Down
and Dirty
by Raul Roget
(Indian giver: Slang. A person who gives a gift, expecting to receive it back after a brief use.)
There was a firm knock on the lower panel of the outside door to Master Allen’s office. He had watched the monitor that covered the main yard so he knew who was knocking. While he let her wait he made a mental note to teach her to knock with respect appropriate to her humble position. She was a slave, and slaves didn’t knock with authority, or in a manner suggesting that they were ordering someone to let them in. The slave knock was timid, barely audible, and is never repeated. If it goes unheard it is always the slave’s fault.
Glancing up from her computer screen, slave martha recognized the slave. She frowned, wondering what she was doing, coming to the Master’s office during working hours. Briefly she considered several punishments that would reinforce the girl’s obedience to the rules. Then she went back to work, knowing that Master Allen might let the slave wait as much as an hour before letting her in.
Master Allen’s thoughts ran much the same course. A twitch of annoyance crossed his face before he went back to his work. If either of them had been privy to a conversation earlier with the waiting slave and her Master, they might have reacted somewhat differently. The girl’s specific instruction had been to knock firmly, a breach that would play straight into Master Allen’s hands.
When he finally finished his work he got up and went to the door. The slave knelt, head bowed, arms behind her back, her eyes on a pebble inches in front of her knees, unmoving. His anger, rather than calming from the wait, was steadily building.
"What the fuck do you want... slave?"
"My Master has sent me on an errand to you, Master."
"Hasn’t you Master taught you better manners than to knock on a door like a free person?"
"Yes, Master. My Master has taught me well."
Allen’s face remained impassive, even as he mentally selected a whip that would be up to the training she needed. In her office martha looked puzzled. His next question got to the root of the matter. "What is your Master’s errand?"
"My Master is very grateful that you gave this slave to him. To thank you he has sent this slave as a gift for the night, already having earned punishment. My Master is confident that you, Master, will both punish this slave and teach her the true meaning of her collar."
Without commenting he ordered, "Kneel before my desk."
"Thank you, Master." She jumped to her feet, moved forward and dropped into position, first kneeling down to lick and kiss the toes of his boots as he stood in the doorway. He stepped back and she walked her knees to the spot before his desk where every slave knelt.
Master Allen studied the slave girl as he walked past her and stood behind his desk. Several thoughts chased each other across his brain. He knew Jeff well enough to know that he wouldn’t send verna to him with some ulterior motive in mind.
He said three words under his breath, "An Indian gift."
The kneeling slave heard, but didn’t understand. "Master?" she questioned. She didn’t dare look up. He looked down and ignored her question.
Master Allen mused. Verna probably was the happiest slave on the ranch, a perfect fit for the ranch foreman. If he took her to his bed would martha raise a fuss? That problem resolved itself at once. She was a slave, she would do what she was told and there would be plenty to keep her occupied helping him as he gave verna a crash course in how to be a slave. He wondered just how much verna had influenced Jeff in the decision to send her to his bed.
The two, Master Allen and slave martha shared many thoughts in common and this was one of those times when they seemed almost telepathic. Both thought of whips but Allen held the whip, while martha heard it snap as it wrapped its pain around her body. Both were already considering the things they would do to verna’s body during the long night to come. Both thought of the Indian gift in the same breath. It was as if verna had asked martha, but directed it to Master Allen.
Jeff was a frequent participant in the morning coffee group at the dining room, so Allen had numerous chances to watch how Jeff and verna interacted. He couldn’t think of a more complete couple. Jeff was totally smitten with his first slave and she was the classic worshiper of the ground that he walked on. The close relationship could hardly go unnoticed and both Jeff and verna took a constant stream of good natured ribbing from the men as both were well liked.
She was also the classic ‘born to the collar, born to the chain’ female. Everyone had noted and remarked her instant acceptance and overwhelming pride in all the factors -- her reaction to her collar, her serving chains, her Master, and every other Master.
Master Allen walked past her to the door. Holding it open, he ordered, "Go to Master Arlo. Tell him I am punishing you and then beg the use of an appropriate restraint. Perhaps he has invented something new that I would enjoy using. If you can walk or crawl in it, do so. Promise him that you will return it... late... tomorrow morning."
Master got on the new phone system that had taken part of the place of the intercom. His message was brief.
"Arlo, Jeff’s slave is going to spend the night here with me. She is coming to you for some suitable restraint. Kill some time, try out a few before deciding, stall her for ten minutes, or so. O.K.? Great, I owe you one."
-0-
Arlo hung up the phone and looked out just in time to see verna go to her knees in front of the door. The door was of a type that went by several names: Dutch door, half door, even half-assed door, all because it was in two parts, so the top could be open while the bottom was closed to keep dogs or other animals (or slaves) from wandering in and out. The bottom had a shelf to transact business. The shelf was high enough so that verna fit underneath it and was invisible from the inside.
Arlo listened but the roar of the forge blanked out her knock. He ignored her for several minutes, then ambled to the door as if to check the weather, hammer still in his huge fist. He looked at the sky and then all around before looking down to see the half cringing slave. "Oh! What the shit are you doing, hiding under my door?"
"Master, I have come from Master Allen with a message. I am to tell you that I am to be punished for knocking on his door as if I were a free person. He wishes to know if you have a suitable restraint, perhaps a new one, to teach me my place. I beg of you, Master Arlo, for a restraint suitable to my crime that I may wear to return to the punishment that awaits me. I beg you, Master, be cruel. A slave begs to experience the rigorous bondage devices you are designing. It will be returned to you late tomorrow morning."
"Wait here." He tortured her by ignoring her begging.. Fear washed over her as she realized the horrors that awaited her if Master Arlo refused to outfit her. She gasped when she heard him curse, angry. His hammer beat a tattoo on metal, a symphony whose every note made verna shrink into her shackles in a vain attempt to hide from his fury. "Damn it, that won’t do! Balls! Bunch of shit. Christ!"
Metal clashed with metal, chains rattled. The lower half of the door swung inward revealing a chained lump of human flesh that was trying to bury itself in the hard path. Arlo swore again, grabbed the first chain he could find and lifted the sobbing slave high in the air. She screeched in utter fear, certain she had said or done something that had set him off, with her life about to end.
Arlo grabbed a spreader bar that probably weighed half again as much as the girl. Holding her in one hand he fitted the bar against her flailing ankles. For a long second she felt its weight before it flew down the path, end over end. A string of curses followed it to the driveway. He disappeared, more metal clashed and finally he returned to the hapless slave with a crude iron doll.
That was about as close as any description. A long U-shaped piece of heavy strap iron formed the floor-length skirt. Verna’s ankles were unlocked and pushed to the lower corners where heavy cuffs awaited them. The upper body outline was welded to the skirt, with wrist cuffs at belt height. At the top an open steel collar waited for her neck. Suddenly silent, Arlo padlocked the cuffs one after the other. Seizing a flail he aimed her in the general direction of Master Allen’s office and swung hard, with a final piece of advice, "I’d hurry. Masters don’t like slaves that waste time."
She didn’t need to be reminded. All of the slaves knew of Master Allen’s clock watching. She tried tentative steps and discovered that the framework was flexible enough to allow her to swing her hips wide and gain nearly a foot with each step.
Arlo let Master Allen know she was coming. He allowed that she had done a fine job of begging and quickly described his own antics and the effect they had on the slave. Allen thanked him and said, "We should start a round robin so that all the Masters get to train all of the slaves."
Arlo laughed."From the looks of things you aren’t going to get slut any time soon. But when she does convert, she’ll be begging every man within miles to do her."
"Now THAT I gotta see. What are you doing to her anyway?"
"Sorry, that’s going to be a surprise. One I think you’ll like."
-0-
Slave verna would have fucked anything with a cock for the privilege of blowing her nose before she got back to Master Allen’s office. She knew her face was puffed from crying and her nose was completely plugged. Dripping, or blowing snot onto the Master’s furniture or rug was too terrible to even think about. She made the mistake of visualizing her tongue cleaning every dusty crack and corner in the house while someone with a whip ensured that she tasted every dust mote. It so unnerved her that she stumbled and only saved herself from a face-forward fall by hop-running for several steps to gain her balance back.
When he finally opened the door he grumped, "You’re late."
She accepted the blame and rebuke without hesitating. "This slave has failed to obey a Master’s order and has failed to properly greet a Master. This slave begs punishment to teach her the true meaning of her collar."
"Stand in the corner, facing me. Think about your mistakes and select punishments that you would find effective and that would please me."
As she hurried to obey she listened carefully, noting the plural attached to punishments and the "please me" that took her to a crossroads without any signs or instructions. "Effective" was no problem. The mere threat of a whip or an electrical pain gadget would scare her straight. Pain, once felt was remembered, and remembered and never forgotten. In marked contrast to her sister slaves, verna welcomed slavery with open arms and a zeal that was unmatched. She learned her collar at every opportunity and already was far ahead of almost all of the ranch slaves.
"Lean back. Support yourself with your elbows touching the wall. Nothing else."
"A slave obeys, Master."
He glanced at her sharply, but her face was serene, eyes closed, savoring her position. Her turgid nipples caught his eye, which followed down her pinioned body to the moisture glistening on her thighs. She was hot and ready. Idly he wondered what she would be willing to do to gain relief from her need. Whatever. She would get relief, or not, at his command.
The rest of the afternoon dragged. His corner decoration neither moved not made a sound. Her nipples remained rigid as spikes driven into her lovely breasts. Her thighs glistened in an ever expanding film of moisture that soon would wash past her knees.
She was sent to supper wearing the iron doll. The other slaves looked with dread at this new device but none had the courage to break the rules, to ask, or comment. They fed the helpless slave and sent her to her fate. The common theme of their thoughts was "Will I be next to wear that?" "Wear" came from the feminine viewpoint. The men who saw it looked at its true purpose, as a punishment.
Master Allen ate dimner with several other Masters, including Jeff. He immediately thanked Jeff for sharing his slave and described the bondage that Arlo had produced and went on to discuss the mounting number of rule violations that she would be called to account for. He pointedly asked Jeff if there were any specific punishments that would affect her the most. After some thought, Jeff responded, "Her only experience has been with me. She has never said, but I suspect that she would hate being involved in a lesbian scene."
"That might be just the ticket." Master Allen added, "I’ll keep it in mind for tonight." Over drinks the men discussed the pros and cons of swapping the slaves around, to give them as varied an experience as possible.
-0-
Waiting at the door, slave martha wasted no time in letting verna in and unlocking the doll. Verna was sent to the bathroom and at long last was allowed to blow her nose. She showered and dried herself, using a blower on her hair. She appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, glancing at, and accepting the shackles at the head and foot of the bed. In a matter of moments
martha had her nude body spread out invitingly, chains taut to her ankles and wrists.
