Submission (4 page)

'No, I doubt it. I don't know... I'll get her on to it.'

'Let Emily Johnson go.'

'What?'

'Let her go, and follow her. It's an old trick, I know, but it will probably prove to be better than your methods. Frankly, I think that anything will prove to be better than your methods.'

'My methods are...'

'I don't want to know, Ron. Christ only knows what you get up to with those young women. I'm not happy about your Correction Centres, I never have been. I've a good mind to close them down, let the women return to their homes. Amnesty, perhaps? Let them all go on the condition that they play the roles of housewives and mothers - as opposed to bloody freedom fighters.'

'You can't do that!'

'Can't I? Put Swain on, I've a job for her.'

Leaving the room, Fowler swore silently to force the information out of Emily as he walked to Swain's office. 'Evans wants you on the phone, in my office,' he grunted as Swain looked up from her desk. Slamming the door after her, he sat down and pondered over Evans's words. 'He won't close my bloody centres!' he cursed, banging his fist on the desk. An idea looming in his evil mind, he punched the buttons on the videophone and grinned as the screen lit up with the image of a young man.

'Hi, Derek, how are things?'

'Ron, you old bastard! Things are looking good, and you?'

'Bloody problems, as usual. I need your help.'

'Anything.'

'Richard's threatening to close down my centres.'

'Bloody hell! Where would you be without your playthings?'

'Pissed off, that's where I'd be. And where would it leave you?'

'Shit, I hadn't thought of that.'

'Exactly. How many girls do I supply you with each week?

Four? Five? The fun would come to an end, but worse, the money would dry up.'

'He won't close the centres, he can't. What the hell would he do with all the women?'

'Amnesty.'

'Fucking hell! Is he serious?'

'You can never tell with him. Look, can you come down here? I've a young lady I'd like you to meet, Emily Johnson. Richard plans to let her go, and I want you to follow her to Hannah Kelley's HQ.'

'What if she doesn't go there? I mean, she might...'

'Then grab her, she's yours - you can pay me later.'

'What's she like?'

'Remember that girl we had last week?'

'God, yes! Wasn't she absolutely...'

'Yes, and Emily Johnson is even better.'

'Great! I'll be there in an hour.' Emily lifted her face from the pool of tears on the table and gazed at Swain, standing in the doorway, grinning. Moving towards the table, the butch woman's grin became a smirk. 'I think it's time for a little pleasure,' she grunted, kneeling behind Emily and examining her buttocks. Her cold hands parting the soft globes, she stretched the flesh until the delicate skin within the crease hurt. 'You've a nice little bottom,' she remarked as she pushed her tongue out and licked the small hole.

Emily shuddered as the hot tongue pressed hard against the circlet of brown tissue, trying to gain entry to her inner warmth. Now fingers groped below her crease, pushed between her wet quim lips and entered her vagina. 'Do you want to come?' Swain asked as she crudely thrust her fingers in and out.

Confused, lost in a strange new lust, Emily didn't answer. Her body spread open to her lesbian jailer, she wondered at the sensations - unknown, addictive sensations of debased sex that, she had to admit, brought her immense pleasure. She
did
want to come. Her naked body tied over the table, a tongue probing her bottom-hole, fingers exploring deep within her creamy vagina - she desperately needed to come.

'It's time!' someone called through the door as Swain massaged Emily's cervix and licked at her bottom-hole.

'How disappointing,' Swain grunted. 'Still, I'll play with you later, after... But now, I have a little surprise for you.'

Released from her bonds, Emily brought her aching body upright and stared at Swain. What was her surprise? she wondered fearfully as the lesbian led her from the room and marched her down the corridor. Fifty men? Whips? Chains? Whatever the surprise, she wouldn't talk, she promised herself. She'd die first.

Manhandled into a small room, Emily flinched as the door closed and locked behind her. Swain's retreating footsteps echoed down the corridor as Emily gazed at a young naked girl sitting on a chair. Swain's hard voice echoed somewhere in the building, arguing with a man - Fowler, Emily surmised. She heard his voice raised above the dyke's before a door slammed. Then silence.

