Venom
11-18-2010, 04:50 PM
Screams of my Mistress
by Venom
with special thanks to Polly Plummer
A glass of lemonade! Nina’s eyes flew open, fixing the cool patterns of moonlight reflected from hidden smooth surfaces onto the ceiling of her bedroom. The urge had come suddenly, and it had come strong! Half a glass, no more. That would be sufficient. Orange flavour.
She looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table:
2:35
Surely Mistress Selene would not be around the ground floor anymore.
Nina slipped out from under her blanket, revealing to a hypothetical observer an enchanting body only dressed in her slave-collar and recalcitrant c-belt.
Up to no good!
With delicate feet she searched in the darkness until she found her indoor high heels -- black patent leather, hidden-platform Louboutins (the ones with the red soles).
For a short moment she had considered to go barefoot and on tip-toes, but that would not feel right. It would lessen the thrill, not to mention that it would be against her nature. A slavegirl always wore this kinkiest form of foot bondage -- a good one as well as a naughty one. Always, if not expressly announced otherwise by her Mistress. (Mistress, if this slavegirl sneaks out of her bedroom at night -- to, let’s say, grab a seductively forbidden glass of lemonade -- , is this slavegirl allowed to go barefoot?)
The pert, yet cute collared girl sneaked down the hallway, witnessed only by the moon shining through high windows. Sneaking in five-inch heels might appear easier than it was, but Nina’s extended experience with ballet boots relativised the problem significantly. Having her on her toes was Mistress Selene’s second-dearest position for Nina, right after having her in Her bed -- normally, at least.
Nina had felt more than a little bit rejected because Mistress hadn’t ordered her to spend the night in Her -- Mistress’ -- splendidly large lair for almost a week. Now Nina would get her sweet, tickling, yet insufficient compensation. Orange-flavoured.
With an elfish move she avoided the creaking floorboard (the forth, counted from the right wall, in front of the window looking directly onto the conservatory), prancing gracefully on the thick soles and towering heels. Mistress had a light sleep, but then again, the master bedroom was in the northern wing, at the far side. The part of the mansion Nina was sidling through was reserved to storages and the servant quarters (Grmpf!). However, she had not to worry about waking anybody else up. Mistress and slavegirl were the only ones living on the estate. Nina performed maid duties (whoever coined the term French Maid had something kinky in the back of their mind), four times a week came a kitchen help, and old Finnean looked after the house and property regularly.
From somewhere below the next window a surprised, scrunching noise reached inside, and the semi-nude girl froze. She listened into the dark for half a minute, but the noise did not reappear. The sudden excitement sent shivers down her spine -- very far down -- , and Nina sighed audibly at Mistress’ decision to keep her belted.
She stepped to the window and got onto the toes of her platforms, leaning over the high and deep sill. The huge back yard lay in silver, moonlight rested on the conservatory’s panes to the right. To the left, partly behind some ancient trees, Nina could make out several of the outbuildings.
There were the horseless stables (Ah, the stables! Where always a bridle waits for me! If this stunt goes wrong, it would likely be fitted with a curb bit for a rather long time...) and the lately renovated annexe sheltering the fitness room including a petite sauna.
Mistress and Nina worked out every morning. Mistress had a breathtaking body, in nothing inferior to the one of Her twelve years younger devotee.
Nearest stood the garage. Large enough for a couple of more, but only resided by three cars. Between that Behemoth of a Range Rover and the S-Type R -- Nina always thought of it as a mutated amphibian doing steroids -- her own little runabout parked.
The white Copen had been a present from Mistress for a very special occasion three month ago. Standing in front of the main entrance, huge red bow around it, lines of feminine, yet strong letters had been painted onto the sweet car’s bonnet ...
TO MISTRESS SELENE’S SLAVEGIRL IN TRAINING
... with the last two words crossed out. Nina had broken out in tears that morning, fallen to her knees, not caring about the gravelled driveway. Accepted as Mistresses slave!
Mistress had removed her training collar, then had replaced it with the far more elaborated permanent slave-collar -- with the car keys dangling at the polished front ring (nice touch, though).
Nina knew that she wasn’t just a plaything for her gorgeous owner. The sole efforts Mistress Selene had put and still was putting into their relationship didn’t leave the shadow of a doubt. Two years she had been in training, and trained she had been! 24/7 was used inflationarily these days by anyone who had managed to order a set of handcuffs via the internet. She neither need to be tied up at night nor bear her Mistress‘ mark (nonetheless Nina considered it as hot as a fox in a forest fire; but every time the topic of a tattoo or branding came up, she chickened out). She would even renounce her collar (that was a tough one!). She was a slave within.
And what a naughty little slave she was! Running through the house deep at night, half-naked! Maybe Mistress would catch her. Nina both feared and hoped for it in equal parts. Mistress would get angry -- or, at least, pretend to -- , and would send her back to bed with a nicely warmed bottom -- but without lemonade. So the optimum would be to get caught after she had plundered the fridge.
Whither, whither?
Ahead or left? She had stopped at the T-junction of two corridors. Choosing left would lead her down the small servant stairs to the kitchen which meant creaking with every step. Ahead then!
Along the gallery, down the main stairs, across the hall with its parquet floor and that heavy door leading to the basement.
The door was locked, but Nina knew nonetheless what was hiding at the end of the stairs behind it. The wine cellar was down there, as well as something people with a dirty imagination would call Playroom -- and it had nothing to do with LEGO! Sort of silly name, anyway. Although both Mistress and slave loathed BDSM-clichés, they referred to it mostly as Dungeon (or, when Mistress is in Her goofy mood, in a campfire ghost story voice: the Duhndjehehn-muahar-har!).
Thinking of that door was enough. It was not even the Dungeon door itself -- it just led to the Dungeon! But that did not help. Her mind came up with all kinds of perky punishments Mistress Selene might subject her to. She could make her drink the whole bottle and re-introduce her to some exquisite bladder control. Or Nina would get the lemonade as a tingly enema (That’s mean! Mean and so damn hot!). But a strict bare-bottom over-the-knee spanking remained her all-time favourite!
