Enlightened Descent Ch. 08

"Allison, fetch us wine from the server."

Reminded of her place, Allison did not hesitate, rising to pour two glasses of Claret from a decanter on the wide server, perched firmly against the far wall. Returning to the bed, she handed each to her betters, kneeling before them, head bowed.

"My cousin Asha, she has trained this one well." Marga quipped. "Some day, I shall have to thank her." Marga offered a sip of the garnet liquid to Allison, who graciously allowed the glass to part her lips at the whim of her new Mistress. The flavor was rich and dark, with a sliver of current, and it caused Allison to remember a time when she would freely partake of such a beverage. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.

As Allison knelt, she felt secure that she was doing her Mistress' bidding, and for whatever reason, that gave her comfort. Just as she had in the palace, when she served Asha, Allison felt at peace with her place.

Marga rubbed her hand over Allison's glassy smooth pate and smiled. "We'll have to see about making this permanent, yes?" She bent down to place a kiss on the very crown of Allison's head. "Shaving is such a violent act, and hair is such a persistent foe."

Allison had often wondered why Asha had had the rest of her body lasered, but stopped short of removing the rest. The thought of never having to shave again was enticing by itself, but along with that came a feeling of arousal. Being permanently bald would be a point of no return, she thought. Once that was done, there could be no going back to a normal life. The idea of crossing that proverbial Rubicon made her wet, and with a feeling that was wholly unfamiliar.

Until now, she had been playing the part. Biding her time, until she was returned to her life, as unrealistic as the idea was. But now, with this one step, a certain commitment became apparent in her being; acceptance if you will. Allison was a slave, and if Marga made good on her proposition, a slave forever.

*

The cold seemed to eat into her body as she lay there on the tattered mattress. Penelope had been weeping during the night, and was beginning to feel sorry for herself. How she wished she had simply walked away from that man in the club. The temptation of so much money was too great. With her restaurant floundering to stay solvent, and the mounting bills that she could never get on top of, the deal was her only way out.

At first, she didn't quite grasp the intent of the men that called to check on Allison's progress. Surely, they didn't intend to actually take possession of her, for real. But when that envelope was placed in her hand, so heavy with hundred-dollar bills, the gravity of what she had done hit her like a punch to the face.

She remembered wishing she could undo the whole thing as Allison was carried out of her apartment in that trunk. He wanted to yell stop, or time out, or something; but she didn't. What good would it have done anyway. Those men would have simply laughed her off, and her credibility with them would have been eroded.

Penelope should have known that her actions had put her in peril, but her bliss over being comfortable financially, had given her a false sense of security. She ran through the events that had led to her demise, and finally to where and what she was now. She ran her hands over her head, the stubble long enough to feel soft. It was not an unpleasant sensation, foreign, but not unpleasant. A twinge of arousal lit up at her center, but she quickly doused it. Now was not the time, her rational mind thought. She shuddered as she remembered performing for Fasil's men in the cell. How she had so lewdly displayed herself and brought herself off for their pleasure. For her pleasure. The thought persisted. Penelope had garnered as much or more pleasure from the act, and she felt herself warm to the memory of the crashing orgasm she had experienced at the end of the debasing act.

For a moment, remembering warmed her against the pervasive cold that seemed to envelope that place. All of that was shattered when the door swung open violently, and two men stepped into the cell. These were not the same two men that had cowered under the power of the tall dark woman, no. They were impeccably dressed, and stood petulantly in the doorway, looking down at her.

Penelope wished she could have crawl into a hole and died, the air of superiority was so intense. The one threw a rag-like garment over her. "Get dressed, quickly." The man said, in perfect English, no inflection.

The rag, was literally nothing more than that. Penelope slipped the sack like garment over her head, pushing her arms through holes that been randomly cut. It was as though they wanted her to feel worthless, as she actually felt more at ease naked.

Following them onto the walkway, they led her out of the warehouse and she realized that as cold as the place was, it was far warmer than outside. The stinging wind cut through her paper-thin covering, and her bare legs and arms actually hurt from the acute attack of frigid air. The vehicle they drove was a high-end SUV, although Penelope barely noticed as she was thrust into the back seat. The leather interior felt smooth and comforting though, and as the heat from the front began to work it's way back, Penelope began to feel warm enough to be frightened.

This is it, she thought, as the truck sped along over the arid plain. It looked like a desert, but how could a desert be so cold. The sand and rocks could just as easily have been snow and ice, for the way it felt.

After a short drive, the truck pulled into a rather plain looking residence. This was not the home of a wealthy executive or a business mogul. No, this was the home of a worker. Someone who toiled for a living.

The harder of the two men turned to face her. "Mr. Chang is a highly respected man, and has recently made himself valuable to his benefactor. You are his reward for such loyalty." With nothing else being said, they pulled her from the vehicle and dragged her up to the side entrance of the house.

