Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Sold Into Slavery: Escape

Part One Here
Part Two Here
Part Three Here
Port Four Here

Stephanie could not tell how long she remained packed inside the contained, bounced around against the styrofoam packing. The space was not cramped; the term cramped implies there is some limited movement available. No, the styrofoam was form fitted to her body, and she was unable to move her limbs more than an inch or so.

She knew it wasn't going to last forever. There was no food or water, and they weren't killing her, they were just transporting her. Was it a few hours? Perhaps a day? She was thirsty. She had no choice but to urinate in the closed space, which made it stink. Muscles cramped with no way to relieve the pain. Her naked body was drenched in sweat that dried after a while, when the air grew cold. It must have been night.

Through it all the headphones stuck to her ears continued to deliver their brain washing message.

"You are a slave, owned by your master. You owe your very life to him, for yours has worth only through his. Obedience is the only way to happiness and fulfillment. Constantly think of ways to fulfill your master's desires; learn his desires and meet them before he asks. Maintain your body in the best shape to please all men. Learn the rules of obedience. We shall review the rules of obedience now...."

Stephanie tried to fight the voice in her head, going over memories of when she lived in the outside world. She had been a marketing and sales executive, visiting Malsi on a sales trip; she went over the memory of the meeting in which she had first been introduced to the Malsi practice of offering their sales women as sex rewards at the end of a successful negotiation. Kevin, her partner, had taken advantage of her natural curiosity and slightly kinky side to get her to go through a slave sale that had gone horribly wrong. She reminded herself that she owned an apartment back home, and had a sports car waiting. All these thoughts brought tears of anger and loss.

And yet, the last days had worn on her; she had been treated and abused as a slave so utterly, she was forgetting her past. All there was now was her slavery, and the desperate need to please her male masters, whomever they might be.

The voice droned on in her head, "...perform stretching exercises each day, so that you may spread your legs wide for your master. Your body functions at the male's whim; you breathe only because he allows it. Appreciate the kindness of your master in all things...."

Just when Stephanie thought she would die from the cramping pain, stuffy air, and going insane from claustrophobia, she heard the heavy bolts of her container being unscrewed. Moments later the top layers of packing came off and she blinked in bright light. Gasping for air, she was lifted out and lay on the floor slowly moving her arms and legs, trying to get them to move again.

When her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked up and saw Mr. Jackson. Her owner. Her true owner. He had bought her in the slave auction but had turned her over to others such as Mr. Hauser for her training. A feeling of fear shuddered through her; what would he do with her?

Mr. Jackson removed the headphones from Stephanie's ears, and helped her stand. She was naked, while he was fully clothed; Stephanie noticed but did not react. It had become a very normal thing for her to be naked in the presence of men.

"Welcome back, Stephanie. I am glad the first phase of your training has gone well. Now comes the time when you can begin to put some of what you have learned into practice, and get used to actually interacting with Malsi men and women. As you gain experience and skill as a woman, you may be given additional privileges, such as clothing to wear."

Stephanie bowed her head and said nothing. It came automatically, the training she experienced had its impact.

"Present." Mr. Jackson said.

Stephanie got down on her knees, sitting on her ankles, knees spread wide and placed her hands palms up on her thighs. She bowed her head.

"Good girl. Stand and follow." Mr. Jackson led the way from the small loading dock where Stephanie had been uncrated and down a hallway into the house. She recognized this house. It was the one where she was taken when first sold; it was Mr. Jackson's house. So much had happened since then, she had no idea how long it had been since she had been removed from here but it seemed like forever. The horrible transport, storage underground, and the humiliation of the training at Mr. Hauser's hands occupied her memory.

They arrived at a small chamber made of concrete. Chains of various lengths hung from the wall. There was another girl about Stephanie's age there, both dirty, shivering, naked, dirty and scared.

"Sit." Mr. Jackson ordered.

Stephanie sat on her bare buttocks, crossing her legs before her. A metal device was produced that looked like a large, upside down letter V. It hinged at the point of the V. Mr. Jackson took the metal device, spread it open and slid it over Stephanie's neck. Closing the hinge, a circular loop at the top closed around her neck, snapping into place firmly.

"Place your wrists here, and here," Mr. Jackson indicated places about halfway down the metal bars that now extended down and out from Stephanie's neck. She placed her wrists where instructed, and small metal loops, or shackles, were fitted in place, securing her wrists to the iron bars. The spread of the bars kept her hands fixed apart about the width of her body, slightly below the level of her breasts. Finally, Stephanie spread her legs wide along the edges of the metal V and her ankles were secured to the bottom of the metal rods.

Stephanie almost panicked, feeling how rigid and immobile the device made her. She couldn't move, and her legs were kept spread apart. She began to cry, the helpless feeling overwhelming her.

"In a few days we will take care of a little surgery, in the meantime we will see about you helping out around the house."

Mr. Jackson turned and left, closing and locking the door behind him. Stephanie was left, immobile, with the other woman that was chained to the wall, laying on her side with her legs and arms bent back behind her uncomfortably. Stephanie could not move, and her ass began to hurt.

"What is your name?" Said the woman.

"I'm...Stephanie." It took a moment for her to remember her own name, which frightened her. Was she losing her identity so soon, so easily? She looked at the pretty girl, seeing the beauty behind the dirt and look of misery. She was young.

"Why are you locked down here?" Stephanie asked.

"The master has no need of me right now. I'm..." here the girl looked absolutely forlorn and miserable, "I'm... I've failed at some tasks recently, and they are deciding what to do with me. I hope they will train me, or at least make me a breeder. But... they might..." she bit her lip, "sell me."

Stephanie saw the utter fear this statement brought, and asked, "Why is that bad? Would some other place be worse?"

"Oh, yes... Mr. Jackson is rich and provides well for all his women. The work is hard, but if you do well it can be very nice. Some other place, who knows? And... well, it is humiliating to be sold. It follows you. You are forever known as a woman that did not succeed at being a woman."

The other girl in the cell was Jamie. She was chained in a tight bent back hogtie, legs pulled behind and wrists shackled behind her back. Her neck had a heavy iron collar that was chained to the wall. Even with all this, she had more mobility than Stephanie, who was completely unable to move.

With some wriggling, Jamie taught Stephanie how to relieve body functions in a trough that ran around the edges of the room near the wall. The trough was flushed with water periodically. Stephanie was secured so that she could not move or feed herself, with arms and legs positioned rigidly apart. There was a bowl with food and another bowl with water, and with some wriggling Jamie could get to it to eat and drink. Because of the way her irons were spread stiffly out, Stephanie was stuck in the sitting position and could not eat or drink.

The next day a beautiful older woman came in. She was clothed normally, and had an attitude of superiority that showed she was in a position of trust and authority in the household. She let Stephanie drink from a water bottle with a large nipple on it, like a cows teet. It was humiliating but Stephanie needed water badly. No food was provided.

On the second day the same woman came in and gave Stephanie water again, but this time also gave her some food. Stephanie swallowed it ravenously.

Jamie was then unlocked and removed from the cell, shaking with fear about her unknown fate. Stephanie was alone for a while, feeling abandoned and hopeless. Two days shackled unmoving in the cell was taking its toll, and now she was alone. But a couple of hours later the woman returned, unlocked Stephanie told her to follow. It was difficult for Stephanie to move or walk as her arms and legs had been held immobile for two days; the muscles cramped and needed to stretch and be used again.

Stephanie limped behind the tall beautiful woman into a large kitchen with tile floor. The woman gave Stephanie a small brush and bottle of cleanser.

"Kneel!"

Stephanie knelt.

"Stephanie, your job is to clean the tile in this kitchen. All of it. Do it quickly, do it well. While here you may be called upon to service males; do so without question, but do not fall behind on your work. I will return."

"Ma'am? May I ask a question?"

The woman looked annoyed, but nodded.

"Mr. Jackson said something about surgery. Do you know what it is? What is to be done?"