Martha knelt beside the bed, watching her prisoner, but making no attempt to talk to her. Verna hadn’t expected anything other than bare acknowledgment so she was not surprised at being treated this way.
The wait was not long, but still tiresome. Martha was anxious to get started with whatever Master planned, while verna had mixed emotions, not knowing what her punishments might entail. Both silently sighed in relief when he loomed in the doorway. He got right down to business.
"Slave, have you decided on your punishments?"
"Yes, Master. If it pleases you I should be forced to be trained in the lesbian arts."
"Hmmn. We already have a number of them on the ranch. Why should I waste time training still another one?"
"Master, you spoke of punishments. I can’t stand the thought of making love to another woman, slave or not. Making me do things I hate is a powerful punishment in itself. I do not know what my reaction will be. I may rebel, refuse, fight my chains, earn the most painful and sickening punishments that you can devise. But, I am a slave. Once punished, I will do every hateful, embarrassing, humiliating act that Masters decree. I will hate it and Masters will know and enjoy that I hate it and am being punished in the cruelest possible way."
"Is this why you begged your Master to send you to me?"
The fettered slave gulped, caught out, and admitted, "Yes, Master. I want to serve Master Jeff in every possible way. I knew that sooner or later the time would come when he would order me to eat pussy. If I don’t know how, or refuse I am embarrassing my Master and denying my slavery. I love his chains too much to do that to him."
Master Allen pulled her leg a bit. "But, neither martha nor I are lesbians."
"I know, Master, but both of you are experienced. You know and teach both sides of sex. A slave could not beg for better teachers."
"Very well, we’ll try it. But, if any of the three of us feel that it isn’t working we’ll switch to more conventional punishments." He went on to direct martha to release verna, except for a long chain from her ankle to the bed post. Before very long Master’s stiff cock was buried to the hilt in martha from the rear and verna was staring at her first pussy.
Verna had been ordered closer. Her nose was less than a foot from martha’s spread center. Close enough to smell martha’s arousal and a faint whiff of masculine arousal as well. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Smelling herself on her hands and on Jeff’s cock was something she was only beginning to accept as ‘normal’. Another female’s scent, even the male scent was too much for her sensibilities, although the male smell seemed to have a slight calming effect on her.
She recoiled, moving back several inches. Master Allen had his quirt ready and rapped her sharply with it. She yipped, more startled than hurt, and moved closer again. Again her nose was flooded with odor. Again she recoiled. Again, harder, the quirt punished. The yip became a yelp.
Her legs thrashed, her body wriggled, her head flailed her hair from side to side. Her brain said ‘Run!’ Her muscles tensed. Another part of the brain woke up. ‘Don’t be stupid. You are a slave. Act like one. Run and you will be punished, even killed. Do what the whip tells you to do. The whip speaks with the Master’s voice. Listen, and obey!’
Sobbing, she cried, "I can’t do this. You can’t make me do this, Master."
The lesson was swift. An electric prod fired, touching her thigh, strong enough to trigger an instant scream.
Lesson One, Unwritten: Never, ever tell a Master that he can’t make a slave do something -- anything -- that he wishes to have happen. He’d only just begun and now her nose was inches closer than it had been before. Close enough to... "Oh, Ugggh. Not that! I WILL NOT do that!"
"Cat got your tongue?" she was teased. After a long silence, the prod was on her thigh, a hands width closer to her own pussy. The jolt felt a LOT closer. Her scream was in fact louder.
The tip of her tongue tested the air, curling, moving slowly, in convulsive jerks, always closer but never quite touching the shiny, shaved flesh. "NOT THAT! I WILL NOT DO THAT!"
The probing tongue retracted. The face made a face, tasting the odor gathered on her tongue from the air. If the air tasted that horrible, what would the flesh, those curled up lips, the pulsing clit -- what would they taste like?
She had questions. The prod had answers. When her scream died for lack of air she found her lips pressed to the pulsating flesh, less than an inch above the male tool that was sliding slowly and silently in and out of martha.
"Lick my cock." For the first time on familiar ground, a command from her master that she had obeyed before, now ordered by Master Allen. She lowered her head and licked the massive tool. She made two or three swipes before she realized that her tongue was coated with martha’s juices. She jerked like a scalded cat, raised her head and spit across the bed to the floor. She was punished instantly, and to her mind, savagely.
It took her three tries before she could lick Master’s moving cock without gagging. It took much longer to learn to lick the waiting vagina. She was punished without mercy, on an upward sliding scale, for each failure. Success had no effect on the prod. It remained, pressed firmly against her inner thigh, awaiting the finger that pressed the button.
It was almost dawn when a weary and tongue-sore verna knelt up and begged, "Master, please may I eat Mistress Martha’s pussy? A slave begs permission to please Mistress."
Master Allen nodded. All tiredness gone, her face showing anticipation, slave verna attacked the waiting pussy with gusto. For martha it was near torture. She had suffered the won’t, the reluctant, the curious, the interested and now the thrilled tongue of her sister slave. Master Allen had kept his cock inside her for more hours than she wanted to remember. All she wanted was to curl in some corner and sleep for a week.
For Master Allen it had been, to say the least, interesting. He had serious doubts that anything could be accomplished in such a short time. But, he had failed to recognize the miracles that slave verna would accomplish because of her love for her Master. He knew now that she would do anything for Master Jeff.
The remaining questions had to do with whether this training would ‘take’ or whether it would have to be repeated at regular intervals. Usually such a crash course didn’t stick very well and required the rod more than the carrot. The only carrot in this case was Master Jeff. So long as she was on his leash she would perform without hesitation.
That gave him an idea. He had pointed out to her that they were not lesbians. She had answered with some logic, but Master Allen just happened to know where there was a whole group of actual lesbians. Within minutes one of the security guards had brought a fully shackled nude steffany to Allen’s office.
Master Allen explained just what he wanted her to do, to and with verna. After he got done he asked if she had any problems with his wishes. "No, Master. It’s been so long since anyone ate me that I’ve nearly forgotten how good it feels."
The two slaves were sprawled side by side on the big bed, spread invitingly. Steffany smiled as she surveyed their obvious exhaustion. Her glance centered on verna. Her face showed how tired she was. She would not put up much resistance. She slid onto the bed, clasping verna in her arms. The slave opened her eyes wide. "Wha..."
"Shhhhh," steffany whispered, her hands already roaming over the body that was loosely attached to the bed. She kissed verna’s lips gently, picking up the scents that she had been wallowing in. Her lips moved down, across the neck, down the slope of one stately breast, back up, wetting the cleavage and down the other. Moving on, the tongue curled into the tight belly button, then streaked south, sliding on glass slick skin, wet with juices.
Verna moaned with pleasure, fired by the naughty tongue that ignored the kinship of gender. Like an automaton she spread her legs against the pull of her chains. The tongue went into search mode, delving deep between the outer and inner lips, then between them and they upward to the long suffering clit that peeked from under its hood at the apex.
"OhmyGod, OhmyGod, OhmyGod, OhmyGod, OhmyGod! Please, Master, may I come?"
"Not until steffany is ready too."
"Master?" Even as she spoke she felt her chains loosen one by one. In one fluid motion verna swapped ends and began her own search on the body now on top of her. Her radar was still operating despite her tiredness and both girls were soon moaning in a unison of cries that meant only one thing. Master ordered, "You can come now." Both convulsed as one. Neither tongue halted even a fraction of a second. "You can stop now."
Both tongues ground to a halt, steffany very reluctant after finding new flesh, verna exhausted but triumphant, her lessons learned.
Master Allen looked over at martha. She had given up on getting some sleep and had been watching the two lovers do each other. "How would you like some of that tongue up your twat?" The slave stretched and opened her eyes, "If it pleases Master."
"You know what to do, steffany. Give her all the pleasure she wants, but she has to ask permission to have an orgasm." The girl’s chains were muffled on the bed, but there was no mistaking the sound as she positioned herself between martha’s spread legs. She raised her head, unsure of whether to start without a specific order. Master Allen nodded.
It was a quandary for martha. During the night she had taught verna, steeling herself to participate in lesbian sex with the rational that it was strictly a teaching job. Putting up with the reluctance, actually outright disgust that she saw on verna’s face and in her body language had been excruciating. She wanted badly to get it done, get it over with.
The only good thing about it had been that Master Allen had kept his tool inside her for much of the night, taking the sting out of the acts she had to perform in her teaching role. That and the fact that verna had taken her lessons to heart. It gave martha a thrill to know that she had succeeded in teaching a very difficult subject.
She had several lesbian experiences on her record. Few slaves would evade the requirements of a strict Master. Girl-girl sex was a popular entertainment, so if there weren’t enough lesbians available, the nearest girl with a decent tongue in her mouth would be drafted.
Slave steffany was good, close to expert class, a ranking she must reach before leaving the ranch. Even as the girl worked on her, martha was grading her, mentally noting areas where she might need more work or practice. Her thoughts began to wander as she found it more and more difficult to concentrate on her job. Arousal took its toll and her office door slammed shut as the door to her playroom swung open.
Her last coherent thought was a tongue to tongue comparison of the two slaves. Steffany easily won the lickoff, but verna was not that far out of the running. After that it was the downhill struggle to contain the super-orgasm that had been building, until Master gave his permission.
Master had a final surprise for verna, one he was certain she had never experienced and might not even have been aware that it could be done. As martha slowly came down from her internal explosion, Master tapped steffany on the shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she hurried to her knees. "Show me your hand," he ordered. She held up her right hand, fingers spread.
"Closed, fingers together, around the thumb." Recognizing what he wanted, she formed her fingers into a crude probe, the tip no larger than a quarter. She held her hand out in front of her, the fingertips pointed upward. The hand was small, dainty, unmistakably feminine. He handed steffany a tube of lubricant and nodded toward verna. "Teach her."
Making sure that verna was watching, steffany squeezed some jelly onto her fingertips and massaged it down the widest part of her hand. In a matter of seconds the two watchers were forgotten as steffany nudged verna into position on her back, her arms behind her knees, holding herself open.
The girl’s nails touched the entrance. Verna’s eyes opened, a look of disbelief and shock. She half formed a protest, then realized that this was not the time to interfere. Master had ordered it, so it must be part of her training.
She suddenly was aware of the muscles in her groin, taut as fiddle strings. With a conscious effort she relaxed, let them go slack. She willed everything below her waist to open up, momentarily forgetting that her bladder would release as well. She remembered in time to avoid a flood as she felt the four fingers slide up into her, the tip of the thumb nail just below her G spot.
