by Raul Roget
Chapter 5 - The Chamber of Horrors
Jake’s guided tour of his shop and apartment left out one room - the dungeon. I visited it the third night, fortunately as Celeste’s warder and not, as I would quickly learn, a victim to be tortured. However, I would find that my partial exemption was limited only by Jake’s imagination.
It began with my being instructed to remove everything from her body except her collar. As I expected, when I first saw her punishment bra, it was a very painful experience, as the circle of sharp points raked her nipples as I pulled the bra away. She sobbed with the pain at the same time that she was panting with arousal. I grabbed a whip and got her attention, reminding her that she was forbidden to climax. The lash was almost certainly unnecessary, probably only adding to her arousal, if she even felt it.
I made her crawl as Jake led us to each of the numerous devices that filled the entire room, seemingly big enough to house a basketball court. We spent the evening listening to Celeste give a description of each device, its history, how often she had been subjected to it; and most important whether it was effective, what she disliked about it, and sometimes, what she liked. I knew she didn’t dare lie as any lies would have been wrung out of her long since.
Then she had to demonstrate the device, mostly for my benefit, although Jake was listening intently, anticipating a mistake. I would lock her arms and legs while Jake would show me how the device worked.
There were several standard devices, such as the rack, the horse, the crosses and the whipping bench. I had only a vague knowledge of them, while others were something that I had never heard of. One fact stood out however: There were only a handful of whips. The few stories involving dungeons I had read made a point of having a room, or a whole wall lined with whips and canes. I answered my own question, deciding that since he had a large stock in the store he didn’t need a wall full. All he had to do was send Celeste crawling to the whip he needed.
In the ensuing months, I would assist Jake, or follow his orders to punish Celeste on my own. If you can imagine a grown woman looking forward to a visit to a dungeon, you have a perfect picture of her. She did everything but beg, including deliberate misconduct, knowing I might be the one to hold her leash, fighting me to hurry to the pain machines. Jake would cross her up and take over somewhere along the route.
Since her punishment bra had been removed, Jake decided that she should suffer another form of pain. When he announced, “Time for a ride,” Celeste visibly blanched. She knew what was coming, but despite her reluctance, there would be pain she could enjoy.
I was surprised when Jake held out three straws. He explained to me that there were three different ‘rides’ that she could take, so she got to pull a straw to determine which one.
She drew the middle one, so he led her to the wooden horse. The length of the straw apparently had no connection to the severity of the ride, as I considered the horse to be by far the worst; an assessment confirmed a few days later when I was treated to a 15 minute ride. I also suspected that Jake had the horse in mind anyway, so the straws were a farce.
The second worse - again speaking from experience - was the tack rider. I’m positive a woman invented it, because no man would be fully aware of the misery it created. It was innocent enough looking to rarely draw a second glance, but man, it was potent.
It had three parts. Two chains came down from winches. The centerpiece was an 18-inch piece of pipe. Wrapped around it was tape, with a multitude of sharp tacks poked through the tape. The victim - and I use the term intentionally - had to step over it and then step up onto a pair of wooden blocks. They were set close to the base, forcing the victim to keep her legs closed and pressing on the pipe.
The winches pulled the chains up until the pipe was resting snugly under our body. The slightest movement in that position brought the points of the tacks into play. Somewhat surprisingly, the tacks rarely drew blood. They hurt like fury but they usually only left red dots on the skin.
Jake used it frequently when interrogating either of us about some mistake or problem. He often would set us astride and then leave us for an hour or more. He would move one of the blocks slightly if he didn’t like an answer. He would come back and move another of the blocks, forcing a change in position and more sharp points.. He would soon lose patience and kick one of the blocks away, forcing us to stand on one foot. Then he would make us stand on our toes, inserting a tack block under our heels. You can rest assured that he got his answers in a hurry.
The horse was reserved for more serious offenses, such as screwing up a sale or flirting with a customer. Five minutes was all either of us could stand as the sharp edge we were perched on was more than a match for our tender female flesh. I learned from Celeste some of the things to promise him to get him to let us off. As expected, my promises bore a lot more weight than hers.
The third ride was a Sybian, a devilish machine featuring a super-industrial strength vibrator and a rotating dildo. Both Celeste and I could get our rocks off in a matter of minutes on it, but riding it past an orgasm for her was lethal. Typically, Jake would let me go after one climax, but Celeste had to repeatedly ride it to near orgasm if Jake was in a bad mood. She would come off of that thing as limp as a wet dishrag.
