The beginning of a plan.
It all started with a trip to visit an elderly colleague with whom I had worked for a few years. He lived by himself at the far end of rural dirt road, which was little more than just a track through the woods. Turning into his gate, I noticed an old extended cab pickup parked beside the house with at least two persons inside. I ignored that fact as I exited my vehicle and heard definite cries of pain coming from the other side of the house.
Ours being a right to carry state, I had a .38 special in the side pocket of my pickup. Grabbing it, I ran to the corner of the house and looked around to see two young thugs hammering on my friend with clubs. It was obvious that this was not a case of robbery by intimidation, but that they were intending to kill. With the gun held inconspicuously at my side, I walked around the corner and yelled for them to stop. As I planned, the two scumbags immediately reacted to my sudden appearance by advancing on me with the obvious notion that dead witnesses tell no tales. I waited till they got within no-miss range and put a single bullet through each.
My friend was in bad shape, but was not losing any large amounts of blood, so I ran in the house to call 911. Unfortunately, we live so far out in the country that it would probably take at least 45 minutes for any responder to arrive. Then I remembered the other people in the pickup by the gate. I only had three rounds left in the revolver and no reloads, since I don't normally go visiting prepared for a firefight. But I figured that an active approach was better than being surprised by two more individuals suddenly appearing on the scene.
I peeked around the corner of the house and saw that the two people were still in the truck. Why they would still be just sitting there after two gunshots was beyond me. Sprinting toward the pickup, I came up from behind, straight armed the revolver at the open rear door window and yelled my best classic "Move and you are dead" line. What I got back was two feminine screams.
Inside were two young women, about 25-ish, not beautiful but pretty, well built country girls.
"Out of the truck," I ordered and backed up - they looked like a pair of ordinary girls, but after seeing the attitude of their male acquaintances, I was taking no chances.
"We didn't do anything Mister," the shorter chick pleaded. "We're just along for the ride." The other nodded vigorously. But neither of them moved.
The adrenalin was still pumping through my veins and I was in no mood for conversation. Unfortunately the little revolver had no hammer, so I couldn't dramatically pull it back and start counting to three. I started again. "Let me explain the situation," I said. "Both of those bastards that you rode with have almost beaten my friend to death and are now dead. In this state, that makes both of you accomplices to murder. I can plug both of you right now and all that is going to happen is that the sheriff will shake my hand for doing a good job. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE TRUCK, NOW!!"
That worked. They both slid out of the crew seat and stood up with their hands sort of halfway held up. A nice pair of country cunts wearing too-tight shorts and tees with unmistakable bra-less tits bouncing inside.
"Over here. Lay face down on the ground. Spread your arms and legs."
I checked the ignition for keys, but none were hanging there, so unless one of them knew of a spare, they weren't going to jump in and roar off. But I couldn't stand here till the law arrived - I needed to check on my friend.
"Don't move a muscle," I ordered and backed up to my own pickup, all the while watching the two girls. In the bed was a long chain that I could use to immobilize them, but I had no locks. Fortunately, there was a bag of zip ties behind the seat that I figured could do for temporary use.
Dragging the chain over to my two prisoners, I wrapped the center of the links around the nearest tree, then each end around the waist of each girl. Using two ties for double safety, I connected it together at the small of the back.
"Just lay there quietly till I get back. Move and get shot." Actually, while I had no qualms whatever about plugging their two companions, there was no way that I was going to shoot two girls who had just been sitting in a truck.
I ran back around the house to check on my friend. He was still conscious and obviously in lots of pain, but I didn't think that he was in any mortal danger yet. I searched his house for a pillow and blanket and tried to get him more comfortable.
"Hang on," I said. "I have the cops and ambulance on the way."
By now the adrenalin had run out and I started getting back to a semblance of normality. As I waited beside my friend, and looked over at the two stiffs, the first glimmer of a plan began to appear. In just a few moments, it sprang into completion.
"I'll be right back. Need to check something."
As I walked around the house, I noticed that neither of the girls had moved. That was a good sign - they were used to obeying orders. If my plan worked, they would get much better at it.
I squatted down beside them. "Here's the deal," I said. "Your two companions are dead. Shot by me." That got their eyes even wider, if that was possible. "They were trying to murder a friend of mine with clubs. I assume that it was for robbery but I don't know why and don't care."
"Really, Mister. We didn't..."
I grabbed the taller girl in a single hand grip by the hair. "Shut up!" For good measure, I pointed the revolver right between her eyes, making sure that my finger was outside of the trigger guard. That got a whimper, but also silence after that.
"Both of you are accomplices in a crime that has left one person severely injured and two people dead. You are looking at spending most of your lives in a little cell with roommates who will probably enjoy a couple of young cunts. Quite often," I added.
That got through as the reality of their situation began to dawn on them. I let that sink in for a moment. But not too long. I guessed that I probably had another 20 minutes before the authorities arrived, although if random chance had a deputy somewhere in the neighborhood it could be any minute. In that case, my plan was off and these two pretties would have to deal with the law in the normal way.
"I have a possible way for you to avoid being hauled in for murder. Interested?"
Both girls nodded so vigorously that their hair fell over their eyes.
"I will take you out in the woods, far enough not to be found. After all this mess has been cleared up, I'll come back for you later and take you to a place where you can hide. Nobody knows that you have been here except for me. Agreed?"
Both again nodded.
"If I come for you and you are not there, then I make up a story about thinking that I saw two others in the truck. Then by coincidence, I will find your two purses behind that tree, or somewhere, so that the authorities will have two names to put on an all points bulletin. Still with me?"
Again a double nod. I wondered why the sudden reluctance to speak, then noticed that I was still pointing the revolver within a couple of feet of their faces. I lowered it.
"That is what I will do for you. For my part, I will own the both of you till I get tired of having you around. ALL of you. Do I make my point clear? Decide now. We are short on time."
"Yes Mister," squeaked the short girl. The other just sort of nodded again with an affirmative 'Mmmm."
I looked down the long driveway. Nobody yet. I cut the ties on their chain, and said "Stand up. Follow me. Run." We started through the woods for a hundred yards or so, till we came to a shallow ravine.
"Ok. It may be several hours before I come back. I will have to wait till all the cops have gone. Just sit here and be very quiet. Remember your alternative. If you go to state prison, you will have LOTS of sex on a regular schedule and you won't be the ones on top."
As it turned out, I had time to spare. It took another 15 minutes before anyone arrived.
It was almost dark before everything was finished with the authorities. My friend had long been dispatched to the hospital, and I had answered questions for two hours, always telling the truth without embellishment - just omitting a couple of facts. Just like I had told the girls, the Sheriff shook my hand and congratulated me on being a citizen who didn't stand on the sidelines.
As they began to leave, I said that I would stay behind and make sure my friend's house was locked up and everything turned off.
In a few minutes, I drove back to the main road and parked. After a half hour, I assumed that nobody was going to come back for something they forgot, so I drove back to the house.
I had worried that once I was out of sight and they began to discuss their situation, the girls might decide on their own plan. But, they were still there.
Ok girls," I said. "So far so good. Follow me and keep quiet."
My house was custom built to my previous wife and my specification, mainly based on our experiences with our last home. That is to say, a lonely rural house on a state highway is a magnet for burglars. In fact, they seemed to come through on a scheduled basis. And since both of us worked all day, there was nothing to stop them. Nothing worked - alarms, fences, dogs, nothing.
So we moved. This time to another rural address, but on a dead end road amongst farms with farmers and farmhands around all day. Armed farmers who had no qualms against putting a 30-30 round through some freelance socialist trying to spread the wealth on his own.
The house started with a full basement. Almost 2000 square feet on its own, it was totally in-ground, 10 foot ceiling, no windows, nothing to indicate that it existed. The house went on top of that and the only access to the basement was through a hidden stairway inside of a hidden room. Anything valuable was downstairs.
As it turned out, all of the precautions were unnecessary. Between the dead end road, lined with workers all day, and neighbors totally willing to call the sheriff on unknown road cruisers, we never had an incident from the start.
So the basement just sat there as a convenient storage space.
By the time we pulled up to my home, it was totally dark. I had determined that the girls were living in the big city a hundred miles away. They had no idea where they were - not that it would make a bit of difference once I got them underground. Once inside, I had them sit down on the floor facing the concrete basement wall.
My ex-wife wasn't into bondage at all, but I had a few items that would do for starters. Not many, but I would repair that situation in the days ahead.
One thing I did have was lots of locks and chain. I scrounged up two chains about 15 feet long and locked one end of each around a support pillar. Moving up behind the girls, one at a time, I wrapped the end loosely around her neck and secured it with a padlock. It was an improvised collar, but totally escape proof. I would improve the collars later.
When the lock clicked shut on the second girl, I knew that my plan had come to fruition. I now had two slave girls in a totally secret, inescapable, fireproof dungeon-to-be. As far as anybody who knew them would know, they would have just disappeared from sight. I had no doubt that they assumed that I would extract sexual pleasure from them for a few days before sending them on their way. They were in for a major adjustment of that assumption. Now I could give it to them straight.
"Stand up and face me," I said. They were feeling the heavy chain around their necks and the first bit of anxiety began to appear.
"Here is the straight dope. You are now a pair of slave girls. Not pretend slaves - real ones. Nobody knows you are here. Nobody even knows about this place except for my ex-wife and she is a thousand miles away. You are going to be trained as real slave girls." Comprehension began to dawn in two faces.
"What it means, in part, is this. You will become obsessively concerned over my slightest whim. If I want something, you will use your whole being to get it or do it. When I give an order, you will obey it instantly and totally. You will eat when and what I say to eat. You will piss when I say piss and shit when I say shit. Very shortly, I will give you a very mild example of what will happen the first time that you fail to follow my orders in the slightest. I doubt that you will risk it again."
I didn't wait for the inevitable protest and before they could get started I pointed, "There's a bucket for you to piss and shit in for the moment. I'll be back after a while. When I come back, make sure that you are totally naked." With that, I walked to the stairs and left them to ponder their fate.
Upstairs, as I made some sandwiches for dinner, I began to categorize my plans for my new harem. I was an independent consultant - fortunately without any pressing contracts at the time. Plenty of time to devote to my new playthings. I was a handyman with a full workshop, so building all the necessary toys would be easy. My house was in the middle of 65 wooded acres, and, since the dungeon was underground and topped by a concrete floor/ceiling, nothing could be heard by anyone no matter how rough the play got.
My first project would be a couple of beds. That would be easy. Tomorrow I would purchase an entire bucket of a lighter chain more suited to girl slaves. A trip to the big city and the sex shops would get some items that I couldn't make properly, like good manacles, a few decent whips, masks, plugs, gags - I almost creamed just making the list, then realized that I had probably had an unnoticed hardon from the time I came up with the plan. But I would handle that myself right now. I didn't plan to fuck the girls except on a tightly choreographed plan.
Taking a plate with two sandwiches, I went to the door leading downstairs and quietly cracked it and listened. It appeared that the two girls were very unhappy about something. Words like "that cock sucking son of a bitch" and "fucking bastard" were freely used and, quite frankly, among some of the less descriptive adjectives that I heard. Plus, lots of rattling as the chains were yanked and pulled.
But, being standard logging chain, the chances of two girls breaking it were considerably less than zero.
After hearing the same descriptions repeated for at least the third time, I opened the door and descended the stairs.
Both still had their clothes on. The taller girl (that I had decided to name Thistle, from a name in an old bondage fiction novel) immediately started in... "You son of a bitch! You can't do this! Take these off right now!" I smiled, but it didn't seem to help. The other one tried (she would be called Thimble)... "Please Mister. We'll fuck you anyway you want, but please let us go."
I almost came again. For years, I had dreamed of the eroticism of having slave girls at my disposal, but the reality was incomparably greater than mere daydreaming.
In a very pleasant tone of voice, I said, "I notice that neither of you has obeyed me and removed your clothes." Unfortunately, my friendly statement didn't seem to calm them down.
Thistle almost shouted, "Nothing is coming off and you are not getting fucked until you take these chains off!" I was going to enjoy taming her.
"Are you hungry? Have a sandwich."
She grabbed the plate and slung it against the wall. "Are you deaf, you son-of-a-bitch?! TAKE THESE CHAINS OFF!"
I looked at the shattered plate. That would be worth at least 5 strokes fairly soon. But...
"Well, the day has been long and fairly exciting. I will see both of you in the morning. Sleep tight."
Not likely, with nothing but a hard bare concrete floor to sleep on. And another item or two that had not occurred to either of them. I climbed the stairs and shut the door, but what followed me up was not exactly wishes for a good night's sleep.
The next morning, I got up early, ate breakfast, and headed for the big city. I hoped that the girls had had a good night's rest, but had my doubts on that subject. But I didn't bother to check. A few hours later I was back home with a truck full of bondage items. I had even found a few items that I hadn't known existed, but was really anxious to give a try.
This time when I opened the door to the basement, I was greeted with silence. Both were sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall. Their waste bucket was smelling pretty badly. I noticed that the two sandwiches had been retrieved and apparently eaten. When they saw me, they stood up. Thimble asked, "Can we have some water?"
"It depends," I replied. Can I have your clothes?"
"Not until you remove these chains." Thistle answered.
"Ok," I said and turned back for the stairs. I ignored their cries of "Wait, please" and shut the basement door.
In my workshop, I began to build a couple of slave beds. They would be just a steel frame around a plywood platform with a thin mattress on top. Plus lots of rings and places to attach slave girl appendages.
I also began to think of a design of a series of racks and devices for the spreading of girl parts. By the time I made good progress, the sun was almost down. I decide to see if the tempers in the basement had moderated.
Sure enough - things had definitely taken a turn for the better. Both girls were standing there stark naked with their clothes in a pile. The sight of those two beautiful bodies reminded me that the semen pressures were reaching critical mass again.
