Poor Dotty was beside herself, but there was only room in her cage for one. The towel hid most of the action, but Dotty could see Stella’s outstretched legs, held firmly by the shackles and chains. In a moment she saw Donald’s hairy legs kneel between them, bend forward at the knees and start to rock. Dotty spewed a string of cuss words that would do a longshoreman proud and it was several minutes before she repeated one. For a woman she had a surprising and varied vocabulary, including several dozen names for dubious or illegal sex acts that the two could do to themselves or each other. Fortunately for her the gag rendered them unintelligible.
There were more than enough sound effects to drive Dotty wild. Moans, groans and little shrieks from Stella, grunts and gasps from Donald as he humped, then a bellow as he spurted jet after jet into Stella’s pussy. Her cries of passion sounded so fake to Dotty that she wanted to puke, but Donald accepted them as proof of his prowess in bed.
Stella barely waited for the last oozing drop before snapping her fingers. Immediately the two slaves joined them. One swallowed Donald’s cock, cleaning off their juices, while the other buried her face in Stella’s crack, sucking the stringy come from her pussy. At last overcome by the wine, the two lovers collapsed and in moments were asleep, snoring loudly. One of the slaves looked into Dotty’s cage. Dotty was to say the least startled when she reached between her legs and shoved two fingers into her, They came away glistening with moisture.
It was so unexpected that Dotty was almost instantly aroused. She opened her mouth to beg the slave to bring her off, but she was already gone. The two slaves laid down on the floor on each side of the bed and went to sleep immediately, without benefit of the wine, a pillow or a blanket.
Morning brought hangovers but they only served to add irritability to the mix that was turning Dotty at increasing speed into a bond slave. Earlier, Donald had crawled out of bed and headed for the aspirin bottle. He came back, feeling somewhat better. Now that his eyes were open he admired the nude, spread out body that had shared his bed, still firmly attached.
With an almost obvious effort she cooed and batted her eyes at him. For once he ignored the ploy, still feeling pangs of remorse for cuckolding his wife.
“What about me?” she simpered, totally out of character. Dotty snorted her disgust, a noise that Stella heard. Dotty would pay for it later.
“What about you?” he asked, half dumb, half tease.
“Aren’t you going to let me loose?”
Dotty said the fastest prayer of her life, hoping Donald would leave Stella and come and get her out of the cage. Unfortunately, he didn’t hear the prayer.
“Now what could a nude young woman chained to a bed possibly offer a man in exchange for unlocking the locks and setting her free?”
Stella was dumbfounded. She wasn’t at all sure he was kidding and she was afraid that the wrong word here might screw up the whole deal. This early in the morning she was short on feminine wiles.
Taking a chance, she arched her body, momentarily fighting the chains, thrusting her tits in his general direction. “You could have anything I can do for you with this nude body you are admiring.”
“I recall an earlier conversation where you were offering to pay off a bet with, I believe, the exact words: “I give damn good head.”’
“The statement is true and correct, Master. I do, and I will, if you will join me on the bed.” Sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
Dotty’s mind whirled. For a short moment she thought rescue might be at hand, but Donald plunged right on. Didn’t he realize what Stella was doing? She was the one being punished by having to do blow jobs on call, not Stella. The only answer she could come up with was that he was intent on teaching her a lesson. She hated to admit that she deserved it, but now he was openly fucking a woman other than his wife. What lesson did that teach her? If Stella won that bet, she was sure it would presage 24 hours of pure unadulterated torture. Stella was much too inventive to have on the wrong end of a whip.
She watched in grudging silence as Stella made one of her fanciest productions out of sucking his cock. The pomp and circumstance hid the fact that she abhorred the task. Dotty had learned enough from the slaves to spot the crucial miscues in her technique. Either of the slaves could suck rings around her. As she watched, she wondered where the slaves had learned their trade. Certainly not from Stella.
Donald did everything but clap when Stella brought him off. Behind his back she spit her mouthful onto the floor for one of the slaves to clean up. Dotty easily put two and two together, realizing that as the newest slave in the house, the shit jobs would fall on her, so she had better learn just how to handle them.
Dotty’s real day started with the required cold shower. The towels had disappeared, so she had to dry herself with a wash cloth. Stella walked in just as she finished. She took the washcloth away from Dotty and ordered her to her back, adding, “No noise. I don’t want to hear anything louder than heavy breathing. You called me a bunch of names last night and later today you will pay for them, one by excruciating one. Right now, we pep up your love life.”
She produced the tube of liquid V and squeezed some on her finger. She applied it - not as gently as the previous evening, but bearing down hard on Dotty’s clit, Dotty immediately began panting and as the drug entered her system the heat in her clit threatened an immediate orgasm.
Stella sneered at her, flailing her whip and catching Dotty’s nipples with each swing.
“I bet you’d give a bunch to have me let you come. It’s not going to happen. Today you suffer. Tomorrow, more ointment, more suffering. The day after and the day after that. Get the picture?”
The bad part for Dotty was the descriptive promise that it was supposed to work for a half hour. After one application she was convinced that it worked for half a DAY, keeping her on the edge every minute. Some love life! If Stella kept her promise and applied more during the day she would be ready for the funny farm by evening. Even if she did somehow survive the day, there was nothing to look forward to but the humiliation of listening to Donald fucking Stella. If they stayed sober, that could last most of the night, as she well remembered from pre-slave days.
Stella jerked her to her knees and walked faster than Dotty could move, toward the stairs. Dotty was on the edge from the drug. She rubbed her thighs together as she crawled, vainly trying to climax. Stella looked back and saw what was going on. She came back and laced Dotty’s ass, ordering, “Stay!” Dotty stared at the ground, plotting revenge. Stella returned with a leg spreader which she strapped just above Dotty’s knees, putting her foot on Dotty’s thigh to get the straps as tight as possible, nearly cutting off the circulation in her lower legs and feet. Stella stood silently and watched, spotting the first signs of restricted blood flow, so she reluctantly loosened the straps by one hole.
Stella guided her up the stairs to the attic, staying behind her and encouraging each step with what amounted to Dotty’s morning whipping that she had been promised.
When Stella opened the door the two were hit with a blast of hot air. The sun was barely up but the uninsulated attic soaked up heat like a sponge. Dotty hadn’t been up there in several months, actually the last time during the winter, when it was freezing cold in the small space.
With fake sympathy Stella blinked at the heat.
“You should have drunk lots of water before spending any time up here, but... it’s too late now. I’m not about to go all the way back down to get a glass of water for a slave! You’ll just have to suffer through it. On your belly!”
She mused aloud, strictly for Dotty’s benefit. “I suppose I could whip your ass back downstairs, get your drink and whip you back up the stairs, but it’s too early in the morning to waste energy on a slave.”
At the whip’s direction Dotty wriggled to the center of the floor, where a ring bolt lay. Stella picked up the end of the attached chain and looped it through the ring on Dotty’s collar, pulling it until her neck was less than a foot from the ring. She snapped a massive padlock shut, trapping Dotty. Her wrists were next, locked in the cuffs next to her ears. She licked her dry lips around her gag, at the corners of her mouth, thirsty at the mention of water. She was already sweating and drooling precious moisture.
Stella glanced around the room and then walked to the door. Turning, she gave Dotty the bad news. “Your husband and I are going shopping this morning. We’ll have lunch at that fancy restaurant that you like so much and then we’ll get in a round or two of fucking to get the bed warm for tonight. There’s no telling when I’ll find time to come all the way up here, just to let you loose so that I can punish you for all the nasty things you said and those names you called me, but if I don’t get it done today, there are weeks and months and years ahead, of your pain and my enjoyment. Bye, sweety. Settle in, because you’ve got an awfully long wait ahead of you.” She made a loud noise redundantly locking the attic door. A second later the light went out, leaving Dotty in complete darkness, as there were no windows.
Dotty studiously refrained from making a sound, dreading additional side effects. She pictured Stella bringing a glass of water with ice cubes bobbing in it, and then setting it out of her reach, or pour the water over her feet, or...
She shook herself violently, shuddering, tortured with an instant, raging thirst. The name calling continued unabated in her mind. The bitch was not only enslaving her, she was stealing her husband as well.
The attic had been ‘finished’ with cast off lumber and fixtures. The floor was made of badly warped rough boards. Lying on them, even without bondage would have quickly become a pain. With the restricted movement allowed by her chains she soon found herself with pressure points that became pain points. The roof creaked and pulled as the sun expanded it. It was already over 100 degrees and climbing rapidly. By mid-afternoon, as they fucked in air conditioned comfort downstairs, she would be sweltering as the thermometer pushed 130 degrees.
