The Training of a Slave Ch. 03

(Author's Note: I know some of my readers have been curious as to when the next Enslaved to the Mob story comes out. I honestly don't know when it's coming. I'm absolutely shot on the story, with no idea what to do, or whether I should keep the story going. My muse and creative flow for it just isn't there. This is a project I'm working on to get me back into the flow of things. Yes, it's light on sex so far, but I'm keeping this labeled as BDSM. As with all of my stories, all characters depicted are eighteen years of age or older, and all intellectual properties are the possession of the writer.)

Zachary stood alone by the opened trunk as he watched the men enter the large chateau. Once again that feeling of uneasiness overtook him, a feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be anything more than some passing sensation that was nothing more than a hungry feeling, he tried to tell himself. Without another word, without waiting for too much longer, he slowly climbed into the cabin of his car and drove off, anxious to begin work upon the new project.

~~~~~

In the nineteen fifties, the neighborhood of Villefort was a picturesque series of streets and houses. Back then, it was an ideal place to race a family, to be around friends, and to enjoy life. There once was a time when the streets were filled with children playing on their bicycles or with an inflated ball in the friendly neighborhood. There wasn't a house that wasn't occupied back then, a time when the neighborhood was filled with life and happiness.

That was then, however.

Over the years, it slowly became a neighborhood that time and people had seemingly forgot. The paved, well kept streets and sidewalks became cracked and rotten with veins and plants growing through them. Lawns once meticulously maintained became overgrown patches and wild jungles that claimed much of the houses and architecture of the neighborhood. Vagrants and the dredges of society claimed some of the houses, living in the rundown buildings that once were places of happiness and love.

There was one house, however, that the junkies and destitute knew not to go to. Unlike the other houses of Villefort, the house at the end of Lookout Street was the only one that was maintained. High, iron fences incased the house, preventing much of the people around the house from getting in, or getting out for that matter. The windows were blocked by thick sheets of iron, preventing anyone from seeing just what takes place behind the reinforced front door of the two story house.

It was that very house that Zachary called home. Villefort Fort was what he had nicknamed it, a fortress to prevent the unwanted from entering or leaving. The sight of it, so intimidating and fearful at the end of the street, made him smile each and every time he turned down Lookout Street.

This time, however, it was the very same time that the noises from the trunk of the car reached his ears. She had finally began to awaken, and from the sounds of the banging and indistinguishable yelling and screaming from the trunk, she truly was going to be a feisty young woman to deal with. That alone made him smile.

After pressing a small, garage opener button upon the driver's side sun visor, the buzzing of the electrified fence ended as the gate to the driveway began to open. Excitement filled him as he reached over for his black ski-mask and placed it upon his face. Better for the time being, he thought, in case any one of the drunken vagrants that populated the neighborhood was feeling up to being a vigilante.

As soon as the car came to a stop within the electrified compound, Zachary sprung from the car. His movements were slow, a joy filling up within him. It was moments like that, moments before the storm and the training began that he basked in. Peacefulness was about to be thrown out the window with the simple opening of his trunk. It truly was the calm before the storm, a rest and peaceful feeling before the training began. Within that trunk, his project was contained, safe and secure where only he could touch her, in a place where she could not bother him. Out of the trunk, she would be Hell personified with feet, a nightmare walking and breathing judging from the sounds of the muffled screams and banging upon the closed trunk of the car.

"Let's get started..." Zachary sighed to himself softly as he turned the key to the trunk and allowed it to slowly open before him.

For a split second, everything seemed to pause and be put upon hold. The two of them stared at each other in silence, Zachary from his comfortable position standing outside of the trunk, and the young bound woman before him within the cozy confines of the vehicle. Her eyes were wide as a doe's caught in the headlights of a fast moving eighteen wheeler: frightened and confused. The deep shade of sapphire in her eyes caught Zachary off guard, pulling in his mind as if he were in a trance. She was beautiful to say the least, even with the layer of dirt, sweat, and cum caked upon her soft flesh. He couldn't stop looking back into her eyes, until she struck.

