tagBDSMTwo Weeks to Survive

Two Weeks to Survive


Synopsis: The girl's journey as a slave begins with learning how to serve multiple Masters, and transitions to increasing her pain threshold. She is severely tested as she endures the unique and often perverted fantasies of the Chairman and the Board members. She was brought to the island's slave training facility to be personally trained by every member of the Board, each man possessing his own unique and often wicked predilections. Her intoxication to pleasure is as life-sustaining as her addiction to cocks. She is completely blinded by lust and craves pain as a constant. She revels in the depravity of every session; the more depraved the experience, more responsive she becomes.



Beams of light flash in the darkened room intermittently illuminating the viewers. The video playing is gripping, almost hypnotic. Eyes glued to the large HD screen, rarely blinking, needing to see every second of the footage. The visual feast is complimented by the surround sound speakers, broadcasting every tiny detail with amazing clarity. It is like you are there as the events unfold. A voyeur's wet dream filled with impressive true-to-life imagery.

Leather crashes into the flesh of her buttocks and pauses briefly to allow the strap to penetrate deeper into the soft target. Agony-driven moans escape as desperation mounts.

A cane snaps just before it lands heavily on the pale landscape of her breasts, a narrow trench line of angry red left in its wake. Cries as pain radiates in all directions, absolutely inescapable, all coping mechanisms depleted as her limits are reached and then exceeded.

Pools of liquids collect on the surfaces beneath her and shimmer in the flood light centered on her body. Saliva and cunt juices co-mingle into small puddles and reflect her physiological and psychological reactions to each individual torture.

Whimpers as unfathomable ecstasy is within reach, quickly replaced with ear-piercing screams as her pace quickens and her race to the "end zone" begins. Physically contorted by involuntary convulsions and contractions, her body presents as an epic seizure of sorts.

Twelve cocks swell, the men are spellbound; heartbeats rapidly pound in their chests, breathing erratic as red-hot lust surges through their veins.

Silence fills the room as the video ends with two photos, front and back views of the girl frozen on the screen. Splayed into a wide "X" between two large trees, she stands perched on six-inch black heels with white panties lowered to reveal her shaved cunt and pale white buttocks. Her body positioned to be fucked, punished, enjoyed; a vessel for every man's darkest desires.

A thick abrasive rope binds her tits and forces them upwards over a large branch. A five-gallon bucket brimming with chunks of rocks hangs heavily on the other end of the rope falls behind her back, dangling in mid-air between her spread thighs.

Her face is etched in pain, small mascara smudges accent her oval Irish-green eyes, her mouth forced open with an O-ring, drool drips from her ruby-red lips, a few droplets glisten on her breasts. Her large fleshy tits are filled with trapped blood shaped into hard globes, both wrenched up and away from her chest cavity by the weight of the bucket of rocks.

The screen finally goes black her image imprinted in their minds-eye. Soft light slowly illuminates the darkness, the prolonged silence interrupted by the Chairman clearing his throat.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he struggles to convey his thoughts. "This girl is unique, as beautiful as she is naive and vulnerable, and as voluptuous as she is sensually wholesome. She is a natural pleasure slave, although inexperienced, her body naturally begs to be used. She not only physically feels her orgasms, she experiences them on a unprecedented emotional level."

"Yes, her astonishing capacity to experience pleasure and the extraordinary pleasure she gives the Master she serves is a rare talent." adds Doctor Hamidi, his hands clasped across his chest. "When she orgasms, it completely consumes her being ... body, mind, soul, and is certainly a sight to behold. Her toes curl and her body shudders almost violently as she rides her orgasmic waves to cessation. She enters a trance when her orgasms start to close in, her green eyes are unseeing, glazed with raging hormones, and, frankly, her tears of ecstasy are endearing. For an untrained pleasure slave, she naturally squirts impressive volumes of liquid. She is indeed a rare specimen."

Sir Aether, a keen observer of details, turns in his chair to face the now blank screen, silently willing the images of the girl to reappear. "Her intoxication to pleasure seems to be as life-sustaining as her addiction to cock. She is completely blinded by lust and needs to be trained and used to her full potential. She seems to thrive on depravity; in fact, the more depraved the experience, more responsive she becomes. I think she should be isolated from the training facility so each of us can personally use and evaluate her natural talents and skills."

