Steel World Inc. Chapter Twenty Three

 

I was driving down the A3211 to East Smithfield, from where I would soon join the A13 and then the A127 all the way through to Southend-on-Sea. With hardly any traffic on the roads (the clock in the dashboard showed it was 4.32 in the morning) I might expect to be at Southend in time for a very early breakfast. 

 

Miss Madison sat in the passenger seat next to me, occasionally gazing quietly out of her side window as I drove. A gagged and bound Miss Whitlock had both the backseats to herself, and from time to time she would make some sound through her gag. Each time she did, I felt a pang of guilt that she was having to endure such deplorable conditions during the journey.

 

“I think maybe we should…”

 

“We’re not taking her gag off,” said Miss Madison in a voice that suggested she was in charge. 

Miss Madison had closed her eyes for a time as we drove through Rainham, for she was weary from the come down from the multiple adrenalin rushes she had experienced earlier this night. I felt tired, too, but kept myself awake by listening to a CD copy of the first Oasis album, ‘Definitely Maybe’, on the car stereo. I recall a journalist once saying that the only Oasis album better than ‘Definitely Maybe’ is your own self-made Oasis B-side compilation, which I thought then was a very clever thing to say, because as any true Oasis fan knows, the early b-sides were extremely good – so good in fact that the band later released their own b-sides compilation for sale. If I was to think of another band that might perhaps rival Oasis for the quality of b-sides, it would have to be the 1980s Manchester band, the Smiths, though I would suppose Morrissey wouldn’t be a popular choice of singer amongst so-called ‘Goreans’. 

 

“But listen to her, she’s clearly uncomfortable.”

 

“Boo-hoo. Poor little Arabella. Frankly, I just want to catch some sleep,” remarked Miss Madison. “Wake me up when we get near Leigh-on-Sea and I’ll direct you from there.”

 

I thought about this for a while and then a few minutes later turned the car into the first hard shoulder I came across.

 

“What’s going on? Why have we stopped here?” asked Miss Madison. We were nowhere in particular. A solitary haulage lorry rumbled past, but there was little else to see.

 

I turned to face her. By the glow of the dashboard lights she looked incredibly desirable. Her coat was open, revealing the slave tunic worn beneath it. The hem of her skirt was high on her thighs and the swell of her ample breasts seemed too good to be true.

 

There was another whimper from the area of the back seat.

 

“Let’s get something clear, Miss Madison.” I paused, and then corrected myself. “Emily.”

 

“Call me Miss Madison.”

 

“You wear a collar. So I’m going to call you Emily.”

She looked a little startled that I had been so uncouth as to mention the steel band. The fingers of her left hand rose to touch the steel. Perhaps she had forgotten it was there?

 

No. I think, perhaps, that a girl in a collar is only too aware of the collar at all times. I do not think it is possible for a collared girl to forget she is wearing it. 

 

“Simon…”

 

“While you wear that collar you are the least of us.”

 

She swallowed. She couldn’t look at me for a few seconds. When she did, there was a worried look in her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

 

“The order of authority in this car is as follows. Myself, first, obviously, for I am a man.”

 

Her lips opened briefly, and then closed.

 

“Miss Whitlock is second, for she is a Free Woman. Do you understand?”

 

Emily nodded. 

 

“That makes you third. You will stop telling me what I should be doing, from now on. And if I want to remove Miss Whitlock’s gag, I will. Is that clear?’

 

“Yes, Simon.” 

 

“You shouldn’t have gagged and tied her in the first place. I should have stopped you. It was inappropriate.”

 

“We had to leave the building. Frick might have caught us.”

 

“Fine. Yes. I can see that. But in future you will consult with me first.” I paused. “You wear a collar, remember.”

 

“You say that like…”

 

“Like you’re a slave?”

 

Again, Emily’s eyes widened as I stated what was plainly obvious. 

 

“Perhaps it might be easier for you, going forwards, if you called me ‘Master’, and Miss Whitlock, ‘Mistress’?”

 

“Simon, no, please…” 

 

“I think that would be good discipline for you, Emily. It might remind you to adopt a more composed manner in future.”

 

“I’ll call you Master if you really want, but please don’t make me call her Mistress.”

 

“You will call Miss Whitlock, ‘Mistress.’ My word is final.”

