Saturday, February 6, 2016

Sold Into Slavery: Art

It took two days for Stephanie to recover from her punishment. She had light burns where the electrodes had eaten away the flesh during her long torture session, and was weak and exhausted.

During this time Stephanie lay in the cellar holding cell, chained and unable to move; though really she didn't want to move much. She managed to get to a waste bucket to relieve herself, and ate from the small dishes left for her with food and water, otherwise she just lay, numb and raw from the constant agony she had endured.

"Get up. Time to earn your living!" The voice was of a stern man, silhouetted by the light pouring from behind him as he stood in the door.

Stephanie struggled to her feet.  She had lost weight and was thin, though her body was strengthening and she had essentially recovered from the torture punishment.

A collar around her neck had a chain attached and she was led from the stone holding cell. From there she was taken down the basement corridor to a room where she obediently allowed herself to be tied down to a metal table, legs and arms spread slightly.

Stephanie found she had lost her will to fight. Her will was broken. Her mind had become mushy, and she only vaguely remembered her life before becoming a slave in Malsi. What reminded her of her new status as slave was her inexperience. Almost everything she encountered was new. There were new places, new masters, new forms of pain, new punishments, new tasks. She was still learning.

On the metal table she lay and allowed herself to be washed. A heavy, coarse brush was used to scrub her skin with soap. The coarseness of the brush seamed to scrape and rip her flesh and she cried from the pain, but did not protest or resist. Special treatment to her anus and vaginal area meant more scraping and rubbing on her most sensitive flesh.

She was rinsed off, and when done she glowed pink and fresh, clean and healthy in her nakedness.
Released from the table she was taken down the hall and climbed stairs to the main house where she was left in a finely furnished room. She felt out of place there; she was a dirty slave, and the room was for men, not women. She stood, afraid to sit down on the fine furniture.

Three men entered, Mr. Jackson and two other strangers. Mr. Jackson spoke.

"Here she is, gentlemen. Is she not all I said?"

"Yes, yes, Jackson. I do like this one." One of the men, a tall dark man with a trimmed beard, came over and examined Stephanie closely. He ran his hands over her body, between her legs. He forced her legs apart easily (she complied automatically). Her hair and teeth were examined.

"I think we can reach an agreement here. 2,000 per week, for the next month?"

"That is agreeable. With the stipulation that there are no permanent modifications or mental debilitation. She is worth a considerable amount."

Stephanie stood and listened. She was being... sold? No. Rented, perhaps. Or leased. Some agreement for her use had just been arrived at

"Please pack her up and send her to our studio in Jahsana, we will expect her tomorrow."

When the men left, Mr. Jackson stayed behind, looked Stephanie over happily, and finally addressed her.

"Well, my dear. I am finally going to being to recover some of the cash I expended in your purchase. It won't come anywhere near to compensating me, but it's a beginning. Do well at this. Don't disappoint."

"Please... sir." Stephanie asked timidly. "What will happen to me?"

"You are to be used for an art exhibit. Very little will be expected of you other than to obey and be still. To cooperate with the artistic senses of those gentleman. It is the simplest, most base task for a slave, and I certainly hope you can be successful."

Stephanie hung her head. She was embarrassed, frightened, and wanted only to find safety. Comfort was no longer a desire. She had almost forgotten what comfort was. She had forgotten what it meant to wear clothing. She only vaguely remembered freedom.

That evening Stephanie was packed away for shipment. She had been transported before in various ways, none of them pleasant. Being treated as cargo was never fun and could be quite painful. This time turned out to be the most claustrophobic of any transportation method.

She was laid naked in a coffin-like pine box on a layer of foam, and told to lay as still as possible. There she was cathetered, a tube running up into her bladder and out into a bag. A large plug was inserted into her anus. The process of having her genitals prodded and the tube inserted was humiliating, but she did nothing but lay still and allow it to happen.

A tank rather like a fire extinguisher was produced, with a flexible tube that extended out. As Stephanie lay in the box, the tube was activated and out flowed a foam that was like a thick liquid. It expanded quickly as it covered Stephanie's body.

Within seconds the foam began to dry and harden. Within one or two minutes the foam was solid, and while soft, did not yield to her at all. She was completely encased in the foam packing material, except for her face which looked out of the box and stared at those around her. The box lid was attached and she was enveloped in darkness, unable to move even a quarter of an inch.

Complete immobility. No part of Stephanie's body could move even a quarter of an inch. She was encased, immobile, packed away, and the crate containing her was quickly moved. She felt the thumping and bumping of movement and heard the hollow sounds of the back of a truck.

She wasn't handled as gently as prior shipments; apparently the foam packing material allowed workers to jostle and throw the crate around without risk of damaging her. Nevertheless it was extremely unpleasant and Stephanie became nauseous very quickly. The movement, bumping and crashing around made her sick. This frightened her, for she was gagged with a ball gag and she didn't know what would happen if she vomited.

At one point she was upside down, the crate lifted and rolled along with her head pointed toward the ground. Her cries were muffled by the packing, and could not be heard by the workmen that moved her crate.

The entire transport too about two days, during which Stephanie did not eat or drink, urinated into the catheter without control, and was unable to defecate. The shit in her bowels built up painfully, unable to be expelled.

At last the crate was still and she the lid removed. Fresh air wafted in and she breathed as deeply as the foam packing would allow. A worker took a knife and cut into the packing material, removing it in large chucks. When enough had been removed, Stephanie fell free onto the floor.

After a short time for recovery, a short, squat but strong man forced Stephanie to walk into a room where there were several other women very similar in size and look to herself, all being processed in some way. 

Her butt plug was removed and replaced by an enema tube. Water flowed into her bowels and she doubled over, crying out in pain as peristalsis cramps struck her. The bag was larger than any enema bag Stephanie had ever seen, and the liquid just kept pouring into her abdomen, distending her stomach, forcing its way up higher and higher into her intestines.

When the bag was finally empty, all the liquid sloshing around inside of Stephanie, the enema tube and nozzle were left inside as they removed the catheter from her urethra.

"Use the bucket," the man instructed. When the enema nozzle was removed, Stephanie sat on the bucket and let the streams of water and shit squirt out. It took her almost 15 minutes to clear her bowels completely. Another girl was expelling her enema into a bucket across the room at the same time.

The girls, all obviously selected for their similar looks, were then washed with a spray gun and heavy brush. When all were cleaned, they were given bottles of a thick, vanilla liquid to drink.

"This is nourishment. It is all you will need for the next two days. Drink it up."

Stephanie and the other girls all drank the entire bottle, filled to satisfaction.

A tiny catheter was inserted into Stephanie. It was enough to block all urination, but could not be seen. A plug was placed securely up her ass once again.

All the girls, six of them together, were marched down the hall across a lobby and into an exhibition area of a museum. There were already several exhibits that contains naked girls in various poses, forced into strange positions, or painted or incorporated into some sort of strange modern art background.

Stephanie's art exhibit was a wall with six frames. Each frame took one of the girls, tied securely in different ways. Each frame contained a girl in a different position; some with arms above her head, some with arms to the side, one facing the wall with her ass sticking out.

Stephanie was tied in place with her arms up, legs spread, facing outward. She was left there, along with the other girls. Looking at the other women in the exhibit, Stephanie was grateful she wasn't the girl at the end that had been tied upside down.

