Chapter 1 – The Caterpillar and the Hunter

The clouds had broken and the snow had eased for the first time in two weeks. Kids who had spent weeks cooped up in their apartments surfing cable and playing Nintendo were finally released from their urban prisons. Free to roam the neighbourhood again, to seek out their friends and stretch their legs.

For Charlie the weeks had burdened her even further than for the locals. Her father had bought her here to the city on a business trip. While he left each morning to fulfil his busy work schedule, Charlie was left alone in an alien city with little more to do than watch mid day television on the hotel rooms aging TV set.

He had promised her snow, a novelty in her home town, and the delights of a large vibrant city. All she had seen so far were repeats of MASH and Judge Judy and the grey sombre drifts of slush mounting up outside the lobby of the modest hotel her father and her were lodging in. Although he could afford far more upmarket lodgings Charlie's father was a firm believer in watching every penny, an approach that had amassed him a reasonable nest egg but left him a far stretch short of filthy rich.

He had left again this morning for a meeting, but had brightly commented that the snow had eased and the weather girl was predicting a fine and sunny day. Charlie had looked in askance at his overly optimistic remarks, but had kissed him on the way out the door and contemplated on to spend her day.

There was no way Charlie was staying in that little shoebox for another day to be tormented by mind numbing mid day television. Resolving to explore the neighbourhood and possibly find some other folk to play with, she ventured out into the city.

Clad in her favourite sneakers, that had admittedly seen better days, her favourite jeans, baseball cap and an LA Lakers sweater. She made sure to let the sweaty overweight hotel manager know where she was going in case her father returned early. Despite his obvious problems with presentation and general hygiene the manager was nice enough to let her know the whereabouts of the local basketball courts.

The pavements where still surrounded and heaped with greying snow, Charlie picked her way carefully and followed the manager's directions. Snow was supposed to be festive and soft. Not this grey depressing sludge that seemed to be slowly infiltrating her sneakers. Turning the corner she came to the basketball courts, the bequest of some inner city philanthropist, they sat in an older, but still relatively respectable, part of town. Someone had kindly taken a snow shovel to them and heaped the piles of sludge over the sidelines.

For the first time in weeks Charlie felt excited – there were other girls and guys over there, just shooting hoops at the moment. But just like most congregations of teens, once a few more came along and a critical mass was formed, a full blown game would likely ensue.

Charlie had always loved basketball, baseball and football (although her father drew the line at her playing football, when he found out at any rate). Charlie's mother had passed away giving birth to her parent's short-lived second child. Her father had never remarried as he still carried a torch for Charlie's mother and in his darkest moments admitted to Charlie that he could never love again… except for Charlie of course.

Deprived of many female influences and doted on by her father, Charlie had reached the age of 16 without ever having played with a Barbie, experimented with makeup or even thought about "boys" as anything other than fellow competitors. Some of her female teachers at home had tried to fill the void by offering advice to her or her father. The two of them though were fiercely independent, and neither Charlie nor her father thought there was much of a problem in her boyish pursuits.

Charlie scoped out the courts and spied out a boy around her own age shooting hoops at the far end of the court. Sporting a New York Knicks jersey he was slotting three pointers and working his way around the circle. Quietly impressed, Charlie's cheeky nature got the better of her. She darted in as he was bouncing the ball preparing for a shot, stole the ball in mid bounce, took four steps, and jumped up to put the ball expertly through the hoop.

"Swish – nuthin' but net!"

The taunt and the steal bought the boy out of his focussed reverie.

"Not bad – for a girl…"

"Yeah – 'wanna go one-on-one prissy-boy"

"Sure, I'll put you on that cute little ass of yours in five seconds flat!"

And in that way the challenge was issued. Kyle, she found out his name after he slammed the ball through the hoop with a sweet move, clearly had the height advantage being almost six foot. Charlie on the other hand, standing at just over five and a half feet, had to make up for his advantage with her speed and skill.

Up and down the half court they ran, dodged, jumped and stepped, dancing the dance that is basketball. The ball wove in and out, rebounding off the board, swishing straight through the net innumerous times as Charlie and Kyle pitted their skills against each other. They had attracted a small crowd, watching on with envy as the two obviously accomplished amateurs strove to master their opposite.

The game reached a crescendo when Charlie attempted a steal only to be thwarted by Kyle with a deft bump of his hip, Charlie lost her footing and felt herself falling backwards – at the last moment she grabbed a hold of Kyle's Knicks jersey and dragged him down with her…

Breathlessly she hit the concrete, narrowly avoiding smacking the back of her skull on the hard surface. Kyle fell awkwardly on her chest – and for a moment, with his body pressing down on her she felt something. A brush of something more powerful, more seductive than anything else she had felt before. Here on this court with this boy – no man, she corrected herself – pushing onto her, holding her, pinning her down – she felt flutters in her stomach. She sought after the feeling, and then looked up at Kyle's face.

It only lasted an instant – Kyle was back on his feet and offering a hand to Charlie – and the feeling fled. The onlookers must have thought her dazed as she accepted Kyle's hand and clambered to her feet.

"Good match – I'd have you on my team any day – even if you are a girl."

"Thanks, you too. But I think I'll sit it out a bit, I'm a bit winded after that." With that Charlie retreated to the gathered crowd, and someone kindly offered her their towel. She sat down on the bleachers, ostensibly to catch her breath – but privately to consider the feelings that had almost erupted inside her.

What was that, she asked herself, it wasn't like the stupid girls at school talk about. No heart pounding and throat swelling up or any of that. It was something stronger, she had enjoyed being pinned there for that moment, to have his body controlling hers, to be forcing her down…

She shied away from these awkward thoughts and resumed watching the new game. With her and Kyle's departure from the half court a full blown game had started between some of the kids. The critical mass had been reached and now the games would ebb and flow all day as people arrived and departed throughout the day.

She played a couple more games after that, alternating between taking a break on the bleachers and playing ball.

-----

There's always one – the local podgy kid whose sense of humour and all round good nature prevents him from being ostrasised and beaten up by his peers. They're the one's who know all the new jokes, the ones who are the first to sneak their Father's copy of penthouse to school, the ones who always come up with something interesting to do, and they are the ones who usually have about as much hand-eye coordination as a new-born with a spoon full of baby food.

This kid's name was Joey, and someone had made the shocking mistake of passing him the ball. Joey, true to his nature managed a shot that no-one could have replicated even if they'd tried it a hundred times. Somehow he managed to throw the basketball toward the hoop, which it missed, propelled by its power the ball bounced off the backboard, flew over the fence, took two bounces across the road and smashed through the window of one of the shops.

"Oh shit Joey – You're fucking dead – that's Campbell's place. He'll have you're guts for garters mate, rip your head off and shit down your neck!" This was one of the more reprintable exclamations.

The collected kids and teenagers promptly started jibing Joey into going and getting the ball. "You threw the thing – you go get it, you dick" The mob had formed and was gradually brow beating poor Joey into slinking across the road when Charlie spoke up.

"I'll get it, he can't be that bad, and plus I'm a girl, he's bound to go easier on me than you guys." Charlies offer was met with many thanks from an exasperated Joey and a few winks of good luck from Kyle and the others.

Charlie walked out of the court and towards the shop. It stood on the corner opposite the basketball courts. In classic turn of the century style the shop front wasn't squared off, but formed a gentle curve that stretched around the corner. "Thomspon and Campbell – expert tailors. est. 1845" the grim sign announced. The windows were filled with dark conservative suits and overcoats. Unlike most clothing stores, not a single promotional sign or price was visible, this was the sort of store where one didn't even ask about price.

Joey's deft aim had landed the ball straight into the middle of one display. There it sat, partially covered by a toppled suit jacket that had fallen from behind and in front of a display of cuff links and tie pins.

Charlie opened the old wooden door to the tingle of an old fashioned bell set to warn the proprietor of the store that a prospective customer had arrived. The stores interior matched its exterior perfectly. This was a shop out of an old movie Charlie thought, look at the classic light fittings, the polished wood, the neatly stacked shirts all arranged just so, the burnished bronze – all its missing is a balding old man with a set of pins in his mouth, a black vest, and a tape measure around his neck.

"I guess you're here to claim your ball?" The voice emanated from the back of the shop – there indeed was a man, pins in mouth, black vest, tape measure around his neck – but he was young, no more than 30, Charlie guessed. He was in the process of fitting a gentleman in one of the stores trademark conservative suits.

"Just wait there. I'll deal with you in a moment." He uttered as the tailor returned to his customer.

Charlie looked over the current possessor of the basketball – dark brown hair, neatly cut, a lithe firm body unbent from years staring at stitching, he had immaculate dress sense (as one would expect from a tailor). He worked quickly and efficiently, inserting pins here, making folds in the jacket there, and finally he announced: "Thankyou Mr Simes, I'll have the alterations done by Tuesday, you can pick it up in the evening if that's convenient".

"Thankyou Mr Campbell, I'll drop in after work. A pleasure again." Mr Simes began pulling on his own jacket as he continued "There's a reason why my family has been coming back to your fathers shop and now your shop for nie on a century, you do solid work. Thankyou again and I'll see you Tuesday". With that Mr Simes departed the store, leaving the tailor, Mr Campbell, to fix Charlie with a stern gaze.

"So, you're the one responsible for breaking my window, are you? I hope you have the money to pay for its repair, or else I will have no option but to call the police." Charlie withstood the well weighted barrage from the stern tailor and responded.

"I apologise if me and my friends broke your window. If I can use your phone I'll give my dad a ring. I'm sure he can fix you up for the window."

"I think you will find that it is 'my friends and I"; and indeed I hope for your sake young Miss that he can" With that Mr Campbell resumed his work and left Charlie with the phone, standing in the midst of the bleak conservative store calling her father's cell phone number…

Chapter 2 – In the Hunter's Den

The ball had been returned, however Mr Campbell had required Charlie to stay in the store until her father arrived with his cheque book.

Rarely did Charlie's father look poorly on her behaviour, and this incident was no exception. He reassured Charlie to stay put while he juggled his diary and caught a cab to Thompson and Cambells, meanwhile he spoke briefly with Mr Campbell to alleviate any concerns he had.

In the meantime Mr Campbell had provided Charlie with a stout wooden chair to sit on. While he worked on some alterations he started a staccato conversation with the bedraggled Charlie interspersed with the hum of a sewing machine and a mouthful of pins.

"So you're father said you are from out of town? Is that so?"

"Yes, I came with him on this business trip, which sucks. I've been cooped up in our shitty hotel room for weeks and at the first chance I get to get out and about I end up stuck here instead of shooting some hoops."

"That's quite a tongue you've got there girl – didn't your mother teach you better?"

"What is this, twenty questions? And no – she didn't, she died."

Charlie's curt rejoinder silenced Mr Campbell temporarily. "Would you like a soda? I have some in the kitchenette."

Parched after several galloping games of basketball, and a bit cold after spending the morning running through pools of melted slush Charlie pushed her luck. "Actually I'll have some coffee if you've got it."

"What?" Mr Campbell fixed her with that steely gaze he had used on her earlier.

"Some coffee – I'll have it if you've got it."

"No its: I'll have some coffee please . Please is the key word here young lady"

"Please then, can I have some coffee."

"Of course, how would you like it."

"White with two… please"

"That's better." Mr Campbell put down his alterations and moved into the back.

Again Charlie was hit by the staidness of the store. Everything had its place, everything was perfectly arranged, from the plain yet elegant business cards on the front counter to the immaculately white business shirts arranged in their wooden pigeon holes along the wall. It screamed perfection, with a touch of obsessive-compulsive…

Mr Campbell returned with two cups of coffee. "I'm sorry, for mentioning your mother – I wasn't aware" Mr Campbell apologised as he offered the steaming cup of coffee to the young girl.

"That's alright." Charlie accepted the cup gratefully.

"So is your name really Charlie?" Mr Campbell renewed his questioning.

"No its not, but everyone just calls me Charlie"

"Well, what is your actual name, the name your parent's gave you?"

"If you must know Mr busy body its Charlotte, but I've always preferred Charlie."

"Clearly." Mr Campbell accentuated his response by taking a sip on his coffee.

"What's that supposed to mean then?"

"Nothing. Except here you are, an obviously pretty little girl, and you choose to dress like that? Sneakers and jeans indeed, and what is that abomination? You could house three Italian matrons in that sweatshirt."

Charlie looked down at her feet, she wore this because it was comfortable, because she could play ball in it, because it was WHO SHE WAS. She promptly told Mr Campbell so, in not so many words.

"And a mouth like a sewer as well I see." He responded to her comments.

Luckily before Charlie could lose her temper further at this pompous git, this opinioned twat – her father arrived.

The bell tinkled and Charlie's father strode in, looking harried as he often did during a work day, but determined. He glanced at Charlie and was in the process of reaching for his bill fold when he stopped dead in the middle of the store.

"My God – Frank – is that you? Frank Campbell? Jesus, it's been years, I haven't seen you since you left the firm after college."

Mr Campbell, apparently Frank to Charlie's father, embraced Charlie's dad passionately. Two old friends reunited, and now completely oblivious to both Charlie and the broken window whose fate had so ironically forever entwined Charlie's fate to Mr Campbell…

Chapter 3 – The Caterpillar's Loss

It turned out that Mr Campbell and Charlie's father had been best of friends while "Frank" had been working his way through college. Although her father wouldn't say it seemed as though they had been riven apart by some cataclysmic event in their distant past. Now, reunited they decided to make up for lost time.

Charlie's father broke with his normal behaviour and took the three of them to dinner in a tragically expensive restaurant up town. Charlie had dressed in her best slacks and businesslike blouse – she didn't even own anything remotely resembling a skirt. Her sole consolation to the outing was to leave her dark brown shoulder length hair out, instead of in its regulation pony tail.

She had showered and shaved her body. Since puberty Charlie had religiously shaved her vagina, in rebellion against the changes taking place. She wasn't going to fill a stereotype just because her body told her to, no by shaving away her pubic hair she was making the statement that she liked herself the way she was. Her ability to match it with the boys on the courts wasn't going to become beholden to some hormone.

Frank was already waiting at the table as Charlie and her father were shown to the table by the Matre De. As before he was immaculately dressed, however he had now donned a dark jacket over his trademark vest. He stood as the two approached. Frank and Charlie's father hugged again and on turning away Frank Campbell took Charlies hand, she attempted to shake it, however Frank was in too fast and deftly kissed Charlies hand.

"A pleasure Charlotte – I see you've rid youself of those awful clothes and adopted something slightly less outlandish."

"It's Charlie thankyou Mr Campbell. No-one calls me Charlotte."

"Why ever not, it's such a delightful name." And then to her Father "I took the liberty of ordering drinks ahead for you, I assume you still enjoy a Miller before dinner?

"Certainly, and you a Corona?"

"Some things never change." Mr Campbell noted as the waiter approached with two beers and an orange juice.

The waiter placed the beers before the men and the juice in front of Charlie.

The two friends picked up where they had left off years ago. Frank, Mr Campbell as far as Charlie was concerned, explained how on finishing college he had returned to his father's business. Having being brought up around the trade and having further learnt the particular intricacies on his return he had taken over his father's store on his retirement.

He alluded to his success in the futures markets and suggested that although he continued to work as a tailor he had no need to. It was in fact his love for the trade that saw his continued involvement with tailoring.

Charlies father returned the favour, describing how he had risen through middle management to a partnership in his firm. He briefly mentioned Charlie's mother, and Charlie noticed Mr Campbell's increased interest at the mention of her name.

"So I have a nice home back home, Charlie and I look after each other. Ever thought of returning to the business Frank? You were one of the best."

"Never, it got me through college, I've made myself enough money to get by. I devote myself to… other pursuits these days. They are most fulfilling." Frank responded.

"Another drink Charlotte?" Mr Campbell enquired, noticing that Charlie was nursing her orange juice and looking vacantly out the window.

"It's Charlie, and no."

The dinner progressed through the night with Charlie largely tuning out of the conversation. Just prior to its completion Frank and Charlie's father agreed to keep in contact.

----

Months passed, school recommenced and Charlie's father was called on to go on further business trips to the city. Charlie thought back on her trip with mixed feelings. The City had been dull, until the snowfall had lessened. She had found Mr Campbell annoyingly moral and annoying, contrarily she thought back to the incident on the basketball court with a mixture of fondness and distress.

She was fixing herself some microwave popcorn and was preparing to return to her beanbag in front of the television, the LA Lakers match was due to start and she planned on a long evening in front of the tube. Her dad was also due home tonight after a trip to the city, he'd promised her tickets to the next home match and she was already picturing just how close to the players benches their seats were. Just as the commentators started the run down over tonight's squad, the phone rang.

Her world turned upside down after she answered that call. A police officer had phoned, informing her to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Her father had been in a traffic accident, they told her he was stable, but in the next breath offered her a lift if she was unable to drive or catch a cab.

She hung up the phone and waited for the police officer to arrive to take her to the hospital.

Chapter 4 – Trapped in the Aquarium

She'd been picked up from the airport by a chauffeur driven Jaguar. Her suitcase containing all her clothes and personal items had been safely stowed in the boot by the driver.

She had spent four weeks sitting a bedside vigil with her father, but he had not regained consciousness. The doctors told her that he was in a coma, his vital signs were strong and that he could wake up at any time, or then again not for years.

As the weeks swept by the doctors began to worry about Charlie. She couldn't very well just sit there for ever. She was missing school, and most importantly there were no relatives to look after her. She had been using her dad's supply of emergency cash from his safe to ferry her to and from the hospital and buy food. But the money was running out.

Finally one kind and matronly nurse took it upon herself to call Charlie's father's lawyer. The lawyer did in fact have copies of all of her father's legal documents and Charlie's custody was temporarily given over to him while arrangements were made.

Charlie's father had, like many people, arranged to have an enduring power of attorney in place in cause of a prolonged illness or loss of mental faculty. In these circumstances, with him in a deep coma, the power of attorney came into effect. The lawyer phoned the person named in the power of attorney to advise them of their obligations and responsibilities to the estate while Charlie's father was incapacitated. That person was none other than Frank Campbell.

Mr Campbell had arranged for Charlie to fly by to his home, at first Charlie was reticent, wanting to stay with her father. However Mr Campbell kindly pointed out the folly of such an act. He made the point that she was technically truant at present, unable to fend for herself in the family home and that the only option was to come and live with him until her father recovered.

So Charlie had packed her favourite clothes and sports equipment into a suitcase and caught a Delta flight back to the city.

The Jaguar pulled up in front of a ritzy looking apartment block. The concierge opened her door and the chauffeur lifted the suitcase out of the trunk. Charlie was shown to the elevator, a swipe card flashed over the security scanner and the button for the penthouse was pushed.

Charlie walked out of the lift into an expansive marble foyer. A skylight above shed natural light into the room and a waterfall in one corner provided a soothing mood to the entrance.

The driver followed her out of the lift as a Maid walked into the foyer. Dressed in a classically formal English maids outfit she directed the driver to pop the bags in "The Prepared Room". She kindly took Charlie's hand, "I'm sure after such a long flight you'll be happy for a shower. The master will be home soon and I'm sure he'd be delighted to show you around the apartment before dinner."

Charlie and the Maid walked down a hallway passing a number of closed doors, the architecture here was a blend of the classic and modern eras. Again, as with the store, everything was perfectly clean, not a thing out of place. The Maid opened a door revealing a bathroom.

"Just leave your clothes here. There's a towel on the rack in the corner and we'll pop your suitcase in your bedroom while you are showering. Speaking of which, your bedroom is just through that door there."

The Maid pulled the door too and Charlie stripped off her clothes, she thought of waiting for her toiletries bag, but noticed that the shower recess contained everything she needed, shampoo, soap and a razor.

Freshly showered and towelled off Charlie ventured through the interconnecting door into her new bedroom.

The door opened to the most hideous creation Charlie had ever witnessed. The walls were alternately a brazen pink and wallpaper patterned with tiny teddy-bears. The sole window was patterned with lead lighting outlining a central floral theme. The carpet, a tasteful beige that contrasted the pink walls while a rug inlaid with tiny teddy bears dominated the centre of the room.

In one corner stood a white desk topped with shelves, within the shelves were soft toys and books with titles such as "The Adventures of Isabelle" and "The Island of Blue Dolphins". An antique white chair was pushed neatly into the desk. Next to the desk stood a white duchess, with a large white framed mirror sitting on the wall behind it. Another set of virginal white drawers lent against the opposite wall next to the wardrobe. A tasteful pot-plant sat atop it.

But perhaps most alarmingly of all was the bed. In front of the sole window stood a single bed, with a white bed head and set off with a frilly white valance. Upon it was a blue coverlet, again motiffed with little teddy bears, and bunny rabbits. Next to the bed sat a white bedside table, upon which a bunny rabbit patterned night light sat.

But what concerned Charlie most of all, was what the room was missing – her suitcase.

She tried to open the one built-in cupboard in the room, only to find it locked. In an ever increasing frenzy she tried to open the drawers in the duchess, the bedside table and all the other drawers in the room only to find them locked as well.

Returning to the bathroom she noticed the clothes she had worn on the plane had disappeared. She went to open the door that she had initially entered the bathroom from. It too was locked.

Now in a complete panic she raced back into the hideous little girl's bedroom only to notice something that should have stood out immediately. Besides the interconnecting door from the bathroom there was no other door out of the room.

Distraught, nigh on tears and in a panic, Charlie sat on the edge of the bed to try to get a grasp on her situation. Here she was, thousands of miles from home, without her suitcase, half naked and locked in a girlish nightmare full of teddy bears, rabbits and frills.

"Charlotte – can you hear me?" Mr Campbell's voice echoed from the roof. Charlie looked up, astonished to see a tiny set of speakers and what she guessed to be a camera on the ceiling.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME! LET ME OUT!"

"Charlotte, now calm down."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU BASTARD!"

"Charlotte… If you can't be reasonable I shall have to take corrective action."

"LET ME OUT OF HERE! AND MY NAME IS CHARLIE YOU PRICK!"

"I will return after you have had time to think through your situation." The voice disappeared leaving Charlie sitting on the bed in only her thin damp towel.

Perceiving that somehow Mr Campbell had engineered her imprisonment Charlie began to look closer around her room. Fruitlessly she tried to move furniture, but to no avail as everything was securely bolted to the walls or floor. No other doors except the bathroom door, and that one was locked. She threw her shoulder into it a few times only to learn that the door was heavily reinforced, probably bolted top and bottom and unable to budge an inch.

It was then that she started to notice the temperature dropping.

"LET ME OUT YOU BASTARDS!"

She ran back to the bedroom and looking at the window with the floral lead lining she hurled the copy of "The Adventures of Isabella" from the desk at the window. It harmlessly bumped off and fell on the bed. She tried punching the window to find that whatever it was made of wasn't going to break.

The temperature was now decidedly frosty and Charlie's teeth began chattering. Looking despairingly at the bed covered in a pattern of teddy bears and bunny rabbits, Charlie decided that her pride would have to suffer for the sake of warmth.

She dropped the damp and now freezing towel, and crept under the covers. Still the cold hit her in waves – it didn't get this cold in industrial refrigerators, what the hell was going on.

"Charlotte." Not a question, a statement. The voice of Mr Campbell returned.

"W w w what d do you w w w want?" A freezing Charlie responded.

"Are you cold enough yet? It can get a lot colder. I don't want to have to do that now, do I?"

"N n n n n n n no?"

"If you are prepared to be reasonable then I will turn the thermostat back up. Are you going to be reasonable?"

Charlie's thoughts turned over, she'd never been this cold before, it was terrible, every bone in her body ached when she moved, her teeth have gone beyond chattering and her whole body had been shivering for several minutes. It must have been easily below zero degrees. Soon, she knew, she would stop shivering entirely and her bodies defences would start absorbing muscle and body tissue to generate energy to keep her warm. She had no choice.

"Y y y y yes."

"Now that's better. I'm going to turn the thermostat back up now Charlotte, and I'm going to have a little talk with you. If you start shouting and screaming, or you fail to do what I tell you then the thermostat will be turned back down. Am I understood?"

"Y y y y y y y y y y yessss."

Chapter 5 – The caterpillar enters its chrysalis.

"Good. Now you are probably wondering what is going on. You see Charlotte I am very disappointed in your father. Not you, it's not your fault that your father has neglected you. Now that he's sick I'm going to look after you in the manner that you deserve."

The temperature was rising slowly as Mr Campbell's voice continued.

"You're such a pretty little girl Charlotte, and to waste yourself by running around in jeans and sneakers when you should be enjoying finer pursuits is such a waste. So I have bought you here to educate you. From this day on I will start you on an intensive course of study. You will learn proper elocution, language and pronunciation. I will hire the very best tutors to bring your lack lustre education up to an appropriate standard. You will learn how to walk, talk and dress like a lady instead of a common street urchin.

"But we have to start at the beginning. Your father let you slide into inappropriate ways after your mother died, so we will have to start at the very beginning.

"The room you are in is your bedroom, it will remain as it is until I see fit. It contains everything a proper little girl's bedroom should contain. There are no baseballs or soccer hoops…

"basketball hoops…" Charlie interrupted.

"Basketball hoops, thankyou for correcting me, but until you have learnt otherwise I will require you not to interrupt. If you do so you will incur… repercussions." Mr Campbell's voice intonated the last word as if the concept intrigued him.

"That said, your education will commence tomorrow. For now you must get dressed for dinner, I will explain the rules of the house to you over dinner. You will find that the cupboard in the wall will now be unlocked, within there you will be given a series of clothes to put on. Now I believe the temperature has resumed something like normal, you may attend to the cupboard. I will keep an eye on you to make sure you behave."

Charlie, now aware that Mr Campbell's eyes were on her over the camera, picked up the discarded towel from the floor and covered herself in it before venturing toward the cupboard.

Opening the door revealed a comb, a hairbrush and four hair elastics.

"Now Charlotte, I want you to put your hair up in pigtails. Make sure you plait them, it is uncouth and unhygienic to have your hair flying around everywhere at dinner."

"Pigtails, you've got to be kidding mister!"

"Charlotte – do I have to warn you again?"

"No…" It's only my hair she thought.

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and began brushing her hair; like riding a bike, one never forgets how to plait. She had of course plaited her hair before, and that of her few girl-friends in school. Moving in front of the mirror on the duchess she brought her hair up into two pigtails and plaited them. Fixing the hair ties in place she looked scathingly toward the camera.

"Now you'll find some more items in the cupboard, attend to them"

Indeed there were, apparently there was some sort of secret door that must open from the other side and someone must be placing the items through – I wonder if it's big enough to escape through she wondered to herself, a light of hope in a bleak evening.

The cupboard now contained four pink satin ribbons.

"Tie the ribbons in your hair Charlotte, like a good little girl."

The ribbons now were tied in her hair and for good measure she ensured she made the bows nice and large.

"Very good Charlotte, you may learn yet."

Back to the cupboard again, this time she saw the slot at the back of the cupboard open and she was disheartened. No more than 6 inches high and 18 wide she could never fit through the slot. But through the slot came two boxes and a ball of spotlessly white socks wrapped up in a ball.

Opening the first box revealed a pair of light pink, full sized, satin panties. Below the waist band and wrapping around the panties were shocking quantities of frilly lace finished off with a tiny teddy bear in the centre.

"You have to be kidding me!"

"I can start to turn the temperature down again if you like. At that stage, I'm sure you'll be greatful for any warmth, including those new panties."

"Fine! I put on your bloody pants then"

"Now Charlotte watch that mouth of yours…" He let the threat hang in the air.

Charlie stepped into the satiny panties and pulled them up to her waist. They fit well, elastic around the legs and waist made sure they fit snugly. Despite the fit she found herself thinking that the lace was revolting, no one wore this stuff – not ever!

The next box revealed a pair of patent black mary jane shoes, polished to perfection, Charlie saw her own pigtailed reflection on the surface of them. "So – socks first" Charlotte thought. She unwrapped the ball to find that no detail had been left out. Around the hem of each sock had been gathered and stiched two lengths of delicate pink lace.

"Look – this is ridiculous, if you want to play dress up then find someone…"

She was interrupted by the raised voice of Mr Campbell – "PUT THE SOCKS ON OR ELSE CHARLOTTE!"

Shocked by the violence in his voice, Charlie sat down on the bed and pulled the socks on, followed by the startlingly shiny mary janes which she hurriedly buckled.

'I must look like a right royal goose in all this fluff' she thought to herself, still frightened by the tone of voice that had recently emanated from the ceiling.

"Now the last box Charlotte". He had calmed down apparently, and Charlie noticed that in the cupboard sat a new box, the largest box so far. She picked it up and carried it to the bed.

"No FUCKING WAY!" She shouted on opening the box.

"There is no way I'm wearing that, that, that… MONSTROSITY" She turned to the camera and pointed at the box on the bed.

"Have it your way Charlotte. I'm sure you'll change your mind in a few minutes."

The speaker cut off again, and almost immediately Charlie felt the temperature begin to drop.

"No-way, uh-uh, I am not putting that hideous creation on, I don't care how cold it gets, he can go and screw himself…" she muttered under her breath.

The temperature drove Charlie back into the bed. She did make a show though of throwing the box onto the floor.

Already cold from her previous experience Charlie began to shiver almost immediately, the temperature dropped further and further. She wrapped herself in the thin coverlet and curled up in a ball – it continued to get colder yet.

"ALRIGHT GOD DAMN YOU! TURN IT BACK UP… I'll put on your bloody dress, just turn the temperature back up…" The speaker remained silent.

"Please?" Charlie muttered.

"That's better."

The temperature started rising again as Charlie fetched the box from the floor where she had thrown it.

She lifted out the dress, "Oh God - Its Awful!". In light pink striped satin it had a high neck finished in a modest ruffle. The chest, centrered with a tiny ribbon bow and a decorative flower, was vertically framed with darker pink ruffles. White puff sleeves bulged out finished with lace.

The waist was surrounded by a dark pink sash that came to a large bow at the back of the dress. The remaining lightly striped pink skirt fell to her knees to be finished again with lace. Four satin and lace underskirts filled out the skirt to leave a warmer, and much more embarrassed Charlotte considering herself in the mirror as she tied the enormous hideous bow at the back of the waist.

She looked at herself thinking that she looked like a five year old on her way to a party. From the lacey socks and mary janes, to the pink dress covered in ruffles and lace to the be-ribboned pigtails in her hair.

What made it even worse for Charlie, was that she knew under the dress her naked vagina was covered in lacey satin panties fit for a little girl, complete with a teddy bear on the front.

Chapter 6 – Boundaries in the Aquarium.

"This way Miss Charlotte" The maid had returned through the bathroom door. "The Master is waiting for you at dinner, its best not to keep him waiting."

Charlie stood up from the end of the bed and slowly made her way toward the maid. Her satin and lace underskirt rustled as she walked and the ruffled collar chaffed her neck. On reaching the door Charlie quickly scoped the passageway seeking an escape from the bizarre hellhole, only to receive a poke in the back from the maid.

"Now Miss Charlotte, you don't want to be doing anything silly, I've got a Tazer stuck in the small of your back. I wouldn't want to have to use it and then clean your vomit up off of that lovely new dress you're wearing"

"Um, no, not at all." Shut down, Charlie let the maid point her down the hallway. The maid always remained a couple of steps behind her, presumably Tazer in hand. The hallway opened out into a wide dining area. Two of the walls were glazed glass from floor to ceiling providing an unparalleled vista of the city at night. The lights sparkled to the horizon; under any other circumstances the view would have been breathtaking.

Again, the décor was neo-classical, the dining table made of a wrought iron frame and a glass tabletop. The cutlery and silverware all polished to perfection. A modest yet tasteful chandelier hung over the table to provide a soft lighting for the room. Large Grecian urns filled with freshly cut flowers sat in two corners of the room.

Sitting at the table was Mr Campbell, dressed in one of his traditional conservative suits, looking as relaxed and yet focussed as always seemed to be. He stood as Charlie entered the room, a dazzling array of swishing satin, lace and ribbons.

"Now – isn't that much better. You look like the perfect little girl that you should be. I must say, I'm happy with how the dress turned out, it is one of my favourite pieces."

Charlie stood before Mr Campbell a mixture of conflicting emotions. Furious on one hand that this eccentric tailor had imprisoned her, yet deeply embarrassed by the frilly beribboned outfit he had goaded her into wearing. Everything from the patent Mary Janes shoes to the ribbons in her hair made her feel like a complete idiot.

"Yes, I like that a lot." Mr Campbell admired his handiwork. "Now my dear won't you join me for dinner?" He waved toward the table and the two chairs at the table. One, his chair sat at the head of the table looking out through one of the glass walls, the other, immediately adjacent to his, sat facing the other glass wall. Charlie noticed however that the chair being offered to her was lower than his.

A child's chair; 'Okay, this guy is certifiable.' She thought.

She took his hand and took a seat in the small chair. When she sat up straight the table top came just to her middle of her chest, meaning that when using cutlery she would have to awkwardly raise her arms up and over the edge.

The Maid stood in the corner near the hallway exit, undoubtedly Tazer still handy, denying Charlie the only open exit from the room.

"A drink Charlotte?" Mr Campbell asked politely.

"Yes, I would like a Miller please," thinking that she might play some mind games with the jerk by requesting her father's favourite pre-meal drink.

"No – I don't think that will be suitable. Obviously if you are going to behave like a child then you will be treated like one. Bosker?" He indicated to the Butler who had just appeared. "A glass of apple juice for our little Charlotte."

"What do you want with me?" Charlie asked icily.

"It's not what I want from you, it's what I'm going to do for you Charlotte." Mr Campbell calmly stated as a matter of fact.

"Don't play games with me mister. You've tricked me here to your little playground and I don't want to have anything to do with it. I want to go home, I want to go home now!" Charlie summoned her most forceful voice at this point and drove her fist onto the table to emphasise the point. In hindsight she thought that she must have looked comical to Mr Campbell, in her diminutive seat banging her fist onto the table trying to look forceful while dressed up like a child attending her first birthday party.

"Have you finished my little petulant one?" He asked with a wry grin on his face.

"No – I haven't, if you don't let me go I will escape and tell the police, you'll be in jail playing drop-the-soap, getting ass fucked by a three hundred pound gorilla. What do you think of that dick-wad?"

"My my, such a sharp tongue." Mr Campbell maintained his wry grin as he calmly continued: "First of all there is no escape from this apartment, I'm not going to fill your pretty little head with boring details about alarms or locks or sound proofing. All you need to know my little princess is that for your own protection everything you do and everywhere you go is entirely at my whim.

"Indeed let me dissuade you of any impropriety on my behalf. You are legally my ward until your father recovers, or even should he sadly pass away, you will remain my ward. I have a legal responsibility to protect you, feed you, clothe you and provide for your education. I am doing so. The fact that you are unhappy with me discharging my duties is neither here nor there, the simple fact of the matter is that I am fulfilling my legal responsibility under the law. Should I fail to do so, I could legitimately be charged with neglect.

"What is it exactly that you have taken issue with so far Charlotte? The fact that I have provided you with clothing more suitable to the cultural imperatives and climate of your new home? The fact that I am trying desperately hard to ease you through this difficult transition by keeping you from running off into the alleys and side-streets and possibly being raped or mugged by some thug?

"I have done no differently than any other parent would do so in the same situation. Would a parent let their six year old just walk out into the street to play?" Mr Campbell's reasoned appeal was tersely interrupted by an increasingly frustrated Charlie.

"I'm not six! I'm sixteen goddam years old! I've been looking after myself for ever!"

"And look at the result." Mr Campbell skilfully broke her building momentum. "At sixteen, you have few redeeming qualities, except for the beauty that your parents and God provided you, beauty that you so churlishly disregard. Your behaviour is the epitome of crudity, you dress like a Harlem gang-banger, your language would force a hardened navy man to blush, and from what I've gathered, your formal education is entirely deficient. It's time for your legal guardian to face up to these problems and address them, unlike your unfortunate father who spoilt you so dreadfully."

"That's Crap! I won't hear anymore of this, I want to go home, NOW!"

"You aren't going anywhere. Even if you did get out of this apartment, where would you go? The police will immediately return you here as you are legally my ward. Your own home is thousands of miles away. You have no money and no way of legally making any. You are for all intents and purposes here for the duration. You may as well get used to the fact."

"NEVER!" Having finally lost her temper Charlie stood to her feet and flung her glass of apple juice at Mr Campbell. The liquid splashed over his jacket. Mr Campbell barely flinched, rather he made a gesture toward the butler. A split second later Bosker had ambushed Charlie from behind and pushed her over the edge of the table. He forcefully held her down over the table by her shoulders as Mr Campbell rose slowly to his feet and wiped the apple juice away with a napkin.

"GET OFF ME! HELP! HELP! HELP! GET THEM OFF ME!" Charlie squealed as she tried to thrash her legs about beneath Bosker's firm grip.

"Now Charlotte that was entirely uncalled for. I am sorry for what I have to do now, but as with any other misbehaving child you need to be disciplined. If reasoning won't work then perhaps a little corporal punishment might communicate to you the error of your ways." Mr Campbell gently placed the napkin down and moved to behind Charlie. While Bosker held her pinned to the table by her shoulders Mr Campbell lifted her voluminous skirts to reveal the lacey satin panties beneath.

As he forcefully bought his open hand down upon her satin clad buttocks he continued to speak. "Let me explain the rules of this house to you."

SMACK! Charlie choked back a squeal.

"While you are living under this roof you will do as you are instructed, whether by myself, Bosker, Madeline or any of the tutors whom I have retained for your benefit." SMACK!

"You will not speak out of turn, you will not curse. I will not tolerate a bad attitude of any sort, it is not becoming of a young lady." SMACK! This blow bought an audible whimper from Charlie.

"I expect you to be prompt for your lessons and any other appointments that are arranged for you." SMACK! The sharp searing pain inflicted by Mr Campbell's firm hand sped through her bottom as she uttered another whimper.

"You will deport yourself as a lady in this house, I will not tolerate any uncouth behaviour not becoming of your noble sex." SMACK! This time the whimper rose to a mewling sound.

"I will not tolerate misbehaviour, refusal to follow a direction or poor performance with your lessons" SMACK! Charlie was trying hard not to let the pain show. Worse however was the humiliation. Bent over the table in front of the Butler and the Maid, dressed in the most hideously girly outfit imaginable and being spanked by this monster was almost more than she could bear.

"Now pay attention for a moment Charlotte, this is important, look at me." Bosker eased his grip slightly to allow Charlie to turn her head and look across the tabletop at Mr Campbell. In his free hand he held a small PDA, the screen displayed a calendar. "This is the merit board. You may have had something similar in your classroom in kindergarten. If you behave you may earn gold stars. Gold stars may be redeemed for increased privileges and presents. You might enjoy a trip to the zoo or some new toys or clothes to call your own. I am not an unfair man; I reward effort and good behaviour.

"However, if you break any of the rules I have just outlined…" SMACK! The extended reprieve from the spanking had allowed the warmth and pain to spread through her bottom and set it tingling. This new blow landed on the already bruised flesh and hurt more than all the others combined so far.

Charlie cried out in pain, embarrassment and distress. Mr Campbell continued: "then you will receive a black spot. Black Spots are met with proportionate punishment." To highlight the word punishment Mr Campbell's hand descended brutally once again with a resounding noise.

"ARGH! Stop it please stop it!" Charlie screamed as the pain wracked through her. Unmercifully Mr Campbell continued his speech.

"Each of the servants and your tutors have access to the merit board and can update it at will. In your bedroom is a copy of the board, like this one, on one of your dressers. Now in the event that you receive a black spot, I will determine the punishment you are to receive." SMACK!

"NO! Please no more!" Charlie squealed.

"Finally, and this is most important Charlotte, if you fail to submit willingly to the punishment that I nominate, then you will be punished anyway and I will determine a new punishment to reflect the black spots. Do you understand?"

"Yes…" A pained and much more chastened Charlie muttered.

"Good" – SMACK!

Chapter 7 –First signs of metamorphism?

Dinner had concluded with a now chastened and much less defiant Charlie shifting her weight from one buttock to the other as she slowly ate the fish and fries that had been brought out of the kitchen for her. Mr Campbell, satisfied that his lesson had been effective, was slowly working his way through a piece of flame grilled sirloin steak cooked rare and a Caesar salad.

Charlie had sat in silence once Mr Campbell had outlined the rules of the house and her spanking had ceased. She was broiling with conflicting emotions. In pain, she despised the man smugly sitting next to her; she despised every reminder of his domination of her. From the kid's meal she had been served in lieu of the sumptuous steak, to the teddy bears and bunny rabbits adorning her bedroom – he had engineered this travesty and she hated him for it.

Her pain and hatred was almost equal to the sheer embarrassment she was suffering. Sitting in a child's chair at the table, dressed up in a light pink fantasy of lace, frills and ruffles - she felt humiliated. Even more so for the knowledge that tonight she would be sleeping under the teddy bear motifed coverlet in a bedroom to make the most feminine of little girls cringe. Gone was her comfortable room decorated with action posters of her favourite sport stars. Gone was her cable TV almost always switched to one of the twenty sports channels her father subscribed her to. No more comfortable jeans and blazers – they had been stolen by the servants and presumably destroyed. Her humiliation was complete and utter.

And yet during her spanking – during the stinging pain of Mr Campbell's firm hand, under the firm grip of the butler – again the butterflies in her stomach had swelled. Stronger than her memory of being pinned beneath Kyle, she had felt through that pain and humiliation, the hatred and embarrassment, a feeling of jubilant elation. A warm glow through her stomach reaching down, spreading through her thighs. Under the hand of this monster she had felt a feeling never fully revealed to her before. She struggled to identify its source and its meaning. She simply couldn't articulate in her own thoughts what that feeling meant to her, except that she thought she'd liked it.

For a second there, just a second, after that last blow had descended upon her satin covered panties, she had almost asked for another smack. Just one more, to bring that feeling back.

Instead she had resumed her seat once Bosker had released her and now she shifted her weight about to try and alleviate the pain in her bottom from the unyielding hard wood of her little chair.

The meal was cleared away by the maid and Mr Campbell enjoyed a snifter of brandy. Finished with eating he began speaking again. "Tomorrow you will meet your first tutor. She has been retained to teach you manners, deportment and protocol. I expect you to do your utmost to please her." He paused awaiting for a reaction from Charlie. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you understand me?" He asked firmly.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes sir." Charlie was too conflicted at the present moment to push the boundaries any further with Mr Campbell. She would have to consider her position and feelings before she chanced her hand against this man again.

"Good Girl. Now get yourself to bed, it's getting late. Madeline will help you to your room." With that he picked up the evening paper and began to read through it, continuing to sip on his brandy.

Dismissed, Charlie stood and began gingerly walking after the Maid as she directed Charlie back down the hallway toward her new bedroom. On reaching the room the maid indicated that she should change out of her clothes into the pyjamas that had been laid out on the bed. She also showed Charlie where the laundry chute in the bathroom was where she could deposit her dirty clothes. It barely even registered with Charlie that the chute was too small for even her delicate frame to wiggle into.

The door closed behind her and locked, leaving Charlie alone in her private nightmare for the night.

---

Charlie woke stiffly to the sun shining through the lead lit flower window. Her memories of the previous night's dinner still disturbed her. Mr Campbell, she still refused to think of him by his first name, had informed her of his rules.

There were many of them - but only one punishment, to submit to whatever punishment he prescribed...

She had received her first taste of his brand of punishment when she had thrown her apple juice over his jacket. Taken by surprise she had been forcefully thrust over the edge of the table and spanked on her satin panties. She hadn't been spanked ever, even when she'd lost her father's car keys when she was seven.

The ignominy and embarrassment of being spanked like a little girl in front of the maid and the butler had shamed her to the core. Yet she had also felt again those butterflies in her stomach. The feeling of exhilaration that she had felt when pinned to the ground by Kyle, she had felt that again last night. Bent over the table, dressed up in lace, ruffles and frills like a little girl and spanked forcefully on her bottom.

What was happening to her? I'm Charlie – the best pinch hitter in my baseball team, the best 3-point shot at school. I'm Charlie, I beat most boys hands down at anything and everything they do. I'm Charlie, I'm in your face, I ain't going to take your attitude…

She dragged herself out of bed and walked into the bathroom, a shower would help her recover and get her head around the last twenty four hours. She shed the cotton sheep-print pyjamas that had been provided to her. Last night she'd considered not wearing them, but the thought of Mr Campbell watching her in the night through his camera while she was naked convinced her that her modesty afforded this small loss of her dignity.

She finished showering and brushing her teeth just as the Butler's voice came over the speaker from the bedroom roof. "Twenty minutes until school time Miss Charlotte – you had better get dressed, I've put your clothes in the wardrobe for you to wear."

Clean and somewhat resolved to the day ahead after her initial period of confused waking, she walked to the dreaded wardrobe. Last night it had given up that hideous pink dress; what did it have in stall today?

Again it proffered the hairbrush, ties and comb together with wide red ribbons. She walked to the mirrored dresser and began putting her hair up in pigtails.

"The Master indicated that you need to put them up higher on the sides of your head Miss Charlotte, they'll fall out otherwise."

"Shut-it weirdo – at least if I have to put my hair up into these gay pigtails, I'll do it how I want."

"I'm sorry miss Charlotte, I'm going to have to give you a black spot."

Mr Campbell had explained the Merit Board to her last night as she was bent over the table suffering under his firm hand. When he wasn't there, the staff could give her black spots and gold stars. Spots were meted out for breaking the rules while gold stars were rewards for good behaviour. A copy of the merit board sat in a photo-frame next to her bed. It contained a lightweight computer screen, similar to a PDA, providing her with a constantly updated summary of her transgressions. Mr Campbell carried a similar screen with himself.

To her chagrin a black spot appeared on the board next to today's date.

"Fine, I'll make sure they're nice and high for you asshole…" she mumbled to herself.

"What was that Miss Charlotte – you do know it's not polite for good girls to mutter to themselves, would you like another spot?"

"No sir." She responded quickly.

Not a stupid girl, Charlie had resolved to comply somewhat with the wishes of her captors, at least in the short term. She was more likely to be able to check out escape opportunities if she was seen to be relatively willing and agreeable. Not too agreeable however, a seismic shift in her demeanour overnight was bound to attract attention.

"I said I will make sure they are nice and high for you sir."

"That's better young Charlotte, now you had better get a hurry on, your tutor will be here in ten minutes."

Her hair finished, the wardrobe now offered up a pair of white socks, this time with scarlet lace trimming and a new pair of shiny scarlet Mary Janes. She also found a peculiar pair of white cotton panties.

Similarly to the satin and lace panties she had been forced to wear last night, these were fringed with white lace around the waist and the legs. The front of the panties had been embroidered with a cute teddy bear. However, the truly intriguing part of these panties was that down the inside of the crotch ran a length of Velcro.

She didn't have time to contemplate the panties much further as the Butler hurried her up over the intercom. If she kept the tutor waiting, he told her, he would be forced to black spot her again. Anxious to avoid any further punishment than was already coming, she hurried into the frilly panties, socks and shoes.

The wardrobe, which she was quickly coming to despise for the horrific creations it offered up, now contained a large box. Opening it revealed a scarlet sailor suit. A wide white collar, bordered with scarlet squared off behind her back, it then ran over her shoulders and met at the front to be topped with a big red ribboned bow. A white seam gathered in around her midriff, just below her bust, while the scarlet puffy sleeves where again contrasted with white edging. The skirt descended down, again to her knees and along the hem it was bordered in startling white. The skirt itself was bustled out by a set of petticoats, bulking the skirt out to make it appear even more feminine and girlish.

'Thank god there's not as many ruffles and lace this time' she thought as she put on the scarlet sailor suit. She'd barely finished struggling into the dress by the time the maid opened the bathroom door.

"Ready for school Miss Charlotte?" The maid asked.

"Yes. Charlie is ready, thankyou" Charlie referred to herself in the third person, just to drive home the point that although she was clad in a ridiculous sailor suit straight out of the JC Penney catalogue from 1932, she was certainly not about to start referring to herself by that dreadfully prissy name her late mother had imparted on her.

Chapter 8 –Boundaries Challenged

Down the now familiar hall Charlie walked. It was time to test the waters she thought; on reaching the edge of a rug in the middle of the hallway she feigned a stumble, only to have the maid catch her by the arm at the last instant. The maid had reacted with the speed of a rattlesnake, hauling Charlie back to her feet. Simultaneously the maid subtly reminded Charlie of the folly of trying to escape as the Tazer was jabbed into her ribs, but thankfully not activated.

