The Path of Pain Ch. 01

My only name is The Bard and my story will begin on March 22. An arbitrary date, a day like any other. Except that I am telling this tale. I spend so much time telling Her story, I might as well tell mine, such as it is. I am in the Throne Room, a massive circular chamber, constructed with large, dark blocks of stone. The chamber is scantly lit by torches along the wall. The center of the chamber is occupied by a tall dais crowned by an ornate gold throne with thick red cushions. I'm chained to a wall by my wrists and ankles two feet above the floor. I'm nude except for a leather collar with a metal hoop hanging below my Adam's apple and a leather cock ring keeping me permanently erect. Just like every other day for the past three years. I turned twenty two weeks ago.

I hang there alone for hours before She enters. She doesn't look at me. She doesn't appear to look at anything as she strides proudly to Her throne. She is tall and very slender with pale skin and nearly black hair that falls to the middle of her back. She throws a black fur coat to the floor as She begins to mount the stairs to Her throne. Beneath this coat, she wears thigh high red leather boots over tight red leather pants and a halter top and gloves, both also made from dark red leather. Red leather is a theme with Her. She wears it for the same reason that butchers wear red aprons. How many times, I wonder, has my blood been spilt on her leather? How many stars adorn the night sky? She is not a kind master, but She is not cruel either. She is what the War made Her.

She lounges on Her throne for some time, one firm leg throne over an arm of the throne, slouching so that her D cup breasts stand out proudly. There are very few who would not consider her gorgeous. I wait nervously for a command to drop from her crimson lips. She can be unpredictable. It is as likely that She will spend the day torturing me as it is that She will make love to me gently and each of these possibilities is no more likely than that She will ignore me entirely. It is also possible that She has official business from the Brotherhood and is just relaxing here for a few minutes before returning to work. The Brotherhood is a branch of the British Secret Service. She was trained by them to be a questioner, an interrogator. Quite often, however, those sent to her have no useful information, but are just criminals or enemies of the state that have been sentenced to be punished. Petty thieves would spend a day or two with Her and be sent back home. More serious criminals and political enemies were often sent back out of Her manor in coffins.

Today, She watches me hungrily before finally saying, "Speak, Bard. Tell Me a story."

"Where should I begin, Mistress?"

"Begin at the very beginning. Tell Me of the day that I was taken."

And so I begin:

You were a florist before the War. When you were taken, you were in your garden. There was a slight drizzle of rain. You were alone, cutting roses, but when you looked up from a white rose bush, you weren't alone anymore. A limousine was parked by the curb and three large men had stepped out. They were dressed in black suits and their eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. All three had black hair slicked back. They could have been triplets. They walked towards you slowly, unafraid that you would flee. There was no escape once the state had chosen you. You did think about running, but you knew as well as they that it was hopeless. Soon, the three men stood before you and one said calmly, "Lindsey Hawke?"

You were shaking, tears were pouring from your eyes. You knew your life as you had known it was over. Silently, you cursed these men, the War, the British government, yet all you said aloud was a weak, "Yes."

"Good," the man said. "I'm glad you chose not to lie. You would've paid if you had. Miss Hawke, you graduated from Churchill College, Cambridge at the top of your class, you had stellar marks at all mandated preselection military skill assessments, and your personality evals suggest just the type of person we can use. We represent the Brotherhood. There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. England is under siege and it will be information that wins this fight. From this moment forward, you will be trained to get information from those who are unwilling to cooperate."

You had begun sobbing, but managed to say, "Please . . . no . . ."