It was late evening, and once the girls were tied in place the lights were turned off and the museum emptied. The girls were left hanging from the wall; pieces of "art" waiting for museum patrons to appear the next day. It was better than the torture punishment that lingered at the front of Stephanie's mind, but it was still an unnatural and degrading thing to happen. She spent some of her time remembering her work as a marketing and sales executive, her home, car, and family. All gone, distant, replaced by the humiliation of hanging naked in public.

There was little conversation between the girls in the night. The girl at the end that was upside down complained of nausea, but then fell quiet. The girl next to Stephanie mentioned this was her third exhibit as a work of art, and was proud of her artistic contribution, though it was very uncomfortable.

The next morning the museum opened at 8:00 AM and patrons began to filter through, looking at the various works. The patrons were mostly men. Some women attended, high class slaves that accompanied their owners, laughed and commented on the artistic merits of various displays.

Stephanie's exhibit drew moderate attention, with many visitors observing the girls hanging in various poses. Being simply hung on the wall as an object of art was humiliating for Stephanie. It was painful, and her discomfort and reaction to the discomfort was being observed in a very detached manner by crowds of people who casually walked by. It wasn't easy to simply hang from the wall for long periods at a time, and cramping discomfort caused Stephanie and the other girls to struggle and shift their weight around as best they could. This movement was considered part of the art.

Throughout the day observers stopped and examined the exhibit, never touching but showing great interest in all aspects of the display. Stephanie found herself growing more and more uncomfortable as her muscles gave out, cramps became more and more painful, and her bladder and bowels filled.

The girl next to Stephanie began to cry, internal pain breaking her down. Once again, this was considered part of the art and the patrons observed the variations in the art piece as the day wore on. Tears, moans of pain, struggles and writhing in different positions were noted and enjoyed by the art patrons.

Finally, it was time for the museum to close. Guests were ushered out, lights dimmed, doors locked. Stephanie hung as if crucified, sagging down in misery.

An attendant came with a bucket and removed Stephanie's catheter. Urine sprang from her unplugged urethra, spraying with sudden force. The pleasure of evacuating her bladder after an entire day was incredible. She pushed every last drop out, and then the catheter was replaced.

Each of the girls was allowed to relieve herself into the bucket and then was re-cathetered. A while later another bucket was provided, butt plugs were removed and each girl was given the opportunity to defecate. Butt plugs were replaced when this process was complete.

The thick, nourishing liquid was provided once again, and Stephanie gulped it down.

The lights were turned off and the exhibit was once again in the dark, ready for patrons to view the next day.

After three days of this, the art exhibit was changed, and Stephanie was moved to a different hall in the same museum. Her new location was actually near an entryway, and she was the only girl in her area.

The two workers that moved her put heavy straps around her ankles and wrists, and then with a giant heave lifted her body up and upside down. Pushed against the plain white wall, her arms and legs were forced apart, spread wide.

Stephanie's body was oiled thoroughly as she hung head down. When her skin glistened with a semi-natural shine, she was left alone. She was to be the introductory art work, before the patrons entered the main hallway.

Hanging upside down was seriously disconcerting for Stephanie. Blood rushed to her head, and the pounding pressure gave her a headache. After a while, she drooled, but the drool dribbled down her face, into her eyes and flowed over her temples to her hair. Arm and leg muscles ached and she twisted in position to relieve the pain. Pulling on the straps allowed her to change position, lifting and shifting her position sideways, back and forth.

Art patrons watched as she struggled, appreciating the sight as her pain caused her to writhe.

Around noon, the artist that arranged for this exhibit observed Stephanie's struggles, and decided she was moving too much. He attached a collar to her neck, and then clipped a strap to the collar. The other end of the strap attached to a clip on the floor. The result was the Stephanie's neck was now held down, in place, greatly limiting her ability to move.

The inverted position made it impossible to properly digest the liquid food she had been given earlier, and eventually Stephanie vomited a small amount. The vomit flooded her nose, flowing over her eyes and forehead and soaked her hair before dripping onto the floor. The vomit was allowed to remain, drying slowly in the air conditioned atmosphere of the museum.

All in all it was a miserable and difficult day.

Stephanie remained upside down all night, while the museum was closed. She cried, tears trickling over her vomit encrusted face. She was in pain, and the pain was very slowly but surely becoming worse.

Early the next morning the exhibit artist came and with two men, unhooked Stephanie from the wall. She collapsed, the strain on her muscles making it impossible to move. They dragged her over to another room, switching her out with another girl who was to take her place in the entry hall that day. Instead, Stephanie had her wrists tightly tied and pulled above her so she stood with her body stretched out. Rope was added to her upper arms, which was in turn knotted in her mouth, forming a gag. Rope on her ankles jerked them wide apart, causing her weight to descend completely on her wrists and shoulders.

A whip was placed on the floor before her, and a sign indicated that this was an interactive piece of art, and the patrons could use the whip as they saw fit.

When the museum opened, Stephanie hung in place while patrons came, observed, and some of them took up the whip and lashed her body with it. The principle of the artwork was for patrons to add their own unique markings to Stephanie's body, creating their own contribution to the art. By the end of the day, her face was soaking wet from tears, her voice hoarse from screaming, and her body burned with the pain of repeated lashings. Each guest had added their own mark to her flesh, and each mark stung and burned like fire. The floor beneath her was wet with her body fluids; saliva drool, tears, sweat that trickled down her body, urine from lost bladder control.

This interactive exhibit had been many of the guests favorite. The hall was crowded, and many patrons, both men and women, came to observe and participate in marking Stephanie, in adding to the artwork that was her body, her pain, her suffering.

After the museum closed for the evening, Stephanie simply hung in place, exhausted, convinced she was dying. She no longer remembered her life before Malsi. Pain and suffering was all she knew now, and she was losing her will to endure it.

Stephanie hung in place for the night, sagging on her wrists, unable to move even as much as when she had been hung upside down on the wall. She was pulled too tightly. She managed to sleep a little, her exhaustion taking over.

The next morning she was taken down and another girl was brought in to replace her, arms stretched above her head, whip waiting at her feet. A new, fresh canvas waiting for marking by the art patrons.

Stephanie was taken to a back room in the museum, a small concrete cell with a drain in the center. She was no longer bound, and began moving her arms and legs to get feeling and function back into them. An attendant sprayed her off with a hose, washing her body. At one time this process would have been humiliating to Stephanie, but now it was a welcome relief. She was being cared for, washed, and was grateful for the luxury.

The attendant sprayed her down thoroughly, and Stephanie cooperated by spreading her legs, standing at different angles, and making sure the water spray cleaned everywhere. There was a brief moment of pleasure when the stream of water hit her pussy, and she thrust her hips forward shamelessly, spreading her legs to allow the pulsing water to caress her clit and pussy.

Just a few short weeks ago, Stephanie would never have conceived that she would do such a thing. Now she did it without a thought, and a simple feeling of gratitude.

She was dried off and taken down the hall and placed in a cage. The floor was covered with towels and was soft, and Stephanie lay down and slept, rested, and recovered from her ordeal as a work of art. She was fed twice during the day, and given a bucket to urinate and defecate in. These simple pleasures made her feel that she was on holiday.

When the evening came, an attendant came with the artist that had run the exhibition.

"You've been selected as decoration for the artists reception tonight. Serve well, and you will be returned to your household." The artist instructed Stephanie.