On her feet again the maid opened a door that revealed a miniature classroom. Just a single chair and desk faced the blackboard, but textbooks and all manner of normal school paraphernalia surrounded the room. On the bench running along the wall stood a world globe, pinned to the wall was a table of elements. There were subtle differences from a normal modern classroom though; like the bright and cheery poster, possibly produced in the 1950's, of a young girl grinning sweetly while extolling that "smiling helps make a brighter day". The stout leather strap hanging from a hook next to the blackboard also attracted Charlie's attention, as it provided a sinister overtone to the classroom.

Standing before the blackboard, carefully writing on the black board stood a primly dressed, dour faced woman, her greying hair tied back in a severe bun. The maid ushered Charlie into the schoolroom before closing the door behind her. The dour faced woman, without turning around, stated "Take a seat child; I will be with you in a minute."

Charlie took the few steps to her desk. It was a classic wooden school desk, complete with a hinged lid, which Charlie investigated. Beneath the desks lid lay stationery, but not the stock standard stationery that one would expect in a normal school desk. The light pink notepaper was embossed with cherubs in the top corner and the pens were purple and red, no plain black or blue pens here.

An impartial observer would be struck by the microscopic attention to detail that had been applied by whoever had designed this room, and Charlie's bedroom for that matter. No effort had been spared to ensure that every item, no matter how unimportant, imparted of measure of femininity. From "The Adventures of Isabelle", a book in the little girl's bedroom which apparently concerned a pony loving, well behaved young girl, to the cherub embossed note paper; everything reinforced someone's contrived vision of prepubescent girly utopia.

"I am Mistress Heinz; you may address me as Mistress Heinz or just plain Mistress. Mr Campbell has retained me to conduct remedial protocol and deportment lessons for you Charlotte."

"It's Charlie."

"Not within my classroom, and I will require you to address me properly in future."

"Only if you address me properly by my chosen name… Mistress." Charlie pointedly added the last word after a pregnant pause.

"I can see we are going to have a great deal of difficulty with each other. Come here child!" Mistress Heinz had taken the leather strap from the wall and began winding it about her right hand.

Charlie rose to her feet behind her wooden desk, ready to dodge to either side if the strap-wielding tutor started toward her. "No way!" She asserted, assuming a coiled stance ready to evade the ever-looming disciplinarian.

"You can come over here and take your punishment willingly, or I can come over to you. I strongly recommend that you march yourself over here right now young lady." The ultimatum was delivered matter-of-factly as Mistress Heinz came within reach of Charlie.

"No. Stay away from me you old bat! I'm not going anywhere near that thing." Referring to the menacing strap in Mistress Heinz's hand.

"Fine, have it your own way girl, that's one black spot and six of the best." Charlie was shocked at the speed and strength of the aging tutor. What she hadn't considered was that Mistress Heinz had spent a lifetime dealing with recalcitrant, unwilling or simply slow-to-learn young adults. A product of an age where corporal punishment was considered a learning aid, she expertly snatched Charlie's hand and twisted her arm behind her back before Charlie could react. Having immobilised the struggling girl Mistress Heinz proceeded to force her over the desk and lift up her skirts.

The strapping commenced at once, without any warning and without any further dialogue. Charlie, bent over the desk with her cotton white panties bared to the world, cried out loudly as the first crack reported throughout the classroom. This strapping was entirely different to the open hand of Mr Campbell. Where Mr Campbell had waited between blows and interspersed his spanking with harsh words, Mistress Heinz remained tight-lipped while efficiently and relentlessly bringing the thick strap down heavily on Charlie's taut bottom.

By the sixth blow Charlie's entire bottom was on fire, the pain coursing through her. Yet the brutality and sped of this unexpected strapping had left her outraged. "Charlotte, you will say 'My name is Charlotte.'" As Mistress Heinz directed Charlie, Charlie snapped back.

"Go to hell you cow!"

"Wrong answer, another spot and six more." The tutor recommenced her barrage with little warning and no sign of impending mercy. By the ninth blow tears began trickling down Charlie's cheeks and at the twelfth the salty tears were running freely onto her yellow pinafore.

Inside, Charlie seethed.

The flurry of blows ceased, and the Mistress repeated her question in a new form: "What's your name girl?"

"Charlie! It's Charlie! NOW GET OFF ME YOU CRAZY BITCH!" Charlie struggled by kicking out with her feet, but the experienced teacher merely shifted her weight and easily avoided the lashing kicks. "One more black spot and twelve more on the behind should make you reconsider."

At the twentieth blow Charlie started screaming in animalistic pain. With machinelike precision and relentlessness, Mistress Heinz brought the strap down over Charlie's frilled white panties again and again and again. Beneath the vice like grip of Mistress Heinz, she wailed. Her screams had now become a constant sobbing howl – yet in her stomach she felt the flutter of butterflies.

As the strap continued descending she felt a glow spread out from her stomach and her thighs. A dark hunger began engulfing her soul, and when she was offered the opportunity to recant her previous stubborn refusal, she refused again, but this time for a different reason that sheer stubbornness. The tutor announced the addition of two more spots and twelve more blows with the merciless strap.

The strapping resumed with Charlotte constantly sobbing, her face a tortured, scrunched up ball of pain. Inside however, she revelled in the feeling of helplessness, in the hard pitiless rhythm of the strap. She closed her eyes and thought of Kyle, big strong handsome Kyle, holding her over his knee and spanking her, before lifting her up from his knee and kissing her passionately. Suddenly she realised that her body was betraying her, the glow in her thighs and stomach had consequently led to her becoming hot down below… hot and wet.

Shocked at this realisation and dreading how the aging tutor would react to her soiling her panties in lust beneath the ministrations of the strap – she took the next opportunity to recant: "Charlotte! My name is Charlotte! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop, please just stop!"

"Now that's better." Mistress Heinz pulled Charlotte's skirts down and indicated that she could resume her seat. "Perhaps we can start over: It's a pleasure to meet you Charlotte."

Between sobs Charlotte responded, "Thankyou… Mistress Heinz… it's a pleasure… to meet you too." She took up her seat and again found herself having to shift about on the hard wooden seat to relieve the pain of her freshly beaten bottom.

Thankfully however, Mistress Heinz did not require Charlotte to stay seated long. After announcing her intended lesson plan she had the young girl stand up and walk the length of the room. After two circuits of the small class room Mistress Heinz announced: "No, no, no, no, no, no. Don't swagger – walk. A young lady shouldn't look like she's just spent a month in the saddle. Again! And this time don't swagger. Keep your thighs together. Stop dragging your feet! That's a bit better, but you're slouching, shoulders back! Chin up!" Mistress Heinz continued barking directions at Charlotte, watching her walking up and down the room.

After half an hour of walking from one end of the room to the other, and a couple of light blows on her already stinging bottom for repeated transgressions, Mistress Heinz insisted that Charlotte now place a book on her head while conducting the exercise. "It helps you keep your back straight, your chin up and shoulders back." She explained to a quietly resigned Charlotte.

The deportment lessons continued during lunch with Mistress Heinz instructing Charlotte on table manners. She excelled during lunch, as she was no stranger to silver service dinners with her father's partners. Mistress Heinz offered limited praise for Charlotte's accomplished table manners, and immediately after lunch they returned to correcting her walk, the aforementioned swagger now much reduced. The drudgery of the repeated exercise began to grate on Charlie, as she railed against the seductive notion of acquiescing to the aging tutor's instructions to avoid further correction.

As the end of the school day approached Charlie had reasserted herself over the nascent and dissenting voice of Charlotte. Charlie strengthened her mental resolve to quietly resist the manipulative processes being applied to her.

Mistress Heinz handed over a book quaintly entitled "Manners of a Lady." The cover depicted a well-dressed conservative young lady sitting primly on a straight backed-chair.

"This book addresses important issues of decorum and protocol that must be observed and followed by young ladies in social situations. I cannot stress to you how important it is that you absorb the lessons contained in that book, commit them to memory, and practice them unthinkingly. I will be quizzing you on Chapters one through five tomorrow." Charlie, after taking possession of the book resumed her hard seat delicately and quickly thumbed through the book.

"That's almost a hundred pages! You can't expect me to read all that!"

"Not only do I expect you to read it young miss, I expect you to devour it, to memorize it and to be able to repeat the key concepts by tomorrow morning. Additionally I will not tolerate such rudeness in my classroom. If I didn't think you could finish those chapters tonight I wouldn't have given you the task." She rose to her feet at this stage and approached the desk.

"Since you are so concerned about having insufficient time to do your homework; then you can miss out on afternoon tea and playtime in the rumpus room." With that Mistress Heinz grabbed Charlie by the ear and pulled her toward the exit from the classroom.

Chapter 9 –The Two Way Nature of Aquarium Glass

Charlotte, nee Charlie, was sitting on her blue teddy bear coverlet back in her bedroom. She had been told that due to her poor behaviour during today's class she was being denied playtime in the rumpus room. Unsure of what girlish delights had been planned for her there she was unsure if this was a good or a bad thing. There were certainly not going to be any basketballs or backboards to slam-dunk in any rumpus room planned and designed by Mr Campbell.

So after being unceremoniously dragged by the ear back to her room and given a book entitled "Manners of a lady" to read and report back on, Charlie sat on her bed crying. In the space of two days she had been stripped of her clothes, her home, her father and was being treated like someone's china doll. Dressed up in outlandishly girlish clothes, forced to walk without spilling books off her head and strapped for referring to herself as Charlie. She sobbed into her pillow, which she noted was also fringed with lace – was nothing sacred!

What frustrated her most of all was that beyond the classroom she hadn't been able to roam the penthouse at all. The strategy of reluctant acquiescence that she had resolved to follow this morning had backfired dreadfully in Mistress Heinz's classroom. Mistress Heinz refused to accept any transgression and now Charlie faced the prospect of incurring further punishment at Mr Campbell's hands. She doubted very much that the limited freedom she so desperately sought was likely to be given to her after today. Her hopes at being able to search for a likely escape route from this prison were temporarily squashed.

"The Master will be arriving home in twenty minutes, he expects you to be ready for dinner when he arrives. Miss Charlotte, you may want to fix your hair before he sees you, he can be rather finicky." Bosker the butler's voice disappeared as Charlotte dragged herself off the bed and looked at herself in the mirror. Bosker was right; in her exertions during the day she had pulled her hair all askew, she pulled the ties out and started re-brushing her hair, afraid of incurring any further black spots.

Once finished she looked at herself in the mirror. Gone was the brash looking tom girl called Charlie, and staring straight back at her was a pigtailed little girl dressed in frilly socks, Mary Janes and a scarlet sailor suit. She stared into the mirror silently mouthing the words "You are Charlie, You are Charlie", over and over again until the bathroom door opened to reveal the maid.

----

The swish of her crinoline underskirts heralded Charlie's arrival in the Dining room. Mr Campbell was already sitting at the table reading over some papers. He indicated that she should take her diminutive seat next to him. As she sat down in the small seat, he inquired after her day: "How was school today Charlotte?"

"I would rather not talk about that cow you've got training me. What use exactly is it to know how to walk up and down a room while balancing a book on your head? It's pointless and…"

"Enough! Mistress Heinz is revered as this cities greatest Tutor in protocol and deportment. You will do well to learn from her. I see here that she has listed you for five black spots, in addition to the one given to you by Bosker this morning."

"But-"

"No! There will be no backchat young lady. You were told the rules of this house last night and while you dwell here under my charge you will live by them or submit to the consequences. Now, let's have dinner before I discuss your punishment"

Seeing that arguing would get her nowhere Charlie stayed silent. Bosker entered the room bearing the evening's meal. For Mr Campbell, a succulent piece of tender veal schnitzel with a charming garden salad had been prepared. He accompanied the meal with a glass of dark red wine, presumably a sturdy Shiraz. As with the night before her meal was suitably different. A hard-boiled egg with the top cut off together with little soldiers (toasted bread cut into three strips for dipping in the yolk).

Sitting on her small chair in her ridiculous outfit she looked up at her captor seething with anger and frustration. What was she to do? Until she could establish otherwise, she assumed that every entrance and exit from the penthouse was secure and alarmed. So far she had seen no telephone to speak of, and worst of all even if she did escape (dressed as she was) the police would merely pick her up and bring her back here, as legally Mr Campbell remained her guardian until her father recovered. All these hurdles would have to be dealt with before she could attempt an escape.

And now the contrary voice re-emerged in her head. It argued that really, when you think about it, who would believe me even if I did escape? He dresses me up but beyond that, all he's given me is a single spanking, and if I'm honest with myself I deserved it. He's providing me with an expensive education and…

The alternating thoughts battled for supremacy inside her head. On one side Charlie railed against the frippery, the femineity being imposed on her, the recently emergent voice of Charlotte argued back that really Mr Campbell was just a nice man trying to look after her…

Bosker and the maid had efficiently removed the dinner plates. Mr Campbell was sitting back enjoying an aperitif and considering the scarlet clad Charlotte. His gaze ran up her body, from her shiny scarlet Mary Janes to the red bows in her hair. He shocked Charlie/Charlotte from her internal dialogue by asking the question "What am I to do with you my little Charlotte?"

"Pardon me?"

"Pardon me sir; surely even your rudimentary manners ought to tell you when to properly address your betters? I was asking you what am I to do with you. Six black spots. One might have earned you another spanking, perhaps bare-bottomed this time. But no, six black spots requires far more drastic action to convince you the error of your ways. Have you any suggestions?"

"No sir."

"Well let me think about it some. Do you like your outfit, I made it myself you know."

"It's fine." Charlotte responded, avoiding looking down at the scarlet sailor suit.

"Just fine, is that it?"

"Well, it's not really my style you know."

"Oh I think it is Charlotte. You look very striking in it. Very striking indeed."

He returned his attention to his brandy, wistfully looking out upon the city lights.

Internally conflicted she might be, but Charlie decided to try and find out some more about this disturbing tailor who had imprisoned her. Every piece of information she could gather might be useful.

"Mr Campbell, how long ago did you know my father?"

"Many years ago, before you were born actually. He was my manager when I worked for the firm, but despite our differences in age and seniority we became very close friends."

"What did you do at Daddies firm?"

"I worked on introducing new derivative products in currency futures markets. Those are financial products that help exporters and importers hedge their risks and reduce their foreign currency exposure. We were one of the first companies to really break into the market in a big way."

"So why did you leave, how come Dad hadn't seen you in such a long time?"

Mr Campbell furtively shifted his attention back to Charlie. Was he uncomfortable with her line of questioning?

"It's a long story Charlotte; the short of it is that it was only my college job. As soon as I'd finished college I came back here to take over the family business."

"But how can you afford all this" she waved her hand about, indicating that she referred to the well appointed penthouse, "surely your little tailor shop isn't this successful?"

"Nosey little thing tonight aren't you? No, Thompson and Campbell's isn't my sole source of income. I still dabble in the markets, somewhat successfully I might add. But my great love is tailoring, there's nothing as rewarding as taking a piece of cloth and moulding it to your design.

"They say that 'clothes make the man', and I believe it with all my heart. You can take a homeless bum and dress him in one of my suits and he wouldn't be out of place in the finest restaurant uptown. I could retire tomorrow but…" He let the thought hang in the air, Charlie decided to change tack.

"Did you ever know my mother?"

"Yes, a fine woman. She would be proud to see you now."

"What was she like? I don't remember her at all."

"Enough questions for one night, I have made up my mind." He turned to the doorway that presumably led to the kitchens.

"Bosker!" The butler appeared in the doorway at Mr Campbell's beck and call.

"Mr Campbell, Sir?"

"I think tomorrow young Charlotte should be introduced to the punishment undergarments. Perhaps that will convince her to begin complying with her lessons?"

"It will be arranged at once sir."

Chapter 10 – Beware a Rose's Thorns.

Charlotte had initially slept poorly, disturbed by the prospect of the punishment undergarments, whatever they were. 'What possibly are "punishment undergarments", what can Mr Campbell have possible meant?' Trepidation, fear and anxiety filled her as she struggled to get to sleep.

She eventually fell asleep to dreams of being imprisoned in a tower by an evil prince, a clichéd dream she hadn't had since she was small, and woke abruptly to Bosker waking her gently from her slumber. He had actually come into her bedroom to wake her, an event in and of itself. To date none of the help had appeared in her bedroom, or Mr Campbell for that matter, instead they'd used the speaker installed in her ceiling.

"Rise and shine young miss, you have a long day ahead of you."

Charlie went to shove her teddy-bear coverlet from her body when she noticed that during the night her body had betrayed herself. Clinging to her sheet, she wrapped it around herself and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her in order to safeguard her dignity.

How could she? It was just a stupid dream, the prince had imprisoned her, tied her up and 'Oh God! What's happening to me?' Charlie thought as she stripped off her sheep-print pyjamas and jumped into the shower. She repeated her morning ritual while she considered the treachery her body had conducted upon her. Hopefully no one would notice the damp patch in the fork of her pyjamas, she hoped to herself.

As she glided the razor over her sensuous mound she found herself touching herself in a way she had never considered before. Her eyes closed, thoughts of rope tying her up, of Mr Campbell spanking her, of Kyle's crushing body on hers ran through her mind as she gently played with herself.

"Miss Charlotte, Mistress Heinz will be here soon and we don't want to leave her waiting."

"No Bosker, I'll be right there." Charlotte replied, hastily dragging her hand away from her nether regions. 'God damnit, I'm becoming some sort of freak.' Charlie thought to herself.

Freshly washed Charlie returned to the bedroom to find that bosker had laid out her clothes already for her to wear. Today the wardrobe had offered up the black Mary Janes again. Matching white frilly socks were of course in attendance; today the fringed lace was yellow. Yellow ribbons for her hair were there to match the dress.

The dress was a yellow pinafore over an attached white ruffled blouse, again the sleeves puffed out to be fringed with lace. The bottom hem sported a six-inch wide peek-a-boo frill of lace, while the chest was ruffled white; the collar came up to the top of her neck. Undoubtedly this was yet another of Mr Campbell's creations. At this point she noticed the other garments.

A virtual copy of the white cotton panties she had worn yesterday were laying on the bed, the ones that had intrigued her with the internal Velcro. Next to the panties lied a matching cotton sports bra, also frilled with identical lace to that of the panties.

"Hurry up Miss Charlotte, you haven't got all day." Bosker hurried her along.

On lifting the frilled panties from the bed she finally realised the terrible purpose of the Velcro. Within the panties crotch had been attached a six inch long piece of rough textured scrubbing pad, protruding from the pad were thousands of bristles, the type found on any normal scrubbing brush. The bristles formed a rectangle one inch wide and five inches long that had been strategically placed to torment her in the most private of places. Attached by Velcro they could be added or removed at will, almost immediately Charlie went to pull the shocking pad of torment away from the Velcro in the panties.

"I'm afraid you shouldn't do that Miss Charlotte – Mr Campbell expressly ordered you to submit to the punishment undergarments today." Bosker informed the shocked girl as he restrained her from removing the bristles.

Dropping the panties, Charlotte spun away from Bosker backing herself toward her little white desk – "No way, there is no way I'm wearing those – you can't, no, no, I'll never." She continued backing away, her face betraying her abject fear at the prospect of being forced into the panties.

"I'm sorry Miss Charlotte. The house rules clearly say that you either submit to Mr Campbell's punishment, or if you choose not to submit and put on those lovely little panties, then I'm afraid I will have to call the maid and dress you ourselves." He raised his arm as if about to call for the maid when Charlotte interrupted him.

"Please Mr Bosker; please you can't make me wear those horrible panties." She pleaded and continued, "Look, I've been so good, I've put my hair up and worn the dresses, I've tried hard at my lessons, please I'm begging you, there must be something else I can do?" She had fallen to her knees and was looking up at Bosker with a pleading look.

"Madeleine! Your help is required, please bring the dressing post!" Bosker called out.

"No, please, anything, anything else…" Charlotte trailed away and began to sob into her towel as she sat on the ground. Bosker's attention switched toward the door, Charlotte looked up to plead further. She noticed that he'd turned his back from her.

Now was her chance, the first chance she had had to escape the clutches of Mr Campbell and his servants, as the door opened the semi-naked Charlotte pounced, she ran passed a stunned Bosker and attempted to barrel over the maid who was wheeling in a sinister looking pole. Freedom was about to be hers! She shoulder charged the maid and then suddenly felt a sharp pain. Her body involuntarily convulsed. She hit the ground and everything began to go black…

---

Smelling salts bought Charlie around as she jerked awake, straining against her restraints.

"Silly girl, Madeline always keeps her Tazer handy. That was very silly of you. Another black spot I'm afraid. Not to mention that you will have to report to Mr Campbell tonight with seven black spots hanging over your head. Now look where it got you…"

Her wrists had been attached at the top of the vertical pole that she'd last seen the maid wheeling in. Raised above her head they were individually bound in yellow leather restraints. She stood there naked as the maid was kneeling at Charlie's feet with the socks and shoes close at hand. Still groggy she failed to struggle as the maid pulled up each of the white socks frilled with yellow lace and then pulled them up Charlie's feet. The patent black Mary Janes were then buckled on tightly.

Bosker was busy brushing and plaiting Charlie's hair. She began to fully recover just as the maid had pulled her feet through each of the leg holes of the white panties with the insidious bristles lying in wait. She deftly pulled the panties up Charlie's thighs as the young girl began pointlessly struggling against her tormentors. The panties continued their relentless journey up her legs as she attempted to kick out at the maid. Still weak after her encounter with the Tazer, the maid merely brushed aside the poor girl's futile resistance and finally brought the waist band of the ruffled white panties over Charlie's hips.

She sensed the bristles just brushing the tender lips of her sex as the maid bent down to adjust the elasticised bands around each of Charlotte's legs finally bringing the tormenting bristles into full contact with her shaven vagina. All struggle ceased in the girl as soon as she realised that her excessive movement caused the bristles to dig in and grind against her sensitive flesh.

"NO! Please take them off – I'll be good, I promise!" A breathless Charlotte begged the servants.

"Oh you will be good Miss Charlotte. Or you'll find that this is only a taste of the punishments that Mr Campbell will hand out." The butler informed Charlotte.

Having finished adjusting the panties the maid gathered the frilly white bra from the bed, devilishly displaying it to a despairing Charlotte. The masochistic gleam in the maid's eye almost scared Charlotte as much as the realisation that the inner cups of the bra where also coated in the fiendish bristles.

Releasing and then reattaching her wrists one at a time from the dressing post the maid pulled the frilly sports bra over Charlotte's head. Working carefully she manoeuvred Charlotte's breasts into the bristle lined cups. The maid ensured that the entire surfaces of her breasts were suffering beneath the ministrations of the heavy-duty plastic bristles. Being a sports bra, it was designed to restrict and compress breasts during physical activity. With the bristles added, the design of the bra worked to ensure that every inch of Charlotte's tits were being prodded and rubbed.

The butler pulled the yellow pinafore over Charlotte's head while the maid began adjusting the elasticised puffy sleeves. Prior to tying the large white sash around her waist into an enormous bow, the butler produced a yellow leather belt with two D rings attached on either side. The belt was fastened tightly around Charlotte's waist and her wrists released from the dressing post, only to have them refastened securely at her sides. Charlotte found that she was unable to reach anywhere. With her hands fixed firmly to her sides she was unable to touch the panties or bra, leaving the heinous bristles to continue their torturous work on her suffering vagina and breasts.

With their work complete the servants stepped back to admire their handiwork. Charlotte stood adoringly in the centre of the room, her hair tied up into high pigtails decorated with large yellow satin ribbons. Her yellow pinafore over the ruffled white blouse was a swishing sissy creation of ruffles and bows. Upon her feet, the signature frilled socks and patent Mary Janes. But perhaps most satisfying, more so for the masochistic maid, was the full knowledge that this little angel dressed for school, was suffering intense and excruciating discomfort from the thousands of bristles assaulting her delicate flesh.

Chapter 11 – Changes in the Crysalis.

Walking, Charlotte found, was problematic with the panties on. Each delicate step she took toward the classroom resulted in the bristles rubbing agonisingly against her mound. She had attempted to shift her hands around her waist to get at least a bit of purchase on the waistband of the panties only to find absolutely no give whatsoever. Her hands remained firmly secured at her sides, helplessly unable to free, or even relieve, the torment imposed on her.

Her breasts were fairing slightly better. The crushing sports bra, while driving the bristles deeply into Charlotte's flesh, also prevented any bounce or movement. Thankfully this lack of movement prevented further irritation of the bristles grinding against her bouncing breasts. Instead the bra inflicted a constant intense pressure beneath which Charlotte's breasts suffered the prickly ministrations of the bristles.

The maid ushered the anguished Charlotte into the classroom for her lesson with Mistress Heinz. The door closed behind her, Charlotte gingerly sat at her desk. Shooting pain wracked her face as the panties ground into her vulnerable flesh against the hard chair. Hastily she attempted to rise from the chair, however with her hands locked to her sides she lost balance, falling back into the chair and quadrupling the shooting pain in her crotch.

A distressed squeal of torment ushered from Charlotte's lips at the pain and tears welled up in her eyes as Mistress Heinz turned from the blackboard to face the anguished girl.

"Now I hope that I won't have to take the strap to you again today Charlotte. I hope that you have abandoned your contrary attitude and will attend to today's lessons. Today we will be reviewing the book I gave you for homework – 'Manners of a lady'. Did you do your homework?"

Charlotte, the pain in her crotch slowly subsiding from agonisingly unbearable back to merely painful, nodded gently. "Yes Mistress."

Unperturbed by the sight of the teary and tormented Charlotte, Mistress Heinz pushed on with the lesson. For hours the tutor had Charlotte recite and recall various rules of social protocol. When is it appropriate to accept a drink from a gentleman at a ball, how does one elegantly and politely refuse a dance, is it appropriate to spend an entire evening with the same dance partner…

On and on the revision and teaching continued, all the while Charlotte sat primly at her desk, avoiding any unwarranted movement that would further grind the bristles into her crotch. Simultaneously her breasts had gradually become two balls of agony; crushed and spiked the pain washed over her in waves. Yet she focused all her attention on the tutor, trying to ignore the ever-increasing pain. She dreaded having to front up to Mr Chambers with any more than the existing seven black spots that she would already have to incur penance for.

Therefore, despite the occasional tear rolling down her face, despite the agonising pain she was suffering she devoted all her intent, all her attention on answering Mistress Heinz's questions correctly.

As the end of the school day approached, Mistress Heinz offered Charlotte her praise: "You've been a very attentive and good girl today Charlotte. As a reward I am giving you a single gold star. You may also spend your afternoon in the playroom. Madeline will accompany you and show you the way."

A gold star! Charlotte's first reaction was that her heart rose in her throat, she felt elated at finally having something go her way. Deep in the background of her mind, drowned out in the cacophony of ongoing pain, Charlie screamed out in anguish. Pointing out just how quickly Mr Campbell's regime of discipline and reward was altering her from a happily active tomboy into a lace and ruffle loving submissive little girl.

---

The playroom turned out to fulfil all of Charlie's previously expressed fears. Delicately patterned light-blue wallpaper covered in dancing ballerinas decorated the room. From wall to wall it contained an incomparable collection of toys, dollhouses, soft toys, dolls and every conceivable pursuit for a little girl. A pink rocking horse stood in one corner, bedecked in ribbons and inviting the attention of any pony-loving child. In another corner stood a miniature wardrobe, whose doors had been left enticingly open; revealing a plethora of doll clothes, shoes, gloves, scarves and accessories. Charlie noticed ironically that many of the doll's clothes resembled those she had been coerced into wearing over the last two days. A child's table sat in the centre of the room, complete with plastic tea set ready for imaginary tea parties with any of the inanimate but numerous inhabitants of the room.

The maid had taken up a chair at the only adult sized table in the room. Here she began reading the latest fashion magazine and indicated that Charlie should amuse herself.

Charlie responded by clearing her throat, and wiggling her restrained hands about. She temporarily turned on her fake charm: "Excuse me Miss Madeline, but how am I meant to do anything while my hands are tied at my sides?"

"Well that's a good question Charlotte, so I'll make you a proposition. See the rocking horse in the corner there? If you ride it for Aunty Madeline I'll release your hands?" The maid pointed toward the pink, over-sized rocking horse, complete with ribbons hanging from its harness.

"I think I'd rather not if it's all the same to you." Charlie baulked at the thought of riding the horse, not just at the potential humiliation it would cause her, but at the pain that sitting astride the narrow saddle would surely bring.

"Well then I guess that your hands will stay bound then, might make it a bit hard for you to eat afternoon tea as well." With that Madeline took the lid off a silver platter that had been sitting on the adult sized table awaiting the pair's arrival.

Not having eaten since dinner the previous night Charlie was ravenous. She gazed upon the offered food, fresh grapes, and a half-wheel of her favourite Brie cheese with water crackers and delicate slices of various melons. Her mouth watered, "Please Madeline? I'm so hungry."

"Ride the horse."

"No please, that's too much."

"Ride the horse or wait till dinner…"

She began considering the rocking horse. The prospect of having her hands released, so that they might at least provide some relief to her burning crotch and breasts appealed to her. So too did the thought of the delicious food on offer. Was the short-term torment worth it though? Would the maid report her if Charlotte failed to indulge this whim? How would Mr Campbell react? She approached the horse slowly, weighing up the dreadful options confronting her.

"That's it sweetie, ride the nice little horsy for Aunty Madeline." Charlotte looked back to see the masochistic maid's eyes brimming with anticipation of the self inflicted agony she was about to cause herself. She'd made up her mind: 'just a little bit of pain and everything will get better…'

Facing the horse again she gently swung her leg and skirts over the saddle of the rocking horse and found that her feet could only just touch the ground if she stood a-tip-toe. The unforgiving saddle brought the bristles into play again, grinding against her already tormented mound.

"Now be a good girl and rock back and forward for your Aunty."

Charlotte, a tear rolling down her cheek from the renewed punishment, gently rocked her body forward. The horse responded and began rocking back and forward. The narrow saddle and the bristles ground further and further into her vagina, the seesawing saddle now attacking her delicate clitoris, now her naked labia, constantly grinding and stabbing thousands of small pain receptors. The pain wracked her entire body and uncontrollably she began to cry as her poor delicate vagina was so brutally assaulted.

The maid sat at the table looking on the pigtailed school girl rocking back and forth while tears streamed down her face, the maid returned her gaze with a perverse look of lust in her eyes.

The ordeal continued, the bristles continued to grind as Charlotte looked up pleadingly, begging to be allowed to stop riding the horse. The maid simply sat there soaking up Charlotte's anguish, watching every pained gyration of the girl and horse.

The maid now stood and approached the horse, "Does it hurt my little Charlotte?"

"Yes, it hurts…" Charlotte wracked with pain, sobbed as she answered.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Down there, in my pussy." The tears continuing to stream down her face as the unrelenting motion of the horse continued its wicked work.

"Now that's not a very nice word for a little girl to know – don't you mean your cunny?"

"Yes, my cunny, it hurts there, please can I stop now."

"Almost my little sweetie, first you have to tell Aunty where else it hurts."

"My titties aunty, my titties and my cunny, they hurt oh they hurt - please make it stop…"

"Just a little more my darling…" The sadistic maid pushed the horse a little further, increasing the rocking motion further. Charlotte's sobs reached a crescendo as she begged for release.

Finally the maid slowed the motion of the horse and assisted Charlotte off the saddle. As she helped the girl from the horse and began unlocking her wrists from her sides she whispered to Charlotte, "Good girl – you're a very good girl, I think you deserve a star for being so brave. Master Campbell will be so very happy with you for being such a good girl."

Her hands released Charlotte immediately tried to pull panties down and the infernal bristles away from the punished flesh between her legs. The maid forbade her from removing them completely, but did allow her to prise the wedged panties out of her crotch and thus provide her with some small relief.

Still in pain, but much relieved that her seemingly endless ordeal on the horse was over, Charlotte allowed the maid to seat her at the little table in the middle of the room and enjoy the delicious afternoon tea of fruit and cheese. The maid joined her in the centre of the room and throughout the improvised tea party praised Charlotte for being such a good well-behaved and polite little girl.

Chapter 12 – The Caterpillar Plans Her Escape

"I'm very upset you failed to submit to your punishment Charlotte. Can you tell me what the rules regarding punishment are?"

"If I don't submit I get punished anyway."

"And?"

"I have to be punished again?"

"Correct, what do you think will happen if you don't submit next time?"

"You'll carry out the punishment anyway and then come up with a new one as well?"

"That's right, so do you see how fruitless it is to continue this obstinacy?"

"Yes sir."

"And will you be a good girl and submit to whatever punishment I decide is appropriate for you?"

"Yes sir."

"That's a good girl."

This conversation between Charlotte and Mr Campbell had been conducted in Charlotte's bedroom. Charlotte was still clad in her punishment panties and bra after the maid had issued her a stern warning not to remove them until Master Campbell told her to.

Mr Campbell had sat down on the bed next to her as she was studying "Manners of a Lady". He had spoken with a kindness and compassion that was entirely juxtaposed by the sheer cruelty of the punishment he had ordered inflicted on her. Confused by this contradictory tailor, Charlotte had sat with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, much as a chastened child would do. The painful ordeal on the rocking horse had shamed the young girl to the core. Any rebellious thoughts had temporarily and ruthlessly been subdued at the thought of further suffering.

"Can I take the panties and bra off now… please?" She asked meekly.

"If you can tell me that you've learnt your lesson." He responded gently.

"Yes, I have."

"Tell me how. What have you learnt?"

"I shouldn't refuse to listen to Bosker when he tells me to do things, like how to fix my hair. I shouldn't have been cheeky to Mistress Heinz… and I should have dressed myself this morning instead of making Madeline and Bosker dress me."

"Very good. Now Charlotte, look at me."

Charlotte looked up from her folded hands. "I have a present for you. Because you were a good girl today even while you were suffering your punishment."

He revealed a small box that he had kept hidden in his jacket pocket.

"I want you to wear it all the time; I picked it out especially for you."

He opened the box revealing a delicate gold charm-bracelet. Hanging from the bracelet were tiny charms: ballerinas, ponies and dolphins. The production of the bracelet reignited Charlie's detestation of her ongoing ordeal. It became the newest symbol in the continuing battle for her identity. Roused from her subdued and embattled plight Charlie internally recoiled at the sight of the jewellery: 'Now he's trying to buy me with trinkets!' she shouted within. Yet in a pretence of obedience she gingerly accepted the bracelet and carefully placed it on her left wrist.

"Do you like it? It's yours to keep..."

"It's lovely." Charlie responded blankly, now unable and unwilling to feel any elation at the gift that ordinarily would have been an eight year olds pride and joy.

"Good, I hope you like it. Now you should get ready for dinner. You can take off your panties and bra if you like. Madeline has put some pretty new panties in your wardrobe to change into."

"Thankyou Mr Campbell." Charlie thanked him quietly as he retreated from the bedroom.

She waited until he had pulled the door shut before lifting her voluminous skirts and pulling the dreadful panties down. She gasped as the bristles pulled away from her tortured crotch. The infernal garment was thrown across the room before she started unzipping her dress to remove the matching bra.

Again she gasped, as she peeled the bra away from her breasts. The bristles had left indentations all over her silken skin. Wincing with pain, she attempted to massage the punished flesh. Suddenly it occurred to her that the camera in the ceiling was likely watching every move she made. Creeped out by the thought that Mr Campbell might be lecherously watching her while she massaged her breasts, she hurriedly covered back up.

Sitting on the edge of her bed she retrieved "Manners of a Lady" and pretended to study while she considered her predicament. Well into her second full day trapped in the apartment she had failed to even ascertain just what type of security prevented her escape. So far she hadn't been let out of sight. While in her bedroom, the camera undoubtedly monitored her, and on being let out she was always accompanied by Mr Campbell, Bosker or the Tazer wielding bitch of a maid. Her experience so far led her to the conclusion that she was not going to be left to her own devises. She needed to think of a new approach if she wanted to win her freedom.

'Break the camera? No – they'll just come running and mete out some more of their sick brand of punishment.

'Tunnel out? With what, and I must be thirty stories up, it's not like I've got a parachute.

'I wonder if there's a fire escape somewhere, if there is it's sure to be alarmed… hang on, fire…'

A plan began to form in her head. She'd only have one chance and she'd have to be patient. Trying to pull off this idea prematurely would wreck her only chance. Preparation ought to be relatively easy. All she needed were some spirits; Mr Campbell drank brandy didn't he? A tin can or bottle of some type; scissors; a bit of cotton, easily obtained from one of these hideous outfits; and a box of matches.

At some stage she would have to find the kitchen, where most of these items would surely be available. This formed another problem, but not an insurmountable one. She thought back to an interview with one of her sporting heroes, Coach Vince Lombardi, who had once said that nothing was unachievable: all you had to do was break a big goal down into smaller achievable tasks and then set out to conquer each in turn. He'd been referring to his team's goal of reaching the Superbowl – but the advice was just as useful in Charlie's case.

She knew she could do this; first she had to find the location of the kitchen. Then she'd worry about the rest of the tasks she was mentally arranging. In the mean time though she had to ensure that Mr Campbell and his crew of debaucherous cronies had no idea what she was plotting. That meant it was time to put on some panties and start behaving like a good little girl. They probably thought her broken as she'd suffered within the tortuous confines of the punishment panties and bra. Good - she'd let them keep thinking that.

'Sugar and Spice and all things nice – that's me. I'll wear his goddamn girly dresses and his frilly socks. I'll smile politely, giggle and behave like a soppy eight year-old. He'll get his little girl alright, right up until I fuck him over like he's never been fucked over before' her internal monologue ran.

Opening the wardrobe she found that the replacement for the punishment panties were a combination of yellow satin trimmed with white lace. Yellow, of course to match her pinafore, with white lace decorating the waist and leg bands. She pulled the panties up her legs and returned to her schoolbook, awaiting the call to dinner and brimming with new found hope at the prospect of eventual escape and freedom.

Chapter 13 – A Choice is Made

Having been escorted from her room to the dining table, Charlotte realised that Mr Campbell had not yet arrived for dinner. Taking her seat delicately, for her nether regions still remembered the evil punishment panties; she waited at the table while the maid stood in the corner carefully watching every move that Charlotte made. Charlotte contented herself by staring at the city lights, watching as a helicopter with its flashing navigational lights was landing on a building a few blocks away.

"I'm sorry Charlotte my darling, I got caught up working on a new outfit for you. I do hope you'll like it. I think it's my best work yet."

"I can't wait." She responded glibly as Mr Campbell took his chair. Internally she chastised herself for the sarcastic remark: 'Sugar and Spice… Come on focus Charlie!'

She needed to stay focussed on the task she'd set herself. Being a smartass at this point wouldn't help her cause. Luckily, Mr Campbell seemed not to have noticed the remark – he continued on chatting "Gorgeous, it's just gorgeous. I'm sure that you'll adore it. Now, Madeline, is dinner ready?"

"Yes Sir, it will be out momentarily." The maid retreated from the room, presumably to the kitchen. Charlie took careful note of the echoing footsteps, trying to guess how far away and in which direction the elusive kitchen was.

"I hear you excelled at your lessons today Charlotte. Mistress Heinz spoke generously about your dedication and attention. It makes me very happy to see you finally accepting your new life here. Madeline also mentioned how much you enjoyed playing in the rumpus room; did you have fun this afternoon?"

Fun? She'd been forced via hunger and the prospect of release to ride a rocking horse while in her punishment panties. Fun? These people were sick! Or was this some type of perverse test? Was there more to his questioning? Had the maid told him what had really happened – that she had coerced, no - forced her onto the horse?

All these questions ran circles through her head as she tried to form a response that wouldn't evoke suspicion from Mr Campbell.

"No – it was horrible. Madeline made me ride the horsy, and I didn't like it at all." She deliberately pouted, lathering on her previously dormant girlish charms.

She thought: 'Make him think he's getting to me, that I am reverting to his picture of a proper little girl. Fulfil his fantasy, and keep him amused, meanwhile work on your plan.'

She watched his reaction carefully; a wry grin crept across his face.

"Well let's hope that you don't give Madeline reason to make you ride the horse in future? Good little girls shouldn't have to be punished like that, and you had been bad hadn't you?" The grin was now matched with a disturbing sparkle in his eyes. This apparently conservative tailor had a sinister and malevolent core of darkness; Charlie wondered just how deeply she'd scratched the surface, how far would this pervert go? She didn't intend on finding out what depths he might inevitably sink to, she planned on escaping before then, but in the interim she was forced to play along.

"Yes sir." She agreed reluctantly.

"Well now Charlotte, you do realise that although you behaved well today, you must still serve penance for seven black spots?"

"Yes Mr Campbell." She deliberately stared toward her shiny patent Mary Janes, and began rubbing her ankles together nervously. She hoped that she looked the picture of a young innocent girl dismayed at the prospect of her inevitable punishment.

"Well then, I will talk further with you about your penance later." He continued to stare at Charlie as she kept her head bowed. Then as the silence of the dining room grew uncomfortable he rose to his feet to stare out the full-length glass window; quietly surveying the night-time lights.

The silence was broken with the return of the maid accompanied by Bosker the butler. Charlie's meal had again been carefully selected and cooked to further reinforce her position. Her spaghetti bolognaise had been arranged to form a smiley face on the plate. Charlie noticed that the traditional silverware that she had used at previous dinners had been replaced. Instead of the polished silver plate, she was served on a plastic plate decorated with teddy bears dancing at a maypole. Her silver knife and fork had also been replaced by a plastic safety knife and fork – the kind purchased for the use of small children who couldn't be trusted with proper "adult" cutlery. She tried to ignore this further affront to her dignity as she raised her arms up over the edge of the table and began eating, made even more awkward by the child's chair she was forced to sit in.

In total contrast with Charlie's supper, Mr Campbell dined on a few select slices of tender roast lamb together with a parcel of perfectly cooked roast vegetables covered in rich gravy. He accompanied the meal with a bold red wine drunk from an elegant crystal glass. In comparison, Charlie's apple juice had been supplied in a spill proof plastic cup, complete with vibrant fairies painted around the outside. She forced herself to sip through the spout of the cup while Mr Campbell placed a delectable piece of meat in his mouth.

Charlie finished her meal first, and was forced to sit through the trial of having to watch Mr Campbell finish his. He finally sopped the remaining gravy up with the remaining fragment of a dinner roll and gently dabbed his lips with his napkin. The maid collected the dishes while Bosker brought a snifter of brandy for Mr Campbell's post dinner enjoyment.

Sliding deeper into his seat he sat back, clearly satisfied at the meal he had just finished. He took a sip of his brandy and paid regard to Charlie for the first time since dinner had arrived.

"I hope you enjoyed your meal Charlotte."

"I did, it was very nice thankyou." She replied coyly. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Mr Campbell broke it again. "Now we will turn to the matter of your seven black spots. Ordinarily I wouldn't do this Charlotte," he let that phrase hang for a moment, "but I am going to offer you a choice."

"Either you can elect to wear the punishment panties and the bra for the entire day tomorrow, in which case I will ensure that Madeline takes you to the rumpus room for another ride on your favourite rocking horse, or you can wait on me tonight."

"Sorry, I don't understand." Charlie sat in her small chair wondering just what he was proposing.

"What I mean my darling little Charlotte, is that ordinarily Bosker attends to me after dinner. I would expect you to take his place, there will be additional requirements placed on you of course, but all in all serving me until bed time must be much more preferable to another full day in the punishment undergarments don't you think?"

"I guess so." Charlie wasn't sure where this was heading. Another day in the punishment panties and bra would be almost unbearable, but what were these 'additional requirements'? She also realised that attending him may mean fetching drinks throughout the evening, possibly even snacks. Would that allow her to find the kitchen and get her plan underway? Would she be sent there alone – probably not - but even if whoever accompanied her turned their back for a split second she might be able to acquire one of the items she needed to win her freedom.

"Have you made your mind up?"

"Yes, I'll do the serving thing. What do I have to do exactly?"

"That will become clear when it happens my darling Charlotte." That grin and the sparkling eyes reignited. Something terrible was going to happen and she knew it. Had she made the wrong decision? Maybe she should have stuck with the horrific underwear instead. Mr Campbell raised his voice slightly "Bosker! Ah - there you are. You may retire early tonight if you choose. Charlotte has agreed to attend to me. You can take the rest of the evening off if you like."

"Thankyou sir." With that the Butler retreated from the room, leaving Charlie and Mr Campbell completely alone.

Chapter 14 – The Hunter's Lair

"This way." Mr Campbell had finished his post dinner brandy and bid Charlie to follow him. He led her down the hallway and into an intersecting corridor she hadn't been through before. He ensured that she followed him closely, turning his head every few seconds.

Charlie took in this new part of the house, committing a mental floor plan to memory – this corridor intersected with the one servicing her bedroom, classroom and the rumpus room. There was only one door left in "her" hallway that she hadn't yet seen behind. This new corridor though, was just as lushly decorated with an intricately decorated Persian rug running the length of the hall. Lighting was provided by a number of tasteful art deco wall sconces.

Four portraits were hung along the walls; one clearly of Mr Campbell himself at a younger age, another of an elderly gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to Mr Campbell, one of an older woman of an age with the gentleman and the final portrait of a young lady in her prime. It was the final picture that caught Charlie's attention because despite the age difference and the vagaries of canvas it was clear that this was a painting of Charlie's late mother.

She stopped dumb founded in the middle of the hallway, staring at the painting. She looked younger than in any of the photos her Dad kept of her. Her Mother looked radiant and beautiful, glowing in a gentle light and dressed in the most elegant lavender dress. Mr Campbell stopped and joined Charlie at her side.

"Yes, I told you I knew your mother once. She was a beautiful creature – the most precious thing in the world." He stared wistfully at the painting as if recalling memories of youth and beauty, of a happier time long forgotten.

Charlie asked out loud: "What happened – why is this here?" Internally her curiosity peaked.

"She and I were to be together, we were meant to be together… but it didn't work out that way." He sighed reflectively but then suddenly turned away from the painting: "Never mind, it's all in the past, come along Charlotte!"

He resumed walking down the corridor, motioning that Charlie should quickly follow. Perplexed by this new mystery she dragged herself away from the painting, a new piece of the puzzle to be considered carefully. Just who was Mr Campbell, was he just my father's friend or something more? What did he mean about my Mother – that they were meant to be together?

It was with these questions hurtling through her mind that Mr Campbell opened the door to reveal his private sanctum. Distracted from the new mystery she looked upon the room in the house where Mr Campbell clearly spent his leisure time. Whereas every other room in the house was immaculately spotless, here was an organised chaos. Cluttered, thought Charlie, not messy, cluttered.

The dark, carpeted room was brightly lit from two sources. One, a classic chandelier provided soft ambient lighting in the room, while a smaller high intensity work light hung from an adjustable cord descending from the roof above a bench. A large window stood in the wall furthest away from the bench; when open, natural light would dispel all the shadowy corners of the room, however at present the heavy curtains covering the window were drawn.

The work bench was covered in material scraps; she noticed some of the scarlet material that had made her sailor suit sitting together with off cuts from the yellow pinafore she wore at the moment and the pink striped material from the dress she had been forced into on her first night here. Pieces of discarded blue gingham were heaped in with the rest; she obviously hadn't seen that one yet. An industrial sewing machine and a serger sat on the bench as well. Next to the bench sat a series of sewing chests, the type that opened up to reveal a series of staggered compartments containing various sewing supplies and equipment.

A double built-in cupboard stood behind the bench; one door partly open revealing bolts of un-used material in yellows, pinks, reds, blues – all the colours of the rainbow were represented. Some bolts sported delicate patterns; others were made of silk or cotton. Smaller rolls of lace poked out between the numerous bolts while manikins stood arrayed around the workspace. All of them were stripped bare and Charlie noted that each of them closely matched her own size and body type.

On the opposite side of the room adjacent to the window, stood an aging and well loved Chesterfield single seater with a mahogany occasional piece next to it. Upon the small table stood a glass full of brandy, a cigar box and a clean ashtray. The chesterfield faced a stereo system, not a new one, rather a twenty-year-old hi-fi set with a turntable and four speakers. Two stacks of speakers surrounded either side of the cabinet housing the turntable and amplifier. Rows of vinyl records were packed into the cabinet below the turntable.

Apart from the cupboard containing the bolts of material, a number of other freestanding wardrobes lined the walls containing, Charlie guessed, other hideous garments similar to the one in which she was currently dressed. Mr Campbell closed the door behind Charlie and brushed passed her to sink down into his seat.