It was encased in white stucco, which had been discolored after years of exposure to the elements. In places the casing had flaked away, revealing the plain brick construction. They did not knock, but simply pushed through the doorway, depositing Penelope in a rather messy kitchen.

"Begin by cleaning the house. Mr. Chang is out of the country, but will return in two days, and we expect him to be wildly impressed with your efforts." He grabbed her by the back of the neck, forcing her to her knees. "Do not disappoint us, slave, or you will regret the day you were born."

And with that, the men were gone. She heard them lock the door as they left, but did it really matter? If she were to try and escape, and was caught, then she might expect the absolute worst.

Penelope looked around at the state of the house. Each room she came to was a little worse than the last. Piles of papers and old magazines, dirty clothing, and just plain trash was scattered about the floor and furniture.

She tried to imagine where to begin. Thinking back to how she used to clean the restaurant, she started in the kitchen. The mess was deep and seemingly endless; each layer removed, revealed another below it. It took hours, but she finally had cleaned the room to her liking. The surfaces were clean, the dishes and pans put away, and all the trash gathered into bags, and placed in the large storage area at the back of the house, which was surprisingly empty.

She needed to pee, and remembered what she thought was a bathroom down a short hallway. Penelope stood looking at the soiled porcelain fixture in the floor. Was she just supposed to squat over this hole? Lifting her "dress" up, Penelope did just that. It was a stark reminder of how far removed she was from western culture.

Working tirelessly, Penelope slowly worked her way through the house, until it was all as clean and spotless as the kitchen. She had begun to feel ill, most likely from the water she had been forced to drink from the tap. A bowl of stale rice had been her only sustenance, and she was beginning to lose her ability to think clearly.

She woke with one of the stern looking businessmen looking down on her. He grinned at her, apparently pleased with the work she had done. Penelope had fallen asleep on one of two rather threadbare sofas that had been buried in the small sitting room.

"You have done well, slave." A shout came from the far end of the house. A tall, well built man emerged from the hallway, fumbling with his belt. "Let us see what we have here."

Penelope was encouraged to kneel as she went to stand from the sofa, a firm hand on her shoulder forcing her down. With one swift motion the thin garment she had been wearing was torn away, leaving her naked. She made no effort to cover herself, even though every instinct told her to do just that. "I trust she is to your liking, Mr. Chang."

"Satisfactory, Deng." The man stepped up to cup Penelope's breasts in his palms, hefting them. "Yes, you may tell Mr. Li that I am well pleased."

*

Allison was not returned to the horrid little cell in the basement, and for that alone she was incredibly grateful. Instead, she was led to a small but well-appointed room. It wasn't ornate, but it was also far from utilitarian. A small four poster bed graced the center of the facing wall, and had a rather nice Waverly print comforter thrown over a high loft mattress.

There was a quaint reading corner, with a rather comfortable looking tufted wing chair and a circular table lamp. The bureau was in wood matching the bed and had four rows of drawers. In the corner by the door, a sink and mirror finished off the space. Could this really be her room? Allison worried that this was only temporary, and in fact she knew that eventually she would be returned to her place with Asha.

For now though, if this was to be the things would be, then she was well pleased. At least she might be comfortable in her new home. Any minute she expected the bubble to burst, and she would be thrown back into the basement cell. She imagined that this would be a punishment for errant behavior, although she could imagine far worse things. Painful things.

A small clutch of books sat braced on the bureau between two ornate bookends. Scanning the titles, she was shocked to learn that they were classic literature; Austen, Hardy, Hemmingway and James were all present, and she thought for a moment to start one of them, when there was a knock at the door.

Without waiting for a reply, it opened, and a very well dressed Marga walked in, alone. "I trust you find your accommodations satisfactory?" She offered, taking a seat in the chair. Allison had already fallen to her knees upon her Mistress' entrance. She nodded in reply. Marga smiled, lifting her face to look into her eyes. "When we are alone, you may speak child." Marga insisted.

"Thank you, Mistress, the room is wonderful." Allison took the liberty of looking about, and then dropped her eyes to her Mistress' feet.

"You are such a good slave, Allison, but your behavior from yesterday must be addressed." Marga demanded. "I mean, I expected you to come away from the experience, a little soiled and smelly, but what you demonstrated was a wanton lust for debasement."

Allison dipped her had lower, ashamed of having disappointed her Mistress. "I am sorry, Mistress. I should be punished." Allison agreed.

"And so you shall be, right now." Maintaining her cheerful demeanor Marga led Allison out of the room, and down the hall to a large carved door that seemed to stand apart from the rest. "On the other side of this door, is pleasure, and pain." Marga punched in an electronic code into a keypad, and door popped ajar.

Inside, Alison was immediately struck with the scent of leather, exotic oils and a hint of sex. Her sex was immediately wet, as she saw what the room held. Like a scene from the Marquis de Sade, there were all manner of devices, restraints and tools designed to administer both pleasure and pain. Floggers and whips adorned one wall, while cuffs, harnesses and gags graced another. Between was a large ornate cabinet with a myriad of draws.