This was by no means a first for steffany, as she had a long list of conquests, but verna was the first girl that steffany had introduced to this sexual variation.
Her fingers were sliding in and out, now up to the second joint, the thumbnail touching, scraping verna’s G spot, a rite of passage marked by a sudden, sharp intake of breath, exhaled in a rising moan of excitement, lust and pleasure. There was more to come, as steffany began to put some strength into her arm movements.
The widest part of steffany’s hand was smaller than a beer bottle, but even fully relaxed verna was tight, automatically resisting this digital invasion, something her virgin will was unable to fully relax. The birth canal that someday would accommodate a baby’s head was not ready, unprepared. Verna wanted to clamp down, tighten up, evict this intrusion into her inner sanctum. Her thinking process was nearly off track, swamped by so many conflicting emotions. She shook her head, mentally tossing most of them into a discard pile, leaving the lust behind. She mentally grasped the feeling and willfully forced open a passage for steffany’s hand.
Master had seen the pictures, watched the videos of girls being fisted, often with male hands twice the size of the girl’s hand he was watching ‘live’ but this was his first close range experience with it. He found it far more erotic than the pictures. To be able to see the big picture, look at the central action while watching the two faces was powerful stuff.
Martha was watching with as much interest, because she had experienced fisting several times. She shuddered as she remembered a scene where she had been hung by her big toes while a gay cowboy had shoved his arm straight down into her with only spit for lubrication. Seeing verna accept the probing hand had the same erotic effect that Master was feeling. She glanced away from the constantly moving hand and looked at Master. She saw his need in his eyes and nodded. He moved around the bed and entered her, even as steffany’s hand slid past the daunting ring of muscle that had been denying entry.
The two women moaned and groaned in unison. Martha was certain that Master’s familiar cock had lengthened by at least a couple of inches and had expanded in girth as well. He always filled her, but this time she felt like he was overflowing.
For verna, having a human hand inside her was an eye-popping experience. She had only a limited experience with a dildo, short and small. Now this monster. She had a strange vision of herself standing, walking, running, with that hand inside her. She was so busy adjusting herself physically and mentally that she failed to realize that she was terribly aroused until the climax had already begun.
She stopped it. Willed it silent. Slaves have orgasms only with permission. If that hand that was flitting around in her internal plumbing would just stop doing all those wonderful, maddening, lust producing things to her, she would ask permission. But, steffany wasn’t ready to allow an orgasm to put an end to her fun.
She opened her hand. The body jumped and twisted. She reached, felt soft flesh and scratched with her nails. The body thrashed and excited cries came from verna’s lips. She found the cervix tip and pinched it lightly between thumb and fingernail. The excited cries became a shriek.
The lesbian slave had one more trick up her sleeve, or rather at her fingertips. She captured her index finger with the ball of her thumb and snapped the fingertip into the very tip of verna’s cervix. The first snap was a near miss, sliding off the side. The second was a direct hit. Verna jerked as if she had been shot, squalling like a hurt animal. Circuit breakers began to pop. Sensing near-collapse, steffany stopped and started to slowly withdraw her hand. This was too much for verna. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and pleaded, "Master, may I come?"
Like an echo the same four words came from martha, both repeating, finally in unison. Master exerted his authority. "Go ahead." Martha climaxed twice. Verna went multiple, extended as steffany slowly pulled her hand out of its warm, wet hiding place.
One of the security guards came to take steffany back to her quarters. Verna had no compunctions about kissing her firmly on the lips as she dutifully thanked her for the things steffany had done and the lessons she had learned. She and Martha used the bathroom and were both sound asleep by the time Master left the lid up and came back to the bed. He checked their chains, ensuring they were fastened to the bed and then, with a sleeping slave on each side of him he almost immediately began to lightly snore.
The clash of metal against metal and chain link against link hung in the still air, worrying every slave within hearing distance. Their practiced ears recognized that a sister slave was being punished. Just how well they would soon learn. The PA system made a curt announcement, "Assemble in the yard."
Slaves trailed the Masters as they congregated near the bulletin board. The security guards went through and released the two or three slaves that were still tied to their work. One slave was absent.
The sounds, that nearly everyone had heard, came from a bizarre figure, kneeling in front of the board. A guard stood on either side, holding leashes taut from their hands to the collar. From head to toe the figure was clad in gleaming metal, instantly reminding of a medieval suit of armor. This was no knight, if one was to believe the exaggerated breasts suggested by the hammered chest piece. Somewhere, beneath the cold steel, was a female slave.
All of the slaves knew that one slave had disappeared more than two months ago. Nobody had seen her, but the Masters never mentioned her and went about their business as if everything was normal. The Masters ignored the kneeling prisoner, but the slaves couldn’t keep their eyes off her. They were supposed to be looking at the ground, but none of the Masters reproved them, so they continued to stare. With a growing sense of dread they began to connect the missing slave with this steel-clad figure.
"Strip her," came the order. She was lifted to her feet, the two guards grunting under her weight, the sound lost in the grinding of metal and the rattle of her chains. The ground around her took on the aspect of a junkyard as piece after piece of steel was unbolted and tossed aside. There indeed was a naked woman in that metal cocoon but her head cage was still in place, ironic, hiding and protecting her identity from those who already knew who she was.
The cage was nearly solid metal, made in two halves that closed about her head as tight as a second skin. It was both bolted and locked. On the front half there was a mouth hole, with a flange below it. Bolted to that flange was a ‘tickler’ that firmly depressed her tongue, with an appropriate cluster of sharp studs to discourage the slightest movement. The tickler went on, curving down the throat, well past the gag zone. It was decorated with a long fringe of soft Nylon threads that gave the nasty device its name. It was guaranteed to bring up lunch, dinner or anything else in the stomach. Repeatedly.
The guards removed the tickler, the hard way. Once the bolt was removed one of the men grasped the end, lifted it slightly and twisted it back and forth, jerking it out as the hapless woman leaned forward and puked up the bread and water she had eaten for breakfast. The other guard was handed a cane, which he used with considerable force. The "Thank you, Master," came with a distinct aura of pain in her voice. The real punishment would come later. For now she had the bile burning in her mouth, stinging on her lacerated tongue.
She dropped heavily to her knees, thankful for small favors. She could have been kneeling on the gravel a few feet away, instead of the grass. As if reading her mind, one of the Masters motioned and the guards knee walked her onto the gravel. The slave shuddered. This was not going well at all. She had expected no mercy but already she found herself close to losing it as her punitive captors punished her. She knew, without being told, that the worst of her ordeal was yet to come.
The covers over her eyes were removed. She shut her eyes tight against the sun’s glare. She pondered for a moment, wondering just how long it had been since she last saw daylight. As her eyes adjusted she could see the Masters, each with the same knowing grin. Despite all her travails her face flushed. She stared at them, mentally reviewing the part they would play later on.
She looked too long. The cane appeared again, punishing the arch of her foot. She looked down, thanked her Master and selected a single pebble to concentrate on, to focus her attention.
Master Allen picked up the microphone. A second microphone on a short stand was placed in front of the kneeling slave.
"I’m sure all of you are aware that this is our slut. She has been in the very capable hands of Master Arlo, receiving some strict training and punishment for attempted escape, assault and several other violations of the rules that our slaves must abide by and obey. She is going to tell you how she was punished and why, so that you, as slaves will understand fully what breaking a rule can do to affect your lives."
"Perhaps the most dramatic result of her punishment is something I’m sure all you females will take seriously to heart. Frankly we didn’t intend to be quite that harsh, but having said that, I think that slut will agree that it is a fitting punishment. Please remove her head cage."
The two parts of the cage came away from her head. As the men stepped back, there was a chorus of gasps, "Good God!"
The head revealed was slut’s. The hair looked like a wig, snow white. There was a delayed "Oh... My... God!" The scared look on the faces of the women amply mirrored the stark and instant realization that slut must have literally gone through hell to have this radical a change in color. All of them had heard stories of hair turning white overnight. Now here was proof positive that a traumatic experience could do just that.
Master Bill, watching his sister’s humiliation, could hardly contain himself. He said nothing, but in his mind he was reviewing the images invoked by her lengthy description that the Masters had been given. Master Arlo had reminded her of a couple of points she had overlooked, and warned her on several specific points he ordered her not to mention to her sister slaves. That she had been well and truely punished went without saying. There was ample evidence in every word she spoke, capped by the change in the color of her hair.
Once order had been restored she bent toward the microphone.
"Masters, this slave has your permission to teach by example. This slave has broken the rules and wishes to serve as an object lesson, so that your slaves will see first hand what happens to women like me who always think our interests come first. My white hair is only one of the changes in my body and most importantly in my mind. This slave has promised before to obey, knowing in my heart that she would disobey at the first opportunity. This slave kneels here before you as a repentant slut, swearing to obey any order, if she is able."
"This slave assaulted slave dahlia and begs Master’s forgiveness. This slave begs slave dahlia for forgiveness for an unpardonable offense against a sister slave. This slave is not allowed to describe what she did to me in return. The Masters decreed that my offense was serious enough to allow her to decide and carry out my punishment. This slave will warn all the slaves to heed me. A slave in chains is crueller than any Master. This slave will bear mental scars from this to my grave."
"This stupid slave tried to escape and drew marcy into my plan. This slave has not been able to exchange even a word with her since we were caught. Before everyone, Masters and slaves, this slave apologizes, first to the Masters for inciting a slave to escape, then to the slaves, by setting such a poor, stupid example, and I apologize to marcy, who will be enjoying Master Arlo’s ‘hospitality’ shortly."
"Unfortunately for her, she faces the same series of punishments that this slave has been receiving and it is important to know that my punishments have not stopped and are not finished. They will continue for an indefinite time. This slave came here as a free woman, expecting to be completely free in a month’s time. Thanks to my screwing up this slave will be here for years, if not the rest of my life. This slave has no one to blame, other than myself."
She stirred, moving, her arms weighted with steel. "As this slave is your object lesson, you need to know what was done to me to change my hair, my body and my mind. This slave is forbidden, under pain of a doubled repeat session, to tell you exactly what happened to me. This slave hopes for your sakes that you pay attention to what this slave tells you. You ignore it at your peril."
"My hair turned white after this slave was fitted with this armor plating. That, and my chains exactly match my body weight. This slave will leave it to your imagination as to what was done to me to make me run in this getup."
"Given a choice, this slave would have gladly run, rather than what came next. This slave was hung by the ring on my head cage for 24 hours in his shop. Every time he picked up his hammer to do something he’d hit some of my steel. That sets off vibrations that feel as if they are peeling my skin like a grape."
"Next he swung me over a pit under the floor. He dropped me down with a splash and when this slave stopped going down the water was up to my chin. The eye covers were still on and he added a mouth guard. Not a gag, but a plate that prevented anything solid from entering. This slave would learn why in a few hours."
