Ramos finished up some paperwork and decided to go for a drive. Slave, willy nilly, was dragooned into more cage time under the heavy tarp. Thinking of Slave’s ‘comfortable’ cage, Ramos deliberately picked roads that were little more than potholes strung together by short stretches of loose gravel.
Slave tried to combat and resist the bumps, but, hampered by her heavy permanent restraints she had no real options. With her head jammed in the corner it was like snuggling up to a jackhammer. Within a mile her ears were ringing like a set of chimes.
The pickup was brand new, compliments of the open checkbook at the Trust. It had the deluxe cab package, so Ramos was literally seated in the lap of luxury. The leather seat conformed in perfect comfort to his big frame.
Slave would have no way of knowing, but the one and only topic in Ramos’s brain was Slave. He was being pulled in several directions. He had reluctantly dismissed the thought of marrying her, but other options remained. Heavy thinking was needed to process the latest directives from the Trust. Brother, and through him the Trust, were reacting to the misapprehension that he was coddling her. Despite his verbal assurances, backed by tapes of her more rigorous punishments, there was still a flicker of “slice her ass, proper” that pervaded any conversation. His immediate reaction was anger, feeling that they were being overcritical, but he realized that funds could be cut to zero without warning.
The only way to satisfy the family, short of stuffing her in an oil drum and dumping it in a landfill, would be to step up her pain. Assurances that she was a pain slut, who would thrive on the pain, fell on deaf ears. The next hurdle would be figuring ways of hurting her, without half killing her in the process, for his benefit, not the Trust’s.
A particularly deep pothole bounced the truck, despite the shocks advertized to give a soft ride. Ramos heard the faint clang of one of Slave’s riveted restraints hitting the bars and it reminded him that he had a wall full of potential torture instruments. The building phase was over for the moment. Now, he was going to have to actually use them for his, and the Trust’s mutual satisfaction.
‘Slave ought to get a real boot out of that,’ he decided. With that, he swung the truck around and retraced the route home, scoring nearly every pothole on the way.
He made good on his promise to Slave, reading off a list of black marks, then locked her into the Spanish Stirrup and made her sit facing him on his desk for a whole day. A leftover black mark earned her a block of wood with a miniature wooden horse style triangle to sit on, that he named the wooden pony. For his benefit, she had to lean forward and kiss him every ten minutes, doing a nutcracker on her imprisoned clit each time. He could see a hint of rebellion behind the pain lust in her eyes, a slip that would cost her dearly.
He gazed somberly at the nude Slave, back bent cruelly to compensate for the short rods anchoring her wrists and ankles, her head thrust forward through the iron ring that circled her throat. He chuckled, an ugly sound to Slave. Opening a drawer he brought out a large chicken feather. Her eyes widened, but she was under strict “no noise, no screams, no groans, no talking” orders. She reviewed them rapidly. No mention of shrieks of laughter. No need. Anything not on the list was automatically, if not retroactively forbidden, banned, and squelched.
She bit her lip as the feather traced across her foot, twirling in a maddening attack on her jangling nerves. She held, until he started on the other foot then tried a shriek. Everything stopped in dead silence. Slave realized her lip was bleeding at the same time that Ramos saw the rivulet of blood down her chin.
Wordless, Ramos picked a thin cane off the rack beside his desk. Slave knew the drill. She had hurt herself, drawn “his” blood from “his” body. The bleeding stopped, but too late to save Slave.
“Master, I have disobeyed your order not to harm this body, which is yours. I have shed blood for no reason. I beg punishment.”
“Put your hands out, palms up.”
Eying the cane, she reluctantly thrust her wrists further through the bilboes, hard against the cuffs riveted to her arms. She braced herself.
The cane descended, first left, then right. Slave watched the white lines turn blood red, down her middle fingers and across the palms, to her wrists.
Ramos picked up two metal objects from his desk. They were angular, with sharp edges and corners.
“Hold these. Drop them and they will fill your pussy while you hang by your ankles.”
Slave pictured that punishment much too vividly and barely suppressed the orgasm that it tried to trigger. Before she could open her mouth he directed, “And no orgasms, no begging. You are being punished.”
“Thank you, Master, for punishing me.”
She accepted the two objects very gingerly, wincing when metal touched the welts the length of her hands. Her fingers refused to close on them, while their pure weight buried them in her flesh.
“Turn your hands over. Now!”
Her fingers faltered, and then gripped. She turned her hands. Convulsively her fingers clamped, as she felt the metal slipping away from her.
“Drop one and you will get to hold it all day tomorrow, perhaps heated. Drop both and you will sit on the little pony and hold them for a week. You will get two on each hand when we are done, since I had to repeat an order.”
Slave would have vigorously argued that point, but she had already learned that a slave never argues with a master. She hadn’t reached the stage yet where she would willingly stick her hand in the forge to retrieve a red hot rivet, but she could feel the increasing hold that Ramos had on her. Dangerous as it was, she actually visualized her hand entering the flames, pushing aside the white hot coals to reach the rivet.
The rush to climax was overpowering, but she stopped it at the last possible second. Behind his poker face, Ramos took it all in, reading her mind, wondering in passing what she was thinking about that nearly set her off. He made a mental note to question her while she was being properly tortured.
She had no chance to soothe the welts on her hands and no relief from having to grip the sharp pieces of metal. When he was sure she was about to drop them, he took them from her cramped fingers and placed them in plain sight near the edge of the desk. Slave was more than ready to get off his desk, even though it meant kneeling with her hands outstretched and having to ask for each slice of the cane.
She flinched. Knowing it was forbidden, she asked immediately for extras, hard. Ramos saved them for last, knowing the strain she would feel, waiting for them, imagining how much they were going to hurt. When they came she had grossly underestimated them. She shut her eyes, trying to deny the pain by not looking at her welted hands. She opened her eyes as he tapped on her knuckles, the order to beg for another pair, very hard.
Ramos had sliced all four fingers along with the palm on each hand. Now he tapped on the thumb, aiming. The cane whirred, landed exactly as planned and bounced away. Slave swallowed her scream and held firm, unmoving. Ramos gave her points in his mind that he would never say to her. All she got was a noncommittal grunt as he prepared the final blow.
His blows had in fact been harder than the originals, but he was very careful not to overdo it. With all his care, she still would have painful bruises. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, feeling the delicate touch of her fingers on his cock. He decided it should be interesting to set her a hand job, with a five minute time limit. He was firming up a resolve to show her that she could not top from the bottom. This would be vital if he turned her back to the family.
The next morning, brother paid a surprise visit. Slave caught sight of him and tried to hide. Ramos would have none of that and went looking for her with whip in hand. Brother was treated to some yelps and cries as Slave was herded down the stairs and brought to where he was sitting, on her hands and knees. Ramos debated putting some clothes on her for the meeting, but decided there was no point, since brother had seen dozens of tapes of her in the nude.
That didn’t stop him from looking closely, once she had kissed his shoes and greeted him with respect. She called him Sir, which brought a smile to his face. He turned to Ramos and remarked, “She used to call me every name in the book, but I see that’s changed.” Turning to Slave, he ordered, “Stand up. Turn around slowly.”
Slave flushed, obviously angry, but before Ramos could speak to her, she rose gracefully and pirouetted as calmly as if she were wearing a ball gown. The only sign was that her nipples had hardened. Brother admired her from all sides, taking special note of her chains. She was instructed to tighten her hobble and wrist chains. She snapped her cuffs apart with just a hint more force than necessary, but her mini-rebellion was ignored for the moment.
Slave’s cheeks were burning. Ramos watched them flush and pale and flush again. He could usually read her, but he was genuinely puzzled as to whether her color was shame at being seen without a stitch of clothing or whether it was simply anger at her brother. He was, after all, the one person who had put Slave in his clutches. Anger was a little dubious, because Slave had pretty well progressed past showing anger. She had already been severely punished for it several times. She would know that showing anger in front of any visitor, especially her brother, would cost her even more.
Through it all, brother made not the slightest move toward her. He obviously was avoiding touching her, despite having hired a succession of trainers to regulate her life in ways that involved more than a little touching.
