A Slut's Education Ch. 06

"No face."

Deanna adds, "An object."

I finish, "And no say over what's going to happen to it now."

With a shudder, you lose it: I see your pussy lips twitch and let loose the liquid part of your Thanksgiving refreshments, which gush and trickle hotly down the insides of both thighs.

"Nnnngggghhh..." you groan, miserable with shame.

Hmmm, I think to myself. And no self-control either.

Deanna laughs mockingly.

"Filthy whore..." I mutter.

And I wonder if I can beat the crap -- literally -- out of her, too.

**slut**

The words fill me with dread, a chill of anticipation and a rush of excitement. What is happening to me? If they have pierced my septum, then they have taken this "game" to another, horrifying level.

Game? Yes, I had thought of my submission as a game, a game that I could manipulate and control. I thought I could manipulate Master, get what I needed, ignore his rules, and still be his slut. Even now, I think I know him, and I think his taunts may be part of a grand sham, three days of fantasy and sexual fulfillment.

But Deanna, why is Deanna here? When did she and Master team up to make their slave, their pet, to lead by the nose like their bitch? She addresses Master as "Sir." But then why do I feel it is Deanna that is in control? Never did Master dehumanize me, make me a number or an "it." Never did I feel like an animal being led to slaughter. Never before was I so humiliated as just now, losing control of my bladder, falling to depths of degradation I did not think possible.

"Filthy whore," he scolds me.

"What do you expect from a dirty pig like this?" Deanna degrades me further.

Everything Deanna has done has been cruel and contemptuous of me, inflicting pain, humiliation, and anguish. She has been photographing my disgrace and torment. I had called Master's bluff about the pictures he took, but Deanna's newly-revealed sadistic side makes me cringe at the thought of what is on her phone, images that could easily destroy me. How did I not see this in her? What more is she capable of?

I moan into my gag, begging for his forgiveness. ...I did not mean to lose control, I couldn't help it! It is an inarticulate wail.

Master laughs, "It's trying to communicate, but we know it only uses its tongue to lie and deceive and seek its own selfish advantage. Don't we, Mistress Deanna?"

It isn't true! I only --

"Exactly, sir," Deanna sneers. "Which is why its power of speech has been taken away, and will remain so until the slave is fully broken. Then its tongue will be used only to give pleasure, and not as a weapon of deception."

"Mmmgh," I plead. No, that's not how it is. Please release me so I can explain!

*THWAK!* Master stripes my ass cheek hard with one of his whips. "How many lies has '283 told me this past month?"

*THWAK!* *THWAK!* across my thighs, from the other side, from Deanna's whip. "Sir, this slut has lied to you about me."

My ass and thighs are ablaze. He asks how many lies. I nod twice, hoping that is correct.

Master says, "It is a pitiful sight, Mistress Deanna. It has lied so often it cannot remember, so I will remind it. Feel this, '283?"

I whimper in reply, as he rubs a wooden rod over my thigh.

"My slave has removed its pussy-locks. Master was generous and understanding with '283, allowing it to remove the locks for a family visit. Instead, they were removed long ago, according to Mistress Deanna, and '283 had no intention of relocking them as instructed."

No please, Master, can't I just explain? I am terrified of the rod that caresses my skin.

"Was its intention to make its pussy available to Mistress and her friends? When it knows its pussy belongs to Master? That was your first lie, and for that, this is your first lesson. Feel the source of your discipline, '283. The cane of correction."

*THWAK!* across my thighs, the sound of wood against my flesh exploding in the room. I scream in anguish into my bit-gag, the pain excruciating. Master has never caned me before, and I had no idea it would be like this, a wave of agony building up from the dull impact. I would collapse to the floor if not so tightly bound.

*THWAK!* *THWAK!* "And this is for your cheating faithlessness!" *THWAK!*

I wail and sob behind the muzzle, tears springing behind the blindfold.

I am only given a moment to recover, before Master continues. "And then '283 removed its face-fuck rings with no intention of putting them back on. It clearly knew its Master's wishes, but chose defiance over obedience. He again was lenient, understanding its athletic commitments, but '283 took advantage and betrayed its Master's trust. Your second lie, your second lesson. Feel the source of your discipline, '283." It is like a chant now. "It is the strap of obedience."

