 |
|||
|
|
******************************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
===================
The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has only been posted to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place, it is not the responsibility of the author.
If you are not an ADULT of legal age, you should avoid this text and
find something more appropriate to read
All characters in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous and/or illegal. Do not, under any
circumstances, try this at home.
CainePaine
CainePaine@gmail.com
******************************************************************************
A wealthy married couple, brought together in their mutual, twisted love of power, abduct young women and force them to compete sexually for rank and privilege. How far will their kidnap victims go to satisfy their Lord and Mistress' depraved demands and rise above the others?
MF/f+, BDSM, slavery, latex, teen, toys, watersport, torture, humiliation, NC, heavy
"Four peas"
**************
Seated across from the victim at the cold, austere table, Detective Morrow reaches out and compassionately hands Melissa the now near-empty box of tissues. The steady, banal ticking of the interview room's presiding wall-clock does nothing to banish the terrible, raw emotions unleashed over the last hour, that still seem to hang heavily in the coffee-scented air. During this uncomfortable pause in the victim's statement, the detective rapidly blinks away her not-yet-formed tears, on the verge herself of breaking down in sympathetic shock. She scolds herself for being mentally, uncharacteristically thrown off balance by the frank descriptions of Melissa Fete's prolonged suffering, and attempts to distance her emotional core far away from the younger woman's abhorrent recollections.
"You're doing great, Melissa. Try to speak a little more loudly, so the microphone records everything." She silently gives thanks for her voice not cracking.
"I'm s... sorry," Melissa replies, still too quietly, as she dabs at her leaky nose with the proffered tissue, her face puffy from crying.
"Do you feel comfortable going on?" the detective belatedly remembers to temper her voice with warmth, trying to ignore her own shocked discomfort, knowing that the 24 year old has had little kindness or mercy shown to her these last few years, prior to her unexpected release.
The girl sniffs and nods her head, still looking down at the steel-gray table. Morrow is fully aware that the difficult interview is forcing the young woman to expose her fragile psyche once again to those monsters' diabolical transgressions against her innocence, forcing her to relive every nightmare, forcing her to recall in vivid detail every evil act committed by those sadistic freaks.
But it has to be this way. It may be that some memory, some seemingly innocuous piece of information can help track down the perpetrators, and bring them to the much-deserved, but woefully inadequate justice they long ago earned.
Even more urgent, however, is that this victim's statement may be the only key to saving the others, the other three kidnapped women, almost certainly still trapped in the shocking hell from which this lucky one was bizarrely permitted to escape.
Detective Morrow notices that Melissa has hardly mentioned the others, though, only speaking of her own personal torments. The detective remains curious as to the reason, and hopes to carefully, tactfully lead the victim to complete disclosure in time.
"They were looking for a blonde," Melissa continues. "That's why they picked me." She subconsciously reaches up and strokes the straight, light-blonde hair barely reaching her thin shoulders, eyes still locked on the scarred table in front of her, remembering. "Akio, because they wanted an Asian... Jessica has red hair... and Sophie is their brunette. They told us that's how they chose all of us. We were their four peas. They called us th... I'm sorry... they called us their little *cunt* quartet..."
The detective remains silent, regarding the poor girl across from her with unjudging eyes, allowing the victim to set her own pace.
"I was angry at my parents after I found out. I asked, but they wouldn't let me dye my hair… pink, like my friend Beth's. I had just started my freshman year at college, and I wanted to try something new. Maybe if mom and dad had let me, they would have taken somebody else."
Melissa pauses in her account, eyes staring blankly, unmoving. She seems lost in some remembrance.
Morrow has a daughter too, just turned 14, and she darkly considers what she would to the animals if... if... No, she blanks out the thoughts. She cannot go down that path. She has to do everything in her power to help solve this case, and that means focus.
After sitting in silence, letting the girl have a moment, the detective gently prompts her to continue.
"Melissa, you said 'their four peas', what does that mean?" tilting her head to the side.
Abruptly, the girl looks up from the table and stares piercingly into the older woman's eyes.
Something is wrong, what did she say?
Melissa's blue eyes widen. Her breathing rapidly increases as obvious panic grips her tightly. She breaks eye contact. Blink, blink, blink as she flits her gaze down to the pockmarked table, darting around its surface as if searching for a hole to swallow her up. Like cornered prey, frantically searching for a way out.
"Melissa? Melissa?"
"No!" she blurts out. "I can't, I'm done... I can't. I want to go home now... I want to go home."
Morrow lifts her hand to shut off the recording, watching with disappointment and endless pity as the frail girl hugs herself tightly, now rocking back and forth in anguished recollection. She wonders how many countless times during her captivity the young victim must have repeated that same last refrain.
*****
Dawn awakens with her head fitted into a crushing, torturous vise. Uuuuhhhh... wait, not a vise, just the same impression. She raises her hands to her pulsing temples. A vise wouldn't pound like this, and she feels violently nauseous. She pries open her dry, crust-rimmed eyes in stages, and feels like she is going to vomit as the room spins about her. She swallows with a dry throat, feeling as if she drank sand. Why does she feel so horrible? She was out drinking, at Senor Phillip’s near the beach...
Dawn looks around confused, not recognizing this room, her eyes just regaining the ability to focus.
"Oh, you're awake."
Dawn scrambles to sit upright on the alien bed in which she has strangely awoken, startled by the sudden, unfamiliar voice.
"Uhhm...," she starts to reply, but she has moved much too quickly, and her throbbing brain attacks her anew. She screws her eyes shut, and doubles over as she resists the bubbling bile still attempting to liberate itself from her turning stomach.
"You'll feel better after a while. I know it's bad, but it won't last more than a few hours. Here, drink some water."
Dawn re-opens her eyes, momentarily winning the vomit-struggle.
It's a young woman close to the bed... a pretty redhead dressed in a long, flowing, white satin gown, and offering her a paper cup of water.
