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Tales From A Far Country

Part 17

  1. CHAPTER 17 : AN AMERICAN COUSIN
    1. ACQUISITION ANXIETIES


“Igor Ivanovitch?”


“Da, Anatoly Sergeyevitch. A pleasure to speak with you again. How can I help?”


“A client has asked me to arrange some arrangements. A meeting and discussion with you would be helpful. This afternoon?”


“Da: where shall we meet?”


“Tverskaya?”


“Tverskaya, agreed.”


It is 5 oclock in the afternoon and, Doctor Mendeleyev arrives at Anatolys office at the Red Square end of Tverskaya Ulitsa. Anatoly has arranged for tea and for a few moments the two men socialise until Anatoly abruptly puts his cup down and turns to business.


“A client has asked me to take the daughter of a business rival. A personal dispute. Something about unpaid debts. This is not my preferred work you understand. This is work for bailiffs, not for me. But, I have known him for a long time. There are obligations.”


Mendeleyev knows better than to try to explore the reasons for Anatolys indebtedness to his client. Instead he returns to the matter of the girl. “The abduction is a prelude to extortion? Or is it merely revenge?”


Anatoly snorts. “Actually, its more a payment in kind.” The idea obviously is somewhat distasteful to him. “The proposal is to take the daughter and sell her as payment for the debt. A token payment, really. That just makes it acceptable. If it had just been merely an opportunity for extortion before returning of the girl, then I would have declined. I am not going to be involved in some grubby criminal act like that! Ransom is not my style.”


“Quite so,” Mendeleyev agrees. “You intend to take her into slavery, then?”


“Yes. Then to sell her on after training so that some of the financial matters can be resolved.”


“Ah. And the problem?”


“Two problems. First; she is American. This increases the risks you understand. Others may be content to work far from their home in places where they cannot exercise influence but for me this has usually been unnecessary. The old Empire certainly. Europe, yes. But beyond? The problems become greater the further away you are geographically and culturally. Fortunately, she is working in Germany at present”


“And the other problem?”


“Second; It seems unethical.” Mendeleyev nods. For others it might seem strange but Igor Ivanovitch knows that Anatolys approach to his trade has a curious underlying morality. “She will suffer for the inadequacies of her father. This is almost certainly unfair. Of course I do not know if she has, in some way brought about her fathers situation but that seems unlikely. He may or may not - feel her loss. She will feel her change of circumstances very acutely. Her new life will not be an improvement on her former life. I prefer that the slaves new circumstances should be better than their old at least in some respects.”


Mendeleyev listens as Anatoly rehearses his explanations. He knows he is not being asked for advice on this. He tries to turn the discussion to an area where he can assist. “So how can I help?”


“It is about when I bring her to the Dacha.”


“You are not using your other facility?” Mendeleyev looks puzzled for a moment and then understanding dawns. “Of course you are using the Dacha to train Vyera. I had not thought you would use it for others.”


“It would be preferable to use my main facility but I was thinking over your remarks about Vyera: giving her more responsibility. I wondered …”


“If it was appropriate to involve her with … ?”


“… the new slaves training?”


“Precisely.”


“Hmmmm”. Doctor Mendeleyev fumbles with his pipe. He knows Anatoly does not approve of smoking and he does not light up. “Well … perhaps.  It will show what Vyera has learned. It will allow us to see how far her loyalties are to you and how far she feels for the new abductee. Then again, it will remind her about her own past life, now lost and her reflections will turn her eyes away from the future. Anatoly Sergeyevitch, there are both advantages and disadvantages here. May I reflect and reply to you in the morning?”


“Of course, old friend. I would rather have a careful answer, than a quick answer.” Anatoly stares past Igor. Talking almost to himself, he says, “I suppose she does not have to know the reason for her abduction. Perhaps that would lessen the blow?” He turns back to his old friend. “Would you like me to have one of the staff drive you home?”


“Thank you Anatoly Sergeyvitch but I like to walk when I have a new problem. It is an aid to creativity.”


    1. A DANGEROUS WILD ANIMAL


In the night I heard someone screaming. It was an angry wailing screaming tirade. I listened hard to make sense of them and then I realised - the words were in English.


In the morning, Neena comes to get me from my cell. She has a black eye! I am appalled. How could someone do that? How could they have overpowered Neena or had her at such a disadvantage?


