by Jennifer Harrison
Darios sat back in his chair, sipped his drink, and looked over at his slave in a contemplative mood. jenny was standing in the middle of the room - well, she was standing on one foot, her other leg was tied ankle to thigh, so wasn't much use to her. With her arms tied out of the way behind her, she was struggling to maintain her balance, which wasn't helped by the rope covering her eyes. Maintaining her balance was important to her though - if she swayed back, the strings holding the nipple clamps would pull tight, causing her significant additional pain, while if she pitched forward, the rope between her legs would increase the pressure over her clitoris and drive the dildo deeper inside her. If she lost her balance completely, or her leg gave way beneath her, at least the rope across her chest would stop her falling, although the subsequent tightening of the harness tightly squeezing her breasts would make that an unpleasant option as well.
He didn't go in for ‘predicament’ bondage much, he preferred to take his pleasures in more traditional ways, using the crop or paddle to warm her, before satisfying his carnal desires. But he had taken her repeatedly earlier and, knowing that jenny enjoyed being in bondage, seemingly for its own sake, he didn't mind indulging his slave in this way from time to time. Besides, it gave him a chance to think.
jenny was a remarkable woman. She had willingly become his slave, domestic and sexual, on a 24/7 basis. As well as being an attractive woman, she was also a smart, funny, interesting conversationalist. Yes, he felt justifiably proud that such a woman had submitted herself to him so completely. They enjoyed each other, physically and socially.
There it was again, that persistent, niggling thought, like an itch at the back of his mind. He loved the relationship he had with jenny. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted something else, he wanted… well, in truth he wanted pure, unquestioning, blind, instant, total obedience. There was something he found deeply erotic about the idea of a woman, particularly an independent and lively woman, becoming a mindless slave, his mindless slave, willing to do whatever he commanded without thought, without questioning, without judging and without hesitation. With such a plaything, he could do anything he wanted`- unthinkable, disgusting, taboo things… It was the ultimate in control.
jenny wasn't that slave. But, as she struggled before him, small, inarticulate sounds coming from her mouth, held open by the strands of rope stretched between her jaws making her drool down her chin, he wondered if she could be. The thought was just too exciting to ignore. It would be hard for her, of course it would, mentally as well as physically. It would be hard for him for other reasons - he just didn’t have the time to dedicate to it. He also wondered if he could be objective enough, cold enough, when it came to jenny, to put her through the kind of training that would be required. Well, it was a moot point – slave training was a hobby, not a revenue opportunity. Not for him, anyway.
But perhaps there was another way. Maybe he could utilise the services of an old ‘acquaintance’, for want of a better word. Yes, they had… history, but that was a long time ago and they had both moved on from there, he as a very successful investor, she into an altogether more exotic career. When they'd crossed paths at various private, very exclusive shows, Charys had been accompanied by slaves she had trained and he had been impressed, as well as very aroused, by the incredible level of control she had demonstrated over them. It was exactly what he was looking for from jenny.
There had been a certain wariness as they had greeted each other that first time since they had parted, each privately recalling their previous relationship and how it had ended. But he had been reassured by her professionalism and commercial sense, something he always looked for in any business partner. When they’d met again a few days ago, he had outlined his requirements, and she had agreed to visit, assess the situation, and give him a quote. This would be a business deal, pure and simple. It just happened to involve a human being…
As he contemplated jenny’s bound form, Darios wondered if one woman could fulfil the two roles he desired, that of the bright, intelligent, sassy slave he had now and, when he commanded it, the mindless fuck toy. It would be a risk, the risk being that by pushing her to give him unthinking obedience when required, he would lose what he already had.
But it was a risk he had decided he was willing to take. As for jenny, well, she had no say in the matter…
* * * * *
I waited nervously, kneeling on the footstool in the second drawing room of Master’s mansion, wondering what was going on. I had been there for nearly an hour on my own, which was unusual - normally I would be helping the cook in the kitchen at this time. Master didn't use this room very often either, it wasn’t one of his favourites, so I guessed something unusual was afoot.
I heard the door opening and I furtively glanced over to see Master entering, then holding the door open for his guest. I could see immediately that she was a strikingly beautiful woman – tall, willowy, with blonde hair cut in an expensive bob. Her clothes looked simple but expensive as well, black leggings, with a sleeveless grey top. I immediately sensed her power, and my discomfort rose in response.
"This is the slave," Master said as he came towards me and sat to my left hand side. The woman moved out of my sight behind me, and I heard the faint creak of the chair as she sat down. I noticed that Master had the long crop in his hand, the one I don't like, the one I fear because it is so thin that it always leaves a mark, so flexible that a mere flick of the wrist can generate great speed and, consequently, deliver great pain. The silence extended for several minutes, and I could feel the woman's eyes boring into my back as I tried to maintain my position, keeping my back straight. Master idly placed the tip of the crop under my chin, raising my head a few inches, intimating that this was the perfect position rather than the one I had adopted.
My nervousness increased as I felt myself being examined, appraised, and I didn't know why. Who was this woman? Perhaps she was another Dominant that Master had invited to visit? Maybe they would use me for their entertainment? That was an exciting prospect but also one fraught with uncertainty, as I didn't know the woman's style of domination and she didn't know my limits. It would be a learning experience, but one I - the woman spoke at last.
"She's old!" she said, with more than a hint of contempt in her voice. She wasn’t going to make any friends around here with that kind of comment!
"Early thirties,” Master replied calmly, "but she’s fit and healthy and, as you can see, quite pleasing to look at." The woman made a noise which I think could be interpreted as ‘derisory’. I wondered what the relationship was between this woman and my Master. There clearly was or had been something between them, but I had never heard about anyone like her in his past. This sense of a hinterland merely fed my growing unease. I felt like I was being compared to some undeclared standard, and not coming out of it particularly well.
"How long have you had her?"
"A couple years, before that, well, it’s not important, she’s mine now. But she's come a long way in that time." I got the impression that Master was being slightly defensive, as though he wanted to persuade this woman that I was a good slave. There was another long silence.
"What am I wearing, jenny?" the woman demanded, her disembodied voice and the commanding tone making me still more nervous.
"Er… A grey top, Miss, with black leggings… and heels?" I managed to spit out eventually, wondering why she was asking.
"Now, how would a properly trained slave, with her eyes on the floor in front of her, know that?" I blushed furiously, realising that it had been a test, and one that I had just failed.
"She's very quick witted and intelligent," Master remarked, again sounding as if he was defending me. A sudden, irrational thought flew into my mind - was he trying to sell me to her?! It certainly sounded like the kind of conversation you had when selling a second-hand car – ‘she’s a bit of an old banger, few miles on the clock, but a good little run-around…’ I’d heard of such things, selling slaves, but they weren’t for real, just stories, surely? Master wouldn't do that… would he? We had a relationship built on mutual respect, trust… at least that's what I had thought. Had that changed, did he now think that he owned me and so could sell me? I tried to dismiss the thought as fanciful, but it kept eating away at the back of my mind. I was frightened now.
"Wit and intelligence, not good traits in a slave," the woman stated, the tone of contempt back in her voice. I heard her chair scraping on the floor, and then her heels click-clacking on the polished wood as they moved towards me. I kept my eyes very carefully on the floor in front of me, seeing only her feet as she walked around me.
"Do you think you are good slave, jenny?" she asked sharply, standing between me and Master, her back to me.
"I… I… I try to be the best slave I can be for my Master," I stuttered. As I waited in confusion for the next question of her interrogation, she suddenly turned and whipped the crop, which she had taken from Master, hard across my breasts, perfectly catching both nipples with the firm rod. I let out a cry of pain and surprise, and grabbed my breasts, nursing them as I tried to cope with the throbbing agony. Almost instantly, I remembered my training and pulled my hands back behind my back, hoping that my instinctive reaction had not put another black mark against my name in the ledger I imagined this woman was keeping. No such luck.
"You haven't taught her to control herself?" she exclaimed, with more than a hint of disbelief and disapproval in her voice.
Master didn't reply this time, and a quick glance around showed me his grim expression. Was he disappointed in my reaction? Why? When he hit me that hard, thankfully not that frequently, I was usually bound so that I couldn't react in such a way, and I would either have been gagged or he would have appreciated my cries. How is one expected to react when taken by surprise with such a vicious blow? I could feel tears welling in my eyes and I looked down at the angry red line now beginning to stand proud across my chest.
"I'm not sure she can be trained,” the woman said as she returned to her seat, “she's too old, too set in her ways, too used to her freedom."
"I want it done,” Master said flatly, his voice cold and dispassionate, “what will it take?"
"If she was eighteen or twenty, I would say a couple of months," she mused, "but at this age, with her attitude, much longer, if at all. It will take a lot of time and effort, and that costs money."
"I have money," Master replied dismissively, "when can you start?"
"I'll send someone over to pick her up tomorrow."
Without another word, they got up and walked out of the room. I bent over and hugged myself, still trying to ease the pain across my chest. I felt tears run down my cheeks and drip onto the floor, but they were not just about the pain. I knew now that Master intended to send me away, for at least two months it seemed, for some kind of training. I was dismayed at the thought of being apart from him for so long.
But what filled me with dread was the thought of being under the control of this harsh, cruel woman for the next few months, and of what she was planning to do to me…
I didn't sleep much that night. I had waited in the drawing room for Master to return, but when the door opened, it was Becky, the young assistant housekeeper, who came in.
“Hi, jenny,” she said awkwardly, seeing the tears on my face, "Mr Donelli said for you to sleep downstairs tonight." By ‘downstairs’, I knew that she meant in the dungeon, and my head slumped onto my chest in despair, knowing that that meant Master didn't want me in his bedroom that night.
I followed Becky down the hall to the dungeon. She had been with Master for about six months, and she still felt rather uncomfortable with the fact that I was his slave, usually naked and collared, sometimes in chains, and often showing the marks of my physical abuse. She was just young, and embarrassed by the situation in which she found herself working, but I suspected that she also found it quite exciting. And the money was good.
“Um… Mr Donelli… your Master… er, he said… that i… er… should tie you up.” I looked around at the girl in surprise, seeing her flushed cheeks, her shallow breathing, the way she couldn’t look me in the eye, and I knew immediately – it was an outright lie. Master would never put her in such an embarrassing position – not unless he was watching, at least.
“Yes, Miss,” I said, turning away from her and putting my arms together behind my back. There was a long silence.
“The rope’s over there on the cart, Miss,” I prompted helpfully. So, little Becky wanted to play? I was nearly twice her age and I had to submit to her, how could this be any more humiliating? Well, I had gone to university and got a first class honours degree, worked in high-powered sales operations, progressed my career successfully, travelled the world and been happily married for six years; she had only recently left high school, was working her first job as an assistant housekeeper and, as far as I knew, had never even been out of the state; yet I was the one who was naked , calling her ‘Miss‘, and she was the one now binding my wrists with shaking hands. Of course, being treated like this by someone like her was turning me on like crazy!
"Sorry, jenny, are you okay?" she said with genuine concern as I gave a little gasp, the ropes pulling my elbows together until they touched – Master’s regimen of exercise and yoga ensured that, even in my thirties, I was still pretty flexible.
"No problem, Miss," I replied. Rapidly gaining in confidence, she grabbed a second rope and started to tie it around my chest, squeezing my breasts ever tighter until she had created a very effective harness. My breasts quickly began to discolour as they flushed with trapped blood, but the feeling of her fingers toying with my nipples, making them stiff with arousal, easily distracted me from any minor discomfort.
Becoming more dominant and aggressive by the moment, Becky grabbed my hair and dragged me over to the padded bench, forcing me down on my back, lying on my bound arms with my legs on either side. I watched as she stood over me looking down, her own arousal very obvious. She reached up under her short skirt and, moments later, pulled down her panties and discarded them. Now in something of a frenzy, she straddled me and clamped her spread thighs over my face, not needing to articulate the command, but in doing so anyway.
"Lick me, you fucking bitch!" she cried, "eat in my cunt like the cheap whore you are!" Well, to say that I was surprised would be an understatement - nice, little mousy Becky turning out to be a horny little closet Domme! Who would have guessed?
Of course, I had little choice at that point other than to do what she ordered - not that I was likely to refuse, the thought of being forced to make her cum was making me almost as wet as she was. I worked my tongue into her dripping cleft as she bucked and rode my face like a pony express rider, squealing in delight when I turned my attention to her already engorged bud. She was so overexcited that it didn't take long for her to reach a pretty spectacular climax, and I lapped up the juices which squirted into my face hungrily, enjoying her taste, as if youth and enthusiasm had somehow been distilled and decanted directly into my mouth.
She got off me, and I could see that she was panting from the power of her orgasm, her face even redder than it had been before.
"Oh God, what have I done?" she moaned, as realisation hit her, "I'm so sorry, jenny, I don't know what came over me.” I immediately thought ‘I know what came over me, a horny teenager, that's what came over me!’ “Please don't tell Mr Donelli!"
"I won't, Miss," I smiled as she untied the ropes around me, "but you might want to consider telling him yourself. You shouldn't feel guilty about this, you know that my Master wouldn’t object to you dominating me. In fact, I can almost guarantee that he would find it highly amusing!" Yes, I could easily envisage Master being aroused as well as entertained by Becky's account of what had happened tonight, and thoroughly enjoying her embarrassment as she told him.
After she had released me, I crawled into my ‘spare’ cage and Becky locked the door behind me, then switched out the lights, closing the door behind her as she left. I lay on the mattress, feeling very alone. I had hoped that Master would explain what was going on, who the woman was, where he was sending me and why. Of course, I wouldn't have asked, that was not allowed, but I had hoped… Now all I could do was speculate, worry and panic. She had said she would send someone to pick me up tomorrow! The prospect was filling me with trepidation, and I tossed and turned, barely able to close my eyes, let alone sleep.
"Hi there, Sugar, I'm Calista. We're here to pick up a slave?" Becky opened the door wider and allowed the visitors to enter the hallway. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the floor in front of me, fearing that the awful woman from the day before would be there, criticising me for every minor infraction of the ‘slave code’.
I had been kneeling in the hall, dressed in my ‘going out clothes’ of thin summer dress and sandals, waiting nervously for this moment for about the last two hours, all the time hoping and yearning for Master to appear at the top of the stairs and give me some explanation, or just a word, even a glance, of encouragement. But I didn't see him, and now I was going to be taken away.
"On your feet, slave!" The voice was different, so I knew it wasn't ‘that woman’, but I still obeyed instantly, jumping up from the floor and standing with my feet apart, arms behind my back, shoulders back, chest out, head up, eyes down. I caught a glance at the woman before me, noticing how young she was, probably about Becky's age, but sensing immediately her easy dominance, so different from our own girl. There was another woman there, also very young and very arrogant, but she was clearly subservient to the other, happy to follow orders.
"Oh, Honey," the girl in charge said, turning to Becky, "could you get the key for the collar, please, we don't want to take anything of hers with us."
"Sure," Becky replied, trotting up the stairs to get the key from Master’s study. The woman turned back to me and I saw the pleasant smile disappear from her face.
"Get those clothes off, slut," she spat at me, "what do you think this is, a fucking Sunday school outing?" Shocked by her abrupt change of mood, I quickly pulled off the dress and stepped out of my shoes.
"Go get the stuff from the van, Mika, while I deal with these." She grabbed my left breast, squeezing it painfully, letting her nails dig deep into the flesh. None too gently, she twisted, rotated and pulled the ring through my nipple until it came away. While I cringed from the pain she had caused, she repeated the exercise on my other breast, stripping me of my jewellery. When she bent down and went for the ring through my clit hood, I had to fight the urge to step back out of her reach, using all my willpower to stand still while she roughly removed that one as well.