Both had full breasts, still very high and with big nipples. They were totally shaved, so that saved me the effort of that for now. They were very slightly overweight, but the effect was to make them lush rather than chubby. Both had suntan bikini stripes but I suspected that their fun in the sun was over for the foreseeable future. I was happy to see that neither had tattoos anywhere, or weird piercings. As soon as they saw me, the old female instinct kicked in and caused them to try to hide behind their hands. A futile gesture - it would have taken far more than two hands to hide those tits - especially when they tried to hide their cracks, also.
In unison, both begged, "Water, please!"
I changed to a command voice. "Kneel on the floor. You can use your clothes under your knees if you want." They obeyed in a hurry. Thirst is a powerful weapon. "Put your hands behind you." Using two pair of the steel manacles that I had bought that morning, they were soon experiencing the first of their beginning slave girl restraints. Then I brought a glass of water from the bathroom. "Drink," I said to Thimble. She gulped it, almost choking in the process. Then another for Thistle. Next, I fed each of them from a plate of bread rolls and lunch meat. They gulped that down also.
Once the meal was done, I pulled a small whip out of my belt. It was just a small stinger - I had also bought some major whips for later use. Standing behind them, I said, "Ok, your time for giving orders and opinions is over. From now on, we do it my way." I laid the little whip lightly over Thistle's shoulder, then Thimble's, and said, "You see this? Believe me, this is the mildest lash I have. Upstairs, I have one type that used to be used on convicts in chain gangs. It can turn a hardened criminal into a whimpering pussy in a half dozen strokes!" I didn't actually, besides I wouldn't use a bull whip on a prize slave girl anyway.
I whacked the stinger across Thistle's butt, just below her manacled hands. Then immediately across Thimble's. Nowhere near hard enough to break the skin, but both girls screamed and would have fallen forward onto the concrete except that I was watching and pulled them back by their hair. Thimble tried to get to her feet. I pulled her back down.
"Thank me for that!" Neither girl spoke. I laid another stroke across of each bottom. Another pair of screams, but also results.
"Thank you, sir!" "Thank you thank you!"
"Thank the Master," I corrected.
Then a double "Thank you, Master". Along with a considerable number of tears.
"Stay in the kneeling position," I commanded. Then, after an episode upstairs to relieve the pressure on my nuts, for the next few hours I began to haul out the stored junk that had been in the basement for years, and also brought down all the stuff that I had bought that morning. Finally, I spread a thin blanket on the floor within reach of their chains. Also a plate of bread and a large bowl of water.
"There is your bed for the night. When you please me, you might get a better one."
Thistle looked up. "Will you remove these handcuf... IEEEEE!" I laid the stinger across one boob.
"Master, may a girl ask a question?" I instructed.
Thistle choked and bit her lip, then quietly replied, "Master, may a girl ask a question?"
"What is it?"
"Will you remove these handcuffs?" She flinched when I swished the whip toward her, but without connecting.
"As far as slave girls are concerned, there are no such words as 'you' and 'I'. The correct form is 'Will the Master remove these handcuffs?"
Choking back what was probably fury, and with her head down, she said, "Will the Master remove these handcuffs?"
"No," I replied. "Get used to them." With that, I went back up stairs and closed the door.
The next day was spent in tidying up the now emptied basement while the girls knelt on their blanket. More water and food resulted in the correct replies, but I was under no illusion that either girl was even close to breaking yet. I needed to get the dungeon set up so that I could enjoy some actual sex with my new possessions. Pretty quick, because my dick was becoming raw from all of my jacking off. In this situation, any orgasm only gave relief for a short while. As soon as I saw my pretty kneeling cunts, the pressure would begin to rise again.
By the end of the week, packages started arriving from mail order shops that I had found in magazines at the sex shop. The package that I was especially waiting for contained two professionally made collars. They were chromed steel, with an unpickable lock. The two ends had protrusions with a hole in each for an external lock to a chain. As an added safety feature to the collar lock, as long as a padlock was installed through the holes, the collar could not be removed even if the built in lock was tampered with.
I cut two more chains, of a much lighter weight, but still capable of holding tons, to a length of about 40 feet. That would eventually allow the girls to reach the bathroom and shower, but by doubling the chain back and locking it, I could also restrict the reach of their movements.
Their beds were in place in the far end of the basement, but their chain was shortened enough that they could not reach them yet. Nor the bathroom. They were still using the bucket. But not if I was watching. That would change soon.
For days, they watched and wondered as all kinds of weird furniture was brought down the stairs and assembled.
It was the DAY. The dungeon was outfitted, cleaned out, and ready for action. The problem was that I had multiple options for enjoyment. So I let the girls decide.
"Master, a girl would like toilet paper." They had been using the bucket for two weeks with no shower, so their asses were getting pretty ripe. The only thing that I had allowed them was a toothbrush. They had also been sleeping on the blanket with their hands manacled behind them every night. Of course, I didn't leave them manacled that way all day. During the day I moved the manacles and wrists to the front and attached them to the collar by a short chain. They had gone two weeks without being able to reach below the waist. By asking for toilet paper, she was also asking for her hands to be freed.
"I am glad a slave girl is concerned about her hygiene. We need to take steps to improve that." I blindfolded Thimble and chained her standing in a corner.
I led Thistle over to an access rack that I had built. Sort of a queen sized poster bed platform with a covering pad and lots of attachment points. "Kneel and then lean forward and put your head on the pad." I brought out a doggie style spreader bar and locked her ankles in it with her legs spread wide. Then I removed her manacles, and brought her arms under her and locked them together in the center. Two chains at the ends of the bar attached to the platform made sure that she could not move her position, although I could pull her up to a temporary vertical position with her hair.
With Thistle spread wide open with asshole and pussy in the air, she became very fragrant. It was definitely time for a shower, but first a little fun. The next item I brought out was a double balloon enema nozzle. This was one of the items that I had never heard of, but thought might be fascinating. I was about to find out. It had a long tube for the water, and close to the tip an inflatable bladder to expand and seal inside the rectum. About a half inch from it was another bladder which, on expanding would not only keep the entire assembly from moving further into the ass, but would further seal the hole by causing outward pressure on the internal bladder. Two separate squeeze bulbs inflated the bladders. The only problem was that with all this mechanism sticking out of the asshole, fucking her doggy style would be difficult. Oh well, into everybody's life, a little difficulty is expected.
Putting a liberal amount of ass lube on the nozzle, I slowly pushed the first bladder into her. After it passed the sphincter, it was automatically sucked in. It also elicited a cry of (surprise, embarrassment, pain, pleasure?) from Thistle. I had a ball gag standing by in case of excessive noise.
I squeezed the first bulb a few times and elicited another squeal of "Ahhhh!" from Thistle, from which I assumed that it had expanded enough to fill the passage. After blowing up the outside bladder, I tried using moderate pressure to remove the nozzle. It would not come out. Great.
I had a large bag of warm water ready to go, suspended it overhead and connected the hose to the enema nozzle. Then I turned the valve on. In a few seconds, Thistle began to feel the water entering. To pass the time I knelt beside her, reached under and began to play with her tits. This was the first time that I had touched either girl in a sexual context. They were magnificent, with large nipples just made for pinching and pulling. I stood up and removed my shorts and shirt, all that I was wearing. From now on, no one would wear clothes in the dungeon. Of course, I was standing at total attention, but planned to handle that problem fairly quickly.
Shortly, Thistle began to feel full. I looked at the bag and knew that she could hold a lot more so I let it run. Her "Ohs" became longer and longer "Ohhhhhh"s till she finally let out a "Stop it please! I've got to shit! Please!" That was my signal to insert the ball gag. She wouldn't unclamp her teeth to let it in, but a quick pinch of a nipple got results and the gag inserted. That reduced the noise level to just moans.
I knew that a total clean out would take more than a single session. After about a quart of liquid disappeared, and the doubled over girl was writhing in pain, I set a large pan behind her, pulled her upright, then deflated the internal bladder. She blew it out and filled half of the pan with her insides. Now I could get on with really filling her. Back down she went, the bladder went back in and another bag of water was hung.
So while Thistle was being cleaned internally, I decided to visit her cohort, still standing blindfolded in the corner wondering what all the commotion was. When I reached up to weigh her tits, she pulled back, but as soon as she contacted the cold concrete wall, she jumped forward to the limit of her neck chains. Again, nice tits and wonderful nipples. I pulled and weighed and bobbled for a while, till the moaning from across the room became too loud to ignore.
I noticed that the spinning ball in the bag tube had stopped, which meant that Thistle was holding all she could. She had taken almost a full gallon - not bad for a first time. I unhooked the bag and the tube from the nozzle and fortunately the non-return valve in the nozzle was functioning. I hoped that the bladders worked and actually held the nozzle in because if she blew it out, things would get messy in a hurry.
I unhooked the two chains securing the spreader bar, then rolled her over onto her back and scooted her close to the foot of the rack. As she moved, all that water sloshing around inside of her was obviously sending a serious message to her brain that she needed to shit RIGHT NOW. She was begging nonstop, but nothing came out that was intelligible.
I was having fun. I said, "If you need to go to the bathroom, just tell me. Don't just mumble." But now her twat was upright and accessible. After two weeks of the most unbelievable stimulation, I knew that I would not last long once I got in, but every adventure begins with a single step.
I discovered immediately that the spreader bar would make penetration fairly difficult. It needed to be removed. I clamped a manacle around one arm, then released her wrists. She wanted desperately to reach the nozzle in her asshole, but I pulled her forward off the mat a little and wrestled her arms behind her back and into the other manacle. Then I released her ankles, and, using two ankle bracelets, hooked each to the corresponding corner pole of the rack, high in the air. If she thought she was open before, that was nothing compared to how she was spread now. I assume that laying back on the steel manacles was uncomfortable, but at this point I was concerned with emptying my balls and nothing else.
I stuck the head of my dick in her opening and slowly pushed in. Entering pussy in any situation is usually a wonderful feeling, but in this context, with an unwilling slave girl spread out in front of me, another in the corner waiting for her unwilling turn, and two weeks of imagining what would happen, the sensations were beyond belief. As I pumped away, Thistle responded with muffled screams as the movements sloshed the water around her pooched out insides. All that did was make my sensations even greater. Shortly (it might have been 20 seconds or 2 minutes for all I know), I blew out the greatest orgasm that I have ever had to that date. The cum wouldn't stop. I just kept pounding till my knees started giving out.
After a few minutes of sitting on the floor, I recovered to unlock the doubled back chain so that she could reach the bathroom. Then I released her feet and stood her up. Or tried to, as she was doubled over with cramps.
I walked her to the bathroom and turned her around in front of the commode. I asked, "If I let you shit right now, will you be a nice slave girl?" She nodded so hard that she doubled over again. "Will you suck my cock?" Another nod. "Lick my ass? Drink my piss?" Apparently she was agreeable to anything.
I said, "Sit down," and reached down and opened the valve on the internal bladder to let the air out. The nozzle blew out of her asshole with a force that would have been noticeable on the Richter scale, and she proceeded to empty her guts for ten or fifteen minutes. I attached a link of the chain to the wall and left her.
Next was her partner's turn. While Thistle was emptying herself, I went through the same procedure and got Thimble to filling. After she got to the needing-to-be-gagged point, I visited Thistle in the bathroom. She was feeling almost normal again, and a lot lighter. "Into the shower" I ordered. Since she was still manacled and gagged, I had to do all the work, but I made sure that every hole and every part that stuck out was squeaky clean. Some it it required close inspection on my knees, followed by internal probing, but I like to make sure that a job is done right.
An hour later, both slaves were clean and chained to their new beds with a potty beside them and I went upstairs too tired to pull the sheets back. I just flopped and slept.
The Next Day
The next day, the outside world intruded. A valued customer required my services and I had to respond. I was very well off, but not so wealthy as to throw away a career that allowed me to build and live in a well equipped house on extensive acreage. Fortunately, the work only lasted a long day. The hardest part was focusing on the job and not on the dungeon.
I knew that, while both girls were obedient, and available, and even afraid to throw a tantrum now, neither were true slaves. It was time to start converting them. I started building a whipping post, which was really just two vertical steel pipes, about five feet apart and bolted to the floor and overhead beams. With lots of O rings welded up and down each for attachment purposes.
That evening, I blindfolded both girls, led them to the post, and chained them spread eagled vertically. They were totally stretched, with their heels almost leaving the floor, and facing one another, titty to titty. The position was uncomfortable, but their weight was still on their feet, so they could hang there for hours without damage. They were beautiful, now fully spread, squeaky clean and freshly depilated. Just to make sure I poked around in various holes. I didn't want to whip a dirty girl.
I had bought a large punishment whip, very wide but very stiff. I had been assured that under no circumstance would it cut skin, no matter how hard it was wielded. I believed them, but decided to work up from moderate strokes.
"You will both recall that, on the first day you were here, I promised you a lesson on what would happen if either of you disobeyed me in any way?
"Yes Master. Please Master. The girl will obey. No lesson is needed" They probably had an idea of what was coming.
"Well, a small lesson now may save you a much more painful one later. However, a girl may remember a plate throwing incident that first night?"
"Yes Master. A girl is very sorry. Very very sorry."
"Excellent. I am glad you learned your lesson. But I would feel better if a girl would request 5 strokes of the whip to help her remember the lesson.
"Please Master," she whimpered.
"Or maybe 10 strokes for not really feeling sorry."
"A girl requests five strokes to help her memory," Thistle barely choked out.
I quietly walked away and went upstairs, leaving them on tenterhooks as to what was to happen. They naturally assumed that my little stinger would be used. I spent the time planning their future. I was interested in whether or not their bodies could be trained independent of their minds. But that was for later.
I walked back downstairs, took the large flat whip off its wall hanger, and silently approached the girls. They were just hanging there without talk, blindfolded, occasionally flexing a muscle to relieve the strains. I knew that the quiet was just about to end.
