by M. J. Aleese
Boss man gave a countdown, “We need to finish with this bitch. Ten more minutes, if you kill her, you'll have to pay for her. And the fuck’n cunt is spent. She’s not worth a dime." His demeaning words made her swollen aching pussy spasm. “Alright, put the bitch back. It’s time to go.”
Diana hadn’t even considered the possibility of going back in that box. When one of the men led her in that direction and reality hit, she panicked. It took two of them, plus multiple strikes, to calm her enough to place her in the crate.
Panic wouldn’t allow her to concentrate; she screamed and cried. They gave her two water bottles. Her hands were secured, in front of her body. She could lift a bottle. Before giving her the water, skinny guy drank some of each one and jacked off to refill each bottle. Shaking the contents, mixing the water with cum, he threw the bottles into her crate. “Remember me, cunt."
They didn’t make her wear the gag. Just before they refastened the lid Diana asked, “Please, Master, how long will I be in here?”
Boss man shrugged. “If I were you, I’d go slow on that water. It may need to last you a few days. I ain’t never seen them make a bitch wait longer than a week." With that the world went dark.
She couldn’t sit or lay out straight. If she did sit, her head had to be between her knees. There was no place for her to urinate of defecate. They left her crate in the abandoned warehouse/garage. After her hysteria calmed, she noticed the drop in temperature. Well, it is February in Chicago. The resounding silence of the garage ate away at her nerves. After what seemed like a day or two, she noticed that she was constantly wet. With her hands in front of her, she could masturbate but her cum felt different, sticky. Of course, she’d gone too long without her pills. She was having a period.
Troy sipped the last of his Grey Goose. The flight attendant smiled as she offered him another drink. He shook his head and closed his eyes. In two hours he’d be back in Chicago. Where the hell is Diana? He thought about her apartment.
On Saturday after spending the afternoon with Nicole, he found himself banging on Diana’s door. She didn’t answer. Having a key, he entered. Things looked normal, except for the note on the kitchen table. It was from her.
Troy, if you found this, you have come looking for me. I am sorry, but when you wouldn’t answer my texts, I figured you knew everything. I didn’t mean to cheat on you, it just kept happening. I’m a slut and don’t deserve you. Please don’t try to contact me. I’m leaving town for a while. I am really sorry. Love forever, Diana
So many things about that note bothered Troy. The most obvious was her confession. Unbelievably, that wasn’t what ate at him. It was her signature. Long ago, very early in their courtship, he’d signed his notes “T” and she “D”. Of course, that wasn’t officially grounds for a police search but Troy believed it should be. Moreover, the cheating, if she had, they could work through it. Hell, he fantasized about Nicole almost as much as Diana. That didn’t warrant ending their relationship.
Enjoying the comfortable first class seat, sipping the eighty-proof vodka, and listening to the hum of the engines, he contemplated his fiancée. Something wasn’t right. He needed to speak to her. However, every call went to voice mail. Every text went unanswered. His meetings in New York were supposed to last until Friday, but the call from Diana’s office propelled him back to Chicago. Her supervisor wondered when she would return. Diana rarely missed work. She loved her career as a financial analyst, and it kept her hustling. Her blowing off her work didn’t make sense.
Troy’s new client in New York understood his personal issues. He agreed wedding planning can be stressful. Moreover, Troy needed to work things out. Then he would be able to concentrate on the client’s work.
Damn, Troy knew he should call Liam. The guy had left multiple texts and voice mails. They hadn’t spoken since Troy left him with Nicole. Now, with his knowledge of what Liam had done to her…
Yes, they’ve been friends for fifteen years. Yes, they’d been on the same football team and supported each other through high school and college dramas. But, since Liam’s real father, Carmichael, came into the picture Liam acted different. Troy had to wonder, could he possibly know anything about Diana?
Chapter Six
Diana’s mind registered the opening of the crate. She heard the voices and even felt the gloved hands pull her foul body from the wooden box. However, she’d been enclosed for too long. Her consciousness couldn’t understand, and her legs couldn’t support her weight. As the gloved hands released her arms, she fell to the floor in a heap.