She heard Stella drive away, in her car. A few minutes later she heard the moving van drive up and the voices of the men. She had no idea what was going on until she remembered that Stella had sold Donald a load of bondage equipment. She couldn’t hear them inside the house, because there was a foot of insulation under the attic floor, blocking sound in either direction. The roof seemed paper thin by comparison and Dotty could easily hear cars driving by on the street. She felt a pang. They were free, while just a few yards away she was chained to a ring, a slave and a prisoner.
The van drove away and a minute later she recognized the sound of Donald’s car. She had been stripped of her watch and there was no clock in the attic. She spent an hour or more arguing with herself over the merits of allowing a slave to watch the dragging second hand of a clock, or having no idea of the passage of time, making it seem just as endless. The no-clock side won, as she was a poor judge of time, often off a half hour or more in a two hour period. At the moment she felt like she had been in the stifling attic for days. And, Stella had said, “There’s no telling when I’ll find time to come all the way up here, just to let you loose.”
Dotty could only lie there and wonder if a heat stroke was a painless death.
The sound of a key rattling in the door lock woke her from a heat-induced stupor. Stella held her breath as she stooped over Dotty to release her chain. When she did breath it was to draw breath to humiliate Dotty.
“God! You stink to high heaven! What did you do, piss your bed?” Pulling Dotty away, she found the boards wet, but it was pure sweat. She got Dotty to her knees and elbows and led her to the stairs, backing down ahead of her to make sure Dotty didn’t trip or fall. With the short hobble and leg spreader Dotty was forced to come down sideways, in imminent peril of losing her balance and rolling to the bottom. She was towed by her leash into the bathroom, where Stella supervised her every move. She informed Dotty, “Take an enema. Cold water, liquid soap. We have a guest tonight. I want you squeaky clean!”
By the time she got Dotty ready she had almost lost interest. She snarled at her, “Next time I’ll send a fucking slave up there with you. There’s no damn reason for me to waste my time on your worthless hide.”
As if she had pushed a button, a slave appeared in the doorway and went to her knees. Stella nodded toward Dotty.
“Give dumb ass a cold enema, soap. Don’t leave a speck of dirt on her or you’ll bathe her with your tongue next time! She spent the day in the attic, so she’s pretty ripe.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Dotty heard the slave answer and was forced to bottle up her frustration. She actually felt hurt that she was unable to respond to her Mistress, despite hating her so violently. Her hate went up another notch when she was forced to accept the ointment on her clit that would ensure she made a fool of herself in front of company.
Dotty went into the bathroom looking wan and haggard, “dragged through a knothole.” She came out looking human, except for her bare scalp and missing eyebrows and lashes and her bare pussy. The slave had silently and efficiently carried out her orders and did what she could for the bald head. Cleaned up, she was chained and leashed and led to the living room. Stella was relaxing in the recliner. Donald was sitting on the couch and she could see another man’s legs.
She dared not look up until Donald spoke, “See who’s here, slave.” There was a trace of emphasis on ‘slave.’
She lifted her head and stared into the eyes of the man she knew as ‘John,’ a friend of Donald’s for many years. John had not really recognized her, thrown off by her missing hair, but when he saw her eyes he knew who she was. His gaze went the length of her body and back, enjoying the nudity that from the chains was obviously forced upon her.
Donald let him look as long as he wanted. When John realized he was overdoing it a bit, he looked, questioning Donald.
“She told me that you two had an affair. Her mother urged her to offer herself to you, so I blame her, and her mother for what happened. The bald head is part of the punishment she is suffering. Stella has volunteered to help train her for a life of slavery, as my slave. She already has had some of that training, enough for us to call her ‘slave.’ Her mother is suffering a similar fate at her father’s hands.”
John jerked as if he had been shot at the mention of an affair. He considered bolting for the door, but he was intrigued that the blame was not put at his feet. As a single man he had affairs with several married women, but this was obviously turning out differently. He continued to devour Dotty’s nakedness with his eyes, but he was ‘All ears.’
“Another of her penalties was being made to watch as Stella and I enjoyed each other’s bodies last night. She now knows what it feels like to be a helpless bystander as her husband is seduced by another woman. Since both of us enjoyed the fucking, we will certainly continue to do it on a regular basis, since as a slave she has no voice in the matter. As her Master I have complete control over her. Stella, as her Mistress, shares that control. The ironic part is that slave hated her guts even before she took over as her Mistress.”
“That’s why I invited you over tonight. We’ve been friends far too long to have any problems or recriminations over it. She and her mother are being severely punished, because there are some family matters that got dropped into the mix.”
He grinned, looking down at Dotty’s bowed head. “A good Master shares with his friends and ensures that they have the best possible enjoyment from a slave’s use. This slave has been taking lessons in giving head, so I am offering her, as a slave, to give you the best possible head she can muster up.
“But...”
“No buts. Right here, right now, a slave’s mouth is waiting to suck your cock.”
“I’ll be go to Hell! That’s the last thing I expected when you invited me over. What do I call her? Oh, slave, get your ass over here, on the double.”
Dotty remained stock still.
“Dumb ass!
Reluctantly, Dotty moved sideways, stopping in front of John. She kept her head down.
Stella slashed her rump with a cane, the ‘smack’ echoing through the room. Stella dropped the cane and came up with the electric prod. Dotty was already at work, opening John’s pants and working them and his shorts down his legs. His cock needed no special encouragement, already hard and oozing. About then John realized that his blow job was a public affair, with both a woman and a man watching. He held Dotty back with one hand and reached for his pants. Donald put his hand on John’s arm.
“It’s all right. The humiliation is part of her punishment.”
John started to protest that it was his own privacy he was worried about, but decided not to raise a fuss.
Dotty looked up a John with a mixture of dread and expectancy, working her jaw to smooth the kinks from being gagged for so long. Stella had removed the gag, and was hovering close behind her, prod at the ready.
Donald explained, “She is prohibited from talking and Stella is treating her as a dumb animal - a dog. She has to have your permission to touch your cock and then to suck you off.”
John made the best of the situation and joined in, nodding his head and ordering, “Touch.” When she had caressed it he ordered, “Suck.”
From the instant her warm mouth engulfed him, filling clear into her throat, John realized that she had come a long way from the routine blow job she had given him before. At the moment he could care less, as he enjoyed her new expertise. Later he would wonder why seeing Dotty in chains had such an arousing effect, over and above seeing her nude. The combination had been overpowering and along with being watched brought him to a groaning climax in a few short minutes.
As soon as Dotty had cleaned him and carefully stuffed him back in his shorts, Stella took over. She snapped orders, waving the prod to keep Dotty focused.
“Sit.” “Lie down.” “Roll over.” “Shake hands.” She threw a ball across the room. “Fetch.”
Dotty’s face got redder with every humiliating order. Twice she hesitated on the thin edge of rebellion, each time suffering a jolt from the prod. Stella extracted every ounce of pride, laying the humiliation on in thick layers. At last she ordered Dotty into a corner, nose pressed in the wall angle, and left her there while the three talked about her, their training methods and her ‘poor’ training progress, requiring constant jolts, whips or canes to keep her on her toes.
John, recuperating from his near perfect blow job, wondered at their callous handling of her, which didn’t fit with the fact that she was obviously already well trained, but he kept his mouth shut and avoided comment because he didn’t want to embarrass his friend. He decided to get Donald alone and ask him what really was going on. He took an instant dislike to Stella. Like Dotty, he could see right through her, but he hid his feelings and participated in the polite conversation.
He finally begged off, pleading work in the morning. As he stood, his eyes went to Dotty like iron to a magnet. He realized that Stella was watching him closely and he was unsure of the protocol for addressing a slave so he said nothing.
He had no idea what would happen to Dotty, who he also considered a friend, not just a friend’s wife. He suppressed his guilty conscience for his part in the affair, but he took Donald at his word. The thought crossed his mind that now that they had forced Dotty to perform as a slave, they might get even rougher with their punishment.
That was exactly what Stella had in mind. She was still smarting from the gagged mumbling that she had correctly assumed were names and cuss words. As soon as John was out of sight she dragged Dotty down the basement stairs and into the Chamber of Horrors, complete with a brand new sign that Stella thought was appropriate. Dotty had no chance to look around at the equipment that had been hauled in that morning, as Stella shoved her straight onto the wooden horse. She pulled Dotty’s arms up behind her with a rope, until her upper body was nearly parallel to the triangular plank she was straddling.
Nipple clamps, the type that tightened when pulled, were next, tied off tightly to the post at the end of the horse. Then she heaved Dotty’s legs up behind her, tying her big toes together over the beam.
