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|© Copyright 2012 - AmyAmy and all that stuff. This work may not be reproduced for profit or without this attribution.|
|Storycodes: F+/f+; D/s; bond; chain; armbinder; latex; gag; bdsm; crop; punish; electro; torment; toys; insert; oral; mast; climax; cons/reluct; XX||
|Betrayal Chapter 5: Problem Of Perception AmyAmy F+/f+; D/s; bond; chain; armbinder; latex; gag; bdsm; crop; punish; electro; torment; toys; insert; oral; mast; climax; cons/reluct; XX|
|continued from chapter four
Chapter Twenty – Problem Of Perception
Even though it was so quiet I could barely say for sure that I heard it, somehow the sound of Sarah’s key in the front door was enough to wake me. She stormed into the living area, still wearing the long coat she used to cover up her rubber outfit.
“Wake up you lazy sluts,” she yelled.
I struggled up onto my knees. Monica’s head swivelled around as if questing for the source of the sound. Keiko and Noriko jumped to attention. Sarah was in a hurry. Within a few minutes she had Monica’s mask off and had bundled the three girls out of the door. She returned to give me her undivided attention.
“That man has put me in a bad mood. I may as well get all my unpleasant chores over with so I’ll give you your punishment for the day now. Get up and hurry to your naughty spot. Quick now slut!”
I didn’t really know what she meant, but I guessed she was talking about the middle of the bathroom. It’s hard getting up in a hurry without your arms to help you. Nevertheless, I was soon back in the bathroom, standing over the drain in the middle. Sarah came in a minute or two later and fastened my arms to the ceiling chain and hauled them up. Then she put in the spreader bar. She didn’t bother with a gag. She brought me water to drink until I couldn’t swallow any more and my shoulders were aching by the time she was done.
Once again I was bent over, my hands pointing back and up behind me, unable to close my legs. Though I was still wearing the heavy rubber suit, my breasts and crotch were completely exposed and very tender. The pain in my shoulders was frightening. Sarah had already explained that it was almost certain they would eventually be ruined. For some reason thinking that it couldn’t be avoided made me less afraid of it happening. My arms weren’t much use to me most of the time anyway.
“Now, you had ten strokes before we started the contest. Then you completely failed to put in any effort with Monica in the warm up. How many strokes do you think I should give you for that slut?”
“I’m sorry Mistress. I can’t tell such things. Only Mistress knows.”
“I’m asking you slut. You better come up with an answer.”
It was plain that if I guessed too low she would punish me for trying to save myself and if I guessed too high, I would get more strokes than I need have done. I had no idea how to answer. I guess I deserved it either way: I really hadn’t tried very hard in that part of the contest.
“Sorry Mistress. It should be at least ten, but fifteen would teach me a better lesson.”
“Fifteen? That sounds low but I’ll be generous and let you keep it. So we’re up to twenty five overall. Then, you ruined the contest for me and caused me to suffer humiliation in the sight of a man. How many strokes do you think that is worth? What should you pay for your lazy uselessness?”
“Sorry Mistress. I could not take less than twenty five for causing you such distress.”
“That really is low for such a transgression but I’ll accept it and make up the rest some other way. I hope you appreciate how soft I am on you. So, that’s fifty strokes in total, isn’t it slut?”
“Yes Mistress,” I answered. Despite my best intentions my voice cracked with fear. Ten strokes had been enough to shatter me physically before. How could I possibly endure fifty?
“We both know that you can’t take fifty strokes of the whip, and as for the tawse, it would probably break your little ribs if I hit you hard on the back or the chest. So, because I am a compassionate person I will only use the crop. How does that sound slut?”
“Mistress is incredibly kind and generous. Thank you Mistress. Thank you. Thank you.” I babbled. I really meant it. I was so glad that she was only going to whip me horribly. I didn’t think the crop would cripple me permanently. I had thought she would really do it with the whip, there was no special reason for her to hold back. “Please Mistress, could I lick your fingers in thanks? I’m just so happy that you are my Mistress. Please, don’t get bored of me. Don’t throw me away. I will try harder in future. I will. I promise you Mistress.”
“Alright slut, as you asked nicely.”
Sarah slipped one finger, then two into my mouth, probing inside me. I felt a little violated. Her fingers tasted salty and bitter with traces of dirt and oil that had come from the chain when she hauled my arms up. I licked her like a dog. Though I knew she would like it and I wanted to improve her mood I just wanted to thank her. I knew that if she felt powerful she might not beat me so hard. I really wanted to avoid as much pain as I could, and besides, making her feel better was my entire purpose for living wasn’t it?
“You are such a naughty slut I’m afraid. You don’t try hard enough to serve me. You don’t do everything you could to make me happy. You still have a lot to learn, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes Mistress, I do have a lot to learn, but I am so eager to try.”
“I bet you are,” she said.
Then she struck me casually on the breast with the crop. I let out a sudden surprised shriek.
“That’s one. You will count them for me. If you lose count we must begin again from the start.”
“Thank you Mistress, that’s one,” I said, my voice shaking.
Smack, smack, smack, three more blows fell in quick succession, all on my breasts. She really hadn’t been joking about turning them into purple grapefruit. Still, I had prepared myself for that too: if she liked the look of the result I would be happy too.
“Thank you Mistress, that’s four,” I said between gasps.
She put twenty strokes on my breasts. By the time she was done they were beaded all over with little dots of blood that formed into the lines left by her strikes. Though they were already much larger, they hadn’t really swollen up yet, I could feel that would happen later. None of the blows were particularly hard. If it had just been one or two, applied somewhere not too sensitive, it would be the sort of thing you would forget about completely in an hour or two were it not for the visible marks that remained.
As I later came to understand, this crop was not made or intended for a horse, it was lighter and thinner – more like a light cane than a jockey’s crop – made from five pieces of round plastic dressmaker’s boning, each about the diameter of a piece of spaghetti, spiral wrapped with black tape that I had earlier mistaken for leather. At the end there was a broad flat tip, about half an inch wide and two inches long, made from several layers of the black tape. Sarah had made it herself and its singular purpose was to cause me pain.
