Trained to Obey 2

by Bruce McLachlan

  He arose suddenly, his scowling face twisted by anger as his lips drooled crimson lines. As remnants of the shelves tumbled from him they revealed an automatic pistol in his hands.

  Kirsten should have guessed that he would be armed. When the KGP were first forming they freely offered weapons to their recruits to protect them from the mutant scourge. The anti-mutant furor of that time and the offer of firearms increased their enlistment rate exponentially. A by-product of this tactic was of course that when the incensed country began to calm down after the mutant population were purged and many KGP returned to their normal lives, they did so with commandeered arms from their days of fighting.

  The weapon leveled at Kirsten and vent a series of explosive bellows, spent cartridges flicking from the firearm as the man blasted wildly at the intruder.

  With an instinctive jerk Kirsten wove aside and felt the burning slash of a bullet as it grazed her arm. The reservoir of pain from the wound rolled out through the punished tissues, spreading up her arm and stripping all feeling from the limb in a single heartbeat.

  * * * *

  Maria listened to the gunshots with abject mortal jeopardy ruling her mind. Time stood still as she watched neat holes being slammed into the wall before her. A bullet skirled loudly against the spreader bar, etching a ragged groove amidst a scintillating cough before ricocheting into the wall. Maria’s eyes bulged at the vision, the proximity of the near miss making her freeze and go numb with dread as she prayed that the man be disarmed before he accidentally slew her.

  * * * *

  In repayment for the trauma Kirsten’s clawed extremity clapped to his gun hand and twisted with a brutal wrench. The wrist released a flesh muffled crunch as ligaments parted and the joints separated. With a wail he hauled back, trying to escape her hold as his limb bucked with the sudden wash of agony. Drawing her head back like a coiled spring she dove forward, connecting with his brow as she let him go.

  The brittle snap of breaking bone plates rent the air and he slammed back against the wall, twitching, the bridge of his nose darkening visibly as a copious flow of blood fell from the nostrils.

  Without remorse or care she threw a light flick across his neck, opening the skin and exposing the arteries. A sudden deluge flew free as a violent convulsion coursed through his frame, making him whirl and paw at the mortal wound, his life pumping through his fingers as Kirsten watched him with disdain. He was a kidnapper, a torturer, a mundane, a man, and ex-KGP from the days of greatest mutant oppression, she had little cause to feel anything for him other than contempt.

  His movements gradually became weaker, his eyes glazing as the last of the flow slowed to a stolid dribble and all animation and strength dribbled out with the last of his blood.

  The sound of bare feet running to the door alerted her prematurely, convincing Kirsten to stir her skin back into activity as the portal flew open to expose a burly man in a towel, his body dripping with water, his short cropped hair slick against his head.

  “What the fuck was that?” He yelled, and then froze in shock upon seeing the carnage before him. He looked to the captive with venom, thinking her responsible but she was still secure.

  Razor-edged talons locked about his neck and swung aside, tearing him into the air with terrifying ease and casting him headfirst into a chest of drawers. The splintering of timbers silenced his yell, his face bursting through the wood as the cabinet seemed to erupt outward in all directions. The naked form dropped heavily and writhed with weak and futile motions.

  Upon a soft leisurely tread Kirsten moved in on him, reaching his position as he lifted his torn and bleeding head from the wreckage and looked over his shoulder to try and see what was attacking him.

  There was a subtle wrinkle on his sight and an unseen palm clapped to his chin before hauling backwards with brutal venom, spinning his skull around and snapping his neck.

  Rising up, Kirsten maintained her cloak of invisibility and ran through the rest of the abode, ripping doors from hinges and shattering wardrobes and closets, exposing every place someone might be hiding only to find the place deserted, its two occupants dispatched with consummate ease.

  Returning to the living room she looked upon the trapped girl, her eyes wide with horror in her bondage, terrified of the specter that shuffled off her vision and hid within a rough outline.

  “What is your situation, slave,” came an inquisitive inquiry to her ear.

