Cheyenne woke. Her head hurt. Her eyes hurt. She moaned weakly and
blinked her sore eyes. She felt utterly confused, for long, long
seconds not even remembering who she was. Then she remembered, and
began to tremble uncontrollably. She looked around, blinking her
eyes.
She was in a very brightly lit room. It was a small room, perhaps no
larger than a walk-in closet, with no windows, and four stone walls.
She was laying on a mat on the floor. There was a tiled square place
in one corner, with a slit in the floor she vaguely recognized as the
kind of toilets they had in many third world countries. In another
corner was a small television and VCR. In a third corner was a small
shelf.
All of the walls were painted with erotic images of sadomasochistic
bondage. Impossibly beautiful women lay reclined dramatically across
wheels as they were stretched, hung from their wrists as they were
whipped, knelt bound, performing oral sex. In one scene a lovely
blonde was being ravished by a demon. In another she was the centre
of dozens of naked men all grabbing at her, pulling her, spreading
her legs, mounting her.
Cheyenne looked dully around, not understanding. She was out of the
hole, however, and anything – anything at all – was better than that.
She groaned weakly as she sat up, and then examined herself. She was
still naked. Her leather restraints and collar had been replaced by
shining, gleaming metal shackles and collar. Her wrists were bound in
front of her, however, by a very short length of chain.
She was ravenous. And more thirsty than she could ever remember being
in her life. So that was the first thing she sought out. And there,
on the floor, were a pair of bowls. One held water. She didn’t know,
but the other looked like – food!
She groaned as she forced herself forward, half stumbling on her
knees beside the mat, crawling forward weakly to bend and grasp at
the bowl.
It was locked in place. She had to bend and push her mouth into the
bowl, slurping greedily, moaning in pleasure as the water slid down
her throat. And if it tasted a little – mediciny – she didn’t notice.
And then the food. She sniffed at it, blinking her eyes repeatedly to
clear them. Her stomach rumbled and she picked up a small chunk of
what looked like some kind of food. Whatever it was, she would eat
it, and did. It didn’t taste very good, but it satisfied the urgent
needs of her belly.
She crawled back to the mat and lay down, panting.
After a time she sat up again, her mind a little clearer now. She
looked around her, then down as her instinctive effort to straighten
her legs failed. She saw that the metal shackles around her ankles
were fastened to a leather strap which was locked around her upper
thighs, held in place by a tiny padlock. Her legs felt cramped and
sore, and she supposed they had been bent back like that since –
well, for some time. Yet she could do nothing about that.
She again examined the metal shackles on her wrists, and felt the
metal collar around her throat. They all seemed somehow more –
permanent than the leather ones had been, and she shuddered in
confusion and anxiety.
Where was she? Why was she there? What were they going to do to her?
She examined her shackles, then noted, startled, shocked, that her
nipples had been pierced by small silver rings. She fingered them,
noting how sore her nipples were, and tried to find the catch to pull
them off. There were none. She stared down past her nipples and
gasped as she noted she had been denuded of pubic hair. She looked so
– so naked now! She was also pierced down there. She had dismissed
the throbbing pain as the results of her rape. But no, a thick ring
pierced both her lower pubic lips, and a thinner, smaller one pierced
her clitoris.
She stared at them in astonishment, spending quite some time feeling
them, wincing at the pain, exploring her wounded body.
She looked around again, then awkwardly got to her knees and made her
way to the door. It had no knob. It was thick, and made no noise when
she slapped at it, and appeared to open inward. She moved back to the
mat and sat down.
She spent the next hour working at her shackles and rings, trying to
get them off.
Energy began to flow into her as she worked, and she began to feel –
hyper, too hyper to stay on the mat. She wanted to jumped up and run,
but of course, could not. She explored her little room, however, like
a panther exploring its cage. She crawled awkwardly, her wrists being
chained together before her. She examined the contents of the shelf.
Mostly it was books, masturbation material focussed on bondage and
masochism. There were also a number of vibrators and dildos of
varying sizes.