Someone poured water down her throat, causing her to cough and choke. That with the air of the warehouse, devoid of the stench within the crate, helped to return her mind to present. Finally, Diana became aware of the voices talking above her. She looked up to see the expression of disgust on multiple faces. Recognizing Liam’s voice she lowered her head to the shiny shoes before her.
“Clean her, prepare her, and bring her to my office,” he said, as he pulled his shoe away from her lips. “Not yet, Sweetheart, I don’t want you to get my loafers dirty.”
Diana saw the repulsion in his eyes. The overwhelming indignity of her condition filled her chest with shame. Yet, her expression revealed the reverence reserved for the man who undoubtedly assured her release.
A woman fastened a leash to the leather collar, around Diana’s neck, and instructed Diana to come with her. Disgraced beyond anything she’d ever imagined, Diana didn’t attempt to stand. Her rank odor and filthy skin signified her status. She was not equal to this woman, or even deserved to stand in Liam’s presence. Struggling to her knees she crawled like a dog beside the woman. Diana’s muscles were slow to react after so much inactivity. The woman showed no patience for her sluggish pace. Using a riding crop, she propelled Diana at the appropriate speed.
The woman, Mistress Debbie, didn’t seem concerned about Diana’s filth as she required Diana to lick her black heeled shoes. “Lick them nice and clean. You are now an Inferno Slut. My job is to help train the club’s sluts. You will obey everything I say, or this five inch heel will be shoved up your ass. Do you understand?”
Between licks, Diana managed, “Yes, Mistress Debbie.”
Their walk took them through various rooms and halls. On multiple occasions Debbie required Diana to assume the position for different people. Men and women commented on her stench, each statement lowered Diana’s self-esteem and increased her arousal.
Finally, they reached a large tiled room with multiple shower heads. The cold tile soothed Diana’s raw knees, until she noticed the large hose in Debbie hands. Without warning, copious amounts of ice cold water assaulted Diana’s body. The force knocked her to the floor. She attempted to shield her eyes, leaving her mouth and nose vulnerable to the flushing invasion. Though coughing and spitting, she obeyed the mistress’s orders and spread her legs. More water struck her tender flesh.
When Mistress Debbie revealed a hose similar to one seen in millions of backyards, Diana began to weep. First, Mistress Debbie required Diana to insert the tip into her vagina and with the water off, masturbate. Soaking wet and shivering, Diana performed.
“You’d better do better than that if you plan to make it here. Just imagine doing that on stage, showing off your rancid pussy to fifty men, ten of whom will have their cocks inside of you in the next hour." Debbie laughed as Diana’s body began to gyrate.
The idea of public exhibition made Diana cream, the hose moved in and out with ease. She wished it were thicker. Diana’s empty stomach twisted; her hunger made concentration difficult. “Please Mistress Debbie, I am so hungry.”
The dominatrix didn’t respond. Instead her tall black shoes echoed on the tile as she walked toward a dry wall and removed her small skirt. Placing her palms against the cool tile and exposing her ass and glistening cunt, she offered Diana a meal. “Eat me slut, and make me come.”
“I… I’ve never. I’m not a lesbian,” Diana stammered.
Abruptl
y Debbie turned and slapped Diana’s face. The drenched female crumbled again to the tile. “I don’t give a shit what you like and don’t like." Pushing Diana’s body back to the wet floor, Debbie secured Diana’s hands above her head and straddled her face.
Surprisingly, Diana found the wet aroused pussy of her mistress sweetly aromatic. It was unlike the musky scent of a man. Without further instruction, she began to lap at the swollen lips. The thick honey taste ignited unfamiliar desires. Diana could feel her own pussy spasm against the long green tube that remained within her. She understood female anatomy and began to tongue Debbie’s clitoris. It didn’t take long before her mistress was convulsing with her cum coating Diana’s nose and chin.
Standing, Debbie cruelly added, “Look at my juice all over your face, you just can’t stay clean, can you, slut?”
“No, Mistress Debbie.”
“You will now be punished for arguing with me.”
Diana didn’t question Debbie’s verdict. She instinctively knew it would only worsen her punishment. “Push the hose up your ass.”
