Chasing Paradise Ch. 09

Chapter 9 - Free Time II

The Hotel Yorotani - Room 107 (Two Days Before the Hunt)

Pussyhound marched through the corridors of the hotel, she and Glimmerslut both clad in cheap knockoffs of slavecop uniforms they kept on hand. She weighed the bag in her hands and smiled. This rich bitch was about to get the surprise of a lifetime. She'd had this request a few times. It was basically roleplay, turn up, slap the wife or slave around a bit, a couple of hours work to make a slut cry, maybe join in the celebratory blowjob, then back home to enjoy the cash. Husbands lapped it up as it meant they could keep their private pussy in their place, and maybe fuck a bluepuss along the way. This one was different. While the wife had set the whole thing up for her husband's amusement it was the husband she'd had to deal with for payment. As with every time she'd done this before Pussyhound had a contract in writing that was agreed to, and the husband had sent funds. For once, though, there were some very specific details in that contract. Pussyhound surmised that either the guy really hated his cunt of a wife, or he really knew what her limits were. It had taken a while dealing with the concierge to get everything the husband had asked for, and some of it was not exactly what Pussyhound preferred, but it fit the bill, and would do for now.

They turned another corner, down another hallway lined with struggling attractive whores for the hallway's main decoration. Pussyhound knew each one would be available to be ordered at a moment's notice. The whole thing may have lent a neoclassical air to the place but the reality was that these female decorations not only kept fuckable slaves near the guests, but also meant they needed no actual back of house slave storage. To the casual eye, too, each of these slaves was suffering the same unpleasant fate, choked and raped by robotic vines but Pussyhound was no casual admirer and knew what she was looking at. Some of the vines hid hole tightening rigs that massaged and medicated the women back to full tightness. Struggling cunts were ones on enforced exercise programmes, encouraged by threats of pain to keep moving against the resisting vines for multiple hours at a time. Then there were the moaning or screaming ones, Pussyhound knew the signs of girlheater overdose recovery, as well as the telltale shrieks of vaginal or anal electrocution. Finally interspersed between them all, and looking almost fully cocooned were the slaves who were allowed to sleep, they looked peaceful, dreamy. While they were still restrained Pussyhound knew from undercover work a while back that kind of restraint felt more like a warm and comfortable hammock than the torture it could be made to look like The whole system reeked of a skilled whipmaster who knew that to control the harem there must be a constant churn of slavegirl discipline and training.

Boots clicking off the hard checkerboard floors Pussyhound realised that In any normal hotel she would have been checking every few doors for the suite numbers, but here the gaps between the gargantuan living arrangements meant going from one door to the next took a good amount of time. Eventually she reached the smooth black door of 107, swivelled on a heel, and pressed the entrance chime on the wall to request access.

--

Jacinda was, truth be told, a little worried. She barely remembered the first time she'd been here; the adrenaline rush of it all and then her victory where so many others had failed had seemed so sweet. She'd earned two years of freedom but risked it all just 12 months later for what she thought was a much greater prize. That second time through the hunt she remembered. She'd grown as a person in those 12 months. She was confident, and without the burden of her every waking moment being concerned with paying for a freedom pass she had, for a while, lived a very pleasant lifestyle for a single woman. Her second victory had elevated her, though. She was now the wife of a senior member of the Fist & Arrow movement, one assigned to the Bureau of Breeding and Development. It wasn't quite as prestigious or lucrative as a position in the BFA, but she'd seen the advancements being made in breeding a better, more fuckable slavegirl as well as enhancing the superior gender to enshrine their place as gods at whose feet the new generation of slaves would barely be fit to worship. As the wife of a Fister she knew already that once her husband decided it was time that she should breed it was likely her sons would be born to fine educations, and political careers, any other children they would likely keep the first as a political tool to be sold or traded away, the rest would end up in the SEFR serving the state the best way a woman could, as one of the rank and file of the blue uniformed Agent-Slaves.