The Chairman calls for a vote and the Board agrees. She is a rare discovery, a natural sexual being, and now, theirs to exploit for two weeks.


A deep burning radiates from every muscle from long hours of standing rigid and bound to a pole. Steam builds beneath the smothering thick leather hood in the midday heat and sweat collects around my neck collar. The whirring of the fan as it oscillates has a calming effect and blows thick hot air back and forth against my clammy flesh. Chills prickle my skin as my imagination runs amuck.

The motor coach navigates the curvy blacktop roads, tugging and pulling my body, drawing me closer to the advanced slave training facility.

My lungs struggle to fill with air, my breathing is labored and uneven under my hood. Shudders of fear plague my body.

For the hundredth time, unanswered questions plague me. Why have I been sent to this secret and ominous location? Who are these twelve men and what do they want with me? What does being trained as a "total sex slave" mean?

How could Master Jonathan send me away with these strangers? His parting words, "This is for your own good." were spoken with a coldness in his voice.

Shortcomings and failures surface in my minds-eye over the past two days of travel. None seem severe enough to warrant me being sent here. What did I do to displease him?

I served Master Jonathan faithfully since the day he took ownership of me shortly after my high school graduation and eighteenth birthday. He rescued me from the catholic orphanage and an uncertain future. I submitted to his every desire and accepted my punishments willingly. He is my lifeline, actually my only family. Our life was simple on his ranch, and I love simple. I miss and need simple.

I was certain that I entered a hell on earth this past week yet I survived the pain training by Master Jonathan and his fellow DOMs. He said he was proud of me for submitting to each man's perversions without hesitation. And they hurt me; several times beyond my endurance.

As quickly as questions and uncertainty flood my brain, those thoughts are nearly obliterated by thoughts of my pain-fueled orgasms. Never in my life have I experienced climaxes of such magnitude. My body has acquired a mind of its own, almost forcing me to plead with the men to hurt me just a little bit more just so I can experience the deep carnal pleasures I crave. Butterflies twitch inside my belly reliving the intoxicating orgasms at the hands of Master Jonathan's fellow Doms.

My swollen clit is painfully over-stimulated yet highly aroused, a large bloom of reddish-pink flesh shaped much like a small cock and pulsing as though alive. The inner meat tenses as vivid memories of intense orgasms surface.

The motor coach slows to a stop. The door opens and the twelve men exit, leaving me alone and cloaked in blackness. Hot salty air seeps under my hood and fills my nostrils. Mosquitoes cluster around my damp flesh but I cannot waive them away.

A man removes my bindings and the smothering hood, then tugs at my leash for me to follow him. Dressed much like a butler with a front button-down black mourning coat, white tuxedo shirt, perfectly creased black dress slacks, and black satin bow tie, he does not speak nor acknowledge me. His hair is cut military style and makes his dark brown eyes seem too large for his features. His facial expressions are frozen in a semi-smile with his jaw set firmly.

He leads me into the massive mansion through vast corridors and dark circular stairways until we reach a brightly lit glass enclosure; clearly out-of-place in the middle of the cavernous stone room.

Outside the glass room are small sections of theater-style seating spaced along the four walls. Beyond the walls are several wide open archways that lead to dark places. TV screens hang strategically throughout the seating areas.

He opens the door and tugs me inside.

The room spans maybe one hundred fifty square feet and includes a bathroom, bedroom, conference room, and yet, feels like a sadist's dungeon. The walls are floor-to-ceiling glass and offer no privacy anywhere in or outside the room. Exotic ceramic tile covers the floor with strategically placed drains spaced throughout. The lighting is controlled by section with various brightness levels and color hues to enhance the desired mood.

Every available space in the enclosure is filled with an impressive array of implements, equipment, or furnishings many resembling early Victorian punishment devices. The most prominent piece, a hand-hewn solid oak St. Andrew's cross is anchored to the ceiling and floor with chains and operated by an advanced hydraulic system to maneuver the cross head up or down, and numerous horizontal positions. Thick leather cuffs are prominently displayed at each corner along with shoulder, knee, and waist straps, all handy when you need to keep someone very still as every nook and crevice of their body lay open and exposed.