Without the accessories the horse is a potent torture device. Trussed up as Stella had just done, tripled the effect. Dotty’s entire weight was centered on the two or three inches of tender flesh between her pussy and her ass hole. The soft flesh was never intended to carry any weight at all, a deadly combination.
Those who have survived the horse have a healthy respect for it. This was Dotty’s first experience with it, so she could be pardoned for overreacting to it. As she dropped onto the edge, her weight was transferred from her feet to between her legs, bringing a cry to her lips. As she was forced to lean forward, the pressure shifted to her clit and her cry was one of agony. Stella was preparing to put her gag back when Donald walked in. He took in the scene at a glance.
“That’s a bit much.”
Stella’s eyes glittered. “The cunt called me names.”
“Still, let up on her. What did you expect, the way you have been treating her? I’d call you a bunch of nasty names if I were in her shoes.”
“But, we need her to sign the papers.”
“You’ve run out of batteries for the prod?”
Stella made a face, but she started to release Dotty. She worked slowly, just fast enough to mollify Donald, but dragging out the moment when Dotty could put her feet on the floor again.
Donald walked back upstairs and Stella took the opportunity to slap Dotty’s face.
“I’ll get you for this!” As if it was Dotty’s fault.
Dotty was moved back upstairs. She was thankful she wasn’t wearing a choke collar as there was never any slack in her leash. Stella led her into Donald’s office, where he was waiting. On the desk was a small pile of papers, overlapping so that the signature portion was all that was visible. The top sheet was hidden by a blank piece of paper.
She was allowed to sit in a chair, and handed a pen. She looked around at them, ready to protest signing something she couldn’t read. Donald’s face was grim and Stella was moving forward with the prod. Reluctantly she signed each sheet. If she ever got out of this she would need a lawyer to sort it all out. Donald was visibly relieved as she signed the last sheet. She was shoved to the floor while the two added their signatures. Then they scanned them and stored them on Donald’s computer.
Once that was done, Stella shoved one of the copies under Dotty’s nose and allowed her to read it. It was essentially a slave contract, agreeing not to hold them responsible for any injury or death occurring during her ‘training.’ Dotty had no way of knowing whether the contract was legally binding, so she assumed that it was.
The two slaves had prepared supper. Dotty was back to dry bread and tepid water and then became the entertainment. Stella gagged her and brought out a different tube of ointment.
“Something new I got, just for dumb ass. It’s Orexia, guaranteed to give any woman an orgasm more than 96 percent of the time. I’m going to do a ‘clinical test’ right here.”
“On the table! Now!”
Dotty jumped to her feet and climbed onto the table, assuming the position facing Donald, with her legs spread as wide as she could get them. Stella had a finger full of cream ready and applied it to her clit. As they watched, Dotty’s clit and the hood turned bright red as blood coursed through her flesh. To Dotty the effect seemed considerably stronger than the Liquid V but it was hard to tell where her imagination left off and the cream took over.
Her thigh muscles quivered as spasms ran up and down her legs and spine, centering on her clit, with the waves of red spreading to the rest of her pussy. She tried to pound the table with her ass, but her legs were close to a split, giving her no leverage at all, except for a weak forward and back motion of her pelvis.
At that point Dotty pushed the panic button. Weeks from her last orgasm, she was at a fever pitch of arousal. She knew that she would not get out of having an orgasm this time. Stella was hovering over her, watching every reaction, aroused to the edge from watching Dotty fight the drug. When Dotty lost it, her face flaming, she had a mild orgasm of her own.
Stella pulled Dotty off the table, intent on punishing her for losing control, when Donald interrupted, “We had a bet. The moving van boss recognized everything, made remarks about the effectiveness of the equipment. He did everything but confirm that he had a dungeon of his own for his girlfriend. That means that you lost the bet. You planned it that way, so you should be really happy.”
Stella said an oath under her breath. Given the choice between disciplining Dotty and spending 24 hours as Donald’s slave she would gladly have picked Dotty.
She hesitated. Donald would be pissed if she took Dotty away. She made a face and snapped at one of the slaves, ordering her to take Dotty to her cage. Then she turned and knelt in front of Donald.
“Do you have any of that ointment left?”
“Of course. It’s a new tube.”
“Then put some on your clit. I don’t see why Dotty should have all the fun.”
“But...”
“No buts! You’re my slave for 24 hours so you obey my orders. Get your clothes off and get up on the table.”
While she was undressing he made a quick trip to the dungeon, returning with a handful of chains, a chastity belt and a collar. She was already in position when he got back, but he made her get back down and help him lock her in the chain set. She wanted to apply the cream but he took it away from her and put it on her himself.
“Just like watching a re-run,” he muttered to himself as Stella went through the same table routine that Dotty had performed. Too late, she remembered that she hadn’t asked permission to climax, yelling in ecstasy as the powerful drug pummeled her clit.
Donald gave her an ‘excellent’ for her reaction, but he pointedly gave her a black mark for failing to ask, remarking that this was one of the first things a slave learned and never forgot.
He punished her by locking her in the chastity belt. It was about an inch too small, but he made Stella suck in her gut so that he could close and lock it. She flushed angrily when he remarked that she needed to lose some weight. She had been planning on jumping Dotty with the same complaint, but this took most of the steam out of that idea.
Donald proceeded unwittingly to one up both his slaves at the same time. “Tell your slaves that we are all going on a diet and they are to prepare food accordingly, including for themselves."
“Yes, Master.”
“Now, my slave is going to prepare the bedroom for an evening of fun and games. Dotty gets to watch. After seeing her giving head to John she needs to come down a peg. The last thing you do before chaining yourself to the bed is to give Dotty a dose and yourself a dose of that cream. I’m going to enjoy watching both of you come at once. I’ll warn you beforehand that as a slave you are not allowed orgasms, so you will be suitably punished when you come. Not if, when you come.”
Stella pouted as she felt her plans collapse around her. She had forgotten the bet and now having to go through with it, she was angry, of course at Dotty, whom she blamed for any and every problem that arose.
When Donald came into the bedroom, Stella was close chained on her side of the bed. He noticed that Dotty’s cage was rocking slightly as she tried to control the uncontrollable. Stella seemed more calm, which aroused his suspicions. He reached down and parted her labia. As he suspected her clit was only pale pink.
“I’d say that a certain slave has deliberately disobeyed her Master’s order. Dotty got a full dose and this excuse for a slave got less than half a dose. She isn’t even pink.”
“Master, it hasn’t had time to work.”
Donald slapped her cheek, none too gently. “When I need to hear more lies from my slave I’ll let you know.”
She moaned, trying to sink into the pillows.
The tube was lying on the night table.
“You get a ‘full’ dose every 15 minutes for the next two hours. It will be interesting to hear a slave beg to stop the orgasms. You may be a guest in this house, but you will abide by my rules. Is that clear or do I add another two hours?”
“Yes, Master, I will obey. Thank you for punishing me.”
He went over to Dotty’s cage. The mottled skin on her chest told the story.
“You came. You can answer.”
“Yes, Master. Please punish me.”
“As a slave, you followed orders and gave John a second blow job. Do you feel guilty?”
“Not for that, Master. A slave obeys. However it made me feel very guilty that as a free woman, your wife, I would violate my marriage vows in that manner.”
“I will continue your punishment. Be silent.”
Dotty’s hopes shattered. Somehow, she had to get free, to get out of Stella’s clutches, and then convince Donald that she hadn’t faked her punishment.
At the moment she was locked in chains and locked in the cage so she had no options but to fixate on the gymnastics going on beside her on the bed. In slave mode, Stella didn’t dare ask for the towel so Dotty had an unobstructed view. The erotic show added to the after-effects of the ointment which was slowly wearing off, making Dotty juice like a dog in heat. She would have offered almost anything to be allowed to back her ass hard against the bars so that Donald could fuck her from behind.
Stella turned on her acting skills full blast, displaying herself for both Donald and Dotty. She praised the organ that was sliding in and out of her to the skies, “So big, so fulfilling,” using every trick and wile at her command. Donald seemed to be along for the ride rather than in control, although he emitted an occasional spark when Stella crossed the line too far. She knew just about how far she could go with him, intent on insuring her enjoyment first, then his, all of it rubbing in her domination of Dotty and humiliating her from right under her very nose.
Stella thoroughly enjoyed play acting the slave, especially in this situation where her every word and action was a slap in Dotty’s face. She put up with the discomfort and restriction gladly for her intent was to get Donald to totally enslave Dotty. Her mouth watered every time she thought of some new way to humiliate her rival.