The woman frowned, a crooked mean frown. "Yes, you are scheduled for tomorrow morning. Sterilization, I believe. You are not to be bred. I can't think of why Mr. Jackson is thinking you could rise any higher than a housemaid and breeder, so I assume he wants you to keep your figure so you can be farmed out to one of the brothels. Now, get to scrubbing!"

The woman turned and left, bare feet making no noise on the tile floor.

Stephanie shivered, wrapping her arms around her nakedness, the reality of her situation hitting her even harder than it had before. She was to be sterilized! Her body invaded, modified, the ability to have children taken away from her! She shook with fear and anger. It wasn't so much that she had ever wanted children, but to have someone just... cut into her body and take out parts... was just... unthinkable. And then to be sent to a brothel where men would paw her and take her for money? Stephanie cried hot tears as she began to scrub the floor.

She was hardly aware of it, but her training over the past few days and weeks had begun to teach her that her role in society was heavily dependent on having babies; on breeding successfully. Back in her home town she would have been indifferent to being sterilized because she had no intention of ever having children. But now, here, the news shook her and panic filled her mind. She needed to breed; she needed at least the option of having babies! It was fundamental to being a woman, to service men, to take their semen inside and use it to make new humans, to breed with any and all that wished it!

Stephanie scrubbed the floor absently as she thought and worried. She had completed barely a tenth of the floor area when a man came in and noticed her.

"Ass up, girl! Put your ass up as you work where I can see it!"

Stephanie obediently pushed her ass up into the air as she scrubbed on her hands and knees. The man fingered her, first her cunt and then pushing deep into her anus. The sudden penetration made Stephanie gasp, but she kept working.

After fondling and playing with Stephanie quite a bit the man finally left. Not once did Stephanie stop working, unless the man had forced her to by shoving her body around to gain better access. Her training was having its effect; she was doing her best to please all men, do her job, get work done, and service all those she encountered.

When the man left, Stephanie noticed some car keys on the table. With a flash, Stephanie's mind swirled around the idea of escape. She wasn't thinking rationally, but she realized that for the first time since she had come to Malsi she was able to walk and move unhindered, not secured to the floor or walls, and she reached out and picked the keys up in her hand. Their solidity took hold of her mind, made the idea of escape more real.

She would not allow them to cut into her. She would not allow them to sterilize her like some bitch dog, she was going to escape. She ran out the kitchen door and found the car. Getting in she turned on the car and familiarized herself with the controls.

The seat fabric felt strange on the bare flesh of her ass and back. It reminded her she had no clothes, that she would stand out in the crowd. Her first order of business after driving out-- get clothes. Then find her way to an embassy, or maybe even the airport.

Stephanie put the car in gear and it rolled around the side of the huge mansion; she had never seen it before from the outside. The drive went around it; the place was huge with rows of windows and stone colonnades. Green trees and rolling lawns surrounded the massive house. The car sped up and she turned the corner in a cloud of dust. An ornate heavy iron gate was before her. She drove toward it and slammed on the brakes just in time to keep from smashing into it.

The heavy metal gates were shut, with round metal retractable barriers across the entrance to prevent vehicles from ramming through.

A guard came out of a small office to the side of the gate, opened the car door and pressed a small device against Stephanie's neck. There was a snap of electricity and Stephanie's eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped to the side, unable to move, barely conscious.

When she regained consciousness Stephanie was back in the concrete cell.

She was now laying on a rusted out old metal bed box spring, arms and legs tied to the ends, spread eagle wide. A board was placed under her head but above her arms, forcing her head up and pressing down on her upper arms, the sensation of pressure already cutting off blood and hurting. In front of her hung the tall woman that had been taking care of her, and had given her the duty of cleaning the floor earlier. The woman hung before her with her arms fastened to a metal bar that hung from the ceiling. She was hanging, dangling from her arms, sagging and moaning slightly from obvious discomfort.

There was a harness buckled onto the woman's head and fastened into the harness was a long wooden plug that was shoved deeply into her mouth, deep down into her throat so she gagged constantly against the rough wood surface.

The woman's legs were bent back, her ankles strapped tightly to her upper thighs. Her legs were purple from restricted blood flow. It looked painful. Drool from the wooden gag covered her chest and breasts.

The woman hung and swayed slightly before Stephanie. They looked at each other without saying anything.

After a few hours, Mr. Jackson entered the chamber and approached where she lay tied to the metal bed frame. The hanging woman whimpered an unintelligible plea. behind him

"Oh, Stephanie," began Mr. Jackson. "I had hoped your training had progressed further, for your sake as well as ours. Escape is a crime punishable by death, did you know this?"

Stephanie's eyes grew wide and she cried out, "no, please... please, I will, I will do anything!".

"But, my dear, you didn't actually escape. You tried, but you didn't succeed. That gives me some leeway. So instead, you will be punished. This option is quite unpleasant, but you will still have the opportunity to serve and enjoy fulfilling your true roll as a woman in our society when the punishment is complete."

Stephanie sobbed, either from fear of the torture to come or relief that she was not to die.

Mr. Jackson turned to the woman hanging from the ceiling behind him. "And you, Juliette, will suffer for your error in allowing her attempted escape. You will hang there and watch her suffering."

Turning back to Stephanie he continued, "Juliette will not suffer as much as you, for her error was not as serious. Still, she needs to be taught the lesson and take the punishment. Your own suffering might may amuse her some, if she can be distracted."

Stephanie's body was prepared for her punishment. Each breast was tied with cable at its base, making it bulge out obscenely like a balloon. Copper wired clamps were attached to each nipple, squeezing painfully tight.

A metal dildo was inserted into her vagina, deep inside, and then strapped in place to prevent it from coming out inadvertently when she struggled and jerked.

These three points were wired with the wires extending away to a small box that lay on the floor next to the wall. This box was plugged into an electrical socket.

Mr. Jackson came over to Stephanie, shaking his head with regret once again. "I truly regret that you must endure this, my dear, but you must learn. Here in Malsi you may achieve true fulfillment of your purpose as a woman, your destiny, but only if you embrace it. Embrace this pain now, and use it to purify yourself and your thoughts. Empty your mind of everything but the agony. Suffer, and in suffering, become better, higher, more fulfilled."

Mr. Jackson turned on the box and then left the room.

The first shock hit about a minute after the metal door closed and locked, the room lights turned off until only dim outlines of the walls could be made out. The shock was brief, only about 3 seconds, but so intense it made Stephanie jerk and twitch with muscular convulsions. She immediately lost bladder control and urinated over the metal coils below her, where the urine then dripped to the floor. When the three second shock was over and Stephanie felt her muscles back in control she sucked in a large gulp of air and screamed, loud and long.

The second shock came about two minutes later, this one a longer dose of pain lasting about 10 seconds. Stephanie shook and twitched, her muscles contracted hard from the electricity flowing across from nipple to nipple, and into her cunt. The pain wasn't quite as bad, but still took over her entire being while it continued. When it was over, Stephanie screamed again, several screams this time.

She had barely finished screaming when another jolt surged through her breasts, the painful fire feeling like it was searing away her sensitive nipples. It lasted about five seconds, during which Stephanie gurgled and bit down on her gag.

Mr. Jackson had explained the gag was not to keep her quiet, for her screams were not to be suppressed but to be valued as a wonderful thing. In Malsi culture a screaming woman was sometimes called "Slavesong" and the different types and styles of screams were listened to by men and women alike, an enjoyment of a unique art form.

No, the leather straps pulled tight across her mouth were to give her something to bite into and to protect her from biting her tongue. As the third surge of pain dissipated, Stephanie realized how grateful she was going to be for the gag. She had bitten down hard on it, and if it had not been in place she might have already lost her tongue.

The shocks kept coming but at random, unpredictable intervals. Sometimes Stephanie had as much as 30 minutes between shocks, though the usual spacing was a minute or two. Shocks lasted between three and 60 seconds, also random. Stephanie almost lost consciousness during the 60 second surges of agony. Her throat became hoarse from screaming after a while, but she couldn't stop.

No sleep was possible, for even when the shocks did not come for long periods at a time it was impossible to relax. The sequence of shocks was random. The duration of the shock, the time between the pain, and the intensity of the pain all varied without any clues or ability to predict the next sequence.

