Popularity Ch. 03

Lexi looked me up and down before our first wrestling match as if sizing me up. Callidus had custom designed this body for me. I was now taller, stronger, and faster than before. I also had more endurance and flexibility. The probing looks Lexi gave me didn't intimidate me.

But maybe they should have.

My new body was truly a marvel of strength and athleticism, but I had never wrestled in my life, and Lexi had years of training and experience. I didn't take into account how much her superior training and experience might aid her in wiping the mat with me.

Lexi began the match on her hands and knees. I began the match on top of her with one arm around her waist and one hand gripping her left arm. It seemed to me that I had such a remarkable advantage at the outset that I couldn't possibly lose.

Yeah, it looked that way, but appearances can be deceiving.

The match began, and it took Lexi less than two seconds to break my grip and get on top of me. She got behind me and snagged me in a hold that immobilized my arms. Then she manipulated me around so she could pin both of my arms together with one of hers.

From the waist up, I was totally helpless. Lexi took advantage of my situation and used her free hand to aggressively knead and fondle my breasts. The crowd loved this and called on her to continue groping me.

"Feel her up!"

"Squeeze those boobs! Make sure she feels it!"

"Sink those fingers in deep, girl!"

I whimpered and panted as Lexi made me her bitch. My breasts belonged to her more than they did to me. I struggled to free my arms, but she had superior leverage. I didn't really understand leverage or wrestling holds at the time, but in wrestling, superior skill can make it quite possible for one wrestler to defeat a stronger opponent.

I squirmed and struggled, but every time I managed to break free from Lexi, she would capture me and make me her helpless prisoner once again. She knew ways of using my own struggles against me to force me to fall on my face with a skillful twist or turn.

By the end of the match, I was panting, sweaty and exhausted and had nothing to show for it. Every time I lunged for Lexi, she somehow turned my lunge into a fall. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, she twisted my arm painfully behind my back and forced me face down onto the mat.

"Ugh! Aaaahhhh!"

In an ordinary wrestling match, that probably would have been the end of it. But when slaves wrestle the rules are different. And while I was helpless with my face and tits pressed down into the floor, Lexi used her free hand to spank my defenseless buttocks.

There were dozens of my fans watching my ignominious defeat and I did my best to act all stoic as Lexi humiliated me, but every time her hand came down upon my ass the sting was more intense than the time before. I clenched my jaw and tried not to cry out in pain, but the sting kept getting worse and worse.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Eventually, the pain became too intense. I let out some girlish gasps of pain which quickly evolved into piercing, unbridled screams of agony.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Aaaahhhh!"

The crowd was roaring. Lexi had fans of her own and they were thrilled that she defeated me so handily. And my red ass, tears and squirming in humiliation were icing on the cake. All of that just made Lexi's victory even more enjoyable.

* * *

"I expect you to do better next time," Constance admonished me after my humiliating defeat. "There's a trainer who can teach you wrestling holds, leverage and how to control your opponent's body. I'm going to schedule you for four hours of training with her before I send you back to compete on the wrestling mat again."

I tensed up at those words. After my first humiliating defeat, I never wanted to wrestle again, but my handler insisted on sending me back in to wrestle some more.

"I expect you to pay close attention to your trainer," she added. "I expect you to learn quickly and defeat your next opponent. If you fail me again, I'll send you to the penalty box."

"Your slave doesn't look sufficiently scared at that threat," Mistress Rose commented. And indeed, I wasn't. I mean, how bad could it be in the penalty box? I'd seen penalty boxes in televised hockey matches. They didn't exactly seem traumatizing.

"Perhaps you should give Alex a look at how slaves in the penalty box are treated. Perhaps that would cause her to be more emotionally invested in improving her wrestling technique."

Despite all the foreshadowing and hints, I hadn't yet been given any specifics explaining why I should be afraid of being sent to the penalty box. Nobody seemed to be interested in just telling me what it was like in there. Instead, Mistress Rose and my handler escorted me past a dozen booths to a hidden exit. We went down a flight of stairs and I got a firsthand look at why being sent to the penalty box was such a terrifying prospect.

* * *

Of course, the lighting in the penalty box was dimmer. It gave the place a sinister, foreboding feeling before you even got a look at how the slaves down here were being treated.

Also, the place was much too big to be called a box. This spooky underground chamber appeared to have at least 3,000 square feet of room for packing in slaves. I would have considered calling it the 'penalty chamber,' but then I got a good look at how the slaves were being treated and I decided that 'torture chamber' sounded even more appropriate.

Most of the slaves down there were bound spread-eagled, their ankles and wrists secured with leather restraints. There were stainless steel rings set into the walls at various heights, to which their wrist and ankle restraints could be fastened.

Male slaves were naked and bound with their cocks painfully hard, erect, and glistening with saliva. A female slave went from one bound slave to another, knelt between their widespread legs and sucked on their cocks until they were so engorged with blood as to be red and bursting. Then when they were on the verge of climax, the kneeling slave would pull away and move to the next slave and begin the cruel process of stimulation and orgasm denial all over again.

You could see the look of suffering on the boyish faces of the bound slaves. They struggled against their bonds, whimpered, and gasped. Some of them begged for mercy. Most of them had tears welled up in their eyes.

They were all so cute. Their bodies were slender, athletic, smooth, and sexy. Their vulnerability and suffering made them even more delicious. I wanted to rush forward, deepthroat every suffering slave and end their torture, but it was forbidden.

Constance led me over to the female slaves, who were being tormented in a remarkably similar manner. They were all so beautiful, but then again, the OPS will only recruit men and women if they have stunning good looks.

The women were also bound spread-eagle. A female slave knelt between the legs of a lovely red-haired slave and licked at her pink slit. The bound woman shook her head, moved her hips in a lewd manner and begged to be left alone. Even at a distance, I could see that her nipples were hard and erect, and her face was flush with passion. She writhed and squirmed as her pussy was eaten, and just as she was on the edge of a screaming orgasm, the kneeling slave pulled back and crawled over to the next bound woman.

Constance laid one hand on my hip and declared, "All of these slaves desperately yearn for orgasmic release, and all of them will be cruelly denied until their handlers say otherwise. This is what happens to slaves who fail to give good sport in the games upstairs."

It seemed that at least a third of the slaves chose that moment to let out a miserable groan and then Mistress Rose then placed a hand on my arm and added, "Improve your performance, dear. You don't want to end up like these poor souls."

It was the most twisted, unpleasant motivational speech I'd ever heard, but it had an impact on me. I could either listen to the wrestling coach and rapidly become better at grappling with my opponents on the wrestling mat, or I could be bound spread eagle and suffer on the edge of orgasm for hours on end.

"Yes, Mistress," I said nervously, addressing both Constance and Mistress Rose. "I'll do better next time."