The feisty young woman within the trunk capitalized on the pause in Zachary's movements. As best as she could in her position within the trunk, the spry and flexible young woman swung her bound legs out in a futile attempt to strike him as her screams echoed throughout the dead and deserted neighborhood.

Zachary only smirked and chuckled at her wasted attempt to alert anyone who might be around to her distress. "You can scream all you want, Cupcake." He mused, grasping her swinging ankles before reaching in and grasping the binds around her wrists. "Those drug addicts and homeless bastards would love a piece of you."

"FUCK YOU!!!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying in vain to find some way out of her situation with forceful kicks and wiggling of her arms to attempt to leave his grasp. More screams of help and terror echoed through the neighborhood, falling silent upon the overgrown vegetation and shambled houses.

He paid no heed to her screams or struggles to free herself. Instead, Zachary was entirely focused upon getting her out of the car and inside the Dungeon. Although he felt relatively safe outside even with her screaming (the vagrants and drug addicts knew not to interfere with him; he was sure they got that message after he executed one trying to become too heroic), there was nothing like being inside the confines of the house. There he was in control of more things, where he could control things more easily rather than out in the open where his little project could escape.

His strong hands gripped the bindings around her ankles and wrists, showing no signs of comfort or welcome as he threw her onto his shoulder and slammed the trunk of the car shut. Zachary couldn't help but to smirk softly in the midst of her lively and fierce struggles as she banged her bound wrists and arms against his back. He was finally home, doing the job deep down inside he loved.

Through the front door he carried her inside of the dark, cold house. Zachary said nothing as his young captive continued to endlessly scream and cry for help. There was no one to help her, no one around to save the day and be her savior. She was stuck, locked away with the automatic door closing behind them with the dull, drowned out sound of the electric locks locking in place. He gave no heed to her cries and pleas for help, even as he carried her through another door and down a set of old, creaking stairs that led to 'The Dungeon'.

It was clear that this room was a large, cavernous basement with it's cool, moist air and cement floors. His captive would learn that the hard way when Zachary dropped her onto the cold, smooth concrete floor.

A sharp cry came from the girl as soon as she fell to the hard and cold, unforgiving floor. In the darkness, Zachary could hear her scamper away from him as best as she could with her ankles and wrists bound together. As the darkness veiled his face and features, Zachary could not help but to smirk at the sounds of her fear and panic. The frightened woman had tried her best to escape, trying so desperately to find a way out in the stronghold of a room. That very fear she seemed to radiate, that unpredictable fear that made him feel all the more powerful and in control. She was like clay in his hands, easy to mold and shape, something he was fully intent upon doing.

He flipped a switch upon the wall closest to the stairs. Instantly light flooded in from the various placed lights throughout the basement room, providing each other the chance to see their lone companion in the room. For the first time without the darkness of the outside, nor the dim lighting of her cage and holding room, Zachary had the chance to lay his eyes upon her from behind the black ski mask. Almost instantly he could see why this girl was as valuable and precious as he was led to believe. Even though she was dirty, caked in an assortment of dirt, sweat, blood and cum, the young blond kneeling against the far wall was truly a beauty to behold. In another time, where she wasn't a sex slave with a looming date with death, Zachary thought she would have been a woman chased by all with her blonde hair and wide, doe-like blue eyes. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, no younger than twenty from the looks of her.

She would be able to get nothing from him and his appearance. In his all black clothing, with black jeans, steel toed boots, and a black shirt that clung to his muscled and intimidating form, the ski mask he wore to hide his features from any possible lingering vagrants outside his house added a veil of mystery and intimidation to him. It was the way he wanted it. For the first experience with him, he wanted her to be afraid and intimidated.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" She screamed out, her little hands balling up into fists as her voice echoed throughout the room. From the sight of her fists alone, Zachary knew her fear was becoming laced with anger, anger directed towards him. "WHERE THE FUCK AM I, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!?!"

