by Raul Roget
Chapter 3 - Bed Time
I didn’t have any idea what I was doing, or whether it would only get me in deeper trouble. I took a lesson from my Aunt Ramona, who was widely known for her hen-pecked husband. She was bossy all the time. Here, I would have to guess which hat to wear. All I knew was that it was working with Celeste.
She hurried to open the box, setting the lid carefully to one side. She reached in and lifted out a heavy rubber bra. Silently she showed me the cups, lined with tiny needle sharp points. She demonstrated the nipple traps by pressing her little finger upward through the rubber ring with its row of slanted needles that would keep her nipples taut. At the moment I didn’t want to know how she removed the punishment bra, but in the back of my mind was the knowledge that I would be next. She ran her finger along the inside of the shoulder and back straps, exposing their sharp tips. She saved the worst for last - the locking device that not only denied relief, but also was designed so that the back straps could be tightened several inches. I gasped in disbelief.
Without a command, she bent forward and dropped her pert boobs into the cups, tugging them on with a wince. I stepped behind her and adjusted the shoulder straps and back straps and closed the clasp. I was about to turn the key to lock it when she spoke up. “Please, Mistress. It’s not tight enough. Jake will cane us both if it isn’t pulled up.”
I pulled the strap another inch.
“Tighter, please Mistress.” She wasn’t satisfied until I had robbed her of two more painful inches. I shook my head, believing and disbelieving in rapid succession.
She was gasping for lack of air, the constriction across her chest reducing her air supply, but at a still safe level. As I locked the back strap I could see two more holes in the strap, with pressure marks showing they had been used. Jake must have been really unhappy with her sometime in the past.
“Please, Mistress.” she gasped, “Pull my nipples through.”
Little more than the tips of her nipples showed, surrounded by a halo of metal. I had no choice except to grip the tips with my nails and drag them through the rubber ring.
“How can you stand that?” I exclaimed, dropping my hands, reluctant to add to her torture.
“I told you, I’m a pain freak. It takes more and more pain to get me off.”
The light clicked on. “You attacked me deliberately so that Jake would punish you.”
“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress. Please, my nipples...”
She moaned as my fingers tightened on them, rising to a low scream when I tugged and twisted them through. I was certain I had sliced off the nipple tips, but, red and inflamed, they stood proudly. I started to get angry, only to realize that we were sisters who loved pain.
Still, my curiosity was awakened. “Why... You don’t have rings in your nipples. I thought that was standard for a slave?”
Celeste nodded and grinned ruefully. “It is, but it’s pretty much up to the Master. Jake has a different slant on things. He says putting a ring in hurts once, but a needle hurts every time. He is an expert at searching out a nerve and impaling it on a needle point. I’m convinced that his needle play has increased the sensitivity of my nipples. Maybe it’s all in my mind, knowing and anticipating the pain. On the rare occasions that he permits me to have an orgasm his needlework really sets me off.”
“What about... between your legs?”
“Huh! That’s a little of both. He uses a serrated clamp or a needle on my clit, but I have a permanent row of grommets on each pussy lip so that he can use a steel wire to sew them together, or use a bicycle padlock, when he has to go somewhere.”
“How do you stand... your... clit? I’d go through the ceiling at the first prick.”
“Would you try to object if the penalty was to be chained down and zapped with a cattle prod, making you watch as he puts fresh batteries in it, then uses it until they are dead? He’s had ten years to teach me not to flinch. Opening my mouth to scream is to him an objection. As you saw, he’s a master with the whip. I don’t know how he does it, but he manages to get the tip at least six inches up my ass. When he jerks it out it feels like all my guts are coming with it.”
The lessons were coming thick and fast. Almost faster than I could learn them. At that moment I realized that I had made either the biggest mistake of my life or the best decision that I would ever make. My pussy was saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” while my brain was saying, “No! No! No!” In any event I was in the process of making life uncomfortably miserable for a fellow slave.
Next from the box was a heavy rubber belt.. It was round, about three inches in diameter, with the entire surface covered with sharp metal points. I found out later that the rubber was molded around a half inch steel cable, ensuring there was no stretch at all.
She handed me a pair of heavy leather gloves.
“You’ll need these to protect your hands. I’m not allowed gloves when I do it myself.”
I eyed the belt with considerable curiosity. Beyond the obvious points, it looked innocent enough until I donned the gloves and took the belt from her. I turned it back and forth.