My surprise must be written all over my face. Neena answers my unspoken questions. “There is a wild animal in one of the adjoining cells. You are to help me subdue her. Come”


I follow her meekly. I notice she is dressed in very serious clothes: her high black military boots, a military style tunic and her belt. Her hair is tied is a tight neat pony tail. We pause at a door, two down from mine, along the corridor. She turns to me and puts her fingers to her lips, motioning me to silence. She applies her eye to a peephole in the door and waits, her right hand on the door handle and the left grasping the swipe card above the card reader which will unlock the door. In an instant, she has unlocked the door, burst into the room and taken her tazer from her equipment belt. She fires at a small red haired naked girl who has just turned bright angry blazing eyes towards her.


The girl grimaces and collapses, screaming and writhing onto the floor and lays there twitching.


“Come” Neena orders, “bring!”


She points to a small bag hanging on the corridor wall.


By the time I join her at the side of the stricken girl, Neena has rolled her over.

She up turns the bag and shiny metal cuffs fall out, a shiny silver colour and lined with black rubber.


“See: they fit like this. Now you apply them to her anklets.”


I follow orders. It doesnt occur to me to do otherwise. I snap the bands around the girls ankles, feeding one end formed into a tongue into the opposite side which bears a thin recess and squeezing the band shut. Its not easy as the girl twitches in reaction to the tazer.


“Chain!” Neena orders.


The anklets each bear a ring riveted to the side and I attach a length of chain with a small carbineer clip to each one which Neena locks shut with a special key. By the time the girl has stopped twitching she has been inescapably restrained: her hands restricted by the chain which passes behind her back and her legs hobbled by the chain between her anklets.


“This slave, who is called Pavea, has messed the floor, Vyera. There is a bucket and a wash cloth outside. Clean her up and help her to her bed” Neena puts her face close to the girls ear and says “ unless she would prefer the floor?


Neena continues, whether for my benefit or for Paveas benefit, I am not sure. “Pavea means small and humble. She is certainly small but not yet humble, which is to say she does not understand her place. Perhaps this first lesson will be helpful to her?”


Neena leaves the cell, banging the door.


    1. TRANS-ATLANTIC STRAIGHT TALKING


I stand up, sigh, retrieve the bucket and return. This time, the door locks and I am trapped alone with Pavea, the dangerous wild animal.


I make to start to clean her up. In gratitude she snarls, “Get your black bitch  hands off me -  do you hear me?  Huh? You people have got no right to keep me here.”


I am completely taken aback. Its partly the spitting of the word black. What on earth led her to say that? And Its partly the you people; Im like her, Im not one of you people. Cant she see that?


“Look,” I reply, “you are covered with your own urine. Neena has chained your hands. Im sure you would be much more comfortable if you would let me clean you up and clean your cell floor?”


“Well, just go and get the fucking key, unchain me and let me deal with myself on my own, stupid! That Neena bitch is going to be sorry when my Daddy finds her.”


Paveas outburst is so completely unrealistic I find myself giggling at the girls invective but she has not finished.


“Do you know who I am?”


“No.” I cant help my bluntly unsympathetic response. Its one of those expressions that has always made me feel completely uninterested in the person uttering it. Pavea of course, takes no notice.


“My name is Tracy Randolf. My daddy owns the Randolf Corporation, do you hear? When he finds you, - when he finds me - your ass is going to be on the line. You are going to jail, sister you and that fucking Neena bitch Do you know, how long you go down for in Texas for kidnapping? Years! Youre facing twenty years without parole! Minimum!


She spits the words out once more. Its obviously mean to frighten me but it has the opposite effect. Twenty years. Is that all? Twenty years and then I could go home, Home to see my family, if I can find them. To see my parents if they are still alive. To see Joe, if he still wants me. All in only twenty years. My eyes start to water.


“Pavea, twenty years is a bargain, if you ask me. At the moment I am doing life without parole and without the privilege of visitors”


This seems to stop the silly girl in her tracks, but just for a moment until she recovers her bluster.


“My name you fucking black bitch is Tracy Randolf. Ms Tracy Randolf, not Pavea!”


I sigh once more. I know I said similar things once. How unrealistic I was! How Neena and her colleagues must have laughed at me. Even deep inside, day by day, it becomes more and more impossible to hold on to the person I was. Vyerka is like the sun rise on a frosty morning. Low in the sky and intensly brilliant, the glare making it impossible to be anything apart from Vyerka.


