Copyrighted material, not for those under 18 years of age.
Glen and Dr. Steve arrived almost together. Amy was awake but groggy. She didnít see Glen for a moment and then he rushed to her and took her in his arms.
"Are you all right?"
She gave him a very weak, "Yes, Master."
Glen looked at the Judge, who was standing beside the Jailer.
"What happened here. What happened to Amy?"
"Glen, Iím sorry. My wife blamed your slave for some novel punishments we were administering. She got out of her cage -- probably with some help -- and grabbed Amy and brought her down here. She had her strung up by the wrists and was using some full strength acid on her..."
"Master, Sir, she had help. There were two men. They carried the cage for her. She cut one of my... lips with some fishing line.
Then she put a tiny dab of the acid on my left nipple."
Dr. Steve immediately looked her over. The labia was bleeding slightly where it had been cut in two.† He opened a package containng a curved needle, already threaded, and made two quick stitches to reconnect the labia.† He doused it with antiseptic as he told Glen, "It was a clean cut so she should heal in a few days."
He pulled out a magnifier and examined her nipple. Under different circumstances she would have made a crack that her nipples were plenty large without being magnified, but this was no time for joking.
He dug in his bag for a moment and came up with a tube of ointment. "There is a very small first degree burn on the side of the nipple. The ointment will protect it from infection, but your nipple will feel like a sore toe for a week or so."
Glen hugged her tighter. Her eyes were still glazed with fear. Having her worst fear turn into reality left her drained.
The Judge pulled Dr. Steve to one side. "Is there any way you could make her forget any of this happened? She could wind up in a mental institution if this keeps up."
The Doctor shook his head. "I have some drugs, but they are too dangerous to use when sheís this fragile. Ask Glen. He has some unusual power over her, as you know."
Glen shook his head at the question. "Iíve only done this with her twice. I donít know if I can do it, and I donít know if it will work."
"Would it help if you told her that her sentence here is finished, she can go home?"
"It might, but I wonít guarantee anything and Dr. Steve is going to have to stand by in case I screw things up."
"Please, at least try," asked the Judge.
Glen looked down at the girl in his arms; his slave, the woman he wanted to marry. He realized if he could pull it off, it would speed her recovery. He had a question. "Where was she when this started?"
"She was in the bedroom of the Jailerís quarters, in the cage."
"Thanks." He looked again at Amy, bent and kissed her.
"Can you hear me?"
She nodded, slowly, looking into his eyes.
"We are going home soon. Your sentence is over. Understand?"
"You are going to forget everything that happened to you tonight, from the moment you left the Jailerís bedroom, until you wake up in my bed. Understand?
Again she nodded, her eyes closing peacefully.
"Slave, I ordered you to deny yourself any pleasure from being punished. Do you remember?"
Eyes still closed she nodded, with a bit more strength.
Would you like to have me cancel that order?"
Her eyes flew open, traces of grey mist already forming. She nodded, emphatically.
"Would you like to experience all the pleasure that you missed? The whips, the cane, the cage, all the things that excite you?"
The deep groan came from the heart. The hot spot in her belly flared like a wood stove with an open damper.
"If I tell you to remember all that, will you forget tonight?"
"Yes, Master."† It was weak, but her eyes showed strength.
"You are my slave. At my command, you will forget, and remember. Orgasm!"
She shrieked, loud in his ear. Her body contorted, stretching, symbolically escaping from the cages -- the one of metal and the one of words, that had kept her from enjoyment, kept her from freedom.
Three of the four men watched in open-mouthed surprise. Glen expected it and was not surprised, although he had begun with secret doubts of his ability to pull it off. This needed more exploration because it was a very unusual rapport between two people.
The Judge was the first to reach Glen, offering his hand. "Glen, I apologize to you for doubting your word. This is one of the most amazing things Iíve every seen."
Dr. Steve also offered apologies, while the Jailer stayed in the background. "This is indeed truly amazing. Iíd like to do some experiments with this when you have the time. This would make a wonderful article for one of the medical publications."
Amy meanwhile had come off the cloud she had flown to and was back in the land of the living. She looked up at Glen and asked, "How can anybody condense days and days of arousal that never happened into one short second of absolute bliss?"
Glen chuckled. "You went multiple, so it was a good thing I was holding you, but you took a lot longer than a second."
"Ha! Iíd argue the point, but shouldnít I be back in my cage? Iím awfully sleepy."
"Go ahead and sleep. Weíll discuss the cage at home."
The Jailer found a stretcher and he and Glen carried her to the pickup, with Dr. Steve bringing the cage.
"Leave her on the stretcher. If I can borrow a blanket Iíll return it and the stretcher at the same time." He tucked the blanket in around her and climbed into the cab. Amy slept soundly, undisturbed by the move.
"Thank you, Judge. Thank you Doctor, and thank you... Jailer, for taking good care of her."
When they reached the house, Georgina was waiting and carried one end of the stretcher to his bedroom. Together they lifted
her onto the big bed and in a few moments they had her wrist and ankle cuffs closed. Georgina looked at him as if to ask "What next?"
He grinned and raised the long pillow on the half of the one king size bed next to his king. There lay cuffs for her. She felt at the lower end and found the ankle cuffs waiting. Amy slept as if drugged, allowing herself to be restrained without opening an eye.
Amy slept the clock around. She woke, feeling familiar cuffs on her wrists, and when she moved her legs, on her ankles as well.
She looked to the side, but there was no sign of either Glen or Georgina. Amy, seriously in need of a bathroom break, prepared to rise up and holler when Georgina walked in. She gave her a
"Good Morning," and without prompting released Amy, stopping her as she came around the bed to give her a hug.
"We missed you,"† she whispered.
Nodding, Amy made tracks for the bathroom.
She came out later, holding her left breast up. "Why is my nipple all sticky?"
"You got a little burn. They put ointment on it to make sure it doesnít get infected. Nothing to worry about."
Amy was puzzled by the fact that she couldnít remember getting the burn. She would agree with the anomaly of a sore toe. She also realized at the same time that she didnít remember how she got from the room where they kept her cage to Glenís bed. She made a mental note to ask when the opportunity arose. There was no sign of the cage, and she fervently wished that she never would see it again, knowing as she wished that Glen wouldnít hesitate to use it if she screwed up again. Or an even more stringent model. She remembered the Jailer talking about the sharp studs in the Judgeís wifeís cage.
Glen had taken over Georginaís job, fixing breakfast. He mentally prepared for questions from Amy but she didnít immediately ask any, preferring instead to stuff herself on sausages and eggs and a pancake. Glenn kidded her as if the cage had never come between them, "Here, we just got you thinned down and you start piling on the pounds."
"Bread and water is bad enough without the Jailerís spunk all over it."
"Lots of protein. You shouldnít complain."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she knelt beside his chair. "Master, a slave begs permission to speak freely."
"Open time, for both of you. Whatís on your mind?"
"Master, a slave thanks you for punishing her. The cage could not have been more effective. I have learned a bitter lesson and I will not lie to my Master ever again."
"Master, I learned several hard lessons in that cage. I was blindfolded the entire time so I had to depend on my hearing. I learned to blank everything else out in order to track the Jailer and have some idea of what he was doing. I wish to apply that knowledge to my service for you."
"I learned that not all Masters are as kind hearted and gentle as you are. I was taught with the whip how to please him, without ever leaving my cage. You noted that I complained about a Master. But, you didnít punish me. Iím not a fragile egg shell. I want to learn but a Master must be there with tools to punish me if I deviate in the slightest from the path of a slave. I am like a dog. If you punish me, rub my nose in it, I will not intentionally do that again."
"I have been absent from your bed for how many days?"
"Eight. And, the weeks before."
"Must I crawl to you, kiss your boots and beg punishment for my failure? Can I continue to sleep in your bed, knowing I donít belong there because I shirked my duty as your slave?"
"You will be punished in good time and in a manner that will not be easy to forget. I say who sleeps in my bed."
It was not the answer she expected, but she knew she was close to a tongue lashing, if not a real lashing.
"Any more questions?"
"Master, why is my nipple sore? How did it get burned?"
"As your Master, I know how and why it is burned. However this is unimportant information a slave is not to know, so I will not tell you."
Amy was dumbfounded. This was the first time he had said something like that, but he was clearly in the right. Slaves do not need to know everything. Now she had a puzzle to ponder.