With a careful aim, and making sure to keep the whip flat to her skin, I laid a stroke across the middle of Thistle's back. I didn't use my whole strength, by far, but still, it was a hard lash, meant to hurt. Thistle's reaction was almost in slow motion. It took a short moment for her nervous system to register what had happened. Then another for the actual pain to be realized. But finally her body responded by throwing her head back a letting out a scream at the top of her lungs. Stepping to the other side of the posts, I gave Thimble the same stroke. The reaction was exactly the same.
I stepped up to examine Thimble's skin. There was a gratifyingly inch wide red welt, but no damage to the skin so I confirmed that the whip would not cause permanent damage to my two properties.
By now the screams had begun to decrease a little, so I stepped back and gave both another stroke. That turned the volume back up. I waited for another thirty seconds and gave them a third set. Their protests began to change from unintelligible noise, to almost incoherent babble.
"STOP! PLEASE PLEASE MASTER. I WILL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT."
"I'LL FUCK YOU MASTER. PLEASE. LET ME FUCK YOU."
...and a whole lot more of the same. I decided not to punish the prohibited vocabulary of I and me, since I doubt that they even realized what they were saying. After a long (for them) five minutes, each had had 10 strokes. I lowered the whip and stepped up to examine the results. Both had flaming red backs and butts, but I was glad to see that there was no sign of skin damage. This whip would be a valuable tool in the future - I probably would only have to take it off the wall to change either girl into a whimpering pussy.
While I was examining the whip results, my other hand, almost of its own accord, was examining other places on the two spread bodies. By the time it had finished pinching and bobbling titties, and poking in out out of various holes, the noise from the girls had diminished considerably. Stepping up to Thistle, I said quietly in her ear, "You now have your 5 extra strokes coming. In the future try not to break any more plates." The screams and pleas started up again at full volume as I stepped back and put the leather to her again. When I finished, I hung the whip on the wall, stepped over to my supplies cabinet and scooped out a finger full of ass cream.
By now I was rock hard again. Actually, it was not much harder than normal for these days as I seemed to continually walk around with a permanent hardon. I stepped behind Thimble and applied the cream to her cute little ass star, then slowly began to push my dick up her tight little channel.
That brought some more protests, but nothing compared to what the whip had caused.
Fucking her in this position had the advantage that both of my hands could explore up and down her front side. If the hands tired of squeezing and pulling tits, they could descend to where the wide open legs joined, spread the lips and play around inside for a while. Even Thistle couldn't pull her tits and pussy out of range if I wanted to jump the gap to the other side.
A short time later, Thimble's ass was full of my cum and I went back upstairs to rest. I let the girls hang till I came back later. They needed to reflect on their punishment, and besides, who cares about the comfort of a slave girl?
After the whip episode, all overt resistance ceased. When I needed to exercise my bone, I could just point to a girl and then to a position and she would immediately assume it. We tested all the different restraints that I had bought and built. There was a lot of changing and rebuilding as I discovered what worked and what didn't. On the few times that very minor resistance surfaced, all I had to do was look at the punishment whip on the wall and the slave girl would immediately drop to the floor with her head down and babble pleadings for mercy.
During the days, at no time were they free from some sort of restraint. Of course, the permanent escape prevention chain to their neck collar was never removed. In fact, it couldn't be now. I had replaced the lock that attached it to the collar with a split link that was welded shut. I did the same with the ends of the chain that were attached to the center support pillar. Now, there was no chance of lock picking or lock failure. A hacksaw was the minimum tool that would release either girl, and the closest one of those was in the back yard workshop.
At night, both girls were confined to their racks. I had experimented with several methods to immobilize them before I came up with my final arrangement. Just chaining them spread eagle on their backs for the night was impractical, since few women can go the entire night without having to pee. Making them piss on themselves, then lay in it might be erotic for a couple of nights, but it would soon get old and require lots of laundering. Shitting wasn't a problem, since I enjoyed cleaning them out every two or three days.
I needed a way to keep them spread for the night, but be able to pee. I thought of a catheter for each, but decided against it since I was afraid of physical damage to their internal plumbing, and I had read that infection could result from continual use. Deflectors that allowed the piss to flow through a hole in the bed didn't work, and there is really no way to attach a hose to a pussy without leaks unless the girl is standing up. (What the heck do female astronauts do in space?) A vacuum system would be very complicated and prone to failure.
I finally hit on the system, after an exercise in which I was stretching Thimble on a rack with bungee cords.
By now, both girls had permanently attached wrist and ankle bracelets. These were fairly heavy duty steel rings with a pad eye for locks or hooks. At bedtime, a girl would lay on her back in the spread eagle position. I would attach a bungee cord to each limb, and then to the corners or sides of her rack in such a way that there was no tension as long as the girl remained fully spread. Another one was attached to the back of her collar and to the head of her bed. When the girl woke up with excessive hydraulic pressure on her bladder, there was enough stretch in the five cords to allow her to reach over the side, pick up a shallow piss bowl, set it in the middle of the bed and squat over it. The bowl was filled with cotton scraps to suck up the piss to prevent slopping or spillage of pee.
The strength of the bungee cords was selected to allow the girl to overcome the tension for a minute or so, but during that time she had to piss and set the bowl back on side table before her quivering muscles gave up the struggle and the cords pulled her back into the spread eagle position.
At first, there was some careless spillage of pee on to the floor as the girl didn't quite manage to replace the bowl before her muscles gave out, but my warning that if it happened again the girl would drink the next nights piss solved that problem.
Let me explain some differences in the ways of being spread eagled. To be spread in the shape of an X on a rack for sexual use, is one thing. The discomfort is part of the act and usually doesn't last for long. However, for a girl to have her arms pulled back over her head as the upper part of the X when she is flat on her back is an unnatural position for her shoulder bones and becomes excruciating painful as the hours go by. It was possibly even damaging. On the girl's bed, for night time sleep, her arms were pinioned more to the side than to the upper corners - a position that was more natural and one that she could become accustomed to. The arm cords kept her in the middle of the bed and the collar and ankle bungees prevented her from moving toward either end.
Now that the physical aspects of their slavery had developed to a satisfactory level I needed to start work on their minds. They were totally obedient outwardly, but inside I knew that they were still unbroken. I began to experiment with solutions to that problem.
The first step was to institute a rule that required them to only pee in my presence, unless I was gone for the day. That was a problem at first, since many women get totally hydraulically locked if they think they are being watched.
I built a female urinal. It was a banana shaped plastic bowl attached to a vertical pipe and just long enough for the girl to stand over it with her legs straight and spread. For the first few days, the slave would position her cunt over it with me watching but would be unable to immediately pee. She would grunt and strain, but nothing would come out. If I moved away or looked aside for a minute or so she could eventually get the stream flowing. Then I could come back and watch and she could usually keep it squirting, although on occasion, the embarrassment reflex would kick in and the valve would instantly close. But, inside a week, their mental processes had altered enough to be able to piss normally whether I was watching or not.
"Master, a girl requests permission to pee." I would nod or point or follow them to the banana bowl, as we called it.
From the time a little girl learns to squat on her own, she has been taught that peeing is always followed by wiping, since shaking is out of the question. When I announced that, henceforth, a piss session would be followed by a cleaning session using the other girl's tongue, the protests were immediate and involuntary. Enough so as to earn both another session with ten strokes of the punishment whip and to be left to hang in the chains for the rest of the day. After that, the bathroom sessions went according to my orders, except that I allowed them to refrain from oral cleaning during the other girl's period.
There is something massively erotic about watching a girl piss, then being cleaned up by her partner's tongue. So much so, that it was often followed by one or the other in stocks being pumped by myself, hard.
Shitting in my presence was not a problem. When the enema nozzle was pulled out, they would have gladly let go if their entire senior high school class had been watching.
Neither girl had shown any lesbian tendencies, and they probably had none at first. The pussy licking cleanup episode clearly showed that. However, I was sure that this deficiency could be corrected over time with the proper application of training. I started by making them use the enema tool on each other every few days. I watched to make sure that it was done properly and fully.
I had picked up another couple of enema nozzles, but these only had one bladder. They could be inflated, the girl filled, then the air hose and water hose removed, leaving only the two small connections sticking out of her asshole through the rubber base that prevented it from moving further inside. To remove it, a small plastic rod was stuck up inside of the air hose socket to open the valve and let the bladder collapse. It was messy and was usually removed in the shower closet. The person doing the removal was directly in the line of fire, but that wasn't a problem for me since the other slave girl got the chore.
For minor punishment, I would put a girl on the horse. This was a waist high narrow table that a girl would lie face down on. Her legs would stay on the floor, spread wide and chained, and her body bent at the waist and parallel to the floor. Her head would be in a head stock at the end and her hands were usually manacled behind her and drawn up behind her back with a chain to the neck collar.
There was an opening for her tits to hang through to allow for abuse of those if needed. A strap at the small of the waist kept her from shifting or lifting. A gag was optional.
This device was excellent for giving enemas. Her asshole was on top and in the air. The attendant could sit or stand behind her ass and administer whatever was needed. It was also great for fucking from behind, if I felt the need. And I felt the need very often.
Usually, in this position, one of the single bladder enema nozzles would be inserted and inflated. The girl would be filled up, not to the point of actual pain, but enough that her system insisted that it was time to shit. Then she would be turned loose, and would have to spend part of the day with way too much liquid sloshing around in her. It wouldn't be long before she would ask to do anything to have it removed. Depending on her punishment, the bladder might be in just an hour or it could be in a good part of the day. I soon discovered that after about two hours, the slave would gladly lick the other girl's pussy or asshole to get the device removed. If the girl was being punished severely, by leaving it in for longer than three or four hours, the slave would offer to drink the piss or eat the shit of her partner if only the bladder would be taken out.
To really lay on the torture, I could tie her face up and fuck her in the normal way. This usually required that she be tightly gagged, since my weight and movement on her full intestinal tract caused massive distress, usually resulting in ear piercing screams and pleadings. I was very careful with this act, as I didn't want any ruptured intestines resulting.
Punishment overcame the slave's reluctance to preform lesbian acts, but they did it only under duress. I knew that I would have won on this score when I caught them someday secretly performing on each other.
The slaves were required to keep their legs spread at all times, unless they were actually walking. There were a few keywords that I trained them to instantly respond to. Any hesitation would get the stinger applied to random parts, so it was only a short time before their reaction was automatic.
Squat! Drop to a squatting position with knees apart, hands behind the back unless they were fettered in some other way. Head down and the body leaning somewhat forward so the tits depend beautifully.
Show it! Stand straight up with legs as widely spread as possible, then reach down and pull the pussy lips apart so I can see inside.
Spread it! Stand straight with legs apart facing away from me. Bend over and spread your ass cheeks to give me a good look. Eventually, this included her inserting one finger from each hand into her asshole and spreading it for an inside look.
Bobble 'em! Bend over in front of me and wobble your titties back and forth.
All those were just mind games to get the girls used to thinking that they had literally nothing that I could not demand to see, touch, penetrate or abuse.
I slowly moved into making them perform with each other, starting with kissing and then deep frenching. Since they were very careful not to incite the whip by expressing displeasure, I wasn't sure if they were disgusted, resigned or enjoying it. After that was finger fucking each other, both ass and pussy. Then deep pussy licking and finally, ass licking with deep tongue penetration.
Again, while it certainly turned me on, I was not sure what they actually thought of it themselves.
Thimble was by far the milder of the two girls. She seldom had to hold down her temper, but once during a meal she picked up a bowl of food and threw it at Thistle. I didn't know what started the fight, and didn't really care, but this required punishment. It had been several days since the girls had been cleaned out, so I had Thistle tie her to the horse and fill her up. I then told Thimble that I was going to remove the bladder but that she was to hold the water in. If she let it out, she was not only going to the whipping post by herself, but I would make her slurp the mess off the floor with her mouth.
As it came out, there was some leakage, but she managed to clamp down on her sphincter and keep it in. I then had her climb into a plastic sleepsack, and drew the opening closed around her neck. About that time I heard her bottom explode as the mixture of water and shit finally blew out of her asshole. But it stayed in the sleepsack along with her. This plastic bag was tough and totally inescapable from within without a cutting tool. The slaves hands and feet and body were free to move about - she just couldn't reach outside of the sack.
She was kept in the sack all day, with Thistle feeding her lunch and supper by hand and enjoying the process very much. I made sure that she received lots of caffeinated drinks during the day so as to stimulate her bladder. As she lay around the floor all day, rolling in her own piss and shit, I am sure that she thought that was the limit of her punishment - the requirement for a long shower when she got out. Little did she know.
At bed time, I let Thistle watch as I untied the neck of the sleepsack. Thimble naturally assumed that she was being released. She had a look of horror when I pushed her head into the sack and then pulled on the drawstrings to close the opening, leaving only a very small air hole. Needing relief, I chained Thistle over the horse and unloaded into her. During this process, we heard distinct heaving sounds from the sack as Thimble gave up her lunch and dinner.
The next morning, I had Thistle help me carry the sack into the shower stall and out came a very chastened and thoroughly stinking slave girl. I gave orders for her to get cleaned up and for the sack to be scrubbed out. It was a very meek slave girl who tiptoed around that day.
I had been pondering on the problem of titties and gravity for a while, and doing research on the problem. The girls' breasts were large and full, and unsupported they were going to begin to sag fairly quickly. The only obvious answer that I came up with for a while was, naturally, the bra. I was trying to decide which type would be the least offensive when I chanced onto a search item that led me to an oriental sling. This is a type of breast support that is composed of only a circle of soft cloth, and made to sling under one breast, wrap up and around the neck then back down to lift the other. Sort of like a giant rubber band. It only works on breasts large enough to rest in a sling. In a normal daily context of wearing street clothes, it would be totally impractical - since it has no back band, it would slip off or under or some other condition that would require a woman to constantly fiddle with it in public. Not practical for the everyday woman.
