Life Sentence
by Raul Roget


Chapter 5 More Questions, More Answers

Jack made a number of calls. Some lasted seconds, some several minutes, one nearly an hour. He came away the picture of a frustrated man. Ray got an earful.

“There isn’t an escaped or missing slave in the country, let alone in this area. I checked the people who would know, but it was the same story on every call - ‘Nobody I know is short a slave, but Joe Blow might be looking.’ There were more damn rumors but nobody knew any specifics and most didn’t even remember where they heard it.”

“I’m beginning to think she’s lying to us, but she’s got all the moves, all the slave talk down pat. All that’s missing is an owner’s brand and we both know Masters who are too soft-hearted to put their mark on their property.”

“Sure hope they don’t start blabbing.” Ray looked concerned.

“Nah, I didn’t tell anybody what we had. They’ll take it as just another rumor and forget it by morning. They’re used to keeping their mouths shut and wouldn’t have talked to me if they didn’t owe me a favor or two.”

“Are you going to let the slaves loose on her before we question her again?”

“Yeah, but nothing too serious, Maybe sitting in the stocks tomorrow with plenty of attention and lots of light whipping. If we give her some heavy stuff, she may flop and refuse to talk again and we’re back to square one.”

“Sounds good to me.”


Vicky would ruefully admit that the two slaves were handling her in a highly professional manner. They never spoke, but their expressive hands and the ever present whips were more than enough to direct her every movement. It hadn’t taken her much time at all to peg them as the best trained slaves she had ever encountered. If nothing else, the slight grins that both sported whenever they were near her, were driving her up the wall. She wanted to strike back, pin one of them and demand to know what they thought was so funny.

She of course was unaware of the slave’s backgrounds so she had no real idea of just what they had been trained to do, over and beyond the normal slave service. A big element was being trained - on each other - in the use of the dungeon equipment, a skill that Vicky had already tasted. It was just as if they knew that Vicky would land in their midst and that their Master would need to interrogate her.

Vicky tried to keep her face from showing any emotion when the two slaves entered her cell. She debated resisting again, had planned to resist if they showed up for her, but she could see that they were ready for any moves she might make and were well ‘armed’ with floggers that Vicky immediately recognized as being especially heavy duty.

Discretion beat out valor and she meekly submitted to being released from one set of bonds, only to be restrained again in her travel mode, crawling to her fate with a taut leash in the hands of her two guards. She noted that they carefully followed standard procedures, making sure she never had more than a single limb free at a time.

She was mentally prepared for the interrogation she expected. She was first startled when she was led right past the door of the room where she would be questioned, and then panicked when she realized they were headed for the dungeon. She wanted to talk, get this farce over with and get on with her life, not suffer the afflictions of the damned at the hands of her two torturers.

She reared back hard against her leashes, meeting both floggers already on the way to her back. The rebellion was over before it got started, and Vicky lay on the floor, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of her.

She slowly got her breathing back under control as the two slaves watched. She was not quite back to normal when the leashes jerked her to her knees and resumed the trip to the dungeon. To add to her woes they stepped up the pace, leaving her panting as she struggled to keep up.

The electric door to the dungeon opened as they approached. It closed quickly behind them, forcing Vicky to scurry out of the way. After a short pause, to let the Masters know someone was entering, the inner door opened.

Unexpectedly she was brought to her feet. One of the slaves pointed to her eyes and then swept the scene in front of them, her finger pointing, making it crystal clear that they wanted her to look at, and see every piece of equipment, every machine as they marched her down the center aisle.

Vicky couldn’t help making a wry grimace. The machine waiting for her was standing right next to the wall at the far end of the dungeon, so she had to walk the full distance to reach it, giving her a panoramic view of pain machines of every stripe and description along the way. Her hopes of avoiding meeting as many as possible were being rapidly dashed by this surprise visit.

The slaves made it into a game. They moved ahead or behind her, pulling on her leash to twist it on her neck, or forcing her to turn and look. One of the slaves would drop her leash and pose in front of a machine. The other made sure Vicky saw it, before the ‘model’ came running back to her and grabbed her leash again.

They got to within feet of the stocks when the two slaves, as if on a signal, reversed course. Vicky’s eyes had been returning again and again to the stocks, missing seeing a couple of the machines.

The two slaves double-time marched her back to the gate, then turned her around, put her on her knees and crawled her to the nearest machine. At the direction of their floggers, she approached each machine, dropped to her belly and kissed and licked the apparatus. With all the time in the world they repeated the act with every piece of equipment they passed, taking more than an hour to again reach the stocks.

They made her lick every part of the stocks that she could reach on her belly. Then she was brought to her knees and again licked and kissed everything within reach, finally standing to give the uppermost parts equal time.

One of the slaves installed the dildo that she would be sitting on, and she was required to give it special attention, but they did not allow her to get it more than damp. Vicky was not especially worried as she was already juicing, but she fully realized that they could cross her up by making her take it up her ass instead. The humiliation was the worst part of it.

By the time she had kissed and licked every part and every accessory and made oral love to the dildo, her tongue was sore and she was having trouble raising enough saliva to lubricate it. The two slaves almost, but not quite, broke into grins as they unveiled the final piece of the machine, the seat. Rock hard was apt. The seat was carved from red sandstone, with a hole in the middle to mount the dildo she would be riding. One of the girls looked at her with obvious contempt and spat on the rough stone, silently ordering her to clean it up. Thin chain leashes were hooked to her pierced ears and served as guiding hands to direct her to every square inch of the seat.

Vicky finished licking the stone, to the reluctant satisfaction of her two abusers. Her tongue was bloated and so painful she could barely pull it back into her mouth. Without further ceremony she was impaled on the full length of the dildo. The two slaves gave her a quick demonstration of what her day was shaping up to be. The dildo was electrified, had an industrial strength vibrator and one surprise feature which they would let her discover for herself.

Vicky threw her all into begging to be allowed to talk, rather than face the long day. However, her swollen tongue was as effective a gag as could be dreamed up and the sounds that left her lips were unintelligible. They unfortunately were against orders, so they treated her to another test run at full throttle. She seriously considered screaming.

She was a haggard wreck when the day-long shocks ended, the vibrator was silent, and the dildo was no longer dragging her in a circle on the rough stone. Her jailers unfastened her ankles and wrists, put her leashes back on her collar and led her crawl, past the silent machines to the dungeon door.