I am begging for mercy as he slides the rough leather across my ass. Then the whistle of punishment sets my ass on fire. *THWAK!*

I wail, begging for anything to extinguish the pain. Yes, I lied, I am so sorry, please!

*THWAK!* *THWAK!* *THWAK!* *THWAK!*

"The discipline of '283 continues," Master says, his voice seemingly far away, outside the waves of agony that cloud my brain. A thin leather coil brushes down my spine. "Feel this, '283?"

I nod. Please, not the whip.

"It lied about this weekend. Four days with family, it said, when in fact it knew it would be a day at home, followed by many days with Mistress Deanna and her friends. For this lie, your third, this is your third lesson. Feel the source of your discipline, '283. The single-tail whip of punishment."

I hear the sound of the whip slicing through the air, *THWIK!* across the cheeks of my helpless ass! Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!! oh dear God help me, I am so sorry --

-- And then, with a shame and despair that burns in my gut as hot as the flames across my flesh, my bowels empty, I can hold it no longer, soiling the bench between my knees.

Master laughs.

"Pig," Deanna spits with contempt. And I hear her cellphone shutter click. My face burns red-hot with disgrace.

Master says mockingly, "Has my filthy pigslave '283 learned its lesson for lying, manipulation, disloyalty and deceit?"

I nod, up and down, as hard as I can, hyperventilating into the muzzle. Ooh please believe me, Master, I will never lie again!

My tormentors are quiet for a while, and sound is my only ally, because sight has been taken away, smell punishes me with the stench of my own humiliation, and the sense of feel has been traumatized by Master's harsh discipline.

"I think our slave will thank us for breaking her of lying, sir," said Deanna. "It will long remember this Thanksgiving."

"Well, we must make certain," Master says coldly.

*THWIK!!* the whip whistling across my back. Then again, again, and again --

-- joined by the heavy flogger in Deanna's hand lashing my sides, my tender breasts. *THWAK!* *THWAK!* *THWAK!* --

-- Until the sounds of the whiplashes fade in my ears, drowned out by the sound of my own ceaseless screams.

**MASTER**

My captive-slut hangs in a cage in the basement beneath me -- if I have the layout of the house correct, almost directly beneath me -- where she will spend the night, chained, plugged, tormented by aching whiplashes, shame and guilt, and, if my gadgets work properly, sleeplessness.

Sleep-deprivation is a cruel torturer's technique which robs the frontal lobes of the brain of the fuel which nourishes the functions that tell the human mind, "That was then, this is now, and this is coming in the future." Sleeplessness, over time, creates in the prisoner's mind a sense of eternal "now-ness."

In this case, a sense in my captive-kellislut's mind that she is caged forever in a world of eternal bondage... in which she is now and until the end of her days, a slave fit only for punishment, humiliation and sexual servitude.

I think it's starting to work, but we have a few days ahead of us to find out for sure.

By contrast, I am relaxed on the couch, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a tee shirt. My feet up on the coffee table, sipping a Napa Valley merlot, with my laptop open before me.

Almost as perverse as the fact that I have a kidnapped young college coed caged in the basement, is the fact that I have now returned to my day job: It may be a holiday weekend, but litigation never sleeps, as we say; I have a Monday deadline to finish the case assessment plan for my new class action in Arizona federal court. Luckily, my plans for my penitent slave involve a lot of "down time" for her, to languish and suffer in bondage, so I'll easily have this done before Monday morning. I wonder, if my partner in the Phoenix office knew what I was doing between drafts of this memo, would he shit his pants, or cream them?

Beneath me, slave, your cage hangs from a chain running up the pulley set into the joist beam, four feet off the floor. You are still blindfolded, wallowing in your own private darkness, on your knees and forearms in the cramped iron pet-cage, resting on foam-padded bars.

Or I should say, not quite "resting." Your wrists and elbows, ankles and knees, are spread out and strapped to lower side bars of the cage. A rear vertical bar is mounted with fixtures that plug your cunt and anus with steel dildos that are wired to the computerized device set on the floor.

The muzzle-panel is off and your face is tipped up by the tension of your nose-ring chain attached to a bar above, and your helpless mouth is impaled on a fat rubber cock-plug fixed to a vertical bar of the cage.

