Slave raised her head, tears streaming from her eyes, but deep in those eyes there was lust, enjoying her pain.
"You just said 'No' to your master. I distinctly remember warning you not to use the word. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, Master."
"So your answer should have been?"
He could see the comprehension dawning on her face.
"Repeat, Master."
"And, what happens when I have to repeat a command?"
"Punishment, Master."
Baiting her he asked, "And the punishment is to be?"
Slave considered her limited vocabulary hurriedly. She added a word, not at all sure he would accept it.
"Severe, Master."
She watched for any sign of acceptance, but Ramos had a poker face that betrayed nothing. This was training, not a meeting of the mutual admiration society. Instantly she had a new worry.
"Stand up." The order was routine, insignificant, with no special meaning. Slave continued to worry as she swiftly obeyed.
Ramos opened a cupboard and drew out a metal belt, the attached chains clattering. He tried it around her waist, but it was slightly large. A second belt fit perfectly, indenting her stomach and settling snugly on the flare of her hips.
"Squat." New territory. A first. Ramos knelt behind her, locking the belt chains to her shackles. Another first. Worry turned into a sinking feeling. She was catching on to where this was leading.
"Today you are a duck. You will walk like a duck, with your knees wide apart, and quack like a duck. You know what rules you've broken, so consider this as punishment for each and every violation, the most recent being the use of a forbidden word."
"You will move, constantly. Before the day is over I expect you to visit every room in the house. If you find a door locked, or need help you will quack, ONCE. I do not like ducks, or their quacking, so it is quite likely that you will earn black marks or instant punishment every time you quack. Is that understood?"
"Quack."
Ramos almost laughed. He had expected a "Yes" but she was a fast learner. True to his word he selected a pencil thin whip with a small snapper. Standing behind her he underhanded it between her ass cheeks, the snapper doing a tight circle and landing full on her sore clit. Slave yelped and jumped, pulling the belt chains taut.
"Now, move!"
Slave waddled toward the stairs. Ramos almost flicked the whip again, as her bouncing ass was such a tempting target.
She was released to make breakfast, allowed to eat from a plate on the floor, but without hands. Ramos locked her in her bedroom with strict orders not to get on the bed. He needed her out of the way because a steady stream of delivery trucks would be arriving, bringing the bondage gear he had ordered. He allowed her to dress for lunch, meeting two delivery men at the door. He had her do a strip for them and put her back in the belt and sent her on her way, with orders not to come downstairs.
She hadn't made the slightest progress in abating her juicing. Ramos had picked up her soaked panties, waved them at arm's length past his nose and then ordered her to wash them out in the bathroom. For a squatting woman this was no small feat. She had finally taken them into the shower, as she could reach the knobs. Ramos came in behind her and detailed her punishment. She was to wash the panties with warm water, then turn off the hot and shower herself with cold. The frigid water made a visible impression on her.
She wore the belt, loose chains dangling, as she prepared supper. A rib eye steak for Ramos, a vegetable burger for her. She poured his beer and a glass of water for herself.
After she filled the dishwasher and cleaned the kitchen, she was chained up again and spent the evening squatting, pouring fresh beer from time to time. By the time Ramos turned off the TV and used her leash to help her balance down the stairs, Slave was worn out. She automatically headed for her cage, only to feel a tug on her leash. Ramos led her instead to the open cell. Before she entered he unlocked the belt and chains, leaving her in her shackles and cuffs. Slave almost had an orgasm, so pleased at the luxury of a bed where she could straighten out. She wanted to thank him, but he didn't give her the opportunity.
In the few seconds before she slept, she wondered, "Why doesn't he fuck me?"
He did, in her dreams. He ravaged every hole, repeatedly. She lost count of the number of positions he put her in, always chained, tied, clamped, helpless. Always helpless, always his pleasure first. She woke, panting like a marathon runner. She could still feel him inside her, taste his semen. For a fraction of a second she considered rubbing her clit. Her brain reminded her of the watching camera, the orders she would be disobeying, at the same time that a cramping twinge reminded her of just how sore her clit was. She was asleep before she had time to reconsider. His rampant cock waited for her mouth to open.