Think of something else, or the belt will drive you insane!
The belt was comfy, it was well-crafted, without doubt sexy and even nice to look at. And it was effective. Sexual relief was not for slavegirls to decide about. It was a granting, a gift from their Mistresses. (I would never betray Mistress with my nimble fingers, so the belt doesn’t bother me in the least. I don’t even come close to it -- but ARRGH!)
Nonetheless slavegirls were better not to be trusted in that matter. Nina knew she wore the belt for her own good. One discovered moment of weakness, and she would have to face real punishment, as she already had done in training countless times for all kinds of misdoings (she had been very naughty back then, too) and -- to her deep shame -- twice as graduated slave.
For a serious infraction she normally suffered the cane, then spent the dark hours in her cage, restrained and spider-gagged. A glass of lemonade -- just for example -- was surely not worth this kind of a night, orange-flavoured or not. The morning after such an ordeal she ACHED. Her jaws ached from the unyielding gag, her limbs from the fetters, her back from the cage‘s confines, her bum and thighs from the chastisement. Not that anyone speak bad about Mistress! The punishment was always well-deserved and just, her oral bondage always an open-mouth gag, the restraints always padded leather, the cage always under audio/video-surveillance. Mistress once had shown her the greenish night vision mode on the master bedroom’s large plasma screen. Even during corrections for her most grave malefactions she was never alone in her distress.
Nina was about to step out onto the gallery overlooking the main hall, when the noise reappeared, longer this time. No -- it was a different one, more like scuffling and dragging. And were that muffled sounds beneath not protesting groans?
She peeked around the corner and over the gallery’s massive oak balustrade. Moonlight beamed through the façade, and the scene it was revealing made Nina’s eyes widen with terror.
They are hurting Mistress!
Her hands were bound behind Her back with cable ties, palms facing out. They had just reached the middle of the hall, and one of the sturdy, black-dressed men forced the disrobed lady onto Her knees. The other invader, less stocky, but taller, was chinking with something Nina recognised as Mistress’ keys. He disappeared from her field of view, but the terrified girl could hear him checking the cellar door.
Nina lapped her hand over her open mouth and retreated back into the shadow. Burglars! But how?! How had they been able to get into the house without raising alarm? Her mind was blank for some seconds, then a fragile feeling of hope arose. They hadn’t. A silent alarm had been raised! Yes! Some more minutes, and the police would be here!
She was sliding further behind the corner when the third intruder came up behind her. One gloved hand twisted her right arm behind her back while the second clawed into her auburn mane.
“Got her!” he triumphed.
The tall man stepped back into the middle of the hall. Calmly he looked up as the last brute of the trio pushed his captive forwards.
“Very good, Mr Track.”
“Thanks, Mr Tick! Wasn’t in her room, the little sweetie. Must have sneaked passed me somehow. That hut is a fuckin’ maze!”
He continued to shove the struggling girl along the gallery and down the wide stairs. Finally, she was made to kneel next to her Mistress. The woman, still dignified in Her plight, spoke to her in both an apologetic and encouraging manner:
“Don’t worry, little one. Nothing will happen to you. ”
The tall man who had been addressed as “Mr Tick“ eyed the two females from underneath his balaclava for a moment, then turned to his stocky comrade:
“Mr Trick, would you please secure our latest newcomer?”
The man standing behind Lady Selene nodded and went quietly to work on Nina. With versed moves he zip-tied her wrists, just like they had done with Mistress. Nina, more stubborn than brave, writhed and bristled all she could. That earned her additional plastic bondage around her upper arms, bringing her elbows together. Although being a very flexible girl, this made her shoulders ache and burn at once. She doubt that she had been able to escape the wrist fetters at all. This further tying was simply a cruel retribution for her resistance.
Mr Tick passed the bunch of keys to Number Three and squatted in front of the moaning lass.
“Don’t make such a fuss. The best way for you to help your Mistress and yourself is to ensure Her cooperation. A certain object is what we want. How we get it...” He made an indeterminate gesture.
Nina had not wised up yet:
“You better piss off! The entire police from the next town will be arriving any moment!”
Mr Tick backhanded her into silence. Number Three -- Mr Track -- paused the key examination he had been engaged in and slapped the palm against his covered forehead.
“Fuck, we forgot about the security system! Shit, man, and I even made me a list: buy milk, take garbage out, crack security system!”
“Yeah, dude. Shit happens,” Stocky grunted from beneath his hood.
Nina spit out blood from her split lip. On the moonlit hardwood it appeared almost black.
No alarm. No police.
It was now Mr Track who fumbled about at the cellar door. With a MagLite from his belt he alternately scrutinised the door’s lock and the collection of keys in his hand.
“Which key? Is it that one?” he taunted. Mistress answered him with a contemptuous glance.
“Hm, Her Highness does not want to tell us.” He used the key matching the lock in size and style. “Maybe the wench knows what’s in store for Her.”
Without squealing, creaking or any other melodramatic noise the heavy door swung open. The three intruders -- of whom the tallest one was evidently the leader -- shared their burden. Mr Tick walked Mistress Selene through the door’s pitch black rectangle, Mr Trick hove a dark bundle from the parquet and hurled it onto his shoulder. A large duffle bag -- never a good sign.
Once again it was on Mr Track to seize Nina. The plastic ties had cut into her skin. They cut even more when Number Three grabbed the girl under one arm and pushed her along the hall, following the others down the cellar stairs.
No hope.
Nina’s gaoler closed the door behind them and locked it from the inside. Only then he switched the lights on. Nobody roaming around the house would be able to notice the fine golden line emerging from under the cellar door.
The base of the stairway opened up into the chill arches of the wine cellar. Shelves of ancient oak wood held a collection impressive both in size and quality. Unerringly the Leader strode through between the barely lit lines, turned right and headed to the eastern wall.
What was going on?! How could he know the way? What do they want? Burglars may study the floor plan and learn how many persons live in the house. But wouldn’t burglars wonder about my outfit, for example?