Despite being in a position of power, Stella wasn’t getting her own way all the time. Several of her plans had been shot down in flames. Among them was the orgasm ointment that she had intended strictly for Dotty as a punishment. She had already found out what Dotty was suffering and her own punishment still had an hour to run. The overlapping doses had a cumulative effect and Stella was unable to recuperate, so each successive orgasm, fueled by the ointment and Donald’s insatiable pounding in all three of her holes, sapped more and more of her strength. True to Donald’s prediction, she found herself begging for the orgasms to stop. Since he was enjoying the show he ignored her pleas.
Stella’s overloaded nerves finally collapsed and she lapsed into a coma. Donald guessed that she was faking a faint and re-locked the cuff on her one free arm, turned out the light and went to sleep. Exhausted, she followed suit. Dotty stared at the two sleeping lovers for a long time before she slept.
Stella awoke to find Donald standing over her.
“Your slave day isn’t over yet. Did you complete your scheduled dosage?”
Stella realized that the security tapes would catch a lie, so she admitted, “Master, I fell asleep.”
“All right, you are due at least three. You will enjoy them ON the breakfast table.”
She glared up at him for an instant. Too late she realized it and changed it to a seductive smile. Donald gave no indication that he had seen anything, so she thought she had gotten away with it.
As might be expected, she took it out on Dotty, jerking her around by her leash and zapping and slapping her at every opportunity. She heaped all the blame for her plight on Dotty, as usual.
Stella got another reprimand from Donald because she had failed to notify her slaves that everyone was on a diet. When they served sausage and buttered toast, he sent it back for a bowl of cereal. Both Stella and Dotty and the other two slaves had to subsist on an unadorned block of tofu.
Stella took position on the table, facing Donald, with her legs spread to the maximum. It was easy to see that she had enjoyed a busy night as her pussy lips were red and swollen. Her clit was back to pale pink, but it instantly darkened when she applied the ointment, pressing heavily at Donald’s order. He had barely sipped his coffee when she erupted in a wall banger, wailing like a banshee.
It scared her. Convinced that she could control her body, she proved that she had no control at all.
Dotty had no sympathy for her. Stella was learning painful lessons, but they were things that Dotty had already suffered through in the learning process. Stella was having second doubts about her slave game, but she was in too deep to back out, certainly not in front of another slave. Dotty wondered how Stella’s two slaves were reacting to seeing their Mistress get her lumps but both kept a disinterested look on their faces. She had a hunch that secretly they were jubilant.
Stella was stiff as a board when Donald finally permitted her to stop. She had trouble getting her legs to work and Donald had to almost lift her off the table. She limped away, headed for the bedroom and disappeared for the day. She was still under the influence of the drug and wanted some privacy where she could play with her clit.
Her two slaves stayed behind. At a wave from Donald they went ahead with their work. If she wanted them they could hear their Mistress bellow all over the house.
Dotty’s heart leaped. This was the first time in days that she had been alone with Donald. She marshaled her arguments and opened her mouth to speak to him, just as he abruptly got up and walked away. Dotty sobbed, castigating herself for not speaking sooner, crying for opportunity lost.
He came back and saw Dotty still belly down on the floor. He called one of the slaves and ordered that Dotty be put in the stocks in the basement dungeon. He turned on his heel and disappeared.
Dotty handed the slave her leash. The girl reached and grasped the chain inches from her collar and led her down to the dungeon. Dotty didn’t even know that there were stocks there, but if Donald ordered it, there would be one waiting for her, right beside the pillory. Silently the slave positioned Dotty and closed the massive planks on her wrists and ankles. Unbidden she got a cup of water and a straw and allowed Dotty to drink.
At about that moment, Dotty realized that this was the slave who felt her up a couple of nights ago. She had no more thought it than the girl buried two fingers between her legs. As before, they came away wet. As before, when Dotty recovered from her surprise the slave was gone. She sighed. This was turning into a day of lost opportunities. She spent much of her lonely day musing over why the slave was interested in her pussy. ‘Lesbian’ crossed her mind, but she suspected both slaves had been unwilling lesbian trainees.
As a woman, Dotty was suffering in a way no man could understand. She was just plain lonesome, wishing hard for someone to talk to. Silencing her normal chatter was a smart move on Stella’s part, perhaps from her own personal experience.
The evening was almost routine for Dotty. She got the ointment, had her orgasm and was punished. Stella tried to beg off, claiming she was too sore and flashing her pussy by lifting her leg above her head. Donald surprised both women by overruling Stella and making her participate. However, since her 24 hours of slavery was over, she was allowed an orgasm. Stella used it to tease Dotty, displaying her enjoyment that was forbidden to Dotty.
The term ‘abnormal’ could easily be applied to the next day for Dotty. It was time for her weekly shave. She was dressed the same as usual, collar, cuffs, cape and shoes, but instead of driving herself, she was humiliated by being relegated to the trunk of her own car while Stella drove. Since a slave can’t own anything, Stella was in the process of changing the registration to her name.
There was no grand entrance or greeting by Dale. Dotty was rousted out of the trunk and made to enter on hands and knees through the back door. The girls had formed a gauntlet and she had to crawl to the far end through a hail of razor strops and fly swatters. Stella stepped on her leash and forced her tongue to Dale’s shoes. When Dotty had the leather wet, Stella turned to the waiting girls.
“This piece of shit needs a shave. Any volunteers?”
Every girl crowded around her, waving her razor. Dotty had never allowed any of the other girls near her hair, satisfied with Stella’s work, but Stella enjoyed forcing her to accept their work. In a matter of seconds her pate was bald and the red fuzz was gone for another week.
Stella prodded Dotty with the toe of her boot. “Cheapskate, aren’t you going to tip the girls?”
She hesitated, saw Stella’s foot aim for her ribs and shouted, “A $10 tip for everybody.”
“Really, that’s pretty poor, for all the work they did for you."
“A $20 tip for everybody.”
“That’s more like it! I knew you’d come through.” Stella gushed false enthusiasm.
“Of course I get a $100 tip for driving you down here. We’ll have your trust fund broke in no time.”
Dotty was in tears, helpless to fight the humiliation that Stella was piling on her. She was afraid to say a word or give them any other excuse to dump her back in the latex suit. She held her breath when she saw Stella preparing to make another announcement.
“Girls, I think it’s only fair that Dotty, here, who trained on you girls, should pay you back by demonstrating her experience in giving head.”
The proposal was met with a chorus of approval and Dotty was lead into the theater where the first three girls were waiting with legs spread wide.
When everyone was sated, Dotty was allowed to put her tongue away. Stella immediately hurried her back to the car trunk, which was now in the full sun. Stella expressed disgust at her smeared face but gave her no chance to clean up. One of Stella’s regular customers was waiting, so Stella left her alone for more than an hour. When Stella came out to drive her home Dotty was sobbing in the sweltering heat. Stella slammed her fist down on the trunk lid.
“Not a peep out of you, dumb ass!”
Dotty choked off a sob, deathly scared.
Stella punished her by taking a detour onto a winding gravel road which was full of potholes. Dotty had to hang on tightly to avoid being thrown back and forth by the swaying car and every hole jarred her teeth together. She had several bruises by the time the trip ended. Stella turned her over to one of her slaves.
“Don’t give her any water and she is not allowed to relieve herself until she has kissed your feet and begged you for permission. Take your time, she’s not going anywhere.”
“Going” was a trigger word for Dotty. She had held everything during the long wait and the long ride, but now she ‘had’ to go, in the worst way. Overanxious, she tugged at her leash. The slave jerked her sharply back, bringing a cruel smile to Stella’s face.
“Perhaps a tour of the dungeon would be in order, first.”
Dotty wanted to scream her outrage, but Stella had her by the short hair and there was nothing she could do but obey. The slave jerked her leash again, this time in the direction of the dungeon stairs. Dotty began visualizing her punishment if she let so much as a drop escape. It was not pretty.
The slave took her orders literally and Dotty was treated to an hour long inspection of the numerous engines of pain that now filled the basement. She had seen a few from her sojourn in the stocks, but even in her present distracted state she was amazed to see how much more equipment there was. Besides the big items, the walls were lined with whips and canes and every conceivable type of restraint, along with multiple loops of chain and bins full of padlocks. One whole room was devoted to helmets, gags and steel cages.
The slave never said one word to her during the entire tour and ignored Dotty’s questions and pleas. Not until they had seen everything did the slave motion to her outstretched foot with her whip, sending Dotty to her belly to kiss and lick the leather. Only then did she slowly lead her past the dungeon toilet and all the way back upstairs before allowing her any relief.