Dawn is disoriented, and spends a sickly, dizzy moment studying the room's other occupant. Below the expensive-looking dress, the slight girl has on white, silk stockings with a barely noticeable, dainty design covering her slender ankles and, Dawn assumes, adorning and enveloping her hidden legs. She is also standing in elegant, all-white, 3-inch heels. Her long, beautiful, red curls serenely cascade to her shoulders and spill down her back to her shoulder blades. Small, twin braids of crimson ringlets gracefully trail down the sides of her locks, clasped in sparkling butterfly clips. Her skin is smoothly pale, lightly freckled, and she appears to be around 19, the same age as Dawn.
The redhead raises the faint eyebrows of her lovely, warm face, still offering the water.
"Where...where am I?" Dawn replies with a raspy voice, throat still parched and head spinning, but gladly accepting the cup of water from this seeming angel, lovely in white.
The unknown girl averts her gaze and compresses her lips, pausing. However, her reluctance to answer goes unnoticed as Dawn looks around, gratefully sipping the water.
She is seated on a plain, thinly-padded bed with a heavy, wooden frame in a rather small room, walls of concrete all around. The walls, however, are beautifully painted in harlequin, masquerade masks, with brightly colored feathers and scintillating glitter abounding across the darkly coated blocks of solid cement. The only possible egress from the room seems to be an arched doorway, currently standing open with a heavy, 3-inch thick, iron-paneled door swung inward.
"Look," the redhead presently replies, "I have some bad news," redirecting Dawn's foggy attention. "We're prisoners here. You were drugged and kidnapped by a woman, and perhaps a man, maybe someone you just met?"
"Wh... what? Wait... what?" Dawn shakes her head in confusion, in no way helping to relieve her continuing vertigo.
"I'm sorry," the young angel in white goes on. "You were abducted, like all of us. There are two others, besides you and me."
"But... you don't look like a prisoner. Who are you? What is this place?" Dawn feels a new wave of pounding blood rush to her brain in response to her agitated questioning, and has to rest her forehead on the plain sheets. "I think I'm going to throw up..."
The redhead, looking concerned, walks to the right side of the bed, to the corner of the room near the wooden headboard. She stoops down, careful not to step on her billowy, fine skirts, and lifts the lid of a large, square, crate-like box sitting there.
"This is your toilet... if you need it," she offers, with caring in her voice.
Dawn raises herself higher on the bed, ready to scurry to the "toilet" indicated. She leans from the bed and peers down into the box, seeing a jet-black, but otherwise standard, porcelain toilet. Puzzled by the toilet in a box, she almost asks, but realizes she has much more urgent questions. Thankfully, her nausea subsides for the moment.
"Who are you?"
A moment's hesitation. "You should call me 'princess'. We aren't allowed to use our real names... Look, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're a slave here... we all are. There's a man and a woman, and they make us do horrible things... whatever they want, really..." The redhead stares straight into Dawn's eyes and repeats herself, "...whatever they want," this time with profundity, making sure her message is clear.
"I... I don't understand," Dawn exhales weakly. "Can I call my parents?"
"No, listen we don't have much time left. I have to tell you some things before they come."
"Before who comes?"
"Our Lord and Mistress. The man and woman I told you about. Watch what you say, by the way, because they have listening devices all over. Anyway, always call him 'my Lord', and her 'Mistress'. If you don't or if you break any of the other rules, they'll use these."
'Princess' reaches up and touches the unnoticed, silver band encircling her own neck. It looks like a flat, seamless, one-inch wide length of silvery metal, tightly fitting, with no room between the band and her pale skin. Princess rotates the choker, showing Dawn that there is a little, metal box at the back, still part of the necklace, but with a small padlock protruding from the bottom.
"You have to keep the box at the back of your neck. It's one of the rules. We all wear the collars. You have one on too."
Dawn looks down quickly and raises her hands to her throat, testing the truth of the redhead's words. Yes, she can't see it, but she feels the smoothly polished metal, mostly inconspicuous on her skin. She touches the box in back, grabbing it and the lock.
"Don't pull on it!" princess exclaims. "They have sensors and it’ll shock you if any pressure is applied, or if you try to tamper with it at all. Leave it alone, trust me."
"This thing will shock me???" Incredulous, Dawn shakes her head, emitting a troubled, despairing sigh. "This can't be real."
Princess placatingly holds out her hands, palms forward. "I know... I know it's a lot to handle, but I have more to tell you. Your name is 'puppet', you…"
"My name is Dawn!" she angrily shouts, too loudly with the sorry state of her head, the throbbing pain again threatening to overwhelm her.
"Please, I know this is hard. Listen to me, and I'll try to help you as much as I can. The other two girls are... uhhm… 'pussy' and 'pig'."
"What?" Dawn's nose scrunches in disgust. "Those are their names?" she asks while wondering about this girl's sanity..
"Yes, those are their names. We are the Lord and Mistress' four 'peas': 'princess', 'puppet', 'pussy', and 'pig'. But we change all the time. You and I are only 'princess' and 'puppet' for right now." She drops her eyes to the concrete ground. "We have to compete with each other. I'm just the fortunate one currently chosen to be 'princess'."
A loud, crystalline chime sounds out of nowhere, and reverberates throughout the cement room.
"Stay here! They may be in to see you soon." Princess bolts, spitting out the words in a flurry as she dashes to the exit, running in her white heels, lifting her skirts on the way out, and then pulling mightily on the ominously solid door to close it shut.
"Wait! No, wait, don't leave." Dawn moves as fast as she can in her impaired physical condition, jumping from the low bed, and staggering to the door. But too late. She reaches the iron-paneled obstruction after it has already boomed deeply shut. She tests the round, black, iron ring bolted to the thick wood, but the door refuses to yield. "Hello!" she cries out, palms striking weakly, pathetically at the sanded-smooth barrier.
Her despondent pleas go unanswered, though, and the young blonde is left alone, sealed in her colorful room of masquerades and glitter. She realizes after a few minutes what her next questions of ‘princess’ would have been.
Why am I 'puppet'? And even more dreadful, who are the others, 'pussy' and 'pig', and why would anyone call them that? She also wonders if she can trust anything she was just told.
