Housebound Ch. 07

Normally that kind of pain didn't do anything for her. It just didn't. This time it made her hallucinate.

It was just a brief flash, a sudden intense vision of herself from outside, arched and masked with her limbs doubled and strapped tight together: almost dehumanized, a sweaty slick helpless girlbody, gasping into a wet rubber bag as the crooked steel implement jammed up into her cunt. Then she was back in her body, with the sting and the flush of heat from her breast just starting to radiate from the slap. She got one bewildered breath as she jerked uselessly, still caught in place by the unbearable stimulator, and then the strap cracked against her breast again.

This time she got an image of what her pussy would look like on that video monitor from before: considerably more wet and puffy, swollen and pink-red, tight but trying to shape itself around the invasive metal bar. It was a thought that would have made her twist her face in disgust the week before. At this moment, overstimulated and throbbing with pain and at the edge of panic, it was somehow the most insanely erotic thing she could imagine.

In the brief moments she had, between the next twelve slaps on her increasingly bright red breast, Katie realized that James wasn't just training her to come. He was disassembling her and building her back up again. He'd found the cracks in her will and her imagination; as brutal as his methods were, they were also sophisticated, targeted just to leverage those flaws and pry until she popped open like a clamshell. And as she slowly, inevitably came apart, he was changing the fundamental way her mind worked, forcing her brain to mold itself around his cruelty and control the same way her cunt was stretched around the stimulator.

He was right. It didn't matter what she wanted. It didn't even matter if she had agreed to his training program, if she'd chosen and tried to do exactly as he said. Her conscious mind had no say in this. She was a soft piece of flesh between hard tools, and when he was done she'd be shaped exactly the way he chose.

Almost disinterestedly, the machine pressed a bulbous round vibrator against her clit, slightly off-center. It was a powerful one, a Hitachi or something. Between the metal inside her and its head on the outside, it trapped the most sensitive places on her body and squeezed hard.

Oh no. She couldn't. Not this fast again, not this way, not from this mechanistic unthinking stupid simple--

"Hadi."

It hurt to come. Katie screamed into her mask, every muscle locked as the orgasm marched inch by inch up her spine to her constricting throat, dimly conscious that the leather strap was now cracking against her other breast once a second. The pain was just a dim pulse under the climax that had gripped her and seemed to be refusing to let go--not even a series of waves, but one long sustained contraction that went on and on. She couldn't take any more. She wanted more. She couldn't.

It kept going.

Katie didn't breathe. She had nothing left to breathe with. Her body wasn't obeying her. She couldn't. She couldn't. In an almost detached way, she began to count the strikes of the leather strap on her bouncing little breast, just to know how long this was taking.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

She had no idea how long it would have gone on if not for the water.

The steel suddenly yanked back out of her, the electrodes released, the column supporting her just--disappeared, and then she was plunging down into a tank as cold as ice. It shocked adrenaline into her, and she panicked, struggling, but her legs and arms were still bound tight together. Water rushed into her nose and she choked, starved for oxygen, and oh fuck the orgasm was still going, the lack of air somehow making it surge again--no, no, she couldn't take another sustained one like that, she'd drown first, she'd freeze, she'd die--

Then her limbs went taut and she was yanked up out of it, a gush of water surging up above her as the machine hauled her out of the tank. Katie coughed up water from her nose, heaving for air, and then she felt a hand grip her hair and another pull the suffocating mask off her head.

She looked up at James, a blurry dark shape against the harsh lights, unable to speak, barely able to think, everything in her body screaming with exhaustion and pain and the echoes of impossible pleasure. She sobbed for breath. She had no barbs left, no sarcasm, not even anger, not even hate. Those were luxuries he'd stripped from her.

Slowly, certainly, he pushed two fingers into her mouth. Still gasping raggedly, she felt herself lowering her jaw to hold them. She accepted. That was what her body was for. That was all she could think of. They locked eyes, hers dilated and almost senseless, his calculating, attentive, watchful. With his other hand, he took the chain connecting the almost-forgotten clamps on her labia.

He yanked them off. It hurt in ways she'd barely dreamed of.

Katie's helpless, dripping form twitched, but her mouth stayed open, holding his fingers between her lips. Only a little helpless "nggk" made its way out.

