Clara's Story Pt. 02

My thanks go again to the wonderful volunteer editor, firmbutgentle, who has worked with me to refine my story. Thank you, FBG!

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Clara's eyes fluttered open and she pulled the covers up more tightly over her form to protect against the cold. Her rear hurt and she needed to use the restroom, but in her sleep-addled state, she was more concerned with the cold that was making her shiver. My bed is more comfortable than usual, she thought as she rolled over contentedly. She reached for her phone to check the time, but she didn't feel it beside her in bed. As she moved her hand over the sheets and blankets, realization dawned on her that they didn't feel right. She sat up quickly to gather stock of her surroundings. As she did, the lights illuminated automatically to reveal that she was being held in a cage large enough to hold several pieces of furniture. She looked beyond the cage bars to find that stalactites extended downward from the ceiling of what was apparently a large cavern. As she expected, when she searched the edges of the cavern floor, there were clusters of stalagmites near the walls of the cavern, shooting upward. I'm in a fucking cage in mother fucking Lost River Caverns... or Merrimack Caverns, or wherever, and something is definitely up my ass!

Clara pulled herself from the bed and hoisted a foot on the mattress so her fingers could explore behind her. Sure enough, there was now a bar of some sort going from the bottom of her chastity cup, extending upward a few inches above the cleft of her ass cheeks where it ended with a flat, round plate that adhered to her skin much as the cup itself did. The bar was rigid, no wider than a plump stringbean, and curved perfectly to keep it flush against her body. Though she was able to wedge her finger beneath it, it was too snug for her to be able to grab it. It held a plug inside her with no base for her to grip. Upon further exploration, she realized it was threaded through the bar that ran up along her body, holding it firmly in place. The plug could not be removed without removing the bar, and she was sure that the only person who was going to be able to do that was Ian Kline. Nevertheless she pulled at it. It held firm. Her fingers grazed the flat, circular disk that served as an anchor for the rear bar. She could not dig even a fingernail beneath it, just as she could not slip anything beneath the cup that covered her sex.

A full-length mirror stood outside of the cage, just beyond arm's length from the bars. She couldn't touch it, but she could see her reflection. Clara pulled the satin nightie she wore up to her waist and tried looking at herself in the mirror. What little she could see behind her confirmed what she felt with her fingers. A gold plate was stuck to her lower back and a solid bar plunged into the crack of her ass, disappearing from view unless she held her cheeks open.

The cage offered little to help or even explain her situation. No electronic devices or anything useful was in her reach. Even the furniture was fixed firmly to the floor. The cage held a table with two chairs, a recliner, and the twin-sized bed she woke up in. Like the mirror, there was a dresser and a desk with a chair outside of the cage, along with a heater that was softly blowing warm on her. She stretched her arm out through the bars to try to touch the items, but they were too far away. A toilet and sink combo were situated in a small water closet that was exposed through bars to anyone in the cavern. So much for privacy. She tried the door to the cage to find it was locked. Of course it's locked. It's a cage, she thought.

Clara's eyes scanned the cavern chamber and she noticed there were two clearly defined sides. The smaller section had a residential area complete with kitchenette, dining space, and a living room with a sofa, and television. It looked like a movie studio set with finishings that extended upward as far as the camera would be filming and then exposed rock beyond that. The décor was ultra-modern and appeared to be expensive. A large flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall and a camel colored, leather sofa wrapped around the viewing area of the TV. On the opposite side of the cage, there was some kind of laboratory. Not a chemistry lab like the one at school; more like an engineering laboratory. It contained numerous worktables, equipment, and computers situated on raised and sunken platforms where different types of work might be completed in semi-separated spaces. Two steps up on a round platform was a work space with a table and a pair of robotic arms. Two steps down there was another work table covered with small tools and unfinished projects that Clara could not identify. It wasn't a one-person show here. There was enough space to comfortably fit a dozen or so laboratory workers. The floors were smooth and level everywhere she looked, but the varying elevations in the laboratory may have accommodated the unevenness of the natural cavern floor. Her gaze settled on what appeared to be a camera peering at her and she waved both arms at it wildly, hoping to gain the attention of anyone manning the cameras.