"With no way of telling time, just hanging there quickly became a bore. Master Arlo’s hammer could be heard from time to time, but since he often worked late it told me little. Finally it became quiet and I realized that the shop was closed for the night and there was no hope of relief before morning."
"This slave must have dozed, because suddenly there were splashing sounds, close to me. This slave panicked and started screaming for help. My claustrophobia kicked in, full strength. Of course no one came, and the splashing got closer and louder. In my super-sensitive state this slave felt a slight bump against my neck and then something crawling up the steel in front of my face. This slave screamed like a banshee but all it did was attract whatever was crawling down to my mouth guard. A tiny paw reached in through the opening, barely able to touch my lip. This slave was being attacked by rats! Then this slave really began to scream."
"Yelling myself hoarse excited the rats. This slave could feel them trying to squeeze between the mouth guard and the head cage. A paw from each side was touching my lips, the tiny claws barely scratching the surface. They began fighting. Squealing and splashing as they slid off and fell back in the water and climbed back again. Trying to squeeze back into the cage, there was no room. The little paws touched me and clawed and scratched as this slave kept screaming."
"This went on for hours. This slave didn’t dare fall asleep, afraid my lips would stick out far enough for the rats to reach them. The splashing water washed into my mouth, almost faster than this slave could spit it out in disgust. When they mounted another attack this slave sucked my lips between my teeth. One of the rats, who must have had longer legs, scratched me on my mouth, squealing angrily as he pushed in between the barriers. This slave realized with horror that they considered me as a meal, if they could get to me."
"A long time later this slave heard Master’s hammer. This slave screamed, hearing only splashing sounds in the water. Master didn’t hear me, or ignored me and I suffered for at least an hour before he hauled me up. He had to help me to the toilet. This slave started to tell him about the rats, but he refused to let me talk. A second time and he locked a hollow penis gag in my mouth and replaced the mouth shield. This renewed my phobic attack and this slave yelled futilely against my gag. Master fed me liquids through my gag"
"This slave spent nine days in the hole. My vocal cords were worn out, useless. This slave couldn’t even whisper when given a toilet break. The combination of my claustrophobia and the rats nearly tipped me over the edge. At the end of the ninth night they took my head cage off and this slave saw myself in a mirror for the first time and realized my hair had turned white."
"Master showed me how the rats had been trained. Food was lowered into the hole in a cage which had holes in it for them to reach it. Trained or not, they scared me. Just to see what effect knowing they were tame rats would have, Master dropped me into the hole for another night. This slave can assure you, that knowing the difference didn’t have the slightest effect on my fear and anxiety. It was there, full blast, from the first splash to the last squeal."
"During my special training, this slave has already been taught a number of things. For example, when not wearing these heavy chains and steel clothing, this slave walks - and runs - at all times on my toes. Even when fully loaded this slave is expected to get my heels up whenever possible. They have several special pairs of shoes to remind me, that have a spring steel flap that covers the insole from arch to heel. It has a hole in it, with a steel spike sticking up through it. If I fail to stay on my toes, the spike punishes me, and makes a loud noise so that my Master knows that I have disobeyed his order."
"This slave is intimately familiar with the many restraint devices that Master Arlo invents and makes. While he was training me, this slave got to wear, or be locked into every device in his shop, his test bed for new equipment. He would lock me into the device, then stuff me into one of the several cages in his shop. This slave had to report to him every time he stopped hammering, telling him how it felt, whether there were rough edges that needed smoothing and its overall effect on me.
"You saw the effect of the tickler that was bolted to my head cage. This is easily the most scary thing in Master Arlo’s closet. Anyone with a weak stomach will throw up just from looking at it. It has sharp studs to hurt the tongue, but the worst is the part that goes into the back of the throat and then down. The soft threads find every gag point and tickles it. The value of this as a torture device depends on the fact that the tickling by the threads never ends. It doesn’t need a motor, as every swallow reinforces the tickling already going on. The effect on the gag reflex is just as powerful after 12 hours as it was after 12 minutes."
"This of course means that anything in the stomach will be on the ground in seconds. Gag training is useless. This slave knows, after spending hours trying to hold down even a sip of water. No matter how much you try, you cannot win ."
"This slave is telling you these things in great detail for a purpose. Near-drowning in a rat infested hole was not, repeat, not the worst thing they did to me. This slave has been refused permission to describe that. Master Arlo promised me something even worse if this slave so much as hints at what this slave suffered."
"It accomplished its purpose. This slave has been broken . This slave will not rebel and will excel in my training. This slave already mentioned that she expects to be here for many years, accepting that as my goal in life. This slave begs training in pleasuring men. This slave begs Masters to use her at will, in any of her holes."
Master Major laughed, a cruel sound. "That’s a far cry from "I’ll bite it off at the roots."
Slut flushed, remembering. "Please, Master. This slave has learned my chain, learned my collar. This slave begs to be used."
Major eyed her, with a look bordering on contempt. She kept her head down, studious in her concentration on the single pebble. He raised his head, looking at the group of men.
"Any of you want to fuck this slut?"
Finally, one of the security guards raised his hand, then walked toward her, working on his belt and zipper. He pushed her down on her back, then dragged her almost onto the lawn. He squatted over her after shoving her legs open. He picked up her legs and shoved them toward her head, her rounded ass rising from the gravel. He took her in the fashion of a porn movie, squatting, pounding down into her as she held her own legs. He started, then stopped. He slapped her face. "Slave fuck!"
She began bouncing on the gravel, meeting him in mid-air.
Since some of the slave girls who weren’t assigned jobs were prohibited from talking to each other or the other slaves, it took some time for the rumors to spread. As is usually the case, most were based on pure speculation, often spiced by personal fantasies. The prime topic was slut’s punishment, as all of them had heard her graphic description of most of what had been done to her. It was the things she refused to say, on Master’s strict orders, that fueled the rumors.
Because slut and slave marcy had spent a punishment day close to the ant hills, one of the rumors had put slut directly on top of the ant hill, not just once, but several times, to make it a good story. Another story had slut fully exposed to the rats without the head cage to protect her, the story jazzed up with food being smeared over her face to attract the rodents.
As might be expected, the Master’s heard the whispered stories and ignored them, knowing what really had happened to slut. All the slaves got were knowing grins, which did nothing to calm their jumpy nerves. They would never know how far off the mark the rumors were.
The night before slut was paraded before the ranch crew, the Masters gathered in Arlo’s shop. When everyone had arrived, Master Arlo pulled a large box to one side, revealing the now white-haired slut lying on a sloping table. Her hair disappeared into the top of a metal mask that was designed with the face exhibiting as much terror and pain as an inanimate object can.
Below the mask her neck disappeared under a tight bar that replaced her collar. The bar was bolted to the table and the threaded ends of the bolts stuck up on each side of her neck. Heavy nuts with tapered wing-handles were screwed down snugly tight on the curved steel across her throat. To demonstrate its effectiveness, he placed a short tube in the mouth-hole of the mask.
At once the Masters could hear her heavy breathing. He turned each of the wing nuts a quarter turn. The breathing stopped for a moment. When it resumed, the sound of the slave’s now somewhat labored breathing made it easy to understand that her air supply was at Master Arlo’s mercy. But, even with the constriction on her throat she was still getting adequate air to breathe, but she had to work harder for each lung-full of life giving oxygen.
As it turned out, this was just be beginning of Master Arlo’s magic with steel. He spun the nuts off the bolts, allowing the bar across her throat to ease upward. The effect on her breathing was immediate. He grasped the bar and lifted it off the bolts. The iron mask hiding her head came with it. When he set it beside her head, several of the Master’s chuckled. It looked as if he had used slut’s newly revealed contorted and thoroughly scared face as a model for the metal face.
Arlo picked it up and turned it over. The bar actually was a clamp, shaped to match her profile, and curving down to the top of her head, holding it immoveable, her hair the only cushion between her head and the hard table top. The breathing tube extended through the mask and deep into her mouth, acting as a gag. She looked up at the faces peering down at her, but made no sound and of course no effort to speak. One or two noticed that she didn’t move her head, even a little bit.
There was an excellent reason for that, as Arlo had more to show his fellow Masters. "Notice the plates on each side of her head. They are attached to form a vise, controlled by this handle. The plates are hollowed out to avoid pressing on the ears, but the bony structure above the ears gets the full benefit."
He prodded slut. "Tell them what it feels like from your side."
She twisted her jaw slightly, adding to her pained look as she told them, "Masters, this slave feels like her skull is being crushed. It is a pain like nothing this slave has experienced before. The pain lingers for hours. Master punished me for screaming and then tightened the vise a fraction of an inch and the pain was twice as bad. This slave has learned not to scream."
Arlo nodded. "Is there anything you would like to say?"
"Thank you Master for prompting me. I have no way to tell time. Please, Master, replace my mask, with the bar tighter. Please, Master, tighten my head vise. This slave desires to be well and truly punished and taught her mistakes."
"Tomorrow you will tell your fellow slaves details of your punishment, but you will not mention this particular punishment on pain of a double length session with studded plates. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master!"
-0-
The Masters adjourned to the dining room, which was closed, but opened to Jeff’s key. Verna was in their apartment, probably already spread across their big bed. The men chatted about the details of slut’s punishment, complimenting Arlo highly, not only for his skill with steel, but also for his developing dominating posture and devilish ideas for disciplining the slaves.
Master Bill asked Arlo, "How did you get that mask so lifelike?" Arlo grinned, "As you probably suspected, I used her as a model. A little extra pressure here and there was enough to get just the effect I wanted. I used a Dremel motorized grinder to cut the detail into the steel. I softened it first and then hardened it afterward so it will take a lot of abuse."
Major piped up, "I certainly don’t blame her for her hair turning white. If I had any left it would turn like that too if I got caught in your lair."
"Aw, you’re just jealous because she’s got hair. She had more on her pussy than you have on your head," teased Master Allen.
Then he turned to the group. "As long as we’re all together, what do you think of my suggestion to rotate the slaves around so that each of us has a new bed partner every evening?"
"Sounds great to me," Master Major spoke." But what about the guys who already have regular slaves, Jeff and Jacob? Jeff, what do you think about it?"
"Well, having a slave is like having a wife in some ways, but this is not one of them. I’ve seen enough of what happens to the slaves to know that variety is one thing they have to learn. I don’t see any reason not to do it, and there are some mighty good reasons why we should do it. I want verna back in my bed with some new ideas, new positions, new ways to please me -- which is the main idea behind this."
"How about you, Jacob?" Bill asked.
