A New Job For Carrie

Chapter 1 – The Interview

The wind was strong as Carrie tripped down the road, her high heels falling between stones as she cursed softly, hoping no-one watching her would think she was mad, talking to herself. Her flowing blonde hair was whipping up and her hands tried desperately to calm it down, but the gusts were too strong, and within minutes, she figured she was better off trying to sort it out when she arrived.

Carrie was careless. That had always been her nickname. Careless Carrie from Camden. Her friends had laughed at her often, because however hard she tried, she was always dropping things, falling over, late for appointments, making mistakes in her work and generally being, as her mother called her, sloppy.

At 26, she felt it was time to get serious, to be a responsible adult, though she doubted she was capable. But here she was, this windswept day, heading towards an interview with good prospects. She had worked in a department store until last week. The boss finally gave her the sack after she managed to smash the ninth bottle of perfume in two months. She'd hated the job anyway, and was glad to be moving on. She just hoped this place would take her. She'd always wanted to work in fashion, and although this was a bottom of the rung position, she felt she'd be able to move up quickly, she was, at least, very ambitious.

She arrived at the address looking decidedly dishevelled. Typical, she thought, turning up to an interview in a fashion house, looking a wreck. She shrugged her shoulders, convinced they'd understand, since the weather was so goddamn awful, and she climbed the steps.

The confidence that Carrie had felt on the way to the interview suddenly evaporated as she pushed open the large glass door and stepped inside. Everything looked perfect, right down to the manicure on the nails of the receptionist. The walls were painted bright white, the pictures were classy and hung in beautiful silver frames, everything sparkled.

Carrie's heart sank. There was no way she'd get this job. She contemplated backing out there and then, but decided, since she'd come all this way, she may as well go for it. After all, with no other job in the pipeline, what did she have to lose?

Stepping up to the reception desk, Carrie cleared her throat. The receptionist looked up lazily.

"Yes?"

"I have an interview at 11am with Mr Thompson. My name is Carrie Rustin."

The receptionist's face didn't change. She just reached for the phone and pressed a couple of numbers, lifting the receiver to her ear and waiting for what seemed to Carrie, an eternity.

"His 11am is here."

The receptionist's voice dropped and she murmured into the phone, ending the call with a giggle.

Certain that the girl had been talking about her, Carrie's faced flushed crimson. She could feel the burn start at her neck and work its way up and she managed a slight scowl at the receptionist before she took the offered seat. Carrie crossed her legs while she waited. She had good legs, and she was proud of them, which was probably the reason she was always showing them off. Today she was wearing a skirt that was a little longer than usual, but still managed to flash a fair amount of flesh as it rode up her thigh. She often worked out at the gym, and it showed. Her waist was trim, her ass was tight, with soft curves, but she wasn't a petite girl, just shapely.

Carrie rested her elbow on her raised knee, her cleavage deepened as she leaned forward and she felt like kicking herself for not wearing a better bra.

A door to her left opened, and Carrie watched as a short, dumpy girl strode towards her. The girl looked her up and down and then spoke with one of the warmest voices Carrie had ever heard. Somehow, the voice didn't match the face.

"Mr Johnson will see you now. Don't worry Carrie, everything will be fine. Please, come with me."

Carrie stood up and brushed down her skirt, petting down her hair and attempting a smile.

"Sorry, it's so windy outside, I look terrible."

The girl smiled broadly back.

"It won't matter. Come."

The girl turned on her heels and led Carrie to the door she'd entered the reception area from. Carrie hadn't registered the girl's words at first, but as she followed, she realised they had seemed strange. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she stepped in front of the girl and through the doorway, into a long corridor, which again, was perfectly decorated.

At the end of the corridor there was a large oak door and the girl stood before it, Carrie at her side, and she knocked gently. There was a sound of rustling papers and a deep voice bellowed.

"Enter."

The girl opened the door and indicated that Carrie should go in. Carrie stepped gingerly inside and the large door closed behind her. Suddenly Carrie felt alone. She had felt far more comfortable with the small girl than she did right now. She gazed around the room. There was oak panelling on all the walls and a large oak desk in front of her. The wooden floors were dark and uninviting and there were heavy, old fashioned curtains on the windows. Carrie felt like running.