But it was too late for you. One of the men grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you roughly towards him. You cried out at the sudden pain. He pulled your head down and put you in a headlock that left your cheek pressed firmly against his ass and, as a result, your own ass was forced high in the air. A second man grabbed both of your wrists and handcuffed them together. There was a six inch chain between the cuffs. Then, he and the third man walked over to the rose bush you had been trimming and began cutting all of the roses from the bush. They cut at least a dozen of them, making sure the stems were quite long. Your face was hot with crying and it was hard to breathe with a man's arm wrapped tightly around your neck. As the two men cut roses, the man holding you said, "To learn to cause pain, you must first experience pain for yourself. We will show you all the ways the body can be made to hurt, all the tools, all the tricks, all the most tender places on your body. And while we train you, we will own you. When we hurt you, you will thank us. You will not speak unless we tell you to speak. If you disobey this or any other order you will be punished. Although you can't speak, you will tell us what you think of your torture with your screams and groans. We will own your body and use it how we please. You will be our slave and our slut. If you can learn to take the pain we give you, we will one day allow you to serve England in our time of need. If you are disobedient or inept, you will serve the Brotherhood as a slave slut until you're old and used up and we throw your sorry ass out on the street. By the way, my name is Alpha. My associates are Beta and Gamma. We left our old names behind when we began to serve the Brotherhood, just like you have. Your name from now on is Slave. Lindsey Hawke is dead."

While Alpha spoke, Beta and Gamma took positions behind you. Alpha said, "You may begin," and almost immediately you felt your skirt being slipped off, followed by your panties. You step out of your clothing without being told, fearing what these men were going to do to you. Then, you felt something like needles being pressed against your naked ass. You realized they were going to whip you with your own prize roses! The men worked like clockwork. One hit you with the long stem of one of your white roses. Pinpricks of blood rose on the smooth white skin of your ass where the rose's thorns had connected. You cried out and began begging the men to stop. They didn't listen. As soon as one man had hit you and began to rear back for another strike, the other would hit you. They kept up a steady rhythm, barely a second between beats, oblivious to your pleas. "Please!" you shouted. "Please, I'll do anything! O god please please stop!!"

You could barely catch your breath between crying and screaming and Alpha's arm still choking you. You kept hoping that the men whipping you would pause long enough for you to take a deep breath, but they never did. You were dizzy from your head being forced down and the constant pain. Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! A steady drumbeat on your ass. You flailed your hands, but they were useless, handcuffed as they wree. You could actually feel blood running slowly down the back of your legs in thin rivulets.

You have no idea how long this torture went on, but finally Beta and Gamma stopped whipping you and Alpha released his hold on your neck. You fell face first into the soft earth of your garden. Mud stuck to your face where it had been stained by tears. You cried and resumed your begging. The men just watched you, faces expressionless, though they were sweating and panting from their exertions.

Finally, though, Gamma spoke: "You will thank us now."

"Please . . ." you managed to say before a hand pulled you by your hair until you were on your knees in the mud and you were held so that you were looking directly at Gamma's crotch. His erection was evident under his black Dockers. "C'mon," he said, "be a good little slut. How does a good slave please her master?"

Knowing that escape from the government was impossible, your goal had become survival. These men, you knew, could kill you and the public would never hear a word about it. Your friends would pretend you never existed, throw pictures of you away, anything to avoid a similar fate.

Before the War, before romance was state-regulated, blowjobs were common requests from boyfriends. You knew you were good at giving head, you thought that every minute you were sucking this man off was a minute he wouldn't hurt you, and you thought that showing skill and willingness at this task would be one reason for the men to keep you alive. And so you raised your handcuffed hands to Gamma's crotch and unzipped his pants. You were happy to see that he was of average length, nothing you couldn't handle.

But this was not to be like the slow, relaxed blowjobs you used to give to college boyfriends. Gamma pulled your head back sharply and rammed his cock into your mouth. You felt the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and he held it there for a long time, holding your face down against the rough material of his pants. He showed no mercy even as you began to gag. He said, "Throw up and you'll fucking regret it little bitch." And he started to fuck your mouth like it was a pussy, ramming his cock against the back of your throat again and again. You could barely breathe and were struggling not to vomit. You raised your hands up to your chin, trying to block the man from thrusting into you so deeply. This did not go unnoticed and he pulled your head off of him and bent your neck back until you were looking directly up into the gray sky, rain falling on your upturned face. Then he slapped you across the face harder than you had ever been hit. Flashes of light danced before your eyes and you thought you might faint. But Gamma gave you no time to recover. He just said, "Don't ever fight us," and shoved his cock back down your throat even harder than before.