Stephanie simply nodded, agreeing that she would serve the best she could. She was learning now, adapting to being a woman in Malsi. Her position was the lowest, as mere decoration. Even so, she would do her best.

Several men took Stephanie to a ballroom that was lavishly decorated with mirrors, candles, wallpaper, cherry wood tables and chairs, white table cloths, silver and crystal prepared for the evening's dining.  Taking Stephanie to one end of the room the men lifted her up and placed her wrists into hard, tight metal shackles on the wall. Her ankles were similarly shackled. Used to hanging from the wall as artwork, Stephanie hung in place and didn't move.

One of the men then pulled Stephanie's waist, drawing her body away from the wall, extending and stretching her. She gasped and cried out as a metal bar was inserted behind her, against her back, so that her body curved away from the wall. The metal bar had a sharp edge on it, digging into her back uncomfortably. It hurt. It also stretched her body tight, and her shoulders hurt.

Another girl that looked almost exactly like Stephanie was placed in a similar position next to her. The two were a matching pair. They hung there, in considerable discomfort, their beautiful bodies on display as decorations for the grand dinner that night.

She did her very best. She did not struggle, did not cry out, did not complain. She simply adorned the wall in her distended position, not unlike a stuffed animal carcass in some hunting lodge.

The great dining reception went on for several hours. Few of the guests gave Stephanie more than a casual glance. She was simply part of the decor, the ambiance set up by the staff to decorate the room. More decorative artwork. Twice, however, one of the male guests came over and fingered Stephanie. Pushing their hands between her legs they shoved fingers up inside her cunt, and wriggled. Stephanie held her breath and didn't move, maintaining her position. She desperately wanted to make a good impression so her tenure as artwork could come to an end.

When the dinner was over, guests had finished deserts and headed off to another ballroom to have a good time dancing, Stephanie and the other girl remained hanging as staff cleaned up the remains of the dinner, busing tables, removing plates and table cloths, sweeping and cleaning. Stephanie allowed herself to moan and move a little, now that the guests had left. The other girl was crying, head hanging down, hair covering her face. How long would they be left there...?

Late that night, Stephanie was taken down. Her entire body ached and hurt, especially her back, from where the metal rod had shoved her out and away from the wall. She could hardly walk, but was dragged to the small cell where she had been washed.

Her wrists and ankles were crudely lashed, the wrists secured to a waist strap. Her mouth was gagged to prevent noise. Finally, she was forced to bend down and slide into a small plastic shipping container. Unlike other shipping containers, this one had clearly not been made for human slaves, and was an impromptu affair. She was curled up in a fetal position, cramping from the incredibly small space. There was no packing material, and she knew that with rough handling she would easily be injured.  A lid was strapped on and Stephanie lay in the tiny space, unable to move at all. She began to long for the freedom of being strapped to the wall as a piece of art.

This was worse than being buried alive.

After an hour or so, her box was lifted roughly. With the non-existent packing, she banged around the insides as she was rolled on a dolly to a truck. The box was tipped over and thrown down onto the truck bed.

Stephanie began the journey back to Mr. Jackson's compound, cramped into a tiny space barely big enough to hold her body, upside down.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

A Public Hanging

Clarissa sat on the narrow bed of the concrete cell, considering her fate.

She was a petite blonde; young, pretty, and clothed in an orange prison jump suit. She had bare feet, a prison regulation for those on death row. Her wrists were cuffed to a waist chain, restricting arm movement, and her ankles were connected by a one foot long chain, making walking more of a slow shuffle.

Just the day before the judge had passed sentence. For the crime of speaking out against the state reproductive rights policies, she was to be executed. The execution was scheduled for that evening at 6pm. There were no appeals.

A cold fluorescent light provided the only illumination in the small 10 x 10 cell. It was barely large enough for the bed, a sink and a toilet. The only door to the cell was a solid metal. No bars provided a view to the hall beyond.

With a loud clank and bang, the metal door was unlocked and opened. The sergeant of the day watch guards entered and closed the door behind him. He stood looking at Clarissa, leaning against the wall.

"So, your life ends today sometime after 6. Have you thought any about my offer?"

The sergeant had offered Clarissa one last sexual encounter before her death. There was nothing to do, really, in the cell except stare at the walls and she had actually been considering it. Anything would be better than being alone in the square concrete cube for the next 8 hours.

"Maybe. Yes. If you can answer some questions for me, first."

The sergeant smiled. Clarissa was a beautiful woman, and it would be nice to get inside of her. "Sure. Anything I can answer."

"Tell me about the execution. What happens? How is it done? What does it feel like?"

The sergeant was momentarily taken aback but then nodded his understanding.

"You are scheduled to be hanged. I don't know the exact method. They've been changing things around recently, since the laws concerning public and immediate executions went into effect."

Clarissa grimaced. There was no easy way to die. "Is it quick?"

"No. I mean, hanging can be quick but the methods they use now are designed to prolong the agony. You are scheduled for public execution, which means there will be an audience, and it will be televised. They want to put on a good show."

"How long?"

"To die? Well, again, it depends, but with the short drop? It could take two, three minutes at least. Some I've seen recently took up to 20 minutes. You don't weigh much so your neck won't break, and if the rope is coarse it won't tighten completely. You will have trouble breathing and the blood flow to your brain will be reduced but it will continue to flow. Until you finally lose consciousness."

"What is the short drop?" Clarissa asked.

"Well, the long drop is four feet or more, depending on your weight. It's enough that your body weight yanks on the rope hard and breaks the neck. The shock causes unconsciousness so even if it takes a few minutes to die, it doesn't matter. With the short drop, you basically strangle. Slowly. I saw one prisoner, a girl like you actually, that was only dropped a half foot or so, and she kicked around for 10 minutes, and was twitching for 15."

Clarissa was imagining herself kicking and twitching at the end of the rope. She shuddered, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

"I suppose my hands are tied?"

"Yes, most certainly. Sometimes behind the back, sometimes they just leave on the shackles you are wearing now. In the old days they would tie your arms to your body, just above the elbows; this allows the condemned to put their hands together to pray, but not to reach the neck and the noose. But they always seem to leave the legs free to kick around. It's sort of interesting to watch." The sergeant was thinking about more recent hangings.

Clarissa noticed that a large bulge had formed in the guard's pants. It made her sick to the stomach to think people like this would be watching her dangle helplessly at the end of a rope. She sat on the edge of the bed, rocking slightly, feeling her lungs fill with air. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have that cut off.

"You said there will be an audience. How many? Who?"

"Oh, well. In the auditorium we have here at the prison there are about 500 seats, but it is SRO so there will be a total of maybe 600 or so. Your family and friends will be there."

"What???" Clarissa looked up at the smiling face of the guard. "My family? Who?"

"Well, your mom and dad, for one. Your brother. And I heard the dug up an aunt and uncle and a cousin... some guy... Juan?"

That fucker. Her cousin Juan, who had raped her in high school and gotten away with it. Her mom and dad would be there, watching her slowly strangle and suffer as she died. And her brother!

"Yeah," the guard continued, "It's a new policy. They always make the families come and watch. Part of the intimidation factor. It makes it pretty difficult for the condemned, too. Especially when naked."

Clarissa stared at the guard in disbelief. "Naked?"