Ramos ordered her to crawl to the basement to get her punishment helmet and a gag. While she was gone, Ramos showed him the photo album he was putting together in addition to the tapes. One by one he was gathering pictures of her in each restraint that lined the dungeon wall. He put it down when she came through the door. “Good stuff,” was his comment. Slave knew of the album, but Ramos refused to let her see any of it.
Ramos decided that Slave was too much underfoot. He wanted to talk business with brother, but that might involve looking at some of the rooms that he had modified as slave quarters. Slave was requested to kiss brother’s feet again and then was relegated to the cage in the back of the pickup, complete with tarp. It was going to be a hot day and it would soon be broiling in the uninsulated garage.
Ramos and brother hit it off immediately. The numerous phone calls had traded enough information to realize that they were both bondage buffs. Ramos learned more of Slave’s background, but he never got a full answer as to why the family was willing to spend such vast sums when they could have built a cell in the mansion for a tiny fraction of the cost. Brother, who invited Ramos to call him Rick, hinted, but never came straight out with the reasons. Ramos suspected that Rick’s aversion to touching her had at least something to do with it. Ramos took it in stride, feeling that it really was none of his business.
Their first face-to-face meeting was quite productive. Rick gave Ramos an opening when he complained that he felt that Slave was topping him. Ramos was all primed with an answer and within a few minutes had Rick backing down. Ramos successfully got Rick to compromise, by promising to step up her bondage, and deliberately blaming it on orders from the Trust.
Ramos did find out where Slave’s problems began. Rick told him that there was a big anniversary party at the mansion and that Slave, who had just finished high school, seduced one of the security guards and was discovered by several couples being fucked while wearing the guard’s handcuffs. Ramos had nodded, his knowledge of Slave making it easy to think of her pulling a stunt like that. Rick stopped short of any further revelations, but Ramos added it to the list of torture topics. She would squirm like a speared fish before he got done asking her questions about her past.
Rick was given the VIP tour, as Ramos showed him where he had been spending all of the Trust’s money. Rick showed considerable interest in the forge, and the metal restraints that filled the wall space. Ramos described the various incidents that had earned her being riveted into his iron work, but Rick’s response, not in jest, was, “Is there any way to make those heavier?”
Ramos assured him there was.
“The connecting chains make the difference. A big link chain can weigh 20 to 25 pounds per foot. She never has less than five between her wrists or ten between her ankles. She screws up and I add chains from her collar to her wrists and ankles. She becomes a walking junkyard.”
He laughed. “You may not have noticed, but she is packing a lot of new muscle.”
Also not in jest, Rick warned him, “Just make sure she doesn’t get loose. The family would have a screaming fit,”
Ramos nodded, not about to share his assessment that she wouldn’t run if he took all her chains off and pushed her out the door.
Rick finally had enough. He had hoped to watch Slave being punished, but her sojourn in the truck cage put an end to that idea before it even got started. He lavished praise on Ramos, complimenting him on how much she had improved under his management, with not a negative word about her topping him. He had decided that, despite holding the purse strings, Ramos was not the kind of man to push.
As they stood by Rick’s car, he shook his head. “I sure don’t know what we’re going to do with her when you get through training her. Finding someone in some other country to take her is pretty dangerous these days. Hell, I’d give her to you if she wasn’t so screwed up.”
Ramos wanted to thrust a fist in the air, but he kept it at his side. Rick was playing right into his hand, renewing his interest in marrying her. Rick had almost just said, “Take her off our hands and there’ll be lots of zeros on her dowry check.”
“I’ll think about it, and keep my ears open.” (You bet I will!)
Ramos watched his red sports car go down the driveway and onto the street. Then he turned toward the garage, picking up a whip as he came through the door.
Slave came out of the cage amidst a flurry of lashes that always seemed to find new, untouched flesh to bite and sting and burn. She bowed her head and held her leash up for him to take. He ignored it while he added several more lashes, then picked it up and jerked her forward, never looking to see if she was ready or not. While she crawled on hands and knees, he vented his made up anger.
“Goddam family thinks you’ve got it soft, cushy. We’ll fix them, and you too.”
He turned and underhanded her slit. She yelped, feeling his anger in the bite of the leather on her most tender flesh. She paid for the noise with an overhand that split her ass cheeks apart, again snapping on her cunt. She started to bite her lip to suppress the cry of pain, only to bite into the teeth marks already there.
The pain was up to its usual tricks, arousing her. She doubted that she dare risk another hit - too close to coming as it was. Chewing her lip was out as Ramos watched her like a hawk. Bleeding again, so soon after paying one penalty, would be a disaster.
Mention of her family really caught her attention. Ramos had unwittingly, but importantly, struck pay dirt with his scheme. As far as she was concerned, her brother had ruined her life by convincing the family that she was a bondage slut. She had always ignored the fact that it was an apt assessment, minus only the fact that bondage was only a sub-set to her true nature, a born pain slut. Ramos had already taught her the difference and made her face the reality of her obsession with pain.
Her hatred for her family fixated on her brother. She had spent the entire time in the cage fuming over having to call him ‘sir,’ and obeying when he ordered her to display her body. She knew he had done it deliberately, repaying her for ‘that’ incident, that she still held locked away in her mind.
Before Ramos came and got her, she awoke to the realization that Ramos was her key to getting out from under the family’s thumb. She closed her mind to the endless and painful slavery that she faced, knowing she had no other way to escape.
Another day. A day spent, like the previous day, sitting on the little pony. This time she was locked in the yoke. The neck hole barely fitted, almost, but not quite too tight. The wrist holes pressed unfinished wood against her bones, just below the permanent cuffs. She was paying for slouching and moving in the Spanish Stirrups.
There would be no slouching, no moving. Under the ends of the yoke, two blocks stood on the desk. Electrical contacts on the tops of the blocks and the bottoms of the yoke waited for Slave to tip either way. She had two inches of play. Later, taller blocks would give her only an inch of tilt before setting off the fireworks.
When she tilted, the contacts allowed current to flow in a random pattern. Her nipples were flanked by two contacts, completing a path that would include the delicate nerve endings. Similar contacts were fixed to either side of her clit. Another contact was somewhere deep inside her on the tip of a dildo. The butt plug she was sitting on had a ring of contacts directly opposite her sphincter muscles that would set off waves of cramps that seemed to dig deeper and deeper into her gut.
Slave had learned to sit motionless, so nothing happened for some time. Ramos reached in a drawer and pulled out a blindfold. Her heart sank as she realized that she was about to lose her sense of balance.
Minutes later the first current flowed.
Anticipating torture can be as painful as the deed itself. Slave’s anticipation was way off the mark, Her clit told her brain that it had just been fried by millions of volts. Blindfolded, she had no reference point to use to level the yoke. For all she knew it was a small fraction of an inch away from touching, but which way? Had she tilted the other way in response to the agony in her clit?
The left end of the yoke touched. Slave’s right nipple exploded. The yoke overcompensated and the right contacts touched. It felt like a rocket launching from her sphincter. Slave struggled to control her body movement, wondering what time it was and how long this torture would go on.
She was saved by the bell. The door bell. Ramos stuck two small blocks under the ends of the yoke, freezing it in position. At the door he found a delivery man with a cart and a large steel box. Puzzled, he signed for it and had the man put it on the floor in the hall.
On one end he found a packing slip. Opening it, he found keys, two checks and a note, which read:
“Instructions are inside.
He found the keyhole and opened the lid. He looked inside. Startled, he looked for the instructions. A thick large envelope was taped to the inside of the lid. After glancing at the first page, he took the envelope and walked back to his office. He took Slave’s blindfold off and sat down.
“We just had a box delivered. You might be interested in the contents, and the instructions, so I’m going to read them to you.”
“Enclosed in this box is my wife. I caught her cheating on me with the butler, who is no longer on our payroll. She, however is in need of the same training you have been giving Slave, with the notable exception that she has no tolerance for pain. I was very pleased with what you have accomplished with Slave and the family has decreed that my wife should be turned over to you for the proper discipline, with the intention of making her my permanent slave. She was given the choice of a divorce without a cent in settlement, or lifetime slavery, which, obviously is what she chose.”
“You have our permission to use any method or implement in her training, short of death. She has a terrible temper, which should be one of your primary objectives. She is to be kept in full restraints day and night, seven days a week. She may be sexually abused in any manner, but she is never to have another orgasm in her lifetime. She is aware of these instructions, which you may add to, modify or substitute as you wish.