That dream/nightmare marked a turning point in their relationship. She woke, but she thought she was still dreaming, feeling the aftershocks of multiple orgasms. Her brain whirled, struggling to make sense of it all. She had no immediate idea whether she actually had climaxed, or if it was all just a part of the continuing dream. She probed very tentatively with one delicate finger, coming away dripping, setting off new worries. Ramos would kill her if he found her that wet. Or, at least make her life very miserable. She sucked her finger and went back for more, trying to staunch the stream. Stream, Hell! The Johnstown flood was erupting between her thighs. She put both hands to work.
Ramos watched her on the monitor, smiling to himself. He glanced over at the recorder, checking to make sure it was running. The tape would be a classic.
All the evidence pointed to her dream. She could taste herself on her fingers, but there wasn't a trace of Ramos. But, she still doubted. Her labia were swelled almost beyond recognition, the expected condition after a night of fucking. She even had the old familiar "full" feeling in both her pussy and her ass that she would have after being plundered.
She brought both hands to her face, covering it, pulling air across the liquid on her fingers, one last try. She opened her fingers and peered at them. The coating was clear - woman juice - not semen. The camera caught her sigh as she went back to the dikes.
She changed position and lapped up the pool that had formed on the plastic mattress between her legs. She resumed wiping with her fingers. Ramos kept one eye on the monitor while he did some paperwork. He could tell from her body language that she was barely controlling her arousal. Actually, Slave needed only a misplaced swipe of a finger on her clit to explode. She made a point of giving it a wide berth.
When her activity finally slowed, Ramos confronted her. Still a little confused, Slave tried to follow his questions. She had a moment of panic when she tried to remember if she was still supposed to quack in answer.
"Do you have something to tell me, Slave?"
She nodded, carefully framing her answer.
"Wet, Master."
She knew he had probably seen her sopping pussy. Best to get it over with.
"The rule?"
"Dry, Master."
"The punishment?"
"Severe, Master."
"You made no attempt to hide it?"
"No, Master!"
"You did your best to clean it up?"
"Yes, Master."
"Then severe fits the broken rule. You came very close to 'extreme,' so add that to your vocabulary."
Ramos walked over and took a bottle off the shelf. From another wall he gathered what looked suspiciously like a chastity belt. However the strap had a substantial size dildo attached to it.
"Stand up."
After the other time she was a bit leery of his intentions. The command could be the initial order for another humiliating 'duck' day. She stood. He motioned and she spread her legs to the limit of her hobble chain. She watched as he unscrewed the bottle cap, which had a swab attached to it. Quickly he coated the dildo and slid it into place, locking the belt.
He stood still eyeing her, obviously waiting for something to happen. He held up the bottle.
"This is some interesting stuff. It abhors moisture. If it does encounter it, it goes through a chemical change that you will find extremely unpleasant. Meanwhile, I'm overdue for breakfast."
Still puzzled, and still wary, she edged past him and hurried up the stairs as fast as her chains would allow. As she prepared breakfast, her thoughts wandered to her dreams. Suddenly a needle stabbed her, deep in her pussy. She yelped, almost dropping the coffee pot. A second drilled into her G spot, bending her double. She froze, expecting the next needle. Ramos watched her, not commenting.
She remembered the toast, and hurried to prepare it. The initial pains didn't fade away, but no new ones cropped up. She got the connection and studiously kept her mind on her work. She served Ramos, then crawled to her dish, waiting for his scraps. With an effort of will she kept her mind blank, staving off repeated efforts by her dreams to take control - and cause more needles to stick in her flesh. She knew they weren't needles, but the old duck story kept running through her brain - "If it looks like a duck, flies like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's got to be a duck." They felt like needles and she wasn't going to argue.
When Ramos was finished, he called Slave to his side. He removed the newspaper lying in his lap, revealing one of the biggest pricks that she had ever seen. She shivered with excitement, momentarily forgetting the dildo locked inside her. Too late, she felt a gush of lubrication filling the tight space around the shaft. Ramos was watching her, knowing what was about to happen.
