Amyís Bondage
by Raul Roget

Copyrighted material, not for those under 18 years of age.

Chapter 17 - Just Hanging Around

"I mean with a whip," she added.

Georgina walked toward them, carrying the whip. Glen heard her coming and let go of Amy, turning around to see what was about to happen. Georgina got nose to nose with Amy, raised her hand and pointed her finger downward, where Amy could see it. Amy dropped to her knees, looking up at her Mistress.

"Slave, I am far less lenient than your Master. Any slave in my possession keeps her smart remarks to herself or suffers for a long time to come. Your remark was too close to sarcasm for me. Trying to hide it in a suck-up compliment is going to add to your pain and misery. Stay right there.. If you want to complain to your Master that Iím a bitch, go right ahead."

As she walked out the door, Glen looked down at Amy, daring her with his eyes. Amy correctly read the signs and remained silent. It was obvious that both would be on her case.

Georgina came back with a pencil, notebook and a tape measure.

"Stand up!"

Amy jumped to her feet and stood at attention.

She was measured from head to toe, every figure going into the notebook. Finished,, she announced, "Class is over. You are going back in the cell."

Glen went back upstairs and watched Amy get put down. Georgina barked orders at her like a drill sergeant. The door was unlocked so she opened it and marched Amy inside. As she locked the big chain around Amyís ankle she ordered, "Back to your polishing job. I want to see substantial results. And I want you sitting on the pile of chain over there and pissing as you sit, every time you feel two drops gathering in your bladder. While you work, think about all the trouble your big mouth keeps getting you into and what youíre going to tell me when I decide to let you out. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress." Her tone was contrite and this time her eyes matched it. She had a feeling things would get rougher before they got better.

Later as Georgina got ready to leave she approached Glen. "Iím sorry I had to discipline her right in front of you, but I prefer instant reproof rather than dragging things out."

"Thatís no problem. I put up with some of that, but even I thought it was out of line. I was just going to open my mouth when you started for her. I expected her to protest when you left the room, but she never said a word."

"Iím sure you saw on the monitor that I made her sit on the chains. With her two stripes on her ass she should be pretty uncomfortable. With your permission Iíll leave her there for the night. She needs a firm hand, and with all due respect, Master, youíve been letting her get away with things. Other Masters would have welted her from her toenails to her teeth."

"I know, and I accept your criticism. Iím learning and I keep wanting to treat her like a wife."

"She can be your wife and be your slave at the same time, but it isnít easy. The local Judge is dead set against marrying slaves to Masters. Oddly enough, heís active in the scene here in the city."

"Thatís news to me. Is there an active bondage group here?"

"Active, but not well organized. They donít meet, except at memberís houses. One person you might want to contact is a doctor, Doctor Steve Nedlick. Iíve heard heís active in the group too. He might have some suggestions on how to handle Amy. In the meantime, I have an idea that we can use as a long term punishment for her."

"Iím open to any and all suggestions."

"Mark my words, sheís going to be a handful."

Glen said, ruefully, "She already is."

Later that evening he visited Amy. She was kneeling, waiting as he opened the door. He handed her a tray with several slices of bread Ė now standard fare for the cell. He took the empty glass and drew water. He handed it to her, still silent.

Her "Thank you, Master" echoed from the stone walls.

Glen was blunt. "Amy, youíre becoming a pain in the ass Ė and donít say a word about the two stripes on YOUR ass. Your smart ass remark to your Mistress was totally out of line and if she hadnít thrown you down here I sure as hell would have. Just when I think youíve turned over a new leaf you pull a stunt like this."

Amyís head was bent as far as it would go. She knew she had blown it, knew the remark was uncalled for and knew she deserved to be punished. She managed to push out, "Iím sorry."

"This is going to cost you. She wants you in here tonight and she didnít say when you get out. As long as the lights are on, you work on that chain. Iím not about to countermand her orders, so youíre stuck."

Amy never raised her head. She heard the door slam shut and the combination spin. Twin tears rolled down her cheeks. She picked up the chain, but the lights immediately dimmed so she dropped it again and began searching for a soft spot in the stone floor to sleep on. She hadnít found one yet and this night was no exception.

Glen was alone in his bedroom. He was sorely tempted to call Georgina and have her come back for the night. He glanced at the clock and discarded the notion. It was nearly midnight. He yawned and decided a good nightís sleep was in order. Before turning out the light he checked the monitor. Amy was using several links of the big chain as a pillow. His heart ached for her.

Georgina arrived the next morning with a large flat box. Glen had made breakfast for himself and dry toast for Amy. Except for thanking him she had remained silent. There was no need for him to say anything as she had her orders and knew that she might Ė or might not Ė get out on this day.

Georgina accepted a cup of coffee and walked over to the monitor. Amy was diligently polishing. She was also shifting from cheek to cheek, sharing the pain.

Curiosity got the better of him.

"Whatís in the box?"

"Oh, a little something. For Amy."

She walked back to the box and opened it. Her fingers held up a hooded jacket. The morning sun glittered on the cloth, making it look like it was solid metal. She opened the jacket and folded it back. Carefully she laid it over one arm and presented it before Glen. Keyed by her careful movement, he gingerly touched the inner surface as Georgina nodded. He jerked back, surprised. It had felt like he was touching the point of a pin.

"Itís harmless," she assured him.

"What in Hell is that stuff?"

"I really donít know. There was a bolt of it on sale years ago at a surplus store. It was only a buck for the whole roll, so I did my pack rat thing."

She nodded toward it again.

"Take a close look. Itís not as lethal as it feels."

"Do I blame that bandage on your thumb on this?"

She laughed. "Indirectly. I scratched myself with a needle while I was making this."

Glen peered closely. There were a myriad of points, but all of them were blunt. They would hurt under pressure, but wouldnít penetrate the skin.

She laid the jacket down and showed Glen the matching pants. They had a drawstring for a belt and tapered to the ankle, where short pieces of elastic joined a strap of the metallic material under the instep.

"That will bother her as much as the restraints, which go on over the cloth. The elastic will pull right into her foot."

"And, sheís ticklish."

"Which will just add to her problems."

"Do I try it on you first?"

Georgina actually blushed.

"Master, I tried to sleep in it last night. Amy is going to hate this from the moment she sees it."

"I take it you didnít exactly enjoy your handiwork either?"

She shivered. "I put it on standing up. That was bad enough. When I sat down on the bed it felt like a dozen red hot pokers searing my flesh. It hurt so bad I was in tears after I locked on my leg shackles.. I could not lie still if my life depended on it and the slightest movement brought out another couple of sizzling pokers.

"How do we use it on her?"

Georgina smiled and answered his question, "You inform her when evening comes that since she is a bad girl she is losing her bed privileges. Give her a choice of sleeping on the rug, or if she wears her pajamas, she can sleep beside you. You can point out to her that any discomfort will make up for her feeling guilty about a slave sleeping in a soft bed."