The chair behind the desk swivelled round and Mr Johnson's lips curled to a smile. There was something about that smile that was unnerving. Though the mouth smiled, the eyes didn't. There was no warmth in them.

"Sit."

Carrie shivered. She had been told many times that in an interview, eye contact was very important, but right now, there was no way she could look at this man. It wasn't that he looked odd. Quite the contrary. His greying hair was slightly wavy, his blue eyes were handsome, his face chiselled. He was good looking, there was no doubt about it, and in that pin striped suit he looked very smart, but there was just something Carrie didn't trust. Still, she sat in the chair opposite his, her legs pressed tightly together, and she rested her hands on her lap. To all intents and purposes, she looked impressive, and gave an impression of being organised and very together.

Mr Johnson stood up and walked around the desk. Perching on it in front of Carrie, his eyes moved slowly over her body. Carrie shuffled uncomfortably in the chair and Mr Johnson seemed to take that as a cue to walk again, this time walking behind her. Carrie couldn't move. Her heart was thumping, he seemed to be inspecting her. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, he returned to his seat, leaning back into it and stretching his legs under the desk. He paused before speaking.

"The job is a difficult one. It might not have seemed it on paper but you will find it very stressful. How are you with stress Carrie?"

Straight into the interview then, she thought. No time to warm up or gather thoughts. Well, that's okay, the sooner it's over, the better.

"I'm good with stress Mr Johnson. I'm a very organised person," she lied, "and cope well under pressure."

Mr Johnson managed a half smile that almost showed in his eyes.

"Good. The job is yours. Follow me."

Mr Johnson rose and stretched his arm out, curling his finger at Carrie, beckoning her to follow. Her brow furrowed in slight confusion as he headed towards the wall. There he reached out for part of the panelling and it opened, revealing a secret room that Carrie hadn't even suspected was there.

"In there," he barked.

Carrie's face gave away the fear she suddenly felt, but stifling it, she moved inside the wall of the office. The door closed behind her and she stood, wide eyed as she looked around this new room. It was made of stone. It was cold and stark. There were tables and chains and hooks in the ceiling. Carrie had never seen anything like it. It looked like a dungeon. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words. Mr Johnson turned to her and grabbed her wrist. It was then she realised how tall he was. He towered over her and looked down with an evil glint in his eye.

"Clever, don't you think Carrie? So many young girls like you want to be in the fashion industry. So easy to lure you here with the promise of money and excitement, glitz and glamour. And an ideal way to find, how shall I put it, hmm? Yes, that's it. An ideal way to find sex slaves."

Carrie felt panic course through her body. She tried to shake her wrist free from his grasp but he was far too strong for her, and somewhere in the distance, she heard him laughing. She felt faint, her free hand grasped his fingers, trying to prise them off her, but even they were too strong, and as she fought to free herself, he grabbed her other hand and dragged her to a table, lifting her easily onto it before slapping her hard around the face. Carrie was stunned, the tears welling in her eyes as she wriggled in his grasp.

He grabbed her wrist once more, dragging it to a cuff that was fixed to the table and locking it into place. Carrie knew if she tugged to hard, she'd pull her arm out of it's socket. Her body was racked with sobs as she tried to scratch and bite her captor. He was having none of it. Swiftly he grabbed her other wrist and deftly cuffed it to the table. Carrie was kicking for all she was worth but Mr Johnson had expected that. He'd had it from all the girls, and Carrie was no different to the others. A little more feisty perhaps, and he'd seen through the smart appearance straight way, knowing this one to be one of life's messes. He grabbed her legs and cuffed those too, before standing back, folding his arms and smiling.

Carrie had been screaming for help for a good ten minutes, and Mr Johnson had just stood there watching. When she calmed a little, and her screams turned to gentle sobs, he spoke.

"Carrie, you can't fight this. You won't win. You will learn, over the next few weeks, what is required of you. In the meantime, this will be your home. The walls are soundproofed. No-one can hear you, so save your energy for the task in hand. You have a lot of learning to do."

