Down and Dirty
by Raul Roget

Chapter 1: A Slave Has Escaped

The chant had a certain monotony to it, but if you listened closely, each new announcement was slightly different. A speech therapist would have immediately recognized that a different word was emphasized in each mantra.

The speaker was a woman, her youth attested by her near perfect - and nude - body. Breasts, almost too opulent to be called tits. Cunt exposed bare: lips and clit peeping from the background flesh. A face to love, beautiful with high cheekbones that gave away her good breeding. A smile would have lit candles in a wide swath, but her face was grim - and very determined - with good reason.

"Slut Petra will NEVER try to escape again."

Any other slave turned slut in her position - if still alive - would be striped from the tips of her fingers to between her toes and would wear enough hardware to keep the steel mills working overtime. Masters and Mistresses do not take kindly to slaves going AWOL (Absent Without Leave).

Slut Petra had two strikes against her when it came to discipline. She was addicted to the whip - in any form - and her motto was "The more chains the better!" Punishing her for almost anything, let alone the seriousness of an escape attempt was like trying to whip the wind or stop the rain.

Hence the seeming dull and boring mantra. Master was highly intelligent, but if truth be told, his IQ exceeded that of his slave by less than a handful of points. Master didn't really need a whip, since his forte was the cutting remark that could wound far deeper than the lash. Writing such remarks for highly paid comics resulted in paychecks that were obscenely large, easily financing a remote ranch in New Mexico where he and his slave lived, with a small staff to handle the real work.

"Slut Petra will never TRY to escape again."

There was serious doubt in Master's mind that she actually tried to escape. He suspected strongly that she had become bored and staged her disappearance in order to be punished, to fill the deep-seated want with the exciting pain of the whip.

In any event he awoke one morning to find her gone, the bed empty on her side. He checked with the cook and the night guard, but neither had seen her. When daylight came he took his pickup and drove to the highway, scanning both sides of the narrow road. There was little to hide a runaway beyond a few bushes.

To be certain, he drove a mile west on the highway, then reversed and drove another mile east of the ranch road, certain in his own mind that a nude girl would hesitate to try to hitch a ride.

He had barely turned back onto the home road when he saw her. She knelt, hands behind her head, a few feet from the track, facing him, eyes down. She was nude, but Master again suspected her of some duplicity. He pulled a short whip from the gun rack behind his head and stepped out.

Master eyed her with contempt. "You sorry bitch, YOU are in deep shit!"

"Master, I..."

"Shut the hell up! You don't say one word until I tell you to - and that day hasn't dawned yet." The whip seemed to have a mind of its own, swinging out, the tip catching the side of her nose. Tears flooded her eyes at the sting. His words hurt more, especially since she had earned them.

He circled her, moving out each time he changed direction, searching. Under a bush he found a hastily buried package with one of his shirts and a pair of jeans. Without a word he threw them in the pickup. "Stay put. Move and you'll wish you had run down the highway and under a bus." Ignoring her tears he gunned the pickup, raising a shower of dirt and rocks that pelted the kneeling slave.

It was nearly an hour before she heard the horse. She was facing the wrong way and wouldn't have dared turn to see if her life depended on it. The horse stopped, inches from her. Her Master reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He held it before her studiously downcast eyes.

She looked at it and gasped, drawing a warning look. It was the Vet's title picture from the Leviticus web site, showing a girl being lead by her bound hands behind a horse and rider, a picture she had seen many, many times.

"It's three miles to the ranch. You fall down and we go back out to the highway and start over." The horse turned and started toward home. The slave followed. The rider watched her, an angry scowl distorting his handsome face. He urged the horse to a faster gait. The slave trotted, keeping the loop to the saddle horn with just enough slack.

The slave made the run without faltering. She never lifted her eyes from the road, never saw the scowl turn to rigid determination. It was gone when he pulled up at the barn. Instantly she was on her knees, bound hands awkwardly behind her head. She was breathing hard, sweating in the August sun. Her nose itched intolerably but she had no desire to aggravate her already disastrous position by breaking yet another rule.

Master had burned out his anger on the long ride home. He made it a rule to never punish while angry. Some of the punishments he mentally considered in that first mile could easily have left her a helpless cripple, ruined for the games they loved. His imagination toned down to skinning her alive with the whip, but knowing her love for pain he tossed the idea quickly aside. The last mile gave him plenty of time to consider some serious mental punishments.