"I agree with Jeff. I’m just getting started, just like Jeff, but he’s had years of experience with women that I don’t have. Ramona probably isn’t going to like the idea, but she already knows better than to question a Master’s order."
"I’m sure the boys will be happy with the idea," agreed Roger. "It makes for one hell of a fringe benefit for them and, who knows, they might just pull a Jeff on us and rope one for themselves. I don’t think we’ll have any staff turnover."
"That’s always welcome news," answered Allen. "One other thing. Arlo, what have you got planned for marcy?"
"I thought I’d pretty much follow what I did with slut."
Allen responded, "You don’t need to be as rough on her, as she wasn’t the ringleader. She needs to be punished for even thinking about escaping, but she’s already expressed her remorse, and meant it, in contrast to slut."
"But I like that white hair," grinned Arlo.
"You’ll have to settle for one. Grey wouldn’t be bad."
"Damn, I wanted a matched pair."
"What about slut not being permitted to describe that vise thing Arlo’s got her in?" asked Bill. "That ought to scare the living shit out of the slaves."
Arlo responded. "It will scare and worry them more if they don’t know what I did to slut. Fear of the unknown is the worst kind. Think what marcy will be going through from the time we announce it tomorrow until she reports to me. I think she’ll be a basket case before I even touch her."
Tony asked, "Won’t the pressure damage her skull, crack it?" He’d been waiting all the time to ask.
Arlo told him, "The bone is fairly flexible so if you put pressure in the right spots you get tremendous pain without doing any damage to the skull. Just think of the worst headache you’ve ever experienced and multiply it by twenty. There’s an old Indian torture that I remembered, where a piece of green rawhide was soaked in water and then tied around the head, with a knot at each temple. When it dried out, it shrank and it felt like the top of the head was splitting off. Left on too long it would indeed crack the skull."
"Not something we want to do to our slaves. They’re too valuable," said Bill.
"You should know," teased Major.
Bill looked skyward and groaned. "What’s a pound of flesh worth these days?"
Master Allen had one more item of business. "Arlo, how many cages do we have?"
"Enough"
"OK, I’m thinking we need one for each residence. Can you handle that?"
"Sure, but they won’t all be the same. Square, round, upright and so on."
"That’s fine. I’ just want to make sure we have a secure place for each slave."
"Sure, I have enough."
"Fine. I’ll have martha run off a schedule in the morning."
"What about periods?" asked Steve.
"No days off, for slaves. They’ve got two other holes, so use ‘em. And, any equipment, sign it out with Arlo or from the dungeon."
Major waved, "Night guys. See you in the morning."
Master Allen had a gut feeling that he would find slave martha with her wrists and ankles locked to the headboard. He was right, but he hadn’t counted on the nipple clamps and the two dildos protruding between her legs.
-0-
"Master, am I supposed to be on this roster?" Master Allen was giving slave martha her instructions and explaining what he intended to do. He knew very well that she desperately wanted to remain in his bed as a status symbol, but it didn’t fit into his plan and he used Jeff’s argument to answer her question.
"You’re on it, and expected to set an example for the rest of the slaves. I want you to learn things and come back to my bed with new ideas and new ways to satisfy your Master." He leaned on his title, letting her know she was on shaky ground. Her oblique questioning of his order would have earned her some stiff punishment from a harsher master. This Master noted it mentally and martha would suffer at some future date for it. He knew that the previous evening she had locked herself into a back breaking position on his bed, expecting him a lot sooner than the meetings had allowed, so he took that into account.
"I will tell the staff about this today. Each of the Masters will have a cage in their bedroom. You and the rest of the slaves will make it very clear to each Master when you first greet him that if you are not satisfying in every way that you will beg to be locked into his cage for the night."
"Yes, Master. What about Master Bill?"
"He wouldn’t touch slut, as much as he would like to, so she skips his bed so he won’t be tempted."
Turning to her computer, martha totaled up. "Master, we have 14 Masters and 11 slaves."
"That’s why we need a roster. Marcy is out of the rotation indefinitely, so keep her paired with Master Arlo 24/7. I want the other initial pairings random, but be sure and set it up so that none of the Masters has more than one day in a row without a bed warmer. When you get done, make it effective tomorrow, show it to me and then you can post it on the bulletin board. Oh, and make sure there’s a plentiful supply of rubbers on display in the dining hall, and put a notice on the board that the Masters must use them. Also, check all the slaves to make sure they are on the pill and taking them regularly. We’ve got enough problems with a short dozen slaves without starting a maternity hospital besides."
Trying to appear efficient, martha followed his instructions to the letter, swallowing her upset skillfully. She realized she was on a knife edge and close to having to confess her hunger for power before the admission was dragged out of her at the tip of a whip. She had convinced herself that Master Allen was fully aware of her hidden motives and was only waiting for a slip before taking the time to interrogate her. She would be helpless to prevent it when that time came, her only weapon efficiency that would make her indispensable.
Thinking about having to submit to a different Master was quite far down on her favorite things list. She also had a bleak look at her future. She was in charge of training the slaves, which meant that one of her pupils might well catch Master’s eye and she would be replaced.
As she went about establishing the roster she realized that they hadn’t made any provisions for vacations or business trips. She discussed it with Master Allen and decided once the initial roster was finished that her assistant, christeen, would handle changes as they occurred. It was obvious that she would have to do a daily roster to take everything into account. They also decided to work up a questionnaire that each Master would fill out on a daily basis, evaluating each slave’s performance.
The luck of the draw put slave petra in Master Allen’s bed the first night, much to slave martha’s chagrin. She was tempted to order another drawing, but she knew that any interference at this point would draw some unwelcome, and potentially disastrous attention to her. She in turn had a lot of humble pie to eat as she had been drawn by Master Brett, one of the ranch hands. The only bit of poetic justice she found was that Beth, the conniving red-headed bank teller would be entertaining Master Bill. Master Jeff drew slut and Verna would join Roger in the carpenter shop.
Master Allen checked over the roster carefully, obviously looking for potential problems, noting all of the assignments without comment. That wasn’t the case with the crew, as several gathered around the bulletin board and read the pairings. There was the usual razzing, intensified in the case of the six men to whom the six lesbians had been assigned. Master Allen had expected the reaction and long before sunset had a private chat with each of the six.
His advice was to the point. "Don’t let them get away with anything. They have strict orders to be enthusiastic in everything they do. Hold them to that standard, and when you turn in your reports, don’t be afraid to give them a poor rating if they deserve it. They are going to have to be as pleasing to men as they are to women before we turn them over to their new owners."
Christeen’s in-box was full by 8 O’clock. It took the better part of an hour to type the information into the slave’s computer files. When she told martha that she was finished, she also took one of the reports with an attachment and handed it to her, pointing out the attachment as the reason for bringing it in. Martha began reading it and looked somewhat shocked, then read again, this time from the beginning.
It took martha several minutes to read the handwritten pages, then she looked at the report itself, reading it from the top down. By the time she finished her face was as flushed as christeen’s had been. She picked it up and carried it into Master Allen’s office, handing it to him without a word. His reaction was nearly identical, glancing at the attachment then starting to read at the beginning. She went back to her desk and went to work.
She heard Master Allen chuckle. "Get dahlia up here," he ordered. "And Gunther."
In a few minutes the security guard and the chained slave were at the door. Allen offered Gunther a seat, while dahlia knelt beside his chair. Then he got down to business. "What’s the story behind this, Gunther?
"Sir, slave dahlia was assigned to me last night. I had her chained to the bed and I was just preparing to screw her when I asked her if she knew how to talk dirty while we were getting it on. She took a deep breath and started talking to me in a loud whisper. I got so hot listening to her that I nearly came without even touching myself, or her."
Master Allen nodded. pointing to the papers in his hand. "Seems to have that effect on everyone that reads it, myself included."
"Sir, I’ve seen a lot of porn but I don’t remember ever seeing or hearing anything that comes close to the effect she got. I climbed on the slave, but I didn’t last more than a few seconds. I put her at my desk and had her write what she had whispered to me. She couldn’t remember all of it and I was still in a state of shock, so I called and had them send down the tape for the monitor in my bedroom. The microphone was sensitive enough to get every word. She copied it down, word for word."
"Where," asked Master Allen, looking at dahlia, "did you get the idea to do this?"
"Master, a boyfriend I had before I became a slave always wanted me to talk dirty to him and describe the most impossible and humiliating things that could happen to me. I had to have a different story every time he fucked me or he would beat me and tie me in a hog tie and stuff me in a tiny closet under the stairs for an hour or two. He trained me to have a story ready instantly at any time. He was very deliberate if I showed the slightest hesitation, forcing me to hold out my hands to be slashed with his fiberglass rod. Then he would enter me and I had to keep talking until he came. If he didn’t like my fantasy it would be back to the rod on my hands and a whole new story."
"Master, besides having to always have a story ready, I was on standing orders never to repeat myself, even if I could see that a certain description got him hot. He never told me what the punishment for repeating would be, but I was so scared that I never made that mistake -- or at least he didn’t remember if I had said the same thing before."
Master Allen shook his head in amazement. "That’s good. This is a talent we can use. Gunther, I want to thank you for your quick thinking. You’ve discovered a valuable asset."
"As for you, slave, you just earned yourself a booking on the
ranch audio system. I want you to go over to the rec hall and record this. I want you to record some more like it as well, so that we can see what other reactions we get. We will play one every night at 9 o’clock. And there will be a suitable punishment if you start repeating yourself. Can you handle that?"
"Yes, Master!" came from dahlia as she nodded in agreement.
"Good. Martha will schedule a class for you to teach this. I want every one of the slaves to be able to do this at a moment’s notice."
-0-
Word got around and virtually everyone on the ranch was ‘tuned in’ to listen to the tape. At 9, Master Allen introduced the program.
"As most of you have heard, slave dahlia caused quite an uproar this morning when we were shown a transcript of her ‘dirty talk.’ She has recorded it, so what you are going to hear is her response to Gunther when he asked her if she could talk dirty to him while he was fucking her. Here is what she whispered..."
"Master Gunther, picture me lying on your bed, my ankle locked to the corner post. I have to piss and I beg you for permission, so you unlock the chain. I go to the bathroom and leave the door open as all slaves must do. When I finish, I wipe myself and flush. When I come back into your bedroom, you are asleep on top of the bed, still in your clothes. Without thinking, I grip my chains and pull them taut so they won’t rattle and head for the door. I open it carefully so it won’t squeak and step out onto the cement. I am free!"
"A second later I am squashed like a bug in the dirt as you, Master, leap out the door and knock me down. I struggle. Pull on my chains, but you have a firm grip on them. I curse you -- ‘bastard!’ You slap me across the mouth. My lip swells. You grab a handful of chain and lift my struggling body into the air.