Nina’s doubts grew stronger with ever step of Mr Tick’s working boots. This was not a normal burglary. Her stomach turned at the meaning of this realisation.
From behind her, Mr Track’s voice sneered through the semidarkness.
“When we have done them, how’s about a draught of Château Latour?” He pronounced it like Skattow Later. There might be reasons why Mr Tick was the leader and Mr Trick supposed to do the tricky parts.
“Don’t the fuck touch anything!” Mr Tick hissed from beneath his mask.
Although this brief conversation revealed the wine supplies to be safe, it did little to put Nina’s mind at ease.
“When we have done them...”
Her stomach made another turn. Rape.
The eastern wall was masoned from sturdy old bricks. They filled the gaps between four Yorkstone pillars, indicating another vault behind them. The door in the wall’s middle seemed to be as old as the cellar itself, but Nina knew that it was faked. Mistress had spared neither cost nor efforts to keep the original style when this most sinister part of the mansion had been rebuilt.
Number Three unlocked the door with the same bunch of keys he had used in the hall. Curiosity was evident in his moves as he pushed the handle.
Before them the Inner Sanctum of Mistress’ being lay open.
How dare you...?!
Once inside the Dungeon, Nina was pushed to the flag-stoned ground, and Stocky strapped some of his trusty cable ties around her ankles. She still wore her indoor high heels, which in combination with her harsh arm bondage and Mr Track hauling at her had made the descent a risky undertaking. Nonetheless she was not willed to slip them off. It was Mistress’ wish for her to wear them!
Unlike the insufficient lighting in the wine cellar, the Playroom’s twilight was artistic, almost theatrical. The indirect illumination did not disturb the impression of a mediaeval gaol, but revealed the amount of implements ready to be used on submissive flesh. Shadows rested minaciously on them, establishing the special atmosphere that promised dark and forbidden pleasures. Tonight, however, the scene bore a crucial difference.
None of the devices in this room was bogus, and only trust, caring and cautiousness prevented severe injuries. Nina doubted seriously that their uninvited guests would abide by these basic rules.
Mistress had been pushed to a waist-high construction that looked like a horizontal T on legs. While Her abdomen was being pressed into the crossbeam, Mr Trick stepped over and cut Her cable ties with diagonal pliers. But within moments, Her hands had been re-fettered in front of Her with handcuffs. During this, Number Three wasn’t lazy and secured Mistress’ ankles to ground in such a way Her long, sculptured legs were spread and pulled taut. This forced Mistress onto Her tip-toes, adding another fierceness to Her already stressful position. The Bondage T was notorious for causing cramping.
Mr Tick was supervising the portentous operation, but -- Nina was sure of that -- kept an eye on the kneeling girl as well.
The T’s far end carried a compact winch that could be worked manually. Mr Trick pulled some length of wire rope out, and with a metallic click the snap-hook at its end connected itself to the chain between the cuffs. The man’s moves were professionally, methodically, as he began to operate the winch.
Nina watched with increasing terror how her Mistress was stretched towards the structure’s far end, notch by notch, and how cruelly the steel ground into Her wrists.
Only when Mistress’ body was tautened over the frame in an obscene right angle, Mr Trick stopped and allowed the mechanism to lock at its latest catch.
The proud woman tested Her bonds, but Nina knew from experience that there was no way to go, especially not if the steel cable was as tight as now. She could already sense the stress in Mistresses shoulders and hips.
This device was a harsher variant of the bondage horse, and Nina had found herself on it every time Mistress had considered a more intensive correction to be adequate. Not only the racking effect and the lack of leather padding made it extraordinary uncomfortable to lie on the punishment T for any length of time. Right now, the weight of Mistress’ upper body rested mostly on Her sternum as Her breasts were pushed outwards by the beam’s edges.
None of these details stayed hidden to the Leader, but only the last one received his momentary attention. With an imperious gesture he ordered Mr Track to take care of the kneeling girl again, then strode to the largest table in the room, the one next to Nina’s cage. The one with the stainless steel trays on it.
Five. There are five trays. Trays like they use in operation theatres.
And just like on those trays in hospitals, a legion of small or slender instruments were arranged on them. Nina knew them and their places off by heart -- it was her duty to clean and sort them after every session.
Mr Tick went for tray number two. Without spending more than a few seconds on seeking he picked his weapons of choice from the mirroring surface. Nina knew what he had taken. She did not need to look as Mr Tick stepped to her helpless Mistress, sunk on one knee and opened his fist to show. She did not need to, but she looked nonetheless.
The nipple clamps were serrated and spring-loaded, but the springs were only meant for easy application. The real fun came with the screws. Versions with simple stop screws still gained their strength only from the springs, which had not to be designed too strong, else the jaws couldn’t be properly opened by hand.
Models with tightening screws did not know this limitation. A descent level of quality for screws and threads preconditioned, they could literally tightened all the way down.
Mistress was aware of this fact, Nina was aware of it (Ouch!), and there was no reason to question Mr Tick’s state of knowledge.
“Spare Yourself the torture. You will eventually tell us anyway.”
He spoke calmly to Mistress, but loudly enough for Nina to understand. The way he emphasised the word “torture” made the slavegirl groan. She had no clear view onto her Mistress’ face, but the beautiful woman seemed to hiss something into his face.
The Leader only shrug his shoulders.
“Ready when You are, Lady Selene...”
Mistress had started to buck and bolt the little She could in Her mean bondage as he first worked on Her left nipple. When the vicious teeth had completely sunk into the tender flesh, Mr Tick let go of the awful clamp, only to repeat the procedure on the right side.
Her flanks vibrated under Her rapid breathing, the muscles in the back of Her neck tightened and lifted Her contorted face from the beam. But even with both Her breast tips crushed and multiply pierced, Mistress suppressed Her screams entirely.
