Rose in Trainingbyslutty_jannelle©
Note: This is a chapter of a projected consensual S and M novel.
It was her second day at the Institute. She was stiff, sore, and sticky from yesterday's 'orientation.' After a light breakfast and her normal enema, douche and shower routine, Rose was ordered into her tightest girdle. This wasn't unusual, but her Trainer seemed to be tense, and more abrupt than yesterday. She feed off his mood. Not knowing what lay ahead, she was so nervous he had to help tug the garment up over her hips. Struggling with hose and garters, she was all thumbs, but finally, seams straight, garter tabs smooth, she slid her feet into the 5 inch heeled red pumps laid out for her. The wide ankle straps securing them were required by her Master, not the fashion world.
Corsets were still used for punishment, of course, but the tight, open bottom girdles served for daily wear at the Institute, gave easy access, and the women could dress unassisted.
The tight under-wire bra was always uncomfortable, but matched the girdle.
Wristlets latched together, she was bent over for her 'daily dozen'. This morning the cane was selected and she cried out as six parallel welts were added to her bruised ass, and six more marked her thighs. Tears dried, she applied her makeup like a pro, then slipped on the short red chiffon dress, fumbling with the buttons beneath the ruffles.
Allowed a mist of perfume, the leash was snapped to her collar and she was led at a fast walk outside to another building, one not included on yesterday's tour.
The sign over the door read simply "Building 10." Even without specifics, she had a general idea what took place in there, and a deep, involuntary shudder wracked her as they entered.
Like her dormitory, the central hall was plain, with numbered doors opening to each side. Muffled sounds from behind some of the doors gave no hint of the inner activities.
The procession stopped at a door bearing a brass "17."
"This is it, bitch," the Trainer said. A discrete tap on the door and they entered.
She blinked in the bright light after the dim hall. Then she began shivering in dread as she scanned the room's equipment. Some she knew or could guess their probable uses: the exam table with stirrups and straps, the whipping post, the ceiling hook swaying on its chain. Other pieces were unknown.
A commotion at the hall door caused her to turn and stare.
Two Trainers were literally dragging in a struggling, whimpering woman. 'Please, nooo, please noo...' seemed to be her entire vocabulary. Moving with practiced efficiency, the Trainers soon had her dress off and ankles shackled together in a twinkling.
Rose watched with rising apprehension as the newcomer was stripped. This woman wore bruises and welts matching hers, so she obviously had been at the Institute for more than a couple of days. She apparently knew what tortures were used in this room.. It must be pretty extreme for her to break training, begging like that.
Now Rose became truly frightened. She had never dreamed of resisting the Trainers like this sobbing woman, but she began shaking uncontrollably and felt the blood drain from her face. A tiny smile raced across her lips at the irony that not even her heavy whore's makeup could give her color now.
Once the other woman was secured by her collar and ankles, they released her arms, leaving rows of fingertip bruises up and down the flesh in testimony of her struggles. When they ordered her to remove her bra, she openly sobbed and begged in earnest. At her refusal, one Trainer grabbed a handful of blond hair and jerked her head far enough back to thrust her torso forward. The other Trainer then applied five powerful strokes with a limber fiberglass cane across her presented breasts. Her shrieks made the room ring. Still restrained by her hair, the order was repeated. This time, she reached up behind and unhooked the offending bra. When she refused to put her arms out in front to take the straps of the offered chain-mail bra, the hair pulling and tit caning were repeated. Her screams and begging were stifled with a large cock-gag shoved deep into her throat and buckled behind her neck tightly.
Staring slack-jawed at the punished blonde, Rose had automatically obeyed her own Trainer and removed her dress and bra and obediently accepted the cold chain harness. As the device was adjusted, the weight of her breasts dug the chains into her shoulders. The 'under-wire', a thick iron bar, was unyielding.
"Anticipation is so much a part of the experience, ours and yours," her Trainer said, "so we want you to witness Donna's session first."
Although she had a million questions, Rose was better trained than to ask any of them, merely nodding her head in submission and acceptance.