But for a slave girl, with nothing do do all day but look pleasing while wearing nothing else, minor adjustments are no problem at all. I stopped by the fabric store and picked up several samples of soft cloth. Once the girls realized what I was trying to do, they got into the project and took it over. Soon, their wonderful titties were being lifted and cradled in a homemade bra that neither hid anything nor restricted movement. In fact, these simple creations created a wonderfully erotic effect in allowing either titty to move independently of the other. And unlike a normal strap-on bra, these could be removed with one pull or put back on in seconds. Naturally, the girls wanted different colors than what I picked, and begged me to buy more cloth. After certain acts were satisfactorily performed, I bought them their colors.
Another problem was with long term gag use. The first use of any ball or ring gag will cause severe cramping in a short while - cramping bad enough to produce loud and non-erotic screams of pain. This will gradually go away with constant and graduated use and it took the girls several months to finally be able to retain a gag all day. For safety, anytime they were gagged while I was away I always used either a ring gag or a perforated ball so as to allow breathing in the case of a suddenly stuffed up nose. For an all day gag, I had to make sure that they were fully hydrated at the start, since they would lose massive amounts of liquid through drooling.
For casual containment, I constructed an inverted V spreader bar. This was just a pair of one inch pipes, welded at an angle that would keep the slaves ankles at maximum separation when attached to the ends. A girl was told to sit down with her legs out in front. Both ankle bracelets were attached to rings at the ends of the ^. The point of the ^ came to just over her head when she was leaning forward. Her head was pulled under the point and the back of her collar was attached to a ring welded at the inside join of the two pipes. About halfway down either pipe were more welded rings that could be selected for attaching the bracelets around her wrists to keep her arms out of the way and not obscure the view of her titties slowly swinging back and forth.
That left the slave girl sitting flat, with her legs parallel to the floor, but very widely spread, and hunched over with her head under the V and her arms held far out to her side. As punishment, this one was progressive throughout the day as the bent over position gradually became more painful as time went on. This arrangement only allowed for mouth on dick action, or tongue work by the girl, but any amount of finger fucking by me.
However, sometimes I attempted to take their minds off of their sore back and muscles. As I mentioned, I live far out in the countryside. In our area, grows a plant locally known as a bull nettle. Just the mere slightest brushing of this plant with bare skin with cause a person to think that that section of skin is on fire. Cutting this small plant, then feeding it, while fresh, into a blender will allow a person to pour off a milky liquid which is harmless, but will give the feeling of liquid lava when it touches skin.
If the girls are needing discipline, or if I am just in the mood to see them writhe and squirm, I will put them in the V spreader, make a small cup of the special juice and apply it (with a latex glove that is thoroughly checked to make damn sure it has no holes) to certain girlie parts - like spread open pussies, or stuck out nipples. It just takes a few seconds for the wailings to start. "OH MY GOD, MY PUSSY IS ON FIRE," is one of the more commonly heard phrases. Besides the lamentations, the visual effect of their beautiful tits bouncing to and fro is wonderful, as they vainly struggle with the desire to rub their burning parts.
One of my most used fixtures was just small flat topped table just short of dick high on me. One dimension was about three feet with a post rising several feet at both corners. The other dimension was just wide enough to offer support between the girl's butt and her shoulders. A slave would be positioned on the table with her ass just at the edge with the two posts. Her legs would be lifted high and attached, knees bent, to either post. Her wrists would be fastened to rings at the other corners. Since the table now ended just at the top of her shoulders, her head would have normally hung backwards over the edge. To prevent that, there was a narrow platform sticking out for her head to rest on. Another attachment point was provided for the back of her collar to prevent neck movement. On this table, the girl's legs were lifted and spread as wide as they could be and both holes were available for any use. And since her head was sticking out from the platform, it could be straddled by another person for various reasons, like tongue licking and penetration, cleaning, anything. The only drawback was that, on her back, a girl's breasts are flattened and not as much fun as when they are hanging down. Since there was a considerable height difference in my two slaves, and the table took up little room, I built one to match each girl's size. If the girl was fastened there for my use, and I straddled her head facing her body, her tits and wide open crotch were available for any amount of finger action. Or, even a little play on the open pussy with the stinger, if the girl's tongue needed to be encouraged.
There were two T posts along one wall, mounted about two feet out. A girl needing to be immobilized would have her wrists attached to each end of the bar, with the rear of her collar attached to the middle. Rings in the floor allowed for her legs to be held spread. It was a good place to give minor punishment for a day or so. All the girl could do was stand there hour after hour. If I wanted she could be attached facing the wall about a foot away. That raised the boredom level considerably, since there was nothing to occupy her except the view of a blank concrete wall.
On occasion, I would have fun by stretching a girl in a rack, blindfolded and gagged, then strapping a butterfly vibrator over her clit. Then I would sit back and read or relax, while varying the intensity of the pulses with the hand controller. Eventually I got pretty good at it, teasing her with higher and lower intensities, listening to her groan through the gag as she writhed in her bonds, then maybe an hour or more later, turning it to high and watching her explode with an uncontrolled orgasm. Usually the experience made me have to get up and mount her, to get my own pressures under control.
A fun procedure that I used on their titties, was a nipple/thumb tie. I didn't think this one up - it came from a write in letter in some sex magazine. I would wrap a dozen or so turns of ordinary cotton thread around the girl's nipple, as close to the base as possible, then tie it with a knot, leaving several inches of both ends of the string hanging out. This needed to be fairly snug, without being so tight as to cut off the blood and cause damage. In a very few minutes the girls nipples would begin to swell and become super sensitive to pain. Within 15 minutes just a very light touch would send her into orbit. Then I would wrap the ends of the thread around the base of her thumb, right hand to right nipple and left hand to left nipple and tie it tight. I would to this with her elbows out to her side and her hands held palms out. This way, if she tried to rotate her wrists to bring her hands under her breasts to support them to keep them from moving, the string would begin to wrap around her thumb and would pull on her nipple, causing nipple pain that would make her bring her hands back to the original position posthaste. It was almost impossible for the girl to walk or even move in any way without having the natural swaying of her boobs and hands pulling on the threads and causing her considerable pain. Sometimes I helped by using the stinger lightly on her bottom. Even after the thread was removed, her nipples would stay sore and sensitive for a couple of days.
An alternative use of the nipple thread, was to attach a long chain of rubber bands to the thread, long enough to reach to mid thigh when a small weight was attached. With her hands manacled behind her back, if she didn't move carefully, the weights would hit her moving legs when she walked and bounce around, pulling on the sore nipples. Or I could pick up both weights, then drop them and watch them bounce up and down. It didn't take much of that to have a girl begging for the string removal.
The Years Roll On.
A few weeks later, I came to the conclusion that I needed to slow down. My dream had been realized, in spades, and was still in progress. But I had been around long enough to know that a steady diet of even the finest candy will eventually lead to one's not being able to stand the taste. I decided to ration my sexual use of the slaves in the dungeon to a few times a week and only when the pressures in my cojones indicated that it was time. They would become domestic slaves as well. I would install a small kitchen in the basement and let them do all the cooking and cleaning up. I would become active in my consulting again, and get back to a normal life. Of course, it would be a normal life in which I knew that divine pleasures awaited me anytime I wished to avail of them.
The kitchen was easy, except for the plumbing of the drain. The girls had a small electric stove and a few feet of working space next to the sink, but I made sure that the pantry and the refrigerator were at the far end of the basement beyond the reach of their chains. I had no wish to own two very overweight slaves who ate all day from boredom.
And speaking of boredom, it was obvious that now that they had settled into a routine and knew what was expected, the days became very long for them when I was off at work. So I installed a small TV on their end of the basement. I made it VERY plain that watching it was an earned privilege, not just something for them to expect. They could watch it when I was away, provided that everything was proper and clean and tidy - including their performance and attitude. A single infraction by either one would cause it to be turned off (upstairs) and they would go back to being chained all day long with nothing to do but stare at the walls or each other - for as long as I decided that the infraction warranted.
I like my girls smooth. No hair was allowed except for their tresses on their head and their eyebrows. Up to now they had been shaving each other every couple of days, but shaving is unsatisfactory. It leaves bumps, rashes and is almost never close enough. Besides, it only lasts a couple of days. This was before laser depilation so I bought a professional electrolysis system. Much slower, but I had two users who had plenty of time. I put them to work from breakfast to lunch every day depilating each other. It would take several weeks, but it gave the girls part time employment. A year or so later, I decided to have them start on me, and eventually became almost as smooth as them.
Since the girls had no way to exercise I bought a gym grade treadmill and gave orders for it to be used a certain number of hours a week. Lots of vitamin D was taken, since they never saw the Sun. A major illness would be a major problem. I needed to keep them as healthy as possible.
A Shock of about the 1st Magnitude
I came home from town one weekday and there was a strange car in my driveway, with nobody in sight. I stopped my car 50 or so yards away and looked over the situation. I was an expert in knowing when and where burglars hit. It was always in the early morning and they never parked in a driveway. It was now almost 6 pm and the getaway car, if that is what it was, was facing the wrong way. But, I remembered that I now owned two slaves because of two yahoos who decided to do some crime in the afternoon. Back out came the .38 and I quickly moved to the corner of the house. I looked around the corner - nothing. Then ran to the next corner. Still nothing. So it was probable that they were in the house. I didn't really want to call the law out, for obvious reasons, but neither did I want to attempt to enter a building with someone almost certainly aware that I had driven up. I had learned the fallacy of that as a very young man in an unpleasant war far far away. As I hesitated and stood looking around the back of the house, the back sliding glass patio door opened and a person stepped out.
I dropped the gun to my side, then slipped it into my pocket. "Holy fucking shit and his ten disciples," I swore under my breath. I rounded the corner and walked up to the patio.
"Hello, Cindy," I said, without any indication of great joy. "Have you changed your career to breaking and entering?" My Ex was still a good looking broad. Slightly on the wrong side of thirty, but still definitely a usable woman. Except for the fact that she is a cast iron bitch, I reminded myself.
"Hello, Mike," she replied with a smile and gestured around. "This used to belong to me also. I assumed that you wouldn't mind if I saw it again." She held up a glass. "Fix you one?"
I stepped onto the patio, and gestured her to re-enter the house. She immediately moved to the bar for a refill. While I waited for whatever was coming, thoughts were roaring through my mind. Thoughts of what do I do if she wants to go downstairs for something that she thinks she left years ago, or hears one of the girls - not that there was much chance of that, with a massive door locked behind two other doors and a solid concrete floor between them and us.
Cindy was dressed for business with a long skirt, a suit jacket, and one of those pseudo ties that progressive women are partial to. I assumed that she had just flown in from her office. Then I remembered the car in the driveway - it definitely wasn't a rental. In fact, it was a fairly old, very un-Cindy type clunker. She was always partial to 'Benzes and 'Beamers.
I sat down in a lounger. "Ok, Cindy. Spill it. To what do I owe this visit?"
She looked around. "You're doing well, Mike. All new furniture, carpet, nice car." She waited, but I didn't speak. She sat back on a bar stool. Finally she spoke, "I need money, Mike. I'm broke."
That was not what I was expecting. She had been making a killing in real estate in California. Her house out in SF made mine look like someone's garden shack.
I looked at her for a moment. "When you left here, you had half of everything we owned, including your half of what this property was worth. Well over two million. Plus, you were raking it in for years. What the hell happened?"
She held her glass up and gazed through it for a few moments. "Frankly, I got screwed. I was the lead on a massive urban reconstruction project that would have - will have a major effect on growth east of L.A. I found it, brought in the principals, lined up the financing..." She took another drink. "I would have been the state's newest billionaire."
"And...?" I saw what was coming but it was hard to believe. She had always been the screwer, not the screwee.
"Once I had mortgaged everything I had, and borrowed all I could to get the project over the hump, I discovered that the good ole boy network was busy with plans to buy my portion for a few cents on the dollar. According to my attorney, who stopped talking to me when I couldn't pay him anymore, I was good and royally shafted and with no recourse. Unless, of course, I put up a certain amount of money for legal work - in advance. And if I had that kind of money, I wouldn't be in the position I'm in."
I decided that I needed a drink after all. "And with that kind of money at stake, you would be much more likely to wind up floating in the bay than win any back in court."
"Exactly," she agreed. "As a matter of fact, I drove out of California just ahead of a couple of fairly insistent loan collectors. I had enough money to buy that car, put enough gas in it to get here and buy a hamburger on the way." She emptied the glass. "Speaking of which, I've been on the road for two days solid. How about we talk in the morning, since I am about two minutes from keeling over right here?
I definitely needed to get a couple of facts. "Use the front bedroom. But first, I need to know. Are some west coast toughs going to kick in my door tonight? Who did you tell where you were going? " I made a mental note to make sure that I went to bed with some serious hardware at the ready.
She shook her head. "Nobody. There wasn't anybody left to tell. Besides, I was just trying to get out of town and didn't decide to come here until some time in the middle of New Mexico. When I realized that my alternate list was totally empty."
"Hmmm," I mused.
"Someone may call you in a few days and ask if you have seen me lately, but there are a lot of other places they will check first. Nobody out there even knew that I had been married before. Gud nite." With that, she walked out of the room.
I certainly wasn't going to get much sleep tonight. Musing over what might have happened if she had showed up while I was away on an extended business trip did not make for pleasant thoughts. I needed to have several alternate plans ready. Based on whether she would leave immediately, hang around for a few days, or try to become a permanent resident again. And an alternate plan to be executed immediately if she found what was in the basement. If the last happened, I would have to do something instantly. Blackmail would be the least that would come of the discovery. I had no illusions about the fate of anybody who found themselves in the clutches of this particular woman.