Charlie began to pose a question: "Mr Campbell, My mother…"

"Is not a topic of conversation at the moment." He interrupted before she could give voice to her unanswered questions. "Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Now Charlotte, do you know how to put on a record?" He quickly changed the topic away from Charlie's mother.

"Umm, I guess so, Dad's got an old turntable that he uses sometimes. I've seen how he does it although I've never tried it myself."

"Well come over here and I'll show you." He pulled himself out of the chesterfield and walked to the stereo. "First you have to turn on the amplifier, this button here. Now we take out our record." He lifted up an album from the bottom of the cabinet. Charlie looked at the front cover depicting a frizzy haired man dressed in 1970's brown with a thick woollen scarf thrown over his shoulder. Any fan of 70's folk music or popular culture would have recognised a young Bob Dylan; however Charlotte's knowledge of popular music was more focussed on The Offspring and Limp Bizkit than rock-survivors like Dylan.

"Now you have to be careful when handling vinyl, it scratches easily, so only hold the record on the outside like this. The side you want to play goes face up, not face down like the CDs you probably listen to. We place it on the turntable like this. Are you following me?"

"Yes." She stood next to him, fixed on listening to his instruction. Like everything else she'd witnessed him doing, he was a methodical perfectionist. She thought for a moment as he showed her how to gently unlock the turntable's arm and place the needle on the outside track.

Mr Campbell was an ongoing mystery to her. She could never have called him a kind man, but she would have to say that he was passionate. The zeal he expressed toward his work was nothing short of fanatical. The finely crafted, if completely sissy, dress she was wearing, indicated that this dedicated focus dominated his private life as well. He was a collection of paradoxes. He seemed to hold Charlie in high regard; even when he lost his temper he remained firm but polite. He apparently cared for her company given that he seemingly enjoyed the strange dinners they shared. And now she noticed that together in this room he had become more animated, less standoffish and warmer toward her.

Currently he was explaining why he preferred vinyl to CD's or even to the new MP3 format, which he sneeringly rejected. Apparently the quality of the analogue recording process used in vinyl reproduced particular frequencies better… Charlie returned to her thoughts as he continued talking.

She compared all these traits against the man who was keeping her in this apartment against her will and had subjected her to the most abject humiliation and intolerable pain. How could she reconcile these two facets of the same man? It was impossible; she was simply unable to understand him. If he cared for her so much, as he proclaimed, then why did he hurt her like he did? If he was so concerned for her welfare why was he staging this continuing mental warfare, trying to change her into something that she would never be?

Now he was showing her how to detect where one track started and another finished. He lowered the arm down onto the record and as a folksy Dylan ballad began he returned to his chair indicating that Charlotte should make herself comfortable.

Finding a space on the carpet between the stereo and his chair she knelt down and spread her awkward skirts about her. As she was settling in on the floor waiting for whatever was to come next, a knock at the door announced the arrival of the maid. She walked into the room dressed in her traditional English maid outfit bearing a box. She offered the box and a handwritten note to Mr Campbell who placed both on top of the cigar box and ashtray next to him. He looked toward his quickly depleting brandy; "Madeline, can you please show Charlotte where the brandy is kept and have her return with the decanter and a new glass please, and by the way, thankyou for delivering this." At the mention of brandy Charlie's heart skipped a beat…

"A pleasure Master Campbell, I'll be off now if there's nothing else you need tonight?"

"No thankyou Madeline, Charlotte can look after all my needs, just bring her back after she's fetched the brandy."

"Yes sir. Good night." The maid looked toward Charlie as the girl gathered her skirts up and followed the maid from the room – her heart beating at a million miles a second at the prospect of possibly finding the kitchen.

Chapter 15 – The Chrysalis Cracks.

The maid led Charlie back down the corridor featuring her mothers painting and then back down the hallway containing the door to Charlie's bedroom, the classroom and the rumpus room. They took a turn just before the dining room and entered a spacious kitchen. A central kitchen block dominated the middle of the room. Benches, ovens and pantries surrounded the room. It was clearly a catering quality kitchen with almost every possible appliance and practical culinary utensil possible to imagine available.

Charlie had added the position of the kitchen to her mental floor plan of the apartment; sure that she could return here at will, so long as she was free to. The maid moved to one pantry opening it up to reveal a veritable bar.

Spirits, ports, desert wines and liqueurs of all varieties were neatly arranged in the cupboard. The maid fetched an elegant rectangular crystal decanter full of brandy from the top shelf and then shut the cupboard.

While she was fetching a glass from another cupboard, Charlie eagerly studied the room. 'Those drawers there, they might have matches in them, and if I get the chance the best place to look for a tin can is in the trash over there or under the sink here.' Her gaze flitted back and forth, taking in every possible detail – cataloguing the likely repositories for her mental shopping list. The maid, having taken a clean crystal brandy glass from another cupboard indicated that Charlie should take the two items and follow her back to Mr Campbell's room. Charlie, with a final look over her shoulder back into the kitchen, followed the maid back the way they had come.

As she approached the hallway displaying her mother's portrait the melody of a familiar ballad reached her ears.

"Nobody feels any pain;

Tonight as I stand inside the rain;"

The slightly off pitch but strangely compelling voice of Dylan came reverberating from Mr Campbell's room. He had turned up his stereo considerably since Charlie had left to fetch the brandy.

"Ev'rybody knows;

That Baby's got new clothes;

But lately I see her ribbons and her bows;

Have fallen from her curls."

She slowed as she walked further down the hall. The maid followed a few steps behind. Charlie could see the silhouette of Mr Campbell through the open door as he sat in his chesterfield chair, nursing the last of his brandy and crooning along with the song. The next lines sent a chill down Charlotte's spine as they adopted a brand new meaning on this dark and ominous night.

"She takes just like a woman, yes, she does;

She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does;

And she aches just like a woman;

But she breaks just like a little girl."

The maid nudged her as she stood anxiously in the open doorway, "Go on in girl, I hope you enjoy tonight's… planned activities" Charlotte could have sworn that the maid had cheekily winked and grinned evilly at her as she departed.

The second verse began as Charlotte inched her way toward the chesterfield single seater. Mr Campbell noticed her entrance, but continued to sing along with Dylan's husky lyrics.

Charlotte, standing there with the decanter and fresh glass resolved that she should perform her function as servant for the evening. Placing the glass on the small mahogany table she poured a generous splash of neat brandy into the glass.

"Nobody has to guess;

That Baby can't be blessed;

Till she sees finally that she's like all the rest;"

Her new charm bracelet chimed against the crystal decanter and she replaced the stopper and then looked about wondering what to do next. Mr Campbell, still singing along, motioned that she should resume her seat on the carpet.

"But what's worse;

Is this pain in here;

I can't stay in here;

Ain't it clear that--

I just can't fit"

Charlotte lowered herself back onto the carpet between the stereo and the chair, consciously smoothing the skirts of her yellow pinny as she did so. Looking up she was disturbed to see that Mr Campbell was mouthing the words while staring straight at her as the song reached its finale:

"I was hungry and it was your world.

Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do;

You make love just like a woman, yes, you do;

Then you ache just like a woman;

But you break just like a little girl."

The harmonica faded with the song as the turntable reached the end of the record. The automatic arm, sensing the end of the record, lifted itself back up and across into its cradle.

Silence filled the room – the air hung heavy with anticipation and fear.

"I have a delicate matter to discuss with you Charlotte. One that wasn't appropriate to resolve over dinner."

"Sir?" Charlotte quivered. The ballad's lyrics and the ardour with which Mr Campbell had followed them scared her. Until now she'd never really listened to the song, or its lyrics. But here in this room, with this strangely disturbing man, it had left her shivering with trepidation.

He lifted up the box that the maid had delivered to him earlier. He opened it, from her position sitting on the carpet Charlotte was unable to see what it contained.

"At first when Mistress Heinz reported this to me I was incredulous. It had to be a mistake, I would never have thought it of you." He spoke as a father deeply ashamed at the behaviour of a cherished child would.

'Thought what of me? What have I done? What's in the box?' These thoughts all started cascading through her head. The apprehension that the dark ballad had sparked began rushing toward all-out horror.

In the dimly lit room Mr Campbell continued as he considered the contents of the box and the handwritten note: "But with this evidence I can ignore this no longer… Charlotte?" He looked into her eyes with a stern inquisitorial gleam.

"Sir?" she squeaked, desperately dreading whatever 'evidence' he had. The use of the word 'evidence' also suggested that a crime had been committed. What had she done? What would he do to her? The final haunting lyrics of Bob Dylan chose this moment to echo through her mind: "But you break just like a little girl…"

Chapter 16 – The Butterfly Emerges

"I want you to explain these to me." Her world reeled – she felt as if a lightning bolt had hit her. The fear, anxiety and terror exploded into outright panic as she realised what Mr Campbell had pulled out of the box to display to her.

In his hand Mr Campbell held Charlotte's blue pyjama bottoms. He displayed prominently the crotch of the pants where Charlotte had stained them with her nocturnal feminine emissions. He placed them on the arm of his chair as he extracted the frilly white cotton panties that she had worn the day Mistress Heinz had strapped her. "And these as well." He placed the final incriminating item together with the pyjama pants.

"Mistress Heinz reported to me that she thought she had detected a… moistness, between your legs as she strapped you. I refused to believe it of you. But now what do I find in your laundry – more evidence of this inappropriate behaviour."

Charlotte sat on the floor, her eyes darting between Mr Campbell and the incriminating panties…

"To tell you that I am deeply unhappy with this state of affairs would be a gross understatement. Look at the panties Charlotte. LOOK AT THEM!" His voice rose well above its normal calm reserved pitch.

"What do you have to say for yourself? Well girl – what?"

"It just happened." She squeaked out.

"It just happened did it? You were being strapped for misbehaviour and suddenly; 'it just happened?'"

"Yes…" the intonation of the last half of this word rose upwards, the admission profoundly embarrassing to the young girl.

"Why Charlotte? Why?"

"I don't know…" She dragged her gaze away from the incontrovertible evidence that she had responded sexually to being strapped.

This shocking discovery by Mr Campbell had blown away her emotional armour, her secrets, leaving her soul brutally naked under his burning gaze. She felt a lump in her throat rise as he continued to brutally pierce her newly exposed vulnerability.

"It seems as though we are going to take some rather dramatic action Charlotte. We can't have a beautiful young lady like you, someone who one day will make an excellent wife mixing amongst high society; behaving in this intolerable fashion by acting like a sexual deviant. Can we Charlotte?"

The lump in her throat had led to soft tears, and Charlotte now cried gently into her skirt. She had picked up the edge of her skirt and bought it to her face, where she wiped the tears away on the yellow hem of her pinafore.

He had revealed her darkest secret; he had torn away all her pretensions with this one simple discovery: corporal punishment and the dream of the dominating prince had aroused her. Being dominated and subdued excited her. But even worse than Mr Campbell's discovery was that she now saw that she had been deceiving herself. She wasn't Charlie the tomboy, the best in her school at sport. She wasn't a living example of a young woman conquering the world on her own and beating the boys at their own game by their rules…

She was no better than the simpering females who got bound to railroad tracks by evil villains. Vainly thrashing about in their bonds in a pathetic attempt to free themselves; all the while begging for a big strong man to come and rescue them.

She couldn't work out what was worse – that Mr Campbell now knew her secret, or that she had lied so perfidiously to herself.

Charlie started to fight back through the emotional turmoil – 'stop it – stop acting like a baby! You're a woman – why should you be ashamed of feeling that way when thinking about Kyle! This is nothing compared to how the other girls at school talk about boys! You are Charlie! Stop letting this freak twist you around his little finger!"

Charlotte ignored her, sobbing into her dress. Her soul had been exposed; she was shamed at her reaction to the brutal beating that Mistress Heinz had taken out on her. She was even more ashamed that she had lost control while dreaming of evil princes…

Mr Campbell interrupted her internal struggle, mercilessly ignoring her internalised vacillation. "I take it from your lack of response that you are guilty as charged. Let me tell you right now that I will not have you become some two-bit whore selling your body in some seedy alley.

"You are your mother's daughter and rightfully due a life of privilege and luxury. I would die before allowing you to sink into such a pit of despair and disgrace, because of some sexual deviancy." He paused a moment before continuing.

"I cannot allow that to happen. The memory of your mother would never let me sleep. Charlotte, I am going to have to take some extreme actions to rectify your behaviour." He paused again as Charlotte brought her teary eyes away from her skirt to look at Mr Campbell as he sat in his chair with a look of resigned determination in his eyes.

"From today on I am going to have either Bosker or Madeline check your panties twice a day. If I find that you have succumbed to these perverse feelings again you will wear the punishment panties for a day. If that fails, I am afraid I will have to apply a fiercer approach to your behaviour. Do I make myself clear?"

She wasn't sure whether Charlie or Charlotte answered, but the response was universal: "Yes Sir."

"Good, now I hadn't expected this unfortunate revelation tonight. I'm going to give you a rain check on tonight's planned penance; in fact I think I will have to revise what I had planned in light of this." He indicated toward the soiled panties.

"I think you should go to bed now. I will expect you to attend on me tomorrow night. But for now I want you to go to sleep and think about how you have disgraced the memory of your mother – I also want you to think about how we are going to overcome this perversion of yours."

Mr Campbell rose to his feet and offered an upset Charlotte a hand up from her seat on the carpet. Charlotte accepted his had and dragged herself up. The two of them then made their way back to Charlotte's bedroom. He wished her a good night before closing and locking the bathroom door behind her.

Alone by herself after being locked in her suite, an emotionally distraught and confused Charlotte found that her sheets had been changed, her room tidied and a new pair of pyjamas had been placed on the end of her bed. A one-piece pink sleeper, complete with enclosed booties, had now supplanted the two-piece blue cotton pyjamas. A dancing ballerina graced the chest of the sleeper. Charlie cringed at the infantile pyjamas – only by convincing herself that she needed to continue the pretence of surrender to progress her escape plans, did she finally shed her yellow pinafore and force herself into the pink sleeper. She deposited her day clothes down the laundry chute and slipped beneath her new sheets. These she noted were virginal white satin and the coverlet a plain light pink.

Drifting off to sleep seemed to take forever. Her mind was awash with conflict. She was ashamed that Mr Campbell had discovered her soiled panties – ashamed that her most private secrets had been exposed so unsympathetically – and ashamed that she had had those feelings in the first place. Charlie didn't gush and fawn over big strong men, she was better than them… and yet the panties provided undeniable proof that she did turn into mush at the thought of being dominated by a strong figure. She remembered the thoughts that had cascaded through her while Mistress Heinz had strapped her. Of Kyle putting her over his knee and spanking her before passionately embracing her.

She shook her head to try and rid herself of these inappropriate thoughts. Her mind turned to the future and to different things. She had found the kitchen; hopefully tomorrow night she would have the opportunity to pilfer one of the items she needed. She worked out that the easiest way to acquire the brandy would be from under Mr Campbell's nose. While topping up his glass she would skim off a bit of excess each time – she'd already worked out how to store it – in her spill proof plastic cup with the spout. She was positive that Mr Campbell would let her take it from the table – she imagined he must get off seeing her dressed in frills and lace drinking out of a safety cup fit for a toddler – he would be unlikely to object if she brought it with her to his room tomorrow night.

But first she had to get through tomorrow. A new outfit, new humiliations and now she realised that she had failed to review the requisite chapters of "Manners of a Lady" for Mistress Heinz. With luck she could bluff her way through Mistresses questions, but she resolved herself to the fact another black spot was likely. The greatest humiliation she now feared would be these twice daily "panty inspections". But again she reminded herself that she just had to survive for a few more days and freedom would be hers.

Chapter 17 – A New Predator

Sunlight streamed in through the stained led window above Charlie's bed. The shaft of bright sunshine predicted a temperate and hospitable summer for the city. The vivid light revealed a sleeping Charlie, clad in her pink ballerina sleeper.

Throughout the night she had tossed and turned, entwining her sheets about her so that as she awoke to face the new day, she had to untangle herself from the pink coverlet and upon rising found that breakfast awaited her, coco pops with a pitcher of cold milk.

The coco pops had been poured into a bowl similar to the plastic plate she had been served dinner on the night before. The rim of the bowl sported a series of blissful teddy bears clad in fanciful clothes frolicking about a maypole. She sat at her desk eating the coco pops and pensively considered the copy of "The Adventures of Isabelle" sitting on her desk.

Frustrated with the lack of stimulus in this bedroom, being deprived of her ubiquitous cable television that sat in her real bedroom back home, Charlie picked up the book and started reading while eating her coco pops. Absent-mindedly she read the first few pages while consuming breakfast. Despite the soppy main character, Charlie was grateful to have anything to do that took her mind off her surroundings and predicament.

Marking the page as she finished her breakfast she made her way to the bathroom where she squirmed her way out of the babyish sleeper and hopped into the shower.

Years of routine kicked in as she washed her hair, lathered her body in soap and attended to the modest growth around her crotch with a razor. If someone had asked Charlie why she kept herself clean-shaven she wouldn't have had a ready answer. The truth was she had come to a sub-conscious decision years ago that her imminent entry to womanhood was a threat to the continuation of her chosen lifestyle. With this thinking in place she had resolved to remove all the downy evidence of her womanhood, a practice she had unthinkingly repeated every morning of her life since the age of twelve. Yet despite the circumstances of her imprisonment and the pseudo-paedophiliac nature of her enforced new lifestyle, she continued the practice without conscious thought.

Having attended to her personal hygiene and having wrapped herself in a towel, Charlie approached the two-way wardrobe that provided her with her daily clothing. Last night Mr Campbell had taken a great deal of pride in proclaiming that her newest outfit was his favourite yet. Charlie dreaded to think just what this praiseworthy outfit would look like.

The wardrobe divulged its contents to Charlie's eventual dismay. Her now trademark patent black Mary Janes sat on top of the rest of her clothes. The shoes had been polished overnight to a mirrored perfection. Beneath the shoes were neatly stacked a pair of white silk panties, a pair of spotlessly white opaque tights and four blue hair ribbons. The panties lacked the lace that had become almost mandatory on her underwear; however a large red love-heart had been laboriously embroidered on the front. Beneath this pile of accessories and undergarments sat a large white box.

Apprehensively Charlie picked up the entire pile and moved it to her bed. She moved everything off the box and opened it up, lifting out the new creation and spreading it out on the bed. She considered the shockingly embarrassing new dress as she put on the white panties and tights.

The bulk of the dress was made from lightly cross-thatched blue gingham. The billowing skirts revealed a six-inch peek-a-boo white lace hem, beneath which sat numerous netting skirts. To the bottom edge of the skirt had been invisibly stitched a white backgrounded edging depicting Winnie the Pooh, Tigger and Piglet romping about cheerfully. The blue skirt gathered in at the waist, two white cotton sashes joined at the back to produce a large white bow. The bodice, predominately made from the blue gingham, displayed the Winnie the Pooh motif just above the waistband, while horizontally running from edge to edge across the top of the bust ran a three-quarter-inch-wide length of lace. Extending from the waistband up and over each shoulder and down the back of the dress were two wide ruffles edged with the abundant white lace. At the front base of each of these ruffles sat a medium sized satin bow on each side. The collar was white, sewn in the Peter Pan style and again, along the edge of the delicate collar was fastened a fine edging of baby lace. The blue puffy elasticised sleeves each sported quaint white bows at the sides.

Now dressed in the white opaque tights, the love-heart covered panties and her Mary Janes, Charlotte struggled into this latest sample of Mr Campbell's contrived prepubescent fantasy. She struggled to tie the sashes into a bow; ordinarily she wouldn't have worried getting it right, however today she was determined to avoid any additional correction from any of the servants. Clad in the disgusting creation of rustling skirts, bows and ruffles Charlie dragged herself in front of her mirror and began brushing her hair. Ten minutes with the comb and hairbrush produced two perfect pigtails, about which the blue ribbons were tied at the ends and base.

Unsure of exactly how much time remained before her lessons commenced, she sat down at her desk in the antique white chair and wiled away the remaining minutes attempting to catch up on her readings in "Manners of a Lady". She had pored through only half the required readings for today when the maid entered the room indicating that it was time for school to start.

---

Mistress Heinz was indeed unhappy with Charlie's failure to cover all the required readings. The harsh tutor had given Charlie a black spot and had also forced the girl to hold out each of her hands face up while Mistress Heinz had brought the strap down upon each one in turn.

Charlie had been silently grateful that the tutor hadn't taken the strap to her bottom. Memories of Mr Campbell's promise to treat very harshly any future panty-soiling incidents had her dreading any strapping on her bottom. She was unsure whether she could prevent herself from staging a repeat performance of her last encounter with the strap.

Instead Mistress Heinz had grumpily led Charlie through the unread chapters relating to appropriate feminine behaviour at different social occasions. Charlie was struck not only by the sheer complexity of the social mores she was being expected to remember, but also by the seemingly nonsensical and frivolous expectations of a young woman. For example, it was totally unacceptable to allow a man to enter your home after dropping you off after an outing. However it was perfectly acceptable for him to call on you the next evening at the same time of night! So as long as he wasn't dropping you off, he could call on you at almost any hour!

Then there were different levels of acceptable interaction at varying types of functions. Acceptable behaviour differed greatly between galas, balls, concerts and garden parties. At one event a particular type of action was thoroughly acceptable and indeed expected, whilst the same act at a different function was completely shocking. The complex rules baffled Charlie, and had she not been determined to avoid corporal retaliation, she would have thrown her hands in the air with frustration and refused to read or repeat another word of this useless crap.

Lunch arrived with Bosker providing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Charlie. Just as she was about to pop a corner of one into her mouth, he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Miss Charlotte, I need to check your panties." He signalled that she should stand for a moment.

Charlie gingerly rose to her feet asking: "Come-on, do we really have to do this? I promise you that there's nothing there. I've been very good this morning"

"I hope so Miss Charlotte, but nonetheless these were Mister Campbell's unequivocal orders when he left this morning."

She sighed and stood before Bosker. "Please lift up your skirts Miss Charlotte and part your legs, this will only take a moment."

Feeling thoroughly self-conscious, she gathered up her skirts and lifted them up over her waist. She felt Bosker's touch almost immediately as he pulled down the tops of her tights to reveal the love heart covered panties below. Deftly he placed his hand in Charlie's most secret place and checked her panties for any sign of transgression.

Satisfied that her panties were clean he pulled her tights back up and instructed her to drop her skirts. "Thankyou Miss Charlotte, but, I am afraid we will have to check on you again before dinner." A flustered Charlie rearranged her skirts and resumed her seat to eat her lunch.

---

The afternoon saw a return to Charlie's deportment coaching. The continuing exercises had much reduced the pronounced swagger that Charlie had sported on her arrival. Sauntering up and down the room in her swishing skirts; Mistress Heinz had expressed reluctant admiration for Charlie's progress on this front. She had only had to strap Charlie twice about the haunches for minor misdemeanours. The two separate blows had come without warning and the pain had subsided quickly, so no untoward feelings had had time to take root and betray her. She truly dreaded the prospect of failing this afternoon's panty test and being forced back into the dreadful punishment panties and bra. Once had been enough to teach her how diabolical those ingeniously designed implements of torment were.

By the end of the day Mistress Heinz was relatively happy with Charlie's performance and awarded her a gold star as a reward. As an afterthought she indicated that Charlotte could spend the rest of the afternoon with Madeline in the rumpus room before Mr Campbell returned home.

With haunting memories of her suffering on the rocking horse echoing through her head, Charlie was taken into the playroom by the maid. Afternoon tea had been set out on the little plastic table in the middle of the room. Charlie took the indicated seat and snacked on the cookies and milk that had been set out for her.

On finishing off the last of the cookie crumbs Charlie looked about the room wandering how to spend the next few hours until Mr Campbell called her to dinner. The maid looked up from her magazine: "Why don't you play with your dollies Charlotte?"

"I'd rather not. Isn't there something else to do? Don't you have another magazine I could borrow?"

"No these magazines aren't suitable for young ladies." The maid rose to her feet and picked up one of the many dolls adorning the room. This one was eighteen inches tall with blue eyes and dark brown hair. "Look at this one, it looks just like you!" The maid adopted a tone of false enthusiasm for the doll "Why don't you call it Cynthia and dress it up in pretty clothes?"

Charlie would have slapped the maid then and there had she not been tightly controlling her temper. Instead she grudgingly took the doll from the maid's hands. Charlotte looked at the stupid doll, wondering how far the maid was going to push this. "Charlotte – now you can't just leave little Cynthia naked."

The maid returned to her magazine as Charlotte sat in her little chair in the middle of the room. The maid looked up at the motionless Charlotte, she dropped the false enthusiasm of a few moments ago and spoke assertively: "Charlotte, dress Cynthia now!"

"Please Madeline, I've never - I mean, well… I don't know what to do, I've never had a doll before or even ever wanted one. I always went outside or played ball or stuff, I don't want to play with the doll and even if I did, I wouldn't know how. Can't I just fetch my book from my bedroom please?" Charlie blathered out.

The maid looked sternly at Charlotte and spoke slowly. "You may not have your book, but you will dress Cynthia now..."

"But…"

That had been one objection too many for the maid: she bounded out of her chair toward Charlie. When, much later, Mr Campbell reviewed this video footage being captured by a camera set in the ceiling similar to the one in Charlie's bedroom, he would satisfactorily note that as the maid approached, Charlotte cringed. The young girl he was moulding hadn't attempted to evade the maid, nor had she thrashed about as she had on previous occasions. He noted pleasingly that the pigtailed beauty had actually cowered before the looming maid.

The maid dragged Charlotte up from her petite plastic seat by the arm, spun her around and proceeded to spank her on the bottom a number of times. Charlotte squirmed as the maid's hand fell on her through the dress, tights and panties. Realising that this assault was relatively ineffectual through the numerous layers of Charlotte's clothes, the maid dragged her skirts up above her waist in order to deliver the final blows more directly. Charlotte could have broken away at this stage, as the maid had been forced to use both her hands to deliver the spanking. Yet she didn't - it hadn't even occurred to her. She stood there freely in the centre of the room, frightened, as the maid delivered a handful of jolting slaps to her bottom.

"Well, is Cynthia going to get some clothes on now?" The maid asked pointedly.

A reprimanded Charlotte replied: "I guess so."

Charlotte's skirts were released. She sat back down on her chair and fetched Cynthia from where she had fallen to the ground. She had been scared senseless that the spanking would arouse her, but as she sat back down she realised that she had averted disaster. She was fairly sure that she could pass her next panty check safely. With great reluctance and under the hawkish supervision of the maid, Charlotte took Cynthia to one of the little wardrobes. She randomly selected a little red dress to put on the doll when the maid offered advice: "Doesn't the poor little thing at least need some panties Charlotte?"

In a whispered response Charlotte uttered: "I suppose so."

She found a drawer in one of the miniature wardrobes that contained a collection of tiny panties and grabbed the first frilly pair on top. She pulled the little panties up the dolls legs where they sat there taunting her, reminding her that she too was wearing something very similar under her blue Pooh-Bear dress.

Once she had put Cynthia in a ruffled doll's dress, the maid demanded that she should have a tea party with her new friend. Fearing further spankings, Charlotte spent the remainder of the afternoon conducting a pretend tea party with Cynthia under the stern gaze of the maid.

---

The maid checked her watch and looked up from her magazine. Charlotte stood up in expectation of being released from this farcical scene, even if it was to go to another of her strange meals with Mr Campbell.

"Not quite yet, first I have to check your panties Miss Charlotte." The maid indicated that Charlotte should approach the adult sized table. Once there, the maid had her lean over the table, hold up her skirts with one hand and part her legs. She yielded to the maid's instructions, just as she had done with Bosker earlier.

The maid stood behind Charlotte and pulled her tights down to below her knees, effectively hobbling the young girl. That done, she thrust her hand into Charlotte's crotch. Once her hand was there, she didn't remove it immediately as Bosker had. Rather, finding that Charlotte's pants were dry, she began firmly rubbing Charlotte's clitoris and labia. Charlotte dropped her skirts in shock and tried to break away only to have the familiar jab of the Tazer convince her to cease her struggle.

The maid whispered in Charlotte's ear: "Don't even think about it sweetie, one move and you'll regret it."

"Stop that!" Charlotte screamed, "You can't do that, I'll tell Mr Campbell!" The maid's hand forcefully continued massaging Charlotte's pubic region. Involuntarily she felt heat and warmth begin to rise in her crotch.

"Try it – who do you think he'll believe Charlotte?

"As far as Mr Campbell is concerned I told you to play with your dolls and you refused. I had no choice but to spank you, and wasn't I upset to find that our little Charlotte had disgraced herself again." The maid imitated her own voice and the speech that she had prepared for Mr Campbell.

"I remember your mother Charlotte and I remember what she did to our Master. I'll not have you do the same thing to him over again – I'm going to see that you suffer bitch, just like your whore of a mother should have!" The venom in the maid's voice startled Charlotte, then she remembered the masochistic gleam in the maid's eyes as Charlotte had ridden the rocking horse, the evil wink as she'd ushered her into Mr Campbell's study last night for punishment. The maid wanted her to suffer for the mysterious sins of her mother. .

"But this isn't fair, I haven't done anything to you Madeline, please stop, this isn't fair." Charlotte appealed to the maid, but she felt that the damage had already been done. Down below she knew that her silk panties were soaked through and glistening with her reluctant fluids.

Chapter 18 – Betrayal and the Butterfly

"Mr Campbell! Madeli…"

"Shush!" The maid had pushed Charlotte through the rumpus room door and led her toward the dining room. In the last few steps Charlotte had broken away from the maid in a desperate attempt to reach Mr Campbell first and explain how the maid was trying to frame her.

Mr Campbell had been sitting at the table reading the evening paper, and had immediately silenced Charlotte and looked quizzically toward the maid. "Quiet down Charlotte – Madeline, what appears to be the problem?"

"NO! Don't listen to her, she's lying!" Charlotte appealed loudly. The maid grabbed a hold of Charlotte's arm and brought her to the table.

"Please Mr Campbell, don't listen to her!"

"That's quite enough of this behaviour Charlotte, one more word from your mouth and I will have to punish you here and now – as it is I think a black spot is in order. Now Madeline, what is the problem here."

"Mr Campbell, I am afraid that I must report that…"

"She's lying! She did it to me! You can't-"

"Charlotte! If you don't stop this right now I will have to take measures." Mr Campbell's voice rose as he started to lose his temper.

"But you can't listen to her – she played with me and then she…

"CHARLOTTE!"

Charlotte cringed as Mr Campbell's face became flushed and a vein began throbbing on his forehead. He was clearly furious, she closed her mouth quickly – afraid of what might happen if he completely lost his temper.

A few moments passed, the maid remained standing silently before the table holding Charlotte by the arm. The colour in Mr Campbell's face began to subside and when he had taken a couple of breaths he started again: "Charlotte, do not interrupt, I will speak to you in a moment. Now, Madeline, what is the problem?"

"I am afraid that Miss Charlotte has failed her afternoon panty test Mr Campbell."

"Is that right." He phrased these words as a statement, not as a question.

"Yes sir, we were in the rumpus room and Charlotte refused to play with the dolls that you have so kindly provided her. I corrected her, and when I checked her panties just now I found them to be quite damp." The deceitful maid never even blinked as she repeated these blatant falsehoods back to her employer.

"Well Charlotte – what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I didn't. She's lying!" The young girl spat back.

"These are serious charges Charlotte, Madeline has been my faithful servant and companion for many years. Do you think she would make up something like this? I hope you have proof young lady. Pull up your dress now!"

"But… no, I don't mean I didn't, I did, but she made me..." Charlotte's flustered defence collapsed.

"Well, pull up your dress Charlotte."

The young girl slowly lifted up her skirts, and then began pleading with Mr Campbell again as it became abundantly clear that Charlotte's love heart panties were indeed very damp.

"Mr Campbell, it didn't happen like Madeline said. I mean she did spank me, but this didn't happen then – she did it to me when she checked my panties."

"Enough! I will hear no more of these outrageous accusations Charlotte. No!" He cut Charlotte off as she opened her mouth to protest again. "Charlotte, if I hear one more word from you on this subject you will get a black spot for every fibbing word that comes out of your mouth. Do I make myself clear?"

Charlotte thought for a few seconds. Mr Campbell had already indicated that a day in the punishment panties would be her fate if she soiled herself this way again, but even a handful of words in her defence at this moment would earn her more black spots than she had already accrued in her entire time here so far. Feeling that discretion was the better part of valour in this instance Charlotte kept her mouth shut and lowered her skirts as Mr Campbell began lecturing her.

"I am very disappointed Charlotte. I thought you understood our position on this issue last night. We cannot have you fall into these dirty habits of deviancy." He looked her sternly in the eyes as he expressed his dismay. "Now - there will be no more discussion – I will discuss this with you after dinner. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir."

"Now take your seat. Madeline, although I no longer feel like eating, is our dinner ready?"

"I will go and check for you Master Campbell."

With that the duplicitous maid retreated to the kitchen, leaving an upset and distraught Charlotte smoothing her skirts and a forbidding Mr Campbell sternly considering his charge.

"I spoke to the hospital today Charlotte." Charlie turned her head immediately at the mention of hospital.

"I am afraid that there is no change in your Father's condition. They tell me he may wake at any moment, but that it is equally likely he will never awaken again. I am sorry."

"Can we go and visit him?" She thought that the answer to her question would be a resounding no, so she was shocked when he responded: "Well, the summer holidays are approaching, I had thought of taking you on a trip somewhere. Perhaps we could visit him at some point. But you do know that it won't do any good don't you, he's in a coma Charlotte."

"Some people say that people in comas can still hear things."

"I have heard that, but I don't know if it's true or not. Charlotte, you know it's really not the best idea to get your hopes up, he may be ill for a very long time."

"I know." She resumed smoothing her skirts.

"Now, I'm not promising that we can see him. It will rely on you behaving yourself for the rest of term. I will not be taking with me a recalcitrant misbehaving child, and you also must deal with this problem of yours. I expect you to work cooperatively with me as we try to cure you of these disgusting thoughts."

"I'll try to be good Mr Campbell," she promised as she considered the floor beneath her.

"I hope so, for your sake." The veiled threat hung over the dining table as Bosker and the maid arrived with dinner. Charlotte's teddy bear plate was covered with a generous serve of a plain egg and bacon omelette; it was of course accompanied by her spill proof fairy-cup full of pineapple juice. She deliberately nursed the drink, to ensure that some remained at the end of dinner. Despite the afternoon's desperate events she hadn't forgotten her plan for the cup and Mr Campbell's brandy.

Mr Campbell picked at his food, clearly lacking an appetite for his dinner. When Bosker retrieved his plate, half his citrus flavoured chicken breast and grilled vegetables remained uneaten. "Was the food unsatisfactory sir?" Bosker inquired delicately.

"No not at all Bosker, tell Cook it was marvellous – up to her highest standards, I'm just not particularly hungry tonight. By the way, Charlotte will be waiting on me again tonight; you can have the night off if you like."

"Thank you sir, I've been meaning to catch that new Harrison Ford movie; I think I might go and see it."

"Excellent, enjoy yourself." Mr Campbell sat pensively, and before not too many heartbeats had passed he indicated that he and Charlotte should retire to his study/hobby room. Charlotte made sure to take her fairy cup with her, and was relieved when no one challenged her on removing it from the table.

Chapter 19 – The Teeth of the Predator

As they passed through the hallways Charlie was reminded of her mother and the maid's comments earlier: "Mr Campbell, Madeline said that my mother did something bad to you. Can I ask what it was?"

"I'd rather not talk about it Charlotte." His voice echoed faint memories of hurt and pain, but he remained closed lipped. He opened the door to his private room ushering Charlotte within. She noticed some subtle changes to the room. Firstly he had left the beginnings of a new dress on one of the manikins. It was made from a pink material with a delicate pattern of tiny fluttering butterflies and hearts. Along the bottom edge of the skirt however was a procession little girls circling a maypole. It was far from completed however with the bodice providing only a distant hint of the various features that would eventually adorn the dress.

Secondly a lush sheepskin had been laid out on the floor in front of the stereo where Charlotte had sat last night. It was clearly brand new and designed to provide her with a place to sit in this dark, foreboding room. The final change had been the erection of a changing screen. It sat between the work area and the stereo and would provide a modicum of modesty to anyone who utilised it.

Mr Campbell walked to his workbench and asked Charlotte to pour him a drink.

Now was her chance.

With his back turned Charlotte quickly poured him a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter, while he was still rummaging around in a drawer she turned her attention to her spill proof fairy cup. She quickly sucked down the dregs of the pineapple juice and then carefully, but quickly, poured a small amount of brandy into her cup. She needed a lot more, but to take too much now would evoke suspicion.

Her task completed she sat down on the sheepskin and arranged her skirts about her, awaiting Mr Campbell. After a couple of minutes he returned to his chesterfield with a collection of garments in his hands. He sat down and considered Charlotte for a moment.

"Charlotte, I want you to listen to me carefully for a minute." His voice was strict and firm; he was clearly going to say something important.

"Okay." She responded cautiously.

"If you remember, you were to be punished last night, however in light of our discovering your problem I postponed the carrying out of your penalty. I am going to punish you now. In accordance with the rules of the house you will submit to the punishment I have determined for you or you will be forced to submit and be further punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir" Why was he repeating what she already knew? She began to fear what was about to happen.

"The reason I am reminding you of this is because you are not going to like what has been planned for you at all. What I want you to keep in mind is that it is for your own good. Do you understand?"

"Yes"

"Good, now I want you to come and sit on my lap for a moment while I explain how you will atone for your deviant behaviour."

'What?' she thought, 'he wants me to sit on his lap! Umm…' Sheepishly she climbed up off the sheepskin, and sat herself delicately on the edge of his knee. She saw that in his hand he was holding a pair of panties and some other objects that she couldn't yet identify.

"Charlotte, I am proposing a rather radical treatment to help you. Now once I've explained this to you, I want you to go behind that screen over there and change into the clothes I am about to give you."

"Okay, but-"

"No buts - now, these you will be relatively familiar with," he held up a pair of blue satin panties. They had been finished with white lace edging all the way around the waistband and legs. He continued, "You'll see that I have modified the insides as well." With that he revealed the brutal strip of bristles in the crotch designed to torment her. She began quivering at the thought of the panties and the memories of her last encounter.

"Unfortunately Charlotte, you have shown that this treatment alone is not sufficient. These panties are designed to remind you that you should not be letting your body dictate your actions. You have a wonderful mind, and I don't want you addling it with ridiculous notions of sex or boys until you are ready to marry. Yet despite your punishment the other day you have continued to misbeha-"

"But-" She tried to turn and face him, he firmly held her still on his knee and continued.

"No interruptions. Therefore you will also be required to wear these for the duration tonight. Now I understand that this will be very difficult for you…" He continued talking to her as she stared curiously at the new items he was displaying. Two thin white leather belts had been produced. The tiny buckles were adjustable and each belt would be around one foot in circumference. From each belt hung from one side two tiny springs about five inches apart from each other, to these springs were attached some vicious looking clamps. She had no idea what these two belts were for until, in horror, she heard him explain them in detail.

"You are to go behind the screen and take off your tights and panties. You will replace your tights with these socks," he referred to a pair of white ankle length socks with a blue frill. "Then you will put each of these belts around the tops of your thighs, taking care to tighten them so that they can't budge. Also make sure that these springs are facing in toward each other so that they sit inside your thighs. Then you must take these clamps…"

She listened in abject horror at what he was proposing… She would be entirely vulnerable – her outer lips unable to protect her from the ministrations of the bristles…

He finished explaining her punishment and it seemed as if hours passed to Charlotte as she sat there considering what to do next. Finally, her voice breaking as she said it, she asked "Mr Campbell – if I promise to do this; wear these horrible things for you, will you do something for me?"

"Charlotte…" his voice stern, was indicating that this fate would befall her whether she wanted it to or not.

"No, please Mr Campbell, please listen to me for a second. I'll do all that you ask. I'll wear those things, and I will sit here and gladly serve you all night. I'll be a good girl and do everything that you need me to do – but can you just do one thing?"

"I guess that depends on what it is."

"I know that you have cameras everywhere – if I promise to go and put these things on now and be a perfect girl all night – will you go and look at this afternoon's recording in the rumpus room? Can you please have a look at it, because I was telling the truth this afternoon – I wasn't bad, but since you don't believe me can you please just have a look for yourself?"

Mr Campbell sat there watching Charlotte beg him to do this thing: "Alright Charlotte, I will have a look at the footage. But not now, when I have time."

"Thankyou Mr Campbell." With that she picked up the belts, socks and panties and dutifully retreated behind the changing screen. What she was about to do to herself horrified her. But she recognised that at least this way she could prove her innocence and maybe avoid the additional punishment for her failed panty check; she also took solace in the fact that she would endure this punishment on her terms, not his, not the maids, not anyone's but hers. She slowly removed her shoes, tights and panties; dropping them in a pile on the floor. She delicately put on the new socks and made sure that the frills were prominently displayed, matching as they did her blue Pooh Bear dress. She buckled her shoes on and then considered the objects of torture remaining to put on.

She unbuckled one belt and wrapped it around the top of her thigh. In order to do this she had to sit on the ground because she couldn't manipulate the little buckles and hold up all her skirts at the same time. She pulled it tight, making sure it couldn't budge up or down, in fact if it did move once it was properly put on it would result in far more pain that even its wicked purpose demanded. With one belt in place she took its fellow and tightened it around her other thigh. With both belts in place she quietly considered the next step.

Mr Campbell had insisted that she would prove that she had put these things on correctly when she emerged, so despite her overwhelming reluctance she grasped her left outer labia firmly between two fingers and grasped one of the clamps attached by the spring in her other hand. She pulled the powerful spring away from the thigh belt until the clamp came in contact with her labia. She opened the teethed jaws of the clamp and brought them over the bottom of the lip, gently she released the clamp until it began biting deeply into her sex.

The pain was dreadful, the small teeth, designed in part to prevent slippage, also provided for a shocking quantity of pain shooting into her. She gasped as she finally left the clamp to its own devices and the spring dragged the imprisoned flesh back towards her thigh. Now she took the other clamp on the same belt and brought it up to the top of her lip. The spring stretched out as she gradually released the second clamp onto her labia. The two clamps now pulled her outer lip away from its corresponding inner lip, simultaneously; they ensured that the delicate inner membranes of her outer lip were thoroughly exposed. One side completed, and now a tear welling up in her eye from the pain, she began repeating the process on the other side. With that task completed, the other two clamps were painfully arranged, splaying her sex open to the world, stretching her apart horrifically.

Now she contemplated the panties, startled at the pains that shot through her as the springs adjusted to her movement, holding her vagina vulnerably open and keeping it pulled taut. She began pulling the blue and white lacy punishment panties over her shoes and inexorably started their journey up her legs toward her thighs. The bristles brushed against her thighs as she pulled them up, reminding her of the destiny that awaited her dainty nether regions. The waistband finally reached its destination and Charlotte could feel the menacing bristles begin to brush against her open exposed flesh. She stood there for a few moments. Mr Campbell would check her work; if she hadn't arranged the panties properly he would think she was trying to cheat on their deal.

With a last effort of determination she adjusted each of the leg bands, wincing in agony as the harsh, hard bristles finally came into full contact with her splayed open vagina. The agony was unbearable; she began sobbing immediately, even before she moved a muscle. The bristles ground into her unprotected hole, over her exposed clitoris and over the inner membranes of her stretched outer lips. The slightest move provoked the forest of sharp torments to graze over the delicate skin, evoking everything from mewls to howls of anguish from Charlotte.

Chapter 20 – Musical Revelations

Mr Campbell was sitting in his chair sipping his drink when Charlotte reappeared from behind the dressing screen. He looked her over. She had changed out of her tights and into the white frilly ankle socks he had provided her with. She stood before him as a picture of anguished childlike beauty. The contrast was poetic – the pretty blue dress with its exposed peek-a-boo hem of lace and the frolicking Pooh Bear characters were matched with a picture of tortured misery on Charlotte's face as she shuffled delicately toward him. Each step provoked new and intense pain. Besides the bristles rasping against her naked flesh, the spring mounted clamps continued their relentless strain on her outer labia. She finally reached Mr Campbell's chair as a tear rolled off her cheek and splashed onto the cartoon motif on her ruffled bodice.

"Turn around please."

She turned about slowly, facing away from his chair.

"Bend over and raise your skirts Charlotte. I have to check that you have put everything on correctly." With that she gradually bent over, the clamps protested against this movement, stretching even further against part of her captured skin, while the panties continued their wicked work and sent fresh waves of pain through Charlotte's already tender and brutalised crotch. Bending at an almost ninety degree angle she raised her skirts to present Mr Campbell with an unimpeded view of his handiwork. He examined with reserved interest the mixture of satin and lace together with the sadistic clamps biting into her plump flesh. The visible flesh indicated that her fragile womanly lips were dramatically pulled away from her sex; the rest of her flesh remained hidden by her blue satin panties. Checking to make sure she had properly pulled the panties all the way up to bring the bristles to rest on their intended target, he delicately touched her crotch.

Charlotte screamed as even the most delicate of touches sent the bristles grinding into her virgin hole. "Please don't touch me there! No please!"

Mr Campbell removed his hand. "Very good Charlotte, I can see you followed my instructions perfectly. Now you can take a seat. Shall we spend some time talking?"

Grateful that this humiliating show had finished, she dropped her skirts and gingerly made her way to the sheep skin. Lowering herself down was even more painful than bending over as the springed clamps readjusted themselves, again triggering off the complex interplay between tortured girl-flesh, clamps, springs and bristles.

"Now Charlotte, these panties are designed to to hurt you, yet they are also designed to teach you a lesson. I hope by the end of this evening you will have learnt it."

"They just hurt, oh they hurt so much! Please Mr Campbell: I made a mistake, can't I please take them off?"

"I am afraid not. You earned those seven black spots, and you have ruined one pair of panties and some pyjamas already, you must pay your for your mistakes."

"But please - my pussy will be ruined!"

Mr Campbell responded immediately, sternly reprimanding her: "Charlotte! I will not hear that disgusting word from your mouth ever again!"

He continued on: "I can reassure you that though while sharp and harsh; those bristles will not do any permanent damage. You may be sore for a few days, but you will not be 'ruined' as you so eloquently put it. They are merely scouring away your perverse thoughts and training you to consider carefully how you should use your body. This is nothing compared with dying from some insidious sexually transmitted disease you may pick up if you don't change your ways."

"You try wearing them then!" She started sobbing loudly, a long heaving cry that threatened to become something even deeper.

Mr Campbell leaned forward, considered the sobbing girl on the brink of breaking down. Seeing that the ordeal he had imposed on her was maybe harsher than he had intended, he slid down the edge of his seat, and gently crawled across the floor, coming to kneel next to the blubbing girl.

"Charlotte my darling, come-on honey, take deep breaths. I'm sorry you have to undergo this, but it really is for your benefit." He patted her on the knee as he uttered the reassuring words.

Charlotte looked up at Mr Campbell as she sat wracked with the most unbearable pain she had ever encountered. In his eyes she saw compassion and sympathy. "Please Mr Campbell, it hurts so much, even if I don't move they grind. Please my pus… my cunny - is in so much pain. Please can't I take them off – please?"

He sat there next to her on the floor and considered her request seriously – agonising moments passed; yet for Charlotte the seconds seemed like hours. "No – I'm sorry; you have a lesson to learn Charlotte. But here - I'll try to help you through it. They say that music soothes the savage beast…" He rose to his knees and proceeded to shuffle around her, making his way toward the stereo. "That's not to say you are a beast or an animal – no, not at all. What I meant was that music has the power to heal - it is such a restorative… a cure-all if you like."

He began rifling through his record collection, looking for something in particular. Charlotte swivelled sensitively around on her sheepskin, encountering the unremittent agony imposed by her panties as she did so. Eventually she came around to face him while he sought and found the record he was seeking. "This is it. One of my favourite pieces."

He removed the vinyl record from its sleeve and blew across its surface to remove the tiny pieces of dust that had accumulated. Charlotte, with tears stalled on her cheeks, watched him as he awkwardly hurried to put the record on – it was an uncharacteristic and hasty set of movements, completely at odds with his normal precise motions.

Finally the turntable's arm was lowered and a heavy tenor began to emit from the speakers in a language that Charlotte didn't understand.

"I've never liked opera much…" Mr Campbell faced the stereo – away from her - talking gently, "until I heard this… Pavarotti, he's a very famous opera singer. This is called 'Nessun Dorma'." The deep penetrating voice of the veteran tenor rose and swelled with the music.