“Pavea. Neena has told me you are Pavea and as far as I am concerned, you are Pavea and if I get caught, calling you anything else apart from Pavea, my bum is going to be caned long and hard for disobedience and I cant see any reason so far, why I should put my bum at risk for you. Now will you please stand up and get cleaned and you can enjoy watching me wash your floor?”


Sulkily, Pavea gets up and I get to do as I have been told. I wipe her clean as gently as I can and then clean the floor


Pavea glares at me from her bed. “ Youve given in to them, havent you? Well, we Americans never give in. We never give in til weve won and we always win in the end. Always. I am getting out of here, just you see.”


“Best of luck”, is all I can say in reply. Once I might have thought she could be right. Now I know she isnt.


    1. AN OLD FASHIONED EDUCATION


Neena is back in the cell as soon as I have completed my given task. She must have been watching. I am so relieved I did not make common cause with Pavea and start calling her by her old name! As if in confirmation, Neena says: “Vyerochka! We are taking this creature to the punishment room!”


To which Pavea succinctly replies, “Go fuck yourself, bitch!”


Now she has been restrained, its an easy task for Neena to pass a thick leather belt around Paveas waist and attach a chain to it. She drags her out of the cell and along the corridor. Its a familiar route for me. We enter the room and, accompanied by volleys of invectives and expletives, Pavea is strapped over the punishment bench, her bum nicely displayed and completely vulnerable.


“Now, Pavea, Vyerochka can tell you lots of stories about her time in this room. I have wondered about how to deal with you. I thought of the whip and then of the cane and finally I decided to flay your skin with a birch. You will be birched to punish you for daring to strike me and to begin your education. You are a slave, Pavea, and slaves accept discipline!”


For all her abrasive unpleasantness, I have to admire Pavea. She glares back at Neena and spits out: “You, sister: you are going to jail like her.” She wags her head in my direction. “I tell you, the Law will find you wherever you are and I am so going to enjoy testifying at your trial.”


“Vyerochka; I have heard enough of this nonsense. Gag her!”


I wrestle a heavy leather panel gag and harness over her head, clamping her jaws shut with the straps over her scalp and pressing the heavy stiff leather pad over her mouth by pulling the strap behind her head tight, too.


When Pavea has been silenced, and she has had her fill of trying to dislodge the gag by shaking her head, Neena squats down in front of her and meets her angry gaze directly. “Now, listen to me. Listen to me. There will be no trial because we are not in the United States.


If you go east or if you go west, we are separated from the United States by an ocean. You are here to learn some manners and to learn your place, a place in which you are a mere slave. You have also to learn a new language. Vyerochka will start your further education and teach you numbers and you will commit them to memory on pain of another birching.” She pauses and stands up. “And now, I am going to begin and you are going to squeal.


With that Neena turns and grasps a generous bunch of birch twigs. They are green and whippy. She takes her stance and swipes the switch across Paveas bum. Paveas eyes immediately widen and she inhales sharply. Its clear that this will be an arduous few minutes. I am standing next to Pavea and merely say.


“One, but in your new language, Adeen!”


Neena swipes Pavea again. The birch is generously broad. It covers the whole of Paveas buttocks with each stroke. Pavea sucks air in and her eyes widen once more as the twigs land. As she breathes out, she lets out the first squeal.


“Two, or as you should say now, Dva!”


Neeva paints Paveas bum for the birch a third time. This time she is screwing her eyes up and beginning to pull against the straps which hold her implacably, presenting her buttocks perfectly. There will be no escape for her until she reaches whatever destination Neena has chosen.


“Three, in other words Trey”.


Neena changes position. This time the birch will strike right to left instead of left to right. She carefully delivers three more strokes. She does not hurry, leaving Pavea just enough time to ride the wave of pain to the crest before urging her onwards, higher. But the time Pavea has enjoyed six strokes she is sweating and mewling constantly.


Neena pauses and walks slowly round to face her directly. Once more, Pavea and Neena are eye to eye but its only Neena who is speaking.


She lays a hand on her shoulder gently, almost encouragingly. “Now Pavea! Slaves must learn they will always be under discipline and they have to learn that quickly. I always like to see a new recruit gets a taste of punishment as soon as possible after their arrival. That was your first six strokes. You are a rude, bad tempered, headstrong girl who has struck her trainer. That is not going to be tolerated do you hear me, Pavea?”