She realized too that she had just been taught a lesson. Slaves fear change, fear the unknown. Master was deliberately playing on Slave Fear. She knew she would worry about this for weeks to come.
Glen was pleasantly surprised at her reaction to his answer. He was more than pleased that Amy obviously didnít remember the events of the previous evening. He still was having trouble getting used to being able to control her mind. He was also pleased that his demonstration had gone a long way toward convincing both the Judge and Dr. Steve that she could be ordered to shut down her arousal and confirmed the story he told them.
At the moment he had yet another problem to face -- what to do with a slave who seemed unhappy if she wasnít enduring some horrendously painful punishment. The cage would have been good for that purpose, but Glen was certain that putting her in the cage might break the mental barrier she had set up at his suggestion and she might remember what had happened to her. Some day he would have to tell her, when she had fully regained her strength, but he certainly didnít want her to find out while cooped up in the small cage. She would need some TLC to get through that trauma.
Georgina was thinking along much the same lines. She of course was unaware of what had happened, but was listening to her asking in so many words to be punished further. She had seen slaves like Amy before. Their masochistic desire for pain eventually led to excesses that left them mutilated or worse. Amy would have to be handled very carefully and she would need to be taught mental restraint. There was more than enough physical restraint available.
After catching up with his work, Glen spent the rest of the day questioning Amy about every minute detail, especially her conversations with the Judge. Amy showed reluctance to talk about it, almost as if the blanket over the previous evening was spreading to her entire stay. She admitted that she treated the whole thing as a nightmare, expecting to wake up in Glenís bed. The Jailerís whip had finally convinced her that it was real.
He made her repeat each of the stories about other prisoners that he had abused, no, tortured. She had listened to the Jailer talk about them without the slightest arousal. Telling them brought her to the brink of climax in a few moments. She begged for permission to come, denied each time by his order to keep talking. There were things she had forgotten, like the Jailer sneaking up on her, but as she repeated his stories, she would backtrack and add them in their proper place.
As he questioned her, he was careful not to put much emphasis on the Judgeís wife. There was no need to as Amy rattled off the incidents the wife was involved in, her voice displaying no unusual inflection that would indicate any special interest in her.
At mid-afternoon he gave her a break, allowing her to pour a glass of lemonade and switching to Open Time. After a couple of big sips Amy was ready to ask questions of her own.
"Master, do you have a cattle prod?"
After listening to her mentioning prods several times he could see where this was headed, but he let her go on.
"Yes. I do. Why do you ask?
"Youíve never used it on me, and I donít think youíve used it on Georgina."
"Amy, a real cattle prod is dangerous. They are designed to jolt through the thick skin of a cow. The ones used on humans are a lot less powerful. If you ever saw a two thousand pound bull jump a foot in the air from a cattle prod jolt youíd see why weíre careful. If I ever feel the need to motivate you with a human one youíll know about it. Thereís still plenty of juice. The experts recommend never using any electrical charge above the waist."
"So, you could use one on my clit?" Her eyes were glittering.
"Forget it! Thatís like using a freight locomotive to push a door shut."
"Can we try it on my thigh then? You said you were going to continue to punish me. But, you wouldnít be able to stop me from coming..."
"Calling for more punishment. Slave, I think the Jailer taught you some very bad habits."
"Master, he taught me to live with pain. It never ceased the entire time I was in the cage. It got worse when he whipped me, but it never stopped. Look at me now. Iím sitting here with a collar and cuffs on, perfectly comfortable. My collar should be tight on my neck, reminding me every moment that I am your slave, wearing your collar, breathing only with your permission."
"Youíll be dead in three months."
Amyís eyes opened wide. The blunt statement destroyed her train of thought. She couldnít remember what she had planned to say next.
"Why?" The question was almost plaintive.
"Because you are soaking up pain like a sponge. If I let you go on like this you will want more and more punishment, each more strenuous than the last. Thereís a limit to what the human body can withstand. Youíre already past that limit and headed downhill."
"I can take it."
"Amy, youíre tough. Iíve given you credit for that. But, youíre a masochist and you simply donít know your limits. Back off, before you become a basket case."
"I can take it."
"Amy, smarten up!" Glen was getting exasperated. As if in a dream he picked up the wooden ruler on his desk. He ordered,
"Hold out your hand." Puzzled, she held it toward him, palm up.
"Amy, this is going to hurt, badly. Worse than any pain you have ever suffered. The pain will last for one hour and then go away. Do you understand?"
Glen had no idea whether his suggestion would work. But he needed badly to break her pain spiral before it was too late. He would have liked to consult Dr. Steve, but this seemed to be the perfect opportunity.
He reached out and tapped the ruler gently across her palm.
Amy screamed, a banshee wail then dropped to the floor in a dead faint, her hand shoved for protection between her thighs.
Glen checked her pulse. It was fine, confirming her faint. He went and got a towel and wet it. She came to after a few moments. Her hand moved instinctively setting off a deep growl of pain. She finally spread her legs slightly and gingerly lifted the hand to eye level. She peered unbelieving at the unmarked palm. Nothing could hurt that badly without leaving a cut or a mark. She shook her head, still not believing.
"Yes, Master," she sighed. "Worse, much worse... How did you do that?"
"I told you it would hurt."
"Yes, you did. Is that all it takes to put me in agony?" She moaned again with the pain.
"Thatís all. Amy, you are going to break this habit of asking for more and more punishment. As you can see, you can easily get more than you bargained for. Iím doing my best to keep you from hurting yourself. If anyone else found that you are this easy to control, youíd be dead in a week, screaming your last breath. I told you this would last for an hour. Use that hour to think about how best we can control your appetite for pain."
The hour went by swiftly for Glen. Two phone calls and Amy was kneeling at his desk. He hung up and turned to her.
"Did you decide what we can do?"
He looked sharply at her, frowning, "No?"
"With a sinking feeling, Glen realized that he had a problem. The tone of her voice was dead, lifeless. A robot, answering his questions, devoid of emotion. Inhuman. That was the word.
His growing suspicion was confirmed by her lifeless answers to several more questions. He talked to her for half an hour, probing, but always getting the same dull response. He asked specifically about her hand. She lifted it, looked at it without any curiosity and let it drop, lifeless.
"Do you remember what I told you about your hand?"
"I told you it would hurt."
Amy nodded her head, not bothering to answer.
"Listen to me, slave. Listen very closely. You will forget that I punished your hand and that it hurt so badly. You will think as you did before. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Master." Glen gave a small sigh of relief. The life was back in her voice. That was confirmed when Amy begged,
"Master, I have been a bad slave. You need to punish me for causing you so many problems."
"In good time. Remember, a slave never is permitted to know the extent or severity of her punishment, or how long it will last."
"Master, the jailer used his whip, as I told you, to force me to give him ideas as to how to punish me, an then later ideas to use on the Judgeís wife. I would be pleased to serve my Master by suggesting methods that would cause me pain severe enough to be my punishment, without causing damage to my body, as you ordered."
"I may call on your services, so be satisfied with that for now."
"Thank you Master."
The glitter was back in her eyes. He looked at her, happy he could reverse his ill-timed attempt to control her. The last thing he wanted was a Zombie. He was going to have to be extremely careful with her mental state.
On a sudden impulse he got up, walked around the desk and pulled the kneeling girl to her feet. He kissed her, slowly caressing her naked body at the same time. She pressed into him, returning the kiss and brazenly feeling between them for his cock, It stiffened at her touch.
He cut her short. "Kneel."
She dropped to the floor, her chains clashing. She looked up at him, puzzled, Had she been too forward, touching him?
"Amy, I am going to marry you and make you my wife-slave. If this is not what you want, you are free to go, right now. Otherwise you will remain my slave and will be a wife in name only. I will warn you once, that your slavery will be hard, your punishments excruciating and you will be kept like a chained animal."
Glen thought he was being over-dramatic, but he wanted to make clear to her that she could expect no favors as his wife. She knew only too well how the Judgeís wife-slave was being treated, so she would know what to expect.
Amy threw herself forward, flat on the floor. She crawled the few inches to reach his shoes and kiss them. She grasped his foot and placed it on her neck, pressing suggestively until he pushed down firmly, pinning her to the floor.
"Master, I am your slave. To add the title of wife is a great honor, more than a lowly slave deserves. I would be pleased to be allowed to continue to serve you."