With the lightweight slave crop she had far more control than she had with the whip. It could strike extremely fast and could be used to produce a surface burn that lit up my nerves in a flash but quickly faded, and by striking with a different part of the crop, harder deeper bruises could be inflicted at Mistress Sarah’s discretion. She could position the blow exactly where she wanted on my body and with precisely the force and speed to suit her frightening purpose.
Before being beaten with the whip for the first time I had harboured the idea that the pain would be like the smacks I had suffered as a child: that primarily they would sting and the damage would be to the surface of the skin. After my first whipping I had some notion that this was rarely the case, it was the exception rather than the rule that the pain was felt on the surface.
The blows from the leather flogger had gone deep, creating bruises that took their time to show and delivering a pain that took its time to build. My first whipping had hurt as much, or perhaps more the morning after than when it happened. The crop was a more subtle instrument in that she could choose to deliver a sharp pain immediately, or a deeper one that would develop gradually.
On this occasion, Sarah took her time, allowing the pain a little more opportunity to develop as it was being applied. Some of the blows to my breasts, even though dealt by a thin wand, no more than thirty centimetres long, felt like kicks. They hurt so deep and went so directly to my core that I was actually surprised to see the welts slowly starting to form. Each stroke took its time to reveal its path in red and white markings across my flesh. Fortunately, most of the blows were of the other kind: the kind that turned my nerves to fire. They came quick enough that I seemed to be caught in the moment of maximum burn for the duration of the assault.
After that, Monica went to work on my bottom, the back of my legs and the most dreaded spot of all, my pussy. Though the latter spot received only six of the remaining thirty strokes, they were by far the worst. I also learned that wearing a rubber suit helps diffuse quick stinging blows but it does almost nothing to reduce the pain of a hard beating with weight in the stroke. The deep bruising easily penetrated the rubber, feeling as if it reached right to my bones so that they themselves were being beaten and on fire.
As Sarah lowered my arms and let me drop to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. I knew that the true punishment was only just beginning: I would suffer and shudder under the after effects of her bruising blows for hours to come. As it turned out, the heavier blows produced a swelling in my breasts that did not subside for weeks, though they were only slightly tender by the end.
As she had done before, she chained my ankle to the floor, but made no effort to remove the spreader bar or the arm-binder. Then she shut off the light, closed the door and left me alone. I was abandoned in complete darkness. Weird shooting pains leaped through different parts of my body and it felt as if my entire skin was shaking and tingling.
The swelling had really begun in earnest at this point and it felt as if I had two burning balloons between my legs, and another two on my chest. The terrible thing about the pain in my breasts and crotch was that the agony was relentlessly arousing. Those parts couldn’t tell that the blood rushing through them had been delivered for all the wrong reasons and they loved it regardless; the pain was like hungry teasing mouths that would never grow tired of licking and sucking on me.
I tried to look on the bright side: there were millions of people who had never felt anything like this, and never would; people who would forever be ignorant of both the pleasure and the pain of receiving a beating intended both to arouse and punish … or to punish by arousal. If my arms had been free I might have masturbated my way through the entire night, despite the terrible state of my genitals. It was at this point that the tears finally came and didn’t stop until I finally lapsed into a feverish sleep.
My dreams or nightmares were incoherent broken things filled with sexual elements and always seeming to take place in rooms lit by dim, flickering lights. I woke several times remembering odd fragments: my mistress standing over me as I stared straight up at her naked crotch; Lucas gripping me by the hair; my breasts leaking some awful dark fluid; looking down at my crotch to see a gaping giant sex that looked as if it would be able to swallow a pumpkin, my tongue on Mistress Sarah’s anus as I felt a smile forming on my face. There were other memories, worse things, I will not recount them here because they can only serve to sicken and disgust. What is the point of wallowing in the darkest parts of my mind?
I didn’t really have any idea how long I had been left alone when Mistress Sarah turned on the bathroom light. I had my only clue in days to the time back in the living room when the blindfold was removed and I’d seen it was late afternoon. After an age in the darkness I had lost all sense of time again.
“Good morning slut,” my mistress said, but I didn’t know if it was really morning. “How are you feeling?”
“The pain is still strong Mistress. I want to worship you and make you cum. I wish I could cum. I’m so sorry I disappointed you.”
“Yes, and you are lucky I decided to only use the crop, I’m wondering if I really should have been so lenient now that I’ve had time to think about it. I don’t think you’ve really learned your lesson. You enjoy pain too much. It was hardly a punishment at all. But I’m really happy with how your breasts have turned out, so it wasn’t completely wasted. Even though the constriction from the suit is very slight it looks like those flat little nothings of yours have turned into overripe fruit ready to burst.”
I looked down. Sadly, it was true. They weren’t shaped round like fruit though. The engorged mess of purple streaks and tiny black scabs looked more like partially deflated water balloons that had been tied-off half way through and pushed through some holes. The skin was stretched tight and thin, showing the veins beneath despite the colouring. She removed the arm-binder, then the spreader bar. She also adjusted the chain so I had more range of movement within the room.
“I won’t remove the corset yet. It’s not really the right kind, but you need to get used to wearing one full-time as quickly as possible and this will do for now. I’ve decided to get you some new clothes. There’s a man that can make them for me and I think if I pay him a bonus he can get it done in a day or two. How does that sound slut?”
“Mistress is very thoughtful. This slut cannot wait to see what presents Mistress brings, and imagines fondly what cruel things they will do to her.”
“They will be clothes intended to punish you. In that vein, I made this for you last night,” Sarah said holding up a kind of harness made of rubber straps.
To ensure I could see what it was, she buckled it onto me. There was a belt that sat tight around my waist, a broad strap circled near the top of each thigh. Six straps joined the thigh rings to the belt, a bit like suspenders. The core of the thing was a crotch belt with a short sheath dangling from it and something else, a black rubber thing shaped a bit like a mushroom. The sheath also had straps to attach it to the thigh rings, pulling it down somewhat.