The back of your chastity belt is chained to one of the top bars, holding up your ass higher than your dildo-impaled face.

If the discomfort of your position and restraints aren't enough to keep you sleepless, even despite your well-deserved exhaustion, the settings of the device will certainly do the job. The sophisticated, expensive machine reads signals from electrodes taped to the side of your neck, your left wrist and your right breast, that measure your cardiovascular and metabolic status, and feed back stimuli accordingly:

First, to your (cheating, faithless) cunt, waves of vibrations meant to stimulate you close to orgasm; and second, to your anus, with abrupt pulses of electroshock mean to bring you back from the edge of release, each time you are close.

The stimulator operates automatically from its readings of your vital signs; but just for good measure and good fun, I have a mobile app on my smartphone that allows me, from anywhere within a 200-yard range, not only to monitor your vitals, but to add a stim-vibe or an ass-shock, or to alter the intensity of either one. At my discretion. I have yet to use the app, but in a few minutes, I think I will.

Yes, I'm pretty sure you're not going to get any sleep tonight, my lying, faithless, caged kellislut-chink-slave.

While I am calculating an estimate of time to bill for opposition to a class certification motion, Deanna enters the living room dressed in a black silk kimono robe and nothing else, toweling her hair dry from her shower.

"Oh my God," she sings. "Oh my God."

Her face is flushed red, first, from the heat of the shower and second, from obvious sexual excitement. I have to admit, she is a beautiful girl -- if you like tall, busty blondes, which is not my first preference -- but what is most attractive about her just now is how turned-on she is from our dungeon session an hour ago.

I look at her and smile. "So, you're a religious girl, Deanna?"

She sits down in an armchair opposite the coffee table from me. "Oh my God, no, you know what I mean. This has been the most amazing thing ever. I had no idea what you two --"

"No," I interrupt. I close my laptop and set it aside on the coffee table. "Stop. This is nothing at all like what we two do." I show her air-quotes to emphasize "we two" and "do." "This is something entirely different and new."

"But I mean... Oh. My. God --" She is breathless.

"There's a bottle of wine in the kitchen, Mistress Deanna," I say. "Have some."

She wants to say something more, but instead, she shakes her head and sighs, gets up and goes into the kitchen. Next to the hallway into the kitchen, I see the closed glass sliding door that leads out to the deck, and beyond it, nothing but the roiling black and gray coastal fog passing over velvet darkness of the Pacific night.

I call out, "And settle down."

"I don't know if I can," she replies from the other room. "I am so jacked up. I want to go downstairs right now and beat her some more. I want her looking me straight in my eyes while I do it, so I see her wince and, and -- and --"

She returns to the living room with a glass of merlot and sits down again. "You know what! I'm just now thinking, what if we made her cry -- I mean, tears and all! -- I didn't get to see it! I want that! --"

I repeat, "Settle down, Deanna."

I say it deliberately, and she returns my serious gaze, and does as she was told. She settles down. A moment ago, she was the bimbo-airhead cheerleader I feared she was when I first enlisted her in my deception. Now she is the smart, cool Mistress Deanna, who has justified my faith in her ability to join me in my kidnap-bondage-slave-training scheme.

In fact, the transition is so abrupt, it jars me a bit, and evokes a small twinge of foreboding.

I ignore this, moving on. "Deanna, you need to understand this. Kelli may be my submissive sex-toy, or whatever you want to call it, but she didn't come here expecting me lying in wait, expecting to be chloroformed, chained, mercilessly beaten and hung in a cage."

"Kidnapped" Deanna agrees, nodding. "She came expecting to make out with four hot girls all weekend long."

"But this is what I really want you to understand," I say, sipping my wine. "I've prepared Kelli for this. I've whipped her before, challenged her beyond what she enjoys in the way of corporal discipline. I've stripped her naked, tied her up, chained and gagged and hooded her, and left her to languish in her bondage for hours on end. I've verbally abused her, humiliated and degraded her... I've even played mind-fuck games with her, like telling her I'm not letting her go at the end of the session, and she's going to remain naked and chained in my cellar."

"Oh," Deanna nods at me, her blue eyes wide with arousal, "My."

"But not all at once. And never like this," I go on. "Sustained over several days and nights. The corporal discipline harder, longer, more merciless. The humiliation and degradation intensified. Ruthlessly acting out the scenario where I am telling her she is an owned, captive slave, now and forever -- and convincing her of that!