He was silent for her loud and emotional reaction to the new surroundings. Quietly he leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as if he was bored and this whole experience mundane. For the time being, he felt as if there wasn't much he had to say. The room, in his mind, said everything that needed to be said. Within the sparse room sat only a few objects: a locked cabinet holding some of his devices and tools, a bucket for a toilet, and a metal frame of an old, rusted bed. There was nothing warm, nothing inviting, nothing soothing. It was all cold, harsh, and frightening to any kidnapped person's mind.

As the deafening silence began to fall between them, Zachary calmly spoke up. "You're here because you've been a rotten little bitch." He said casually, his voice calm and collected. "Your Master has hired me to break and train you, in addition to some other things."

The mere mention of the her Master made her cringe in disgust. "Fuck you and him!" She coldly lashed out. "Both of you can go to hell, you sick fucks!"

Zachary let out a soft sigh as he turned around to the locked cabinet. "We could have had a nice evening, but no. You want to play? So be it." He remarked, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket before unlocking the cabinet that held all of his toys.

For a brief moment, Ryan peered into the large cabinet of his toys and tools. Hanging from the inside walls were his tools, ranging from whips made of fine leather, all the way to the spiked bamboo rod. There were other devices and toys, of course, most of which made from his own hands. They were, in his mind, unnecessary for the moment. She didn't need his more intensive treatment the first night.

But soon that thought went out the window.

With his back turned towards her as he debated what he would use against her for the first night, the young captive blonde seized upon the opportunity. Zachary didn't see her reach for the ties around her ankles, nor did he see her untie her legs. He had no idea what was going on until it was too late, when the desperate woman charged with all of the strength and power she could muster into his back.

The sheer force and power caught Zachary off guard. Immediately he lost his footing as she charged head on into his back, sending him forward into the cabinet of torture and pain-inducing devices. With nothing to help break his fall, he fell into the closet with a clatter, his anger and frustration quickly rising as he hurried as best he could to remove himself from the closet.

By the time Zachary had pulled himself free from the work closet, his face cut in a few places from some of the toys, he merely watched as the young captive scrambled up the old stairwell. Although angry, he couldn't help but to chuckle at her futile attempt to escape. It was amusing to the seasoned trainer, knowing she wouldn't make it through the locked and secured doorway. Time and time again he had seen this, seen the sliver of hope in their eyes at the thought of freedom, and each and every time, they never find the freedom they sought. They would find freedom, but not of being a normal person, but freedom in servitude.

"Got any more tricks up your sleeve?" He coldly asked as he moved to the stairwell, his heavy boots providing the sound in the otherwise silent basement. His eyes were trained upon the blond, her face drained with fright as she stood at the door.

"You ain't going anywhere, Cupcake. You're like a rat trapped in a maze, and I'm the fucking cat that's going to decide whether you suffer of not." He said, his eyes focused and trained upon her at the top of the stairs. "You have a choice. You can either come down here on your own, save yourself some bruises and a little less punishment, or you can stay up there, and I drag your ass down and beat you until you're ready to apologize."

The tension between them was palpable. For a moment, all seemed to die away into nothing, as if they were the last two people left on the earth. Their eyes locked, reminiscent of two outlaws in the Old West preparing to duel to the death. There was no other choice for her in Zachary's mind. She was trapped in a corner. The only question was whether she would take the easy way out, or continue to be a beautiful pain in the ass.

Before he could say another word, before he could move forward to take her, his captive had given her blatant answer. Using all of the force and power she could muster, the young blonde launched herself from the top landing, throwing her body at Zachary in an attempt to cause even more damage and pain to her captor. The sheer force, the sudden impact, caught him completely off guard. He could do nothing but to fall back with her, his brutish form falling down the stairs entangled with her. Down the stairs he fell, finally falling upon the large landing at the end of the stairs with a low thud, with her falling right beside him.

"Have it your way, you fucking cunt." He groaned out, his body moving sluggishly as he moved to his feet and gripped her by her hair.