******
"Come on, dear, hurry. We have our new blonde pet to play with. Our ‘cunt quartet’ is once again complete." Lucius grins at his wife, relishing their delicious, well-coordinated achievement. "I can't wait any longer. I want to get my hands on that blonde doll. I’m eager to begin training the suntanned surfer chick... our brand new puppet."
Margo returns his smile, sharing his excitement. "I'm almost finished, dear... just a few more details to add." She adjusts her light-framed reading glasses as she looks up at the dry-erase board mounted on the wall of their spacious bedroom. The board spans the wall, and contains permanent vertical and horizontal stripes, making it easier to fill in the exact details.
The "pea" board:
princess (temporary):
jessica chamberlain
20 years old
red hair, long, curly
fair skin
5' 4"
102 lbs
Bust: 33A
Waist: 23
Hips: 32
Shoe size: 5
puppet (temporary):
dawn norwinski
19 years old
blonde hair, long, straight
tanned skin
5' 8"
120 lbs
Bust: 36C
Waist: 24
Hips: 35
Shoe size: 6
pussy (temporary):
akio takada
21 years old
jet-black hair, short, straight
lightly tanned skin
5' 4"
117 lbs
Bust: 34B
Waist: 25
Hips: 35
Shoe size: 4.5
pig (temporary):
sophie anderson
18 years old
dark hair, long, wide curls
light skin
5' 6"
128 lbs
Bust: 36DD
Waist: 25
Hips: 37
Shoe size: 5
"Ok enough, I'm ready to go have some fun, you coming?" Lucius inquires impatiently.
Already wearing their usual outfits, they need only don their obscuring masks to complete their ensembles. After all, one or more of their slaves may be set free in the future, and it would not do to reveal the couple's true faces for later identification by law enforcement. In addition, they have consistently worn fake, polymer facial features and other clever disguises when luring their prey in the outside world. Anonymity has kept them in business for many fulfilling years, and neither of them plan on changing their rules of precaution now.
Lucius is already covered from chin to toe in black, predominantly leather attire. Black, rubber medical gloves and black, steel-toed boots cover his extremities, while his impressive manhood, his most important extremity, is hidden behind a bulging, protective codpiece in front. This can be removed at will, and easily snaps back into place once again, re-covering the opening in the crotch of his leather pants. Beneath that, the useful, 3x5-inch flap, with round, cotton opening for his cock, extends below his scrotum, and once the codpiece is removed, can be folded down, giving further access to his shaved balls and ass.
Margo, his wife, makes a resplendent Dominatrix in her gothic, blood-red, vinyl and latex dress. The top clings like a second skin to her svelte arms and torso, and her head rises queen-like above a sinister crown of red, leather points, with their apexes just reaching her ears, and with taller spikes in back covering her nape. The bright, crimson dress has two removable, latex snap-covers at her chest, allowing her full, flawless 36C breasts to squeeze through the latex openings, if desired, and stand out prominently and proudly in all their glory. The dress hugs her narrow waist, and then drapes straight down to her ankles in the form of numerous overlapping, split-panels fully covering her legs, but making for easy access to her exquisitely shaved nether parts underneath. Shining, black vinyl, high-heeled boots climb up to her knees, and adhere symbiotically to her long legs, perfectly accenting her kinky, carmine Bitch-dress.
Having anxiously made their way downstairs, they lift their headwear into place at the entrance to their securely fortified, fully-equipped slave quarters.
Lord Lucius dons and zips up his heavy-duty, black leather and molded-rubber, diablo hood, displaying fierce, exaggerated eye-ridges and soulless, sunken cheeks. The hood is fittingly crowned with inflexible, pointed devil-horns above. The mouth and chin area is uncovered, and the fiendishly gleaming, scarlet eyes allow him to see out, while remaining opaque to others.
Mistress Margo hides her identity behind an understated, hardened-plastic, ivory mask, with open mouth and eye holes. It stays firmly in place with the aid of three leather straps buckling around her long, blonde hair in the back. Not as covered as her mate, perhaps, but Margo's choice of simple mask combined with her killer, Dominatrix power-dress, and wicked, black leather boots make the overall vision to die for.
Now ready, the Dominant couple trigger the dungeon chime once, announcing their imminent arrival, and allowing their fully-owned slaves, princess, puppet, pussy, and pig to prepare themselves in their own unique ways.
******
Mistress Margo turns the correct, multi-toothed skeleton key in the lock of puppet's heavy cell door, and pushes it open. Lord Lucius, impatient to make their introductions, steps forward and uses his rubber-covered palm to assist with the massive weight.
They enter the colorful cell, and see their blonde puppet standing beside the unremarkable bed, staring back at them agog, open-mouthed. The young woman is still dressed in the cute, red, tight blouse and hip-hugging jeans she was wearing when they met her. They exercised the liberty of confiscating her shoes, earlier, when they took her measurements, and then installed her, still unconscious from the drugs, in the decorated, relatively cozy cell.
"Greetings, little puppet. Welcome to your new life." Lucius grandly spreads his arms wide, enjoying the worried look on their new captive's dismayed face. He loves the psychological effect, the intimidation their onyx-diablo and blood-queen outfits have on their unwilling guests. That first look on their faces is so exhilarating.
"Look, I don't know what's going on... I want out of here. I want to go home... now," the girl emphatically jabs downward with her pointing finger.
"Excellent," replies Margo with levity. "Wish granted, you're already here... puppet."
"Stop calling me that, bitch... I don't, Aaaaiie!!!" Their freshest slave screams in stricken agony, stunned as her collar is activated, sending a 3-second jolt through the nerve endings of her defenseless neck, and driving her body relentlessly to the concrete ground. Her limbs involuntarily draw closer to her body until the current subsides, until her muscles can unclench.
Lucius already had his finger ready, hovering over puppet's shock-trigger, waiting for the inevitable moment of rebellion. And not without a measure of anticipatory glee.