"Are you going to let her out today?"

"Probably not. Some things didnít get done yesterday and theyíve piled up in the house, so I need to get caught up. She has no idea of day or night in there, so a full day will really wear on her."

She put the pajamas back in the box and took it up to the bedroom. When she came back down, she knelt across the table from Glen.

"Master, may I speak?"

"Of course. Open time."

"I spent a lot of time thinking about being your slave, while I was driving home, and then later when I tried to go to sleep. I still have trouble believing that you would take on an old broad like me. I know you want to use my experience, but you could get that almost anywhere, with the right connections, and not have to take on the responsibilities of a second slave."

"I told you that I wanted to live here, be under your thumb day and night, accept any order, do anything a slave can do for your pleasure. I meant that, and my sleepless night only firmed up my desire to serve you. You donít know Ė arenít aware Ė of the raw power that you exude. Iím sure Amy feels the same way, although she is still too green to recognize the vast difference between you and other Masters Iíve known, or served." By the time you get some experience, youíll have a harem of girls begging for your collar."

"I appreciate the compliment, but having you around has been the first opportunity Iíve had to get some much-needed training, so I can hand the compliment right back to you."

Glen paused, then opened a new door. "What do you feel, or think, about the age difference involved here. How does that affect your decision?"

"Well, being almost old enough to be your grandmother does have its drawbacks. Still, Iím in better shape, my doctor tells me, than most women half my age. I havenít lost any of my appetite for sex, in any form, and being a slave at my age is a unique experience. A lot of gals have their final fuck when they are 10 or 15 years younger than I am."

"Like I said, you look 20 years younger."

"Thank you, kind sir. Compliment duly noted. Um, back to my main topic: Would you accept me on a 24/7 basis?"

"In a New York minute!† Just say the word and you become full time staff."

"Whoa, not so fast. Remember, I have commitments."

"I guess the key question is whether they can be worked out."

"I do have someone who is interested in my house. Theyíve been pestering me for several years. The car is no problem. I can dump it off at a dealer. There are two or three other things that could take up to a couple of months, but I think I could handle them from here, perhaps with a little help from you. But, what about my investments? My checking account. When are you going to take those?"

"Now, Iím going to Ďwhoaí you! I know itís traditional for a slave to turn over all her possessions to her Master, but I havenít done that with Amy and Iím not going to do it with you. At least not until Iím absolutely positive that this is going to work."

"The rule is very rigid. A slave cannot own anything. Not even her permanent chains."

"Will you be satisfied if I put my name on your bank accounts, deeds, or whatever?"

"I guess that would work. Iíll remind you again that Iím the slave here and your decisions are absolute law."

"Weíll need a contract Ė and so will Amy."

"Iíve got several copies of a standard slave contract in the car. Iíll go get them."

Used to reading real estate contracts, Glen whizzed through rapidly, halting when he came to a sentence which he read aloud, "I, Georgina Pfalz, hereby relinquish to my Master all my worldly goods and possessions to dispose of as he sees fit in order for him to benefit thereby."

He looked sharply at her. "You sign this and you are pennyless."

"I will willingly sign it. Thatís why I brought it."

"Youíre being overly hasty."

"No, Master. With all due respect, from the moment you collared me, I and everything I own, were yours. This just makes it official."

She hesitated a second and then continued, "What sort of a make-believe slave would I be if I wore your chains and yet had my own house, my own car, my own money, to do as I please? Thatís not slavery, thatís kiddy play acting. I agreed to be your slave, knowing you will regiment my every second, minute, hour, lifetime. I want to be a slave, so I have to give something in return, besides abject loyalty to my Master."

"You make a pretty good case."

"Besides, it removes a lot of temptation to flee when the going gets rough."

"With some Masters. The answer to the problem is simple. I will set up trust funds for both of you. If I keel over, get killed in a car accident, or if you decide to leave, the money will be there for you."

"Thatís very kind, and very generous. My husband left me nearly penniless, leaving everything to his first wifeís children. The things I have to give now I earned myself."

"Just keep thinking that the tradeoff is worth it."

"Master, it truly is. Thereís one other thing, changing the subject."

"Whatís that?"

"I donít know if you realize it, but both the girls working here as maids are as submissive as they come."

"Oh, NO! Youíre not going to add two more slaves to the roster. Iím not running a home for misplaced slaves."

"No, Master, thatís not what I had in mind. I can train them in the odd moment when I have time and once they are used to the fact that thereís a dungeon here and nude slaves running around, it would eliminate problems with hiding Amy while they are working."

"I suppose it could work. Sound them out and see if they are as sub as you think and weíll plan a thing or two for them. Iím beginning to wonder what I got myself into by collaring Amy."

"It should be the beginning of a very pleasant life, as pleasant as your two slaves can make it."

"All right. Enough talk. Letís get to work. Iíve got a hundred phone calls to make."

Georgina served Amy lunch an hour after her breakfast, watching her eat every crumb. Dinner bread came 10 hours later, throwing what little time sense she had completely off kilter. She had trouble remembering things, like when she last ate. Georgina could tell that the cell and the monotonous work were getting to Amy.

Georgina visited her captive at random times through the day. Amy knelt silently through each visit and her Mistress didnít say anything either, waiting her out.

On the last visit of the evening, things had changed. Amy was prone, on the floor, her head toward the door. Georgina stepped through the doorway and stopped. Amy wriggled and crawled across the floor, her breasts dragging on the rough rock, until she was directly in front of her Mistress. She moved forward and kissed each foot, fervently.

She rested her forehead on the naked feet. "Mistress, I apologize to you for my smart ass remark. It was crude and hateful and uncalled for. I deserved every minute of my punishment. I beg further punishment suitable to my grave mistake in judgement."

Georgina looked down at her, tempted to spurn her with her foot and send her back to the pile of chains, but she was anxious to see her reaction to the pajamas she had made for her.

"Crawl up the stairs and find your Master. Apologize for wasting time in the cell when you could have been serving him. Beg him, as you begged me, for additional punishment. Donít forget, as you forgot with me, to thank him for your punishment."†††††

Amy frantically kissed and licked her feet, apologizing profusely she continued to abase herself.

"Enough! You will wait outside the storage room while I select an appropriate whip to remind you of your manners."

She came back with a black horror. Amy gasped, already feeling it in her bones.

"Kiss it!"

Amy kissed and licked, tasting the black oil, imagining how the first blow would hurt. She choked a scream.

Georgina walked back in the hall. She repeated the command.

"Kiss it!"

There were more than two dozen whips and crops. Was she going to have to kiss each one?

Her question was answered by a whirring slice as one of the crops crossed her thighs. Her legs jerked, folded, trying to protect from the next blow. She blurted, "One, Thank you Mistress for punishing me."

The next was much lighter, but across her shins where it hurt as much or more. The crop taught a lesson Ė donít try to hide from the whip. She stretched her legs out straight as she counted and thanked her mistress.