Carrie lifted her head from the table, and managed to spit as far as she could in Mr Johnson's direction. It didn't go very far, but it helped her feel better. It was all she had now, her defiance, and she wasn't going to give in easily.

Mr Johnson turned away and went to a cupboard by the wall. Slowly opening a draw, he took out a large knife and moved back to where Carrie was stretched out on the table. The fear in her eyes almost made him laugh but he managed to show her only a smile, and it seemed, for a brief moment, it was a smile of warmth. Carrie shook with fear as the knife came towards her skirt, and Mr Johnson began to cut through the thick woollen cloth. It fell away from her hips easily as the knife moved to her blouse, popping her buttons open, the blouse falling to the side, revealing her favourite white lace bra. Favourite because it was so comfortable, not because of the shape it gave her.

She began screaming again as she squirmed on the table. Mr Johnson walked back to the cupboard. This time he returned with a gag which he rammed into Carrie's mouth and strapped behind her struggling head. She screamed behind the gag, but there was very little sound.

"That's much better, I do so hate to work with a lot of noise."

Mr Johnson continued with the knife, trailing it over Carrie's belly before slipping it under her bra, and with one, swift movement, he cut the bra between her breasts, and it fell on top of her blouse. Carrie shut her eyes tight and whimpered behind the gag, her drool was beginning to build and she tried to keep swallowing, but her throat was dry. She was squealing now, soft, almost pathetic sounds, as the knife began to move between her thighs. She wanted to move, to slam her legs together, but she couldn't move a muscle for fear of the knife, so she kept her legs spread wide as it trailed gently along her inner thigh and to her white lace panties.

"Let's see what you have here, shall we Carrie?"

Mr Johnson slid the tip of the knife between hip and panties, blade side up and with one sweeping move, cut the first side before slipping the knife over to the second, and slicing the panties open. He put the knife down on the table, keeping it near enough to Carrie to worry her, and with his fingers, peeled back the top of her panties, the tips of his fingers brushing gently over her smooth mound.

"Well, well, little girl. You shave. Who would have thought? You are a slut in the making. How wonderful."

Mr Johnson clapped his hands in delight and Carrie whimpered. She had tried shaving as an experiment the other day, and now cursed her curiosity. She hadn't liked herself smooth and was looking forward to it growing back. Darn it! Carrie shook her body in anger, her situation seemed to worsen with every passing second and as she looked at this vile man in front of her, she bit down on the gag hard, making her teeth hurt.

"Look, that's quite enough. I've been lenient until now, but it's got to stop Carrie. You walked in here of your own free will. Nobody forced you through that door, now take what's coming before I have to punish you."

Carrie stared at him in disbelief. How could he say that?! She had no idea what was going on, in fact, she still had no idea!

Before she had time to think more, a doorbell rang and Mr Johnson walked to a door, set in the stone wall. Carrie tried to turn to look, but her position was such that it made it impossible. She listened hard, trying to hear the conversation. There was a man's voice, one she hadn't heard before, or was there two? Definitely more than one, perhaps three? Footsteps were approaching, but only one set and before she knew it, everything went dark. Her eyes had been covered with a blindfold.

"Well? What do you think? Not bad this time eh?"

Mr Johnson's voice seemed positively happy. There was silence, except for slow footsteps that seemed to be walking around the table. How many footsteps Carrie couldn't work out, but they were heavy, booted feet.

"It's okay. You can touch the merchandise." Mr Johnson quipped.

Before she knew it, Carrie felt a hand on her thigh and she struggled in her restraints. The hand slid along her thigh towards her pussy. It wasn't gentle. Fingers grabbed at her pussy lips and spread them open, a finger dipping into her hole. She heard laughter and a man spoke.

"She's fucking wet! What a whore!"

The finger slid inside her again, this time joined by another, and Carrie's cheeks were burning with shame. The fingers twisted as she felt a hand on each breast, feeling her nipples, tugging them hard as she winced beneath the blindfold and yelped behind the gag. She felt faint again, and tried to work out how many different sets of hands were touching her.

The fingers withdrew, and that seemed to be the sign for the men to let go of her.