She forced the rubber plug into my anus with a generous smearing of lube. It did not go in easily and there was a burning pain in my bum. When she put the mains-powered vibrator/massager into the sheath I understood what it was all for. It was intended to hold the vibrator in position on my pussy and clit. By moving my thighs I would be able to control the focus of the vibrator to a limited extent.
“When I said three weeks in here, in the dark, naked, you didn’t think I meant that you would be lacking entertainment did you? Feel free to turn it off or remove it once your arms come back to life. You’ll have plenty of time without that option later.”
“Oh, Mistress,” I sighed, trying to wriggle towards her feet so I could lick then, despite the shooting pains in my body.
She shoved my head away roughly with her foot.
“That’s enough slut. Don’t touch me with your filthy mouth. There will be three weeks of punishment, and perhaps a little training, but the goal will most definitely be to punish and to put something in your mind that you will never forget or want to repeat. I can’t use simple pain because that would be too much of a reward for you. Your breakfast is in the bowls on the floor. Do not leave a trace of it or you will be whipped with one of Lucas’ welding rods. I will be in to check on you later.”
Then she left without looking back, locking the door behind her. At least the light was still on so I could find the food. The bowls she had mentioned were large stainless steel dog bowls. One contained a horrid tasting mush of protein powder, milk and oat bran, the other contained cream so thick it was solid. I gobbled up both, ravenously at first and struggling towards the end. The bowls were of a size that one alone would have been a normal meal. I carefully licked them clean, desperate to ensure that no trace of food remained.
I used the vibrator to make myself cum three times before I grew tired of it and turned it off, removing the harness and everything. It took me a while to build up the courage to pull out the plug in my bum, though in the end it didn’t hurt as much coming out as going in.
I had enough chain to crawl over to look down into the toilet bowl but not to get close enough to actually use it. I desperately needed to pee, but it was obvious that the toilet was still out of reach for practical purposes.
I crouched over the drain hole in the floor and did it that way. Most of it went down the hole but I could still smell it. It was dark strong smelling stuff. Apparently, I was quite dehydrated. I was extremely thirsty, so that wasn’t really a surprise. Perhaps Mistress Sarah planned to allow me to drink later.
Time passed slowly. There was nothing to do. I wasn’t tightly restrained and I could move about on my chain, even stand up and walk in circles if I wanted. It hurt to do so of course, my bum hurt terribly and any movement made my breasts ache and tingle with pain. I tried to do it anyway because I had no idea how long it might be before I had such freedom again.
After a while I masturbated some more, this time without the vibrator. There really was nothing else to do. The room seemed designed with the intention of being boring. I counted the tiles, first one way then another. Who had laid these tiles? Had it been Lucas? I found it hard to imagine him getting a workman to insert all the recessed d-rings on the floor; they seemed like the sort of thing that would make an ordinary person suspicious that something rotten was being planned.
I turned the vibrator back on and masturbated with it for as long as I could, extending the pleasure by not letting myself cum. When I did finally slip over the edge I backed off and let myself calm a little, only to begin again. I used it on my breasts too. Using this technique I was able to get six mini orgasms and at the end one very big one. Then I started over again without the vibrator.
I wanted to stop playing with myself but I couldn’t. It hurt when I would start again after a come down, but I was over the pain. I was learning a way to cum over and over, and even if it hurt to do it, it still felt good. There was nothing else to do anyway. Had my Mistress shown this to me? Was this her gift to me? I really didn’t deserve somebody like her.
Chapter Twenty-One – Daily Grind
I must have fallen asleep because the sound of the key in the lock woke me. Mistress Sarah strode in and without saying a word removed the corset and then helped me out of the suit. The stink of stale sweat was tremendous, sour like a pair of running shoes on a hot day. Mistress turned the hose on me to wash it – and the lingering scent of urine – away and down the drain. She adjusted my chain so that I could sit on the toilet and handed me a toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Clean your teeth. I don’t care if they go bad but your breath smells rotten already.”
I looked around for a source of water. There was none so I did without.
“Use the toilet you stupid slut,” said my mistress.
“Thank you Mistress,” I whispered, and crawled over to scoop up water from the toilet bowl to rinse out my mouth.
A funny thing that I heard years later was that the average toilet has fewer germs than the average kitchen sink. I don’t know if that’s really true, but it helps me when I think about what I did back then. At the time it was utterly demoralizing, to be reduced to the level of a dog lapping water out of toilets. The toilet was quite clean, I had looked before. Nobody used it apart from me and I only had access to it on the occasions that my mistress offered me a chance to shit. The water had a slight chalky taste, but the toothpaste served to mask it.
Getting my breasts through the holes in the suit had hurt a lot, but once they weren’t constrained any longer they felt a little better. They certainly looked better and other than the marks and discoloration the most noticeable thing was how they looked as if they skin was stretched tight by the swelling. I wasn’t sure how I would heal up but I was quietly hopeful. Mistress Sarah threw a small bundle of soft rubber at me.
“Here is your new top slut,” she said in a hostile tone. “Put it on. Show me. Would you believe he had one made already? No. Don’t answer that. Let’s see how it looks on you.”
“Thank you Mistress.”
I spread the top out and looked at it. It was black rubber, much thinner than the suit from before but with some reinforcing around the breasts. It slipped easily over my head and I pulled it down. It fit snugly over my ribs and cut in a little at my waist though it didn’t hurt at all. Though it was a tight fit the rubber stretched easily and there was hardly any sensation of restraint. There were cut outs for the breasts, reinforced around the edges. The holes weren’t as small as the other suit. My sore breasts simply poked out through them. I was relieved. I had expected something much worse.
“That looks like a good fit,” Mistress Sarah said, and then walked out.
She returned a minute later carrying a black wooden case, a bit like the kind of thing that bands use to move their equipment. She opened it up on the floor. Inside were several clear plastic domes with rubber edges, at least half a dozen of varying sizes, the larger ones more like bullets. There was also some kind of machine with a power cord, and some rubber tubing. The tubing turned out to be very stiff and had some sort of metal spring inside it.