I thought over the other options. Giving her money to move along would probably be like feeding a stray dog. She would always come back for more. There was no way I would let her move in again. At least not as an equal partner. And as for staying a few days, every day she was here increased my chance of exposure. She had to leave.
When the time to put the girls to bed rolled around, I had a few tentative plans worked out. I peeked in to make sure that my unwelcome Ex was really asleep, then descended to the basement. I told them that for this night they would be sleeping unfettered. I also gave them some instructions for the morning, just in case things started going south. I also made certain hardware arrangements to match.
I was up early, on very little sleep. I had made and rejected several dozen plans, but at least mapped out some responses, depending on which way the morning went. Fortunately, I had no pressing business for the rest of the week. I certainly didn't want to leave the house and let Cindy have free rein to explore. She got up late, not looking exactly like the flawlessly turned out business woman - in fact, she was wearing the same clothes, minus the coat. Apparently, she left California in even more of a rush than I thought.
"I had forgotten how quiet it is out here. This is the first time in years that I have slept without the company of horns, motors, and garbage cans clanking." She started making her breakfast - it was in a glass and had ice cubes.
I decided to start the ball rolling. No need in fencing with polite talk. Not with her. "Ok, Cindy, let's continue with your plans. First, let me say that if they include moving back in with me, forget it. You're a snake that I managed to escape once. No way will I allow it back in my den." She would either blow her famous stack, or use that as a starting point. I waited to see.
She smiled. On most women it would be a invitation. On her it was like a tiger licking its chops. "Thanks Mike. You're a sweet boy, but I have no intention of rusticating in the middle of Hicks County, USA. I intend to move on, but I may have mentioned that I am broke."
I mentally threw away one set of plans. "Keep going." I knew that she was going to try to put the bite on. I just wasn't sure what set of teeth she would use. As far as I knew, I was no more blackmailable than the average person. If you didn't count the two cunts below our feet, I reminded myself. But she couldn't possibly have any clue about them.
"I'm going to Florida. They have just about the best asset protection laws in the country. I can fight off my California problems much easier there. I'll start with some appropriate real estate company - one that has lots of clients and not much savvy at the top end. I should be able to start my own within a couple of years - or take it over if the head honchos can't keep their pants zipped." She paused. I waited. "I need a top end automobile," she continued. "I can't make an impression with that piece of shit in your driveway. And enough money to at least look like I have money." She stopped again. This time till I replied.
"How much money?"
"A hundred grand."
Well, now a figure was on the table. That was far more than I hoped, but much less than would have surprised me. It might be a bargain - I had once paid far more to get rid of her. "Let me make a statement and ask a couple of questions. First, I don't have anywhere near that much ready money." The truth - All of my assets were out working in capital investments. "Second, why would I give it to you if I did? And third. What cards do you think you are holding that will make me come up with that much loot?" The cards were being dealt. The raises would come next.
"Ok, " she started. "Try this on. We both came out of college married, smart and broke. I made lots of money selling land and you made lots doing whatever it is that you do. In those first few years, we made lots of cash and reported very little of it. LOTS of cash. The IRS can only go back 3 years in an audit, unless..." She paused to swallow some more breakfast. "...they suspect evasion. Then they can go back as far as they want." She was showing a pair of jacks to my little pair of 4's.
I raised her another round. "What about you?" I asked. "It was an equal partnership as far as the money went." It was a poor bluff and she knew it. I remained unworried. It was my deck of cards and she was too greedy to bother to consider that. I already had the other two 4's wired. I had set it up last night.
"Come on, Mike." she retorted. "You know as well as I do that they only go after the money. You have assets, stocks, real estate. I have a car that is a rolling piece of crap and what I am wearing. They won't even bother to subpoena me." More breakfast. She should know better than dull her wits with alcohol while in crucial negotiations. She had a very strong hand, she thought, with a full house showing. What she didn't know was that she was playing with a stacked deck.
At this point, I could fold, give her the money and wave her ass good by. If all went well with her plans, it would probably be the last time I would ever see her. But if they fell through, she would come right back for more of the same game. And probably even higher demands. Blackmail never shrinks - it always grows. Time to lay my four of a kind on top of her full house. I let out a sigh and said, "Ok, The ready money I have is in the basement. Let's see how much there is. Besides, I want you to meet a couple of people." That brought a look of surprise.
We entered the hidden upstairs room with no surprise to her - she had been around when the house was built. Then I opened the door to the basement. After she entered, I made sure that it locked behind us. One way or another, she was staying as of now. Down the stairs we went, until she stopped on the bottom step and looked around in surprise. Thistle was laying on her stomach on her bed, facing the TV and obviously watching it while Thimble was poking the electrolysis probe over Thistle's leg. As soon as they saw us, they jumped to their feet and walked quickly toward us, rattling their chains. They stopped at the location that I ordered the night before. I walked toward them and turned and motioned for Cindy to follow. She began to move again.
"You're keeping two girlfriends in your basement? She looked closer at the two naked girls - the collars and chains were unmistakable. "Subs, no less? So you still want to play your macho games that you wanted to try with me."
I had to do this quick or it would get messily violent. Cindy was no dummy, by far, and in about one more second would realize what was going down. If she hadn't slowed her thought processes by breakfasting on martinis, she would already be fighting her way out. I gave a hard nod to the girls and they instantly jumped forward, each girl grabbing one of Cindy's arms. I stooped down and picked up the end of a chain that I had prepared the night before. Before Cindy could react to the sudden events it was around her neck and the padlock snapped shut. I didn't have a spare collar, but that would be taken care of in a couple of days. Her chain was the length of the other girls', but at the moment shortened to about 10 feet. Not enough to reach anything except a single spread rack against the wall. The girls then pulled her arms back and I snapped on a pair of manacles.
I now had three slave girls, something that I had never planned on, for the reason that I would not have just kidnapped an innocent woman and locked her up as a slave. Thistle and Thimble were at least guilty of accessory to the fact of robbery, and almost murder. Had events run their normal course, they would probably have spent a few years in prison, and at the least would now have felony criminal records. But Cindy was absolutely guilty of blackmail and extortion. And if there were anyway to check, I would bet real money that these were the least of her sins. Now she was just another woman who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. I suspected that there was a loan office somewhere in California that would need to write off some money as I doubted that they would ever be paid back.
I motioned for the girls to step back out of range, as did I, and waited for the explosion. Which came in about a millisecond. This is an X rated narrative, but in the interest of the reader, I will not list a catalog of the words that spewed out of my new slave. Her vocabulary was quite extensive, and as she could not possibly have been in the merchant marine, or Navy, or a road gang, I have no idea where she got it. When she started repeating herself, I prepared to go. There were a couple of important items that I needed to take care of right now. I went to a cabinet on the non-slave accessible end of the dungeon and pulled out a pair of scissors. These I gave to Thistle. "Cut off all her clothes and dump them in the trash." I ordered. "If she isn't shaved, spread her in that rack and give her a good going over. When I get back, we will give her a good cleaning out." By now, Cindy had stopped spewing and was listening with her jaw wide open as if she was not believing what was going down here - which she probably wasn't. I started back for the stairs, then turned around and said, "By the way, girls, meet the new slave girl, Tassle." A name I had thought of last night when I expected events to happen just as they did.
All that was left upstairs of Cindy was a suit jacket and a purse. And her car. When these disappeared, all that would be left would be the slave girl, Tassle. The jacket went into the bottom of the trash can. There was nothing valuable in her purse, so I removed all ID and credit cards and ran them through the shredder. Then I put the purse under the trash.
Her car was a different problem. I couldn't sell it - I had no title and even if I did, it wouldn't have the right name on it. I couldn't just abandon it somewhere. There was too much risk of the numbers being checked and giving some authority the knowledge that she had made it this far from California. I had retrieved her keys from her purse, so I started the car and moved it to the side of the barn, under a large oak tree. A thorough search showed that there was nothing in the car that would identify the previous owner. In a short while I had the license plates and the stickers on the windshield off and buried. Then I jacked it up, put blocks under the axles, and removed the wheels. Those I put in my truck for sale in town. I took the battery out and replaced it with one that was so old the name had weathered off the side. The windshield I broke with a hammer, and then a side window. I sat sideways in the passenger's seat where I could double up my legs and give the door a good fast push. That sprung it so that it would not close, but just sat crooked on the side of the car. I popped the trunk and left it open. Then I did my best job of making it look like some old clunker that had been sitting on blocks for years by sifting dirt, leaves, old limbs and other debris onto and inside the car. For good measure, I leaned several boards and a barrel against the front. Later I would cut it up with a torch and sell it for scrap.
I was satisfied with the result. It wouldn't fool a team of FBI agents who suspected something, but I was counting on the fact that nobody would be looking for her except bill collectors. And in this state, those were almost shootable on sight.
As an aside, all of this was probably unnecessary. No person ever called, came by, or inquired about the missing Cindy. Either she covered her tracks completely, or whomever was concerned with her either didn't bother or just finally gave up.
When I got back downstairs, I found that my senior slave girls had taken to their task with enthusiasm. Tassle was on her back in the rack with her legs elevated and spread with two temporary leather ankle rings in place. Just looking at her made my already rock hard pole almost start shooting. Then I looked closer. "Well, well," I said. "Did your business partners know that you were sporting a pair of nipple rings and corresponding pussy weights?" That was something that I would never have expected with Ms. Hottie Tottie I'm-better-than-you. She must have been running around with the wild bunch outside of business hours.
She was laying on her manacled wrists, which couldn't have been comfortable. They had also improved on my instructions by installing a large ball gag; probably a necessity given Tassle's tendency to spew profanity. Her twat and asshole were nice and smooth. As the stubble grew out I would have her put under electrolysis, also. Thimble was standing by the rack holding a double bladder nozzle and a bag already filled with water. I had to commend them on their dedication to duty.
"This is as good a position as any. Go to it, Thimble." She tried not to giggle, then smeared a goodly amount of ass cream on the end of the nozzle. Bending over the end of the rack, she slowly fed the end of the nozzle up, or I should say, down into Tassle's rear end hole. A few pumps and it was ready to go. The emotions trying to show around the big ball gag were very interesting. I expect that Tassle was desperately trying to wake up from a very bad dream. Thimble hung the bag and, looking at me for a nod, turned on the valve.
"Ok, girls. Let's have something to snack on. I need to give you some instructions." I retrieved some sandwich makings from the pantry, which the girls quickly assembled, and we moved over to their living area. Tassle was easily in view, as she lay back slowly being filled. I told them that while I did not want Tassle bullied or tormented , I wanted her kept on a schedule of strict discipline. She was the junior slave. As such she would now clean the toilet, shower and so forth. She would do the sweeping and clean up. Shortly, she would also become the sole piss licker. Later, if wanted, her tongue could be used for certain types of relief. I cautioned against that now, since being totally untamed she might try to take revenge with her teeth.
By this time, moans were coming from down the basement way. We ignored them. Later, I said, I would take her to the whipping posts and give her the primary lesson about discipline. At that statement, both girls lost their smiles, momentarily. Apparently that particular form of punishment is not easily forgotten.
"Would you like the girls to get a slave ready for use, Master," asked Thistle.
"Yes," I answered, "But not where she is. Not in that position and with that nozzle sticking out of her ass. Put her in the X gate." This was a vertical square of small steel beams, about 8 feet by 8. A chain was installed at each corner with a pulley system. The bottom two would pull the girls legs apart while the top pair would spread the girl's arms over her head. The effect was to turn the slave into a big female X. If wanted, the upper chains would pull the girl's feet completely off the ground.
Thimble looked over my shoulder and said, "It looks like a slave is full, Master." I nodded and removed the lock that shortened Tassle's chain. They moved over to where the newest addition was definitely feeling the pressure of water going the wrong way. Her legs were then unfettered, and she was led over to the X gate. Her ankles were again fastened, then I removed the manacles. Since she had no permanent bracelets yet, her arms had leather straps attached which were then connected to the upper chains. A few pulls of the individual chains and she was fully spread with just her toes touching the ground and the enema nozzle sticking out of her ass. I watched as the girls tightened the chains, making sure that they did not overdo it - the pulleys had enough mechanical advantage as to be able to do major damage to joints if done too enthusiastically. All of this movement was causing Tassle major distress as the water shifted inside her bowels. Fortunately, the gag kept most of the noise in.
I had waited as long as I could. I motioned to Thimble to give my dick a good coat of mouth lube, then proceeded to insert it up the passage that I had not used for years. As I pumped, Tassle threw her head back and tried to scream as the water sloshed around. All she got out was a muffled "eeeee". All too soon, I blew her full of creamy filling. Then I stepped back, motioned for Thistle to give me an oral cleaning, and for Thimble to loosen the chains. "Take her in and let her shit it out. Then clean her up and put her on the horse."
A half hour later, my Ex was bent over and attached at all points, wide open for a back view and with her tits hanging down. They weren't as large as the headlights on my other slaves, but they were nothing to disparage, either. In the dark, nobody would mistake her for a man. She was ungagged now, since she had been reaching just about the limit for a first time jaw stretching. I had my stinger in my hand, since I knew what was bound to happen next. Thistle and Thimble I sent back to their beds and TV. I moved up beside her and grabbed a boob in one hand and a fistful of pussy in the other. I started massaging both as she jumped from the touch - or tried to jump. It was more of a jerk. Sure enough, she made the mistake I was expecting.
"Mike! Please! Let me talk... IEEEEEEEEE." The stinger caught her full on across the butt. Then again in the small of the back. Then another pair on the inside of both thighs. Four good stripes that would hang around for days. That changed the conversation from the start of trying to talk her way out of the situation to pleading for mercy. "AHHHH! PLEASE! OH GAWD! PLEASE STOP! STOP!" I reached over and grabbed her hair and pulled. Her head would only come up as far as the neck stock allowed, then it just turned to hair pulling pain.