She was careful to look at each and every piece of equipment. The slaves made no move to enforce her attention, watching silently as she fulfilled her morning orders. She had no idea whether they would punish her again for distraction, but she forced herself to obey and pay careful attention. She was assailed by mounting fear of the dungeon’s horrors. They had already broken her using only two or three of the looming machines. What lay ahead scared her.

This time her expectations were correct. She was led to the door of the interrogation room, where the two men waited. After a swift glance she was ignored. Vicky hesitated, unsure of what to do. Her only signal was a slight loosening of the tension on her leashes. She was being allowed to move forward. The butt of a flogger forced her to her belly onto the stone floor.

She dragged her breasts around the end of the desk, where Ray’s outstretched bare feet greeted her. Her mind revolted, but she forced suppression. Crude work boots she had expected, but a man’s bare toes was at the outer limits of her cooperation. Unbidden, she kissed and licked, ignoring the soreness in her tongue,, refusing to acknowledge her revulsion. Her spark of defiance, once a raging inferno, sputtered and nearly died. She sensed that there was little time left before they extinguished the last ember for her.

She paused momentarily, expecting Ray to move enough to allow her to reach Jack’s feet. She silently cursed herself for expecting a favor from him. She backed away and crawled around the front of the desk and treated Jack’s feet to the same adoration. Unbidden she returned to the front and flattened herself into the stone. No words were spoken. None were needed.

The two men admired her red ass cheeks for several minutes, the only visible result of her day. Finally, Jack spoke. “Your name?”

“Vicky Hunter, Sir.”

She steeled herself for the order, which came on the heels of her words. It came.

“Put ‘Vicky Hunter’ in her cell. No bonds. Return here.”

Silently the two slaves pulled her to her knees and marched her back to her cell. Both were certain they had committed a fault and were to be punished. Their dread was palpable when they came back into the interrogation room.

“You accomplished everything we told you to do. The first thing that has earned both of you is an end to your vow of silence.”

The two voices melded into one heartfelt, “Thank you, Master!”

Jack nodded. “Next, I want you to know that I was never happy with the fact that you were sold into slavery. The time has come to renounce your slavery and make you free women. I have set up bank accounts in your names and made initial payments into them of $500,000 each, which you may draw upon immediately.”

The two erstwhile slaves gazed at the two men with astonishment written all over their faces. They looked from one to the other, searching for some sign that this was a cruel joke their Masters were playing on them.

Jack resumed, “I’ll provide each of you with a car, so you can leave at any time.”

Sylvia and Diedre looked at each other. Sylvia looked closely at both men, then asked, “Masters, may we have a moment to discuss this between ourselves?”

“Of course. Take as much time as you want.”

The two girls hurried silently from the room. Jack turned to Ray. “See, I told you they would be suspicious. I’ll still bet you that they won’t take it.”

“You’re on. They will bug out of here so fast your head will spin. Straight to the cops, no doubt.”

“Heaven help us if they do. We still have little Miss Zip-your-lip under foot.”

“I still don’t believe they got her to the point where she would kiss our feet without beating her to a pulp.”

“Well, from the looks of her red ass, she had plenty of incentive.”

Their conversation was interrupted as the two girls filed in. They knelt before the desk. Diedre served as spokesman, “Masters, we appreciate your releasing us from our involuntary slavery. However, we both want to remain here, as voluntary slaves.”

“I’ll be go to Hell!” exclaimed Ray. Jack sat silent with his mouth half open, well aware that now he was the one suspicious of a cruel joke.

Sylvia spoke up. “Masters, we wanted to do this long ago. The whispering that you understood to mean that we were plotting our escape was actually planning to come before you and ask for our status to be changed to voluntary. We had no way of communicating that to you, so we had to wait until you offered it.”

She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Masters you have no idea how many times we were willing to break your rule of silence to tell you this.”

Diedre nodded in agreement. “I was afraid, and I’m sure Sylvia felt the same way, that breaking an important rule would make you decide you didn’t want us any more and would either kill us or sell us.” Sylvia nodded emphatically to confirm her feelings.

Diedre knee walked around the desk and prostrated herself before Ray. At the same time Sylvia came around the other end of the desk and went to her belly in front of Jack. In unison they kissed and licked the bare feet, then lifted a foot and placed it firmly on their necks. Separately they repeated their slave oath, their willingness to serve and to serve no other Masters. Each Master in turn accepted their fealty and restored their names, this time as slave names.

When they had returned to their kneeling position in front of the desk, Jack quickly established their status. “The bank accounts and a car are yours at anytime you decide to leave. So long as you remain, you are subject to our orders and any punishments we deem necessary to maintain order. Threatening to leave is not an option. Make the threat and you are out. Is that clear?”

“Yes Master,” came in unison.

Sylvia raised a point: “Masters, both Diedre and I are pain sluts, whether by training or inclination. We’d like to continue our daily practice on the dungeon machines.”

“Granted. Just as soon as we wring Vicky dry, you will have free run of the dungeon. I suspect that you may have a third warm body to practice on as well.”

He went on to explain to the two girls what had been going on; the check, the clipping and the enigma of how Vicky got to the mansion’s door step. But, he cautioned them, “I don’t want Vicky to have any inkling that we are aware of any of this. I want you to remain silent whenever you are within ear shot of her. From what I can see, your silence is really bugging her. Keep her off balance as much as possible. She has tremendous recuperative powers and as you already know, she can shrug off a caning that would have a man in tears. Above all, don’t give her time to think.”


The siren went off at 1 a.m, triggering a 10 second nightmare. Vicky struggled to her feet, still tired, but assuming it was day break. The siren didn’t stop after the usual three pulses. She covered her ears with her hands, but the sound vibrated the floor she was standing on, the sound penetrating her whole body.

She hastened to fold her blanket and use the toilet, preparing for inspection. She heard a noise in the hall outside her cell, even louder than the siren. The wailing stopped abruptly and she recognized a squeaky wheel coming toward her cell.

She remembered to lock her collar to the chain, then moved forward on her back until the chain was taut against her head. She didn’t know what to do with her unshackled hands and feet, deciding to position them as if she were chained. The two men and the two slaves watched on the monitor until she was in position before opening the cell door.

Swiftly Sylvia bent down and unlocked her collar from the chain. As soon as it was out of the way a gag went in her mouth. A stiff leather hood was drawn down over her head until the lower edge reached her shoulders, and then locked.

With Diedre’s help she got Vicky on her feet, walking her to the waiting gurney. With practiced precision the two slaves lifted Vicky onto the rolling bed and in seconds had her strapped immovably in place. Silently the two men handed each slave a hypodermic. Each one wiped Vicky’s shoulders with alcohol, then both rammed the needles home. Vicky squawked in protest, but all that escaped the hood was a low murmur.