By now, Becky had returned with the key, and the girl used it to remove my collar, leaving me shorn of all my slave markings. Somehow, I felt more naked, more exposed and more vulnerable than I had for an awfully long time. It was as though those adornments had become part of my character, helping to define who I was - without them, was I still Master’s slave? It seemed to me that I was now a blank canvas, something they could mould into whatever they wanted.
I felt my arms grabbed and pulled behind me. The other girl, Mika, had returned, and I felt her sliding something, an armbinder, over my hands, up to my elbows, finally reaching almost to my shoulders. She locked it in place, trapping me in the single glove, then buckled the straps across my arms, slowly but inexorably pinning my forearms together, working all the way up until my elbows were welded together and the rubber sheath was cutting into my biceps.
"Spread your legs, cunt," Calista barked at me, and I slid my feet apart until she seemed satisfied. Mika handed her what looked like a very large dildo and a butt plug with a tube and bulb attached, presumably to inflate it once inserted.
"Do you want to put these in, Honey?" she asked, turning with an evil smile to Becky. The expressions which chased each other across her face were comical to watch. First there was shock, her eyes widening in surprise at being asked to participate; this was followed by excitement, her eyes now shining and a slight smile playing on her lips; then a furtive glance at the stairs, checking to see if she was observed. Finally, with her chest heaving a little, she reached out and took the toys.
"S-should I… do we need some lubricant?" she asked nervously, looking up at the taller woman.
"Don't worry about that," Calista sneered, looking down at me with contempt, "I'm not concerned about her comfort." She encouraged Becky with a hand on her back, pushing her gently but firmly forward.
The apron-clad girl bent down and, very gently and carefully, inserted the monstrous dildo into my pussy which, I admit, was dripping by that stage. The dildo was big, however, and by the time she had buried the whole thing inside me, I was gasping from a combination of discomfort at being so full and arousal at… well, being so full!
She moved around behind me and began inserting the butt plug. This was an entirely different kettle of fish, and as it stretched my still-tight sphincter wider and wider, I began to wonder if she really was inserting a kettle of fish! I tried to keep silent, knowing that any sound from me would have Becky worrying, but there were at least a couple of grunts and gasps as she forced the thing into place. My poor little anus doesn't get much exercise in this way, as I know Master likes to keep it nice and tight for those occasions when he wants to use it, so this was a real trial. I had to grind my teeth while, at the same time, somehow trying to relax and let it in. By the time she had finished, there was a thin sheen of sweat on my brow.
"Okay, now give it a few pumps, Honey." I felt the thing inside me expanding, filling me obscenely, until finally I cracked and let out a rather desperate howl of pain. Becky stopped pumping immediately.
"Just a couple more, Honey," Calista urged, "she can take it." I screwed my eyes tight shut at the pain induced by the extra inflation. "Good girl!"
I carefully straightened up, trying to come to terms with the discomfort of the oversized objects inside me. Mika locked the toys in place with a belt around my waist and between my legs, then pulled a tight latex hood over my head, covering my hair and ears before snapping into place around my neck, but thankfully leaving my face uncovered.
That was only a temporary relief, as Mika presented a panel gag before me, waiting for me to open my mouth and accept the rubber cock which protruded from the inside. Once she had it tightly strapped in place, the entire lower half of my face had now disappeared, and I was struggling to cope with the dildo filling my mouth and tickling my esophagus, threatening to trigger my gag reflex. But then I saw her take hold of the bulb hanging from the front and begin to pump. My tongue was soon pressed down and my jaws forced open until the strap under my chin was cutting painfully into me. She finally stopped and removed the tube, closing the valve, just as I thought my teeth were going to be forced out of their settings!
The two women now ‘helped’ me down onto the floor, rolling me onto my back, while I tried to avoid having the butt plug driven any deeper inside me. They lifted my legs and began encasing them in black rubber, using a device very similar to the armbinder. They tugged and pulled at the material as it clung to my skin, finally getting it over my knees and halfway up my thighs, before adding tight straps to hold it in place. The tight, shiny rubber crushed my legs together, allowing me virtually no movement and forcing my toes en point, like some kind of kinky ballet dancer.
"Can you help Mika bring the carry case in from the van, please, Honey?" Calista said to Becky with a sweet smile. The two girls went outside, while Calista crouched down beside me, running her hand idly across my breasts.
"It's going to be so much fun having you around," she said, the smile on her lips not reflected in her eyes, "mostly, we get stupid girls, like that maid, and they aren’t much of a challenge, too dumb to know any different. But you, it's going to be so enjoyable breaking you, I can see it in your eyes, you won't break easily. It's going to be painful, it's going to be traumatic. Yes, I'm really looking forward to it…"
As she said this, she held my nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed. I felt the nail digging into my soft flesh and, as the pressure increased, I started to howl into the gag, achieving absolutely nothing other than a faint noise coming out of my nose. I rocked from side to side, trying to pull myself free, again resulting in no relief whatsoever, while tears sprang to my eyes.
Thankfully, she let go when the other two girls came back into the house. To my alarm, they seemed to be manhandling a coffin-sized metal box into the hall, which they stood up behind me. Calista and Mika then dragged me up off the floor and pushed me inside. I felt something being attached to the hood at the top of my head and then they let me go. For a moment I was hanging there, swinging, before Mika secured my feet, then added chains to my legs and arms, holding me against the sides of the box.
"Here, Honey," Mika said, handing something to Becky, "you can apply the last bit of her new outfit." As Becky took the item from the other girl’s hand, I saw that it was a blindfold, and the last thing I saw as she covered my eyes with it was the excited expression on her young face. I was plunged into darkness, and the only part of my face now not covered was the tip of my nose.
"Okay, all packed up and ready to go," I heard Calista say, "let's get this bitch on the road!" I heard the door of my ‘coffin’ bang shut in front of me, the sudden change of air pressure the only other clue that I was now boxed up. I felt myself lowered to a horizontal position and then carried, noting the descent of the steps outside, the unevenness of the gravel, and then being slid into what I assumed to be the back of a van, although my imagination had already turned it into a hearse!
A few minutes later, I heard the vehicle's engine burst into life, and then we started to move. As the van drove away, I wondered what horrors I was heading towards…
* * * * *
Darios watched from an upstairs window as they loaded jenny and took her away. He had watched her being packaged on the CCTV camera covering the hallway, impressed by the efficiency of Charys’ staff, and intrigued by the contribution from his young assistant housekeeper. It appeared Becky had hidden depths, depths that he fully intended to explore at the earliest opportunity…
Having made his decision to have jenny trained, he didn't see any need to explain it to his slave, and he had decided not to see her before she left, knowing that it would probably upset her even more than being ignored. Anyway, he was a busy man…
As he turned away and returned to his desk, he admitted to himself that he would miss his freaky little British slut, but sacrifices had to be made from time to time. He made a mental note to himself to organise some alternative sources of entertainment over the next few months, before focusing once again on the deal he was currently assessing.
The journey was an absolute nightmare, and one that seemed to go on forever. Every slight bump in the road drove the horrible butt plug further into my rectum, making me squeal into the impossible gag each time. Every bend, even every wallow of the van’s shot suspension, made me sway from side to side, causing the huge dildo inside me to press uncomfortably, sometimes painfully, against the walls of my vagina. I was in agony, just praying for it to stop.
At last we did stop, and I waited with a mixture of gratitude that this torture had ended and trepidation at what torture would be next. But instead of being released, nothing at all happened, I just lay there in my pitch black ‘coffin’ until, to my dismay, we started off again. It must've been a rest stop, probably at least half an hour, although nobody had bothered to check on me, let alone give me any respite. The journey continued, and I wondered where we might be. We must have travelled far enough to have crossed at least one state line and, with my terrible grasp of US geography, we could be anywhere.
I tried to think of other things to take my mind off the horrible pain in my arse, but it didn't help much. I thought about my Master, but then felt distraught at how he had condemned me to this punishment. Then I thought about my Mistress, realising that I hadn't seen her for weeks and probably wouldn't see her again for months. I hadn't had a chance to talk to her about this, I didn't even know if she knew what was going on or had been involved in the decision. It just made me miserable.
Then I thought about the woman to whom I was being shipped. I'd only met her for a few minutes, but I already hated and feared her in equal measure. It wasn't just the way she treated me, or even the way she had spoken to me. There was something in her eyes and, even though I had only seen them for a second, they chilled my blood. There was a cruelty there, but not just a general, unfocused cruelty, it was as though it was very much directed at me personally. Why did she hate me so, I wondered, it wasn't as if I'd ever done anything to her.
All in all, it was not a happy journey, but at last it ended, after what must have been several hours. I heard the back doors of the van open behind me and felt my metal box being slid out and carried. We went up some bits and down some others, so I had no idea where I was in relation to the van or anything else. At last I heard the lid being unlocked and lifted, but still couldn't see anything because of the blindfold over my eyes. The chains holding me in place were removed and I felt hands pick me up and lift me out of my prison and onto the floor.
When the blindfold was finally removed and my eyes had adjusted to the light, I found myself in a fairly normal, mundane even, domestic kitchen, with Calista and Mika bending over me. It was an incredible sense of relief when Mika unstrapped the legbinder and the two of them pulled it off me, allowing my skin to breathe and my aching legs to bend. There was unbounded joy on my part when the belt was removed, the dildo eased from my aching pussy, and the butt plug deflated and pulled from my poor, stretched anus. I moaned in relief as well as at the post-traumatic after-shocks, the muscles of my vagina and rectum trying to return to their normal, unstressed position. I hoped that the gag and the armbinder would be quick to follow.
"Ah, hello dears, how was your wee journey?" What the fuck?! What the hell was a Scottish accent doing out here, somewhere in the middle of God knows where? I looked up and saw the most unexpected sight of my life - there, coming into the kitchen, was a little, old, twinkly-eyed granny!
"Hi there, Mrs Bridewell!" Calista said and, to my astonishment, leaned over and gave the old woman a hug and a peck on the cheek. Mika was next, going through exactly the same routine, and the old lady beamed at them like they were her beloved grandchildren - maybe they were, I certainly didn't know any better. Mind you, the fact that they called her ‘Mrs Bridewell’ was probably a pretty big clue. I knelt on the floor, wondering what her reaction was going to be to me. She seemed so completely out of place in this weird setup, my head was spinning.
"How about a nice cup of tea, girls, and you can tell me all about it." I felt like I had somehow been transported into a middle-class family home and was intruding on their quality time. The woman must have seen me by now, I was right there in front of her, but she had completely ignored me. Was she blind? Did she have Alzheimer's? Or did she just not acknowledge the fact that her young friends happened to take part in a little slave transporting? I was utterly confused.
Calista and the old lady stood by the counter, sipping their tea and chatting about the journey as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, Mika went to the back door.
"Rex!" she called out, "come on boy! We're back!" A large, wet and muddy red setter bounded into the kitchen, its tongue lolling from its mouth as it jumped up at Mika, while she laughingly tried to keep its muddy paws off her black trousers.
"Look!" she said, pointing at me, "look at what we brought you! A friend to play with!" The dog immediately turned its attention to me, dashing over and planting his front paws on my chest, immediately knocking me flat on my back - well, on my arms which were still strapped tight behind me. His big wet tongue slathered across my face, depositing a thick layer of saliva into my nostrils and over my eyes. I realised just how heavy the dog was when it stood with its front paws on my breasts and it back paws on my hips, pinning me down.
Mika eventually came over and led the dog away for its dinner, giving me the chance to try and catch my breath, while assessing the damage his claws had done to my skin. Meanwhile, Calista and Mrs Bridewell just continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, Mika dear,” Mrs Bridewell called over, breaking off her chat with the older girl, “can you toilet the slave please, and give it some food and water.” The young girl looked as if she was being victimised.
"Aww! But Mrs Bridewell! Why can't Calista do it?!" Mika whined, looking daggers at the other girl, who was grinning smugly back.
"Now, don't you give me any back chat, young lady, you're not too old to be put across my knee, you know!" Although the old woman had a smile on her face, it was clear that Mika took the threat seriously. Still grumbling under her breath, she grabbed a dog lead from the side and came over to me.
She slipped the choke chain over my head and yanked it viciously, pulling me to my feet and dragging me towards the back door, out into the cold, dark yard, shutting the door behind us.
"Come on, bitch!" she said angrily, "do your business in the bucket!" Feeling terribly embarrassed and humiliated, I squatted over the tin bucket and tried to wee. I certainly wanted to, I hadn't gone all day, but it was a bitterly cold night and I was having difficulty releasing my bladder.
"Fuck this!" Mika exclaimed, blowing on her hands as her breath steamed. She stomped back to the house and went inside, appearing at the window a few moments later, staring out at me, waiting in the warm for me to finish. The other two women also appeared at the window, and now I had an audience, which didn't make it any easier for me to go. At last I managed to relax my muscles, and a long stream of piss hit the side of the bucket, splashing back onto my thighs. When I had finally finished, I straightened and looked to the window.
"Do a shit as well, you stupid cunt!" Mika called out from the doorway, "you're not getting back in until you have!" Oh God, I couldn't believe that they were expecting me to empty my bowels right in front of them! This was so humiliating, but I knew I had no choice. Reluctantly, I squatted over the bucket again and strained. It turned out that having that butt plug up my arse all day had loosened everything up, and my poo came out quickly in a disgusting, sloppy mess.
"Wipe your ass on the lawn!" was the next shouted order, and I wondered if this could get any more humiliating. I had no option, with my arms still bound behind me, but to sit down on the grass and shuffle my bottom along, hoping this would get the excrement from between my buttocks. The grass was long, cold and wet, so the whole experience was just hideous, but I think it was successful. Once I'd finished, I struggled back to my feet and scurried back to the kitchen door, where Mika let me in.
Shivering from the cold, I watched as she emptied a tin of meaty chunks into the dog’s dinner bowl and put it down on the kitchen floor. I was surprised when the dog didn't immediately rush over and start eating, but I think he must have been in another room. Mika came over to me and, to my immense relief, finally removed the gag from my mouth and the hood from my head. I gingerly tried to exercise my aching jaw which had completely seized up, and eventually I managed to get it to work so that I could close my gaping mouth.
"Come on, bitch, grub’s up!" I followed Mika's gaze and realised that she was pointing at the two dog bowls on the floor, one with the dog’s water in it, the other being the one she had just filled with meat of an unknown provenance! I stood there, refusing to believe that I was to be reduced to this, but Mika grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the room, forcing me down onto my knees and thrusting my head towards the bowls. I looked over and saw that the two other women were watching this with obvious amusement, probably wondering how long it would take me to realise that the younger girl was going to be as tough, if not tougher, on me than anything I had experienced before.
Close up, the food looked even more glutinous and disgusting than before, although the smell wasn't as bad as I expected - contrary to my earlier suspicions, it wasn't actually dog food.
"Get on with it!" Mika shouted, kicking my buttock hard with the sharp toe of her shoe, "you'll get nothing else until this time tomorrow, and if you don't eat it all up, I'll flay your ass!"
Reluctantly, I bent my head over the bowl and stretched forward to put my teeth around one of the chunks of meat. Yes, it tasted as average as it looked! I wanted to immediately spit it out, but Mika was watching me closely and, fighting the urge to retch, I chewed the cold, greasy, spongy cube before finally choking it down. I suddenly felt Mika ‘s heel on the back of my neck, forcing my head down until my face was pressed into the slimy food.