"Crawl!"

Amy would have company and encouragement. She hoped that Glen would be in his office. Those stairs to his bedroom would sap her strength.

She did find him in his office, busy on the phone. She hugged the floor, waiting for the opportunity to crawl to him. Her Mistress let the crop fall and rest on her back, a constant reminder to be silent.

At last he hung up the phone. He swiveled in his chair and sat, waiting.† The crop moved sharply on her back. She hurriedly crawled to his feet and kissed them. She spoke her apology, careful to both thank him for her punishment and to beg further punishment.

Without acknowledging her, Glen turned to Georgina, "She is not wearing her punishment chains. Whip her up the stairs, install the chains and make her back down the stairs into your whip. Perhaps this will help convince her that she should watch her mouth."

"Crawl!" Once more the dreaded command.

At the foot of the stairs Mistress outlined the plan.

"You get one for each step. You will pause, receive it, count it, thank me and ask for another. If you wish to show me you are truly sorry, for the last five you will use the word Ďharder.í Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress! Thank you for punishing me. Please give me the first stripe."

Mistress was pleasantly surprised when they reached the first step. Amy asked for the next to be harder, continuing up to the bedroom and later back down. The last five each got an unbidden request for Ďvery hard.í She got two more Ďvery hardí for violating the order. Amy made a lot of noise, especially at the end, but she convinced her Mistress that she was sincere. And, as Glen put it, "A glutton for punishment."

Chapter 18 - A New Order

Glen was frustrated. His dream castle and a pair of slaves wasnít working out as he had expected. The only bright spot was Georgina and he was beginning to wonder how long that would last.

As he thought and thought, searching for solutions, one fact kep coming back into his mind. Amy had an extremely high pain tolerance. He discarded it and thought about other solutions but kept coming back to it. It was when it raised the question of just where Georginaís tolerance fell on the scale that he realized that he hadnít done anything more to her than put her in handcuffs and leg irons. That and chaining her to the bed, which hardly fell into the punishment class.

Glen could hear Amyís thoughts as if she were standing in front of him, or kneeling, and talking to him.

"Master, you are pampering me.† Iím a slave, for Godís sake! Sure, you whip me up and down the stairs, but thatís only a few minutes out of my day. Your whip should be my alarm clock, painfully dragging me out of what little sleep you allow me. I must fear it every minute, every second of my day until you drive me with it into the cramped little hole you reluctantly allow me at night. I must fear going to sleep, knowing you may come for me five minutes after I lie down and whip me to begin my wretched day all over again."

"Yes, Master, you are pampering me. Iím being punished for lying, yet you treat me like a guest here. Make me regret my slavery. Make me curse the day I met you and took you to my home."

Glen reacted with a mixture of outright anger and arousal. The clear voice in his head was hitting home with every sentence, every phrase and every word. He already knew that he was being too soft Ė trying to be a benign, loving (and lovable) Master. The echoes of her words cut painfully and cut deep, hurting him. The anger burned and he knew that he had to be careful not to overdo things; but something had to be done, or he stood a very good chance of losing both slaves.

As he fumed he returned to Georgina and another section of his mind opened up a frontal attack on his motives. If anything her sponsor was even more blunt, slamming him for enslaving her without any preparation and then virtually ignoring her. She obviously wanted a Master, but no slave is going to be stupid enough to demand to be cruelly mistreated, even if that is exactly what she wants.

As with Amy, he could hear her berate him for not making her fear him Ė fear his wrath or his whim Ė as he should have.

He sat staring, his eyes seeing nothing, his mind spinning. Visions of what he could do Ė should do Ė to both slaves appeared and disappeared again, mentally noted for the right time and place. Glen was a quick learner and in just days he had already absorbed more than some Masterís realize in a lifetime.

He gauged himself from his reaction to the thought: ĎLet me find them and make life miserable for them.í Rather, he wanted to find them to teach them his new brand of slavery. Neither would like it, but they would be better slaves for it. An idea came for a slogan: "A slave in pain is not a bored slave."

Minutes later he had them both kneeling on matching kneeling sticks in his office. He stayed silent, watching both women intently. Amy of course was used to the torture instrument, but Georgina seemed to match her minute by minute, telling Glen that she too had a high pain tolerance. He had tried the stick himself, only to find that five minutes was his absolute limit.

He opened the conversation by announcing, "Open time."

"Amy, do you think Iím pampering you?"

There was no hesitation, "Yes, Master. You need to be harsh and cruel to your slave."

"To the point of physical or mental injury?"

"Yes, Master. You have unlimited control over your slaves. Use it!

"What if I took that last sentence and punished you for it, even though it was said in Ďopen timeí?"

"Master, you never defined open time. Even if you had, you make the rules. Regardless of when or where I, a slave, says something, I am subject to your discipline at all times. You demand absolute truth. I will not willingly or knowingly lie to you. I have admitted a lie and you are punishing me for that lie."

"So, when you say I am pampering you, you are not lying, or coloring your answer just to please me?"

"No, Master. There are many things you could do to me to punish me for that lie. I need, and want, a stiff sentence that I will never forget and which will remind me of your power over me if I ever think of lying again."

Glen nodded, careful not to break the give-and-take that was going on. "Georgina, do you think I am pampering Amy?"

Again, there was no hesitation:

"Yes, Master. Very much so. She admits to one of the most grievous sins that a slave can commit. She should be punished accordingly."

"What about you? Am I pampering you?"

"Actually, Master, more than you are pampering Amy. I can drive away from here almost every night and sleep unhampered in my own bed. You treat me as an equal, rather than as a slave. I own a house, a car and have money in the bank. Thatís not slavery! I want to be your slave, but, just like Amy, I expect my slavery to be an abject, fear-driven adherence to your most rigid rules. Our purpose is to please you, and be subject to cruel punishment if we fail in our task at any time or in any way."

"What effect does that kneeling stick have on your definition of pampering?"

"Master, I am kneeling on it at your pleasure. The longer I kneel the more likely that I will beg to take some other punishment as a penalty for failing to please you. As my Master it is your choice to gain additional pleasure from seeing us go through trial after trial and fail each time. At the moment I am not being pampered, but the day Ė and night Ė are long."

"I gather you have a very high pain tolerance?"

"Yes, Master. Part my body and part intensive, very painful training by a Master revenging himself on me for an imagined slight. He taught me to be silent, no matter the level of the pain."

"I would teach you the exact opposite. A cry of pain arouses me."

"Then, Master, we are here to satisfy that desire, as it pleases you."

"I would remind you both that faked cries, screams or other fake noises are not permitted and will be punished on the spot."

Both heads nodded and the "Yes, Master" came in unison.

Well satisfied, Glen walked out of his office, leaving them kneeling. He went to the basement to work on some new restraints and to set up one of the mysterious objects hiding under a heavy black plastic tarp in the dungeon.

Promptly every 15 minutes he took the stairs two at a time to check on the two slaves. Other than a slightly pained expression on both faces there was no indication they were about to cry "Uncle."

