by Paul Blades
Diskare motioned to the guards who pulled the girl to her feet. Quickly they attached leather bands to her ankles and wrists. She looked on disbelievingly. Diskare spoke again.
"Now you will learn the terms of your bondage. From this time on your sole purpose is to serve and obey. You will serve through the use of those parts of your body as your masters desire to possess. Your sex, your mouth and your portal behind will be opened and will remain open at all times and to all persons who desire you. As a symbol of the fact that your body is not your own, you are forbidden to touch it except at the command of a master. You will not close your mouth or your knees. These must remain open, ready to serve and to please. Your voice and your thoughts are not your own. Therefore, you will remain silent at all times except when spoken to. And then you will speak honestly and without hesitation, revealing all that is demanded. You will not look at your masters in the face. Who commands you or uses you is no concern of yours. Do you understand?"
This last question set the girl off. She stared wide eyed at Diskare and screamed. "Oh no, please don't do this to me! I have done nothing! Please! Please!" She fell to her knees and lunged out to grab Diskare's legs. Two of the guards caught her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. I could see the sweat glistening on her chest and under her arms, the sweat of fear. She hung limply in the arms of the two guards.
"First you will learn to obey."
The girl was dragged to the other end of the room where a hook and chain was hanging from the ceiling. In an instant the girl's wrists were joined together and connected to the chain. The third guard pulled it taught until she was suspended in the air, the tips of her pale blue shoes barely touching the ground. The cameramen took it all in. Diskare, who was careful to remain out of the shots, stepped up to the girl as her ankles were attached to two pillars which sat on either side of the chain. She was spread-eagled in the air, her body swaying gently back and forth. The lights were adjusted to concentrate on her as the cameramen jockeyed for position. One of the guards approached her holding a whip of several strands, each with a knotted end. The girl stared at it in disbelief.
"Through the pain you will now feel, you will learn that obedience must become your polestar, your imperative. You will also learn that your body is a vessel, a vessel possessed not by you, but by your masters who may dispose of it as they see fit."
He motioned to the guard holding the whip.
When the first blow landed across the girl's back, her eyes popped open and her body jolted. At the second blow she began to cry out. At the third and fourth she began to scream, begging, pleading for mercy. Ten blows were landed, ranging from her back to her ass and the backs of her thighs and calves. The guard took his time, gauging her recovery from the blow before, ensuring that each one was felt separately from the previous. When he finished behind her he paused for a minute to let her catch her breath. She continued to cry and moan, swaying back and forth in her chains. When she had begun to recover herself, the guard came to her front, and as she saw that that part of her was not to be spared, her cries began anew.
"Oh, no, please, for all that is sacred, please don't do this to me, please! Oh Papa, Papa, oh, please help me!"
There was no help for the girl. The blows rained on her front as they had on her back, each one raising a spray of red tracks across her skin. Her breasts were first, then her stomach and the inside of her thighs. Only her face and her sex were spared. After ten blows were landed, the guard stopped.
The cameras kept shooting as the guards and Diskare withdrew to take a breather. The girl was slumped in her chains and whimpering. Diskare poured us all a drink at a small bar in the front of the room. While we were sipping our drinks and taking in the spectacle of the flayed girl suspended in air before us, one of the guards started a fire in a small brazier. I knew what that was for.
The girl's whimpering got louder and Diskare spoke to the guard next to me, "Let’s put a sock in that."
"Yes, Mr. Diskare," he replied as he went to the cabinet against the wall and pulled out a gag. He approached the girl from behind and, grabbing her hair behind her head, quickly rammed home the gag before the girl knew what happened. He buckled it behind her head and then ran his hands down her front, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them, rubbing the nipples with his thumbs. The guards with the cameras had set up tripods so they could keep their film rolling as they joined us for a drink. All this excitement really built up a thirst. Actually, I think it was more a desire to delay and extend the proceedings than anything else. My cock was hard as a steel rod as I sipped the cognac Diskare had given me. I know I needed a rest.
