The day proceeded without incident, Penny spending the afternoon swimming after having prepared lunch as her gourmet chef alter-ego.
But Joan's thoughts were a traffic-jam of speculation about the things she'd learned. When had Penny been tortured, and how? Was her personality a defense mechanism against the abuse? Or had she been deliberately transformed into her current compliant state by a ruthless program of brainwashing?
Joan suspected the latter. Which introduced the question of who Penny really was. Was she a relative of her two guardians? Was she an employee of theirs? Could she be, in fact, a perfect stranger who'd been kidnapped off the street? With their great wealth, Mrs. Paul and Mrs. Divergent could probably manage to 'acquire' a young woman in any number of ways!
Penny's extreme beauty suggested that she'd been recruited by some very selective method. If they'd simply hired a model and then subjected her to imprisonment and torture, they would have been risking a police investigation.
It would have been more logical for them to work through a white-slavery ring. Joan was assuming, of course, that such organizations were not merely tabloid fodder, but really existed here, in America, today.
When, in that case, had Penny's bondage begun? She could have been kidnapped-- from anywhere in the world-- when she was very young. Or perhaps it was more likely that she'd been taken as an adult. After all, her skills as a chef suggested that she had some kind of life before her current state of enforced servitude.
Another intriguing possibility occurred to Joan. She had read a story one time-- a work of fiction, but highly plausible-- about a farm for human beings. A woman could be raised on such a farm and trained from childhood to be a slave. The victim would know no other life. Hypnosis and behavior modification techniques would mold her into a docile, compliant servant.
Skills such as gourmet cooking could be imprinted on these unfortunate women without the necessity of developing personalities for them... personalities being superfluous to their eventual roles.
Penny might actually be a farm-bred creature. But of course, Joan had no sure indication of where or how she came into existence.
-----
'Penny make dinner now,' announced Joan's curvacious charge. She was wearing another of the fetching aprons in her collection-- and nothing else.
From the doorway, Joan watched Penny moving about the kitchen. In her culinary mode, Penny assumed a noticeably different personality. There was no sign of the awkward, timid Penny who'd dropped to her knees to kiss Joan's feet several times that day. This Penny moved about the kitchen confidently, assembling ingredients on the counter in an orderly fashion and manipulating spoon, fork, and spatula with authority.
Joan watched Penny's facial expressions. It was subtle, but Joan could spot flashes of a personality there, as Penny eyed a tomato suspiciously before discarding it; the way she tilted her head fondly as a tray of muffins rose and assumed a toasty brown hue.
Joan was convinced that there was something there-- another self, a past. This was not a farm-bread creature who'd been trained to cook; Penny was a talented cook who'd somehow been reduced to a docile slave!
After setting the table with a sumptuous feast that rivaled yesterday's repast, Penny again apportioned her own serving into a dog dish which she placed on the kitchen floor. This time, Joan didn't stop her, or insist that Penny dine at the table. She wanted to see Penny taking her meal the way she was accustomed to. She persuaded herself that she was conducting research. She had only an academic interest in the lurid spectacle of a gorgeously constructed specimen of nubile womanhood bent, on her knees, delicately dining out of a dog dish like a family pet.
As Penny took her feeding, she was very beautiful. Obviously accustomed to eating off the floor, she conducted herself with considerable grace and dignity.
Joan enjoyed the meal a great deal-- a side of beef that had been roasted to perfection. And it was all the sweeter to be enjoying it while its chef humbled herself on the floor.
-------
Afterward, Joan again took up her vigil at the kitchen door, as Penny washed and wiped the dishes. Joan sensed very distinctly the presence of Penny's alter-ego, the sophisticated cook. Joan found this blend of beauty and sophistication very exciting. She wondered-- could Penny be stopped in mid-task, and somehow be kept in her 'gourmet chef' persona?
Joan spoke up. 'That's a fine porceline-- I wonder where they got it?'
No answer.
Joan ventured a few other comments, but Penny was deaf to them.
Finally, she said, 'Penny, are you listening to me?'
Penny stopped what she was doing and looked over. She wore the docile, submissive expression of her slavegirl persona. The sound of her name, it appeared, was some kind of cue to return to her subservient state.
'Never mind, dear,' said Joan.
'I'm Penny...' said the young woman quetly. She stood looking at the dishes for a few moments, then began washing them again, having returned to gourmet cook mode.
It occured to Joan that a more direct action was needed. Joan had, in any case, an urgent need to make contact with this sophisticated Penny, to hold her and kiss her.
There were only a few dishes left, so Joan must take action before Penny reverted again.
She came up behind Penny and took a firm stance with her legs spread wide. She watched Penny's naked body moving and turning from side to side as she picked up a dish, scrubbed it, and put in in the rack to dry. Joan selected the end of this cycle as the time to make her move.
As Penny's elbow came back, Joan hooked her hand around it. She slipped her other arm around Penny's waist and pulled her back away from the sink.
The first signal that something had gone wrong was a crash from the floor. Penny had dropped the dish she was holding, and it had shattered to bits on the tile.
'Oh, Penny, I'm sorry!' said Joan.
Penny looked at the dish, then at Joan. She was obviously in shock. She whispered slowly, 'Penny... bad...'
'No, Penny, it wasn't your fault!' assured Joan.
'Penny... bad... bad...'
Joan hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 'No, sweetheart, Penny is good! Penny's a good girl!'
But the beautiful nude woman was unconsolable. She knelt on the kitchen floor and picked up the fragments of the dish, murmuring 'Penny... bad...'
Joan retreated to the living room. She felt terrible. One of the rules she'd been given was that Penny should not be interfered with in the kitchen. She was learning the hard ways that those rules should not be broken!