Cheryl's Passion Ch. 19

Ashley Witter gracefully ambled over and squeezed my bare buttocks before stroking my hindquarters and whispering to me, "Your friend looks quite fetching when she's naked and helpless. Do you get at all turned on seeing her abused like this?"

Honestly, I felt a throb of desire as I watched Cara get sexually violated by the doctor. But I felt guilty about enjoying my friend's distress, so I replied, "No, ma'am."

Then suddenly her hand was between my legs, clutching at my pubic lips. Of course, my pussy was soaking wet and her hand came away slick with my juices.

"Are you certain you're not enjoying her plight?" Ms. Witter asked, "Cara may be your friend, but your libido responds strongly to authority figures, humiliation, discipline and harsh punishments. I think maybe watching Doctor Paltrow humiliate Cara is stimulating you in ways you don't want to admit."

Damn her, Ashley Witter was probably right. My normal M.O. is to get aroused when I'm the naked victim of a powerful woman, but I was starting to suspect that watching other naked victims being punished and humiliated could arouse me as well.

And while Ms. Witter and I had been conversing, Doctor Ponder hadn't been idle in her subjugation of Cara. She came up behind Cara and her arms encircled her naked victim's body, hands cupping her breasts. She toyed with my friend's nipples, teased them, and stroked them until they were extremely rigid and engorged with blood. Cara moaned, panted, and trembled with desire, but the drug in her system kept her from reaching the orgasm she so desperately needed.

"You have lovely breasts," Doctor Paltrow confided to my companion, "They're exquisite. It's almost a shame we have to whip them."

"W-whip my breasts?" Cara asked nervously.

"Of course, dear. Every female slave gets her breasts whipped at some point. It's an important part of slave training. But you needn't worry about that today. We can get to that later in the week."

Then Doctor Paltrow reached between Cara's thighs and began to play with her pussy. She located Cara's swollen clitoris with no difficulty and Cara gasped lustily as her clit was stroked. Then Doctor Ponder placed her mouth on one of Cara's nipples. Even at a distance I could clearly see the naked girl's nipples were already stiff and erect, but Doctor Ponder mercilessly stimulated them even more.

With Doctor's Paltrow's fingers on her clit, the massive dildo impaling her sex and the tongue teasing her nipples, Cara was being stimulated more than any woman I'd ever known. It didn't take long before her naked body was beaded and glistening with sweat. And then she ended up moaning and shamelessly thrusting her breasts against Doctor Paltrow's mouth.

"You see, dear?" Doctor Paltrow asked, "If not for your rudeness, you'd be experiencing one of the most powerful orgasms of your life right now. But disrespectful slaves aren't permitted orgasms. All they're allowed to experience is edging and traumatizing denial."

Cara's attention was then directed towards me. When my naked body was in her focus, Ms. Witter added, "Your companion showed the proper respect to her betters as a result she's entitled to pleasures that are denied to you."

Then Ashley Witter stroked the insides of my thighs and attempted to fondle my pubic lips. The room was heavy with tension and I reflexively drew my legs together. Ashley smacked my buttocks and the backs of my thighs a half dozen times, stinging my hindquarters before she imperiously said, "Spread."

Cara was already being cruelly punished for her shocking lack of adherence to protocol. I didn't want to share her fate, so I instantly spread my legs wide, giving my handler easy access to my sex. I trembled, hoping that she wouldn't hurt me, but instead of pinching my pubic lips or smacking them with a riding crop, she played with my pussy, separated my swollen labia and worked a finger deep into my wet, vagina.

"Aaaahhhh," I moaned inarticulately and felt my heartbeat speed up and the throbbing in my loins become intense. I squirmed and pulled against the restraints that held my wrists. Then Ashley withdrew her finger from my sex. I whimpered in disappointment, but then Ashley thrust two fingers into my vagina and probed, looking for all the most deliciously sensitive spots. I spread my legs even wider, an open invitation for her to continue. With two fingers inside of me, my sex throbbed with even greater intensity. I panted and swayed my hips, thrusting against Ashely's fingers in a shameless, pornographic fashion. Slaves aren't supposed to have shame or self-respect anyway, so why not?

* * *

For Cara and me, morning brought introduction to our new routine. A short chain leash was attached to our collars, and we were taken to the shower room.