"Fucking hurry up, you useless cunt! I haven't got all night!" As she let me up, I worked my way through the revolting mess, even having to lick the disgusting gravy off the bowl until it was clean. There hadn’t been much of it, which was good in one way, but it left me still hungry.
When I turned to the water bowl, I saw that Rex had already been there, and the surface was flecked with a scum of his saliva. Again, with no choice, I lapped and sucked down the lukewarm liquid, which did at least assuage my thirst.
"Finally!" the young girl exclaimed, " Mrs Bridewell, is it okay if Rex sleeps with me tonight, then this bitch can stay in the kitchen, until we've got her proper accommodation sorted out?" The Scottish woman gave her an indulgent smile and nod, and Mika ushered me towards the corner of the room, where there was a small, thin pad. Once there, she made me clamber on and attached the lead, which was still around my neck, to a ring in the wall, making sure I wasn't going anywhere.
"Let's go watch a movie!" the girl said as she walked over and joined the others. Together, they left the kitchen, turning out the light and shutting the door. I was clearly ‘down’ for the night and I shuffled around, trying to get comfortable on the too-small bed. Eventually, I gave up and just lay down, closing my eyes. I wondered what was to become of me in this hellish place, with these horrible, sadistic people. I finally fell into a fitful sleep, populated with disturbing dreams which I couldn't remember when I woke up.
* * * * *
Darios gazed at the woman standing in front of him with the usual mix of admiration and arousal. She was dressed perfectly, just how he liked her - crisp, white blouse, short skirt, hold-up stockings, high heels just this side of slutty. Ellie knew what he liked and dressed to please him, which was entirely as it should be. While she was jenny’s Mistress, she was subservient to him, and he greatly appreciated that ability to switch.
"I have some bad news, I'm afraid, Ellie," he said, leaning back in his chair while the young woman stood before him, her arms behind her back and chest thrust out, making her breasts stretch the thin material of the blouse, outlining her erect nipples below, highlighting the fact that she was not wearing a bra. He couldn't see, but he knew that she wouldn't be wearing panties either - he still had a couple of pairs in his desk drawer which she had ‘donated’ before she had learned that particular rule of the dress code.
"I had to send jenny away for some additional training," he explained, "she may be gone for some time." Ellie looked crestfallen for a moment before she recovered herself - she knew her disappointment was of no interest to him.
"That is… a shame, Sir," she replied, using her standard honorific - he was not her Master as he was jenny's, she was not his slave, but she was submissive to him, more than willingly, and he was her dominant. The differences were subtle, but it suited them both.
"Yes, but it can't helped," he responded dismissively, closing the subject, "however, a new opportunity has arisen. It appears that one of my employees has a desire to learn about dominating our slave. I thought you might be interested in giving her a few hints and tips?" Ellie couldn't suppress a slight smile at the thought.
"That sounds like fun, Sir."
* * * * *
I was woken the next morning by a wet tongue sliding across my face. As I hastily came to, the dog sniffed at all my intimate places, while I struggled to get up off the floor and away from the filthy mutt.
I looked up and saw Mrs Bridewell at the cooker, frying bacon. As the smell permeated the room, I felt my mouth salivating in response, my stomach rumbling in complaint, the revolting meal of the previous evening not having satisfied me.
"Come on girls, get it while it's hot!" the aged cook called out as she served the bacon onto plates already stacked with fried eggs, hash browns and pancakes. I watched the three women sit down and enjoy their hearty breakfast, which was torture for me, and I'm sure they knew exactly what they were doing. I could do nothing but kneel there and stare at them, unable to even drag my eyes away from the tantalising sight and smell.
When they were finished, Mika scraped the leftovers onto a single plate and placed it on the floor in front of me. Oh God, I so wanted to eat that, even though it was only rinds, a few burnt bits and a handful of cold baked beans! I looked up hopefully at the young girl, willing her to let me bend down and get my face into the plate - dignity was not going to be one of my concerns here. Instead, she went to the back door and called in the dog. To my dismay, it snaffled up the leftovers and licked the plate clean in seconds, before wandering off, utterly unconcerned by my presence. I felt tears of disappointment, frustration and hunger springing to my eyes.
"Calista," Mrs Bridewell said, "can you take that upstairs and get it cleaned up and dressed, ready for work, please." As the older girl led me away, I was starting to suspect that Mrs Bridewell was more than just a pleasant, Scottish granny, and I should not underestimate her.
When Calista finally removed the armbinder, it was sweet torture. I could hardly move my arms, and my shoulders ached horribly, but they gradually began to recover as I gingerly rotated them, letting out small whimpers throughout the process.
Under the girl's instruction, I stepped into the shower and, as the gentle, warm water hit my skin, it felt like I was in heaven. Unfortunately, Calista turned the heat down and the pressure up, clearly deciding I didn't deserve hot water and that more pressure meant a quicker shower. I cowered under the icy blast as she played it across my cringing body. In the end, it was a relief to get out and towel myself dry.
Calista led me into a bedroom and handed me some stockings to put on. They were surprisingly pretty, white and lacy, with hold-up tops which came about halfway up my thighs. The next garment was a corset, also in white lace, with purple ribbons to lace up the back and a pretty purple frill at the bottom.
I'm not accustomed to wearing a corset - Masters preferred dress code is generally ‘casual naked’ - so it was a bit of a struggle to get on as I stepped into it and pulled it up, having to wiggle it past my hips and bum. As I got it into the right position, it clung to me, squeezing and flattening my tummy even before it was laced up. I grabbed the rail at the bottom of the bed as instructed by Calista while she carefully and expertly pulled the laces tight just a little bit at a time, ensuring there was no slack.
As she worked her way up and back, a little tighter each time, I began to feel the unnatural restriction of the corset, the hard strips of the ribbing - either steel or plastic, I guessed, rather than traditional whalebone -digging painfully into my sides, flattening my stomach, straining my back and seemingly thrusting all the spare fat up into my bosom, which was becoming more and more impressive by the moment. I was soon finding it hard to take a deep breath, and I had to control my panic to prevent myself from hyperventilating.
When she was getting to the last couple of inches before the laces had pulled the two halves of the corset completely together, Calista had to put her knee into the small of my back and pull as hard as she could, while I clung on desperately to the bar in front of me lest I fly backwards and knock her to the floor. As the constriction on my waist was now seriously painful, it felt as though my ribs were being bent inwards and all my internal organs being crushed into too little space. Most of the space which had been taken away seemed to be in my lungs, and now my breaths were extremely shallow, making me feel that I was going to faint, like some nineteenth-century romantic heroine.
At last it was done, and Calista tied the ribbons at the top while I fought to control the light-headedness and the pounding in my temples. Christ, how did women wear these things as a matter of course? I realised that part of my dizziness was also to do with the hunger gnawing at my stomach, although I was sure that I would hardly be able to eat anything now anyway, because I was so restricted - it was like I'd had a gastric band fitted!
And that was it - no knickers, no dress, no shoes, nothing. Somehow I felt more exposed than when I was naked, certainly a lot less comfortable. I followed my young tormentor back downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to get used to the painful constriction of the corset. Mrs Bridewell, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and reading the paper, got up and appraised me, looking at me from head to foot in minute detail. I felt nervous, as if I might fail her examination and be punished for it. The reality was to be much worse.
"Now listen to me," she said, her voice filled with contempt, "I am Mrs Bridewell and I run this house. When you are not being trained by Miss Charys or these wee girls, you belong to me. You will only speak when asked a direct question and, when you are, you will address me as ‘ma'am’. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," I stuttered, frightened by her aggressive attitude towards me. She stepped closer, a bony finger jabbing me in the chest.
"You might be thinking that I'm just a little old lady," she spat at me, "a soft touch. Let me tell you, I've been here for forty years, I taught these girls everything they know about whipping and cropping worthless pieces of filth like you. I brought up Miss Charys to be the woman she is - strong, independent, self-confident. And I did it by making sure she understood about discipline, first from the point of view of the one receiving it, and then how to deliver it, in all its forms."
She walked over to one of the cupboards and returned holding a vicious looking crop, even longer and thinner than the one Master used. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, and a wicked smile came to her face as she saw my fear.
“Calista dear, just put her over the counter for me would you?” The girl pushed me down onto the work surface, driving what little breath I had out of my lungs. She twisted my arm painfully up behind my back and, in one simple movement, I was entirely helpless.
"Let me make something perfectly clear to you," Mrs Bridewell said quietly as she came up behind me, "I despise women like you. Stupid, middle-class bitches who want to play at being submissive, parading around the bedroom in chains and calling their fat, wealthy husbands ‘Master’, while at the same time holding coffee mornings and attending PTA meetings as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Your kind make me sick! I've had to work every day since I was fourteen, I've worked hard for everything I've had, and seeing people like you swan around just playing at being slaves really gets my dander up! And you’re fucking English as well!"
The vehemence with which she delivered this diatribe was frightening enough but then, I suffered a total shock - I could feel her bony fingers between my legs! Fuck! The mad old biddy was fingering me! And not just playing, she had three fingers shoved deep into my pussy, and was having a good feel around in there! I was completely stunned, as well as totally confused. On the one hand, she was telling me how much she hated me, and on the other hand… my juices were flowing uncontrollably under her probing. What was this all about? Was this just another way to humiliate me? The truth was that the combination of the restriction imposed by the corset and the arousal she was driving me towards was making me lightheaded again, as if I was going to faint. I decided I could put up with the verbal abuse as long as she continued with the physical stimulation.
"I'll tell you this, you stupid, worthless cunt," she hissed in my ear, "while you're here in this house, you are nothing! You are less than the dog shite on ma shoe, understand? If I want you to cum, you'll cum. If I want you to scream, you'll scream."
As she said this, her fingers slid along my wet slit and closed on my engorged clitoris, squeezing down hard and, as she had predicted, making me scream. The pain was awful, but I was cumming at the same time. The pressure increased, I climaxed harder, and I screamed louder, struggling in Calista's iron grip, but unable to break free. The pain and pleasure seemed to last forever, and I may have blacked out for a few seconds.
I was brought abruptly back to the real world by an explosion of pain across my buttocks - Mrs Bridewell had stepped back and unleashed a powerful swipe of the crop across my arse. It was swiftly followed by one, two, three more vicious strokes, leaving me screaming and sobbing in unbelievable distress. Calista released me from her hold, and I straightened up, clutching at my burning cheeks, rubbing them to try and ease the pain, feeling the raised marks where the crop had landed.
"Now," Mrs Bridewell said calmly, as if nothing has happened, "there are eight toilets in this house. You will take these and clean each one - under the rim, around the bowl, around the U-bend - and you'll do it so well that you could lick the bowl without worrying about germs. In fact, that is exactly what you will be doing as part of my inspection. Now get on with it, and come back here when you're finished!"
She handed me a bottle of bleach and a toothbrush. Still sobbing from the beating, I instinctively dropped a curtsy and virtually ran out of the kitchen. As I began my frantic search for these eight WC's, I heard the two women laughing, knowing that they were laughing at me, and what demeaning, degrading jobs they would have me performing next…
* * * * *
Darios smiled as he watched Becky dance around trying to avoid Ellie and the crop she was flicking against her body. Her little yips and squeals seemed so cute as they echoed off the dungeon walls, each one filled with the same surprise as the first, the blindfold ensuring that she was never quite ready for when and where the next blow would fall.
It had been wonderful watching her reactions when he'd called her into his study to confront her. First, there had been shock, surprise, guilt and embarrassment as he had told her how he had watched her treatment of his slave on CCTV. Then there had been more surprise, delight and excitement when he had explained that, not only wasn’t he angry, he was quite happy that she had shown dominant tendencies. This was followed by doubt, uncertainty and possibly a little fear when he had introduced Ellie and told her that she would be her ‘mentor’.
It had been Ellie’s decision that the best way to teach her how to be a Domme was to give her a practical demonstration, but one he wholeheartedly agreed with. The girl had also thought this was a great idea, right up to the point where Ellie had informed her that she would be the slave in this little demonstration. That had brought on a bout of tears and sorrowful pleading, but eventually she had agreed. He was sure that he had seen a little glint of excitement in her eye as she stood before them in the dungeon and stripped, making him wonder if she was another switch. Definitely something to be explored over the coming months of jenny's absence…
* * * * *
I worked harder at my domestic duties than I ever had done before, fearing the consequences of even the smallest failure. I had found the final toilet and was just finishing up when Mrs Bridewell appeared at the door.
"Inspection time!" she barked, "kneel! Hands behind your back! And eyes on the floor, ye cunt!"
As she moved past me, I saw that she was still carrying the crop, which did not ease my nervousness.
"Come on, get your head in here, I told you what the test was." I had not believed it when she made the threat earlier, I had assumed it was just scare me, but clearly Mrs Bridewell didn't make idle threats.
"Go on, get your tongue under the rim!" The porcelain tasted of bleach but, thankfully, nothing else. When I straightened up, she grabbed my tongue, inspecting it for any dirt. I'm sure there was a look of disappointment on her face when she realised it was clean.
"I suppose that will do," she said grudgingly, and I heaved a sigh of relief. "Get up, it's time to see Miss Charys." Whatever relief I might have felt immediately dissipated as I realised I was about to meet ‘that woman’ again. I followed the housekeeper out of the bathroom and down several corridors to the master wing of the house. We stopped in front of one of the bedroom doors and Mrs Bridewell took a length of rope from her apron, tying my wrists behind my back and then tying the other end around my neck, pulling them up slightly to put a little tension on the rope, choking me a little.
"You be on your best behaviour, ye wee shite!" she hissed at me, waving the crop threateningly. I wasn't sure who to be more frightened of, this old Scottish woman or the trainer I was about to encounter again. I settled on both, and very afraid. Mrs Bridewell knocked gently on the door in front of us and then went in, pulling me along behind her.
I saw the woman, Miss Charys, lying out on the bed in just her underwear, looking very tired. I felt a tug on the rope, and immediately dropped down onto my knees, assuming the position - knees spread wide, back straight, chest out, head up, eyes down. I already knew how important this was to the trainer, and I didn't want to start off on the wrong foot - again.
"How are you this morning, Miss Charys?" Mrs Bridewell asked solicitously.
"God, Bridie, I feel like death warmed over," the woman on the bed groaned, "that red-eye from LA is a killer!"
"And how was the show?"
"Very successful, I guess. I sold a bunch of places on the course, made some good contacts, even had a very satisfying fuck!" She pulled herself up in the bed and looked over at me for the first time.
"So… Here's the bitch that Master Darios is all worked up about… Not much to look at, is it, Bridie? You wouldn't believe that one of the best Doms around thinks this is worth training, would you? And yet here we are, and I am going to enjoy making you suffer, cunt!"
Holy crap, I was scared witless by now. She idly swung her foot out over the edge of the bed towards me, using her toes to push my lips back and open my jaws. Nervously, I kissed her toes in what I hoped was a suitable gesture of submission. When she didn't pull away, I began caressing them with my tongue and then sucking on them. After a few minutes she pulled back and, planting the ball of her foot against my cheek, pushed me violently away, making me sprawl on the carpet.
"Oh, I suppose I better get up and start making this bitch’s life hell. Take her down to the training area, Bridie, and I'll be along later."
"Yes, Miss Charys," Mrs Bridewell said, before yanking on the rope to get me to my feet and out the door. As we moved through the house, I felt myself being overwhelmed by a sense of dread. It seemed certain that Miss Charys had a personal grudge against me, the origins of which were still not clear, and I was entirely within her power. Things did not look good…
I became more and more nervous as I was led through the corridors of the property. I realised I still had no idea what form this training I was to undergo might take, although I had few doubts that it would be hard and painful. A reasonable prediction, but still well short of the reality.