Both the pre-Victorian whipping post and pillory are constructed of thick rough black oak with D-rings strategically placed on all sides. Course fiber rope drapes from each ring to restrict head, neck, arms, legs, thighs, and ankle movements and prominently display the victim's genitals.

The leather-covered bondage chair sits in the far corner not unlike a gynecological chair that adjusts to many angles with stirrups to spread thighs wide or high for easy access. A powerful breast-milking machine sits silently beside it with two huge tit-sucking cups resting on the control panel.

Midway along one wall is a mahogany conference table with twelve chairs, and angled into a corner sits an executive chair and desk with two visitor's chairs arranged before it.

Each area is equipped with pulleys, chains, hooks, shackles, spreader bars, or restraints, everything needed to secure a body in the desired position. Even the bed has restraints attached to the four hand-carved cherry wood head and foot boards.

The butler allows me to empty my bladder, but remains standing rigid beside me. I look for tissue paper, but cannot find any. He reaches behind me, presses a button and warm jets of water spray between my creases.

The spray hits with a blast, and startles me, my first experience using a bidet. Several seconds into the spray, my body relaxes and my crevice spreads wider. The gentle pressure is delightful. Too soon, the water jets cease and a blower sends warm soothing air between my thighs.

He leads me to the bed where straps are carefully laid out and removes my bustier and nylons, and leans me forward. He wraps a two inch wide strap around my left breast and buckles it tightly, and then straps my right one. Both are squeezed at the base and jut straight out, the blood flow blocked. He buckles a thin strap around both breasts squeezing them together. Threading two long straps between my breasts, he crosses and then pulls them down between my legs, and slaps my thighs to urge them wider apart.

He's said nary a word while working methodically.

The dribbling and drizzling of cunt juices flow from the lips of my vagina. My whole sexual region is constantly moving, pulsing, and vibrating as he straps my body into the harness. My addiction to pleasure comes to life, the need for my "orgasmic fix" alarming.

The strap splits and pulls my cunt lips and ass cheeks apart, my penis-clit, saturated pussy, and puckered back hole exposed. Side rings on the waist band keeps my elbows slightly bent. The leather straps keep my sex open, exposed, vulnerable.

He leads me to the gynecological chair and straps my mid-section securely to the structure. The milking machine hisses to life and he patiently reduces the suction level and frequency. Satisfied, he grasps each breast in his slim hands and places the large clear teat cup to each nipple. Once again at the control panel, he increases the suction and frequency, sets the timer for 30 minutes, and silently leaves the enclosure.

The powerful plungers tear my breasts from my chest, my nipples yanked mid-way into the tubes. A burning devious pain just under the inflamed nipple tissue grows more intense as the milk is siphoned from the dark red distorted buds.

Twenty-four minutes remaining. Each nipple is a dark purple, no longer grape-shaped forced into the narrow tube. The surrounding aureoles are puffed, raised above the level of my breast skin.

Thirty minutes later, Dr. Hamidi walks briskly into my enclosure. Dressed with the stereo-typical medical coat and stethoscope around his neck, he approaches with kind brown eyes and a reassuring smile. "Your nipples are an essential factor in your training. Most important is to increase your milk production and secondly, to change the quality of your milk from Whole to Golden. You will receive two injections a day and milk every four hours for the next five days. After that, I will evaluate your progress and adjust your medication as needed to achieve our goals." He removes the cloth from the tray, revealing four long syringes and alcohol wipes.

"This will only hurt for a second if you hold very still." He injects the long thick needles, one in each hip.

"These next two will stimulate your body to increase milk production. A known side effect is that you may become very aroused and eager for breeding." Laughing as he finishes the last shot and leaves the enclosure.

The butler returns and releases me from the milking station. "Your body must be trained to be used roughly and accept greater pain. It is a process that will increase your pain threshold. Therefore, I will be administering treatments to your nipples, clit, and ass to toughen them up twice daily."

Silently, he leads me to the St. Francis cross and binds my wrists and ankles to the wooden structure.

Clutching the riding crop, he delivers a quick blow to my right nipple. It flattens into the mass of flesh for an instant and then rebounds. Natural reflects kick in and I twist away from him.