“Finally, when you opened the packing slip, you found two checks. One, for $50,000, is a bonus for the work you’ve already done with Slave. The other, for $100,000 is the initial payment for Mera, my wife’s punishment and training.
“If for any reason you don’t wish to take this job on, put the lid back on the box and call me and I’ll have it picked up.”
Slave listened with very mixed emotions. She of course knew Mera and she also had known that she was cheating on her brother, long before the butler came on the scene. What bothered her was that now brother would have two women under his and Ramos’ control. That part she didn’t like at all, even though Mera deserved exactly what she was getting. She rapidly turned it over in her mind, trying to find some way to benefit from the situation. She immediately decided that helping Ramos punish Mera was the only way to go. Now, all she had to do was to get Ramos to let her talk long enough to propose her plan.
Ramos looked at it as a done deal. Having Mera to discipline would take a lot of the pressure off Slave and make his task of satisfying the family with her training that much easier.
On a whim, he released Slave and used her leash to direct her to the box. He opened the lid again and Slave gasped, drawing a warning look from Ramos that promised deferred punishment.
Slave was looking at a body, probably female, but literally buried in yards and yards of course hemp rope. The rope had been used to compact Mera into the smallest possible ball of living flesh. There were knots everywhere. Ramos put her to work untying, while he watched.
As the ropes came away they left mute evidence of their purpose in the form of reddened and irritated skin. Each loop removed revealed some further addition to her bondage. Her wrists were harnessed in the reverse prayer position high on her back, lashed to ropes above and below her breasts and through her armpits. A narrow breast clamp hugged the bases of both breasts tightly. Between her legs strong spring clamps were buried in the puffy flesh of her labia. Caught underneath the clamped flesh, a single strand of the hemp disappeared into her hole. Slave tugged on the protruding end and slowly pulled several yards through the clamped labia and up across her clit.
Slave was getting plenty of reaction to her unwrapping. Mera was groaning against her gag and wriggling against the remaining ropes. It defeated her purpose, as the slightest movement drove the sharp fibers into her skin. Her clit was on fire, red and swollen.
Ramos continued to watch, well aware that Slave was exhibiting a cruel side that he had only suspected. Rick’s intent and Slave’s intentions were meeting and Mera would be the one who would suffer most. A vague idea began to form in Ramos’ mind that would ultimately turn Mera’s life in a new direction.
Underneath the several layers of rope that split her crotch, Slave found a dildo and a butt plug. Both were turned on full strength, but the batteries were long since dead. Both Slave and Ramos wondered how long Mera had been tied up before brother shipped her.
Mera’s hands had been isolated with duct tape over rope. Her thumbs were white from the pressure of a thumb cuff. Her wrists were locked into handcuffs, also too tight, with several turns of rope nearly buried in the flesh of her arms. A second pair was closed above her elbows, again with more turns of the hemp around them. A rope through her bound knees passed behind her neck, drawing her knees hard against her breasts. Both ankles were fixed to the corresponding thighs, and redundantly cuffed together. Ramos handed slave the cuff key and she removed the wrist and ankle cuffs and the toe cuffs.
Mera could now partially straighten her legs in the box, for the first time in hours, or days. She wasn’t at all sure. Her head was still buried in a skin-tight leather hood that was locked to a tight neck strap. The hood allowed her to breathe through two airways inserted in her nostrils. Her mouth was plugged tight, leaving her fully dependent on the too-small airways. Cramps rippled up and down her legs and feet, but she was still helpless.
Slave looked questioning at Ramos, pointing to the hood. Ramos shook his head. She pointed to the gag. Again he shook his head, so Slave stepped back, her work finished for the moment. From the letter he understood that she knew where she was, agreeing to slave training. He grinned as he pictured her in training.
He collared and leashed Mera, then took Slave’s leash and led them to the dungeon. Mera went into a pillory, while Slave was chained to the wall in front of her. They heard his footsteps walking away and the door slam at the top of the stairs. Hours later he returned, unfastened Slave and set her to work getting supper ready. Mera would get bread and water for her welcome to slavery.
The bailiff shouted, “All rise. The court of Judge Sebastian Droll is now in session.”
The prisoner, hooded, transport chained and gagged, heard the swift footsteps as a man walked to the podium, and banged his gavel. “You may be seated. Bailiff, call the first case.”
“Your Honor, case number 373, Mera S., charged with adultery.”
“Is the defendant’s council present?”
From nearby she heard a different voice.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“The defendant is present?”
Mera tried to answer, foiled by her gag. Her lawyer answered,
“In accordance with your courtroom practice, the defendant is gagged, to prevent any outbursts. I will answer for her. Yes, your Honor, she is present.”
“Is the prosecution present?”
A booming voice responded, “Yes, your Honor.”
“Let us proceed. How does the defendant plead?”
Her council bent down to her. She yelled into the gag, shaking her head several times.
“Your Honor, the defendant pleads ‘guilty’.”
The prosecutor spoke, “Your Honor, we have presented ample evidence that a crime has been committed, including the deposition of the butler, and two other men who admit having relations with the defendant. I ask for a directed verdict of ‘guilty’.”
The Judge banged his gavel again. “I find the defendant guilty as charged.”
Mera listened in horror as her lawyer spoke up, “Your Honor, my client wishes to say to you, ‘Go fuck yourself’.”
She shook her head violently, but was ignored. The judge hammered his gavel several times, quelling the murmur of conversation.
“I also find the defendant guilty of contempt of court. Therefore, I sentence you to a life term with no parole and no time off for good behavior, with the following stipulations:
“1. You are to be immediately remanded to Georgy Ramos to begin serving your sentence. You will be trained as a general slave, until such time as you convince the court that you have a specific skill for which to train.
“2. At the request of the injured party, you are to be outfitted with such permanent and weighty chains, and other restraints as are specified by Mr. Ramos. You will wear your restraints day and night until Mr. Ramos sees fit to modify this order.
“3. You are forbidden to have orgasms for the rest of your life.
“4. Your training may involve any means, methods or instruments. Since part of your training includes sexual servitude, your body may be used in any manner by your trainer, or anyone he designates.
“Are there any questions?”
Mera fought her gag. Her council leaned down, listened to her murmurs for a moment.
“Your Honor, my client says ‘Go jump in the lake!’”
“Ten lashes every morning before breakfast.”
Mera remained silent, hoping it would stop the farce.
“Your Honor, my client says to stick you head up where the sun don’t shine.”
“Twenty lashes every morning before breakfast. Want to try for 50?”
Mera shook her head violently. She could hear the men laughing. Then she felt hands on her breasts. A moment later she was being raped. The men continued to laugh.
Dimly she heard, “Court is adjourned.”
Ramos quickly put Mera back in her cell. He thanked the fraternity brothers who had staged the trial. He reminded them,
“Set up a roster of the boys for her morning fuck. I don’t want you to miss a day - or I’ll have to fill in.”
There was general laughter and several kidding remarks about old men.
After they left, he released Slave. Briefly he described the fake trial. Slave smiled carefully, ready to wipe it off her face instantly if Ramos disapproved.
“You can talk freely, as long as you stick to Mera as a subject.”
“Master, she isn’t going to believe that was a legitimate trial for one second.”
“That wasn’t the point. I deliberately made it unreal to start her off here unsure of what’s happening next. The tape of that is going to be her alarm clock, until she can repeat every word, letter perfect. Knowing it was just an act, and yet having to legitimize it by learning it is going to keep her mind occupied rather than thinking up schemes to escape or beat me over the head, or both.
“See, she knows where she is, or at least thinks she does, but she doesn’t know me, unless Rick showed her some of the tapes. Even then, they don’t present a true picture of me. Turning her into a slave is going to be much different than it was with you. You had already had years of bondage experience and some time as a slave, so your training went a lot easier.
“The family wants you hurting, but they want it two or three times as bad for Mera. Rick seems to have a plan for her when I get done with her. I might say when ‘we’ get done with her, because you are going to help me train her. You’re the next best thing to a trained slave so you’re the logical choice.”
“Master, are you sure that my brother isn’t going to raise a fuss if he finds out I’m helping train his wife?
“He can’t. He’s given me the same green light that I have with you. Quote: Anything and everything, short of killing you. You’ve avoided most of what I’m planning for her, because you’ve already been there.”