She moved to the TV and turned it on. Nothing happened. She spent
some time playing with it, but it had no signal. Only when turning on
the VCR would anything appear. The tapes were all sexual, and all
focussed on eroticising bondage and masochism. She moved to the door
again, laying on her back and kicking at it, yelling at it, pacing,
pacing.
She needed to do something, needed to get the energy out of her
system.
She returned to the mat, flinging herself onto it, panting. Her skin
felt as if it were quivering with electricity. She rolled and
twisted, turned and twisted again, panting. Her heart raced and
slowed, and she jerked her knees up, then slammed her feet down
against the mat repeatedly.
Her fingers found her sex almost by accident. Yes, it hurt, but there
was something more there, some quivering, throbbing sense of – of
relief, or the possibility of relief. She lay back and began to
masturbate, gasping in pain all the while, needing the relief,
needing the explosion of sensations, certain somehow in her mind that
if she came the terrible hyperactive need would go away.
She moaned weakly, her legs splayed wide, her hips rolling from side
to side as her right hand moved rapidly, frantically at her sex. Her
left moved at her breasts, kneading and squeezing them, trying to
avoid the nipples, which stung, but then, even that stinging, that
sensation, seemed to detract from that terrible driving need within
her.
She came, crying out, arching her back, her hips jerking up violently
again and again. The orgasm sent a rush of sensations through her
body, and pushed the need away. When it ended she went limp, gasping,
feeling at peace at last.
But it didn’t last.
And she was thirsty again, very thirsty. She rolled off the mat,
gasping, crawling over to the bowl, licking and slurping at it.
Both bowls were next to the wall, and there were pipes leading to
both, one of which held water, the other the food chunks. She
instantly grasped that it resembled the feeding system her hamster
had had when she was a child, but she paid that little heed.
She drank and returned to the mat. Her blood still burned. She needed
to move, to jump, to run. She got to her feet, driven, twisting,
gasping, whirling around until she was dizzy, and falling onto the
mat, gasping, nauseous.
Her fingers went to her groin again, and once more she began to
masturbate.
There were a number of cameras watching the girl, and Rand looked at
the monitors in fascination. He watched the girl frantically
masturbate, seeking the rush of sensory overload which would
temporarily stop the heat in her blood. The drug would see to it that
desperate hyperactive need to move, to work her body and muscles
stayed there, of course. There was not a lot of the special drug in
the water and food, a careful mixture of amphetamines and caffeine,
but she was consuming more every time she drank, and then exhausting
herself and needing more water.
Rand chuckled as he watched.
Two hours later he stopped it. She would be pulling her hair out soon
and damaging herself. He replaced the drug in the water with a
tranquillizer, and the girl fell asleep in the corner, her legs
spread, the dildo buried in her pussy, the vibrator still purring as
it rolled out of her hand.
Cheyenne woke again. She felt more alert now, having rested. She sat
up in bed and looked down at herself, then plucked the dildo out of
her pussy with a blush. Had they come in while she was like that? Had
they seen? She desperately hoped not.
There was nothing to cover herself with, nothing to hide her nudity.
She examined her shackles again, and the rings, then felt the urge to
urinate. She gazed at the corner she had investigated only slightly
before, then crawled over to it. It was clear how it worked. There
was even a little lever to flush water down into the hole.
Looking around nervously, yet with a full bladder forcing any choices
from her, she knelt over it, spread her knees wide apart to lower her
pussy to just above the hole, and urinated, looking warily around.
She was looking for cameras now, but could not see any. She flushed
and crawled away, feeling another wave of misery and confusion.
What was happening?!
She had heard many stories of girls being raped, of girls being held
prisoner, and nothing matched this. Nothing even came close.
She went to the door and slapped at it, and yelled at it, then
returned to the mat.
Hours passed. She examined the TV and finally turned on the VCR. It
was, at least, something to look at.
The tape was both fascinating and frightening. She did not find it
particularly erotic, though the girl was beautiful and the positions
her body were placed in accentuated her fine breasts and lovely
bottom. It was frightening, however, because in concert with the
books and the paintings on the wall it demonstrated to he what her
captors had planned for her.
