by Declan Brand
“Now,” the master squatted down beside her and unclipped her chain, pulling some more slack out to allow her to kneel. When she was in the position he wanted, he fixed his eyes on her face. “What will be your first punishment today?” He ran his hand over her chin, wiping away the string of drool that was hanging from her forced-open mouth. “I can’t decide on what I want to do!” He smiled at her. “How about I let you pick your own poison—would you like that?”
Kelly’s mind reeled at the thought of being forced to decide just how this man would torture her. How can I do that? How could anyone do that? She looked at the unsmiling eyes of her master. But if I don’t choose, he’ll choose for me—and what will happen to me then?
“This is what I’m going to do, slave.” He ran his hand over her cheek, rubbing the spittle from her chin off against her skin. “I’ll let you think about it while I shower and have my breakfast.” He stood and moved toward the little bathroom on the side of the room. “And I’ll limit your choice to any punishment you saw in the movie that got you into this mess. Anything that happened to those bitches can happen to you.” He smiled and stepped into the bathroom. “You can think about it until I get back from breakfast.” His face turned hard. “But I want an answer then-- don’t even think about stalling in hopes that I’ll have less time to hurt you.” He cocked his head. “Is that clear?”
Kelly quickly nodded her head. It’s clear, it’s very clear! She watched the bathroom door close behind him. You’re going to torture me—and I have to tell you how to do it. The film began to run through her mind’s eye—every lash, every indignity.
God help me!
She swallowed hard--and forced herself to think about the decision that had to be made.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“So,” Andy strode into the tiny control room, sitting down alongside Mike who was just finishing his cup of coffee. “Did you get the info we need?”
“Yeah,” Mike nodded as he put his cup down. “She gave it up real easy—I told you she was a creampuff.”
“So who leaked the film?”
Mike leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head. “If she’s telling the truth—I don’t think anyone did.” He smiled at the look on Andy’s face. “No—really—the girl says that she got the film from a guy named Michael Ballard—he was her gymnastics coach once upon a time.” His smile widened. “Maybe he still thinks he can get a piece if he makes nice.
“Anyway, Kelly says this Ballard guy is a computer whiz—grabs his films and TV shows through the Internet—hacks into secure feeds—that kind of thing.”
“And he found our film by accident?”
“That’s what she said. Ballard hacked into a feed and copied the film. When he saw what he had, he called her right away—he knew she was FBI.”
“Interesting.” Andy stroked his chin for a moment, running over possibilities. “And you’re sure she was telling the truth.”
Mike thought about the slave’s tears—and the real fear that was written over her entire body. “She was tellin’ the truth—she was way too scared to lie to me.”
“Okay,” Andy sighed. “I’ll get someone to check this guy out—and talk to Winston and Malcolm about this feed thing—the film was never supposed to hit the Internet—far too insecure for what we do.”
“I’m with you, man.” Mike finished his cup of coffee. “What do you want to do with little Ms. Fed? She’s pretty much broken now—it’d be easy to train her.”
“We’re not gonna do that ourselves.” Andy leaned forward. “Our principal on this wants to be the primary trainer—you’re just supposed to break her and get her used to the idea of sex slavery.”
“I did a bit of that last night.” Mike grinned at the memory. “She turned out to be a decent fuck—I guess it was that gymnastics training.”
“What are you planning for today?”
“I gave her a problem to solve.” Mike’s grin widened. “She’s due a couple of punishments—and I told her she could choose her own poison—anything she saw you guys do in that film, I’ll do to her—all she has to do is tell me which one she wants.”
“You think she’s gonna do that?”
Mike thought a moment, remembered the face of the slave at the foot of his bed—nodded slowly. “She’ll do it.” He held Andy’s eyes with his own. “She’s too scared to do anything else.”
“Right.” Andy stood up, headed for his own office. “I’ll get the check on this Ballard guy going—you, apparently, still have some work to do.” He stopped at the door. “When can I tell the principal to expect the package?”
“We still gonna do it the way we discussed?”
Andy nodded. “Yep—that’s what the money wants.”
“Give me another day or so—let’s figure tomorrow evening—just after dark.”
“That should be perfect.” Andy nodded. “I’ll set it up—let you know if there’s any change.”
“Right.” Mike stood up as well. “And I’ll let you know what our new slave picks.”
Andy laughed. “You do that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Kelly was shivering with fear long before the master returned to the room. She had remained on her knees throughout the time he had been gone as she had tried to think of a torture that, somehow, wouldn’t hurt as much as some of the ones she had already endured.
Something in the film finally registered with her—the slavers had told the girls that every new slave had to get a whipping. Kelly had not been whipped—at least, not in the way the girls in the film had been. He did beat me on the stomach, she realized. But I’m not sure if he would consider that a real whipping…
Maybe if I ask him to whip me I can avoid a second punishment—the idea seemed sound—at least in a mind that was already shaken by tortures already endured. If I have to pick something, it might as well be that!
