Stephanie and the Slavers

I guess all my exercises helped, but certainly nothing had prepared me for this kind of all-out assault. I was aware of my breasts swinging wildly as every thrust made my body lurch forward against the back of the chair. I tugged frantically, and uselessly, at the cuffs holding me to the chair, my pain and panic overwhelming my knowledge that none of Theo's equipment would ever break from my struggles. The attack seemed to go on forever, although it was probably really only ten or fifteen minutes. He had good stamina, holding his orgasm in while it slowly built, fed by my screams and struggles. Finally he stopped at the end of a thrust, held it, grunted and shuddered, and unleashed a flood of warm cum into me.

He stayed in me for a minute or two while his cock gradually deflated, then pulled it out. I felt something wet and sticky, probably some mixture of cum, shit and maybe blood, start to trickle out and down my legs. I hung my head and tried to get my breath back through my nose while he went over to the sink and gave himself a thorough cleanup. He didn't offer me the same courtesy. He just put his clothes back on, gave me a hard slap on the bum by way of good-bye, and walked out.

The minute he was out the door, Jake came in. No doubt he had been watching the cameras carefully to make sure I wasn't in danger of long-term injury. Evidently he and Theo were confident that I was stretched out enough that I wouldn't get torn up, even though it felt as though I would at any moment.

He stood there a moment, assessing where to start. No doubt he had seen women in this situation more times than I could count; his expression stayed professional and impassive as he decided that the first order of business was to wash me up. He soaked a cloth in warm water, added soap, and went to work on my legs. He got a second one and gently washed my screaming asshole. "I don't see any blood, so you're probably okay, but Theo has already asked Halliday to come by soon and make sure."

When he was done, he undid all the cuffs holding me in position behind the chair. I walked around and dropped into the seat, glad to be finished standing behind it, but stood up again quickly as my ass reminded me of the other things that had been done to it. Jake took the surgical scissors and worked them carefully under the tape at one side of my mouth, cutting it all the way through with one slice, and peeled it off my mouth. He helped me spit out the sodden wad of cloth and tossed it in a bin with the cuffs to be thoroughly washed and disinfected.

He started gently trying to work my hair free of the tape. It was pretty badly stuck, but he produced a little bottle of something from his pocket, wetted a cloth with it, and used it to help work the tape off my hair. "Acetone," he said. "It does a really good job of melting the adhesive, but you'll want to wash it out of your hair the minute you get back to quarters."

Half way around, Jake grumbled, "My job would be a lot easier if he'd just used the bondage tape instead of this fucking duct tape. What does he think this is, the Red-fucking-Green show?" I pulled a blank for a minute, then realized he was referencing the old Canadian comedy about an inept handyman who could only seem to fix things with duct tape. It was nice to see that Jake had a bit of a dry sense of humour under his stoic professional facade.

He finally got the last of the tape off, and I picked up my stilettoes, tested my legs to make sure I could still walk, and headed slowly and painfully to the door. A very long, very hot shower was the first order of business, followed by a soak in the little hot tub that Theo provided for precisely this kind of situation. Clearly I'd be sleeping on my stomach tonight.

**

I was still sore the next morning, but I felt somewhat on the mend. Halliday had checked me out and pronounced nothing torn, but noted some bruising of my sphincter that should be given a chance to heal. I'm not sure why Theo let that happen -- it was obvious that the guy was really hurting me, but maybe Theo didn't realize that it would be enough to cause bruising. Or maybe the guy was a good enough customer that Theo couldn't afford to turn him away. Anyway, Halliday said that he would tell Theo that my asshole needed some rest before being put to work again. He gave me some analgesic cream for my sore skin, and told me that it was safe if I wanted to work a fingerful into my asshole. It didn't take away the pain -- noting short of a shot of morphine seemed likely to do that -- but it definitely helped.

I didn't know how Theo would deal with the prescription for some time off -- I knew that, even after doubling his labour force, his cash flow was still hanging by a thread. He compromised on one day completely off, and told me that for the rest of the week, he would set me up with guys who weren't much into floggers and anal play, and that he would offer them a discount if they promised to stay out of there. "I'll be watching to see that they do," he reassured me.