Was she to be hung from her wrists and whipped? Like the girl in the
movie? Of course, she was only play whipped, and moaned and cried out
dramatically, writhing in pleasure. But Cheyenne was under no
illusions of the pain a real whipping would bring her.
She sped through the movie, then the next, then the next, then the
next. One beautiful girl followed another in dramatic sexual, sensual
punishment, all of them exploding in climax, of course.
She went back to the mat in disgust and lay down, letting the quiet
wash over her.
Hours passed. There was nothing to do but worry and fear. She went to
the books. They were the same sort of thing. The girl didn’t always
enjoy being punished at first, but always came to love it, even if
forced against her will, always coming powerfully – eventually.
Some of the scenes were kind of hot, though. Not all of the books
were nasty. Some were willing bondage, and the bondage was not too
bad, not too cruel, the punishments little more than spankings.
Boredom was a powerful motivator. The longer she remained bored, the
more she wanted something to distract her.
She rubbed at her bare pussy as she read, noting again how bare and
soft and vulnerable her sex lips were, how nice they felt to the
touch now without any hair. She wondered how they had shaved her, for
she felt not the slightest hint of stubble. She winced as she eased
back the hood over her pierced clit and rubbed at herself lightly,
then looked up at the shelf.
She crawled over and got one of the dildos, and then one of the
vibrators. She’d never actually tried a vibrator. She turned it and
stared at it doubtfully, then tested the tingling, buzzing head
against her nipples. At first it merely felt uncomfortable, but as
she continued to run the head of the vibrator back and forth and
round and round she felt her nipples tingling with more and more
power, until they seemed to be vibrating as strongly as the machine.
She could not stop herself form kneading her swollen, heat filled
breasts, from pinching and twisting and rubbing at her tingling
nipples.
Her breathing growing faster, she slid the vibrator down between her
legs, and touched it lightly, almost accidentally, to the ring
piercing her clitoris. A jolt of sensory overload swept through her,
and she gasped aloud and jerked her hands back. She hesitated, then
pushed it forward again, and again that powerful jolt of sensory
overload made her gasp and jerk. Yet she held the vibrator in place,
rubbing it lightly from side to side.
It took much less time than with her nipples, and her pussy was
throbbing and bubbling and tingling so that she had to grind her
pelvis, and felt a desperate need to be penetrated. She put down the
vibrator and picked up the dildo, then slowly pushed it up into her
pussy, groaning in pleasure as it sank deeper and deeper.
With all but the last inch buried in her sopping pussy she picked up
the vibrator again, and touched it to her clit ring, and grunted, her
hips jerking sharply forward and then back again.
She rolled onto her back, forgetting the book, spreading her knees
wide, gasping for breath, chest heaving now as she ran the vibrator
over her clitoris and felt the orgasm rise up around her.
Rand watched the girl as one day followed another. She masturbated
frequently, often to scenes in the books. She used only the vibrator
at first, but then began using it in tandem with the dildo, plunging
the latter deep into her pussy, using energetic motions as she
writhed and moaned in pleasure. After a while she began experimenting
with anal penetration, using a second dildo to pump her rectum hard.
Days passed and she was left entirely alone in the little room with
nothing to distract her, nothing to catch her attention, nothing to
do, no one to talk with. The food she was given was very carefully
designed. It had calories for energy, but precious little protein.
Another drug was introduced into her water, just enough to dull the
mind a little.
Let her not think about why she was doing what she was doing. Let her
simply get used to doing it.
The books and movies and masturbation passed the time. There was
nothing else, not one scrap of mental or sensory stimulation: no
sight, no sound, no input.
Ten days passed, with the girl crawling about, masturbating, exposed
to nothing but sexual imagery, and then another drug was introduced
into her water. She fell unconscious, and the men moved in, gathered
her up, and took her down the hall.