Both girls took their time emptying their hypos. Vicky was clearly wincing as the harmless saline solution pumped deep into her muscles. This was a whole new ballgame for Vicky, giving her something to really worry about as the gurney suddenly moved forward. The first thought to cross her mind was Truth Serum. From there her mind went down into chaos.

From the length of her ride, Vicky guessed - correctly - that they were headed for the dungeon. She recognized the sounds of the iron gates opening and closing, but from that point on she was lost as the gurney changed direction again and again. By the time it stopped and the straps started falling away, she was in a mental straitjacket, unable to think a single coherent thought.

Chapter 6 Answers and More Questions

Once she lost control, Vicky sank to the bottom like a lead weight. All her bravado evaporated like water on a hot rock in Death Valley. The brave “I can take anything!” girl was suddenly as meek as a kitten. She wasted precious thinking on frantic fruitless efforts to regain control, make her body again impervious to the cunning punishments she had been suffering. She realized that she had let pride blind her. Now she was helpless to avoid what was coming. She remembered all too vividly the question that reminded her of one of slavery’s oldest rules - to get the certain truth, ask while the slave is being tortured. Blind, gagged, once more in chains, she awaited her fate.

Without ceremony she was unstrapped from the gurney and dumped somewhat less than gently on the stones. Floggers positioned her, arms outstretched above her head, legs spread, taut chains locking them in pair, her face welded to the rock beneath her, her gagged mouth kissing the stone.

Reiterating her helplessness, her lack of control allowed the whips and rods to hurt, an effect that she had driven from her mind years ago. However the humiliation of losing this bout was even worse.

Her hands and feet were scourged by the thin supple rods. Grimly she realized that the tender soles of her feet would be impossible to walk on - not that she was likely to be allowed to walk any time in the foreseeable future. Crawling with sore hands would put a severe strain on her knees. Once more she tried to control the pain, until a desperate sob sounded her defeat.

Satisfied that she had been softened up, and elated to see the clear signs of the collapse of her mental control, Jack signaled a halt. He opened his mouth to taunt her, then thought better of it and decided to wait until she had been emptied of all the answers to his questions.

Sylvia and Diedre put down their floggers and proceeded to stuff Vicky with a dildo and a butt plug. Then they squeezed her into a small packing crate, carefully routing the wires out of the crate. Her chains made it a tight fit. Even without them it would have been snug. The lid slid closed around her neck, leaving her head the only visible part.

Given time, the crate would undoubtedly have accomplished Jack’s purpose, but he felt enough time had been wasted and now it was time for quick answers. The girls removed the blindfold and gag, leaving Vicky blinking against the glare of the spotlight beamed down on her.

Jack walked in front of her, holding a whip in his hands in front of him. Since there was nothing to whip, it was window dressing, but it posed a threat that Vicky recognized with dread. Until - and if - she regained mental control, anyone with a whip could make her dance to his painful tune.

“Do you have something to say to us?”

“Masters, I will answer your questions.”

“The question is, ‘Will you answer them truthfully?’”

“Of course, Masters.”

“That is a matter we will decide. You remember our conversation, regarding questioning a slave?”

“Yes, Masters. Questioning under torture is the way to get the truth.”

“Are you prepared to be questioned?”

“Yes, Masters.” The faint sound of rattling chain could be heard as she struggled without success to find a less painful position.

“Prepare her for the question.”

Diedre stepped forward and handed Jack a large thick oval band, taking his whip. He showed it to Vicky. She stared at it blankly, unable to fathom its use. Obviously it was made to cause pain or he wouldn’t have been showing it like this.

Jack chuckled. “One of our own inventions. I hesitate to call it a toy, and I’m sure you will have a name for it after you have your close encounter with it. Combined with the injections you should be singing like a canary in a few minutes.”

Vicky gasped. Then it was truth serum they pumped into her! She had intended long since to tell the exact truth when this moment came. Now, she was terrified that if she made a mistake or inadvertently lied, the serum would catch her out. Jack smiled to himself and the two slaves covered grins, pleased that the subterfuge had worked. Ray was standing behind the box and held up his finger and thumb in the ‘Okay’ sign.

Jack stepped forward and placed the oval around Vicky’s face. As it went into position, Vicky’s eyes lit with sudden terror as she began to realize the purpose of the oval. It had three threaded bolts, one at the top and one on each side. All three had the tips modified into a dull stud. Sylvia took a bolt in each hand and twisted them until they were touching the sides of Vicky’s head, just in front of her ears. Then she snugged down the top bolt, pressing through her hair.

It certainly didn’t take a Rhode’s scholar to figure where and how the pain was going to come from. Secretly, Jack had expected she would mentally fight the effects of the tightening bolts, requiring extra pressure to overcome her control. Vicky was about one breath away from hyperventilating as the full effect became clear. She wiped away a mental picture of her head cracking open, only to have it flash back again and again.

Jack had no intention of breaking bone, knowing that a lot less pressure would accomplish his purpose. He could see the recurring terror in her eyes, panic overriding her every thought. He watched her eyes, reading the growing pain until he stopped Sylvia’s hands.

“Your name?”

“Vicky Hunt, Masters.”

“Why the alias and why the wanted posters for you?”

“Masters, I am in the Witness Protection Program. The posters are to ensure that I don’t make a run for it. I would be arrested on sight if I left here.”

“You said you were an escaped slave. What’s that got to do with the Program?

“Masters, there is a very long, and very complicated chain of events that I was involved in, but I beg of you, please, release me from this device so that I can think straight. The pain is scrambling my brain. You can punish me in any way you choose after I have detailed my background.”

Jack stared down at the imprisoned woman for a long time. Finally he glanced up at the other three. All were nodding in agreement with her plea.

“This better be good or you and the girls will be spending a lot of time in here together. Get her out and put her back in her cell.” He motioned to Ray and the two walked back to the gate.

Out of earshot, Ray asked, “You had her on the run. Why didn’t you finish her?”

Jack shook his head. “She knows her begging is going to cost her big time. She’s digging herself a really deep hole. I want her calm and coherent when she tells us what’s behind all this.”

“When did you figure out she was in the Witness Protection Program?”

“I didn’t until she admitted it. The thought crossed my mind, but I thought it was way far away from reality. I’m learning with her you’re better off not even comparing it with reality.”