I spent some of my rare day off in the hot tub, then sat down at the computer in my cubical -- on a stack of pillows -- and started a detailed journal, beginning with the day the slavers snatched me. Theo had explained that we were welcome to do anything we wanted on the computer. "Signals can get in, but on these computers, nothing can get out." Sort of like us, I thought ruefully.

"If you want to start a journal or whatever, go ahead. If anyone gets far enough into this organization to find it, I'll already be serving my twenty-year sentence for human trafficking." I had thought earlier of starting a journal, but it had taken this long to organize my thoughts and emotions enough to be coherent. I wasn't sure what I'd do with it -- maybe use it as the basis for some pornographic stories -- but it was therapeutic to get my thoughts out of my head and onto the screen.

The next day -- my third day at the job -- I was staked out on a dildo pole as usual. When the first guy came in, he went up and down the line of staked-out women, assessing. This one seemed particularly interested in pussies, especially ones with at least some pubic hair. He totally passed by a few completely bare pussies, stopping to run his fingers through the bushes of the women who had them.

Once I had gotten away from the slavers, I was able to turn my scraggly pubic hair into a neatly trimmed and shaped little puss-cozy. Theo had encouraged me not to go back to my Brazilian right away. He liked to provide for a variety of tastes, he had said, and some guys like a more natural look. Obviously this guy was one of those. He lovingly stroked my pubic hair and admired the rest of my female bits, stroking my labia where they were stretched wide by the dildo. He seemed to like what he saw, and held out his hand for the hex key. What was this guy going to find to do to me? I wondered. I knew my anus was off limits, but Theo hadn't said that anything else was.

When we entered the suite, he positioned me in the centre of the room under all the ropes and pulleys. Interesting, I thought. I hadn't had the pleasure of having those used on me yet. He buckled a longer spreader -- at least a metre long -- between my ankles so that my legs were spread far apart, and fastened it to one of the restraint points on the floor with a short chain. He did the same for my wrists, attaching them to one of the chains dangling from a pulley. He peeled the tape off my mouth, and didn't bother to gag me in any other way for some reason. Maybe he wants to hear me scream and beg, I thought darkly.

He pulled the chain to the point where my feet cleared the floor by thirty centimetres or so and the chain on my ankle spreader ran out of slack and pulled all the chains tight. Then he cinched it around a cleat. I was tautly spread in a totally exposed mid-air spread-eagle.

Then he went to the shelf and came back with an evil-looking pair of nipple clamps joined by a chain. They had rubber-coated jaws rather than metal teeth like some of the ones I'd heard of, but they hurt nonetheless, especially since he didn't put them on my areolas the way you're supposed to. Instead, he clamped them right on my nipples. The situation got even worse when he hooked a small bucket into the chain and started adding weights into it so that my nipples were pulled far downwards and were howling with pain.

He picked up a flogger and started hitting me with it. True to his word, he stayed away from my abused bum, but didn't spare any other parts of my body. He especially liked to use it on my nipples and pussy lips. Soon he had me yelping, then starting to scream in pain. Without benefit of a gag, the sound filled the room. Evidently he liked it that way.

After about half an hour of working me over, he let me down and unclipped the chains. I tried not to give him the satisfaction of collapsing to the floor. Still cuffed and spread, I shuffled over to the bed and laid down on my back as ordered. Fortunately, time and Halliday's cream had calmed my skin enough that I was merely a bit uncomfortable on my back. At least in this position, the weights on the nipple clamps were resting on my belly instead of trying to pull my nipples down to my knees. He attached my arm spreader to a short chain bolted to the head of the bed and brought another chain up from somewhere I couldn't see below the foot of the bed and attached it to my leg spreader. I was relieved that the chains didn't seem especially tight, as my arms were already a bit sore from the suspension.