“Here we go,” Mistress Sarah said, pressing one of the smaller domes onto my chest over my breast. It made some sort of seal with the top I was wearing and stayed fixed in place. Then she fitted the other one. While I could no longer touch my breasts, I guessed this was not the sole purpose of the device.
Mistress Sarah took out the machine, which had some lights and a dial on it. She connected a Y shaped piece of tubing to the tops of the two domes, then fitted the longer hose to the tail of the Y. The main hose then connected to the machine. When she had it plugged in, she turned it on and it started to make a low thrumming noise a bit like a fish tank pump.
I expected something awful or painful to happen, but it didn’t – at least not right away – after a time the domes started to press down hard on my chest.
Mistress Sarah stood silently, watching the machine and my expression. After a couple of minutes I felt that my breasts were starting to be pulled, as if someone was tugging them out through the holes in the top. It was by no means a pleasant sensation, but if my breasts had been less sore I don’t think it would have been so bad.
Mistress Sarah kept on watching silently and the machine kept chugging away. After a few minutes it had sucked my breasts completely into the plastic domes, making them stretch to fill them. Once the domes were completely full the pain stabilized at a level I could easily bear, although it would be impossible to ignore.
“This toy is supposed to be for breast enlargement. I think in your case it will do simply to keep you aware of those filthy tits of yours. I don’t know if this thing really works, but if it does make them bigger I doubt anyone will be upset. I think if I hook this up to a random timer it will put you on edge just enough. What do you think slut?”
“Yes Mistress. The device is cruel. I won’t be able to touch my nipples to stimulate them, but it will make me feel just enough to be frustrated.”
“That’s the idea. I’m so happy you think it will work. I didn’t have time to try it out on myself, but I might get around to that later.”
“Thank you Mistress,” I sighed.
“If you want a drink you better get it now,” she said. She glanced towards the toilet. “When I come back I’m going to restrain you for the night.”
So, I found myself hastily scooping water from the toilet to drink as the clear plastic domes clunked noisily against the bowl. How much lower would I sink? I’d thought I was at rock bottom before but I’d been typically naïve about it, there was probably a long way left to sink.
When she came back she brought a new corset. It was an under-bust type, made of heavy black rubber that had just a little stretch in it. It had boning of some kind, which I guessed to be metal. It didn’t reach up to the height of the domes but it did cover the top of my hips snugly.
My mistress used cuffs and chains to stretch me out on the floor. With restraint points all over the room she could pin me out like a butterfly on display in no time at all. I had some movement, but not much. It was much better than the arm-binder, but it was still unyielding bondage. I had no use of my arms or hands. I couldn’t touch myself. I couldn’t stand or roll over. I couldn’t move about the room. If I needed to pee I would end up lying in it.
She added her special harness, with the butt-plug, and the vibrator, plugging it into her devil timer. She spent a while fiddling with the timer, which was like a wheel with lots of little plastic switches that she could move in or out to determine whether it was on or off at a particular time. It was only accurate in steps of fifteen minutes, but I already knew that was enough. It would turn the vibrator and the suction on and off all night. I wouldn’t get much sleep, or depending on how she had set it, none at all.
I found that when the suction was off, air slowly leaked back into the domes, allowing my tortured breasts to relax. Had Mistress Sarah devised this herself? Had Lucas come up with it? Who sat around thinking of these things? Whoever it was they really had some strange ideas.
By the time Mistress Sarah turned the lights on in the ‘morning’ I didn’t know if I was sane any longer. I hadn’t slept at all and I was completely exhausted. The pain from the beating had barely subsided, except in my breasts which hurt more than ever. She chained me just as she had the day before, leaving me only the vibrator to play with. The meal was also the same as before. The day went on just like the last one, except I spent more time sleeping.
The next night was harder. I was really looking forward to being released from the timer so I could finally get some rest. It seemed as if my Mistress would never come. The night of the machines went on and on. It started to feel like forever. I was sure it was longer than normal. I began to worry that perhaps she would never come – that she had abandoned me – and I would eventually die there.
When the light clicked on I was ecstatic to see her. I begged to lick her hand but she wouldn’t allow it. This time she watched while I ate my meal and then she chained me right back up again, set the machines going and turned off the lights. The next few cycles were the same. Five more passed, all identical except for my ability to distinguish wakefulness from dreams and the pain in my breasts that was never allowed to fade away.
I began to hate the very idea that I had breasts. They were revolting fibrous lumps of fat and tender glands that were little more than a means to hurt me. How unlucky I was to have such things. Surely my mistress did not like them; she had said as much. They were too small and too ugly. Her breasts were beautiful. I was starting to think that this was as bad as it could get, but of course my Mistress had a way of reminding me that such thoughts were unlucky. I knew I should be thinking how wonderful it was, because it was bound to get worse.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Stockholm Domestic
The next morning – if morning it was – my wonderful mistress came in and sat down next to me. I hadn’t really had more than half an hour of sleep at a stretch for days. My head ached terribly and my whole body felt sick and feverish. The bright light hurt my eyes but it was nice to have her near me, to have anyone near me. I was desperate to hear anything besides the buzz of the vibrator and the chugging of the vacuum pump. She had switched them off at the wall and the unusual silence was eerie and unsettling.
“You are very smelly slut. Why are you so dirty? This whole room reeks of your cunt.”
“Sorry Mistress. I don’t know Mistress. Please tell me.”
“You are stupid too, aren’t you?”
“Sorry Mistress. I just need to sleep. I can’t help it.”
“No, of course you can’t. You are what you are, a stinking slut. It’s not so bad though because you are my stinking slut. I love you, despite your numerous flaws and your rapacious crack that reeks of rotting fish.”
“I love you too Mistress. I adore every part of you. You are a shining goddess.”
“Silence slut. I didn’t ask you that.”
Naturally, I didn’t answer her back after that.
