This was the most shameful part. Some of the men had made her come. Some of the disgusting, brutal slobs who'd paid to use her as an animal had elicited from her that most intimate of female responses.
She could hear Luke calling her a slut. That was comforting. She wanted to be his slut. To be anyone's slut back in the real world. The world where she counted as something more than a piece of meat.
"Do it, gringa puta!” The man stormed to the bathtub and gave Caitlyn a tremendous backhand. She was knocked to her side, blood in the corner of her mouth. Shivering, sobbing, she sat up and began to piss. As she had been commanded. It was fear that made her tinkle and the sense of overwhelming defeat. And then there was the rush of the pain, mixed with a sudden need to please this pig simply because he was a man.
"That's it,” he licked his lips. “Show it to me."
Caitlyn pissed into the drain, and onto her thighs and onto her own foot. Covered in piss, covered in come, her body wounded and welted and freshly scarred she gave him what he wanted.
"American cunt,” he pronounced, pulling out a healthy sized dick.
Cait moved across the tub of her own accord to take him between her lips. She wanted to be good. She didn't want to be punished anymore. She was only a woman, not a man and surely they would let her be what she was and please them.
The gunman grabbed the back of her head, forcing himself to the back of her throat. “Filthy whore."
Caitlyn fought the urge to gag. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do but be the kind of hole he wanted. Was this how a good whore did it? Hopefully. And hopefully, too, the man would tell his boss, Anton Draco.
Was the girl good, he'd want to know, the best you ever had?
Had this man ever fucked a slave before? A female who was a piece of property, with no rights, even to her own body? It was said many men preferred this to everything else. Even in the 21st century there was a brusque trade in women for sex objects. Every day their nubile flesh traded hands at auctions, young ladies from Ohio and Bangkok, Rio and Denver thrust into dark rooms, forced onto beds not unlike her own to be fucked and raped for no pay, none whatsoever.
That was bad enough, but what Draco intended, this was something even more incredible. And she'd agreed to it. Instead of a life of impersonal fucking, she'd agreed to be his personal slave, an animal, a pet.
What were some of the things he'd said? A cage, a leash, a collar. Could a man really do that-more to the point could a woman be aroused by it?
The gunman was pushing her away now to stroke himself. He wanted to come on her face, soiling her even more. Caitlyn regarded him stoically, the throbbing, primed organ just one more weapon in her ongoing degradation.
There'd been an instructor at the agency academy who'd done this to her, once a week during her entire course. He'd called her to remain after class one day. “You're going to fail,” the forensics instructor told her. “I'm going to see to it."
"That's not fair,” she'd protested.
To her utter shock he'd reached out and touched her cheek. “You're a pretty girl, Caitlyn. Things aren't fair for pretty girls in this world."
He must have sensed her innate submissiveness because there were other pretty girls, too, but none of them had to take sperm on their faces to pass the class.
"Not the penis,” he would tell her as she would lick him to arousal. “Only the balls."
He had lots of little rules like this to defend what he considered to be his integrity. One of these was that as long as she didn't actually touch his penis, it wasn't real sex.
What Cait did get to do, lucky girl that she was, was to take down his zipper in her teeth and lick and suck his balls for hours on end. It was a dynamic of their relationship that left her wet, helpless and horny in his presence. One look from his eyes in class and she would feel herself branded.
You're sitting now, his expression said, but you belong on your knees. If I should snap my fingers, you would slip from your desk and crawl, right in front of your classmates.
"Madre de dios,” the man blasphemed spraying himself liberally over her face. Caitlyn made no move to shy away. The thick white gobs landed everywhere, in her hair, her cheeks, even her eyebrows.
Now my humiliation is complete, she thought.
But the gunman had other ideas. “Filthy whore,” he explained, using the few English words at his disposal. “Get in Shower."
It wasn't an invitation. Caitlyn was dragged to her bare feet by the much larger, stronger man, his hand in her hair, controlling her completely. He made her eyes water, ignoring totally her protests at the pain. Quickly she saw that her cleaning was to be a fresh form of torture. Eschewing the hot water knob, he turned the jets full blast to cold. The water hit her like needles, like spikes of ice piercing her veins.
"Please, no,” she cried. “Master, no."
Caitlyn didn't know if it was appropriate to call this man master, but she was desperate in a way she'd never known. Her body was being violated, invaded in the worst way yet. Ever since she was little, she'd hated the cold. Even a tepid bath turned her off. The first chance she'd had she moved south and stayed there.
"I-I'm so cold..."
He slapped her quiet, delivering punishing blows to her face and breasts. Cait turned her whimpers inward and ceased her struggling. His cleaning of her was fast and rude. To her shame he found her pussy dripping. How could it be this was making her hot for sex? What kind of woman enjoyed being treated this way?
"Dry,” he threw her a towel once the water had been turned back off.
Caitlyn clutched the threadbare cloth, her teeth chattering. “M-may I have the bigger one?” she gestured to the large bath towel on the wall rack.
The gunman scowled. Clearly she'd said the wrong thing.
Snatching back the towel she did have, he grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the bedroom.
"Get ready,” he commanded in Spanish. “More fucking for you."