"Yes. Public executions are for two things. Punishment, of course, but that's the lesser reason. The big reason is to set an example. Public intimidation. Showing the condemned in pain, torture, humiliation. So yeah. You will be stripped naked before hand."

"How humiliating. I... I..."

"Oh that's just the beginning. When you strangle you tend to lose control of body functions. You will empty your bladder spontaneously, that's for certain. You may also soil yourself. All with your family and friends looking on." The sergeant was taking a little too much enjoyment telling Clarissa about this.

"The hanging puts tremendous strain on your neck, and some of the vertebrae may separate. Your neck elongates into a rather hideous parody of beauty. It's quite lovely some of the time."

"OK. I don't want to hear more. Let's just do it." Clarissa lay back on the bunk. The guard reached to his pants, unzipped and released a huge erection. He removed his pants, then went over to Clarissa and unzipped her orange jump suit. It took some effort to get it off while she was wearing the shackles, but he managed.

When she was naked and laying on the bunk with her knees spread, the sergeant shook his head appreciatively. "You are the best looking, sweetest piece of ass we've had here in a long, long time."

With that, he rammed his cock home and fucked Clarissa like she had never been fucked before.

At 5 pm there was a loud clang and the metal door once again swung open. Outside stood a middle aged, kindly looking man with glasses, flanked by two guards. The sergeant had left an hour earlier, after having abused all of Clarissa's holes multiple times. She was sore, and still had dried body fluid crusting on her flesh in several places.

Clarissa was still naked.

"Good evening, Clarissa. My name is Bruce, and I am your executioner. I see you have been kind enough to strip for us tonight, saving us the trouble. Thank you."

The men entered and took Clarissa by her arms, lifting her out of the bunk and leading her from the cell. She shuffled along, but was unable to keep up and was dragged. They proceeded down a long corridor, up a short flight of steps, and then passed through a heavy oak door.

As they passed through the oak door, Clarissa saw that she was being taken to a large stage like platform in a huge room. The room was filled with people, and audience. Her audience. The people that had come to see her die.

Clarissa expected to see a scaffold, but instead saw nothing but a single large beam extending across the center of the stage, elevated from the floor by a couple of feet. It was puzzling to her. What was going to happen? Was she to stand on the beam and be pushed off?

The audience made a lot of noise when they saw the condemned woman brought before them. A mix of cheers, cat calls, boos, sobs, crying, shouting, all greeted the girl. Clarissa stared out at the crowd, unable to see much detail because of the bright stage lights. She felt incredibly embarrassed and exposed, appearing naked in front of the large audience.

The guards took her to the center of the stage. The executioner read her sentence. Death by public execution for questioning the People's values concerning birth control and contraceptives, and for offending the general public.

Tears streamed down Clarissa's face as the executioner uncuffed her wrists, removed her shackles, and then began to tie her arms behind her back. Her wrists were secured, and then her elbows, pulled together so that her shoulders cinched back. The rope was looped around her elbows several times and drawn tight, creating an incredibly tight cinch that strained her arms and shoulders.  It also had the effect of thrusting her breasts out before her, which made some of the crowd hoot.

There were cameras moving about, focusing on her body and what was happening to her. The live video feed. As her eyes got used to the lights she saw her parents in the front row. Her mother was looking on in shock. To the right was her cousin, who had a look of happiness, and had his hand inside his pants. Clarissa flushed in embarrassment and turned away.

Clarissa was placed facing the audience with her ass up against the wood beam. One of her legs was lifted up and quickly secured with rope against the beam. This spread her wide so the audience could see her cunt clearly, the small folds of her labia flesh protruding. A camera operator got down low and zoomed in. Clarissa cried at the indignity, tears flowing freely.

What were they doing? This wasn't a hanging! This was some sort of weird bondage ritual, exposing her naked to the country!

Her other leg was lifted. It took two guards to hold her up as the leg was spread out, forced in the opposite direction as the other leg in perfect splits.

Clarissa wasn't that flexible. As her legs were pulled apart in 180 degree splits, she screamed out in pain. Tendons pulled, muscles stretched and separated in ways they had not been designed to do. Her face contorted in agony, and a camera operator hovered over her, zooming in to catch it all. She continued screaming for several minutes until exhaustion set in.

Sobbing in misery and humiliation, Clarissa wondered what was going on. She had expected to mount a platform, have a noose placed around her neck and after a moment of terror feel the floor drop out from beneath her feet. Dangling at the end of the rope would have been quick and merciful, though she was terrified of dangling there for minutes while unable to breathe.

This was different. She didn't even have a noose around her neck yet.

An assistant to the executioner came up to her, holding a small strange device. What was it? She could not tell, until it started buzzing. It was a vibrator.

The vibrator was pushed up against her pussy, stimulating her clit. They were masturbating her against her will, in front of the audience. It wasn't pleasurable, just horrible and humiliating, being physically abused in this way. She endured the emotional pain, until she realized that the vibrations were stimulating her in spite of herself. Her pussy had become wet, and the moisture was now covering the end of the vibrator.

She sobbed in embarrassment at this abuse, but the sob quickly gave way to a moan of pleasure. It couldn't be helped. The vibrator was doing it's job. She was being sexually stimulated and her body was reacting.

The orgasm came almost without warning, a tell tale flush appearing across her chest and neck, the hardened nipples, the increased respiration rate. The audience in the hall cheered, except for Clarissa's direct family who hid their faces in shame.

A rope was slipped over her head. This is it, she thought. This is the beginning of the end. How she was going to be hung while tied with her legs spread out on a beam she couldn't imagine. But the noose was there, and the rope had tightened.

The executioner stood before her and announced the procedure to the crowd.

"This execution shall be via the slow weight method. The victim shall have a noose around her neck, and weight will be added to the noose, tightening it slowly, until finally all blood and air is cut off and she is dead. May the government forgive her for her sins."

The first weight was applied. Clarissa had expected a sudden and powerful jerk on her neck, but instead it was a gentle pull. It was 10 kilos, not enough to do anything but provide some minor discomfort. Clarissa wiggled around what little she could. It was uncomfortable, but not seriously so. She breathed in, taking deep breaths and enjoying every one as it might be her last.

A while later another weight was added. Another 10 kilos. The noose was barely causing any discomfort and breathing was no problem at all. Clarissa looked down into the audience and observed each face. Her father, an unmoving face showing no emotion. Her mother, in complete shock, turning away as she could though guards forced her back to watch. Her brother, bewildered, crying, puzzled, not understanding that the body before him on the stage was actually his sister.  Her cousin, who had a look of intense enjoyment.

Others looked on in shocked interest, as they might view a traffic accident as they passed by on the road. Fascinated. Fascinated by the horror that was Clarissa's naked body slowly being put to death.

Another 10 kilos. They seemed to be coming about every five minutes. It was about 15 minutes in and she had 30 kilos pulling on the noose, which began to tighten uncomfortably. It began to hurt, to gouge into the flesh of her neck, and she felt the pulse pounding in her head.

40 kilos. The noose had suddenly cinched tighter with the most recent weights and was truly threatening to cut off the circulation to her brain. Her head was forced to the side at an odd angle and she couldn't move it any more. The rope pulled it up and she felt her neck elongating.

She heard it before she felt it. The vibrator. Once again, they were applying the hideous thing to her pussy. Surely it would have no effect this time!