“I’m not sure I can take on another woman.”
“Pooh! You get your tongue up her twat, while keeping her from an orgasm, and then tell me you don’t enjoy it, or can’t do it.”
“What... Just what are you planning for her?”
“For starters, she gets at least one fuck a day from my frat brothers at the college. She is going to bitterly regret screwing the butler, and all the other guys.
“Then there’s the matter of restraints. Rick looked at yours and his first question was, ‘Can you make them heavier?” He made it very plain that he wants more weight on your arms and legs and two or three times as heavy on Mera. She’s going to have to have weight lifting classes before she can handle that. She’s going to be wearing a heavy head cage much of the time, a collar and a belt, plus the chains, so she’ll be loaded to capacity.”
Ramos eyed her up and down and made his decision.
“I’m going to promote you to first slave, which means you can give her orders that she has to obey as if they came from me.
I want you to go down and start reading her the rules. That’s another thing she’s going to have to memorize. Your job also means staying out of trouble, or you lose your rank and some chunks of hide. Understood?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you for the promotion.”
“Back to being a slave.”
Ramos sent Slave to the dungeon to begin the training by reading Mera the rather over-complicated and booby-trapped house rules. He didn’t expect instant success. A paragon of virtue couldn’t learn the rules fast enough to avoid the waiting punishments. What he did want was for Mera to realize that her life suddenly had boundaries, and she was going to live inside them or suffer the consequences. That was something Ramos suspected she never had to contend with before. Living the luxury life afforded by the Trust’s millions was the wrong training for the slavery that lay ahead of her.
Slave was the starving person who walks into a banquet in full swing. She had been at the wrong end of the whip for so long she questioned whether she could even swing one, but with grim determination she planned to forge ahead, treating Mera like she wanted to treat the brother who had sentenced her to endless years of forced slavery.
The object of all this, Mera, was totally unaware of the plans that were being made for her. Just as Ramos planned, she had been utterly confused by the farcical ‘trial,’ letting her mind wander into empty space and dead ends. It was only belatedly, and much too late, that she had realized she was locked in a cell from which there was no apparent escape.
Slave walked to Mera’s cell on silent, bare feet. She heard a rattle of chains before she got there and stood for a moment, watching Mera repeatedly trace each chain from one end to the other, as far as she could reach. Her movements were limited by the transport chain - a belly chain with handcuffs attached and a chain running to the hobble chain between her ankles. Another chain went from her collar to a ring in the floor, allowing her to kneel, but not stand.
Slave stepped to the wall and selected a whip. She felt a strange thrill at suddenly being allowed to touch one without having her Master order her. She had carried countless whips in her teeth to him, then had to kiss and lick the instrument of punishment that she was about to receive. Now, it was her turn, her hand on the whip handle, and the target was a person she already hated.
“Is your bladder full?”
The hooded figure nodded emphatically.
“Did you even look for it?”
Mera hesitated, and then shook her head.
Slave’s whip splatted on her thigh.
“No, is a forbidden word in this house. If you are gagged a head shake or nod may, or may not be accepted as an answer, at best only half an answer. You’ve had your one mistake. A no answer rates some of the most severe punishments we use. Back up!”
The whip snapped in front of her nose, always just in front of her nose as she backed into the corner, where an open hole in the floor awaited her. When Mera finished, beet red under the hood, her hands fluttered in an obvious effort to find paper to wipe with. Slave slapped one of her hands with the whip.
“You get hosed down - cold water - once a day. You are not allowed to touch your cunt, your asshole or your tits. I hope your memory of your last orgasm is a vivid one, because it’s the last one you’ll ever enjoy.”
That set off a flurry of thoughts. That ‘judge,’ he’d said no more orgasms for the rest of her life. Could it be possible? Could they do that to her? She knew she was in bad with the family, but could they be THAT cruel? For the first time Mera began dimly to realize that she was in deep shit and nobody was offering an oar to save her. It was the first tinge of regret for cheating, but it would not be the last.
The whip came out of the blackness. “Inattention” was the charge. She had to admit the crime and suffer the punishment. How Slave knew that she was thinking about something else seemed miraculous to the by now thoroughly frightened girl.
Slave leaned close to Mera’s ear. “Welcome to my world, where you limit your answer to a question to one word. One, always with Mistress, or Master said with it. Forget our titles and you hurt. Forget them more than once and penalties are quadrupled until saying them is as natural as breathing.”
“Yes, breathing is a natural function. Now, here, Master or Mistress can tell you to stop breathing at a whim or as punishment. Failing to stop breathing is a failure to obey an order. You do not want to go there. The first thing that is likely to happen while you’re already gagged is that I close off your nose, like this.”
Mera wasted precious air on a scream. She writhed against Slave, trying to dislodge the fingers that denied her air. Slave silently counted and at 30 seconds, released her nose. Slave went on as if nothing had happened.
“As a slave, you live in a controlled world. The rules are set by your Master or Mistress. Obey, and your life will go on normally. Disobey, or fight your chains, or refuse to cooperate in any way and your life becomes a hell on earth. We control your breathing and every other body function. You piss and shit only on command. You look like you are grossly overweight. You will remain on a bread and water diet until you have shed those pounds. You will be weighed once a week and whipped, once for each pound you are over. Slack off, and that could change to daily whippings, on top of the regulars you will receive.
“Your husband wishes you to be restrained 24/7 in the heaviest chains we have. You, overweight and completely out of condition, couldn’t carry one chain, let alone the full set that awaits you. You will be spending long hours in the exercise room building muscles and as fast as you build them heavier chains will be added to your ‘costume.’”
Slave tapped her hood firmly.
“Are you a man?”
Mera, nearly frightened out of her wits, panicked. A ‘No’ answer would earn some serious punishment that she didn’t dare imagine. A nod, ‘Yes’ would be a lie. That hadn’t come up in the one-sided conversation, but Mera was sure it had to be classed as a serious offense. The delay cost her.
“I’ll take that as a forbidden ‘No’ answer. On your belly!”
Mera dropped, twisting so her shoulder took the brunt of her fall.
“Feet up! Bend your knees!”
Mera howled into her gag, a faint whimper came through her nose. Slave laid ten from sole to heel on each foot. Mera earned an extra by flinching on the last blow. Slave leaned over her.
“Would you like to ask for it hard? That’s one of the words in your one word vocabulary that you are now learning.”
Mera vigorously nodded. Anything to satisfy the disembodied voice that was torturing her. Slave got both feet with the same blow. Two for the price of one. Mera was not happy.
“You’ve just been taught a lesson, so remember it well. We have the power to make your days a nightmare, so don’t try to push us. You have no power, we have all the power. This was all due to one question. Visualize how it would feel if we asked a dozen questions in succession that must be answered by a ‘No’. Lying in response to a question is also forbidden. In this case, if you had indicated ‘Yes’ you would have been punished just as heavily for lying. A question that must be answered with ‘No’ is a guarantee of punishment you will not enjoy. Is that clear?”
Again, Mera nodded vigorously.
“Masters often have unique rules. Your Master has decreed that, when you are permitted to speak, which is only when you have been asked a direct question, you respond with a single word and his title. Begging is a serious offense. Is that understood?”
“I mentioned a word in passing that will be part of your one word vocabulary. Do you remember what that word was?”
“Was it ‘harder’?”
Two more slices raised welts on her feet.
“Harder is one of the words that you will use, but in this case the word was ‘hard.’ Did you know that?”
Mera showed the slightest reluctance in her nod.
Slave tapped the upraised feet.
“One for reluctance, two more for lying. Would you like them harder?”
Mera was sobbing when Slave finished. Part hurt, part self pity.
Slave was quick to correct her.
“Slaves are not allowed to cry. I will be glad to give you some reasons to feel sorry for yourself, any time. If you can stop crying and give me a big smile, I am going to take your gag out. Otherwise, I am going to continue on your feet, this time with a cane. You are going to spend some time standing, so I would recommend that you avoid as much punishment as possible.”
Mera managed a shaky smile as the gag came off. She was still blind under the hood. Slave decided to leave the hood in place until later. She still had some points that Mera needed to know, and besides heightening Mera’s confusion, it also kept her concentrated on the things Slave was teaching her.
