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The Education of Rachel
-----------------------

by Danton

Part 3.

"As you can easily imagine," he continued, "the rules here are very simple
indeed.  From this moment on you will do what you are told, instantly and
without question.  You will go only to those places where you are specifically
told to go.  In the beginning, you will take no action of your own volition,
no matter how inconsequential it may seem; you will act only upon specific
orders.  The orders themselves may come from myself or any members of our
staff here.  Any failure to perform will be punished immediately.  Likewise,
any breech of respect or misconduct will be punished.  Is this understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"If your performance proves to be satisfactory, you may be given daily
responsibilities for which you may act without specific orders.  If this
occurs, you will consider it as the privilege it is, nothing more.  Until
then, the only act of free will you are to perform is the simple act of
breathing.  Any other action or indication of free will must be punished."

Turning his attention back to the open folder, he briefly scanned the next 
page.  "I have here a list of those duties which your owner has requested us 
to train you for, in addition, of course, to those skills which all of our 
graduates are required to master.  And I might assure you that, from examining 
this list, you will be very fortunate indeed if you are allowed to serve 
such a thorough owner."

That comment caused Rachel's mind to spin.  Was it yet another attempt to
make her relent?  She wanted to know.  Her desire to see the list was almost
overwhelming.  What did John really want her to do for him?  He had never
shown any reluctance to demand pleasure from her in the past; what new
"duties" could he have in mind?  With a small, inward sigh, Rachel realized
that she would most likely never know the actual contents of that list.

In the next few moments, Rachel's host produced a gold fountain pen from
the top drawer of his desk and began to scratch out some notes on the page
he was looking at.  Rachel tried surreptitiously to observe what he was
writing, but her chair was too far away from the desk for her to make any
of it out.  Upon finishing his notes, the man closed the folder with a
gesture of finality, paused for a moment, as if in thought, then
replaced the folder in the filing drawer and closed the drawer.  It shut
with a hollow thud -- to Rachel it sounded like someone had closed the
door on her life once and for all.

"Stand up." he commanded in a casual tone, and he also rose from his chair.
Rachel obeyed, standing in place in front of her chair.  "The first thing
I must take from you is your name.  You are no longer Rachel Stansbury;
in fact, Rachel Stansbury does not exist -- has never existed.  When you
are returned to your lawful owner, he may decide to give you a name, but
here we may not afford you that luxury.  We need, however, to have a
means of identification for our trainees.  You will therefore be referred
to henceforth as number 216.  Since orders will be presented to you
using that number, I would highly suggest that you remember it."

Rachel felt a distant pang of loss, but she did not allow it to register
on her face.  She had always been fond of her name, and so, she had
thought, had John.  He would never call her "216" or anything that
ridiculous -- why couldn't they just use "Rachel?"  Her ponderings were
interrupted by an electric buzz, emanating from behind the desk.  While
she had not been paying attention, her host had reached below the desk
and pushed a small button.  

Presently a section of the bookcase on the wall behind the desk swung open, 
revealing an open elevator.  Since Rachel had seen the outside of the 
building, and knew it did not contain any upper floors, she reasoned that 
the elevator must be going down.

"Enter the elevator, 216."  He gestured firmly towards the open door.
Another door, she thought; another threshold.  What would he do now, if
she panicked?  If she begged him, would he still be willing to send her
home?  Rachel wasn't sure anymore, despite his statements.  And down there,
under the ground, what awaited her?  When would the real test begin?
She thought this, but she did not pause.  Immediately upon hearing her
first order, she smiled a most delightful smile and walked into the elevator.

She was soon followed by her host, who pressed a button inside the elevator.
The door swung shut and the compartment began its descent.  Rachel wondered
just how far below ground they were going, but it was impossible to tell.
The car moved slowly, and it was several long moments before the elevator
came to rest and the door opened in front of her.  

"Step out." he said briskly.  Rachel took two steps out of the elevator,
then stopped.  She was facing the concrete wall of a long hallway, extending
both to her left and right.  He followed her and, pressing a button on the 
wall, sent the elevator away.  "We are going to the right.  Turn, and walk
with me."  He turned to his right and walked swiftly down the long hallway.
Rachel followed, not two steps behind him, examining his every step 
closely in order to anticipate his stopping.  Along the walls were several
doors, all closed, all painted in a bland ivory color, as were
the walls, giving the scene an institutional feel.

Together they eventually came to where the hall they were following turned
to the left.  At the end of the hall, at the corner, was a door unlike all
of the others Rachel had seen.  It was closed, like the others, but while the
others were painted metal, this one was a beautifully carved door of solid
oak.  Beside the door sat a single wooden chair.  The man halted abruptly
in front of the door; Rachel stopped herself just one step behind him.

"Sit here," he said, indicating the chair, "and stay until you are fetched."
As she sat, her back to the concrete wall, he turned and walked back in the
direction from whence they came and disappeared through one of the doors.

