Nusquam

by Chris Bellows

  How many sizes? She dreads thinking about numbers like 15...20... 25. How far will they stretch her?

  Ah, a white uniform appears. A subjugant to her left is offered a bowl. The nurse stoops, a hand lowers, meaty labia no doubt parted. There comes a pause... always a pause... discipline to be instilled even during the most basic of human functions. Finally comes the command... ‘urinate for me’... and the hissing of a night’s excretions.

  The sound fosters greater need, 128 suppressing the verbal plea... ‘hurry’! Such will mean she will be last.

  The nurse empties, returns and finally approaches. She smiles... wickedly, so much enjoying her power as a bowl is aligned beneath her low stool.

  “You’re to report to the milking parlor before going to the stables 128,” a deft right hand lowering to assure the urethral opening is unimpaired. “Nurse Traite took an interest in you and the Director agrees you should be evaluated.”

  There comes the evil pause.128 is expecting such. But expecting not is the free left hand. It moves to 128’s right breast, palming, freely smoothing about then brazenly jiggling in assessment. Wrists and ankles secured, 128 must helplessly endure the humiliation.

  And yet, the woman’s controlling touch feels so good!

  “And with these tits, why wouldn’t she? Ha, ha, ha.”

  The milking parlor! A stunned 128 remains silent, the message daunting. She recalls the intense degradation endured by 98... Miss Judy Dupont... her acting career truncated by the vengeful Florence Gale... now serving as a branded, tattooed human cow.

  “Rex will accompany you,” the nurse nodding to one of the huge Mastiff’s.

  Finally comes the command... the three welcomed words... and 128 opens obediently and presses forcefully. Delay brings a second command... ‘stop’. And therefore with her need is great, there is haste.

  “They’ll find an appropriate function for you here, 128. This is Nusquam. We know girls like you... what deep within makes you happy. And if we fail... there’s always the pump house. Everyone performs to their best there... they have no choice.”

  Bathed like a child and spoon fed the bland but highly nutritious Nusquam mush, the tending nurse prepares 128 for her journey to the milking parlor and Nurse Traite. Wrist and elbow bands clipped together behind her back, the tightness presses back her shoulders. 128 senses her breasts thrusting forward to fill the room. Then, once again her anus is well lubricated, the nurse deeming the unguent protection. Next, for the first time since being wrapped and mentally programmed, 128 finds herself placed in a garment... a special garment.

  “It’s a cunny harness,” the nurse succinctly explain in buckling a nylon belt about her waist.

  Dangling below are vertical cords to support thinner straps of nylon which are similarly buckled about her upper thighs. It is then that 128 discovers the horror of the cunny harness. For the nurse begins toying with her labia, right lip first, kneading and tugging. Initially, in being held chaste, the manipulation feels good, but when satisfied the sensitive pink is appropriately stretched and engorged, a clamp closes over to encapsulate.

  “It’s for the best. Rex can keep you under strict control without having to bite. You’ll want to avoid that. They’re a very strong breed... large teeth.”

  The left lip is also kneaded, stretched out and clamped. Following that her clitoral hood is clamped as well. 128 then watches in distress as cords are connected to the clamps, pulled upwards and threaded through an eyelet at the front of the waist belt. When the nurse gently tugs, 128 gasps in agony as the clamps tighten. Though the nurse’s hand action is ever so slight, the pain is jarring.

  “So you be a good girl and make sure you humbly respond to Rex... that the leash is always slack.”

  The nurse reaches for a leash, calling out to the large hound.

  “Do not fret, 128. The dogs here are well trained. You be obedient and you’ll not feel a thing. But failing to carefully follow will be painful for you, understand?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Her tone expresses both surprise and capitulation, forced to subordinate herself to a dog. She will indeed need to heed Rex, the slightest tension on the leash squeezing the clamps of the cunny harness to bring quick and intense suffering.

  “Ah, one last item. A little challenge for you... and to keep those nice breasts well presented.”

  With that, the thigh bands are again connected by a hobbling chain. 128’s steps will be many, short and rapid, her rippling and rolling mammary glands sure to impress.