At one point Stephanie was aware of a group of slave girls coming into the chamber to observe Stephanie as she screamed and writhed on the metal frame. They simply watched, some of them crying quietly, others simply observing with obvious fear. Stephanie could not hear anything they said, she was struggling to stay conscious and alternated gasping for air and screaming with what little voice she had left.

The pain was endless. It went on and on, never ending. Stephanie prayed for death, begged anyone who could hear through her gag for any relief, anything at all. She would work in the brothel, take the surgery, she would die. Anything. If only they made the random pain stop.

Finally it did stop. She didn't believe it at first, for some of the intervals between shocks had been as long as 30 minutes. Stephanie could not tell the time in the cell, she simply lay and waited for the next searing fire to cut through her body. None came, a hideous, terribly torture of waiting in itself.

Finally, exhaustion set in and Stephanie fell asleep.


Thursday, April 9, 2015

Brute: Corkscrew

It was her sixth day.

She knew exactly how long she had been there. The grated openings behind where she sat let light through from some distant windows, though no sounds penetrated from the street or city. The days came and went, the pain persisted. She no longer felt the vulnerability of nudity, though the temperatures at night fell low enough she shook and huddled next to the other slaves for warmth.

She sat between two others; a young man to her left, and a woman to her right. They didn't speak, there was little to say if it had even been allowed. They fought for what little food was given them, though the other girl was weak and usually lost, going hungry. At night they huddled and touched out of necessity to share warmth; there was no intimacy implied.

It had never been this bad before. Her last owner had been demanding and cruel, but she had always at least been able to wear clothes when cold. Isolation and punishment had been severe, but here... here she felt like she was being cast aside as an animal. Or worse than an animal.

The cell was a long concrete chamber, three or four feet wide and perhaps 30 feet long. Obviously designed to hold more slaves, the chamber had the absolute barest of features; a trough on the floor leading to a drain down which body waste products were washed once a day. A shelf protruded from the wall before them where dry, moldy bread was placed and a tiny trough filled with stale water.

And the dildos. Yes, the dildos; the monstrous devices that kept the prisoners in place.

The dildos were about seven or eight inches long, perhaps three wide; enough to fill and spread any body orifice tightly. Spaced irregularly every inch or so along the sides were curved spikes,  very much like thorns from a rose bush. They were curved and smoothed on one side, but on the other-- sharp, ready to gouge and shred. When she had first arrived the guards had pushed her down into a squatting position, grabbed her ankles and forced her legs wide, and then taken one of these hideous probes and shoved it up her cunt, jamming it in deep until she felt her insides being compressed upward against intestines and stomach.

It went in OK, but even the slightest attempt to pull it out caused the sharp points of the thorns to gouge and dig into the sensitive flesh walls of her vagina. She screamed the first time she moved, the pain of the thorns hooking and penetrating flesh shocking her senses. Not moving became a priority. Some movement was necessary, but it was careful, and slow, and designed not to pull or dislodge the spiked obscenity inside her.

It wasn't easy; the barbed dildo was attached to the wall by a chain. Movement more than a couple of feet pulled the chain tight and the dildo barbs grabbed her flesh and she cried, screamed, once again.

Her hands were secured behind her back.

And so she simply sat in the cell, unable to move about, the pain of the dildo barbs occasionally shooting deep inside her gut. Blood from the cuts inside her dried on the inside of her thighs.

What had she done to deserve this? She knew, but didn't understand. She had failed to have an orgasm when commanded by her last master. It didn't matter that he had a tiny dick and smelled of pig shit; when he fucked her, she was to cum. Loudly. She had done her best, but he had become angered by her performance, threatened to sell her, and finally had done just that. Sold her to the famous palace of sadists, who used and consumed slaves for their own sick pleasures.

Her price had been high, that she knew as well. She was young, fit, and pretty. Her last master had used her frequently, kept her clean and well dressed, and allowed her privileges because he liked to see her. Coming to this place was like dropping from a beautiful meadow into a dark tiger trap.

She leaned forward to where a rat was nibbling on a crust of bread and took it in her mouth. The movement disturbed the dildo barbs, but she was so hungry, she had to eat. Kneeling, she pushed the bread around with her tongue until she could get some of it between her lips, and then teeth, where she bit a piece and chewed.

The water in the tiny trough was fetid, but she lapped and then urinated below her. Movement was so limited by the dildo's chain she had to sit back down on the wet concrete. A hose was used to wash the concrete and naked slaves once a day, but the place still smelled like a cesspool.

As the sixth day waned to darkness, she found herself wondering how long it had been since she had used her arms. They were tied behind her back when her old master had become angry and decided to sell her. How many days? 10? 11? 


Muffled screams echoed down the corridor behind their cell and filtered through the grate above their heads. Someone was being tortured nearby. It would be easy to feel pity, but down deep she knew she would be screaming like that, soon. The screams went on for a long time, sometimes subsiding for a while, but always beginning again. They took on a wild, animal quality, no longer human. Just... screams, yanked out of some poor girl's gut. Tears trickled down her cheeks, not in pity for the poor tortured girl screaming a few yards away, but because she knew her screams would sound exactly the same.

The next morning she awoke, and the screams were gone. Whatever had been going on had stopped. Or the girl had lost the ability to scream. A privileged slave came by and hosed down the cell, taking special care to spray between her legs. He was an ugly slave, with a deformed face that looked like it sagged on one side. Every day he sprayed the cell, and took special care to spray her between her legs, as if that was the only form of sexual satisfaction he would ever have in life. She had been raped by many objects in her short life, and the water was inconsequential.

The boy was a privileged slave because he was ugly. That is what saved him, she knew. She was beautiful; she had always been beautiful. Her body was slim and her breasts large but did not sag. Her hair was dark and silky, though chopped short by her last master when he flew into a rage. It was her beauty that would be her undoing in this place. The men here would be eager to use her, to make her scream like the poor girl last night. She had no hope.

The sunlight in the cell was turning reddish as the afternoon of the seventh day progressed when two men came to the cell. She panicked and slid away, then cried out as the dildo barbs dig into her flesh once more. One man grabbed and spread her legs and the other grabbed the dildo; she cried out, begging them no, no, don't yank it out! The man pulled; the thorns dug deep into her vaginal flesh, catching and resisting. The man pulled harder and the sharp points dug into her sensitive flesh and began to tear. Blood trickled, and then drained from her cunt hole as the dildo was slowly pulled out. Her hips wriggled, her whole body writhed, her screams echoed in the small space.

She didn't realize at first when the thing had finally been removed, the pain continued after the spiked tore through the last flesh and the dildo fell out. The other two prisoners would not look at her, averting their eyes as she was lifted to a standing position and roughly guided out of the cell door and into the hall. She made a token bit of resistance but didn't have the strength to truly put up a fight.

Down deep inside she had still harbored a hope that her looks might save her; that she would be assigned to a brothel function, fucking endless lines of men, letting them shit on her, pee on her, hit her, fuck all her holes at once, endlessly. The prospect of being used in that way was all she hoped for. Now, her cunt had been shredded and was ruined. She knew she would never be lucky enough to become a slave whore.

The chamber was the nicest she had seen in the entire torture palace. Marble floors reflected beautiful decorations and light streaming in from the morning sun. She noticed these things because of the contrast with the cell from which she had just been removed, but they meant little to her. She was dragged to the center of the room. Several men gathered around her, evaluating and touching her naked flesh.  Apparently, they approved. Several were smiling and kept touching her body.

They lifted her naked body up and  her feet were inserted into a strange box with two holes at the top. She had to point her toes down in order to get her feet inside, and once she stood on her own, clamps inside automatically snapped into place, grabbing her ankles and feet. She could not move from the spot, but stood looking at the men that surrounded her.
"You ruined her cunt," one of the men observed. It wasn't a judgment, just an observation.

"You can still fuck it if you want," another said. "It's nice and lubed."