As he continued to face fuck you, you felt another of the men strapping something onto you, a thong, made of latex with snap fasteners on both sides. But there was something like a small egg sewn into the crotch. As Gamma continued to gag you with his cock, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alpha pulling a small remote control out of his pocket. He seemed to smile at you for a moment before pressing a button on the remote control. As he did so, the egg-like thing began to vibrate hard against your clit.

This is one of the most valuable lessons you learned for your career as an interrogator: the rational mind has surprisingly little control over the body. There you were, kidnapped by the government, treated like a slave and a whore, just trying to survive . . . and yet, as soon as the vibrator was switched on, you involuntarily moaned and began to buck your hips. Your pussy juices began to leak down the inside of your thighs and, more amazing still, you were even half tempted to finger yourself the clit stimulator felt so good. This was to be a common element of your training: associating pleasure with actions the Brotherhood wanted you to perform. Dogs are trained in the same way.

As Gamma began to slow down his thrusts into your mouth, you began to shake and to thrust your own hips faster and faster, an occasional moan escaping from your abused lips. As it turned out, you and Gamma, captor and captive, enjoyed what many couples only dream of: a simultaneous orgasm. Although you tried to fight it, you screamed as you came, your entire body twitching, but this scream was quickly stifled as Gamma stopped thrusting altogether, his fingers tightening in your dark hair, and what felt like quarts of hot cum filled your mouth. Gamma pulled out and quickly used both hands to hold your nose and mouth shut, forcing you to swallow. After swallowing, Gamma released you and you fell to you hands and knees in the mud. You watched as Gamma walked back to the limousine that had brought the Brotherhood to your once peaceful garden. You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath.

But there was to be no rest for you, not yet. The latex thong was ripped off of you and so were your shirt and bra. You were thrown onto your back in the mud and before you could utter a sound, Beta was on top of you, his pants pulled down, then in you. Like Gamma, Beta was not large, but it had been so long since you had been fucked, you felt filled up, impaled. Another similarity between Gamma and Beta: neither was gentle. Beta fucked hard and fast, driving your ass, still sore and ribboned from being beaten with thorns, deeper into the mud with each thrust. As he fucked you, he whispered, "Do you like that little slut?"

"Yes," you said.

"Yes what, whore?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"You really are a stupid little cunt. You'll refer to us as Master. Don't tempt me to put you face down in this mud and beat your ass till it's bright red. Would you like that bitch?"

"No, Master?" you said, uncertainly.

"Well, you'll learn to. We'll teach you to fucking cherish the pain we give you. Make into our little pain slut. Fuck!"

He came all over your face, then left you laying there. He too walked back to the limousine. You didn't know if you should stand up or keep lying there. Cum dripped down your cheeks into the mud. Your entire backside and your hair were coated in mud. You decided not to wipe off your face unless instructed to. Down to one, you thought as Beta stepped into the limousine, but then another of the limousine's doors opened and you thought Gamma must be coming back for more. But you were wrong. A woman stepped out. She was tall and had red hair pulled back into a tight bun. She dressed like the three men, black blazer, black pants, black boots, but she didn't wear sunglasses, allowing her bright green eyes to be seen.

"She's a bloody mess," she said.

"Yeah," Alpha responded.

"Well. Let's get this piggy cleaned up, then me and you will have some fun with her."

You were dragged to your feet and led to your greenhouse, a fairly large one filled with table after table of flowers and plants. As you walked, pushed along by Alpha and the redhead, Alpha said, "This is Zeta, one of our newest operatives. She'll be responsible for much of your training. She's a bit of an expert when it comes to physical torture."

"Hello," you said through fresh tears.

"Shut up, slut," Zeta said sweetly.