'Hello,' the girl said sheepishly, covering her small breasts with her folded arms. 'I'm Rebecca.' A thick mane of long, dark brown hair framed her pretty face whilst, tanned by the summer sun, her fresh young skin shone in the light. Aware of unfamiliar emotions surfacing, Emily found herself scrutinizing the girl's body, imagining the soft swelling pussy lips between her thighs - the warm, musky dampness there. Although slim, Rebecca's subtle curves gently defined her femininity - her sexuality.

'I'm Emily. What are you doing here? Are you from one of the resistance groups?'

'Yes, they caught me yesterday,' Rebecca replied, lowering her arms to reveal her small hard breasts and long dark nipples.

'Which group?'

'We operate from Nottingham, or, at least, I
did
. I was caught while on a sabotage mission. And you?'

'The same. God knows what Fowler has planned for us. I've never been so scared in all my life!'

The young girl rose to her feet and moved towards Emily. Her hands by her sides, Rebecca's full naked beauty caused Emily's heart to flutter as she cast her eyes below the slight swell of the other girl's stomach to the dark hair nestling between her legs.

'There may be a way to escape,' Rebecca confided, covering her intimacy with clasped hands on observing Emily's eyes transfixed.

'How?'

'When they brought me in yesterday I noticed a back entrance, a small gate in the wall. The wall is just outside that window.'

'It's barred.'

'Yes. But I had a look at it earlier - the bars are old, rusted through, almost.'

Emily walked to the window and pulled on a bar. To her relief, it moved. She yanked harder. The screw heads sheared off and the bar came away in her hand. 'Come and help me,' she ordered the other girl, 'we may not have much time.' One by one the bars came away until only a pane of thin glass remained between the girls and freedom. 'We'll have to try and open the window,' Emily whispered, pulling on the rusty catch. 'I daren't smash it, they'll come running if I do.'

The catch squeaked as it slowly turned in her trembling hand. Emily smiled as the window swung open, the refreshing breeze of freedom blowing her hair from her face as she peered out into the alleyway. Looking up and down the alley she felt a surge of confidence - she'd soon be back with Hannah.

Helping her fellow prisoner climb through the window Emily caught a glimpse of Rebecca's thick outer quim lips, bulging below her tight young bottom. As the girl lifted her leg up and projected her rear, her pink petals emerged from their moist valley as if desperately seeking their freedom. Gazing at the folds of feminine flesh, Emily wondered at her uncharacteristic arousal.

Before Swain, Emily had never been touched by another woman, never been excited by the thought of another woman's naked body. Now she was staring at a young girl's vaginal lips, smooth, glistening, full, before her wide eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the moist warmth - to taste her. Would Rebecca allow her to examine her there? she wondered. Probably not, she decided as she placed her foot on the window sill.

Her heart thumping, her stomach churning, Emily followed Rebecca through the window, swearing never to get caught again. The small gate in the high wall was rotten, easily - and noisily - coming off its hinges at a sharp kick from Emily's foot. Stepping over the fallen gate, the girls found themselves in a wood with a path stretching before them - a path to freedom.

'What we shall do without clothes, God only knows,' Emily whispered, hastily leading the way along the path.

'This must lead somewhere,' Rebecca reasoned. 'To a house, perhaps?'

Aware of her companion's eyes on her crimson buttocks, Emily observed that Rebecca bore no such weals.

'Why weren't you whipped? How did you get away with it?' she asked, stopping and turning to the other girl.

'I don't know.'

'Did you talk? Grass on your group?'

'No, no. I... Fowler said that he had something better in store for me, I don't know what. I'm just glad to be out of that place.'

'They didn't depilate your...'

'They were going to. Look, through those trees, there's a house!'

Time had forgotten the small picturesque cottage set in the woodland clearing. With roses growing around the small porch, it reminded Emily of a children's story book she'd once had. Stories of happiness, innocence - far removed from Fowler and the Correction Centres.

'The good old days,' Emily whispered as they crouched behind some bushes.

'What?'

'Nothing. It's great to be free! Thank God we...'

'Look, the door's open. Let's go in,' Rebecca suggested eagerly, leaping to her feet.

'There might be someone in there! We can't just walk in naked!'

'Got a better idea?'

'No, I suppose not.'