That brought harsh laughter. The man who had spoken first unzipped his pants, pulled out an enormous rock hard cock and walked around behind her. Someone punched her in the stomach, causing her to bend over with a grunt, and when she did the man behind her spread her ass cheeks and rammed his cock deep inside her rectum. He fucked her hard, making her body jerk and bob back and forth as he thrust. Her breasts were not big but large enough to wobble from the rhythmic banging from behind. She was tight around his cock and he finished quickly, spurting a load of fluid inside her and then withdrawing. She heard the zipper of his pants go back up.

Her hands were unfastened, causing blood to rush back into places that had been starved and numb. It hurt and she whimpered, rubbing hands and arms together. Her knees bent and she began to kneel down, though the stiff brackets held her ankles and legs in place and prevented her from doing so. As it was her arms were only free for a moment. The men grabbed her wrists and pulled them up over her head, inserting them into a similar box as her feet. Inside the holes in this box her wrists were clamped tightly in place.
She stood, legs held in place slightly apart and arms extended above, also held slightly apart. Her naked condition made her feel more vulnerable in this position, and she looked around at the men, wondering what would happen.

It became clear when she saw the bullwhip. An ugly man in a suit and tie pulled down, with collar open, wielded it expertly. Without warning or delay, he swung the long leather strand over his head and it lashed out toward her, wrapping itself around her naked body. The impact caused her flesh to ripple.

She heard the screaming, same as the night before, and realized it was her. It had begun.

After the third or fourth cutting stroke, the man stopped and said, "stretch her a bit."

In response there was a slight pneumatic hiss and the box holding her wrists pulled upward. Her body stretched, elongating painfully as the device pulled her muscles and joints tight. It was as if she was a guitar string, stretched and pulled tight, ready to be plucked. The men stood around, observing and appreciating how the stretched body became more beautiful, flesh pulled tight against and showing the slave girl's ribs and hips, her breasts lifted up slightly, and not least of all her face contorted in agony from the strain.
The whip hissed through the air again, slicing her flesh like a knife. She resumed screaming as the whip continued its work.

The pain of the whip masked what was slowly happening to her body, but during a lull in the lashing she realized she was facing direct sunlight through the window. Through the haze of fiery pain she looked and realized the box at the top had very slowly turned her 45 degrees to the left so her face was now looking at the window. 

The whip was handed to another man, who favored the upper half of her body. The whip cut bloody stripes across her breasts and arms, even across her face. A lovely young face, twisted in the screams of her flesh slowly being cut away, an inch at a time.

The box on the top continued to turn slowly. The box holding her feet in place staid perfectly still. Her body was slowly, ever so slowly twisted to the left.

They stopped whipping her.  Perhaps it didn't matter; her flesh was on fire, burning from the horrible flogging. Additional strokes might add some pain but there was something else happening that was going to provide more amusement for the brutish men.

She gasped in horror as she realized the box holding her wrists had turned a complete 180 degrees from where it had started. Her right wrist was over her left leg. The twisting force caused her legs to slide at an angle, her hips turned only halfway around. Her back and body were twisted by the force of the device, and her arms crossed, providing the last bit of give against the slow turning.

Yes, legs and arms were the first to give in to the twisting motion; her body was twisted as well but it resisted. 

The pain from the whipping was beginning to fade. No... not fade. It was being displaced by another, deeper agony. All her joints were screaming now as they were pulled tighter and tighter by the slow twisting motion. She continued screaming as well, her head tilted back, looking at the ceiling.

Somewhere, in another part of the building, some poor slave was listening to her screams, wondering what horror was being done, crying not out of pity but out of fear that the same would be done to them.

Arms crossed and intertwined, legs bent and knees pulled, she felt her joints weaken. It would not be long before her arms were pulled out of their sockets. Her back and hips were being twisted horribly, as well.

The men watched as the young girl was slowly, ever so slowly twisted and her body deformed. And yet, it was a beautiful kind of deformity. Her flesh stretched tight, emphasizing her young body's shape. Her breasts hung unaffected. Her hips moved, buttocks began to tighten. It was a beautiful sight.

The first sign of her true destruction was a crunching noise accompanied by a difference in the tone of the young girl's screams. Her upper body suddenly moved a couple of inches, increasing the amount of visible twist in her torso. Some vertebrae in her back and broken and given way to the pressure. It relieved a bit of the pressure on the girl's hips and shoulder joints, and emphasized the twisting of her torso.

Her screams were changing pitch as the device twisted her body around to 270 degrees. Her arms and legs continued to take the brunt of the twist, but her body could not resist the slow, persistent pressure. Breathing was becoming difficult for the girl. Shorter breaths meant shorter screams, more like a gurgling, rasping cry.


Both shoulders gave way at almost the same time. There was no audible sound, but it was obvious when it happened. The relief in pressure was temporary, as the device kept slowly turning.

It had been agreed previously that the twist would go to 360 degrees; that is, one complete turn around so the girl's face would be all the way around to the front. Bets were being taken whether she would survive to this point, and if so, how long after reaching this point she would continue.

Screaming had all but stopped. Two crushed vertebrae had cut off all sensation below her waist. Both shoulders had been pulled from their sockets, but not before her left ulna had cracked. Vital organs were functioning and she lived, still experiencing massive agony, though unable to express it through screams. Breathing was too difficult, her diaphragm was twisted and functioning very poorly, making it almost impossible to draw air in.

She reached 360 degrees-- one full twist around. Her arms, legs and body were a fascinating, gruesome and yet beautiful sight. Bruising throughout her arms and shoulders discolored her skin; her torso flesh was pulled tight in folds. Her head hung back and she panted in short, small breaths, making little noise.

As the girl hung in place, unable to move any part of her body, experiencing the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, she realized she was no longer screaming and remembered the silence of that other girl, the night before.  The silence was worse. It was when the ability to scream was lost, but the pain continued.

The men in the room stood around watching and admiring the twisted work of art that had been the girl slave. They drank, got drunk, prodded and poked her naked body. Her only movement was shallow breathing, but she was aware of their fondling and stroking fingers that probed and pinched and felt where her body had broken. Fingers probed between her legs, in a space that was closed tightly from the twisting pressure, pushing flesh aside until they reached the shredded flesh of her cunt.

After an hour of the 360 degree position, the men decided to add additional twist to finish the girl slave off. It didn't take much. Another 20 degrees and she let out a grunting rasp of breath, and did not take another.




Thursday, January 22, 2015

Sold Into Slavery: Basic Training

Part One Here
Part Two Here
Part Three Here

Stephanie stood in the tight metal cage, barely able to move in the deep darkness.

Cracks of light though the door that covered the narrow chamber revealed little outside the cage. She was in a hole under the floor of the barn. The sides where concrete, probably. The metal bars pressed against her body, her breasts hung out between them, her head unable to move more than a few inches.

Stephanie cried, frightened of what might be in the hole, what spiders and bugs might crawl onto her. But more frightening was the idea that she did not know how long they might leave her there. Her body slumped, knees bending slightly until the cage supported her body in its upright position.

After a while Stephanie screamed. She screamed out, begging to be removed from storage. She cried out that she was willing to do anything, if they would only let her free. Finally, when her voice became hoarse, she simply screamed.


And then she slept. Naked, cold, alone, trapped in the confining, coffin-like metal cage, she slumped down and slept.

When she woke there was no light seeping through the cracks. It must be night. Her mind went over the events of the last few days; her arrival in Malsi, a country dominated by men where women were simply slaves. The successful business meeting that unexpectedly degenerated into an orgy in which she was forced to allow Mr. Jackson, the Malsi executive they had come to meet, to enter her and spew his semen onto her. Her fascination with the slave market, the arousal and interested, and her begging her partner Kevin to let her try the process of being sold (as long as he bought her freedom, of course). Then the ultimate betrayal; Kevin did not buy her freedom; Mr. Jackson bought her.

Accepting her new position as an owned slave was anything but easy, in her mind. But physically, there was very, very little she could do. She had been stripped naked, bound, and taken away in the trunk of a car. Things went downhill from there. At the moment, she couldn't even move a few inches.

She remembered her feeding tube; she had seen it when the ugly man had lowered her into the hole. She was starving, but most of all very, very thirsty. She turned her head and almost immediately felt the plastic tube against her face. She sucked on it; the liquid that filled her mouth was thick and slightly sweet.

