Tough Girl Ch. 01

He left her with a lewd wink and a whispered, "See you when I see you."

No kiss goodbye? she giggled. Seriously though, Bree Barber was feeling naughtily, haughtily pleased with herself. She'd been able to break through the recruiter's businesslike facade and use her naked body and come-hither eyes ... and mouth ... to get an outpouring of old-fashioned, rapey lust out of him.

Still got it. Always will.

Returning to the other side of the bar, she noticed the new texts from Kenny on her phone. They'd come in while she'd been preoccupied with fucking Victor.

--> You're ready, Tough Girl

--> And you're welcome

As it turned out, she had only to wait until the next time she worked the eight o'clock shift -- leaving work to deserted streets after closing time -- before Vic and his two thugs came to 'collect' her in the alley behind the bar.

Which was the next day.

#_#

Her bare feet danced on rough gravel as Bree steadied her ass against the rim of the open trunk. Vic went down on one knee beside her. Untied her legs. Stripped off her jeans and panties, undid the crotch rope and removed the plugs. Dumped all the leftovers in the trunk.

This left her naked from the waist down. Vic kept her upper half clothed and tied, though, and her mouth gagged.

He shut the trunk and took hold of Bree from behind, one hand in her hair, the other in her ass-cleft, seizing her crotch. His fingers easily invaded her dripping labia, his thumb just inside her bunghole ... and he squeezed.

"Mmmff!" High pitched, it was half yelp, half moan.

Gripping her vulva like a handle and her hair like a steering wheel, he turned her away from the car and marched her ahead. Stumbling and squirming helplessly in his control, she felt her feet leave the gravel lot.

Then grass. Leveraging her hair, Vic put her on her knees.

"Slave, it doesn't look like you pissed yourself in transit. If you've got business to do, now's the time to do it."

It was true, her bladder was speaking to her; and up until now, the cunt-plug and struggling had distracted her from that. Now's the time... Spreading her knees on the lawn, she did as she was told.

Vic came around front, massaging the bulge of his jeans as he leered at her piddling on the lawn. Ughh. The disgrace of that, plus his arousal at seeing it, felt glorious.

He dabbed her pussy and thighs with a bandana. He grabbed her from behind by her hoohah and hair, heaved her up, and pushed her stumbling across the lawn.

It was a hot summer night. Ahead, she saw the black shape of a two-story house bulked up against the backdrop of stars ... featureless except for a dull yellow light that etched out a door frame, the rails of the small front porch.

"Your new home, slave," Vic barked with cruelty that would have chilled her blood, if the rapey manhandling wasn't heating her belly. "You'll be trained in there, put to work, used -- punished."

His snarling voice was music to her ears. She'd never been so naïve to think that she and Vic had struck up a 'friendship,' or whatever, during his recruiting trip to her bar; but she thought he 'liked' her, and he probably did.

Right now, though, she wanted something different from him, and she was getting it: rough, threatening, degrading, callous, dehumanizing sexual abuse. Vic was not her friend. He was her slaver.

With an upward push on her privates, he coaxed her up the steps to the porch. "Mmh!" she yelped. Before they reached the door, it opened from within.

"Vic!" A sneering, shirtless, black-bearded man appeared in the door frame.

He wore low-slung, ragged jeans that showed off firm abs, a wide belt, and motorcycle boots. Apart from his toned, lanky build, Bree found him ugly and nasty.

"Victor, dude, I know you're not thinking of bringing in the new meat like that."

"Shit, right," Vic mouthed, conceding that he was. "Sorry, Jake, been a long day ..."

The man called Jake retreated into the house. Vic forced Bree to her knees and her forehead to the welcome mat. Pinning her down, he began untying the ropes around her upper body.

"Rules," he explained. "No female crosses this threshold wearing anything at all. So be good, slave, while I bring you up to code."

Not a chance, she thought. As the ropes eased around her, she felt the 'loosening' sensation kick-start the feisty brat in her, the Struggler, the SAM. Coming up soon, she saw, there'd be a chance to transition from abject helplessness to resisting helplessness.

She was going to show them the spitfire from the Spitfire ...

But just as she felt the ropes dropping off her upper arms, she saw the other man's boots returning. A shin pressed down over her neck, pinning her head to the planks, holding but not choking her. Four strong hands molested and controlled her -- untying her wrists, pushing her jacket, shirt and her shredded brassiere down her arms.