After about fifteen minutes, Diskare got up and told the guards to get ready for the next phase in this new slave's initiation. The cameramen took up the cameras and the three guards converged about the hanging girl. One of them loosened her ankles as another slowly lowered the chain that held her wrists to the ceiling. She slumped as the chain was lowered until she was on her knees, her hands still suspended over her head. Diskare was holding the whip in his hands as he spoke to the girl.
"Slave," he said quietly.
Her eyes came to attention. She looked Diskare in the face, and then, apparently remembering his previous instructions, looked away, down at the floor, at his feet. "Knees apart, back straight," came the command.
She complied readily. Diskare motioned to one of the guards who proceeded to remove the gag. "Have you learned to obey?" Diskare addressed the girl.
"Yes, yes, please, yes, please don't hit me again, please..."
"Silence! You are only to answer the questions I give to you. No more, do you understand?"
"Yes!" the girl whispered back desperately.
"And you will answer by saying yes, master or no, master, do you understand?
"Y-y-yes, master."
"Now have you learned to obey?"
"Yes, master."
"Good, now you will learn to serve. Get to your feet."
The girl quickly stood, pulling herself up by the chain. "Feet apart, wider," Diskare told her. The girl obeyed. A guard grabbed her wrists and loosened them from the chain. Her wrists were then undone.
"Put your hands behind your head," she was told.
The girl looked at Diskare's face momentarily and then flitted her gaze back to his feet. She placed her hands behind her head, raising her elbows parallel to the floor. I couldn't help wondering to myself if the organization would have followed this particular means of revenge against her father if she had not been so beautiful. I doubted it. But then, she might be dead. I wasn't sure which of those alternatives she would pick now.
The large guard stepped up to the girl and ran his hands along her breasts. I stepped to the side for a better view. I could see the girl tense. She knew was what up. She had seen the servant upstairs being plowed by the guy with the grating voice. If she were smart she would just let it happen. It was going to happen anyway.
The guard had fastened his mouth to her left breast. His right hand slid down her side to her thighs and slipped between them. The girl's eyes were crammed shut. The guard moved his mouth to her right breast and began to stroke her sex. I could see that he was burrowing his finger deeper and deeper into her. She made a little squealing noise and squirmed slightly.
"Keep your mouth open" Diskare snapped. Her mouth dropped open. "And open your eyes." She did so, her eyes glistening, darting around the room, seeking to find a place to rest where she would not have to see her own debasement reflected in hard, cruel eyes. The guard looked over at Diskare and smiled. He was now easily moving his fingers in and out of her cunt. He straightened up and grabbed the girl's face with his free hand. His mouth covered hers. I could see his tongue darting in and out. The cameras were still going and the one guard zoomed in on the girl's face. The guard then moved behind the girl, wrapping his arm around her front massaging her breasts. The other he ran between her legs from behind, and from the little jump she made, I could tell that he had laun
ched an assault on the other portal. The girl's face wrenched as the guard pressed his way into her ass.
Diskare spoke, "You must tell me truthfully, are you a virgin?"
"N-no," she whispered.
“That’s, ‘No, master.’”
The girl cringed at her mistake. “N-no, master,” she said dismally.
"How many men have you had?
"Two, master."
"Did you take them or others into your mouth?"
She looked at Diskare dolefully, tears in her eyes and then at the camera. "Y-yes, master," she finally said. It must have been difficult for the girl to talk with a hand up her ass. But I guess it would have been hard under any circumstances. Diskare signaled for the large guard to step back.
"You will now get on your knees, back straight, no, not on your haunches, straight up." The girl obeyed and knelt on the floor, her hands still behind her neck. Diskare undid his belt and approached the girl. "You will now take my cock into your mouth and suck it as you have done to your lovers."
The girl looked around the room, stopped at the cameras which were now focusing in on her lips and Diskare's cock. She started sobbing softly as she knew that this scene would be preserved, shown to her father and others. She hesitated momentarily, looked at the whip still lying in Diskare's hand and then opened her mouth and took in his cock.