Nina sniffed, her eyes wet with tears. She would not cry! The urge to beg for mercy was almost overwhelming, but she would not do that, either! A naїve hope had just found its way into her mind. If Tick, Trick and Track accepted that they would not make her brave Mistress talk, maybe they just call it a night, even were in a hurry to get out before dawn (Nina herself didn’t know why the terrible trio should be frightened to meet dawn at this estate, but wasn’t it the nature of evil? To have full sway in the dark, only to fear the day?).
Even now Mistress held up a dignified aura. Her dark long hair covered both side of Her face as She lowered Her forehead onto the smooth wood. The pain-inducted shallowness of Her breaths was still evident, but did nothing to belittle Her endurance.
No matter what you do to Her, She will always be superior to scum like you!
Mr Tick played with the clamps, flicked them, tugged on them, always studying his prisoner’s stoic expression.
Another journey to the trays brought two small, but heavy metal cones. Mistress gasped audibly when Her trapped nipples were burdened with these.
“Make it easy on You -- where is it?”
Both his hands reached up, and this time Mr Tick did not play. Mistress screamed as the clamps twisted and turned in Her delicate flesh. Elated by this success, the Leader even increased the brutality of his assault. More and harder screams were coerced from the suffering woman who fought vainly against restraints and pain.
“Please don’t hurt Her!” Nina screeched. She could not hold back anymore. The girl knew how sensitive her Mistress’ whole breast area was. They shared extraordinary erogenous zones on these parts -- and Nina would confess to anything under nipple torture.
Crimson pears were running down the conical weights and dropping to the ground in worrying succession. Mr Tick let go of the clamps and pulled Mistress’s head up by Her brunette mane. His gloves were decorated with blood.
For some seconds, he waited, his head cocked in what was supposed to be a silent question. But Mistress just gazed at him in worn defiance, Her quivering lips pressed together tightly.
“Originally, I have planned to go easy on You, gorgeous. But Your annoying lack of cooperation necessitates a more coercive measure.”
Mr Tick shoved Her head back to the beam, then eyed the fatal beauty of Mistress’ exquisite predicament. With disgust Nina observed him devouring the sight that lay in front of him:
How the cross bar pushed Her bottom out; how the unyielding position forced Her onto Her tip-toes; how the strain hardened Her leg muscles.
His gloved hand glided along Her silken derrière.
How taut and hot and soft Her skin was.
“Mr Trick, it is your turn now.”
Stocky mumbled an affirmation. He stepped over to one of the cabinets, and again Nina was unpleasantly surprised by the intruders’ knowledge of where to find what.
This certain piece of furniture held switches, birches and canes. To really hurt Mistress, Stocky would surely go for a cane.
Clamps and caning. A classical combination of passive and active torture.
The young slave gasped at what Mr Trick had taken from the cabinet. Mistress had used the chrome-tipped carbon fibre cane only once on her, and only under strict self-restraint. Not for penalisation it had been, but to establish respect for this very item. Nina considered it to be easily the cruellest instrument for impact punishment in the whole estate.
Beyond any doubt it was a premium product, due to its base material literally unbreakable, but not very flexible (the cane’s punitive competence came from its kinetic energy rather than from its potential energy). The handle and other strategic points were fitted with wolfram cores for optimal weight distribution. Hence the cane combined a considerably low mass inertia with a considerably high moment of inertia. Mistress had explained it to Her pretty slavegirl a little bit more tersely:
“Easy to swing, hard to stand.”
Stocky tested it in the air. Indeed he had full control over it at every phase of the stroke. Easy to swing. He cut the air again, harder, more confidently, producing an intimidating sound.
Mr Track giggled.
Suddenly, with a velocity that was astonishing given his heavy physique, Mr Trick leapt forwards and swung his weapon in a wide arc. With unbelievable acceleration the cane sliced the air and made contact with Mistress Selene’s taut flesh. The stroke was well aimed to the critical spot where the right buttock ran into the thigh. Nina never actually heard the hit, for it was drowned out by Mistress Selene’s unbridled scream. It was a deeply agonised sound, fully matching the visual horror that made Nina scream in the very same second: The skin literally exploded, subcutaneous tissue burst under the incredible force that drove the carbon fibre through several layers of muscles.
“Ouh, that got Your attention, huh?” Mr Track sneered.
Another stroke, powerful and grisly like the first one, hit the same spot. Mistress’ body went rigid in anguish as another shriek was wrenched from it. Hard to stand.
Mr Trick leant into each horrible blow with all his two hundred pounds, taking full advantage of the carbon cane’s precise handling. He was striking on each thigh and buttock in turn now, concentrating the pain, channelling it within the tolerance of half a centimetre.
This had nothing in common with the discipline sessions Nina had received from her Mistress. After the harshest of them, she had borne purple welts all over her thighs and bottom and had cried for hours afterwards -- but not more.
Mistress was dominant in every way, but She was no raving sadist. Once Nina had talked Her into watching Hostel together, and after the scene where that bloke tried to walk with his Achilles tendons sliced, She had excused Herself.
The weights swung frantically and tore at Her bleeding nipples as every belter drove Her pelvis into the crossbeam anew. Mistress was crying freely now when not needing Her air for screaming. Little was left of Her dignified appearance.
During twelve minutes of hard caning Mr Trick had turned Mistress’ backside into a collection of ghastly bleeding wounds. At Mr Tick’s behest he finally ceased the horrible castigation, granting his arm a break. Nina could see around his eyes that he was sweating underneath the balaclava.
He had stopped!
Nina wished she could make herself believe that it was over now, but one glance at the Leader was sufficient: far worse things were coming. She only hoped her beloved Mistress was able to gather new strength during this hiatus.
Mr Tick touched the raw welts and listened to the groans this action wrung from the tortured woman. Cramps gnawed at Her back and limps, and Her flawless skin glistened with pain-born sweat.
“You will suffer far worse if You keep up this childish attitude, Selene.”
Mistress seemed to shake Her head in a weak and exhausted manner. A quarter of an hour ago, Nina had been proud of Her resisting Her tormentors. But that had been before they had beaten Her bloody and scarred Her for life.
Please just tell them! What is so important to endure such cruelty?!