The beaten blonde, Donna, was still weeping, but, thanks to the merciful gag, it was mostly just snuffling. She was dragged over to a dildo stanchion, The phallus was raised until she could barely straddle it, then, ankles unlocked, she was made to spread her legs and impale herself on the fake dick. Once it was fully inserted, her wrists were hooked to the dangling ceiling chain, and both she and the dildo were raised until only her tip toes were on the floor. Like a ballerina, she stood en pointe as her cunt supported most of her weight. Then her wrists were winched up further, taking the pressure off her crotch. When her feet swung free of the floor, a 3 ft spreader bar was hooked to her ankle restraints. Once splayed, she was then lowered until her toes again found earth. Legs spread, she sank down further than with the insertion. But the dildo hadn't been lowered, so she endured deeper, bruising penetration. Her muffled cries from behind the gag spoke her agony. The desperation to spare her cunt put severe strain on her legs, far beyond what even her 5 inch heels provided. Calf and thigh muscles contorted, and eventually would cramp, adding to her distress.
'Lucky slut,' thought Rose as she watched the process. Her own cunt itched and became moist at the sight of Donna's struggles. 'Oh, to be reamed like that,' Rose thought wistfully.
Once the bondage was complete, one of the Trainers spoke softly into an intercom panel beside the door. Receiving an answer, he glanced at the impaled woman, nodded to his partner and said only, "Twenty-five."
The cane again whistled through the air as the girl took twenty-five strokes across the back of her thighs. Without the gag, the walls might have surely cracked with her piercing screams. Because of the pole splitting her, she was denied even the small mercy of moving about under the cane's terrible punishment. So she held as motionless as possible and endured the maximum pain, which was the design of the bondage, after all.
Wide-eyed, Rose had watched the punishment with growing distress. True, she got off on bondage and some low level whipping, but not full strength caning. That hurt for real. She needed the helplessness and the pain, but not to that intensity.
Rose and her Master had discussed all this before. She even was the one who suggested the Institute to complete her training and push her limits for suffering. This was all voluntary. No one had to coerce her. Despite her temporary misgivings and fear, Rose craved her turn under the cane.
Ordered her to her knees, Rose automatically gripped her own spike heels as the wrist and ankle restraints were hooked together. Even if she dreaded the cane, she was still a well trained slut, and proud of her endurance. Watching the caning was exciting. Her own cunt was seething, and she was grateful to be on her knees. Rose could work her thighs together and stimulate her clit with no one the wiser.
Again the hall door opened. Two men and a woman entered. Not subs or Trainers, they obviously were Masters and a Mistress. The men wore casual slacks, sport shirts and gleaming leather loafers. The red haired woman wore a short sheath dress of pale green, black hose, and emerald green pumps.. All three wore heavy gold necklaces bearing the Institute's logo.
On seeing the visitors, Donna began jerking about and squealing once again.
"Hello, Donna," one of the men greeted her.
Pinching and twisting both the bound girl's nipples, the woman cooed, "Remember me, slut?"
"Of course she does, don't you, Donna?" the other man offered. "After all, we did see her just yesterday."
All three laughed at the jest as the poor bitch struggled in vain to escape the cruel fingers working her buds.
"Would you like some refreshments?" one of the men asked.
Receiving a round of nodded consent, he turned to the Trainers and ordered coffee and drinks for all three. At his gesture, chairs and a shrouded cart were rolled over from the wall. Placed in Donna's field of vision, the cart's cover was removed. Restraints creaked as a mighty shudder shook the slut. Staring at the table and its contents, Rose couldn't figure out why Donna was so terrified. As far as she could see, it all looked quite civilized. There was an ornate wooden box, a large crystal ashtray, and a bud vase with a single red rose. Nothing too scary there, she thought.
The woman in green was served coffee, which smelled divine to the half-starved Rose. The men savored their ruby brandy for a moment.
"Shall we?" asked one. Not awaiting an answer, he rose, set his snifter on the table and opened the wooden box. Turning to his companion, he offered the box to him.
Reaching in, the man selected a dark, thick cigar. "You know, James, I wonder how many of these Nicaraguans they have left? They're in demand apparently. I'm about to order some more for the office humidor, and last I checked the prices are up."
Clipping the end of his own cigar, the other said, "I don't know, but these Hoyas are really superior to the past couple of boxes of Cubans I've gotten. Seems as though lately, Karl, the Cuban quality just isn't there. They're exporting some real garbage, unless you only smoke the Cohibas."