"Your Master is coming down to greet you. Kneel for him."

Clara's eyes narrowed as she identified that the source of the robotic voice was the camera, which proved to be much larger than she initially estimated. It had a head and small body, and when it had finished climbing down from its perch, she could see that it stood about two-and-a-half-feet tall and had a bipedal design. Her eyes widened with fear as the little white robot began to approach her with a surprisingly realistic gait. She crossed to the opposite end of the cage to avoid it until she further assessed its threat level.

"Your Master will be displeased if you are not kneeling for him," it reiterated in a tinny voice when she had not moved to its recommended position.

"Kneeling for who? I don't have a Master."

The little robot tilted its head but remained quiet.

"He's right," Ian Kline said, descending a wraparound staircase from an overhead landing. He was wearing house shoes and a warm robe and his hair looked tousled, likely from being in bed. "It's customary for people in your position to kneel for their Masters and hold that position until they are told they may break the pose."

"Professor Kline! -I mean Ian, oh thank goodness! Where the fuck are we?" It was as if she didn't hear his greeting at all, or notice the nonchalance he expressed over seeing his student locked in a cage. "The door is over here. Can you find a key?"

"I agree that last names are inappropriate given the intimacy that we've shared and will continue to share, but WERT over here has it right." Clara's gaze followed Ian's and landed on the little robot who appeared confused with its head tilted. "We will need to work on the formalities that will be expected of you. I'd like you to grab the cushion that's by the door." She glared at him, piecing together that Ian was the "Master" the robot was referring to.

"Is this your doing?" she asked, gesturing to the cavern at large. Ian was not jumping to hunt for the key to the door, so the answer seemed obvious to her.

"You're here at my insistence, yes." Ian turned to address the robot next. "WERT, this is my new pet, Clara Newman." WERT nodded. "She is not here voluntarily, but she is mine. Your new assignment is to assist my pet in addressing her needs. I have uploaded her contract and rules for you to keep track of. If she needs anything that doesn't conflict with the contract or her rules, you may provide it. Anything that seems questionable, run past me first. If I'm not around, you can ask one of the staff members upstairs. Clara is not to leave the laboratory floor without an approved escort. Currently, I am the only approved escort. I'd like you to power down now. I need to have a private conversation with my pet."

WERT chimed in confirmation of the new commands. Its red recording light dimmed and turned off as did the ambient lighting on its body.

"What the fuck?" Clara said, confused with what she just observed. "You can just talk to it like you talk to a person?"

Ian turned his attention back to her, ignoring her question. "I told you to get the cushion," he reminded her.

"No," Clara said defiantly. "I want answers! Why am I here? Where are we?"

He pointed to the cushion at the door of the cage.

She'd had enough of the confusion and blew her fuse right then and there. "Ian, what the fuck is going on? WHY AM I IN A CAGE?" she was shrieking at him and took a step toward the bars. Eyeing him carefully, she asked in a much calmer, quieter voice containing a note of suppressed rage, "Ian, why is there something in my ass?"

"Cushion," was his only reply. Her mons was zapped when she did not comply. It was zapped again, and again until she couldn't take the pain anymore. Profanities tore past her lips as the golden chastity cup affixed to her body shocked her. She knew from experience the shocks would not stop until she fell into alignment with the expectations that were now clearly defined. Slender but shapely legs scurried across the cell to retrieve the cushion near the door.

"Good," Ian said approvingly. "Take the cushion and set it on the floor in front of the recliner. She shot him a dirty look and placed the non-slip side down against the soft carpeting before the brown leather recliner in her cage.

"One of these cushions will be in every room you enter. If it is absent, you will notify me and I will give you further instructions. I want you on your knees on top of it." She glared at him but dropped to her knees. "Good job, pet," Ian said calmly. "You can lower your weight onto your heels, and then spread your knees wide for me. I want to see your lovely golden cup each time you are in this position."

