Caging Caitlyn

by Reese Gabriel

  "Back to work, girl."

  He watched her regain her footing and walk to the door. Such a fine ass to own. And to think he had all day to contemplate what he'd done to her and how she wouldn't be able to sit without thinking of him.

  A brief flash of guilt passed through his brain as he thought of Caitlyn. What had she been through since that night at the bar? If only he'd gone with her to her car, he'd still have her with him.

  Clenching his teeth he fought back the makings of tears. Instead he picked up the glass paperweight given to him by his great aunt for Christmas last year. “Not on my watch,” he swore, throwing the monstrosity against the back of the door.

  The sound of glass shattering was loud enough to be heard throughout the floor, but everyone knew better than to go in and find out what was going on.

  Let the word go out: Agent-In-Charge Dumont was on the warpath and he planned to stay that way till he got Caitlyn back. Alive or dead.

  * * * *

  Caitlyn awoke with the taste of metal in her mouth. There was more metal pressing at her breasts and thighs. Thin, smooth bars, welded wires. Twice she blinked before regaining the memory of her surroundings. She was hunched on her side in a cage. Her cage. The place she now occupied when not being used by her master.

  She was naked, of course, and her body was very sore. It was impossible to sit upright in the tiny structure, but she could manage to go on all fours to better examine her body.

  There were deep red grooves on her wrists. She'd been hung from the ceiling in a dungeon-like cellar. Her nipples were sore and throbbing and her cunt was no better. It was from the clamps, where they'd hooked up the electrodes. Yes, she had been tortured by the roomful of terrorists. But then there'd been a disagreement, a gunfight and now they were all dead.

  Her master had ordered her taken back here.

  Cait felt the rumbling in her stomach. How long since she'd eaten? Her bowl was empty, though she licked it again just the same. She hadn't any water either and she needed to pee.

  Where was her master? The view from the floor was not so good. She could see the foot of the bed and little more. Was he sleeping there? Yes. She could hear him snoring. But did she dare wake him? It would make him angry, though peeing in her cage would also make him angry.

  Amazed that her life had come to this so quickly, Caitlyn weighed her alternatives. In the end she decided it didn't matter. Draco would do what he wanted to no matter what.

  "Master?” She called his name softly, knowing him to be a light sleeper. She'd learned much about the man in their short time together. Intimate things, facts that a free woman might take months or years to acquire. Mostly, though, she knew how he enjoyed humiliating her and breaking her.

  Draco made stirring noises but did not rise.

  "Master,” she repeated a little more loudly, “I need to go to the bathroom."

  A pair of feet, bare, appeared over the edge of the bed. A man cleared his throat, gurgled down something. Tequila if she knew his habits well enough.

  Silently he padded over on bare feet, his body splendidly nude. She was looking up at his thighs, at his large swinging cock. Face to the bottom of the mesh cage, she covered her head with her hands.

  "Forgive me for disturbing you."

  He opened the cage-his privilege, not hers.

  "Lick."

  Caitlyn crawled out applying her trained tongue to the top of his foot. It was one of the many commands he had taught her. One might think of it as serving under duress, but more appropriately, it was training. Slave training.

  "Today I am going to show you off to some friends,” he told her.

  Cait moved to the other foot. She knew better. It would be more than showing, it would be sharing. Others would use her, for as long and in whatever ways her master chose.

  "Chin up,” he commanded.

  Cait raised her head obediently to be leashed and collared. The leather was thick and snug, the chain comfortingly heavy. Her heart thumped quickly as he led her toward the door on all fours. He hadn't brought her out of the room like this so far and she was not sure how she felt about others seeing her being treated as a common pet. He hadn't asked, though, and he was not about to either.

  He let her walk down the stairs, but as soon as she got to the bottom he put her right back on hands and knees.

  "Morning, boss,” greeted Juan, one of his best men.

  Cait flushed with shame. Something about being treated like this in front of another man made it all the more degrading. In this case, it was quite foolish because Juan had already raped her on more than more than one occasion, making her beg for it, and how much more degraded could a woman get?