The following Monday as Donald and Stella were finishing breakfast, the phone rang. Donald picked it up and looked at Caller ID, but there was no listing. Puzzled, and cautious, he answered, “Hello?”
“Bring the equipment.” The line went dead.
Donald hung up, frowning. He repeated the message to Stella. They both knew what it meant, while Dotty and the other two slaves wondered and worried.
Donald asked Stella, “Are you sure about this?”
Stella nodded vigorously. “Very much so. Definitely.”
Donald reluctantly gave her a nod, to go ahead.
Stella reached down, tapped Dotty on the shoulder. Dotty obediently held up the leash handle. Stella jerked her to her feet and beckoned one of the slaves.
“Transport chains,” she ordered.
The slave nodded and pulled Dotty toward the door. She looked appealingly at Donald, who was watching her, grim faced. He ignored her silent plea.
Dotty was brought back in, still naked, The collar and leash remained and she was gagged. A chain belt circled her waist tightly. Attached at each side were regular handcuffs. The end of the chain dropped between her legs to the hobble that restricted her walking to short steps. All that was missing was the orange jump suit that transported prisoners usually wear. Stella stood up and inspected her closely, checking each lock. Satisfied she ordered that Dotty go into the trunk of her car. The slave tightened her leash and marched her toward the garage.
To Dotty, the ride seemed endless. When the car rolled to a stop she had no idea where she was. The lid flew up and a uniformed figure loomed over her. For a second she thought she was being rescued by the police, but all he did was recheck each lock, before slamming the lid down. The car moved a short distance and stopped, then after a few seconds moved forward again.
When the lid came up again, Dotty could see they were inside a building, too large to be a garage. Another uniformed man reached in and picked her up like a feather and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. He snapped her to her knees with the leash. Dotty was horrified to hear Stella tell him, “Be careful. She’s tried to escape twice.”
The man laughed, “A face full of pepper spray or a Taser will cure that in short order.”
Blind, guided only by her leash, she followed the two as they chatted like two long time friends. When they at last reached the holding room, Dotty’s collar was rigidly locked to a short steel post sticking up out of the floor, preventing her from either rising, or lying down on the floor, so she had to stay on her hands and knees, with her head down.
With Dotty safely secured, Stella went to work for a normal day. She was given an appointment with the admissions officer for 7 p.m.
When she returned, Dotty had been in the one position for the entire day. Nobody had come near her. She did hear the sounds of two other girls being brought in and fastened and she could hear them breathing, but she guessed both were gagged like she was. She vowed to someday kill Stella by slow inches.
The other two girls were taken away before she was. As she was led down the hall she could hear screaming, hardly muffled by a closed door. As she got closer, the screams increased in intensity, strains of pure agony, from a woman suffering horrendous pain. As she moved along the screams died from behind her, replaced with a continuous swelling bellow of pain ahead of her. She could still hear it faintly as the man knocked on a door, then led her in. She was immediately locked to a post, denying her any relief for her knees.
A voice asked, “You are her legal guardian, as shown in this Power of Attorney?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“She signed this willingly?”
“Of course. She is anxious to be rehabilitated.”
“I see. There is also a self-commitment order. I see it has been signed and witnessed. This is for six months, with an option to continue indefinitely if further training is needed.”
“That’s correct.”
Dotty, to her horror was catching on to what was going on. She was being railroaded into some place that sounded suspiciously like a mental hospital. She yelled against her gag but the only sound was air rushing out her nose.
“I’m reviewing her record. Diagnosed with nymphomania. Obsessive interest in sex with both males and females, Obsessive porn collector, obsessed with BDSM, describes herself as a pain slut...”
“That’s not entirely true. She claims to be a pain slut, but she responds very well to the whip and marks well.”
“I’m sure we’ll have ample opportunities to test that. Continuing, she is a pathological liar and spends hours fantasizing about forced sex. Anything else?”
“I told the guard, she has attempted to escape from her Master twice. He has to keep her in chains 24/7.”
“Why isn’t her Master here for her commitment?”
“He was afraid she might get violent and refuse to go along with what she had signed. As a woman, she trusts me.”
“You lying bitch,” Dotty yelled into her gag.
“She just called you a lying bitch.” Experienced, she translated what little sound escaped the gag.
Stella shrugged her shoulders. “You just read that she is a pathological liar. I punished her once for calling me a bitch. Now I guess you people will have to do a job on her.”
“I can assure you that when she comes back, she would prefer to have her tongue cut out rather than tell a lie.”
Stella laughed. “That sounds like my kind of threat. I gather that’s not an ‘empty’ threat.”
“Remember that old war movie from the 40s, where the actor says, ‘We have ways of making you talk.’ Believe me he was a piker compared to the methods we use. I guarantee she will never call you a bitch again in her lifetime.”
“Is there any chance of watching her training?”
The woman nodded, while at the same time for Dotty’s benefit she was saying, “No, sorry, our security doesn’t allow it.”
The woman went back to reading. She looked up. “She wants 20 rings?”
“As a minimum. She’d like more if you can find a place for them.”
“No problem. I suppose grommets down her pussy lips.”
“Her Master is planning to run surgical steel wire through them to ensure that she doesn’t recruit some bum off the street to fuck her.”
The woman laughed. “In here we have to protect her from the staff. They have free access to some of the girls and sometimes they forget where the boundaries are. She will wear a chastity belt for two reasons, to keep her from getting raped and to keep her fingers off her clit.”
Listening to all this, Dotty was getting more angry and more frustrated by the minute. Stella was digging a hole intent on burying her. She might never see freedom again. The worst was yet to come.
“Stella, as you know, we run a secret slave rehabilitation center here. Reading your responses on the forms, I’m afraid this is not a slave that we want to accept for rehabilitation. Up to the point where she has attempted escape, we might have taken her, but we don’t want her if she is a serious flight risk.”
Stella looked at her, dumbfounded. Once again her plans were collapsing around her.
The woman’s grim face was replaced with a smile. “I think we may have a solution. Besides rehabilitation we have a Punitive section, a glorified jail, if you will, but unlike any jail you every heard of. To commit a person, slave, man, woman, whatever, is expensive; roughly double the cost of the rehabilitation section. The paperwork you supplied is ample for our purposes. All we need is a cash transfer. We do not accept credit cards or checks.”
“I’m not going to tell you what we do to inmates, although I’ve hinted several times. The less you know the better. Your instructions transfer to Punitive, so you won’t have to fill them out again.”
“The rings, too?”
“Of course. She will remain in a holding cell until the cash is transferred. Her sentence will begin the minute we hear of the transfer.
Sentence.
A word of doom. To Dotty, sure evidence that she would never leave this place alive. She could not believe that Donald would pull a stunt like this. Somehow, Stella had sweet talked him into putting her here, then lying about escape to ensure that she wound up in a cell at the bottom of the pit. She hadn’t yet learned that the Punitive section was a top secret, underground dungeon, deep beneath the Rehabilitation building. The one elevator required an eight-digit code to operate.
For the time being she remained in the Rehabilitation building. She was taken to a holding cell, a bare bones concrete box. They left her in her transport chains, but took out the gag. Redundantly, no doubt scared she would escape, they locked a chain to her collar and the wall. The only furnishing in the cell was a sink, a concrete bench and a toilet. They assumed she had eaten so no food was offered. She discovered that by craning her neck she could drink from the sink faucet.
A buzzer sounded, making her jerk in surprise. The sound was deafening. As soon as it stopped the light went out and the cell was at once an absolute black. Dotty half rose, and before she could reseat herself she lost all orientation, the sudden fear of falling numbing her mind. Awkward in her chains she fumbled frantically for the bench, twisting to allow her chained hand to feel for it. When she did touch it, she froze, the unfamiliar shape compounding her lost orientation.
Cautiously she moved her hand, fingers groping, until at last she recognized the austere bench. With a sigh of relief she knelt up on it and with a clash of her chains rolled her upper body onto it. Breathing hard she stared into the utter blackness. She felt the bench slowly start to rotate like the propeller of a plane as her mind tricked her into believing the solid bench could move. As it spun faster and faster a wave of nausea welled from her stomach, followed by a second and a third. She half fell off the bench and somehow found the toilet before the dry heaves forced a dribble of bile up her throat and into her mouth.
She rinsed her mouth and pausing long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to puke again, she crawled back in the general direction of the bench. She found it, painfully, when her head bumped into it. She tried lying on her stomach but the bench was not only uncomfortable, it was so narrow that she was certain she would roll off it if she moved in her sleep - assuming she could get some sleep. She lay down on the floor instead.