You throw me like a sack of coal back into the room. My thigh bursts into flame, as the rug burns my skidding flesh."
"My heart is pounding. Fear has turned into a splitting headache. I want to puke I’m so scared. Only too well I know that Masters are all powerful. It is too soon to call myself stupid. I open my mouth to say I’m sorry, but you slam it back into my teeth."
"You don’t say a word. Just tower over me -- the Avenger. I whimper. My cheek suffers for it. The stars are out. I scrabble for a footing, going for the toes of your boots. You stomp on my chains. I can’t move. Helpless. My nose is buried in the carpet, the sharp smell of dust choking me. You put your foot on my neck, with much of your weight. The boot grinds into my neck. I am to remain in place, the wordless order perfectly clear."
"I dare not move. I hear -- feel -- you move to a cupboard. It is where you keep the tools you use to punish slaves. My headache is worse. Metal strands noisily rub against each other. I hear the clink of small chains. They signal that I am going to hurt. Now and tonight and tomorrow? And next week? Should I practice screaming? You’ll scream soon enough, dummy!"
A booted toe nudges my fetal body straight and onto my back, lying on most of my permanent chains. Not quite, but oh so close to being a kick. My eyes are screwed shut. I dare not look at you, Master. I shudder as I feel the mental pain.. I am a pile of shit, not worth wasting your words on. Your toe grazes my throat, rapping nastily at my chin. I am not to move, not to make the slightest noise. I expect bad. Bad I can survive. This is going to be much worse."
"The booted toe has a message for me. A message of pain to come. It prods my left breast, hard, closer to a kick than the first one. It prods my lips, pressing them into my teeth. Oh God! I know instantly what you want. In my heart of hearts I flatly refuse your demand. My body, already in pain, refuses to listen to me. It has a mind of its own. Against my will my hand moves, grabs a handful of unmarred tit flesh. Lifts it. Shoves it into my mouth. The toe is beneath my chin again, pushing my mouth closed with the lightest of touches. My mind battles, refusing to be humiliated in this way. My body, your possession, accepts the order."
"My teeth come together, my jaw rising to close the gap. I feel everything. There is a trunk line from my breast to my brain. My tongue, unbidden, joins in, tasting my tit, curling around my nipple, washing it for the ordeal to come. The first pain comes as my teeth almost touch, held apart by the tenderest of flesh. I bite down very gingerly, very gently. It is too hard, it hurts, but the toe waits below my chin. My jaw snaps closed as ordered, my nipple impossibly thin between the sharp edges of my teeth."
"Remember, Master, I am under the strictest of orders -- your orders -- to not make a sound. I have already broken a standing order. Now I cower before you as I scream through clenched teeth with the pain of my tortured nipple, the nipple that I am grinding, I am chewing, at your order. My mind is defenseless as my body hurts itself."
"You punish me savagely. Your boot raps against my jaw, left, then right, then underneath, hard enough to tilt my head up, against the weight of my breast. My obedient body mocks my rebellious brain. My teeth grind. My hapless nipple is sacrificed to the god of pain. My brain orders my vocal cords to groan. My body gets the punishment. Almost reluctantly I release the chewed up nipple and suck the other between my teeth, dreading the tapping toe that makes me obey. I can feel the impatience, the raw anger that makes me -- leaves me no choice -- hurt myself. I dare not delay. My teeth close and grind again. The agony is worse, knowing what is coming."
"You, Master, are daring me to even breath hard. You don’t waste the effort to put a gag in my sore mouth."
"I know the cupboard is full of pain makers. There isn’t one device on the shelves that won’t cause pain to some part of my body. Some are more screamable than others, but all (every one) will hurt. I can’t see that you have a double handful of pain for me, but I quickly feel it."
"Master, imagine you are kneeling beside your fuckup of a slave. Preparing to punish me for my gross disobedience. I won’t look at you because I am guilty as sin and a slave does not look into the eyes of a Master. You have nearly emptied the storage cupboard so now I will suffer some more."
"Your anger cools to rage, close enough to sanity to safely punish me. You tie a thin cord to my nipple rings and to my big toes. It is short. I crouch, my one nipple still between my teeth,, worrying it like a dog with a pet toy. You make me walk, in a circle, tight leash. Slack brings a whip to bear. Trot. It’s impossible. My tits flop, the one jerking at my nipple with every step. I do it anyway, shying from the whip. That’s a punishable offense. Heaven help me if your vocabulary includes ‘gallop.’"
Your hand holds a dozen sets of nipple clamps, most with jaws totally unkind to flesh, barely acceptable on thick skinned nipples. The worst have sharp edges and tighten with a screw. One set (Yes, the worst) is enough for nipples. I am directed to let loose of the nipple. My breast bounces and settles. I don’t dare look. I know my nipples are an angry red, blotchy with bite marks. I can feel each tooth."
"Nipple clamps hurt. That’s their intended purpose. ‘Don’t put screw-down nipple clamps on chewed up nipples’. You ignore the rules and screw them very tight. It hurts as much as chewing them hurts. I thrash, my chains flailing on the rug. That is not allowed.
"You have even better plans for the rest of the nipple clamps."
"Two prying fingers drag my tongue into the daylight. The two clamps of one set go on each side of the extended organ, the chain hanging to my neck. A third clamp fits across the front tip of my tongue. I wince. That is not allowed either, so I am punished for it. Anything you do to me hurts. How can I forget what you did to me when I screamed? I need to scream again. What will you do to hurt me this time?"
"The other clamp goes into my nostrils, tight on my septum. Tears flow a river from my tight shut eyes. Even that is punished. All it takes is a finger in the loop of the chain, hurting my nose and tongue as a single unit. I wince again, against my better judgement. A weight is dropped from the ceiling onto my nose chain. At least it feels that way. I sob silently, not moving."
"A pair of clamps are linked end to end. One end joins an unspeakably sore nipple already cruelly clamped. The other clamp reaches my clit, barely, tautly. I’m hurting badly, but this is just the preliminary bout. A second pair is linked, the other equally sore nipple gets double teamed and so does my clit. I’m at the level of pain where I would normally be squalling my guts out, but not this time. I am glad I am not gagged. I would be making noise through my nose, before, during and after being punished."
"Without ceremony I’m turned over and a dildo goes up my ass. Way up! Farther than the eye can see. There is something a bit strange. A tail? No, I recognize it as a new item. It’s a dildo mounted on the tip of a fishhook-shaped chrome-plated rod that comes out of my ass and up my back. My nose is suddenly pulled up and back, a pig snout. Twin hooks in my nostrils pull over the top of my head and connect to the fishhook. My head goes back to relieve the strain and I wonder why my septum hurts."
"You, Master, use several padlocks to consolidate the stretch points, a smart move from your vantage point as now one tug hurts all. I don’t like it and move slightly. The punishment for wincing goes up a notch. I get the full benefit, plus one more padlock to hook my leash into the heart of the pain."
My leash takes me outside for a crawl to the dungeon on hands and knees. Power is furnished by a somewhat thicker than usual willow branch with a sting that would make hornets jealous. The path is mostly sharp gravel. I glance at freedom -- the open field beckons. Willow is too mild. Where did you, Master, get the cane? A blindfold is added to my regalia. I stumble when my knee hits a rock. More than enough of an excuse to beat my ass with the willow. You guide me toward other rocks. The willow gets a workout and I open my mouth to scream again."
"The return trip finds me dragging a wagon, loaded with one of Roger’s massive wooden stocks. It is set up in front of your trailer. It is the latest model, with a dildo sticking up from a seat
that looks like a cheese grater. You pull the fishhook out of my ass so I can sit on the dildo. My ankles are locked into holes that are above my head and spread an impossible distance apart."
"My cunt is on open display. My tits are half hidden behind various combinations of clamps and chains. There are side stocks for my wrists, holding my arms extended to the horizon. I have two choices. Either lean forward at the expense of my back, or lean against the sharp metal behind me. Once down on the dildo there is no way to get up. My full body weight is on the serrated seat. I have zero leverage to lift myself. There is an opening between my spread legs so that anyone can walk in and use my cunt or my mouth. I sit, and make a firm vow never to wriggle or squirm again."
"Someone moves between my legs and pushes a cock into my mouth. I don’t think it is you, Master. I suck, and use my tongue and let the cock slide partway down my throat. I gag and the willow comes back. I swallow and the head goes on down. The cock stays an eternity before pulling out so I can breath. I am greeted with a spray of cock-juice on my face and up my nose. I don’t make a sound."
I feel another body between my legs. I automatically open my mouth for another cock. I am surprised by a bare pussy. I think of the lesbian slaves, denied this recreation. I am not pleased, but I’m hardly in a position to complain. I know what I like, so I try to use my tongue, still clamped. It doesn’t work, so fingers remove the clamps from my nose and tongue, freeing me for my first lesbian experience. The clump of nipple clamp chain is in the way, and still clamped to my nipples and clit, taking a fresh bite with every stroke. I get through it without being punished, so I presume I’m doing an acceptable job. I must be drawing a crowd, because there is a steady stream of Masters. No more slaves, so I guess you have made your point, Master."
"The next morning I am taken on a leash to the edge of the field to do my business. As a slave I have no privacy, but it still is humiliating to have to go, squatting at the end of a locked leash, with a Master watching everything. I have to shit after all that rooting in my ass. Of course there is no paper and no leaves or anything else.. I finally have to pull several clumps of grass and use it to clean myself. Fortunately I don’t get any cactus spines mixed in. The final blow to my tattered dignity came next. Master called all the other Masters to come and watch. He put me on the ground on my back made me spread my legs and keep all my chains taut. Speaking to me for the first time he asked, "Do you know what a slave fuck is?"
"Yes, Master!"
"Really," he said, sarcastically." You mean like slut got the other day?"
"Yes, Master?" I was puzzled.
"That was a half-assed fuck. He was on the right track, but he missed an important part. You bounce your ass up in the air to meet your Master, but, you also bounce your tits against your chin. Got that?"
"Yes, Master!"
"Since this is punishment, you count and I count. Both tits hit your chin or it doesn’t count and you get a stroke of the cane. Now, give me a real slave fuck. If you earn more than 10 strokes you spend all day today in the stocks. Thank God I’ve got big enough and loose enough tits to reach my chin. I have always been able to lick and suck my nipples, so it is merely a case of getting the right bounce to do the job. My best incentives are my thoroughly chewed up nipples and my torn up ass and back. I earned nine strokes, not bad for a beginner, and escaped having to sit in the stocks. I am sure I’d get several of the slaves if I were still there."