I was taken through a doorway and met by the two young women who had brought me here, but it seemed everything about them had changed since then. Gone were the bright, flowery clothes, replaced by skin-tight black leather, somehow intimidating me in a way clothing shouldn’t – they made me think of secret police for some reason, ruthless interrogators ready for their next victim. Gone, too, were the catty remarks to each other and their fawning respect to Mrs Bridewell. Calista gave a curt nod to the housekeeper, who left without a word, shutting the door behind her. I was left facing them, each brandishing a crop threateningly as they stepped towards me. Totally intimidated, I stumbled in retreat, but soon found my back against the wall.
They quickly stripped me out of the corset and stockings, leaving me naked. My wrists were locked behind my back in some metal device, and they strapped my feet into a pair of very strange shoes. They seemed quite normal at first, a kind of black patent leather ballet shoe including blocks at the points. However, the soles were rigid, and shaped as if there was a high heel on the back, though no such heel existed. This meant that I had to stand in them as if on tiptoe, reaching for something from the top shelf, and I quickly realised that this was going to be very tiring on my calves. I experimented with putting the heel on the ground, which made my toes point upwards in an uncomfortable way, though that wasn't the main problem.
"Get up on your toes!" Calista ordered brusquely, reinforcing the command with a swift strike of her crop against my calf muscles. I sucked in a pained breath and quickly got back up on tiptoes.
Mika placed a posture collar around my neck which forced my chin high into the air and was fastened so tightly that I could feel it squeezing against my windpipe, although not so tightly as to significantly restrict my breathing. I could no longer look down without bending at the waist, or to either side without turning my whole body. But any concerns I might have about my restricted view were removed when they put the blindfold over my eyes. It seemed that my outfit was now complete, but they were obviously waiting for something, and their silence just made me more nervous.
After several minutes of just standing, getting used to the shoes, I heard the door open and then close. Somehow I sensed another presence in the room, and knew that it was Charys. I kept perfectly still, guessing that she was inspecting me.
"I don't want to hear a sound from you, slave," she finally said, her voice cold and emotionless, "do you understand?"
"Yes, M-Aaaaaaah!" I cried out in excruciating pain as I felt a crop strike me across the tops of my thighs, also catching me on the soft bare skin of my Venus mound. Reflexively, I doubled up, lost my balance on the shoes, and fell on my arse, cringing as I tried to cope with the throbbing agony.
"Get up!" Mika shouted beside me, "no one told you to lie down!" I scrambled back to my feet with difficulty, staggering until I got my balance back onto the balls of my feet.
"You don't listen too well, do you, slave?" Charys went on in her cool tone, "when I say I don't want to hear a sound from you, I mean it - I don't want to hear a word, I don't want to hear a scream, I don't want to hear you sobbing like a girl, I don't want to even hear you breathing heavily. Do you understand this time?" I remained silent, not even daring to nod my head.
"Better. You are here to learn how to obey instantly, without the need for everything to be filtered by that incredible brain of yours, that your Master seems to admire so much. That is why you are blindfolded, so that you are not confused by all the information provided by your eyes. You obey the commands you are given, nothing more, nothing less. If you can learn to do that, your time here will be relatively short and pain-free. If not, well, that is up to you.
“Okay, girls, let's get this show on the road!"
I felt something being clipped to the front of the collar, a leash I assume, and I was pulled forward, stepping gingerly in the shoes. I heard the door open, and I was being led down a corridor, before a brief pause while another door was opened. This one led outside, as I could tell by the cool blast of air which suddenly swirled around me. As the leash was pulled once again and I stepped outside, I gasped at the cold, my skin immediately breaking out in goosebumps. As my teeth started to chatter, I wondered fearfully if that would count as ‘making a sound’ according to Charys, and result in a punishment, but none was forthcoming. Nevertheless, I had to make a supreme effort to not let out a moan.
I felt a gravel path beneath my feet, then we moved on to grass before finally coming to a halt. The leash was unclipped from my collar, but then something else, a chain I guessed from the sounds I heard, was attached at the back of the collar. I found being blindfold incredibly disorientating, really not sure what was going on at any time, I just had to guess.
"Okay," I heard Charys saying behind me, "we'll start off with something nice and simple, something even you can understand. You're just going to be walking around in a circle." Well, that seemed pretty straightforward, even in these weird shoes.
"Deportment, for a slave, is vital," she continued, "so you will keep your back straight, your arms parallel to your back, and you will raise your knees so that you are high-stepping. Begin!"
I started walking forward, not sure where I was going or why, but I kept my back straight and raised my knee until it was level with my hip, the thigh parallel with the ground. Immediately, I felt a painful blow behind my knee.
"Get that leg higher!" Calista screamed at me from my left, "and point the toe!" This was accompanied by a swift strike on the top of my instep, taking me by surprise, and making me let out a stifled squawk.
"Silence!" Mika shouted in my right ear and, seconds later, lashed her crop hard across my stomach. I gasped for breath, but fought the urge to squeal, despite the pain delivered by the blow against my cold skin. I clamped my jaws together to try and keep the cry in my throat, and tasted blood as I bit down on my lip. Trying to regain my composure, I lifted my right leg as high as I could.
"Keep that back straight! Don't dip forward!" The blow came from my left, from Calista, and caught me hard across the buttocks. I forced myself to take another step.
"Keep your arms against your back!" Mika this time, and the crop came down across my fingers. The leather blindfold was now wet against my face, and the tears were escaping to run down my cheeks.
Another step, another shout, another lash from the crop. There was a metallic squeaking noise from above, and the chain attached to my collar became taut. I realised that it must be attached to an arm on a central post, and that I would now have to walk around it. I felt like some dumb animal, an ox, or a donkey, forced to walk a never-ending circuit, powering some device. I realised that, having taken my sight, deprived me of my voice, and by forcing me to perform this menial, meaningless task, they were stripping me of my humanity. I must have looked like that dumb animal, but I knew I had to fight so that I did not become that dumb animal.
I was hurting in so many places by now, but I had no option other than to continue, to try and improve, to somehow satisfy them. Gradually as I went round and round, the number of corrective strokes reduced, and the pain in my body gradually subsided. But there was no let-up - as I became more proficient they urged me to go faster, whipping the backs of my thighs to ‘encourage’ me. My calf muscles were screaming for rest, and my hamstrings were also objecting strongly to the exercise. My lungs were burning from sucking in cold air and, as I became used to the chill, I started to break out into a sweat across my forehead and beneath my arms. This merely made the whole experience even more unpleasant and uncomfortable.
Throughout this torture, I heard nothing at all from Charys. I had no idea whether she was watching or had gone inside, content to leave me under the control of her ‘girls’, as she had called them. I had a wild idea that maybe they were her daughters, as if cruelty ran in the family, but the age difference between them was too small. She had clearly recruited them for some very specific skills.
Just as I felt like I would collapse from exhaustion, Charys called a halt - so she was still there.
"Let's go inside for a warm-up," she said, "I'm sure Bridie must have a cup of tea on the go by now."
The chain was removed, the leash reattached and I was led away, presumably towards the house. However, rather than returning to the warmth of the kitchen, I was diverted into some other structure, possibly an outbuilding, and I felt the leash pulling me down onto my knees. It was tied to something in front of me so that I could not get back up, and I felt a hand on my back pushing me, making me shuffle forward until I was pressed against something cold and metallic.
"Time for your break too, slave," I heard Charys say above me, " Make sure you drink, you need to stay hydrated, we have a long day ahead of us." I heard the three women chatting as they walked away, their voices gradually receding into the distance until I could no longer hear them.
Tentatively, I bent my head until my chin touched water. I was kneeling beside a trough, and my ‘refreshment’ was to be a draught of cold water which I couldn't see, so I had no idea if it was clean. But I was thirsty, very thirsty and, trying not to dip my face in it, I drank deeply until I could drink no more.
I sat back on my heels with nothing to do but wait until they came back, while all I could hear was the breeze outside and a loose board or shutter gently swinging to and fro. Oh yes, there was one thing I could do - I could cry, bitter sobs racking my body. I was used to being treated, shall we say, harshly from time to time, perhaps caused by a transgression of the rules or a fit of anger which I knew would quickly pass and so I could cope with it. But this, this was different, their cold professionalism gave no hint that this treatment was short-term or temporary. I didn't know how long I would have to suffer like this, or what I could do to stop it, and that combination filled me with despair…
* * * * *
Darios wasn't particularly fond of fetish clubs, they tended to be full of amateurs, people who wanted to be seen ‘on the scene’. But he enjoyed watching the floor shows and roping demonstrations, they could be quite entertaining and, with jenny away, he felt like he needed some distraction.
Anyway, he couldn't be too sniffy, after all, he'd been an amateur once, just like these eager young turks. It had been in a club very similar to this one that a woman had first allowed him to bind and gag her, and then, in front of an excited group of fellow fetishists, try out his nascent skills with a riding crop on her behind. He couldn't remember her name now, but she had been very complimentary about his skills, even offering to take part in a repeat performance back at his place, if he was interested. He had made his excuses and headed for the bar.
That was where he had met Charys for the first time. A tall, blonde, strikingly good-looking woman, she had approached him as he waited for the barman to come over.
"That was some pretty impressive work with the crop there. Can I buy you a drink?"
He wasn't used to being propositioned by beautiful women and, while he allowed her to order the drinks, he made sure that the barman took his money.
"So, I haven't seen you around here before," she said, sipping her drink, "have you been doing this for long?"
"My first time," he replied honestly, but without a trace of embarrassment, "how about you?"
"Pretty good for the first timer," she responded, looking impressed, "I've been training slaves for a couple of years now, making a decent living from it actually. My name’s Charys, by the way."
"Training slaves? I thought the Master or Mistress did that?"
"That's generally what happens," she replied, "but some don't have the skills, others don't have the time. And some have very specific requirements which I am more than happy to fulfil, for a fee."
They had moved away from the bar and sat at a table, the conversation going deeper and extending through the evening, until they had left together. It was the start of an intense relationship, one in which she had instructed him in the arts of bondage and domination, but allowing herself to be used as his guinea pig. It was a relationship that they both enjoyed, but it sowed the seeds of its own destruction.
Charys was a natural Domme, and her taking on the role of sub to Darios went against every instinct in her body, but somehow she couldn't resist submitting to him. After each session, she hated herself and, after several months, she found that it was destroying her ability to function, not only as a slave trainer, but also as a normal human being.
Darios also noticed the effects, as she became more clingy during her submissive sessions, but more aggressive, highly strung and temperamental during their ‘normal’ relationship.
Eventually, they both knew it had to stop. Officially, they were ‘on a break’, reassessing their relationship, but Darios knew it was over. They had had a good time, he had learned a lot and, he hoped, she had got a lot out of it as well. But it was time to move on.
It was right about that time that he had visited the local art gallery, to check on the painting which he had donated for the duration of the current exhibition, just to check that they had displayed it correctly, and to gauge the reaction of the public to it. That's where he had seen the red haired woman who was about to enter his life and change it forever.
The timing of that meeting was entirely coincidental, there was no cause-and-effect there, he had not finished with Charys so that he could start up with jenny. As far as he was concerned, one door had closed and then another door had opened. He wondered if Charys saw it that way…
* * * * *
I was left kneeling there for maybe half an hour (difficult to measure the passage of time when you’re blindfolded) before I heard Charys, Calista and Mika returning, chatting and laughing in a relaxed manner I could only dream about.
"So, boss," I heard Calista saying, "spill the beans on what happened in LA after hours!"
"Yeah, come on, boss," Mika joined in, "we really want to know what you got up to!"
"Sorry, girls," Charys was laughing, "what happens on tour stays on tour, you know that."
"Oh, that's no fun!" Mika whined.
"Come on," Charys said more seriously, "back to work, let's give this bitch a hard workout!"
"It'll be my pleasure, boss," Calista replied ominously.
This little exchange didn't reassure me at all, merely confirming what I already knew, that they were a team with an avowed goal of making my life a misery. The leash was untied and I rose to my feet as it was briefly tugged, following on behind whoever was leading me back to the training ground.
The training, and the punishment, resumed at the same level of intensity as before. I was made to walk, step, prance, even run around that post until I was utterly exhausted. It had warmed up during the afternoon, and I was covered in sweat, feeling it drip from the end of my nose and seeping under the blindfold until it was stinging my eyes. I was gasping for breath, clearly distressed, but they kept on pushing me, shouting in my ears, and whipping me with those damn crops. I had no choice but to struggle on as best I could.
When they decided to take a break, I just collapsed on my knees on the grass. Unfortunately, this merely resulted in another slash of the crop and a scream to get up from Mika. My legs were wobbling as I struggled back to my feet but, rather than leading me away somewhere, they just ignored me while they stood around chatting about the weather and the possibility of a storm! I could imagine them just hanging around, having a cigarette, maybe a swig of a high-energy drink, or tucking into a chocolate bar - have a break, have a KitKat - while I just had to wait and suffer.
Hour after hour, the torment went on until finally, as the air cooled in the early evening, they called it a day and led me back to the house.
" Get that sorted out, will you? I heard Charys say when we had entered the house, clearly referring to me, "I've got some paperwork to do, I'll see you at dinner."
"Yes, boss," Calista replied, before pulling me sideways with the leash, "Mika, can you get the food while I take this thing over to the holding pens? Come on, bitch! "
I was led down a number of corridors and then sensed that we had entered a different part of the building, maybe not the same building at all. There was no heating here, and I began to shiver again after the brief respite of being in the main house. The floor underfoot changed from carpeted to tiled, and then to bare stone. We descended a stone staircase before Calista came to a halt, and I heard her unlocking a door in front of us, before leading me inside the room beyond.
"Kneel down!" she barked, and I did so, feeling the cold stone floor against my skin. I felt her pull the shoes from my feet, which was a great relief, but then I heard a chain rattling and the leash on my collar was replaced by heavy metal links padlocked in place. Just then, I heard someone approaching and the clatter as metal bowls were placed on the floor - dinner was served!
Mika grabbed my hair and dragged me forward, pushing me down over the bowls. I could smell that it was the same disgusting food as the previous night, but I was so hungry that I immediately began to eat it, head down like an animal.
"Fuck! These boots are killing me!" Calista moaned from somewhere above me.
"I'll take them off and give you a bit of a foot rub later if you like," Mika responded
“Mmm, that sounds like heaven, you're on!"
"So, Cali, are you seeing that guy again at the weekend?" Mika asked.
"Maybe, "Calista replied with an obvious eagerness in her voice, "he was kinda hunky."
"Hmm, I wonder if you might be being influenced by the huge bulge in his wallet or the huge bulge in his trousers!"
"Mika, you cheeky cat!" Calista cried in outrage, "what do you think I am?!"
"Well, if you're asking…" At that point, it sounded like some good-natured horseplay broke out.
By the time they had finished having their play fight and had turned their attention back to me, I had wolfed down the food and taken as many slurps of water from the dish as I could before they dragged me away by the chain on my collar. They rubbed me with towels from head to foot, getting some of the surface dirt off but not the ground in stuff. They did it so roughly, that I could feel every lash they had given me and, when they rubbed across my Venus mound, it was so tender and bruised that I let out a squeal. Retribution was instant as I was whipped yet again, hard across the buttocks. Clearly the rules about making no noise extended beyond the training session - I was going to have to be silent all the time they were around.