Rand let them rape her unconscious body. It would satisfy them and do
her or his experiment no harm. Then she was settled on her knees, her
ankles strapped and locked to her thighs, and to rings set in the
floor, keeping them wide apart. Her metal shackles were replaced by
leather, and her wrists lifted above her and fastened to a chain. She
was positioned over a large, thick dildo which was screwed to the
floor, and settled down upon it so it went deep into her belly.
The room was in utter darkness. By a large plasma screen television
basically filled the wall three feet in front of her.
She was starting to waken as the men left. Cameras watched as she did
waken, as she looked around herself blearily.
Cheyenne moaned and let her head fall back, staring up towards her
wrists in the darkness. When she’d first wakened she’d been
terrified, remembering her time upside down in the hole. But there
was soft, warm rug beneath her flesh.
And then bright light made her blink, her eyes slitting. Swirling
grew mists moved in front of her. She stared at them in confusion,
but as they failed to resolve into anything interesting she used
their light to look around her. She noted she was chained down, and
that she was impaled on something fat and long which made her gut
ache a little.
She was able to pull her legs a little closer together, and rise up a
bit, sitting on her heels. This took away the ache inside her. It
also eased the pressure on her wrists and shoulders.
The room was empty, much like the other one, but more rounded than
square. The walls and roof were painted some dark colour.
And then the TV came to life, rich and crystal clear, nearly life
sized, filling her vision. There were more erotically filmed scenes
of beautiful women writhing in pain, chained, tied, whipped, cropped,
spanked, strapped, raped, and – . She stared, not understanding at
first, and then flushing hotly.
The editing was done skilfully. One scene would fade into another
quite softly. Sometimes both scenes were on the big screen at once.
It was her, masturbating. And she could hear her voice groaning in
pleasure, gasping and whining and grunting as she plunged the dildos
into herself in slow, artistic, sensual, need. Often her masturbation
was slowed down to look more erotic, and it was always interspaced
with the other women being whipped, being raped, being spanked and
cropped.
There had been cameras in the other room, many of them from the looks
of the scenes. Some had been taken overhead, others from all sides
and all angles. She was mortified at first, and angry, but both
emotions faded over time into resignation. She continued to wince and
bite her lip at her soft, shuddering groans of pleasure, at the slow
arching of her back, the rolling of her hips, the plunging of dildos
into her pussy and anus.
On the left side a woman was bound, her wrists behind her back,
wrapped in rope, She lay on her belly as a man sodomized her. And on
the other side, her own image faded slowly into view, on her belly,
her hips rolling a dildo stuffed halfway up her rectum.
The video on the right faded slowly out of sight and was replaced by
another, of a woman hanging by her wrists, being whipped in slow
motion. Cheyenne licked her lips appreciatively as the woman’s body,
sheened in sweat, arched dramatically at the blow to her back, and
she could not help but appreciate how erotic the woman looked.
It was all – play, after all, just acting, just kinky sex, sort of.
The image on the other side of the screen faded into view, herself,
looking pitiful, wrists shackled, ringed nipples visible just above
her wrists, below her gleaming collar. And for the first time, having
had no mirror, she saw the large word engraved into the front of the
collar- Slave.
She looked – hot – too, Cheyenne thought, though a little ruefully.
Yes, she looked like just the kind of girl who would be hung by her
wrists and whipped by big, hulking, evil men. And she imagined her
body hanging so dramatically, stretched out, her ribs visible, her
breasts stretched tautly, legs kicking feebly. Yes, she would look –
hot.
And she could not help but be aware of the thick, hard dildo deep
within her groin, for every slight movement of hers jarred her
insides against the unmoving hardness, and her sex lips were spread
wide around it, her clitoris feeling – pressured.
She squirmed a little more, and felt the sensual excitement of having
something big and hard inside herself, even as the images on the
screen changed again, a new girl being bent backwards, stretched out,
two grinning men running their hands over her squirming body. And on
the other side of the screen Cheyenne appeared, squirming, her hips
rolling, her breath ragged as she pumped a dildo into herself and
held a vibrator next to her clitoris.
"You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you?" one of the men in the other video
demanded.