I’d never heard of a ‘dick on a stick,’ but Jake had an assortment of pole-mounted dildos that he used to torment us when we were tied down. Carried one step further, he had a machine operated dick that could fuck us for days. We both got very creative with our pleas and promises after a couple of hours of non-stop screwing. You can lubricate until the cows come home, but your pussy is still going to get sore if it’s over used. This was something Jake didn’t believe, despite the fact that his tool was just as sore. I quickly learned not to complain of a sore pussy. For that matter, I learned not to complain at all.
Celeste didn’t even wait to begin begging before she was mounted. She was babbling by the time Jake hoisted her onto the edge of the wooden plank that would be her ‘saddle’. She told me later that she once rode it for an hour before she fainted from the pain.
Her leg shackles were chained to two massive concrete blocks, keeping her legs spread and preventing her from falling off. Her wrist cuffs were locked together and to the end of a chain. He raised her arms behind her until they were at right angles with her body. This forced her to lean forward, compressing her clit against the unforgiving oak. Then he ran a chain from her collar to the upright in front of her, effectively freezing her in place.
Jake could have gagged her, shutting off the stream of pleas and bargains, mindful too that she would soon be screaming, but he was intent on using her as a training dummy, teaching me obedience to his every wish. I was sorely tempted to intervene in her plight, which would have been very foolish on my part, as Jake had all the power. My lust for pain had to find another avenue. I stood helplessly and watched her pain, visible all over her body and especially on her face. I shuddered when I realized that I was getting fully aroused by her predicament.
When we weren’t suffering in the dungeon, Jake had several other tricks up his sleeve. He would tie Celeste down, with one hand free and make her frig herself while she watched me caressing and working his cock. I had to get him hard very slowly. Celeste would fight her chains, even though she knew that if the impossible happened and she got free, he would not allow her to touch his cock. She would get so worked up that her lubrication literally gushed out of her pussy. Jake would use his long carriage whip and add to her pain.
Jake had very strict rules when it came to his cock. First and foremost, no teeth. If I even grazed it, I could expect a solid week of punishment. For that kind of serious penalties he took me to a separate room, letting Celeste stew, with her imagination running riot. She never did find out what happened when Jake and I were together. She admitted that her mental suffering was the worst possible punishment that Jake could impose on her.
He made both of us beg him to allow me to take his cock out of his pants. Then we had to beg permission for me to take it in my mouth. After he shot his load, it was the standard ‘clean it.’ When I was done, I had to take it in my hand and both of us had to lick the head and kiss it, before I gently stuffed it back in his pants. This usually had Celeste climbing the wall, but if she didn’t follow the rules and tried to touch his cock or say something else, I had to gag her.
Jake found out I was a screamer. I couldn’t avoid bellowing when he hung me by one ankle, tied my other leg off at an angle and went to work with his favorite flogger, right up the exposed middle between my legs. He’d have me promising the moon before he even got warmed up. I think he knew that Celeste was suffering mentally from a lack of knowledge about our private sessions, and I was positive he was taking part of her punishment and laying it on me - with a heavy hand. I got a lot less beating that Celeste got, but Jake made up for it with that heavy hand. Fortunately I quickly learned to convert it to arousal. I could figure on four or five full blown orgasms from a single session. I never tried to count the little blips before and after the real thing.
One morning, as I was working the floor I was startled to hear Celeste’s voice on the PA system. I was just as surprised as the customers to hear one of her punishment sessions. For a moment I didn’t recognize it, but I glanced over and she was in the cage, looking at me, wondering what was going on. The recording was made when she was on the horse and included all her pleas and promises. It was hot to listen to, even though I had been there when she rode the horse. I looked around and the customers were slack jawed, listening to every word.
Besides tormenting Celeste, Jake made me toe the mark. I had to use just the right amount of lubrication on his cock - drips were punished - I got soundly thrashed for going too fast - or too slow. I got a roundhouse slap when I spit on his cock, so I never did that again.
I had to constantly make sure that Celeste could see his cock with my hand on it. Needless to say, handling his cock in front of his slave wife was a turn on, but more often than not I never got fucked, even after an hour of playing with his erection.
He’d make her do crazy things, like counting the number of thrusts he made into my pussy, or count the number of times I had to kiss the head of his cock and lick up his lube. Her count almost never agreed with his, so since there was no arguing with a Master, so she got another of the seemingly endless string of chastisements he dished out to her.