“First of all, you may have noticed that I did NOT address you by name. Instead, I referred to you as ‘slave’. That is not going to work, since both of us are slaves. To remove any doubt, I am designated as first slave, meaning I can give orders to other slaves. You fit that category, so I am going to name you ‘slattern’. Your husband may even have called you that, as it’s a fitting term for a cheating wife. For as long as you reside in this house, or until a Master or Mistress changes it, you will answer to ‘slattern’. Understood?”
Slattern nodded acceptance.
“A nod is not an answer. A Mistress does not repeat a command or order.”
For the first time in her newborn slavery, Slattern gave a verbal answer.
“Remember, answer with a ‘No’ at your peril. Understood?”
“Just to let you know, you fucking whore, I hate your guts. I know hundreds of questions that must be answered with ‘No.’ I have the whip and an unlimited supply of punishment tools and restraints and I fully intend to wear out every one of them on your worthless flesh. And that’s if you learn things perfectly. You’re here 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no vacations, so when we do let you sleep, your dreams will be nightmares of the next punishment for tomorrow.”
Slattern stared into the blackness of her hood, humiliated beyond reason. How could this slave, this nobody, order her around? She held the whip but what authority did she have beyond that? She realized that this had to be Rick’s sister, but all she had heard was that she was firmly under the thumb of a domineering trainer who was teaching her to be a slave. The family had nothing to do with her for some time, so her information was second or third hand, but still... how did this ‘slave’ get to order HER around?
She was already confused, and this only added to it, thanks to the insidious ‘trial.’ She tried to remember if she had heard Slave’s voice during the trial, or was it later? She got an immediate headache and gave up trying to think. Right now she had to listen, very carefully, for information that would carry her through until she could escape, or persuade Rick to take her back.
She had no hint or clue that the very reason she was here was so that Rick would take her back. He had only said she would be trained as ‘A’ slave. At the same time she was suffering Slave’s whip, Rick was at his lawyer’s office, making arrangements to annul their marriage. Even Slave was unaware of Rick’s plans, which he had shared only with Ramos. Under different circumstances Slattern and Slave would have been good friends, seeing each other as Rick’s fellow victims.
Slave was getting nearly as good as Ramos at reading body language and she had Slattern pegged within seconds of her decision to try and escape. She had just the restraint to take her mind off getting her husband to take her back.
“Kneel up,” she ordered. Slattern rose somewhat slowly until Slave kicked her in the thigh. For the barest fraction of a second she started after Slave, but her common sense stopped her before she was fully started. There would be other times. Right now she was suffering the whip, paying for her aborted rebellion. Slave hissed at her, “A slave is obedient. A slave responds INSTANTLY to an order. A slave does not attack or threaten to attack a Mistress or a Master. Pull what you just started to do on Master and you won’t see daylight for months!”
Slave went to the wall and came back with a metal harness. The main elements were a pair of large hose clamps that barely fit over Slattern’s big breasts. They were attached to each other with turnbuckles, so that once they were tightened at the base of the breasts the two could be pulled painfully together. The turnbuckles served a dual purpose. Before they were tightened, the wire straps were run through her armpits and locked together in the back.
When the turnbuckles were tightened, they squeezed the wire into the flesh. The clamps had thumbtacks super-glued to the insides, both ensuring that the wearer would both feel the points and to resist any futile efforts to pull the clamps off.
Slave got a screwdriver from the workbench. She touched Slattern’s breast, moving it about and rolling it hard against her until she was sure Slattern knew what it was.
“Slaves are forbidden to touch ANY tool, or ANY key. If you don’t mind losing a finger or a thumb, try it. Right now, shut up! Not a peep.”
It took both hands to turn the turnbuckles, already hand tight. If Slattern’s body was made of wood, it would have creaked in protest of the tightening noose of wire around her chest. Slattern’s flesh was silent, but the wire disappearing into her skin was sending a loud message of pain to her brain.
Then Slave tightened the clamps, and Slattern’s resolve to remain stoic lost to pain as sharp points dented her flesh. She groaned then shrieked, certain her fair skin had been punctured.
Slave gave each screw an extra half turn, drawing more noise. Still blind in the hood, Slattern was unsure what was happening to her, but she was certain that it hurt - very badly. Slave ‘inspected,’ making sure that Slattern was feeling the maximum possible pain, her fingers heaping more misery on her at every chance.
Slave ordered her to remain kneeling, while she checked to make sure her chain was locked to the floor ring. She locked the cell door automatically, hanging the key on the far wall where her prisoner could never reach it.
She went upstairs and reported to Ramos. He brushed aside her description, having watched most of it on his monitor. He quickly changed the subject.
“Since there are now two slaves in this household, I think to avoid confusion that I will return your name to Sandra. You can also speak to me in full sentences and stop giving me orders. Your choice of ‘Slattern’ for the other one was appropriate. Keep her on one word.”
He glanced at his watch. It was after 7.
“Feed her the bread and water. Spit on the bread and make her eat it in front of you. If she fights it, tip over her dish and water and make her lick it up. When she’s done, tight chain her to the floor rings, on her face, with her legs spread so she can’t diddle herself. Then get back up here as I’m in the mood to fuck Sandra tonight.”
“Thank you, Master!”
“One thing more. You’re a mean bitch with a whip, so I’m not going to let you near me with one.”
“Thank you, Master!” (High praise from him!)
Slattern had not remained kneeling. Sandra came down the stairs, her bare feet making no sound on the steps. She found the girl stretched out on the floor, trying to reach the ring that held her chain. Actually, Slattern was hampered by the hood she still wore, but she was doing her best to find a weak link in her bonds.
Sandra walked right up on her again. She shook her head in exasperation and put her foot on a chain, dragging Slattern’s collar to the floor with a clang.
“Trying to escape, Slattern? Surely you know a slave’s life can be forfeit for an escape attempt. Were you trying to escape?”
Slattern saw the trap, but there was no way to avoid it. Perhaps it was just as well to end her life now, rather than serve as a chained slave for life.
Sandra’s laugh was bone chilling.
Slattern was panic stricken. “Your life is forfeit” boomed and echoed through her mind, driving all coherent thought before it. Why? Why hadn’t she lied? They couldn’t prove it, either way, or could they? She had been so startled when the voice - THAT voice - has spoken right by her ear. She tried in vain to remember just what she had been doing when the voice startled her. She slipped from panic into deep depression, actually wondering if there was enough slack in her chains to form a loop which she could use to strangle herself. She berated herself, ‘You could have said No. You should have said No.’
Her mantra blinded her, written in blazing color on the inside of her hood - “A slave NEVER says ‘No’ to a Master or Mistress!”
The Devil on her right shoulder simpered, “The penalty is the same. You could have lied.” The Angel on her left shoulder argued, “The penalty for a ‘No’ is always worse than for a lie. It’s a trap, set to catch the hapless slave.”
In her misery she cried out, “What do I do?”
A deep booming voice bellowed in her ear, “For starters, shut your fucking mouth!”
The order was followed by an open hand on her cheek that knocked her to the floor. She squalled like a hog under a gate and got a kick in the ribs along with “I told you, shut your fucking mouth!”
His mouth was suddenly close to her ear. “You were told never to need a repeat of an order. I just had to repeat one to you. Nod, if you understand that you are going to be punished for that, BEFORE we start punishing you for attempting to escape.”
Scared out of her mind and fearful of the awesome power carried in that voice, she nodded hard, ignoring the pinches from her collar.
Fingers jabbed into her tit flesh, pinching it against the clamp. She bucked and tried to evade the pain. The fingers found a bit of slack. The screws were tightened another half turn. She opened her mouth to scream and a hand roughly covered her mouth and one nostril. One finger tapped on the other nostril, a silent warning that Master controlled her very breath of life.
His voice, barely above a whisper, but so close she could hear it through the heavy leather and padding over her ears, as he told her, “A slave that attempts to escape is always punished severely. Typically we chain and strap the slave to a wooden bench, with her head in a vise. Then we fill her mouth with a gag and tape over it. A plug is put in one nostril. A hollow plug is put in the other, controlling the only source of air. At the whim of the Master, a plug with a slightly smaller hole replaces the hollow plug. An experienced Master can take as long as three days to wean the slave from her air supply and keep her alive on next to no air at all.