“She doesn’t seem to have a problem with admitting to being an escaped slave. Why do you think that is?” Ray added, “Most wouldn’t admit it until their dying breath, or would be looking over their shoulder constantly to see if they are being chased.”

“That’s one we don’t have an answer for yet. I’m betting she has a very good reason. We’ll find out soon enough. Let’s stop at my office and see if there’s anything new.”

Perhaps a premonition, but a highly interesting email awaited Jack. The bank reported another $25,000 deposit in his account and attached a copy of the money order. The next lines were even more interesting. There were $10,000 deposits made to both Sylvia and Diedre, giving their full names and Social Security numbers. Jack printed it out and handed it to Ray. He read silently, then handed it back. “I’ll be damned!”

Jack shook his head and grumbled, “This damn place must be bugged. How did anyone outside this house know that the girls had their own bank accounts? I told them at the bank that it was highly confidential.”

Ray laughed, “Well, welcome to the Witness program. Looks like we got hired whether we want to or not. Looks like we can look forward to a nice fat subsidy every month too.”

“It looks like we have been hired as jailers - that’s really really what it looks like. I’d love to see the job titles they gave the girls. Torturer First Class is way off the charts.”

“I guess the next question is how long we can expect to keep her as our house guest. These trials they testify at can be delayed for years.”

“I’m tempted to look at this bank statement and say, ‘who cares,’ but that’s another question for her.”

“Damnation, we get answers and promptly get more unanswered questions. She’s going to have to have one good story to tell or I personally will tan her hide from her toenails to her ears.”

Jack looked at the clock and noted that it was coming up on 3 a.m. “I’m headed for bed to get some sleep. Might be a long day tomorrow.”


Without a clock or watch, Vicky had no idea of the time. The girls had taken their time getting her out of the box and then making her crawl back to her cell. She kept as much weight as possible off her sore hands, slowing things down and drawing several extra slaps with the floggers. She puzzled over the fact that there was no breakfast in sight, but didn’t dare ask. Sylvia motioned her to her bed and to sleep, adding to her uncertainty.

She had barely closed her eyes when the siren shocked her out of deep sleep with the usual 10 second nightmare. She was running down an endless corridor of cell doors. She tried each one, knowing before she tried that they were locked. Something was chasing her, but when she turned to look, she woke up. Automatically she jumped up, folded her blanket, squatted to pee, and then attached the chain to her collar and assumed her position on the floor, somehow glad that the two slaves had left her in chains again.

Groggy to the point of staggering, she completed her morning ritual, totally unsure whether this was another midnight interrogation until her breakfast was delivered. Even then she tortured herself with the thought that the tray was a trick, knowing in the back of her mind that this would be the day of reckoning, whatever the time.

She finally deduced that they had come for her during the night, running the siren to fool her into thinking it was the regular hour. Despite almost three hours of sleep she was still tired and the sides of her head hurt from the blunt bolts. She scared herself visualizing the apparatus with sharp pointed bolts instead.

That turned into a worry session as she wondered what Jack would do to her for begging to be released almost before the questioning began. It really got to her when she began a non-stop visual image of some of the things he would do to her, plus a couple of her own old fantasies that would keep her screaming for hours. She tried to stop the flow of images, but they flooded her brain as if to pay her back for controlling them in the past.

Both Jack and Ray slept in, waking to the delicious aroma of the coffee that their slave girls had waiting for them. Both men showered then met at Jack’s office where each accepted a second mug.

Jack’s orders to Sylvia and Diedre about Vicky were short, and to the point, “Rough her up!”

Both grins broke into broad smiles. For whatever reason both girls were itching to try the skills they had honed on each other on someone new, especially since they looked at her as a possible competitor for their Master’s favor. The men relaxed, watching the news on TV, taking their time.

In her cell, Vicky was convinced the two slaves were acting on their own and for once desperately wanted the men to show up to put a stop to what was happening to her.

She had been stripped of her chains, then fitted with a pair of arm and hand supports which trapped her palms in position to hold her weight as she crawled. When the straps were tightened and locked, Vicky had to hold her arms out and present her palms to the rods which expertly seared the flesh from the base of her fingers to her wrists. Diedre pressed her thumbnail into the welted puffiness, watching Vicky’s eyes, until she nodded, satisfied.

Vicky went to the floor in a heap as Sylvia swung her leg sideways, knocking her legs out from under her. She positioned Vicky with her legs drawn up hard against her chest, directing her with pokes and strokes of her rod. The two slaves stood on either side of her again, this time welting the fronts of her legs from the knees down. For Vicky the immediate effect was panic, the distance from her cell to the dungeon looming as farther and farther apart. Her captors weren’t holding back. Each stroke fell like it penetrated to the bone.

After touching up the soles of her feet, the girls rechained her, using the heaviest links in the storeroom. With the significant added weight, Vicky could hardly have moved on normal flesh. Whipped flesh was another matter and for a moment she balked. For several minutes she regretted that misstep bitterly. Convinced that they would only make her hurt worse, she scrabbled across the floor, responding to cruel jerks on her leashes as they directed her on a meandering course that added hundreds of feet to her crawl space.

She was ready to rebel, wanted to rebel and would have given plenty for the slightest chance to rebel, but her guards were experienced beyond belief, allowing her not the slightest opportunity, reading her mind as she cast about for relief. Reluctantly she forced herself to obey, sure that when the men arrived the mistreatment would stop.

At the dungeon gates she was further humiliated by having to belly up to the gate, kiss it, then scramble to get through before the gate closed. Then the kiss had to be repeated on the inner gate. As the second gate closed behind her, she lifted her head to see if the men were waiting, and to see which machine would be her fate. She caught a glimpse of the stocks, still in place at the end of the aisle, but no sign of the men. She was rewarded for lifting her head with a sharp rap of the flogger handle above her ear, making her ears ring.

Back on her sore knees she once more endured a guided tour of every single pain engine and machine in the huge room. Each one required a kiss, a pantomime instructing her without a word spoken. The girls allowed her to kiss the equipment that she was about to occupy before they surprised her by starting to strap her into it.

The machine was a large chair, large, but a far cry from the typical “large” overstuffed chair that graces nearly every living room. Anyone “allowed” to sit in the chair would no doubt pay handsomely for some of the padding from an overstuffed, because it was a bare frame of wood and metal without a trace of softness.

The chair was an excellent copy of a torture device dating to the Inquisition, or even before. The old chairs were lined with sharp studs on every surface, even extending down behind the victim’s legs and offering a foot “rest” at the base. Some of them even had provisions for a fire to be lighted or hot coals in a pan under the iron seat, offering the most stubborn a fate they dared not fight.