  "Breakfast any good?” Draco wanted to know.

  "The eggs aren't bad, boss."

  Draco had a chef at his new estate, along with a gardener and two dozen soldados-henchmen familiar with the use of most weapons, including assault rifles and machetes. Half of these were on duty at any given time, protecting the house from any potential invaders off the main road or out of the jungle behind.

  "Any word on the streets back home about us?” Draco asked as soon as he saw Largo in the kitchen.

  "They're saying you're dead, boss, and pretty much everyone believes it,” the big man leaned against the counter, sipping his fruit juice.

  Draco pulled on the chain, limiting his slave's oxygen supply. “What does that mean ‘pretty much everyone'?"

  Caitlyn gasped, but dared not rise from hands and knees to ease the pressure.

  "They say the Federal Security Agency is looking into it. Not high up, but in the branch office where she was stationed. The chief there is making trouble."

  "Who is he?"

  "A man named Dumont, I think,” said Largo.

  Cait's heart seized in her chest. So Luke hadn't given up on her. He was out there looking for her even now.

  "Find out for sure,” replied Draco. “Then have him killed."

  "No!” cried Caitlyn, forgetting everything.

  Draco lifted her to her feet by the chain and collar. “Well, well,” he held her up, eye to eye. “Does Agent Ross have a boyfriend?"

  She shook her head no, but it was too late all the way around. She'd revealed her interest in the man and now Draco would want him dead for sure.

  "You still have much to learn, cunt."

  He dragged her to the glass breakfast table and forced her down face first, completely suctioning her breasts to the smooth surface. The man was behind her, positioning himself. Steadying herself with her palms, she tried to make it less like a rape but it was clear Draco was planning to fuck her for pure punishment's sake. She was wet for him as he slammed into her, pushing his penis clear to the base in one dread motion.

  "Who owns you?” he asked, gathering her hair in his fist.

  "You do, master."

  "And why do I own you?"

  "It..it pleases you to do so."

  "That is correct and very soon it will please me to bring this chief agent before you as my prisoner dead or alive."

  She held back the urge to plead for his life. She had nothing to bargain with, anyway. Everything, even her sex was already under his control.

  "You may thank me in advance, slave slut, for disposing of your boyfriend."

  Her eyes filled with tears, the deepest ones he'd drawn yet. “T-thank you, master."

  Draco drew a satisfied breath. It was turning out so much better than planned. The little female had emotions as well as a body to be abused. Perhaps he would keep her longer than originally anticipated. Perhaps he'd make her a more permanent fixture of his life. Not that she would matter more than a good car or a horse.

  Stroking her hair, the orgasm overtaking him, he said, quite impulsively. “No one else will ever own you. When I am through with you I will slit your throat with my own hand."

  His slave girl moaned and shook. She was coming, too. She liked him saying this. She needed it, in ways too deep for words, too deep for un
derstanding.

  When Draco had finished using her he put her back down on the floor while he took his place at the table. With her cunt dripping the juices of her taking she waited, on all fours, looking up at him with hungry eyes. It pleased him to torment her, giving her nothing to eat till he himself had taken his fill.

  She ate the scraps of his meal, tossed to the tiles where she could take them between her lips, as would a dog or any other household pet. Watching her debase herself in this way, looking so luscious with her healthy breasts depending, her neck so tightly collared he became engorged all over again.

  A simple snapping of his fingers was enough to cause her to cease filling her empty belly with food so as to take his cock in her mouth. Caitlyn was becoming an excellent cocksucker and he told her this now. The difference was in her accepting her slavery. A lady holds back, working her way around the penis but a slave knows that the whole purpose of her mouth, along with the rest of her is to please the master. She is a fuck hole in a very real sense, a tool to be used, though at times a very complicated one.

  In his mind flashed the image of her sucking off every one of his guards, one after another. It would be an excellent exercise, teaching her well her place in the new order of things.

  His girl, naked on her knees while they lined up, one after another, till her belly was awash in semen, her throat coated with the stuff. And her pussy, dripping wet down her leg.