Whatever it was, Mistress Selene was willing to endure the cruelties. And Mr Tick was willing to increase them.
“Mr Trick, the dressing, please.”
From his duffle bag Stocky produced a canteen and handed it to the Leader who unscrewed the cap. He held the open bottle close to Mistress’ nose, and She rapidly turned Her face away. After some moments Nina could sense the still faint, but distinctive odour of the content. Vinegar.
“We didn’t want to mess around in your kitchen, so we brought our own ingredient,” Mr Tick stated.
If only they were that sensible when it came to Dungeon equipment. But what do these bastards want with...?
Oh, no!
Mr Tick brought the canteen into position above Mistress’ bottom and tilted it slightly. He waited, built up the tension, listened to Lady Selene’s distressed gasping.
“No!”
Nina made a clumsy attempt to get to her feet and earned a kick into the hollow of her knee from Mr Track. Unnerved, Mr Tick let his arm sink. Although back on the floor, Nina kept on protesting.
“Leave Her alone!”
“Gag that little tart!”
Within seconds the omnipresent Mr Trick had chosen an adequate model from the wall with masks and head harnesses (as a strong believer in enforced silence, Mistress held an impressive collection ready). Nina clenched her teeth and turned her head to all possible directions to avoid the gag, but a punch to the solar plexus showed her the wrongs of her ways. The burly man stuffed a huge and hard rubber ball gag through between the girl’s teeth (tied of her criticism on their interrogation methods, he had made it a two-and-a-half incher that really challenged Nina’s oral cavity). He tightened its straps savagely until they drew blood at the corners of her mouth. With her face pulled into a grimace, Nina produced muffled noises behind the jaw-spreading sphere. Unintelligible concerning their concrete meaning, her sounds were holding a clearly pleading intonation.
“Remember where we have stopped, Selene?”
Accepting no further delay, Mr Tick poured the vinegar over Her destroyed flesh. The bondage T creaked as Mistress’ muscles tightened under excruciating pain. Her voice became hoarse from the abrasive screams grinding Her throat. At some point the cries turned into ugly gulps as She fought not to regurgitate.
Now Mr Tick really wanted to push his victim: he retightened the nipple clamps and signalled Stocky to subject Her to another stint with the cane.
The degree of torture Lady Selene was suffering bound to the fiendish structure was extreme. Every slash let blood sputter, every swing catapulted drops of it across the room. Mr Trick had enriched his repertoire with brutal strokes to Mistress’ backs of the knees, delivering terrible stress to Her tendons. Nina closed her eyes and just wished her Mistress to pass out. Scream after scream followed hit after hit, and the odour of fresh urine told her that Mistress had eventually lost control over Her bladder.
Eternal seven minutes Mr Trick worked on the now almost delirious woman. Finally the Leader beckoned him to stop. The taciturn man dropped the awfully soiled instrument, leaving Mistress’ thighs and buttocks devastated.
“Bitch is tough,” Stocky panted.
“And She is bleeding far too much...”
Mr Tick’s remark seemed to be a rather qualitative statement, for he didn’t take other steps than sprinkling some more vinegar over the countless wounds. Mistress trembled and uttered some rasping sounds, but was too far gone for more.
“We should pass on to cutting -- or give electro a try.”
“A try won’t hurt,” the Leader answered, giving no hind of being aware of his pun.
They have caned Her almost to death, and now they debate how to continue!
Not only the thought of this horror to be renewed and even exceed made Nina shudder -- the cold, almost clinical way they discussed the further torture of a woman already in agony showed the total absence of mercy and pity. Tied to the bondage T was no human being, only a source reacting in certain patterns to strategies of extracting information.
As for the current strategy: four steps of it -- stress position, breast torture, corporal punishment and chemical burning -- had failed; Mr Tick readied the Mistress for number five.
He broke an ammonium carbonate capsule under Her nose. Mistress tensed up and coughed, only to lapse into suppressed crying.
“Trying to cheat on us? Not very ladylike.”
Mr Tick pulled a sheath from the chest pocket of his black boiler suit.
“This drug cocktail,” he explained taking a pre-filled syringe out, ”will keep you with us, no matter what. The exact formulation is under wraps and may vary, but one can find something like this in every well-assorted interrogation room.”
Unmolested by Mistress’ very limited resistance, the needle went into the crook of Her arm. The fact that he had disinfected the skin with a soaked cotton pad before injecting the substance intravenously appeared almost surreal to Nina.
The drug took effect quickly and frighteningly, sending Mistress into a state of heightened awareness as well as of extreme trepidation and anxiety.
Having ensured Her undivided attention, the Leader proceed to the next item on his agenda. He pressed the electrodes of the menacing picana (Mr Trick’s duffle bag!) against Mistress’ vulnerable genitals.
With a delay due to the shock itself She unleashed a volt-induced, ampere-fired howl that ebbed away into suppressed sobbing.
“Would that make you talk? I don’t think so.”
However, Mr Tick’s believe in his own theory could not be too strong, for he continued to shock Mistress at various parts of Her body. Flanks, breasts, armpits, then Her genitals again. Between each round he sprinkled Her thoroughly with a spray bottle, reducing the skin’s resistivity.
Her horrible screams were answered by Nina’s muffled ones. She tried to wriggle to her Mistress, but Mr Track seized her collar ring and pulled her back. She fell to her side, and the plastic ties dug even deeper into her flesh. For good measures, Number Three kicked her in the stomach, eliciting fresh grunts from the truly and tightly gagged girl.
Mr Tick pressed Mistress’ head against the beam and ran the heated electrodes along the side of Her tear-wet face.
“I like the way You are not looking across to Your little super-cutie, even when You aren’t distracted by Your own pains. How You actually ignore her plight every time we rough her up a little. Don’t want us to get nasty ideas, do You?”
“Do you?” Mr Track echoed, delivering another kick with his heavy work boot.
“No, no, not like that,” the Leader admonished.
Not that Mr Tick feel any sympathy with Nina. Number Three’s modus operandi featured just a bad pain-to-damage ratio, hence it was inappropriate.