Hours later, she was awakened by the sound of the lock on the cell door. It was still pitch black, so she stayed perfectly still, listening.
She heard the cell door open and the faintest hint of shoes or boots moving. She opened her mouth to scream, but a man’s large hand closed her throat in a tight squeeze. He held her until she ran out of air, before letting up slightly. His fingers flexed, warning her silently that screaming would not be in her best interests. She nodded her head slightly to indicate she understood.
She heard the click of the lock on one leg shackle as it opened and fell away from her ankle. Then her legs were dragged apart by two pairs of hands. A third pair mauled her tits, slapping them, the sound loud in the tiny cell.
She felt a heavy body drop onto her and she could feel the man guiding his cock, searching for her opening. She drew a breath to scream her outrage, but it was choked off before she could fill her lungs.
The lights came on. The regular weak 25 watt bulb and the 1000 watt light, used to prevent an inmate from sleeping. One of the men swore. The one trying to rape her got the head of his cock between her pussy lips before he realized they had been discovered.
Standing in the cell doorway two men, both armed with AK-47 automatic rifles had the three men at gunpoint.
“Couldn’t wait, eh? We’ve been looking for you for some time, but not as long as the time you’re going to spend on the other side of the bars. We have a special cage, right in the middle of the woman’s section where you can see all the pussy, but can’t touch the pussy. I’m sure the girls will enjoy teasing you.”
He waved his rifle. “Greg, you know the routine. Back up to the cell door and stick your arms out for the cuffs. You two, stand right where you are.”
Greg moved his arms up to the slot in the door and handcuffs clicked on his wrists. Two more guards showed up and put to work guarding Greg while the other two men were cuffed. The man with the rifle looked around the cell, glancing briefly down at Dotty and then ignoring her. The cell door shut with a clang behind him and the lights went out.
The nightmare was over for Dotty. At least that part, but Dotty was unable to separate reality from a nightmare. It had all happened so fast, it had to be a dream. She realized it wasn’t when she tried to swallow and discovered she had a raging sore throat. What astounded her was the fact that the man with the gun had never spoken a word to her, never asked if she was all right, never paid any attention to her.
She didn’t close an eye for the rest of the night, staring into the blackness, trying to sort out the events in her life that put her in this spot. When the buzzer sounded and the small light came on, she was exhausted, and no nearer to answers or a solution.
The cell door opened and a guard came in. His eyes went instantly to the open ankle cuff lying on the floor. He grabbed his belt radio and sounded the alarm. Two men rushed in and examined the cuff as if it were set to explode. The officer told the other man, “List it as attempted escape.” The three stepped outside and discussed what to do in low tones. The fact that the incident had happened in a holding cell put a different light on it. At last the first guard returned and gingerly locked the cuff about her ankle again.
An hour later she was given a tray of food, none of it appetizing or appealing, but she was starved and gobbled it down, washing it down with the weakest coffee she had ever drunk.
An hour or two later they came for her. She tried to say something but her sore throat only emitted a squeak. She was ordered not to talk, ending any chance to appeal. When she and her three guards reached the elevator, all of them were patted down for weapons, and the three guards had to show their ID cards to the guard in the control room, behind bulletproof glass.
Dotty was locked to a chain fixed to the elevator wall. The three men never took their eyes off her as the elevator sank beneath the ground. When it stopped, the three guards got off, leaving her in the elevator until they had been fully identified and checked for weapons. Then one of the men came back and unlocked her. She was bent over a table and a full cavity search was conducted by one of the male guards under the watchful eye of the control room. Finished, totally humiliated, she was led to face a blank wall, standing with the guards.
The man in the control room pressed a button and the wall slid back, allowing them to pass through. There was a short corridor, with several unmarked doors.
One of her guards knocked on a door. He opened it and Dotty was guided in. They stopped her just inside the door and stripped off her transport chains, leaving just her collar. She was made to kneel and crawl up a ramp onto a table at eye level with the woman seated behind a plain desk. Her collar was immediately clamped to a short post at the front of the table.
Dotty took an instant dislike to the woman. She had a cruel face, the face of a despot who pulled the legs off flies as a young girl. Dotty’s dislike turned to hatred after the first few sentences she spoke. Her first words set the mood.
“I do the talking here, you do the listening. If you want to survive in relative comfort here, you will do exactly as you are told, no more, no less, and you will follow every order with exuberance and enthusiasm. I can tell you that the majority of the punishments we administer result from a lack of enthusiasm.”
“Your paperwork indicates that you volunteered for rehabilitation, which was modified to Punitive at your request. Frankly I doubt that you volunteered for even five minutes of our ‘care’ but that doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference in the way you will be treated here. The fact that someone you trust has screwed you over makes your training just that much harder and harder to bear. You will get no sympathy from us. We are not here to hold your hand and pat your head and wipe your tears. We are here to train you for what will very likely be your fate for the rest of your life.”
“Just in case you don’t realize where you are, that’s fine. That’s the way we like it. In the event you are ‘ever’ released from this facility, you won’t remember anything that happened to you or have the slightest idea where to send the cops to find us. You have just disappeared from the face of the earth and any records of your existence will disappear with you.”
“You are about to learn that misery and Punitive go together like two peas in a pod. Punitive exists for the sole purpose of making people miserable.” She held up a sheet of paper. “They have paid us a tremendous sum of money to make you as miserable as we can over the coming months and years.”
“Being miserable means being punished. We punish EVERY instance where our rules are broken.”
“Being miserable means hurting, day and night. Our specialists can insure that you don’t draw a painless breath from one month to the next. They can and will punish even when a rule hasn’t been broken, just for their own amusement or enjoyment. Every person on our payroll is a practicing sadist. We have contests for the best new punishments, with separate sections for the guards and for the inmates. This is a contest that you don’t want to lose because the winners get to use their inventions on the losers.”
“So far, I haven’t mentioned torture. Our society forbids it, so it’s a natural for Punitive. There’s nothing as satisfying as watching some poor soul begging for mercy when he or she is so full of water it’s coming out their ears. Fair warning, we cross the line regularly. There are always papers to be signed that someone doesn’t want to sign until we’ve ‘encouraged’ them a bit.”
She studied the form in front of her. She muttered to herself, just loud enough for Dotty to hear, “Bad... Bad... Bad, all the way through.” She looked up, eyes boring into Dotty’s.
“You’ve got problems, girl. I can readily see why they sent you to us. Three escape attempts means you go in the double locked section under 24/7 surveillance. You get no privileges even if you earn them and you get an automatic three whippings a day.”
“That by no means is the worst we have to offer. There’s a lower level where nobody in authority goes. They tell me that the hard cases down there sleep in rat holes, with real rats. Anyone with a snake phobia gets to live in a room full of rattlesnakes.”
Grinning, she noted the horror on Dotty’s face and checked a box on the form.
“You’ve already been promised a chastity belt. I’m going to go that one better by putting a Spanish Strap on beneath it. That should help make you realize that nymphomania is a fantasy dreamed up by a man. I have a punishment bra to go with it, so you won’t be constantly advertising your charms.”
Stella was recuperating from a long night. To keep Donald from asking about Dotty, she plunged into another part of her plan, once again chaining herself in his bed and wearing nothing but chains as she moved about the house. While her acting skills were not that much improved, her naked body kept Donald’s mind on her. She made sure that she was glued to him like a leach as often as possible during the day. She found that rubbing her erect nipples into his chest took his mind off everything else. She gritted her teeth and called on every skill to make their bedroom bouts memorable.
Donald was slowly beginning to realize that he might have made a mistake sending Dotty off to that rehab center but he was by no means ready to complain about it, even though he missed Dotty more and more every day.
As his concern slowly grew, Stella redoubled her efforts to keep his mind centered on her. She let slip that she was ticklish, and ‘found’ Dotty’s feather. When she brought it to him he felt a pang as Dotty had laid out the feather the night this whole affair got started. It set him thinking about that night and while Stella didn’t realize it, she had set her own plans back by bringing the feather into play.
In a nearby house, a slave, no longer called Maude, was being subjected to non-stop domestic discipline. Phil had discovered that he was a natural as a dominant to slave’s submission. For almost anyone else but another sub, her life sounded like a living hell, but she was getting off on it. She hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the day Phil found out about her machinations with her daughter. He discovered that by twisting her long nipples he could stop her orgasms as they started, allowing her only a ‘blip’ that was over as soon as it began. His slave cordially hated them, but she knew better than to refuse. More often than not they were used to punish her.