She wondered, sometimes, if the person she was now was radically different from what she would have been had her husband caught her the first time around? She catered to his every sexual whim, served him in all the ways that mattered, constantly sought his approval by finding reasons for him to keep her around and without a thin black slaveband around her neck. For everyone around her she wore a wicked smile as she liberally ravaged and brutalised the bareneck and slave alike for his amusement, but inside she had had to stay cool, alert, and hyper-vigilant in case things changed. She'd seen too many wives, and daughters become too comfortable and only realise how their fate had changed once it was far too late. In truth she worried about this evening. She knew no genuine harm could come to her, but those SEFR cunts worried her. They knew how to break people in ways she could barely even begin to imagine, let alone wanted to put herself through. Thankfully they were just here for a theatrical version of their former work. It wouldn't be a gentle evening, she knew, but she'd get on with it and emerge with a sloppy cum-filled grin, kneeling before her husband searching the approval in his eyes.

She smiled to herself as she realised the difference. As a bareneck she got to choose some of her tortures. If she was tired, sick, or not in the mood she could set the harem on her husband and keep him busy for a while in a swirling storm of exquisitely trained pussy that was only too happy to do exactly as it was told.

She could go outside on her own, no degrading bitchwalk for her, no collar and leash. She could even refer to herself by her own given name and not talk in that ridiculous way that made all slave girls sound more like pieces of furniture than they already were in some instances.

At the moment however here she was, waiting for two former Slavecops she approached herself for the sole reason of amusing her husband. She knew it would make him happy to watch, maybe even get involved in, but the more she thought about it the more stupid she felt. She hadn't had chance to speak to them much beforehand, Dickie had kept her busy throughout most of the day, but she hoped she could talk to the former slavecops a little before they started so they could make it look good without leaving her utterly broken. The average women knew little of what went on in their tender care inside the walls of the BFA, but Jacinda had seen Dickie and some of his friends having a good laugh over interrogation tapes. Some of them chilled her to her core.

Jacinda's thoughts were derailed as a soft electronic tone chimed, someone was at the door to the suite.

"Get that, Jacinda, Silkytits won't be leaving my cock for a while yet."

"Yes, my love." Jacinda replied as she watched Dickie and the lithe sweating 18 year old. The girl was desperate for breath, ankle and wrist bracelets connected to a spreader bar behind her Silkytits was on her knees, cock being rammed down her throat like the fucktoy she was. Silkytits was a new acquisition for this trip. Jacinda couldn't imagine what it would have been like for the girl, she'd woken up in a Hartholz clinic on her 18th birthday as Dickie had required she be surrendered for PI, and her grace period forfeit so he could be there in person to watch as her IQ was chemically lowered, and her brain altered so that she was effectively permanently on high grade girlheaters. He'd keep her for 6 or so months then donate her to a public brothel somewhere, and replace her with one exactly the same. Another huge breasted raven-haired whore prone to tears. She'd be jealous, but these girls weren't even human to Dickie, simply an advanced masturbation aid.

In her moments alone she'd tried to converse with Silkytits, but it was clear that she was struggling to hold it together without cumming at any given moment. The poor thing was basically brainless. Maybe this was kinder than what happened to most women, at least she was barely aware of all that was going on.

Jacinda was halfway to the door when Dickie spoke again. "Oh, darling. One thing...simple really..." her hand was absent-mindedly reaching for the door opener, "your code word is 'Mercy', try not to hand it over too quickly." she pressed the button and as the door slid open she realised what had just happened.

--

Pussyhound could hear voices behind the door. It slid open, and there was the rich bitch herself, and as she saw Pussyhound a furrowed brow turned into a wide-eyed expression. Good, thought, Pussyhound, she's afraid. That would make it all the more easy. Pussyhound was a few inches taller than Jacinda in her regulation high heeled combat boots. There had been genuine worry at her PI that she might reach the upper discard line, but a little slouch, and standing flat footed had put her through.

Pussyhound ignored Jacinda's wide-eyed look and made a grab straight for her braid at the point where it met the back of her head, passing the bag she'd carried with her to Glimmerslut as she did. With a twist and a wrench Jacinda was forced to her knees, gasping from the sudden shock and pain.

"Glimmerslut, Pacifier"

There was a second where Glimmerslut rooted around in the bag, and passed her the Pacifier.

