Chapter 19: The Use and Abuse of Statisticians

A REWARD FOR HARD WORK

Neena visits my cell in the evening. She doesn't usually come at this time. It's generally the time of day when I can get a few moments to recover my senses but suddenly it looks like I won't even have that chance now.

I stand up as she enters the cell, bow my head and hold my hands behind my back. It's becoming instinctive, I hardly realise that I've done it. I glance up momentarily. She smiles, it's friendly but it also seems like an expression of satisfaction at how I am learning to behave. "Your colleagues have been doing some good work recently," she says, "so it's time to give them a reward."

'Colleagues?' She makes this sound like a normal workplace! I suppose she means the group of Koreans that I have been working alongside. I don't think of them as colleagues: they have rather smart grey uniforms whilst I am always naked, none of them wear collars, and none of them have numbers tattooed on their skin so it's clear that they are employees whilst I am a slave. A stereotypical response is needed from me now. All I say is, "How can I help, Gaspazha?"

"You can help because you are the reward. Tonight you will serve them in every way they wish. I shall of course receive reports on how you have performed. You will not let me down, I hope? After all, a Captain who gives a reward to her crew will feel very angry if the reward turns out not to be very rewarding?"

Once I would have been appalled. Now I am merely resigned to my fate. Accepting. It's clear that Neena means that I am to be given as a sexual plaything to a trio of domestics who "had done good work recently". Neena hasn't specified what exactly the Koreans are going to do with me but she doesn't really need to.

The Koreans. Actually I have no idea where they come from. They might be from Mongolia? Perhaps China? I picked on Korea, because that was where ... what was his name? Joseph! He was called Joseph and that was where he was going, the last time I saw him. How long ago was it now? I really have no idea. Ever so long...

Joe! I still think of him but I am so busy. Days go by before I spare him a thought and even then his memory has totally lost its vividness. It's dulled, as if I'm anaesthetised. It is like seeing a tiny image of him which gets smaller and fainter, smaller and fainter each time I think of him. All my waking hours are full: wash, run, gym, fuck, do academic work on my data, do housework, wash, lick, suck, sleep and so on the next day. And the next day. And the next. And for so very many days now.

'The Koreans' all speak very fast and never really speak to me except to give instructions - "You wash" or "You clean here". One of them seems to be in charge of the other two and I have called her "Tiger Lily", after the Chinese conjurer's daughter in the Rupert Bear Stories (1) but her real name seems to be Batachikan.

To fill the empty space until one of them arrives I find myself saying, "I shall do my best to entertain our Korean staff, Gaspazha"

"Korean? What are you talking about?"

"Er, Batachikan and her colleagues ... I mean ... I thought..."

"Koreans? They are not Koreans. Whatever gave you that idea? They are Tartars, from Mongolia. Their ancestors held large parts of Russia until we overthrew them." She looks at me with a tired expression. "Of course, I sometimes forget that you know so little proper history. It was called 'The Tartar Yoke'; a dreary period in our history. (2) Now the tables are turned and it is ... satisfactory ... for us to have them tamed and working as domestic servants. Whilst they are servants to us they are Superiors to you. Slaves never have colleagues except perhaps for other slaves. Slaves only ever have Superiors. Do you understand?"

"Yes Gaspazha. I am sorry I spoke in a careless way."

"You might be," Neena almost snaps. "Ah, here is Batachikan, now, come for you."

She comes over to Neena and I, smiling. She clips a lead to my collar and handcuffs my hands behind me. She puts her had to one side and then the other as if she is considering whether that will be sufficient for now. She seems happy enough.

Before she goes, Neena takes a broad leather spanking paddle from a bag she is carrying and hands it to 'Tiger Lily' who bows in gratitude and leads me away. I glance over my shoulder, only to see Neena smiling and blowing me a kiss – as she abandons me to my fate.