Charlotte listened to the gentle and yet powerful undercurrents of the composition, and for a moment her mind was partly dragged away from the painful nightmare she was undergoing.

"It's in Italian, but the translated story is almost as beautiful as the music itself." He turned back toward Charlotte and sat at her feet, staring her in the eyes as he recounted the tale: "The beautiful, yet cold and heartless Princess Turando lures countless young princes to her with the prospect of her hand in marriage. Yet to win her, they must answer three riddles. If they answer incorrectly, they die..."

The score began to intensify and the rich voice of Pavarotti underscored the deep emotive sentiment of the song. Mr Campbell took a moderate sip of his drink before he continued.

"An unknown Prince, Calaf, answers the questions successfully – but having won the beautiful Princess he asks a riddle of his own: 'Tell me my name by morning and at dawn I will die.'"

Mr Campbell let that utterance hang in the air as the intense voice gained further power and passion, "The Princess, unwilling to marry Calaf, decrees that until someone learns his name, no-one in the city shall go to sleep. Hence the name of the song: Nessun Dorma – 'None shall sleep tonight'." Pavarotti's voice trailed away temporarily and the chorus came to the fore.

"This is what the Prince sings as he waits for the dawn; wondering if the cold hearted princess will find out his name and have him killed, or whether she will become his."

The chorus retreated and Pavarotti's tenor returned with a vengeance approaching the inevitable crescendo: "Yet many people in the town know the Prince's name, so it becomes clear that the prince has set an intricate test of his own for the Princess. He refuses to take Turando unwillingly because he wants her to love him in return. So knowing full well that she will discover his name, he waits to see whether she will have him killed or marry him out of true love."

Charlotte listened intently to Mr Campbell, the pain in her crotch temporarily diminished as she fixated herself on the churning feelings that the music aroused in her.

Finally the song faded away after reaching its powerful conclusion. Charlotte had never been touched by a piece of music so powerful, so sorrowful and so complete. Her own worldly pain mingled with the grief and angst of the singer. She remained sitting in quiet contemplation on the sheepskin as the orchestra faded.

"What did you think?" He asked sensitively.

"You can hear his pain – you can hear the doubt he feels, will she love him or not? You feel as if you're there, sharing in his wait. Will she take him or not? It's so sad, and yet hopeful."

"Yes it is – have you never heard it before?" He inquired. Charlotte's pain had become a shadow of its former self – the music had swept her up in its emotion, carrying her along and taking her on a profound journey.

"No not all of it, but I think I've heard that last part in a television ad before." He drank a further slug of the brandy whilst she answered him.

"I sometimes wonder at your generation – I try to listen to the music you follow and really wonder where the passion is." He had lifted the turntable's arm and began rummaging back through his record collection. "All I hear is aggression, or hate, or the crudest expressions of lust. There's no romance, no mystery in it – no beauty.

"And in contrast…" he placed a new record on the turntable, and a melodic rhythm and blues track started.

Charlotte noticed that Mr Campbell was quickly working his way to the bottom of his brandy glass. Thinking about supplementing the meagre supply she had already skimmed from the decanter, she offered to fetch him a drink.

"Actually, that would be very nice, thankyou Charlotte."

Charlotte took his glass from him while he remained settled next to the sheepskin. She slowly took to her feet as she attempted to minimize the renewed and excruciating pain inflicted on her by the panties.

As the rhythm and blues tune continued, Mr Campbell continued is critique of modern youth culture. "Your generation is blunt and unsophisticated, it seems almost a reversion to barbarism." He looked despairingly toward the closed window as Charlotte struggled to reach the small table, hobbled as she was by the effort to curtail the incredible pain that had been newly set off.

She interposed herself in front of the decanter and managed to refill his glass while adding a bit more brandy to her toddler-style safety cup. 'At this rate I'm going to need a week of nights like these to collect enough of the stuff – there has to be a better way to do this.'

Finished with her clandestine siphoning operation, the brutalised girl returned to the sheepskin and handed Mr Campbell his glass before gradually lowering herself back to the floor. Despite her careful and delicate descent, the bristles viciously stabbed into her unprotected groin. Further tears welled in her eyes as she gasped in discomfort.

Having resumed her seat on the sheepskin Mr Campbell resumed sipping his drink. His eyes had begun to glaze over and Charlotte realised that he was beginning to exhibit signs of tipsiness. 'Well after three glasses of straight brandy, I'm not surprised.' She thought to herself.

"You're being very brave you know." Mr Campbell expressed in a most sympathetic tone.

"Thankyou sir, I'm trying very hard."

"Does it hurt much?"

"It hurts very much Mr Campbell. But your music helps me take my mind of the pain." She told the truth to him at this moment; focussing on the rising and undulating melody of the music did help her ignore the worst excesses of the clamps and bristles.

"I think you're very brave Charlotte."

"Yes Mr Campbell, thankyou." She deliberately ignored the fact he had repeated himself only moments earlier, perhaps he really was starting to feel the effects of the brandy. In that case, it would be much easier to steal more of the spirit from the decanter. An alternate thought process also suggested that maybe she should explore his relationship with her long dead mother.

"Mr Campbell? Why did Janine leave you?" She referred to her mother by her first name, hoping that it might evoke a more meaningful response than her previous attempts. She had also taken a guess in assuming that Mr Campbell and her mother had been together. It wasn't a huge guess, the mere existence of the portrait, the maid's comments and his limited answers to her questioning all indicated that at some point in his past he and her mother had been an item.

"Well, that was a long time ago – she was beautiful, the best looking lass in college. Impeccable dress sense, confident, lovely. She was the pinnacle of everything great and beautiful about womanhood…

"Don't know why she liked me. I was a bit shy you know, I used to get nervous in crowds and at parties, certainly doesn't make it easy to meet people. But she liked me. We dated, went to movies, parties together, even arranged our lecture timetables so that we could spend more time together.

"But it ended, it all ended… eventually…" He looked down into his glass, clearly 'tired and emotional'. Charlotte decided that she'd pried enough for one night and sat quietly on her sheepskin waiting for him to speak again.

He didn't. Minutes passed and he merely listened to the music with his eyes closed, occasionally opening them to take another sip of his drink. Charlotte watched with interest as he further worked his way down to the bottom of the glass, at which time she offered to refill it for him.

He considered her for a few moments, as if he'd forgotten she was even in the room, eventually he proffered the empty glass. Charlotte slowly and painfully made her way to the decanter where she decided to take a chance and completely fill her fairy cup. With him in this state he was unlikely to notice her taking the brandy, more importantly she thought to herself, he was unlikely to question how much was gone when he woke up with a massive hangover tomorrow.

Just as midnight approached Mr Campbell decided that it was time 'to retire'. He staggered to his feet before offering Charlotte a rubbery hand up off the floor. Despite his obvious inebriation he remembered to show Charlotte back to her suite. Charlotte was grateful that his drunken state prevented him from walking too quickly toward their destination. Effectively hobbled by the insidious pain that resulted each time she took too large a step, she was forced to slowly sidle after the intoxicated tailor.

When they reached her rooms, he stood outside her door swaying gently, his words slightly slurred. "Good night Charlotte, sleep well my darling." With that he leant in toward her and kissed her gently on the forehead. She stepped back, partly shocked at his behaviour, but thinking that she was a little closer to understanding this complex and multi faceted man. Gripping tightly to her little fairy cup that currently smelt similar to Mr Campbell's breath, she ventured into her room to find a hiding place for the highly flammable brandy. But first, she would take off the gruesome clamps and panties…

Chapter 21 – Dreams and Accidents

Charlotte found removing the clamps and panties incredibly difficult. On entering her bedroom she had placed her fairy cup full of brandy in a corner out of sight of the security camera and hastily pulled the sadistic panties down. She uttered a sigh of relief as the bristles ceased their inhuman abuse of her inflamed and raw vagina.

After hours from suffering the spiky ministrations of the panties, her crotch felt as if it had been rubbed raw. She ignored an urge to look at her genitals in the mirror, imagining that her labia must appear inflamed, scraped and tortured.

The panties discarded into a corner of the room, she lay down on her bed and slowly removed the first clamp that entrapped her outer labia. She immediately regretted taking the slow approach as the blood flow returned to the tormented flesh and her agony blossomed ten fold. She bit back a squeal and quickly dealt with the remaining teethed clamps. Having removed the clamps she laid back on the bed, her skirts still gathered about her waist as she tried to will away the ever-present, but thankfully diminishing pain.

Slowly she reached down and gently felt about her crotch, dreading that she would find herself permanently damaged despite Mr Campbell's reassurances. Her gentle probing fingers relayed their findings: the constant strain of the springs on her nether lips had stretched them brutally, but already the pliant flesh was contracting back to its normal state. The sharp teeth of the clamps had left wicked indentations on her skin, but again the severe evidence of her punishment would likely fade with time.

Further probing revealed that she was terribly tender, but otherwise unhurt. Suddenly, with her hand brushing over her inner core she felt fluid – shocked and alarmed at the possibility that she was bleeding she immediately withdrew her hand to investigate the liquid. Her closer examination appalled her.

Not blood, but warm, clear fluid.

She wished it had been blood.

Thinking back through the evening she failed to remember being aroused, she remembered the pain of the panties, the humiliation of having to bend over in front of Mr Campbell to be inspected, the fear she had felt as she covertly smuggled brandy out of the decanter, her growing anxiety as the night had progressed along with Mr Campbell's drunkenness; at no stage could she consciously remember feeling the familiar flutter of butterflies.

She lay on her bed: ashamed, feeling dirty. 'How? Why?' She asked herself.

A feeling of spiralling despair wracked her mind as she considered just what sort of dirty, filthy girl would be inadvertently stimulated by the punishment that had been inflicted on her.

Visions of spanking and dreams of incarceration were one thing; but this episode spoke of a deeper malaise, a darker side to her emergent sexuality that confused and appalled her. Unsure of how to react to her discovery, Charlotte took stock of her circumstances.

Here she was lying on her quaint little bed, her blue Pooh Bear dress pulled up to her waist, her clean-shaven naked vagina clearly displayed, and her hand covered in the glistening proof of her body's treachery for all to see… including Mr Campbell's camera.

Panic struck.

Hurriedly she pulled her skirts down and rolled off her bed, racing to retrieve the punishment panties from the corner into which she had thrown them. How could she have been so stupid!

She withdrew to the bathroom to check the crotch of the panties; luckily she found no telltale marks on them. To make doubly sure however, she turned the tap on in the basin and carefully washed the bristles to remove any remaining residue. Her task complete she shoved the infernal blue and white knickers into the laundry chute. Next she stripped off her dress, socks and shoes and began running the shower. Hurriedly combing out her hair she stepped into the shower to wash away the far more incriminating evidence between her legs.

Thoughts charged through her mind as she rinsed away her sins, would Mr Campbell watch the tape? Did he review her every move – or did some of the footage that was captured escape his notice? In his near-comatose state it would be highly unlikely that he had been watching her on the bed just now.

Maybe he wouldn't ever see what had just happened. She desperately hoped so.

Now clean, Charlotte wrapped herself in a newly laundered fluffy towel and moved back into the bedroom. Quietly she retrieved the fairy cup and looked about the room. Studying the camera's orientation, she noted that there were no hiding places in the room that weren't in the camera's line of sight. She would have to hide it in plain sight or conceal it somehow. Her gaze ran over her desk and to her copy of "The Adventures of Isabelle". Keeping the cup out of the cameras sight she moved to the desk and pulled the book out of its niche. Taking particular care to make sure her body was blocking the camera's view she pushed the brandy filled receptacle into the book's niche before carefully returning the book to its place, effectively hiding the cup from sight.

Her clandestine tasks completed, Charlotte returned to her bed to get changed for bed. Her ballerina sleeper sat on the bedside table and she cringed as she unzipped the pink flannelette pyjamas and pushed her feet into the enclosed booties before zipping herself into the infantile clothing.

---

She stood naked in a huge shifting room; everything appeared to be twice the size that it should have been. She was late – she knew that, but for what she couldn't remember. She was supposed to get dressed first – but where were her clothes? He would be angry if she didn't hurry up.

Where were they? Panic welled up inside her; she looked all around the constantly morphing and shadowy room looking for something, anything to put on to cover her naked body.

He was waiting for her…

He would be mad…

Increasingly frantic she searched every corner of the big room – there had to be something to wear, where had she put her clothes? What would He do to her if she were late? Would she have to go to Him un-clothed?

Just as her fear reached a crescendo she noticed that they had been here all the time – right in front of her. There it was, her favourite party dress – He liked that one. Suddenly she was wearing it and He was there. Tall, handsome, strong, she felt Him in the room.

Now she was walking through a long hallway hand-in-hand with Him, they were going somewhere, He had told her it was a special place that she would like a lot. She skipped along happy in the knowledge that He was here with her.

Up the stairs they climbed, they seemed to go on forever, around and around and around in a spiral they climbed. It got darker, she felt scared but He held her hand to reassure her.

There was a door – a big wooden door that loomed far above her, she couldn't reach the doorknob – but He could. He opened the door and she looked in. Suddenly she was pushed into the cold stone room and she stumbled to her knees.

He stood above her, slamming the door behind her. "You shall never escape – never!" Now He was terrible and dark, shadows loomed behind him, threatening and ominous.

She was chained, dangling from the ceiling in the cold stone tower. He stood in front of her as she begged for Him to let her go.

"No – I will have you, I will always have you. You are mine forever..." She closed her eyes as she felt Him lift her skirts, his hard-harsh hand on her inner thigh. She knew that the whip would soon embrace her body. It's cruel tongue wrapping around her imprisoned straining body…

---

"Charlotte… Charlotte, Miss Charlotte, wake up please." Bosker, the butler was gently shaking the sleeping girl as she lay hugging one of her pillows. The sun had risen and was shining brightly through the window above her bed. She stirred slowly as she was an unusually heavy sleeper: "What… what, I'm asleep, go away: sleeping."

"Miss Charlotte, you have to wake up, the Master would like to see you in the dining room immediately." Bosker gently continued to try and rouse her from her deep slumber.

" - sleeping, I'll get up soon, just five more minutes." She rolled onto her other side, dragging her pillow with her, one pink sleeper clad leg wrapped around the frilled pillow.

"No I'm sorry Miss Charlotte, right now; Master Campbell must leave for work and requires your presence immediately."

"Oh! I just want to sleep – can't you leave me alone…" Had her father been there he would have attested to the fact that Charlie was one of the crankiest, grumpiest morning people in existence. He regularly had to wake her up four or five times before she eventually dragged herself out of bed, particularly if she had been up late watching sport. Not helping this particular morning was the fact that she hadn't gotten to bed until just after midnight last night. She was accustomed to at least eight hours sleep, and had barely managed five.

"Now Charlotte, I'm sorry you have to get up now, but I really don't want to have to give you a black spot…"

"Alright, alright, alright, I'm getting up… in a minute."

"No. Now."

"OK!" She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Evil hair fairies had assaulted her during the night and part of her long shock of dark brown hair was stuck to the side of her face. She sat on the edge of her bed rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Slowly she took in her surroundings, slowly emerging from her deep sleep.

She stood groggily and started toward the shower. Her inner thighs felt… sticky.

"There's no time for that now Miss Charlotte. You can shower after you see Master Campbell – he needs to leave very soon."

"Why now? Can't it wait till tonight?" She asked carefully, even in her sleepy fog-like state she realised that she had to wash herself down below before being presented to Mr Campbell.

"Apparently not, he was quite insistent, come along."

As the Butler turned his back to lead her from the room Charlotte looked down to see whether her body's betrayal was visible… to her infinite horror, it was.

She tried to will her sleep clogged brain into motion, a ruse was in order, just enough to give her time to clean herself up.

"At least let me go to the potty please Bosker, I'm busting…" She crossed her legs and thrust her hand in between her thighs, indicating that she very much needed to go to the toilet, right now.

"Alright, but hurry up, I'll be waiting in the hallway."

Charlotte worked quickly; she pulled her sleeper down around her thighs and sat on the toilet. Taking handfuls of toilet paper she hurriedly cleaned away her nightly emissions. She met difficulties however in removing the small wet patch on her pyjama's crotch. Remembering that Mr Campbell had promised her a full day in the punishment panties if she soiled herself again, she tried desperately to think of a way to camouflage herself.

She didn't have time to change; Bosker was already knocking politely on the door asking her to hurry up. Suddenly a haze-induced thought occurred to her. She couldn't remove the stain, so she'd cover it up. She flushed the toilet and began running the tap, she scooped handfuls of water onto the crotch of her sleeper, successfully ridding the pyjamas of the small stain but soaking the entire crotch area. In her sleep-deprived state she figured that it was better to pretend to have suffered an "accident" than to have soiled her panties during the night and face the entire day being assaulted by the punishment bra and panties.

Her pitiable cover-up completed she pulled the sleeper back on and opened the door shyly to the aging Butler. Bosker immediately looked down at the bashful Charlotte: "What happened here?" He asked.

"I had an accident, I couldn't get my jim-jams off quick enough. Can I please change?"

"No time for that Miss Charlotte, Mr Campbell will have to deal with this."

With that Bosker led Charlotte, still dressed in her cute little pink ballerina sleeper, now complete with soaked crotch, toward the dining room. She was in the middle of a long powerful yawn when she entered to find Mr Campbell standing at one of the windows, gazing out over the bustling early morning city. He had apparently just finished breakfast, with his steaming coffee cup half-full and the remains of some bacon and eggs evident on a plate at the glass-topped table. The maid waited on him near the door to the kitchen area and she failed to hide a smirk as Charlotte, her hair askew and her mouth wide open in the midst of a gigantic yawn, entered the room.

"Good Morning Charl- What have you done to yourself?" He asked incredulously pointing toward the vast wet crotch on her pink sleeper.

"I couldn't get my Jammies off quickly enough when I went to the potty this morning…" She stared down at her feet, avoiding Mr Campbell's piercing gaze.

"Well – this is entirely unexpected. Have you had this problem before Charlotte?"

"No sir, not since I was little." She kept on looking at her pink flannelette clad feet, her plan seemed to be working - he'd taken her ruse in hook, line and sinker.

"Well, this is indeed unfortunate. Are you feeling alright Charlotte, you're not sick or anything are you?" His voice was delicate, calming; yet she still kept up her pretence of being incredibly embarrassed.

"No sir, I feel ok. I'm just embarrassed."

"Hmmm... Well I won't keep you long. I wanted to talk to you about your accumulated gold stars. You have a number of stars that have not yet been redeemed; I was wondering whether you had any requests, would you like an outing, some more jewellery, what would you like?"

"Actually Mr Campbell I really need a pen, paper and wastebasket in my room to do homework for Mistress Heinz." She didn't of course, but Charlotte had just worked out how to get another of the ingredients she needed for her escape.

"Of course, but I would have supplied those anyway if you had asked. Is there anything else? A new teddy bear? A pretty party dress?" His eyes lit up with the last suggestion, providing Charlotte with a reminder that he had an agenda of his own here, for all his talk of her being his responsibility, of looking after her, he still wanted to get his own perverse kicks out of her while she lived this nightmare.

"A party dress sounds very nice Mr Campbell," she put on her best grin, "- but, it gets very boring in my room by myself – I thought maybe you could get me a cable television?"

"Sorry Charlotte, no cable. But how about I arrange a DVD player with a TV? You will be allowed to select a movie each night to play if you like."

"Oh - thankyou Mr Campbell."

"Okay, well that's dealt with. Now I'm a bit concerned over this mornings 'accident' Charlotte. I'm afraid that I will be cancelling your lessons and you will spend the day in the nursery."

"The nursery Mr Campbell?" She hadn't heard of the nursery before now, what the hell was going on here?

"Yes, perhaps you need some 're-training' in the 'accident' department… yes, I think that is entirely appropriate. Bosker and Madeline: can you arrange it please? Let Mistress Heinz know that her services will not be required today. Wish her a good weekend and ask for her to return on Monday morning. Hopefully by then we will have this small setback ironed out; isn't that right Charlotte?"

"Sir?" Charlotte looked up at him incredulously. This nursery thing didn't sound good. Had she made a miscalculation? She had thought herself so smart in avoiding the punishment bra and panties by pretending to have wet herself – was she going to regret her deception?

Mr Campbell dismissed her and Bosker led her back to her room, only after leaving the dining room did she remember that she had forgot to ask Mr Campbell whether he'd reviewed the playroom's tape from yesterday.

Chapter 22 – Surrender

She'd showered and dried herself off. Bosker had returned her to her bedroom in order to bathe. Meanwhile he had left her there, apparently so he could make preparations for her day in "the nursery", whatever that was.

Charlotte correctly assumed that 'the nursery' wasn't an outdoor retail outlet selling tree saplings… The only other logical alternative disconcerted her deeply. The playroom was degrading enough as it was. She had found that being forced to play with her doll Cynthia and conduct imaginary tea parties was emotionally gruelling and embarrassing. She had begun to dread her daily visits to that room and what made her visits there worse was the despicable maid's campaign to make her life as miserable as possible.

The episode on the rocking horse still haunted her.

So it was with her imagination running wild at what indignities might await her when Bosker entered her bedroom with a breakfast tray. Charlotte sat down at her desk, clad only in her towel and silently ate her bacon and eggs, together with a very tall glass of apple juice.

When she finished her food Bosker removed the tray from the room and returned with Madeline in tow, wheeling in a large covered trolley.

"What's that?" Charlotte asked innocently.

"You'll find out soon enough Young Miss, now get on the bed please so we can dress you." The newly returned Bosker waved his hand towards Charlotte's bed. Warily Charlotte sidled toward the bed, keeping both eyes on the ominous butler and maid standing at the trolley.

She wasn't at all happy about this situation. Yet she was reluctant to resist whatever was about to happen, being entirely aware that she would be forced to endure whatever was planned whether she resisted or not. Charlotte felt completely helpless, deprived of any ability to determine her own fate. She wasn't sure what was more galling – the horrific punishments meted out to her or her total inability so far to prevent their occurrence.

So with great trepidation Charlotte sat down on the bed. "Lie back please Charlotte." Bosker requested quietly. Charlotte did as she was told, she lay back staring at the ceiling, her towel still wrapped around her.

She felt something leathery wrap around her ankle, she titled her head up only to be told curtly by the maid: "Stop that and lie still!" Her other ankle was encased in a similar object and she felt and heard, rather than saw, leather restraints being tightened around her ankles.

Now she did try to sit up as her legs were pulled apart, both the maid and the butler had taken one leg each and with panic clasps in each hand, they had quickly attached the sturdy leather ankle restraints to a four-foot-long spreader bar. Charlotte was now beyond caring about the futility of resistance. She yanked her bound feet out of the hands of the servants, finding it impossible to close her legs due to the spreader bar. So she began to try and twist about on the bed in order to get up onto her knees and regain a semblance of mobility.

The maid and butler, with practiced and precise movements now pounced on the struggling Charlotte. Grabbing one hand each they successfully subdued her in seconds, Bosker flipped her about onto her side, and with a knee digging into her ribcage rapidly attached leather restraints to Charlotte's wrists. He then locked her wrists together behind her back.

"Charlotte – it's not a good idea to thrash about like that. You know why…" His voice maintained its perpetual calm as he flipped her back onto her back.

Charlotte was in a state, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, her towel now ripped away from her naked body in the struggle. Her widely spread legs made it impossible for her to twist her body around, more so now that she had lost the ability to leverage herself about with her hands. All she could do now was lie on her back; her hands trapped beneath her, and stare at the ceiling. Panic swept through her – she was helpless, as helpless as she had been in her dream last night, the dream that had inadvertently led her to this situation.

Bosker now pulled the spreader bar up from the bed, raising Charlotte's legs and naked bottom up off the bed. Charlotte looked on with dismay as Madeline walked toward the bed with a pile of folded white towelling brought from the trolley. Bosker raised the bar further, lifting Charlotte's hips up from the bed while Madeline unfolded the triangular cloth diaper under her bottom.

"Little Charlotte needs some potty training does she?" The spiteful maid asked tauntingly.

The maid now brought the bottom corner of the cloth up between Charlotte's legs together with the other two corners just under her belly button. Then after fastening the diaper together with a series of large safety pins, Bosker released the spreader bar, dropping Charlotte's legs and bottom back onto the bed.

Bosker now posed an ultimatum, together with an interesting proposal: "Charlotte, we can do the next part the hard way or the easy way. It's up to you, but if you help us dress you now, we will all forget about your little 'episode' just now. Otherwise you will find yourself being punished further tonight – your choice child."

She'd been put in a diaper! This was just ridiculous! Ribbons were one thing; lace, bows, ruffles, her cutlery, the dolls – she'd put up with all of them – but this was beyond the pale.

Charlotte felt as if the last shreds of her dignity were being ripped away. What made it all the worse was that she considered that she'd brought this all on herself – if only she'd admitted to getting aroused during the night she would have avoided this fate. Charlotte started crying softly; angry with herself and despondent at her complete helplessness at the hands of Mr Campbell's servants.

"Charlotte – do we have an answer? Do we have to dress you by ourselves or are you going to be a good little girl and help us?" Bosker asked again.

"I'll help" Charlotte murmured almost silently.

Bosker smiled, and ruffled Charlotte's hair playfully: "That's a good girl."

Bosker began releasing Charlotte's ankles and wrists while the maid began taking Charlotte's clothes out of the trolley and placing them on the bed. First came the frilly white ankle socks.

Charlotte by this stage had been released from her temporary bondage and sat on the edge of the bed in her cloth diaper. She unrolled the socks from their ball and began pulling them on.

The maid laid out a plain blue dress, plain by Mr Campbell's standards at least. It was made from a pale blue material patterned alternately with red stars and small portraits of Raggedy Ann and Andy framed in love hearts. The hem was frilled about the edge with two inches of delicate white lace. The sleeves were puffy and buttoned, and the Peter Pan collar was trimmed with red piping. Charlotte noted that the waist of this dress was substantially higher than that of the previous dresses, and had she been an aficionado of children's clothing design she would have known that the style was referred to as an "empire yoke". The waist would sit just below her budding breasts giving her an almost toddler-like look.

Charlotte pulled the blue dress over her head whilst Bosker zipped her into it. Now she discovered the reason for the plainness of the dress as the maid produced a full double-sided white pinafore. Covered lightly all over the pinafore were tiny little love hearts, whilst skirting the bottom hem were repetitious graphics of Raggedy Ann and Andy. Red piping ran along the waist dividing the bodice from the skirts of the pinafore and two red satin bows sat on either side along the waist. The scalloped neck of the pinafore sat above the main motif on the bodice. Running horizontally across her bust was a red banner, across which was written on the left of a large picture of Raggedy Ann and Andy happily linking arms, "Things are sweeter" and to the right "when shared".

The pinafore buttoned up at the back with darling little red love heart buttons. Charlotte stood in the centre of the room as Bosker buttoned her up. Now came her panties.

They were bulkier than usual, to accommodate her bulky diaper Charlotte wryly noted. Made of pink satin, the entire bottom was covered in ruffles whilst the front was plain satin. White lace decorated the edges of the tightly elasticised leg holes. What piqued Charlotte's interest however were the two steel chains emerging from the back of the waistband.

On receiving the panties from Madeline she also noticed that the panties were lined in plastic. Charlotte stood looking at the panties for a few seconds before Madeline chivvied her on. Charlotte acquiesced by pulling the plastic lined panties up her legs and over her diaper.

Bosker now grasped Charlotte by the hips, spun her about delicately and lifted her skirts. He drew the chain that ran through the waistband of the satin and plastic panties tight about her waist before slipping a padlock through two links of the chain and locking it securely. Charlotte was now entirely unable to remove either the panties or the cloth diaper beneath until the key to the locked chain was produced.

The maid had now brushed Charlotte's hair back into a single pigtail and tied a blue and white-laced bonnet under Charlotte's chin. Finally she was made to don her black Mary Janes and was lead to the hallway to experience whatever trials awaited her in the nursery.

Chapter 23 – In The Play Pen

It had been the only door in her hallway she had not seen behind, and now the room behind it was revealed to her.

The entire room was painted pink; that was the first thing that struck Charlotte. The second was that the centre of the room was sunken. Well, sunken wasn't quite right either.

Running in a circle around the centre of the room was a wooden bar fence, similar to play pens that Charlotte had seen in friend's houses who had younger brothers or sisters. Inside the pen the floor level dropped so that a fully-grown adult could stand in the pen and be entirely unable to reach the top of the fence. Strewn across the floor of the depressed pen were rattles, plastic blocks and a variety of other toddler's toys. Charlotte also noted that someone had been "kind" enough to deposit Cynthia, her newly adopted doll, in the pen.

Against one of the walls stood a white oversized cot, complete with wooden rails. A whitewashed antique rocking chair sat in another corner next to a large bay window that shed copious amounts of natural light into the room. A series of shelves set into another of the walls held a variety of dolls, toys and children's books containing bright pictures and super sized lettering that told stories about dogs called spot and girl's with single syllable names.

Madeline ushered the coy Charlotte into the nursery before locking the door behind the two of them. The young girl stood sheepishly just inside the room, scanning the contents and layout as the maid grasped her by the elbow and pushed her toward the playpen in the centre of the room.

"You don't want me to go down there do you?" Charlotte pleaded – already knowing the answer to the question.

"You know what my mother always said? 'Children should be seen but not heard.'" In rapid succession one of the maid's arms took Charlotte into a firm headlock while her other hand shoved a large plastic pacifier into the young girl's surprised mouth. Taken off balance by the sudden assault, Charlotte failed to put up much resistance as the maid fastened the pink pacifier's clear-plastic straps behind Charlotte's head.

Released from the headlock Charlottes fingers flew to the back of her neck, where she found that the pacifier/gag's clasp contained a small lock.

The supple plastic bulb in her mouth irritated her – she had never sucked her thumb, even while still in the womb. Her father had said that even the ultrasounds had never showed her sucking her thumb. As she was so unused to having a foreign object lodged in her mouth she wanted it out now. She soon found however, that no amount of prising or playing with the lock helped her.

The maid stood-by, watching with amusement while Charlotte moaned through the pacifier. Frustrated beyond belief Charlotte turned to the maid with a pleading look in her eyes. Muffled sounds came from her mouth; however none were distinguishable. Charlotte pointed to the pacifier with its quaint pink plastic handle sticking out from her mouth.

"Does baby want to play? Is that what she wants?" The maid adopted a higher-pitched cooing tone of voice as she took Charlotte by the elbow and led her to the playpen's gate. Charlotte's incomprehensible mewling continued as the maid opened the gate and pushed her in. The young girl stumbled and fell as she dropped the three feet onto the padded floor of the playpen. She turned her head back to see the maid locking the gate, leaving her trapped behind the wooden bars.

"Why doesn't baby play for a while, Aunty Madeline will be back soon." The maid now departed from the room, closing the door behind her and presumably locking it.

Charlotte, on her hands and knees in the centre of the playpen, began crying behind her pink plastic pacifier.

----

She'd tried jumping up to grab the top of the pen's wooden bars without success. They were simply too tall for her to reach even if she tried jumping at full stretch. The gate to the pen wouldn't budge an inch, she knew because she had tried for ten minutes to coax, cajole and finally use brute strength to force the door open, without success.

Likewise her personal bondage was equally immovable. If she'd had some scissors, or any object that she might use for leverage, she might have been able to snap the durable plastic straps that kept her pacifier/gag firmly in place. As it was all she had in the playpen was her doll Cynthia, a few rattles and some plastic bricks. The rubbery bulb sitting on her tongue forced her to breath through her nose – and more annoyingly swallow regularly, which to a casual observer gave her the appearance of sucking on the over-sized pacifier.

The chain around her waist wouldn't budge an inch either, keeping her locked inside the plastic pants and diaper. This in itself was starting to worry her – she now wished that she hadn't drunk all her apple juice at breakfast, she doubly wished that she'd relieved herself before being dressed up like this.

It was paradoxically cruel. If she had been dressed normally she was sure that she wouldn't even be thinking about going to the toilet yet. But simply due to the presence of the diaper her thoughts kept returning to how much she'd drunk, when she'd last gone to the toilet and how long she could hold off if necessary. These thoughts didn't help matters at all and Charlotte could already imagine feeling a building pressure in her bladder.

Unable to escape the pen, unable to get out of her diaper or rid herself of the pacifier, Charlotte abandoned her attempts to escape and sat in a corner of the circular playpen and began crying softly to herself again.

----

It felt like two or three hours had passed and yet the maid had not yet returned. There wasn't a clock in the room so she had no idea of the passage of time. The closest approximation she could get was watching the shadows moving across the floor that were cast by the bay window. They hadn't moved far, but it felt like hours had passed.

She'd stopped crying, now she was bored. No books to read, no television, not even other human company. She'd even picked up one of the plastic blocks and started throwing them at Cynthia, pretending that the doll was a basketball hoop and the brick a ball. She'd tired of that soon enough though and started using one of the rattles like a baseball bat, hitting the plastic blocks across the playpen.

The supple plastic pacifier remained firmly stuck in her mouth, she'd found that the most comfortable position for her tongue was wrapped underneath it. It still annoyed her, and occasionally she futilely reached up to try and budge it without success.

She tried as hard as she could to keep her mind off going to the toilet, but recently she'd found herself squirming about while sitting down to try and rid herself of the ever increasing reminder that she would have to go sooner rather than later.

----

Still no Madeline, the shadows had moved even further – surely it was lunchtime or something? Charlotte had gotten bored with playing ball with the rattle and plastic blocks, now she refocussed herself on trying to get out of the pen.

Jumping up still didn't work; she simply wasn't tall enough to grasp the top of the wooden railing. She even tried taking her shoes and socks off to try and climb up the bars only to find that the wood was well oiled with furniture polish and that she was entirely unable to get even the slightest purchase. All she'd got for her trouble was a splinter in her big toe. It had taken her a long while to pull it out with nothing but her finger nails to use. Thinking the rubber soles of her Mary Janes might provide better grip she put them back on to find that they made no noticeable difference.

Her renewed attempt to escape had been fuelled by two drives – a wish to escape this dead-boring and humiliating enclosure and the second, and most overriding concern, the continuing building force downstairs. She'd tried everything to try and forget about going to the toilet, but now she was starting to get worried, really worried.

She found herself beginning to alternate between sitting and standing just to try and stop the mounting need to let loose her bladder.

----

Now she was urgently walking back and forth. The shadows still crept slowly – it had been HOURS! It felt like it should have been nighttime by now, but the sun still slowly crept across the floor.

'Where are you Madeline! Please!" She screamed inside her gag. 'Please come back! I'll forgive you for everything! I'll be good! Please just let me go to the toilet!' She even tried screaming at the top of her lungs through the pink pacifier. A pitiful squeal was all that came out, probably not even audible outside the door to the nursery.

Now she attacked the chain around her waist with a newfound vengeance. At one stage she got her pinkie finger just inside the chain – but she could get no further purchase under the chain. She twisted her little finger brutally at one point, causing her to reactively pull her finger out, undoing ages of hard, yet pointless work.

Finding the chain an impossible target she moved her attention to the elasticised leg holes of her plastic pants. It was a difficult task as she had to sit down in order to get a decent angle on the edges. Sitting down didn't help at all, further increasing the explosive pressure building up in her tummy. Again she was thwarted; Mr Campbell's satin and plastic pants were measured to exact proportions. She could barely get two fingers behind into the panties; the taut fabric would give no more. Once they were inside she could only just brush the cloth diaper that she wore with her fingertips.

Able to cope no more with the burning stress of sitting down, she got back to her feet to resume her pacing. Walking helped. She started trying to think of anything else, anything other than the diaper, the apple juice and how much she was absolutely dying to go to the toilet.

Chapter 24 – The Consequences of Accidents

'Oh why didn't I go just before they dressed me? Why?' Pacing wasn't working very well anymore. Every step made her feel like she could feel her bursting bladder bounce up and down inside her. Sitting down wasn't much easier, as every time she did the pressure in her tummy reached a crescendo and she felt as though she was about to explode.

She tried crossing her legs while standing up - that helped a little…

Charlotte stood to one side of the playpen. Her new Raggedy Ann and Andy dress hid from the world her latest cruel humiliation at the hands of Mr Campbell and his servants. After faking a toilet 'accident' to cover up for the fact she had become aroused during her sleep, Mr Campbell had ordered her to spend a day in the nursery. A day in the nursery had entailed being put in a secure diaper that had been solidly chained around her waist. The maid had added insult to injury by adding her own little twist to the torment; she had gagged Charlotte with an oversized pacifier.

Stuck in the playpen she had tried her hardest to ignore the growing need to go to the bathroom, but the constant reminder of the cloth nappy chafing between her legs and the crinkling plastic panties kept bringing her thoughts back to her bodily functions.

It was now impossible to ignore the burning in her bladder. She'd tried sitting, standing up, and pacing back and forth – none seemed to be abating the near explosive pressure in her crotch. Charlotte was feeling desperate now. Any minute she would have to face up to the inevitable, any minute, she couldn't hold on much longer she knew.

The door to the nursery opened and Madeline walked in with a tray containing some sandwiches and drinks. She closed the door behind her and began walking around the play pen toward the bay window and the rocking chair.

Charlotte started screaming from behind her pacifier, the words were indecipherable to all except Charlotte herself 'Please Madeline, please let me out, I'll do anything, please!"

The maid put the lunch tray down and considered the screaming girl in the play pen. Tears flowing down her cheeks she was standing pigeon toed with her knees pointing in toward each other and her hand thrust into her crotch.

"What's wrong with baby Charlotte?" The maid used her highly condescending voice as she took a baby bottle from the lunch tray, and stood leaning over the playpen's railing.

Charlotte was at breaking point, she couldn't hold on much longer, the relentless throbbing in her bladder was painful. She was crying softly behind her gag as the maid looked down on her. Charlotte squeezed her thighs tightly together and closed her eyes shut tightly focussing every ounce of will and effort she possessed to prevent the inevitable.

In shock she jumped as something warm squirted into her face. Her eyes flew open to see the maid smirking evilly as she squirted juice from the baby bottle at Charlotte.

"Does little Charlotte want some drinkies?" Charlotte threw her hands up to protect her face from the warm juice.

'NO! NO I CAN'T!' The juice hitting her face had the same effect as if she had been forced to watch a waterfall or listen to the breaking waves of the ocean. The juice switched on an irresistible urge to give into the inescapable screams from her bladder. 'NO! DON'T DO IT. BE STRONG… PLEASE!' The maid squirted more splashes at Charlotte as she felt the first small trickle emit from inside her.

"Would you like some more pineapple juice baby Charlotte?" More squirts into Charlotte's face.

Charlotte redoubled her efforts to clench her thighs together, trying to ignore the juice splashing into her face. She thrust her hands back into her crotch and crossed her legs, but it wasn't enough. The hours of building pressure finally took their toll. The first trickle now turned into a spurt as the warm liquid seeped out of her and into the diaper, the spurt transformed into a gush as she thoroughly wet herself.

Charlotte cried out loud from behind the pacifier, the maid looked on with malevolent fascination as the young girl finally succumbed to her undeniable need to relieve herself.

Charlotte felt more humiliated and debased than at any other time in her life. The warm liquid cascaded from her into the cloth diaper, she was now completely unable to stop the gushing pee. A few drips where now seeping out of the cloth diaper and down her thighs only to be caught in the plastic panties.

"Oh, poor widdle Charlotte – have you wet yourself?"

She didn't even register the maid taunting words. She was locked away her own whirling world of despair. She'd wet herself, urinated inside her diaper, she'd peed her pants, it was the epitome of degradation for the young girl.

Somewhere in the dark of her despair, Charlie tried to shift the blame to Madeline and Mr Campbell, Charlotte knew better though – she'd brought this on herself, and she'd let herself wet her panties. She was such a bad little girl, Mr Campbell would be so cross with her when he found out. Charlie's complaints were drowned out in Charlotte's wail of self-castigation.

"Would you like some lunch Charlotte?" The maid asked quietly.

Standing in the playpen in her soggy diaper Charlotte looked up slowly barely understanding the maid's words. Tears were drying on her cheeks, her eyes dark pools of sorrow. The maid repeated her question again, a little slower this time. Charlotte nodded.

The maid walked around to the gate of the playpen and unlocked it. From against the wall she produced a small set of wooden stairs which she dropped into the playpen so that Charlotte could climb out. She slowly made her way to the stairs and ascended them, each step reminded her of her shame as the wet diaper chafed between her thighs. A few drops that had escaped the diaper rolled around inside the plastic panties taunting her even further.

The maid led Charlotte to the bay window and before sitting her down, unlocked the pacifier, allowing her to communicate with the world again.

"Can I please change first Madeline?"

"No, you'll have your lunch first and then you can change."

----

She was out of the diaper now. Her relief had been palpable as the chain locking the plastic pants and diaper around her waist had been unlocked and the sodden cloth had been unpinned and pulled away from her.

Madeline had returned her to her suite and allowed her to shower. She stood beneath the hot pulsing water of the showerhead for an eternity, letting the searing water clean her body and soothe her tortured soul.

Within her mind she stood in the centre of a whirlwind. Events were out of her control, and had been since the day she had arrived here. She had thought she could control them, had thought she could manufacture a way to escape, had thought she could influence or prevent the punishments that had been meted out to her.

She had been wrong.

In the brutal winds of the whirlwind she caught glimpses of the various forces that threatened to engulf her soul. The maid inflicting her unfathomable vengeance on her, Bosker's quiet reserve and unshaken loyalty to his master, her plot to escape, the stern Mistress Heinz and her relentless lessons, and finally the enigmatic Mr Campbell.

She had been so naïve. She couldn't even remember how long she had been in the apartment. How many days? Was it three or four, or even five? It felt like it had been a month – but she knew logically that it wasn't. She tried to count back to figure out just how long she had been here. As a reference she thought back through the various encounters she had faced – when had the painful pony ride happened? Had that been one or two days after she arrived? The drunken evening with Mr Campbell had been last night – but what had happened the evening before? She couldn't remember. Everything had been a whirlwind.

She couldn't get her thoughts straight enough to even work out something so simple as how long she had been here.

Why was she here? At first she had thought that Mr Campbell was some type of pervert, a psychopath or something equally nefarious. Now she wasn't sure – he'd had ample opportunity to take advantage of her, and yet he hadn't. Why? Did her long dead mother somehow fit into all of this somehow?

And how did this all explain Madeline's continuing persecution of her? What did her mother have to do with why Madeline hated her so much?

Did Mr Campbell truly have her interests at heart? Was what he was doing really designed to help her somehow? Did he truly believe that this program of humiliation would turn her into something better than who she was? Why?

These questions cascaded through her as the whirlwind in her head roared and the shower's water rushed soothingly over her.

Who really was she though?

Who was this girl that got wet when she was spanked?

Who was she when she dreamed about being dominated by the shadowy man who stalked her dreams – the bizarre mental combination of Kyle and Mr Campbell?

Who was this girl who secretly hoped in the middle of a spanking that the pounding blows would go on forever and send her into a frantic spasm of pain and pleasure?

Why did she feel relieved – no; happy – no; they weren't the right words. Why did she feel CONTENT in her degradation when she had wet herself just before? Why had she sat on the bay window in her wet nappy eating her lunch feeling dejected, humiliated and degraded, while at the same time a warm feeling of arousal had spread through her stomach and thighs?

Why had the butterflies begun fluttering their wings in the depths of her belly when she had been so irrefutably debased?

Who was she now? She wasn't the Charlie she remembered, Charlie would have been kicking and screaming today – she would have thumped the maid any number of times. She hadn't though.

She wasn't the paragon of feminine virtue that Mr Campbell wanted her to be either. That idealistic little girl wouldn't have ended up in the diaper today. She would have woken up fresh and bouncy this morning with no hint of nocturnal arousal. She wouldn't have had to face the ongoing humiliation of the panty checks, or the frequent spankings. She would play with her dolls, do her homework on time, and avidly obey Mr Campbell and the servants. She wouldn't ever have needed to be punished.

Instead she was something else. A series of words came to her.

Prostitute.

Whore.

Slut.

She knew what the words meant. When the boys at school that she hung around gathered conspiratorially around a magazine she had joined them. Someone had pinched one of their Dad's Swank magazines. The pictures had fascinated and at the same time revolted her. She had gazed upon naked women kissing other women, taking huge penises with ear to ear grins and smearing semen on their faces. She had heard the words that her male friends used to describe them.

"Check out that slut man, she loves it – look at that fucking grin!"

"What a whore, both holes at once."

Charlie had stood around in the circle as each new page had been turned to reveal new images of sexual depravity. Naked harlots sucking cocks, peroxided blondes playing with huge vibrators or an average looking red head taking it up the ass from a well hung stud.

Those women were just another type of prostitute, she had thought – they sold their bodies, or images of their bodies for money. Charlie had thought that behaviour disgusting. How could they do that? Did they enjoy it? How could they enjoy having their cum-drenched faces plastered in magazines sold around the world?

They were perverse…

And so was she.

The realisation scared her. Just like the slutty models in the magazine she was enjoying what was happening to her. That scared her. It wasn't normal.

She wasn't normal.

There was something wrong with her.

Would she too end up in the centrefold of a magazine like that: legs spread, huge dildo in one hand, the other spreading her labia apart for the camera while she got wet thinking about just how degrading this image would be? Would she become the pinup girl in some smutty magazine that teenage boys would get hard looking at, thinking about what a filthy slut she was?

The thought scared her witless.

There was something deeply wrong with her. She needed help.

She had to get help from someone before she turned into one of those women. But from whom could she get help?

In a state of ever increasing despair she made the only choice she possibly could.

----

"Mr Campbell, I need to talk to you please."

She was sitting on her sheepskin in his study. They had finished dinner in relative silence. Mr Campbell had cursorily asked about her day over dinner and Charlotte had answered equally briefly. After that he had requested her company for the evening.

Now in the study, he looked up from the book he was reading. He looked at the young girl, now back in her Raggedy Ann and Andy dress, complete with bonnet.

"What about Charlotte?"

"I… umm, well umm, I…" She tried to put her thoughts into words, but they wouldn't come to her in the right way, those that did rise to her consciousness were… soul destroying.

"Well that is that I… No, look umm." Her bottom lip started to quiver as she thought about revealing her innermost secret to him. The thought of admitting to him that she was a depraved pervert shocked her – but she had no choice. But then again she hadn't had a single real choice since the day she'd come here.

All at once, the moment overwhelmed her and she burst into tears.

Mr Campbell sat shocked for a few moments. She had been sitting there quietly, and he had thought her content, yet now she was crying wildly. He did the only thing he could think of. He left his chair quickly to sit next to the crying girl and put his arm around her to console her.

"Charlotte, Charlotte… There, there. What's wrong honey? Come on, please don't cry. What's wrong? Please tell me, I don't like seeing you like this."

She looked up at him, compassion filled his eyes; he wasn't lying. He truly didn't want to see her crying. Suddenly it all came out: "Please help me – I'm turning into some type of pervert. You asked me how my day was today? It was dreadful – I had to wear a diaper." She sniffed back tears and wiped her eyes. Only partially coherent, she continued.

"But you know that already because you decided I had to. But I didn't go to the toilet in the morning because I didn't know what the Nursery was – I mean I kind of did but I didn't know about the diaper." She was blathering now, but he let her continue. He was listening actively, sorting through the disjointed thoughts of the upset girl as she blurted them out.

"I tried not to, I really did, but I wet myself."

He interrupted her briefly, speaking gently: "Charlotte, I know about that, Madeline told me. You shouldn't be worried about that. That was the point of the exercise. You had to learn not to wet yourself again and what better way than by reminding you just what it's like to be a baby and have no control over your body."

"No Mr Campbell – that's not the point. The point is that I didn't wet myself, well I did in the diaper – I mean this morning." She looked at him now, tears still staining her cheeks, but she'd opened the floodgate to her secrets now, it had to all come out.

"I had a dream, I got taken to a tower and was chained up" – by someone who looks like you – "and a man was about to start hurting me, with a whip. But then I woke up and when I did I found out that I'd got excited." - I got wet thinking about the pain - "So I covered it up by pouring water on my pyjamas so that you wouldn't find out and make me wear the punishment panties again." He sat there quietly listening as Charlotte spilled her deepest secrets from her conscience.

"But then you made me wear the diaper and I wet myself and then when I was eating lunch, I got wet again. Not in the peeing way, but the other way. And when you made me wear the clamps and the panties, when I got back to my room I was wet. I was checking myself because I thought I'd been hurt down there and…" she burst into a fresh round of tears. Mr Campbell sat there, his arm still around her.