But it did. Regardless of her slow strangulation, the vibrator, directly pressing on her clit, caused arousal. She could do nothing, could not move, while it pressed against her and brought her slowly, slowly, but surely, to another orgasm. Just before she reached the orgasm another 10 kilos was added. She shuddered and her tongue protruded as an orgasm coursed through her body and the 50 kilos pulled mercilessly on her throat, closing off her windpipe.

It was getting really difficult to breathe. Her head pounded, her eyes saw red, and a massive headache exploded inside her. Something had popped. She felt pain from her eyes to the back of her head throbbing and pulsing. She gurgled a little, but her breathing was a rasping, labored gasp. Drool was forced from her mouth and over her chin. It dripped onto her chest and she felt it trickle down onto her breasts. They became shiny from the wetness.

Another 10 kilos. 60 total. Not enough to kill her, though. She felt her neck stretching, the rope pulling her head away from her body. The vertebrae in her neck were hurting, badly, threatening to break apart and the pain was agonizing.

70 kilos. More agony, each bit of added weight contributing just a little more pain.

80 kilos, it had been 40 minutes since her strangulation had begun and she felt as if she would lose consciousness. Spots danced before her eyes. Her body was convulsing, legs jerking against the ropes in a futile attempt to kick and get free. Her chest heaved, stomach expanded and contracted, bouncing her breasts in a desperate attempt to draw air in through her constricted airway.

Clarissa lost bladder control at 100 kilos. She was conscious, aware of everything around her, and felt the incredible strain of trying to get air into her lungs. Each breath was an agonizing effort. Her heart was pounding in her chest as if it was going to burst, trying to get more blood to her brain. Even so, she felt profound humiliation as she sprayed urine in front of her family, friends, and the world.

The rope pulled even harder, stretching her neck, twisting her head to the side with incredible force. She could see a little bit of the audience and the flash of a camera zooming in to her face, but much of her sight was fading into waves of blackness interrupted by flashing sparks of light.

120 kilos and Clarissa stopped breathing for almost a minute, but then with a mighty effort her chest (and naked breasts) heaved out and she drew in air with a loud rattling noise. She was aware of nothing now except the fire in her entire body as it starved for oxygen and her head about to explode from pressure. Her eyes felt like they would literally pop from their sockets. Her tongue protruded from her mouth, forced by the pressure of the noose on her throat.

140 kilos. A doctor confirmed she was still alive but barely. It had been one hour.

150 kilos. A vertebrae in Clarissa's neck snapped loose, separating from another vertebrae. The difference was visible as her neck elongated hideously. With a wet splatter, the Clarissa released the contents of her bowels onto the stage.

160 kilos. The doctor confirmed she was still alive, but would not survive much longer. She was probably unconscious, and her breathing was down to nothing. Her brain had gotten almost no blood in several minutes and was in the process of shutting down.

170 kilos.  The doctor pronounced death.

Clarissa's body remained on stage. She had not moved except for very small chest motions as she attempted to draw her last breaths for at least 20 minutes. Now she remained stretched out, head pulled away and twisted at an odd angle, breasts poking out from her arms tied behind her back, and legs stretched wide. The rope continued to strain and pull on her dead neck, the ropes held her lifeless legs spread wide apart.

The audience watched the body for a few minutes longer. Finally, Clarissa's family was allowed to leave, though her cousin remained for some time, observing every nuance and detail of her body.

As a final indignity, the executioner came out on stage, pulled out his cock, and stuffed it into Clarissa's dead cunt. He fucked her until he deposited a load of semen inside. Thus it was that as Clarissa's body was open to the general public to come view for the next several hours, she had white, slimy cum dripping from her labia lips to join the puddle of other body fluids on the floor beneath her.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

The Organization (Modern Sex Slavery)

Luke rode in the back of the limo, eyes blindfolded. The ride was smooth, the car soundproofed so there was little he could hear. This was intentional; as a newcomer to the business, security precautions were in place.

He had been trying to find and gain access to this exclusive business ever since he heard rumors of its existence. It fascinated him, and when he finally met someone that had actually availed themselves of the organization's services, he became obsessed.

Luke wanted to buy his own female sex slave.

It was extremely difficult to find and gain access to the organization. They served mostly the very rich in the middle east, Asia and some portions of Africa. It was extremely rare for them to accept the business of an American. It was too risky in a number of different ways. Not only were they cautious of American authorities, but Americans were notoriously indiscreet. However, after two recommendations by rich oil magnates that he did business with, he was finally being taken to the headquarters where the slaves were taken, held, trained and finally sold to the highest bidder.

The limo came to a halt, and the door opened.

"Welcome, Mr. Litner. My name is Hans. Please take my hand. I will guide you inside, after which we will do away with this blindfold." The voice was rich and deep, and Luke took the hand that was offered, making his way up several steps and finally inside.

As the blindfold came off he could see his impression of being in a large room was correct. The echos of stone walls that rose to a very high ceiling were somewhat muffled by tapestries he now saw, and the rich rugs covering the floor. A grand staircase circled up to his right, and large doors stood open to several rooms lined with books and panels. A fireplace filled the central reception area before him, with gently crackling wood fire. He was in a castle of some sort, with modern conveniences mixed with ancient architecture and style.

"May I get you a drink, Mr. Litner?" Hans stood led Luke to a side room and approached a small bar.

"Yes, please, perhaps a scotch? Neat?"

The drink was poured, and Luke took a sip of the excellent liquor.

"Mr. Litner!" A younger man, tall and thin with a grey complexion and ugly, pointed face approached with a large smile and outstretched hand. "I am Sergei, and will be showing you around this afternoon. Are you ready?"

"Yes! I am rather eager to see it all. You have no idea how long I have looked forward to this!" Luke downed the remains of his drink quickly, and followed Sergei through the door, across the main entryway, and through another door toward the back. He unlocked this door using an electronic keycard.

On the other side of the door was a short corridor. At the end a set of old stone steps descended into what appeared to be a cellar corridor. The lighting wasn't quite as good here, and there were a number of odd smells. Cleaners, bleach, wet stone odors mixed with more organic smells of human waste, sweat, and perhaps... was he imagining it? Fear.

"I thought we would progress through our training and operations in stages, so you can see our product as they develop into final product for sale. This is the initial holding areas for new arrivals." Sergei went to a metal door and slid open a small metal window, revealing a barred cell with a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The cell was gray concrete, empty except for a bucket in the corner. A wave of stench came from the open partition.

Huddled in the corner of the cell was a chained woman partially clothed in pink cotton panties, though otherwise naked.

"This is our newest arrival. Actually, Julie here arrived last night and is still probably completely unaware of what has happened to her. She will be left here for a couple of days in isolation, with no food or water, to begin the process of breaking her spirit."

Luke stared at the half naked girl. She was beautiful, though dirty and ragged from whatever ordeal she had gone through when she was kidnapped and shipped to the organization's training center. Perhaps 20 years old, she had long muscular legs, smooth skin that curved in a lovely example of the perfect female form. She was thin in the ass and waist, and small but perky breasts were visible peaking out from behind an arms she used to try and cover herself. Long brown hair looked like it would be beautiful if it were washed and brushed.

"Julia will fit in well here," Sergei said as he shut the metal window cover with a clang. The muffled sound of Julia suddenly begging came from the other side of the door. "She is submissive, and it will not take long to break her. Some women come here and are violent, or obstinate out of some sense of pride or self-entitlement. Those women have a much tougher time."