Ughh! Naked at last.

The hands never gave her an instant of freedom to resist. Vic gripped her wrists while Jake manacled her.

Click-click-click, the rounded steel bands ratcheted tight and snapped together with some kind of hardware.

Next, more clicks, a second pair of bracelets circled her upper arms just above the elbows. Her arms pulled together, snap, and fastened.

Shit, helpless as a kitten, all over again.

Wrists and elbows bound in steel, her rebellion was quashed before it began. Dashing her hopes for bitch-slaps and bruises. These guys are mean!

She heard more clicking behind her as Vic manacled her ankles and joined a hobble chain between them.

Jake gripped her hair and pulled her face up off the mat. She saw him on one knee in front of her. She saw what he held in his hand. "One last accessory, slave-meat."

My slave-collar, she breathed. Slave-meat ... oooh ...

Briefly, she glimpsed the stainless-steel band with its sturdy rings welded to the front and sides. Next it encircled her neck, a grazing pressure on her throat, before it settled on her collar bone ... and snapped shut in back. She felt him with his hands behind her neck turning tightening something, and heard -- the locking pins break?

"This'll never come off you, slave," he said, "not for the rest of your days."

"Mmmh?"

What? She bleated the question with eyes wide in horror -- which was her way of eroticizing the magic, magnificent 'enslaving' moment.

Jake laughed in her horrified face, and he stated the obvious: "Collared. Owned. Slave. Meat."

Behind her, she felt Vic doing the same twisting-and-breaking adjustments to her ankle cuffs. Wrists, same. Elbows, same.

Ughhh ... collared ... owned .. meat ... She melted inside at the thought of it. Permanent steel ...

But outwardly, she grunted and glared.

It was her Struggler SAM making her last stand.

Closer up, she saw Jake's face was pock-marked with acne scars, his skin and beard were oily, and his teeth were crooked. His breath stank of cigarettes. She hated smokers. And unlike Vic, she had no trouble hating him.

"This one," he chuckled, nodding over her shoulder at Vic.

"I know. I feel it in her muscles."

"I see it in her eyes," Jake shook his head. "Meat, you want a fight?"

"Mmgh!"

He pinched her nose shut. "Not gonna happen."

Bree felt the strain in her face as her eyes popped open wide. She tried sucking in breath through her mouth, but of course, that airway was sealed by towel and tape.

Behind her, she felt Vic's hand pulling back her hair and tying it into a strict ponytail. It shocked her that he was doing something so banal, so nonchalantly, while she was fighting for her life.

Jake smirked at her, "The only way slave-meat enters the Training House is naked and chained, on her knees, and defeated."

"Hm-hm-hm," Bree whimpered, her desperation growing.

"Show me surrender, meat, and you'll get what you came here for."

He lewdly groped her tit, ignoring her mounting panic. "Show me submission, and we can go inside and play."

He tweaked her nipple, hard, making her fight for breath that was nowhere to be found.

"Show me defeat ... and you can breathe."

Her eyes blinked, softened, and the light of rebellion in them went out. She nodded.

The nasty, oily, stinky, ugly man let go of her nose. Wheezing and whimpering, Bree snorted in gulps of air through her nostrils.

"Good slave," Jake said, rising to his feet. Bree saw the chain leash, heard the click on the steel ring at her throat. Turning to the doorway, Jake flicked the lead. "Now let's go inside and say hello to the other whores."

"Move, slave," said Vic, smacking the back of her head. "You ever make us repeat ourselves, that's one punishment you're owed."

"And we keep track," Jake added.

Bree sucked in air through her nostrils, channeled her 'obedient sex-whore' persona -- the OSW alter-ego of her SAM -- and moved.

She shuffled on her knees, hearing the hobble chain dragging from her ankles. She tried to relax her arms and shoulders into the fetters behind her, but there wasn't much give to relax into. She felt the stress of the elbow cuffs push her tits forward.

"Mm-hmm," she whimpered. The exposure humiliated her, in a hot way though, and a quick glance down confirmed her nips were at full attention. She felt a dribble of warm juice tracing a line down her inner thigh. All memories of the fight she meant to put up were gone.

She felt a warm flush spreading across her naked skin as she went over the threshold. She smelled her own submission on a passing breeze. Next, she found herself inside the Training House.

Docile. Defeated. Enslaved.