"So be it. Go and find Georgina and have her put you to work. Hard work. Be sure to specify that. Also have her whip you for touching your Masterís cock without permission. It is unseemly for a slave of any rank."
"Yes, Master!" She jumped to her feet and ran on bare feet down to the dungeon to find Georgina.
A little surprised at his sudden announcement of marriage, Glen watched her go, nodding his head with pleasure. The conversation with the Judge and Dr Steve, and his demonstration of Amyís ability to orgasm on command would give him a better chance to convince the Judge to allow them to marry, and to perform the ceremony, Now was the time, while it was still fresh in the Judgeís mind.
Amy was highly elated. Her dream of becoming Glenís wife was about to come true. The other side of her brain warned, "If you stay out of trouble."
She found Georgina inspecting the cell. The door was open and the stink coming from the tiny room was enough to make their eyes water. Amy knelt before the woman.
"Mistress, Master has ordered that you put me to work. Hard work, was his specification. He also ordered me to tell you to whip me for touching Masterís cock without permission."
"Good, youíre just in time. Get the hose and flush this cell out. Pull the chains out and wash them link by link. Scrub that corner where the chains are on your hands and knees. Then do the rest of the floor. One speck of rust left behind and your whipping will be doubled."
The bubbly tone in her voice surpised Georgina. She looked suspiciously at Amy, but she held her tongue for the moment.
Glen watched the two on a monitor with a touch of amusement. He knew very well that Amy was desperate to tell someone -- anyone -- about her impending marriage. Georgina was aware something was up, her slave intuition honed by a number of Masters.
Later in the day, Georgina was preparing to inspect Amyís efforts to clean the floor. The rust was so ingrained that Amy had to ask for a wire brush to loosen it up. The stench was somewhat better after she had rinsed the cell down with the big hose. Georgina brought a gallon jug of room freshener which Amy used to mop the floor and then soak the chains.
Georgina happened to be in Glennís office when he turned the monitor on, showing the cell. One glance and he turned the sound up to the maximum; just in time to hear Amy blast a full throated scream of pleasure as her nimble fingers flew in and out of her pussy.
Glen made a face, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. He pulled out a drawer and handed Amy a dog whip which looked much like a riding crop.
"Itís no excuse, but I told her that I was going to marry her. If she tries to use that as an excuse, triple her punishment and add anything you please. You are her Mistress and you will remain her Mistress. Treat her like a rebellious child. Use any, and I mean any, punishment you deem fit, now or later. I love her too much to properly handle her, so itís your job to teach her how slavery goes."
"Yes, Master. She will blame me for her punishments."
"Exactly. You and I know better. Treat any complaints with the whip or something worse."
"I will do my best, Master."
A minute later she was standing in the doorway. Amy had her back to the door, drifting in the aftermath of her climax. Georgina walked into the room. Amy heard her bare feet at the last second and flipped over and raised onto her knees, looking at Georginaís grim face. The Mistress didnít need the video monitor to fix Amyís guilt. Her upper body was flushed and blotchy, her eyes glowing, certain evidence that she had disobeyed.
Amy knew she was caught. She tried to talk her way out of the punishment she knew she deserved.
"Mistress, Iím so happy. Master told me he is going to marry me and make me his wife-slave."
Georgina was ready with the answer she had mulled over as she descended the stairs.
"Master told ME that I am your permanent Mistress, with full and complete whip rights over you. Get one thing straight. Being married to a Master entitles you to one thing, and one thing only. Your violation of any slave rules will earn you double the penalty a slave would suffer, as you are supposed to set the proper example for other slaves. In this case, to get you off on the right foot, my orders are to triple your punishment."
"You have five for touching your Masterís cock without permission. There is a rust spot the size of a dime to the right of your right hand, for five more. Jacking off while at work triples that for thirty. You will get 15 tonight and 15 tomorrow night, in the Masterís bedroom. You will report there promptly at 7 with your choice of a whip. Make a bad choice and you get an extra five each time."
"Clean that spot, lock your wrists behind you and report to me. Your punishment for lying to the Master hasnít even gotten a good start."
Georgina fixed Glen a steak, while the two slaves ate hamburgers. Amy was put to work washing and wiping dishes while Georgina cleaned up the kitchen. A few minutes before 7 Glen put down the paper he was reading and walked up to his bedroom, motioning Georgina to follow. They entered the room and she passed him, headed for a bottom drawer of the double width dresser that took up most of one wall. The drawer was partly full of bondage gear, but she was intent only on a long thin box. She lifted it and laid it on the table where Amyís cage had been placed.
Promptly at 7 Amy knelt at the door and knocked softly. Georgina ignored her for a moment, then motioned her in. She knee walked into the room, stopping on the rug next to the big bed. She presented a whip with both hands. Without a word, Glen sat down in the comfortable rocker to watch what would develop.
Georgina accepted the whip, finding it to be one of the upper level, but by no means the worst on the rack. She made Amy stand at attention, arms at her sides, to receive the whip. Amy accomplished the ritual, asking for each stroke, thanking her whipper and requesting another stroke, then thanking her when the whipping ended. Georgina held her in place, unmoving.
"You expressed an interest in sleeping in your Masterís bed?"
"Yes, Mistress, but I..." Georgina cut her short,
"Yes is enough. Was the rest an excuse?"
Amy could see she was getting in deeper with every answer. Excuse was not the right word, but it would have to do.
"Did I ask for an excuse?"
"A slave does not offer excuses. Do you think you are better than a slave?"
Glen glanced at Amy, curious to see how she would escape this trap.
"No, Mistress, I am a slave."
"Remember that. All day, all night, every day, every night. You are a slave. If I order you to sleep in this bed, you will sleep there, without complaint, without excuse. Is that clear?"
Georgina took the key from around her neck and unshackled Amy. She stood at attention, eyes on the wall, nude, except for her collar.
"Your pajamas are in that box. Put it on and come back here to be re-chained."
That was totally unexpected. Worried half sick, Amy hurried to the table and opened the box. She felt the fabric and gasped.
"Then, get it on and get your ass over here."
Amy stepped into the long pants first, When her feet hit the elastic band across the bottom of the leg she winced.
She hurried to pull the pants up, tightening the belt barely enough to keep them from sliding off her hips. Putting the jacket on resulted in an "ouch" that she couldnít suppress. Georgina just glared at her, daring her to make the slightest complaint.
Georgina re-chained her, then she motioned to Amy to sit on the edge of the bed. Amy sat, and promptly rose into the air as if rocket propelled.
"Is there a problem?"
Both Georgina and Glen were poised to pounce. Amy was smart enough to avoid the trap, but the suit, with its lining of velcro-like studs was already giving her nightmares. The cuffs applied over the cloth and tightened pressed hundreds of pricking pieces of metal into her skin. Sitting on her welted butt was like getting hit in the ass with a double load of birdshot. She already had an inkling what lying in the hooded Ďnightgown" was going to be like on her whipped back. She swallowed hard.
Georgina spotted the loose belt.
"Tighten that. Three holes. An extra for shirking."
Amy groaned to herself. The belt became a ring of fire around her waist. It crossed at least one welt.
Georgina took care of the hood, pulling the drawstring taut and tying it. Amy discovered she didnít want to open her mouth, but she had to. Through gritted teeth, "Thank you, Mistress for punishing me."
"You get the center chains, between us."
She crawled to her designated spot. Fresh cuffs tightened, fresh pain. She lay down very gingerly, but it didnít help. Her striated back hurt like a dozen blowtorches were aimed at her at close range.
It would be a long night. Glen dragged his body across her to reach Georgina and back to his side, stopping only to have Amy clean the juices off his dwindling cock. This seemed to occur every few minutes, although the pauses were actually longer. Finally Glen was sated.
Georgina turned in her chains and whispered loudly in Amyís ear, "You move an eyelid before morning and youíll have a bale of straps to contend with tomorrow night. Wake either of us up and you will wish you were back in your cage."
Amy didnít even dare nod.
Somehow she remained motionless. Even a slight flex of a muscle found a myriad of points to press into her flesh. Her eyes were closed and she was afraid to open them, certain that one or the other was lying there watching her, waiting to catch her making a mistake. She remembered the Jailer, who woke at the slightest whisper of sound.
They actually did check on her several times during the night, alternating like a married couple in using a tiny flashlight to see her face, and listening to her regular breathing.