On the right, inside arm of both of the Owners' power-outfits they had control units installed, linked by coded radio wave to the virtually indestructible shock collars their four ‘peas' wear. Each unit is unobtrusively slim, contouring to the wearer's arm, and equipped with sixteen, tiny, raised buttons on the surface; four columns and four rows of selections. Each of their pets has her own column with the corresponding labels: 'tone', 'mild', 'punish', and 'TKO'.
In addition, the units have a single, larger, dome-shaped panic button, glowing red, at the edge nearest their hands. If either Controller finds that a situation with their slaves is getting out of hand or becoming dangerous to themselves, they need simply depress the failsafe button and a Total Knockout (TKO) pulse is sent to every slave's shock collar simultaneously; excruciating, but unquestionably effective at rendering them all unconscious at the drop of a hat, and in most cases, without lasting harm.
Lucius, grinning under his demonic hood, removes his finger from puppet's 'punish' button. "Perhaps a little harsh for their new playtoy," he muses in his head, "but at least she has a better understanding of the situation now, and besides... the little cunt called her Mistress a bitch."
Dawn releases a soulful, anguished moan from her fetal position on the cold concrete, still recovering from the overwhelming assault. Her eyelashes soon begin squeezing out liquid droplets of despair as she ponders the likelihood of rescue, wondering if she will ever see her family again.
"Now, now my little puppet," Margo continues in a condescending, but still singsong voice, "we will definitely need to work on your manners." She approaches their human property laying on the ground, her polished, vinyl boots clicking... click... click... as the spiked heels strike cement. The experienced Dominatrix steps one shiny boot over the girl's form, standing tall with hands on her hips as she straddles her prone body, imperiously looking down.
"Please don't... please let me go," she begs, sobbing, tears streaming down her face.
Margo lowers her body, bending her knees and squatting over her young slave's heaving chest. Her new playtoy quickly rolls on her back, hands raised defensively to her mouth. Margo pulls aside the front, overlapping latex panels of her Bitch-dress with both hands, revealing her clean-shaved crotch, now only inches away from puppet's reddened face.
"Ok, puppet. Our pet, 'pussy', will be shortly eating this out,” pointing obscenely to her moistening slit. “Snatch-licking is often reserved for her to handle, but exceptions are frequently made... oh wait, unless you don't care for your temporarily elevated status as our puppet... maybe you want to go ahead and change places with pussy for a while? I can assure you, she would be thrilled. Would you like to tongue my clit, puppet, and take pussy's place in our happy family?" She smiles predatorily behind her ivory mask, rubbing the little, hardening nub to further illustrate the point.
"No, ewuuhhh," Dawn contorts her features in revulsion, averting her face to the side. "This crazy bitch is a lesbian!" she screams in her head, her opinion of the demented woman worsening with the revelation. "She actually thinks I'm going to..."
Margo lashes out with her non-diddling hand and plants a series of sharp smacks to the side of the girl's left cheek, rocking her head with each blow, and then enjoying the handprints that begin to rosily bloom. "You, slave, will address me as Mistress and your other Owner," pointing to Lucius, "as my Lord." She inches her crotch slightly closer to the victim’s face, opening her legs wider, and spreading her pussylips lasciviously with two rubber fingers. "Well, puppet, do you want a taste of your Mistress?"
Dawn whimpers in fright, brutalized, her breathing stuttered. "No, Mistress."
Margo stands up abruptly, the panels of her dress swishing closed, and walks to the large, solidly built armoire located by the exit. The stained-wood doors swing open, revealing a wide assortment of fetish clothing and bondage gear. She chooses the following items:
1) a baby-blue, latex, serving-girl outfit, appropriately sized for puppet's figure
2) matching, baby-blue, latex, thigh-high stockings and same-colored pair of opera gloves
3) black, patent-leather, ballet, discipline shoes with seven-inch spike heels and front lacing.
Turning, she smiles at puppet on the ground. "Since you seem to wisely covet your current position as our ‘puppet’ you will dress the part... Strip, now."
Still in a blubbering state, the girl opens her mouth wide in further shock, but fails to follow the order immediately.
Margo raises her right arm, and looking down, pushes puppet's 'tone' button on the control unit. Suddenly, from the metal box of the slave-collar around puppet's neck, two rapid, staccato, bass sounds buzz forth. The 'tone' has always reminded Margo of those mindless game shows when the idiot contestant gives an incorrect answer.
Their still-clothed, little beach bunny bolts upright to a sitting position, face exhibiting terror at the abrupt noise, clearly expecting another debilitating jolt of electricity as her hands nervously finger the silver collar.
"That, pet, was your one warning. Take off your clothes... Now, hurry, slut!"
Dawn reluctantly, but swiftly, sheds her red blouse, tearfully peals her tight jeans down her legs, and again stands upright, now only clad in her lacy bra and matching white thong. "Please...", she tries again, hands not managing to fully shield her undergarments from view.
"Faster, cunt." Lucius intercedes. "Take off the rest of those rags before I do it myself." He takes the rubber apparel and the spiked-heel, discipline shoes from Margo and walks towards the girl.
Lucius licks his lips when she is finally naked, admiring their sexy catch. This is his first opportunity to see the healthy, teenage slave’s nude body, and he is far from disappointed. She is smoothly, uniformly tan all over, and her skin is pure and unblemished. Her sun-bleached, light, blonde hair hangs delicately straight to her slight shoulders. He feels his cock stiffen, invigorated, as his gaze reaches her pointy, pear-shaped tits standing out plumply from her chest, perfect little handfuls topped with large, puffy, infinitely lickable nipples. The cleft of her pussy is a single, demure line disappearing between smooth, meaty lips. She is well-shaved below, but they will make sure that even the tiny, natural-blonde landing strip she sports is shorn away, and total pussy baldness maintained.
To his wife, Lucius consistently advocates assigning their new acquisitions to the role of 'pussy', so he can ravish them immediately in every way conceivable. But, Margo always argues for breaking them in slowly, and not overwhelming their mental capacity, nor sending them unintentionally into the dulled, zombie-like state where they no longer continue to respond to reasonable stimuli, thereby diminishing the fun.