  “Milking parlor, Rex,” the nurse commands, the nurse clipping the leash to his collar.

  With a deep formidable ‘woof’, Rex acknowledges, and as if aware of the threatening cunny harness, very gently turns to the door. 128, forgetting about the hobbling chain and unaccustomed to being under such direct canine control, stumbles forth, the clamps instantly tightening to bring a howl of pain.

  “Oh 128, do try to keep up. You’re otherwise going to have a very painful journey,” the nurse’s hand slapping her branded right cheek.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Tethered to a dog... and led about at the end of a leash!

  Despite the discomfort, the leash gently jostling to ever so slightly squeeze the cunny clamps, 128 feels the strange joy of the masochist... the intense humiliation giving rise to arousal. Despite the tropical temperature, she peers downward to see her thrusting nipples crinkle to pencil points, announcing her lustful reaction to her embarrassment.

  Members stroll by as Rex leads. They smile knowingly, 128’s breasts flopping with her many short steps, her arousal not to be denied.

  A nurse stops the duo, giving Rex a friendly pat.

  “Good morning, 128. Enjoying your stroll?” the query coming with a mocking snicker.

  The hand moves towards 128’s mons. The trained subjugant knows to present herself, always receptive to inspection, her cunny lips held open by the clamps, surely inviting examining fingers.

  Two fingers glide inward and playfully diddle.

  “No need to answer. Your cunt speaks for you... such a naughty girl, tsk tsk tsk.”

  128 blushes. The Nusquam members and staff know so well... fully aware of the quirkiness.

  The fingers withdraw, the nurse holding up her wet digits, glistening in the sunlight. She smiles.

  “Yes, you’re enjoying. Where is Rex taking you?”

  “To the milking parlor Ma’am. To see Nurse Traite.”

  “Yes, indeed,” the hand moving to palm left breast then right, the thumb teasingly grazing over the hardened nipple. “I’m sure you’ll be letting down for her... turn these into udders... stretched and ready for the teat cups. Girls like you enjoy that. Is that right?”

  “I don’t know Ma’am.”

  “Well, do be obedient. The Mastiffs tolerate no mischief.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The nurse strolls off. After a pause, Rex saunters onward, 128 knowing to quickly shuffle as best as her hobbling chain permits. Sensing her breasts bouncing with each labored step, the brief words of the nurse give rise to thought. Is the milking parlor where she will serve out her term of servitude? The tranquility of the facility so oddly contrasts the stables... and the unending stressful bondage of the communal dorm.

  Yes, the human cows appeared contented, she realizes smiling to herself. Yet, if that is all there is... will such contentment suit her?

  Rex advances his pace. The clamps send controlling messages, squeezing her cunny lips and clitoral hood. 128 gasps in pain, obediently responding as best she can. And she also feels familiar twinges. She feels herself moistening. Pain has always brought odd excitement. But tethered to a dog, led about naked, hobbled and bound? Why does this bring arousal?

  The milking parlor is in sight. The journey close to an end. But then comes a command.

  “Rex... stop!”

  It is a male voice... an authoritative male voice emanating from behind. The well trained canine immediately com
es to a halt. 128 catches her breath, the many short but rapid steps physically grueling. In the tropical heat, she sweats, rivulets streaming. But is it only perspiration wetting her inner thighs?

  As 128 turns seeking the source of the command, she spies a man and a woman. Approaching with sjamboks in hand, both are members, always at the ready to discipline a subjugant... though ready to entertain themselves may be a more apropos explanation for conveying the thick and stiff lengths of rawhide covered polymer.

  “Ah, it’s 128,” the woman exclaims, noting the large black tattooed numerals. “I’ve read her file. Fascinating, the level of self deprecation. Perfect for a life of servitude at Nusquam.”

  The tone is haughty, her accent free diction notable, the woman no doubt well to do and well educated. Reddish brown hair short, nicely groomed, her tall trimmed form, suggesting athleticism, is attired in a loose white blouse and jodhpurs. The knee high boots intimate that she is an equestrienne strolling to the stables.