Slave's pubic bone caught fire. A magnesium flare roared to life against her cervix. Needles slammed into the lining of her pussy like a flock of birds taking off in all directions. Slave screamed, incoherent, her fingers scrabbling at the locked belt. She fell to the floor with a hard thump. She screamed again, shaking her head, then crawled to his feet and began licking his boots. She raised her tear stained face and begged:
"Master, please!"
"Must I repeat a command?"
"Repeat, Master!"
"Your cunt is what?"
"Wet, Master"
"I told you this is interesting stuff. It hates moisture. If you could control that swamp of yours, it wouldn't have found any wetness. You already had that figured out and you figured if you were careful to avoid arousal of any kind, that you could escape the consequences. That is evading an order, and you just suffered for it."
Slave opened her mouth to argue that she didn't evade any order, but thought better of it before she said a word. Ramos took it all in, poised to punish her if she broke the silence rule.
With his rampant cock out of sight, Slave calmed down and the dildo called a cease fire, the pain fading slowly to a level where she could think two consecutive thoughts without screaming.
Thinking can be good or it can be bad. Knowing better, Slave departed on a really bad thinking spell as she cleaned the kitchen.
"Why doesn't he fuck me?" The key question reared its head again. She gritted her teeth, refusing to visualize that mouth watering cock. It was akin to tiptoeing through a mine field.
"Why? Why? Why? Maybe he's gay."
Her brain answered, "Hey, stupid! Dumb - very dumb question! He's looking at you, naked as a Jaybird, with a hardon that any girl would die for."
"Well, he's sure as Hell not impotent!"
"More dumbness. You're the slave. You're supposed to be making HIM happy, not you."
"So, how the fuck do I find out what he wants? He's got me down to one word sentences and I can't even do that unless he asks me a question. That still doesn't explain why he won't screw me."
"He wouldn't even bother with you if he didn't think there was a piece of your ass in there somewhere for him."
"Well, I don't know what more to do. He's had his fingers in me and on me and he likes to drive me crazy twisting my nipples, but it's not getting a cock into where it will do some good."
"Maybe he's one of those men who likes to be asked. He can force you anytime, but getting you to ask for it is another thing. It's a matter of his ego."
"Ego, Smeego. So I'll ask!"
"Atta Girl! Go get him."
Slave shook herself. Carrying on a conversation with herself in the confines of her brain was exhausting. She was committed to asking Ramos to take her, but she didn't have the foggiest idea of how to go about it. She had never been any good at seduction and to a man her previous trainers would have classed her as 'cold.'
She looked at him, as he sat and read the paper. She could see his lap. The tantalizing shaft had discretely disappeared and his pants were zipped to the top. An idea popped into her head. She seized on it, grasping at straws. She flashed a picture of Ramos punishing her by chaining her in the shower and letting the water run down onto the dildo.
This had better work!
She debated walking to him, but shook her head. That might set him off before she even got started. Instead, she dropped to her knees and crawled to his side. She knelt up and offered him her leash. He looked at her, back to the paper and then at her again, showing irritation on his face at being interrupted. She smiled up at him, putting her heart into it.
"You want to go somewhere?"
"Yes, Master."
"Where?"
"Follow, Master."
"And that's an order. Okay, I'll follow, but this damn well better be good or I have some different stuff to go on a butt plug."
Slave added another thousand watts to her smile and moved forward, tightening the leash. Ramos got up, laid the paper on the table and jerked her leash. She promptly moved ahead, leading him to the stairs and then on up to the second floor. She reached her bedroom door and swung about, kneeling before him. She motioned to the door and then spoke, "Fuck, Master."
Ramos was taken aback. His jaw dropped slightly, but he quickly recovered, almost as if he had never expressed surprise. Without saying a word he stepped past her, opened the door and drew her inside. He closed the door without locking it. Nobody in the house would dare open it. He drew out the key and removed her belt and the dildo. He ordered her onto the bed and made short work of locking the waiting chains to her limbs. She lay in the center of the bed, arms and legs spread to the corners, her collar locked to the chain at the head of the bed.