Humiliated, Dawn quickly, gladly accepts the articles of clothing from the lunatic's outstretched hand, eager to cover her nakedness. She is mortified, standing uncovered in front of these sick strangers. She hurriedly steps into the one-piece, baby-blue, latex outfit and draws it up her body, pushing her bare arms through the frilly shoulder straps, and looking down at the result.
Margo grins wickedly at the young woman's frowning, obviously disappointed expression. The kinky outfit covers nothing the naive girl would have hoped for. Her pear-shaped tits are bared, on full display. Tucked underneath, the latex half-shelf supports her buoyant breasts, offering them enticingly outward.
Obviously, even more disheartening to puppet is the crude exhibition of her crotch, still laid bare to the open air. The bottom edge of the slutty, serving-girl outfit makes an upside down V-shape, with the apex an inch above her exposed pussy, and from there curving down her thighs to terminate in the same frilly straps as at her shoulders, but this time for attaching to her latex hosiery.
Lucius has to explain how to roll, without seams, the baby-blue, rubber opera gloves and stockings onto her pretty hands and feet, and then up her skinny arms and long, proportionate legs. She sees, on her own, how to attach the top edge of the rubbery, second skin now sheathing her legs to the garter straps hanging down on either side of her easily accessed pussy, and down her firm, tan asscheeks in the back.
Dawn is also able to figure out the discipline shoes herself, and laces them up her imprisoned feet, more tightly after the bastard scolds her. The horrible, strict ballet shoes force her feet to point rigidly downward within the leather casing, and once 'my Lord Asshole' helps her to stand again, all of her weight is perched on the ends of her cramped toes, now only an inch away from the spike heels.
Margo approves of the effective shoes, seeing puppet stand with difficulty and begin her tiptoe-walk, nearly falling over onto the bed. She is amused, thinking this is the ideal foot-posture for aspiring ballerinas... or kept slavegirls.
Lucius, for his part, is very pleased. The finished product in front of him is an eyeful of kinky loveliness, straight out of a fetish magazine. His swollen cock is now at full attention behind the accommodating codpiece as he regards their slut-puppet teetering on unsteady feet in her pastel, cupless bodice. Her blushing face betrays her extreme discomfort, standing with her slight arms and long legs ensconced in rubber, and her once-private parts lewdly on display. Lucius wants to bend her over right now and make those fresh titties bounce as he vigorously thrusts his cock into her surely-tight, teenage fuckholes.
"If I see you cover yourself again," Margo warns, "I'll let you spend the night with our pig."
Dawn mentally struggles to move her hands away from her intimate areas, clenching them at her sides as she still strives for balance in these ridiculous shoes. She stares at the ground, humiliated, in this hooker-getup. Why are they doing this? Do these sickos actually get off on this? I have to get out of here.
She suddenly recalls one night, two months ago, when her last boyfriend, Billy Duncan, asked her to leave one of the candles lit during sex, and she laughingly told him there was no way in hell. And now, here she is dressed like a total whore, with two deranged psychopaths ogling every inch of her body.
Lucius unsnaps one of the many leather holsters on his utility belt, withdrawing a standard pair of police-issue handcuffs. "Turn around, puppet, hands behind your back."
The subdued captive complies, her outlook worsening as the chilly metal ratchets closed around her thin wrists. She stands with shoulders slumped, head low and defeated, simply hoping things do not get worse from here, but feeling how impossible that wish probably is based on the terrible information she has already learned.
What can she do? What do they have planned for her? She certainly has no power to fight back; the collar alone guarantees that… without even considering the handcuffs now, or the hobbling shoes that would obviously prevent any quick movements. Has her family called the cops by now? She told them she would be home by 11PM, and she...
"Arch your back, cunt. A good girl always keeps her back straight, head high, eyes on the ground," Margo admonishes, taking the riding crop hanging at her hip, and lifting puppet's pouting chin with the flapped end.
"Eyes on the ground, bitch!" Margo snaps with a tone of disbelief. "My goodness, we definitely failed to pick the most intelligent of the bunch, dear," she turns to her mate.
Lucius laughs, enjoying the moment. "Looks like pussy, and maybe even pig, will have a good chance of improving their lots in life. I can't remember the last time either of them dared look me in the face. Good thing her body is in shape, because, God, this one is stupid. Typical blonde...," he shakes his head. "No offense, dear."
"No, you're right. She may find herself locked in the pigpen in record time... You know, I think we should go ahead and let our new puppet meet our other 'peas'. Maybe a display of our slaves' different functions here will provide the necessary motivation for her to properly follow her Lord and Mistress' commands. Come along, pet."
******
"I have to come up with something!" princess strikes her head repeatedly with her knuckles, entangling her fingers absentmindedly in her curly, rouge hair. She has been sitting at her broad, cherrywood writing desk for over an hour, and still has not completed this evening's activity list. If she lacks details or imagination, her Owners will be displeased at her efforts, and then… well, she dare not risk their wrath, especially by failing in this, her main assignment.
Her eyes wander the well-appointed room, the "princess chamber," looking for inspiration in whatever form available. She worriedly notices a small wrinkle in the gold, satin, queen-size sheets draping the four-poster bed in the center of the room. It's nearly invisible, peeking out as it is from under one of the rich, sequined throw pillows, but she makes a mental note to straighten the fold very soon.
Princess is extremely careful to do everything in her power to maintain her current position in this mental asylum. Her Lord and Mistress can be very fickle, making off-the-cuff decisions regarding their 'peas' fate on pure whim. But princess has lately given them little reason to correct her, not serious reason anyway... though every one of them has to suffer at one level of intensity or another, even the favored 'princess'.