"Charlotte, come on – it's not that bad."

"But IT IS!" She cried out.

"I'm a freak! There's something wrong with me – can't you see it. This shouldn't be happening. I don't know what's wrong with me. I need help. I have to talk to someone or do something."

Mr Campbell hugged her anew and whispered to her as she cried to herself: "We'll get you help honey. We'll get you some help – I know just who to talk to." He gently rocked her as she softly cried to herself.

Chapter 25 – Seeking Answers

She was in the tower again, hanging by her wrists. Her toes only just brushed the floor as she swung back and forth from her chains.

He stood there in front of her, a leather strap in his hand, a look of malicious lust on his face. His gaze ran over her naked body, examining every crevice, every bump, curve and mound. The strap whistled through the air as he tested its weight in his hand.

'Please don't, please – I'll be good.'

He didn't speak, he didn't need to; the strap did his speaking for him. A firm hand spun her around so that she faced away from him – and the first blow fell on her behind.

She screamed and then the strap spoke again, falling mercilessly on her naked bottom.

Again and again the strap continued its whistling lecture as it plied its brutal savagery on her bottom. Her screams split the sky and reached the stars.

She prayed that it would never stop.

She knew that he would keep this up until she fainted; and then he would whip her breasts…

She flew bolt upright from her dream. Her room was still dark; dawn had not yet arrived. The diffused city lights glowing through her window shed eerie shadows throughout the room. Charlotte thought about returning to sleep, but he was waiting there in the dark behind her eyes: the man who punished her in her dreams. The man who had again made her betray her own body in the night.

Her new sleeper's crotch was soaked through. The white sheep on the blue flannel pyjamas seemed to mock her in the ghostly room. They looked as though they were ridiculing her for her transgressions. Afraid to go back to sleep and return to the tower, she slid her feet out from the sheets and placed her sleeper clad feet on the floor next to her bed.

A quick glance at her electronic merit board told her it was 4am - too early to get ready for the day. Instead she moved to her new television and DVD player. It had been waiting for her when she returned from her confession in Mr Campbell's study.

Emotionally distraught after her ordeal, she had changed into her new blue sheep patterned pyjamas and gone to bed immediately after her confession but not before Mr Campbell had promised her that a friend of his would be able to help her.

Now she was awake and afraid to return to sleep. She stood in front of the television and picked up the only DVD that had been sitting on the top of the player. The Little Mermaid.

Well she had to do something for the next few hours; she slid the DVD into the player and sat back on her bed.

---

It seemed as though last night's confession hadn't altered Mr Campbell's wardrobe selection for the day. She'd heard the shutter behind the two-way wardrobe slide open from her bed. The Little Mermaid had finished some time ago and she had returned to reading "The Adventures of Isabelle."

On hearing the shutter open and then close she had gotten up from the bed and opened the wardrobe. Having arranged her clothes on the bed she dressed herself.

Virginal white would be one way to describe the dress. Apart from some pink chequered ruffles decorating the waistband, trimming the bib on the bodice, waving around the skirts and puffing the shoulders of her sleeves the entire dress was a startling white. The Peter Pan collar was trimmed with lace, as was the hem of her skirts. Two pink ribbons adorned the elasticised puffed sleeves and the final one sat at the bottom of the bibbed bodice.

On autopilot she pulled the dress over her head, pulled up the zip and tied the white sashes into a big bow behind her waist.

The opaque white stockings and pink Mary Janes finished off the outfit.

As she had finally buckled on her last shoe the door to her suite opened to reveal Mr Campbell. He let a red headed woman in a striking deep green coloured skirt suit into the room before closing the door behind him.

She stood almost six foot tall in her green stiletto heels. Her piercing blue eyes contrasted starkly with her deep auburn hair and the green outfit. She walked into the bedroom, carefully considering the newly dressed Charlotte.

"Charlotte, this is Jane. She is a very dear family friend, the daughter of my father's former partner Mr Thompson. She also happens to be an excellent psychologist. I thought that the two of you might want to have a chat after what you told me last night. You can tell her everything that you told me. Is that all right? Would you like me to stay?"

Jane cut in before Charlotte could answer: "Actually Frank, that wouldn't be a very good idea. Depending on how we go I might get you to come back in later, but for now it would be best if you left us alone. Is that okay Charlotte?"

"I guess so." Charlotte responded from her seat at the end of her bed.

"Okay, well just call out if you need anything. I'm not going into work today so I'm here if either of you need anything, anything at all." He reluctantly left the room, taking a final look at Charlotte as he closed the door leaving her and Jane alone in the young girl's bedroom.

Jane stood in the centre of the room for a moment, looking on the seated girl in her virginal white dress, stockings and pink patent shoes.

"Charlotte, I want you to feel comfortable with me okay? I don't want you to feel threatened or uncomfortable. I can only help you if you trust me completely, alright?"

Charlotte nodded meekly.

"Can I sit down next to you?"

"Okay."

Jane slowly sat down next to Charlotte on the bed and started speaking. "Well I know a lot about you, but you probably don't know much about me. I want us to be friends Charlotte, so I'll start by telling you about myself, maybe that way you'll feel as if you know me a bit better. Is that okay?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"As Frank said, I'm an old family friend. I've also got a doctorate in psychology and a master's degree in feminism. I don't work anymore since I got married, but I occasionally do help out old-friends like Frank. I'm not here to 'cure' you, but to help you understand yourself. From what Frank told me you're very confused at the moment. Would that be right?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean by 'sort of' Charlotte?"

"I don't know how I feel. Everything is just so strange."

"How is that?"

"Well I don't know. When I first came here I hated everything and everyone. Mr Campbell was stopping me being with my Dad, he didn't like the way I dressed or how I behaved. So he made me change some of those things, I really hated that. I just wanted to be me but he wouldn't let me."

"Go on." Jane prompted her to continue gently.

"And I still do hate it. I hate these dresses - they're silly. No one my age wears stuff like this, not even the sissiest of girls. I don't understand why he makes me wear them. At first I thought he was some kind of pervert, sometimes I still do think that. But aren't perverts supposed to do things to you? I mean you're his friend so I guess I really shouldn't say things like that to you."

"Not at all – Charlotte have you ever heard of the Doctor/Patient privilege?"

"Yeah – I think so. Doctors and stuff on 'Law and Order' say that's why they can't tell the cops where the bad guys are."

"Sort of. You see even though I'm not practising any more, I'm still not allowed to tell anyone, even Mr Campbell, anything about what we say to each other. If I did you could complain to the authorities and I would never be allowed to practice as a psychologist ever again, they'd take away my licence. Anything you don't want me to say to Mr Campbell I won't."

"Oh."

"So go on. You think Mr Campbell's a pervert?"

"I don't know. I thought so, but now I'm not sure. He hasn't done anything – you know – like that. But he's still – well - weird. Why is he doing this to me?"

"Have you asked him?"

"Yes, he said it's because I wasn't a proper lady, that I had to learn from scratch how I should behave. He said stuff about my mother and how I disgraced her memory. So he's been making me wear stuff like this and attend deportment lessons and he punishes me if I do anything wrong."

"How do you feel about these punishments Charlotte?"

"I hate them too." She looked away from Jane and down toward her lap as she said this.

"Do you really Charlotte? You can tell me the truth. Or else why did Mr Campbell call me here? He said you were afraid that you were becoming some sort of 'freak'. That there was something wrong with you. I assume that since he didn't take you to the hospital that you're not physically sick, rather that there's something eating at you. What is it?"

"It's difficult to explain."

"Try me. Don't worry, I'm your friend, you can tell me."

"I do hate the punishments. They hurt and they're so embarrassing – do you know he made me wear a diaper yesterday?" She asked in an outraged voice before continuing: "I hate them, and what they do to me."

"What do you mean, 'what they do to you', do you mean 'they' as in people or 'they' as in punishments?"

"The punishments. They… they… I – no, I mean it's like they get me, umm… I get – umm, well…" Jane sat there quietly waiting for Charlotte to get whatever it was off her chest.

"I get excited by them. You know – down there." She pointed down to her lap.

"I understand Charlotte. Sorry, I know this is difficult for you. What is it that excites you – the pain?"

"I think so, but it's more than that. The same thing happened yesterday when I was in the diaper. Oh god – this is so embarrassing!"

"It's okay, remember I won't tell anyone, this is between just you and me."

"He had me put in a diaper and I forgot to go to the toilet beforehand, they locked it on so I couldn't get out and eventually I wet myself. It's a long story but the short of it is that after I'd wet myself, while I was sitting there damp; I got excited.

"It's just disgusting. What sort of person am I if this happens? Mistress Heinz spanked me and the same thing happened. Mr Campbell punished me very badly the night before last," she explained the punishment panties and clamps, "they were supposed to teach me that I shouldn't get excited by being punished. He said that they were to remind me what it would feel like if I caught some horrible disease from having - you-know – sex with random strangers. But they didn't. I didn't even realise it at the time but when I got back to my room I found out that they had excited me too. What's wrong with me?"

"Do you like being humiliated Charlotte?"

She was shocked by the question, but Jane had asked it in such a way that she instinctively trusted the woman: "I don't know. I hate it, it's horrible, I feel so defenceless. But then I feel, I don't know, I feel something, I feel good. But that's not the right word. It's like I secretly want it to happen, like I deserve it or something. Does that make sense?"

Jane ignored Charlotte's question and asked one of her own: "What do you think of Mr Campbell?"

Charlotte sat quietly for a moment. "I don't know. He scares me sometimes, but I don't know why. I guess it's because he's in charge. He makes me do things that I really don't want to do, well I think I don't…"

Now Charlotte put into words something she'd barely even realised herself: "I've been dreaming about him. Well, it's not really him, its kind of him. Sometimes I dream about him and he's really Kyle. That's this boy I met at the basketball courts last school vacation. He was really cute.

"Anyway sometimes I dream of a man who is like Kyle, but then he turns into Mr Campbell and he does things to me in my dreams."

"What kind of things Charlotte?"

"Well he ties me up so that I'm helpless. Then he hurts me. But I like it. I don't know… What's wrong with me?" Charlotte looked pleadingly into Jane's deep blue eyes.

Chapter 26 - Leashed

"I think a field trip is in order." Jane said to Charlotte as she rose to her feet and walked toward the door to her room. "It might help you to understand yourself if I show you a few things."

She knocked on the door, which was quickly opened by Mr Campbell. He must have been standing around outside just waiting for a signal.

"How did it go Charlotte?"

Jane responded on Charlotte's behalf: "It went fine. I'd like to take Charlotte on a field trip if that's all right. She has a few things that she ought to see. Can it be arranged Frank?"

"I suppose so. I can have the car out the front in a few minutes. What do you have in mind?" Mr Campbell asked.

"Charlotte needs to have her eyes opened up a little about a few things. So the two of us are going to go on a little excursion. We'll be back before dinner Frank."

Quickly Mr Campbell and Jane discussed logistics while Charlotte sat on the end of the bed. She felt a bit better for having had the chance to talk to someone else about her feelings, but she still remained confused. The prospect of the impending trip intrigued her though. She was being let outside! Yet she knew in the back of her mind that she wouldn't be given the opportunity to escape – besides, she wasn't sure that she wanted to right at this moment anyway.

Her session with Jane had raised more questions than it had answered so far. Jane hadn't provided her with any answers… yet. Charlotte felt however that from the authoritative manner in which Jane had suggested this trip that the psychologist held the key to unlocking the reasons for her feelings. At this very moment she needed to know more about her emerging emotions than she needed to escape.

Jane returned to Charlotte's bed, her arrangements complete.

"Charlotte, could you stand up please? Unfortunately Mr Campbell wants to make sure you don't do anything silly on our trip." Jane held a black harness in her hand.

Charlotte stood up as the psychologist indicated she should turn around. She worked quickly, arranging the straps over and under Charlotte's arms and across her midriff before locking the harness together behind her back. Jane then took the attached lead and wrapped it about her hand.

Charlotte felt her test the lead by giving it a sharp tug, pulling Charlotte slightly off balance. She was now attached via the harness and the lead to Jane's firm grip. "C'mon Sweetie, lets go on our little trip."

Jane gave the lead another tug indicating that Charlotte should follow her.

Out the hallway and into the elevator foyer the two walked. The tall striking red head in her dark green skirt suit led the virginally white dressed Charlotte who tagged along behind, her pink Mary Janes clip-clopping on the tiled floor.

The elevator opened and the two women got in. Jane pressed the lobby level button and as the elevator began its descent she began talking: "We're going to a couple of places Charlotte, I hope that they will help you understand something about yourself. From what you've told me today you have a lot to learn about yourself. I might allay some of your fears though. You're far from being a freak, or a weirdo as you put it. Quite a lot of women share your particular traits, your mother being one of them."

Charlotte was taken aback: "You knew my mother?"

"Certainly, I'm a very old family friend Charlotte. I knew Frank when he was seeing your Mother. She came to see me a few times when I still practised full time."

"What about?" Charlotte asked – intrigued that Jane had known her mother. That she had seen Jane as her psychologist. Did she know how Charlotte's mother fitted into this jigsaw puzzle?

"I'm afraid I can't tell you everything Charlotte, only some things. Doctor/Client privilege won't let me divulge any details about my patients."

"But she's dead." Charlotte exclaimed.

"But other patients of mine that she discussed with me are not. I can't betray their secrets just as I won't betray yours."

The elevator door opened revealing the foyer of the building. Thankfully the entrance was empty of people. Charlotte had been dreading that dozens of people would have seen her dressed up like she was and attached to an oversized toddler harness.

Mr Campbell's Jaguar sat just outside the main doors to the building, the Chauffeur, whom she'd briefly met on her trip from the airport held open the back passenger door. Jane pulled Charlotte's lead and hopped into the back seat before sliding across to the other side in order to let Charlotte take her seat in the back.

The Chauffeur closed the door and rounded the car to take his seat behind the wheel.

Jane gave him some directions. Not being familiar at all with the geography of the City, Charlotte had no idea where she was going. Traffic at this time of day was sparse but still Charlotte thanked the fact that the car's windows were heavily tinted. It was doubtful that any fellow motorists or pedestrians would be able to penetrate the dark windows to see her sitting in the back of the car wearing this outfit.

"Jane?" She asked.

"Yes"

"Where are we going?" Charlotte asked apprehensively.

"Well first of all we're going to a little shop that I know of. It's not too far away. I want to get you some things that might make you understand a bit better. Then we're going to an acquaintance's business. I thought it might be a good idea for you to talk to one of his employees."

"Huh?"

"You'll see."

The car made its way gradually through the traffic, Charlotte took the opportunity to look around at the passing sights. It was the first time that she'd been outside since she'd first arrived at the apartment, only one of a handful of occasions that she'd seen around the city. Her trip here late last year with her father had seen most of her time spent indoors while it snowed. Now at the ebb of spring and the start of summer it took on a far more lively and vibrant atmosphere.

People bustled along the sidewalks, ducking into and out of the various shops and businesses lining the streets. All sorts of people walked along. Every conceivable race, color, and culture seemed to represented. She found it fascinating: her home town was fairly homogenous. This city though was another story. This was a melting pot, a potpourri of different cultures and peoples and it fascinated Charlotte.

The car turned into a small side street, leaving behind the busy thoroughfares. It pulled up outside a modest looking shop called "The Den". The shopfront didn't include any windows, instead it was painted black, the bold lettering proclaiming the shop's name painted in white.

It looked severe, menacing.

The Chauffeur silenced the V12 engine of the Jaguar, exited the car and opened Charlotte's door for her. She stuck her head out of the door and scanned about. While there was no one in the alley, the shop wasn't far from the main street that they had turned off from. Pedestrians streamed past the entrance to the small side street. None of them seemed to be turning their heads as they passed though.

Charlotte scrambled out of the car as Jane followed her. As soon as the psychologist had stepped out of the vehicle she led Charlotte toward the entrance to the shop. The lead in one hand Jane opened the door to the store and ushered Charlotte within.

She'd never seen anything like it. Adjacent to the door sat a middle-aged man behind his cash register and bench. Arrayed along the wall behind the bench were displays of various whips and handcuffs. He looked up to peruse his latest customers. On noticing Jane he nodded before returning to filling out a form at his bench. Charlotte was shocked; he hadn't even blinked at her outfit!

The store was longer than it was wide. The forward half of the store contained innumerable racks of skimpy clothing. Nurses uniforms, slutty schoolgirl outfits, there was even a rubber cat woman suit there, complete with tail. Jane led Charlotte toward the back of the store, they passed more clothes, and then shelves full of vibrators and dildos of every type. From the slim short plain types with "conveniently sized to fit comfortably in most handbags" emblazoned on the box to monster novelty sized baseball bats shaped as penises.

Jane led Charlotte further, passed the wide variety of blow-up dolls and passed a collection of various leather garments. Finally they went through a small aperture toward the back and came into a new room. One wall was covered in shelves containing videos and DVDs, another carried magazines. Jane pulled Charlotte's lead toward the magazines.

"Charlotte, this is a sex shop. They sell all sorts of things. I brought you here because the particular stock that this place carries will be of particular interest to you. I want you to have a look over these racks, and the DVDs if you like. I want you to pick out anything that appeals to you. I'm going to get some stuff for you that I think may be of interest as well. Don't be shy; Jack out front has seen stranger things than us in here. Just take your time. In particular I want you to take anything that seems to touch you in the right way."

Jane indicated that Charlotte should browse. Uncertain and embarrassed she moved toward the DVD shelves. She'd never been a big reader; television had always been her medium of choice. She looked at the covers and found herself looking at a shelf dealing with really fat women. Some of the enormously huge whales with rolls on their rolls featured on the covers made Charlotte feel ill. She moved on.

'Interracial lust volume 32' didn't appeal to her either. She kept scanning.

She looked furtively about as the door to the store opened again. A middle aged man walked in and began browsing through the clothes toward the front of the store.

Charlotte, currently in plain view, sidled around the shelves so that a wall blocked his vision of her. She didn't want to be seen dead anywhere dressed like this.

She snuck a quick look around the corner to see that the new customer was entirely engrossed in making his own purchase, Charlotte returned to looking at DVD covers. 'Abigail's lesson' this one proclaimed. An older teen girl was featured on the cover, dressed in a schoolgirl outfit similar to the one she'd seen on entering the store. The girl was bending over a desk while a cane hovered just over her bottom, held by someone off camera.

That sent a shot of electricity down Charlotte's spine. The girl was about to be caned! That must hurt a lot. She glanced at the next title. This one carried a picture of two women tied up lying on their bellies. "Hogtied Sluts", was this one's title. She shifted on, looking through further titles.

Each of these DVD's fascinated her. The covers emitted brief hints that piqued Charlotte's curiosity. Eventually she picked one up. The front cover had grabbed her interest as a woman was mostly wearing an Alice in Wonderland style dress. She was turned away from the camera with her skirts hiked up over her waist. Her entire bottom was a criss-cross of vivid red welts.

Butterflies began fluttering their wings in Charlottes belly as she read the back cover. More photos showed the same woman in various states of dress and undress. The brief description on the back intrigued Charlotte, she kept a hold on that DVD as she moved along.

Eventually she picked three movies whose covers excited her. "St Agatha's School for Wayward Girls" and "Dungeon Keeper" both seemed to appeal to her, at least their covers did.

Jane had collected half a dozen magazines. She looked at Charlotte and asked if the girl had finished. Charlotte acknowledged that she had and Jane began walking to the front counter.

She balked; the middle-aged gentleman was still looking through the clothes. She didn't want him to see her. She stopped abruptly and the toddler lead became taut. Jane turned around: "Charlotte, come along."

"No, I don't want to be seen!" She hissed quietly at the red-haired psychologist.

"Charlotte, don't make a scene. Come along."

"No, can't we wait till he's gone?"

"We don't have time Charlotte, come along."

"No!" She whispered loudly.

"This is your last warning. I may be your new friend but that's not going to stop me from taking you over my knee in the middle of this shop and giving you a good spanking if you don't hurry up." Jane stared straight at Charlotte, her gaze strong and steady.

"Please Jane, I don't want to be embarrassed."

"Yes you do. What are you doing right now Charlotte? Do you really want to avoid been seen like this by someone who you are likely to never again see in your life? Or is it that you secretly want to be seen, worse, you want to cause a ruckus in the middle of the store so that you attract even more attention, even more humiliation? Which is it? Because I can accommodate either of them."

"Look no – it's not like that Jane, can't we just stay back here until he goes?"

"Charlotte…" Jane said her name gravely.

"Please Jane?"

"I'll give you to the count of three. If you don't start walking toward the counter I will give you a good spanking right here. Is that what you want?"

Charlotte thought rapidly: 'Is it? Is that really what I want?'

"One…"

'I don't know. Is she really going to do it? Please no, I don't want him to see me'

"Two…"

'Oh god – I can't believe she wants me to walk past him dressed like this, like its nothing out of the normal. Shit, she's really going to do it… No – I can't let that happen.' Charlotte started slowly walking toward the counter, her DVD's in one hand. Jane turned about and resumed leading Charlotte toward the exit.

As she passed the vibrators the man looked up quickly and then back down. He then did a double take as Charlotte walked passed him in her pigtails and virginal white dress. His gaze passed all the way from the top of her head down her body, past her white tights and all the way to her shoes. He stood there with his jaw open while Jane reached the counter. She took the DVD's from Charlotte and put them on top of the magazines.

"Just these please." Jane said as she pulled her purse out of her handbag.

The store attendant barely registered Charlotte's presence as he scanned the magazines and extracted the DVD discs from a drawer and put them in their cases. Charlotte chanced a look over her shoulder. The middle-aged man was still staring at her, his eyes popping out of his head. Self-consciously she smoothed down her voluminous skirts and looked at the floor.

He was staring at her. Here she stood in the middle of a sex shop, dressed up like a six year old and tethered by a toddler harness and he was staring at her. Her cheeks turned crimson instantly, they burned in shame. The butterflies began beating their wings faster.

Finally the store attendant gave Jane a total price and she paid with a couple of C-notes. Charlotte was feeling hot under the collar. It seemed to take an age for the attendant to make change and put the purchases in a discreet plastic bag. All the time Charlotte kept glancing toward the man aware that he still stared at her.

Finally, after what had seemed like a decade, Jane tugged on the leash and pulled Charlotte out the door. Glad to escape the burning gaze of the stranger she followed Jane promptly.

As the door to the store closed she thought she heard the man speak to the attendant: "Shit! Where can I get the missus a dress like that?"

Charlotte followed Jane back into the Jaguar.

"I almost thought you'd make me spank you there and then Charlotte. Was that really necessary?"

"Sorry Jane, I just got embarrassed."

"I'm sure you did. Tell me: are you excited now?"

"What?" Charlotte looked at the redhead in shock.

"Are you excited? Did being stared at by that man make you aroused? If I pulled down you panties right now would you be dripping wet?" Jane delivered these lines clinically.

"No! Why that's disgusting!"

"Really? Should I check? Should I stop the car now, drag you out onto the street and check you in front of all of these people?"

"No!"

"Well then, are you wet? Did you get excited by being publicly embarrassed like that?"

Charlotte looked at her feet and muttered: "Yes…"

Jane thought about this for a moment. "Yes, I thought so; your mother reacted the exact same way."

Chapter 27 –Moths and Butterflies

Sitting in the back of the Jaguar, Charlotte lost her temper: "Jane – this is really pissing me off. Everyone keeps talking about my Mother. Look I know she and Mr Campbell had a relationship of sorts a long time ago, but no one will tell me the whole story. Goddamn it, it's not fair. I'm caught up in something that I don't understand, why can't someone tell me what the fuck happened all those years ago?"

"Language Charlotte. Look its okay around me but if Frank hears you speaking like that you'll get in a lot of trouble."

"I don't care – I just want some answers."

"Alright, I'll tell you what I can, but you'll have to get the rest of the story from Frank. Okay?" Jane turned to face Charlotte. She took a few moments to compose her thoughts.

"As I said, I can't tell you everything, some things I can't tell you because of privilege. Others because I don't know the whole story.

"When Mr Campbell first went to college he met your Mother. She was a few years older than him but for some reason he caught her eye. Frank in those days was so awkwardly shy you have no idea. He made your average wallflower look like David Letterman. But for whatever reason Janine befriended him and they became close. When he came home for Thanksgiving that year we all noticed the change.

"He was, I don't know how to explain it - he was brighter, more forthright. Something in him had changed. I cornered him and he admitted that he'd met someone at college. He couldn't stop talking about her, Janine this, Janine that. I knew at once he'd fallen irrevocably in love with her. After I met her some months later I could see why. She was beautiful Charlotte, your mother was one of the most singularly attractive women I have ever met. But not just pretty, she was intelligent and articulate. Any room she entered seemed brighter and she became the centre of attention wherever she went.

"I guess some of her 'presence' rubbed off on Frank. When she was around he was no longer the shy recluse that we all knew. He was more urbane and charming. They were a marvellous couple. I always worried a bit about the age gap, I mean at that stage Frank would have been 18 or 19; your mother would have been in her mid twenties.

"He brought her home for the holidays a year or so later and that's when your Mother first started seeing me. She knew I was a psychologist and simply turned up at my clinic one day. She had the same concerns that you do. Ever since puberty she had found herself aroused by the concept of being bound and dominated. She even used to tie herself up a night and sleep through till morning in self-bondage. Initially she thought it was some harmless fun, except then she found herself pushing the boundaries further and further.

"You have to realise Charlotte that this was almost twenty years ago. Society was a bit different then. People weren't as open about their sexuality as we are today."

Charlotte interrupted Jane here: "But that would make Mr Campbell almost 40, he doesn't look it does he?"

"No – he carries it well. Anyway, your mother found herself going further and further in her private experiments with bondage. She found that pain also excited her. In fact it was the only way she could enjoy herself. When she started seeing Frank and they began sleeping with one another she found that she couldn't get aroused, so she faced a tough decision. That was why she came to see me.

"First of all she thought there was something wrong with her. I quickly disavowed her of that notion, just as I hope to do with you. The second problem she had was whether to broach the topic with Frank. She was so distraught at the concept of admitting her secret to him. She did care for him a great deal, but she was absolutely petrified about how he might react. Today people like you and your mother have enormous conventions celebrating their sexuality. They have parades, there are enormous communities on the internet and even in cities. There are clubs, nightspots and magazines dedicated to Bondage and Discipline. I even heard recently that a bunch of practitioners set up a communal apartment building in San Francisco that only allows fellow practitioners to live there.

"But in those days no one talked about that sort of thing. 'Missionary with the lights off" was about the extent of most people's discussion of sex. So your mother had a very difficult decision to make. I didn't make her mind up for her, but we talked through the problem together. To her eternal credit she decided to talk to Frank about her needs. I never found out what happened after that. They both went back to college, and I assume your mother talked to him when they got back.

"Here's the sad part. It must have been six months later; six months after he'd brought her home for the holidays. I got a phone call from Frank's mother, god-rest-her-soul, she was so upset, completely distraught. Apparently Janine had left Frank and run off with his best friend. He was completely destroyed. I don't think he ever recovered, he's never married or even looked like marrying ever since. It was such a shock to us all. Poor Frank.

"I never heard from Janine again, except for a Christmas card. It was cryptic but made a bit of sense. It read 'I tried, please forgive me and look after Frank.'"

Charlotte sat quietly for a few seconds as the car made its way through traffic. "That's it? You don't know why she left him?"

"I can't say Charlotte. As I said, you have to ask Mr Campbell that. But I hope that what I've told you helps a bit. Does it?"

"I guess so. Kind of. I still don't know what happened, but I guess I can see why Madeline hates me so much. He must have been so upset and heartbroken and she would have been there everyday to see it. People say that I look like my mom –"

"You're almost the spitting image of her."

"Yeah – well I suppose seeing me reminds Madeline of what my mother did to him. But still it's not fair to take it out on me."

"No, probably not – Well, come on, we're here."

The Jaguar pulled up outside a non-descript building. Just a plain door sat in the wall. No signs, no advertising, nothing. A plain building on a relatively busy street.

"Where's here?" Charlotte asked as Jane opened the car door and began to get out.

"You'll see in a moment Charlotte, a friend of mine runs this place. I want you to meet someone and have a chat with them."

Charlotte clambered across the seat, following the harness lead that Jane still had wrapped about her wrist. A handful of people where in sight, walking along the sidewalks. Charlotte followed Jane closely as the taller woman walked up to the front door and opened it revealing a small reception area.

A middle aged lady dressed in an evening gown sat at an expensive looking oak desk waiting to welcome them.

"Jane – a pleasure. And who's this delightful child?"

"Betsy-Jo, this is Charlotte, Charlotte this is Betsy-Jo. Charlotte is Frank Campbell's ward, her father had a nasty accident and Frank is looking after her while he recovers. Frank felt that Charlotte here needed a bit of an object lesson on how to behave like a woman instead of a tomboy."

"That sounds like Frank. He never does anything by halves does he Jane?" Charlotte stared at the woman, she was really very pretty, in her youth she must have been stunning.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of your visiting my little establishment Jane? I assume you're not here as a customer."

"No, not quite Betsy-Jo. I was wondering if Lisa still works for you. Charlotte and she have something in common and I wandered if I could get the two of them to have a chat."

"She's currently with a client Jane, but she's free in half an hour. Just what in common exactly?" Betsy-Jo asked, her curiosity clearly aroused. The middle aged woman was carefully considering Charlotte now.

Jane responded brusquely: "No Betsy-Jo, she's too young, and I think Mr Campbell would have very severe issues with the concept of little Charlotte working here. Don't even think about it. I just want Charlotte to know that what she enjoys is far from abnormal."

"In that case would you like to watch? We've got a viewing room upstairs, might that be… educational?"

"Charlotte, would you like to watch?" Jane asked.

"Watch what?" Charlotte responded naively.

"Golly girl, you really are small town aren't you?" Jane was amused at Charlotte's complete naivety. "This is a brothel, a rather upmarket one though. Betsy-Jo's girls specialise in fulfilling some very special needs of their clients."

"Quite lucratively as well" Betsy-Jo chimed in as she opened a door from the reception that led to a staircase leading upwards. "A pity that Charlotte here isn't available, Lisa is one of my best girls, she's always in demand and her regulars are prepared to pay almost anything to spend time with her."

"A brothel?" Charlotte was shocked. Prostitution to her conjured up images of street girls in fishnet hose, caked on makeup and chewing gum. Too much time watching Law and Order she thought to herself. This place was indeed very up market. Like Mr Campbell's house it was understated, yet elegant. Still pulled along by her lead, Charlotte followed Betsy-Jo and Jane up the stairs.

The top of the flight of stairs opened out into a large open room. Natural light filtered in through a skylight onto soft pastel coloured sofas filled with expensive pillows that were arranged about the room. Doors opened out on all sides from the room. Against one wall stood a mahogany bar behind which an attractive brunette stood dressed in a stylish, and yet skimpy, waitress uniform. Besides the waitress no one else was in the room.

Betsy-Jo began her tour: "This is our lounge, it's a bit quiet during the day, but in the evening the girls who aren't with a client generally congregate here. As Jane said, we cater to some very particular clients with unusual needs. It never ceases to amaze me what some people enjoy doing. I had one client who had a fetish for trees! Trees! Can you believe it?

"Anyway, I believe Lisa is currently in her bedroom. Come through here." Betsy-Jo opened a door revealing a small dark room. A curtain ran the length of one wall and two comfortable sofas sat before the curtain. "We can watch from in here. Take a seat. Jane. Charlotte." She indicated that they should be seated. While Charlotte was carefully arranging her skirts beneath her, Betsy-Jo pressed a button on a wall panel. An electric motor quietly hummed as the dark curtains pulled back to reveal what looked like a teenagers bedroom.

"Don't worry, it's a one way mirror, no one can see you."

A king sized bed was the only sacrifice to authenticity in this room. A desk was piled up with papers, CD's cases and all manner of mess. Dozens of posters adorned the walls, mostly promotional posters for various punk bands. Clothes were strewn across the floor and a wardrobe door was left open spilling its contents into the room.

Charlotte thought that the room she looked into was strikingly similar to her own at home. A constant mess, her dirty clothes dropped wherever it was convenient. Of course the posters in her own room were sport related and her cable television dominated the room whereas a large stereo seemed to form the centre of gravity in this room. But for all intents and purposes there was very little difference.

No one was visible at the moment. Perhaps this Lisa person was somewhere else.

"I wonder where she's got to. She might be in the shower – but I can't tell from here." Betsy-Jo explained.

Almost on cue a door opened and a girl walked in. She stood probably five foot ten and was one of the most eye-catching women Charlotte had ever seen. Her black hair was pulled up into two un-braided pigtails. Charlotte guessed it would have been only just shoulder length had it been out. Her alabaster skin contrasted sharply with her dark hair and the dark mascara the girl seemed to favour further added a stark contrast between black and white.

She wore knee high Doc Marten boots and a pair of fishnet stockings.

Little Black Dress. The dress deserved the capitalisation. The skirt ended mid thigh and as the girl walked it swished alluringly, hinting at the hidden treasures that it concealed. The sleeves ran to the wrists, and the top dipped in a vee to reveal a decent measure of exceptional cleavage. It clung in all the right parts and framed an exceptionally taut and firm young body. A black leather collar embraced her neck, it was relatively plain except for the "D ring" it sported at the front. Bulky silver rings adorned her fingers and her nails were painted a deep black.

Goth, Charlotte thought to herself. But not like those fat hoes back home who tried to squeeze their oversized asses into black jeans two sizes too small and hung around the dead heads smoking. This woman was eye catching, elegant and yet confronting. She oozed sexuality in everything she did. The way she walked, the way she'd turned the door knob. Charlotte envied her for her obvious style. It was uniquely individual, it challenged the preconceived vision of beauty, of skinny blonde cheerleaders with ditzy smiles. This girl challenged those preconceptions and won hands down.

Now a second person entered the room from the same door. A man wearing nothing but a towel. In contrast with Goth-Girl, as Charlotte termed her in her own mind, he was far from an exceptional example of the species. Middle aged, balding, bloated stomach. He wasn't disgusting, merely an ordinary white middle aged man. Where Mr Campbell clearly was concerned with his health and appearance it looked like this guy had other priorities. He probably drank a bit too much and didn't exercise quite enough.

He was talking to Goth-Girl now, but Charlotte couldn't hear a word. The pair's mouths moved silently on the other side of the glass. Betsy-Jo pressed another button on the wall and took a seat next to Jane. Suddenly Charlotte could hear every spoken word through a pair of speakers mounted on the walls.

"What a pigsty! Didn't I tell you to clean up your room?" The man had bad acting to add to his stable of traits Charlotte noted.

"It is clean. You should have seen it this morning." Goth-Girl had it all, the attitude, the looks and also a sweet husky voice that screamed eroticism. She deliberately turned her back to the man and walked to the stereo which she promptly turned on. A deafening cacophony of double kick bass drums, distorted guitar and screaming lyrics began pumping out of the speakers.

"Turn off that racket!" The man shouted over the top of the music.

"Make me!" She smiled as she winked naughtily. Goth-Girl began dancing to the music, Charlotte would have thought it impossible to dance to such music in a sexy and provocative fashion but Goth-Girl, like everything else she did, managed it brilliantly. The veteran of a hundred rave parties, she crooked a finger at the man and began motioning that he should come to her.

The semi naked man cautiously approached Goth Girl as her hips gyrated to the music, her arms twining about her nubile body. In contrast, if he'd a rhythmical bone in his body it must have been broken, try as he might to join the writhing Goth Girl he failed. Unperturbed however Goth Girl began grinding herself up against him.

"I don't want to clean up – I want to be dirty… " Goth Girl purred.

Oh god, Charlotte had never seen anything so erotic in her life. Her own butterflies were being stirred by what she was watching.

"Dirty hey? I'll tell you what I do to dirty girls. Do you want to know?" He asked lewdly.

"Sure Dadsie, what do you do?" Goth Girl provocatively grabbed his crotch and pulled the towel away, revealing a rock hard member.

"I spank them."

"Yeah? Anything else, big boy?" Goth Girl grasped his hard penis with both hands and dropped to her knees. She enveloped his penis with her soft tongue, which Charlotte now noticed was pierced. Expertly she ran the ball of her tongue stud up and down his shaft as the man struggled to continue speaking.

"Spank them… Hard – oh yeah – I punish little sluts like you, smack them hard – Oh god that's good – smack their asses, whip their pussies, fill them with rock hard cock." Her ministrations were having an obvious impact. Charlotte wasn't surprised, Goth Girl clearly knew exactly what she was doing.

"Really? You punish sluts like me? Go on – show me." She released his member and skipped across the room to the king sized bed where she threw herself playfully upon it. Her dress rode up her thigh and she looked back across the room toward the man, her eyes burning with lust and desire.

"Show me big man. Punish me, make it hurt, I like pain."

The metal music continued pounding as the man approached Goth Girl's lithe form draped over the bed. She lightly brushed her breast, revealing a further hint of her brilliantly alabaster skin.

"Turn over slut! Get on your hands and knees."

Goth Girl acquiesced, slowly rolling onto her stomach and then pushing herself up onto hands and knees, facing away from the mirror behind which Charlotte sat. The man grasped her by the hips and ran his hands over her rump, muttering an exclamation of satisfaction with the firm taut flesh hidden beneath her little black dress.

Slowly he pulled her dress up to reveal a naked bottom. The fishnets were stay ups, neglecting the need for fiddly garter belts. Her perfect bottom was marred only slightly by a small tattoo on her left buttock. Charlotte couldn't see from here but it looked like a Chinese hieroglyph. Goth Girl's mons appeared to be cleanly shaved, however again Charlotte found that the distance made it hard to tell exactly.

The man cupped his hand and delivered a stinging blow to Goth Girl's bottom. Almost immediately a red handprint appeared on the pale white skin. Another blow descended, even heavier than the last and Goth Girl jolted forward, almost falling onto the bed from the force of his hand.

Now he got into a rhythm, delivering regular steady cracks to her taut bottom. He grunted with effort, she began panting with a mixture of pain and lust.

"No more, please stop! No – this little slut can't take it anymore, please stop sir!"

Goth Girl rounded on him, looking fearfully at the naked man with the incredibly erect penis.

"No. You'll take your punishment slut, or you'll face worse."

"No, I can't – my bottom hurts too much, please don't spank me there anymore."

He paused as she looked up at him. Her heavy mascara had begun to run with a few strategically shed tears. Charlotte looked at her and thought that she had seen nothing so beautiful as this moment before in her life. Goth Girl, her dress gathered up around her hips, her mascara stained face begging for mercy, yet knowing that none was forthcoming.

"Then you've got a choice slut. Fuck yourself with the punishment phallus or get your pussy whipped? What is it?"

Goth Girl's face dropped as he made the ultimatum. Charlotte had no idea what the punishment phallus might be, but if it was the equivalent or worse than getting her pussy whipped it must be very bad indeed. Charlotte pretended she was in Goth Girl's position, crouching on the bed, Mr Campbell standing in front of her, naked, ready. Forcing her to choose between two equally nasty fates. She closed her eyes for a moment imagining the scene and feeling herself get wetter and wetter at the thought.

"Please sir, not the punishment phallus – anything else but that."

"Then pass me the whip."

"Oh sir, no that's too much. You'll hurt my poor pussy, look at it, you'll ruin me." Goth Girl now revealed her vagina fully. Charlotte had been almost right, Goth Girl did shave, but she left a very fine line of trimmed hair running vertically up from her slit. Goth Girl had both her hands spreading herself apart, showing the man just what he was about to enjoy.

"Back on the bed whore, and pass me the pussy whip." Goth Girl leaned over to a bedside table and rummaged around, she pulled a number of things out, but handed the man a small whip. It stood probably one and a half foot in length and was comprised of a dozen thin leather thongs. Knots had been tied into the thongs every few inches along.

Goth Girl now leant back and spread her thighs, presenting her naked shaven vagina for punishment.

"Ten on the pussy, an extra two for each time you close your slutty legs." He intoned solemnly.

"Yes Sir" Goth girl gripped her Doc Martens about the ankles and fortified herself for the upcoming ordeal.

The man looked at the whip closely, noting the knots designed to provide even more pain than the instrument was designed for. He weighed it carefully in his hand and took a few practice swings through the air. Then he looked down at the prostate girl with her legs spread wide and grinned evilly. The whip swung through the air and splattered against the soft unprotected flesh, a blood-chilling scream ripped out of Goth Girl as she struggled to stop herself from automatically flinching from the blow.

Charlotte looked on with horror and fascination as the second and third blows descended. Goth Girl's nether lips were glistening more and more. She was getting off on the whipping! Charlotte found herself incredibly aroused by the scene, had she not had company she might have pulled her own panties down and played with herself then and there, she was that excited.

Goth Girl was screaming continuously, yet in a display of pure discipline she kept her legs spread far apart, her hands gripping onto her leather clad calves. The knotted leather thongs of the whip landed brutally on her, each blow leaving a delicate pattern of red welted flesh on her mound.

Jane broke the silence in the viewing room. "Aren't you worried that one of your clients will go too far one day?"

Betsy-Jo turned her face from the unfolding scene in front of them to explain, "Of course we are. That's why no client can get in here without passing through a concealed metal detector, additionally they must shower and change before meeting one of the girls. They're not allowed to wear anything while they are here unless we provide it. Additionally there are cameras and microphones in every room. Davies, our security guy, monitors them constantly. If there ever was a problem he'd be in the room with his Baretta drawn before the John had enough time to grab his balls and kiss his ass goodbye. Thankfully we've never had a problem. Strangely all our clients understand the rules, respect them and behave themselves. I guess they know that if they fuck up they'll never be allowed back in and they'll never find another place like this.

"What do you think Charlotte?" Betsy-Jo asked, changing the topic quickly and taking Charlotte by surprise.

"Um… I don't know, that must hurt a lot."

"Apparently it does, Lisa informs me however that it is the pain itself that makes it all the more alluring to her. She is the pre-eminent pain slut - that's Lisa's term, not mine. I'm actually surprised she didn't go for the punishment phallus. It's her third favourite toy." Betsy-Jo amazed Charlotte with the candour and ease with which she spoke of these things, while in front of their eye's Goth-Girl, aka Lisa, received the tenth and final stinging whip blow to her exposed pudenda. Her lips were inflamed, red and angry. Small red lines and squiggles, sharply discernable against her pale skin, criss-crossed her punished crotch.

The man put the whip down and crawled onto the bed next to Goth Girl. He grabbed her about the waist and muttered something into her ear that the microphones failed to pick up.

Goth Girl reached back to the other items she had pulled out of the bedside table. One was a condom, which she expertly ripped open and put in her mouth. Placing a gentle hand on his chest she pushed him onto the bed before moving her way down his torso placing small fluttering kisses all the way down his chest, stomach and finally his cock. With the condom in her mouth she engulfed his penis, she pushed herself further and further down his shaft until her lips reached the base.

Charlotte, as yet unaware of some of the more technical aspects of sex and fellatio, remained naïve to the fact that only years of experience prevented Lisa from gagging on his penis as she smothered his penis with her mouth and throat. Her task completed she sat back up, her customer's penis now sheathed safely in a ribbed latex condom.

"Come on slut, ride me!" He extolled lasciviously.

"One minute sir, I need your help first. She retrieved the final item she had taken from the table, a length of chain with a small springed clamp attached to the end.

She fed the chain through the "D Ring" on her collar and handed him both the end of the chain and the clamp: "We can't have this little slut actually enjoy what your about to do to her poor little body, can we?" She asked cheekily.

Apparently this guy wasn't a new customer, he knew exactly what Goth Girl meant. With the clamp in one hand he motioned Goth Girl to him. He lay down on the bed as she knelt above him. With both hands he parted her labia and eagerly sought out her burgeoning clitoris. His target identified, he coaxed the tiny nubbin out from its hiding place, before brutally and effectively clamping it.

Goth Girl breathed in sharply as the teeth of the clamp bit down on the tender and exposed flesh. "Thankyou sir, may I please ride your big hard cock?"

"Go to it slut."

Goth Girl shuffled down the bed on her knees before placing herself over his erect phallus. Slowly she lowered herself onto him, her knee high Docs straddling his thighs.

The chain attached to her clamped clitoris ran up her torso, through the D ring and into the man's hand, at the moment it remained slack, but as she settled herself down around the base of his penis he gave the chain a sharp tug, eliciting a moan of pain and animalistic pleasure from Goth Girl.

Slowly she built up a rhythm, grinding her pelvis against him, as he lay back, his eyes closed and moans eliciting from his mouth. The rhythm gained momentum, the chain jingled back and forth against Goth Girl's body, torturously tugging on her harshly clamped clitoris. Momentum increased until Charlotte could see that she was grinding herself against him in time with the rapidly paced music screaming from the stereo. Primeval cries emitted from Goth Girl's mouth:- "Squeeze my tits, now, please, twist them, hurt them, please!"

He put the end of the chain between his teeth to maintain partial tension on her clitoris and reached up to begin mauling her breasts, he was far from gentle, pinching her nipples, squeezing the two mounds severely together. Goth Girl now increased her pace further, the chain increasing its rapid bouncing off her body. She closed her eyes, her mouth locked in a grimace. The pace rose now to frantic levels, and suddenly she pushed her head back, opened her eyes wide to the sky and screamed in a primal explosion of orgasmic relief.

Spurred on by the pain he could see in her eyes, her contracting and pulsating pelvic muscles, he could hold on no longer either. Together they achieved release, her screaming, him moaning as the chain was pulled ever tauter, extending and magnifying the explosive orgasm that Goth Girl had clearly undergone.

Finally, after what had seemed an eon, Goth Girl rolled off him to lay next to him, her dress still pulled up around her waist. She placed her hand deftly on the clamp and released it, Charlotte clearly saw her wince as soon as it was removed. She could sympathise with Goth Girl, the removal of a clamp was a terrible thing as the blood rushed back into the battered and abused flesh.

"So that's Lisa, Charlotte. She's the girl I want you to talk to. Do you understand why now?"

"Yes, I think so; I'm just like her…"

Chapter 28 – A Decision Reached

Betsy-Jo stood from her couch and pressed a few buttons on the wall, immediately the speakers relaying sound from Lisa's "bedroom" were silenced and the quiet electric motor controlling the curtains came to life. As the heavy curtains across the viewing window shut, Betsy-Jo opened the door back to the lounge and suggested that her guests follow her back outside.

Charlotte took a moment to catch her breath. The scene she had just witnessed had left her breathless - her heartbeat racing. Jane stood up and knowingly glanced at Charlotte still sitting in her seat. The psychologist winked at the younger girl before offering her a hand up. Charlotte took her hand and rose to her feet before following Jane and her harness lead back into the lounge. Her thighs felt sticky and her panties and tights stuck damply to her crotch. She briefly considered what punishments awaited her back at the apartment when Mr Campbell discovered the state of her panties. Just as quickly she brushed the thought aside as the butterflies began fluttering their wings violently within her core, exacerbating her predicament even further.

A flustered Charlotte followed the Madame and Jane out into the luxuriously appointed entertainment area. They all took seats in the comfortable pastel couches while the waitress emerged from behind the bar to take drink orders. Charlotte let Jane order and was shocked when she ordered a glass of Australian chardonnay for her.

The waitress skittered back behind the bar and Betsy-Jo sank back into the soft cushions of the couch. "Lisa should be available in a minute. She's probably just freshening up." She now turned her attention toward Charlotte, sitting primly on the edge of her seat. She'd considered leaning back into the seat, but her bulging white crinoline underskirts would make that posture appear ridiculous. The Madame now addressed a question toward the pigtailed Charlotte: "Is that what you were expecting Charlotte?"

Charlotte considered the question carefully before responding. "I didn't know what to expect." That was true, Charlotte had had little idea of what to expect. She'd barely processed the fact that she was in a brothel when the curtains had opened to reveal the sordid scene that had been played out before her.

"Have you ever watched before?" Betsy-Jo asked with a wry grin in the corner of her mouth.

"No. That was the first time. I've seen magazines before, some of the boys used to bring them to school. But that's as close as I'd ever got before now."

"And so, what did you think of our little Lisa? Interesting girl isn't she?"

"She's… she's… she's beautiful." Charlotte struggled to put her newfound admiration of Goth Girl into the right words. She also had so many questions she wanted to ask, but couldn't phrase them right in her own head, let alone put them into comprehensive sentences.