During the long period following his departure, Rachel became at first bored,
then annoyed.  She was alone -- no-one entered either of the hallways
in her view.  Losing all account of time, she began to study her surroundings
in minute detail.  The most obvious fact that thrust itself to her
attention was that each hallway was viewed by video cameras.  Every
30 feet or so, another pair of them was mounted on small platforms near
the ceiling.  There was one, in fact, on the wall to her left, pointing
directly at her.  Was he watching her?  If not, then who was?  The floor
was covered in a linoleum tile of dark magenta, and Rachel had just started to
count the tiles in her section of the hallway when the first man arrived.

From down the hall to her right she heard a door open; cautiously she glanced
sideways to see a young man, probably in his mid twenties, walk up the
hallway towards her.  As he neared, Rachel feared that her glance might
displease the man, so she gazed intently down the hall in front of her,
ignoring him.  Her curiosity was sated somewhat, when he stopped at the chair
and looked at her.  Somewhat incongruously, he was dressed in a grey business 
suit, complete with white shirt and blue tie.

His prolonged gaze made her uneasy; she had seen men look at her in that
manner before.  He was quite obviously trying to take her all in, to 
observe every facet of her body.  His face remained blank, but Rachel felt
as if she knew what he must be thinking.  Involuntarily, blood rushed to
her cheeks and she blushed brightly.  In a revelation of sorts, Rachel
realized that never before had she been in this situation -- this strange
man could rudely stare at her body, completely at his own will, and she
was powerless to prevent him.  Even more strange was how her body was
reacting.  Rachel could feel the blood rush through her veins, hardening
her nipples, totally contrary to her inner desire to retain control.

At last the man ended his inspection of her, and he opened the large oak
door and passed through it.  During the next few minutes, several other
men, of varying ages and statures, appeared from random doors or halls
and walked towards her.  Some paused and stared at her, as the first man
had done, but all eventually entered through the oak door, leaving Rachel
alone.  The last person to arrive was the man who had welcomed her, and
who had ordered her to sit.  He strode past her without so much as a glance
in her direction, passed through the oak door and closed it behind him.

Once again Rachel was left alone.  How much time passed, she could not
determine.  With the flood of conflicting emotions and thoughts in her
head, ten minutes could be ten hours.  She was getting hungry, that much
registered in her conscienceness.  John had stopped at a small country
diner before dropping her off, and they had shared a final lunch together.
That would have been, just a few hours ago?  Yes, Rachel thought, it's still 
the same day.  Somehow, the events of the morning seemed many years distant 
to her now.  This reverie of thought was interrupted by the sound of 
the oak door opening behind her.

"Come into the room, 216."  It was her host again, holding the door open
for her as she stood and entered.  The men in the room paid no attention
to her, but continued the lively discussion they had apparently begun
before her entrance.  Once inside, Rachel stopped just past the threshold
and waited for further instructions.  Swiftly, her host closed the door
behind her and took the only empty chair, sitting at the head of the long 
table, and rejoined the conversations there. 

The gentlemen were talking business, and Rachel understood very little
of what she heard them say.  She concentrated instead on viewing the room
itself.  All in all, a dozen men, and her host, were seated at a large 
conference table, perhaps 14 feet long and at least 5 feet wide.  They sat
in rich black leather swivel chairs, and were arranged six to a side, with
the man in the powder blue suit sitting at the head of the table, directly
in front of her.  The walls were paneled in ancient oak; several painted
portraits hung also and on the floor was a deep magenta carpeting, so thick
that Rachel's feet seemed to sink into it.

The conversations of the men seemed to increase in intensity; though the
tone was cordial they were definitely in disagreement over some point.
Ignoring the business meeting temporarily, her host turned his chair around
towards her and spoke quietly.

"Stand to the right of my chair here," he motioned.  And as Rachel moved
to take her new position he added "and remove your clothing."  Slightly 
jarred by the sudden request, Rachel complied nonetheless as her host
returned his attention nonchalantly to the meeting.  So!, she thought 
to herself, he wants to show off the new plaything to his rich friends.  
I'll just make it worth their while then; at least I should be able to get 
them all to shut up!

Standing to the right of her host, a position which afforded every man in
the room with an excellent view, she began to remove her clothes.  Bending
over, she quickly untied and removed her white tennis shoes, then straightened
and withdrew from her denim jacket, which she let fall gently onto the
carpet.  This left her in the matching denim jeans, contoured beautifully
to the shape of her legs and hips, and her sweater, a large cotton chain-stitch
pattern of deep purple and black.  This hugged her shapely breasts well
but was fuller and longer at the bottom -- so long that its hem sat just below
the zipper of her pants.  Why not give them a little mystery?  She reached
briefly under the bottom of her sweater, unfastened her jeans, and pulled
them quickly down, adding them to the now growing pile of clothing on the
floor.  