In less than five minutes his wandering hands and sucking lips had her imprisoned on a high plateau, looking down miles into the depths from which she had come. He probed, and found her dry. True to his word he provided lubrication and followed it into place, covering her writhing body with his. Master to the end he denied her relief until he had spurted at the very bottom of her cavern, then joined her in a glorious climax.
Ramos searched every inch of her body during the long night, finding place after place where his tongue or fingers would jolt her to new heights. He sampled each of her holes in turn, then later returned to cap his previous efforts.
He released her in the morning, but only after she had worshiped his cock for the umpteenth time. She brought coffee and toast to the bed.
Ramos never relaxed his domination for a second. He punished her - mildly - for ordering him around, saving one thing for last.
"Slave, you procrastinated. You should have asked me to fuck you the minute I showed up. Since you didn't you are going to be punished for delay."
Slave looked up into his face, displaying all her love and gratitude for his taking her. He reminded her forcefully that she was allowed to look at his face only with permission. She waited expectantly, but he was too busy getting into position for a new onslaught to comply.
Ramos and Slave lay side by side on the big bed. Both were sated, for the moment caught up with the sex they both had wanted. Slave was worried, afraid of whatever punishment her Master would decree as fitting for her ignoring the obvious. She mentally kicked herself for thinking of herself, rather than of his pleasure.
Looking back it was easy to see exactly where she went wrong. There was no excuse. She had blown it, pure and simple. Actually, the promise of punishment was pushing her buttons. Punishment was usually painful. She got off on pain, so no matter how much it hurt, she would get at least some enjoyment from it. The worry centered on whether she would be able to endure it long enough to enjoy it.
Ramos was having thoughts along the same line, but he was using a widely different viewpoint. He was there to teach. He was fully aware that she would lap up pain like candy. He searched his memory for something suitable, that wasn't pain driven. Just as he drifted into sleep he remembered another time, another girl equally addicted to pain. He mumbled, "That would work."
Slave heard him, but could make no sense of the words, muttered under his breath. She tensed, waiting, but his gentle snore told her he slept. She smiled, pulled each limb taut, one at a time, to remind herself that she was helplessly bound, and in seconds she too slept.
Slave made breakfast and went about her household duties, dreaming of the events of the previous night. Ramos was all business. Fucking his slave seemed to arouse the beast in him. That, and his sense of duty. After all, he was getting paid an obscene sum each month for pleasuring himself. He drove away in his car, returning with his pickup.
Slave was ordered to the dungeon, semi-suspended with a hood locked at her neck. Ramos knew the sounds he made while he unloaded boxes and other equipment and carried them into the basement would drive her up the wall, worrying.
She waited, unmoving, listening to the muffled sounds coming from near and far. Hammering, sawing, pounding. Each new noise raised her curiosity level another notch. He came and got her in time to make lunch. He went up the stairs dirty, his face streaked with soot. He washed his hands, ignoring the rest, and ate quickly, ordering her back to the dungeon after she cleaned the kitchen. The noises began again, a minute or two later. This time there was the clear clang of a hammer on steel. He finished just before supper. While she cooked his steak he washed all the dirt off in the shower. They ate, and Ramos watched the news on TV while she cleared the kitchen.
She crawled to him, kneeling at his feet. He reached between the cushions and drew out a blindfold. She leaned forward to allow him to fix it over her head. She felt him pick up her dangling leash, his hand sliding to hold it close to her collar.
As he guided her carefully down the stairs, her nose was assailed with an acrid smell, half familiar, but a puzzle. The blindfold came away and she saw the source, the white hot coals in a small forge. The shallow cast iron pan seemed fragile compared to the massive hood above it which sucked the fumes into the chimney.
Next to the forge stood a massive wood block. On its flat top a heavy anvil was bolted down. A rack held tools - tongs, pincers, hammers. In a single day Ramos had made a blacksmith's shop out of one corner of the cellar. There even was an air intake that drew outside air in.