The shower room had sinks and toilets as well as showers, however, Ms. Witter always referred to it as the shower room. It was a cold, antiseptic room where the slaves were washed and groomed each morning. First, we received enemas while kneeling on the cold, tile floor. Our chain leashes were attached to stainless steel rings in the floor and our asses were raised up high while an enema nozzle was thrust deep into our poor rectums.

Next, we were led to the showers and our chain leashes were attached to stainless steel rings in the wall. Our hands weren't bound however, we were ordered not to touch ourselves or any of the people who washed us. We were typically washed by other slaves, who delighted in the power they had over us. The slave who washed me would spend a great deal of time soaping up my vulva, causing my clit and my labia to grow even more swollen and torturing me with sexual frustration. Sometimes she would use a scrub brush to vigorously scrub my backside or spread my buttocks far apart and spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning my anus.

Complaining about the way these slaves treated us while we were washed and groomed merely invited more punishment. A female slave who complained about being fondled and pinched was dragged out into the middle of the shower room and spanked until her ass was a painful shade of reddish-pink, and she was sobbing uncontrollably.

Every morning Cara and I were cleaned out, showered, shaved, shampooed and my teeth brushed. Then I was led, along with ten other slaves into a courtyard.

There was a woman in that courtyard who drilled the slaves in a series of humiliating exercises that she alternatively called "slave yoga" or "slave positions".

The woman who led us in these exercises was known to us only as Mistress Faith. Mistress Faith was a tall, intimidating woman. In my mind she was a combination of fitness model, personal trainer, and drill sergeant. She was six feet tall, dressed in black spandex and carried a riding crop. And if any of the slaves were slow or clumsy in obeying her shouted commands, she was only too happy to use her crop to redden the hindquarters of that unfortunate soul.

"Inspection Pose," she would shout, and a dozen slaves rapidly took up position, standing with their legs spread indecently far apart, fingers laced behind the backs of their necks, elbows pulled back and their chests thrust forward.

"Waiting Pose," she would bark at us and we would stand with legs lewdly far apart, our hands behind our backs, our fingers grasping our opposite wrists, our shoulders back, our chests thrust slightly forward.

"Exposed Pose," she would shout at us and a dozen naked slaves would kneel with their legs far apart, their fingers laced behind the backs of their necks, elbows pulled back and their chests thrust forward. As the name of the pose implied, it left my breasts, nipples, abdomen, and public lips blatantly exposed and vulnerable.

All the poses we were taught seemed to be pornographic in nature, leaving a slave's genitals, breasts, or buttocks lewdly on display. They also seemed to be designed to make us feel more vulnerable and exposed.

There were only nine positions, however, Mistress Faith demanded that we commit all nine of them to memory on our very first day of slave training. She also liked to call out changes in positions rapidly and we poor, unfortunate slaves had to move quickly to obey her commands or else we'd feel the stinging bite of her riding crop.

Later that same day, Cara and I were handcuffed and marched into a gloomy room with concrete floors and solid, gray walls. My wrists were strapped to a trapeze bar which was then raised to force me to stand me on my toes. My hands were bound high and well apart.

"You've been scheduled for a whipping," a female employee informed me, "You haven't done anything wrong. All the slaves are to be whipped before they're allowed to set foot on the auction block. It's tradition."

The woman who informed me about my impending fate wasn't apologetic about my unearned punishment. She was just informing me how things are done at the Vineyard. Innocent slaves got punished because that's the way it's always been done.

"It also helps them to be obedient and to make them take things seriously," Ashely Witter said as she emerged from the shadows, "A whipping helps to communicate the fact they're really slaves and not just tourists playing around with handcuffs and paddles."

Cara complained about how high the trapeze bar had been raised and how her whole body was stretched taut with her toes just barely touching the floor as she waited to be whipped. Ashely just dismissed Cara's complaints as inconsequential foolishness.

"It's much the best position, dear," Ashely explained helpfully. "It makes all of you available to the whip and whatever bits a mistress wishes to punish."

We weren't whipped by Ashley. We were whipped by a woman named Yanna. She was tall, athletic and had four-pack abs that she showed off by wearing yoga leggings, a sports bra and nothing else.