  It was a good idea, something he'd have to try out later. And why not? Agent Ross was his toy. His pretty, malleable little toy.

  "Nice and slow,” he grabbed her ears, controlling the pace.

  She made a gurgling sound as he forced himself in and out fast as lightning. But she did not resist. To do so would mean punishment. Or death.

  "You will tell me later,” he informed her, “all about your feelings for your agent friend. I should have guessed there was more between you when first we spoke of him."

  Caitlyn stiffened as he ejaculated down her throat, rightfully scared. No doubt she had much to tell him, and she would, whether she wanted to or not. It was key, after all, for him to know as much as he could about this Lucas Dumont so he could tell the hit man he was going to hire.

  Chapter Five

  Sarah Renfrew wore a tight black dress and high heels. Her heart was pounding like a rabbit's. Looking around the dimly lit bar she looked for the handsome chief agent. He was in the corner booth, signaling for her. This was it, she thought, the moment of no return. She could still run. Turn him in. Quit. Go get her gun and shoot him. Anything but this; standing still for such blatant sexual harassment.

  She supposed, though, it was already too late to fight. Her still throbbing ass was proof of that. Sarah wasn't even sure she had a clear-cut case anymore. Wasn't this all consensual? He was her superior and he'd take the disciplinary heat, but she'd be ruined if she blew the whistle on such a well loved, highly decorated agent.

  Which left her the option of going to him and playing whatever games he had in mind. She had to admit, she was more than a little curious. Luke Dumont was tall and golden haired, with large hands, a rugged jaw and a solid body under his suit. For a senior agent, he was still one hell of a good-looking man, too. And young. He didn't look a day over forty to her.

  "You're late, Sarah.” He stood, allowing her to slide first into the burgundy colored leatherette booth.

  Sarah thought of her possible punishment and felt lightheaded. “Sorry, sir."

  He slid in right beside her, giving her no time to recover. “What do you drink, Agent Renfrew?"

  "Vodka, usually."

  One hand went up to signal the waitress while the other went to rest on her thigh. “You'll have to take off your panties for me."

  "W-what?"

  "You heard me. And be quick about it or I'll put you across my lap right here."

  Sarah's cheeks stung. Her daddy had punished her that way when she was little and she'd always felt ashamed because it made her feel all warm and tingly inside. Sometimes she would disobey just so daddy would punish her more often.

  But Luke wasn't her daddy. And he wasn't her boyfriend, either. Speaking of which, she needed to get clarification about what Dumont had said about her having to break up with him. Mark was a fireman she'd known three months and there was real potential there; he was a hunk and a good man besides; serious, with real career goals, so unlike most of the losers her own age.

  "Sir, there's something I need to talk to you about."

  "We'll talk when I have your underwear."

  Sarah gave a little sigh, half indignation, half arousal. “Very well, sir."

  "You squirm nicely,” he noted as she lifted herself discretely, working her hands under her dress. “Are you this good in bed?"

  Her eyes darted nervously about; was she going to get caught?

  Luke put the proffered garment to his nose, much to her chagrin. “There's a good girl. And a naughty wet girl, too, aren't you?"

  "Please, there's something we simply have to discuss."

  "Let's get those legs apart a little more, shall we?"

  Sarah opened herself because there was no point fighting him on everything.

  Luke's hand went immediately under the hem of her dress, making a beeline for crotch. “Now we're talking,” he declared with satisfaction.

  "It's about Mark ... my boyfriend,” she said quickly, trying to get it all out before he started playing with her for real.

  "Did you tell him to fuck off?"

  "N-no. Not yet, I mean."

  He pulled his cell phone from his jacket with his free hand. “Do it now."

  Her mouth hung open. He'd trapped her. “Sir ... just give me a minute to explain the situation."

  "What's to explain?” Luke fished an ice cube from his drink with a spoon. “I've given you an order and you're going to carry it out. Or face the consequences."

  "B-but I love Mark,” she whispered.

  Luke laughed low and deep. “Love. How touching."