The memory of being spanked had been pushed out of her mind while she contended with more urgent matters, such as where she was, and why she was so cold, but it came flooding back to her when her heels dug into her backside. Ian smiled at her pained expression.

"Oh good," he said. "I've made the right impression on you." He gestured to her knees and spread two fingers to remind her what to do. She scowled at him and the skimpy nighty she wore rode up her thighs, providing Ian with a view of her gold-clad pussy.

"Your hands go behind your back, where you'll grip the opposite arm as far up toward the elbow as you can. Hold the elbow if it's possible."

He demonstrated to her what her arms should look like and she hesitantly moved them behind her back and held the opposite elbow in each hand.

"Tip your head up and straighten your back." Satisfied, he concluded, "This is your high protocol kneeling position. You will assume this each time you are seeing me after any extended absence or in the presence of others. You will hold this position until I tell you that you may relax." Clara continued glaring at him.

"I'm stepping into your room now. Do not move until I give you permission to do so."

"My room? This is my room?" Her tone was agitated. He would have to manage her carefully.

Ian smiled, thinking, no, it's not your room, it's a cage. He entered, and approached her after securing the door behind him. Slowly he circled her as she knelt for him. He marveled over his conquest. It had been months of planning with deliberate execution, and now his pet was here with him, completely under his control; owned by him. The corners of his mouth turned up as he watched her squirm uncomfortably in place. "Sit still," he told her firmly. Her body language made her look like a rubber band pulled taut, waiting to snap. "You are every bit the firebrand I hoped you'd be, pet."

Clara remained where she was, holding her position, though Ian could feel the electricity in the air and he imagined her leaping from her spot and attempting to throttle him at any moment. His muscles remained tight and ready to spring should she break her position.

"Are you planning on hurting me?" she asked, nervously.

"Absolutely not," Ian said, but then quickly amended, "I'm not planning on hurting you seriously. I reserve the right to punish you as I see fit, and those punishments may hurt. But nothing I do will leave any permanent marks or changes to your body."

"Why is my 'room' a cage?" she inquired with increasing agitation.

Deciding to be straightforward, Ian said, "I like the aesthetics of a cage, I like the control it gives me over you, and you need to be confined as you adjust to your new surroundings. You're in a foreign world, pet, and the social rules and norms are different here. You could get yourself into trouble without proper guidance. I have an obligation and a personal desire to keep you safe."

"Where are we?" She was calm for the moment and he would reward the restraint she was showing with continued information to quell her fears and curiosity.

"You're in my home. Or actually, in the laboratory beneath my home. My house is situated above a large cavern and I use the cavern system to house my laboratory and mining business. It's ideal down here because the equipment stays nice and cool. A lot of shipping comes in and out, and the mouth of the cavern is an efficient way to store and move goods."

As far as Clara was concerned, Ian's house was on Elm Street in a quaint suburb near to the university. His explanation that he was the owner of a naturally occurring cavern made no sense.

"Why did you bring me here?" She prepared herself for an outlandish explanation about him being an unassuming college professor by day, and a human trafficking kingpin by night, or a scientist about to use her as a lab-rat for some super-secret experiment, or that he was saving her from Armageddon and they could repopulate the world after the dust settles.

"Pet, you're in an alternate universe. You're in my world now. I wanted you. I think you're special and that you and I are going to be an excellent fit. I brought you here, and I have no intention of releasing you. You are mine now."

Or that, Clara thought. She blinked her eyes. That was certainly blunt.

"So, this is kidnapping? And your story about an alternate universe is to discourage me from what? From trying to escape? From seeking justice? Like I'm going to voluntarily stay down here to enjoy your 'protection' from the man-eating dinosaurs that roam this version of earth?"

"Pet," he said calmly, bracing for the tantrum he was sure was bubbling to the surface.

Her eyes flashed fury. "Quit fucking calling me pet!" Ian glared at her and a jolt of intense electricity struck her clit. It was the strongest shock she'd taken yet, and its concentration directly on her clit left her screaming, doubled over in pain. She cupped her sex but she was unable to rub her stinging button thanks to the metal barrier that covered her pussy. "To my clit this time? You can target that thing? So, you just went straight for the jugular, eh? You fucking asshole!" she raged.