I was naked, bound, and helpless. Yanna immediately took advantage of my vulnerable state by enfolded me in her arms, thrusting her breasts against me and kissing me passionately. It took me off guard, but it immediately established a relationship between us. She liked girls, and I was helpless and under her authority. She could anything she wanted to me at any time. I kissed her back, hoping this would earn me some points with her. It never hurts to be on good terms with the women who own and control you.

Yanna fondled my bottom and then wandered over to where Cara was bound. She kissed me Cara, then teased her nipples for several seconds. Yanna seemed infatuated with both Cara and me. That could be a good thing. If Yanna had feelings of affection towards us, it might mean more lenient treatment and less suffering. When you're a slave, such things can mean the difference between misery and tolerable distress.

Cara moaned as Yanna played with her nipples and then asked, "Do you expect to get pleasure from whipping two naked girls and hearing us scream?"

I squirmed uncomfortably at Cara's comment. Yanna then pinched Cara's nipples in admonition, hard enough to make Cara gasp and whimper.

"That's self-pity and sarcasm," Yanna warned, "Both are punishable offenses. Keep it up and I can make your whipping far more painful than the norm."

Cara apologized immediately and, much to my relief, Yanna accepted her apology with good graces. Cara and I were still going to be whipped, but it would be no worse than a standard, introductory whipping.

Yanna then returned her attention to me. Her hand slipped between my thighs and cupped my swollen pubic lips, marveling at how wet I was down there. I was surprised by yet another passionate kiss. Yanna's tongue invaded my mouth with a demanding tongue and my tongue rubbed up against hers. We were both panting by the time she broke from the kiss, and then Yanna went over to the north wall and selected a whip to mark my naked skin.

It wasn't the worst whip she could have chosen, but I still knew it would sting. I'd been whipped before and I knew the sort of scalding pain a single tail whip could inflict on my naked skin, but at the same time, the thought of being whipped lit a flame of dark desire in my loins.

Cara on the other hand, didn't get aroused at the thought of a whip marking up her smooth, flawless skin, and she squirmed when she saw Yanna wielding her whip and preparing to use it on us. Cara didn't want to be whipped, but she was helpless, so she just stood there with her beautiful bare bottom waiting for the inevitable pain. Yanna gave Cara a kiss that was almost as passionate as the ones she gave me.

"Please don't be frightened," Yanna said when she noticed Cara's trembling, "Girls get whipped here every day. At the end of the day, they all survive, and they become better slaves for the experience."

She affectionately patted Cara's bottom and then stepped back and prepared to place marks on the naked skin of two helpless, naked slaves.

For whatever reason, she chose to whip me first. As a connoisseur of whippings, I could tell that Yanna wasn't cruel. She could have used a far more wicked whip, and she could have hit me harder than she did. Still, it did hurt when her whip bit across my bare skin. Traditionally a girl is whipped across her back, but Yann mainly whipped me across my buttocks and my legs.

I wanted to be brave for Cara's sake. She was watching the show the whole time Yanna whipped me, and, if I spent the entire time kicking and emitting agonized screams, it would just frighten her and make her dread her inevitable whipping that much more. Still, there was a limit to how much stoicism I could muster, and, when Yanna's whip slashed my bottom the fourth time, I let out the scream of a damsel in distress. "You're getting some lovely marks, Ms. Munroe," Yanna informed me congenially, "When we're finished, I'll take you to a full-length mirror so you can see for yourself."

Yanna made amiable comments like that as her hateful whip scalded the naked skin on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. I recoiled and kicked and tried not to scream, but remaining silent when you're whipped is a major effort. And then the leather thong of Yanna's whip slashed across my left breast, and I let out a piercing yowl that caused Cara's eyes to widen in alarm.

I was panting and tears had welled up in my eyes as I struggled to cope with the pain, and then Yanna declared that she needed to whip my other breast so that there'd be symmetry.

"Oh God," I screamed as red-hot fire scalded my right breast. Yanna was so polite about the whole thing as she whipped me, but the pain was excruciating. It was a cruel thing to whip a girl's breasts, but slaves have to endure cruel punishments like that. Yanna and I understood that. Cara was still in a state of denial and hoped that there was a way around all the cruelty.

