The doctor double checked both her primary security systems before proceeding, even checking the cuff on her ankle for the tenth time. He took the warning that Dotty was an escape risk very seriously. He knew very well that his license as a doctor hung in the balance if she escaped and brought the cops down on him.
Once he was convinced that everything was working properly and at 100 percent of capacity, he turned to another computer that displayed Dotty’s schedule. Now, at the top of the list were details of her voluntary commitment, headed by the detailed list of where she wanted rings, beginning with her nose and going on down between her legs. He pointed the directions out to the nurse. “Yeah, sure she volunteered,” he said, sarcastically. “I’d bet a thousand bucks she got railroaded down here.”
“Not that it makes the slightest fucking difference. She’s here, somebody is paying big bucks to bury her and we’re here to do what we’re told to do.”
He read further down, confirming that she would be wearing the chastity belt and noting the use of the Spanish Strap. He held it up gingerly, wincing at the mere thought of how she would feel, having the diabolical torture instrument tight between her legs, with no relief. He chuckled, “If my worst enemy was a woman I’d be happy to prescribe one of these for her.”
The nurse half smiled but remained silent, nursing her own thoughts and feeling the dampness spreading down her leg under her white pants.
The tools, the rings and the grommets were lying on a surgical towel, fresh from the autoclave. The nurse checked the meter readings and swabbed Dotty’s nose, inside and out. She took a template and fitted it across the lower part of the nose, then used a marking pen to draw a line up both sides. She measured from her nostrils to the line, ensuring it was even on both sides, and then measured along the line, marking two equidistant dots.
The doctor picked up the punch and in quick succession punched small holes in each nostril. He inserted the punch straddling the cartilage and the nurse pushed a probe through one nostril and into an alignment hole in the head of the punch. The nurse leaned over to see that the punch was lined up, nodded, the doctor squeezed and the deed was done. All three holes were bleeding, but the nurse stopped it with a styptic pencil. The nurse loaded the two halves of a grommet into a second punch and handed it to the doctor. He shoved one leg into the nostril, finding the hole, then closing the punch, installing the grommet.
The two worked as a team and added new grommets at a rapid fire pace. Rather than a ring, Dotty’s nose sported a bar, with a ball flush against the flesh of her nostrils on each side of her nose.
Next were her nipples. The nurse pulled back the sheet that was more a tradition than a necessity in this place where nudity was the norm. The doctor examined the two big mounds of flesh, shaking his head. To him her tits were magnificent and he silently questioned marring their pristine beauty with rings, but orders are orders, especially here. He had no death wish to partake of some of the punishments he had seen inflicted on the male inmates.
The instructions called for mini-shackles, the bar going directly behind the nipple, with the “U” shaped shackle outlining the nipple like a quarter bra. The bar would ensure that her nipple would remain forever erect. The shackle was a humiliation. It told the world, “Here is a slave, always ready to be chained and abused.” It had none of the beauty of the polished rings that most slaves were proud to wear.
The doctor checked her vital signs and ensured himself that she was still under, while the nurse first locked a cuff on Dotty’s wrist, and only then unfastened her ankle. Then she raised the leg supports, strapped Dotty’s legs to them and then adjusted them until Dotty’s legs were almost in a straight line. She dropped the end of the table, leaving Dotty’s ass hanging into the void. She put clamps on the edges of her pussy lips and tied them off. She quickly measured and marked and the doctor was close behind, punching a neat row of holes in her labia, up one side and back down the other. Once installed, the grommets lined up perfectly.
Next she moved lower and measured around the sphincter, placing two dots. A curved piercing needle was pushed through by the doctor and a small ring was inserted. The two rings were placed so that they could be used with the grommets above to tie off all access to either hole.
The final indignity to her body was a third shackle, this with the bar running behind her clit. Once healed, her clit would be almost surrounded by the shackle, keeping her constantly aroused.
One of the more pleasant surprises about this underground hell hole was the modern clinic the doctor presided over. There were six beds, the latest in equipment and there was no skimping. It was to management’s benefit to keep the inmates healthy. A dead body didn’t earn any profit for them.
The beds were in one large room, cutting down on the need for security. Male and female patients lay side by side but all had locked cuffs so there was no opportunity for any hanky panky, Dotty was transferred onto a bed, with medication prescribed to keep her in a semi-coma for two weeks, to allow everything to heal. There was a major flap about the chastity belt, with the doctor flatly refusing to reinstall it until Dotty had healed. He successfully pointed out that the belt would interfere with the healing process and make it more difficult to protect her from infection. As a compromise, an armed female guard was assigned to her day and night.
Dotty slept soundly until the last day before her medication ended. Then she drifted in a dream state, ranging from out of it to way out of it, to perfectly lucid. She had no idea she had been comatose for so long. The only thing that bothered her was that they had restrained both arms so she was unable to touch herself. For that matter she was unaware of the extent to which her body had been punctured. She felt ‘heavy’ in some parts of her body but she attributed that to the after effects of her medication. Why had she been medicated? She remembered her steel restraint, the cart and the needle pricking her arm. What had happened between then and now?
It wasn’t until the nurse moved the sheet while freshening the bed that Dotty spotted the shackles on her nipples. Instinctively she jerked her arms against the restraints, trying to reach them, touch them, feel them. She had wanted one or two piercings, but she had a sinking feeling that there was more she couldn’t see or feel. If her nipples had been pierced, did they...
She crossed her eyes, looking down her nose. Two saucy little round balls caught her gaze. Oh, shit! A ring, or something, was in her nose. She stuck out her tongue, curled it up to touch her nose, but thank God, no sign of a ring.
She crossed her eyes again. She decided it had to be a bar, running across the inside of her nose. A new question arose. She should be as sore as a boil from that kind of work on her body. It took her some time to figure out that to be healed, she had to have been out of it for days, even weeks. It was beginning to look like she had lost about two weeks of her life. Given where she was it was no great loss. She could hurt a lot down here if they tortured her for two weeks.
She alternated between wondering why they were treating her with kid gloves and dreaming up punishments for Stella if she ever got loose from this place. Certainly, nobody in here was going to tell her anything.
Dotty felt like the honeymoon was over when the doctor checked her. She got a quick peek at the metal jungle between her legs before the strap and the Chastity belt covered it again. The bra seemed to be even tighter than before and pressed the shackles painfully into her flesh. She ached to ask the doctor several questions, but she was already so fearful of punishment that she never even tried to talk to him.
The two guards showed up and she was put back in the steel restraint which Dotty decided must be the local equivalent of transport chains. Actually it was much more severe than the chains as it was impossible to do anything but sit in one spot while locked in it. She was blindfolded for the trip.
Her old cell was waiting for her. At least she thought it was the same one, but there were a number of doors, no doubt to identical shoe boxes. They left her in the restraint, adding the obligatory chain from her collar to the wall. As they moved the collar she realized that it was somehow different, so she apparently had a new collar. The first time they zapped her, again for not eating, she suffered through a much stronger, higher voltage shock from the electrodes built into it, confirming her guess.
Dotty realized after several uneaten meals that she was starving. She squelched any complaint, fearing the punishment she would earn by talking to someone. She presumed it was a guard that brought the meals and then took them away, unaware that the guards only supervised, while inmates did the work. What with shift changes and differing assignments, it was another 36 hours before someone woke up to the fact that she hadn’t had any food.
Two male guards entered her cell and removed the steel restraint, adding a second wall chain locked to her ankle to replace it. She suspected that she wasn’t supposed to have remained encased in the steel restraint, but in this place a complaint about it would certainly fall on deaf ears. She gobbled down every drop of the lifeless food and licked the bowl clean. At that point paranoia clutched her as she realized the food she had just eaten was probably drugged.
She put the empty bowl back on the tray on the door and laid down on the floor, for the first time in several days able to stretch out in relative comfort. She lay silent, listening to her shallow breathing, waiting for whatever drug to start working on her.
Donald, at first was unaware of Stella’s addiction but her efforts to escape the hold of the drug at last caught his attention. She hid as much as she could from him. She tried to use her period as an excuse to keep him from unwittingly conflicting with her desperate plan to go Cold Turkey, To her horror she had a ring side seat as her clit rebelled, first tingling like a hefty electric shock, then going completely numb, losing all feeling in it. She masturbated furiously but only made her clit untouchably sore.
Donald, once her period was well over, let her know in no uncertain terms that it was time for her to get back into her bed chains and service him. He personally anointed her clit with a generous lump of ointment and then slid into her waiting pussy.