"Stand up! Hands in front."

She scrambled quickly to her feet, expecting and steeling herself for a severe whipping. The end of the rope was still tied to the saddle horn. He turned and hung the whip on the saddle. Reaching in his shirt he pulled out a key. Seconds later her collar fell away, for the first time in many months. Her eyes widened as he threw it like a frisbee into the big manure pile next to the barn.

Grimly he nodded toward the pile. "You are no longer a collared slave. Rather, you are an uncollared slut. A slut is lower than a slave, so you have lost every right and privilege in my house." Up to this point losing her collar was the worst possible punishment. Tears welled as she felt the loss of her familiar restraint, knowing that her punishment had only just begun.

The contempt showing clearly in his face and voice he ripped her with words. "Any Master worth his salt would whip you to the death for running away." She was already looking down but her head dropped even further. She had kicked herself for pure unadulterated stupidity every bound step back to the ranch, back to the torture chamber with which she had a love-hate relationship.

He voiced his suspicions as to her motives. "If you had really tried to escape you would have made it. You have the guts, but you don't have the common sense that God gave a goose. Motive is not going to save you from the full punishment that a runaway deserves."

The slut listened very carefully, hanging on every word, trying to learn what her fate would be. She guessed he wouldn't flay her with the whip, but there were so many other penalties she could pay that it was less than comforting to know.

Even as her Master had considered the proper punishments, as he rode with her following at rope's end, his slave-soon-to-be-slut had allowed her vivid imagination to run riot, driving herself into a frenzy of fearfully counting the many ways she could be hurt. She thought of his acid tongue but ignored it, assuming it too mild a rebuke for her grave misdeed. This was only one of several miscalculations she made, turning a bad hair day into utter disaster.

Her Master blamed himself in part for the incident. Petra had welcomed her slave training with open arms, satisfying a deep-seated urge of long standing. She took to slavery so quickly and so well that Master neglected to impress upon her the catastrophic consequences of running away. She knew it anyway, but some less-than-bright impulse led her astray. Now she would have to pay. His omission would have no effect on her sentence. Master had done his duty, so it was the slave's fault. Always the slave's fault.

"Slut, go stand on the corral fence, straddling the top rail. Until I come back you will yell at the top of your lungs, 'I am a STUPID slut.' You will count to 10, quickly and repeat, and keep repeating until I tell you to stop. If I can't hear you in the barn, you will be dunked in the horse trough until you suck your lungs full of water. Git!"

He released the rope from his saddle and slut took off at a dead run for the corral. Master ignored her and walked into the barn. Slut could be heard quite plainly even at the far end. A trace of a smile flicked across his face as he reached for a chain hanging on the wall. It took some time to haul the various lengths of chain out the door. Slut was around the corner of the barn so she had no inkling of what Master was doing.

Master bellowed at her, "Slut, come here!" She tore around the corner, carrying the neatly coiled rope, landing on her knees in front of him. She was counting and opened her mouth to repeat her embarrassing slogan. "Shut the hell up, you stupid slut!" He shouted the words, cowing her into silence. Slut knew that by now everybody on the ranch had heard of her demotion and had heard her yelling to proclaim her stupidity.

"I want some answers. Since you are too stupid to talk you will nod or shake your head to answer me." Slut kept her head down, eyes on the ground in front of her.

"Have you been planning this? Remember, I have the proper tools to ensure correct answers." Slut shook her head.

"Spur of the moment?" She nodded.

"Anyone help you? She shook emphatically.

"You stole a shirt?" Reluctantly her head nodded up and down.

"You stole jeans?" At her nod he added, "Separate crimes, separate punishments."

"You hid the shirt?" She could see the pattern coming, as she nodded.

"You hid the jeans? You stole food? You stole a bag to put your stolen goods in? You hid the bag?" On and on, a litany of admissions that she would be paying for over months, if not years. The most telling admission was saved for last.

"You endangered your Master's property and damaged it? She wanted to deny damaging, ignoring her feet, sore from the rocks and thorns. Since the two were lumped in a single question she had no option but to nod her head. A list of her crimes, headed by running away would be posted on the ranch bulletin board the next day, complete with her signature attesting that it was a true list of her admissions.

With that piece of business out of the way, Master addressed her again, "Slut, did you not say "The more chains the better?"