"How long does the training usually last?" Luke asked as the walked down the basement corridor, passing other locked metal doors. He wondered how many actually contained girls at the moment. The basement was eerily quiet.

"The standard is two months. Julia... I would guess she will be ready for sale in as little as four weeks. If a girl takes much longer than two months, we begin to question whether she is suitable for sale. Here, this is Megan. She's been here several days already."

With that, Sergei stopped at another metal door, slide open the window partition revealing a similar cell. Inside was a completely naked petite blond, thin but with large breasts. She was cute in a very young way, and reminded Luke of a teenage daughter of a neighbor at one of his homes. She was on her hands and knees, eating from a bowl on the floor. Her breasts hung down enticingly, her ass sticking up into the air. When the viewing portal opened, she raised her head then stood and rushed to the door, speaking urgently.

"Please. Please let me go! I will do anything. I will cooperate; my father has money, a lot of money and can pay for me. Whatever you want. Just let me go; I have been good!"

Sergei closed the metal partition on Megan's pleas. "You see the first stage of training with Megan. Her spirit is beginning to break but she still hopes for release. She truly wants to cooperate, to 'be good', but for the wrong reasons. She has been fed, and recovered from her initial shock. She's begun to think of herself as a commodity that can be bought and paid for. But, she still needs her spirit completely broken and to accept that she is no longer what she was. This will come over time."

They once again continued down the corridor. Luke was breathing more quickly, aroused by the girls he had seen so far. He wanted ownership. He wanted control. He wanted one of these girls to do with as he pleased. Either Julie or Megan would do nicely.

"Would it be possible to purchase either of these girls?"

"Right now? No, no. We only sell properly trained girls, ones that will expose minimal risk to their owners and to the organization. Please, let me show you the next stage. This is the first order training room."  Sergei took out a set of special security keys and unlocked the door. It slid open revealing a small room bare, dark room. Sergei flipped on a light.

In the center of the room a naked girl hung upside down from the ceiling. A heavy rope was tied tightly around one ankle and ran up to a pulley attached to the ceiling above, then over to a clamp on the opposite wall. Luke observed quickly how a woman's body changed when suspended, especially inverted. She was stretched, elongated in various ways, her legs taught, ribs clearly visible, hips standing out clearly. Her ample breasts were each tied tightly, bulging out to a rope that descended to heavy rocks below. Her other leg was stretched back and to the side, the ankle secured tightly to her wrists behind her back. Labored breathing made her body move, gently swinging slightly back and forth.

"Shauna has been in this room for a couple of hours. She is learning how truly helpless she is."

Sergei reached out and slid his hand over the girl's thatch of pubic hair, gliding backward over the soft folds of flesh nearby. "Why don't you touch her, see how she feels?"

Luke reached out, excited by the feeling of touching a woman that had no choice but to let him examine her most intimate parts. Her helplessness turned him on and as his fingers explored her pussy lips he felt his erection growing against his pants.

Shauna made some small noises that Luke realized were quiet sobs. She was crying, tears trickling over her forehead instead of her cheeks. Luke continued to feel her crotch, sliding his hand back to spread her ass cheeks, looking at the pucker of her anus.

"Note how Shauna may feel violated and exposed while in extreme discomfort from being suspended upside down; and yet she does not protest or threaten when you touch her. This is a good sign, it means she is quickly accepting and understanding her state of helpless subjugation." Sergei observed.

Sergei turned and picked up some implements from a side table. "This room is essentially a torture chamber, one of several here in the basement. By causing various levels of pain and degradation, we strip the slave girls of their personal identities, self worth, even memories of their past. They become animals, simply concentrating on survival. We can then retrain them in obedience and subservience."

Luke considered the beautiful woman hanging upside down before him, and gave her genitalia one more probe before leaving the room. He felt a growing excitement over seeing the rest of the operations, and finally having the opportunity to purchase a finished slave product.

They walked down the hall and entered another room through a heavy metal door. Inside a were several heavy iron cages. Three of them had young girls inside. All the girls looked frightened, horrified, and one of them sobbed quietly. There was a strong stench of body excretions, urine, feces and sweat. None of the girls spoke to the men as they entered. Luke had the feeling that they would have cringed and scampered to the back of their cages had there been enough room. As it was, the cages were just barely large enough for the girls.

"Observe," Sergei said as he took a metal prod about two feet long down from a hook on the wall. All three women gasped and cried out. Sergei knelt before the first of the women, a petite brunette that looked beautiful though her cheeks were stained with tears.

"I have here some food," Sergei indicated a meal bar in his left hand. "And here, the punisher," he indicated his right hand. "Answer the following question, get it right and you will receive food. A wrong answer is punished."

The woman simply looked, and mouthed the word "please" without more than a whisper.

"What are you going here?" Sergei asked calmly.

The girl hesitated and then whispered, "learning obedience?"

"Wrong answer," Sergei stuck the prod into the cage where it contacted the flesh of the girl's breast with a loud *snap* of electricity. The woman screamed and jerked in pain and began crying.

Sergei moved to the next cage. "What is your name?"

The young blonde woman inside looked almost relieved and said with timid confidence, "Emily, sir."

"Wrong answer," the probe slid through the cage bars and shocked the blonde's breast. She jerked, screamed, and let flow a stream of urine.

Sergei moved to the next cage. "What is the punishment for error?"

The girl curled into a fetal position inside the cage with no room to move said, "A... a shock... with the stick, sir."

"Wrong answer," and the girl screamed even before the shock sliced into her body. Sergei stood, returned the meal bar to his pocket and hung the probe back on the wall. The sobs of the girls behind them was pitiful, and gave Luke a solid erection. Outside the room with the door closed, he just had to ask a question.

"What were the right answers to those questions? Surely the girl must have known her own name?"

"Oh yes, she did. That is Emily. At this stage of the training there is no right answer. The girls are punished for literally everything they do or say until they are frantic with fear and despair. Look inside here," Sergei opened the sliding metal window in the door of another cell.

Inside a young woman of about 25 was sitting on a wooden saw horse, the kind carpenters use for propping up and cutting wood. Her arms were bound behind her and pulled up, forcing her forward somewhat so her breasts hung down before her. Her naked pussy was spread and crushed beneath her on the wooden beam of the saw horse, and Luke saw the beam had been sharpened to a point at the top. The slave's legs were tied apart.

The combined effect of her bondage was to force the girl to sit on the wood beam, leaning forward so her pubic bone crushed her clit on the pointed edge, unable to move forward or backward, right or left.  The girl, who appeared to be a teenager, sobbed and moaned in pain.

"Here is a girl being punished for eating the food she was given. She will remain here for another few hours, after which she will be given food again. The purpose is to break the mind, and once every action, every thought is called into question and results in punishment and pain, then we begin to introduce slow rewards for very specific behaviors. At that point the girl will seek and comply with such desperation they learn quickly."

Luke observed the agonized girl in awe, watching the suffering before him in a haze of sexual arousal.

"Come, let's head upstairs and observe some of the girls that have moved to another stage of training." Sergei led the way up another set of stairs and into the more pleasantly decorated, plush environment of the building's ground floor. They headed down a hall with rich wood paneling and beautiful artwork positioned periodically between the doors leading to various rooms.

Sergei stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall and opened it. Inside several women sat in a row in front of a stern man holding a cattle prod like the one Sergei used downstairs.

