The Wild, Wicked West Ch. 02

The Wild, Wicked West

Stolen Brides and Modern Slavery

Foreword:

This is not a nice story. On the scale of reluctance to non-consent, this is way on the non-con side of things. But, this is imaginary. Fantasy born of a twisted imagination. In no way do I condone or support this kind of violence against women. In real life, kink should be explored with mutual consent, always.

Don't let the slow build or lack of explicit sexual content initially fool you. There will be a lot of penetrative sex--oral, vaginal, and anal--and it will be against the will of the female participant. There will be other terrible things that I haven't written yet so I can't warn you about specifically, but they may include other things done in a non-consensual capacity, like mental and physical conditioning, body modifications, fisting, use of machinery, restraints and bondage, psychosis, physical abuse and violence, and more. I know people don't read or trust tags, so this is your fair warning.

If you don't like that kind of thing and you read this anyway, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that has more to do with you than with me.

Part 1

Chapter 2 - Sexual Responsiveness Testing

Shelby's ordeal continues after a brief interlude.

~ Shelby ~

How long had he been gone? She'd stopped trying to keep track of the seconds passing. But with nothing to do, nothing to look at, nothing to hear but that infernal clock, and no way to amuse herself or move at all, Shelby had nothing but the sensations of her own body to pay attention to.

Her wrists were on fire from pulling against whatever was holding them, which had proved to be a wasted effort anyway. She was hungry. She had to poop. Different areas of her body itched like crazy and the knowledge that she couldn't scratch only made it worse. Her toes were freezing. Her jaw was sore from being pried open. She needed to blow her nose. Any sexual excitement had--thankfully--died down, but the drying lubricant still felt wet and cold.

So many small discomforts worked together and amplified into one giant mass of fatiguing despair.

How had she gotten here? She remembered coming off the train, meeting him, feeling like something was wrong... He'd known her name. He'd responded to the name James. He'd known she would be there. Whoever he was, he'd either done something to James, or they were working together.

Shelby didn't want to believe that--it made her feel like a fool. The silly little lonely 20-something who trusted the wrong internet stranger.

She'd listened to true crime podcasts with the kind of detached fascination of someone who assumed they'd never become a victim. She'd believed she was better than those women, that she was smarter, that nothing bad would ever happen to her.

Apparently not.

They'd spoken for weeks and she'd been so charmed by him. He was confident, but not cocky. He was patient and authoritative. In the pictures he'd sent, he'd been handsome and looked almost refined. She thought she knew him; she thought she'd found a kindred spirit. He'd listened to her explain her fantasies of being out of control, of being restrained, of belonging to someone... This wasn't what she'd had in mind.

Maybe James wasn't even real. Maybe this was a catfishing situation where this man lured in women with a made-up character. How many other women had fallen for this fake James, only to find themselves on the wrong end of a pair of stirrups, enduring a fucked up exam so she could be sold to a new "owner" who'd decide to impregnate her or pierce something she didn't want pierced or train her for fisting?

She had to get out of here. Wherever here was. Hopefully Hannah would be worried enough by now. She didn't have many others who would look--her father had never been in the picture, and her mother had fallen hard into booze when Shelby was a teenager. She had a few friends, of which Hannah was the closest, and other than some coworkers who might think idly "where's Shelby been?" that was really it.

God, she really had been the perfect target. She'd practically made it easy for him to steal her away.

Owner. He'd said it with such practiced ease, like it was a word he used to describe one person's relationship with another person often. She wasn't stupid--in spite of all the evidence to the contrary--and knew that modern sexual slavery was rampant, even in first world countries. She'd never thought...

Shelby allowed herself a few moments for a pity party. When she ran out of tears, she took deep, measured breaths to center herself. She was stronger than this. Whatever he did to her... she could survive it. She had to survive it. She had to escape. No other option.

The rules seemed relatively straightforward. If she did what he said, he'd be easier on her--he'd said as much. And even though she didn't want him to put his filthy hands on her, she had limited options and currently no control over any of it. Her pride was not more important than her life.

When she got out, he'd pay. In this life, in prison, or in Hell.