"Good night, bitch," Mika said, inches from my face, "you’ve got a hard day ahead of you tomorrow, better get your beauty sleep." With that, they got up and left, the last sound I heard being the key turning in the lock. A few moments later, I was surprised to hear their voices coming from above me.
"I still can't believe we get to treat these dumb assholes like shit!" I heard Mika say contemptuously.
"Don't knock it," Calista replied, "it's sick perverts like that down there that pay our wages." The sound of their laughter gradually died as they walked away, and a thick blanket of silence descended.
I couldn't believe that they had left me here like this, blindfolded, arms still locked behind me and chained to the wall. I searched around to the extent that the chain would allow me, but I could find no bed, nothing soft to lie on. More importantly, I could find no toilet or even bucket, and I desperately needed to pee. I tried to hold it in, but my bladder was aching and I knew I would be there the whole night, so I had no choice but to move to the furthest point I could reach. I squatted on my haunches and, much to my shame, released a pungent stream of steaming piss. When I had finished, I crawled away, back towards my anchor point against the wall. I found a corner and lent against it, hoping forlornly that sleep would temporarily release me from this nightmare.
But sleep was elusive, and I couldn't stop thinking about what I had already suffered, and what was still to come. Despair welled up within me, and I felt tears running from my eyes again.
"Oh, Master," I wailed, "why did you condemn me to this?"
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" I heard Mika's voice shout, sounding tinny as if coming through a speaker, "punishment in the morning!"
Fuck! I thought, they've got this place wired! I wasn't even going to be allowed to speak when I was alone and, somehow, that seemed to undermine my spirits even more than all the physical abuse I had received. There was no hiding place, and they would not rest until they had completely destroyed my independence, my humanity, until I had become the mindless animal they, and my Master, seemed to desire. I sobbed, silently, and despairingly, all hope extinguished…
Charys locked the completed paperwork in a desk drawer and stretched her arms above her head, working the ache from her neck and shoulders, then turned to her computer. After checking and responding to the plethora of e-mails which she had received that day, she was finally able to turn her attention to a last check on the ‘inmates’ of her institution. She fired up the application which allowed her to cycle through the webcam feeds from the various parts of the property, and went through the views to monitor progress and identify any issues she might have to deal with. It wasn't as effective as the personal inspection she carried out each morning, but it allowed her to keep an eye on things quickly and unobtrusively, observing not only the women under her ‘care’, but also her staff.
She started with the kennels, where they currently had several girls undergoing training and reorientation as pets. She focused in on kennel number six, where the latest arrival had been housed, observing that she was not, so far, coming to terms with her new position very well. The woman, in her early twenties, was throwing herself against the bars in front of her, screaming and crying for release, and Charys could see that it was starting to upset some of the other occupants.
She was just reaching for her cellphone to call down when she saw Briony, the kennel maid, appear in the picture. The young girl was clearly a little stressed and overworked, having been deprived of the support she normally received from Mika, but she applied the remote to stimulate the shock collar around the distraught woman's neck until she collapsed to the floor of her cage, clutching at her throat as the electrical discipline device reduced her to a quietly sobbing ball of pain. Charys nodded to herself in satisfaction that one of her most junior members of staff had correctly dealt with a tricky situation without her having to intervene.
She moved on to the ‘harem’ area, where the sex slaves were housed during their intensive course of training. Everything was quiet there, which was not surprising, given that most of the women had been with them for several weeks and were by now completely docile, while the more recent arrivals were gagged and chained throughout the night as part of the ‘acclimatisation’ process.
Next stop on her virtual itinerary was the punishment area which was dedicated to, not the punishment of ‘bad’ slaves, but the training of inexperienced slaves to be able to take punishment. The 'enjoyment' of being hurt was a skill which few are born with - many of the ‘slaves’ brought to her were really just weekend submissives, girls who had been persuaded by their boyfriends to engage in a little role-play, to play a few tie-up games, and now found themselves under her expert tutelage, quite often against their will she was sure, although she never asked. They needed to be coaxed to the point where they would accept the pain meted out to them by their lovers/owners without running to the police. As with so many things they did here, it was more to do with training of the mind than training of the body although, Charys had found and had exploited ruthlessly, one drove the other.
The punishment area had its own dungeon with all the usual stuff - St Andrews cross, torture rack, stocks, manacles, whips, canes, crops, and so on - as well as cages to house the slaves where they could see the other ‘students’ being educated. It was pretty quiet down there at the moment - one girl spending the evening in a suspension, another being led back to her bed after a heavy beating, and the rest either sleeping or sobbing quietly to themselves. No drama there.
At last she reached the final display, a view of the oldest part of the complex, what had once been the heart of the prison which stood here, most of it long since demolished and replaced by the modern facility over which she now presided. The cold, grey stone and heavy iron bars reflected a different age, and a different clientele, one of hard, violent criminals suffering penal correction rather than soft, generally submissive women undergoing slave training. Here, there was only one prisoner, kept in solitary confinement, and Charys observed her sleeping form with interest.
So, this was the slave that had so captivated Darios that he had resisted all Charys’ attempts to revive their relationship? She seems so… ordinary, the trainer thought to herself, hardly worthy of someone of Darios’ talents. Charys would not have chosen her as slave material - as she had told Darios in the first place, the woman was too old, too… intelligent to be truly submissive.
And the idea that she could somehow retain this essentially rebellious attitude while, at the same time, becoming utterly subservient… Well, it had certainly never been done, and Charys doubted that it could be achieved. However, she would fulfil her side of the contract, she would turn this woman into the mindless slave he desired.
Whether Darios would be happy with what was left was hardly her concern…
* * * * *
I woke as my shoulder was being shaken, letting out a moan as I opened my eyes. The blindfold had been removed and there, standing before me, dressed in one of the leather catsuits I had seen Calista and Mika wearing, was my Mistress! I had been rescued!
“Hello, pet. Fancy a little something for breakfast?” As she said this, Mistress straddled my recumbent body, and I saw that the suit had a zip through the crotch, and that it was open. Darkness closed around me once again as her thighs descended, and I stuck out my tongue in eager anticipation…
I woke as my buttock was being kicked, letting out a moan as I opened my eyes. The blindfold had not been removed and I never saw the crop as it cut across my thigh, dragging a startled squeal from my lips, my brain still befuddled by sleep and the vivid dream.
“Silence!” I heard Mika shout, then the crop struck me again. This time I fought the urge to scream, grinding my teeth as the pain surged through my body, my face twisted in distress. What a way to wake up!
I heard the sound of metal bowls being put down in front of me and, with a yank on the chain to my collar, I was prompted to eat. It was some kind of muesli stuff, something you might feed to a human (I suppose that was an improvement!) but it was dry, unsugared and pretty tasteless. I choked it down with copious amounts of water and , somewhat surprisingly, felt better for it.
But, with my arms locked behind my back, even the simple act of eating reduced me to the status of an animal – pushing my face into the food to be able to get it into my mouth, lapping at the water with my tongue, these were deeply humiliating experiences, especially knowing that I was being watched, being judged, and being regarded as something less than human.
I know that I get a certain thrill – a sexual thrill – from being ‘objectified’. It is a feeling which derives from knowing that the object you are being turned into is a sex object, and that what you have become, what you have been turned into, is something that is desired, coveted, wanted by the person objectifying you. Whether it is just displaying your sexy underwear, or being entirely encased in rubber except for your breasts and cunt, the effect is the same – you have been transformed into an object of desire. And that is a huge turn-on for me.
But this was different. There was no sexual agenda, none of the people doing this to me had any interest in me sexually. This was merely being done to physically limit my range of actions and activities and, by doing that, to affect me psychologically. Its purpose was to break my will, to bring my mental level down to that of the animal my behaviour physically resembled. This sudden realisation shocked me – this was part of a brainwashing, the ultimate dumbing down. The question was, now that I was aware of the process, could I prevent it succeeding? I didn’t feel confident…
Jolted from my thoughts, I was delighted when my wrists were unlocked from behind me – delighted until I tried to move them and felt the pain shoot through my shoulders and biceps, again forcing me to stifle a cry. I was allowed to gently rotate and flex them for a couple of minutes, gradually easing the stiffness.
“Okay, drop and give me twenty!” Calista ordered and, after a moment, I realised she meant press-ups. I got down on the floor and assumed the position, all the while dreading what was to come – I had never been any good at this kind of thing, always hated PE (Physical Education) at school, and I still felt tired and achy from the day before. As I pushed up until my arms were straight below me, I heard something slide beneath me.
"Don't fuck up, bitch, you'll regret it!" I heard Mika growl threateningly. I didn't know what she meant by that, but it certainly scared me. As I bent my arms and lowered my body, I felt something pressing into my breasts and, with a sudden rush of fear, I realised that she had put something under me, something sharp, like a miniature bed of nails – no, not nails, it was the stiff bristles of a yard brush, but if I collapsed onto it, it was going to be deeply unpleasant! Once more having to suppress the wail at the back of my throat, I pushed up until my arms were again straight.
That was a pretty horrible few minutes of my day. My biceps were soon trembling with the effort, and I had to clench my buttocks and stomach muscles in a supreme effort to keep going. As I fought the force of gravity and a build-up of lactic acid in my arms, I broke into a sweat, my face screwed up at the tension throughout my body. When the crop lashed down across my shoulders in response to a grunt which had escaped my lips, I almost collapsed onto the bristles, but just about held it together until I had finished. I heard the wooden base scrape across the floor as it was pulled away, and I slumped down in exhaustion.
"Get on your feet!" was the almost immediate command. As I stood up, I was told to reach up above my head, and I felt a metal bar attached to the ceiling, parallel with the floor. Now I had to do chin-ups and, every time I failed, I received another painful swipe from one or other of my tormentors. By the time I had finished, my arms felt like lead, and there was nothing I could do to resist, even if I had wanted to, as they locked my wrists behind my back once more. One of them grabbed my leg, lifting my foot while they forced the deformed shoe onto it. Once both my feet were shod, I was led out, back to the training ground, my body quickly chilling as the early morning breeze dried the sweat. I was led over to somewhere away from the main activity area and made to ‘do my business’, squatting down and evacuating my bowels whilst simultaneously peeing, like some animal. It felt so degrading, to be shitting out in the open with no opportunity to wipe myself, but I had to go, both because they commanded it and because my body demanded it.
The second day's training was harder than the first, with no allowance now for me to become accustomed to the routine, it started at the same intensity as it had finished the previous day and just got worse. I had never worked so hard, or been hit so often. By the end of the day, I was utterly spent, literally on my knees despite all their efforts to ‘persuade’ me to carry on. I staggered back to my own private dungeon, forced myself to stay awake long enough to eat the disgusting food, and crawled into a corner to fall asleep. At some point during the night, I wet myself, but I was too tired to care, and didn't even notice until I woke up in the morning, being abused and punished for my incontinence.
This horrible routine was repeated over and over, until I lost all track of time. I saw neither night or day, and my mind was too exhausted to keep count of the days as they passed. So, I have no idea whether it was four, five, six days, or a whole week before the pattern changed.
I had eaten what passed for breakfast, done my warm-up calisthenics and was having my footwear applied when I realised that they were not putting me in the usual, contorted ballet shoes, but instead. pulling something, a boot, up my leg, over my knee. The leather was stiff, making it difficult for me to bend my knees or flex my ankles, and the boots were very tight, but got tighter as they buckled various straps and tightened laces. They still forced my feet into a pointed position, like very high heels but, as I put my foot on the floor, I realised that they had platform soles which raised me up at least another couple of inches and, while there was slightly more support for my heel, it was still difficult to balance and stop myself falling on my arse.
While I was still getting used to this change, I felt something wrapped around my waist, a thin leather belt which cut into my hips. I gasped as they pulled a secondary belt down between my thighs and up between my buttocks, before buckling it at the back. But I couldn't stop myself from letting out a cry as they yanked it tight, because it was lined with hard, pointed nodules which drove into the sensitive flesh between my labia, across my perineum and between my cheeks above and below my anus. This brought about a swift rebuke, the crop catching me painfully across the breasts, forcing me to breathe through the sudden flash of pain, desperate not to make a sound and attract further punishment. As I fought to regain control of myself, I felt them taking off the posture collar around my neck.
"Okay, now listen up, bitch!" Calista said, "we're going to be doing something a little different today. When we get outside, we won't be putting you on the tether, we will be leading you around, and when I hit you like this" - she slapped the crop against the back of my legs, just above the knees - "it means that it's time for you to jump. Got it?" Jump?! I was meant to jump in these boots, with my arms trapped behind my back, while blindfolded?! Was she mad?!
"Close your eyes tight, we're going to take off the blindfold and you are not to look!" I did as I was told, too frightened of the consequences if I disobeyed, despite wanting so desperately to see something, anything, just to use my eyes again!
Before I’d even had a chance to enjoy the feeling of the cool air over my closed eyelids, they were pulling something else over my head. It was tight and stiff, made of rubber, and covered my whole head except for my mouth and chin. I realised why Calista had explained everything to me before doing this because, once they pulled the hood down over my ears, I could hear virtually nothing, and certainly not what they were saying, or even when they were speaking. I also realised why they had taken the collar off, because the hood rolled down my neck and when they reapplied the posture collar, it was securely held in place, the tightness around my throat making my breathing even more laboured than it had been before.
I was led outside once more, and the sense of isolation was frightening, almost overpowering me. One of them led me by a chain attached to the collar, walking me around for quite a long time until I got used to this new technique. Whenever I failed to raise my knees high enough, or I wobbled on the extreme boots, I didn't hear the verbal rebuke, I just received a painful stroke of the crop against my buttocks, on the front of my thighs, or across my breasts or stomach. I had to work on the assumption that the command to ‘jump’ only applied when I was hit across the backs of my legs, although I had no faith that logic would apply here.
I was brought to a halt and then led forward in a straight line, making me suspect that this was to be the moment of truth. I had taken three or four steps when I felt the crop against the back of my knees. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I raised one leg, balancing precariously on the other foot, and then launched myself up as high as I could.
My ‘leaping’ foot hit the grass and I fought desperately to stop my ankle turning over, finding that the stiffness of the boot leather actually helped, resulting in me being able to stand long enough for my other foot to catch up and plant on the ground next to it. Like an Olympic gymnast on a difficult dismount, I caught my balance and slowly straightened my legs. I'd done it! I didn't know what, if anything, I had jumped over, but I had jumped and survived, which was a startlingly brilliant result in my book! As I stood there, imagining the crowd’s applause ringing in my ears, I felt the chain tug me forward and, three steps later, I felt the crop strike me on the back of my knees again. What?! They expected me to do it again?!
Whack! Jump! Land! Step step step. Whack! Jump! Land! Step step step. Whack! Jump! Crash!
I must have mistimed it or, more likely, it had been just blind luck that I hadn't fallen on the first three jumps. I felt my toe catch against something solid and suddenly I was rotating forward, inexorably falling, unable to put out a hand to break my fall, unable to see to anticipate my crash landing. I hit the ground hard, jarring my knee, bruising my hip, and crushing my breasts painfully beneath me. While tears sprang from my eyes, I fought to stop myself sobbing loudly, but then realised that, during that fall, I had involuntarily let out a scream…
"Silence!" Whack! How could they keep doing this to me?! It's the most natural instinct in the world, to cry out when something so unexpected and frightening happens, and yet I was being punished for it! This wasn't training, this was just plain cruelty! Maybe I should call the RSPCA, I thought bitterly, this is just cruelty to dumb animals!
I was pulled forward by the chain, shuffling forward on my knees, even though I could feel the blood oozing from the nasty graze I had sustained. I felt myself being dragged over something, and I guessed it was one of the hurdles over which I had been jumping. I found myself draped across it, wondering what the hell they were going to do next.