I moved to within a foot or so of her ear and spoke in a low and steady voice. "Listen carefully, bitch. You don't use my name. EVER! You don't even speak unless you are asked a question. All you do is take orders and do exactly what you are told. Eventually, you will be allowed to call me Master. Violate any of those rules again, and the next whip will make you wish that those California toughs had found you. From now on, you are not a person. All you are is a cunt with a set of holes for my use. Understand? Don't speak. Just nod." She tried to nod as well as she could with me holding her by the hair. I went on. "Remember what I just said. Forget it and you will think your skin is coming off." With that, I went back upstairs.
It was too early, but I needed a drink. I collapsed into my recliner and thought over the past two days and the totally unexpected events. I was not at all unhappy as things turned out, but it could have been a close thing. If Cindy had told everyone that she was coming here, for one thing. Or if the law was close on her tail, for another. And what if she had showed up while I was out of town and started exploring. She couldn't have opened the massively locked basement door, but it would have started her to wondering.
I started planning what I needed for another live-in cunt. Another collar for one thing. I would order that this morning. I would need to make another bed. She would need a permanent set of arm and ankle bracelets put on. I spent the next few hours working on the bed, after ordering the collar and bracelets. Then I went to town to dispose of her wheels and tires, and just do some normal shopping.
It was dark by the time I got back. Obviously, she was still right where I left her and probably sore to boot, since it takes a while to get comfortable with being held in one position for hours. Being a normal woman, I assumed that she also needed to piss badly by now. I let my fingers roam for a few minutes, poking, spreading and pulling, then said, "I'm going to turn you loose now. Remember not to speak at any time. Understand?" I freed her from the horse, but left her hands manacled behind her back. I then led her to back to the central pillar and shortened the chain again to keep her there. From the supply cabinet, I brought out a blanket and a bucket.
I pointed. "You are going to sleep on that for now, and you are going to piss and shit in that. That is all you are going to do for now - piss, shit, sleep or sit quietly. Understand?" She nodded without looking up. In a loud voice, I addressed the two senior slaves. "If she says so much as a single word, you will inform me. " Then I put the girls to bed, turned the lights down low, and went upstairs for the night.
Three days later, Tassle was still sleeping on the floor, but was wearing a brand new collar, with welded chain, and four permanently attached bracelets. I decided to leave her other hardware dangling for now, till I decided if I liked it. I noticed that the two pussy weights were already starting to stretch her outer lips longer. She said they had been on for about two years. They were kind of fun. If they were each pulled sideways, her pussy opened up like a flower. I was needing her to give me a reason to put her to the punishment whip, which she did when she was assigned her new task of cleaning up the girls after a piss. She didn't speak, but refused by lowering her head and shaking it no. After only three strokes, she was begging to lick anything that anybody needed cleaned. After receiving the full ten, she went to her new task without any hesitation.
Thimble, on the other hand, was currently spending her days standing in and facing a corner of the basement, legs chained apart, hands manacled behind her back, gagged, and her collar held in place by two chains on opposite sides attached to the wall. As soon as she woke up the next day, she was fed and put back in the corner. She had assumed that because of the entry of a new and lower status girl, that she was automatically promoted to some higher rank and her attitude showed it. She still had four days to go and I suspected that her boredom level was reaching an excruciating point by now. Tassle had to hold a cup for her two or three times a day, and then clean her up.
Thistle took over the verbal training of Tassle, showing her what to do and what not to do. I allowed her to ask Thistle short questions and give answers, but not to speak when I was around. And, during it all, she was introduced to all of the different pieces of furniture in the dungeon, and while in them had both of her lower holes given much attention. But not her mouth. I still didn't trust the bitch with having my rod between her teeth. And, on the third day of Thimble's exile to the corner, Tassle got to clean her out with one of the single bladder enema nozzles and a large bucket. I don't think that she liked the operation, but like the other girls, my Ex had never given any indication of lesbianism. Thistle and Thimble would now perform any act on each other if I ordered, but I still had no idea if they liked it or not. The whip had turned both into excellent actors, to give me the attitude that they thought I expected.
Tassle was breaking to slavery very hard. Twice more within a couple of weeks she tried to speak to me, once as a threat, and the other time as a bribe. Since she had no way to threaten me, and certainly owned nothing to bribe me with, all it got her was two more sessions at the whipping post. The last time, she was left hanging from the chains for the rest of the day and all night. The next morning, she was locked into a cage, about three by three feet. Nothing drastic, but just unable to unbend or straighten her body. The next day she was begging to be let out.
I looked down at her. "I don't think you've learned your lesson, yet."
"YES! I have! Please let me out! My back and legs are killing me!"
"Who is this 'I' and 'me' person? I don't see anything but a stupid girl who won't learn her lessons." I walked away. By the girls' bedtime, she was wailing. I walked back down to the cage, which was toward the far end of the basement, as far as her chain would go. I slapped the top of the cage with the stinger. "Be quiet!" I ordered. "There are girls trying to sleep!"
Much more quietly, she pleaded. "Let a girl out, please! A girl has learned her lesson! Please!"
"Phut!" I responded. I still just see a really stupid girl who doesn't even know who she is speaking to." Again I walked away.
She started again, and more correctly. "Please! Master. Let a girl out! Master, a girl will be good from now on!" Then she began bawling like a baby.
I knew I had to be careful. I had read articles about like confinements in the dark ages, that had caused actual madness in victims who were kept in them for long stretches of time. I knew I had to let her out fairly soon. I moved to the other end where my other slaves were stretched out and sleeping. I stood and observed Tassle from long distance and did a little finger fucking and titty pulling to give my hands something to do. That woke them up, of course, but I was unconcerned. Going upstairs, I relaxed and caught up on my professional reading. A few hours later, I was ready for bed.
I walked back down to the cage. She was whimpering in a quiet tone. I asked softly, "Has a girl regretted her actions?"
Very weakly, she replied, through lots of tears. "Yes, Master. Please, Master. A girl will be good. Always. Please let a girl out Master!"
I stood there for a moment. Then said, "I don't believe you have, but we'll see. I'm going to let you out, but if you disobey again, I'll put you in here and leave you." Which wasn't true, of course. I removed the lock and folded back the top. Tassle was so stiff she couldn't get to her feet. I reached down and pulled her out, and she almost screamed as she straightened up. But at the same time, she exulted in flexing her muscles. I led her to her blanket, then gave her a glass of water and a large crescent roll. When she had finished, I manacled her hands behind her back, and left for the night.
I was surprised in the months that followed. The bitch had been broken. If anything, this once overbearing, man castrating, she-devil became even more docile than either of the others. Just the mere mention of the cage would cause her to cringe and her eyes to expand in fear. She wouldn't even willingly go near it. The whip had made both Thistle and Thimble, if not broken, then totally compliant. Any mention of it would cause them to redouble their efforts to please. But the same whip turned Tassle's backside cherry red several times without permanent effect.
Tassle now had her own bed next to her companions, and was a full fledged member of the slave girl set. Being the junior she still got the bottom end of the daily tasks, but I made sure that the other two shared in the work also. She wasn't even recognizable as the blackmailing snake that I first saw on my patio, earlier in the year. If I pointed to her, then to my dick, she immediately dropped to her knees and started sucking. If I pointed to this rack or that, she mounted it and put her arms and legs out for binding.
I had exchanged her original lighter pussy weights for heavier steel balls. As a result, in just the few months she had been here, her outer lips were descending considerably. As she walked, the weights would swing back and forth, alternately opening and closing her pussy in a very erotic way.
All three girls were fully depilated and smooth as an egg all over. Even the very fine usually unnoticeable hairs were gone. Once each month or so each girl was closely gone over by her companions for any renewal of growth, but very seldom ever found any.
Every day, a different girl would be bent over the horse while the other two administered a cleaning solution up her ass.
I still didn't know if the girls were enjoying each other. If not, I assumed that each one was taking care of her own needs by herself. I decided to change the parameters of their situation. Every day since the beginning, each girl had usually had her wrists locked or chained together, either in front or in back. I made a change in daily procedures. The girls would now always have their wrists chained - in back if being punished, but if in front, instead of being locked together, each wrist would have a chain running up to her collar. These chains would allow for freedom of movement of each hand, and would let the girls do normal functions - like cook, eat, clean or whatever. But they would be just short of allowing them to reach their clit. I would stop using the vibrator trick and would see if a mounting hornyness from day to day would cause them to turn to each other for relief. Some girls, I knew, could reach orgasm just by playing with their tits, or with other non-vaginal area massage. In their cases, I would just have to wait and see.
A set of cameras was now a necessity. Those I installed over the next few months. Obviously, to be effective the knowledge of them had to be kept hidden from the girls. Usually when the they were all fastened somewhere and blindfolded, I would work some more on the installation. Eventually, I had a set of tiny pinhole cameras closely covering their beds, and some others with various views of the basement. I could lay in bed upstairs and both listen and watch. On the nights that I didn't show up to spread them for bed, they knew that I was out of town (or thought they knew - sometimes I did it just to see what happened on a night like that.)
Since I was working more and more, I needed to take care of the problem of when I wasn't there for the night. It took a while, and lots of experimenting and programming, and was lots of fun, but finally I had a working electronic bed/rack, for want of a better description. It was another queen sized platform, but one with lots of mechanism under it. On the nights that I would be gone, a girl was designated to be the one who would put the others to bed by attaching their bungees. She would then climb into the electronic bed and attach her bracelets and collar to bungee cords which came out of the lower corners, each side, and the headboard. By first pushing a certain button on side of the bed, the motors would release plenty of slack so that she could easily attach the bungee hooks while sitting up in bed. After she had secured herself, she reached over her head and pushed a single button which told the computer to start the process. The first thing that happened was that the motors started winding in the cords until the girl was tightly spread and immobile, even against the stretch in the cords. After a few minutes the computer unwound the cords to a more comfortable position, but still not one in which she could sit up or do much more than flex an arm or leg. At random times during the night, the cords would be slackened just enough for her to go through her piss routine if needed, but not enough to be able to unhook herself. Certain electrical and mechanical safeguards were in place to protect the girl from equipment failure. The worst thing that could happen is total failure of the bed and the girls getting very hungry and thirsty until I showed up again. However, it never happened. In the morning, the motors would feed out all of the slack and the girl could unhook herself.
A year went by and then another and another. While the ball tightening urgency of eroticism gradually lessened, the day and nights were still highly pleasurable. I tried different things on the girls every now and then, but in the main fell into a routine that I really enjoyed. Since the channel controls for their TV was upstairs, I could censor what they saw and made sure that they only watched soaps and other girlie fare. They were totally ignorant of news, the state of the world, or even who was president now. The girls didn't seem to miss the outside world that was now going by unnoticed by them. Since they knew I worked, and since I was seldom in the basement during working hours, they automatically assumed that during that time they were alone and I was away. Some times it was true and sometimes not. I would watch them on occasion, either live or recorded, as they spent the day like I assumed that any group of females would. They watched the soaps while laying on their beds, talking back and forth and commenting on the actions of various characters. Or sometimes just girl talk between each other if the TV timer had turned it off, or they were in punishment mode with no TV that week. I was surprised at the lack of comments on that son-of-a-bitch upstairs that took our normal lives away. I often mused on the psychology (of which I knew almost nothing) of the female mind that would apparently accept sexual slavery. Was that normal? Or did I by chance just happen to have three girls who secretly wanted to be owned?
Obviously, during those years, I didn't watch but a fraction of what went on in the dungeon while I was gone. Just an occasional view, but eventually, I saw two of them on a bed together, with Tassle vigorously massaging the clit that Thimble's own hands couldn't reach. Eventually, Thimble went off in a limb jerking orgasm, after which both just lay down together quietly. I didn't know if they had taken turns and if I had come in at the end, or if it was just Thimble who needed relief. That view by itself didn't prove that the girls were becoming bisexual, just that they had sexual pressures that needed to be released on occasion and getting help from a companion was the only way.
I also wondered, off and on, how many other dungeons existed. Real ones, like mine, that is. There was no way to tell. I knew that there were innumerable fetish dungeons in the world, willingly used by both sexes. The real ones would never be allowed to become known, for obvious reasons. A shame - it would be fun to trade real slaves with other dungeon masters. I had once read a very good science fiction story about a man from thousand of years ago, who discovered that he never grew old. That fact was dangerous for him in that if it became known he would probably be stoned as a demon or burned at the stake for being in league with the devil. He spent the years trying to find others like him, knowing that if there were any then they could never, like himself, let the fact be known. And they therefore, would probably be totally undetectable.
I was in the same position. I could never even hint about my secret, so how could I ask others about the same thing.? Even if, once the Internet age had dawned, I posted a blunt message asking if anyone out there had a dungeon full of real slaves, the answers would have been from guys and gals fantasizing about their dreams, and assuming that I was doing the same. An actual dungeon owner would never make a reply to that kind of post. I had to be far more subtle. There were underground forms of communication over the 'Net, like relay chat and instant messaging, and the ultimate, darknets. The latter was used mostly for sharing illegal data, like ripped movies and child porn. I was sure that there was at least one somewhere that was for the use of persons who kept or traded slaves. But something like that was like the Mob, you didn't just drop in and ask for an application form. They were the Queen's pussy. Nobody got in except royalty. I moved very slowly, trying to find it, assuming that it existed.
I finally uncovered a couple of, for lack of a better word, bondage conventions. These were not publicly advertised, although not particularly secret. And they were always held in a state and city that allows for more liberal interpretations of individual freedom. Most of the attendees were doms and subs of the normal sort - normal for the bondage world, that is. I made a few acquaintances there who seemed to be on the more serious side of the sport, and continued to cultivate them from year to year.