“Take her over here, so Lady Selene has a better view.”
Nina resisted weakly when being dragged by her collar. She wanted to keep lying doubled over.
“Up! Get up, or I kick your arse all the way down!”
You are good at kicking tied up girls, huh?! Fuck, you are! I think I’m going to puke!
Mr Track stood her up onto her high heels. Feet tightly bound and stomach in pain, Nina wobbled in her Louboutins. With one hand still at her collar, he grabbed the girl’s belt to stabilise her.
“We should remove that thing. How about a nice rape to soften her up?”
“You need the key,” Stocky informed him.
“Maybe it’s at yonder bunch, too. Just let me look for a heart-shaped one!” He giggled obscenely. “Wait! That’s a fifty per cent belt! See?” He spun her around. “It bolts only the front door shut.”
He sneered into Nina’s gag-distorted face and felt her unprotected derrière up.
“Do you lezzies like it up the shitter? I mean, all gay folks do.”
The prospect of forced sodomy widened Nina’s eyes at the same extend as it tightened her bottom muscles. The little anal play Mistress and she used to share was always light and caring, with figging before penal canings as the single exception.
“Just take her over here, would you?”
The testiness in Mr Tick’s voice alarmed even an imbecile like Number Three, and twenty seconds of ruthless hauling later Nina was kneeling near the T’s narrow end. She searched for Mistresses eyes and shuddered when she found only fear in them.
“Feeling chatty now?” Mr Tick enquired, but Mistress only mouthed “Sorry” to Her slavegirl.
Once more Stocky rummaged between all kinds of burglary tools, then produced a fearsome contraption from his duffle bag.
“This was originally meant for you, Selene,” the Leader commented as Mr Trick freed Nina from her punishing ball gag.
Saliva had accumulated up behind the gag, since its circumference had been sealed by her stretched lips (this stretching had caused the split she had taken from the slap to her face earlier to start bleeding again). It had been hard to swallow with her mouth filled and her tongue trapped under the ball. As the rubber object was forcefully yanked out of her mouth, a gush of spittle surged over her chin, where it mixed up with blood and rained onto her breasts.
Nina’s release was short-lived; Mr Trick had aforesaid contraption ready for action. It seemed to be a certain kind of ring gag, complete with a full head harness.
No, not again!
Her poor jaws were throbbing with dull ache from the last mouth bondage, so Nina was in no hurry to be gagged once more. Yet she did not want to risk another hit to her solar plexus. (The first one took away my breath for minutes, and having the ball gag halfway down my throat didn’t make it better!). But what other choice did she have? According to their statements, that gadget was an explicit torture instrument. Nina did not know how to cope with torture. She wasn’t as strong as Mistress.
But I have to be! Sooner or later I will have that thing between my teeth!
Nonetheless: To be strong still didn’t mean to accept the gag. When Stocky eventually guided the ring towards her mouth, she just could not make herself open up. Nina had already prepared herself to be used as a punching ball again, but Mr Trick’s eyes only blinked in distant amusement. For him, Nina’s behaviour was only re-proving an eternal truth: Women wanted to be forced.
“Hold her head, Track...”
Strong hands seized Nina’s head and bent it back. Mistress’ breath quickened, and so did her own as Mr Trick pulled a black, tantō-style knife from his tool belt. He touched the slave’s lips with the blade like someone would touch their lips with the index finger to request silence. Nina withstood.
It took but little effort for the characteristically shaped point to travel through between her lips and teeth. Once the blades first four centimetres were inside her mouth, Mr Trick began to turn the weapon around its centre line. Nina’s eyes teared from fear and from the sickening feeling as steel slid along enamel, prying her the jaws open.
Surely it wasn’t intentional, but without Mr Track holding her head like a vice, she would had been cut badly during this operation. In her attempts to writhe and wriggle Nina didn’t even noticed clearly that the angled ring wandered into her mouth. The blade retreated, and the girl became aware of the gag. Nina tried to push the ring out, but her frantic and awkward efforts only granted the device more room to straighten up. Finally, the ring stood proudly and upright and was securely seated between her teeth.
Stocky buckled the head harness conscientiously, which pulled the ring gag even further in. It left the steel loop placed deep within her mouth, behind her premolars.
The slavegirl moaned repeatedly, bridled like she was now. Mr Trick had made sure that all other buckles were tight, but had fitted the chin strap only loosely.
Odd -- not that she was complaining.
She moved her tongue around to examine her new jewellery.
This is a large one -- my joints are already ablaze again! And it is so damn far inside my mouth!
Of course, Nina had experience: Mistress liked Her subs being ring-, spider-, tube- or dental-gagged during sessions to break even the most unwilling participants in to oral intercourse. And Mistress adored seeing her in head harnesses -- their relentlessness, their so very sexy inverted Y around the nose and at the forehead were the icing on every mouth restraint. That was one side.
The other side was that Mistress never used metal gags without rubber or leather tooth-protectors, and surely not such as cruel as this one!
Mr Tracks hands still held her head captive, and Nina quickly learnt why. Mr Trick put a small tool to ring’s top, near her palate, where she could not reach with her tongue. He operated the tool, and Nina both heard and sensed first one, then a second click.
That damn ring gag has some kind of ratchet in its circumference!
After the third notch Mr Tick felt obliged to comment on the situation:
“I reckon that both of you see where this is leading to...”
During the first two clicks Nina hoped that the metal construction inside her mouth would only get broader, for the ratchet was working horizontally (not that getting broader would do any good to her mouth in the long term). But the mechanical stress spread through the whole ring, and therefore the whole ring reacted by widening.
Click.
Flashes of pain raced through the dull aching in her jaws. She tried to free herself, but Mr Track’s grip nearly crushed her cheekbones.
Click.
Fresh, but ice-cold sweat appeared. It glistened on her forehead, burnt in her blood-shot eyes.
Click.