"Look, she didn't expect this, and it's extremely tough on her as it plays out. But at some level -- You may find it hard to believe, but trust me -- it's exactly what she wants. Her deepest and darkest fantasy come true."

Deanna stares at me with her wineglass paused at her lips. "No way."

"Think of it like this. All her burdens of responsibility, classes, basketball practice, worrying about grades and parental approval -- Not to mention, the conflicts I forced on her mind by dominating her from afar, versus her life in the "real world"... All of that removed. Taken away against her will, so that she has no responsibility for it."

Deanna nods, eyes wide, and drinks. "Whoa."

"But, and this is crucial -- In some part of her mind, she has to believe it is true, and deadly serious, otherwise, we are simply brutalizing and terrorizing an unwilling victim. And the fact is, that's working."

I am speaking softly but deliberately, "The point is, Deanna, it's working because Kelli is under a spell, but it's a spell she's cast on herself. You and I have a hand in preserving the spell, by playing our parts, ruthlessly and precisely. But mostly, the witchcraft is being woven, not by me or you, but by her."

As I pause to take a thoughtful breath and a warming sip of wine, in the quiet I hear the distant and sibilant crashing of the Pacific Ocean against the rocky Mendocino coastline. I see Deanna's eyes are still wide, unblinking, lost in thought.

"Still," I go on, "even if it's working because of Kelli's own spell, our role in the magic act is essential. The smallest lapse in our role-play, in our mercilessness, in our plan -- then, the spell will break and the whole weekend will collapse like a house of cards."

Deanna's lips stir, first into a hard-edged and wicked smile, and then into a hiss of words: "And we wouldn't want that." The tone is ambiguous. "Would we?"

"The first priority is to avoid the imperative voice."

"The --"

"To give an order. She has to be wondering what it meant, 'Welcome to Obedience School,' when she isn't given anything to obey. Get it? That's the mind-fuck! We just take what we want -- she doesn't 'do' anything, she's just 'done to.'"

"I get it," she nods thoughtfully. "And the more we do that, the more desperate she becomes for something to obey."

"Very good, right," I reply. "If nothing else, just to give her a chance to relieve her punishment by being a good girl. But more to the point, to let her be the broken, obedient slave she wants to be."

"I see," Deanna nods as she sips her wine.

"You're doing very well, I have to say. But you have to be on guard constantly to avoid speaking in orders -- 'Faster, bitch!', 'Keep silent!' -- It's easy to slip up."

"I think I am doing well. I practiced."

I go on, "Sleep-deprivation, tonight and tomorrow. Continue the punishment, deepen the degradation, intensify the dehumanization process. That begins first thing tomorrow, by the way, when you take her out of the cage for 'Grooming & Maintenance' in the downstairs washroom."

Deanna makes a face. "Speaking of that, do I still have to do the enema? Even after she took a shit on the bench?"

"Yes, because what's most important is the humiliating, shameful violation. Clean out her pussy too. Most importantly, though..."

"I know, keep her hot and horny, up to the edge, but denied."

"Right. In fact, it occurs to me, it should be your job to keep her hot. I'm the aggrieved party, the wronged Master, so all I do is punish and degrade her. You're the playful, bitchy one, so to speak --"

"Say no more. I can keep her hot. I'll do it gladly," Deanna grins. "And sadistically."

**slut**

I deserve this.

Please, let me make amends. Please, whatever I have done. Please, over and over again, adrift, alone. In a sleepless delirium, warm stimulation followed by gut-wrenching shocks. Please, please...

I am trapped on a boat, blind in the night. The boat is rocking, oh no, what if I sink, no one will ever know! Please, oh please, I'm sinking! Please save me, don't let me drown

Someone is there...

... Someone has heard me! Someone is releasing me from this trap, my pussy and ass feel the air of freedom, no longer plugged, a feeling now of emptiness replacing that of fullness. I'm being pulled away from the anchor which is in my mouth... My tongue, my lying tongue for which I was set adrift... and I bite down, afraid to lose contact... Please, don't let me sink!

One by one, ankles and knees, wrists and elbows, I feel the slack of being released... the steel belt around my waist, loosed from some mooring above.