She was as sure of her decision as she would get when the door opened and her master strolled in. “Have you made your decision, slave?”
Kelly quickly shook her head in the affirmative.
“Good.” Mike smiled down at her. “What’s it to be?”
“W…ip ee.” She tried to get the words out as clearly as she could through the ring gag that still held her very dry mouth open.
“I didn’t quite get that—can you repeat it?”
“Wh…ip ee, ..mas-tah.”
“So,” he looked down at her, saw her already trembling in fear of his response. “You want me to whip you?”
She nodded her head.
“Okay,” Mike shrugged. “I don’t see any reason not to do that.” He bent down, unclipped her leash from the bed, then released her from the hogtie she was in. “On your feet, then.”
Kelly struggled upright, biting down on the metal ring as the rush of new circulation spread pain through her legs.
“Hurry up,” Mike tugged at the leash. “We don’t have all day.” He watched as she struggled upright. “You know what to do.” He headed for the door, not looking back, fully expecting her to keep up—one and one-half steps behind him.
And Megan Kelly, once a proud agent of the FBI, hobbled along as fast as she could, doing her best to maintain just that distance from the hand holding her leash.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Mike decided to incorporate Kelly’s suppleness and gymnastics background into her first punishment of the day. When they reached the training room, he stood her under one of the pulleys in the ceiling and, with the help of his assistant, went to work.
First the cuffs were removed and thin cords were used to tie her hands together—still behind her back. The cords were cinched to prevent her from working them free—but Mike knew she wouldn’t have the time or strength to do that.
With her arms bound, they lifted her left leg up and bent it back until it almost touched her bound wrists—the two bindings were then attached to a rope that led to the ceiling pulley—and that rope was pulled taut until Ke
lly was standing on the tip of the toe of her right foot, the rest of her body bent painfully backwards.
“That looks uncomfortable,” Mike noted, walking around her. “Let’s try this.” He pulled her hair into a mass and tied another length of rope around it—then pulled that back and attached it to the ceiling rope. When he was finished pulling everything tight, Kelly’s head and neck were also bowed back, adding to the strain of the position.
“I think that looks much better.” Mike noted, and stepped back to look over the overall effect. “Yeah, I think that will do.”
Megan began to cry. The strain of the position was incredible—her scalp felt as if it was on fire and the rest of her body ached and rippled with the strain. She couldn’t move at all—any movement would cause her to lose her balance, leaving the entire weight of her body suspended from her wrists and hair. Please, she began to beg silently. Please whip me and get this over with!
But Mike was in no hurry to start the whipping—he just waited, watching her struggle with the bondage, letting the unending pain that the ropes brought soften her up for the rest of the punishment.
When she began to moan loudly—and the muscles in her right calf knotted with cramps, he decided it was time.
“All right, slave.” He stepped to her side, stroked her cheek. “Time for your whipping.” He smiled down at her. “Should I make you count—like they did in the movie?”
Kelly couldn’t move her head at all in her current bondage—all she could really see was the angle of the wall and ceiling across from her—even her master was below her line of sight.
“Oh,” Mike smiled. “I almost forgot—you do have permission to answer me.”
Kelly moaned again—and tried to force a word—“N...ooo.” Mike grinned even wider when he heard it. “Are you sure?”
Her moan grew louder—but she managed to say she knew he wanted to hear: “N...oo, M...astah.”
“All right—we’ll let it go just this once.” Mike patted her cheek again—then walked behind her and picked up the whip he had selected for the job.
The pain of the first lash exploded across the stretched nerves of her right thigh. Kelly never thought that human flesh and nerves could produce such incredible agony. She wanted to scream, wanted to beg—but know that it would just bring more pain.
She held herself silent.
The second blow was worse than the first, this one striking her on the ass cheek--the impact knocked the wind out of her—saving her from the need to scream.
Another blow followed—and another. Kelly was on the verge of fainting. She was sure that the back of her leg was laid open—cut to the bone. She began to wonder if she would ever be able to walk again.
Another blow came—this one the worst of all, cutting between the lips of her vagina, striking her in the most sensitive area of them all.
Kelly wanted to throw her head back, wanted to howl to the skies—but she held herself in check, sobbing and moaning—but not screaming—no matter how much she wanted to.
“Very good, slave.” Mike was suddenly in front of her, stroking her sweat-soaked cheek. “You didn’t scream even once.” He nodded to his assistant, who released Kelly’s hair from the ceiling rope. “I’m very proud of you.” Mike put a hand into her dripping hair, turned her so she was facing him directly. “And now you’ve had your first whipping.” He smiled. “Every slave gets one.” He patted her cheek. “But you knew that—they said so in the film, didn’t they?”
He took a step back. “And that’s why you chose a whipping for your punishment, isn’t it?” He stared into her face, waiting.
Kelly nodded slowly, unwilling to lie, afraid of the punishment it would bring.
“Very smart.” Mike nodded. “Very well thought out.” He stroked his chin, ran his eyes over her still-bowed and strained body. “Now it’s my turn, I think.”