“There’s no catch. It’s all one piece.”
“It goes on like a rubber band.”
“You mean... rolled up your legs, and...”
She nodded. “And over my hips into place.”
She answered my question without it being asked, “The incentive was - and is - being hung upside down with my legs spread. I am gagged while he uses a cane between my legs until I nod my head frantically, agreeing to whatever he has in mind for further punishment. Right away I have to suck his cock and swallow his jism, which is no small feat, standing on your head. I’ve only had two sessions like that, but I will do anything, even a week in the hole, to avoid a third. If I struggle, I get the hole anyway, with refinements. Jake ensures that I never get a respite from pain.”
I urgently wanted to ask more questions. “Refinements?” That meant only one thing - pain - but how? The unknown scared me, with good reason. But, we needed to finish her bondage before Jake returned. Of course, I had no idea as to whether he was done with us for the night or was planning more travails for us.
There was no way out of the belt. It had to go on, painfully tight, my protected hands rolling it up her thighs and above her hips. The only saving grace was that the studs hadn’t drawn blood, although they did leave hundreds of little red dots in her skin. Celeste was in tears, knowing the pain would be repeated when Jake gave her permission to remove it. She told me she had once refused to remove it, but she lasted only two days before she had to beg for permission to take it off.
As she handed me the items, I first removed her steel collar and replaced it with a Victorian style posture collar with a chin cup, that laced in the back. She told me I had to make the ends meet, which took a considerable amount of strength. As I tugged, I had a mental picture of the sharp points being forced into her tender neck. What made it worse was the certainty that I would be wearing this soon, and would be the one watching as she introduced me to the torture points.
I was concerned that the posture collar would add to her breathing problems, but before putting it on I examined it and discovered that it had a reinforced channel that kept pressure off the windpipe. Be thankful for small favors.
Wristlets came next, with attached stiff mittens. My curiosity came to the fore and I tried putting my hand in the mitt. Over a hundred nasty little studs greeted my fingers as they slid into individual pockets. Hastily I jerked my hand back in time to see an enigmatic smile on Celeste’s face, which seemed to say: ‘Try it. You won’t like it, but tomorrow or the next day they will be locked on your wrists for the night, like it or not.’
Her anklets had a six-inch chain between them. Both the wristlets and anklets had large, heavy D rings attached. Everything that touched her skin had the points. She was obviously in serious pain, but you couldn’t tell it from the glitter of pleasure in her eyes.
Her gag was the last item. One glance was enough to label the designer as a nasty pervert that I would never want to meet on a dark night. Among its salient features was a studded tongue depressor that would leave the victim’s mouth raw in a matter of minutes. Clips at the corner of the mouth took second billing.
I looked at the bed, but it was laid out for one person - me.
She saw me look and grunted to get my attention. She pointed to the floor next to the far side of the bed. On the floor were six heavy ring-bolts. She pointed to them, then to herself, then to a drawer filled with bondage gear.
I wanted to give her a hug to show her that I held no hard feelings. However, I was now certain that there were hidden cameras watching us, so I didn’t want to give Jake an excuse to punish me. I hoped she could see in my eyes that I bore her no ill will.
Like my bed, the floor rings had attached chains. Celeste, without hesitation, sat down and reached for the chains, locking them on her legs. Then she lay down on her back, spreading her arms. In a matter of moments she was “fixed,” as Jake had ordered. I walked around her, to make sure everything was in place. I winced at the thought of what that hard floor was adding to her torment, but I had my own problems. I got onto the bed and positioned myself. Getting my legs shackled was easy. I reached over and turned off the light. I had trouble with the still not quite familiar handcuffs. Once locked, I spent half a minute calling myself a damned fool for getting into this predicament, and was immediately asleep.
Chapter 4 - Life under a Tyrant
I awoke to two sounds. Gag-muffled shrieks from Celeste and the rapid fire snap of a whip on flesh. I didn’t get my eyes open quickly enough and shared the next several lashes with her.
I blinked at the bright light. I raised my head to see what he was doing to her. As soon as Jake saw I was awake, he stopped thrashing me, but continued to slash at Celeste. He ordered, “Punishment uniform,” pointing at Celeste.