"Igor, glad to see you have a class in session. This is Luke, and I'd like to demonstrate some of our position training to him."

"Of course," Igor said with a thick accent. "27, step forward and worship!"

A woman at the end of the line, a gorgeous brunette, turned to the men and then assumed a position before them, on her knees with ass up in the air, legs slightly apart, forehead on the ground, arms in front of her and wrists crossed above her head.

"This is the standard worship position," Sergei explained. "It is one of the first positions the girls learn. Proper slave positions are an important fundamental to slave training, sort of like learning to march as a soldier."

"Class, present!" Igor barked. All the women in the class sat on their legs, knees spread wide apart, hands on the top of their thighs, open and facing palm up.

"31! Stand up!" Igor barked. A woman at the end of the row stood with a fearful expression, head down.

"27, assist in preparing 31!"

The brunette that had bowed before Luke earlier stood and went over to the young girl. She took a rope that hung from the ceiling with cuffs at the end and pulled it over to the frightened girl.

"At this stage of training, commands are expected to be obeyed immediately. The slowest girl is usually punished, regardless of her actual speed," explained Sergei.

Once the cuffs were attached, the girl known as 27 returned to join the other girls. 31 was standing alone, waiting. Igor pulled the other end of the rope, lifting the slave's arms into the air until she was stretched, toes barely touching the ground.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Sergei asked Luke.

"What? What would I do?"

"Simple. Whip her. 12 strokes, using this whip here." Sergei brought over a braided leather whip that must have been 12 feet long.

"Oh, my... I am not sure I could..." Luke hesitated.

"Well, if you are going to own a slave you will eventually need to discipline her. Think of this as training."

"Hmm... yes, I suppose you are right. OK, I will give it a try." Luke positioned himself near the girl, close enough he could see her frightened eyes and a tear trickle down her cheek.

"Step back a couple of feet. You are too close for a whip of that length," Igor grunted.

Luke stepped back, then swung the whip behind him and brought it around through the air. It whistled slightly as it traveled, and when it reached the girl the thin strap wrapped around her chest and ribs suddenly and with such force that it surprised Luke. The cracking slapping sound as it hit the girl's flesh was loud, but not as loud as the scream that came immediately after. The girl jerked her head back and sucked in air as she screamed from the pain.

Luke stood in awe, feeling an erection stirring in his pants. It was the first time he had used corporal punishment on a woman, and it felt good. He swung the whip back again and then forward, where it wrapped around the woman's stomach twice. She screamed once again, jerked on the rope that held her aloft. Her body rotated slightly as she struggled.

The whip felt good in his hands, and he was getting the hang of its weight and swing. His third strike was more accurate, and faster. He could see the girl's flesh ripple from the strike just before she screamed, a shorter scream that quickly sank into sobs.

He continued the whipping, each time feeling the resistance of the girl's body as the whip made contact, observing the red welts that each strike raised, listening to the screaming sobs. His erection was rock hard and the woman before him looked more beautiful as she sagged on the rope. He had lost count so it was lucky that Igor called out, "Last one."

After the whipping was over, the girl's cuffs were removed and she sank to the ground, crying.

"Present!" Igor yelped at her.

Struggling with all her might, the girl got off the floor and onto her knees, and managed to take the position, knees spread, hands on top of thighs.

"Back straight!" Igor barked and slapped a riding crop on the girl's breast. She straightened her back as best she could, given she was shaking uncontrollably from the whipping.

"You are a natural, very good. You will do well with a slave." Sergei said to Luke. Luke nodded. He was sweating with the exertion of the whipping. It had felt good. Very good.

"Come, let's have a drink and then we can see some of the more advanced training we do here." Sergei led Luke out of the room and into another room opulently decorated as a study with comfortable chairs. Sergei poured a brandy for the both of them and they sat sipping in facing wingback chairs.

"After being broken through constant sleep deprivation, hunger, the girls learn some basic slave behavior. The positions and attitudes you saw in the last room. However, mixed with this training is a very specific type of training I call Debasement. It is where a girl is forced to participate and accept the most disgusting, invasive actions, completely helpless. This reinforces what has been taught during their breaking, that they are no longer themselves. All body and mental functions belong to her masters. Nothing is to be withheld, nothing is beyond their limits."

Sergei sipped on his drink, savoring the fine scotch whiskey he had poured. Luke was feeling a warm glow from his own drink gin and tonic.

"What types of things happen during Debasement?"

Sergei nodded, and answered, "A variety of things, typically tailored to the girl. By that stage we have some idea as to what is most disgusting and fearful. It could be being locked in a very small cage with hungry rats. It might be constant gang rape, or forced consumption of human waste. It might be close confinement in the dark, or in a coffin. In some cases it is being put on public display for a number of days where her body and all her bodily functions can be observed by casual bystanders."

"It sounds fascinating, though... does it ever damage a girl beyond repair?"

"Damage beyond repair is something of what we are trying to achieve, rather like a lobotomy. To damage the mental structure, the willpower, if you will. To take away the sense of self and self worth. The trick is to do it in a surgical manner, destroying free will and self value, while allowing the mind as a whole to still function."

They finished their drinks and Sergei led Luke down a corridor to show an example of a woman experiencing Debasement.  They entered an exterior extension to the mansion, a sort of corrugated metal hut that had a number of small chambers. They entered one.

There was a young naked woman tied upside down. Her face was red from having hung in this position for some time and her breathing was labored. Her body was perfect, stretched out as it was. Luke was beginning to realized the female body became even more desirable and sexy to him when it was stretched by hanging.

Sergei picked up a plastic bag from a side table and the girl started whimpering, begging. "Please, please sir, please don't! Please, no... I will do anything. I am nothing, I know this, just don't do this!"

Sergei slipped the bag over the woman's head as she protested, her protests continuing as the thin clear bag fitted closely.

"Please, would you like to do the honors on this as well?" Sergei picked up a roll of duct tape and offered it to Luke.

"Of course, but what do I do?"

"Simply wrap the tape around her neck, securing the plastic tightly so no air can escape."

Luke saw immediately what was to happen. He eagerly pried the end of the tape loose and began wrapping it around the young girl's delicate neck. He felt the vibration of her voice in her flesh as she sobbed and begged for mercy.

Three or four wraps around her neck and she was done. The bag was expanding like a balloon and then collapsing tight against the girl's face as she sucked air in and then exhaled. She had stopped begging, though she continued crying. Tears wet the inside of the plastic bag as it collapsed against her cheeks, and trickled down as it blew out on the girl's exhale.

"Now we watch," Sergei said.

The woman was breathing hard, almost panting from crying and the difficulty of breathing upside down for so long. It caused the plastic bag to expand and contract rapidly. At the same time the girl's stomach expanded and contracted, attempting to pull in air that was rapidly losing its oxygen content.

"The sensation of suffocation is an interesting one. She can breathe, of course, but the air is more and more useless to her body. Her limbs feel it first, a sort of aching or restlessness, as the need for oxygen grows in the cells. It rapidly moves to the head which becomes dizzy-- there, see how she shakes her head? That is caused by the brain reacting to the lack of oxygen. She is becoming light headed, dizzy."

Luke observed the woman's body and face closely, soaking in the reactions as she tried to cope with her body screaming out that shy was dying. She had stopped begging and was simply breathing hard now, panting.