“It’s only been a week but I’m bored of this punishment regime now. I think I shall change it. You aren’t off the hook, but there are more useful things you could be doing than lazing about in here enjoying yourself with endless orgasms.”
She removed the domes which released a particularly nasty stale underarm smell. The most noticeable thing about my breasts was the dark veining. The weals had faded away, though the swelling was clearly not all gone, and they were about twice the size they ought to be, which was still not very big. My mistress grabbed them with her hands, twisting the nipples, fondling and kneading the flesh. I moaned, hungry for more of her touch, even though she hurt me. When your mistress grabs you, you do not complain or wince, or pull away – not unless you really want to be hurt – you love it, despite the hurt because it’s what she wants.
“I can’t decide if these things work or not. They’re bigger but it’s probably just the swelling and that would fade if you stopped using them. I think from now on, when you’re in here, I’ll just leave them on full-time and you’ll have to learn to get used to it.”
She stood up and fetched the hose.
“Let’s get you cleaned up you stinky bitch.”
Once she was bored of blasting me with freezing cold water to the point where I was shivering uncontrollably and my hands were completely numb, she removed the corset, harness and chains completely and sent me to shit and use the shower. She had let me shit five days ago and once you have held it in like that it’s terribly hard to release it. Of course I had the butt-plug in the whole time. I had thought when I pulled it out that would be enough and five days of excrement would come rushing out. It didn’t. I had to strain and strain. She threatened to dose me with laxatives if I didn’t hurry up. Fortunately, once it started to come, it came faster and faster.
When I was finished the toilet was filled with a huge smelly horror. There was no toilet paper and I didn’t want it to remain there so I cleaned it up with my hands as best as I could.
“There is a brush and cleaner in the cupboard you ignorant slut,” my mistress snapped.
I was thankful for that. She gave me some fruity smelling shampoo and soap for the shower and I made myself smell really nice.
“I’m afraid all this long hair of yours has become a terrible rat’s nest. It’s got to go.”
I felt a little sad when she said that, but it was true. I had started to hate my hair weeks earlier. It had been beautiful once, or so I’d thought. It had become the hair of a filthy animal, and even with a good wash it was horribly tangled, full of knots and split ends.
I sat on the floor while my Mistress cut it back. To my surprise, she didn’t cut it off completely but instead gave me a short bob. I suppose she was thinking there still might be times she wanted to take me outdoors, though I was terrified at the idea of that happening. I imagined everyone staring at me, seeing the feral thing I was: a smelly slut who masturbated in the dark for hours at a stretch.
When she was finished cutting, Mistress Sarah sent me back to the shower again, saying I was still filthy.
“And when you’re done, clean your teeth and use the strong mouthwash. Use a lot.”
I could imagine men and women alike would be disgusted at the sight of me parading around in my whore outfit with my sunken eyes ringed with too much eye-liner. Any man who could get past that would probably recoil from my rotten breath which didn’t seem to improve even when Mistress allowed me to clean my teeth. I knew the mouthwash wouldn’t help, no matter how much of it or how long I gargled the horrid burning stuff. I would never dare put my mouth near my Mistresses face, but she wouldn’t smell it if I kept my down by her pussy.
I missed the sweet taste of Master Lucas’ cum. I hadn’t seen him in so long and part of me wanted a man. I remembered the time I spent in the bedroom. He had been so kind to me, so generous, so gentle and forgiving. If only I hadn’t driven him away. I would do anything to go back to those days. How petulant and silly I’d been to resent his brusque way of dealing with me. He’d simply been frustrated with my reluctant stand-offish attitude and terrible skills. He could have somebody like Mistress Sarah in his bed; why would he ever want a stupid, ugly, talentless slut like me? I’d been privileged to be allowed to touch him, never mind to suck his glorious cock. What had I been thinking?
Chapter Twenty-Three – Gently Shattered
Mistress Sarah dried me herself in a big fluffy white towel. It felt like heaven to get so much attention from her. I clung to her and pressed my head against her chest and listened to her heart, nuzzling her breast. I was dizzy with happiness.
She was dressed in a black lace babydoll and matching panty briefs, looking very sophisticated even without her usual rubber or leather garments. I gave the top of her breast a little lick. I couldn’t help myself. I was falling asleep on my feet but she smelled so clean and her skin was so smooth and perfect, not like mine with its dry peeling flakes and nasty itchy patches where the dry skin had turned into eczema that covered my hands, upper arms and legs.
“Ah, aren’t you a sweet little pet?”
I licked her again and giggled.
“Wait here and hold out your hands.”
I pushed my hands out behind my back.
“No. In front.”
I didn’t get my hands bound in front very often. I wondered what was going to happen.
She had brought some things with her in a laundry basket. She put the soap and shampoo back in it before picking out her toys. They were funny looking floppy rubber gloves with heavy cuffs that could be buckled shut. There were no locks on the cuffs.
She slipped a glove on each hand. I had to curl my hands up so that she could get them on properly, and then she fastened up the cuffs, which had the kind of thick rubber strap that is not easy to work even with both hands. It took her a little while, even with her strong fingers to get the buckles done up. It felt like there were two layers of rubber to the glove: the inner one was tight and forced my hands into fists, the outer one seemed loose.
With the gloves on and my fingers curled up, my hands were already useless, but it turned out that wasn’t enough. Mistress put a little rubber ball pump onto a valve at the end and pumped up the left glove. I was amazed to see it blow up into a ball. The air pressure on the inner glove squeezed my hand tightly so I couldn’t move the fingers or feel anything outside the glove. There was no need for locks. It was a reminder that I had to rely on my mistress for those things. Apart from the gloves I was completely naked and vulnerable.
Once she had pumped up the other glove and pushed the valves into their recesses, it was as if my hands had been replaced with two bouncy rubber balls. They were utterly useless to me. I couldn’t turn a key or flick a switch, even a simple door knob would defeat me.
She fastened a broad leather collar close around my neck, buckling it closed at the side and then hooked a long leather dog leash onto it. With a tug she silently dragged me behind her. We left the bathroom, down the hall and entered the bedroom that used to be mine. The view through the open curtains showed bright sunshine.