I probably could have guessed. One of them pulled my arms out of the way while the other caned me viciously, giving me at least six hard strokes across my buttocks, neatly exposed and made available as I lay across the hurdle. Again, I had to put so much effort into not screaming, knowing that the beating would only last longer if I emitted even the slightest noise.
Eventually, I was dragged back to my feet and then, to my utter dismay, the training continued…
* * * * *
Darios gazed at the naked form of his young assistant housekeeper in contemplative mood. She was bound tightly and sitting astride the Sybian vibrator, the one he had bought to celebrate his slave’s return from her last authorised absence, and Becky was clearly enjoying it. She had agreed to stand in as his submissive while jenny was away and she was growing into the role, having had her interest piqued by the way she had seen his slave treated when she was taken away, plus her own brief experience of dominating her. Now she was learning what it was like to receive such treatment, in the hope of becoming more qualified to deliver it when jenny returned. But Darios knew that her position on the D/s spectrum was still unformed - he suspected that she may be more sub than Domme, and he saw it as his duty to help her explore all aspects of her nature, in the greatest detail.
She had accepted his use of the cane and the crop on her body, although she had wept copiously when he used them on her breasts. She seemed to enjoy the feel of the ropes on her body as he had explained the various knots and ties as he applied them. He had taken her sexually, although only at her desperate insistence - admittedly, he had been teasing her with the wand vibrator for a good forty five minutes up to that point and the girl was almost out of her mind with frustrated lust, but still, he'd hardly forced her…
She was young, her body firm and supple, she was pretty, and she was willing… but she wasn't jenny. What was it about that British slut that kept him coming back, that maintained his interest, that almost challenged him to treat her so harshly?
As he watched the sweet young thing squirming before him, fighting to control her impending climax, her eyes pleading with him over the shiny black ballgag stretching her lips so appealingly, he thought back to when his slave had been in the exact same position, and he realised what the difference was.
Whatever he did to her, however tightly bound, gagged, hooded she was, she seemed to almost exude an attitude which said ‘Come on, you can do better than this! I can take this, I need more! Give it to me, Master!’ She had, over the years he had known her, developed the ability to absorb punishment, to transform pain into pleasure, like some latter-day alchemist turning lead into gold. It was an almost magical experience to watch, but it wasn't something that he cared to do very often, because he knew that she really suffered physically during the process, it was a mental trick which allowed her to think herself to pleasure. The after-effects were physically and emotionally draining, but it was an expression of the depth of her submission to him, that she would go through that for him, and he found it very moving.
He got so much pleasure from jenny that he wondered if he had made the right decision in trying to change her. He pondered the question as he untied Becky and helped her down from the Sybian, having enjoyed her orgasmic display. But he quickly dismissed it - she was his, she had made that decision and confirmed it on many occasions. She was good but he wanted more. Yes, there were risks, but that was what his life was all about, balancing risk and reward. She was, when it came right down to it, just another of his assets, and he would speculate to accumulate. Still…
"How do you fancy going to see jenny at her training?"
"Oh, wow!" the naked girl said enthusiastically, "I would love to see the training setup!"
"I'll phone Ellie, we’ll make it a little road trip," Darios concluded, enjoying the girl’s excitement. It would be a good opportunity to check on his slave's progress, as well as Charys’ methods…
Time passed. It may have been another week, maybe shorter, maybe longer, I don't know. The hood only came off at night to be replaced by the blindfold, so my only sense of night and day came from the routine imposed upon me, this seemingly endlessly repeating cycle of training and sleeping. They could have had me training at night and sleeping by day for all I knew, although maybe I would have noticed the change of temperature. I seemed to be detached from the real world, trapped in a bubble with no reference points - no sights, no sounds, no communication, no events.
I realised that all this training was actually changing me physically. I could actually feel the muscles in my arms for about the first time in my life! My stomach, a source of eternal disappointment through my teens and twenties, had gone from its embarrassingly soft pudgyness to flat and firm, benefiting from the morning exercises, which had expanded from simple arm-flexing to include sit-ups, stomach crunches, star jumps, toe touches and so on - whatever the girls could think of that might torture me a little more.
That other flabby zone, my bottom, had also tightened up and, along with my newly-firm thighs, was now a source of wonderment and pride for me.
Yet, while physically I was thriving, mentally I was vegetating. My brain activity for a full day seemed to consist of "wake", "eat", "exercise", "walk", "step", "jump", repeat ad infinitum, "eat", "sleep". Training required intense concentration to ensure that I didn't miss any cues to turn, walk, high-step, jump, trot or run - the range of commands I was expected to obey had expanded, but without the benefit of actually being told what was expected of me. It was a matter of trial and painful error.
Obedience had to be instant; otherwise I would be punished. My execution of each command had to be perfect; otherwise I would be punished. The wind had to be in just the right direction, it had to be warm enough but not too warm, and Calista had to have had a good night with her boyfriend; otherwise I would be punished. Basically, pretty much whatever I did, however hard I tried, I would be punished, frequently and painfully. This was really messing with my head. I really wanted to not get punished, and I was doing everything I could to please them so they wouldn't hit me, but it seemed that, whatever I did, I would still get whipped. But, rather than coming to the logical and rational conclusion that these were two sadistic bitches who hated me and enjoyed making me suffer, my poor addled brain blamed me, telling me it was all my fault, and that if I would only try harder to be the perfect slave, everything would be alright, life would be the perfect.
By the end of each day I was too physically and mentally exhausted to do anything but eat and then sleep. My brain only seemed to leap into action when I was asleep, giving me the most vivid dreams, but they quickly began to merely reflect what was happening while I was awake - in my dreams, I could see, in fact I could see me as well as everybody else like an out of body experience, but all I was doing was training, trying to make everyone happy, and failing, just like in real life. In some dreams, I was being disciplined by Mika and Calista, in others it was Charys or Mrs Bridewell who had the whip, and I saw my Master, Mistress, Becky, even Grace our housekeeper, all taking it in turns to express their disappointment in me through the medium of pain. I even had a couple of dreams where I was being paraded around the city square, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, all with weapons and all using them on me.
I would wake up sweating and gasping for breath, though not screaming - even my subconscious knew what a bad idea that was. And, quite often, I didn't really know whether I was awake or asleep, experiencing a dream or living the nightmare. I felt like I was losing my mind…
The next change to my routine didn't surprise me, but then nothing surprised me anymore. In order to be surprised, you have to be expecting something to happen, and then it doesn't. At some point, I had ceased to have any expectations, now things just happened, and I reacted as I had been trained to do, without thought. I did what I was trained to do and, if my trainers didn't like it, they would hit me, it was as simple as that.
But that was okay, it was only pain, the feelings would slosh around in my brain for a while, maybe my muscles would twitch reflexively, but I only had to suppress those signals which went to my vocal chords. And then the feelings would pass and I was ready for the next thing. I didn't care what the next thing was, why should I, I had no control over it, so why worry? I would say that I was at peace with the world, but I didn't really know if there was a world anymore - I couldn't see it, I couldn't hear it, I couldn't talk to it, I couldn't touch it. It didn't matter, I had my own small world, and that was all that counted.
It was morning and, after eating my breakfast and shitting in a bucket, I was made to kneel on the cold floor.
“The blindfold is coming off,” one of my trainers said, her name… I didn’t need to remember. “Do not open your eyes!” These were the first words I had heard in… a long time. I struggled to understand their meaning, but it didn’t matter – I wasn’t meant to see, so I didn’t look.
I heard the sound of an electric motor buzzing behind me, my head was pushed forward, and my hair began falling onto the floor around me. I could feel the clippers against my scalp, tickling as they moved on, quickly and efficiently denuding me. I could feel the cool morning air over my bald pate, but not for long. The hood I wore every day was pulled down, covering my newly-shorn head, my eyes, my nose, my ears, shutting me into my dark, silent world once more. There was a strange comfort in that. In my former life, I would have moaned, whined and cried about losing my hair, my crowning glory, but now it didn't matter, in fact it made the hood more comfortable.
My boots were fitted, ready for my day’s training. I noticed that the belt around my waist felt slightly different from the one usually applied and, when it was pulled between my legs, I felt something pushing between my pussy lips, gradually forcing its way deep, deep into my vagina. I breathed a little more heavily at the discomfort this caused, but it passed. When the strap was buckled in place, it seemed to prise my buttocks apart, as if it was much wider down there but, as with everything else now, I gave it no thought.
A downward pressure on my shoulder told me I should bend, and I did so immediately until my upper body was parallel to the ground. I felt something large being forced roughly through the belt and into my anus, and I once more had to suppress my brain’s desire to cry out at the pain. As I was told to straighten up by the upward pressure of the crop against my chest, I felt something hanging down from between my cheeks, brushing against the backs of my legs. I didn't know what it was, and it didn't seem important. Nothing seemed important now, except waiting for the next command, and complying with it immediately.
Something was being applied around my middle, from just above my hips to just below my breasts. As it was pulled together, I realised it was a corset and, as the laces were pulled behind me, I knew it would be a tight one. My hands were placed around a pillar and I clung on as the pulling and tugging became more violent, while the stiff-boned garment crushed ever tighter around me. I felt a knee in the small of my back as the last millimetre of slack was forced out and the laces were secured. I straightened up, trying to take a breath but finding my lung capacity dramatically reduced. I struggled to cope with my new shape, but waited passively as my preparation continued.
I felt something being pulled over my head, straps, my mouth pulled open and something pushed between my teeth. It had some kind of metal plate attached, which extended into my mouth and pressed down on my tongue so that, with the rubber-coated metal bar between my teeth, my breathing was restricted even further. As air wheezed in and out of my mouth, I could no longer close my lips or control my saliva, and I soon felt it pooling and dribbling over my bottom lip and down my chin. All the straps were tightened, across my face and around my head, pressing the rubber hood even tighter against my skin. When the hands applying the harness moved away, I stood calmly, waiting for the next thing.
Hands on my nipples, pulling, squeezing, and then something being inserted through the piercings. Heavy metal objects hanging from the piercings, I was ringed once more. Next thing…
My nose grabbed, pulled, manipulated. Sharp pain, startled cry, swift punishment. Something being pushed through the new hole in my septum, a nose ring. More weight, a chain attached, hanging down, increasing the pull, increasing the pain. Next thing…
Manacles were applied to my wrists and locked together behind my back. There was a slight tug on the ring through my nose, and I stepped forward in my new regalia. As I walked, I experienced new sensations caused by the large intruders forced inside me. It wasn't pain exactly, and I felt a little confused. Somewhere in my brain a memory came back to me - pleasure. This was a pleasurable feeling… Other memories stirred, rising, distracting… I stumbled, missing a step, and the crop bit hard into my right thigh and at the same time, another sliced across my breasts. The memories faded and died, and I concentrated once more on walking.
I didn't know what I looked like, and I didn't try to imagine it. What was the point? How would that help me do whatever it was they wanted me to do? I merely went wherever they led me, not thinking about what was to come or what had passed, only focusing on the now…
* * * * *
"It's good to see the wee girls working hard," Mrs Bridewell smiled.
"They enjoy their work," Charys replied, "and they're very good at it. Calista is definitely ready to manage this place day-to-day, which would give me more time for the sales and marketing side, and being able to spend some time on strategic thinking would be good. I need to decide what the next step for this business."
The two women sipped their tea and watched through the window as Calista and Mika led the slave out into the paddock.
"It's hard to credit that the slave out there is the same jittery, nervous wee thing that arrived a few weeks ago," the housekeeper remarked, "it seems very calm and accepting now."
"That's what hard discipline applied consistently achieves," Charys replied, "that and a little cocktail of Prozac and Ritalin sprinkled on its food. That sure took the edge off its anxiety!" Charys laughed, but Mrs Bridewell looked alarmed.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she said in a concerned tone.
"Bridie!" the younger woman responded in disbelief, "many of the women we deal with are here against their will!"
"Yes, but we have plausible deniability," the housekeeper said severely, "we can say we were told it was all consensual, and that their protests were all part of the fantasy, but this? Feeding this one a potentially lethal mix of prescription drugs, what if it died? How would we explain that away?"
"Okay, okay!" Charys replied, looking both irritated at her former mentor’s disapproval and embarrassed that she had been called out on some very non-standard procedure, "I'll have the girls wean it off them, satisfied?"
Mrs Bridewell nodded her head and smiled, and they turned to watch as the trainers put the slave through its paces.
The two girls had it walking, then stepping, then trotting, up and down the field, getting it used to the new restrictions on its breathing imposed by the corset and the bit. Soon, the slave was sweating, foaming at the mouth, and gasping for breath, but any slackening in the pace was swiftly rectified by the liberal application of the crops which both trainers carried and used with regularity and force.
"It seems to be learning well," Mrs Bridewell commented, "will you be returning it to its owner soon?"
“No, not any time soon," Charys replied, with a grim smile, "this one’s still got a helluva lot to learn!"
"There's nothing… personal in this, is there, Charys?" the older woman asked, "didn't you used to have a thing with the owner?"
"Bridie! You know me better than that!" Charys exclaimed in an affronted tone, "this is strictly business, like always."
The housekeeper did know her young boss better than that, she had known her all her life, and the blush on her cheeks was a dead giveaway that there was more to this than she was letting on. But Mrs Bridewell held her tongue, knowing that there was no point in sparking a confrontation, the businesswoman would just bullheadedly go her own way if that happened. It didn't stop her worrying though - for her young friend, obviously, not for that thing out there, that was unimportant. She didn’t want Charys to risk her business over an old flame.
Their tea finished, the two women went back to their own tasks, leaving the trainers to work the slave for many, many more hours…
* * * * *
I slumped onto the cell floor at the end of the day and listened as the footsteps of my trainers moved away and the door was closed and locked. It had been a hard session and my muscles ached, my flesh throbbing where it had been repeatedly lashed but, as I sat there in just the blindfold and manacles locking my wrists behind my back, I realised that, for the first time, I wasn't so exhausted that I immediately fell asleep. My physical training had progressed to the point where I could take everything they threw at me and still have some energy left for… what?
As I sat and stared into the blackness of the blindfold, I thought of… nothing. No memories, no hopes, no fears, absolutely nothing crossed my mind. I was awake but dormant. Eventually, I fell asleep and this time, there were no dreams either.
When I woke, it was to no great epiphany, just another day of toil and pain, just another day in hell…
"Lovely breakfast, as always, Mrs Bridewell,” Mika said, gaining nodded support from the others.
"Thank you, dearie," the Scottish housekeeper replied, before clearing the plates and taking them into the kitchen. Charys looked up and waited until she had left the room before speaking in a low voice.
"Okay, so we move onto the next stage of training today," she said quietly, "I want you to up the dosage in the slave’s food, morning and evening."
"Are you sure, boss?" Calista asked in a concerned tone, "it's already doped up to the eyeballs! We don't want to-"
"Don't question my judgement!" Charys responded hotly, "I'm in charge here, and what I say goes!"
"Okay, okay!" the young trainer said, holding up her hands in an appeasing gesture, "I'm only saying-"
"Well don't!" Charys snapped, before getting up from the table and walking out of the room.
"Jeez!" Mika whistled, "what's eating her?" Calista, looking thoughtful, didn't reply. The two women made their way over to the old part of the property where the slave under their tutelage was imprisoned.
As they had come to expect, it was ready for them, kneeling on the cold flagstones, its shaved head bowed in submission. Calista went to remove its eye mask and apply the rubber hood while Mika poured the dry food mix into one bowl and filled the other with fresh water.