She worked her head back and forth slowly as she stifled her sobs. The cameraman on the left shot up closely to where cock and lips were joined. I could see Diskare grinning as he took satisfaction from the warmth of her mouth, the feel of her tongue. He let her go on for about two minutes and then placing his hand on her forehead, slowly withdrew.
He nodded to the three guards who then pulled the girl to her feet and brought her over to the divan. She was thrown down on it and her wrists affixed to the ring above her head. The first guard mounted her face to face, slipping his cock into her now juicy cunt. She murmured briefly as he took her mouth. He worked at her slowly, steadily as the rest of us watched. The next guard turned her over and drew her to her knees. He penetrated her from the rear and grabbed her breasts which hung down from her chest like two ripe melons. Her face was contorted as the guard plowed away, rocking her back and forth. She was sobbing heavily.
When he finished, the last guard took his turn taking first her cunt and then spilling himself into her mouth. The girl whined and her body squirmed as the man, his knees on either side of her face, plunged his cock remorselessly back and forth between her lips.
Diskare, who had donned a mask, now approached the girl and spoke. "I will now enter the last portal of your virginity. From today, this part of you will become as available as the other two to serve your masters' pleasures."
The girl was lying on her back. Diskare pulled her knees up towards her head, exposing the double cleft below. He slipped into her cunt momentarily and then, holding her ankles together with his one hand, and holding his cock with the other, rammed it home into the hole below. The girl cried out in pain, biting her lips, trying to squirm free. Diskare pushed against her with his weight and held her pinned to the divan. He grinned beneath his mask and then slowly worked his hips up and down. The girl's squirming stopped, her cries reduced to moans. After a few moments, Diskare gasped, and expended himself.
He rose from the girl and motioned to me. I was handed a mask by a grinning guard and I stepped forward. The girl was limp, her legs falling on either side of the divan. I rose onto the divan and glided my cock into her pussy. She was hot and tight. My cock was aching with need to explode. The girl's eyes opened, looking at my face briefly and then away. I took her mouth and sucked at her tongue. I hoped the little black guy didn't have anything, but my passions were so strong, I didn't care. I wrapped my legs around the girl's clasping her thighs tightly around my cock. My passions had been on a boil during the entire proceedings and it didn’t take much to get me over the top. I groaned, my hips pounding relentlessly into hers as my cock throbbed and jerked in her steamy tunnel. In a minute, I was done.
As I finished, I realized that I had now become a part of Klitzman's or Diskare's or someone else's revenge against this poor girl's father. I had let myself wreck havoc on her, debase her, without a moment's hesitation. Sure, on Klitzman's island I had done as much. But there, somehow, I had felt protected, protected by my need to get close to Klitzman, the need to recover the information vital to my mission. Here, I had become caught up in an act totally unnecessary to my cover. Or had I?
While the two cameramen took their turns at ravishing the young girl on the divan, I poured myself another cognac and sat in one of the easy chairs by the door. I thought that, on the other hand, if I had not taken part, if I had refused or made up some excuse, Diskare would have certainly been suspicious. He was already suspicious, as he had already told me. Nothing I had done would appreciably increase or affect this poor girl's misery or that of her father and family at her disappearance.
On the other hand, as I wound my way through Klitzman's organization, as I came closer to uncovering his organization's hold over our government, its perversion of our way of life, the closer I came to freeing this girl and all the captive girls like her. Certainly, when the day came that I was able to smash Klitzman, I would be able to lead the authorities to all of his little private hells like this one and burst them open, letting the misery and suffering that was in them escape. I resolved that I would do whatever I could, whatever was necessary, even seeming to be as cruel and as callous as the worst of Klitzman's men in order to complete my mission and destroy Klitzman and his empire.
