Chapter 1

It was just one small thing that Yasmin’s father had said, back when she was little, but in the end it made such a difference: “Your life is your responsibility: there are always options.”

It wasn’t said with any special prescience, it was just one of those phrases that can strike a chord, and it stayed with her.

He was always positive like that, anyway. He is Tanzanian, while his wife is Portuguese, though they hadn’t been allowed to live in Portugal so they’d got themselves smuggled into England in a lorry, when their only child had been a baby. They’d wanted to give her the best chance in life.

Things had been fine for years and years, living quietly in the Somali community in Leicester, until three weeks ago when the factory where he worked had been raided by the Border Agency, and the family had been put in an immigration removal centre.

Then at the airport, where they were being deported back to Tanzania, her dad told her to escape, and Yasmin just literally ran from her minder going to the loo, and she couldn’t be caught. She is only five feet three, but she has a runner’s body.

So now she was free and still in England, but she had nothing: just a shoulder bag and some cash her dad had given her. She jogged away from the airport, turning into side roads as soon as she could, while she tried to work out how to help her mum and dad. Even though she was only fourteen she was sure they ought to’ve had more like a proper court case, instead of that quick hearing where they’d been represented by the useless lawyer who’d hardly seemed to know who they were.

So when she walked past a smart-looking shop called “Harris Solicitors” Yasmin just went in. Perhaps they could get legal aid? Anyway she had an impulse to be in a building for a bit instead of out on the street, where some men, as usual, were eyeing her up.

“Hello, I wonder if you do Legal Aid?” she asked the perfect brunette receptionist.

Matthew Harris used his court experience to mask his reaction, as he waved the girl into a chair on the far side of his big, intimidating desk. He checked out her dark-green eyes, with their lower eyelids plump and even curved down a touch, making them such a shape; the glowing brown skin between African and Mediterranean; the cheekbones; her mouth; that mop of fluffy dark-brown hair...

The word ‘stunning’ seemed inadequate. Even before he got to her slender little body with those jutting tits.

“Hello Yasmin, yes we do legal aid,” he answered the question his hot receptionist had relayed. “What is it you need it for? You don’t look like a criminal.” He smiled, making himself an ally.

“My mum and dad and I are being deported,” she told him nervously, “so I was wondering ... if we could appeal or something? I don’t have any money though, that’s why I need Legal Aid...”

“Where are they now?” he asked as she petered out. The girl was in awe of course - an effect his suit and office were intended to achieve even on wealthy adults. He quickly found out that her father had told her to run from the Border Agency, and so the parents were probably back in the immigration removal centre; and nobody knew where she was.

“Well we can certainly try,” he smiled at the anxious youngster, “and they won’t be deported without you, so the first step is for you to hole up somewhere, out of sight.” He watched the girl wrestle with what to say next.

“My house is locked up,” she confessed eventually.

“I see,” Matthew sympathised. The girl was trying to be brave and not cry. “I don’t suppose you have somewhere you can stay? Friends? Relatives?”

“My relatives are in other countries, and my friends’ parents might call the police, perhaps, or something. They don’t have much space, or much money either...”

Was she beginning to realise her dad had made a mistake telling her to run away? Her father who’d taken a fantastic gamble with her safety - in desperation, or just not thinking? Well... “Let me see if my wife knows anyone.” Matthew picked up the phone.

“Alright,” he told Yasmin at the end of the conversation, “my wife, Sadie, says you can stay in our spare room tonight. She can’t bear the thought of what might happen if I were to boot you out of here with nowhere to go.” He smiled at the relief and gratitude that swept across the lovely young face. “Now, tell me all about your mum and dad.”

Thirty minutes later Yasmin had imparted all the details and was trying not to be intimidated by the confident and very good-looking woman who’d arrived in a BMW that looked brand new and very expensive. She was taller than her at about five foot seven, and bigger too with shoulders and hips; mature at perhaps thirty, and expensively dressed and scented ... in a moment Yasmin was sitting in the BMW with her, being whisked out of the city.

“Now don’t you worry about anything my dear,” the woman reassured her, “you’re welcome to the spare room while Matthew makes a start seeing if he can reopen the case.” Her voice was super correct like Mr Harris’, and conveyed the same confidence that everything in the world was how she wanted it.

“Thank you, Mrs Harris” said Yasmin.

“Oh call me Sadie dear, there’s no need to be formal is there? And my husband is Matthew...”

The music stopped, there was a ringing noise, and Matthew’s voice was in the car. Sadie started talking: “Are you doing some shopping on the way home? Some hooks and those rings on mounting plates? And an outfit, and a few metres of that soft pink stuff you know what I mean, and fastenings...”

“Yes yes I know,” Matthew seemed to think something was funny, “I’m on my way now. I can’t concentrate here anyway.” The music started again, with the violins and piano.