After drinking her fill, Stephanie found she needed to pee. She held it as long as she could, but finally released a stream of urine into the pit she occupied. It was humiliating. But not as humiliating as when she needed to defecate some time later. She maneuvered her hands to grab her ass cheeks and spread them wide, pushing the shit out. It plopped down, some sticking to her legs as it fell. She cried again after that.

What seemed like a lifetime later, light seeped into her pit, and she was able to dimly see the concrete walls. Boredom overwhelmed her. Panic came in waves. She wanted to die, she wanted to live, she wanted to be free. She couldn't move. She was buried alive.

Masturbation was a relief. It suddenly came to her that it was something that she could do to amuse herself, even trapped in that cage. She pushed and squeezed one hand around the bars until two fingers reached her pussy and began massaging. It felt fantastic. Pleasure flooded over her as she massaged faster and faster, moving her fingers over her clit. When climax came she shuddered and felt the cage swinging slightly from her movement.

How often can a girl masturbate? Fairly often, it turned out. Stephanie fell into a cycle of eating, peeing, crying, masturbating to orgasm, crying, sleeping, eating, shitting and peeing again, then masturbating again. Over and over. Her pussy was sore from the constant rubbing, but that was OK. She would masturbate until she bled; it was the only pleasure she had. Well, that and peeing. That felt good as well. And drinking from her tube.

After many cycles of eating, sleeping, and masturbating, a loud noise came from above Stephanie. The metal door that covered her pit was pulled back and clanged to the side, and the chain holding her cage suspended started rattling as it pulled her up and out. The light was blinding, and she blinked, getting used to it. She began to cry once again, this time grateful for being rescued, for being pulled out of hell.

The door to her cage was opened and she fell out of it onto the floor, unable to stand. A high pressure stream of water from a hose struck her in the face and she coughed and spat. The water moved from her head to her body, washing up and down, rinsing away the sweat and feces and dried urine from her legs. After a few minutes it stopped, and two hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, demanding that she stand on her wobbly legs.

"You were only down there for a few days, you can stand!" A rough voice demanded. "Time for you to be trained. We have a special program for you, since it turns out you have none of the normal background provided for a female. You need a crash course in what it means to be a woman!"

The man dragged her by a leash he attached to her metal slave collar, guiding her out of the large barn with its storage for women under the floor, down a hall and into a small room with a chair in the middle. She sat in the chair, feeling the rough wood dig into her naked flesh, not designed at all for comfort. And yet, sitting anywhere was a delight for her, she had been in a standing position in the cage for days and simply bending her knees and waist was wonderful.

A table was pulled in front of her and a book placed open on the table. Her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, her legs strapped to the side so they were spread wide. The exposure of her sex made her flush with embarrassment and an enhanced feeling of vulnerability.

"Open your mouth."

Stephanie failed to comply immediately and was slapped hard, a hand hitting the side of her face hard enough to jerk it to the side. Her cheek stung from the blow.

"Open your mouth."

Stephanie opened her mouth and a large but soft ball gag was inserted and then buckled behind her head. She bit down on the gag; her jaw was stretched wide but felt better when she bit down.

"Read the book. Remember what it says; you will be tested on it. Read aloud."

Stephanie looked in disbelief at the man, really seeing him for the first time. It was Mr. Hauser. She stared at him, wondering what he meant. When she delayed, Mr. Hauser took out a thin cane and struck Stephanie's bare breasts with it, hard.  The slap stung horribly, and she yelp a muffle cry of pain through the gag.

"Read the book, aloud," Mr. Hauser repeated.

Stephanie looked down at the book. It was opened to the first chapter, and appeared to be a legal guidebook of some sort, outlining responsibilities and procedures. She began to read, the ball gag preventing her words from making any sense.

The cane struck her breasts again, hard, bringing tears to Stephanie's eyes. The stinging lingered this time.

"I can't understand you. Read more clearly."

Stephanie sobbed, once, and then began reading again, doing her best to make the words less muffled around the gag. She hated Mr. Hauser at that point, he was the single pinpoint that represented the horrible Malsi culture and if she could have, she would have killed him. But she couldn't, and so she read the book, slowly, carefully, the best she could while her mouth was stuffed with a rubber ball gag.

The gag made her drool. Saliva pooled in her mouth as she read dripping out and over her naked chest and breasts. The process of reading while gagged, drooling uncontrollably, and receiving strokes with the cane across her breasts when she did not pronounce the words clearly was the most humiliating thing that had happened to her so far.

The horror and shock of her situation flooded over Stephanie's consciousness. She began to cry, remembering who she was; a professional, a businesswoman, a marketing specialist, the owner of a condo and a great sports car. How could this be happening to her? Strapped down naked, drooling, gagged, whipped by this ugly little man she wanted to kill, she began to loose concentration on her reading. Several burning strokes of the cane brought her attention back to the text and she continued reading in her muffled, gagged voice.

When she reached the end of a page she turned it with her nose and continued. The words meant nothing to her, they weren't applicable to her life or who she was. She read them simply to keep this horrible man from hurting her more.

"Stop reading."

The directive came suddenly. She stopped and looked up at Mr. Hauser, who removed her gag and untied her wrists from the chair. He held a long stick with prongs. She didn't know what it was, but had a suspicion. It looked a little like the taser used to carry in her purse.

"You have urinated on the floor. Get on your hands and knees and clean it up."

Sure enough, she had peed without realizing it. Several days of learning to pee in storage, whenever it was needed, had trained her to pee whenever the need struck her without thought. Stephanie flushed in embarrassment, but hesitated once again. She looked at Mr. Hauser, wondering if she could knock him down and run.

The stick in Mr. Hauser's hand brushed the side of Stephanie's right breast, and when it did a sudden searing pain sliced through her side with such force it knocked her down. She screamed and then lay on the floor shaking.

"Lick up the urine. Clean the floor."

Feeling was slowly returning to Stephanie's right side and she rolled over and began licking, thoroughly cleaning th
e puddle on the floor where she had been sitting. Her side ached and she remained on the floor, licking, until it was completely clean. Her naked ass was poked into the air as she groveled and licked, though she was hardly aware.

"Back into the chair."

She climbed back in the chair, was strapped in place, and she continued reading. It was some sort of textbook, or guidelines for behavior. Some social order thing, she read the words and understood some of them but her thoughts flew about she hardly knew what she was reading.

Females are a lower class of human, ordained to serve... Females are to remain naked at all times unless permission.... Motherhood is the pinnacle of achievement for any female, procreation is... ... pleasure is always provided to the male, a female's pleasure is a secondary side effect...

It was cold in the barn. Her naked skin prickled with gooseflesh and her nipples were embarrassingly hard. Her legs were strapped to the sides of the chair, forced apart slightly to expose her sex. It was humiliating, but there was nothing she could do. She must have read for an hour before Mr. Hauser stopped her.

"Well, Stephanie. You have completed reading a significant portion of your first course. Time for a quiz."

Mr. Hauser attached a clamp to Stephanie's right nipple; it was two flat pieces, one above and one below the nipple, screwed together tightly. It didn't hurt terribly, though it was uncomfortable. A second similar clamp was attached to her left nipple. Mr. Hauser took time to caress her beautiful softness and play with each nipple to make then harder as he applied the equipment. What scared Stephanie was the wires that descended from each clamp; one black, one red. She understood what this meant and started to sweat.

A metal bucket was placed underneath her chair. This made her even more nervous.

"Very well, let's try the first question. What is the proper role of a female in society?"

Stephanie panicked for a moment and then remembered something that made sense from the reading. "The female is ordained to serve the male in all things."

"Not exactly correct, and incomplete, but we will accept this answer for now. Next question: Describe the female body position when ordered to Present."

Oh god, she didn't know. She had no idea. She had to guess... "Bent... over at the waist, and..aaahhAAHHHHHHHHGGGG!"