Offering the cutter to his partner, he added, "And I do like some variety. I don't like having the same thing every time, even if the quality is top drawer."
"Sort of like the sluts here, don't you think? Variety is great, but then again, it's nice to come back again to smoke with old friends again. Don't you agree, Donna?"
Rose still didn't understand where this conversation was headed, nor the tortures planned, but there was no mistaking Donna's violent head shake. She, at least, understood the allusion and dreaded her next few hours with visible quaking and true fear.
The gentlemen shared the ritual of lighting up.
As they savored their cigars and brandy, the woman reminded them, "The nipples and areolas are mine today, don't forget."
The men murmured their jovial acceptance of her request.
Master James took a drag on his puro, exhaled a dense cloud of smoke, and murmured, "Let's get started then."
Receiving approval from his companions, he tapped the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray and approached the impaled slut.
Donna cringed and pulled away as far as the dildo and bondage would allow on his approach. Wide-eyed, Rose watched in silent horror as the glowing cigar tip was pushed into a hole in the bra's metal cup. Master Karl mirrored the action to the other cup. The resulting scream escaped the gag and the bound slut bounced violently on her stake. Waiting for the shuddering to subside, the men repeated the procedure, paying attention to both breasts equally. Rose could see the angry red spots burned into the tender tit-flesh. She realized that the chain-mail of the 'bra' left the nipple area exposed, and featured several concentric circles of holes worked into the design. The pale flesh bulging through those holes was obviously the target of this 'fire torture.'
Rose squeezed her thighs together faster as the bound girl frantically humped the pole she sat on.
When they had completed two of the cigar burns on each breast, the Mistress set her drink down, and rising gracefully, halted the procedure, "Wait, let me have some fun too."
She fished a pack of cigarettes from a hidden pocket in her gown, extracted one and tamped it down carefully on the tabletop.
One of the men hurried to her and offered a light. After a couple of drags on the slim cigarette, she approached the sobbing slut.
"Now it's time to suffer, bitch. I don't want you to ever forget your time with Mistress Elaine."
Then the cigarette's glowing end was held against the bottom of Donna's right areola. Rose cringed and tried to look away from the thrashing girl and the wisp of smoke rising from her singed bud. A Trainer held her head firmly, forcing Rose to watch in gut-wrenching horror as the procedure was repeated four-square around each nipple. Mistress Elaine was careful to give Donna time to recover from each burn, not out of concern for her suffering, but so she could appreciate each pain anew.
The fire torture continued as the men left angry crimson burns on Donna's inner thighs between girdle and hose. Whenever a cigar was applied to the welts decorating the back of her thighs, the bound pain-slut literally leaped an honest six inches into the air. Of course, the cigar followed her flight and crash landing as gravity impaled her full weight on the tool splitting her. Each time the cycle was repeated, Rose saw fresh rivulets of juice glisten down Donna's thighs.
Through the sex-fog in her brain, Rose realized that she had been brought to this building, this room, for the same fire torture. Yes, she was terrified. Being human, she would grovel and beg to be spared, of course. She was also scared she would disappoint the Trainers and her Master who had brought her to this place. Would she embarrass herself and not be able to endure the very real pain twisting Donna's tear-streaked face? She knew her turn would come soon enough.
Although Donna screamed herself hoarse, she still jerked and fell savagely on the impaling pole with each fresh burn. Rose would have sworn the tortures continued for hours. Then she realized that each mammoth cigar was barely a third smoked. So while it may have seemed an eternity to Donna, they had only been working the poor girl over for about twenty minutes. Several more cigarettes were stubbed out directly on the tips of the moaning girl's nipples. Some were relit and the process repeated. Rose found herself imagining and wanting that pain for her own. Donna was rapidly nearing exhaustion. The men became bored with their game, and seemed to notice Rose for the first time.
Master Karl gestured to her with his cigar, "Fresh meat! How about some variety, James? Perhaps the spreader bar, arms behind, bent over, with hanging tits?"
"Just let me give Donna a royal finish, and I'll be right with you," Master James replied.