A click sounded behind Charlotte. Betsy-Jo turned her attention away from Charlotte for a moment: "Ah, here she is. Lisa, join us for a while." Betsy-Jo pulled herself out of the deep couch and stood up, Jane and Charlotte followed suit.

"Lisa, Jane you already know;" Lisa, AKA Goth Girl, had changed out of her little black dress. She now stood in a dark red and black vampish looking dress. The bodice of the dress was a scarlet red satin covered by a delicate black lace. The skirts were comprised of a tiered heavy black lace that hung about Goth Girl's calves revealing her knee high Doc Martens beneath. Her sleeves hung long and billowed out to flow about her currently invisible hands. Charlotte now noticed that Goth Girl also wore dark lipstick, verging toward black and her alabaster skin was further enhanced by white powdered foundation.

Betsy-Jo continued with the introductions while Charlotte stared in admiration at Goth Girl: "And this is Charlotte, Charlotte this is Lisa."

"Pleased to meet you" Goth Girl's husky voice uttered the words and then Charlotte replied: "Likewise."

"Lisa, we were just watching your last performance from the viewing room, I hope you don't mind?" Betsy-Jo resumed her seat as she spoke to Goth Girl.

"Not at all," Goth Girl now took a seat in one of the chairs, completing an informal circle about the lounge room: Betsy-Jo sitting opposite Charlotte, Charlotte sitting next to Lisa who in turn sat opposite Jane. "In fact, I wish I'd known earlier, Tom would love to have known that someone was watching him with me." She waved to the Waitress, her billowing black lacy sleeves floating throughout the air. The waitress acknowledged Goth Girls signal with a friendly nod of her head.

"Charlotte was just saying how much she enjoyed your performance."

"Really?" Goth Girl looked questioningly toward the young girl dressed in her virginal white party dress. Her raised eyebrow sent a shot of lightning through Charlotte, Goth Girl was suspicious of her.

Thankfully Jane jumped to the rescue: "No, not like that Lisa, Charlotte's not a customer, rather she's here on a bit of a fact finding mission."

"Oh? How's that?"

The waitress now returned to the couches and handed each woman their drinks. Charlotte took the wine glass from her hand and sipped at it nervously while Jane continued: "Poor little Charlotte has recently become the ward of Frank Campbell, you know him?"

A wicked smile spread across Goth Girl's lips at the mention of Mr Campbell's name: "Certainly do, he's one of Leanne's regulars. She's had to borrow a couple of my toys for some of his visits. Quite a character, but I haven't seen him around lately."

"No it seems that his attention has been well and truly taken up with Charlotte's tutelage." Jane and Goth Girl exchanged glances; Goth Girl's suggestive raised eyebrow was met with a dismissive shake of Jane's head.

"No, not like that, although I'm sure he's infatuated with our little Charlotte, he seems to be retaining at least a modicum of good behaviour. Well at least a tiny bit. As you can see though, that hasn't stopped him indulging in his usual inclinations on Charlotte."

Charlotte hated being referred to in the third person, particularly when she was present. For the moment however she limited herself to biting her bottom lip.

"Unfortunately Frank's attentions have coincided with Charlotte beginning to discover the nature of her own sexuality. We've been quite confused and distressed by it all, haven't we Charlotte?"

Jane gave Charlotte a quick tug on her toddler tether to indicate she should speak up: "I guess so."

The three women looked toward Charlotte, expecting her to continue. An uneasy silence descended on the room. The silence was partially filled by the clinking of ice cubes as Goth Girl picked up her tumbler full of ice and clear liquid, she took a quick sip.

Jane gently tugged on the leash again. "I liked watching you Lisa, it seemed… right."

"Ah… Now I understand. Let me guess, Frank's been handing out some of his trademark corrections and you've found yourself enjoying them?" Lisa sat back carefully considering the quiet Charlotte. "A bit of a shock isn't it? What was it; a spanking over the arm of the couch? Ah yes I see; something like that. Yes I remember my first time. An older cousin got annoyed when I broke his CD player.

"He had some of his friends over for a pool party. I had a real crush on one of his friends; I got dressed in my shortest skirt and skimpiest swimsuit. I spent ages trying to look as pretty as I could. Then I tried my hardest to get this guy's attention but he was happy just mucking about with my brother and his mates. Anyway, I got sick of listening to their crappy pop music and decided to switch CD's. I put on my favourite 'Cradle of Filth' album on and my cousin got really pissed off. He stormed over and tried to snatch the CD player away from me, somehow in the struggle it ended up in the pool, completely wrecked.

"He was furious, so he grabbed me and put me over his knee. Then in front of his friends, and the guy I really liked, he spanked me – really hard. I ended up running into my bedroom in tears with everyone laughing at me. I'd never been so embarrassed. But when I got back to my room… well let's just say I had to take matters into my own hands." That aroused a grin on her face and a laugh from Betsy-Jo and Jane.

Lisa looked back at Charlotte, ignoring the two other women. "What about you? How did you find out?"

Suddenly it seemed to Charlotte that the only people in the room were her and Lisa. The two of them fixed their eyes on each other, seeing in each other a part of themselves. Now she forgot all about her embarrassment, here was someone like her who she could share herself with.

"It wasn't quite like that for me. There was this guy at the basketball courts called Kyle, we were playing ball and he fell on top of me. For a moment he had me pinned down on the ground. For a second there I felt… complete. I don't know how else to explain it. I wanted him to take complete control of me.

"But I guess when I really found out was when Mr Campbell spanked me the first time. I didn't want it to stop. I just closed my eyes and imagined it was Kyle spanking me. I didn't really understand any of it. Mr Campbell just kept on punishing me more and more and I started to enjoy it more and more. I thought there was something wrong with me… until today anyway."

Lisa stared at Charlotte, taking in every single word from the young girl. Then she looked briefly at Jane and Betsy-Jo, "Come on Charlotte, let's leave these two gossip queens to themselves for a while." Then she looked toward Jane: "Charlotte's coming with me to my room." Lisa looked at Jane indicating that a negative response was out of the question. Jane nodded before adding: "Sure, but first of all, here Lisa, take this." Jane handed Lisa the lead to Charlotte's toddler harness. "Don't let her out of your sight okay?"

"Sure, not a problem." Lisa took the tether in hand, but indicated that Charlotte should lead the way back to Lisa's 'Bedroom'. Charlotte picked up her wine glass and walked toward the door to the room.

The two girls entered the room, still a mess. Charlotte stood in the centre of the carpet while Lisa smoothed the rumpled sheets on her king sized bed. "Come on, sit down. How's your drink?"

"Not bad, I haven't had Australian wine before, it's not bad." Seeing Lisa sitting on the bed which only moments ago had been the scene of some wildly kinky action made Charlotte a little nervous.

"I prefer vodka myself, export quality Stolichnaya usually when I can get it. The one thing the Russians have always been good at is vodka. Come-on sit down, I don't bite." Lisa patted a corner of the bed indicating that Charlotte should sit down. She made her way to the bed and sat down carefully with her wine glass in hand.

"How old are you?" Lisa asked Charlotte.

"Sixteen, you?" Charlotte asked nervously.

"Twenty-two. Wow, it's taken you this long to work out how you feel? That's amazing. Where have you been? Hiding in the closet?"

"No," Charlotte answered defensively. "I've never really thought about boys in any way. I was always trying to beat them at sport I guess…"

"Ah… A bit of a tomboy hey. I guess that explains your dress. Mr Campbell's idea of converting you I assume?"

"Yeah, you should see some of the others, they're fucking ridiculous." Instinctively Charlotte raised her hand to her mouth to suppress the swearword, but Lisa just laughed at her.

"Christ, he's got you wrapped around his little finger hasn't he? Don't worry, I don't care and I won't tell him." Lisa laughed.

"I suppose so. You don't know what it's like. Trapped in that apartment, trying to cope with everything that's going on."

"Oh I don't know about that – my better half keeps me pretty 'busy' at home. But only on my terms." Lisa said the word 'busy' in a mischievous fashion.

"You're married?" Charlotte asked shocked.

"Not yet, soon though, have a look at this." Lisa extended her hand from the broad lace sleeves of her vampish scarlet and red dress. On one of her fingers she sported a thick silver ring upon which was set a deep black sapphire. An intricate pattern of vines entwined the band and the gem.

"We're engaged and getting married at the Winter Solstice."

"What does he think about all this then?" Charlotte asked waving her hand about the room.

"He doesn't mind. In fact I think it kind of amuses him. I do it because I enjoy it. To tell the truth I don't need to work, Gerard makes enough money for the two of us to live comfortably on. But I still enjoy the work and he enjoys the stories I bring home. Not to mention that he comes down after work or at lunch sometimes just to watch. My Johns all understand. In fact I think he gives some of them suggestions about what to do to me." She grinned evilly.

"So, its perfectly normal then? What I feel inside I mean." Charlotte asked tentatively.

"Sure it is. Everyone's got their own kinks, even if they don't admit it. All the crap people go on about morals and the rest is bullshit. Have a look through Betsy-Jo's ledger and you'll find quite a few interesting names in there. In fact it's half the reason she can operate so openly. The police commissioner, he's into a bit of man on man action, comes in once every few weeks to relieve himself.

"The senior district attorney, well he likes dressing up in women's clothing and getting a solid spanking. Three of the circuit court judges are on our books; one of them likes to be encased in leather and treated like a human urinal. In fact when you look at it, the two of us are pretty tame in comparison.

"The local congressman; you know the one who's constantly on television bemoaning the moral decline of America?"

"I think so, was he the one going on about gay marriage. Said marriage should be between 'Adam and Eve', not 'Adam and Steve'?" Charlotte remembered that episode well, there had been mass demonstrations outside his office and the police had been called in.

"That's him. Probably had a butt plug shoved up his ass at the press conference. He visits Mistress Violet at least once a week, loves to have her force him give blow jobs to other men.

"Hypocrisy's rife, all these supposedly upstanding citizens lecturing us on how to live our lives according to God's law while they break every single one and even some you've never thought of. It's no surprise that people like us get confused from time to time."

"I hadn't thought about it like that." Charlotte thought through all the revelations that had been exposed to her today. She wasn't sick, or strange.

Lisa spoke again: "The trick however, Charlotte, is to only do those things that you want to do. You can't let people take advantage of you, unless you want them to. I don't know exactly what Mr Campbell's been up to, but I can guess. Has he made you do anything that you didn't want to do?"

"I suppose not. Well, at the time I didn't think I did, but afterward…"

"Well, you've been lucky. Charlotte, this is important – do you want to stay there with him?"

Charlotte almost responded in the negative. She almost told Lisa that under no circumstances would she want to spend another night in the apartment. But as she was about to do so a series of contrary emotions and thoughts unleashed themselves.

What would she do if she wasn't with Mr Campbell? How would she make her way home, she didn't have as much as a nickel to call her own. She guessed she could ask Lisa or Jane for money, but she'd only just met them. And even if they did give her enough for a bus or plane ticket home, then what would she use to live on? The stock of cash that her father had kept for emergencies in their home safe was near on depleted. Adding further complication was the fact that even if she did manage to escape Mr Campbell's clutches, she had no way of surviving unless she took a job.

Charlotte was wise enough in the way of the world to know that at sixteen, without any qualifications, she would be lucky to get a minimum wage job that would barely allow her to live. For a split second she thought about Betsy-Jo's earlier veiled employment proposition and discarded the thought immediately. If Charlotte left, she'd want to go home and Betsy-Jo's establishment was a thousand miles away from there. Her establishment was also right underneath Mr Campbell's nose. No, that wasn't an option.

Her thoughts moved on to Mr Campbell himself. He scared her, not because he was frightening himself, but because his power over her was so complete and she had no idea what his motivations were. He had said that he was looking after her interests, trying to make her a better person. Yet today's outing had helped her put some more pieces of his puzzle together.

Her mother had shared similar interests to herself in the bedroom and somehow that had led to an estrangement from Mr Campbell. He was a regular client of Betsy-Jo's… until recently. The corrective actions he imposed on her all seemed to have a sexual bent to them. Add to that the way he looked at her sometimes. All this suggested that he wasn't merely driven by an altruistic intention to help her. There was something more there, something sexual.

And her dreams! The dreams of the tower, the whip's tail licking her body as she thrashed about in an orgasmic frenzy of pleasure and pain. She knew in her heart of hearts that Mr Campbell was the dark figure in her dreams. For the first time she considered that maybe her feelings toward him were more complicated than those between the captor and the captive.

He was so old, okay he didn't look it, but he was almost old enough to be her father, in fact he very well could have been her father had her mother and he stayed together. But age didn't matter, did it?

She didn't know how she felt anymore. But now the thought of running away, of failing to further explore these feelings and their possibilities unsettled her.

After a very long period of silence Charlotte finally answered Lisa question: "I think I might want to stay. For a lot of reasons."

Lisa put her hand under Charlotte's chin and lifted her head up to meet her gaze. Lisa's dark piercing eyes, framed by the heavy mascara, stared into Charlotte's own eyes, evaluating the truth of the statement just uttered by the young girl. Some moments later, satisfied by what she saw, Lisa pulled her hand away and nodded to herself.

"Charlotte, if you want to stay then you must listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. I wish we had more time to spend with each other so that I could be sure that I could cover everything. But as it is I have a client arriving in forty-five minutes and I believe Jane has to get you home."

Lisa then proceeded to give Charlotte an abridged lecture on safe sex practices and BDSM. For half an hour the older girl stressed the importance of understanding exactly how consent worked in a relationship built on power dichotomies. Dominance, Safe words, safe play, submission, protection, abuse, slaves, masters, comfort levels. Lisa filled that half an hour with trying to instruct Charlotte on what was and wasn't appropriate in a BDSM environment. At the end of the time, just as Lisa began touching up her makeup in preparation for her next appointment, she stressed the importance of talking to Mr Campbell to discuss these issues.

Charlotte responded: "But I don't know if I like him like that. I mean I've never… you-now."

"It doesn't matter Charlie, whether you like it or not you're already living in that environment. You need to address the things we talked about with him, regardless. As I said before, a BDSM relationship isn't about sex, it's about power. That's what can make it dangerous. If there are no limits, no rules except for what he makes, then its borderline abuse. There need to be rules.

"Look Charlie, I know Frank. He can be stubborn, he can be pigheaded, he can be many things, but at the end of the day he is a rational, caring human being. Just talk to him. I think you might be surprised at his reaction."

Unfortunately time got the better of the pair in the end. Lisa received a phone call from reception informing her that her client had arrived. Hurriedly she hustled Charlotte back out into the lounge, but not before asking Charlotte to visit her again if she could get Mr Campbell to agree. The two of them embraced as friends in Lisa's bedroom doorway before the older girl retreated back into her room to service her latest customer.

It was with a tinge of regret that Charlotte left Betsy-Jo's. She'd spent only a short time with Lisa, but had almost immediately felt a kinship with the older girl that she had never shared with any other female – or male for that matter. She imagined that this would be how having an older sister would feel.

Chapter 29 – Do Butterflies Have Teeth?

The trip back from Betsy-Jo's fortuitously avoided the start of evening peak hour. Charlotte and Jane remained silent during the trip. Charlotte had learnt a great deal, not only about herself but also about Mr Campbell.

For herself, she no longer dreaded the flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach. Her time with Lisa had assured Charlotte that she was neither outlandish nor depraved. The self-fear and loathing that had coerced her into confronting Mr Campbell with her darkest fears was now behind her. However, now a daunting challenge faced her.

Confronting Mr Campbell.

Charlotte was unsure how to approach him. He had made it abundantly clear that he regarded her behaviour as an aberration, as something to be squashed and suppressed. Yet Charlotte was now convinced that how she felt was anything but deviant and sick. How could she convince him otherwise?

That problem sat prominently in her mind as the Jaguar pulled up outside the apartment building. The comic routine of disembarking from the car now repeated itself. Jane stepped from the back seat of the car as soon as the chauffeur opened her door and pulled on Charlotte's toddler harness. She clambered across the leather upholstery following the red headed psychologist into the lobby. A few people were walking past on the sidewalk, each stared in turn at the sixteen-year-old in her virginal white dress, tights and Mary Janes. Charlotte by this stage ignored the passers-by; she was too busy composing herself for the upcoming encounter.

The elevator opened for the two women and Jane swiped the security card over the scanner to grant them access to the penthouse. As the lift ascended Charlotte felt her apprehension growing inside her. Eventually the lift ceased its ascent and the doors opened out onto the foyer of the apartment, its soothing water feature imposed a modicum of calm on the angst-ridden girl.

Mr Campbell must have been informed of their arrival, for he met them in the foyer. A curious look sat on his worried face. Jane had been less than forthcoming in discussing where she was taking Charlotte, he was clearly curious as to what the two woman had been up to.

He welcomed them back and suggested they all take afternoon tea in the sitting room. Jane replied promptly for both of them and the three of them walked into a room that Charlotte had only briefly walked past before. Soft lighting lit the room in the absence of any natural light, family portraits, photos and tasteful early-period impressionist art hung from the walls. A coffee table sat in the middle of the room, a decanter of Mr Campbell's favourite brandy sitting in the centre. Four dark leather couches sat arranged in a semi circle about the table.

Each of them took a seat, Jane sitting between Mr Campbell and Charlotte while Bosker materialized to ask them whether they wanted drinks. Jane asked for a chilled chardonnay while Charlotte remained cautious and asked for some coffee. Bosker disappeared to fetch the drinks while an uneasy silence settled over the room.

Mr Campbell finally broke the silence moments before Charlotte could no longer bear the quiet: "Well, how did your outing go? Do you mind if I ask what the two of you got up to?"

Charlotte was considering when Jane beat her to it. "I'm sure Charlotte will fill you in later on Frank. For the moment though there are a few things that I feel I must say as a professional psychologist.

"I'm sure you've meant well in how you've handled Charlotte's arrival here, but the way you have been treating her is inappropriate –"

"I haven't done anything. In fact, I resent –" Mr Campbell interrupted, clearly outraged at what he considered to be an unfounded accusation.

"Frank, let me finish first… Thankyou." Mr Campbell closed his mouth and let the red head continue: "It inappropriate Frank because you've been punishing Charlotte for something that she cannot change. You may as well whip a leopard for having spots, you're not going to change anything, actually what you've been doing is entirely counter productive."

"What are you talking about Jane? I asked you to talk to Charlotte because she thinks that something's wrong with her."

Charlotte recognised that she should step into the conversation: "But there's nothing wrong with me Mr Campbell."

"Whatever do you mean Charlotte? Only last night you were crying about being how you thought you were a freak." He replied, switching his attention to Charlotte.

"That was last night, but today I met some people and saw some things that have made me realise that I'm just as normal as the next person." For the first time in days she steeled herself to meet his blazing gaze. His eyes pierced her, searching her soul, searing into her brain.

Jane interrupted this pseudo staring contest. "Frank, Charlotte shows all the classic signs of being a submissive woman. I knew from almost the first moment I spoke to her. Our outing has reinforced that view in my mind."

Mr Campbell's eyes remained fixed on Charlotte, yet he addressed his words to Jane: "Go on…"

"In light of that discovery, everything makes a perverse sort of sense. Ever since Charlotte arrived you instituted a strict behavioural regime. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Problem is that your regime has resulted in Charlotte undergoing her sexual awakening. She's discovering who she is, and as they say: 'the apple never falls far from the tree.'"

Mr Campbell raised his eyebrows questioningly toward Charlotte: "Is that right, is it?"

Fighting a burning desire to break from his stare Charlotte replied. "I guess so."

"So what's your point Jane? Charlotte's still full of these disgusting thoughts. What exactly have you achieved today? I asked you to help my little girl and this is all you can come up with? That my behaviour is inappropriate?" Mr Campbell now turned to face Jane.

"Frank –"

"No Jane, be quiet. I can't have Charlotte running around like some gangbanger. What will people think of her? What would her mother say if she were alive today? You didn't see her when she came here: 'Fuck this, fuck that'. Never a 'please' from her. Not a single piece of polite language. Thankfully that's changing. Now you're trying to tell me that what I'm doing is inappropriate? Get out of my house."

"Not until I'm finished. What this is all about Frank, is that these feelings of Charlotte's are far from inappropriate. How Charlotte feels and reacts to what you've been doing to her is perfectly natural."

"I won't accept that." Now he turned to face Charlotte directly: "your mother tried to tell me the same thing, but I simply won't accept it. No-one could possibly enjoy what she wanted me to do to her." Mr Campbell spat out those final words in disgust.

Jane continued: "Yet that hasn't stopped you from performing on Charlotte a number of the things that Jeanine wanted you to do to her…"

"How dare you - How dare you! You have no comprehension at all do you Jane. Nor do you Charlotte. You march in here after spending the morning traipsing across the city and suddenly you think you can understand completely what I had to cope with. The pair of you are ludicrous. You have no idea. If you think I've even touched upon the horrific things she talked about then you have another thing coming.

"'The things she wanted me to do to her', as you so eloquently put it Jane, are so far removed from anything that I have done to little Charlotte here, that it beggars belief. I'm not even going to discuss this topic with you. You have no comprehension."

"Frank – " Jane began again.

"No Jane, no more."

"Just listen to me –"

Charlotte felt that it was time to intervene: "Stop it! Both of you!"

The two of them surprisingly shut up as Charlotte raised her voice: "Jane – enough! I can handle this by myself. Mr Campbell, I'm sorry for all this. I'd like to talk to you privately about it if I could."

Jane quietly whispered to Charlotte: "I don't think this is such a good idea Charlotte."

"Shut up! Look, this is my life we're talking about here, my feelings, who I am. I'm sick of having other people dictate how I live. I'm sick of being pushed around, I'm sick of being told who I am, whether I'm sick or normal or whatever! I'm fucking sick of it Jane. You're almost as bad as he is you know. If anyone is going to work out who I am - it is ME for fuck's sake!"

"Charlotte –" Mr Campbell warned her sternly, she ratcheted her fury, and her language down a level or two.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have sworn. What I am saying Jane, is that I will deal with this with Mr Campbell by myself, on my terms. Thankyou for your help, I really do appreciate it, but I think I need to do this myself."

"Really, I should stay, he might –"

"No Jane. Now. Thankyou, but I'll be fine."

"But –"

"Look, if you're that worried, I'm sure Mr Campbell will let me call you on a phone later tonight to let you know I'm okay. Would that be okay Mr Campbell?"

Mr Campbell regarded the newly forthright Charlotte, he also looked at the frantic and furious Jane. Slowly he came to a conclusion of his own. He nodded gently.

Jane took hold of her purse and rose to her feet, before she left the room she handed Charlotte the bag of magazines and DVDs from the sex shop. She stopped briefly to kiss Charlotte lightly on the forehead and then regarded Mr Campbell with a withering look. Charlotte accepted the bag gratefully, and simultaneously kept a firm eye on Mr Campbell.

Finally the red headed psychologist left the sitting room with Mr Campbell and Charlotte looking across the room at each other carefully. Moments passed, Bosker entered with their drinks and carefully set them down upon the table. Noticing the apparent departure of Jane he left the wine glass on his tray and silently departed the room whilst the two remaining figures cast appraising stares across the quiet room.

"Mr Campbell. It's time for some honesty. From both of us. This simply can't go on.

"I've come to realise a few things recently; one of them is that until now I've never known who I really am. I still don't know entirely, but I'm not Charlie, nor am I who you want Charlotte to be. I am me, and I'm still discovering just what that is. But most importantly, I would never have discovered that if it wasn't for you.

"So, I feel I owe you something, but at the same time things can't go on as they have, that bit I think Jane is right about. What has been happening is not right, things have to change and they have to change on terms agreeable to both of us." Charlotte paused for a moment, seeking acknowledgement of her point from Mr Campbell.

He indicated that she should continue.

"Until today I wanted to escape, I wanted to run away back home. I'd even hidden away some stuff to help me get out of here." Mr Campbell didn't even flinch, perhaps he had been aware of her preparations the whole time.

"Now I'm not so sure. I think I want to stay here… with you.

"I've thought long and hard about this. It hasn't been an easy decision to make. So what I'm proposing is this. I will give up trying to escape and I will promise to follow your instructions, all of them, but some of our rules have to change first."

"Go on. I'm listening."

"I met someone today, someone very special, someone like me. She lives with her boyfriend in a full time BDSM relationship. She taught me a lot of stuff and some of it is important to us."

"What do you mean us, Charlotte?"

"Oh come on Mr Campbell. Us. You and me. I don't know what your intentions are, but I can guess. When I first arrived you told me that you were going to 'rectify' my upbringing. But there's more to it than that isn't there? The dresses, the punishments, the humiliation – more than just a part of this is for you - isn't it? You enjoy inflicting them on me don't you?"

He regarded her for a long moment before quietly stating: "Charlotte, there is no 'you and me', nor is there a 'you and I' which I think you will find is the appropriate English in this instance.

"I am your guardian and I will do as I see fit. These childish notions of romance are nothing but your imagination running wild." His words hit Charlotte like a train. Was he telling the truth, or was he merely denying to himself what had been patently obvious to her?

"My patience is wearing thin with you right at this moment. You've said that the rules have to change. Why exactly? All I can see is that you continue to be an undisciplined, disobedient little girl. I don't know what garbage Jane has filled your head with but it was obviously a mistake to ask her to help you. Clearly you won't acknowledge that the thoughts you are having are wrong, therefore I am going to have to devise some new approach to this problem."

No. Charlotte thought to herself. No. This has to stop. It was time for a different tack.

"I don't think so Mr Campbell."

"What did you say?" He shuffled forward in his chair, readying himself to rise to his feet.

"I said I don't think so. Earlier I said I had met someone special, like me. We talked to each other and it became clear to us both that what you are doing is abuse. There are laws against that. We also agreed that if I didn't contact her, that she would report you to the police." It was a complete fabrication, a total sham; Lisa and Charlotte had discussed no such thing. But Charlotte hadn't imagined that Mr Campbell would be so pigheaded, and she hoped that the lie would give her the leverage she so desperately needed.

"You what?" He uttered the words, mainly to himself and sat back in his chair.

"If I don't talk to her by a particular time, then she will have protective services banging down your door. So you will listen to what I have to say."

The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity while Charlotte waited for his reply to her ultimatum. Finally he spoke, calmly, quietly: "Alright. What do you want?"

"I don't want much. In fact I don't want anything to change around here except a couple of things. First, I want a safe word."

"A what?" His voice rang with incredulity, a rapid change from the calm of a few seconds ago.

"Oh please Mr Campbell, don't play coy with me. I know all about your trips to Besty Jo's and Leanne. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I want a safe word. Something I can use if I feel uncomfortable or scared. A word I can use to stop whatever it is that you're doing to me that I think is dangerous or too much."

"You know about Leanne?" He asked, clearly troubled by her knowledge of his visits to one of Betsy-Jo's pain sluts.

"Yes I do. So now you can see how I very much doubt that there is 'nothing going on here'. Particularly given your regular visits to Leanne that have strangely ceased since I arrived here."

"Enough! Alright Charlotte. Please go away. Go to your bedroom right now. I'll talk to you after dinner."

"So you'll think about the safe word?"

"Yes."

Charlotte stood up slowly and gracefully walked out of the room, as she turned the corner into the hallway she almost thought she heard him mutter under his breath: "That and a lot of other things as well…"

Chapter 30 – An Accommodation with the Predator

Dinner had been a tense affair. The two of them sat adjacent to each other, Charlotte looking up from her diminutive chair and Mr Campbell occasionally glancing across from his seat. Not a word was spoken by either of them, with the exception of Mr Campbell issuing instructions to the help and Charlotte thanking Bosker when he removed her dirty plate and cutlery at the end of the meal.

Twice their gaze met during the meal. The first time Charlotte fixed him in her sight inquiringly. Wondering what conclusion, if any, he had reached in his deliberations after she had left him in the sitting room. He had held her look for a few moments when he returned his attention to dinner. Obviously he would reveal his thoughts when he chose, hopefully after dinner, she thought to herself.

The second time, as the maid removed his plate and Bosker removed hers, he initiated. What was that in his eyes? Curiosity? Trepidation? Was it possible that he was anxious? Charlotte had never seen him ruffled. She'd seen him on the verge of losing his temper, she'd seen him drunkenly vulnerable, but never had she ever received the impression that he was anything other than in complete control over events. Now there was something there behind those dark eyes. A reluctant resolve perhaps?

Bosker removed her plate; all the while she maintained her eye contact with Mr Campbell. Finally he stood and spoke to her: "Might I have the pleasure of your company this evening my dear?"

"Certainly."

----

"I've thought long and hard about what was said this afternoon Charlotte. I must say that I seriously considered sending you home, making available to you an expense account and leaving you to your own devices until you reach eighteen. I still might do that.

"But not yet. I think you were right this afternoon when you said that it was 'time for some honesty'." He spoke his words slowly, as if measuring each one carefully for impact and delivery.

"First of all, I accept your proposal for a safe word… with conditions. You can use whatever word you choose only three times. Any more and I will send you home as I suggested before. So you'll have to think very carefully before using it. It would be pointless to allow you to shout it out whenever you get into trouble, you'd just abuse it. So three times only shall you be allowed to utter it. Agreed?"

Charlotte briefly considered his question before nodding at him from her seat on her sheepskin in his study. "Home. I want my word to be 'Home'".

"Fine. Now I'm going to tell you a story. How much do you know about Jeanine and myself?"

Was he about to reveal the truth? Was he finally going to tell Charlotte what exactly had happened all those years ago?

Briefly she explained to him what she had worked out and heard. That the two of them had been together, that she had suffered problems in bed with him due to her sexual predilections. Further, that she had resolved to talk to him about her problems and that sometime after that, once the two of them returned to college, that she had left him for Charlotte's father.

"Well then, I see you already know most of the story. What you don't know is what happened after we returned to college.

"Mid-term exams were approaching. The two of us were about to have to really knuckle down and study. So we put aside one final night for the two of us before we focussed on passing our exams.

"I took her to the best restaurant in town, a wonderful Italian place, the prices were enough to make me cringe, but your mother was worth every cent. She wore the most perfect outfit, her hair was… sorry, you don't need to know that.

"We had a wonderful dinner and then she invited me back to her place. Her roommate had gone out for the night. So I naturally agreed, thinking she wanted to make love.

"I went inside, she asked if she could change. When she came back she was half naked and she began… well, she was very persuasive. We ended up on her bed. That was when she told me she had a request. Something that she had wanted to ask me long before but had been afraid to…

"She asked me to hurt her." While recounting these memories he stared toward the ceiling, but with these final words he fixed his gaze sharply on Charlotte.

"She asked me to spank her, to bite her, to hurt her. She said she needed it, to feel right.

"I didn't now what to do, how to act. Here was the woman I loved, that I cherished. I'd have died before I saw anyone hurt even a hair on her head. She was my soul, my heart, my everything. And she wanted me to hurt her." He let silence fill the room.

"What did you do?" Charlotte asked quietly.

"I'm sorry, this isn't very easy for me. This is partly why I haven't told you this story before, every time I remember it, its like having a dagger thrust into my heart." A pained grimace indeed sat on his face.

Charlotte prompted him to continue: "I'm sorry Mr Campbell, please continue: what happened, why did she leave you?"

"She didn't leave me. It was a mutual decision, one that I now regret with all my being."

Charlotte baulked, this wasn't what she'd been told: "What do you mean? Jane said your Mom told her that Jeanine had run off with your best friend, I assumed she meant Dad."

"Of course I told her that. What else was I supposed to say? Sorry Mom: Jeanine wanted me to stick needles in her breasts, to whip her vagina, to force her to insert oversized objects into her anus, to degrade her to such a degree that I could never have agreed.

"So I lied. Your mother wanted me to do things to her that I could never have agreed to. So I ran away from her because I couldn't meet her demands. Then she contacted me and made an ultimatum of sorts.

"She sat down with me and professed her undying love for me. She asked me whether I'd ever be able to work through our problems with her desires. I told her I could never hurt her - the idea revolted me at the time. I couldn't see how two people who loved each other could ever hurt each other.

"Then she told me that she'd met someone who understood her, that she cared for him, but that she also cared for me more. She wanted me – no - she wished with all her soul that I could be with her, but that she couldn't be with me if I couldn't live with her desires."

Charlotte sat mesmerised; the pieces of the puzzle finally seemed to be falling into place. Mr Campbell continued: "I asked her for time. I spent a lot of time struggling with myself, trying to convince myself that for her sake and our love that I could learn to hurt her in the bedroom. I failed. In the end we agreed to leave each other.

"But what made it worse, what… what... what crucifies me every day and every night, is that only months afterward I found I shared her fantasies. I was just too young at the time. Too young to understand what she needed. I thought she wanted pain, what she wanted was something else. Something that I came to understand in time, but was too late to understand in order to keep her.

"That's what happened. So now you know."

----

Silence had descended like the blackest night over the study as he finished recounting his tale. Charlotte sat considering the revelations he had uncovered while he sat silently in his Chesterfield, looking upon the young girl sitting delicately before him on her sheepskin.

"So where do we go from here young Charlotte? You've already indicated that you are unsatisfied with our 'current arrangements'. It seems that a single day with Jane has led you to think that you can demand wholesale changes around here.

"Your mother's history - now that you deserved to know. I should have told you earlier except that as I said; every time I think about her my heart gets rent apart all over again. But now I've told you. You do realise that I have never told anyone else that whole story don't you?"

"I appreciate it very much Mr Campbell, I think I understand it all a bit better now. Thankyou."

He looked at her carefully and then spoke again: "But the past is the past. The two of us still have unfinished business: 'where do we go from here?'"

Charlotte looked up at him curiously.

"Since it seems to be the time for confessions and the truth, let me correct a previous statement that I made. You asked me whether I liked inflicting my punishments and humiliations on you. I deliberately avoided answering the question. So, ask me again."

Charlotte thought back to her encounter with him this afternoon, trying to remember her exact words, in the end she was forced to paraphrase: "When you punish me, humiliate me, make me dress up, do you enjoy that?"

With an absolutely deadpan face Mr Campbell firmly responded from his couch: "Yes. Yes I do."

Charlotte was taken aback. She had guessed at the truth but she'd never expected him to admit to it so readily.

"I do enjoy it. I have recordings of every single minute of your time here, and with a few exceptions I've watched almost every minute. I enjoy watching you suffer, but you know what my little Charlotte? You enjoy every single minute almost as much as I do."

Her pulse quickened to a frenzy. What the hell was going on here?

"Since we're being so brutally honest with each other lets get it all out shall we? I enjoy tormenting you, I enjoy dreaming up new ways to humiliate you, to make you squeal, to have control over you. I enjoy it. But you, you my little beautiful girl, you love it just as much. So when you said that 'This can't go on', I don't believe you. Not for a minute. Personally I don't understand your reaction, nor did I understand your mother's reaction to pain. I think it's perverse, disgusting. You are a filthy little slut and I'll bet that right now, at this very moment you're dripping wet. I'll bet that underneath those little white tights of yours your pussy is gushing."

He was right, even being in the same room as him, his smooth voice, his menacing figure and unpredictable ability to throw her completely off balance had led to the butterflies beginning to flutter.

"Tell me I'm wrong and I'll let you go. I'll send you home and you can look after yourself till you turn eighteen. Tell me I'm wrong."

She remained silent, she kept eye contact with him, but she was struggling not to automatically gaze submissively at the floor.

"No, I didn't think I was. So I'll ask my question again: 'Where do we go from here?'"

"I don't know." She uttered almost mutely.

"Well, I have a proposition for you. One that should prove 'mutually agreeable' to the two of us. You said you want changes, that some of our 'arrangements' are not to your liking. Fine, then you can buy them."

"You tell me what you want changed and I'll tell you the price your body will have to pay for those changes to occur. If you don't like the price then the change doesn't happen. You've heard the story about your mother, how she wanted me to treat her, how I was never able to? Well, since you've decided to follow in her footstep's we'll see just how far you can go.

"Do you agree?"

How did he do it? In moments he had turned her upside down, torn away her resolve to confront him, and now she was about to agree to this game.

He stood up now and walked to his sewing table. From beneath it he extracted a shabby brown suitcase. With it in tow he returned to his seat, waiting a response from her.

She gulped as she remembered his earlier words about her mother:

The things she wanted me to do to her are so far removed from anything that I have done to little Charlotte here, that it beggars belief.

Would he go that far now? He'd just admitted to enjoying tormenting her, not that the revelation itself had surprised her. What had surprised her was his readiness to admit it to her.

wanted me to stick needles in her breasts,

to whip her vagina,

to force her to insert oversized objects into her anus,

to degrade her to such a degree that I could never have agreed…

It now occurred to her that maybe her safe word was a double-edged sword. Had he held back previously? Unsure of her limits had he deliberately restricted the intensity of her punishments? Now that she had a means of communicating that limit would he push her harder? The concept horrified her. She thought back through the things he had done, or had had done to her and wondered whether she would have used her safe word had it been available to her then.

Would she have used the word when Madeline had coerced her onto the riding horse? Probably not, the pain had been nearly unbearable, but not to the point of sacrificing one of the precious uses of her safe word.

The clamps and panties had brought tears to her eyes with every movement she had made; yet she doubted that she would have used the word in that situation either. Would she use it at all knowing that each use brought her closer and closer to being sent back home, away from him.

Being trapped in the diaper until she'd peed herself, well that hadn't been painful, deeply embarrassing and humiliating maybe, but certainly not worth the use of her word.

What would she use it on, if anything…

stick needles in her breasts

whip her vagina

force her to insert oversized objects into her anus

The things she wanted me to do to her are so far removed from anything that I have done to little Charlotte here, that it beggars belief.

And now:

Since you've decided to follow in her footstep's we'll see just how far you can go…

The mere thought of being pushed so far drove her into a wild flux. Her cheeks felt flushed and her thighs burned with an uncontrollable hunger.

"Alright."

"Alright what?"

"Alright Mr Campbell, I'll play your game." His eyes lit up in anticipation. What had she unleashed?

"Well. What is it you want? What are you so keen to see change in this house that you are prepared to suffer agony, torment and despair in order to achieve it?"

She thought through her mental list of demands, demands that she had initially planned on presenting to him as a fait accompli. However again, events had spiralled out of her control. Now she found herself prioritising them, wondering what price he would extract from her for their implementation.

"I don't want to be kept locked up all the time." She muttered.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you my darling, speak up. What did you say?"

"I said 'I don't want to be kept locked up all the time.' I want to be able to visit Lisa occasionally. I like her and I think she likes me, I don't have any friends here but I think she's great. I would like to see her from time to time."

"Alright. But there will be conditions. Firstly, you must be dressed appropriately as determined by me. Secondly, you will return home by dinnertime. If you wish I will arrange to make the car available to you. Thirdly, during each of your visits you must spend some of your time together in a public place, the park, a restaurant, somewhere where everyone around will see you in your pretty little clothing. Those are the conditions, are you generally in agreement?"

"What about the leash?"

"What about it?"

"Do I have to wear it? What if I promise not to run away?"

"I will for the moment consider the leash part of what comprises appropriate clothing. That may change in the future if you continue to prove that you are trustworthy by yourself outside of the apartment.

"Now the question is my little Charlotte, will you be prepared to pay the price for me agreeing to allow you out of the house to see Lisa."

"Price? I thought the clothes and the bit in public were the price?"

"Not at all my dear. They were merely the conditions, you still have to pay a price." He leant forward and opened the suitcase in such a way that she was unable to see its contents.

"For a start Charlotte you will remove all of your clothes. You won't need all of them for the time being. Until I tell you otherwise you will remove your dress, panties, tights, shoes and socks. Then I want you to put these on." He passed her a pair of white stay up stockings followed by a new pair of frilly white socks and her trusty black Mary Janes.

"I want you naked except for these items until I deem fit. I want to look at your naked body, your shaven vagina, your cute little bottom and your delectable breasts. This is the price you will pay if you want to see Lisa. Are you prepared to pay it?"

She thought only briefly about it before standing up in front of him. "You want me to change here? In front of you?" What was she doing? Somewhere in the back of her mind she asked herself why she was doing this. Hadn't he only just admitted that he enjoyed making her suffer, that he lusted after her. He was so old, she was too young! But logic played no part in her decision making process now. The butterflies were making her decisions for her, this felt right somehow.

"If you like. I don't mind, you can use the screen if you like." He pointed toward the changing screen in the corner.

"No, it's alright, I'll change now."

Slowly she untied the bow at her back loosening the dress around her waist. Dextrously reaching behind her back she pulled the zip down and stepped out of the dress, leaving it lying on the ground. She stood now in just her tights, socks, panties and shoes. One at a time she knelt down and unbuckled her pink shoes and took her socks off, carefully folding them and placing them on her sheepskin.

Mr Campbell sat in his chair watching her slowly remove her clothing. The room's soft lighting glowed against her delicate skin. He watched her every move carefully, lugubriously.

Now she was rolling her opaque tights down her legs revealing the plain cotton white panties beneath. These panties were absent of frills or ruffles, given that they sat under her tights. Finally she pulled her panties down, revealing her perfectly shaped girlhood, cleanly shaven as of that morning.

Taking the stockings she rolled them up her legs and adjusted them about her thighs. The lacy tops of the stockings clung enticingly to the tops of her thighs. Then she pulled on her frilly white socks, taking an opportunity to look up at Mr Campbell between adjusting each one. He sat staring appraisingly at her naked body.

Finally she buckled on her shoes and stood in front of him. "Like this?"

"Yes, just like that. Now – you've got your visits to Lisa, what's next on your list of 'grievances'?"

Charlotte considered the next item on her mental list. Naked, she stood in front of him wondering what his price for her next desire would be.

"No more Madeline. You I can handle, but not her. It's like you and I are two different sides of the same coin. I see that now. But what you do for…" she sought after the right word, "amusement; she does out of malice. I want her away from me; in fact I want to get her back."

"Is that one request or two? Never mind."

He thought for a few moments. "Madeline has been with my family as long as I can remember Charlotte; I can't very well let her go on your whim. I understand your frustration with her; I watched the footage of you in the nursery just this morning. You might say Madeline was rather over judicious.

"But whether you like it or not, Madeline performs an important role in this household. I won't let her go, and I won't allow you to 'get her back'. What I will do however is ban her from being alone with you. Is that enough?"

"I suppose so. But I really want to give her a taste of her own medicine –"

"No, definitely not. I won't allow it."

"But you'll keep her away from me then?"

"That depends on whether you will pay the price." In an instant he changed from businesslike negotiator to deviant predator. The look on his face had Charlotte dreading to ask what the price would be. Luckily he saved her the trouble of gathering the courage to ask.

"One hour, every evening. You, me – alone. You will do whatever I ask of you, within reason. If I want you to play human mannequin then you'll do so. If I ask you to play with your dolls for me, you'll do it. No questions asked."

"No more Madeline?" She asked hopefully.

"Not quite. Come here." He patted his thighs, suggesting that she should come and sit on his lap. An almost naked Charlotte, clad only in white stockings, frilly socks and her shoes, approached him and gently sat on his knee, her naked bottom gracing his fine Italian silk suit pants.

"The hour each night, and you'll let me put this on you now. You'll wear it until I am satisfied with its effect on your breasts." He pulled out of the suitcase a white painted wood contraption. Two pieces of gently curving wooden dowel had been attached together by three lengths of metal thread. Atop the top of each piece of thread sat a wing nut. Charlotte guessed the nature of the contraption. It was a vice designed to squeeze her breasts tightly between the two lengths of wood.

"I put that thing on and no more Madeline, right?"

"None, you'll only see her at dinner time, and I'll be there to make sure she behaves." He brandished the cruel looking vice in his hands, and ran his arms around her torso, holding the open vice in front of her defenceless breasts. She considered it, weighing up the relative benefits.

"How tight are you going to do that thing up?"

"That's up to me. Do you agree or not?"

This was all going to fast. Everything had made perfect sense when she'd talked to Lisa. She was going to get her demands, get some answers and live happily ever after… Now she realised that she'd had unreal expectations. As soon as she'd walked into the same room as him she could feel his power over her. A power that had at first been applied through coercion and threats but that he now wielded over her simply by his presence.

Power is as seductive to the wielder as it is to the object of that power and Charlotte was now well and truly caught up in its thrall.

She nodded to him as he fed each of her breasts between the two pieces of wood. Satisfied that he had captured enough of her modest globes in order to prevent the vice from falling off, he squeezed the two pieces of wood together and rapidly spun the nuts down the thread until they rested against the wood. Now secure from falling off he began slowly, inexorably tightening each of the screws down.

At first the vice proved uncomfortable, then as the nuts ran further and further down the thread her breasts began to bulge out between the wood. Uncomfortable became unpleasant and then unpleasant became distressing. Still he kept tightening the nuts and Charlotte began to moan with each twist of the screws.

Her breasts were already becoming discoloured, a rosy red flush settled on them as the base of her breasts were squeezed tighter and tighter - trapping blood within their distended flesh. Finally, when it felt like to her as if the two pieces of dowel must almost be touching and her breasts were about to burst, he stopped and had her stand in front of him.

He ran his fingers over the taut bulging flesh of her breasts. It seemed to her that every touch was magnified ten fold. Delicately he touched her nipples and the butterflies in her stomach soared to new heights.

"Now what would you like next my tormented little pet?" He asked soothingly.

Her mind was awash in pain and pleasure; it took her a few moments to remember the next item on her list.

"My bedroom should be my room. It should be my place." She struggled for breath between each sentence, her breasts burned, two balls of crushing intense agony. "I want to be able to put posters up, keep my own stuff there. I don't want Bosker, Madeline or you snooping through it. I want the camera turned off and I want an allowance, nothing huge, just enough to buy some magazines and stuff once a week." She needed a private space, somewhere that she could escape to. A refuge. Of all her demands, this was the most important to her.

"Why? So you can secret away more things to help you escape? Like the cup full of my brandy you have hidden in your desk?"

So, he had known what she was up to. He hadn't reacted before when she'd revealed she'd been planning on escaping, she'd guessed then that he had known. Now she knew for sure.

"No, I promised you that I won't try to escape. You have my word on my father's life of that.

"I want my privacy so that I can be me, in the quiet of my own room. Everyone needs privacy from time to time. That's all I want. A place to call my own."

"Don't forget the 'allowance'. You ask for a lot Charlotte. But first, I'm intrigued. Exactly how were you planning on escaping? What were you planning on doing – spiking Bosker's tea with the brandy and hoping he'd pass out?" He asked jovially, whilst continuing to lightly stroke her breasts, which were turning a darker blue all the time.

"No, I was going to make a fire. Use the brandy as fuel and set off the fire alarms." He pinched her nipple sharply as she said the word 'fire', she bit back a squeal and continued: "Then I was going to make it down the lift or out the fire escape in the confusion. Or cling to a fireman or something. I hadn't quite worked it all out."

"Clever, unlikely to work, but clever nonetheless. I must commend you for your ingenuity. An interesting concept Charlotte, I admit I hadn't thought of you trying that, with a lot of luck it might just have worked.

He continued stroking her breasts, alternately flicking or pinching her highly erect and sensitive nipples. Each minute blow caused a great deal of pain, but she managed to bite her tongue and stifle any reaction.

"So: my camera turned off, no 'snooping', an allowance and you want to be able to do what you like with your room. That's quite a lot, particularly as I still don't trust you entirely. I can't even begin to think of a price.

"Perhaps a week in nursery?" He looked at her face, her eyes were suitably downcast but he judged her reaction to that proposition as insufficient, "No, that's not it, not enough. I can see it in your eyes. This requires something… special."

She looked up at him, he was burning with lust. She also noticed a decided bulge in his pants along with the desire evident in his eyes. She wondered what something this special would entail.

He left her breasts alone for a few moments and leant back toward the open suitcase. "Put these on, actually no." He had pulled out a familiar item, the white thigh straps and their brutal little clamps. "No, I will put these on you myself. Come here and spread your legs my little pet."

"But you haven't told me the price yet? How am I supposed to agree or not."

"How much do you want this demand?" He asked cruelly.

She gulped as she imagined his hands on her nether regions. No one had ever touched her there on the bare skin. Bosker had frisked her during panty checks and Madeline had rubbed her through her panties but this was different. A boundary was being crossed - his fingers on her naked skin.

But the promise of her privacy was too much. She stepped closer to him, parting her legs slightly.

He wrapped the first strap around her thigh, slightly lower than where she herself would have placed it. The springs, when taut, would now stretch even further than they had during her last encounter with these infernal devices, creating even more tension. He pulled the strap tight and buckled it, ensuring that the white leather band would not slide up her thigh to provide her with even a sliver of relief.