Stella knew that this was going to spoil her attempt to quit the drug, but to keep up appearances she had to comply with his wishes and do it enthusiastically. Once again the drug crossed her up.
After the initial surge, Stella found herself flopping back and forth like a weather vane. As he pumped into her, she alternated between a violent, bed pounding response and long seconds of motionless acceptance of his moving cock. After three cycles, Donald stopped, pulled out of her and demanded, “What the fuck is going on? One minute you’re a zombie, the next you’re pounding a hole through the mattress. I’d get more fucking a knothole on a dead log.”
She stared up at him, not daring to tell him that she had no feeling in her pussy. He slapped her breast, a subtle threat of worse if she didn’t answer.
She closed her eyes, unsure of what he might see in them.
“I.... I’m addicted to that drug.”
Donald, half surprised, chuckled. “Well, that one came full circle, didn’t it?” She knew exactly what he meant and the knowledge did nothing to calm her panic. She glanced at the empty cage. If she hadn’t introduced the enhancing drug, Dotty would be scrunched up in it right now.
Maude had a gift under her tree and it wasn’t anywhere near Christmas. Phil had found a company on the Internet that sold straitjackets, including custom made bondage apparatus. An exchange of e-mails confirmed that they could and would make exactly what he had in mind. He spent more than an hour measuring every part of her body.
Maude immediately suspected that she was being fitted for new bondage restraints, but Phil kept her confused by measuring things like her finger length and the diameter of her big toes.
A good size box was delivered. Phil made her sign for it and then refused to let her open it. Instead he moved a table against the wall in front of the cell she now occupied. He put the box on the table and installed a track light with a flood lamp aimed at the box so that it was constantly in her sight. As a final touch he taped a small picture of a Christmas tree on the wall above it. She was threatened with atrocious punishments if she touched the box while outside her cage.
He knew it would drive her nuts. Maude had an insatiable curiosity that kept her awake nights wondering and worrying about what was in the box. Phil neatly sidestepped her efforts to pry information from him, promising himself that he would punish her soundly for annoying him with her questions.
John’s ad hoc investigation of the rehab center took a surprising turn when he accidentally stumbled across a former employee. The man had much too much to drink and was regaling his bar buddies with stories about the center. Listening closely he began to suspect that the man had actually worked part of the time at the slave section and perhaps even the underground prison. John casually joined the group and listened silently as the guy bragged about his work. He started to say something about the slaves, but even in his befuddled state he knew better than to talk in public, so he cut it off by grabbing his drink and swallowing most of it.
The man stopped talking and the spectators drifted away. John kept a careful eye on the man and when he staggered out the door John followed him. The man tried to get in his car but was unable to work the door lock. John clapped him on the shoulder and took the keys. He walked the man around to the passenger side and put him in and closed his seat belt. He got in the driver’s seat just as the man collapsed in the corner and started snoring loudly. John tried to wake him but the man was too far gone. John shook his head and drove to his own home. In minutes he had the man tied down on an old army cot in the garage. He had decided that it was no time for halfway measures. If the man objected there were plenty of witnesses to how drunk he was.
In the cold light of dawn, John confronted the man, who had sobered up enough to talk coherently. When he learned that John had driven his car his relief was evident. John started pumping him and the man talked, for more than an hour.
Two guards came for Dotty right after she finished breakfast. They were carrying her familiar transport restraint and followed the book in unlocking and re-locking her bonds. Despite her dangerous situation she almost snickered when they pushed the cart less than a hundred feet and went through the whole process again getting her into a room which was featureless, other than a steep staircase in the center of the room. At first glance she thought she would have to climb it, but as her chains were being locked to ring bolts, she could see that she was faced with a monster stair-stepper machine. After her wrist cuffs were locked to the short hand rails, a cable from the machine was plugged into the back of her chastity belt.
One of the men tested the circuits. The first jolt sent Dotty to her knees. The second guard had been waiting for just such a reaction and Dotty screeched as his whip snapped around her upper thigh. She struggled quickly to her feet as the several items attached to or held in by the belt were activated, one after another. She discovered that somewhere down there was an industrial strength vibrator that could bring her off in a matter of seconds.
Because she would be unattended, except by the computer, two items were added to her bondage. One was a metal flap which closed the rear hole in her belt and the other was a muzzle-like mask with bars across the mouth opening which locked to her collar. Dotty was now safe from any rapist roaming the halls, or any of the guards that got randy at the sight of her helpless nude body.
The guard pressed a signal button and a female slave hurried in, a sour look on her face. She held a glass of water with a straw to Dotty’s lips and as soon as she sucked it dry, the girl disappeared to wherever it was that she waited for orders. Dotty had no way of knowing that her two guards were also wearing chastity belts so that they would tend to business and be unable to hit on the female slaves.
One guard pressed the button starting the stair stepper. The other adjusted a dial and at the top of the stairs a sign lit up, showing the figure “150.” The whip urged Dotty to begin. The steps were several inches higher than a normal step, requiring every inch of her long hobble. She stepped up, but nothing happened until she put her full weight on the step. It sank beneath her and the number on the screen changed to “149.”
One step, 149 to go. She could already feel the weight of her hobble chain. For that matter she could feel the weight of all her bonds. Nor could she forget the Spanish Strap between her legs, digging into her, cutting her, sticking her with the innumerable sharp ends. She sighed to herself. Now all she needed was a time limit, and as if by mind reading another figure on the screen began to count down the seconds and minutes of her time limit. Automatically she speeded up but the machine would have none of it. It moved at a sedately slow pace and nothing Dotty did would speed it up. She felt a drop of sweat spring out on her forehead. She prayed it would not run down her nose and start an itch she could never reach. She raised herself onto the next step.
Two steps, 148 to go, 1 hour, 59 minutes and 10 seconds left.
The odds makers would have given the machine a comfortable edge and they would have been right. Dotty was a long way from completing her set task when the clock counted down to zero. Adding to her humiliation, the signboard flashed the message: “You failed!” She watched the sign with a sense of dread as it went black and then lit up with a huge “21" which filled the screen, showing the number of steps she failed to complete.
She had no time to contemplate it. There was a whirr behind her and the whistle of a descending whip. It circled both thighs, the end snapping a fraction of an inch from her belt. She swung her head in denial, choking on the pain. Something caught her eye and she turned back just as the whip landed a second time, almost on top of the first welt.
She was certain she was being beaten by one of the guards, but when she turned there was nobody in sight. The movement that caught her eye was a robot arm, firmly gripping the whip handle as it swung toward her again. She cringed, ducking her head, but the robot was programmed to stay below her waist.
When the last blow fell, Dotty was sobbing in humiliation. It was bad enough being trapped in this sink hole, but to be whipped by a robot! That was just too much for her to take.
She stood, waiting for orders, slowly catching her breath as she fought the pain, When the sensors found that she was back, at least in the upper end, in the normal range, the screen lit up again, showing the 21. The stairs made a noise as they were released. Dotty stepped up on the first step. As it sank the whip wrapped around the calf of her leg. She looked at the screen but no time limit was shown as the 21 changed to 20. This was do or die punishment for failing to meet her quota.
As she reached the last step she realized she had company. Two guards were standing behind her waiting with her restraints, ready to take her back to her cell.
Instead, they took her to a different cell nearby. The ambiance was the same, but it was a double cell with a second bench against the opposite wall. Kneeling beside it was a black-haired beauty, obviously a slave as she was wearing the same collar and chastity belt, hobbles and wrist cuffs.
Once safely locked up Dotty lay on her back, enjoying the cool rock against her welted skin. The robot was well programed and left her with only small patches of skin without welts. A guard handed the other girl a bottle of healing lotion and motioned toward Dotty. The girl immediately began to apply the soothing cream, silently pushing Dotty into different positions so she could cover all her welts. Not a word was spoken and after a look around and a second check on both their bonds, the guards locked the door and left.
Once they were alone the girl smiled at Dotty, but she held her finger to her lips in the universal sign of silence. Dotty was bursting to talk to her, talk to anyone as the monastic silence was getting under her skin. She knew exactly that it was the primary purpose, but that didn’t make her feel a bit better.
Both girls slept on the floor, inches apart but neither dared to reach out and touch, certain it would be considered a direct violation of orders and thus subject to the severest of punishment. Dotty closed her eyes and fantasized a romantic interlude with the girl, but she was asleep before the first act.