"When my slave fuck is finished, you turn me over to Master Arlo. With a sinking heart I know that my punishment is only beginning. Being a slave, my mind dwells on what he will do to me. Call me paranoid, but I even expect to be punished for spoiling your fun, Master, keeping me in the stocks all day."
Slave dahlia knelt in the basement room below Master Allen’s office. A heavy blindfold covered the upper half her face. Her arms were racked behind her in a reverse prayer, fingertips touching the collar to which her wrist cuffs were chained. She was suffering a considerable amount of pain, but only a small part was due to her strict arm bondage.
What hurt were her knees, which were centered in a shallow box. Between the bottom of the box and her knees was a thin layer of rock salt. The sharp-pointed crystals tortured her flesh like a tray full of thumbtacks. The strange use of salt actually traced to parts of Russia, where it was a punishment used for rebellious children.
Her ankles were locked under an iron band that flattened the upper sides of her feet against the hard concrete floor, exposing the soles to a choice of punishments. A bar crossed behind her legs, snug into the bend of her knees. A delicate motion switch on the bar waited patiently for the slightest attempt to ease her position, ready to shock her clit.
The slave was completely baffled. Only a few days ago Master Allen had praised her work. This morning she had been grabbed suddenly by two of the security guards and brought to the dungeon. They had refused to answer her questions and in a matter of minutes had positioned her as she now found herself.
She had no idea that Master Major had listened to her tape on the audio system and had immediately raised a question about her detailing an escape attempt. As he put it, "It sounds to me like she was talking about an actual plan." To mollify Major and a couple of other Masters, Allen agreed to question her and invited Major and any of the other Masters to participate in the interrogation.
When the five Masters came down the steps into the dungeon, dahlia had been kneeling for more than an hour. She had learned about the motion switch after only a few minutes. A second shock had coursed through her just before the men came down. Her knees felt impaled, sending aches up through her thighs and down the calves of her legs, threatening to turn into cramps at any moment.
She recognized Master Allen’s distinctive voice, but she was unsure of the others. To her sensitive ears it sounded like a much larger group was coming down the stairs. The noise of their footsteps ramped her natural slave’s fear of the unknown up another level. She had no trouble convincing herself that she was in deep trouble, but what trouble? Her already vivid imagination went into overdrive, scaring her with a hundred possibilities and a thousand punishments, covering the scale from painful to unspeakable.
The Masters said nothing to give her the slightest hint. She heard the scraping of chairs as they moved them in front of her sightless eyes, along with the rustle of fabric as they sat down. Master Allen was at the end of the row, so when he started questioning her she automatically turned her hooded head towards him.
"Your name, slave?"
"Master, I am slave dahlia." She croaked the words, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She tried to suck saliva into her mouth, but her glands refused to help. She already felt guilty, of something she couldn’t name.
"You came here from?"
"Master, I came here from Colorado. I went there after Master George died, looking for a Master to submit to."
"Who trained you as a slave?"
"Master, I never knew his name. He trained me for two months and then sold me to Master George.
"Did you get better training from him, or from Master George, or from us?"
She blanched, knowing the answer to the loaded question could mean even more serious consequences. "Master, each of the three taught me a different aspect of my slavery. You have taught me to respect my chains. Master George taught me to work in the house. My first real trainer tamed me with his whip and taught me many ways to please a man."
"I thought your boyfriend taught you all these things?"
"With all due respect, Master, he only trained me to give him blow jobs, and to whisper erotic stories in his ear."
"Where do you get your ideas for stories, such as the one on the PA system the other night?"
"Master, my boyfriend refused to let me see or read anything other than porn. It was the same on Master George’s ranch. I got many of the ideas from that, but as I gained experience as a slave I often thought up stories based on my experiences, and those of other slaves. They are almost 100 percent fantasy."
"What about the escape plot you used as the basis for your story; the one on the PA system?"
Appalled, she realized in an instant what the questioning had been leading up to and a new spike of fear rattled her.
"M... M... Master, that was pure fantasy. There have been two escape attempts while I’ve been here, Both were failures. My story was about an unplanned escape, but the slave paid bitterly for even trying to escape. I did it for the Master who ordered me to talk dirty to him. I didn’t expect it to be broadcast, but it was a serious warning for any slave that even thinks about escaping."
Master Roger asked, "Two escape attempts and you describe a third. Isn’t that hitting too close to home? Listening to that you’d have every slave watching for a chance like you described."
"Master, there are only four slaves here that are flight risks. Three have been, or are being punished. I was, for a few hours, a free woman. I voluntarily begged for Master Allen’s collar. I have been faithful to my slave oath and I would do nothing to willingly jeopardize it. I know that the other willing slaves have no desire or intent to escape."
"Are there any other questions?" Master Allen asked. He looked at Major, who shrugged and shook his head.
"If not, let’s go up to my office and have a drink."
The kneeling woman was left behind, still bound and blind.
Nothing about the slave was said until the office door was closed and the drinks poured. Master Allen looked at Major. "Well, what do you think?"
"I still think it was a dangerous thing to do. She of course didn’t mention that it alerted us to be more careful handling the slaves. My problem was that it was a perfectly logical opening for an escape -- up to the point where she got outside. Where would she go, nude, in chains and miles from anything. I have to agree with dahlia that it was pure fantasy."
The others nodded in agreement. Master Allen closed the discussion. "She’s had a couple of hours on very sore knees and I imagine a few shocks in her clit from that motion switch, so if she was guilty of nothing more than a little poor judgement, I’d say she’s been punished enough."
Major nodded, "Yeah," and took another sip of his drink. The talk veered to politics. Master Allen told martha to get a guard to release dahlia and take her back.
-0-
The slave’s comment about four potential escapees got Master Jeff thinking. He readily identified petra, slut and marcy, but it took him a couple of seconds to remember beth. The flamboyant redhead somehow was flying under everyone’s radar and even though she had been staying out of trouble, she still was a definite flight risk. He mentioned it to Master Allen, who agreed and decided to have another interrogation session. He checked the roster and discovered that she would be spending the night with Master Jeff. Allen told him, "Tomorrow morning, have the security guards pick her up and put her in the same bind as they did with dahlia."
Without a word, martha put copies of the Master’s reports on Beth on his desk. He glanced through them, then backed up and read more carefully. His first instinct was correct, there was in fact a pattern. That should make for some interesting answers. He jotted some notes on the questions he would ask. On an impulse he asked martha for her assessment of beth.
"Master, she has kept her nose clean ever since she got here. I’m not sure if she was spooked by her instant change from a respected employee to a collared slave, but it certainly had an effect on her. She pays attention in her classes and does well on most of her tests. She could be sold tomorrow and would make a satisfactory slave for some Master."
"Satisfactory and excellent are poles apart. Are you saying she is lacking in some areas?"
"No, Master. As I’m sure you noted in her performance reports, she already is qualified, but there are several instances where humiliation is mentioned as a key factor. In the hands of the wrong Master, she could be a disaster."
"Thank you, Martha. I’ll keep that in mind." Her comments suggested several more questions that he jotted down.
-0-
As the interrogation began, beth was situated in almost exactly the same bondage as dahlia had suffered. One obvious difference was the indication that she had changed position several times, apparently ignoring the electronics that ravaged her clit with each move. She had made the mistake of attempting to sweep the salt to one side with her knee, leaving only a few crystals to kneel on. This caused a substantial increase in the pain inflicted.
"Your name, slave?"
"Master, I am slave beth."
"Do your knees hurt?" The first question in Master Allen’s roundabout probing.
"Yes, Master." Her hooded head was bent forward slightly.
"Do you get off on the pain?"
"No, Master. It just hurts."
"Is this true of all pain?"
"Yes, Master. I can’t think of any pain I would enjoy or that would arouse me."
"Is there some special reason behind that lack of response?"
"Yes, Master. Two of my girl friends and I went to a frat party while I was in college. Several of the men got drunk and forced the three of us into a back room. They tore all our clothes off and then tied us up and dragged us into the basement. They started beating us with all sorts of whips and paddles. They took one of us at a time and all of them would whip her until she begged in the filthiest language for them to ass fuck her. They kept on beating us while they fucked us. They were bragging about doing worse things when the frat president discovered what was going on and got us out of there. They had pictures, which they threatened to put on the Internet, so we never were able to get them prosecuted. Since then I’ve been immune. I hurt, yes, but it doesn’t do anything sexually."
"And your punishments here?"
"Master, it’s the same thing. I hurt, but that’s all."
"So, you’d not do well as a pain slut."
"Master, I’d be a basket case after the first day. Anything but that."
"Are we doing a good job of training you?
"Yes, Master. I am being well trained. I have learned a great deal, especially about satisfying Masters.
"What would you suggest as a substitute for pain in disciplining you?"
"Master?" She understood the question perfectly but wanted a second or two to compose an answer. Master Allen knew exactly what she was doing and remained silent.
When no explanation was offered, beth responded, "Master, all you need to do is to humiliate me. I am kneeling, naked, exposed, before an unknown number of Masters. I am so embarrassed that my face is burning inside this hood and I am so aroused that my pussy is leaking like a faucet."
"What do you think about when you know a Master is looking at your naked body, as we are right now?"
"Master, I feel so helpless, knowing that all my secret parts are blatantly displayed for your enjoyment. I want to crawl into my skull, hide my body inside this hood. It makes me feel so tiny, so small that I am like an ornament on a shelf."
"Humiliation gets to you. I suppose there is a story behind that too?
"YYYess, Master. When I was ten, it was the typical cowboy and Indian games, except that one boy tied me up and then pulled my dress down and showed all his buddies my mud pie tits, and then pulled my dress up an pulled my panties off and made fun of me because I didn’t have a ‘thing’ to pee through. He made me stand and spread my legs and pee, while the boys all laughed and poked fun at me. One of the other girls tattled on me and I got walloped when my dad came home. That didn’t hurt half as much as what that kid did to me. He didn’t get punished, so he did it every time we played and I got my licking when I got home."
"What happens here if a guard, or one of the other Masters takes you on a leash and makes you squat?"
The hooded slave shuddered, triggering the motion detector. She yelped as it grounded through her clit. She shuddered again, this time the climax that had been building. When her breathing returned to near normal she bowed her head and said weakly, "Master," If I am humiliated like that I lose all control."
"So I see. Suggest some other powerful humiliations that might be used as punishments."
"Master, being naked and forced to have sex with others watching."
"Does that just apply to men?"
"Master, it is much worse with women watching, even though they are fellow slaves. I know they realize that I am forced, but I feel them grading my performance against their own. I know they are saying, ‘I can please a Master better than that.’"
"What else?"
"Master, being nude, helpless in chains and being forced to display myself before strangers. Or, having to dress or undress again before Masters. Or, being fucked while hooded or blindfolded."