He reached back, took a handful of items from his assistant.
“First, I think we’ll let you stretch like this for a little while.” He smiled as a new moan came from her lips. “But we’ll make it a little more interesting.” He stepped toward her, touched her right breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
“This was another of the punishments on the film.” He pulled out a nipple clip, held it over her helplessly erect nipple. “These have a much stronger spring than the ones I used on you last time—I think you’ll notice the difference.” He opened the clip—then let it close with a SNAP on her flesh.
Kelly barely held the scream in. The pain was incredible—far worse than the nipple clips she had endured a day—an eternity before! She never dreamed of a pain worse than that one--—and he wasn’t finished.
“Got to even things off,” a new clip was opened over her right nipple—just below the point that the pin had pierced. “Doesn’t look right otherwise.”
SNAP!
Kelly did throw her head back, whining in pain and frustration—too scared to scream—in too much pain to stay silent.
“Now,” Mike looked at the shining clips. “Alone, these look kinda sad,” he reached into his pocket. “I think we’ll add just a little weight.” He clipped an oblong bit of metal that looked like an oversized fishing weight to her right breast—then repeated the procedure on her left. “There.” He stepped back, watching tears flow from the captive slave’s eyes as her whole body trembled and cramped—the pain doubling and redoubling as she stood on tip toe, unable to move, unable to scream.
But more than able to suffer.
“I’ll give you a little time to enjoy your punishment.” Mike headed for the door. “Then we’ll find something else to do.” He looked back at her. “Something even more painful.”
Kelly moaned again; let her head drop as new agony swept through her body. She could do nothing else.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Mike left slave Megan with her body forced into a bow and hanging from the ceiling for over an hour. He monitored her from the control room, smiling when she tried to let herself hang from her bound wrists—an act which forced a shriek of pain from her when the full weight of her body was taken up by her bowed-back shoulders. It had been almost comical to watch her try to get her foot back underneath her where it could take up some of the weight.
He knew he should punish her for the scream—but as he wasn’t in the room—and as I’m turning her over to her new owner tomorrow—he decided to ignore the transgression.
He was almost ready to let her down when Andy stopped in. “Did she choose a punishment?”
Mike nodded toward the monitor where her straining body was still visible. “She decided to take the whipping—clever, actually, as I would have whipped her in any case—but she knew that from watching the film.”
Andy nodded. “Good to know that she’s smart enough to work that out—her new principal will like that.” He turned one of the chairs around, dropped into it. “We checked out her contact—that Ballard guy.” He raised a hand. “He’s clean—just what she said he was—an ex-teacher who seems to spend most of his time pirating films from the Internet.” Andy smiled. “One of our people will have a word with him about that—and I already have one of Winston’s people working out how the film got on the web in the first place.”
“Are we still going ahead with the plan to deliver her to the principal?”
“Tomorrow evening—like you said.”
“Okay,” Mike smiled. “Just make sure someone is covering me—she is a trained FBI agent, after all—she might have a trick or two I haven’t seen.”
“I’ll cover you myself—you have my word.”
“Good enough.” Mike glanced at the monitor screen; saw the strain on the face of his new slave. “Time to let her down—then I have a couple of other things in mind for the rest of the day.”
“Have fun,” Andy smiled as Mike headed for the door.
“Oh, I will.” He shook his head in amusement. “You know I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Megan Kelly, slave, was on the verge of losing consciousness when her master re-entered the room. She struggled for breath as he and his assistant lowered her from her bowed position—and allowed her left foot to fully touch the ground.
She would have crumpled into a heap immediately--but a glance at her master told her she had better find a way to remain erect. She grimaced as the pain of cramped muscles and blocked circulation ran through her leg—but she managed to stay upright as her hands were untied—and quickly cuffed behind her. Seconds later, a new chain was in place and her feet were re-hobbled. The clips and weights were left on her breasts, and she knew that they would bring more pain when they bounced as she was forced to walk.
There was nothing she could do about that.
Finally, the leash was clipped to her collar and she was ordered to heel the master as he headed out the door. Like a good slave, she did exactly what she was told.
This time, when she was taken into the bathing room, she was not spread eagled—instead, the cuffs on her wrists were clipped to a chain that hung down from the ceiling. The chain was winched upward until she was bent all the way forward, her muscles shaking with the agony of renewed strain and her breasts screaming at the new agony of weights suddenly allowed to swing freely under her.
Her master stopped the winch while her feet were still on the floor, then washed her with cold water at a pressure that almost blew her off her feet. He ran the water around and over her body until the sweat and blood and drool was washed off. Warm air from ceiling vents dried her off, and for the first time in more than a day, Megan Kelly was clean.
She didn’t stay that way for long.
Once she was dry, Mike released her from the winch and marched her back to the residential area. In his room, he ordered her to kneel beside his bed, allowing her enough slack to do so. Once she was down in the position he required, he used straps to bind her ankles and thighs together, locking her legs in the bent, kneeling position.