Pavea still has enough presence of mind to realise when she is beat at least in this round. Her tear filled eyes stare back at Neena who continues. “Your next six strokes are your punishment!”


Pavea obviously thought she was through because even before Neena has resumed the session, Pavea has begun to wail through her gag and squirm in her bonds.


“Vyerochka: where are we?”


“Shest, Gaspazha that is Six, Pavea.”


“Shest, Vyera? Shest? Surely we are only at cheteryi? Oh - Pavea,” says Neena, addressing her directly once more, “that means four.”


Pavea goes wild! She bucks and squeals and pulls at her bonds. She had hopes that Neena had completed her birching. She then had to absorb the news that she was only part way through and now she is burnt by Neenas teasing about the number of strokes she has already received …


“Yes, Vyera I am sure it was only four. Still, punishment is always good for slaves. If Pavea is to receive a couple of extra licks I am sure she, in due course, will thank us for spending extra time with her.” Neena implacably paints her birch across Pavea once more. “So! Pyat!”


Five … six … seven … eight … nine … ten … eleven … twelve times.


Each stroke is carefully measured. Each stroke briskly delivered. Each stroke splaying out over Paveas bum leaving a trail of bright red, ridgy welts in its wake.


As the punishment carries on, its clear Pavea is in another world. She squeals just as Neena told her she would, squeals, bucks and writhes. By the twelfth stroke her face is streaked with tears, mucous streams from her nose and drool from around the leather pad that gags her. She is panting and heaving, trying to breathe through the pain.


Neena carefully lays the switch down. She crouches down again in front of her prisoner. She graps Paveas bushy hair and once more, forces eye to eye contact.


“I can do that to you any time I want, Pavea! Anytime I think your behaviour needs to improve a notch, it will be the birch, or cane, or whip. My resolve will not break. Vyerochka? Clean her up, wipe her bum with the brine cloth and leave her to burn for a little while … oh wait … what have we here? She has pissed herself again! You will not forget the floor Vyerochka, will you?”


I nod in acknowledgement. No, I will not forget, because if I do, I will have to change places with Pavea and I have no wish to further my education at present.


    1. HOMEWORK


Presently, Neena and I escort Pavea back to her cell. She is still wearing the leather restraint belt around her waist. Neena chains her to a ring on the wall, giving her enough room to reach the toilet and the door but not enough to pass through. On Neenas orders I write out the numbers zero to ten in figures and below each one the name in Russian in English letters and Russian Cyrillic. I write figures on separate index cards and stick them to the cell wall with blue tack.


“Pavea …”


“Tracy!”


“Pavea …”


“Are you completely stupid? My name is Ms Tracy Randolf!”


“ … You have a number well, you will soon have two numbers. One will be your registration number on the International Register of Slaves and Submissives and the other will be your number on the Asset Register here. They will be tattooed on you. See: here …” I show Pavea the tattoo on my breast. The tattoo which rewarded my headstrong and ill-considered rebellion … when was it?  I have forgotten. So long ago now ….


She furrows her brow. I can see she must realise that there is the possibility that I am telling her the truth but I can almost see her make the mental effort to push the obvious conclusion away…


“So I will soon have the option to call you by your number, if you would prefer?”


“You little bitch! Goddam you! Either you are one of the Faculty or you have sold out. Youre the worst kind of nigger. Black but wants to be white.”


Paveas remarks cut me like a knife. I could be close to this girl. We could be allies to help one another through, but instead she heaps insults and invective on me at every opportunity. I close my eyes, “Im not black. I was as white as you when I came here. If Im black now its because they did it to me. And, if they want to, theyll do the same to you. Theyll do anything they want to because they can. You have to know that.”


For the first time Paveas aggressive stance weakens. “What?”


“They did this to me. And theyll do it to you. If they want to.” I dont want to say anymore. I feel tired. I turn and explain the index cards. “Gaspazha Neena will test your knowledge tomorrow Pavea. I would learn the numbers, if I were you


“What Neena?”


“Gaspazha. Its the formal way to address a female superior or someone you dont know well in Russia. Literally, it means Mistress”


“Russia? Dont gimme that crap. We are in Germany and you can get extradited Stateside from Germany. Like I said. You two will end up behind bars in my home state pretty soon now. Mistress! Im not calling that Neena bitch Mistress.”