Diana shuddered as she pulled the hose from her clenched pussy. Lifting her ass with her knees spread wide she tried to obey. However, her anus tightened, making the insertion difficult. “Please don’t turn on the water." Diana begged as she loosened the hole with one hand and pushed the hose with the other.
“Hold it there. If it comes out before I say, you are back in the box." Debbie’s grin increased Diana’s quaking. The cold water cleansed her ass, bloating her cavity and creating intense discomfort.
Next, Diana squatted over a drain. Mistress Debbie forced Diana to eliminate the fluid from her anus and bladder. More women entered the shower. The increased audience and associated noises added to her degradation and humiliation. If she weren’t so dehydrated, there would have been more tears.
Once Debbie was satisfied that Diana completely eliminated the fluid and wouldn’t shit all over herself, she hosed Diana down again. Next, two club sluts helped Diana stand and led her, on weak legs, to the next room.
Diana’s eyes adjusted to the florescent lighting, viewing the concrete floor and cinder blocked walls. A trail of wet foot prints revealed her path, as she stepped into the industrial room and inhaled the strong odor of disinfectant. Memories of her high school locker room flooded her thoughts. Back then, she was a vibrant cheerleader. The mirror confirmed the demise of that girl. Staring back through vacant blue eyes, Diana recognized that today, she is a weakened, abused club slut. The total loss of self, created a deep emotional void. Yet, the total loss of control was strangely erotic and rousing.
“Make her look the part. No food, Master Liam wants her in his office when you are done." With those orders, their mistress left the three sluts alone. The tension in the room dissipated with her departure.
A cool metal shelf hung under a large mirror. It held hundreds of partially used cosmetics lying in disarray. Diana peered into the mirror seeing three strangers. On her left she saw a redhead with very large breasts and a disproportionately small waist. This slut stood at least six inches taller than Diana. The blonde on her right was also tall and appeared young with shining brown eyes. They both wore small transparent white t-shirts, monogrammed with CI in red letters. Earlier Diana noticed their short black skirts, high-heeled shoes, and padlocked collars.
It was the person in the middle that alarmed Diana. She hoped it was the lighting that caused her coloring to be somewhere between ash and gray. However, if lighting were the cause, wouldn’t the others have similar pallor? Viewing her battered naked body, she trembled. Her cold wet form was the most obvious cause of her shaking; yet it was the fear from memories and the unknown which increased the intensity. The reflection displayed evidence of prior abuse: purple and green markings. It created the canvas for Mistress Debbie’s newly inflicted red welts. Her long, wet, blonde hair hung in tangled knots and dripped droplets of icy water down her back.
The tall redhead spoke, as her gaze locked with Diana’s in the mirror. “Welcome to the Inferno." Without warning her fingers plunged into Diana’s cunt, teasing her swollen lips, and pulled out. “Candy, check this out, she’s dripping."
Diana reached to the shelf for support, as the shock induced tears.
The brown-eyed blonde, grabbed the redhead’s hand and sucked her fingers. “She is as sweet as syrup." Both women laughed. Candy offered advice, “We’re supposed to get you ready for Master Liam. You’d better keep pumping that cream, because he’ll work you over real good if you don’t respond exactly how he likes." The women giggled and nodded their heads in unison.
Diana’s knees wobbled as she fought to remain upright. “I think there’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”
They grinned in response. Desiree, the redhead, said, “Ya, Bitch, every one of us said the same thing. But it ain’t no mistake." Fingering the small padlock on Diana’s collar, she continued, “Your wet pussy confirms it. You’re here, because just like us, you’re a pain slut. It turns you on. In addition, bitch, you are here. Enjoy it, because this is as good as it gets.”
“True that, sister." Candy leaned close, like she was telling Diana a secret, “It can get a lot worse.”
Next the redhead handed Diana scissors. “Now cut it off.”
Diana stared at the scissors with a complete lack of comprehension. “Cut what off?”
“Your hair.”
Desiree’s words brought sobs from Diana’s chest. Her shoulders shook as she closed her eyes. “Please, no.”