No, she will fight... dirty, if she has to, in order to stay here, in this chamber, with all of the luxuries and benefits she receives in her designated role. She will feel remorse... again... if she has to undermine the other girls, either by deceiving them or through trickery. That's how she was able to rise to this level in the last reshuffle. But, the potential alternative, being moved far down the food chain, is ghastly, and she has already had that experience. Switching places again is inevitable, but she will not let it happen through any fault of her own. No, she must constantly strive to please her Lord and Mistress, and be ever-vigilant about anticipating their wants.
Personally, all she, herself, wants is to leave this endlessly recurring nightmare, this unbelievably oppressive freakshow. She knows it's a possibility ever since they let Melissa go... They showed the girls proof, in the form of several newspaper articles describing her family's unexpected joy at impossibly reuniting with their presumed-dead daughter, sister, cousin, etc. after so many years without hope. Melissa got lucky, and princess... no... damnit, no... Jessica... plans to be next up for departure, if the opportunity ever comes again.
"Think! Come on, Jess..." Inventing new, perverse activities for their Owner's twisted gratification proves a daily challenge for her. She has already finished the tasks/games the other slavegirls will take part in, as ignorant actresses this evening. But, like usual, it's her own required contributions during the forced scenarios that have her stumped. As 'princess' she is expected to comport herself as a proper lady in all her regal finery, in charge of, and directing, the other slaves. Therefore, she is not usually subject to the same degree of humiliation and pain the other, lower ranks must endure. However, if she fails to be entertaining herself, she could be swiftly dethroned.
She taps the ballpoint pen on the sheet of parchment, considering. "Maybe if 'pussy' went last here, then I could... That's it!" she sighs, relieved. Just a few more finishing touches, and added, vivid descriptions, and she will have it.
Upon completion, she makes her way across the room, walking on thick, plush carpet in her otherwise bare, white-stockinged feet. She has a few moments left to lounge on the contoured, dark velvet, ornately-carved settee located in front of the high-definition, plasma television recessed into the wall. She considers finishing the DVD she was watching, but wishes again that she had access to regular programming, so she could reconnect with the outside world on some small level. If nothing else, just to find out today's date and calculate her length of time in this nuthouse. She really thought about asking the new girl, but realized it wasn't worth the risk. They would eventually listen to the recorded conversation and hear her discussing one of the forbidden topics.
Lying there, relaxing in her virginal, white satin gown, with red hair cascading off the edge of the antique furniture, she is satisfied, but anxious to see how her Lord and Mistress will react to her work when they arrive shortly. Relatively sure that they will approve of the outline she has created, she is also unfortunately certain that when the other three 'peas' discover the details, they will not share the same agreeable sentiment regarding her choices.
******
"Go ahead and hobble that sweet, little ass of yours over there and push that gray button on the wall, puppet," Lucius commands, swatting her sharply on the buttcheek after removing the handcuffs from behind her back.
Before she takes more than a few precarious steps, Margo calls, "What do you say, slut, when your Master gives you an order?"
"Yes, my Mas... uhhm, my Lord," she replies, still bewildered by recent events, but thankfully remembering not to look directly at her kidnappers. Her head is still pounding, but she has to keep her wits intact, to keep a low profile for now, to obey them and wait for a chance to get out of this place. She worries that her slip with the title may be a punishable offense.
"You see... retarded," Margo complains to her partner. "I know she's new, but what a dumb, little cunt," shaking her head, exasperated. "No one told you to stop, bitch, GO!"
Dawn finally makes it over to the thickly painted, concrete wall. Upon exiting "her room" they stepped her out into a well-lit hallway, with the same, dull-colored, cement construction everywhere she looked.
Her abductors obviously found delight in watching her contend, basically naked, with the absurd shoes, and had her walk a few painfully slow laps around the hall. 'Laps,' because the path turned out to be square-shaped, only realized after they kept turning left, and arrived again at her open room.
She passed five other closed doors during her embarrassing promenade, three of them the only potential exits from this prison, located as they were on her right, the exterior side. The other two doors, identical to her own, were on her left, on the inside of the apparently square group of rooms.
They had her stop in front of the single interior wall lacking a door. She lifts her rubber-covered hands to the hard surface. Using one hand to steady herself, she reaches out with the other and tentatively pushes the unfamiliar button, wary of its unknown purpose.
Immediately, as she releases the button, a grinding noise begins to emanate from the concrete wall, low, to the right of her legs, rumbling deeply, and vibrating the hand still resting on the wall. Then, she notices faint lines, previously unseen in the cement, and growing more pronounced as a 3x3 foot section of the wall recedes, and then drops slowly, ominously into the floor, giving access to the once-hidden and dark chamber.
As the grinding halts, all Dawn's squinting eyes can perceive inside the cavernous opening is the end of a thick, braided rope on the ground, lying just within and trailing away into the darkness. She also senses some kind of rustling noise drifting out to her ears. It sounds like... pigs??? Several pigs! Oh, God!
Dawn stumbles backwards in abrupt fright, expecting hungry, savage pigs to charge out of their pit any second to trample her, and feast on her defenseless flesh. Is that why they had her push the button??!
Having fallen on her rear in panic, Dawn scrambles backwards, crab-like on hands and feet, only stopping when she realizes that the two insane wardens behind her are... laughing at her.
"Scared of a few pigs, puppet?" Margo asks, chuckling in surprise.
"Get up and move out of the way, dumb-dumb," Lucius says while striding towards the pig-sounds. He stoops down, grabs the thick rope, and begins to pull it towards him, hand over hand.
Regaining her feet, embarrassed, trying not to twist her ankles in the burdensome shoes, Dawn sees his efforts and knows that whatever it is attached to the other end, it must be heavy. There it is now. Something is emerging... wait, it's... noooo... it's a cage being wheeled out... with a naked girl inside.
"Wow, these people are sick!," she yells inside her head, privately revolted at their uncaring depravity.
"There's our little pigslut," Margo coos aloud as the contraption rolls out, speaking as if talking to a three-year-old. "Did our little piggy get some good rest, hmm? We brought you a new friend to play with. She might even want to take your place in the pigpen, but you'll have to ask her about that. Say hello to the newest addition to our family... our new puppet". She smiles happily in puppet's direction.