Dotty slept soundly for several hours, waking to the dull pain in her body. She slept fitfully for another hour waking to pain that was sharp and stabbing. She reached down, only to be thwarted by her belt. The area between her legs was burning hot and unmercifully painful. She had suffered through painful urinary infections several times, but this was more like a blast furnace engulfing her pussy. The other girl woke when the light came on. When she saw Dotty’s pained face she raised an eyebrow in question. Dotty pointed to her belt and mouthed an “Ow.”
When the slave came in, Dotty, in desperation got her attention and said one word, “Doctor.”
The girl looked absolutely horrified that Dotty had spoken. She ran out the door, knelt before the guard and pointed to the cell.
The guard stuck his head in the cell door and Dotty repeated the word. He looked as startled as if he had never had a slave ask for the doctor. He backed out the door and radioed his commander. Two more guards showed up and the first pair went on about their business of feeding the other inmates.
The two guards walked into the cell and looked at the two girls. At a glance it was obvious that Dotty was the one needing a doctor as she was moaning in pain. Again it was steel restraints and a blindfold to get her to the clinic. Despite her pain she noticed that the trip was much shorter than the last time.
The doctor was already there, called for another emergency. As soon as they got her out of the restraints he told her. “You’re free to talk. What’s wrong?”
“Sir, it’s the belt, I hurt. It’s on fire.”
“Get the key and get that off of her,” he ordered.
The nurse ran to the locker and returned with the key. She unlocked the belt and pulled it down her legs. The doctor exclaimed, “No wonder! Just what I figured.”
He unfastened the Spanish Strap and literally peeled it out of her crack. Dotty cried with pain as it came loose. Her labia were a brilliant red, like a monkey in heat, swelled beyond recognition and there was a bright red crease from her tailbone to her pubic mound.
The doctor examined her closely, finally asking for a magnifying glass. Then he called for tweezers and in a moment held up a piece of horsehair that had worked into her flesh and started an infection. He went back over her with the magnifier until he was sure that there weren’t any more.
He slathered pain killers all over her cleft, dosed her with antibiotics and a sedative and put her to bed. Relieved of the pain she slept like a baby. When she woke the doctor examined her, and then pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed the manager. In no uncertain terms he told him that it was either, or, but not both a belt and the strap at the same time and told him about the damage the combination had inflicted on Dotty.
He gave Dotty a brief smile. “You just lost both the strap and the belt. The bad news is that you get laced up like a shoe instead.”
For a second she didn’t get his meaning, but then remembered the double row of grommets that at the moment were buried in her puffed up lips. Unsure if she could still talk, she nodded her head to show approval.
After two days, Dotty was put on the exam table, legs spread to impossible straightness. Her crotch was stretched to the maximum, the skin taut, but back to a near normal pink color. The nurse lubricated a plastic egg and slid it up deep inside her. Then she showed Dotty a heavy leather shoe lace, then passed it through the two rings at her ass hole, centered it, then began lacing it through the grommets. When she reached the clit shackle she looped it through and pulled the last of the slack. Then she tied it to the shackle. This changed the pressure point on her clit and she flexed against the restraints as it pushed her arousal button. The nurse had a Mona Lisa smile on her face as she worked. She used a special pair of pliers to crimp a lead seal on the tied laces, and then cut the extra length off.
Finished, she released Dotty, fastened her hobble and wrist cuffs and helped her to the floor. Dotty’s guard watched the entire operation with considerable interest. Dotty already had her - and the nurse - pegged as bondage enthusiasts. She walked around, bent over, lifted one leg to the length of the hobble, then the other. She smiled and nodded to show that it was comfortable. She stopped in front of a mirror and spread her legs to the hobble limit, to get a good look.
A small package for Stella was delivered to the house. Donald signed for it, turning it over several times in a vain attempt to find the sender’s name. Stella was still in bed, fully restrained, the only help that Donald had offered to rid her of her addiction.
Twice he had given in to her pleadings and supplied her with the ointment she craved, but each time it became an obvious mistake as she fell right back into her obsession.
He showed her the package. Watching carefully he detected concern or perhaps even fear as she fingered it. She laid it on her stomach, the only place she could reach. Casually he reached down and picked it up.
“Mind if I open it?”
She hesitated, a heartbeat too long. “Of course. Go ahead.”
Her voice sounded strained.
He tore off the wrapper to find a jewel case with a DVD. Again, no label, no indication of what it was or where it came from. He walked over to the DVD player, opened the slide and put the record in. He shoved the slide and it closed. The TV set was already on and in a few seconds it went blank, then suddenly there was a close up shot of Dotty, with her nose almost in the camera. The camera pulled back to reveal her in the tack bra and chastity belt. Scene after scene followed, including her visits to the clinic and graphic views of her body, the Spanish Strap and the belt being taken off. The camera spent some time recording the piercing of her nose, nipples and pussy lips, with a closeup of the two rings next to her ass hole, which was winking at the camera.
Donald didn’t think it was at all funny. Stella’s eyes had remained glued to the screen from beginning to end. When it was over she was obviously aroused.
“Where did that come from?”
Stella wanted to deny all knowledge, but she knew that he was aware of enough to catch her in a lie.
“It.... came from the Rehab Center.”
“The slave Rehab Center,”
“Yes.”
“You are lying!” Donald’s voice was angry as he confronted her.
Phil was patient. He knew that eventually, perhaps sooner, Maude would fuck up. In the meantime she had the box she wasn’t allowed to open to keep her entertained. On the monitor he watched her staring at the box for hours at a time. He would have given a lot to view some of the images that crossed her mind. He was sure that she had exhausted every possible guess from studying the bondage restraints that the Internet offered.
When it came, Phil had been expecting it for several days. Maude was exasperated, frustrated and reaching a slow boil.
She blew up when he walked over to the box, picked it up, turned it around and walked toward her cell. He stopped, thought better of it and returned it to the table.
“You fucker! That fucking box is empty and you’ve been teasing me with an empty box!”
Calmly, Phil pressed a button on the remote on his belt. The shock sent Maude to her knees, and then to the stone floor.
He jolted her again.
“Knees.” A look of abject fear crossed her face. She knew she was in for it as she struggled to control her muscles and get back on her knees.
“You called me a name. The penalty is...”
“Severe, Master.”
“You said I lied to you. The penalty is...”
“Very Severe, Master!”
“The name will cost you a day in the Hole. The lie will cost you five days in the hole. Missing your confession for six days and loss of companionship and service will earn further discipline that I will decide later."
Phil unlocked the cell. “Get in the hole, right NOW! She ran as fast as her hobble would allow, giving him an ample target as she scurried to the Hole. She almost jumped in, then sat on the edge and slid down, getting one last slice for her closer. Phil dragged the heavy grate over, dropped it in place and padlocked it. Then he went and got the box and put it dead center on the grate. A high-wattage flood light was already aimed at the Hole.
John was furious. He came away from his session with the ex-employee convinced that Dotty was somewhere in the Rehab Center, and was being tortured rather than being trained for slavery. He went to Dale’s shop and closeted with him for more than an hour, repeating the worker’s admissions and his conclusions that Dotty was in serious danger. The information prompted Dale to remember several other stories he had heard about the Center. Dale had a couple of missing pieces that tied Stella directly to Dotty’s disappearance. Dale expressed his annoyance, “I’m ready to fire her ass if she doesn’t show up for work again.”
John left the shop and headed home. He decided it was time to use the phone number he had in a file on his computer. When he got home he went straight to the computer and started looking for the file, which had been gathering dust for some time. It came up on the screen and he dialed it on his cell phone.
“State Police Headquarters.”
Dotty was allowed to recuperate for two days before she was put back on the stair stepper. The other girl was taken out right after breakfast and would be brought back exhausted with a dozen or more fresh welts. Dotty took over the job of applying the healing lotion to her wounds. The girl did her best to show her gratitude without actually touching Dotty.
When Dotty was put back to work she was able to reach the goal set by the stair stepper, now that she was free of the chastity belt and the strap. However, as soon as she reached the 150 mark successfully, the screen raised the goal to 175 and she got several full strength blows from the robot’s whip. The sessions were changed from daily to twice a day. She welcomed the physical activity in lieu of staring at the cell walls all the time, but the painful whippings spoiled any fun.