Standing before them with legs bared, the hem of the sweater just barely
covering the crotch of her panties,  Rachel took a quick glance up from her
work to observe the effect her performance was having on the businessmen.
Incredulously, she realized that they were not even looking at her.  These
guys must be made of wood, she thought.  Rachel knew she had an attractive
physique -- this same performance had certainly inflamed her past lovers.
Determined to make an impact upon them, she grabbed the hem of her sweater,
crossing her arms, and slowly raised it towards her head.  Revealing
first her black lace panties, the sweater's ascension continued on, over
her hourglass form, until she pulled it free of her long hair and dropped
it coyly, with a little smile, onto the pile of clothing.

Wearing no bra, the cooler air of the room engulfed the nipples of her bare
breasts, hardening them instantly.  Although Rachel's amazement at the
men's continued indifference to her was beginning to become an annoyance, 
her heart began to speed and she felt her face flush, just as it had in 
the hallway.  Reaching down to remove her purple socks, she felt the 
unmistakable pulsation of the circulation through her breasts.  Still, no-one
paid her the slightest attention.  Her eyes darted from man to man,
straining to catch one of them examining her body, but none were.  With her 
socks gone, only the gauzy material of her lace separated Rachel from total 
nudity.  With a determined tug of her thumbs, she brought the panties down 
to her ankles, and then stepped out of them.

Well?  Now what do I do?  Rachel's mind raced.  She stood strait, feet
almost together and arms at her sides, watching the men in their blue and
grey suits, watching them argue and discuss, ponder reports, make little
jokes which she did not understand, watching them doing everything but
looking at her.  It is hard enough, she thought, to stand nonchalantly
in a room where everyone else is seated.  How does one do this when naked
as well?  

Time passed, things did not change.  Rachel's feet started to ache, despite the
plush nap of the carpet.  The meeting seemed to have no end.  Bored, annoyed,
somewhat dejected, Rachel reflected that this was not what she had expected
of her training.  When was she going to learn more about pleasing John?
She wondered what he was doing now, as she stood here, a mere display for a
dissinterested audience.  If he were here, her striptease would have made
him hot -- Rachel was certain of it.  Indeed, just the thought of performing
for John sent a rush of blood to her loins.  Did they have no real men in this
organization?

Eventually, the meeting did wear down, and the men quieted and then ended their
various discussions.  Only when everyone was silent did her host finally
turn and regard her body.  As he did, so did the others -- all eyes in the room
suddenly fixed on Rachel.  Their faces were, for the most part, expressionless,
but Rachel could feel their thoughts on her body.  She stood with her back
strait, staring ahead -- directly into the curious gazes of the businessmen.
In the next short moments, Rachel felt more naked than she had ever before.
These people, she thought, were merely studying her; they did not care who
she was, where she had come from; they were not interested in her feelings,
or fears; they were not even interested in her sexuality, she felt.  No, their
staring was a violation -- their eyes wanted to probe every secret place, 
every hidden feeling, every unknown fear.

"Number 216," the host's voice startled her, "get up on the table."  He stood
up from his chair and moved it away, opening the end of the long table for
her access.  The 12 other men kept their gaze fixed on Rachel, as she 
slowly put one knee onto the cool wooden surface and pushed herself into a
seated position on the table.  Now her annoyance was replaced by real fear.
Do they intend to take me here?  All of them?  In an only semi-voluntary
display of the helplessness and exposure she felt, Rachel sat up on the table,
with her legs locked tightly together, and hugged her knees up to her breast.
She would not retain this posture for very long.

"Move to the center of the table,"  he continued his command.  The center
of the table was five feet from where she had sat.  Placing her hands palms
down on the table top, Rachel tried to slide backwards down the table in
her current sitting position.  She was frustrated in this, however, since
the cool wood held her warm, moist flesh firmly -- to slide her bottom
along the table would have caused great pain.  A terrible decision was
required; Rachel either had to raise her rear off of the table and walk
backwards, looking exactly as if she were about to be entered from the
front, or she had to turn around and crawl on all fours, appearing to all
as if she were waiting to be entered from the rear.  Deciding that the latter
of the two would expose less of her body, Rachel raised slightly and 
turned, trying to maintain what dignity she could, and crawled down the table 
on all fours, her breasts hanging beneath her and swaying gently with each 
step.

"Lie down on your back."  she heard upon her arrival.  This is it, Rachel 
thought, they are going to rape me.  She took a quick beat to resign 
herself to her fate.  It's nothing I haven't done before, she thought, 
I just hope they won't be too brutal.  Carefully and deliberately, as if 
these actions were to be her last, she laid her soft, warm body onto the 
cool wood surface of the massive table.  In the absence of any orders to 
the contrary, she lay with her hands at her sides and her legs together.  
Staring up at the blank white ceiling, Rachel could almost feel the hands 
of the 12 men, rudely contorting her flesh, kneading her breasts, fingering 
her most private openings.

--