The floor was inlaid wood, and Allison knew that she should be on her knees. Without asking, she dropped, assuming the position Asha had taught her so diligently. Legs spread, heels planted firmly into her buttocks, head bowed, and her palms turned upward on her thighs.

"Ah, you are so well trained, my slave," Marga admitted. "but you can be bad, can't you?"

Nodding, Allison assumed that in a place such as this, speaking was only for those giving orders. She watched as Marga gathered together the instruments that she would need to exact whatever punishment she deemed fit.

"Hands forward." She snipped, all joy seeming to have left her. Allison did as she asked immediately. Leather cuffs were harshly applied to her wrists, and tightened until they were inescapable but not uncomfortable. A snap hook was fastened between the cuffs, and Marga lifted Allison to her feet by it. Lifting her hands above her head, she was forced to stand on her toes and as cuffs were fastened to a chain hook that fell from the ceiling.

Not quite able to stand flat footed, Allison struggled to maintain her balance until she simply allowed her weight to fall against the cuffs. Only then did she find that she could stand, but being stretched to her limit, she felt completely vulnerable. She remembered the time in the courtyard when Asha had whipped her, while she was tied to the wooden post. Would this be the same? Allison closed her eyes in anticipation of the first blow.

"You wish not to see?" Marga lilted. "I can help you with that."

Allison felt a soft leather blindfold being tied over her face, and relaxed a little, knowing that the option to know had been removed. Rather than a harsh stinging burn that she knew from the post in the palace, many tentacles spread over her back. It was not unpleasant, yet. The next blow was harder, and one after that even more so. After the tenth lash, the tentacles that had felt so caressing at first, had evolved into instruments of pain. Sometimes it was spread over her back, or sides, and at others, it was over her breasts or her sex. Marga seemed to be circling her, being sure to include every part of her body in the attack.

A pause, and Allison thought the punishment was over. She slumped in the bonds, which was immediately rewarded with a sharp slap to her buttocks. "Not yet, my sweet slave. Not yet." Another pause, but Allison should have thanked the gods that be for every second of that pause. Suddenly, her back erupted in searing pain, and the lash that she knew so well began to assault her senses. She could hear it before the pain, and this was the part that bothered her the most. Anticipating that searing instant when the whirring of leather against the air, snapped into being against her now sweat soaked skin.

Allison fought to keep her mouth closed, but after the third strike, she was unable, and a high-pitched gasp escaped her lips.

Quickly, Marga was at her side, her hands caressing the welted flesh. "Almost, my slave. Five more, and we will be done. With the punishment, at least." Marga pulled away. "Count for me, my slave."

The sound was before her now, and she felt the bite lay across her chest, eliciting another gasp "One!"

Marga hummed her approval as the second lash hit home, Allison's buttocks clenched together tightly.

"Two!" Allison grunted. Panting like a dog, Allison was hanging, her full weight pulling against her wrists. "Three!" She felt the tip of the bullwhip wrap only an inch away from her most sensitive flesh, and for a moment she thought she may have allowed her bladder to release. She hoped for her sake, that she hadn't. "Four!" Allison whined, another stripping assault to her breasts.

Another pause, and Allison could hear her Mistress before her, her breath slipping softly over her skin. She was close. Inches away. "Spread your legs."

A whimper escaped Allison's mouth as she complied. She fought to keep a toe on each foot touching the ground, or she would have spun in mid air. The anticipation of the pain she would experience was causing her to shake, but at the same time she could also feel the moisture exuding from her sex, her clitoris throbbing in defiance of it.

For a moment she hung free, and there was no sound at all. She waited for the inevitable strip, cutting the air, but instead she felt the warm moisture of her Mistress' mouth on her sex. Her tongue parted her lips, and lathed her swollen clit until Allison tensed with pleasure. But just as she was to reach her peak, Marga pulled way, blowing air on the nub, as if to cool it down.

Allison moaned in frustration, thrusting her hips forward in search of that mouth, her mons slick with saliva and her own juice. Without warning, the horrible sound of punishment, and she could feel the pressure of the thin leather wrap between her legs and land with precision against the very center of her being.

Stars exploded before her eyes, as the pain erupted, violently radiating through her pelvis and up the center line of her torso. But before she could whimper with the irrational pain, Marga's mouth was upon her, sucking her, tugging on her insistently.

Allison screamed louder than she could ever remember in her life, as if she would turn herself inside out. It was not the high-pitched scream of torture, but the low guttural burst of pleasure that started quietly, and ended with an ear-splitting crescendo.

Marga was quick to release the bonds that still stretched Allison to her limit, and prevented her from simply collapsing into heap on the floor. Lowering her slowly, Marga keened with pleasure over her slave.

Allison lay gasping for breath on the smooth wooden floor. The blindfold removed, she looked up at her Mistress, who bent admiringly above her. Allison took a deep breath in, sighing with the completion of her ordeal. "Five."