"Yes, master, I’m a filthy slut," the actress moaned, rubbing her
breasts against him in feigned pleasure.
"You need to be well raped," he growled.
"Rape me, master!" she groaned.
The man thrust himself into her, but it was Cheyenne’s voice which
groaned in pleasure as she thrust the dildo deep into her own pussy.
She gazed down at herself, moaning softly, her body heating now. She
stared at her ringed nipples. They did look so - erotic now. And past
them her shaven sex with her lips split around the tube of rubber
inside her. It was easy to imagine it was a cock.
She looked up the length of her joined arms to the shackles overhead,
and gripped the chains, drawing herself up just a little, shuddering
at the sensory storm as her sex lips slid up the shaft of the dildo
inside her, then dropped back down.
She began to pull herself slowly up and down, just a little, just an
inch or so, working the muscles of her arms as she stared at the
changing images, at the writhing bodies, as moans and gasps and
grunts and cries of pleasure filled her ears.
She rolled her hips a little, feeling the pressure of the immoveable
dildo against the different sides of her sex wall. She felt her
breathing becoming more ragged as she worked her muscles, beads of
sweat beginning to stand out on her body as the heat mounted within
her as well.
On the screen, a dozen men surrounded a writhing woman, pawing at
her, growing with lust, their cocks all hard. She sucked one, turned
her head, sucked another, turned back. Her legs were spread, and she
was riding someone, her pussy sliding up and down his shaft. Another
man was behind her, thrusting into her anus. Cocks jammed against the
back of her head, and against her ears. She had one in each hand, and
still the men crowded closer.
Cheyenne rode the dildo slowly, grunting, panting, eyes glued to the
screen as the scene changed again. Now a man was in it, naked from
the waist down, clutching her hips, thrusting into the pussy of a
woman, obviously on all fours.
And next to them, her own image faded in, her on her knees, a dildo
jammed into her pussy as her shackled fingers reached back between
her legs and pumped it in and out. Her groans of pleasure were the
only sound coming from the screen even as the camera zoomed slowly
out on the other video, showing more of the woman, and still more,
her breasts wobbling in and out in time to the man’s thrusting and
then – she halted her grinding motions, stunned.
It was her. She stared at the fist in her hair, forcing her head
back, stared at the cock being pumped into her mouth, at the hand
reaching down to roughly squeeze, knead and slap her breasts.
The men moved their hips, thrusting into her from both sides, and on
the other side of the screen, her other image thrust the dildo into
herself, gasping and moaning, about to climax.
Fear, alarm, shock, shame, wonder, and a dozen other conflicting
thoughts and emotions rolled through Cheyenne’s mind. She felt as
though she were in a fog as she stared at herself being raped, as she
watched the man’s cock thrusting into her pussy again and again, his
hips slapping against her bottom.
The video played in slow motion, and her body seemed pale and so very
helpless, so small between the two large, black clad men. How – how
piteous she looked being abused, being brutalized, being ridden so
roughly, so cruelly. The men were so cruel as they dug their fingers
into her breasts, as they pulled her hair.
And her own gasps and moans of pleasure filled the room as on the
other side of the big screen, she jammed a dildo into her pussy,
another sticking out of her anus, her hips rolling and bucking and
grinding.
And then, despite the turmoil spilling through her mind, she realized
she was still powerfully aroused, and almost negligently, she resumed
her movements, her pussy sliding up and down on the stiff dildo, the
muscles of her arms bunching again and again as they lifted her up a
little, then let her sink back down.
She began riding it harder and harder, an orgasm approaching, and
then the picture abruptly froze, then went out. A single light went
on directly overhead, a narrow focussed beam of light which left much
of the room dim, but made her blink her eyes against its brightness.
The door opened, and she gasped as a shadowy figure came inside,
closing it behind him. He walked closer, and she could see, in the
light, that he wore a black robe over black pants and shirt. His face
was covered in a black mask, and he stopped before her.
She stared up at him in fear, and he reached out to her, not
speaking, gently brushing his fingers through her hair, then
caressing her cheek, and tracing the line of her jaw.