Together we climb up to the upper story of the dacha. I have a fleeting few moments to reflect on the short revelatory conversation with Gaspazha Neena. So they are from Mongolia. A wave of regret washes over me. Mongolia. Not Korea. Another thin strand which connects me with my former life has been slashed through: the two ends separate and fall away from each other. Not Korean. No connection with ... with ... Joe. Mongolian. Even more alien than they were before. I am not going to be used by the sort of people who Joe has rubbed shoulders with. I am in the hands of people whose name and whose home is the proverbial expression of the far-away and remote and utterly alien. Mongols, from Mongolia.

But Neena began by calling them my colleagues and then had to correct herself by underlining the idea that they were my Superiors. Which they may be, but then Neena has made a mistake. She has spoken without due care and attention. So she is not infallible after all...

The Mongolians have a suite to themselves in the very top floor of the Dacha. I guess that it's the former servant's quarters. Batachikan points to the ground as we enter and I kneel obediently. She goes through to the sitting room and one of her colleagues – Ssisma - returns, smiling the same impassive smile she usually wears. There is a tug on my lead. I follow the two of them into the bedroom that they all share.

There is one single bed and one double. I am clipped to the foot of the double bed and one of them blindfolds me. The blindfold is leather; soft and completely effective. It is wrapped around my head and closed with a broad Velcro fastening. It is not coming loose until it is peeled off. There is silence. Then the rustle of clothes being removed. Then giggles. A hand begins to play with my breasts, then nipples. There is a gentle tug on my nipple rings followed by the wetness of a tongue. As the tongue swirls up and down my nipple I too start to giggle and, worse, I feel myself getting wet.

It confirms to me, that I have started to enjoy being used. My moral defences have been completely eroded and washed away by the constant assault on them.

There's a hand brushing my labia. More giggles. They find my wetness. Many more giggles and incomprehensible words now. I don't need a translation, though, because I can guess what they are saying. "Look at this slave. How wet she is. I thought she wouldn't like this sort of thing but this one obviously does..."

There's a tug on my collar and I follow. It leads me up onto the bed and I am guided between someone's thighs. A hand presses down on my head guiding it firmly down on a shaven crotch. My lips find a girl's labia, so I start to brush them with my lips, as gently as they have been with me: up down, up, down. The labia smell slightly tangy, but clean. They get wet. Out comes my tongue, greeted by more giggling and excited words when they see my stud. I lick. Up. Down. Up. Down. The wetness gets more pronounced. Whoever it is must be enjoying themselves because they begin to mew and move their hips. They slide ever so slightly away from me. I have to lean forwards to catch them. It leaves my bum sticking up in the air and Slap! The paddle catches me. Firm. Not brutal. Just an 'encouragement' to keep going I suppose. I keep going and so do they. Whoever has the paddle keeps up a steady patter on my buttocks. My tongue keeps gently rubbing the other girl's labia. She is so wet now that her lips part and I feel her clit. I swirl across it. Making the shapes of letters with the tip of my tongue. She seems to find "O" and "I" and "F" are particularly exciting, because this is where she starts to buck and really squeal and squeal and squeal and comes and how she comes! Comes with a twisting and bucking of her hips; she holds my lips firmly down onto herself and I am in complete intimate contact with this orgasmic female, trapped by her hands and by her colleague behind me.

They pause. There is more rustling. The girl in front of me moves away and some else takes her place. The performance begins once more. I, brush the girl's labia (not shaven this time) with my tongue. One of them paddles my arse. I assume that the third is enjoying the show. Maybe masturbating herself?

The new girl climbs steadily to ecstasy as my bum begins to burn. I suppose that I am going to have to go through this for the third girl as well?

As the gentle beating goes on, I get more and more distracted by the burning, slapping, pain. It's a real effort to keep my lips and tongue on target when at last the girl orgasms, thank goodness. I do my best to enjoy the short respite.

Ominously, there is another changing of places, but this time something different is happening. There is a finger on my anus. It runs something slippery across me. I kneel, keeping still. The finger slowly penetrates. It rubs round and round. My sphincter relaxes in spite of me. And then the finger is replaced by something else. Harder. Wider. They press, gently but constantly. I do all I can to relax. A dildo slides into me and there is someone on the other end of it. She mounts me. Holds me firmly round the waist. More noise in front of me and then my head is once more pushed towards another – the final vagina. As I lick, the girl behind me enthusiastically reams out my bum. I begin to pant as I try to lick the other girl's clit. It's not a polished performance but what I am now lacking in technique, I make up for in enthusiasm. I am being so completely slutty. As the girl behind me drives the dildo into my bum I gasp and squeal and press forward driving my tongue as far up the other girls vagina as I can and so we go on and on until both of them climax!