"Wait, no, please! I'm not ready! I need to talk first!" said Jacinda, as she squirmed futilely to lessen the torque on her braid.

"Oh your husband made it perfectly clear in the message he sent to us that you're more than ready, cunt." Pussyhound saw Jacinda's eyes flare with anger at the use of the word, the demeaning catch-all term to lower slaves to share a name with their own genitalia. This whore was a bareneck, thought Pussyhound, a rich bareneck at that. She'd soon learn that being addressed as a slave wasn't the worst thing that was going to happen this evening. "We've been told to treat you exactly how the SEFR treats a cunt who runs from being collared to go and join the Fluffers. We know you've been given a codeword, so now we just have to get it out of you while making sure you get a nice authentic BFA approved level of care." The last words were accompanied by a hard wrench at the base of the braid, and a further painful tug to make sure Jacinda had no choice but to face the ceiling on her knees.

--

"AAA-GUUUHK" was about as much as Jacinda could get out of her mouth as her head was pulled back. She tried to power through the pain but opening her mouth to vocalise it had been something of a mistake. No sooner had she done so than the Pacifier moved in. She didn't get a good look at it, but she felt it. A very firm and thick rubbery coated dildo was rammed down her throat. She was used to Dickie, and his cock had definitely required some training but this thing was an absolute monster. She raised her hands to push the Slavecop away from her, to try and get a breath, but found that the quiet one was ready for this. No sooner did her struggle begin than her arms were cranked up behind her back, palms together, fingertips level with the base of her neck; reverse prayer, she hated reverse prayer.

If they thought they were going to break her with some simple deepthroat, and a reverse prayer hold they were very much mistaken, she thought, but that didn't stop an inner cold fear worming around her guts. She tried to break the grip on her arms but they were being held by what felt like twin vices. Even for former slavecops apparently these girls were still training to fight, she thought. She caught a quick glance at the arms of one, it had the toned muscle of dancers and acrobats. Sometimes she dreamed of being held by arms like that, but this was very much neither the time nor the place for such thoughts.

Slowly but surely the rest of the pacifier was shoved down her throat. It was awkward, and a real jawbreaker, Jacinda thought as it was mercilessly rammed into a throat that could offer no resistance. She could still take some ragged sloppy breaths around it, but anything more than that was impossible. More problematic for her immediate concerns was the sheer rigidity of the thing, it was too firm to put her head forward so she had to remain looking up in a very uncomfortable way. At the base of the pacifier was something metal, she felt the cool touch of it from upper lip to chin, then on the back of her skull. She heard a soft click, then two further clicks as metal touched her wrists.

"See, cunt. Pacified. You've got a nice firm simulated cock down your throat that's just going to make you gag, tear up, maybe even heave in a truly agonising way. Normally that's bad enough for runner cunts like you, but as a special bonus we got you the luxury version. Nice big metal mouth corset with some gorgeous chromed cuffs hanging off the back to keep you in that reverse prayer until log after your muscles cramp and spasm. A worthless piece of cunt like you should feel honoured, after all we've made you look so pretty for your Master." Jacinda heard the spite, the degradation. She was already in pain and struggling, she wasn't sure being stuck in a BFA cell in mortal fear could be that much worse.

Jacinda fought the urge to heave as Pussyhound wiggled a thick metal ring that was secured to the mask that encased the lower half of her face right at the point where the dildo would meet it inside. Jacinda looked at her husband as her eyes started into fat runny tears, her stomach muscles beginning the faintest hint of a spasm. There was a hint of a grin on Dickie's face even as Pussyhound dragged her by the ring over to the large table of the private dining area of their suite. Jacinda couldn't help but envy the mindless little whore being forced down onto his cock. She wished she could be there, on her knees.

"Don't look to your master for help, cunt! He can't help you now. You're probably wondering now why we'd gag you if we need information off you? Well I've got a very easy answer for you, slave whore, and it's not one most cunts like you would know. The SEFR, and the BFA have this neat little rule...even if you do give us information in the first two hours of an interrogation we have to ignore it. After all, what use is a confession unless we've dragged it out of some broken squealing slavecunt who couldn't endure another moment's agony if they tried? I don't think it would take us that long on something as worthless as you, but I think we can keep you on the edge of breaking just long enough to make this fun."