The greenhouse was hot and humid and you began to sweat almost as soon as the door shut behind you. Alpha led you to the center of the building and passed a loop of the chain of your handcuffs over a nail sticking out of a wooden beam running the length of the greenhouse's roof. The nail was at a perfect height, forcing you to choose between standing on tiptoe or resting your feet, allowing the metal cuffs to dig painfully into your wrists. Alpha had walked straight to the spot where you were now chained up without hesitation. You wondered, How long has my capture been planned?

You heard the squeaking of a knob being turned behind you, a garden hose being turned on. Before you could wonder how your cleaning would be handled, a thin jet of freezing cold water hit you at full force. It danced up and down your back, down your ass and legs. You started yelping in shock and pain. It felt almost like getting a tattoo, only it was like much bigger needles hitting randomly, first your arm, then ass, then back. Zeta, you learned, was directing the water. She circled around to your front side and shot painful bursts of water at your breasts and stomach. Then she expertly guided the thin stream of water to hit you clit. It was a direct hit and the jet of water stayed there for a long time. You squirmed, trying to escape this pain. It felt like an icy razor cutting at your pussy and there were bolts of pain shooting up through your torso. It was like this water was gasoline igniting a fire throughout your body. The chain of your handcuffs was too short for you to turn away. Zeta smiled as you began to scream. Again, you lost all sense of time. Your world was composed only of long stretches of pain and brief moments of relief.

Finally, this torment stopped. The hose was turned off. You were soaked head to toe, but at least Zeta had washed all of the mud off of you. Then, without a pause, she walked up to face you, eye to eye, holding a strange device in her hands—a black plastic handheld device connected to a clear tube that glowed with a strange purple light that danced around the interior of the tube like diminished lightning bolts. You had little time to wonder what this device was before Zeta pressed the tube against the soft underside of one of your breasts. There was a numbing sensation, like hitting your funny bone, but, at the same time, stabbing waves of pain shot through your body. You realized you were receiving an electric shock. This was confirmed as Zeta whispered seductively into your ear, "This is an electric prod. It's particularly painful when you're wet. Hope you enjoy, my love." She kissed you on the cheek, then continued to torture you.

Zeta spent a good half hour teaching you what this tool could do, the first lesson of torture school. You jerked away each time the prod touched you. Zeta showed you how the voltage could be adjusted to produce a tickling sensation, making you squirm, trying to get away, or tuned up so high that it felt like being slapped, making you scream despite your efforts to be silent. Then, she showed you how, while on its max setting, the prod can be held against your clit for a full minute, making you light headed with pain, hoarse from continued screaming, crying and begging for the pain to stop. Finally, you were let down, lowered to your shaking knees, then pushed down onto your stomach on the warm concrete floor of the greenhouse.

"That was your first lesson," Zeta said. "I believe we'll move on to whips next. But first and foremost, Alpha has been jerking off the whole time I've been punishing you, my slut, and I think it's time you thanked him for all the hard work he's done today. Stay on your stomach, little cunt."

"Yes, Mistress."

You heard Alpha undressing and soon felt the heavy weight of his nude body pressing down on you. You felt the head of his cock pressing against your asshole and you realized what he was going to do. You had never been taken there before and you began to whimper. But you didn't try to stop him, even as he began pumping in and out of your virgin ass. You had learned one lesson at least; you knew you had no control over what happened to you. It hurt. You thought desperately, uncontrollably, Get it out get it out get it out. But Alpha did whisper to you comfortingly, saying, "It's okay, baby, don't fight it, open up for me, doesn't that feel so good, slut?" " Yes, Master," you answered through tears. When would this day be over?

He rammed into you very hard and you cried out and began sobbing anew. "I think," he said, "we'll all fuck you here from now on. No more pussy or mouth. You'll be our little anal cum slut. Would you like that, bitch?"

"No, Master, please no," you begged. He began fucking you harder, pumping his cock into your sweaty ass faster and faster. "The first thing you have to learn is, whatever we say goes. It doesn't fucking matter what you want. You live to serve us from now until the end of your training. Now," (and here he began to emphasize each word by slamming his cock as deep into your ass as it would go), "let's—try—that—again."