Things had been changed around since I’d been there last. There was a huge mirror on the ceiling and a scent of leather and rubber seemed to pervade the room. There were chains dangling onto the floor from the bed posts and the sheet on the mattress was glistening white rubber. In stark contrast to the rubber and chains the quilt cover was expensive white cotton with a mesh detail and big pink hearts. Mistress climbed onto the bed and tugged me after her.
She guided me with the leash but I didn’t need guiding and it was so hard to wait. Regardless, I let her direct me and I waited, moaning with urgency. At last, like a ravenous wolf I fell on her breasts, suckling and kissing them for the longest time, letting myself drown in the scent and perfection of them. I felt unworthy to be given such a chance – such a gift. I was afraid to lift my head higher and catch her gaze or more ludicrous still, soil her mouth with mine.
Then to my astonishment she pulled me up, the leash dragging my head level with hers. I started to hyper ventilate and then her hands were in the remains of my hair, forcing my lips onto hers. I wanted to put my tongue into her mouth but I was afraid, instead I opened wide for her, let her feel inside me. As her tongue retreated I dared to let mine follow, exploring her mouth. I clamped onto her, trying to breathe her air. My head spun with the wonder of it all. I wanted to caress her with my hands, but they were just rubber balls, useless – useless like me – I blinked back a tear and smiled.
“Mistress. Please. I’m crying because I’m so happy. Please let this worthless slut serve you. Please.”
She let the leash go loose and I knew what to do. I slid my tongue down again to those beautiful be-ringed breasts and let her feel my love, my adoration. I explored every portion of her rings with my tongue, taking them entirely into my mouth, cleaning them. I felt a change in her, and I knew it was time. I slid down lower, leaving a trail of wet saliva down her body. The fly-open babydoll was no obstacle to me gaining full access but her panties were in the way. I had no hands to remove them. I would have to use my mouth.
Like an eager but gentle puppy I tugged the panties down, and she lifted her bottom, helping me. Sometimes I paused to lick her legs, but soon I had them down around her ankles, and then finally I tugged them off. Noticing her lovely foot I took a moment to suckle each of her toes, licking at the strong taste between them. Then I picked up the panties in my mouth, savouring her scent and dropped them by the side of her hips. At last I was ready for the main course.
I had been dreaming of this for days and now it was close. I wanted to taste her juices; I needed to smell her scent on me, reminding me of her ownership. I needed to be reassured that even though I was so disgusting, she still had a use for me. I would make her desire me, albeit as no more than a possession to be used. I would do anything to make her feel like the goddess she was to me. She wanted that didn’t she? I didn’t dare contemplate being wrong.
I remembered what she’d said, how she’d promised that if I was good I could be here, in this bed, with her, not alone in the dark on a tiled floor, chained and masturbating endlessly. Why hadn’t I been able to serve her better and earn this? How could I have done so badly? How could I have let that devious bitch Monica cheat me out of this? If it ever came to a rematch I would do anything to make my mistress proud.
I wanted to suck her whole sex into my mouth. If only she had been a man… But it was not to be. I circled her outer lips around and around, moving ever closer to the core, and then my tongue flicked in and opened her up like a flower, releasing the wonderful scent. I suckled and cleaned her delicate inner petals, savouring the taste of her, finally moving up to her clit, and I had barely begun to give it the attention it was due when I felt it twitch, trying to escape me, but that could not be allowed.
I felt her tension growing inside her, a tightness that began from her very base and then began to move higher and higher, her whole belly with its powerful abdominal muscles turning hard. Then she let out a shriek. I didn’t stop. This was what she wanted and I was giving it to her. Her sex pulsed beneath me as if it wanted to swallow me up. I continued, crouched between her legs. She reached down and put her hands into my hair and ground my face into her ferociously. I thought she was going to tear out lumps of my hair; her grip was really powerful and it felt nice to have her hands on me like that, so hungry for me. She started to subside more quickly than I expected, and she pulled my mouth away from her sex.
“Wait,” she said. “Just a little while and then start again.”
And when I started again, it took very little time at all for her to cum again, and so we continued, denying the inevitable until, at last, she allowed me to finish her properly and a great tsunami of an orgasm seized her and went on for what seemed like a minute.
She lay there, panting in front of me, exhausted, glowing, beaded with rivulets of sweat. I suddenly realised that I was exhausted too. Curled up, I pressed my head into her crotch and instantly fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four – Further Education
When I awoke, the day was fading. Mistress was shaking me. I was asleep in her lovely soft bed, under the covers and she was waking me up. It had to be a dream. She reached under the covers and gave my nipple a sharp twist. No. This was reality. I was fully awake in an instant.
“Out of bed slut. Monica is here for your first lesson. You pleased me earlier today. I hope you can please me now in a different way. Come on. I want you dressed.”
Tucked away in the corner of one of the wardrobes were my old slut clothes and, as Mistress had promised, some new ones. She reached in and plucked out an outfit for me: a pair of thick black stockings, white tank-top, and white pixie boots. There was no underwear of course.
I held up my bubble hands. I had no way to dress myself.
Mistress sighed and deflated then unbuckled my gloves.
“You’re not going to use those hands to get yourself into trouble are you?”
I hadn’t even considered such a thing. Besides, Master Lucas would probably break my thumbs just for thinking it. Try and escape? To where? Unless they ordered me to leave I wouldn’t have the courage to step outside the door, and every moment outside I would be thinking of nothing but getting back in, back to the bathroom where I belong.
“Sorry Mistress. Never.”
It felt odd to be wearing ‘normal’ clothes for once. They made me itch but kept the draught off without being too sweaty. My crotch was exposed, and my breasts were visible through the top, but that was to be expected. I would have felt safer if Mistress had added some restraint, though I had the collar she’d put on earlier – she’d removed the leash so that it didn’t drag on the floor – it was something she’d put on me, something reassuring, but I wanted more.