Thistle and Thimble were getting on toward thirty five years of age, and Tassle was seven years older than them. Of course, they started losing the tightness of young female bodies. Their tits were drooping somewhat in the natural way, their waists were a little thicker, but in no way did they lose their slave girl appeal. The hair was now very long, since I didn't allow it to be cut, or permed, and was usually worn in a long pony tail. Of course, I was getting on also, about the age of Tassle. But nothing makes a man feel younger than lounging on a mat while three gorgeous sirens in chains work him over; one bobbling her tits over him while deep kissing, another with her mouth wrapped around his pole and the third giving him a really good cleaning job in the anal channel south of his balls. By now all inhibitions were gone from the girls. She would deep tongue a companion's rear hole on command as normally as if I had ordered her to make a sandwich. Or her front slit. Or to lock her mouth on a pussy and swallow while the girl relieved herself. Or around my rod as I pissed away. The outside world was long forgotten and with it any idea that anything that could be performed was in any way repulsive or unnatural.
Eventually there came a day that I only half expected to happen, but while fast forwarding through the previous days basement activities, I came on the three of them on the queen sized access rack. The camera didn't give a close up view like the ones pointing at their sleeping area, but it was clear enough. Tassle was spread eagled in chains, with Thimble sitting on her face and Thistle giving her pussy a tongue lashing that was obviously agreeable to Tassle, given the amount of squirming that she was performing. Hardon in hand, I watched the performance conclude with Tassle being released and Thistle being chained in her place. That answered my question of whether or not Tassle had been forcibly restrained by her two companions.
Some combination of boredom, closeness, hornyness or whatever had overcome any inhibitions about performing willingly with another female. However, this was just the first time I had seen them in such action. For all I knew, they could have been performing with each other for years.
By now the Internet was in full swing and I could peruse sex shops on line, rather than have to hunt them down in whatever city I was current consulting in. I had already bought all the items that I was interested in, but was always on the lookout for something we hadn't tried. Actually, except for simple stuff like dildos and nozzles, I usually thought up and built my own toys.
The personal computer age was in full cry, and it could be used for a number of things. One was a programmable multivibrator system that was as fun to build and program as to use. Vibrators had been around for ages, but hobbyist type biometric sensors were just starting to show up. I bought one to try, strapped it on one girl or another, then tried to make sense of the readings during sessions where she was strapped down with a butterfly vibrator on her clit. Eventually, I could fairly well measure just where she was in her climb to orgasm. So I built a driver box, from which the PC could control multiple vibrators, varying the intensity up or down or shutting them off completely. A girl was strapped to a rack, the butterfly was installed, as was a vibrating dildo up her pussy and a vibrating egg in her anus. The program constantly monitored the sensors and tried to determine just how far along she was. I was trying to produce an action where the multiple vibrators would bring her up almost to orgasm, then slow down to hold her there, then gradually taper off to cool her down, then start again. Over and over. Eventually she would go over the edge with a squeal as she jerked all limbs in her pleasure spasms. It was a lot of fun but far from an exact science. While I could measure her pulse, and blood pressure, and skin resistance and many other things, there is no sensor that can tell a computer how horny she is to start with. If she had been watching a girlie tear jerker an hour before, and had not climaxed for a couple of days, the butterfly by itself would cause her to go into orbit before the computer even started collecting data. Even trying it at different times in her period cycle would produce different results.
Again, it was fun to do, and fun to watch when it actually worked correctly. After three or four up and down cycles, the slave girl would be begging for me to turn it on full and give her release. She usually had an audience of three - all hoping that the program would manage to keep her going up and down for as long as possible.
Another invention was what I called a crack horse. This was an upside V shaped contraption that fit into a girl's crack as she stood over it. The top edge of the V was about a quarter inch wide and rounded, not sharp, of course. The whole thing could be raised or lowered several inches by spinning some wheel bolts on the bottom. The girl stood over it with her legs split and her arms straight over her head, with chains attached to the ceiling. Then the horse was slowly raised until it entered her wide open crack. The height was critical. The top angle of the V had to be raised just high enough, that with her feet flat on the floor, the weight of her body shoving her crack onto the angle would gradually become too much to for her to stand. Then she would try to relieve the pain by raising herself on tiptoe and by pulling with her arms on the overhead chains. In a few minutes, the strain from her tiptoed feet and pulling arms would be too much and she would settle her crack back onto the horse. The pain would begin again and would grow until she tried to relieve it again with her feet and arms. We called it, "riding the horse" since her movements represented a horseback rider bouncing up and down in slow motion.
Still another was a motion sensor activated paddle. This was nothing more than a cheap bathroom scale mounted under a platform that could be stood on. The girl had her arms widely chained to the ceiling. That made her face one direction only and prevented her from turning around. The chains were drawn up until her heels were barely off the platform, but she wasn't standing on tiptoe. A paddle with an actuator was placed behind her and aimed squarely at her butt. The slightest movement on the platform would jiggle the scale in which a sensor would detect the movement and would fire the paddle actuator. This was one of the few bondage times when her legs weren't pulled apart. The girl would desperately try to stand totally motionless, but after a few minutes the strain would cause her to have to shift her legs or arms. If she was very very careful, she could get away with it, but usually the paddle came forward onto her butt with a loud "Whack". It wasn't even close to the pain of the whip, of course, but it still amounted to a very good stroke that stung severely. The controller would reset the paddle after a strike, and then wait for a minute or so before the sensor was activated again. The girls didn't like this device at all and would make all kind of erotic offers to be exempted from standing on the platform. Of course, making offers is totally meaningless when your owner can just demand them anyway.
Gold is struck.
My slow search for other real dungeon masters finally hit pay dirt at another B&D convention. This one was a very low key, invitation only, private function. A guy that I will call Jim invited me to his hotel after the second day's activities. When I arrived, he ordered a table at the remote end of the hotel bar's patio. In fact, it was out in the grass under the trees. I had been verbally fencing with him at these conventions for years as we sounded each other out. He was some unknown number of years older than myself, but in excellent shape.
We talked a while about various sights that we had seen at the "conference" in the last two days. Then about a little background on each other. It was easy to see that he was still sizing me up and trying to make a decision. Finally...
"Mike," he said. "What is said here now is totally under the rose." (Wow. How old that that phrase make him?) I nodded the affirmative. "Both of us probably have the same hobby, except unlike coin collecting, we can't show our stuff to other collectors." He took a drink as I nodded again. "May I ask the question of how long you have been collecting?"
This was the payoff, if I accepted it. Did I go for it or not? If I didn't then I was wasting my time on the search and needed to give it up. "Ok", I thought, "this is it!"
"About ten years or so. I got started by sheer happenstance, as a matter of fact," I answered. "I have three objects in my collection, all of very high quality." That seemed to cause some kind of relief within him. He sat back and looked off in the distance.
"I have two," he said and leaned forward. "Mike, I would like to show you my collection, and talk to you about something afterward." Wow, this was moving fast. Too fast, I wondered? I agreed, and he gave me instructions to his home in Colorado.
Two weeks later.
His estate was on a steep hillside, outside of the city. Not nearly as remote as mine, but he still didn't have close neighbors. I looked around as I got out of the rental car. It was obvious that he was considerably more wealthy than myself. As I walked up the front steps, he opened the door and gave me a warm welcome. The inside of his house, was simply done, but it was the simplicity done by some expert designer. I knew he was a widower, but it was obvious that he had not turned into the usual bachelor slob.
"Drink?" he asked and gave me my usual on the rocks.
"Thanks. I need it. How badly, I'm not sure yet."
"Relax, Mike. I know what you are going through. We all did the first time." He raised his glass. "It's tough to suddenly break a total secrecy habit that may be years in the making."
I managed to get my glass back down and my throat closed before I choked on a mouthful of very good liquor. "We?" I managed to get out.
Jim smiled. "Yes. I know of two others with our particular hobby. We used to trade -" he paused for a word - "collectables among ourselves years ago. But it has become too risky to ship such valuable merchandise across country these days. We have to settle for visiting each others collections."
I managed to keep my jaw from dropping but said nothing.
"Of course, I can't tell you any more about my other collecting friends without their express permission. Just like I would never speak any details of you to them without your asking me to do so. I am asking for the same confidence from you."
I gulped and nodded.
Some small talk later, he led me to a guest bedroom and hung a robe on the bedside chair. "Put this on and come back down."
Being on a hillside, and also being a fairly irregular house, from an architectural standpoint, it was difficult to determine just where we were in relation to the landscaping. But we descended to what I assumed was the bottom floor of the house. Passing through a utility room with laundry machines, we then entered a storage room about 8 by 16 feet. We paused at the far end in front of a set of dusty shelves. As Jim obviously triggered something, shelves, wall and all swung back. Beyond was a heavy door, and I knew, in principle, what we would see beyond that.
His dungeon was about half the size of mine, but was vastly more opulent. Richly paneled walls, obviously covered in some kind of liquid mirrors instead of plain old varnish, a huge chaise lounge that looked like it was covered with chinchilla fur, velvet curtains (that had to be covering phony windows) and at least two Renoir paintings hung on the wall. I decided that my previous estimate of his worth was missing a couple of zeros. He had a few pieces of furniture like mine - beds, a stretching rack, stocks, a rape table - , but nowhere as many or as varied. Unlike mine, there was a massive and comfortable looking king sized bed at one end. Apparently, he actually slept with his slaves on occasion.
At one end of the room, standing blindfolded, gagged and with their arms bound behind two pillars, were his "collectables." I noticed that from the various tools and equipment hanging from hooks, that, where I was partial to metal and chains, he went for leather and rope. Except for a single chain on each slave, connected to the pillar and... I couldn't tell from where I was standing where it was attached to on the girl.
Jim took off his robe, and hung it on a hook by the now closed door. Like me, the robe had been all he was wearing. He was much older than I, probably approaching sixty or so, but was in excellent shape for his age. Certainly his equipment was not deficient. Any slave would definitely know that she had been entered. Like me, his pubic area was void of hair, as were the slaves'. I also removed my robe with some qualms about performing in front of another male - something that I had never done before. Not that he had offered me use of his property. But then, with a motion of his hand, he offered me the opportunity to move closer and examine his harem.
One was probably as old as he was, slightly overweight, but desirable for all that - nice heavy breasts, drooping since they were not being held up. The other was probably closer to the ages of my first two girls. Smaller tits but still nice. I walked around the pillars, which were heavy steel pipes set into the tiled floor. There hands were bound with very heavy leather cuffs, with silver padlocks holding them closed. They both had a thin metal collar, gold in color, circling their necks, with attachment rings, but nothing was connected to them at the moment. The gag was a standard ball type, but the blindfold followed the richness of the rest of the dungeon, and was made of a velvet material with gold threads laced though out. Their feet were unbound, and their legs were together and the chain went from it's coupling on the bottom of the pillar, to several coils laying on the floor, then up between their closed legs. I stooped down in front of the older slave, and tried to see where it went, but still wasn't sure. I looked up at Jim with a puzzled look.
Jim walked to a large set of shelves, picked up a small whip, somewhat like my stinger, but longer, and stuck the handle between her knees and moved it side to side. She immediately spread her legs to the full extent. It took a moment to recognize what I was seeing. The girl was pierced from just under her pussy opening to almost to her asshole and a large very heavy gauge ring was inserted. That is to say, through the taint. I am not sure how it was done, since it appeared to be seamless - no weld seam or bead connector. I assumed that the ring's seam was inside her body. The ring passed through the end loop of the chain - also unbroken and permanent. I noticed that the end of the chain was connected to the pillar "O" ring with a standard padlock. So apparently Jim moved the chain from place to place, depending on where he wanted the girl at the moment. Jim pointed, "Go ahead. Feel it if you want."
I was used to the rings on Tassle's body - they could be pulled and the nipples or pussy lips would stretch considerably. But when I pulled on this taint ring, it was solid. There was no give at all. So this method of capture was as solid as the chains on my girls' collars. There was no way that it could be pulled out, no matter how much force was applied, without massively injuring the girl.
I inspected both slaves for a few minutes, a pleasant task that was starting to have a visible effect on my privates. Before I could worry about being embarrassed, Jim spoke up and said, "Either one or both are yours any time you want while you are here. Use them anyway you want. He motioned me over to a small alcove with a table and three chairs. Opening a cabinet door, he brought out two glasses and and a bottle. A small refrigerator provided the ice. He poured, then motioned for me to sit down.
I wondered about the unlocked liquor cabinet in a dungeon. Before my visit was over, I discovered that the bondage of his slaves was much more strict than mine. When I was gone, or upstairs, or just not interested that day, my girls usually had the free run of their chain length, unless they were being punished. His were always in strict bondage. Entertainment was not provided, as with my girls' TV. They had nothing to occupy them during the day whatsoever. At night they were fastened to their sleeping mats, but not held spread as mine were. His theory was that if a girl had spent the day or days doing nothing but talk to her companion, any appearance by her master would be the high point of the day.
Jim began to tell me some of the history of his "hobby." He was a banker, and now owned most of the largest banking chain in the state. He and his then young wife had gotten into bondage years ago - he the dom and she the sub. Most weekends and holidays she spent in ropes or chains while he dominated her. At some point back then, they had collected their first slave, who became junior to his wife in submission. Her name was Nancy (and still is - they let her keep it). She had been a close school chum of his wife, got herself into an unhappy marriage, and finally showed up on their doorstep one night, black and blue from a beating. She had always known of Jim's wife's predilection for submission, but when she discovered (or was shown) the depth of the lifestyle, she begged to be included. She was another woman with the not-so-hidden desire to be totally dominated, the main reason that she, like so many others like her, had never just walked away from her drunkard husband. She made it plain that her part of the agreement included total slavery with no option to quit, tight bondage and any use or punishment that Jim wanted to inflict. She had been owed ever since then, and used by both. Of course, Jim's wife only used her by permission and on orders.