Dotty awoke in the darkness with a heavy weight across her chest. She reached up and discovered that her cell mate’s arm was flung across her breasts, pressing the bra’s sharp points into her flesh. Dotty immediately lifted the arm and moved it away from her. She stiffened, expecting guards to come bursting into the cell, but nothing happened. Her eyes closed against the solid blackness and she went back to sleep.
The fog horn woke her just before breakfast. The other slave looked at her and smiled a greeting, completely unaware that she had broken the rules during the night.
When the slave came in with their meal, two female guards were right behind her. They separated and went to work on the two girls. They shortened both wall chains so that they couldn’t reach each other. The guard working on the other girl pulled out a hypodermic with a large blunt needle. She inserted it in a hole which ran through the chastity belt, directly above the girl’s clit. The girl watched, wide eyed, stark fear on her face. She had obviously had this done to her before and knew what was coming. The guard squeezed out a very small amount. Whatever it was had to be potent.
The guard waved the hypo at Dotty. The clear message was a warning not to screw up by touching anyone without permission. She would learn exactly why in the next few minutes. The guards left and Dotty started eating. She noticed the other girl hadn’t touched her food just as she let out a groan that came up from her toes. She doubled over the tray, shoving it away so she could hug her legs. Her hands fluttered all over her belt, trying to find the smallest opening. Groan followed groan, her voice pitch rising until she was screaming her pain. A last deafening scream echoed through the cell and the girl passed out, dropping to the floor with a thud that made Dotty wince.
Dotty didn’t try to reach her. The chains were now too short and even if she could get to her, she had just had an object lesson in what happened when one inmate touched another without being ordered. She shuddered, glad that she hadn’t gotten the same treatment, even though she was the innocent party. She decided that they must have infrared cameras that could see in the dark.
In a few minutes the girl opened her eyes. She screamed and fainted again. Dotty scooted back against her bench, trying to get as far away from the slave as possible. They could be friends later. Right now, she was trouble.
The effect of the unknown potion that had been applied to the girl’s clit lasted more than an hour. The girl recovered and fainted twice more before the pain gradually tapered off, leaving her a physical and mental wreck. Dotty was almost equally affected, suffering just as much anguish as she watched the girl being tortured. Perhaps the worst part was being unable to help in any way.
Whether there was any connection, Dotty firmly believed that an unannounced change in her schedule was a direct result of the incident. She climbed the stair stepper in the morning but after lunch she was taken to a room dominated by a shaft that extended both through the floor and the ceiling. Attached to it was a long arm used to turn the shaft. Gleaming metal manacles on short chains locked her to the arm and a whip stroke started her on her way.
She was barefoot, walking in loose sand that buried her feet clear to her ankles. A screen like the stair stepper set her goal and allotted her time. She had two hours to make 20 revolutions. This would, under normal circumstances, have been entirely possible, However, when a bunch of sadists are involved, the odds are much different.
At about the half way point on her first circuit around the shaft, Dotty noticed her feet were getting warmer. At first she thought it was merely the friction of the deep sand, but by the end of the second lap she realized that the sand was much warmer than when she first started. It quickly reached the uncomfortable level after two more laps, but she was powerless to do anything about it beyond jerking her foot out of the sand as soon as her weight was on the other foot. She tried to speed up, with no more success than she had with the stair stepper. The shaft had some sort of brake or a governor, which called for both strength to move it and limited the rotation speed.
The hot sand heated the air above it and Dotty was quickly covered with sweat. This in turn made the hot sand stick to her feet, adding weight and burning her skin. She dehydrated at a rapid pace, visions of the glass of water she had left half full on her tray pestering her. As if on cue a stream of hot water shot from the arm, hitting her in the face. She opened her mouth and sucked in as much as she could, coughing as part of it went into her lungs by mistake. She stopped and was promptly penalized by the robotic whip master that was overseeing her labor. She leaned into the arm, getting the shaft moving again and allowing her to lift one foot for a second or two of relief from the hot sand. Sweating profusely she made all but three of the required laps around the shaft, received her punishment and completed the three penalty laps.
She went from heat to shivering cold. Still chained to the arm she was made to stand on a platform while a guard used a high pressure hose with chilled water to wash the sweat and sand from her body. She was blue and shivering with cold when he finished. She was placed in her steel restraints while still dripping wet and taken back to her cell. The other girl was lying spread eagled on the floor, exhausted from whatever she had been forced to do. She was pretty much out of it and barely noticed that Dotty was back.
The next day turned out to be even more different. Dotty was chained up after breakfast and transported to a large room. One wall was solid glass, no doubt a two way mirror. She avoided glancing in that direction as she was lined up with a dozen other slaves. Each of the slaves were put in two lines, facing each other. Each had one ankle locked to a chain that ran between two posts. Then her wrist cuffs were removed. Each girl was handed a punishment cane.
A cart rolled into the room with a female slave draped over a center rod, holding her ass high in the air. It stopped in front of the girl next to Dotty. The guard swung her cane through the air and then pointed to the girl on the cart. Reluctantly the girl gave her a half hearted swipe. The guard shook his head violently, then took the cane away from her and made her bend over. He rapped for attention, made sure everyone was watching and then he demonstrated the kind of stroke he wanted on the reluctant girl. The whirr and crack of the cane made several of the slave girls wince.
The slave stood up painfully and swung much harder. The cart rolled forward and stopped in front of Dotty. She swung the cane with more force, but not enough to satisfy the guard. He bent her over and gave a second demonstration of the strength he demanded. Dotty cried out when the cane landed. The guard gave her a warning look and pressed his cane hard against her mouth. She swung with the required force, silently begging her fellow slave for forgiveness.
The rest of the inmates got it right and the guard didn’t need to do a third demonstration. The girl on the cart already had plenty of welts but her problems were only beginning. She was released from the cart and escorted to one end of the line. Her hobble had been shortened to six inches and now her wrists were locked to her collar to get her arms out of the way. When everything was ready, the guard pushed the hapless girl forward and immediately set the example by swinging his cane, nearly knocking the girl off her feet.
Guards walked along the lines on both sides, watching for poor performance and they were quick to punish any of the slaves who failed to swing when their target was within range. The guards expected each slave to get in at least three blows, so the girl running (actually no more than a fast walk) the gauntlet was heavily marked by the time she limped past the end of the lines and collapsed on the floor. The guards used their whips to get her back on her feet and herded her to the cart. Two guards fastened her down and rolled it away.
Dotty looked around carefully, trying not to draw attention to herself. Like every one of the slaves she was trying to make sense out of what she had just experienced. The manager had gone to great lengths to punish the girl for some unnamed crime, perhaps only an unwitting violation of the rules. She, and they, had been treated to harsh and cruel punishment, callously applied. For some reason they wanted to make an object lesson of the girl and from the strained faces around her, Dotty knew that they had succeeded in scaring the shit out of her and the rest of the inmates.
Dotty was no sooner back in her cell, released from the transport restraints, when the guards came for her again. The steel was still warm when they locked her back in, blindfolded her and took her for a cart ride. When they got to where they were going they unhooked her, walked her into a room and took her blindfold off. She glanced around, seeing a full fledged dungeon with pain machines and walls lined with whips and restraints.
She was led to a fixture made of pipe, two uprights and a cross bar. They pushed her tight against the bar, then attached her cuffs to short chains. An electric motor whined and the chains tightened, pulling her hard into the bar in an inverted “V”. A head harness was tightened and locked. A cable was attached and a winch lifted her head until she was staring straight ahead.
A portable screen on a stand was rolled in front of her. Plugged in the screen lit up with the word, “Doctor” in bright red letters.
The letters grew smaller and the word moved into the lower corner. A copy of the regulations appeared on the screen and then opened to the page covering talking. She read the words to herself and stopped. The guard’s cane crossed her fresh welts. The screen lit up with a new message: “Read it aloud!”
Obediently she began to speak. “Neither the inmates nor the guards may speak to each other or to anyone else, at any time, for any reason.”
“You violated this very important rule. Therefore, you will be punished.”
“Stop reading.”
“Doctor” filled the screen. Numbers, from 1 to 6 appeared above each letter. Dotty’s reflexes clenched, but it was too late as the first blow of the cane had already landed. With sadistic humor the 1 above the D exploded into tiny pieces and floated away. The D dimmed and the O brightened and Dotty screeched as the cane drove her even harder into the whipping bar. She survived the full six count, her rebellious streak unwavering. They could punish her all they wanted, but she would still call for a doctor when she needed one again.