Slave panicked when she saw the forge. Hot metal is used for branding, burning something into the flesh. Burns that are more than just painful. Burns leave permanent scars. She balked, dragging on the leash, trying to back up the stairs. Ramos exerted his control instantly and she came flying down the last three steps into his arms. He grasped her shoulders and ordered her to look at him. He saw the raw fear in her eyes and realized that his 'surprise' had backfired. Or had it? He had gotten through her defenses, which had been his plan all along.
He tied her leash to a convenient hook, without comment, keeping her guessing as long as possible. Slave was in "I'll do anything!" mode, but helpless to express it. All she could do was stand and watch the preparations. She closed her eyes in fear, but that made it worse. She forced herself to watch as Ramos fiddled with the fire, drawing the hot coals closer together, working the air vent that fanned the flames, moving metal pieces about. Finally he took a pair of tongs and gripped a white-hot piece that snapped and shot sparks as it came out of its bed in the coals.
Slave shrank away, brought up short by her tether. She had never been near a forge and her fear of the unknown was like a living thing in her throat, choking her. She leaned her head back, in a vain attempt to protect her face, unconsciously thrusting her body forward - a tempting target.
But, Ramos had no intention of branding her. The metal was a rivet. He laid it back in the forge, the draft carrying sparks up into the hood. To her the action was a deliberate delay, intended to make her fear even worse. Ramos read all this in her body language, satisfied that he had her reacting in this way.
He walked over to his workbench and picked up a piece of steel. He came back, taking his time, letting her wonder and feeding her fear. He held it up where she could see it. To her surprise it was a clone of the fetters she was wearing, except that it was made of iron at least three times as thick as her bonds. He held the iron in both hands opening it on its hinge, closing it with a clang of doom, making sure she saw the iron loop where a chain would be attached. She jerked at the sound, wincing in anticipation.
"Your punishment will be to wear this iron on your leg. The part in the forge is the rivet that will make this a permanent attachment on your body. Once hammered shut there will be no going back."
Slave gasped. The full import of his words hit her like a blow from his sledge hammer.
"It will serve as a constant reminder of your disobedience. It is heavy, awkward, and most of all, ugly on your body. You will weep bitter tears in the days and months ahead at the shame of having to wear it.
"I have three others - a matching set - for your other leg and your wrists. There are other attachments, that you will discover as you earn them, one by one. I know you will eventually be riveted into each one. You may surprise me by becoming a near-perfect slave, but you will have to prove it, not once, but again and again, every day, every hour, every minute, every second."
As might be expected, Slave burst into tears. She knelt before him, her tied leash pulling her collar up under her ear, almost choking her.
"Please, Master."
"I said, 'No begging.'"
"Rivet the iron!"
Ramos looked at her in surprise. He stooped to look in her face. She couldn't avoid looking in his eyes. There was already a tinge of shame there, but there also was the love of a slave for her Master. Slave knew she could not win favor by this action, but it was the only way she could express herself.
Ramos untied the leash and drew her to the anvil. At his bidding she positioned her leg. He closed the iron, clamping it together. With his tongs he fished the rivet from the fire and shoved it up through the hole. Slave moved her leg so that the head of the rivet was on the anvil. With a massive blow he peened the shaft of the rivet, spreading it out onto the iron. Several additional blows were needed to fully shape and tighten the rivet, permanently locking the two halves into a solid mass.
Slave sobbed through the entire operation, shivering at each blow of the hammer. She watched her freedom being taken from her stroke by stroke, certain she would go into her coffin still wearing it. She willed herself to accept it, as a symbol of her slavery to him.
Ramos spun her around and dropped her foot into an open water tank. The rivet hissed and steamed as it went below the surface. The water bubbled and roiled for a moment, then was silent. Ramos nodded and she raised her leg and set her foot on the ground. The ugly iron stood out like a gigantic wart on her leg.
"Walk."
Obediently Slave made a circle around the dungeon. Her limp was obvious.
"You have one week to lose the limp. After that you will be punished for each step. Try again."