Jacinda was now determined she wouldn't let this Slavecop break her. She was scared of what was in the woman's bag of tricks, but calling her a slave, hinting that she could break her in seconds but was opting to take hours, that was enough. She could take it. She'd won the hunts here twice, she'd beaten insurmountable odds that had seen dozens of other girls fall by the wayside into being mere sexual playthings. There was nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it. She thought this all the way until the slavecop picked her up by the root of her braid and slammed her down on the table. Jacinda tried to sit up, and wriggle away but a firm hand on her throat kept her exactly where the bluenecks wanted her. The discomfort before from the pacifier had been bad, but with a hand pushing down on her throat it was nearly unbearable. Her body was desperate to cough the thing up but she knew that would do nothing but futilely push against the inside of the steel that imprisoned the lower half of her face.

Ripping and tearing sounds, alongside a certain amount of force made it clear to her she was being laid bare. She wished they'd just removed her clothing, the riding trousers were custom fit, and certainly made Dickie's desire to fuck her in the ass a lot higher than any dress she'd ever worn. She felt metal against her ankles and pulled them away as fast as she could. She wasn't going to make it easy for these whores. This might not be something she could resist forever, but she was damn sure she was going to keep on frustrating them at every single turn. What Jacinda was unprepared for the solid punch to the gut that followed half a beat later, forcing her body to contort up off the table and forcing breath out around the girthy pacifier.

"Lie still cunt, this can be so much worse than you know."

Jacinda tried to scream frustration behind the mask, but did little more than bring up bubbles of spit that trickled down her face to the table below. Agonised, despairing, she was just as determined as ever to keep on resisting.

--

It was amusing, Pussyhound thought, this slut thought she had a chance. Even more amusing when she considered that Jacinda had been the one who hired her to do this for her husband's amusement.

She watched Glimmerslut brave the barrage of pathetic little kicks to lock the metal cuffs on the bitch's ankles, from here on it would be easy. A chain under the table, and padlocks on the ankle cuffs spread Jacinda's legs to an uncomfortable angle. A second chain through the ring on the front of her mask combined with a single padlock and her head was also secured. Pussyhound gently brushed Jacinda's forehead, a look of anger was writ large in her eyes, staring daggers at Pussyhound. "See, little bird. You don't need to struggle, we can cause you all the pain you'll ever need, and you don't have to lift a finger."

The look in Jacinda's eyes was worth it for Pussyhound. That mixture of tears, anger, and growing despair. Pussyhound had been part of the process of breaking women many times, there were a couple of main methods, and Jacinda would be getting one of the ones that worked most on her kind of arrogance. Pussyhound was going to explain every step of the way, make sure Jacinda had a great view of what was happening to her, and never give her an inch of slack in any binding. She wasn't the kind of woman you could break by simply confusing and fucking half to death, or the kind for whom sensory deprivation broken by intense but short beatings worked. No. She had to know what was coming, want to avoid it, feel like she could, and then have that hope crushed time after time after time.

She looked up at Glimmerslut who was laying out items from the bag on the other side of the table. She knew what she wanted next and selected a small box sealed with a warning label. In here were BFA controlled substances; quite how the hotel had come by them for use on normal slaves Pussyhound wasn't going to ask, but she was willing to bet some high ranking Fisters enjoyed watching the slaves here suffer beyond anything they would normally experience.

She cracked the seal and inside were the standard three needles. One full of a pale green serum, the other two a soothing medicinal blue. She extracted a blue one first and removed the cap.

"Now then, my little cocksucking slaveband skipper. You won't ever have been subjected to this. It's one of the things the BFA uses to crack high level Fluffers. When you really need a cunt to scream herself hoarse...this is the stuff."

--

Pussyhound waved the syringe in front of her face. Explaining at length how it was a combo of artificial long-lasting adrenaline, a dopamine variant, some other chemicals she didn't really know too much about. Jacinda got the hint, though. This chemical would hit every one of her pain receptors and dial them up tenfold while the adrenaline would stop her passing out at any point during the night.