 

There was silence in the car now, even from the back seat as Emily processed that. 

 

And then, Emily, the slave girl, looked down at the dashboard in apparent submission. I think her eyes were misting up. 

 

I unclipped my seat belt, got out of the car, walked round to the side door at the back, opened it, and gently untied the gag lodged in Miss Whitlock’s mouth. She was uncharacteristically silent as I removed the wet wadding, only coughing and spluttering as she was able to taste the fresh morning air for the first time in ages. While she worked her jaw back into motion, I untied her wrists from behind her back.

 

“I am sorry about this, Arabella. We really had to get you out of your building.”

 

Miss Whitlock stared at the head rest of the passenger seat where Emily sat.

 

“Emily,” she said, in a dry voice.

 

“Yes?” Emily turned her head slowly towards the back. 

 

“Yes, what?” said Miss Whitlock. There was no love lost now between her and the woman who had attacked her in her own bedroom.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” said Emily, quietly. 

 

“Don’t look at me, you slut,” said Miss Whitlock. “And you’re wearing my coat. How dare you!”

 

“Step outside of the car and remove the coat, Emily,” I said. If Miss Whitlock didn’t want Emily to wear her coat, that was Miss Whitlock’s decision. She was a Free Woman and entitled to say so. 

 

An interesting fun fact about the town of Southend-on-Sea is that it can claim to have the longest pleasure pier in the world, stretching a full 1.34 miles out from shore. Now that’s what I call a long pier! This was something my father used to tell me every time we went to Southend-on-Sea for a short annual family break, conveniently forgetting he had told me the same thing the year before. Dad used to visit Southend in his youth to join other scooter riders who would meet for rallies, as Dad was something of a retro mod in his day. Consequently, I used to hear a lot of records by the Jam and (solo) Paul Weller when I was growing up as a boy. These days the main scooter rally is called the Southend Shakedown, organised by the Ace café, which Dad keeps in touch with, though he rides a lot less now that he is older. 

 

Southend stretches across the north side of the Thames estuary and has an airport to the north of the town centre, which featured in the James Bond film, Goldfinger.

 

And as Emily remarked, earlier this morning, you can get some very nice fish and chips at the sea front. 

 

We weren’t going directly into the centre of Southend, though, for Emily had explained that the safe house was on the outskirts, in the green belt, not too far from the airport. I was to aim for Southend, and then Emily would guide me the rest of the way. 

 

Ah, yes, Emily.

 

She sat now in the back seat, having given up the front passenger seat to Miss Whitlock. This meant I was able to routinely gaze at Emily in my rear-view mirror, without being obvious about it. How lovely she looked now she no longer had the coat. Her figure was clearly visible again in that tight, thin slave tunic, and she could do nothing to hide the beauty of her long legs from my gaze. 

 

Emily looked every part a slave, there was no question about it. Yes, any woman might wear a collar and a tunic, but surely not all women would be transformed by doing so. The air of authority she had previously projected was gone. Was this truly the woman who had intimidated me on my first day at the office? Had I really taken her seriously in her role as a manager? It was hard to believe, looking at her now. 

 

“How are you feeling?” I asked of Miss Whitlock. She had been silent since we had driven off from the hard shoulder.

 

“I’m still angry with you, Simon.” She wore the coat now, belted tightly, worn over her thin silk chemise. She hadn’t been happy to discover the buttons had been ripped away, and that she had been the cause of that damage to the garment in the struggle with Emily.

 

“Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

 

“Oh, really? And how and why were you with Emily tonight?” She turned to regard me with open hostility. It was a fair question, I suppose, especially considering the manner in which Emily was dressed. 

 

“It’s complicated. Karl Magnus wanted to see me. Emily happened to be there.”

 

“Dressed like that?” She shot a look of derisory scorn at the beautiful slave girl.

 

“Not at first. It’s complicated.”

 

“Did you have sex with her?” 

 

That was a very direct question! Of course I hadn’t had sex with Emily! How could she even think I might have betrayed her trust like that!

 

“Of course not.” I felt annoyed by the lack of trust, after all I had done for Miss Whitlock. How could she question my honour and integrity like that? I was saving myself for Miss Whitlock! She would be my first. I glanced momentarily at Emily’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. She would make a lovely slave, if she remained in her steel collar.