“The pity of it all is that the slave is promising anything and everything for just a little more air, but she is gagged so her promises are wasted. Besides, the slave has nothing to give that a Master can’t order her to do.”
Slattern was sobbing with fright, certain that he was describing what would be her death throes. She convinced herself that he had named her, rather than a slave, when he started describing what she was accepting as her punishment. She was hyperventilating, fighting the hand blocking her precious air.
She went limp at the order, her life flashing before her eyes. He was going to sentence her to the horrible death he had just described.
“You are lucky - or perhaps unlucky from your point of view - that the family wants you alive. You will suffer mightily for this lapse in judgment, perhaps even experiencing some of the early stages of the death I described as an object lesson to add incentive to your training. That training is going to be rough. Very rough.
“You will experience things that go against everything you enjoyed as a pampered member of the family. I’m sure that there will be times you will wish for death - even the death I just described. I know if I were in your chains, I would prefer death to slavery. You will perhaps beg for death, knowing that your punishment for begging may well exceed your capacity or endurance, with no guarantee of success.
“Suicide is not an option. You won’t have the opportunity or the tools or equipment needed to complete the job. Most women kill themselves with an overdose of drugs, a luxury you won’t be allowed. Attempted suicide is treated as attempted escape. The penalties are the same. Do you understand?”
He removed his hand from her mouth and with the last of her breath - not daring to inhale first - she croaked the slave’s response.
Ramos directed Sandra, loud enough for Slattern to hear.
“Feed her and chain her as I directed, except add extra chains to floor rings to her collar and belt. Put her head cage on and chain that to a ring as well. Use the bar gag so she has the taste of metal in her mouth. If she gives you the slightest trouble, use the spiked gag. The tit clamps remain on. Tighten any slack.
“She will have a visitor at 8 a.m. She gets a cold shower, a punishment enema and her bread and water breakfast, followed by 20 lashes and be back on her belly ready for company, no later than five to eight. You can add anything you see fit.”
Both thanked him.
Sandra knew immediately what she was going to use to make Slattern’s night a restless one. As Ramos went back up the steps she headed for one of the supply cabinets. She pulled out a box, compared sizes and selected one of the objects. She returned to Slattern who was lying on the floor, afraid to move from the spot where she had landed.
“Better use your hole now, as you’re going to have a long night.”
She released the lock holding Slattern’s chain and backed her with her whip until she was squatted over the hole. Finished, Sandra nudged her hard with her toe.
“Get your ass up in the air. Spread your legs!”
A blast of icy water struck her full force between her legs. She let out a shriek of surprise and anger, involuntarily lifting up into a threatening position. Sandra was poised and ready and nipped the rebellion in the bud with her whip. Slattern fell back to the floor, sobbing with pain.
“On your hands and knees!”
Slattern’s chains rattled as she complied. She felt something pressing on her hand.
“Take it! Put it in your mouth and get it wet, as it’s all the lubrication you get.”
She grasped the egg-shaped object and shoved it into her mouth, knowing without being told where it would go when she had wetted it. Fastidious to the end, she wondered if - and how - it had been cleaned after the last time it was used.
Sandra made her expel the egg into her hand. She put her fingers together and forced it past Slattern’s sphincter until it was firmly seated inside her. She picked up a remote and pressed one of the buttons. Slattern screamed and her left leg began an uncontrollable twitch as her nervous system responded to the electric charge. A knotted muscle showed through the smooth skin of her thigh.
“That’s the last sound I want to hear out of you until morning. If you so much as rattle a chain, I’ll turn this on and leave it on until the batteries are dead.”
Slattern closed her mouth and made no effort to resist as she was chained to the floor for the night. She grimaced with pain as each chain was tightened. (Fat chance of rattling anything!)
Sandra installed the head cage last, deliberately. With her chains already taut, every movement involved in getting the head cage locked at her neck and to the floor added to Slattern’s pain and discomfort. She tasted rust on the metal gag bar and other tastes that she refused to recognize.
Both realized at about the same time that Sandra had neglected to feed her. Slattern accepted it as one more punishment, while Sandra’s reaction was “Tough!” For Slattern, who remembered the ‘bread and water’ order, it was something she would refuse anyway.
By morning, Slattern was aching from head to toe. Afraid to move, she had spent the night on her back without moving, staring into the blackness of her hood. The urge to run, to escape, poured over her in wave after wave. Her common sense told her that escape was futile, especially since additional restraints had been added to her load. It would take a miracle to release all her chains, but how far would she get inside a locked cell, wearing a 20-pound head cage?
Her face was serene as the battle raged inside her mind. Fact after fact were presented - and ignored. She wanted out, at any cost. That she was up against a professional slave trainer and a nearly completely trained slave made no difference to her. She was making the mistake of believing they were no smarter than she was. She was blithely unaware that either of them could spot her 20 IQ points and still beat her by a significant margin. She was even more sadly lacking in street smarts and common sense, a key factor in her cheating and especially in getting caught at cheating on Rick.
She was just slipping into a pain-induced half sleep when she heard the cell door clang open.
Her chains were unlocked and a series of barefoot kicks got her turned over onto her hands and knees. She felt hands at the back of her hood, and then it came off. The light in the dungeon was dim, but it was blinding after being in total darkness for so long. She felt the egg being pulled out of her, replaced immediately by a very large enema nozzle. A mixture of water, oil and several ingredients never meant for ingestion went roaring into her colon under severe pressure. It was not shut off until Slattern had ballooned into an eighth month pregnancy look.
She was presented with her dog bowl of bread and a second with water. She watched as Sandra spit on the bread before she put it down. Slattern made the mistake of turning her head away and the whip punished her until she pushed her head down into the bowl.
Sandra stopped her. She showed Slattern a bottle of Tabasco sauce, which she applied liberally to the bread. She picked up the water bowl.
“Enjoy. Clean plate or no water. If you earn your water back, you will wait one hour for it.”
Slattern steeled herself, fighting a stomach that was cramping from the enema she was holding, and threatening to come up her throat if she had even one bite of the disgusting mess before her. She never had liked or used any hot sauce on her food; good old mild USA food was good enough for her.
She got half of it down before her stomach rebelled. She stopped, feeling the burning coming back up her throat. Too late she heard the whistle of the whip, tracing a white hot wire across her flanks. A firm hand rubbed her nose in the bowl until the hot sauce began burning the lining of her nose. The hand remained as she gulped down the stale chunks of bread and the peppery sauce.
She focused on the hand, thinking of a dozen ways to slowly kill the body attached to the hand. She went from passive resistance back to her escape at all costs mode. Sandra, who had gone through the exact same phases a hundred times, could feel the muscles tensing in Slattern’s neck. Slattern suddenly reared up, biting the air, trying for some part of Sandra. She was met with an open-handed slap that sent her back to the floor, screaming with frustrated rage.
Sandra put her bare foot on the slave’s neck and applied more and more pressure until the helpless girl stopped fighting her.
“Temper, temper,” she taunted Slattern, wriggling her foot and applying more pressure, both to control and punish her for the outburst. Slattern slipped from rebellion back to fearing for her life, her mercurial moods following each other like freight cars on a track.
“Listen up, stupid. You’ve got 20 lashes coming anyway, so there’s no point in adding to that, but you can bet your ass you’re going to spend the rest of the day in the Hole. Try and bite me again and you’ll be gumming your bread crusts for the rest of your sad life.”
Substantially more important to Slattern was the enema that was roiling in her gut. Despite the fact that Sandra’s big toe was half closing her windpipe, Slattern needed immediate relief at the other end of her body.
Sandra ground her foot and counted to 10 silently. She knew exactly what Slattern wanted and she made sure that she suffered to the last second. She was only inches from the hole in the floor, but Sandra extracted the last dregs of humiliation by denying her even that comfort. She pulled the nozzle with a jerk and liquid sprayed all over Slattern’s legs and feet. She struggled to avoid it, but Sandra had her fixed in position. Sandra picked up a hose and opened the valve to the high pressure line. She sprayed Slattern unnecessarily from head to waist, then on down, watching Slattern cringe as the cold water deluged over her.