  “All occupants have been terminated, Mistress,” she grinned, looking to the crimson life dripping from her claws in congealed strands.

  “And the mutant?”

  Kirsten did not reply. It would be so easy to reach out and unzip the soft flesh of the girl, to slay this creature and prevent her capture. Did she want to end this girl’s ordeal to spare her the nightmare she herself had undergone? The ability to cloak her aura from the sensors would make her an invaluable Hound for assassination and perhaps this was the reason the Mistress had so explicitly required her alive and those who knew of her dead. The chance to prevent another mutant being broken seemed to be a just cause, but it was not her true one. The stark and glaring truth was that Kirsten did not want to lose her owner’s singular attention. To have a rival for her ministrations, to be set aside while another occupied her tyrant’s time, this was something she could not tolerate. Kirsten was a jealous lover, spurned to homicide to ensure no rival ever dared to threaten her relationship with her absolute ruler.

  “Is the mutant alive? Answer me, slave!” growled the Mistress, suspicion strong in her voice.

  “She…she…” Kirsten began, rapidly running through the consequences of her actions, trying to decide in the few moments fate had allotted to her.

  The girl gurgled and wailed as Kirsten’s dilemma diverted her attention and made the cloak fall away, revealing a black skinned form standing before her, a clawed hand raised in preparation to eviscerate her. The distraught cries reached through the radio to tell her Mistress that she was alive, causing the officer to act in salvation of the mission objective.

  Electrical hatred flowed through Kirsten’s body, casting her onto tiptoe as her body tensed and shuddered, the voltage ripping through her nerves and searing her mind. Shrieking, she dropped onto her back, bouncing upon the carpet as she was pitilessly disciplined for her perfidy.

  The shock continued without relent, making her roll and try to find cover from the enemy that was already within her. The carpet and couch opened under the slash of her talons, her flailing limbs gouging and flying wildly. The abuse was too much, her Mistress was intending to kill her for her treachery. Filled with woe and anguish she sought to beg for forgiveness, only to have any attempt at speech reduced to mere fluctuating gurgles in the maelstrom of her chastising shock.

  Darkness gathered across her sight, sealing her within a midnight shroud as her scrambled thoughts disintegrated and fell away into a dreamless sea of oblivion.

  Chapter Eight

  The first of Kirsten’s senses to return was feeling, her body announcing that it was upside down and splayed apart on a cross of metal.

  The poles held Kirsten’s limbs out and contained the joints with metal restraints at wrist and ankle while leather restraints were placed across the rest of her. The thick shackles were more than able to accept the burden of her mutant strength, which was still at full potency.

  Her feet were elevated, the frame holding her head a meter from the ground and her ankles almost three. A padded scaffold encased her skull, holding her head within a merciless snare where she could not even twitch or open her jaws. Wheezing through her nostrils she opened her heavy eyelids and surveyed a canvas of white shades and flickering spots, a product of her faint and the rigors of her punishment. Gradually these flowing patterns darkened and settled, forming into the dark walls and ceiling of the subterranean warren.

  Looking down across her body as best she could, she saw that her armor was gone and only the contour-hugging fresh skin coated her. The cuts it had
sustained had vanished, the living shell sealing over the abrasions and trauma and no doubt sending tendrils into the wounds to further deny her hope of being released from it, the internal talons penetrating her body to make this shell an eternal companion.

  Flitting her gaze into her periphery vision upon hearing a gurgling cry, she could see the recently captured mutant being winched into the air by her wrists. The joints were held wide by a pole, the center of which held the chain responsible for her transport from the ground. Her legs were held wide and kept in the demeaning pose by a leg spreader. The middle of this bar was attached to the floor by a short chain, stretching the hapless mutant between the two lengthy rods and leaving her totally vulnerable as the Mistress stepped up and regarded her new acquisition.

  The Mistress had declined to present herself in uniform for the new girl’s initiation and wore patent thigh boots that gave way to stockings, the hose snagged by suspenders which rose up to a vanish beneath the high cut thighs of a vinyl leotard. Gauntlet gloves were laced up her arms and in her hands she clasped a long and slender cane.