"You must remain perfectly still. This is for your own good. Welcome every lash and focus to mentally transfer the pain to your pleasure center."

My body quakes with fear, yet cunt juices ooze like hot lava, every nerve ending in my body pulses with raw animal lust.

The butler strikes my right nipple with three mighty blows from the leather tip. The numbness in my bound breasts dull the stings, my nipples seem to beg for more attention, and my arousal increases with each strike.

The stimulation fades to a deep pounding pain as he strikes continuously, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes pausing to allow the pain to sink in. After delivering twenty hits, he thankfully moves to my left nipple.

He administers the twenty strikes, incredible heat radiates from both nipples.

"Lay on the bed, face up, legs spread and pulled up to your chest. Put your hands behind your knees. Pull your legs up higher."

Wrapping my arms behind my knees and pulling my legs up to my chest, I am embarrassed to expose the mass of sexual hunger between my legs. He doesn't seem to take notice and switches to a braided leather strap.

The strap swings and beats the sensitive flesh, my cries of pain and also cries of pleasure mix as my body reacts to each strike. My hips push up and out, waiting for the next swing, wanting it as much as dreading it. Each slap as the leather smashes into my body rings loudly in the room with my screams following quickly, barely subsiding before the strap swings again.

Inhaling deeply, holding my breath hostage, I watch in fascination as the wide leather strap hurtles toward my body. Air rushes out of my lungs and my clit explodes with pain.

The leather strap crashes into my sopping wet cunt with a splat followed by my screeching as he continues to whip my clit and open cunt.

My screams taper to wails, the volume rises and falls with each strike. Pain burns deeply into my flesh, even as desire soars. Thin threads of liquid drool from my cunt, my hips sway provocatively, and my clit vibrates in anticipation of more.

My sex and cunt lips are battered raw yet the butler remains unfazed. Staring into his eyes, it seems as though a magical bond is developing between him and my pain. It is reassuring and makes me feel like a good girl to readily welcome his pain training.

After another twenty strikes, he orders me to turn over onto my hands and knees with my face pressed into the bed linens, buttocks raised upwards.

"Pull your ass cheeks apart. Just like that but wider."

I reach my hands back and pull my cheeks as wide apart as I can. He picks up a thick rattan cane and batters my anal ring.

"Yes, yes, harder, yes, oh please, please hit me harder. More. Please. I need to cum." I plead for more but having administered the twenty strikes, he steps back and leaves me breathless and unsatisfied.

"Your meal is ready on the conference table. Eat and then rest a few hours before your first training session."


Sleep was short and restless. My eyes slowly survey my surroundings as I stretch my limbs. It takes several minutes before my confusion is replaced with recognition of where I am and my reason for being here.

A sense of dread threatens to take center stage in my emotions, but is quickly replaced by an urgent need quivering between my legs. Instinct is to pleasure myself, but I am not allowed.

The butler serves my food, and after my meal, refastens the leather harness on my body, leaving my hands free. Leading me to the milking station, he attaches the teat cups and powers the machine on. My swollen teats welcome the relief and my breasts bounce in harmony with the machine's suction while the milk is efficiently vacuumed from my body.

Deep in my core, I know that I crave a constant fix of sexual gratification. But the trade-off, the price to pay for my dependency is high. I have no power, absolutely no control over any aspect of my life, my body, or even my mind. An involuntary shudder ripples through me at this realization.

These men are going to take what they want because they can. They will use me however they please to satisfy their perverted fantasies, humiliate me for their entertainment, and hurt me for their pleasure, often denying me any type of satisfaction. Tired as I feel, juices form just inside my cunt, an aching need sizzles beneath the surface of my skin.

After the allotted milking time, the butler returns, removes the teat cups, and positions me beside the bed, kneeling, hands clasped behind my back, head lowered.

* * * *

Vice Chairman Patryk swaggers naked into my enclosure, his swollen cock proudly leading the way. He is heavily muscled with a slight pot-belly, wavy shoulder-length dark blond hair, and dark deep-set blue eyes.

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bybettejeneadams© 2 comments/ 39116 views/ 11 favorites

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