Another wave of fatigue breaks over me. I cant be bothered to argue or even warn her about the consequences of what she is doing. It rakes up so many painful memories of defiance followed by utter defeat. I turn from her and close the cell door.


Alone in my own cell, I have the opportunity to muse over Paveas remarks about prison. Prison would be so much better that slavery!  I would know why I was there and why I had deserved it. I would be able to have visitors. Joe and my parents and brothers and friends would know where I was and what had happened to me and why.


Joe and my parents would have closure, Joe could start his life over or stay married to me, just as he wished and I would know how long I had to serve and be cared for by the Authorities in a way that was regulated, all set out in black and white. My fate would be public and official, not a strange disappearance. Yes: how lucky I would be, to be in prison.



A MORNINGS ORIENTATION COURSE.  SIGNS OF THINGS TO COME


“Good morning Rabinya!


Neena is in my cell. We go through the familiar litany at the beginning of the day; “Washed?”


“Da.”


“Teeth cleaned?”


“Da.”


“Cell cleaned?”


“Da.”


“And tidy?”


“Da.” (but what is there to tidy?)


“Language studies from yesterday?”


“Da, spaseeba, Gaspazha.”


“Breakfast?”


“Nyet, spaseeba Gaspazha.”


“Toilet?”


“Nyet spaseeba, Gaspazha”


“Harosho, rabinya. You are making progress! New slaves have so much to learn and it is important to teach them just how much their lives have changed. Not everyone is a natural submissive and some have to learn to be so. It is often very difficult for them but there are things we can do to help. Today, we will help Pavea again. Go to the kitchen to get your food and report here. Then I will permit you to use the toilet. Fifteen minutes only.”


I scurry away looking forward to having even my plain food to eat but also anxious about having to face Pavea again. In fact Pavea feels like a bigger ordeal than the demeaning toilet supervision I have to endure …


Pavea is once again her defiant, surly aggressive, self. She takes care to direct her unpleasantness at me, rather than at Neena. Perhaps its a survival technique she learned is some corporate jungle, somewhere?


“Why the fuck do I have to see you again?”


She completely ignores Neena as if she was not there.


“Cant you just take yourself off some place else? Just get the hell out of it?”


“No, rabinya Pavea,” replies Neena, re-exerting control of the situation. “Rabinya Vyera is here to help you adjust.”

“Help me adjust? Her?  She is a disgrace. She has sold out to you people. I wouldnt trust her not one inch with anything.”


Paveas arms are still chained so once more, its a relatively easy matter to strap the transport belt around her and take her out of the cell. I pull on a lead clipped to the belt. Neena grabs a handful of her hair and pushes her from behind. Between us we get her into the medical room and strapped onto the examination couch. Its been set in the upright position.


“Vyerochka: take this and shave Paveas head. Completely bald. Leave no hair. Then go over her again with an electric razor. I want her completely smooth as any new slave should be. She has to see herself in a new light. I want her to see herself bald every single time she catches sight of her reflection!”


Pavea gasps and turns wildly to look at me and then back to Neena. “Get the fuck away from me you bitch you would …” Her voice falters. Perhaps for the very first time she sees me and takes time to recognise what she sees.


“Well, rabinya?”


Neena looks at me and hands me the clippers. She raises one eyebrow quizzically. This is a test for me as well as an ordeal for Pavea. Will I follow orders without hesitation or question? Where is my loyalty? To my Owners (personified for the moment by Neena) or to a fellow abductee, a fellow westerner?


Pavea is looking wildly from one to another. She is not quite certain if this is a bluff. “Look you stupid bitch, I cant go back shaven? Its going to be all the worse for you when they catch up with you. This is serious assault, you mother fucker you are gonna leave me alone. Do you hear? You are going to leave me alone!”


I clear my throat. “No Pavea. I am going to do exactly as I have been told.” After all: this is about survival and anyway, I have grown used to being bald. A long forgotten memory returns to haunt me. Me in another place, with a shortish haircut, me strapped into a chair, being invited to look at the statuesque, outstandingly beautiful Ramatou Diallo, Miss Face Of Africa 2006. Her full African lips, ravishing smile and clean shaven head. A genial American was shaving my head. How did he do it? Start at the bottom and move slowly up to the crown. Start at the back and move round to the side. First one side, then the other. Finally, come from the front up to the very top of the crown, and there you are. Shaven. Well, buzz-cut.