Like wood nymphs, the naked girls moved gracefully across the lawn to the open door. Listening for noises, signs of life, they cautiously entered the cottage. 'You look in there and I'll go this way,' Rebecca instructed, creeping through a door.

Finding herself in a small lounge, Emily smiled. No videophone, no virtual reality console, no tell-tale signs of the modern word - the cold, plastic world.
A fairy tale cottage
, she mused, wondering who lived there.

'There's no one around,' Rebecca announced as she joined Emily in the lounge and threw a dress to her. 'But I found these in the bedroom. What do you think?' she asked, holding a thin summer dress to her naked body.

'They're a bit short. And you can see through them!' Emily observed, slipping into her dress. 'Better than going round naked, I suppose. Did you find any shoes or panties?'

'No. So, where to now? Can you take me to your group?'

'I don't know, I need to think, to plan.'

Emily left the lounge and wandered out into the garden, suspicious. Turning, she looked at the cottage. Strange that no one's around, she thought, noticing a small transmitting aerial on the corner of the roof. Clutching her still-burning buttocks through the thin dress, she wondered why Rebecca hadn't been whipped - or shaved.

Finding the girl sitting in the lounge rummaging through a handbag, she frowned. 'Aren't you worried that whoever lives here might come back?'

'There's no one around. Anyway, shall we go to your group headquarters? We can't just wander around in the woods.'

'You're right, we'd better make a move.'

'Where are your headquarters? Is it far?'

'Seeing as I don't know where we are, I can't tell you.'

'We're in Brockhurst.'

'Where the hell's that? How do you know, anyway?'

'It's written on that envelope over there. We're just south of East Grinstead. So, where's your HQ?'

Alarm bells sounded again. Why the transmitting aerial? Rebecca had said that she'd been captured the previous day. No beating, no depilation, not a mark on her young body - why? Their escape from the centre had been easy, too easy. Why were two summer dresses in a fairy tale cottage conveniently awaiting their arrival?

'Our HQ is just outside Horsham,' Emily lied convincingly. 'Hannah, our group leader, found us a deserted farm building there. It's well hidden, overgrown, miles from anywhere.'

'Sounds great! Do you get your supplies from Horsham?'

'Yes.'

'We've had real trouble getting hold of explosives. Where do you get yours from?'

Too many searching questions
. Emily felt sure she'd been set up as she wandered towards the window, planning her next move. She turned to gaze into Rebecca's dark eyes. Was it lies or innocence she saw there?

'Explosives isn't my department,' she finally replied.

'Oh. How many are in your group?'

'Only five.'

'Five! Is that all? I thought... I overheard Fowler yelling at you. Your lot wrecked a transmitter, didn't they?'

'Apparently, yes.'

'How do you pick your targets? I mean, even when we've managed to get hold of explosives, we've never really known what to blow up.'

'Again, that's not my department. Shall we go?'

'To your HQ?'

'Yes.'

'I'll take this bag with me. I've filled a bottle with water and taken some fruit from the kitchen for the journey.'

'Good idea.'

Stumbling through the wood Emily imagined herself in Fowler's shoes. What would he do? Bug the cottage, yes. Have her followed? No. Rebecca must have some method of making contact, a way of letting him know where they were, but how?

Following the mysterious girl, admiring the swing of her curvaceous hips, she noticed the handbag swinging by her side and smiled. A homing device in the bag would be transmitting their position and Fowler would be plotting their course on a map.
Over-cautious? Sensible
, Emily told herself. The wood grew thicker and darker under its canopy of green foliage as she decided to make her move.

'May I have a drink?' Emily asked, attempting to take the bag. Pulling away, Rebecca opened the bag and passed her a bottle. As Emily drank, an idea came to her and she smiled as she returned the bottle. 'Thanks. Lead on, we've a long way to go and with bare feet it'll take hours.'

Closely following her guide, Emily stumbled, grabbing the bag and falling on top of it as she crashed to the ground. 'Damn! I've hurt my ankle!'

'Here, let me help you,' Rebecca offered, taking her hand. 'No, I can't move, I think it's broken.'

Rebecca examined the ankle while Emily groped in the bag for the device. Stealthily pulling out a tiny black box, she offered her companion a weak smile. 'I'll be all right. It's only a sprain, help me up.'