Yasmin looked around the stylish, expensive car, searching for how Sadie and Matthew had been talking to each other. She couldn’t see ... she was a junior person in a very senior world! Mrs Harris was concentrating, so Yasmin just gazed out of the window as she was driven through the countryside, finally into a village that had no litter and only expensive-looking cars on big immaculate driveways. Sadie swooped into one of them. Yasmin watched the huge garage door glide open, heard it close behind them, and had to be told to get out into the echoing brick garage that had a glinty red sports car already in it as well as an empty space.

“Come through,” Sadie indicated a door which went through into a kitchen, which was as impressive as everything else about the Harrises. She showed Yasmin through the big, luxurious house and up the big wide staircase. “This can be your room.”

Yasmin gaped at the large, plush bedroom, with its built-in wardrobe and en-suite. Yasmin had heard about en-suite shower rooms, but never actually seen one.

“You’re ready for a shower I expect, but come through and we’ll have one in mine,” said Sadie, so confidently that Yasmin just followed her along the corridor and into an even bigger bedroom. She watched uncertainly as Sadie pressed a button, which started water spraying out behind a big glass partition, from lots of different places. “Come on, you’ve showered with girls before haven’t you?”

Yasmin didn’t want to admit she’d been home-schooled and had never showered with anybody. Obviously she was supposed to have. She didn’t want to say she didn’t really need a shower, either. She obediently took off her trainers, jeans and top, then her socks, bra and panties, following Sadie’s brisk example and trying not to think about being in the nude. Sadie wasn’t looking at her especially, at least, and seemed to think it was just normal.

Sadie held the glass door open and Yasmin edged awkwardly past the nude woman’s lean, athletic body. Her bush was blonde, too. And neatly trimmed unlike her own. Her tits were firm, like her own C’s but a bit smaller.

In a second Yasmin was standing in a deluge of warm water that sprayed her from every side. She saw it was a twin shower and watched Sadie, almost but not quite touching her, twirl slowly, savouring it. Yasmin copied her, then Sadie turned the water off and took a bottle of shower gel.

Sadie squirted gel on her hands and reached for her! She shied away. “Stand still,” Sadie instructed, so she had to. Sadie turned her by the shoulders and started washing her back, holding one shoulder at a time to steady her. Sadie wasn’t saying anything, just washing slowly down, over each asscheek, crouching as she moved onto her legs, as though savouring them somehow. She added more gel, working down, both front and back now, to the feet which she lifted one at a time to do between the toes.

“I ... I...” Yasmin began to protest as the forceful woman started back up her thighs, heading for her private place. Surely this wasn’t quite right?

“Don’t fuss,” Sadie became more businesslike than ever, “we want to make sure you’re clean don’t we? Come on.”

Yasmin had to open her legs as they were being nudged apart, trying to work out why Sadie was washing her, but not liking to ask. Sadie seemed so sure it was the right thing.

Yasmin kept still even while the strange fingers rubbed over her labia and clitty, lubricated with gel. Expensive, perfumed gel. Sadie was being firm and quick, not trying to have sex with her or anything like that - her attitude was more like a doctor.

At least, that’s how it seemed. Yasmin wasn’t quite sure because she’d never had sex and had only recently started thinking about playing with herself. But this was like the feeling between her legs when she was riding her bike or something: the touches weren’t trying to be sexy, so they weren’t.

“Good girl,” said her mentor, “you’re a good girl. Now I’ll just finish and then we’ll rinse.”

Though Yasmin found first her chest and tits had to be washed, and her hair, then her tits a bit more for some reason, and embarrassingly her nipples came out. She realised Sadie was touching them differently now.

“Your hair is lovely and soft,” Sadie was telling her, “that’s the advantage of being mixed-race - you are aren’t you? - it’s nice and curly but so soft.”

Yasmine tried to ease away from the inappropriate fingertips, but that just seemed to set Sadie off somehow.

“Oooh,” the older woman pursued the erect nipples wherever Yasmin tried to hide them, even in the corner, “they’re sensitive aren’t they? Aren’t they?” She span her round by her shoulders.

“Yes,” Yasmin could only look at the wet tiled floor.

“It’s good to have sensitive tits,” Sadie sounded pleased, cupping them now. Yasmin just stood there, her tits tingling like they never had before but it was so wrong.

Luckily Sadie stopped after a few seconds, washed herself quickly and turned the water back on. Yasmin made sure to rinse her private bits thoroughly with her hands.

Sadie turned the water off and to Yasmin’s relief passed her a towel instead of drying her. She dried and reached for her underwear to start getting dressed again, but Sadie stopped her: “Matthew will be back with your new clothes soon, just stay in your towel. Let’s go down and have some afternoon tea and you can tell me a bit about yourself.”

Yasmin allowed herself to be led downstairs wearing only a towel, trying to persuade herself to ask about the new clothes but not quite being able to. There had to be a reason Sadie wasn’t telling her.

But tomorrow she was going to ask about leaving, she reckoned. When she thought back to how Matthew had looked at her ... and now she couldn’t get dressed and he’d been buying her clothes?