Slave made another circle. She got the hang of walking with a dead weight on one leg, but there was still a slight limp. It would take her three days to eliminate it, and another three to relearn walking with a hobble chain.
That night she lay on the mattress in her cell, ready for sleep, but first she had to touch. She pulled her legs up until she could reach the iron. She ran her fingers over the hard curves, the blunt ends, touching every part. Her fingers lingered on the rivet, her mind reading the contact, confirming the permanence of the hammered metal. It had never penetrated this deeply into her psyche before. She was a slave. A collared, riveted, locked slave. She bore down, as if expelling a baby, as the orgasmic flames roared into life, fighting her wavering control.
Still unsure where the dividing line between minor and major offenses was, Slave concentrated on doing her best to please her Master. She approached her tasks with a new clarity, more sure of herself when she satisfied him. Ramos noted the change but as always gave no sign of approval. Even though Slave felt at times like she was attacking a brick wall with a pea shooter, she continued to try.
Ramos had a seemingly never ending problem. Slave kept breaking rules, despite her honest efforts to conform. He had to punish her and he had literally dozens of ways of doing it, but he wanted his punishments to have a lasting effect. Those that involved pain were nearly useless, as Slave fed on the pain, getting off on anything that hurt. Whipping her, especially with some of the more lethal whips did have an effect, but he winced at the damage it did to her fair skin. It was almost as if she were wearing a suit of armor that he couldn't get through without wrecking her in the process.
The impasse reminded him again of another girl he had trained. He drove his pickup to Home Depot and picked up the materials he needed. Fortunately the cellar was huge, with ample room for his new project. Before, he had worked outside.
First he installed a swivel on one end of a long post. Then he threaded a 10-foot length of pipe into the swivel. At the other end of the pipe he attached another swivel, with a chain hanging down from it. He cut a hole in the concrete floor, dug down several feet and then set the base of the pole in the hole. Mixing a sack of cement mix, he poured it into the hole, leveled up the pole and let it set for several days.
Slave had been a spectator for the building process. Ramos never said a word to her about it and it was some time before she recognized what it was. She finally remembered seeing a similar rig used to exercise horses at a dude ranch. Putting two and two together, she realized that she too would soon be 'exercising.'
That was exactly why Ramos had made her watch. If he read her right, she would not like it, even before he strung her up on it, and she would grow to hate it after only one or two sessions. To ensure this reaction he built a low wall around the perimeter and filled it in with six inches of sand. Slave got that immediately. Walking circles on a hard floor was bad. Walking in ankle-deep sand was really bad. Ramos didn't let her see everything, including a couple that would make it really, really bad.
Ramos needed no excuse to use it. Slave, after achieving a nearly dry pussy had lost the shaky control and was back to what amounted to near normal for her. Watching the construction she had worked up a case of nerves and she was shivering like the proverbial leaf when he led her to the basement. He did a reality check on her pussy and his fingers came away slick. He shook his head, showing her the test results, then made her clean his fingers with her tongue and lips.
He pointed to the chair and she sat, nervous, barely on the edge of the seat. He brought a pair of ballet boots, grotesque parodies of normal footwear. She watched as he placed them on her feet, forcing them to arch severely before her toes slid all the way down. As he tightened and re-tightened the laces her foot was forced deeper and deeper into the pointed toe. When he was finished to his satisfaction, Slave found she could not bend her ankles the slightest bit. But, she was expected to walk in them.
He reached down, grasped her tits and pulled her to her feet. He held her with one hand as she got used to standing. With the other hand he mauled her breasts, twirling and twisting her nipples. She didn't dare react to his play, her sense of balance dangerously awry. The impossibly high heels felt like they were stabbing into her feet. She teetered from one foot to the other, very slowly getting her equilibrium under control.
Next, the impossible. Walking. She thrust one foot forward a couple of inches. The heel clicked on the floor. She moved her weight onto it. She wobbled, feeling her balance evaporate. Ramos gripped her arm, steadying her.