"Hadi," said James quietly.

Katie's body came.

"Hadi," he whispered again.

Katie's body came.

"Hadi."

Katie's body came.

She lost track of how many times he did it. Her eyes slowly closed, and her lips came together, beginning to suck at his fingers in a reflex buried so deep she could barely understand it. There was no resistance in her. She felt the overwhelming exhaustion and pain in every part of her, but they didn't matter. She had a job to do and her body knew how to do it. She came. She came. She came.

After a while he stopped and sat there on the floor, pulling her still-bound body into his lap, letting the water from her sopping hair pool beneath her as she moved her lips and tongue against the pads of his fingers. His other hand cupped her pussy and moved slowly in time with her mouth, not quite hard enough to inflict pain on the sore flesh there, but keeping the nerves from relaxing yet.

Katie came back to herself, at length. She knew where she was and what she was doing. She was hurting. She was sickened and shaken at the memory of the things he'd put her through--was still putting her through. She could have stopped submissively servicing his hand, or slowly working her hips against him. She didn't.

With patience, he worked her at both ends, letting the pain ease its way out and hover just at the edge of his touch. A push of his fingers against her tongue, a matching push against the hood of her clit. Little circles. Slow strokes. Her body responded, somehow discovering the ability to feel pleasure at his touch despite the machine's punishment.

He was giving her a little more pressure, a little more speed, somehow reading her perfectly to know when either would be too much. He wet his fingers again just inside her slippery folds and drew them back up: light tension, a little tug against her, teaching her how to move her tired lower body and find the sweet spot between hurt and comfort.

"Do you remember how to get to the edge?" he murmured, and her body knew, and she was there.

James held her there, cradling her body and balancing her mind, finding a perfect tempo like a metronome to brush--brush--brush the lightest possible touch on her clit. When he'd forced her to edge before it had been a way of frustrating her, an avenue for his cruelty. This was different. This, her body was gradually beginning to understand, was home.

She was supposed to be flushed. She was supposed to be wet and puffy, feeling her own pulse beat between her legs. She was supposed to want release and not get it. This was what Katies were for.

He drew his hand away and she stayed there, breathing shallowly, caught in a long moment of perfect, deep, satisfying need.

"It hasn't quite set yet," said James, at a distance. "In a little while you'll forget this, and revert, and go away from me again. But I'll bring you back here. Rest assured, Katie. I'll bring you back here to stay."

Yes, Sir, said Katie soundlessly, her lips forming words with no breath behind them.

Then he stood, lifting her, and the spell was broken. She thrashed in his grip and screamed, hating him, hating what he'd done to her, hating everything she'd felt and all the terrible sucking desire to feel it again, hating his resigned little laugh at her useless struggle. He gripped her body by the straps on her arms and legs and lifted her up on his shoulders. Like a yoke, he bore her out of the room with the machine and up the stairs, and her used-up body could do nothing about it but writhe.

There was a short hallway off the main floor, with the kitchen and the living room. At the end of the hallway was a half-sized door. Behind the door was a barely-human-sized cage. On the cage door was a padlock. Katie did everything, absolutely everything, in her power to stay out of the cage. James popped her into it and handily, as if he were packing a suitcase.

"This is where you'll live for the duration of the program," he said, reaching through the bars to undo and loosen the straps on her limbs at last--not that she could go anywhere, or even move them much, cramped and tingling. "Today was your first class. The number of classes, I'm afraid, is indefinite. While you are enrolled in the class, you are not a woman, you are not a student, you are not even a girl. You are an object lesson. You will have absolutely no control over your progress or lack thereof. Or anything else."

He pulled out a low, flat dish filled with something that looked like cream of wheat. "You expended a lot of calories today. Your body will need to replenish them. You're going to eat this, and you're going to hate it, and then you're going to finish it and have a drink of water from another animal bowl. Then I'm going to edge you again, close this door, and lock you in. And tomorrow we'll begin again."

As he pushed her face down into the bland, lukewarm, disgusting food, and as Katie tried to hold her breath until the inevitable moment when he forced her to start swallowing, all she could think was that the second class couldn't possible be any worse.

She already kind of knew she was wrong.