Jim continued. "That younger cunt over there used to work in my bookkeeping department. One night I came back to the office and found her making copies of customer files. We found that she was heavy into the crack scene and was desperate to support her habit by anyway possible, including making withdrawals from our customer's accounts." Jim filled our glasses for another round.
Apparently, the girl was on the wrong end of a drug session, since she panicked and tried to stab Jim with a letter opener. That moved the charge from theft to attempted murder or some such. After being released on bail, probably with Jim's help, he met her for a little talk and made her a proposal that really only had one acceptable item. She could go to prison for probably 10 to 20 (after all, even back then Jim was a respected leader in the community, not some pimp that she was trying to stab) or serve out her sentence in some unspecified service to Jim.
Shortly, thereafter, she jumped bail and was never caught or even seen again.
Her name was now Suki.
We talked through most of the evening. I gave him some history of my slave owning experiences, and of course, invited him to stop in at any time to sample the treats. Eventually, he stood up and put the bottle back and the glasses into the sink. "I assume that you would like to sleep on the bed down here," he invited. He smiled, since my body was obviously not saying no, so he walked over to the two girls, unlocked the chains attached to the pillars, then, walking them with his hands around their collars to the other end of the dungeon, reattached the chains to rings on the king sized bed, then handed me the key. Putting on our robes, we walked back upstairs so that I could retrieve my suitcase; he wished me goodnight and I walked back down to the hidden room.
The slaves were still standing, one on either side of the bed, still with their hands fastened behind them and also still blindfolded and gagged. After preparing myself for the night in the well equipped bathroom, I walked over to the bed and began a real examination of the merchandise. They were well trained. When I reached down on either for some pussy fingering, they spread their legs immediately to the full extent. I pushed on Suki's back to bend her over the bed, then proceeded to do a deep inspection of both of her holes. Then Nancy's. By now, of course, my dick was standing at full attention. It was time to relieve some pressure. Because I didn't want the sheets to be drooled all over, I removed the gag from Nancy's mouth, and asked, "Who are you?", even though I knew of course.
Working her jaws for a moment, she replied. "My name is Nancy, Master. I am a toy that you may use any way you will. You have only to command and I will perform any action that you wish." Hmmm. That was obviously a set speech that she was trained to make for other parties. Obviously, these slaves had the right to use personal pronouns, unlike my girls who only spoke in the third person.
I kept playing the game, wondered what the responses would be. "What if you displease me?" I asked.
"On the wall is a selection of whips that you may use to stripe me as severely as you wish." she answered. "Or you may inflict any other punishment that you see fit." Another speech.
"What are you trained to do?" I continued.
"I can performed any action you wish, Master."
"Like what," I insisted.
She went on. "You may fuck me in any hole you wish. I can piss or shit on you. I can suck your dick and swallow your cum. I will drink your piss if you wish. Master may shit in my mouth and I will eat it."
Wow! He had laid some serious bondage on these girls. They were definitely not living the same carefree slavery as my flock.
I pointed to the bed - a useless gesture since both were still blindfolded. "Climb into the bed on your stomach. I think I will start by packing your shit." I walked around to Suki, while Nancy maneuvered her body into position without the use of her hands. I removed Suki's gag, and ordered, "You will lay between my legs while I fuck Nancy and give my asshole a good licking. And I want some deep tongue action. Understand?"
"Yes, Master." She had a cute voice. Still almost adolescent sounding.
I climbed onto the bed, behind Nancy, who was now prone on her stomach with her legs fully apart. I lay down on her with my rod laying in her ass crack and waited for Suki to get into position, feeling her way with her blindfolded face. Soon she had wiggled herself into position and I started feeling my ass being drilled. Wetting my cock, I slowly pushed it into my lower slave's poop chute. It had been several days since I had unloaded so I took it easy, especially now that I had a double stimulation going. I reached under and pulled Nancy's large titties to each side and began to pull and pinch her nipples. There was no reaction, so I clamped down harder. Still nothing. This was interesting - any of my girls would have been screaming by this time. Finally, with my explosion building, and with a combination of rolling, pulling and pinching titty nipple, I finally got a half moan, half low scream out of my lower sex cushion.
I blew a big load into her, reached around to push Suki's face away, but she had already stopped just as my orgasm was subsiding. The training in this particular dungeon was fantastic. It was almost like having two robot sex androids serving me. After letting my nerve endings settle down, I turned over and told Suki to clean me up.
I got up for a piss, and to get ready for sleep. I positioned one girl on each side of the very large bed. I turned off the lights and lay on my back, both hands casually exploring my two bedmates, and suddenly had a thought. I didn't want to wake up laying in a cold puddle. I said, "I don't know what your orders are, but both of you can get up during the night if you have to pee." That got a "Thank you, Master," from both but neither moved at that time.
I woke up in the middle of the night, and realizing where I was, decided to take advantage of the situation. I rolled Suki onto her side and entered her pussy from behind for a long, almost casual fuck in total darkness.
The next morning, I removed the blindfolds, and the leather manacles and asked Nancy, "What do you do in the mornings for breakfast?"
With her blindfold off, Nancy was a good looking woman, probably about 55'ish. She never raised her eyes to me, instead looking at the floor at my feet. I looked around at Suki - she was also looking at the floor. Jeez Louise, I thought. Compared to these slaves, my girls were almost footloose and fancy free.
"Our Master usually chains us to the kitchen and allows us to make our own." I picked up the key from where I had put it last night, at the middle of the room out of their reach, unlocked them and towed them over to the little alcove kitchen that we had had our drinks in last night. I noticed a ring bolt in the floor and relocked them into that. "Fix your meal, slaves," I ordered . Then procured my shaving kit and started for the shower.
I assumed that we weren't going to spend the whole day naked, so I dressed normally and went back upstairs, closing the dungeon door behind me. I didn't know how to operate the swinging shelf panel, so I left it open. Jim was already up, and dressed. "I thought we would go over to my club for breakfast. Any problems last night that I need to take care of?" I assured him that the nighttime service had been sterling.
We spent the whole morning at his club, clear past lunch, mostly talking in a isolated enclave surrounded by the trappings of a retreat for men who have everything. Or money to buy it, if they didn't. It came out that fishing was his other hobby, indulged in more and more as his age gradually slowed down his use of his hidden domain. I learned that Jim had lost his wife from disease about 8 years ago - far too early. He had been almost impotent for the following year. Gradually the desire came back but he admitted that it was never the same without his partner. He had met the other two men who shared his "hobby" many years before that and said that they usually met every few months, each man being the host in his turn. Very little more was said about them. I assumed that he would have to know a great deal more about me before any more was said.
I again extended an invitation to visit my dungeon - all the notice he needed was a single phone call to make sure that I was in town before he came. He said that he had already planned the visit, probably in the fall, since the summers in my state can be unbelievably hot for a person used to the cool mountain air. The rest of the afternoon was just talk, mostly not about sex or slaves. Just conversation between two men who had just met and seemed to be finding that they were interested in becoming friends.
I enjoyed his hospitality for two more days, including several sessions where each of us was poking in a slave - the first times in my life that I ever performed sex when another man was within view. I never noticed him being cruel, or sadistic, but he insisted on absolute obedience from his girls. And they gave it. There was none of the girlish play that my flock indulged in, at least not when we were present.
Finally, I had to leave. I hoped that I had made a life long friend, but I still had the feeling, just a hunch actually, that he was still sizing me up for something. Something besides just joining the very exclusive underground clique.
The Exclusive Club
As planned, in the fall I received a call from Jim, and assured him that I would be delighted if he came down for a few days. The girls had never seen another man since the day they were chained to the pillar in the basement. I told them that I was expecting a visitor and that he would have free and total access of any and all of them. I also promised that if they were unsatisfactory in any way during the visit, I would give them a whip session at the posts that would make them think that their previous visits were birthday parties.
The entire week up to the visit, they were both nervous and excited about a new experience.
I picked Jim up at the airport, and we drove to my place. I think he was impressed with it. By now I had purchased a couple of the adjoining farms when the owners retired, and now had a far larger estate than I started with. I assured him that the fishing in my lake was usually very good and I had a full set of gear if he wanted to try his hand.
The girls he really enjoyed. And they enjoyed him, each one trying to outdo the others in their service. I really got a kick out of the female barn dances. I am not sure the girls even realized they were performing them. But I have to say, he seemed to enjoy the fishing just as much.
On his last night, as we were lounging upstairs in my den, he paused in the conversation, peering through his glass at nothing. This was it, I knew. He was making his mind up about something. Something about me.
"Mike," he started. "I've spoken to my other friends about you - not specifics, of course. They know nothing of who you are or where you live. I would never give out that information without your express permission. But I have recommended and they have given me permission to speak to you as their proxy." He paused. "I have told you that there are two others, known by me, who share our love of dominated women." I nodded, but knew this was the time to keep quiet. "And you know that we visit on occasion and sample the wares of each other." I nodded again. "That is only the icing on the cake. There is a much more serious reason. I am sure that you have thought about what will happen to your lovely girls if something happens to you suddenly? An automobile wreck, a plane crash - even being shot while buying groceries - anything. Who knows what will cause the end of our days?"
"Yes," I replied quietly.
"In the event of some unfortunate happening, we have long arranged for a method to send an emergency message to each other, from ourselves if possible, from an attorney if not. Just a code word or phrase to indicate of what has happened. Each of us are pledged and authorized to immediately take possession of that persons chattels, and move them to prevent discovery and scandal. And to prevent starvation or death from thirst by being locked up in a location unknown to any outsiders. Hopefully, to keep them safe for return to the owner if possible, but in case of death or other permanent disposition, to see that they are taken care of in the future. I am the older by far, and will probably be the first to go. I want my two beautiful ladies to be assured of a safe transition on my death."
I started to speak, but he held up his hand. "Let me finish, please. And I speak for the others. We would be honored if you would join our pact. You don't have to decide now, please take as much time as you wish to think about it."
I held up my hands. "Jim," I began with a smile. "The answer is yes. Right now."
I am very wealthy now, a combination of a very good income, with no need to spend it on much of anything except taxes, utilities and food for four people. And some very good investments. One result is that I now own thousands of acres around my house as I bought one property after another as the old farmers retired or died and left the property to their offspring. Said offspring who couldn't wait to cash in on the old folk's land so that new cars and new clothes could be bought. I hired a Hispanic couple to help me care for it, and allow them to live in one of the better farm houses for a song. The Senora cleans my house twice a week, and her Esposo handles the outside maintenance, such as lawns, fences and roads.
Thistle and Thimble are now passing 50 years of age. The girls' breasts now have to be supported by a much heaver sling band, but all three are as desirable as ever. They no longer hide their activities with each other, in fact, they get a kick out of me watching. My routines with them are still just as strict, just longer between episodes. The cable TV is long gone. They get nothing but a diet of DVDs of old TV series or movies that date before the 70's. They have not left the dungeon a single time since that day they were brought down, 25 years ago. Reagan was the last president they knew. While they have been here, the Gulf War was fought, the computer age took off, the public Internet was born, the new millennium and 9/11 happened. They have no knowledge of anything beyond the concrete walls. Their entire universe is centered inside of 2000 square feet of space.
The girls are experienced and competent slaves. I can point to a girl and then to a rack and the other two can have her trussed up properly in just moments, with proper tensions on the limbs and any other wanted gear installed or gotten ready for me. Depending on what I indicate, the other two can bring the captive to the exact edge of orgasm, or pain, or discomfort that I want. They are absolutely and totally obedient. It has been several years since the whipping posts have been used. If I were to shit on the floor and tell them to start eating (something I never did), I have no doubt that they would drop to their hands and knees and start in on their meal. Their only reaction might be distaste at the smell or the actual taste, but that would be all. Disgust, embarrassment, taboo are concepts that have been totally forgotten by them over the decades. I doubt that they could even define the words now. Sex and bondage is all they know. Even the memory of the world from their earlier lives is now so intermixed with hokum TV fare, that most of what they think they remember, never happened.
A few things have evolved in the dungeon, but in the main it still has the same furniture that it was furnished with the first year. The girls have long since had the privilege of fixing meals on their own, whenever they want them, with the warning that any unusual increase in anybody's weight will have the 'fridge and pantry moved back out of reach. And that the meals have to be fairly healthy. They still sleep stretched out in bungees, but after all these years, they will probably sleep spread eagled on their own if I forget to attach the cords. Over the years their collar chains have been removed and replaced several times, as they wore thin by being dragged up and down a concrete floor. They have been required to keep their legs spread for so many years, that I notice that even when they think I am thousands of miles away, they still keep them open. It isn't really necessary any more from a practical standpoint. There is no square millimeter on their bodies, including inside as far as I can look up their various holes, that I can not visualize completely at any time.
My friend Jim has passed on now, but I still have my automatic arrangements with the other members of our exclusive club (now back up to four in number, with the addition of a younger member) to prevent the girls from dying of thirst or starvation in the event that they outlive me. I owe them that much. Besides, they are not just my slaves - no actual family member could be closer. Not that I have ever told them that. About once a year, my friends journey to my house, where they do their best to use my harem to the fullest, fish in the lake, lounge around enjoying life. Every few months, we enjoy the snows of Vermont, then warm up between the spread legs of beautiful sirens, or have fun hunting in the wilds of Montana, then come back to the estate, tired but satisfied as we lay back while women in chains work over our rods with their tongues. The horseback exploration on on a California ranch is even more enjoyable when there are some trussed up girls waiting for us in a room beneath the ranchhouse.
I have just flown in from the east coast, after three days of business meetings. Before going downstairs, I stop at the bar and raise a glass in memory of my old friend who had suffered the beating, long deceased now, whose friendship had actually been responsible my possession of the lovely toys beneath my feet. I pick up a box with a few items that I had purchased while in the big city on the coast. Anything new is welcome, and I am anxious to see how these items fit in certain tight places. I empty the glass, and head for the basement door.