White hot shots of pain zapped through both nipples, forcing a scream from Stephanie as she bent over and shook, her breasts bouncing though not enough to dislodge the tightly applied wire clamps. It only lasted a few seconds, but was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"The proper position is sitting on knees, ass resting on feet, knees spread wide, hands on top of thighs palm up, head bowed down. Next question. What is a female's highest level contribution to society?"

Stephanie felt a wave of anger come over her. She was no slave. She was a free woman, and when she got her first chance she would wreak revenge on all that had put her here; Kevin, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Hauser, everyone. She growled slightly and spit an insult at the man across the table.

"You ... bastard. I hope you rot in AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHEEEGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH".

Stephanie's breasts seemed to light on fire for a few seconds and she cried out in agony, struggling and writhing against straps that held her in place.

"Incorrect. A female's highest contribution to society is as a breeder, to conceive and become a mother. Next question..."

And so it went for a half hour. Most questions Stephanie didn't know the answers to and she was shocked mercilessly, her arms and legs straining and jerking against the straps that held her in place. At the end of the session she had lost bladder control and peed into the bucket below the chair more than once. Her breasts hurt constantly.

"Stephanie, I must say you are more beautiful than ever when you are writhing in pain. But, that isn't the goal of these sessions. Next time, pay more attention to the material." Mr. Hauser gently cradled her face with his hand, kissed her on the forehead, and then unstrapped her from the chair.

"Let's relax a little. This was a hard time for you, I know. Open your mouth."

Stephanie opened her mouth almost automatically. Obedience was beginning to sink in, her training slowly being absorbed into her being. Mr. Hauser inserted a round metal ring, angling it behind her teeth so that her mouth was held open painfully. The ring was strapped behind her head.

Mr. Hauser unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard, long member. Stephanie knew what was coming. She understood there was little she could do about it, but Mr. Hauser was so disgusting to her she tried to get away. Turning her head and wriggling out of his grasp, she started to crawl toward the heavy door of the barn, but didn't get far. She was still weak and before she got to her feet her captor had caught up to her and snapped a collar and chain around her neck. He forced her to her knees and shoved his elongated cock between her distended lips.

It was quick. Mr. Hauser thrust and Stephanie choked, the back of her throat closing around the glans of his penis, involuntarily massaging it until he thrust hard into her and ejaculated a load of semen. The gag kept her from swallowing, so the white fluid slowly drained from her mouth, mixed with her saliva and a bit of vomit.

That night Stephanie was locked in a cage, not long enough to stretch out or lay down, hardly tall enough to kneel on hands and knees. She slept fitfully, uncomfortable, unable to move much. It was better than being in storage, though, and there was real food and water in a bowl. A bucket under the cage caught her body's waste.

The next day was much the same, reading material out loud, caned across her breasts or any exposed part of her body when she faltered. Mr. Hauser seemed to appreciate her beauty, the shape of her body and her face and hair, for her fondled her frequently. She was tested again, this time standing with her arms and legs tied apart, electrodes smashing her nipples. Her body twisted and writhed from the pain when she got an answer wrong or hesitated.

The sessions of learning and torture blurred into each other. Shocks to her nipples were replaced by shocks to her anus, or vagina. She was fed from the bowl and had time to rest in her cage, but never rested or slept enough. The training sessions were relentless and Stephanie was desperate to begin learning so she could stop the pain.

Quickly, Stephanie learned how to pass the tests. She had to change the way her mind worked; she changed her thought patterns. In order to give the correct answers of a submissive woman, she had to begin thinking like a submissive woman. She changed her attitude toward Mr. Hauser; he was simply trying to help her. She needed to find her subspace and actually feel the reality of her submission.  Once she began to embrace the state and process of her slavery, it became easier to quickly answer questions correctly.

"Who does a woman look to for approval?"

"Her master and owner."

"What if her master is not there?"

"Any male that she serves or can serve."

"What is the submissive mating position?"

"On my back, legs up behind my arms or shoulders, as I am able."

"Why are you receiving shocks and strokes of the cane?"

"Because I am imperfect, and discipline helps me perfect myself."

As her answers became better and faster the shocks came less and less. The welts from the cane healed. Stephanie began to feel better and better. She wanted out of this place, anyplace where she could avoid the constant discipline and punishment, and she knew that absolute obedience and would be required. As she perfected her obedience and submissive nature she actually felt pride in her accomplishment. Down deep she still hoped to get away from Malsi, away from her owner. But until then it was good to adapt and serve.

Mr. Hauser used her periodically for his own pleasure. Stephanie learned what he liked, and pride swelled in her naked breast when he gasped and spewed semen into her mouth. She knew how to make him climax fast, and from his moans she was satisfying him better than ever.

She served, using her body and mind to pleasure the male, and that felt good and right to her.

Finally, the day came when Mr. Hauser announced that Stephanie had completed her basic training, and she was ready to begin actual interaction and integration with the Malsi culture. She was to be transported back to her master's estate, where she would be assigned duties.

This wonderful news excited Stephanie. As she stood in chains in front of Mr. Hauser, her hand strayed to her naked body and pressed between her legs. She was masturbating, unconsciously. She wasn't aware she was doing it, but her excitement, pride and joy led her to engage in the only form of pleasure she had had access to.

"Stop that, Stephanie!" Mr. Hauser's voice was stern. Stephanie jerked to attention, wondering at first what she had done wrong and then pulling her hand away from her pussy quickly when she realized what she was doing.


"Pleasuring yourself in that manner is only to be done when allowed by your master or his representative. You know this! Your pleasure is for men to provide at their discretion. Remember this. Now, let's get you ready for transport."

Mr. Hauser led Stephanie into a small room off the side of the barn. A styrofoam case with an odd hole cut in the middle lay on the floor. The hole was in the shape of a human being, curled into a partial fetal position.

Mr. Hauser took a small audio player and strapped the headphones to Stephanie's ears. When he turned the sound on, Stephanie heard a voice talking. It spoke continuously in a hypnotic, beautiful voice.

"You are a slave. You have no value other than obedience to males. Always obey, always strive to please the men around you. This is the only way to happiness and fulfillment. To be happy is to use your mind and body for the pleasure of males. Success of your master is your success. Pleasure of your master is your pleasure. There is no way to be happy than to pleasure men. You are nothing, empty without a male master. Your pain and suffering is joy. You can not change your slave nature any more than a rock can move on its own. Use your nakedness to show your willingness to serve. Your mind is simply a tool to use to bring success and pleasure to the men you encounter....."

The voice continued in her head, seducing her, filling her mind with the principles she had learned in her basic training.

Mr. Hauser brought
Stephanie to the box, laying her down in the hole. It fit perfectly; as more layers of styrofoam were added, her body became completely surrounded in a tight fitting cocoon. The audio player feeding the subliminal messaging into her ears was placed into a tiny compartment carved out of the packing material.

Stephanie panicked for a moment. The box was holding her tight, completely unable to move. She cried for a moment and began struggling, trying to rise up and out.

"Shhh... now Stephanie. Remember, you are being transported. Trust your masters to do with you as they see best. That is who you are. Property, to be used as your owner sees fit. Accept this. Be happy in it."

Stephanie cried, shaking uncontrollably as the last layer of packing material was placed over her, closing her naked body in completely. A heavy top to the box was applied and screwed into place, and she was packed away, unable to move, wrapped in the plastic padded packing material. It was dark, but the voice droned on in her ears.

"A man's semen is your blessing. Always seek to draw it from a man; it brings you pleasure whether inside you or smeared on your skin. Remember the slave positions for male pleasure, punishment, and submission. Your body is not your own. Your mind is not your own. Allow all men to penetrate and use your body and your mind at any time. It is the only way to survive. Accept the reality of who you are...."

The box was turned up on its side, and she felt it move. She was on her way.



Monday, August 4, 2014

Perfunctory Execution

Lara sat glumly on the edge of her fold up bed in the austere concrete cell. Being a prisoner at Richland was far worse than she had ever thought it could be. The prison farm was the Federal Detention Center of last resort for the worst offenders, the ones that society wanted to just disappear.

