Chapter 1

Carol straightened up and, placing both hands into the small of her back, stretched. As her weary body arced backwards, she let out a small groan. "This job is going to be the death of me," she muttered to herself as she glanced at the cheap watch strapped to her wrist. "Five to three - time to pack away." Night office cleaner - it wasn't much of a job, Carol knew that, but as an unmarried mother living on a council estate in an area with high unemployment, she was lucky to have even that. And there were some advantages about being employed by a cowboy outfit like Duncan Ellis Cleaning, the main one being that they paid cash in hand with no questions asked. No P45s, no tax. And, of course, it didn't affect her benefits. All strictly illegal and god help her if the Benefit Agency ever found out but it was good while it lasted. True, she earned below the legal minimum rate and the thought of leaving her kids alone in that tower block flat for a large part of the night was always a worrying one but there was no other way to survive as far as Carol could see... apart from working the streets, of course, but she couldn't bring herself to even think about that option.

Gratefully she opened the cupboard up in the dingy foyer of the rundown office block that was her responsibility and started to put her materials away. Shit, but she was tired... weary to the bone and the kids would have her up early again tomorrow. Maybe an hour or so snoozing on the sofa at lunchtime while the kids were at school would help? As an idea it sure sounded good. "Better hurry," Carol thought to herself, "Steve'll be here soon to let me out and run me home." Steve, the Assistant Manager for the cleaning company, in his mid twenties and thus ten years or so younger than Carol and yet oh-so-cock sure of himself.

The thin woman hurried to complete her task, brushing her greasy blond hair out of her eyes as she heard the sound of the worn out Transit pulling to a halt outside. Then there came the sound of a key unlocking the front door of the building and suddenly Steve was stood there, his overweight, bloated body towering over Carol by at least a foot. She looked up at his red hued face and immediately smelt the alcohol on his breath. "God, he's disgusting," Carol thought to herself, "and he's been drinking more than usual. Hope he gets me home in one piece... "

"Come on then," the man slurred at her, his eyes drinking in her bony, but still not-bad-looking form. Carol cringed inside for she knew that Steve fancied her... but, then again, she thought, he'd fancy anything in a skirt! As far as Carol knew, Steve was the most disliked person in the area - rude, unshaven, bullying and ugly with rancid breath. "Bet even the tarts turn him down!" she joked to herself.

Carol climbed into the van and waited till Steve locked the building up and clambered into the driver's side. "Get everyone else home okay?" she asked.

"Yeah... not that it's any of your business," came the reply. Carol was the only employee to finish so late - all the other girls ended their shifts at two which gave Steve half an hour to kill with his bottle after dropping the last off and before doing Carol's pick up... and which was why Carol always ended up sharing some whisky fumes on the way home.

As the Transit's sluggish diesel engine shuddered reluctantly into life, Carol lapsed into silence and, closing her eyes, leaned her head back against the plywood screen that separated the cab from the load carrying area of the van. Steve ground the gears into first and pulled, shuddering, away. A loss of momentum and yet more grating sounds told Carol that the manager had changed into second. Tut-tutting silently to herself at his lack of skill, Carol made herself more comfortable... and then snapped her eyes open in shock for Steve had placed his hand over her denim covered right knee. Should she say something, Carol asked herself, or just let it go for the moment? Maybe he'd just remove it again if she didn't react? Deciding to follow this course of action, Carol kept mum.

But Steve didn't remove his hand and, instead, it started to slowly crawl higher up her thigh, moving round to the inside as it did so. Carol was no prude and she full well knew what Steve was up to... but she was damned certain that she wasn't going to accommodate him! Coughing gently, she took hold of Steve's meandering wrist and removed the offending hand from her leg before returning it to the Transit's gear lever. A certain coldness radiated out from the man beside her but at least the hand didn't return. Carol started to relax... only to discover, to her horror, that Steve was swinging the van into the side of the road and applying the brakes. "What... what are you doing?" she asked nervously.