  Sarah gasped in shock as he took the ice cube and ran it up the inside of her thighs.

  "Spread that pussy for me, Sarah. Nice and wide."

  To her own amazement she found himself doing just that.

  "That's my girl. Now we can begin your real education. Love is a luxury,” he teased her with the cold, wet cube. “It's something we agents can't afford."

  "Please ... why do you keep torturing me like this?"

  "You're the super sleuth. You tell me."

  She swallowed hard. He'd managed to turn the tables yet again. “B-because I'm pretty?"

  "You flatter yourself, don't you?” Luke worked the ice cube further up her thigh. “Actually,” he pushed it into her pussy. “It's because you looked to me like the biggest slut out of the new agent pool."

  Sarah threw back her head. The ice hurt like hell. “Sir ... I can't take it."

  "You can and you will. Now get on the fucking cell and call Mark."

  She punched the numbers with trembling fingers.

  "I want you to tell him you're breaking up with him because you're too much of a whore to stay with one man. You want to fuck and suck as many dicks as you can get. When he argues tell him he's a dickless wonder who never satisfied you."

  Sarah sobbed.

  "Get it together, Agent. You think this is hard? Try being kidnapped by a psychopathic fuck like Anton Draco the way Agent Ross has."

  "M-Mark?"

  Damn. She'd prayed he wouldn't pick up.

  "Sarah, is that you? You sound awful."

  "No, I'm fine,” she bucked up.

  Luke pushed the ice down on her clit. Drops of melted water were trickling out of her, a tiny stream mixed with the juices of her flooding pussy. The son of a bitch was actually arousing her with his brutality.

  "You don't sound fine. Did something happen at work? You're not hurt are you, baby?"

  Her heart swelled. Mark actually loved her. If only she had the backbone not to betray him. Or would it h
ave been a worse betrayal of her oath of obedience to the agency not to agree to do as her boss told her?

  "Mark, we can't see each other anymore."

  Sarah had to fight her every instinct not to back pedal.

  "What are you talking about, Sarah?"

  "It's not going to work between us."

  The chief agent, evidently unhappy with her progress, seized hold of her nipple through the dress. Now he was assaulting her on two fronts. She winced as he bore down on the soft nub.

  "I-I'm a whore,” she pronounced, according to the script. “I want ... more men."

  "More cocks,” corrected Luke.

  "I want more cocks to fuck and suck,” she said. “You're a ... a dickless wonder. You never satisfied me."

  "Sarah, what's gotten into you? Have you been drinking?"

  Luke slipped his fingers into her like a cock, giving her no option but to rock her pelvis against him. Oh, god, he was going to make her come.

  "No, Mark. It's not alcohol."

  Luke snatched the phone back. “Your girlfriend has to say bye bye, Mark. She's about to orgasm all over my hand."

  Sarah burned with shame and rage. She hated Luke Dumont. But she needed him, too.

  "Now,” said the agent-in-charge as he broke the connection.

  Sarah didn't need to be told what that meant. Gripping the edge of the table, she gave in to the sensations, big and bold, doubly potent because they were in public.

  "You'll be having more tonight,” he assured her. “Lots more."

  When she'd settled down he let her lick off his fingers. She tasted her own pussy, slick and pungent.

  "Let's get out of here. I need a blow job,” he said at last.

  She nodded quickly; if there was any defiance in her it was gone after that last experience. She could only imagine what she'd be like after a few more hours, or days in this man's power.

  It made her shudder. But not all together in a bad way.

  * * * *

  Caitlyn was chained and spread eagled to the bed. Her breasts were in agony from the fresh cigarette burns.

  "No more,” she shook her head in vain.

  The man did not speak English. He grinned at her; his language was pain. His instrument; whatever he could get his hands on. Draco had introduced him as a local dignitary before leaving her to his whims. Sadistic, torturing thug, more like. He had a mustache and grinning yellow teeth that seemed to get larger the more he was making her suffer. Twice already he had fucked her while extinguishing cigarette after cigarette on her body.