Mercilessly he dragged her back into the center of the cold basement. Her protests, as meek and weak as they were in her battered condition, couldn't deter his bruised body. Soon he threw her into the center of the floor, the lone light above that shone down upon her giving her body an almost angelic glow. In any other situation, any other place and time, Zachary would have felt sorry for her. There was just something to her, something to that beauty that hid under the bruises, the dirt, and dried sweat and blood upon her. She truly was a woman to behold, to worship and admire, and yet, she needed this. Zachary knew that kind of behavior could not be tolerated; not by him, nor by his employer.

"We could have had a nice evening together, Cupcake." He said, his voice tinged with regret as he backed up and pulled a long, thick, bamboo rod from the clutter that was his closet. Never once did he take his eyes off of her, knowing just how feisty and unpredictable this young woman was. "I was going to take it easy on you: give you a little taste of what I could do to you... Give you food... Let you bathe... Even let you sleep in a bed... But no. You want to be a bad little cunt, don't you?"

A hard swat of his hand brought the rod against her thighs. By no means did he be as brutal as he possibly could, merely swatting at her body as if attacking a fly. Her reaction was almost instantaneous, matching the loud, lightning-like crack of the rod. Just seeing her body ache and writhe against the floor in that beautiful agony called pain made his member twitch with excitement. All too well he knew what she would be feeling, that hot, burning sting of the stick being brought down upon her soft flesh. It was just a taste of the pain he would bring her, a pain he would train her to love to endure, to enjoy, all for the sake of making her master pleased.

His arms were merciless as he brought the bamboo cane down upon her back. Tightly he gripped the silver-plated handle, using all of the power he could into the few loud, heavy swats of the rod against her soft, smooth flesh. Zachary was in the zone, feeling totally and utterly in his element. It was a rush he couldn't get anywhere else.

"STOP IT!" She screamed out, her voice piercing the lightning-like cracks of stick against her flesh. "STOP!"

It was just the opening he had been looking for.

"You want me to stop? I could stop right here, if I wanted..." He said, threatening to attack her again with the gentle dragging of the bamboo end against her red back. "All you have to do is kiss my boot and thank me, and I'll end it here and now."

It was important in her training, especially at this early stage. Such a feisty, spirited young woman, she needed to be pushed, to be shown that she is not an equal, but a slave. The beatings were to show just who was in charge. Now came the mental game, to plant the seeds of servitude in her mind.

"Who knows, I might even let you sleep in an actual bed tonight instead of down here." He said, offering the promise of reward in the hopes of pushing her into the right direction.

Slowly her head turned upwards. In the lone light of the room, her eyes glistened and gleamed with the sorrow and agony filled tears. She had looked as if she had been through the wringer, battered and broken to no end, and in Zachary's mind, she couldn't have looked any more beautiful than she did there. The sight of that agony, that pained look in her eyes, just further evoked the sadism in him. His cock strained through his pants, pumped with lust to be released and freed upon. It took all he had to restrain himself, to keep from tearing into her flesh with an aroused hunger for lust. No. He was not going to do that.

He watched as the fire within her took a hold once again. It was with a satisfied curl of his lips as she spat upon the top of his shoe, looking up to him with defiance etched into her agonized face. "Go fuck yourself, you fucking prick." She said, her voice distraught and ravaged by the pain.

"I'm glad you feel that way." He said, bringing down another hard and furious barrage of the lightning-quick snaps of the bamboo upon her back.

Once again he became focused on the task at hand. Zachary was absolutely merciless with the rod in hand, raining the swats down upon her like a monsoon. The cries from her lips were like music to his ears in the room filled with the cracks of the wood against her back. His heart raced, desire filling him with every motion of his arm. He was a pure sadist, loving every moment of the power he held over her. It was like a work of art, a beautiful masterpiece that nothing could compare to.

So lost in the power rush and the lust pumping through his veins, he almost, almost did not notice what the young woman was doing. It was in between the rough, powerful swats of the rod, and the painful, agonized screams from her hoarse throat, that she had crawled to his feet, her lips kissing his boots in a frenzy.