In the meantime I learned a lot about pleasing a man and how to get a man aroused at the same time that I was ready. There were times that I was just as frustrated as Celeste, but both of us had as much pain as we could handle. One of the best things I learned was the ability to turn pain into pleasure, and turn that pleasure into a mind shattering orgasm. I thanked God many times for allowing me to climax. Celeste got even more frustrated as time went on, seemingly hornier by the day.
Jake carefully avoided taunting her, knowing that she could explode, something to be avoided, especially out on the sales floor. I think he felt that using me as an intermediary would lessen the tension and keep her on an even keel. It left me muttering to myself, knowing enough of both sides of the story not to want to get involved. However, I had no choice.
Celeste and I became public address system stars. It all stemmed from that tape of Celeste on the horse. After he played it that one morning, the word got around, as it usually does and the men started requesting it. Jake would set a date and time and the store would be chock full. It got to the point where he decided to sell the tape. He had a friend in the record business who made copies for him. He offered to do DVDs from the camera footage, but Jake decided against it, fearing it might bring a crackdown. The tapes sold like the proverbial hot cakes.
With my authority firmly established, life at the shop went fairly smoothly. My work on the sales floor was producing one sales record after another. As I learned the language and the uses for all the different restraints and whips I became the ‘go to’ person. Jake kept the cash register ringing and Celeste suffered in silence. Later she confessed to me that she had been very upset that Jake would play the tape for customers. She felt, and I agreed with her, that it was part of our private lives and that Jake had no business running it without consulting with us. Neither one of us was in any position to object, so we were forced to keep our opinions to ourselves.
My bikini became my standard uniform, summer or winter. The only time I got to wear clothes was when I did the shopping. Celeste would look longingly after me, but I would never have dared walk out the shop door with her, unless she was leashed and shackled. She admitted that it reinforced her servitude and while unaware of my thinking, made her realize that she was in effect Jake’s prisoner. It was only a small leap to the restraints I had considered. If Jake didn’t trust her, then there was nothing I could do.
When I was modeling corsets, I had to keep the bikini on, as almost all of them were quarter cup, or ‘no cup at all.’ Jake always volunteered to lace me up. He was never satisfied until I was stripped of three fourths of my lung capacity by the tight garment. Fortunately seeing me gasping for air turned on a lot of the men and sales boomed, so my discomfort was not a total loss.
I did get to take it off when I was modeling leather or rubber. The leather was fine, but the thin rubber was almost as clear as glass and my nipples were clearly visible tenting it. Jake decided that wouldn’t work and told me to wear the top. The bottom was heavier stuff and didn’t need an opaque liner. Rubber was not my thing, so I was always glad when he ended a sale and I went back to my bikini and handcuffs.
I had a very lucrative stunt that I thought up. I’d size up a customer coming through the door and quickly move to the book rack, grabbing one and following the man until he stopped to look at a display. I’d introduce my self, hand him the book and ask,
“Have you read this? It’s really good.”
If he handed the book back to me with a negative response I’d flip it open, “Let me read you a paragraph or two.”
I’d read some hot scene, glancing at the man for his reaction. One paragraph was usually enough to get him to take the book back and head for the cash register. Jake would tell him: “I’ll start a pile for you. Take your time.” Most guys would have an imposing pile when they finished shopping. Don’t tell me men don’t enjoy shopping - especially when you have a bikini-clad sales girl wearing hand cuffs right at your side explaining everything.
Chapter 6 - Change
I worked at the store for more than a year, satisfying both Jake’s insatiable desire for sex and my own pain lust. We had settled into a routine for Celeste that seemed to satisfy her, but we both could see her restlessness when we didn’t keep her hurting. She and I never got really close as Jake was always there. I wondered several times if she and I would get along better if Jake was out of the picture. Unexpectedly, I got a chance to find out.
It began like any other day. I was chained in a spread eagle on the bed. Celeste was chained to her floor rings, encased from head to toe in punishment garments, most of them featuring tack points that denied her comfort in any position. Her heavy rubber booties were an accessory she cordially hated, because Jake would make her walk on the treadmill wearing them. They were impossibly painful to walk in, but Jake’s whip - applied repeatedly - overcame her objections.