In a minute I was wishing I hadn't thought that. From the way his arm and shoulders moved, he was starting to turn something out of my line of sight at the foot of the bed. It seemed like a crank, from the ratcheting sound it made as he turned it. The slack disappeared from the ankle-chain, and the tension on my shoulders and back gradually increased. The crank seemed to be geared so that it took a lot of turns to add very much tension; this meant that, without much effort, he could in principle keep turning until my arms were pulled right out of their sockets as if I was on a medieval torture rack.

My joints, especially my shoulders, began to hurt more and more. Surely Theo wouldn't let him truly break me, would he? My rational brain assured me that he wouldn't, but as the pain got more and more intense, my reptile brain was trying to flood my body with panic signals.

Just when I was becoming convinced that I was truly about to be "broken on the rack," as the medieval saying goes, I suddenly heard a loud "kkkcctttt" noise from the mechanism. The chains remained as tight as they had been, but even though he gave the crank a few more turns, the tension didn't increase. Trust Theo: he had built in a release to make sure that, although the rack could be cranked to excruciating levels, it couldn't actually dislocate any limbs. My rational brain managed to take control again. Barely.

Even though I was now exposed only from the front, I still felt as vulnerable as I had felt while suspended, only now I was also stretched so tightly that I couldn't move even my hips a millimetre in any direction.

The guy sat on the edge of the bed and examined my bush minutely, running his fingers lightly through the hairs. Good, I thought. Maybe this is where he finally fucks me and I get to go home.

I was a bit taken aback to hear myself referring to the slave quarters as "home" -- I guess I hadn't seen my real home for so long that I was starting to think of getting out of this fucking torture chamber and back to my cubicle as "going home."

This guy assessed what I had, went to a shelf, and picked up a disposable razor and a can of shave cream -- another pre-arrangement, I guessed, since I wasn't aware that shaving supplies were standard equipment on Theo's toy shelves. Evidently, one of his fetishes was creating Brazilians out of raw materials. He lathered me up with shave cream and started carefully removing what remained of my pubic hair. It was a three-blade safety razor, so it couldn't have cut me badly, but if he had been rough with it, he still could have given me an unpleasant nick or two in some pretty delicate places. Fortunately, he was being very careful of what evidently was his favourite female body part.

When he was finished to his satisfaction, he wiped off the remains of the cream and lovingly handled my newly bare pubic area, thoroughly exploring the labia he had only been able to touch awkwardly when my vagina was occupied by the dildo. He spent a long time gently stroking my clit, rubbing it with a finger and then rolling it between finger and thumb. It would have been pleasantly erotic if my joints weren't killing me and my nipples weren't going numb. As it was, I just wanted to scream, "Will you please just get on with it?" But I didn't think it would be wise to let that thought come out my mouth, so I just pretended I was enjoying it. At least it was distracting him from coming up with something else, such as using my bald pussy as a flogger target again.

By this time, I had given up screaming and managed to hold myself to whimpers. I used my meditation training to focus my mind on something other than the pain, in this case what was going on in my vulva. Even though I wasn't finding it erotic, it was something that didn't actively hurt, and I tried to let it consume my entire attention.

After that seemed a year, he finally stood up and began to shuck off his clothes. When he dropped his underwear, I was relieved to see that what popped out was a respectable but perfectly ordinary cock. After Monster-Cock Mike, it was certainly a nice change.

He applied some lube, as Theo always required, and slid it in. I had to admit that it was kind of nice to feel his body slide over naked skin again, rather than being cushioned by a forest of hair. After all his warmup, he built to a climax quite quickly, egged on by what I hoped were not too fake-sounding orgasmic noises from me. Finally he came, collapsed on my body, and laid there for a minute before pulling out and letting his cum start draining onto the bed. He washed up, dressed and left. The whole episode had taken barely an hour, and I was very glad that he hadn't used his entire time allotment. Jake appeared quickly, released the ratchet on the rack, and removed the rest of the equipment from my body.