She called to me from the main living area. I was a little scared to leave the bedroom without being led, but I jumped to obey her request and hurried towards her voice.
The curtains were drawn. It was dark outside. Monica was standing next to Mistress Sarah. She was dressed in some cheap slutty clothes and wobbly looking high-heeled sandals but she still looked pretty, powerful and confident, with that hard look in her eye. She wasn’t the faceless girl with that I’d spoken to before – she was the hard bitch I’d met at the party – her gaze made we want to hide. She made me feel like a dirty little insect.
“Monica is here to start your English lessons but if there’s time she might be able to help you with your cock-sucking. I don’t know what Lucas taught you, probably plenty, but I’d like to see for myself.”
“Good evening Suki,” Monica said through a mean looking smile. “I hope you will be attentive and work hard. Mistress Sarah has given me instructions to punish you sharply if you don’t make a good effort.”
“Sorry Mistress. I will do my best.”
Monica opened a bag she had brought with her and pulled out various bondage accessories. This sort of object was beginning to become quite familiar to me. The cuffs I recognized instantly, while chains and locks were simple enough to understand. There were also some other items that I didn’t recognize. First of these was something made of rubber that she handed to me. I took hold of it gingerly and inspected it: rubber panties with built in dildo and butt-plug, but made of cold silver metal. They weren’t particularly large or fearsome so I relaxed a little.
I felt Monica’s fingers on my anus and in my pussy, slathering some kind of lube or jelly over me.
“Put them on,” she said.
I tried not to think about what I was doing as I slid the panties up my legs and slotted the plugs awkwardly into place. I squeezed them up inside me slowly. It was harder to do than you’d think. Getting in one plug is quite easy, but two at once is awkward, and the butt-plug lacked the usual bulge to keep it in place. Once I’d had it in for a few minutes I realised it was supposed to slide in and out as I moved about. Depending on how I sat on the chair I could push either plug deeper into me and they continually shifted in and out, reminding me of their presence.
Mistress Sarah settled herself down on the sofa and picked up a paperback book. She clearly wasn’t terribly interested but intended to be available if needed. I glanced at the cover of the book but it was written in English. The letters were metallic and the picture – I can’t even remember what it was – gave no clue as to what the book contained.
Eventually, I had the pants settled firmly into place, and they came quite high up my belly, with a broad waistband that ensured there was no chance of them slipping down. Unexpectedly, Monica then connected some wires to the crotch of the pants and handed them to me so I could hold them out of the way while she worked.
Monica pulled out the swivel chair from the nearby writing desk and got me to sit in it. She put heavy cuffs on my ankles, then hooked my feet off the floor and locked them to the stem of the chair. It was minimalist restraint but I wasn’t going anywhere. The best I could do would be to tip the chair over, which would probably hurt. Other than that I couldn’t touch the floor. Monica could spin me around until I threw up if she wanted. Though it wasn’t remotely likely to happen, I couldn’t help imagining it for an instant.
She took the wires from me and plugged them into a little black box that had some knobs, switches and buttons on it. She pressed a button and I felt a jolt inside me. I yelped in surprise though it didn’t really hurt. The muscles inside me had spasmed suddenly. My hand went down to rub my crotch. Monica stepped forward and cuffed my hands behind the chair back with a pair of police-style metal handcuffs. I suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable, despite being dressed.
“As you can probably imagine, this can be used to hurt you. That was a low setting. As long as the electrodes are nice and wet you won’t get a burn. I don’t know if it can do you any harm. It probably can if I turn it up to high. It’s not as if these things get a government safety test. I suggest you keep me happy and I can leave this on the lower settings. You understand don’t you Suki?”
“Yes Mistress Monica,” I said.
“I’m no mistress Suki, but as I’m your teacher you may call me Miss Monica.”
“Sorry Miss Monica.”
“Good girl. I have some other things to hurt you if you need some incentive. We’ll deal with that if we have to. It will be best if you can work hard at your lessons so we don’t have to waste time, however much I’d enjoy seeing you writhe on that chair like the slut you are.”
Monica grabbed me by the chin, leaning down and twisting my face so that her eyes were about an inch from mine.
“Go ahead, please… Fuck this up, you stuck up little bitch, I’m dying to put you in your place. I can’t think of anything better than you wallowing in your own stupidity so that I get the chance to turn this thing up to the max. That will take the stupid look off your face.”
Yes, this was the Monica I’d seen before. This was the real Monica. What I saw after the contest was just an illusion. She probably did it so she could learn all my secrets and use them against me. She probably told Mistress all the things I said. It didn’t matter because I had expected it all along. I wasn’t surprised in the least.
“Monica was a school teacher before she ended up here, so if she can’t teach you, I don’t suppose anybody can,” Mistress Sarah announced suddenly.
“I only taught pre-school,” Monica added awkwardly.
“Well, you are dealing with a dummy, so you’re probably just about right for her mental age.”
“Of course Mistress Sarah,” Monica said, adding a smile.
And then Monica pulled out a bunch of flash cards from her bag.
“We’ll start with the alphabet, and then some baby words. Little words that you’ll need to know day to day, like cock, suck, blow, job, cunt, lick, lesbian, whore, pussy, slut… That kind of thing,” said Monica in an exaggerated deadpan way, as if explaining something to a child.
“Thank you Miss Monica.”
And so she went through the Roman alphabet, over and over. It didn’t seem necessary as I could write Chinese with Roman letters just fine. I also knew and could say numbers up to a hundred, and some bigger ones too. I had spent years floating about in a sea of English and the words all seemed familiar somehow, I just couldn’t pull them apart or put them together. It wasn’t my place to tell her what was necessary so I said nothing about what I already knew.
“Good work,” she said afterwards.
She pushed a switch on the box and I felt a buzz in my crotch, not pain but a sexy vibration that I liked.
“They can also be used to give rewards.”
“Thank you Miss Monica.”
“Is that nice Suki?”
“Yes, thank you Miss Monica. I like it.”