An hour later it was a totally different story. Both were ready to concede defeat, but Georgina got her plea out first,

"Master, I beg relief. I cannot take this. I will offer to be caned on my knees rather than remain kneeling."

Amy repeated the plea a moment later.

"All right," said Glen, "Georgina gets caned on her knees. If she canít resume position on the stick, Amy is declared the winner."

Both looked at Glen. Amy was expecting to be released and Georgina was expecting it to be over once she was caned. Neither got the nod they wanted. Glen could be weak, but he had a talent for adding a twist of his own to a punishment suggested by one or the other of the slaves.

Glen got the two on their feet. Both were stiff and sore from the lengthy session. He herded them down the stairs to the dungeon and put Amy back on her stick. She gasped when the hard wood made contact with her knees, but remained quiet.

Glen laid Georgina on her back on the floor, then lifted her legs over a wooden bar and shoved her feet under another bar, leaving her hanging with most of her weight off her back. He picked up the cane and showed it to her. She bent her head and kissed it.

His target was clearly marked. A white line crossed both legs, just below the kneecap. The cane sliced and the white turned instantly to red, as Georgina shrieked in pain. Amy instinctively winced, seeing her sister slaveís agony as clearly as if it had been her own knees.

Glen lifted Georgina, allowing her legs to come out from under the wooden bar. He turned her over so that she knelt on the stone floor. She knee walked to the waiting stick, but her resolve gave out at the last instant. She fell foward onto her handcuffed wrists and crawled to Glen, kissing his shoes.

"Master, I have failed you. Please punish me for my weakness."

"Your punishment will come later. Amy, you win a choice. You can sleep in my bathroom, or in the cell tonight. Take your sticks and get back to work. First, the security cameras showed you playing with your cunt. Go get a pair of leather mitts in the storeroom and bring them here.

Amy returned moments later. The hard leather mitts had been altered and the entire surface was covered with fine grit sandpaper. Glen locked them on her wrists with two huge padlocks that swung wildly with every movement.

Georgina reported to Glen when she was ready to go home. She was puzzled as to why he hadnít fulfilled his promise of delayed punishment and asked him about it. All she got for an answer was a curt, "Later."

Later turned out to be several minutes into her trip. Her cell phone rang and she pressed the key on the dash mount.

"Do you have a flashlight in your car?" It was Glenís voice

"Yes, Master."

"Stuff it in your cunt. Use it like a dildo and come at the next red light."

"Yes, Master."

"Leave your phone on. I want to hear you. Roll your windows down so the neighbors can hear too."

Georgina was mortified. She would have cars on both sides. Master wanted noise, so she had no choice.

She was wet seconds after she slid the big flashlight up inside her. She fumbled and got a grip on it and started sliding it in and out. She had left the house well aroused from the pain in her knees so she had to slow down to avoid coming before she got to the next light. When it came in sight she suddenly hurried, worried that she wouldnít come in time. Right on cue she had her orgasm, with lone men in both the cars beside her. Her vocal efforts were applauded with wolf whistles from both sides.

"Do it again at the second light." Glen had heard the whistles.

She was ready again, but the light was green so she sailed through. "The light was green," she gasped.

"Next light."

It was red. To her horror a tour bus pulled up on her right. A woman was in the car by herself on the left. The passengers on the bus got a birdís eye view of the slick and shiny flashlight whipping back and forth and the woman on her left broke into an embarrassed grin when she heard the familiar sounds. The bus driver honked as she pulled away from him.

"At the next light turn right. Go into the Ace Hardware and buy two large rolls of duct tape, six padlocks keyed together and several lengths of their small to medium size chain. 25 feet should do it. Tell the cashier youíre having a bondage party and sheís invited. If she doesnít throw you out, give her your address and offer to drive her to the party."

By this time Amy had made the turn and finally found a parking space.

"Call me, if she accepts."

"Yes, Master."

The girl at the cash register was in fact a bondage fan, but she was not about to admit it to a total stranger, even for the chance to go to the party. She stood in the doorway, watching Amy drive away, ignoring a waiting customer, growling at herself for not taking the woman up on her offer.

Georginaís home phone was ringing when she walked in the door with the heavy bag of hardware.

More instructions.

"Use the duct tape and wrap every hot water faucet in your house, so they canít be opened. Turn your hot water heater off. Make lots of ice cubes. Unplug and tape the coffee maker. Leave the phone off the hook and get back to me when youíve finished."

Working at top speed, she taped the kitchen and bath faucets and then went down and fixed the hot water in the basement.

"Master, how do I turn off the hot water heater?"

"Find the fuse box or the circuit breaker box and flip the switch or remove the fuses. It should be marked."

When she reported back, she expected the next order.

"From now on you take two cold showers a day, morning and night, a minimum of five minutes per shower. You douche with cold water, you give yourself a cold water enema and hold it for 20 minutes every night that you are home, every morning it you are coming to work. For whatever purpose, when you turn on the water you will say loudly, ĎI am Master Glenís slave and I do this for his pleasure.í You are allowed a washcloth, but no towel, a hair dryer only in the morning before coming to work."

ĎYes, Master."

"Slave, did you have permission to come?"

She started an automatic "Yes," but instantly realized it was a trap. Meekly, she admitted, "No, Master."

"Did you ask or beg for permission to come?"

"No, Master."

"As punishment, after your shower you will remain naked, forgo supper, turn the thermostat down to 60 degrees.† and will lock your handcuffs around the leg of the kitchen table so that you wonít have a chance to play with your pussy. You will remain there until your alarm clock goes off in the morning. Tie the key to your handcuffs to a loop of thread around a chair leg so that you can pull it to you when itís time to get loose. Double lock the handcuffs so they donít tighten accidentally. Loop a separate piece of chain around each ankle and lock it on for the night and tie that key to the chair leg as well. And, put the phone on the floor by your head so youíll have it for any emergency."

An hour later the phone rang. Panicked, Georgina jumped, pulled the chair with one leg,† then snapped the thread and unlocked a cuff. She could have sworn that Glen had a camera trained on her.

"You broke the thread to get to the phone," he accused.

"Yes, Master."

"Did I say, ĎAnswer the phone?"í

"No, Master."

"Take a 10 minute shower in the morning."

He hung up.

He found Amy, polishing chain.

"You had a choice," he reminded her, "Either here, or on my bathroom floor."

She swept her chained wrists in an arc, covering the cell.

"Here, Master."

Glen in turn pointed to a corner.

"Youíll sleep under the chains tonight. Donít forget to wet them before you crawl in."

"Yes, Master."

Chapter 19 - Getting Tough

Amy was actually sleeping under her blanket of chains. Glen had retired the stinging buggy whip, replacing it with a much more potent crop. After hours of staring at the ceiling she had slept only a few minutes, the deep, drugged sleep of exhaustion.

He stood over her looking for a target.