"hraawnk, yes, Mistress... hello, puppet," the caged young woman responds with a throaty pig-grunt, momentarily looking up at Dawn, bleary-eyed, and then directly back down at the straw-covered bottom of her cage.
Dawn's palm involuntarily rises to her mouth in horror. How could these monsters do this to another human being? The girl appears to be close to Dawn's age, but it's hard to tell with all the dirt and grime covering her nude body. She is on all fours, continuing to stare directly downward.
Dawn realizes that the animal noises are still issuing from the hole, and she peers cautiously in to see what else it might hold.
"Oh, relax puppet," Lucius responds to her curious look. "That's an automated recording you hear. We don't like our little piggy to be lonely, so we pipe continuous swine noises into the background to make her feel more at home. The best part is that randomly, about once every two hours, another, much louder recording intervenes, letting pig hear the chilling death-squeals of actual sows being slaughtered for market. That way, we remind her what could happen if she fails to behave like a good piggy slave. This little piggy might go to market, too... isn't that right?"
"hraawnk, yes, my Lord."
"If you'll notice, puppet," Lucius goes on, "pig has to begin every utterance she makes with a realistic pig grunt."
Lucius admires their tormented, human pig. Their 18-year-old toy is caked in the now-dried mud he dumped on her head and body through the bars at the top of her cage several hours ago, before sealing her back into her hole-in-the-wall 'pigpen'.
Yet, despite the filth smeared all over her skin and matting her clumped, encrusted hair, her amazing, well-proportioned, young body sends pleasurable twitches through his cock. She has huge, all-natural, 38DD pigtits hanging down pendulously from her grimy chest like ripened fruit from a tree. With a little more meat on her bones than their other waifs, she's the only slave he can use to tittyfuck, and he adores slathering baby oil on those enormous, teenage funbags and performing all manner of perverse experimentations.
Margo spotted this one in a nightclub showing off those juicy melons, teasing all of the guys in her overly tight, silk blouse... and the couple decided to take her. Potentially the easiest capture they've ever made, what with the numerous drinks she was throwing back all evening, the stupid, little boozehound.
Now, she no longer has to tease, or worry about showing off her assets. They take care of that for her. Walking around the cage, he sees the angry welts left on her firm pig-ass from the night before, administered by princess. He has to admit she did an excellent job with the caning, clearly not pulling her swings, or giving pig an easy time.
Still regarding her backside through the gaps in the bars, he sees her pink, curlicue pigtail firmly up her ass where it should be. The amusing, corkscrew appendage sprouts from the solid, rubber buttplug shoved up her rectum, and stays in place thanks to its wide, 2-inch expansion in the middle. Pig is allowed to extract the plug herself if nature calls, but she knows to replace her most important accessory immediately after, or face serious consequences.
Looking closely at her eyes, Lucius can tell their pigbitch is exhausted. The clamorous slaughter-squeals that loudly pierce the enclosed air of her tiny cell every few hours are intended to keep her on edge, and deprived of restful sleep. The thick, prickly, itchy layer of hay she is forced to lay on only adds to her misery. "Oh well," Lucius thinks, tickled, "good motivation for their playtoys to avoid becoming the pig."
"Puppet, stop gawking like an imbecile and grab that handle on the sliding tray at the bottom of pig's cage, and pull out," Margo commands. "It's your job to clean pig up so your Lord and Mistress can have fun with her and not dirty ourselves in the process. Get moving."
Dawn approaches the cage, bending down with her legs demurely closed to hide her bared crotch from view, and grabs the denoted metallic handle. "Are you ok?" she softly asks, looking up at the poor girl, feeling sorry for her, and for her treatment like an animal.
"Brump-brump!" suddenly buzzes loudly from Dawn's collar, causing her whole body to jump. The jarring tone is especially unsettling at such close proximity to her ears..
"No talking, cunt, certainly not to pig," Margo chastises her. "The next time won't be a warning. Now, do as you're told."
Quickly recovering from her startlement, Dawn pulls the said tray slightly outward, unexpectedly making it drop, crashing to the floor, and causing clods of straw to fall through the mesh-wire platform on which the soiled girl ultimately rests. From inside, the caged girl begins to move, assisting by crawling around the enclosure and pushing the remaining clumps of hay through the 2-inch, square openings in the wire below.
Dawn, now close enough to smell the whole deplorable arrangement, is sickened by the unmistakable odor of feces, dreadfully realizing that 'pig' must be required to relieve herself inside the cage, and then attempt to sleep right beside her own repellent waste. Dawn waits, tears forming, for the wretched girl to finish clearing the hay and other collected filth from the cage floor with her dirty fingers.
The cruel pair continue to direct Dawn in the protocol necessary for her daily administering of pig's needs. They show her, through the exterior-sided, unlocked door immediately behind, where she can empty the tray of refuse. From the same room, she carries out a long garden hose with a powerful jet-nozzle attached, and a half-empty bottle of flower-scented body wash, both of which she is instructed to use in flushing the cage out thoroughly, and cleaning its imprisoned occupant.
She is consoled by the fact that she is only needed to operate the hose, and 'pig' takes care of the soaping and scrubbing of her own body, inside and out, with the generous helping of body wash Dawn supplies through the top of the cage. Dawn then sprays away the darkened suds coating the girl, as gently as she can with the high-pressure stream of water. The excess is able to run off through the convenient drainhole set in the concrete floor near the wheeled container.
Next, she squeezes out and deposits a small amount of toothpaste onto the brush she hands over, along with a length of dental floss, again all taken from the supply room. As the girl cleans her teeth, she peers up into the corner of her cage where a small plasti-mirror is bolted to the steel frame. After ‘pig’ finishes her ablutions, Dawn shoots out quick, deliberate squirts of water, helping the young woman to rinse out her mouth.
Dawn is relieved to see that her final task is to deliver a fresh towel to the clean-washed girl, earlier fearing that she would be made to drip-dry, shivering, with her long hair still soaking wet.