"A fine one Mr Johnson. Well done. I'll take her. Have her ready in 4 weeks, I'll be back to collect. I will leave you with my slaves here, to help you train her. They will know exactly what is required. I believe you already know them. Craig and Ryan, this is Mr Johnson. You will call him Sir. I don't want to hear anything bad about your behaviour while I'm gone. If I do, you will both be punished, regardless of who is responsible. Understood?"

Two voices chirped in unison.

"Yes Master."

"Good. I shall see you in 4 weeks. Good luck Mr Johnson. If she's as feisty as you say, you have your work cut out."

Chapter 2 – The Training Begins

Carrie woke with a headache. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep but it felt like no time at all. Her head was fuzzy and her body ached. She tried to move, tugging gently on the cuffs before realising where she was, and what had happened the day before.

All she could remember after the man left, was that Mr Johnson had got the slaves to wash her down. She remembered feeling her clothes taken from under her, damp soapy sponges passing over her naked skin, washing her carefully, the slaves working in silence. Right now, there were no sounds. That is, not until the door opened, and footsteps again approached the table. Carrie opened her eyes. Now the blindfold was off again, she could see Mr Johnson approach the table. The slaves were with him.

"Uncuff your new friend and set her on the floor. The training begins."

The two boys immediately set to. Uncuffing her from the table, each took a hand and helped her down carefully, knowing how stiff she would be from staying in that position all night. They led her to the waiting Mr Johnson who pointed to the floor. The boys put hands on Carrie's shoulders, and pushed her to her knees, and she fell on them hard, scraping them on the stone floor. She cried out and Mr Johnson slapped her across her face, burning her cheek as she knelt naked before him.

Carrie dared to glimpse at the boys. She was fascinated by their nakedness, seemingly unaware of it as they carried out their duties without a word. Craig had a shock of dark curly hair and a young, sweet boyish face, that seemed to glow with pride when he moved. Carrie noticed both had pierced nipples and straps around their cocks and it was hard not to take her eyes from them. The other, Ryan, was fair, his hair straight, but also almost to his shoulders, and he too, looked young. Carrie figured they were probably nineteen or so, and decided to ask them when she got the chance.

"Lower your head slave," Mr Johnson boomed.

Carrie looked up at the two boys, and they nodded at her. She looked back at Mr Johnson who was towering over her and frowning.

"I said lower your head, do you have a hearing problem slave?"

Carrie swallowed hard. It suddenly dawned on her that he was talking to her and not the boys, and immediately she lowered her head. She sensed the boys beside her and watched out the corner of her eye as they knelt, one each side of her.

"Good. Right. This is the last time you will hear your name Carrie. From now on, you will be referred to as slave, slut, whore or any other words a man or woman desires to call you. You will speak only when told. You will have no control over your life whatsoever. You will have no responsibilities, no ideals, no ambitions bar one, that of pleasing your Master. That is your job. To please your Master. And for this, you will be treated well. You will be given a home, a bed, and you will be fed. If you misbehave, you will be punished. If you disobey an order, you will be punished. If you speak when told not to, you will be punished. But that is only part of this deal. I told you yesterday that you will become a sex slave. You have been bought Carrie, by a good man, one that you will refer to as Master. You are always to call him Master because that is what he is to you. He owns you. He owns your life. He decides what happens to your body. In that, you will have no say. If he says cum, you will cum. If you are denied, you will not cum and if you do, you will be punished. Are you listening Carrie?"

Mr Johnson stopped talking for a moment and Carrie nodded slowly, not daring to look up. He couldn't help thinking that this might be easier than he'd imagined. If he managed to train her quickly, he might be able to get some use out of her before he sold her on.

"You will call me Sir. Always. Understand?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Now stand slave, turn around, and bend over."

Carrie's first thought was to disobey. She allowed her mind to drift for a moment, wondering what had got her into this, and she gave a soft chuckle, thinking of the 'job' she had gone for. Oh yes, she thought, I got the job alright. Typical, the one job I get is for some weirdo in a suit with naked men at his beck and call. She looked around her, wondering how easy it would be to escape. She thought of the girls at reception, wondering how much they knew of what went on here. One day, she'd find out. Right now, she was in a 'situation', and needed to think clearly.