 

“I don’t believe you.” 

 

“I’m telling the truth. Ask her if you want.”

 

“Simon hasn’t done anything with me,” said Emily.

 

“I don’t believe you, either. I’ve heard stories about you in the office. About you and some of the men who work for you!”

 

“But not with Simon,” she added. 

 

“Call her ‘mistress’, Emily.”

 

I saw her lovely figure stiffen with supressed anger, but then she corrected herself. “But not with Simon, Mistress.”

 

We were just ten miles outside of Southend by now. Dawn was rising and the long night seemed to be at an end. Nothing was said by either of the girls for the next few minutes. We then cleared a service station and out of nowhere Miss Whitlock suddenly asked me: “Do you find her attractive?”

 

“Who? Emily?” I pretended to be surprised, as if the thought of Emily’s sexual appeal had never crossed my mind before now.

 

“Yes. Her.”

 

“I’ve not really thought about it.” I glanced again in the rear view-mirror and marvelled at her bare legs. If I owned her, Emily would never be permitted to wear trousers or long skirts. But of course I would never own her. This was England. Men did not own women in England.  

 

“Don’t lie to me, Simon! Do you find her attractive?”

 

“Well, she’s not ugly, but Arabella, you’re my woman.”

 

“She’s a slut. All the girls on the second floor say so. She has a reputation.”

 

“Well then, hardly the sort of woman I’d be interested in. I suppose some men might like her.”

 

Miss Whitlock regarded me closely with further suspicion as I drove on.

 

I was feeling pretty relaxed and confident by the time I saw the ‘Southend-on-Sea: 10 miles’ signs. I had so far outwitted Frick at every turn and would continue to do so. I had remained a step or two ahead of him constantly, and by now he would be at a loss as to figure out where I might be headed. What is more, I had demonstrated to Miss Whitlock just how resourceful her man was, and while she might not be brimming with gratitude at this precise moment in time, in the clear light of day she would soon realise how fortunate she was. I had done everything right, so far.

 

And furthermore I was blessed with the presence of Emily for perhaps a day or two longer. Lovely Emily, in her steel collar and slave tunic. I gazed at her again in the rear view mirror, and as I did so her eyes looked up and caught mine. She smiled knowingly. She licked her lips and then she smiled again. She knew I was watching her. She knew I couldn’t stop looking at her. While still holding my gaze, she slowly moved her legs, her brief tunic skirt riding up a little as she did so. She seemed to touch her breasts with her left hand and she moved her head, letting her hair brush her shoulders. I kept watching. She lightly touched the steel of her collar and then looked away from my gaze.

 

These were interesting female responses.  

 

Interesting fun fact about the town of Southend-on-Sea, number two: in the book, the Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, written by Douglas Adams, which I read many times when I was a teenager, Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect find themselves in a distorted version of Southend-on-Sea, after the Infinite Improbability Drive of their spaceship saves them from being jettisoned into the vacuum of space by the Vogons, and Arthur considers for a moment that he has died because he recalls a recurring childhood nightmare where his friends went to either Heaven or Hell but he went to Southend-on-Sea, which to him was a fate worse than Hell.

 

It’s not really that bad. 

 

And the fish and chips are very good, in fact.

 

“I’ll need directions from here, Emily,” I said as we neared the outskirts of the town. She gave me a post code which I tapped into the car’s sat-nav. It seemed to be an old farm house in the green belt countryside, not far from the airport. No doubt the swift airport access was a consideration when Magnus chose the location for a safe house. “Tell me about it, Emily.”

 

“The keys to the place will be in a safe box, and the combination will be 5708. Once we go inside, a signal will be sent to Karl’s people, and he’ll know someone is using the safe house.”

 

“Will Frick know this too?”

 

“I can’t see how that’s possible. Karl’s IT security is as good as anyone else’s. The house will be well stocked. It will have everything we need.”

 

“And have you remembered Karl’s phone number yet?”

 

“I’m sorry. It will come back to me. I just need a hot bath, something to eat, and some rest. I’m so tired.”

 

I nodded as I followed the new directions from the sat nav. “You can both get some sleep when we reach the house. This is almost over. We’re practically home safe now.”