Yes, the chair was a copy, but in some respects it far exceeded the original. The prisoner would be duped by a lack of visible studs, which retracted into the frame until they were needed to lubricate a tongue. Dildos offered a female occupant intimate contact, front and back, complete with electrical contacts that could set her limbs into helpless shivering and shaking.

More for show, the chair was equipped with a garrote besides the neck strap. A hint of its purpose could generate some interesting screams.

On the broad flat armrests, besides straps at elbow and wrist, the inmate’s hands are locked into a set of thumb screws, each with four additional screws for the fingers. All that and leather straps drawn tight to bursting boded poorly for Vicky. Before they even seated her they demonstrated the garrote, savoring the fear in her eyes. They also demonstrated the retracted studs, touching the studs, then the part of her body that they would press into. They showed her a propane torch, moving it beneath the seat to catch her imagination. Once they were satisfied, they strapped her in swiftly, working with practiced skill.

Helpless, squeezed from every direction, afraid to say a word, Vicky watched with a sinking heart as the two men walked through the dungeon toward her.

Chapter 7 The Talkative Miss Vicky

Jack and Ray took their time, pausing to discuss the merits of a machine they were passing, their stalling silent praise for the two slave girls. Diedre and Sylvia occupied the wait by checking and rechecking the bonds that literally welded Vicky into immobility. A quarter inch of slack was discovered, displayed to each other and erased by dragging the belt a full inch to the next hole.

Once every strap was tensioned perfectly, tightly buried in her flesh, without a signal they moved as one to the thumb screws, one of the girls on each hand. As if carefully orchestrated, they twisted each screw in unison, working from thumb to finger, to finger, to finger to finger.

Not one was overly tight, but five pinpoints of pain on the tips of each hand made a potent and ever present threat. Vicky felt, unjustly, that she was already being tortured, and had she been asked, would have argued that since she was more than willing to talk, this trip to the dungeon was completely unnecessary.

Her sleep had revived her. She was painfully aware that her powers of concentration had disappeared and despite mental efforts that had brought sweat to her brow, she could not regain control and felt true pain for the first time in years.

As she waited for her travails to begin, she considered her options. Escape was unthinkable. Revolt was possible, but her two over-slaves were so well trained that they seemed to be reading her mind, ready with reprisals before she even thought beyond resisting. Revenge was as far away from reality as escape. The bitter truth was that she was about to spill her guts, willingly! Or at least as willingly as anyone faced with the potential of the machines crammed into this dungeon. She tried to shift position. Foiled, she continued to feel the splinter that was jabbing her in the thigh.

As the two men came up to the chair, Sylvia dropped a heavy blindfold over her eyes. The last thing she saw was the lascivious grin on Ray’s face.

Jack’s voice boomed in the large hall, “Is this machine more to your liking?”

Vicky read the dark undertones in his tricky question. Reluctantly she gave him new credit as an interrogator.

“If it pleases Masters, this slave has been taught the potential of this chair and threatened with the severity of its torture. She will not lie under this compulsion.”

“Did you give her the shots?”

Both Sylvia and Diedre nodded and grinned as Vicky fumed behind her blindfold, worried by all the tales she had heard about truth serum.

Jack nodded to Sylvia and she turned on the recorder. Vicky, listening for any sound, heard the click and guessed its purpose. Her handlers would not be happy, but she had no choice. She heard a distinctive ‘pop’ as the propane torch was lit and then put down on the floor behind the chair.

“For the record, your name is Vicky Hunter?”

“Yes, Masters.”

“You are an escaped slave.”

“Yes, Masters.”

“You might as well start at the beginning. Start with your becoming a slave.”

“Masters, I was a missionary, part of a small group sent to Colombia to spread the word of God. By mistake we stumbled into an ambush at a jungle outpost, guarding the poppy fields. I was the only survivor. They stripped me, chained me by the neck to a post, but they did not rape me as I fully expected.

“They did rape me with their eyes. When the men weren’t working they made a beeline for me and just stood there, watching me. I would go to sleep at night with eyes staring at me and whenever I woke, there was always someone watching me.

“The women ‘cared’ for me. It was obvious that they hated me and were jealous of me. They would poke me with sharp sticks to make me pose for the men, making remarks in their language that were clearly sarcastic. They never failed to stand in front of me and spread their legs and rub their pussies and hump their hand, always pointing to me. Somehow they knew that pissing or shitting in front of the men was embarrassing, so they made sure there was a good crowd on hand before I was allowed to relieve myself.

“This went on for a week. Then one evening, just at dark, men came for me. They locked chains on my wrists behind my back and the blacksmith hammered a metal bar into a crude collar, welding a chain to it. I was led down a jungle trail, nude, with a man ahead of me holding my chain, and men behind me, with guns. The insects had a feast on my naked body and I got whipped if I made the slightest noise with my manacles.

“We traveled at night for three nights, hiding in the daytime. My chain was locked to a tree while the men slept. None of them touched me, for any reason, but they continued to stare at me. Just before dawn on the third night we entered a small village. On the outskirts we walked to a huge villa half hidden among the trees. I was taken around to the rear and shoved into a dog kennel.

“Even the dogs wouldn’t touch me! At the time it really spooked me. I had nightmares for months afterward where men lined up to touch me, or made the dogs attack me.

“They let me sleep most of the day. Then they took me, still collared and manacled, into the house. I was brought before a monster of a man, well over six feet tall and weighing at least 300 pounds. He eyed me up and down, made me spread my legs. Then I had to turn around and display myself, then bend over and expose myself.

“He seemed to be satisfied, issuing a curt order that soon amounted to ‘Clean her up.’

“I was bathed by two slave girls, then a slave trained as a beautician took over, did my hair and put on makeup, some of it the first I had ever worn. When she showed me the result in a mirror I had a hard time believing it was me, but the sight of that ugly collar made it very real.

“The big man was named Rosario and before long I learned that he was one of the big wheels in the Colombian drug cartels. The villa was an armed fortress that was virtually impregnable.

“Rosario spoke enough English to explain my fate. I was to be his bed warmer. He didn’t have to spell out that he meant that I was to be his sex slave. I tried to beg, told him that I was a virgin, that my parents would pay any ransom he wanted. He slugged me with his fist, knocking me across the room, calling me a liar. He said no woman could get into his area of control without being raped.