Miserable, feeling like a drowned rat, Caitlyn resumed her place on the come soaked bed. She knew enough by now not to enrage her captors by playing coy. Blatantly, completely submitted, she lay on her back and spread her legs wide.
The wounds, from the cane and the cigarette burn on her left tit, spiked now with pain. It would almost be a relief to have more sex as a distraction.
"Bring them on,” she told him, not sure if she was being ironical, defiant or simply compliant. “Sir."
The man gave her a funny look, his brow pressed together, then spit on the floor. “Gringa puta,” he said, as if that explained it all.
A moment later she was alone, the door having been locked from the outside.
For some inexplicable reason Special Agent Ross began to laugh.
* * * *
Some time later, they came for her. Largo and Victor, bringing a cheap dress for her to wear and a bottle of tequila for her to suck on.
"Congratulations, girl,” chimed Largo in his clipped Caribbean accent. “You've graduated."
Victor helped her on with the dress, treating her with the ease of a rag doll. Her limbs had no strength and she stank once again of sex. How long had it been exactly? The shutters had been closed and she hadn't kept good track of the changes from day into night. The traffic seemed always the same in the street and the men that came for her were in a steady stream that never let up.
Cait was grateful for the liquor, if not a little overwhelmed. Naturally, it went straight to her head. She was dimly aware of thanking one or both of them and asking if she needed to suck them off in exchange. They told her it was all right, that she could save her strength.
"Where are we going?” she asked.
They told her to the boss’ new house, and her new house, too. She said that was very nice, though she had no idea if it was nice at all.
Outside the heat hit like a wall, as did the sounds of teeming Third World life. They hadn't given her shoes and the sidewalk outside the hotel burnt her feet. Largo held her arm, l
etting her lean on him while Victor went to fetch the car. It was a cheap sedan with torn vinyl seats. Her thighs stuck to the material in the back and she was reminded of every time she'd ever put out in the back of a vehicle. Once she'd let her boyfriend and four of his fraternity brothers have her this way while a fifth took pictures. Using these for blackmail, the boy managed to get what he wanted out of her for the rest of the year.
Victor was an impatient driver, riding bumpers, cursing and laying on the horn. Largo told him to cool it before they drew too much attention to themselves and sure enough, just at the outskirts of the city a black and white police car fell in behind them.
They were followed for about fifteen miles and then the blue dome light went on.
"Great,” mumbled Victor. “We're in the middle of fucking nowhere."
Largo had his pistol at the ready, concealed under his jacket but it turned out the cops were just looking for graft. Fifty American each and a turn with the Norte Americana over the hood of the police cruiser.
The metal was warm against Cait's cheek and breasts. She endured her back-to-back fuckings without complaint, being sent back to the gangster's car with a smack to the ass. The one cop grinned and blew her a kiss as he leaned into the window and told the men to get the fuck out of their jurisdiction and not come back.
Cait was very sleepy for the ride up the mountains. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of the policeman's cocks, imagining what it would have been like to lick and suck them. Rubbing her legs together, she was overcome by the heat.
"Let me,” she murmured, putting her head in Largo's lap. The next thing she knew she was worshipping his big, black member, making it the center of her world.
"The boss ain't going to like that,” chided Victor.
"Who says he's gonna know?” Largo pointed his gun at the back of the man's head.
"Hey, take it easy. You know I'll keep my mouth shut."
"I aim to keep it that way,” he said menacingly. “Pull over."
"You won't get away with this,” he slowed the car. “The boss will find out."
Largo made sure Cait's head stayed exactly where it was. “Sure he will, mate. Who do you think gave me the orders?"
The next thing Caitlyn heard was the trigger being pulled and after that the sound of Largo coming, his sweet seed pumping down her throat. “Oh yea,” he groaned. “Fuck, yea."
A minute later he was driving and she was next to him, just like a regular couple. Meanwhile, back on the road lay Victor's body, the vultures already circling for position.
* * * *
Draco had the precious little bitch strung up, her toes an inch off the floor. She'd been waiting like this, swinging naked in the improvised dungeon for over an hour. That she was to be tortured was no secret. He'd been paid good money by the colonels and generals and the rest of the butchers for the information contained in her tiny female brain. For all her desirability as a slave cunt, she was also possessing of intelligence. A fortune in knowledge about her agency.
His cock had been rock hard all day thinking of how it would go, what he would do to her. She would scream, she would beg, she would tell them everything they wanted to know.
But first, she must become afraid. Anxious. Terrorized. That was the psychology of the matter. Hence the leaving of her for so long alone in the stone walled room, suspended, naked in chains, in full view of the instruments to be used against her.
She would not be able to escape seeing with her large green eyes. The whips: harsh leather horsewhips and the bull whip which could cut a man's flesh from his back, and the metal box, with the attached electrodes and clamps. Using her imagination she would wonder what parts of her they would be attached to.
There were pliers, too, and other devices too horrible to mention. He had no desire to scar her permanently or to draw too much blood. She was a woman and women, in his view, deserved to be punished according to their sex. Degradingly and humiliatingly, yes, and in sexual ways, but not with excessive brutality as one would with a man. Besides, he rather enjoyed her perfect skin and he'd only just begun to play his games with her, in public and private.