Carefully he wrapped the other band about her and buckled it. Both cut into her thighs firmly, unable to budge up or down an inch. The short but powerful springs were currently coiled tightly and dangled down the inside of her legs. Even through her sheer white stockings, the cold metal of the clamps and springs raised goose bumps as they brushed against her inner thighs.

Now she inhaled sharply as he peered carefully at her closed and unsullied flower. His fingers touched her for the very first time. Clumsily he gripped her outer labia between thumb and forefinger, pinching her harshly. She squeaked out a complaint at the treatment: "Be careful Mr Campbell, please don't pinch so hard…"

"Be quiet, or I'll really try and pinch you."

He stretched her lip away from her core and with his other hand opened the teeth of the clamp. She couldn't see his progress from above and as a result she jumped slightly as the clamp's teeth were released onto her flesh.

The pain - she remembered the pain of the clamps. The sharp teeth biting into her flesh and the strain imposed by the springs on her stretched lips.

Now the second clamp shut down on her delicate skin. Acting in tandem the two clamps not only pulled her lip away from her sex, but stretched it brutally taut between them. She hissed slightly as he completed one side and moved to the other.

Again his hard, pinching fingers grabbed a hold of her, depriving her feminine core of its only fleshy defences. The two clamps in quick succession were plied onto her and his hands momentarily left her as he sat back to look at the stretched, straining skin caught between the forceful clamps and springs.

"Pretty as a picture." The fire still burned brightly in his eyes. Charlotte looked upon him as he sat back appreciating the view that confronted him. Temporarily she had forgotten about her breasts, painfully crushed as they were in the wooden vice. Now her mind was entirely focussed on her stretched labia.

His hand reached toward the suitcase again, she cringed. Wasn't this enough – hadn't he extracted enough from her already?

Apparently he thought not.

Now her old friends, the punishment panties appeared in his hand, white frills standing out from the waistband and a red ribbon adorning their centre. Well, what else had she been expecting?

"Come here; put your foot through here. That's the girl."

He feed each of her feet through the leg holes of the panties, trying to avoid catching her stockings on the sharp bristles within. By stages he worked them up her legs, over her knees and up her thighs. With a hand's breadth of distance remaining to travel before the bristles began their evil work - he stopped.

"My poor little Charlotte – so stretched, so tormented. I wonder…"

He moved his hand into the remaining gap between the panties hoisted up around her thighs and her crotch. She instinctively twitched as his index and middle finger touched her inner core. She shivered as he delicately pushed his fingers across the surface of her exposed slit. They ran easily over the lubricated surface, the attention of the clamps – not to mention the pain in her breasts, and he himself – had resulted in the inevitable dampness emanating from within her.

"Why Charlotte – you're wet. Perhaps you weren't fibbing when you said you enjoy this." He lifted her chin with his free hand while she tried to stare at her feet, feeling ashamed and aroused. He looked at her in the eyes, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "More?"

He pushed the fingers back and forth, enticing her, teasing her. Despite the pain, or because of it, she wanted nothing in the world more than for him to fill the empty void between her thighs. For him to slip that finger into her. She stifled a moan and closed her eyes. She wished for him to go further, to stop playing around the outside of her, to fill her with his strong fingers.

Again he asked: "Would my baby Charlotte like some more?"

Absent-mindedly her hand rose to her breast, she took one engorged nipple from her crushed blue breast between her fingers and began rolling it back and forth in between her fingers, the pain in her nipples driving her closer and closer to the brink. Thoughts of him filling her void with his fingers overwhelming her, she only half-heard his question. Wanting him to finish the job he'd started she nodded and replied. "Yes. Please Mr Campbell, please, more!" She begged.

Immediately he withdrew his hand from her and pulled her panties the rest of the way up her thighs. The speed with which he pulled them up drove the stiff sharp bristles straight into the uncovered, unprotected flesh of her crotch.

She screamed. A howl that would have rent the heavens surged out from Charlotte's depths. It was a potent mixture of agony tinged with a sizeable portion of frustration.

Mr Campbell sat back while Charlotte fell to her knees while her hands shot down to cup her aching crotch. Her descent and the resultant friction between her crotch and the bristles produced another, but less intense cry.

"They stay on. Until I am satisfied."

With a look of sheer dejection she looked pleadingly toward him. He shook his head, indicating that no escape from this torment was forthcoming.

Slowly, she removed her hands from her crotch. Struggling to stay afloat in her sea of pain, struggling to remember what the next demand she wanted was.

"I would like… a say in how… I am dressed." She panted out the words as waves of excruciation washed over her, threatening to engulf her.

"My-my, full of demands this evening aren't you. One problem my little darling."

"What?"

"I haven't finished extracting the price for your room yet."

"Sorry? But I put the… panties on for you."

"There is still one thing left for you to do."

She looked curiously at him. Tears now ran slowly down her cheeks as the clamps dug into her, her breasts pounding with every beat of her heart and the bristles stabbing themselves into her. She sought for the will to ask what was left for her, but her state was too precarious. All she could think about was the pain.

His already malicious grin grew even wider. "Masturbate yourself."

"What?" She cried in exasperation.

"Masturbate yourself. Rub yourself through the panties. Grind the bristles into yourself, rub them into your delicate little clitoris, push them into your hole."

"No! I can't, oh I can't Mr Campbell, please that's too much!" She cried at him. It was too much, already she could barely stand the conflicting pains and agonies being inflicted on her. He asked too much of her.

"Do it. Now, I've seen the tapes of you in the shower, I know you masturbate. Do it for me now."

"I can't, please. Don't make me do this, I can't do it."

He waited, seeing if she would cave in. Moments passed.

"Then you'll stay like that until you do. I'll bind you hands behind you and you can stay in those panties, clamps and the vice until you agree to masturbate for me. If it takes all night, you will do it."

"But, I'm already sore enough. Please Mr Campbell, don't make me do this…"

He remained staring at her. No pity in his eyes now. At least when he'd first introduced her to the panties and clamps he'd exhibited signs of pity. He'd comforted her, told her to be brave. Now that she'd revealed her nature, her love of pain, and acquiesced to this game, there was no sympathy from him.

He didn't reply to her. It was clear he would wait as long as it took.

Slowly, she brought her right hand down to her crotch. She brushed the lacy ruffle around her waist and cupped her hand over her mound. She looked at him and shook her head slowly, her mouth scrunched in an embryonic wail. She visually pleaded for him to grant her a reprieve. He shook his head soberly in return, rebuffing her silent plea.

Gently she pushed her fingers onto her mound, sending shooting pains straight into her. The bristles, even lightly touched extracted cries of misery from Charlotte. She imagined the vicious bristles lacerating her tender unprotected membranes, it certainly felt to her as though she were being viciously slashed apart underneath the panties.

The fat, pregnant tears that had been slowly migrating their way down her cheeks now evolved into a constant rivulet as she moved her fingers slowly back and forth delicately over her crotch.

"Harder, you're barely even trying."

"No, I can't." But contrary to her refusal she did apply slightly more pressure, eliciting even stronger cries. Semi naked she knelt on her knees before Mr Campbell. Her breasts bulging out from the painfully tight breast vice, one hand between her legs, gently plying at her sex through the panties.

He leant forward and placed one hand behind her back, preventing her from pulling away from him. "Keep playing with yourself Charlotte." He remonstrated with her as his free hand descended on one of the wing nuts on the breast vice. Slowly, while Charlotte continued moving her fingers back and forth, he tightened the breast vice even further, squeezing her already disfigured and bulging breasts even further.

"No please!" She screamed.

"Your clitoris Charlotte, grind the bristles into your clitoris."

Now, without an ounce of free will left, caught up in a tornado of pain she moved her fingers upwards along her vulnerable pussy and pressed down on her clitoris. Red explosions of pain, animalistic screams - the wicked bristles stabbed into her already aroused clitoris.

Mr Campbell, content after having tightened the vice a few extra, agonising, but crucial turns, now sat back down.

She was now beyond control or caring, the butterflies, already beating their wings more rapidly than she could ever have remembered in her short life reached a new crescendo. Through the pain she rubbed herself harder, grinding the bristles deeper into her flesh, pushing, rubbing, grinding.

Suddenly, from within the depths of pain she exploded into a zenith of pleasure, a release, a flood, a mind-blowing detonation comparing against nothing she had felt before. Time slowed down and it seemed like minutes passed her by as she felt an incomparable rush of exhilaration and release…

And then everything went black.

Chapter 31 – St Agatha's School for Wayward Girls

She awoke lying on her side, her hand trapped between her thighs, in front of Mr Campbell who was kneeling next to her. She still wore the clamps, panties and vice. Mr Campbell was gently touching her shoulder calling her name quietly.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You fainted, just now. You screamed and then just slowly toppled over sideways."

"How long?"

"Just now, couldn't have been more than a second or two. Are you alright?" He asked with a touch of concern in his voice.

"I'm more than alright. I was floating… somewhere nice. That was… amazing."

"As long as you are alright." He rose back to his feet and offered Charlotte his hand. She accepted it, and winced as she rose to her feet and the bristles recommenced their assault on her splayed sex.

She couldn't believe it. She'd just brought herself to orgasm by masturbating in the punishment panties. She'd had orgasms before; she wasn't so sheltered not to know about them. Any teen over twelve these days had access to magazines targeted specifically at their age group that talked about those things. Nevertheless she'd never had one so powerful and all consuming as the one she'd just had. If she had any remaining doubts about the roots of her sexuality they were well and truly swept away now.

Even now she still felt the ebbing throb in her thighs. If formed a lasting radiance, supplanting the constant pain and irritation caused by her panties and the vice.

Mr Campbell was again sitting back his leather couch. Gone was the pitiless manner that had heavily contributed to her plunging over the edge. Still lust burnt in him though, clear for Charlotte to see, but the uncontrollable fire that had raged earlier was now tempered with concern at Charlotte's fainting.

Whilst she still sat contently floating in her slowly receding enchantment Mr Campbell broke the silence that lay over the room like a heavy blanket: "You had further demands Charlotte? You mentioned something about how you're dressed earlier."

Pulling her mind back to the task of her demands proved difficult. It was so easy just to stay floating in the afterglow of bliss. Slowly her thoughts began to reassemble themselves after being shattered into tiny fragments during her ordeal.

"I want a say in how I'm dressed. Look, I know you want me to look a certain way sometimes; and when you want me to I'll dress like that. But when I'm home alone, or if you ever take me out, don't you think that I should have some clothing that's just a little bit more normal?"

His immediate reaction to her demand was one of scorn: "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves. When you first arrived I told you that I intended you to become a lady and that necessitated starting from scratch, hence your clothes. Now you think that after a week you've somehow grown out of needing the clothes as a constant reminder?"

"I didn't say all the time Mr Campbell. I just thought that if you wanted to take me out to dinner or something that it might prove to be a little confronting for you. Traipsing through brothel's and sex-shops dressed like that is one thing, it's another thing to have your fellow diners rushing to call the cops."

"But you weren't talking about just going out Charlotte. You also mentioned when you're home alone. No. Definitely not. Under this roof you will wear what I say you'll wear, whether you want to or not."

He stopped for a second, seemingly phrasing his next words carefully.

"I can however see some merit in what you say. So here's my counter proposal. You wear my dresses whenever you are at home."

Charlotte's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"But you will be allowed to purchase some more appropriate clothing for any public outings we may have… That doesn't include however your trips to see Lisa. They will still be subject to you wearing 'appropriate' clothing. I'll arrange a time where you can go and purchase what it is you are after, but there are some restrictions."

"Like?" she asked hopefully.

"I have a few colleagues who specialise in women's clothing, I will compile their catalogues together and eliminate those items of clothing and styles I perceive as being inappropriate. You can then choose out a modest wardrobe from the rest. Is that satisfactory?"

"What's 'inappropriate' mean?"

"No pants, no jeans, no sneakers. If I decided to take you out in public you will be dressed like a lady, not some teenage sloth. Deal?"

"I guess so. But you haven't mentioned the price, isn't there one?"

"Oh, there's a price alright. But for now it's your bedtime. Come along. I'll tuck you in."

He stood up, but not before grabbing some things from his suitcase and pocketing them. Charlotte waddled after him toward her bedroom, trying desperately to limit the excesses of the bristles and clamps as much as possible. His pace however made it difficult to keep up with him without encountering further grinding pain.

Finally they arrived back in her room. Once in her room – HER room now, she noted happily – she sat down on the bed. Her blue sheep-patterned sleeper pyjamas had been set out for her.

Mr Campbell crouched in front of her and began unscrewing the wing nuts on the breast vice. Each turn providing relief to her squeezed and punished breasts. Blood slowly began circulating properly again, causing much discomfort for her. Finally the two pieces of dowel stood far enough apart to pull her breasts out. This Mr Campbell did delicately. Once freed, he kissed each of her nipples delicately. He then inspected the four angry red and black wheals at the top and bottom of her beautiful globes where the vice had viciously cut into the flesh.

Charlotte looked at the marks realising that four long-thin livid bruises were likely to result in the morning. That concerned her; she didn't like to think of her modest yet perfect breasts been marked. Still, that was the price she paid for the explosive heavenly orgasm she had experienced. On reflection she thought, it was a small price to pay.

Mr Campbell now began unbuckling her shoes and followed up by gently removing her socks and stockings. Each touch he made on her was soft and delicate. As if each gentle touch was an apology for the brutal treatment he had meted out to her before. She sat back contented; enjoying having someone else undress her. She felt like royalty, or a princess.

She stood up now to allow him to remove her panties when he grasped her hands. "No, not yet. Here. Hands out."

He produced from his pocket what looked like a small white bag. Confused and curious she looked on as he manipulated her hand into a fist and slipped the bag over her hand. He then threaded a small strap through a series of loops around the tiny bags rim and padlocked it shut around her wrist. Her hand was now trapped within the bag. It fit so snugly that her fingers and thumb were unable to move at all.

"What are you doing?"

"This is the rest of the price for having your own clothes." He spoke slowly as he grasped her other hand and pushed it into another identical little bag.

While securing this one around her bunched fist he explained.

"With your hands trapped inside these mittens you will be unable to use your fingers or thumbs. Ordinarily that wouldn't cause you too much of a problem, particularly if you were about to go to sleep."

He secured the other bag around her wrist and finished delivering his speech: "I say ordinarily because tonight isn't going to be ordinary. You see my little pumpkin, without the use of your fingers and thumbs, you are going to be entirely unable to take off your pretty pyjamas here."

Charlotte was stumped: why would she want to take off her pyjamas anyway? Her heart started to race, he was doing it again. Pushing her off balance, confusing her, surprising her at the most unexpected moments. What did he mean?

So she asked: "Why would I want to take my pyjamas off?"

He brandished her blue sleeper before her: "Because you're going to put them on now."

"But you haven't yet taken off…" Now the realisation hit her. He'd deliberately avoided taking off her panties and clamps before when she'd stood up. He was going to put her to bed with them still on, underneath her sleeper. With her fingers and thumbs unusable she would never be able to manipulate the buttons that sealed her in the sleeper, let alone undo the clamps and pull her panties down.

"Oh please Mr Campbell. Please, I've been good. I've been so good. I did everything you asked. You can't do this, please."

With her hands clenched into useless balls encased in the mittens she implored him not to imprison her like this. She put her bunched fists together in a semblance of praying, begging to him. In response he grasped her by the shoulders and stared straight into her eyes, whilst displaying the blue sleeper before her.

"Charlotte, I know you've been good. But sometimes, just sometimes, I like being bad." He let those words seep in. "Now sit on the bed so I can put your pyjamas on."

"No, please. I don't need the new clothes; I'll go out in public dressed however you want. Please, I don't want to pay the price now." She beseeched him.

"Oh, but Charlotte my dear, it's not as simple as that. Remember your earlier promise, what you promised me in return for being rid of Madeline." He paused, letting her cast her mind back. "You promised me one hour of your time every night… every night. Including tonight. That hour starts now and as per your promise, you will do whatever I want you to do. Right now, what I want you to do is to sit on the end of your bed and help me put your pyjamas on."

"But I've spent all evening with you! Surely that counts as the hour for today?" She was frantic to avoid being trapped in the sleeper while wearing her panties. She'd already suffered enough for one day; she couldn't bear the thought of another minute wearing the scraping spiky panties.

"That time, as you will remember, was for you to present your demands. You've done that and as you suggested, we've arrived at a set of new 'mutually agreeable' rules. You have your safe word, your trips to see Lisa, no more Madeline, the privacy of your own room. Even an allowance for heavens sake!

"I get my hour. My one-hour every evening where you are mine entirely. That hour will start as soon as you put your pyjamas on for me, and not a moment before." He still held her by the shoulders, displaying the pyjamas in front of her.

She thought rapidly, trying to find a way to reason with him, to convince him to do something else. Anything else except trap her inside the pyjamas where the bristles sitting next to her already punished flesh would continue their villainous task.

"Please Mr Campbell, when you made me wear them last time the clamps stretched me and left little indents pressed into me. What if they do something more permanent? I don't want my cunny ruined…" Deliberately she used that word, that demeaning childish word for her privates, in the hope that her apparent infantile subservience to him would thaw his icy resolve. Yet he casually brushed her pleading aside.

"Rubbish Charlotte, you'd be surprised how pliant young flesh is. Don't worry about that. Now stop making excuses and help me get you into your pyjamas."

Pleading had failed. Reasoning had failed. Now she had only one recourse left. One thing she could do to escape the punitive fate awaiting her.

She could say her safe word.

Only three uses of the word did she have, and to waste the first one only hours after being granted it seemed extreme. She had no idea what else might happen to her. Other worse things might occur and she might wish at that time that she had an extra word up her sleeve to rescue her.

She also knew that earlier tonight she'd experienced something magical and mind blowing at his hands. She didn't want that to simply stop and never happen again because she was sent home after using her safe word too many times. No, she would save it for another time.

She sat on the bed and lifted up her foot for Mr Campbell.

He knelt down and fed her foot into the enclosed toe of the blue sleeper. He repeated the process with her other foot and then pulled the flannel pyjamas up her legs and over her waist and hips, concealing the frilled punishment panties, the white straps and clamps from view. He had her feed her hands into the arms of the pyjamas and then buttoned her up at the back, sealing her into the garment as effectively as if it were made of steel and locked with a key.

She stood at the end of the bed and watched him as he fluffed up her pillows. She was even more surprised when unlocked one of the drawers in her duchess and pulled out extra pillows for her bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, my hour's not up yet, not by any stretch of the imagination. So I thought we'd watch a movie together. Would you like that?"

"I suppose so. What movie?" She asked cautiously.

"Well, I noticed that the bag you brought home has a few DVD's in it. I thought we'd watch one of those." Smiling wryly he indicated the bag Charlotte had brought back from the sex shop containing her magazines and DVD's.

She hadn't revealed the contents of the bag to him, but she was under no illusions that he knew exactly what was in it.

Only minutes ago she had thought this evening's festivities were over. Now she realised that they had quite some time to go before she could finally get to sleep, if she ever did while wearing these panties. The concept of suffering at least another hour of his twisted torments and surprises left her nervous, and yet secretly anticipating what might occur.

Unable to help him organise the room (having no effective use of her hands due to the mittens), she sat on her bed and leaned back into the pillows. Mr Campbell flitted about the room, moving her new television into a position where it could be viewed from the bed, collecting the sex shop bag and turning the lights down.

Finally, while Charlotte sat back, struggling not to move for fear of triggering more scraping in her crotch, she examined her mittens. The straps that secured them to her wrists were sufficiently tight to prevent her from pulling them over her wrists. There was no escaping them, particularly as she lacked any fingers to attack them with. She was trapped.

Mr Campbell now turned on the DVD and the television with their remotes. He opened a DVD case, Charlotte couldn't tell which one, and placed a disc in the machine. Closing the tray he came and sat down on the bed next to Charlotte. He took off his shoes and swung his legs up onto the mattress. With remote in hand he pressed play on the remote in his hand and lay back next to Charlotte.

The usual FBI warning came and went while Charlotte considered the situation.

She'd never had a "date" before. As such she'd never encountered awkward yawns in the cinema followed up with her partner attempting to put an arm around her. There'd been no truth and dare games in the middle of the night with boys. She was entirely unaware of what to do with Mr Campbell sitting right next to her. As her bed was a single, the two of them were only just able to lay side by side on the bed. She felt awkward, unsure of what to do.

So she just sat still, keeping herself sitting upright and with as modest a distance between them as was possible on the narrow bed.

He'd chosen "St Agatha's School for Wayward Girls." A cheesy music track backed the credits as various actors and actresses faces were presented in still motion shots with their names displayed. They all had names like Lisa Luscious or Belle Rogers.

"Come here Charlotte, I don't bite." Mr Campbell gently told her. He indicated she should cuddle up to him. She awkwardly followed his instructions, ducking under his arm and placing her head on his shoulder. He followed up by wrapping his arm around her whilst his other hand came to rest on her thigh.

The scene opened with a pair of girls dressed in very skimpy school uniforms standing with their hands behind their backs. Both had their chins tucked into their chests, looking guilty. They were in a stern looking mahogany walled room. The camera panned around the room, revealing that the room was a type of office, bookshelves containing leather bound tomes dominated one wall, oil paintings the other. The screen zoomed in to focus on a cane hanging from the wall.

"Well, I guess this isn't Disney Charlotte. What have you bought home with you?" His hand was now making small circles on her thigh. Rubbing over the leather strap that sat underneath her pyjamas. Each gentle movement over the strap caused a slight thrumming in the springs stretching her apart; she bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to avoid their far-from-subtle effects.

A man now entered the office and the two schoolgirls looked up. He was dressed in a terrible parody of a headmaster's costume, a long black academic cape flowing out behind him, a ridiculous square hat on his head. And now the dialogue began.

Apparently the two girls had been misbehaving in class, they were to be punished, and given the vast number of their previous transgressions the Headmaster was going to cane them both. In a shocking display of the most dreadful acting Charlotte had ever seen, the two schoolgirls pretended to be horrified. The headmaster then made much drama out of retrieving the cane from the wall and ordered one of the girls to spread her legs, bend over and touch her toes.

The hand of Mr Campbell continued its circular stroking of Charlotte's thigh.

The first girl bent over and gripped her calf muscles; Charlotte was impressed by the actress's flexibility, as she bent herself almost directly in half. The Headmaster moved behind her and flicked her tragically short mini skirt up over her rump revealing a scant white g-string beneath.

Standing back he took a few practice swings with the thin piece of cane. It made ominous swishing sounds as it hissed through the air. Finally the headmaster brought the swishy thin cane smacking into the first girls bottom. A scream emanated from the girl and Charlotte noticed that a thin red welt rose almost immediately on the girl's pert bottom.

The circular motion of Mr Campbell's hands picked up pace. "Not Disney at all is it?"

"No…" She replied, embarrassed that he was watching her movie with him. She had brought these to watch by herself, not with him as an audience.

Mr Campbell's free hand, the one not occupied with her thigh, moved onto her breast and she flinched slightly. He began massaging it slowly and delicately while the headmaster on the television continued thrashing the over-aged schoolgirl. The butterflies, never far away when in Mr Campbell's presence, began fluttering their wings again.

The girl on the television was now springing up each time the cane fell, unable to remain disciplined enough to stay bent over whilst clinging to her legs. The Headmaster chided her, demanding she stay bent over. She argued with him, begged for him to stop.

"Part your thighs Charlotte." Mr Campbell whispered in her ear.

His breath in her ear and on the nape of her neck sent shivers down her spine. Slowly she opened her thighs, wincing slightly as the clamps and bristles rearranged themselves once more.

The first girl being caned was now hollering constantly. The camera conducted a range of close-ups on her twisted face as the cane fell relentlessly on her bottom. Tears seeped from her eyes. Her hair clung to her wet cheeks.

Mr Campbell's hand moved up her leg, away from the leather strap encasing her thigh and toward her brutalised core. His other hand continued massaging her poor bruised and battered breast, which still ached from the tight vice.

The first girl was told to get up and stand in the corner with her hands on her head whilst the headmaster now began lecturing the second girl.

"Does this movie excite you my little pet?" He whispered again in her ear. More shivers.

"Yes… kind of."

His hand now reached her crotch and lightly he stroked his fingers across the crotch of her pyjamas, delicately pressing the hard bristles into her vulnerable open flesh. She winced, tears of her own sprung up in the corner of her eyes. Yet she kept her thighs spread: eager for him to touch her there, despite the punishment panties and pyjama's standing between his hand and her skin.

The second girl's underpants were slightly fuller, covering her entire bottom. Nevertheless the headmaster on the DVD had this girl bend over as he had with the first and began delivering stinging blows to her bottom. This schoolgirl was slightly less verbose than her predecessor, whimpering rather than screaming.

Mr Campbell's hand continued gently petting Charlottes suffering vagina. He pressed down just hard enough to keep her attention firmly on the effects of the bristles, but not hard enough to evoke the same sort response that Charlotte had given herself earlier.

The DVD was having an effect on her as well, she wished she were one of those girls being caned, unable to escape the wrath of the headmaster. Despite the poor acting and the ordinary looking set, Charlotte's imagination filled in the blanks. The squeals coming out of the girls thrilled her; she imagined what noises she'd make in the same situation. Would she be able to stay bent over? What would a cane feel like pounding relentlessly onto her buttocks?

The camera panned across the room to focus in on the first girl's bottom. Her skirt, tucked into her waistband, revealed her scarred buttocks. Ugly raised red welts stood up from her white flesh.

Charlotte had been spanked, she'd been strapped, but she'd never been caned. Her father had mentioned that he'd had the cane at his school, but behaviour management and anger counselling had long made the cane redundant at her school. The worst she'd ever received at school was a lunchtime detention. Now, as she sat watching these porn actresses pretending to be schoolgirls receiving a solid caning she wished that corporal discipline had been a feature at her school.

The scene closed with the second girl being instructed to join the first in the corner. She pulled down her panties to reveal a bottom even more red and angry than the first girl's. The camera zoomed in closer and closer until the screen was a sea of red marks and then slowly unfocussed before fading into black.

Mr Campbell shifted slightly, adjusting his pants, before resettling back to gently massaging Charlotte's breast and rubbing his fingers lightly up and down Charlotte's crotch. She looked down at his lap and saw a noticeable bulge evident. Slightly embarrassed she looked away, back toward the DVD where a new scene was unfolding.

Night had descended at St Agatha's and four girls, including the two from the earlier scene, were sneaking out of their dorms into the school's garden. Whispering loudly, they snuck to a 6-foot high ivy covered wall before helping each other clamber over it. The camera made sure it caught a glimpse of each girl's bottom and panties as they swung themselves over the fence and out of the school grounds. Two cars of boys, (well they were supposed to be boys, the lettered high school jackets gave that away, unfortunately two of them looked at least thirty with their bushy moustaches) waited for the truant boarding school girls. A conversation ensued indicating that they were going off to "the lake" to "make out".

The plot now well and truly dealt with, the scene switched to the interior of one of the cars. One of the girls, this one a peroxide blonde, had already taken her top off and unzipped her partner's jeans. She held his incredibly long rod in one hand and alternately licked it from end to end and stared cheesily into the camera, smacking her lips as if she were supping on some exotic delicacy.

Charlotte looked down at Mr Campbell's crotch, wondering if his was as big as the one currently on the DVD, it didn't look like it from the size of the bulge in his pants. He noticed her downward glance and pressed slightly harder down on her panties, eliciting a tiny squeal from her lips.

"And what exactly are you looking at my darling?" He asked lasciviously.

"Nothing Mr Campbell. I'm just watching the movie." She returned her attention back to the screen, trying in vain to ignore the ministrations of his fingers.

The peroxide blonde's head was now bobbing up and down on the end of her partner's prong. Her partner groaned intermittently. Charlotte annoyingly noticed that occasionally when he groaned his lips didn't move. At other times when his mouth was wide open, not a sound could be heard except for the constant slurping noise made as the girl bobbed up and down.

'Well, it's not Francis Ford Coppola or Steven Spielberg': she thought to herself. Nonetheless, the opening scene had certainly provoked her interest and she was prepared to make allowances.

The groans coming from the man ('boy' she corrected herself) on the DVD began intensifying and the blonde now removed her mouth from him, held the base of his long shaft with one hand and began pumping it quickly with the other. She flicked her tongue out from time to time to lick the end and stared up toward his contorted face, looking for some sort of signal.

Suddenly the groan erupted, and so did he. The blonde did her best to catch his essence in her mouth, but mostly failed with half of it ending up on her nose, cheeks and lips. Not that this concerned her however - she sluttily licked her lips, savouring every stringy thread of the liquid and rolling it over her tongue.

The camera now cut to outside. One of the girls who had been in the headmaster's office, the one who had worn the g-string, was lying by a lakeside. Charlotte supposed the lighting was supposed to resemble moonlight, but whoever was in charge of it was clearly between jobs and for good reason. G-string girl was lying beneath one of the men who actually almost pulled off looking like a high school boy. Some heavy petting was occurring, with her skirt pulled up to her waist and his hand cupping one of her oversized breasts.

Charlotte reflected that her breasts were much smaller than G-string girls. Then again, from what she'd gathered so far, everything in porn was much bigger than it was in real life. She looked down at Mr Campbell's crotch for further confirmation of her theory.

Noting her third glance he surreptitiously lifted his hand from her breast and brought it to his pants. Frightened Charlotte hastily looked away back toward the DVD. He was going to take it out! What was she supposed to do? Conflicting thoughts and emotions began stampeding through her mind as she tried desperately to ignore the sound of his zipper's teeth peeling apart by focusing on the television.

Charlotte didn't register the conversation that was occurring between g-string girl and her partner; she was too worried about what Mr Campbell was doing. G-string girl was now on her hands and knees and her boy knelt behind her. He'd discarded his jeans, but strangely not his socks. His thing was hard and pointing toward g-string girl's opening. As he entered her, Mr Campbell pressed down sharply on Charlotte's crotch.

A half scream, half squeal burst from Charlotte: "Please Mr Campbell, please, that hurts…"

"I know it hurts my pet, I like it when you hurt." She looked him in the eyes and saw the lustful truth of his words. Down below, she noticed his manhood straining behind a pair of satin boxer shorts, trying to poke through the open fly of his silk pants.

Butterflies began to take over again. G-string girl was being nailed from behind – hard. Her partner was spanking her bottom every second stroke and her breasts swayed forward and back in motion with their movements. Mr Campbell's hand was eliciting protests of pain from her core, but she still felt herself becoming more and more excited.

And there he was, waiting to be released. Waiting for her.

She thought back to Betsy-Jo's, to her session watching Lisa with her John. She thought of the previous scene, where peroxide girl had done her thing. She wondered if she could do what Lisa and peroxide girl did. What would it taste like? Would it be hard or soft in her mouth?

She didn't know, but the butterflies roared inside her when she decided to find out. She pulled herself up off Mr Campbell's chest and sidled down the bed. Taking her mittened hands she tried to undo the single button keeping him trapped in his pants. Her white bagged hands however couldn't get any grip whatsoever on the slippery satin of his shorts.

In the back of her mind she realised that if it was so hard to undo one large simple button right in front of her face, she could never manage the five of so small intricate buttons running down her back. He was right – she'd never escape her pyjamas and the panties until he decided she should.

He tapped her on one flannelette covered thigh and then grasped her leg. Pulling her around so that while her hands and face sat in his lap, her bottom was adequately available to his prying hands. He recommenced his fondling of her damp and agonised love hole through the pyjamas and panties.

Now she grasped the satin between both fists and used her teeth. She could feel his hardness rubbing against her cheek as she struggled to manipulate the button open with a combination of her clumsy mittens, her lips and her teeth.

Pop.

Shit! She'd broken the button. It fell away into the depths of his pants, but immediately he sprang out of the confines of the boxer shorts.

It stood tall, clean and veiny. She'd seen photos before; she'd even seen her father once or twice accidentally. The slow kid with 'special needs' at school had had a tendency to take his out whenever he felt like it. But she'd never seen one this close, real and erect.

It smelt musky and in a strange way, alluring. She tried to remember what Lisa had done. She'd held it around 'there' – well Charlotte couldn't really manage that right now, so instead she put her two mittened fists on either side of it, grasping it clumsily between her hands. She moved them slowly up and down. Mr Campbell groaned. At least he groaned when his mouth was open, no dubbing problems here Charlotte joked to herself.

His fingers dug sharply into her, driving one set of the bristles straight into her unprotected hole - she screamed. Fresh tears sprung up in her eyes and rolled down her face.

"That's it Charlotte, yes – tell me how much that hurts..."

She kept moving her fists up and down, struggling to keep her mind on the task at hand while coping with the extraordinary pain in her crotch. He relented somewhat, relieving the pressure slightly and moved his focus back toward her vulnerable clitoris. Thankfully, that hurt slightly less than grinding the bristles into her spreadeagled hole.

Now she considered the object before her. She tried to remember what Lisa had done, how she'd run her tongue stud up and down and then sort of enveloped it in her mouth. Charlotte lent a bit further forward and tried an experimental peck. She pursed her lips together and placed them delicately on the end.

Yech! It was wet! She pulled back to find a string of sticky clear fluid coming from the end of it. It was on her lips, she was about to wipe her mouth with her sleeve when she thought better of it. Lisa hadn't wiped her mouth - neither should she - it might not be… polite. So she tested the taste of the stuff that had clung to her lips, it tasted a little salty but wasn't terribly unpleasant.

'Okay, let's try that again.' She thought to herself.

Still rubbing her fists up and down the sides of the stiff member she returned her lips to its end. Now expecting the tiny bit of fluid, she kissed the tip gently. Mr Campbell moaned slightly, his hands relieved a little more pressure on her tormented bud.

Hesitantly she opened her lips a little more and tried licking the end with her tongue. Her tongue wiped away the last of his fluid and replaced it with some of her own saliva. He tasted funny, but far from repulsive.

Mr Campbell's moaned a bit louder this time – clearly she was doing something right - so she opened her mouth a little wider and took the whole end into her mouth while running her tongue under the big vein at the bottom of it. It felt big inside her mouth, big and warm. Her tongue darted around it in a circular motion, eliciting further moans from him as he lay back carelessly caressing her punished vagina.

The two of them now completely ignored the DVD. Mr Campbell sat back on the bed, his eyes closed and his suit pant's fly open while he gripped the sheets with one hand and used the other to continuously rub Charlotte's crotch.

She lay on the bed in her blue flannelette sleeper with her hair still in pigtails. Her head pointed toward the television while her mouth was enveloped around his penis. Her hands, trapped inside the little white mittens, made fists on either side of him, awkwardly pumping up and down. Further down the bed, her torso was twisted about through ninety degrees and her thighs were slightly parted while Mr Campbell's hand rubbed over her pyjama-clad mound.

Charlotte was focussed entirely on the part of him inside her mouth, but tugging at the back of her mind was the constant pain being caused by the infernal panties and the constant tugging stress caused by the clamps and springs pulling her labia apart. Her entire vagina ached, from her pulsing throbbing labia entrapped by the clamps, to the sharp pains being constantly ground into her exposed dripping hole and the stabbing abrasive bristles on her clitoris.

"More..." Mr Campbell moaned from above her. Charlotte moved her mittened hands away from his shaft and tried to push more of him into her mouth. Keeping her teeth away from him proved more difficult than she thought, particularly as it went further into her mouth.

Suddenly she went too far, it was like sticking her finger down her throat. Quickly she pulled herself away, but had forethought enough to move her hands back onto him. Gagging and coughing she struggled to breathe properly for a few moments. Lisa hadn't done that; there must be a trick to it. She smiled slightly to herself as she imagined exactly how she was going to bring that up in conversation next time she saw the stylish Goth.

Breathing properly again she returned her mouth and tongue to his penis. Having learnt the hard way just exactly how much she could take of him in her mouth; she tried to avoid a repeat performance by focusing on the top half and pumping her mittened fists up and down around his base.

Charlotte's interruption had done little to quench Mr Campbell's salaciousness, his head lolled back, deep moans rose from his relaxed body. Nevertheless he continued to maul her crotch, one minute driving the bristles into the depths of her inner membranes, the next focussing on her tender and aching clitoris. The most difficult thing for her was not flinching as each newly inflicted pain occurred, particularly as she had begun supplementing the sensations by pushing forward into his hand with her pelvis. With him in her hands and mouth and his fingers brushing against her womanhood she pushed herself closer and closer to the edge.

He beat her to the edge. Her mouth, her clumsy hands and her tongue mixed together with the knowledge that each of his touches caused her intense pain. He went over the edge, emitting a loud explosive groan. She felt it happen, felt him bulge in size for a moment and then suddenly felt hot squirts of a salty sticky liquid hit the roof of her mouth.

His hands fell away from her crotch, his penis throbbed in time with his heart beat but already began showing signs of shrinking back to its hibernating state.

Damn him, she was so close, why had he stopped, she thought. She also wondered what to do with the mouthful of his essence currently rolling about in her mouth. Carefully she rolled over, away from him and looked over the edge of the bed. He'd left one of her frilly socks lying next to the bed, quickly checking to make sure he couldn't see what she was doing – he was lying back in post-orgasmic bliss – she picked the sock up and spat the contents of her mouth into it. She'd pop it in the laundry chute after he left.

Frustratingly close to her own blissful escape she rolled back over to him and leaned her head on his chest. He looked down at her with an honest, carefree smile on his face.

"You didn't need to do that honey, but thankyou." She didn't know how to respond to that, she had her own needs at the moment.

"Mr Campbell?"

"Yes pet?"

She looked into his relieved eyes and asked as nicely as she could: "Can you… can you… could you touch me again please?"

He patted her on the shoulder, indicating she should raise her head off him. She complied and lay back on the bed, trying her hardest to look sexy, her thighs alluring parted she waiting for him to finish the job.

Instead he picked up his shoes and stood. "Sorry honey, you'll have to improvise. I need to sleep. Goodnight." He flung her a cheeky grin with a hint of evil thrown in for good measure.

"I can't! Not with my hands like this! Please?" But it was for no good. He stopped briefly to remove the batteries from the remotes and walked out of her room, locking the door behind her and leaving her frustrated on the bed, still in her pyjamas, clamps and panties.

The DVD still ran, she'd missed a fair bit of the movie but now found herself drawn back to watching it in her frustrated state.

The four girls who had escaped the compound were now lying in four beds all next to each other in a row. Actually lying wasn't quite right. Each girl wore wrist and ankle restraints and nothing else. The restraints had all been locked to the bed head so that each girl's knees were pulled up next to their heads, their bottoms and naked vaginas openly presented to whomever required access.

The headmaster lectured the group on the dangers of truancy and carousing with boys. He pronounced upon the first two girls a sentence. These were the two girls who hadn't been in his office in the first scene and they were each to receive thirty stripes with the cane on their bottoms.

Charlotte watched on, unable to turn the television off without the use of her fingers. She burned, she needed release and so she pushed one of her mittens down toward her crotch and experimentally tried to touch herself. Deprived of the delicate finesse her fingers usually provided her, she crunched a broad area of the evil bristles into her all over - rapidly she pulled her hand away and hissed in pain. She'd have to find some other way to manipulate herself if she wanted to get off.

The cane rose and fell in succession on each girl's bottom; Charlotte closed her eyes and listened to the pleading and screams of each girl. She was so hot and she couldn't do a thing about it. Gently she tried her fist again, trying to use just the corner of one knuckle to provide sufficient stimulus, but clumsily she couldn't get the angle right and to top it off her wrist began aching from being put in such a strange twisted-up position.

Finally she clambered off her bed, ignoring the screams of pain emitting from down below as the clamps stretched and strained on her labia. She fetched a remote from the floor and returned to the bed. Putting the remote between her ungainly mittens she started using the end of the remote to try and stimulate herself. That worked only slightly better, but still she lacked the ability to push just the right small section of bristles into the very right spot. The remote was too big. After a while she discarded that as well.

The Headmaster had dealt with the first two girls, leaving them sobbing on their beds, their legs still hooked to the bed heads and their red striped buttocks highly visible to the viewer. Now he pronounced sentence on the last two girls. They were to be whipped instead of caned - the cane was deemed insufficient for their crimes. He produced a two-foot long whip with multiple braided leather strands. It looked brutal to Charlotte. He now told the remaining girls that due to their repeated misbehaviours they were to be whipped. They squealed and begged for mercy, each of them in turn looking at the devilish whip.

He ignored their complaints and waited patiently for them to be silent. Slowly he moved to the first of the remaining girls. He stood with the whip raised above her and then calmly announced that not only were they to be whipped, but they were to be whipped on their pussies.

Both girls screamed anew and Charlotte felt her butterflies surge and swell within her, demanding she do something to relieve herself. As the first stinging blow fell and an inhuman scream of intense pain squalled out of the speakers of the television Charlotte dropped her mittened hand back to her crotch to try and address her desires.

Her inept attempts merely caused her incessant pain with very little sexual satisfaction and in the end she ceased her pointless efforts. Instead, while the whip rose and fell on the defenceless shaven pussies of the schoolgirls, Charlotte struggled to turn off the television. However she found that it had no on-off switch. It was operated entirely by the remote and Mr Campbell had removed its batteries. She followed the power lead to a panel in the wall, which ordinarily would have been easy to open for her, had she had fingers to use. Behind the panel she knew was the power switch, yet tonight she would be unable to reach it.

Instead she found herself unable to turn the television off, unable to pleasure herself and unable to remove her pyjamas and the taunting, punishing panties and clamps beneath.

Miserable, sexually frustrated, and constantly tormented Charlotte put herself to bed, hoping to get some sleep.

Chapter 32 – Fluttering

It was a sleep-deprived and hysterical Charlotte that Bosker discovered the next morning. She'd spent the entire night awake, the DVD had been set to loop its playback and Charlotte's attempts to sleep had been constantly interrupted by squeals, screams, smacks and begging schoolgirls. Of course the porn's soundtrack had done little to suppress her heightened state of sexual tension and she had spent almost all night alternately trying to relieve her frustration, remove her clothes or fall sleep. She'd failed on all counts.

All she had managed to do was wrench her hair out of its perfect pigtails whilst remaining constantly on edge and wide-awake. Her hair stood out from her head at a multitude of strange angles. Frequent bouts of tears, instigated by the relentless torture imposed by the clamps and punishment panties, had left the bodice of her flannelette sleeper soaked with salty tears and her eyes red and puffy. The constant tension on her labia together with the bristles had also caused her to soak through not only her panties - which clung stickily to every intimate crevice they could - but also the entire crotch of her pyjamas.

She was a sexual, emotional and physical wreck, and Bosker became her target.

As he walked in with breakfast she threw herself at his feet wailing, begging the butler to let her out of her flannelette prison and turn the godforsaken television off. The DVD was replaying the pussy-whipping scene that appeared toward the middle of the movie. Charlotte had been forced to endure it five or six times during the night, with the piercing screams of the victims permeating every corner of the room.

Despite the bizarre scene with which he was presented, the unflappable Bosker calmly put down the breakfast tray and walked to the electrical panel in the wall. He briefly knelt down and with the benefit of unimprisoned fingers he was able to quickly remove the panel and turn off the television at the power point.

Charlotte burst into a fresh set of tears, but tears of relief rather than suffering. Relief that finally the infernal movie had finished playing despite the fact that the screams and cries of the 'schoolgirls' still echoed through her mind. In an incomprehensible babble masked with tears and exhaustion she thanked the Butler profusely before offering up her hands to him, in the hope that he would release her from the mittens.

He pulled her to her feet and produced a tiny key with which he unlocked the padlocks that secured the mittens around her wrists. With the first lock undone she clasped the end of the mitten in her teeth and pulled the little white bag off her fist and proceeded to achingly clench and unclench her hand. The second wrist was unlocked in quick fashion and before long Charlotte was finally free of the mittens. She spent a few moments massaging her palms and fingers that had been achingly restrained all night and then turned her attention to the pyjamas.

Normally she disrobed in the bathroom away from prying eyes. Yet her desperate need to be out of the pyjamas and panties far outweighed any residual concerns she had for her dignity. The aging butler thoughtfully averted his gaze as she frantically unbuttoned her pyjamas, practically tearing them off in a frenzy. With the soiled pyjamas lying at her feet she quickly pulled the soaked panties down her thighs, providing herself with the first relief from the bristles in eight or more hours. She sighed in relief as the stiff nylon bristles finally ceased their unending torment of her stretched and punished flesh.

Now she gathered herself for the final ordeal. She breathed in deeply, well aware of the terrible pain she was about to incur. The removal of the clamps would free her flesh of the strain imposed by the springs, but experience had taught her that the instantaneous blood flow returning to the crushed flesh would agonisingly overwhelm her. Slowly she sat on the bed and undid the first two clamps in quick succession. She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as the pain engulfed her. She lay back on the bed whimpering for a few moments before repeating the act on the remaining two clamps.

Whilst she struggled to overcome the throbbing pain in her crotch, Bosker kept his back to her and set out her breakfast on her desk. Fresh toast, fruit, cereal and an entire pot of steaming coffee all appeared on her desk. With his various tasks completed Bosker left the room after picking up Charlotte's soiled panties and pyjamas.

She lay still on the bed for a while, relishing her freedom from the diabolical bondage that Mr Campbell had inflicted on her. Awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions she relived the events of yesterday in her mind. Yesterday morning now seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd been upset and confused, unsure of her feelings toward Mr Campbell, let alone the effect that his strict punishments had been having on her. Jane had blown the lid on a whole new world, an entire world full of people like herself that enjoyed toying with power, pain and sex.

The revelations that had been exposed yesterday had seismically shifted her perceptions of herself and the world around her. Naïve preconceptions of what constituted acceptable sexual behaviour had been smashed, and out of the shattered remains questions arose regarding her nascent relationship with Mr Campbell.

Even thinking about him now caused her to blush. Just days ago, she had hated and feared him. She thought back to her first night in the apartment. Of being forced into the ridiculous pink dress. The childish table arrangements at dinner and most prominent of all in her memory: the vicious spanking he had administered. She could still picture precisely his reaction as she had thrown her juice at him. She remembered his cold and callus demeanour and his firm hand. That night, she had thought him a monster. How quickly things change.

Within the discordant cacophony that presently comprised Charlotte's thoughts she drew an analogy between two young children, of a boy showing his affection for a girl by pulling on her hair and punching her. How similar her experiences thus far had been with Mr Campbell she noted wryly.

Last night, he had proven his lust for her body, a lust that she'd suspected for some time. She had convinced herself as well that she'd also seen glimpses of something deeper. She remembered looking up into his worried face as she'd woken from her faint last night and also that very same expression on the night that she'd first been forced to wear the clamps and panties. She wasn't sure what he felt about her, but what she was sure of, were her own feelings toward him. She was falling for him.

It was probably for this very reason that she was so angry with him at this very moment. She had wanted to explore her feelings further, to be held by him, to hold him in turn. Instead, he had attained his own release and then left her bound, tortured and sleepless.

Tired though she was, Charlotte realised that she needed to eat. Her stomach had begun to audibly remind her of her hunger. With her stomach rumbling, she dragged herself up off the bed and sat down at her desk to attack some fruit and a bowl of cereal.

She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when a knock at her bathroom door interrupted her. She started up in surprise, entirely conscious of the fact that she still hadn't put any clothes on. She shouted out to her visitor to hold on and hastily wrapped herself in a towel before opening the door a fraction to reveal a smug looking Mr Campbell.

"Oh its you. What do you want?" She crossly asked him.

"I wondered if I might come in. Now that this is your private little room I thought it best that I knock." Charlotte opened the door fully, indicating he could come in. She stared at the back of his head as he walked past, wishing that she could shoot lightning bolts at him with her eyes. If only.

She walked back to her desk and returned to her coffee. She picked up "The Adventures of Isabelle" from her book nook and pretended that he'd interrupted her reading.

"Charlotte?" He asked hesitantly. "Are you cross with me?"

"What do you think?" She said tersely, refusing to look up from the unread page before her.

"I thought that we had a wonderful evening. I came to let you know that."

Now she looked up, having decided that it was time to unload on him: "Wonderful for you maybe. You try not sleeping with the television blaring, a pair of spiky underpants on and those goddam clamps constantly pulling on your most sensitive bits. Just who do you think you are?"

Unperturbed by her verbal assault he stated point blank: "Frank Campbell."

"What?"

"You asked who I think I am. I'm Frank Campbell and you're Charlotte the pain slut. You're the dirty little girl who gets turned on by being spanked, by having your breasts crushed, by being forced to masturbate yourself in those 'goddam' panties. I am merely attempting to fulfil your depraved desires. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, but –"

"But what? Did I hear a safe word? Did I hear anything other than moans of ecstasy and screams of passion from you? No I didn't." He stopped for a moment, and then held out a hand motioning Charlotte to join him sitting on the bed. "Charlotte?"