  The man is plain, not short, his height equaling his woman companion. Mustache, finely cut hair,. though casually dressed the nattiness projects an aura of wealth.

  “128... I don’t think I’ve taken her,” the tone one of nonchalance.

  “You haven’t dear. Least I have not put that in your record book.”

  Stepping to confront 128, the woman grasps the leash, tensioning 128’s end to bring instant suffering. She knows of the cunny harness, the dire effect of the slightest pull. When 128 stifles a shriek of pain, the woman laughs.

  “Yes 128, you squeal but you’re happy. My nose suggests you’re enjoying your walk... leashed to a dog.”

  128 blushes. With normal feminine hygiene long denied, the feminine fragrance of her arousal is strong. Indeed, it is more than sweat which exudes.

  “This one has nice tits, John. I’ll be sure to note that for you in your record book.”

  The man nods, his eyes assessing, examining 128’s nakedness as one would apprise a prize show animal.

  “How long have you served at Nusquam? Speak!” the tone sharp and commanding.

  “A few months, sir. I don’t know exactly,” 128 losing all sense of time with the sensory deprivation and brain washing.

  “So you’re being opened. What size anal plug?.. the number?”

  “Number 6 last night sir.”

  “6... that’s perfect. You’ll be easily penetrated but tight. Gladys,” the man turning to his companion, “care to watch... or are you eager to take your ride?”

  “Oh, I’d like to toy with her leash while you fanny fuck her. The pain and degradation would make her quite happy... would it not 128?” the leash hand jostling to bring more anguish.

  “I... I... don’t know Ma’am.”

  “Well... we’ll see,” the woman releasing the leash from Rex’s collar. “There’s a sodomy stanchion right over there,” nodding to one of the ubiquitous threatening wooden frames.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “So this is how you choose to visit me... whipped and fanny fucked?”

  Nurse Traite inquires, her soothing voice bringing comparative calm, noting 128 remains quaking from her ordeal. Bent over, tummy to the smooth horizontal plank of a sodomy stanchion, 128’s hobbling chain was released and her ankles quickly and easily clipped to the bottom of the supporting posts, spreading her most openly. Member Gladys took great glee in controlling the end of her leash, tugging to squeeze the clamps... labia and clitoral hood... assuring quick and humble compliance. Meanwhile member John, pleased to find 128’s anus well lubricated, applied the sjambok, bringing forth howls of agony. Two strokes, right cheek and left.

  ‘I like a nice warm bottom when butt fucking,’ he insouciantly declared.

  128 heard the buzz of a zipper opened in haste. Then member Gladys stepped forward, hands lowering to palm her breasts. She squeezed, smiling with her power.

  ‘Clever, the design of the cunny harness. You can be taken anally while remaining restrained with your tender pink parts pinched and under control.’

  Fingers splayed open her cheeks, the tip a stiff appendage smoothed up and down her crevice, deftly assessing her opening before plunging. There came some pain, more discomfort, but also a sense of surrender as the firm shaft glided inward. John proved to be of modest size, an attribute for which 128 was tempted to offer thanks.

  Perhaps the nightly stretching of her sphincter is to be accepted, 128 found herself thinking.

  ‘John is attracted to plump bottom. You should feel privileged to be considered for anal sodomy. He prefers to penetrate the castrates. They succumb so plaintively,’ Gladys flippantly explained.

  Breasts fondled, John’s organ plunging and plunging, as 128 felt her quim moistening with excitement she could not help thinking of her concupiscent reaction... her Nusquam existence... the suffering... the humiliation... the sense of being owned and totally under control of... of what?.. of whom?.. of everyone, she realizes.

  She is made to offer her rectum for the pleasure of a man she knows not... and under the tutelage of the irritating woman Gladys, watching with mocking laughter. Is this something she desires? Her mind says no, but her subconscious, and the twinges of her clamped yet moist cunny speaks otherwise.

  Yes she wets, feeling the woman’s hands, the tightness of the cunny harness, the frictioning of her rosebud opening.