"Do you like licking a woman’s pussy?"
"No, Master. I never did it -- never even considered it -- before I became a slave. Since I’ve been here I’ve had to do it, and have been punished once for a lack of enthusiasm."
"Do you think you could learn to like it if the alternative was to have to lick pussy in broad daylight in the middle of the yard? In the nude." He deliberately painted her a picture with his words, but she already had her own vision and how humiliating it would be. This drew another shudder from the kneeling slave, with a corresponding electrical jolt.
"Master, I would do anything to avoid that humiliation -- even learn to like muff diving."
"It’s a talent you’re going to need. I’m sure the bank president’s wife will be demanding equal time in his new dungeon. And, doesn’t he have a couple of grown daughters?"
The head bowed further. "Yes. Master," she forced out.
"Have you ever planned an escape attempt since you’ve been here?"
"No, Master! I admit," she said with considerable animation, "that I though of escaping when I was first caught and even when I was being transported here, but once I was collared I knew there would be no escape. I force myself to think about other things whenever escape crosses my mind. I have not planned an escape or talked with any of the other slaves who did try."
"Did you tell any Master of your thoughts about escape?"
"Nooo, Master. I did not."
"See that you do in the future. A slave is not allowed to keep secrets. Escape is not an option, especially for you as your owner is anxious to take custody of you."
"Yes, Master, I will obey."
After a few more routine questions, the Masters walked upstairs to Master Allen’s office and the slave was sent back with one of the guards. They compared notes on beth’s answers and were quick to agree that humiliation training was now on the front burner, at least as far as slave beth was concerned.
Master Arlo commented, "She doesn’t sound like much of a flight risk to me."
"No," responded Master Jeff. "If she steps off the ranch she will be a fugitive and any cop will nab her."
"That didn’t stop slut," argued Master Allen. "She sounds like she’s not a problem, but she’ll bear watching."
After the meeting broke up, Allen went into martha’s office. "I want a detailed summary of the reports on slave beth, and your recommendation of who to assign her to for some intensive humiliation training. There’s no rush, so have something for me after this first rotation is completed."
"Yes, Master. That’s about the only area where she is doing poorly."
-0-
Later, over coffee, Master Bill had some interesting news. "Our discrete ad on the porn network is starting to pay off. We’ve got a lot of hits from tire kickers but we’ve had three solid leads and several more possibles. It’s a big laugh reading some of the clueless responses, but there seem to be a few who are taking our offer seriously."
"You mean our offer of specialized training, right?" asked Arlo.
"Yeah. It would really be interesting to simply say ‘We train slaves,’ but we’d be ass deep in Feds in about two minutes."
Master Jeff nodded. "That key word is still ‘willing.’ I’d be a lot less nervous when our four special trainees are off our hands. I’m worried that we might get in hot water for harboring fugitives."
Master Allen reassured him. "I’ve gone over this several times with our lawyer and we’ve dotted all the I’s and crossed all the T’s. We’ve got written, signed contracts and video to back them up. I’ve also talked several times with the sheriff and he knows exactly what we are doing and is satisfied with our arrangement. He told me that the county and state prosecutors are also aware of the situation and said off the record that our brand of punishment is more fitting than any jail sentence they could get a court to agree to. We even have one judge on our side if things get sticky."
"I hope to God you aren’t bribing any of these people?" asked Roland.
"Hell, no! We don’t need to do that. The law people are happy to see the problem taken care of at no expense to the taxpayers. They aren’t going to pin any medals on us but they are tickled to death to have the problem solved."
Master Allen went on, "As a matter of fact, I have a very interesting proposition that came in the mail this morning. Somebody at the state level sent us an application to operate a private, for profit, Female Correctional Facility. There was no signature or return address, just the note that I would get a telephone call in 48 hours. The kicker to the deal is that the blank application is already stamped ‘Approved.’"
"Whoa, Nelly!" Master Major interjected. "That almost sounds like a setup."
"Not so fast." There’s a lot of fine print -- which I’ve read -- that indicates to me at least that we would be operating exactly as we are now. I’m going to run it by our lawyer before I fill it out, but the main thrust is that we would be accepting trainees who are in the same situation as our four special guests. It’s us or go straight to jail.
"Aw, the first inspector in here would shut us down in seconds," said Major.
"That’s one of the interesting parts. The contract states specifically that we will be classified as a maximum security prison, with the right to use any discipline we choose, AND that we are exempt from inspection!"
"Christ, the Human Rights people and the ACLU will be all over us."
"Not if they can’t find us. More fine print, to the effect that we would be unlisted in the prison system and would continue to operate our ‘willing’ slave training as a front."
"All right, say we run a state trainee through our course. What happens then?"
"The state has no claim on them, once they are in our hands, other than to resume prosecution if they escape. We can let them loose, sell them or let them sell themselves."
"Obviously, the first and last would not be to our benefit. What if we offer to give them to anyone who will pay their training costs? This would make a case that we are not selling slaves."
"Good point. I’ll check it out with the lawyer this afternoon."
-0-
Master Allen had a long face when he returned from town. He quickly assembled all of the available Masters. He opened by saying, "I’m afraid I’ve got bad news. Our lawyer turned the idea down flat. He had several reasons but the strongest argument was that hooking up with the state could easily lead to exposure and a public relations disaster. His advice was to drop the idea and just rely on our friends in high places. I’m sorry. I thought it might work."
"That’s too bad," said Bill, "but I can see where the press would have a field day with us if they got wind of it. I hesitate to depend on the business we get off the Net, but it should be less likely to get us into trouble."
"Then I assume we are turning it down?" Allen looked around the table and everyone was nodding in agreement. I’ll tell them when they call tomorrow."
The call, when it came, turned into a lengthy sales effort by the man on the other end of the line. He verbally countered all but the press coverage, hinting at additional high level support for the project, but Master Allen was unconvinced, and refused to reconvene the Masters for further discussion.
-0-
Paperwork was piling up on Allen’s desk, but he shoved it aside to look at the thick pile that represented slave beth’s file. Martha had highlighted several paragraphs on the sheet on top of the file. He read through the page, and read the highlighted sections a second time. "Martha, get Gary up here."
Fifteen minutes later Gary, one of the ranch hands, walked into Allen’s office. After thanking him for coming, Allen picked up the report and asked, "I gather you are into humiliating your slave? Your comments on slave beth indicate some pretty strong stuff."
"Sir, she and I are pretty much a match. I don’t get any real satisfaction from whipping a girl or giving her some other kind of pain. I do get off on seeing a girl flush, or blush from being embarrassed or humiliated."
"You invited several other Masters to watch you screwing her?"
"Yes, sir. She nearly had an orgasm just from my suggesting it to her. She screwed her eyes shut and blushed, all the way down her stomach. She had a fit when I forced her to open her eyes and greet each of the Masters who were standing around us. Then one of them asked her if she was enjoying having a cock up her pussy. She wouldn’t answer until I twisted her nipple. That was the only time I used pain.
"When I was finished with my orgasm I made her have one too, which didn’t take much as she was hotter than a firecracker. I didn’t let her enjoy it, because I got right on her to thank each of the Masters for coming to watch. She had to add, ‘I hope you enjoyed watching me get fucked.’
"She started to protest and she hesitated several times, so I hooked a leash to her collar and made her go to every one of the house trailers, ring the bell and then when someone came to the door she had to yell, ‘Look at me, I’m naked. Then she had to dance and turn around to show them her back. I made her kiss the feet of the spectator and thank him for looking at her nude body."
"You also humiliated her when she had to piss?"
"Yes, sir. When she indicated she had to go, I made her beg for the privilege and then beg to do it outside ‘where everybody can see me pee.’ There were a couple of guys sitting in the lawn chairs, so I made her go to each one and announce that she had to pee and would they like to watch. She balked at the order and I warned her that she could wind up having to piss on command in front of the entire crew.
"She gave in and invited them along. Both took her up on the offer, so I took her to the edge of the lawn and made her squat in front of us. I asked her, ‘Can you finish in 10 seconds?’ She shook her head.
"I said, ‘Piss all you can. You will stop when I say "Stop!’
"She stopped when I told her. I made her duck walk about 10 feet and then she drained herself.
"I suggested that the boys might like to see her masturbate. She took her cue and asked each one if they would like to see her play with her clit. She lasted about 10 seconds and begged permission to orgasm. I made her beg each of the guys for permission and then beg me again. All three of us turned her down. I ordered her to keep playing but not to come. She touched her clit and promptly blew her ovaries.
"I punished her by making her invite the two to come with us and watch her get fucked again. At my suggestion she promised to give them a blow job after I finished. I made her hold a cock in each hand while I screwed her."
"What was her reaction afterward?"
"She was insatiable. All over me like a wet washrag. She begged me to fuck her, lick her, let her blow me and four or five other things that I’d never heard of. In between she’d beg for permission to climax again: ‘Just let me touch my clit, please Master.’"
"Did she tell you that she had described several of the things you did when she was interrogated?"
"Sir, she didn’t right away, but later she made some remark about my having read a transcript of her session. I made her tell
me about it and list all the turn-ons she had described. She couldn’t believe that I hadn’t been following that list.
"I took a cue from the list and the next time she started to get out of bed I took off her chains and ordered her to get dressed. She didn’t have any clothes, so I gave her a shirt and a pair of pants to wear. When she came back I made her strip again, put the chains back on and get into bed. She was in a constant, beet-red state all evening. I repeated this every time she had to get out of bed, usually to get me something."
"Do you think she is making any improvement in her humiliation?"
"Sir, I really was too busy trying to keep up with her, so I didn’t have much chance to make comparisons. My gut feeling was that she will always react to humiliation more than pain or any other kind of punishment."
"We’re thinking of an intense humiliation training course for her. Do you think it will work?"
"Sir, I honestly don’t know. It’s worth a try."
"Would you be interested in taking on the job of training her? You seem to know just what buttons to push to get her to react."
"Sir, that’s one fine piece of ass. I’ll take the job in an instant."
"Good. I’ll have martha take you two off the rotation tomorrow.
I want you to keep her on an intense regimen of embarrassment and humiliation, but don’t push her over the top. You seem to be fully able to dream up stunts for her and you can make her suggest even more things for her to do. Keep on making her beg for activities that you and she know will work. I want you to watch her very closely for any signs of improvement. When you think you have something make her repeat it time after time, just like with making her dress and undress in front of you."
"Yes, sir. I’ll do my best. What about activities with other slaves?"
"She reacts very strongly to being watched by other slaves, so that’s another good area to work."
"Could I have a copy of the interrogation, please? She told me all of the things she told you, but she might have overlooked one or two."
"Sure. If you’ll wait just a minute martha will have it ready for you."