Anger felt better than sadness or fear, so she held onto it. The seconds, minutes, hours ticked by. Time became meaningless, its presence nothing more than a cruel torture. She thought maybe she fell asleep at one point, but had no way to really know other than a vague sense that she'd awakened. She tried to distract herself by humming every song she could think of.

The sound of the door opening stopped her in the middle of the soundtrack to Wicked. Her heart lurched in her chest and her emotions became a jumbled mess that she didn't care to untangle. Fear, relief, anxiety, even a touch of aroused anticipation. She tried to ignore them all.

"Right where I left you, I see," he chuckled to himself at his own joke. "Please, don't let me interrupt you."

She didn't start humming again, sensing he wasn't serious. She could hear a drawer open, some fabric rustling, some metal clanking together and the heavy footfalls of his shoes.

"The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can be out of that chair and get some food and rest. So, shall we resume the exam? Remember, close your right hand once for yes and twice for no."

Shelby inhaled through her nose and closed her right hand once.

"Good. Are you going to be more obedient this time?"

Grudgingly, she closed her hand one more time.

"Good." He stepped near her head, she could sense his presence somewhere close to her face. He confirmed it when he touched the strap that held her forehead in place. With a fumbling movement, he unbuckled it and let the strap fall. "If you do well for the rest of this exam, I will give you back one freedom when we're done."

She refused to feel even a speck of gratitude for that, even as she moaned in pleasure at the feeling of release in her neck muscles. She let her head roll side to side, wincing a little at the stiffness.

There was a small click and he began speaking in that detached tone again, like he was making scientific observations about her body. "Resuming the exam at 1800 hours. Subject has responded better to the stick than to carrots. She exhibits more willingness, after a period left alone without her vision or ability to move."

Shelby's face flamed. In her solitude, she'd forgotten how his words made her feel--like she wasn't even in the room, like she wasn't a human being in his eyes.

"We'll start the tests for sexual responsiveness now." The wheels squeaked and he rolled between her legs. There was a snap of latex gloves, then that squirting noise that she now knew meant he was applying lubricant to something. Something stirred deep within her again as she felt cold, gloved fingers on her pussy. It was just a faint tingle, but she hated it.

His fingers entered her easily, thanks to the lubricant, and she grunted into the ball gag. It felt like more than one finger, but didn't stretch her enough to be three. He drew them out then twisted as he forced them back in, making her whimper. "Oh, wait... this wasn't where we left off, was it?" he said, almost to himself.

She was confused. Where they'd left off... was he going to use the speculum again? Her insides twisted, remembering that almost unbelievable stretching sensation. If her legs could have moved, they would have trembled.

The wheels squeaked again and she'd lost track of him in the room, when suddenly her right nipple was screaming in pain. She shrieked, mostly at the unexpected contact, and whipped her head side to side in an effort to escape the sensation. The dry, gloved hand was relentless, twisting and pulling and rolling it between his fingers. He stopped, repeated the act on her other breast, and stood back.

She was breathing hard, and felt the blood starting to pound between her legs. Her pussy lips took on a heartbeat of their own, swelling in her arousal. Her cunt contracted a few times around nothing, a completely unwitting action on Shelby's part.

"Subject enjoys some light nipple torture. Nipple type is normal, and they become distended and are a pleasing reddened color when stimulated."

The brief respite was short-lived. Fire erupted from her nipples again, in the same order as before--right, then left--and she cried out at the pain. When she quieted, the sound of her heaving breathing was now accompanied by a light tinkling noise, like a bell.

"Basic nipple clamps with rubber comfort padding removed, left open to half a centimeter yielded a decent pain response. Confirmed that subject has sensitive nipples. Definitely a good candidate for piercing for behavior modification practices, if breast feeding is not desired."

The pounding in her pussy intensified as the pain dulled to more of a sharp ache that danced in the back of her awareness. She couldn't quite ignore it.

With that, he returned to his chair and wheeled back between the stirrups. She felt his fingers at her entrance again and he shoved them in without warning. She grunted, moaned, then gasped as the slight motion of her body caused the tinkling noise again, accompanied by a fresh wave of pain.