Slut didn't need a crystal ball for this question either. Without hesitating she nodded. Rather grimly, Master announced, "We're going to test that right now. Stand up!"

Slut jumped up and stood at attention. Grunting with the effort, Master picked up the end of a massive chain, hauling it to Slut, who already was silently cursing her big mouth. It took only five links to replace the collar that was buried in the dung heap, the massive links accepting a padlock to close at her throat. The trailing links were adjusted to fall down her back and loop around her waist, to meet a second padlock, pulling her stomach in at the same time.

Slightly smaller chains were selected to first secure her wrists high behind her back, then trailing to her ankles. Master had a large wooden case full of padlocks allowing him to be generous with them. He proceeded to be overly generous, fulfilling his disgust with more and more chains. When he stopped, slut was now chain slut, anchored by five or six chains from every attachment point. When she tried to move she discovered her ankles were fastened to long chains still lying on the ground. She would have to drag them every time she moved one of her feet.

Master eyed her coolly. "I will not give you pleasure by whipping you to your cell. Instead, I will use the one weapon in my arsenal that you fear. Oh, and no orgasms, now, or in the foreseeable future. You MAY be allowed an orgasm IF you ever earn your collar back."

Slut nearly panicked, pointless in her cocoon of chains. Looking at the future her Master was laying out for her would give anyone a panic attack, even with her lengthy experience in Master's collar. She gasped silently when she saw Master load fresh batteries into a cattle prod. She was unaware of the subtle changes in the electronics in the prod, cutting the cowhide-penetrating shock into a milder form human skin could withstand. Unknowing, she feared it and any other form of electricity.

It was a scant 200 yards to the house. Chain slut measured every yard with a stinging zap. Burdened with more than her own weight of iron and dragging nearly as much more, her progress was painfully slow. Master made no effort to speed her movement, satisfied to zap every target of opportunity. The multiple chains offered an unending path for the shocks that searched out the tenderest skin.

Her path, directed by the prod, led around the house to the front yard. Looking down, she was unaware of the hole she was approaching until she nearly stepped into it. Master's "Stop, stupid!" came even as she lifted a chain weighted ankle to move forward.

"Damaging my property AGAIN!" It was grossly unfair. Her last order was to "March." Her nod was very faintly reluctant, even as she realized that fair treatment was not what she deserved. She jerked as if whipped when she heard "Reluctance noted." The shit she was embroiled in got even deeper.

"Would you like some more chains?" Not, "Are you hurting?" Just the loaded question, Master's voice dripping honey. Her nod came before he completed the word. Momentarily foiled, Master ignored her answer and began unlocking padlocks until she stood nude again. As he freed her, she eyed the hole almost under her feet. It looked barely larger than a posthole to her, another miscalculation.

"Get in!" Slut hesitated. "Get your ass into that fucking hole, stupid!" Somewhat awkwardly she dropped into the hole. The tight fit only allowed her to crouch against her lower legs. She kept her eyes down while she puzzled over the portent of being in this hole in the front lawn.

Something quite heavy hit the ground around her hole. Something cast a shadow across her upper body. Something, she determined out of the corner of her eye, was a heavy metal grill, pinning her like a bug in her cramped hole. Chain rattled. Length after length lay across the grill, weighing it down. This was the end of the road. She was not going to her comfortable (relatively) mattress on the dungeon floor.

Master's voice penetrated to the bottom of the hole. "Just so you don't get bored, you will lick each link of every chain up here. After every link you will shout your mantra. You will stop at sunset and begin again at sunrise. When you have finished licking all the chain you will shout without pausing until you are told to do something else.

Slut could suddenly hear voices. She recognized some of the staff. Master spoke up. "The slave has lost her collar and is now titled stupid slut. She has no authority, no appeal and once her initial punishment is underway she will be available to all of you for work, or play."

Addressing the hole he ordered "Tell the staff what you are." From beneath the grill slut's voice was loud, "I am a STUPID slut."

Grinning, Master told her, "I had a little trouble hearing that. Would you mind repeating it, and real loud this time." The cook giggled.

The words came from the hole again, much louder. "I want to hear you at least that loud for every link." Through a slight gap in the chains he saw her head nod, accepting her punishment.

Slut worked and shouted diligently for the rest of the day. At sunset the night guard pulled the chains away, pulled the grill away and allowed slut out of the hole. She was given a chamber pot which she nearly filled under the man's watchful eyes. She looked around for paper to wipe herself but there was none in sight and the guard made no move to get it. She was given a crust of bread and all the water she wanted.