It wasnít easy. She had spent a considerable amount of time obeying his order. At least part of every chain in the pile had been dragged across her shivering body. Every link stole body heat, dissipating it rapidly into the chilly, damp air of the cell. The cruelty of his order had been deceptive. They both knew what he had sentenced her to. The stone floor, equally adept at chilling the flesh lying on it, was punishment enough. The floor and the chains together would give her pause before she complained again.

Glen found what he was looking for. His arm moved back, then sharply forward, the crop slicing between two chains, the triangular flap at the tip splatting against her inner thigh.

Amy yelped, instantly awake, unable to think quickly enough to realize what was happening. She reared up, chains rolling and sliding off her breasts, piling on her lower belly. The noise was deafening in the small cell. She fought the chains, understanding in a flash that it was her Masterís whip that had rudely interrupted her dream of bondage. She turned over, crawling out from under the chains as she reached his feet to kiss his boots.

"Kneel up."

Gracefully she moved into the position she had practiced a hundred times, long before she came under Glenís spell.

"Stand. Turn around."

He inspected her, his nose wrinkling as he smelled the foul odor from the chains. There were spots and streaks of rust all over her body. In several places there were lumps of moldy rust clinging to her skin.

"Put the chains back in the corner. Wet them."

He stood and watched as she quickly dragged the chains and piled them up. She still blushed as his eyes followed her as she squatted. She expected, but didnít get any help cleaning herself. Resignedly she wiped with her fingers and dragged them over a chain.

"Leash."

She knelt again, the handle of her leash held toward him. She followed the leashís signals, heeling her Master as he led her to the bathroom.

"From now on you take cold showers. Iím not wasting hot water on slaves. You are to set the timer here for 10 minutes. If you miss one speck of rust, you will regret it. You get a washcloth. No towel."

She looked longingly at the toilet, with its comfortable seat and the roll of soft toilet paper beside it. She couldnít help compare it with her hole in the floor of the cell. That, and the icy chill of the shower made her question whether being a slave was all that worthwhile. At least not that early in the morning. Or was it morning? There were no windows, so it could have been midnight.

For several days this was her routine. When Georgina stayed the night, she was the hand holding the crop. While perhaps not scientifically accurate, Amy felt that Georgina hit her harder than Glen did. She kept the results of her unofficial poll to herself, determined not to make waves. She dreaded the day that one or the other asked her that question.

When she emerged from the shower she was given her ration of bread and water. Amy couldnít tell time from her meals because they had evolved into a standard portion that never changed. The bread was allowed to become rock hard, giving her jaw some serious exercise.

Meanwhile, Georgina was having her own problems. She was unused to doing her housework at home in handcuffs and shackles. She hadnít slept on the floor in three or four decades, and then only a couple of times on the bare floor. Taking cold showers was an entirely different submissive act, coupled with cold enemas and douches. It took an enormous amount of willpower for her to accept Glenís control. But, she had it, and she used it.

Glen continued to call her as she commuted, more often than not making her use her flashlight for last-second orgasms and making her pull her skirt up to her waist to add to the show. One evening he directed her to drive the entire distance topless. That nearly caused an accident with an over-eager driver almost rammed her when he realized he was looking at her naked breasts.

Before long she was as enthusiastic about Glenís ability to master them as was Amy. She found that her mind had shifted into a slave mode, constantly on edge, waiting for Glen to turn up with some new and unusual restraint or task for his slaves. She enjoyed the limited power she had over Amy, recognizing that it could evaporate in a second, leaving her at Amyís mercy. Glen never mentioned it, never threatened, but Georgina was smart enough to realize that anything could happen Ė and probably would.

What concerned her most was the waiting. She knew all about Amyís lie and her request to be caged. Georginaís experience with cages was 20 years behind her, but the stark memories of endless days being tortured and punished in a tiny cage were as brilliant as yesterdayís sunshine.

The cage she had hated the most was one which had a hole in the door through which her head was locked into position by a wooden collar. She had vivid, painful memories of the things they did to her body behind her, inside the cage, while her head screamed and yelled outside. It drove her to a demented state where she felt she was in two pieces. It was in that cage that she was pierced and ringed around her asshole.

It was quickly apparent to Glen that both slaves were treating him with increased respect. With Georgina there was no question about it. Already she would walk through fire for him. With Amy it was more difficult to tell, because she spoke only when directly addressed or asked a question. Glen chalked that up to a misplaced sense of duty. He couldnít remember ever telling her to do that, but she had picked it up somewhere and seemed to be using it now to build a wall around herself.

There was no question that she was beating herself. Neither Glen nor Georgina could understand why she didnít give him the details, finish her punishment and go on to a better life as a slave. More than once he looked at the whips hanging in the storage room and cursed silently, wanting so badly to thrash her until she begged to be allowed to tell her story.

Glen made a point of watching the tapes recorded from the video cameras in Amyís cell. The endless hours of mind numbing rubbing away rust on the chains sped by in seconds, thanks to fast forward. It was not too fast to miss an unusual movement. Glen stopped and rewound and played it again at normal speed. Amy was sitting, tailor fashion, her back to this camera. The movement that caught his eye was her right elbow. The rhythmic motion could mean only one thing. He switched to another camera, which confirmed his suspicion. Amy, despite being locked in heavy leather mitts, was frigging herself. He picked a frame, made a still and printed it.

Amyís daydream of a dungeon even worse than her cell was interrupted by the sound of the combination lock. She knelt, awaiting her Master. She blanched, covering it well, when she heard the angry tone in his voice. She studiously studied a rock in the floor.

Glen shoved the photo in front of her face. She blanched again, this time unable to hide it. She had been caught.

"Did I tell you to do this, or allow you to do it?"

"No, Master."

"On your back! Spread your legs!"

She complied, bowing her knees against the hobble on her ankles, knowing what he would see, dreading the consequences.

The sandpaper glued to the hard leather had done its intended work, though never meant for human flesh. Amyís whole pelvic area was raw, bright red from the unwanted abrasion. Her clit had the least damage but was still an ugly mess. It had hurt too much for her to touch it more than an occasional swipe. Her labia made up for it, swollen and distended, with visible scratches. Glen looked and growled with anger.

"You dumb bitch! You know better than that. All you need now is a yeast infection on all that raw flesh and youíll be climbing the walls. I warned you about damage to MY property, so thatís two counts you answer for!"

Amy tried to apologize, but he cut her short.

"Shut up! Not one word. Youíve been going around here not talking, so letís make it permanent. You donít say one word, ever, for any reason."

She kept her head turned away from him, expecting a beating at any second, waiting for the dreaded swish as the whip descended. She didnít see the disgust, mixed with anger, as he looked down at her. He already knew what he was going to do. He had long since planned for this eventuality and had constructed a specific instrument with which to discipline her.