He knocked off the accumulated ash, and puffing the cigar like a steam engine, bent down to Donna's crotch. The mammoth dildo stretching her also distended her labia, spreading her outside as well as in. Master James pushed the glowing tip toward her offered clit. Leaning in, his perfect aim was rewarded by Donna's shriek. Despite the bondage, the bitch almost jumped completely off the giant cock. But James was a Master indeed, and the cigar never left its target. Rather, he surpassed her previous tortures by blowing through the cigar to keep the tip glowing orange as she jerked up and down on the horse-cock buried in her. In a very short time, the agonized slut lost all control. Master James recognized the symptoms and pulled back quickly, but not before the yellow stream hit the cigar and dribbled onto his gleaming loafers.
Surprisingly, he was more amused than angry. "Well, Donna, we were going to give you a few days recuperation after this fire session before we started your piercings. But apparently you require a severe lesson in control, so we'll do all the piercings today, and introduce you to our water sports, since you seem to enjoy them so much. Oh, and there will be additional punishment for cumming without permission as well."
Whether it was the awful cigar burn to her clit, the release of her bladder, the unauthorized orgasm, or the promise of new tortures and piercings before day's end, all remaining strength left the wretched woman. The chain now seemed only a decoration as Donna's whole body sagged beneath it. The post impaling her scorched slit held her up.
As a true pain-slut, Rose felt more envy than sympathy for Donna. But she also understood the other woman's terror and agony as well. Bravely she would face the fire tortures, whippings, and any required body piercings. Yes, she would cry and scream, but prayed the Masters would gag her so she wouldn't humiliate herself begging for mercy she neither wanted not expected. She had entered the program willingly, and wanted to suffer the full course.
No one moved to release Donna from her stake. They did lower the ceiling chain a foot so her entire weight perched on the pole. Then the Trainers busied themselves arranging Rose's bondage while the Masters and Mistress sat and savored their refreshed drinks.
Rose was positioned per the instructions whispered to the Trainers. First, they unlatched her restraints from their hogtie position and helped her to her feet.
She was surprised when they also removed the chain-mail bra. The wrist restraints were refastened in front, then snapped to her collar's rear D-ring. The wooden spreader bar slipped through her arms and behind her head created the caricature of a very busty butterfly. Another bar opened her ankles, exposing her engorged slit.
"Well, well, looks like someone has been a naughty girl, haven't you Rose?" Master Karl taunted.
Bent over at the waist for her torment, Rose could see her pendulous breasts, framed by the black V of her nyloned legs. They jiggled and swayed with each breath, In that position, there was no way she could hide her arousal, but she tried nevertheless, "Oh, no Sir, I wouldn't cum without permissioooooohhh!"
Without warning, they began to methodically cane her taut ass and thighs. The bondage controlled her bucking. A Trainer on each end of the wrist bar held her in place. Eventually the Masters tired of her screams and ordered her gagged. The aching jaw-stretcher muted the volume of her shrieks, but not their heart-rending intensity.
After a forever of searing agony, they stopped. Her sobbing continued as tears swelled the puddle beneath her head. Another between her legs pleaded as eloquently. Through streaming eyes, she was aware of a camera's flash recording her ravaged rear. Giving her a few moment's respite, they held the digital camera before her misty eyes and played a slideshow of the network of purple and deep red welts criss-crossing her legs and ass.
"For the family album," Master Karl smirked.
Mistress Elaine set her cup on a table and approached. Bending down, she whispered to Rose, "Only another woman truly knows how. Now suffer, bitch."
Taking the wicked cane from one of the men, she began working Rose's hanging breasts. The Mistress was an expert, keeping the cane against each searing slash for a couple of seconds before pulling it away to raise the welt.
As a dedicated pain-pig, Rose had suffered and enjoyed a variety of tit-torture, but nothing like the blazing agony she endured as her bouncing breasts were systematically beaten. Her need for release rose as the pain mounted.
Rose kept her eyes clenched tight. She couldn't bring herself to watch the cane actually strike her breasts. But her eyes shot open as a cut of the cane precisely bisected her spread slit. The pain went beyond words. Her breasts had suffered love-pats by comparison. Paced strokes continued to welt her cheek crease and tender labia. When Rose was certain her bottom must be actually bleeding, the vicious beating stopped.