Steve didn't reply but as soon as the van came to a halt, his right hand snaked out and fastened itself upon her breast, squeezing hard. A small sound, not unlike the squeak of a small mouse, slipped out of Carol's mouth as her body jerked backwards and both her hands moved to try to catch hold of Steve's wrist. But things didn't quite go the way she planned and she felt her breast released just before some metal bands were clamped around her wrists. Then her torso was yanked forward and there came the sound of a third click... and the woman discovered that she could no longer lean back fully into her seat. Something had been used to attach her to the grab rail that ran along the van's dashboard. "What do you think you're doing, Steve?" she demanded harshly. "I'll report you for this, you bastard!"

"No you won't," the man replied in a quiet, almost conversational tone. "You won't because you're going to promise me that you're never going to mention a word about what's about to happen."

"You must be fuckin' joking! I'll be screaming the roof of this tin can off in about thirty seconds if you don't let me go!"

Steve reached forward and flicked on the interior light. Now Carol could see what was holding her wrists together and, at the same time, was attaching her to the van - a modified set of handcuffs with three locking loops. The man beside her leered and held up a small mobile phone, inches before her eyes. Carol struggled to focus upon the small, illuminated screen before her... and eventually made out the words displayed there - 'Social Services - Emergency 24 Hour Contact'. "You know it's a crime to leave kids as young as yours unattended, don't you, Carol?"

The woman closed her eyes and slowly nodded her head, already seeing where this conversation was going. "You'll do what I say or I make the call and get the Social to check out your flat. They'll take the kids away, Carol... and you'll do time... "

"But... but," the woman protested.

A sickly smiled started to show itself upon her tormentor's face, "Yes, yes you little cow, I know why you did it... but that's no excuse in law. I make the call and your kid's are in care before you know it. Do I make the call or do you do as I say?"

"Fuck you!" Carol snarled defiantly.

The smile only widened as Steve pressed the small 'transmit' button on the phone. Carol's nerve held for a few more seconds... and then cracked. "Okay! Okay!" she cried out desperately. "I'll do whatever you want. Cancel the call, god-damn it!"

Steve hit the button illustrated with a picture of a small red handset before putting the phone down. "Now there's a sensible girl. And let's see just what you've got under that blouse..." Carol cringed as the man's rancid breath washed over her while he unbuttoned her blouse and pushed the material aside to reveal her bra beneath. Something glinted in the pale light inside the van - a Stanley knife that Steve then used to cut the undergarment away, leaving Carol's naked breasts dangling freely. "Hmmm... not bad," Steve mused with the air of a connoisseur. "A bit droopy but that's to be expected with a woman of your age." His hands reached up and, cupping a gland in each, he carefully weighted them. "C's?" he suggested aloud.

Carol could only nod dumbly in response. The man's thumbnails harshly jammed into her bare nipples making Carol flinch. "Answer me, cunt!" he snapped angrily.

"Yes... yes... thirty-four C."

"Sir!" he barked.

"Sir?"

"You call me 'Sir', you cunt!"

"Yes... Sir. Thirty-four C, Sir," came the dutiful, if frightened, reply

"Better. Right, let's get moving." Releasing his grip, Steve straightened himself in his seat and turned over the engine. Once it reluctantly caught, he eased the van back into the sparse early morning traffic and Carol found herself bouncing along the Old Kent Road, exposed for all that were sharp enough to see...

After a short journey, Steve turned the van into a small dark side road with most of the street lamps extinguished. After bouncing along its uneven surface for a few moments, they pulled to a halt before the tall doors of a lock-up built into the archway of a railway bridge. "End of the line, bitch," Steve muttered before turning off the engine and unlocking the third 'cuff from the dashboard rail. "Okay - now get out."

Carol twisted in her seat and unlatched the door. She swung back to face her tormentor. "But, Sir... my children. I should be home by now, looking after them," she pleaded, a tear running down one cheek.