Her lower jaw was punished even more, and -- voilà -- the chin strap was snug! Nina almost retched from the nauseous feeling in her joints, which were subjected not only to an unnatural position, but to built up the counteracting force to the savage gag.
They will burst any second! Something will tear! My jaw will break!
She started to panic, and Mr Tick pressed both hands on her shoulders held her down. Now all three men were working on the poor slave. The burning of her tendons was extreme, and still the ring was expanding further and further. She felt the chin strap cutting into her jaw line.
If the chin strap gave way now, my jaw would pop straight out!
Nina tried to plead, she pled them to stop, and finally pled Mistress to talk. But all only came out as guttural screeches which mixed up with the sound of the torturous mechanism.
The corners of her mouth ripped, as did the parts of her lips having been furrowed by the original gag’s straps. With the next notch, they all gaped and started to bleed profoundly, soaking the harness.
Click.
Joints creaked and muscle fibres snapped. Nina was almost insane with fear and agony.
“No more. I tell you. Just stop it.” Mistresses voice was not more than a ghastly shade due to Her damaged vocal cords and mental anguish.
“You better do, a thaisce, or I tear her pretty face apart.”
The Leader signalled a three with his fingers, and Mr Trick decreased the diameter by the according number of notches. They let go of Nina. She slumped down, just too exhausted to express that the gag’s size was still pure torture.
She barely noticed her Mistress revealing the location of Her safe and its combination, and only through a red fog of pain she sensed one intruder leaving the Dungeon.
“Oi!” Number Three crowed in his annoying voice when he re-entered an unascertainable period of time later. “Got it! And look what else I’ve found...!” He wielded a SIG Sauer P225. “Wasn’t to much a protection, eh?”
“There is a seventy-six per cent risk to shoot a member of the household instead of an intruder,” Mr Trick informed.
“We better keep that -- for safety reasons.” The Leader took both the pistol and the object they had come for in the first place. It was a jewel case containing what seemed to be a Blu-ray disc. Tapping Mistress Selene on the head with his loot, he continued in a patronising voice.
“Stubborn woman! We could have been at this point long ago, without You or Your little lover being hurt.” While still facing her Mistress, he addressed Nina: “Now, missy, you may be curious as to why we had to breach your domestic peace.”
The girl had come around somewhat. Drooling uncontrollably through the ring gag and still suffering from her ordeal, she had no intention to give any form of repeat.
Mr Tick scrutinised the far wall and found what he was looking for behind a heavy velvet curtain. Opening it revealed a large flat screen TV, a Davenport desk beneath it held the appropriate player, receiver and remote control.
Number Three cheered in surprise.
“I knew You bitch were loaded, but a home cinema system in Your Dungeon is way-out!”
Indeed Mistress had used the system on several occasions for a quite outlandish kind of punishment: Bound in some evil, imaginative way, Nina had been kneeling in front of her Mistress who had been sitting on Her throne and watching “The Simpsons”. The slavegirl had had to tongue-shine Mistresses boots, neither been allowed to glance at the screen nor to even laugh about the puns. (The Dungeon system was almost exclusively used with kinky intentions, and if only to watch the news while supervising a lengthy session of predicament bondage. The real home cinema system in the TV room -- featuring a 73” Mitsubishi laser telly -- would send Mr Track into an endocrine shock.)
The Leader inserted the disc, and after he had fumbled with the remote control the plasma display panel came to life, showing a scene somewhere near the video’s midpoint. Except for Mistress everybody was looking at the screen -- the intruders to verify their loot, the slavegirl to find out what had brought that horror upon her Mistress and herself.
The Blu-Ray showed a session -- gone wrong...!
Given the angle, the recording had been made by the Dungeon’s CCTV camera above the door. One could see the Bondage T, Nina’s cage and the horse. (A second camera was observing the Saint Andrew’s cross and the adored/dreaded gynaecological chair.)
The surveillance video turned out to be a real-life torture porn: Lying on the T, differently bound to it than Mistress now, was a naked young woman whom Nina could vaguely remember to have met. The blonde was on her back, arms restrained to the crossbeam, head tilted back over the edge. Her breasts showed countless cigarette burns, and with each new one she screamed through the spider gag in her mouth. Nina cringed at the noise (7.1 surround sound, of course), simultaneously noticed that the gag was the very same she used to wear for open-mouth punishments.
Speaking of punishments: Working the girl’s breasts over was some lad with unspectacular features, not much older than his victim. He had thrown his dinner jacket over the horse and loosened his bow tie. After satisfying his nicotine addiction with a final drag, he chose her sternum to stub out the cigarette (Attention: no smoking in the entire house!). The woman screamed anew, then went limp from exhaustion. If she thought her tantaliser was finished with her, she was in for a nasty surprise. Already been the main targets of the cigarette, her nipples were now attacked by a set of Japanese clover clamps. She howled. He yanked the connecting chain. She howled even louder.
Nina could place them by now: both had been guests at the private party Mistress had given last week. It had been a very private party, so no one had wondered when a couple had disappeared down the cellar stairs.
Nina herself had not been in the Dungeon that night. She had welcomed the guests arm in arm with Mistress, had small-talked and chatted -- all elegantly and fully dressed.
She did not know where the delusion originated from that a submissive had to serve her Mistress’ or Master’s guests during a BDSM-party in special ways. Nina was Mistress Selene’s slave, and no one else’s, and the last one reckoning to borrow her had sported Mistress’ handprint on his face a tenth of a second later.
On the screen, the definitely non-consensual action continued with more pain and more cries. The bow tie bloke had hooked a leather leash to the nipple chain and was clamping the free end between his teeth. This approach was fully reasonable, for he needed both his hands to hold the girl’s head steady. Even so he needed several attempts to shove his freed penis into her defenceless mouth. She gagged and panicked when he bottomed out, and with another set of relentless thrusts he forced her to deep-throat him.
However, Bow Tie wasn’t in the mood for a standard throat-fucking. With every new hump he threw his head back, tearing at the leash and teaching her the sophisticated art of giving a scream job.