Pointing to me, “Bikini, heels, and cuffs,” an order I would hear repeatedly for the next several months. There was no point in asking for a dress, panties and a bra, risking a lengthy session with the punishment bra that Celeste was wearing. My guess was that it was an integral part of her punishment uniform, a guess that was confirmed in a couple of minutes.
When I nodded, he gave Celeste’s thigh a final welt, and without saying another word went back upstairs. Celeste motioned frantically, using the barest of slack. She wanted me to release her, so I went about removing her shackles. She kept motioning for me to hurry until I removed her gag. Her first word was, “Hurry!”
As I worked on her bondage she explained, “We have ten minutes to get dressed and get up to the shop. If we are late we get a public whipping as a ‘demonstration.’ My belt has to come off. My wrists have to be chained to my collar and I get the helmet - and the gag goes back in. The bra stays as well.”
Her belt posed the biggest problem. I donned the leather gloves, gripped the belt firmly and with all my strength rolled it down over her hips in one swift motion. Celeste writhed in pain as it compressed her. I got it off with one shove, but it left hundreds of fresh red dots behind. I stared in amazement at her, panting, in the last stage before climaxing, aroused by the pain. I shook my head in disbelief, but I didn’t have time to ponder.
She was holding the punishment helmet. I didn’t dare look closely at it as a mere glance was enough to convince me that Celeste would be a very unhappy camper within minutes of my tightly buckling it at the back of her head. She locked the manacles on her wrists, pointing to the gag. I locked it in her mouth and she shuffled toward the stairs. I raced for the closet, using the time she would need to climb the stairs to grab the tiny bikini that was at the moment the only item of clothing in the closet, I hastily tied the strings behind my back and bent to put the six inch heels on my feet and lock the ankle straps.
I knew my hair was a mess, but my time sense told me I had only seconds left. It sounded like the Charge of the Light Brigade as I clattered across the floor and up the stairs, barely maintaining my balance. I caught up with Celeste on the last step. Waiting for us, whip in hand, Jake’s impatience was obvious.
He glanced at his watch. “Five seconds late.” He handed me the whip. “She gets five on the way to the kitchen. If you don’t do it right, you get ten. You fix breakfast. Toast and coffee for me and whatever you want. She gets to watch us eat.”
She would not get thirsty. Jake moved a stand close to where she was kneeling. He filled a large plastic bag with water, then attached the tube from the bottom of the bag to her gag. He twisted a valve part-way open. The water began draining through her gag and down her throat. Her only way to stop the flow was to bite down hard on the gag in order to stop it long enough to breathe.
I was not exactly a gourmet cook then, but he taught me - at the tip of his whip - to cook from A to Z. It would be months before he let Celeste out of the doghouse and I had to do all the cooking. It wasn’t all bad. After the first weeks he allowed me to do the grocery shopping. I got some fresh air for the first time in ages. In return, I got my ass beaten with some regularity, but my punishments were a breeze, compared to hers.
Jake wouldn’t let Celeste have an orgasm. For that matter, he never used her. He would make her watch, her nose inches from his cock as he made me climax repeatedly. He must have threatened her with something far worse than the hole, because she was extremely careful not to reach a climax, despite the fact that the very painful measures Jake prescribed usually kept her on the brink of orgasm.
She flatly refused to tell me what he had threatened to do to her. I was put in charge of her continuing punishment, but none of my threats or the available equipment got more than a shake of her head. Other than that one quirk, she was a model pain slut, which was what Jake called her.
That first day he had me dress her in a bikini that looked about half the size of my tiny ‘uniform.’ He waited until there were a dozen customers in the shop, then brought her out on a leash and made her crawl to the cage that stood in the center of the main floor - the first thing you would see when you came in the door. He made her bow, her face to the floor before each customer, then made her stand, to display all her hardware. One spectator, who spotted the welts on her thighs and back asked, “What did she do to deserve this?” Jake ignored the question. Another asked, “Is she for sale?”
Jake laughed. “Do you see a ‘For Sale’ sign anywhere? The cage, and anything on her body are for sale. Most of you have been here before, so you know where the sale racks are.”
Business was brisk. My internal cash register was ringing up dollar signs as my commissions, combined with Celeste’s were quickly adding up to an imposing figure. Jake was in hog heaven, working the register, while I roamed the floor showing off my handcuffs and answering questions about the bondage equipment that Celeste was wearing. At the end of the day Jake told me that I had broken the record for one-day sales. That didn’t stop him from pounding my pussy while I was locked firmly on my bed that night after closing time.