“I insisted that I had not been raped. He hit me again, then kicked me as I lay on the floor. He called in an aide and had me dragged into an underground dungeon. I was put in a tiny cell, chained to the wall, pitch dark. I was still nude and there were no blankets. I had to sleep on the floor.

“They left me for perhaps two days. Then I was brought to a room which looked like a medical clinic. I was strapped on an examination table with my legs spread, by a nurse. Then a man in a white coat came in. He never said a word, just got busy with his fingers between my legs. They left me there for hours. I fell asleep, despite the bright lights. The aide came and the nurse released me and he took me back to my cell. To my horror I discovered that my pussy was soaked. I couldn’t understand why, being so inexperienced. I would learn, soon enough.

“I spent more time in the cell. In my innocence I thought they were checking my story and would release me as soon as they found out I was telling the truth.

“Ramiros had me brought before him again. He again said that I was to be his bed warmer. I started to protest, but he punched me in the stomach so hard I couldn’t breath. When I had recovered he told me, ‘Your cell door will remain unlocked. When you are ready, crawl from your cell to me and beg to be allowed to warm my bed.’

“I wanted to say something smart to him, but I didn’t dare. He was too big, too powerful, and as I would find out, cruel beyond belief. I meekly bowed my head and followed the aide back to my cell. He turned on the light so that I could see the pigsty that I was living in. He didn’t lock my chain to the wall. He left the cell door wide open, stopping to motion to the floor, ‘Crawl!’

“Apparently Rosario thought he was being kind. He waited for three days and when I didn’t crawl to him, he came personally to my cell, along with a couple of aides.”

Vicky paused. Sylvia had a glass of water with a straw, which she gratefully sipped. When she continued, she answered the nagging but unspoken question.

“He never said a word. The aides literally carried me to a soundproof room and put me in a metal box. They had a siren that they used to wake everyone in the Villa with each morning. The box had a speaker in it and once they had me locked in the box they started a tape recording of that siren. They ran that... siren for hour after hour. The whole box vibrated with the sound waves. They would turn it way down and open the box. I knew they wanted me to crawl to Rosario. I would shake my head, the lid would come down and the siren would wail louder than ever.

“Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. My ears rang constantly - and still do - so I crawled. I found him, and I kissed the boot that had kicked me. I licked the hand that had punched me. By the time I got through, my pussy was actually dripping. He saw it, and he laughed his head off at my dismay and embarrassment.

“He proceeded to teach me two sentences, which I had to repeat each time I came to his bed - ‘Please, Master, may I enter your bed,’ and the worst one, ‘Please Master, fuck me.’

“He made me repeat them a dozen times until I got the exact pleading and sincere tone in my voice. He delighted in putting me through my paces until I was lying on his bed with my legs spread wide and my arms outstretched to welcome him. Then he would find some minor fault and send me back to my cell, only to crawl back to him again.

“He trained me for two weeks, before he raped me. He made me crawl, made me beg, made me watch as he had other women in his bed. He found out that I hated the siren, so it became his favorite punishment. The slightest mistake, the least hesitation and I was boxed up with that screaming siren again.

“When the big night finally came, he announced at dinner that he was going to ’fuck a virgin.’ I had to come out from beneath the table and display myself. To my everlasting horror, he announced that, since deflowering a virgin was a special event, they were all invited to come and watch. I turned red to my toes, to the jeers and catcalls of the dinner guests. Not to mention the fact that my pussy was dripping like a faucet.

“My starring role came and went in a cloud of humiliation. I was so wet that Rosario went to the bottom on his first stroke. There was a stab of pain when he broke though my hymen, and then I started enjoying myself. I ignored the cheering crowd and concentrated on the good feeling in my pussy.

“As you probably have already suspected, I’m a pain freak. I get off, big time on pain, and humiliation. Rosario gave me all the pain I wanted and then he would start with his own wants and needs, I can say with authority that some of the things he did to me far surpassed any self-inflicted pain. As but one example, he’d forbid me to juice, then do the things that made me juice, one aft er another for hours on end, and punish me for every one.

“Between the whippings and the beatings and the verbal abuse I learned my true calling. The more he hurt me the more I thirsted for pain. I found myself begging to be tortured, deliberately misbehaving to earn more punishment. He saw through me immediately and showed me off to everyone, making me recite how good the pain felt. He would knock me across the room and with everyone watching I had to crawl on my belly back to him and beg him to hit me again.”

“The bastard would bargain with me, He’d offer to slug me if I would give him a blow job in front of the whole crowd. He got off on hurting me, as much as I got off on the pain. I was a pain slut from the first day and he started calling me ‘Pain Slave’ or ‘Pain’ for short.

“Naturally he withheld hurting me, as a form of punishment. He drove me up the wall with that one. He’d chain me to a post and force me to watch as he punished the other slaves. He’d spend hours practicing with his whip and I had to count every stroke, while he teased me by swinging it closer and closer to my face until the tip would snap an inch from my nose. It was painless torture, but torture all the same.

“The other slaves were allowed to run free, under the threat of being skinned alive if they got within ten feet of the outer wall. Each slave had an anklet that could be locked to a chain. I wasn’t allowed didly squat. I had ankle shackles, wrist manacles, a collar and matching belt and chains running from all of them to all the other points. I could barely move under all the weight, but he added a 20 pound steel ball hooked to my ankle chain - just for the fun of it.

“I stood weeks of painless existence when something snapped. As it happened, I had his cock in my throat at the time. I bit down on it, thinking it might be a way to get him to hurt me again. I succeeded, beyond my wildest nightmares. A man’s cock is his pride and joy and even though I didn’t even break the skin, I paid dearly for that one bite.

“The village dentist made a house call. By the time he left my mouth was jacked open wide enough to run a bus through it. He wired rubber wedges against my back teeth. That much I knew. But he did some other things that gave me a separate violent toothache for every tooth in my head. Something like a migraine times 32.

“I was out of my depth in five minutes, before he even got out of the gate. If I had known at the time that it would be more than a month before the devilish devices in my mouth were taken out, I would have brained myself somehow with that steel ball. Pain slut, yes, but not that kind of pain!

“That was just the beginning. I got all the pain I could handle, multiplied by five or ten times. There wasn’t a spot on my body that didn’t hurt more than the raging pain in my mouth. My nipples hurt so badly that I was constantly looking for a pair of scissors to cut them off. Before it was over I would have given my right arm for a dull knife. I won’t even tell you the things they did to my clit, because you might want to do them to me again.