When it comes to oxygen management, crushed and stretched nipples never go well together with a pharynx full of male erectile tissue. After a cascade of muffled shrieks the woman ran out of fresh air, and her face assumed an unhealthy colour. Her whole body shuddered, then convulsed, then flagged.
Lost in romantic feelings, Bow Tie humped her some more before noticing the lack of enthusiasm on the part of his unwilling partner. He stumbled backwards, the leash still stupidly between the teeth, his expression somewhere between disbelieve and rising panic.
The bound blonde didn’t move anymore. Nina -- shocked at what she just had seen -- could not tell whether the girl was dead or still alive on the video, but feared that somebody’s life had ended in this very room not one week ago.
That cannot be! That cannot be!
Nina’s stomach turned -- not for the first time during this night.
All this cannot be true!
Mr Tick stopped this sneak preview. Sure much more was captured on the disc. But this key scene was enough to do a lot of damage. Digital dynamite. It explained the gloomy mood Mistress had been in lately. She had much to loose, apart from Her reputation in the business community. A tied up girl, most severely maltreated in Her residence, accidentally in a cellar room rebuilt as a soundproof dungeon, could be of judicial interest.
Of course, no police had been at the estate that night, and Nina -- as most of the guests, she bet -- hadn’t had the slightest clue about the Lanigan's Ball-style asphyxiation sex that was going on.
But the girl may be dead!
Further thoughts blurred in Nina’s own misery, yet the shadows of knowing and nonspecific guilt kept lying on her mind.
“You blackmailed him?” It sounded more like a statement than a question. Mr Tick put the disc back into its case. “Did You blackmail him, gorgeous?”
Mistress shook Her head weakly.
“You did not press money from that poor boy? A silly, young boy who made a mistake -- a terrible mistake, but only a mistake nonetheless. An accident.”
“No,” She croaked.
“No, of course not. That would be beneath You. Not to mention that you make more money than You and Your little bed warmer could ever spend.”
Through the various pains which still fogged her mind Nina was aware of his strange undertone.
What is that bastard up to? You have got what you wanted, now piss off!
“Maybe You blackmailed the boy to turn himself in -- yes, that would be far more noble.”
“I never blackmailed him!” Mistress shouted with Her broken voice.
“And that is the fuckin’ problem...”
The Leader shoved a hand into Her mane and yanked Her head up.
“That little bugger raped a twenty-year-old girl into coma in Your house, at Your party, and neither You nor any of Your decadent, degenerated, depraved friends gave a shit!”
Mistress’ eyes showed aghast realisation. Until now She must have assumed that the trio was acting on behalf of the bow tie boy and hence seeking to destroy any incriminating material.
“However...,” he let go of Mistress’ hair and continued in his usual calm voice, “thanks to Your fondness for high tech gimmicks we can deliver something to bait that fuck. And of course he’ll have to watch it before his genitals will be found in a dustbin three miles away from the rest of his body.”
He turned to Mr Trick and his trusty duffle bag.
“It would had been better for all of you if You had called the police that night...”
Stocky opened his bag once more. Out came two items which inflicted new horror in Nina. The first one was a half a metre long metal rod, roughly two centimetres thick. The second was an off-the-shelf soldering lamp. It made an unspectacular sound when ignited.
Oh no! They are going to brand Mistress!
Nina uttered begging noises through between her cramped, pried-open jaws. Mr Tick turned to her while testing the rod’s weight in his hand.
“What is it, sweetie? Nobody said we would stop after getting the disc. Till now, all the pain has resulted from your lover’s refusal to cooperate. She still has to receive Her actual punishment.”
With great effort the girl got onto her sore knees again and tried to lock eyes with Mistress. But She was stoically pressing Her forehead onto the beam. Behind Her, Mr Tick and Mr Trick were busy heating the metal, performing this fatal task with the same professionalism they had displayed the whole night long.
“Not too hot, or the nerve endings will be seared too quickly,” Stocky instructed.
Mr Tick took the makeshift branding iron away from the flame. In the Dungeon’s twilight the first centimetre showed a dull, coral glow.
“Look at it.”
Mistress did not. Once more the Leader yanked Her hair. Savouring the dread in Her eyes, he brought the heated ending near Her tensed face.
“Where do You want it?”
This was a rhetorical question. He moved back next to Stocky who had stowed the soldering lamp away. With a voice that was part grave, part mocking Mr Tick declared:
“May others take heed of this warning.”
Mr Trick parted Her bloody buttocks, and for two horrible seconds Mr Tick let the tip kiss Her anus.
He listened to the guttural scream that tore through Mistress’ throat. Then he pushed.
As the glowing metal slid along Her rectal passage, burning its way deeper into Her intestines, Mistress’ head flew up and the sinews in the back of Her neck threatened to snap. Her face was mutilated into a mask of agony, eyes wide with absolute terror, veins on Her forehead protruding.
“Slowly! Slowly! Let Her feel the whole length!” Mr Track yelled.
Mistress’ mouth was opened grotesquely, but the next scream everybody expected came from Nina.
Originating from complete hysteria, it only ended when all usable air was pressed out of her lungs. Almost out of her mind, the girl had to witness how her Mistress quaked under the infernal torture, how unnameable pain annihilated Her and how Her once beautiful eyes glazed over while the heat destroyed Her from the inside.
After eternities, the mercy of unconsciousness released Mistress.
Mr Tick pulled the rod from Her cooked bowels. For a moment he just stood motionless, as if unsure what to do next, now that his day’s work was done.
Fuck Her to within an inch of Her live! -- that must have been his final task: to rape Her with the same amount of cruelty as the young woman had been raped. Well, he had more than succeeded.
A new torrent of Nina’s shrieks got him going again.
“And you? Considering how it went last week, your Mistress must have taught you to keep silent when a session turns out to be a little bit rougher...!”
Nina felt his left hand seizing her neck and forcing her head to tilt back. His right shoved the still smouldering rod into the girl’s gagged mouth. Her saliva started to vaporise, then Nina’s neck bulged out against his palm as the shaft travelled down her trachea.
End