As I said, business that day was brisk. The customers who saw Celeste spread the word and by evening it was standing room only. Jake had reluctantly allowed her to sit or lie on the straw, but he made up for it by attaching a heavy chain to one ankle and a ring bolt in the floor of the cage. She had to periodically lift the chain and show her audience that she was safely secured. She was under orders to stay in the middle of the cage, away from the bars. Her potty breaks came at the end of a leash, driven by the gallon of water she had drunk, through a gauntlet of curious and horny men.
The cage of course was locked as well, a redundancy that played on the minds of the spectators. To Jake, it served two purposes - to impress his customers that Celeste was not going anywhere, and to ensure that someone didn’t try to sneak into the cage with her. There were several inquiries about buying the cage, but the five figure price tag scared them off. Several months later someone did come up with the cash, so the floor was empty for several days before Jake got a replacement.
I sold five of the helmets, seven of the gags and I lost count on the collars, shackles and manacles, on top of the handcuff sales. I even sold several of the leashes, so I was pretty proud of myself. All I had to do was hook a leash to my collar and carry it looped in my hand, suggestively offering the handle to the customer.
I learned to snatch it away when one of the men grabbed for it, just as Jake popped the switch on the PA system to warn him. I soothed the guy’s disappointment by beckoning him to the display rack of leashes. I got into the swing of things easily and by the end of the day I was really making progress. Jake watched me carefully and expanded my duties as quickly as I learned them.
The heavy crowds lasted for a couple of weeks, keeping Jake busy restocking. I was quickly getting into the swing of things, and under Jake’s tutelage I learned how to close a sale, how to spot the leeches, what to say to get the men moving from the magazine racks to the cash register.
Besides being a pain slut, Celeste was an exhibitionist, as it quickly became apparent that she was thriving on the attention that she was getting. If the law had allowed, I’m positive she would have quickly discarded the petite bikini and displayed herself in the raw. She might just as well, since her nipples tented the scant cloth with unmistakable outlines that she made no attempt to hide and there was a definite crease in her panties. She had donned the bikini over her punishment bra, which ensured that her nipples were forever erect. I was no better off, despite having nearly a third more cloth, as my nipples were stiff and uncontrollable.
As the attention to Celeste waned, my days saw an increasing number of men trying to get close to me. Most were regulars, but there would always be the occasional new customer that didn’t take Jake’s warning seriously and got booted out. The majority heeded the warning, coming close, but never touching. This of course made it easier to ring up a sale
Jake’s anger at Celeste was tempered by the profit motive, but he made sure that she suffered in spite of the sales tool she had become. She thrived on suffering, but I treaded very gingerly because if they reconciled their differences, it would be me in the cage, with both of them on my case. Celeste had a different aspect, since she was married to Jake, suggesting they might easily someday be a team again. I was the odd man out.
I didn’t dare severely punish Celeste, against the day she came back into power, thirsting for revenge, but I didn’t dare not to. The only saving grace was the fact that she knew I was acting under Jake’s orders when I disciplined her, but in the heat of anger that might not carry much weight. Jake expected absolute obedience to his orders, giving me no slack to ease up on Celeste. I took a number of lashes before I realized that I was losing ground and needed to change tactics.
Jake was the unknown quantity. He could change his mind in a moment, throwing our trio into chaos, which meant severe punishment for both us women. The trouble was that Jake considered our welts as sales tools, pointing them out to potential whip customers. He had both of us under his thumb, and absolutely no reason not to beat both of us to a pulp.
About the only serious threat was some over-zealous customer who would complain to the police that we were being abused. It certainly would have surprised the guy if he found out that we both would flatly deny being abused and that it was part of our way of life. Defending against such a charge could get very expensive, so Jake impressed to me the need to carefully follow the law.
Celeste was a poster child for pain. It didn’t take me long to figure her out. She dearly loved being punished by Jake, and the harsher the penalty, the more she loved him. I was alternately a witness, a participant, or her jailer. She not only got off on pain, besides her exhibition fetish, she preened on humiliation and degradation of any kind. Later, when she wasn’t constantly gagged, she told me that if Jake stopped whipping her, she would divorce him. I get off on pain, but I’d never be able to match her love affair with Jake. The two made a perfect pair.
End of part 2