The night stretched endlessly. Amy was hurting too much to sleep, even had she dared, knowing she would move about if she slept. She was gratified that they were checking on her, but their free movements made her miss being able to move all the more and made the night even longer.
When morning finally came, Amy suffered one final and painful indignity. She was released from the bed and then Georgina made her roll across the floor to the bathroom. She was allowed to drop her pants, but had to tighten the belt again and then roll back to where Georgina was waiting to take her chains off.
When the two pieces came off, Amy looked like she had spent the night in a wasp next. There were literally thousands of red specks on every square inch of her skin, some deeper than others where there had been more pressure. Georgina avoided asking any questions, letting the punishment speak for itself, half afraid that Amy would earn more punishment by an outburst. She felt sorry for Amy in a detached way, but she was too good at her job to let personal feelings get in the way.
During breakfast, Glen surprised them both by bringing up the subject of Amyís burned nipple. He was looking ahead at some of the possibilities and decided that this was a good time to clear that mystery.
"Iíve decided to inform you two as to how Amyís nipple got burned. Thereís more to the story, but the basics are that the Judgeís wife, with some help, got out of her cage and abducted Amy just before I was to pick her up. When we discovered her, she had Amy hanging by her wrists and was just starting to burn her with some full strength acid, that should have been diluted. 100 to 1."
He turned to Amy, "I told you to forget everything that happened until you got here. I want you to remember these things Iíve just told you.† The incident is over and Iím told that the judgeís wife is being severely punished for what she did to you. Do you remember?"
"Yes, Master. I wondered how I got here."
"I brought you home on a stretcher. The lock on the cage had been broken so there was no need to put you back in the cage.
"Thank you, Master."
"Are you ready to go back there?"
Amy looked like sheíd been slugged in the gut. She slid off the chair and dropped to her knees, grabbing wildly for Glenís slipper, covering it with frantic kisses.
"Oh, no, Master! Please, punish me here. Donít send me back there, I beg of you!"
"One lie and youíre back there, permanently."
"I will not lie! I learned my lesson."
"It didnít seem to inhibit you from playing with yourself."
Her manner changed instantly from begger to penitent.
"No, Master. I deserve punishment."
"Your new pajamas werenít enough? Thatís a complaint."
"Master, they are a potent punishment. There are many things Iíd gladly do to avoid another night like last night."
"Like keeping your fingers out of your cunt?"
She looked away for a second, then locked eyes with him again,
"Interesting. Weíll perhaps discuss it when you are in need of relief from some other painful punishment. Right now, you need to report to Georgina for work. The key word is Ďhardí."
She walked on her knees, stopping in front of Georgina. She bowed her head, then looked up at her.
"I am ready to be worked, Mistress. Master instructed that it be hard work."
Georgina rose. "Do the dishes, clean the kitchen, mop the floor, wash the windows and then report to me in the dungeon, in one hour."
All three knew that the work laid out would take at least two hours. All three also realized that Amy was being put to the test,† Becoming the Masterís wife-slave was not going to be easy. Amy was not at all sure she could pass the test, but she was determined to try her best. With two bosses thinking up unique and painful trials she would need all her strength.
She was an hour and 15 minutes late, out of breath, when she reached the dungeon. Georgina pointedly looked at her watch. Amy flopped to her knees, eyes fixed on her Mistress. She didnít say a word, knowing she already was in a fix. She knew the rule by heart -- a slave never offers excuses, always accepts blame without quibbling.
The reaming out she got was not exactly unexpected, but its range was. "You are 75 minutes late. You reported to me without knocking, without submitting and by flopping down like a sack of cement. You have neglected to walk on your toes for some time. Go back outside and enter properly!"
She jumped to her feet, rose to her toes and hurried out the door, closing it behind her. She knelt before the door and rapped softly. Georgina waited a full minute before ordering, "Enter."
Amy rose to her feet and walked on tiptoe to a spot in front of Georgina. She gracefully sank to the floor, crawled forward and reverently kissed the bare feet of her Mistress, then knelt up.
"Clean them, to my knees."
The soon to be wife-slave prostrated herself again and began licking, starting with the toes. When she reached Georginaís knees her Mistress pushed her away. She knelt up, reporting,
"Mistress, my Master instructed me to report to you for hard work. He said, ĎThe key word is hardí."
"You are 90 minutes late reporting. Do you have an excuse?"
"No, Mistress. I have been disobedient and beg punishment."
"At the moment, the key word is Ď90.í Slave, what would you suggest for a slave who is 90 minutes late? Something suitable to make up for 90 minutes of your Mistressí valuable time?"
"90 lashes with the whip, Mistress."
The word trap closed. Georgina suppressed a grin. "You couldnít take half that number. Iíd be whipping your ass for the next month. Besides, you are under strict orders never to propose a punishment that would damage you in any way, I see this as a direct violation and Iím certain Master will be even less pleased."
Amy desperately wanted to defend her choice, but Georgina gave her no chance to even open her mouth. "Your job this afternoon will be scrubbing the floor and dusting all the equipment. However, youíre going to lose the 90 minutes, because I have a more appropriate use for your time."
With that she walked over and pulled the cover off what looked like a merry-go-round. But, rather than horses, it had heavy bars sticking out to the sides. Each bar had manacles on short chains near the outside end and a pair of clips dangling from thin chains.
"Come over here."
Amy obediently stepped up on the wooden platform and stood close to one of the bars while Georgina locked the manacles and squeezed the clamps onto her turgid nipples. She jumped when Georgina sliced her thigh with her crop.
"On your toes!" she commanded.
Amy immediately rose up until only the balls of her feet and her toes were touching the wood.
"I have just the remedy for those flat feet of yours, and a harness to keep you mindful of the fact that you are being punished for being lazy."
The word brought an angry glare from Amy, but she bit her tongue, knowing she would lose any battle, painfully. She watched as Georgina went to a chest and picked some items. She showed Amy two pieces of cloth which had dozens of thumbtacks embedded in them. Then she attached them to Amyís heels with short pieces of duct tape.
"I would strongly urge that you keep plenty of daylight between your heels and the floor. And just so your top wonít feel lonely, thereís this harness to make your tits wish they were somewhere else."
The harness straps were made of two thin layers of leather, with tacks in a solid row on every piece. The harness vaguely resembled a bra, except that there were no cups. Straps went around the base of each breast, then attached to side straps which went under her armpits, meeting the shoulder straps attached to the top of each Ďcup.í Georgina tightened each strap until the tacks were pressed firmly against the nearest flesh. She† warned Amy, "Any slacking and there are several more buckle holes that I can use. Pick up the load and start pushing. You have 90 minutes and I expect at least 90 full revolutions!"
The small platform looked like it would move easily. Amy pushed and was disabused of that idea at once. It felt like pushing a car with the brakes on. Actually that was exactly what was going on. Georgina had already fixed the brake so the carousel would turn only with the greatest difficulty. Without the brake Amy could have pushed it at a fast trot.
Amy grunted and put her shoulder into it, shoving hard to get it moving. The tacks stung like angry bees as her body flexed. Her breasts bounced against the harness, scraping more tacks. Once she got it moving she pushed with her arms out straight, but the nipple clamp chains were too short so she had to bend her elbows with a consequent loss of strength. She almost dropped her heels for more purchase, but remembered in time that more of the dreadful tacks were poised under her feet.
Despite a few flicks from Georginaís crop, it took nearly five minutes for the first round. She stopped Amy and pointed out that at this rate she would take all afternoon and into the evening to complete her quota. She was blunt. "I can take the brake off if you accept another punishment."
Amy opened her mouth to ask what the punishment would be, but she had no choice.
"Yes, Mistress, I have failed. I accept another punishment."
"You will run until you have caught up with the time. Then you may walk the remaining time to complete your 90 minutes. After that weíll consider your extra punishment."
She pulled a lever, taking the brake off and glanced at her watch. "You will run until I tell you to stop, That will catch you up, but you will have to do better than one a minute for the rest of the 75 minutes."
Amy pushed and had to move her feet quickly to catch up. Her nipple clamp chains snapped taut but she caught up in time to ease most of the strain. She trotted, then broke into a full scale run, her long hobble chain rattling on the wood floor.
As her speed increased the hobble chain became a hazard. The movement of her feet made it coil and swing like a snake, slamming into her foot or jerking on her ankle. She tried changing her stride, which only seemed to make it worse. Her feet and ankles were bruised when Georgina finally allowed her† to stop running and just walk. She was panting, thoroughly winded, but she managed to walk and keep up with the moving bar, avoiding any more jerks on her sore nipples.