The way I kept kicking left my pussy vulnerable, and one slice of the whip circled around my right thigh to snap directly across my swollen pubic lips. And, when I felt the sting of the whip across my poor, innocent sex, I screamed for all I was worth.

I was given a total of thirty strokes and then Yanna moved on to whip my friend. Cara was trembling before the first lash hit her naked skin and my heart went out to her, but there was no saving her from this. She'd signed the slave contract and slaves had to be whipped.

Yanna took pleasure in whipping Cara's firm round ass, and, at the first stroke, my friend let out a yelp of dismay. The whip cut across both of her buttocks, and then a second slash went across the back of her left thigh. When I heard the leather impact again, I cringed in sympathy. Cara and I became sisters in distress.

And while I felt sympathy for Cara, I was ashamed to realize that I also felt a dark, erotic joy as I watched for suffer through her whipping. It was true that there was nothing I could do to stop it. My wrists were helplessly bound well above my head. I had no choice but to stand there on my toes and just watch, but it was a highly erotic scene that made my loins throb.

Cara got the same number of strokes as I did, and she screamed and jerked in her bonds the entire time. This was her first whipping and it was every bit as traumatizing as she feared it would be. I watched her squirm and dance and listened to her sob after the whipping was over. Yanna attempted to be motherly to Cara and kissed her on the forehead afterwards.

"You see, dear? You're not dead. And you're not bleeding. You just have some marks on your skin."

Cara had no reply to that. She just moaned and sobbed and hung in her strapped wrists. Yanna decided to unstrap both of us and ordered me to embrace Cara and allow Cara to sob on my shoulder until she was done shedding her girlish tears. I gathered Cara up in loving arms, and our naked bodies were pressed against each other as she sobbed on my shoulder.

Cara is an extraordinarily attractive girl, and she was naked with her breasts pressed against mine. I found the whole thing to be very erotic, and I wanted nothing more than to have sex with Cara right then and there while Yanna watched.

Or perhaps even have sex with both Cara and Yanna. Yanna was attractive in her own right. But as a slave I didn't have the freedom to choose my sexual partners or even choose when I was entitled to an orgasm. Doctor Ponder, Ashley Witter, Yanna and other women with authority made those decisions for me for as long as I was a prisoner in the Vineyard, I was just a naked slave with no freedoms.

"The two of you make for an attractive couple," Yanna observed while Cara and I held each other, "I suggest you give Cara lots of orgasms after the two of you are locked in your cell. It will help the poor dear to adjust to the pain of being whipped."

Cara then raised up her head, looked over her shoulder and explained about libidol and the impossibility of orgasms.

"Well, I'll just have to see about that," Yanna replied as she laid a comforting hand on Cara's back, "I'm close personal friends with Pauline Tänzerin. She has authority over all the slaves being trained for the slave auction. If I talk to her, I'm reasonably certain I can get her to take you off libidol."

Cara ended up hugging Yanna in an act of spontaneous affection and gratitude. Slaves aren't supposed to touch free people without permission, but instead of punishing Cara, Yanna just hugged her back. At that point it was obvious Yanna was extraordinarily fond of Cara and was giving her special treatment.

Either that, or she was just a big softie.

At any rate, Cara developed a strong emotional bond with Yanna and was endlessly grateful when she was taken off the drug that made orgasms impossible. When you're a naked slave, small privileges like that that can have a huge emotional impact, and Cara was no exception. After she was taken off libidol, it was like Yanna was the second coming of Jesus. Cara would have done anything for that woman at that point. She became utterly loyal and would do anything Yanna said without question.

Cara began to adjust to her slavery admirably after that. She wanted Yanna to approve of her, so the other handlers would drop Yanna's name when giving Cara orders. They became prone to using phrases like, "You want Yanna to be proud of you, don't you?"

* * *

When we weren't being punished, groomed or otherwise supervised by our handlers, Cara and I were locked in a cell. The cell right next to ours was occupied by two other female slaves. Their names were Holland and Yulia. They were both naked, and they both sported whip marks on their naked skin similar to the painful marks that Cara and I had.

"This is my first time being a slave sold at auction," Holland confided, "This is Yulia's second."

I explained that it was the first time for me. And Cara was an utter novice when it came to being treated like a slave. Holland and Yulia instantly expressed sympathy for Cara, and they reached through the bars to hold her hand and offer sympathy.