She was his slave, she'd acknowledged the fact and he would exploit it until her life force gave out. But first he must earn the million plus dollars her agency's enemies had given him.
"So,” he opened the solid wood door to heavily paneled prison, a legacy from when this room had been a wine cellar for the Spanish landowner who once owned this estate in colonial times. “Is my little bird ready to sing?"
The slave hung her head. Draco saw the puddle on the floor, the glistening yellow down her leg. Tenderly, using one of the snow-white towels from the table on which was laid the silver instrument tray, he cleaned her.
"It is normal for one such as you to piss herself,” he soothed. “After all, you are only an animal."
"Yes, master."
Two days had passed since her arrival at his new hideaway in the mountains and already the differences were obvious. She was becoming more pliant and her outbursts were fewer and shorter in duration. No doubt he would encounter more resistance down the line, but in many ways she was accepting her place. So, too, she was becoming attached to him. In this strange, unpredictable and nightmarish world, he was her steady source of survival-if not freedom and comfort.
Then again, he must never forget the levels of treachery and deception this woman was capable of. For the time being at least, he would trust her in nothing.
"Master, may I speak?"
He ran his thumb over her lips, opening her mouth like that of a horse or dog. “Yes,” he told her, though at the moment she could not speak because she was submitting to his dental invasion.
The girl shuddered as he used his other hand to impale her cunt. This was something she must get very, very used to; having her sex used against her, in spite of her.
"Master, I long to forget,” she sighed when at last he let her talk. “I want to let go of what is past. I don't want to be her anymore. I don't want to be Caitlyn."
"And you will not, as soon as you finish this one thing for me."
She tried to kiss him. “Take me away from here, master. Let us start fresh. On some island somewhere."
Draco found her utterly beguiling, but he knew better. “Nice try,” he stepped back. “But I'm not so easily fooled."
Her eyes pooled wide. “F-fooled?"
"By your ruse, Special Agent Ross. You would have me believe you want nothing more than to be my slave, when in truth the only thing on your mind is escape."
She swallowed hard, looking like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Have no fear, my dear,” he smiled. “I will make sure your submission is real before we are done."
She looked at him, blinking back tears. “Please, master. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything."
Draco fingered her clit, his like every other part of her. “Of course you will, my dear."
Caitlyn shuddered in her chains as he brought her to orgasm.
Draco knew he was right, at least in part. She did want to trick him. Her training had taught her to accept anything, even death before betraying the agency. But only part of her was an agent any longer. There was another side, too, a side that Draco had awakened and brutally exploited.
Things were happening to her body, things she couldn't possibly understand. She was wet all the time now, most especially when he was dominating her. Slick juices regularly dripped as he moved her from terror to terror, from chains to cage to whip and back again. In some ways it could be likened to a hostage reaction, like the famous Stockholm Syndrome, but it was more, for legitimate prisoners and hostages did now wish to crawl naked like sleek pets to kiss their masters’ feet.
He continued toying with her as the men came in, one by one till at last they were standing in a row behind him.
"We should like to begin,” the short, mustachioed man in the white and gold uniform was saying.
Draco nodded to C
olonel Martinez. “Of course."
The man was licking his lips behind his mustache. And why shouldn't he? He was one of the lucky purchasers of the information to be extracted. He was to be one of the torturers as well, as evidenced by the clamps in his hands, the ones attached to the wires running from the electrical box.
"Where would you like them, my fair lady?” he crooned.
Caitlyn hung her head in utter defeat as the rest of the men gathered round her, military men in uniform and rich men in business suits. Their very presence, cruel lust filled eyes upon her foretold her agony. She was as helpless as a girl could be and these were obviously sadists, men who derived their pain from hurting females.
Draco felt his cock swell at the sight of her. He was strangely proud of her, of the way the others obviously wanted her. “Get on with it,” he told Colonel Martinez.
Martinez growled slightly, not used to taking orders. The anger was taken out directly on Caitlyn. Without preamble he clipped her labia, causing her to scream in agony.
"Silence,” he commanded. “Or I shall cut you open like a gourd."
"Not till we find out what we want,” said a thin, bearded man in fatigues, about six foot five inches tall. He was behind her, pushing his cock into her naked sex hole.
"Antonio, must you rut like a fucking boar every minute of the day?” complained Martinez.
"It's just to take the edge off,” he grunted, sinking an impossibly large pole into her asshole.
Martinez, clearly disgusted with the other man, clamped Caitlyn's nipples, doubling, tripling her pain. “We're going ahead with the electrocution, pendejo, so don't blame me if your cock gets fried off."
"My boots have rubber,” he grabbed her waist, thrusting into her with the ferocity of a wild animal. “The electricity will pass right through me."
"But not the water."
The men laughed raucously as Martinez threw the bucket of ice water on the suspended slave, drenching Antonio in the process.
"Matote!” He roared. “Hijo de puta!"
Martinez slapped his knees, his face red with laughter. “What do you say, Antonio? Is that your first bath this year or did you miss out last year, too?"
Caging Caitlyn Page 4