"Beginning the timer for vaginal stimulation."

She felt his fingers move inside her, stroking and pressing against her walls. It was a sweet kind of pain, so different from what the tips of her breasts were enduring. His fingers were so deep inside her, touching her so intimately... She knew he was staring at her most private place with that same clinical detachment. She felt so humiliated, and her shame only mounted as her body responded to his touch. She felt herself tightening around his fingers, felt her clit pounding in need, demanding attention.

Damn, but it felt good. He was better with his fingers than most men she'd willingly let touch her this way.

He pumped, scissored, stroked and curled his fingers inside her, hitting her deep and thoroughly. She twisted in her bonds as best she could, making mewling noises that were muffled by plastic. Her nipples still hurt, though it was almost a dull throbbing now. So good... so good... That building sensation she knew well eluded her, in spite of his expertise. Suddenly, he stopped.

"Subject did not reach orgasm within the allotted time, in spite of arousal and nipple stimulation, but appears to have enjoyed it thoroughly."

It was like he'd thrown a bucket of ice on her. She'd been so wrapped up, she'd almost forgotten this was part of an exam she'd never consented to. She felt a tear slip out of the corner of her eye, forging through the dried, crusted path of the last down the side of her face.

"Beginning the timer for clitoral stimulation."

Perhaps it was due to the time he'd spent making her feel good already, but Shelby felt her body spasm as his fingers touched her clit. He swirled it gently at first, drawing long shudders that jostled her breasts and made her nipples tingle. When he started working in a pattern, with even pressure and consistent rhythm, her orgasm built quickly. She felt completely swept up in it--it was much faster, more intense, almost painfully so. She usually built herself up slowly, gently, backing off when the sensations became too much.

But the doctor was completely relentless. She could say nothing to stop him, do nothing to escape the stimulation. She came, shouting into the gag and squeezing her eyes shut as her head spun. As her consciousness exploded out into the air around her, her muscles locked up. Her body had very little room to move for the shudders that overtook her limbs, so she ended up pressing into the bonds and feeling their restraining impact even harder.

She thrashed her head, crying into the gag as he continued straight through her aftershocks. The pleasure no longer felt good in any way. It stung, and burned, and made her whole body shudder. She cried again, pleading in thick, round sounds through the plastic in her mouth for him to stop. He didn't.

It took another moment, but the sensations drifted back towards pleasure. Once her body stopped vibrating from every nerve ending, the burning sensation spread out from her clit and zinged through her pussy. Her stomach clenched and a thin sheen of sweat popped up all over her body, making her skin prickle in the cold.

She couldn't take it anymore. Something about lacking the ability to see made every sensation feel so much more. She came again, screaming her release as an outlet for the overwhelming feeling of everything happening to her. She sobbed, coughing and jerking. As she came over that crest of pleasure, she fell back completely against the padded bench.

Like before, he kept stroking right through, not wavering his attention in the slightest as she came off the heels of her second, awful orgasm. This continued for a little while longer, and her head flopped to the side as she made incoherent noises. She was ready for the burning discomfort this time, used to it now, even. She had nothing left--no more fight. She was too exhausted.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

"Subject reached orgasm twice within allotted time. Subject appears to need clitoral stimulation to achieve orgasm. Recommend clitoral piercing for increased sensitivity with no detriment to reproductive characteristics."

Shelby wanted to scream. A clit piercing?? She didn't want a clit piercing! The thought of so much pain, in such a sensitive area...

"Overall sexual responsiveness is adequate. Subject would not be a suitable slave for a pleasure sadist, it is too difficult for her to achieve orgasm and she reaches a state of detachment from the pleasure/pain after only two," he said.

Faintly, through the roaring in her ears, she heard him stand and come around the table. She felt his finger at her cheek, smelled something musky and tangy that was likely her own arousal, and felt the pressure lift as he unhooked the ball gag.