The whipping began before the water was turned off, as time was running short. Sandra didn’t spare the horses, and Slattern was sobbing and whimpering by the time the 20 lashes were completed. Slattern was moved to a low platform. Her hood was replaced and she was strapped down, her legs spread invitingly. The hard wood was rough on her back, but there was soft padding where her ‘lover’ would kneel.
The young man came down the stairs. Sandra acknowledged him silently. She bent down to Slattern’s ear. “There is a man looking at your naked body. He is standing between your legs, admiring your wide open cunt. You are to invite him, beg him, convincingly, to fuck you in any, or all, of your three holes. Once he has entered you, you will entertain him, willingly, exuberantly and excitingly. If he is dissatisfied with your performance, you will get a minimum of 20 more lashes, this time on your front. You are not to come, and you will be punished anyway for begging.”
Slattern didn’t know that she had already won half the battle. The man had shed his clothes while Sandra talked, and now stood, cock at the ready, really needing no invitation to slam into the waiting body. He realized that all the window dressing was intended to further humiliate the girl.
Slattern slipped into her ‘anything to get me out of here’ mood and did a very good job of persuading him to take her. Once he had buried his cock in her pussy, her repressed desires took over and she took him for a scenic ride that would satisfy the most jaded of men. Red faced and panting with lust she felt him spurt inside her, then pull out before she could climax. She wanted to beg, but mortal fear took over again. She was already facing one unknown penalty for begging. Two would be too much!
Slattern was unaware that Ramos had come down the stairs and prepared for her next torture. He lit the forge and heated a needle. When the man lifted himself off her, Sandra’s hand snaked to her right breast, still tightly and painfully clamped. She squeezed the front part into a cone shape, allowing Ramos to thrust the needle through, almost before the slave realized what was happening. With practiced hands, Ramos followed the needle with a ring, super gluing the keeper so that it would require tools to remove it. Sandra picked up a waiting camera and motioned the man to lay his still hard cock across the breast, just below the ring. Sandra whispered in her ear, “The family is going to LOVE this!” Slattern’s face turned a deeper red. Sandra noticed that she wasn’t enjoying the piercing and showed every sign that it hurt. She would have a long hard row before she could enjoy even the slightest pain.
Ramos coolly informed her, “The piercing is your punishment for begging. Since you will be begging every visitor you have, you will get a new ring for each one. A slut like you could wind up with dozens of rings. Just think of all the places you’d least like a ring and I can almost guarantee that you’ll get one there before your training is finished.”
Slattern groaned, her imagination feeding on his words and pictures of rings in her intimate flesh flashing before her blind eyes. The pain in her pierced nipple was mind shattering. Knowing what would be coming made it ten times worse.
“With that out of the way,” Ramos added, “there is the matter of attempted escape. Not just once, but several times. Then there are threatening gestures toward your Mistress. For that, you are going in the Hole. For your first stay, you need some jewelry. Sandra, bring her to the anvil.”
Sandra released the straps holding Slattern on the platform. She jerked on the leash and brought her face to face with the anvil. Slattern barely knew what it was, but the next half hour taught her its purpose and the things that could be done to her, using it.
Ramos had six rivets heating. Skillfully he closed and riveted her collar, then a narrow belt around her waist. The other four quickly followed, on her wrists and ankles. Sandra noted with glee that the cuffs and shackles were clearly much heavier than the ones she was wearing. She immediately began planning ways of making that point - and making Slattern suffer at the same time.
Ramos made his own points. He poured a bucket of water on the belt rivet, and dunked each arm and leg in the tank. For her collar he simply lifted her and lowered her head first until the rivet sizzled and steamed. She was struggling frantically, certain he was going to deliberately drown her.
Slattern got a slap on the ass that left finger marks for her pains. He took his time pulling her, coughing and sputtering, from the foul water in the tank. He got her attention and laid down the law.
“When I do something, or your Mistress does something to you, you damn well stay quiet. You don’t move. You don’t protest. If I WAS killing you, it wouldn’t do any good to struggle, so do as you’re told. You get another ‘attempted escape’ punishment on top of the ones you already have. You are absolutely the dumbest piece of shit to come down the road!”
Sandra took it all in, a big grin on her face, being careful that neither of them saw it. Her opinion of Slattern dropped another notch, but the fact that she was obviously spooked by water gave her some interesting possibilities to work with. Slattern would cordially hate any amount of water larger than a single drop, and Sandra’s mind was working on that.
She picked up the hose and solicitously asked, “Want a drink to wash that taste out of your mouth?
Sandra squeezed and immediately let loose of the trigger. A solid jet of water from the high pressure hose shot through the air, into Slattern’s mouth, most going straight down her throat. She gagged and choked, coughing it out of her lungs, mixed with vomit and bile. She fought the tears in her eyes, looking fearfully at Sandra, expecting her to offer ‘another drink,’ which she wouldn’t dare refuse.
Sandra stared her down, telling her with her eyes that there would be more opportunities for water ‘play.’ She put down the hose and walked over to where Slattern was kneeling.
“Open your mouth!”
For once in an obedient mood, Slattern opened up, knowing that she was not going to like whatever game Sandra was up to. Sandra put her fingers together and without ceremony pushed them into her mouth, deep enough so her thumb was resting lightly on Slattern’s cheek. Sandra crooked her finger, just down her throat, directly on Slattern’s gag spot. Slattern tried to throw up through a mouth full of fingers. A mixture of snot and bile shot out of both nostrils instead. Burning pain shot through her whole head.
Sandra withdrew her hand, her fingers dripping. She slapped Slattern’s cheek.
“Clean them up. Remember what I told you about biting!”
Slattern remembered without being reminded. She still wanted to bite, but she was slowly beginning to realize that her captors held all the cards and making nice was going to be the only way to survive. Gagging and sputtering at the terrible taste, she cleaned and swallowed - with considerable effort - the residue on Sandra’s fingers. Behind Slattern, Ramos nodded his approval of her domination.
Looking gaunt, a short leashed Slattern had to crawl on her belly to the Hole. Sandra made her crawl forward until her head hung over the open top. Swiftly Ramos hooked lengths of chain to her cuffs and shackles, locking them as he went along. They were relatively light, because he knew that she couldn’t handle anything heavier until she had exercised enough to build up her muscles.
Ramos effortlessly lifted Slattern and her chains and let her down, less than gently into the Hole. It was roughly a cube, about three feet on a side, so she would have to remain in her cramped position for the entire stay. Her hands were locked behind her, to prevent any illicit touching or finger play.
While he could have lifted the lid, it made more of an impression on the inmate because a crane was being used to move it into position. Once down, absolutely no light came into the little room. Slattern looked up at them as the lid dropped the last few inches. The look could have been repentance, but it was much too late for that. She looked much more repentant the next morning when the lid was lifted in time for her enema, shower and whipping before her ‘company’ came.
Sandra rode her constantly from the moment the lid came off, taunting her with the fact that in a few minutes a man would again be between her legs, and she would have to beg him to fuck her.
“Most men,” she said, “wouldn’t think twice about fucking a woman that was tied down for their pleasure. You, on the other hand, have to beg these losers to fuck you. You have to lie there, exposing all your charms, nothing hidden, and you have to jump through hoops to even get them to touch you.”
Slattern raged inwardly at the insults and humiliation but didn’t dare do, or say anything. A night in the blackness of the Hole had reinforced her sense of submission to them. To her it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing had been said that she was going back in the Hole, but she was beginning to suspect it.
Sandra ‘admired’ Slattern’s nipple ring, while she was putting antiseptic on it and turning the ring through her flesh. She laid heavily into the fact that as soon as today’s lover was through with her, she was going to suffer the pain and indignity of getting her other nipple pierced, “with a red hot needle,” a fact that Slattern didn’t need to be reminded about. She also reminded her that she would be getting ‘fresh’ cock every day, and - thanks to the hood which was about to go back on - she would never know who she was begging to fuck her.
The visit went like clockwork. The ritual had been set. Sandra told her there was a man between her legs and went on, finally reminding her that she was forbidden to come. Slattern begged. Ramos had the needle ready and Slattern had her scream ready.
She did go back in the Hole. The morning light saw her contrite and repentant, kissing Ramos’ foot, unasked or ordered. The third ring went through a grommet installed in a punched hole in her left labia, just below her clit. She was told, “We’re saving the clit for last, because it hurts the most and we want you to look forward to it with anticipation.”