All the while, Pavea has been screaming and shouting at me, trying to dodge her head away from me, but there is no escape for either of us. No escape for her, because she is firmly strapped down and wherever she moves her head, I patiently follow. No escape for me, because I have been given a direct order by my Superior and in any case, I am shaving Pavea for fear that something far worse will befall me if I do not.


And then I am finished. I am standing in front of this now crying and weeping girl, surrounded by a pile of beautiful fuzzy red hair, finishing her off with an electric razor to get her smooth. Like Samson, now her hair has gone, her strength seems to have gone and the poisonous words which poured from her mouth have gone too. Flowed all away as her hair lightly fell to the ground.


“Almost finished” announces Neena. She is pressing her advantage, now the sting of her enemy is drawn,


“Vyerochka: hold her head firmly. No! More firmly than that … better. Dont you dare let her move, do you understand?”


From a surgical bowl, Neena draws an IV introducer and with Paveas attention still caught up with the removal of her hair, Neena passes the introducer straight through Paveas septum: line up, check orientation, one firm push through. For a split second, Paveas septum resists. The tissue refusing to give way and then it is defeated by the scalpel sharp edge of the introducer.

Pavea gasps. Her eyes widen once more. She tries to focus her eyes on what Neena is doing but its too late. Neena was too fast. Pavea knows immediately she has been pierced, and as I continue to hold the sobbing Pavea steady, Neena withdraws the introducer and threads the septum ring through the cannula and withdraws the cannula itself, leaving the ring inserted.


I gaze at it. As I carry piercings, I have a personal interest in those of others. The cannula must have been non-standard, because Paveas ring is thicker that the standard jewellery gauge which is usually inserted. 3mm rather than 1.5? But the issue is the statement that the ring will make. This ring declares that the girl who wears it is a slave. Neena is inserting the ball closure. She has to squeeze the ring-opening pliers very firmly to find enough room to insert the ball. Once in place, she relaxes her grip and the ring closes with a very firmly with a sharp metallic Snap! This ring is not coming out. Even Pavea must realise that.


I have done Neenas bidding and assisted her with no feelings of guilt or regret or even remorse, for what I did to Pavea. I think I actually enjoyed watching her transformation begin felt satisfied at the role I played in it. And yet, how can I regard what I have just done with such equinimity? How can I have played my part in this cruelty? Because I no longer think it is cruel. Pavea is a slave, like me. This is what happens to slaves. It has all happened to me. Pavea has to earn the new realities of her life. To pretend her life could carry on as it did before, thanks to some thing I said or did or did not do well, I have learned from bitter experience that I might as well try to hold back the incoming tide.  Encouraging Pavea  to shelter behind such a futile hope - that would be the real cruelty.


This has been Paveas watershed moment. The time when she was forced over the cataract and fell into the boiling waters beneath. The moment when Tracy Randolf vanished and Pavea, rabinya surfaced from the seething cauldron.


    1. A PROGRESS REPORT


Email: Neena Alexandrova to Igor Ivanovitch Mendeleyev, copy to Anatoly Sergeyevitch


I have completed the first days training with Vyera helping me to process the new slave Pavea.


Pavea took every opportunity to be as unpleasant as she could, especially to Vyera, who she plainly sees as some sort of traitor. She, Pavea, spoke and behaved exactly as do some characters in American Police dramas; so much so that she was almost a caricature. This is unfortunate because it protects Vyera against the temptation of being sympathetic to Pavea.


However, there were three incidents during which Vyera demonstrated her attachment to us. First when she was alone in the cell with Pavea and Pavea was demanding to be called by her own name. It must have stirred memories for Vyera but she steadfastly refused to use any other name but Pavea.


Second, she shaved Paveas head as instructed and was not deflected by Paveas invective (at first) nor by her tears (during the process).


Third, Vyera assisted me in placing Paveas septum ring, with no flinching.


In conclusion: there is some evidence of Vyeras habituation to her slavery even when she is given an opportunity to look backwards, but I cannot accurately tell how far the habituation has gone, as a result of this particular challenge, thanks to the unpleasantness of her  “American Cousin”.


© Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg 2011


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