from Wendy’s cheek.
“I love you, Jen, I really love you,” Wendy half whispered.
“I love you too,” Jen replied, “but there’s something you’ve got to stop doing.”
“Of course, anything,” Wendy said eagerly.
“Stop calling me Jen, my name is piglet.”
So we come to the end of the story with Wendy and Jen riding off into the sunset together. The fact that you, the reader, have persevered this far speaks volumes for your forgiveness of this story’s numerous flaws in both logic and execution. I can only say that it would have been much, much worse were it not for the efforts of Estragon who took time out from waiting to teach me the basics of punctuation and hammer my prose into some semblance of competence.
For this, and for attempting to persuade me that my prose has some artistic merit, he has my heartfelt thanks and, you, the reader should share in this gratitude, your enjoyment would have been so much less without him.
Thanks, Estagon, I owe you.
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