I'm exhausted from the physical effort of it and from the psychological shame of it. They strip my blindfold from me and I face them. The three of them are lounging naked, in post orgasmic bliss. They are laughing at me. They know that while they have reached physical emotional sexual satisfaction, I'm high and dry; still panting for it. The front shield on my chastity belt is implacably preventing me getting any relief of my own. Of course they realise and they laugh some more at my predicament. It's true - I am just here to be used. And the worst of it is that I love it now. I could go through the whole thing again and still want to do it yet again, over and over again.

A SIGNIFICANT ENCOUNTER

The following day I am taken back to the University. Somehow Neena seems to expect that I can just forget the things I am being put through, and pick up my academic work as if I were any other researcher. It's another bizarre contradiction; the measured, analytical me on one hand and the debauched, sexual me on the other.

Neena tells me that I am to see to Dr Mendeleyev and Julia Romanova. I am to give them a report on the progress with my (or maybe their?) research.

She takes me in to a tutorial room half way up the University's main tower. The windows of the room give magnificent views across the city. Neena has given me the same clothes to wear once more, so I feel rather more confident about giving a presentation. There was a time when I would never think twice about doing this but by now, after taking the subservient role all the time, it feels very strange to "command attention" again and I'm not sure that I even like it anymore. I find I am asking myself if Dr Mendeleyev or Julia or even Neena could present the data and just have me on hand to deal with any details? But it seems that I am not going to be allowed this luxury.

As we are waiting for two other people to arrive, I shuffle my papers nervously and re-read the list of points I have to make. The door opens. The others all rise and greet a tall, very attractive woman in her - well? – it's hard to say. She's certainly at least thirty, but could be in her forties, even fifties. She is confident, attractive, poised, elegant. She is followed in by a man ... oh fuck! ... oh, oh oh!

It's the man in the photograph, the photograph that "Agency" showed me after they took me from Inward Bound! This is the man that "The Agency" was so interested in; the man in the photograph on Angela's desk. I start to feel sick.

"Gaspadeen Anatoly Sergeyevitch Kustensky and Gaspazha Svetlana Nikitechna Kustenskaya! Thank you so much for coming!" begins Dr Mendeleyev.

Kustensky. Kustenskaya? The name of the Dacha. So it's the name of the Owner... my Owner!

I burst out in a cold sweat, heart racing, feeling sick with anxiety. This is the man who arranged my abduction and my enslavement. Coming here to listen to me discuss how young innocent men and women were prepared to lay bare their innermost fantasies. To strip themselves more than naked. What on earth might my research be leading to?

Dr Mendeleyev has just finished introducing Julia (Neena needs no introduction)... " and this of course is Vyera. Have you met in person yet? Vyera: come to meet Gaspadeen and Gaspazha." Dr Mendeleyev is using the adult version of my name. For the first time in a long time, I am Vyera.

They stand only twenty feet from me but the journey towards then seems to take hours. What do I say? Do I smile? Even allowing for my inherent desire to be polite I can't bring myself to say, "Such a pleasure to meet you." What do slaves do when they meet their Master and Mistress for the first time? Their new owners? The people who apparently have the power of life or death over them?

I walk unsteadily over, bow my head and hold my hands behind my back just as I do when I greet Neena in the mornings. For goodness sake why? But I just stand there. The woman takes my chin in her hand and lifts my face so our eyes meet.

"I am Svetlana Nikitechna," she says.

"And I am Anatoly Sergeyevitch", says the man, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry" I try to say, "I am not sure what to do", falling over my words.

"You are doing well, rabinya," replies the woman. She smiles at her companion as if to say, you see there is truth in Vyera. "Please, we should start."