A six-day week in the Hole was no joking matter. Maude had been in it several times, usually for a few hours, once overnight, so a week was a new experience. She was allowed out twice a day for closely supervised visits to the toilet, groaning under a weight of iron that increased daily. She lived in the glare of the big floodlight aimed down into her tiny prison. Every glance upward was attracted to the box like a magnet. The light was so strong that even with her eyes closed it was bright as day. No matter what contortions she went through she was unable to move any of her bonds or any part of her body to shield her eyes from the glare, although the shadow cast by the box partially protected her. She was half way through her sentence before fatigue finally caught up with her and she slept.
Phil, content that she had admitted her crimes and had agreed to being punished and treated as a slave, had no qualms about giving her much more than she had bargained for. He was certain her agreement was based on the false assumption that he would slap her on the wrist and things would go back to normal. With her agreement signed and in writing, in language that gave him absolute control over her, he saw no point in condoning the bad advice she had given their daughter. He knew that anything less than total and abject slavery wouldn’t work, so he quickly mapped out a plan, which included no contact by Maude with their daughter.
At the end of the week, she knelt before him, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a ‘dark’ corner and sleep. That didn’t agree with Phil’s plans.
“Go get the box.”
Maude shuffled on her knees to the box, lying on the grate. She picked it up and knee walked back to the spot in front of him.
“I will hear your confession now. I hope you remember all the names you called me while you were in the Hole, because I expect you to list each and every one and beg punishment for even thinking them. Leave the box where it is and go to the confessional. You will want to remember every name if you expect me to open the box.”
As she listened to her orders, Maude recognized that her voluntary slavery was passing another milestone. Phil had become the strong dominant that she had secretly wanted. The agreement she had signed had far stronger language than she had intended, but, caught in the act and admitting guilt, she had no leeway to negotiate. He had long since enslaved her body. Now, he was doing the same with her mind. Perversely, it sent a thrill through her to know that he could make her reveal her thoughts and appeared more than ready to punish her for thinking things she never would dare say. What would he do to her if he made her admit to her regularly recurring fantasies of escape? In her heart she knew that it wouldn’t be long before she confessed every ‘bad’ thought. She shivered, half with delight, thinking about how her husband would punish her.
“State Police Headquarters”
“Colonel Black, please.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“John Cancil. He knows my parents.”
“One moment, please.”
“Hi, John. “How are the folks?”
“Just fine. Dad got over his surgery and is back in action.”
“Good to hear. What’s the problem, John? Not a traffic ticket I hope?”
“No sir, I’m not in trouble, but a friend is. It’s a lot worse than a speeding ticket, I’m afraid. I need to talk to you, in private.”
“As it happens, my 10 a.m. appointment cancelled out, so if you can get down here in half an hour I’ll be in the clear.”
“I’ll be there.”
The Colonel listened silently as John detailed what he had uncovered in his investigation, admitting that some of the information came through his bondage contacts, but the officer waved him on, taking notes as he talked.
When John finished, the Colonel nodded and slid his notes to one side.
“John, I’m going to be blunt, but this conversation must not leave this room. That place has been a thorn in our side for years, but we’ve never been able to get a search warrant or even get near the slave training facility, let alone the prison underneath it. You’ve given me several leads which might solve the problem, but it will all depend on finding a judge that hasn’t been bought off.”
“What about the Feds?”
“After the Waco debacle I’m loath to get them involved in an assault, which is what it’s going to take to get inside. I’ve got a couple of back door contacts that I’ll discuss this with, and just perhaps they’ve cleaned up their act. In the meantime, keep your ears open and your mouth shut.”
“Oh, I’m good at that.”
“Say, you wouldn’t be interested in a staff investigative job? You did a piece of work on this.”
“Not at the moment, but I appreciate the offer and I’ll keep it in mind.”
They shook hands, the Colonel sent along greetings to John’s parents and he walked out of the building, disappointed, but still hopeful.
Stella glanced up and saw the cold anger on Donald’s face. Caught flat footed in a different lie, she had no choice but to admit her guilt.
“It... it’s the underground prison.”
“How the Hell did she get down there? You did this!”
“Please...”
“Tell me!” he raged.
“I wanted you for myself. With her out of the way I could get you to love me instead."
“Shit! You just want her money.”
He strode to his office and came back with a fist full of papers.
“That explains this! Power of attorney, medical, trust - it’s all here.”
Stella had time to think. She pleaded, “Donald, with her out of the way you and I can share her money, live like kings for the rest of our lives.”
“While she rots in that stinking prison. Not a chance!”
Calmer, he demanded, “How did you get her into the prison? You only had approval for the Training Center."
“I... I told them she tried to escape twice. They immediately said if she was an escape risk she would have to go to the prison.”
“So, one fly in that ointment is that it costs twice as much to keep her in the prison as it did in the training center. At that rate you’ll use up her trust fund in a few short years.”
He paced back and forth across the room. Stella watched him, trying to anticipate what he would do next.
“Right now I want you to contact them, tell them that the escape turned out to be a fake and you want her transferred back to the training center. I don’t like this at all and you need to be spanked like a little girl for all the ruckus you’ve caused.”
Stella wriggled against the sheet at the threat of a spanking. Donald was cooling off and if she played her cards right, Dotty would never see daylight again.
At the moment, Dotty could care less about daylight. She had quickly adapted to underground life, where there was no sun and the days were marked by the lights going off and on. Dotty’s chief concern was where her next caning would come from. She seemed to be on a list of regular inmates who were called on almost daily to set up a gauntlet for a slave to run. The interesting part was that the gauntlet group punished both female and male slaves. To Dotty the males were pretty pathetic as they all were locked in cock cages that painfully denied the men any slightest chance of getting a hardon.
With a whole crew of experienced cane swingers, the guards had to come up with some new ideas. The one adopted had the guards lining the gauntlet girls up and caning them in a bent over position, a sort of pre-punishment warmup. Like everyone else, the gauntlet crew had very strict regulations covering their every move and the guards were very liberal in passing out penalties. The one that Dotty feared most was perhaps the cruelest of all.
It boiled down to the guards' expectations that the girl running the gauntlet would collapse, either before completing her run or immediately afterward. If she didn’t collapse, a number was drawn selecting one of the crew to make a run through the gauntlet, with one of the guards replacing the girl on the line.
Defying the law of averages, Dotty had been drawn three times and had the welts to prove it. She identified a guard sergeant as being responsible for her lopsided selection, a woman who for some unknown reason had taken a dislike to her. At least twice she had caught the woman glaring in her direction. Dotty racked her brain, trying to remember if there was some incident involving the sergeant that would explain it. She couldn’t think of a thing and was forced to chalk it off as a random dislike.
In the next few days the woman became an important part of Dotty’s prison life. She was assigned to a training detail that taught riot control, breaking up escape attempts and personal protection from slave attacks. Dotty and five other girls were assigned as ‘tackle dummies,’ used to demonstrate discipline holds and take down methods the guards needed to know. When Dotty was escorted into the class room, she spotted the sergeant behind a big desk, snapping out orders and directing the job of setting up tables and chairs. When everything was placed to her satisfaction, she rapped a table with her crop.
“This is a training class. I have specific permission to speak, to ensure your training is working. You do not have permission to speak, for any reason. I repeat, this is a training class. You are here to learn, so keep your mouths shut and your ears and eyes open.”
She looked at Dotty and barely concealed a smile.
Once the class started, the other five inmates could have taken the day off. Dotty was the first to be called for every new demonstration. For two hours she was punched, kicked, slapped and repeatedly knocked to the floor. The final lesson was a choke hold. Dotty was smart enough not to even imply resistance. The sergeant used her billy club to painfully knock Dotty’s hands out of the way and spun her around and caught her neck with her arm tight against her throat. At the first squeeze Dotty was unable to breathe, but the sergeant tightened the hold with a series of jerks which felt like she was collapsing Dotty’s windpipe.
Dotty feared for her life. She was tempted to fight the hold but she knew she was helpless, so she let her body go limp. The sergeant easily supported her as she described the use of the hold. Dotty’s eyes opened, but she was staring into space, where everything went black.
The woman released her and Dotty collapsed like a sack of cement, her head hitting the floor with a thump. The sergeant never even looked down, wiping her hands together and then stepped away from the motionless figure on the floor.
She dismissed the class and when all were gone except Dotty’s two guards, she walked over and kicked Dotty in the ribs. She moaned and opened her eyes, gulping in her sore throat.