Lara didn't think she was that bad; she had cut the genitals off her boyfriend with a large kitchen knife, but he had deserved it. Totally. So what if she had cooked his balls in a stew and served it for dinner that night? At least it gave the whole incident some useful purpose. Lara was shocked she had been stuck in this place.

At least she hadn't been sent to the medical wing. That was the scariest thing of all. No one came back from the medical wing.

And what was this whole, co-ed prison thing? She shared her cell with a woman, but the cell block had both men and women in it, and it was easy to see things going on in other cells; there was no privacy at all. Her second day there she had been shoved into a corner by some big black dude when they were let out for lunch. He had turned her around against the wall, yanked her regulation jeans down around her ankles and shoved himself up her cunt and fucked her while several other inmates stood by and watched. She was still sore from that encounter.

Lara was cute, there was no getting around it, and that was not an advantage in this prison. She had long brown hair, a nice oval face with smooth skin and brown eyes, and a great body. Her tits were not huge, but pretty big, big enough that guys liked to tittie fuck her and come on her face and neck at times. Her waist was slim, her thighs strong. So far her looks had gotten her raped twice by guys and forced to give some girl oral until she grunted and screamed to an orgasm.

Thing was, the guards didn't care. As long as order was kept they didn't care what the prisoners did to each other. Times were going to be tough at Richland.

A loud buzzer sounded and Lara looked up and out of the bars that covered the front of her cell. Two guards were carrying a wooden chair into the central square of the prison block, a bare concrete square with rows of cells on all four sides that was called simply "the yard".  They dropped the chair in place in the center and then left. A murmur went up from all the cells, conversations, arguments, even a couple of women could be heard crying.

"What's this? What does that stupid chair mean?" asked Lara of her cell mate Kimi.

Kimi shuddered grimly and simply said, "lottery today."

"Lottery? Like... I didn't even buy a ticket. What's going on?"

Kimi sat on her bunk and looked up at Lara with a white face, drained of all color. "Richland has limited space, Lara. When it gets full, they have to make room. They can't release anyone, so how do you think they make more room?"

"Uh, I dunno. Build more cells? Make someone sleep on the floor?" Lara stared blankly at Kimi.

"No, you idiot. They execute someone. Body removed, probably to the medical wing, someone new comes along a day later."

Lara grunted. "Huh. That's... weird. Glad I'm not on death row. Not going to get me."

Kimi sighed, "Lara, you are dumber than you look. Everybody here is on death row. No one gets out of Richland. No one misses us when we disappear. They pick a convict number out of  a bowl, and that's it. They put you in the chair, and you don't ever get up again."

Lara's eyes got big and she looked at the sturdy wooden chair. This place was fucked. Her hands shook slightly as she reached up to hold the bars. How many were in the cell block, she quickly counted up. Two levels, 4 sides on each level. 5 cells per side, that was 40 cells total. Two prisoners per cell, that was 80 prisoners in the block. Her chances were one in 80.

She turned back to Kimi. "So... someone gets to die today, huh? Don't worry about it. Won't be me. Won't be you. Just a show to watch."

"Lara, how do you think your bunk was cleared? Huh? The girl before you... she won the lottery the day before you arrived. Her name was Cheyenne."

OK, well.. that brought it closer to home. Still. Odds were with them. No biggie. Lara shrugged.

Kimi looked at her hands, and then up at Lara. "Babe... I have never said this before. But you are... well, you are really special. Really pretty. I like you."

Lara groaned... so far she hadn't had any troubles with Kimi. Kimi was a short, cute girl with dark hair in a pixie cut, and skinny. Maybe 100 lbs, tops. Nice looking with big eyes. Eyes that were looking at her meaningfully.

"Look, Lara, one of us might go today. Let's make it a nice hour or so, something to remember. Just in case, huh? There ain't nothin' worth much here except you and me and what we might make of it."


Lara looked down at Kimi. She was pretty, she had to admit. Lara was bi, though she preferred guys, but she could see doing it with Kimi. It was just... in this prison, who you hooked up with was something you had to live with because you couldn't escape the entanglements and drama.

Ten minutes later Lara was laying on her bunk, naked with legs spread while Kimi gave her the best orgasm she had had since the night Lara sliced her boyfriend's nuts off. She was shuddering, grabbing the Kimi's hair and shoving her face hard against her cunt, lifting and thrusting her hips up, her boobs bouncing from the motion, head thrown back with her mouth open, gasping. There were a couple of hoots from other prisoners watching from across the cell block, but she was out of it, completely engrossed in Kimi's magic tongue.

When she had finished, Lara returned the favor, suckling Kimi's nipples, licking her naked body and finally, spreading her cunt lips and diving in. Kimi reacted like a sex machine, grinding, enjoying, crying out, squeezing Lara's head between her thighs. She tasted sweet, and Lara found herself enjoying the sex, the first thing she had actually enjoyed in weeks, since coming to Richland. She liked Kimi.

When it was over, Lara and Kimi lay together on Kimi's bunk, legs and arms intertwined with Lara slightly on top (the bunk was quite narrow). As they lay there they heard a commotion from outside. Five guards, one of them the shift supervisor, entered the yard. Lara and Kimi, still naked, rose and went to the bars to see.

"Well, then, my lucky inmates of Richland block C, we need a bunk and it is time for the lottery!" shouted the shift supervisor, raising the bowl above him. Inside were a bunch of small slips of paper. "Shall we see who the lucky winner is today?"

Hoots, howls, cries, and shouts went up across the cell block. Kimi and Lara watched quietly. Lara found herself actually becoming nervous, her stomach churning in spite of her confidence in the odds.

"All right then ladies and gentlemen, the winning number is....." here the guard reached into the bowl, swished around, then pulled out a slip of paper. "Number.....   27785!!!! Kimi Sanchez!"

Lara took a deep breath, relief flooding over her. She had known it wasn't going to be her.

Then she felt the stiff body of her cell mate next to her. Kimi stood motionless, hands grasping the bars so tight her knuckles were white. A tear trickled down one cheek.

"Oh.... Kimi... no....oh.... I am so..." Lara didn't know what to say. She didn't need to say much because suddenly Kimi screamed and ran to the corner of the cell, cowering beneath the bunk.

Three guards had come over to the cell door and unlocked it, slid it open and entered. They brushed Lara's naked body aside, and moved to where Kimi cried and cowered, grabbing her by the arms. They lifted her small, light body up and pulled her out of the corner and dragged her from the cell as she sobbed and begged. "Please, please, don't.... please..."

The cell door clanged shut on Lara as she watched her new lover dragged to the chair. There she was quickly strapped into place with simple but effective belts. Kimi continued to struggle, her beautiful naked body exposed for all to see. The straps on her legs held them apart, so her still wet cunt was easily seen glistening between her struggling thighs. Her small but soft breasts bounced around as she struggled, her stomach tightening and rippling. Kimi's head thrashed from side to side in a panic.

With absolutely no ceremony or delay, the supervising guard stepped behind Kimi and slid a clear plastic bag over her head. Kimi's face took on a look of horror as she realized what was happening and she shook her head harder, trying to dislodge the bag. It didn't help at all.

The guard slipped a belt over Kimi's thrashing head and around her neck, tightening it. The belt was tightened enough to seal the bag, though it did not cut off the blood flow in the neck. As a result, Kimi continued to breathe the limited air sealed within the bag. The clear plastic inflated like a bubble as she breathed out, and then collapsed when she sucked in the air. The plastic would collapse until it hugged Kimi's face tightly, her lungs creating a vacuum.

The condemned girl screamed and begged, talking, babbling, asking for mercy. She was still breathing, air was flowing in and out of her lungs, but the oxygen was quickly being depleted. After about a minute of this obscene thrashing about the air inside the bag was almost completely devoid of oxygen and was taking its toll on the young girl's body. Her struggles took on a different, even more panicked style. Her head thrust back as she tried to breathe in, then she blew out as hard as she could, making the bag balloon and stretch out. She shook her head back and forth, not with an effort to dislodge the bag but with a natural frustration from the lack of real air.

Kimi looked at Lara with pleading eyes. Their naked bodies still smeared with drying body fluids, the two had established an odd connection just a few minutes before. Lara simply looked at the dying Kimi, tears in her eyes. There was nothing she could do but watch.