When her time was up she was immediately released and handed a bucket and a quite small brush. Georgina was brusque,
"Start cleaning. "Youíre late!"
That, and a flick of the crop sent Amy hustling to the far corner of the dungeon to start scrubbing. A few minutes later Georgina stepped in front of† her, right on the wet spot she was cleaning.
"Hereís some incentive to get done as soon as possible."
With that she literally snapped the nipple clips on, the chain dragging in the water. Amy thanked her, never stopping her scrubbing. Her movements speeded up noticeably.
It was a large room and a small brush, but Amy worked hard, still stinging from the Ďlazyí crack and finished the last of the floor just as Georgina came to announce dinner. One more minute and Amy would have had the traditional dungeon fare.
She put the pail and brush away and followed her Mistress up the stairs to the kitchen, where Glen was already seated. She knelt and knocked on the door as Georgina walked in and began serving. Glen ordered her to enter and she kissed his feet and then sat in the waiting chair.
"Youíre late. Both of you. "Whose fault is that?"
Amy didnít hesitate. "Itís my fault, Master. I did not finish washing the dungeon floor in time."
Glen ignored her, speaking to Georgina. "See that she is not late again."
"Take her nipple clips and put them on your own nipples. She needs to learn that her acts can have serious consequences for others."
She stood in front of Amy, eyes locked. She reached down and unclipped one nipple. Amy gasped as blood flowed again. The clamp went on Georginaís right breast, joining them for a moment with its thin chain. Georgina unclipped the second nipple. Amy gasped again. Georgina clipped her left nipple, silent.
"Supperís getting cold," Glen warned.
Georgina hurried to serve him, the steam rising from the hot food pulling the rug out from under his complaint.
Amy ate with her head down, afraid to involve herself in the easy conversation, fearful she would commit some error that would bring further discipline her way.† Georgina didnít see it that way.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Amy glanced up, and shook her head. "No, Mistress. I was just listening to you two talking."
"Afraid youíll say the wrong thing?"
Amyís face reddened, caught again. Both Georgina and Glen could read her like a book.
"Yes, Mistress," she half whispered.
"Youíre missing some important training. A wife-slave needs to be able to carry her part of dinner conversation and other social events. We donít want you the butt of Ďdumb blondí jokes."
Amyís face got perceptibly redder. Invariably Georginaís advice was to the point and important for Amy to know. There was much she could learn if she could get out of the spiral of bad acts and punishment that she was embroiled in.
"Iím sorry, Mistress. I will do my best to follow your sage advice."
Glen of course was thinking along the same lines. Amyís beauty would be an asset to his real estate business, but first she would have to be retrained thoroughly before she could be entrusted again with clothes and a place in the outside world.
Bedtime was much the same, and a lot different than the previous evening. Amy arrived on the stroke of 7, holding a new whip in both hands. Georgina took the whip, but after getting Amy to attention, she stopped and motioned to Glen. He got out of his easy chair and came over to look at the welts remaining from the previous night. Both shook their heads at the same time.
"Your whipping is postponed 24 hours. You still have welts that need to heal. However, they are not serious enough to affect wearing your pajamas. Go get them and put them on."
Georgina supervised and moved chains off and back on. When Amy reached the belt she ordered, "Same as last night. The extra hole for being late."
Knowing what was coming, she steeled herself to the coming pain. Just crawling across the bed hurt. She reached her spot, turned and gently lay down. The sharp points were waiting for her. She wanted to scream in agony, but she remained silent. She spread her legs to the limit of the hobble and raised her cuffed hands above her head, both moves making her wince with fresh pain.
Georgina leaned across her to close the manacles on her arms, her weight pressing sharp points into Amyís front and back. This pain would repeat when Glen moved across her to take Georgina in his arms, while she had to lie, silent and unmoving as the bed rocked beneath her. She stared at the ceiling until Georgina pressed her eyelids shut, a silent warning.
Mistress was still wearing the nipple clamps. They had dragged their chain across Amyís face. Now she assumed they were resting on Georginaís chest.
Glen picked up the chain, fingering it, drawing it taut first to one nipple, then the other. Georgina writhed against him as he tugged. She wore them through their first bout, but when Glen came back to her a second time, he released them and then turned to Amy, attaching them again to her reddened and very sore nipples. She made no protest, or noise, but a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She knew they were hers for the night. She accepted the fresh pain as her due. The words ĎPain Slutí entered her mind and refused to leave.
Several centuries later morning dawned. Amy rolled to the bathroom across the floor, loosened her belt, did her business and pulled the belt tight again, just for the short roll back to Georginaís waiting chains. Glen was already downstairs, checking his phone log for calls.
Georgina informed her, "Do the dishes, kitchen and report to the dungeon, where youíll spend the rest of the day. You still have the dusting to do."
Breakfast was a bit more spirited than dinner the previous evening. Amy was light-headed from a total lack of sleep in the last 48 hours, but she managed to hold up her end of the conversation without drawing fire from either one. In the back of her mind Ďdull, boring dust clothí seemed to be repeating and repeating. She would have to be careful not to vocalize that complaint.
Once the kitchen was spotless she made her way to the dungeon, walking carefully to avoid the tack strips still taped to her heels. She already felt she was becoming accustomed to walking on tiptoe. It was little different than walking in high heels,, except there was no support at all for her heels. Stairs would always be a problem.
She found she was to dust everything in the room. The covers were to be removed one at a time from the machines hidden under them and they were to be dusted and oiled if necessary.
She dusted the equipment already uncovered and then walked up to the closest covered hulk and pulled the cover off.
The first piece of equipment was a gigantic stocks.
Amy stood and looked at the stocks for a long moment. Constructed of massive oak beams with thick iron fittings, it looked like an import from Hell.
More to the point at the moment, every flat surface and even many rounded connectors were coated with a thick layer of dust. Amy was not too surprised as the cover had released a cloud of dust when she pulled it free. She remembered Glenís mention that the two maids were never allowed in here to clean. She resigned herself to at least another day scrubbing the floor. As she sized up the monster, she had a sinking feeling that this would be only the first of the group, all of them requiring a full scale cleaning.
She set to work and spent more than an hour wiping up dust, repeatedly wringing out the rags she was using. Paying attention, she suddenly recognized the rags as coming from her clothes closet. Pawing through them she spotted pieces from several of her favorite dresses. The discovery hurt. She made a wry face, at the same time realizing that she might never wear such clothes again.
Amy yawned several times, each time speeding up her work. She was nearly finished with the stocks when a wave of tiredness swept over her. The hard work, combined with two sleepless nights was sapping her strength. She set the pail down and sat on the platform of the stocks. Leaning back into a corner to support her body she closed her eyes, "just for a moment."
Glen was busy with phone calls and had to leave to show a client an office building he had listed. After he left, Georgina came by the monitor. Glancing at it she saw no sign of Amy. She switched to the other cameras, one by one, still with no sign of Amy.
Georgina activated the zoom and after a little more looking she spotted the pail. She zoomed in even closer and at last saw one of Amyís feet. At the camera angle she was almost hidden in the corner of the stocks.
Georgina swore under her breath. She heard the door open and close as Glen walked in. Quickly she showed him what was going on. He shook his head.
"Our little slave is hiding to take a nap. Letís convince her that the stocks are not a comfortable bed.
Amy was totally passed out. She didnít even stir when Glen picked her up and sat her in the center of the stocks, on a steel plate that covered the center of a wooden bench. Georgina got her ankles into the half-holes in the wooden frame in front of her before Amy stirred. Georgina closed the top, capturing her ankles below her ankle cuffs. The beam dropped with a thud, waking Amy from her deep sleep.
Her eyes widened in horror as she discovered her Master and Mistress staring at her as they fixed her bondage. She sputtered for a second, ready to protest, but the warning look on Georginaís face shut her up.
Wood closed around her neck, cocking her collar at an angle so that it dug into her neck painfully.
Wood closed on her wrists, somewhere behind her, jamming her cuffs into her arms. She tried to move. Her fingers fluttered. Her toes clenched and unclenched. Her seat was a foot lower than her trapped ankles. The angle prevented her from lifting herself. As soon as she discovered her inability to move one more gadget was added to her discomfort.