  ‘I say, 128. you need to squeeze with each withdrawal and press your little butt hole open when I thrust,” John instructed. “The castrates seem to learn that quickly. It will be less stressful for you and maximize my pleasure. So concentrate... follow my rhythm and you’ll become quite the anal slut. And that’s what girl’s like you enjoy. That’s why you’re here.’

  “You’re drooling semen,” Nurse Traite’s observation ending 128’s traumatic reverie.

  “I... I... was kept in bondage... had no opportunity to clean myself,” 128’s humble reply that of a squeaking mouse.

  “And the man who took you?” Nurse Traite releasing the leash from Rex’s collar with a pat to the head and an encouraging ‘good boy’. “I’m sure he’s not walking about exhibiting evidence of your coupling.”

  128 lowers her head in shame, the nurse’s words bringing images of member John’s wet and soiled penis. She was made to cleanse, sucking with odd eagerness. It brought disgust... more self loathing... and more masochistic thrill.

  “I licked him clean,” 128 sheepishly blurts.

  “Of course you did. And without a moment of thought. That’s why masochists like you are at Nusquam. We know what is best... how to accommodate your needs.”

  128 finds herself nodding in agreement as Nurse Traite steps to her front, lowers her hands, her fingers quickly and easily gliding past her forced open lips and into her vagina. Her touch brings a thrill, the woman knowing of the somatic response to not only the degradation of anal sodomy... but having to admit to it... having to acknowledge her strange joy.

  “You are here to be evaluated for the milking parlor. You’ve already had a taste for my protocol observing 98 being milked. Perhaps you’d like to be assigned here... assuming these can be suitable candidates,” her hands rising to palm mammary glands of ample size. “Your nipples... large... the milk ducts no doubt many. But the shape... that will need to change.”

  The hands return to 128’s cunny. She is heartened to feel the clamps loosened then removed... and grateful for the relative tenderness.

  “Now let’s evaluate shall we? And you can watch me milk 79. She’s been letting down for me for years, at one time my best producer. But her breasts are nearing the end of usefulness, production waning. She’s to be assigned to the pump house soon.”

  The thigh and waist straps are unbuckled the cunny harness falling to the floor with 128’s sigh of relief.

  “So, I’ve read your file, know of your proclivities, my former colleague Kelly Devers very explicit in terms of your needs. But I’ll need to weigh and measure, your body having changed over the past months,”
a hand pinching the right buttock in assessing.

  Nurse Traite notes the welt of the sjambok.

  “You’ll not be disciplined in that manner here 128, you may be pleased to know that. We’ll need you to be tranquil, calm, complacent, eager to let down and express. The sjambok is not used here..”

  Is 128 happy to learn that?

  She ponders as she is led to an examination table, instructed to mount and kneel on all fours. A very explicit and intimate medical examination begins, no part of her anatomy escaping the palpating hands and fingers of the knowing nurse.

  “Kelly reported that you have an affinity for nipple torture... weighted clamps, mouse traps, hot needles. I hope no milk ducts have been impaired. If so I’ll need to turn up the milking machine to clear them out. There’s discomfort in that, but it’s quite palliative. I’ll also need to inspect your vaginal walls. We impregnate here. Most reliable way to induce lactation. And judging from your broad hips, you’ll reproduce like a sow... ha, ha, ha.”

  Chapter Forty

  Preparing for a night’s slumber, 128 is guided by a nurse as she lowers herself onto her low stool and attached impaling anal plug. She notes ‘No. 7’ emblazoned at the base and realizes her anus will be accommodating a larger size. When the nurse places her hands about the hips, Nurse Traite’s comment is brought to mind... ‘reproducing like a sow’.

  128 is disconcerted. There was no mention of being bred like a farm animal when Nurse Kelly offered an overview of Nusquam. Instead her words suggested she would be safe... tormented but her demented psyche curiously pampered.

  There comes an irrepressible moan as the anal plug is slowly driven home under her lowering weight. The nurse smiles, checks to assure her wrist bands are secured in place high above then clips her ankle bands right and left to leave 128 well spread... sensing the vulnerability which seems to be mandated for subjugants at Nusquam.