A typical evening would find her sitting with her legs spread open, on the coffee table in front of him, her back to the TV that played nothing but bondage tapes. She had to masturbate for hours, made to warn him when she was ready. He would pause the tape and grasp her nipples. With a nod she would flutter her fingers on her engorged clit, he would twist her nipples, then she would have her ‘blip’ and go back to masturbating after he started the tape again.
-0-
In yet another house not too far away John was lying in bed, savoring the remembered feel of Dotty’s soft mouth on his cock. The memory triggered other memories, especially the relationship between Stella and Dotty. He had thought about Dotty several times and each time wondered why she was putting up with Stella’s abuse and Donald’s seeming blanket approval of her dominating Dotty. John had never gotten into bondage with any of the women he courted but he did have a minor interest in the topic and had read any available literature he had run across. He had thought of calling Donald several times, but was reluctant to pry into what amounted to a family affair. He decided to call him in the morning, a plan that he had several times forgotten. He would forget this time as well.
“As you’ve already been told, No talking, none, nada, not a word. You do not talk to management, you do not talk to the guards, you do not talk to other inmates. I am the only person in this complex that you can talk to, and I am the only one that can give you permission. One single word will get you a dozen strokes of the meanest cane in the place and if you make any noise, the number will be doubled. We do not permit idle chatter in Punitive and we’re not about to let a half-ass slave yak her head off. If you can’t answer with a nod or shake of your head, forget it, as you will be punished for failing to respond.”
The woman turned and snapped her fingers. A box against the far wall opened and a nude male slave wearing a leather helmet jumped out and prostrated himself in front of her desk.
“Get her a chastity belt, Spanish Strap, punishment bra, wrist cuffs and ankle hobbles - 18 inch chain. She’s already got a collar.”
The slave nodded violently and hurried away, his hobble chains rattling on the cement floor. He was back, moments later with the equipment.
“Fix her.”
The slave put one cuff on an ankle, leaving the other open. He locked both wrists and lifted her arms over her head, out of his way. She peered down, trying to see what he was doing. He installed the bra, jerking it tight, driving the built in points into her tit flesh.
He showed Dotty the Spanish Strap. She suppressed a gasp, terror squeezing her heart. As he installed it, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The two main parts were a quarter-inch horsehair rope which went between her legs with the ends attached to a half inch horsehair rope belt. Just the contact, before he tightened both parts, was enough to set off a scream. Tight, then very tight as the slave’s strong hands pulled it taut, it was an agony producer of the first water. She would not soon forget that she was strapped.
She didn’t want to close her legs, but an open handed slap changed her mind. When her legs were close enough, he locked the other shackle, hobbling her.
The woman commented, “You’ll have more trouble with that long chain than you did with a short chain. Stumbling or falling over a chain will get you more pain than you can handle. You’ll find there are whips and canes everywhere, so you never are more than a few feet from discipline.”
Without further orders the slave went back and climbed into his box, pulling the lid closed above him.
The woman stared at Dotty until she dropped her eyes, afraid she had already earned punishment.
“An inmate can use as much force as necessary to carry out an order from a guard or a manager. That’s why you were slapped. Next time you will get worse. Now, we’re going for a walk.”
She came around the desk and took the leash handle that Dotty offered her, without comment. She directed Dotty to the door and turned right and right again into a long hall. Dotty winced with each step, the strap burning into her core. Instead of sympathy she was ordered, “High step!” The pain immediately doubled. Her hobble was just long enough to let her leg come up so her thigh was tilted slightly upward.
Every few feet there was a door. Each door had a rack mounted on it, with some vari-colored papers in them. The woman took them in at a glance, looking for a particular name. When she found it, she tugged Dotty’s leash and led her into the room.
“Kneel.”
Dotty looked around the room, but there was nothing to see, except bare walls, and a curtain across one end. The woman made sure Dotty was watching her, as she walked over to the curtain, grasped the edge and dramatically opened it. The movement revealed a woman strapped upright to a frame.
Dotty’s gaze went immediately to her head, which was enclosed in what looked like an inverted fish bowl, nearly full of water. She could see that the woman’s ability to suck air into her lungs depended on the plastic tube that was clipped to her nose, with the tip only barely above the water. Movement caught her eye and she looked down to see that the prisoner was frantically masturbating.
Her guide chuckled with suppressed glee as she described the woman’s quandary.
“Rita here was caught frigging herself a few weeks ago. This was one of the milder punishments suggested for breaking the rule. As you can see, she can rub her clit until she wears it out, but, once started, she cannot stop for more than ten seconds. Sensors catch any long pause and open the valve to add water to her bowl. When she has an orgasm, the bowl fills and she has to block the air way with her tongue. The only way she can start breathing again is to drink all the water above her air tube. I’m sure you can imagine her state of mind when water starts pouring down that air tube.”
The woman opened another curtain.
“We are firm believers in the conservation of energy. Derek gets off on watching porn movies of girls rubbing their clits, so when he screwed up we decided to give him the real thing to watch.”
The subject of this description was strapped to a chair so that he could barely move. A heavy vibrator hung on a string just above his rigid cock. His gaze never wavered from the fingers of the girl in the fish bowl as she rubbed, inches from his nose, while at the same time he was lifting as far as he could to get the tip of his cock against the vibrator, which of course swung away as soon as he touched it. The shaft of his prick glistened with the copious amounts of pre-come that were welling out of the blood-red head.
“His record is seven hours and three minutes. It must hurt like hell when he does come, because he screams uncontrollably for several minutes afterward. He’s already reached the point where he refuses to touch himself unless we use a prod on him. It takes three guards and a stun gun to get him in here and strapped down.”
“The girl doesn’t like it for another reason. She’s a privacy freak, one of those girls that never undressed even in front of other girls. To have porn king here looking up her pussy day after day is worse in her mind than facing drowning in her bowl.”
For Dotty, the pure cruelty being expressed seemed to her to be a nightmare. She denied to herself that it was real, even going so far as to pinch herself to confirm that she was dreaming, but the pinch hurt and Dotty once more had to face the sadistic reality of what was happening to her.
Without a second glance at the two inmates, the woman drew the curtains and took Dotty’s leash to guide her out into the hall again, reminding her again to high step.
Coming toward them was an apparition that held Dotty’s gaze as she tried to figure out just what it was. At first, all she could see was a jumble of metal. As they came closer she could see a human head in the midst of the metal.
“Stop,” came the order and the object came to a halt. Dotty was led in a circle around it, each step revealing more of the unique piece of bondage gear. The woman was attached at several points to a metal skeleton or cage that surrounded her on all sides. One branch was fixed to her collar; two others went to manacles on her wrists and two more to her ankles. A metal belt was welded to the frame as well. Parts of the lower frame had swivels and joints, so the inmate could move her hands and feet and propel her cage across the floor.
“We call her the Turtle, as she moves at about turtle speed. Turtle has been here almost three years and she hasn’t been out of this frame in that whole time. Her husband checked her in and he comes down periodically to taunt her. When he’s got her worked up into a state, he gets out his whip and makes her beg him to fuck her. She’s on permanent assignment as an object lesson to new inmates.”
The woman pointed out some of the features of the mobile cage with obvious enjoyment. “We’ve added several improvements during her stay. At the front, this plate keeps her head down like a true submissive. There are attachments at the front and rear so we can add punishment gags or dildos or vibrators. Her nipple clamps are strung to her wrists, so each movement jerks on the clamps. Once a week we flip her on her back and use the high pressure hose to clean her up.”
The woman’s cell phone rang. She opened it and read the text message. She pressed a button on the remote on her belt and seconds later a guard appeared.
“Put her in solitary.” Without further explanation, she disappeared. The guard took her leash and walked her down several corridors. Lacking another order, Dotty continued to high step, certain that she was being cut in two. The guard made no comment, but it was obvious that he was enjoying her discomfort.
The guard opened the door to the cell block. He had to check her past the guard desk, repeating his orders. The desk sergeant signed a slip of paper and gave it to the guard. As he left, two guards came from the row of cells and took up position on each side of her. The sergeant warned, “She’s got three escape attempts on her rap sheet, so be careful and make sure she’s not going anywhere. One of the guards got a firm grip on her leash, wrapping it around his hand several times. He pulled down on it, forcing Dotty to bend at the waist, and then led her at a fast walk toward the cells, the other guard bringing up the rear. The long chain between her ankles swirled and jerked, threatening to trip her at any moment.
The cell was a miniature version of the holding cell she had visited. It was less than half the size and if anything the bench was even narrower. She could see at a glance that there was so little floor space that even there she would not be able to stretch out.