“Bitch, that will teach you not to steal my boyfriend!”
Dotty looked up at her. She remembered not to open her mouth and shook her head in denial. She was pronged on the horns of a dilemma. If she spoke to the sergeant, she would be punished for talking and the woman would never believe her. If she remained silent the sergeant would believe the worst.
The woman looked down at her for a long moment, and then spat in Dotty’s face. She kicked her again, harder. She turned to Dotty’s guards.
“Put this piece of trash back in her cell. Leave her in the transport restraints.”
The guards nodded, accepting her order and efficiently locked Dotty back in the unforgiving restraints she would be wearing until someone noticed she wasn’t eating. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t reach anything to eat.
Her cellmate, equally as bruised and welted, was brought in just before the lights went out for the night. A slave was put to work treating their wounds; they were given painkillers and locked in for the night, both coincidentally remaining in their transport restraints. Dotty, slowly recuperating from her ordeal wondered what the girl had done to earn the stripes that covered much of her body.
Dotty never saw the sergeant again, She held her breath every time she was transported, fearing another one sided confrontation, but there was no sign of her. Even when she returned to the training class, there was no sign of her, a different sergeant conducting the class.
Dotty would never know that the sergeant had been observed mistreating her on the security camera and had been called on the carpet. Her Captain quizzed her and decided she was a liability, rightly pointing out that a few seconds of miscalculation and Dotty would have been dead. She was stripped of her rank and consigned to a cell in a block housing former guards. She would go to her grave thinking Dotty had somehow ratted on her, causing her to lose her job and her freedom.
Donald was in a quandary. He was pissed at Stella, but for some quirky reason he refused to blame her for the events leading to Dotty’s incarceration. He actually was more upset by Stella lying than what had happened to Dotty. He conferred with Phil, revealing to him for the first time that Dotty had been sent to the slave training center. He was reluctant to admit that Stella had somehow gotten her transferred down below to the private prison, hoping that Stella would get her back in time so he wouldn’t have to reveal what had happened to her. Phil was very concerned with what Donald told him and hung up convinced that Donald wasn’t as forthcoming as he had thought. It crossed his mind that Donald was losing control.
Stella had gradually come to the same conclusion. For some reason Donald was not the decision maker that he once was. When he made up his mind on something he was as likely to change it again, sometimes two or three times. This was not the dominant male that Stella secretly wanted and Stella knew that if they were able to get Dotty out, she wouldn’t put up with it for five minutes. She set her goals, intending to complete them before Donald changed his mind or Dotty caught on to what was happening behind her back. If she could keep Dotty locked up it would diminish the risk to her schemes and plans.
Maude had exhausted her surprisingly substantial list of nasty names and cuss words. Repeating each one in her own private confessional while hanging from her wrists was to say the least an educational experience. Phil was actually running out of room on her criss-crossed hide to apply the cane or the whip, depending partly on Maude’s willingness to share her thoughts with her husband, and his mood at the time. After missing six consecutive confessions, his mood was - in a word - sour.
The lengthy pause between confessions put additional pressure on Maude, as a week before, Phil had added a section called: “Did you forget something?” Simply put, forgetting something and then remembering it for the next session was good for five strokes of the cane. Phil found it to be a wonder drug for restoring memory. Comparing tapes of her confessions he found that Maude was remembering an average of five or six more forbidden words or acts with the extra incentive. Her increased concentration was quite noticeable. Her aversion to the increased number of cane strokes was also quite noticeable.
Stella steeled herself, getting ready to face Donald. She gritted her teeth and walked into his office. He raised his head and looked up at her, grim.
“I talked with the guy at the Rehab Center.”
“And?”
“Bad news all the way around. Dotty really did try to escape after they put her in the prison. They found an unlocked shackle that she had opened somehow. With that on her record, they won’t even discuss moving her upstairs to the training center. I said something about stopping payment and he gave me the name of the Mexican whorehouse where they will send her, if the Arabs don’t want her, and we don’t pay up.”
“Son of a bitch! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t been so damn intent on stealing her money, she wouldn’t be in this bind.”
“Stealing? That isn’t your hand in the till? She’s your slave and I’m here at your request to train her, just that. If you’ll get off your high horse we can work this out.”
“I just don’t know what to do...”
“Shit! Make up your mind - me or her.”
“Let me think about it.”
A very exasperated Stella stalked out of Donald’s office without looking back. She went searching, for the 20th time, trying to find where Donald had hidden her orgasm ointment. Donald caught her a short time later and forced her into Dotty’s cage. Both realized the symbolism of the cage that had once been Dotty’s but neither commented.
“Hello, this is John.”
“We found a judge.” The line went dead. John looked at the phone and grinned.
Dotty woke with a start and jerked upright, her chains rattling on the stone. She had forgotten the plastic egg deep in her pussy, placed there when they tied up her piercings. She could hardly forget it now, because it was vibrating at the highest setting. Her simmering arousal reached the edge in seconds, just as the vibrator turned off. For the next half hour she was treated to a random sampling of the egg’s entire range of settings. She sat upright, afraid to move if this was some sort of test. After suffering for several minutes she came to the conclusion that someone had found the remote control for the egg and was playing with it. She could only hang on and hope the person
would tire of it. It was impossible to sleep and Dotty needed sleep to recuperate from a hard day on the stair stepper, with the almost certainty that she would be back on it in the morning. Her cellmate, out of reach, slept through it all.
One of Dotty’s recurring worries was that sooner or later she was going to get raped. The incident in the upstairs holding cell was as fresh in her memory as if it had occurred the previous night. She had lost the protection of the chastity belt, but all of the male inmates at least were locked in cock cages and she guessed correctly that most, if not all of the male guards were similarly equipped. She still had her muzzle, which locked on her collar, but the guards were prone to forgetting or ignoring it when preparing her for a ride on the cart. Even if it was installed, she assumed incorrectly that the keys would be easy to obtain by a guard wanting a blow job or a pussy lick.
Her thoughts on the topic had a direct bearing on her next adventure. Two guards walked into her cell and after glancing at her cellmate, came directly to her. One guard made her lie on the bench and spread her legs. He whipped out a big knife and cut the leather lacing between her legs at both ends. Roughly he jerked the lacing out of the grommets and dropped it on the floor. He pointed to the shower and made washing motions. Dotty nodded, certain she was about to be gang raped. She spread her labia for the first time in days and cleaned herself. She peeked at her slit, relieved to find that the swelling and redness was gone. She came out of the shower and knelt again in front of the guard. Dripping water, she accepted her transport restraints and blindfold and was taken out to the cart. Her cellmate took it all in but kept her head down to avoid eye contact with the guards.
Dotty could tell that they were not taking the direct route to wherever it was they were going. There were too many turns and she was beginning to think they were lost when the cart finally stopped rolling. As the blindfold came off, she discovered she was on a stage with more than a dozen other female inmates. She sighed with relief as the absence of males - any males - made her breathe a lot easier. However, a glance at the audience, seated above the level of the stage, showed about five male guards for every female guard. The room was absolutely silent, without a peep from anyone.
A scantily dressed female guard, armed with a whip, opened the show in pantomime. She arranged the nude girls in a row, heads placed in the classic 69 configuration. She mimed in no uncertain terms that speed was a must, threatening unspeakable punishments for the losers. When she got to Dotty, she took one look at her piercings and escorted her to center stage, making her show off the rows between her legs and those around her sphincter. Dotty took her exhibition in stride, long since used to always being naked. She was proud of her jewelry, so it gave her a chance to show off. Her nagging doubt wasn’t improved though as she had hoped to remain in the background and not draw attention to herself.
Moments later she was on her back looking up into the parted folds of a girl’s pussy. She barely had time to adjust when the whip cracked and the race started. Dotty felt her partner’s tongue but after the second swipe she knew she had an amateur. Raising her head she jammed her tongue into the girl’s clit and a dozen strokes later the girl had her orgasm. She was rolled off of Dotty and made to stand at the back of the stage.
Half of the girls were eliminated. The hall was completely silent, except for the moans of the girls who were competing.
For the second round, Dotty was on top of a very experienced lesbian, but Dotty was on a roll and broke through the girl’s self control and had her climaxing in short order. Dotty was aroused to the point of exploding but she had an inkling that the loser’s bracket might find themselves with rather demanding male company as their punishment. She wasn’t about to lose and find herself in that situation.