Amy of course had no idea of what his plans were. The threat of the whip hung over her, paralyzing her mind. She had stopped rubbing herself as soon as she felt the rawness, but the damage had already been done. Now she would pay with pain, added to the pain in her vagina and clit. Still, one part of her mind was chanting, "Pain! Nice pain! Pain! Nice pain!" She was yearning for the whip, with itís bright deep pain.

Glen left her lying for several minutes, then came back and got her. He made her take another shower and inspected every inch of her body for any trace she missed. Assured she was clean, he led her into the dungeon and stopped before one of the shrouded pieces of equipment. In seconds the cover was on the floor and Amy was looking at a box.

Not just any box. This was a very special box, intended to make life miserable for any slave who deserved to be punished. Amy knew at once that she was in trouble. She had seen a picture of a box just like this the time Glen had shown her the bondage magazines. His explanation at the time had given her a very healthy respect for its punitive powers. This one, at a glance, was an improved model. Improved, as in being capable of producing even more pain.

The box went under a variety of names, one of them, "Inspection Box," alluding to the forced display of the inmate. Glen had spent several minutes describing just how completely and forcefully the female body was exhibited, unable to cover or hide any part of that body. He made a point of dwelling on how embarrassed and humiliated the girl in the box would be.

It was Ė and wasnít Ė a real box. It had one side closed, a solid bottom, except for a drain, and a top. At each front corner a steel pipe supported the top. The top was in two sections, hinged together, forming a large hole. The sides were open.

The box was sitting on a stand. A wooden step and small platform were placed at the side. Glen guided Amy up the step and had her stand on the platform while he attached a dildo to a stud sticking up from the floor. He greased it and had her step into the box and squat. He moved her body into position and pressed down on her shoulders. The thin dildo slid easily into her pussy. By itself the dildo would not have been a problem, but as Amy would quickly find out, it effectively immobilized her, preventing any movement.

Glen pulled her legs out from under her and swung them around the corner pipes, re-attaching her hobble. Then he brought the top down, fitting the cutouts around her neck and locking the hasp. Her arms were bent backward around the solid back of the box, bent at the elbows and her wrists were locked in cuffs attached by short chains to the edge of the back. Amy was now in a fix, unable to move anything but her fingers and toes.

He opened a jar of ointment and slathered a generous amount on her raw flesh. Amy screeched and tried to move the box from inside, an impossible task. She would have forgone orgasms for a year to get the stuff to stop burning but she couldnít even ask or beg for relief, as effectively gagged by Glenís order as a ball or penis gag would stop her from talking.

He left her to enjoy the ointment, returning in an hour carrying a large wooden ruler in his hand.

"Hold out your hands, palm up."

She turned her wrists, tightening the chains, pulling her arm against the back.

"Ask for one on each hand, hard."

She hesitated, knowing it was a trap.

"Refusing to answer. The penalty is doubled. Ask for two on each hand."

She bit her lip, remaining silent. Glen had her in a bind. Whether she spoke or not, she was violating a rule. Either way he could run the count to 20 or more leaving her hands useless for days.

He left the count at four. She suffered through the slaps, flinching only once, to add a stroke.

An hour later Georgina came in, carrying a quirt. The little drama played out and Amyís feet suffered a similar fate. The next move was unexpected. Georgina sat down on the top, raised her skirt and ordered,

"Eat me!"

Amyís nose was pressed into the clit hood, leaving the clit in perfect position to be licked. Georgina had a thundering climax, pressing hard against Amyís face. Amy, in the process discovered yet another feature of the box, a row of studs that pressed painfully against her neck when her head was shoved back.

Georgina immediately reported to Glen, detailing her forbidden orgasm and begging punishment. He whipped her up the steps to the bedroom, chained her to the bed and then made her rim him and bring him to a climax just by licking his balls. When he finally came her tongue was nearly worn out. He caught his load in his hand, walked down to the dungeon and smeared it under Amyís nose, adding a dollop of pussy juice from a finger swipe through Georginaís dripping slot.

The rest of the day was much the same. Glen and Georgina alternated visits. Punishments were doubled routinely as Amy obeyed the order silencing her. Both were primed and ready for an outburst, but it never came. Amy had some spirit of her own.

Amy was released, fed her bread and water and returned to the cell. Her hands were first locked in the mitts and then locked behind her and one of the fetid chains was used to drag them up to her collar. She lay silently as Glen put another generous amount of ointment between her legs. After he left she wept from the pain. The harsh leather binding her hands made them throb to her heartbeat, keeping her from sleeping for a few moments.

The torment was never-ending. She was taken from her cold shower, still dripping, and locked in the box. Her hands and feet suffered, turning puffy and pink. Encasing her hands in the hard leather mitts was almost worse than the ruler. Georgina got eaten at least once a day but Glen made no effort to avail himself of her waiting mouth. She knew he was getting relief. All she had to do was smell the periodically freshened scent under her nose.

Georgina was ready for her daily session the next day, but her demand got a surprising answer.

"No."

Amyís tongue was as sore as her clit, and the prospect of eating her Mistress was too much for her. The negative slipped out before she could stop it.

Georgina was prepared. Amy found herself sitting on a triangular piece of wood, just like the kneeling sticks, supporting her whole weight on a four inch long strip of flesh between her pussy and her asshole,† that was never intended to be load-bearing.

"Sit awhile. When you are ready to eat me, nod your head and keep nodding until I come back."

Silence.

"You get an extra on each foot for failing to call me Mistress."

It was almost an hour before there were nearly imperceptible nods that gradually grew in intensity and speed when there was no immediate response. Georgina deliberately let her wait, watching the nods become increasingly frantic. Amy was nearing the end of her rope when her Mistress came back into the dungeon, swinging her quirt in vicious little arcs. All sweetness, she asked, "Would you like your feet punished first?"

That was not Amyís idea of a plan. She was hurting to the point where she was ready to yell and scream, but she instinctively knew that if she shook her head some worse penalty was in the offing. She nodded, but not quickly enough.

"An extra for delay."

The quirt was agonizing. The slow pace that Georgina set made it twice as bad. Amy bit her lip again and again to keep from yelling "Get it over with!"

By the time Georgina finished, seated herself comfortably on the box top and issued the order, Amy was sobbing with frustration and pain. At the same time she was enjoying being topped by this woman. Delicately she probed with her sore tongue, knowing that before she was finished her Mistress would demand hard and fast service, as rough as she could get. Georgina lifted herself slightly and slid forward, shoving Amyís neck hard into the collar studs.

Chapter 20 - The Cage

Days went by until one morning when a delivery truck backed into the driveway and disgorged a large box. The driver offered to wheel it into the house, but Glen declined, anxious to keep curious eyes away from the slave Ďfacilities.í† The box was quite light for its size and Glen had a handcart so it took only a few minutes work to haul the cage up to his bedroom. A large, heavy table had been cleared and four bricks were stacked to one side, next to a box filled with chains, rope, leather straps and other restraints.