That almost drew a retort, but Slattern swallowed it and went back to hurting. The cauterized holes from the hot needles healed well and the punched holes equally as well. Sandra noticed one day that Slattern hadn’t had her ears pierced. She confronted her and was told that she had felt she couldn’t take the pain. Sandra laughed.
“If you don’t run out of boyfriends, we’ll add a half dozen piercings in each ear to your growing total. I think you’d look good with a bunch of silver grommets in your ears.”
The rest of the day went badly for Slattern. She was introduced to the ballet boots and the merrry-go-round and had her first exercise. Sandra got more exercise swinging her whip, as Slattern was puffing and panting before she completed the first round. It took nearly two hours, with frequent rest stops, to complete the mandatory 10 laps. The verbal abuse that went with it nearly did Slattern in. She was more than ready to tell Sandra off, but she never got a chance until she was so worn out and sore that she couldn’t have harmed a fly.
After putting Slattern down, on the floor again, Sandra headed for Ramos’ bed. She automatically crawled in beside him and started locking her sleeping chains. He put down the catalog he was looking at and stared at her. She looked at him, wondering why he was staring so intently. She dropped her head and reached for another chain.
“Did anyone invite you into this bed?”
(Oh, shit!) “No Master.”
“Did anyone give you permission to look at me?”
(Girl, you fucked up! Badly!) “No Master.”
“Did anyone give you permission to touch those chains?”
(Three ‘No’s’!!! He’ll kill me!) “No, Master.”
“The rule for a ‘No’ answer?”
“The rule for punishment for an egotistical slave who gives THREE ‘No’ answers?”
The word eluded her for a second. She could see his face darken with anger.
She barely got it out in time to stay the gathering storm.
“Get your ass off this bed, NOW!”
With a grimace of anger he reached down and unlocked the chains. He caught her with his foot on her thigh and literally kicked her off the bed. Terribly frightened, Sandra caught her balance and stood, shivering with fear, too scared to kneel properly.
“On your belly!”
Sandra dropped like a rock, instantly pressing herself into the floor, her nose flattened. (What in Hell went wrong?)
He already had a flogger in his hand. She could hear it whistling before it flayed her ass cheeks.
“Crawl!” (Where? Where is he taking me?)
“Put some weight on those tits! Drag ‘em!”
(Oh, Girl! Did you fuck up or did you fuck up!)
The flogger laid out her route and kept her on a straight and narrow path to the basement door. Head down, she half crawled, half slid, her breasts bouncing painfully off each step.
She crawled past the silent Slattern, exhaustedly sleeping in her hood, too intent on saving her own skin to even glance at her erstwhile trainee. She knew now where she was headed.
Ramos picked her up by her collar and belt and dropped her into the Hole. Sandra felt like a kitten being carried by the scruff of her neck. Afraid to move, she lay in the bottom of the Hole, sprawled out, just as she had landed.
Ramos loomed above her, two massive chains in his hands. He lowered them until the first links were resting on her body then lowered the rest of them, watching them pile up. He brought more chain and more, until she was entirely covered with chain, with only her hooded head sticking out. Without a word, he dropped the lid in place. He didn’t need to say anything. The Hole would do it for him.
It took only a few moments of soul searching for Sandra to realize that she had seriously overstepped her boundaries. She was still a slave, still subject to slave discipline, still bound to her Master. She quickly assembled a list of her faults over the past few weeks, far outnumbering the few things she had done to please him.
Concentrating on her faults and searching for some way to redeem herself in her Master’s eyes, she at first ignored the crushing pressure of the chains piled on top of her. The first tendril of panic came when she tried to move her cramped leg and nothing happened. Her tendency to claustrophobia seized the moment to infect her mind with fear. She was running out of air. She was cramping. The weight of the chain was pressing her into a corner. She whimpered, instantly swallowing it, afraid her Master would hear and punish her for it.
Her Master did hear. Punishment would be deferred. Ramos listened to the microphone in the Hole, hearing her tiny, futile movements against the chain, her panting breathing as she fought the chain for air for her lungs. If she had been paying the proper attention she would have realized that the majority of the heavy chain was around her, rather than on top of her. She was in no immediate danger of being unable to breathe.
Ramos was certain that Sandra had already learned her lesson, but there was no harm in reinforcing that lesson and he suspected that she was putting the time to good use. He mused over ways of preventing her from getting a chance to admit her faults, so that she would continue to feel guilt for her actions. He decided he needed to reinforce his one word rule, giving her a much longer list of “commands” to memorize. He planned on putting much more emphasis on punishment for topping him. He was pleased with the way she was training Slattern, but she was allowing herself to be more self-centered and less pleasing to him. That, he would not permit, evidenced by her current position at the bottom of the Hole.
His key problem remained. How to keep his two slaves separated so that Slattern would be unaware that her Mistress was being severely punished or tortured at the same time that she was being trained. He was an early riser, so it would be no problem to bring Sandra out of the Hole and start her day well before she needed to wake Slattern.
Ramos used a hooked rod to pull the chains up out of the Hole. He had her mostly uncovered when a chain slipped off the hook, dropping with a thud on her chest, knocking the wind out of her. Unhurried, Ramos speared the offending chain and drew it out. He lifted the rest, one by one, without incident as Sandra’s breathing slowly returned to normal. When the Hole was empty, he deftly hooked the ring on her collar and dragged her out like a gaffed fish. She went to her belly and slithered to his feet, kissing and licking. He allowed her a brief moment and then spurned her with his foot.
The - to her - callous action by her Master was almost more than she could handle. She stifled a sob, fighting back tears, knowing he would count them and extract pain for each one. She came close to reverting to that first horrible day of servitude, the exact effect that Ramos was shooting for.
Sandra couldn’t help herself. She took out her frustrations on Slattern, making her day miserable. Ramos kept an eye on her but she was doing her job and teaching Slattern a valuable lesson in obedience. She nicknamed her Slat, and made her answer to that name. Ramos nodded to himself. Slaves need to get used to the fact that their Masters give, or take away names at will.
Slat showed the slightest of improvement while harnessed in the sand box. Sandra faulted her on some minor point and Slat found herself dragging anchors behind her until she could no longer move, despite the whip.
That evening, after putting Slat down for the night, Sandra crawled up the stairs, carefully dragging her nipples over concrete, wood and carpet, conscious only of the watchful eyes of the cameras that followed her movements every second of the day. She reached his bedroom. The door was closed. Her heart in her throat she knocked, gently. The electric latch finally clicked and the door swung open. Ramos was reading, his face hidden behind his newspaper.
She hesitated, half in, half out of the room. Ramos finally dropped the paper, glaring at her, catching her eyes on his face before she dropped them. He ignored her, picking up the paper and resuming his reading. Mentally she listed a black mark, a bad start.
She kissed the floor where he had walked, searching for even the faintest taste of him. She wriggled on her belly to reach his boots, placed neatly beside the bed. She spent long minutes tongue-polishing every square inch of leather, cleaning the slightest of dirt off the soles, kissing each boot reverently before placing it back in position.
Ramos was reclining on top of the covers. Sandra knelt up, discovering one foot a few inches from her face. She inched forward, bending over it, planting the most delicate of kisses.
She jumped when Ramos bellowed, “Slave, did anyone give you permission to look at me?”
“No, Master.” (What happened to Sandra?)
“Slave, did anyone give you permission to touch me?”
“No, Master.” (I’m in for it now!)
“Slave, did anyone teach you how to care for my boots?”
“Then why, SLAVE, is my boot out of position?”
Slave looked over the side of the bed. The toe of one boot was exactly on the edge of a floor board. The other was a good quarter inch away from the edge.
“Slave, is that the correct position for my boot?”
“Slave, does your excuse for a memory remember the penalty for three ‘No’ answers?”
“Yes, Master, Hole, Master.”
“Slave, that penalty didn’t seem to work. What would you suggest that I add to ensure effectiveness this time?”
Ramos looked at her oddly, wondering how she knew about this particular refinement of the Hole. He decided she must have seen the water connection when it was installed.
“Hot, or cold, Slave?”
“Regular or special, Slave?”
“Slave, that’s six orders you’ve issued. My usual response to anyone trying to order me around is to tell them to ‘Kiss my ass’!”