Glen caught her under the arms and lifted her an inch off the seat. There was a grinding noise and the metal plate pulled away, exposing the worst torment of all. Glen let her drop the inch. She cried out, stabbed to the heart. "Please, Master, Mistress. It hurts!"
She cried out again, begging for relief. Georginaís face showed contempt, even though she knew the pain would be excruciating.
"Discipline is supposed to hurt, stupid. If you think you can get by with sleeping when you are ordered to work hard you are dumber than you look."
"Please, Mistress. Have pity. It hurts!"
She didnít even hear the words of her Mistress. She felt like she was sitting on a bed of hot coals, fresh pain on her barely healed welts and weals. The cause of all her clamor was a cruel device that had been hidden under the steel plate. She was seated on two metal rollers, each of which had dull pointed studs covering the entire surface. Her slightest movement, even breathing, caused the rollers to move, attacking new areas of flesh.
"Slave, be silent, or I will move you with the whip!"
Amy stifled a sob and snapped her mouth shut. She could readily visualize what reflex movements she would make under the whip and from this small foretaste, how much it would hurt.
She was blindfolded almost as an afterthought.
Glen checked the monitor frequently and Georgina visited the dungeon several times. She delivered bread and water after she had fed Glen and herself.
At 7, Glen and Georgina paid their weeping victim a visit. Glen laid down the law. "Slave, you have a choice. You can spend the night here, or spend it in my bed, in your pajamas."
The answer came as fast as she could push the words out:
"Master, I beg to sleep in your bed, in my pajamas."
"If you donít sleep, you spend tomorrow as you are now."
"Master, I will sleep, only as you order it."
Georgina went home. She had stayed away two extra nights to take charge of Amy. Glen assured her he could handle things by himself and instructed her to be back by 7 a.m.
Amy blushed repeatedly as Glen put her through the nightly ritual: toilet, cold shower, inspection and pajamas. She already was accustomed to following orders from her Mistress, which in her mind put her Master on a near unreachable pinnacle. She donned her pajamas, anticipating its torture, the many sharp points finding the tiny sore spots left from the previous night. Tonight she had the added problem of the damage the studded rollers in the stocks had done to her rear end. The fire was banked, but she knew that sitting would fan the coals to raging fire again.
The next problem loomed like a mountain before her. How on earth could she sleep in her cocoon of pain?† She had already suffered through two sleepless nights. The stolen minutes of sleep in the dungeon dulled her need, but it remained. Adding to her woes was the threat of another session in the stocks if she didnít sleep. She had promised to sleep. Breaking that promise was an unthinkable act.
Glen led her around the bed and indicated the restraints at the edge of the bed, rather than the ones near the center that she had worn the two previous nights. She thanked him silently for small favors. This way she didnít have to crawl across the bed, relieving her knees of at least that small amount of her overall pain. She moaned when she was made to first sit, then swing her legs into the bed,, dragging the points across her abused flesh. Glen gave her a nasty look but said nothing. He deliberately let his body rest on hers, jabbing her breasts with a thousand knives as he locked the manacles on her wrists. He got off and moved to the foot to close the shackles around her ankles and pull her taut.
His hand grasped one of her feet. Instinctively she tensed, guessing her fate. Had she not been a slave she would have screamed protests, refusing to let him touch her. She made not a single protest, not the slightest noise until his fingernail raked across her instep. Just once. Amy thrashed like a hooked fish, remembering the feather that had ended her holdout in the cage.
She screamed, a mixture of pain, anger and defiance, overwhelmed by the sensations that battered her defenses from every nerve in her body. The defiance ended and pain blasted into every cell in her body. Glen seemed to ignore her. She knew better. He was studying her reaction, thinking up new ways to discipline her. She hung on to her sanity, certain it would be a long hurtful night.
Self doubt nagged her as Glen prepared for bed. What did he see in her that made marriage his choice? For that matter, what did she see in him that made her so willing to give up her freedom and accept his punishments willingly? She couldnít answer for him but for her part she needed to prove to herself that she could set goals and accomplish them. The pain washed over her, but it washed right off, leaving her always wishing for just a bit more. With either Glen or Georgina that attitude could be dangerous, setting off a never-ending spiral of torment that would be far more than what she had bargained for. Becoming Glenís wife-slave was turning into a marathon which she must run in hobbles.
Glen leaned over and tied a sleep mask over her eyes. She stared into blackness, then closed her eyes to the same blackness. She heard, and felt him move to his own side of the bed, then the click of the big wall mounted TV screen.
She heard a moan, another, and a third, then the pistol shot sound of a whip being cracked. Glen was watching a bondage movie. She could not watch, but she could listen. Soon her imagination transposed the sounds into vivid Technicolor, picturing, even feeling the actions of the men and women on the screen.
Through the bed she was beginning to feel a slow, rhythmic movement. It evoked a picture in her mind of Glen moving his hand up and down a massive hard-on, beating his meat as he watched the action on the screen. Humiliation poured over her. Here she was, inches away from him, chained helplessly to the bed in the most inviting way and he preferred his hand. To make matters worse, her pussy was dripping like a faucet with unneeded lubrication, convulsing with each slow stroke.
Dreaming of the ways he had taken her in their first days and nights together did nothing to dispel her embarrassment, actually making it worse. She had suffered through the endless bouts he had with Georgina without feeling half as much as this simple act was causing her.
Thinking about it only made it worse. One moment she hated her Mistress with a passion. The next she loved her, would accept any order willingly and wanted her tongue between her legs. She was ambivalent about Glen, but leaning more to the overwhelming desire to become his wife-slave. She realized only too well that she was transferring her anger at his treatment of her to Georgina, blaming her for her problems while she knew that she was being unfair.
At last she heard the TV click off. Glen had apparently been able to meld his groans of contentment into the sounds from the screen. She felt him lean over her.
"Go to sleep, and thatís an order."
"Yes, Master." She kept her humiliation out of her voice.
Although she had nearly dozed during the movie, she was wide awake, unable to control the thoughts that flooded her brain. Desperate, she tried a trick she had read about long ago.
She visualized her toes, then willed them to sleep, concentrating until she no longer felt them. She visualized her toeless feet, willing them to sleep. They disappeared from her conscious mind. Then her ankles, her legs, her knees, her thighs. The emptiness lessened the pain being reported to her brain. She remembered nothing beyond that point as her mind, tired of the intense concentration, shut down and let her sleep.
Even her breathing stopped. In a moment it resumed, the breathing of a body tired beyond belief, sleeping. Glen, alert at the first sign of a problem, listened to her even breathing, smiling in the dark, savoring her obedience.
Morning came. Glen awoke shortly before 7. Amy slept on, unmoving. Glen quietly dressed and left her asleep as he went down for breakfast. Georgina was already there and the coffee smell made him hungry. He sketched the previous nightís activities, including Amy sleeping. Georgina smiled.
"A slave is her own alarm clock. Perhaps another session in the dungeon, Master?"
"Have you forgotten that I put you in total charge of her, including, according to you, complete whip rights?"
"No, Master, I havenít forgotten. I needed a little extra to impress her with the fact that whips are part of my total control of her."
"That sounds suspiciously like an excuse. Be careful. Never say never."
Georgina didnít need it spelled out. She was dangerously close to Glenís edge. If she slipped over it, she could be joining Amy in the dungeon, or even find Amy as her Mistress with full whip rights. She would have to draw deeply into her knowledge and experience to find the right blend that would satisfy her Master, and her slave. She had served a Mistress just once, a year of her life she would like to forget. She had learned much, endured much and barely avoided being broken into a mindless two-legged cunt.
Glen got up and went into his office. Georgina picked up her crop and walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Amy was still sound asleep.
The crop fell across both breasts, driving the cloth into them in a fiery line. Amy reared up, yelling in shock. She fell back, driving more fire into her back.
"Youíre an hour late for breakfast! In fact, you missed breakfast. Your bread and water will be served in the dungeon in 20 minutes. Iím going to make sure you donít miss THAT appointment."
The crop descended again. Amy yelled while she literally jumped out of bed. She dropped to the carpet and rolled to the bathroom, each roll threatening her bladder with splitting in two.
Amy made it to the dungeon with a few seconds to spare. Georgina didnít spare the horses and gave Amy more than enough encouragement to make haste, even trying her favorite expression, "Hurry, every chance you get."