As she put the bowls down on the floor, Mika saw the hand signal from her senior colleague and went over to see what she wanted. The hood was covering the slave’s bald scalp but had not been pulled down over its eyes yet. As Mika watched, Calista raised one of the slave’s eyelids, then the other and, once she had seen the other girl’s reaction, she pulled the hood down, ensuring the slave wouldn't hear any subsequent conversation.
"Okay, we're not putting those drugs in its food any more," Calista said grimly.
"But, Cali, Charys said-"
"I don't give a fuck what she said!" the older girl spat, "you saw those eyes! They were… dead, and if we keep feeding it that stuff, it'll be dead too!"
"I don't know," Mika said nervously, "if we go against the boss, we could be fired!"
"And if this thing dies," Calista replied, "we could be going to jail. It'll be our necks on the block, we'll be taking the rap for murder, and I didn't sign up for that! Now let's get it out in the field, I'm sure Charys will be watching."
* * * * *
Another day started. I was prepared for training - hooded, collared, bitted, bridled, booted, corseted, dildo and tail inserted and locked in place, wrists manacled behind my back - and then walked out to the paddock, ready to begin. As I waited passively, there was a change to the normal routine. My wrists were unlocked from behind me and metal poles were put into my hands at either side of me, like I was to be pushing a wheelbarrow. I felt a slight tug on my wrists as the short chains from my manacles were attached to the poles.
As I felt the weight and moved my arms backwards and forwards a little, I realised that the object to which I was now locked was behind me rather than in front, and therefore that I would be pulling it not pushing. A strange feeling began to make me tingle as it slowly dawned on some still-functioning part of my brain that I would be pulling a wheeled vehicle, a cart - I was about to become… a ponygirl!
On one level, the one where the higher brain functions operated, I accepted this without thought, it was just another part of my training. But I had fantasised about being a ponygirl for so long that it must have almost become ingrained in my subconscious, and I felt my already laboured breathing become shorter, my nipples become stiffer, my pussy start to juice…
I felt one of my trainers touching my breasts, attaching something to my nipple rings, a thin chain running from each ring up across my chest and lying on my shoulders, before I felt them being pulled through rings on either side of my collar. I had no idea what this was about but , as with everything else nowadays, I didn't worry about it.
The shafts in my hands jerked upwards, and I realised that someone must have climbed onto the cart behind me. The chains pulled slightly on my nipples and, moments later, I felt a stinging blow across my buttocks. I knew this command and immediately started to walk forward. The cart was surprisingly easy to pull, and I quickly got it moving at an easy walking pace. A sharp lash across the front of my thighs reminded me to lift my knees in the proper way I had been taught, and I proceeded across the grass smoothly from that point.
I felt a sharp tug on my right nipple, the chain shortening and then lifting the whole breast. When I didn't respond immediately, a painful swipe on my right hip persuaded me that this was a signal to turn to the right. I obeyed the driver’s command, turning the cart as swiftly as I could until the chain slackened, allowing my breast to fall back into place, at which point I resumed my forward procession. When I felt my left nipple similarly yanked, I didn't hesitate to begin my turn, and I completed the manoeuvre without the need to be whipped.
I proceeded across the paddock, turned, and came back, the exercise repeated over and over until I was sweating and panting, drool covering my lips, chin and breasts. The arousal which I had felt initially at the mere thought of what I was now doing was being stoked every time of I felt the weight of the cart straining the muscles in my arms, every time I was steered using the nipple chains, every lash of the whip urging me on. The feeling of the dildo moving inside me with every step, and the way it seemed to rub against the plug in my butt, just made me hotter, although there was never quite enough stimulation for me to reach orgasm. When, at last, I felt both breasts lifted at the same time, both nipples pulled painfully up, I came to a halt, blowing and wheezing, saliva dribbling from the stretched corners of my mouth.
I felt the crop laid against my shoulder, pushing down, and I gratefully sank to my knees. Fingers fiddled at my mouth, and the bit was swung from between my teeth. After further pressure on my shoulder, I bent forward, relieved to find a trough of water in front of me, and I slurped and lapped at it thirstily. All too soon, the crop encouraged me to struggle back to my feet, and the bit was put back in place - I was set to continue.
This second session became a test of fitness and endurance, as I was made to trot and then run pulling the cart and its passenger behind me. Slowing turned out to be as challenging as sprinting, having to fight the momentum that I had built up before I was pulled back, resulting in a number of falls as I tried to dig in my non-existent heels. But once I had mastered that technique, we moved on to high-speed turns, which was even more frightening as well as very strenuous, calling on muscles I had hardly used up until that point.
After another break for water, we resumed training, this time seeming to concentrate on tight control, and I found myself walking a slalom course across the paddock as my nipples were alternately yanked painfully by the chains.
At last, the day came to an end, and I was led back to the sanctuary of my cell. Once more stripped of my ponygirl regalia, I ate my food quickly, no longer thinking of it as something disgusting, it was merely sustenance, a way to replace the energy I had expended during training. When I had finished, I crawled into my corner, lying down on the flagstones and waiting for sleep. But unlike previous nights, when I had sat there like an automaton, I found myself plagued by echoes of the feelings which had coursed through my body throughout the day.
I knew I was now a fully-fledged ponygirl, but I didn't greet that knowledge with pleasure, or dismay, or indeed any other emotion, it was just a fact. It would have been like a real pony suffering an existential crisis - I was what I was. I fell asleep that night as I had done for so many nights before, without a care, or a thought, in the world.
This level of training, learning the basic skills of pulling the cart, lasted for several days, further building up the muscles in my legs, arms and my core strength. Then one day, the pattern changed again. I had come to hold a mental map of the paddock, feeling its dimensions, knowing when I would be called upon to turn, though never feeling tempted to anticipate - anticipating a command was probably worse than reacting too slowly, and attracted a much more severe beating. So, although I kind of knew where I was, it was never any use to me, I just obeyed unthinkingly, as I had been trained.
But when we moved beyond the limits of my mental map, I knew immediately that something different was happening. I felt the ground beneath me become harder, indicating that we were no longer on the grass but possibly on some kind of path. And then I felt the incline. Suddenly, pulling the cart became a whole lot more difficult as I struggled up a fairly gentle slope and, as I leant into the hill taking the strain, I felt the whip on my back to ‘encourage’ me.
As I reached level ground once more, everything became easier and I was able to pick up the pace to the gentle trot which my driver, through the careful application of the whip, had indicated was required. I was steered around several bends as we made good progress along the track, but it wasn't long before I had another problem.
The track suddenly fell away underneath me, descending steeply into some sort of gully, and I was fighting to keep the cart from running away from me, or rather, running over me. It was the problem I'd had when trying to stop when at speed in the paddock, but so much worse because I had no idea how long the slope was, or whether it would become steeper. As my feet slipped beneath me, I became really frightened and let out a noise - it wasn't exactly a scream, more like a strangulated cry mangled by the bit in my mouth, maybe it should be described as a whinny?
As I finally lost my footing, I tried to throw my hands up to protect myself from the cart, but of course I couldn't let go of the shafts because I was chained to them, and my wrists were actually being pulled down the slope by the momentum of the cart, with me being dragged along with them! Just as I prepared myself for the worst, the whole thing came to a stop, even though we were still on the down slope, and I lay there, panting for breath.
I guessed that the cart must have a brake, which the driver had belatedly applied when I lost all control. As I lay on the ground, thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't been more seriously injured, I felt the weight transfer as the driver got out of the cart and, I presumed, came around to help me up. I presumed wrong. Instead, I found myself being whipped viciously across the breasts and thighs, and I desperately scrambled to get back up, understanding that this was both a punishment for my incompetence and also the classic way of encouraging me to get on with it.
Now bruised and grazed from my fall, caked in dust which clung to my sweaty skin, and dizzy with the fatigue of both the physical effort I had put in and the total adrenaline overload, I staggered on, dragging the increasingly burdensome vehicle and my tormentor along behind me.
The journey seemed to be interminable, and I had no sense that we had turned around, all I could do was just keep plodding blindly along. It felt like some kind of miracle when the dusty path underfoot was replaced by the soft, springy grass. Finally I was brought to a halt and, at the merest touch of the crop, I fell to my knees, desperately seeking the water trough and, when I found it, plunging my head under the surface to cool off. I came up coughing and spluttering, the bit still between my teeth making it difficult to either spit or swallow.
I felt the crop pressing against the underside of my breasts and obediently got to my feet, ignoring the screams of protest from my hamstrings and, at the command of the whip, walked forward once more.
* * * * *
Darios leaned forward in his chair and watched as his slave performed before him. He saw how filthy she was, the bruises on her legs and arms, the myriad of welts and cuts old and new across her body, but in his opinion, she had never looked so good. Her body was toned like never before, her stomach flat with almost a hint of a sixpack, her buns tight, her thighs muscled, her biceps almost bulging. All was coated in a sheen of sweat which added immeasurably to the erotic impact.
But all this was secondary to the wonderful array of restraints she wore. It started with the rubber hood which covered her eyes, ears, nose and almost her entire head, leaving just enough of her face open to allow the bit and bridle to be seated correctly, forcing her mouth to remain constantly open and drooling. Her head was thrown back by the strict posture collar around her neck leading down to the corset which seemed to bring her waist in to an almost impossibly extreme degree. The chastity belt covering her pussy looked very elegant, and then the boots - coming over the knee, laced and buckled tight, high platform soles and no heels - they looked incredible, and made her look incredible too. The manacles on her wrists were simple, but the fact that they were connected by chains to the shafts of the cart she was pulling made them something special.
"Oh my God!" Becky breathed alongside him, "she looks… amazing!" He saw the flush on her cheeks, and knew how aroused she was by the sight. He looked beyond her and saw Ellie swallow hard, her face an interesting mixture of concern and wonderment. He knew how she felt. It was obvious that jenny had suffered considerably up to this point but, it had to be admitted, the results were impressive.
She looked magnificent! He knew that she had long fantasised about being a ponygirl, and he had thought about it himself, but he had never felt he had the time to do it properly, and he certainly didn't want her to play at being a ponygirl, it had to be serious or it wasn't worth doing. Well, this was definitely serious! They hadn't been playing, and it showed. The pony in front of him was not only fit and well trained, she was incredibly obedient, responding to commands instantly - clearly the extensive use of the crop and whip had delivered results. In this particular case, and in his opinion, the ends justified the fairly brutal means.
"So what do you think of your slave?" Charys asked as she walked over to the small party of onlookers.
"You've done an excellent job," Darios replied, "she responds to every prompting with the whip."
"It," Charys corrected, "we always refer to our subjects here as ‘it’ rather than ‘she’. It allows us to maintain some distance, so we don't become in any way emotionally attached. Besides, something like this is no more than a mindless beast. Hardly fit to be thought of as a woman."
There seemed to be a bitterness in her voice, and Darios looked up sharply to see her expression. But the businesswoman had a broad, open smile on her face.
"She seems to be perfectly trained," Ellie interjected, "will we be able to take her home with us?" The two women looked at each other with an expression just short of a glare, locking their gaze as if in a tussle. It was clear that Ellie didn't like this woman, and had deliberately used the term ‘her’ to both establish her own opinion on jenny’s status, and to counter the other’s assertion.
"I'm afraid not," Charys responded icily, "although its obedience while under the threat of the whip is good, we need to ensure that this behaviour is completely ingrained, so that the slave will obey any command under any circumstances, instantly and unthinkingly. I'm sure you understand, Darios."
Darios stared out into the field at the… thing performing before them. It was difficult to think of jenny when what he saw was so different from the slave he remembered. Those memories were fond, but what was in front of him stirred him very profoundly.
One of the trainers, Mika, led jenny across the paddock until she stood before them, unaware that her Master and Mistress were just a few feet in front of her. She was breathing heavily after her exertions, but responded immediately when Mika pulled up on the chain attached to the new ring through her nose, rising up onto her toes, despite the strain the boots must have been imposing on her feet. At the touch of the crop on her shoulder, she bent forward into a low bow before the invited guests, who smiled and praised her trainers, knowing that jenny couldn't see or hear what was being said about her. The trainers led their charge away and resumed the display, demonstrating all of the skills that they had so persistently drilled into the slave.
While he didn't want to go against Ellie, certainly not in front of Charys, Darios knew that there was no point in ending the training now, when everything which had been achieved might still be lost.
"jenny will remain in training until you are satisfied," he declared. Charys beamed a triumphant smile at Ellie, who couldn't disguise her look of annoyance.
"Calista," Charys called out, "let's see the pony performing over the jumps!"
* * * * *
We had been working around the paddock, going through all my drills - walking, high-stepping, trotting, running, galloping - for probably over an hour, and I was grateful when the pull of the reins on my breasts brought me to a halt. I stood there, panting and sweating, for quite some time, before I was released from the shafts of the cart and my wrists locked together behind me.
I felt the chain clipped to my nose ring and I was led across the grass, before being pulled to a halt and made to bow deeply. It was almost as if… this was a display for an audience, to whom I was now being presented. Was I being watched? I had no way of knowing, I could be doing this just for my trainers, or for a whole host of people! I began to fantasise that I was being gazed at by fee-paying visitors, come to gawk at the trained animal before them, hordes of Japanese tourists taking hundreds of pictures. The thought was both frightening and arousing at the same time…
A few minutes later, I was being shepherded around the paddock, the chains attached to my nipples being used to manoeuvre me rather than the chain to my collar or my nose ring as had been done in my early training. I was brought to an easy trot, and then felt the whip across the backs of my knees. Instantly, I leapt up into the air as high as I could, knowing that there would be some obstacle in front of me which I had to clear if I was not to fall and then suffer the beating which came with failure.
I was twisted and turned as I was led around the course and jumped each fence. There must have been about a dozen obstacles and, much to my relief and pride, I jumped every one without falling - a clear round! I felt like I had won the Olympics! I could almost hear my imaginary audience whooping and hollering their approval of my skills…
Unconsciously, I started to rub my thighs together, squirming so that the dildo and butt plug moved within me, grinding together, separated by the thin walls of my vagina and rectum. But I instantly stopped when I felt the swift, corrective rebuke of the whip across my breasts, and I was soon back in the shafts, pulling my trainer around the paddock once more.
It was a long, hard day, and I was exhausted by the time I was left for the night. But I couldn't get the events of the day out of my head. There was something that I couldn't quite remember… something nagging away… Master? Did I have a Master? Yes! Now I remember - I have a Master… and a Mistress! I live in a big house and… there are others there… Betty? And the housekeeper… Mrs Bridewell? No, she's the Scottish woman here… Okay, some of the details are hazy, but I definitely remember some things, what else can I remember? Henry VIII had eight wives… er… Divorced, Beheaded, Died… er… Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub… er… Remember, remember the 6th of September, Gunpowder, Reason and Snot…
I struggled to try and remember anything and everything that I had ever known, but it was so elusive. I latched on to what felt like a true memory, that I had a Master and Mistress, and I wondered if maybe they had been there, watching me. And I wondered why, if they had been there, they hadn't rescued me from this awful place. I fell asleep repeating "Master, Mistress" to myself, trying to lock it in place.
When I woke up the next morning, the mantra was still running through my head, and I felt elated that I finally had something to focus on, some little piece of humanity left that I could grab like the flotsam floating by after a shipwreck. I kept repeating it to myself as my unseen handlers came in and started to prepare me for another day of training and punishment.