The championship round was a classic. Dotty and another girl were the last two left. Both were panting with arousal and either might have climaxed if someone said “Boo” to them. Dotty sized up her competition and her own body and decided that a quick attack was the only way to ensure winning. Dotty was on top again and when the whip cracked, she drove her tongue hard against the other girl’s clit. Overwhelmed and not quite prepared, the girl screamed and dissolved into a multiple orgasm, leaving Dotty as the winner.
There was no recognition of her feat and no prize. She was restrained and carted back to her cell. She had glanced back as she was leaving and saw the losers being herded off the back of the stage. She wondered what their punishment would be, coming back to a gang bang every time. The cart stopped at the clinic and the night nurse put in a new plastic egg and laced her up again and sealed the lace.
On the last leg to her cell the egg started buzzing. Dotty made a face under her blindfold. Another night of someone playing games with the remote would be all she’d need. As it turned out the one short burst was all there was to it.
She dreaded going back to the cell, still expecting some sort of sexual demand. At the least she was certain that they would leave her in the constricting transport restraints again. She was pleasantly surprised when they removed the steel bars and allowed her to stretch out full length. Her cellmate was already asleep, but the commotion woke her up and she watched with her eyes almost closed. Dotty was even more surprised when the two guards glanced around then walked out the door, locking it behind them. The other girl moved her body, hiding an “OK” sign from the cameras.
The next day found Dotty back on the stair stepper. She was now spending three hours in the morning and three in the afternoon on the machine. Her quota of steps always was just out of reach, ensuring that she would have penalty strokes from the robot and then have to do the missed steps under the whip. They assigned her to the machine at least three days a week so that her back was constantly sore. The robot’s lashes weren’t particularly hard; it was the sheer numbers keeping her in pain.
The next change in her schedule involved the treadmill. From the first, she was first sent to the stair stepper to wear her out, and then moved to the treadmill without a break. On both machines they began adding chains to her nipple shackles and one to the clit shackle. All three reacted to the slightest movement and the machines made sure she was constantly moving, punishing every pause with a jerk on one or all three of her shackles. She had barely learned to cope with them when they added a hook, looped over the bar across the inside of her nose.
The guard delighted in tying her nose hook with a gossamer strand of low strength fish line, a continuing demonstration of the total control they had over her. When her stint on the stair stepper was finished, the guard would untie the line and force Dotty to heel her as she moved her to the next room, where the treadmill waited, using constant tension on the hook to guide her. What made it worse, the pull brought tears to Dotty’s eyes, preventing her from seeing and giving the guard an opportunity to jerk her around.
Other than the plastic egg buried permanently in her pussy, Dotty was exempt from the usual regimen of butt plugs and dildos because of her sewed up piercings between her legs. Replacing her chastity belt with the tenuous protection of the leather lace did nothing for her peace of mind. The lace prevented any penetration or stimulation, but one snip and she would be open to the world. They could and did use it to punish her. She had to go to the clinic, where they would cut the lace. Then she was fitted with a pair of ben wah balls which were trapped inside her when she was laced up again. It had been a punishment for some minor infraction of the rules, but she suffered unrequited arousal for a week before they were removed.
Her cellmate had made the mistake of masturbating, which of course was strictly prohibited, and impossible to hide from the infrared cameras even in the blackness of night. Nothing was said or done until after breakfast. The girl very foolishly thought that she had gotten away with it. That is, until two guards walked in with a framework which they allowed to fall to the floor with a crash. One guard made sure that Dotty was watching, despite her having no access to her clit.
The other guard grabbed the girl and pulled her across the frame into position. A chain from her collar hooked to the crossbar above her head. A steel cross bar just under her hips provided a tie point for a strap that buried itself in her belly. From it two curved bars raised her hips well into the air. Loops of cord pulled her knees apart, tying them to the frame. More loops pulled her feet down, tying her ankles to the frame and opening her to the world. Dotty was positioned at the ends of her wall tethers, just a scant two feet from the by now frantic girl. The guard motioned to Dotty’s eyes, then pointed at the girl’s pussy, silently ordering her to watch.
One guard opened the case he had brought in. Out came a massive dildo and an only slightly smaller butt plug. He held the butt plug to her mouth and made her lubricate it with her saliva. Brutally, he rammed it into her, eliciting a shriek of pain. By now she was wet, so the dildo went in with comparative ease, despite its size.
The other guard went to the cell door and motioned to someone outside. There was a clatter of chains and a slave girl crawled into the cell, dragging loops of massive links behind her. She positioned herself between the girl’s sprawled legs and nodded. The guard reached down and turned on the two vibrators to their highest settings. His fingers were no more than out of the way when her tongue went to work.
The girl cried out at the first contact from the slave’s tongue. Her clit was still tender and the combination of the two vibrators and the experienced tongue made an instant climax a foregone conclusion. Her body went rigid tugging at her restraints, a scream of pure pleasure emerging through gritted teeth.
The guard decided that Dotty not only needed to watch, she also needed to be involved. As the girl recovered from her first quicky orgasm, Dotty was instructed to hold up one finger and she understood that she would have to keep count and raise another finger each time the girl climaxed. She felt silly at counting another girl’s orgasms, but her natural concern clicked in because she could see from the preparations that the girl was in for a lengthy and very painful session.
Miss Talented Tongue was not there to be pampered. She hesitated at her work just long enough for the guard to use his whip to encourage her. With renewed incentive she buried her tongue, intent on triggering a non-stop series of orgasms. She had two powerful helpers in the form of the two vibrators, who took on the task of keeping the girl at a fever pitch and on the edge, the tongue becoming the driving force in pushing her over that edge.
Dotty prayed silently that nobody would stumble across the remote for her egg. She was shivering with suppressed arousal anyway, and one burst of the egg would be enough to put her over the same edge as her cellmate.
Dotty had five fingers in the air before the girl’s cries reflected the pain she was beginning to feel from the repeated climaxes. From that point on it became pure torture as each new release hurt more than the previous one. Her clit was a red ball, sensitive to the slightest breath of air. The inmate’s tongue never ceased lapping, each stroke like liquid fire across her pussy. The sixth finger went up. The seventh. Dotty could tell the girl was fading fast. She made it to 10 before she collapsed and fainted. The slave continued to lick like an automaton until she was pulled away.
The guards sent the slave out the door. He looked at Dotty, who was expecting someone to come in and tend to the girl they left in the frame, but he shook his head and made a threatening gesture with his hand before disappearing, leaving Dotty helplessly gazing at her cellmate.
At last she realized that she was still holding her fingers in the air and somewhat embarrassed, dropped them to her lap. She held her vigil until the girl awoke. She twisted in the frame, screamed and fainted again, perhaps from a vagrant draft. Dotty easily pictured the thousands of men who would excitedly watch the film of this punishment. More than one would get their rocks off listening to the girl’s haunting cries. She gulped when she realized that she would be in the film as well, playing Tally Girl. The mere thought kicked her arousal up another notch.
Dotty broke a fingernail, trying to open the crimped lead seal on her locked up pussy. Whether it was watching her cell mate get pleasure-pain almost under her nose, or just a general feeling of despair, knowing that she was so totally at the whim of the guards, or knowing that she had absolutely no chance of rescue, she didn’t care. She began pushing the rules, searching in vain for a non-existent loophole, suddenly tiring of being Miss Goody Two Shoes.
Retribution was swift. She was charged with another escape attempt, with a new wrinkle. Her ‘sponsor’ was assessed a $5,000 fine. She had the soles of both feet caned severely, and then she was sent to the treadmill while they decided her punishment.
When they took her off, an hour later, she was limping on both feet, barely able to walk. She was returned to her cell and in a few moments, two guards came in. 'Always two guards,' she thought disgustedly, 'as if a chained up slave could take on even one.'
Someone on the guard staff had a sense of humor, because they decided to give her exactly what her cellmate had gotten the day before. They hadn’t sorted out her reason for rebelling, but since it seemed to affect her, it was worth a try. The same frame was brought in. Dotty was lashed down in the same position and the leather strap was cut and removed. The same slave, same chains, was brought in and planted between her wide open thighs. They made her cellmate sit close to her and mark each climax with a finger.
Either Dotty was made of sterner stuff, or her clit was untouched since the contest, but she not only kept the slave from making her come at once, she was able to spread the orgasms out so they didn’t overlap and build up pain. She reached 10 before the pain began to sap her strength. The tongue slave was getting a steady rain of blows and was off scale when it came to enthusiasm but Dotty slowed things down to a relatively comfortable speed, at the slave’s expense.