“We are just following orders. You learn real quick around here, to do that. Mistress Debbie said it needs to be short and red.”
Grasping at straws, Diana knelt to Desiree’s feet. “Please, please don’t make me cut my hair. If I can just talk to Liam, I can get this all straightened out.”
“Candy, did you hear that?”
“I sure did, Liam!" Laughing Candy pulled Diana up by her, about to be cut, hair. “We like you – so listen nice and close, his name is Master Liam. Every cock-carrying bastard is now your master. Failure to acknowledge even the garbage man by that title will result in punishment like you have never imagined." Putting the scissors in Diana’s hands, Candy continued, “And don’t be kneeling at another slut’s feet or they will eat you up and spit you out. Save that reverence for people that own you." She looked at the scissors in Diana’s hands, “Now get busy, we’ve got work to do. We’re not getting our asses whipped because you have some misconception that Liam will save yours.”
Each section or club, within the Inferno, contains different music, different décor, different themes and the same obvious commodity. The one where he settled fit Troy’s current state. The white walls and ceiling provided the perfect canvas for the display of lights. Today they were blue, shining up the walls, through gauzy curtains that created private spaces, and highlighting the stage and bar. Women moved on stage to the sound of jazz, their gyrations soulful and seductive. Their costumes weren’t the waitress’ attire of short black skirts, high heels, and tight white t-shirts. The dancers’ outfits sparkled in the stage lights, as the dancers slowly revealed additional flesh and less shimmer.
Troy wasn’t sure what kept bringing him back to this BDSM Club. He guessed it was the girl that continued to infiltrate his thoughts. Besides, he was at a total loss when it came to his fiancée. Troy wondered if he could even call Diana that anymore. It had been four days since he’d stormed out of her apartment. He hadn’t talked to her since. So, as he watched the blonde on stage spread her legs and masturbate in rhythm to the sound of saxophones, he justified his impending behavior. Diana’s note said she cheated. If she left him, was this really cheating? His twitching cock didn’t need more permission.
Upon arrival, he asked for Clinton. Another large tip and Clinton promised to have Troy’s requests quickly fulfilled. For now, Troy sat, ate, watched, and contemplated. Truthfully, he wasn’t hungry. Nevertheless, he assumed his leftovers could provide some club slut wi
th her daily nutrients. It was his goodwill gesture for the day, besides the salty fries mixed well with the cold beer.
Directly after his flight, Troy went to Diana’s apartment. It hadn’t changed since Saturday night. He wondered if the police should become involved. But, then he questioned the case and clues. Was there really evidence suggesting foul play? Or would the CPD confirm Troy’s fears: she left him willingly. Did he want to know?
At least, he’d contacted Liam. He didn’t ask him about Diana, but did tell him he wanted to talk to him in person. They were supposed to meet later tonight at the sports bar, the one where Cindy works. Liam said he had some work, but hoped he could be there by ten. With multiple hours to spare, Troy decided he needed some diversion. Nicole fit the bill well.
The pretty waitress kneeling before him brought Troy out of his inner trance. “Master Troy, Master Clinton sent me to you." Her body bowed as her lips touched his shiny leather loafers.
“Rise and tell me your message." It wasn’t taking Troy long to figure out this master/slave stuff. Each interaction strengthened his affection for the new role. How could any man not get off with females submitting to his every whim?
Lifting her head, she assumed the position he’d witnessed many times. Sitting on her bent legs, knees spread, chest out, and hands behind her back. The short skirt allowed full view of her glistening pussy. That was part of the rush. Troy marveled at the pleasure these females obtained from their role.
“Master Clinton said that I am to take you to room fifteen. It is ready. But, first Master, I am to offer myself. You may use me as you like.”
“Thank you, what is your name?”
“Savannah.”
“Thank you, Savannah, I may take that offer another time. Currently I am ready to go to room fifteen.”
“Yes, Master." With that, she stood and waited for Troy to gather his jacket, take another sip of his beer, and follow her.
Did she look disappointed? Troy reasoned that the night was young and the rooms were filling. Savannah would have many willing cocks to serve before she retired for the night, if she retired for the night. Didn’t Clinton say that was a possibility?