In the meantime, the cameramen had finished their fun with Marissa. They were relaxing themselves at the bar while two of the guards amused themselves abusing the girl by running the strands of the whip up and down her body. She whined and sobbed, her body flinching each time the strands of leather touched her. The third guard was on the side of the room, stoking the brazier and checking the heat of the iron sitting over it, the branding iron which would soon lick this girl's skin, marking her forever as one of Klitzman's properties. It would mark this night forever in her mind, as if being violated by several men wasn't a mark enough to endure. The kiss of the branding iron would put a seal on the night's events just as much as a kiss between a bride and groom sealed their vows. But these vows, the vows to obey and to serve, short of a miracle, one that I hoped I could provide, would never be broken.
The guard at the brazier spoke softly to Diskare. I understood this to mean that the branding iron was now ready.
I had seen this before, of course, but tonight, because of my doubts, my fears of being lost in this hellish world of Klitzman, my guilt about my actions, I pledged, that this kiss of red hot iron to flesh would also seal my vow to do whatever was necessary to bring Klitzman down.
The cameramen went back to their cameras as Diskare motioned to the other two guards to get ready. Marissa was no longer crying or whimpering, but was lying listlessly on the divan, her eyes staring into space. She had been made numb by her sufferings here tonight. But that numbness was about to come to an end. Diskare lingered a moment and took in the girl's reverie. The guards lined up again in a small circle around the girl. The cameras started to role. Diskare spoke to the girl.
"You have learned what it is to obey and now what it means to serve. There is one final lesson for you tonight. One which will burn into your mind the finality of your enslavement, its permanence, its totality."
The girl was startled to hear Diskare's voice again. Each time he had spoken a new and increasingly terrible blow had been struck against her psyche. She began to whimper anew, too afraid to cry out, to beg. Her fear was like a siren ringing throughout the room.
One of the guards unchained her wrists from the end of the divan above her head and unbound her wrists from each other. For a moment she was unfettered. She seemed lost, confused, and then, at the same time as two of the guards grabbed her wrists, turned her to her belly and began to lash them to the le
gs of the divan, she saw it. The third guard was carrying the brazier which held the branding iron over to the divan. One of the cameramen followed his approach while the other got the reaction shot. Her face cringed in anguish; her whole body shuddered as she came to understand the meaning of Diskare's words. What was to be burned into her mind was first to be burned into her flesh.
Ruthlessly, the two guards pulled the girl's arms down to two small rings on the bottom of the legs of the divan. Her arms were thus pulled taut, her chest tight against the divan. Frantically, she pushed her legs against the floor, spread on the two sides of the divan, trying to push herself off to win, even momentarily, her freedom.
“Please don’t burn me, please!” the girl shouted, her voice carrying the tones of her hysteria. “I’ll do anything! Please! I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you say! Please! Please!”
Her supplications were ignored. And her efforts to avoid her fate were futile as the two guards who had held her arms quickly grabbed her ankles and bound them to the other two legs of the divan. From under the divan they drew out several straps which they used tie her torso flat onto it. In a moment the girl called Marissa would exist only in a memory, a memory which would divide the time before from her life to come by this moment, this instant.
Diskare moved to the front of the divan and grabbed the girl's face, straightening it, forcing her to look into his own, masked visage. He spoke. "By this mark you will be known for what you are."
At the same instant, the third guard lowered the iron, red hot on its ends, onto the space just below her right hip, about two inches down and a little over. The girl's flesh hissed as the heat of the iron burned out its moisture. A small cloud of smoke rose up as her body jolted. A piercing scream, haunting, reaching out from the depths of this girl's soul, a throaty scream, tailing off at the end, flooded the room. Mercifully, the girl fainted.
One of the cameramen had been able to shoot her face and the kiss of the iron at the same time due to the slight upwards incline of the divan at its head. He waited a moment, allowing the camera to take in the contrast of her now peaceful, sleeping face, to the screaming, anguished face which had preceded it. The other cameraman had taken in the whole of the meeting of the iron with her flesh, and when the iron was removed after the recommended three seconds, took in the vicious, angry scar it left behind. The cursive k, leaving no doubt whose act this was.