The security system indicated that Georgina had arrived as well. After a last check to make sure everything was in readiness, Glen walked down to his office, where she was kneeling, waiting for him. He motioned to her to join him and indicated an empty chair.

"Open time."

She sat down and watched him expectantly, unsure why their normal routine was changed.

"I need some advice, and I need to draw on your experience. The cage is here and Iíve set it up on a table in my bedroom."

Georgina moved slightly, her body language still not quite in free mode. She would have preferred that the cage be put either in the dungeon or in the cell, but Glen didnít give her a chance to express that point. He had his reasons, which would become obvious.

"How do I handle this?† Part of me is in love with her and part of me wants to beat the shit out of her."

"This has gone on way too long," said Georgina. "She should have been made to tell you long ago. However, given the circumstances, I think you have handled the matter properly. Now that the cage is here, you are going to have to treat her like a total stranger that you are interrogating in a life or death matter. Given her mood recently, she might commit suicide the minute you release her if you donít."

"She thrives on punishment."

"So do I, up to a point," she thought for a moment, "and so does she. She has to be broken cruelly, swiftly and decisively. You will have to pick up the pieces afterward, so you will need to look at long term incarceration. From the way sheís been talking and acting she fully expects you to throw her ass out on the street the moment she reveals her story. We both will need to reassure her on that point."

"Iíve laid awake nights trying to guess what her problem is, but Iíve never come up with anything that I even remotely would use as an excuse to throw her out."

"Iíve had the same problem. She has all the earmarks of a superb slave, if we can just get her past this point."

"It looks like that to me as well, but youíre the one with the experience."

"You have to give her credit, she picked a punishment that is potent. I still shudder when I remember things they did to me while I was locked in a cage. Iíve been the Ďvictim,í if you will of both rapid fire excruciating pain and long-term, endless slow torture. If you want information, you need to break her in 24 hours. If you drag it out, you will hurt her much more and it will be twice as hard to rehabilitate her."

Still not completely convinced, Glen noted, "You survived."

Georgina lifted from her chair and knelt before Glen. "Master, I survived, yes. But, I still bear mental, as well as physical, scars on my mind and body. Some are never going to heal. Amy has become like a daughter to me. I want only the best for her. To be merciful you must be cruel. Overwhelm her at once with pain. Frighten her with your power over her. Eventually she will thank you for it."

Glen looked down at her, scratching his head. "I dunno. I want the best for her. It scares ME to think about living in that cage, even for five minutes. Telling her itís her permanent home isnít much of an inducement to tell the truth."

"Master, you hold the whip. You can threaten her with anything and everything. But, the things you do, you must do with conviction. We, as slaves, can feel indecision and self doubt, right through the whip. Beat her so she will remember it every day of her slavery."

Sheís going to leave me, if I treat her like that."

"No, Master, sheís not going to walk away. She loves you and wants to serve you. She... I... both of us would endure far greater pain to be allowed to serve you. She will never go back to that lonesome house where her only outlet was self-bondage and drunken beatings."

Glen winced as her words reminded him of Amyís past. He realized that Georgina was right and that the advice she was offering came from the heart, as well as experience.

He sighed, made the decision and got to his feet.

"Alright, letís go get her. I want her upstairs where I can keep an eye on her."

"Yes, Master." She handed him her leash.

"Leave it here. Youíll need free range for your whip."

Amy screamed in outraged surprise as Glenís whip creased her shoulder, inches from her ear, followed in a moment by a second lash from Georginaís whip that wrapped liquid fire around her thigh. Amy had knelt at the sound of the door, eyes down. She had seen two pairs of feet an instant before the whipping started, so she knew something unusual was about to happen.

She recognized the feel of Glenís hands on her body. A pang of longing swept her. How long had it been since those hands caressed her, made love to her, pleasured her body and soul. She felt the soft hands. Georgina. But, whipping her? She snorted through her nose, suddenly deathly afraid of her two jailers. She had no inkling that this sudden attack might have something to do with the cage that had been part of her future for more than a month.

They took all her old chains, except her collar and cuffs, dropping them to the floor in a continuous clanging of metal on the rock. She would only walk up two flights of stairs, but they re-chained her as if for a trip to the moon. Her arms were forced behind her, wrists locked together and in turn locked to her collar, pulling it tight against her windpipe. The hobble between her ankles was only three links long.

Working as a team, Georginaís whip set the pace, while Glenís did the damage. At the first step Amy discovered she could not raise her foot high enough to reach it. She had to hop. She also had to scream. She was charged one scream per step. The whirring and swishing of the whips was a continuous sound, like a hive of bees.

At the top of the first flight, Glen paused and put a heavy blindfold over Amyís eyes, while Georgina kept swinging. By the time they reached the upper balcony, Amy was near exhaustion, her screams and cries hoarse and noticeably weaker.

Glen suffered right along with Amy, but he didnít let it show. So did Georgina, hating to have to whip a fellow slave, but knowing that it had to be done to help bring this bizarre chapter to an end.

They guided her the last few feet into the bedroom with their whips. Amy was totally disoriented. She was fighting to comprehend why she was suddenly being whipped so strenuously.

Glen removed her blindfold. The truth lay before her. A small ugly cage, the door open and beckoning her. She gasped and burst into tears.

"You may speak," Glen ordered.

"Thank you, Master, for punishing me."

Her eyes turned wild as she peered intently at him.

"Whip me into that fucking cage. Torture me relentlessly until I have to tell you the truth. Then you can kill me..." She

broke into pitiful sobs, lost.

Glen almost put his hand on her to console her, but a warning glance from Georgina stopped his hand in mid-air. Her whip whistled past and caught the roundness of one breast, the mark joining a dozen others she had garnered climbing the stairs. Amy stood her ground, defiant. She knew they would make her crawl.

"In the cage!" Glen thundered, his whip punctuating the command, the heaviest blow yet struck. Her mind refused to function. She stood, a statue of flesh, staring, now blank.

She broke when Georgina sliced upward between her legs, woman to woman, knowing where and how to hurt. Amy cried out, flopped to her knees and crawled up onto a chair and from there onto the table. The whips made her turn and back into the cage.

Reaching through the bars, Glen put her restraints on, while Georgina kept up a volley of lashes.

The cage was a work of art, if purpose can be considered as art. It was constructed of hardened aluminum, strips and rods salvaged from a scrap yard and assembled by a veteran welder. For whatever original purpose, the pieces had stubby triangular studs that covered every surface inside the cage.

Amy felt them first with her toes as she backed in, recoiling instinctively. A whip punished her for her misdeed.† Her bare ass was a tempting target as it loomed closer to the end. The whip sang its song of pain at the same moment as her knees reached the first row of studs.

There was no letup, no compromise. The team allowed no deviation, no resistance, forcing strict obedience. She stopped moving only when her rear cheeks were pressed against the bars and her feet were outside the cage. A whip punished her for stopping, ignoring the lack of room. She bowed her back, gaining a crucial inch that allowed the door to slam shut. The padlock snapped shut with a finality which ended her freedom. She was caged.