**

That evening, I finally allowed myself to be overwhelmed by what was going on and the apparent hopelessness of my situation. This far, I had been consoling myself with comparisons to my life with the slave traders. I was being fed, I wasn't stuffed in a filthy cage, and most of all, I was only being abused once a day instead of being chained to a bed while a parade of men shoved their dirty dicks into me. But as I made my way back to quarters nursing my aching body, my composure started coming unglued. It wasn't just the abuse, but the very real possibility that I could spend the rest of my life like this that was breaking down the philosophical facade I had erected for myself. I grabbed a quick shower to get the remains of the cum off my legs and soothe my aching body, skipped the usual evening snacks and chatter in the common room, got into my pajamas, and went straight to bed.

I just curled up in a fetal position under my covers and let myself cry for the first time since arriving at Theo's. I was able to keep it to soft whimpers rather than the outright bawling session I really wanted, but the release felt good. It didn't fix anything, and I still felt miserable, but the strain of holding myself together was finally released.

It must have been half an hour later when Jess, evidently noticing that I hadn't turned up, came in to check on me. She came into my cubicle, noticed my state, and wordlessly pulled the covers back and climbed in next to me. I was still curled up in a ball of sorry-for-myself misery, but she put her arms around me from behind and just held me. She still didn't say anything, and she didn't have to. What could be said to put this right? But just the feel of her presence and the unfamiliar sensation of being touched with some tenderness began to pull me gently up from the pit I had gotten myself into. After a while, I uncurled my body, turned over, and returned the embrace.

We laid there for a while. I still felt miserable, but suddenly I didn't feel as alone as I had been. After a while, she bent down and kissed me on the lips. I surprised myself by returning the kiss, first tentatively and then passionately. I have no problem with others' same-sex relationships, but personally I'm pretty heterosexual, and any brief flirtations with other women had always quickly fizzled out for me. But the fact that I was unlikely to be touched tenderly by a man any time soon, possibly forever, made me more receptive to what I was feeling.

I felt her hand creep inside the waistband of my pyjamas, and I let it. In fact, I turned over on my back, ignoring the residual sting of the flogger, and opened my legs to help her. She slowly stroked my labia and clitoris, and I wasn't surprised to find myself getting wet for the first time in ages.

She took my waistband from each side and pulled downwards gently. I arched my back to let her slide them right off, followed by my top. Soon she had her tongue in my pussy, licking with long strokes, and flicking my clit with her tongue while she gently squeezed a breast with one hand. It felt like heaven, and I let my orgasm build until I arched my back and let it crash over me.

She peeled off her clothes and I returned the favour. Then we curled up together, still naked, and savoured the feel of skin against skin. The pain in my joints was still there, but I didn't care any more. I just snuggled down and we both drifted peacefully off to sleep in each others' arms.

**

So that's how I got here, and how I was introduced to the life I was going to be stuck with for at least the foreseeable future. We kept hoping that at some point Theo would slip up, get caught on one of his recruitment runs, and blow the whole operation out of the water. But eight years later, it still hadn't happened.

Jess and I didn't become a regular item. We were both too heterosexual in basic natures to really turn into a romantic couple. But every time we started to get oppressed by the life we were leading, or just in need of some tenderness, or maybe just in need of some sex that was actually pleasurable for once, one would end up spending the night in the other's bed. I guess we were "gay for the stay," as the prison saying goes. Regardless, it made the life we were living marginally more bearable.

Now there were twenty-five of us, counting Slave Twenty-Seven, Angie, who unaccountably had actually volunteered for this. The two numbers were missing because of two unfortunate deaths. On one occasion, a slave ignored the lesson of the mannequin head and made a break for the door, blowing the back of her head off and supplying Theo with some gory footage to use instead of the mannequin in future. On another occasion, a slave put up with the confinement and abuse for six months or so, but slipped further and further into depression as the days stretched out. Her crying fits got worse and worse, until one day she committed suicide by deliberately walking through the perimeter sensors.

With the remaining stable of recruits, Theo was able to supply demand even on busy nights, and could usually keep the showroom full. All twelve poles were occupied most nights, giving clients a broad selection of shapes, sizes and ethnicities to choose from. On slower midweek nights, we could sometimes even get a night off to relax and recuperate.

So that's my Groundhog Day life, at least so far. As the first guy came in and started poking and prodding the merchandise, all I could think was, Well, just another day on the job at Theo's BDSM Slave Service.