At least the girl seems human again... still caged obviously, but Dawn can see that her face is strikingly beautiful, now that the muck has been cleared away. And with her large breasts and narrow waist Dawn is sure the lovely girl could get any guy she wants... if she weren't stuck here, anyway.
Upon drying herself 'pig' looks up at Dawn and gives her a reserved half-smile, seeming to thank her for having to go through this ordeal with her. She sees that the abused girl is fatigued, eyes bloodshot and dull from mental and physical distress, not to mention lack of sleep from the nightmarish, unholy 'pigpen'.
"Remember those steps, slave. Puppet does these things for pig every single day," Lucius tells her. "And if you can't get it right, or can't do it at the correct time, then maybe "you" can try the experience from the inside. Now, get over here."
Dawn steps warily closer, a little wet from the backsplash of the hose. At the tyrant's direction, she carefully kneels down on the ground next to the cage. He has her enlace her fingers behind her head with elbows out to the sides, and forces her to spread her knees wide open. She feels nauseous again, completely exposing her privates to this heartless sadist.
"Back straight!" he reminds her roughly. "This is the 'kneel' position, slave. This is what you do when the command is given, and you don't move. Now, I want you to keep your eyes open, got it?"
"Yes, my Lord," she responds, trying to keep him happy.
Lucius grins down at his rubber-covered fetish doll, with her inviting, pear-shaped tits jutting out from the latex top, and kneeling submissively before her Lord. He is standing by the cage, right in front of her face, and decides it's time for a little fun. He unsnaps the codpiece at his crotch, releasing his semi-erect member, and allows the codpiece to dangle by its attached leather cord. He begins to stroke his daunting, blue-veined shaft right in front of the slut's pretty face, letting her get her very first view of the cock she will be, henceforth, devotedly worshipping.
Dawn is terrified. She begins a long, tremulous intake of breath, stomach quivering, hoping somehow the nightmare will end and she won't have to do what she knows the brute wants.
He loves her fear, the tense, anxiety-filled expressions on her face. He smiles, "Mmmmhhh, I bet it's soooo wet and warm in that pretty mouth of yours, puppet. Those cute lips are going to feel so good dragging across my meat. Maybe it's time to see how fucking precious your face is going to look with my hot jizz squirted all over it."
The visual quickly makes him rock-hard, his dick so swollen it throbs almost painfully in his rubber-covered grasp. Delighting at the sight of the trembling blonde, properly posed at his feet, he pivots away suddenly, inserting his pulsing, elongated rod through the bars of the cage immediately to his left.
"Suck me off, pig. And you better make it good or I'll add a few more creative torments to your pigpen tonight."
Dawn closes her eyes, almost dropping her elbows in relief. She releases the frightened breath she was holding, swallowing the tense lump in her throat. The gathering tears finally reach critical mass and spill wetly down her cheeks. She desperately tries to still her lurching diaphragm, not wanting to draw a single moment of attention back to herself.
Margo just adores seeing her partner dominate their bitch-slaves like this, and her tall heels click across the cement as she moves in for a better, closer view. "Open your eyes, puppet!" she hurls at the girl, whacking her in the back of the head with an open slap. "Watch pig gobble your Master's tool." She bends down and gives puppet a quick kiss on the cheek, surreptitiously parting her lips in the process, and darting out the tip of her tongue in order to get a small taste of her playtoy's delicious, salty tears.
Dawn chokes back a sob, her raised arms still shaking as she opens her eyes to the repulsive scene. She sees the caged girl crawl forward immediately upon his command, seeming almost eager to wrap her mouth around his offensive penis. Remaining on all fours, she bobs her head rapidly up and down its formidable length. Appalled, Dawn watches as 'pig' pulls back her head and spits a viscous wad of glistening saliva directly at the head of his angry-looking penis, and then takes it right back into her pistoning mouth.
Dawn has 'given head' to guys before, but never like this. No, she did it slowly, mostly using her hands, and only licking around the penis a little, taking the end in her mouth just enough to make the guy happy. On those rare occasions, she figured they were lucky to be with her in the first place. Steve Marshall even said she was the best at it, out of all the girls he had been with.
Gagging noises drag her attention ungratefully back to the present. Now 'pig' (Dawn wishes she knew the young woman's real name)... 'pig' is forcing the hideous cock as deep as she can into her mouth, over and over, horribly making herself gulp and wretch as her stomach visibly heaves. Why in the world is the poor girl doing it like that? It's disgusting!
"I hope you're learning something, puppet," Margo says scornfully.
Dawn's eyes are regrettably drawn to the slobbery mess now dripping down the busy girl's chin. The slimy overflow hangs on tenaciously as it swings wildly back and forth with the humiliating motions of her head. The gagging girl suddenly stops at the bottom of a downward thrust, pushing forward, trying to jam the full length of his member into her mouth even as her stomach repeatedly, violently convulses.
Lucius approves of the knob-job the girl is performing for him. He's taught her well during her residence here. Just when the slut almost has his whole cock down her piggy throat, he abruptly jerks his hips away, and causes the little whore to bang her forehead on the metal bars of the cage. He laughs uproariously at his own clever trick.
"Not bad, pig... but I think I might save my load for now... and let puppet swallow it later." He pats puppet on the top of her head as he lets his shiny, dripping pole linger, throbbing in front of her face, only inches away.
Margo breaks into the silence. "Well, dear, should we go collect pussy, and let her join in the festivities?"
"Absolutely, the more slaves the merrier, I always say," Lucius replies, invigorated and horny from his piggy blowjob. "We also need to see what our little princess has come up with for this evening. Stop being lazy, puppet. Grab that rope and follow along like a good girl."
Dawn reluctantly complies, wiping the tears and mucous from her face, fearing the atrocities she might be witness to next, or even worse... be forced to take part in.
End of part 1
******************************************************************************
I welcome remarks about my stories, either appreciative or critical. All comments received, now and in the future, inspire Me to continue to write.
Truly yours,
CainePaine
CainePaine@gmail.com
******************************************************************************
|
|
|