It was one thing to break position when she was in pain, but it was another to swear at him. He fully understood her lack of training, but he simply could not allow that kind of disrespect to stand. Ian swiftly stood, pulled Clara up by the upper arm, and dragged her to the bed where he sat and draped her over his lap. She kicked, screamed, and flailed as he roughly threw a leg over hers and pinned her hands behind her back.

"I will not tolerate the cursing any more, and you will never, ever direct your foul language at me. Remember what I said to you last night? When you've earned a spanking, the session begins at fifty."

Clara shrieked when Ian flipped the hem of her nighty up to her waist revealing her bare bottom, and began to spank her.

"I suggest you start counting," he advised her when he'd delivered the fifth smack. With each smack, the plug buried in her ass was driven into her, punctuating every strike.

"Shit!" Clara said. "One, thank you, Sir!"

He held her firmly in place and though she struggled to escape him, there was nowhere for her to go. He was stronger and larger, and he could shock her into submission. He'd rather earn her authentic compliance, but she was completely untrained so it was to be expected that he'd need to use force when she was so ignorant of what he expected of her.

He spanked her much faster than he did the previous night and she could barely keep up with counting. If she paused to complain, she'd miss the count. She didn't realize it, but he fanned out the strikes to spare her too much pain in one spot. She'd already had eighty-five the night before, and her ass was not broken in for this sort of excessive punishment. He hadn't planned to spank her again for a week, but he had to respond to her defiance. He'd be prepared in the future with alternate punishments while her bruises healed.

Tears were streaming down her face and she could barely utter her counts between sobs. He'd probably delivered seventy smacks before she made it to a count of fifty.

He pulled her back to her cushion and jerked her arm downward in the direction he expected her to go.

"Kneel. Grab your elbows behind your back." His voice was firm and commanding, leaving no room for misinterpretation. She knew this was not a time to challenge him. She got into position and Ian softened. He plucked a few tissues from a box he'd left on the nightstand and gently dabbed her tears. He finger-combed her flame-colored hair and carefully pulled it back and off her shoulders, letting it cascade down her back.

"Thank you," she whispered between sniffles as she calmed down.

"Thank you for the spanking? You're welcome. You can rely on me to provide you with firm, consistent discipline."

Fury flashed in her eyes once again but she thought better of having another outburst. "Thank you for the tissues," she said with a dollop of snark in her voice.

"You called me an asshole," he pointed out. He had, of course, secured her into a chastity cup that she can never take off on her own, removed her pubic hair without her consent, zapped her cunt numerous times to subdue her, spanked her repeatedly, kidnapped her to another universe, forced a foreign object in her ass, and ultimately locked her in a cage in his underground lair. Nonetheless, he couldn't permit this behavior.

"I apologize for calling you an asshole." she begrudgingly said.

He nodded his head in acceptance and sat back down on the recliner to face her.

"Let's set some ground rules. You're in my world, and here, I literally own you. I have legal documents to prove my ownership of you. Your failure to follow the rules and expectations I lay out for you will result in punishment every time." He paused to let her process his words. "In addition to the disrespect you showed me in calling me an asshole, that indelicate language will stop. Furthermore, if I choose to call you 'pet,' or 'kitten,' or if I give you a punishment name such as 'garbage can,' or 'pig,' you will respond as though I had said your legal name."

Her eyes widened slightly in disbelief but when she saw the warning look on his face, she curtly responded, "Understood."

"In this world in which you now reside, your name is Clara-Jane. From the pocket in his robe, Ian produced a national identification card and a passport which he allowed her to break pose long enough to accept from him and examine. Both items identified her as Clara-Jane Newman and listed her owner as Ian Kline. Her address was in the province of Vandalia, in the nation of North America. Embossed on the passport was what may have been the national flag with a palm tree and a maple leaf. She was still unsure about the claims Ian was making, but the identification looked official to her even if his story sounded absurd.