She stood statue still, afraid to move. She shrieked as a red hot wire slashed across her ass cheeks. Incentive. Not enough. Strike two. Another shriek. More incentive. She moved. Each step was longer, until she reached the limit of her hobble chain. It nearly tripped her, but her inborn female penchant for too-high heels, too-tight clothing helped her catch herself and resume walking.
She walked to the end of the cellar and back. Because the heels were longer than the toes, Slave found the only way to balance was to walk with her knees bent, adding immensely to the strain.
Ramos stood, legs spread, holding his whip in both hands, watching her, almost with a sense of pride that she was adapting so well. He gripped her arm and guided her into the ring. A leather harness hung from the end of the pole. Ramos wrapped it around her, tight. He buckled the straps but left them unlocked. She would be under his watchful eye, so she would have no chance to free herself.
With the first step Slave more fully understood the purpose of the sand. The heels of her boots sank into it, leaving only her toes with any purchase. As soon as she put weight on it, the sand collapsed under the boot toe, allowing it to sink as well, but not as fast and not as deep. As might be imagined this put a severe strain on her legs.
With the harness buckled, she had no choice but to start walking. Ramos kept his incentive flicking over her body, touching her from her heels to her neck with stinging slaps that smarted and burned. She was still fresh for the first couple of rounds, but then fatigue set in and her pace slowed perceptibly. The flicks became solid slashes, increasing at the same rate as her walking slowed.
He made her do ten rounds before he let her stop. For the final round his whip was a constant blur, forcing her to do the impossible. He walked in front of her and stopped her. She was supporting part of her weight with the harness as she panted and wheezed, trying to catch her breath. Ramos looked her over and shook his head.
"Looks like you're badly out of condition. I think you need some time on this every day, regardless of whether you ever get your pussy to stop leaking."
As he spoke he reached forward and stuck his fingers into her. They met resistance and came away damp, but not with any serious amount of fluid. He didn't express his surprise, nevertheless he was pleased. Her usual reaction to punishment was a flood. He showed her his fingers without comment, then watched as she cleaned them.
He had her raise her leg so that he could examine the big shackle. Slave bounced on her other heel, fighting to keep her balance. He found everything normal. There were no marks or abrasion so he felt it would be safe to leave it on her indefinitely. Nothing would demonstrate her slavery better than the constant tug of the weight of the shackle. This was aptly demonstrated when he released her foot. It swung in an arc behind her, like the pendulum of a clock before she stopped it and rested it on the floor.
Ramos was ready to cut her some slack on her juicing problem, especially in situations where she had been aroused, either by his foreplay, or when she was being punished, but even there he eventually wanted her to have complete control of herself.
Only a couple of days later Ramos faced a decision. He had tested her as she knelt at his side eating from her bowl on the floor. The fact that she was being deliberately humiliated at mealtime was a factor, but Ramos felt that humiliation, in and of itself was not enough grounds to give her a pass. She was wet. Very wet. Ramos suspected that, given a chance, she would beg to be fucked. He was being careful not to let her control from the bottom. She had asked, and once was enough. Now he would take her whenever he wished. If she had hot pants in the meantime, that was tough. Slaves rarely get what they want.
Ramos had been as good as his word. Each morning she exercised in the ring. Ramos could see the difference that two additional sessions had wrought. She perfected her balance in the torture shoes and her leg muscles were responding to the strain.
"Punishment time," he announced.
She was rigged up as usual and then Ramos sprang his surprise. He brought out two small anchors. They were cast iron and weighed about five pounds each. He had found them at a yard sale years before and had hung onto them without ever finding a use - other than decorations - for them, until now. As was customary, he showed them to Slave before chaining them to her leg shackles, with about a foot of chain.
Slave had already learned to cordially hate both the ballet boots and the exercise pole. To her this was heaping injury onto insult. Dragging dead weight behind her could mean only one thing. She would run out of poop sooner and would feel her Master's whip sooner - and harder. She would have protested, or even run away, but she was helplessly strapped in the harness, so she had no choice. She opened her mouth and shut it just as promptly when she saw the warning look on his face. She gritted her teeth. She had to endure, to please her Master. Her sensitivities, her hide would suffer, but he would enjoy her travails.