Celeste was also locked in her least favorite punishment helmet. Jake had left me the task of installing it and locking her up for the night. There was no way that I could mitigate the claustrophobia that it induced. I tried, while giving her the daily whipping that was posted on her schedule, to go lighter, but Jake being an expert, spotted my attempt. He took the whip from my hand, applied a double dose to Celeste, and a double dose to me, so both of us were smarting.
One morning I awoke. My woman’s intuition immediately told me something was wrong. I held my breath. All I could hear was the faint whistle of air going in and out of Celeste’s nose. I was awake and nothing had happened. Jake was as time conscious as an alarm clock and his whip had wakened us every morning without fail. There was no clock in our bedroom so I had no way of knowing what time it was.
Pure panic gripped me. I was sure something had happened to Jake. I thrashed in my chains, blindly trying to escape, break a lock, to somehow get free. All I accomplished was to scrape my wrists and ankles. Celeste was awakened by the noise. When I paused to catch my breath I heard her grunt. She was blind and nearly deaf from the helmet, so it probably was even worse for her, but I had my own problems.
My bladder was full and demanding attention, as were my bowels. My sudden movements triggered fresh warnings, but I was helpless on the bed. Our room was carefully hidden away, even though Jake rarely had visitors, so the chance of anyone finding us was slim. I couldn’t help starting to cry, facing a bleak and dragged out end to my life.
I lay there for what seemed like several hours before I heard a slight noise. I held my breath and heard the noise again. I screamed at the top of my lungs. The door magically opened and a man loomed in the doorway. I sobbed with relief as I got a good look at him. It was Jake’s brother, Jack.
He started to slowly release me, unable to take his eyes off my nude body. I was cramping badly, “Please, I have to go to the bathroom. Please hurry!”
He unlocked my chains, leaving my handcuffs hanging from one wrist - a bad omen. I dashed for the can, leaving the door open in my haste. By the time I finished and cleaned up he had found the key for the lock on the floor ring. He tried to hug Celeste to lift her to her feet, making her howl with pain. Quickly I explained the niceties of the punishment gear she was decked out in. He took it all in without comment. Then he did something that sealed my fate. He grabbed my wrists and expertly locked them together. At the time I was still too relieved that we had been rescued and didn’t pay attention to details.
Since I was familiar with her bondage, he ordered me to remove everything, and to explain the purpose for each item. When she was down to her helmet, bare skin and manacles, he sent her to the bathroom. I had to lead her.
When we came back, he took Celeste by both arms and laid her on the bed. He pointed to the chains and I locked them to her ankles and hooked her wrists to the headboard. It was the first time in well over a year that she had been on the bed.
My emotions were running hot. I was curious, scared, and imagining the worst. For some reason I fixated on the idea that Jake had sold us to his brother as slaves. This took on credence when he hung me on a hook on the wall and whipped us about twice as hard as Jake would have done. When he stopped, I broke slave protocol and asked, “What’s going on? Why are you doing this? Where’s Jake?”
Jack hit me again, as hard as all the previous lashes combined. I screamed and he hit me again, yelling, “Shut your fucking mouth! This is family business!”
He gave me a look that took my breath away, and shouted, “Your cushy job is over. Jake is dead!”
It was loud enough for Celeste to hear it through her helmet. She screamed and twisted and lunged against her bonds, shaking the bed, but with no more success than I had ever had.
He apparently either knew about our daily whippings or the lashing we got was his own idea of discipline, but he proceeded to thrash both of us. Celeste was already gagged, but he jammed a penis gag in my mouth to muffle my screams and laid into us. Poor Celeste was only vaguely aware of what was happening, but she understood the whip.
Under the new regime I immediately became the store’s display dummy. Jack loaded me with chains and attached a heavy chain from my ankle to a floor ring. Jake’s concern with our well being went out the window with his death. Customers were allowed, even encouraged to feel me up and fondle me. I was still wearing the tiny bikini, its thin cloth a farce. All that was missing was a sign around my neck - “Pull a nipple, win a prize.”
Celeste presented him with a problem. We learned that he was well aware of Jake’s treatment of his wife in response to her needs, so for the time being she got her pain, but usually more severe, from Jack. He relegated her to the cash register, her leash fixed in plain sight, with a cumbersome lock to the wall behind her. Customers were not allowed behind the counter, so she didn’t get the direct contact with the customers that I was suffering.