#_#

Bree's toes pawed at the rough plank of the stair as she descended the outdoor staircase. The hobble chaintugged back from her other ankle, reminding her of the short leash her mobility was on; just enough slack to navigate the stair steps, no more.

Ahead of her and below, Jake flicked her leash.

A chill breeze tickled her nipples, thrilling her with awareness of her nudity, her exposure to the elements, her helplessness. Fettered, gagged, leashed ... led. Nothing in Bree's fantasies had quite prepared her for the riot of erotic sensations she felt living it for real.

Minutes before, when she'd given Jake the nod he wanted, she made a bargain then and there. Swore an oath with my eyes. She'd already begun thinking of him as the man who saved her life. No more Struggler. I'm your Obedient Slave-whore now.

No more SAM, Master ... only OSW.

Jake held the lead and didn't look back but didn't rush her either. Behind her, Vic had her hair in an easy grip; letting her move under her own power, but ready to control her if she stumbled ... or defied him.

As it turned out, her knee-walking through the front door had just been a formality to get her inside, and since then, she'd been up on her feet. Jake leash-led her through the house to the kitchen, and through the back door that led outside to a large redwood deck.

From the deck, they took the narrow wooden staircase that switch-backed down the rear wall of the house. Way down. Three flights and two landings along the way.

Finally, her feet found the concrete pad at the base of the stairs. Vic let go of her hair. Jake walked her around under the staircase, to the back wall of the house, There she saw what looked like a miniature barn door. He unlocked the padlock on a hasp at the left side of the door, and pushed it to his right along a creaky runner that groaned like a soul in pain.

If Dante had been kinky, she thought, he'd have put a scene like this in the Inferno.

Yanking her inside the doorway, he chuckled coldly, "New meat, new home."

He flicked the switch on a vertical post. As the row of overhead fluorescent lights fired up, Bree saw the cavernous, heavy-beamed and ominously-equipped Training House Dungeon ... and the naked, caged slave-whores it housed.

"Mmh?"

There were three of them held in squat, boxy cages lined side by side against the wall. The cages were rectangular, long enough to stretch out in but only barely, almost high enough to sit up in, comfortably wide enough but no more than that.

In the cage on the far left, a big-boned, busty blonde, a real full-figured girl. Her bright blue eyes were alert ... inquisitive.

To her right, an empty cage. Mine, Bree figured.

The next one over held a slender, black-haired beauty with honey-colored skin, large dark eyes and an exotic, full-lipped mouth.

Too beautiful to be defiled like this, Bree thought. Which makes it hot.

The first two seemed quite young. The one in the last cage, a green-eyed redhead, looked less 'nubile' -- early thirties, maybe? Nice curves and pretty, freckled skin, great rack, still in her prime.

Her eyes, though, looked 'defeated.' That was the other difference: she was whip-striped and muzzled, her ankles cuffed and her arms bound behind her. Wonder what she did to deserve it?

Bree's inner SAM chimed in, And how can I sign up?

Shush up, slut, warned her OSW. You're not invited to this party.

"Look lively, cunts," Jake barked like a drill sergeant. "Your Whore-Keeper is here, with my special guest Master Vic -- and a surprise."

The sudden lights-on awakened the slaves and sounded a call to inspection. The redhead's bondage hampered her, but the other two had moved quickly to comply. They knelt up and placed their faces into oval-shaped openings in the front bars, open-mouthed with tongues lolling out, hands behind, knees spread wide, shaved pussies bared. The punished one on the right settled into her own version of the same inspection posture.

Bree's pussy dripped at the sight of them. To live like that day after day in helpless submission ... naked, fettered in permanent steel ... trained, used, punished ... tucked away in basement cubby-holes at the end of the training day.

She wondered if they were permitted to cum or not; not, she wanted to think. Discipline by denial. Lather up the slut, rinse, repeat.

Oooh fu-uuuuck ... To her, it seemed less like a dungeon and more a resort spa for her femsub/bondage-slut/paintoy soul. Not to mention her pulsating pussy. And shit, they're paying me?

Bree saw that each girl wore the same slave-steel she did. Each sported a number tattooed in black over one tit; from left to right, V-206 (blonde), V-215 (raven) and V-218 (ginger); under each number, a QR code.

Jake led Bree into the space in front of the cages. Under her feet she felt rubber, like gym matting. A training area, she thought. Easy on the knees.