“Of course you do, you’re addicted to sex you slut. Shall I turn it up?”
“Yes please Miss Monica.”
“How far? All the way?”
“Please Miss Monica, I would like that… If you wish.”
“Here,” she said, twisting
The intensity of the vibrations increased. I had never had a vibrator inside my bum before and it wasn’t at all bad. The one at the front was better, though even together they weren’t as effective as the mains massager. The design of the pants transmitted the vibration very well to my pussy lips and clit, but I doubted I could get off on this thing by itself without some determined fantasizing or something on my nipples. It would probably become frustrating after a while, though I doubted that Miss Monica had the patience to wait for that to happen.
“Thank you Miss Monica.”
“That’s enough. Let’s move on.”
She left the vibrators running and started the next lesson as if everything were normal. The sensation was distracting, but I focussed my attention and shut it out. I was there to learn and the panties were to make it a bit harder. Well, never mind, I had never expected it to be easy.
Monica drilled me with more flash cards, saying the names of the things as she showed me the pictures. She would go through the stack several times. I would have to say the names back to her when she showed me them again later. She wasn’t joking at all about teaching me only filthy words to start with. This was rendered surreal by the flash cards as she had made them herself, some of them with her drawings, others with cuttings from magazines.
The card for ‘whore’ was particularly cute, her stick figure drawing had a little triangle skirt, stick legs poking out, two circle breasts on its stick body and a featureless circle for a head with a little ponytail of hair and a big dollar sign in her hand. I wouldn’t have known what half the cards were supposed to be if she hadn’t told me, and it was as hard to remember what they meant as to remember the English word that went with them. Most of the words were not ones I had often heard before, at least not until I entered this apartment.
The buzzing vibrator really didn’t make that much difference and I had become quite used to it, though when she turned it off it was still a relief. If I’d been trying to cum, it might have been different. Monica huffed in frustration as we went over the cards for the fourth or fifth time.
“That was terrible. We’ll go over them again and the next time you get a zap for each one that’s wrong.”
The first zap made me wince. The next time she held the button down longer and I let out an involuntary noise of pain. The sensation was not at all sexy, instead it was horrible: a nasty sort of succession of tiny kicks right down inside me, with the sharp intensity and immediacy of cramps. The third zap made me scream and beg for her to stop.
“What was that Suki?” Monica said icily.
“Sorry. Please forgive me Mistress. I couldn’t help myself.”
She zapped me again, just a small one this time.
“I told you, I’m not your mistress, I’m Miss Monica.”
“Sorry Miss Monica. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Please, I can’t help the screams, it feels like I’m being pulled apart inside,” I said, desperation in my voice. I knew I couldn’t influence her, but this was what I was supposed to say wasn’t it? If I didn’t say it, she would make it much worse.
I noticed that my hands were shaking. In fact, my whole body was shaking. I was sweating copiously. I could still imagine the feeling inside me.
“Don’t be such a baby. It didn’t really hurt that much.”
“Sorry Miss Monica.”
“Monica is right. She is punished with the shock machine all the time and she knows to keep her mouth shut,” Mistress Sarah said, interrupting. “So, I don’t want to hear any uncalled for noises from you slut. As long as you’re screaming Monica is forbidden to turn the machine off.”
“Let’s just repeat that again,” Monica said.
And we did. This time I kept my mouth shut. I think that Monica didn’t turn it up anywhere near so high this time, or perhaps I imagined it. How much of pain is in the imagination, how much is real? It’s all in our heads after all. There is no correlation between damage done and the amount of pain felt. A hang-nail can be agony, a broken leg painless. Trust me, I know, you can learn to control pain. You can learn to make it serve you, but it isn’t an easy path and it isn’t done simply by feeling pain and pretending it doesn’t bother you.
Next came numbers, and I didn’t get any shocks. My heart stopped trying to bounce itself out of my chest. The sweat cooled on my skin, and I felt chilled despite the warmth of the room. What would be next?
“Now it’s time for some repeat and copy phrases that are part of a conversation. You’ve played this game before haven’t you Suki? I know you enjoyed it last time and so did everybody else.”
“Yes Miss Monica.”
I knew exactly what she meant. She wanted to make me remember that time at the party. She wanted to remember how humiliating it had been. All I could think of was the taste of Tate’s cock in my mouth and Johnno’s strong hands on my body.
“So, our conversation for today will go like this… The mistress says <slut I want you to fuck all these guys. I want you to do them three at a time when we start the camera. One in each hole. Can you do that slut?> and then the whore says <Oh yes Mistress. I can’t wait to get all those big cocks inside me. Can I swallow?> You play the whore obviously so you don’t have much to learn this time. Did you get that? I’ll repeat your line a few more times.”
“Thank you Miss Monica.”
“Oh yes Mistress. I can’t wait to get those big cocks inside me. Can I swallow?”
“Can I hear that again please Miss Monica.”
“Oh yes Mistress. I can’t wait to get those big cocks inside me. Can I swallow?”
“Miss Monica, what does it mean?”
“The first part you know and say all the time. The second part you’re saying <I can’t wait> you’re in a hurry for it to happen. <To get those big cocks inside me> you want to be fucked by men. <Can I swallow?> You love the taste of cum. Don’t worry about what each word means now, you’ll be surprised how useful these lines turn out to be in your situation without changing much. In the future we’ll be working on things you can say to get a dirty smile from a man.”
“Thank you Miss Monica.”
And so we practiced that, and I learned to say it. It was actually more useful than the flash cards because I was learning to speak properly, even if it was just slut talk.
“It’s getting late Monica, and Suki has chores to do. I think it’s time you left. Come back tomorrow.”
“Mistress Sarah, Master John said that he needs me for work tomorrow night. May I come earlier instead?”
“That will be acceptable Monica. Suki is a slow learner. You need to put in as much time as possible. I can’t put up with her for long as she is. It just won’t do.”
“Yes Mistress Sarah,” Monica said.
She unlocked my legs and hastily packed up her things before scurrying away without even a goodbye.
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story continued in part six
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