She survived four more. The guard switched to the girl’s feet, his apparent intent to cripple her so she couldn’t walk. In desperation the girl hunched forward, sucked Dotty’s clit into her mouth and bit down. Dotty went through the roof, screaming loudly. The girl ground her teeth, rolling the clit between them. Dotty groaned into an orgasm and fainted.
The guards left her in the frame and walked away. It would be hours before anyone came to release her and dose her with pain killers. She laid silent, somehow satisfied that she had experienced the same punishment as her cellmate, but convinced by the brutality that she would keep her rebellion to fantasies which would never see the light of day.
With four escape attempts on her record, Dotty became a marked woman. They frequently sent three guards, rather than the usual two. The blindfold used on cart trips was discarded and she was fitted with a hard leather punishment helmet that, once locked, was not removed for days at a time. Dotty was used to finding her way in the pitch darkness of the cell, but she cordially hated the helmet because they always tightened it to the point where she felt as if her head was in a vise.
After a couple of weeks the novelty wore off for the guards and they stopped leaving her in the helmet. Free of it, she was eating breakfast one morning when she happened to look up and saw an apparition in the cell doorway.
“Very impressive.” Phil had finished reading Maude’s list. “You are aware that the use of unladylike terms and expressions - even thinking them - is an offense against public decency?”
He prodded her in the ribs, sending her body spinning, expecting an answer.
“Yes! Yes, Master,” she hurried to answer. She had already been taken well beyond her limits by Phil’s favorite yellow leather single tail.
He reversed the whip and pushed into her sore nipple, moving her body backward, straining, as she whimpered.
“Only sluts and slaves use language like that. Which are you?”
“Master, I am your slave, I am your slut. I am your slave-slut.”
“All right, you are my slutty slave. What gives you the right, even the idea, of using language like that to, or about your Master?” His whip hand jerked, driving the handle deep, inverting her nipple into her tit flesh.
“Master, have pity on your stupid slave.”
“Slut, you evaded my question. That too earns you more pain."
“Master, your slave had no rights. As a slave this slut is denied all rights. Please punish your slave in an appropriate manner.”
Without a word he unhooked the spreader bar from the hoist, leaving it locked to her wrists. “Go get your box.”
He watched her, secretly amused. With her hands far apart she could only use one to lift the box and keep it from tipping. She hurried back and knelt, barely balancing the box that had been her center of attention for so long.
“Put the box on the floor.” Carefully she gently laid it down, afraid there was something breakable in it.
He motioned and she held one wrist up to him so he could unlock the bar. She grasped the bar and presented the other wrist.
“Open the box!”
Now she was really frightened. As she fumbled she flashed back to some of the pain producing contents she had imagined during her endless time in the Hole. She got the lid off, set it to one side and brushed back the tissue paper. She stared, not quite sure what she was looking at.
“Lift it out.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, triggering a shudder as her fingers felt for a hold. She held it up, unfolding as it hung. She shuddered again, now very afraid, knowing exactly what she was devouring with her eyes.
Phil chuckled. “Slave doesn’t look very pleased with her new toy.”
He got up and held the garment up, while his reluctant slave pushed her arms into the sleeves. He closed the straps on the back, drawing her arms around her until she was hugging herself. Maude realized at once that she had overlooked one important item. She was being strapped into a straitjacket, but it was neither canvas nor leather, except for a few fittings and the straps. The main part of the jacket was made of matted fibers that made horsehair look like polished glass. It itched on contact and the more pressure the more it itched.
Stella showed up for work, expecting to get her ass chewed and for once she was right. Dale made her come in his office and shut the door before he read the riot act to her. He threatened to fire her on the spot, but she managed to sweet talk her way out of the fix, promising to be there on a regular basis, blaming Donald for keeping her so busy she couldn’t come. Knowing that Donald had hired her to train Dotty, Dale finally asked,
“How is Dotty doing?”
“She’s fine.” She tried to sidle around the question.
“Why hasn’t she been in?”
“Um, I’ve been doing her at home.”
Dale knew this was a lie. “Well, I heard on the grapevine that Donald had sent her to the slave training center.”
“Um, that’s right.”
Dale pondered over whether to confront her lying, but decided not to. He knew John was investigating and he didn’t want to inadvertently make the job more complicated. If Stella was hiding something about Dotty, she might do something unpredictable if he pressed her.
He changed the subject, warned her once more and sent her out to work. He closed his office door again and called John.
“Stella came in and she is lying about Dotty, I’m sure she’s covering something up. She said that Dotty was in the slave training center but it didn’t come out right. She’s hiding something.”
On a hunch he dialed Donald. “Where’s Dotty?”
Do you lie to a best friend?
“She’s in the prison underneath the training center. Stella told them she had tried to escape twice, so they wouldn’t accept her upstairs.”
John blew up. “She’s your wife, your slave, you idiot! Why are you letting Stella call the shots?”
Donald was nearly whining. “She said it would be best for us with Dotty out of the way for awhile. She never said she was going to get her committed permanently. All the paperwork is here.”
“I hope you realize that she’s in mortal danger right now. This sounds like a pretty stupid stunt to me."
“I’m sorry. I thought it was best to let Stella handle it."
John hung up in disgust. He stared at the phone for several minutes, turning things over in his mind. He decided that somehow Stella was turning Donald into a wimp.
A car pulled into the driveway. John had no idea who it was. The driver got out and walked briskly to the front door. He appeared to be young, trim and clean cut. The door bell rang as he reached the door.
The man flashed a badge. “The Colonel is waiting in the car.”
John shut a light off, picked up his keys and locked the door. The driver was waiting, with the car door open for him. He slid in, greeted and shook hands with Colonel Black.
“I didn’t expect a ringside seat.”
“You have a vested interest in this case, with your friend’s wife involved.”
As they drove, John described the phone call from Dale and his conversation with Donald. The Colonel shook his head. “Your friend is in way over his head. We need to talk to Stella before this is all over with.”
“You said you found a judge.”
“Yes, and got into my own can of worms. Seems there’s an undercover investigation of both judges for this district. There are hints that they have some connection to the rehab center. I found a judge with an impeccable record two districts over and he will cooperate all the way."
“Did you get the Feds involved?”
“Yes, and thanks to your information, we got the FBI, the ATF boys, AND the IRS!"
“You don’t mean the Internal Revenue Service?”
“I do, and they are the key players, just like they took down Al Capone - for tax evasion. That outfit hasn’t paid a cent in taxes for better than 20 years. The IRS slapped a lien on the property for $50 million and they missed the deadline by five minutes for the last three million. That opened the doors and the guys with guns are swarming through the place right now. They’ve already arrested the manager and his staff and a whole slew of the guards. The last word I had was that they hadn’t been able to get the elevator running that is the only access to the prison."
By the time they pulled up in front of the rehab center, there was a flotilla of cars, truck and vans already parked there. Men in riot gear carrying assault rifles guarded every exit from the building. A steady stream of guards and other employees were lined up and processed on the spot, most headed for the nearby State Prison.
A patrolman came rapidly up to the car. In his hands were some papers discovered in the main office, implicating the two judges. The Colonel radioed a car at the courthouse. “Pick them up.”
The elevator was much more of a problem. Two of the officers went up and down the line, asking for the guard that controlled the elevator. Nobody stepped up, but a man standing at the rear pointed to a man in front of him. The officer confronted the man, who at first denied having anything to do with it, but he finally broke down and admitted he was the operator. An officer escorted him to the main entrance and rushed him to the elevator.
“Look, you cooperate and we’ll get you off with a light sentence.”
The man nodded, reached in his pocket and pulled out the missing key for the control room.
By this time there were at least 20 agents crowded around. When the elevator door opened they cheered and piled on board. The door closed and the indicator showed it was going down. It reached the bottom and a few seconds later a radio crackled.
“Secured.”
The elevator was already on the way back up.
When it reached the top and the door opened, there were five inmates lying on the floor, still naked and chained.
“Get the medics in here!”
Several of the agents, with basic medical training, checked the five women. Other than being scared out of their wits by the armed men they appeared to be in good shape.
“Find some clothes, or at least blankets. Lots of them, because there are lots of prisoners down there.”
One of the agents had spotted a janitor, calmly working in the midst of the chaos. He hailed the man, asking if there were storage rooms for clothes and blankets. He immediately led them to just what they were looking for.