She remembered Kenny's words: "A trained slave does her best work on her knees. That makes them a Master's long-term investment."

Jake must have been reading her mind. In the middle of the matted space, he put her on her knees on display for the caged slaves. As trained, Bree settled back on her haunches and spread her thighs, conscious of her bared, enslaved pussy and how her elbow bondage jutted out her tits.

"Whores, meet the new meat."

Victor came around and crouched in front of her. He'd taken off his sweatshirt, revealing a 'wife-beater' undershirt, broad shoulders and sexually-explicit body art on his manly biceps. He began to unwind the packing tape that bound her mouth.

"Keep silent," he warned sternly. "This isn't so you can speak, slave, d'accord?"

Bree knew enough French to nod a timid yes in reply to that. Besides, she was 'defeated.' With moist eyes, she tried to let him know that.

He nodded.

Plucking the shop rag out of her mouth, Vic went back around her, and she felt him release the hardware on her elbows. A small mercy. She answered the gesture of kindness by straightening up higher, more gracefully. He did not release her wrists. Huh, she breathed, good.

Staying behind her, Vic wrapped his forearm crosswise over her front, hugging her body to his chest. His hand cupped her right breast and idly fondled it.

Uhh, please -- pinch, squeeze!

Moving in front of her, Jake unclipped her leash, then crossed the floor and hung it on a hook by the empty cage.

"Gimme a sec, though," he went on addressing the caged slaves, "and I'll make it a more formal introduction."

He walked back toward Bree carrying a clipboard and a Sharpie pen, marking on a sheet of paper.

My slave-intake form? She pouted, wishing she could see. She felt like merchandise at a loading dock. Oooh ...

Jake crouched in front of her with Sharpie in hand, and with Vic steadying her chest -- and groping her boob -- he drew on the upper curve of her left tit.

"Temporary," he chuckled.

Abruptly, he grabbed her hair and pushed her face to the mat. As trained, she lifted her ass. This time, Jake steadied her and Vic wrote. A taut, controlled scrawl on her right ass-cheek.

Ughh... Kissing the rubber, Bree gasped in reaction to the intense objectification.

Next thing she knew, her face was back up where it belonged and she was back on her haunches.

Turning to the cages, Jake put his calloused, claiming mitt on the back of her neck. "Say hello to your new sister in slave-whore bondage" he announced. "Slave-meat V-219."

Her arms strained sexily in their cuffs and she moaned through parted lips.

"Shhh," Vic hissed, tightening his forearm and tweaking her nipple hard.

Bree bit her lip. Back inside her head, she suddenly wondered about 'V-219.' Was that 'V' for 'Victor?' Is he the owner of this whole lot ... including me?

She was confused. Does that mean he abducted all of us? Capture = ownership? ...

What about his 'boss,' and whatever number of other 'recruiters, abductors and trainers' like him worked for the VSSA Syndicate? Further confusing her, she felt uncertain about the hierarchy in the House, because since they'd arrived, Jake the Whore-Keeper had more or less taken the lead ... literally. And Victor's his wingman or something?

Who's in charge? Who the fuck owns me?

Ugh. She had so much to learn about the world she'd been hauled into, bound and gagged. So she shut down her questioning mind and activated her slave-mind. It'll be easier for me, she decided, if I stop thinking.

Meanwhile, Jake strode over to the cages. Approaching the blonde on the left, he unzipped like a bar patron bellying up to a urinal, and plugged his penis into the girl's mouth.

"And if you ask me, the new meat arrives just in time. Big weekend ahead ..."

"Glg-glg-glg," the blonde hummed. She sounded tortured and cheerful at the same time.

Neat trick, Bree thought. She shivered, fascinated with the Whore-Keeper's casual use of the slave's mouth. He rested his hands on two 4x4 posts that framed the girl's cage, stood more or less still, looking down the line of slave-whores he controlled. From what Bree saw, his caged suckslut's pumping face did all the BJ work. "Glg-glg-glg."

Me next?

"That's right, since you cunts lose track of time down here," Jake went on, "I'm here to tell ya it's Friday. And you know what that means. Groundskeepers and pool guys arrive at eight. Meat-06 here will staff the cabana for rest break use."

He pulled out of V-206, moved down the row to V-215 and rested his hands on the posts. The raven-haired beauty lunged her face onto his cock as soon as it was presented.