While she gnawed at the rock-hard crust the guard drove a spiral tent stake into the hard ground. He locked a length of chain to the swivel and locked the other end around her ankle. With a sinking feeling slut realized that she would be spending the night in her hole, a crude tiger cage. Even before she finished the bread she was ordered back into her cramped quarters and the weight of the grill and chains effectively locked her in.

Nights in the high desert are noted for rapid cooling as soon as the sun goes down. To slut it seemed a matter of minutes between blazing sun and just plain shivering cold. The ground felt relatively warm as she curled into a ball to conserve her body heat. The slightest breeze felt like ice cubes sliding over her goose-pimpled skin. Even now, hours later, her nervous system still jangled from the multiple shocks of the prod.

Sleep would not come. She was cold and miserable; not just from the cold but from the stark reality of her stupidity that got her into this mess. She had ruined a near-perfect Master-slave relationship because of her perceived boredom. Master would have been happy to remove boredom from her life if she had only asked. Now she was as strictly curbed as if she had a mouth full of gag. She couldn't talk, couldn't apologize, couldn't explain. Nodding and shaking her head like a horse gave her no possible out. She agreed with her Master, "You ARE a stupid slut."

Even worse, she knew that she was trapped at the very beginning of a lengthy cycle of well deserved punishment, with no way to mitigate what would be done to her. It had been years since the Master's last gag rule for her had been in effect, back when she was first training to be a slave. The training had been painful as Master deliberately asked her questions she couldn't answer with her nodding and then punished her, first for refusing to answer, then for failing to call him Master. She did not look forward to a repeat of those hard learned lessons. A Master is always right. A slave is always wrong. A Master is praised. A slave is punished. It's as simple as that.

As dawn broke, slut was shivering. Minutes earlier she had fallen asleep, dreaming of being locked to an anchor being dropped by some huge ship, sliding below the surface of the water, waking from her nightmare just as she gasped her last breath. She had no room to move but she exercised her muscles, hoping to warm enough to stop shivering. She eyed the chains above her, her tongue tingling at the thought of more licking.

Suddenly her eyes widened in horror. The neat rows of chains she had already done were scattered, lumped with the unlicked. She would have to start at the beginning, thanks to the guard, who had probably deliberately mixed them up. He no doubt was pissed that he had to babysit her. She recognized three lengths by their unusual link shape, but that left a mound that she would have to do or do over.

For the briefest of moments she considered starting early, facing a long day. She remembered her orders. "Sunrise." Not dawn.

It was minutes from sundown when she finished the entire pile. She signaled with her repeated mantra that she was done. Her Master inspected. She was punished for failing to clean the links in the chain running to the stake, impossibly out of her reach. She held out her sore tongue for a muted zap, still powerful enough to tempt her to bite her tongue off to relieve the pain. The chain was dumped into the hole so she could reach it. As she cleaned each link she shoved them back up through the grill. Finished, she was punished again for delay.

Supper came and went. Bread and water. Toilet on the chamber pot, this time with paper. She had to stand, bent at the waist, and clean herself while the guard had a clear view, making sure she didn't miss anything. Another night in the hole, shivering, lapsing into troubled sleep for moments, then wide awake and trembling.

Dawn. Master was up, looming over her hole. Until he arrived she wondered what to do now that her chains were cleaned.

"Bored?" Hopefully she nodded, knowing she was foolish to expect mercy. She tried with her answer to convince him she regretted running away.

He shoved his hand through the grill, under her eyes. She saw a teaspoon. A plastic 'klunk' announced a five gallon bucket dropped on the grill. "Your rabbit hole is too small. By sundown I want the bucket full. You will announce each dozen spoonfuls in the usual manner, only louder.

By sundown the bucket was nowhere near full. Slut was scraping frantically with her spoon at the cement-like dirt, with little effect. Nothing was said. She was fed and watered and put back in her hole. Master appeared above her. "Here, this might keep you warm." He dumped the bucket of dirt over her head. "Start at dawn."

She was scraping with the first faint light in the east. The night guard punished her for starting too early. At sunset she had filled the pail to the rim. It was taken away and dumped, to slut's relief. The pail came back. "Dawn."