Immediately, he shoved his fingers deep in her mouth, before she could even register that she was free to move her jaw. She tasted the musky human flavor that had to be her own juices, felt the slimy texture against her tongue, then his fingers brushed the back of her throat. They hit a spot a little lower down her throat, harder, and she felt her stomach contract slightly. He pushed again, much deeper and harder this time, and her stomach contracted enough for her to make a small retching noise around his hand. As she reeled from that, he pushed his as far in as they would go into her throat and she swallowed reflexively, still tensing and releasing from the last gag.

"Subject has only a slight gag reflex--very suitable for deepthroat training."

He removed the nipple clamps and Shelby was ablaze in pain, even worse than when he'd put them on. She screamed around his fingers, her throat attempting to close on their tips.

"Good," he remarked, raising his voice over her scream.

It occurred to her, too late, that she could have bit him. She almost did, full of hatred for him like she was. As he removed his fingers from her mouth, she told herself it was smarter that she didn't. She was still strapped to a table. At most she'd bite off his fingers--that wasn't fatal. It would probably just make him want to kill her, and she couldn't possibly get away.

But the smallest, darkest part of her whispered to her that she didn't bite him because she didn't think of it; and that she didn't think of it because she really didn't want to do it.

Free and empty, Shelby moved her jaw back and forth a few times, wet her lips, swallowed the thick saliva that had pooled in her mouth from the gagging she'd done. Her eyes drifted closed and she pulled in large breaths, relishing in how much easier it was now.

"That concludes the exam for today." She heard the faint click again. "Open your eyes. You did good, slut. I'll take out the contacts."

She did as he asked, only flinching slightly when she felt his ungloved fingertips against the delicate skin around her eye. When they were being removed, her eyes teared up and she blinked them away, wincing at how bright the light seemed now. Since her head also had more freedom of movement, she could watch as he took the contacts and placed them in a case.

Wordlessly, he turned back to her and--miraculously--began unbuckling her from the bench. He started with her waist, then chest, then thighs. She was in disbelief.

"I'm going to feed and water you and let you go to sleep for the night. You're going to go quietly into the basement. You won't run. You won't fight. Those are your rules. Do you understand?"

She almost closed her fist, before she remembered she could speak. Her pride urged her to fight and try to run. But she was exhausted. Physically drained, sore, bruised, starving and dehydrated... "Yes."

His hand whipped out so fast, she didn't see it coming. A sharp stinging pain on her cheek and temple made her head snap to the side. She groaned, grimacing and wishing she could place something cold to the hot, smarting skin.

"Master," he reminded her.

She swallowed thickly, wanting to choke on the words. "Yes, Master," they came out as a whisper.

Evidently, a whisper was enough because he nodded in approval. When he finished unbuckling her, he loosened the chain and released the hook that was holding her cuffed hands and she was no longer tied down to the bench in any way.

She tried moving, really she did. Either she was weaker than she thought, or so long in the position she'd been in had made her stiffer than she'd ever been. Her legs moved only an inch, when she'd been trying to remove them from the stirrups completely.

And either this was a common occurrence so he was expecting it, or he noticed and took pity on her--the former seemed more likely--because he moved down and lowered the stirrups into a position level with the rest of the bench. It was just enough to let the blood flow back and soon the staticky tingle started in her toes. She whimpered because she didn't have the energy for a larger noise.

She brought her arms back down, rolling her shoulders out and nearly groaning at the relief, and tried contracting her abs to sit, but failed there, too. Again, he stepped forward and helped her into a seated position. She nearly eyed him, distrustful of his intentions. Why would he help her now? Why was he being... gentle? Obviously gentle wasn't quite the right word for his treatment of her after everything he'd done to her today, but contextually, in this moment, he was being gentle.

A firm grip on her upper arm helped her into the standing position and helped her remain upright while he walked her through a dark room towards a door. He flicked the light on for the basement, and she caught a sight of his living space with chairs and a TV behind them. The room had lots of windows, but every shade was down.

When he brought her into the basement, her heart sunk at the sight of it. This was a room, hand-built and designed to keep prisoners. Windowless, thick cement walls enclosed the small space. There was a small cot on an iron frame that was bolted to the floor and curtainless shower on the opposite wall next to a garden sink and a toilet. The floor slanted towards the drain under the shower head.