  The slave had been sternly gagged to stifle her cries, just as Kirsten had been at the start of her term here.

  When the new captive saw the weapon she gurgled and wept, the sound almost inhuman as the officer lifted the cane and began to slash into the dangling form, applying the scourge to every portion of the naked target. The process of breaking the mutant was being started with the usual lack of compassion or reserve.

  A gnawing envy curled in Kirsten’s soul at the sight of the officer adoring the trapped form with harsh kisses, her magnificent body rippling beneath her gleaming shell of tight plastic skin, the weapon sending undulating waves across the flesh it chose to strike.

  The girl was swiftly exhausted by her trial, her sweat-slickened body hanging loosely upon its bonds as the lambasting ended after dozens of raised streaks had been set upon her body, the flushed lines criss-crossing her shivering and enfeebled form.

  Turning her attention back to Kirsten, the Mistress strolled to face the inverted features of her slave, her hands on her hips as she glared down into Kirsten’s wide eyes. The glittering material of her owner’s attire was stretched tightly across her body to vaguely reflect Kirsten’s own bound image, the black skin making Kirsten wilt with submissive adoration.

  Watching intently, Kirsten saw the officer’s hand slowly slinking towards the implant control, the remembrance of just how excruciating the sting of her electrode enemies could be bringing her to the verge of begging. Only the knowledge that she would increase her woe for daring to speak without permission dissuaded her.

  A slender finger caressed the circle and gently started to press down. A terrified sweat glittered upon Kirsten’s brow at the prospect of the discharge, her eyes locked to the button that would initiate the chastisement.

  There was a hollow snick and a barely discernible quiver ran through her frame, the studs casting ripples through their vicinity as they built their power in a fragment of a second.

  Blasting waves of effulgent havoc trundled through her nerves, raging upon the systems and filling her cells with suffering. Shrieking in abject sorrow and pain she fought her confines, trying to snap the restraints that so efficiently contained her. The metal murmured as it held tight, her mutant strength pushing it to their very limits.

  Wailing, she expelled her breath and once more found herself unable to replenish it, her need to scream denying her, leaving her silent and frozen, her face contorted into a wrinkled distorted mask of utmost harrowing. Kirsten’s muscles were swollen, the veins and tendons of her body pronounced and distinct across her flesh, even through the organic living rubber catsuit.

  The shock cut off and she fell lax, slowly drawing in a breath. The reversed wheeze ended with a shudder and she continued to respire in this crippled fashion, the functions of her body retarded by the abuse.

  The Mistress lowered into a crouch beside Kirsten’s head and stroked her brow. Kirsten started to weep, sobbing in apology, overwhelmed by the fact that she had disappointed her owner. She could not speak, so she looked to the Mistress, her anguish-saturated stare conveying her regret in full.

  “There there my sweet little pet. You did well until the end, but you still disobeyed me and you still have to be punished so that in future you won’t do such things again, understand?” she said softly, almost with affection.

  Kirsten gave the slightest shimmy of a nod, the frame stopping any more significant motion.

  “Good slave,” answered the Mistress, and stepping astride Kirsten’s torso the regal woman sat herself upon Kirsten’s chest, crushing her breasts with her PVC-sheathed seat. The fabric was stretched across the cleft of her buttocks and stuck to Kirsten’s dark skinned cleavage as she used the soft and tender cushions to provide her with comfort at her slave’s expense.

  Kirsten’s stare was entranced with the view of the woman straddling her body, making each breath a hardship to acquire, but the fetishistic craving that burned in her soul found such a sight a great reward.

  Applying a fixed stare to her captive she wriggled into a more reclined pose, and started to touch the control.

  “Are you ready, slave? You have to be taught to obey instantly and without question. I can’t have my property thinking for itself rather than doing as I command. You have to know that I am in complete control. What I say and what I want is the focus of your existence, slave,” she stated firmly, and when Kirsten nodded once more in agreement she pressed the button.