But as the hood imprisoned me once more in the dark, silent world, and my body was forced into its restrictive, subjugating garments, the mantra started to slip away from me. Try as I might, I couldn't bring the words back into my head and, by the time I stepped out into the cool morning air and felt the crop strike me for the first time that morning, I was once more a mindless slave, just a dumb animal…
"I think we're about done, boss, it's ready to go back," Calista reported nervously. She was unsure of how her employer would react, given her unusual attitude to the slave they had been working with. Charys was usually so professional, to the point of being uncaring, that it was quite unsettling how heated she became whenever this particular trainee was discussed. She had also ordered that it should be drugged at dangerously high dosages, another quite unexpected departure from standard procedure, an order which Calista had disobeyed, which was not a move recommended for longevity of employment at the training facility.
"I'm not convinced," Charys replied, "I think we should intensify the training, perhaps reduce its privileges."
"It doesn't have any privileges, boss!" Mika chipped in, supporting her colleague, "it's in solitary confinement in the remotest, most uncomfortable cell in this place, it never has a moment’s freedom, it hasn't spoken for over a month, it’s fed on the least appetising food we have, and it’s punished every day, even when it performs perfectly. I don't see how we can reduce its ‘privileges’ any further."
Charys looked sourly at the young woman, not appreciating being told the facts in such a bald, almost impertinent, way.
"And there's not much more we can do on the training front," Calista interjected, "we'd just be repeating the work we've already done, and it's as fit as it is ever likely to be."
"Okay, okay," Charys said, holding up her hands in acceptance, "I'll give it a test run today, just to check, and then if it passes, I'll return it to its owner. Get it ready for me and I'll be out shortly."
* * * * *
I was ready for another day of training, standing on the grass holding the shafts of the cart, discretely transferring my weight from one foot to the other, ostensibly to get my muscles warmed up, but really to feel the devices inside me moving about, raising my arousal level a little. So I guess I was getting warmed up, just not in the conventional way!
I was ‘at peace’, by which I mean I had cleared my mind of any thoughts, entering what might be called ‘ponygirl subspace’, where I could accept without question the commands I would receive, tolerate without complaint the strenuous physical demands placed on me, and endure without crying out the extreme pain to which I would be subjected. It was a place with which I had become very familiar over the past weeks, a place of ‘safety’ in this incredibly cruel environment.
I felt the driver mount the cart behind me and was quickly whipped into a fast trot. I was used to some gentle warm-up walking and trotting, but that day I was immediately brought to a gallop across the soft grass which soon ran out and we were flying along one of the many paths leading out into the estate. My ability to cope with the ups and downs of the track was much improved from my earliest efforts, along with my fitness, so I was able to maintain a very respectable pace along the undulating path, although the driver continued to whip me hard, trying to force the last ounce of effort from me.
By the time I was finally pulled to a halt, I was sweating profusely and gasping for breath, saliva foaming around the bit as I fought to get enough air into my lungs. I knew this was an unusual pattern for me, I wasn't usually pushed this hard, and I wondered if it was some kind of test, an assessment of my progress. Not that it made any difference - I always had to give my best if I wanted to minimise the punishment I received, and I certainly had no extra capacity at this stage to improve my performance to impress anyone, I was already giving it the proverbial 110%.
There was another change from the usual training as I was released from the cart and led a few yards away. I felt hands at my waist, and then the chastity belt was removed, pulling the dildo and butt plug out with it. The crop pressing across my shoulder blades indicated I should bend forward, and then its tap between my thighs made me spread my legs as far apart as I could without actually falling. This was definitely not a position I had been in before, and I felt frightened, not knowing what was going to happen, but suspecting that it would not be good. I pushed myself into my ‘ponygirl subspace’ as far as I could go…
* * * * *
Charys walked around the slave, tapping her own leg with the crop. "So, you're now the perfect slave, according to my girls," she hissed, knowing that the slave couldn't hear her, but not caring, "well, let's just see, shall we?"
She started with six hard strokes across the buttocks, watching intently for the slave’s reaction. The foaming saliva hanging from its lips sprayed onto the ground as its already laboured breathing became even more rapid, she saw its muscles tense as it reacted to the beating, and it rocked forward slightly on each impact, but that was it. The slave made no sound other than its breathing, and it made no attempt to either avoid the blows or change its position from that which presented it perfectly for punishment. Charys was impressed, despite herself.
She changed her position and stood directly behind the slave, bringing the crop down as hard as she could directly between its cheeks. The creature remained almost completely stationary. She repeated the attack, this time bringing the crop upwards, whipping into the soft flesh of its cunt lips. The amount of drool hitting the ground increased, and she saw its chest trying to expand as its breathing became irregular, but there was no scream. Charys was breathing quite heavily herself after the exertion of delivering the blows with all her strength.
She walked around the slave again, placing the tip of the crop underneath its nose and making it straighten up. She could see it straining to breathe, but the ultra-tight corset prevented it from filling its lungs. Its situation became even more difficult when she lashed it viciously straight across its breasts, catching them just underneath the nipple rings. The second stroke caught it on top of the breasts, the two angry red lines almost parallel. The third bisected the first two, hitting squarely on to the nipples, and a huge gobbet of saliva exploded from between its stretched lips. But still no cry came from the tortured beast.
Charys’ reaction was a mixture of pride at the incredible level to which the slave had been trained, and of frustration that she could find no reason to prevent the return to Darios of his property. Still, she would take consolation from the fact that the combination of the hard training and the hard drugs had surely killed that spark of creativity that Darios, her former lover , so valued. She would return to him a perfectly serviceable slave, but with any trace of the ‘intelligent’, ‘witty’, but in her view pathetic jenny irretrievably lost…
* * * * *
As I was locked to the cart once more and began to trot, hopefully on the long journey back to the paddock, I felt the hood soaked with my tears pressing against my face. I had never in my life been beaten so mercilessly, and every movement was agony, with my tortured breasts bouncing on my chest, the dildo stretching my abused pussy wide, and the chastity belt rubbing between my aching buttocks. All I could do was silently sob as I ran blindly onwards, still under the whip of my cruel driver. I was sure now that it was Charys who had done this to me, but I still had no idea why she hated me so.
When I finally got back to the paddock, I was desperately grateful to be allowed to use the trough, ducking my head and drinking until I started to feel sick. I was surprised to be led back into my prison cell so early, I was sure that I would normally be out for several more hours of training, but of course I didn't question the decision, even in my own head, I was still very much in pony mode, with no rational thoughts allowed, or even possible. As I knelt on the stone floor and was stripped out of my pony outfit, I was totally surprised when, for the first time in weeks, I heard a human voice.
"Jesus, she really laid into these tits!" It was Mika’s voice, spoken in a whisper, but she sounded horrified. I heard no more, and I guessed that maybe Calista had signalled for her to keep quiet. I got another surprise when I felt a panel gag being strapped around my face. In all the time I had been here training, I had only ever worn the bit gag, and part of the training was that I should be silent without the need for a gag, so I was confused as to why they were gagging me now. The answer came pretty swiftly.
I felt fingers touching my breasts, right on the welts I had received earlier in the day and, despite all my training, I couldn't stop myself from crying out in agony. After a minute or so of this torture, I realised that they were rubbing some kind of cream into my wounds, presumably something to help them heal, but that realisation didn't make it any less painful and I continued to shout and scream into the gag, which was definitely proving very effective.
Once they had liberally coated my breasts, they moved on to my buttocks, but the pain was just as bad. I felt a hand slap the inside of my thighs, making me spread them wider and, moments later, I felt the gloved hand on my pussy. I let out another muffled scream and then, to my utter astonishment, I came in a huge orgasm! It was like all of the sexual frustration which had been building within me for weeks suddenly exploded at the simple touch. I couldn't stop myself thrusting my hips forward onto the fingers which rubbed gently at my swollen, bruised sex. My whole body had gone tense, and I was howling into the gag, my fingers alternately screwing up into fists and splaying out, while my toes curled, just somehow trying to cope with the sudden intense sensitivity. Every nerve seemed to tingle, every muscle went into spasm, and I struggled not to fall over, my arms compulsively pulling at the manacles and chains which kept them locked behind my back.
At last, the feeling subsided, and I became limp, my head hanging as I sobbed in exhaustion and pain. I felt the gag removed and knew that the brief relaxation of the rules was over, my silence once more obligatory. I managed to hold myself together long enough for them to leave me alone, before I slumped onto the cold floor, silent sobs once more racking my body. I didn't think I could take another day like that, it was just too much. I sank into sleep, too exhausted, too traumatised, to even think about my Master and Mistress…
I was trained further over the next couple of days, although the use of the whip and the crop was much reduced and, each night, the soothing, healing cream was applied, although I didn't have another orgasm. And then one morning, I was surprised to find that I was not being dressed in my ponygirl outfit, instead my arms were tied behind my back at the wrists and elbows. I felt the rings being taken from my nipples, and then the blindfold was removed from my eyes.
I kept my eyes shut, assuming that I would be hooded in the usual way, but instead I felt a rope tied around my neck and used as a leash to lead me away. As I stumbled along, I tentatively raised my eyelids just a fraction, and saw the floor of my cell for the first time. Even though the light was poor here, I struggled to cope with its perceived intensity for quite a while before I got used to it. I could now see the boots of the trainer leading me, Mika I think it was, but I didn't dare raise my head to look, I kept my eyes firmly focused on the floor in front of me, not wishing to attract any further punishment. As we moved out of the block and into the open air, I once again had to squint against the brightness of the daylight until my eyes adjusted.
I was led around to the front of the building, and we stopped next to a car. The trunk popped open and I was pushed towards it, clearly expected to get in. I struggled over the lip and fell onto the prickly synthetic carpeting of the interior, before being roughly manoeuvred onto my front. The rope around my neck was used to tie my ankles, pulling me into a hogtie position while half-strangling me at the same time. Moments later, I was shut away in darkness as the lid was slammed shut. I lay there for a few minutes, trying to reduce the pressure on my neck and throat, and then I heard the engine start and the car move away.
It was not a pleasant journey. Every bump in the road caused the rope between my ankles and my neck to jerk tight, yanking my head back and cutting off my air supply. Luckily the rope had not been tied in a noose, and the pressure eased, but only if I strained to bend my back and legs sufficiently. As the hours went by, the confined space in which I was imprisoned became hot and stuffy, making me sweat as well as gasp for breath. The car stopped on several occasions, and initially I thought the journey was over, but then I remembered the original trip, and a number of stops along the way.
But eventually we did reach our destination, and the trunk was opened, at last giving me a breath of fresh air, but once again straining my eyes, so unused to any light, let alone the strong sunlight which was flooding in. I felt my feet being untied, the rope around my neck now being used to prompt me to get out. As I struggled, I felt each of my nipples clamped between thumb and forefinger, sharp nails digging into my flesh, and being pulled out of the vehicle by them and onto my feet. I suddenly realised that, rather than the girls who had originally taken me and had been training me for so long, I was being delivered back by Charys. I was immediately filled with fear just by her simple presence, knowing how much she hated me and wondering if she had one last torment to impose on me. But she removed the ropes from my arms and my neck without a word, and strode off up the drive to the house, assuming I would follow which, of course, I did.
As I walked meekly behind her, I realised that we were here! I was finally home, and the prospect of being reunited with my Master and Mistress suddenly filled me with joy…
* * * * *
"She's back, Sir!"
Darios saw the look on Becky's face, a mixture of excitement and horror. A moment later, he realised why, as Charys entered the room with jenny behind her. His slave was filthy and terribly marked, even worse than when they had seen her at the training camp, while her head was covered with only a thin fuzz of light ginger hair, also filthy and plastered down by sweat. Her downturned face looked drawn and tired, although her body looked even more toned than before. Charys walked over towards him and, by applying gentle pressure to jenny's shoulder with the crop she was carrying, had her kneel in front of him in the correct presentation position. She hadn't looked up once, and he doubted whether she had even noticed that Ellie was in the room with him.
"I'd like to present and demonstrate your new slave, Darios," Charys smiled. As soon as she said this, she brought her arm around and there was a whistling sound as the crop cut through the air, before the loud crack as it slammed into jenny’s body, cutting a new stripe right across her breasts. He heard a gasp from Ellie at the pure violence of the stroke, but he kept his attention entirely on his slave.
He saw her chest rise and heard her breathing rate increase as she sucked in more air, but her head never moved, her arms stayed firmly behind her back, and there was no cry, virtually no sound at all.
"Very impressive, Charys," he said quietly, still keeping his eyes on jenny, checking for any late reaction, but seeing none.
The trainer, after smiling proudly at the compliment, went over to a cabinet by the wall and took out a glass tumbler, returning to the kneeling slave and handing it to her.
"Piss in it!" she ordered and, without a moment's hesitation, jenny held the glass between her thighs, producing, after only a slight delay, a stream of steaming, pungent urine which quickly filled the glass. She stopped before the glass overflowed, whether by luck or control Darios wasn't entirely sure, and held it up to Charys.
"Drink it!" Darios once more heard a reaction from Ellie, and glanced at her, seeing her look of horror and disgust.
Again without hesitation and, Darios speculated, without apparent thought, the slave brought the glass to her lips and began to drink. There was no look of revulsion on her face, it was blank. He was fascinated.
"Perhaps you'd like to test her capabilities for yourself?" Charys said, holding up the empty glass, clearly pleased with the demonstration and the reaction it had provoked. Darios looked at her, seeing her triumphalism, and thought for some time.
"Who do you like for the Superbowl, jenny?" Charys and Ellie both looked at him in confusion, while he continued to stare at his slave. There seemed to be a brief look of confusion on her face too, but it quickly passed and her face returned to its previous blank expression.
"It's a question, slave, answer me!" jenny looked confused again, as if struggling to come to terms with the idea of actually responding.
"I…" she croaked, then coughed and swallowed, as if unused to her own voice. Meanwhile, her trainer was looking at her with undisguised annoyance that she would actually speak at all.
"I… I-I d-don't know… M-Master…" she whispered, stumbling over every unfamiliar word. Charys looked relieved at her poor response, while Darios looked disappointed, letting his head drop a little. It seemed like he had…
"… but… I do know… one thing…" she stumbled on. Her Master looked up at her, ignoring the way Charys took a threatening step towards the slave. jenny didn't look up, continuing to stare at his feet.
"… I know that your team has… No… Fucking… Chance… Master."
There was a long moment of silence where nobody moved before, in a sudden rage, Charys pulled back her arm and aimed the crop at the impudent slave’s exposed crotch. But it never reached its intended target, Darios staying the blow with a vice-like grip.
"I think we'll let that slide," he said with a smile. The two former lovers stared into each other's face, until finally Charys turned away.
"Thank you for all your work, Charys," Darios went on, "the final payment will be in your account by the time you return, with a little something extra for your girls, who seem to have done an excellent job. Don't let me detain you any longer."
If looks could kill, he would have been on the floor clutching at his throat by then, as the furious woman glared at him, before turning on her heel and storming out. He looked at Ellie, who was smiling broadly, and then down at his slave, who had not moved a muscle during the altercation.
"Welcome back, jenny."
* * * * *
I fought hard, but failed to keep the smile off my face, or the tears from welling in my eyes, though I did manage to keep staring down at the floor.
"It's good to be back, Master, Mistress."
"Pet," I heard my Mistress, Mistress Ellie, say but I didn't raise my head or look around, I still wasn't sure how to react.
"Look at me, pet," she said firmly, brooking no disobedience. I looked around and up into her face, seeing the serious expression but also the smile in her eyes.
"You and me, bubble bath, now! Your Master can join us if he wishes."
Oh boy! This was shaping up to be a hell of a day!
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.