While Amy caught her breath, Georgina brought forth a pail and an even smaller brush than before. "You made a terrible mess around the stocks, so today you scrub the entire floor."
She looked at Amy, daring her with her eyes to object, but Amy refused the bait. Georgina made it a little tougher.
"Thereís still some dust on the stocks. After you do the floor, you will clean the stocks and then do the floor again."
That got Amyís attention. She raised her head and looked at Georgina, hiding the anger and not letting it show in her eyes.
"Your Masterís instructions were?"
Amy sighed with resignation. "Hard work, Mistress."
"Slave, if you have the faintest hope of becoming Masterís wife-slave you would do well to forget how to sigh and carry on and concentrate on doing more than you are asked to do and even volunteer for extra work and extra punishments. You could very easily be made to do this work with 10-pound steel balls locked to each leg."
"For example, isnít that an overly large brush you have to wash the floor?"
Amy got the point. "Please, Mistress, do you have a smaller brush I can use, one that will get in the cracks better? Perhaps an old, worn out toothbrush?"
"Thatís better. See that you keep that up. Now, get to work. You have until noon to get your chores done."
Refreshed from a nightís sleep, Amy made a fast start, but the tiny brush made her life miserable. Her chains were always in the way. She daydreamed about the steel balls that her Mistress had threatened her with and promptly got aroused to the point where she was ready to take the brush to her clit. Twice she caught her hand moving between her legs and jerked it away, all too conscious of the fact that playing with her clit was what started this round of punishment.
The odds were hopelessly against her finishing on time; she got the first floor scrubbing done, cleaned the last of the dust off the stocks and had a good start on the second floor washing when time ran out. Georgina had a simple solution. She waited until Amy finished the second scrubbing of the floor and then figured the overtime. "You took 95 minutes too long. Now you will spend 95 minutes in the stocks."
Knowing what awaited her, Amy couldnít help making a sour face, which she immediately regretted. To avoid one of Georginaís matter-of-fact punitive punishments, she suggested helpfully, "Mistress I made a face about sitting in the stocks. I could be made to hold one of your steel balls in my lap as punishment."
"Ah! An excellent idea. Why didnít you think of that before?"
The question was rhetorical so no answer was expected.
Amy cooperated fully as she was locked into the massive wood beams. Georgina lifted her to remove the steel plate hiding the studded rollers, then sat her down. Amy carefully hid her reaction to the contact. Her Mistress disappeared for a few moments and came back holding a grapefruit-sized steel ball and a length of heavy chain. She positioned the ball on Amyís mound, held in the pocket made by her upraised legs. She laid several links of slack on her legs below the ball and then ran the end behind her neck, the tag end banging against her nipple.
Magnified by her awkward position, the ball seemed to weigh a ton and the chain even more.
Georgina smiled at her captive and told her the bad news. "I have a special treat in store for you if you drop either the ball or the chain. Iíd better find everything in exact position when I come back. Your time starts now."
There were no clocks in the dungeon. Amyís wristwatch was locked away, somewhere. She sat and considered her options.
She decided almost immediately not to write a book titled "How I survived 95 minutes sitting on a studded roller." Otherwise her immediate future looked bleak.
The ball stayed put, cradled against her outstretched legs. The loose chain didnít. People who work with chains know that they have a mind of their own, like cats. You can only pull a chain. You canít push it.
The links lying on her legs slowly slid off, victims of imperceptible movements triggered by the studs she was sitting on. She had a good hour to think about the consequences, long enough to put her in a state of panic. She couldnít stop thinking about the possible punishments that awaited her. "Special treat" dissolved into flashes of incredible pain from some unknown source.
The only saving grace was the power of the pain to arouse her. As a child she had several times frightened herself into hysterics† and orgasms fantasizing about painful trials and tortures. She made the mistake of telling her mother the cause of her upset, setting off a string of doctor visits that did her no good. After that she learned to hide her feelings, first from her parents, then her scant few boyfriends and then Ralph.
Her pain fantasies returned after Ralph was safely behind bars. His crude sadism made her disappear into her shell. Fear and abuse didnít mix. She had suppressed her fantasies in order to cope with Ralph.
When Glen came on the scene, oozing the powers of mastery, she turned over a new leaf. Despite her hurt, she blossomed in Glenís arms, once more free to pursue her pain. Her youthful self-training was working here as well. She could hide nearly everything from Glen and much of her emotions from Georgina, although her Mistress was reading her more accurately all the time.
She would much prefer to have Glen as her personal trainer, but she was flexible enough to go with the current arrangement. As long as they didnít ask the question she couldnít lie to answer, her deception was safe. Still, Amy knew that the question was coming. It wasnít if, it was when. She knew too that when her deception was exposed she would be charged with another lie.
She had already been thoroughly self-punished when her Mistress suddenly loomed before her. Amy reviewed everything she had done in the preceding minutes, trying to remember if she had broken any other rules. She neednít have bothered because Mistress had eyes only for the errant chain.
"Give you a simple task -- just sit there -- and you fuck it up!"
"Yes, Mistress. I beg punishment."
"You donít have a suggestion?"
"I do, Mistress, but every one would leave scars or other injury."
"Thatís an excuse. You just doubled your special treat."
"Thank you, Mistress."
"Ever ridden a horse?"
"How about a wooden horse?"
"No, Mistress. Iíve read about them." She tried to look around, but her neck was held firm.
"As it happens, itís right behind you."
Georgina pulled the cover off, raising a cloud of dust that set her sneezing.
"Youíll have work to do -- lots of it -- after you have your treat."
Without warning a hood dropped over Amyís head. She felt Georginaís fingers tightening straps. There were no eye holes, so she was blind. Then she discovered she was deaf as well, and dumb came not far behind as a foam-filled gag stuffed her mouth and forced her cheeks into the classic Ďchipmunkí pose so dearly loved by gag lovers -- those who installed gags, not the ones forced to experience the overstuffed feeling. Two well-placed straps flattened her cheeks, forcing the foam to find room in a mouth already over-booked. The gag was perilously close to the empty expanse of her throat, a fraction of an inch from the spot where her gag reflex lay waiting.
Mistress unlocked the stocks, allowing a very stiff and sore slave the opportunity to put her feet back on the ground, although not without some help. She took the chain and ball and set them aside, rightly guessing that her pain glutton charge would be begging to wear it before very long.
Amy had to be lifted off the rollers, and finally onto her feet. Mistress grunted with effort as she picked up a quite heavy, odd shaped bar, almost hidden among the wide leather straps. Without help she couldnít handle it, so she made Amy lie on the floor and using both hands, laid the bar on her back. She hooked two long curved arms through Amyís crotch, extending up onto her lower belly.
The upper end of the bar looked vaguely like a lacrosse net. The main bar split into several curved Ďfingersí that hugged the back of Amyís head. A broad strap across her forehead jammed her skull tightly into the bar. A second strap lower down crossed her mouth, applying further pressure to her gag.
Restrained at both ends, the bar gave new meaning to rigidity. If the bar had been merely straight it would have served its purpose well, but the designer perhaps had a fetish for bows. The bar bent in a graceful arc -- in, not out -- and Amyís spine followed where it led. The immediate result for Amy was to find herself rocking on her pushed out stomach, but there was more.
Her arms were crossed, laced with straps that held her hands high between her shoulder blades. More straps racked her elbows behind her, over the curved bar. Her prominent breasts took center stage, forced forward to take weight off her stomach. Straps seemed to fly around her body, tighter and tighter until breathing became a survival sport. Amy was hauled to her feet, exposing several slack straps which were pulled taut and the already taut ones were tightened another hole.
Amy sagged under the weight of the bar, roughly a quarter of her own weight. Robbed of her critical senses, she could only feel. She quickly lost count of the straps. The hood was shrinking, she thought, crushing weight on her skull. Her spine was rebelling fruitlessly, demanding relief from the unnatural position.
She could feel nothing below her hips. Nothing except her sore-as-a-boil ass. Not one strap even approached her scalded rump. Her legs were wearing her standard hobbles but that was all. She briefly wondered if her Ďtreatí would include a walk, but Mistress had mentioned Ďhorseí and then uncovered something. She assessed herself. Could she stand sitting on a sharp plank for... who knows how long? She answered her own question. "She whips me and I will ride into the sunset, whether I want to or not." Or as Georgina would say, "Isnít force grand!"