  * * * *

  Jessica squirmed upon her slave, the gloss material of her clothing clinging to the cultivated hide of her Hound. The feel of Kirsten bucking beneath her and submerged in a sea of travail increased her algolagnic pleasure in these actions, taking her to a glorious pinnacle of indulged depravity.

  Sucking free her dark relish in making Kirsten suffer horrendously, her delight was earned in seeing the mutant beneath her lost in a tempest that she alone was regulating.

  Ending the session, she stepped free of the Hound’s chest, leaving her a panting, shattered husk, her flesh still vibrating under the aftermath of the shock, the dull shudders riding down her limbs and twisting her hands into rendered claws. Her eyes flitted wildly and her teeth chattered a brittle melody even against the imposition of the frame.

  Having finished the initial stages of this correction for the Hound’s delay in performing her task, Jessica began to unfasten the mutant’s limbs, drawing her from her raised bed and letting her drop to the floor in a loose mess, unable to find motion on her own.

  “Don’t think you can rest yet, slave. I have not finished teaching you the folly of disobedience,” she warned, spreading her glower across the dark form cowering at her feet.

  Kirsten was such a delight to torment. The clear appreciation she showed for being trained made Jessica’s heart swell with joy.

  The temptation to disobey during the mission was obvious and at least partially to be expected, but she had not anticipated it arriving from such a source. Kirsten had been poised to kill the girl out of jealousy and this fact alone proved just how far she had come.

  Kirsten was the greatest Hound she had ever trained and it explained now why her feelings towards her pet were so strong and abiding.

  A disdainful prod of her pointed boot nudged Kirsten’s side.

  “Get up onto all fours and follow me,” she demanded, digging the toe in deeper to make the supine mutant wince.

  With a maximum effort, Kirsten’s enfeebled muscles tightened and hefted her torso up onto unsteady supports. Jessica suppressed a libidinous sigh as she observed the tight salacious form of her pet move, her sculpted beauty even more luscious in its skintight cell of captivity. She wanted to punish her more, to ensure her obedience, and then she’d have to indulge herself with Kirsten, reward her a little, reinforce her indoctrination with the affections she had kept suppressed for so long.

  * * * *

  With a slow shuffle
Kirsten took up pursuit, humbly following as the Mistress strode from the chamber.

  The door sealed behind them and Kirsten heard the muffled blare of the indoctrination program rising in volume to attack the girl as she herself was led into another room, the door gliding silently aside as the interior lit up with a dull glow.

  Kirsten’s eyes could only stay on the Mistress, indulging with the endless appraisal of her beauty. She was fixated on the long stems of her legs encased in patent leather, the sheer stockings that shimmered upon her thighs, the view of her curves as they rode against the vinyl.

  She was drawn to the wall and a touch to the opaque metal caused two panels to slide aside and reveal a tall alcove. The base of it was comprised of a metal grille while the high ceiling issued a chain with a stout collar already attached.

  Hauled to her feet by the Mistress, the thick leather loop was then buckled into place, lifting her onto tiptoe and making the stern walls about her throat keep her head to rigid attention.

  Kirsten’s vainly flailing arms were snagged and brought before her into a triangular sleeve of dense rubber. A cross formation of straps at the top was used to encircle her upper chest and prevent her shedding it. The single sheath was tightened with laces down the front, hauling her limbs together and keeping her hands trapped in the tight culmination of the garment.

  Her fingers strained against the glove, unable to escape it as a strap was fastened to this peak and drawn between her legs and up to the back of her collar. With a stern haul the Mistress removed all slack, pressing her arms down her front and keeping them in immobile when the strap was clipped into place.

  Fetters were buckled to her ankles and Kirsten groaned and panted in dismay as the Mistress grabbed her feet and began to lift them, carrying them up to the back of her neck and arching her front against the sleeve. The collar ate at the corners of her jawline as she dangled by the thick posture enforcing restraint, her physique hanging in the air, her legs bowed back, her feet brushing the back of her head.