Other prisoners in the cell block reacted in different ways. Some of the women shuddered and looked away, hiding their eyes, covering their ears. Some laughed and jeered, relieved it was not them that was suffering in the execution chair. Some of the men had their cocks out, and were masturbating at the sight of a beautiful, naked woman strapped down and gasping for air.

Kimi's face was turning red, and then slightly purple. Her chest heaved, but then stopped momentarily, and then heaved again. Her breathing was erratic. She thrust her head back and looked at the skylights above her, sucking in useless, empty air. Her eyes lost the ability to see. Her limbs stopped their violent thrashing about, though her body continued to convulse in an attempt to receive oxygen.

A pool of liquid formed between the condemned girl's legs and began dripping onto the floor. Lara watched in horror and fascination as Kimi's body continued to try to live, though her head sagged to the side and then down. She obviously had lost consciousness.  Her body made three, four more attempt to breathe and then stopped. The plastic bag about her head remained still, no longer expanding or contracting.

Sitting limply in the chair, Kimi's naked body twitched once and then stopped moving. The guards did nothing but watch for another minute or two. Then with a nonchalant sort of uncaring demeanor, the entire group walked out of the yard, leaving Kimi's body strapped to the chair.

Silence reigned in the cell block. Lara observed the large black dude that had raped her the first week finishing off his masturbation by spewing semen out of the bars of his cell in the direction of Kimi's lifeless body.

Lara shuddered.

An hour later, a set of guards from the medical wing came and unstrapped Kimi's body, laying it on a stretcher. Other guards washed down the concrete floor of the yard, and all traces of Kimi's existence were removed.

The next day, a new prisoner arrived. A woman named Eva, convicted of murdering a gas station attendant after a spree of robberies with her boyfriend, took Kimi's bunk.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Love of Brute: Self Bondage Gone Awry

Pain games. Edge play. Cutting. Self bondage.

The best was self bondage. Elise found great satisfaction from the thrill, the danger, the helpless feeling of being bound and unable to move. There were so few others that understood, and it was hard to just trust a guy with it. There was something about the danger in it that raised her physical awareness, made her excited and stimulated her erotically.

After a while she started riskier and riskier moves. Each time was better than the last, and drove her to try more and more unusual and exciting thrills. The current plan had been hatching in her mind for a few weeks, and she had begun the implementation a few days before.

In the woods off the back road where she had played some outdoor self bondage scenarios in the past, she had buried several glass jars with the top exposed through the dirt. Over the last two days a number of bugs had fallen into the jars and been unable to climb up the slippery glass walls to get out. She had a nice collection of nasties.

Pulling the jars out of the ground she observed her collection.  A few fire ants. Two scorpions. A stink bug. Three things that looked like roaches but had weird pincers. Several beetles, and a number of small spiders. She suspected there had been more bugs in her jars, but some bugs had eaten the others.

Placing the jars on the ground Elise took out the rubber glove. Holding the opening of the glove wide she slipped it over the top of one of the jars, turned it upside down and shook. Bugs went tumbling down from the jar into the glove.  She repeated this with each of the jars until all her captured bugs were inside the rubber glove. When she was done, the glove moved, seethed, bulged with a variety of nasty specimens, none happy with their new situation. She twisted the rubber glove's opening at the wrist and tied it off, trapping the bugs inside.

She was wearing a short skirt, important not only for access but for the sensual feeling it gave her to expose her smooth shapely legs. She thought about how much more exciting it would be if someone was there to watch what she was doing. Several guys had eyed her incredibly short skirt and legs earlier in the day, and it made her feel aroused to remember.

Elise sat on the ground with her back straight and pressed against a tree, spread her legs wide and raised her skirt. Slipping her panties down to her knees she exposed her pussy. She rubbed it a few times with her left hand, feeling the pleasure and anticipation.

Lubricating the opening to her vagina with a commercial lube, she then took the rubber glove and began pushing it up inside. She shuddered as she felt the bugs roiling and squirming inside, but the rubber protected her sensitive vaginal walls.  Surprisingly, it wasn't that easy getting the rubber glove inside. Even lubed, the thing was large, stuffed with bugs and wasn't stiff enough to get inside easily.

With some effort, Elise shoved and pushed until the rubber glove filled with the bugs and beetles was deep inside her vagina. Once again she shuddered, eyes closing and head rolling back. The feeling of having the squirming horrible things inside her vagina made her at once sick and excited. The sensation was incredible. She sat for a moment, just feeling the wriggling, rippling mass inside her most intimate part.

Next, the final phase. She needed to recapture the feeling of losing control. To be invaded by disgusting filth and to have no ability to stop it.

Elise produced a set of handcuffs, snapping one around her left wrist tight enough to be secure but not so tight as to cut off circulation. Already Elise felt her heart beating rapidly, the familiar excitement flushing her body. Combined with the revolting mix of squirming insects shoved up her vagina, she felt ready to orgasm. But no... not yet.

With her back still against the tree Elise reached her arms in back of her, bringing the wrists together. With a smooth practiced motion she snapped the other side of the handcuffs over her right wrist. As the cuff snapped into place she was secured, unable to get away. Wrists twisted behind her, arms wrapped around the tree, she sat with her back against the tree, legs splayed out in front of her, the top two buttons of her blouse undone, skirt raised high.

The key to the cuffs was in a tiny plastic bag taped to the chain that connected the right and lefts cuffs. She could reach it with some effort, but she left it in place for a while. The bugs squirmed. She squirmed. She moved her hips and felt her breathing become more rapid. A cool breeze drifted across her bare skin, reminding her of just how exposed her legs and hips were. She had shaved that morning and her legs felt cool, smooth. She felt sexy and depraved at the same time.

There was a sharp pain inside her cunt. What had happened? She gasped, and jerked against the cuffs. Her arms really were wrapped tightly against the tree trunk; there was little room to move. The pain was easing, but her arousal and excitement remained. This was one of the best games she had ever played. She wanted it to go on a bit longer.

A second sharp pain. Elise let out a short scream. One of the bugs had pinched her through the rubber. She couldn't tell exactly what had happened, but it hurt. She began to move her hands to reach the tiny plastic bag with the key. It wasn't easy, she could feel it with the tips of her fingers, but getting it free was difficult. It was supposed to be difficult; feeling helpless and defiled was part of the thrill. She twisted and moved and finally got two fingers on the plastic and began pulling.

"AAAAHHHH!!!" Elise suddenly screamed. Something had gotten through the rubber and bitten or stung her inside. She jerked as she screamed, thrusting her hips up in the air, wriggling in reaction to the pain.

At the same time her fingers jerked the plastic bag free... and then lost their grip. The key went tumbling to the ground.

In a panic accompanied by increasing stinging deep inside her cunt, Elise lowered her hands as far as they would go, scrabbling around the base of the tree, trying to find the dropped key. She was sweating now, the pain and panic getting to her. Fear mixed with arousal and ugly tickling feelings of tiny legs and pincers crawling out of a hole in the rubber, grabbing the moist wet walls of her inner vagina.

The key was gone. She tried for an hour to search, but it had fallen outside the reach of her handcuffed hands.

The bugs slowly but surely clawed and ate their way out of the rubber glove and into Elise's vagina. Finding one way out blocked by the rubber glove, the squirming insects crawled deeper inside her, biting, clawing, and stinging as they went. Elise screamed and screamed until her throat was too hoarse to scream any more. Her body writhed in obscene movements, hips thrusting high in the air and then collapsing down into the dirt. She slid her ass back and forth, spread her legs wide and pushed, trying to expel that rubber glove if she were giving birth to a hideous child.

Sweat poured down her face and body. After a while her screams subsided into sobs that slowly quieted to rasping, uneven breathing. Her legs continued to jerk and spasms contorted her body with the progress of the bugs as they ate her insides.

Elise was still alive when they found her two days later. Many of the insects were still alive, though many were dead. They carried the semi-conscious form of the teenage girl to an ambulance, and took her to a hospital.

She survived, but not entirely intact.