"Pretty young thing," he said in almost a whisper, "sweet, beautiful,
sexy young girl."
His finger traced the line of her lips, and a single finger pushed
against her mouth, slid through before she could close her lips.
"You’ve been watching yourself. You see how beautiful you are, how
sexy and sensual and seductive you are."
His finger pushed deeper, rubbing along her tongue, then twisted and
pulled back, but not all the way. He pushed it back in, pumping it
slowly in and out of her mouth.
"Nod your head if you will be a good, obedient little girl," the soft
voice said.
Cheyenne anxiously nodded her head, knowing it was what he wanted.
"You are far from home, very far, and no one really misses you. No
one is really looking for you. You are alone in the world, deep
underground here in this place," he said as he pumped is finger in
and out of her mouth.
"Suck on my finger, pretty little slut. Lick at it. Show me what you
can do."
She obeyed, sucking and licking at his finger, then the second finger
he added.
"We are a very large, very powerful organization," he said. "We’ve
been around for years, for generations. We’re a sort of – club – made
up of the most powerful and wealthiest men in the world. And you
belong to us now."
Her eyes blinked.
"Oh yes, little slut. Like many who have gone before you, you are now
our little plaything, our slave girl. You know what a slave girl is,
don’t you? Nod your head."
Cheyenne, somewhat in a daze, nodded her head, still sucking on his
fingers.
"You will have no more worries, no more fears. No need to go to that
boring job, or pay the rent, or worry what to wear. You are a slave
now, a sex slave, and your only job is to obey and service men
sexually with your body, with our body, for we have purchased you
from the men who captured you."
She moaned around his fingers, trying to twist her head around, to
speak.
He caught at her chin with his thumb, holding them in place.
"Don’t speak. Don’t protest. You surely are smart enough to know we
aren’t going to let you go now, not after all the work and time and
money we’ve put into you. Why should we? Why? Because it’s cruel to
hold you? But many of us are cruel. We enjoy having a lovely, naked
young girl at our mercy, to torment and ravish
again and again."
He slipped his fingers out and stroked them along her lips.
"And don’t ask where you are, for it won’t be answered. Nowhere is as
good an answer as any, for you are gone from the world you knew. In
this world you are a sexual animal, a pet, not a human being. You
have no rights, no will, no privileges. Even eating and drinking is
done at our mercy. And you will be beaten for the slightest
impertinence, for any disobedience, for showing a lack of effort."
He squatted, and his fingers dropped to her sex, rubbing lightly at
her clit.
"Do you want to be beaten, to be whipped?" his soft voice almost
whispered.
Cheyenne shook her head jerkily.
"You will be. You will be beaten and whipped, if only for our
pleasure. But how often and how badly depends on your obedience. Will
you obey?"
Frightened, Cheyenne jerked her head up and down.
"Good girl, good little slut," he said, his voice pleased and soft.
He moved to the side, and the videos continued to play on the big TV.
"Do you see what a lovely whore you are? How beautiful your body
looks, how soft and well formed your flesh is?" he asked, all but
whispering into her ear. "You are a beautiful young female at the
pinnacle of her sexual attractiveness. And what have you been doing
to take advantage of that? Nothing. In the old world you knew, good
girls didn’t spread their legs for just anyone. But that was the old
world," he said, his fingers tracing the line of the dildo stuffed
into her pussy. "In this world, good girls spread their legs for
anyone who wants them, any time."
He cupped and kneaded her breast, his saliva slickened fingers still
rubbing at her clitoris.
"You’re in a new world now, little slut. That’s why I call you slut.
Because in this world a slut is what you are, a slut who will bend
and spread her legs instantly for anyone who wants her. Because that
is the way this new world works. And if you hesitate – you will
regret it.For you are a slave girl now."
It was insane! He was insane! Yet she knew he was right. She could
not possibly escape, not like this. And she had to obey them, had to
do as they wanted, had to fuck them if they wanted her to, for she
surely could not hope to stop them.
She was their prisoner, their sex slave.
A sex slave!