Anyway she sat on the sofa with Sadie, in her towel, legs together, drinking tea. Sadie, also in a towel, was being very friendly.

“So they were going to deport you after your first hearing, when you’ve grown up here? That’s terrible!” Sadie sympathised.

Yasmin found herself telling her all about it.

“Well you can count on Matthew to get it fixed,” Sadie grinned when Yasmin finished, “and till he does you can stay here, don’t worry about that. You certainly don’t want to be out on the street; you wouldn’t last five minutes looking how you do.”

Yasmin smiled gratefully. She couldn’t help thinking Sadie was correct, even while at the same time thinking this situation didn’t feel quite right. That feeling grew when Sadie changed the conversation.

“So you don’t seem to have done too much with boyfriends just yet, I hope you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not really.” Yasmin hadn’t had a boyfriend. She’d only recently started thinking about sex at all.

“Very wise,” the older woman congratulated her. “Tell me about your parents.”

Yasmin told her about her mum and dad.

“Your father is from Tanzania?” Sadie seemed to relish that. “And your mother from Portugal? That’s so exotic. Let’s go and try a little fragrance. I have all kinds of samplers upstairs, come on, it’s just what you need, with this gorgeous skin.”

So for the next fifteen minutes Yasmin had about ten different scents dabbed and sprayed on her neck then wiped off again. Finally Sadie found one she liked, sprayed some more and left it on.

Yasmin was starting to adjust to the intimacy, and she did like the fragrance Sadie had settled on. It was classy and expensive, and just a little exotic as Sadie seemed to like.

“Right, now let’s just tidy your bush up a bit. Do you want me to do it for you?”

“No thanks,” gasped Yasmin, “I can do it.”

Somehow she’d agreed to do it, so for the next few minutes she snipped and plucked under the decisive tutelage she was even getting a bit used to. At least her bush didn’t go onto the top of her legs like she knew some girls’ did, and it wasn’t that thick and the plucking didn’t hurt so much once Sadie had shown her about pulling the skin tight and being really quick with the tweezers.

As she surveyed the neat result she heard the front door open, and she just had time to stand up and rearrange her towel before Matthew came into the bedroom, carrying several bags of different sizes. She made herself raise a smile to return his ‘hello’.

“Ah good,” Sadie stood up too and gave Matthew a quick kiss, taking some bags from him, “come along Yasmin we’ll get you dressed in your room. Matthew has some things to fit in here anyway.”

Yasmin followed Sadie down the corridor, glad not to be in a bedroom with a man, wearing nothing but a towel.

Back in the room that she’d said would be Yasmin’s, Sadie tipped the bags out on the bed. She picked out a black dress with white frilly trim and handed it across.

“Put this on,” she commanded, so definitely that Yasmin took her towel off and pulled the dress over her head before thinking about her bra and panties, and without checking the size. With the hem only just below the top of her legs it stuck.

She kept pulling, felt it on her shoulders, taut, then checked in the mirrored wall that made up the wardrobe doors. She gave a little shriek as her mind struggled with the awful truth.

“It’s a costume!” she gasped at Sadie. “A sexy maid costume! Not proper clothes!”

She started to pull it off, only to have her wrists gripped in Sadie’s much stronger hands.

“It’s lovely,” Sadie told her, letting her wrists go and doing up the zip. “Anyway it’s what I want you to wear and that’s that. Here, put these on before we go downstairs. It’s time for drinks and we want you to serve them.”

Yasmin knew she was overpowered at every level. She slowly pulled on the small white bikini panties, the white thigh-highs and the black shoes. She was a fantasy maid. In a tiny dress and no bra. She had a bad feeling now.

“Here,” Sadie was standing behind, fitting a black choker with a white frill round her neck, with a buckle.

Yasmin stood haplessly, trying not to glimpse herself in the mirror, while Sadie rummaged on the bed and pulled out a strip of frilly fabric. As she came towards her with it Yasmin saw there was a loop at one end, like a handle, then she had to lift her chin as Sadie’s hand aimed the other end in at her neck ... there was a click.

Sadie grinned at her: “So beautiful, and so innocent. Just on the cusp of sexuality. Exactly what Matthew and I needed, after four years of marriage - and here you are, needing somewhere. Come on.” She gave a gentle tug on her lead, smiling as though enjoying Yasmin’s trepidation.

Yasmin followed in a daze, trying to take in what was happening. She was being led around the house on a LEAD, dressed ... dressed up as a servant for bosses to ogle and ... take advantage of, she feared. Her mind refused to think about it in detail.

She trailed after Sadie, watching her lock all the windows and doors, taking the keys out. “Now we don’t want you running off and getting into trouble,” Sadie was saying kindly. “If you get out you’ll be hurt, enslaved, prostituted, gang-raped, who knows; or even if you make it back home and your parents have been released on licence, you’ll all be deported as soon as you’re back with them.