Her guards had something else in mind anyway. One guard watched her while the other went to a storage room, returning with a metal framework that immediately brought Turtle to mind, but this had only a fraction of the metal that encased Turtle.
It began with a collar, which fitted over the one she was already wearing. A flat metal strip ran from the collar to the floor, where two attached shackles were locked around her ankles. Up above, two manacles awaited her wrists, positioning her hands where she couldn’t use them to touch or feel. Once locked she was completely helpless, but her guards weren’t through. Once more a redundant chain was locked to her collar and a ring on the wall. Dotty was fixed, and not about to go anywhere. She couldn’t even roll onto her back. Her first day was a memorable one, to say the least.
John had overheard a conversation which indicated that Dotty was a regular customer at Dale’s salon. He had met Dale several times and had served briefly with him on a committee promoting a new city park. They ran into each other at a downtown restaurant and John, embarrassed when he remembered all the forgotten phone calls, decided to pump him to see if he knew anything about what was happening to Dotty.
An offer to buy lunch was accepted and the two talked about generalities until John asked, “I know Dotty is a customer of yours. What’s going on with her and Donald?”
The question caught Dale by surprise. Unsure how much he knew, Dale sidled around the question. “I don’t know that anything is going on.”
“Look, let’s be frank. I know that she has become Donald’s sex slave and that Stella is involved. Dotty’s a family friend that I got involved with, but now I’m afraid something has happened to her. I’ve hesitated to talk to Donald, even though he’s a very close friend."
Dale stared at his soup for a long moment, deciding how much to reveal. “To be honest, I don’t know for sure. Dotty was in here last week for her shave, but all her future appointments have been cancelled. That hurts, because she was a good customer. Lousy tipper, but she usually spent over a hundred on every visit.”
“Has Stella said anything? I got the distinct impression that she and Donald were having an affair.”
“Not to me. Maybe to one of the other girls, but in this gossip nest the word would have long since gotten around.
“You said you didn’t know for sure. Do you have even a hunch as to what might have happened?”
Dale made a wry face. "I may be to blame. Donald was looking for someplace to train Dotty as a slave and I told him about Dalewood. At least what little I know about the place.”
John stared at him, his mind working. He knew the reputation of the rehab center and its mysterious inner workings and he had heard most of the rumors about it. His concern for Dotty surged. If she had wound up in the slave training part that would be bad enough, but if for some reason she got beyond that point he felt she would be in serious danger.
“How did Stella get into this?”
“Stella was Dotty’s hair stylist. She’s my assistant, when she’s here, but lately she’s been missing more work than she’s doing. She disliked Dotty because she rarely tipped her and then only cents on the dollar. Donald made her make out a check for $1,000 and give it to Stella.”
“Most of my girls are into bondage, but Stella was far beyond that. She has two female slaves that she got from her sister. She treats them like scum and they come right back for more."
“Do you think Stella is angling to get Dotty as a third slave?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. I’ve heard that Dotty has a monster trust fund and I wouldn’t put it past Stella to try to get her hands on it. I’m guessing that Stella is vamping Donald, because he’s got money too.”
They finished the meal, John paid and they went their separate ways. John knew more than he wanted to know, but by putting the pieces together he was able begin to understand the somewhat complex relationships involved.
Stella realized that she was addicted to the orgasm enhancers. But it was already too late. Vanilla sex failed to produce any arousal and she had to add fake orgasms to her bag of tricks. Before long she was buying the tubes in boxes of 12. She tricked Donald into ordering what they called the “15-minute” punishment, applying the ointment so that the effects overlapped. She could easily achieve multiple orgasms with it, but the result was an ache between her thighs that aspirin wouldn’t touch. Even her slaves' adept tongues were unable to match the rousing effects of the drug.
A bad hair day, plus a delay in delivery of her ‘fix’ nearly derailed her schemes. She threw a tantrum that annoyed Donald enough to bind and gag her. When he released her she started to beg for a tube she knew he had locked away. She almost promised to get Dotty out of her jam, if Donald would just allow her to climax.
She was babbling when she mentioned Dotty. For some reason it perked Donald’s ears up. He bided his time, vowing to keep a closer eye on her. To start with, he went back to his office and studied the papers that Stella had used to get Dotty into the rehab center.
Maude was reciting her sins in the confessional. Not the church confessional, it was the special room in the basement of their home. Attendance was mandatory every day of the week. The idea had evolved from the somewhat haphazard application of whips and floggers and especially canes. Maude dearly loved the canes that Phil used to punish her. At least you would believe that if you listened to her on her knees, begging to be caned, using terms like ‘very hard,’ ‘harder’ and even ‘extremely hard’ when Phil pointed out that her cries of pain were getting weaker.
Phil had experimented for several weeks, trying out equipment and positions. Maude was whipped repeatedly until she agreed with his choice. This evening she was in that position as she spoke. She was hanging by her wrists, with a leg spreader holding her open and her big toes lashed to floor rings, her toes touching the floor but carrying none of her weight. Her wrists were locked in special leather cuffs that were designed specifically for long term suspension.
She began, as she did every night, “Master, I have sinned.”
The lash began her suffering. “Go on.”
“I tricked my daughter into committing adultery.” A cane responded. “I lied to my daughter. I lied to my son in law. I lied to you, my true Master.” The cane again.
The regulars were followed by a litany of daily misdeeds. She almost always had at least one bad thought, or called her Master a bad name, expecting and getting the cane rather than the whip. The confession always ended with a strong cut between her spread legs, before she was let down. Then she had to crawl to her Master’s feet and swear to be his slave for life as she kissed his feet. She would be left in the leg spreader, forbidden to touch, until bedtime.
Punitive had its own unique method of alerting everyone. Dotty jerked in surprise and fear when a foghorn went off just outside her cell, the sound deafening in the small cell, much worse than the buzzer in the holding cell somewhere up above. It obviously signaled something, but she didn’t have a clue. She listened, but she couldn’t hear any movement. She mentally steeled herself for the fright it would give her the first time it went off while she was sleeping. In the coming days she would learn the meaning of the signal.
A paper plate of food was delivered sometime later. It remained untouched as Dotty couldn’t move in her tight steel bondage. She could smell the food, even the smell not very appetizing. Very shortly a guard discovered she hadn’t touched the food and punished her for it, using his remote to activate a jolt of electricity that seemed to come from the entire inner surface of the chastity belt.
The total lack of communication between the guards and the inmates began to bother her. Given time to think, she realized that nobody had mentioned her near-rape, nobody had asked her if she was all right and certainly nobody examined her. At this point what was one more pair of fingers up her pussy?
She guessed the three men were guards and her first thought was that the men with the guns were playing games with their fellow guards, but there was no way around the fact that the rape was real and a serious offense almost anywhere. That they must be trying to cover it up was the only course that made sense.
Two guards showed up, entering her cell. One grabbed her leash while the other unlocked the wall chain. They lifted her bodily without removing the steel restraint and set her on a high-wheeled cart, locking a chain from the cart to her collar. The first guard pulled a blindfold from his pocket, a piece of equipment that would cover her eyes wherever she was taken in the underground prison.
The cart seemed to roll for a mile or more. Dotty lost count of the turns and stops; convinced that they were deliberately disorienting her. She heard a knock, and then the cart was rolled into a brightly lit room. Voices conversed in low tones, too soft for Dotty to understand. She heard footsteps coming toward the cart. There was a rubbing motion on her upper arm and she smelled alcohol just as she felt a needle slide through her skin and into the muscle. Seconds later she slumped over into the waiting arms of one of the guards.
She was unconscious as they rolled the cart into an operating room, where a doctor and a nurse waited. The doctor motioned and quickly all of Dotty’s bonds including the chastity belt and strap were removed. They were replaced with a single leg cuff on a short chain from the corner of the operating table.
With considerable speed the doctor used a scalpel to cut a short gash in her skin just above her bikini line, but still under the metal belt. With a pair of tweezers he worked a sharp edged microchip into the slit. When it was completely hidden he applied a dab of super-glue to hold the edges together while it healed.
He turned to a computer and typed for a moment. The screen lit up with Dotty’s case history, her current location and her vital signs. A large red-letter warning flashed repeatedly on the screen, stating that she was a serious escape risk. She could now be tracked anywhere, giving her one less chance to escape.
The doctor tested all of the circuits in the belt to make sure they worked. Then he was handed a collar for more testing. The collar would pick up the signal from the buried security wire surrounding the complex and knock the wearer on his or her ass. Dotty would have no inkling of the collar’s potential until she was deliberately walked across the security wire. She was in for a very unpleasant surprise.