“I became intimately acquainted with his staff. Once a week he drew two names out of a hat. The two selected became my shadows, working 12 hour shifts. They didn’t object to the long hours, because I was under orders to provide any sexual service that they wanted, for as long as they wanted. They in turn had whips, which they used at the slightest provocation. I was whipped every time I drooled. There were worse punishments for spilling their jism. I had to respond to their every command. My garbled words earned more cruelty. I was humiliated for hours on end at their whim.

“A favorite punishment left me with sore hands and fingers for days at a time. They made me stand in the open space in the center of the villa. While the staff and other slaves watched from the veranda above me, I had to hold my arms out against the pull of my chains and beg my guard to punish me. Taking a tip from their boss, they made me agree - in the most vile and vulgar language, and at the top of my voice - to some unspecified sex act in exchange for the ‘privilege’ of getting my hands beaten to a pulp with a wide flat oak ruler. The slightest flinch earned an extra, and the extras were administered with the narrow edge of the ruler. No matter how rigid I held my hands, I was invariably accused of flinching.

“I protested. Just once. I spent a week in a black box in the full sun. I was told that if I protested again I would spend a full month in the box. They took me down to the dungeon and showed me a slave who was completely out of her head, muttering and talking to herself, ignoring us completely.”

“She lasted three weeks. Had a heat stroke.

“At that moment her oblivion was very tempting. Satisfying my masochism and escaping, even if only into a mental fog, was very, very tempting. I gritted my teeth and instead returned to my life as a pain slave.

“The constant overpowering pain brought me to realize that if I didn’t control it, the pain was going to make me a twin of the mindless wretch in the dungeon. Somehow, from somewhere, came the resolve to control my pain. The easy part was bearing the constant humiliation, always nude, available instantly for sex. I found the antidote in my mind and fed upon it until I could spend a whole day under the whip and come away as if I had been a guest at a garden party.

“After several months of almost constant abuse and just plain torture, Rosario took me back to his bed. The first weeks were taken up with punishment for being overly ‘friendly’ to my guards. I dared not protest, but I used my new found control to mitigate the pain. I had to be careful to make the appropriate screams and cries, but I managed to fool him.

“Since I appeared more docile, he removed my chains, but it was most of a year before he pried my belt out of my belly. I didn’t lose the collar until years later, when I was rescued.”

Chapter 8 Talk, Talk, Talk

“Actually I wasn’t rescued,” Vicky corrected herself hastily, worried that the truth serum would catch even the unintentional lie.

“The Federal troops surrounded the villa and began firing. Years before I had learned of a secret tunnel that the slaves had dug. It began with a flight of stairs behind the wall of the room where I warmed his bed. A window shattered, spraying glass. I got a small cut on my cheek as I grabbed clothing and pressed the button that opened one of the hidden doors.

“Rosario was nowhere to be seen. I knew he would be busy commanding the defense of his villa. At first I was just running from the bullets, but when nobody else came into the tunnel I suddenly realized that I was being offered a chance to escape.

“I admit, I hesitated. I would be leaving my Master who knew every depth of my soul. He had long since perfected the means and methods of forcing me to ‘enjoy’ my constant pain. Vivid scenes of his delicious tortures flashed before my eyes as I stumbled through the long tunnel that seemed to close in on me, narrowing, as if to warn me to turn around and go back to him.

“As I ran I remembered his mother. He had made me curse him, call him names, needless excuses to punish and torture me, especially because he knew I meant every word. Yes, ‘bastard’ was one term. He would laugh as he began punishing me for using it. His mother was visiting him and he was showing her how well he had trained me. I called him a ‘bastard’ and a ‘Son of a bitch.’ She got up and walked over to where I was kneeling in front of her son and belted me with the back of her hand, a full swing that knocked me to the floor.

“I never found out whether she was actually angry, or just using it as an excuse to get her claws into me. At that moment and during the several weeks I spent in her private dungeon I was in constant pain and in constant fear for my life. I knew very well that I had grossly insulted her and I paid ten fold for each insult. Not only that, but Rosario matched every one of her tortures, blaming me for not refusing to say the words. Then he added a few more of his own to make up for a lack of a bed warmer.

“It was the clear picture of her angry face that decided it. I could handle Rosario’s punishments but I was just plain scared of her. She had demonstrated again and again that she knew every tender spot on the female anatomy. She spent the endless long days making me beg to be hurt again on the sorest parts of my body. More than once I opened my mouth to beg her to kill me, stopping each time, sure that she would find the most painful method to drag out my end indefinitely.

“I had no idea where I was when I came out of the tunnel. I could hear the rattle of automatic rifles in the distance. I didn’t dare go to the Federal troops, because I knew that he had spies among them. I knew I needed to get as far away from the villa and the village as possible.

“The next several weeks were a blur. I remember constantly watching behind me, expecting to be recaptured at any moment. I had no money, so I used my mouth and my cunt to pay my way. I traveled toward a large city where I knew there was an American Consulate. Several of my benefactors recognized my status as an escaped slave and tied or chained me before using me. I was careful to speak only the native tongue, a fluent talent learned at the end of a whip.

“Somehow I made contact with the Consulate. A CIA man met me miles from his office. He questioned me for most of one night. Then he paid for a motel room and I had my first real bath in weeks. When he came back he had checked my information and had lots of additional questions. When darkness came, I was bundled into a van and taken to the Consulate.

“Once in his office he handed me a thick stack of papers.

“‘Rosario, as you might expect, has a dragnet out for you. He’s offered the equivalent of $400,000 for your return. He wants you bad, because he knows you have enough information to hang him. As a warning to you not to talk, he’s been passing out this 32-page list of the things he’s planning on doing to you - before he kills you, slowly.’

“He let me read the list. I was still inclined to go back to Rosario. I discovered to my horror that I was literally starved for pain, visualizing the delightful things he would do to me. But that list was a wake-up call. Despite years of creative torture, he hadn’t touched most of the shocking things that were on the list. I got as far as what he would do to my tongue before the list dropped from my nerveless fingers. I stared into space, looking at my fate. It was not a pretty sight.

“The man asked me if I would testify at a trial. I hesitated, suddenly scared. When I finally nodded, he visibly relaxed.

“We’re going to put you in the witness protection program. You’ll be safe there until he is tried, then you will ‘disappear’ as far as the world is concerned.

“‘He’s still at large?’

“‘The Federals shot up his villa but he escaped with most of his slaves and his family. We know where he is hiding and a Special Ops team is on the way there.’

