Enslaved in Hollywood Pt. 02

Enslaved in Hollywood, Part Two

The basement dungeon had taken a lot of work to install. Jeri had to be careful about it -- telling a contractor she wanted her basement converted into a dungeon to hold whatever pretty girl was serving as her captured slave might have been an awkward conversation, though Jeri had often thought seeing the look on the contractor's face might have been worth it.

Instead the work had been broken up, done by many different workers, and Jeri had put on the finishing touches herself. The basement was now quite inescapable and filled with all sorts of naughty things to train and punish those girls she chose to enslave. Freya wouldn't be going anywhere until such time as Jeri decided to be rid of her, and in the meantime...

Jeri smiled in anticipation as she finished her glass of wine. On the kitchen table, her iPad displayed the feed from the security cameras in the dungeon. The basement was wired both for sound and video, partly as a safety measure, partly because it meant Jeri could check in on her slave wherever she was.

Freya had woken a few minutes ago. And she was screaming.

Jeri had always loved this part. The girls she enslaved had all come to Hollywood with dreams of stardom, and now they were waking up to find herself a naked, chained prisoner. By intention the dungeon was dark and cold, all to make the girl as vulnerable as possible. Everything had been designed to maximise a girl's terror. Jeri had waited for Freya to awaken, knowing her terror and screams would be delicious. She had not been disappointed. Even through her gag, Freya's screams were impressively loud.

Jeri zoomed the iPad's screen in closer to take in the details of Freya's lithe body. The naked girl was positioned on her side, almost bent double in a severe hogtie that bound her ankles to her wrists. Jeri had always loved seeing a girl tied this way. It emphasised both her helplessness and the curves of her body.

The simple handcuffs she had used to bind Freya initially had been removed, replaced with thicker steel manacles at both wrists and ankles and a matching collar at the throat. The insides of the manacles were lined with leather to make them more comfortable for the wearer, which was good because Freya would be wearing them for sometime to come. They were locked solid and could only be opened with a key, a key Jeri kept in a very safe place. Much better. Freya wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

The sheer amount of restraint the girl was under was overkill -- even if the prisoner somehow got out of her chains there was no way for her to get out of her cell or out of the basement dungeon itself -- but Jeri liked it that way. It was important a new slave be made to feel incredibly helpless as fast as possible. That and the pain of the stressful position Freya was obliged to hold would make breaking and training her that much easier. At this point it was all about breaking down resistance. Freya didn't know it yet, but she was in for a very painful night.

Draining the last of her wine, Jeri closed the iPad and stood. She always liked to savour this moment. Now she was going to have a bath and some dinner, giving Freya a good few hours in the darkness of her cell to contemplate her situation.

Judging from the screams, Jeri decided she was well on the way.

#

It was the cold that first woke Freya, along with the pain in her limbs. The fuzziness in her brain vanished in an instant, replaced with complete terror, as she realised her current predicament was no mere nightmare. This was real.

She was naked.

She was chained up.

She was gagged.

And she was lying on her side in a cold, dark cell.

Freya screamed. The sound was muffled by the huge rubbed ball wedged behind her teeth but in the silent darkness it seemed unbelievably loud. She tried to get up and found she couldn't. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, connected to her ankles which were wedged up behind her in a tight, inescapable hogtie. There also seemed to be a second set of cuffs around her upper arms, above the elbows, connecting her arms painfully together in a single, useless column behind her back whilst simultaneously forcing her shoulders back and her breasts out into greater prominence.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her but she fought it down. Calm down. Screaming won't get you anywhere. She needed to get her bearings and she looked around, eyes wide. The room she was in was shrouded in almost total darkness. What little light there was came from the red recording lights of two security cameras mounted in the top corners of the room. By their dim light she saw the cold, iron bars between her and the rest of the room.

Oh God! I'm in a cell!

She tried to wriggle across the cold floor but found herself yanked to a halt. Only then did she realise she wore a metal collar around her neck, connected to the wall by a length of steel chain.

The sheer hopelessness of her predicament hit her all at once. She was naked, chained up, chained to the wall, and locked in a cell. She had been abducted, and whoever her captor was clearly had no intentions of letting her go.

And then there was her nakedness...

Cold terror lodged inside Freya's stomach. They had stripped her naked and tied her up. That could only mean one thing. She knew what her fate was going to be. Forced sex was going to be the least of her worries. And nobody knew where she was except--

Jeri! The agent's smiling face appeared in her memory. Oh God. Have they got her too? Is she in here somewhere? Jeri was a very, very attractive woman -- if they, whoever they were, had abducted Freya then surely they would have--

Then the panic hit again, and this time it was too much for her to control. Freya screamed into the vile rubber gag, praying this was all a horrible dream while knowing at the same time it was not.

#

Jeri savoured her time in the bath. The anticipation was wonderful. At another time she might have run straight down to the dungeon the moment Freya woke up, but now she knew better. She had trained enough slave girls to know just how effective it was to leave them alone in the first instance, letting the horror of their situation hit them.

After blow-drying her hair, she took off her robe and considered herself briefly in front of the mirror. She smiled, deciding she liked what she saw. Forty-seven years old, she had kept her figure well. She knew she was attractive and enjoyed that.

As she considered her own nudity, she thought of Freya down in the dungeon. The girl was an absolute delight and she looked so perfect wearing Jeri's chains. For a moment Jeri imagined herself wearing the iron manacles before smiling to herself and shaking her head. Jeri was no slave. She would never be that pathetic. She thought of the other girls she had enslaved, all of whom had thought themselves to be strong, powerful women. They had thought they would change the world, break the glass ceiling in Hollywood and show everyone just how strong they were.

How wrong they had proven to be.

They had all submitted, every last one of them. Freya would be no different, and Jeri was going to enjoy breaking her in.

She took her time considering her choice of outfit for the evening's play. She knew the feeling she wanted to evoke -- powerful, feminine, sexy, and a little threatening at the same time. That meant the whole ensemble - outfit, makeup, jewellery, shoes. Once she was dressed, Jeri took another moment to consider herself in the mirror and smiled once again. Perfect.

Freya didn't know it yet, but she was about to meet the Mistress of her dreams... or her nightmares.

#

Harsh white light snapped on, and Freya screwed up her eyes against the sudden assault. She had no way of knowing how long she had lain in the darkness of her cell. It felt like hours. She was cold, tired and hungry, and her mouth was dry from the gag.

Footsteps descended the stairs, and Freya felt her heart begin to pound. No, God please no. The hours she had lain in the darkness had been horrible, but now they were finally over she couldn't help but wonder what might be in store for her, and none of the possibilities were ones she cared to think about.

She screamed into her gag again and yanked hard against the chains binding her hands and feet, knowing it was pointless but that she had to at least try. Over her own screaming she heard laughter, and the sound pulled her up short. The laughter was high and musical, not a man's voice. And the footsteps she could hear were the sharp clicks of a woman's heels against concrete.

Then Freya saw her.

Jeri towered over her. She wore skinny black jeans that showed off the curves of her legs and hips, along with a high-throated sleeveless black top, cinched around her waist with an expensive-looking leather belt. She had a diamond choker around her throat and matching bracelets around her wrists. Her shoes were black and shiny with ankle straps, making her tower if possible even taller than before. Her cascade of blonde hair fell about her shoulders like a waterfall.

She looked beautiful and frightening at the same time. That was when Freya notice the riding crop in her hands.

Jeri's eyes met Freya's and she smiled a predatory smile.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead. Time for your training to begin."

#