Charlotte was still angry with him, but she felt her fury begin to ebb.

"Please come here my angel. I came here to tell you what a marvellous night I had and how much I enjoyed your company. Please come and sit down over here."

The anger that had brewed for hours started to dissipate quickly. That smile of his and calling her 'his angel' turned a blowtorch to her icy rage. Several seconds passed and she lifted herself up off her chair and took the few short steps to the side of the bed. She sat down next to him. He softly took one of her hands in his.

"Look, Charlotte, for what its worth, I'm sorry that you didn't get much sleep. But are you going to tell me that you didn't enjoy yourself?"

"No." She quietly admitted to him.

"So you did enjoy yourself?"

"Yes." Charlotte changed tack: "But – it's not fair to leave me like that. I'm so… so… so…"

"Frustrated?"

"YES!" And she was, she could still feel the stickiness between her thighs.

"Well how about this. I'll make you a promise: spend the day with me. It's Sunday after all so neither of us have to be anywhere or do anything. We'll go up on the roof if you like, there's a garden up there that's quite nice. I'll make you a special dinner, and then after that I promise that we'll look after that itch of yours." The last few words sounded ominous to Charlotte.

"How exactly?"

"Does that really matter?" He asked her in turn.

"What if I say no?"

Mr Campbell released her hand and stood up. He walked to her wardrobe before answering her question. "Then I guess I'll just take this back," Hanging in the wardrobe was a tasteful peach coloured sundress and a pair of sandals. They were the first normal clothes that Charlotte had seen since her arrival. Mr Campbell took the shoes and dress and began walking toward the exit. "You say no, and I suppose you can spend the day staring at the walls in here. After you're bored with that and you come to spend your mandatory hour with me this evening; we'll ceremoniously burn this lovely new dress and then you can play human mannequin for me while I design you a nice little romper, or maybe a play dress for the nursery with some pretty bloomers…"

"No wait!"

Mr Campbell stopped just outside the bathroom and turned back toward her: "Yes?"

"Please don't go."

"I won't, if you agree to spend the day with me. Is it that hard? I thought we could have a nice day together, just talking, getting to know each other some more."

Charlotte knew she had to be careful with her phrasing: if he misinterpreted what she was about to say he might walk out with the dress. A dress that a week ago she wouldn't have been seen dead in. But now, after a procession of frills, ruffles, ribbons and bows she wanted nothing more than to wear that plain cotton sundress.

"Sorry Mr Campbell. I didn't mean that I don't want to spend today with you. I'm just so frustrated and tired after last night. I'd love to come with you. I was just worried about certain itches and how exactly you plan on scratching them."

"Does it matter? I already have my hour each night." He approached her slowly, menacingly. "Let me be abundantly clear Charlotte my pet," he cupped her chin with his hand and stared straight into her soul, "In that hour I will do whatever I see fit to do to you. Whatever.

"Now that been said, I have promised that I will take care of your itch, a promise that I think is entirely generous considering your rude behaviour toward me just now. In fact I would be completely justified in denying you any sort of release for a week and then seeing whether you complain about a handful of hours on a Saturday night. Now really, you have a very simple choice to make."

He released her chin and held out the sundress, offering it to her. She looked at it appraisingly. What could be worse than the frustration of last night, she wondered. More so, he was right about his hour. She had agreed to give him the hour each night and according to their agreement the only barrier to his behaviour was her safe word.

Suddenly her options became crystal clear.

Refuse his request, lose the sundress and maybe spend time in the nursery, struggling not to disgrace herself inside the confines of a diaper. Refuse to accept the first piece of non-infantile clothing he had ever offered her. Maybe instead he'd make good his offer to deny her any release for a week or more – that concept didn't even bear thinking about.

Or she could accept his proposal. Get the nice new dress and spend a pleasant day outside on the roof. Plus he'd promised to relieve her of the frustration that a night in the panties had caused her. It was just the question of how exactly he intended to relieve her that made her worried.

She took the dress.

There was a third option that she didn't even consider: leave him and run away home. But the thought never even crossed her mind.

----

The stairs ended in a plain metal door. Charlotte had ascended the stairs behind Mr Campbell and watched as he turned the metal handle and leaned into the heavy door. It swung open slowly throwing bright beams of sunlight into the gloomy stairwell.

Charlotte stepped through the door and looked around the wonderful garden. Partly under the protection of a greenhouse and partly open to the elements - the garden was simply breathtaking. A wide boulevard paved with gravel ran through the centre and at its very centre stood an eight-foot high fountain. An angel holding a Grecian urn poured crystal clear water down about her feet, which fed the various streams that wound in and out of the rest of the gardens. Small paths ducked off the main boulevard winding through archways of creepers, amongst abundant ferns and over decorative wooden bridges that spanned the small trickling streams. Over toward one corner stood a quaint gazebo providing a vista not only of the luscious and unspoiled trees and plants but also over the edge of the building and onto the bustling metropolis of the city.

Charlotte ran out down the main boulevard, the skirts of her light cotton sundress billowing out behind her. She spun around taking in this wonderful place. A light spray of water hit her face as an automated sprinkler system issued a fine film of sparkling droplets onto a bank of ferns before her. Turning back toward the stairs she watched Mr Campbell walk up from the stairwell, a broad grin covering his face as he witnessed her reaction to his garden.

"This is all yours?" She asked.

"Certainly is, came with the apartment. Do you like it?"

"It's wonderful, it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

"Come on then, I'll show you the rest of it."

Mr Campbell led her through the garden, showing her down each little winding path. Indicating the various types of plants that grew here. He pointed out the part of the garden that took its influence from the rainforests of Brazil and how a combination of humidifiers, greenhouse technology and thermostats enabled the plants to survive through the harsh city winter. Seamlessly the garden morphed as they walked through it, one minute looking at the carefully protected rainforests of Brazil and the next staring up at a black willow that wouldn't have been out of place in the countryside up-state.

Charlotte was shocked not only by the existence of such a garden but at its location on the roof of a high-rise in the middle of the city. "How did you do all this?"

"I didn't – the previous owner was a millionaire and a botanist. You're looking at his life's work." Mr Campbell then explained how the botanist had died and that he had in turn bought the botanists former apartment. As he recounted the story, including the details of the vicious bidding war that had broken out between the half dozen prospective purchasers, they reached the Gazebo.

Someone, probably the butler, had laid out food and drink for them. Charlotte sat down on one of the benches and looked over the table spread. Soft cheeses, crackers, fresh and dried fruit all sat in the centre of the table. Mr Campbell took a seat opposite her. As she looked back across the expanse of the garden Charlotte sat back, pleasantly relaxed after her stroll with Mr Campbell.

Various pleasantries and small talk took up the next quarter of an hour with Charlotte and Mr Campbell slowly grazing on their morning tea. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, a far stretch away from the highly charged incidents of the last few days. Charlotte felt herself becoming more and more comfortable in his company and very much enjoying their interactions. She was spreading a slice of brie cheese over a cracker when Bosker appeared from the stairwell. He approached the table and passed Mr Campbell a brown paper bag before disappearing again back into the apartment.

"Charlotte, I know that I agreed to provide you with an allowance and also to get you some new clothes. Given the timeframes involved I haven't had the chance to arrange everything completely to my satisfaction. Therefore I took the liberty of acquiring the dress you're now wearing and some other incidentals until we find the time to make more appropriate arrangements. Therefore, I hope you don't mind, but I got you these."

He handed the brown paper bag across the table, which Charlotte graciously accepted. The bag contained magazines.

"I know how much you like your sport, so I hope these are okay for the time being."

She sorted through bag: Sports Illustrated, Slam magazine and a couple of other magazines of varying interest were inside the bag. Her heart leapt with joy that he'd been so considerate, but through the euphoria a small nagging doubt tugged at the back of her mind.

"I thought you didn't like me being interested in sport?" She asked cautiously.

"I never said that. Rather I said that I disapprove of you partaking in sports, unless we're talking about horse riding or some of the more appropriate pursuits for a lady. I see no difficulty however in you following your chosen sports."

"Does this mean I can get cable in my room – the play- offs are coming up."

"No it doesn't. However, I might be open to negotiation at a later stage." The way he uttered the word negotiation tripped alarm bells.

"You mean negotiations like yesterday?"

"Possibly."

She put that thought to one side and pulled out Slam magazine. "Do you mind if I have a quick flick?"

"Go right ahead."

She quickly flicked through the pages, taking particular note of the last week's results. Her team was still well placed for the play- offs and she began to wonder exactly what she'd have to put up with to be allowed to watch them. Mental images of various tribulations ran through her head reminding her that she was still desperately excited. Mr Campbell seemed to sense her agitation and surprised her with a question out of left field.

"Charlotte, I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now."

"What's that?" She responded nonchalantly while she still had her nose stuck in the magazine.

"Why is it that you shave yourself?"

It took a moment for her to respond, the sudden change of topic took her entirely off-guard. She thought carefully before answering. Charlotte had been shaving her pubic region for so long that it was now second nature; he may have just as well asked why she brushed her teeth. She carefully answered: "I don't know. I've always done it. Ever since I started growing hair."

"So you don't know why?"

"It just feels right."

"Do you like the way you look like that?"

She wondered where he was going. Didn't he like her shaving? "I've never thought of it. I just do it. Why? Don't you like how I look?"

"No, it's not that at all Charlotte. No I like it very much, it's most appropriate. I was just curious, that's all. I wanted to know why you decided to shave yourself. It seems like a very feminine thing to do for someone who worked towards deliberately being anything but feminine."

She breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she had thought he didn't like how she looked. She'd had visions of leaving herself alone and having to grow some unruly bush. The thought of wiry hair sitting down there irked her, wouldn't it get tangled, sweaty and knotted? Yech! Just the thought made her feel squeamish.

"I just did it. I woke up one day and there it was. I suppose it was because of school now that I think about it. All the girls used to talk about their pubic hair and compare notes. It was like, you know, if you had it then you were a woman or something. They all sort of competed between each other arguing about who had it and didn't. I never wanted to be like them. If getting hair meant I was a woman then I decided I didn't want it. So when it did come I got rid of it. I guess I've done that ever since." She explained at length.

"I see. Well I like it a lot. I wonder: have you ever thought of doing something more permanent than just shaving?"

"Like what?"

"Well it must be annoying to have to do that every day. There are other options. Far more permanent options." He let the last four words hang in the air.

"What – like waxing? I heard that hurts."

He smiled at that: "I wouldn't have thought that was a problem for you." He suggested suggestively, she blushed before he continued: "No – I was thinking of electrolysis. Most of the time the hair never grows back. Ever."

She thought about it. She didn't see shaving as a problem for her. Sure every once in a while she might get an ingrown hair, but nowhere near as many as when she'd started all those years ago. Shaving to her was just part of her daily routine. She did it mechanically without any conscious thought.

"Why would I do that?" She asked, curiously.

"Well surely it would be preferable to shaving every day?" He responded.

"I don't mind, I just do it."

"Well I'd like you to consider it. As I said I like you like that, it's most appropriate. But I would like you to seriously consider making yourself permanently hairless."

"What is electro-thingy anyway?" She didn't see what his fascination was but nonetheless if it made him happy she'd consider it. She didn't think she'd ever want a horrid bush down there ever anyway. So what harm could it cause?

"Well you'd have to go to a beauty parlour to get it done –"

"Huh? No way, I don't want someone seeing me naked!" A hint of outrage quivered in her voice.

"No, it's not like that at all Charlotte, these people are trained professionals, they do it all the time."

"But someone would still see me, I don't know about that."

"Look, it wouldn't be that bad honey. I'd come with you if you like." He waited for a moment before continuing. "What they do is take a tiny little needle and push it into the hair follicle, then they pass electricity through the needle that kills the hair, root and all."

Charlotte imagined the types of needles she'd encountered in the past, imagining something akin to a tetanus needle. Slowly her vivid imagination built the picture for her. She was strapped into a chair, entirely naked facing a window that looked out onto a busy street. Hundreds of pedestrians walking passed the shop and staring at her nakedness. Then a matronly nurse appeared with a huge needle, which was attached to thick electrical leads…

"I'm told it's relatively painless if it's done by a professional." He tried to reassure her.

"I don't know, it sounds kind of yucky."

"If you're worried about your modesty we could always get someone to come here." He suggested.

"Can I think about it?" She replied, still imagining huge needles being stuck into her pelvis. Now her wayward mind had the nurse standing at the wall about to throw a huge switch like those that she associated with electric chairs.

"Of course you can."

"That was a strange thing to ask Mr Campbell. What bought that on?"

"Curiosity, nothing more."

Their afternoon returned to normality after that exchange. Charlotte read through her magazines while Mr Campbell opened a book and the two of them sat in the garden reading quietly. Occasionally one of them would look up from their reading material and look about, catching the eye of the other and in that way many a suggestive glance was past between the two. Charlotte remained on edge and felt the tension rising through the afternoon. Soon she would submit to him again. Soon he would have his hour, an hour that he had promised would provide her with the relief that she so desperately sought. But at what cost?

Chapter 33 - Oblivion

Mr Campbell's special dinner, or his hour alone with her, never came. As the two of them were considering leaving the garden to begin preparations for dinner the normally calm and unflappable Bosker erupted out of the depths of the apartment. As soon as Charlotte heard the large steel door to the garden clang open she knew something was wrong; a deep acidic burning began in her stomach. Time slowed down as seconds seemingly became hours. She wondered exactly how it was that she knew something was wrong, but it was. Instantly she began to fear for the worst and the gnawing burn in her stomach intensified.

The butler approached rapidly, concern clearly visible on his normally deadpan face. To Charlotte though, it seemed as though his relatively short journey from the door to the gazebo took eons. She barely even registered his words as he spoke, she already knew what he would say: her father was dead. Suddenly an eruption of grief overwhelmed her as she began screaming out in primordial pain. She shut out the world around her and screamed into the void – feeling as though an enormous part of her had suddenly been rent from her and torn asunder. So stripped apart from reality was she that she didn't even notice as she began pounding Mr Campbell's chest with her fists as he attempted to console her. Nor did she consciously notice when he carried her back into the apartment after she collapsed into an emotionless stupor on the gravel of the garden's boulevard – drained of tears and of void of any emotion except despondency and despair.

---

Those first few days after the news of her father's passing were hazy, her recollections almost completely void of meaningful memories. She remembered a strange face, a doctor who had been brought in to examine her. He'd given her an injection and then quietly spoken in the corner to Mr Campbell as she drifted off into a grey night of dreamless sleep. She also remembered awakening, thinking for a few seconds that she'd just had a terrible nightmare. But one look into Mr Campbell's face as he sat at her bedside retold the bitter truth and again she descended into a wild inhuman fit of screams and sobbing anew.

Days had passed, how many she didn't know. There had been a procession of injections on that first night as she'd submerged and re-emerged from the dark waters of her subconscious. Each time as she awoke she wondered for a split second whether she'd been the victim of a terribly convincing nightmare. Each time the brutal reality came crashing back to her and her pain would begin over again. Slowly the injected sedatives were replaced by pills which she swallowed down whenever Bosker or Mr Campbell finally convinced her to eat some food.

Eventually she began to emerge from her state of despondency. Slowly regaining an appreciation of her surroundings and gradually beginning to again resemble a semi-functioning human being.

But due process and form stop for no-one, even the recently bereaved. So only a small count of days after the fateful phone call from the hospital, Charlotte found herself back on a flight home with Bosker acting as her chaperone. No-one said anything about Mr Campbell's absence from the funeral, least of all Charlotte. He'd offered an excuse that he simply couldn't leave his business at this crucial moment. Charlotte accepted it without a word. They both knew the real truth however: she blamed him for her father's death. He'd stolen her away from his bedside – torn her away from what had turned out to be his deathbed. Deprived her father of her presence in his last hours as Mr Campbell had kept her imprisoned in his apartment for his own perverse purposes. The pain of her loss was only shadowed by her newfound hatred at Mr Campbell's act of selfishness.

Never again would she be able to fade off to sleep in front of Sports Center with her head resting against her father's chest. Nor would she ever be able to go to a basketball game with him, cheering on their favourite team together. A hundred memories kept pouring through her, both of happy and sad times. Each memory further gouged into the raw wound of her soul that her father's passing had left her. She regretted those words she'd occasionally said in the heat of anger, regretted that she'd never be able to retract them, or been able to apologize… never be able to tell him that she loved him again.

It was all Mr Campbell's fault.

On one level her rational mind suggested that Mr Campbell hadn't caused her father's car accident, nor that he had caused her father to pass into the next world. But the quiet logic was a faint whisper against the brutal screaming of a soul tortured by a loss she'd never before encountered. Everything in the world seemed emptier, colorless and drab. Gone from her existence was any joy or light or happiness. All that remained was pain and anguish.

It was in this state of mind that Charlotte finally returned to her home. Bosker trailed behind her with a single suitcase as she let herself into the home that she had shared with her father. The butler's presence was the result of yet another unspoken agreement with Mr Campbell. She needed someone with her to look after her, to ensure she ate and took her sleeping pills, to make sure that she could continue to function in the days that lay ahead of her. Although Mr Campbell was listed as the executor of the estate, Charlotte had taken it upon herself to arrange the funeral – yet again a decision that Mr Campbell agreed to without debate.

She walked like a ghost through the empty house, taking notice of the smallest hints that her father had once been here. An empty glass left on the arm of his favourite sofa, a Wall Street Journal left open on the floor of the toilet. Echoes and memories of him haunted her. Finally she came to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed, bawling anew as she smelt his particular scent on the pillows. Bosker stood quietly in the doorway watching over her as she clutched the pillow to her chest and softly cried herself to sleep on her father's bed.

---

"For as long as I can remember he was always there for me. My daddy and I had a special bond. A bond forged through family at first, but then through respect and of course love. He never questioned who I was. He supported me no matter what.

"I remember when I was six a boy called Kevin stole my lunch pail. Those of you who know me won't be surprised to know that I didn't take kindly to having my lunch stolen by a boy who thought he was better than me. I broke his nose.

"The principal of the school called my Dad down to the school and I sat in a big chair while the Principal started lecturing Dad. She was telling him that punching people in the nose was no way for a young girl to carry on, that I had 'anger management' issues and that my teachers thought I was strange. Dad didn't even say a word, he just took my hand and walked out of that office leaving the principal in mid sentence. I never went back to that school. Dad wasn't going to hear a bad word said about me.

"We sat in the car on the way home and Dad told me something I'll never forget, he said: 'Charlie, don't you ever let anyone ever try and tell you who you are or who you should be. Only you can do that.' I didn't understand that at the time, not really: but now I do."

Charlie stood at the podium in the chapel, her father's coffin behind her covered in flowers. Dozens upon dozens of family friends, her school acquaintances and her dad's work colleagues had packed into the chapel. She looked down at the words of her speech, afraid to look out at all the familiar faces, some wracked with grief and others displaying sincere sympathy. This was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, but every time she felt the back of her throat choke up or a tear begin to form she thought about how proud her dad would be if she could finish the eulogy without breaking down.

"Dad was a quiet guy, he liked his sport and loved his basketball. A vice that his daughter voraciously took up with equal passion. Some of my fondest memories are just of the two of us sitting at home in front of the television. Him sipping on a Miller while I sat on the floor between his knees - goading our boys on. I guess we were a simple family, but one with more love and kindness than many others.

"I also know that after long years of loneliness he's now gone to heaven. I never knew my mother, dad never really talked about her much, but I do know that he loved her with all his heart. Well, the bit that wasn't solely devoted to spoiling his daughter." A few mourners, those not distraught with grief, laughed at her little joke.

"I know that he loved her until the day he died and I guess that she loved him too. I know in my own heart that they are now together and that at least is some comfort in these dark days.

"Many of you here knew Dad well and I want to thank you all for coming to help say good bye to him. His work colleagues tell me that he was a hard working dedicated guy but that he always found opportunities to take time out and act as the comic relief at post-work drinks.

"I can see some of our church friends here and I'm grateful for all the support you've given me over the last few days. Dad was a quietly faithful man, one who got a great sense of satisfaction from helping out the church's good work in charity. Surprisingly I never knew just how much he helped out the church until a few days ago, because he never boasted about it like so many others do these days. He was content to help out others less fortunate without being heaped with praise or proclaiming his compassion from the rooftops. I think that in this he is a shining light of Christian compassion.

"So thank you all for coming, but I want to say these final words to Dad, and Mom if she's listening.

"You bought me into this world and loved me for who I am. Don't worry about me: the things you taught me, the love you gave me and the faith you placed in me have made it possible for you to be proud of me. I want you to know that I love you both, particularly you Daddy. You were always there for me, even when I was irrational or greedy or just plain unbearable. I wish I could say to you just one more time that I love you and see the light shine up out of your eyes. I wish so much, but I am content knowing that you are in heaven with Mom now. I pray that I can join you there one day as well."

Charlotte finally felt her throat tighten and the tears broach the emotional dam she had erected. She quickly grabbed up her speech and stepped down from the podium, with the most recent of many so many tears rolling down her cheek. She resumed her lonely seat on the front pew and didn't really hear the rest of the service. She just sat at the front of the chapel in her dark slacks and sombre jacket, her sunglasses pulled down over her eyes while she silently prayed for her father.

---

The last mourner finally left the house. After the service many of the churchgoers had returned to Charlotte's house for the wake. A quietly sombre atmosphere had permeated the house as various acquaintances and friends of Charlotte's father stood in small groups around plates of small sandwiches and urns of tea and coffee. Charlotte had done her best to get around to each and every one of them. She thanked them for coming and answered their asinine questions politely. Worse than the stupid questions though were those people who pretended they understood what she was going through. She felt like screaming at them, but politely accepted their failed attempts at empathy and promised to let them know if she needed someone to talk to.

Bosker was a god-send. He'd forgone his traditional butler suit and donned some more casual attire. As the caterers arranged by the funeral director had arrived he'd quickly taken over, directing the staff here and there, ensuring that the logistics of the wake never caused her a moment's problem. Most importantly though was that he ensured that Charlotte was saved from the more draining and demanding guests. He had an uncanny ability to see exactly when Charlotte wanted to escape from some matronly church-goer or former work colleague. He'd simply slip in behind her and in a voice just loud enough to be heard by the fellow conversationalist insist that: 'Ma'am, something has come up that requires your attention'.

Charlotte would tend her apologies to whomever she was escaping and disappear into the kitchen for a few moments. After regaining her composure she'd return to the lounge and recommence her rounds of the guests.

Now that they'd all left she slumped down into the couch feeling drained and empty inside. Bosker appeared in the kitchen doorway to let her know that the caterers had finished cleaning up and had also left. He was about to return to wherever he went when he wasn't needed when Charlotte spoke up: "Bosker, could you just come and keep me company please. I don't want to be alone."

He nodded sagely and with his typical gliding fashion he crossed the floor into the middle of the room. He stopped next to a couch facing Charlotte standing there at a loss for what to do next.

"Please sit-down, you make me feel uncomfortable just standing there."

"Ma'am" he responded and sat down awkwardly on the couch facing her. "So Bosker, thankyou so much for helping me today, I don't know what I would have done without you."

"It's nothing, my role is to help you in this difficult time, no more, no less."

"Still, you didn't have to come, I would have managed."

"It was the Master's wish that I accompany you." He paused for a few moments and then added an afterthought, as if it were meaningless: "It was also my desire to come."

Charlotte was taken aback by that last remark. She still hadn't recovered her full cognitive functions as grief still muddied her thinking. "Why?"

Bosker shuffled uncomfortably on the couch, he was clearly not used to reclining in a couch before his wards. "I feel that someone has to look after you. The Master would have done so but he didn't think you would want him to. He hasn't said so but I believe that he thinks himself to blame for what has occurred. For those few days that you were not well he never left your bedside, he didn't sleep, didn't eat, he just sat there crying until you woke. I've never seen him like that.

"Then when you started getting better he started to become more inward, more reserved. I caught a look in his eyes that I've seen but rarely in him, a look of profound sadness. No – that's not right. A look of profound regret and despair. At first I thought it was because he was just concerned for you – but I think that it was more than that. I think he's blaming himself."

Charlotte felt like screaming back that it was his fault. All his fault. But she'd never seen Bosker so forthcoming, and so worried. The sheer shock at seeing anything resembling emotion emerging from the butler left her biting her tongue.

"Look, I'm going to go change and have a shower. Why don't you go and find something more comfortable to put on. While you're here you're a friend, not just a butler. I don't mind you helping out but I don't want you running around after me. I need a human being around right now, not an automaton in a tuxedo. If I have to order you to be normal for a few days I'll do it, ok?"

Bosker looked up at her and slowly nodded his head. She was surprised when he winked at her and replied: "Yes Ma'am."

---

The next few days passed in quiet contemplation for the pair. Few people came to the house and those that did found an uninviting house as quiet as a tomb. Charlotte spent her days sitting in the garden looking out into the neighbour's fields where she had explored as a girl with her father. At times she'd walk silently through the house stopping for minutes at a time just staring at a particular object or artefact of her father's.

Bosker tried as best he could to bring her out of her shell. He'd even found a pair of shorts and a short sleeved collared shirt in keeping with his promise to tone down his butlery. Sometimes he just sat with her, at other times he convinced her to help out with housework, getting her to fold the washing, or help cut up vegetables for dinner. Largely he left her to her silence though, as she thought through the implications of her recent tragedy.

Charlotte felt empty inside. Her father had always been there at the centre of her universe, and now he was gone. She'd never realised just how important he was to her, but now that he was gone she felt his loss like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She felt as though a cannonball had exploded through her chest leaving her bleeding body behind on the battlefield minus a heart but the rest of her strangely still alive.

But more and more she began to think about her time in the city. At first she'd blamed Mr Campbell for her failing to be at her father's deathbed. It was true that he'd originally imprisoned her and that gone on to play a dangerous game of seduction to capture her in more than just body. He'd denied her the opportunity to return to her father, to hold his hand, to talk to him, to try and bring him out of his coma. But the more she thought about it the more she began to realise that she'd enjoyed his games. She'd enjoyed his pursuit of her and eventually she'd perversely come to love Mr Campbell.

She couldn't forgive herself for the fact that she'd forgotten all about her father lying dying in a hospital bed thousands of miles away while she was indulging in lustful thoughts and deeds. She still blamed Mr Campbell, but now she hated herself more for being so selfish. How could she have just so simply pushed to one side her father's problems!

The crisis point came one evening as Charlotte stood in a pair of jeans and t-shirt in her bathroom about to have a shower. She looked into the mirror at herself, hating the selfish child that stared back at her.

She was the bad daughter who had deserted her father on his death-bed.

She screamed in rage and began pounding the taunting image in the mirror with her fists, trying to beat some sense into the mocking eyes that stared back. The mirror cracked and then shattered, jagged pieces of glass cutting into her fists. Bosker, on hearing the noise, bolted into the bathroom and dragged Charlotte kicking and screaming away from the mirror. He clinched her arms tight around behind her and held her tight, trying to calm the inconsolable teenager.

That night another strange face hovered over her as she lay on her bed - another doctor visited her to provide her with a syringe full of dreamless sleep.

The sky hung heavy with the promise of the first snow of winter.  Thick, deep and low clouds clung eerily about the tops of many of the city’s skyscrapers.  The city’s more experienced residents knew what was coming and accordingly they’d retreated inside to the warmth and comfort of their homes.  Normally bustling streets now saw only a handful of warmly dressed people scurrying about on essential errands, hurrying to get home before the weather turned.

The basketball courts that were normally filled with laughing, playing children and young adults were entirely empty, except for a solitary figure dressed in a long dark overcoat and hidden behind a thick scarf, gloves and woolen hat.

For several minutes, the figure stood on the edge of the half-court’s circle, looking up at the hoop and across the court.  The wind gusted, blowing an errant sheet of newspaper across the empty court where it wrapped itself around the figure’s legs.  The paper roused the figure to motion, with a flick of the leg, the paper was returned to its swirling journey through the eddying winds.

The figure walked through the chainlink boundary fence and stopped opposite a vacant storefront.  The windows, once full of expensive suits and shirts were now depressingly boarded up.  The elegant serif lettering on the storefront had lost its vitality, and where once it had proudly proclaimed “Thompson and Campbell est. 1856”, now it greyly presided over just another vacant shop front.  A bright poster plastered across the wooden boards invited offers for lease or sale of the premises and gave the contact name and number of a prominent commercial agent.

The figure looked at the vacant store for some minutes, oblivious to the few passersby who scurried past curiously wondering why this well dressed young woman chose to stand about in the frigid biting wind.

Eventually she turned her back on the storefront and scanned the empty streets hopefully looking for a cab.

---

They met at a restaurant in the park.  It seemed fitting, the Boathouse shut for the winter months, and it was clear the staff had already started their seasonal closedown in anticipation of winter’s imminent arrival.  Only a handful of diners accompanied them.  While normally busy and vibrant, today the restaurant was almost somber.  Shed of her winter layer, Charlotte sat quietly opposite an uncharacteristically sedate Lisa. 

The slightly older woman was dressed conservatively in a black skirt suit, her signature punk clothing, fringe and pigtails had been disposed of, and she wore her hair out, cascading freely over her shoulders.  Lisa looked indistinguishable from any other professional city woman, a far cry from the hyper-sexual goth-look she adopted at her brothel.

“I can’t believe how great you look.”  Lisa said warmly across the table.

“You’re too kind, and a bad liar.”

“Oh please, you’re too hard on yourself, you do look great.  Can’t you take a compliment when it’s offered freely?”

“Sorry.  You too, by the way.  But I must say it’s weird seeing you dressed like that.”

“I don’t advertise in public.”  Lisa smiled wanly.

The conversation descended to small talk as they looked over their menus.  Once their orders had been taken, Lisa lent forward.

“How long has it been?”

“Four and a half years.”

“And you just decide after four and a half years to pick up the phone and invite your old prostitute pal to lunch?”  She asked dryly.

“Look, I know it seems weird.  I haven’t spoken to anyone since then.  This is my first time back.  I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything, it just didn’t seem right.”

“I really hoped you’d call, after that day.  I thought we’d shared something.”

“We did.  Stuff just got in the way.”

“I know.  It’s just a shame.  But life does that sometimes, it lets ‘stuff’ get in the way.  Or you let ‘stuff’ get in the way.  But you don’t have to.  You can always put ‘stuff’ to one side and focus on life again, focus on achieving those things you set out to, to enjoy what it is you live for.  If you let ‘stuff’ get in the way, you don’t really live.  You just get buffeted along from one set of ‘stuff’ to another.”

“You’re speaking from personal experience?”  Charlotte asked.

“Sure.  I see it every day.  Most of my clients are all hung up on their own ‘stuff’.  They let it consume them to the point where they can’t be true or real to their wives and families, let alone themselves.  They let it build up and dictate their lives until their ready to burst. 

“Me.  I’m the release valve, I’m who they come to when they need to live out their real desires and lives, even if it’s only for half an hour behind a closed door.”

Charlotte pondered Lisa’s words quietly.

“So, are you going to ask me?” Lisa posed a question.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me what you came here to ask.  ‘Where is he?  Where is Mr Frank Campbell.  Have I seen him?  How is he?  What’s he doing?  Does he ever talk, you know, about me?’”  Having delivered her guess, Lisa sat back in her seat.

“It’s more complicated than that.”  Charlotte said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Stop being obtuse.  Because isn’t an answer.  An answer would be: ‘it’s complicated because I was deeply unfair to a man who’d fallen deeply in love with me’, or it might be: ‘it’s complicated because I had feelings once but now I don’t know’, or ‘I’m afraid of finding out he’s moved on and no longer wants me.’  Those are answers Charlotte, or do I call you Charlie?”

“I should leave.”  Charlotte pushed her chair back.

“Ask me your questions.  If you don’t, I guarantee you that you will regret it.  Don’t let your ‘stuff’ get in the way Charlie.”

“It’s Charlotte.”

“Well that, at least, is a step forward.”

Charlotte pulled her seat back in and smoothed her napkin over her lap. 

“I went to his store today.  It’s closed.  It was like a message, like he’s gone.  I don’t know why I came.  I suppose I wanted to say sorry and goodbye.  But there’s a little part of me that really wanted him to be there in his store.  A little part that thought music would well up and a man and a woman would look into each other’s eyes and know soulful completeness in a single glance.

“But he’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Tell me why I should tell you.”  Lisa responded.  “So you can hurt him again?  So you can lead him on, get him to love you again and then disappear from his life to leave a crushed empty shell of a person behind?  Because that’s what you did last time Charlotte.”

“Now that’s not fair.”  Charlotte retorted.  “My Father died.  And I was only 16, what’s a 38 year old man doing seducing a 16 year old girl who’s Father was dying?”

“You’re asking the wrong person Charlotte.  You won’t meet a more open minded person in this cess pool of moral vice and depravity.  But even jaded little me can tell you that Frank did nothing illegal.  Morally dubious maybe, but nothing illegal.  You were both over the age of consent.  The real crime here was what the two of you allowed to happen afterwards.  So, I’ll ask again.  Why should I tell you anything about him now?  I love Frank as a person and a friend.  I don’t want to see him hurt again.”  Lisa’s eyes glowered.

“I want to see him.  I need closure.  I admit, I treated him badly.  I shouldn’t have just cut him off.  I was in a pretty dark place.  I blamed him for things that I shouldn’t have.  And by the time I realised I was wrong, it was too late to fix it.”

“So why are you here?”

“I don’t know.  I just want to see him again.  Just once.Just one more time.  Then I know it can be over and I can start the next chapter of my life with a fresh page.”

“I’m truly sad for you,” Lisa’s eyes softened and she lent back across the table.  “But I’ll help.  He’s here.”  Charlotte’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

“No, not ‘here’, here.  I mean he’s still in the City.  He closed the shop last year.  I guess it no longer made him happy, he only ever did it for love.  But after you left, something sad crept into him and I don’t think he ever got passed it.  He still has his apartment, rattling about up there with his butler and house staff, doing who-knows-what.”

“Thankyou Lisa.  How is he though, now I mean?”

“He’s okay.  I see him every other month or so.  He still has his needs and one of our girls usually looks after him.  We talk occasionally, when he’s waiting or on his way out.”

“Does he ever...”

“Ask after you?  Yes.  It took him a while to get the courage up, but he asked if I ever spoke to you at all.  I had to tell him no.  I never want to see that look in another human’s eyes again.  It was like I’d just killed his puppy.

“What are you going to do?”  Lisa asked.

“I have to see him.  I must.  I have to say goodbye properly.”

---

She made the cab drive around the block twice before she gathered her courage.  Fitfully and with a fluttering stomach, she paid the driver before turning to face the stone edifice of the apartment building.  The doorman looked expectantly at her as she stood silently gazing upwards.  Somewhere, at the top of the building, she knew, he was there. 

She gulped back her fear and stepped forward.  The doorman, cheeks rosy red in the biting cold, gladly opened the door for her before stepping back into his alcove out of the snow and the wind. 

She asked the man at front desk for Mister Frank Campbell and while he phoned upstairs she tried to distract herself by looking at the prints hanging on the foyer walls.

“Who should I say is calling, Miss?” 

Charlotte thought for a moment, “Miss Charlotte.”  She replied.

“No last name?”  The deskman asked.

“He won’t need one.  He knows who I am.”

Moments later he put down the phone, “If you’ll just come this way.”

He swiped a card in the elevator before pressing the button for the penthouse, “Have a nice day Ma’am.”  He offered as the lift’s door slid shut and the car began its trip upwards.

The nervous tension built as the elevator ascended quickly.  She took several deep breaths as it slowed and its doors opened.  She saw the familiar marble entry way with its fountain and ominous door.  Stealing herself to press the doorbell, she jumped as the door opened to reveal Bosker’s familiar face, albeit slightly more lined.

“Miss Charlotte, this is most unexpected and unusual.”

“Yes.  I’m sorry for arriving unannounced.  I was just in the city and thought I should stop by.”  She cringed at her obvious lie.

“You wish to see Mr Campbell?”  The butler asked formally.

“Is he in?”  She asked with just a tinge of fear in her voice.

“He is.  I’ll show you to the sitting room and let him know you are here.”

She smelt the familiar smells of the apartment, leather, polish, a hint of flowers.  Not a thing appeared to have changed in the years that had passed.  Bosker showed her to one of the chesterfield couches in the sitting room.  She sat awkwardly on the edge of her seat, looking about the room expectantly.

“Charlotte.”  His voice:  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”  Her initial thought was that he hadn’t changed at all.  She compared him to the first time she’d seen him, a mouth full of pins serving a customer in his store.  He still looked fit, thin, well dressed and barely a day over 30.  On second reflection, she saw some traces of grey in his hair about the temples and maybe a few extra wrinkles about the eyes.  But if anything, they just made him look more distinguished.  He offered her his hand, which she took gently.  They exchanged a brief handshake before he indicated she should sit back down.

“Oh, I was just in town and thought I should say hello.”

“After four years?”

“Four and a half, to be correct.”  She added.

“No.  Four years.  I spoke to you briefly five months after your Father, god rest his soul, passed away.”

“Oh yes.  I’d forgotten.”

“I haven’t.”  He said grimly.

“Look, that was one of the reasons I’m here.  I wanted to say sorry for that.  For what I said.  It was unfair.  You didn’t kill my Father, I should never have blamed you for what happened.  It was a dark time and I now know that I was wrong.  So I wanted to say sorry to you for what I said.”

“Thank you.”  He said softly.  “I knew you didn’t mean it, but it hurt just the same.  I appreciate the apology, it mustn’t have been easy for you.”

“No.”  She said.  Silence fell over the room as she looked into her lap and smoothed her skirt over her knees.

“So,” he asked, “what have you been doing?  How are you?”

“Better.  I had help.  Too many hours with shrinks and too many pills, but I’m much better now.  I finished college...”  She said expectantly.

“Really.  Well done.  What did you study?”

Bosker chose this moment to appear with a coffee service.  Charlotte continued while the butler unobtrusively served tea and coffee.

“Sports management.”  She saw Mr Campbell’s left eyebrow raise itself questioningly, “I’m thinking about going into public relations for a team, I did an internship with our college basketball team over summer and really liked the work.  You get access to the players, and all the coaching staff and then you manage the relationship between the team, the players and the media.  It’s really interesting stuff.”

“I see.”  Charlotte sensed his disapproving tone.

“Well I don’t need your approval.  Look, maybe this was a mistake.”

“Maybe it was.”

“I should go.”  She stood to leave, he stood with her.

“Bosker can show you to the door.”  Almost immediately the butler appeared, his face an impartial mask.  Mr Campbell’s on the other hand looked stern, resolved.

“Wait.  Wait a minute Bosker.  Could you leave us for a moment?”  She asked.  The butler disappeared.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” She asked bruskly.

“What did you want me to say.  You appear unannounced after four and a half years, offer me an apology, tell me you’ve been studying sport at college-“

“Sports management.”  She interrupted.

“Fine.  Sports management, and you expect me to say what?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe you had your own apology to make?”

“Perhaps I do.”  He sat back down.  Charlotte resumed her own seat while she watched him across the room.  His eyes were closed and his head hung down.  Finally, he opened his eyes and looked straight at her.

“I am sorry.  I am sorry for imprisoning you against your will and for trying to instil in you the discipline, courtesy and niceties expected of a lady.  I am sorry for spanking you when you were ill behaved.  I apologise for watching you while you slept.  I apologise for dressing you in a manner that aroused me, for humiliating you, for hurting you and for thinking that a man twice your age could possibly ever attract your love and attention.  I am sorry that I fell in love with you.  That I let myself be fooled that such a fickle and erratic young lady could similarly fall in love with me. 

“Most importantly, I am sorry that I have spent such a great amount of time over the last few years wondering about you, wondering what you were doing, whether you were safe, or whether you were happy or sad.  I am sorry that I invested so much of myself in what I hoped we might become.  How stupid was I to think that I had finally found a fellow soul who I might enjoy the rest of my life with?  No.  I am sorry for fooling myself for so long.

“Now, I see that I was wrong to invest so much of myself in you.  You didn’t learn a thing.  Here you are, a ‘sports’ graduate – whatever that means - about to descend into the depths of some locker room full of reeking footballers to flick towels at their asses, and stare at their ‘packages’, make jokes with the lads and then get on the booze with some reprobate of a journalist with a gravy spattered tie, slugging down Buds in some seedy sports bar. 

“It’s not like that.”  She offered, but was drowned out by his continuing lecture.

“So what’s the future hold for you?  Meet some jerk of a quarterback with a big chest and an inversely proportioned brain, fall in ‘love’, get married, enjoy his career for all of five minutes until he blows a knee or an ankle or takes one too many head knocks.  Then he gets fat sitting on the couch drinking beer with his former football mates, and in between reliving his ‘glory years’ he finds time to drunkenly fuck you missionary and foist half a dozen screaming brats on you. 

“And to think, you could have had a life of distinguished elegance and luxury with me.  I would have put you through the very best colleges, ivy-league, whatever you wanted.  You could have learnt the classics and contemplated the deeper meaning of metaphysics, or music, or what-the-fuck-ever.  No opera and art galleries for you, its Shitsville Texas with twelve screaming kids.  No charity events, country clubs and summer vacations in the Hamptons, its Bob the used car salesman - ‘Hey don’t I know you, didn’t you once play wide receiver for that college team in arse-fuck Idaho...’

“I tried to show you refinement and gentility.  But I failed, I mean just look at what you’re wearing.”

“What’s wrong with this?  I’m wearing a skirt.”

“Where from?The bargain rack at Walmart?”

“I suppose you’d rather I be wearing something frilly and outrageous:  dressed up like some five-year- old in her best party dress!”  She shot back.

“Why not?  At least it would be suitably feminine and better reflecting your natural looks and talents.  Instead you’ll just waste yourself on mediocrity and... squalidness.”  The words sank in.

“Do you really think that?”  She asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“I think I’m very different now.  I would never have worn a skirt before.  I even call myself Charlotte these days.  That’s something isn’t it?”

“Praise the Lord for small mercies.”

“I think you’re wrong.  Being a PR manager for a great team isn’t what you think it is.  It’s a career.  It’s a respectable career, and there are lots of very respectable people working in the field.  And I’m not into footballers, in case you never noticed, I like basketball, not football.  Anyway, men in sport don’t interest me, not that way.  I like smart guys.  Guys who know how to treat me properly.”

“And how is that Charlotte?”  He looked at her suggestively across the room.  She couldn’t meet his eyes.  She knew exactly what he meant.  She could feel the butterflies in her tummy telling her exactly what he meant.  She needed someone to dominate her.  Someone to humiliate her.Someone to free the butterflies.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t change the subject Charlotte, how should a man ‘treat you properly’.”  She fiddled with her hands in her lap. 

“I’m sorry.”  She said finally.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry for coming here in clothing not to your liking.  I’ll try harder next time.”

“Next time?”  He asked lewdly.

“Next time I visit.  Now, I should be going.”  She stood up, raising her gaze from her lap.  He was reclined comfortably in his couch, a familiar gleam in the corner of his eye.  ‘Damn!’ she thought, ‘how does he do it to me?  I have to leave before this gets out of hand.’

“Look.  I came to say sorry.  I really am apologetic; I should never have done what I did.  I now know what it did to you and it wasn’t fair.  But when I came here today, what I thought I wanted was to hear you say sorry for what you did to a naive 16 year old.  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have expected that.  You don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“No.  You’re wrong there.  I did do something wrong.  I didn’t chase you.  I let you go.”

“Yes you did.”  She said sadly.  “I’m going.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because isn’t an answer Charlotte.”  He said quietly.  “Why don’t you stay for dinner.  Perhaps we can talk some more?”

She looked about the room.  She knew what would happen if she stayed.  He’d try to worm his way into her, tormenting her with his eyes, making the butterflies flutter.  She needed time to think about whether to accept or not.

“Can I use a bathroom to freshen up?”  She asked tentatively.

“Guest bathroom, it used to be your bathroom.  First on the left down the hall.  You should remember the way, there’s been some renovations but it’s still in the same place.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

She got back to her feet.  Shaking, she walked down the hall to the bathroom.  On doing so she walked past Mr Campbell’s family portraits.  There had once been four paintings, one of his father, his mother, himself and one of her very own mother.  Now she stopped dead in the middle of the hall to see the painting of her mother had been replaced.  Instead she found a picture of herself asleep.  The photo had been taken while she was imprisoned, she was wrapped in amongst her sheets, clad in the pink flannelette ballerina sleeper that she had loathed so much.  She thought she looked peaceful in the photo. 

A warm feeling erupted inside her.  One that she couldn’t put aside.

She shook her head and continued on to the bathroom. 

She let the door close behind her as she washed her face in the basin.  She dried herself and then stared into the mirror.  Looking back at herself, she saw that for the first time in a very long time she looked vibrant and alive.  For too many months she’d looked at the cold eyes staring back at her in the mirror and wondered what had happened to her.

But now, she felt alive.  She felt illuminated. 

But she also felt scared.  What was she doing?  Was she seriously contemplating staying for dinner?  What would that suggest to him?  Would he take it the wrong way?  Didn’t she just want to see what might be left of what they had?

She shook her head.  No.  She knew there was something there.  She’d come to get closure and to say goodbye.  But now there was a sliver of hope that something was still there.  She’d thought it a remote possibility when she’d planned her trip to the City.  Indeed, she had deliberately played down any expectations.  But now?  Now she didn’t know.  ‘Only one way to find out.’  She told herself.

She smiled to herself in the mirror, took a deep breath and prepared herself to return to the sitting room and tell him she’d be happy to stay for dinner.

The door handle wouldn’t turn.  It was locked.

She rattled the door in its frame, but to no avail.

A familiar panic rose in her stomach.

She shook the door again, and this time called out.  “Mr Campbell!  Bosker!  The doors locked!  Help!”

“Of course the doors locked Charlotte.  You didn’t think you’d be getting out of here so easily did you?”  Mr Campbell’s voice emanated from speakers in the roof.

She smiled slightly.  “No.  No I didn’t.  Not from you, you pervert.”  She let go of the handle.

“I’ve been hard at work while you were gone Charlotte, I’ve redecorated.  Just for you.  You see, I knew you’d be back one day.  We started something Charlotte, something very special, and I knew that one day you’d remember what it was and you’d come back to finish it.  Tell me if I’m wrong.”

She looked up at the camera, but she said not a word.

“But before we get back to where we left off, you have to be punished.  If you remember, I used to award you black spots for bad behaviour.  Well, since you were very bad when you ran away, so I’ve given you a black spot for every day of your absence.  I’ve kept that tally every day since you left.  By my reckoning, you’ve earned one thousand, six hundred and six black spots.

“That’s a lot of black spots to work off, and that means a lot of punishment.

“I’ve decided to start by removing some of the privileges I so graciously extended to you during your last stay.”

Charlotte turned slowly toward the back of the bathroom and looked at the interlocking door that she knew led to her old bedroom.  She placed her hand on the door knob:  it turned.

“Go ahead, have a good look.”  Mr Campbell suggested wickedly.

She opened the door and her stomach fluttered.

She gazed at the pink wallpaper, the sheepskin rug on the floor and the large white cot where her bed had once stood.  Laying over the rail of the cot was a pink, frilled and ruffled romper suit created from the depths of Mr Campbell’s depraved mind.  Ominously, a cloth diaper and pink rubber pants hung next to her new clothes.

And that wasn’t all.  Her single wardrobe had been replaced by a bank of cupboards, the doors were each thrown open to reveal an unrelenting tide of frilled and lacy clothes.  Pink, blue, purple party dresses, a whole array of onesie pyjamas, rompers such as the one hanging over her new cot, playsuits in every colour imaginable, and an entire wall of fresh, clean cloth diapers.

“I once threatened you with a month in the nursery without toilet privileges.  Well that should be a good start to your punishment.  But if you behave well for Nanny Madeline, we may allow you back into some big girl panties in a few weeks.” 

Looming out of the shadows, Madeline the maid appeared with a pacifier and bonnet in hand.  She smiled evilly,  “Welcome back little Miss, I’ve very much looked forward to this moment.”

Mr Campbell continued, “After a month of good behaviour, then we can return to your lessons so you may become a proper little girl, and if you work very hard, in a year or two you may be fit to become a lady and join me by my side.”

Charlotte looked up at the camera with fear in her eyes.  Inside, her butterflies soared free.