Being strap-welded to a hunk of metal was rapidly climbing to the top of Amyís "Donít want" list. She was already panting, titillating herself with passages she had read about the horse torture. For some odd reason she decided that Georgina had experienced this from the sitting end. Later she would find out that Georgina had in fact ridden many times, many long times, without a safe word. Lacking that knowledge at this moment she was unaware of the precautions being taken to ensure she didnít get more than just sore on the three inches of super-tender flesh between hole 1 and hole 2.
With everything drum tight, Mistress suggested she walk. The spirit was willing, but her legs didnít work. Mistress swung the flogger. "We have ignition!" Amy walked, her leash directing her safely among the obstacles.
Mistress took her by her racked shoulders and guided her into position. Amy felt one shackle open and drop away from her ankle. The flogger tapped, knee high. Amyís legs opened like a barn door. She could feel the full weight on her back, dragging her down. There was a rumble and a narrow beam slid through her open legs and made contact with something behind her.
A hoist clicked and hummed. Amy suddenly felt the beam rising between her legs. She raised herself on her toes. Ooops, she was supposed to always be on her toes. She bet herself that Mistress had spotted her goof and won the bet easily.
The beam was satisfied for the moment. Flat footed, she could feel her flesh distort painfully on the edge of the beam. On her toes it still touched her a tad too intimately, but at least it was bearable. However, she knew that you can only stand so long on tiptoe without rest. Up and down. Thatís how the horse got its name.
The concept was simple. It was cheap to build, zilch to maintain and any woman that got volunteered to ride would gladly give any information desired by her torturer. There were so many accessories as well. The woman could have her arms tied behind her, hung above her or stretched in front of her. Her feet could be chained to the floor, chained spread wide with every ounce of weight on the beam or tied behind her, the soles begging to be whipped and whipped again.
Counting the ways fanned her flames. She tried to remember other variations, but she kept coming back to her immediate session. Why had Mistress taken such care in binding her to that bar? She cast about for a purpose, but beyond tiring her much more rapidly she failed to see its secret intent.
Mistress took her hand, closing the fingers around a small brass ball. She lifted a flap over one of Amyís ears.
"This will be your safe word. If you need to stop, drop the ball. Iíll stop this punishment, but I will have another one ready. If you understand, move one finger."
Amy was tempted to really give her the finger, but this was not the time. One finger moved, then closed, clutching the brass ball in a death grip. The flap over her ear was snapped shut.
Glen came into the dungeon and walked to the horse. He examined the setup and nodded with satisfaction. He looked at Amy, then raised an eyebrow. Mistress gave him the OK sign.
She in turn raised an eyebrow. He nodded.
At the end of the horse was a tall stand with an electric motor and a gear case. Attached to it was a wide pulley. Georgina hooked a long steel rod to a pivot on the pulley. She lifted it and positioned it behind Amyís hood. An attachment near the top of the bar holding her head was closed on the end of the rod. Amy could feel the motion against her hood, but hadnít a clue as to what they were doing.
A tug on her ankles and she could no longer stand. She groaned into the gag as her legs were splayed wide. Human flesh was never meant to suffer like this, especially the one small area that now carried her entire weight and the bonus of heavy steel besides. It hurt unbearably on first contact. Then it got steadily worse. She could get no help from either her arms or her legs, carefully positioned to render her completely helpless. But this was only the preliminary.
Both Master and Mistress checked everything again. Satisfied, Mistress picked up the switch box and tapped a button. The electric motor came to life and hummed. The pulley, geared down, started turning very slowly. The long rod pushed relentlessly against Amyís head. Alone in her hood she thought Mistress was pushing her.
She felt her body bending forward. The light bulb clicked on. All that steel was to turn her into a rigid parody of a human. She could feel the advancing beam as she tipped further forward, helpless to avoid its waiting edge. She felt her pussy lips squeezed, her mound rolling her flesh between the beam and bone. Her clit took the full brunt of the beam, sliding off a second before it would be crushed.
The pushing stopped for a second. A year in Amyís life. Then she felt a tug as the rod pulled her relentlessly back, past her clit, past her mound, pressing her flesh. It stopped again, the dead point on the pulley, then the relentless forward push again.
By that time Amy had her predicament figured out and even had a good idea of what it looked like. Visualizing it turned her on. She grudgingly gave the inventor an A for effectiveness.
Trying to adapt to the grinding pains that flashed through her lower body she discovered she was holding her breath every time the edge of the beam came near her clit, almost as if she expected it to change course and wreck her sanity.
She wondered why her left hand hurt so much. During the change-direction pause she spent the second thinking about her hand until the beam ground her pulpy flesh, destroying all thinking in a roaring cascade of hurt. At the opposite end of the cycle she remembered the little brass ball, forgetting it again as the beam scraped against her rigid clit, making her scream with pain and passion into her gagged mouth.
Two trips along the beam and she calmed enough to remember the ball again. Two more trips and she realized she was clutching the brass sphere so tightly that her fingers were seriously deformed. By then her torture had progressed to the point that she couldnít remember what the ball was for, or why she was holding it in her hand so excruciatingly tight.
By the time she did remember its purpose, it was almost too late. The horse was claiming her as another victim. She was shrieking with every breath, begging her gag to disappear so she could beg her Mistress to stop the cursed rocking back and forth on the beam that felt as if it had penetrated several inches into her body.
In the pause, she asked herself, "What would happen if I drop the ball?" In the next pause, after a day long trip across the beam, her frazzled mind answered, "This will stop."
"What... will stop?"
Still not associating the ball with her rocking, she slowly unclenched her fingers. The ball hit the stone floor with a thud. Amy couldnít hear it hit. The palm of her hand still felt the ball hard in her flesh. Her fingers scrabbled, trying to pry the already gone ball from her palm.
The rocking stopped.
The chains holding her legs in a near split loosened and weak kneed she touched the floor again, still there after an eon of rocking. The beam slid away from between her legs, leaving a legacy of pain behind.
Glen held the back brace while Georgina unfastened the straps. Once again Amy could breathe freely. She felt like she was breathing fire into her lungs, each intake searing her throat. She felt the strap across her mouth loosen, then the one over her forehead. The weight of the steel fell away from her body. She felt light enough to float. Neither one made a move to remove her gag or for that matter her hood.
Amy discovered she had a pressing problem. Along with breathing fire, she was just plain hot, inches away from a multi-megaton Class 6 orgasm from all the pain. She rubbed her legs together, which hurt, and raised the pending climax to a Class 7.
Georgina and Glen both saw what was happening and both could hear her ragged breathing. Exchanging knowing looks, Glen motioned to her to go ahead.
She raised an ear flap on Amyís hood, "Do you want to come?"
The hooded head hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded strenuously.
"It will cost you."
The head immediately nodded. Amy felt them lift her, realizing for the first time that her Master was on hand to watch her ride.
They put her on a table and removed her cuffs, replacing them with the cuffs attached to the table. By this time her breathing was back to a normal ragged gasping for a girl ready to climax.
She lay there, unsure what to expect, urging her tormentors to hurry in words lost in her gag.† So close!
Georgina picked a quirt off the wall offering a parade of whips.
She walked to the side of the table and without preamble swung.
Amy reared off the table, body bowed into the exact curve of the steel she had worn for her ride. The quirt had struck exactly in the path left by the beam, a slight, reddish depression ending in each of her holes. Her Mistress didnít hit hard. She didnít need to. From long experience she struck almost gently, knowing it would still feel like a baseball bat slamming into Amyís abused flesh.
Amy almost suffocated, trying to breathe in and breathe out at the same time and trying to scream both in and out. Wave after wave swept over her, dwarfing any climax she could remember. Mistress took pity on her and removed the foam gag when she slowly slumped to the table.
Forgetting her manners, Amy verbalized her feelings, "Oh... my... God! Iím split in two. Iím in two pieces. Please put me back together. You hit me and cut me in two. Please, Mistress, donít hit me again. You cut me in two!"
Mistress laughed with Glen and raised the flap.
"You little fool. Nobody cut you in two. Youíre in one piece and you donít even have a scratch to show for it. You do remember nodding your head when I offered you an orgasm?"
"Yes, Mistress. But, I never expected you to hit me down there."
"You enjoyed the orgasm, didnít you?"
"God, Yesss, Mistress!"
"Then shut up and enjoy it. If not, I could hit you in the same place and see just how many times I can make you come."
"Yes, Mistress. I will be quiet."