"The sensation, while not exactly painful, is extremely uncomfortable. Her lungs are burning now and heart should be beating two or three times faster than normal, trying to get blood to the body. Of course, it doesn't help because the blood has no oxygen."

"How long before death?" Luke looked on in fascination.

"Well, she will lose consciousness in about a minute and a half, two at the most based on her breathing. After that death is a rather slow process as the body shuts down. Ah, there, see how her head is still and her breathing is not as panicked? She has lost consciousness."

Sergei went over and unwrapped the tape around the unconscious girl's neck. He slapped her a few times and she began to make noise and eyes fluttered.

"Brain damage occurs fairly quickly after loss of consciousness, so we wouldn't want to leave the bag on because we intend to sell her. The purpose of this exercise, along with others you might see, is to illustrate and teach the slave that she is no longer in control of any aspect of herself. Every function of her mind and body, even down to the ability to breathe, is at her owner's discretion."

The woman was conscious now, though still disoriented and recovering, breathing heavily to oxygenate herself. I tiny bit of urine had leaked and was trickling down her stomach on its way to her head and maybe even face.

"Number 15 here is still fighting the concept that she is no longer in control of anything. She will continue to undergo this type of treatment regularly until she completely accepts that her body is nothing more than a tool or plaything for her owner."

Sergei and Luke left the room. They entered another room where several women were standing in front of low, saddle-like devices. All were naked, collared and standing in an obedient posture. A male trainer had just finished inspecting each one and was barking orders.

"Now, when I say begin, you are to sit on the cock before you. Insert the phallus into your cunt. Ride on the cock, and allow it to pleasure you. You must achieve five orgasms before you are allowed to dismount. Ready? Begin."

The girls moved forward in unison and straddled the rubber dildos. They reached down, spread their cunt lips and settled down on the devices, letting the long artificial phallus impale them. One girl was slower than the rest, and the male trainer gave her a stroke with a whip. She yelped, and moved quickly, ramming the phallus inside her. She cried out in pain as she did so, but did not complain.

"All these girls have been catheterized, with a special catheter that is clamped shut. They have not been allowed to urinate for the last day and their bladders are quite full. I don't know if you have ever had a full bladder that you have held for an extended period of time, but it can become very painful. These girls are in agony."

Luke looked and noticed that the girls did look very unhappy, one or two held hands over their bellies and leaned forward. Several had tears on their faces.

The girls began riding their artificial cocks, their bodies wiggling and writhing on the saddles. Some moved up and down in small, quick motions.

"Once a girl achieves her required number of orgasms, she will be allowed to relieve herself, so they are highly motivated. This process trains them in accepting that their body functions are no longer under their control, as well as the skill of engaging in and enjoying sexual pleasure while in pain, and lastly, in accepting and moving toward a goal of pleasing their master with sexual or any other pleasure in order to relieve pain. This technique is called negative reinforcement, the removal of pain when a designated behavior is exhibited."

One of the girls had started frantically moving her hips against the dildo in her cunt, and was moaning loudly as she achieved her first orgasm. Others continued to ride their mounts, trying as best they could to follow suit.

It was fascinating seeing the line of girls writhing in place, each moving in their own way to achieve a sexual climax as quickly as possible. Knowing they were each also in pain made the process even more exciting for Luke.

"Would you stay to dinner this evening?"

Luke was distracted from the line of writhing bodies and moans in front of him.

"What? Oh, yes, it would be delightful."

"Yes, it would. In this way you can see some of our finished product, girls that are trained in service and slavery, and ready for sale. Let's go ahead and move toward the dining room now."

Luke followed Sergei out of the room just as one of the girls let out a cry of pleasure, achieving her second orgasm.

The dining room turned out to be on the second floor on a separate wing. It was lushly and luxuriously decorated, with fine china, silver and crystal prepared for dinner. There were only a few men there, and surprisingly, two or three women were joining them for dinner.

Sergei nodded toward the women, and spoke in a low tone to Luke.

"I see you are curious about the women. One of these women is a former slave and now works with us in training. She is still a slave but holds special status. The other two women are guests and buyers. You didn't think that only men are interested in slaves, did you?"

Sergei smiled and guided Luke over to the table where they sat. Several women came out to serve the initial course of the meal. Luke was taken aback at how precise the women were in their service, and how gorgeous they all appeared. She was especially drawn to one girl that had the most perfect skin like alabaster.

"All these women will be for sale during the coming auction, tomorrow. You may wish to observe them closely and determine if any might meet your needs."

Luke did observe all the women as the evening progressed. They served flawlessly, presenting the food courses quickly, quietly and efficiently. About halfway through the meal one of the girls spilled some water on the table cloth. A rough man who seemed to be in charge immediately whispered quietly to one of the other girls, who took the girl who had spilled water by the arm and left the room.

Luke leaned over and asked Sergei about the exchange.

"Oh, yes. Well, the mistake of spilling water isn't a serious failure, but every failure is punished. Igor gave instructions for her to be disciplined outside."

"I see. But the instructions were given to one of the other slave women. How can this be?"

"Certainly. Slaves are trained in all tasks, including the punishment of other slaves. It is considered a duty and important role of a slave to discipline other slaves appropriately. Would you like to see?"

"Yes! That would be fascinating!"

Sergei rose from the table, offered their apologies to the other diners, and the two of them left the room. Down the hall they passed the kitchen where several naked women were working, cleaning the remains of the meal and preparing the final desert course. The passed through the door at the end of the hall, and there were the two women.

One had been tied securely to a table, stretched out and gagged. The other woman stood at a side table with a cane, ready to administer the punishment. When she saw Sergei and Luke she stopped and waited for instructions.

"Please, continue!" Sergei told the dominant slave.

The dominant walked over to the tied slave who lay on her stomach, still and quiet, waiting for the punishment. The dominant slave raised the cane and brought it down swiftly onto the prone slave's ass. She gave a slight grunt and twitched, but otherwise showed no signs of pain.

The cane swished through the air again, and made a sharp slapping noise as it hit the prone girl's ass. She grunted again, and lowered her head.

The third stroke brought out a more obvious reaction; the prone slave jerked and moaned slightly. Her ass was showing red stripes appearing where the cane had struck. The forth stroke brought out a whimper and the slaved pulled against the bondage that held her in place, but settled down quickly.

The fifth and final stroke was rewarded by a low sob from the girl, and Luke could see a tear running down her face. The dominant slave put the cane away, oiling it and wiping it off briefly, and then released the ropes that held the punished slave on the table.

The punishment was brief and painful, but seemed to Luke as if it was appropriate for a minor transgression such as an inadvertent spill. The two women left the room without a word, returning to their duties in the kitchen.

"I'm convinced, Sergei," Luke said excitedly. "I want one of these women. When is the auction?"

"Tomorrow morning, at 10:00. There is a viewing of the merchandise at 9:00, during which you can examine the girls for sale in detail and decide which suit you. Let me show you to your room for the night, and someone will wake you at 7:30 so you have plenty of time to prepare for the auction."

The two men traversed the lush wood paneled halls and climbed stairs to the second floor, where Sergei showed Luke his room for the evening, a beautiful room with a four poster bed, paintings of discrete nudes in bondage on the walls, and subdued lighting. It had a private bath.

Luke went to bed that night but had a hard time sleeping, he was so excited to see what the auction the next day held in store.

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.


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 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.