“‘I won’t be safe, even when he is behind bars.’

“‘You will be well guarded, believe me. We have been trying to get Rosario for years, but this is the first time we’ve had an eye witness. We’ll do everything we can to make you safe - and comfortable. It’s not like we were going to stick you in some dungeon.’

“That last crack hit a nerve. The one word - dungeon - and I was juicing like a squeezed grape. I thought to myself, ‘What if...’ I discarded the thought at the time, but it would come back later on.”

Vicky stopped and licked her dry lips. Sylvia held the water glass while she sucked it dry, her wet tongue soothing her lips.

“The CIA is close-mouthed about how they move people about. I ate a meal that must have been laced with knockout drops, because the next thing I knew I was back in the States, in a house somewhere in Virginia. I had a trio of female agents who never left my side, day and night.

“By this time I was crawling the walls, suffering from pain withdrawal. I went to work on one of the three women, doing my best to seduce her. I pointedly asked to borrow her handcuffs. She put me off, but she reported the conversation to her superiors and came back with the handcuffs. I promptly put them on my wrists, behind my back, and too tight, as Rosario had trained me.

“Within a couple of weeks I had enough bondage gear to stock an adult store. I had whips, but nobody to use them on me. The girls flatly refused to whip me. Finally I had an inspiration and asked that one of their interrogators be assigned to me. I pointed out that I might have forgotten or overlooked some important point - information they needed to know. With some reluctance they sent out one of their best men - and a second one to watch and ensure that I didn’t get ‘overstressed’ by their attentions.

“About an hour into the first day I brought things to a screeching halt. I said, ‘If you’re the best the CIA has, we’re in deep trouble.’ Both of them looked insulted and turned as if to leave. I called them back and spent the next three days explaining to them and my three guards exactly how Rosario interrogated me and the other slaves. Both men looked at me like I was hallucinating, but I noticed all three women were squirming in their seats. Before it was over I was certain that at least one had an orgasm.

“Things didn’t change - much. The men got rougher with me, to my greater enjoyment. The women eyed me with more respect and once I caught the one who climaxed looking longingly at the whips. I walked up behind her and whispered, ‘I will if you will.’ She turned red to her toes and rushed into the bathroom and locked the door.

“They caught Rosario. I was elated because I was dying of boredom. They kept me informed as he was flown to the States and locked away in a maximum security prison. Two nights later there were loud noises out in the yard, then a pistol shot. Four police cars and two unmarked cars appeared in seconds. They brought a body into the house. My three guards had all sprouted big caliber handguns. They showed me the body. Impulsively I kicked the lifeless corpse in the balls. I recognized Felepe, one of Rosario’s staff, and one of the most sadistic men in the villa.” I hoped fervently that his horrible torture methods had died with him.

“Fifteen minutes later they moved me. They didn’t even stop to knock me out, but they did blindfold me a few minutes be fore we got to another ‘safe’ house. Two days later, in broad daylight there was another attack. Three men were killed. Both the outside and inside guards were now sporting assault rifles and they even gave me one of the handguns. The unspoken message - If they get through, shoot yourself. That list haunted me, stiffening my resolve to shoot.

“They moved me again, this time in the trunk of a decades-old Ford that nearly killed me with leaking exhaust fumes. A car that tried to follow was taken out and the driver went into isolation until his knowledge was no longer useful. The radio he was using led to several other arrests.

“Once I was settled in, I was examined by a doctor several times. Then, one of the top people in the Agency came to visit me. He had a lot of questions, centered on my penchant for bondage, my history as a slave and a lot more. I told him very frankly that I needed to become a slave again to satisfy my leanings as a pain slut or pain slave.

“He shook his head. ‘You’ve taken my people too far as it is. There’s a limit to what we can do, even with a willing participant. We’re simply not rigged to handle a slave. However, I may have a solution.’

“He opened his briefcase and handed me several folders.

“‘We’ve decided that you need to go underground completely. The folders contain information on several slave owners. Once in their hands you will disappear completely. You will be called at the proper time to testify and then all records of you will be erased.’

“He went for a walk around the grounds to check security while I read the contents of the folders. When he came back I showed him the one I had selected. He nodded, said, ‘Good choice,’ shook hands and left. I ate supper and the next thing I knew I was kneeling on your front porch.”

Jack and Ray were looking at each other, listening to the blindfolded girl’s remarkable story. Ray shook his head in disbelief.

“How did they get the girl’s names?”

“Masters, both were listed as voluntary slaves in the folder. They also had their Social Security numbers.”

“Did they tell you that I am being paid $25,000 a month to house you and the two girls are earning $10,000 a month?”

“They said it was to ensure that you wouldn’t turn the deal down. Speaking from painful experience, your two slaves are more than earning their pay.”

“What about security? We’re isolated here.”

“Masters, I was shown monitors. There isn’t any access for miles. The slightest movement will set off an alarm.”

“Last question. How did you get here?”

Jack nodded. Diedre picked up the propane torch, deliberately hitting it against metal on the chair to draw Vicky’s attention, then let it hiss by her ear.

“Masters, I don’t know. I told you they knocked me out whenever they moved me. This was the same thing. All I know is that I woke up on the porch.”

Both men made a face, expressing their frustration. At the moment the only solace was the checks every month. Diedre and Sylvia kept their disappointment to themselves. At Jack’s nod they released the tensioned straps, showing the marks clearly on her smooth flesh.

Gingerly, with a helping hand, Vicky arose from the chair and promptly prostrated herself at Jack’s feet. “Masters, I apologize for they way this has been handled. I beg your collar, willingly, and I beg punishment for deceiving you.”

Right on cue, Sylvia and Diedre went to their knees on each side of the prone Vicky. They were holding a tray with a plain iron collar. Jack bent forward, picked up the collar. The two slaves lifted her hair as Jack placed the collar and snapped it closed.

Jack moved his foot, pressing the collar into her neck. “Do you accept my collar, my bonds and restraints, my discipline and demands upon you?”

“I do, Masters,”

“I accept you as our slave. You will be third slave, subject to Master’s orders and slave’s orders. Kneel Up!”

In seconds she was shackled and leashed.

“Teach her respect for each of these machines. Above all teach her to respect the whip. Break her of any mental reservations so that she cannot deny pain. For now, third slave gets the leavings. When, and only when you two are sated will she be allowed in either of our beds. Always ensure that she is denied the pleasure of an orgasm.”

“After all, she is serving a life sentence, so you have years to mold her into a proper slave.”

Vicky hid a smile.

The End