The excavation gave her barely room to sit, rather than squat, but her knees were still right in her face. She scraped and scraped, failing to fill the bucket. It was dumped on her head after supper. "Dawn" was the command. Master had not come near her.

The constant scraping put a knife edge on the spoon. Sharp, it did a somewhat better job of cutting into the caliche. It took a week to give her legs room to stretch out straight. Another week widened it to allow her to lie flat for the first time. Her moments above ground were expanded to include a half hour of really strenuous exercise that showed off her bouncing breasts, followed by high kicks that left her fully exposed to the guard and any other spectators that wandered by for the show.

Master made a rare appearance, watching her perform without comment. While she was catching her breath as she went back to her hole, he asked, "Still bored?" She shook her head. Master grunted and turned away. "She stinks. Give her a bath." A hose was brought. Cold water sprayed on her. The impervious dirt sucked nary a drop. The water in her hole was up to her chin with her face pressed against the immovable grill. She was handed a bar of laundry soap. She scrubbed, ignoring the dirty water she was bathing in. For the first time she felt claustrophobia building. All it would take to drown her was a few seconds of an open faucet.

Once clean she was left alone in her water filled hole. She had wondered how they were going to get the water out. The answer was simple, they weren't. It was nearly dawn when the last little pool of water seeped into the ground. Slut was a basket case from the cold.

September brought frost. She was offered a sleeping bag, with a string attached. She would have to give the night guard a blow job in order to get it. She endured one night without it, then agreed, first punished for delay. The one suck was turned into a solid week of pleasuring the guard. Slut was never sure how it came about, but the nightly blow job became a regular part of her evening routine, usually with other staff members watching and commenting crudely on her abilities.

The first snowstorm of the season drove her inside. A tiger cage had been prepared in the floor of Master's office. It was far smaller than the cave she had carved out, so she was back to crouching in a strained squat. For the most part, Master ignored her. He did tell her she would find relief from her boredom, working in the kitchen. He let her walk ahead of him, dragging her long ankle chain. The cook took over, directing slut into her private office. She pulled the last links in as the cook shut and locked the door.

Bluntly the cook explained, "You want to work here, you  pay me for the honor." She made it perfectly clear by raising her skirt and apron, revealing a lack of underwear and a jungle of curly hair. Slut nodded hastily, unsure of what cook might do to her if she refused. The cook slid backward onto the corner of her desk, spreading her legs and pushing slut's head into the proper position. "Now lick! You've certainly had enough practice."

Between satisfying the cook and doing all the kitchen scut work, slut had no time to be bored. If Master was still in his office when the exhausted slut was shoved in her cage for the night, he delighted in forcing her to repeat her stupid slut slogan again and again, catching her as her eyes drifted shut and her attention wandered.

It got to be too much for her one evening, the end of a day that saw her servicing the night guard and the cook, and spending hours cleaning the grease traps with her hands. Master asked her to perform and she snapped. "Master, I...."

"Just shut UP!" He glared down at her as she clutched the steel bars. "Bored again, after all I've done for you.@ Angry at the affront to his authority, he still had the sense to wait until he was cooled down before punishing her.

At dawn she was pulled up out of her floor cage to kneel before the night guard. Unbidden she loosened his belt, unzipped his fly and carefully brought his erect cock into view. She looked up into his eyes as required and brought him off with practiced ease.

They met Master at the corral. He eyed her up and down and grabbed a matching length of chain to lock on her other ankle. Effortlessly the guard held her in mid air, while Master threw one chain across the fence. Slut found herself sitting on a sharp "V" made of two planks nailed to the top rail. Her legs were dragged down by the heavy chains. Slut tried to lift a leg, but she couldn't overcome the weight of iron attached to her ankle.

She looked down and saw the guard attaching one chain to a wire leading to a small control box. On the inside of the fence a second wire was hooked to the other chain. Seconds later as Master flicked the switch she received the full impact of the shock that an electric fence can produce. It was a new and frightening experience, especially when the current started pulsing at regular intervals. After the initial shock slut discovered that the nail heads in her saddle were also charged.

Master issued instructions. "You will ride the wooden horse. You will shout to the world, >Slut Petra will never try to escape again.' Each time you say it you will emphasize a different word. There are eight words. After every eight you will draw a deep breath and yell your stupid slut saying even louder. One mistake will get you a week on the horse. Two a month and three a month with the prod up your cunt. Now, start yelling!"