Where Jake had been a dominant with traces of sadism, Jack was a born sadist without an iota of compunction. If something was capable of producing pain, Jack used it freely. The more pain it could cause, the better he liked it. With Jake I had been pretty much a slave in name only, getting well paid for my work. Jake stopped paying me the day he took over, making me a full slave. Where I had been controlling Celeste as the second slave, I was now the second slave and Celeste was first slave, an arrangement solidified by Jack, who pretty much coerced Celeste into marrying him, confirming his ownership of the store.
That too was a farce. Jack hired a Justice of the Peace to come to the shop and perform the ceremony. He brought along a women who served with me as witnesses to the ceremony. She had a decorative collar on her neck, but her subtle signs of ownership gave away her true status as the man’s slave.
Celeste was naked for the legalities, wearing a thick collar and heavy transport chains. The other slave and I were also nude. She wore only handcuffs, while I was wearing both the punishment helmet and bra and chains. We spent the time taken by the formalities on kneeling sticks, under strict orders not to utter a sound, or move. I knew that Jack would use his cane if he heard the rattle of a single link of chain. He had threatened beforehand to fill the store with men if we caused the slightest problem.
Once the show was over, I was “dressed” and put back on the floor as the shop reopened. Jack and Celeste disappeared into his room for their honeymoon, where, from the sounds she was making, she was getting a full measure of the pain she craved. They didn’t come out for three days, so I had to man the cash register in addition to my floor duties. Fortunately business was good, but not good enough to avoid a painful hiding when they did come out.
As second slave I literally got the shitty end of the stick. I was assigned all the scut work that Celeste had been doing. I had to keep the toilets spotless, which meant cleaning up after every man that used them. Both Celeste and I continued to get our morning and evening whippings. With the order reversed, so did the numbers. I got two lashes for every lash she got.
Under his harsh treatment Celeste thrived, soaking up punishments that I was often made to watch. The lesson was clear, if I showed the least sign of rebellion I would pay dearly for it. Even when I wasn’t a witness, I could hear her screams and pleas for mercy and see the fresh welts the next day. She bore them proudly, something I couldn’t quite do, even though my pain lust was being satiated.
After a couple of months of this treatment, which seemed to be more sadistic every day, I decided I’d had enough. The problem was that I was always locked to something. I needed a key, but Jack had confiscated all the keys when he took over. After a few weeks he began tossing the key in the cash register, a mistake that would cost him.
I don’t know how Celeste discovered that I was planning to escape, but she did. Perhaps she was repaying me for being kind to her when she was second slave. As we returned to my floor ring after a trip to the bathroom, she clasped my hand. I could feel something as she let go and I closed my fingers on the key. I felt elation and fear. If I could escape, fine. But if Jack caught me, I was sure he would kill me on the spot. I waited until she had locked her leash and closed the cash register before I made my move.
I unlocked my chain and made a dash for the door. As I stepped outside I saw a police car pulling in. I recognized the driver as one of those that the brothers had bought off with sex, so I ducked behind a car until they had gone inside. I tried to run but my hobble was too short, so I walked as quickly as I could. Around the corner I almost ran into a man using a cell phone.
He was just finishing his call. Breathlessly I pleaded, “Call 911. I’ve been kidnapped!” He eyed me up and down, taking in my chains and bikini, knowing at once where I was coming from. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet with a badge.
“I’m Lieutenant Arnold, with Internal Affairs. We’ve been tracking those two officers." He speed dialed a number on the phone. “I need backup.”
Moments later three police cruisers pulled to a stop. Arnold went to each one and gave them instructions. One pulled around the corner and blocked the entrance to the store. The other two parked and the men got out and taking me with them, headed for the door, guns drawn. As they walked in, Jack was beating Celeste. She screamed once before Arnold shouted, “Drop the whip! Lie down on the floor! Arms out!”
One of the two officers, naked to the waist, started to move slowly toward his gun. Arnold yelled, “Don’t move! One peep out of either of you and you’ll spend the next decade in a cell with another sex offender.”
Jack tried to get the last word, “You bitch! I’ll get you!”
The officers laughed. “What you need to get is a lawyer.”
It ended well. The two officers got prison sentences. Jack got life for kidnapping us. Celeste wound up owning the store. She paid me my back wages and a bonus, and offered to keep me on, but I had too many bad memories. We mutually decided that after all we had been through, it wouldn’t work for me to be working for her.
Now I’m looking for a Master. I’ve experienced almost everything a slave endures so I know what to expect. I want my own Master, not one I have to share with another slave.