Once these bizarre formalities are concluded, Dr Mendeleyev steers proceedings back towards something approaching normality, in as much as it can be.

"Our purpose today is to give Vyera the chance to describe her findings from this most interesting research project. She has been responsible for data collection and analysis. I have provided advice concerning the approach to analysis and Julia here has provided detailed advice concerning the use of the statistical tests for the significance of differences between the groups of subjects. However, I can say that the work which Vyera is going to describe is the results of her own very considerable efforts..."

He smiles and holds out his arm, palm open as a signal to me to begin. Everyone sits and turns their chairs towards me. I feel lonely, cold; more naked than if I wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.

I suddenly think, what happens to me after this project is complete? Will I merely be disposed of, my usefulness at an end? I shake this thought away. It can't help things now. Now I just have to get through the report. I clear my throat and begin.

"As you know I can speak a little Russian but this report is technical and I do not know enough words so may I speak in English?"

Heads nod around the table...

"This project began as a doctoral research project at a University in the UK. It was sponsored by the University Department of Psychology as part of a wider investigative effort into the effect of play behaviour on psychological stress in adult men and women." I am relieved to find that as I fall into my stride everything else slips away and once more, I can function as an academic with something to say: "This investigation tracks the psychological changes which take place in volunteers who take part in extended consensual slavery games.

"Can I ask who proposed this research?" interjects the woman, Svetlana.

"Er, it was suggested to me by the head of department, Professor Dawney ... er, as a suitable project and because not much was known about..."

The woman smirks and looks pointedly at her husband who looks oddly – just for a moment – uncomfortable. There has been an unspoken communication. I get the strong feeling that they know all about Angela and the games she likes to play. Gaspazha Kustenskaya clearly does not like her...

"The project was based at..."

The more I speak, the more I slip back into the skin of my former self. The more I seem like the self-confident, precise, informed, articulate woman who used to be Jennifer McEwan. Perhaps I am now possessed by her ghost. The slutty creature who lost herself in licking out women she barely knew last evening begins to fade away.

" ... so to summarise. First, our experimental sample was self-selected and thus biased to contain subjects who were likely to enjoy BDSM and MS experiences. Second, during their adventure, they became more confident in their fantasies and more confident about actualising their fantasies in real life. Third, these differences were clearly significant with p values of <= 0.05 and in some cases p values of < or = 0.01." (3)

Dr Mendeleyev raises his eyebrows at this point and glances at the Kustenskys.

"Fourth, the experimental group were significantly different from the reference population whose sexual outlook was (in the statistical sense) normally distributed. Fifth, the strongest "reactors" to the various experiences could be predicted from the answers to the initial questionnaires but there were some other subjects who showed milder initial bias towards BDSM and MS fantasies but who nevertheless began to react strongly and positively as their adventure unfolded."

I stop speaking, my presentation over. My audience sits chewing over my concluding remarks and then spontaneously begins to applaud. I smile broadly and my eyes begin to water. I wipe them with a tissue from the pocket of the jeans I am wearing. So it seems I have done well after all.

"Questions?", asks Dr Mendeleyev, rising from his chair.

"I would like to start", responds Gaspadeen Kustensky. Dr Mendeleyev nods. "So you could identify subjects who would enjoy their slavery experience and complete their training successfully by the use of a screening questionnaire and your identification is usually accurate?"

"Yes, in this sample."

"Can you tell if the training itself was the most important factor, or the people?"

"No: the population was already biased to include only people who were likely to make the most of their experience and training. It's not possible to determine from this project if it is the people or the training which is most important."

"So if you picked up a subject at random, does the Inward Bound programme make them different people? Are you able to predict the extent to which they are likely to be affected by their experiences?"

Suddenly with a shock I realise where this is going. They are interested in my research because it might identify people who could be trained most easily for slavery! I open my mouth and close it. I feel very dry. I try to speak again but nothing comes out. It is a confirmation of what I have begun to suspect. I am not the first abductee and I will not be the last girl or boy to be kidnapped into slavery and it is the results of my research which will smooth the path of the slavers and help them to identify and train the future slaves!