Chapter 3

Things fell into a kind of routine. Outside of that one hour a week, my life went on much as it had before Mr Foster had shown up. Thirty-nine hours a week, I was a nurse and, outside that time, I was my Master's cum-slut whore, following his orders and humiliating myself at his command. And, for one hour a week, I really was a whore, servicing Mr Foster in exchange for the one hundred pounds he placed into my account every seven days. As he had told me, Mr Foster managed to hold out much longer after that first, rather quick, climax of our relationship and I got to rather enjoy our time together. Clearly, we'd have both preferred some variety in the positions we fornicated in, but that was just not possible. It just had to be done with him laying on his back while I straddled him from above... and I had to watch out that I didn't accidentally jar those life saving tubes that connected him to the Dialysis machine. The money he paid me didn't, of course, stay in the bank very long and while I tried to limit myself to only spending half of it, there was always another dress or pair of shoes I just had to have. In the course of conversations with Mr Foster, I would keep him up to date with these purchases and he always feigned polite interest in my descriptions but it was only when I'd been and brought some fresh and exciting lingerie that his interest really perked up and that was because I got to show off my purchases to him in the flesh, as it were. Many of these items were bought especially for his pleasure and were obtained at my local sex shop; they were far too flimsy or impractical for everyday use. On the occasions that he approved of my purchases, I would often find myself being reimbursed for the cost in my account the next week.

Anyway, this all went on for six months or so until the day when Mr Foster altered the proceedings by stopping me from clambering up on the bed after I'd disrobed. "No, Carol," he told me, "I just want to talk to you this week." Then he smiled, "And I'd rather do it with you looking like that. Forgive an old man his foibles."

"Hardly old, Mr Foster," I responded. "But am I starting to bore you?"

"Of course not, my dear, but there are some things more important than sex."

More important than sex? This sounded serious.

"Carol, can I trust you?"

"I think you know you can, Sir. After all, you could ruin my career with just a few telephone calls and, besides, I do know more than a little about how much... influence you have outside the Moor. I'd be a fool to rub you up the wrong way."

"You are a bright girl, Carol, and that pleases me. But we are talking about trust big time here. What I want to talk to you about is... a very delicate matter."

The seriousness of whatever it was that he wanted to raise really began to dawn on me and so I sat down and crossed my legs. "I'm listening..." I said.

"I'm getting very tired of being a prisoner, Carol. I want to see more than four walls and the inside of a van on the short trip here every week."

"You're thinking about an escape attempt?"

"There'll be no 'attempt' about it, Carol. I will be escaping."

I stood up and moved round to check a connection on the machine that had been playing up recently. It seemed very odd doing nursing in the nude. As I was bending over, twiddling away, my patient took the opportunity to goose me. I gave the obligatory shriek and wiggled my posterior invitingly before, far more seriously, turning my attention back to what he'd been saying. "But... but without your visits here you won't survive long at all."

"Would that upset you, Carol?"

Not wanting to look at him, I turned back to recheck the machine. "I'd miss the money," I joked but yes, in my heart, I would miss him... quite a lot.

"I'm sure you would. But that won't happen. This isn't the only place in the world with these machines, you know."

I assured him that I knew this and I also knew that they were incredibly expensive and rare. "I'm sure Interpol, or whatever they call themselves these days, know where every machine in the world is. It wouldn't take too long to track you down."

"I told you before, Carol, that I'm very rich. I own an island in the Caribbean. The forces of law and order have no juristriction there. In fact, I was this close," he held up a hand with thumb and forefinger almost touching, "to escaping there from the Moor before my damned kidneys gave up the ghost. Now I'm ready to go again."

"But you'll still have to leave your precious island every week for treatment..."

Mr Foster then reminded me of an old proverb to the effect that if the mountain wouldn't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed would have to go to the mountain.

"You can't be serious!" I gasped. "You've bought your own machine! But they cost millions!"

"Carol, am I repeating myself when I say that I once told you I was a rich man? But I have to admit that this has made a serious hole even in my wealth. But what's a man got if he hasn't got his health?"

I sat down again. "That's true... but it does seem like a waste of valuable resources. And how did you get them to sell you one?"

"The people who build these are, at the end of the day, just businessmen out to make a few dollars. They don't care who they sell to as long as they get their money. Which they have."

"So why are you telling me this? No... let me guess... you need someone who can run the machine... someone who you've already got in your pocket? Someone like me?"

"You are a bright kid, Carol. Yes, someone like you."

"And what makes you think I want to live on a small private island in the Caribbean?"

Patiently Mr Foster explained that he'd had me investigated and then asked me if I'd really rather continue as a poorly paid, over worked NHS nurse in a wet and cold Britain or would I prefer to do an hour a week's toil in the sun and earn lots more and spend my spare time lolling on the beach and water-skiing?

"How much more?" I asked, greed rising in my voice.

"A quarter of a million."

"Pardon?" I asked, bemused.

"You're an essential part of my escape plan, Carol. You help me get out of here and then look after me for five years. You get no salary as such but I put a quarter of a million pounds into a bank account in Switzerland for you. After five years, I get a new nurse and you go on your way. The only problem being that you'll never be able to return to Britain... you'll be a wanted woman..."

I said that I wasn't at all sure if I wanted to make that sacrifice... but it was a whole load of money. "What do I have to do as part of this escape plan then?"

"Remember that I said that the guards, while corrupt, are basically honest men at heart? I need you to trick them and get them sedated. I don't want them hurt, just senseless for an hour or so."

"Technically, that's not hard. Getting the drugs would be the difficult part. A quarter of a million? Jesus..."

"Carol?"

"Yes?" I answered.

"You'd best get dressed... my hour's almost up."

I smiled my thanks and reached for my clothing. My thoughts were in turmoil. It was a lot of money... but, effectively it meant exiling myself. But why not? What did I have here? A rented, run down flat with both rising damp and dry rot, a few sticks of second hand furniture and an overdrawn bank account. No family, hardly any friends. None of that seemed to count for much really. However, I did have Master... and what should I do about him? I should tell him, I supposed... but since I didn't really know just who Master was or what he did for a living, maybe that wouldn't have been the best idea I ever had. No, a silent vanishing act would seem to be best... and I could then contact him again once I got to the island. But if the plan all went wrong? Prison for sure... and I wasn't at all clear if I could take that. But was it worth the risk?

The sound of rattling on the outside of the door jarred me back to reality and I hurried to button up my uniform. As I passed the bed on the way to the door, I paused and whispered to Mr Foster, "Okay. I'll do it. Just don't let me down."

He squeezed my bottom as he said, "Good girl. As soon as you can, go and see my solicitor. His name and address is on this card. He'll brief you as to what you have to do and sort out payment details."

As I drew back the pair of bolts on the door, I realised that the die was set and I was on my way to being both a criminal and a gangster's moll...