The lock closing seemed like a signal. Georginaís whip began singing between the bars. She worked around the table as Glen moved in to bolt the special shackles that were fixed to the bars. He unlocked her wrists, pulled her arms up through the top bars and back down to a belly chain, pulled deep into her skin. She was already immobile when he opened the door and fitted a tight, shaped leather helmet. It had two openings for her eyes and two more for her nose. A thick penis gag was riveted in place to plug her mouth.

A strap through one of the helmet D-rings was pulled taut, dragging her head firmly into the upper corner of the cage. A second went through her collar ring, welding her collar to the

door

A heavier strap was looped behind her knee and pulled hard, dragging her knee across each row of studs until her kneecap was jammed into the corner of the wall and floor. The other knee was fastened equally as tight. Her open legs offered a perfect target and Georgina was flicking the tip of her whip into the engorged flesh before the second knee was fully secured.

Nipple clamps were shoved up and closed, deep at the bases of her nipples, then tied off under intense tension to the side bars of the cage. They were the kind that tightened as more pressure was exerted on them. Amy would move at her peril.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Glen didnít expect success this early, so he was not surprised when the leather clad head moved slowly from side to side in the limited space she had. The question and answer did serve one purpose. Glen remedied her ability to move her head with two more straps, running from rings above her ears to the bars.

Georgina continued her expert whip work, harder now that Amy had been robbed of all her ability to move or resist. Glen worked on her breasts, repeatedly slapping her nipples with the wide flat ruler. He could tell he was reaching her as her breathing had become harsh gusts of air into and out of her lungs.

He bent down and said loudly into her leather covered ear,

"Cross your fingers when you are ready to talk."

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing at her hands, she was giving him the finger.

He disciplined her with the flat edge of the ruler, snapping it sharply sideways, catching her nipples with blows that Amy thought must be tearing them off. She curled the finger into the palm of her hand, but it was long minutes before Glen stopped and turned to something else.

Call it torture, call it punishment, discipline or whatever, Amy was having the worse night of her recent life. As the hours lengthened into evening, into night and eventually into dawn Amy was counting the minutes and second as markers on her journey of pain. There was hardly a square inch of flesh below her neck that hadnít been visited by one or more of the whips and canes and bamboo rods. She hurt, from her toes to her scalp, but in all that time her fingers remained clenched in her palms, refusing relief, refusing an end to her pain.

She didnít feel like a martyr, but she was following the same path to eventual death, the same refusal to recant and plea for mercy.

As the sun came up it was hard to tell which of the three was the most exhausted. Both Glen and Georgina would swear that their sore muscles hurt just as much as the welts on Amy.

Amy was Ďslumpedí in her bonds, if you can call movement measured in fractions of an inch. During the night a strap across her chest dragged her upward into the studs lining the top. A second strap below her tractioned breasts forced her breathing and added more studs to the scores that were already pushing into her flesh.

The team had not run out of ideas. Not yet. Amyís hands had been caned three times, each time preceded by a rap on the backs of her clenched hands to make her open them up. Now, Amy had her hand open and fingers apart, allowing Glen to cane between them. Then they moved to her feet and spread her toes for the cane, then repeated the caning of her foot soles.

Amy jerked when he touched her foot. It went right by Glenís tired mind, but then he did a double take. Amy had admitted to being exceptionally ticklish. He rummaged for a moment and found the big white chicken feather he had once threatened to use on her. Somehow they had never gotten around to testing her reaction to tickling while in bondage.

Amy had closed her eyes, lost in her world of suffering, swallowing pain in great gulps to avoid giving in to it. Glen slapped her cheek. Her eyes flew open. He held the feather where she could see it. She had difficulty focusing, but her eyes widened and there was a very faint sound of protest from behind her gag. He held it before her eyes long enough for her imagination to get up to full speed and then moved away from her head.

Amy almost lost it at the first sight of the feather. Her defenses collapsed. She knew the fight was over. It was just a matter of time Ė a few seconds until he touched her Ė somewhere, anywhere Ė with the feather. She wanted to surrender, open her hands, cross her fingers, but her hands were like castings. She couldnít move her fingers since the last caning.

Glen was surprised when he started with the feather and discovered that her skin had been desensitized by the blows she had received. After trying several spots he went to her asshole. It was slightly open and winking at him, the muscles moving in a random pattern. He rimmed her, then moved the feather into the center and twirled it. Amy went berserk.

Every muscle in her body tightened, loosened, tightened. She found parts of her body that moved, where there was no room to move. Her gag was stopping some, but by no means all of the yells and cries coming from her sore vocal cords. She begged him to stop, promising things that no human woman could do.

All the while she was struggling to open her hands.

She thrashed against the metal, the leather, the straps, the chains.

Both watched in amazement as her tightly bound body pulled and jerked against the restraints, fighting to move, in a cocoon of bondage that refused her any slack.

Somehow, both instinctively knew that the moment had arrived. They watched her hands, trembling with the effort to open.

She was sucking gallons of air into her lungs. Glen, determined to finish it once and for all, reached in his pocket and pulled out two nose plugs. He leaned over Amy, showing her again what he held. She screamed through her nose as he inserted the first plug, her breathing loud in the room.

"Glen!"

Georgina interrupted him, pointing to Amyís hands.

"Sheís so cramped she canít open her fingers!"

Suiting action to words, she reached down and unfolded two of††† Amyís fingers, feeling the hard tension of the cramped sinews. Both watched, somewhat in awe as the two fingers slowly straightened and then one ever so slowly crossed the other.

Redundantly, Georgina said, "Sheís ready to talk."

Glen turned to remove the nose plug. Amyís eyes were closed. He slapped her gently, but there was no reaction. Her pulse was strong.

"Sheís fainted."

"I wouldnít wonder, Master. You scared the pee out of her plugging her nose. She clenched her fists for hours. Itís no wonder she couldnít tell you when to stop."

"That doesnít excuse her for giving me the finger."

As they talked they were hurriedly releasing Amyís bonds. Georgina started to try and lift her limp body out of the cage, but Glen stopped her.

"I want some straight answers out of her. Iím not letting her out of there until I get them. Thereís some smelling salts in the bathroom."

Glen waved the open bottle under Amyís nose. She coughed, opened her eyes, saw she was still in the cage, screamed and fainted again. Georgina looked at him and nodded, recognizing his accurate assessment of the girl. Glen woke her a second time. Her eyes widened but she remained silent.

"You are ready to talk."† It was a harsh statement, not a question.

Amy bowed her head in what little room she had. "Yes, Master."

"You will live in this cage until I am satisfied you have told me everything."

"Then, youíll kill me," she said, bitterly.

"No, dammit, I will NOT kill you. I may beat your sorry ass to a pulp but I wonít kill you Ė and I wonít let you kill yourself."

Amy looked at him, shocked, certain he was reading her mind.