THE NEW VICTORIANS
Ted Edwards
Copyright resides with author
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Chapter 1
There were three girls in the back of the van. It was dark in there,
the only light coming from the dark-tinted glass in the securely
locked back door, plus a trickle of sunlight that filtered through the
ventilator in the roof. That made the sunshine that glared through
when the front hatch was slid open noisily that much more blinding for
them. They turned their heads away from it, closing their eyes. The
natural reaction would have been to shield them with their arms, but
they couldn't: their wrists were cuffed, with a chain from them to a
ring-bolt between their similarly-secured feet.
A man's face peered through, coarse, unshaven, the eyes gleaming over
the grin that creased his face. "Nice and comfy, are we?" he asked.
"Pity we're a bit behind time, or we'd have stopped to let you have a
pee and give us a bit of fun." He leered at the girl nearest to him: a
tiny thing with long, dark hair and huge eyes, who couldn't have been
much more than eighteen. She tried to cover her naked breasts with her
arms and clamped her legs shut, but his grin widened. "Never mind,
love," he said. "When we've dropped those two off we can find a place
to park and make up for it, eh?"
She stared at him, horror-stricken, her mouth opening in shock as she
took in his meaning. "Oh, no!" she cried.
He laughed, winked at her then slammed the hatch closed. They could
hear him and the driver laughing through the partition that separated
them. The dark-haired girl began to cry, shaking with huge sobs. "Oh,
God!" she moaned. "This is vile! How can they treat anyone like this?"
She leaned back against the metal, rocking with the vehicle's motion,
crying bitterly. If her hands and feet had been free, thought Betty,
she would have been curled up in a ball.
She stared at the weeping girl, then across to the other who sat on
the metal bench seat on the other side of the van. She, too, was
looking at the smaller girl with sympathy and the distress of
helplessness. Seeing Betty look over, she met her eyes; like Betty's,
they were moist.
"Was it like that where you came from?" she asked.
Betty had been alone in the van for an hour and a half before it had
stopped and these two had been put in. That had been a relief, because
that hatch had opened several times while she'd been alone and that
awful face had peered through, the eyes examining her. It was only the
fact that they'd been caught in some sort of traffic jam; an accident,
she thought, judging from the snatches of frustrated conversation that
had come through the partition that had saved her from the fate that
apparently lay in wait for the unfortunate dark-haired girl.
"It's awful, isn't it?" said the girl opposite. She looked about
Betty's age, nineteen, but while Betty was blonde, she had bright
ginger hair and a sprinkling of freckles to go with it. Her breasts
were high and firm, if on the slightly small side. Examining another
girl's breasts would have embarrassed Betty only a couple of week
before, but now they were the first thing she looked at, because they
were the first thing that men looked at. They always went for the big
ones first, so a girl always looked to see who was going to get their
attentions first. Betty's were large. "Was it like that where you came
from?" continued the ginger-headed girl.
"It was terrible!" agreed Betty. "I was there for only two weeks,
but...."
The girl nodded rapidly, swallowing. "Three, they had me." She looked
across at the girl in misery. "She was in there a lot longer, I think.
I saw them..." her face twisted. "They... put her over a block and
caned her. Twenty-four strokes! The screams! Then... then..."
"They raped her?"
"Worse. They..."
Betty nodded, feeling sick. She'd seen women beaten, raped and
sodomised in the place where she'd been held. It hadn't happened to
her, but it was clearly only a matter of time before it did. She had
been in what they called 'isolation': every new inmate had to go
through it for two weeks while they did medical tests. She had been on
her last day of isolation, looking forward to the future with horror
when they'd suddenly moved her. She looked at the weeping girl again,
for the first time noticing the marks on her bottom. It must have been
hell just sitting on them. "I know," she said. "I've seen it." She
stared. "Did you say three weeks? Then...?"
The other made a wan smile that, if anything, emphasised her
nervousness and apprehension. "I had a bit of an infection," she
replied. "So I got held back for a week." She shuddered. "I wasn't
looking forward to next week, believe me." She looked at Betty's
breasts pointedly. "I don't suppose you were, either. They like big
tits. Sorry."
Betty managed a weak smile of her own. "I know," she said. "They've
had a good feel, but that's all."
The mouth twisted. "Same here, plus a lot of promises and threats.
God, they're bastards!" She leaned forward and lowered her voice,
which had been raised over the noise of the vehicle. Her head inclined
to the dark-haired girl.
"She's been sold to someone. I heard them talking."
That hit Betty like a slap in the face. She recoiled. "Sold? They
can't do that! We're state prisoners!"
"Don't be bloody stupid! They can do what they bloody well like with
us! What are you in for, debt?"
Betty nodded.
"Me too. Bloody credit cards!" She barked a laugh that had no humour
in it. "How many ugly old women did you see in your place? Think about
it!"
Betty did, and the realisation hit her like another blow, this time
in the stomach. She gasped again.
"See what I mean? The whole system's rotten! Work off the debt? The
only work we're going to be doing is on our backs!"
"Oh, God! Don't say that!"
"Why not?" was the savage reply. "It's the bloody truth, isn't it?
We're not prisoners, were slaves! Bloody sex slaves! And there's not a
fucking thing we can do about it!"
Betty was close to panic. She knew what this girl was saying was
true because she'd seen what happened to others. But she couldn't
accept it. "But it's all wrong!" she cried. "Surely we can complain?"
"Don't be a dope! Who are you going to complain to? A policeman?
Always supposing you can get out and get to a policeman, there's the
little matter of that chip they put under the skin, behind your ear.
And even if they don't track you down before you get to your policeman
to make your complaint, guess what'll happen? You'll be over a caning
block in five seconds flat. Six strokes later, you'll be on your knees
with his cock half-way down your throat. And then they'll send you
back and start getting rough."
Betty felt the blood drain from her face as this was washing over
her. "How... how do you know all this?" she cried.
"Because that's just what happened to my sister! I was thirteen: I
remember her coming to the house in a terrible state; there must have
been something wrong with the device they planted in her, I think. She
went to the local MP with her story. I know, because I followed her
and sneaked a look through the window. He called the police, and
that's exactly what happened. When someone spotted me and I had to
make a run for it, she was on her hands and knees with the MP screwing
her and the policeman in her mouth. I haven't seen her since."
"That's terrible! Oh, God, what are we going to do!"
The other shrugged, though she seemed to shrink a little. "Nothing,"
she said, her voice breaking. "Nothing, except do what we're told and
take what's coming." She moved her hands towards Betty. "I'm Monica,
by the way."
Betty strained against the chains. Their finger tips touched. "I'm
Betty," she said, her brain still whirling with the effects of
Monica's story. A cold lump seemed to have settled in her stomach. The
other girl was right, she knew, but that didn't make the future look
any less black. "W...what's going to happen to us, do you think?" she
asked.
Another shrug, but there was fear in the eyes. "I don't know. But by
God I'm glad I'm out of that place! Those guard weren't men, they were
animals! Like that pig." She jerked her head at the partition, past
the dark-haired girl, who was so sunk in her own private misery that
she seemed cut off.
Betty glanced at her. "Poor thing," she said.
"Save your sympathy for yourself, girl. That's what I'm doing,
anyway: I think I'll be needing it."
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